Honey Smiles // Harry Styles Series #3 - Jamaica

Miami 1

He took my hand as the bellman brought my bags into the South Beach hotel's penthouse suite.

"Come see the view!" He peppered me with kisses and held me tight as we stood facing the ocean.

The turbulent Atlantic stretched, endless, before us. On the terrace, a small pool was flanked by chaise lounges, and a bar nestled against the wall near the great sliding glass doors of the living room. The bedroom, with its bed made up with crisp white sheets, had its own small balcony. Modern and bright, it was pure Miami.

"What are we doing today?" I was ready for just about anything, my lungs filling with the sea air and my brain coming out of the Phillip fog.

"I'm taking you shopping, for a dress, and shoes, and a bag. For tonight."

"What's happening tonight?"

He smiled that crooked, impish grin. "Something that requires a new dress, and shoes, and bag."

I knew that was all I'd get, and that was ok. A little mystery was welcome.

Shopping with Harry Styles was interesting. He wore sloppy jeans, an ancient t-shirt sporting the logo of an '80s band, a ball cap. He looked like a vagrant and I thought he might actually stand out more than blend in, especially with his tattoos there for anyone to see.

I'd shopped in New York, Paris, and Milan. I'd bought couture. But this was different, and I quickly understood why he hadn't bothered covering up.

We were escorted by George through service hallways of the most exclusive stores in the city and entered each store from the back. Two guards covered the main entrances, and each store was empty while we were there. Senior salesmen and women assisted us, while others stood at a distance and watched attentively.

It took nearly two hours, but when we were finished I had an entire ensemble for my mystery evening. I hadn't looked at price tags. I could've afforded it all, but I enjoyed letting someone spoil me.

Harry removed the ball cap, donned a button down shirt in the car, and we had a late lunch at a tiny Asian fusion café downtown. I think one young woman recognized Harry, but we ate uninterrupted.

We went to the beach mid-afternoon, Harry in the ball cap, swim trunks, and a long sleeved white t-shirt. I went in and let myself get tumbled once or twice by the rolling waves as he lay stretched out on a beach blanket, watching. Absolutely no one paid us the least bit of attention. He came and joined me in the water, shirt still on, hiding the tattoos.

He put me up on his shoulders. We splashed and dove and played. I swam around him, as he stood chest deep, letting my hands slide up his thighs and under his shorts. Which had to stop when it became obvious just how much he enjoyed it. After that I kept a little distance between us until we decided we were done.

What we hadn't counted on was his wet, white shirt sticking to his torso and arms, his tattoos visible beneath the nearly transparent fabric. As we walked, hand in hand, up the sand to the hotel, there was a squeal. His lowered his head, dropped my hand, and he began to walk faster, whispering, "I'm sorry I can't take your hand. Try to keep up. George is right behind us."

Like magic the security guard was there, screening us as we crossed the lobby into a small alcove containing the dedicated penthouse elevator. There were several girls following us by then, phones pointed our way. Harry stood facing away from their lenses; I was beside him but we didn't touch. I understood what I needed to do.

"Harry!" "Over here!" They were getting very close by the time the elevator opened and we got in.

"I don't like ignoring them," he said as we rose the fourteen floors to our suite. "I don't like it, but I'm trying to keep this trip private. After tonight, though..."

"When are you going to tell me what's happening tonight?"

"Not until we're on our way there. We'll have a late dinner at a place I like and then the real fun will start. Let's shower and then have a rest. It's going to be a long night."

The rest began with us, washed and free of salt and sand, closing the blackout blinds and sliding under the covers. He seemed so far away. I inched closer. He turned toward me and smiled, closing the distance.

"I've missed you, Caroline. My bed seemed so much bigger after you left." With a hand on my hip he pulled me against him. "I missed you touching me..."

I slid a hand between us and gave him what he'd been missing. He sighed, rolling onto his back as I held him, stroked him. When I moved to bring my leg over his hips, he stopped me.

"No, not that, not right now. Right now I just want you close." He rolled us onto our sides, bringing one of my legs up over his hip, and slid into me. We stayed pressed against one another, moving slowly, softly, until we shuddered quietly together. We fell asleep, faces not an inch apart, limbs entwined.