They've been in the studio for hours. Well, they have been in the studio for weeks at this point, but today was supposed to be a quick run through of one of the last songs that Harry wanted to nail down for the EP.

I'd been hesitant to work with Harry Styles when first approached. Not because I didn't take him seriously, but because, well frankly, pictures of the boy were distracting enough, and I knew better than to work closely with someone that made my mind take vacations to horizontal places. Jeff Bhasker had given me my start though, and when your mentor comes to tell you that he needs help and you are the woman for the job, you do it. I was doing this out of gratitude, if nothing else. Jeff had gone on and on about how Harry was the best guy, the sweetest guy, that I would just love him.

Right now I wanted to smash his face in.

All of the promises from everybody who had ever met wonder boy were spot on, don't get me wrong. Harry was all the things that I had been told he was, but we were almost done and he may be the biggest perfectionist I've ever met. That is saying a lot from someone who works primarily with indie artist who are way more about craft and art than plaques and streams.

"What are you doing?' I hear come into the booth from the microphone and see that he has leaned in really close so that I can hear him. I have no trouble hearing him, ever. The hairs I pluck from my big toe are aware when he is talking. All of my hair follicles stand at attention and salute. My nipples too. Id never had to buy a new bra to work with a particular artist, but a week in with perpetual head light nipples had me crossing my arms and looking defensive to mr. niceness. This sent me off to find a better brassiere.

"Im texting my friend," I put down my phone to drepress the talk back button. "I was supposed to be headed her way by now—"

"I'm sorry, Finny," he huffs and I know he hates that I had to change plans for him.

"Harry, this is my job, right? Let's get it perfect! I think we are so close."

He smiles so big and he looks pleased. All artists respond to different things. I'd learned from a friend of mine who was a personal trainer to the stars, to find what motivated them and stick with it.

Harry liked to be praised. This sent me down a rabbit hole the first night when I was strategizing about how I wanted our process to play out. All I could think about was how much fun a people pleasing, praise craving lover would be.

I had come up with lots of strategies, but I had to take those out on my vibrator.

Harry has a girlfriend.

Had a girlfriend.

That seemed to be what had sent him running to the studio in the first place. He had some love songs to record. Then some angsty tunes, and now some break up odes.

I'd known right away about his girl. She had come to the studio with him a couple of times and she had been lovely and quirky and smitten. Him too.

All the attraction I felt for him got pushed down with a strongman hammer before work everyday after that. I was still pounding it on its head most days. Today it was less of a challenge because he was nitpicking like a baboon with a protein deficiency.
So, though I'd love to see underneath his clothes almost all the time it was easy to ignore today despite his increasingly comfortable return to singledom.

I looked at his frustrated frustratingly perfect face and realized he was stuck.

"Harry, what do you think is wrong with the vocal?" Sometimes this was the best way to start.

"It's so high." He huffed.

"It's within your range, pretty comfortably." I reminded him.

"Yeah, but..."

"But..." And I waited.

"Listen, I love Sign Of The Times, and it's in my range, but doing it night after night is hard. And I ruined it the first time." He blew out a breath and broke eye contact.

I nodded, I could recall his 'ruined' performance. He was being harsh. It was raw and beautiful, but not perfect. So, naturally, it frustrated him.

I broke a rule, another one, for him. I walked out of my little room and into his booth. I took his head phones off and clutched his cheeks.

"You have a beautiful voice, and you can do this. As you wrote it." I stared him down and tried not to be affected by his proximity, the mint on his breath mixed with coffee, and the stubble poking into the skin of my hand at patchy intervals. "But, if you want we can change it."

"Can we listen again?" He asked and looked at me like a little boy and my attraction and my affection blended themselves up into a Harry milkshake. Probably he'd prefer a smoothie.

"Yup! Come in the booth with me?" I turned to walk away and noticed he wasn't behind me. "Harry?"

"You told me I'm not allowed in the booth until we are done?" He quirked a brow.

I reached for his hand and shrugged. "Close enough!" I said but knew I was breaking another rule. He slid his palm into mine and my hair follicles partied harder, like someone had laced their blunt. I also shivered.

"You cold?" He asked after he felt the frisson. And I looked back to a slight smirk on his face.

I wanted to be a little pissed that he knew. But I was ineffably charmed instead. And of course he knew. Harry walked around with that face and that body and that charm, And he was famous and kind. Everybody he met probably wanted to fuck him at least a little bit.

I'd just been upgraded to a lot a bit.

We sat, and I even gave him the captain's chair. Rule number four broken.

We listened to the song.

He looked at me, a little blush and a wink of his eyes down. "I think you're right. It's done."

"Then, I think we are done with the Pink EP, buddy!" And I held up my hand to high five. He lifted his arm and clapped my hand to his then gripped and pulled me over his lap. I fell gracelessly over his him and he laughed at me and glowed under the low lighting. Booths are sweaty.

I looked from where I was face down with my ass a little perched and felt like given his temperament things should be reversed. He had spanking hands, but he probably liked to take the swats more than give them. He looked delicious. He looked like my grandma's cabbage rolls after I hadn't been home in months.

I reversed myself and started to get up muttering sorry as though I had fallen on him and not been brought down.

"Why are you sorry?" He laughed and I started to pull away to my own chair while he countered balanced me and I wound up seated on him.

"I dunno!" I laughed a little, at myself and his weird affectionate oaffishness.

He grinned at me and there I was sat on his lap like we were that overly affectionate married couple that made everybody slightly uncomfortable and jealous.
I grinned back.

He took my hand. "So," he toyed with my hands, "if we are done, I'm not off limits anymore?" My mind ran around the inside of my skull like a fowl without its own head.

Then it dawned on me, he had handed me a buzzing phone one day. I had assumed he hadn't seen the text exchange highlighted in green from my best friend and resident trouble maker, Lauren. She had been razing me about spending hours on end with a newly single exceedingly hot specimen of man.

'Josefina! You know you want that D! You should have seen the look on your face at drink's the day he came in with the new tattoo. You couldn't even concentrate on your margarita! Serious lust! Now that he is a free agent, ride that disco stick!'

'Lauren-for the love of all that is Holy! Do not call it a disco stick. Ever. Also-client=off limits. No matter how luscious he is...'

'Speaking of Holy
Maybe you can just kneel down and pray 🍆🍆🙏🙏🙌. Can I get an amen'

'Please go away.'

Some affectionate terms of endearment had followed once I'd had me phone back.

My face wasn't pink with a blush, it was purple with mortification.

"Shit, I'm so sorry Harry. It was so unprofessional to
Talk about you like that." I covered my face with my hands.

"Hey... Finny—"

"Nobody calls me that!" I couldn't hold in.

"I call you that." He picked me up and I wondered how strong he actually was as he arranged me over his lap and pulled my hands down from my face. "Does this position indicate that I was looking for an apology?"

I assumed it was rhetorical. But he stared long enough for me to try to get my head together enough to give him an answer.

"No?"

"That a question-"this time it was rhetorical "I think the question is, do you still want my d?"

"The d." I corrected on a knee jerk. And felt him shake under me.

"I think it's one of many, but if you want to make it sound so important!" He shrugged and I smiled at his silliness.

We giggled and he caught my chin on the effervescence of our mirth. "So?" He leaned in really close, to where the syllable was breathed over my lips rather than spoken. I was able to say no.

I wasn't going to. I'd been thinking about fucking him all the time, like when you find a new favorite song and listen to it on repeat. Only the sounds I heard were his moans in my mind and instead of a B6.

But he did make music when he was moaning.

Our lips met and we both hummed a sweet tune, like bees in honeysuckle. The slurp of his lips against mine was even melodious and I opened my mouth wider to see if he would do it again. He did and slanted left to reach me deeper.

Wet kisses were not my jam. I liked mine lippy with an occasional lick across my tongue. Harry seemed to be about deep penetration. I was hoping this fact remained consistent as we approached our final movement. I was also thinking that I'd been entirely wrong about how I liked to kiss.

When his wet lips found my neck, and he even licked my clavicle, a move usually on my nope list, and it drew a cry of "shit!" From me and a chuckle from him I had to chock it up to me never being licked right. I hoped I also got to see if this was true if he played me with his tongue lower down.

My t shirt snagged on my pony and the pull in my hair may have been more pleasant if it was from Harry's hands.

"Sorry, love," he said diving back into my mouth and then venturing down my chest to my very thick undergarment. He laughed when he took it off. "You don't need the much padding." He assured me while pressing my cleavage together and running his nose up and down the crevice he made.

I was grinding his lap and laughed before saying, "I do around you. My nipples wouldn't calm down in your presence."

"Well, free the nipple and all that," he breathed and mouthed at the object of our discussion.

"And all that." I harmonized with his groan as he sucked and I rocked over him harder.

He lost his shirt then and I painted his chest, better than his tattoo artist, with my lips. Some of his skin was bare of the stark black ink style he favored, but I made sure to give the naked parts love too. My flexibility hit its limit when I made it to the butterfly antennae.

I slipped off his lap and onto my knees to continue my ode to his body. Harry's ribs were mostly unadorned and sensitive. He gripped the arm rests of the chair to hold still.

"Tickle?" I asked after I'd run my mouth to the tip of his adam's rib.

"Mmmhmmm," And even that was a song. "But I like it."

I smiled up at him and ran my fingers over his white knuckles before I used them to pop his jean button. "No undies?" I teased.

"Wash day," he blushed.

"Adorable!" I said as I surveyed the weeping head of his dick before greeting it with a lick and pulling him all the way free. We got our wires crossed a moment later though when I was trying to go down his dick and he was trying to push down his pants. He inadvertently gagged me.

"Sorry," "I'm amazed you didn't ask before you fucked my mouth." We said at the same time and laughed.

He slid his hands into my hair, his pinkies behind my ears.  "Can I fuck your mouth then?" He asked.

"Yeah, let me get it wet first though. Goes better!" And I winked before applying some tongue action he could be proud of. Once he was good and wet, I gave him the nod and he found a rhythm and depth that blurred my vision but didn't choke off the flow and we were in a groove. His sounds were beautiful.

"Fuckkkk..... Josefima!" He swore in harmony with my mewl. He pulled me off. "You gotta stop or this whole thing is over." He thumbed under my eyes to clear the overflow of moisture and brought me back to my feet.

My jeans swooshed to the floor and I heard my knee joints pop when I climbed back into his lap. "Yikes, sorry for the old lady soundtrack!"

"Because your ancient years have robbed you of cartilage?" He reached down to get something from his jeans. A condom I guessed.

"Yup, but I do have years of experience to go with the creaky bits." And I took the condom from his hand and ripped it open with my teeth before spitting out the loose piece. I rolled it over him and planted my knees to get him in me.

"Nope," he held my hips still, "gentlemen." He pointed at his naked chest and I wanted to laugh. "Gotta get you off first."

"And they say chivalry is dead!" I joked. "Really, baby, honey, I'm good." And I licked my hand sloppily and rubbed the saliva over his tip. I didn't give him time to object as I slid down.

And found lots of resistance.

"Oooh," My croon was less than tuneful.

"Told you." He pulled me off him the three inches I had accomplished and he spun the chair to face the back wall. He picked me up then lay me out on the couch behind the panel and put my foot on the back of the couch. My other set of toes found the cropped carpet. His mouth found my own shag. He ran his fingers through the trimmed triangle and split my lips open with his fingers. He went in tongue first again. This time I couldn't even concentrate enough to think how it compared to other times I'd been consumed.

And consumed is what he did. I'd never had so thorough a pussy eating. His long strokes were dulcet and I swear that his sucks were in key. When he had a couple fingers plucking at my clit and he was tonguing my channel, I felt in tune and well played. When he switched and placed his mouth around my hub and pressed his fingers into the neck of my opening, I was done for. He tapped his tongue to a rhythm between licks and I scatted my way through the alphabet.

He wasn't done with me, but I was totally ruined and would have let him do anything now. Luckily, what he wanted to do to me was finish what I had started when I had underestimated him. He linked my hands together in one of his above my head, used his knees to open up my heavy legs and moved between my thighs again.

This time my resistance was only enough to give him reason to saw in and out of my body several times. Going in halfway, then out, then three quarters, out, all the way, rest. He looked up then, "you make gorgeous noises."

"You too." Was my witty reply, and he pressed his knees up and my thighs came over his hips with them. Though they still quivered, my legs were awake again and gripped him as he rode into me so we were synchronized. Me pulling back while he did too after I chased him to the end of our note.

"Oh my God!" I belted when he pulled all the way out and pushed back in. He found a line break each stroke and his reentry started a new symphony until I squeezed around him to keep him inside.

"God damn, Finny!" He yelped prettily and his breath syncopated to mine as our pace picked up. The crescendo was inevitable, for all our attempts to feint and bridge to stave it off.

"Hmmmmm, Harry, I'm gonna come!" My voice climbed an octave.

"Let's hear it!" He sotto-voced.

The vibrato of my orgasm rivaled his when he followed me over the clef to the coda.

He stroked in and out a few more times until we were too sensitive to make anything but noise.

He pressed his nose to mine and kissed my lips.

"We make beautiful music together," he grinned.

I couldn't help but agree.