Sugar daddy-ish part 3 (Patreon)

Their relationship is blooming ! Sexual tension has set its seed, let me know if you would like to see it to harvest (or just tell me you want a part 4 :D) 

 part 1  

part 2 

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Harry wears the ring everyday. 

Hell, he can barely convince himself to take it off before he goes to bed at night -- that’s how much he loves it, and how much he’s thankful, and how many butterflies swarm his insides when he looks down at it knowing that Y/N was the one who gave it to him. Dropped an appalling amount of money on a piece of jewelry for him that he had lost just because he liked it. He doesn’t know how he could ever repay her and he thinks about it daily, because showing it off like a Southern debutante with an engagement ring and pointing out that he had the best secretary in the world, was just not enough in his opinion. 

His gifting increased from small little items of his appreciation, to more lavious, near declarations of love. On her desk every morning now is a latte and a chocolate croissant, and along with the note he has detailing what he needs her to do for him that day, he says things like, “Have a good day, Gorgeous :)” (at first he regretted it and thought she might make fun of him for it, but he catches her smiling at a note one day and sticking it into her bag). He’s asked her opinion on clothing items that she had thought were for him, but really he was just gauging how much she liked a piece so that he could send it to her home. Of course, this had some push back from her, who stamps into his office after receiving a pair of Burberry sneakers with the note he had instructed be put in as “a gift from a secret admirer”, “Mr. Styles!” She had all but exclaimed, her tone alone already clued him in he were to get an upbraiding, “What did I say about sending me stuff, huh?” 

“They would look much better on you anyway.” He had combatted but Y/N only rolls her eyes. 

“Well return them and get your money back, I didn’t do anything to deserve them,” she pushes the box towards him, but Harry stops it with his palm, sliding it back over to her on the table. 

“I won’t return them so they will just be wasting away in my closet, collecting dust, money squandered when they could be walking these halls on casual top and/or bottom Friday’s. Did you even look at them before you’ve decided you don’t want them?” She looked down, annoyed that he had found her out as he opens up the lid for her to actually look inside, and her mouth fell open when she realized that they’re the vintage check cotton sneakers. 

A gasp left her as she reached down, picking one up and holding it like a precious gem, “These aren’t even out yet? How did you --” Her eyes were wide, looking from him to the shoes and back to him. 

“M’friends with the CEO, Lovie, and once I told him that you needed these shoes he agreed immediately,” he gave her a big smile, because he could feel it in his bones that she would accept them, “Now, take the shoes and put them in your brand new maserati.”

Her whole face dropped, eyes going angry,  “Mr. Styles --” she began but Harry rolled his eyes and chuckled. 

“I’m kidding! Just a joke pet. . .unless you want one.” 

That was two weeks and Harry wasn’t even close to being done. Harry knows now he’s absolutely smitten with her, if not for the insistent gifting, then by the way he spins in his chair to look at her desk through the glass walls of his office just to stare at her for a little while. Or maybe the way he now goes even further out of his way to speak with her, calling her into his office for one thing, and convincing her to stay in there for lunch, offering to drive her to and from work since gas prices had raised, encouraging her to share details of her day that hadn’t involved him in it, and the way his heart grows when he can tell she’s happy or feeling soft. . .like she enjoys their time together as well. 

No matter how much she may be enjoying their time together, and how lovely it looked when her face lit up as he presented her with two tickets to an art gallery for that night, he knew he was in for it when he showed up with a new mattress and bed frame accompanied by two men to move it in. Y/N had been complaining about her back hurting for the past month or so now, and asked him what kind of mattress he had because she’s pretty sure hers as a spring sticking out of it. When he watched her grimace in pain as she bent down to pick up a box of files, Harry felt his heart drop to his stomach; he couldn’t stand the thought of her being in pain, especially when it was something preventable, so he made some calls and got her a king sized tempurpedic, with the same bed covers she had now so she wouldn’t have to change them. 

He’d been hesitant to knock on the door for a second, but with a quick pep talk from Rick (he’d been moving Harry’s furniture for years at this point) he does so. When she opens it, she looks soft as ever, mouth frothy with toothpaste and a toothbrush sticking out of the corner of her mouth, adorned in a thick knitted sweater and leggings, hair drawn from her face, “M’tter ‘tyles?” Her words are garbled, “Wha’ are you doin’ ‘ere? Thought we weft a’fife?”

Harry smiles at her, “We are going to leave for the show at five, yes, but Jeremy and Rick here don’t work past 4PM, and changing a bedframe and mattress takes quite some time, don’t you know it?” 

Y/N’s mouth drops some, toothpaste threatening to topple over her bottom lip, but he reaches up and presses her lip closed, “Wha’?” She exclaims, her brows furrowed while her eyes are popped nearly from her head, “M’tter ‘tyles!” 

“Go spit out your toothpaste, Love you’re g’na get it on the carpets.” 

Though she wants to fight him, she must know he has a good point, because she huffs through her nose and pivots on her heels to stomp off. Harry claps his hands together, turning to Rick and Jeremy with a big grin, “Well, that went swell! Did you bring the papers of what it’s to look like?” Rick nods, handing the folder over to him and Harry opens it up to slip the laminated photo out, “Alright, have a seat on the couch while I go convince her to let me do this.” 

Harry finds his way to her bathroom, where she’s blotting at her mouth with a towel and scowling at him through the mirror, “Before you say no,” he begins quickly, holding out the picture to her, “It’s a beautiful light colored button tufted headboard, and the mattress is a soft tempurpedic which is totally worth it, I have one at home for myself.” 

She’s looking at the paper, face contorted in something like a grateful frown, “Mr. Styles --” 

“It’s Harry.” 

“Okay, Harry,” she looks up to him, “Why did you do this for me? This is so expensive and -- and I don’t know how I could pay you back if --” 

“How many times do I have t’a tell ya, Love, there’s no need to pay me back.” He leans against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest casually, “You’re a good worker, sweet as can be, and have gone through a rough lot in life -- you deserve every piece of gifting that I do for you. And if that doesn’t suit your fancy in this case, think of it this way; your efficiency of work will improve ten fold if you’re obtaining a good night's rest, and lifting file boxes may not appear to be as gargantuan a task as it has been as of late and I won’t have to do any heavy lifting so that you don’t have to. Really this is a gift for both of us.” 

Harry expects a little more push back, but instead he gets a hug.  A very warm, tight little squeeze from her, and it takes him but a second to rearrange his limbs so that he can reciprocate it, “Thank you,” she murmurs against the skin of his throat, and he feels his heart hammering against his chest, “M’gonna do something elaborate for you know -- ‘ve got to. Know you say I don’t have to pay you back but I just I do . . .” she drops back down, looking up at him with the softest eyes he thinks his heart is going to burst through his chest, “In the least dramatic way I can put it, I feel like I owe you everything; m’never not grateful for all the wonderful things you do for me, but it just. . .it just stinks because it feels like I can’t do anything to reciprocate it.” 

His insides go melty, and maybe he shouldn’t have raised his hand to cradle her cheek in his palm, but he did. And maybe he shouldn’t have said, “You owe me nothing, but a smile on that pretty face of yours,” ever so gently, but he did. He’s glad for it to, when she gleams up at him brightly and squeezes him just a little tighter, before releasing him, a happy squeal leaving her. 

“I’ve got a new bed!” She exclaims, and he really hadn’t expected this great of a reaction from her, but he figures her back really must have been hurting for her to accept this and that makes him feel simultaneously sad and happy. Sad because his girl had been in pain for so long, there’s no telling how she’d been feeling. Happy because he was the one to alleviate that pain. Y/N snaps and kicks out her index finger, as she walks back out towards the living room, Harry following suit, “M’buying you dinner t’night Mr. Styles. No limit to what you can get -- I’ll even buy dessert!” 

She skips her way into her kitchen while Harry looks towards the big burly men sat on her couch, looking terribly misplaced among her things. 

“Well, gentlemen, she took this far better than she did in my imagination’s play by play.”

                                                                 .                              .                              .

The gallery is beautiful; a theme of hyperrealism that had both him and Y/N in absolute awe. Their reason for attending the show in the first place was so that Harry could pick out four paintings, one that would go in his home, and three that would be subject to a raffle drawing at the company Christmas party (he believes periodically giving his workers parties boost morale, and when they can win things at these parties, it adds a little extra umph to their work ethic -- whether it be because they want to do well for their loving boss, or they think he has the raffle rigged for the people who worked the hardest, he didn’t mind). He’d invited Y/N for two reasons: one, because he enjoys spending time with her outside of the realms of their job, and two -- she’s always had a lovely eye for knowing what people want. Harry interacts with his employees of course, but he’s their boss so they won’t be a hundred percent themselves with him (well, everyone but Y/N that is). Y/N is one of them, so he trusts her opinion for most of the party planning process including -- but not limited to -- what kind of drinks to have, food to buy, and gifts to dish out. 

Y/N’s still on a semi-high from the new mattress waiting for her at home and she admitted that she felt a little better now that she had paid for a highly expensive meal for the both of them (he had tried to nab the checkbook but she was just a tick faster). “Don’t think it stops there, Mr. Styles,” she had singsonged, “You’re being treated like a King for the next hundred years.” 

Her joy was infectious, Harry had been grinning like a knob the whole night. An absolute knobhead, especially when she grabs his wrist and tugs him towards a piece that looked so real, it almost seemed like one could reach out and touch it. He bought that one and two others, and before he could even be sad that they came for what they had needed and the gallery was nearing an end, Y/N suggests with a grin, “Come back to mine, yeah? We can jump on the new bed -- break ‘er in, n’all that.” 

What, was Harry going to say no? To a slumber party-esque jamboree of bed jumping with a girl he’s positively in love with? Not a chance! He agrees almost immediately and she seems to be ecstatic, leading them to now, jumping up and down on her new mattress, both of them sipping merrily on wine, Harry channeling his inner child and enjoying himself. Though he nearly knocks himself out on the ceiling fan a few times, they’re still laughing, and chatting, and everything is wonderful. It continues to be wonderful even when there is an aggressive knocking on the wall from her neighbors, telling them they were too loud. 

They drop down onto the bed, Y/N rumbling her lips grumpily, “Grumpy losers,” she all but huffs, “I can listen to their crazy  sex noises until 3AM but they can’t handle any laughter? Pricks.” 

Harry’s brows raise, “Crazy?” He pushes and Y/N nods, rolling her eyes.

“Loud, intense, sounds like a couple of banshees are in there. Which I’m all for! Sex is good, I’m sure, but can it not be so good on a Monday night when I’ve got work the next day?” 

Harry almost lets this slide -- almost doesn’t realize the implications of her words until he takes a moment to allow them to sink in, “Wait,” he begins, “You’re sure? Wouldn’t you -- wouldn’t you know?” And then he adds, “You don’t have to share if you don’t want to, but --” 

“No, no, s’fine,” she waves her hand like it’s no big deal, while Harry reaches for the glass of wine he had on her bedside table, “I’m a major virgin -- definitely annoying, but nobody’s showed any interest in me in. . .in that way. So maybe it isn’t fair of me to get so pissy with them, since I don’t know the joys of it or whatever.” She looks at him with furrowed brows, “Is it even that good though? I’ve heard mixed reviews.” 

Spluttering on the drink he was taking, Harry has to raise his hand to pat away the dribbles on his chin, “Uh -- jeez, Love,” he chuckles, shaking his head, “Tha’s a loaded question. Guess it depends on who you’re with, ultimately. Lot’s of factors play into it, I s’ppose.” He clears his throat, raising the tip of the bottle back to his mouth so he can have a proper drink this time, but he adds cheekily, “I’ve certainly had no complaints n’I’ve done it plenty.” 

With a gasp, Y/N reaches behind herself for a pillow and swings it around to swat his bicep, “You lecher,” she declares through a small giggle, as she pushes herself up so she’s sitting more than laying down, “Course, you are, you’re gorgeous aren’t you! Us mediocre folk have to sit on the sidelines while you’re out having a blast.” 

Harry shakes his head, “Mediocre? You think you’re mediocre?” 

“What, am I worse than that?” 

“No!” He exclaims, partially offended that she could even think that, “God, you’re beautiful -- inside n’out. S’ridiculous t’me that you  don’t have people knocking down your door to get to you.” 

She kisses the inside of her cheek soundly, “You seem to be the only one who thinks that, Mr. Styles.” Sighing, she flops down onto her side, cheek smushed against her palm, and Harry follows suit in laying across from her in the exact same fashion. He watches her, visibly seeing her eyes grow heavy, and his heart warms out how well this new bed is treating her already, falling asleep so quickly. Just before he’s sure she’s falling asleep, she mumbles, “S’too bad you aren’t in love with me -- then y’could jus’ take my virginity, n'I'd be happy.” 

After the words leave her lips, she’s sound asleep in seconds. 

Harry’s awake for hours.