50 shades of Styles

Chapter 9: A+ for Oral

Light fills the room, coaxing me from deep sleep to wakefulness. I stretch out and open my eyes. It’s a beautiful May morning, London at my feet. Wow, what a view. Beside me, Harry Styles is fast asleep. Wow, what a view. I’m surprised he’s still in bed. He’s facing me, and I have an unprecedented opportunity to study him. His lovely face looks younger, relaxed in sleep. His sculptured, pouty lips are parted slightly, and his shiny, clean hair is a glorious mess. How could anyone look this good and still be legal? I remember his room upstairs… perhaps he’s not legal. I shake my head, so much to think about. It’s tempting to reach out and touch him, but like a small child, he’s so lovely when he’s asleep. I don’t have to worry about what I’m saying, what he’s saying, what plans he has, especially his plans for me.

I could gaze at him all day, but I have needs – bathroom needs. Slipping out of bed, I find his white shirt on the floor and shrug it on. I walk through a door thinking that it might be the bathroom, but I’m in a vast walk-in closet as big as my bedroom. Lines and lines of expensive suits, shirts, shoes, and ties. How can anyone need this many clothes? I tut with disapproval. Actually, Zayn’s wardrobe probably rivals this. Zayn! Oh no. I didn’t think about him all evening. I was supposed to text him. Crap. I’m going to be in trouble. I wonder briefly how he’s getting on with Edward.

Returning to the bedroom, Harry is still asleep. I try the other door. It’s the bathroom, and it’s bigger than my bedroom. Why does one man need so much space? Two sinks, I notice with irony. Given he doesn’t sleep with anyone, one of them can’t have been used.

I stare at myself in the gigantic mirror above the sinks. Do I look different? I feel different. I feel a little sore, if I’m honest, and my muscles – jeez it’s like I’ve never done any exercise in my life. You don’t do any exercise in your life, my subconscious has woken. She’s staring at me with pursed lips, tapping her foot. So you’ve just slept with him, given him your virginity, a man who doesn’t love you. In fact, he has very odd ideas about you, wants to make you some sort of kinky sex slave.

ARE YOU CRAZY? She’s shouting at me.

I wince as I look in the mirror. I am going to have to process all this. Honestly, fancy falling for a man who’s beyond beautiful, richer than Croesus, and has a Red Room of Pain waiting for me. I shudder. I’m bewildered and confused. My hair is its usual wayward self. Just-fucked hair doesn’t suit me. I try and bring order to the chaos with my fingers but fail miserably and give up – maybe I’ll find my beanie in my bag.

I’m starving. I head back out to the bedroom. Sleeping beauty is still sleeping, so I leave him and head for the kitchen.

Oh no… Zayn. I left my bag in Harry’s study. I fetch it and reach for my cell phone. Three texts.

 *RU OK Lou*
                        *Where RU Lou*
                        *Damn it Lou*

I call Zayn. When he doesn’t answer, I leave him a groveling message to tell him I am alive and have not succumbed to Bluebeard, well not in the sense he would be worried about – or perhaps I have. Oh this is so confusing. I have to try and categorize and analyze my feelings for Harry Styles. It’s an impossible task. I shake my head in defeat. I need alone time, away from here to think.

I find a welcome beanie at the same time in my bag and quickly put it on. Yes! The more manly I look, perhaps the safer I’ll be from Bluebeard. I take my iPod out of the bag and plug my headphones in. There’s nothing like music to cook by. I slip it into the breast pocket of Harry’s shirt, turn it up loud, and start dancing.