HARRY:

Suddenly she's still, her head cocked. There's a noise in the house.

"It's your dad!" Sherry sort of whispers but not really, eyes wide.

I have to laugh when she flees the room to find the rest of her clothes. And for some reason, I feel pretty sure she'll be spending the night.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

I hope you like this one . . .

SHERRY

I manage to pull the duvet in the guest room back in place, grab my clothes, and hightail it to the shitter before Harry's dad reaches the hallway.  There's a faint mumbling of voices as I quickly dress.  After tucking away some stray hair and making sure nothing's on inside out, I flush the toilet for appearance's sake and stroll back to Harry's room.

"Oh, Mr. Twist – I didn't hear you come in," I greet him with a little white lie.

It becomes obvious that Harry has laid the groundwork for me to spend the night when his dad says, "Harry tells me he's badgered you into staying for an all-night movie marathon?"

Impressed, I turn to Harry, whose face illuminates in what may be the cheesiest grin of all time.

"Halloween's right around the corner. Time for some slasher films, yeah?" Harry raises his eyebrows.

Harry always surprises me. Awkward one minute, smooth as fuck the next – I never know what to expect from him.

I go to the kitchen for popcorn and drinks, leaving Harry to chat with his dad. By the time I return, his dad's gone and Harry's queuing a movie.

"Dad has shitty timing, yeah?" Harry grins, shaking his head. "Lock the door," he whispers.

"Seriously?"

"We don't want dad to get an eyeful if he should come back in, do we?  Then strip back down to just your t-shirt like you were before we were interrupted." He stretches back in the bed, folds his good arm behind his head, and stares expectantly. '

After a lightning-fast mental debate, I recall not finishing on the phone earlier and decide why the hell not? "Will he check on you in the morning?" My right hand turns the lock, earning another grin from Harry, this one on the wicked side.

"Nope.  Liam comes at 7:00. Julie at 8:00."

I flick off the overhead light, leaving the room lit by the television only. "What are we watching?" I inquire, toeing my sneakers off at the heel.

"9 ½ Weeks," Harry speaks, voice low as he watches me shrug off my jeans and kick them over by my shoes.

Fuck. "That is not a Halloween movie, Harry," I reply with mock strictness as I reach beneath the back of my t-shirt, unhook my bra, and pull the straps from my shoulders through the armholes.

"You owed me this one though." His tongue swipes across his bottom lip when I pull my bra from beneath my t-shirt, his eyes dropping to my chest. He's right about the movie. I discard my bra and take a step toward the bed when I'm interrupted.

"Not so fast." Harry chides, holding his hand up like a traffic cop. "Lose the panties. You're trying to gyp me."

He makes me laugh out loud. "Is that what you think? That I'm trying to gyp you?" I make a little pouty face. "Well, we can't have poor Harry getting gypped now, can we?"

I stand at the foot of the bed and taunt Harry, whose expression has gone from smirky to unsure in .02 seconds. Sliding my thumbs beneath the sides of my panties, I turn my back to him as I pull them down, taking my own sweet time to bend over and remove them from around my ankles. I am positive that if he could walk, he'd already be across the room, balls deep in my vagina.

The look on his face when I turn around is indescribable. Unable to choose one, his beautiful face displays a myriad of emotions until I shoot my panties rubberband-like across the room and land them on his chest. His laughter fills the room momentarily, until he picks up the panties and brings them to his face, inhaling my scent. Suddenly serious, he uses his broken arm to beckon me to his right side. "Over here," he commands, holding his arm away from his body to make space for me.

Harry hits "play" on the movie while I snuggle in, trying to find a position that'll be comfy for us both. Mostly on my back and angled slightly his direction, I'm surprised to realize an armpit makes a mighty fine headrest. "I'm never on this side," I comment.

"I know," Harry grins. "I'm right-handed." Harry drapes his arm along my side, his hand coming to rest on my stomach.

Oh.

My situational shyness kicks in at this point, and I sit quiet and blush, my snarkiness having abandoned me.

The cheesy 1980's strains of the 9 ½ Weeks theme song, "The Best is Yet to Come," starts to play, and I direct my attention to the television. Although I will not allow myself to look at Harry, I can feel his gaze hot upon me.

He's so patient. He waits for me to look at him. I don't. Then he utters my name in a whisper which travels straight to the pink. "Sherry."

"Hmm?" I try to be nonchalant, my eyes never leaving the television, I watch Kim Basinger peruse the scarves at a New York street market.

"Look at me, babe." His voice is sexy, with a hint of a smile. He's enjoying my temporary loss of power. He brings his hand to my chin, turning my face to his. "I want to thank you properly for umm . . .  earlier on the phone . . ."

My heartbeat echoes in my eardrums, making his voice sound muffled. "Harry, you don't—." You don't have to do that, I want to say.

His thumb strokes my cheek, and I stare stupidly into his green eyes. He leans in and kisses my lips softly, once, twice, pulling back to look at me with searching eyes, "So, thank you, Sherry." He kisses me a third time, murmuring another "thank you" against my lips before his hot tongue makes quick work of filling my mouth with his gratitude.

He owns me with his kisses, my physical desire rendering me weak in his arms. His mouth explores my body, tonguing my jawline before pulling the flesh of my neck between his teeth and biting just enough to make me whimper.

Our hands are everywhere at once.  I wrap his hair around my fist, bringing our lips together again, mine pushing desperately against his while his left hand slides up the front of my shirt making a beeline for my breasts.

Harry pulls back, tugging at my t-shirt. "Get rid of this," he directs.

I can't obey quickly enough, and as I pull the tee up over my head, Harry dips his head and closes his mouth over a nipple, and I'm completely naked in his arms. "Mhmm," spills from my lips, along with his name again and again as I wrap my arms around his head, pulling him further into my breasts. I fight to keep my eyes open so I can watch him work my tits. He is skilled and oh-so eager, constantly switching between tugging and biting with his teeth, and pinching with his fingertips. He gives me a sideways glance as he tongues the tip of my rock-hard nipple. Fuck. I close my eyes, overwhelmed.

"Harry," I whisper, squirming in his arms, pulling at his hair in a feeble attempt to get him away from my tits, my nipples so tight they almost hurt. He moans and continues to suck at them, his hands squishing my breasts this way and that. I can't decide if this is torture, or if I could stay here all day, and I think it's somewhat a bit of both.

Wandering across Harry's stomach, my left hand inches the fabric of his shirt up little by little, lamenting that he's even wearing one at all. How'd that get overlooked? I finally reach the smooth flesh of his abs, causing him to release a low moan as my fingertips massage his stomach. When I try to sneak beneath the sheet, a breathless and disheveled Harry grabs my wrist to stop me.

"No you don't," he lifts his head from my tit to look at me with shining eyes, "It's your turn now, love."

I imagine how it'll be one day when his mouth is against my pussy and my thighs are framing his beautiful face. Jesus, what am I doing to myself? Harry grins on the return trip to my lips, kisses relentless, hand lingering over my stomach, fingertips adrift in a smattering of fresh pubic hair beginning to grow in from my wax.

"Scooch up a smidge so I can reach you, love." His voice is gentle and low against my ear and I know I'm done for.

I scooch as requested, turning to bury my face in his shoulder.

"Don't be shy, baby." Harry nuzzles my ear with his nose, his hand still meandering surreptitiously near my area. "Do you not want me to?"

Oh, I want him to alright, I'm just a bit of an idiot. I kiss his neck, subtly tilting my hips toward his hand.

He smiles into my hair, "That's my girl. Just . . . like . . . that."

Harry walks his fingers across my pubic mound, to the beginning of my crevice. With his good arm, he pulls my left leg toward him, lifting it from behind the knee and draping it over his lap so my legs are now open to him.

"There we go." He whispers, sliding two fingers along the surface of my folds downward, upward, and back down again. "Mhmm, you're so wet. Is this for me, baby?" His deep voice vibrates in my ear as he sinks his fingers into my opening, pushing upward once inside of me.

I grind against his hand, speechless, except for the occasional utterance of his name.

Not giving up, he asks again, "Are you wet for me, Sherry?" Harry withdraws his fingers, swipes a quick circle around my clit, and then plunges them back inside of me.  "Answer me, baby."

"Yes, Harry . . . yes," I murmur in near delirium, blindly reaching for Harry's other hand and dragging it shamelessly up to my breast.

A quick-learner, Harry pleasures each nipple in turn with his left hand, while he fingers me skillfully with his right. "Mhmm," he moans against my neck, sucking. "You like that, don't you baby?  Tell me, Sherry.  Tell me you like it . . ." his words come out in a pant against my neck.

"God, yes," The words struggle to escape my lips.  "You're so good, baby."

His fingers fuck me at a delicious rate, each time pressing upward into the place where dreams are made, all the while gently rubbing my clit in a slow and agonizing build.

"Harry," I moan repetitively, tugging at his hair. "Kiss me, please," I beg, pulling him from my neck in desperation. His lips meet mine as my walls tighten, then crumble, down, down, down in a series of wet contractions around his slender fingers.

His kisses become feathery light and his name continues to fall from my lips.  Despite my orgasm being over, his fingers are still inside me and it pains me to think of their departure. We're stilled for a moment, the only sound being our breathing and the movie we paid no attention to playing in the background.

Harry kisses my nose, and then he presses his fingers upward against my sacred spot, earning giggles from us both before he slowly withdraws.