Getaway Car [HS]

Chapter Forty-One*

Before he can lift a finger to touch her or speak another word to order her to strip her clothes off, she jumps up from the couch and runs—actually runs—to the bedroom as if to ask, "Does this answer your question?" And he can't even make fun of her for her eagerness, because as soon as he sees her disappear behind the door, he is getting himself off of the couch with his new camera in hand and running after her.

It's been a few days since they last had sex, so it isn't surprising to him in the least that he can feel himself getting hard at the mere suggestion of it. They were so busy doing Leo and Garrett's bidding that they didn't have a spare moment, or the energy, to do anything together, and he hasn't jerked off since they started living together, so...

On the way over, it takes a few fumbling seconds to find out how to turn the camera on and begin rolling, but he figures it out by the time he reaches the bedroom. The first shot he ever films is of her, laying on the bed with her legs curled up into a ball and her top already thrown across the room to reveal the expanse of her bare torso to him. When he zooms in, she waves at the camera with a radiant smile lighting up the frame, then beckons him to her with a plea for him to come to bed.

Harry approaches the edge of the bed slowly and watches her, making sure to move the camera to capture every one of her movements, as she crawls down to meet him at the end of it. When she looks up at the lens of the camera through her lashes, her cheeks turn hot and she averts her eyes. But he doesn't let her do it for any longer than a second. The hand not holding the camera grabs her by the chin and forces her to face it again.

"What?" he asks in a condescending tone that makes her press her thighs together. "Y'getting camera shy on me now, baby? I thought I found my leading lady."

Falling right into the scene he sets with those two sentences, she shakes her head with wide, pleading eyes staring right past the camera at his face. The angle he looks down at paired with her arms crossing over her chest accentuates the swell of her breasts for the camera. A purposeful tactic on her part, he assumes.

"No. No, I wanna be a big star, Mr. Styles. Put me in one of your movies." Her hands lift to settle on the waistband of his jeans, sliding into the middle to play absentmindedly with his belt buckle. "Please?"

One of her hands drifts lower until she can palm his half-hard cock through his pants to elicit a sharp breath from him. He lets her do it for as long as it takes to get him the rest of the way there, looking up at the camera like the good girl she always is—dying to please him at any cost. The hand still working his belt takes forever, but, finally, it comes undone for her after a solid minute of effort and allows her to then move on to the button and zipper of his jeans.

She leans forward off the edge of the bed and kisses the trail of sparse hair leading down from his belly button into the familiar territory concealed by his unzipped pants and underwear beneath, moaning when her cunt presses down against the heel of her foot during the change in position. He can sense that she's about to reach up and pull his clothes down his legs, but, before she can, he remembers something she said to him at the gun range. Before any of the heavy stuff came out, she joked about him holding her at gunpoint while they fucked, and seeing that his gun is tucked right there in the holster hidden in the waistband of his jeans, he doesn't see why he can't bring her fantasy to life.

Her eyes were closed as she kissed her way down the length of his stomach, so when she feels the barrel of a pistol digging into her temple, they shoot open in surprise. It makes her entire body go still until she peeks up at him and sees the look on his face. Without speaking, it tells her that she can call it all off. That if he took it too far and mistook a joke as a request the other week, she has every right to knee him in the balls and banish him to the couch tonight.