This chapter contain explicit, mature content.

He drove quietly. I sensed a tension in my shoulders and a restless churn in my stomach. My heart feels like the only organ inside of me experiencing the shock of a roller coaster drop. The invitation to his place was a clear indicator of his plans.

As I thought of that in particular, I fisted the fabric of my skirt and wiped my clammy palms as I sat in the passenger seat, constantly. My breath was shallower, quickening breaths producing slightly labored breathing. Eyes were trained on the passing view of the city and not him as he pulls up into a parking garage. I could squeal with excitement and faint at the same time. My imagination was more active than usual, hyper aware that the fantasies were so close to tangible reality.

I didn't know what thought to focus on specifically. Whether that'd be the parking garage we were pulling into that sat right next to a tall, glass-encased building that was indicative of contemporary architecture or the sleek, mahogany floors that felt like air if you stepped onto them even with shoes on or the activities we were about to get into. I stared at my black flats the entirety of the way, my heart lodged so far up my throat that all I could manage was a tight-lipped smile every time an employee in the building looked at me -- which was quite a lot.

"Is this...a hotel?" I asked quietly when we were alone in the elevator.

Harry pats down his pants in search for something, sighing at himself when he realizes that the keys are in his right hand. Even in the most distraught, under-slept, and unkept condition, he looked insanely good, better even, as if seeing him in a much more natural state encouraged my uncontrollable attraction to sink in deeper. I leaned back onto the elevator's mirrored interior and watched him quietly, shying away from him only to still be taken aback when he finally looks up at me. His pale eyes lowered and his dark eyebrows followed as he clears his throat and mutters, "Not really. It's my building."

I try not to make my shock too obvious, but by the way my mouth instantly forced itself open, I knew it was too late to try and put up a unfazed facade. "Your building? As in...you own it?" I nearly whisper back, slowly, trying to grasp the magnitude of his wealth. Clearly, it wasn't very prominent in our prior interactions, but now...

He nods, turning his head to view the floor numbers as they go higher and higher, the anxiety-inducing ring airing out with every passing number. Nine...ten...eleven...

"Yes. I haven't renovated the whole thing yet. But I'm looking to get into real-estate," he explains briefly, his thumb reaching up to swipe at the tip of his nose. That hand then runs across his unshaven jaw, the skin around his mouth shaded by the lack of care to shave.

Pressing my lips together, I simply nod and look away at the numbers.

Thirteen....fourteen....fifteen..

I gently glide my clammy hand across the fabric of my black pencil skirt.

Sixteen...seventeen....eighteen...nineteen....

The duration of the elevator ride seems to go on forever. He felt his phone vibrate and dug into his pocket for it, quickly typing a response to whatever text he received. As he places it back into his pocket, he looks up at me. Our eyes lock and there's very little said, but I find myself not discouraged. The look on his face was neutral, and intimidating of course, yet I sensed a more comfortable energy. It seemed like we were looking at each other for too long, the look in his eyes shifting from harmless to motivated with intent. His usually bright eyes were not any different, though they were accompanied by a very obvious mischief and desire to do things to me as his eyes gazed down my figure again, drinking in the accentuating outfit.

Twenty.

The elevator comes to a halt, the doors gliding open moments later. What was the stranger part of it all was how immaculate, minimal every part of the building was, and yet there was an elegance to it. Occasional abstract, almost psychedelic artwork covered the walls where the glass exterior didn't expose the most breath taking view of the city; the flourishing cherry blossoms led a trail of baby pink amongst all the budding bright greens towards the National Mall. I had to stop to stare as he moved through the opened elevator doors, stepping aside and turning quickly to watch me. A faint grin makes the corner of his mouth curve up, an eyebrow raising slightly as he sees the shock widening my eyes.

A warm light peeks at the top of his head, casting shadows across his entire face. When he turns to stare at what I was, the light shifted, and his side profile endures all the yellow, sunny light. The brown pigment of his eyelashes, his pale eyes seemingly warmer shades of green. The structure of his face sharpened, the prominence of his jaw and nose.

"The doors might close on you if you stand there any longer," he calls out, my eyes blinking rapidly in response to the auditory stimulus of his voice.

I manage an embarrassed expression, briefly widening my eyes at the astonishment and through a toothy, cheeky grin. Shaking my head at myself, a curl spilling across my cheek for a moment as a result, I take a step out of the elevator, the doors automatically beginning to close behind me just seconds later.

"I just...I forgot...that exists," I whisper quietly, staring at the vibrant, clear view of the nature fighting the concrete and cement of the scene before us.

When he turned his head to look at me, I hadn't been looking back. I felt the heat of the sun through the glass, but I felt the warmth of his eyes in excess. He was analyzing the autumn browns in my eyes, magnified as the sunlight glares right into them. The darkness of my lashes, the definition of my eyebrows, the shadows across my nose, the natural pout of my worrisome expression — all of it under his gaze.

"I oddly know what you're referring to," he mutters, staring at my face while my mind wanders into more profound realms, the bigness of my eyes obvious of such a cognitive trip. "Me too."

My eyebrows lower and I finally turn my head to face him. The shadows shift once again, my eyes squinting up at him as the fullness of my lips forms a closed, amused grin, the structure of my face displaying indentation in my cheeks. In this light, he appears earthly and boyishly handsome, a softness added to his face. The loose tie around the neck of the slightly wrinkled, barely undone shirt gives the youthful glow a boost. For a moment he looked like he had gotten a full night of sleep, shaved, and wasn't surrounded by an overwhelming amount of paperwork.

"That's a shame," I state gently.

"Yeah," he agrees lowly. "I forget about many beautiful things."

The direct eye contact got hard to maintain when he spoke those words with such ease. I blink away and tilt my head against my shoulder in an attempt to shake off the goosebumps, feeling the heat rise across my cheeks and ears. Part of me hated the naivety of my reactions, but I remembered why. When I first met this man I didn't think he even had a romantic bone in his body, but clearly he meant he had forgotten to even use it. That was a glimpse into whatever experience he'd acquired and I saw it. I forgot he was anyone I've met prior to this version of him. It seemed to be easier to do that.

"C'mon," he offers then, urging me to follow behind him. I take one last look out the glass window, biting nervously into my bottom lip and inhaling deeply.

Space, or just the absence of things, was so evident in his penthouse. A minimalistic theme, but lived in with the occasional book, pen, and clutter patched in different areas. Slick, white coated floorboards and a beige marbled wall complimented the furniture, an archway leading to what would be the kitchen at the far right. I glanced around the spacious living area, watching as he kicks off his pointed shoes, setting his keys by an end table near the door, shutting it behind me when I move further into the space.

My bare feet touch the cool wooden floorboards when I set my shoes beside his own, feeling the polished surfaces against the bottoms of my feet. I cross my arms over my chest, finding a reason to wander off and search with more attention to detail. The pictures decorating his walls of family, friends, and the certificates of recognition, awards...My fingertips glide across the glass surface of a round dining table of four that was positioned by the glass wall showering the room with natural light. Again, I stare at the view provided, this time the bridge leading further into the city among the nature surrounding it.

The glass seemed to radiate a warmth, but I felt my hips grow weak, my mouth parting to inhale a sharp breath. It was a heat that could be traced to behind me, a body the culprit. I feel his head near mine, so close I heard him breathing; so close that when he'd inhale, I felt the fabric of his shirt rustle faintly against the back portion of mine. The closeness felt warm, but I couldn't distinguish whether it was the warmth of my blood rushing or his presence. It was a good feeling, that I knew.

"This is an....amazing view," I softly mutter, my tone exhausted, but steady. My eyes seemed to be vigilant, my eyebrows furrowing in perceived focus, but they were seeing the memories and the emotions I've been forced to overlook. I didn't become emotional in the sense of sadness or happiness, but I felt myself confront the reflection I came to notice in the glass when I looked before the scenery of the city. I saw him standing right behind me like I suspected. Our subtle reflection stirred a feeling of both anxiety and a joyful risk inside me.

His breath fanned against my cheek when he leaned his head down, much closer to me. I felt every exhale against my skin, and it thrilled me. My eyes nearly shut when I feel his fingers brush against the heated skin, just barely as he reaches for a strand of my curling hair. He barely touches me when he gently brushes against it, but I'm burning just standing there. I hate the physiological responses by body gives way so quickly, as well as the heavy breath that passes my lips even as he retracts his hand. My disappointment is kept inside my head, though I know he sees it.

"I think...there's a better one close by," he whispers into my skin, lowered eyes peering at my face from his close distance, seeing mostly the details of my appearance. Biting into my bottom lip, I feel myself shake my head and begin to grin, the ends of my mouth curving.

"That's...poetic," I whisper back amusingly, fighting the girlish grin.

Harry simply hums. "Is it working?" He whispers, too. Shit, if he even knew. My silence is enough. "I'll be back, just going to be in the shower. Help yourself to anything in the kitchen," his voice sounds a little more distant when he pulled his arm away from my body, and I turn around to see him faintly grinning as he turns to walk away.

When he goes down a hallway and enters a room on his left, I'm left alone to roam the living space, feet softly padding against the cold surface. I take his suggestion and lead myself towards the kitchen that I could note through an archway. The kitchen was clean, not a single dish in the sink. Not a single stain on the black, marbled counters. By the brick wall there was a bar, marbled to match the rest, and the same black wood. I noted the aesthetics of this area, pleased by its simplicity. I was more interested in his fridge, though, not for food reasons (although that was pretty tempting), but because there was a note stuck to it. On a yellow sticky note, in messy handwriting familiar to Harry's, was note reading: 4.56 minutes. I squint at it in thought before turning away from it, not paying too much mind to it and proceeding to pull the stainless steel fridge open. When I do, my eyes pop wide open, the foods were all vibrant and healthy, filled more with ingredients rather than prepared food. I remember him saying he likes to cook.

I grab myself a glass of water, carefully tiptoeing around his living area. The soft, almost velvet to the touch sofas, the plush rug, and the white marbled fireplace set into the wall come together to create a comfortable area to lounge. I walk by a glass shelve of books, reading the bindings, surfing through authors and titles that I might've seen around here and there. They seemed to be all very logic-based books, non-fiction, and very philosophical. By the genres and authors, we share a similar taste in novels.

By the shelve, there is a framed certificate. I raise my eyebrow. Columbia undergraduate in philosophy and statistics. That was no surprise. Of course, someone as successful has the expected credentials. Right next to it as if already answering a question I'd only had at the back my mind, is another frame. Georgetown law degree. It makes sense that he went to graduate school in this area, and decided to stay. I could see the logistics of the academic journey. I'm not surprised one bit, but extremely satisfied by the record because it confirms his.

"I take you didn't find anything appealing in the kitchen," I hear from behind me.

He's dressed in a plain white t-shirt, though he's got black dress pants on, barefoot. I noted the dampness of his hair, brushed back away from his face. He looked so simple and so good, I had to blink before I forgot to. My nose scrunches, casually ignoring the movement of his eyes — they sneakily view my side, noting the way the skirt fits against the pronounced figure of my body — as I claim, "No, but you weren't lying when you said you liked to cook."

"A lot, actually," he nods, and I note that he's beginning to remove a few rings on his right hand. At first he had been playing with them as he spoke, but now he slides them down his fingers. He walks over to the fireplace as he does so, asking me, "Are you cold? We've been having issues controlling the air conditioning." I can't take my eyes off his movements, but I shake my head to respond no. I watch him set down his rings on an end table a few feet from where I stand. My sight focuses on the enclosing distance, and while he drops them one by one with a soft clink, he takes a few glances at me, noting my silence. My nervousness causes me to inhale sharply while I remind myself to relax.

"4.56 minutes," I say suddenly, raising an eyebrow. "What does that mean?"

Harry chuckles, shaking his head at me. "You're curious, aren't you?"

"Maybe," I nod, a playfulness lacing my tone.

He comes to stand over the shelve, next to me and oriented towards my body. His hand comes to rest against one of the higher shelves, and I watch him expectantly as he does to me. For a second, he doesn't say anything and I'm fine with enjoying his watchful gaze. Finally, he shrugs a shoulder and sighs out, "I time my laps every morning. That door," he points and I turn to look at a glass door embedded into the wall, natural light on the other side. "Leads to a pool."

Laughing softly, I playfully quip, "What? We're on the...twentieth floor."

"Yep," he begins to grin, pink mouth curving upwards at one end, a dimple appearing by his cheek. "What about it?"

I shake my head, fighting off the usually secretive tendency to roll my eyes, but it was no secret in this instance. To my surprise, I confidently show off the attitude and he notes it. It was a little social cue that would explicitly show my hidden stubbornness and hard-headedness that tends to retreat in social environments. I would have never rolled my eyes at any of his perceived antics the way I had done so playfully today. Strangely, I felt appreciated under his watchful gaze, seeing him tilt his head back and raise his eyebrows only slightly, showing he'd seen it.

"Nothing, really," I murmur, still smiling at his boyish mannerism. I lift my arm to point towards the diploma I was examining earlier, and he doesn't have to move at all to know where I'm looking. "So, Columbia...how was that experience?"

He purses his lips in thought, eyebrows lowering. "Erm...much to anyone's surprise, I was an absolute loser. Nothing crazy," he explains with a humorous cheekiness. "But erm...yeah, I was quite involved with school organizations dealing with international politics. Being English and whatnot, wasn't very interested in American politics. Through philosophy, I gained an interest for American law systems, however."

"So what happened with the statistics?" I poke further, truthfully intrigued by hearing him explain his experience.

"I liked logistics and at times, math," he shrugs. "I should ask you...physics? Really?"

I laugh a little at his harmless offense. "My dad and I have an affinity for it. I don't know. It's not really the kind of genius physics people think about. My concentration requires less...intense concepts."

His lips purse for a moment and he squints over at me, a slightly goofy, humorous look crossing his face. "I'd call anyone who can understand that rubbish a genius," he retorts, looking away once more. "So why...law?" He then questions.

"It's...complicated," is all I say. Mostly because I didn't have an exact answer.

He just stares before repeating, "Complicated." His tone was serious, but not exactly displeased by my answer. He moves away from the shelve, and shoves his hands into the pocket of his pants. He comes to stand next to me, nearly brushing against my shoulder. I look at him while he stares off at the diploma in an elegant, wooden frame. "Life's that way, yeah?"

"Mhmm," I gently hum, eyeing the side of his face.

But he turns and looks over at me, searching my face. "Athena," he murmurs lowly.

My name falls so beautifully from his lips, calling my attention, undivided and entirely devoted to him. "Hm?"

My heart drops and my amusement instantly fades a little when he encloses the very last inches between us. My mouth opens slightly and I brace myself for his approach. It feels exhilarating to feel even the brushing of our clothes as he stands so close, chest feeling against mine. I know I looked surprised, but all of that shock was hiding the absolute thrill this was giving me. Our eyes are locked and I'm reminded of exactly who he is: someone much more experienced, someone who has found himself and has become self-assured in his element. Once again, I take in his appearance at this intimate distance. The slick back hair wet from his shower, the smell of soap and cologne radiating off him very subtly, but I noticed everything. The green in his eyes, the beauty mark by his mouth as it curves into a subliminal, dark smirk. I watch as a hand reaches up to to my collarbones, a finger looping into the thin gold necklace around my neck. He tugs gently before letting the small, round pendant fall against me.

As he steps forward, I take steps back, very slowly and carefully. My warm, wide eyes follow everything he does, attentive to the movement of my own body. I make note of the wall my body was approaching. Around my waist, the shirt that was tucked into the band of the fitted pencil skirt gets wrinkled by his touch. His hands grip me harder than I expect, but I was not going to complain. The firm grip around my waist is an indicator of his eagerness. My head tilts up far enough that it touches the wall behind me, causing me to make note of it. I'm pressed up against it a second later, feeling the rush of excitement at the pit of my stomach, and as it rushes between my legs.

Our noses touch. One hand slips behind my neck, fingers running through the curls and gripping them into his fist. My stomach turns and I surprise the hell out of myself when I'm the one standing on my toes to kiss him. I know what his mouth feels like and what it tastes like, what the hairs that litter his jaw feel like against my skin when the aggression peaks. But this kiss was so rough and yet slow, lingering as the taste of my minty chapstick registers. My hands are a contrast, softly gripping the soft fabric of his shirt. I almost think I'm about to lose the strength in my legs to stand properly as his hands grope me tightly, fitting his hands over the roundness of my backside. The harsh breathing and very brief intervals of air turn into raw desperation. When his mouth gets preoccupied with my neck, roaming the sensitive skin there, his hands gliding upwards until the space between his index fingers and thumbs cups my breasts through my shirt. It seemed his touch carried an electrical current with it, coursing it through the fibers of my clothes, right over my skin.

I hear the harsh pace of his breath as I'm pulled right up against him, my feet between his as our bodies are forced to accommodate a single space for two. My hands squeeze the fists full of his shirt tighter, tugging on the article of clothing. Our lips separate and I'm unable to look at him as his hand finds the zipper of my skirt at the side, effortlessly pulling it down. The fitted cloth loosens, and I'm pleased at how easily it falls with one single, forceful tug of his. I couldn't even find the time to doubt my choice of undergarment or the simple wonder if he'd like the way I looked right now. It was too much to think about, and I had decided long ago I was to stop doing that. Thinking.

There was no pause thereafter. Forgetting to think was dangerously easy. I focused on on the sensory of the experience. I allowed myself to thoughtlessly drift afloat in whatever pleasure I found in being lifted, with surprising ease, and being held as my legs locked around his waist. The cotton underwear strapped against my hips brushes against his pants, my skin doing the same. I felt his warm hands glide across my thighs very slowly, feeling the pampered and smooth skin. Kissing him again, eyes shut and blinded, I let him guide me across the living space.

I reach for my own shirt, pulling from his mouth and with a single hand, nearly tearing off button by button. My other arm is still around the back of his neck, giving myself leverage, but his body does most of the work to hold mine. He's not watching me, but he's quickly maneuvering through the space towards a door, one I presume is his bedroom. I'm blushing when he looks down at my actions, raising an eyebrow and huffing out a very deep, rough, "That's my job."

"Don't you like things fast?" I respond wittily, surprising him. Surprising myself. He only stares, the pale green of his eyes brightening in the presence of new light. I note the curving of his mouth in slight amusement, and the way his nostrils flare as he begins to shake his head, too.

Through a grin, still leading the way, he amusingly warns, "Careful, now."

He stops walking just at the foot of the bed. I only have a spare moment to glance around the room. It was lit all by the natural, warm light from a bright sun outside displayed by the glass entirety of one wall. The other matched the aesthetic of the living area. His bed was so simple, a mixture of quality white sheets and pillows. My feet set down onto a very big rug that covers much of the center of the room, plush and an abstract design of shading colors. The back of my legs brush against the king-sized bed, and we resume with growing enthusiasm.

The half-undone shirt catches his attention, bringing my own back to him as his hands reach to tug the rest. I'm nervous as he pulls apart the shirt, calmly pulling it across my shoulders and down my arms. I stood there in nothing but my undergarments, a matching set of a simple nude color. Usually in this little amount of clothing, my own reflection would be staring at me, but this time it was him and the clear frustration etched into his growing frown. I was so excited, my breath labored even as I just stand there. He reaches to remove his own shirt, abandoning it on the floor. My eyes follow the lean, toned appearance of his torso, marked by a number of tattoos I had not expected. Biting the inside of my cheek, I take a risk and lay myself back onto his bed, putting myself fully in his sight, no obstructions this time. I cannot believe I was doing this, but it was so thrilling to see him indulge, to be looked at like I was a dream. The power I had over him became increasingly clear, but I tried to not to let it be the only reason I grew so comfortable even displayed the way I was — legs spreading and only slightly off the bed, giving him the chance to stand in between them as he undid his pants.

Eventually he kicks them off, and returns his hands where they need to be, touching me. They glide up my legs, then my thighs as he presses a knee onto the mattress, dipping it slightly. He presses one by my hips to support himself, staring at my figure from that perspective while he remains in a pair of white underwear that very generously gives a glimpse of him. I bite into my lip and feel my lower abdomen tighten when his index finger feels against my inner thigh, very lightly tracing the outline of the nude underwear, touching very soft and sensitive skin. "You sure about this?" He very seriously asks, pulling his touch away and leaning onto his other hand, locking eyes with mine.

I gaze up at him and nod. "Trust me..." I tell him steadily, quietly. If only he knew, this is one decision I'm making myself.

He nods, not losing the serious look across his face. "Okay," he reaffirms, grunting softly as he forces me further up on the bed, and I'm careful to pull my hair out from underneath me, the dark curls falling against a pillow instead. He got his answer and did not hesitate. Within seconds, he had hooked his finger into the waist of my underwear and began to tug them down. I was incredibly anxious to be seen like this, but I was surprised at how well repressed it was. The sensitivity of my body heightened with every anticipated movement. Seeing the confidence and second nature of his actions stirred up even more lust. "By the way," he begins to say, carelessly tossing my underwear onto the floor and grabbing my knee to pin the leg down where he wanted. The exposure felt cold and the slickness between my legs was not helping, my face heated with worry to contrast. "...if you need to be a bit loud, s'alright...these are very thick walls."

I inhale deeply despite the quick pace of my breaths, my lips parting as he leans down and kisses between my full breasts, lips brushing against the cold metal of the tiny cross pendant there. He hums slowly and I'm certain he's teasing by avoiding the one place nearly swelling with need, my impatience obvious in the way I shift my hips up despite the leg he's pinning down. My legs involuntarily tighten as his lips follow a trail down my chest and my stomach. I shut my eyes and place my hands above my head, my chest rising and falling quickly just as his mouth reaches more intimate places. His free hand comes to assist, spreading out my folds before placing his mouth on my clit. The slight pressure is nothing compared to the feeling of his tongue that follows.

My eyes shoot wide open, my mouth falling agape in sudden distress, a result of the rising need to feel more and more of it. "Hm...yeah...that feels..." I try to breathe out, feeling how he tightens his grip around my leg, hand sliding beneath my knee, bending my leg at an angle that spreads me out further. His wet tongue rubs at an angle, up and down, hitting the sensitive nerve with every movement. "Harry...I...," — he hums deeply and runs his fingers down the folds beneath where his mouth works, using a single finger to press against the opening. I feel the hairs that litter his jaw and the skin around his mouth against me, surprisingly not worried about the rough feeling. I'm too indulged into the work he's doing, moaning out his name again when he slowly pushes his finger in. The feeling was foreign, obviously, but I was so preoccupied with the other sensations, the line between pain and pleasure was very messily drawn.

A faint groan escapes his mouth, his tongue still busy, and his finger curling upwards to tap against a very sensitive wall. I find myself gripping the ends of the pillow behind my head, staring up at the ceiling in complete shock. I'm almost scared by how increasingly hard it is to stay still, and how much of a turn on it was that he was the one in between my legs. I felt another finger, wincing slightly before falling back into the euphoric feeling. The stretch felt really full, a feeling I couldn't have described until today. He was a good multitasker, not just mentally like I'd observe in his office. I felt a pressure in my abdomen, my thighs tightening, a vibration radiating throughout my body, growing fainter and stronger at the same time. My bladder almost felt as if it were full, and I found myself crying out his name a few more times. Eventually he's pinning both of my legs down, mercilessly moving his tongue against until he switches out for his finger, my thighs trembling slightly as he darkly asserts, "So wet, baby. I'm gonna be the first inside you like this, yeah? You'd like that?"

"Yeah, oh my god," I gently cry, feeling my thighs quivering. I didn't even care about anything at that point, I was just there, in that room, on this bed, getting eaten out by a successful lawyer who also happens to be incredibly attractive. My hands squeezed the pillow as my hips restlessly fought against his grip. "That felt so good," I breathe out, carelessly confessing my exact thoughts. Relaxing into the bed, I let out a soft giggle, biting into my lip and closing my eyes in satisfaction. I felt like I was going to melt and soak right through the sheets, a sense of relaxation embracing every muscle. I feel him shift up, going straight to place a soft kiss across my shoulder, meddling with the bra strap there. He was unfazed by the amusing reaction I had to the new experience.

I gaze down to watch him remove the undergarment, slipping it past my arms with little of my help. My full breasts are exposed to him, and he wastes no time in bringing attention to them. He curses out 'fuck' beneath his breath, tongue gliding across his reddened, bitten bottom lip. I had relaxed considerably, and felt comfortable now. His mouth pursed around the nipple on my right breast, sucking and licking while his hand gently felt down my stomach once again. I could feel him against my thigh, hard and generously sized. His hand then gently feels between my wet folds, gently teasing the opening before inserting two of his fingers. "Hmm, I want to do so many things to you," he murmurs against the skin of my beast, pumping his fingers in and out of me. I place my hands behind his neck, fingers brushing against his hair, huffing out quickening breaths. He moves closer to my face, eventually right over my own, his hair beginning to fall over his forehead. I'm forced to look at him, the eye contact making me feel hotter. His eyes stare at my bitten, deep pink lips, stopping his movements as he questions, "Do you need a moment?"

Our lips touch briefly, my hands going to cup his jaw on either side. One then feels down his stomach, his eyes following mine as we both watch me tug on his underwear. That was pretty much his answer, and he looks up at me through his lashes, a sweet grin curved into his pink lips, an eyebrow raised. He huffs out a very faint, almost inaudible chuckle before shaking his head at my eagerness. I think I was more eager than him, but it was hard to distinguish as the moment all articles of clothing were finally out of the way, it was like everything finally picked up. A few drawers opened and shut as he searched for something and I slightly shifted beneath him rather impatiently, taking a very good look at him. In a very quick second, my eyes widen and I swallow back the gasp in my throat. My reaction of shock was accompanied by small, but pressing amounts of fear. Christ, this isn't going to be easy.

He saw my reaction and only managed to let out an almost timid smirk, raising an eyebrow at me in response. "You alright?" Harry whispers, gazing at my laid figure. Eyes wandering between my legs, the squared foil in his hands as he pulls it open. Pink tongue gliding across his bottom lip, he carefully pulls down the lubricated rubber onto himself. He lays right over me, elbows digging into the mattress on either side of my head. My legs bend as they're forced to spread in order to accommodate him in between them. I simply nod, not finding it in myself to respond verbally, feeling myself freeze the second I felt the tip of him glide between my folds, running over the sensitive nerve that had probably overstimulated at some point. It was embarrassing, to me of course because he was enjoying it, how I felt the moisture nearly drip down my backside and onto the sheets. His eyes stare at nothing in particular, seemingly focused on the headboard of the bed, as he forces the tip into me, slowly. I visibly tense, and his light eyes go straight to mine. There is concern etched in the vaguely worried expression on his face. "Athena," he gently calls for my attention, which had previously been focused on the ceiling.

"Yes?" I look at his face and get slightly overwhelmed by the reality of what was happening. I knew the mechanisms and the normality of everything around us, but I felt a slight sense of guilt. Maybe doubt, and I think he saw that. But for once, I ought to be someone with confidence. Someone who understood the limitlessness of their self-belief and self-trust. I could have this one thing. I was free enough to have it. The look on his face told me had doubts about pursuing this with me, for a number of reasons. But regardless, my fingers run through his hair, the gesture so gentle it could lull someone to sleep. A strand falls from my loose grip right over his eye as he gazes down at me. Touching him this way was oddly nice, and intimate — my small hands soothing the messy hair. But I didn't want that exactly at the moment. "I need you to fuck me," I say quietly, his eyes narrowing as the words leaves my lips, and admittedly I reaffirm to myself that I am living out this one insanely good fantasy. I get to have this, if I couldn't have anything else.

I suppose that was all he needed to hear. There was something very alluring about watching him so focused. I remember seeing that face many times in different contexts, but this is easily my favorite. My hips shift uncomfortably, feeling him push the tip of his dick past my entrance, the feeling jabbing sharp pain right through me. His breath is deep while mine is shallow, quickening with slight anxiety. The heat of his body over my own, our skin touching, his head buried into my neck as I feel his nose brush my skin, the smallest details created the bigger picture. My arousal was helpful in aiding him push in and out, shallow at first. My jaw tightens and I inhale deeply, huffing out a breath when his hips grind a little deeper.

Gasping from the pain of the penetration, I squeeze my fingers, his hair in my increasingly tightening grip. My legs that had been bent are nearly over his shoulders. He extends one of his arms beside my head, the muscles in it hardening and defining with the exertion of force. I could see much more of him from this angle, and he could see most of me. The view of his lean, toned body was displayed so nicely. I gazed over him, following the muscles of his stomach until the lines narrow, the trail of light hairs leading to his pelvic regions. My hands had moved away from his hair when he pushed himself up, and they now rest against his abdomen, fingertips lightly brushing the toned hardness there. His green eyes gaze downward at where he pushes into me, only halfway in before I tense up again at the surprising pain. I saw him clench his jaw and force his eyes to stay open, just as he murmurs through a breath, "Relax, Athena. I've got you, baby."

The words were so endearing and said so gently that I couldn't withhold myself from feeling appreciated and cared for, even though I reminded myself not to get too carried away with feelings that were more emotionally based rather than physical. When he said them he appeared so compassionate and attentive to my needs, and as a result aided my nervousness and encouraged me to relax. A strand of hair falls over his forehead, right above his eye as he moves his hips to pull out and push back in once more. I gaze down to view him move deeper into me, and my lips part as he finally pushes all the way in. The stretch was less painful than at first, not necessarily pleasurable, but it felt filling and surprisingly more natural than before.

He leans onto his elbows again, closing the distance between us and trailing his lips down my chest, tongue flat against one of my sensitive nipples, while stilled and deep inside me. He gives me a moment to take it in, my hands falling back into his hair, tugging just as he begins to move his hips. We were getting into it finally, the carefulness of the first initial attempts gradually fading as I grew more comfortable with the sensations. My face buries into his neck, my lips brush against his warm skin. His hips grind slowly, careful not to put too much pressure before pulling out nearly all the way, then slowly pushing back in. He huffs out a loud breath, nearly moaning into the pillow my head rests on. The noises he was making were slightly muffled, but so low and originating from deep in his chest. I wrap my arms almost entirely around the back of his neck, getting turned on as the rhythm of his rocking hips steadies, and he drives his thrusts more powerfully.

"Fuck," he groans into my hair, his head having turned to the side. My breath hitches in my throat a few times in sync with the sharp and growing frequency of his thrusts. I like the way he feels inside me, and I like hearing him get a little carried away with how I feel to him. He leans up just a little, a hand trailing from over my breast and to my collarbones, then finally to my chin as he grips it and forces me to look at him. The way his eyes narrow and follow a trail from my lips to my own, I watch him as he does it and it makes my stomach churn, all the while he practically drills me into his expensive sheets. For a moment, he rolls his hips at a different angle and my legs tighten, my eyes widening slightly in surprise of the intensity of a new pleasing sensation. Harry waits a second before doing it again, noting my reaction. "Hmm," he hums gruffly, whispering, "There it is. That feels good, huh?"

I didn't even have to nod or speak, the quickening pace of my breath was enough of a response. The physiological responses of my body were moving at their own accord, and every thrusts was building a sensation inside me, so profoundly satisfying that I wasn't aware of the volume of my voice or the notably erotic noises that had been leaving my mouth. The pace was quicker and I didn't mind as the pain, while still present, was in cohesion with the satisfying feeling of him hitting that spot repeatedly. I moan softly every time he pushes back in, though my noises get swallowed by a heavy, tongue kiss. My fingernails accidentally dig into his shoulders, a little too aggressively, but I don't think he even cared. I asked him to fuck me, and that was exactly what he was doing.

Our rhythm is fast and growing increasingly harder, which was easier to take now that I've adjusted much more to his girth. I feel his hand slip beneath my head, fingers curling as he grips a handful of my hair, tugging on it and forcing my head still. His name slips past my lips in a breathy moan, the air fanning right against his lips. I note that he likes the way it sounds, his parted lips fighting a smug smirk. He suddenly stops, pulling out and tapping my thigh, breathlessly asking, "Lay on your side." I don't have to be told twice. All that was going through my head was how much I enjoyed being submissive to his demands as if the office setting we were usually in wasn't enough of a situation where I constantly have to attend to his demands. But this was so much more enjoyable, of course.

The new position allowed him more access to the rest of my body. He laid behind me, lifting my leg slightly in order to be able to push into me from this angle. I frowned and sighed at the sensation, feeling his heavy breath against my neck and his hand trailing down my side, sneaking towards the front to rub a finger against my sensitive clit. I lied my forehead onto the pillow and shut my eyes, indulging in every sensation. My hips shift slightly and he groans in response, thrusting more gently and shallow than before in and out of me, fingers rubbing the sensitive nerve in a circular motion. I feel the motions of my hips come naturally, syncing up with his. I hear him let out a breathless chuckle as he mutters against my cheek now, "You sure you've never done this before?"

"Mhm," I sigh, opening my eyes to stare out the window of his bedroom. A large glassy view of the grey, concrete city encased in that vivid green and pink of the spring time. The natural light suddenly becomes more apparent, and I look down at how the light reflects against my own body, his hand contrasting my darker complexion and trailing up to my full breasts.

I feel him stop, his own eyes following mine and looking at the window. "Nice view, hm?"

"Yeah —"

I didn't have the time to even think. He'd gotten up and pulled me with him. Next thing I knew, I was being led to the window, both of us in the nude and my hands automatically pressed against the large glass window. We were twenty stories up, and so I had very little worries that anyone would see us. But my shock was unmatched. I let out a loud gasp when his hands grip my waist and force my behind up against his front, my back arching slightly. The pressure I used to hold myself up against the glass was necessary and slightly dangerous, so I hoped that this was a strong material. I'm not prepared for when he puts it back in, teasing his tip against my entrance a few times, sighing to himself as he pushes back into me. The angle was so good, probably my favorite one so far. I knew I'd be sore in a few hours, but I did not care. He was fucking me very generously in front of a fantastic view.

"Oh my god," I moan breathlessly, hearing his skin smack against my own repeatedly with every thrust he gave me. I frown and fixated my sight on a bike trail that lead through the trees. My breasts moved along with his movements, my forearm coming to press against them and holding them there. The arousal and moisture between my legs allows him to slide more effortlessly, and my cheeks are red hot as I hear how evident it was each time he pushed in and out of me. It makes hit easier for him to reach around and rub at the slickness against my clit, once again stirring up that sensation of pressure against my bladder, my thighs tightening. Surprisingly, I wasn't falling and buckling at the knees. "Hm...Harry," I loudly call.

"Fucking hell, you're tight," he curses roughly, in between heavy breaths. "You look so good taking it, baby," he nearly moans then. I tried to imagine his view of me. My figure bent over, the voluptuous curves of my body accentuated. My dark, frizzy curls either falling against my face, some still behind my shoulders and touching my lower back. If I tried, I could see his reflection, his eyes glued to where his dick disappears inside of me. His hands moving lower to grip the thickness of my backside. I blush when I see him smirk, a look that was supposed to be only for his knowledge, but I'd seen it through the reflection. Damn, this is so much better than what I had imagined, I think to myself.

I was surprised by his stamina, and his endurance. He had been doing most of the work, but I could sense he wasn't tired at all. The quality of this thrusts and motions just seemed to improve, and as he groans and sighs in pleasure, I feel myself grow sensitive and weak. He was so hot, I just didn't know what to do with myself. I would occasionally turn my head slightly to try and get a view of him, but I ended up catching sight of his hand come down to slap against my backside. Gasping, I revel in the surprising pleasure of the motion. I'm not even sure I was breathing anymore, but I knew that as my thighs trembled, I was far, far from reality.

"Hmmm, fuck, fuck," he moans beneath his breath, his head tipping back slightly and his motions slowing. His eyes were shut and his mouth parted as he came. I breathlessly wait while his motions still and he moves away from me, slipping out and turning around. I'm left leaning against the glass window, shuffling audible behind me as he disposes the condom. I'm leaning off the glass window and turning around, my hands embarrassingly cupping my breasts, my cheeks a bright red. He glances over at me from his bed, his phone already in his hand as he types a an unnaturally fast message. His hair had dried slightly, the one strand that stubbornly falls over his forehead still there, his handsome face showcasing a naturally calm expression.

My fantasies had only gotten so far. This 'after-the-fact' was never included in those scenarios, and so I had very little idea about what happened next. Instead of continuing to stand there and look like a statue, I moved to grab some of my undergarments. Just as he says, "We should take a quick shower before heading back to the office."

My lips press together and I fight back some of my returning shyness. "We?"

"We're saving water, no?" He teases, setting his phone down. His eyes follow my figure as he raises an eyebrow, the look boyish and so adoring on his handsome face. "And...I'm having a hard time looking away, so I need an excuse."

I fight back a girlish grin, rolling my eyes at him and he chuckles in return, a dimple appearing on his cheek.

. . .

Week 6 1/2 of Internship

"Athena, please, please tell me you have a red pen," I hear Addison's voice behind me as I sit by a lounging area in the law firm building. Surrounded by emptied couches and tables, I busied myself with some assignments and readings, finding peace being here late at night by myself. That is until Addison found me in her frantic search for a red pen.

Still sat at a maroon couch, my book in my lap and a black pen hanging from my lips, I gaze up at her when I finish the current sentence I was on. My tired, low hazel eyes were indicative of my current mood, but I greeted her regardless with respectful gestures and a kind tone. "Hey," I mumble, pulling the pen from my mouth. "Um...I think I do, hold on." I reach for my bag that had been set down beside me.

Addison, standing before me in black pants, her usual low, pointed heels, and a red blouse, smiles kindly at my attempt to help her dire situation. Her pin straight blonde hair had been tied up into a high pony tail, slick back and surprisingly neat for the lateness of the hour. Her warm brown eyes were energetic and no evidence of exhaustion or over exertion was apparent in her symmetrical features. I was sort of jealous of that. She always appeared to have her shit together. "Thank you so much. My professor, for some weird ass reason, loves to have us go through our own papers and make our own corrections with strictly red pen before we hand them in," she needlessly explains.

"That's good writing practice, I guess," I respond neutrally as I search my bag for a red pen I know I've seen.

There is silence for a moment, which I appreciate. I'm a sucker for silence. However, Addison, as the social butterfly she is, would not stand within a socially appropriate proximity to someone without insisting on conversing. "You look really pretty. I mean you always do," she compliments kindly. My curls were messily tied into a low bun, few baby curls falling across my face. I sported grey, fitted dress pants and a simple white-button up. My usual black flats. Nothing out of the ordinary, but I knew she was just making conversation.

I find the pen and quickly hand it over to her. Smiling awkwardly and appreciatively, I respond, "Thank you."

"No, thank you!" She exclaims happily, speedily walking away, eager to get back to her own workload, her footsteps echoing slightly.

The building was very quiet, and if there was anyone around, they'd be interns and doing just as Addison and I were doing. Spread out, some on different floors, focused on completing coursework or running through cases for their mentors. I hadn't had much to do for Harry as he'd been busy with outside endeavors I didn't know much about, so I assumed they were personal. I didn't think he'd ever take personal days, but I guess the rarity of such breaks from work is appearing now. Speaking of him, ever since that day, our sexual tension had settled into normalcy. The usual work we'd perform during the days of my internship at the office remained unaffected, but there were a few times where he'd make comments and give me looks. He hadn't pursued me in that way again, at least not yet.

My phone rings and breaks my concentration. I glance at it to see that it was Harry.

"Hello?"

"Hey. Where are you?" He asks quickly.

"I'm at the firm."

"Perfect," he sighs. "I need you to go into my office and send me a picture of a couple of documents. They should be in the second drawer on the left side of my desk," he explains eagerly.

I pause. "So you're not taking a personal day? You're just doing more work?" I interrogate him, which I know will not be followed with appreciation.

"Do it. Now."

Raising an eyebrow, I let my defiance slip in a little too much confidence. "Okay, relax, Harry."

"Athena," he warns hotly, alluding to my attitudinal tone.

Blushing as I set my books down and quickly make my way to his office, I whisper, "Sorry." I roll my eyes however, knowing that not being seen was an advantage at having a conversation over the phone.

"I know you rolled your eyes," he interjects with annoyance. "You're so obvious."

"You can't really do much about that," I let out, and I bring my hand to my head in shame for my sudden courage. It was so evident that after we had sex, our dynamic changed slightly, and while it was wildly inappropriate for our office setting, I was too eager to test his patience now.

"Yeah? Don't test me," he responds darkly, a very subliminal message underlying the tone he'd used. "Are you even in my bloody office yet?" He nags impatiently.

"Yes," I retort snappily, shutting the door of his pitch black office behind me. The moonlight that seeped through the glass windows allowed me to see for a brief moment until I flipped the lights on. I walk towards his desk and opened the drawer as he instructed. The files I pulled out were simply case files, annotated weirdly, not in his penmanship. The penmanship was also done in different pen colors and types of ink. I notice but don't mention the strangeness of the documents and began to take pictures of them. I hear him groan impatiently, as if to agitate me on purpose. Rolling my eyes again, I gently mutter, "I'm taking the pictures."

"Okay." He dryly responds.

I wanted to ask why he was being such a pain in the ass in addition to an asshole, but I felt that would make me appear somewhat offended or as if my feelings were hurt — which they were. A few moments of silence pass until I finally sent him the pictures. "Okay, there. Can I get back to studying now?"

"Yes, thank you. I'll see you Friday. I'll make you dinner because I can tell you're mad at me now."

"Nope. Why would I be mad? I'm pretty normal right now," I lie through my teeth, my voice wavering slightly, trying not to get excited about the fact that he offered to make me dinner.

Ignoring me, he asks, "Any allergies?"

"Bye, Harry," I quietly respond.

"Athena —"

I hang up, anticipating a retaliation later in the week, but I was enjoying the thrill of defying him. As I started gathering the documents, and placed them back into the file, I opened the drawer he'd ask me to search. However, the drawer got stuck and I was unable to push it open fully, not enough to set the files back in properly. I groan to myself and bend down, pulling at it a little more roughly to see if it would release. To my dismay, it doesn't. I open the third drawer to see if it would pull open, and it does. My eyes squint and my eyebrows furrow, a frown taking over my face as I question the sight before me. The third drawer wasn't hollowed out and filled with files as I'd expect, it was a safe instead with a dial that clearly turns for a certain combination of numbers.

Hesitantly, crouched down, I just stare at it. I shouldn't be too surprised to see a safe. It would be logical for high profile cases to be locked away. I try not to think too hard about it, considering I could be biased in being so curious about it because it was Harry. My eyes wander the safe again before shutting the drawer shut again. I hum suspiciously to myself before standing to my feet and trying the second drawer again, which now finally opens. Placing the files back in there, I shut it again and wipe my hands against my grey pants.

My phone rings and it startles me again. I sigh and reach for it as it had been on his desk. I see it's an unknown number and hesitate to answer the call. "Hello?"

"Hey, Athena. It's Jonas. I'm on the third floor at the firm. I need a red pen."

"How did...how did you get my number?"

"Not important."

"Do you and Addison —"

"Yeah, she's in my class. I need a better grade than her. We're currently competing."

Giggling, I respond, "I gave her my red pen. I can check if I have more."

"Yes, you're awesome." 

n. I apologize this was so late. I spent WEEKS writing this chapter piece by piece whenever I had time. I'm finally finished with my semester. So I will updating way more regularly. Maximum every other day. I will be more active on this website! once again, a Go Fund Me is linked if anyone would like to support me as a writer! 

expect regular updates! (For real this time)

because you guys are so awesome, I'm writing the 8th chapter already.