For Nour
It's been a long day to say the least.
You weren't expecting to begin the day waking up to Harry's fingers softly rubbing against your centre, pulling you from a deep sleep and filling your body and mind with instant lust. The first thing to leave your mouth this morning was a deep and satisfied moan at the feeling of your relaxed body melting under Harry's touch at the sensitivity of your clit as he massaged it patiently. It didn't take him long to drive you to your orgasm, he knew it wouldn't - you're so good for him when you're satiated and don't have the opportunity to taunt him like you usually do.
He left you there in your bed, sheets distraught and spilling over the sides and around you in the darkness, recovering from the mess he'd made of you.
You haven't been able to stop thinking about what happened since. For some reason, the memory of Harry touching you so willingly and tenderly has haunted you, creating an adamant twist in the pit of your stomach that only has you longing for him more and more as the minutes go on.
Upon returning home from a seemingly endless day of work, you can't wait to finally have your way with him and ease the simmering desperation inside you.
Your house is dim as you chuck your bag down and slip off your shoes, keeping quiet with the intent of potentially surprising him and sparking a session of rough, passionate sex. Your ears are pricked for any signs of his whereabouts but nothing gives him away.
"Harry?" You call out gently, making your way up the staircase to your bedroom, unbuttoning your shirt as you go.
When you reach the landing, you notice the light spilling out from the main bathroom and your heart begins to thud with the knowledge that he must be in there. You pause for a second, thinking back to your plan to surprise him, and quickly pad to the bedroom, throwing off your clothes and leaving them in a messy bundle on the floor.
Your desperation is palpable, your pussy throbbing at the thought of what he's doing in there, an abundance of dirty images flitting through your filthy mind. Harry standing in front of the mirror brushing his teeth with a towel wrapped low around his waist to expose the soft trail of hairs that pass below his bellybutton. Harry standing below the stream of the shower, his head tipped back and his wet curls dripping down the nape of his neck as steam billows around his chiseled body. Each new image forces you to squeeze your legs tighter together, your wetness saturating your underwear.
When you dressed in this little white lingerie set this morning, you had hoped that the act would manifest into something more later. Now you're certain that it will. You watch yourself in the floor-length mirror, deciding to leave the set on, knowing that as soon as Harry sees you in it, he'll be feeling just as desperate for you as you have been for him all day.
You're aching for him, enjoying the pain of anticipation. There's something so satisfying about knowing that your Harry will be the one to make it better for you.
You take one final look at yourself in the mirror, adjusting your tits so they sit slightly higher in your bra, before you choose to embark on your mission.
Tiptoeing back to the landing, you hold your breath, nervous about making your entrance. Your heart is thudding in anticipation and you decide the best thing to do is just to go right ahead and stand in the doorway for him to see you in all your sexy glory. So you do exactly that, pushing the bathroom door swiftly open and leaning against the doorframe, exposed and willing.
Nothing could have prepared you for what you saw.
Harry.
Naked.
