baby — nine (Patreon)

author's note: Chapter 9 is here! 🕊️ Just a heads-up that we only have one part to go until the end. I really hope you guys liked this chapter and have enjoyed the ride so far. Get comfy hope you love it!

word count: 7k

The rest of the afternoon at Ink and Bone did not go according to Elena’s meticulously printed schedule.

Y/N had assumed Aaron would do what most bestselling authors did: make a brief, charming appearance to appease his editors, drop off his messy final draft, and vanish back into whatever tax-bracket-appropriate bohemian lifestyle he maintained.

He didn't.

Instead of retreating to the plush leather armchairs of the executive suite, Aaron grabbed a cheap rolling chair from an empty cubicle, dragged it across the hardwood floor, and parked it directly next to Y/N’s desk. He sat backward, crossing his arms over the plastic backrest, and watched her.

"You are staring at me," Y/N said softly, not looking up from the thick stack of printed pages in front of her. She held a red pen poised over the paper, her brow furrowed in concentration.

"I am observing my new editor in her natural habitat," Aaron corrected smoothly, resting his chin on his forearms. "It is an essential part of the creative process. I need to know how violently you are going to dismantle my life's work."

"If your life's work includes a sudden, unexplained shift to first-person perspective in Chapter Twelve, I am going to dismantle it very violently," she replied, circling a massive block of text with a ruthless slash of red ink.

Aaron winced, but a bright, genuine laugh escaped him. "It was a stylistic choice."

"It was a mistake," Y/N countered, finally turning her head to look at him. "You got tired of writing the secondary character's internal monologue, so you forced the protagonist to suddenly narrate a scene they weren't even physically present for. It breaks the entire magic system you spent the first hundred pages building."

Aaron stared at her. The playful, flirtatious energy that had carried him through the morning vanished, replaced by a sharp, highly focused intellect. He didn't look offended. He looked completely mesmerized.

"You read a hundred and twenty pages in two hours," he noted, his amber eyes dropping to the red marks bleeding through the paper. "And you caught the pacing flaw that Elena has been trying to politely hint at for three weeks."

"Elena is your manager. She has a financial incentive to keep you happy," Y/N said, capping her pen and leaning back in her chair. "I am the junior editorial assistant. My only incentive is to make sure the book actually works. And right now, Chapter Twelve is a structural liability."

She expected him to bristle. She had spent months dealing with the towering, unyielding egos of Harry’s corporate circle, where any criticism was viewed as an act of war.

Aaron just smiled. It was a slow, devastatingly open thing.

"A structural liability," he repeated, tasting the words. "You sound like a corporate lawyer, Y/N."

A sudden, sharp spike of adrenaline hit her chest at the comparison. She quickly looked away, shuffling the papers on her desk to hide the faint flush creeping up her neck. "I just like things to make sense."

Aaron watched her for a moment longer, his gaze dropping briefly to the high collar of her blouse, where a faint, bruised shadow from the dining room table lingered just beneath the fabric. He didn't comment on it, but the easy drawl in his voice softened.

"Stay here," Aaron ordered playfully, standing up and pushing his chair back. "Do not red-pen my favorite dialogue while I am gone. I am going to acquire bribery materials."

He disappeared toward the staff breakroom. When he returned five minutes later, he wasn't holding a tray of artisan lattes or imported teas. He handed her a chipped ceramic mug filled to the brim with dark, sludgy liquid.

"What is this?" Y/N asked, eyeing the mug suspiciously.

"This is the Ink and Bone special," Aaron announced, taking a sip from his own mug and grimacing. "It has been burning on the hot plate since eight this morning. It tastes like battery acid and crushed dreams. Drink up."

Y/N let out a genuine laugh, taking the mug. She took a tiny sip. It was absolutely horrific. It was bitter, lukewarm, and tasted faintly of burnt plastic. It was the exact opposite of the perfectly pulled, two-hundred-pound espresso shots Harry had his assistant source from Italy.

"It is terrible," she smiled, wrapping her hands around the warm ceramic.

"It builds character," Aaron grinned, leaning his hip against the edge of her desk. He looked down at her, the chaotic energy of the open-plan office buzzing around them, completely ignored. "I think you and I are going to do brilliant things together, Y/N."

She looked up into his bright amber eyes, feeling the stark, terrifying contrast of the two worlds she was suddenly standing between. Harry was the dark, crushing pressure of the deep ocean. Aaron was sunlight.

"We will see," she murmured, picking up her red pen again. "Fix Chapter Twelve first."

At exactly 6:00 PM, the alarm on Y/N’s phone chimed.

She jumped slightly, her brain so thoroughly buried in Aaron’s manuscript that she had lost track of time. She quickly saved her document, packed her red pens into her leather tote, and stood up, smoothing the wrinkles from her skirt.

"Calling it a day?" Aaron asked. He was still there, having spent the last three hours sitting on the edge of her desk, rewriting scenes on his laptop while she edited.

"I have dinner plans," Y/N said, slinging her bag over her shoulder. She felt a sudden, heavy flutter in her stomach at the thought of Harry.

"A celebration dinner," Aaron nodded, closing his laptop and standing up to join her. "First day survived. I’ll walk you down. I need to get out of this building before Elena traps me into a marketing meeting."

They walked to the elevator banks together, the easy banter flowing effortlessly between them. Aaron was funny, and treated her like an equal. By the time the elevator doors opened into the ground floor lobby, Y/N was laughing out loud at a story about his disastrous first book signing.

They stepped out through the heavy glass doors into the cool London evening. The streetlights had just flickered on, casting a golden glow over the wet pavement.

The laughter died in Y/N’s throat instantly.

Parked illegally at the curb, directly in front of the building's entrance, was the massive, gleaming black Maybach. But the driver wasn't waiting behind the wheel.

Harry was standing on the pavement.

He was leaning casually against the rear door of the car, looking like a lethal, highly calculated predator who had wandered completely out of his natural ecosystem. He was dressed in a bespoke charcoal three-piece suit, the cut so sharp it looked like armor. His dark coat was unbuttoned, his hands resting in his pockets, and his jaw was set in a hard, unforgiving line.

He wasn't looking at the building. He was looking directly at Y/N, and then, slowly, his green eyes shifted to the man standing next to her.

The visual contrast was violently jarring. Aaron, in his faded henley and scuffed boots, looked like a brilliant artist. Harry looked like the man who owned the bank that financed the art.

"Harry," Y/N breathed, her steps faltering slightly.

Harry pushed off the car. He didn't rush. He closed the distance between them with slow, terrifyingly measured strides, completely ignoring the fact that several junior editors were staring at him through the lobby windows.

He didn't offer a polite greeting. He didn't say a word. He simply reached out, his large hand sliding around Y/N’s waist, his fingers pressing possessively into the curve of her hip. He pulled her flush against his side, his chest a hard, unyielding wall of wool and muscle.

He leaned down and pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to the corner of her mouth. He let his lips linger for a fraction of a second longer than was appropriate for a public sidewalk, breathing in the scent of her skin, a silent, aggressive reclamation of the asset he had left on the dining room table that morning.

"You're exactly on time," Harry murmured, his voice a low, vibrating threat that was meant entirely for the man standing three feet away.

Aaron didn't flinch. He didn't step back. He stood his ground, his amber eyes dropping to the heavy, proprietary grip Harry had on Y/N’s waist, and then lifting to meet Harry’s cold green stare.

"I don't believe we've met," Aaron said, his effortless drawl tightening just a fraction. He didn't offer his hand. "I'm Aaron. I work with Y/N."

Harry looked at him. It was the exact same look he gave to a failing quarterly report just before he authorized a hostile takeover. It was cold, dismissive, and entirely devoid of empathy.

"I am aware of who you are," Harry stated flatly. His tone made the bestselling author sound like a rounding error. "I am Harry Styles. Her boyfriend."

Aaron’s eyebrows ticked up slightly. He clearly recognized the name. Half of London recognized the name. "Vanguard’s CEO. Right. Y/N didn't mention her celebration dinner was a corporate merger."

Harry’s jaw locked. The muscles in his neck jumped, a terrifying indication that he was calculating exactly how much it would cost to buy Ink and Bone just to fire the man standing in front of him.

"Y/N’s schedule is highly managed," Harry replied, his fingers digging slightly tighter into her hip. "Her personal life is not a topic for office discussion. Are you ready to go, darling?"

He didn't wait for her to answer. He turned her smoothly toward the Maybach.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Y/N," Aaron called out softly to her back, his voice carrying a clear, unmistakable promise. "We have Chapter Twelve to fix."

Harry didn't even turn his head, but Y/N felt the violent, electric surge of jealousy rip through his frame. He opened the heavy door of the Maybach and practically shoved her inside, slamming the door shut with a force that rattled the tinted windows.

The interior of the car was completely silent, insulated against the chaotic noise of the London traffic. The air smelled of expensive leather and the sharp, woodsy bite of Harry’s cedarwood cologne.

Y/N sat stiffly on her side of the plush leather bench, her hands resting tightly in her lap. The partition separating them from the driver was already raised. She was bracing herself for the interrogation, her mind racing with the visual of Harry aggressively pulling her into his side on the pavement.

"Harry—" she started, the heavy silence suffocating her.

"Do not," Harry cut her off, his voice a low, lethal warning. He didn't look at her, his green eyes fixed rigidly on the partition ahead. "Do not speak right now. I need a minute before I say something I regret."

Y/N snapped her mouth shut. She watched the muscle feathering in his jaw. He was furious, but he was fighting it. It wasn't the loud, explosive anger of a boy; it was the dark, calculating fury of a man wrestling a primal instinct into submission.

He took a slow, deep breath, holding it for a second before letting it out in a long exhale.

When he finally moved, the rigid, lethal posture he had held completely melted away. He unbuttoned the center button of his suit jacket as he settled back into the seat. He reached across the small distance between them, his large hand gently wrapping around her wrist to pull her across the smooth leather until she was tucked securely against his side.

"You look exhausted," Harry murmured. The icy threat was gone, replaced by a rich, warm rumble that vibrated through his chest. He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her temple, his arm wrapping solidly around her shoulders. "How was the first day?"

Y/N blinked, looking up at his profile in the dim ambient lighting of the car, entirely thrown off by how quickly he had compartmentalized his temper. "It was... good," she answered carefully, resting her hand flat against his crisp white shirt. "Elena threw me right into the slush pile. It was a massive amount of reading."

"They are lucky to have you," he stated simply, his thumb rubbing slow, soothing circles into her shoulder.

He didn't bring up Aaron for the rest of the ride. He just held her against him, a solid, grounding anchor as the car glided through the streets, finally pulling to a stop in front of an impossibly exclusive restaurant in Mayfair.

Harry stepped out first, offering his hand. He led her inside, past the bowing maître d', and into a private, dimly lit booth tucked into the farthest corner of the dining room. The atmosphere was all old money and refined control, heavy with the scent of truffles and rich wine.

When the waiter vanished after taking Harry's effortless order, leaving them in the quiet intimacy of the booth, Y/N couldn't take the suspense anymore.

"Are you really not going to ask?" she blurted out softly, her fingers playing nervously with the stem of her crystal water glass.

Harry took a slow sip of his wine, watching her over the rim. He set the glass down with deliberate care. "Ask what?"

"About Aaron," Y/N said, searching his face. "The guy on the sidewalk. He... he is just a friend."

Harry let out a soft, genuine chuckle. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the white linen tablecloth. "Y/N, I am forty-five years old. I manage billions of pounds in global markets. Do you really think I am going to throw a tantrum over a twenty-something kid who still wears scuffed boots to a professional office? I would think there was something medically wrong with the boy if he didn't flirt with you."

Y/N stared at him, trying to reconcile the confident man sitting across from her with the furious man in the car. "So you aren't jealous?"

"He was looking at your neck," Harry countered, his voice dropping into a deadly, possessive growl. He reached across the table, his long fingers wrapping around her wrist, his thumb pressing directly over her racing pulse. "He was looking at the marks I left on you this morning, and he was wondering what it would take to replace them."

Y/N’s breath hitched. She couldn't look away from the sudden, blazing intensity in his green eyes.

"I do not like sharing, Y/N," Harry told her softly, a terrifying promise lingering in his words. "I do not share my wealth, I do not share my firm, and I absolutely do not share you."

The quiet, lethal certainty in his tone sent a shiver straight down her spine. He wasn't yelling. He didn't need to. He was simply stating an unchangeable law of his universe.

Slowly, the dangerous edge in his eyes softened back into that overwhelming, grounded devotion. He turned her hand over, pressing a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the center of her palm. The gesture sent a direct jolt of heat straight to her core.

"But jealousy is an emotion for boys who are terrified they aren't enough," Harry murmured, his gaze darkening just a fraction as he looked up at her through his lashes. "I know exactly who I am. That boy can make you laugh at the office. But at the end of the day, he goes back to whatever flat he rents, and you come home with me. You sleep in my bed. You wear my marks on your skin."

Harry smiled. A slow, devastatingly confident smirk that completely stole her breath.

"I don't need to posture on a sidewalk, darling," he said softly, his thumb tracing the racing pulse at her wrist. "I already won."

Y/N let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding, a helpless, genuine laugh escaping her lips. The heavy, suffocating tension that had followed them from the sidewalk completely evaporated, replaced by a thick, magnetic heat.

"You are impossibly arrogant, Mr. Styles," she murmured, finally pulling her hand back to pick up her own glass of wine. She took a sip, her eyes sparkling over the rim of the crystal.

"I prefer the term 'accurately self-assessed'," Harry corrected smoothly, his lips curving into a wicked, devastating smile. He leaned back against the plush leather of the booth, looking entirely in his element. "It is not arrogance if I have the data to back it up."

"Is that right?" Y/N teased, leaning her elbows on the table. "So, since you have 'already won,' does that mean you are going to stop trying? Should I expect a drop in my weekend pastry deliveries?"

Harry’s eyes darkened, dropping briefly to her mouth before meeting her gaze again. "Darling, acquiring the asset is merely phase one. Maintaining the investment requires daily, rigorous attention. I assure you, my level of effort is only going to escalate."

"Escalate?" she challenged softly, a blush creeping up her neck at the heavy double meaning in his corporate drawl. "I don't know if I can handle an escalation. You were already quite... thorough... on the dining room table this morning."

A low, dark groan vibrated in Harry’s chest. He picked up his wine glass, his knuckles white for a fraction of a second before he composed himself.

"Do not bring up the dining room table while we are in public, Y/N," he warned, though the cheeky, burning glint in his eye completely betrayed him. "Unless your goal is to have me buy this restaurant right now just so I can lock the front doors and clear this table."

"You wouldn't," Y/N whispered, her heart doing a frantic flutter against her ribs.

"Try me," Harry countered instantly. He tilted his head, his gaze sweeping over her professional office attire with slow, deliberate hunger. "You are wearing too many buttons for my liking anyway. I have been thinking about unfastening them since you walked out of that glass building."

Y/N bit her lower lip, trying to suppress a smile. "I have to look professional, Harry. I am an editor now. I can't show up to work looking like I spent the morning being thoroughly compromised by a billionaire."

"Why not?" Harry asked lazily, reaching across the table to casually run his index finger down the center of her blouse, stopping right over the first button. "I think it is a brilliant look on you. It tells the rest of London that you are entirely accounted for."

"You are a menace," she laughed softly, swatting his hand away before he could actually undo the button.

"I am a man who knows what he likes," Harry corrected. He took another slow sip of his Bordeaux. "For instance, I like the way you blush when I look at you. I like the way you argue with me over a book. And I particularly like the fact that while that boy at your office was trying to impress you, you were still sore from me."

Y/N nearly choked on her wine. She set the glass down, her cheeks burning furiously. "Harry!"

"Am I wrong?" he smirked, utterly unapologetic.

"You are shameless," she breathed, though she couldn't stop the hot thrill that shot straight to her core at his words.

"Completely," Harry agreed, his voice dropping an octave as the waiter briefly appeared to place two plates of truffle risotto between them before vanishing just as quickly.

Harry didn't look at the food. He leaned forward again, invading her space, his voice a low, intimate rasp.

"Eat your dinner, darling," he commanded softly, the cheeky banter dissolving into a heavy, absolute promise. "You are going to need your energy. Because once I get you back to the house , I am going to conduct a very thorough, very slow audit of my favorite investment. And I plan on keeping you awake for a very long time."

The rest of the dinner was a masterclass in slow-burning anticipation. Harry did not touch her again, but he didn't have to. Every look he gave her across the candlelit table was a heavy, physical weight. He watched her eat the truffle risotto with a dark, focused satisfaction, his green eyes tracking the movement of her lips and the faint flush that still painted her cheeks.

He seamlessly shifted the conversation, proving his point about being a man rather than a boy. He didn't sulk. He asked her highly intelligent, pointed questions about Aaron’s manuscript, challenging her editorial opinions and forcing her to defend her structural changes. He engaged with her mind just as fiercely as he engaged with her body.

By the time the waiter cleared their plates and brought a single, perfect espresso for Harry and a glass of dessert wine for her, Y/N was completely buzzing. It wasn't just the alcohol; it was the intoxicating thrill of being entirely seen and completely owned by a man of his caliber.

"You are staring again, Mr. Styles," Y/N murmured, taking a sip of the sweet wine.

"I am calculating," Harry replied smoothly, leaning back and resting his ankle over his knee. He looked terrifyingly handsome in the dim light. "I am calculating exactly how many traffic laws my driver can break on the way back to the house without drawing the attention of the police."

Y/N laughed, the sound bright and breathless. "Patience, darling. Isn't that what you just told me? Maintaining the investment requires rigorous, daily attention. You can't rush the audit."

"I can when the asset is sitting across from me looking like that," he growled softly, signaling for the check with a subtle raise of his hand.

The ride back in the car was agonizing. Harry pulled her right back into his side the second the heavy doors closed, but instead of the comforting, grounding hold from the ride there, his touch was electric. His large hand rested high on her thigh, his thumb brushing a slow, maddening rhythm against the seam of her skirt. He didn't speak. He just let the silence and the heat build until Y/N was shifting restlessly against the leather seats, her breathing shallow and uneven.

Back at home, Y/N stepped off the polished stone, her body already humming with a heavy, magnetic anticipation. After the heated banter in the restaurant and the suffocating tension in the back of the Maybach, she fully expected Harry to pin her against the mirrored wall the second the doors closed. She braced herself for the frantic, aggressive heat.

But Harry didn't rush.

He stepped up behind her, his movements fluid and entirely controlled. He helped her slide her heavy wool coat off her shoulders, his knuckles brushing lightly against her collarbone before he hung it neatly on the brass hook. His large hands settled warmly on her waist, pulling her back flush against his chest.

"Harry," she breathed, a soft shiver running down her spine as he buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling deeply.

"I told you I was going to conduct a very slow audit, darling," Harry murmured against her skin, his British cadence thick and velvety in the quiet foyer. "But before we begin... I have a surprise for you."

Y/N turned in his arms, looking up at him in surprise. "A surprise? Harry, you already bought me a tasting menu and a vintage Bordeaux tonight. You don't need to—"

"Shh," he smiled softly, pressing a quick kiss to her lips. He took her hand, lacing their fingers together securely. "Come with me."

He led her down the dark, art-filled hallway, guiding her past the massive master suite entirely. He stopped in front of the heavy oak door of the north guest wing. The room that had been completely empty just two days ago.

Harry reached out and pushed the door open, flicking on the lights.

Y/N gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.

The room was completely transformed. It wasn't an empty, echoing space anymore. The interior designer he had hired over the weekend had worked an absolute miracle. Floor-to-ceiling custom bookshelves lined the walls, already half-filled with the overflow of advanced reader copies she had brought from Hackney. A plush, emerald green reading chair sat perfectly angled by the towering windows, bathed in the silver light of the London skyline.

And in the very center of the room sat a massive, stunningly carved mahogany desk. Sitting right in the middle of it was her mint green typewriter, looking perfectly at home.

"Harry," Y/N whispered, tears of pure shock prickling at the corners of her eyes. She stepped into the room, spinning around to take it all in. "How... how did you do this so fast?"

"Expediting projects is what I do," Harry said smoothly, leaning against the doorframe. He watched her face, his green eyes completely unguarded and filled with a deep, quiet pride. "Do you like it?"

"I love it," she breathed, walking over to run her fingers over the smooth, polished wood of the desk. She turned back to him, her heart swelling with an overwhelming amount of affection.

She didn't hesitate. She crossed the room, stepping directly into his space, and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck.

"Thank you," she whispered, pressing her lips to his in a sweet, profound kiss of pure gratitude. "It is perfect. You are perfect."

Harry let out a low, rough exhale, his large hands immediately coming up to grip her waist. What started as a tender, appreciative kiss shifted the second she opened her mouth against his. The smoldering tension from the restaurant and the car ride instantly ignited into a blazing fire.

Harry groaned, his tongue sweeping into her mouth as he walked her backward. The kiss grew frantic, heavy, and completely consuming. Y/N tangled her fingers in his curls, pulling him closer as he backed her right up to the edge of the new mahogany desk. He lifted her effortlessly, setting her down on the cool wood without ever breaking the kiss.

He devoured her mouth, his hands sliding rapidly up her thighs, pushing her dark pencil skirt up to her hips. They were getting entirely carried away, the heat escalating so fast it made her head spin. His thumbs hooked into the delicate fabric of her lingerie, ready to tear it away.

But then, Harry abruptly pulled back.

Y/N let out a soft whine of protest, her chest heaving as she looked at him, chasing his lips.

Harry caught his breath, looking down at her. The silver moonlight caught the sharp, aristocratic lines of his face. His green eyes were completely blown out with hunger, yet shining with an absolute, grounding devotion.

He didn't step between her knees to finish what they had frantically started. Instead, he took a deliberate half-step back.

And then, slowly, smoothly, the CEO dropped to his knees.

The visual of it completely short-circuited Y/N’s brain. This was a man who commanded boardrooms, who brought rivals to heel, and who bowed to absolutely no one. Yet here he was, kneeling on the hardwood floor of her new sanctuary, looking up at her with a gaze of pure, unfiltered worship.

"Harry," she gasped, her hands instinctively gripping the edge of the mahogany desk. "What are you doing?"

"Worshipping my favorite investment," he answered smoothly, a wicked, devastating smile curving his lips.

He reached out, his large hands wrapping around her ankles. He slid her sleek office heels off, letting them drop to the floor. His thumbs stroked the arches of her feet before his hands began a slow, agonizingly deliberate ascent up her calves. He pressed soft, open-mouthed kisses to her knees, to the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, parting her legs wider with a gentle, undeniable pressure.

"Open for me, love," he murmured, his breath hot against her skin.

He didn't bother completely undressing her. He simply pushed her dark pencil skirt higher, moving the delicate fabric of her lingerie completely aside.

When his mouth finally found her, Y/N let out a loud, shattered cry. Her head fell back, her fingers instantly tangling in the messy chaos of his dark curls.

Harry was a master of control, and he applied every single ounce of that focus to dismantling her. His tongue was relentless. Broad, hot, and tasting faintly of the expensive wine they had shared at dinner. He didn't rush. He charted every nerve ending with a slow, agonizingly perfect rhythm, his large hands gripping her hips to hold her firmly in place against his mouth.

"Please," Y/N sobbed, her body arching off the desk, entirely at his mercy. "Harry, it’s too much."

"It’s not enough," he rumbled darkly against her, the vibration sending a fresh shockwave of pleasure straight to her core. He shifted his grip, his fingers sliding into her, stretching her slowly to match the frantic pace of his tongue. "So fucking sweet."

He praised her relentlessly, his voice a low, encouraging growl that filled the quiet office. He coaxed her higher and higher, demanding she give everything over to him. When the climax finally ripped through her, it was violent and completely blinding. Y/N screamed his name, her thighs clamping down tightly against his cheeks as her body trembled through wave after wave of intense release.

Harry stayed exactly where he was, riding out her climax with her, drinking down every single drop before finally pulling back. He swiped his thumb across his lower lip, his green eyes dark and completely blown out with hunger as he looked up at the wrecked, trembling woman on the desk.

He slowly stood up. He didn't look entirely unbothered anymore. His hair was a wild mess from her hands, his tie was slightly crooked, and his chest was heaving beneath the crisp white shirt.

He shrugged off his suit jacket, tossing it over the beautiful new emerald reading chair. He unknotted his tie, pulling it free, and quickly unbuttoned his shirt, discarding it completely to expose the vast expanse of his ink-covered chest.

Y/N watched him, her breathing still ragged, fully expecting him to push her back against the desk and finish what he started.

Instead, He grabbed the heavy leather executive chair, rolling it out, and sat down. He unbuckled his belt and kicked off his trousers, his eyes never leaving hers.

He leaned back into the leather, patting his powerful thighs. "Come here, Y/N."

Her heart did a frantic flutter. She slid off the desk, her legs trembling so badly they almost gave out. She walked around the desk, climbing onto his lap and swinging a leg over him so she was straddling him completely.

The angle was entirely different. They were chest to chest, their faces inches apart. She could feel the steady, thundering beat of his heart against her own. Harry’s large hands settled on her waist, guiding her down.

Y/N let out a long, shuddering breath as she sank onto him, taking him in fully. The seated position made the penetration incredibly deep, filling her completely.

"Fuck," Harry groaned, his head falling back against the leather chair as she settled over him. His hands gripped her hips tightly, holding her still for a moment as they both adjusted to the overwhelming stretch. "Could never get used to it"

"Harry," she whimpered, wrapping her arms around his neck and hiding her face in his shoulder.

He didn't thrust hard or fast. He began to rock his hips upward, a slow, deep, grinding rhythm that utilized every inch of depth. By straddling him, Y/N was forced to ride out the slow friction, setting the pace as he guided her hips. It was an agonizingly intimate dance. There was nowhere to hide, no desk to turn away toward. His green eyes were locked onto hers, reading every single emotion that flickered across her face.

"Look at me," Harry whispered, his hands sliding up her back to hold her close. "Look at what we are."

She opened her eyes, meeting his gaze. She was entirely consumed by the man who looked completely, hopelessly devoted to her. He pressed soft, lingering kisses to her lips, her jaw, her cheek, maintaining that incredibly deep, slow rhythm beneath her.

"I belong to you," Y/N breathed, tears of pure overwhelming emotion pricking at the corners of her eyes.

"Always," Harry promised, his voice thick and rough. He pushed up into her a little harder, hitting a spot that made her gasp directly into his mouth. "You are my entire world, Y/N. Every bit of it."

They unraveled together in that heavy leather chair. The slow, deep friction built a profound, aching heat that consumed them both. When Y/N shattered for the second time, she cried against his neck, her body melting entirely against his broad chest. Harry followed a heartbeat later, a deep, guttural shout tearing from his throat as he drove up into her one final, shuddering time, his arms wrapping around her like a vice to hold her tightly against him.

They stayed tangled together in the chair for a very long time, the only sound the quiet hum of the London traffic far below.

Eventually, Harry’s breathing slowed. The intense, burning heat of the encounter slowly faded into a warm, utterly comfortable afterglow. He pressed a soft, fluffy kiss to the top of her head, his hands idly tracing patterns on her bare back.

"As much as I adore this new chair," Harry murmured, his voice laced with a sudden, sleepy amusement, "if we stay here much longer, my knees are going to permanently lock. I am too old for acrobatics on office furniture."

Y/N let out a soft, tired laugh, lifting her head from his chest. "You are the one who decided to drop to your knees in the middle of the room, Mr. Styles."

"I was overcome by my own brilliant interior design," he reasoned smoothly, a goofy, boyish smile breaking through his aristocratic features. He shifted slightly, groaning as his joints popped. "Come on, darling. Let's get you into a proper bed. And then tomorrow, I promise I will make you a proper cup of tea to make up for my terrible behavior."

The next morning, the reality of dating Harry was on full display.

When Y/N slowly drifted awake, her body pleasantly sore and aching from the heavy, deliberate possession of the previous night, the massive bed beside her was already empty. The room was bathed in the soft, early morning light, but Harry was completely entirely ahead of schedule.

"Good morning, darling," a low, velvet voice murmured near her ear.

Y/N cracked her eyes open. Harry was sitting on the very edge of the mattress, looking like a untouchable force. He was already showered and completely clean-shaven, the sharp, aristocratic lines of his jaw perfectly defined. He was dressed in a pristine, perfectly tailored black and white bespoke suit that screamed power and corporate wealth.

The intoxicating, heavy scent of his expensive cedarwood cologne and fresh aftershave instantly washed over her, completely overwriting the smell of sleep.

He reached out, his large hand gently brushing the hair away from her face, before setting a steaming porcelain teacup on the nightstand beside her.

"I made you tea," Harry told her softly, his green eyes warm and entirely devoted, a stark contrast to the ruthless armor he was wearing.

"You're fully dressed," Y/N mumbled, her voice thick with sleep as she pulled the heavy duvet up over her bare chest. "What time is it?"

"It is early," Harry admitted, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to her forehead. "I have a highly sensitive, closed-door meeting with the board regarding an acquisition. I need to be in the office before the markets open."

"A board meeting," she smiled sleepily, reaching a hand out from under the covers to lightly run her fingers over the crisp lapel of his black suit jacket. "You look very handsome, Mr. Styles. Even if you are entirely too put together for six in the morning."

Harry let out a low, dark chuckle. He caught her hand, pressing a firm kiss to her knuckles.

"Drink your tea. The driver will be waiting downstairs to take you to the publishing house whenever you are ready," Harry instructed smoothly. He stood up, adjusting his tie with rapid, practiced precision. He leaned over one last time, pressing a deep, claiming kiss to her lips that tasted of mint and black coffee. "I will see you tonight, honey."

With a final, lingering look, the CEO turned and walked out of the master suite, leaving her in the massive bed with a perfect cup of tea and the phantom heat of his touch.

The bubble of safety and lingering affection popped about three hours into Y/N’s shift at Ink and Bone.

She was sitting at her desk in the open-plan office, surrounded by the chaotic noise of ringing phones and clacking keyboards. She had her head down, deeply focused on fixing the timeline issues in Chapter Twelve of Aaron’s manuscript.

She didn't hear him approach until a shadow fell directly over her paperwork.

Aaron didn't ask if he could sit down. He pulled up the same cheap rolling chair from yesterday and dropped into it. At first, the easy, charming smile he had worn the day before was still firmly in place. He rested his elbows on her desk, leaning into her space with that familiar, boyish confidence.

"Chapter Twelve still giving you a headache?" Aaron asked, his amber eyes dropping to the red ink bleeding across the pages.

"It's getting there," Y/N replied evenly. She didn't put her pen down, trying to maintain a strict professional boundary after the incredibly tense standoff on the pavement yesterday. "I'm restructuring the timeline so the protagonist's internal monologue actually matches the events of the previous chapter. It requires a bit of surgery."

"Well, I trust my surgeon," Aaron grinned, completely unbothered by the criticism of his work. He watched her for a moment, the chaotic energy of the publishing house buzzing around them. "Actually, I came over here to rescue you."

Y/N finally paused, glancing up at him. "Rescue me?"

"From Elena's slush pile and my terrible drafting," Aaron nodded smoothly. He leaned in a little closer, his voice dropping into a low, intimate register meant only for her. "Let me take you out for lunch. There is a brilliant little pub just around the corner. Fantastic fish and chips, and nobody from the editorial department ever goes there. We can celebrate you surviving your first forty-eight hours here. Just the two of us."

It was a direct, unmistakable invitation. The playful office banter was gone, replaced by a highly deliberate move.

Y/N set her red pen down on the desk. She looked at him, her expression entirely neutral and composed.

"That is very kind of you, Aaron," she answered, her voice polite but completely firm. "But I have to decline. I brought my lunch today, and I really need to finish these edits before my afternoon meeting."

Even though she hadn't crossed any lines or actively flirted with Aaron the day before, a sudden, heavy wave of guilt washed over her at his invitation. At home, she had an incredible man waiting for her. A man completely and entirely devoted to her, who had spent the previous night literally dropping to his knees to worship the ground she walked on.

Entertaining Aaron’s boyish charm, even for a casual pub lunch, felt like a massive betrayal of the absolute security and love Harry gave her. It simply wasn't fair to him. She had to shut it down immediately and keep things strictly professional.

Aaron’s charming smile faltered for a fraction of a second. "Come on, Y/N. The manuscript isn't going anywhere. You are allowed to take an hour off to have a pint with a coworker."

"I am keeping things strictly professional," Y/N corrected smoothly. "I am your editor. We can discuss the book right here at my desk."

The rejection hung heavily in the air between them. Aaron stared at her, the reality setting in that his effortless, bestselling charm was completely failing to work on her. The boyish, easygoing author vanished. His ego was visibly bruised, and his posture shifted from relaxed to rigid. He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back in the cheap rolling chair.

The playful flirtation soured instantly into something bitter and highly disrespectful.

"Right. Professional," Aaron muttered, a sharp, mocking edge creeping into his effortless drawl. He watched her for a long moment, the silence stretching out just a little too long to be comfortable. "So, Vanguard Holdings. I did a little reading last night. Your boyfriend essentially owns half the commercial real estate in London."

"Harry is very successful," Y/N answered coldly, her defenses instantly flaring up. She reached for her pen again, wanting to end the conversation.

Aaron tilted his head, his amber eyes locking onto hers with a cruel, calculating confidence. He completely ignored the warning flashing in her gaze, leaning in again to deliver a deliberate, venomous strike designed entirely to undermine her and soothe his own rejected pride.

"He is a bit old for you, isn't he?" Aaron asked.

Y/N’s hand froze hovering over the paper. The red pen bled a tiny, angry dot into the page.

Aaron didn't back down. "I mean, does he want to get married and have kids? A bit difficult, no, because of his age? I am sure a man of his caliber can't give you that anymore."

Y/N felt the air completely leave her lungs. She gripped the edge of her desk, her knuckles turning white as the sheer audacity and profound disrespect of the comment hit her.