Harry Styles Sexual Frustrations

Take Me Home

She touched a little more eyeliner to the corner of her eyes, making sure that she looked perfect even to her own exacting standards, and flicking a glance towards the alarm clock sitting on the dresser behind her. She’d been early, as always, setting up the room the way that she liked it. Hotel rooms never seemed properly homey enough to her when you first arrived. The lights were too harsh, casting unpleasant shadows across her skin. The furniture was too clean and well polished. Most of the people that she worked with couldn’t care less what their rooms looked like, merely showing up, doing their job to the best of their myriad of abilities, and leaving once they were done. For her, however, it had to be an experience, and one simply could not have a proper experience in a sterile, uninteresting hotel room.

A few books decorated the small table near the center of the room, each one left purposefully open to a page that she thought caught the mood best. A comic book displayed that she was still young, worth the effort, and making it manga made her seem a little worldly. A newspaper drove that point home, adding a certain level of maturity beyond her years. A fat novel made her seem smarter, the books subject matter varying by the occasion. Everything was a performance for her, and this was her stage, each and every piece picked out to portray the character she needed to be that night.

Every client wanted something different, and she was always thoroughly briefed on their interests and desires before she’d even left the house. Her clients weren’t paying top dollar to sit around and waste their time having a chat with her about what the evening was going to entail. They paid to have fantasies fulfilled, starting the moment they walked through the door. Her agency was good at giving the clients exactly what they wanted, their long, seemingly pointless questionnaires more often than not leading to repeat business thanks to their flawless delivery. Why would anyone go somewhere else when they knew they could order a dream come true from them?

Tonight’s client seemed fairly straightforward, nothing deviant or strange, and according to her agency contact, he was surprisingly young as well. She would never dream of saying anything against her older clients, but someone even 10 years closer to her own age was something to look forward to, if only for the sheer novelty of it all. Her usual clientel tended to lean towards the successful business man, someone who could actually manage to afford her company for the night. She was the star of the agency, turning down more dates than she went on, and her waiting list was normally months long with people scrabbling to get a booking, no matter how long they had to wait. Tonight’s client had gotten lucky thanks to an unforeseen cancellation on the books.

Funny how one girls’s broken heart could work out so well for someone else.

Looking at the clock again, she watched the hour tip over to the next and furrowed her brow slightly. Her clients never showed up late. Most of them didn’t even show up on time, more often than not knocking on the door while she was still flipping through a magazine to pick the right image for the evening. Watching the clock roll over another minute, she began to contemplate being slightly annoyed and mentally huffing that whatever time the client wasted in being late was not time that she was going to get comped later. Everyone got an hour. If they wanted more time, they got to pay double.

Another full minute passed before she heard the knock at the door, its tentativeness sloughing away any irritation she had managed to build up. Standing up from her chair, she gave herself one last glance in the mirror before heading to the door and opening it slowly. For a second she paused, looking at the tall, pretty young man standing in the hall and assuming the poor kid had gotten lost in the hotel. Quirking an eyebrow, she asked, “Harry?”

Nervousness blatantly apparent in his eyes, the young man in the hall nodded, managing a faint ‘yeah’, and for a full half second she was completely in love with him and his awkwardness.

“Then I guess you should come in,” she said coyly, smiling her little kitty smile as she stepped aside, allowing Harry in.

“So, um, nice room,” Harry said, fiddling with the hem of his shirt as he made a vague attempt at small talk.

“Hm,” she replied. Harry’s questionnaire had specifically requested talking be kept to a minimum, and she wasn’t about to go against that for small talk. She knew full well when to keep her mouth shut, and when to open it as wide as she could manage. Coming up behind  Harry, she ran her hands up the length of Harry’s arms, trailing just under his sleeves and tracing shiny, red painted nails back down Harrys’s skin. Against his chest, Harry shivered, so she did it again. Taking one of Harry’s hands in hers, she turned him around, watching Harrys’s wide, dark eyes glint in the low light as she rested a hand on the side of his face, stroking the small mole on Harry’s cheek with her thumb. Slowly she pulled  Harry towards her, closing the distance between them until their lips just touched, Harry’s trembling slightly against her own.

Wrapping her arms up around Harry’s neck, she let Harry take the lead, accepting the cautious, close mouthed exploration without judgment, part of her expecting Harry to pull away shy and embarrassed over the whole thing, like they’d just stolen a kiss behind the bleachers in junior high. She was more than a little surprised when she felt the soft, warm sweep of Harry’s tongue against her lips, hesitantly asking for entry. She pretended not to notice for a moment, letting  Harry’s press become a little more aggressive before opening for him, relishing the faint mint flavour that met her as Harry’s tongue grazed her own.

She let Harry kiss her, slow and deep, for what felt like an eternity, his tongue flicking the small piercing in the middle of her tongue and teasing against the roof of her mouth, getting his own shiver out of her. It was nice, it was sweet and soft, and somehow the very tender nature of it all made her  ache to be touched. She wanted Harry to take her to the bed and kiss her just like this, stroking him slowly until she wasn’t sure he could stand the slow petting over his skin any longer.

She could have half of that at least, she thought, edging Harry backwards until they hit the bed. Tipping Harry onto the mattress, she climbed over him, slow and slinky, until she could lay more kisses against Harry’s jawline. Sitting back slightly, she brushed his hip against Harry’s groin, feeling him out to see if he was hard yet and getting a soft gasp as she slid over erect skin. She smiled into his kisses,  she trailed her way down his neck, giving him little kitten nibbles that she knew wouldn’t leave marks. Gathering Harry’s shirt in her hands, she shoved it up and out of her way so she could reach the skin underneath, weaving a lazy path ever downward over a firm chest and toned stomach, her tongue tickling against Harrys’s skin. Sliding just off the edge of the bed, she worked open Harry’s belt with nimble fingers, unfastening his jeans and pulling them down just enough to be out of the way. Reaching her hand into Harry’s boxers, she glanced up to find him watching her pushed up on his elbows with his mouth hanging slightly open in either lust or amazement. She personally hoped for both.

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