"I love you, Harry Edward Styles," she states with such sincerity that tears spring to my eyes.
Of course I know she can't mean it. Not really. It's too early in our relationship. She's had a rough and emotional day. We've just had some amazing sex (which, let's face it, is always mind-blowing with Minnie and me). But she can't be cognizant of her words right now. There is no way I would hold her accountable for what she says at this point.
Pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth, I step into the loo to ditch the condom and gather my thoughts. Because as much as I know the words have no meaning, I want them to be true. In the moment that she said them, my heart swelled, and I ached to reply "I love you too". But the last time I said that to a woman was.....well, yeah. You know. Misty.
My hand covers my eyes, fighting to keep the tears in because if I go out there right now, she will wrongly surmise that I don't feel the same way when.....dammit. I do love her. She's changed my life. We can laugh together but we can also sit silently next to each other and just.....EXIST. That never happened with Misty.
It's why I love Jeff and Nick and Mitch so dearly. I can be in the same room with any of them, and no one has to say a word. We can just share space without filling it with noise. It's a luxury that I haven't experienced with many people outside of my family. Minnie lends me her quiet strength on rough days and cheers me on when I'm having a good day. All without speaking.
She will need a little time to process the idea of having children, but she's on board with the idea. I know she is. And if she hadn't been on an emotional roller coaster right now, I would gladly have impregnated her tonight. However many times it takes to get the job done. (Can you see my smirk?)
Less than a year ago, I was lamenting the idea that not a single woman of my acquaintance was one with whom I would want to have children. Because kids mean a lifetime commitment. Having been part of a split family, I am determined never to put my children through that if I can help it.
But now I have a woman in my life with whom I honestly could see myself raising little ones. Our babies would be so beautiful. Her bone structure is exquisite, and she's such a talented listener and empathizer. Passing those qualities onto the next generation of Styles is essential.
Wow. I do love her. The feeling washes over me in waves, and for a moment I think I'm going to puke. Resting my hand against the wall, I breathe shallowly until the feeling passes. Is that what love is supposed to feel like? Is it supposed to make you double over with nausea?
Having no idea how long I've stood in the loo, I'm startled when there's a knock on the door.
"Harry? Are you okay?"
Opening the door to her, I sheepishly wipe a hand down my face. Naked, she stands in front of me, and all I want to do is fall to my knees and worship her. So I do. Wrapping my arms around her waist, I rest my head against her belly button. She tangles her fingers in my hair.
As is her typical response, though, she says nothing. Just allows me to rest against her, both of us naked and vulnerable. Asking no questions, she eventually places her hands on either side of my head, pulling me away from her so that I'm looking into her eyes. And suddenly, she's kneeling on the floor across from me. (Thank goodness it's carpeted here. Yes, I know that's not a romantic thought, but sometimes one has to be practical.)
Her hands have not left my head as she moves into position across from me, and now she pushes my bangs from my forehead before kissing me deeply.
"I meant it," she whispers, "but because it probably scared you, I'll say it again in the morning. And in the afternoon. And tomorrow night. And next week. And next year. I'll say it as often as it takes for you to believe it. I love you, Harry."
Without giving me a chance to respond, she's kissing me again, and soon we're lying on the floor together as I trace her curves. The music has continued playing, and now we're listening to Bing Crosby sing "Count Your Blessings Instead of Sheep". She shivers as I discover the soft spot behind her knee, gently peppering kisses there.
Crawling my way back up her body, I am indeed counting my blessings. Reaching her lips again, I claim them as the spoils of the victor, knowing that I want these lips on mine every day for the rest of my life. Also recognizing quite clearly that we've both won.
"While I'm enjoying the moment, do you mind if we move to the bed now?" I ask, and she grins. "In my younger days," I explain, "I would have merely pulled the duvet onto the floor with us. But I'm practically ancient now, and I've grown accustomed to the luxury of a bed."
She watches as I stand up, my cock ready for her again. Reaching out her hands, she waits for me to pull her up. As she lands on her own two feet across from me, she releases my hands only to grasp my length. Her hooded eyes say she is both worn out and horny.
"I Love How You Love Me" by Bobbie Vinton is playing as we climb into bed. I debate with myself because while I want to make love to her to satisfy myself, I also want to bring her to orgasm with my mouth since she didn't let me earlier. It's quite the dilemma because I know there's no way we can do both before she falls asleep.
She solves the issue when she pulls me to her. "Harry. Listen to me. It's unlikely that we would get pregnant the first time. Not impossible, but there's a smaller chance. Please," she looks deeply into my eyes, and I know I won't be able to resist whatever she asks, "make love to me. I want to feel you and only you inside me."
AVKNJDAREIUFXVJO; HUNGIHXSGNKJR GJZKFERU!!!!!
Yes. That's a keyboard smash. Because I don't have the words to express how I feel in this moment. Fuck. FUCK. FUUUUUCCCCCCCKKKK. That's as close as I can come.
I signal for her to move to my side of the bed so I have to deal with the wet spot later, and she obliges. Settling between her thighs, I reach down to trace tight circles over her nub. She sighs, spreading her legs further. Dipping one finger inside, I am stunned at how wet she is.
"Baby....you're so ready," I murmur, taking her nipple in my mouth as I pump my fingers in and out. Her hips buck up.
"Then just fuck me already, Styles," she replies, her lids drooping, and I am reminded that it's been one hell of a day for her.
Without waiting any longer, I push into her, and the sensation opens her eyes wide. Her wetness surrounds me on all sides, and I already know it's not going to take long before I'm over the precipice. Choking back tears at the intimacy, I sink further into her, supporting my weight on my forearms.
"Holy shit, Harry," she breathes out, "I can discern every vein. You feel amazing inside me. Don't move yet. I'm afraid I'm going to come the second you withdraw."
It takes everything I've got to hold still, gritting my teeth together. Finally, after what appears to be an eternity, she nods, biting her lip, and I pull out. The movement steals all air from my lungs, and she sucks in a deep breath simultaneously. Holy fuck. When I plunge back into her, tears form at the corners of her eyes. When I withdraw this time, I do so slowly, allowing every ridge to rub against her clit, and her eyes roll back into her head as she starts to pant.
Grabbing my ass, she pulls me into her, and I read her actions. She wants me to speed up, so I do, and within a few moments, we are yelling so loudly that Daisy comes to the bedroom door and begins barking. As I spill my seed inside of her, I capture her mouth, plunging my tongue in and out to mimic the act we'd just engaged in. Minnie tilts her hips upwards, wrapping her legs around my waist as I pump every bit of myself into her. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Releasing her lips, I look her in the eyes and whisper, "That was fucking brilliant. We should do that again and again."
"Until we create a baby?" she asks, cocking an eyebrow.
"Until the stars cease to exist," is my reply. "Fuck. Wilhelmina Olivia Wakefield. I live for you. I long for you. I love you."
============
When the phone rings the next morning, Meg hits the alarm, trying to silence the annoying sound. But then it occurs to her that the ringtone (the theme from The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly) belongs to her boss. Or her boyfriend. There's some muddy water there that probably should be sorted out sometime. Just not right now.
"Good God! It's early, Xavier! What are you awake for?" she demands grumpily.
"I'm just wondering why my personal assistant hasn't shown up for work yet," is his reply, and Meg sits up, blinking the sleep from her eyes, shocked.
"What?" she sputters, "I was supposed to be at work today?"
His laughter echoes across the cellular waves, "I'm just messing with ya, Meg-pie! I am wondering if we could have a business meeting this morning to discuss your potential future in my employ."
She's flummoxed at his statement, especially since he sounds formal after just saying he was teasing her. "Uh, I wasn't ready to work today, X. I didn't ask my parents to watch Titus."
"Bring him along!" Xavier booms magnanimously, "I'm on my way to the gym for a kickboxing lesson with Harry, but I should be home around 11. Bring the munchkin along, and I'll spring for lunch for us all. Does he like Chicken McNuggets?"
"Does he? This kid adores "'NickDonal's', but please get him the apple slices and milk as his sides. He also loves to eat healthy, oddly enough. I guess being born and bred into the California culture has its perks," Meg reports, "But are you sure it's okay to bring him? He can be a handful."
There's a silence on the other end of the line that Meg cannot interpret. "Meg-pie, how can I get to know your son if I don't get to spend time with him?"
Tingles spread from Meg's heart throughout her body at the thought that Xavier wants a relationship with her child.
"Okay," she whispers, "We'll be there around 11:30."
Hanging up the phone, she hugs her pillow tightly, screaming into the fluffy material so she doesn't wake her son in the bedroom. She gets to see Xavier again! And he wants to spend more time with Titus! Could life get any better?
When the phone starts to vibrate, she snatches it up before it can ring, answering with a saucy, "Can't wait until 11:30, huh?"
"Meg?" her mother's voice wafts across the phone lines, making Meg cringe.
"Mom," she sighs.
"Dear, your cousin's best friend's hairdresser heard from her uncle's butcher that you have been working for that obnoxious Xavier Tarrango." She pronounces his last name like TAR-angle, and Meg cringes that her mother has found out about her employment, and that her mom is so judgmental. "Is it true?"
With a sigh, Meg confesses, "Yes. It's true, Mom. I've been working for Xavier for more than a year now. I even got a credit on the movie." She knows this will soften the blow a bit, as her mother can now brag that her daughter worked on a movie.
"You did?'' The way her mother's voice goes up at the end signals to Meg that her mom cares more about the bragging rights than anything else. "Well," Meg can hear the pinched tone, "the critics said it was a well done action movie. And it has that Harry Styles in it. Did you get to meet him? Cause he's dreamy. Get in his good graces, and Titus would have a father who made sure he had everything under the sun."
Afraid she's going to hurt her eyes rolling them around in her head, Meg pointedly asks, "Was there a reason you called, Mom?"
"Well, yes. Of course there's a reason," the sniff is meant to convey her mother's dissatisfaction with the question. "I was calling to ask if we needed to watch Titus this week because I've got other plans. Naturally, I will change them for my grandson if I have to, but it's been a long time since I've had time to spend with my friends."
Ah. There's the truth. She's calling because she's hoping not to have to deal with her energetic grandson. But she will also be thwarted in not being needed. It's the contrast between being the "perfect grandmother" while also being the "put-upon mother".
"Don't worry, Mother. Titus doesn't need daycare this week," Meg declares and promises herself that she will find another childcare provider if it takes every extra penny from her paycheck. But at least she doesn't have to worry about it today. Putting the phone on speaker, Meg listens to her mother's rant about the treasurer at the Junior League while she folds up her sheets and blanket from her makeshift bed on the couch.
One of these days, she thinks, I will have a steady job in production that actually pays me what I'm worth.
As her mother's voice drones on, Meg thinks about what she will wear to go to Xavier's house. Can't go too informally so jeans are out. But she can't be too formal either, so there's no way she can wear a full pants suit.
"Meg? Meg? MEG?" her mother's voice calls, and Meg realizes that she's gotten lost in her thoughts while her mother drones on. "Are you there?"
She assures her mom that she's listening, finally finishing the call by telling her mom that she'll talk to her again later in the week.