The Primrose Thrills (Harry Styles Fan Fiction)

Part 13

Our attempt to miss the Friday traffic along the M1 was flawed by the fact that everyone else seemed to have the same idea. After a four hour journey, we arrived at Harry’s house in Holmes Chapel just after midnight and I was awoken by the touch of his fingers through my hair and the high-pitched squeals of what sounded like wailing cats, though upon opening my eyes, I came to realise was just a group of bright-eyed young girls standing excitedly on the path outside of his house. Harry sighed and swept his fingers through his hair. He was tired, I could see it in his eyes and feel it in his touch; but that didn’t stop him from going over to talk to the excited girls and take photos. It baffled me how they’d even found out that he was coming home. It wasn’t the sort of thing that reporters were on the ball about and as far as I was aware, no paps had caught us leaving in his car, nor followed us through London and on to the main roads. But either way, they’d found out and they were here. I wondered how long they’d been waiting in the cold; it was something that I doubted I’d have the willpower to even do, but then again I didn’t blame them for wanting to meet him. With Harry, what you see is what you get (apart from the obvious things that are kept behind closed doors). He really is as genuine and polite as he comes across in interviews, and even more attractive in the flesh.

I smiled from the inside of the car as I watched him make their day (and probably their year), before slipping my shoes on and stepping out into the icy night air, so cold that I could see my breath floating out in front of my face. I felt somewhat on edge as eyes followed my moves; I was somewhere completely unfamiliar, not quite sure whether to walk over to Harry or walk towards the house that I’d never been to before. In the light of the street, I could see that his house was fairly large and modern, half red-bricked half white, three steps leading up into a small veranda. I took my bag out of the back seat, standing awkwardly in Harry’s zip-up hoodie and a pair of jeans, hair a mess and bags under my eyes from where I’d slept for the final hour of the journey. I watched girls squeal and giggle excitedly, eyes occasionally looking over in my direction. Two of the girls walked over to me, shy and reserved, before saying hi. I returned their smiles and laughed as they asked me questions about Harry – silly questions, like what his favourite food, his favourite song and what he likes to do in his free time – the questions that I’d been eager to learn myself when I first met him, which was nice, I thought. They’re the types of questions which might seem trivial, but that allow you to get to know somebody that little bit better. I guess it made them feel closer to him without being close to him. Well, until one of them got a bit brave and asked if we’d had sex yet, both bursting into fits of awkward giggles, and I was grateful that Harry came over to save me from making an entirely inappropriate joke (or not-so-joke) about spanking.

“I’m guessing that happens a lot,” I laughed as we finally stepped inside of his house.
“They’ll probably be back tomorrow. I’ve met some of them before.”
“Do they just… wait for you?”
He laughed. “Pretty much.”
I couldn’t help but notice that the house smelt somewhat like Harry- all fresh and warm with hints of clean laundry. He switched the kitchen light on, bringing the house out of the darkness. The kitchen matched the modern exterior of the house; large granite worktops and a tiled floor, beech cupboards and matching stalls around a breakfast bar. It was a complete contrast to the dark mahoganies and stones of my own home.
“Looks like you’ve got yourself some fans,” he smirked as he poured two glasses of water and perched himself on one of the stalls.
“They just wanted to talk about you,” I smiled, walking over to him and slotting myself between his legs.
“How do you do it?” I asked as I stroked one hand up his chest, the other running through his hair. “Do you not get tired of it?”
His eyes momentarily fluttered shut as he turned his head into my touch, humming deeply as he exhaled.
“There are times,” he began, opening his eyes up to me, “when I wonder what it would be like to not be famous. To not have people following you everywhere, all the time.. To not have people in your face all the time, telling you what to do, speculating over every little thing that you do and making up stories for the sake of having a story. I wish I could go to the shops without having cameras in my face.”
He shut his eyes again and I moved my hands to the back of his head, massaging his scalp and the nape of his neck, firm and tense beneath my fingertips.
“Sometimes I find it hard and there are times when I don’t feel like talking or taking photos. But I’m so grateful to be where I am and to be doing something that I love doing. I owe it to fans to be nice to them and to take the time to see them. Even when they are screaming and pulling on my clothes.”
“They do love you a lot,” I smiled.

“I know, it’s just - mm, that feels good,” he purred as lowered my hands to his shoulders and began kneading his tight muscles, pressing the hard knots with my fingers. “Really good.”
“It’s just…” I prompted, continuing to massage his shoulders and back.
“I wish I could do things without having to worry what the rest of the world might think. People just take what they can get, which is pretty much anything and everything.”
“We wouldn’t have met if it wasn’t for paps chasing you,” I smiled, trying to relieve more of the tension from him. He opened his eyes again and smiled, dimples deep.
“That’s true.”

Something creaked from above, followed by the quick patter of feet coming down the stairs.
“Harry!”
A woman in her early forties, dark brown hair hanging loose, burgundy silk robe tied at the waist - quite stunning, actually - stood beaming in the doorway with a smile that I’d seen many times before on Harry’s face; the resemblance was uncanny. Before Harry could get up from his seat her arms were around him, squeezing him so tightly that I heard the air rush from his lungs. He wriggled free with a deep breath and I couldn’t help but laugh; I think it was safe to say that she’d missed him, even though it had only been six weeks or so. For a mother, I guess that’s a long time to not see your child.

“And wow,” his mum smiled warmly. “Emilia. So good to finally meet you! Away from the magazines, that is,” she laughed.
She pulled me in for a hug with almost the same fervour as she had done with Harry, who rolled his eyes in jest. I didn’t mind; I found it somewhat comforting and instantly felt more at ease in his house, despite my struggle for breath.
“When did you get here? Why didn’t you wake me? Can I make you some tea? Harry why have you not offered Emilia any tea?”
“I’m fine, really,” I smiled.
“Mum, we got in less than 5 minutes ago,” Harry laughed. “It’s late. I didn’t think you’d be up.”
“You look thinner,” she let the previous conversation go. “Have you been eating properly?”
I shot him a raised brow and smirked. Harry was most certainly eating; he could eat more than most men I knew and rarely ever left anything on his plate. 
“Yes, Mum, I’m eating,” he laughed.

I hadn’t noticed that he looked any thinner, but I guess that’s because I see him much more often. And he certainly hadn’t lost any of his strength. I assumed if anything, it was just a result of stress and exhaustion from his busy schedule since the New Year. Besides, mums pick up on the tiniest things; it’s their job to be concerned. She turned her attention to me, looking for confirmation. I laughed and nodded.
“Okay good. Well you two must be shattered after that drive. Get some rest and I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Night, mum.”
“Oh Harry,” she turned on her feet, “your aunt and uncle want to see you so I’ve said we’ll go round there for a few hours tomorrow evening. Is that okay with you both?”
Harry turned to me and I nodded, not minding at all. We were here to see his family after all.
“Breakfast will be ready around 10. Is that okay?”
“Yes,” Harry laughed. “We’ll see you tomorrow. Go to bed!”
On that note she left the room.
“Did you catch all of that?” he laughed again.
“Just about. Your mum’s nice,” I smiled.
He grinned and kissed me quickly on the lips.
“Come on, let’s go upstairs.”

I awoke to the smell of buttery toast, bacon and rich coffee. Harry was on his side facing me, hand draped over my waist with his lips parted and hair over his eyes, dead to the world. I glanced around his bedroom, now bright from the morning sun breaking through the cracks in the blinds. His room was tidy and minimalistic: cream bed sheets, a rug at the foot of the bed across wooden flooring, a chest of drawers and wardrobe with a few posters of bands and singers on his back wall- John Mayer, Queen, Elvis, which made me smile. I’d always thought that was a strange choice of his. It was like his room back down south and I wondered if he’d purposefully chosen a house in London with a bedroom that reminded him of home. I was relieved not to find any posters of staged lesbians or women bending over the reach a beer from the fridge in just a thong. On his side of the bed was an alarm clock and two framed photos. One was of him, his mum and his sister from when he was much younger- perhaps on holiday, or so I guessed from the incredible blue of the sky; warmth practically radiated from it. Looking at that photo, you never would have guessed that ten or so years on his jaw would be so defined and his shoulders so broad, though he still had that same charming glint in his eyes back then as he did now. The other photograph was of him and the rest of the band from the Brits- he looked absolutely gone in the photo, squinty eyes and a lazy grin.

I sank deeper into the covers and mirrored him, arm over his waist, stroking his warm skin until he began to rouse. He inhaled and then exhaled deeply, eyelids fluttering though not opening. 

“Morning,” he rasped quietly, voice all deep and rough with the morning.
I moved forwards to kiss him, short and sweet. “Morning.”
He wet his dry lips and opened his eyes, still heavy from sleep, just enough for me to see the frosty green of his irises. Or perhaps they were blue today… They seemed to change quite often. 
“Did you sleep okay?”
“Yes,” I smiled. “You?”
“Mm, best sleep in a long time.”
He stretched his body out, feet poking out from the bottom of the duvet, before exhaling with a grin.
“Come here, you.”
He pulled me in for a series of soft kisses, holding my waist against his before manoeuvring my body on top of his, a knee either side of his waist with his arms wrapped around my lower back. It was one of those really coupley moments- Saturday morning after a long week at work, kissing under the covers, the delicious smell of breakfast flooding the house (even though we weren’t actually doing the cooking). It was nice and made me feel all warm and content inside. It gave me a glimpse of what I hoped would be in store for the future, perhaps in a year, perhaps in five - us waking up together every morning. I hadn’t planned my life out rigidly; I didn’t have an age by which I wanted to be married or with children. People put too much pressure on themselves nowadays; they become preoccupied with the thought of marriage and having a family, sometimes to the point of becoming obsessed. In doing so they forget to enjoy life as it is. But just because I hadn’t planned my fairy tale wedding as a child didn’t mean that I didn’t want it. I wanted to get married and have children, I just didn’t know when. In the meantime, I had another much more imminent date in mind.

“Do you know what day it is on Thursday?” I mumbled.
He smiled into our kiss, blindly reaching for his phone and pressing a few buttons before turning it to face me. I laughed, somewhat surprised that he’d remembered, let alone put it in his calendar. Thursday 14th February would mark exactly six months since we first met. The fact that it fell on Valentine’s Day made no difference to me in the slightest; I’d never been one for gimmicks and mass consumerism, however I was one for six month anniversaries, or so I thought I might be, especially because I’d never actually had an anniversary.
“Did you think I’d forget?”
“Yes,” I admitted with a laugh and he grinned smugly.
“Have you thought what you’d like to do for it?”
I hummed thoughtfully. In all honesty, though I’d been thinking about the day I hadn’t really given much thought as to what I’d like to do, or what we should do.
“Restaurants are going to be absolutely packed, seeing as it’s Valentine’s Day.”
“I imagine so,” he laughed. “I could try and pull a few strings.”
“Or we could just… get some wine and cook ourselves. I don’t mind staying in. Just us.”
“It’s up to you. We can do whatever you like.”
“Let’s do that then,” I smiled. 
“Perhaps we could do something the week after… I’ll take you out then. Romance you properly,” he smirked. “Woo you.”
“Mm,” I hummed. “Very Jane Austen. Though Darcy was a bit of a dick…”
“We’ll skip the first part and move on to the courting,” he laughed.
“You should go all out… Waistcoat, cravat, leather boots…” I whispered with a seductive slant to my voice, teasing his cross pendant between my finger and thumb as I imagined him all dressed up.
“You’d like that?” he smirked. “Top hat and cane?”
I closed my eyes and rewound a couple of centuries to take us right there; Master bedroom with me bound tightly in a boned corset as he held me over his knee and smacked a cane over my skin.
“Most definitely.”
“I’ll bear that in mind.”

He kissed me again and I positively melted into his warmth, pressing as much of my skin to his as I possibly could.
“Take me back to the club.”
The words came from my lips without me even thinking, so quietly, as if speaking of something forbidden, something secret. Then again, it was secret. He hummed into our kiss, that little bit too lost to process what I’d said. I moved back to look at him and repeated myself just as softly. He stared at me for a few moments, lips swollen and cheeks pink from our kiss. His lips remained still but his eyes gave him away- shifting so quickly that if I didn’t know him so well, I would have missed it. 
“Okay,” he whispered back. “I can arrange something.”
I bit my lip before falling back into our own world, disturbed only by the knock of his door and his mum letting us know that breakfast was ready.

Over breakfast. Harry’s mum and step-dad and I talked and joked as if we’d known each other for much longer than just a few short hours. Naturally stories of Harry as a child and teen were shared, much to his horror. There really is nothing quite like a bit of childhood sharing at the expense of others to break the ice. I almost spat my orange juice across the table when I found out about his serial stripping in public when he was a toddler, even more amused when I was told that he used to potter around the garden in nothing but a pair of red Wellington boots. His mum told me about his singing in school plays when he was small, how he used to try and take their car for rides in his bike basket, and his Saturday job at a bakery as a teen – explaining that there was one time where he was forced to wear a hairnet, which I made a mental note to tease him about for weeks. His cheeks reddened softly and when she offered to get the photo albums out that was it; that was the moment in which Harry grabbed my hand and pulled me from the table, insisting that we make the most of our day and go for a walk, cheeks threatening to break out into a blush.

“Are you going to take me around your town in just a pair of red wellies?” I teased and he tackled me to the bed and shut me up with ticklish kisses.

Coats and gloves on, we walked around his home town, never quite escaping the shadow and whispers of girls behind. He stopped a couple of times to sign CDs and scraps of paper. I could sense that he was agitated but he still smiled and made an effort to talk, just as he had done the night before. He took me past his old school and the bakery where he used to work (cue first hairnet tease of many), telling me stories and anecdotes that had me smiling along with him. Girls followed us for the majority of our time out but I tried not to mind, reminding myself that I’d have him to myself later on tonight and the night after that.

The village was particularly picturesque with the backdrop of an intense blue and cloudless sky, not a white or grey wisp in sight. Birds sang and charge bells rang, resonating through the streets and into the surrounding fields. We met his parents at his aunt and uncle’s house later on that afternoon. He had three cousins, two boys and a girl, all teens, who were all easy to get along with. I imagined that Christmas was a really fun and easy time to have with his family, no arguments over whose fault it was that the turkey was dry or which film to put on. We stayed there until well past 11pm, no rush to finish the glasses of wine and conversations that we’d started after dinner.

“They like you,” Harry smiled into the back of my neck as he closed his bedroom door and wrapped his arms around my waist. “Really, really.”
I held my hands over his and dropped my head back against his shoulder to give his lips access to my neck, which they eagerly became acquainted with.
“I like them too,” I sighed contentedly. 
“So you’ll be coming up with me more often?”
“Most definitely.”
His lips spread over my flesh and he walked me over towards the bed, turning me in his arms before we both fell to the mattress below with a bounce. He kissed my lips, my chin, my jaw, the hollow behind my ear, tucking his fingers into my jeans and then beneath my shirt, sliding his hands up my front.
“I’ve been waiting to have you to myself all day.”
He smiled and I lifted my arms above my head. 
“Have me now,” I whispered as he pulled his own t-shirt over his head, his necklaces jangling against his chest before they were sandwiched between us.

Luckily for us, Harry’s bed didn’t creak and rock like mine did with every little movement. The only noise we had to worry about was of that coming from me, but it was nothing that a heavy hand to the mouth couldn’t silent.

I watched Harry in the kitchen as he helped to prepare Sunday lunch, completely unphased by his hand being engulfed by the back end of the chicken as he stuffed it with an array of herbs. I’d offered to help peel the carrots and potatoes but his mum had insisted that she did the work, instead offering me a glass of wine which I welcomed happily. I could see where Harry had learned his culinary skills from; his mum moved swiftly and effortlessly around the kitchen, tasting as she went, adding a pinch of salt and a dash of oil here and there. I could picture him as a five year old boy, pottering around the kitchen in a play-apron and hat, getting under his mum’s feet as he tried to help. It was an entirely amusing image, especially when I threw the red wellies into the mix.

I felt genuinely disappointed when Harry glanced at his watch and suggested that we make a move, needing to allow a good amount of time to get home as it was unlikely that we’d escape the busy roads that would undoubtedly be filled with people travelling back from weekends away. We parted with fond words and promises of near-future visits.

Somewhere along the M6, with some late night radio channel playing nothing but mellow songs and ballads, Nights in White Satin came on and I smiled as Harry began humming softly. His lips moved ever so slightly as his eyes reflected the lights of the car in front, shining bright, low hums soon turning into melodic words. I didn’t often hear him sing, which a lot of people might find strange seeing as that’s what he does for a living, but I loved it when he did. He really could sing and had one of those voices that reached the very tips of your toes; so rich and deep and rough, like his voice was scraping across loose gravel. He knew that this was one of my favourites and I listened in silence, heart skipping a beat whenever he really pushed the notes out and his voice cracked slightly, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel whenever it got a bit dramatic. If I didn’t love his voice so much, I could have easily fallen asleep. But instead, I listened and I melted. And when Lonestar came on and he continued to sing I laughed, picturing first dances, puffy wedding dresses and spiral perms, even more amused that he could sing it word for word.

It was late and cold when we got back and we both immediately curled up beneath a blanket on his sofa with cups of tea, drifting in and out of sleep until I practically dragged Harry up the stairs and into bed.

-

As soon as I finished work the following Thursday, I went over to Harry’s, who had already started cooking. The entire house smelt amazing; it wouldn’t have been an exaggeration to say that it smelt like an Italian kitchen, filled with sweet aromas of tomatoes and herbs. Whilst he cooked pasta, I whipped up two white chocolate mousses for dessert, one of the very few things that I could actually make without failing miserably along the way. Harry even feigned surprise when I separated the egg whites in one before I hit his arm and his eyes creased with amusement. 

“They’ll end up over you if you’re not careful,” I threatened with pursed lips.
“As long as you clean up after yourself,” he smirked.
I rolled my eyes and turned back to the task at hand, now with an unshakable desire to paint a line of white chocolate mousse from his abs to his dick and lick it all off. 

Harry walked over to the other side of the kitchen and opened the lid to something and the smell of warm bread instantly flooded the room.
“Did you make bread?” 
“Someone bought me this when I moved in and I’ve never actually used it, so I thought I’d try. No idea what it’ll be like.”
He turned around with the bread resting on a tea towel in his hands and I laughed at the sight; it was like having Delia Smith before my very eyes. Or perhaps Nigella, all sexy and erotic, minus the outrageous amount of cleavage. But the subtle flex of his biceps and forearm muscles and the way that he subconsciously licked his lips was enough to turn anybody on.

“Who even buys somebody a bread maker?” he laughed as he placed it on the side.
“Who got it for you?”
“I can’t remember. But remind me not to invite them to my wedding or I’ll end up with one of those new-age juice squeezers that doubles up into a toaster something.”
I laughed. “Impractical, but sounds strangely useful.”
He turned to face me and grinned, holding out a freshly cut slice for me. It was warm and soft, butter seeping through the small holes in the dough. It tasted even better than it looked. He took the plate over to the table and set it down, then lit a candle between our chairs and dimmed the lights. I laughed at the sentiment, stomach nervous and aflutter, like butterflies might explode right out of my mouth.
“Nothing wrong with the odd cliché,” he grinned, walking over to me and slipping his hands around my waist as he dipped his nose to mine.
“Or two,” he smiled before kissing me, soft and warm and delicate. My head span as my heart thumped in my chest as his lips moved over mine, reaching my hands into his hair as one of his hands rested on the small of my back, the other cupping my jaw. I felt overwhelmed. This wasn’t the only time he’d cooked for me, nor was it the first romantic gesture, but this was different; there was something about the way he looked at me as he pulled away that made me love him that little bit more than I thought was possible.

“Oi!” I laughed as Harry quite obviously missed my mouth with his spoon, leaving a thick white dollop of moose to the side of my mouth. I tried to reach it with my tongue, somewhat hopelessly, soon to be cleaned up by the soft press of his lips to my skin as he laughed – no, giggled – like an amused child. With mousse on his lips and tongue we kissed indulgently, the taste of rich chocolate and woody red wine fusing between us. 
“I could kiss you forever,” he whispered against my lips and I smiled because I’d been thinking exactly the same.

Our kisses and childish play continued into the living room until we’d settled on the sofa, legs intertwined with a bottle of wine set on the coffee table.
“Well,” Harry raised his glass. “Happy anniversary.”
I clinked his glass and laughed; I knew that he hadn’t intended it to come out as formal as it had done. He grinned and took a sip of his wine. Six months. Six extraordinary months that I would do all over again in an instant. 
“23rd Feb by the way.”
I looked up at him, confused.
“The club,” he smirked. “All sorted. It’s the only weekend I have off for the next month or so and I figured you wanted to go sooner rather than later.”
I bit my lip in excitement, memories from my only night there flooding to the forefront of my mind; the music, the soft velvet drapes, the Beethoven, the crop… The thought alone made me all hot and restless, let alone the prospect of doing it all again. 
“Is there anything particular you have in mind that you want to do whilst there?”
I paused as Harry looked at me nonchalantly, running his index finger around the rim of his glass. I did have something in mind; I’d been unable to shake the thought from my head for weeks, going over and over it, building it up into an intricate fantasy that played out in my head to the finest detail.
“I’ll take that as a yes then… Go on,” he encouraged, lips twitching and eyes squinting as if trying to worm his way right inside of my mind. But he didn’t have to; I was about to give this up to him willingly.
“I want you to…” I faltered for a moment, feeling my cheeks burn hot and pulse quicken. “Take control. Completely. Of me. Of everything.”
The words rushed from me and he looked at me contemplatively, waiting for me to continue.
“I don’t just want you to dominate me in the bedroom,” I spoke, much softer and calmer than before. “I want you to make rules… I want to follow them. And be-“
I took a few breaths, wondering if the idea was turning him on as much as it was me.
“Go on,” he encouraged again with a smirk. 
“Disciplined when I don’t.”

My heart was beating so loudly that I could hear the drum pounding in my ears, mouth dry despite the wine I’d sipped just moments ago. He kept quiet, looking at me, right into me as he continued to run his finger around his glass.

“But if it’s not something that you’d like-“
“Oh no,” he interrupted with a laugh and put his wine down on the side. “It is.”
He leant forwards and brushed his lips over my ear. “I was just enjoying the glint in your eyes.” He moved to the other ear, ghosting my lips as he did so. ”And the flush across your chest.”
I instinctively glanced down to look at my chest, pink and hot all over. He kissed the hollow behind my ear and I practically purred, scratching my nails lightly over the denim of his jeans as I relaxed into his kiss. 
“Are you asking me to be your Dom for the night, Emilia?”
“Yes,” I whispered.
“You want to submit to me in front of everybody?”
I nodded, pressing my fingers into his knees.
“And in which way is for me to decide?”
“Yes.”
He paused to take my lobe between his teeth, hot breath sliding right down my neck.
“And the punishments?”
“Up to you,” I choked out, now distracted by the languid brush of his fingertips along the inside of my thigh. He hummed, flicking his tongue out over my skin, still concentrating on the area behind my ear.
“I want you to choose what I wear too.”
I’d meant it when I said that I wanted him to have control of everything, even down to the colour of my lips. He stopped teasing my skin and moved back to look at me, pupils blown wide.
“I’m sure you have something in mind…” He paused for a moment to gauge me. “Something more unusual judging by the look in your eyes…”
There were a few heartbeats of just looking at one another as my fantasy began to unravel in his mind too.
“What is it you want to wear? A PVC dress? A leather corset? A harness?”
He moved his hand up my thigh, coaxing it out of me with the delicate touch to my skin. 
“Or…” His hand continued its journey, sliding up my front until his fingertips were pressing lightly against my jugular. “Is it a collar?”
My breath hitched and he smirked against my skin. “Is that what you want, Emilia? You want me to put you in a collar?”
I turned my cheek to face him, lips hovering one another hotly. 
“So that everybody knows that you’re mine? You want me to have you on a leash, kneeling at my feet?”
“Harry.”
It was the only word I could manage as he stroked me over the crotch of my underwear. He was right; I did want to wear a collar. I wanted to have his hold around my neck for the night, his ownership on display. I wanted everybody to see and know that I belonged to him because I did belong to him, just as he belonged to me. The only difference was that it wasn’t in the nature of our relationship to have him submit to me in such a way.

Having Harry say it out loud, bringing my fantasies to life, was so much more arousing than I ever could have imagined.
“I was wondering when you’d ask me…” 
“What do you mean?”
“I saw the way you looked at that girl on her knees when we were at that country house… I saw how much it excited you, how drawn you were to it all.”
“You knew?”
“I knew,” he spoke into my ear. “Perhaps I should punish you now for not telling me sooner…”
I gulped, cheeks flushing hot as he non-accidentally and non-coincidentally pushed my buttons.
“You know you can tell me anything. I’d do anything for you.”
“I wanted to be sure.”
“And are you?”
“Yes.”
He kissed my lips as he slid his hand underneath my underwear.
“Then I will put you on a leash and punish you,” he whispered, easing his finger inside of me. “And praise you,” he drawled, “for being so beautiful.”
He left a wet trail of kisses down the side of my neck, shifting the weight of his body towards me as he continued to tease me with his finger, lips then working across my shoulder and collar bone.

“Make love to me,” I sighed, tangling my fingers through his hair as I slipped deeper and deeper into that indescribable paradise, void of everything but the touch of his hands and the kiss of his lips.
“I’m going to,” he whispered. “All night.”

And he did, and I shook in his arms as he held me as if he would never let me go.

-

Two parcels arrived at my flat on Saturday morning and I opened the first eagerly to see a card laid atop black tissue paper; I knew immediately what I’d find beneath the thin layers.

‘For my favourite cat with an insatiable curiosity,

I hope you love this as much as I do.

Until tonight. X’

I peeled back the tissue paper as if it were hiding bone china, so slowly and carefully, hands shaking with anticipation. The first thing to meet my eyes was some sort of mask. I took it in my hands and turned it around, studying it as my heart tapped quickly behind my ribcage. It was all black with fringing draped across the eyes and cat ears on top, two straps to hold it in place. I held it to my face and glanced in the mirror, able to see beneath the fringing if I tilted my head at a certain angle, though I knew that this meant that Harry would be acting as my sight for the majority of the night. The next thing to come into my hands was what I could only describe as a harness- a halter-neck with thin velvet straps that went down the body to tie around the thighs. There were cuffs for both the wrists and ankles, attached together by gold chains, detachable if need be. Without anything underneath, it would expose me completely, breasts and all, so I was relieved to see a white bodysuit in the box which I assumed was to go under it. I noticed two tassels which matched the mask, one hanging from the navel and the other at the back, which looked like it would drop over my backside. It was certainly sexy and provocative, but there was something about it that gave it that elegance that I knew Harry loved; a design to admire the female body in all its glory.

Then I saw the thing that really made my adrenaline rush, leaving me somewhat short of breath as I took it in my hands and imagined it on: a black leather collar with a buckle at the back, a small pendant and a key hanging from the front of it. As I studied the collar closer, I noticed a small ‘HS’ engraved into the pendant. His. It was everything that I’d pictured and more.

I turned my attention to the second box, slightly bigger than the first, and opened it up to find a pair of black patent stilettos with that unmistakable world-renowned red sole. Even in my own company with nobody to see my face, my eyes widened and my lips fell into an ‘O’, not even daring to think how much they’d cost. They were absolutely beautiful and I knew that I’d have to focus all of my efforts into walking in them. Perhaps this was Harry’s way of keeping my back straight and buttocks tense all evening…

That evening, I stood before the mirror in the bodysuit and harness, cuffs bound to both of my ankles and wrists. With red lips and my hair in loose curls, as instructed by Harry, I both looked and felt attractive. The bodysuit clung to my curves, sculpted by straps of black velvet crossing various parts of my body. The chains jangled each time I moved, long enough to lift my arms up. They were a gentle reminder that I was bound to my own body as well as Harry. The buzzer to my flat rang out and I grabbed the blanket at the end of my bed and wrapped it around myself. Moments later Harry was stood before me, dressed in all black as he was before- thick trench coat unbuttoned all the way down to reveal jeans, a long-sleeved t-shirt that hung just below his collar bones, tight across his torso. He looked as sexy as I felt. With a quick flash of bright white teeth and a hand through his hair, he stepped inside and followed me as I walked back through to my bedroom to put my shoes on and collect my bag.

“Are you going to drop that for me?” Harry’s deep voice stopped me in my tracks and I turned to face him, eyes sparkling and lips almost curved into a smirk. We stood opposite one another with unwavering eyes and I slowly let go of the blanket from my body, enchanted by his stare. I let it fall to the floor below, watching his pupils dilate before me, both completely still and so quiet that I was certain he’d be able to hear the beat of my heart. His eyes flickered over to my desk where I’d left the collar, ready to put on before he’d arrived, and he walked over to it, taking it in his hands and walking up behind me. With his lips hanging over my shoulder, he closed the collar around my neck and fastened it – tightly but not too tightly – toying with the buckle as if reluctant to let it go. The key and pendant rested on my chest, right between where my collar bones met, not really heavy but with enough weight for me to feel that they were there.
“You are exquisite,” he drawled softly, sliding his hands down the outsides of my thighs and then back up to my waist as he traced each contour. I tilted my head slightly and he pressed a single kiss to my neck, so delicate that I wondered if I’d wake up any moment then.

“You will do as I say, no questions asked,” he spoke lowly into my ear. “You will not speak unless I give you permission to do so, or unless you ask for my permission. And when I do, you will address all men as Sir, including me. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I breathed out shakily.
“Yes…”
The ellipsis hung in the air for a few heartbeats as I swallowed through the dryness of my mouth.
“Yes, Sir.”
“You will keep your eyes down when speaking unless I instruct otherwise… not that you’ll be able to see much anyway,” he added as an afterthought, amused.
“Yes, Sir.”
“You will stay with me at all times unless it’s to go to the bathroom or if I ask you to do something.”
I nodded, allowing his words to sink in and embed themselves into every single part of my being. There was a sudden rush through my entire body. My legs felt completely boneless, so weak and unstable, and I reached back to grab on to his hand as I held myself steady. He locked his fingers with mine, his other hand held securely across my waist.
“And finally,” he whispered right into my ear. I knew what he was going to say before he’d even begun. “You will ask my permission to come and you will not come until I give you permission to do so. But you’re no stranger to that so I’m hoping this one won’t be too difficult to obey,” he smirked against my skin. “Does this all make sense? Is there anything you’re unclear about?”
He turned me in his arms to face him, still holding on to my hand. I shook my head, “No, Sir,” and he leant forwards, his cheek on mine, “I love the way your lips move when you call me Sir.” 
I wasn’t sure if he was aware of the incremental tightening of his hand on mine, but I was certain that he was aware of the hardness swelling behind his jeans, pressing up against me as he spoke.
“You have no idea how tempted I am to keep you here all night for me to have my way with you… no one else to see how incredible you look, or to hear you cry out when I chastise you for being disobedient.”
He guided me down on to the bed and knelt at my feet, looking up at me with bright eyes that promised me a night to remember. As he kissed the inside of my knee, slipping my right shoe on, for a fleeting moment I tried to imagine him as my sub, wondering what it would be like if the tables were turned, if it was me that liked control and him that enjoyed the submission. The warmth of his lips on my skin sent a shudder right through me, and then he nipped at my flesh, snapping my attention back to reality from my mind’s wanderings. He helped me to my feet and I looked up at him, his hands tucked around my waist as he gauged me in earnest.
“Though I expect you to do as I say, and I know by your nature that you will do your best, you are my submissive, not my slave. I want you to remember that.”
I nodded, heart racing.
“Good behaviour will be rewarded and of course,” he smirked, “bad behaviour will be corrected accordingly.”

The drive to the club was longer than I remembered. Either that or the suspense of it all was making time drag out. Once inside, Harry took me aside behind a velvet drape, completely concealed.
“Before I forget,” he broke the silence as he slipped his hand into his coat pocket, lips kinking.
He pulled out a leather leash and attached it to my collar, tugging it in his hand so I could feel the pull of it around my neck. 
“Just so you remember who you belong to,” he whispered into my ear as he fastened the mask to my head.
“I’d never forget,” I whispered back to him.

With my vision restricted, I was even more desperate to look around and watch what was going on, but each time I’d tilt my head in such a way to let me see beneath the fringing, Harry would tug the leash and slap my thigh, reminding me of the rules. I wondered if people were looking at us; I wondered if they were wondering about us, wondering who we were and what we did in the privacy of our own homes, just as I wondered about them. I felt both thrilled and on edge, voices mingling with the music as I tried to tell them apart from one another. Leash in hand, he walked me somewhere - where it was I wasn’t sure, but I could feel that we were in the presence of others. I could feel eyes on me and it made my breath catch in my throat. A dim red hue filtered through the fringing of my mask and as I lowered my lashes, I noticed the luxuriously carpeted floor, black velvet and slightly silvery as it reflected the light. I could see Harry’s hand grasp at others in strong handshakes as friendly hellos were exchanged between voices that I didn’t recognise.

“Harry fucking Styles,” one of the men laughed and that voice I did recognise. “It’s been a while! Emilia?”
“Mark,” I smiled instinctively, to which Harry yanked on my hair, pulling my neck right back to face the ceiling.
“Someone seems to have forgotten their manners,” Harry drawled into my ear, my breath caught, before he slowly released his hold.
“May I speak, Sir?” I whispered.
“Yes.”
“Hello,” I paused for a moment as I prepared myself. “Sir.”
A short silence followed and I wondered if Mark looked as surprised as the silence suggested; I wondered if Harry was smirking, because in my head he was.
“Well, things have changed a bit since I last saw you two,” he laughed and Harry’s hand found the small of my back, guiding me to my knees as he sat on one of the stalls.

His hand never let go of my leash, occasionally stroking the back of my neck and down my spine, like he was reassuring me and letting me know that he was still there.

After some period of time, kneeling at his side in complete quiet, I lost myself in my own thoughts, disengaging with the conversations that were being held across the table. Which is why I was so taken aback when Harry leant down to whisper into my ear, so quietly that no one else could have heard.
“Dance for me.”
“What?” He tightened his fingers around my skin and I corrected myself instantly. “Pardon, Sir?”
“I’d like you to get up on stage over there and dance for me. Not strip, just dance.”
“I can’t,” I breathed out in a panicked hurry, but he was already unclasping my leash and running his fingers between my skin and the collar.
“Now we both know that’s a lie, and I know how much you enjoy being watched. Dance for me, kitten.”
Kitten. Mm. It made me want to get on all fours, rub my head against his knee and have him stroke my hair. Interesting. His voice was no louder than a soft drawl. He was seducing me with his tone, warm breath on my cheek, dominance charging through the fingertips clasped around the back of my neck. 
“Har-“, Tighter. “Sir.” 
“I’m not going to ask you again, Emilia.”
He released his grip and pulled me to my feet. My leg muscles were tight and uncompromising from where I’d been knelt down for so long. I stood before him, breaths coming out hard and fast. But amidst the panic about having to dance in front of eyes other than Harry’s there was something else, a deep burn in the pit of my stomach, a rush that made my body shiver and toes curl against the insides of my shoes. It was how I often felt when I was about to be pushed outside of my comfort zone; that inexplicable thrill combined with nerves and anticipation and want. With my face covered, I wouldn’t have to make eye contact with anybody; I didn’t have to let anybody else inside of my mind. I wasn’t bound to any expectations, no pressure to perform or impress. I could let myself go, be whoever I wanted to be and do whatever I wanted to do.

Harry’s hand was in mine before I could give it any more thought, whispering trust me into my ear as he led me towards the small stage at the side of the room that I’d managed to catch a glimpse of as he pulled me to my feet.
“You are dancing for me, nobody else.”
Just that little squeeze of his hand as I stood before him did something to me; enough to ignite something in my brain that made me turn on my feet. I held the fringing from my eyes as I stepped on to the stage, which was more of a podium, only a foot or so from the ground. I felt completely out of body, watching myself from above as I stood faceless to I’m not sure how many eyes, palm clammy against the metal of the pole as a new song began to play.

I knew the song as soon as it began. I shut my eyes and let the music take hold of me, gripping on to the pole and leaning away from it as I walked in a circle, right foot then left, slow and measured. It was either that or stand there frozen looking like an idiot. I remembered the time that I’d stripped for Harry in his bedroom and I moved my hips in the same way that had him so mesmerised back then. I was aware of every single part of my body, from the point of my toe to line of my jaw. I teased the pole, seduced it with my hands and body. It didn’t have to be sleazy to be seductive; I knew that Harry wasn’t after the type of dance that involved grinding and bending over.

You are my angel. Come from way above to bring me love.

Knowing the song made it so much easier to dance to; being able to feel and connect with each word. Not to mention how erotic the song was anyway. And Harry was right. It did turn me on and I did enjoy being up there, hidden and exposed, dancing for him despite other people being there. There was a time when I managed to see past the fringing of my mask, instantly seeking out Harry who was sat with his hands clasped in his lap, watching with un-blinking eyes and glistening lips like he’d just wet them with his tongue. I wondered if he was as hard as I was wet, and I hoped to God that the bodysuit and lights didn’t betray me. As Harry fucked both my body and soul with his eyes, it was just us.

He was there to help me down and in an instant I was pressed up against the wall with Harry’s body covering mine completely.
“Did you enjoy that, Angel?”
I hummed in affirmation, distracted by the slide of his fingers over my hips.
“I thought you might,” he brushed his lips over my temple, fingertips drawing inwards. “All those people watching you, wanting to touch you…” 
Moving his hand between my legs, he rubbed his fingers over my crotch, so tormentingly slowly that it made me ache all over.
“But it’s me that gets to take you home every time. That gets to have you.”
He then slipped them beneath the material and I gasped, breath catching, before I released it with a shudder. I couldn’t see anything but the floor but I knew that people were still sat around the table, soft murmurs broken every now and then by the knock of glass against the table or a raucous laugh. 
“I love finding you this wet,” he breathed out as he stroked the very outside of my entrance with the tip of his finger, teasing me slowly but never quite giving me enough.
“Am I going to have to unzip my jeans right now and fuck you up against this wall?”
I didn’t even think before I was saying yes, all rational thought abandoning my mind, just as it always did when I was with him, like this. I slid my hand between us and began rubbing my palm roughly over his crotch.
“So desperate for me, aren’t you?”
“Mm.”
“You want to suck my dick, don’t you?”
“Yes, Sir,” I whispered.
Truth was, I always wanted Harry. I wanted Harry in every way that I could have him, whether it was snuggled up to him on the sofa or tied spread eagle on his bed with him teasing me mercilessly. In loving him, there was never a moment where I didn’t want him.

He took my wrist and pulled me somewhere quieter, music and voices faded. Somewhere where I could feel that we were alone. I listened to the clink of his belt and the slide of leather before he tugged on my leash so that my body fell to the floor, leaving me disorientated as my knees thumped down on to the soft carpet. It wasn’t often that he manhandled me like this, which made it all the more exciting when he did. He was being rough and I was getting off on it. A lot. All I had to do was what he said and be mindful that I was doing just that. His crotch was in my face and his hands were in my hair, holding me against him with no room to move, no room to lean back and gasp for air. He smelt of a mixture of washing powder and warmth and man, so inviting that I couldn’t stop myself from inhaling him in. I could smell the musk of him through his jeans and I wondered if his boxers were damp. I wondered if he was wearing any underwear at all, perhaps just the pull of a zip away from being in hot and hard my mouth. He twisted his wrist and my scalp pulled, fingertips grabbing at the air as I clenched and unclenched them into my fists.
“Look at you,” he breathed out – perhaps in awe, perhaps in mockery – tugging my head back to face the ceiling, fringing parting either side of my eyes so that I could see him staring down at me. His eyes were just as black as the carpet I was knelt on, glazed red from the light of the room. 
“Such a good girl. So obedient on your knees.”
His lips curled and he pulled me to my feet, leaving me both surprised and confused that he hadn’t fucked my mouth against the wall of wherever we were.
“But I don’t want to wreck your lovely mouth,” he whispered into my ear, “just yet.”

He spun me around, chest flush against the wall with his knee wedged between my legs, hands pinned at my side. It took a moment for me to breathe, hot lips brushing over my neck and ear. I knew he was turned on, probably just as much as I was. Even though he could control it, he couldn’t hide it. He couldn’t hide the storm in his eyes or the charge running through his body.

He sank his teeth into the curve of my shoulder, sucking the skin between them. He picked out three different spots – shoulder, neck and just above my collar bone - all of which would be visible to anyone and everyone with eyes. Over the time that we’d been together I’d been marked with more love bites than I cared to count, but that’s all they were: bites of love. Little bruises of affection, blues and purples that would cling to my skin, reminding me that Harry had been there, and that he would be there again. Tongue lapping over the fresh bruise, he hitched his knee up that little bit higher, a hot friction burning right between my legs. I ground down on his thigh, so unbelievably aroused that I didn’t care who might see me being so shameless. I wondered if I might even be able to climax from the feel of rough denim over firm muscle alone.
“Little, slutty cat,” he drawled. “What am I going to do with you?”
He freed one of my hands and slipped his hand between the front of my body and the wall, splaying it across my abdomen to create that intense pressure that burned right in my groin and down the tops of my thighs.
“Harry-”
He slapped his hand across my right buttock. “Hey?”
“I don’t know,” I breathed out, flustered, stinging.
“I’m going to take you into the room behind and flog you. Hard.”
My body tensed and I whimpered.
“Do you know why I’m going to flog you?”
I shook my head fervidly. “No, Sir.”
“Remind me of the rules I gave you earlier on…”
“Speak when given permission, address all men as Sir, eyes down,” I paused to think. “Stay with you, do as I’m told-“
“No questions,” he interjected, palm caressing my hot skin. “And how many times did I have to ask you to dance for me?”
I tried to claw the information through my clouded mind but I couldn’t think through the heavy press of his body and the heat of his breath on my cheek.
“I don’t know, Sir.”
“Three.” He drew the word out on his tongue, so softly that it was almost calming. “And how many times have you forgotten your manners this evening?”
I shook my head.
“A lot more times than three.”
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I didn’t mean to forget.”
“I know,” he brushed his lips over my cheek, “but you did forget, and you were given the rules and consequences at the beginning of the evening. I don’t make promises to break them.”
He wrapped a second arm around my waist, holding me firmly against him.
“I promised to reward you when you deserved it – and believe me, I will be rewarding you for that dance later on – but right now, I’m going to punish you.”

He took me by the leash and led me further away from the noise. I knew exactly where we were. The smell of earth and leather was far too familiar for me not to recognise, taking me right back to the night that Harry had me on all fours on the bed whilst he cropped me for the first time. My heart began to beat just as fast as it had done all those months ago, so hard that it felt like it might jump right out of my throat. I reached my hands forwards and my fingers brushed against rough denim, Harry standing before me.
“Would you like me to remove your mask?”
“Yes, Sir.”
He unclasped my mask at the back and slowly dropped it from my eyes, allowing me to see the room in which we were standing in. Everything was as I remembered; the bed still in the same position, the same whips and crops and chains upon the back wall. The large Saint Andrews cross still loomed in the corner, something that we were yet to try but something that I expected we would one day.

I turned to face him, eyes connecting instantaneously, dark and longing. I was overcome with memories from the last time we’d been in this room, and with those which were yet to be made.
“Kiss me,” I whispered. “Please.”
I was half expecting him to scold me for speaking without his permission and for not calling him Sir, but he didn’t. Instead, he leant forwards and pressed his lips to mine, soft and warm, so tender and desperate. He needed that kiss just as much as I did; it was everything that we both needed in a single moment.

He parted breathlessly before bending me over the leather bed and securing my mask back on. He helped me up so that I was on my hands and knees, cool, hard leather beneath me as I shifted to get more comfortable, leaning forwards on to my elbows.
“Uh uh, back straight,” Harry instructed. “Knees together.”
I went up on to my hands and made sure that my spine was as taut as it could be, knees touching. Then there was music playing, a sweet voice – Rachmaninoff, perhaps – and I breathed deeply as I listened, so serene that for a moment I almost forgot where I was – almost. Yes, definitely beautiful and melancholy enough to be Rachmaninoff. Something slashed through the air and landed with a slap on what sounded like denim, before the same slash sounded and hit me right across the backside.
“I think thirty should do it. Count and thank me after each one.”
Fucking hell. The flogger’s hits came down hard and fast, swish smack, over and over, followed by my count and thanking him. Though I knew this was a punishment - and it most definitely felt like a punishment - at no point did I fear Harry. I trusted him to push me no further than he thought I could go; I trusted him to control the power behind his hand. I’d trusted him from the very first few weeks of knowing him; the only difference now was that my trust in him was unconditional.

“Do you understand why I’m punishing you, Emilia?”
“Yes, Sir. Seven. Thank you.”
“Why am I flogging you?”
“Because I said no, Sir.”
“And…”
“Because I made you ask three times…” He hit me particularly hard in response to yet another slip of the tongue, “Sir,” which tailed on the end of a strained breath. “And because of my bad manners, Sir.”
I heard voices from behind, suddenly realising that I’d never actually heard him shut the door. This punishment was for anybody to see. Up until that point I hadn’t noticed how hard my fingers were pressing into the leather, nor had I noticed how slick with sweat my palms and forehead were, droplets trickling down the side of my face. And Christ, the music was so beautiful and I was so sore. So overcome.

As soon as it was over I collapsed forwards on to my forearms, uncertain of whether people were still watching, too exhausted to care. And despite my best efforts not to let go of my bottom lip from between my teeth and cry, I did. Harry sat himself on the edge of the bed and pulled my head down on to his knee, stroking my hair from my damp forehead and soothing me with soft hushes.
“Shh, kitten. You’re okay.”
He stroked his hand down the length of my spine, pressing against my tail bone and then back up again, making me push back against him as he teased my collar. Perhaps he was into the kitten talk too, or testing the waters at least. We hadn’t actually talked about petplay but from the way my stomach muscles tightened as he called me kitten and stroked me, I thought that it might be something we could try… something new and exciting and a little bit taboo. I rubbed my cheek against his knee, only slightly but enough for him to notice, and he threaded his fingers into the hair at my scalp, massaging with a pressure that had me practically purring.
“Do you like that?”
I nodded.
“Perhaps we’ll get you a tail,” Harry drawled, and I could tell that he was smirking as he slid his fingers down my arse, pressing between my cheeks.

He helped me from the bed and I inhaled sharply as my backside scraped across the leather, feet landing unsteadily to the floor below. I wasn’t sure if it was over yet, if we were done with the Sirs and the punishments. I kept quiet, letting Harry lead me. As he walked me back through the room full of loud music and voices, I was increasingly aware of the burn across my backside and thighs, aware that people would be able to see the bright pink flush on my flesh, would know that I’d been disobedient, punished.