Lord Aldhelm of Mercia

He hated it.

Every moment he stepped onto the battlefield, he wondered if it would be the day he met his demise. He fought valiantly, yes, every time—but why? Just so he could live and someone else could die? Was it cruel of him to live a life of such hypocrisies?

And then there were days that the thought of death got to him, and not even ale would bring him comfort. On these days, he searched for familiar faces. Finan was fun, yes, but not like the friend whom he's come to know and love. They tended to his emotional wounds like no other. But it was rare that the days and thoughts of death would land on the days they were actually in Coccham.

When he was in Coccham, though, his feet found the familiar path to their humble abode. His lips would say their name so sweetly, and the scents wafting from their home from the freshly baked breads and pies they would always make would hound his nose, reminding him that he was oh so alive.

Death would not have him yet. Not any time soon, if he had a say in it.

You were to thank for that. His perseverance. His need to stay alive, no matter the cost. 

Sihtric slips through your front door with little bit a quick knock just to let you know he was there. You would have heard the horses, heard the people running by announcing their return. 

And of course, you were ready to greet him. 

All smiles, you open your arms to him, and he immediately melts into them, pulling you close and burying his face in the crook of your neck. He smells of rain and mud and blood. A little of it is uniquely Sihtric's, his natural musk evident. He needed a bath, but it would come in time. For now, you held him.

"It is good to see you," you say, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.

He hums against you, unmoving and as still as a tree, feet anchored to the ground beneath him. He breaths you in, feels your body in his hands. The consistent force of man and steel, the agile Dane who did all he could for his Lord Uhtred, reduced to nothing more than a simpering child in your arms. He loves you. He knows he does. 

Now to tell you before his feet grew cold. 

He looks up at you, a soft smile gracing his lips. 

"I must tell you of our battles," he says, hands squeezing your sides. "I must tell you what I learned, as well."

"Come, then. Let me get you a slice of pie and a bit to drink, hm? Then you can tell me while you eat."

He perks up at the mention. "Pie?"

"No meat, but we had an abundance of berries just this morning. I thought a sweet would settle nicely. Had I known you'd return today, I would have done differently."

"What?" he starts, smiling all the while. "No, no, berry is good. I love berry pie."

You fight back a soft giggle, pulling back from his hold. "Go, sit. How much would you like?"

"As much as you're willing to give."

Soon enough, you return to him with wine and pie, grateful you bartered one of your other pies with your neighbor for a bit of wine that morning. It turned out to be a wonderful decision, after all. As Sihtric dug in to his food, he talks through bites. 

"There were so many of them! It was like walking through an army of men completely out of their skulls. May the gods follow them where they lie." He bites back his other words. I was scared I would not return to you. I was scared to die. 

"Sounds as if you've had your fill of blood for the next few weeks," you say, more hopeful than anything. 

He smiles. "Lord Uhtred says we're to stay in Coccham for at least two weeks. He's waiting to hear word from Alfred, and you know how that goes."

"Hmm," you sound out, leaning back against your chair. "And you? Are you planning to stay?"

He quirks an eyebrow. "Where, pray tell, would I go?"

"You must have a woman to go and find," you say, smiling at him. Not out of jealousy or delirium, but genuine care. For all you cared for the man, you could admit that you only wanted him to be happy.

At your words, he nearly chokes on his sip of wine. He sputters, quickly sitting it down to stare at you with wide, heterochromatic eyes. 

"What?"

"Sihtric."

"No, truly," he says, staring at you in disbelief. "Are you—you cannot be serious."

"I am," you say, shaking your head. "I'd like to believe you're not here to waste all your precious time with me."

"I want to waste my precious time with you," he blurts, clearing his throat. "I—" 

He averts his gaze for less than a second. And then, he reaches forward, grabbing ahold of your hand. The gods spur him on. He must tell you for fear of missing out, for the fear of missing you. 

"I'm here to waste all my time with you. But—it would not be a waste. Not if it was with you. My time spent with you, that is." 

He's flustered and blushing, hand gripping onto yours for dear life. 

Your heart pounds in your chest as you stare at him, lips parted in surprise. Or, well, more or less a feeling of disbelief. Was he in earnest? You move to speak, to ask him, but he stops you by speaking himself.

"What I learned," he says, "when I was out there, fighting. I learned that there is something bringing me back to Coccham, and it is not just Lord Uhtred. It is not my friends, not Finan nor Osferth. You—I learned that you are the reason I continue to come back. And I fear that if I do not say something, I will miss out on the chance."

You stare, wide eyed and silent.

"Death is always around the corner. I shall die and find Valhalla one day. Even so, I do not wish to die. Not until I have had the chance to know you as I want to know you."

"You... you want to know me?" you echo, unable to stop yourself.

"I want to love you," he says. "Ah—no, I do love you. Very much."

Heat burns in the core of your heart, weightless amongst the nervous feeling washing over you. You had never felt so seen before this moment, never felt so loved. You could feel it just through his words, through his tender gaze. 

He felt the same. 

He felt the same, and you were sitting here, staring like some daft child—

"I love you," he says, this time much quieter, hesitant even. "I am not lying to you."

You squeeze his hand. 

"I love you, too," you whisper, the confession leaving you breathless and out of your depth. 

This was it. 

Death may be waiting on the other side for Sihtric, but he would face it willingly now, knowing that he spoke the truth in every possible way. He would fight it for as long as he could, but when the time comes, he knows the anxiety he feels now would be nothing compared to the love you have given him, even if you only just confessed. 

He smiles at you, a small, steady thing that is far more contagious than you would like it to be. He leans forward, nose gently brushing against yours. 

"Truly?" he asks.

"Truly," you answer.

He closes the small gap between you, chapped lips pressing against your own. He tastes of berry and pie crust and the sweet wine long since forgotten on the table beside you, lips molding perfectly with yours. 

Or perhaps it had just happened slowly and unnoticeably.

It didn’t really matter how or when, all you knew was that your heart was beating for Sihtric. Unfortunately, Sihtric seemed determined to avoid seeing it, and lately, he seemed even more determined to avoid you altogether. 

If you joined Uhtred's table, Sihtric suddenly remembered an errand.

If you walked toward the training ground, he found a reason to be elsewhere. 

If your eyes found his across the hall, he looked away first.

So when the merchant began courting you, you let him.

Not because you loved him, and definitely not because you wanted him. You were just tired.

Tired of hoping, of waiting, of being overlooked. 

Somewhere between another evening where Sihtric quietly changed seats the moment you sat beside him and another day spent lingering near the training grounds, waiting for a conversation that never came, you finally decided to let go. 

"You cannot keep him waiting forever."

Gisela reached across the table and took your hands in hers. She wanted what everyone else seemed to want for you: certainty, happiness, safety.

You looked down.

"I know."

"And?"

"Tomorrow," you said quietly. "Tomorrow, I'll give him my answer."

You were almost half asleep, lulled by the rain, rustling against your roof, when a frantic drum against your door startled you.

You opened the door and froze.

Sihtric, soaked to the skin, dark curls plastered to his forehead, water dripping from his jaw and streaming down his cloak to a puddle on the ground.

You simply looked at him, and for a long moment he did the same. 

"I tried," he finally said quietly, looking down to his boots. 

"Tried what?"

"To be happy for you."

You stared at him.

"I tried to tell myself it was for the best." He swallowed hard. "That he is better for you.That anything is better than a bastard warrior with nothing to give." 

Your expression slowly changed from surprise to anger.

"Sihtric..."

"He is kind," he continued. "He is safe. He can give you things I never could." 

"But every time I imagined you with him..." his voice cracked and Sihtric reached for your hand. His fingers trembled around yours and before you could say anything, he dropped to his knees on the rain-soaked porch.

"Sihtric, what are you doing?"

"I know I'm too late," he said. "But I cannot let you marry him without telling you the truth."

He looked up at you. 

"I love you. I always have. And I know I should have said something long ago, but even if you choose him or somebody else, even if you never forgive me for waiting this long..."

"I will love you for the rest of my life."

For a moment you just stood there, watching raindrops stream down his face, although you weren’t totally sure these were raindrops anymore then you stepped closer.

Against the bright sun, a rare occasion in these parts, she stepped out into the crisp morning air. Across the property the trees were starting to bud and the flower beds beginning to bloom with colourful life. Taking a second to gather herself, she inhaled deeply, allowing the fresh air to finish the job that coffee had started, in an attempt to wake up.

Mondays.

They were truly the worst.

At least that is how today felt.

After an exasperating weekend of going back and forth with her ex-husband. How many times did she have to remind him – she would speak to him through a lawyer. After the third time he had rang, she blocked his number. The best part about his sudden move to Monaco with his new mistress? He would not be showing up unexpectedly to the house for face to face harassment.

Walking to her car, the pounding sound coming from her right was growing heavy on her. Saws, hammers, and the dull noise of BBC Radio 1A flooding the airwaves was beginning to grate her nerves.

She had hired him to fix a leak in the roof of the sun room. On his first day – two weeks ago, he had peeled back the roofing to find a rotting roof beneath the tiles. Great, now she was in the middle of a divorce and paying for home repairs. Her ex-husband had been the one who wanted the stupid house. Although, secretly she would never admit that she did find the old broken down estate rather charming.

They had bought it – with most of her money and name on the title, smart – for the purpose of a second home. A place to escape city life, when they needed a break. Now her permanent residence.

“Beautiful day.” An Irish timbre greeted her from behind the van where he'd been sorting and cutting beams. Turning to look at the dark haired man with the stupid grin on his face, she relaxed her shoulders and nodded. “Sorry about the noise and the mess, I didn't realise ya were still here.”

“Oh well, my car is here.” she gestured to the hatch back sitting a few feet away from her.

“Aye, but last week ya were picked up by that fancy fellow in the town car.” He called back with a deep laugh.

“I was away for work, he was from the airport.” She shrugged and unlocked her car. Placing her bag in the passenger's seat, she let it shut with a bit of a thud and took a few steps towards the man she'd hired.

Finan.

He had came highly recommended by a handful of people online. They all claimed he was the best that they'd had. His work was impeccable, he was honest, and his prices fair. She'd given him a try out of desperation and because when she'd spoke with him, unlike the three others, he didn't give her an uneasy feeling.

Finan may be a broad, imposing, and rugged man but creepy he was certainly not. From the little bit that they had interacted, she'd describe him as a Labrador puppy. Loud, bouncy, and too kind.

“The airport. Right.” Finan's grin was hidden behind his thick beard. “Anyway, I know that you're busy and I won't keep ya. Before I get too far, Friday ya mentioned another leak?”

“Right, yes.” She nodded, taking a step towards him, then deciding against it in her heels. Heels in soft grass with debris, not a smart decision. “In the kitchen, there is a leak under the sink. I've put a bucket under there for now, but if you have a chance to look at it? You know where the spare key is?”

“Aye, under the purple flower pot by the side.” Finan nodded. “I'll take a look for ya. I'll even scrub up the floor when I'm done, how about that?”

“I don't think that is necessary.” She smirked. “I need to go, but thank you.”

Sitting at work, more than half way through the day, she groaned and rubbed her temples. Staring at the computer screen post meeting from hell was adding to the already wonderful Monday. A text on her phone caused it to chime and buzz against her desk, picking it up to see Finan's name. The Irishman only bothered to contact her when he had bad news.

Reading the message that he had the sun room roof right on schedule – without any additional issues. She heaved a sigh of relief and thanked him for the update. Replying that he was getting onto the kitchen sink next, as soon as he had the last temporary covering on the roof secured, Finan wished her a good day.

Sliding his phone back into his tool belt, Finan balanced on the ladder perched against the side of the house. A few more straps and nails to pin down the temporary covering, until tomorrow, then he was on to the sink and done for the day. Once he was home, it was into a shower and then becoming one with the couch for a few hours, maybe he'd stop by and grab a take away.

Temporary roof secure, Finan carefully moved back down the ladder. Taking his time to pack up his tools, making sure not to leave a mess behind, he did his best to pick up what he could and toss it in the bin. Retreating back to the van for his smaller tool kit, fixing a leaky sink should be a breeze. He'd be in and out with time to spare.

Wiping his arm across his forehead, he huffed in the warm sun, welcoming going inside. Key located, right where she always left it, Finan unlocked the heavy wooden door. Inside was a little cooler, not by much. Taking his boots off – always the gentleman, he wiggled his toes and took the first step across the floor.

Finan had been in the house once, when he had came to see the job and meet the owner. He hadn't spoken to her a whole lot, since, but he liked her. She was quiet, albeit a bit posh. Most city women were.

The kitchen would soon need an upgrade, once the roof was finished, if she was interested then Finan would offer his services. Hell, if she was willing, he'd remodel the whole damn house for her. It was going to require some love. Finan hadn't asked why she had bought the house, only asked about the job he had been hired to do.

Finding his favourite radio app on his phone, he worked better with music, sitting the phone on the bench by the sink Finan opened the doors to reveal the leak. Nothing he couldn't handle.

Shoved under the sink, Finan belted out every single word to “bring it all back” as it played on the radio. Loudly and rather out of tune. Twisting the last nut to tighten it, he grunted and carefully slid from under the sink, still keeping time to the song. The front of his shirt a bit too damp for his liking, he pulled the blue material over his head, balling it up. He had another in the van that he'd put on.

Walking through the front door she had been met with the sound of Finan's voice. What a terrible noise he was making. Bag shouldered she headed for the kitchen to investigate. Packing his tools, shirtless, in her kitchen as he swayed his hips and sang – he certainly looked comfortable.

“Sink fixed?” She asked causing him to jump subtly.

“Just finished.” He turned around with a sheepish look.

“Were you - “ she paused trying to hide her laughter. “you were singing S Club 7?”

“No.” Finan shook his head, his face turning stern. “No I was not.”

“Yes, you were.” She snorted pointing her finger at him. The top button of her blouse undone, she gently played with the gold chain around her neck. “Oh my god, I loved S Club 7 back in the day.”

“Right?” Finan laughed, shaking his head, once again returning to his stern facade. “I mean, I didn't really listen to...”

“Uh huh, sure. I hear you listening to 2000's pop every morning.” Her laughter was light and teasing.

“Guilty.” Finan shrugged with a shy smile. “But I'm telling ya, nothing motivates ya like millennium era pop.”

“You are preaching to the choir.” Her smile grew even wider. Looking at the shirtless man in her kitchen, she felt her cheeks heat up. “So, uh, do I add this on to your bill?”

“Oh, ya know what don't worry about it.” Finan shrugged, placing a wrench in the tool kit. Seeing her about to protest, he shook his head. “It took me five minutes and I was here anyway.”

Rolling her eyes, she countered. “You can't work for free.”

“I'm not, you're paying me pretty well to be here.” Twisting the blue shirt in his hands, watching her try to find anywhere to advert her gaze. She had tried her best not to look at him, standing there, in her kitchen half-dressed. “I was thinking, if you need any more work done.”

Shifting on her stocking covered feet, toes cool against the tile floor, she nodded and bit her bottom lip. “I would love to get a quote from you, but first, I want to see how this roof turns out.”

Finan chuckled, his chest and sides visibly vibrating. She couldn't help but notice, for a bigger guy, he was certainly in good shape. He worked a physical job, of course he would be in shape. Wanting to slap herself for even bothering to notice, she drew deep breath. How soft all of that chest hair looked, clutching her fists at her side, she felt as though she should check her face for drool.

He was a man. Nothing more.

A man, something that she hadn't had in a while.

A man, who was rather rugged. Unlike her ex-husband who always had to be groomed within an inch of his life. She couldn't remember a time when he didn't wax – everything. Ugh.

“So, um...I know it needs some work.” Some how her brain engaged.

Placing his tool kit down on the floor at his feet, Finan leaned back, folding his arms across that incredibly thick chest. “What made ya decide on this place?”

“My ex-husband.”

“Ah. Needed to get away and hide somewhere that he'd never find ya?”

“No, he wanted us to buy it. By that I mean I paid for a large portion and put it in my name. I don't know if it was smart or not.” She groaned and leaned her head back. “He fucked off and I may have gotten fucked over.”

“Hmm. Well, she's got great bones and will be a great place. Once she's fixed up.”

“That's what I am worried about.” She wasn't stupid.

Taking a gamble on an old home was foolish. If she had known that they were to move in, then her husband was going to leave, she would have cut and run first. Since she wasn't able to predict the future, here she was.

“Sinking too much into it?”

“It's beautiful, but is it worth it?”

“Aye, she will be. Ya just need to know how to make her warm up.” Finan glanced around the room. Once upon a time this estate had been grand and with the right care, she could be again. Shifting on the spot, he cleared his throat. “I should be getting home. I don't want to take any more of your time.”

“I'm divorced and living in a rural area, I have nothing but time, once I am done work.” She scoffed with a hint of laughter. “Would you like a drink?”

This was the part where Finan should take his things and walk out the door. Bidding her farewell until tomorrow. Instead, he sighed and threw caution to the wind. At the very least, he should return to the van and put on his hoodie. He was beginning to grow a little self conscious standing here shirtless.

“I...what the hell, why not?” He smiled and raised his brow. “Let me put my things in the van and I will be right back.”

Escaping to his van, still parked in front of the house on the grass, he stored his tool kit and rummaged around for his hoodie. So what if it was covered with paint and putty? Pulling it on, he ran his hand through his hair and checked his appearance in the side mirror. Oh for god's sake, it was a drink after work. He didn't need to look good.

A drink after work, with a client. A bit unorthodox, but Finan wasn't going to turn down the company of a pretty lady.

Hearing Finan open the front door, pausing to remove his work boots, she called out to inform him that the option was brandy or gin. She hadn't been out to the shops in a few days and was lacking in most essentials. At least the essentials that came in liquid form.

“Have a seat.” She motioned to the two stools by the bench. “Here,” she placed the brandy in front of Finan, “you go, Sir.”

“Sir? Oh Jesus, I'm not sure I've earned that one.” he snorted and thanked her for the drink.

“With the amount of work you've been doing, you've certainly earned that and probably more.” She slid onto her stool, legs crossed causing her skirt to ride up around her thighs a bit.

Finan took a quick peek at the garters holding up her stockings, he had assumed that she'd be a full tights kind of gal.

“Doing my job.” Finan shrugged. “Ya know, when you asked me to come do the repairs, I looked up the house.”

“Oh?”

“It used to run on a staff of twelve people, before it was taken over by a gentleman after the second war. He lived here with his family, running it as an art gallery. After that his kids inherited it, leaving you to buy it.” Finan informed her.

“Twelve? Good grief, since I've had it you're the fifth person to be in it.” She shook her head in disbelief. “I don't get much company. My family are all over the place and my friends don't seem to like the country. At least the three that I have left, because I came to realise all of my friends are married to my ex's friends.”

A bit of a tangent, but who was Finan to judge?

“Suppose it happens.”

“Hm, because God forbid a woman has a mind of her own, outside of her husband.” She rolled her eyes and grunted. “So what about you? Wife? Husband? Any friends who have disowned you?”

Finan chuckled, licking the brandy from his bottom lip. “No husband, no wife, and a handful of pretty good friends. None that have disowned me, yet.”

“Aren't you lucky.”

“Maybe?”

Finger tracing the rim of her glass, she sat silent for a moment. Brows raised, she gave Finan a tight smile. Taking another drink, Finan placed his glass down on the bench with a soft clink as it met the smooth stone. Shifting slightly in his seat, he took note of the clock on the wall behind her head. By now, he should have been home, half of a container of Pad Thai shoveled into his mouth, and on his way to the shower.

Not that he was complaining.

It wasn't every day that he got to end work in the company of a woman, an attractive woman, if he was to be so bold? Finan was human, of course he had taken notice of her. Hell, the first time he'd met her had left him feeling a little hot under the collar.

“What is it that you do, when you aren't rescuing old houses?” She asked picking up her drink.

Finan shrugged. In no way was he an interesting person.

“I like to be outdoors. Camping, hiking, the odd time I fancy myself a fisherman, not that I ever catch anything.” His chuckle vibrated around the room. “What about yourself?”

“Nothing special. I used to paint and I did pottery for a while. In university, I tried writing a novel.” Her laugh was soft in a self doubting way. “Back then nobody wanted to read spicy novels, not like they do now.”

“Ah ha. What was it about?”

“Uh, well.” She sucked in a breath, this was embarrassing. “About a woman, who was trying to find who she was. Running away to another country, where she met a man, and had to decide if he was the one or just a holiday fling.”

Finan nodded and smirked. “So was he? The one?”

“I don't know, I didn't finish writing it. Instead, I met my ex-husband and gave up to go be the perfect partner to an egoistic asshole.” Scoffing she leaned back, head tilting to face the ceiling. Feeling a little foolish for even sharing.

“Maybe you need to revisit the story? Find out what happens next? I am certain that ya have at least some idea of how this all works out?” Finan encouraged with a gentle smile.

“Possibly. I know how I'd like this story to work out.” She slowly tilted her head back to face the man sitting across from her. “Shame you put the hoodie on.”

She gnawed at her bottom lip, her pale red lipstick wearing off. A rim of it on her glass. Playing with the gold chain around her neck, Finan had been too polite to notice that she'd unbuttoned her shirt a few more buttons, cleverly exposing full cleavage and the tops of her breasts.

“My other shirt is wet and I didn't want to...”

“Look, I am going to come right out and say it.” She leaned forward, giving him a plain view of the black lace bra that she wore. “If that is too forward, then forget it happened and bill me for the job that you've already done. You're attractive and we're both unattached....”

“I don't know how to respond to that.”

“Women don't hit on you, every time you do a job?”

“Not often.” Finan frowned. “I see em staring now and then, but nothing more ever comes of it.”

“Uh huh. Well, forgive me then. I should have known better than to harass the handy man.”

Holding up his hand, Finan tutted. “Now wait, I didn't say that I didn't like it. Or that I wasn't interested. I said it doesn't happen, often. There's been a few jobs that I've taken...in trade.”

“Hm, what kind of trade?”

“Well,” Finan cleared his throat, leaning closer, his hand on her knee, “one made me frozen meals, enough for a month. She was older and thought I was too skinny. Another came and cleaned my house, for two weeks. Then there was the one who enjoyed my services and thanked me with a bit of cheeky attitude, every afternoon.”

“Cheeky attitude?”

“Ya know, on her knees?”

“Oh, right. Well.” She nodded, downing the rest of her brandy. “I'm more for receiving than giving.”

“Nothing wrong with that.” Finan smirked. “A woman who knows what she likes.”

“A bit desperate is all I am.” Admitting it somehow made it less intimidating, at the same time it made her feel more like a slut. Not that there would be anything wrong with that.

Hopeful that Finan wouldn't be discouraged from coming back, he still had a job to finish. How awkward was she making this? Would he want to come back?

“Nothing wrong with desperate.” countering, Finan lazily shrugged.

“Maybe not, but there is something to be said for a grown woman trying to throw herself at a man. You must think I am insane. I apologise for being out of line.”

“Who said it was out of line? Maybe we should?”

Squaring her shoulders, she narrowed her gaze, face stern. “Should what?”

Finan's laugh was deep and his eyes mischievous, as he spoke his accent seemed to burn through her like a flame through paper. “Ya know what I mean.”

“I want you to say it.” Her voice firm, Finan was certain he saw a twinkle in those eyes. Her smirk was crooked and her breathing growing heavy. On the edge of her seat, she squeezed her thighs together, as his hand moved further up nestling between them.

“Do ya want me to fuck ya?”

“I think you know the answer to that.”

Rubbing his hand over his beard, Finan sat for a breath, before rising to his feet. The stool creaking as his weight rapidly shifted. Standing in the kitchen, he towered over her, as she remained seated looking up at him with that crooked grin.

“Stand up.” He demanded, pulling his hoodie over his head and tossing it on the floor. “Blouse off. Bend over that stool.”

“Seriously?” Unsure she fumbled with the buttons on her blouse, her eyes locked on his stern expression.

“Do as I say, or I'm leaving.”

Sliding off of the stool, legs wobbly, she glanced at the man beside her as she finished undoing her blouse, the soft shirt sliding away from her body and pool on the floor. Nodding to the stool, Finan began to undo his belt. Knelt over the stool, she felt a surge of anticipation hit her. Rising her skirt over her ass, Finan groaned when his work calloused hand landed against her smooth cheek. Gasping as his hand smacked against her ass, she felt herself growing wetter.

“Ya fond of these?” He asked, his finger trailing along the back of her lacy knickers.

“No.”

“Good.” Knickers pushed to the side, she felt the material loosen and the sound of ripping lace met her.

Oh. My. God!

Did he? Oh he had!

Shuttering a her ass was exposed to the world, at the very least Finan and the kitchen, she sank her teeth into her bottom lip. She'd never had a man rip her knickers off before, something about it felt utter cliche and yet at the same time – it was one of the sexiest things to happen. If having her under garments ripped off was that sexy, perhaps she needed to rethink her previous sex life?

Whatever that could wait for another afternoon. One where she was curled in front of the tv in her sweats, indulging in too much wine, sulking because the only time she got to orgasm was when she could find the charger to her vibrator.

Behind her, Finan stood admiring the view. Another smack to her ass, caused her to squeal in surprise. How she enjoyed the feel of his rough hands connecting with her bare skin. The slight sting was enough to make her almost cum on the spot. Ass in the air, bent over the stool, skirt pushed around her waist, legs wobbling in her black garters and stockings – Finan was suddenly happy that he agreed to that drink.

“Think ya can touch yourself without cumming?” His voice echoed through the room, as if vibrating from the pots and pans that hung over the stove.

“I-I think so.” She found her voice, although it sounded as if it were coming from a distance.

“Good girl, go on then.” He encouraged.

Jeans down around his knees, he gave his cock a few good tugs to fully wake it up. Seeing her splayed and bent over the stool certainly helped. Grasping the stool with one hand, she moved the other between her thighs. Slick with wetness, she moaned as her finger dragged along her folds. Back and forth, she could feel the dark brown eyes borrowing a hole through her soul, from behind her. Finan's breathing heavy, as he stroked his cock.

Pinching her swelling clit between her thumb and forefinger, she arched her hips forward, catching her breath for a second before moving her wet fingers in a familiar back and forth stroking pattern. Many nights and some mornings, she had used this technique. A soft moan, as she felt more wetness growing against her thighs.

“That's it.” Finan grunted, fist wrapped around his cock, watching her dip one then two fingers into her wetness. “Finger yourself for me, but remember, I want ya to cum on my cock.”

“Oh god.” she quivered, fingers brushing against her walls. In the bent position, she could feel her fingers reaching places they often missed when she was on her back. “Finan.”

“Yes?” His voice deep and gruff, his balls aching to let go. Not yet. If she had to wait then so did he.

“P-ple-ase fuck me.” begging him as she slid her fingers from her core, whimpering with excitement.

From behind, she gasped when an arm wrapped around her, standing her upright. Taking her wrist and directing her hand to his mouth, Finan made a show of sucking her juices from her fingers. Tongue bathing her hand, sucking each finger, and his beard scraping her palm. She felt her thighs quiver and her body get even hotter. Back against his chest, she could feel nearly every hair brushing against her skin. Reaching around, she took his cock in her hand. Heavy and a little bigger than she had been used to, she inhaled a shaking breath.

She couldn't wait to feel the burn as he stretched her. Stroking his cock, she smirked when his breath caught and his body temporarily stiffened. “Fuck me?”

“Is that what ya want?” His hand against her mound, cupping her heat, his thumb pressed against her clit. She nodded eagerly. “Spread your legs for me.”

Nudging her legs apart with his knee, he bent her back against the stool, steadying her with an arm around her waist. Elbows locked as she held onto the stool, waiting, she closed her eyes as he slid the tip against her folds. Pressing against her clit, she whined, and nearly screeched when he nudged against her opening. Legs somehow holding her upright, she gripped the stool, mouth hanging open in a silent squeal as he took his sweet time.

Nestled against her cervix, she let out a huff of a breath. Fuck, she was already seeing stars. Stretched around him, she greedily wanted more. Pacing himself, Finan stilled allowing them a second to enjoy the feeling. Her walls tight and warm, he bit his bottom lip, suppressing a groan. There was a small chance that he was going to last longer than a few minutes, at the rate she was clenching around him already.

“Do ya like that?” Leaning closer, his words directly in her ear, as his beard tickled her neck.

“Yes.” She nodded, skin prickling from his hot breath against her cheek.

“You have no idea how fucking hot you are right now.” Finan groaned.

“I'm all yours, use me.” Surprising herself at how effortlessly she purred the words to him.

Who was she?

Nearly crying as he slid his cock out of her, before his hips jolted forward almost toppling her over the stool. Arm wrapped tightly around her to keep her from falling, Finan leaned over his lips and beard brushing against the delicate skin behind her ear. Whining, she felt his cock once again dragging against her walls. Each time he thrust forward she felt as though she could stay like this forever, each movement causing more pleasure than the last.

Stretched around him, she felt as though she were suspended in time and space. Losing all senses, except for the desperation that some how clung to her. In the kitchen, the sound of sweaty skin on skin, the smell of sex and the taste of brandy. An assault of pure lust on one's senses.

Finan gripped her hips, rough fingers digging into her skin. Grunting with each thrust, he kept his head low, whispering against her ear. Encouraging her, all while telling her what a dirty slut she was. The accent alone was almost enough to make her lose all control.

“F-fuck,” She hissed as his hips slapped forward, driving his cock deeper, “Finan. Don't stop.”

“Be a good girl, spread your legs a little wider for me.”

“Your cock is...” she gasped. “Fuck, fuck!”

“Fuck you're such a dirty bitch, aren't ya?” He growled, his cock filling her once more.

Each thrust becoming a desperate race to the finish. This was about desire and greed, nothing more than a quick and dirty fuck. Bodies on fire, a spark of raw electricity and bare emotions – if those were to be involved – were heightening each minuscule movement. Dizzy on nothing but pure sex, the pair weren't going to make it much longer.

Chest heaving with heavy breath, she cried out and clutched the stool with white knuckles. A white hot sensation running from head to toe had nearly left Finan in a slumped over puddle, her body keeping him upright as his draped over her back. The sound of wooden stool legs smacking against the floor in time with his final thrusts, seemingly unnoticed by the couple. Her body screamed in total delight as her thighs shook and she clenched around him, her body subtly shaking in release.

A deep moan and a loud whimper, seemed to mark the end of a moment.

Intertwined, bodies unable to move with jelly like feeling. She sighed deeply and made a tiny noise as Finan finally stood, parting them. Taking a moment to admire her spread out with thighs wet, he tucked himself back into his jeans. Clear vision, she slowly rose to a standing position, feeling a warm rush. Unable to speak in the moment, she watched him reach for his hoodie on the floor, belt once again done up, he pulled it over his head and ran his hands against his beard.

If given more time, she couldn't help but wonder what that beard would feel like scraping against the most delicate parts of her body. Rubbing her thighs together, at the thought, she could imagine how raw and delicious it would be.

“So,” Finan broke the silence, pushing a hand through his dark hair, “tomorrow?”

Adjusting her skirt and bra, she nodded and smiled. “Tomorrow, but maybe, I could ask you to stay a bit later? I have some more work for you, once I get home. Upstairs?”

“Right. I will be more than happy to do that for ya.” Finan cleared his throat, giving her a wink.