Harry's house is just as gorgeous as the one we have left, and the population of two that inhabit it are much more to my liking. I can barely remember the invite I got to That Party, but I'll be sure to thank my friend, because this is living the dream, but I know I won't ever go again. I wonder if Harry will attend another. I look over at his unmasked face and marvel. That jawline is criminal, its stolen your attention all evening. I can't imagine what else it will abscond with by the time this is through.

He catches me looking and I blush.

"Look at that bloom, love!" he chuckles and approaches where I stand near his kitchen island. His arms circle my hips and grip. I find myself on his marble counter top and my ass would be as icy as it if the heat coming off him between my thighs was akin to an industrial heater. His hand runs up to my neck and he clutches it like an egg. I'm not going anywhere, but the pressure is delicate. He rubs a thumb up my throat and watches my neck as I gulp. "After how good you just treated me, I'm surprised you are capable of blushing. Think it's about time to return the favor, hmmmm?" he finishes the question with a vibrato against my lips and when I nod eagerly is smears our lips together. The balm I had applied after the abuse I had just inflicted happily upon myself is spread around and I can feel it breach the borders  of my lips and the sense memory of swiping him onto and around those same body parts causes a moan.

Harry takes advantage; the kiss starts deep and wet. His tongue makes a home in my mouth, but it's not cozy. It's a messy house party, and his hand has remained clutched to my neck and is squeezing lightly to the sides of my neck. The restricted blood flow is fucking with me, I can't even think about participating and my volume is unrestricted. When I pull back to gasp, he smirks at me and the power shift from an hour ago is a revolution.  I can feel a pulse and gush. When I blush again, he tilts his head to the side and gives me a curious glance. But rather than asking, he seems to be intent on playing marco polo instead. The hand on my neck migrates down and the way that I fill the palms of his hands seems to work for both of us if the twin groans are any indication. He investigates the twin peaks he's created, planting his flag on this previously undiscovered country for a time until my groan turns to a mewl and I hear myself begging. My shirt disappears with my skirt and all I can think of is that Versace lyric. I feel like I'm cheating , musically, on my single serving lover,  but Bruno hasn't a chance.  

The favors he's doing my nipples are perfect, except they are dry and I am having trouble voicing my frustration. But my lover is smirking, "Need something?"

"Wet them....Can you wet your fingers?"

"I'll do you one better." he does me at least a dozen better when he attaches that pout to them, but only after he makes them wet. It's a delicious preview of what they may look like soon when they are covered in me. His mouth forms a cup around my nipple, I've always considered them a little big, but they seem to meet and exceed his expectation if the not so subtle adjustment he gives himself is any indication. The suction seems to be his favorite, but his fingers are plucking at my other peak, he pulls back a minute and I wimper a protest before he chuckles and gets back to work. I wonder what the hold up was, until I get what his intent was when his fingers are shoved unceremoniously into my mouth. I wet them, as he none to gently has suggested and bite as they escape. With wet fingers, he circles one nipple, and mimics the movement with his tongue. He's looking at me. I'm breathless, speechless already. 

"This what you like?" 

I nod, and realize I'm only watching the goings on, my hands are gripping the edge of the now warm marble beneath me. I need the ballast, but I remove one hand to run through his silky hair. He's laughing again, the smug ass, but I realize my neck is still going like a bobble head on a dashboard. I scratch his scalp and laugh at myself with him. He flexes into the caress and I catalog that for later. Hope for a later. His mouth draws down the center of my tummy, and his hand that remains on my chest pushes me back so I'm reclining. There is a second tier to the island I'm on, its completely uncomfortable and I find the cold hardness of it distracting. 

But Harry performs a magic trick, and I forget my discomfort, it  makes me wonder where my self preservation has gone. He's petting my panties and I know they are embarrassingly wet, have been since the head I gave him earlier. He seems to approve and the kisses to my lower abdomen are as wet at my pussy. Both hands circle my thighs and I marvel at their size before he pulls me down. My back is going to hate me tomorrow. I can't be fucked to care. Or I being fucked to well to care. His fingers are inside of me and he seems to be checking his progress, like an eager student turning to the back of the book. My head falls back, and before I know it, the magician between my legs has used some sleight of hand to get my panties off. Maybe I blacked out. He's mouthing the round ball of my ankle joint, and who knew that was a thing. His arms are long; the fingers not on my foot are still inside me, driving me crazy with straightforward thrusts. I really want him to turn his palm around, but my words have disappeared behind the veil where my sense has gone. My mouth reengages when he kisses up my leg, stopping at my knee, and continuing up until he is at my hip flexors. He mouths at the meeting between my hips and thigh on both sides before testing my flexibility by bending me in half. My knees meet my chest when his mouth finally finds my vulva. I'm the pucture of wanton anticipation. Naked as the day with a clothed man between my thighs spread out on the clean surface below me. But I'm waiting, and his fingers have disappeared and I'm empty, my head, which feels like its full of lead, lifts up to find him staring at me. I don't have it in me to feel insecure, I'm to worked up. I just watch him watch me before he leans forward and purses his wet pink lips and blows on my swollen clit. My back jumps off the counter, "Motherfucker," comes out of my mouth and I feel his shoulders bounce below my thighs. I don't hear the laugh, because his mouth is busy. He's licked me top to tail, and I'm so ready to get to the main event, the pulsing little heart of me  I whine out, "No!" when he licks around my clit, but not on it. He continues this for longer than I'd like.

"I can feel those legs twitching," he smirks.

"Fuck off," I return and he fills his smiling mouth with my hood and the intake of breath I draw almost chokes me. His work is smooth. He licks up and down, flicks occasionally, until he realizes that I like the broads strokes better. Up and down, like a carousel horse, and my belly undulates to the rhythm. I can see the muscles there constricting and if I had the wherewithal I would wonder why they didn't do that in belly dancing class. I think I'm saying please, but I might as well have a shell pressed to my ear. Sounds are muffled.

He pulls back to slip his tongue into my opening and the pause is enough for me to realize I have a handful of hair, and I'm pulling, hard. "Sorry." I say and my hand finds its way to my stomach. 

He looks up at me, crocodile eyes above the waterline, and grabs my hand to put it back where it was. I fear for the curls that have sprung up, but obey. He places a hand back on my tum, his mouth back to my center, and three fingers on his opposing hand find their way into my opening. He turns them up in a come hither motion at the moment he seals his mouth over my clit with a bit of suction and proceeds to rub the flat of his tongue up and down until he has to move both of his hands to unclamp my thighs from his ears. He pushes them to the counter.

"Keep em there," his tone means business but he adds a please. I nod my head again, my neck muscles are gonna be sore at this rate. Every hope I had about how he'd look anointed with my dew is answered. His mouth is gorgeous and wet and a little pink and sets atop a jawline and between cheekbones a sculptor would cut with an exacto. I watch him until his mouth descends. His hand and mouth get back to work, and when a pinky finds its way to my puckered hole, I disobey, my thighs snap up, my back arches, my belly does a samba, and my mouth calls his name.  I quake and quiver on his countertop while he gentles me down. He's removing his hands and rubbing my thighs, licking lightly until I push his head away. I move to curl up and groan when I realize where I am.

He helps me down and I stretch uncomfortably as I realize the sun is coming up.

He follows my gaze while he rubs the tender spots on my back. "It's early," he states. "Do you have to be anywhere?"

I look at the clock, shit. "Yeah, I need to get to work."

He senses my hurry and helps me locate my clothes, points out a bathroom, and when I come out as presentably as I can, he hands me a coffee cup. 

"I never asked your name?" the accent is thicker this am, voice raspier, and his mouth is still wet. I still want it.  I wonder if he's cleaned himself up at all.

"Um, its Elle." I leave it at that.

He leans in and kisses me, and I know he hasn't washed. 

"I called you an uber, but I wasn't sure where to send it." I take his phone and put in the address.  

He puts it to use when a beautiful orchid arrives later to the desk I work at a record label. I read the card and smile.

"I won't forget you, or your taste.  

                         Love, H."