Honey Smiles // Harry Styles Series #3 - Jamaica

Port Antonio 6

It was hot, humid, and still as I parked DQ by reception; sweat trickled between my shoulder blades and beneath my breasts. My sleeveless eyelet blouse and linen pants stuck to me awkwardly as I walked into Bushbar and found George waiting. The last time this had happened it had been a portent of disappointment, but that night he was smiling brightly.

"Harry's in the kitchen, and he wasn't sure you'd remember how to get to the villa. I'm your escort, not the bearer of bad tidings."

A few minutes later he was opening the front door for me before disappearing into the night.

"Harry?" I walked through the salon and into the kitchen.

The place was a disaster, but it smelled divine. He obviously did not subscribe to the clean as you go method in the kitchen, but then again, there was probably someone else who could come take care of it all in the morning.

He wore loose linen shorts, hanging low on his hips, and nothing else. Spatula in one hand, a whisk in the other, he simultaneously flipped shrimp in a pan and stirred a bubbling sauce in a small pot. A large wooden bowl held spinach laced with feta cheese and mandarin orange slices.

"What can I do?" I couldn't help but laugh as he jumped and spun around. His face was covered in something yellow and dusty, and his hair seemed to have patches of what looked like paste scattered throughout. I'd never seen anything like it.

"I'd say come get your kiss, but I don't think this is the moment. Could you bring me a soft drink, and take whatever you'd like from the bar out on the terrace? We're less than five minutes from me being able to take a shower, fifteen from dinner."

Just as promised, he appeared in a few minutes.

"It's all warming on the cooker. Come talk to me while I clean up?"

Harry's comfort with nudity should be a lesson to us all. I have significantly more self-confidence than the average American woman; I know I'm fit and appealing. I was comfortable being brazenly naked in front of Phillip, and hadn't hesitated to strip bare with Harry, but that had been by starlight.

That night he strode around his fully lit suite as though I were there every day.

And he was glorious.

"It's so hot. How can you wear those long pants? Here, take these."

He handed me a pair of very traditional men's boxer shorts, light blue with a yellow foulard print, and the feel of air – even heavy, still air – on my legs was a relief. He donned a similar pair and we adjourned to the table.

Dinner involved the spinach salad topped with shrimp sautéed in an orange glaze. Harry Styles can cook. Conversation was light; how we liked the island, how long we planned to stay, what we wanted to do while we were there. Absolutely no mention of former fiancés or music.

"Don't worry about the dishes. Sometimes I take advantage of my situation and let someone else take care of the mess. Come sit with me?" He carried our glasses of rum with a splash of ginger ale and lime to the terrace.

Stretched out alongside one another on the double chaise lounge by the pool, our skin touching here and there, we looked out over the bay. Harry turned to look at me, an inscrutable look on his face.

"Tell me something I don't already know about you?"

"I was a party girl. Clubbing every weekend. Barely making it at school. For two years. I was rich, well-connected, pretty, mindless. Didn't care about anyone or anything but the next high, the next conquest. A force to be reckoned with, really."

"Why'd you stop?"

"My father got sick. Terminal cancer. Before he died I wanted him to know I was ok, that I was making the most of the education he was paying for, that he could be proud of me. So I quit the clubs, I made the Dean's List, I spent as much time with him as I could. And he was proud."

"That's very admirable, and strong. My stepfather's ill." He paused, turning away, his chin wobbling a bit. "I can't really talk about it."

"That's ok." I squeezed his hand and didn't let it go.

"Do you ever miss it, the partying?"

"Every once in a while. Phillip never understood it, and definitely wouldn't have approved if I'd gone back, even once. I do miss that feeling, though, the music pounding through your bones, the euphoria, the sex, the freedom of it all."

"A force to be reckoned with?" He was smiling again.

I shook my head. "It's been years, and I'm not the same person I was then... but I do wonder what it would be like to go back and do it again, maybe just once."

Coming out of a little reverie, I caught his chin in my fingers.

"Your turn. Tell me something."

"I was once attacked by a goat."

"That's it? You get a look into a significant part of my past, and I get a goat?"

"I have to be very careful to whom I tell my secrets, Caroline. I've trusted you with myself here, happily, but my most private self has to stay just that."

I understood.

Suddenly he pulled his hand from mine and wrapped my hair around it, creating the slightest tension, pulling me infinitesimally toward him.

"How about a –"

"Swim?" I was surprised we hadn't gotten there yet.

"I was thinking kiss, but a swim would be good, too." He let go of my hair and I mentally kicked myself. "How about a kiss while we swim? I'm very unappealingly sweaty. And so are you."

I couldn't argue with that.

In seconds we were in the blissfully cool water. I swam the length of the pool a few times while he hooked his arms over the edge, legs stretching out before him, languidly kicking. I flipped onto my back for another lap, showing off a bit as my breasts jutted up out of the water, nipples taut peaks, glistening in the moonlight.

"Come here?"

He was leaning against the wall of the pool now, and I walked right up to him, until we were against one another from toes to chest. A little ember began to glow deep in my belly as I felt him growing hard between us.

We didn't talk about it this time, we didn't need to.

The kiss was soft and gentle, like the first time, his lips moving dexterously over mine as my arms circled his shoulders and his hands slid down to cup my buttocks.

And then it changed.

Suddenly our mouths were open, tongues teasing, thrusting, and teasing again. He tasted like rum and salt and lime. Intoxicating. And this time no ghosts came to haunt me. It was us, only us, everything was us.

We took the time to explore and test and experience. His mouth left mine, lips trailing heat, even in the sweltering air, down to the sweet spot where neck meets shoulder. My gasp was soft as he bit me, gently, and it elicited a quiet moan from him.

Another moan escaped his mouth, again pressing against mine, as I slid my arm between us and took him in my hand. He moved almost imperceptibly in time with my motions, his breathing punctuated by the occasional hitch, until he pushed me away.

"I want to go to bed. To lie beside you. To see you."