Pleasing | H.S.

Pillowtalk* (A Mine Extra)

Summary: Save a horse, ride a pillow.

Turns out, Harry isn't always so forgiving.

~~~

You know you've fucked up even before Harry walks through the door.

He's normally a very patient man. Very forgiving. Understanding.

But you know today will be different.

See, you've done the one thing he absolutely hates, more than anything in the world:

You've lied to him.

Or rather, you've refused him. Refused his suggestion. His offer to help you relieve some tension. And not because you don't want to or because you feel uncomfortable. Because you know if you'd used your safe word, he would have dropped it instantly, no questions asked.

But you know he's been watching you for the past few days. Noticing how you rut against him in your sleep. Throw a leg over his thigh and grind down without even realizing. Whimper beneath your breath at the faint contact before curling into his side.

See, you've been fighting your subspace for weeks. You're not sure why it's kept trying to creep up on you. Maybe you're lonely. Maybe you're in heat. Maybe you just need Harry to fuck you into the mattress to set things right.

But he's been incredibly busy. And stressed. And the thought of bothering him with this has been out of the question. So, you've kept it to yourself.

It wasn't until Asher found you squeezing a pillow between your thighs earlier today that Harry became aware of how serious it was.

Asher had called him instantly and told him before Harry made him put you on the phone. He was anxious to fix it for you, asking if you'd like to come to the warehouse so he could help you out. He'd play with you, kiss you, cuddle you, and make everything better.

But you hadn't wanted to be a bother. You'd brushed him off, told him you were fine. You'd watch some TV and get over it.

And he hadn't liked this, instead suggesting that he leave work altogether and come home so he could dedicate the rest of his day to you.

Another proposition that you refused. Insisting once more that you didn't want to take up any of his time. You knew he was busy, and this was nothing. You weren't an animal. You'd be fine.

It was your second refusal that upset him. The way you lied just to please him. How you put his needs above your own.

You knew he wanted to chastise you over the phone, but he simply offered a solemn but chilling goodbye before the line went dead.

So, you handed the phone back to Asher with a sheepish raise of your eyebrows.

He tutted sympathetically as he said, "Oh, sweetheart. You've done it now."

It became clear then just how badly you'd fucked up. And you could do nothing but wait for your boyfriend's return as the anxious pit in your stomach began to form.

This is how Harry finds you a couple of hours later. You've been anticipating him, his driver having radioed to Asher about his arrival before he left.

And you've done nothing but pace the living room floor, practicing what you'll say when you see him. Which will be any second now. You can hear him coming up the stairs, the heavy boots on his feet echoing in from the hall.

He can't be that mad. He can't. Not after he hears your side.

You'll start with a string of apologies and then an explanation. And maybe he'll understand because sometimes you don't think when you're in this type of headspace, and surely he'll be able to see that. Surely he'll listen to reason—