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calm-and-wine · 2 months

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No Strings — Chapter 4: No Power

Harry’s head is between my thighs, and I’m ready to scream his name for the second time this evening. I don’t know why he decided to focus all his attention on me the second I walked in his front door, but I will never, ever complain about his sheer generosity when it comes to what he wants to do with my body and how often he wants to do it.

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.........i know.

there are no words to explain the fact that i am randomly updating this fic after THREE YEARS, except maybe when inspiration hits, it really hits. life's been pretty crazy, that's for sure, and sometimes you need an escapism of a world you've created inside your head to momentarily ignore the one outside your laptop screen.

if anyone follows me still, you'll know that i had made the decision to quit writing fanfiction and focus on original work. but there is just something about mabel and harry that keeps drawing me back in, needing to tell their story and give them the depth and attention they really deserve. will it take me another three years to post the next part? will i actually write another part? i can't make any promises on that, but what i can say is that it has been nice to find my motivation to write again. it's been a while since i've written anything at all, tbh, but mabel and harry have reminded me how much i loved writing.

so..........thoughts on what happened this chapter? mabel's situation at work with her coworker and boss? taking the reigns and contacting harry? feeling the need to have power? sure seems like harry didn't mind.......hehe.

anyway, thanks to anyone who has stuck around, or has found this story and decided to support me from here. either way, hope you're well. enjoy! x

I watch the clock on the wall, each second ticking by seemingly slower than the last. It’s only made worse by the drones of Marc sitting across from me in the smallest meeting room in the office building, his babbling making it feel even smaller every time I’m spoken over.

“So, what I think Mabel’s trying to say,” Marc continues while I sit back and bite my tongue. “We need our Communications team to look closer at our project timeline. I know they play an extremely vital role in our project and all, but—”

“Deadlines, yes,” Kenneth cuts in, twiddling a pen in his hand. “I assume you’ve provided them with our timeline?”

“That was Mabel’s job.”

Both Marc and Kenneth look at me. “I made sure to send it out to all relevant stakeholders, including both the project working group and teams we will be seeking collaboration on,” I inform them, then tap the laptop screen in front of me. “But they also have access to this information in Microsoft Teams and Asana.”

“Very well.” Kenneth nods curtly. “Maybe it’s time to send them a reminder?”

He says this like it’s a suggestion, but I know damn well it’s more of an order than anything else. When I first commenced this role, it took me some time to understand that Kenneth prefers to take the more subtle route with his “suggestions” and what he sees fit unless it’s a strong demand that must be followed immediately. It was quite the opposite to my previous manager, who believed in being upfront and direct, so it was a different leadership and communication I had to adapt to—being able to adapt to other leaders, however, sure does look good on a resume.

Marc, on the other hand, can’t be adapted to. If Kenneth is in the middle tier on my worst managers list, Marc is by far the bottom tier on my worst colleagues list. In fact, he has a tier all to himself and his ego.

I open my mouth to let him know I will happily write a reminder email, including where we are on the project, for everyone's benefit, but Marc speaks up before I get the chance.

“May I suggest I send it instead? It might look better coming from the Project Manager.” Marc leans forward, resting his arms on the wooden table between us.

I’m unsure whether it’s in Kenneth’s repertoire to notice such domineering behaviour. Still, it’s something I certainly pick up on—leaning forward like this is Marc’s prime: “I’m a big, strong man with big, strong opinions and big, strong balls between my legs to wag around” stature. If he’s ever worked with a woman before, he sure as hell doesn’t act like it. If I also had something dangling between my legs, I know for a fact that Marc would treat me as his equal and not someone who’s around to provide administration assistance.

Unfortunately for me, Kenneth doesn’t pick up Marc’s behaviour and instead nods in agreement. “Very well,” he repeats. “I’ve got another meeting shortly I need to prepare for, but is there anything else I need to know?”

“As long as Comms understands these deadlines and can produce the material we’re after, then we’re all good.” Marc shuts his laptop, ready for the meeting to end himself. “I don’t think Mabel’s got any other updates either.”

It’s incredible how much this man thinks he can speak for me.

“Actually,” I pipe up, but immediately regret it the second Marc whips his head around. “I was looking over some of the budgets and—”

“Budgets?!” Marc almost squawks. “What’s that got to do with you?”

Kenneth clasps his hands together, leaning forward on the table. “Is there something wrong with the budgets?”

“Uh,” I pause, unsure how to continue with the way Marc stares me down, leaving me quite uncomfortable. “Not exactly. I know they’re not my responsibility or anything, but I was just making sure everything is all set for some of the software subscriptions coming up when I realised a couple of the line items for the consultant's fees didn’t exactly align with last quarter. Has there been any changes I should be aware of?”

Kenneth furrows his brows. “Not that I’m aware of. Can you bring it up quickly?” he says as he gestures to the screen on one of the walls.

I share my screen on the monitor so both Kenneth and Marc can see and direct them to the budgeting spreadsheet and the purchase orders in our finance system. As expected, the numbers don’t align, and a couple of line items are missing, resulting in the total budget being slightly off.

“That can’t be right.” Kenneth points towards the screen, specifically to a line item about consultants' travel fees. “Who updated this?” I scroll down in the software to see the item history, only to discover that Marc’s name is assigned to the last change. Kenneth turns his head to face Marc, who looks like he’s ready for the ground to swallow him up. “You did this? Why?!”

“No, I—” Marc starts to say, but he knows his name is written all over it, and the metadata doesn’t lie. “I thought I was updating a different month… But I’ll have Mabel fix it up right away.”

Kenneth shakes his head. “No, Marc. It was your mistake, so you fix it up,” he says, collecting his things as he stands up. I really do need to go now, but great work picking that up, Mabel. Maybe budgets should require your eyes, too.”

I can’t help but feel smug inside at the thought of catching Marc out on a mistake, even if it was something as trivial as it was and one that any person could easily make. But there’s something in particular about it being Marc’s mistake. I feel even warmer inside at Kenneth’s suggestion of me having more responsibilities because if I want to continue down my path, it’s a big step in the right direction. Right now, I have no financial say, but maybe one day I will, and that’ll look great on a resume.

All positive emotions immediately take a stage right the second Kenneth leaves the meeting room, and Marc looks like he’s seeing red.

“Thanks a lot,” he says, his tone harsh. “Did you really have to bring that up in front of Ken?”

I blink. “Was I not supposed to?”

“Obviously not.” He rolls his eyes, pushing his chair back to stand up. “You know damn well my name was all over that and could’ve handled it quietly, but now Ken knows I’ve fucked up.”

“I’m—I’m sorry,” I manage to squeak out.

“Whatever,” Marc replies as he grabs his belongings. “Better hope all your work is perfect and you also don’t fuck anything up.”

I want to ask him if that was a threat, but before I can find the confidence to speak up, Marc walks out of the meeting room and smiles at someone walking past as if nothing ever happened.

Holy shit, what have I got myself into?

I stay in the room for a moment to take in a few deep breaths, not wanting to step outside, looking like I want to run to the loo and throw up or have a panic attack or whatever else might explode from me. Marc has always thrown some sort of microaggression at me, but it’s never been anything quite as direct as this. He tries to undermine me on a regular basis or tries to take on all the “harder” tasks rather than delegating, so he gets all the accolades, but he’s never directly threatened me in the workplace like this. I know this is probably something I should tell someone, but I need some time to myself to think about it first. I mean, maybe he only made a mistake because we’ve had some pretty big days lately…

Either way, I don’t get too much time to myself before a friendly face pokes her head around the corner.

“In here with all your friends, I see,” Akira, the aforementioned friendly face, says.

“Just finished up a meeting with Kenneth and Marc,” I reply as I stop sharing my screen and pack up my things.

Akira scrunches up her nose at the sheer mention of Marc’s name, and I can’t help but giggle. If there’s anyone who would understand my situation, it’s Akira. She’s the Project Support Officer and, therefore, also works with him closely, and she spends a lot of her time doing what he says. It’s nice to have a friendly face around the office with whom I can discuss these matters, but after this incident and how busy the last few days have been, I have a better idea of how to feel better.

I have a quick chat with Akira about an email she needs to send out to staff regarding feedback on information sessions we’ve hosted, then head back to my desk and set my laptop back up to how I like it. But before starting my next task, I pull out my phone and tap out a quick message.

[Mabel] I don’t know how to ask when you finish work in a way that doesn’t sound like I’m breaking our “no sharing” rule, but would you be interested in a visit on the way home from work today?

I’ve barely opened up Microsoft Outlook before I see a reply appear on my screen.

[Harry] I’m working from home today, so I’ll be finished when you’re outside my door.

A smile tugs at my lips instantly. At least there is one man in my life who sure knows how to treat a woman.

“Fuck, Harry. I’m so close again,” I moan out in pleasure, throwing my head against the back of the couch. I can feel him grunt between my legs at the way I say his name, his tongue swirling inside me to a rhythm I want to etch into my brain forever. My fingers on one hand twirl around his hair atop his head, pulling him in closer as the fire builds up within me, while my other hand grips the cushion beside me. It copped the brunt of it when his finger did all the work earlier, and now I could just about rip it to shreds.

And just like that, the fire explodes, and I squeeze my thighs as Harry’s tongue rides me through my second orgasm of the night.

“Bloody hell,” I say as Harry pulls back, nearly panting as much as I am. “You sure have a knack for this.”

Harry looks up at me from my thighs and laughs. “What can I say? It pleases me to please you.”

I know he’s being cheeky, but I’ve never appreciated anything more than I do now. Knowing that it’s all for me only makes it even better. “In that case, feel free to please me in any way you like.”

“Certainly, don’t have to tell me twice.”

It’s at this moment that I can feel Harry’s erection digging into my leg, and I know it’s my turn to return the favour—not to mention the smirk tugging on my lips at the realisation of just how turned on he is by getting me off. “C’mon, sit up,” I tell him after I catch my breath, gesturing him to sit upright on the couch.

“Right back into it, huh?” His lips pull into yet another cheeky grin, and he raises a quick brow, which only fuels me further.

“Pretty sure if I don’t, you might explode in your pants alone,” I reply as he follows my instructions, and I nod towards the bulge between his legs.

“Mm,” he murmurs, wrapping his warm hands around my wrists. “Given how turned on you’ve made me by moaning my name, I’m a little afraid to admit how correct you might be.”

I follow his tugs on my wrist as I lower myself onto his lap, feeling his erection still in his pants as it pushes against my naked centre. Harry glides his fingertips from my wrists down my arms, over my shoulders, and down my back until they sit low on my hips. If that’s the game he wants to play, that’s the game he’s going to get.

“And what if I moan it again?” I ask teasingly, leaning forward to lower my lips to his ear. “Harry,” I whisper quietly, though I’m certain it’s the low sound of my voice and the way my warm breath hits his skin that hits him the most.

Harry’s breath is caught in his throat, and I can feel him twitch underneath me. “Say it again.”

“What do you want me to say again?” I ask, running my fingers through his hair. My eyes scan the desperation in his face, the way his jaw is clenched tight and his cheeks flush pink. But it’s when the dark green of his own eyes meet my own that I pause for a split second, taking in the moment of sweety urgency and how desperate he is underneath my every touch. There’s something about the power I hold that hits every nerve in my body after the day I’ve had.

“My n—name,” he says, breathless. “Say my name.”

Confidence instils within me with this newfound power, and I begin to swirl my hips in a way that leaves Harry gripping my bare skin even more. “Okay, Harry,” I moan, grinding my hips harder into his. I lean forward so my lips are so close to his ear again, and I can feel his warm breath against my skin. “Harry,” I repeat. “Oh, Harry, Harry, Harry.”

He squeezes his eyes shut, and his nails dig into my hip. “Fuck, May, I’m—”

“Harry,” I go on, ignoring his pleas as I continue to grind our hips together—the only barrier between us being the thin material of his pants, allowing me to feel him throb against my bare skin. “Harry, oh, fuck—”

But as I roll my hips in a rhythm I know Harry is particularly fond of, his eyes widen in panic and he pushes me off his lap and onto the couch beside him.

“What the—” I start to say until I notice how Harry throws his head back and thrusts his hips forward.

Oh.

A wet patch appears on the front of his underwear, and it all makes sense. Harry flops one arm over his face as he continues to breathe heavily. I sit beside him, a little confused and unsure about what to do next. I mean, I know what happened and all, but I’m a little surprised he was so worked up that he came before he could be inside of me—he usually loves to be inside me when he comes. But I also appreciate the gesture of him pushing me off him, considering the little to no protection between us.

“Well,” he eventually says after catching his breath and lowering his arm, “that’s a surefire way to turn me on if you ever need one.”

I can’t help but smile, glad he’s taking the situation lightly. I wasn’t sure whether this was something he would be embarrassed about or not. “What? Saying your name?”

“Well, I mean, I’d been hard for a while beforehand, considering what your orgasms did to me,” he begins to explain, rolling his head to the side to look at me. “But there was just something about the combination of the way you moaned my name, and I could feel how wet you were as you moved your hips…”

I scrunch up my nose. “C’mon, can’t have been that good.”

Harry gestures towards his wet crotch. “Are you sure about that?”

“I suppose I’ll have to remember that one from now on.” I tap my temple, pretending to save this neat little trick for later. Which to be honest, I absolutely am if it means I can get the same reaction out of Harry again. There sure is something about knowing just how much you affect someone. “But maybe next time with a condom?” I suggest, remembering how it all ended in the blink of an eye, which could’ve been much worse if Harry hadn’t been quick on his feet.

Harry nods in agreement. “Probably wise.”

“I mean, I am also on birth control, but still…”

The topic of birth control isn’t something I was sure I should’ve brought up before now. I may be on it for health reasons as well, but I’ve sure as hell relied on it in the past when a condom wasn’t available on more than one occasion. I may not have always been the smartest in the past, but it is nice to know that I’ve always had a backup if need be—and today is a clear reason why birth control isn’t just to help regulate my periods and keep my hormones in check.

“Good to know,” he says, then adds, “But a condom also couldn’t hurt.”

I try to ignore the way my cheeks flush, it’s almost as if he read my mind.

“Anyway,” he says, looking around the couch and surrounding areas before he gets up, “I, uh, should probably go clean myself up…”

“Right, yeah. I should, um, probably head home before it gets too late.” I ignore the way Harry pauses as he stands up, looking down at me curiously for a brief second. I really wish I could read his mind sometimes. “Told Josie I’d help with the dishes and stuff tonight while her partner’s out of town.” I scrunch up my nose the second I say this, afraid that this probably breaks our “no sharing” rule.

“Right,” he says back to me, but I really wish I could tell what’s on his mind this time—is he questioning our rules the same way I am? Does he want to ask more about what I’ve said? Does he want me to ask more about him? “I’ve got a few things I need to finish up for work before I call it a day, anyway.”

I furrow my brows. “But I thought you said you’d finish when I got—” I cut myself off, realising once again that I am in the process of breaking one of our rules, and just because I have questions for him doesn’t mean he has answers for me. “Oh, never mind. No sharing.” I force a smile as I jump up off the couch, already making a beeline to collect my clothes.

I’m sliding my skirt up my legs when I hear Harry say, “It’s never as fun to watch you put on your clothes as it is to take them off.”

Not that I expect Harry to tell me about his every move, but it does surprise me that he’s back so soon from the bathroom. I figured he would take his time with a wet cloth and change his underwear, or maybe he just decided watching me get dressed was far more important. Either way, I’m not sure what to make of it other than he is a man and probably just likes looking at naked women. Because of my past, however, I can’t help but feel a little self-conscious about it though.

I brush all memories and comments made about me and my body off, choosing to focus on the moment and the man in front of me who’s never made me feel any less than someone worthy of his time.

“And how often do you actually watch me take them off?” I raise a brow as I zip up my skirt on the side. “I thought you preferred to do all the work yourself.”

Harry laughs and shakes his head—it’s a reaction that’s so genuine, so sincere, and I’m totally not biting my lip when his left dimple appears. “You’ve got me there, May,” he says, passing me my blouse. “Let me throw on some shoes, then I’ll walk you out.”

I flash him a quick smile in acknowledgement before he sets off down the hall, but not before I notice Harry look back at me one more time—our eyes meet briefly again, but even with the distance between us, I can see they’re much brighter this time. There’s a shine and glimmer within them that flushes my cheeks, but there’s something more, something deeper, that keeps me wanting to know more. Once again, I am desperate to know thoughts swirl around his mind. Is he thinking about how great we are at sex? Is he thinking about my body? Does he have anything in particular he wants to say? Does he want me to say something specifically?

All these thoughts and a million more buzz through my mind, but as Harry shakes his head to seemingly rid his head of his, all my thoughts stay stronger than ever.

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#yeeeeeees!!!#oh i missed mabel and harry #they have such good vibes

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