Harry Styles Short Stories

ILLICIT THOUGHTS

SUMMARY: Harry has been nothing but professional when it came to you, but the short skirt you wore to the office seems to crumble his whole act finally.

WARNING: sexual content

WORD COUNT: 1.3k

After basically murdering the treadmill with his deadly tempo, now it's the punching bag that's suffering from Harry's frustration. He came down to his private gym with the pure intention of getting rid of the images that haunted him all day, but the more energy he is putting into his workout, the less he feels in control of his wandering thoughts. It's completely insane.

He knows he shouldn't be thinking about you. He's been successful at keeping his fantasies tame even though the day he interviewed you for his assistant position he definitely wanted more from you than just your professional help, but he pushed it all into the back of his head, but today changed it all.. He knows that he is your boss and you're his assistant and that the fantasies he's been fighting all day are definitely way over any boundaries between employer and employee.

But fuck, that short skirt you wore today is to blame for it all!

He has seen you in outfits that appeared a tad bit riskier than your usual office attires, but nothing got his imagination rolling like the short, tight little skirt that hugged your curves today. The moment you walked in with his morning coffee in your hands and his eyes snapped from his phone to your legs, the thoughts that evaded his mind were nothing but obscene. Filthy.

He even had to hide his erection while you went through his schedule for the day, walking back and forth in front of his desk, he couldn't tear his eyes off you and remembered absolutely nothing of what you said. He had to pretend to take a phone call to get you out of his office so he could calm himself down enough to start working, but the fantasies stayed with him all day.

He throws another punch into the bag and it's so hard it almost flies off the hook. Harry groans as he catches the bag and stops it from swinging around. This is not working, it seems like with each punch he just pushes you more and more into his consciousness and he fears he won't be able to get you out of there. How is it that he is still so hung up on the images his brain has created? They are not even real, but the feelings they are causing are for sure.

Your silky looking legs are still walking around in his mind as he starts punching the bag again. But then you're suddenly sitting on top of his desk... your skirt is riding up, exposing your round ass... he can see you bent over the desk, begging for him to touch you... your naked pussy is now right in front of him, so wet, so sweet, he wants to devour you and–

His punch gets out of control and this time the bag actually falls off the hook.

"Damn it!" he groans, sweat dripping down his face as he gets rid of his gloves and just throws it at the bag, leaving the mess untouched. Walking out he heads to the bathroom and he is quick to fill up the tub with ice and water. This is his last chance. He needs to ice his fantasies before they get way out of hand and become a problem.

Harry strips out of his clothes and with a series of curse words he gets into the water, the ice immediately practically burning his skin. It's like Hell.

He loves it, in a weird, masochist way.

Normally he would only spend about a minute in the tub, but this time he knows he needs more. Slowly, his body cools down, his muscles loosen up and finally... his mind starts to clear out.

It's blank. No thoughts. No feelings. But the blissfulness doesn't last long.

His phone is beside the tub and it chimes from a text, the sound breaks the silence and he exhales sharply as he reaches for the phone, thinking it might be his mother or sister with something silly. But then as he looks at the screen, he loses his head again.

Your smiling face is shown next to a text in the notification.

"Don't forget, you have an early meeting tomorrow morning with Jackson Morgan."

It's a simple, innocent, work-related thing, you've sent reminders like this before, but this time... it's not that simple.

The fantasies flood back into his mind in a split second and not even the ice cold water can keep his body cool and calm. In a blink of an eye, he is hard again.

"Shit, shit, shit!" he jumps out of the water, his cock shamelessly hardening with every passing second and by the time he stands under the shower, he is almost bursting.

This time, he can't stop himself from wrapping his hand around the base. With his eyes closed, one hand planted onto the tiled wall, the other one impatiently jerking himself, he gives in and lets even his dirtiest thoughts take over for once and for all, hoping he just needs to get you out of his system somehow.

You, on his desk, your back arching from the top as he pounds into you.

You, bent over his desk, your ass perched up into the air, begging to be spanked and fucked.

You, sitting on his lap while he sits in his leather chair, kissing up his neck, riding him like a good girl.

You... you... you...

He imagines you in every possible position he could ever think of. All of his filthiest, most outrageous thoughts finally burst out of the box he's kept them in in the back of his mind all this time and he just simply can't stop until he finally finds his release.

Normally he likes to take his time not just when he's with a woman but when he is pleasuring himself, he loves the teasing, the edging, he is not a fan of just a quick fuck, but this time he comes way faster and harder than ever. His face is all he can think of, he can almost hear you moan his name, his fingers pulling his hair and just like that... his cum is going down the drain along with the water, his half hard cock still in his hand as he tries to regulate his breathing.

But when the pleasure worms down, shame takes its place and it's heavy and thick.

"Fuck," he breathes out, his chest heaving as he grabs a towel to dry himself off, hoping it would rub the shame off him as well.

How will he look you in the eyes in the morning? What if you wear something short again? He will never be able to look at you around his desk and not get hard instantly, thinking of the scenes that just gave him an insane orgasm. He shouldn't have given in, because it only provided temporary relief, but now that he has let his fantasies loose, they will never let him rest.

He is fucked. In the worst way possible.

But little does he know, that in the meantime in a small apartment that you call your home across town, you're lying in bed, the skirt you wore to the office today thrown into the hamper, your hands between your legs, eyes rolled back into your head as you're pleasuring yourself. Thinking about none other than your boss, taking you on his desk, letting you ride him in his chair, or pounding into you from behind while you're watching the city through the floor to ceiling windows of his office... His hand holding a handful of your hair as he pulls on it...Fucking you like no one did before, because you haven't been able to think of anyone else since the day he interviewed you for his assistant position...