The lighting is so gorgeous and soft, she knows they have to get up off the couch. She can't miss this golden hour, she needs a few more amazing shots, it's gilding his lily, but choice it prefered by editors. Helene is a little boneless though, still. And she doesn't really want to leave the hotel room, but he looks, better than the light really. And it's her job to capture it. Even here, lazing in a hotel room, he is a sight to behold.

He's all tan and recumbent, body stretched out. He looks easy, at ease, except his eyes. Harry's eyes are always a dare. Green lights set her to go.

"Hey, we need to get ready - I don't want to miss the light." The light was good, if the way his skin looked, bronze and shimmery, like a halo on all that was exposed, was any indication.

He cocked the book down, side eyed her, like a glare's hot cousin, "I don't want to go anywhere. I wanna read. I think this is my vacation!" And he ticked his eyebrow at her. That, that deserved a picture.

"Don't be a baby, and it's definitely a working holiday at best." His fits of pique were almost cute, because he always did what he was supposed to. She knew she just needed to arch her own brow, or remind him someone may be waiting on them, or mention Jeffrey, and Harry would haul himself up, and put on a shirt. It was a shame. She supposed his reliability was a good quality, except when it drew him away from her.

She wondered if he'd ever blown something off, to stay in, stay in bed, get back under the covers and out of their clothes.

She wondered if he would with her.

Helene wanted to ask, but that wasn't their relationship, she knew it. She'd started as a friend. Then became a friend with benefits, and that's where she felt likely to stay. Was that a zone? The 'a friend you fuck but don't love' zone.

She thought that was where Harry put her, intentionally or not, but he had broken out of that box in her head. Ripped off the handcuffs, and she was terrified, because he was more to her.

But she couldn't say it. Because he was also her boss, the best she'd ever had, and her friend, a really good one.

And her lover, it seemed, but not a love. It was a shame she had fallen. But he was such a beautiful man. She couldn't help it.

"Why don't you just take pictures here?" That broke her train of thought.

"Like this?" Her brow erased her forehead on that.

"Yeah! Why not?"

"Cuz you'll never let me post them!" She's laughing - they both know it, he's half naked, she only gets one of those a tour.

"I will, for my birthday I will!"

"Your birthday or mine?"

"Either, it's a gift anyway!"

"You're an ass!" She's laughing. She loves when he shows his cocky, it's usually during sex, but it's always sexy. She likes when it's buried under humility, but not always, not when she wants him to be buried in her.

God! Everything about him draws her in. She is fully aware she is a moth, bashing herself onto his fire, she's going to do it anyway.

Can't resist the flavor of those cherry nips and raspberry lips. It's worth it.

Helene reaches behind her for the camera. "Game on!"

"It's not a game!" He's laughing. God she hopes not.

He looks better in the view finder. She's is not sure how that is possible. He keeps reading, or pretending to, dropping the book down occasionally to his chest with a lazy fucked out smile.

She knows that look. She's determined to see it again this afternoon as she did this a.m., and last night.

Other times he places the book on his lips, resting on the over plumped line at the top edge, contemplative, studious.

She thinks he is her favorite subject. To study and shoot.
One time he flips her off while holding the book. His other fingers on his side, middle finger on the spine facing her.

Well, that's just a dare.

When he cocks the book at an angle, keeping his face mostly covered, and gives her the look he gets when she goes to her knees, she snaps the shot and knows it's the last one. It is the shot, happy fucking birthday to her, or him, or everybody.

Helene sat the camera on the table, thought she heard it fall off the edge, but she barely had time to wince before she was crawling into his lap, under his arms, her head between his shoulders, just below the book.

"I'm reading." He murmured - eyes intentionally glued to the book.

"So read." It was not meant to be a whisper, but it slipped passed her lips sotto voce and was followed by her tongue, catching his crucifix in her mouth. Licking it out of the way to find the hollow of his chest like a swallow finds home. The notch fit the wide flat of her pink muscle perfectly and he tasted strong of him, even a hint of her, she had slid down his body from his face at one point this morning.

His nipples looked like cherries, always did, but she was hungry and the sweet tart taste was all that could satisfy her. Her tongue curled around one and then the other as he kept reading. He wasn't even breathing heavy. She would have been miffed if she didn't know that this was, in fact, a game. Whoever gave up first.

So she bit.

That drew a sound from him, and when she licked to the other side and bit the tip of his other tit, he moaned.

"I'm reading." He was whispering across the centimeters between them now.

"So read." Helene smiled like the cat about to get the cream.

The distance between her first position and the high waist of his brand new favorite pants was minuscule, but gave her time to give him butterflies, using his representation of a favorite feeling. Tongue tracing detailed lines on his gleaming skin.

She slipped her hands in to unhook the bar closure of his rich trousers and found him hard beneath. When she licked the leak at his tip, where it peeked out to say hello from the waistband of his calvin's, she felt the book brush her hair and could smell the pages as the air wafted out of them when they hit his stomach.

His hand went into her hair. She guessed love, the verb, was more important than a mixtape. "You're reading." She reminded.

"No, I'm not." And he gripped her hair and gave her a little direction.

That kitty cat grin crossed her face again. She peeled his boxers down. Licked his dick up, from the crease of his testicles to the glans. The circuit she made of his tip, well that had him breathing heavy and talking now.

"Your mouth, c'mon kitten, open your mouth." And he flexed his hips up.

But he had been a tease. So she snapped the waist band, a little jolt to his thighs and an "ahh!"

"When I'm ready!" She said. And nibbled at his sartorius.

"God, please be ready soon. I really need to feel your mouth, Helene."

"Why don't you tell me about that. What you need, hmmm?" She lay her head on his hip, where her breath could caress his pulsing cock.

"Um, ok, god! Fuck!" He flinched when she cocked him towards her mouth and sucked in just the tip. "I love how much you can fit, everywhere, I'm always surprised. Cuz you're so small, love to throw you around. And the sounds you make, ugh..." She licked around the head audibily. "I love how responsive you are. So I really need youto show me all that and put it in your mouth." He'd run out of breath by then, was panting.

"I love how big you are," she righted herself between his legs and got comfy, opened wide and sucked him deep. The pop when she pulled off the tip was just for his praise.

"Oh fuck, Helene, again!" And so she did, the pops off the top weren't so frequent, but the deep strokes had Harry speaking in an English form of tongues, full of praise and love. Just like him. His taste was irresistible, but his giant heart kept her hanging on more than his dick.

She knew this would have to be the last time. He didn't want more, didn't see her as more, and she'd never demanded or suggested more. That was her failing. But she deserved it. More.

She'd treasure this though. All the times with him. She'd take all of this to the next relationship, learn from it, and find something requited.

Harry liked her fine, and she wanted to work for him again. He was a stellar boss, would be a really amazing boyfriend, but he needed some time. Not everything was forever, sometimes that hurt, but it was ok.

She was ok, and this was incredible, and hers for the time being.

His taste, the sound of his voice, tuneful even when he was groaning, the shape of him, and the shape of him inside her, she'd get to keep the memories, and it didn't even have to the be photographic, because she has those too. And she'd know what to ask for next time. The lessons would come with her too.

How she wanted to be fucked, loved, and treated. But mostly that she wanted reciprocity.

Which she'd demand next, and now.

He was at the back of her throat, just an inch left out, and she swallowed to his babbling, his hands buried in her hair as he begged. "Stop, Helene, I'll come, I'll fucking come."

Did she want that? Kind of, honestly, but also, if she was swearing off Harry Styles, she had other positions to try, explore, learn by heart. So, when she needed to recall, it would be like the home phone number that didn't exist anymore, but would always be hers.

She pulled off and stroked twice. Smiled at him, swollen lipped and wet mouthed.

"God, fuckin amazing. C'mere!" And he pulled her up and over him. To where they were eye to eye, lip to lip, hip to hip.

She came to rest, aligned like they always were, in her heart, him filling the negative space between her thighs with his powerful ones. He was holding himself at just the right angle, so they could find all those geometric configurations, acute and obtuse. She slid easily over him twice, and then onto him.

The exhales were just shy of rapture. "Cherie?" She smoothed his growing curls back. "What will you remember of Italy? Of me?"

He looked thoughtful for a minute. Distilling some words down. "The way your hair is honey in this light, and the ease of your bones on me." He was a murmur on the air between them.

That was a good memory, sweet and solid.

That's what she would take too. "I'll remember that you were caressed by sunset and it loved you the way we all wish to. And how you looked reading your book. And your songs, those unwritten."

"I'll write some for you." He promised.

"Don't, I'm not just a memory."

"No, a dream." His hands found her hips, and the cadence he set, the rock and sweet roll gathered everything but moss, all of her senses, feelings, and attitudes.

He stayed deep, buried to the hilt and moved her hips in a susurra. Helene aided him, made it orbital.

They could have stayed like that for a long time, suspended like the moon. But his neck veins were straining, begging for attention and release. Her mouth climbed the especially pronounced one on the left side above his clavicle. She was sure she was on the right track by his grip, it had migrated to her ass, was tight. A few inches from where she loved it. Where he had taught her she liked it. It made her clench.

"Do you want it?" He circled his thumb over her asshole.

"Yes." She whispered in his ear, bit down on his lobe. But she meant more than he thought.
Harry pulled his hand away, to her mouth. Had her wet one, then two, three fingers. "I want it." Brought it back round.

Sighed over the first instrusion, jaw dropped over the second, squirmed over the third.

"Helene?"

"I'm good, I'll be able to take more." She assured. Kept up the little dip and roll of her hips. Worked back on his fingers until it was all pleasant stretch.

Her own fingers found a place between her legs and the crazy amount of sensation, the presence of Harry's teeth on her right nipple, brought her off faster than she thought possible. Crazy to think that just a few months ago, she'd never come during sex. Now she came every time, with him. But she knew how to get there now.

"Fuck, fuck, Harry, it feels so good!" Her clench was tight, he looked pained, and she felt her clit pulse against her fingers, drum skin vibrating.

She slipped off his lap. "Do you have anything?"

"What?" He was staring at her like he'd never seen a naked woman before, much less her. He hadn't followed her round the bend she'd mentally decided on.

"Lube. For my ass." She brushed her fingers between her ass cheeks, felt the sensitive space there, a little frisson of pleasure.

"Um, Yeah, bottom of my kit." He started to move. "I'll get it."

"Non, I'm up amour." She started then stopped. "If you don't mind"

He narrowed his eyes and shook his head an inch, chuckled. "I don't mind."

"Keep that warm for me." She nodded at his slick cock. "Just like that!" Yum, his hand moved up and down slow. Just enough to keep it tense, hard.

His eyes were closed and he was squeezing a little when she got back.

"You ok?"

"Yeah, I'm just, fuck Helene, I'm really turned on, and I'm afraid I'm gonna come on the first stroke."

She giggled a little, she loved when he was weak. It was rare, for him to be so hot he was out of control.

"Don't laugh at me!" He laughed a little at himself though. "I've only done it like once, and it was shit, I was like 19."

Ah, a one off. This would be better, they had sexual rapport. Spilled over from professional, no doubt. She made a thoughtful face, tapped her chin with the bottom of the lube tube. "I have an idea. You could eat my pussy until you can handle fucking my ass." She'd take that with her too, asking for what she wanted.

His eyes closed and when he opened them again they were florescent, buzzing like neon. "C'mere." A beautiful order. And he grabbed her hand and slid down on the sofa. "Sit on my face."

"With pleasure." God, that first stroke of his tongue was always something. He usually started with the wide flat, this time from all the way back to the tip top of her.

The normal tease of him, to switch to kissing, nibbling her inner thighs was, "fuck, dammit, Harry!" He gave her that look, the one he slid the book down to grace her with that started this, all heavy lids and sex on a stick. The suction at her clit and slight head shake were gonna get her there. But he must have needed more time, before he opened her up. She was excited, a little nervy. He'd done it, not well apparently, once, but she'd never done it. Would it hurt, in a bad way, or good, in that bone deep ache, next day soreness memory way. Her hands found his hair and her eyes rolled back in her head when he brought his hand up, sucked in new fingers and wrapped them around her hip. Started with the count again. 1, 2, 3 fingers.

Helene was afraid she might have strands of his hair between her fingers, she'd pulled so hard. "Harry!" He was sucking again, light, wide over her clit, and licking too. "I'm gonna come." He nodded, hummed and slipped a finger into her vaginal opening and rubbed the top of her canal. "Basai-moi!" He pushed her back when she lost her legs. She came to rest on his lower stomach.

He sat up and pushed her hair back. Kissed her back to her senses with his fragrant mouth. "You good? Want to do this?"

"Do you?"

"God, yeah, please."

"Yeah, let's do it." She smiled, "how?"

"Slowly." He kissed her eyes, "bend over." He stood up, sat on the dark wood coffee table, arranged her over the couch.

And slow he went. From the tops of her shoulders to the backs of her thighs, then in between. Mouth, fingers, tongue, huge hands spreading her cheeks.

When his cool slick fingers came up, and he spun them inside her, scissored them slightly, worked up to four, she was ready. More likely, impatient.

"Harry, tu me rends folle." Her back was curved sharp, like a lens. "Take me."

"Turn over, its easier on your back I think."

"I thought you haven't done this in a long time?"

He laughed. "Well, I haven't been the verb so much, usually the object. But I know how to make it good for you."

"Oh!" She smiled. Yeah, she kinda knew that, him and boys. Liked it, to think about it, though that seemed politically incorrect. She'd got an inkling when Xander came round backstage, he and Harry were, familiar.

She lay back for him, he arranged her thighs and she relished watching him slick his cock up. Thumb the tip the way she knew he liked.

Hot though it was, worked up as he'd got her, she still tensed when he put the head at her puckered opening, though all of her felt empty and open.

"You gotta relax, or it'll be uncomfortable."

"Just do it." Helene figured it was best to get the hard part over.

"It's not like a plaster, you have to start well to make it good. Easy." He kissed her the way the next world felt. "Slow."

When she'd forgotten that his dick was an inch too low, consumed by his fruited lips, he pressed the tip through. That was usually her favorite inch. But now, it didn't hurt, uncomfortable though. She squirmed a bit, wasn't sure if she meant to get it deeper or push it out.

"Shhhh, shhhh, we can do this." He pulled back, brought her hand to her red and ripe cunt. "Play."

So she did, and those deadly eyes, so bright green they may have been nuclear, made her forget the discomfort until he was pressed all the way in.

"Oh!" Her busy hand stilled while the other gripped her breast.

"Oh!" Harry groaned. "Fuck!" And he pulled out and pressed in, slow and heavy. Fucked into her for long minutes until she was taut as bow, her back off the couch and her heels digging into his ass. "Touch yourself, put your fingers in."

And she did, her hair a mess all over the embroidered couch from tossing her head back and forth. It was a lot of sensation, penetrated back and front.

"Feel me?" He whispered.

"Yes!" God could she feel him, everywhere, through the membranes thin as can be, could make out the tip when it passed in and out over her knuckles.

"Helene, I need to come." He must. He'd been holding it since she'd got her mouth on him.

"Un moment." And she got her thumb to work, pressed down on her nub, and kept her fingers against the companion spot inside until the bow snapped and arrows of feeling darted across her synapses.

"Fuck!" Harry let out and she watched, with half her attention because she didn't want to miss it, while his teeth gritted and his muscles froze and his mouth fell open.

He pulled out of her, her rubber legs akimbo, and her will and way to move lost.

Helene stared at him, red trails on his skin, flush of his chest, splotches on his neck. "Can I take a picture of you, like this?"

"You look at me like that, I'll say yes to anything." That was the pot calling the kettle. His looks were persuasive.

So, she didn't ask him anything hard, or lengthy. Because he would have agreed, and not meant it.

Now months later, she's really happy, has had a few great dates with a good man.

It might be love.

But she still takes that advantage she had pressed after their fucked out afternoon.

"Can I really post that picture on your birthday?" She'd looked at it in the little square, that was a lot of skin. Not so much as the one she snapped then.

He really might have said yes to anything, because he'd only shrugged, carefully put her camera on the couch before he picked up her sleepy body, carried her over his shoulder to the shower.

She posted the before shot, on his birthday.

The after one was just for her.