plaything || harry styles au

chapter 4

"Fancy a weekend on the yacht?"

Harry tries to take you out at least twice a month depending on his schedule. Sometimes it's a secret dinner at a secluded restaurant, sometimes he gets an outlet to shut down just to take you shopping without interruption, sometimes he flies you to a different country for a private vacation, and sometimes, well, he takes you out on his yacht. Yacht weekends are always your favorite. Tanning, drinking, and you get to finally share a bed with Harry. Yacht weekends don't happen often.

"Sounds like a dream," you purr as you sip the mimosa June made with your breakfast. Since he's always gone during the day, Harry likes to have breakfast with you before he leaves. You giggle when you think about how it looks to the outside eye, Harry dressed up in a suit and you sitting in a nightgown. Breakfast always consists of your choice of fruit, how you want your eggs cooked that day, and avocado slices. Per Harry's request, you either have mimosas or water, depending on how he feels that morning.

Harry always has your bags packed for you. Your outfits are always a surprise, but always perfect. He likes to color coordinate your outfits with his. Little things like that always ignite butterflies inside you, but you know that's just how he is. It's nothing special.

The yacht is placed in a secluded part of the ocean. It takes a helicopter ride to get there. Harry loves his privacy.

Due to the popularity of Apogeé, paparazzi are always trying to catch a glimpse into his life. Other than interviews, shows, and anything else work related, the world doesn't know anything about his life. His security is very precise and protective. He doesn't even run his own social media. Privacy is his biggest kink.

The sun feels amazing on your skin, the yellow bikini top is untied to keep tan lines off of your back. Harry lays beside you on the cushioned, lounging pool chair that matches yours. His yellow swim trunks are bunched just above his thighs to get as much sun as possible.

One of Harry's personal waiters brings a tray with two glasses of 1959 Dom Perignon and sets it on the small table between your chairs. He leans over to tie your top back for you to sit up.

"Looking golden, baby. Cheers." You clink your glasses and both take a long sip. In moments like these, you wonder what marriage is like with Harry. He's already so affectionate, you wonder how he acts when he's in love.

"Harry?"

"Hmm?"

"Can I ask you a question?" He sits up and pushes his sunglasses up on his head.

"What kind of question?" His eyes are fixed on you in the most serious expression you've ever seen on his face.

"How many were there before me?" You lift your sunglasses to get a better look at his face. His eyebrows knit together.

"I've told you not to bring that up."

You sigh and pull your glasses back down, laying back to face the sun, "forget it."

Harry scoffs, downs the rest of his drink, and stomps away from the deck. You roll your eyes and don't even bother trying to chase after him. Any time you try to bring up his life before you, he gets defensive and refuses to answer. Deep down you really just want to know if you're disposable.

When you finish up tanning and head to the lower deck to shower, you run into Harry changing for dinner. Black shorts and an open black shirt with clusters of pink and magenta flowers scattered all over.

"Left you a dress on the bed. Dinner in 30, pet."

Lukewarm water soothes your burning skin. After a day of tanning, you like a splash of cold in your showers. The burn and oils wash away and leave behind a coat of gold. You love the way your cheeks gain a natural blush and very light freckles after tanning. On yacht weekends, your makeup is always simple. Your sun bitten skin is always enough to drive Harry wild. A simple sundress sits on the bed, a shade of pink that matched the flowers on Harry's shirt. You spend a lot of time barefoot during yacht weekends, so does Harry.