coterieofroses

The sudden sobriety didn't make him any happier; it just made him sharp. Without anything to soften him, Declan’s silence became a weight in the Priory’s stone walls.

Whenever you entered a room, he would tense, avert his eyes, and generally avoid you as much as possible. If you passed him in the kitchen, he would suddenly find a pressing need to make a phone call, his gaze fixed anywhere but on you. The memory of the physical intimacy that transpired between you two hung like heavy smoke, unacknowledged and suffocating.

Declan threw himself into Corinium with a zealot’s fervor. From dawn to dusk, he worked with Cameron to develop new programs to try to entice and sweeten the premise of their success. All his hard work kept you plenty busy, fielding phone calls, setting out on research tasks, and ferrying supplies from town back to the Priory.

One evening, the inevitable happened. A soft ringing filled the foyer, and you picked up the receiver without a second thought. The sound of a soft click filled your ear as someone else picked up the phone elsewhere in the Priory- and before you could say a word, you could hear Declan's worn, deep voice.

"Hello?"

"Nice of you to pick up the phone, Declan," you heard in reply. Maud's accusatory tone and Irish drawl carried through the receiver. On the other end of the line, there was a pause. You could practically hear the tension through the copper wires leading between the foyer and Declan's office, steps away.

"Maud," Declan finally replied. His voice was a low rasp, entirely exhausted. "I just don't need to tie up the lines during business hours." "And when exactly was I supposed to call, then?" Maud snapped back, her sharp Irish drawl slicing through the static. "You don’t answer in the evenings, and frankly, Declan, when you do, you sound like hell."

That was enough for you to interlope on, slowly, carefully, you set the phone back down on the switch hook, attempting to covertly close the line, and refrain from revealing your moment of voyeurism. Like many things in the Priory, however, the phone was well-worn and rattled slightly as you hung up.

"Shit," you hissed under your breath, knowing Declan at least could likely hear your slip.

The metallic clink of the receiver hitting the cradle echoed in the quiet foyer, sounding as loud as a gunshot to your panicked ears.

For a second, the Priory was silent. You prayed he hadn't noticed, that the static of the old lines covered your clumsiness. Quickly, you made yourself busy with work, and the minutes stretched on. The sound of your shuffling papers and the draft under the front door was the only noise in the old foyer.

Then, the door to the back office creaked open.

Declan stepped out into the hallway. His broad shoulders were rigid, and his face was cast in shadow for a moment until he idled awkwardly around the precipice to the doorway to his office.

He took a moment and just stared blankly at you, waiting for you to notice and meet his gaze, which you did after a meek moment.

"Looking for a line?" he asked. His voice was dangerously low, gravelly, and rough around the edges. He didn't mention Maud, nor did he ask if you were listening. The tight set of his jaw was evidence enough that it was the case, his stern expression set on his features.

He took a slow step forward, crossing the threshold into the foyer, his gaze never wavering from yours. The flat, deadpan delivery of his voice was worse than if he had shouted. It left no room to dodge, no room to play innocent. After days of his gaze seeming to search for anything but you, to be the subject of his attention now was a startling contrast.

"I only just picked it up," you said, trying to keep your voice even, collected. "I thought it was an incoming call for the Yeats project. I didn't realize it was a personal matter."

Declan blinked vacantly at you, standing at the precipice of his office idly, a wide silhouette against the dim light, his presence dominating the small foyer. The silence stretched between you, punctuated only by the distant, rhythmic ticking of the grandfather clock near the stairs.

"You're a poor liar," he finally uttered at a simple murmur before he took two slow, deliberate steps toward your desk.

He stopped just on the other side of the desk, his calloused hands resting flat on the dark wood, leaning in just enough that you could catch the scent of his cigarettes and warm Cotswald's air clinging to the cotton of his shirt.

"Don't do that again. I don't need you adding more to the guilt," he requested. Firm, but in a low, quiet tone.

Something about it all just made you scoff. The simple direction, not a request, a demand as if he hadn't relied on you to gather himself. Not that you hadn't been happy to let him lean on you, but the coldness wasn't quite the thanks you deserved either.

"Do you think, Declan, that maybe you enjoy all the suffering you seem to find yourself in?"

The words left your mouth before you could filter them, sharp and laced with the quiet resentment that had been building over the last few days. For a long, agonizing moment, he didn't say anything. He just stared down at you, his dark eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and frustration.

"Enjoy it?" he whispered. The low, gravelly rasp of his voice was dangerously quiet. He leaned in closer, his shadow completely swallowing your desk, cutting off the rest of the dim foyer. Eclipsing the rest of the room so you could really only focus on him.

"You think I want to feel like this?" he asked, his voice dropping to a harsh, fierce undertone that barely carried past the space between you. "You think I like waking up every morning knowing I used someone who… someone who didn't deserve to be sucked into my ball of ever-growing wax?”

He let out a short, humorless breath through his nose, his gaze dropping to the paperwork splayed out over your desk. A ledger, a datebook, endless notes on calls and meetings. “I… We are trying to build something. Something good. The last thing either of us needs is for me to muck it up, with…” he paused there, hesitant to speak of your late-night entangling.

"With something between us," you finished for him, the words dropping like heavy stones into the narrow space between you. Declan’s gaze snapped back up from the ledger, his dark eyes wide and fiercely shadowed. He didn't deny it. He just stood there, suspended over your desk, his chest rising and falling in sharp, shallow breaths.

"Aye," he finally rasped, the word tearing from his throat. "With us."

"Had you considered, for a moment, that I chose to be there, with you. That I enjoyed it, that I may care for you, or even that worst of all, the thing that hurts me is not what happened, but the way you treat me like I am a ghost haunting you now?"

Declan looked as if you had struck him across the face. The rigid, defensive posture he had maintained for days seemed to break all at once, his broad shoulders dropping just a fraction as the air left his lungs in a sudden, ragged exhale. The ticking of the grandfather clock down the hall felt deafening in the silence that followed. Visibly, his patience seemed to be falling apart, piece by piece, being chipped off his resolve from your words alone.

Instead, he stared down at you, his dark eyes wide, searching your face as if trying to find just how much you believed in what you spat his way. Your features were set, though, driven up the wall enough to be incensed to stand firm. His mouth opened a moment, but it seemed the fact that you meant what you said so fully washed the words off his tongue. Your willingness, your adjacency in what transpired, broke the facade that was his guilt.

"A ghost…" he repeated, the words barely a whisper under his breath. “You’re no spectre," Declan rasped, his voice thicker now, rough with an emotion he had spent days trying to drown in work. “Though perhaps, I’ve inspired you to become a revenant.” He took a half-step closer, his knees nearly brushing the edge of your desk, his shadow enveloping you once more. "God help me, you’re the only thing that seems to anchor me to reality.”

"I’ve been avoiding you because you don’t deserve to feel obligated to shore me up. I took advantage of you, and it was wrong," he confessed softly, his voice hoarse, dark gaze locking back onto yours, completely unshielded. "I look at you, and I want to step back into that room.. And if I let myself do that… What kind of man will I be? I'll ruin the bid, the project, I'll ruin what we're building at Corrinium, and I'll ruin… you." A sudden quiet fell over the foyer in the wake of your listening to his words.

"Then ruin me," you whispered after a pregnant moment. "You don't know what you're asking for," he rasped, his voice dropping to a dangerously deep tone.

For once, in the last few weeks, to your surprise, Declan didn’t back away. Instead, he moved around the edge of the worn wood desk, his heavy steps slow and deliberate until he was standing directly over your chair. He used his leg to easily spin the base of the rolling office chair, so you were facing him. His scent, cigarettes, sun, and now even his soap enveloped you completely as he reached down, his large, calloused hand gripping the armrest of your chair, tilting his head down so his dark gaze was mere inches from yours.

"I am a selfish man," he warned fiercely, his breath hot against your skin. "You should not encourage it to fester.”

"I think you should stick to letting me make my own decisions," you replied in turn, a soft frown on your lips as you tilted your head back, all but challenging him to close the distance.

A rough sound left him at that, something between a scoff and a chuckle, disbelief muffled by evident desire. He lifted his hand and cupped your neck, using his thumb to push your chin up, forcing your gaze to stay locked on his.

"Tell me to leave. Tell me to be a better man," he begged hoarsely, lips hovering over yours. His words are in conflict with your own intent.

"I will not offer you the ire you seek."

Declan’s thumb pressed harder against your jaw, his dark eyes searching yours with a kind of desperate intensity as he held onto you. The air between you felt thick enough to choke on.

Without flinching, you held his gaze, lips parted, and knowing he could no doubt feel your rising pulse beneath his fingers against your throat and jaw.

A heavy moment passed, and then something clearly snapped within him, pretense of control melting away.

His mouth crashed down on yours, hungry and unrestrained. There was nothing gentle about him left. All his days of moping, of restraint, guilt, and raw need came to roost at once. His lips claimed yours with a bruising intensity as he seemed to try to devour you. Your lips parting just enough to let him in, submit to his desire. The bitter taste of tannins and tobacco stains your tongue.

His hand tightened around your neck as his other found your waist, pulling you to stand and press against him. Refusing to break your embrace, and after a moment lost in the feeling, you realized that you were leaving yourself exposed for anyone who might walk into the foyer.

With a little flash of panic, you tapped his chest, emptily seeking to wake him from his passionate trance. He tore his mouth away only to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down your throat, teeth scraping over your pulse point before he sucked hard enough to leave a mark. You swallowed and attempted to collect your thoughts enough to voice them.

"Declan. We should… step into your office," you breathed out between soft mewls of pleasure, your cheeks warming as you felt a blush bloom beneath the skin.

It broke him enough to relent, face buried in the crook of your neck, the stubble on his jaw scraping against your skin. "Tell me to stop," he whispered, voice raw and hungry.

"No," you replied firmly as you attempted to urge him back into his office, now, with you in tow.

He let out a low, guttural growl against your neck. Frustrated a moment as his hand possessively squeezed your waist, before, after a moment, he relented.

"Office," he agreed roughly, pulling you with him as he walked the few paces backwards he had pressed into the foyer, now, hauling you with him, inches from his chest. The moment you crossed the threshold, he kicked the door shut behind him with a heavy thud, only taking a hand off you so he could click the lock into place.

Before you knew it, he was pressing you back into the door, pinning you there. He let his forehead rest against yours a moment, eyes drifting shut as he caught his breath.

"I tried. I tried so hard to stay away from you," he growled softly, defeated.

In reply, you raised your hand, carding your fingers through his dense mess of curls. Gently seeking to soothe him. "I know, it's alright," you murmured softly.

A light grunt left him, a noise you assumed was indicating his lack of agreement, but it certainly didn't stop him from sliding to his knees before you.

Before you knew it, he hooked your leg over his broad shoulder, and he hiked up your dress greedily around your waist. You could feel the scrape of his jaw through your tights as he let his face rest against your thigh, breathing you in.

He growled in frustration as his fingers slid over the hosiery over your thighs. His fingers pressed in, and within seconds, he tore through the thin mesh of your tights, ripping them apart with raw impatience, the sound of the tearing filling the room.

He didn't bother with your panties, hooking two fingers in the soaked lace gusset and pulling them aside, leaving you glistening and exposed to him. For a moment, he seemed to take it in, dark eyes lidded and looking ravenous, before his gaze flicked up at you. He held eye contact with you as he leaned in and dragged his tongue through your folds. Pressing from your entrance up to your clit in a flat press.

He groaned at the taste of your desire on his tongue, hands firmly coming to firmly grip both your thighs, holding you open and in place for him. Wet sound began to fill the office as he set to swirling his tongue around your clit in earnest. Obscene and shameless, he watched your every mewl and tremble with rapt attention.

You let your eyes drift shut and your back arch against the door, chest heaving as you moaned out. Declan gave your thigh a quick, corrective squeeze that you completely ignored, mind only on the feelings he was pulling for you before he gave your thigh a quick smack, lifting his mouth from you to stare up with lust-filled pupils. The loss of pleasure got your attention much more than the light sting against your thigh, and you looked back down to him.

"Eyes on me. If you want it so badly, you're going to fucking watch," he demanded firmly.

Your breath caught as you obeyed, nodding weakly as you kept your eyes on his. The intensity of it all made your stomach drop, but your relent satisfied him enough, and he lowered his mouth back to your core.

He became relentless quickly, no longer satisfied with slow swirls of his tongue, he began to suckle on your clit in earnest, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure through you. He pressed one, and then two of his thick fingers inside you. Pressing you open on them in a slow rhythm. Before you knew it, he was scissoring them wider, clearly stretching you out on them with intention. Every stroke deliberate as he curled them inside.

It wasn't long before you started to fall apart. Thighs shaking as you fought to keep your eyes open, trembling around his shoulders as he worked you open. He groaned against your pussy, the vibration against your clit making your hips jerk before your climax began to wash over you.

One hand tightened in his curls, the other scrambled weakly against the door for balance as you tightened around his fingers, whimpers leaving you as he worked you through your release. A broken cry tore through you as pleasure tore through your body, Declan only easing off when he decided you were done. He pressed one soft, possessive kiss to your core before he pulled back, his mouth wet with your release.

"So beautiful," he mumbled reverently, if almost to himself. "Always so good for me."

With that, he set you gently on your feet, rising to his full height himself, standing over you once more, and leaving you gaping up at him with hazy pleasure-drunk eyes. His hand came to cradle your jaw, thumb brushing tenderly across your bottom lip. Dark eyes burning as if he wanted to consume you whole.

It hadn’t come without precedent, minor conflict over conflict proved it was the right decision. First they were minor irritations in your hometown. Nosy neighbors were too close, but some friction was understandable, excusable. Crime in a once relatively safe neighborhood was slowly rising. But none of it was violent, just worrying. Your employment was seasonal and transient, slowly beginning to be less frequent. But you had built up a little nest egg.

When opportunity presented itself to move west, it seemed like a chance you should certainly take. Your aunt mentioned a little house for sale, up the mountain near where she lived. In the forests of the pacific northwest there was a little clearing. A collection of homes and ranches. So you had her go look at it, and she confirmed, the little yellow home needed some work. But it was affordable, and had plenty of land to go with it. Ten minutes drive to what would be your cozy little town, and five more to your Aunt Beth. So you bought it, sight unseen, packed up your crossover with anything you truly cared about and drove. Three days later, you were there. 

Lemon colored siding covered the single story home. Rectangular and relatively boring save for the screened in porch out front. All the white detailing, doors and windowsills, needed a new coat of paint. And there were some odd divots in the gravel drive. But it was yours. You took the stairs eagerly, two at a time, and carefully reached in your mailbox, pulling out keys Aunt Beth had stashed for you, her having handled things here as you packed up back east. 

The lock stuck and you had to give the door a little shove, but you made it into the living space. Dusty and disused for some months, it clearly needed a little attention. But you were eager to get to the best part. Stomping toward the back of your new home, you made for the kitchen. Looking over the ceramic sink laid a vast picture window, and what you knew was the best part. The view. Looking over rolling hills, you could see two ranches that abutted your own land, fenced in and tidy, with cows grazing and lazing about. Your own yard is much more wild, with brambles of raspberries threatening to take over your fences, and weeds filling the raised beds that you’re sure once housed vegetables. 

The lock on the back kitchen door was much easier to flip open, maybe even too easy, but you paid it no mind as you pushed through it and into the yard. For the first time in what must have been months, you could take a deep, easy breath. This place seemed so safe in the early fall’s sun. It was warm, open, and the breeze almost carried with it the promise of new beginnings. 

Over the next few days you unpacked your car, threw all the windows open, and cleaned the house with your aunt, top to bottom. It went quite fast, three cozy bedrooms and one and a half bathrooms were hardly a major concern. But it was even easier with the help. Once the job was well and done, you treated your aunt to a pasta dinner made in your new kitchen in thanks. Lounging on the patio, your conversation was easy over good food, and a glass of white wine. Finally you pointed with your fork down the hills, toward the ranches.

“Do you know who happens to live there? I’ve got… quite a few acres more than I know what to do with. I don’t think I’d mind if they let their cattle graze up here.” 

A terse little sigh leaves your Aunt Beth. Probably the most frustrated you’d ever heard her sound.

“Those two ranches are operated by four men. I don’t actually know who owns what to be honest with you dear.” she admits before sitting back in your new patio chair, pulled in from the local big box store. “They’re British. Keep to themselves. I’ve only seen one myself at the post office in town. Never heard a word out of him edgewise but… we’ll you’ll come to understand. The oldest, everyone calls him Captain, sometimes comes to the tavern.” She scrunches her nose up at the mention of the dive. And you know your saintly Aunt Beth has never been inside. She spends most of her time in town volunteering feeding the elderly, and with the library’s book sales. Hardly compatible with sitting around a crusty old bar. 

So you let it go. Continued dinner and cleaned up after, soon enough giving your aunt a quick hug and sending her with leftovers home. Like she’d done for you so many times growing up. Wandering through the house at night was a much different prospect than the daylight. There wasn’t anyone for acres, and the darkness seemed to seep into the house no matter how many lights you had on. You had to circulate, shutting windows so the overnight chill didn’t make the place an ice box by morning. 

It was late by the time you’d cleaned everything up and shut yourself in. The only window left open is the one opposite your bed. Snuggled in a fresh set of pajamas you turned your lights off and cuddled into your fluffy duvet, thankful for the prospect of rest. Unable to tell if you’d shut your eyes for seconds, or hours, a sickening scream ripped through the valley and echoed off the hills then into your room, waking you. It could be feet, or miles away you wagered. But you felt a pull to check. 

You tugged on the robe you’d hooked on the back of your bedroom door and softly padded out of your room. Securing it with a loose tie. Fumbling around in the dark, you couldn’t seem to get any lights on before you gave up entirely and stumbled toward the back door.

Only where you expected to find it tucked tightly shut, and maybe even locked into place. It had blown open, giving you a full view of your patio.

There, lit only by moonlight, stood a man at least six feet in height. Probably greater, if you’d given it any thought. Bathed in the full moon, you couldn’t quite make out his features. Just his shining steel blue eyes nearly boring holes into you. And the sizable hunting rifle he carried in his right hand. 

You had grown used to the smell of the man who seemed to occupy every moment of your waking life. Cigarettes and whiskey, permeate the air, seeping into the wool of his sweaters, and his suits. You knew when the bite of whiskey was stronger, things usually were worse with his wife. He knew that when he’d been researching a critical guest, a reek of tobacco would sit in the natural fibers of his clothes, sometimes even staining the sleeves. The antiseptic of his particular brand of aftershave even became familiar. Declan was a passionate man, and the rhythm of his artistic temperament was something you grew to dance easily around. And for that he was always generous and kind, working as his secretary was rewarding, if there was a world where you had no bills to pay, you may have worked for his praise alone.

It made sense when you followed him when he left Corinium. Knowing full well work might be hard to find again if he should fail. Then when Maud stepped out, following after where her own heart took her, you braced for the fallout. Knowing the coming days would be hard on a man who’d you’d had such a growing affection for. You tried to dismiss it as a schoolgirl crush, but there was so much more affection for this mentor, more than any fleeting feelings for past teachers.

You returned to the Priory late one night, a thick folder in hand, knowing he would be up. His office was the only illumination left in the vast residence. That and the porch light he always left on. You had wondered a few times if it was for you but never grew the courage to ask. Instead of knocking and waking the dog or Taggie, you quietly let yourself in the front door and made your way to his office. Your hand was raised to knock but the shattering of glass you heard caused you to abruptly stop, and pause. You could hear Declan on the other side of the door, a gentle, lightly intoxicated ‘Fuck’, leaving his lips before you pushed inside, and shut the door behind you.

A whiskey glass was in pieces on the floor, and the bottle on his desk was, rather thankfully, only half gone. He sat at his desk brushing the glass aside with his slippered foot. Without a word you approached, setting the folder on his desk. As you turned to move for the dustpan, Declan reached for your wrist. His firm holds causing you to turn and face him.

You’d been polite enough several times before not to look when he’d worked himself up like this. The flannel he wore was loose and had a few more undone buttons than was fit for the company. His undereyes were darkened with a lack of sleep. But he fixed you with the same kind, sad gaze he almost always did, despite his stupor.

“Why?” he asked you simply. His voice was a deep grunt.

“Why, what, Mr. O’hara?” you replied, your brow knitting together with confusion.

“Don’t call me that, you never call me that,” he grumbled softly, uncomfortable with your choice for propriety at this time. “Why bother with me? I’m sure you’d be better paid, better suited, with a better man. Maybe any other man. Probably in London,” he drawled, clarifying his question.

“I don’t want another man, Declan,” you sighed at him, and his hold on your wrist relaxed slightly. Seeming to cling to you for comfort loosely. You were telling the truth, your last boyfriend had broken up with you due to your dedication to the job. You’d hardly sought out another. You had even less ambition to abandon him for another boss.

“You’d be the only one,” he gruffed, ignoring the subtext of your words, or missing them, you couldn’t quite tell. “I got a phone call from London,” he offered. The frown you replied with letting him leave it at that. You knew it was Maud already. Knew it was attention from another man. As the silence lingered he sniffed and looked pointedly away toward the darkened windows that acted more like mirrors in the dim glow of the desk lamp in the room. His hand dropped limply from your wrist, falling to his knee. If you’d looked out the window, you’d notice he was looking at your reflection, standing close to his.

A gentle sigh left you as you lifted your hand. You hesitated a moment before placing it gently on one of his broad shoulders. “You’re good to me Declan. You deserve the loyalty you inspire,” you attempted to soothe him softly. Your words had struck an off chord, causing his jaw to clench and a disgruntled frown to form under his mustache.

“Loyalty,” he refrained, looking back at you with simmering anger. The kind you’d seen directed mostly at Rupert or Tony. Never you, the look alone made your skin crawl, your hand slip off his shoulder as you swallowed back any pride you had left.

“I’ll just leave that here, and come back another time…” you attempted hurriedly, all while Declan rose to his feet. Before you could scurry out, or even take a step back he’d let his fingers comb into your hair, grasping you perhaps not so gently by the nape of your neck and tilting your head to look up at him. Your eyes met his gaze that looked much more sober than you’d expected, and still far too intense.

“Have you thought how far you’d go for me? What you’d endure?” he questioned, hard, unreadable.

“I’d do anything you needed me to, Declan.” you attempted confidence, but it came out in more of a whisper. The answer seemed to make him let out a soft laugh, or perhaps a scoff.

“So I’d have to need it then?” he replied, clearly rhetorically. He let out a soft sigh, gently shaking his head from side to side.

“Anything you wanted, Declan,” you admitted softly in return, eyes wide and earnest. You felt the fingers in your hair tense, a soft pulling at the root that pulled a gasp from you.

“Shouldn’t say things like that,” he warned you softly, the anger in his gaze seeming to melt into something else. “Y’don't mean it,” he grumbled, mostly to himself before you attempted to shake your head in disagreement, leading to effectively only tugging your hair and loosening his grip.

“Of course I do,” you attempted, but further protests were silenced by Declan leaning in and pressing his lips to yours. Suddenly your senses were flooded with the taste of the scent you’d memorized. The taste of whiskey and tobacco on your tongue, mixed with the sharpness of the menthol in his aftershave. It made your head spin and give in to him. A culmination of thoughts you’d let wander far too many times. When your thoughts came back, your hands planted firmly on his chest, the coarse feeling of his flannel on your palms as you pushed him back.

“You’re drunk,” you offer softly, attempting to give him an out and let him decide it was a mistake he could forget.

“I’m not,” he replies bluntly, confirming what you knew, but letting you get away if you wanted. “Sorry, love,” he mumbled, beginning to part from you, detangling himself from his hold on you before you grasped his collar and pulled his lips back to yours.

When it hits him that you’re just as eager to kiss him back, he’s like a man possessed. Hands move to your waist as he holds you close for a moment, lips searching yours hungrily. The prickle of his unshaven cheeks chafed your skin slightly. He groans into your mouth before lifting you up and setting you to sit on the edge of his desk, using a forearm to shove more papers out of the way.

His haste causes him to break the kiss, and for a soft giggle to leave you. It’s clear he’s desperate for you. Once he’s satisfied, he gently cups your face, savoring looking down at you, his pupils blown wide with lust as you look up to him, lips slightly agape.

“Need you…” he admits softly, broken and wanting. When you nod it’s enough for him to rush to begin helping you undress.

“Take me then, Declan.” you encourage him as you slip your trousers down your legs, your panties along with them as you sit bare now on his desk’s surface. Your words elicit a feral growl from his throat as he nudges between your knees, spreading them slightly. A soft hiss when he gets sight of your slick petals.

“Pretty girl.” he coos the praise, aimed more at your cunt, than you, causing a blush to flood your cheeks. He traces his index and middle fingers on your lips until you open your mouth further, and then he wets them on your tongue. All until you wrap your lips around his thick fingers and suckle around him. Your eyes meet as he lets out a soft groan. “‘another time,” he grunts, a promise at your suckling before pulling his fingers free from your mouth and tracing them down your body to play along your slit. The heat and texture of his calloused fingers causes you to squirm involuntarily under his touch.

“It’s alright darlin’, just need to be good to you first,” he rumbles soft praise to you before stepping closer. You’re engulfed by him as he presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, fingers slipping through your folds to gently prod at your entrance, sinking slowly in. A soft growl leaves him when you give in and shift so your sensitive pearl brushes against his palm. Needy gasps leaving you as you press yourself harder against him, seeking the friction as he eases his fingers into you, filling you gently, starting to curve and work them into you in earnest.

“Always good to me, Declan,” you whined back, high and needy before you pressed your face into the crook of his neck, taking deep breaths, the scent of him filling your lungs and making your head swim. “So tight…” he grumbled in reply, continuing to lavish you with praise as your walls fluttered around his fingers, adjusting to their thickness. Your hands on his chest grasp onto him greedily, pawing at his shirt as you whimper into the meat of his shoulder.

“God, please Declan,” you began to beg. At first, he only answered with a groan of his own, fingers picking up their pace as his palm dragged against your clit.

“I know, I know, but I gotta get you ready first,” he replied, pleading with you. It seemed to go on deaf ears though, your nails digging into the cotton of his shirt and barely dulling the sharpness as you whimpered little aimless pleas as he worked you up until you began to sob out in pleasure. Noises of release were only muffled by his bulk as he used his free hand to gently stroke your hair. Your hips bucked against the hand buried into you. All the while he soothed you through your climax.

As you came down from your high Declan slowly pulled his fingers from your slick walls. He eased you to sit up as he put them to his lips, suckling your slick clean off them. Leaving you to gaze over his face, dazed with lust and the culmination of your tamped-down affections, your hand that’s been clawing at his chest drifted down to reach for the bulge tenting his trousers. Grasping at his hardened length, and getting a clear idea of the size of him, big, but more so thick. His insistence on warming you up is more than warranted.

A grunt left him as his hand fell from his mouth at your groping. “Not gonna be able to stay sweet about it if you keep that up,” he warned, thick and gravely. Hands come to rest at your hips and scoot you to the very edge of the desk.

“Don’t want you to,” you breathed, head still spinning. “-want you to take what you need,” you reminded him, kneading once more over his bulge as you sat up slightly to press kisses to his stubble-covered jaw.

You think you heard him curse under his breath at your continued pleading with him. It seemed your encouragement was enough to cause him to snap, unzipping his trousers and relieving his hard length from his boxers. Taking your chance your hand slid down his chest, popping the snaps of his flannel shirt to leave his broad, hairy chest bare to you, the garment loosely hanging over his shoulders.

He grasped the base of his cock, reddened and already leaking with evidence of arousal. Lining himself up with your entrance he let out a soft hiss as he bullied his way into your tight heat, your inner walls fluttering as they struggled to content with his size. Even considering his attempt to warm you up. By the time he bottomed out you’d been left breathless, your arms moving rest at the back of his neck as you held him close. Once fully seated he eased you back further onto his desk, taking each of your thighs in hand and pressing them back as you were laid open and exposed to him. It gave you just enough time for you to be able to catch a few shallow breaths before he took you in earnest.

He draws his hips back just to snap them back into yours, filling you somehow deeper than before. It rips a sharp gasp from you, a desperate whine breaking from your throat, you’d know if you weren’t so impossibly wet the stretch would sting.

“Bein’ such a good girl for me,” he praised, “Takin’ it so well, darling,” he continued between grunts, building up a brutal pace as his hips pumped into yours, any resolve to hold back or be gentle melting as he had you effectively pinned down on his desk.

You laid back, over the piles of papers and envelopes, ignoring them entirely as he leaned forward, pinning his hands down on the surface, and trapping you with your legs draped over his forearms. When you met his gaze you could barely see the warm brown of his eyes, too filled with lust as he dragged his length through you with every thrust. The whimpering moans that left you only spurring him on, every few pleasured whimpers being answered with a throaty grunt of his own pleasure, becoming more beast than man.

“I’m gonna,” you warned softly between wrecked-sounding moans, your voice broke and crackling as you neared another peak. “Don’t stop,” you begged, a broken whimper as you locked your arms around his neck.

Holding Declan close was hardly a struggle; he tucked his face into the crook of your neck and let out a growl into your skin as your walls fluttered around his length. Your thighs shivering with the intensity of the pleasure that overtook you, you were left gasping out, eyes rolling back as the searing heat overwhelmed you. Declan’s thrusts stuttered as you clamped down hard around him, his pace faltering as he hit his own peak. He attempted to lean back and pull out, but with you clamping down around him, and holding his face into your chest he spilled his release into your eager cunt.

“Shit,” he grunted in a mix of satisfaction and frustration under his breath, finally snapping from your daze enough to let go of your hold. He took his chance to lean back up, let you lower your legs, and pull out. His spend dripping out of your twitching walls in his wake.

“It’s okay,” you only offered softly in reply. “L-like it, even,” you admitted before using your forearms to prop yourself up slightly, and watch the maddened glint in Declan’s eyes only be fueled by your admission. A soft sigh left him before he leaned in and cupped your face, his thumbs running over your cheeks.

Notes: As I decided to continue this some plot, before it returns to smut

Spent Blossoms

After Taggie and Rupert parted from their wooded affair, they were once again split by expectations put upon them. It was less than a mile from the Priory to Penscombe Court, but for all the complications facing them, it felt to Taggie as if they may as well reside on separate planets.

A heavy moral conflict set upon Taggie, weighing upon her like a dark cloud. She thought often of Cameron unsure of what had become of her relationship with Rupert, and a great deal of responsibility weighed on her shoulders. She moved about the Priory kitchen quietly in the days following and setting herself to dutifully caring for her father. When the man was not completely absorbed in his work, he became absorbed in thoughts of her mother in London, drinking, or his obsession with Yates.

---

Taggie avoided asking him of Rupert, and the work on the consortium bid. Frequently caught in her thoughts, she became a touch of a recluse. Anxious over what may come from another meeting with Rupert in the bluebell wood. Worried it may condemn her further, leave feelings largely unresolved, and complicate things further.

Unfortunately for Taggie, eventually the supplies began to run scant in the Priory. She ran low on nearly everything by the end of the week, and it became painfully obvious she was due a trip to the shops. She made a list, packed her things into the Mini, and set out, leaving her father home to ruminate in his office, as he so often resigned himself to doing.

Examining the basket of fresh loaves, Taggie’s fingers glided over the parchment and cellophane bags. Her mind was mostly elsewhere. Self conscious, and wandering. As if the shop ladies could see a great red A branded on her sweater. Of course, it was mostly in her head. The pensioners chattered to each other about town gossip as per usual, and just the same, it rarely involved her.

Her thoughts kept wandering back to the woods, as she drifted amongst the produce in the slightly cramped grocers. The memory somewhat haunted her, a lack of regret about what transpired between her and Rupert, but a looming sense of foreboding remaining.

Then she saw her across the narrow aisles. Cameron, in her usual statuesque glory, her back to Taggie. Well dressed and holding just a few bits.

For a moment all things seemed to still for Taggie, frozen in place. She contemplated turning and leaving out the front door but gathered that would be more suspicious than anything else. As she continued to look, she realized it was almost certainly the first time she had seen Cameron without makeup.

To Taggie’s eyes, she didn’t appear upset, just withdrawn, going plainly about her day. Taking her lead, Taggie chose to politely avoid her, and attempt much of the same. Giving her a wide enough berth that it seemed she went largely unnoticed.

---

When Taggie pulled the Mini back into the Priory, her boot filled with enough groceries to continue avoiding Rupert for at least another few weeks, she saw him looming up the gravel drive. A soft sigh left her as she paused, shaking her head lightly before pulling the car around the front of the old home.

“Taggie.” he greeted her with unfettering warmth. His criminally charismatic smirk wore on his lips as she stepped out of the car. It gave Taggie enough of a chance to pause and observe. To her, he may as well have hung the moon.

“Here to see my father?” she asked, a touch hopeful as she opened the boot of the car and began collecting the array of paper bags. Rupert moved to join in and aid her, aiming to get the bulk of them before she could protest.

“To see you. But I suppose I wouldn’t mind a chat with Declan.” he offered with a gentle shrug before she sighed gently, leading the way into the kitchen without another word.

Once all the groceries were successfully deposited on the worn kitchen table, Taggie finally looked back to Rupert. He was looking over her with a light frown, concern clear on his features for her somber attitude.

Taggie opted not to clarify, moving to put away the groceries neatly, leaving Rupert to break the silence.

“Where is the old man?” he finally asked. Leaving Taggie to gesture to his study, on the other side of the house.

“Consumed with the bid.” she offered, setting things neatly in the pantry. She offered no real feeling to the answer either way. Just that it was, not good, nor bad.

“Tag…” he finally said, grasping her by her bicep gently, turning her to look at him. She let out a careful, measured breath as her eyes finally came to meet his.

“Have you been avoiding me, my Angel?” he asked, clearly a touch concerned. A man who had spent much more time being chased, than chasing for affections himself.

“No…” she lied, poorly, a little twitch of her lips giving her away as she began to clear her throat. “I know we’ve only complicated things…” she admitted sheepishly.

“I ended it. With Cameron. Shortly after our last meeting.” he offered to her softly. His deep voice husked as he made his confession in a lowered tone. “You’ve only made things crystalline for me, my darling.” he cooed, raising the hand on her bicep to gently cup her cheek. His thumb stroked over it.

“B-but… the franchise.” she stuttered out, looking at him with shock clear on her features.

“It wasn’t fair. Not to any of us to keep things as they were. She agreed to stay on. Something happened with her and Tony…” he admitted with a soft shake of his head. “But you are what matters most to me now.” he rasped, before leaning in and placing a soft kiss on Taggie’s forehead.

Relief washed over her. Like slowly walking into the ocean, the guilt came off her in great waves.

The moment was broken, however, by the phone ringing and a great clatter on the other side of the house.

“Tag!” shouted Declan. “Can you get that?” he called to her, causing her to startle, and pull away from Rupert. Unphased, he let her, as she slipped off to the foyer. He stood in the kitchen a moment, eyes looking out from the window above the sink. Taking a deep steadying breath as he rubbed his fingers together. Attempting to memorize the feel of Taggie’s cheek beneath them.

Caitlin was on the phone, with lists of requests for poor Taggie on what she may need for when she returned from school. It consumed a great deal of time, as she struggled to write it down on the piece of paper by the phone. Rupert took the opportunity to break the news to her father.

The usual amount of shouting between them was exchanged, but Declan was clearly soothed enough by whatever Rupert had to say around it, that they hadn’t caused Taggie to abandon the phone, or worry about an all-out brawl. Shouts soon mellowed into laughter, and by the time Rupert came out of her father’s study, Taggie had finally finished up with Caitlin.

She let out a slightly worn sigh, leaning back in the chair by the telephone, Rupert flashing her a warm, easy smile as her father closed the door to his study behind Rupert. Content to once again shut himself in with his thoughts. 

“Why don’t I help you with the rest of those bits?” Rupert suggested, indicating to the kitchen, and prompting Taggie of work left undone. She nodded, rising to her feet as she followed him into the kitchen. 

Once safely inside, she asked in a low voice, “Did you tell him… about us?” she queried softly. 

Rupert let out a sharp bark of a laugh, unpacking things and folding up paper bags. He shook his head and smiled at her. “I think it’d have been a far more unpleasant meeting if I had.” he admitted, leading Taggie to let out a sigh of relief. In no time at all, they wrapped up putting things away in a comfortable silence, one Rupert finally broke as they finished. “Taggie, would you like to go for a walk?” he asked her with a smile, looking up to the direction of the Bluebell wood. 

Taggie’s cheeks burned at the implication. A nervous chuckle left her before she nodded. “I’d love nothing more.” she admitted softly, and before she knew it, she was following Rupert out the kitchen’s back door. 

---

Rupert and Taggie traipsed down the rolling green fields between the Priory and Rupert’s home. The weather had the usual cool breeze of April, soon to melt into May. Rupert and Taggie were bundled in wool sweaters that the Cotswolds were once so famous for. In a time Taggie liked to imagine when her thoughts wandered, where Rupert may be more than metaphorically in shining armor for her.

Their hands brushed every so often as they walked, smiling as pleasantries were exchanged, words about nothing really at all. Taggie admitting to what she’d been doing in her hiding, mostly cooking, and Rupert keeping mum on anything to do with Cameron, mostly talking about work he was getting done as an MP.

Soon enough they were in the relative privacy of the Bluebell Wood once again, and Rupert softly grasped Taggie’s hand, giving it a quick squeeze. Taggie’s cheeks flushed red, but she didn’t pull away, glancing around for any onlookers, but there was none to be found. 

Their feet continued to carry them down the path towards Penscombe Court, quickly depositing them at the back and the collection of out buildings, the stables, the garage, and the garden shed Rupert continued to step towards. Taggie raised her brow at him, surprised, but eager to not let go of his hand, so she followed him into the dark building. 

Tables lined the sides of the structure and were covered with pots, tools and clippings. Anything one may need to take care of an estate with the grounds the size of Penscombe Court. In the middle of the structure was an expansive, empty table, looking like it may fit a viking mead hall more than a potting shed, but its considerable size fit the relative size of the structure they found themselves in. They approached the end of it and without any manner of preamble, Rupert lifted Taggie as if she were featherlight and set her to sit on the surface. 

A great peal of laughter left Taggie in surprise as she was placed down, her hands flying to grasp at the collar of Rupert’s button down, peeking out from underneath his sweater. “Rupert!” she attempted to scold, but her giggles betrayed her. 

“Come now, Angel, I just wanted to see you.” he assured her with a wicked grin playing on his lips. His hands moved to cup her cheeks, thumbs covetously running over them again as he looked deeply into her eyes. It took everything in Taggie not to shrink away, to give in, and melt into him, a tinge of discomfort in her at his endless affection. Her cheeks burned in the wake of his affectionate touch. The thought crossed her, for a brief moment, that she’d only seen him so adoring with his pets in the past. 

Finally, Rupert pressed his lips to Taggie’s. Eager kisses being exchanged as the low simmer he’d stirred in her for the last week was quickly raised to a rolling boil. He was much less gentle with her this time, holding her still as he nipped gently at her bottom lip. In turn Taggie was much more desperate, pulling at the wool of his sweater, and threatening to stretch it terribly out of place with every needy tug. 

Eventually Rupert broke their kiss with a chuckle, shaking his head as he pulled the garment over his head and tossing it aside. The white button down beneath was only half done up, and clung to his tanned skin with the growing heat of their exchange. Greedily, Taggie took the opportunity to shed hers as well, though it left her only in a white lace bra. Rupert kissed his teeth and eagerly cupped her barely clothed breasts, leading Taggie to part her knees and let him more easily slot between them. 

“So beautiful, pet.” he praised her softly. Taggie’s blush dripping down her cheeks and down over her neck and collarbones. Her freckles stood out even more over pinked skin. 

A petulant whimper left Taggie as she linked her forearms behind the back of Rupert’s neck, eagerly seeking more kisses. Rupert was more than happy to oblige, keeping his hands mostly to himself as he worked the buttons left on his shirt until it freely slipped off his wide, lean shoulders. 

Taggie was growing more than more eager, and gave an exploratory roll of her hips against Rupert. His hardening cock met her clothed core. A soft grunt left him as he broke their kiss. 

“Are you sure you want that?” He levels at her, a cocked brow and Taggie was more than eager to nod in reply, attempting to pull him in again, before Rupert chuckled, and took hold of her forearms, holding them still as he looked at her. “Use your words, Angel.” he implored huskily, pupils blown wide with lust. 

“Actually…” she answered breathily, licking her lips in nervousness. “Can I do for you what you did for me?” she asked breathily. The question almost made Rupert choke, seeming slightly taken aback. 

“Of course.” he replied when he regained his composure. “I could never say no to you.” he admitted before letting go of her arms. He then reached back and deftly unclipped her bra, leaving Taggie to rid herself of it with ease. She gently pressed him a step back by his chest, before slipping down to her knees at his feet. Their woolen sweaters padded her meeting the cold stone. 

Before she could lose her courage, Taggie attempted to wrangle Rupert free of his belt buckle. A task he was plenty happy to let her struggle with on her own, his own hand carding his fingers through her hair. With enough effort, she worked him free of his belt, and eased his thick length free from his trousers, left heavy with desire. Gently, she leaned in and pressed a feather light kiss to the red, leaking tip of him, eyes flicking up to Rupert’s, eager to please. 

“That’s a good pet.” he cooed the praise, his own eyes glazed over with lust. His fingers continued to card through her hair until he held it in a fist at the back of her head with only one of his large hands. He used his leverage to guide her head down, encouraging her to slicken his length. Taggie was more than happy to oblige, and a touch appreciative for the guiding hand as she eagerly suckled over all he offered to her, licking up his length as her eyes began to drift shut. A daze of sorts over taking her. Quickly though, Rupert gave her cheek a quick tap to wake her out of her stupor. 

“Eyes on me, angel.” he corrected with an even, measured breath. A command she quickly obeyed, eyes fixing right on him. “There you go, now open wider.” he praised and guided, Taggie’s mouth falling open as he began to ease his length into her waiting mouth. Taggie suckled around him, cheeks hollowing as her eyelashes fluttered up at him, Rupert’s cock heavy on her tongue, but not yet challenging to take. “That’s a sweet girl.” he husked, his breath catching as he worked himself down her throat. Rupert tugged on Taggie’s hair, pulling her down until he was hilted inside her, causing Taggie to whine, and her hands to grasp out his trousers for leverage. “You can take it, know you can…” he mumbled as he began to slowly fuck her throat in earnest. 

His eyes went darker as he watched the struggle to cope with the size of him leave her. Taggie grew pliant, tears forming in the corner of her eyes seemingly forgotten by the time they overflowed and spill over her cheeks. Her grasping at his trousers coming out of more desperation to be closer than eagerness to breathe. 

Rupert was too wrapped up in Taggie, and overwhelmed, by the time he was pulling back, attempting to preserve himself for more, she was whining and suckling at him, rejecting the loss. He gripped the base of his length with his free hand, but Taggie was unrelenting. In the push and pull, it was mere moments before he was shivering, a low grunt leaving him as he spent over her tongue and lips messily.