For Pats
You hear the front door slam in the distance, signalling Harry's return. You wobble on your feet, scrambling to pluck his discarded button up shirt from where he'd left it on the floor the night before. Pressing the heel of your palm to your forehead, you take a second to close your eyes and attempt to dull the throbbing inside your skull that's the result of last night's drinking.
Softly padding into the hallway, you can instantly feel the shift in the air. It's almost as though you can feel the aura of Harry's stress before you can even see it sitting inside of his rigid body.
"Hey babe, you okay?" You question softly, drawing closer to where he's stood with his back turned to you and his shoulders sitting taught below his plain black t-shirt.
Without any notice at all, Harry's got you pushed up against the wall, one hand firmly wrapped around you neck and the other slipping down into your underwear and thrusting two fingers into your opening without warning. You're shocked by his movements, he's holding you so firmly that you couldn't move if you tried.
Now that you can see his face, you're completely stunned by how agitated he is and it worries you that you don't know what's happened to drive him to act like this. He looks completely unhinged, with his long hair ruffled about his face like a wild mane, eyebrows furrowed and casting a dark, menacing shadow over his eyes. He's on edge, unexpectedly aggressive and rough with each movement of his fingers in and out of you. Nothing about him is reminiscent of how he was behaving before he headed out of the apartment on a mission to procure the hangover-healing powers of hot coffee.
"Harry," You try to choke out to get his attention, but his grip around your neck is too strong. You can feel your pulse speeding up and throbbing below his hand, making you dizzy as the only thing you can focus on is the power behind each thrust of his fingers and the pulsing of your core each time he brushes your g-spot.
He ignores your helpless whimpers, "Such a whore, already so wet and filthy for me."
You can't help but moan as his words drip from his tongue, grasping onto his flexed bicep for some balance as your legs grow weaker and weaker as the seconds slip by.
Harry loves seeing you like this, trembling at his mercy, loud moans and whimpers created by him and for him. He particularly loves the way your cheeks instantly heat and your body melts under his softest touch, oozing for him. But today something's been playing on his mind and he needs to remind you that you are his and only his.
With the image of you from the night before searing through his mind, his frustration builds. You choke at the sudden emptiness of him yanking his fingers out of your underwear, knees buckling the second he's not there to hold you up. He's moving too fast for your brain to process, so you can't even scold him when he uses both hands to violently rip in half the shirt that hangs off your body, the two little black buttons that you'd notched together cascading across the hard floor like scrambling beetles.
You now stand before him exposed in just your little blue lacy thong. Your nipples are already perked and sensitive to his hands which shamelessly grab and pull at you in any way they can, as if he's trying to find some solid reality to grip onto.
"Harry," You manage to breathe out successfully this time, "What's going on?" You try to thread your hands into his mane, knowing that he usually loves the feeling of your fingers calmly massaging his scalp. You hope that this can distract him, slow him down a bit and give you a moment to catch up with him, however, he grabs your wrists before they can get that far, pinning them to the wall beside your head.
