Sonata (Harry Styles FanFiction)

25. Don't Ask, Don't Tell

"Are you ready?" I breathed, one hand coming up to cup her cheek, resting my heated forehead against her own.

"Do you even have to fucking ask me that?" She hissed, taking me into her hand once again, sliding my tip up and down along her slit. My eyes closed in anticipation and pleasure.

"No, look at me," she snapped. My eyes opened and she didn't hesitate before crossing that one final line. Instinct took over and my hands closed around her hips, her legs locking around my waist as I took the first thrust. Her slight fingers pulled on my hair, tension filling her body as I began to build my rhythm. The fire between us had reached the heat of a super nova and I knew that I could explode at any second. My breathing hitched as I picked up the pace, pounding ruthlessly into her. The tension between us was stifling. I had two weeks of pent up sexual frustration boiling inside of me and I could feel in the terrible way that she clung to me that she felt the same.

"Holy fuck, Harry," she cried, her fingers yanking furiously on the roots of my hair as her body shuddered around me, sending me into my own climax. Our breathing was fractured, but for the first time since I'd laid eyes on Darien Grace I felt nothing but pure unadulterated bliss.

Darien Grace

"Fuck," he groaned, his gloriously inked chest rising and falling in a fractured rhythm beneath me, our skin sticking together in that deliciously familiar way.

"Yes, we did 'fuck', twice actually," I grinned, pushing myself up so that I was leaning over him, an amethyst curtain falling down to shield our faces from the world. I could see my reflection in his pleasure-glazed irises. Wild violet waves framed a full, smirking mouth, swollen and flushed from our adventures; azure eyes hooded, the over all image oddly familiar to that of the classic depictions of sirens in Greek Mythology. He was my sailor and we were far, far, far from shore. We were drowning in our own personal sea of ecstasy. Stella lay immobile in a pleasure induced coma, too spent from all of the activity in the past twenty four hours to even think of complaining.

"You didn't come first," I mumbled, still unable to move past the fact that he hadn't made me wait. He actually had some control over his own body and he actually knew how to use it. I was notoriously a hard girl to please— a fact that I have always been damn proud of— but, for once sex had been short, not because he was premature, but because he was that damn good. I was spellbound. It was the first time that anyone had ever made me come first. Ever. How was that even fucking possible? The guy always came first; It made no sense to me.

"What?"

"You made me come first. Both times. That never happens."

"You obviously haven't met a proper gentleman then," he let out a breathy laugh, pulling one skilled hand back through his mussed hair. I bit down hard on my bottom lip to keep my mouth from popping open as I marveled at the way the muscles in his arms and chest moved beneath the decorated layer of flesh. Those button-ups were not doing him any favors. Would it be possible for him to teach shirtless?

"Ah, but I don't think a proper gentlemen would know half of the material you just demonstrated. You're quite the enthusiast, Professor— a real animal," I mocked, my smirk widening as his eyes clamped shut, his thumb and forefinger predictably coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"I'm so fucked."

"Oh, thoroughly, Sir. Most definitely. Just imagine how often this could have already happened if you hadn't kept that stick up your ass."

"Jesus fucking Christ. You don't get it do you?" His voice hardened suddenly, his hand catching mine as I went to brush a few stay hairs off of his forehead. They had fallen into his face while he was pounding into me against the wall during the second round.