181228 // Just Dance

181228 // just dance

he’s having his Troy Bolton moment

Okay, requesting here 🥰

On a break, it’s been a few weeks and they miss each other. Rough make up sex with a really soft aftercare? 🤞🏻

This is so fucking wrong.

You know it’s wrong before he’s even shut the door. Know it as you watch him flip the lock. Know it as you watch him turn to you.

You know it.

And yet, knowing does nothing to stop you from bridging the gap between your bodies as you reach for his jaw.

You straighten onto your tiptoes to level the height difference, shoving your fingers through the soft, pullable curls, and kiss him.

Slip your tongue past his lips as you nearly knock him back into the door.

No waiting. No hesitating. Desperate. Needy. Pathetic.

You know it’s pathetic to need him like this. Know it’s pathetic to fuck him in an Olive Garden bathroom. Know it’s pathetic to miss him.

And yet, again, knowing doesn’t do a damn fucking thing as you feel him pull at your bottom lip and he suck, desperate to taste you.

He tastes like wine and sugar. Each part of his dessert that you watched him eat just to spite you.

You’d agreed to a causal, friendly dinner for old time’s sake. After all, you owed it to yourself and to him to try and cultivate a friendship with the man who used to be the love of your life.

Now he’s just some guy you’re fucking in an Olive Garden restroom.

And maybe that’s all he should be.

You had declined any dessert, seeing as the dinner was already tense enough, and you truly didn’t want to waste another second sitting at the rather small table listening to him moan whenever he took a bite of his food.

Your eyes had narrowed with each lift of his fork, with each smirk as he licked the frosting from his lips, and each flex of his fingers around the stem of the wine glass.

Fucking asshole.

You suppose you have no one to blame but yourself. After the breakup, you were heartbroken. Sure, it was mutual but that didn’t stop the way your heart bled for him.

One night, you’d gotten…embarrassingly tipsy and maybe you had texted him that you were touching yourself to the thought of his hands.

And that was something he would sooner die than forget.

Which is why he used your friendly, casual dinner to add a bit more fire to the flame.

And despite yourself…it worked.

“Fucking missed me, yeah?” he’s growling into your ear, letting you shove his hips taut against the door as you reach for the buttons on his chest. “Yeah. You did.”

“I missed your cock. There’s a difference.”

“Really?” His eyebrow quirks upwards as you snap the buttons lose. “Could have just told me. Could have texted.”

You’ll kill him one of these days.

You shrug, as nonchalant as possible. “Or I could have called Felix. You know, actually, maybe that’s not such a bad—”

Your threat has its desired effect and before you’re afforded the opportunity of seeing the dangerous look in his eye, he’s fisting your hair and spinning you around.

His fingers tangle themselves in your roots before he shoves your cheek against the cold surface, his lips threateningly close to your ear as he hisses, “Do it.”

Confused, your brows pull together as you glance to the side. “What?”

You might not be able to see him, but you can hear the smug smirk accompanied by the sound of rustling behind you.

And next thing you know, he’s dangling your cell phone near your face. “Call him.”

A scoff. “Come on, Har, you can’t be—”

His fingers twist themselves in your hair like a vice and as your head is yanked back against his shoulder, you swear you pull a muscle from clenching so hard.

“Did I fucking stutter?” he asks of you now, and your lashes flutter. “You think Felix can fuck you like I can? Then you fucking call him.”

“Har—”

“Now, sweetheart.” His tone is vicious. Filled with spite. “My patience is running thin.”

Not one to submit to his desire to break you, you decide to call his bluff. You retrieve the phone and type in Felix’s name, hitting call before you lose your nerve.

And with each ring, Harry’s fingers crawl higher up the inside of your thigh.

Shit.

“Hello?” Felix has answered and the sound of his voice echoing from the speakers has Harry chuckling into your shoulder. 

“Hey.” The forced delight in your voice is a clear indication of how you really feel, although you don’t let that deter your performance. “Hi. I was just…I wanted to check in.”

A beat. And as you wait with bated breath for Felix’s reply, you feel Harry step away from your body, and your head cocks to the side.

Of course, his true intentions are revealed to you the moment you see him drop to his knees before he’s grabbing at your thighs to pull them further apart.

Inhaling a gasp, you brace yourself against the door, now exceedingly aware of the real game he was so desperate to play.

“Oh, I’m good, yeah,” Felix is replying, although you can’t possibly be expected to give a fucking shit when Harry is nudging his nose along the tender skin at his disposal. “Yeah, I was just going to call you, actually.”

Say something. “Aw, really? That’s—”

Of course, Harry uses this opportunity to slip his fingers beneath the fabric of your underwear, easily pulling it to the side as you steel yourself.

“You okay?” Felix. Calling your attention back, although you're not sure it’s working.

“I—yes.” Your palm flies to your lips as you swallow another pained sigh. “—I’m just…yes. I’m glad you called, I was…I was hoping we could catch up sometime this week.”

You’re able to just choke out the question when Harry straightens up and extends his tongue. 

It doesn’t take you long to press your cheek harder into the door, your eyes rolling back as he collects each fucking drop of you on his tongue.

“Oh, I’d really like that, yeah,” Felix replies, and you’re so tempted to hang up, but you can’t let Harry win. You can’t. “Yeah, what about—”

He begins to list off a number of activities you both could do in the city, but your focus is on the man beneath you. 

On the feel of his fingertips pulling at your skin as he forces your legs apart.

On the subtle sigh of satisfaction on his lips as he sucks you into his mouth.

On the thrust of his tongue as you swear that you’ll kill him for doing this to you.

Your other hand flies behind you, finding his curls as you tug. Just hard enough to make him groan into your cunt, the vibrations outrageously delicious as they send ripples of pleasure through your nervous system.

“—so, yeah. Any of those.” Felix has finished his list and if you don’t reply soon, he’ll know.

Fucking speak, dammit. “I…wow. So…so many fun—shit—options.” You force out a relaxed laugh that borders dangerously close on a whimper. “Um, any of them are fine with me. Really.”

Another pause. The seconds that pass so silent that you wonder if you’ve been made.

And then—

“I really miss you.” But there’s something different in his voice. No longer chipper but rather…heavy. “Like right now…can’t stop thinking about you.”

Now you understand. And while you’re almost tempted to roll your eyes at his keen desire to have you talk him through fucking his fist, you’re forced to play along.

At least for Harry’s sake.

After all, if he’s playing with you…

“Yeah?” You force the rhythm of your words to flow like silk, soft and sensual. “What are you thinking about?”

Within an instant of your response, Harry’s annoyance is felt through the rough way he pulls you onto his face, your heels nearly slipping against the cold, marble floor as he keeps you steady on his tongue.

“M’thinking about your lips around my cock,” the voice calls from the phone, proceeding a groan, and you’re not at all surprised he’s already stuck his hand down his pants.

Fucking pathetic.

“Yeah?” You grit your teeth together, so helplessly close to clenching around Harry’s tongue that you’re not sure what else to do. “Want my throat, baby—”

“Fuck, yes,” Felix whines through the speaker, and right as your eyes are about to roll so far back in your head that you can see your own brain, Harry lets go.

And stands up.

Oh, you’re so gonna fucking kill him.

However, despite his previous determination to torture you to the brink of death, you’re pleased to find that this time…it’s for your own good.

He snatches the phone from your hand, clutching it so tight between his fingers, you won’t be surprised if it shatters.

“Want your lips and your—” Felix begins again but you aren’t allowed the opportunity to hear the rest because Harry is lifting the delicate object to the wall and smashing it against the tile.

“What the fuck?” Your eyes narrow in on the tiny pieces of plastic as they fall like rain from his hand. “Harry, you can’t just—”

His expression is dark as he dips down to hiss, “Watch me.” And with that, his tongue is forcing its way into your mouth.

He tugs your head back with the grip on your neck, falling so deeply into you that you’re not sure either of you will ever resurface.

And with that, he reaches for the baby doll neckline of your dress and rips.

Your tits spill out of their confinements and the animalistic display of lust that Harry is currently exhibiting is more than enough to leave you choking on a pained whimper.

But you remind yourself to chastise him later, because this is one of your favorite dresses, and he’s not a fucking caveman.

You’re forced back against the door, the cold surface stimulating your chest as you suck in a sharp gasp before he’s moving behind you once more.

He balls the soft material of the dress in his hands before collecting it above your hip.

Your lace underwear is twisted around his fist until it snaps, falling pathetically as he brings it to his own pocket for safekeeping.

Typical.

You hear the metallic clang of his belt as he flicks it undone and the sound alone is enough to force the drip down your thighs.

Enough time has been wasted between when you first excused yourself from the table and now, and this is something Harry seems to agree with you on as his chest meets your back.

“Beg me,” he murmurs, the tip of his cock brushing your cunt as your eyes flutter shut. “Beg me to fuck you the way he can’t. Beg me to let you come.”

Normally, you’d never let yourself entertain such a demeaning request and show for power, yet…tonight is an anomaly. 

Because garlic bread and all-you-can-eat salad is not the aphrodisiac you had anticipated falling victim to tonight.

But you have and you know undoubtedly that you might never find yourself with Harry like this again.

So, why not have one last quick fuck for the road before you go your separate ways?

“Shit,” you finally find the strength to whisper. “Please…please, Har. The only one. Only one who can make me come. Please...fucking missed it. Missed you.”

He curses between his teeth before finally…that feeling.

Your leg is thrust up against the door, knee pressed into the hard surface as he drives himself inside, your jaw going slack when you finally get what you’ve wanted for weeks now.

Him.

It’s familiar, and it’s good, and it’s so fucking full you’re not sure why you ever broke up with him in the first place.

He’s kind enough to offer about two and half seconds to adjust before pulling out and going again. Hard and slow clearly not on the table tonight.

Or…on the door.

You both know each other well enough to immediately create the rhythm that works the best, one hand reaching around your throat as he tugs you back, squeezing until your vision goes fuzzy.

Ecstasy. That’s all you know. Each sharp thrust and tug of his fingers in your hair, or on your hip, or around your throat.

He moves to grasp your jaw, squeezing tight as you swallow, something that merely spurs on the desperation.

“Fucking missed this.” Staccato breaths echo in your ear as he mumbles his admission. “Fucking missed this tight, little cunt. S’always so good to me. Yeah? Know you’re so fucking good to me. Take me so well—”

His fingers move for your lips, tugging at the bottom one until you take him into your mouth and suck. His favorite. 

You moan at the taste, mostly for his benefit, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t live to devour each part of him.

Besides…he tastes like the frosting he was so determined to swipe from the plate.

And now maybe you’re grateful he did.

Once he removes them from your mouth, they fall down your chest, tweaking your nipple—hard—before traveling lower.

They find your clit, thumb pressing tight to your body until you’re gasping against the door, turning until you can rest your forehead against the surface.

“How’s this, baby?” A sadistic chuckle. “Bet you fucking missed this, didn’t you? Missed the way I touch you. Missed the way your body drips for me—”

You’d almost agree with him if you weren’t currently swallowing a loud cry.

“—bet you always do, hm? Drip for me? When you’re fucking yourself thinking of me?” His lips move to your neck, sloppy kisses trailing down your spine. “Bet you play that video, yeah? Love to hear yourself whine for me, don’t you? Love to hear the way you drip down my cock.”

Your cheeks flush. Not at the mention of the video, per se, but at the realization that he’s right.

Because you do. You can’t help yourself. Fucking your own fingers can only take you so far.

But the video…the sounds. The way he looked coated in you. It was so fucking beautiful. Watching him swipe his wrist over his chin before licking it off—

A salacious moan escapes without your consent but it’s really Harry’s fault for making you remember such an erotic night.

“S’tight, yeah? Feels so good…fucking wanna come for me, don’t you?” He’s beckoning you to your end. Demanding your release. And you’re powerless to stop it.

You nod, wordlessly, but of course Harry and his gigantic ego can't be so easily satisfied.

"Ask me," he whispers forcefully. "Fucking ask me to let you come."

“Har—”

“Ask me nicely to let you come,” he repeats, using the hold on your hair to force your cheek harder into the door.

And despite yourself, you oblige to his request. “Let me come, Har…please. Please just…just let…”

“Y’don’t come for anyone but me, yeah?” Another question disguised as a threat. “S’right, yeah? Never fucking come for anyone but me—”

“No,” you promise. “No, just you, Har. Always you—”

“Always me.”

And before you have a chance to scream so loudly, the entire restaurant can hear him obliterating you, he brings his palm to your lips, forcing your silence.

You’re not quite sure it’s ever felt so good, and you’re vaguely aware of him coming, too, but you can’t possibly care about anything else but the feel.

It encompasses you. All of you. You have no concept of time or reality. Just the feel. The feel of him. The feel of the burn already forming in your thighs. The way your hips roll back to extend the sensation as he pulls you down. 

Him. On your neck, your shoulder, your thighs.

“Shit.” He takes a deep breath, and you’d laugh if you had the strength. “So fucking good, darling.”

Those gentle kisses you’ve grown to miss are scattered across your skin. Each one softer and sweeter than the last.

“That’s my girl.” His lips never leave you once. Your stomach flips at the familiar phrase. “Easy, darling, I’ve got you. That’s it. S’all right.”

After he’s sure you’re strong enough to stand, he pulls out, much to your dismay. 

But your disappointment fades when he gently spins you around until your back meets the door.

Then…he holds you. 

Grabs your hips and moves to capture your lips with his. Tender this time.

You’d sigh with contentment if you were allowing yourself to miss him as much as you’re afraid you do.

The kisses move down your cheek. Your neck. Your throat. Your chest. Never harsh, never sly. As if kissing away all your troubles, all your pain, all your regret.

He lowers himself to a crouch, fingers rubbing soft circles into your thighs as he moves to kiss up the sensitive skin.

Collects you both on his tongue, licking a stripe up your leg as you inhale quietly.

All the while, murmuring, “S’okay baby. I’m here, I’ve got you.”

And you don’t doubt that he does.

When he straightens back up, he slots himself between your thighs, finding a home in your embrace.

Your arms wrap around his neck, and you just breathe. Breathe in the familiarity of him. The sweat, the sex, the cologne you used to hate but now you miss.

Fuck, you’ve never missed something so badly in your life.

But you can’t let yourself fall for him again. You can’t. You’re sure he’s already over you and getting over him is one of the hardest things you’ve ever had to do.

You can’t do it again.

“We should go,” you hear yourself say, thankful the crack in your voice is undetectable. “We should…they’re probably really—”

“Don't go.”

He doesn’t look at you when he says this, his face buried deep in your neck. His grip tightens. Your breath hitches.

A beat as your lashes flutter. “Harry…”

“Don’t go,” he whispers along your jaw. “Don’t…don’t make me go. Can’t do it again.”

A sharp inhale. You have no response.

When he leans back, you see the yearning in his eyes. The genuine longing to keep you in his arms forever.

“I can’t do it again,” he repeats, hand coming up to cup your cheek, catching the tear as it falls. “We can figure all the other shit out later. I'll do whatever you want. But please…please don’t make me watch you walk out this door. Please don't make me lose you again.”

And despite every reminder of why you parted ways in the first place, every outrageous fight, every moment of bitter contempt that led you to the end…you smile.

You smile and weave your fingers through his disheveled hair, tugging him down until you can kiss him.

“I can't lose you, either,” you murmur until you feel him sigh with relief. "It's always you, Har...always come back to you."

He grins. The first genuine grin you've seen from him since the breakup. “Always me?” A desperate request. Hopeful.

And you’ve never meant something more in your entire life.

“Always you.”

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