Lush Seduction (Moulin Rouge) | Harry Styles AU | BOOK 1 ✓

36

Vicky West

Even though I enjoyed playing tennis with Harry, I absolutely sucked at it. There was not a chance in hell that I could have won against that bastard - who contended that he was the maestro of tennis.

I did concede that he had done a surprising and awe-inspiring job by hammering me - which was definitely not the chivalrous thing to do - but he kept bragging about how great and proficient he was and that if he didn't own the Moulin Rouge he would have been the best tennis player in the world. I couldn't guarantee him that, but if it was what he wanted to hear I would oblige.

I walked around his house after I had taken a shower; there was just thirty minutes to kill before I was required to be at the Café and work my ass off.

There wasn't a bone in my body that was delighted with the thought of serving ungrateful people. I loved to work for people, and make them content with the things I did, but it was not something I was looking forward to today. However, the delicious thought of seeing Harry tomorrow at the Moulin Rouge was thoroughly satisfying.

''The world's #1 tennis player doesn't have the skill I do,'' Harry bragged in a self-assured way. He was resting on his settee, one limb on the other. I was brushing my unruly hair while I glared at him sitting there on his over-the-top, ridiculously-expensive couch.

''Because his skill is better, Harry.'' I stated seriously, followed by boisterous laughter. Harry rolled his eyes, and shook his head at my remark. He clearly wasn't impressed with my comment, but I was.

''Let's just make-out for ten minutes, yeah?'' Harry blurted out when my laughter ceased.

I turned my body around, leaned my back against his black-slate countertop, and gave him an are-you-serious look. It was very straight forward, but it sounded as if he was asking if I had brown eyes instead of to make-out. I could never understand where Harry was coming from, he was a mystery to me.

''Where did that come from?'' I asked Harry, disapproval evident in my tone.

''You just laughed at my mad skills, Vicks.'' Harry disregarded. ''And I need to bring you to work really fucking soon, so I need you to console me.'' He added nonchalantly.

''Console you?'' I questioned with a mock-frown. Harry pouted exaggeratedly, so I paced over to the couch where he sat. A boyish grin broke out on his face, dimples on full-show, and he opened his arms for me. His smile reflected on my face when I saw him sitting there - so endearing - on the couch.

I took a seat on Harry's lap, and I could feel his large hands rest on my lower back. I pressed my pelvis against his, and I looked down upon his face. I heard faint breaths tumbling from his heart-shaped lips, and I looked at them in reverence.

It amazed me that something so pretentious as his lips could drive me crazy, but mesmerize me at the same time. I felt him move his hands under my dress, and make his way up. It didn't bother me that I was sitting vulnerable in his lap. He was slowly, but surely, stroking my lower back with his digits.

It didn't take long for me to crash my lips - enthusiastically - to his. Harry opened his mouth and I slipped my tongue inside. Our tongues collided, electricity flowing between our combined bodies. The overwhelming sensation of his tongue was exhilarating, and I cupped Harry's face as I kissed him deeper.

I felt his rough stubble brush against the soft skin of my face, it was hot and I wouldn't have minded if he decided to grow it out. This was the most comfortable and relaxed position we'd ever been in; neither of us were trying for anything more, we were just making out.

Harry squeezed my hips occasionally, a soft vocalizaition came out of my mouth to show him the gratification he brought to me just by putting his hands on me. The way Harry kissed me, so prudishly, was outstandingly demoralizing. He knew how to make me feel alive by allowing me to feel the little things. I never got world-weary when I was with Harry, and I hoped he felt the same way about me.