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

Chapter 54***

(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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Oh, sweet thing, sweet thing

Sweet thing

Oh my, my, my, my, my sweet thing

Van Morrison | Sweet Thing

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

Sunrise, Florida

June 2013

We should have been asleep. It was four am, long after the show. He was kissing the butterfly, tracing the wings with his fingertips like he'd never seen it before. It had been over four months of this, his relentless study of the ink. I could hear him kissing me, his lips grazing my belly, his nose brushing softly along my flesh, sending shivers down my spine. Electric blue waves frying my nerves until I was a jittering mess.

He parted my legs where he lay between them beneath the sheets, kissing the insides of my thighs. I saw the outline of his body beneath the linen and smirked. After a bit of meandering, during which he left teeth imprints along the most tender parts of my flesh, he took me pulsing into parted mouth with an audible scoff. He felt cavernous. Scorching hot and slippery. He withdrew me with a pop of his lips, tongue returning to swirl around my tip, making me levitate off the mattress. Now he dipped down and slowly swallowed as much of me as he could stand.

I moaned into the crook of my arm, asking him why he was tormenting me. We'd barely left the bed all day. My flesh felt touched-out and my bones felt hollow, since he had already drained me to quivers. Yet the moment we awakened from our nap, he was at it again.

"I can't stop...." he rasped upon withdrawing me. The sentiment was somewhat apologetic, since it was his third time blowing me today. He was a mess. I was a mess, guilty by association. The sound of the clock ticking on the far wall across the room was the only sound to accompany the noise his mouth made as it slipped up and down my twitching d—k. He'd gone insane for me lately, especially after the massive fallout we had following the meeting with Amy.

"Mmmm...baby..." he hummed, squeezing me with his free hand and kissing up and down my damp shaft. His other hand was holding mine, for what reason I didn't know. It was adorably awkward, and it too felt apologetic. Occasionally I glanced down at our joined hands on my belly, just above his bobbing head. Every now and then he glanced up into my eyes, and since it was a make-up session, the contact felt 10x more effective than usual. I could see the whites in his eyes despite the shadows in the room. All I could hear were a few Van Morrison lyrics playing through my head on a loop. Champagne eyes, champagne eyes... I gasped a little as we locked gazes, stomach flipping harder than it had in awhile.

"I hate you..." I breathed, eyes rolling into the back of my skull. "I hate this..."

Being surrounded by him, cradled between the malleable heat of his tongue and the rigid roof of his mouth felt like hell. Feeling the vibration of his famished moans as he crammed more of me down his throat, I lost all feeling in my body apart from my c-ck. It was the only part of me that felt alive. The rest of me felt clammy and bloodless, like he was draining my very life-force.