It was the kind of cold that made your bones feel brittle and the hair in your nose freeze. The sun was riding high and if you were lucky enough to be indoors looking out, you might think it would provide some warmth. What a scam, I thought to myself as I continued along the sidewalk. Sure, it was gorgeous out here with the early morning sunshine, the wide-open blue sky and the icicles hanging from the shop awnings on the main street downtown, but that beauty didn't tell the whole story. In reality, we were in the midst of the dreaded month of February. Most afternoons it warmed up enough to cause boot sucking slush and mud. The roads ran with melted snow. Then the temps would drop into the teens at night and it would all freeze over. The walkways were treacherous; the roads were like an ice rink. I wouldn't even be out here this early in the morning, except for the fact that my apartment was currently cold enough to house polar bears. The utilities were included in my rental fee, but the landlord got to set the thermostat. Apparently he believed that as long as the water pipes didn't freeze, humans should be fine as well.

So here I was, speed walking toward my favorite coffee shop, hat donned, scarf wrapped, mitten clad, parka layered. I was wishing that I had caved to the bitterness of the morning and worn my wool lined Sorrel's, but my sense of style had me wearing my black, chunky heeled, leather biker boots with my black skinnies. Hey, I was going to be sitting in that coffee shop for a long time. I wanted to be comfy. There also happened to be a hot barista that generally worked mornings and I wouldn't be heartbroken if he happened to notice me. It was a Saturday, so the place would have lighter traffic and fewer distractions. If I could get myself out of these layers of winter gear, and my hair recovered from being pressed under my beanie, I might have a decent shot at getting his attention.

Dodging a woman tying her fluffy golden retriever to a bike rack outside the shop, I grabbed the iron handle and jerked the door open. The heat and smell of freshly ground espresso beans washed over me and thawed my tender nose. Deep breath, senses coming alive. Bliss! Scanning the hodgepodge of mismatched wooden tables and chairs I spotted exactly what I was hoping for. I scored a table against the wall opposite the coffee bar; it was near enough the front windows that I could enjoy the view, but far enough from the door that I wouldn't suffer a blast of frigid air every time someone entered. As a side benefit, there was an unobstructed view of the delicious barista that I had hoped would be pulling espresso shots. Two points for me!

Dropping my backpack to the tabletop, I began the process of shedding my layers. There was no point in expecting my hair to have weathered the walk well. This time of year meant that even the deepest conditioning treatment wasn't going to tame my dark honey colored curls. I did my best to calm the mess that tumbled out of my black knit beanie; it was a little hopeless, so I simply shrugged it off. Once I had divested myself of the outerwear, I went about setting up my work. Out of my backpack, I hauled a notebook, pens, a paperback thesaurus, my steel water bottle and most importantly my MacBook Air. I had scraped and saved to buy this computer. I wanted something great for school. When I made the purchase, I had no idea how invaluable it would become to me financially.

I loved living in a college town and attending the University. There were great opportunities here for me to volunteer in the community and I'd even had two fantastic internships; one at a teen crisis center, the other, as an outreach coordinator for a local food bank. Since the University provided a deep well of student employees who needed experience, and they were willing to work for peanuts or school credit, there weren't many good paying jobs available. I was a good student. Having proven myself academically, I was able to land enough scholarship and grant funding to pay for all of my school expenses. However, the issue of rent, food and utilities remained. They weren't going to pay for themselves and I hadn't been able to find a normal job that would work around my class schedule.

This was my second year of grad school. I was working toward my masters in psychology. I had been dead broke at the beginning of my graduate program a year and a half ago. We aren't talking about "Gee, I wish I could afford a new dress and a night on the town," broke. I mean "Next week I'm going to be one of my own clients at the food bank," broke.

One afternoon I'd been scrolling through Tumblr, using the internet connection that I hijacked from the upstairs neighbor. Earlier in the day a snooty retail manager at the mall had told me that I was not qualified to sell sunglasses and cheap-ass jewelry to 12 year olds, and although she was sure I would make a lovely psychologist some day, she was looking for someone who felt small accessories was their calling in life. So there I was, sprawled out in front of my computer trying to distract myself from the fact that my bank account had less than $75 left in it and I had zero financial relief in sight.

The blog I was creeping was a One Direction aesthetic themed affair. My friends and I had seen them in concert when they played Las Vegas a couple months prior. We had pooled all of our money, taken the most reliable vehicle amongst us and headed south. One of the girls' parents had a condo we were able to stay in and we made excellent use of the cheap buffets off the strip. We were massively lucky to score late release tickets for the floor that were decently priced. That was the end of my savings though. Still, it was worth it. The show was incredible, the boys were gorgeous as all get out, and we had a blast!

Now I was sitting on my living room floor, running my fingers over the dated carpet and wishing I could return to that concert. There were several anonymous posts on the blog, from girls looking for someone who could write them into a fanfiction based on their band favorites; some of them were even offering to pay for the work. It was sweet really, and innocent. Thousands of women had fantasies about the guys in the band. All they wanted was to live out that fantasy in their minds. It appeared that there was no one to write the stories they were dreaming of.

There was a void.

I could write well enough, I had thought to myself. I had a fertile imagination regarding the boys that I had watched grow into the men of One Direction. I had a solid undergraduate background in psychology now, so I knew something about fantasy; what people wanted and what made them feel fulfilled. I was dead broke and needed the money. I could fill the void.

So, here I was, a year and a half later, nearly done with my masters and making ends meet writing stories to fulfill the fantasies of anyone who could afford it and wasn't asking for anything too kinky. I charged $30 per 1,000 words with a $50 "smut fee" if the consigner wanted the characters to do the nasty. That shit was hard to write! Most of the stuff I was commissioned to write ran about 5,000 words. Today I needed to finish polishing one and get another completely roughed out.

I grabbed the debit card that was linked to my PayPal account and stepped into the line for coffee and sustenance. The first order of business when I began writing was to set up the online banking system. My customers were able to deposit money directly into my PayPal account and I had immediate access to the funds. Everyone had the financial institution's protection ensuring a fair exchange of goods and services, and I was such an upstanding citizen, that I even declared the income and paid my taxes. Yay, Me!

Waiting in line, I ran another hand over my mess of curls, and hoped no one heard my tummy rumble just now. I was wearing a creamy colored, cotton sweater over my tight, black jeans. It was a little loose at the hem, but fit my bust nicely and made me sort of hope the cute barista appreciated a good set of tits. Makeup isn't really my thing, but I knew I had pink cheeks from my walk and I had taken a minute before leaving home to dash a bit of mascara over my lashes, thus helping the blue of my eyes stand out. Pulling in a deep breath, I stepped up to the counter to face Mr. Hot Stuff.

"Hey, how are ya today? Haven't seen you in for a few days." My God, he was attractive! Black, I mean blue-black, wavy fringe fell over his forehead. His eyes were the kind of stormy grey that reminded me of a trip I'd taken to the northern west coast in winter. He was broad through the shoulders; his t-shirt tugging against muscle when he moved. His skin was a couple shades darker than mine, like a perpetual deep tan and I thought about how it would look, having my fair coloring against his. People would probably notice if I wiped the drool off my chin, so I tried to play it cool.

"Yeah, hi. Uh, my week was crazy. Two research papers, so I was pretty tucked in at the library. But I'm here now!" Ugh, that sounded pretty anxious.

"Yep, here you are, um... Sophia, right?" Dance and twirl in my head! He remembered my name!

"That's me, Sophia! But you can call me Sophie, all my friends do." Shit, was that too obvious? I should probably just take all my clothes off now, climb over the coffee bar and get it over with.

"Okay, then, Sophie. What can I get to warm you up this disgustingly cold morning?" Seriously?! He's flirting back, right?

"I'll have a triple grande americano, four sugars, extra cream; can I also have one of those breakfast croissants with the eggs and ham, please?" Whew! I got it all out and kept my cool. I wasn't feeling cool though. What I was feeling was hot, really, really, hot.

"Four sugars, huh? Guess you like things extra sweet. And creamy," he winked. He winked! Holy crap, he winked at me! Remain calm; this is not a drill.

I grinned back and somehow managed to keep the stutter out of my voice when I smirked and said, "I guess I like a lot of things."

"That's really good to know, Sophie. You mind if I bring this out to your table after I pop the croissant in the oven to heat things up?" Was that a double entendre?

"Uh, sure. I'm just sitting right over there," I pointed. I think I just flipped my hair. Did I do that? Wow, I'm surprising myself today.

"I know exactly where you're sitting." Okay then. Deep breath, one foot in front of the other, proceed to the left, pay the bill, sit back down, breathe some more, no problem here.

Oh my God! I don't know his name, he didn't say his name, I need his name, how can I get his name?! This is what was running through my head as I tucked in at my table. He knew my name; I should know his name. What was wrong with being straightforward? I just need to pull up my big girl panties and ask him. I would do it! When he brought my order over, I would say something about him knowing my name and it was only fair that I should know his. Good, that's settled. Now I had work to do.

I fired up my MacBook and brought the file I needed on to the screen. It was an almost complete fic featuring Liam. Given a choice, Liam was my favorite band member to write about. He always seemed a little broody to me; Mr. Responsibility, taking charge during interviews, keeping the answers sincere, without divulging too much personal information, guiding the other boys to behave in a respectable manner. There was a thrill for me in imagining what he might be like once that polished exterior was lifted away. I wasn't the only woman intrigued by the concept either. Considering that he was seemingly well controlled, a lot of the fic requests I got were asking to show him either using that control in a sexual way or losing it completely, also in a sexual way.

The ladies saw Niall as a loving and attentive boyfriend, occasionally kicking ass if pushed, and generally fantastic with his tongue. Everybody's good time boy was Louis. He was the friend and confidant that a girl could turn to, always ready to hit the town and show his posse a good time. He definitely filled the skater and punk character that many of the younger fans were after.

Then there was Harry. Harry was an enigma. Publicly, he professed his love of women in general, but few specifically. Regardless of the fact that regular speculation was made about female celebrities he might be connected with, there was scant concrete information to go on. Demand for Harry ran the gamut. Women wanted him tender, kind and gentle. They wanted him unyielding, stoic, reachable only by the love of the perfect woman (this of course would be the commissioner of the story). They wanted him to fulfill their daddy and bondage kinks; they needed him to be a poet with an unrivaled intellect. There were more inquiries for Harry stories than all of the other lads combined. I gave him the best treatment I could, although I was never convinced that I was hitting the mark. Oh well, fiction equals fantasy; it was all make-believe.

As I was settling into my last edit of Liam's current escapades, a plate was being slid onto the table. Looking up, I found a different barista standing at my elbow. She was a nice looking girl, younger than myself, maybe even still in high school.

"Oh, thanks," I said, trying to look around her without seeming obvious. Where was my hot barista who knew my name and exactly where I was sitting?

"Here, Mark wanted to bring this over, but he's the manager and there was some kind of emergency in the kitchen he had to deal with, so here ya go." She practically dropped the paper coffee cup with the black plastic lid on the table next to my croissant. Jeez chill, sister, I thought to myself! She reached down and twisted the cup holding my americano around so that I could see writing on the side. "There ya go... sugar," she stated curtly and stomped off. What the fuck?!

The light bulb went on when I read the side of the cup. There was a message written in man-scrawl. "Call me, sugar." It was followed by a phone number and signed, "Mark." Evidently, Mark's co-worker was not pleased with me. On the other hand, not only did I now know tall-dark-and-handsome's name, but I had his phone number and a clear invitation to use it. Score!

Breakfast was tasty and into my belly post-haste; I had been famished. The coffee, I nursed along as I finished the Liam fairy tale. He was rather delicious in this adventure. The reader had requisitioned a deserted, tropical island stranding for herself and the man of her dreams. They had been shipwrecked Blue Lagoon style, with little to nothing in terms of clothing, managing to keep warm during the cool nights by joining their naked bodies. They fished, swam, ate the island's fruit and slept under the stars or in the shelter that Liam had so deftly built for her using only what nature supplied. They discovered the bliss of physical love; he touched her, she stroked him, tab A, slot B, blah, blah, blah... I had to pee. I'd written a lot of smut, drank 24 ounces of coffee, and now I needed the restroom and a stretch. I grabbed my empty cup, removed the lid and tore Mark's message off, tossing it in my backpack for later. I hadn't seen him return from the kitchen and wondered if he had simply gone off shift. It would have been nice if he had stopped by, but since I had his number, it didn't really matter now.

Standing, I extended my arms as far up as I could, then bent over and touched my toes, feeling a few cracks and pops as I righted myself. As I twisted my torso to the left, then right, I noticed that I was being watched covertly. Although the guy sitting at the table behind me was wearing a green cap pulled low, quickly dropped his gaze and attempted to hide behind a large cup, he still looked vaguely familiar. Flipping my computer screen to face the wall, I was hoping that he hadn't been able to read anything over my shoulder! I flashed a brief smile, thinking that I must know him from campus. This was a small town in a safe part of the world. We were friendly up here, but didn't get into other people's business. I jogged off to relieve quickly relieve my full bladder, not worried about my belongings. Again; small town, safe place, folks minded their own business.

Or so I had always thought...

I couldn't have been gone for more than five minutes, but that dick from the next table was hunched over my open laptop! What the hell?!

"Hey!" I yelled, snaking my hand around him to slam the lid closed, trying to remember if I had saved the edits before I had ducked out to the bathroom. "What the hell do you think you're doing looking at my stuff?! Back off, dude!" I tried to shove him away, but he didn't budge. With his back to me, he stood up to his full height. This guy was way taller than I was, even with the added inches my boots gave me.

"Interesting bit of writing you're doing there," he stated in a deep British accent while he pivoted to face me.

Holy Monkeys! Sweet Jesus! I had to raise my whole face to see him clearly; I was looking into the greenest eyes I had ever seen. The incredibly amazing, and obviously amused eyes of the real Harry Styles.

My palms were perspiring, the back of my neck was too warm and I felt a little short of breath. The edges of my vision may have blurred slightly and I held a hand to the table to steady myself.

"Would you mind if I sat down? If we sat down?" There was the hint of a mischievous grin on his lips, but it didn't reach his eyes which were slightly downcast and hooded; his voice low and dark. Honestly, he was a bit scary.

"Uhh... yeah, sure. We can sit, I guess. Am I in trouble? Why are you here? Where did you come from?" Son of a nutcracker! This was an unbelievable mess. Did they know about my writing? I guess they knew about some of it, since the grand Harry Styles was just reading about his friend boinking away on a fictitious island! Was I in hot water? There were thousands of people out there writing fanfiction based on every celebrity, book and movie known to mankind. Why would they pick on me? And if I was going to be hit with legal action, why didn't they send an attorney? None of this made any sense, but it was making my headache.

Dragging back the chair across from me, Harry sat. "Thanks for letting me join you," he said, adjusting the bill of his cap and making sure the hood of his grey sweatshirt was secured over the top of it. He had on black skinny jeans, just like me, and brown suede boots. While his probably cost a fortune, they looked like they had been worn long and hard. His legs were long and his knees knocked into mine as he settled. "Sorry," he mumbled, and I felt him spread his legs so that mine fit in between his.

Wiping my hands down my thighs, I inhaled a long, cleansing breath. It didn't help much with the uneasiness that was hanging onto me like a stuffy wool blanket.

"So... What are you doing here and why were you snooping on my computer?"

He held his right hand over the table toward me, "Hi, I'm Harry Styles, and you are?" Was he daft? Of course I knew who he was!

"My name is Sophia. Sophia Michaels. People call me Sophie." His hand was dry and warm. He had a nice handshake, not one of those limp jobs that a lot of men pull when meeting a woman. When he smiled at me this time it seemed more genuine.

"Are you going to explain to me what is going on?" If I had to endure much more of this suspense, I was going to develop an ulcer.

"Interesting to meet you, Sophia. I don't think you noticed me when I came in, you appeared to be fully absorbed by your uh, work. Do you always twirl your hair and pull it so hard when you concentrate?"

He had been watching me?

"It's Sophie."

"No. I like Sophia. It fits you. So you enjoy writing?" he questioned, smile growing now.

It felt like he was running around me in circles. I wanted some damn answers! "Listen, I need you to tell me what the hell is going on! You're avoiding my questions. I'll answer yours once you answer mine. What's the deal, Styles?!"

"Fine, sorry. I came up from LA for a couple of days. Friends have a condo up at the ski resort; I needed some space to clear my head, so I took advantage of their standing offer to use the place. I ventured into town for provisions. It's helpful that most people around here disregard celebrity status. Still, being spotted having meals out and having to stop for photos or attracting the tabloids negates my purpose here. Therefore, I need to stock the cupboards"

"Okay... so how did you find out about me? Why are you here now?"

"Sophia, I didn't know a damn thing about you until an hour ago when I started reading over your shoulder. Your body language was intense. Between that thing you were doing with your hair, all the shifting in your seat and they way you attacked the keyboard with heated bursts of energy; I was curious. I came in here to get a coffee and something to eat because I got in late last night and there isn't anything fresh at the condo. There is nothing nefarious going on. Unless you count whatever it is that you're up too."

"I'm not in trouble? You didn't show up to warn me off of my writing?" His story was certainly plausible. I knew the band was on an extended hiatus, though they professed their intention to continue making music together after a break. It was common knowledge amongst their fan base that they'd had a tumultuous year; there had been the departure of their fifth member, Zayn, a huge break-up for Liam, a baby for Louis, and some seriously weird shit with Harry and the Kardashian/Jenner family of reality TV fame. Only Niall seemed to remain unscathed.

Perhaps Harry was honestly here in our mountain town hoping to find some peace and quiet. He wasn't kidding about the celebrities around here. The main town, where the University was located, was about an hour from an internationally known ski resort, incredible ranching valleys, blue ribbon trout streams and a vast mountain wilderness. Many of Hollywood's rich and famous bought property in the area and counted on the fact that as a whole, the locals held to a live and let live attitude. Don't bother us; we won't bother you.

"I promise you are not in trouble. Although, I could probably argue that you should be, we are trademarked brands, as a band and as individuals. What's your story, and why are you writing about Liam like that? And don't try to deny that it is Liam that you're writing about, because I saw that you used his full name."

"Fine. I said I would answer your questions if you answered mine." Now that I had been reassured that I wasn't looking down the barrel of a legal problem, the only reason not to come clean was the embarrassment factor.

"First off, trademark protection or not, you are all public figures. Unless I was attempting to pass off my writing as factual, I don't think you could sue me. Everything I write is fiction. Secondly, every single story that someone like myself pens, every website that provides a platform for sharing those stories, is giving you free publicity. We are all nurturing the fantasy of One Direction and we drive sales of your music, concert tickets and merchandise. I doubt your management actually wants to shut that down." I had to smirk at my own rationale. Today wasn't the first time I had rolled this over in my mind. "As for my story and why I write fanfics..."

Harry and I sat at that tiny wooden table next to the exposed brick wall, inhaling the fumes from espresso shots for the next hour. I explained everything; I told him the depressing story of my previous financial status, and how I had seen a desire that I could fulfill while padding my bank account. I disclosed that I was a bit of a fan myself, although not obsessive. He listened to every word that spilled out. There was no judgment, only curiosity. The man was quite personable. The time and our conversation passed quickly.

At one point, he asked if I wouldn't like another americano and he offered to treat. Since he was hoping to remain undiscovered, I accepted his offer to pay and placed the order myself. Cute Mark was still MIA when I went to the counter, but his bitchy co-worker was operating the register. She rattled off my total and made a snide comment as she handed me the change. "Looks like you're collecting them today, eh?" Needless to say, I bypassed the tip jar.

When I came back with the fresh drinks, previously chatty Harry seemed sullen. "Did I miss something? Why are you so quiet now?"

He was focused on the paper cup in his hands, running his thumbnail over the spout. "Why do you prefer to write about the other guys and not me? Am I not as interesting?" It wasn't until he finished the second question that he met my eyes. The look on his face was, vulnerable? Was that the right word? Where was the confidence from earlier?

"Well... it isn't that you're not interesting, exactly. It's just that, you're hard to nail down. I feel less certain about who you are, what you're really like. See, when you were younger, you played to the camera, flirted with the interviewers, you were a bit of a ham and I thought you were an adorably open, cheeky boy. That isn't the case now. I guess I can't tell who you really are anymore. You give the impression of being more aloof, closed off." That seemed to make him sad. I observed him pinching at his lips while contemplating my words. "Maybe that's just the price of fame, Harry. You have to protect yourself."
"Would you like to spend the rest of the weekend with me?"

Crickets. Every sound in the coffeehouse faded out, every smell, every other person, dropped out of existence for the moment. I was tempted to look around myself to make certain he was talking to me.

"Me? You want me to spend the weekend with you? What on earth for?" Honestly, I was stunned. Was he propositioning me?

"Sorry, I didn't mean to seem so, um... forward. I'm not necessarily asking you to sleep with me. You've been open with me, not weird about whom I am. I don't have the opportunity to spend much time with people who are real and don't want something from me, and I don't have the luxury of time to develop many of those relationships. I would like for you to get to know me, the real me. On the other hand, you're beautiful, you seem kind and self-assured, and so we could also just fuck. Its up to you." Yep, yep that was definitely a proposition. Harry Styles just invited me to spend the rest of the weekend with him and potentially fuck around. Hold the phone, please...

"Uhhh..." Come on, Sophie! That is not an answer. "Would, could, can I just have a minute?" Great, I was stuttering. He smirked now, and it went all the way to his eyes as he nodded in the affirmative. "I'll, um, be right back." I stood up so fast my chair smacked into the wall to my right. I think he laughed. I couldn't be bothered to care as I dashed back to the ladies room.

I threw the bolt on the door. Think, think, think! I locked eyes with myself in the bathroom mirror. The blue irises had gone dark. I think I wanted to do this. Did I? I shook my hands out by my sides. What was there to worry about? I had no boyfriend; nothing more committed that a barista's phone number in my backpack. I had no other plans for the weekend. Harry was genuinely a nice guy, although still somewhat of a mystery. Why not live out a little fantasy of my own? Breathing like they taught in my yoga class, I cleared my mind, and walked back to the table, considerable more in control. I didn't bother to sit back down across from him.

"Yes," I said confidently. "I would like to spend the weekend with you."

Harry nodded and stood up next to me. Quickly I threw everything into my backpack. He helped me into my coat and I pulled on my hat and scarf, shoving the mittens in my pockets. I felt Harry place a hand at the small of my back and push me forward. We didn't speak. Instead, he used his hand to guide me through the tables, out the front door and into the cold. Once we were on the sidewalk, he grabbed my hand and pulled me along until we reached a black Land Rover with tinted windows. He beeped the key fob and opened my door, helping me climb in. I could see bags of groceries lined up on the back seat. We stopped by my apartment long enough for me to run in and grab what I would need for tonight and tomorrow. Whether I was being optimistic or just overly prepared, I threw more into my bag than I would need for one night.

The drive up the switchback to get to the condo was uneventful. Harry chatted on about life on tour with the other boys. He spoke warmly of his mother and the rest of his family. It seemed that he did not particularly enjoy being alone for long periods, so he visited his family and friends often. I identified the kinds of trees he was seeing and the mountain range, told him about the local wildlife, reassuring him that the bears were tucked in and hibernating at the moment. The conversation flowed, my nerves fading with each mile. It was late afternoon by the time we arrived. I helped Harry unload the shopping and my bag as well.

The condo was quite nice. It probably wasn't the flashiest on the mountain, but it was certainly well appointed. We came into a large entryway with a tall ceiling where we shed our boots and winter gear. The condo had a great room that opened to a chef's kitchen, a huge fireplace separating the two rooms slightly. There were oversized leather couches and chairs, heavy rugs and tapestries on the walls. Harry pointed out a bathroom off the kitchen and the stairs that led upstairs.

When we had finished stocking the cupboards with fresh groceries, Harry grabbed my bag and headed for the stairs. "Come on," he said and took my hand as he had done earlier in the day. Upon reaching the open landing of the second floor, Harry stopped and dropped my hand. Facing me, he spoke plainly, "There are three bedrooms here. I am staying in the master. Where would you like to sleep?"

There was no smirk, no insinuation or tease. Just a simple, straightforward question. I knew he was decent enough that he would ask at some point, and I had decided what my answer would be before we had left the coffee shop.

"I would like to sleep with you, in your bed, Harry."

"Very good," he said, and he leaned down to brush a kiss over my cheek.

While I took a few minutes to stow my bag and freshen up in the master suite, Harry thumped back downstairs to use the facilities there. By the time I came down, he was hard at work in the kitchen. We chatted about ourselves, and some of our plans for the future as we chopped veggies and sliced chicken breasts. Harry took advantage of our close proximity to glide his hand over my back and steal a few easy kisses. It was sweet and I was enjoying the bits of affection.

The sun sets early in the mountains during the winter months and we enjoyed the view through the tall kitchen windows. Skiers and a few snowboarders swished down the jeep trails that led to the backdoors of the neighboring condos; the light of the sun coloring and waning behind them.

Harry made us a mouthwatering Asian salad. He marinated the chicken in rice wine and sesame oil, cooking it quickly in a wok before placing it in the refrigerator to cool. Using fresh oil and vinegar, as well as a compound of mysterious herbs and spices, he manufactured a dressing to pour over bowls that held a bed of greens, mixed vegetables and the chilled chicken. He topped it off with mandarin oranges, and poured us each a glass of white wine. Voila!

"Dinner was fantastic, Harry. Not all of your talent is on the stage." It was easy to pay him the compliment as he had fed me so well.

"I have many talents, some skills, too. And no, they are not all featured on the stage." Ah yes, there was the cheeky boy with the heavy smirk. I couldn't stop the giggle that bubbled up. I would be a liar if I didn't admit that I was looking forward to dessert. We cleared the table, but when I started to open the dishwasher, Harry wrapped his hand around my arm above the elbow and turned my body around to face him. "Leave them. I want to do other things." His voice had suddenly become throaty.

Harry slid his hand down to my wrist, keeping his grip tight, and I allowed him to lead me to the living room. As I followed him, I couldn't help but appreciate the way his pants clung to his ass and his shirt was tight over his broad shoulders. Part of me was starting to think I might let him lead me a lot of places.

A fire had been laid and Harry stopped our progress long enough to lay a match to the kindling beneath the logs. The fire was the only illumination in the room. Turning back to me, he placed his hands on either side of my face and ducked down to gently slide his lips over mine, then kiss the corner of my mouth. His hands slipped down to my shoulders, long fingers digging into them through my sweater. His hair was loose and fell forward; his chocolate curls mixing with my lighter curls as he continued to lay down tiny kisses. I could feel him exhale over my cheek, making his way to the divot behind my right ear. His tongue flicked, and he used his teeth to rake over the side of my neck.
"Can we talk for a minute?"

"Of course," I said as he laced our fingers. He directed us to the oversized leather couch, gesturing for me to sit at one end against the armrest. He settled next to me so that we were facing one another, legs crossed. Harry wiped his palms down the thighs of his jeans and began to play with my fingers.

"What kind of birth control do you use?" Fair question, especially given the situation.

"I'm on the pill, have been since I started college. But, I also use condoms. It's never been an option not to. This thing with you, it's not the kind of thing I've ever done before, but I've had other boyfriends. They just weren't what I would call 'forever' material. So I stick with the condoms as a back up." He nodded as if he understood and continued to run his fingers through and over mine. It was a little distracting, in a good way.

"Okay, that sounds good. I've always used condoms as well. My mum drilled that into me. Then when all hell broke loose on the X Factor, they took us boys aside and had a talk with us. They actually gave us all a few boxes, just to be sure." His dimple popped with the retelling of the memory. "It was a trifle wild there for a mo," he chuckled quietly.

"Yes, I think I may have heard something about your escapades."

"Oh, please don't believe everything the media has said about us!" There was a slight alarm in his voice. "Most of what they say is absolute rubbish."

"Don't worry, Harry, I know that. I was just teasing you. I think you're a good guy. You should understand that I would not have agreed to come here with you if I didn't believe you were a decent person."

"Will you trust me tonight?"

Why did that question heat my blood and make my heart race?!

"Yes," I whispered on an exhale.

"You're completely safe here with me. If you want me to stop at any time, tell me, and I will stop. If you want more of something, or you want me to do anything differently, tell me and I will do as you ask. If you say nothing, I will take that to mean that you are pleased with me and whatever I am doing to you. Do you understand?"

"I... I think so. Uh, what are you going to do to me?" My heart was in my throat; I could feel my pulse between my legs. What had I gotten myself into?

"I plan to do many things to you, Sophia. My appetite may push your limits, but I will not hurt you, you have my word."

All I could do was nod my head.

"Excellent. Would you mind standing?"

At his request, I uncurled my legs and stood next to the couch. Harry adjusted his position so that he was sitting normally in the center. He extended his hand to me.

"Come, I want you in front of me." He guided me so that I was facing him as he sat, just past his knees. "Take your clothes off, please."

"While you watch me?"

"Yes, I want to see you."

"I'm kind of nervous."

"I know. Do you want to stop?"

"No."

"Good girl. Take your clothes off."

Sweet Harry may have been in the background if I needed him, but something darker had stepped forward.

Drawing in a lungful of air and hopefully some courage as well, I grasped the hem of my sweater and began to lift it over my head. Lingerie not only makes a woman look sexy, but it also makes her feel confident. I was no dummy and when I had those few moments to myself before dinner, I changed into some silky armor. I heard Harry pull in a heavy breath that made me smile.

"More," he dipped his head toward my pants.

The jeans were snug and required more finesse. I popped the button with my thumb; pinching the zipper between my fingers I dragged it down. Tucking my thumbs into the back of the waistband, I tugged them over my bum, and then shimmied them down my legs. I leaned over Harry and put my hand on his knee to steady myself as I pulled them off first one foot, then the other, taking my socks at the same time. Kicking them aside, I stood as tall as I could, all five feet and four inches of me. Harry had not moved a muscle, so I continued by reaching my arms behind my back to release my bra.

"Stop!" he commanded.

My arms dropped to my sides as I tilted my head and quirked an eyebrow at him. He put his hands on my hips and pushed me back a foot.

"Stay right there." Harry got up and walked to the closet in the entryway. When he returned, he was carrying a lightly woven scarf.

"I would like you to feel how much I appreciate your beauty."

The room went dark as Harry placed the soft scarf over my eyes and secured it behind my head. It made me feel a bit off balance. As if sensing my unease, Harry spoke softly into my ear as he stood behind me.

"I am right here; I will stay within arms reach."

I felt the warm puffs from his mouth on my shoulder before I felt his lips in the same place. His hair tickled the top of my arm. I sensed an arm reaching in front of me and his fingertips ghosted along the curve of the bra where it held the top of my breast.

"What color do you call this?"

"Pearl," I said softly. The set was simple. It was a sheer grey, luminous fabric. There was no padding to hide my nipples that I felt tighten as he stroked his fingers over my skin. "I like it. You put this on for me, but it is also for you."

"True."

I inhaled sharply when his hands cupped my breasts and he hauled me back against his chest. I could feel the heat emanating from him. His hands skimmed up under the straps, pulling them down my arms. He wound one arm around me, just under my breasts, and pushed my weight over his arm with the other hand as he unclasped the bra, letting it fall to the floor. Keeping his arm around me, he walked forward, then turned us both. When Harry lowered himself, he took me with him so that I was now seated on his lap, my thighs parallel over his.

"Lean forward," he told me. I could hear the slither of his shirt coming off and as I expected, the next thing I felt was Harry's bare skin on mine. My God, he felt divine. His torso was solid, hot and smooth. I couldn't see them, but I knew his skin was covered in tattoos. The idea of it caused my panties to dampen. The arm that was holding me shifted as his left hand found my right breast. I could tell he was tracing over my shoulders with the fingers of his other hand. "You have freckles here. They match the ones on your nose. Lay all of your weight back on me."

I did as he told me. Every shift of our bodies lit tiny fires on my flesh. His hand drifted to my other breast and teased at the nipple. He pinched it at the base, rolling it through his fingers. Shifting the angle he repeated the motion as his other hand skimmed down my belly and over my panties to cup at the soft flesh between my legs.

"You're wet. I can feel it through the fabric. This is good." I exhaled a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. The flat of Harry's fingers began to rub an ever-shrinking set of circles over me. It made me squirm, although I tried to control myself.

"Do not hold back," he told me. "If your body wants to move, then allow it the freedom it needs. This is how I know what works for you. Also, do not restrain your voice. I want to hear your pleasure. I want you to lose control."

"Ohh... ohkay."

"Relax your legs." He moved his thighs closer together so that mine rolled to the outside of them. When he opened his legs again, he splayed mine wide. Removing his hand from my breast, he carded his fingers through my hair, brushing the curls to the side, his mouth now hot and wet over my neck. Where did his other hand go? His right hand continued with the achingly slow circles around, but never touching, my clit, but I had lost track of the other hand. I wanted it back on my breasts, playing with the tight buds that my nipples had become.

"Harry?" It came out breathy when I called his name.

"Yes, love?"

"Touch my breasts again, please?"

"I will, love, in a bit. Lift your bum."

I complied and found Harry's other hand gliding into the back of my panties. He ran his fingers over the crack of my ass and up to my swelling entrance, resting firmly in place. Finally, the fingers that had been over the top of me, also slipped into my panties. He used his thighs to pull mine apart further and craned his head over my shoulder so that when I turned my face, he was able to capture my lips.

"Can you feel that? You are positively dripping. It's running down my fingers and into my hand. So good."

I started to say his name, but it came out as a heavy sigh and a whimper when his fingers stroked my clit. I could have come then if he hadn't stopped me.

"Don't come yet! Give yourself a few more minutes, it will be worth it."

Beyond speaking, I simply rolled my hips back into him, earning myself a deep groan from Harry. Pleased to get a reaction from him, I repeated myself. This time, he shoved a finger inside me, causing me to arch away from his chest. Harry adjusted his body so that my shoulder was under the pit of his arm and he was holding me tight while he continued his torture. I ground down on his hand, his finger reaching deeper.

"Two now, Sophia. I'm not small, you need to be ready when the time comes." With that, he inserted a second finger and separated them to stretch me. It was uncomfortable for a second, but as he pumped in and out, the slow pace soothed the sting. "Last one now, baby. Take a big breath, blow it out when you feel me start to push." I turned my face into his and he suctioned onto my jaw. Inhaling through my nose I held the breath until I felt his third finger begin to enter me. I blew the air over my lips in a slow stream.

A whimper and a pout could not be controlled. I scratched my nails over his forearms looking for purchase. It didn't sting this time; it burned. My hips pulled back involuntarily. Holding his fingers that were inside of me still, he concentrated on what his other fingers were doing. Harry scissored them on either side of my clit, not touching the nub, but stroking around it. He alternated between that and spreading those two fingers apart to slick over my inner folds. Back and forth, one action, then the other, until I could take it no more and I bucked my hips forward into his hand. He was back to the center of nerves in a flash with a whirl of circles as I rocked down onto the hand that held three fingers into me. In my blindness, the new sensations were intense. I had never done this before, but I trusted him to bring me through.

"That's the way, you're doing so well. Would you like to come now?" I grunted something that might have been a yes. My legs were trembling and I realized that it was Harry's hips that were moving mine against his hands. He was in complete control of me. "Whenever you're ready, Sophia. Let your body go and I'll catch you."

Drawing in another full breath, I let my head fall back onto Harry's right shoulder. It started in my feet, my toes flexing and pointing; it spiraled up my legs and into my core, then burst in a flash of lights behind my eyelids. A scream tore threw me, over the sound of Harry panting in my ear and the rush of blood in my brain. I was in control of nothing. There was only Harry and the pleasure he was raining down upon me.

My heaving chest began to calm. Slowly, he withdrew his fingers from me and brought them, glistening, to my mouth. He traced my lips, sliding all three fingers over my tongue. Placing a wet finger under my chin, he tilted my face to his.

"Open your mouth and let me taste you."

Harry opened his lips over mine and his tongue roamed freely, tasting the orgasm he had given me.

"Mmm... so good; such a good girl. I'm going to carry you to my bed now, okay?"

"Okay," I breathed out.

He sat me up a bit and indicated that I should wrap my arms around his neck. Jostling me into position, my head resting on his shoulder, Harry cradled me in his strong arms. He carried me up the stairs, laying me on top of the comforters over his bed. His hands moved behind my head as he released the blindfold. I blinked a few times and swiped my fingers under my eyes to remove any mascara that might have smudged.

Kicking off of my heels, I scooted to the top of the bed to rest my head on the pillows. This room was enormous; the oversized bed was centered against the back wall with tall windows on either side. The drapes were drawn, but I knew there was a view of the ski runs that would be visible in the light of day. The bed frame was a heavy, dark wood, with slats running across the head and foot. Harry stood to the side of the bed, watching me.

"You are a very attractive woman." Several times, now, he had complimented me. It was an odd phenomenon to hear praises from a man who had previously seemed unattainable, and was incredibly attractive himself. I knew now that he wasn't just a pretty face, there was more to him than what the world could see. Still, he was lovely to look at. The hair that ran past his shoulders in a curly mess, the sharp jaw line and pouty pink lips, and the eyes. His eyes were a kaleidoscope of greens. In the coffee shop, they had been bright with flecks of gold in the iris. Tonight they were dark; the color was deeper and blended into his pupils as they dilated. "Do you need the restroom, or a break before we continue?"

"No, I'm quite good," I stated as I stretched. Actually, I felt fantastic! If I were a cat, I would be purring, I felt so well pleased.

Harry grinned down at me. "I am happy to make you happy," he said to me as he undid his pants. Shoving his hands into his boxer briefs he pulled them off with his jeans and tossed the lot aside. He came to his full height, placing his hands on his hips. He didn't seem to be preening, but I had the definite feeling that he was offering me a moment to observe him and absorb what was in store.

The rumors were all true.

"Well, then. Um... I don't have anything..." You would have thought I had never seen a penis before! I had. I simply hadn't seen Harry before, and he was magnificent. Not even fully erect, he was larger than any other man I had been with. He raised his eyebrows at me in question. "Okay," I said.

Harry walked over to the bedside drawers and pulled out three condoms, tossing them on top. Now it was my turn to raise my eyebrows over my wide blue eyes. He laughed lightly and said, "We probably won't need all of them, but I would rather be prepared. I have lube too, if you like. Though based on earlier, I doubt we'll need it." I shook my head in the negative. Harry started tossing pillows from the bed in a pile on the floor.

"Sit up, please." I lifted myself into a sitting position as Harry placed two pillows behind me, against the headboard. "Now lay back. Are you comfortable?"

"Yes, I'm fine. What are we doing?" I was content with allowing him to remain in control.

"I want to fuck your pretty mouth." Hello, dirty boy! "Would that be alright with you, Sophia?"

"I think I would like that very much, Harry." There was no hiding the grin on my face.

Harry climbed onto the bed and over my lap, sitting back, knees bent. "With or without a condom?"

"Without," I replied.

"Will you touch me?" Where did this guy come from? And could he be any more perfect?

Placing my hands above his knees, I dragged my open palms up his thighs, pressing and rubbing my thumbs into the muscles at his groin. His hands hung loose at his sides, leaving me alone to explore. Thumbs behind his sack, I dug in, gently rolling them forward under the weight of his full balls. Sliding them up to the base of his shaft, I massaged briefly before wrapping my fingers around him. Unable to complete the circle with one hand, I added the other. Linking my fingers that were against his belly, I crossed my thumbs in front and slid up under the head of his cock, then slowly back down. Holding him at the base, I leaned forward and spit on his head; using only the tip of my tongue, I smeared the saliva over him, paying close attention to his slit.

"Is this okay?" I asked, darting my eyes to his.

"This is so much more than okay, but use your tongue more."

I lapped at him, feeling him harden completely, nipping with my lips at his glans before using the flat of my tongue to lick him, base to head twice. He began pushing my shoulders back and shifting his position up my body. Maneuvering his knees under my armpits, he took my hands and laid them on his thighs. Lifting his hips over my face so that his tip was resting at my bottom lip. Harry's hands went to the top of the headboard to brace himself.

"Sophia, if you need me to stop, pull the hair on my legs, yeah?" As I nodded a yes, I felt his pre-cum gloss my lips. "Okay baby, open your mouth for me."

And I did. I tried to relax my jaw to accommodate him as he pushed over my tongue and brushed the back of my throat. He wasn't going to fit. I raised my hands to handle what I couldn't get in my mouth.

"No hands! Only your mouth, don't worry if you can't take it all."

I returned my hands to his thighs, gripping the sides of them this time. Harry was slow as he pumped between my lips, just tapping my throat each time, but not forcing me to gag.

"Ahhh... Sophia, feels good." He was moving faster now and his breathing was becoming labored. When I thought he might be getting close, he withdrew. "Can't come like this, need to come inside you." His words quickened my pulse and caused me to tremble.

"I want that. I want you inside me, Harry."

Descending my body, he dropped kisses everywhere. My mouth, neck, collar bones, stopping to swirl his firm tongue over each nipple, then leaving kisses over my belly. Tucking his long fingers into my panties he took them from me, returning to nibble up my slit, before separating me with his tongue. I sucked in sharply as he clamped onto my clit and tugged with his teeth. Sharp sensation shot out as if I'd been burned by ice. Quickly he calmed me with his tongue.

The room was lit softly by a single floor lamp in a far corner, but I could clearly see Harry's head between my legs. It was a sight I never wanted to forget.

He released me and leaned over to retrieve a condom. I watched as he tore the packet open, pinched the tip and slithered it over his length. I shuddered in anticipation.

"Turn over. I want you from behind." I moved myself around so that I was up on my hands and knees, presenting myself to him. He extended his hand past me and pulled the pillows down. "Lay over the top of these or I'll knock you down." I did as instructed so that my ass was now higher than the rest of my body and the pillows helping to hold my weight. I could feel him hard against my rear and I wanted him thrusting into me.

"Sophia? Listen, I'm going to try to make sure you come like this, but I am really needing you fast right now, okay? So if I can't get you there, be patient, love, I promise I will take care of you, soon."

I swallowed and nodded; already knowing I was going to come this way.

Harry lined himself up with my opening, placed a hand on each of my hips to steady me and ground forward into me.

My eyes watered as I willed my muscles to relax against the searing stretch. I vaguely felt Harry rubbing circles against my lower back and whispering soothing words. I felt him palm the cheeks of my bottom and spread me further apart for him. Now I understood the need for the pillows. I could not have held myself up under this pressure. My eyes were closed as I felt him withdrawing until he was nearly out of me. Intense as having him inside me was, I didn't want him to stop. I pushed back against him. Understanding, he drove into me again. And again. Until the discomfort subsided and the pleasure took over. I knew there would be bruises where Harry's fingers were digging into my hips and I did not care in the least! Having him thrusting into me, hearing the groaning he wasn't even attempting to control, was the most arousing thing I had ever experienced.

"I... Ha... Harry, I'm going to come!"

His hand snaked into my hair. Taking a fist full, he yanked my head back.

"Come! Come now!"

It was animalistic. The noise of his flesh slapping against mine, My breasts heaving, the feel of his sack hitting the nerves bundled in my clit. I came undone with a growl. Harry plowed into me one last time and unloaded himself.

We lay in a heap of limbs, labored breathing and waning adrenaline. And then laughter. We were giddy, like children who had raced the playground and tied for the win. After rolling over to dispose of the condom, Harry came back and pulled me into his warm arms. We cuddled and kissed and reveled. His hands were everywhere, smoothing out all of my edges. I played with his hair, running my fingers through the mess, scratching his scalp.

"You, this," he said, "has taken me utterly by surprise." His words were gentle and sweet. "Would you let me make love to you now?"

"Harry, we just did, and it was incredible."

"No, that was fucking. I fucked you and you fucked me, and it was incredible. But I want to make love to you, Sophia. I wasn't sure that this is what I would want, but it is. Please, let me have you?"

Is this what swooning felt like? Was I swooning?

"Yes, Harry, make love to me."

He was already getting hard again when he reached for the second condom. He sat back on his feet and handed the wrapper to me. I pulled it apart, taking the condom out as I copied his actions from earlier. Holding his weight with his hands on either side of my shoulders, he nudged my thighs apart with his knees. I raised my hips to welcome him and he kissed me deeply as he slid inside. Nothing was rushed or aggressive, there was no panting or hurrying to finish. This was making love. It was slow and tender, hands skimming everywhere, aching to touch and be touched. He suckled gently at my breasts, my throat, behind my ears. His hips rolled into me and I met his languid pace. He clasped my hands in his, slotting our fingers together and pressing them into the bed. When we came, it was together, mouths open on each other, exchanging breaths. When we were finished, I felt different, but it was too much to think about.

Harry ran a bath full of sweet smelling bubbles. He carried me to the tub and slid in behind me. We washed each other, letting the water take away the sweat and body fluids and the achy muscles. He stripped the comforter from the bed and replaced the pillows, tucking us in beneath the covers. I slept in his arms and awoke to a feeling of contentment. We fucked some more, and made love again as well. I stayed the second night.

When it was time for me to leave to get to class Monday, Harry drove me back into town. We sat outside my apartment in the Land Rover that belonged to his friends.

"I know that barista at the coffee house is interested in you, yeah? I saw you tear his phone number off of your cup and put it in your backpack." I had no idea that he had observed that, nor had I thought of Mark, the barista, since I chose to go with Harry.

"I found your phone while you were sleeping last night. You don't have a pass code, which you should really remedy. I put my phone number in there, my personal one, as well as my email."

He was looking directly at me now, holding my gaze with his incredible green eyes.

"I want something from you, Sophia."

"Harry." I laid my hand over his cheek and stroked with my thumb.

"I want you to call me. I want to see you again. I... I just want you. Think about it until Friday, and if you want to be with me, to see if we could have a relationship, then call me. But I want you to really think about how being with me could affect you. There would be a lot of logistics to work out, although I believe it can be done. And if you choose to call the other phone number, then I want you to write our story of this weekend and email it to me so that I will have it always. Will you do this for me?"

I couldn't stop the tears that were pooling in my eyes from overflowing.

"Shhh, don't cry, love. Just let me know Friday, either way. Yeah?"

"Yeah."

We shared a kiss and he helped me out of the vehicle, waiting until I was inside before he drove away. I would think about what he had asked of me, and I would wait until Friday to give him my answer. In the meantime, I dug the other phone number out of my backpack and tore it into tiny pieces before throwing it away, and I wrote the last story that I would ever write about Harry, or any of the boys. I printed it on heavy paper and placed it into a protective envelope so I could give it to him in person, when I saw him next.

The End; or the beginning.