This Thing Upon Me [Order The eBook] [Harry Styles]

Chapter 44***

(DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. It's important to remember this is all totally fabricated, embellished, and exaggerated for entertainment purposes.)

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"Watching the video that you sent me.

The one where you're showering with wet hair dripping.

You know that I'm obsessed with your body..."

Cigarettes After Sex | Sweet

***THIS CHAPTER HAS BEEN EDITED AND IS NO LONGER CENSORED***

Sometime after midnight, I awakened and the room was pitch black, apart from the moonlight stealing in through the undraped window. All the candles had burned out and the smell of fresh paint reigned. Z was awake and rubbing me off. The lube was back, coating my cock in a slippery vanilla-laced mess. I was already hard. I stared at this part of myself like it was not my own. For all intents and purposes, it belonged to him. And he let me know that by acknowledging I was awake, yet refusing to let go.

I could hear myself swishing against his slippery palm. I moaned until I was out of breath, riding the slow, sensual push and pull of his hand. Soon he took me, pulsating into his mouth. I nearly unloaded the second his warmth enclosed me, cushioning me with his fat, slippery tongue.

This was fucking torture. I was only half awake and had a difficult time discerning if it were a dream or not. I juddered all over, unable to even rise onto my elbows. My legs attempted to bend at the knee, but failed, plopping back down into place. The only thing that seemed to work were my hips, which now grinded in harmony with his bobbing head.

He withdrew to sloppily swirl his tongue around the tip until I bucked, digging my fingers into his hair. I came so explosively that I felt guilty, but he devoured every drop, gazing up at me calmly afterwards. Before I could protest, he mounted me, slipping inside without warning. I froze with shock, but the discomfort ebbed because I was so fatigued my body couldn't put up a proper resistance. He was an evil genius. He knew just what to do make sure I was at ease and loosened up. I groaned into the back of my hand in surrender.

"It feels...it feels..." My voice trailed off in a pitiful rasp. I was too enervated to even speak.

"Mm?" he asked, bending over me to place kisses along my jaw (his favorite spot on my body.)

"It feels..." I'd gotten a second wind and tried again. "It feels sooooo f—king good, baby. So f—king good." Then I expelled a moan and clenched around him.

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Later as he dozed, snoring lightly, I lay awake and listened to the rain and watched his chest shift up and down. Then I picked at the crucifix around his neck and finally realized I was only wearing mine because he wore one so much. I had yet to ask him what it could possibly mean, since he and his family practiced Islam, but I figured I'd save matters of religion for another day. He and I were in a precarious condition. Both faiths regarded the act we committed as an abomination, and the thought of this left an ill feeling swirling around my gut.

Even while I lay in the safety of his arms, hidden from the decent world, I felt condemned. Like I'd condescended and gave into ungodly temptations. How weak was I? How had I not warred against these iniquities even for a second? I'd given into them like a swine eager to be slaughtered. Something was speaking to me now, but I couldn't tell what. It told me I was every disgusting thing men sought not to be. That I didn't have the right to touch another woman as long as I lived. That'd I'd traded what was pure and what was respectable for the unnatural. And there was no turning back now, no denying it. They said once you got a taste of it, there was no going without.