You remembered because the little bell above the door clanged so loudly, you thought the ancient relic might have actually met its fate that day. When you turned to see who raced inside, it was him.

Harry.

He held a soaked copy of the New York Post in his hand. It was falling apart after doing an extremely poor job of keeping him dry in the sudden downpour. His dark hair was drenched and dripping all over the sticky tile floor. He blinked a few times, trying to get the rain out of his eyes without looking more pathetic than he already felt. He looked down at the destroyed newspaper and made a face before lifting his chin and scanning the restaurant.

That's when he spotted you.

He hesitated for a moment before offering up a lopsided grin and a shoulder shrug as you made your way towards him.

"Do you have a trash can I can borrow?"

You circled the host stand and held out the plastic bin, only to tease, "If you're borrowing it, that means you'll bring it back, right?"

He took a second then laughed politely at your shitty joke before dropping the newspaper into the empty bin with a solid thump.

"Consider it returned," he smiled, dark brown eyes sparkling despite the agitation he had felt moments before when he was caught in the rain.

You showed him to a table, one near the window, and brought him a coffee — to warm you up, you had said. He wrapped his hands gratefully around the stained mug and took a sip. When he swallowed, he paused, then looked up at you with genuine shock.

"This is... good."

You giggled. "Thanks."

"No, I mean—" He stopped to take another sip and made a satisfied noise in the back of his throat. "This is really good."

"You have a beautiful way with words," you teased again.

"Some of these expensive cafés around here don't make coffee half this good," he continued, taking another gulp.

"Well, I guess I've found my hidden talent," you shrugged.

The way he smiled at you had your heart skipping a beat.

There were other tables that probably needed to be cleaned or wanted their check, but you couldn't force yourself to step away. Something about him was magnetic.

And at the time, he really didn't seem all that special to the naked eye. He was just wearing a pair of worn jeans, an oversized brown jacket, and a basic looking tshirt underneath. He looked like every other working man within a five mile radius of your diner that stopped in for lunch every day. And yet... something pulled you to him.

Something must have pulled him to you, too, because a week later, he returned.

"No New York Post?" you asked when you greeted him at the door, hoping you didn't look too eager to see him.

He shook his head and pointed to the trash can.

"That's the only place The Post belongs. Only had it that day because someone left it at a bus stop bench. It was all I had."

"Desperate times," you mused before leading him to a table.

He looked a little dressier that day: slacks, but with a polo shirt. The only ring he had was on his pinky, one you were rather convinced was a fake emerald. You smiled to yourself, tucking away the lack-of-a-wedding-band note for later.

When he sat down, you noticed for the first time he placed a compact umbrella on the booth next to him before picking up the menu. You grinned and pointed to it with your ballpoint pen.

"Hey, you got yourself an umbrella," you said, "moving up in the world."

He looked up at you with those soft brown eyes again, the ones that crinkled at the corners when he smiled, the very same eyes you couldn't get out of your head for a week.

"I learn from my mistakes."

He became a regular after that. Once a week, every Thursday around one in the afternoon. You weren't sure if the time just suited him best or if he picked it because he knew you would be working.

You had hoped it was the latter.

About two months later, the diner was unusually busy. A tour bus had stopped outside and the restaurant was overloaded with thirty extra patrons. The kitchen was slammed, the counters were a mess, and of course one of the servers had called off that day.

You forgot it was Thursday. Harry had come in and seen the chaos. He tried to catch your eye but you were too busy balancing four plates on your arms to notice.

Another waitress, Darcy, hurried up to greet him, looking equally as frazzled as you but still offered to clean a table in her section. Harry turned her down, said he wanted to wait for you, and leaned against the wall watching you work with a small smile on his face.

Once one of your tables got up, Darcy helped you clean it and murmured quietly that you had a request at the door. You glanced up, saw him, and grinned happily despite the stressful lunch hour.

"Not in a rush today?" you asked when you led him to your only open table. He slid into the booth and shook his head.

"Nothing that can't wait."

"I'm honored," you said sweetly with a hand pressed to your chest. He smirked and his eyes quickly scanned you up and down.

"You're worth waiting for."

It knocked the wind out of you at first. You blinked like you weren't sure you heard him right, then exhaled a nervous laugh.

"Careful or I might think you're flirting with me."

"So what if I am?"

You laughed again and felt your face heat up. You started to fan yourself with your notepad, which only made Harry's smile grow bigger.

"Oh, you must be a heartbreaker," you teased.

"What makes you say that?" he asked, tilting his head to the side, still smiling. You leaned forward, placing both palms flat on the freshly washed tabletop, and lowered your voice.

"You're a smooth-talker, Harry," you said, refusing to break eye contact. "I'll bet you have a waitress you visit every day of the week. I'm just Miss. Thursday."

He threw his head back and laughed. Like, really laughed. And it made you smile so big that you dropped your chin to your chest to hide.

When his laughter finally died down, you lifted your head to look at him again, both of you wearing matching grins.

"Not true," he said, his dimple catching your eye and making your heart flutter a bit. "Let me take you out for dinner," he finally added, and even though you saw it coming, you still felt a rush of excitement shoot through you when you heard the words.

"Yeah? So you can introduce me to Miss. Friday?"

"Is that when you're free?"

You nodded, teeth sinking into your lower lip.

"Then tomorrow it is," he said firmly, "and you can pick the restaurant."

You whistled low and straightened back up. Your other tables were clearing up and heading to the front to pay, but you couldn't care less.

"Anywhere?"

He nodded and folded his hands confidently in his lap.

"Anywhere."

"And what if I have expensive tastes, Mr. Castillo?" you asked with a flirty tone.

"I can afford it," he assured you, still wearing the same smile.

"Even Nova?" You had said the first fancy, most hard-to-get-into restaurant you could think of, just as a joke. But Harry nodded without missing a beat.

"Nova it is."

You laughed and shook your head.

"I was just kidding," you said, "seriously, I'm good with anything—"

"Would you like to eat at Nova?" he asked, cutting you off. You paused for a moment.

"Well... maybe one day," you shrugged, "but the waiting list to get in is, like—"

"How's eight work for you?" He was already tapping away on his phone, offering it like it was nothing.

"Uh— s-sure," you sputtered. "Eight works."

He held up his phone for you to take. "Save your number and address. I'll pick you up."

He said it like he serious, but by Friday you still expected him to show up and admit it was just for laughs and maybe take you to some hole in the wall Italian spot, if you were lucky.

You were just fixing your hair and smoothing down your dress when your two roommates squealed from the window.

"He's here!"

"Oh, damn — he's got a Mercedes? Who is this guy?"

You snatched your purse and ran out into the living room, wedging yourself between them. Your jaw dropped when you saw Harry step out of the driver's side and round the front, casually buttoning his smart looking jacket and glancing around the relatively quiet street. But before he ascended the stairs to your building's front door, he looked up and spotted your three faces practically pressed against the dirty glass.

"Fuck!" you giggled when you all flew away from the window. Then a moment later, the buzzer rang.

"Y-Yeah," you stammered, pressing the answer button with a stupid grin.

"It's Harry."

You pressed the other button to unlock the door, then pushed your one roommate out of the way so you could make sure you didn't have lipstick on your teeth.

"What does he do again?"

"Who fucking cares!"

"Shhh!!" you hissed right when a firm knock came from the door.

"I'll get it!" Melanie sang, skipping to the door to cut you off. She flung it open just as you were reaching for her shoulder to yank her back, revealing Harry on the other side. His face lit up when he saw you, then his gaze dropped to Mel and he politely held out his hand.

"I'm Harry—"

"I know," she gushed, grabbing his hand and shaking it roughly. He grinned and glanced at you quickly before looking back at her. "I'm Melanie, that one's Liv."

Harry nodded at Liv perched on the couch who was waving at him like a fucking lunatic.

"Nice to meet you both." His eyes scanned the modest apartment behind you. "Cute place. How long have—"

"Let's go!" you said, pushing Mel out of the way and sneaking out the door.

"Have her back by midnight!" Melanie shouted as you were dragging him away.

"Yeah! But if you don't, at least do us all a favor and rock her world. It's been a while!" Liv added.

"Oh, my god!" you screeched over your shoulder while Harry chuckled softly next to you. "I'm going to kill—"

The apartment door slammed shut. You could hear their combined giggles, even though you were already halfway down the hall.

Harry cleared his throat, biting back a smile while you fanned your face in embarrassment.

"I am — so sorry about them," you said, stepping onto the elevator. "They're just... they're assholes," you laughed before tapping the L button repeatedly. "Sorry, it takes a few tries," you mumbled, then sighed happily when the button finally lit up and the doors slid shut.

An awkward silence settled around you as you waited for the elevator to take you to the lobby.

Fucking Mel and Liv, you seethed to yourself while sparing a nervous glance in Harry's direction. He was staring straight ahead at the closed doors, smiling in that way that made your knees weak, and you felt yourself smile back.

"So..." you began, breathing a sigh of relief when the doors opened. He pressed his palm against the side so they wouldn't shut, and looked at you expectantly. You blinked and cursed under your breath when it occurred to you he was waiting for you to go first, then hurried over the threshold and out into the run-down lobby.

"So," he echoed, opening the door for you to step outside. At least that time, you expected it and didn't look like a complete idiot. But then he stopped you before you could take one step down and offered his arm. You thanked him softly, looking shyly down at his crooked elbow, and looped your hand through.

If Liv didn't make it abundantly clear you hadn't been on a date in a while, it sure as hell was obvious to him now.

"You look—"

You stopped short when you heard tapping on the glass above your heads. As Harry was reaching to open the passenger side door, you looked up to find Mel and Liv making obscene gestures towards you and your date. Mel was miming a blowjob while Liv dry humped the air. Your eyes widened in horror and your jaw dropped. Harry turned to you, noticed your expression, but before he could spin around to look up, you grabbed his face, keeping his eyes locked on you.

"If you have any respect for me," you said lowly, "you will not look up right now."

He laughed and stepped back so you could get into his car, silently promising to ignore your roommates.

"Anyway," you laughed when he had finally pulled away from the curb. "You look so nice. I had no idea you cleaned up so well."

Harry grinned as he smoothly changed lanes.

"What, this old thing?" he joked, referring to his perfectly tailored black suit. When he came to a stop at a red light, he looked over at you. His gaze slid down your form, taking in the deep purple dress you had borrowed from Liv that was just a little too tight, but in a way that showed off your curves.

"You look absolutely beautiful," he breathed after what felt like an eternity. The way he said it made it sound like he was truly blown away and it caused a wave of goosebumps to flash across your skin.

"Thank you," you murmured shyly.

The light changed to green and you grew distracted with the car — the smooth as butter leather, the tinted windows, the hundreds of fancy looking controls that reminded you of a space ship. Your gaze kept darting all around, taking everything in.

"What do you do, Harry?" you asked.

You had asked him a few times before, and every time he managed to change the subject or sidestep the question. It didn't even occur to you he kept giving you non-answers until the night before, when you were telling Mel and Liv about your date and the question inevitably came up.

"What? I never told you?"

You shook your head and the corner of his mouth turned up into a half-smile.

"Huh... hold on, we're almost there," he said, pulling up behind a convertible with a logo on the back you didn't recognize, but based on the way people on the sidewalk were gawking, told you it was expensive.

And yet again, Harry managed to distract you. When you looked up and saw the sign for Nova above an impossibly gorgeous looking restaurant, your eyes nearly bugged out of your head.

"Are you serious?" you gasped. Harry looked at you, confused.

"You said—"

"I know what I said," you replied, "I didn't think— h-how did you—"

You couldn't get the words out. It was insane. It had to be one of the hottest restaurants in New York City, and yet Harry was able to get a reservation on a Friday night with barely twenty-four hours notice?

Your door opened and a young man in an impeccably pressed suit stood on the outside, offering you his arm. You gently took it while Harry got out on the other side, sliding a bill to the valet and rounding the front of his car to join you on the sidewalk.

"Ready?"

You nodded, speechless, as you took his arm. He led you up through the huge double doors and to the hostess, giving his name with practiced ease. She tapped something on a computer, smiled at you both, and led you through the restaurant.

It was dark, but in a warm, comfortable way. The guests were not rowdy, the kitchen was silent, and there was a pianist playing classical music in the center of the dining room.

A far cry from your diner.

"Here you are. Enjoy your meal," the hostess said once she reached your table. It was off to the side of the room. Private.

Harry pulled your chair back and looked at you, smiling at the way you were utterly and completely stunned.

"Thank you," you whispered, sitting primly in the chair. In front of you, there was an intimidating set of silverware on top of a white linen tablecloth. A candle was placed between you both, along with a small bouquet of flowers.

Harry sat down across from you, unbuttoning his suit and arching an eyebrow in your direction.

"Is it living up to your expectations, Miss. Thursday?"

You giggled and nodded.

"It's a step up from the diner, that's for sure."

"But the coffee's terrible," he grinned. Then he leaned forward, looking side to side quickly before meeting your eye. "Waitresses aren't as pretty, either."

Your cheeks burned and you laughed again, fanning yourself while looking away. Harry chuckled and leaned back in his chair.

"It's cute when you do that," he said. You dropped your hand and looked back at him.

"Do what?"

"When I pay you a compliment, you fan yourself," he said. "Very 50s movie star. I like that."

"Oh," you replied softly, "I didn't even realize. But... thank you."

"You're welcome." He folded his hands in his lap and crossed one leg over the other under the table.

When your server arrived to get your drink order, Harry sensed your discomfort right away.

"Do you like wine?" he asked, taking charge. You nodded. "Red or white?"

"Red."

"We'll take the bottle of the 1982 Chateau Latour Pauillac," he said, looking up at the waiter.

You stared dumbly at Harry after the server disappeared to get your wine.

"That sounds really expensive."

"Thought you had expensive tastes?" he reminded you with a smirk.

"I was joking," you said, "I drink wine out of a box! I can't tell the difference!"

He laughed and leaned forward again, resting on his elbows when he said, "Can I tell you a secret?"

You nodded and leaned forward, as well.

"I can't tell the difference, either."

You dissolved into a fit of giggles just as the server arrived with your bottle of wine. He took a customary sniff and taste before nodding his approval, then waited until your glasses were filled before addressing you again.

"Are you okay with the tasting menu?" Harry asked.

"Uh, yeah," you said, then looked up at the waiter and nodded. "Sounds great."

After he left, you tried to mimic Harry. You picked up your glass, swirled it a bit, took a sniff and then a tiny sip. He watched you with an amused look as you smacked your lips together, looking deep in thought.

"Hm," you hummed, "I'm getting notes of... cherry... and..."

You glanced over at Harry and tried not to laugh.

"Amber."

He gave you that wide smile that brought out that dimple you loved.

"Amber?" he repeated. "What's amber?"

"I have no idea," you laughed, "I was trying to impress you. Did it work?"

"Oh, yeah. Big time," he said, making you laugh again.

Halfway through the tasting menu, you realized no one had ever made you laugh as much as Harry did. Your cheeks actually hurt from smiling so much, but you couldn't stop. He just had something about him that made you feel so comfortable and at ease, even if you were way out of your element.

"Hey," you said suddenly right as the server was putting dessert in front of you. Harry cocked his head to the side, waiting. "You never told me what you do for work."

He slowly grinned, nodded his thanks to the waiter, then lifted his wine glass to his lips.

"What'd you think of the wine?" he asked.

You shook your head and gave him a fake look of disapproval.

"Nuh uh. No changing the subject," you said. He chuckled and set his glass down.

"Alright. Private equity," he sighed, lacing his fingers together and ignoring his dessert completely. You blinked and frowned.

"What does that mean?" you asked, feeling dumb.

"I buy companies, strip them down, make them better, and sell them for more money," he answered plainly.

You nodded and took a bite of your dessert.

"Sounds... interesting."

"No, it doesn't," he smiled. You laughed, hiding your smile behind your hand.

"No, it really doesn't," you agreed, making him laugh, too. "Do you like it?"

He shrugged and finally lifted a fork to scoop up a piece of tart.

"I'm good at it."

"But do you like it?"

"Sometimes. The people can be draining but when it pays off, it's rewarding."

"Yeah. That's how I feel about the diner, too," you sighed, feigning seriousness when you added, "it's almost like we do the exact same thing, huh?"

You made him laugh and once again, you were amazed by how easy it was to be with him already.

After Harry paid what appeared to be an absolutely ridiculous bill that made you squirm a little in your seat, you were faced with the awkward part of the date that you almost forgot about.

Does he take you home? Does he ask you to come back to his place? Would you go?

"Want to take a walk?" he asked when you both stepped outside of the restaurant, and you breathed a sigh of relief. "Weather's nice. Unless— those shoes—"

He looked down at your heels but you quickly shook your head.

"No, I'm good. A walk sounds nice."

Luckily, he walked slow because you were lying — your shoes were not made for comfort. But you were willing to sacrifice it to spend a little more time with him.

The street was bustling with life, but it wasn't very loud. A few people laughed while sharing cigarettes outside of a bar. A man with earbuds and vibrant, reflective clothes jogged by, minding his own business. An older woman wearing a chic poncho with a full face of makeup walked her small dog across the street.

It was a nicer neighborhood than the one you lived in, that was for certain.

"Thank you again for dinner," you said after the silence stretched on a little too long.

"You're welcome," he replied, then waited a beat or two before adding, "If this isn't your scene or you don't feel comfortable, we don't have to do stuff like this next time. We can do anything you want."

You frowned, confused.

"I liked it," you said slowly, "it's definitely not like anything I've ever experienced before, but I still liked it."

"Yeah?" he asked, stopping suddenly. You did the same and turned to gaze up at him.

"Yeah. Of course."

He looked relieved. His face relaxed a bit and he gave you a small smile. Then you shot him a coy look when you added, "So there will be a next time, then?"

He smiled wider and tipped his chin up so he could glance at the night sky, and that was when you noticed the flush creeping up his neck, just past his collar.

"I sure as hell hope so."

He looked back down, eyes flickering across your face and settling briefly on your lips before finding your eyes again.

"I'd love that," you said, feeling the warmth creeping up your own neck from the way he looked at you.

Then, he brought a hand up to cup your face, his dark brown eyes shimmering in the moonlight.

"Can I kiss you?"

He said it so softly, almost like he was nervous, but you found it hard to believe. How could someone like him be nervous around someone like you?

You felt yourself drift a little closer, that magnetic pull doing you in. His cologne invaded your senses, his warmth curled around you like a blanket, and you nodded, unable to form the word yes.

He was gentle at first, and his lips were unexpectedly soft against yours. He moved slow, savoring every second, massaging your lips tenderly against his own and learning the feel of you for the first time.

You melted into him so easily. The hand on your face gripped you a little harder when your lips parted, and when he deepened the kiss, you could still taste lemon and wine on his tongue.

He stepped forward and you stumbled backwards, arms flying up to wrap around his neck. His free hand found your lower back and he guided you further until you felt the cool press of brick behind you.

Within a minute, the kiss went from gentle to heated. You were firmly stuck between Harry and a brick wall, and all you could do was try to keep up with the intensity behind each swipe of his tongue against yours. His beard pressed into your chin, burning the skin there, making his mark, but you loved it.

You were completely lost in it, in him. The way he smelled, the way he felt, the way he kissed you like he may never get another chance again. Months of weekly visits to the diner that left you wanting all built up to that moment and neither of you could seem to stop.

That is, until a group of people out drinking walked by with a low whistle aimed in your direction and finally, Harry tore himself away.

"Christ," he chuckled, still standing too close and still holding your face. You both panted for air and stared at one another, searching each other's eyes, trying to get a read.

"Maybe I should — I should take you home."

You threaded your fingers through the hair on the back of his head and before you could lose your nerve, said:

"Or you can show me where you live."

He didn't hesitate, which thrilled you, and fifteen minutes later, you found yourself in his car with his hand firmly planted on your thigh as he drove you across town.

"Tribeca?" you asked, peering around.

"Yep."

"Wow," you breathed, looking out the window. Every building you passed by looked more impressive than the last until Harry turned down a street and slowed down.

The doorman jumped to attention, snapping his fingers at a younger man behind a counter, the both of them rushing outside.

"Mr. Castillo," the doorman greeted warmly when Harry stepped out. Harry nodded, murmured good evening, and rounded the car to open your door. From the corner of your eye, you saw the doorman swat the other on the shoulder, who shrugged and made a perplexed face in return.

Your hand slid easily into Harry's and he shut the door behind you.

"My apologies," the doorman said to you, "we didn't realize you would be having a guest this evening," he added, looking at Harry.

"It's alright," he said smoothly while handing the keys and a folded bill to the younger man. "I'll take any chance to prove I'm a gentleman."

They chuckled and you smiled, but mostly for a different reason: it appeared Harry didn't bring guests home often.

The lobby was stunning. Bright crystal chandeliers hung above your heads. The carpet was the softest, thickest carpet you ever stepped foot on. Two gorgeous fireplaces sat on either end of the spacious room and in front of each was a sitting area filled with couches and chairs and tables. Even the elevator was beautiful. Inside the car was mirrored with golden edges. Soft music filtered through the air and just when you noticed the ornate light fixture above you, Harry swiped a card and pressed the P button on the elevator, making your jaw drop.

"Penthouse?" you squeaked.

He gave you a strained smile and glanced down at his watch.

Your brows furrowed for a moment, trying to figure out what was going through his head.

You stepped off the elevator, following Harry into his apartment. Lights were already on and dimmed throughout the space, as if they were on timers. He watched you take a few hesitant steps forward and slowly spin around, taking everything in. Your eyes trailed over the marble kitchen countertops, the plush velvet chairs in the sitting room, the massive television, the floor to ceiling windows overlooking a breathtaking view. But it lacked... something.

Harry remained silent, waiting for you to turn back to him. When you did, you gave him a small smile and said, "Is this all?"

He laughed softly and pushed off the wall to join you.

"What do you think?" he asked, brushing his knuckles up and down your arm.

"Do you like it?"

It was the second time you asked him that question in one evening.

"Yes. I do."

You nodded and took a step forward, closing the small gap between you.

"Then I like it, too."

His mouth found yours once again, kissing you with an urgency that had you wondering if it was more than just lust behind it. Either way, you matched it, tongue swirling in tandem with his and fingers weaving eagerly through his hair as he blindly walked you both through the kitchen, towards where you assumed his bedroom would be.

When you stumbled past the threshold to his room, you giggled from your combined excitement, breaking the kiss. His mouth trailed down to your jaw, lips peppering kisses all the way to your pulse point. You craned your neck to the side and your eyes fluttered closed with a soft moan. His hands searched your dress, looking for the zipper, pulling hastily at the fabric as the backs of your legs bumped up against his bed.

"Careful," you whispered, and his groping stilled. "I borrowed this, it's not mine," you explained with a laugh. Harry pulled away from your neck to catch his breath and gaze down at you. His face looked flushed, eyes a little glassy, and his lips already swollen. Something about seeing a man so put together look so wrecked, all because of you, sent a tingle down your spine.

"I could buy a hundred more to replace it," he reminded you with one lifted eyebrow.

You grinned. "I don't care."

Something flickered across his face. Something soft, not unlike disbelief. Then his hands were on you again, searching for the zipper now that he could see properly.

In a heartbeat, the dress became a purple puddle at your feet and Harry was lowering you carefully onto his bed with his mouth nipping and sucking up and down the column of your throat, pulse coming alive at his touch.

You arched your back and dragged a hand through his hair with a gasp, holding him against your neck while your hips lift, searching for friction and thank god, he gave it to you. He dropped his weight between your legs with a grunt and grinds, soaking up every delicious sound you made underneath him.

His hands found the straps of your bra and he slipped them past your shoulders, kissing every inch of skin as he went. With a speed that made you gasp, Harry reached behind and unclasped your bra, then tossed it to the side to join your dress and shoes.

Without missing a beat, he continued to plant wet kisses all the way down your sternum, between your breasts, and only then did he pause to look up at you with heavy lidded eyes.

"You're so fucking beautiful, do you know that?"

You couldn't answer him. The words got lodged in your throat when his mouth wrapped around your breast, sucking and flicking his tongue over your nipple while you writhed impatiently beneath him.

"Fuck," you moaned as he continued to explore your body, like he was mapping you, memorizing you. "Harry — please..."

You were tugging feebly at his pristine white button down, his suit coat long forgotten somewhere in the journey from the front door to his bedroom.

He reared back at your plea and began to feverishly unbutton the shirt, his gaze all the while raking up and down your nearly naked body like he was drinking you in.

When he shoved the shirt past his shoulders, he made an annoyed noise in the back of his throat when the fabric caught on his wrists, forgetting entirely about his cufflinks.

He dropped each one into the silk sheets and nearly ripped his shirt off, far too eager to get his mouth back where it belonged — on you.

He fell forward onto his arms and continued to kiss you everywhere he could reach while your hands snaked between your bodies, working shakily on his leather belt.

"Jesus — get these off," you huffed, pushing down on the waistband of his slacks. He chuckled against your neck and helped you, kicking the offensive material to the floor and flinging his white undershirt off to join the rapidly growing pile of clothes.

You sucked in a deep breath at the sight of his bare chest for the first time. He took care of himself — that much was clear. But he wasn't overly buff and his stomach was still a little soft. You dragged your palms slowly up and down his tanned skin, admiring every curve and slope until your fingers found the band of his boxers. His stomach tensed when you slid your hand inside and you heard him stifle a groan when your fingers curled around his cock.

"I wanna see it," you murmured in his ear while slowly stroking him up and down. His hips lazily followed your hand, his hot breath skittered across your chest, and even though you were in the middle of this world, surrounded by extravagance you could only ever dream of, the only thing he wanted was you.

He granted your request, pulling down his boxers and freeing his cock, leaving him entirely bare to you. He watched with heavy eyes as you continued to work him with your fist, enjoying the way he twitched in your palm when your lips parted greedily at the sight of him in your hand.

He had enough. He couldn't take it any longer. His fingers curled around the edge of your black panties, stretching them away from your hips, slowly, before looking up at you.

"You borrow these, too?"

You shook your head then yelped when the fabric tore suddenly away from your hips.

"Jesus!" you giggled, but his mouth hastily slanted over yours, silencing you with a deep kiss that had your head swimming and your knees weak.

"Been thinking about this for weeks," he confessed, the words slipping past his lips and pouring into your mouth. One arm dropped down to grip himself at the base and your own hands instantly grabbed onto his broad shoulders, bracing yourself for what was to happen next.

"Me, too," you whispered, but he just shook his head while lining himself up at your entrance.

"No, it's not the same," he murmured back. "You're all I can think about. Driving me fucking crazy every second of the day. Wondered what you were doing—" You felt the blunt tip of him breach your cunt and you inhaled sharply. "Wondered— wondered what it would be like to— to— fuck..."

You gasped in unison when he pressed inside, parting your wet walls with ease, like he was always meant to be there. You whimpered his name and clawed at his shoulders, unable to look away from his face contorting with pleasure, at the feeling of you wrapping around him for the first time.

"To — what?" you exhaled when he was fully seated inside of you. His nose nudged the side of your head and he planted a tender kiss to your temple.

"Wondered what it would be like to wake up next to you every day."

It was so unexpectedly sweet. It had your stomach twisting as you pulled him back down to your mouth, your hand cupping the back of his neck to keep him close.

He rolled his hips forward, slowly, allowing you both a chance to adjust to the tight fit of his cock inside of you. You moaned into his mouth and it just spurred him on. His hand found a home on your hip, thumb pressing into the crease at the top of your thigh, then he did it again — he pulled halfway out just to slowly glide right back in, basking in the way you stretched for him.

"You're perfect," he murmured against your lips. Your eyebrows pinched together, gasping at the heavy weight of him every time he pushed forward. "You're so sweet and beautiful and fucking — perfect."

He groaned the last word, burying himself as deep as possible as if to emphasize his point. You shuddered in his arms, unable to articulate just how good, how full, how complete you felt. All you could manage to do was nip weakly at his chin and rock your hips upward, encouraging him to move faster, to take more — take all of you.

So, he did. He picked up the pace until he found a rhythm that made your mouth hang open and your legs shake. He was hypnotized, watching the way your eyes rolled back and your tits bounced with every harsh thrust. The only thing that kept you firmly in place was his hand pressing down on your hip as he took and took and took.

"God, you're pretty," he moaned. He was overcome with you, completely sunk and drowning. "So fucking pretty like this. I'll never get enough. Never — shit — never get enough."

The huge, sprawling bedroom was filled with the sounds of your skin slapping together punctuated with the soft noises you murmured into one another's skin. It was as if nothing else even existed outside of that space, even though you were very much firmly in the heart of one of the busiest cities in the world. You were both so lost in each other that nothing else mattered.

He groaned when he felt your arousal dripping down his shaft and onto his sheets. You were just so tight and warm and perfect, it was driving him insane and he wished more than anything that he could come inside you. He wanted to see the way he spilled out of your pussy and leaked down your soft thighs. He wanted the image burned into his brain for eternity.

"Harry—" you whined, nails digging into his back. "Oh god, don't stop! Don't— don't stop— ple—"

His mouth captured yours once again, quieting you while also giving you exactly what you wanted. He snapped his hips ruthlessly, knocking the air from your lungs as you wrapped your legs around his waist. You pulsed around his cock and whined so sweetly into his mouth that it had him feeling dizzy and reckless.

He slipped his tongue past your lips when you came, his name garbled in your throat in a way that made him feel like a fucking god. You tore yourself away, too desperate for fresh air, and dropped your head lazily into his pillow as you rode out the rest of your orgasm.

"Harry," you sighed, and his skin prickled at the sound. Your eyelids drooped and your swollen lips parted to drag in more air. You were so spent but still wanted him to feel good, so you tightened your hold around his waist and dragged your fingers through his sweat soaked hair.

"Come for me," you whispered into his ear. You felt his entire body shudder at your command and a jolt of confidence ripped through you.

"I will," he gasped, vision blurring with every wet smack of his hips against yours. "I will, baby. I wi— I'll give you anything you want. I'll — oh, f-fuck..."

Your teeth gently grazed the shell of his ear, just enough to sharpen his senses. His arms wrapped around you, holding you still as he fucked you hard now, chasing his own release.

"Inside me?" you asked. The way your voice sounded so sweet and innocent had his cock instantly swelling.

"N-no, I can't." He couldn't risk it but it still broke his heart to tell you no.

You made a disappointed noise but you didn't push it. You loosened your legs and a few hard thrusts later he was pulling out of you with a grunt. Your legs dropped to the mattress, shaky and loose. You rolled your head and watched in a trance as Harry hovered above you, jerking his cock with clenched teeth until he stilled with a low, deep moan. A moment later, you felt hot spurts of cum painting your stomach and mound. It was filthy, the way you loved being covered in him, how you reveled in the feeling of his sticky release on your skin.

He looked dazed and breathless when he was done, staring down at you with bleary eyes as he gasped for air. But then his gaze brightened when he watched you lift a lazy finger to swipe through his mess, collecting a taste and popping it into your mouth with a moan.

"Jesus," he groaned, and you giggled. He pushed a hand through his hair and took a deep breath before forcing himself to stand.

"I'll get you something," he said, stumbling for a moment. You eyed his soaked, semi-hard cock appreciatively before he turned to his bathroom. He returned with the softest washcloth you'd ever felt in your life. You almost told him not to use it, that you felt bad ruining it, then remembered where you were and who you were with and refrained.

Afterwards, he was incredibly sweet. He pulled you into his arms and turned out the lights, both of you still naked between his silk sheets. His thumb rubbed gentle circles against your arm and his lips occasionally brushed lovingly over your eyes, nose, or forehead.

In return, you pressed lazy kisses against his throat and slotted your leg in between his, unable to stop yourself from smiling.

"I had a really nice time tonight," you finally said, breaking the silence and making him laugh.

"Me, too," he replied, gazing at you in the beam of moonlight that cast across his bed.

You bit your bottom lip shyly and glanced around his bedroom. There hadn't been much of an opportunity to take it all in before, but now in the quiet stillness of night, you realized his room was unusually bare with the exception of his huge bed and one large abstract painting on the wall.

"Did you just move in?"

He shook his head, eyes still locked on you. "No."

He could tell you were curious but didn't want to pry, so he threw you a lifeline.

"I could've hired a decorator but," he glanced around, looking a little forlorn. "I wanted to wait and do it myself. With someone."

"Oh," you breathed softly. Then, sensing his vulnerability, added, "I would have done the same thing. It's part of what makes a house a home, you know?"

His dark eyes flashed to yours and he smiled.

"Yeah, that's right."

You grinned and snuggled a little closer into his chest. His lips found the top of your head and he hummed, content. Your eyes slid closed and you could feel your body relaxing, ready to drift off to sleep when he spoke again.

"I have a confession to make."

Your eyes snapped back open and you looked up expectantly.

"I don't think I can wait til Thursday to see you again," he smirked. Your heart skipped a beat and you pretended to think it over for a second.

"Well... I guess I could make some time on Monday or Tuesday," you mused.

"How about both?"

You swallowed and nodded, hoping you didn't come off too eager when you said, "Yeah, I think that would work."

As he pressed a tender kiss to your lips to seal the deal, you mustered up the courage to ask the question that had been weighing on your mind since the day before.

"Harry?"

"Hm?"

He looked at you like he was completely smitten, like he was ready to give you the world on a silver platter if you asked.

"Since we're making confessions, I have a question that's been bothering me," you said carefully. His smile faltered, but only for a moment.

"What is it?"

"Why didn't you tell me about all of this before? When I asked what you did for work, you always blew me off. I was starting to think you were unemployed but—" you laughed and looked out the partially covered window overlooking Manhattan. "—I was way off."

Harry sighed and rolled onto his back, bringing you with him to lay on his chest.

"I haven't had a very good track record with dating," he said. "And usually when women find out what I do, all they see is the money, the lifestyle, the parties, but..." he trailed off for a moment, fingers playing idly with the ends of your hair. "I just wanted someone to want me for me."

You tilted your chin up, giving him a sorrowful look as you cupped his cheek, forcing him to look at you.

"I want you for you," you told him firmly. He smiled, took your hand from his face, and turned it over to kiss your palm.

"I know."

It's when he rounded the corner and came face to face with a rounded and full backside that he realized that this was not his usual housekeeper.

You were there on your knees in the kitchen, scrubbing away burnt on spills from inside the oven, leaning forward in a way that pushed your ass out and made your apron ride up, baring a tantalizing sliver of lace above your waistband.

It was a long moment before Harry decided that perhaps he wasn't being very gentlemanly, deciding clearing his throat was the best way to get your attention.

When you turned your head and met his gaze, Harry forgot how to breathe, for a man that loved to collect art, he'd seen a lot of beautiful pieces in his time, none quite as striking as you though.

You'd told him a little bit about yourself, going about the rest of your jobs in the kitchen as he watched on, tanned forearms resting on the counter, oaky gaze following you from place to place, enthralled by you in every way possible.

The agency had sent you as a replacement after Edith had a fall at home and Harry made a mental note to pay her a visit on his next day off to take her some flowers along with some treats for her grandkids.

From that day forward you became a permanent fixture in Harry's day to day routine, sometimes greeting you in the morning as he was on the way out, other times catching you at the end of the day when you'd decided to stick around to deep clean parts of the apartment that already looked spotless, relishing in the times where he'd get to work from his home office and leave the door open just so he can hear you hum or sing, your voice echoing through the halls of his otherwise quiet home, bringing him comfort.

He liked you, not for the fact that you were there or that it was a matter of proximity, but that you were real with him, which in his world was a rarity. People who wanted his money would always be sucking up to him, the sycophants he had to deal with in the business world, women throwing themselves at him in the dating world.

You wanted nothing from him, you challenged him and poked fun at him, for having too many decorative Le Cruset pots, but not one single saucepan on his shelf? For his decor being too clinical and having 'too much of a serial killer vibe going on', the latter stuck with him for an entire week before he caved and found a number for an interior designer to inject a little life and colour into his home.

The hold you had on him was like nothing he'd ever experienced before, the closest he'd come was with Lucy, but even then that was something he was trying to force, this felt natural? You'd slotted yourself into his life and become this constant within no time, someone that he needed to see or think about in order for his day to run smoothly. He dreaded the weekends, when you weren't there, but your presence haunted the halls, that one song you'd hum mindlessly while you were working would stick in his mind so much that he'd find himself listening to it on repeat.

Harry knew he should be careful, he was paying your wages and he didn't want to cross any lines in terms of that, but on the other hand, being around you was starting to become unbearable. Months of sheer torture, wanting so badly to ask you to dinner, but being scared of the possibility that you'd reject him.

If only he knew…

When you'd gotten the call from the agency that they needed you to fill in for one of their housekeepers who's client lived in Tribeca, you had your reservations. Expecting some rich asshole who'd make demands you couldn't possibly fulfil — the silverware wouldn't never be polished enough for their liking, you folded the fitted sheets wrong, they wanted to be able to see themselves in the reflection of their fucking toilet seat. Perhaps your past clients had traumatized you just a tad?

That's not what you got though, much to your surprise.

Harry Castillo, achingly handsome and charming, unmarried and best of all, no kids; the worst part about working for rich clients was always the kids, picking up after entitled little brats who didn't have the phrase 'thank you' in their vocabulary.

You craved the days you'd see him, you'd take the earlier train just to make sure you get there in time to see him before he left for work, that dimpled smile he'd give you would play on repeat in your mind all day long as you worked.

You'd find reasons to stay late if you didn't get the chance to see him in the morning, the already perfectly clean grout in the bathroom was no longer clean enough for your liking.

The days he'd work from home were your favourite though, stealing subtle glances at him through the open doorway as you walked by — finding reasons to keep walking past. It's not like you wanted him to notice you, you knew the boundaries surrounding him being your boss, and it wasn't like he'd given any indication that he was interested in you anyway? Okay maybe he didn't necessarily have to go out of his way to start conversations with you or bring you a fresh cup of tea while you were working, that was just him being nice, right?

It was just a crush, a stupid little proximity crush. Soon enough Edith would be back on her feet and you wouldn't see Harry again, this would pass. It has to pass.

It didn't though, you were three months into your placement with him and it was becoming clear very quickly that this wasn't just a fleeting fancy, you wanted him and there was overwhelming evidence that made you believe that he wanted you too.

You tease him about his Patrick-Bateman-esque decor choices? A week later he's looking at paint samples and speaking with interior designers about how to give his penthouse some personality.

You tell him he looks good one morning while he's wearing a navy blue suit and suddenly he's wearing more of that colour. It really did compliment his skin tone and eyes.

Harry tells you about his life growing up, that while he was born into wealth, his mothers family was the one to build it in the first place, coming from Chile in the early 1900's and starting up a successful business that the generations following inherited, the pride in his voice spoke volumes. A real moment from a man that often had to pretend to be someone he wasn't while in stuffy boardrooms, filled with white male privilege.

He asked you about your own life, and you told him everything in return, sparing no detail about your own family and how you got here, finding housekeeping was the most rewarding job you'd ever had over all the other ones that came before.

Those big brown eyes would sparkle as he listened to you, that was something you noticed, the way that you had his undivided attention each time you'd talk. Harry had a way of making you feel like you were the most important person in the world, and you weren't sure if that was something that came with natural practice as a man in finance or if this was the sign that you were looking for that he was interested in you.

You needed this placement to be over and soon, for a multitude or reasons, primarily though, you knew that if you spent any longer here, you'd do something stupid like ask him out.

Or fuck him, there was no in between.

Having to fold and put away his clean clothes was the worst part, his scent would linger on the fabric no matter how well they'd been laundered. That smoky and opulent signature scent that he wore, the one that screamed luxury, the one that would linger in the halls long after he'd left for the day, it would stick to your skin when you'd get home, it would permeate your sheets like he'd ever been between them. You'd find yourself getting lost in that fantasy, imagining his him between your legs instead of the little battery operated toy that's attached to your clit.

You dabble with the fantasies at work too, making his bed, changing out the silk sheets only to wonder if he's had a woman in them recently. You hadn't seen any evidence of that? No hair ties left behind, no rogue lipstick marks on the collar of his shirt, no condom wrappers in waste basket of his en suite. It was truly hard to believe that a man as good looking a Harry didn't have women tripping over themselves trying to bed him, or maybe he did and he just wasn't interested?

You were interested, and fully aware that you shouldn't be.

Still, your imagination would run wild when it came to putting away his underwear, soft cotton boxers that probably cost more than an hours wage for you. You run your fingers along the waistband every now and then, allowing yourself to dip them down just past the elastic, the same way you'd tug them down his hips.

Things were getting out of hand.

It's late on a Friday afternoon when Harry gets the call, Edith finally had the all clear from her doctor and can come back to work for him on Monday.

He should be thrilled, and he is for the fact that Edith is better, but even as he celebrates with her over the phone to her good health, in the back of Harry's mind is you. The idea of never seeing you again, never having your humming filling his space or your smile brightening his day; it makes his chest ache.

Now or never.

Harry knows you're staying late tonight, you'd told him you'd be there shampooing his rugs. A plan is devised, set in motion the second Harry is able to leave the office, directing his driver to take him to the nearest florist before going home.

You're in the kitchen when you hear Harry calling your name, an almost urgent edge in his voice that has you swiftly finishing up washing your hands and drying them on the nearest dishcloth, rushing to meet him and almost colliding with him as he enters the kitchen, carrying the biggest bouquet of flowers you've ever seen.

"Jesus, Harry, what's going on? Who died?" You chuckle, noting the serious look on his face and the way his lips part and close as if he's struggling to form words.

"I uh… these are for you." He extends the bouquet in a less than suave fashion, murmuring the name of the type he got for you. You really have messed up his ability to play it cool, he's never had this problem before. "They're you're favourite, right? I'm sorry they're not arranged a little better, I was on a tight schedule and paid the florist double to get the bouquet made so I'd have time to see you before you leave."

His nervous rambling is cute, you think, this is a side of him you've never seen before, the confident financier that you've heard on business calls sternly, but respectfully putting people on their places; now rendered a babbling mess, looking like he's been rushing to get home if the rosiness on his cheeks and the way his hair is just a smidgen out of place.

"For me? Why? Am I going somewhere?" You take the bouquet, amazed that he remembered your favourite type after one passing comment in a conversation that happened soon after you started, you're unable to stop yourself from leaning down to smell them, feeling his eyes on you as you inhale deeply.

When he doesn't answer though, you look back up at him, seeing that expression on his face that tells you he's about to deliver some kind of bad news, a sad smile and accompanying puppy dog eyes that make you want to melt there and then.

"I got a call today. From Edith. She's fully healed and ready to come back to work on Monday so…"

"Oh*." Your shoulders sag, feeling the grief wash over you like a harsh tidal wave, this was it, you weren't going to see him again. "Oh, well… that's great! Right? You must have missed her." Even as you force yourself to muster up a false smile, a cheerfulness in your tone that wasn't real, your mind screams at you that this is your chance, that you can't leave things like this with him.

"I… well, it is…"

"… but?" There was more, there had to be more.

A gentle sigh from him, stepping closer into your space, that cologne that follows you everywhere envelopes your senses in the most dizzying way possible. "But" Harry starts, pensively taking the bouquet from your hands to set it down on the counter beside you, replacing it with his hand encircling your wrist instead, this thumb lightly brushing over the skin there. "But… I don't think I can possibly go without seeing you ever again, I was so scared that you would have already left for the day, that I'd get home and you wouldn't be here. Because I need to do something first and if you still want to walk out that door and leave things here, then I'll respect that."

His voice, the deep gravely whisper that's filled with so much want as he's leaning in closer into your space, suffocating your thoughts until it's just him in there, Harry Castillo and the overwhelming scent he wears, the plush lips that await your own and the eyes that scream 'stay'. He waits, he doesn't grab you and kiss you senseless like you're in some cheesy rom-com, the moment is on pause as you breathe each other in and right there and then he realizes that scent that greeted him on the first day was you, the figs and mandarin, it was your perfume that hovered in his penthouse, your scent that made him feel less alone long after you'd gone home for the day.

Neither of you pull away, neither of you want to. You don't work for Harry any more, there's nothing holding you back.

So you don't.

Your urges take over, hands flying into his hair and messing up what was left of those perfectly styled curls, lips clashing together, leaving no room for interpretation on your intentions after today.

He said he needed to do something, but you needed to do it more, you needed to show him that you wanted this just as much as he did.

His hands find your hips, groaning into your mouth when your fingers tangle and tease his curls, tugging on them gently, just enough to explore and see what he likes. You're driving each other crazy already, he's pulling you closer against him until your chests are pressed so tightly together that your thundering heartbeats sync up.

You need to breathe, you're both panting, grabbing at each other as he starts to guide you backwards to the counter.

It's when your lower back hits the wooden lip that you reluctantly pull back, shuddering breaths mixing, fingers pressing into your hips, holding you there as if he were afraid to let you go. "You're so perfect, I'm crazy about you — if you couldn't tell" Harry's words accompanied with his shaky laughter makes something warm bloom in your chest, you want to stay in this moment forever if you could.

"You hid it very well up until this point, so props to you for that" Your own breathy giggle does things to him that he didn't think could be possible, leaving him with an electric feeling coursing through his body, making him feel more alive than he has in a long time. "And for the record, I'm not perfect. I snore, or so I'm told. I can't bake for shit, unless you like the idea of breaking your tooth on a cookie?"

His eyes light up with mirth, palms stroking up and down your lower back, the heat of his hands seeping through your polo shirt. "Is that the worst you've got? Snoring and inedible cookies?"

"Well no, there's a plethora of other things!"

"Oh yeah? Like what?" He's leaning in again, voice dropping to that maddening octave once more.

"Like… I rob banks on weekends and deal pot to kids—"

Harry cuts off your quip, kissing you again and curling his arms beneath your thighs to lift you up and onto the counter, nudging your legs apart with his hips to stand between them, you laugh against his lips and he grins against your own, his hands now coming up to slip under your shirt, sliding up your back, making you sigh as goosebumps break out across your body from the contact.

The laughter quickly simmers down within minutes, burning away into something hotter and more profound. Grabbing at each other needily, arching into him as if you can't get close enough to him. Harry takes that as his cue to press himself closer to you, his hips flush against your core, heat radiating from between your legs that he can feel through the front of his suit pants. You fumble for the buttons on his jacket blindly, unwilling to tear your lips away from his own for one moment, you'd rip it open if you weren't concerned about the designer price tag. Harry wouldn't care if you asked him though, he'd let you burn all his clothes if it meant getting to have you like this.

Once his jacket falls open, Harry pulls his lips from your own, shrugging the offending item of clothing off his broad shoulders and letting it drop to the kitchen floor before descending on you once more, trailing his mouth over your jaw, nudging your chin with his aquiline nose, urging you to tip your head back so he can plaster your neck with kisses and teasing nibbles as he makes his way down the hollow of your throat, basking in the little gasps he's able to pull from you.

"You know, I was only planning on kissing you and asking you out on a date. My night is going much better than I had planned, I have to say" The fucker grins against your neck, sliding his hands down now to find the button on your pants.

"For the record. I'd have said no." You tease, lifting your hips for him to drag them down your thighs, pulling off your shoes with them and leaving them in a heap with his discarded jacket.

He throws you a faux pout, tugging on the hem of your shirt and you lift your arms, allowing him to remove it, careful not to mess up your hair as it comes off and joins the growing pile at his feet. "You'd be missing out, I'm a damn good cook you know?"

"Liar." His paper waste basket is often filled with receipts from dining out and up until a month ago his crockery was decorative.

Still, that charming grin of his has you almost wanting to believe him, you see a glimpse of how he must move when entertaining clients, without the undressing of course.

Your eyes are glued to him, watching him like a hawk as he casually unbuttons his cuffs, rolling up the sleeves of his white dress shirt to the elbow, freckled forearms on display that you'd daydreamed about having wrapped around your neck, keeping you in a choke hold as his hips drive up into you from behind.

Harry sees you watching, grin forming into a knowing smirk and he leans in, caging you in with a hand either side of you.

"Alright, you caught me. Maybe I don't cook, and when I do? Well, you've seen the evidence burnt to the bottom of the oven, but I am rather hungry right now." The slow sweeping look down your body, accompanied by the heat in his words has you clenching around nothing. It's all the warning he gives you before he's on you again, lips crashing and desperate, grinding his hips deep and shamelessly against your own.

Before long he's left your mouth in favour of your neck once more, leaving a trail of kisses down your throat and the scratch of his beard stubble in its wake. "Harry" You gasp, fingers in his hair once more, hips canting into his own, urging him, coaxing him to give you more.

"Fuck, that's such a beautiful sound." He bites at your neck before trailing his lips lower, tracing the curve of your collarbone before dipping down to the swell of your breast. "Do it again, I want to hear you."

He tugs down the lacy cups of your bra, lips latching to your dusky nipple, eliciting a whine from you that has his cock twitching beneath his pants, hard and present against your clothed sex. Harry takes his time, switching from one breast to the other while he grinds against you, taking pleasure in all the sweet sounds he can pull from your lips as he works you into a frenzy. You're drenched already, panties clinging to your lips, clit engorged and throbbing from the delectable friction. It's too much, and somehow not enough all at once.

You're grasping at his shirt as his lips descend, between the valley of your breasts, your sternum, your soft stomach. Big hands tug you closer to the edge of the counter as he kneels for you, mouthing your inner thigh, marvelling at every dimple and divot that marks your skin, worshipping the stretchmarks with his tongue first before he even thinks about putting his mouth where you need him most. He's thought about this too much to rush this.

Lonely nights spent in bed on his own, at first he'd told himself he was too tired to accept the flirtatious offers of dinner dates from the women he met on the daily, that he'd rather enjoy his own company at dinner than have to endure false giggles at his jokes and fluttered eyelashes. He believed his own lies for a while too. That was until he found himself in bed one night, fucking his own fist to the vision of your face. It spiralled from there. How often he thought about you and craved you. He'd be in some tedious meeting and his mind would wander, everyone in the room would disappear in front of his eyes and it would just be you and him. You'd be spread out on the conference table, thighs clamping either side of his head, beautiful and sinful sobs of ecstasy filling the space as you soak his suit.

Yes, Harry has had plenty of time to think about this.

His beard scraping against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh makes you gasp and shiver, a coarse and ticklish sensation as he goes higher up your thigh. "Would you judge me… if I said I've been thinking about doing this to you? A lot actually." Harry murmurs between kisses and teasing flicks of his tongue, hot breath coasting over the sticky lace between your legs.

You resist the urge to push his face into you, to give in to the aching need that's burning you from the inside, your entire body feeling like you could combust any moment.

"Would you judge me if I said I got a rose toy solely for the purpose of pretending it was you?"

Something in your breathy admission makes him snap, he feels himself leaking in the ever-growing restriction of his boxers. Knowing that you wanted him as much as he wanted you this whole time is enough for him to let go of the fantasy and make it a reality instead.

He mouths at your cunt over the lace, further saturating it with his spit. He can taste you through the gaps in the lace, you're heady and sweet, just the right amount of tangy too. His knees are already protesting, he'll feel this in the morning no doubt; but right now he doesn't care. Harry just wants to make you feel good.

You're bucking and biting back those quiet moans that threaten to come out, he's barely touched you and you're already going insane. He holds your hips in place, bare forearms under your thighs to have you splayed open for him, nose nudging at your clit when he pushes his face deeper between your folds. He's got you so worked up that you're sure you could come from the teasing alone, but that's not how Harry wants you.

He releases one of your thighs only to sling it over his shoulder before hooking your panties aside to finally bare your glistening pussy to him. "Fucking beautiful. So fucking beautiful." He murmurs lowly, mesmerized by every inch of you, teasing long forgotten now as he delves in face first, starting off with slow drags of his tongue up and down your throbbing pearl.

You brace one palm on the counter behind you, the other hand buried in his curls, gripping and tugging at them as your hips arch into his mouth, a string of breathy sighs and gasps falling from you. "Harry. Fuck. I need more. I need more."

Harry's a natural born people pleaser above all else, and you're the only person that matters to him right now. You ask for more? He'll give you everything.

Dark eyes find your own, looking up at you from the apex of your thighs, pure heat and want in his gaze as he takes your clit between his lips and sucks, not too hard, just the right amount of pressure that has you keening for him. Blunt nails dig into the meat of your thighs as he pulls you ever closer, alternating from lapping at your clit and pulling it between his lips to drag the most wonderful noises out of you, to learn what you like the most and to store that away in his mind for future reference.

You're so worked up. So close. Airy moans getting louder as he pushes you closer to the edge, metaphorically and physically, Harry has his face buried so deep in your cunt that your ass isn't even on the counter top anymore, your lower half held up by his shoulders alone. Your grip finds the edge of the counter, holding on while you can barely hold yourself together.

Harry wants this to last for you, he would stay buried between your legs if you'd let him, devouring you like this for hours, but he hears all the cues that tell him you're about to lose yourself and he's unable to stop himself from chasing that release, wanting to drink you down until you're writhing and overstimulated on his tongue.

So he does just that.

His groans vibrate against your clit like a plea, holding you ever tighter as you begin to crest.

Fireworks burst behind your eyelids and everything slows, you call out his name with a choked moan as it hits you full force. His tongue plunging into your fluttering cavern, swirling and collecting your juices like the sweetest nectar he's ever tasted. Harry just holds you there, keeps you floating in the balance of orgasm and post release bliss, only pulling his lips away momentarily to mutter words of praise against your sensitive clit, dragging out your pleasure, licking you through the aftershocks until your body tells him to go again.

It doesn't take long, not now that Harry knows how to pull your strings like a master puppeteer. Pulling two more shattering orgasms from you before you're jerking your hips away and tugging on the ends of his hair, breathlessly giggling as he pouts up at you.

"I wasn't finished." He laments, kissing his way back up your body slowly, taking extra care to lavish attention on your heaving breasts, kneading at one in his palm while he mouths over the curve of the over, rising back up onto his feet until his lips find your own once more, guiding you to sit back down on the counter, the cool wood kissing your sweaty and slick thighs.

Your entire body feels relaxed from head to toe, your arms lazily draped around Harry's neck as you savour the taste of yourself on his tongue, he rolls his hips into you, streaking the front of his dark slacks with your arousal, still so slick and needy even after he pulled such pleasure from you.

"Do you want this? Is this what you need?" The combination of groan against your mouth and the dizzying way his clothed bulge catches your clit has you nodding eagerly, wanting nothing more than to have him sheathed inside you right this second. "I can go grab a condom." He mumbles, reluctant to leave your lips or your body entirely, but he would if you asked him to.

"Don't. It's safe." Three small words is all he needed to hear, you wanted to feel him without barriers between the two of you, every vein and ridge. You need it.

His mouth is back on you again, the metallic clink of his belt hitting the floor followed by some light jostling as he unzips his pants and pulls his length free, just enough to give you what you need from him. The thought of him fucking you in the very suit (sans jacket) he was wearing to the office hours prior drives you insane, the idea that he was delivering orders to his employees and brokering substantial finance deals in it and now? Now he's been on his knees for you, smeared the pristine black pants with your essence, and you're bare for him, ridding yourself of your bra completely as he drags the tip of his cock through your folds, making both of you moan in unison.

He pulls back from the kiss just enough to watch as he coats himself with your slick, you watch too, lips parted. He's thick, uncut, wispy curls peaking out at the base with a delicious trail of salt and pepper hairs that drift up and beneath his dress shirt, once perfectly tucked into his pants, now askew and loose.

As Harry grips his cock with one hand, steadying himself on your hip with the other, he lines himself up, watching the expression on your face morph with carnal delight as he pushes his hips forward, bulbous head breeching your tight hole, stilling himself to just take in the way your half lidded gaze meets his own. In truth, he needs this moment, he was half way to creaming in his pants just from eating you out as it is, the last thing he wants to do is come too soon before he's even had a chance to fully sink into your heat.

And when you guide his lips back to your own with your hand, that's when he shifts, shallowly thrusting all the way to the hilt until you're wrapped around him in a silken grip that has him making a strangled noise into your mouth. "You feel so fucking good baby. So tight and warm."

You trail your kisses down from his lips to his stubbled jaw, rocking your hips ever so slightly in an attempt to encourage him to move, he's too lost in the feeling of you though, head dropping to your shoulder. "I… I need a minute. If I don't I'm going to come before we've even got started."

A little breathy huff leaves you, planting a soft kiss to the damp curls on top of his head. "Do you think I care about that? I'd take that as a compliment actually, plus it's not like you haven't already made me come several times tonight."

Harry's airy laugh fans across your skin, lifting his head to meet your eyes, wearing a boysish half grin. "You might not mind, but my ego does. I'm nearing 50 and don't quite have the stamina I used to. A lot of women wouldn't be too pleased if I left them wanting, you know?"

"And are any of those women here right now?"

Your retort has you both grinning madly at each other, his hands coming up to cup your face in them as he captures your lips once more, starting slow before gradually deepening into something full of heat and hunger. He feels you clench around him once in response. "Move Harry." You plead between kisses, needing everything he's willing to give you.

So he does. Pulling his hips back until only the tip of him remains inside you before snapping his hips flush to your own again, setting a slow and deep rhythm that stokes the embers inside the both of you gradually. Your nails leave little half crescents in his skin as you dig them into his forearm, free hand grabbing at handfuls of his hair as you desperately try to keep him close, like you're trying to mesh yourself with him, giving into the intimacy you've both been so urgently craving.

Each slow and steady stroke drives you both further into madness, with Harry ripping his mouth away from you only to duck his head down and pull your nipple between his lips as he picks up the pace.

The cutlery you'd polished and laid out flat to dry hours ago clinks and clatters further down the counter as he rams into you, heavy exerting breaths against your breast, hoisting your legs higher up his waist to change the angle into something devastating and overwhelming.

You lay back against the counter top, letting him use the surface as leverage for his movements, your lower back arched as he pulls off your nipple with a wet pop, staring down at you with, pupils blown as he takes in the sight of you laid out like this for him, all fucked out and pliant for him, putting all of his energy into pounding into you just how you need it.

He pulls you into him by your hips, spearing you on his cock over and over again until he can feel you getting wetter, dripping down his shaft and onto his pants, slick slaps of skin on skin mingle with your whines and moans, like music to his ears; only making his own groans louder and unabashed.

Beneath him, you babble his name repeatedly like a prayer, spurring him to hold on just a little bit longer even when he starts to feel that familiar tingle at the base of his spine, his release building, cock leaking and twitching inside you as it rapidly nears.

Harry lifts his hand off one of your hips to slip it between your bodies, effortlessly finding your sensitive and overlooked clit, the pad of his thumb circling it in a rhythm a little slower than the one he fucks you with, his hand splayed out on your lower stomach to feel himself deep inside you, pushing down with his palm slightly, wondering what kind of mess he can get you to make when you come for him this time.

"Come on sweetheart, I've got you. Let me make you feel good, I promise I'll make you feel so fucking good." He coos, voice half an octave lower than before.

It doesn't take long for him make good on that promise, watching you grab at your own tit as you arch and writhe for him, coming harder than the last few times as he continues to massage your clit in that torturous way until he gets what he wants from you, an unbridled cry of pure ecstasy as you coat him with a warm spray, dousing his cock and his slacks. Harry follows you over the edge with a strangled shout, managing three more sloppy thrusts before he's spilling deep inside you, filling you until his spend begins to leak where your bodies join, pooling onto the expensive worktop beneath.

You open your eyes just in time to see it wash over him, a usually well put together man now diminished to any other person who's just indulged in pure carnal rapture, sweat slicked curls sticking to his forehead and handsome features pinched as he let's go, like a cork popping from a champagne bottle. Satisfied and spent.

When he comes to his gaze finds your own again, seeing you and the beautiful, blissful smile of yours that makes his heart do a flip in his chest.

"Stamina's not that bad, for a rich old man like you." He loves that even after he's just made you squirt all over him that you'll still find a moment to tease and get your digs in, you drive him insane, in the best possible way.

Careful not to slip out of you as his cock softens, wanting to stay like this a little longer, Harry lowers himself, letting go of your hips to plant his palms either side of your torso, eyes roaming over your dampened and glowing skin. "If you stay with me tonight, maybe we can test the boundaries of that hm?" He murmurs, still breathless.

You reach up to grab him by his tie, playfully yanking him down for another searing kiss, feeling him grin against you as he accepts your actions as your answer.

You'd never had a morning quite like this one, waking up to the stunning view from Harry's apartment, the bustling sounds of the city streets sounding far away as you rouse from your slumber with the man who'd spent the better part of the night before spoiling you with every part of his body that could possibly draw pleasure from you. Having you in the shower soon after the events of what happened in the kitchen, ordering takeout of your choosing only to have you again on the couch while waiting for food to arrive, and then making slow and sweet love to you one more time before you both fell asleep in a heap, tangled up in each other.

He takes you on your side when he awakes, lazily fucking you before the weekend can begin, planning all the places he's going to take you out to even while he's buried in your heat.

To you, the reader: thank you so much for getting this far! This is the first real smut I've written in months and I cannot tell you what my internet search history looks right now between looking up synonyms and finding guides on writing smut to follow 💀

If you enjoyed this fic, please consider leaving a comment or reblogging in support, it would mean the world to me. 💜

It had started out with a few dates. A man you’d been matched with through a matchmaking agency, Adore and a desperate desire to get back into the dating world. You were at first skeptical about the whole thing, the idea of putting your dating life in someone else’s hands making you nervous. But Harry Castillo was a sweet man- charming, funny, and not to mention wealthy.

Over the course of all these dates, you slowly realized you didn’t know if pursuing a serious relationship was a good idea. He was great and all but often you felt a sort of disconnect between his life and yours. It felt like he was from a completely different world than you sometimes. A world of silver spoons, pricy menus, and specialty tailored clothes. You felt out of your element most of the time, noticing how Harry would simply glance over the menu on your dates without taking into account the price of anything.

You hated to admit it but it made you feel insecure. Sitting there in your cheap dress you found at the mall, silently stressing about if you were going to make rent that month. The dates were great but sometimes they just felt wrong. You decided that on your next date you would gently break the news to him and end your relationship.

It was a late Saturday night when you arrived at Harry’s penthouse. Harry had invited you over for some dinner and drinks. Your stomach twisted into knots as you exited the elevator, anxiety towards how Harry would take the news shuttering through your whole system. You wore a simple dress, icy blue with dainty lace across the top and bottom along with a pair of silver heels. You always felt a little more confident whenever you dressed up. Though tonight, despite your hair and make up being just right, nothing could soothe the nervousness in your chest.

When you reached his door you knocked gently before waiting for him to answer. After a moment the door creaked open and there stood Harry, a black pair of slacks dressing his legs along with a fitted button up black shirt that worked to make his shoulders seem broader. He smiled upon seeing you and stepped back so you could enter.

“You look beautiful.” He said gently. You smiled and took his invitation to enter, feeling his eyes lingering on you as you walked past. He shut the door behind you and with a smooth motion pulled you into a gentle kiss which made your heart soar.

That excitement soon shifted into something darker. A little tinge of guilt pulled at your chest. Part of you didn’t want to break things off- but you knew at the end of the day you and Harry just didn’t fit.

Harry’s hand rested on your waist as he pulled back, his dark eyes flicking over your features. You hoped your guilt wasn’t as apparent as it felt.

Harry gave you a soft smile, the type of smile that was so warm and gentle that your brain seemed to malfunction for a second. He cleared his throat, his eyes sliding from your face to down the hall. “I have a great meal prepared. I hope you like it.”

He led you down the hall, your heels clicking on marble floors. The soft embrace of jazz met your ears as you entered the dining room, making your guilt intensify by the second. The lights were dim, the food was set, the view from the penthouse was glittering with the sight of New York City, yet all you could feel was the pit of dread in the bottom of your stomach. It was obvious Harry had put thought into this dinner and you hated to be the one to have to sour the mood.

Harry hadn’t taken notice of your state yet, striding over to the table and picking up a glass and turning his head towards you with a flash of a smile. “Wine?” He spoke with all the charm a host ought to have, considerate and anxious to please.

You stood there. You didn’t know when you’d stopped walking, but there you were- standing awkwardly away from the table, wringing your hands in a display of obvious nervous energy.

Harry’s brows furrowed and he quickly set down the glass back onto the table and approached you cautiously. “Are you okay?” He asked, you could hear the worry in his voice which didn’t do much to soothe your anxieties.

He took another step forward to rest a hand on your shoulder but when you leaned out of his grasp his hands dropped to his sides in defeat.

“Harry I- I don’t know if I can do this.” You whispered.

“Do what?” He asked.

“This. Us. This relationship.” You admitted. It felt good getting the words out but you hated the look on Harry’s face when you said them.

He looked confused, his brows still pinched and his lips parted. He ran a hand through his hair briefly, looking towards the ground before meeting your gaze again. “May I ask why? I thought we were doing good.”

You took a deep breath before speaking, keeping your voice as steady as possible. “We are- well, were. Harry you’re such a great man and you’ve been so good to me.” You looked away from him and swallowed. “But we need to be realistic. You don’t belong with someone like me.”

Harry paused, almost as if he was trying to figure out if he heard you right. “I don’t… belong with someone like you? What does that even mean.” His voice was low and you noticed his jaw had gotten tense. “Explain it to me.”

“Look around you Harry! This is all so foreign to me!” You explained, motioning a frantic hand around. “I’m not like you- I don’t have nice things! I don’t wear nice clothes- I can’t even fucking pay my rent half of the time!”

Harry shook his head and took a step forward. “Do you think I care about that? How does that change us?”

You fidgeted with the rings on your fingers to distract yourself from the sudden urge to cry. “I’m just trying to do what’s best-“

Harry scoffed in disbelief. “How is this best? What about how I feel?”

“I just wanted to bite the bullet and end things myself instead of you doing it down the road when I’m in too deep. When you realize I’m not enough for you.” You blurted out. The world around you started to blur as tears began to gather in the corners of your eyes. You blinked, wiping a stray tear quickly with the back of a hand. Harry had gone still. You couldn’t decipher what it was he was feeling at the moment, his face just looked blank.

After a moment he ran a hand across his jaw, closing his eyes before opening them again. You stood there in anxious silence, awaiting his response.

“Darling… is that what you think would happen?” He asked gently. The softness of his voice took you by surprise. You’d been expecting coldness, maybe irritation- but not this.

“I just- I don’t know.” You stuttered, another tear slipping down your cheek. Harry stepped forward, drawing close to you and reaching up a hand to gently swipe the tear from your cheek.

“I need you to listen to me. Can you do that?” He murmured, his eyes dancing across your splotched and pitiful features. You nodded quietly, feeling pathetic all of a sudden for getting so worked up.

He was thoughtful for a moment before finally speaking. “Sweetheart, if I had doubts about you I wouldn’t be putting my whole heart into this relationship. You are perfect. There’s no such thing as not good enough. Everytime I look at you I see what matters. A woman who loves me, who I love- who I would do anything for, that I want to take care of.” His thumb ran gentle circles across your cheek. “I don’t care about the things you own- or the money you have. I just care about you.”

He took in a shaky breath, and you felt his hand tense upon your face. “Now if this is just an excuse you’ve come up with because you don’t feel the same…”

You immediately shook your head, covering his hand with yours and gazing up at him. “No- no. Not at all. I.. I love you Harry. More than anything. I just…”

“You didn’t want to get hurt.” He whispered.

You closed your eyes and nodded, leaning into his touch. You felt another tear fall but instead of wiping it, Harry leaned in and gently kissed it away, sending a shutter through your system. Harry watched as your eyes fluttered open to meet his, full of self doubt and pain.

“I would never hurt you.” He murmured. “Never. I’m with you, until you no longer wish to have me. I’m not going anywhere.” His reassurances caused you to feel ten pounds lighter, the honesty of his words diminishing the feelings of inferiority that had previously overtaken you.

Slowly, you leaned in, capturing his lips with a deep kiss. He tasted salty from your tears but still so entirely and wonderfully like him. Harry slid a hand into your hair, cradling the back of your head as you kissed him. You surrendered all your feelings of inadequacy and focused on feeling him. His hands skimmed up your body, holding you tightly against him almost like he was scared of you drifting away. You felt his fingers dig into your waist, bunching up the slippery fabric of your dress, a soft moan escaping Harry’s mouth at the feeling of you. He pulled back slightly, his nose brushing your cheek and his breath escaping him in short pants.

“Can I show you exactly how much I fucking love you?” He asked in a gruff tone that immediately caused heat to pool in your lower belly.

“Yes” You whispered- hands gripping the fabric of his dress shirt, aching for it to come off. He immediately captured your lips in another heated kiss. You thought the kisses he was giving you before were amazing, but this kiss was unbelievable. It was hot and worshiping- like he had waited years to kiss you like this. You let out a gasped sound into his mouth and carefully Harry began to lead you down the hallway, kissing and feeling your body as you went.

You made it to the bedroom and with a swift motion Harry closed the door with his foot. You soon felt the back of your knees hit plush bedding and smiled against his mouth. Harry’s hands slid up your back and touched the zipper at your spine.

“May I?” He whispered. What a gentleman. You nodded, biting your lip with your teeth nervously as he began to slide it down.

You’d never actually had sex with Harry yet. Of course the two of you had made out and cuddled and things like that- but never all the way. Your dress went limp on your body, now unzipped and loose. With a gentle hand Harry pushed both of the thin straps down, causing it to pool on the floor at your feet. He looked down at you in quiet awe, taking in your form and the parts of you he’d never seen before.

“Fuck you’re beautiful…” He mumbled, bowing his head to kiss your neck. You swiftly unclipped your bra, letting it fall amongst your dress and Harry made a little sound of desire. You let yourself fall sat onto the bed, while Harry bent down to kiss you.

He pulled back and slowly kneeled down in front of you. Your heart thumped loudly in your chest at the sight. Harry gently took one of your legs, slowly unclasping the silver heel on your foot. You shuttered as his hands danced upon your skin, taking care of one shoe then onto the next.

Once your shoes were set aside neatly, he ran a hand up your legs, slowly parting them causing you to gasp softly. He dipped his head, nose trailing up the inside of your thigh. Heat flooded your body and all of a sudden you were hyper aware of every move this man was making. Harry ran a palm up your leg to where your underwear was situated and hooked a finger under the fabric.

“Lift your hips a bit darling.” He whispered. You complied and he pulled the fabric down. He dragged your panties off your legs and onto the ground, as you settled back onto the bed. Your body was thrumming with anticipation and an intense desire for the man who was positioned kneeling in front of you.

Again, he parted your legs, wetting his lips before trailing careful kisses up the insides of your thighs. You resisted the urge to tell him to hurry up and just touch you already- his teasing kisses causing you to become impatient and needy. You squirmed a bit and Harry’s eyes flicked up to you, a smirk placed on his lips.

“I’ve got you baby..” He murmured before finally placing his lips where you wanted him the most. You immediately let out a gasp, arching back and gripping the sheets at the feeling. His tongue moved through you with a sort of accuracy that had you dumbfounded and consumed with pleasure. He gripped your hips, keeping you stable as he tasted you, each of your moans urging him to go faster, stroke deeper.

You found your hands slide themselves into his hair, gently pressing him farther into you. Harry didn’t make any moves of protest but welcomed the action, burying his face in you. You felt his nose, his relentless tongue and the vibration of his hums through your core, pulling you closer and closer to an orgasm.

You ached to wrap your legs around something but Harry’s grip on your thighs kept them in their place. Soon your legs trembled and your breaths grew choked and rapid and with a desperate sound you reached your climax, coming undone around Harry’s tongue. Harry coaxed you further through your orgasm, the waves of pleasure hitting you like a restless ocean.

Eventually, Harry took his face from your cunt, looking up at you with a desperate look on his face. Kneeled and drunk on the taste of you he sat, his previously neat hair mussed from your fingers, lips wet and his face flushed. You saw him and thought he looked heavenly with this shirt rumpled and his breathing still rapid.

“Fuck- I could sit here and taste you forever.” He murmured.

“I need you Harry.” You gasped, still coming down from your high. Harry slowly got off his knees and unbuttoned his dress shirt as you watched with hungry eyes. You helped him with his belt as he slid off his shirt before he took over in discarding his pants.

You shifted back on the bed, laying there and watching him until he was naked and crawled on top of you. Your hands slid up his chest as he braced himself over you, eyes flicking over your blushed face and eager expression. You felt the length of him run through your folds and let out a little sound.

“Is this okay?” He murmured. You could see the hint of anxiousness in his eyes that came along with making sure you were okay which only caused you to only want him more.

You nodded cradling his face in your hands as you looked up at him. “Yes-”

He nodded and bent down to ghost his lips over yours before closing the space. You tasted yourself on his lips, his tongue pushing to enter your mouth as he shifted his hips. With a gruff sound he pushed into you, your breath shuttering and your body making room for the fullness of him.

He was gentle and careful to not to hurt you as he started to move, your hands digging into his shoulders as he went. You clung to him desperately, feeling every inch of him and muttering his name between thrusts.

He moved his hips with precision, as praised tumbled from his lips. You felt his breath ghost your temple as you buried your head into his neck.

The two of you moved together as if you’d known eachother for years. With a touch of a hand Harry would make you shiver, with the movement of his hips he would hit the place that made you go over the edge.

The knot in your stomach tightened as he went, pleasure just out of your reach.

“I’m almost there-“ You gasped, your eyes fluttering closed as you clung to him tighter. Harry let out a little sound of pleasure at your gasp. He began to thrust into you deeper, slower, dragging out the movement of his hips to make sure you were taken care of.

Finally with one more stroke you felt the knot in your stomach break, sending waves of pleasure and a sense of bliss through your system. Harry felt you flutter around him, the feeling pushing him over the edge.

He quickly slipped out, his head slumping against your shoulder as he came undone. You panted as you started to come down from the feeling of euphoria that had overtaken you.

“God..” You panted, laying your head back onto the plush pillows. Harry still had himself positioned over you, a look of contentment on his face.

Soon he rolled off of you, taking his place at your side. You were both worn from the activity, finding relaxation in lying there motionless next to each other.

Harry reached out lazily and brushed against your hand gently with his own. You took his hand and felt him slowly bring your palm to his lips and kiss it.

“We still have a whole dinner set up in the dining room.” Harry murmured against your hand. You smiled tiredly at the ceiling.

“We do.” You agreed.

“Shall we then?” Harry asked, pushing himself up and moving to cup your face.

You smiled up at him and nodded after a moment. “Lead the way.”

-—✮———————₊ ⊹₊˚‧ ꩜‧ ˚₊⊹ ₊———————✮—-

thanks for reading!!!

Stuck like a sore thumb. Worn sneakers and a white flowy dress that belonged to your mother. It wasn't a statement; it was improper.

It just happened to be summer and this was what you owned.

More like a flower on the pavement. Standing out against the hard edges. Sharp. Soft meeting the cutting. Warm meeting the cold. Your sweet nature fighting back the artificial. Or the high ceilings and the vendor with the icy polish smile with white perfectly lined teeth that looked like they could bite glass.

"Would that be all?" almost mocking. Dismissive. He told you this wasn't your place through bared classist fangs.

You sound sure when you say it, like you were born for it. "Yes"

And then hand over the black card under his name.

The vendor double cheks you, smile faltering. "Of course. Is it for you, miss?"

This isn't for you―it's for him. So you shake your head softly.

"No"

"No?" like the surprises keep showing up. Like you being able to pay a Cartier LOVE bracelet isn't the only strange news to grace the store. The same store you've walked by every day since working for his firm, staring at the glass like it may have the answers you were looking for.

Despite the ealier exchange, you can't reply with the same bite. You're too soft; so thinks Harry.

"It's for someone else. Someone especial"

"Very well" pretending to be interested; dancing to the sound of your money. "Would you like gift wrapping? It's on the house"

Your features soften with the offer. A peace exchange.

"That would be lovely. Yes"

When you exit the store, the bag feels light, like you haven't bought a $60,000 silver bracelet. But your heart? That―it feels heavy.

It all started with a cup of coffee.

New York had a way of making simple things different. Like there was that movie magic in the crowded streets, subway rides and tall buildings. That whatever it is people wrote songs about could be real.

Same job. Same routine. Been living in the same apartment for ten years. Took some courses to be able to do figurines with the foam, just to make someone's day better; brighter. You liked making people happy.

And then, it all changed one day. A moment so small, it shouldn't mean anything.

"It's just for today. Lauren is sick and I need you to cover for her"

You knew your people. How many stairs to the floor; the equivalent minutes it took in an elevator ride. The spoons of sugar Jane liked on her coffee and the amount of time David claimed his wife's lasagna needed in the microwave to taste just made. In a way, your workplace had become a second home.

"Can't anybody else fill in?"

Anything to hold onto that curated pattern you've crafted for yourself. To those people you can even dare to call friends.

"I'm afraid not" your boss says.

You worked in catering. An outsourcing company that found its gold mine in the heart of Manhattan's busy, bustling work life.

"I have no other option, do I?"

She provides you with a sheepish smile that feels final instead of an answer.

"You're my best girl, y/n" like that's enough.

This is how you end up on one of Upper Manhattan's most exclusive buildings, the one where the luxury wafts through the air. Under big silver letters that look like they could cut as the glass where you see your tense reflection staring back.

Castillo Co.

You step inside, asking the recepcionist for the floor.

"Where's the usual girl?" she asks.

You give her your name and sigh, hoping she deciphers you're as thrilled as she is about the change.

"It's just for today"

After climbing on the elevator and pressing the button to your floor, you let the humm of the music soothe you. The wait.

The doors open and what you see takes your breath away. Not the quiet hum of the old printer, nor Angelica's soft voice greeting you with a southern Good mornin'. Nothing about this said peace and familiarity. Soft.

This was a controlled chaos.

The clack of shoes. Fast, like lightning. Rhythmic, almost. People talking over the phone, loudly. About finance. Numbers. It didn't matter. To you, it all sounds the same; white nose.

You drown the noise out, like you always do. Walk straight into your assigned space―to where you belong. In those four almost clinical white walls, behind sealed doors, where it's all quiet and controlled. Where you can control. Shielded from the chaos: just you, authentic silver cutlery and a brand new microwave that looks barely used.

Then―

"It's the boss" a sweaty-looking man on his twenties says, door flung open. His eyes are frantic; nervous.

If this is what Lauren's everyday looked like, you wouldn't blame her if she faked her sudden 'illness'.

"He needs coffee. It's usually from the shop two blocks away. But he said he needed it now. That doesn't give me time, does it? So, clearly, he means from here, right? The office's coffee"

You patiently let him finish. Then intervene, gently.

"And how does the boss like his coffee?"

His already pale face turns even whiter. "I... I don't know. I just started yesterday"

You sigh. "What's your name?"

"Marcel"

The way he says it like a trembling newborn fawn makes your heart tug. Who may this boss be that can reduce a man to a shaking leaf?

"Okay, Marcel. Does five minutes work for you?"

He nods, helpless.

"Then, don't worry. You're in good hands"

It shouldn't mean much. You were used to putting fires out. Not only at work, but since home. You're the eldest daughter in a house of absent parents, after all. It was just another task for you―your job. You look around, trying to see what you can work with. And then, long gone is Marcel, his body rocking with anxiety, the noise outside and the latent threat of the Big Boss. It's just you and your hands, as if you never left your old job.

So when you hand him the coffee―a macchiato, steamed milk on top, layered with espresso, you don't think much.

"Is that necessary?"

The caramel drizzled on top. You shrug.

"It makes people smile"

He looks at the happy face, staring back almost mockingly.

"It better work"

The day drags on. You learn the names of three other interns. Of the secretary that shares too much gossip for a fifteen minute break. A woman in elegant heels and designer dress that gives you a side look and a snarky remark under her breath you can't quite decipher. The sun finally fades behind tall buildings that try to reach the sky as the office falls into the lull of vacant boardrooms and empty desks.

Time to go home. Tomorrow? Back to the same. To Elena's chatter and Mark's one sided beef with the slow microwave. It wasn't much, but it was yours.

The elevator door closes, and you don't even look up to try and memorize a place you won't ever come back.

The elevator door almost closes.

A hand.

"Sorry" a deep voice says. "Can't afford to wait"

Like his time was more valuable than yours. You roll your eyes, yet keep your mouth shut. You just want to go home and watch a movie. Maybe two.

The stranger looks at the floor, the ceiling, the red numbers and then you.

"Do I have something in my face?"

"I'm just thinking... I don't think I've ever seen you before"

You sigh, figuring there's no point in ignoring him inside such tight space. Besides, you've got manners.

When you finally turn around, your mouth parts open. Oh. He's got soft brown hair, gelled back, yet some curls fall over his forehead; rebel. Probably tired from the day as well. His jawline is sharp but soft, and his eyes are too warm for an upper Manhattan executive. They're brown too. And the outfit he's wearing? Expensive. Tailored. This isn't an intern but a man who screams control. Power.

"First day" he nods, accepting your answer. "And last"

He blinks, slowly. "Come again? I don't remember taking that decision"

You laugh, out of nerves. Or ease, maybe. "You make the choices around here?"

"I'm the boss, after all"

Now it's your turn to pause. The elevator doors open, yet neither of you move.

That boss. Oh. The one carrying the name of the firm like a heirloom.

"Coffee boss?"

The stranger looks at you before recognition settles on his eyes.

"Caramel girl?"

"Did you just call me caramel girl?"

"You made my coffee today?" he grabs his chin, thoughtful. "Huh, that explains it"

"Yes. The order your newest intern placed. He was a yell away from pissing his pants"

He snorts at that.

"Harry Castillo, apparently, a monster" he offers his hand. "Did he seriously frame it like that? That's not a good impresion"

You give him your name and then take his hand, warm against your smaller cold ones. There's a weird press on your chest when he lets go first.

"He was shaking" you exclaim, hiding a giggle.

The elevator pings, a reminder, waiting for a new number to be pressed―or anything, really. It's your cue to leave. From this polite conversation. Shared giggles within an elevator.

The glass door from the morning awaits ahead of you. One more step and it'd be history. Back to where you belonged.

Yet your feet falter with each step. So you stop, turning to see Harry in the same place you left him.

"But, are you?"

"Am I what?"

You bite your cheek, grinning despite it all.

"Mean" you let the accusation roll of your tongue, harmless. Playful even.

Harry offers you a crooked grin. "Only when I haven't got my caffeine fill for the day"

"Hope it isn't the usual"

"No. Less when I get macchiatos with smiling caramel faces over the steamed milk"

You smile at that. "Glad you liked my artwork"

"I'd like to appreciate it every week. Not day, though. I'm trying to cut down the sugar"

Your smile fades a bit, and for the first time, you don't want to leave.

"I'm covering for a friend" you reply, dryly. "Just for today"

"Oh" you spot a quick flash of disappointment on his eyes. "I see"

The conversation made you forget where you stood, for a moment. You look at the dark sky outside, the wind hitting your face.

"Where are you going?"

"Home"

He looks around, then back at you. "Walking?"

You shrug, the corners of your mouth tugging. "It's New York. I do it every day"

"Routine, huh?" he raises his hands in mock surrender. "I can't argue with that"

A chuckle escapes past your lips as you turn your heel to leave. But you should've known he was insistent; used to never been told no.

"Wait!" Harry calls out after you, making you stop.

You clutch your purse tighter, as to ground you. Why was your heart beating so fast?

"Yes?"

"Would you mind if I give you a ride and disrupt your routine today?"

"I see" you reply, not believing how your day has gone so far.

"Just for today" he repeats your earlier words, making you smile.

That's how you end inside Harry Castillo's, one of New Yorks most elegible bachelors, limusine.

"You don't drive?"

He smirks. "I thought you'd ask another thing"

You do a quick scan of your surroundings. Even the leather smells expensive.

"I asked if you drived"

He purses his lips before answering. "Not anymore"

You raise an eyebrow, amused. "Waste of time?"

"Effort"

You fall into a silence. Not comofortable but not awkward either, just... thick.

"Here"

The car stops at your signal. You give Harry's driver a quick Thank You.

"This close?" he asks, surprised.

"I told you. That's why I walk"

Your hand grabs the handle when his own places over yours. It's so big it practically swallows yours with his grasp. Your heart hammers so loud against your ears you fear he can listen to it too. A tight knot forms in your stomach and you can barely swallow. He's so close you can smell his cologne and see the beads of sweat on the nape of his flushed neck.

"You're gonna open that?" you find your voice, lightly wavering at the end.

He swallows, hardly. You search for his gaze, and it scares you how easy you can read his brown eyes: soft, hopeful, sad, yearnful.

"Harry?" you ask.

"Stay"

Your body tenses. "Excuse me?"

"In my office. I want you to work for me"

"Harry..." you mumble, still caged within his arms. The car feels smaller, like it's closing upon you.

He sits back, face covered in a light shade of pink shame as if your calling of his name brought him back to reason.

"Sorry. I get it"

He exits the car and opens the door for you.

"I thought chivalry was dead" you attempt to joke amidst the tension.

He offers you a weak smile. "You don't see it that often, do you?"

You shake your head slowly. "I'm afraid you're an endangered specie"

Harry laughs at that.

You exit the car, taking his hand, trying not to think how perfect your hands feel together. When he lets go of you, you try not to think too much about it. About everything. Him.

Why he was making you so nervous after knowing him for hours. Why your heart beat so loud when he was close.

Before you disappear behind the door, Harry calls back.

"Just tell me you'll think about it"

You look back at, wondering why life had crossed your paths.

"I will" and a smile so hopeful, Harry can believe on anything.

He had been pacing around nervous. Today was your third date, and in Harry's mind, that meant taking the next step.

With a bouquet, another expensive restaurant you could never pay for yourself, and the soft music from behind, Harry is sure he's got it all.

"Would you like to see each other more seriously?"

He had been here a year before, with the same flowers and band on the background. Lucy, the matchmaker who got away. Then he took her to his penthouse, where she had the nerve to fawn over the high ceilings of his Tribeca property while he kissed her.

You nod, unable to stop your blush and your smile. "Yeah, I'd love that"

No self-deprecating speech. Or comments on how he picks the bill. The places he takes you. Expect your sweet nothings. Like how you removed a stain on his cheek with a soft trace of your tongue, or the way you closed your eyes and sighed when the food was good. How you held his hand across the table before he asked you out because you sensed he was nervous.

He'd let you in then. Little by little. To his world, and yet you only kept looking at him. Finding his glance across a crowded room. Holding his hand before an important meeting, not because he needed it but because you wanted him to know you were there. For everything. In the caramel drizzled coffee you kept delivering. In the little weight he'd gained with your sweet attentions. In the sweet kisses you've shared: one under the moon, two on his office, three on his car and four in the steps of your apartment.

Five, on the elevator to his own. Sixth when you tug his shirt, fiddling with the buttons with a quiet groan and a silent plea. I want you. I need you. Desperation rises as he pulls it over his head, tossing it aside. Seven, as you capture his lips in a deep, hungry searing kiss.

Harry groans against your mouth, hands roaming over your body. To feel all of you. If you're as sweet as your recipes. If you taste just like them. You whimper when his lips leave yours, but only to leave a wet sloppy trail down your neck. Nine, as he presses soft lingering kisses over your flushed warm skin.

"Need to get rid of yours"

Ten, reverent kisses on your collarbone, shoulder and chest as you're finally naked.

You don't look at his apartment, not once. Just at his eyes, like he's the only valuable thing in the world. He moves you to his bed, body dropping softly into the silk sheets that look brand new; fresh out of the package.

"My sweet girl" he whispers, adoration dripping from his saccharine tone.

A moan escapes you as his lips wrap around one of your breasts, his tongue sucking and flicking the hardened bud. You grab his hair, the sweaty curls soft between your fingers, while his other hand shoots to grab your other breast, thumb playing with the sensitive nipple.

A desperate whimper escapes your lips as your body arches toward him, pleading for more. You feel his breathing over your skin, getting under it, imprinting itself like a tattoo. His lips drift lower, fluttering kisses down your stomach, making you squirm.

"Quit teasing" you manage to choke out.

"Teasing?" he chuckles against you skin. "Patience, baby. I call it takin' my time"

He will. Harry's been waiting for it: ever since that night on his car, your scent lingering in the leather, on his clothes. He couldn't stop thinking about you. Wanting you.

And now you're here, under him, saying his name in a fervent whisper, like a prayer. Something to hold on to.

You feel his hands tracing the curve of your waist until they land on the space between your legs. When he graces your panties, tracing over the damp spot of your panties, you gasp, hips lifting, chasing his touch.

"Keep going, baby. You're doing so good. I love hearing your sounds" he groans, "show me how much you like it"

Harry's fingers hook into his waistband, tugging your underwear down with a slow drag through your legs. They land somewhere on the floor, alongisde your other clothes, and yet his gaze stays on you: on your hot skin, beads of sweat rolling down your temple and the light tremble of your parted lips. He feels you squirm again as his lips brush over the sensitive skin of your hips.

"Twitchy little thing, aren't you?" he says as he settles between your legs. With his thick fingers, he spreads your thighs wider, his thumbs brushing the skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind. "Don't worry, I won't hurt you. I take good care of what's mine"

You feel your cunt clench in anticipation as his mouth captures your sensitive lips. As soon as you feel his cold tongue dwelve inside you with one long, slow stroke, you hide your head against the pillows, drowning out a breathless whimper.

You feel him hum, the vibrations running through your body, as his hands grip your thighs with a strength that'll leave a bruise for sure. He licks again, slowly, teasingly, through your folds. "Sweet, sweet thing. Just as your caramel and coffee. I'm gonna make you feel so good, baby, just wait and see"

He eats you like a man starved, his tongue moving with deliberate messy slow strokes over and over again as he holds you open with a tight grip, drinking in every little breathless sound you make.

"Please, Harry. Quit talking" you whimper, fingers tight on his hair.

Harry groans, lapping your aching cunt with more purpose. You feel his tongue lick over your clit, before sucking gently. Your thighs feel like closing around his head at his minstrations, but his strong hands keep you in place as his lips brush your sensitive skin. Without asking for permission, his tongue starts to circle in tight moves, slow and fast, precise and sloppy, each strong deeper and cinically teasing.

Your breath hitches as his tongue flicks over your clit again and again. Suck. Lick. Lap. Your thighs tremble at the intensity, a moan tearing from your throat as your hips buck against his mouth.

Your hand shoots out to grab his hand, gripping him. Harry chuckles.

"Don't worry, hon. I got you"

You close your eyes, throwing your head back as the pleasure starts to build in a tight knot in your stomach.

"Close?" he whispers with a rough voice, breath fanning over your heat. You nod and whimper softly something that sounds like his name. "Alright. Then cum for me, baby. I need to taste you"

You feel a moan spill from your lips as the unbereable tense knot unleashes, your body trembling with the last lazy strokes that have kept your body on edge.

White. Then stars. The room spins as Harry delivers a last flick of his tongue. You shatter in his bed, over the silk sheets, shaking as your orgasm crashes over you like waves. He doesn't let go of your hands as he helps you ride out the high, pressing kisses on the inner of your thighs.

Harry lets go, his body pressing against yours as he reaches your lips, capturing them in a deep kiss that tastes like you, softly tracing your face.

"You did good for me, baby. So good"

"Did I?" you mumble drunkenly, hands traveling down his chest and the curve of his stomach.

Harry removes his gaze, probably ashamed. At the intimacy of the gesture or else, who knows.

And then―

You drift lower, towards his underwear. The outline gives it away: a hardness straining against the fabric.

"Sweetheart" he grunts, muscles taut under your touch.

"What?" you feign innocence, feeling his throbbing length under your palm.

His voice breaks at the end, rough voice spilling with need. "What are you doing?"

"Isn't it obvious?" you breath against his lips. You feel his hips twitch into your touch. "I'm paying you back"

That's all Harry needs, apparently―despite his lips parted in shock. He quickly takes them off, dark gaze never leaving yours.

He's hard. Long. Thick. You don't remember ever seeing someone like this. So big. Doted. And needy. That wanted you this bad.

Harry can see your thoughts behind your spiraling eyes, so he grabs your hand, squeezing it tight.

"It's alright, baby. Just- I need to know" his eyes search yours as his other hand moves your bodies, aligning himself with your entrance. "Tell me you want this, baby. I need'a hear it"

You nod, feverish almost. "Yes, Harry. Please"

"Say it again" he pleads between gritted teeth.

You whimper. "Please. I need you"

He pushes inside your heat, slowly, stretching your clenching eager cunt. You moan against his lips, your grip squeezing him stronger. Harry kisses you without missing a beat, swallowing the sound as if it was his own. He groans inside your mouth, sinking deeper until he's fully inside you.

"Look at you, takin' me so well" he rasps, grave voice dripping with adoration. His forehead touches yours, and you can feel his sweat mingling with yours. How he holds you close. Bodies fitting like pieces of a puzzle. Over expensive sheets, you become one. How you search for his gaze and he finds it each time, always; back to you.

And this? This may be the home Harry was craving for. Love.

Each move of his hips is deliberate. You can feel how his body hovers over yours, meeting your skin with each thrust. He's warm, flushed. His breathing is shaky; so is yours. He kisses you in between each movement, maybe to prove you're there or maybe to taste if this is real.

It's real.

You moan, digging your nails into his back. He's... overwhelming. You feel every pulsating inch inside of you. You then run to brush his hair, removing some strands from his face. Some silver hairs appear, and bathed softly by the moonlight, they appear to glow.

The praise escapes your lips before you can stop it, sounding so sincere he feels overwhelmed.

"You're so beautiful"

He hides his face in the nape of your neck, and you feel his body shudder at your soft fingers running through his hair. His lips then find your shoulder, breath ghosting over the skin. He kisses you softly, pressing his lips onto it.

"You think so?" he whispers, fragile. Like it would break if said louder.

"Yes" you whisper, "the prettiest, Harry. You deserve to know that"

His lips crash into yours, slow and deep, resuming his quicker pace. His hands shot out to grip your waist tighter as his body moves with yours, meeting each movement. His thrusts soon become sloppier, and the familiar pressure builds in your abdomen.

He comes first, the hot seering release painting your clenching walls white with its thick sticky seed. Your walls tighten around his girth, and as you cry his name, a wave of warmth crashes over you, all the while he groans, riding out his orgasm still inside you, softening in the warmth of your heat.

He remains over you, the curve of his belly pressing against your stomach, your fingers around his neck pulling him closer. Rapid breaths tickle your ear, his warm breath coming in uneven puffs. Harry holds you so close it feels like he doesn't want to let go. Ever.

"You aren't going to ask how much this apartment costs?"

That wasn't what you were expecting for pillowtalk. You snort, giving him a weird look.

"Should I?" you ask, wondering what's the train of thought behind it.

His flushed skin may be out of shame or sweat. Who knows.

He answers his own question. "It's twelve million"

You caress his face softly, focusing on the moles of his face and the rough of his stubble against the soft of your touch. "Don't you say"

There's a beat before his body shifts and he asks.

"Promise me something"

He looks down at you, and his eyes hide and tell so many things. Fear, love, and a deep underlying insecurity.

You gulp. "Yes?"

"You love me because of me, don't you?"

You laugh softly, removing a fallen strand off his face. "What a silly question with an obvious answer"

"Say it" he begs, not demanding but needing.

"Yes" you pause, "I love you"

He smiles weakly when he hears that, but even with the soft light, you can see it's not enough.

"Not for the places I take you to? Or the things I could offer?"

"Harry" you grab him by the chin, gently. "From all the things you could offer, the places you could take me to, all I want is you"

The way you say it, without hesitation, firm but tender, wakes something in him he didn't think was possible; too late for it.

Love is easy, she had once said. Lucy. A person he shouldn't be thinking about when he's just come inside you, holding you so close, I love you on his lazy smile, but wasn't she right?

You here, with his bed, smelling like him and looking like you have always belonged there.

"Good" he kisses you gently, once. "I might just give you a trip to France for that"

A soft knock interrupts his thoughts.

"Come in" Harry says, taking off his glasses.

He expects it to be you. He wants it to be you. Your face, after a long day. It's all he really needs.

You're all he ever really needs. Like a drug. A vice.

But then, a pair of heels clicks against the floors of his office.

"Helen"

"Harry" she greets in that velvet voice he despises.

Helen is the head of the H.R department. She's been here for longer than most in the office, and although he's not very fond of her, she's reliable. A good worker. Someone he trusts.

"Shouldn't you be home by now?"

Home. Funny word. It used to be a place too big for one person who was never there. A penthouse so close to reaching the sun but devoid of warmth. Now, where emptiness once was, his house is now full as his heart.

You. Sweet you. With your shy smile, no matter the (almost full) year you've been together. The smell of your hair. Mint. Of your skin. Something citric. How you never asked for more, not out of conformism or because you didn't care. All you wanted was him. His love. You had proven it over and over again.

And for Harry, the man who could give you all? That meant something. Something he held close to his heart.

He wonders if you're home yet. Where you could be now.

"Couldn't leave without showing you this"

If she shoves the papers with more force than necessary, Harry doesn't notice. It's like a statement.

He puts his glasses on again. "What is this?"

She gives him a cold smile. "Take a look for yourself"

It's a copy of a transaction. Under his name. One he doesn't remember making.

"Cartier" she answers, leaning a little too close. He can smell her perfume; strong.

His black card. He didn't remember the last time he saw it. Where he placed it. Was it last night? When he ordered sushi to the apartment?

He remembers taking a shower this morning after waking up next to you. Breakfast was served. Then kissed you goodbye as he took his things from the table next to the door, the one you bought. Keys and wallet. Rode to work together. One last goodbye kiss and he went to his office. Like every other day.

"I don't mean to pry, but I told you so"

Harry looks at her through narrowed eyes. Irritated and confused.

"Helen, what are you-"

"I told you it was a bad idea to hire. Lauren was just fine. You insisted, and- Harry, you know I trust you" he feels her hand on his bicep, tracing softly with her nails but it feels like she's sinking them―claws, deep on his skin. "But I knew she was trouble"

He's aware she's trying to get under his skin. It's not that hard: he's got a temper and too much insecurities for a single man. There's also that thing of you mentioning a woman in the office who can't stand you and keeps making comments about you: your clothes, your income, you not owning luxury items, living off of Harry's wealth.

Had it been Helen all along? You insisted you didn't care, that it was just envy and you got it. Besides, you made sure to make Harry get you weren't after his money. So, what was the issue?

"Buying things without telling you? That's just the start. And expensive stuff! Has she got no shame?" Helen chuckles, icy. "First, it's jewelry. Then? She'll come for all of your money, and next thing you know, it's gone. And when nothing's left, she'll leave you for good"

He swallows hard. "Hel, with all due respect, I think you're wrong. Y/n, she- she loves me. For who I am"

God, he should sound more convinced. You haven't given him any reason not to trust on you, and here he was, sounding like he didn't trust you at all.

Sweet you, who definitely deserved better than a man who couldn't defend the love of his life from a subordinate.

"And you believe that?" Helen chuckles with amusement and bitterness. "You've been left before because money wasn't enough. What makes you think a lowlife like her will choose you?"

No. You had promised. But the paper sits heavy on his desk, the transaction clear. One swipe of his card. Sixty thousand dollars, gone, just like that. You weren't here for his money, yet you had bought something of that caliber without even thinking. Without telling him.

A pit grows in his stomach. Why didn't you?

"Hate to tell you, dear friend" her sweet voice feels condescending at best, "but it's time to end this Cinderella nonsense you've got going on and choose someone more of your level" her hip brushes his shoulder from where he stands, making him shiver. "And I've got some ideas..."

She lets go of his hand, but her touch? It lingers; burns.

"Goodbye, Harry. Sleep well"

And she leaves, like she hadn't ruin his night, and probably, whole life.

The lights of the apartment have been out for almost three hours. Except that one of the bedroom, where you currently sit, yet unable to keep still.

He's late, again. It isn't unusual (you, sometimes sitting on the sofa across his desk, watching him work until he starts to drift off. A cup of coffee placed over the paperwork before you scold him and take him home). But the day before his birthday?

The gift is sitting between your legs, waiting for him too.

Harry, your loving Harry. The man who had promised you the world and given you more.

(Spoke your name with reverence, like it was sacred. Introduced you to his family, who hadn't met a woman of his in so long; Charlotte, his sister-in-law, liked you the best. Another young woman, finally she'd said. Bought you things you didn't ask for, maybe mentioned once in passing. Remembered talks made in the morning or late at night, words laced with morning roughness or sentences with yawns to fill the gaps. Held you when you got sick, despite your protests you'll get him sick too. Made sure your birthday, another day you hadn't care for much before, was unforgettable: a cozy little reunion on his own apartment, a few of your friends and a cake with caramel, an inside thing of yours you kept close to your heart and knew like a second secret language. Took you to Paris, even when he was just joking. But that was Harry, a man of his word, and he had promised to love you)

You had never fallen before. Loved. This deep, this gentle. But with Harry? Loving was easy. The easiest thing to do. You gave him your heart and let him hold it. And he held it, tender―like it was as fragile as glass.

There's a click at the door. You hide the gift beneath the pillow and sit straighter. Anticipating. How would he react? Would he be happy? You hadn't even bought one for yourself, to match, but maybe he'd like to after getting his.

The first thing you notice is the furrow between his eyebrows. Very noticeable―kappens when he's worried or angry.

"Bad day at work?" you try.

He laughs, between bitter and tired. "You have no idea"

No matter how bad it was, he never took it on you. Couldn't. The one time he raised his voice at you, the stress poking his head with sharp stings of pain, he had instantly regretted it, eyes glassy and avoidant as he stumbled over his words, trying to scramble an apology.

So, this? It's definetely not normal.

"Harry" you say his name softly, "are you okay?"

His head snaps up, making you jolt. His eyes are red with anger as he looks at you.

"Why don't you see for yourself instead of asking stupid questions?"

You ignore your own pulse hammering in your ears as you pick up the paper he has thrown in the floor. It's humiliating, to say the least, but you need to know. You pick it up, blood running cold.

"I can explain-"

"That you took my money without asking?" he spits with rage and resentment. Fire cracking behind his auburn storms. "Y-you bought a fucking Cartier bracelet that's over a thousand dollars!"

"I-It's not what it looks like" you say, mouth dry; it tastes like sand.

This isn't how it was supposed to go like. You had imagined him laughing, saying you shouldn't. Yes, it would be best if you had told him you took his credit card, but wouldn't that spoil the surprise? While you liked simple things, Harry liked them finer. You couldn't change that―it was how he grew up. So the bracelet seemed ideal. Now? It just reeked of a bad idea and miscommunication.

"Then tell me, y/n" he coughs up your name like its some sort of disease, "what does it look like? Do you know what I see?"

You can't answer.

You don't want him to answer.

"I see an opportunist who believed I was enough of a fool to eat up her lies of not wanting my money, ready to get your greedy hands on it"

A slap would've hurt less.

Your eyes get glassy, but you won't give him the privilege to see you cry. His eyes soften, but his jaw remains clenched. You ball your fists, trying to steady yourself―the strong woman you were before Harry. Before loving.

"And you know what I see?" you chuckle, dryly. "An insecure man who doesn't know where to put all the feelings he refuses to say out loud"

He flinches, yet you don't falter. You take a deep breath.

"I don't know who told you what, but if you're so quick to believe in them and not me, who has assured you from time and time that I'm not here for your money, then I don't know what to tell you"

He gulps, words tasting like sand. "That still doesn't explain it"

"Because you didn't let me, Harry" you throw his name in his face, like an insult, devoid of your usual sweetness. "My mistake was doing it behind your back, but yours was treating me like a stranger and the one to blame"

You go to the pillow and pull the bag out, then shove it against his chest. "You wanted the bracelet back so bad? Here, have it"

"N-no" a rush of cold anxiety runs through his back, seeing the ice and distance in your eyes. The pain. "You can keep it"

When you laugh, sardonic, his bones shiver.

"I didn't buy it for me. Happy early birthday, Harry Castillo"

You walk past him like there's no one in the room. God, it hurts.

"Wait!" he reaches to grab your arm, but you yank it away, making the knot on his stomach tighten. "W-where are you going?"

You have slept on this bed for so long, even when you haven't moved in yet, that he doesn't remember what it's like for the other side to be cold and empty. He doesn't want to. To wake up, without your smile.

"To the guest room. Tomorrow? Maybe back to my apartment"

There's a finality in your tone he doesn't like.

"So you're just leaving? Like that? Y-you aren't going to fight? Talk this?" he throws with rage and desperation.

Was it that easy to leave? Stop loving him? Like turning off a switch. But when he looks at you, all he sees is heartache and tiredness: and it mirrors his own.

You scoff. "You had made up your mind already, and that's not how talking works. So don't you dare make me the bad guy"

This is it. Where you shake his hand and walk away. No, you wouldn't even want to touch him. Or says he's perfect and still choosing to go, like Lucy. You'll just leave and take his heart with you, because the part of him he gave you? He had never given it out before; and Harry loves whole.

"You're leaving me" the words sit heavy on his tongue. A statement, not question. The bag on his hands feels heavier than it looks.

You look back, eyes watery. "All I know is I don't want to see you right now"

Words so simple but it feels like a stab to his chest. And so he lets you go, trembling silhouette disappearing in the dark of the hallway. When he hears the door click, his heart drops. He can see you in bed, curled, knowing you weren't loud with your ache; the silence of your tears hurts him more.

He looks down to the bag, the cause of all this problem, pulling out its content.

Inside, there's a black box. When he opens it, the first thing he sees is your pristine letter.

You said you were getting old Back pains and all You said you'd die your hair Brown, like your soft eyes

But I like the grey As one likes it when it rains, the color across the sky

It's lived in. It's nature. It's time.

I want all your greys and your sorrows Your wrinkles and those things that come When two people choose to stay and be worn Together―you and I

So stay the way you are, let me grow old with you

Happy birthday, Harry.

(Silver is my favorite color. I just got you a little something to match it)

And the bracelet sits there, the moonlight washing over it.

He doesn't know he's crying until the last world blurs, ink mixing with his tears.

What did I do?

The next day at the office is tense.

You had left early. Probably walked, like before: before Harry. Before, when you didn't made breakfast for two or made lunches with cute notes.

He feels your absence the moment he wakes up, lips cold where yours are supposed to be. When he showers and you aren't going through his curls or complaining of the weather while brushing your teeth. No monologue on the car about your lastest recipe or the last of his employees you made smile.

Just eeire, cold silence.

"Hey there"

Helen walks in his office like she owns the place. A rare, triumphant smile on her face.

"Don't give me that look. You should celebrate!" she walks up to him. "Happy birthday!"

Great. Another year wiser, but he feels as stupid as a teenager. He takes the glass of whiskey and finishes it on a gulp.

"Drinking during office hours? Before lunch? Since it's your day, I'll pretend I didn't see" and she winks, cheekily.

His headache returns. "Do you need something?" he asks, voice sharp.

If she notices, her smile doesn't falter. "Yes, sign this. Please"

His heart drops when he reads it. Your resignation letter.

You're leaving.

Leaving Harry. Everything that ties you to him. To his life.

Panic takes over his body, and before he knows it, the chair scrapes loudly against the floor.

"Woah, slow down" Helen says, stepping back. "All you need to do is sign it"

He feels like throwing up. "I need to go"

How were you slipping from his fingers this fast? Were you really willing to walk out without even trying?

"No" she's fast, grabbing him by the wrist. "You're good here, with me"

He looks down to her hold, remembering last night, before your fight with him.

"It was you" he whispers, realization hitting him.

She laughs, between nervous and amused. "Smart, aren't you?"

"W-why did you do this?" Harry asks, voice tingued with confusion and anger.

"Oh, please. Don't be surprised―it was a matter of time. I just made it quicker for you" Helen says, coldly. "Did you really think she liked you? Just see how fast she gave up on you. All she wanted was what you had to offer: money. As soon as she's caught, she bails. Funny, isn't it? They're all the same: lowlife"

Harry's blood boils with the way she talks about you. With himself for not defending you.

"You need to choose better people. Of your own level" her heels dig on his carpet as her pose shifts. "People you deserve"

People who had only looked him in the eye after his surgery. People who laughed while clinking glasses as cold as their laughter. People who talked about nothing thinking it meant everything. Who couldn't offer warmth. A genuine smile. A comment that didn't fell like a stab or one saved for later.

People who were willing to separate him from the love of his life.

"Like you?" Harry chuckles dryly.

Helen mantains her expression.

"That's a good start"

"The thing is, Helen, the only one I want is her"

Harry rushes out the door, despite Helen's calls for him.

He won't lose you. The person that gives his life sense. His other half. The one he wants to see first thing in the morning and last at night. Have kids with his sharp nose and your soft eyes. To see silver on your hair and the telltale signs of the years passed by on your face; time spent together.

Guilt thrums through his heart as he walks through the office, people talking in between the spaces of his painful beats.

Just as he reaches your door―

You come out. To anyone, you looked fine. Well put, with your slick tight bun and small gold earrings. But Harry knows you, loves you. Even with the hollow eyes that don't match your polite smile, a slight puffiness and red rim to them.

You notice him, and the smile falters.

"Harry"

You're reasonable, you like to think. Composed. Polite. That's why you had thrived. Maybe it's the heartache taking over your logical side. You're so angry and all you want to do is cry. Hold him. Push him. Go. Stay.

"Don't"

He's surprised by the vulnerability on his voice, or the fact he's doing this with the whole office watching, the noice drowning out, place suddenly quiet.

"What?"

He takes a step, cutting the distance. "Don't go"

You hadn't planned on leaving, really. Leaving was for cowards. But gossip ran through the place, and the idea of being pointed out and other believing what Harry had believed about you was unbereable.

You were just proving a point. You were just tired and wanted to be gone.

Maybe you could even go back to your old office.

But then he stands before you, reeking of desperation through those brown plaintive needy eyes.

No one had fought for you ever before. No one had even loved you before, and here he was: Harry Castillo, CEO, begging.

"Baby" he whispers, aching.

Some gasps are heard in the background but Harry doesn't care. He's aware some, if not most, know about you both, and this is probably a matter to handle in private, but he's, if anything, desperate. A small misstep and you could be gone forever.

"Harry" you call his name again, between gritted teeth, probably like a warning.

"Look" he walks again, even closer, his fingers brushing your arm as he shots out to grab you, but eventually pulls back, fists clenching on a tight white-knuckled grip. "I'm sorry for yesterday. No amount of apologies can excuse how I acted. I let... I let my insecurities take over me"

"And that hurts the most, Harry" your voice breaks, and you don't care anymore everyone is watching. "Because when did I ever made you feel like you weren't worth enough? That I didn't love you?"

He looks away, face bruised with guilt and shame.

"You didn't even let me explain myself. You just got an idea and ran away with it. And I hate how easy it was for you to turn your back on me"

"Just as easy as it was for you to leave" he replies, voice thick with bitterness. "Why are you being like this?"

That ticks a nerve. You were just very transparent. And hurt.

"You made me, Harry" you mumble. Dry, as if it's stuck in your mouth. Like the kind of confession that's both painful and embarrassing.

"I didn't mean to" he confeses, softly.

"I know" you drop with a weak voice. "I know"

He doesn't like how you look away, unable to meet him in the eye. Gently, he lifts your chin, forcing your gaze to meet his.

"Don't hide from me, baby"

His thumb grazes your skin, eyes melting with the beating ache of your own.

"Look at me, please" a command, not a request.

"Let's get out of here"

He stops, eyes boring into yours. He'd do anything for you, really. And God, wasn't he relieved to not have the prying eyes of all the office burning his back.

"Though you'd never ask"

When he grabs your hand, you can feel his palms clammy, and that, for some reason, makes you feel better than worse. It's a quiet kind of promise, or maybe a fear―like you'd go if he let you.

He takes you back to his office, closing the door quietly. It sounds like a threat. Grounding. Real.

You see your letter on his desk, feel Helen's feline smile sinking it's teeth on your skin when you handed it. His eyes follow yours.

"You're leaving" he says, voice flat. The same he uses for meetings.

You avoid his gaze.

"Why?" he asks, throat tight.

"I-It felt like a statement, I don't know. To prove to you it was never about the money. Now, I- it just feels dumb. My reaction was childish. We should've just talked it out, Harry. I'm sorry"

Your cheeks flare up with shame. Saying it out loud just made it sound even worse.

"Yes, but I should apologize too" he takes a step closer. "I didn't even give you the chance to speak. I rather believed Helen over-"

You chuckle, bitter. "So it was her"

He swallows, throat dry. "Yeah"

"I told you she never liked me. The comments she made"

"Well, yes, but-"

"And you believed her" it comes more like an accusation.

He lowers his head, guilty. "I did"

"Fucking Helen" you mumble, making the ghost of a smile form on his lips.

Harry then walks towards you, closing the distance.

"Yeah, fuck Helen" he chuckles, hand reaching tentatively in the air. His fingers flutter against your arm, and if your body shivers and he awakes a trail of goosebumps on your skin, you don't make an effort to move. "Look, baby. I'm sorry. I know I said it before, and no matter how much I repeat those words, I can't take back what I said or did before. I hurt you, and I hate myself for that. You deserve to be loved, hell―I promised you I would. I still do"

The worst part was you trusted him; you never stopped. You couldn't otherwise, especially if he gave you those warm sad brown eyes.

"But, Harry, I need you to trust me" his arms still holds on to you, as to ground you. Or maybe him. "I didn't want to ruin the surprise so I didn't tell you, but I think I should've thought it better. Still, you hurt me, and yes, that won't change. Yet, there's another thing that won't change"

"You're staying in the company?" he asks, beaming, like a child who just got free candy.

You roll your eyes, but a faint smirk graces your lips. "Two things, actually"

"What's the second?"

"The first, because it's more important" you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer and onto you. "I love you"

Three words, enough to put his word upside down. That no matter the time passed and how many times you said it, he kept finding new things each time―things he obssesed over, little details that tug his heart.

This time, it's the flutter of your eyelashes. You're tired. Perhaps of the fighting. The fragility in your voice: not of unconviction, just the vulnerability of it. And the way you said it―soft spoken like it got edges that cut. Afraid if you said it out loud, it might be gone. That it would lose meaning. That it would fire back on you.

"I love you too"

Maybe not today. Maybe not ever.

"Next time, I promise not to get angry and you promise we will talk it out without jumping to conclusions, yes?"

He hums, looking at your mouth.

"Oh, Harry" you sigh, amused. "What am I going to do with you?"

"How about you kiss me?"

You smirk. "Demanding. Anything else?"

"Stay and I'll fire Helen"

Now you laugh, unguarded. "I like it when you go businessman on me, Harry"

His fingers graze your chin, thumb running lazily across the flushed skin. How could a pretty thing like you fall for a man like him? Forgive him so easily? Promised more tjan what he deserved. Kissed him like he was worth the risk. Looked at him with anger, dissapointment, guilt, sadness but love. He could feel it in every stare, hold and breath. Leaking from every pore.

Pure, easy love. And it was all for me.

A lose smile breaks on his face, and he looks the happiest you've ever seen him.

"And I like it when you like me"

Harry Castillo, the man who owns it all, New York's most wanted ex-bachelor, romantic at heart, and unicorn tastes like a promise that's meant for forever. And when he grabs your face, a soft light glows on the bracelet on his wrist, shinning with a promise and weighting with the unspoken.

"Good, because I don't plan on stopping any soon"

You weren’t prepared to bear the kind of loss your mind had conjured while you were asleep. The stillness of the room wars against the complicated mix of dread and relief that buzzes beneath your skin. 

With shaky arms, you push yourself upright and swing your legs over the side of the bed. Your heart rate has slowed a considerable degree. The faint scent of lemongrass still lingers in the air from when the cleaners came through earlier this morning. Yesterday morning, more like. The glow of the alarm clock reads 2:58 AM. 

You’re fine. Harry’s fine. It’s enough consolation for you to rise to your feet and head to the kitchen. The moment you cross into the hallway, Harry shifts beneath the sheets as if he can sense your absence. Though half asleep, his arm drifts to your side of the bed. All he’s met with is the warmth you left behind. His eyes flutter open to the sight of the bedroom door cracked and a sliver of light shining through. He can make out the quiet sound of a glass cup meeting the countertop, then the sound of water being poured. 

A few minutes later, he pushes himself upright as you slip back into the room. You startle as he reaches over to turn his bedside lamp on. Light floods the space in time with your guilt. He takes you in with bleary eyes, and you appear more drained than when you’d first fallen asleep. 

“Sweetheart?” he murmurs groggily, clearing his throat after. “Everything alright?” He rubs his eyes as he squints. His hair is disheveled, and the sheets rest at his hips to reveal his bare torso. The picture of comfort and ease. 

You offer a small nod. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.” 

Harry shakes his head as you crawl back into bed and remain upright. 

“Bad dream?” he asks softly. 

“Yeah. You can turn the light off, I’m sorry for—” 

“Hey.” His gaze is so attentive, you can’t help but wonder what you did to deserve a love like this. “We can sit for a minute if you need,” he says. “There’s no rush.” 

You’d gotten used to braving the aftermath of nightmares on your own. Part of you can’t help but feel like an inconvenience, but it’s hard with a man as generous and kind as Harry in your life. He’d never complain about being woken up at such a time, and you couldn’t decide whether or not that was better or worse than him possibly saying it out loud. 

Despite everything, you’re grateful not to be alone. Harry’s features bear no sign of irritation, only an openness, a desire to be let into your troubles so he can help chase them away. 

“I’m fine,” you insist, voice still small. “We should probably get back to sleep so we don’t feel this in the morning.” 

Harry huffs a tired chuckle, but his warm, knowing eyes remain on you. He’s quiet for a few seconds, and you shift under the gentle weight of his gaze. 

“You sure?” he asks. 

You nod, offering the most compelling look you can manage. 

Darkness refills the room as he turns off the lamp. The two of you resettle under the covers, but this time, one of his strong arms drapes over your waist to pull you close. The warmth of his chest seeps into your back as he gets comfortable behind you. 

You lay like that for a while, breaths slowing, but never quite enough to suggest that sleep had pulled you under. Harry presses a gentle kiss to the back of your shoulder because he knows you’re still awake. You let your hand come to rest on top of his, brushing your thumb over his knuckles. 

“Whatever it was,” Harry starts in a gentle murmur. “It wasn’t real.” 

He squeezes you. “But this is.” 

It’s a truth that, sometimes, not even you could believe. It seemed impossible that you’d found each other. It wasn’t even supposed to happen at all, a chance encounter at the MET after you’d decided to treat yourself one fateful Friday night. He’d been standing among a group of distinguished looking men, but not even them, or the Monet piece they were admiring were enough to keep him from straying to you as you stood across the room. 

At your silence, Harry noses at the back of your head. Perhaps you were closer to sleep than he initially thought. 

“Good night,” he whispers. 

At the very same time, you say, “Thank you.” 

Smiles ease onto both of your faces. 

“Really, though,” you say. 

In typical Harry Castillo fashion, he insists that the pleasure is all his. He’d worked hard for everything in his life, but you were the one piece that seamlessly fell into place. Loving you is one of the easiest things he’s ever done. He’d wake up for you at any time of the night so long as he had the privilege to do this life with you. 

-

Thank you so much for reading. All likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated. I promise I see them all! 

HARRY MASTERLIST

He arrives at work with definitely a different luggage than what he usually brings, this time having her in one arm and a bag with all the necessities for her in the other.

He greets everyone and really he doesn’t have to explain the reason why he has brought his kid to work, he’s the boss after all.

“Alright, daddy is gonna have to work, but you have all your colours and toys here.” He softly says, picking up the colours, some paper, some of her lego toys and some cars too.

He also brought the play mat, so that now all the stuff is sprawled on it and she can play safely and out of the reach of the desk, but still being in his sight. Well, seems fun, right? He thinks as he’s on his computer, glancing at the screen and then glancing at her to see how she’s doing, just blissfully colouring while having the tablet on the ground with some cartoons, although muted, this seems very much alright, like something that he could do everyday if it is this easy. He even keeps her a little on his lap while working, as he’s just going through some reports, occasionally noting something, while she makes the car run back and forth on the desk, making the vroom sound with her mouth, Harry fondly smiling down at her and placing a kiss on her head.

Although at some point she gets tired of the car and the keyboard surely looks more interesting, with all those buttons that her dad is tapping, so she thinks she might join him in doing that. And Harry doesn’t even notice that she’s aiming for that, quick as lightning she hits the keyboard, a series of invented words appearing on the document he’s working on, “No, no, we don’t do that, honey.” He gently says, lifting up the keyboard and moving it so that it is out of her reach, “But fun!” Eloise complains, pointing at the forbidden object now out of her reach, “Look, this is fun,” he says, making the car run on the desk but her now looking uninterested in that, pouting her lips.

“Alright,” he gets up with her in his arms, “Let’s find something else, sweetheart.”

Harry goes around the desk to reach the mat and letting her there, taking the lego bricks from the bag and sitting on the floor with her for a moment, and surely this suit is not the most comfortable thing to be sitting in on the floor, but it really doesn’t matter.

“Should we build a little house? Or a tower?” He asks, gathering all the colourful pieces, and she answer with the word “tower”, being a kinda difficult word but nothing that infinite rewatches of Rapunzel cannot teach.

In fact she aims for the Rapunzel doll, setting her aside of the bricks as Harry is starting to build the base of it, knowing damn well that he is somehow losing some precious time but definitely this time spent with his kid is more precious than anything else, any other call can wait, and every e-mail too.

He even puts Rapunzel playing on the tablet, adjusting it so that she can watch it and putting it a reasonable volume.

And well, when he goes back to his desk he realises that it is surely something having to work on his documents, while having some Disney songs in the background, finding himself even humming to them as he knows all of them by heart at this point.

Once again, this is working perfectly, he thinks, glancing at her and seeing the tower taking shape, brick by brick, as now the doll is sitting on top of it. Of course, it’s not that tall, just her height, and she calls him to go and see her work.

“Good job, darling,” he opens his hand so she can high five him, being all happy of her work, “This looks awesome!” Brushing his hand on her hair, Eloise gingerly smiling up at him, clapping her hands, before taking too the little Rapunzel’s friend, the chameleon, and putting it next to the doll, “What’s his name?” He asks, crouching down at her height, and pointing at the little animal, “It’s Pascal!” Him nodding knowingly and he would spend so much more time there but the phone rings and rings and eventually he has to leave her and pick it up.

All the tension comes back at him, being it a call about the new deal that they have to reach, pinching the bridge of his nose as he paces around the big office, looking up at the whiteboard with all the graphics on top of it, and of course playing on the mat looked more fun than this.

It’s a warm up call, that just precedes the video call in the afternoon, and so it doesn’t last long but surely long enough for Eloise to disappear from his sight. He quickly closes the call, looking at the door of the office which is still closed so of course she must be in here, but the question is where.

He calls her name, not hearing a single sound in return and he starts scanning the whole office, being sure that she is here, she couldn’t be anywhere else. It’s when he’s crawling under the desk that he hears some giggling, immediately coming out from it but not without hitting his head on the damn desk, massaging his head as he follows the giggle that leads to the cardboard of a company that he left there, now knowing perfectly where she is. “I guess someone started playing hide and seek without me!” He jokingly says as he moves the cardboard, and she’s there all proud of herself for having found that hiding, keeping the doll in her arms.

The morning goes by with any other accidents, him sipping on his coffee and her on her bottle of milk while keeping her in his arms, her scrunching her nose at the smell of coffee, in the same way you would do when you feel something that you don’t like, and Harry can’t help but thinking how perfect both of you are.

He’s writing some emails when his personal phone starts ringing, your name showing up on the screen, being followed by a red heart.

“Hi, my love.” He answers, dropping everything else just to hear your voice, “Hi, Harry, just wanted to check on you and Eloise, how are my two rays of sunshine doing?” And he can hear the fondness in your voice.

He smiles all content, “We’re doing great actually, the morning went by in a heartbeat and you should see the tower that she built, very impressive.” He says with the most endearing tone, hearing you sighing and somehow wishing you were there too to see all of that, and he will surely take some photos to send at least. “Oh really? How about the video calls you have this afternoon?” You ask, tapping on the steering wheel of your car, waiting at a red light, “Is that gonna be a problem?” But Harry feels confident about that, “I think it’s gonna be just fine.”

The lunch break goes by and what he gets from it is a baby food stain on his shirt, which alright, he should have thought about that and maybe pack an extra shirt to wear if any accidents were to happen, but anyway, this is still fine. He checks nervously his watch, still 1 pm and that means still some more hours before that important video-call.

He’s sipping on his coffee again, taking a break on the couch in his studio and still looking outside the window of the skyscraper, the rain still falling copiously, giving no signs of getting better, it is just getting worse if anything; he immediately leaves the cup on the coffee table the moment a lightning breaks the sky, Eloise running to him ready to climb the couch but she won’t have to do that, as Harry has already picked her up in his arms, cuddling her by keeping a hand behind her head as she hides on his shoulder. “It’s alright, darling, it’s alright, it’s just the sky being a little angry, remember?” He softly asks, placing a kiss on her head, gently rocking her in his arms; she grabs his already wrinkled shirt, slightly nodding, as he finally finds the remoter for the internal shutters, closing them and now the only lights will the be the ones in the room, not the ones from outside. “All gone, baby, all gone.” Harry reassures her, wishing he could stop the thunder too, her jumping a little in his arms, being startled by it. He gets up and starts pacing around the room, knowing that she must be very tired and in need of a nap.

Harry even ignores the phone when it starts ringing, actually muting it because the only thing that really matters right now is that his daughter will feel at ease again and will fall asleep. It’s never easy to have her fall asleep, she’s always so full of energy, and he knows that he might even spend the whole next hours just pacing around to make her relax.

So today he thinks they might be breaking a record, because after only twenty minutes she goes pliant in his arms, her face on the crook of his neck, her slow and delicate breathing warming his skin.

Harry paces slowly to the couch, gently laying her there and making a sort of fort around her with pillows, and landing a blanket on her that he had packed too among the other things. He tucks her in, brushing a hand over her hair, her relaxed expression telling him that he can start working again. He keeps an eye on her of course, tapping quietly the keyboard, a fond smile on his face whenever he looks at her, his chest warming just at the thought that today he is being able to spend so much time with her and still working.

He actually has gotten a lot of work done by the time he hears some footsteps and he looks at the couch seeing the blanket on the floor and then a hand taps on his thigh, looking down and finding her there, “Hello, princess.” and once again, her safe place is his arms, cuddling on him as she finds things to play with on the desk, Harry placing a kiss on her head. She’s really calm, even too much, he thinks, which makes him realise that there might be some mischief around the corner now that she got some sleep in and her energy will be back in full force.

It’s almost time for the video call, being a very important one, so he decides to get out of the office and leave his daughter with his assistants, giving them everything they might need; he could have already done that this morning, leaving her with someone else, but it wouldn’t have felt right and even right now he hates that she has to stay out of his office.

The video call goes on very smoothly, having in front of him all the data needed and looking secure about the deal, which of course he seals in even less time than expected.

It’s when he comes out of the office that he sees people scrambling around, asking himself what happened, quickly scanning the long hallway and not seeing his daughter anywhere.

A feeling of panic sets in his chest, unconsciously knowing that she must be here, in this building and on this floor, but the fact that he can’t see her is not helping at all.

And now he understands why everyone looks in a hurry, going back and forth in the corridor.

“Where is my daughter?” He asks his assistant, his voice almost breaking, still not getting a proper response as no one seems able to find her.

Harry goes back and forth, looking around corners, moving chairs and everything, his composed look now turning wild.

Until someone urges from down the hallway, where the room with the elevators stands, “I found her‼”

He rushes there, only to find her happily playing with the elevator’s buttons, almost not even able to reach them, all calm while her father was on the verge of a heart attack just a couple of seconds ago.

“Eloise,” he utters, her looking up at him, “We all searched for you everywhere, you don’t run away like that.” He continues, crouching down at her height, as she’s raising her shoulders like if she’s saying what’s all the fuss about.

“But I wanted to play!” She looks at the buttons of the elevators, still looking very interesting.

“But this is not a toy, alright?” He explains, his voice never hard, as he could never be angry at her, “This could get broken if you mess like that with the buttons, and people need this elevator. You have other toys, darling.”

And this time she nods, leaving the elevator and he takes her hand, Eloise actually tugging his jacket and he just picks her up, feeling a pout on his neck as she’s laying her head on his shoulder.

Harry takes a big breath when he’s finally in the office again, closing the door behind him, a hint of tiredness starting to set on his shoulders.

“Are you upset?” Her tiny voice comes from where she’s all cuddled on him, her fingers grasping a little the curls at the base of his neck, she would always do that when in need of comfort. And Harry looks down at her, an apprehensive look on his face, “No, no, Eloise, I’m not upset at you.” He reassures her, his hand rubbing on her shoulder, “I was just very worried when I didn’t see you, darling, I got scared because you weren’t there anymore.” He calmly explains, her nodding this time, “You promise me you won’t do that again?” He gives her his pinky, covered by that emerald ring, her tiny finger wrapping around it, “Yes, promise.”, breaking a smile even though he can also tell that she is very tired.

“Thank you, princess.” Harry places a kiss on her forehead and he lets her on the floor again, watching her reaching her toys; and when he checks his phone he realises he still has a couple of hours to get some other work done.

He’s sure that for today there won’t be any more surprises, but he is proven wrong when she starts running in the office, him telling her quietly that she shouldn’t do that, and Eloise obviously not listening, of course tired of having spent so much time in that place.

And what makes Harry leave his computer and all his numbers is the loud thud followed by a pitched crying, heart jumping in his throat and immediately rushing next to her, as she’s sitting on the floor, holding her left elbow.

“It’s alright, baby, it’s alright, let me see.” He coos, crouching on the floor next to her, feeling her skin slightly warmer where she probably hit it, and he bows on her elbow, leaving a kiss there, “Is it better now?” Placing another kiss, her going quiet and breaking a smile, even nodding. Harry brushes away a tear from her face, “It’s gonna pass soon,” he reassures her, placing another kiss there on her elbow, his way of trying to heal it and soothe the pain.

“You’re tired, I know,” Harry nods, seeing her rubbing her eyes with the other arm, and her running and doing some mischief was just a way of getting his attention, “How about we sleep a little, uh? Just a little nap?” He utters, her outstretching her arms towards him and he takes that as a yes.

He ends on the couch, Eloise sitting on his lap and cocooning on his chest, as he rubs her back in soothing circles, scrambling to find the pacifier. She wouldn’t even use that that much, but only when a little more nervous or stressed, just like right now.

He even sings to her, lulling her to sleep as he lowers the lights in the office, and sooner than said, not only she’s fallen asleep but he’s falling asleep too with her in his arms, his head on the couch, and his arms wrapped safely around her even in his sleep.

Harry gets awaken by a gentle hand on his shoulder, before he can feel some familiar lips on his forehead, followed by your voice, “Hey, sunshine,” your voice making him melt and he opens his eyes just to see you sitting next to him on the big couch, an arm going around your daughter, peacefully sleeping.

“Hey, my love.” His adoring look falling on you, eyes tired but his smile never fails to appear on his lips when he’s next to you.

“How was your day then?” You whisper, careful to not wake her up for now.

“Well, at first I thought I had found the perfect solution to make everything work, but of course she proved me so wrong,” both trying to contain your giggles.

You look at his wrinkled shirt with some stains on it too, “I think she wanted to escape at one moment.” He admits, glancing at you.

“What?” You ask, stopping the caress on his arm, “Yeah, we couldn’t find her anymore and then there she was, playing with the elevator. Oh and then she tripped here in the studio,” you raising your eyebrows and checking her for a moment, even though in the dim lights it seems like everything is fine, “But nothing that my kisses couldn’t fix.” He proudly says, laying his head back on the couch.

“Any chance that I could get a kiss too?” Your voice like honey to him, smiling so big and of course leaning closer to you, your hand cupping his cheek as he presses a brief kiss on your lips.

“Let’s get home now, alright?”

And as soon as you’ve entered the house she wakes up, lighting up when she sees you, Harry letting her on the ground so that she can run to you, welcoming her in your arms and hugging her, before picking her up, “Hi, baby, hi! How was your day with daddy?” You ask her, as she’s rubbing a bit her eye, “Oh it was so fun, we played, we- we built a tower,” Eloise starts counting on her fingers, you fondly looking at her, “And I watched Rapunzel, oh and I fell too, look!” She exclaims, moving her elbow so that you can take a look at it, even though there are no signs of damage, not a single scratch, “Oh let me see, let me see.” And then placing a kiss there, knowing that Harry has already done that with her.

“Now it’s better, thank you.” She gently says, you pressing a kiss on her forehead, “You’re welcome, darling.”

And a bath after she’s ready to go to sleep even though she wouldn’t leave your side nor Harry’s, giving each other a knowing look, understanding that she wants to sleep in your room with you.

That is how she ends up at the centre of the bed, not without a stuffed animal clutched in her hand, looking all content to be with both her parents, and seeing that peaceful look on her face is everything you need to actually know that she is being raised surrounded by love, that you’re doing a really good job, despite a busy life.

Harry dims the lights before landing a kiss on her forehead, “Goodnight, princess.” Her slurring a “good night” too, even too tired to actually pronounce the words.

“And goodnight, my love.” He hovers you, placing a kiss on your lips, your fingers brushing on his cheeks before letting him go.

He outstretches his arm to you, under the pillows, you laying on your side and taking his hand into yours, and Harry’s heart beats with joy, at having the privilege of falling asleep like this, with his two most important persons just by his side, his whole world, seeing you closing your eyes but still keeping his hand into yours.

But then, youre offering him one every time he leaves for a lunch, comes back from a meeting, shaking hands out in the lobby. You always seem to be perfectly in stock too: when one disappears, another is replenished within the hour. It heats your cheeks every time he gives you a kind smile when snatching one off your desk.

You started taking on his lunch orders too. Of course, everything was perfectly curated by his personal chef. He hadn't order takeout in a long time. So while he eats his bland meal, you also bring him a little extra bite: a burger or plate of fries. Perhaps a milkshake when a deal closes or a few cookies and slices of cake when he's there past 5.

You always leave it on his desk. He' usually busy on a call, but when he swivels to see you standing there clearing room on the table for his tray of goodies, his face lights up, licking his lips as he mumbles an excited "ah huh" into the receiver. You watch as he rushes to end the call before diving in. Whereas before, he'd take nibbles while entirely focused on work, now he slams his laptop shut and dedicates his entire attention to his treats. He lets out happy groans and hums with each bite. Wipes the cream or crumbs from his eager lips and sucks his fingers clean. Always after cleaning the whole plate, he'd sit back and sigh, smiling gently to himself.

You're clearing out the tray when he heaves himself up and trying to change for a new meeting. Harry lets out a grunt, undoing his belt and latching it to the widest hole possible. He frowns in the mirror, staring back as he shifts.

"You look wonderful, Mr Castillo," you tell him softly. He grins and nods, ignoring the new weight settling in stomach and thighs.

His doctor had questioned how his weight had increased so quickly. Harry assures him its temporary stress but hes keeping up with his routines. He doesnt bother to hide the fact that the food has made him less stress than ever before. In fact, his mood had improved tenfold. He was indulging and enjoying food again, and it made him more motivated to keep going.

He was embarassed to ask you to schedule him a tailor appointment for new suits. His clothes feeling tighter must all be in his head. A couple extra treats here and there surely wouldn't have made a noticeable difference on the outside? No, it was just bloating from having foods he'd repressed for decades.

He stops telling himself that when he finds himself cupping your ass in your pencil skirt, seated across his spread lap as you dip another choclate covered strawberry into his mouth. This had become a weekly to nightly occurance. Late hours resulted in late hour munchies. He felt bad keeping you after hours but you insisted if you could parttake, you wouldnt mind all. He thought that meant getting a bite to eat along with his orders, not... this.

He finishes chewing and swallows, humming as you rub his large belly. You had helped unbutton his shirt and pants to help let his gut fall out more natutally. There was no reason to be strung up in uncomfortable clothes when no one was here, you told him. A few glasses of wine didnt hurt either. It felt nice to have the heat of your body against his chest and thigh. He pet your smooth legs curled up against his knee. Your body felt fantastic, especially your thighs. When drunk he had fewer pretense to worry of how it might look, having your boss run his palm up your thigh, above your skirt line. It felt nice for both of you.

You held a cup of chocolate, dipping various snacks layed out on the table, and feeding him one by one. You leaned against his chest and kissed his cheek and neck, listening to his struggled breath trying to keep his arousal at bay. The food piling in his stomach only added pressure to his already hard cock.

You could sense his discomfort. He whined slightly when you sat up. His disappointment is replaces by raised, excited eyes as you unclasp your blouse, revealing your push up bra that accentuated your breasts and cleavage. "Thats better," you hum. "Now you."

He nods as you take over to pulling his hardened length out. It sprung free, slapping the curve of his stomach. "My my, Mr Castillo. I knew those rumors were true."

He blushes. Yanking you back to his lap, you begin to jerk him off with one hand, proceeding to feed him again with the other. Harry is enamoured, his eyes lidded and lust filled, panting as you encourage another bite. You had made a mess of chocolate over his dress shirt, not that he minded one bit. His member throbbed violently in your hand. Your craddled his head to your chest, pumping his length faster. He dipped his finger in the chocolately mess and pressed it to your lips. Your moan sang with praize as you sucked his finger off, enough to make him cum with a yelp all over your hand.

It was in those years that you had rekindled your friendship with Lucy, your deployments made keeping the friendship alive a bit difficult, who was making headway in her own career. Lucy had begun to become more busy and as such had needed an assistant to handle the more menial tasks. Lucy and you had been having dinner one night when she had brought it up after complaining about her boyfriend, John. You had always liked being helpful, so you offered to be her assistant until she had a chance to find someone more permanent.

You did the work without payment, not needing the abysmal pay, mostly because your father's private security company had been getting high-end clients from the year before the passing of your mother. You took over most of the operations, mostly replacing your father as CEO. You were glad that most of the duties you had taken over were capable of being run remotely.

Lucy, however, had grown lax in trying to find a permanent primary assistant having become comfortable with your help, who better to assist than a life-long friend.

Now, it's been four years since you became her assistant, and everything was on the up and up for the both of you. "Did you get confirmation from Wesley and Hannah for their meeting?" Lucy asked as she typed away at her phone.

You placed a to-go cup of Lucy's coffee order on her desk. "Yep," She replied. "Hannah was a bit nervous about it though. She said she wasn't sure if she wanted a guy named Wesley."

Lucy had reached over to grab the cup, her eyes never leaving her phone screen. "She'll still show, though, right?" She questioned absentmindedly.

"Yeah, don't worry about it. I talked her through her nerves," you assure her. "Apparently, she went shopping for a new outfit to really impress him."

"That's nice," Lucy replied.

You pressed my lips together in a thin line, shaking your head. You plopped down onto the sofa she had in her office with a tired sigh. "I've been thinking," you start tentatively. "Since I'm turning 28, I might cut back on the hours I work with you."

Lucy's head snapped up, eyes wide in shock. "But why?" She pressed. "We work so well together. I'd probably lose my mind if it weren't for you."

"My dad's thinking of 6 he wants me to take over his position," you explain. "I'll still help you out, obviously. I'm not gonna disappear off the face of the earth." You add with a chuckle.

Lucy remained silent for a moment as she took a sip of her coffee before setting it back down and rising from her chair. Her heels clicked on the hardwood floor as she made her way over to the sofa to sit beside you. "Okay," she said with an accepting nod.

"Okay?" You question slowly.

"Yeah, you can do so much more than just be an assistant," She said, taking my hand into hers. "This will be great for you. And maybe now since you'll be less busy enough for me to set you up with someone."

You shake your head as you smile at her persistence to try to work her matchmaking magic on you. "Sure," you said. "If you can find me someone obscenely rich and handsome."

"Pretty smile, kind eyes and romantic?" She continued with a smile and a raised brow.

"Exactly," you confirm. "You find a man like that, and I might consider going on a date."

In all honesty, you had already met the man of your dreams— unattainable, yes, but a girl can dream. He was sweet, at least that's the overall vibe you got from him on the few occasions that interacting was necessary. You swore his smile could light up a whole room. His warm brown eyes were light and welcoming, pulling you into his spell. Just thinking about him had your face heating up.

But he was strictly off limits. No if's, and's or but's about it. He was a client and almost old enough to be your father. The latter wasn't really all that much of an issue. You've had flings during deployments, with men pushing sixty. The former, however, would certainly be an issue. He was a big client for your father's company; he was always reaching out for security for galas and company parties, he was satisfied with the work and so you really did not want to fuck it all up because you couldn't let a fantasy stay a fantasy.

"I'm going to find you the most perfect man ever in all of New York," Lucy vowed, that determined look in her eyes.

You couldn't help but laugh at her eagerness. It was sweet, certainly, but you couldn't help but feel off. It just didn't feel right. Lucy has tried several times throughout the years to set you up. None were successful, as indicated by your lack of a wedding ring.

As cliché as it sounded, you loved love. Growing up, you would play house with the dolls your parents bought you whenever you all went shopping. All you had to do was point and ask, and they would get it. You never wanted for anything, at least not really. You had the love of both your parents, their unwavering support, a good education, a good home, great vacations, and birthday parties.

The only thing you didn't have was the someone to love you like your parents loved each other.

Maybe it was about time you really took dating seriously. Maybe it was about time you found someone you could settle down with if only to ease your father's worry for you.

"Thank you for considering Ansari Security," I said to the beaming couple sitting opposite my father's mahogany desk. "We're so glad you considered us for your big day."

"Well, you do come highly recommended," the bride says cheerfully, holding onto her fiancé's hand. "Our matchmaker, she pointed us in your direction. His friend as well."

You give them an appreciative smile and mentally make a note to thank Lucy. It is then that you begin detailing the measures you will take to protect their wedding from anything and everything. It takes all of forty-five minutes to go over everything, a record amount of time.

You escorted them out of the building after they signed the necessary paperwork, smiling and once again thanking them for the trust they have put in us. Soon after, you texted Lucy to thank her for pointing the couple to your father's company and inviting her out for dinner this Friday to the new restaurant that opened last week.

It was a really fancy sort of place, open concept with postmodern lighting fixtures and a dark colour palette with exotic foods from all over the world made by artisanal chefs with an excellent wine list, which you couldn’t drink. Normally you wouldn't have bothered with such a thing, making a reservation at some over-priced pseudo-classy place, having always preferred homemade food when you were growing up and then practical and quick nutritional meals when you were in service, and you still did.

The only time you didn't eat a quick meal was when you found yourself missing your mother. She had left you pretty much everything of hers; most of her clothes, her wedding dress, all of her jewellery and books— her recipe book that was passed down to her by her own mother.

It was a great regret of yours for not being there when she passed, unable to perform her ghusl mayyit. Unable to be there for anything, all because you wanted to rebel and join the military, to be just like your parents, to continue that ultimately meaningless legacy.

You drove home that night, mind and heart heavy from remembering your mother, your guilt, your envy. In moments like these, you felt as if you couldn't do anything right, as if no matter the choices you make, you're doomed to make a mess of things.

You drop your apartment and car keys into the crystal bowl as you enter your apartment, toeing off your kitten heels. A heavy sigh leaves you as you drop your handbag on your coffee table, grabbing the TV remote and putting on the news as you head to the kitchen to prepare some yellow potato curry.

"Fortune 500 CEO, Harry Castillo, have released a statement in regards to the rumors circulating the business world about his acquisition plans for Reed and Vine, a publishing house that has seen—," the news anchors voice droning on as you chop your potatoes, onions, green chillies— only because you were in the mood for a bit of spice.

After chopping everything you needed, you toss the cumin seeds with the onions, green chillies, and turmeric into the sunflower oil and let it until the onions are translucent. While you wait, you open a can of your favourite soft drink as you lean on your kitchen counter, lazily listening to the news— more horrible things happening in the States and abroad.

With a shake of your head, you add in your potatoes and water, letting it simmer until the potatoes are cooked, stirring it every so often. You check in your fridge for dhania and retrieve your jar of carrot pickle for when your curry is done.

"Be sure to wear plenty of sunscreen and stay hydrated as the week starts to heat up," the weatherman says cheerfully. You grab the remote to switch the channel now that the news and weather have concluded. You didn't know why you watched the news and weather forecast on your TV when you could easily do so on your phone, but you supposed your parent's habits rubbed off on you.

With the food done you pile a good portion of it onto your favourite white and blue floral plate, pouring yourself a glass of water before you make your way to your living room to sit on your plush pink sofa while you watch an episode of 'House M.D' as you eat.

You did some tidying up before you hopped into the shower. You turned on the hot water, letting it scald your skin before you soaped up your body and loofah before you scrubbed away the day. The vanilla and honey scent wafted through your shower and bathroom. You take a deep breath before exhaling slowly as your eyes fluttered closed for a moment.

After a good twenty-five minutes, you stepped out, towelled yourself off dressing in your favourite champagne coloured silk nightdress with branches blooming from your waist and across your torso. Normally, on such a blistering hot night, you would've just thrown on one of your many linen pyjamas, but you felt tonight deserved something more... sexy, despite your previously dour mood.

Before hopping into your queen sized bed, you made sure to turn on your ceiling fan to mitigate the midnight heat that was sure to descend upon the city. You sighed as you lay on your back for a moment, contemplating if you should read a chapter or two from 'The Count of Monte Cristo'. Dantés had just just been arrested at his on engagement party for heaven's sake, you should continue reading but you weren't certain that your eyes wouldn't droop and you wouldn't fall asleep on your book— you always hated damaging any books, purposefully or not.

You were relieved when the hotel manager allowed you to gallivant up and down its halls to get a feel for the layout, all the possible entry and exit points, the in house security. Everything was fine, up to code. With the clientele that the hotel saw their security was top-notch, designed to put the minds of societies elite at ease.

But you liked going the extra mile, so you had brought it a few more of your own personnel than you had initially intended to. Your guys with pair up with the hotel's guards, much stricter protocols put in place as well. When you did a job, you made sure to do it right— half-assing things wasn't in your nature.

The day of the wedding had arrived sooner than you had liked, just three weeks after your meeting with the happy couple. It was sweet, how eager they were— their faces constantly pulled taut from the smiling.

"Did all the guests arrive?" You question Anton, whom you had placed in charge of checking the arrivals.

"A few missing, likely just stragglers," he replies, his voice gruff from decades of smoking. "No wedding crashers yet."

You nod, patting his back. "Let me know if you need to get off your feet," you remind him before walking away to check with the rest of your staff.

Guests milled about, chattering about anything and everything, taking pictures of the decor and themselves as they sipped their alcohol of choice. Your eyes scanned over the crowd as you moved from one guard to the next. Lucy catching your eye in her blue dress, giving you a thumbs up and a smile. You return the smile with a wave before she's pulled into a conversation with one of the guests just as you bump into someone.

"I'm so sorry," you hurriedly say, instinctively grabbing onto them to steady yourself. "I should've watched where I was going."

Large hands grip you forearm and waist, firm and yet somehow gentle. You glance up at him, your eyes widening in just a fraction. "Mister Castillo," you breathe out, surprised. You knew he was good friend of the groom, that he was on the guest list and yet somehow it felt crazy to see him here in his suit with a calla lily pinned to his lapel.

"Miss Ansari," he drawls in a teasing tone, his lips pulled up in a smile as his eyes shined down at you.

"Sorry," you apologise once more, not really sure you were capable of saying anything more with him close looking so… striking.

"Nothing to apologise for," he dismisses. "How are you?" He asked, his voice dipping into that dizzying baritone register.

Your voice gets trapped in your throat, as you inhaled sharply your lips parted trying your best to get any words out. A second then two passed, feeling more like an infinity, before you pressed your lips closed as you blinked up at him before you nodded.

He raised an eyebrow, an amused smirk tugging a corner of his lips. It's just then that you come back into your mind, regaining some sense as you feel his thumb idly brushing back and forth on the curve of your waist. "I'm fine," you say breathlessly.

"Yeah?" He questioned softly.

You nod, your head tilting as you stare up at him. It was stupid— you were stupid. You shouldn’t be falling quiet every other moment when speaking to him. You shouldn’t be all doe-eyed and breathless as if you were still a teenager with their first full-fledged crush. But here you were. Doing exactly that. Like a fool.

It wasn't your fault that he was attractive with his deep brown soulful eyes, his soft salt and pepper curls, his broad stature, his voice— his everything. It was impossible not to dissolve into a pining, lovesick idiot.

You take a step back, his hands leaving your waist and forearm. Your skin smoldering, aching. Even beneath the fabric of your dress shirt, you skin felt as if it was on fire, setting your nerve-ending on edge.

"And you?" You whisper, despite yourself. "Are you…okay?"

Harry— Mister Castillo, you force yourself to remember. You could not be on a first name basis with him, knowing you would rationalise it by considering him a friend and then read too much into everything— tilts his head just a fraction, his brows furrowing. A soft, thoughtful hum left him before he righted himself. "I'm doing wonderful," he answers, using your given name sending your heart racing.

You had never felt one way or the other about your name. It was just your name, a simple gift given to you by your parents showing their adoration to you. You've heard your name countless times, seen it written just as many. But there was something in the way he said it, a whisper of devotion. Of hunger.

"That's great," you say, the epitome of awkward.

"How's your father?" He inquires, one hand slipping into his trousers pockets as the other fiddles with the button on his jacket.

"He's doing good," you reply. "He's more active nowadays."

The conversation goes on for a few minutes; though it's mostly idle chatter, Harry listens intently as he guides you over to the open bar ordering a whiskey for himself and cranberry juice for you, which you take with soft thanks.

It blew your mind how easy it was to talk to him, it was one of the easiest conversations you've had with another person in a long time. You didn't have to think, didn't have to pretend to be easy-going and fun. You didn't have to pick and choose your words or soften your voice and past.

Despite being in a room full of people, you were at ease. Your mind wasn't racing to solve what-if's, over-analyzing every single blink and twitch. Your mind was at ease and you wondered why. Why with him? What was so special or different about that put you at ease? Why was it that the one person you shouldn’t want made you feel so tranquil?

Why, why why?

One thing you didn't expect was for him to be such a melancholic drunk. Well, tipsy, but the point still stood. After you had been pulled away from him to do your job, you had spotted him sitting on his own in the farthest corner of the room sipping listlessly on his whiskey as music blared and people laughed and danced.

You were being brainless as you hurried through your check-ins, desperate to speak to him again knowing after tonight you wouldn't see much of him for a long time. So, in your infatuated state you had excused yourself and beelined to him. You were nearly to him when—

"John's here," Lucy whisper yelled, gripping your upper arm. Your laser focused eyes left his form and settled on her with a sigh.

"I know," you say plainly, there wasn't anything else you could say and you weren't about to act surprised.

"You know?" She questioned, her lips pulled down in a frown.

"Yeah, I had to vet everyone," you shrug.

Lucy linked her arm with yours, all but dragging you to the open bar, settling onto on one of the stools while you remained standing. You're farther away from him now and throughly annoyed. "A rum and coke for me and a," she said to the bartender before turning to me. "What sort of cocktail do you want?"

You grimaced at her question, which served only to aggravate you further. "Just a cranberry juice," you tell the bartender with a forced smile.

"Right," she shakes her head, seeming to remember you don't drink. "Anyways, why didn't you tell me he would be here?"

"Because, I didn't think it would matter," you say with a sigh as you take your juice, give the bartender a nod of thanks. "I figured he would have enough sense to not bother you. Seems like I was wrong."

You take a deep sip, unbuttoning your suit jacket as you lean on the bar counter. You tuck the few strands of her that escaped you plait behind your ear, glancing across the room for a glimpse of Harry who was now in a conversation with one of the groomsmen who was gesticulating wildly as he spoke.

"A heads up would have been nice," Lucy reasoned.

"You're right, I should have told you," you acquiesced, not wanting this to become an issue and then an argument.

"He looked good though," she said as she sipped her rum and coke, a thoughtful looked in her eyes.

"No," you say immediately.

"What?" She chuckled. "I was just making an observation."

"You weren't," you say sternly. "You said you were done with him. You can't entertain this musing. You're gonna get hurt. Again."

"I'm not," she insists. " I just… it was just nice seeming him again. He looked like he got it together. Mostly, at least."

You level her with a knowing look. This happened just about every year like clockwork since university. They get together, have a wonderful few months before they both start seeing cracks and every tiny issue begin to pile up and then they're arguing day in and day out before they call it quits. That is, until they cross paths again.

It was a cosmic pain in your ass.

And you did not want to be consoling her, yet again, after the fallout. After you've told her it was a monumentally bad idea. You loved her, of course you did, she was your friend. But you've had enough with Lucy and John's childish on-again off-again whatever-the-hell-ship.

"Lucy," you begin, hoping your voice carried the same seriousness you felt. "If you pursue things again with John, I'm not going to be there to pick up the pieces again."

You hated having to say that, having to draw the line, but it needed to be done. There needed to be some consequence, no matter how farcical it seemed.

"I know," she said, heaving a sigh. "I'm not going to pursue things with him again. I learnt my lesson last time."

You didn't believe her, not one bit, but you nodded in acceptance anyway because there wasn’t much else you could do. Lucy downed the rest of her rum and coke before taking her leave, claiming to want to get in early.

After you watched her leave you turned back to the bartender ordering a whiskey neat and water. Nervousness bubbled up in you as you gripped both glasses making your way to the table he sat at, alone once again.

"Hi," you say softly, placing the whiskey it front of him. "You looked like you could use another drink."

He looked up at you, a wry smile tugging at his lips. He takes the glass, tilting it in a toast before taking a sip. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were trying to get me drunk," he quips.

"I can't take credit for that," you say as you pull out the chair opposite him and sitting down, crossing one leg over the other and resting an arm on the table, your finger tracing idle patterns onto the table cloth. "You were doing so good on your own."

He laughed at that, you were certain it was most likely because his whiskey-addled mind found just about anything amusing. It was a pretty sound, nevertheless. Low and rumbling, sending a shiver down your spine and setting your cheeks ablaze.

Harry's perfectly slicked back hair was now a mess, soft curls falling over his forehead. He runs his fingers through his hair, pushing it back but the graying curls have a mind of their own. You down the rest of your water, your mouth feeling too dry, too empty.

You let out an unsteady breath as you glance down at his hand gripping his glass, his finger tapping absentmindedly against it, and you couldn't help your straying thoughts; curious what his hands would feel like holding your wrists together, pressing down between your shoulders, or what his fingers would feel like digging into your hips, maybe even around your throat. You wonder if he would be rough, taking whatever he pleased with little regard for you.

"Why are you here?" He asks, his voice pulling you back to reality.

You clear your throat, sitting just a little straighter. "What do you mean?" Your brows furrowing in confusion.

"I mean, why are you here talking to me?" He elaborates. "The wedding's over. Most of the guests have left, so has your friend. And yet you're here with me. Why?"

A second, then two, passes before you answer him in the only way you know you can. "I don't know," you lie with a nonchalant shrug.

His eyes narrows as he stares at you intently, much longer than what would be considered polite. His gaze flickers across your face, examing every little detail— committing it to memory. He sighs muttering something in Spanish that you don't understand but you do your best to remember the few words you catch.

Ubícate, es demasiado joven para ti.

Harry downs the last bit of his whiskey, reaching to take your glass from you as well before rising from his seat. He inclines his head to the bar, silently asking you to follow him. He places the glasses in the counter, a bill under it, thanking the bartender before turning back to you.

"Come on, I'll walk out with you," he says, his hand carding through his hair once again.

"You don't need to do that," you protest.

"It's dark out," he shrugs. "At least let me do this one thing."

You bit your lip in a moment of hesitation before your nod, letting him lead you out of the hotel. You dig out your ticket for the valet who takes it from you, retrieving your keys to bring out your car.

Harry waits with you, his hands tucked away in his pockets. He looks up at the night sky, the new moon peeking out from behind the clouds. He remained quiet, almost reticent, as he looked on, eyeing everything in your vicinity except you.

Just as you turn to question him your car pulls up, the valet getting out and handing you the keys as you give a twenty dollar bill. You walk to your car, pausing before you get in. You turn around, your breath getting tucked out of you as you find him staring at you.

His heated gaze dragging across your face, from your eyes down your nose before getting stuck on your lips. His eyes fixates on your lips, it's cupid bow and it's plumpness. You compulsively lick your lips, your tongue darting out no more than a second and an almost pained looked flashed through his eyes before he drags them back up to your eyes.

"Do you-" you start, taking in a sharp breath as a shiver racks through your body. "Do you need a ride home?"

Say yes. Please, say yes. Your mind begged silently and stupidly. But despite your rationalisation you hoped he would say yes. You wanted to see what would happen if he did, to satisfy your endless curiosity and need to know all possible outcomes if nothing else.

Your fingers curled over the top of the driver's side door, willing your desired response from him into existence.

His lips parted to something before he pressed them together again and nodded. "Yeah," he replied after a moment. "Yeah, that would be nice. Thanks."

You smile at his answer, relief and a sense of victory flooding you. You jerk your head to car, telling him to get in.

The drive to his apartment was a silent one except for the radio you turned on half way through, your radio connecting to your Bluetooth and you played your most recent playlist. You left the volume low as Harry gave you the directions to his apartment.

It wasn't all that out of the way, ten minutes from the hotel and fifteen minutes from yours you realised as you pulled up to his apartment complex. A tired steel and glass skyscraper marring the navy sky. Harry lingered in the passenger seat as you awkwardly tapped on the steering wheel.

"Do you want to come up?" He asked, his voice soft.

"Sure," you reply impulsively, wanting to do something stupid. You drive into the building's underground parking, turning off your car and joining him as you both walk to the elevator.

The elevator ride up was much like the drive there, silent and tense. It was clear to you that he didn't know what he was doing, but you couldn't truly claim to know either. The elevator dinged, opeening up into a hallway made up of dark wood and protuding light fixtures.

He dug into the inner pocket of his jacket, retrieving his keys, swiftly unlocking the door allowing you through first. As he entered behind you he flicked the light switch on, revealing the expanse of his place. You looked around, taking it all in.

The minimalist appearance of it all wasn't something you would have expected from him, though you didn't really know what to expect. It felt too clinical in a way, too cold for someone so warm. It didn't feel right for someone as old as him to have such a bare residence.

"Nice place," you comment lightly, standing in the middle of his living room.

"Thanks," he says, gesturing to you to follow him. "Can I get anything? Water, coffee, tea?"

"No, I'm good," you reply, leaning against the kitchen counter watching him put on the kettle before grabbing a bottle of water from his fridge.

"Can I make you something to eat?" He asks next, retrieving a mug and all the things he would need for tea. "You're probably starving."

You raise an eyebrow at that, almost amused. "Why would I be starving?" You ask with a smile.

"You didn't eat anything at the wedding," he explained, his eyes not meeting yours. "Figured you would be hungry."

"I had some canapés," you shrug.

He paused at that, a spoonful of sugar frozen hovering over his mug as he looked at you. He dropped the spoon into the mug before he spoke, "That hardly seems enough."

"I ate before work," you wave it off, unbothered.

"Right," he said slowly before turning back to his fridge and rummaging through it. "I could make you a grilled cheese sandwich."

"You don't have to," you say quickly, not wanting to be a bother but you found his offer sweet nonetheless.

As he was grabbing the cheeses and biutter from the fridge, the kettle began to whistle on the stove. You moved around the counter to it, grabbing a dish towel to remove the kettle, pouring the boiling water into his mug. You placed the kettle on the cold stove plate before mixing his tea for him. Harry placed the carton of milk next to you as he moved about to prepare the grilled cheese.

"How much milk do you take?" You asked, unscrewing the cap.

"Just don't let it spill over," he replied. "Is sliced cheese okay for you?"

You scrunched your nose at that but elected to not comment on how much milk he took with his tea. "No sliced cheese," you say, mixing the milk in before putting it away. "Tea's ready."

You watched as he placed the first sandwich on the frying pan. He had removed his jacket and bowtie while your back was turned, throwing it on one of the chairs in his kitchen. His sleeves were rolled up to just below his elbows, his lips pouting just a bit as he arranged the cheese on the second sandwich. You couldn't help the little giggle that escaped you.

You had never seen someone look so serious over a grilled cheese before. It was just as cute as it was amusing. You grabbed his tea and walked over to where he stood, half hunched over, and presented the mug to him. "Drink your tea before it gets cold," you said firmly.

"Right," he blinked as he corrected his posture before taking the mug from you, taking a healthy sip. "Sorry."

You smiled up at him. "I'll finish this up," you say as you take over finishing up the second sandwich before flipping the first one to toast the other side. Harry's hand had reached out to tuck your hair that had come loose, yet again, behind your ear.

You freeze at the gesture, not having expected it. The action was so tender that you brain misfired, short circuiting itself for a bit longer than a singular moment. It was a soft, fleeting thing that felt all to familiar, a wave of nostalgia hitting you rather unexpectedly.

Your parents were just like this, seemlessly moving about the kitchen as you sat at the counter, your feet swinging from the chair that was too high for you as a kid. Your father would do all the prep work for all the meals when he was at home, never letting your mother touch a single utensil that he deemed too dangerous. Your mother promptly hitting him upside the head before taking over some of the work.

Harry gently moved you aside and took over. He removed the first sandwich cutting it in half and handing the plate to you before toasting the second one. You sat at the end of the counter, eating in silence mostly because you didn't know what to say to fill the silence.

You were half way through your first slice when he reached into one of the upper cabinets to retrieve a glass. "Do you want water or some strawberry juice?" He asked.

"Water's fine," you reply, your voice softer than you intended. In fact, you had not intended it to sound soft at all. You mentally cursed yourself for sounding almost airy. You needed to act normal but that seemed to be such a far away concept to you then, nothing about this situation was normal; you sitting in his kitchen eating a grilled cheese sandwich at past eleven in the night no less was not normal, you fantasing about him before driving him home was not normal, this almost wistful domesticity was not normal.

He got you the glass of water before removing his own sandwich and joing you at the counter. "This is crazy," you mumbled to yourself.

"Why?" He asked, biting into his grilled cheese.

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, chewing languidly as you thought up a response. "You're a client," you say, your voice rising in uncertainty as if you didn't believe the words you said. "It's not standard practice to be eating at your place so late in the night."

"You could consider it a business dinner," he shrugged, entirely unbothered by the situation.

"Speaking of business," you started, swiftly changing the topic. "I heard you acquired a publishing house."

"I did," he said plainly, rolling his shoulder back in discomfort.

"Why?" You take a sip of water, waiting for his answer patiently.

"They weren't doing so well so I bought them out," he say quietly, finishing off his sandwich.

You hummed in acknowledgement, accepting his answer. You both promptly fell back into silence, though this time around it wasn't nearly as awkward bordering on stifling.

Harry had taken your plate and glass along with his and deposited it in the sink, turning on the tap and began washing the dishes even though he had a dish washer. You joined him by the sink, a dish towel in hand ready to wipe down the dishes. He handed them to you without protest.

Once you both were done, you and Harry stood there, the silence stretched on. Now though, you couldn't stand it. It was too quiet, too still, reminding you of the times you had to lie in wait for your targets.

Your tongue darted out, wetting your lips, in contemplation. Weighing the risks of a rash decision, would whatever choice you make right then irreparably damage your working relationship with 'Mister Castillo' should you pursue a hare-brained moment of lust with 'Harry'? And that was if he was not only okay with this but wanted it just as much as you did.

You took in a fortifying breath before you spoke, hoping that you didn't monstrously fuck this up. "I really want to kiss you," you say, boldly, instantly wanting to run away from this if only to escape the embarrassment of what you had said.

His eye's widened a fraction, lips parting in shock as he took an unconscious step fback. He didn't reach for you, didn't say anything either for the longest time. And you weren't a fool, you knew when you were being rejected. You nod once in acceptance, taking a step then two back. "Right, well, I'm going to go," you say quietly, your voice small. "Thanks for the grilled cheese."

You turn away, making your way out of the kitchen. You were disappointed but not surprised, most everything you saw tonight was unexpected but his silent rejection made sense. Everything you knew about him from the fleeting moments you ran into him at your father's office over the past four years told you that he wasn't the sort to seek out women significantly younger than him.

When your father returned home from the few times he had joined Harry on an actual business dinner he told you about how the pretty young waitresses had blushed and paid extra attention to him. You didn't entirely believe your father, he was prone to exaggeration, but there had to be some truth to it and so when your father told you how he always politely turned those women down. A small part of you was glad at the time that he was an upstanding man who seemingly didn't use his wealth and prominence to be a creep, it settled a part of you that desperate to believe that there were still good people— good men— in higher up positions. Though now you were a bit saddened by it.

You were half out of the living room when a hand grabbed your's, bringing you to a stop. You turn, confusion creasing the space between your brows as you stare up at him. He stepped in closer, your hand encapsulated in the warmth of his. His face contorted into something between pain and lust.

"You know we shouldn't," he whispered with a shake of his head.

"I know," you whispered back, not having the strength to speak any louder.

"We can't," he replied, insistent while desperation undercut his words. You weren't entirely sure who he was trying to convince, you or himself because regardless, his body drifted closer to you.

You stood toe to toe, your neck craning back ever so slightly to meet his eyes. You were trapped in this moment with him until he made a decision. His eyes flickered between yours before settling on your lips, his own parted, his head inching closer before stopping. You willed him to make a decision, there were limits to your patience and it was beginning to wear thin. If he didn't decide then you would.

Your lifted your free hand to cup his face, the scruff from his patchy beard tickling your palm, you were about to lean in when he let out breath than sat the fence between a sigh and a moan as his eyes fluttered closed. The only sign of any inner turmoil was the deep furrow of his brows.

"I'm going to kiss you," you say, giving him a moment to pull away if he truly did not want this. You leaned in, your breath brushing his lips, another opportunity for him to pull away. You glanced at his closed eyes, admiring his face, committing this moment to memory before you captured his lips in yours.

A pleased hum escaping you as you slowly kiss him, your thumb stroking his cheek before your hand trailed down his jaw and neck. Your nails dragging gently across his sensitive skin eliciting a suplicating hum from him. You smile against his lips as his arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you in impossibly close.

You pulled your hand from his to guide his hand to join his other around your waist. Now with your other hand free, you card your fingers through his soft salt and pepper hair, tugging gently as you nipped at his bottom lip.

His grip tightened around you as he groan. Pressed so close to him you couldn't help but feel him hardening in trousers.

Just a kiss.

A slow a gentle kiss was all it took to get him hard. You weren't expecting him to sprout an erection, you were content with just a kiss but now you could hardly walk away. It would plague your mind for days, if not weeks, as you toss and turned in bed wanting nothing more than to have his cock.

When you pulled back, desperate for air, Harry whined following after your lips. He was the needy sort, you realised. "We shouldn't," you repeat his words with a smirk, your hand running down his arm.

"Fuck," he cursed, closing his eyes tightly. He loosened his grip on you, shaking his head as took a step back. "I shouldn't have done that."

You tilt your head, observing him and the guilt that was marring his beautiful face. "I kissed you," you remind him firmly, taking a step towards him. "Because I wanted to."

He shook his head, guilt-ridden and in denial. His hands making a mess of his hair. "I should've stopped you," he reasoned. "You're half my age. You're technically my employee. I shouldn't have done that, I'm so sorry."

You roll your eyes, letting out a deep sigh. "I'm not your employee, I'm a contractor," he point out. "Whatever working relationship we have ends the moment a contract is fulfilled. And just because I'm half your age doesn't mean I'm somehow too stupid to realise how fucked this is. If you don't want to kiss me or fuck me, you're going to have to say that."

It was a miracle that you hadn't yelled, knowing that would've likely made you seem petulant. He said nothing in return, just stared down at his hands looking throughly berated. You couldn't help your crooked smile, enjoying how he looked repentant. You step closer to him, getting in his line of sight, covering his hands with yours. "If you really don't want this, then I'll go," you say softly. "And we can forget this ever happened."

His hands left yours, settling on your hips as he whispered, "Don't go."

You were relieved, to say the least. You didn't want to go, didn't want to forget the kiss or the collage of moments leading up to it. "You won't regret this?" You question him softly.

A shake of his head was all you needed before you leaned in once more, kissing him soundly and fiercely. He was going to regret it come morning, it was a simple fact, he was too tender-hearted not to. And so, you resolved to make this good for him, hoping the memory of pleasure would override his guilty conscious.

"Bedroom," you instruct him between kisses. He pulled away from the kiss, taken your hand in his, leading you to his bedroom that was just as minimalistic as the rest of his apartment. His lack of knick-knacks had your brows furrowing, his place seeming more like a showroom than an actual home.

You guide him to down on the edge of the bed, moving to stand between his legs. Your kisses turn gentle once more as his hands tentatively curve around your thighs. You let out a pleased hum, pushing his hair back, peppering his face with kisses.

"I'm going to take my shirt off, don't panic," you whisper with a chuckle. You undo your tie, pulling it out from under your collar and tossing it aside. His eyes flickered from yours to your hands as you unbutton you lazily unbutton your shirt.

"Now you," you say, as you push your dress shirt off your shoulders, standing in front of him in just your bra and trousers. He does as told, eyes fixated on your tit's and the lace edge of your bra.

He hurriedly took off his shirt, chucking it away from him. His hands where back on you in an instant, caressing your waist as he pulled back in for a kiss. It was desperate, forsaking his need for air as begged for entrance.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you parted your lips granting him the entrance he wanted, a grateful moan leaving him as his tongue tangled with yours. He was gentle in his exploration of your mouth. You played with the ends of his hair at his nape.

He pulled away suddenly, taking in deep breaths as he stared at you, a mischievous glint in his eyes. He hands gripped your waist firmly, pulling you down and turning you over so that you were lying on your back in his bed. A surprised yelp escaping you.

Without a word, he dipped his head into the crook of your neck, trailing kisses there. You held his head there as he nipped at the spot just below your ear, earning him a gasping moan as your eyes fluttered shut. He did it again, a bit harder this time. A shudder wracked through you as you dragged his tongue over it to soothe the pain.

Your breath grew unsteady as he lavished your neck with kisses and little nips, trailing down to your collarbone giving it the same attention. He slid his arm beneath your body, tracing the edge of bra, silently asking permission to take it off. You lifted your body up a few inches, making it easier for him to unhook the black fabric.

His hands pulling the straps from your shoulder as he sought out your lips. As soon as he divested you if your bra his hands covered them, fondling them for a moment before his thumb and index finger pinched your nipples.

"Fuck," you groaned, squeezing your eyes shut, tossing your head back.

He kissed his way down your throat, squeezing your tit's before lips met the swell of them. He wasted no time in taking a pebbled nipple into his mouth. It didn't do much for you, having never had sensitive nipples but his wet tongue laving at it felt pleasant enough that you didn't stop him.

As he lost himself in your tit's, you felt his erection pressing into your hip, twitching in the confines of his trousers. You drag your fingers through his hair, gripping it and pulling him off. He resisted, a low growl escaping him.

"Your pants, take it off," you say, your voice breathy, pushing him off you as you unbutton and push yours off as well, only your panty still on.

In that moment, you regret not having worn your fancier undergarments but the feeling quickly leaves as Harry crawled back to you, with every inch of skin bared for you, settling between your legs. Your eyes travel down the length of his body, your cheeks heating up as it catches the trail of hair leading to his rather sizable cock. At least in comparison to the ones you've had before.

You but your lip in anticipation. Harry runs his hands up your calf, stopping at the bend of your knees to pull you a bit closer. You gasp in pleasant surprise, glad to see his inhibitions about this leaving him as confidence filled him. You sigh as he presses a kiss to the side of your knee, his eyes never one leaving yours.

You reach above you, searching blindly for a pillow to support you lower back as ravished your thigh with reverent kisses as his other hand ran up and on your other leg leaving behind a trail of goosebumps.

As he neared your apex of your thigh, he paused, glancing up at you with hooded eyes, resting his head at your hip. His fingers toyed with the edge of your panty, his touch was light, a whisper in the dimness of his bedroom.

You caressed his cheek, a content sigh leaving you as you see how serene he looked. You bit your lip as a familiar heat ignited between your thighs, the feeling of a bead of wetness dripping out of you. "Harry," you began, voice soft— idyllic— as you moved your hand to cup his jaw. "Do you plan on fucking me tonight or not?" You asked with a raised brow, unbothered if you you sounded a bit too forward or harsh, you just wanted to get fucked.

It had been too long since you had gotten your pussy ate out, almost a year now if you remembered right. And it had been months since you last had sex with anyone, too tired to hook up with some guy off a dating app.

With renewed vigour, Harry hooked his arms under your thighs, burying his face in your core. His tongue darting out, dragging over your clothed heat. You exhaled in relief, glad for the stimulation; if he had denied you this you would have fingered yourself right then just for the sake of being petulant.

You gave him an approving hum, your hand in his hair keeping him there. "I'm not made of glass," you comment. "No need to be so gentle."

He pulled his head away, much to your frustration, a questioning look in his dark brown eyes. "You sure?" He voiced.

"Yes, goddammit," you say. "I don't want gentle."

He nodded once in acceptance, promptly burying his head back between your thighs, pulling your panties to the side wasting no time in licking a long strip up your slit stopping at your clit, sucking at it gently.

You shudder at the feeling, closing your eyes to let everything that wasn't him fade out of existence. You distantly heard the hum of the fridge, the ticking of a clock, the late night wind howling outside. You heard him hum against your pussy as he reached over your thigh, his thumb rubbing your clit slow circles as his tongue dipped between your lips.

He pace quickly grew relentless, unforgiving, as you tugged at his hair as the vibrations from his moans had you squirming. You whimper at the sudden intrusion of his fingers, you hadn't even noticed him removing his other from your thigh.

Your pussy had to stretch to accommodate just two of his fingers, the thought of what his cock would feel like left you feeling dizzy. Your hips rolled to meet the thrusts of his fingers, one hand keeping a firm grip in his hair— if you weren't so desperate to come you would feel bad for the headache you were giving him.

A chorus of moans and whimpers left you as his fingers hit the spongy little spot in your pussy with a steady rhythm, his mouth never once leaving your clit. "Harry," you moan, breathless as you tensed up feeling the familiar coil of your impending orgasm. "Don't stop." You command.

He hummed in acknowledgement, keeping the same pace as you tossed a leg over his shoulder, your calf holding his head in place leaving no chance for him to pull back.

His thrusts became shorter, more insistent. Just as your moans became more whiny, desperate for a release. "Please," you beg. "Please, baby, I'm so close."

The wet squelch of your pussy was deafening as you begged for your orgasm, wanting— needing— it more than anything else in that moment. You could feel the slow drip of sweat down your spine, the mix of his spit and your juice on your skin.

You shut eyes, mindlessly rolling your hips in tone with his thrusts. You were so close you wanted to cry, the coil pulled so taut that it was bound it snap any minute.

A groan escape you as your body shook with a mind melting orgasm. Every muscle in your body feeling too tight and loose at the same time. You whimpered as you felt Harry slowly pull his fingers out, dragging his tongue over your quivering slit as his thumb stroked your clit slowly, working you through the after shocks of your orgasm as you whined, too sensitive for even the barest of touches.

You removed your leg from over his shoulder, tiredly tugging him up by his hair. He stopped intermittently to pepper kisses up your body, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips. When he was face to face with you, you cradle his face in both hands as you fought to catch your breath. You look at him, eyes half lidded, taking in his almost pussy drunk expression.

You pulled him down, pressing you lips to his that were still glistening with your slick. You licked at his lips, seeking entrance which he gladly granted, wrapping an arm around you as he turned you over so that you laid on top of him.

You braced yourself with your forearm, your lips never leaving his. You enjoyed the taste of yourself on him too much to pull away. The twitch of his cock against your ass slowly brought you out of your post-orgasm delirium. You let out a soft hum, lifting your hips to let his cock settle between the both of you.

His arms, wrapped around your waist, held you still against him as he pulled his lips away from yours. "You don't have to do that," he said, his voice husky.

You smile down at him, as you dragged your drenched pussy against his length, the movement was too little to really do much for him. A disapproving groan left him as his hands moved to grip your hips, effectively stopping you. "Don't, querida," he drawled without elaboration.

"Why not?" You question, resting both hands over his chest and placing your chin on the back of you hand.

"Because, I would like to not embarrass myself," he sighs, loosening his grip on your hips.

You let out an amused huff as you kiss his cheek. "It's completely normal to come too fast at your age," you tease, kissing and sucking at his neck.

"Very funny," he said flatly, letting his hand trace your spine unconsciously. "But you're not entirely off." He concedes.

Your curiosity was piqued, wanting to know more, swiftly forgetting about getting him to properly fuck you. He closed his eyes with a deep sigh, indicative about the possible sensitivity of his explanation. "You don't have to tell me," you give him an out, not wanting to sour the moment.

"I haven't been with anyone for a long time," his hand stopping it's journey up and down your spine. "Not since my divorce."

Divorce? You were speechless, stunned beyond belief. How had you not known that? He was practically everywhere, on the covers of business magazines and tabloids that recounted every moment from his life, speculating about everything even if it were unfounded.

"You were married?" You asked dumbly.

The look on your face must've been ridiculous if his chuckle was anything to go by. "Yeah, for fifteen years," he divulged. "Married my high school sweetheart when we were twenty. She was eveything to me."

His eye's grew distant, no doubt recalling every moment they spent together. You wondered what could possibly have caused the divorce. Did one of them want kids but the other didn't? Did he work too much? Or did the love just disappear? You didn't know the answers to those question and you were sure as hell not going to ask, but you did know that sombreness did not suit him.

"You want to know why, don't you?" He guessed. Your face heating up in embarrassment, you used to not be so transparent with your thoughts, never letting anything show unless it served a purpose.

"Am I that obvious?" you shake your head, resting your forehead against his chest.

He let out a laugh, his hand coming up to stroke your head, smoothing down your hair in the process. "I'm just good at guessing," he comforted you. "And everyone's curious."

"If you loved her why get divorced?" You wondered.

He took in a fortifying breath before he spoke. "I," he started, his voice faltering for a second. "I came home early from a business trip, wanted to surprise her for out anniversary. She… she was in bed with my cousin."

"Oh,"

"Yeah," he chuckled sardonically. "She said he was the love of her life."

That was a pain you were glad you did not know, but your heart broke nonetheless for him. You never understood why people cheated, if you had fallen in love with someone else just break up. If it was about sex just say that, speak to them about your desires. It was a cruelty that you saw no logical reason for.