Slight Pressure

11. That Voodoo That You Do

                    By: styles_orama

Harry'd had enough.  Why were his texts to Riley going unreturned?  He even pulled out a few of his best jokes! Listening to Louis's bullshit didn't do anything for his ego either. He wasn't over-messaging, or acting clingy – he was keeping it casual. So what was the fucking problem?

At the end of his Monday shift, Harry's deep in thought as he neatly folds his lab coat and places it on the passenger seat of his vehicle.  Maybe she's just busy with coursework. But how long does it take to reply to a text? I mean, she could have said something.

He slides behind the wheel, and with a turn of the key, the engine purrs to life.  Is it wrong for a grown man to miss his kitten when he's at work during the day? Harry thinks of Labie pouncing and skidding across the hardwoods in his flat, and the corners of his lips turn up in a gentle smile. Suddenly, the image is replaced by the fleeting image of Labie lying between Riley's tits the night she passed out drunk on his sofa, which smoothly morphs into a memory of Rye purring into his ear as he rubbed her clit the best way he knew how.

The memory of her wet, velvety flesh travels straight to his cock as he sits at the red light. She seemed to enjoy herself just fine. Oh my God. Did she fake her orgasm? He'd delivered (or so he thought) a clitoral orgasm, trying to show off by making her come without the added bonus pleasure of penetration. If he'd at least finger-fucked her, he'd have felt her vagina clench (or not), and he'd know for sure.

"For fuck's sake." If she is going to blow him off, he at least deserves to know why.

Harry's phone chimes with an incoming text notification, almost making him squeal in delight until he realizes it's from Louis.

LOUIS: Mate! I'm going to give a Halloween party at the flat on Friday. You don't mind, yeah? Invite that Spring Rain hippie roommate over here for daddy to take a look at.

Fucking Louis. Harry couldn't be bothered to deal with Louis right now, as he concentrates on parking his car near Riley's apartment. Exiting the vehicle, Harry tiptoes like a villain up to the front door and places his ear against it.

He holds his breath and listens to . . . singing?  "This is our house. This is our rules. And we can't stop . . . we won't stop . . .can't you see it's we who own the night?" Riley's off-key performance of Miley Cyrus's hit song brings a smile to Harry's lips as he gently raps on the door.

The music stops. She was having fun home alone and his appearance has totally destroyed her vibe.

Harry knocks again. Nothing.

"I know you're in there, Rye. I heard you singing." He listens at the door again. She is doing a fine job of staying quiet in there.

"I just want to talk to you a minute . . ."

On a whim, Harry turns the door knob, which to his surprise is unfuckinglocked. "I'm coming in, Riley," he calls out as he pushes the door open at an easy pace.

There she is, sitting on the sofa, mouth agape, hair in disheveled pigtails, and a bunch of green stuff all over her face. Harry'd always had a thing for pigtails.

"Did I say you could come in here?" Riley asks, her head tilts to the side awaiting an answer.

"No, you didn't," Harry pauses. "You really need to keep the door locked, love.  I could have been anybody walking in here."

After a brief silence, Harry walks over and sits next to Riley on the sofa. She refuses to look at him.

Harry's text notification on his phone chimes again. He figures it's Louis, and puts his phone on silent so he can focus on Riley right now. He doesn't have time for Halloween parties.