Honey Smiles // Harry Styles Series #3 - Jamaica

Port Antonio 9

I knew what was coming before we even got in the house.

His head was cocked and a soft smile on his face as he asked, quietly, "Swim?"

We paddled lazily around, enjoying the feel of cool water sliding against warm flesh, until he stopped mid pool, looking out to the sea.

"I'm glad you liked it."

I swam to his side, and stood, wrapping my arms around his waist.

"And you cried. That's powerful, to see someone moved to tears by one's music. There were always tears with the band, rather hysterical and usually accompanied by screams." He looked down at me, smiling. "Thank you for not screaming."

"I've never been a screamer. I've never understood the point of it."

"Didn't you ever scream at a concert?"

"Sure. I saw Justin Timberlake at the Garden. The show they made into an album. I was at the stage. And, yes, I screamed. Between songs. Whoo hoo screams, not hysterical teen screams. It was fucking exciting to be that close to Justin Timberlake, but I wasn't going to freak out, even when he pointed to me. I didn't see the point."

I could feel him chuckling. "And that, my darling, is why we get along. You don't see the point in freaking out. I took a risk, offering you a ride home that day. You could have seriously freaked out. But when you saw me and just said 'Hello' like you'd known me forever, well, I knew you were cool."

He pulled me up until we were face to face. "I don't want to swim anymore." I wrapped my legs around his hips and he carried me out of the pool. We rinsed off under the outdoor shower then hung our towels to dry over the wall that surrounded the terrace.

I'd never been naked so much in my life as I was with Harry. We were naked almost all the time we were alone. I think it was easy because we were well-matched. Physically fit. Attractive. Confident. I found his eyes and mouth perfect. He waxed poetic about the little upturn at the tip of my nose, and loved my eyelashes, enjoying butterfly kisses. Everywhere.

We were well-matched and well-suited. Neither one of us had a single misconception about what we were to each other. I had never felt as free in a relationship, if that's even what it was.

And so we made our way around the bungalow, turning off lights, ensuring that the doors were locked. It felt very domestic, and comforting. A bit like children playing house, although what came next would be far from childish.

~

That night Harry was still keyed up from his triumph in the studio. I could feel the energy in him and knew it would be released in our lovemaking, as it sometimes was. His style and desires usually mirrored his mood. Frustration = speed and detachment. Sadness = slow and physically very close. Happiness = playful and attentive to me. That night's energy and satisfaction was new, and I was curious how it would manifest itself.

He stood on the balcony, a rising breeze sending his hair flying. Standing behind him, my skin pressing against his, I reached around him and ran my hands from his chest to his upper thighs, my thumbs glancing over his growing erection.

I began to move my hands upward. "Stop. Leave them right there. Touch me."

I took him in my hand, kissing his back as I stroked him. We stood like this for a minute, maybe two, before he suddenly turned and scooped me up in his arms. I wasn't prepared to be tossed on the bed, and laughed as I bounced. He took my feet and spread my legs, looking down at me as he kneeled between my feet, his eyes asking for permission.

"Yes."

It was always as surprising and as satisfying as the first time. I don't know what made him different from other men, but my money's on that mouth. The shape and what he did with it. I'd been pleasured that way before, and have been since, but never, ever, like that. It was always quick and always earth-shattering.