The Lighthouse - [H.S.]

Chapter 5 pt. 2 - Explosions & Threats on the Ceiling

Harry Styles
Saturday, October 19, 2024
Just after 2 am...

"Why won't you tell me your name." I push, my drunken state of mind, starting to get to me.

Now that I've fulfilled all the business items for the evening, the circus performance, the album title reveal, the formal dance... I can breathe.

The petite redhead in front of me has caught my attention every other second of the evening. I don't know anything about her, and yet I feel that I've met her before. Even if I had, between the alcohol and the... other things I've done tonight... I don't think I'd recognize my own mother if she walked in front of me right now. God, please don't let her come here tonight. Have her choose some other guerilla advertising.

Strange enough, I don't think I've had that much to drink. Whatever, the stress of the investigation and the team on my back about pushing the next album out faster to cover our PR has got me so tense. I deserve a night of some antics.

"That's not the point, is it?" She says, and even with her very detailed mask, I can see her eyebrow raise just enough that my dick follows suit.

"But you know who I am." I counter attempting to sound much more sober than I am, leaning into her as much as I can before I officially become scum. I gently place the pad of my pointer finger on the tip of her nose, just peeking out beneath her mask.

"Now whose fault is that?" She asks, pushing me away gently, without thinking I grab at her hand on my chest. "You are the host of the evening, you made the rules." She says, unphased by the touch.

"Please? I mean, this is my night." I try. Perhaps she wants someone who leans into the deserved-cockyness.

Her smirk is answer enough, no. Strange enough, for all her words telling me no, she leans back into me before smiling up, at least a foot shorter than me.

"How about, I make you a deal? She proposes. Her scent intoxicating, her eyes hypnotizing, and her voice intriguing. 

"I love deals." I tell her, not even thinking clear enough to craft my answers in an appealing or sexy way. I feel like I did in grade school, naive and eager to have a girl even touch me. 

"How about you show me what's behind all these fancy red velvet doors, and maybe if I'm impressed by the end of the evening, I'll tell you exactly who I am..." 

Shit. I don't need her seeing all of that. 

"Why do you want to know what's there so bad?" I ask, trying to buy time and figure a way out of taking her there. 

"Why do you have them at all if you don't want all your guests partaking?" She counters. God I adore her already. She has no idea that she could have me wrapped around her finger if she asked. I've dated, and slept with, and "talked" to a lot of women and each one ended because I got bored, or someone cheated... call me naive, but with her? I could never imagine growing bored enough to walk away. Maybe I am being silly, but the alcohol is strong enough that I don't care. I always do this, hopeless romantic my mum calls me. I finish the drink in my hand, taking a large gulp so that I can explain my lack of response away. 

"Do you think I can't handle whatever it is? You realize Harry," she says, stepping close enough to me that I begin to naturally stumble backwards until the backs of my knees hit something soft, a love seat. I fall onto my ass, comforted by the overpriced seating arrangements. Shit. Before I realize what's happening, she straddles me and it's all I can do to hide my budding erection like a schoolboy.  "...that, just by asking you should know I'm keen on the goings-on back there... that I'm, interested... willing." She says, sultry. It's impossible to stare at the incredibly striking eyes behind her mask, what I wouldn't give for her to take it off, just for a second.