50 shades darker

Chapter 17

Everything in it is entirely imaginary and intended only for entertainment; I created it for fun. I did not write 50 Shades darker or any of its characters, and I do not own them.

Chapter 17

Hmm.

Harry is nuzzling my neck as I slowly wake.

"Morning, baby," he whispers and nips at my earlobe. My eyes flutter open and close again quickly. Bright early morning light floods the room, and his hand is softly caressing my chest, gently teasing me. Moving down he grasps my hip as he lies behind me, holding me close.

I stretch out beside him, relishing his touch, and feel his erection against my behind.

Oh my. A Harry Styles wake-up call.

"You're pleased to see me," I mumble sleepily, squirming suggestively against him. I feel his grin against my jaw.

"I'm very pleased to see you," he says as he skates his hand over my stomach and down to cup my cock and explore with his fingers. "There are definite advantages to waking up beside you, Mr. Tomlinson," he teases and gently pulls me round so that I'm lying on my back.

"Sleep well?" he asks as his fingers continue their sensual torture. He's smiling down at me—his dazzling, all-American-drop-dead-male-model perfect-teeth smile. He takes my breath away.

My hips begin to sway to the rhythm of the dance his fingers have begun. He kisses me chastely on the lips and then moves down my neck, nipping slowly, kissing, and sucking as he goes. I moan. He's gentle and his touch is light and heavenly. His intrepid fingers move down, and slowly he eases one inside me, hissing quietly in awe.

"Oh, Lou," he murmurs reverentially against my throat. "You're always ready." He moves his finger in time with his kisses as his lips journey leisurely across my clavicle and then down to my chest. He torments first one, then the other nipple with teeth and lips, but oh-so-gently, and they tighten and lengthen in sweet response.

I groan.

"Hmm," he growls softly and raises his head to give me a blazing green-eyed look. "I want you now." He reaches over to the bedside table. He shifts on top of me, taking his weight on his elbows, and rubs his nose along mine while easing my legs apart with his. He kneels up and rips open the foil packet.

"I can't wait until Saturday," he says, his eyes glowing with salacious delight.

"Your party?" I pant.

"No. I can stop using these fuckers."

"Aptly named." I giggle.

He smirks at me as he rolls on the condom. "Are you giggling, Mr. Tomlinson?"

"No." I try and fail to straighten my face.

"Now is not the time for giggling." He shakes his head in admonishment and his voice is low, stern, but his expression— holy cow—is glacial and volcanic at once.

My breath catches in my throat. "I thought you liked it when I giggle," I whisper hoarsely, gazing into the dark depths of his stormy eyes.

"Not now. There's a time and a place for giggling. This is neither. I need to stop you, and I think I know how," he says ominously, and his body covers mine.

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"What would you like for breakfast, Lou?"