#I actually walked past the 50 shades film because im not about it

[smugzayn]

I’ll be good for you, daddy pt. 1

Part 2

Part 3

You know you’re asking for it. Really, you do.

But you’re in that sweet spot of peak horniness right before you start your period. The time when you’re just wet - all the time. You had to resist jumping Harry’s bones the other night at his business dinner when he had uncorked the celebratory wine bottle. You could see his biceps bulging, and his chest muscles flex, and the veins along his forearm tensed enough to just pop out from his skin. Just as the cork had exploded from the neck his eyes had flicked toward yours in a look that was probably nearly innocent and good-natured, but that your brain, drowning in its own hormones, had read as need, desire, and want - and Christ. You had had to excuse yourself to the toilets to wet a towel and hold it against your suddenly sweating neck.

Then - the bastard - leaves for two nights on business and you kill some time at the cinema to watch the new Fifty Shades film and not to say that, in and of itself, would be a wash. But your fate was sealed when you returned to an empty bed, realised your batteries in your vibrator were nearly dead and spent a frustrated hour trying to get yourself off on the dying vibrations - unsuccessfully.

So, yeah, you know you’re asking for it. And when you look down at your phone to read “careful, love” you bite your lip, rub your thighs together to ward off the dull ache, and cheekily turn your mobile off. Harry runs his hand through his hair all frustrated-like after watching you stuff it carelessly into your bag. You’re hoping this stops him from holding out any further because it’s driving you absolutely mad. All you need is a fast, dirty fuck somewhere and you don’t see why he can’t give you a quickie somewhere around this building - an empty corridor or a meeting room, perhaps. 

You watch him closely, through the recording room glass, and you’re sure no one else notices the way his Adam's apple bobs as he swallows thickly and the irritated way he shuffles his lyrics around. It somehow translates as a win to your body because you have to shift your legs again to ignore the dampness in your panties. 

“Try it once more,” Harry’s voice carries over gruffly from the recording room he’s standing in. You know the message is for his producer and you. His eyes are on you - hard and warningly.

When has he known you to ever shy away from a challenge?

His producer, on the other hand, is clueless to the game you two are playing. “You alright, mate? Want some tea before we -”

“M’fine,” Harry interrupts and you can’t help that your lips pull into a sly grin at his shortness. It’s satisfying to hear Harry clear his throat, force himself to cough and ever so subtly adjust the hardness in his trousers.

You lean forward so he can get a good view of your chest.

It’s like he's trying to teach you a lesson, or you’re just not thinking clearly due to your unbearable desperation, but he very pointedly ignores you until he catches you in the empty hall outside the loo where you’ve just wetted the hair at the back of your neck - again. A dull thump resounds through the corridor as he pushes you roughly against the wall, runs a hand down the curves of your side and knots his fingers in your hair. He’s arched your neck at an angle a tinge more than comfortable because it grants him easy access to your lips - which his mouth finds hungrily.

“What are y’playin’ at, pet? I’ve got two songs left to record. Can’t be gettin’ m’hard.”

You moan desperately into his mouth and try to push your body against his, but his hand on your waist holds you flat against the wall torturously. You settle for running your hands under his cotton t-shirt, feeling the hardness of his chest and the strong muscle of his back.

“Pet - “

He pauses as he hears the clank of his belt as you work to unclasp it. His head falls back and his jaw tenses; the dimly lit hallway creates a deep shadow on his skin.

“Please,” you groan trying to fall down to your knees, but the fist he has twisted in your hair is unforgiving. “I need you, I need you now, right here. Fuck - I’m so - I’m so horny.” You finally manage to unbutton his trousers and stuff a hand down his pants to feel his growing bulge. “Please, please -”

You hear him laugh dryly and the tips of his fingers teasingly trace the skin beneath your panties. You can feel the gooseflesh rise where his fingers cross. Your body is so on edge, so desperate for his touch that every contact between you two makes you hungry for more. 

You whine as his hand locks around your wrists and pushes them into your abdomen.

“We can’t here -”

“There’s a cupboard somewhere around here, m’sure.”

A filthy smirk splits his face and you can barely see the white of his teeth.

“Or the recordin’ room? Cleared out, innit?”

“Fuck, pet. You’re naughty -”

“I’m horny,” you correct and watch as his lips pull tighter and you lean forward, desperate to get your mouth on him despite the hand pressed into your stomach and knotted in your hair.

He watches you struggle for a minute, amused at your futile attempts and then his hand locked in your hair trails down to grip your jaw and force your focus on his face - your eyes finally meeting his. 

“We can’t here,” he says firmly and he watches you closely. Something tightens in your stomach at his shifted demeanour. “I have work to do, and you will sit and wait -” you roll your eyes and he cups your jaw tighter, “like a good girl, understand?”

You don’t immediately respond. In fact, you would happily ignore his demand completely but his thumb slips into your mouth and drags across your bottom lip - pulling the swollen skin down slightly. He lets out a hot puff of air from his nostrils when your tongue slips out and you use your teeth to lightly nip at his skin. 

“Pet,” he warns, and suddenly his leg is splitting yours. The top of his thigh coming up to push harshly against your sensitive sex. “Tell m’what you’re goin’ to do.”

You huff. You’re fucking desperate for it and he’s on a goddamn power trip. You know he loves this - having you aching and needy for him while he’s calling all the shots. He also knows you love this, even when you try to deny it; your body is always an easy tell when his fingers slip between your wet legs. 

Your stubborn hesitation results in his hand wrapped around your wrists shifting slightly so his thumb and forefinger can pinch your nipple. The touch not meant to be one of pleasure and you curse yourself for only wearing a bralette as it only takes a few seconds of his unrelenting touch until you cave.

“I will -,” you stomp your foot down, irritated that he’s making you say it, but continue, “I will sit and wait while you work.” You can’t help that your bottom lip plumps out grumpily. He raises his eyebrows at you and when you don’t quickly meet his silent demand he runs his thumb over your hardened nub threateningly. You want to cry, but reluctantly add,“...like a good girl.”

“That’s m’girl,” he gives your face a light slap. “Now, button me back up.”

He let’s go of your wrists but keeps his firm hold on your jaw so you’re forced to look at his smug face as you begrudgingly re-button his pants. Also, making it more awkward and clumsy for you as you do it blindly - you’re sure that’s his intention. He seems more satisfied that your frustration further reveals itself through your none too gentle movements during the process. 

“So needy, pet,” he goads as you work. “I bet you’re so wet for me, yeah? Drippin’ with it?”

You fumble but manage to clasp his belt. He’s being an absolute arse and you hate that it’s making the ache in between your legs more unbearable. When you’re done, you cross your hands over your breasts and angle your head away from him as he uncups your jaw and falls to wrap around the curve of your neck.

A door down the corridor opens, “Harry, mate, we’re ready to go.”

“Be right there,” Harry confirms, and it’s irritating that his voice sounds so natural. The man closes the door behind him and Harry leans back, rolling onto his heels and angling his jaw up challengingly.

“Give me a kiss, pet,” he’s looking down his nose at you and - fuck - it’s hot. You do your best to look unbothered as you stand on your tiptoes - because the bastard refuses to help you out - and peck him softly on the lips.

“Now, be a good girl and go sit on the sofa while I use the loo.” He nods his head toward the studio doors and gives your bum a slap before turning you around and pushing you softly down the hall. You want to whip around and jump on him. Throw him down on the floor, wrap your legs around his waist and force him to kiss you, touch you - fuck you. You want his big hands on your breast and in between your legs. You want to feel him inside you - hard and punishing. Instead, you force yourself to not spare him a backward glance.

You can feel his gaze burning into your back as you walk away. 

With your fingers wrapped around the handle, you look behind you, your chin coyly tucked into your shoulder and an innocent flutter of your eyelids. A small glimpse of white teeth show from where he is biting his lip hungrily - a slight betrayal of his lust. His eyes move from raking over your arse to meeting the overblown pupils of your eyes.

“I’ll be good for you, daddy.” 

You’re too far away to see his eyes flash dangerously.