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The adventures of Hunny! Originally posted on Wattpad in 2017 and was removed at 2 million reads.

Romance / Mystery
Age Rating:

Chapter 1

June 1978

Your arms are aching and sweat drips down your back and your forehead, the heavy box is slowly slipping from your grip as you squeeze your way through the doorframe and trip over the small step that you haven’t become accustomed to yet. Strong hands grab your hips tightly and steady you then swiftly remove the large, cardboard box from your clutch, “nice one, smooth operator.” A wet kiss smacks against your cheek and Harry’s flashing a bright smile at you, before sauntering off to add the box to the growing pile in the living room.

“Well maybe if I had some help—”

He’s crossing the room in long, swift steps and his shirtless torso is glistening with sweat from the humid air. “Pardon me?” His curls tickle your cheek and shoulder as he growls and pretends to bite your neck. “You know I had to get the record player set up. Priorities, toots.” And he’s smacking your bum as he scoots by you to head outside and continue unloading the moving truck.

Day two of hauling boxes and it doesn’t even feel like you’ve made a dent in your progress. When this house made its debut on the market, Harry jumped on it instantly claiming “this is the one” and “it just speaks to us.” He was greedy for a garage, an office and a basement and dead set on starting a proper life with you; building your own space with its own personality and all of the freedom that comes along with that.

Plus, he is a real handyman. A born homeowner. Constantly working on his car and busying himself with as many little projects as he could get his hands on. Truly restless, but in the most positive way imaginable. You didn’t know too many men who couldn’t wait to repair the lawnmower and mow the lawn but then again, there wasn’t a single person on earth like Harry.

A deep sigh escapes when you scan the room in front of you, it all looks so disorganized and overwhelming that you’re wishing everything would just unpack itself. You dig into a box to pull out a thin, paperback book to fan your face and start sifting through Harry’s record collection. You hum when your fingers land on one of your favorite albums and your eyes close at the first couple crackles and pops as the needle rests on the vinyl.

Warm hands are burning against your thighs as they travel up your legs and under your shirt to smooth up your stomach, his chest is pressed firmly against your back and his sweat is soaking the fabric. “Nice unpacking tunes, baby. Told you I had my priorities straight.” And you’re crying out softly when he’s sinking his teeth into the tender spot in your neck.

“Mmm, keep whining like that and I’ll have to take you right here on the floor.”

You’re spinning in his grasp and throwing your arms around his neck. “That would be okay with me.”

His eyes travel to your teeth sunken into your bottom lip then back up to your gorgeous eyes. “Could maybe use a break, yeah?” And his juicy lips are finding yours with a quiet murmur against your mouth.

You’re squealing in surprise when Harry is suddenly flopping to the plush carpeted floor and pulling you down on top of him. “Whoops.” He pulls your legs astride his lap. “I fell, baby. Can my nurse make me feel better?” His hips are pushing upwards and forcing you forward as your chests meet.

He rolls his hips into yours again and you sigh when you feel his swelling cock pressing against the fly of his pants. “Mm really hurtin’.” He runs his fingers through your hair and pulls you close to kiss you and slide his tongue along the crease of your lips.

“Hmm, I dunno.” You’re whispering against his lips, “how bad are you hurting exactly?”

He groans and squeezes his eyes shut before wailing exaggeratedly, “so bad, cure me please, you have the magic antidote.” You’re giggling when you start unbuttoning his pants and his faux frown changes to a delighted open-mouthed smile as he keeps his eyes gently closed. “Oh yes, mhmm, I think it’s working already.” He hisses when your hand dips into his briefs and his mouth drops open at the feeling of your smooth hand on his silky skin.

He’s certain he will never tire of your face, your mind and your body, as he promised to love you until death do you part just a month ago – and he makes sure he tells you and shows you every single day. He swallows thickly and pulls you close to kiss you again and suddenly his humorous disposition is forgotten as it always is in these moments. “God yes,” his voice is croaked, “fuck me, Bunny.” And you’re moaning at his words as you pull his pants down to his knees and kick your shorts off across the room.

He’s pushing your panties aside and groaning when his thumb meets your wet core and circles your sensitivity a few times, “so ready for me,” and you’re holding him at your entrance. He’s pressing his tip against your opening and then spreading the dampness around before pushing his head inside and moving his hands to your hips to give you control. He whimpers as you slowly lower yourself along his length and rolls his head back against the lavish carpet. “Yes. Yes, fucking hell.”

He’s never been shy to speak his feelings to you – especially when he’s in ecstasy. And sometimes his words alone, coupled with his provocative rasp, could make you come embarrassingly fast. Your hips rotate in circles when he’s completely buried to his base. He’s pulling you down so your chests meet and he’s bending his knees and lifting his hips to fuck into you slowly, full strokes completely in and out as he watches your face.

“Talk to me.”

You hum and kiss him before muttering, “you’re incredible. Feel so good inside of me. Faster please.”

He nudges your chin up and licks your neck as he speeds up an increment. “Like that?” He’s teasing you to get you to speak to him. As much as he is vocal, he needs you to be as well.

You lick your lips between breathy pants. “Fuck me fast and hard, Harry. Make me come please.”

He moans into your neck, “that’s it,” and his hips start pounding into you just how you asked. “What else?” His eyes are searching yours as he holds your wrists together tightly between your bodies.

“Mmm… need your fingers.”

He sucks his thumb into his mouth and finds your swell immediately. “Anything for you, baby.” And he’s pressing in little figure eights until you start clamping down on his cock and he whines before kissing you and exhales a puff of air against your cheek, “say my name when you come.”

Your thighs are tingling and your center is pulsing as your orgasm builds and right before you fall off the edge of the cliff, you’re moaning his name against his lips and mumbling nonsense. When it hits you, Harry pushes fully inside and pauses on a strained whimper before moving his hips faster and joining you in release with a tense cry followed by a drawn-out groan and rambling praises.

You and Harry were married after just over two years of dating. He knew that he wanted to marry you the instant he saw you in the crowd at a Stooges concert. You stood out from everyone else in your section; shiny hair, pearly teeth, flattering dress.

Harry had been in the green room interviewing the artists before the show and then joined the crew backstage to watch the performance from the wings. He is a musical journalist for Circus magazine, which entails light traveling with musicians, going to shows, interviewing the artists and critiquing new albums. He’s a brilliant writer, a charismatic presence and is completely enamored with music and his career.

He asked a security guard to bring you backstage after the show ended and as soon as he saw your smile up close, heard you speak and smelled your shampoo, he was in love. You were drawn into his good looks right away: grassy green eyes that contrast his warm, fawn skin and long, regal curls that sweep his shoulders.

His sense of style is bold and suits his toned physique entirely; but what you love most about him is his drive, his kind nature, his humorous intelligence and his playful inclination that hasn’t dulled or faded over time.

He successfully made a name for himself in both the writing and music industries in a few short years not only because of his talent, but because of his charismatic presence that puts even the most sought-after rockstars to shame.

Heavy galloping footsteps paired with clicking nails on hardwood disturb your reverie. Harry yelps and covers your tits with his palms as a massive pile of soft fur and wet licks invade your intimate recovery. You’re laughing hysterically and Harry’s batting him away and telling him to sit.

Your dog is a little over a year old and you two adopted him together when he was a puppy. Harry begged for a border collie, saying that they were his ultimate fur dream and he promised to do most of the work. He was unsurprisingly natural with Iggy as a puppy; patient and loving, calm but firm.

Iggy is sitting obediently, tail wagging wildly as he watches Harry for instruction as to what to do next.

“Your instinct was to cover my boobs?”

He shrugs. “I had to protect the precious treasure.”

You’re giggling as you roll off of him and gather your clothes. When you look over your shoulder, Harry’s got his pants pulled up and he’s tenderly stroking behind your dog’s ears and talking lowly to him. You can hear him say something along the lines of, “not the best timing, pup” and “still love you though.”

Your post-coital bliss comes to a screeching halt with one reminding glance around your new home and a seemingly endless sea of boxes and displaced furniture. Harry hears you grumble and he’s on his feet and at your side straightaway. “Hey.” His lips bump your ear and his fingers dig into your shoulders. “We’re gonna work together and make this home perfect for us. It’ll be ready in no time. We’re gonna be so happy here, okay?” He’s kissing your cheek, your temple and your neck. “I love you.” You’re repeating the passionate phrase back to him as you turn to face him and find him regarding you freely with a gentle smile. “Plus we have lots of other rooms to christen.”

You both work for hours that day, moving boxes, unpacking, rearranging furniture. You’re distracted by Harry’s shirtless torso dripping with beads of sweat as you carry a couch across the room and slide it against the wall.

Your body flops onto the cantaloupe leather as you scan the room: half hardwood and half cream-colored high pile carpet, your collection of mismatched furniture filling the space in a way that makes you relax into the couch a bit.

Your attention is diverted when Harry clears his throat, you’re glancing at him with a raised eyebrow, “yes?” He gestures over his torso and now you’re even more confused. “What?”

He gestures again and speaks in an obvious tone, “um, sweaty man candy right here in front of you. What’s so great about the rug?” You’re giggling and swatting at him, but he grabs your hand and pulls you to your feet so that your chests then your noses bump. “I think we need a break.”

He’s kissing you and you’re smiling too hard to kiss him back properly. “Another one?” He winks and squeezes your hands as he backs up; when he can’t stretch your arms any farther, he reluctantly drops them as he turns and walks to the turntable.

You’re tapping your foot in anticipation, but when you hear the first chords of “Tequila”, you’re throwing your head back in laughter. “No!” But he’s grabbing your hand and spinning you away from him and back in. “Harry!”

He pulls your body close to his and bites his bottom lip so hard that his dimple pops. He’s trying not to smile but failing miserably. You give up struggling because you know you’ll never win the battle and when you start dancing just as silly as he is, it only eggs him on with a satisfied cackle, “gotcha!”

He’s running in place and swinging his bent arms at his sides and you’re laughing so hard you can hardly coordinate your limbs. The song is over too quickly and his arms are around your waist; he’s blowing a wet raspberry into your neck and you’re squeaking in his ear.

“Let me make you dinner.” He spins you in the direction of the kitchen and slaps your bum lightly.

“With what food exactly?”

He taps his chin with the tip of his finger. “Oh, good call. How about a ride in the Bronco, Bunny?”

He’s wiggling his eyebrows as you nod enthusiastically and he’s scooping you up into his arms and running out the front door, “Harry, don’t you need a shirt?” And then he’s spinning on his heel and running back inside to grab his loose button down before turning around and running back to his car in the driveway.

Your feet find the ground as you hear the click and groan from the metal door. Harry holds the passenger entry open for you with a bow to his head. You giggle and curtsy. “Thank you.”

He watches your legs and ass when you climb in and wolf whistles before shutting the door behind you and leaning through the open window, “kiss?”

You’re hissing from the burn of the hot leather on your bare legs before sitting on your knees and resting your forearms on the window to fulfill his request. His kiss is heated with commitment and you’re sighing into his coral lips.

“How’s pizza sound?”

You sit back with a pant and nod, “popsicles too?”

He pinches your cheek with a click of his tongue against his teeth, “decent." And he’s jogging around to his side of the truck and clambering in to start the engine with a low roar.

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