Sonata (Harry Styles FanFiction)

3. Do You Have No Shame?

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Darien Grace

He waited until every last damned soul had left the hall, forcing me to resort to complete immobility to prevent the anxious pacing that had my toes twitching against the soles of my Doc's. My mind was reeling. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. F. U. C. K. Had I pushed too hard this time? Caleb was always warning me that I didn't know when it had been enough. I was always pressing my luck and thanking my lucky stars. Sure, I'd done worse. Hell, last week Campus P.D. had busted a party at the LAX house; I'd been drunk off my ass and could barely string together a coherent sentence. They'd wanted to shut it down, slap us all with citations and stow us in the drunk tank over night. Ha, like I was going to let that happen. I'd made a few quick calls and sent them on their happy way with a kiss and a wink.

My list of transgressions was getting long though, and there are only so many times that you can pull the same strings before they snap from the strain. My rap sheet was getting gradually longer and the ice I have been skating on was getting thinner. I could already hear the low grumbling and cracking of it beneath my feet.

"That was quite a show, Miss Grace," He spoke suddenly, breaking the suffocating silence.

"Momma always said I had a flare for the dramatics," I purred, leaning down low over the desk between us. My arms came together just enough to give the illusion of definition beneath the generous v-shaped neckline to my burgundy romper. It seemed to just enough to catch his darkening gaze. I plastered on a lazy smirk. Well, that was easy.

"Christ, Miss Grace," he groaned, his face scrunching up as he pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, "Do you have no shame?"

"What's there to be ashamed of? If you aren't brave enough to be honest with yourself then how can you expect anyone else to be?"

"That's quite... intuitive," he hummed, blinking several times, tawny eyes curious.

"Why so surprised, Mr. Styles? Surely, I'm not the first intelligent woman you've encountered? After all, we are at an acclaimed institution."

"There are those who would deem sarcasm to be the lowest form of wit, Miss Grace. Do you agree?"

"Whole heartedly, but you have to walk before you can run."

"Careful then, wouldn't want you to pull a muscle."

"Oh, I think you'll find that I'm quite flexible," I smirked, quirking an eyebrow up at him in challenge. The tension in the room skyrocketed. His fingers twitched at his sides as I watched him through the fringe of my lashes. Those mesmerizing multicolored irises were only slight rings around vast pools of black. My mouth went dry as his tongue jutted out to sweep across his lower lip and all I could think about was that sinful mouth and the secrets it possessed.

"I... you... I would think it would be best if you dropped this class. Professor McKenney is offering it again next semester. I can talk to him and I'm sure he would be more than happy to ensure that you secure a seat." It was obvious by the splotchy tint to his cheeks and the nervous quake in his voice that I'd flustered him.

"Well, I was going to head strait to my advisor and do that very thing but, when you put it that way... I think it'd be best if I stuck it out. I've never really been able to resist a challenge," I laughed, readjusting my wrap bag before heading once again toward the door. I could sense his eyes following me as I left, purposefully sashaying my hips, knowing full well that the hem of my thin cotton romper rose gradually with each step

"See you on Friday, Sir," I called, turning back to wink at him over my shoulder. His jaw was locked, his hands fisted at his sides. He wanted me to drop his class? Not a chance in hell.

Oh, my poor dark adonis, you have no idea what you've started.

Harry

Fuck. I glared at the vibrant head of violet hair as that infuriating girl sauntered from the hall, the intoxicating cloud that had surrounded her lingering in her wake. Professor McKenney had warned me that she would be a handful, but he'd never explained to what degree. She'd switched between so many different personas and masks within one fort-five minute period that it had been nearly impossible to keep up.

Darien Grace, what are you hiding?

Only someone with a dark secret would work that hard to put up so many barriers between herself and the world. She was a talented actress, I had to give her that.

If today had been near impossible, there was no way in hell that I would make it an entire semester. Even now, her perfume hung like a cloud in the air around me and I could see that wicked smirk curl her lips, her eyes roaming. She made me feel exposed. It was an entirely foreign and surprisingly... pleasant sensation.

The way she had watched me, it was like she saw every inch of me; I wanted her to feel every inch too. The image of her flushed and breathless, her pink tinted ass in the air as I pounded into her from behind, my fist wound tightly into that vibrant amethyst hair filled my mind; only adding to the increasingly uncomfortable pressure in my jeans.

Goddammit. I needed a cold shower.

Cursing under my breath, I checked my watch. I only had fifteen minutes before I had to be across campus for Professor McKenney's lecture on Shakespeare and his contributions to the world at large. (Generally, it was a course only offered to undergraduate degrees but I needed the elective credits and he and I had grown close while I interned with Caleb McKenney over the summer. He'd suggested that I take it as well as accept the student teaching position. It was impossible for me to say no.) Fifteen minutes wasn't nearly enough time to take care of the problem that darling "Ren" had left me with and make the trek to the other side of the campus during the lunch rush.

"Jesus Christ," I growled, yanking frustrated fingers through the front of my hair, pulling hard on the roots in an attempt to reign in the stress coursing throughout my body.

She had to drop the class. There was no other way I'd be able to stay sane for the remainder of the semester. No way at all. I couldn't think when I was around her. Hell, I still can't think. I'd known her for a grand total of forty-five minutes and already I was ready to have myself committed. She was a siren and I was the wayward sailor who'd strayed to far from shore.

All that was left was to be thrown into the cliffside—crashing from the sheer force of the disaster.