Been watching you all day. Tight black jeans, that quiet little smirk you get when you know I’m lookin’. You always know. We’ve been best friends since the start, five years, five bloody years in this band. One Direction’s golden girl. Only girl. The rest of the lads adore you, and so do the fans. But they don’t know what we are. Not really. Not even Niall, and that boy don’t miss a thing. We’re not a couple. Never have been. But there’s always been this…thing. This pull. Always ending up in each other’s beds on the sly, hotels, green rooms, buses, restrooms at award shows. No strings, no promises. Just you and me, finding quiet corners when it gets too loud.

Like right now. It’s been nonstop today — press, interviews, soundcheck, fans screamin’ out by the gates. I’ve had to sit there, all polite and smiley, while you prance around me all day, all curves and attitude, and I’ve had to pretend like I’m not two seconds away from losing my mind.

Ten minutes ago, I finally caught you alone. Corridor near catering. No one around. You looked up at me with those eyes, and that was it. I dragged you into the first unlocked room I could find. Storage. Metal shelves, boxes stacked high, smells like dust and old vinyl banners. Doesn’t matter. You didn’t say a word, just pushed me back against the door and kissed me like you’d been waiting all day. Clothes left our bodies in a desperate tangle, hands tracing heat over skin, lust flooding through us until the world disappeared.

Now you’re bent over the back of this ratty old sofa, and I’ve got you just how I want you. Your breath hitches, your back arches helplessly every time my fingertips drag over that raw bundle of nerves, making you twitch and gasp, while my other hand presses firmly into your spine, holding you exactly where I want you. But you’re loud. Too loud.

“Shh,” I whisper against your neck, one hand still firm on your back. “Baby, someone’s gonna hear you.”

You try, you really do. But then you make that noise again — that low, guttural moan that echoes from the walls — and I nearly lose it. “Seriously?” I glance toward the door. “You want Paul to walk in? Or worse, Liam?”

You shake your head, but it doesn’t stop you. You’re still moaning, still twisting under my hands like you don’t care who hears. I’ve already told you twice. “Alright,” I mutter. “That’s how you wanna play it?”

I reach down. Your panties are crumpled on the floor beside me, black lace, delicate in my palm. I hold them up, wait till you turn your head just enough to look back at me. “Open your mouth.”

You do. Instantly. My stomach tightens as I can hardly suppress a moan myself. Fuck. “Good girl,” I breathe, pushing the soft fabric between your lips, just enough to muffle the sounds you can’t seem to hold back. “Finally quiet,” I murmur, running my thumb down your spine. “Finally listenin’. Now I can really give you what you need.”

I stroke your most sensitive spot a few more times before, without warning, I slide two fingers deep inside you from behind, making you let out a muffled moan as your walls grip my fingers tightly. "So ready for me already, my noisy girl," I say, feeling how wet you already are. I pump deep inside you two more times before withdrawing my fingers and bringing them up to my mouth to taste your sweet juices on my tongue. "Mmm, so good," I say, my voice deep and raspy, before gripping your hips with one hand and my shaft with the other, thrusting deep inside you with one quick, hard motion until my hips are flush with yours.