Inclination

Kinky Breaks, Keys, Kit-Kat Prescriptions

Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday float stagnantly on a breezeless cloud. Harry was correct, you're stuck rattling around his brain with every activity and mundane task he completes; cooking breakfast, your tits and the way they fell when he pulled the cups of your bra away, driving to work, the whine you emitted when he sunk a second finger inside of you, filling out paperwork in his office, the way your slickness felt on his cock when he fucked his fist in front of you.

Your schedule is hectic beyond belief but your thoughts aren't dissimilar from Harry's. You page him a couple times but don't have very much time to talk considering the way your schedules misalign when you work late nights. He knows for a fact that you have Thursday off this week, so when his lunch break creeps closer on that day, he locks himself in his office and dials your number that he knows by heart.

You answer on the first ring and Harry's voice is coarse, slow and deliberate when he spouts, "can't stop thinking about how you tasted on my fingers."

You drop down onto your bed and close your eyes to breathe deeply, your core clenching violently at his greeting, "Dr. Styles - I certainly hope there are no children present."

He laughs but he's not amused, "Ace... I have to see you. I just went on my lunch, can I swing by? I can't stop thinking about you, you're all I can fucking comprehend. I'm breathing you in constantly. Please? Twenty minutes? Thirty tops?"

Your heart is pounding, sweat pricks your hairline and Harry's skin tingles with the conviction in your tone, "me too. You're not alone. Yes, come here right now." You can hear him exhale into the receiver, his relief deflating the pressure from his chest as he stands up and grabs his jacket, already inching closer to the door when he mutters a goodbye, slams the phone down and rushes to his car.

He's half hard in his trousers the entire ride to your place, he's been wanking twice as often as normal but nothing seems to quench his insatiable thirst. He's unsure if things will get simpler after the two of you eventually have sex and now he's thinking about what you would feel like wrapped around him and he's groaning when he pushes on his center and adjusts himself at a red light.

His fingers drum against the black leather of his steering wheel as he pulls up to your place, glancing at his watch to see how much time he has with you and then running up the stairs two at a time to your apartment.

His knocking is incessant and when you swing your apartment door open, clad in a simple relaxed mini dress, his long awaited fantasies are finally coming true as he rushes forward to seal your mouths together passionately. You moan and tangle your fingers into his hair when he grips your ass to pick you up and wrap your legs around his waist, walking you into your bedroom and dropping you on top of your sheets.

He stands between your legs and bends down to kiss you again, moaning when your tongue massages his, "roommate home?" He's referring to your open and unlocked door and when you shake your head, he rips his jacket from his shoulders and throws it onto the floor, "need your come on my tongue."

You gasp when he pushes you down onto the mattress and grabs you by your calves, dragging you to the edge of the bed and dropping to his knees, "I'm gonna fucking burst. Are you okay?"

You sit up on your elbows and stare at him darkly, "get busy." His eyes roll back at your demand, a whine leaking from his lips as he palms his center and drags his blunt nails up your thighs to hook into your underwear and slip them down to your ankles.

His palms are cool and dry as they grip the tops of your thighs and squeeze, spreading your legs apart to get a look at your core for the first time. His chest is tight when his gaze meets yours, "stunning." The line in your neck lengthens when your head rolls back to hang between your shoulder blades and he allows his eyes to trace from your chin back down to your slit.