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The first thing you see when you walk into the crowded room is Harry Styles. In his geometric Gucci suit, he looks like a goddamn vision. It's as though he has a bright spotlight on him, and you can see everyone around is casually trying not to stare in his direction. He's not oblivious to their stares as he works the room, but his focus remains fully on the conversation he has with each guest. As he speaks, the intensity of his gaze makes their knees weak, and his smile breaks their heart.
You catch his eye while he's posing for a camera. He has a beautiful woman on each arm, their bodies pressed against him in the hope of keeping his attention when the photographer is gone. So, when his gaze lingers on you for a little longer than you can handle, and you begin to blush, you see the smile become a sort of smirk that you know means trouble for someone. Feeling a stirring at the thought, you sincerely hope it's going to be you.
You break the eye contact first, butterflies fluttering in your belly as you head to the bar to order a drink. The party is work, and you can't let your thoughts become filled with notions of sleeping with a celebrity guest, no matter how persuasive or hot he may be.
When you feel a hand on your lower back, commanding your attention, you aren't surprised to see him next to you, but it does take you back that he's even more breathtaking up close. Long hair with loose curls, he's tall and impeccably dressed, and his lips are the sweetest shade of pink as he licks them subtly. You're distracted by the colour when he first speaks, mouth moving in a sensual way that adds to his overall appeal.
"Harry Styles. Nice to meet you." He talks low and slow, words dragging seductively, breath caressing your ears. You find it oddly charming how he introduces himself despite everyone in the room knowing exactly who he is.
"Nice to meet you too, Harry." Extending your hand for him to shake, you don't extend the offer of telling him your name. You have a sneaking suspicion that he won't be needing it after tonight, and he probably wouldn't remember even if you did tell him.
Harry takes your hand and leans in to kiss your cheek, filling your senses with his heady scent. The quiet laugh, and satisfied smile he flashes at you, as he moves back to stand up straight hints that he heard your breath hitch, but you have no doubt he's used to having that effect on women, and quite a few men too.
There isn't much conversation outside of eye contact. That devastating gaze he first set on you is back, and there's a silent smirk which barely conceals that he's picturing what you would look like naked. You hope he can't see that you're starting to blush again because you've also started to wonder what he looks like naked. You've seen the occasional photo of his tattoos as you've flipped through gossip magazines, and you’re curious to know if there are more hidden away from public view.
"Are you having a good evening?" he asks, and to anyone else it's just polite conversation between two strangers, but you know better, this isn't the first time you've been propositioned by a cocky celebrity. This time, however, is the first time you've been tempted by the offer.
