Once more I incline my head towards the bed, and Minnie nods. She's still wearing my t-shirt and underpants, and she climbs onto the bed on all fours, flopping over on her back as she reaches the center of the space. Approaching her, I reach and remove the shorts, leaving us both in only our shirts. She sighs as my hand wraps around her ankle before drifting up her right leg until my hand is at the apex of her thighs. Sinking one finger inside of her, I am astounded at how wet she is. The juices gather on my middle finger, and I find myself harder than just minutes ago.

With my thumb, I flick her clit side to side, and she bites her lower lip, watching my face as I observe my fingers pumping into her.

"Harrrrryyyyy," she pushes my name past her clenched teeth, "Pleeeeassseee..."

"Please what, baby?" I ask as though I don't know.

"Want you inside me," she groans, but I'm not ready for that yet. Kneeling between her legs, I bend down, sucking on her clit while my fingers continue moving in and out rapidly. Now she's writhing quite a bit, and I smile. I adore watching her this way, so I apply more pressure with my mouth until she starts moving her hips to match my rhythm. Knowing she's close, I come to the conclusion that I'm going to edge her. Abruptly, I stop, removing my fingers and mouth from her. Her hips slow down and then stop, but her hand flies to her entrance, and it's only my quick action that stops her from finishing herself off.

"What the fuck, Harry? I'm so close," she whines angrily.

"I know. Have I ever told you the story of the time...." I start, and she shrieks at me.

"You want to tell me a personal story NOW?!"

With a grin, I lean over her, taking possession of her mouth while holding her hands above her head to stop her from getting herself off.

"You're such a fucking tease, Styles," she announces when I release her hands and her mouth.

"It's called 'edging'," I remind her.

She wraps her hand around my neck, running her fingernails down my back, scratching without leaving a mark, and I know she's ready for the next round. Rolling on the condom, I kneel, pulling her onto my thighs, and her head lolls back. This isn't the first time I've taken her this way, but it's one of my favorite methods. The position allows me to stroke deep inside her with very little effort: just a flick of my hips and I'm fully sheathed in her. Her back arches, and she moans, tilting her head backwards.

Damn. She feels so amazing. Wet. Warm. Perfect.

I live for you. I long for you.

Do I say that too much? Fuck it. I don't care if I do. It's true.

My arms support under her thighs as I thrust into her, and her legs wrap around my bum. It's the perfect pose to take her nipples into my mouth, and she starts to shudder as I bounce into her. I feel her orgasm as she lets go, covering her face with her hands as she cries out. The spasms overtake her, and I stop temporarily to allow her to ride it out.

"That's it, girl. Are you coming all over my cock?" I ask, "That's hot. I feel you. Oh god. I feel you all around my cock."

She grabs at my arms, clenching the muscles as her climax sweeps over her in waves. Pulling me over her, she buries her tongue in my mouth. That's my signal, and I start driving in her again briskly until my own apex arrives, and I collapse on her.

Marveling at how quickly she's become part of my bedroom decor, I climb off of her, tying off and tossing the condom. I'm ready to crawl into bed with her and snuggle close, so I pull off my shirt, preparing to help her with the one she's wearing too. We both sleep best nakey. Yes. I said nakey. Don't laugh at me.

Just then, her phone rings in her purse on the chair by the closet. She hops off the bed to grab it. "That's Meg's ringtone. I can't imagine why she'd call me at this time of night."

As she presses the button to connect, I tilt my head, trying to listen. But I don't need to move any closer because Meg is practically hysterical.

"Olivia! Oh my god, Olivia! You've got to get over here! He found out about Titus, and he was mad at me, and he stormed off, but I think he's been drinking. It sounds like he's trashing his hotel room. You have to get over here before he does something stupid," her frantic voice comes across the mobile, and I'm already heading to the closest to grab some clothes.

Stuffing my dick into a pair of dad jeans, I grab a shirt for myself and one for Minnie. Scooping her jeans off the top of her bag, I am back out in time to hear Minnie telling her, "Breathe, Meg. It's going to be fine. I'll be there soon."

She's already hauling the jeans on, the phone tucked between her chin and ear as she tries to calm the young woman down. And yes, I'm a terrible person because, in the midst of this crisis, I've noticed that we're both going commando. Once she finishes the call, she tosses the phone on the bed as she yanks the t-shirt off before pulling on the new one I've grabbed for her. Maybe I should take a better look at the shirts I'm getting for her because this one is from my friend Rande's former tequila brand. As soon as she puts it on, she starts tucking it into her jeans, ready to head out while I'm rushing back into my closet to get a different shirt for her to wear. It feels wrong going to support someone with a drinking problem while wearing a shirt advertising liquor. This time I pull a Gucci button down off its hanger, noting that it's silk which will feel soft against her nipples.

When I return, she's putting on her shoes, and she looks at me like I'm an idiot when I hold out the new shirt. Gesturing to her chest, I point out the inappropriateness of her outfit. Resigned, she removes the Casamigos shirt, exchanging it for Gucci. I call for the car while she collects her phone and purse. Bundling her in one of my jackets, we take the lift downstairs.

The drive to the hotel takes a short time, and I sense her concern. The tenseness of her muscles as they tighten more on a steady rhythm can be heard like the winding of tangled yarn.

"Who is Titus?" I ask once we are on Grand Street. The other night, the driver had taken us the long way to my apartment, and I had needed every minute of that trip to convince Minnie to stay with me. Tonight we drive there directly, and even with traffic at this late hour, we're only about 10 minutes away.

"Meg's three-year-old-son," she says, matter of factly, and I nearly swerve off the road.

"Meg? Sweet Meg has a three-year-old? How is that possible?" I blurt. Definitely the wrong thing to say right now.

Minnie sighs testily, "Men," is what she mutters under her breath. "I suspect it's possible in the usual way. I doubt that it was immaculate conception." I can hear her rolling her eyes. "You and Xavier both assume that she's innocent because she is young and thoughtful, kind and hardworking. But that doesn't mean she hasn't had her share of challenges to live through. And she is doing really well. This job with X has allowed her to get her own place and move away from her parents."

Chagrined, I have to agree that my attitude towards Meg is misogynistic at best. Into the angry silence coming from the passenger side, I speak gently, "You're right. I'm sorry, Minnie. It's more that she never gave a hint of being a mom."

She snorts, and I am unsure if I heard her correctly or not, but then she's laughing out loud. "No hint?! How do you think she's made such progress with Xavier? Because he's like a child!"

Once I see the humor, I laugh too, but then we're pulling into the valet at the James Hotel, and Minnie is businesslike again, opening the door before I've come to a complete stop.

Tossing the keys to the valet, I follow her. "So....Minnie?"

She doesn't stop until she reaches the lifts. Punching the button, she turns to me brusquely, "Yes?"

I cannot believe what I'm about to say, but the words escape before I know it. "What if you take care of Meg? Let me take care of X."

The doors open, and we both step in. Selecting the correct floor from the list, she steps back, folding her arms over her chest. (Which is a shame really because I'd been enjoying the way her nipples looked beaded against the silk of that shirt.) The nod she gives me seems reluctant, but then she follows it up with one statement, "I trust you."

Woah. What the fuck? No. That's not what I meant. Somehow having her trust in this situation is more dangerous than inviting her into bed. It feels ginormous. The weight of what she's said settles on my shoulders, and I droop a bit.

She notices. "It's okay, Harry. I'm used to this. I'll see to Xavier. You can take care of Meg."

The lift stops, and the doors open. I step between them to keep them from closing as I speak to her, "No. You've already said that I could do this, and I want to." When I don't move, she looks at me curiously. "It's a lot, isn't it? Holding someone else's future in your hands? Feels like the weight of the world is on your shoulders."

Tears fill her eyes, and I watch as her head bobs quickly up and down, the movement insignificant unless someone has been watching for it. Which I am.

In this simple exchange, I suddenly understand her like I never have before. When I help people out in my world, it's usually something small for me, but huge for them. But when Minnie does it, she makes changing lives look completely effortless. When really it's like having an albatross around your neck.

Reaching for her hand, I guide her down the hall towards their rooms. Minnie has keys to both of their rooms for business reasons, and she hands me the key card to Xavier's when we get close.

Turning to me at the doors, she reaches up, pulling my face to hers. Passionately she presses her lips to mine, and we share a simple and chaste kiss through which she passes all of her emotions. I wait while she knocks on Meg's door lightly, and when it opens, Meg's tear-stained face is there. "Olivia! Thank goodness!" Minnie pushes open the door, leaving me alone in the hallway.

I can hear sounds from inside Xavier's room. They aren't what I expected. Still, I'm nervous when I knock on his door, hoping he opens to me so I don't have to use the key card. Yet, when the door swings open without me having to knock a second time, I'm surprised. Xavier is already walking away from me, weaving in his drunken state. Having been that inebriated before gives me some insight. I grab a bottle of water from the small refrigerator, exchanging it for the glass in his hand as he picks it up to take a drink.

"Hey! You're not room service. I want my fucking Chivas!" he grabs for the glass, and I move it out of his reach, picking up the bottle and walking into the bathroom. Opening the top, I pour the entire contents down the sink, running water after it so the loo doesn't smell like whiskey. Xavier is pouting, and he makes a move to exit the room, leaving me to step in front of the door, blocking its opening with my foot. He's too far gone to realize why he can't open the door, and I feel for him when his frustration boils over.

Suddenly, he turns and takes a swing at me, and I duck. Good thing I've had years of boxing training. He might have hurt me. The momentum of the swing carries him around so he's facing the room again. Angrily he turns to me, preparing to throw another punch.

"Harry!" he stops short, and a giant grin emcompasses his face before it dissolves into tears. "Harry. Why are you here? Did you hear 'bout Meg? Come have a drink, Har-reh!"

"I would love some water," I coax, as I steer him to the bed. The room doesn't appear to be too trashed. Granted, it's not perfect, but I don't see anything broken.

"I was falling in love with her," he slurs, "and then I find out she's been keeping a secret from me."

Falling in love? Wow. That's a huge step for this kid, and I think back to how Meg had been looking at him, and I'm convinced the feelings are mutual. I just have to get him through this bad patch and maybe those two could find their way back to each other again.

Right now, he's too wasted for anything I say to sink in. Falling on top of the covers, Xavier grabs his head. "The room is spinning. Ohhhhhhh....."

Sitting him up, I open the bottle of water I'd shoved at him, encouraging him to drink. "I'm tired, Harry......I'm only 19. Should I be this tired at 19?"

Wow. I can relate to that sentiment. When I was 19....holy hell. That was a rough year. Stupid mistakes abounded then, and I can't count the number of times I was drunk off my arse. I could probably come close though since there are pictures of several of those nights floating around in the public. Exhaustion had come on me quickly in those days, as we had been touring quite a bit, never really taking a rest, and I was an adult, and yet not an adult. Very few decisions were within my control. So yes. Nineteen is an exhausting age. More so for a celebrity.

"Drink the water, Xavier," I coax, "And then we'll get you to bed so you can sleep."

He lets me pull off his shoes, and I help him get situated once the bottle is empty. Climbing under the covers, he rolls away from me, mumbling. "She....." but his voice fades before I can hear the rest. Suddenly, he turns to me, and I'm afraid he needs the bin to throw up. "Harry," he grasps my hand, "She has a kid. A fucking kid. How did I not know this? And why....." he swallows hard, "Why wouldn't she have told me about him?"

Without waiting for my response, he lies back on the bed, throwing his arm over his eyes. Within seconds, he's snoring, and I turn off the light and tidy the room a bit.

Glancing at the adjoining door, I have to wonder how Meg is doing. She was likely scared he would overreact if he knew she had a child. And here he is, proving her right. Sighing, I tuck him in, curling up on the sofa myself to catch some sleep before he wakes up with the headache of a lifetime.