50 Shades of Styles

Chapter 16

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.

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BTW Louis has monthlies. Which are basically periods but no blood for women to somewhat keep the original storyline intact. Monthlies is just another name for a period if you google it. 

Chapter 16

Slowly the outside world invades my senses, and oh my, what an invasion. I am floating, my limbs soft and languid, utterly spent. I'm lying on top of him, my head on his chest, and he smells divine: fresh, laundered linen and some expensive body wash, and the best, most seductive scent on the planet... Harry. I don't want to move, I want to breathe this elixir for eternity. I nuzzle him, wishing I didn't have the barrier of his t-shirt. And as rhyme and reason return to the rest of my body, I stretch my hand out on his chest. This is the first time I've touched him here. He's firm... strong. His hand swoops up and grabs mine, but he softens the blow by pulling it to his mouth and sweetly kissing my knuckles.

He rolls over so he's gazing down at me.

"Don't," he murmurs, then kisses me lightly.

"Why don't you like to be touched?" I whisper, staring up into soft green eyes.

"Because I'm fifty shades of fucked-up, Louis."

Oh... his honesty is completely disarming. I blink up at him.

"I had a very tough introduction to life. I don't want to burden you with the details. Just don't."

He strokes his nose against mine, and then he pulls out of me and sits up.

"I think that's all the very basics covered. How was that?"

He looks thoroughly pleased with himself and sounds very matter-of-fact at the same time like he's just marked another tick box in a checklist. I'm still reeling from the tough introduction to life comment. It's so frustrating – I am desperate to know more. But he won't tell me. I cock my head to one side, as he does, and make an enormous effort to smile at him.

"If you imagine for one minute that I think you ceded control to me, well you haven't taken into account my GPA." I smile shyly at him. "But thank you for the illusion."

"Mr. Tomlinson, you are not just a pretty face. You've had six orgasms so far and all of them belong to me," he boasts, playful again.

I flush and blink at the same time, as he stares down at me. He's keeping count! His brow furrows.

"Do you have something to tell me?" his voice is suddenly stern.

I frown. Crap.

"I had a dream this morning."

"Oh?" He glares at me.

Double crap. Am I in trouble?

"I came in my sleep." I throw my arm over my eyes. He says nothing. I peek up at him from under my arm, and he looks amused.

"In your sleep?"

"Woke me up."

"I'm sure it did. What were you dreaming about?"

Crap.

"You."

"What was I doing?"

I throw my arm over my eyes again. And like a small child, I briefly entertain the thought that if I can't see him, then he can't see me.