Thought I'd be happy but I'm barely breathing

For the fourth week, you took Declan up on his offer to work late together. Except this time, you weren’t sitting in a stiff office chair, you were sat in a cozy armchair in Declan’s study in his home.

The last seven days at work had been filled with near silence. Neither you nor Declan daring to speak of what happened in his office on Thursday night. One week of awkward eye contact and minimal conversation. 7 days of you both knowing what took place between you but pretending to be oblivious.

You weren’t exactly sure what you expected to happen after the two of you were interrupted that night. Shortly after the phone call that took him away from your compromising position, Declan had abruptly ended the evening. Thanking you for working overtime and telling you to go home and get some rest. Your boss gave you little to no time to process what had just happened, let alone ask for clarification. 

The next morning Declan met you with his usual harmless smile, but his eyes were somewhat apologetic, and from that point on he had kept himself busy and away from you as much as possible. It began to feel like he was blatantly ignoring you and you were growing more annoyed by the day. If he was embarrassed by the whole situation and wanted to put it behind him, fine. But for him to make you feel stupid like this? Leaving you out of important meetings and causing you to miss out on work projects just because of some silly conversation about a smutty romance novel was absurd. Afterall he was the one who brought up the book in the first place. He was the one looking at you in such an inappropriate way. The dirty words spoken were from his lips not yours. So why on earth did it feel like you were the one being punished. 

But just as you had enough and built up the courage to march into his office demanding an explanation, you were met with an invitation. 

The same invitation that Declan extended to you week after week- to stay late and work with him.

Only this week he asked if you wouldn’t mind joining him at the Priory, his house.

He had apparently left some important work at home that morning and couldn’t continue without it. Your anxieties and annoyance around last week’s situation instantly faded.

There is no way Declan would be inviting you to his house after work hours if his true intention was to ignore you. He could have easily told you goodbye for the day and gone home to continue working without having you tag along. It begged the question- what were his true intentions then?

So of course, you accepted his invitation, packing up your things and following him out to the countryside. He led you straight to his study upon arriving and left you to your own devices for a few short minutes to fetch you both a drink.

You began searching the room with your eyes. It was strangely intimate being in Declan’s home. At work you had always taken note at how mundane Declan’s office was. There was almost no semblance of his personality, just blank walls and generic furniture.

What surrounded you now was so different.

His study was overflowing with character. Books piled high in numerous places within the room, each one dog eared and worn. Framed artwork adorned the walls. There were vintage trinkets laid out on the mantle of the fireplace. A record player sat in the corner of the room with a handful of vinyl lying underneath it. Two lamps lit the space, creating a much more relaxing ambiance than the florescent lights at coronium. Unlike the bulky desk that sat in his work office, the one in his study was much less intimidating. Still sturdy, it was made of a beautiful dark oak that was faded and rough from years of use. 

You preferred this workspace, it felt so much more like Declan. The room even smelt like him. 

You stood from your chair making your way to a small mountain of books on his desk. Grabbing a copy of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein from the top you thumbed it noticing annotations throughout. You smiled to yourself imagining Declan at some point in his life reading the gothic novel and marking it for enjoyment. That’s what you liked about Declan, he was eccentric and scholarly. Deep and brooding but also witty and kind. There was so much to learn, and you truly loved getting to know him, he was unlike any man you had ever met. You were so hidden in thought about his many great qualities that you didn’t hear Declan's footsteps approaching behind you. 

“Whiskey?” His voice broke your train of thought.

“Oh- um yeah, thank you.” You spoke putting the book back on his desk and taking the glass from his extended hand. 

You looked down at the whiskey. When he had asked if you wanted something to drink you had assumed he would come back with something more tame like tea or water.

Nonetheless you took a swig of the alcohol, knowing you would need the liquid courage if you wanted to talk to him about his recent behavior.

“I see you’ve taken the liberty to go through my things.” The rhythm of his words were smooth, a chuckle hiding behind them.

He looked amused as he took a sip of his drink. The silent treatment he had been giving you lately made you realize you missed the sound of his voice.  

“Actually I think it was you who went through my things first, remember?” You playfully chide back at him.

“If my memory serves me correctly, I believe you were the one who set your dirty book down on my desk.” He held his glass to his lips as he spoke.

You let out a shaky breath. This was it. The first time either of you had even acknowledged your exchange from the previous week and you were ready to confront Declan for the way he had been acting ever since. 

“What’s going on Declan? You and I have always gotten along great, I thought we were working really well together. Does one silly conversation seriously ruin all of that? I mean I get it if you regret what happened that night, but you’re my boss and it’s really hard for me to do my job when you just ignore me. You’ve barely said a word to me this week and I’m starting to get freaked out that I’m going to get fired or something.” You ramble on- probably a bit too much. 

A worried look immediately takes over his face, eyes softening. He sets his glass down on the corner of his desk and takes a few steps closer to you. 

“Oh God no you’re not going to get fired. Jesus, I’m sorry I made you feel that badly.” He brings his palm up to rest on your cheek, holding your face gently in his hand causing your timid gaze to meet his. The feeling of his hand on you sending heat to your cheeks.

“I’m sorry for giving you the cold shoulder this week I just-“ he paused mid-sentence looking toward the ground and letting his eyes wander for a few seconds as he collected his thoughts. 

“I don’t regret it” 

You raise an eyebrow quizzically, silently asking him to go on. 

“I left that night, and I couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you. Every thought in my mind for the last seven days has been you; the sound of your laugh, the little blush on your cheeks when you’re embarrassed,” his eyes are glued to yours and you feel his thumb begin to rub back and forth softly on your face. 

“the warmth of your skin, the way you looked sitting underneath me. You’ve consumed me. And that’s not right, is it?” his question is clearly rhetorical, but you want to yell out in protest to keep his eyes and touch on you.

Nothing about the fluttering in your chest for the man standing in front of you feels wrong. 

Thankfully he keeps your face in his tender embrace as he continues,

“I’m your boss, I shouldn’t be thinkin’ about you like that. And I definitely shouldn’t have said the things I did last week.”

You couldn’t tell if it was embarrassment or disappointment that washed over you at his words, but it caused your gaze to fall from Declan’s eyes and onto the floor. You were now aware that he didn’t want you the same way you wanted him, and you couldn’t bear to look at him as he rejected you. You suddenly felt silly for thinking your feelings for him would have been reciprocated. 

His hand slid down to your jaw lifting your eyes to meet his again, gently forcing you to look at him as he spoke. 

“But I did say them, and I meant every word. And then like an arsehole, I tried to pretend like nothing happened because I thought maybe we could move on from it. I just don’t want to make this hard for you. I don’t want whatever happens between us to get in the way of your career. People talk, and I won’t be able to live with myself if you’re in some kind of Sunday morning gossip column for bein’ Declan O’Hara’s controversially young mistress.” 

Now it was his turn to ramble, but you were hanging onto every word. You had been waiting for some sort of explanation- for some sort of confession. You understood his worries and a part of you was even thankful for his concern for you and your career. But in this moment- the warmth of his fingertips melting into your skin and the intense, compassionate stare of his big brown eyes pushed any practical reasoning out of your mind. 

“Well maybe I want to be Declan O’Hara’s controversially young mistress.” Your smile was playful yet genuine as you spoke. 

Declan couldn’t help the laugh that escaped his lips shaking his head at your words. 

“I’m serious.”

“So am I. I’m a grown woman Declan. I understand that my actions have consequences. But I also can’t bring myself to care what anyone else thinks about what I’m doing or who I’m doing it with.” 

Before you know it Declan is grabbing the long forgotten whiskey glass from your hand and setting it aside on the desk. He takes another step forward closing the remaining gap between you. One hand still lazily resting on your jaw as he brings the other to snake around your waist. 

“I don’t think you realize how badly I wanted to hear you say that.” He sighs in relief. 

You can’t tell who initiates it but within seconds you’re pulling each other in, lips meeting and bodies touching. The kiss quickly grows heated with all the built-up tension and desire that’s been forced down for so long. His hands begin their descent on your body, roaming the sides of your torso holding and grasping as much of you as humanly possible. 

“How badly I’ve wanted to hear you tell me you want me.” His words are spoken against your lips, he can barely pull away from you.

“How badly I’ve wanted you bent over my desk.” His voice drops an octave, and he uses the hands that have been exploring your body to spin you around, so you’re pressed against his desk. You can feel him behind you, his body flush against yours, the arousal in his pants unmistakable against your backside. 

“I thought about it that night when I went home. Thought about how much I wished I would’ve ignored that phone call and taken you on my desk instead.” His voice was a low whisper in your ear, and you could feel his breath on your neck. 

His palms were flat against your abdomen holding you against his body.

You felt his right-hand slide from its position on your stomach only to find a new home gripping your backside. You could nearly hear Declan groan as he held a handful of your ass in his palm. You wanted him to keep touching you like this, clutching your body in his rough hands. You never realized your deep desire to be manhandled by him until Declan held you like this. 

“Sweetheart, I could never regret the things I said to you last week.”

His grip on your ass was gone, and you let out an unsteady breath at the loss of contact. The breath turned into a whine when you felt Declan’s hand slide underneath your dress. Still pressed against the desk, you involuntarily leaned your upper body forward over the furniture pushing your bottom half further into his touch. You were so desperate to have him between your legs you didn’t care how pathetic your actions were. 

“My God darlin, you’re gonna be the death of me.” He hums and you can feel his touch tracing over you’re embarrassingly soaked underwear.

He hooks a single finger underneath the material pulling it to the side and a rush of cool air meets your damp core causing you to clench around nothing. 

“Tell me to stop and I will.” Declan’s voice is so quiet behind you, you’re convinced he didn’t want you to hear his offer. 

“Don’t. please don’t stop.” You manage to sound somewhat composed even though you’re falling apart under Declan’s touch that hasn’t even found you yet. 

“Never in a million years did I think I’d have you like this, bent over and beggin’ for me.” You can’t see him, but you know for a fact there’s a smirk on his face.

Just as you’re about to plead with him again you feel two of his fingers gather the wetness pooling at your center and slowly push into you. You almost roll your eyes in pleasure, but not because of the gratification of Declan’s thick fingers stretching you open. No- it’s the noise he makes from behind you as he lets his hand work between your legs that has you melting into him. An eager groan escapes his lips when he’s finally able to feel you, a sound that assures you that he’s enjoying this just as much as you. It’s enough to make you squeeze tighter around him. 

The movement of his right hand between your legs is gentle and methodical, on a mission to get you to your release. His left hand, however, is greedily pulling at your waist dragging your body further into him. 

Your gasps of pleasure are very clearly encouraging Declan, causing his fingers to quicken and curl into you. His change in rhythm brings a whimper to your lips.   

Declan’s free hand leaves your waist and begins roughly wandering your upper body stopping when he reaches your neck. Gently grabbing your throat, he brings you back so that your body is flat against him. His fingers softly wrap around your neck, and you only want him to squeeze harder. You can feel him all over: his hand holding onto your throat, his heavy breath on your neck, his fingers curling in your heat, and his length pressing against your backside. It was almost too much, feeling him like this- having him like this.

With his hand still on your throat he places open mouthed kisses down the side of your neck.

“You don’t have to be so quiet darlin’, I want to hear you.” he murmurs into you, the hum of his voice on your skin giving you goosebumps. 

At his request you allow the pleasure building in you to bubble out in a primal moan, finally allowing yourself to fully lose control under his touch. You could feel him smile into your neck at your sweet sounds filling his ears. 

The feeling of your release was becoming increasingly harder to ignore as Declan’s fingers continued to move within you. In a haze of desire for the man holding you, his name tumbles out of your mouth in a pathetic whine. 

As soon as Declan hears his name, he removes his fingers and abruptly turns you back around to face him. Within seconds he has you sitting on his desk, his body positioned between your open legs. His hand immediately finds its place back at your center, fingers fucking into you at the same pace as before. 

"Fuck- say my name like that again."

You oblige, moaning his name and grabbing onto his forearm, your fingernails digging into his skin.

“I want to watch your face when you cum sweetheart.” His voice is groggy, and his eyes are dark, clouded with hunger as you gaze into them. 

Declan adored your sweet eyes and innocent smile, but seeing the way you looked at him right now was something he never wanted to forget. Your eyes were glazed over with desire barely able to focus, and your mouth fell open in pleasure. It was something he had only ever thought about late at night with his hand wrapped around his cock. 

Adding fuel to the fire already burning within your body, Declan brought his free hand down to rub your clit causing your head to fall back. 

The feeling of his fingers on and in you had your walls shuddering around him. The threat of your peak was so close, and Declan knew it. 

“I’ve got you. Come on. Cum for me angel.” 

The sweet words leave Declan’s lips in a kind whisper and it’s enough to push you right off the edge. Your body tenses and jolts and you find Declan’s name on your tongue repeatedly as you completely let go under his touch. 

Both of your breaths are labored as he slowly pumps his fingers in and out of you a few more times, milking your pleasure.

You barely give yourself enough time to recover from your climax before you’re reaching for Declan, pulling him closer by his belt. You let your hands wander lower palming his length through his pants. His forehead falls against yours and his eyes close in indulgence, a quivering breath evading him. 

“Feel how badly I want to be inside you?” his accent is think and heavy as he speaks.

Those words have your hands fumbling with his belt. You need it gone. You need to have Declan in your hands, in your mouth, in you. You didn’t care you just needed his pants off. 

It’s like he can read your mind because his large hands are instantly assisting you. Watching him undo his belt you shuffle your now soaked and useless panties down your legs. 

With his belt and pants finally off you took him in your hand and Declan immediately grabbed onto your waist, his fingertips threatening to leave a mark in their wake.

He couldn’t handle how sweet and soft your hold on his cock was. He was throbbing in your hand, his patience was almost nonexistent as he guided the both of you so his length was lined up at your entrance.   

You were both staring at each other now. Not a single word shared between you, just heaving breaths and warm touches.

His eyebrows furrowed in pleasure as he pushed into you inch by inch. Your hands trailed their way into his hair, burying your fingertips in his curls at the feeling of him filling you. 

He’s pressed into you to the hilt and stays there for a moment waiting to feel your walls relax around him before he moves. 

“Feel okay darlin?” He’s checking on you in a gruff tone, unable to hold back the starvation for you in his voice. 

“Mhmm” You answer in a hum, giving a small nod of your head causing your foreheads to bump into each other. 

Declan’s gaze falls from your eyes and looks down to where your two bodies meet, looking down to watch the way you’re greedily sucking him in. He watches himself slowly pull out just to plunge right back in. His thrusts are passionate and deep, every inch of him feeling every inch of you. 

He knows he won’t last long- not when this is all he’s thought about for months. Playing all of the different scenarios that end with you screaming his name like a movie in his head. Dreaming of what you would feel like wrapped around him like this.

Watching you take him so easily while you sat in his home on his desk had his cock twitching inside you. 

When his eyes meet yours again, he couldn’t help but notice your jaw falling slack. You were fucked out and losing your composure and it filled Declan with a satisfied arrogance.

“You look so pretty takin’ me like that sweetheart.” Given your indecent position his voice shouldn’t be so sincere. 

“So pretty when you cum too.” The words drip from his lips like honey. 

“Think you can give me another one?”

You’re drowning in the syrupiness of his sweet nothings. His words have you squeezing and pulling him deeper into your walls. His hand falls between you, playing with your clit. The already swollen and sensitive bundle of nerves practically vibrating under his fingertips. 

His thrusts are deep and precise; finding the perfect spongey spot that has you gripping his hair tighter and moaning profanities.  

“I wanna feel you sweet girl.”

You let your forehead fall to the nape of his neck as Declan bottoms out in you repeatedly. His fingers are moving in delicate circles over your clit and you can feel your legs start to tremble.

“C’mon let me feel you cum around me. Let me feel it.” 

He’s grunting and pleading and moaning, and you can’t help but give him what he wants. You instinctively bite down on his shoulder to keep from screaming.

Feeling your walls tightening around him has Declan roughly grabbing at your hips, holding you still as he drives into you taking what he wants. 

“Oh darlin’ yes- Fuck you feel so good squeezin’ me like that.” 

You have Declan in a trance: the sweet sting of your mouth on his shoulder, the soft flesh he’s grasping in his hands, the tight little cunt around him all nice and warm, the precious little whimpers leaving your lips. He swears this is heaven and he’s determined to have you in every way possible.

Screw what the tabloids want to say about it. 

You pull your head back to meet his eyes and he can’t take it anymore. The pressure building inside finally sets off and Declan comes undone with a string of moans and sighs finally giving into his release and filling you with heat. 

Both of you are silent for a moment, out of breath and struggling to find the words to speak. Your eyes are still locked on one another when you feel Declans hands reach for your arms trailing his fingertips lightly on your skin. 

“That needs to happen again.” Declan breaks the silence, his voice barely above a whisper.

He’s wearing a dopey lovesick smile that unleashes butterflies in your stomach.

“And again-” He places a kiss on your forehead.

“And again-” He kisses you once on the cheek.

“And then a few more times for good measure.” His lips meet yours in a gentle embrace.

“Well, I guess cheers to being Declan O’Hara’s controversially young mistress then” You joke causing Declan to chuckle darkly hiding his face in the crook of your neck.  

But of course, along with the fresh adoration of a new partner also came their baggage. It was something you expected. What you weren’t expecting however, were the skeletons in Mitchell’s closet to be so literal.

He had gone back and forth about telling you the truth and of course Annie had convinced him to be honest with you.

“If your feelings for her are real and you want a genuine relationship you have to tell her Mitchell.” 

He knew she was right, but it didn’t stop the anxiety weighing on his chest at the thought of rejection. It was terrifying. The possibility that you would run screaming kept him putting it off day after day until one night the two of you were having dinner at your apartment and it just kind of stumbled out of his mouth. 

“A Vampire?” 

The words slipped from you in a giggle, your face full of amusement at his confession. You figured he must’ve been trying to make some kind of stupid joke until you noticed his dead serious demeanor.

When he refused to meet your tickled expression with a smile of his own, your brain started running laps around itself trying to piece together the last few weeks of your life. Confusion and fear filled your senses and for a split second it felt like you were sitting across from a complete stranger. Despite your inner dialogue telling you to run, you didn’t leave. You didn’t even get up from your seat. You just sat and waited for him to explain himself further. 

So he did. He told you everything.

It took hours of explanations from him and hesitant stares from you, but after a night of discussing his condition you were sure he was telling the truth, and you were also somehow open to it. 

Mitchell was surprised by how understanding you had been about the whole thing. After the initial shock, the two of you laid on your couch until the sun came up and you interrogated him about his supernatural lifestyle.

he answered every last question. 

You learned about the different cities he’d lived in, the people he had known throughout his long life, who he once was, who he still longed to become. You admired his desire to live differently than the others like him. 

Even after listening to the man next to you give hour’s worth of evidence proving he was a bloodthirsty killer, you still managed to fall asleep in his arms. At the end of the day, it was still Mitchell; Mitchell who mopped floors and made crude jokes, Mitchell who was always there to give you a comforting smile or lighthearted wink when you were having a rough day, Mitchell who you had fallen head over heels for, Mitchell who wanted to be human so badly that he was attempting sobriety from the very thing his body craved most. Nothing could change the way you felt for him and so you held it together when he told you a secret about himself that he was sure would have your relationship unraveling.  

Only he didn’t tell you everything. There was one little detail about his life that he left out that night. He told you about the countless people he killed– about the guilt that ate away at him as he remembered their faces. He even confessed to you that he had given in to his bloodlust not long before you met. All the grim details about his murderous tendencies were true, but he made sure to leave out the part about how he killed them. 

You knew that he drank away their lives, that he consumed their blood until there was nothing left of them. But he couldn’t bring himself to tell you that it so often started by seducing a woman- getting her naked in bed, writhing and vulnerable underneath him. He hated that he’d weaponized sex for so long that he could no longer differentiate his longing for blood and his desire for sexual release– the two had become synonymous. It was so bad that anytime he found himself in a heated position with a woman he couldn’t tell if the passion he felt burning in his veins was actual yearning or just a desire to feed. This made his relationship with you extraordinarily difficult. 

You were so handsy. Of course you were. The two of you had been dating for nearly three months and the furthest you’d gone was a clothed second base. 

At first, Mitchell told you he wanted to take things slow, a little odd maybe, but you respected his boundaries and kept the physical touch to a minimum. But time went on, and the restraint you had both practiced began to falter. You started getting little tastes of what it would be like to have his hands on your body and his mouth on your skin it was driving you insane. Every time he kissed you, his lips lingered on yours and there was a certain hint of impatience that always peeked through. You could sense the hunger in the way he would crash his lips on you, his mouth molding to yours and his tongue tracing your bottom lip. Sometimes he would even let his hands find your hips gripping you tightly and pulling you into him as close as possible. Not to mention the little groans that would slip from him when you tugged on his hair. Those little grunts made you want to drop to your knees in front of him and see what other sounds you could pull from his mouth. 

You were constantly reminding yourself to take things slowly, but it was so hard when there was such a strong sexual tension tying the two of you together– or at least you thought there was; but based on the way Mitchell would break your kisses and take his hands off of your body like he just burned them on a stovetop, you were beginning to think maybe he wasn’t craving you in the same way.

Only there was no doubt in his mind that Mitchell wanted to fuck you. He was obsessed with you. He thought about what you looked like naked at least once a day and dreamed about hearing the little whimpers that you’d make when he was finally able to get between your legs. he wanted you, but he was terrified of possibly putting you in danger, so he tried to keep his hands to himself, Just for a little bit. 

At least that’s what he told himself at the beginning. He would work his way up to having sex with you. Like little practice runs, he would let himself give in to the temptation, a make out session here and there, maybe even some heavy petting- but he would always put an end to it before it went any further.

He had to pace himself with you. He needed to be able to control the blood driven part of him that had most of his hookups ending in red stained sheets. You deserved the best part of him. The part that he was convinced was still human. The part that could take his time and indulge in the intimacy of knowing another’s naked body. He knew that part of him still existed- he knew because you brought it out of him. With every touch of your hand to his cheek or the feeling of your sweet lips on his, he felt it. Hell, even when you had your fingers intertwined in his hair, pulling at it while you attacked his neck with kisses, he could feel a deep appreciation for the way you loved him. It was an innocent kind of love. It was pure and gentle and all-consuming and the last thing he wanted to do was ruin it by pushing things too far. He wouldn’t ruin this- ruin you. 

But then you were straddling him on his bed. Your legs spread on either side of his hips as he grabbed onto you, guiding your movements as you slid your fully clothed center over his, your lips meshing in a messy kiss.

The house was empty other than the two of you who were now involved in a very heated make out session in his bedroom. His hands were splayed across your thighs, holding them hungrily and his mouth chasing yours. Neither of you were showing any intentions of holding back, so you took it upon yourself to take things a bit further. 

You let your hands fall to the button of his jeans–undiscovered territory that you were determined to explore at the feeling of his obvious arousal beneath you. Just as you were fumbling with the zipper of his jeans, Mitchell broke your kiss and took a hold of your wrist in an abrupt attempt to stop you. 

You looked down at him, trying your best to hide the defeat you felt from yet another rejection. His eyes looked almost remorseful before he averted his gaze downward to where your hands met, he was tracing little circles on your wrist. 

You were out of breath, chest heaving, and thoughts jumbled. You were trying not to read into it, but this whole situation was so confusing to you. Was there something you didn’t know? He seemed to be enjoying himself just moments ago; so why was he stopping? Did he ever intend to have sex with you? 

“Mitchell, are you attracted to me?” The words flew out of your mouth as you leaned back, still sitting on his lap. 

“What?” 

His expression was a mixture of confusion and amusement which only frustrated you further because what on earth did he have to be confused about? 

“Seriously. I get it if you want to take it slow, but It’s been weeks and I’m starting to get scared that you don’t actually want to have sex with me.” 

He was watching as you spoke, a small smile curling on his lips. He couldn’t help it; you were so cute and flustered sitting on top of him talking about how badly you wanted to have sex. How could he not be attracted to you? How could you think something so utterly insane? 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” 

You were questioning him and teasingly shoving at his chest so that his back sunk further into the mattress beneath him. The only response coming from the man laying under you was a low chuckle. 

“Mitchell, talk to me.” Your voice softened.

You were serious now; Mitchell could hear it in your worried tone and see it in the unsure gaze holding his own. 

He sat up with an audible sigh and you took that as a sign things were taking a more serious turn. 

You carefully moved off his lap, opting for a seat next to him and plopping down on the bed. You sat facing him with your legs folded underneath you and your hand gently resting on his thigh. 

Everything about you was inviting his awaiting admission; your body language, the gentle smile encouraging him to go on, the way your eyes fell on him in an already understanding gaze. You were too good for him– too kind. Here you were willing to accept every last part of him and he was getting ready to tell you he uses sex to aid his homicidal affinities. 

“I did want to take things slow- I do.” He started with his eyes glued on you.

”I just, I don’t want to hurt you.” He spoke slowly, still searching your eyes for any changes to your expression.

“And you’ll hurt me if we have sex?” You were trying to clarify and make sense of what Mitchell was saying.

“I used to-“ He began but stopped himself. 

He looked down at your hand on his leg. Your touch so sincere. 

“I used to use sex as a method of getting women alone and vulnerable so I could- you know...”

He was still staring down refusing to look at you as he spoke. He couldn’t stand to watch the inevitable look of fear on your face. 

“It was just so easy. The first time I had sex after I turned, it was such a rush. Everything was intensified; her heart rate, the blood rushing through her veins, how much control I had. I didn’t even realize what I was doing and then she was just...” 

His words were trailing off yet again, he couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud. That he was a manipulative evil monster who prayed on women and got off on killing them.

 It wasn’t true though. That side of him was something else entirely. It was someone he didn’t even recognize when he was with you. 

His thoughts were interrupted when he felt your delicate hands cupping his face, bringing his eyes up to meet yours. Instead of a look of terror, your face held nothing but forgiveness and warmth. 

“So you’re scared you’re going to kill me if we sleep together?” Your words were point blank as you stared into his eyes. 

“No.” His response was instant, but then quickly followed by a correction, 

“Well maybe. I don’t know, it’s complicated.” 

He paused.

“I never want to hurt you. I know that much.” 

The look in his eyes was so gentle, begging for the forgiveness you’d already given.

“There’s just this part of me that I can’t control, and I’m so scared that I’ll get too caught up and won’t be able to stop myself.”

“Have you ever had sex without-“ 

You began to ask but Mitchell finished your question for you.

“Killing someone?”

He looked away again, unable to come to terms with his own sinful memories.  

“Yeah, but it’s been a long time.” He confessed.

You leaned back on the bed creating a bit more space between your bodies. You had a million thoughts running through your mind but the only one that mattered was the realization of how much Mitchell had come to mean to you in such a short time. Everything felt right with him. You were immersed so deeply in his world that this new piece of information just felt like a little blip on the radar of your lives. You would figure it out together. All of it. 

“Well okay then, we’ll just keep doing what we’re doing until you feel ready.”

As soon as the words left your mouth his eyes were back on yours. He was giving you the most hopeful smile, it nearly melted you. God- you’d do anything for him. 

“And if you never do, then I’ll just invest in a really good vibrator.”

You were joking to help lighten the mood. You didn’t want Mitchell to feel like you were judging him or disappointed in the new information regarding your sex life. 

Your comment had Mitchell cracking a smile for the first time in last five minutes and the sight of it warmed your heart. You were both just sat there looking at each other with silly little grins plastered on your faces, the dark tension in the room slowly dissipating. 

The silence between you lasted for a few seconds, Mitchell looked as if he was contemplating something before he finally spoke.

“Is that how you’ve been surviving this whole time?” There was a hint of laughter dancing in his words.

“My sweet girl gettin’ so frustrated she has to run home to relieve herself?”

His head was now cocked to the side as he probed you with a follow up question. He was smirking, clearly enjoying the effect his words had on you. If he couldn’t see the goosebumps on your skin, he sure as hell could hear your heart racing. 

“I’m sorry baby, you shouldn’t have to take care of yourself like that.” 

Mitchell’s voice was low, and he was moving his body closer to yours. He was hovering over you as your back rested against the warmth of his comforter. The sound of your heartbeat was amplified in his ears by the sudden closeness. 

This was new, you thought. 

Mitchell had never been this bold with his words. It was so filthy– so tempting.

“Do you think about me when you touch yourself?”

His eyes were heavy and his jaw tense as he awaited your response.

You thought about him every single time you touched yourself, which was more often than you’d like to admit given the current circumstances of your relationship. You had come up with one hundred different scenarios that involved you and Mitchell naked in his bed to aid you in your self-induced pleasure. 

But instead of divulging all of that to him, you just nodded your head in a simple reply to his question. 

“Show me.” His voice was dripping with desire, and you thought his eyes might burn a hole through you with how hard he was staring. 

“Mitchell…” 

You suddenly felt so shy. Just minutes ago, you were grinding down on his lap hungry to unbutton his jeans. Now he was asking to watch you touch yourself and your confidence was wavering. 

“C’mon baby. I wanna see how you get off.” His tone was so sultry, you were nearly slipping your pants off at sound of it.  

“Let me see baby.” He was intertwining his fingers in your hair and pulling you in for another messy kiss. 

“Fuck- I think about it all the time. What it would be like to watch you cum.” His hands were now trailing down your body, his touch was more rough than usual, but you didn’t seem to mind. 

“I touch myself thinkin’ about you too baby.” His gaze was scorching, as he watched you fumbling with your jeans in such hasty desperation to get them off. 

“Always so worked up from not being able to touch you the way I want to. It drives me fuckin’ insane.”

Now he was assisting you; pulling your jeans down your thighs, just as needy to see your body freed from them. 

Mitchell’s hands instantly found the exposed skin of your thighs as soon as your jeans came off. He was basking in the feeling of your warm skin, memorizing the way you felt in his hands as he gripped and kneaded the flesh of your upper leg all the way up to your hips. 

You were pulling him back down in a frenzied kiss when you felt his hands at your sides teasing the material of your underwear. His fingers were hooked in the waistband of your panties, and you found the kiss getting sloppier the closer you got to being half naked on Mitchell’s bed. Your lips were moving in a chaotic harmony when he pulled back to speak again. 

“Is this okay?” 

It was as if he was breaking character for just a second. The dirty words of primal desire were replaced with a tender whisper. The man who was just ripping your jeans from your body was now searching your face for approval before going any further. 

“Mhmm.” You were humming and nodding your head simultaneously placing your hands over his on your hips and helping him peel your underwear from your body. 

“Jesus- fuck.”

Mitchell couldn’t help the profanities that fell from his mouth as you looked up at him with such an innocently sensual gaze while you guided his hands down your legs. You looked so desperate for him.  

You were kicking your panties from your legs and instinctively closing your thighs, partially for the friction but mostly due to the nerves of your sudden vulnerability.

 Mitchell could sense your brief hesitation and wanted nothing more than to make you feel comfortable. To tell you how fucking hot this was- because it was. He hadn’t had sex in so long he thought he might just cum in his pants from the sight of you like this. 

He kissed you once more, deep and passionate while his hands found their place back on your thighs. He was running his fingers over your skin and grabbing each of your legs slowly pulling them apart as he situated himself between them. Then he broke the kiss and sat back on his knees to get a better view at your body all sprawled out on his sheets. 

“Fuck you’re so perfect.” His voice was close to a groan as he gazed down at your exposed center. He was in a hypnotic state at seeing you spread open all for him, so wet and ready; he was losing his mind.

“I wanna see you baby.” 

His fingertips were tracing your inner thighs, and you almost had to shut your legs again at the sensation; his touch causing you to let out a shaky breath. 

“wanna see how you play with yourself when you think about me.” 

You were closing your eyes and letting your hand trail down your stomach until it reached your core. If it weren’t for the fact that you were so pent up with sexual frustration from all the nights you had to leave Mitchell’s house after make-out sessions that led nowhere, you might have been more embarrassed by how quick you were to oblige with his directions. You were eager to finally get some sort of relief from him, even if it came in the form of his eyes on your body and his foul whispers in your ear. 

Your fingers were circling your clit and the sounds that came from the man above you were utterly carnal. 

“fuckkk.”

In a long, drawn-out groan Mitchell was releasing pent up frustrations of his own while watching your hand between your legs. 

He had envisioned you like this a million times but not one of those images even came close to what he was witnessing right now. He’d intended on trying to keep his composure but as soon as your fingers met your cunt, he couldn’t contain himself. 

“That’s it baby.”

Mitchell swooned, his body practically shaking as he watched you. All he wanted to do was replace your hand with is. He wanted to feel you. Needed to show you that the little scenarios of him you had conjured up in your head weren’t even comparable to the real thing. 

“So pretty for me.”

His words were only pushing you further into the lust filled abyss that threatened to swallow you whole. Your fingers were working faster in tight little circles and moans were forming in your throat and fighting to fall from your lips. 

“Look at me baby.”

You followed his command, looking up at him. He was going back and forth between looking into your eyes and watching the hand between your legs. He felt the familiar simmer of heat in his chest and the buzzing in his head– sensations that often came with his inability to stop himself from indulging in his deepest desires. He was teetering on the edge of losing all control when he found your eyes again, your tender stare bringing him back to reality. 

“Do you wish it was me touchin’ you like that.” He kept talking, hoping it would help tether him to his humanity. 

The low growl of his voice had you feeling brave enough to bring your hand lower, dipping a finger into yourself and whimpering out in pleasure at the thought of it being his touch instead. 

“Bet I could make you feel so good with my fingers- fuck.” 

The second he saw your hand venture lower he could feel his cock swelling in his pants. There was absolutely no way he would be able to keep his hands to himself now. Not while he watched you slipping your delicate little fingers into your cunt- something he had quite literally dreamed of doing for months now. 

“Oh sweet girl I need to touch you.”

You watched as he palmed himself through his jeans, the look on his face was so needy it made you bite down on your lip to muffle the obscene sound that fought its way to your mouth. 

“need to fuckin’ feel ya baby.”

And with that his lips were crashing into yours, your chests touching and moans mixing. You felt his hand on your inner thigh and nearly jumped when it skipped to your soaked core, his finger already pushing into you. 

“So wet for me huh?.” He was gathering your arousal and spreading it at your opening as he easily added a second finger along with the first. 

His head dipped down and his lips came in contact with the nape of your neck and you flinched. 

Your earlier conversation was still fresh in your mind, and you couldn’t help the involuntary recoil. Having Mitchell so worked up and putting his mouth on your neck startled you.  

He halted, every single one of his movements pausing as he drew his head back just enough to lock eyes with you. He had every intention of kissing down your neck, just wanting to envelop you in the feeling of his lips on your sensitive skin. He wasn’t even thinking about sinking his teeth into the flesh there, but once he felt you shrinking away from his touch, he felt awful. Shit did he scare you.

“Hey.”

He was searching your eyes, his expression full of worry. 

“I won’t hurt you.” A flip had switched, and his voice was now soft and reserved. 

“You’re safe.” He was reassuring you and now you felt bad for overreacting. 

You pulled him back to you in an affectionate kiss. 

“I’ve got you, I promise.” With that he was slowly moving his fingers inside you again. His thrusts were gentle, and he kept his eyes on you. He was being so careful, it was endearing. 

He had never felt so in control. It was a strange feeling, to be physically intimate with someone and not have a single hunger driven thought. While he had plenty of unsavory thoughts about you running through his mind, not even one had to do with his thirst for blood. All of them centered around hearing the cute little sounds you were making and watching you cum all over his fingers. 

He could sense your body relaxing under his touch and he watched your eyes flutter closed as his fingers curled into you. He was taking advantage of your comfort and switching to a faster pace. 

You had to squeeze your eyes shut completely as his fingers worked faster and depper. You were doing your best to keep quiet, scared that maybe someone would come home and be able to hear you, but with the way Mitchell was touching you, you finally let go of your worries. A lengthy moan fell from your lips, and had him groaning in response. 

“That’s it baby, don’t hold back.” 

He was encouraging your noises of satisfaction as he brought his lips back to your neck. Only this time, instead of flinching from the sudden attention, you tilted your head to the side to give him better access. You could feel him smirking against your skin. 

He was placing sweet kisses behind your ear while his fingers worked harder sliding in and out of you. His movements were perfectly executed, each thrust of his digits curling into you at the perfect spot and causing whispered profanities to form on your tongue. He knew exactly what he was doing, and it almost shocked you how close he had you to an orgasm already. 

“You feel that baby?” His voice was a mumble against the crook of your neck.

You were whining out a pathetic “yes” as he kept his pace, not holding back. You could feel your release building higher and higher, Mitchell’s fingers getting deeper alongside it. The exposition to your climax felt more intense than you’d ever experienced, and you were reaching for Mitchell’s forearm attempting to steady his movements, but all you were doing was pushing him on further.

“Let it out for me baby.” His voice was shaky, and it sounded as if he was holding back moans of his own.

Hearing him get so aroused by talking you through your pleasure only added to the pressure building in your core. 

“C’mon sweet girl I can feel you. So fuckin’ close.” 

You were writhing below his touch, whimpering and allowing yourself to give into the feeling of Mitchell’s fingers as he deliberately made sure each stroke hit the right spot. The sensation forming in your belly was almost too much to bear. 

Your relief was surging closer to release, like a wave it just kept building and you weren’t sure if you could handle it. And then, with Mitchell pushing into you, whispering little praises into your ear, you were coming undone. The floodgates were opened and your release was crashing over you, intense and all consuming. You were speechless as you felt yourself gushing over Mitchell’s fingers still deep inside you. He was coaxing you through your release, watching as you soaked his hand.

“Mmm look at that baby.” his voice was seeping with lust and he was looking between your bodies in a trance by the mess you were making beneath him. 

“Good girl.” He was growling and slowing the movements as he watched you come down from your high.

You were out of breath and in a state of pure bliss as you stared up at Mitchell. 

“Good fuckin’ girl.” With him looking back at you, you could see the look of pride in his expression, a smug smile on his lips.

“God I’m never gonna be able to get enough of you.” He brought his mouth down to you, locking his lips with yours in a hungrily passionate embrace.

You couldn’t bring yourself to care about the mess on Mitchell’s sheets or the fact that you didn’t think you could form words at the moment. All you wanted was to keep going, to make Mitchell feel just as good as he had made you feel. 

You were pushing yourself onto your elbows and making every effort to find your way to the obvious erection in his jeans. 

As much as Mitchell wanted to spend the entire night fucking you in every way imaginable, he knew it was too risky. Hell, he had almost lost his control before he even laid a finger on you.

While he felt excited by his newfound ability to venture further into this territory with you, he still wanted to take it step by step. He wanted to make sure he could trust himself– that you could trust him. 

“next time.”

He was grabbing your hand and bringing it to his lips, sealing his promise with a kiss to your palm.

You were pouting, but also inwardly thankful for his guarantee of future sexual escapades. 

“Don’t wanna bite off more than we can chew, yeah?” 

He was grinning to himself and leaning down to place a quick kiss on your forehead before hoping off his bed and searching for a towel. 

You sit stirring the cup of tea in front of you in an effort to keep your hands busy. You had found yourself in your best friend’s kitchen on a Saturday night only she wasn’t home. So instead of spending your evening with her, you were now having a cup of tea with her incredibly dreamy father. Although this was a scenario you had dreamt about, you hadn’t come over here expecting to see Declan.

You were here because Taggie had once marveled over the local produce available at the farmer’s market held in town so you grabbed some earlier that morning with the intention of dropping it at the Priory for her. You knew going into town was a bit of a drive for the O’hara’s and you lived a block away from the market, so it was an easy task for you. You showed up at her front door expecting to hand her a bag full of veggies and were instead met by her brutally handsome father.

You hadn’t lived in town long but from the second you and Taggie met there was an unspoken friendship solidified between the two of you. The bond was most likely due to the fact that you were both twenty-something year old girls in a town full of middle-aged married couples. Nonetheless you enjoyed each other’s company. She taught you how to bake blueberry muffins from scratch and you helped her take a step back from her responsibilities and let loose from time to time. It was a win-win. 

What Taggie didn’t know was that you and her father had been shamelessly flirting with each other for weeks. 

It started with stolen glances at Declan when he would walk around the house shirtless. His broad shoulders and hair covered chest had you in a trance, so much so that it took you a minute to notice when he caught you staring. Wearing a smug expression he threw you a quick wink before walking out of the room, his small chuckle echoed in his absence and you knew you were fucked. 

Ever since that day the two of you shared many coy smirks, crude jokes and light brushes of the hands but nothing beyond that. You couldn’t deny how badly you wanted him. You knew it was wrong to think that way about your best friend’s dad. You knew it but you kept thinking about what he would be like in bed. God- you were such a bad friend. 

So now you were sitting in the kitchen of the Priory without Taggie. She had failed to mention that she had a job catering one of Valerie Jones’ parties tonight. Of course, when you realized she wasn’t home you offered to leave the groceries and head back home but Declan insisted on you staying for a cup of tea. You joined him in the kitchen watching his large hands fumble with mugs and tea bags and thinking about other places his rough hands would work well. Jesus you couldn’t even let the man perform a simple task without drooling over him. It would have been ridiculous if it weren’t for the way his lips turned up into a cheeky smile knowing you were watching his every move. The smug bastard knew the ways you thought about him and he relished in it.

“Taggie normally tells me when she has a gig.” You state still stirring your tea.

“This came up last minute” Declan stood at the kitchen counter sipping whiskey, he wasn’t much of a tea guy.

“Even I was surprised. She hasn’t been workin’ weekends as much since you’ve come into the picture” He finishes speaking taking another swig of his drink.

“You’ve somehow done the impossible task of gettin’ that girl out of the house and enjoyin’ her life on Saturday nights. I’ll forever be grateful to you for that.” He raises his drink to you causing a small laugh to leave your lips.

“Yeah well, Taggie’s a good time. I don’t think you give her enough credit” You finally stop messing with the spoon in your hand and take a small sip of the tea in front of you.

“While that may be true, I think you help her come out of her shell. You’re just so-“ he stops and just stares at you for a moment like he’s trying to think of the word he wants to say. 

“lively.” He finally says.

you smile at the adjective. 

“And vibrant and captivating” He abruptly sets his glass on the countertop and begins slowly walking in your direction.

“You’re absolutely stunnin’, you know that?”

You feel your heart begin to race as he comes to stand in front of you. 

“I keep tryin’ to push away the way you make me feel.”

“But it’s impossible to ignore when I walk into a room and immediately feel your presence. So bright and mesmerizing.”

You feel frozen by his words. You’ve played out this exact moment in your head every single night but never imagined it would come to fruition. Now Declan is standing just inches away, the tension palpable.

“Not to mention you’re always fuckin' here.” He waves his hands gesturing to the massive home you’ve both found yourself alone in tonight. “Always around remindin’ me of what I can’t have” 

The words barely come out of his mouth before you’re on your feet slinging your arms around his neck and pulling him down to you. His lips crash onto yours and he wastes no time savoring the taste of your lips. His kiss is hungry and methodical, and you think you might melt. 

He breaks away for a split second,

“We shouldn’t” he says breathless but then his lips are back on yours in an instant, showing no signs of stopping. 

“Declan. Please” You practically beg him to keep kissing you.

It must be the way you say his name because he throws any restraint he previously had out the window. Picking you up and sitting you on the kitchen table in one swift movement.

His hands find their way up your skirt lightly gripping your thighs, his fingertips drawing lazy circles on your skin just inches away from where you really wanted him to touch you. 

He leans in close whispering coarsely in your ear

“I’ve dreamt about this.” 

The attention of his lips shifts from a soft whisper to a gentle kiss right below your ear. 

“Me too” you admit.

Your voice is breathless as he continues placing kisses down your neck every now and again nipping and suckling at the sensitive skin just beneath your jaw. 

“Tell me love, what is it you think about?” He says sending sweet vibrations into the crook of your neck.

“Do you think about me touchin’ ya?”

He runs his hands roughly up and down your thighs pushing your skirt up so that it’s bunched at your hips.

“Do you think about how good I could make you feel hmm?”

The words coming out of his mouth have you all but dripping between your thighs. His hands find the hem of your underwear, playing with the material between his fingertips he tugs them down your legs at a painfully slow pace. 

He pulls away so his gaze is on yours. Your foreheads meet as his hands find their way back to your thighs, carefully spreading them open just a bit more. 

“I think about it constantly” 

He takes his time trailing his fingertips up your inner thighs, so gently that the featherlight touch makes you shiver. The corner of his mouth curls into a smile knowing the effect he has on you. 

You almost squeal when you feel his pointer finger circling your entrance. He keeps it there, taunting you with anticipation.

“How your cunt would feel wrapped around my fingers” 

He lets his digit sink inside you with the slightest pressure. The gentleness of his touch contradicting his dirty words. 

Your eyes fall shut and you let out a soft moan of relief. 

The sound of pleasure causes him to add another finger. He curls them in just the right way making you grab at his forearm and whimper his name. He keeps playing at the spot that elicited such a strong response from you causing you to squirm in pleasure. 

“God you feel s’good. Your pretty little cunt squeezin’ my fingers like that. Can’t imagine how you’d feel on my cock”

You bite back a groan at his words. If he kept talking to you like this, you might cum in record time. 

He picks up the pace of his fingers, moving them at a deliciously perfect rhythm. You squeeze your eyes shut focusing on the pressure building in your abdomen. 

“Look at me love, I wanna see ya.” His voice is low and rough.

You open your eyes and it takes everything in you not to come undone at the sight. His curls falling in his face, his jaw slack, and his eyes clouded with lust.

“That’s it, s’pretty for me” 

You’re putty in his hands at this point, sitting on his kitchen table, legs spread wide, One of his hands on the back of your neck holding you steady the other inside of you. 

As if the carefully arched thrusts of his fingers weren’t enough to push you over the edge, he begins gliding his thumb over your clit. The added sensation makes your body jolt and you fight to keep your eyes open.  

His movements work together like a perfectly timed symphony and you find yourself reeling closer to the edge of ecstasy. You moan Declan’s name again, an indulgent praise, and he groans in response. You’re so close, the tension in your body is looking for release causing your thighs to clench around Declan. 

The fullness of his fingers inside of you and the constant attention on the bundle of nerves between your legs has you seeing stars. But it’s the filthy words he speaks to you that finally finish the job.

“Atta girl.”

“You’re doing s’good”

“Let go for me”

With those words you feel the tightness in your core come undone and let out one final drawn out sound of pleasure. You’re clenching and dripping and heaving and Declan is just staring. Forehead still resting on yours, breathing heavy, he softly smiles and places a gentle kiss on your lips. 

It takes a few moments for you to regain some sort of composure and then you finally speak,

“We’re fucked”

“We are so so so fucked, I can’t believe how fucked we are.” You allow your internal dialogue to spill out. 

Declan just chuckles darkly. 

“Perhaps we are.” He toys with your skirt still gathered at your hips.

“But if we’re goin’ down we might as well have a little more fun.” Chuckling through his words he picks you up off the table so your legs are wrapped around him and begins carrying you upstairs.

“If you thought I was done with ya love, you are sorely mistaken”  

Sunlight spills through the windows, catching on copper pans and glass jars and the thin layer of flour dusting the worktops.

For once, you're not here for Patrick. You’re here for Taggie.

Standing in front of a mixing bowl, you wonder whether cake batter is supposed to look like that. You suspect not, which is precisely why you’re in Taggie O'Hara's kitchen instead of your own.

"I've ruined it," you blow out a frustrated breath, dropping your arms down to your sides.

Taggie glances up from where she’s measuring ingredients, "you haven't."

"I absolutely have," you reply, peering down into the runny goo you’ve created within the few minutes you’ve been left unattended. 

"You haven't," Taggie repeats, sounding entirely too confident in you.

You point at the bowl and she leans over, inspects it for all of two seconds, then gently takes the whisk from your hand.

"You've just put a bit too much milk in, that’s all." 

"Is that bad?" you wince. 

You've been staying with Aunt Lizzie for a couple of weeks now, long enough to learn that half of Rutshire's social life revolves around secrets.

This week's secret happens to be a birthday party.

Aunt Lizzie's party is tomorrow, a day before her actual birthday, and Rupert Campbell-Black had somehow convinced half of Rutshire to conspire against her.

The plan involves a surprise party and a very carefully curated guest list. You, meanwhile, have somehow ended up responsible for the cake.

Only, you can't bake. 

"It’s easily fixed," Taggie's answer comes immediately, comfortingly.

You watch as she adds something from a small bowl. 

"What was that?" you ask, continuing to watch as she mixes it until it looks like normal batter.

"A little more flour."

Thank the heavens above you have access to a professional who’s willing to help. 

You groan dramatically, embarrassed by such a simple mistake, and Taggie laughs, the sound filling the kitchen.

“You are a genius, Tag,” you tell her, the smile on your lips growing when she blushes.

“Oh, not really,” she dips her head down as she pours the batter into a tin, her reddish fringe hiding her eyes from view.

You have a feeling nobody's ever really told Taggie she's smart. 

“Honestly,” you say, scooping up what's left in the bowl onto your finger and bringing it to your lips, “cooking is a real science, baking even more so.”

You are halfway through licking batter off your fingertip when the slapping of bare feet echoes into the kitchen.

"Taggie!" an Irish cadence calls out before Declan O’Hara is stood in the doorway, fresh from the shower. 

“Have you seen my shirt? The white one.”

He’s wearing only a towel, slung low around his waist. Water clings to his hair and drips down his shoulders, entirely ignorant of the effect it might have on any innocent visitors present.

Taggie doesn't even look up from where she’s placing the cake into the oven.

“In the airing cupboard,” she says absently, closing the door and double checking the temperature.

“I looked in the airing cupboard,” Declan replies, each word landing with quiet irritation, carefully contained.

“Then you didn’t look properly.”

He tilts his head to you then, a quiet exhale through his nose, as if protesting the implication that his daughter underestimates his competence. 

You’re still licking frosting from your fingers when he moves, your eyes following him as he leaves without you really meaning to. A delayed, inconvenient realisation hits that you were staring at him the entire time he had stood there.

It’s mortifying, but you could hardly be blamed. How, exactly, did a father of three grown children still look like that?

“So, how are you planning to keep this all hidden from James?” Taggie asks, moving you both on from her fathers brief interruption. 

“Oh,” you snap back into the conversation, a slight flush to your face, “hopefully everyone at Corinium will still be at work, and then everyone at Venturer will have the afternoon off,” you explain. 

You’ve never really warmed to Uncle James, and staying with them these past few weeks has made that impossible to ignore.

He is, quite frankly, an awful husband.

“That’s very optimistic,” Taggie muses, bending down to give her puppy some attention.

“Yeah, well, Rupert's mostly organising that part,” you say, crouching to pet Gertrude, the older dog, before realising your slip up.

Patrick had attempted to catch you up on all the local scandals, but you’re still not really sure what had happened between his sweet little sister and the notorious politician. 

Taggie, however, doesn't so much as blink. She is far too gracious to make you feel awkward for mentioning him.

"That's kind of him," she says, gathering up the dirty dishes to take to the sink. 

“Yeah,” you smile timidly, helping her clean up all the mess you’ve created. 

Taggie glances towards the oven, "I've got the cake from here."

“Are you sure?” you ask, eyes widening,  “I feel like I kinda dumped this on you.”

“Of course,” Taggie smiles, “I don’t mind. Go see Patrick, he’ll still be in bed.”

“You are an angel,” you wrap your arms around her neck in a big hug when you feel her stiffen slightly. She laughs, though, patting your arm like you are something mildly chaotic but ultimately harmless.

You pull away reluctantly, already backing toward the door, “thank you!”

By the time you reach Patrick's bedroom, you're sure the house had acquired an extra corridor since the last time you’d visited.

When you spot him, he is indeed still in bed.

“Hey, lazybones, it’s almost noon,” you flop down on top of him.

“Hey,” he grins sleepily, reaching up to stroke your hair back, “what are you doing here?”

-

The morning of the party begins, as most mornings in the Vereka household do, with James being irritating.

You hear him in the bathroom practising his affirmations in the mirror, which he does religiously each day, reminding himself of his extremely important job as a television presenter for Corinium. 

Tony Baddingham's number one guy. 

Urgh. How does Aunt Lizzie live with him?

You’ve heard about the managing director of Corinium, though never in any context that made him sound particularly pleasant. Tony is a man who apparently runs his company like it is a kingdom and expects everyone inside it to behave accordingly.

All of it is very interesting, slightly intimidating, but not what you need to focus on right now. That doesn't help you get Lizzie to her party.

The difficulty with surprise parties, you are discovering, is that the surprise party has to remain a surprise. Unfortunately, the person being surprised by the surprise party must also somehow arrive at the surprise party and still remain surprised. 

Which means your current task is to get Lizzie to Rupert's house at one o'clock-ish without telling her why she needs to be at Rupert's house at one o'clock-ish.

Eventually, James leaves for work and the house improves immediately, even with the chaos of your niece and nephew getting ready for school.

You stay on the sofa with a bowl of cereal you’ve mostly forgotten to eat, mentally running through the increasingly fragile structure of the day while you wait.

By the time you leave the house, the children are half-cooperative and Lizzie is in a familiar state of organising everyone else’s morning into something vaguely functional.

You fall into step beside her on the walk to the kids’ school, hands in your pockets, trying not to look like someone actively scheming.

For a while, your presence goes entirely unremarked upon. Lizzie's attention is occupied by her children running wild across the Cotswold countryside. 

Eventually she glances at you. 

“You’ve never voluntarily joined the school run,” she says, her tone slightly suspicious.

You shove your hands deeper into your pockets, “thought I'd keep you company.”

“Mhm,” she hums. It's the sort of response that contains absolutely no words of accusation and yet somehow feels vaguely accusatory.

The silence stretches.

“I have a favour to ask.”

“What is it?” she asks, turning her head towards you. 

“Taggie needs something picked up from Rupert’s house,” you say, keeping your tone deliberately casual.

It is, of course, a lie.

“Oh?” is how Lizzie responds, eyes drifting back to follow her children running free rein up ahead. 

“Yeah, and I thought,” you hedge gingerly, “since I don't know him that well and you do, you’d come with me?”

The truth is, you've spent the last several days exchanging secret messages with the older man who happens to be possessed of more sex scandals than you could count on both hands. 

In your defence, every message had been entirely innocent. Unfortunately, "I've been secretly communicating with Rupert Campbell-Black all week" sounds considerably worse than it is.

“It would make it less awkward,” you add, a shy smile barely tugging at your lips.

“He has a reputation, but Rupert’s a good man really,” Lizzie says. She looks at you then and smiles, “but, of course. I'll come with you if you want me to.”

“I do!” you exclaim, then quickly reel yourself in. You need to act casual. So casual.

“Thank you,” you say, calmly this time, though a genuine smile stretches across your face.

As you approach the school gates, Lizzie seems more concerned with shepherding the children through than questioning your suspicious enthusiasm for helping Taggie. 

By the time you're heading back towards the house, the morning has brightened considerably. The rest of the day passes in a blur, and before you know it, it’s already a quarter to one when the all-clear message comes through.

Rupert Campbell-Black: All ready

By just after one o’clock you’re both in the car, heading towards the party.

Rupert's front door is already open by the time you pull up, with him standing there in front of it, waiting.

"Why is he standing outside?" Lizzie asks, leaning over the steering wheel to get a better look at her friend.

"No idea," you shrug, feigning confusion. 

Rupert ambles over with a big grin, on his way to open Lizzie's door. He greets her with a hug and an audible smooch on the cheek. 

The moment Lizzie steps through the front door, the room erupts.

"Surprise!"

There’s applause and at least one party popper that goes off late, and Lizzie's hand flies to her mouth as she stares at the crowd gathered inside Rupert's entrance hall.

You leave her to the inevitable wave of hugs and celebrations, slipping through the crowd yourself.

Taggie catches sight of you first. "You did it!" she laughs as you pull her into a hug.

Caitlin is next, followed by Patrick, who receives an additional quick kiss on the cheek.

You glance across the room, at all the people here to celebrate Lizzie. Most of the faces belong to friends she rarely gets to see these days. Friends from Venturer. Friends James had gone as far as to ban her from fraternising with.

You spot Declan standing at the edge of the crowd, already working his way through a glass of champagne.

He doesn't look like a man celebrating. If anything, he looks like a man making a determined effort not to think about something.

His jacket has already been abandoned somewhere, shirt sleeves rolled up, one hand wrapped tightly around the stem of his glass.

Around him, the party swirls on happily, though Declan appears entirely separate from it.

He catches you looking, lifts his glass, then takes another long drink.

His wife is nowhere to be seen, not that you'd expected her to be. Most of the guests are from Venturer, and Maude O’Hara collaborates with Corinium now.

It's only when you catch him reaching for another glass of champagne that her absence starts to feel more meaningful.

“You did wonderful, darling,” Rupert approaches to wrap his arm around your shoulders, grinning down at you proudly.

“What? You did all the work,” you deflect, dipping your head when you feel your cheeks flush, “and Taggie made the cake.”

Rupert lifts his gaze from you, moving it to where Taggie stands besides you. “Did you, now?” he addresses her.

You slip out from under Rupert’s arm before you get in the way of whatever is happening there. 

By now, you’ve had a few glasses of fizz and are starting to feel it in that light, floaty way that makes everything slightly softer around the edges.

Your heels are long gone somewhere in the reception room, abandoned in favour of bare feet on cool floorboards. There’s no hope of finding them anytime soon, and the need to find the loo is no longer something you can ignore.

When you find it, you push open the door.

Only, the room is already occupied… by your aunt and another man.

They are kissing in that unambiguous, completely unaccidental way that rearranges the room the moment you see it. For one suspended second, your brain refuses to attach meaning to the image in front of you.

Quietly, before they can notice you, you close the door again. Only once it is securely shut again, do you release your breath. 

Crist on a crumpet.

Lizzie Vereker is cheating on her husband with Freddie Jones.

You stand there in the corridor for a second too long, staring unseeingly at wood-paneled walls. 

Under any normal circumstance, this would be exactly the sort of thing you’d feel fairly certain about being against. But, in this moment, you can’t quite summon the outrage you think you’re supposed to feel.

Not that it’s really any of your business. It doesn’t affect your life in any meaningful way. You just want the best for your aunt, who always wants the best for everyone else.

You need somewhere quiet for a moment to process these thoughts, somewhere away from the noise of the party.

The library is dimmer than the rest of the house, all heavy shelves and soft light filtering through old curtains. It feels, briefly, like somewhere the world might not follow you into.

You close the door behind you and let out a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding.

Pressing your fingers lightly against the edge of the bookshelf, grounding yourself in something solid and real, you try to make sense of what you’ve just seen.

That’s when you realise you are not in here alone.

Declan O’Hara is sitting in one of the armchairs by the unlit fireplace, an empty champagne flute dangling loosely from his fingers.

Tilting your head slowly in his direction, you peer at him from underneath your lashes to find that he’s already staring at you.

If you’re being honest, you've had a crush on Declan O'Hara ever since you watched him punch a vicar on live television.

He'd called him a "filthy, hypocritical old git" beforehand, so you'd always figured the Reverend must’ve had it coming.

“Sorry,” you say automatically, turning to leave.

“No, don't," he says, standing as if he should be the one to leave.

You listen and remain where you stand near the door. 

“Are you alright?” Declan studies you for a moment, “is it Patrick?” he asks.

There’s a flicker in his expression as he says it, something sharper underneath the calm in his voice. The suggestion seems to irritate him almost as soon as he’s voiced it, like he’s offended on your behalf by the idea of his son being the cause.

“No,” you say quickly. “It’s not Patrick.”

He nods, the tension easing from his shoulders slightly.

“He’s a good lad,” he says eventually. “Just misguided when it comes to relationships. I suppose Maud and I are hardly the best example.”

There’s something clipped in the way he says it, like he’s bitten the words off before they could soften.

“Oh,” you say, “Patrick and I aren’t really anything serious.”

You’ve never had any illusions that you and Patrick would ever turn into anything. What you two have is just a bit of mutual fun while you’re visiting your aunt, nothing more complicated than that.

“Right,” Declan nods, before the room stretches into silence. 

You watch him, while he watches you.

“So,” you say quietly, “why are you hiding in here?”

Declan's jaw tightens, a flicker of something uncomfortable passing across his face as if he’s just remembered what’s been sitting wrong with him all afternoon.

“It’s nothing, don’t worry about it,” he says, his voice gentle despite the obvious tension to his body. 

You’re still watching him carefully when he looks away slightly, his jaw clenching once more as he mutters, under his breath, “Tony fucking Baddingham.”

“Tony’s here?” you ask, your heart rate picking up at the mention of his name.

You’d hoped to have avoided that man during your visit here, after all the scathing descriptions you’ve heard of him. Now he’s here, uninvited, and bound to ruin your aunt's well-deserved celebration.

“No, no,” Declan steps towards you, “He’s not here.”

His warm palm lays heavily on your bare shoulder, a comforting effort to calm you down.

“He’s been sleeping with my wife,” he explains quietly. 

“Oh,” you say numbly. Do you have any other words left in your vocabulary? If you did, you can’t think of them now.

Declan exhales a soft breath through his nose. A laugh, sort-of. “Yeah, oh.”

The rivalry between Corinium and Venturer is threaded through everything in Rutshire in ways you don’t entirely understand but are increasingly aware of. 

And at the head of it all are Declan O’Hara and Tony Baddingham.

“I’m sorry,” you offer weakly, and Declan squeezes where he's still holding onto your shoulder. 

“I bet you’re an honest man,” you say, keeping your chin down, but moving your eyes up to his. “I’m not sure someone like that deserves your loyalty.”

“It’s not quite that simple,” he grits out, not looking down to meet your gaze. “Maud has cheated on me before, and she always will. I’ve accepted that, I still love her,” he takes a deep, angry breath, “but with Tony fucking Baddingham?” 

You lay your palm on his chest, unthinking. You just want to calm him down, like he had done with you.

When Declan's eyes shift back to yours, his gaze is intense. 

“You’re a good girl, aren’t you?” he asks in a whisper.

When you nod, his focus drifts to where a shaky breath leaves through your parted lips.

“Yeah,” he agrees, holding his eyes there as he speaks, “you wouldn’t ever stray, were you committed to someone,” he hums. He leans down towards you then, closer than you’ve ever been before.

When you shake your head, answering a question he never actually asked, your lips come so close to touching. 

The hand on your shoulder lifts, moving to grab a fistful of your hair. Declan holds it in a gentle handful at the back of your head.

“Fuck, you’re a good girl,” he breathes into your mouth. 

You moan softly and he can’t hold back, crashing his lips down onto yours.

You fall against him, leaning into the kiss desperately when his hand in your hair tightens and his other curves around your waist. 

The brush of his moustache against your tingling, sensitive lips is unlike anything you’ve felt before and you reach up onto your tiptoes to chase it. 

You’re in your own world, kissing Declan O’Hara, so when you are suddenly lifted off the ground as if you weigh nothing at all, you gasp in surprise.

When you wrap your legs around his sturdy waist, Declan hums in response. The sound vibrates down through your whole body, making you shiver. 

You can feel his hardness when you bear down, even through his trousers and all the bunched up fabric of your dress in the way. 

You whine, your lips barely lifting from his for a moment, the need to be rid of these layers between you suddenly pressing. 

“I know,” he murmurs against your mouth, taking a few wide steps backwards with you still in his arms. When you both reach the armchair he was sat in earlier, Declan lowers himself back into it.

You're in his lap now, sitting on his muscled thighs. Your lips leave his, one final lick up to touch the edge of his moustache with the tip of your tongue, before moving down to scrape your teeth at his jutting chin while your fingers fiddle with his belt buckle.

At the same time, Declan's hands smooth their way up your thighs and disappear underneath the skirt of your dress. You look down at the simple cotton, embroidered with tiny daisies around the hem. It suddenly feels absurdly innocent for a moment that has become anything but.

You feel his fingertips trace the lacy edge of your thong and shift your hips forward slightly, encouraging him to touch you there.

“Please…” you beg. Your teeth drag down his throat as your torso falls forward against his.

“Yeah? What do you want?” he asks, his voice the slightest bit strained, his irish vowels just a bit rougher. 

“I don't care,” you whine. He's still not touching you. 

“Tell me, sweetheart,” His thumb strokes so lightly at the fabric over your clit. You barely feel it, yet it still sends a shock of electricity to your core. 

“Yes,” you hiss, “there.”

His thumb presses down harder, resting against your clit as it throbs at the contact. 

“Okay,” he whispers, breath hot against your ear before he sucks the lobe into his mouth and swirls his tongue around it.

His cock is rock hard. You feel it jump beneath where your palm is absently resting over it and instinctively tighten your grip, squeezing it with slender fingers. 

Declan hums, deep and rough, but you need more. You bear down more forcefully against his thumb, moaning wantonly. 

His thumb stays where it is while two fingers from his other hand slip underneath the lace edge of your underwear, stroking you bare. You’re slick and needy, and you draw his fingers in so easily.

“Thats it,” he murmurs roughly, “you’re so wet,” he curls his fingers.

You moan, squeezing his cock too hard in reaction to the intrusion, far too lost in your own pleasure to pay much attention to his.

You swipe under the weeping head of his cock with your thumb in apology. 

“Fuck,” he groans.

Without warning, Declan's hands leave you, his rough fingers trailing along your hips to grasp at your arse with greedy handfuls. When he pulls you closer, the front of your soaked thong meets his bare cock and you both moan.

You push up on your knees slightly, causing friction between you, then tilting your pelvis forward, you rock against his straining length. 

Declan moves one of his hands out from beneath your dress to wrap around the length of hair between your shoulders. He tugs and it forces you to lean back, one arm reaching back to hold onto his thigh in order to stabilise yourself. Your other hand pushes the edge of his shirt up, exposing that impressive stomach as your hips stay grinding against him. 

“Just like that, sweetheart,” He tells you. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous.”

“More,” you whimper, and it’s pathetic. You’re so needy. 

“You want more?” he asks and you nod desperately, unable to answer verbally.

With the hand that was still kneading at your arse, he grips onto the back of your thong, fingers curling into the lacy fabric so he can tug it down and out of his way. 

His eyes are half lidded as he leans back to watch you sink down onto him. 

“Ah,” you gasp at the stretch of it, your nails scratching down the taut skin of his stomach, leaving behind little red lines. 

You try to widen your thighs but are restrained by the lace wrapped around them, until Declan's hand smooths up your leg to rip them off of you. 

“Oh, fuck, urgh,” you moan, throwing your head back as you fall fully onto him. You're pelvis to pelvis, Declans whole length buried inside of you. 

“You’re so fucking tight,” Declan grounds out, rolling his hips against yours in the slightest, most intentional way.

You clench your muscles, pulsing on his cock, and he groans, low and long. When you're ready, you lift your hips before grinding down again.

With one hand now at your waist, Declans other travels up to cup your breast over the cotton of your dress. He squeezes and your stomach flutters in arousal. 

You can hear the wet, squelching sound of his cock moving, but you're frustrated at not being able to see it go in and out, getting slicker and slicker with your mess. Declan, too, seems unsatisfied with being denied full access to your tits.

“Unzip me,” you lean down to whisper breathlessly into his ear, stroking his sweaty black hair back as you do.

Without a word, Declan reaches behind you with deft fingers and swiftly tugs the zipper down your back. He helps push folds of fabric over your head until you are free of it and bare above him, your long hair falling messily around your face. 

The reality of the situation hits, and you realise that you're completely naked in a room with an unlocked door and several dozen people celebrating just beyond it.

Somewhere along the way, Declan's trousers had ended up pooled around his ankles. He kicks them aside now without a second thought, so at least you’re not alone.

He wraps his hands around your waist, helping guide you up and down as he thrusts up into your pussy. Eventually, one returns back to your arse while the other drifts down your side, thumb tugging down the centre of your stomach, over your pelvic bone, and stopping at your clit.

“So close, so close,” you chant, feeling the pressure mount as Declan fucks into you.

“Fuck!” he shouts, hot spurts of cum shooting into you without warning. 

Your hips stutter, dragging slowly against his softening cock as you follow with your own orgasm. 

When it’s over, you follow as he flops back deeper into the armchair, panting against him.

Declan hums in satisfaction, the vibration of it going through your whole body as he strokes your wild hair back.