look at this baby
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i'm here to officially announce that you should STREAM WALLS OR YOU'RE A TURNIP tbh
stan louis tomlinson besties
no louis slander on this book or ever ‼️
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HANA
"What do you want, baby?" he teases, and I'm getting closer to punching him, but at the same time, I find myself not even wanting to defy him at all.
"You, I want you."
"What about me? My fingers? My tongue?" he pushes, linking his fingers with mine and pulling me straight, my chest flat against his. He spins us easily, sitting back and immediately slipping his hands up my shirt until he can kiss along my lower stomach, his eyes burning into mine.
Fuck off, Harry. "Your dick, Harry, please," I half-snap, half-moan as he lightly drags two of his fingers through my folds - not to give me any pleasure, obviously, just to see exactly how much he's affecting me, which is a lot, of course.
"Where? Your mouth? You have to be specific, Cherry," he remarks, sliding his tongue through the arousal on his fingers and very clearly enjoying it. "Take your shirt off," he orders, standing up from the bed and making his way to the desk where the bottle of fancy alcohol he'd bought from the bar when no one was looking; though we're legal here, I'm sure someone would've objected for some reason.
He pours us both a drink, keeping one for himself and gently passing the other to me, gesturing for me to drink it.
"You know you don't have to get me drunk for this," I raise my eyebrows as he tips his head back and swallows the drink in one.
"I'm aware. Drink it."
Fine, don't have to be so rude about it.
I manage not to roll my eyes at him and do exactly as he said, pouring the drink down my throat and trying not to embarrass myself by grimacing at the taste whilst Harry doesn't seem to even flinch - enjoying it, in fact.
"Can I have more?" I request, glancing to the bottle eagerly.
"You want more, baby?" he asks, his tone almost mocking as he takes the bottle again, still almost full, and unscrews the cap, flicking it across the room carelessly and very decisively filling up his own glass, but not mine. "More?"
I nod, his hand plucking the glass from my own and placing it with the bottle back on the desk, taking a small sip of his drink and appearing to contemplate his options, "please?"
"Open your mouth," he orders confidently, slipping the tip of his thumb past my lips as I follow instantly and pushing it against my tongue, challenging my gag reflex, which I'm thankful seems to hold off decently well. "Can I?" he asks, and I nod although I'm not entirely sure what he's asking. He pushes harder on my tongue, taking another sip of his drink and swallowing a little, glancing down before parting his lips and allowing a string of spit to fall into my mouth, landing on my tongue and tasting heavily of the alcohol he's drinking. "Don't swallow," he raises his eyebrows as my tongue reflexively fights against his thumb, the glass still held firmly in his other hand as he takes another gulp. "Be a good girl and swallow, baby," he finally loosens his grip on my chin, stepping back and watching as I swallow slowly, tasting the strong alcohol and mint from his gum.
I'm aware he's spat in my mouth several times over the past year, but this time is certainly so much hotter.
"Please, fuck me," I exhale desperately, feeling a little pathetic that I would do anything to feel him inside of me in the next minute.
"Be patient, Cherry," he tuts condescendingly, almost like a parent reprimanding a misbehaving child, and it only makes me ache for him more. The throbbing between my legs is nearing pain as he guides me up again, flicking his tongue out against my cheekbone as he flips us, his body replacing mine on the edge of the bed. "Come here," he commands passively, as if he's not bothered by any of this, though I know he's just as desperate as me.
His hands settle on my hips as we return to a similar position as earlier, my core just above the ink on his strong thigh, my hips already pushing against the surface for any kind of relief, though I seem to forget I don't have anything covering me this time.
"Fuck," I whisper, completely out of control as my hands grip his shoulders, his hold on my hips helping me move, though he slows down my pace and drives me down against him with each movement.
"Gonna get yourself off on my thigh? Ride me, Cherrybomb?"
"Please," I mutter in a plea for his hands to release me and let move how I want, which would be a lot fucking faster than he's allowing me to right now.
"Go ahead, baby," he smirks, following through with his usual theatrics and leaning back on his elbows slightly, though he continues to guide me. No longer restricting my movements at all, he still ensures to support me as I throw my head back in a moan, my clit pressed hard against his leg.
"Fuck, daddy, please, fuck me. I need you," I mumble incoherently, digging my fingernails deep into his skin and scratching probably way too hard, but he doesn't seem to mind, his boxers only straining more.
Eyes fluttering closed, I'm taken by surprise when his palm connects with my cheek once again, a little harder than he usually would without warning. "Stop being an ungrateful brat, first of all. I could've tied you to the bed and left you dripping for hours, but I didn't, did I?" His voice is dark and only forces me to move faster, my whines getting louder and more frequent as I feel my orgasm only get closer, much faster than usual due to how badly I want to come. "I'm being nice and letting you ride my thigh like a whore," his words are cutting and string a surprised gasp from my lips. "You want more, Cherry?"
"Please," I sigh, beginning to circle one finger around my clit and practically sobbing at how badly I need to come.
"You're so desperate to come, you can't even wait for my cock, can you, Cherry?" my mouth falls open in a quiet whimper, my legs shaking slightly and my breathing embarrassingly heavy. "Answer me," he snaps, forcing my head to face him by my chin, his fingers grasping it tightly.
"No, I couldn't wait," I'm close to sobbing now, and I can tell he's enjoying much more than either of us expected, as am I.
"Why couldn't you wait?" When I struggle to answer in my pleasured haze, too concentrated on my clit against his thigh and my arousal soaking the whole area of soft skin, his palm lands firmly on my cheek in a swift succession of rough slaps, silently yet firmly encouraging me to stutter out a reply.
"Because I'm a whore," I voice the response I know he's waiting for, my back arching as my fingernails drag through his skin harder.
"For who? For everyone? Every person that's ever touched you? Every boy that's ever fucked you?"
"No, you. Just you," I moan out, feeling so close to the edge that it's almost agonising, my stomach clenching and quivering painfully.
"Good girl, can you come for me? All over me?"
"Fuck, oh, my God—!" I moan loudly, my mouth falling open as random and mindless curses and gasps tumble from my lips, every muscle in my stomach tending as I finally come, his leg shifting beneath me to fuck me through it until I can barely take it anymore.
"Did that feel good, baby?" he asks, a little breathless as I try to calm down, resting my forehead on his shoulder and my hands on his chest, sweaty and shiny with salty perspiration.
"So good," I whisper, my eyes drifting shut tiredly, though I know he's not even close to finished with me.
"Knees, Cherry," he orders, barely giving me any time to recover before he's forcing me off of him and to the ground. I lean forward out of reflex and push my tongue against the side of his incredibly hard cock, feeling the veins beneath the fabric of his boxers. His grip shifts from the bed to my hair, yanking me away from him harshly and holding me there forcibly, his hold on my hair so tight it's bringing tears to my eyes, "did I say you could do that?"
"No, I'm sorry, daddy," I reply compliantly, still tired and breathless from my orgasm.
"Thank you. You made a big mess making yourself feel good, baby," he taunts, gesturing to his thigh still glistening in an obvious amount of my arousal, my eyes dropping slightly at the ridiculously attractive sight. He leans forward, pulling my hair again, much tighter this time, and tears sting my eyes immediately. "Clean it up," he orders shortly, my brows furrowing in confusion.
"What?" I ask, utterly lost on what he's urging me to do next.
"I said - clean it up," he repeats, my hazy mind beginning to figure out what he's asking for, my face moving closer to his leg. "Mhm, with your tongue, baby. Do it properly," he nods reassuringly, clenching his jaw incredibly tightly the moment my tongue presses tentatively against his thigh, right above the tiger tattoo and in the middle of a practical pool of wetness. I don't really taste it, too out of mind to feel much of anything but his touch, so I don't even flinch as I drag my tongue from the bottom of the ink to the very top.
"Like this?" I check I'm doing it right, glancing back down when he nods approvingly and continuing to clean his soft skin with my tongue until the only wetness was a string of spit still hanging from the tip of my tongue as I come back up. It breaks as he kisses me deeply, his tongue dipping into my mouth and hands holding each side of my face.
"You did well, Cherrybaby, just like I wanted," he praises, the corners of my lips twitching upwards into a small smile at the positive comment. "Can you open your mouth, just for me, baby?" he requests, smiling as I follow and two of his fingers press against the tip of my tongue, his rings tapping my bottom lip and his cross tattoo visible when I glance down. "Close," he pulls his fingers out of my now-closed lips, trailing them across my stomach before reaching the burning heat between my legs, dragging through my folds before bringing his hand to the top of his chest, between the birds beneath his collarbones.
His fingers are completely soaked as he presses them to his chest, trailing them down his chest and leaving a path of wetness, ending at the bottom of his butterfly right through the centre of his chest.
"Fuck," I murmur, enthralled by the sight.
"Clean it up," he demands, my tongue much less timid as I lean forward and flatten my tongue against his lower stomach, dragging it across his chest until my tongue flicks against the tip of his chin, his own enveloping mine as he kisses me again, seemingly unable to control himself. "Fuck, I love you."
"I love you, please, fuck me," I beg again, way too wound up to even care about the fact he'll tease the fuck out me later, my mind starting to feel a little woozy with how badly I'm craving him inside of me.
"Stop begging, Han. You know you'll only have to wait longer," he chuckles warningly, grabbing my jaw and tugging my towards him, his tongue licking a flat stripe along my neck. "If you keep acting out like this, it might make people think you're not really the innocent good girl you pretend to be," he adds lowly, "might give people the idea you're a slut. You don't want that, do you?"
I feel like I'm about to pass out.
"No," I sigh in pleasure, his mouth sucking and biting at my neck to mark it more.
"Only one person gets to know how you really are, don't they, baby?"
"Yes, only one," I nod mindlessly, starting to question my sanity at this moment.
"Who's that?"
"You, only you," I know he can tell he's probably pushing it a little too far now, his gaze focusing on the tears of frustration stinging my eyes, though I barely feel it.
"Do you want me?"
"So bad, please," I whine, my skin hot and flushed.
He leans back onto his elbows, "suck my cock, baby."
I don't waste a second, my mind snapping back to reality and my fingers hooking into the waistband of his boxers, dragging them down his legs and not even bothering to properly remove them like I usually would, simply wrapping my lips around his tip and sucking lightly.
"Hm," I hum around him as I sink down a little deeper, his tip bluntly tapping the back of my throat and a loud moan sounding from above me, my eyes beginning to water at the pressure.
"Shit," he whimpers, his eyes narrowing and head falling back with a gasp as I take him deeper, nails digging into his outer thighs for a sense of stability. "Oh, fuck, Cherry, stop," he gasps, clearly not wanting me to stop, but finding interest in something else instead. "Desk," he orders, leaving me to lift myself from the ground and make my way to the surface with the glasses and alcohol, amongst other things, and hop onto it when he gestures for me to do so.
He wipes his lips with the back of his hand, shaking his head as if to get him back in the game, and following me, hands running along the outside of my thighs when he reaches me, his every movement casual, almost lazy, like he couldn't care less.
"Please," I ask again, my forehead falling to his upper chest in exhaustion; just fuck me, you idiot.
"Patience."
If he says patience, shush or wait one more time, I'll rip my hair out.
"Please, daddy, I need you so bad," I whisper, my eyebrows furrowed in desperation, and I hope he can see that as much as we're both enjoying this, he needs to cut it out.
"Because you've been a good girl for me," he replies shortly, my face scrunching up slightly in confusion as to what he means before my mouth falls wide open as he slams into me unexpectedly. "Is this okay? Do you need me to stop? Go slow?" he asks breathily as he pulls back gradually, leaving just his tip inside of me and not moving again.
"No, just fuck me harder, fast, please," my pleas finally seem to get to him, his hips snapping forward into mine, my nails dragging along his skin and legs gripping his waist tightly, guiding him incredibly deep until I can practically feel him pressing into my stomach. "Harry, please," I exhale shakily, my body stuttering against his with every harsh, short thrust. His tip strokes against my pulsing sensitivity every time and then pulls out slowly, every ridge and vein stretching me when I inadvertently clench around him constantly.
"Fuck, you feel... so good, so, so good, Cherry," he sighs, digging his fingertips into my skin harder, most likely to leave bruises eventually, and he sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth as he quickens his pace slightly. My head falls to the side silently, my back arching into him and lips parted in a noiseless moan, and he grasps my chin harshly, snapping my head back to face him. "Look at me when I'm fucking you, okay? Fucking look at me," he demands, sliding his hand down and wrapping his fingers around my throat, squeezing tightly. His fingers push past my lips easily, and he soon retracts them, slowing his pace only slightly as he eyes in me in concern, "are you okay?"
"I'm really good right now, yeah," I chuckle shakily, lost in the sensation of pleasure.
"I meant..." he trails off, holding up his fingers, the tips covered in a small amount of blood. I press my own finger to my lip, feeling how wet it is, and my skin has blood smeared across it when I glance down.
"Sorry, my lip's bleeding, just let me—"
"Kiss me."
"Harry, my lip—"
"I don't care, kiss me," he demands softly, his tongue instantly dipping into my mouth as I follow, the metallic taste of blood tainting both of our tongues before he pulls away, his pink tongue shaded a much darker red as he kisses along my neck, each touch wet and hot and causing me to moan loudly.
"Fuck! Holy shit, I'm—Harry! I—" I almost cry out, my upper body convulsing against his and my muscles tensing around him so tightly it definitely hurts, and I sense his difficulty to stay inside of me as my body involuntarily attempts to reject him. I'm already completely wasted, sore and dizzy, but he pulls out of me and tugs on my thighs in a signal to hop down from the surface.
My legs are incredibly shaky once my feet touch the floor, and he tugs me towards the window by my wrist, pinning each hand against the glass and slowly easing back inside of me without warning.
"Fuck," he drags out the word lowly, "how are you still so fucking tight after I've fucked you like a whore for a year?" he comments in disbelief, starting up his rapid pace again and my cheek pressing flat against the cold glass in an attempt to cool down.
"Harry," I gasp, my lip accidentally catching on the glass and moaning at the sight of a little blood smearing across it; why is the blood thing so hot? "Fuck!"
He guides me back against him, my head falling to his shoulder, though I can still see ahead of me, and that's when I realise he's fucking me against a window and anyone could walk past in the street - the main street where shops line the walls. "Is it pretty, baby?" he whispers against my ear, gripping my chin sternly and forcing me to stare out of the window.
"Yes," I whine, feeling my stomach clench as I near my end once again, and I can tell he's close, too, by how unrestrained his movements are and the whimpers falling from his soft lips.
"All the lights? Or is it the idea someone could see us? See you getting fucked so good?"
"See us," I respond, fighting the urge to slam my head into the glass from how badly I need to come, how close I am already.
"Do you want that?"
"Shit, yes, I want someone to see us," I groan, my legs trembling and my breathing becoming shallow as I reach an orgasm that almost kills me, I'm pretty sure.
"Fuck! Good girl, yes, God! Oh, I—" He moans loudly, his own legs beginning to shake under the force of his thrusts and the intensity of his orgasm ripping through his entire body.
"Harry, I—" I whisper pathetically into the window, his head turning to kiss me softly, comforting me whilst fucking me through the end until it becomes too much for both of us and he stills, both our breathing heavy and deep.
"What the fuck was that?" he wonders our thoughts aloud, appearing almost in disbelief when he carefully pulls out of me and instantly rests my weight against him, knowing I'd probably collapse if I was left to support myself. "Cherry, love you," he mumbles, guiding me into bed, though the feeling of his skin and lips against mine, the towel cleaning me up, the duvet pulled up high over our bodies, is barely noticeable. I feel completely numb, and I never thought I would've enjoyed it quite this much.