In the month that has passed since I last saw (sucked off) Harry Styles, I haven't thought about him. Nope, not at all, not in the shower, not in my bed late at night or early in the morning, and definitely not in bathroom stalls at the label I work at. Never have I ever had to bite my lip to keep quiet while someone has walked into said bathroom while I had my hand down my so trendy I could barf mom jeans.

It's been a long thirty days.

When my infinitely cooler bestie convinces me we should go to the party we are walking into she does not mention his name. I told her, in detail so explicit she said it stressed her out, how it went down the other night, and I think that is why she made the decision to be a devious little B.

It's as we are walking into another giant house, this one with no suit beclad attorney, that she not so casually lets slip, "I heard Styles is supposed to be here tonight."

I stop dead and turn, figurative tail stuck between my trembling legs. Her hands wrap around my waist and she forcibly drags me back from the threshold. I was so close, I could smell the lantanas, and even those rancid little flower globs smelled as sweet as freedom.
"What are you doing Elle, don't you wanna see him?"

"No!" I quickly interrupt whatever diatribe she was about to give me about running away from any situation where I'm not sure of victory.

"Ellie-bellie, you totally want to see him: I can tell by all the little mental vacations you've been taking to his bedroom."

"I never saw his bedroom." I remind.

"Fine, his countertop, whatever, it's a rumor anyway. He's kinda a flake I heard."

That makes sense, I exhale and hope, but I'm not sure which I'm wishing for:his presence or absence.

When he walks in two hours later and I'm two, ok four, drinks deep, I realize it was the former.

He looks really good, a little ridiculous in his Gucci shirt. They often make ugly things .Hehas a knack for the whole being more attractive than the sum of its parts. Just look at his face, his body, the parts are good, maybe slightly above average, but the total is devastating.

Before I can stop myself, avert my gaze, he catches me. His eyes widen, then narrow as a smile overtakes his faces. Holy dimples, Batman. My breath has already shallowed and I take my eyes off of him so violently that I jerk my head. I'm sure I looked like a marionette on strings. I vow to myself that I'm not going to let my eyes wander to the side of the room that I know he is on, but they do. He's watching me when I break my word and he smirks this time. It does funny things to my insides. He nods his head to the side, raising his eyebrows. The silent question is posed and I have to decide whether to actually talk to the man who I've had so many exchanges with in my head, many non verbal, or really tuck that tail up my ass and run. It's at this point that Lanie, who's no longer my favorite person, nudges me. Great, she's watched this exchange.

"Go, talk to him."

I kick my feet at the ground, turning my toes in like a  tantrumming toddler, "I don't want to talk to him."

"Ffft, whatever. You keep staring at him, someone would notice if they weren't all doing it too. The difference is that he is looking at you as well. It's your duty to tap that booty and report back to us pleabs!"

"Stahhhp, he's a person! He may not even be interested in me like that again"

She interrupts before I can go further down the well of that line of thought. "Remember how you chose to give him head, but you wound up laid out in his kitchen anyway?" She must have tried a new eyebrow thing, they look different today, I think while I watch them dance on her forehead. Stop dissociating.

"Yes...."

"Also, he's been tracking you all night. He just tried to catch your eye, again, look up."
Against my better judgement, I do it, and his eyes look like jade when mine slide to them. He motions again, and I find myself in his tractor beam. I think maybe he is Borg. Nah, he's too nice. Head in the game El, I watch him turn down a corridor and follow. I get pulled by big hands I've tried to forget into a room. I yelp, but bite my lip to stop the sound from being too loud. My face is at his shoulder and his face is in my neck. It's way more intimate them our assignation warrants. Like we were lovers, not a hook up.

"Hiiiii," he breathes into my ear. He sounds happy. I pull back and know it's a mistake. I let my hands drop, so they won't wander, but he does not. Harry grasps my waist, thumbs tracing the tops is my hip bones and tips of his fingers meeting at my sacrum.

There is not enough oxygen in here.

The breathy hi that slips from my mouth would be inaudible if we were not close enough to share air. 

"What's up?" I croak and know that he'd see the bloom in my cheeks he'd teased me bout if the lighting was better. He's smirking kindly and I know that he can feel my nerves. Between that and the arousal I'm basically vibrating.

"Not much, M ready to get out of here. Want to come with me?"

I'm always completely surprised by his directness, how not smooth he is. No finesse at all. He doesn't need it, with the charm and the dimple and the face. I guess we met at a sex party, it's not like I'm gonna be his girl. Oh, but if I was his girl....

"Yeah....I think I'd like  an actual tour of your house. The kitchen was beautiful, by the way, I may have chosen a different countertop," my tongue is firmly in my cheek and he guffaws. It's somewhere between a snort and a sneeze and it makes me laugh too.

He shakes with laughter and then shakes his head to clear it. His fingers are still caressing the small of my back and I'm proud that I'm not a puddle on the floor. My panties, poor things, are not so fortunate as the floor.

"Next time I buy a house I'll send you pictures for approval," he brows quirk, "let's see how you like my bed, hm?"

I nod and he explains the plan. He puts his address, which I've remembered, into my uber app and tells me to head out in 20 minutes. They are the longest of my life and the two nails I'm currently biting are getting shorter by the second, his backs gonna look like he hooked up with a sloth.

Raphael arrives to drive me and receives a 5 star because he tells me a wild story about the last time he picked up at this house, effectively saving my other nails from their compatriots fate.  I'm nervous walking up, my knuckles white after I've rung the bell, holding my own hands. The nerves quiet a bit when he answers the door.

"C'mere," he murmurs and pulls me in. I figure that's word go, but instead, he clasps me close in another octopus hug and kisses my forehead. It's sweet, endearing, and confusing. "Want a glass of wine?"

My face must be made of glass because he chuckles.

"Clearly wasn't much of a gentlemen last time," he's taken my hands apart and dragged me to the kitchen. My face is hot as I look at the counter and he follows my gaze before pulling me into him. His hand finds my hip, the other my hair. "Elle? Are you going to talk tonight cuz..."

"You remember my name?"

I'm not sure what my face looks like, but he his forehead is scrunched and mouth agape. "Of course I remember your name, Jesus, what do you take me for?"

At this I finally chuckle and raise a brow delicately. When he giggles I wiggle my brows around and he sniffles and lays his head against mine.

"Um, if the offer still stands, I'll take that glass," I hear myself say and I'm sad when he detaches. He takes off his blazer as he goes though, and throws it on the counter top, where I lay. I hum the song I'm reminded of under my breath. I see his head shake. "What?"

"Hate to disappoint love, but I don't have a brass bed."

The red wine is warm through the goblet he hands me. I put it on the counter instead of to my lips. "Prove it?"

I must be a comedian, he's laughing again, but he's pulling me passed a living room with minimal furniture, but maximum art, and up stairs.

The bed isn't brass. It's king size, with a padded headboard, footboard too. My head thanks him, but I'm sad there is no place to attach ties. Not that we are going there tonight, or ever.

Harry's pressed up against me and his trousers do less than his jeans did for his modesty. His fingers have found the buttons on my top. I had left it mostly undone, a hint of bra but not so much as to offend my own modesty. Two buttons, three, and his hand, which covered most of my stomach to secure me to the counter when I writhed, is in the lacy cup of my bra. His mouth has found my neck. The tips of his tongue and teeth make indents on the column of skin before him, and I laze my head to the side before I pull my heavy right hand up. It feels like I'm swimming through water, but I'm glad I'm not, cuz the zing when my hand finds his skin would mean electrocution. I tickle under the blade of his jaw and tilt down to catch his busy lips with my own. 

The callouses on his fingers are welcome against my nipples and I tell him so. 

"Yeah?" He smiles and pushes me forward. I catch myself on my left hand, he's kept my right, pulling my blouse off. He pulls my left arm back without releasing my right, and I'm perched in an agreeable position if his hum of approval is anything. He grips both hands in one of his massive paws and reaches around to undo my bottoms. His fingers slip down to my nub after he's undone them, and he slides my slippery clit between the webbing of his pointer and middle finger. "Can you feel the callouses still?" He says as the rough tips of those fingers massage the muscles around my entrance. I'm squirming and nodding. Yes slips over my lips and seems to have a few extra s's. 

He pulls me up then and releases my hands. I'm still bound however. His free hand has snaked across my middle, back into my bra and he's still strumming a tune on my quim. I feel his smile, a true cheshire grin, against my neck. Harry has nudged my hair aside and begins his affections for that piece of anatomy anew. His fingers have not quit and I'm trapped, ensnared between those crisscrossed arms of his. Since I cannot wriggle, though I feel as trapped as a fish on a hook, I'm more vocal than I can ever remember being. Words tumble, praises bubble, and my syntax is undone.

I'm undone, and we've barely begun. I squeeze down on the fingers my body is desperately trying to draw in and his name echoes off the walls of his room. When I'm aware again, the little pecks on my cheek juxtapose the wet fingers entering my mouth. I suck them clean to a chorus of "good girl." And he's on his knees pulling down my pants.

I'm naked, and he's fully clothed, again. I'm not sure how I get myself into these positions.

The position he seems to want me in is below him. My companion reverses my position and gives me one kiss, the first to my mouth this evening, at least in our new venue, and pushes me down. I reach to pull Harry upon me. I think of all my sense memories from last time, the saddest I'm to have missed is his weight on top of mine. But, he stays upright and pulls his shirt over head. I'm excited I may see him naked, and the moonlight washes his skin white so his tattoos look like a puppet show against a blank wall. I watch the siren swim to the ship and have a moments fear for the sailors aboard. The illusion is shattered when he bends and the canvas flexes as he quits his pants.

He juts out from his stomach and runs a hand over himself, once, twice. I miss the feel, the taste of love, against my lips and move to sit up. I'm pushed back to parallel. All his laughter is gone, and the look in his eye renews the clench his fingers just effected. I rub my thighs together. 

"Elle, open your legs," his voice is husky and my limbs obey without my mind's control. They seem to have a new master. My knees meet the mattress as far from each other as possible and I wonder what picture he sees against my blank skin.

Harry runs his fingers up between my labia before bringing them to his lips. He watches me watch him lick them between those lips. I think they have been foremost in my mind. What I see when I touch myself. I'm transparent.

"Did you think about me?" He comes down on top of me and I hope the white wash of the lighting hides my blush. I'm wrong, I know, when he smiles and smooths his wet fingers over my cheek. I nod, he smiles. It's so sweet, except his long body is naked against my own, and I can feel him softly rutting against my upper thigh. His lips find their way between mine, and his tongue meets my own.

When my hips lift against his own, he moves on to my neck, down over my collarbones, leaving a nick to remember him by. My nipples are pushed together and share the cavern of his mouth. I assume he intends to continue his journey south, but I'm beyond four and have moved onto five play.

"No, no,no," I murmur and he looks up, slightly stricken.

"Do you want me to stop?"

"No, please, c'mere, inside me," I get all the words out and he understands.

"Just a minute," and he's off me, I don't like it, but I hear a drawer open and shut, looking up to see him rolling a skin on. One stroke, two. "Put me in," He says, and once again my body listens.

I line him up, and lift my hips. It's been some time and though the fluted head slips in, the flared lip of his tip, recently exposed, provides resistance. I whine. "Shhh, take it easy," He guides and pushes passed my ring of muscle an  inch. The audible pop is echoed by our matching exhales. He slides in another inch and pulls out. I'm full and on the edge of discomfort, I breathe. Focus on that in and out instead until his hips meet mine after he's worked his way in. Once there, he catches my eye. "Ok?"

"Yeah," I want to ask him to move, the pressure of his presence inside me, against my cervix, requires relief. Instead I flex.

"Ughhh, careful Elle," he warns, but pulls back a bit while continuing his break.

"Are you counting to ten?" I joke now that I'm able.

"European capitals, actually" he explains.

We both chuckle and the clench must be welcome this time, because he pulls my knees off their place on the mattress and wraps them around his hips and flexes his ass. It pushes him deep again and I mewl. That line between pleasure and pain I've been flirting with had become an infatuation as he moves into me over and over. My thighs grip him and i lift myself to wave my hips onto his dick. When that's not enough, I sit and he picks me up. My feet plant on his thick quadriceps and I rise and fall along his length until he catches my hips and shakes his head. He pulls me off and I'm face down on the bed while he pulls my hips back. His tongue circles my hood, and his fingers find their way in, I'm rocking back onto both until I make a sound I've never even made in a solo session. It's good, but brief. I hum my content and pull myself to the head of the bed.

His own impending orgasm postponed, and mine accomplished, he fits himself behind me, pushing my top thigh up until my knee meets my shoulder and we both watch as he wets the head of his cock with saliva and fits himself back in where I'm soaking. His name comes out again while I watch him take me, and he pulls my face back to kiss me while the strokes are calm and sure.

The kissing stops and he secures my knee over his shoulder and his hand to my pelvis to keep me in place. I feel like I need to brace myself based on the look in his eyes as he kisses my forehead. 

"Ready? Harder?"He asks

I nod again, and am thankful that he has braced me and that the head board is padded when he pushes in rougher. The power and speed increase until I'm gasping and he's groaning "oh my God!"
It's brutal and beautiful and I'm crying out. He buries his face in my neck and groans, pulsing into the condom between us.
By the time I catch my breath, I realize how sweaty I am, how achy I am. This ride home is going to reek and tomorrow I have no idea how I'll explain the marks, or the limp. I hope Harry is not asleep, as he is still inside me, though that situation should remedy itself, but safe sex rules require some action.

"Harry," I nudge, "Harry," kissing his equally sweaty forehead, "The condom." 

At this point I'm wrapped into strong arms, "Sleep," He murmurs and I swear he's already out. 

I wriggle out from under him effectively limiting my risk as it unjoins us. "Nope."

He groans and gets up like a 100 year old man to make his way to the bathroom. I follow him in and slide into the enclosed toilet. We dance around each other at the door a few minutes later, until he basically picks me up and sets me out of his way, "Move, woman." 

I start to slip on my clothes, and he catches me. "What're you doing?" He's rubbing his eyes like a little boy. Cute, fucker.

"Um, gonna call an uber. Thanks?"

"Thanks?" He looks more awake now, "Are you thanking me for a fuck?"

"Yes?"

"That a question?"

"No." I'm laughing, this is the most awkward, ever. 

"Look," He sits on the bed where I've just completed pulling up my pants. "The way I see it you have three options-" He ticks them off on his fingers, "Option-A you can call that uber and we leave this at two perfect nights. Option-B you take a shower," he leans over and dramatically sniffs me,  "You need it, look and smell freshly fucked," I slap his face lightly, "And sneak out later. Option -C, you shower, with me, give me a cuddle, and in the morning we talk. I have a proposition for you.."

"Another one?" I interrupt.

"Rude!" He claps his hand over my giggling mouth. "Now as I was saying, When in doubt, always pick C."