The Flat

13

"Here," Harry breathed as he reached for my back pocket, taking the time to give my behind a good grab as he got my phone. He tapped the button to discard the call, when he froze.

"What?" I asked.

"It's Aaron," he mumbled, pushing my phone into my face. I took my phone and began to look through it. Harry began to pull up his pants.

"Shit," I groaned. I had two missed calls and a bunch of texts.

"What?" he asked as he began to rearrange himself.

"I totally forgot," I sighed, "We have dinner plans. Fuck!" I was so involved with everything that I had truly forgotten. Thankfully, he was texting me to let me know he had to move the reservation to a later time.

"Whatever," he said he pulled up his jeans and got up off the sofa, leaving me sitting on the floor.

He began to wander to the other side of the room and text who I only assumed to be Natasha. He was going to meet up with her. The more I thought about it, the more I didn't want him to. Quickly, I checked the train schedule and noticed I had some time before I had to leave.

"Wait," I said.

"What?" he asked, annoyance lacing his tone.

"I mean, we have some time before—"

"Really?" he asked, "Are you really..." he trailed off, catching on all too well.

"Maybe." I gave a coy smile.

"You want me to fuck you and send you off to your boyfriend?" He stared me down.

"Harry, I can't say—"

"No," he cut me off, "I need to hear you say it."

I swallowed hard. I hated him. I hated how much I wanted him. I hated what I was doing to keep him from going to Natasha.

"Umm...Maybe we should just..."

"You wanna fuck or not?" he asked. I looked at him; he wasn't going to budge.

Eyes locked with his, I began to crawl towards him on the floor. He bit his lip as I got closer. He could barely hide the smile in his eyes. When I got to him, I hooked my fingers into his belt loops and kissed the bulge in his jeans. I hoped that was enough to convince him.

It wasn't.

"Huh?" he teased, "Do you want to fuck, or not?" he asked sweetly, stroking my face.

"I want to," I said on a whisper.

"To what?"

"I want to fuck," I admitted. He looked pleased. He ran his fingers over my lips.

"Tell your boyfriend you'll be fifteen minutes late," he snapped, looking away from me.

"What?" I asked, making sure I heard him correctly.

"Text him and tell him you will be fifteen minutes late," he repeated, harshly, "that should give me more than enough time to fuck you," he continued coldly as he peeled off his t-shirt, "that is if he still wants you when I'm done with you."

"Harry, don't—" I started.

"He didn't seem to mind my sloppy seconds last time," he said trying to get a rise out of me. I ignored him. "Text," he commanded. As I did, he pressed his fingers into my mouth making me suck them. "I have plans for this mouth."

His fingers slid in and out of my mouth while I texted. Once I hit the send button, I put my phone down. I hated it when he talked to me this way, but I hated even more how much it turned me on.