Prince!Harry part 2 (Patreon)

Harry had never been more pleased with a decision before in his life. 

He had bed Y/N plenty of times since their first in the hot spring, and each time he’s is completely thrown and enamored by her body. Harry is not sure what it is about her that not only gets him incredibly hard but threatens to have him spill his seed far too soon. She’s soft and warm and malleable beneath his hands; any position he could think to put her in she goes easy, the bendy little thing, and the lewdness she is able to exude with merely a bat of her lashes makes him shudder. The only problem he has is that he is unable to ravish her throughout the entire day, as she does have duties she must perform and would get in trouble had she not been performing them -- but some days he’s able to coax her to stay within his room. Promises her the warmth of his fire and the flat of his tongue against her swollen button in the morning before she must attend her scheduled cleanings. 

No matter the times he tells her does she come to him when she is wanting. The way she falls apart, milking his cock and holding tightly to his shoulders, murmuring how badly she’d wanted him. “Why didn’t you come to me then, hmm Sweetheart? Would’ve taken care of you.” She would merely tell him that she didn’t wish to bother him any, “You’re so busy, my Lord, I wish not to trouble you over my desires.” 

“It is no trouble at all,” he told her, before flipping her so she laid on her side, holding her ankles together and continued to fuck himself into her, “If I could spend all day inside this sweet little pussy, I would. She’s mine now, don’t you remember?” 

Though, he did have a bone to pick with her. As sweet as she usually is, the past few days she had been a grumpy little thing. He couldn’t quite place it but she just appeared out of sorts, not taking to his teasing well, or not returning the smiles he gives her when she’s aiding in serving their dinner. Harry is left to wonder if he’d done something wrong, or said something that might have moved her the wrong way. Or wonders if it’d just been a bad few days for her, but whatever it was he wouldn’t stand for not knowing.

So he calls her to his chambers after dinner and prepares himself to be disappointed. Was she unhappy with the arrangement? If there were anything he could do to fix this, he would do it in a second, because he certainly hasn’t had his fill of her and he is questionable to when that time may come that he will. However, if she were no longer enjoying it then he would not keep her and would encourage her to do as she pleases, no matter how much it may hurt him. 

He’d needed her desperately the last few days; his brother was to marry a princess from up North and Harry grew weary of the affairs that preceded it. The first few days there was still a nice little welt from where Harry had punched him for pushing him into the mud, yet he felt as if he had nobody to truly snicker about it with. Everyone adored his brother -- sometimes, it felt as if Y/N was the only one on his side, and while she doesn’t openly critique or criticize his brother aloud (though he would surely welcome it, he’s understanding of why she’d be wary to) he senses that she agrees to some extent. Anytime he would finish a sentence with, “You know what I mean?” She would nod adamantly, “I see why you are upset, my Lord. I wish to make it better in anyway I can.” 

Though it’s the same spoon fed line all servants use, Y/N’s sounds more earnest and is not spoken in fear they she may be punished. The source of his worries isn’t even her and yet she still works to make him feel better, whether that be fetching him chocolates, remaking his bed, or letting him inside that sweet little cunt. It makes him feel. . .well, rather important, which you would think he’d feel already given he was a son of the king but when you’re not the heir of the throne it’s safe to say that nobody much gave a shit what he was doing. 

He works to show her his fondness to her through all things, may that be with his head between her legs, feeding her fruits, sweets, and the fine bread that she so indulges in when given the opportunity, or even caressing her back and holding her closely, shushing her when she murmurs worries of sullying his bed if she lay with him through the night. Harry is unsure of what to do with the warmth in his chest that he feels for her, so he places it within those things and just hopes that she may understand. 

Now, however, he worries that his intentions might have been muddled. 

Thirty minutes past supper, there’s a gentle knock upon the door to which he hears her voice call through it gently, “It’s Y/N, my Lord.” He replied telling her to enter as he smoothed out the sheets atop his bed, hoping that if things went right they would end up in it later tonight. By the time he turns to face her, she’s standing with her fingers interlocked in front of her, hanging down near her waist and her head tilted down towards him respectfully. His brows tipped inward, as he’d told her several times not to bother with such a thing. 

He scales the room towards her, weaving his fingers around her wrist and pulling just slight enough that she’d catch the hint. Y/N moves with him easily, wordlessly, but despite this she doesn’t feel cold; still radiates an encompassing warmth that hugs around him in a tight, comforting embrace. This makes him feel a little better, as he motions for her to sit atop of the ottoman at the foot of his mattress. Harry -- in a nature unlike his own -- kneels down before her, and her eyes widen considerably. Never had a prince knelt at her feet, he knew, and it must be jarring to someone so used to doing the kneeling.The way her mouth falls agape, only reminding him of that soft plushy mouth that feels so lovely against his own and speaks words syrupy and smooth,a  honeyed voice that spirals through his head as he shuts his eyes to rest. 

“Y/N,” he begins, taking her hand in his own and grasping it firmly, “Do you feel tempered towards me? You may tell me the truth, I will not punish you if the answer is yes. I would just like to know so I can make things right,” he explains slowly, nodding his head along with his words, “I have missed you in my bed but you have seemed surfeited of me, so I have not called upon you at night. What have I done to make you sour?” 

“Never, my Lord, I would never think to --” she shakes her so adamantly, he thinks she might boggle her own mind, her face warped from the distress at the thought, “It was -- oh, I’ve wanted you so terribly in these last few days that I’ve so desperately wanted to touch between my thighs but I. . .I’m quite embarrassed.” 

He tuts his head, running the pad of his thumb over each rounded, bruised bump of her knuckles, “Nothing to be ashamed of within these walls. Tell me if you would like.”

Y/N is silent for a few more moments, before her sheepish gaze locks with his own, fingers tightening around his hand minutely but Harry was so hyper aware of her touch it might as well been a bone crushing grip. “Well, my. . .my blood has come and I had presumed you would not wish to bed me in such a state. By no means have you made me sour, I’ve just been so frustrated that I am unable to have you it has put me in a poor mood towards everyone. My apologies ring deep my Lord, for ever making you think otherwise.” 

Harry was -- well, for lack of a better word -- absolutely elated! Nothing had changed as he had feared, she had no grown tired of him nor bored of their antics, and she was merely such an ill-tempered mood because she thought he may not want her like this. 

“Oh, how wrong can you be, you silly little thing?” He reaches up, cradling her cheek and a smile quirks at his mouth when she almost immediately melts into his touch, “You think I fear a bit of blood? If you wish to be bed, all you have to do is tell me, and I will sate that craving within your belly.” 

He sees her visibly shudder at his words, “I --” she begins, words faltering when his other hand snakes up the skirt of her smock, “Only if you wish to. I would be happy to satiate your desires if need be; I’ve heard of men enjoying the comfort between a woman’s squeezed thighs, if you do not wish to get dirty.” 

“I want to get as dirty as I possibly can with you,” he tells her truthfully, slipping his hands beneath her bum and raising her upward, making easy to grip her by the bum and carry her around to his mattress where he sets her down carefully, “Filthy and sticky -- want to make you a slippery, filthy little mess around my cock.” 

She pouts her mouth out some and Harry leans in to smear their lips together, eyes fluttering shut as a small moan escapes him and rumbles through his being. How he’d missed this  -- the warmth of her lips smoothed over his own and the sweet taste of her tongue when he’d let his own flutter into her mouth. The way she liquefies beneath his touch, to the point but where it takes a mere few fingers to stroke against the inside of her thighs for her to part them easily so he may fit his way in between. 

His hands slide beneath the inside of her smock, fingers sliding and stretching from the outer parts of her thighs, up to frame her hips and giving a little squeeze once he did. Y/N is never very vocal -- though he’s never requested it she bites down quite hard on her lip to make sure of such -- but today she can’t stop the little whimper-y whines and moans that succumb her. They all flow from her mouth so readily that he’s having trouble not unsheathing his cock immediately to dip between her walls. 

Her legs tremble as he presses the fabric all the way up, flipping it over her hips before re-earthing one hand to loosen the few strands of the bodice. As soon as he does so, he works to get her out of it, pulling it over her head and revealing the body he’d so eagerly wanted. Suckling his bottom lip into his mouth, he nibbles on it hard while both hands reach up to cup her tender breasts, no doubt sore in result of her bleed. A small gasp leaves her when he bends down, pulling her sensitive nipple into his mouth and suckling softly, moaning around her when she squeezes him between her thighs in reaction to it. The other nipple he keeps between two fingers, rolling it gently, carefully, reveling within the drawn whine that accompanies a subtle thrust of her hips upward. 

When he pops from her nipple, there’s a string of spit connecting his bottom lip to the pert, pebbled little thing. He looks up to her, a small smile tempting his cheeks, “You make the sweetest sounds,” he murmurs, parting his lips to bite down on the soft side of her breast only to make her hiss, “Are you still feeling tingles and sparkles within your belly despite the ache?” He asks her and she nods quickly, scooting down so her crotch was that much closer to where he’d been bulging through his trousers, and he has to bite back his own whimper that threatens to leave him. 

“Everything you do to me feels so lovely,” she remarks, not a hint of dishonesty laced within her words as her hands find their place on his shoulders, fingers digging  deeply into the muscle, and Harry bristles with the attention, “I -- may I put you in my mouth?” 

Harry reaches up, cradles her cheek in his palm and runs his thumb against the skin carefully, “As lovely as that sweet little tongue is on me,” he murmurs, sliding his other hand beneath the straps of her garter belt (what held a disposable cotton pad pressed to her), finding the very swollen bud that beckons the pads of his index and forefinger and lulls it beneath them. Her back arches, body muscles wound tight as he continued, “I wish to please you instead. Would that be okay? If I just quelled that hunger within you?”

She nods again and at this point, Harry thinks she would have agreed to anything that he’d asked. If he told her that he wanted to coax his fingers inside her besides his slumbering brother’s bed, he’d guarantee she’d go willing and wanting. It only makes him leak into his trousers, his cock pleading with him to let him out, crying from the tip how terribly he wished to slip inside of her. He’d only ignored this though, leaning forward and suckling the other nipple into his mouth and sucking hard, quickly, murmuring a laugh around her. His movements are diligent and quick, and the swell of her clit makes it possible for him to roll it between his fingers, and he feels her flutter. 

Y/N comes undone faster than he had presumed possible, moaning, grappling for him, whispering rushed thank you’s again and again and again that he’d merely laughed and shushed her,. “You’re precious,” he mumbled, sliding his fingers from her belt and going in with his other hand to rid her of the contraption all together, but she catches him by his wrists. His brows furrow, “What is wrong?” 

“I fear -- I fear that I’ll make a mess of your sheets, and you do not deserve to sleep on unclean sheets, my Lord.” She spoke to him earnestly and there’s something about her words -- her care -- that makes his heart twist tightly within in his chest. It encourages him to press his lips to hers once more, smearing them over one another sweetly as he snuck his hand beneath her back and pressed her up so he could once again hold her. Though he isn’t moving them to the floor for his want of clean sheets -- he personally wouldn’t really care, considering all they had to do was strip the bed of it and have another sent up -- but he does it for her. For her peace of mind, rather, as he doesn’t believe she’d be able to relax if she thought too hard on the fact that a mess was being made. 

So they shift to the floor, he tucks his hands into the leather straps of the garter belt and works them down her legs. She is much messier than she had been before, but he doesn’t spend much time looking, as she mewls for him while he wriggles out of his trousers. His cock slaps up against his chest with a thwack that makes him shudder, so stiff that he has to tilt it down from his abdomen in order to paint it down from the top of her slit to her fluttering hole, where he sinks in. A moan drags from the depths of his chest as he nods his head, rocking his hips in little rolls four times going a bit deeper with each, until he bottoms out with his balls pressed firm to her bum. Her thighs close around him and he falls forward, holding himself up by one arm, feeling his knees dig into the wooden boards of the floor but paying no mind to the bite of pain he suffers. 

Being encased in her warmth was much too gratifying, he would say. She’s tight, her walls are soft and wet, and give way to the shape of his cock with little trouble. The way she keens for him, sighing contentedly like this is all that she could have ever wanted. This moment, with his cock pressed deep inside of her, nudging against the bump of nerves inside of her that has her so worked up. She was already squeezing him -- pulsating around his cock and he figures that around this time she must be terribly sensitive. Sensitive and achy and sore but with such desperate need to be filled. 

He thrusts hard and fast, only slowing when he sees tears tickling at her waterline, “Am I being to rough?” He had begun to ask but she shook her head and reached down to his hips, pulling on him so that he’d start moving quickly once again with a soft plea of, “Please, please, keep going, it -- it just feels so good.” 

So Harry did as she asked of him, holding on tightly to the flesh of her hips and rocked himself inside of her hard and deep until her whole body knotted, squeezing him so tightly between her walls he were barely able to move. Y/N falls apart around him, soaking his cock with a moan that rattles him to his core and the way she’s looking at him, with pupils blown, mouth slicked with spit, and trembling -- well, he has to do everything in his power not to come undone as well. 

“Thank you,” she whimpers, and Harry sinks lower so that she could wrap her arms around him, and he could hold her the best he could with the position that they were in, “God, thank you, thank you.” 

“Oh, Pet,” he hums, nestling his face into the crook of her neck and breathing in deeply, “You’re quite welcome, but I’m nowhere near finished with you just yet.”