50 Shades of Styles

Chapter 14

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 14

Harry is standing over me grasping a plaited, leather riding crop. He's wearing old, faded, ripped Levis and that's all. He flicks the crop slowly into his palm as he gazes down at me. He's smiling, triumphant. I cannot move. I am naked and shackled, spread-eagled on a large four-poster bed. Reaching forward, he trails the tip of the crop from my forehead down the length of my nose, so I can smell the leather, and over my parted, panting lips.

He pushes the tip into my mouth so I can taste the smooth, rich leather.

"Suck," he commands his voice soft. My mouth closes over the tip as I obey.

"Enough," he snaps.

I'm panting once more as he tugs the crop out of my mouth, trails it down and under my chin, on down my neck to the hollow at the base of my throat. He swirls it slowly there and then continues to drag the tip down my body, along my sternum, between my chest, over my torso down to my navel. I'm panting, squirming, pulling against my restraints that are biting into my wrists and my ankles. He swirls the tip around my navel then continues to trail the leather tip south, through my pubic hair to my cock. He flicks the crop and it hits my tip with a sharp slap, and I come, gloriously, shouting my release.

Abruptly, I wake, gasping for breath, covered in sweat and feeling the aftershocks of my orgasm. Holy hell. I'm completely disorientated. What the hell just happened? I'm in my bedroom alone. How? Why? I sit bolt upright, shocked... wow. It's morning. I glance at my alarm clock – eight o'clock. I put my head in my hands. I didn't know I could dream of sex. Was it something I ate? Perhaps the oysters and my Internet research manifested itself in my first wet dream. It's bewildering. I had no idea that I could orgasm in my sleep.

Zayn is skipping around the kitchen when I stagger in.

"Lou, are you okay? You look odd. Is that Harry's jacket you're wearing?"

"I'm fine." Damn, should have checked in the mirror. I avoid his piercing brown eyes.

I'm still reeling from my morning's event. "Yes, this is Harry's jacket."

He frowns.

"Did you sleep?"

"Not very well."

I head for the kettle. I need tea.

"How was dinner?"

So it begins.

"We had oysters. Followed by cod, so I'd say it was fishy."

"Ugh... I hate oysters, and I don't want to know about the food. How was Harry? What did you talk about?"

"He was attentive," I pause.

What can I say? His HIV status is clear, he's heavily into role-play, wants me to obey his every command, he hurt someone he tied to his bedroom ceiling, and he wanted to fuck me in the private dining room. Would that be a good summary? I try desperately to remember something from my encounter with Harry that I can discuss with Zayn.

"He doesn't approve of Wanda."

"Who does, Lou? That's old news. Why are you being so coy? Give it up, boyfriend."

"Oh, Zayn, we talked about lots of things. You know – how fussy he is about food. Incidentally, he liked your pants." The kettle has boiled, so I make myself some tea. "Do you want tea? Would you like me to hear your speech for today?"