Heavy hands — part IV (Patreon)

Author's note: Hi lovelies! This chapter took me a little longer to finish than usual — mostly because I really wanted the smut to feel right. I wanted it to be intense, emotional, and something that you would enjoy reading just as much as I enjoyed writing it. Hopefully, it was worth the wait. 🖤

‼️Due to Patreon’s content guidelines, the full uncensored version of this chapter — including Harry teaching Y/N everything in their first intimate moment 👀 — is posted separately on Tumblr.‼️

‼️ UPDATE (07/07) the following chapter CONTAINS smut scene.‼️

Thank you for your patience, your support, and for being here with me. Your excitement keeps me going — truly.

📌 Warnings: the following chapter contains SMUT, rated R content, +18 content. You've been warned!

word count: 5.2K (all together). it might seem shorter but it's because the rest is on tumblr.

The hallway was dim, echoing with muffled bass from behind the walls and the quiet tap of Y/N’s boots against the concrete floor as she hurried after Liv.

“Liv, wait—” she called out, her breath catching in her throat.

Liv paused but didn’t turn around.

Y/N stepped closer. “I wanted to come tonight,” she said softly. “I needed to. For me.”

Liv finally turned, arms crossed, her expression unreadable. “And you couldn’t just tell me that?” Liv’s jaw tensed. “You needed to lie?”

“It wasn’t about lying,” Y/N murmured. “It wasn’t even about you.”

Liv gave a short laugh. “That’s rich.”

Y/N stepped closer, her voice steadier now. “I’ve spent most of my life being afraid. Letting other people decide what I do. What I say. Where I go.” She paused. “I wanted to choose this. For once.”

Liv narrowed her eyes. “You should’ve told me.”

Y/N hesitated. “Maybe. But I needed it to be mine. And would it have changed anything?”

Liv didn’t answer.

Then her expression hardened again. “You should’ve told me about him.”

Y/N frowned. “There’s nothing to tell.”

Liv’s eyes narrowed. “Really? So you just ended up with your tongue down his throat by accident?”

Y/N felt her cheeks burn. “Liv—”

“I deserve to know if something’s going on,” Liv snapped.

Y/N inhaled, steeling herself. “Are you together?”

“Do you feel something for him?” Y/N pressed, her voice quiet but firm. “Are you… together?”

“I feel something, okay?” Liv snapped. “And I’m pretty sure he does too.”

Y/N’s heart dropped.

But before she could respond, a low voice echoed from behind.

“Enough. Don’t lie.”

Both girls turned.

Harry stood at the end of the hall, bloodied knuckles now clean, a fresh bruise blooming along his jaw, his dark eyes locked coldly on Liv.

His presence sucked the air from the hallway.

“You and I—” he said, stepping forward, voice hard and ice-cold, “—used to fuck. Almost a year and a half ago.”

Liv's eyes widened.

Harry didn’t stop. “We are nothing. We were never anything. You were convenient, Liv. That’s it. And whatever delusion you’ve been feeding yourself—let it go.”

She looked stunned, her mouth slightly open as if grasping for words.

Harry’s voice lowered, cutting. “We will never be anything. Not now. Not ever.”

The silence that followed was brutal.

Liv’s jaw clenched, eyes stinging with humiliation.

Harry’s eyes flicked to Y/N’s, dark and unreadable for a heartbeat.

Then, without another word, he grabbed her hand—rough, sure, and utterly commanding.

Y/N froze for a second, heart hammering in her chest.

“Come on,” he said low, pulling her back toward the sound of the music and the crowd.

The corridor’s cold tension gave way to the pulse of bass and the murmur of laughter.

Bodies swayed and bumped, smoke curling in lazy spirals above their heads.

Harry didn’t let go of her hand as he threaded through the dancers, the heat of the room pressing around them.

“Forget all that. The lies, the noise. None of it matters.”

Y/N’s pulse quickened—not from the music, but from the weight of him so near.

Without a word, Harry slipped behind her, his body pressing close against hers. His hands settled on her waist, fingers tracing slow, deliberate circles as they swayed together to the rhythm pulsing through the room.

He leaned in, brushing a hand through her hair, tucking loose strands behind her shoulder. His voice dropped low, a husky murmur against her skin. “You look good tonight. Different. Dangerous.”

Before she could respond, his lips grazed the sensitive skin at the curve of her neck, warm and electrifying.

Y/N’s breath hitched, heat flooding her cheeks as she trembled slightly in his hold.

He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes over her shoulder, his gaze dark and steady. “No running away now.”

Harry’s hands slid up from her waist, fingertips tracing over the soft, bare skin just beneath the edge of her dress. His touch was electric—possessive, hungry, like he was claiming her with every slow, deliberate caress.

"I haven't been able to stop thinking about you," he growled low, voice thick with want. "Since the second I saw you."

Y/N’s breath hitched as his fingers trailed lower, teasing the curve of her hips, sliding beneath the fabric just enough to make her skin flush with heat. The music pulsed around them, but all she could feel was him—hot, heavy, pressing hard against her.

His body pressed flush to hers, and she gasped, heart pounding, as she felt the hard length of him against her thigh. The sharp friction ignited something deep and unfamiliar inside her, stirring a craving she hadn’t dared to admit.

His mouth captured hers in a fierce, demanding kiss, tongues clashing, teeth grazing—taking control with an experienced, intoxicating confidence that left her dizzy.

She trembled in his arms, raw and aching, overwhelmed by the intensity of him.

Harry’s hands roamed lower, slipping beneath the hem of her dress to cup the swell of her ass, pulling her flush against him as his hips ground against hers.

“Tell me what you want, pet,” he whispered into her mouth, voice rough and urgent. “I... I don’t know.” Y/N’s heart slammed against her ribs, her voice barely more than a breath.

“Are you a virgin?” His dark eyes locked onto hers, razor-sharp and demanding.

“No. I-I….” whispering, her cheeks flamed hot as she shook her head.

Harry’s jaw tightened, a slow, guttural growl escaping him. Then, like his knees almost gave way, he murmured, “Christ…”

That confession hit him like a punch. His breath hitched, lips parting just enough to show the heat smoldering beneath. “Fuck... that just makes me want you so much more.”

His hands gripped her waist tighter, pulling her impossibly closer—his body flush against hers, every inch burning with need. “You’re mine tonight. And I’m gonna take my time showing you exactly what that means.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, caught between fear and a fiery craving she hadn’t known she had.

The bass still rattled through the walls, the crowd’s roar fading into the background noise as Harry tangled himself with Y/N. His breath was ragged, his body bruised and aching from the fight, but none of that slowed the fire burning beneath his skin.

He pulled away just as footsteps approached—steady, familiar. Nate’s voice cut through the haze, sharp but not unkind.

“What are you still doing here?” Nate called, eyes scanning the room until they landed on Harry. “You should be home resting, mate. Or, you know, not walking around with half your ribs broken.”

Y/N froze slightly, instinctively moving half a step behind Harry. But Harry didn’t flinch. He stood solid, arm curled around her waist, his bruised body casually leaning into hers as if she were a crutch he didn’t want to let go of.

“Can’t sleep anyway,” Harry said simply, his voice gravelly.

“You can’t breathe,” Nate shot back, incredulous. “I saw your face hit the mat like a fucking bag of cement, mate.”

“Still standing, aren’t I?”

Before Nate could argue more, a tall girl approached from behind him, heels clicking on the sticky floor, a drink in one hand and a phone in the other. She was striking, with soft brown skin and braids that hung down her back. Her eyes lit up when she saw Harry, then flicked curiously to Y/N.

“This her?” the girl asked, tipping her head slightly. “Is this the girl?”

Harry’s jaw twitched. “Tasha, this is Y/N,” he said simply. Then added, with a slight edge, “She’s not up for questions.”

Tasha gave a little smile anyway and held out a hand.

“I’m Tasha. Nate’s girlfriend.”

Y/N hesitated, then shook it softly, murmuring, “Hi.”

Nate raised his brows. “So. Y/N.” He grinned. “You study here?”

Harry shot him a look.

Tasha elbowed him gently. “Nate.”

“What? It’s not an interrogation. I’m being friendly.” He looked at Y/N again. “You got him to dance. That’s like… miracle-level stuff.”

Harry’s arm tightened around Y/N’s waist, grounding her, holding her close. His body was warm and steady against her side.

“She’s full of surprises,” Harry muttered, almost to himself.

Y/N’s cheeks flushed, but she said nothing.

“Where’d you two meet?” Nate tried again.

Harry exhaled slowly, clearly running out of patience. “Around.”

Tasha raised an eyebrow. “You’re not gonna give us anything, huh?”

“Nope.”

Y/N couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped her throat.

Harry glanced down at her, something soft flickering behind his eyes for just a second. His hand slid slightly lower on her waist, thumb brushing her side.

Tasha leaned in toward Y/N, voice low and conspiratorial. “I like you already. You’ve got him rattled.”

Nate grinned. “No joke. He’s like—what’s the word—domesticated.”

Harry gave him a cold look. “Careful.”

“Alright, alright,” Nate said, laughing. “We’re happy for you, man. For real.”

Tasha gave Y/N a wink. “If he gives you trouble, just call me.”

“I won’t,” Harry said flatly.

Y/N smiled, heart still racing from earlier. But beneath it all, she felt it again—the subtle thread of protection in Harry’s clipped tone. He wasn’t hiding her because he was ashamed. He was keeping her to himself. Guarding her from a world that had clearly been brutal to him.

And part of her… liked it.

Even if she wasn’t sure what it meant yet.

Nate chuckled, stepping back, eyes flicking once more to Y/N, then to Harry’s bruised face and swollen eye. “Don’t do anything stupid, alright?”

Harry’s hand tightened on Y/N’s waist, his dark gaze locking with hers. “No promises.”

The music pulsed louder, and Nate’s footsteps faded into the crowd as Harry pulled Y/N closer, his breath hot against her ear.

“Let’s get out of here,” he murmured, voice rough with pain and something more. “I’ve waited long enough.”

Y/N’s heart flipped, breath catching as she looked up at him. His eyes were darker than before, heavy-lidded and stormy, swallowing her whole. There was no hesitation left in him now—only hunger.

“I can’t keep pretending this isn’t driving me mad,” he murmured, his nose brushing along her jaw, lips grazing the corner of her mouth. “Every time you look at me like that, all wide-eyed and sweet…”

His hand slid lower, fingers splaying at her hip, pulling her tighter against him.

“I’m not going to make it through another fucking hour of this,” he breathed. “I need you, pet.”

Y/N’s breath trembled.

She could still feel the dull throb of the bass through the floor, the lights flashing around them like heartbeats—but it all faded as he spoke, as his words wrapped around her spine like smoke.

The club doors burst open behind them with a rush of hot air and pulsing bass, but the night outside was cool and sharp. Streetlights cast long shadows along the pavement as Harry guided her out with a firm hand at the small of her back, his other stuffed into his jacket pocket like he needed it to keep himself steady.

Y/N’s skin still tingled from where he’d touched her. Her lips were swollen, her body still humming, dazed in a way that wasn’t just about the music.

They didn’t speak at first. The silence between them felt loaded. Heavy with everything they hadn’t done yet.

But as they stood near the edge of the sidewalk, waiting for the black cab to pull up, Harry’s hand brushed against hers. He didn’t lace their fingers together. Just let them touch.

“You got a roommate?” he asked, voice low and casual—but there was something sharp underneath. Something tense.

Y/N blinked. “Uh—yeah. Emma. She is home”.

She expected him to step back. To hesitate. She even opened her mouth, ready to say, Maybe we should take a raincheck—

But Harry just tilted his head and cut her off.

“Then we’ll go to mine.”

The cab pulled up with a soft hiss, headlights washing them in yellow. Harry opened the door for her and waited. When she slid inside, he followed, shutting the door behind them with a soft thunk that felt a little too final.

He didn’t ask if she was sure.

He didn’t second guess it.

He just leaned forward, voice dark and gravelly as he said to the driver:

“Dalston. Milden Crescent”

Y/N’s pulse thudded at the way he said it—like it was already decided.

Like she was already his.

The moment the door clicked shut and the cab began to roll forward, Harry was on her.

There was no hesitation—no warning.

His hand slipped behind her neck, pulling her close, and then his mouth was on hers. Hot. Demanding. Possessive. Like he’d waited too long, and now that he had her, he wasn’t letting go.

Y/N gasped softly against his lips as her back hit the leather seat, her body molding into his. His hands weren’t idle—one traced up under her jacket, sliding along the bare skin of her waist, his thumb brushing the underside of her breast, teasing but not too much. Just enough to make her gasp again, this time from the heat curling in her belly.

Her heart thundered in her chest, and for a moment, her fingers fumbled against the edge of his hoodie, unsure of where to hold him—how to touch him. She was nervous.

But not scared.

Not even a little.

Because even through the chaos of it—Harry's bruised mouth, his calloused hands, the quiet groan that rumbled low in his throat—there was something grounding in the way he moved. His touch wasn’t rushed. Not careless. Every slide of his palm, every tilt of his mouth against hers—it was measured, controlled, and devastatingly intimate.

And most of all, she knew—if she asked him to stop, he would.

But she didn’t want to stop.

His hand slid down to her thigh, squeezing lightly through the thin fabric of her dress, his mouth dropping to her neck. He pushed her hair aside with a rough gentleness, his teeth grazing the spot just below her ear as he muttered, "Do you have any idea what you do to me?"

Y/N swallowed hard. Her hands finally moved—clutching the front of his hoodie like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.

His lips found hers again, slower this time, deeper. His nose nudged hers, his fingers curling around her bare thigh, sliding upward under the hem.

“You nervous?” he whispered against her lips.

She nodded once, eyes fluttering shut.

He pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes. His thumb brushed over her cheek, jaw tight.

“I’ll stop, pet,” he murmured, voice low, gravelly, but serious. “You just say the word. Right now.”

Y/N stared at him, breath shaking.

And then—softly, but clearly—she whispered, “Don’t.”

Harry’s jaw flexed. He swore under his breath.

His hand slid higher.

She arched into him, her body melting beneath his, and in the back of that dark, swaying cab, with London lights flickering through the windows, Y/N let herself be touched like she never had before—like she’d never wanted anyone else to.

The cab rolled to a slow stop in front of an old brick building in Camden. Dark ivy climbed up the corners, its edges swaying gently in the night breeze. Harry stepped out first, rounding the car without a word, and opened the door for her. His hand reached out, fingers curling gently around hers—not possessive, just… there.

She followed him up two narrow flights of stairs, the worn wood creaking under their steps. The corridor smelled faintly of old books, coffee, and paint.

He unlocked the door with a quiet click, pushing it open for her.

“Shoes off,” was all he said.

It was nothing like she’d imagined.

The flat was dim, but warm. Lived-in. Personal.

A navy corduroy sofa faced a scratched wooden coffee table cluttered with stray receipts, a lighter, and a half-burnt candle. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined one wall, the shelves stuffed with paperbacks and hardcovers shoved haphazardly into place. Some were stacked horizontally, others balanced precariously on top of one another. There were records, too—old vinyl sleeves leaning against each other beside a turntable with dust on the cover.

On one of the shelves, Y/N spotted framed photographs—a mix of black-and-white and color. A younger Harry with a woman who must’ve been his mother. One of him and a group of boys, all laughing, clearly drunk. Another of Harry alone, gloves hung over his shoulder, blood on his cheek and fire in his eyes.

She caught sight of the bed through the half-open door. Dark sheets. No headboard. And beside it, piles of books on the floor. Not arranged—just dumped in soft towers, like he read a new one each night and never put anything away.

There was something lonely about it.

Something intimate.

Harry watched her silently from the living room. His bruised face was unreadable, but his eyes never left her.

She turned to face him.

Y/N stood in the doorway, unsure what to do.

Harry walked ahead of her, pulling his jacket off with a wince. He tossed it onto the arm of the couch, then peeled his hoodie over his head. She saw the way his muscles tensed, how he bit back a grimace as his ribs flared with pain.

But he didn’t complain. Didn’t explain. Didn’t ask if she was okay.

Instead, he turned to her slowly, chest bare now—bandaged, bruised, skin stretched tight over lean muscle and sharp bones. His eyes dragged over her like he was calculating something.

He stepped closer.

“You’re not gonna stand there all night, are you?”

His voice was quiet, but not soft. Never soft.

Y/N swallowed hard, her fingers tightening on the strap of her purse. “I just… didn’t know if you wanted—”

“If I didn’t want you here,” he cut in, stepping even closer, “you wouldn’t be.”

That made her throat go dry.

Harry stopped in front of her, towering over her now. The tension in him hadn’t eased. If anything, it had hardened—something dangerous simmering under the surface. Something he wasn’t bothering to hide anymore.

He reached out, fingers curling under her chin, forcing her to look up.

His gaze was unreadable.

“You still nervous?”

She nodded, barely.

His thumb brushed her jaw. Not gently. Just firm—a reminder of who he was.

“Good,” he murmured, leaning in so his mouth hovered by her ear. “Means you know what you’re getting into.”

She stood frozen in the doorway, breath shallow, fingers clenched too tightly around the strap of her bag.

She didn’t know what she was waiting for. An invitation, maybe. A reason to back out. But Harry didn’t look back. He just dropped his hand to the wall, flicked a switch, and cast the flat into a warmer glow—soft, golden light that pooled over the couch and stretched long shadows against the walls.

Then he lowered himself onto the couch with a grunt, one arm pressed against his ribs. His shirt was gone, discarded on the armrest, leaving him in just his low-slung jeans and a black sling supporting his left arm. His chest was bruised and bandaged, skin marred by scrapes and deep, angry bruises. But his eyes—those stayed on her.

“I’m not gonna touch you if you don’t want me to,” he said. His voice was lower now. Still rough, still Harry. “But if you do…”

He sat back, legs spread, good arm draped over the back of the couch. “Come here.”

Her heart thudded so hard it made her ears ring. She let her purse drop to the floor.

She moved slowly, each step uncertain, like her body wasn’t entirely hers anymore. When she reached him, he looked up at her, his eyes darker than she’d ever seen them. There was heat there. Hunger. But patience, too—anchored in restraint. Just barely.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” she whispered.

“I know.” His palm slid along her thigh, slow and warm through her jeans. “I’ll teach you. Just need you to trust me.”

She swallowed. Then nodded.

Harry’s hand guided her gently—up and over his legs—until she was straddling him on the couch, knees on either side of his thighs. The position brought them so close, chest to chest, breath to breath. She could feel his heat, even through the denim. The strength coiled beneath his skin. The sharp inhale he took when her knee accidentally nudged against his ribs.

She flinched. “Sorry—”

“Doesn’t matter,” he muttered, his hand splaying low on her back, pulling her in tighter. “Doesn’t matter if it hurts. I want you.”

Her breath caught.

He tipped his head up, lips brushing the corner of her mouth—just barely. “You’re shaking.”

“I know.”

“That’s okay.” His voice was gentle now, almost coaxing.

Her fingers curled against his chest, over the bandage. She could feel the unsteady rhythm of his heart beneath it.

“I want you.”

His mouth crushed into hers—hungry, deep, but still careful. His lips moved with purpose, with need, coaxing her open, swallowing every shaky exhale she gave. Her hands trembled as they found his shoulders, feeling the ridges of muscle, the tremors of restraint in every part of him.

“I’ve never…” She swallowed, cheeks hot. “I’ve never done anything like this.”

“I’ll go slow,” he promised, voice thick, strained with how hard he was holding back. “You tell me to stop—I stop. You tell me anything, I listen. But right now…”

He shifted, letting his head fall against the back of the couch, pupils blown wide, lips parted.

“Right now, I need to touch you.”

Her breath caught.

He curled his fingers around the hem of her dress, slowly easing it upward until it gathered around her hips. The air hit the soft cotton of her panties, and his jaw twitched. She could feel the hardness of him beneath her now, thick and hot through his jeans, pressing right against the center of her.

Harry’s hand slid between them, dragging two fingers along the outside of her panties. “So fucking sweet…”

She gasped, hips jerking.

“Easy, pet. Let me…” He leaned forward, pressing his mouth to her throat, kissing a line up to her jaw. “I’m gonna teach you how to feel good, okay?”

She nodded—barely—and he slipped his fingers under the fabric, teasing gently over her folds. Her whole body tensed.

“You’re wet,” he whispered against her ear. “God—this is how bad you want me?”

“Harry…” she gasped, nails digging into his shoulders.

“Shhh,” he soothed, kissing her collarbone, his good hand working slow, slow circles against her clit. “You’re doing so good. Let me open you up a little, yeah?”

His fingers slid lower, slick with her arousal, easing between her folds with practiced patience. She whimpered when one finger dipped in, the stretch unfamiliar, but not painful.

“You’re tight,” he growled, voice low and possessive. “I’ll take my time. Make sure it’s good for you, yeah? Just relax. Let me feel you.”

He moved gently, coaxing, stroking, letting her body learn the rhythm of his touch. She rocked slightly against his lap, mouth falling open, eyes fluttering closed.

Harry kissed her then—deep, hot, wanting—and she melted into it, into him, as he continued to work her with slow, tender precision.

When she moaned against his mouth, soft and high, his cock throbbed beneath her. Still trapped in his jeans, still straining painfully against the zipper.

“I wanna be inside you so bad it’s killing me,” he panted against her lips. “But you come first. Always.”

He pumped his finger in and out, slow and steady, and her hips began to move with him, instinctively searching for more. Her thighs tightened around his.

“Feels good, yeah?”

“Y-Yeah.”

“Gonna give you another.”

He slid a second finger in—carefully—stretching her gently, curling them inside just enough to make her body jolt.

“Harry—”

“Let me make you come,” he murmured, brushing his lips across hers.

His thumb found her clit again, and now—now—it was everything. The rhythm of his fingers inside her. The soft grind of his palm. The press of his thumb. It built fast and hot and overwhelming, like a tidal wave swelling in her gut.

Her breath caught. “I—I think I—”

“You are,” he whispered, his voice tight. “Right here in my lap. Such a good girl fo’ me”.

His mouth found hers—deep, hungry—and the moment his tongue brushed hers, she shattered.

Her whole body went rigid, her hips locking against his hand as she cried out into his mouth, wave after wave crashing through her until she had nothing left but trembling limbs and a broken whimper of his name.

Harry held her tight through all of it, fingers still stroking her slowly, coaxing her down. Letting her ride every second of it out.

When she finally collapsed against him, panting, skin flushed and damp, he cradled the back of her head and kissed her temple.

Y/N was still trembling in his lap, her head tucked beneath his chin, skin damp with sweat and breathless from the high he’d just pulled out of her.

Harry hadn’t moved—hadn’t said a word—but she could feel the tension radiating off him like heat from a flame. His chest rose and fell with shallow, uneven breaths, and beneath her, his cock pressed hard and insistent against her soaked panties.

She shifted slightly.

His body jerked.

A sound escaped his throat—low, guttural, barely a breath. He leaned back slightly to look at her, his eyes wild now. No longer patient. No longer careful.

“You don’t know,” he muttered, voice shaking with restraint, “how close I am to losing it.”

Y/N swallowed, her voice barely a whisper. “Then lose it.”

His eyes closed, just for a second. When they opened again, something inside him had cracked.

Without another word, Harry hooked his thumb into the waistband of his jeans. He lifted his hips—slowly, carefully—and pushed them down, the button already undone from before. His boxer briefs came with them, his injured arm kept still while he used the other, moving with practiced ease even through the pain.

Her eyes dropped—

—and she froze.

He was huge.

Thick. Long. Veins snaking along the shaft, flushed at the tip. The kind of size that made her thighs press together instinctively.

She felt her whole body heat up. Her mouth parted slightly, eyes wide, unsure if she should look away—or stare.

Harry noticed.

His voice broke the silence, low and a little smug. “It’s okay,” he murmured, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “You can look.”

Her lips parted. “I didn’t think it would… I mean—”

He huffed a breath of a laugh, pulling her in closer. “I know, baby.”

Her panties clung to her, soaked. His cock rested right beneath her now, hot and heavy against the curve of her ass. Nothing between them but the thin fabric of her thong, and even that was already sticking to her from how wet she still was.

“I just need to feel you,” he whispered, voice cracking around the edges. “Just for a second. Please.”

She nodded, flushed and shaking and wide-eyed—but she nodded.

Harry groaned—actually groaned—and gripped her hips with his good hand, grinding her gently down against him.

His bare cock slid along the wet fabric of her thong, the head catching right against her clit, slick with both their arousal. The contact made them both jolt.

“Fuck—fuck,” he gasped, throwing his head back against the couch. “That’s it. Ride me, baby. Just like that. Take what you want.”

She moved, timidly at first, hips shifting forward and back, and the head of his cock kept brushing against her in the most maddening way. Every time, she felt the thick pressure of him against her folds, almost inside—but not.

He growled low in his throat, his hand slipping under her dress, dragging it up again. “Take this off.”

Her dress came over her head, tossed to the side with no hesitation this time. She was down to just her thong now, her body flushed and bare, straddling a fully naked Harry, whose self-control was hanging on by a thread.

His eyes dropped to her chest—and then his mouth was on her.

She gasped when his lips wrapped around one of her nipples, tongue dragging slowly as he groaned deep in his chest. His teeth grazed, not enough to hurt—just enough to make her feel it.

She bucked against him involuntarily.

“Oh my God—”

“Yeah?” he rasped, switching to the other breast, sucking harder now. “That feel good?”

Her hips moved faster, grinding against the length of him. Her soaked thong slid easily over his cock, coating him with every pass. She could feel how close he was—how hard he throbbed under her, how his mouth faltered on her skin every time her hips snapped just right.

“Gonna make me come, baby,” he growled. “Fucking hell…”

She moaned, breath catching. “Harry—”

“You feel that?” he murmured, grinding her down, slow and firm. “That’s me. That’s what you do to me.”

She nodded, eyes hazy, body burning.

He grunted, sweat beading at his temple. “Gonna come all over you. Just like this. Gonna make a mess.”

The raw need in his voice made her clench.

But he didn’t come yet. Not until he kissed her again—kissed her like he owned her, like her mouth was the only thing tethering him to the earth—and she cried out into him, moaning his name as she rubbed herself against him again and again, soaked and aching.

Then Harry’s whole body went rigid.

“Fuck—fuck—I’m coming—”

He let out a choked groan, hips grinding once, twice more before she felt the heat of him spill across her skin. Her thighs. Her stomach. The air was thick with it—her gasps, his ragged breathing, the sticky slide of their bodies pressed together.

And then they collapsed into each other, her cheek against his shoulder, his hand still holding her tight.

Neither of them spoke for a long moment.

Then Harry whispered, his voice hoarse against her skin:

“Next time… I want it all.”