50 Shades of Styles

Chapter 19

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 19

Soft lips brush across my temple, leaving sweet tender kisses in their wake, and part of me wants to turn and respond, but mostly I want to stay asleep. I moan and burrow into my pillow.

"Louis, wake up." Harry's voice is soft, cajoling.

"No," I moan.

"We have to leave in half an hour for dinner at my parents'." He's amused.

I open my eyes reluctantly. It's dusk outside. Harry is leaning over, gazing at me intently.

"Come on sleepy-head. Get up." He stoops down and kisses me again.

"I've bought you a drink. I'll be downstairs. Don't go back to sleep, or you'll be in trouble," he threatens, but his tone is mild. He kisses me briefly and exits, leaving me blinking sleep from my eyes in the cool, stark room.

I'm refreshed but suddenly nervous. Holy cow, I am meeting his folks! He's just worked me over with a riding crop and tied me up using a cable tie which I sold him, for heaven's sake – and I'm going to meet his parents. It will be Zayn's first time meeting them too – at least he'll be there for support. I roll my shoulders. They're stiff. His demands for a personal trainer don't seem so outlandish now, in fact, they're mandatory if I am to have any hope of keeping up with him.

I climb slowly out of bed and note that my shirt is hanging outside the wardrobe and my trousers are on the chair. Where are my panties? I check beneath the chair. Nothing. Then I remember – he squirreled them away in the pocket of his jeans. I flush at the memory, after he, I can't even bring myself to think about it, he was so – barbarous. I frown. Why hasn't he given me back my panties?

I steal into the bathroom, bewildered by my lack of underwear. While drying myself after my enjoyable but far too brief shower, I realize he's done this on purpose. He wants me to be embarrassed and ask for my panties back, and he'll either say yes or no. My inner goddess grins at me. Hell... two can play that particular game. Resolving then and there not to ask him for them and not give him that satisfaction. Louis Tomlinson! My subconscious chides me, but I don't want to listen to her – I almost hug myself with glee because I know this will drive him crazy.

Back in the bedroom, I put on my shirt, slip into my trousers, and climb into my shoes. I then glance down at the drink he's left.

It's pale pink. What's this? Cranberry and sparkling water. Hmm... it tastes delicious and quenches my thirst.

Dashing back into the bathroom, I check myself in the mirror: eyes bright, cheeks slightly flushed, slightly smug look because of my panty plan, and I head downstairs. Fifteen minutes. Not bad, Lou.

Harry is standing by the panoramic window, wearing the grey flannel pants that I love, the ones that hang in that unbelievably sexy way off his hips, and of course, a white linen shirt. Doesn't he have any other colours? Frank Sinatra sings softly over the surround sound speakers.

Harry turns and smiles as I enter. He looks at me expectantly.

"Hi," I say softly, and my sphinx-like smile meets his.

"Hi," he says. "How are you feeling?" His eyes are alight with amusement.

"Good, thanks. You?"

"I feel mighty fine, Mr. Tomlinson."

He is so waiting for me to say something.

"Frank. I never figured you for a Sinatra fan."

He raises his eyebrows at me, his look speculative.