Warnings:smut!!
Word count:5.3kIt's not the nudity that bothers him– no, he rather fancied seeing her bare as she would lay on her side, facing away from him, fast asleep with her flowy, cherry-colored nightgown bunched up over the swell of her bum.
Her whole body would rise and fall subtly with relaxed breathing as her hair was spread out all across the pillow, her hands tucked under her head, the duvet pushed down to where it stopped just right where her bottom would curve into the back of her thighs. She was the image of the pure innocence that sleep brought, juxtaposed by the flashing of her not-so-innocent parts. It was beautifully ironic.
On this particular night, Harry had been dragged to a fashion gala per his management team's orders. Y/N hadn't been very interested in going and he wasn't one to force her, so he had attended alone. The event had ended at midnight and it took him nearly an hour to get home due to the fact that he had to be dropped off at a private parking lot halfway home to switch to another limo, all so he could lose the paparazzi that had been tailing him since he had left.
He had stumbled into their small apartment a bit past one in the morning, groaning inwardly as he chucked his expensive tuxedo jacket onto the couch, drifting towards the stairs while working out the knot in his tie. Harry had dragged his feet into their room (clad in some high-end shoes that he knows Lou would slit his throat for being so careless with) and just as the silk material slid from his neck, his hand suddenly clutched it roughly as he was slapped with the abrupt scene of his panty-less girlfriend unconscious on their bed. Harry had stopped in his tracks, eyes widening as they followed the curvature of her perky ass downwards to where it lead teasingly to another more risqué place.
His thighs had clenched tightly and his back had gone rigid as the heavy fatigue that clouded his brain was dissolved by an arousal-infused shot of adrenaline. He had shaken his head quickly, blinking several times to try and shudder the temptation from his bones.
It was too late and Y/N was asleep, and it would be so fucking rude to disturb her just because he was being hormonal. He had given a dismissive sigh, tossing the tie on top of the clothes hamper where it settled half-in over the edge.
He thumbed open the buttons of his black silk dress shirt, attempting to get all the way down the column without glancing at a very appealing Y/N.
Harry managed to get about three-fourths of the way done before he belted out a short, breathy, "fuck it" and in a few seconds was settled in between Y/N's creamy thighs, having nudged her onto her back to expose her fully. She had just trimmed and looked very clean and pretty, her scent making his mouth water and making the ducts of his eyes instinctively well up with tears of desperation.
He was kneeled between her legs on the thick-carpeted floor, completely ruining the delicate material of his cherry-blossom-patterned dress pants, but honestly, he couldn't give less of a shit. She was there, soft and warm and smelling so fucking good; his Gucci suit was the last thing on his foggy mind.
He had thought of starting slow at first, stirring her awake with gentle circles of his tongue against her clit to give the whole thing a more romantic touch. A bit of soft suckling at the tiny bulb just beneath the thickness of her, maybe even thumb over her whole heat slowly, gradually speeding up and sinking his middle fingers up to the knuckle just to stretch her out a tad. He can feel his cock trying to fight its way out of his boxers, jumping and twitching at every image flickering across his eyes. But all those ideas were discarded pretty rapidly as her fast asleep body gave a sudden twitch, a light, airy, dream-induced moan slipping past her lips.
Y/N shifts slightly, stretching her neck and back, then slumping back into the fluffy comforter, legs parted even wider open. For a second he had thought she was awake and was messing with him (that moan had made his ears sting), but she didn't stir again, so he was in the clear. That is, until he let carnal instincts take the wheel.
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Harry styles imagines
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