Sonata (Harry Styles FanFiction)

21. Loved the Stamina

Darien Grace

Harsh light and loud snoring, that's what woke me up. Not the intoxicating smell of coffee wafting in from somewhere else in the apartment, or the obnoxious chatter of high pitched voices. No, the light was brutal. I didn't think that I'd had that much to drink? Was it the dehydration? Jas was motherly in the way that she'd always make sure I downed at least half a glass before passing out, refilling it and leaving it on my bedside table every time we went out. But there wasn't a glass of water waiting for me here. There wasn't sheet music all over the floor and a keyboard set up in the far corner. No, I wasn't home, but there was definitely someone else here.

I didn't have to look at the naked man next to me to know that I'd finally ended my torment. A sense of relief coursed through my mind and my body. It was in the pleasantly uncomfortable ache in my limbs and between my legs. It was in the bliss clouding my throbbing head. Stella was patting herself on the back, satisfied— at least for the time being.

Grinning, I fell back down agains the pillows, savoring the stiffness in my muscles. I'd never understood why people enjoyed the post-workout pain until I'd discovered the beauty of therapy through sex. There was nothing better than working through your issues naked and euphoric. People were always moaning about sore muscles and were moving awkwardly to avoid the worst of it. The post-sex ache had to be the most rewarding thing in the world. Why pick shit up onto to put it down or to run five miles when you could get the same benefit from an hour of orgasmic bliss? What was the point of getting all hot and sweaty if you didn't get to climax at the end? Sex was all the cardio I needed and it was time for me to get back in fighting shape.

I rolled over— an investor examining their latest acquisition. He wasn't bad, sure, I had a better track record, but I'd been running on empty. He wasn't the most attractive guy I'd seen, but, hell, he wasn't unattractive either. He didn't match the image of the man I'd had in my head from the blurred memories of the night before, but that only made sense. My mind told me that I'd finally checked the darling professor off of my to-do list, but that just wasn't the reality of the situation. The man in front of me wasn't Harry, but he'd helped subdue the aching void inside of me.

The scruff along his jaw created a shadow that accentuated the high line of his cheekbones and the smooth curve of his lips. His eyes were a clear, washed out shade of blue that reminded me of stormy seas. Sure he wasn't Harry, but he was far from the worst. Far, far, far from the worst. Quite frankly, I thought I deserved at least a bronze metal for effort. Stella had a free pass and yet she still managed to come away with a solid win. At least this guy had a decent bed and he gave me something to work with.

Speaking of which...

I couldn't help it; my curiosity took over and I lifted the sheet. It had always fascinated me how men woke up horny. What on earth did they dream about that got them so worked up? Even now the wall of muscle next to me was snoring his fucking head off and there his little friend was— well, actually, not so little— his decent sized friend was standing proud and tall. I'd always wondered what sex was like for guys... Was it better? No matter who I was with, I always seemed to last longer. So what? Did they have more nerves there? Were their pleasure centers more sensitive? I couldn't help but feel cheated. We should at least have been allowed one opportunity to see how the other half lived. Like, come on, it was only fair. I could only dream of what I would do if I had a dick for a day. Holy fucking balls. That thing would be raw with overuse by the end of the day.

Shaking my head, I dropped the sheet and slid out of bed. I'd had to explain myself before and I wasn't exactly in the mood to deal with a whiny one night stand. The whole point of having one was so that you didn't have to deal with the morning after. I'd meant to leave while it was still dark, but after the third round I'd just closed my eyes for a minute. When they'd finally opened, it was seven in the morning... I blamed the alcohol; it was always the alcohol's fault. It didn't matter what had happened. The safest route was to always blame the liquid inhibition inhibitor.

The floorboards creaked under my weight as I searched the room for my dress. I found it on the other side of the room; there was a massive gash down the back where the zipper had been.There was no way I was walking home in that. I almost regretted ruining the fabric— I'd actually liked that dress...

Shrugging, I tossed it in the bin by the door. I could buy a new one and this way sleeping beauty had his own little trophy.

I pulled open his closet with a grin. Inside were rows of pressed button downs, slacks, designer jeans, and neatly shelved shoes; the brands ranging from Ralf Lauren to Giorgio Armani. Who ever this guy was, he lived well. Fingering the smooth fabric, I sifted through the shirts, finally coming away with a simple white cotton button down. The hem was long enough that it was practically a dress on my small frame.

Slipping on my undergarments, I buttoned it up to my bust and secured one of his thick brown leather belts around my waist. I walked into the bathroom, examining the just fucked mess that was my hair. Wadding the purple mess up into a bun, I pulled a few pieces down around my face before stepping back into the room. My phone was upside-down on his desk, my shoes kicked to the side.

Before I could stop myself, I grabbed a pen, scribbling a note on a stack of post-it's.

Loved the stamina.

-R

Ripping it free, I pressed it against his dresser mirror and padded out of the room, pumps in hand, without a backward glance at the still snoring man. The moment I opened the bedroom door, the strong aroma of coffee blasted into me along with that same annoying chatter I'd heard when I woke up.

"I wonder if Max is awake yet," the voice lilted in an out, a prominent British accent coloring the voice. Fucking foreigners. I paused, closing the door behind me, slowly making my way down the hall.

"I think I just heard his door close?" another answered, the high pitched feminine drawl was obviously northern.

"Jesus, did you hear them last night? I swear it was like a pack of wild dogs," there was a pause and I couldn't help but smirk, I hadn't lost my touch, "I don't know what that slag was yelling last night but it wasn't 'Max'."

"Sounded fun," the other laughed.

"You should have joined us then, Ellen," I rounded the corner, leaning up against the open archway, my hand on my hip, my signature smirk curling my lips.

"Ellen? Like DeGeneres" The blonde asked and it was like I could see all of the gears in her head struggling to process my insult.

"Don't strain yourself, Princess," I laughed, rolling my eyes.

"Please don't tell me you..." the other groaned. I vaguely remembered her from last night, she still had feathers wound into her wild hair. I mean I knew that I did weird shit to my hair, it was purple right now for fuck's sake, but feathers? Really?

"Max!" She yelled, storming off into the apartment, shooting me a withering look back over her shoulder.

"You must not be as good in the sack as you think, darling, someone obviously didn't get her fix. No one should be that damn moody after a good fuck," I laughed, patting her on the shoulder sympathetically as I walked past.

"Excuse me?"

"Try actually using your tongue next time, it'll work wonders," I shot her a wink before breezing out of the kitchen and heading for the door. Banging sounded from deep within the apartment, followed by a disgruntled groan.

"Please dear god do not tell me you fucked Darien Grace!" were the last words I heard before I slammed the apartment door behind me, a self-satisfied smirk curling my lips.