I Don't- HARRY STYLES #DirtyImagine

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I trudged up the stairs, not even wanting to move anymore. The day, horrible. My life, eh. Could things get worse, most likely not, but odds were that if I told myself it couldn’t then it would, so, yeah.

As I walked down the short hall, I heard weird, yet familiar noises coming from the bedroom. “What the h*ll?” I murmured quietly.

I pushed the cracked-open door the rest of the way open, to see Harry lying on the bed staring wide-eyed at his phone. “What are you watching?” I questioned, gathering that the moaning was coming from his phone.

“C’mere,” was all he said.

“Dude, what are you watching?” I repeated, not for the idea of pornography at all.

“Just come over here, Y/N.”

I kicked off my heels and picked up one of Harry’s shirts off the floor. “Can I use this?”

“Sure,” he replied, his eyes remaining plastered to the screen that was making colored reflections across his face.

After unbuttoning my blouse, I slid it off my shoulders, letting it drop to the floor and slipped his shirt over me. “Okay, so what?” I mumbled, sitting next to him on the bed. “And nope, bye,” I immediately interrupted myself once I got a glimpse of the screen.

“What?” 

“I’m not watching that.”

“Why not?” he urged, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Because it’s f*cking porn, genius,” I laughed, unzipping my jeans to change into some sweats.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never—not once—ever watched porn. Have you?”

“While I’ve come across it, but I don’t intentionally glue my eyes to a screen of people having sex. So, no, I’ve never actually watched it.” Harry gave me some weird look that I couldn’t exactly place words to. “Is something wrong with that? Not everyone watches porn, Harry,” I added, kicking my jeans off my ankles.

“Then what do you get yourself off to?” he clearly hesitated to ask.

“Umm… I don’t.”

“You don’t get yourself off… to anything? At all?”

“No, I mean I don’t get myself off,” I muttered slowly. “But whatever. Go on your merry little pornographic way, but don’t count me in.” I ignored the fact that I never put any pants on, and started to leave the bedroom—not in anger, just to get all the crappy makeup off my face.

“Wait, you never have?”

“Well, I’ve thought about it, but I haven’t, because… just ‘cause.”

“Just ‘cause… you don’t know how to?”

I puffed up my top lip with air, a little embarrassed that he was going that far. “Yeah.”

Without a word, he stood up and walked over to me. “So, I’ve got this beautiful girl in front of me, who doesn’t know how to pleasure herself, but her boyfriend is gone for months at a time. Babe, I think it’s time to learn.”

“Harry, that’s awkward.”

“Not really.”

“Yes, it is. I don’t teach you how to masturbate.”

“Well, I know how to!” he laughed, following me into the bathroom. “Seriously, Y/N. Girls should know how to pleasure themselves.”

“Okay, Harry, fine,” I replied as I pulled my hair back into a pony tail. I tied an almost-broken rubber-band around my hair as he smiled and pecked me on the lips, grabbed my hand and pulled me back into the bedroom. “But only because I know you won’t stop bugging me until I give in,” I added.

“Off,” he said, pointing at my white-lace panties.

“Don’t even,” I remarked, laughing, placing my hand on my hips.

“What?”

“Don’t get all dominant, Harry.”

“Well, I have to show you what to do,” he adverted. “And you can’t exactly finger yourself completely if you still have those on.”

I rolled my eyes and slipped them off, letting them pool at my feet. Harry sat on the bed and patted the space between his legs. I sighed at what was about to take place, but, very reluctantly, climbed on the bed between his legs, resting my back against his stomach. 

“Babe,” Harry giggled, kissing the top of my head, “relax. It’s not like I’m killing you.”

“It seems like it,” I whispered to myself as he took my hand in his.

“Okay, now, I’m gonna help you, but I’m not doing anything for you. I mean, unless I get really turned on but… anyway…”

His voice trailed off as he took my finger and pressed it to my clit. I shivered at my cold fingertip, hesitating as his hand moved up to my forearm, no longer helping. “Rub,” he instructed quietly.

I swallowed hard, self-conscious of not only what I was doing, but… like… performance; because it’s pretty embarrassing to fail at anything in front of your boyfriend. Timidly, self-consciously, I did as told. At first, it brought absolutely no pleasure, and just felt weird. “Do, umm, do figure-eights. That feels good—maybe better… I mean for girls,” Harry said, eyes glued on my circling fingers.

The motion of my fingers diverted into a figure-eight pattern, making the newly found pleasure increase—by the masses. “Does that feel right? Like… when I do it?”

“Uh, yeah,” I breathed, my ab-muscles (like I had abs…) tightening. I rested my head against his chest and closed my eyes, my mouth agape in response to the pleasure I didn’t even realize I could give myself.

He placed his hand on mine, stopping me from rubbing myself. He moved my hand down and instructed me to push a finger in. “Umm…”

“Do it, Y/N.” 

So, I did; but barely. “I mean push it in,” he stated, pushing my finger in.

“Harry!” I gasped, the feeling a little painful.

“Um, okay, now, curve it towards your stomach,” he said. I smiled as I felt something poking against the small of my back.

I rounded my finger inside of me, hitting that spongy spot. “Holy sh*t,” I mumbled.

“That’s your g-spot.”

“I know what it is, Harold,” I snapped.

“Try two fingers,” he said.

I attempted to push another in, but couldn’t. “That hurts,” I puffed.

“Just do it, Love.”

“Harry, seriously it hurts,” I hissed.

“Then here,” he blurted, pushing my hand out of the way and pumping two fingers in.

“Harry!!” I squealed, jolting forward.

“Sit back,” he uttered, placing his other hand on my stomach and pushing me back into him, his boner now digging into my back.

Whimpers escaped my lips as he furiously pumped his fingers in and out, curving them before pulling out each time, my back arching away from him, head pressing into his chest.

“Now, do it.” He pulled his fingers out, and replaced mine.

“F*ck you, that didn’t help.”

“Just finish yourself off,” he commanded.

I shoved two fingers in, already close to coming. Harry pushed down on my clit, carving circles into it, getting me that much closer.

“Keep going,” he demanded, seeing that my fingers had slowed down because of the increasing painful pleasure.

I gasped as my muscles tightened and arched my back as I came on myself.

Harry placed a kiss on the top of my head as I rested the curve of my back against him.

“Now you know,” he murmured against my messed up hair.

“I’m making you wash these,” I sighed.

“Fine by me.”

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