tryst [third] // h.s

3.08

Chapter eight

Harry Styles

Daddy.

I have yearned so long to be called that way but nothing is ever that simple. I have been with a decent amount of women and some men in my life, and a few have dared to call me that way.

I hated it.

I cringed. I talked over them so they wouldn't repeat it or I wouldn't be able to hear it because it felt wrong. I pictured someone else to make it feel right but it didn't.

For some people, it is about power, about establishing dominance over their partner. Some twisted people use it out of resources to fix their daddy issues but I don't think it's that way for me.

I consider myself a decently equal and fair individual, and I may have chauvinistic tendencies, as everyone else does, because none of us are perfect. I cannot brand myself a feminist because it's not my voice that needs to be heard, but I can align with their principles and beliefs.

The thing is, being called that way doesn't bring me any of those types of "comforts". I want my girlfriend to call me that way because I think she's hot and simply anything that would come out of her mouth would be perfect to me.

For all I care, she could call me a piece of garbage and it wouldn't matter. Because I would be her piece of garbage.

Am I making sense? Probably not.

How can I though? I'm naked, starfish position on the bed with the girl of my dreams crawling on top of me, touching me and saying filthy things to my ear.

Beautiful.

"Can I please ride you, daddy?" Zara says and I choke on my saliva once more. I can't have her calling me that way repeatedly, because I will be coming embarrassingly quick. That can't happen.

"Y-yeah...yes, you-you can...uh." Idiot, idiot, idiot.

What am I? 16 years old and fucking the first gal that gives me attention? No, but at the same time, this is the only girl I've liked since I was 16 so I guess I can excuse myself just this once.

"Are you okay, baby?" I fucking ruined it.

She thinks I'm weak and lame. She hasn't said that but I have been stuttering every single time we've had sex and I fucking hate it. It reminds me of the little lisp I used to have when I was a kid. Zara never makes fun of it, if anything she embraces it and looks at me with more loving eyes but it's embarrassing for me because I am always shocked by the things she says.

"Please call me daddy." I nearly beg and she smiles at me in complete amusement. I sound so desperate. "I'm okay, go on. Just overwhelmed and you're so hot...M'sorry."

"Baby, you don't have to get shy." She says and I just take my hands to each of her thighs. Zara is perched on my lap, straddling my legs and towering me with impressive height as I remain laid on the mattress.

"You look like an angel." She does. Wearing a three-piece lace white set for lingerie. It's delicate and sexy, just like she is. Her panties are barely covering anything but they are locked in place as a garter belt rests on her accentuated waist, connecting the ends with some tights that end on her mid-thigh.

There is some sort of halo around her, her hair is long and curled to perfection as her hands are manicured with a blushed tone of pink that compliments her skin tone beautifully.

She is only missing some wings because the sight in front of me is truly angelical. Even her voice sounds smoother. She is no stranger to my compliments but today is different, she looks stunning, dashing, heaven-sent.