Harry Styles Shorts and One Shots

CEO 4 **

Word Count: 4,650

Harry

"Happy birthday, Sandra," I beam at the woman who walks in my front door.

"Thank you, Harry. Thank you for doing all of this for me." Her voice is small and shy, much like it is at work.

"Of course. You only turn fifty once, right?"

She tosses her deep mahogany eyes back. "God, don't remind me."

We both chuckle, and I watch as Sandra joins up with a few others in the kitchen, making themselves some drinks from my myriad display of alcohol on the counter. You'd think I'm a drunk by how much I have, but I just enjoy hosting parties.

I integrate myself into the small crowd, pouring myself some neat tequila to start my night. Y/N has me a bit on edge, and not at all in a bad way. I'm nervous yet excited to see her after today's encounter in the boardroom. If she truly doesn't want any more to happen, then I'll of course back down, but my mind keeps incessantly praying that she does want more.

Her kiss was fiery, and she instantly took complete control of the situation. It was embarrassing how quickly she got me painfully erect, but she seemed to enjoy it. I can't get the memory of her hand on my cock out of my mind.

God, I need a distraction. I can't start getting hard in front of my guests and employees. How fucking uncomfortable would that be?

There's another knock on the front door, and I immediately stride toward it, opening it to see Dave, to my disappointment. He's holding a bottle of wine, handing it to me with a large grin.

"Hey, boss. This is for you."

With a shrewd smile, I reply, "It's Sandra's birthday. I didn't need you to get me anything."

He shrugs, brushing past me.

People like Dave rightfully piss me off. He's a royal kiss-ass and it's one of the many things I detest about him. He's full of himself and definitely a bit misogynistic, but his slimy way of trying to schmooze his way to the top makes my skin crawl. I'd fire him if he wasn't so good at what he does.

I go to the kitchen to set the wine down, placing it beside all of the other alcohol. Picking up my glass of tequila, I walk to the living room, changing the vinyl record that's emitting a quiet piano medley. My fingers sift through my many sleeves of records I have, opting for something a bit older to enjoy. I land on Patsy Cline, dropping it gently onto the turntable and lining the needle up with the slick edge of the black vinyl.

The music begins and I rejoin the others, all of them chatting about something I can't seem to focus on. My mind is consumed with all things Y/N, and I'm not at all opposed to it.

A chime rings from the doorbell, and I walk to the front door, swinging it open to see Y/N standing before me. She has on a short, silver dress that hangs loosely in the middle, exposing the inner most skin of her breasts. Her hair has been softly curled, and she has on a bit more makeup than normal.

Without even meaning to, my eyes are devouring her from head to toe, completely taken aback by how she looks.

"May I come in, or are you going to gawk at me in the entryway all night?" she asks with a glossy smirk.

I chuckle, opening the door wider and stepping out of her way. She makes her way into the house, crossing the room to find her way into the kitchen. I follow her like a dog follows its master, practically drooling like one, too.

"Your house is incredible," she finally says.

"Thank you," I breathe. I want to compliment her, but I'm not sure where her wants are at with me, and I don't want to make her uncomfortable. "You look nice."