Ice Cream // A Harry Styles OU

Part 8

The next three days were utter bliss.

The first day, you barely managed to get out of bed. From the moment you woke up to the second you fell asleep, Harry was on you, touching you, affecting you. It was beautiful and fulfilling and also exhausting. He wouldn't leave you alone, but you didn't mind. You were enjoying this side of him. You were enjoying this side of you - the one that didn't constantly feel tense or on edge or irritated. You were happy.

The second day, you spent it in the car, just driving around the Highlands with no planned route and no destination. He held your hand tightly in his while you explored mountain passes and vast lochs and deep forests. You stopped at a roadside cafe and had quite possibly the best gluten free sandwich of your life - which you were surprised was even an option in the depths of nowhere - and then carried on to another quiet pass where you had some wildly incredible sex in the front seat of the car. It was almost midnight by the time you got home, and the shitty three-quarter bed in the cabin had never felt so comfortable. It was made all the better with Harry's body wrapped around you.

On the third and final day, Harry had gone into full wooing mode. Every single part of the day felt like an attempt to bring you on side, whether it be staying at the cabin or allowing him to come to the bungalow with you. He started with a wake up call that involved his glorious face between your legs, followed by a fully gluten free breakfast spread. After a joint shower wherein he shagged you senseless against the tile wall from behind, he dragged you out into the perfectly mild Highland day for a hike up the nearest - small - mountain. You were back by lunchtime for a picnic by the lake and a dip in the water, with less chasing this time and more paddling. Then, after a nap in the cabin that resulted in yet more sex, he took you into the village for dinner at the nicest restaurant it had. It was no Nobu - not that you'd ever eaten there - but it was good food and perfect company.

"Are you ever going to tell me what you said to that paparazzi that followed us last week?" Harry asked when our dessert was taken away. He had a hand settled on the base of his wine glass, the candle on the table flickering so that light danced across his handsome face in odd ways. It only pronounced the sparkle in his eye.

You licked your lips, fighting off your smile. "Probably not."

"Please? I feel like I deserve to know, given it could come back and bite me in the bum."

You giggled at his use of the word 'bum'. It was like his mother was in the room with you. "It won't."

"And how are you so certain, darling?" He leaned forward over the table, still entertained.

"Because, baby, it is literally impossible for him to do so."

"Care to explain?" He rested his chin on a closed fist, smirking.

With a sigh, you leaned sideways and fished around in your bag until you found what you were looking for. Between your index and middle finger, you flashed the small SD card that the man had reluctantly handed over to you all those days ago.

Harry's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "Wow."

"Uh-huh."

"How'd you manage that?"

You thought back to your conversation outside the supermarket and let out a small laugh. "Er... I might have threatened to get the supermarket security involved for harassing customers, and then followed it with another threat to break his fancy camera and shove the SD card into some intimate places if he didn't give it to me."

Harry was staring at you like you were a mad woman. Maybe you were - you always did have a short fuse. "You said that?"

"Yes."