From the Dining Table.
Chapter One.
Please note that I do not own the song or any lyrics referred to from the song From the Dining Table. Credit of course to Harry Styles for inspiring this piece.
He smells like Tom Ford - Tobacco Vanille Eau de Parfum to be precise. Of course, his Instagram followers know he smells like that because the photograph taken to match the Barcelona, Live on Tour caption has already been posted to his account with thousands of his followers hitting the heart button on their social media to love his post. But of course, you’re the only person who gets to smell more than the expensive aftershave he coats his heavily inked body in.
The car journey and elevator ride to the floor of the room you’re staying in had been agonising, the need to just touch each other so undeniably desperate. So it’s not surprise that the door to the hotel room barely comes to a close as you hungrily launch your bodies towards each other.
His tight grip on your wrists, pinned above your head, as he pushes you against the wall gives him the opportunity to nip at your neck, sucking on your delicate skin lightly but surely leaving a few marks and bruises. You’re too drunk on his affection and need for you to even care what bullshit excuses you’ll conjure up as to why your skin is marked. His hidden length in his Gucci pants pushes against you, hard, and his bucking hips against your heat cause a tad too much friction against you, and even with the both of you fully clothed, you nearly, so nearly, come for him.
“No’ yet, pet” he moans against your lips as he takes your bottom one between his teeth and tugs at it gently, earning yet another moan from you. “Want t’ take yeh in bed” he breathes. His touch is soft as he pushes you towards the bed, guiding you backwards until the backs of your legs hit the large leather frame before you both stumble onto the mattress, his body hovering over yours.
You moan in desperation, your grabby and greedy hands wrapping around his neck in an attempt to make him stay above you, but his strength overpowers you as he pulls away further to straddle your waist, trapping your legs between his thighs.
“Needy, huh pet?” he asks breathlessly.
“You’re more needy than me” you whisper as you nod towards the ever-growing bulge in his pants, his inability to control the blood flow rushing to the tip of his manhood.
“’s that so?” he chuckles lightly.
Harry gently takes the zipper of your denim pinafore dress, the ring shaped metal pull clasped between his fingertips. He slowly pulls it down against your body as you quiver in anticipation, before he exposes you in your striped tee and your pink cotton underwear, which is so fucking cute, with the denim surrounding your half naked body.
“Think yeh the needy one, petal” he smirks as his fingers circulate the wet patch on your knickers. You moan at the contact, your body writhing against him, only hardening his length further. “Struggle all yeh like baby girl, I’m in charge ‘ere” he teases, his hand gripping your wrist and pushing it into the mattress beside your body.
His fingertips trail over the wet patch on the front of your underwear, a sight he’s used to when spending time alone with you in the bedroom and his pride within him beams as he knows it’s only him who can get you so worked up and turned on that you can soak through the material.
He wants so desperately to tug at the waistband of your pretty pink knickers, the white bow in the centre of the material expressing your innocence even further. He wants so desperately to trail his fingers along your wet entrance, feeling the slickness that he’s causing against his own skin. But not yet. He’ll save it for later.
“Can see how wet yeh are fo’ me darlin’” he murmurs softly, not once breaking the physical contact between the two of you.
You moan in anticipation, bucking your hips to release the tension rising within you as he strokes the steel rose ring over you, the metal toying with your heat and you know that even with the material as a barrier, you’re soaking his fingertips.
“Wan’ yeh to taste yehself” he mutters softly, pressing his wet thumb against your lips, parting them gently. “Suck” he instructs and you do as you’re told, giving yourself to him and becoming entirely submissive in that moment. “Good girl” he whispers encouragingly. “See how good yeh taste darlin.’”
You moan against him, your eyelids fluttering. “Need to taste you too” you murmur, his fingertips trailing your neck, before reaching the hem of your t-shirt. He takes it between his hand, the other hand still grasping your wrist. He lifts it slowly, anticipation building before he finally exposes the black lacy bra covering your breasts.
“Yeh can suck me later, petal” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your sternum.
You whimper at his soft plump lips caressing your skin.
“You’re the one who’s needy for me” you tell him as he cups one of your breasts in his hand.
Harry quickly pulls away, raising an eyebrow. “’s that so?” he repeats. “Gonna have t’ do somethin’ ‘bout that. Yeh bein’ a bit naughty makin’ accusations aren’t yeh, pet?” He drags his hand down your body, slapping your ass, the metal rings around his fingers giving your cheek a slight sting.
“What you gonna do about it?” you tease.
A hum leaves his lips, followed by a knowing smirk. “We’ll start by seeing if yeh can withstand being bound to the bed for a couple of hours baby girl” he whispers against you as he lowers his body back down towards yours, hovering over you. He takes the other wrist, holding them both above your head.
“No” you whine, “I need you now!” you teasingly struggle.
In one swift movement, he removes the striped t-shirt from your body, discarding it quickly onto the floor. Harry proceeds to reach towards the dresser beside the bed. Pulling open the top drawer, he quickly whips out four long pieces of soft black rope and rests them on your body. He skims them over your tummy, one by one, the sensation building in the pit of your stomach as he wraps a piece around each wrist to the opposite end of the bed posts.
“Yeh ask’d for it angel” Harry hums in appreciation, removing himself from your body and heading towards the end of the frame before taking your ankles in his hand, each one at a time, as he ties them to the posts at the end of the bed, your body spread eagle. Harry can feel himself hardening more so than he thought was even remotely possible, your quivering frame ready for him to scavenge. With your body completely unguarded, Harry takes full advantage of your vulnerability, your body exposed to him.
He’s turned on, so turned on, as he studies you carefully. The damp patch on your underwear, he notices, has increased so much in it’s size that he can almost feel the heat radiating between your thighs, and he knows, God he knows, how hard you’re pulling against the restraints to press your thighs together to maintain your dignity, but he knows how to get you like this and there’s no shying away from it.
“If we weren’t thirty seven floors up baby girl, I’d open the curtains right now and show everyone how soaking wet yeh are, just fo’ me” he hums softly in appreciation at his view, his fingertips trailing the inside of your thigh, circling the tender skin as you struggle against the ropes to give yourself some sort of friction, silently begging for him to touch you.
His words alone could make you come there and then, but you need him inside of you. “Harry” you beg in a whisper. “Need you” you moan.
Harry almost caves, almost gives into you, his desire to be inside you burning within him. But he knows he can make you wait, make you so desperate for his touch. He knows from experience that both your orgasms are most intense when the anticipation builds, the ache within you both so substantial that the moment his tip makes even the slightest contact with your clit, you’re both coming so fucking hard around each other.
“Yeh need me, eh?” he asks teasingly. ‘How bad do you need me, (Y/N)?” he whispers.
“So fucking bad” you moan desperately.
Your choice of words earns a small slap between your thighs.
“Don’t know where yeh learned such a word, but I don’t like it. A bad word and a bad girl” he mutters. “Talk like tha’ again and I’ll gag yeh mouth, yeh hear me?” he murmurs, his lips against your ears as he hovers over you once more. You moan as he presses his bulge against your damp underwear once more, the friction causing you to buck your hips, rubbing against him for a release.
Once he’s satisfied he’s worked you up just a little bit more, Harry pads barefoot around the hotel room and enters the bathroom. You frown in confusion as you hear him run the water for a shower and when he comes back to you, he gives you a small smirk.
“I wasn’t lyin’ when I said we’d see if you can withstand being tied down for a couple of hours. I’m gonna leave yeh there whilst I shower. Maybe I could leave the door to the room open and tha’ way, everyone can see what a naughty girl you’ve been and how much yeh drippin’ fo’ me.”
Harry’s threat of exposing you to the world turns you on once more, a moan escaping your lips as you tug against your restraints. He always had a way with words, and the threat of publicly humiliating you was something that would always increase the heat and dampness between your thighs.
“If yeh don’t behave, I’m gonna bend you over this bench, lift yeh dress up over that pretty backside of yours, pull yeh knickers down and smack yeh ass so fucking hard in front of everyone. Yeh’ll be a dripping mess in front of all these people.”
“Keep the noise down, bub. Mum’s in the room next door. Don’t wan’ her to hear what a bad girl yeh bein’, do yeh? Right now, I’m the only person who needs t’ hear yeh come.”
“If you don’t decide where t’ eat soon, I’m gonna drag you into any fucking restaurant along here, pull those little denim shorts of yours down over yeh knees and tie yeh to the chair. Then once I’ve finished m’ dinner, I’ll take yeh for dessert, in front of everyone.”
They were just a few of the many scenarios of Dominant Harry that replayed in your mind, ones that always turned you on. You’re quickly distracted when Harry, on his hands and knees, rustles through his holdall. You crane your neck to get a better peek, but you only hear something being plugged into the main electrics at the end of the bed. As he stands, you notice he hides something secretively behind his back.
“A few weeks ago, I was doin’ a bit of spring cleanin’ and I came ‘cross somethin’ in yeh drawer. Care t’ tell me what yeh think I might ‘ave found?” he questions, cocking an eyebrow.
“Fuck” you whisper breathlessly.
“What did I say ‘bout language an’ gaggin’ that mouth of yours?” he smirks, before exposing the object behind him. “A wand, baby? Do yeh use it when I go on tour? Do yeh think of me?”
“Oh God, Harry” you moan through gritted teeth.
“Yeh know the word if yeh need it baby girl. Tell me, what’s the word? Say it fo’ me” he murmurs, needing confirmation of the safe word you decided on together when you were discussing your limits in the bedroom.
“Mango” you tell him with confidence, although the slight quiver in your lip shows your anticipation, the ache between your thighs heavier than it ever has been before.
“Good girl” he smiles. “Always my good girl.”
He takes the wand and places it onto the bed next to you before hooking his fingertips into the waistband of your knickers and tugging them down, no further than your hips, as the image of you exposed so innocently, your breasts still dressed in their lacy bra and your womanhood exposed with your underwear only partially removed, makes the head of his cock spill out it’s pre-come.
“Gonna turn th’ wand on fo’ yeh baby, ok?” he asks as he positions it between your thighs, your nod confirming that you’re so turned on and you need something to release the tension rising within you.
Moans escape your lips the moment the device is turned on and vibrating against your heat. Harry watches your body unfold before him, your emotions practically laid bare in front of his very eyes. You were weak and trembling, a quivering mess, and it was all for him. He scavenges your body, his eyes roaming over every inch of you, taking you in. He was honoured, privileged, to be the only person who could see you like this; so vulnerable and wet, your failed attempts at clenching your thighs together, your wrists red from your writhing around in the sheets as you struggle against your restraints, your breathing erratic as you whimper at the pleasure, and it’s all for him.
“Do yeh use it when I’m not home baby girl? Do yeh think of me when yeh come? Daddy need t’ take care of yeh more often, huh?” he taunts teasingly.
He knows his words are exciting you further, your moans louder and your hips bucking against the wand as you try anything, anything, for you reach your high.
“Or maybe yeh use it at bedtime when I’m layin’ there asleep next t’ yeh and I have no idea. Are yeh a naughty girl? Are yeh bein’ a brat? Maybe daddy should punish yeh instead?” he questions. “Yeh know these rooms aren’t soundproof sweetheart, everyone can hear what a bad girl yeh bein’.”
Your actions repeat themselves once more as you push your hips closer and closer, taking on a circler motion as you try forcing the vibrating device onto your sensitive clit.
Even when you’re bound - and even on the occasion when you have a gag in your mouth - Harry could always read your body. He knows when you’re turned on; the pink flush that first appears across your cheeks, and then your chest, the small moans that escape your lips and the desperation to clench your thighs together as you start dripping for him. He knows when you’re too tired to keep going; your eyes becoming droopier by the second and your attempts at struggling in your bonds quickly diminish.
He also knows when you’re so close to coming; your thighs trembling, cries and whimpers escaping your lips, your breathing heavier and your legs becoming a jelly like state, and maybe, just maybe, that’s why he turns off the wand before your orgasm hits you.
He doesn’t do it to be cruel, never. He would never, ever, deny you an orgasm either, not really. But he wants you to come for him, not the device. He wants your body to be worked up and ready for him, so as when he slides into you, you’ll experience the release you’ve been craving.
“No’ yet baby” he whispers softly as he removes the device from between your legs and places it onto the floor. “Goin’ t’ ‘ave my shower and leave yeh here.” He kneels between your legs, lowering himself to press sloppy kisses to your inner thigh, his lips tracing the skin so softly, before his tongue delves beside your womanhood, his tongue teasing you, so close to your sensitivity. “Already tastin’ so sweet darlin’.”
You moan once more before he leaves you, a quivering mess bound to the bed, to take his shower. You lay there, and with your previous efforts of struggling, and each resulting in failed attempts, you decide it’s not worth wasting your energy. Instead, you mentally punish yourself as you picture your boyfriend in the shower, his naked inked skin, with his shaft in his hand as he pumps it hard.
You imagine him thinking of you whilst he masturbates, playing with his impressive length, before reaching his high and his creamy liquid escaping his tip as he breathlessly moans your name.
It feels like an eternity until he’s standing at the end of the bed after showering, admiring your state yet again. He kneels between your thighs, bringing his fingertips to trail down your sternum, down your stomach, and resting just above your heat.
“Yeh’ve soaked through the sheets” he comments, bringing a hand down to rest on the linen that laid bare between you and knickers, in which had only been partially pulled down, barely making their way past your thighs. “Surprised yeh didn’t come whilst I was in the shower” he whispers softly as he leans towards you.
He presses a kiss to your sweaty forehead, something he always did to let you know you’re doing well, that you’re his angel. “All good?” he asks, a small frown plastered on his face because you and he know that if you don’t respond, this game won’t be going any further.
You give him a small nod. “Good” you whisper breathlessly. But the tremble of your bottom lip says otherwise and the gentle stroke on your cheek that Harry’s ringed knuckle provides is enough for you to let yourself go with him completely.
“Please, Harry. Please, I need you, need to come. Pleasepleaseplease.”
And what else is he supposed to do when you’re crying out, desperately pulling on the rope that binds you, the heat between your thighs causing more dampness whilst you’re whimpering his name and begging for his cock?
“Please Harry, fuck me” you whisper.
Knock knock knock. “Harry?” Knock. Pause. “Harry?!”
The deep male voice shouting his name and the loud banging on the wood that separates the hotel hallway and the bedroom is enough for Harry’s eyes to fly open and sit up within his spot. “Yeah?!” he yells out questioningly, his heart pounding against his chest at the fright of being awoken from his slumber.
“Harry, we’re leaving to hit the road in about an hour mate. Just checking you’re awake?” Mitch’s voice sounds from the other side of the door.
Harry runs a hand over his face, adjusting his tired eyes to the small amount of light creeping through the cracks in the curtains. He noticed the Do Not Disturb sign was swinging on the handle, and indication that Jeff had knocked hard, a few times too.
“Yeah yeah, I’m up” he quickly responds, patting the bed linen beside him before his eyes eagerly scan the room. Empty. His eyes suddenly lose their brightness, sadness overshadowing him suddenly. The sound of footsteps pattering down the hallway soon fade into the background, leaving Harry undisturbed and alone once more.
The pounding in his chest lessens a little, but the protrusion beneath the sheets remains large and clear and Harry ponders over the dream that got him into this state, his shaft so hard and his pre-come smothering the head. He sighs heavily, throwing his head back down onto the pillow as he runs his hands over his face repeatedly. The bed sheet barely covers his naked body, his inked skin contrasting the white duvet.
He closes his eyes as his mind wanders off to his dream, his hand wrapped around himself as he begins to pump. He was about to fuck you. You needed him. You needed to come. You were begging him so much that you were whimpering out his name, your strangled cries willing for him to take you.
It didn’t take long, his length hard for you, as his imagination drives him wild. Waking up alone in his hotel room whilst touring the world was never going to be ideal, not when he pines so much for your relationship that you’re even appearing in his dreams. He would wake up so many mornings to his hard dick and sticky sheets where he’d come for you in his sleep, dreams of you teasing him, fucking him, tasting him and sucking his manhood. He would awake some mornings after his graphic and stimulating fantasies; his favourite is you tied down and begging to come, and the rush of blood to the tip of his cock would make him so hard that he’d need to envisage being inside you, playing with himself for the realism of the scenario, with your body quivering at his touch and your back arching under his fingertips, giving him the illusion you were making love.
Love. That’s always what it is, what it was. Because besides the kinky fantasies you both often embarked on during the course of your relationship, whether it involved rope or silk, ties and gags, ice cream and ice cubes, bubblegum flavoured lubrication, and even down to period sex, it was always consensual and it was pleasure for you both. It gave the opportunities to explore each other’s bodies and your own; it could test your limits, take you to new highs, see how far you could go without coming, before your heavy orgasms washed over you like a tsunami. It was never just sex. It was always love, always.
Harry isn’t sure how he ended up on his front, masturbating so vigorously with his other hand supporting his weight as he grinds himself into the sheets, his imagination evocative as his hips buck against you and his cock delves further into your body, sliding in and out of you, until you come undone around him.
A deep moan escapes his lips, your name caressing the tip of his tongue, as he comes. Before long, he’s back to normality, and it’s as if he’s been in this situation far too often. He’s barefoot on the floor of the hotel room, ignoring the sticky mess he’s made on the sheets. He doesn’t bother hiding it, shame not even an emotion coming into play.
