Harry Styles is drunk in the pool.
Drunk, angry, and just a little bit horny.
Michelle is outside of the pool.
Watching him with a scowl on her face.
She has no idea how they got here. No idea what could have possessed him to make such an idiotic declaration in the middle of one of the biggest parties of the summer.
But truth be told, Michelle never understands any of Harry's choices. Sometimes she thinks he's merely playing a game with her, and other times...
She wonders if he means it.
"Harry," she calls to him, a soft but urgent warning. "Get out."
"No," he replies smugly, swimming a few feet back as his nice shirt clings to his body. "You get in."
Her teeth grit. "Harry—"
"Bunny."
She's going to kill him one of these days. She really is.
After their little...rendezvous with Crystal the other day in the game room, Michelle had begun to realize that this line they were towing was no longer sustainable. She'd considered trying to talk to him once Crystal had slipped away but decided against it.
After all...what would she say?
So, she's said nothing at all. Hasn't acknowledged him, hasn't looked at him, hasn't even allowed herself to think about him.
The summer is almost over. And soon, Harry will no longer occupy a space in her mind.
She'll be rid of him. For good.
And she'd planned to continue this coy aversion to him for the final few weeks...until this party, that is.
It had started as it usually does. Hugh made a grand speech and kept Michelle by his side. He'd introduced her to some of his distinguished guests and Michelle basked in his praise. It felt like it used to. When Hugh and Michelle were the untouchable two of the mansion.
She'd briefly caught sight of Harry when he arrived. He looked...good. She had to admit that. His hair was slicked back, but already fighting against the gel as a rogue curl fell across his forehead. His t-shirt was black, crisp, and clean. His slacks were pressed and there were rings on his fingers.
Their eyes met for about half a second before they both turned away and continued on with their previous conversations.
However, her mind continued to drift back to him, no matter how many times she attempted to steer it back on track.
And it didn't help that she could hear his voice. That familiar but rough cadence instantly bringing her back to that afternoon in her bedroom.
She's tried not to think about that, either. But it's been...hard.
She gets flashes of his hands. His anger. His dominance. The way he tossed her around, the way he held her, the way he spoke to her.
She doesn't enjoy being in her subspace, but...with Harry?
Something felt...different.
It felt...
Safe.
But it's not what Michelle does. It's not who she is, and if she allows herself to need him...
She might never be able to let him go.
And he will. He'll go.
Because she asked him to.
She then spent the rest of the party making sure to avoid him. Any time he was within a hundred feet, she would turn on her heel and walk away.
She doubted he even noticed. Assumed he certainly wouldn't care.
And she carried this thought with her as she continued on with the evening, slipping away after a while to grab a drink.
That's where he found her.
She'd turned around and run straight into his chest. His large hands came out to grasp onto her arms and keep her steady as she gasped and shot him a bewildered look.
"Hi," he'd said, smiling in that lazy, confident way she'd grown so used to.
She straightened up and pulled herself free from his touch. "What?"
His head cocked to the left, a dark strand of hair sweeping across his eye. "Just...saying hello."
"Well...you said it," she retorted. "Now, if you'll excuse me—"
"No." His eyebrow rose. "No, I won't excuse you, actually. Not until you answer my question."
She narrowed her eyes. "Your question?"
"My question."
"We're at a party, Harold. I don't see any need for questions."
"No, you never do. But we must. I must know your answer."
Her eyes rolled as she sighed. "Fine. Be quick with it."
He'd taken a moment to study her. Perhaps looking for just the right phrasing. "What would you do if you weren't here?"
She blinked. "If I wasn't here, then I wouldn't be having this ridiculous conversation with you—"
"No," he interrupted. "No, what...what would you do if you weren't here? At the mansion. As a Bunny. If you weren't...his."
The question threw her off guard as she leaned back. "Well...what does it matter? I hardly think that what I would be doing has any bearing now—"
"Answer me, Michelle."
Her hands found her hips. "I don't know. I've never thought about it. Never wanted to think about it because I don't want to be doing anything else."
"You don't want a life outside of Hugh?" he questioned, almost with an air of disbelief. "You don't want to move away and be your own person? Instead of his plaything? You don't want your own house, and life, and...everything that comes with that?"
Beginning to understand his game, she straightened up. "You mean a husband and kids and a little white picket fence? Is that what you're implying? That I'm wrong for not wanting to be somebody's wife?"
"No. No, I was just—"
"Did you think that's what this was, Harold?" she pushed. "That this summer was just you grooming me to be your perfect little pet? That you'd steal me away from all this and make a housewife out of me and I would thank you for doing so? Is that what you wanted?"
"No," he seethed, a certain indignation in his expression. "No, I just...I just want to know what you want, Michelle. I don't...I can never understand you. Can never understand what you're expecting of me. You run circles around the truth and leave me to chase after you, and I'm tired. I'm tired of not knowing where you're going."
She steeled herself from the bitter accusation as she regarded him. "And what is it you'd like me to say? That I want you? That I want to leave all this behind just to be with you?"
He took a breath and a beat. "I want you to tell me the truth. I want you to tell me...if I've been a fool...for following you around this summer. Hoping for something you can't give me."
"And what is it that you want me to give you?"
His eyes found hers.
"You."
A breath had caught in her lungs as she was forced to swallow his confession. "Well...you should already know that I cannot give you anything more than I already have. That was part of our deal."
"I know," he said simply. "I just want to know if you would."
But even Michelle didn't know the answer to that.
And when she merely responded with a deafening silence, he seemed to understand. He sighed, nodding once before reaching around her to grab a beer.
"It's a shame that I've spent all summer seeing you," he said before stepping back, "only to realize that you never once...saw me."
With that, he turned on his heel and disappeared back into the party, leaving her to stare at the spot he once was.
And she very well would have been stuck on his admission for the rest of the evening had she not heard his voice echoing through the crowd.
Confused, and slightly terrified, she scurried back to the party and found him jumping up onto one of the tables, a giant grin on his face.
"I want...to make a toast," he declared, thrusting his beer into the air. "To the man of the hour. To the man—my boss—that's given us everything we ever could have wanted. In one house."
Michelle went deathly still as she swung her attention over to Hugh, who was too far gone in his own drink to question Harry's odd behavior.
He simply smiled and raised his glass as well.
Michelle felt her teeth grit.
"I came to work for him this summer and I didn't know what to expect," Harry continued. "Sure, hot women, and endless sex, and everything else a man could want—"
The crowd cheered.
"—but Hugh gave me more than that. You know, he gave me...he gave me purpose. He gave me the one thing I learned I can never live without."
The audience seemed to quiet as they waited with bated breath.
Harry grinned. "A cute little Bunny to put on her fucking knees."
The entire party erupted into toasts and shouts of approval as Harry took a swig of his drink. And then another. And another. Until the entire beer had been downed and the glass was tossed toward the trash.
And Michelle watched in near horror as he leaped from the table, saluted a few of the other men, and then dove headfirst into the pool.
Of course, this only resulted in more laughs of approval from the crowd before they eventually returned to their previous conversations.
Leaving Michelle to glare angrily at the aggravating man swimming laps beside the waterfall.
She knew he wasn't her problem. He'd made it clear to both him and her that he was no longer her problem.
If anything, he was Crystal's problem now.
But Crystal had taken the night off and Michelle knew that come tomorrow, when Harry was sober, he would regret such a display.
And, truth be told, she didn't want him to drown.
So, she had marched over to him and demanded he exit the pool.
Leading them both to now, as she attempts to persuade him back onto the grass.
"Harry," she hisses again, taking a tentative step closer. "Harry, you're making a scene."
"Michelle," he mimics, feigning a pout. "I am simply...living. Which I am allowed to do. With or without you."
Her eyes dart toward Hugh to make sure he's not within earshot and feels a wave of relief when she sees him head inside to finish a conversation.
"You are more than welcome to live your life," she responds. "That's never been an issue—"
"You just don't want me to live it with you," he finishes, and she feels an odd feeling bloom in her chest. Something she could almost confuse with...remorse. "You don't want me...to have you. The way I want."
"You don't want me," she corrects snidely. "You want Crystal. You want a wife, you want...you want somebody submissive, and docile, and easy."
Now, a real pout forms as he swims closer to where she stands. "Says who?"
"Says you," she snorts. "About two minutes ago. And all fucking summer, actually."
"Have I not bent my rules for you?" he reminds her. "Have I not compromised for what you want?"
She hesitates. She knows he has but she can't say she wants to admit it. At least, not aloud. To him. "You asked me to give you my time and I agreed. I don't see how you can complain about the ways in which I did it—"
"M'not complaining," he says quickly, head shaking as little droplets of water fly from his hair. "I'm not. But I've ignored a large part of myself for you. And I was happy to do it. I was happy to be what you wanted. I'd just like to you acknowledge that you liked when I did that, too."
She leans back. "Fine. I liked when you behaved. Happy?"
"No." He grins again as he grasps onto the ledge of the pool and floats there. "No, I want you to admit that you liked having someone work so hard to please you. Even if it meant putting you in charge."
She scoffs. "You loved when I was in charge—"
"No, I loved getting to fuck you against the wall and have you sit on my face," he counters, and despite herself, she feels her cheeks flush. "All this time, you thought you were doing me this huge favor but really...you were doing what I wanted you to. All along."
Her arms angrily cross over her chest as she sneers down at him. "Fine. And now you've got Crystal. Who will do anything you want. No matter what."
His eyes flick between hers for a moment before he pushes off the tile and begins to float backward. "I do," he agrees. "I do have Crystal."
The strange feeling in her chest grows.
"But she's not what I want," he continues. "Not who I want. She needs someone to take care of her, and maybe in another life, if I hadn't met you...I'd be that for her."
Michelle's lashes flutter.
"But...I have met you," he says. "I've met you, and I've touched you, and I've fucked you, and I've made you come more times than I can count. And come August, when I have to leave...I'm not quite sure what I'm going to do with myself."
She doesn't like imagining him leaving. She hasn't even allowed herself to imagine it before.
Truth be told, she's afraid of how she'll really feel about it.
She fights against her instinct and scoffs again. "Well, for starters...you could sober up and get out of the pool. You and I both know you'll be quite ashamed tomorrow."
"But I'm having so much fun," he argues before he disappears under the water, leaving her eyes to roll.
When he comes back up, he's grinning wildly, as if he's somehow won their little argument.
She watches his large palms push the dark curls back and despite herself, her stare lingers.
"You're having fun now. But you won't be tonight, when you're vomiting the entire contents of your stomach all over your shabby little apartment," she retorts.
A suspicious expression passes over his face. "Why do you assume my apartment is little and shabby?"
She shrugs. "You told me once."
"When?"
"When?"
"Yes, when did I tell you that?"
She looks away and waves him off. "I don't know. Sometime back, I suppose."
He runs his tongue over his teeth before swimming closer, endlessly amused. "Funny. Seeing as how I don't live in a shabby, little apartment."
She glances back, eyebrow raised.
He wades a bit closer. "My apartment is quite nice actually. Three bedrooms. Two and a half baths. A patio and a great view of the city from every window."
She blinks. "An assistant position pays for all that?"
"No, not even close," he admits. "But I didn't take this job for the money. I took it for the experience."
"Experience?"
"Yes. I needed something to do this summer and after having met Hugh a handful of times before, I thought he'd make a fine boss."
"So...you're not poor?"
"Did you assume I would be?"
"I don't assume anything about you."
"Is that why you won't have me? Because you thought I was poor?"
"No. Your money is none of my concern."
"Then why did you assume my apartment would be small and shabby?"
"Well, it's a rather fair guess. Considering."
"Considering?"
"Yes. The way you dress. The way you act. Your job."
"I don't dress any different than the other men that come through here."
"Then it's the way you wear how you dress."
"I'm afraid I don't understand."
"No, you never do."
His smug expression returns. "Michelle, I'm not nearly sober enough for this conversation."
"I agree," she says shortly. "So, get out of the pool and stop embarrassing yourself."
He looks at her. "Would me getting out make you happy?"
She hesitates. "Yes," she lies. "Yes, it would."
He hums before nodding once and swimming closer. "All right," he concedes, arm outstretching toward her. "Be a good little Bunny and give me a hand?"
With a huff, she bends down and wraps her fingers around his palm. She begins to tug, using the little muscle she has to help yank him out when she catches his devious smile.
Next thing she knows, he's pulling much harder and yanking her into the water.
She doesn't even have the time to gasp as she's fully submerged, and she can vaguely hear the crowd vocalize their amusement.
Harry's hand never leaves hers, eventually guiding her back up so she can break free and gasp for air.
And the minute she has, she jerks herself from his grasp and shoves on his chest. "You imbecile!"
Of course, he has the nerve to laugh as he's forced backward, completely unphased. "Admit it. You needed to cool down."
Another aggravated huff. "God. You are such a child—"
"I'm only having fun," he argues, swimming back over until he can snake his arms around her middle.
She goes quite still at the feel of his body against hers. Something she hasn't felt in quite some time.
And despite being in such frigid water, his skin is warm. Strong. Sturdy. Effortlessly keeping her afloat as she looks at him.
"This is not fun," she finally says, swallowing thickly as she attempts to wiggle free. "Harry...let go."
"No," he says, face nuzzling in her neck as her breath hitches.
She cranes her neck for Hugh and is only slightly relieved when she sees he's still inside.
Her hands grip onto Harry's shoulders as she half-heartedly pushes on him. "Harold—"
"No," he says again, his lips making a home on her throat as he seems to settle. "No, I want to hold you. You never let me hold you."
Her attempts begin to slow as she sighs. "Harry...this is not becoming. There are people here—"
"Good. Let them see the way I touch you."
Her eyes widen as she looks down. She can't see his face, but she knows by the soft purr in his voice that he means to disarm her.
"Harry..." she warns again. "Let go."
"Why? Give me one good reason why I shouldn't fuck you right here, right now and I will let you go."
She snorts under her breath, as if the answer were obvious, but as the seconds go by, she realizes...maybe she doesn't have one.
"There are people," she repeats instead, and he laughs into her shoulder.
"Has that ever bothered you before?"
Not at all. "It's different now, and you know it."
"Why? Because of him?"
"Yes," she hisses, pulling herself far enough back that he's forced to meet her eye. "Drunk or not, this is not how you behave."
"I don't want to behave anymore," he declares, the corner of his mouth curling up. "And I don't think you want me to, either. If the other afternoon was any indication."
A tad stunned by the mention, and endlessly annoyed, her hands fall to his chest as she subtly begins to shove. "That was different."
"Was it?"
"Yes."
"How?"
Her chin raises defiantly. "I was being good to you."
"Really? You going into your subspace was for my benefit?"
Her cheeks flush, and she wants to cower away from the reminder. "Yes. You clearly needed to feel like some sort of man—"
"I am a man whether I'm on my knees or putting you on yours," he interrupts. "And you...slipped so easily into my hands that I think we both know you always wanted to be there."
She feels her muscles stiffen in his hold. "Harry...let go."
"Why?" he asks again, easily pulling her closer until her chest is flush with his, and their noses just about touch. "Why, Michelle? Why do you run away from what you want?"
I don't know, she thinks. "And you think this is what I want?"
"I think it could be."
"Well...it's not."
"Why?"
"Harry."
"Why won't you let me take care of you?"
Her lips roll into her mouth.
"Why won't you admit to yourself that you like to be taken care of?" he continues, and there's a certain soberness to the question. "Why won't you understand that I want to take care of you. And that I'm damn good at it."
She scoffs again as if to dismiss the implication, but deep down...she knows he's right. "And fucking me in a pool in the middle of the party is how you do that, hm?"
"One of the ways, yes. I know you like to be shown off."
Despite herself, she begins to consider it. "Harry...you know better."
He grins. "Do I?"
He shifts her so that she's forced to straddle his waist, and her legs wrap around his middle almost as if on their own.
And that's when she feels him through his soaked trousers, hard and ready to give her what she's been depriving herself of for days now.
She gasps and Harry's smile widens.
"It would be so easy," he murmurs, nosing under her jaw, "to slip inside you. Right now. So easy...to have you clenching around my cock while everybody looks on."
Her arms slip around his neck to steady herself, and a hundred and one snippy retorts come to mind...yet none of them come out.
"So...easy," he whispers, "to let Hugh see that you only come for me. Have you moaning my name until everybody in this whole goddamn mansion knows what you've really been doing this summer."
She feels his hand fall from her hip toward her thighs, maneuvering under her nice dress as it floats beneath the water.
His fingers crawl upward, searching for the drenched lace of her underwear, and the moment he brushes her clit...she gasps.
She lurches forward and he's quick to catch her, keeping her steady as he coos, "Shh. Stay still for me, all right? Be my good little Bunny."
Her nails scratch down his wet curls as she subtly grinds her hips over his hand.
And he's so fucking pleased with her. So delighted by her compliance that he chuckles darkly against her cheek.
"Changed my mind," he tells her, and she feels her stomach drop. "I want you to be quiet. Want you to save your needy little whimpers just for me. Don't want to share you with them—with him."
She feels him hook his finger around the material before he's pulling it aside.
"Do you understand?" he says, leaving her to steel herself against him as they float by the waterfall. "Do you understand, Michelle?"
"Yes," she breathes, attempting to writhe against his touch. "Now, hurry—"
"No," he suddenly seethes, pressing his thumb down her cunt angrily. "No, you won't rush me. I will do this...exactly how I see fit."
"Harry—"
"And you will take it," he continues sternly. "You will behave, and you will wait."
Michelle bites her tongue. Swallows the urge to berate him as he takes his hand away from her so he can undo the button on his trousers.
And she waits. She waits exactly like she was asked to do as he slips his cock free and brings her closer.
She has no idea how they'll manage to pull this off. No idea how somebody won't figure it out, especially some of the other girls.
After all, she's quite literally straddling his waist in the middle of a crowded backyard event and anybody could make the connection.
Sure, something like this isn't unusual for one of Hugh's parties but if Hugh himself were to come out and see them...
Frankly, she doesn't want to know what would happen next.
But this clearly isn't a concern of Harry's as he nods his chin at her. "Go on."
Stealing one last glance over her shoulder to make sure they aren't being watched, she takes a deep breath and reaches down.
She tugs her panties to the side and returns her attention to his face as he brings himself closer.
And she watches him as he slips inside, pushing past her tight walls as her jaw drops.
It's everything. For both of them. No foreplay, no teasing, no words of affirmation. He fills her with his cock until their hips meet and it takes everything in her not to choke on his name.
The arm around her hip tightens as he tugs her down. As he takes a deep breath and nuzzles his face back into the curve of her shoulder. As he does everything he can to resist the temptation of ruining her.
She knows they can't do much, not with the water splashing the way it is. It would easily draw too much attention, and so for a minute or two, he simply settles inside of her. Allows her to stretch around him as her pussy flutters and her fingers dig into the back of his neck.
"Shit," she hears him groan into her wet skin, and it sends a chill up the back of her neck. "Roll your hips for me, sweetheart. Come on, you know what to do."
And she does, readjusting her grip on his body so she can slowly and subtly rock herself over his cock. She's careful not to create too many waves and the tortuous pace she's forced to set nearly ruins both of them.
"Fuck, Bunny," he whispers, pulling back so he can cup her cheek and search for a kiss. "So fucking good—"
"No," she warns, leaning away from him with a hazy look in her eye. "No, can't kiss me. They'll know."
He frowns. "Michelle—"
"Can't," she pants, head shaking once. "Just fuck me."
He takes a moment to consider this before he seems to agree, hand dropping back down to her hip to help guide her.
And for the next minute or two, they continue this dance. Languid rolls and teasing touches to her clit that make her lashes flutter.
They're surrounded by the sounds of everyone else. Of laughter, of music, of more toasts from the audience.
Nobody seems to notice them in the pool. Either that or they don't care. And Michelle suddenly doesn't mind. Doesn't mind letting the assistant fuck in her the middle of the summer's most beloved event. Doesn't mind the fact that he's been nothing but a fucking pain in her ass since day one. Doesn't mind that he asks her for more than she can give him.
The only thing she wants—the only thing she can see—is their end. Not just hers. Not just his...
Theirs.
It doesn't take much longer for her to grow excited by the idea of fucking Harry in front of the eyes of the audience. Until she's teetering on that edge as he brings her closer. Until her legs are constricting around his middle as she gasps his name.
"Easy," he warns only once, nails scratching down her back as he makes one sharp thrust upward. "Easy, Michelle. You know better. I know you know—"
"Har," she sighs, too overcome with need to think clearly. "Please—"
"No," he interrupts. "No. You know better."
And she does.
"Harry," she corrects herself, clenching at the use of his name.
He grins when he feels it.
"That's it," he hums. "S'a good fucking girl. Gonna come on my cock, Bunny? You gonna let them know how easy it is for me to have you? Break you? Fucking claim you?"
Her muscles have turned to jelly. Nothing else makes sense to her right now. Just this. This feeling of being filled. Of being owned.
Taken care of.
"You're so untouchable, hm?" he taunts, almost viciously under his breath. "So fucking proud. And yet here you are, riding my cock like a good little whore. Like you were always meant to, yeah? Like you were always meant to find me."
She's not sure why but this...is what tips her. It hits her so fucking hard and so fucking fast that she doesn't have time to warn him or brace herself.
She shakes in his hold as she clings to his body. As she tightens around his cock until he's groaning at the feel of her squeezing him.
And vaguely, she feels him follow. Hears him, too. Soft, salacious murmurs of, "So fucking good, baby. Feel so fucking warm. Fucking take me, that's right. God, I fucking love this pussy. Love the way it squeezes me. Love the way it takes my come. Fucking love you, Michelle."
She almost misses it. Almost doesn't hear the declaration as he fills her, shooting his come inside her awaiting cunt. Almost thinks she misheard the quiet mumbling.
But she knows she hasn't. Knows, without a doubt, that he came inside of her and told her he loved her.
Her Playboy loves her.