The air felt close and thick, like the vapor issued from a screaming kettle, and Helene was glad, not just because her skin laid tight across her bones from the flight, but also because she knew she'd had sweat on her heairline and her palms for much longer than the taxi ride over. Probably from when she got the call from Harry.

It had been ages since they had each other. Which was good? Helene kept reminding herself. It supported her self imposed finished to their trust. This trip was nerve racking because it was for weeks. She'd have to keep her feelings locked up and her pants buttoned for longer than long. It would be hard. They'd not been together for this amount of days, in over a year. They had them a long hot weekend thanks to Gucci, but really, since tour ended, they ended, it's been little sips of his image through a tiny straw. She can't take him up the thin vein, he's too much. And when she had buried herself in his image on drives and on computers to take giant gulps, it felt desperate, so she had stopped. She had no reason to be looking at those, there were new images to edit. New jobs she had taken on, and new clientS to focus on, Better clients. She had Harry to tank for her higher profile.

Her focus, through her lens, was on point. It was her mental focus that wandered. To the drives she had buried with memories.

She did not look at those.

Well, that one night, after the very unsatisfying date with the gentlemen who absolutely did not look like Harry. Especially after he took his clothes off. She looked then.

Even that moment of weakness seemed forever ago. Time past notwithstanding, she would be spending weeks with him. A week in Mexico and one in Scotland. Helene was nervous about her feelings but her stomach was in knots over Harry's. Would he mirror the weather in each place with his ever changing moods and signals? A sultry embrace in one before a bracing chill closer to his own home?

Doubtful, he was a welcoming happy soul. He'd be happy to see them all. He loved his team, his employees.

She was, above all, his employee, though he blurred the lines so effectively with all of them, even the ones he hadn't fucked to within an inch of sanity, that she also was a friend, at the least. They were all the best of friends, separated by distance, and time, and Worse full schedules. His especially.

She was pretty sure she was the only one on the fucking list. Though she wondered about Mitch, always. But he was happily ensconced with sarah, and Helene was trying to let go of jealousy in her life. So she only used Mitch and Harry as fodder. To get her there, What ever it takes.

But now she was here. In this resort place. It was a curious choice for Harry, very touristy so far.

Nonetheless, She loved the colors, the water was teal out of the rolled down window of the hire car that had been waiting for her. She hoped there would be time for sea bathing and a margarita on the beach. He was usually good about building in down time for the crew. She could see herself relaxing, far away from him. Right under a palm tree. Those were a gray brown at the base and green green at the tops. They'd provide just enough shade. She still tanned, though she knew she outheten not to. Liked the bronze on her skin against the bright of her hair. She'd give it up at 40, she promised herself.

But Harry had traced the lines up the middle of her ass cheek with his tongue once. So, she wouldn't stop. Not yet. Not when that tongue was nearby.

                                     🌴 🌴 🌴

Helene stepped out of the cab and saluted the driver. It was on H's tab, so there would be no awkward pause to pay the cabbie. All expenses paid, that was a perk, she should embrace it. It smarted, like a poorly placed slap on the ass.

She decided to pretend she was a kept woman rather than an employee. That felt more fun, pretending she was here on a tropical rendezvous, not a business trip with a lovely boss.

Just slight shades of meaning, they were the same thing. She knew it. And a kept woman would probably not go so long without seeing her patron.

Harry was certainly her patron. She'd done well before him, but her career has exploded with the name association.

Her life had exploded. Her heart. She was still stitching it back together. This trip was going to test its elasticity.

She had moved on, dammit. And she was sure that Harry had too, in his way. After him and Camille and well, he was so sad when she really moved on. He must have thought after tour...... but good ones don't wait.

What did that say about her?

The lobby was aggressively air conditioned. Helene was pulling her sweater out and trying to get her arm in when suddenly, the fabric was pulled away and untangled for her to slip over her shoulders.

She could smell him over her shoulder, long before she saw his face. Her body always recognized him long before she lay eyes. Her skin hummed just under its petite surface, she felt it most in the bends of her elbows, knees, where her thighs became her hips. Where the blood rushed and you could track it. Her hairline always felt tighter too, Helene found her self tidying her hair when he was close enough to smell. And her breath, it came short, even before she smelt him.

And that's when it hadn't been ages, or a time more extended than she liked, lengthened by longing.

Helene drew in a breath and closed her lids. Time for her professional face. She'd need to gauge him today. What will she be working with these next few weeks? The flirt, the obsessed artist, boss man, lover.

"Hi Helene!" He's got his arms wide. Well, friend to start. Torture.

Jesus, did he always have to look like that? It's totally unfair to other humans on the planet, herself especially included. And any man after him. She'd learned that the hard way.

Helene felt her body overruling her mind and the smell, not any different than the one he'd always had in rotation, despite their last working endeavor, envelops her with his arms. It's like the smell of her apartment on her first bath back, redolent of home.

He smelt the same, but felt different. Harder, the notch where her nose always ended up isn't as cuddly as normal, the push of his skin back onto her more robust, less a bounce. She catalogued the physical changes when she looked up from her place, his height ordering a step back. He's in a tank and shorts with a button up, wildly patterned shirt over it.  Same clothes, new body.

Ah, that's why he felt different. He looked different. She remembered when she realized his ass was growing on tour, probably in Spain when his bespoke pants split. The pants had not changed dimension, he had. Everyone was laughing about it, but Harry was smug. "That's work" and he's looked over his shoulder and nodded his chin at his own growing booty. She'd had a feel or two, it was all muscle. She started tracking progress, each time they fell into bed at irregular intervals.

She thought she was discreet, until the time he asked, "how's it growing?" And bounced his eyebrows like a naughty school boy. She bet he was one, he put it on so easily. Ass.

Now he'd apparently turned his attention to his chest. His torso, if the lines under his a shirt were anything to go by, had expanded and become more michealangelo's David to raphael's.

This week was either going to be paradise or hades. Both likely.

"Hey Tiny!" He didn't call her that. Not when they were alone. It made her feel decidedly like a kid sister, despite his being her junior.

Purgatory?

"Hey boss." She looked up and willed the smile to reach her eyes.

"Heeeeey!" He stuck out his still entirely too suckable bottom lip. "Since when do you call me boss?"

Since before she fucked him and again in her head when she decided to stop. Instead she just shrugged.

"Don't like it." He looked around quickly, and leaned in and whispered. "You've seen me naked."

Oh! The flirt was back. "Everyone's seen you naked." She giggled and held in her snort at her own weakness.

"Well, yeah, and that number is about to grow." She wasn't sure what that meant and didn't have time to contemplate it. He leaned in close again. And they were all alone in the hotel lobby full of green plants and big earred ferns. "But I've seen you naked too, and I know how you taste." He let his voice drop and stood up with his smug face. His dimple pressed in when he got a look at her face.

She must have looked suitably flushed to entertain him.

"Anyway," he continued like her pupils weren't blown and she didn't need new lingerie. "I think everybody is going to lunch, Jeffrey's the only one not here yet. We were just waiting on you! Tequila?"

He was really not playing fair. This was over, she was over him. She had the relationship, rebound, under her belt to prove it. He was a menace. But she was French, still, always, so she schooled her face and feigned amused disinterest, and nodded.

"I'll need to freshen up, long flight. I can meet everybody."

"We'll wait."

"Oh no, I can't allow that."

"Then I'll wait." She was already moving to the desk, Harry by her side moved along check in.

He also rode the elevator up with her, and she was fully amused when he'd insisted on carrying her bags. She knew she liked Anne. 

Helene gave him a stare when he followed her in the room and through the suite to drop her bags in the bed chamber.  And then he made himself comfortable.

Helene canted her head at him and rose her brow.

"What?"

"Do you not have a luncheon to host?"

"Well, I'm the boss, as you said, and I want you there. I'm afraid if I leave you will pass out, I'd like your company, and I'll miss looking at you."

"I need a shower Harry." She tried to excuse him without having to kick him out.

"So shower." He smiled. Waved his hand in front of his nose. "Please! And I'll just hang here and check email and try not to think of you naked so I won't barge in there and delay us."

He was too much. Very presumptuous. Indelibly sexy. The little tease. "Ya know, for the poster boy of nice, you are rude." She came to stand by him and find something fresh to wear and her toilette bag. Her hip was really close to him, and he shifted so his forearm pressed to her waist. It was not a big movement, but hard to miss the heat coming off his arm into her body. The air conditioning in her room was lackluster compared to the lobby.

She looked at him and screwed her finger to her temple before she headed for the shower, ignored his flirt. He chuckled, but stopped her intently. Harry placed his hands on hers, where they were full of clothes.

"I'm happy to see you. I've missed your tiny face." He calf blinked. Then grinned. "Now hurry up! I'm hungry."

She was starved, had just been reminded of all the meals she'd been missing. Her facade stayed false though, "then go, eat." She laughed and went to shower.

Harry had said he was going to think of her naked, and restrain himself, but him being in her room was just the same. The shower steamed up the mirrors, or maybe she was doing that job. She wasn't sure she had time for what she needed, to wash and relieve. Helene settled for a PTA and moved her hand between her legs. Used the quickest most efficient motions she knew, that 1-2-3 punch combo to orgasm, took one hand away to bite her thumb, at herself apparently, to staunch her moan. 

He couldn't know.

She couldn't be sure he wouldn't barge in, she wouldn't receive him, or that she wouldn't be entirely embarrassed and have to act haughty before faking the flu and hiding out in her room, or hopping a flight back to Paris.

Were they never going to recover from this insincere intimacy? His mixed signals were crazy, made her crazy.

Maybe the intimacy wasn't insincere, just impermanent or situational?

Her shower routine had seen such little change in so long she completed her washing up with little thought. Her distraction was certainly situational, if she was anywhere near harry styles it seemed.

Her hair combed through easily, and she pulled on the panties and the light dress she'd planned for, with her sandals. She was a light packer from being on the road for years. Nearly everything was interchangeable and coordinated. She could just as easily wear her trainers, but she went with the sandals because of her pedicure. Nails, we always have nails, she had to keep up with the Styles, so she'd booked herself into the spa the day before the trips, despite the tight tight schedule.

She slipped the panties over her thighs and was glad she'd shaved her inner thigh creases the day before when she fixed the elastic. The lingerie was a good choice, there was a definite breeze in Cancun, she didn't want everyone to catch sight of her rounded ass, maybe just her boss.

She almost slipped them off.

Instead, she opened the door and he was reclined on the bed.

"You are so slow."

Helene didn't deign that with an audible response, just lowered her brow and screwed up her lips at him and gathered her things.

"Efforts worth it." He said as he passed her and headed for the door. Pfft, she filled her red cheeks and followed him out.

Company, other people, maybe that would kill his damn flirty nature.

But it did not, not really. He wasn't over the top. He sat on his side of the car, didn't pull her close or sit in the middle.

His knee knocked against hers and remained when he teased her about bringing her camera. Of course she brought her camera. She was his photographer, one of them, the primary.

Then, at the restaurant, he made her take a shot with him immediately, to catch up with everybody he claimed. They pulled up to the bar after a quick round of hello, then his arm around her wrist other about her shoulder, a salsa walk to the bar. He caught her hand again and licked where her pulse was already coming quick before she had recovered from his hips against hers. She had to grab the bar to stready herself, she'd blame it on him pulling her quickly if he asked. He didn't, just rose his eyebrows, and sprayed her arm with salt, then his own, which he licked while maintaining eye contact with her. Put a lime into the small gape she didn't notice her lips had, the longer caress on her fleshy bottom lip barely noticeable, then licked her wrist, shot his casamigos, and quickly, so quickly you couldn't call it a kiss, took the lime off her.

She didn't reciprocate in total, though like his salty skin, swallowed her shot to quell the burning in her throat and belly, replaced it with a more nameable burn, but she pulled his lime free with a pinch of her thumb and forefinger. 

He grinned and winked, grabbed the bartenders attention along with her hand, "two grandes por favor." Least his French accent was a bit better than his Spanish. Though, She'd teased him after hearing the audio for Gucci's odeur and tried to work on his tongue in bed, it wasn't great either. English tongues were clagey. Had he not proven her wrong, she'd doubt their ability to move pleasurably.

He'd shown her after a bit that his tongue spoke perfect French in other attitudes. It was certainly her language, they'd agreed after seven lessons straight.

Maybe he felt nostalgic as she did for days spent in bed and nights spent awake. Helene watched him walk into the group, giving arm less hugs since his hands were full of drinks. His face in the curve of a neck, like they were having a reunion, not on a job.

The magic of Harry. She was ready for a personal reunion. She'd follow him to his room after this get together and remain there.  There was no denying it, him.

🏝🏝🏝

By the third day of the shoot, Helene assumes
nostalgia, shared or lonely, was the feeling she'd leave Mexico with. Like tequila or the lime soup she knew she'd crave when she left.

That lingering want that outlived the availability of something. She wondered what language had a word that captured that feeling exactly. None of the ones she knew.

Nostalgia. Mexico echoed with those things she had once, but not anymore.

They'd been in a downtown area, bars on all the once brightly painted houses' windows. Streets cleared and Harry being run down in his designer clothes or riding on the backs of motorcycles without any protective gear.

His skin, she worried about his skin. A friend had some horrible road rash once, and Helene felt it would be a pity if that happened on Harry's perfect chest, or arms, or god forbid, his face.

His damned untouchable, untouched face.

The flirting had slowed dramatically, and they'd resumed their usual dynamic. Meaning she watched him down her lens and captured moments, but not his attention. His attention was usually consumed by whatever they were doing. He was busy, he was the star. He was not all over her since the day she arrived.

She'd given herself a pep talk this morning when she'd woken up from a dream, or a memory, and needed to slide her hand down her own belly to quell the tension before the sun was even fully up. It went something like-"he is your boss, your patron, before anything else. Don't pay attention to his flirtations, or lack thereof." That's what was hurting now, after that first day if she was honest. "He can't help himself. Just remember that other aspect of your relationship fondly and move on." Her French sounded just like her mother's when she gave herself talkings to.

It was easier said in the mirror than done. Mostly because many times, the way she framed him, the camera was an extension of her eye, her hand, her want. She wondered if that's why her pictures resonated with his fans. They were in the same boat.

When she arrived at the beach for the night shoot, she knew immediately she was in for it.  There was music playing, lights up around a square of sound, and a collection of beautiful, scantily clad people.

Harry like his secrets, so Helene usually found herself in moments unprepared, off guard. They just happened for her a bit before the people she made photos for. She had heard snippets of the song though, in the house sets. But, since this was being shot non sequentially, she hadn't a clue what this video was about. Even what the track was concerning was a mystery.

The mists cleared and turned into a knot beneath her navel and in her throat when Harry joined the throng.

He was also scantily clad. Which wasn't to uncommon a sight, not for the crew. In the bowels of the arena, he was likely to be in basketball shorts, and little else, sometimes just boxers. This was decidedly different. The other people here were also naked, they were dancing, and everybody was oiled, them misted.

Harry was off to the side being oiled up, and she was ready to spray the mist right into her own mouth. Did she have a mister? Could she join whatever the hell was about to happen here? It looked like a beach rave in the Greek isles she'd gone to at 20.

That was a good night. She barely remembered who she went home with. But it was more than one person. It was a one off, with the couple? She thought it was a couple. But it was a sweet filthy memory.

Helene knew this was clinical, were shoots like this, but as she watched Harry get rubbed down and misted as he casually chatted with the bespeckled lady working on him, them both laughing like every tattoo he had, almost, wasnt showing, Helene thought she may need a medic. And a job application, she was in the wrong part of the entourage.

It only got worse when Harry let himself be literally pulled into the throng. Then the next several hours was spent watching beautiful people, beautiful Harry, writhe. At first she'd been concerned he'd be uncomfortable, but he looked right at home, and happy between takes, with his silly finger gun dancing and half moon dimples pressed to mirror the shape in the sky. 

She watched it, and tried to detach through her lens. Though that was not her strong suit as a artist. She never was truly remote to her subject. And she was all bound up with Harry.

When the delicious torture was all over Helene was disassociating off to the side pretending to scan through her pictures.

She should not be this turned on. Jesus, it was technical, stand here so we can only see sparrows up and such, feign a kiss, but no touching. Like a lap dance for the young woman at her own personal 9-5. It wasn't sensuous, it was work. But all that flesh. All Harry's flesh.

She loved his skin. And the lights and the beautiful people. The bald girl who's been near him a good deal was particularly compelling. They had palpable chemistry. Helene was surprised she was excited by it, not frustrated or jealous.

A little jealous, or was it envy?

Helene guessed she should be getting shots. Had she caught her breath enough? She figured the answer was yes, until she looked up and realized that Harry had a bottle, bottles, of tequila, the amazing Mexican tequila they'd shot the other day, out, and he was pouring.

And he was handing out shots and hugs. The fake rave was turning into a real party.  A shot came across her hand. And she shook her head and kept shooting. She got some gems.

She loved the dancing in the video, but it was essentially choreographed writhing. This was something so much better.

Harry was still shirtless, but he had his personal space and he was doing stomp steps and his hands were flapping. And he was more adorable than the goofy smiles he'd given during the shoot to lighten the mood and the exhaustion everyone was feeling.  She shot everybody, but, as always, most pictures were of Harry.

She resolved tonight would not be all about Harry. If she couldn't fuck Harry, then fuck Harry.

Helene was chatting with the tall black guy with the mustache who'd caught Harry's eye at one point, he was pouring drinks and Helene was thinking how height was intoxicating, when Harry turned up.

"Pour me one?" He grinned at Xavier. Helene was glad she hadn't had any yet. She had plans for Xavier, but two more shots and she'd toss them into the waves to spend time with Harry.

Helene coughed over the shot she took, and Harry helpfully brought a lime wedge to her mouth. Less helpfully, his finger tastes like coconut oil. He tasted like a party.

Xavier said something, but all Helene could hear was the break of the wave hitting the shore behind her and within her.

"Excuse-moi." She slid away to the side, behind Xavier. He was big and his body hid her, so she didn't have to make eye contact with Harry. She held the sides of his shirtless waist, and her nose smelled coconut oil on him as well. Strangely, it was sobering compared to the slick on her tongue, the tang, left by her boss. She heard Harry's laugh as she walked away and her legs moved faster, walking on beat towards the side to drop her camera, and dance.

She'd dance this off. Dance it out.

This had seemed like a great idea, with the tequila addling her brain and filling her fallow belly. She carefully put her equipment in its bag, and left it in an obvious location and repeated it to her self, so she'd be able to find it on her way out.

The second shot burned less, but warmed more. It loosened the knot below her belly button and her spine. The song on was a Latin beat, her favorite. She hoped to remember it, but she didn't know the singer. She'd Shazamed it for later, she needed this song in her ear, it was in her veins now. She'd hoop to it.

Her hips shimmied side to side and front to back. She was laughing and holding hands with a brunette beauty for a bit. The girl led her through a proficient salsa. "Pardon!" She giggled when her barefoot slid off the top of her partners big toe.

"Oof," came out next from somebody bumping into her. The makeshift dance floor, really patch of sand had become more crowded as the tequila took effect. Helene wasnt surprised, she and Gabi were taking up more room than necessary, mostly because they didn't have their pelvises pressed together.

This became much more obvious when the bump showed itself to be much more intentional. There was more than a pelvis, and it was pressed to her bum. The impression was familiar. The smell of the man dancing on her was not though.

"You smell funny." She slurred and looked over her shoulder and up the bare chest to his face. He was looking down at her and his red nose fairly glowed, like a cartoon reindeer on a misty night.

"Aloe Vera." He glanced the top of his pointer finger off his nose then his shoulder. "Jane got me before the oil, and then again when I was trying to get everybody in a party spirit."

"Ah!" Well, he was less lickable then, she took as a positive. Until he turned her toward him, away from Gabi, who had moved on to a more focused partner while Harry was distracting her.

He was still lickable.

Her hips fell into the rhythm he was creating, like they'd done this before. And they Had, she supposed, just in a more horizontal attitude. She loved to bat herself about to his beat. She shook her head, bad thoughts away. "How did you get so burnt? You wear sunscreen no?"

He scratched the back of his neck. Ah, this was a confession. "I was trying out a new face cream, for a friend. I just assumed it had sunscreen, ya know." He shrugged.

"All from one day?"

Oh no, it took a bit. The first two."

"So that explains your face, what about your shoulders."

"I got carried away in a scene, decided it would be better with less... coverage." he scanned her in her summer dress. "Like most things." He bit his lip.

Helene felt her eyes roll, she'd been around Americans a lot apparently.

"Do you feel overdressed?"

"What?"

"Well everybody else is in their pants!" His shrug was almost Gallic.

"Well, I have a little burn myself."

"Did you forget sun lotion too."

"No, the mexican sun is strong as the tequila." She laughed at his giggle. "But, my pants and bra, were lace, not good on a sunburn." She shrugged, watched his eyes narrow them widen while he checked her out, then turned, rolled her body over his semi and walked to get more tequila.

He predictably followed her. "M. Panbrum," he whispered in her hair above her ear, "are you implying you aren't wearing any undergarments."

Helene gave him a half smile and took a shot, without offering him one.

The movement of his Adam's apple up and down his throat in response was a better burn than shot number three. Perhaps she was getting immune? Or was tipsy already. "Qui!" She stepped toward the dance floor, and was surprised it was more empty than it had been before. The party seemed to be winding down. She'd missed the climax.

"Let's go back." He pressed close to her, she could feel his nipples through her dress on the top of her shoulders. She felt him rub over her hip, then slightly higher, then down the crack of her ass. She appreciated the thorough search, but the lace and elastic had been insufferable this morning, so she'd opted out.

Would she opt out now?

Helene looked at Harry. Shirtless, sweaty, oiled and veraed Harry. "Why?"

"Um..." he blinked, faster than she had ever seen him blink. "What'd ya mean why?"

"I mean, why would I go back with you?" It felt like an honest question, one she was maybe asking years to late.

"Well..." he stuttered, and scratched the back of his neck, his giggle trilled nervously. His cheeks pinked. She couldn't believe her audacity either. "I just, well, before, and well," he blinked, slower this time. "Do you not, did we not?" He looked up then, and his face cleared a little bit. "Did you not have good time." He looked vulnerable, sad, at the notion.

"That's not how I would put it." She sighed. She was tired suddenly, and maybe drunk.

"Did I?"he looked at her close, then down to the sound. She almost didn't hear the words. "Have I hurt you, Helene?"

Unexpectedly, her eyes welled up. She would have been embarrassed or managed the feelings that wanted to spill down her face, but she couldn't when she realized he was tearing up to. This was not a conversation for the beach. This was a conversation for windy wet Scotland, not Mexico.

"Let's talk at the hotel. I'll take another car, so I can." She fanned her face, gave him a look.

He agreed, and had somebody getting transport together within minutes.

Helene was astounded. She'd known, or should have known he would expect them to pick up where they left off, she'd not told him it was the last time, last time. They didn't talk about it, they'd never talked about it. Just their desire was spoken and then acted on.

Her car left first, as Harry had more goodbyes to make. Helene beat him back to the hotel and had time to worry, agonize, and worst of all, hope. He'd been moved.

Did it mean anything? Or was it just his kind heart.

She was just about to lock the chain, put out the lights, and open the mini bar when her phone dinged followed by a quiet knock.

That was faster than she expected. He'd skirted rudeness, she assumed, to get here so soon.

"Helene," he immediately started talking when she opened the door and he walked in like he was much taller than her remembered, the way he looked taller on stage, the inches added by purpose.

She couldn't. Her hand went up, all red and geometric. "Want a drink?" She interrupted.

The tension didn't leave his shoulders, but the shiver moved down his arms and he sat. "No, not really."

"I'd like to have one with you." She needed a bracer, they needed to brace.

"Ok." He watched her make it. She could feel his eyes and loaded tongue. She was amazed really.

She poured the wine. She wanted tequila, but they weren't getting naked immediately, so, it seemed the wrong spirit. Her spirit trembled. Sh handed him his goblet and tapped hers tO the rim of his and gulped hoping one intoxication was better than the other.

"So, I like the song. I can't wait to hear all of it, not snippets. And the video, well, it'll cause a stir." She smirked.

"Um, yeah. Like, that's the hope. I'm just at kinda tired, of like, covering up."

"Physically to metaphorically."

"Both."

"Yeah, I could see that. Good for you harry!" She tried for a smile.

The varnish on it faded when she looked up. His hand on hers was like sandpaper. "I'm tired of not, not saying things. Helene.—"

"Harry, I'm not sure I'm ready."

"You were nearly crying at the beach? Helene. I think I'm not ready." He sighed. "I thought. Well, we always.....were you not having a good time?"

She laughed, it wasn't nervous, more a burst of emotion. "Harry, I think it was clear that I had a good time. You could feel that, no?" She pouted her lips on no. God she wished she had kept it together. Then she could be sleeping or...

He smiled, though it didn't crinkle his eyes. He pushed out a breath that a liar would describe as a chuckle. "Yes, In the moment. But what about after."

"Well the moment tended to last all night, so" her thumb cascades over his knuckles, rubbing between.

"Stop trying to distract me!" He spoke swiftly. ""Helene, what about after? The next morning, or on the ride home."

"Damn, she forget occasionally that he is perceptive, when he chooses to look, or maybe sensitive was a better word. It usually hit on the plane home, when the sore thighs and raw lips weren't happy mementos but badges of abandonment.

She sighed. She may as well get this over with. She'd been afraid of his disinterest, or solely physical interest. She'd assumed it though, so there was that. The confirmation couldn't hurt worse than the rumination. "After," she moved her shoulders as effortlessly as she could push through. "After, I remembered a good time."

"And you felt?" He touched her jaw, so she couldn't slide her gaze away.

"I felt, like I should be more than a memory."

"But you are, Helene, we are friends." At that she dropped his hands.

"No, I'm your employee!"
she said while she stood up, her wine upended and she excused herself to get a towel.

"My employee?" He followed her into the bathroom.

"Fine, then you're my patron, and the sex was part of my fealty." She stomped back out to sop up the wine.

"Helene, stop, what are you saying? That you felt like if you didn't sleep with me I'd fire you, because that's rubbish. You aren't my like, artist project, or my employee. You're more than that."

"I'm both those things. And your next door lover when you are lonely, or alone, or horny. But, in all cases, I serve you." She could feel the tears on her face. Kept it pointed down like a arrow tip.

Harry knelt down with her, her hands trapped by his knees over where she had been pressing the white towel hand onto the rug frantically trying to get the red hue to absorb into the towel, to clean up this mess she didn't mean to make.

This was all wrong. They were supposed to be easy. They could be flirting and fucking. She knew she had feelings years ago my now. Had nursed them, and then weaned herself. Feelings were unfortunate; they held you up. Here she was crying when she could be touching him, letting him touch her. Helene had come to the end of her fraying feelings. She'd snapped some time ago, she just hadn't told him.

Harry pulled her hands up, held them against her miniature struggle. "Please look at me Helene."

And then he waited, until she could. Helene pushed against the wine weakly while she willed her eyes to dry

When her eyes finally connected to his, she saw the gleam he got, when he was overtaken. He was the only man she knew who let that happen often without embarrassed words and trips to the bathroom.  That may have been the first string she pulled, maybe even before their first sleep over, before Bologna. His wet eyes and softness before his hard body. Helene had liked him for his heart. She'd liked him all along.

It was why she waited as long as she did to say no more.  One of the reasons. She should have said it out loud so they wouldn't be frantically cleaning wine out of a carpet on a Thursday night in Mexico before they got trapped in a tin can high in the sky.

She loved his vulnerability. And the way his eyes looked in photos when they glistened. She loved his face in photos almost more.

Like now. But, She'd never caught a tear on his cheek.

She didn't have a camera now. She'd have to actually be in this moment, not capture it. He let her bring her hand to his face to trace the tear back to its origin.

"Helene," he swallowed. "How long have you felt like this? Like I, um" definitely didn't needed a lens. "Like I used you, or whatever." He used her thumb to dash his other tear.

She shrugged. She didn't have a good answer to that question. Maybe always, maybe only right now.

"I'm not sure I knew I felt that way." 

"But you do feel that?" He pressed his forehead to hers. "That and Um," he hiccuped, "you didn't have a choice because you work for me."

She shook her head there. "No, that I don't feel. I was just angry." She was a cornered animal, striking out. Not that she felt, less forced, she could absolve him a bit.

"Thank Christ." His eyes closed and she was thinking how altogether pleasant his symmetry was. No, she did it because she wanted him. Even now, with his heartbreakers face and broken heart.

"I like being with you, I chose to be. But I think it hurt me, that you." She swallowed, her own tears clogging her throat and pressing down the sides of her nose. "That you are fine with having me for a small time here and there,  but not everyday."

"I never knew having you everyday was an option." He pulled back and looked at her, his focus shifting from one eyeball to the other. "Is it an option? Everyday?"

Helene filled her cheeks at that. How did she not have an answer? "Do you want it to be an option." Oh, yeah, the gaping fear of rejection inside her.

"Helene," he tsk'd. "I think we got started at a weird time, but, you never." He chuckled. "You never said. But neither did I. I really thought I'd gotten better at this." The wry grin brought a wet smile to her own. "It will be complicated." He tilted his head, and his lips gentled about his teeth.

"Will be?"

"For us to be together. With tour. And my traveling, and your other gigs. But, I wouldn't mind. Plus the rest, you know." He flipped his hand sideways, like the judgements of a million or more fangirls were nothing. "But I wouldn't mind." he shrugged and gave her a boyish smile. "Having you for more mornings."

"Wouldn't mind?" That wasn't enough.

"No." He held both hands. She'd dropped the towel and missed it. "I'd be lucky to have you to wake up to. And go to bed with. And to cook for. And pick hooping songs with. And watch those documentaries you like." They laughed. The last time when they'd been to fucked out to touch each other, he'd nodded off three times when she convinced him to watch one, she'd tried to keep him awake. He'd have liked it, she was sure. "But it'll be complicated. You know, they love you now..."

"It would be an honor, and a pleasure," she winked her eyebrows up and emphasized the word. "To see you at home. Yours and mine, and watch those old movies you like. And listen to whatever album you love over and over for two weeks exclusively. And eat the food you like." She was not committing to cooking, no matter if she was committed to him.

"So?"

"So." She nodded and kissed him with the salt on their lips. And their tongues, chins, and collarbones.

His neck tasted of aloe and coconut oil and after she'd discovered the scent and flavor went well below his collar, down to the nipple she was trying to play, it occurred to her that it probably went everywhere. Essentially.

"Does all of you have the spray on?" She didn't like it, it tasted wrong. Like her new first time with him was with somebody new. She didn't want anybody new.

"All but where the trunks covered." He slid his whole hand, fingers splayed, into her hair, and canted her head back to take her mouth. "Blah. That's gross."

"Merci!" She countered.

"Not you, that taste is from me." He wiped his tongue on his Hawaiian shirt tail.

"We should shower."

"Yeah." He pulled her behind him, and was messing with the knobs a moment later. Her fingers found the last few clinging buttons on his Hawaiian shirt from behind. He did love to dress to the occasion. She loved their height difference, the way the curve of his ass stopped at the tips of her hips bones. She cascaded her nose from one scapula point to the other.

"You're distracting me." He whined.

"Mmmhmmm." She confirmed. His pants, the joggers he'd slipped on over his briefs from the shoot, fell easily once she pulled the elastic side. His trunks she had to push down.

"This is backwards. Usually you're naked and I'm dressed." She liked the humor in his voice.

"This way is better." She wrapped a hand around him.

"Well," he turned around without upsetting her grip, looked between them to his rising pride and her clothed form and smirked. "It has its perks!" Then she was off her feet.

"You fucker!" She squealed. At least the water soaking into her clothes was warm. "Harry!" She squealed and laughed when he lifted her up to press her back to the side of the shower. Her clothes were already soaked to her and getting them off was a chore.

Wearing them drenched was worse. And the cling wasn't the only reason. She needed to be free, like she felt with him. And now, she imagined more so, without comfortably silent feelings.

Harry was adept at getting wet clothes off, or dresses off, she'd seen. The panties rolled up as they came off, but she felt even more weightless than any other interlude they'd had when he hoisted her up to get them to fall off her feet.

"Stop laughing!" He giggled. "I keep clacking my teeth against yours. I'm trying to kiss you."

"You have to stop laughing too. My teeth are hitting yours for a reason."

"I can think of something that's fun!" He raised his eyes brows and lowered his hand. "Yet quiets giggles."

"No!" She shook her head and squirmed, though a moan escaped despite her when his finger hooked along her anterior wall, found that spot. "Non! I hate shower sex!" She licked his neck. "And you still taste horrible."

"You hate shower sex?" He boggled and it gave him a double chin. The rub was he was still attractive, with three folds beneath his cleft and all.

"It takes all the wetness away."

He moved his fingers and raised an eyebrow at the squelch.

"That's water. It's not the same!" She pouted her lips a bit.

"Well, what do you suggest instead of sex?" He looked hard to impress.

Helene reached for a cloth and the bergamot orange body wash and Sudsed up. "I'll wash you."

He rolled his eyes, but certainly didn't stop her.

The flannel glanced over his smooth skin with Helene's hand pausing over the good bits, the ones that made him shiver. Her mouth chased the cleansing cloth, her teeth and tongue too.

She cleaned where he had been covered as well. Just for fun and so she could taste him.

He toweled her off. Then picked her up, like she loved, and carried her to the bed.

Her back hit the bed, and the comforter exhaled around her. She wasn't able to catch her breath when he coasted his long body over her. She'd always loved how they fit together, at all the essential points, despite their height difference.

Like their mouths. He was still the best kiss of her life. He gave himself over to it, like he did to the audience onstage. His mouth communicating what his voice often didn't express. His tongue was lithe, and flit around and caressed her tongue so well she always felt it everywhere. Between her lips, between her legs, and especially in her heart. She'd always tuned out, sure it was miscommunication. It spoke of of his feelings, enlivened hers. Today, she listened to him. To his investment, and abandon.
The way he followed her lead and listened to her moans. That he used tongue only after deep lip locks, and licked into her mouth like closing an envelope. Sealed them together. It would take a rip to rend them apart.

Except it didn't. His cascade down her body, usually hurried and hungry, was smooth and sharp, like a letter opener gently applied. She was open, and full of words. Mostly Harry and please. He unlocked her further, she was pretty sure the word love passed her lips, at least lover, when he found her sensitive nipples, and impressions between her lips, and mouthed over her hip bones to the divots where her thighs connected to her pelvis.

"Harry!" She pushed up on her elbows.

"Shhhh!" He popped a dimple and she wanted to be annoyed. He was annoying, but so cute, and lovely, and maybe hers, that she lay back. He pulled her down the covers, the slide of her body audible, and set her feet as close to the ground as they reached, then cuddled into her thighs before easing them open. The bed was high, but he must have measured, or gotten very lucky, because he only had to pull her forward to get his Mouth on her from his knees, open his mouth, extend his tongue.

The first lap, from tail to top was wonderful, especially because Helene had to finally yank his hair almost from his head to get him to stop biting her thighs and kissing her honeymoon muscles, sucking them. The first taste, to where she swelled, was such a relief, she cried.

"Harry! Now." She'd sat up to give the command. He smirked, and before she might have been made to wait, but instead he nodded and danced his hand up her torso to lay her back. His finger lingered on the peak of her breast. That was lovely, remarkable even, but she nearly forgot, would have, with the sensation of his tongue licking into her hole and up until it flicked over the hood at the end top of her clit. The tiny suck to where her lips met was new. She tried to enjoy it rather than think about its origins. Several rounds of this, a swirl around her center, before gentle suction entwined with tongue strokes had her crazy.

He was so good at giving head. Was it just that mouth? Or the expectation of that mouth that he'd risen too.

Her temperature, heart rate, respiration rose too. Her voice filled the room. "Fuck, je jouis!" Her back came clean of the bed and her legs would have clamped Harry's head had he not caught them. He held them open through the "arret, please stop, arret!" Through the second orgasm and the lazy slide of his tongue through the creamy ooze. He slinked up her body where she had two hands in her hair.

"I'm gonna get a condom." He kissed her with all her flavors between his lips and she waited for the shakes to stop. She thought he was gone but a minute, it felt like hours. She missed him, so she hoisted herself up to get to him.

Helene's mouth around him got Harry back to full steam, and the heavy hang to his left, just like she liked it, wet her appetite anew. Her strokes over him and the play of his foreskin made him pull her off with a gentle tug of her hair.

"I'll come." He chided.

"Hmmmm." That was not a night ender, but the delay wasn't favorable to either of them.
Helene watched him slide the skin over himself. She slid up the bed so the pillows pushed her shoulder and neck up. She wanted him close in on her, get all their relevant points touching. She wanted to feel his mouth and see his eyes, the whole way through.

For a moment, just a moment, she worried she would not get her way. The concern intensified when he stopped and stared.

"What?" She notched her nose next to his. Why'd you stop.

"Just trying to capture the moment." He slid up the bed between her thighs, wrapping one around his own leg, and sliding two fingers through her wetness and inside to spread her around.

"Should take a picture. I've heard they last longer."

"No, memories can't be destroyed. Pictures can. I'll just stop, take you in."  She could feel him, blunt and insistent at her entrance. "Especially as you take me in." Their exhales met in the inches between their mouths, maybe the repelling force was why Helene's head pushed back into the pillow. She felt her chin hit his nose. Imagined he had to move his head out of the way, couldn't know for sure. Her eyes had closed at the feel of him in her. The heartbreaking pressure, pop, and easing burn. He was talking.  "Have I ever told you I love your face when we fuck, especially the first stroke. You look overwhelmed and determined." He held said face, her eyes blinked open when his thumb caressed her fingers. "Alive. I'll remember this too, yeah?"

"Harry," Helene flexed her hips up to bring him closer. "Stop talking."

He nodded, clutched her chin for a deep kiss, one that left her speechless certainly, and gripped her hips.

The pace felt leisurely, and her body frantic. The mismatch was like those outfit that shouldn't work, but suit the wearer. She would wear him three days at a time if she could. The pressure was constant, except for the three times he teased her with the tip, and pulled either just out or to the brink, waited for her beg, and pressed back in.

If he didn't stop fucking around she might kill him. 

When he trapped her right thigh under his to stroke slow, deep, and steady, she accidentally hit him in the head with her elbow while she grabbed the pillow behind her. She needed to fuck him in her bed, it had a proper head board, iron rods to grip.  "Sorry."

He shook off her accidental blow and grinned up at her from above. "Good?"

He'd never asked that. He knew he was good, so good. "So good, oh oui." She lifted her other leg so he glanced off her end and went farther. "Ahhh!"

"That's it." He kissed her while she moaned through her second coming and only let the final wordless sound be unobstructed by his tongue.

His easing strokes had her kicking the sheets, she could hear her heels slide up and down. Damn flip flops on hot sand all day. 

"You good?"

"Mmmhmm, so good." She gave him a dewy look and grabbed hold while he rolled them over. In this position, where her heels reached just below his knees, she knew her size, and her power.

He was throbbing within her, humping in tiny motions to get friction, though he'd just hampered his own ability to move.

Helene felt ready to help him out. But not before another lovers kiss. She'd loved the dirty kisses, over the bend of her back, with someone's essence in the others mouth, with teeth more than tongue, but nothing beat these sweet filthy latherings he was favoring her with.

"Ride me?" He begged when she slid her tongue away.

She liked this switch, her sated for the moment, him needy. She liked him needy and talking. The tears in his eyes in the living room where they cleaned the wine.

His eyes were wet again, but from desperation. She stayed stretched out on him, and circled his hips to keep him suspended and get his mouth. His fucking mouth. "I love your mouth."

"Would you like to kiss it everyday?" His words were rapid, a little labored.

"Oui."

"You're welcome to, but for the love of god, make me come, please Helene."

It was her turn to smirk, her hips stilled and he grabbed her to make her move, but she shook her head and kissed him like he wasn't standing before the finish line, like good morning not good night.

Then she sat up, and back, got her knees beneath her, griped his and slid his full length in and out at a bounce until his begging turned to praise.

"Holy fuck!" He sat up on his elbows, then fell back to the bed. But he kept his eyes open. Watched their connection, she knew they were both capturing the moment, the memory. "You look so good, on me, oh god!" And he couldn't keep looking. His head f ppback and his voice going hoarse over his note of completion. "Oh baby!" Was a beautiful lyric she'd not heard addressed to her.

He pulled her down to him, before she could collapse, and they cuddled, until she excused herself to have a post coital pee and rinse.  They cuddled more after him joining her.

And the next morning, after an enthusiastic wake up call.

And throughout the week in Scotland. They made moments and captured them, and Helene never felt so insecure that it would be the last of them that she took a photo.

She didn't need to look at him through her lens to capture him, for now, he was hers.