* THIS STORY CONTAINS MATURE & EXPLICIT CONTENT*
Please refer to the list of possible triggers and kinks.
Harry Styles. Twenty-Five. Green eyes. One hundred and ninety-six pounds. Six foot even or one hundred and eighty-seven centimetres. Born to...
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This chapter is dedicated to my wonderful editor, Keanna. Happy birthday, darling. I hope it's the best. x
I was awoken from my deep slumber by the sound of my phone ringing but not from the alarm. No. Someone had the cheek to call me at the ass crack of dawn. Whoever it was could leave a voicemail or wait. No one was that special. My hand moved over, blindly tapping all over my phone until the call went dead.
At least I didn't hit the green button. That would've been far too embarrassing.
"Good-morning, Little Devil." A voice rang out through the phone, my eyes opening wide as chills ran down my spine. How the fuck did Harry Styles get my phone number? Seems as if I spoke too soon before.
"Or should I say Astar? I've heard a thing or two about you through the grapevine. It seems as though we need to have a conversation. I've sent a location to you. Be there at two. No questions asked." The line was silent and a part of me thought he had hung up after that although I knew better because I didn't hear the click.
"And I know you're awake. I can hear you breathing, darling. Don't be scared. I promise I don't bite...at least not too hard. If I remember correctly, you like it that way though." And with that, the click echoed through-out my barren bedroom.
I let out a breath that I didn't know that I was holding, racking my brain for possible ways that the man could have gotten my phone number. The girls? All of them had my number. It was mainly for work purposes though. Except for Sapphire. She and I have become particularly close over the past week.
Once my hand came into contact with my phone, I blinked the sleep from my eyes to see what time it was. It was seven in the morning. Who in their right mind would be that cheery at seven in the morning? Just another reason why I disliked him, even if it was a petty reason. Early risers were to not be trusted.
Harry was such an arrogant son of a bitch. Who did he think he was? Waking me up from my slumber and then mentioning that godforsaken night? Like he didn't act like a pretentious asshole by throwing money at me.
Still, my curiosity was piqued and I found myself throwing the covers to the side and swinging my legs over my bed, sliding my feet into my baby Yoda themed house slippers. I was dressed and slightly more alive half an hour later, doing a little one-eighty in the mirror to make sure the jeans hugged all the right areas. I wanted to have Harry's eyes glued on me.
The distressed blue jeans seemed to compliment the black corset, which had some frills at the top near where my bust was. I wore my hair down like usual, letting it fall upon my breasts, adding a bit of highlight to my collarbones so that if I turned the right way they seemed to glisten.
I was half tempted to remove the black corset and change it for a red one but felt that would be a bit too loud. This was just a meeting, nothing more. Just two acquaintances probably going out for a little drink. Maybe some coffee. Even if this seemed like anything but.
