50 Shades of Styles

Chapter 10

Everything in it is entirely imaginary and intended only for entertainment; I created it for fun. I did not write 50 Shades of Grey or any of its characters, and I do not own them.

Chapter 10 

He pulls out of me suddenly. I wince. He sits up on the bed and throws the used condom in the waste basket.

"Come on, we need to get dressed – that's if you want to meet my mother." He grins, leaps up off the bed, and pulls on his jeans, no underwear! I struggle to sit up as I'm still tethered.

"Harry - I can't move."

His grin widens, and leaning down, he undoes the tie. The woven pattern has made an indented pattern around my wrists. It's... sexy. He gazes at me. He's amused, his eyes dancing with mirth. He kisses my forehead quickly and beams at me.

"Another first," he acknowledges, but I have no idea what he's talking about.

"I have no clean clothes in here." I am filled with sudden panic and considering what I've just experienced, I'm finding the panic overwhelming. His mother! Holy crap. I have no clean clothes, and she's practically walked in on us in flagrante delicto. "Perhaps I should stay here."

"Oh, no, you don't," Harry threatens. "You can wear something of mine." He's slipped on a white t-shirt and runs his hand through his just fucked hair. In spite of my anxiety, I lose my train of thought. Will I ever get used to looking at this beautiful man?

His beauty is derailing.

"Louis, you could be wearing a sack and you'd look lovely. Please don't worry.

I'd like you to meet my mother. Get dressed. I'll just go and calm her down." His mouth presses into a hard line. "I will expect you in that room in five minutes, otherwise I'll come and drag you out of here myself in whatever you're wearing. My t-shirts are in this drawer. My shirts are in the closet. Help yourself." 

He eyes me speculatively for a moment, then leaves the room.

Holy shit. Harry's mother. This is so much more than I bargained for. Perhaps meeting her will help put a little part of the jigsaw in place. Might help me understand why Harry is the way he is... Suddenly, I want to meet her. I pull my shirt off the floor, and I'm pleased to discover that it has survived the night well with hardly any creases. But if there's one thing I hate, it's not wearing clean boxers. I rifle through Harry's chest of drawers and come across his boxer briefs.

After pulling on a pair of tight grey Calvin Kleins, I tug on my jeans and my Vans.

Grabbing my jacket, I dash into the bathroom and stare at my too-bright eyes, my flushed face – and my hair! Holy crap... just-fucked hair. I hunt in the vanity unit for a brush and find a comb. It will have to do. I despair at my clothes. Maybe I should take Harry up on his offer of clothes.

My subconscious purses her lips and mouths the word 'hoe'. I ignore her. Struggling into my jacket, pleased that the cuffs cover the tell-tale patterns from his tie, I take a last anxious glance at myself in the mirror. This will have to do. I make my way into the main living room.

"Here he is." Harry stands from where he's lounging on the couch.

His expression is warm and appreciative. The brunette-haired woman beside him turns and beams at me, with a full megawatt smile. She stands too. She's impeccably attired in a camel-colored fine knit sweater dress with matching shoes. She looks groomed, elegant, beautiful, and inside I die a little, knowing I look such a mess.

"Mother, this is Louis Tomlinson. Louis, this is Anne Twist-Styles."

Dr. Twist-Styles holds her hand out to me.