Build-A-Boyfriend

33

Since Harry discovered sex he doesn't want to do anything else.

Like anything, not even bake cakes or bitch about Charlie, and while it's all very well and good lying around having orgasms, I have got other stuff to do, like get a degree and finish my now over-due essay. It doesn't help that Harry is so gorgeous and absolutely phenomenal at anything to do with sex. Like I thought my random hip rotations were sex expert level five until Harry came along, busting out moves like John Travola in Saturday Night Fever.

He doesn't seem to have an off switch though. Sometime on Saturday afternoon I emerged from under the duvet and crawled across the bed like the ring girl, seeking oxygen and light, only for Harry to drag me back under the cover by my leg as I left nail marks down the sheet.

Maybe this is my life now. Having endless sex with Harry until my heart gives up mid-orgasm and my parents can't have an open casket as they don't want to display my frozen orgasm face to my family. Maybe I'll have to wander heaven forever in a constant state of mid-orgasm and be rejected by my dead relatives.

Harry, thankfully, saves me from orgasming in heaven (which sounds like an 80s pop song btw) by deciding that he's hungry.

I think his initial plan was to have a quick sandwich then trapeze back to the bed for some more naked gymnastics, but I convince him to cook us something while I head off to shower. A quick glance in the bathroom mirror tells me that I have so many love bites that I look like I've been attacked by a horde of angry leeches. As Harry turned away from me, I saw that his back looked like he'd been mauled by a tiger from my fingernails, so I guess we're even.

My upper thighs are sore, which I guess is what happens when they're not used to much movement and you suddenly subject them to a full weekend of a hard, muscular body pounding off them. Actually, my everything is sore.

Wow.

Ok wow. Now that I've got a moment away from Harry's mouth/tongue/body, I lean back against the shower wall, relishing in the tingle of my body. Ok, that was an incredible weekend. And cute little Harry... Where did this side of him come from, like damn. Maybe sex is like a switch for him and he'll suddenly be all like Juan now.

He's showering in the ensuite and I hear the water turn off abruptly before his shower door creaks open noisily. I stay in my shower a bit longer, massaging coconut body wash into my skin. Once I'm finally out of the shower I towel dry my hair and plait it, pull on a baggy grey t-shirt and some knickers then peek slowly round the door, half expecting to see Harry naked and ready for round 752 or whatever it is.

He's sat on the sofa in his yellow Hufflepuff pajamas. His hair is a bit fluffy and damp and he grins shyly at me, patting the seat next to him and holding out a bowl of steaming pasta.

"It's my turn to pick." He says as I settle on the seat next to him. I roll my eyes when I see the screen frozen on the opening credits of Beauty and the Beast, but I don't really mind. Once he's finished eating, he puts his bowl on the coffee table and hesitantly puts his arms around me. When I don't shuffle away, he pulls me closer so that I'm pressed against his hard chest. I can feel his hot skin through his top.

"Hendrix?"

"Um?"

"Was everything ok?"

"What do you mean?" I tear my eyes away from the screen and turn to look at his face behind me. He's trying, and failing, to look casual.

"I mean... Er... Sort of... You know. Me."

"You?"

"Yes. Was... Did I do everything right?"