* THIS STORY CONTAINS MATURE & EXPLICIT CONTENT*
Please refer to the list of possible triggers and kinks.
Harry Styles. Twenty-Five. Green eyes. One hundred and ninety-six pounds. Six foot even or one hundred and eighty-seven centimetres. Born to...
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"Right there?"
"Fuck, right there. Yes. A little harder,"
Harry's hands move slowly down the length of my spine before his arms wrap around my abdomen and he folds me over, effectively cracking my back in the area that was causing me the most trouble. A small, satisfied groan falls from my lips as I coil into him, tongue coming out to wet my lips as I move to stand up straight.
Our little weekend getaway has since ended and now we're on our way back to the boys to plan the final heist. The infamous Red Beryl that everyone seems to want to get their hands on. We have already gotten confirmation of two other gangs that will be there and just the thought makes nerves settle deep in my tummy.
I feel as if my past is following me around, that at any corner I can wander into someone that I left there and they'll blow my cover.
I left my boys and girls in good faith but I know some have been trying to find me. I'm good at being a ghost though, moving in shadows and staying hidden. It's a part of who I am even if I do lose sight of who I truly am after a while.
We've made a little pitstop at this sort of run-down petrol station in the middle of nowhere. I suppose it's the safest place to be considering there wasn't anyone else around except for the worker and us. Harry moves to lean back against the car as he holds onto the petrol handle, pumping the petrol into the car.
"You shouldn't smoke while pumping you know?" I hum, tilting my head to the side as I watch him take a slow drag from the spliff.
"Well, darling. Would you like to come and pump while I smoke?"
I just give a shake of my head, moving to kick at the dust a bit before I place my hands in the pockets of my leather jacket, walking around the station to see what they had. Four petrol areas. An ATM. A gender-neutral bathroom on the side. A place to put out cigarette butts and a small area inside to purchase some snacks.
Other than that, it was a ghost town and nothing out of the ordinary.
"How much longer until we're back on the M56?" I ask, making my way back over to Harry, hands still in my jacket pockets.
He taps the handle on the rim of his petrol tank before he moves to put it up and put the cap back on, shutting the door to the tank. "No more than twenty-five minutes, love. Patience, yeah?" He moves to toss what was left of the spliff into the trash can once he puts it out.
"I feel like you of all people should know that patience isn't in my vocabulary,"
The look he gives me is one that tells me to get the hell in the car, so, I do just that and move to pull my seatbelt on, something I don't do that often simply because I trust Harry and his driving. Despite the fact that he's never been a getaway driver.
