In which Harry Styles is a criminal law professor at Harvard Law School, and Maude Sterling is his student.

"You've worn makeup plenty," you said. "Haven't they ever taken it off you before?" "Not like this," he murmured. Your wrists tickled his nose and he hardly dared to breathe in case it threw off the tender, careful way you were touching him. "There we go," you cooed. "That's much better." "Can I open?" "Not yet. Just a couple seconds more." "Did you get a new perfume?" Harry asked. "Hmm?" "S'just...." Christ, how was he going to get a foot like that out of his mouth? "Y'smell nice or summat." You didn't say anything and again heat bloomed in his face."Probably my moisturizer," you said. Was it him or were you breathless? "Don't move."

***completed*** NOW PUBLISHED ON AMAZON Harry Styles. The strange one. The freak. The one who was too kind for his own good, trapped in a world where his job was to bring people pain. Sophia 'Spice' Winters. The dancer. The stripper. The one who who trapped in a world where her job was to provide men with nothing but pleasure. -- "What don't you understand?" Harry seethed, his hands gripping the roots of his hair. "I'm not the good guy here, Sophia. I'm bad, everything about me is fucking bad." Harry looked as if he was about to rip his hair out, his wild eyes shinning with madness. He looked unhinged, raw and angry. It should of frightened me. That look alone should of been enough to send me running. He didn't look like the shy man I first met. He looked...crazy. His fingers were coated in red, stained with the blood of another. He didn't seem to care though. "If I was you Sophia, I would run away. Run as far away as you possibly can, because I promise you...An evil part of me won't let you go, and I hate myself for that. I want you to run away, to a place that I can't ever find you. You'll be safe that way."