crescent [h.s]

61

song of the chapter: fine line by harry styles

Aurora Styles

I've had plenty of loveless sex in my life.

Where I didn't feel good.

I wasn't having fun.

And I felt glued to the bed, waiting for my partner to finish so I could get up again.

But I never expected to have that feeling with Harry.

It's my fault though, I'm the one faking my moans, scratching down Harry's back to make him believe I'm having a good time. And it's not him. He's always made me feel incredible, always made me cum. I know that if he had any idea I was feeling like this, he would be pulling out immediately and kissing me until I wanted head, then making me cum until I saw stars.

But after years of faking orgasms with quite literally every partner before Harry, I've mastered the art to making them sound and feel realistic. So it's my fault I'm not exactly feeling great right now.

I should communicate with him.

But I'm choosing not to.

Because I want him to cum, so I can get pregnant. I don't care about my own pleasure at this point. I hardly want to look in the mirror because my body has failed me, so I couldn't care less what I feel like right now.

It's about 5pm, and Harry is on top of me in close missionary, my right leg bent up and around his hip as he rocks into me, his arm bent next to my head, holding him up as our chests don't touch.

The bed frame knocks against the wall behind me at the same steady pace as Harry is fucking into me at, a moan falling from his lips as he's being slowly dragged to his end.

I lay here with my eyes on the ceiling, looking for any cracks I can see in the paint, letting out a whiny moan every now and again, a couple whimpers of "Harry" being added to the mix.

My eyes tear up slowly, my vision becoming blurred and watery, the paint above me looking like a neutral palette of water colour paints, an entire glass of water being accidentally spilled on top.

I bite my lip to suppress the building up of tears, it previously feeling as if someone was hovering over me, adding a pipette sized drop to my eyeline, slow enough for me to blink each salty addition away. But as quick as that began, it was an even shorter amount of time until the pipette split and the entire tubing of tears spilt down my face.

I involuntarily sniffle, that catching Harry's attention before another rapid tear has the opportunity to fall.

As expected, he pulls out of me and attempts to hold my face, cradling my body in hopes of making me feel safe and loved.

It doesn't work though.

I use all my force to push his arms off me, my chest whacking with sobs as I practically fall out of bed, running into the en-suite and slamming the door shut.

I hunch over the sink, gagging and trying my hardest to bite down on the side of my hand, to prevent myself from throwing up the small amount of lunch I managed to eat today. My eyes burn, as does my throat, my body lightly swaying from side to side to try and distract my mind from this overwhelming sense of guilt and pain consuming me.

I hear the door opening, Harry entering the bathroom, his hand making soft contact with my back, rubbing my skin gently, "Aurora...talk to me."

Aurora.

I shrug his hand off my body, staying in my position over the sink but reaching behind me to push his touch away. "Don't touch me."

I hear the break in his voice, and I can almost feel the shock and hurt radiating off him from my harsh tone of voice, "I- Did I do something? Did I hurt you? Did you change your mind?"