Psycho ➳ H.S.

Chapter 4

A massive pounding erupted inside Carissa's head. Heavy eyelids begged for more sleep. Her limbs were too sore to stir at the slightest. An unfamiliar scent wafted into her nose- it wasn't a bad smell; rather, it smelled like sweet musk, spice and mint blended together. The pillow her cheek rested on smelled like the aromatic concoction too, nuzzling her face into it to take in more.

That's when it hit her.

She forced her eyes open and frantically looked around- this wasn't her room. This wasn't her apartment. This wasn't even the apartment building she lived in. These weren't her sheets. That wasn't her dresser. She was surprised that she was even in her own clothes, because nothing else seemed to be hers. She screwed her eyes shut, letting memories of last night fill her head.

"You punished me today- it's about time you learned your lesson."

"Tell me what you want, princess."

"Do you trust me?"

Tabletops. Spanking. Moaning- lots of it. Standing up. Mr. Dale's office. Erasing a security tape. It all came back to her in chunks and snippets, some bits still unclear, but for the most part it was straightforward and very, very real.

Her breaths became shallow as she tried to focus- everything around her was very neat and orderly, except for an olive checkered button-up lazily thrown onto the doorknob of the closet at the other end of the room. Her heart stopped.

This was Harry's room.

Panic exploded through her. She looked around, but there was no sign that he had even been in the room except to drop off his shirt. The clock on the side table read 11:09 AM. Fuck! she thought, I'm late for work! How am I going to explain any of this?

Work. More fear crashed into her. Would Mr. Dale know of their heated romance in his office? She felt so guilty- Mr. Dale was a kind man, and she let Harry take her on his desk. She wanted to throw up at the thought. He would be disgusted with her.

She kicked the comforter off of her body and stepped onto the floor, her body sore from the events of the previous night. No sounds came from outside the room- was he even at home? She crept over to the shirt on his closet door and unhooked it, bringing it to her nose- it was definitely his home; the shirt smelled the same as him.

She decided that it wouldn't do much harm to look around, but she soon realized that there wasn't much to look at. Above the television opposite the bed, a shelf held gold and silver plated trophies and a few certificates. She stood on her toes and read the inscription at the base of one of them- 'First Place, Harry Styles, West Coast Swimming Championship'. So he was a swimmer.

Upon his side table sat a picture frame, empty. Why would he have an empty frame by his bed? Was it supposed to be a cryptic message that only he knew the answer to? Or had he just not found the time to place a photo in it?

Other than that, his room was barren and minimalistic. The walls were white, as were his sheets and his table lamp, and all of his furniture was a shade of grey or brown and made of wood or a substitute. The curtains were a boring black. The shaggy rug covering the hardwood floor was the only thing in the room with colour, but even that was a dark, forest green.

She noticed her shoes placed neatly by the wall to her right, and her purse hanging on a hook on the door. She had to fight her conflicting feelings- she was fearful, but it was slowly turning into appreciation that he had taken care of her belongings and left her to sleep alone. No, she told herself, this isn't right. I'm late for work, and he's too close for comfort. Find a way out.

Slowly, she put on her shoes, grabbed her bag, and inched the doorknob in a circle until the door opened. A hallway extended out. The bathroom resided directly to her right. From what she could see, and like she expected, his bathroom was also pristine. Why the hell are you admiring his bathroom? Get out of here! she thought. She snuck down the hall until she was greeted by his sunlit living room on her left. She paused her breathing to take in the sight before her.

Harry was asleep on the couch, clearly too large for it. His left leg dangled off the far arm of the sofa while his right hung off the cushions, nearly touching the floor. He was planted face first, snuggling a small pillow with his large arms. He snored, mumbling something she couldn't decipher before shifting slightly and hugging the pillow tighter. His hair was even messier than it had been the night before. Her eyes trailed down his shirtless backside, defined muscles beckoning for her to massage them. She could see the white band of his boxer-briefs peeking out from under his skin tight, black jeans- he must have been too exhausted to change out of his clothes that he passed out after tucking her into bed. One sock was on the ground, having rolled off his foot from shuffling in his sleep. She didn't want to leave. She wanted to sit there and wait for him to wake up. He looked so peaceful; completely perpendicular to the Harry she witnessed in action last night.

You're already late as it is, Carissa. Leave, her conscience said. She sighed, tiptoeing to the front door. A floorboard creaked aloud, inducing a gravelly grunt from him. He was no longer dormant.

"Carissa?" he called. His raspy morning voice sent butterflies loose in her stomach. "Where are you going?"

He mustered up the strength to push himself up from his position and sat straight, rubbing his eyes and smoothing out his hair. He stretched his arms, then stood to face her. It took all of her willpower to stop herself from swooning at the sight of his tattoos and the trail of dark hair traveling down from his navel, stopping at the waist of his pants on the soft skin of his body- her self-control was withering like a rose in the winter.

"I...I have to go to work. I'm late," she replied, choosing her words carefully. She remembered her carelessly picked words eventually earned her spanking last night. He looked slightly sorry once the words left her mouth. "Thank you for your hospitality, but I have to go."

"I...uh," he stammered, grabbing his charcoal tee from the coffee table beside him, "I called in sick for you."

"You what?"

He bit his lip at her surprise. It was apparent how much her job meant to her.

"I just...I figured...well, you- we- stayed up really late last night, and I thought maybe you'd want to sleep it off or something-" he faltered as he tried to make his explanation worth her time. She crossed her arms in hopes she'd come off as angry, but in reality she was thrilled; her attempt to hold back her smile was weakening by the second. She prayed that he would let her stay with him.

"Well it's not like I can tell then I'm feeling better now..."

His eyes brightened. He looked angelic, standing shirtless in his living room with the sun beaming in from the windows behind him. He pulled the shirt on- no, stop! Take your shirt off and keep it off! she thought.

"Did you just wake up?" he asked, squinting his eyes to try and make out her face from where he was standing. She nodded.

"Here," he made his way over to her and took the purse from her hands, placing it on the foyer table, "I left a new toothbrush out for you in the bathroom. There should be one of those travel toothpastes in the cabinet too. I'll have something for you to eat when you're ready."

She opened her mouth to object, but he caught her before she spoke.

"I insist."

She gave a small smile and he did the same. She padded over to the shower, noticing that he didn't have a spare room- just his bedroom, a living room, a cramped bathroom and a tiny kitchen. It was enough for him and him alone. He had given up the comfiest spot in his house for her, igniting a blush on her cheeks. She felt bad; she felt thankful; she felt cared for.

She closed the door behind her. His bathroom was the size of the closet in her room. It featured a small sink, a toilet and a stand-up shower. She hastily stripped herself down and stared at her reflection in the mirrored cabinet above the sink- why were there small, oval-shaped bruises on her hips? She turned to inspect them but gasped when she saw the large, red handprint on her ass- the bruises must have been from his fingers holding onto her hips as he took her by storm. She took her own hand and placed it on top of his palm's marking- he was enormous compared to her, his fingers at least an inch and a half longer than hers. She felt like his mark on her signified something only the two of them would ever know about, and it made her wonder if their romance (or whatever they could call it; it hadn't been very romantic up until now) would always have to stay in the shadows. It was highly improper to date co-workers, but he left an insatiable hunger in her core which could only be satisfied by him.

She decided not to think about her body's new additions and got into the shower, closing the glass door and turning the tap on. She let the hot water wash away all the fear she possessed when she awoke in his room earlier. The palmprint stung under the heat. He was being abnormally sweet- why so? She couldn't come up with a plausible answer to his change in character. She figured he found pleasure in making her roll her eyes at his crude words, but he hadn't done so today. Perhaps it was just early; maybe he was just waiting to fire perverted remarks while she was eating. She could already his voice- "I'm hungry, but the thing I want to eat can't really fit in the fridge. It won't fit onto my plate either. It'd probably have to be served on my bed, to be honest...". She groaned at the idea of it, although truthfully she wouldn't think twice to accept if he offered.

She squeezed his shower gel- the very same she had smelled on him at the recreation center- onto her hand and lathered her body. Her worries washed down the drain along with whatever layer of jasmine she still possessed from the day before. Just then, the faint sound of singing flooded into her bathroom from the vents. She leaned towards it, studying the familiar cradles of his English accent wrapping around the words- Harry had a voice made for serenades: deep; rich; and ever so raspy.

She listened on, picking up the fact that he hummed most of the song, but when he got to the chorus he tried to belt out the melody, harmonies and instrumental at the same time, mimicking the guitar, bass or drums if needed. A smile painted her face- it was hard not to be amused at his strained attempts to get all the parts. Shortly after his singing ceased, she found herself feeling disappointed- she desired to listen to him forever. The option of recording him with her phone while he wasn't looking stuck at the back of her head.

"Carissa?" Harry's voice suddenly called, rapping his knuckles on the door. She jumped and shut the tap off, scared that he might've barged in on her- she forgot to lock the door. She quickly wringed the water from her hair and dried herself off with the clean towel hanging on the rack and came to the realization that she didn't have any clothes to wear. She wrapped the towel around her body. Her stare was fixated on the door, awaiting his tall figure to come in any moment.

Nothing happened. Did he remember, just as she did, that she didn't have any clothes to change into? Was he waiting outside to catch her in a towel? There was really only one way to find out; she prepared herself for the worst.

Her hand reached out to the doorknob and opened it promptly- if she was going to feel embarrassment, she might as well have gotten it over with. Instead, her field of view was lacking him. A neat pile of clothes- a black shirt and a pair of blue drawstring pyjama pants- sat on the ground. She peered out, looking to both ends of the hall- no one. She bent to pick them up and shut the door again to put them on, feeling an odd sensation tickle her chest- she couldn't identify what it was, but it made her toes curl and her skin feel warm. She envisioned him going through his wardrobe, hunting for clothes that were small enough as to not fall off her shoulders when she shrugged and messing up the tidy piles to tend to her needs.

She brushed her teeth with the toothbrush he had left aside and departed the bathroom. His clothes were soft against her skin; admittedly, she inhaled the scent of them for a ridiculous amount of time before she decided to unlock the door. Her damp, dark hair cascaded down to her chest- if someone would have seen her like that, dressed in his clothes with freshly washed hair, they most likely would've thought she was his girlfriend. She followed her nose back up the hall, just barely catching him in a hurried dance across the kitchen with a plate of food she couldn't make out.

"Harry?"

"I'm almost rea- fuck!" he cried out. She raised her eyebrows at his dramatic leaps from the drawers and cupboards. Soon after, he stepped from behind the room divider and grinned.

"You okay?" she asked, cocking her head to the side with a smirk on her face.

"Burned my hand a little, but I'm ready," he stepped over and grasped the sides of her upper arms while he stood behind her, leading her through the kitchen and onto the patio.

A rectangular table, nearly as large as the area of the patio itself, was filled with plates of french toast, bacon, fresh fruit, mugs of tea, and, of course, omelettes for the two of them.

"Wow...how long was I in the shower for?" she wondered how he had managed to make so much food in such a short time span.

"Thirty...forty-five minutes? I'm not sure. Go on- sit."

She followed his direction. He pulled her chair out for her and she reddened, flattery overtaking her system; her bum throbbed at the contact with the rattan seat, remembering the marking he had given her. He made way back to his chair and gestured for her to start. She did so, picking up her fork and breaking off a piece of the omelette. His gaze was fixed on her, raising his eyebrow as she put it in her mouth. Her eyes widened in shock- it was sumptuous. She never liked admitting defeat, but even she had to agree that this was better than any omelette she'd ever tasted- hers included.

"Gonna make me wash the dishes for that?" he chuckled, leaning back and taking a piece of french toast. She rolled her eyes.

"It's alright," she lied, "I've tasted better."

"Of course you have."

They sat in a comfortable silence for a while, chewing on the food in front of them. She dared not look at him- she couldn't understand why her mind resisted him so much. Perhaps she didn't want to bring up their sexual encounter, or possibly she felt intimidated by the green eyed, curly haired man sitting across from her. Nothing had a straightforward answer; sometimes life was easier that way.

She stared out at the view- she could identify a few points of interest, such as the city centre, the stadium, and even The Ravier under a layer of foliage. They were at the top floor of the building looking upon the downtown landscape- a breathtaking sight that didn't need verbal commentary. Her apartment was a couple blocks away from The Ravier, but her building wasn't nearly as high up as his.

"How did you get into cooking?" Harry asked, finally breaking the silence. It wasn't as if the quiet was awkward, but she was relieved she didn't have to start the conversation.

"I was always good at it. I started in high school and it just followed me, you know?" she replied, pushing her empty plate away and sticking her fork in a cantaloupe cube.

"So not very long then?"

"What? No, I've been cooking for almost seven years."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-one," she said. He took a sip of his tea, recoiling at the burn of his tongue.

"Really? Jeez...I thought..."

"What?"

He smirked and massaged the back of his neck, blushing slightly.

"I was really scared you weren't legal when we...you know," he confessed, taking a piece of watermelon from the plate. She laughed at his embarrassment. A shiver ran down her back at the thought of him thrusting into her. Tingles erupted in her stomach- you're not wearing panties, her conscience reminded her. Carissa crossed her legs, hoping her longing would fade away.

"A seventeen year old head chef?"

"Who knows? Maybe you were a cooking prodigy and left home at the tender age of fifteen to pursue her food fantasies," he narrated as if her alternate life were a movie. It really wasn't as glorious as that.

"What about you? You're a swimmer, right?"

"I am. I moved here when I was eighteen to start my career in swimming. Always loved it, but Britain's not really the go-to place for that kind of stuff. Now, six years later, I'm training for the biggest championship in America, hoping Britain's Olympic committee will recognize me, and trying to pay rent on $11.25 an hour," Harry explained, his eyes never leaving hers. He was comforted by her hazel globes, the light of the morning sun making them seem brighter than usual.

"You must be good- I saw the trophies in your room."

"Yeah, well...hopefully I'm good enough for the Nationals. There's this one guy who really gives me a run for my money- he's such a twat, but even I have to admit he's good."

"Who?" questioned Carissa, folding her legs in her chair and leaning forward. She wanted him to keep talking. The sound of his voice could put classical music to shame.

"Lucas McCoy. Funny. Talented. Such a ladykiller- I hate doing interviews after him."

Her blood froze in her veins.

"Lucas McCoy? Blonde hair? Blue eyes?"

Harry raised an eyebrow, unsure of the sudden change of tone. She sounded ashamed, and half-heartedly worried he would confirm her description. He nodded. Carissa laughed nervously, turning her attention to the skyline again.

"You know him, don't you?"

"We dated. End of high school until about seven months ago."

"Oh, wow. That's a long time. I'm sorry I brought it up-"

"No, no," she protested, turning back to him. She hadn't really talked about it to anybody, so she saw this as an excuse to. "It doesn't really bother me anymore. I think I just got tired of him. Messy break up though- he's not really someone I'd want to bump into, that's for sure."

She was talking about Lucas, but all she could think about was Harry. Harry holding her hand. Harry taking her out on dates. Waking up to Harry after he took her in his bed the night before- Harry, Harry, Harry.

"Let's talk about something else," he suggested, clearly picking up on her hesitance, "ask me anything."

She racked her brain for questions, finally coming up with a few good ones.

"When we met at the movies, did you really want to give me your ticket?"

"Not really," he laughed, "but I would've."

Her heart raced. His words replayed in her head- "Persuade me, and it's yours". She wondered if she could persuade him to fuck her on the balcony- Carissa, stop! He was nice enough to let you wear his pants. Try to refrain from ruining them.

"Okay...oh! Why do you have an empty picture frame on your side table?"

"Don't know," he shrugged, "I don't have pictures with people I'd want to see before I go to bed. Waiting for one, I guess."

She contemplated asking about his family, but figured he didn't mention them for a reason, the same way she refused to talk about her father, ridden with alcoholism, and her mother, out there somewhere with a child she actually loved.

"Your turn. Ask me."

"What did you think of last night?"

Well one of us had to ask, she thought. His eyes looked serious, like he really wanted to know.

"It was unlike anything I've done before," she said, a blush creeping up her face, "but I wouldn't do it again."

Filthy lies, spat her conscience.

"Oh," his face dropped.

"It's just because we were at work and I don't want anything happening to either of us," she quickly added. As much as she wanted for him to take her in any way she would allow, Carissa understood the ramifications of sexual relations in the workplace. He looked relieved, but she didn't know why.

"No, I understand."

"We were just in the heat of the moment."

He nodded in agreement. He sent her a closed smile, picking up the plates without another word and stepping back into the kitchen to put them in the sink.

He returned outside a minute or two later after having set the dishes in the dishwasher. She hadn't budged from her position in the chair, looking up at him.

"What?" he asked.

"You didn't kiss- well, apart from the ones we initially had with each other- but you didn't kiss me last night."

He couldn't tell if she was confused or angry or thankful. Her arms were crossed; he was standing there like an idiot- she didn't remember the ones he gave her after they both came down from their highs.

"Was I supposed to?"

"I...I don't know. I guess not. I was just wondering why you didn't, that's all."

He wanted to tell her that he did; that he gave her three, long kisses right on her lips. He wanted to tell her that she tasted like candy. He wanted to tell her that he would've kissed her forever if he didn't have to get them both cleaned up.

"It's not like we're together," he began, causing her to raise an eyebrow, "I don't know. Kissing is intimate. Like you said, we were just in the heat of the moment."

But she wanted so desperately to be with him, and she felt a little insulted- Carissa, please. You were the one that said that you didn't want yourselves to get in trouble. Don't be a hypocrite, her conscience said in a tone harsher than she expected. She needed to distract him from her- she was certain her irritation was clear on her face. She glanced at the clock on the wall.

"Oh god, it's 12:30. I should go," she excused herself, getting up and tucking in her chair, "Thank you so much for brunch, Harry. It was amazing. I'm really impressed."

She walked over to him and stuck out her hand. He looked at her and shook it, raising his eyebrow at her nonchalant gesture. Truthfully, she worried that if she embraced him with open arms, she wouldn't want to let go.

"Let me drive you home," he offered.

"Oh, it's okay, really- I can walk-"

"No. You could get hurt walking home. It's not a big deal, Carissa, don't be difficult."

Stop with your protective, caring attitude, you dumb idiot, she mentally scolded him, you're making me regret the fact I told you we can't continue seeing each other.

She sighed and nodded, agreeing to his offer. He grabbed his keys off the hook by the door and her belongings from the foyer table. Carissa followed Harry as he led the way down to the parking garage. They approached a black, recently polished Range Rover; the doors unlocked, and they climbed in.

Talking was kept to a minimum as they cruised the streets of Agoura Hills, taking in the scenery and listening to the radio. It was difficult to direct her gaze away from his arms- they flexed when he turned the wheel with ease, moving in motions as a martial artist would. She thought about how tight his grip was on her the night before, how his strong arms pinned her in place as he took her relentlessly. She wondered if his car could handle the same amount of force that he put into ploughing his throbbing cock into her- for Christ's sake, Carissa, enough with your fantasies! Spare the poor boy of his misery; don't let him believe you want him more than you do- we all know you're shit at hiding how aroused you are.

The only time she talked was to tell him which streets to turn onto. Just before they neared her avenue, they stopped at the light, and he turned the radio down.

"I need to tell you something."

She couldn't find anything other than seriousness in his voice. Her body was yet again enveloped in a layer on anxiety- what could he possibly want to tell her that needed such a grave and morbid tone?

He pulled up to the building and put the car in park, pulling the keys from the ignition. He leaned forward, admiring the architecture of the apartments. It was a creamy, pale yellow building with a tawny, lemon trim. The windows reminded him of the ones on castles, and he assumed there to be a little alcove on the other side of it where he pictured Carissa reading books or eating her breakfast before work. An eccentric fire escape ran down the middle of the building, separating the neighbouring residents. It looked like its rent was higher than his annual salary, but it wasn't as if she couldn't afford it.

He turned to her, pokerfaced and chewing on the inside of his cheek. Harry leaned into Carissa, diverting to her ear and took a deep breath- his voice grew near silent.

"Those cubes of fruit at my place? I didn't cut them myself- I bought them."

His grim expression fluctuated into a playful one, earning him a melodic laugh from her. He was so stupidly charming. They both burst into fits of giggles and snickers- I could get used to this, Carissa thought. He was multifaceted- flirtatious and seductive one minute; kind and playful the next- but she had to resist. The option of being 'just friends' was impossible to execute- it wouldn't work when both of them felt such a powerful attraction towards the other. She had to reject him as a whole, which wasn't working because his soft, pink lips were a mere few inches away from hers. Her senses deteriorated- why did he make her feel this way?

"Thank you, Harry. For everything," she whispered. He nodded, smiling with his eyes. Carissa grabbed her purse and clothes and opened the door, stepping onto the concrete and walking towards the entrance before turning around and remembering something.

"Do you want your clothes back? I can go upstairs and change if you'd like."

"Keep the pants," he replied with a coy grin, "You don't strike me as the type to wear underwear you've destroyed."

And with that, he winked at her and pulled away from the curb down the road until he was no longer in sight. She blushed at the fact he knew she wasn't wearing panties- he was definitely more experienced than she thought.

On her way up to the second floor where her apartment was situated, she fantasized about Harry even more: taking her in the mail room, in the stairwell, in the elevator, up against her door- there were so many possibilities that could no longer be pursued. Curse unprofessionalism! She wished he could have just taken the surveillance tape instead of erasing it so that she could have a copy of the one night she wanted to relive the most.

Upon her arrival in her home, Carissa felt a void; she lived alone, but desired to be with him. It never occurred to her how nice it was to see his sleeping body, then to hear his morning voice, then to have brunch with him. He seemed to lack another person in his life too; his home appeared lifeless and empty of character unless he was stirring something up in the kitchen.

You need to stop, pleaded her conscience, he's too nice. He's too perfect. For your own sake, stop.

Her thoughts battered her as she stepped into the bathtub, this time to wash away her arousal for him under cold water. It didn't help; the shower only provided a placed or her to dip her hand between her legs as the running water lapped around her thighs- she was already wet and more sensitive than ever.

She concentrated, etching Harry's face onto the back of her eyelids as she ran her fingers up and down her core, trying to mimic Harry's touch. His fingers were rough and calloused in all the right places- hers were dainty and delicate that couldn't deliver the satisfaction he brought even if she tried. It started slow- lazy tickles of her fingertips to the tingling button.

She wished it were him touching her, making her beg for more than just his hands. She rubbed harder; faster; in the shape of an eight; in tiny circles- her arousal trickled from her core down the cheeks of her bum, and it wasn't enough. She stuck one, then two fingers into herself, pumping in and out, in and out, imagining it was him. It was nowhere close to how good he felt, but it was something at the very least. She felt a small ticking in her clit that grew into a palpitating pulse- irregular and getting stronger and stronger- and she was afraid her fingers wouldn't be able to match what he would've been able to achieve.

She added another finger, but it still didn't compare. A balloon inflated in her chest; it got harder to breathe; all she could think of was him. She circled her clit with her free hand in ferocious intervals of fast and faster, her lower lip was clamped between her teeth, her heartbeat shot through the roof, her skin turned hot with desire, moans were being let out like he was pounding into her again, and her back created the perfect arch. His name left her throat- "Harry...Harry...Harry!"

Her pussy clenched around her fingers; everything became irrelevant except for the memory of his face; the world was a haze; what has her name? All she knew was his.

She shook and jittered until her body slumped in the cool water, her breaths coming out in sputters. She was dirty; disgusting; deranged; deep in a hole she dug by herself that she couldn't possibly get out of.

Thanks for reading! Let us know what you think by commenting and voting!