The taste of you — one shot (Patreon)

Author's note: hi loves 🤍 I wanted to write something a little cheeky — something hot, full of that kind of want that sneaks up when you shouldn’t be thinking about it. I wanted the reader to feel the desperation, the tension, the way love can still burn bright even after years together.But mostly, I wanted the ending to feel like them — soft, safe, and tucked away in their own little cocoon, where the world can’t reach. 🤍 hope you enjoy & let me know what you think in the comments.

word count: 5K

🚨This story contains mature themes and NSFW content — reader discretion is advised.It’s written with emotional depth and romantic context, but please only read if you’re comfortable with mature content🚨

The restaurant hums with the kind of laughter that comes from expensive wine and tired executives. A long table glows under soft amber light, scattered with candles that have melted into uneven shapes.

Y/N sits beside Harry, surrounded by his team—label reps, management, PR, the kind of people who use words like rollout, projection, and global campaign between sips of red wine. She smiles when someone looks her way, nods when they mention the new album, but her attention is elsewhere.

It’s on him.

Harry’s been polite and composed all evening, answering questions with that smooth calm he wears in meetings, his voice low and deliberate. But it’s the way he sits that undoes her.

His shirt is black, the top two buttons undone, the thin gold chain at his throat glinting every time he moves. The sleeves are rolled just enough to show the tattoos at his wrists, ink catching light against skin. His hair curls softly at the ends, a few strands falling into his eyes when he laughs. He smells faintly of sandalwood and something darker—clean, warm, familiar.

He’s listening intently to someone across the table, elbow resting on the arm of his chair, fingers idly tracing the rim of his glass. Every gesture is easy, elegant, practiced without trying.

The deep, melodic rumble of his laugh as he charmed some important-looking executive. The way his Adam's apple bobbed when he took a sip of water. It was all too much. A warm, heavy ache had settled between her legs an hour ago, and it was now a persistent, throbbing demand.

And all Y/N can think is how unfair it is to look that good while pretending to be bored.

When he leans back, his thigh brushes hers under the table. Just enough to make her breath catch. His eyes don’t move from the conversation, but the corner of his mouth curves like he heard it anyway.

She tries to focus—on the food, on the laughter, on anything but the slow, magnetic pull sitting inches away. But she’s wanted him all night. And by the way he keeps shifting closer, she knows he knows it.

He turned to her then, leaning close to murmur something about the label’s marketing plan. His breath was warm against her ear, his cologne—something clean and darkly green—wrapping around her.

“They want a summer release,” he said, his voice a low vibration that went straight to her core.

She just nodded, her own voice trapped somewhere in her throat. All she could think about was the press of his thigh against hers under the table. The rough texture of his tailored trousers against her bare skin felt obscene. God, he’s going to feel how wet I am through my dress.

Harry turns toward her slightly, the edge of his smile still lingering. He’s too good at reading her; always has been. One glance, and he can tell exactly where her head’s gone.

“Easy,” he murmurs, low enough that only she can hear. “Be patient.”

The words are quiet but weighted. A warning and a promise all at once.

She feels the air leave her chest. “There’s still a lot to talk about,” he adds, voice smooth, unreadable to everyone else at the table. “You can wait until we’re home.”

Y/N forces a polite smile for the manager sitting across from them. She nods at something she didn’t really hear, stabbing a piece of roasted vegetable she won’t remember tasting.

Patience. Fine. She can do patience.

Except Y/N knows exactly how to test his.

She placed her napkin on the table, her movements stiff. “Excuse me,” she managed to say, her voice barely a whisper. “Ladies’ room.”

Harry’s eyes flickered to her, she catches the smallest flicker of curiosity in his expression, a slight tilt of his head and a faint crease between his brows. She just gave a tight, small smile and stood, walking away from the table on legs that didn’t quite feel like her own.

The bathroom was a cool, marble sanctuary. She locked herself in the largest stall, leaning back against the door, her chest heaving. This was insane. She was dripping for him. Without a second thought, she gathered the soft silk of her dress and reached underneath, hooking her fingers into the sides of her lace panties. She slid them down her thighs, past her knees, and off, the dampness at the center a blatant confession. She folded them and tucked them into her small clutch. There. Now he’ll know.

She returned to the table, the air feeling different against her bare skin under the dress. It was a secret, a promise. She sat down, smoothing her skirt. Harry was mid-sentence with the person on his other side, but he immediately turned his attention back to her.

“Everything alright?” he asked, his voice still that quiet, public murmur, but his eyes were sharper now, searching her face.

She just smiled, a real one this time, and let her hand fall beneath the shelter of the white tablecloth. Her fingers found his thigh, high up, and she squeezed. His breath caught almost imperceptibly.

“Perfect,” she whispered.

She let her hand drift higher, her fingertips tracing the hard line of his zipper. She felt him jump, a tiny, involuntary spasm. His hand shot under the table, clamping over hers, stilling it. His grip was firm, his skin hot.

“What are you doing?” he growled, his voice a harsh whisper meant only for her. He kept his face turned towards his other guest, a polite mask firmly in place.

“What does it feel like I’m doing?” she breathed back, her fingers wiggling against his iron grasp. She could feel the hard ridge of his cock straining against his pants, right next to her knuckles. A jolt of pure power shot through her.

“You’re a fucking tease,” he muttered, but he didn’t push her hand away. Instead, his grip loosened, his own fingers tangling with hers, guiding her palm to press down firmly on his length.

“You have no idea,” she said, her voice husky. She began to move her hand, a slow, steady pressure up and down the thick outline of his dick through the fine wool. His jaw tightened. He took a long, slow drink of water, his throat working.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he whispered, the words strained. “Keep that up and I’m going to explode right here.”

“Promise?” she teased, increasing the pressure, loving the way he subtly pushed his hips into her touch.

A server appeared, leaning between them to refill their water glasses. They both froze, their joined hands going still under the table. Harry’s smile was a brilliant, professional flash. “Thank you so much.” The moment the server left, his facade crumbled. His eyes, dark and hungry, locked onto hers.

“We’re leaving,” he stated, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“We can’t,” she protested, even as her heart hammered against her ribs. “It’s your dinner.”

“Now,” he insisted. He pulled his phone from his pocket, his thumb flying across the screen. He then stood up, grabbing his glass and tapping it gently with a spoon. The table quieted, all eyes turning to him.

“Everyone, I am so sorry,” he said, his voice projecting easy, charming regret. He pressed his free hand on her shoulder, a seemingly casual gesture that felt like a brand. “I’ve just gotten a message, a bit of a pressing issue with the studio back home. A technical meltdown. I’m so sorry to dine and dash, but I’m afraid we have to run and get on a call.”

A wave of understanding murmurs and “of courses” flowed around the table. He kept his hand on her shoulder, pulling her up with him. His grip was possessive, undeniable.

They were out of the private room and in the plush hallway in seconds. He didn’t slow down, practically marching her towards the front exit, his long strides forcing her to almost jog in her heels.

“Harry, slow down!” she laughed, breathless.

He didn’t answer, just pushed through the heavy doors into the cool night air. His car was already idling at the curb, a fact that told her he’d texted his driver the second his hand was under the table. He yanked the door open and all but shoved her inside, climbing in after her.

The second the door thudded shut, sealing them in the dark, quiet interior, he was on her. His mouth crashed down on hers, not with charm or gentleness, but with a raw, starving hunger. His tongue plunged into her mouth, tasting of wine and pure, unfiltered want. One hand tangled in her hair, holding her in place, while the other slid up her thigh, pushing her dress up around her hips.

His fingers found her bare, soaking wet skin and he groaned into her mouth, the sound vibrating through her entire body.

“No fucking panties,” he rasped, breaking the kiss to stare at her, his eyes blazing in the dim light from the passing streetlights. “You went back to that table with your perfect, bare pussy right there, knowing I was sitting next to you.”

“I wanted you to know what you were doing to me,” she panted, her own hands fumbling for his belt buckle.

He slapped her hand away gently but firmly. “No. My turn.”

He pushed her back against the leather seat, his body a heavy, welcome weight. He kissed her again, deeper this time, his hands roaming over her breasts, his thumbs circling her nipples through the silk of her dress until they were hard, aching points. She arched into his touch, a desperate moan escaping her lips.

He broke away, kneeling on the floor of the car between her legs. He pushed her knees apart, spreading her wide open for him in the shadowy darkness. He just looked at her for a long, heated moment, his breath ghosting over her wetness, making her shudder.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice thick with lust. “All for me.”

And then he lowered his head.

His mouth was on her, hot and demanding, and the world outside the car windows blurred into nothing. There was only his tongue, a wet, wicked point of contact against her most sensitive flesh, and the low, possessive groan that vibrated from his throat directly into her core.

Her head fell back against the leather seat, a choked cry escaping her lips as his hands clamped onto her thighs, holding her wide open for him. He didn’t just taste her; he devoured her. His tongue lashed against her clit in firm, rapid strokes that made her hips jerk off the seat. She tangled her hands in his dark curls, not to guide him, but to anchor herself against the tidal wave of sensation.

“Harry… fuck,” she gasped, her back arching.

He answered with a low hum that sent another shattering tremor through her. He slid two fingers inside her, his mouth never leaving her, and the dual invasion was too much and not enough all at once. His fingers curled, probing deep, finding a spot that made her see white behind her eyelids. Her gasps turned into ragged, open-mouthed pants. The car filled with the slick, obscene sounds of his ministrations and her escalating moans.

He was relentless, his technique a brutal, beautiful precision designed to unravel her completely. The pressure built, a coil winding tighter and tighter in her belly, her muscles clenching around his thrusting fingers.

“I’m… I’m gonna come,” she warned, her voice a broken thread.

He redoubled his efforts, his tongue circling her clit faster, his fingers pumping harder. The orgasm tore through her, violent and consuming. A raw, guttural scream was ripped from her throat as her body bowed, shuddering under his unwavering mouth. Pleasure, sharp and electric, radiated out from her center, leaving her limbs weak and trembling.

Only when the last aftershock had faded did he finally pull back, his lips glistening in the faint light. He looked up at her, his green eyes dark with a feral satisfaction. He brought his wet fingers to his own mouth, sucking them clean without breaking eye contact.

“You taste like heaven,” he rasped, his voice gravelly. “And we’re just getting started.”

He moved with a sudden, fluid grace, shifting from the floor back onto the seat beside her. In one motion, he unbuckled his belt and unzipped his trousers, freeing his cock. It was thick and hard, jutting out from his body, and her mouth watered at the sight.

“I need you to jerk me off,” he commanded, his hand wrapping around the base. “Watch me. Watch what you do to me.”

She reached for him, her fingers wrapping around his hot, velvety skin. She began to stroke him, her movements slow and tentative at first, then firmer, matching the rhythm he’d just set on her. His head fell back against the seat, a deep groan rumbling in his chest.

“Yeah, just like that. Fuck, your hands…”

He was leaking at the tip, and she smeared the moisture down his length, making her strokes slicker, faster. His hips began to push up into her fist, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts.

“I was going to take you in that bathroom,” he grunted, his eyes fluttering open to watch her hand on him. “Bend you over the sink and fuck you until you screamed. But I want more time. I want to take my time with you.”

He suddenly stilled her hand, his grip tight. “Stop. I’m too close.”

He took a deep, steadying breath, tucking himself back into his trousers with a visible effort. He tapped on the partition, and it slid down a few inches. “Home. Now,” he said, his voice rough with unspent need. The partition closed.

He turned back to her, pulling her against his side, his hand possessively high on her bare thigh under her ruined dress. He didn’t speak. The only sound was their combined, heavy breathing and the purr of the engine.

The car soon slowed, turning into a private drive and stopping before a modern, imposing house. Harry was out of the car before the driver could open the door, pulling her behind him. He fumbled with his keys for a second, his usual cool composure utterly gone, and then they were inside, the door slamming shut behind them, echoing in the vast, dark entryway.

He pushed her back against the door, his body pinning hers, and crashed his lips to hers again. This kiss was different—less frantic, more promising. It was a kiss that said we are home now , and you are mine now.

He broke away, resting his forehead against hers. “I have to make one call. One. To smooth over that fucking disaster of an exit and I’m all yours darlin’. ”

She nodded, her own breath shaky. “Okay.”

He took her hand, leading her through the dark house into a spacious, minimalist living room. He guided her to a large, deep sofa. “Wait here.”

He pulled out his phone, walking towards the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city lights. She heard the phone dial, then his voice, shifting seamlessly back into charming, apologetic Harry.

“Mate, so sorry about that… yeah, a complete nightmare, the entire mixing rig just glitched… No, no, we’ll reschedule next week, my treat…”

She slowly gathered the hem of her dress, pulling it up over her head and dropping it in a silken pile on the floor. She sat back on the plush sofa, completely naked, her skin pebbling in the cool air. She let one hand drift down her stomach.

He was still on the phone, his back to her, but his posture was rigid. She saw his free hand clench at his side.

She leaned back, spreading her legs just a little, offering herself to the room. To him. She let her head fall back, her fingers finding her clit, circling it slowly. A soft sigh escaped her lips.

She heard his voice on the phone, tight now, strained. “Right. Yeah. Gotta go. Thanks for understanding.”

The call ended. The phone clattered onto a glass table.

The silence in the room was absolute, and heavy.

She heard him turn around. She didn’t open her eyes. She just kept moving her fingers, a slow, lazy rhythm.

She heard his sharp intake of breath.

Then his voice, low and dangerously quiet. “What do you think you’re doing?”

His voice was a low voltage shock in the quiet room. She kept her eyes closed, her fingers maintaining their lazy, circling rhythm on her clit. “What does it look like I’m doing?” she murmured, her voice breathy. “I’m still so wet for you.”

She heard his footsteps, slow and heavy on the polished floor, approaching the sofa. The air around her shifted, charged with his presence. She finally opened her eyes.

He was standing over her, his gaze burning a path from her face, down her neck, over her breasts, to where her hand was working between her legs. His own need was a visible, hard line straining against his trousers. His jaw was clenched tight.

“I told you to wait,” he said, his voice dangerously quiet.

“I am waiting,” she countered, a small, defiant smile playing on her lips. She let a finger slip inside herself, a soft, wet sound echoing his sharp intake of breath. “I’m just… passing the time.”

His control snapped. In one swift movement, he was on his knees before her on the sofa, gripping her wrist and pulling her hand away from her pussy. He held it tight, his thumb pressing into her palm.

“You want to use your hands?” he growled, his green eyes blazing. “Use them on me.”

He didn't wait for her to comply. He guided her captured hand to the front of his trousers, pressing her palm hard against the thick bulge of his cock. She could feel the heat, the undeniable pulse of him through the fabric.

“Get it out,” he commanded, his voice a rough whisper.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she fumbled with his belt buckle, then the button of his trousers. She dragged the zipper down, the sound obscenely loud. She didn’t need to guide him out; his cock sprang free, hard and hungry, the tip already glistening. Her mouth watered at the sight.

“I want to feel that pretty tongue.” he ordered, his hand moving to the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair.

She didn’t need to be told twice. Leaning forward from her seated position, she wrapped her lips around the head of his cock, tasting the salty, musky pre-cum there. A groan, deep and gravelly, ripped from his throat.

“Yes,” he hissed, his grip in her hair tightening just enough to send a thrill through her.

She took him deeper, her head bobbing slowly, her tongue swirling along the sensitive vein on the underside. His hips gave a small, involuntary jerk, pushing himself further into her mouth. She relaxed her throat, taking more of him, her tits pressing firmly against his tense thighs. She could feel the muscle there quivering with the effort of his restraint.

“Fuck, just like that,” he rasped, looking down at her. “Look at you. Your lips stretched around my dick.”

His words, filthy and direct, made her moan around his length, the vibration drawing another choked sound from him. He began to move, a subtle rocking of his hips that set the pace, his hand on her head guiding her, controlling the depth and speed. She surrendered to it, letting him use her mouth, her own pleasure coiling tightly again at the sheer submission of the act.

He was thick, and her jaw began to ache, but the sound of his ragged breathing, the feel of his thighs trembling against her chest, was all the encouragement she needed. She reached up to cup his balls, rolling them gently in her hand, and he cursed, his thrusts into her mouth becoming less controlled, more frantic.

“I’m gonna come down your throat if you don’t stop,” he warned, his voice strained.

She didn’t stop. She sucked harder, taking him as deep as she could, her nose buried in the crisp curls at his base. She wanted him to lose control.

With a final, guttural groan, he pulled himself violently from her mouth. A string of saliva connected her lips to his slick, red tip for a second before breaking. He was breathing like he’d just run a mile.

“On your feet,” he commanded, his voice raw.

He stood, pulling her up with him. He spun her around to face the back of the large sofa, his body pressing against her from behind. He bent her forward, her hands flattening against the soft fabric of the couch cushions. He kicked her legs wider apart with his foot.

“Hold on,” he ordered, his hands gripping her hips, his thumbs digging into the soft flesh of her ass.

She heard the rustle of his clothes as he freed himself completely. Then the broad, hot head of his cock was pressing against her entrance, rubbing through her wetness.

“You’ve been dripping for me all night, haven’t you?” he murmured, leaning over her, his chest against her back, his lips at her ear.

“Yes,” she gasped, pushing her hips back, trying to impale herself on him.

“So desperate,” he taunted, and with one powerful, unyielding thrust, he buried himself inside her to the hilt.

She cried out, a sharp, guttural sound as he filled her completely. He was so big, stretching her, the initial shock of it making her grip the sofa cushions until her knuckles turned white.

He didn’t give her a moment to adjust. He pulled out almost all the way and slammed back into her, setting a punishing, deep rhythm. The sound of their bodies meeting, skin slapping against skin, filled the quiet, modern room.

“This what you wanted?” he grunted, his thrusts relentless. “You wanted me to fuck you like this? After you teased me all night?”

“Yes! God, yes, Harry!” she moaned, her head dropping between her shoulders.

His hands tightened on her hips, surely leaving bruises, as he drove into her again and again. Every nerve ending was on fire. She could feel every inch of him, the friction exquisite, brutal, perfect. The angle was deep, and with every plunge, he brushed against that spot inside her that made her vision blur.

One of his hands left her hip and snaked around her front, his fingers finding her clit, already swollen and sensitive. He rubbed tight, rapid circles there, matching the brutal pace of his thrusts.

The dual assault was too much. The coil in her belly, which had never fully unwound from the car, wound itself impossibly tight again. Her cries became higher, fractured.

“I can feel you clenching around my cock,” he growled into her ear. “You gonna come for me again? Come all over my dick.”

It wasn’t a question. It was a command she was powerless to disobey. The orgasm crashed over her, a wave of pure, convulsing pleasure that ripped a scream from her lungs. Her knees buckled, but he held her up, his arm around her waist, never breaking his rhythm, fucking her through the violent tremors.

As her own climax began to end, she felt his control fracture. His thrusts became erratic, harder, deeper. His breathing was a harsh rasp in her ear.

“Fuck… Y/N…” he groaned, his body tensing behind her.

With a final, deep plunge, he stilled, burying himself as deep as he could go. A hot, pulsing rush filled her as he came, his own groan long and satisfied against her neck. He held himself there for a long moment, both of them panting, slick with sweat, connected.

Slowly, he softened inside her. He gently pulled out, and she whimpered at the sudden emptiness. He turned her in his arms, her back against the sofa now. He looked down at her, his green eyes dark and sated, a faint smile on his lips. He brushed a strand of hair from her damp forehead.

He brushed a strand of hair from her damp forehead. “You,” he said, his voice husky, “are a fucking menace.”

A lazy, sated smile spread across her lips. “Your menace.”

“Mmhm.” He kissed her, slow and deep, a world away from the frantic hunger of before. This kiss was a rediscovery, a tender mapping of her mouth that left her feeling cherished and thoroughly claimed. When he pulled back, he didn’t go far, his forehead resting against hers. “Can you stand?”

“I’m not sure my legs got the memo that we’re done,” she laughed softly, her muscles feeling like liquid.

“Didn’t say we were done,” he murmured, a playful glint in his green eyes. “ We might just changing venues.” In one fluid motion, he bent and scooped her up into his arms, her naked body cradled against his still-partially-clothed one.

She let out a small gasp of surprise, her arms winding around his neck. “Harry! I can walk.”

“I know,” he said, starting towards a sweeping staircase. “But I like carrying you. I like the way you feel in my arms.

The possessive growl in his voice sent a fresh, hot shiver through her. She nestled her head against his shoulder, breathing in his scent—sex, sweat, and that distinct, clean cologne. He took the stairs with an easy strength that made her feel weightless.

“You know,” she teased, her fingers playing with the curls at the nape of his neck, “we never did have dessert.”

He chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest and into hers. “I think I just had my dessert. And my main course. And my appetizer.” He shouldered open the door to a dark bedroom, carrying her inside. “You’re a full fucking meal, love.”

He laid her down gently in the center of a vast bed, the sheets cool and smooth against her heated skin. The moon through the window cast silvery light across his face, highlighting the satisfied curve of his mouth.

He crawled onto the bed, looming over her, but instead of covering her body with his, he stretched out beside her, propping his head up on one hand. His free hand came to rest on her stomach, his fingertips tracing idle, gentle circles.

“Starving,” she admitted. “All that food tonight looked pretty, but I swear those plates were made for toddlers.”

He laughed, already reaching for his phone. “You mean the three green beans and a drizzle of sauce?”

“Exactly. I need real food.”

He reached for his phone and tapped at the screen, smirking. “Chinese?”

“Always.”

“Spring rolls, noodles, fried rice, the works?”

She nodded, curling closer while he placed the order

“They said forty minutes,” he murmured. “We can survive forty minutes.”

“With you keeping me warm? Probably.”

He kissed her temple, lingering there. “I like taking care of you,” he said softly.

“You always do,” she whispered.

He smiled into her hair. “Still hungry though?”

“Mm-hmm. For food,” she teased, and he laughed, the sound quiet and easy.

They stayed like that—wrapped in each other, waiting for the doorbell and the smell of take-out to fill the house—talking about nothing and everything: the ridiculousness of the meeting, how the label served tiny portions of expensive art instead of dinner, the new songs that were half-finished and the old ones he still loved.

By the time the food arrived, their laughter had settled into something softer. He carried the bags upstairs, spread everything across the bed, and they ate from cartons while the city hummed outside.

“Better than any dinner party,” she said around a bite of noodles.

“By far,” he agreed, eyes warm. “Though it’s mostly the company.”

The small drizzle had started and stopped hours ago, leaving the windows misted and the air thick with that clean after-storm scent. The food cartons were stacked on the nightstand, the last bit of wine gone. Harry stretched out beside her, one arm folded under his head, the other tracing lazy circles against her hip.

They didn’t need to talk; three years had given them a whole language built out of small touches. Every time his fingers found hers, she answered by placing them together. Every time she sighed against his skin, he breathed a little easier.

“This never gets old,” she murmured into the quiet.

“What doesn’t?”

“You. Us.” She looked up at him, eyes tired but bright. “It’s been three years, and you still look at me like you did the first night.”

He smiled, that soft, unguarded one she always loved. “That’s because it still feels like the first night,” he said. “Except now I get to keep you after.”

Her laugh was quiet, the kind that came from deep inside. “You already have me.”

“I know,” he whispered. “I still like earning it.”

He shifted closer until their foreheads touched. Outside, a car passed on the wet street, its tires hissing. Inside, everything slowed to the rhythm they’d built together—steady, certain, warm.

“Tell me something good,” she said, eyes half-closed.

He thought for a moment, then said, “You still give me butterflies.”

She smiled, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Good. Then we’re even.”

He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her closer. “I love you, pup.”

“I love you more,” she whispered, the words brushing his skin like a promise.