Pretty Boy // H.S

3.

"Jesus Christ, right there, keep going!" I call out, hands holding his own through the duvet covering my thighs.

As if two rounds last night weren't enough, Harry wanted to go again this morning and has since been between my legs, adorning my clit with the most perfect rhythm. Three is a magic number, or so they say. We both woke up in such a good mood that I could hardly find the words to protest against him when he started to leave wet kisses down my body before prizing my legs open and diving in. I don't think I'll ever get bored of the feeling of his tongue on me. It's addictive. Explains why he has a stream of consistent clients.

Two of his fingers thrust into me, massaging my g-spot each time they hit it before lazily dragging away, only to be roughly pushed back in. His tongue circles around my nerves, taking a pace that is just right, but is quickly bringing me to the breaking point. The laps it runs seem to pick up the more I pant and moan his name.

I feel him mumble something against me upon hearing his name again, but I don't care enough to decipher it. I'm entirely entranced by what his mouth is doing instead, the vibrations of his words hitting the sweetest spot. He's so hungry, so famished for my taste, I will happily stay like this for as long as he needs too.

I can't see his face, the covers shielding him from my view, but my eyes have been screwed shut the whole time I wouldn't even be able to look at him if I tried. My fists grip at the sheets, desperately trying to keep him in place while simultaneously keeping my body still. Each time I try to arch off the bed one of his hands moves to my stomach, holding me down with force. It only drives me wild.

That same high I had experienced with him is already approaching, his fingers changing the rhythm to match the speed of his tongue, of which I can feel flicking around my clit as he sucks it into his mouth. "I'm close," I tell him, feeling his teeth lightly nibble on the nerves.

In a short burst of flames, I finally climax, my arousal coating his chin and my limbs seizing up. A bright technicolour erupts behind my closed eyes, so magnificent I feel as if I am witnessing art being made. It swirls through my mind as every nerve in my body explodes, tiny stars falling around me in their place. I can still feel his fingers, but his mouth has moved away, simply helping me ride out the high.

Once I've finally stopped floating above the clouds, he moves back up my body to hover over me, a grin taking over his lips. Without a word, he brings his fingers to my lips, outlining them before being pushed into my mouth. "You taste so good, pretty lady," he says, watching as I suck on them until my arousal is gone. I definitely taste good on him.

Harry places a chaste kiss on my collarbone before rolling over and laying next to me. My chest rises and falls rapidly, pulse still quick from the activity he just pulled. This may be the best decision I've ever had. I may have had my reservations about hiring a sex worker, but so far it's served me well. Instead of spending the evening crying about my failed relationship, I was fucked by perhaps the most handsome man I've ever seen, and he made no protests to making me feel good. He thrived off of it.

I move my hands up to my face, covering my eyes as the sun shines through the thin drapes. Harry laughs next to me, my own echoing around the room with his. "You're too good at that," I say, moving some hair from my eyes. A thin layer of sweat has formed in the hairline.

He turns over so he lays on his side, hands held together under his head. "I think you already confirmed that for me," he teases, my eyes opening to smile at him.

I roll over to face him once my body has calmed down, stroking a hand up and down his arm. In the morning glow, his eyes slightly puffy from sleep, he looks innocent, pure. What we've been up to is anything but that. Yet, I can't help the smile that creeps onto my lips upon seeing him. "Is it bad that I don't want this to end?" I question, chuckling lightly at the ridiculousness of my own words.