#DIRTYIMAGINES

Wicked Games -HARRY STYLES

#DIRTYIMAGINE

Wicked Games- HARRY STYLES

Harry stomps through the door after his girlfriend, his temper fuming, his body on fire from the heat of his rage. He's always been good with his anger but tonight's something snapped. They argue all the time; it's nothing new, but usually they each crave the fight, the adrenaline high that comes from the dirty words and horrid insults they hurl at each other. But tonight, for the second time, Harry realizes things have changed. This is real. Real anger and hurt and it's coming from both of them.

(Y/N) stands with her arms crossed, her dark hair wild atop the crown of her head from her fingers. She's seething and even though she's barely five foot four, she's terrifying in her fury. "I'm so fucking sick of you," she screeches, her hands flying out in front of her, her brown eyes on fire. "Promises you'll stay in while you're gone, promises of when you'll be home and then you decide to stay an extra week. Promises you're not seeing anyone else but I know you are."

Harry's head spins from her accusations, but he knows they're the truth. He's too young to be in a committed relationship, but he's been in his one so long that he doesn't know how to end it. They both should have ended it before it could even get started but the two of them were too selfish. "I'm done," she says, "And this time I mean it."

"You say that every time," Harry says quietly, darkly, knowing he's intimidating with every octave his voice drops. "But you stay."

"I really fucking mean it," she concedes, watching her now ex-boyfriend with careful eyes. She's not even sad; she's just angry. She feels nothing from the fight they're having but pure hatred and nothing else. Harry laughs in her face, his cackle setting up even more tension in the room.

"So you really mean it," He whispers, walking forward, backing (Y/N) into the wall until she hits it with a sudden thud. The sound echoes around the room and she jumps, twisting her body away from his. But Harry's got her in a vice, she's not moving and they both know it. "You," he trails his lips up the hot skin of her neck, "mean," across to the other side, licking a stripe with his tongue, "it?" And he bites down harshly with his perfect white teeth, eliciting a groan from (Y/N).

"Yes, I mean it. We're over, finished. Done," she spits, pushing her palms flat against his chest.

Harry laughs again, knowing she's not going to be finished until he lets her. "If you're so done, then why are you responding like this to my touches?" He trails a single finger across her slim collarbone, his eyes dancing in delight as (Y/N)'s body betrays her. "Why are you still standing here? You could leave if you really wanted..."

(Y/N) makes a feeble attempt to move, but Harry's arm wraps around her waist instead. "But you're not really trying." His lips press to her neck again, brushing against the exposed skin. "Let me make you remember what you're leaving before you walk through that door."

Harry ghosts his knuckle down her front, tracing over her warm skin through the thin material of her loose tank-top. (Y/N) should stop him, and oh, she wants to, but she won't. She's always been a prisoner to his touch and they both know that. Harry's used that to his advantage more times they can count anymore.

She groans as his single finger touches the exposed skin of her hip, his lips coming to rest against the shell of her ear. "So you're done, you say? Who else is gonna make you feel like this?"

"Shut up, Harry," she hisses, her back arching as his smooth and soft fingers move up, running along the underside cup of her bra.

"Hmm?" He hums as his fingers slip under the soft material, pulling the wire away from her body. "What did you say, babe?" (Y/N) huffs as his fingers tweak at one of her most sensitive areas, the pink skin hardening at his touch. "You'll never respond to anyone quite like you do to me, don't you think? I've barely touched you and you're already whimpering..."