Sonata (Harry Styles FanFiction)

5. Eyes Up, Styles

Darien Grace

The weekend couldn't come fast enough. I was barely able to sit through any of my classes. I was constantly on edge, my mood set to bitch. How the hell had I endured three hour composition labs before? I ended up sitting in front of the baby grand for a good two hours, my forehead resting flat against the keys; the protesting clang the instrument had produced long faded.

Shadowed auburn eyes haunted my every waking moment, causing the cruel seconds to slide by at an infuriating pace. How was it possible that this man had set my world on fire with nothing more than a mischievous look and the grating undertones of his voice? I was aching, literally aching all over. The past two months had been a cake walk compared to this. I hadn't cared about sex, I hadn't needed it. This was more than that now though. I'd seen it in the way that he carried himself and the dark glint in his eyes that he'd done his best to mask. I'd seen right through it.

I wanted to fuck him—hard and fast, again and again.

"Ren?" I jumped, picking my head up off the unused instrument. My instructor, Madame Dupond, was standing in the doorway. She was a sweet elderly woman, her wispy white hair tucked back into an elegant but simple up-do, her prominent french accent lilting her every word. My name sounded more like "Renee" from her lips than "Ren". She was by far my favorite staff member in the fine arts department. Hell, she and Caleb were probably the only two staff members that I could actually tolerate.

"Hey," I sighed, rubbing the back of my hand along the lines that I knew were imprinted into my forehead from the piano keys.

"Est-ce que tout va bien? (Are you alright?) I am accustomed to hearing a grand concerto floating down to my office but today... silence."

"Yeah, I-I'm sorry, Madame, I guess I'm just distracted."

"What's the matter, ma chère?"

"It's nothing serious. I promise that I'll come in this weekend and make up the time."

"Renee, it is no trouble. Repose-toi (Rest), I will see you next week." Warmth flooded my heart at her gentle smile. If only sweet Madame knew what was so "distracting". Smiling back at her, I shook my head to clear the image of a glistening chiseled chest looming over me; intricate ink swirling across the toned surface as he pounded out a heavy rhythm.

Fuck.

"Au revoir, Madame," I forced my voice to come out even and unaffected as I gathered my bag and hurried from the room.

"Au revoir, Renee! Bonne chance!" My eyes widened slightly as she shook her head, a knowing smile curling her lips.

That cheeky woman.

Laughing silently to myself, I adjusted my Beats over my ears, Beethoven's eighth string quartet occupying my mind while I made the trek I'd been dreading all week. My stomach twisted into so many freaking knots I'd need every eagle scout in the nation to get them out. Why the hell was I nervous? He was a kid for Christ's sake. A fucking kid. He held no true authority. Even if I did manage to piss him off enough to make him want to kick me out of the class there was no way in hell I would let that happen. Caleb would keep me in it. I'd make sure of it.

Here we go, Grace, I thought, marching up the steps, Time to make Tyra Banks proud... and strut.

Plastering on the lazy smirk that I'd perfected over the past three years of botched relationships and attempted arrests on the part of Campus PD, I marched into the lecture hall. I was ready to face the Foreign Invasion today, the question was, was he prepared for the American Revolution?

With practiced grace that accompanies 6 inch wedge booties, I navigated the hall. Pausing for the several heartbeats when shaded titian eyes snapped up to meet mine from behind those nonsensically attractive Tom Fords— how the fuck did he manage to make old man glasses lickable? Holy shit fuck. His visibly darkened as they roamed my body, unabashed. I'd deliberately been saving this outfit, anticipating his reaction. The pale grey and charcoal babydoll dress ended a few inches below my ass, the sheer top half exposing my generously padded bustier—it magically transformed nothing into a chest that a Victoria's Secret Angel would envy. Top it all off with the irony of my grandmothers oversized Stirling rosary and my favorite studded leather booties and I was Gucci.

"Like what you see, Professor?" I purred, cocking my head to the side, propping my hand up on my hip.

"I've seen better," he quirked an eyebrow at me. Well, then. Someone had obviously been working on their poker face.

"I think you meant fantasized, darling, but really, who can blame you? We're only human," I flashed him an innocent smile before turning and sauntering up the rows.

"Eyes up, Styles," I called out over my shoulder my smirk growing when I heard him mutter a curse. Men really were too predictable.

For the first time since Wednesday, class flew by, the only thing I could focus on was him. The way that the muscles in his arms flexed beneath his thin white button up whenever he went to write something up on the chalkboard behind him. The way that whenever he caught me watching he'd drag his hand through the front of his hair, visibly pulling on the roots. The way that he'd run that delicious pink tongue across those sinfully full lips. The way that he'd smile, truly smile, a single dimple piercing his cheek, revealing yet another in his chin, whenever someone would even attempt to answer one of his questions. The way that whenever I'd tried to, he'd pushed his glasses up into that unruly hair and pinched the bridge of his straight nose. He was a temptation to the devil himself. He truly was a dark adonis and he'd taken up a full time residence in my subconscious.

By the time the hour and fifteen minute lecture ended it was a hardcore struggle to just remain still in my seat. Someone had cranked up the voltage on my bitch switch and I swore to god, if I didn't have a fucking orgasm tonight that I was going to implode. No one should have to suffer through this much sexual frustration.

Damn you, Styles.

"Miss Grace," heat pooled between my thighs as the rasping voice called out to my starved libido. I'd just made it down to the lower level and I was less than thirty feet away from making my escape. My nails were digging into my palms, tiny crescents marring the surface as I fought the growing urge to jump him and have him fuck me every way possible across his desk.

"Aren't you going to turn in your assignment?"

Despite my skyrocketing frustration, I managed a sarcastic grin, "Nope," I shot back enjoying the way that his forehead creased and his full lips puckered in distaste.

"Why not?"

"Because I didn't do it. Now, if you'll excuse me, Professor, I have a pair of leather handcuffs to buy and a party to get ready for." His eyes darkened, his fingers twitching at his sides.

"You know that I still have the option of dropping you from my class."

"Oh darling, we really need to work on your sweet talk. That's no way to charm a girl. The goal is to get her panties off, not lock the chastity belt in place yourself." I swore the irony in that statement was a physical thing. It was laughing it's ass off right next to me.

"Where's the fun without a little foreplay, Darien?"

Shit. Shit fuck. Fuck. Fucking hell. Fuck me. Fuck a duck. Fuck everything. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I swore, I was dripping.

"Cut the shit and we can find out."

"I thought you had someplace to be? Some 'party to get ready for'? Those handcuffs aren't going to buy themselves."

"True, but they're no fun without someone to put them on."

"I pray for the poor soul you manage to rope into that, Miss Grace." Oh, so I'm Miss Grace again?

"There is no roping, Mr. Styles, bondage is a bit intense, rope can burn. It's best to save it for the second date." With his jaw still on the floor, I turned and sauntered down the hall. If I'd stayed in that room any longer his clothes would be strewn across the entire hall and my legs would be being held above my head. Fuck. I was ending my little drought tonight.