They, whoever the fuck they are, say you shouldn't mix business with pleasure. This does not seem to be the motto of Helene's new boss.

He's not so new. It's been over a year since they met and he changed her whole life.

It had started as a lark. She had a friend who loved him, had a giant, huge thing for Harry Styles. It was a compulsion, Helene was sure, Chasi, couldn't go a whole conversation without mentioning him. So, when she complained about her concert buddy bailing on the first European date she was going to, Helene decided to use the ticket. She wanted to see what all the fuss was about. Chasi was a smart girl, successful at her job marketing wines to the export market, a good time, and not short on dates. She was more advanced than Helene on paper, she didn't even have to share a room in Paris. Helene, still struggling to support herself on photography, definitely had roommates, and literally slept in with another girl, to make those ends meet. Chasi has her own place, if that was some kind of millennial marker of togetherness, she had 'it'.

Yet, she loved this boy, man she guessed. Helene had liked his single, had enjoyed his album when Chasi had played it during their kick back at her place with friends. Chasi was nothing if not a proselytizer for the church of Styles. Helene would have a good time at the gig, she loved music, especially live, could take a few photos even.

So they rode the train and made a couple days of it. Turned it into a girls weekend and had a blast. Helene was amazed by the energy of the crowd when they arrived. These girl, well, women, were passionate, and they at least professed the adage printed everywhere-'treat people with kindness.' Helene liked that idea, to say the least.

Various flags flew, and everybody was in such high spirits, Helene was buzzed before Harry Styles even took the stage. Chasi was fucking vibrating. The whole place was excited and encouraging, full and engaged-for the opener no less.

It was nearly overwhelming and the wave of emotion of the place was only nearing the shore. The swell had just begun. When the music she vaguely recognized which made Chasi shake her hands like she had palsy started, then the crest rolled in.

The curtain rise brought out a handsome enough young man in a fancy suit with a guitar strapped to him, somewhat awkwardly.

The awkwardness was quickly shrugged off, even for a fledgling fan, like Helene, three bars into the expressive first song and Helene was making her own emotion, not just catching the communicable emotion of her fellow concert goers. She finds herself first swaying side to side, her eyes closing involuntarily. Then she is on the verge of tears, and she is not sure why.

When her eyes open, the performer, Harry, is also closing his eyes. When he opens them, they are neon green, and so vibrant, Helene can only think of that time she snuck to love fest and everybody had glow sticks. His eyes are lit from within and glisten. Like those of everybody near her and her own

Helene is hoisting her camera before she knows it. She gets image after image of this boy. He's seven years younger than her, but is more comfortable on stage as the night progresses than she has ever been anywhere.

He is sexy too. Raw magnetism. But she ignores that at first in favor of his stage presence and music.

Now, she has ignored it for months. Thought it was her default recently.  After he hired her based on a few pictures and took her on the road. Harry changed her life on a whim. He had liked a picture, not just on Instagram, and did something about it. Now, she had a huge client and name recognition. He'd even had to supply a new wardrobe, as she hadn't been home in ages. He seemed to love to do this, foster new talent. And when Harry liked something or someone he wasn't shy about doing what his name could for him. It seemed to be the only thing her was comfortable using his fame for.  Helene loved her time on tour, surreal as it had been.

And then it was over. For months. She went back to Paris, and she was busy. But nothing was as thrilling as seeing him work a stage. He'd indicated that he wanted her when he want back on the road, when he supersized the tour. Helene had even gotten a large royalty check because he chose her picture of him for some of the merchandise for the arenas.

Helene's grateful to him. She enjoys his company. Helene sees the way he is with the women around him, those with long standing relationships, like Lou. And younger ones, like Clare and Sarah. There is a great deal of mutual respect, and occasional flirtation. He seems to flirt with Sarah just to fuck with Mitch. He's a natural flirt, she's seen him engage many a man in ways that shock and enthrall them. It leaves them unsettled and not a little turned on.

He has the same effect on her. She wonders if it is everyone else too. Hopes so.  Helene's not exactly sure how Clare handles him. And Lou, though she wasn't much older than him, really, treated him like a little brother. Maybe because she met him when he was a teenager and she already had a child of her own.

Helene respects him, and she is so grateful, again. But watching him on stage every night is an exercise in her restraint, lately. And he has a girlfriend, who Helene enjoys immensely. They don't seem exclusive though, and Harry is too busy to find anybody else to screw. She usually can remind herself of these things. What she is risking, how flirty he is with everyone, and that he has a lady he sees at least mostly exclusively.

But, tonight she is sure that if she has to see him sing about oral sex, speculation aside, that is the clear subject of the song, Helene may have to find a way to get the tongue tonight. From anybody willing to give it. She loves his suit, but she is so thankful that he is buttoned up high and tied tight. Though the thought of him tied starts more mental vacations. The trails of that pussy bow would make for excellent leads. She thinks of where she wants his face and tongue and on her mouth, between her legs are just the beginning of the list. She thinks of wrenching the fabric back to restrict his airflow just a little. Maybe make him light headed long enough to increase pleasure. She's never done air control. But her friends have, heard some stories that were--interesting. She closes her eyes and shakes the pussy bow image out of her ears, like water after her 5 AM swims.

Helene has got to cool off, so she ventures to the other side of the stage and focuses on the crowd, trying to capture the energy. It's nearly impossible, but she thinks if you could harness it, the girl power and optimism in the air, the world would be a better place. She loves her shots to have life, motion, even a little kitsch, and this tour is an amazing place for all that. Their styles marry well. Maybe that's the thing Harry saw and wanted to harness, their similarity. She thinks about this while she gets her lens back on the band. The band only, avoiding Harry, and his finale, for sanity's sake. Helene gets a few of Mitch and his new wine habit. He offers a sip to her off stage and she is tempted to take it off him, but she'd have to go on stage. It'll help her calm down until she is anywhere near Harry. Stage Harry is a temptation best avoided when possible, especially tonight. To bad capturing it is her job. Well, her blessing. Except at this moment.

Helene has just about got herself calmed down, when he comes off stage after Kiwi. He is redolent of energy and full of smells. Harry smells so good, especially sweaty, and he's grinning, dimples at full power and pointed at her.

He sidles up to her first thing, and the squirm she had just gotten rid of comes back. He stands really close to her right away. Their feet and knees aligned, hips and shoulders abreast. Helene is confused by this arrangement for a moment, until her reaches over for her camera, the one strapped to her neck and starts scrolling through. He loves this part, gets as animated as a puppy at the end of their owner's work day. He doesn't take it off her, just sets himself into the negative space of her body. His head neatly fitted above her shoulder.

"What'd you get? Saw you go to the crowd for Kiwi. Was something going on I missed? I think I get into it then and miss some of the crowds reaction. I wish I could do both. That would be amazing, like, to just go off, but be able to watch them go off too." He is scrolling while he is talking a mile a minute. Riding the high coming off stage. Stopping on a few long enough for her to see his interest. He gets to one of him from above arms raised where he is feeding off and asking for energy from his followers at the same time. He's a vision in pepto pink.-Though he does nothing to calm her nervous stomach. He's too close. How does he still smell good? He smells different to her than other humans. She likes the smell of his armpits. After one show, they took a crew pic and she wound up under his long limb and she made this puzzling discovery.

"What?" Helene answers the questioning look on his face. He must have asked her something while she was thinking about smelling his pits and finger combing the hair there. God, she's gross for him, this is troubling.

"I said send me that one. Think that's the one for tomorrow." He nods and hands her back the camera and he's off and she watches his ass. She looks up to see Mitch with a brow quirked.

"Fuck off!" Is her mature response and then she shrugs, what can she say. Harry loves Mitch a lot, and she wonders in just what way.

Alone, in her bed at night, sometimes she wonders.

Mitch just smirks at her. Maybe everybody is as susceptible as she is to his charms and charm.

Menace that boy. Helene snaps a few more of the post show euphoria and dishevelment. She gets this one of Mitch and Sarah laying on the couch together, Sarah pushed up to drink from the rim of his cup. They both look like this is a post coital moment, except Adam is looking on fondly in the background. Helene thinks for a minute about how the show is a bit like a long slow fuck for everybody. The build up and anticipation, like getting ready for a date you know is going to end naked. They primp and prep themselves and Harry. Harry is definitely the bridegroom here, or no, he's the bride. All gussied up and tricked out in his custom finery. Then it's a long wait until the music starts, and they all perform their parts. Say and sing their bits. With escalating emotion and euphoria until the trance of SOTT, like the party at a reception and absolute abandon of Kiwi, like the wedding night, hopefully . Helene is still thinking about it, has gotten to the whale move Harry does, and if that isn't a proverbial money shot, she's a loon, when she catches Styles with wet hair, this time from a shower back in his dressing room. The crescendo, It's made her a little breathless since she was just a spectator. It's why she always, always, tries it capture it. Except tonight. She couldn't even watch him mock come through a lens with how she was feeling. No consummation for her tonight, not unless it's the real thing.

Helene goes to make a whiskey on the rocks, on the opposite side of room from the object of her temptation. She also finds herself scanning through the crew for possible hook ups. She is going to have to fuck this energy off, or her job is just going to get harder.

Helene catches Marco, one of the sound guys, laughing with Clare and she likes the reckless sound. It's not a full pop of sound or amusement, but it's unrestrained and she smiles at him when their eyes catch. His widen just a touch and she knows her face is telling no lies and doing her favors, telegraphing her need for those intuitive enough to see it. And she only wants a lover who can sense that, the oblivious ones don't read cues in the bedroom either.

She smiles at Marco openly when she realizes that Harry is sitting on the end of the couch Helene has stretched herself out on. She quickly pulls her legs up to give him room, and yanks her attention off her intended for the evening. Harry sits himself down like the makeup puff her mom had on her vanity, with a puff of fanfare and bounce.

Helene watches him in his hoodie and sweats and knows her attention is a river diverted from its course. Marco is a lost thought, a town no longer on a trader route. How damn frustrating. She breathes out her nose into her whiskey. She's not sure she has ever felt this flustered. Harry promptly grabs the legs she'd retracted like the tip of a pen and pulls her now bare feet over his lap.

Helene can't help but notice that he keeps his hands on her skin. One even snakes under her pants to wrap lightly around her ankle.

"Hey!" He grins at her, replete and she wants to resist his infuriating charm. Helene can't.

"Hey, boss man." She's putting distance, adopting Lou's tongue in cheek appellation.

Harry frowns for a split second, a micro expression she would have missed if her eyes weren't glued to him. Then he looks down at her ankles and his hand on her ankle starts to stroke the ball where her foot and leg connect. Her eyes flutter.

When she opens her eyes he is smiling, one you want to slap off. "What's up with you tonight, you seem off?" Harry asks with that same shit eating grin, and Helene has been around him enough to know he is definitely empathetic enough to read her mood and actions.

His hand is now massaging her calf and he's holding her eye contact. Harry is giving her green lights all over and she wants to hit the gas, no matter how bad an idea it is. She points her toe to the floor and decides to press the pedal down. "I'm tired," she's not tired, her eyes say so, "I want to go back to the hotel."

Harry, looks down for only a moment, then looks up with a lazy grin. "It's been a long week. I'm ready to go to bed too." To bed. To the hotel. Fuck sleep. They aren't sleeping until after. "I'm gonna get us a car." And he leaves her on the couch. Before Helene can even start to second guess it, Harry looks back, casts his eyes down her semi recumbent form and bites his damn lip. Her whole body tingles from the look and the build of this whole day, this whole tour.

They wind up with Mitch and Sarah on the way back to hotel in the black SUV. Which is good, although Mitch had given her a smirk that could only mean he knows their intentions. But they all go their separate ways once they leave the elevator, Mitch and Sarah as a unit-they've been sharing a room for months now. They seem to like each other's pockets immensely and she sees pride and a tinge of something else on Harry's face as they walk down the hall. Jealousy? Of which?

Her mind is quickly diverted when she reaches her door. Does she say goodbye? Was their shared car ride a buzz kill. "Good night, Harry." She starts to say when she looks up and he is right behind her. He takes the hand holding her key and waves it over the sensor and reaches around her with his other hand to open the door. He walks her in and it's like they have been taking dance classes for months with how well she follows his lead.

Once the door knob is out of his hand. He puts it on her waist and she is sorry that she had tucked her T-shirt in today. Harry's eyes always prickle her skin and his hand on her calf had made her thighs clench. Helene wants to feel him on her skin at an intimate place, like her waist, to start with.

He tangoes her into the bedroom with no pause to put stuff down. Her camera is still around her neck.

Harry pulls it off her when her thighs butt up against the mattress edge in the bed chamber. The lanyard wrenches her chin up and she knows Harry would normally apologize, but he's not in the mood. Instead he sets it down like it's an important object, but one he wants free of, a cumbersome inheritance or something. He immediately starts pulling her 'treat people with kindness' shirt free, alternating sides, until the cloth is out of the high waist of her jeans and he flings it to the other side of the bed. His hand skids up over her back, stopping for just a minute to unlatch her lace bra. Helene hunches her shoulders dutifully and the cups and straps slide off her arms.

Harry has moved on to the tops or her shoulders. The palms of his hands run from one deltoid to the other, gripping her muscles with a strong kneed. Her head drops forward and she feels like there are things she should ask, names she should mention, but the warm up is erasing her inhibitions and conditions. When he gathers her hair and pulls her neck back, taut, before mouthing it, she forgets any hesitations.

"Harry." Sounds and she turns her head to the side. Her lips pout out, a physical beg for attention. Helene wants to be pissed off at his smirk of response, but instead, her thighs dampen and she's hopeful that her jeans will come off soon before they chafe where she has forgone panties. It's like she knew.

Harry leans in, and brushes his mouth over hers. It's a glancing blow and couldn't be called a kiss. He does it again, this time with tongue extended enough to wet her lips. The third time, he gives a seconds pause with a little suction and it's so close, anybody but the receiver would misconstrue it as a kiss.

"Harry, please," and the dissatisfied grunt afterwards is close to a whine, just with some teeth.

Teeth that what she gets on the next pass of Harry's mouth over her own. Helene manages to get a swipe of her own and wet his lips. She hopes it's bait on a hook that Harry will come back closer and stay for longer, hours in response to. Instead, he moves his mouth to her neck and shoulders and it feels so good, it's not what she thought she wanted, but it's better.

His hand undoing her jeans is a one up, the best is when his huge hand shoves down her pants to touch her. She can't give a fuck if her never kisses her mouth right now. As long as he is knuckle deep and using teeth on her blades he never has to kiss her mouth. He finds the pressure point on the front of her vaginal canal with the ridge of his middle finger and she is a happy woman.

Harry presses her down to the mattress with his own chest then and she whines when he extracts his finger. He shushes her softly. "I got you." It is the first thing he says. And she knows that he is a man of his word. He had shown her as much. I have a job for you. I like your photos. I want you to come on tour. I want you to come on tour next time.  He meant all of it.

He means it this time as well. He yanks her jeans over her hips and clicks his fingers against each foot to remove them. Harry chuckles and she assumes it's because of the missing undergarments.  Helene wants to point out the nights he has gone to stage without briefs but can't remember why it's important when he inserts his tongue straight into her wet hole.

"Fuck!" She shouts along with a slew of nonsensical French. That feels great, she speaks mostly English during her days lately. Misses her mother tongue. She's also sure she will always miss harry's, with the way he is literally licking her out. He switches to flicking her hood and his nose is so close to her opening she can't help but press against it. Pressure, she needs pressure.

"Empty." She moans.

"Wats that?" He asks, going  straight back to his meal.

"I'm," Helene gasps, "I'm empty!" She bemoans.

"Better?" He asks, after he gets a thumb up her with his fingers splayed over her ass cheek.

It's nice, so nice but, "more?" There is a beg in her voice she can hear loud and clear.

Harry shushes her again, "I know, darling, but I need to get you wet."

She makes a dissatisfied noise, and the ass chuckles at her, again.

"Wetter."

"No, Harry, get in me. Fuck me." She meant to sound demanding, but she just is desperate, ben tover the bed and naked, with an uncomfortably arched back while he is still fully clothed desperate. Wanton.

"No, Helene you have to come first." He's serious and she wants to tell him she never does the first time with a new person. Instead, she concentrates and gets increasingly frustrated as her orgasm approaches and then skitters away.

It's good, his mouth and tongue are magic, the way he sucks her hood into his mouth then fits his tongue underneath to wag her clit from side to side rapidly. His head even shakes to give more pressure and he has put his nose back at her entrance like she liked earlier. But it's not happening, and she wants him to be proud, to make him happy. Everybody around him just wants him happy.

She wants him to come, wherever he wants, but he said she needed to first. Helene never comes first.

"What do you need?" He asks when he pops off.

"Your cock." She fairly seethes.

He laughs at her, so much for fucking kindness, but he soothes her need with three fingers inside and his pointer on her clit. He's got circles going and she whines when her orgasm runs away again.

"Fuck!" She's so frustrated.

Harry pushes her body down then. Removes himself all together and she's a little afraid he's gonna leave from his own frustration, until she hears his pants his the floor and his shirt flies in her peripheral vision. Nothing sounds better than the tear of the condom wrapper. 

Helene feels his chest come down on her back first, then his hand around his cock between her legs. Harry nudges her open and she sighs happily when the head pops in. They both exhale when he reaches her end.

"How do you do it?" He asks in her ear.

"Huh?" She turns to her head back to him to overwhelmed by the enormity of his presence inside her to catch on.

"On your own? How do you make yourself come? Your favorite?" He kisses her then, and that's the ticket.

"This." She breathes against him. She kisses his teeth then before he gets his lips back from where he had pulled them wide in a smile at her request. They kiss slowly, and he saws himself in and out until she is humping the mattress. Harry uses his knees to open her legs until her cunt is flush with the mattress and the friction is delicious.

"Yes, ugh, yes." Helene praises. Has to stop kissing to moan.

"Hmmmmm." Harry sighs and pulls his chest off her. His thighs sat on his calves and her open over his lap writhing. She's nearly there, telling him so on cries when he repositions her.

"No, please." And the fucker shushes her again. Why ask her how to make her come if he is gonna disregard her signs and signals? He closes her thighs under his and cants her hips up and slips his hand between her legs. He gets her clit between the joints in two fingers and pinches and plays until she is yelping. Harry holds it then, between thumb and pointer, moving it in a circle faster while he thrusts into her harder than before.

Helene is amazed, it's right there. She's gonna come. Her first time, with her boss.

"Mon dieu!" She yells and she seizes up starting at her toes until her head comes back and Harry catches her chin and keeps her arched, kissing her over the top and going faster until he is groaning into her mouth and she is astounded, enthralled, stunned to be coming with him. She's coming again. Talk about beating your average.

They both breath hard for another minute, until he kisses her one last time and pulls out and off her, excusing himself to the bathroom.

What now? Does he leave? Do they never talk about it again? Is she fired? That's gotta be illegal, no?

He comes back in grinning and gets something out of his pants. He lays a couple more condoms on the pillow next to her head where Helene has rearranged herself.

That answers her question.

The next morning, Harry's in the shower. They both desperately need a shower, butshe has given him privacy and herself a break because she is already going to have to wear a maxi dress today to hide her bowed legs. Her head rolls to her camera and the mirrored wall they had discovered during round two.

She's not sure if this will happen again.

So she snaps a picture of her gorgeous hotel room and simply geo-tags it Bologna.

So she will never forget.