The Fence || h. s.

35 // Whipped

Warning: more sex at the beginning of the chapter.

_________

"You go first, darling."

I glance behind me at where Harry is casually laid on his side, still dressed in nothing but a pair of black briefs he'd thrown on in a rush. "Watermelon," is my answer as my fingers thread through the messy curls falling onto his forehead.

"Really? That's what you're thinking about now?" His eyes flutter shut, a low, satisfied hum leaving his mouth when I continue to play with his hair. "I've lost my touch."

"Your touch is just fine." That's an understatement, too, because nothing has ever felt quite as good as he did last night. "I'm hungry…" I whine. "Can we order room service? Or maybe we could go out and grab breakfast at that café on the other side of the street. It looks nice."

"But m'sleepy," he groans into my neck.

"And whose fault is that? You're the one who wouldn't shut up and let us rest at four in the morning."

Surprisingly, it wasn't sex that kept us up until the crack of dawn. Harry must have noticed my sorry state, eventually taking pity on me despite his obvious desire to bend me over the sofa again. He really did go hard on me last night, although I'd rather die than admit that I'm feeling sore all over because of our… activities.

And so, instead of jumping straight into round two, we started off by cleaning up the shattered bottle of champagne ("The hotel staff will have enough work in the morning," Harry had insisted) before spending the next few hours lazing around in his bed. Since H was way too fired up to sleep, we also entertained ourselves by trying to decipher the meaning of Asa's drunk texts. Judging by the eventual radio silence, we figured he must have lucked out with the girl he'd been eyeing in the end. 

My mind elsewhere, I almost miss Harry gently rolling me onto my side as his leg teasingly slips between my ankles. "Sugar," he mutters, running his fingers up and down my bare arm.

"What?" I ask, distracted by his leg drifting higher to rest between my thighs.

I can feel his lips quirk up in amusement against my back as he explains, "You said 'watermelon', so I'm saying 'sugar'."

"That's a stretch." I chew on my inner cheek to stop a moan from spilling out when he begins to gently rock against me. "What are you doing, H?"

"Nope," he completely ignores my question, "Watermelons are sweet—it's a logical connection."

"Fine," I manage, which isn't easy because he's definitely growing hard down there, and it's quite clear where this exchange is headed. "This is going to be a very long game."

"Hm, long and… slow?" he suggests then, not even bothering to hide his intentions anymore.

"High," I breathe out when he slips a hand under my—well, technically his—shirt. 

He hums in approval, "Yeah, I quite like the way you think, babe–"

"No, you horndog," I stop him with a chuckle. "We're playing the game, remember? When kids eat too much candy, they get sugar high."

"And you said I was reaching?" Harry laughs, propping himself up on his elbow to take a better look at my face. His eyes flit across my cheeks, no doubt noticing the flush there. "These are some of the most bizarre word connections I've ever heard of. Watermelon, sugar, high… What's next? Passion fruit?" His eyebrows wiggle suggestively.

"Let's leave fruit out of this from now on, okay?" I answer with a small roll of my eyes. "It's your turn."

"Alright." His mouth twitches into a naughty smirk as he lowers down behind me again. Before I have the chance to react, his hand drifts up to firmly close around my breast. "Tits."