His Territory | Harry Styles

Lustful Chocolate.

Craving:(Noun)

a powerful desire for something. "a craving for chocolate"-synonyms: longing, yearning, hankering, hunger, hungering, thirst, pining, desire, want, wish, fancy, urge, need, appetite, greed, lust, ache, burning, addiction, aspiration, aim, goal; informal yen, itch; rare cacoethes.

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Joe

"Written in these walls are the stories that I can't explain," My eyes flutter open at the sound of Harry singing. And I can just say, his singing is incredible. "I leave my heart open but it stays right here empty for days." 

I don't remember falling asleep, but whatever.

My eyes scan my surroundings then I realise I'm in Harry's house, his room to be exact. Memories of last night flow back in my mind. 

I didn't tell Mr Styles-I mean Harry-who hit me, I made the excuse I was tired. So Harry put on the television and I'm guessing I fell asleep. 

"She told me in the morning she don't feel the same about us in her bones," I climb out the bed hearing his beautiful voice. And fuck, even his voice is making me so bloody wet that I think I need to change my undies.

I climb out of bed and put my shoes on but his voice makes me stop.

"It seems to me that when I die these words will be written on my stone."

STOP! Oh god! Please stop singing... Or I'm going to have a fucking orgasm! 

It suddenly goes quiet, thank god. 

"Good morning,"  Oh shit, that deep, husky, morning voice. "How are you feeling?" Please, someone fucking help me!.

My head snaps towards the door, where I find Harry leaning on the doorframe with a coffee in his hand. "I'm alright, how're your ribs?"

"Better, thank you, love," He beams. "Oh, and I made you some breakfast."

-

After a very quiet breakfast where no words were spoken only the sound of us chewing, swallowing and the occasional glance at each other. I ended up laying on Harry's bed, the smell of his vanilla cologne filled my nostrils as I laid my head down on his pillow. 

A small whimper followed by a sob erupted from deep within my throat when memories of my dad came swarming back in my head like a tsunami. 

I refuse to tell Harry that it was my dad who had hit me, simply because I didn't want either getting hurt. Harry had already been hurt by dad, and I know if he finds out dad hit me, well, it would be very bad.

The sound of the door beeping interrupted my little sob story. 

I huffed and got my lame ass off the bed then walked through his house and to his front door. It surprised me to see the postman standing there with a box in his hands.

"Mr Styles instructed me to leave this with you until he gets back from the shop." Oh, so that's where he buggered off too. 

Thanks for telling me, Harry.

"That's fine," I offered a smile and took the box then shut the door behind me.

I placed the box on his kitchen table but curiosity got the better of me. My fingers fiddled with the corners of the box and gently lifted them up.

A grin spread across my face seeing the contents of the box staring right in my face.

You beauty!