Harry Styles Sexual Frustrations

2

When Harry looked at her, he couldn't help but see all the beauty in the world held beneath her skin, the combinations of adoring qualities she possessed shining beyond her up most layers. She was beautiful, to him, in everyway; the way she would smile, showing only her top teeth, so white, and pearly, perfect beyond description; The way she would laugh, her voice raising into a falsetto before falling upon slight monotone, in only a way she could manage, and he couldn't help but think that if anyone else had laughed that obscure way, he would find it nothing but annoying, but it was her. She. And she was different.

But he knew; Harry knew that with beauty came pain, a temperament, a price, and he was never one to deceive himself so pathetically, but she had a certain type of charisma, one that so easily blind sighted him, took hold of his senses and through them among those of the two year olds who would fight for their mothers attention against their siblings, though they were taught to know as their mothers child, there would never be more than a shared and even love between them. He knew she was deceiving, one look at her and he could tell, but he didn't seem to care; he looked forward to the pain, the temperament, the price.

She had some subtly type of splendor, one that would captivate any living being, and move those who were concealed 7 feet under, one that scared Harry and excited him at the same time. Her characteristics so completely moving, and somehow subtly astonishing, the things, only she, could manage sent him crazy, with even only the thoughts alone. Only she could control him, propel him over the edge, through horror and pain, and into a state of pleasure at the same time; send him insane and his thoughts impractical as well as calming him into some sort of nirvana. The way she could draw him to cum with the simple whisper of seduction in his ear, and could propel him into a fit of over stimulation not too long after never failed to amaze him. Even when far from her, she had the same affect, her voice through the phone, sweet, yet, ominous to him, reminding him of the dealings in their pasts, and cluing him on those of the future. She was a drug to him, much like ecstasy, holding him in a trance-like state in which he transcends his normal consciousness.

He constantly tried to out-do her, beat her in everyway, but never managed to get close enough to the power she seemed to hold on him. She was a diamond and he was coal; he was but a mere peasant and she, royalty. Every time he would come face-to-face with her he seemed to have to restrain himself; from loving her more than she seemed to show; needing her more than she appeared to feel necessary; wanting her more than they could both manage to contain. She never appeared to fail; only ever showing contentedness with him, no more, or less. And she never looked to display how much she meant to him, leaving him to feel a sort of emptiness on nights, when his sheets would lay upon his hot and clammy body, cold and soft, empty beside him. But Harry meant more than the world to her, and though to him, she was greater than all gods believed to be held in the sky. She, to herself, was weak. Scared. And feared all the things she felt toward the one boy she vowed to never acquaint any feelings toward.

Her pleasure in life fell upon the boy she hindered it to ever be, similar, her love, and her passion. Their nights together now consumed her, leaving behind only thoughts of him in her head, the way their bodies were able to work so smoothly, and in sync. Their breathing in time. Their thoughts so much the same. Whenever slinking out of his room, she would find herself throbbing from the sensation he left between her thighs, causing her to turn back and gaze once again upon his loving, tender body, breathing heavily amongst the sheets she found herself tangled in only moments before. When lying in her own bed, drifting so slowly in and out on consciousness, she would discover her mind betraying her, forcing thoughts of their actions upon her; the way he would fit into her so perfectly, as if to consume her whole body with every thrust he would force out; the way he would moan, deep and raspy, causing her to follow suit, straining from the pleasure she herself was too, receiving. As the images would invade her mind, she would only ever find herself slipping her hand between her legs herself, in a desperate attempt to regain the indulgence she had already received that night.