AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Sorry I'm so slow. SLIGHT PRESSURE is next to be updated! Coming soon! xo

If you aren't reading my collaboration with @Alessandra and @Dirtyyarn yet, please visit us at @PussyJockeys to read about Gyno Harry in SLIGHT PRESSURE.

Book Link: https://www.wattpad.com/story/69466609-slight-pressure

SHERRY:

Still dumbfounded, I ask, "So you chose me above better qualified applicants?"

"I never called any of the other applicants. I chose you, because I want my son to be whole again, and to be happy. And there's no way that can happen with his mother and that greedy Paige around here. I chose you to motivate my son. He cares for you a great deal, and I needed to give him a reason to live. And that reason is you."

SHERRY

"Sherry! It's off!" Harry cheers, throwing his arms above his head willy-nilly like limp noodles.

I can't help but laugh at this goofball. "Good. Now you can shampoo your own hair and shit," I say with a wink.

"But I like you to do it," The words crawl out of his adorable pout at a snail's pace. "It's like I get your boobs in my face for a full ten to fifteen minutes under the guise of personal hygiene." He raises his eyebrows up and down like Groucho Marx.

As much as the thought of Harry now having two good arms to manhandle me with warms my vagina, there'll be plenty of time for that stuff later. "Your dad left already?" I ask, pulling the frozen yogurts from the bag and handing one to Harry.

"Yeah. He said he'd be back in the morning before they take me in for surgery." Harry speaks casually, taking the lid off his yogurt and licking it before he tosses it onto the overbed-table.

He's doing his best to be a big boy about the surgery tomorrow, but I know he's scared shitless. I mean, who wouldn't be?

Harry's surgeon is a young one, and I like him right off the bat. Doctors at the onset of their careers tend to focus more on the positive, and attitude can be critical when dealing with situations regarding paralysis. When we met with Dr. Winston regarding Harry's new scans, I was impressed by his well-balanced presentation, which touched on negatives without lingering, and ended on an upswing.

Harry had nibbled at a cuticle while Dr. Winston explained the ins and outs. "The good news is that we were able to get a clear picture of things. It looks like there was a slow leak from some broken blood vessels that we weren't able to get a visual on previously due to the swelling of your spinal cord. The leakage has since formed a clot near your T7 vertebrae, which will need to be surgically removed. This type of surgery always presents a small risk, but ideally – once the clot is removed, the final pressure on your spine is eliminated, and with some physical therapy and sweat, you are back in the game, Mr. Styles."

"I still can't get over how you told off my mother. That shit was incredible," Harry interrupts my medical instant replay, his voice muffled from a mouthful of yogurt. Rude.

"Yeah, well – you know us southern girls can get a little scrappy." I wink, watching Harry enjoy his vanilla frozen yogurt with strawberries and bananas on top. "Remember, you can't eat anything after midnight because of your surgery in the morning." I remind him, "It's already after 8:30."

Harry nods in easy agreement; I've only reminded him of this seventeen times. "Sit by me," he commands, shoveling in his last few bites like it's the Last Supper. He places his empty cup on the overbed-table, pushes the table aside, and pats the edge of the mattress to signal where I should sit.

"Ha!" A snort escapes me. "You're just trying to mooch some of my yogurt cause you already wolfed yours down. I know your tricks, Styles." I take a seat in the bedside chair, prop my feet up on the bed where he expects me to sit, and cross my ankles.

Green eyes sweep over my ratty Converse and up my legs, stopping to linger a fraction of a moment on my yogurt cup before coming to rest on my baby blues. I stick my tongue out at him.

"What flavor did you get?" He's shameless.

"Mango." I speak slowly, playing up my southern drawl, sliding the spoon between my lips with a faint smacking sound.

"Mango?" His voice is low, yet faint, and by the flare of his nostrils I know he's trying to get a whiff of me from three feet away. His eyes flicker to the overbed-table, back to me, and I know exactly what he's thinking.

I try to pull my sweater off over my head without letting go of my yogurt but fail and end up a tangled mess. Harry chuckles the whole time while I initiate Operation Sweater Removal: Attempt Two – and this time I'm smart enough to set my yogurt down (out of Harry's reach) first.

When I toss my sweater aside and shake out my disheveled hair, I notice Harry's laughter has come to an abrupt halt. Hehe. Despite the slight chill in the room, I return to my seat and recommence yogurt consumption. Harry is silent.

Swiping my spoon clean with my tongue, I raise my eyes to meet his. He's fascinated.

"What?" I shrug, sliding another bite of the sweet and delicious dairy treat between my lips with a hint of a moan. "Did you notice food actually tastes better when you make yummy noises?" I tease him full-on. "It heightens the entire experience – takes it to a completely different level."

"Sherry. What are you wearing?" Harry croaks, attracting my attention.

"Mhmmm," I swipe my tongue lazily over my lips. "It's too bad you finished yours so fast, baby."

I get up and saunter the two steps to Harry's bedside, his eager arms extend to scoop me toward him, and I can't help but laugh.

It's exciting to feel both arms on me fully since the cast just came off, and he easily pulls me in with hungry eyes. "I don't know which I want to nibble on first. Your yogurt, or those braless tits in that lousy excuse for a t-shirt."

"Eh, I figured a little pre-surgery entertainment might be in order?" I whisper against his ear with my cold yogurt lips.

Harry nuzzles his nose into my neck, slides his hand beneath the flimsy fabric of my t-shirt, his fingers trail across my stomach headed toward nipples that are already hardened and visible through the threadbare cotton fabric.

"Close the door and throw the key." Harry whispers, the corners of his mouth turning up into an easy smile, his hand reaching to swat my ass as I walk away.