Moon Bay // Harry Styles Series #2 - Ghana

Lover

Suddenly it was awkward, standing in the middle of the bathroom, wearing robes and holding candles, like monks who had lost their way.

"Harry, you look like a wayward monk. I suppose I do too. This isn't sexy."

I saw the slight dent of pre-dimples as the corners of his mouth began to rise.

"I'd prefer sexy."

Who wouldn't?

In the bedroom, we placed the candles in front of the dresser mirror, where the reflection gave even more light. I wanted to see him. I wanted him to see me.

Without words I untied my robe and let it fall. In the mirror I saw what he saw. A petite, well-toned body. Breasts that, while retaining much of the lift and fullness of a younger woman, were nonetheless maturing as they must. Bronzed skin kept smooth and elastic with conscientious care. A face softened by desire and framed by pale ashen hair. A desirable woman. A woman feeling desire.

I had never felt more powerful as a woman than I did at that moment, while that beautiful young man stared at me, lower lip between his teeth, pupils dilated.

And now it was my turn.

I opened his robe and pushed it back from his shoulders until it pooled on the floor. Standing close to him, I pulled the clip he wore from the front of his hair and let it fall over his forehead, a tumult of great looping curls. His eyes, wide set and framed by short, fine lashes, gave him an air of constant wonder. His lips, perfectly shaped at rest, were slightly apart now, welcoming.

I ran my hands down his arms, across his chest, tracing the outline of the butterfly before I stepped even closer. My nipples grazed his chest and he took in a quick breath as I pressed my lips to one sparrow, then the other, while running my hands down his back to cup his buttocks. He stirred against my belly, throbbing once, then once again.

It was a heady thing, to feel this young man's desire grow, to hear him sigh in my ear.

"Tell me what you want, Harry."

"You."

"How?"

"What do you mean?"

I stifled a laugh at the innocence of the question.

"I mean, how? Standing here? Sitting on the loveseat by the wrapper you placed so purposefully? Out in the storm? Laying like a pair of nervous virgins on the bed?"

"Oh, that sort of how..." the corners of his mouth were creeping outward and upward, dimples appearing like magic. In the midst of the moment I noticed that the one on his left cheek was deeper. I lifted myself on my toes and kissed it, dipped my tongue in it.

He turned his face by no more than an inch and suddenly there it was, his mouth on mine.

Soft. His lips were so soft as he moved them, our breath mingling as we pulled back, mouths open the slightest bit, then pressed forward again. I took his lower lip between my teeth and sucked it, and as I released it the game changed entirely.

Harry's hand snaked its way into the hair at the nape of my neck, pulling me in and up until his mouth met mine with a strength and passion I had rarely known. His tongue delved into my mouth, coaxing mine to press and slide against him. He tasted like mint and rain and something deep and inviting.

His free hand traced down the center of my back, along the cleft of my buttocks and up again as I spread my fingers across the small of his back, pulling our bellies hard against one another, his cock a lance of heat between us.

I hardly recognized the plaintive whine as my own when he removed his mouth from mine.

"In the rain," he whispered. "I want you in the rain."