#englishwritingpractice

The room was still, the only sounds being the faint scratching of your pen and the soft crackle of the candle burning low on your desk. Books lay scattered across the surface, open to pages filled with intricate diagrams and notes you’d carefully scrawled over the past few hours. The faint scent of wax and parchment lingered in the air, familiar and comforting.

The knock on the door broke the fragile silence. It wasn’t loud, just a gentle rapping, but it was enough to pull you from your focus. Your pen stopped mid-stroke, hovering over the page as your gaze shifted toward the sound. A rare disturbance at this hour.

You rose from your seat, tugging at the edges of your skirt to smooth the fabric. The floor creaked softly beneath your bare feet as you approached the door, hesitating for a moment with your hand on the handle. Taking a quiet breath, you turned it and pulled the door open.

"William?" you asked, tilting your head slightly. The faint flicker of candlelight casts shadows over his face, making his expression even harder to read. He stood there, as calm as ever, but something in his stance gave him away—something small, but enough to make your curiosity spike.

"Is everything all right?" you pressed, your voice softer this time. “It’s unusual to see you at this hour.”

"I do apologize," he said, his tone as polite as ever. The golden strands of his hair fell lightly over his scarlet eyes, catching the faint light in a way that made it hard to look away. "But I assure you, I am here on business, not merely for the pleasure of your company."

"First of all, it’s quite rude to leave a guest standing at the door, don’t you think?" you remarked, a quiet chuckle escaping your lips as you stepped aside to hold the door open. Your gaze flickered briefly over the sharp lines of his black cloak, a garment clearly chosen for its ability to conceal more than just his identity. Though your tone carried a playful edge, your posture remained poised, every movement calculated with the kind of grace that bordered on instinct.

You gestured toward the leather armchair by the fireplace, its surface gleaming in the soft, golden glow of the flickering flames. "Please, make yourself comfortable," you added smoothly, your words effortlessly mingling warmth with precision. "I’ll prepare some tea."

William chuckled, a spark of amusement flickering in his scarlet eyes. "Your consideration is truly remarkable," he said, the edge of a playful grin tugging at his lips. "Though, I must say, I’m rather surprised you’d welcome me after such an ungodly hour and finding you, of all places, in your own room."

With a smooth nod, he entered the room, his movements effortless, like he had all the time in the world. His gaze swept the space, lingering on the flickering fire that cast shadows across the walls and shelves. He lowered himself into the armchair with a languid grace, his fingers finding each other almost instinctively as he settled in. "Quite cozy in here," he remarked, his voice laced with dry humor.

Some minutes later, you proceeded to pour hot water into the teapot, which had been previously filled with tea leaves. You presented him with an exquisite fine china cup, worth thousands of pounds, in a serene manner.

William accepted the delicate porcelain cup with a small, appreciative smile, his fingers wrapping around the smooth china with careful precision. He brought the cup to his lips, inhaling the floral fragrance before taking a sip. "I must admit," he said, his voice low and thoughtful, "you truly have a talent for creating...environments." His eyes briefly scanned the room before returning to you. "I hadn’t imagined a study would require quite so much furniture." There was a playful note, but his tone remained gentle, his gaze sharp as he watched your reaction.

He was bold, that much was obvious, and you couldn’t hide the faint smile that tugged at your lips. He had that effect on you — no denying it. There was something about him that screamed genius, that rare kind of brilliance that only comes once in a lifetime. Or, as you liked to joke, a damn mastermind. It wasn’t easy to hide anything from him, though. His eyes were sharp, always watching, always noticing. You could try to mask your thoughts, but he seemed to see right through you, like an open book.

"I realized I was working into the late hours, so I thought, why not make things convenient?" You lifted your cup, savoring a sip of tea, before gesturing casually toward the king-sized bed nestled behind you. A subtle smile played on your lips as you added, "Besides, I think it adds a certain charm to the room, wouldn’t you agree?"

"I assure you, that charm pales in comparison to the owner's," he murmured smoothly, the comment slipping from his lips with such ease that it almost went unnoticed. Before you could muster a reply to his casual flirtation, he seamlessly shifted topics, his tone adopting a more serious edge. "Speaking of pressing matters, did you receive the documents regarding the labor exploitation and trafficking schemes between the French and British elites? Or perhaps any updates from your meeting with the Queen?"

"I wouldn’t say receive—more like acquired by stealing," you chuckled softly, shifting slightly in the armchair beside him, your body moving with a fluid grace as if to shake off the weight of the conversation. "But don’t worry, I’ll fetch them for you, all right?"

Rising to your feet, you crossed the room with purpose, the soft tap of your steps barely audible against the rich carpet. At the mahogany wood drawer, your fingers traced its edge before pressing a hidden button beneath it, revealing a concealed compartment.

William observed the process with a faint, almost amused smile tugging at the corner of his lips. His crimson gaze followed each movement you made, noting the precision and ease with which you executed even the simplest of tasks. It hadn’t escaped him how much more efficient his life had become since forging an alliance with you—an ally who, thus far, had never failed him.

Yet, it was him who messed things up, since your relationship was supposed to be strictly professional. But there he was, lingering in those moments you shared—debating, reading, or planning together. It was like he couldn’t help himself, enjoying it more than he probably should.

He didn’t even notice when she was standing right in front of him, handing over the documents he’d asked for. That expression of surprise lasted only a second, then he masked it, quietly diving into the information like it was the only thing that mattered.

"So, there really is a cartel between the English and French elites, keeping the textile industry under the control of those arrogant bastards." he muttered, his voice low with a tinge of disgust. His lips curled slightly, his tone almost mocking as he continued, "And as if that wasn’t enough, they’re linked to the deaths of workers and the suppression of popular movements."

William let out a dry chuckle, running a hand over his face, his fingers briefly lingering at his temples as if trying to rub away the weight of the revelation.

"Thankfully, you’ve prepared a plan, Liam. At least those monsters will see their power diminished," you said as you reached for the empty cups. With practiced ease, you placed them on a silver tray, the porcelain making a soft clink. Turning back to him, you folded your arms lightly, tilting your head with a hint of curiosity. "So, what’s next? What am I required to do now?"

"Don’t worry about work now. You’ve already done enough, risking your life for those documents," he said, offering you a reassuring glance. His voice was soft, almost gentle, though the edge of his usual sharpness lingered. "Enjoy your rest for a while."

"Are you going home now?" you inquired, watching him carefully. You figured he had accomplished what he came for and didn’t have any other reasons to stay. "Do you want me to call my coachman?"

"I was lying when I said I was only here for business," he whispered, the words slipping out before he could stop them. He shifted slightly, a faint trace of embarrassment coloring his expression. "But, are you willing to listen to what I have to say?"

Was he implying he felt attracted to you ?

You glanced at his eyes—scarlet, like a deep, burning flame—and then, almost involuntarily, your gaze shifted to his lips. There was something dangerous about the way he stood there, words hanging between you both like a heavy fog. The air felt charged, and you weren’t sure whether you were ready to step into it or pull back.

He raised from his seat with deliberate ease, his movements carrying a quiet confidence. He leaned down, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, his fingers brushing softly against your lips as if testing the waters. His voice dropped to a near-whisper, laced with something raw and unguarded. "Please, tell me, name... May I kiss you?"

"Do you really think I would reject you?" you murmured, a playful edge to your tone as you closed the gap between you. Your hands reached up, pulling him into a kiss that was anything but shy. His fingers found their way to your neck, the touch insistent as he deepened the moment, his warmth consuming you entirely.

Without breaking the kiss, he swept you into his arms with ease, carrying you as though you weighed nothing. The world tilted for a moment before you felt the soft sheets beneath you. He placed you down gently, his touch careful, as his scarlet eyes met yours, searching for permission to go further, silently asking for permission.

You answered without hesitation, your gaze and the way you drew him closer saying everything he needed to know.

He then used his lean, slightly calloused fingers to trace along your thigh, moving deliberately. Each touch was firm yet careful, stirring sensations that sent shivers through your body. You tensed under his hand, your breath hitching as his fingers circled the hem of your skirt, playing just at the edge.

The slowness wasn’t accidental—he enjoyed drawing out your reactions, taking his time as if savoring every second. You could feel the subtle pressure of his fingertips, rough but measured, igniting a mix of frustration and longing. A soft sigh escaped your lips, one you couldn’t suppress, and his low chuckle followed immediately after.

“Patience,” William murmured, his breath brushing your ear. His tone carried the faintest hint of mockery, making the flush on your cheeks deepen.

His fingers slid just beneath the edge of the fabric, and the warmth of his touch against bare skin made your pulse quicken. The teasing was unbearable, every nerve in your body screaming for more. The tension was maddening, and finally, you couldn’t hold back.

“Just take this off already,” you huffed, trying to sound commanding but failing to hide the tremble in your voice. Your fists clenched at your sides, as if the small motion could keep you grounded. “Stop toying with me, William.”

He paused, a smirk forming on his lips as he leaned back slightly. His crimson eyes traveled slowly across your form, a deliberate sweep that left you feeling bare under his gaze.

“Why would I stop?” he asked smoothly, his voice low and teasing. “I’m enjoying the view.”

Then, with infuriating calm, he moved his hands to his waist, undoing the button of his pants with a soft click.

"If you’re not going to do it, I’ll just handle it myself." You inverted your positions, placing all your weight on top of him – a silent reminder that you, too, had the strength to equal him.

That surprised him, though not in the way you might have expected—he visibly hardened beneath you. Glancing down, a smug grin spread across your lips, satisfaction glinting in your eyes as he tasted his own poison.

William's pupils dilated when you had the brilliant idea of starting to take off each piece of clothing from your body. He could no longer suppress his desire, not when he finally had your bare skin touching his. "I surrender," he murmured, your name lingering on his tongue. His voice was hoarse with longing, tinged with the faint embarrassment of admitting defeat in this intimate battle.

He gently placed a hand on your back, pulling you closer until his lips captured yours in a soft, deliberate kiss. The tenderness quickly gave way to passion as his lips explored yours with a fervent curiosity, eager to uncover every hidden detail. A low groan escaped your throat when his tongue slipped into your mouth, the intensity of his desire igniting something equally heated within you.

"It seems you're skilled in more than just academics, Mr. Moriarty," you teased, your voice slightly breathless as your lips parted. The unusual fervor in his kiss contrasted with the composed, calculated persona he so often wore, making your remark all the more fitting.

A mocking expression played across his face, silently taunting you, as if to say your situation was no better than his. To stoke the flames further, his fingers began to explore the delicate heat between your folds, teasingly tracing the slickness that had escaped the confines of your now-forgotten undergarments, abandoned somewhere on the floor.

"I can show you many other things I skilled as well, my lady."

Your eyes fluttered shut from the overwhelming stimulation, breaths uneven as your chest rose and fell rapidly. Instinctively, your legs attempted to close, but his firm hands pushed them apart, holding you in place. Without hesitation, his head dipped lower, drawing closer to your womanhood with purpose. "Liam, it's so good. I can't take it anymore," you gasped, your voice trembling and pitching higher with a mix of pleasure and desperation.

He looked up at your face from below, a soft, almost predatory smile tugging at his lips. "Darling, I know you can," he murmured, his voice dripping with desire.

The words sent a jolt through you, your body arching slightly in response. Before you could protest, his tongue returned to its relentless pace, circling your clitoris with maddening precision. Each flick and swirl sent waves of satisfaction that spread like wildfire through your body, leaving you gasping for air.

Your thighs trembled as his hands pressed into your skin with just enough force to ground you while his tongue pushed you higher. When he slid a single finger inside, the intrusion was almost too much, your walls instinctively clenching around him. But it was the curl of his finger — achingly precise, particularly for his first time — that sent shockwaves through your core.

A strangled moan escaped your lips as he found your sweet spot, a sensation so intense it was almost unbearable. Your head tilted back, eyes fluttering shut as the world outside this moment faded into oblivion. The faint rustle of sheets beneath you and the warmth of his breath against your most sensitive skin grounded you, while your thoughts spiraled—momentarily forgetting that you were ever rivals.

"William—please," you gasped, voice quivering. The desperation in your tone surprised even you, but it didn’t faze him. If anything, it spurred him on.

His free hand moved to grip your hip, his touch rough yet reassuring as if to anchor you amidst the storm he was conjuring. The rhythm of his movements was unrelenting, every stroke and flick driving you closer to the edge.

Your breaths grew uneven, each inhale catching in your throat as the tension within you coiled tighter. The only sounds in the room were your soft whimpers and the wet, sinful noises of his ministrations — you felt yourself nearing your release, unable to hold on any longer.

"Come for me, darling. Don't hold back," he urged, his baritone voice coaxing as you reached your peak. A broken moan escaped you as your fingers tangled in his golden hair, pulling slightly to steady yourself, while he eagerly savored every drop of your release.

You let out a soft chuckle, the calming sensation washing over you leaving your body pleasantly exhausted and your head spinning faintly. Beads of sweat clung to your skin as you tried to steady your breathing. William rose from his position, leaning in close. His lips brushed against your forehead in gentle, lingering kisses, a tender contrast to the intensity of moments before.

"I believe it's your turn now. After all, I’m not one to allow imbalance, especially in matters of pleasure," you teased, a playful smirk tugging at your lips as you glanced at him with an air of confident mischief.

He couldn’t help but glance at you, his crimson eyes gleaming with a sadistic edge, that highlighted his mixture of intelligence and a shadowed past—one you had yet to unravel. "If you insist," he said, his voice a low murmur that sent a shiver down your spine, "who am I to deny you this pleasure?"

With deliberate slowness, he spread his legs slightly, the fabric of his underwear tightening just enough to reveal the unmistakable length of his desire. Your breath hitched at the sight, heat rushing to your cheeks, but his gaze pinned you in place, unapologetic.

Placing his hands firmly on his thighs, he leaned back ever so slightly, the motion hinting a challenge. A wicked smirk danced across his lips as he taunted, "Come here—if you dare."

You weren't one to shy away from challenges, so pleasing the infamous Lord of Crime couldn't possibly be dangerous, could it? That question went unanswered as you pushed his underwear down with anticipation, sliding it off his feet before letting it fall to the ground. It revealed the most delicious cock you had ever seen – the tip swollen, a deep pink hue, and the girth, goodness, it could stretch you deliciously.

"I see why you're so popular in society, my my," you teased, your tongue flicking gently along his base. In response, he let out a low groan, his grip tightening on the bed sheets.

"Do you really think I would bed someone who doesn’t share my ideals?" His voice was low, barely a whisper, as you felt his body tense beneath your touch. His eyes closed, a faint hiss escaping him, not from pain, but from the pleasure your actions were bringing. "And do you honestly believe I have the time for endless physical relationships?" His lips curled into a slight, mocking smile, even as he fought to keep his composure. "You couldn't be more wrong."

"So, am I privileged?" Your eyebrow arched in anticipation, a playful challenge in your gaze. As you took the tip of him into your mouth, you circled it with your tongue, feeling the salty taste of his precum linger. You couldn't help but chuckle, the vibrations sending a thrill through him, awaiting his response.

"What do you think?" William murmured, his voice laced with a soft amusement. His hand moved to your head, a gesture both tender and possessive. Slowly, his fingers combed through your hair, savoring its texture as he massaged your scalp in a soothing rhythm. And then, your lips wrapped around him, moving up and down his length in a steady rhythm, your effort evident as you fought to suppress the urge to gag. The stretch and weight of him tested your limits, but you kept going, driven by the muffled groans of your name that escaped his lips.

"Shit, name, you're gonna make me cum," he murmured, his voice hoarse with restraint. But you didn’t relent. If anything, you pushed him further, your fingers trailing down to gently massage his balls, drawing out a low, guttural groan from deep in his chest. Determined, you took him fully into your mouth, the stretch overwhelming but intoxicating, your nose brushing against the soft tickle of his blond pubes as you moved.

And just as he seemed on the verge of release, you pulled away with a mischievous grin, leaving him with a devilish expression. "Little minx," he growled, his voice low and dangerous, "do you really think you're going to get away with that?"

"With what?"

Without hesitation, he slipped his hands behind your back, flipping you beneath him with a swift yet deliberate motion. His crimson eyes burned with unrestrained desire as he aligned himself against your entrance, teasing you with the head of his length, as he rubbed it against your slit. "Now take all of me," he commanded, his voice low and thick with hunger.

Following that, he slammed into you, the slick heat of your walls wrapping around him with an almost perfect fit, causing his length to twitch with raw pleasure. "You feel incredible, darling," he murmured, his voice dripping with longing. With a slow, deliberate roll of his hips, he pushed deeper, his tip grazing your cervix. "So wet and ready, all for me," he added, his words lingering in the charged air before he closed the distance, capturing your lips in an intimate kiss – his hands roaming into your body as he explored you.

While immersed in the kiss, your bodies shifted, and before you knew it, you were straddling his lap. Your hips moved in tandem with his, rocking back and forth, taking in the fullness of his massive length and girth with each motion. Soon, you buried your face in his neck, the aroma of his cologne enveloping you. It carried a sophisticated oud note, warm and smoky, with hints of spice and leather that lingered like a signature of his power. The heat of his skin against your cheek sent a subtle hum through your body, and you couldn’t resist brushing your lips softly along the pulse at his throat, feeling its steady rhythm beneath your touch.

You felt yourself nearing the edge, and it was clear he was too—his brows furrowed, his shoulders rigid with tension. His gaze burned into your breasts, the intensity sparking a shiver through you. His fingers didn’t falter, tracing deliberate, slow circles around your sensitive areolas, the coolness of his skin sending a contrast against your warmth.

Your hands clung to his back, nails tracing faint marks as your body tightened around his cock, your climax spilling around him in a slick, glistening ring. "I... I’m going to pull out now, name," he murmured, his voice strained and pitched higher from restraint. With a sharp exhale, he withdrew, and his release followed—hot, white streaks painting your belly in messy, heated patterns.

The room is still heavy with the warmth of the moment, while William moves with purpose, his hands gentle as they clean you up, the motions slow but steady.

"Jesus, I think we really need a rest now," you mutter, voice low. "Or we won't be able to do any work tomorrow."

He laughs quietly, the sound almost lost in the stillness of the room. His fingers are careful, wiping away with a handkerchief he found in a close wooden corner table any traces of him in your skin, and replied, "it would be perfect, since our bodies need to rest. Now, let me take care of you."

Seeing a nod, William moved with a quiet grace, slipping into his silk pajamas. The fabric clung to his frame just enough to reveal the sharpness of his form, the deep midnight blue catching the light as he adjusted the cuffs with ease.

His gaze lingered on you for a moment, before he stepped closer, his hands gentle as he helped you into your own nightwear. Then, he carefully dressed you, his fingers brushing against your skin as he fastened the buttons.

You lay on your right side, facing the cool edge of the bed, while he settled on the left, a small gap between you that felt oddly familiar. The blanket, thick and heavy with a soft, worn texture, was pulled up to your chins as you both adjusted into place. You reached for the lamp on the corner table, which clicked off with a soft metallic sound, leaving the room bathed in silence and the intensity of each other's gaze.

"I think we overdo it a little too much."

"...."

"I agree."

"Maybe we should just accept it...no?"

"May I ask if you forgot to inform me that you have the ability to read palms?" William’s scarlet yet tender eyes lingered on your complexion, his tone betraying the teasing nature hidden within his words. Despite the sweetness in his gaze, there was an undeniable glint of curiosity.

Being caught in the act by him made your cheeks flush, a warmth rising against your will. You could feel his attempt to uncover the secrets hidden in his pale, slender hand, and you were all too aware that your own glance had betrayed you.

The subtle pink hue on your skin stood out against the reflection of the window, where the grey, cool tones of winter painted a monotone yet striking backdrop. The scene felt frozen in time, as if waiting for your response.

After a brief moment of silence, you managed to find your voice, though a crack revealed your nervousness. "Reading palms is one of my areas of expertise. Were you not aware?" you replied, your words a blend of jest and deflection. "I am quite knowledgeable about the truth hidden behind these lines."

His laugh, hearty yet unusually soft, broke through the cool air of the room. It was a sound devoid of his usual calculating nature, and it tugged at something deep within you. As your fingertips grew colder, the stiffness creeping into them, William moved closer, his steps deliberate. He stopped just shy of where you stood near the corner of the king-sized bed.

"So," he murmured, his tone dancing between curiosity and mischief, "do you believe in pseudosciences? Or is this just a game to keep me intrigued?"

Uncertain of his intentions, you hesitated. His voice carried both mockery and a desire to know you better. Yet what truly unsettled you was the warmth of his hands, which had found their way to your shoulders, tracing soft patterns against your skin.

"No," you replied with a small shake of your head, drawing in a breath to steady yourself. "But I can’t deny it’s fascinating."

William hummed in acknowledgment, his touch never wavering as he moved closer, his presence now behind you. "In that case, may I have the honor of seeing your hand closely? Perhaps I’ll uncover a secret or two of yours."

With care, he took your left hand in his, his gaze sharpening as he examined it. His fingers brushed over the callouses formed by years of writing and paused at the faint marks near your nails, traces of moments when nerves had taken over.

"Let me see," he said, lifting your hand closer to his face. His smile, though soft, carried a knowing edge. "I can suggest that expressing your true thoughts is not your strongest trait. Don’t you think?"

His theory left little room for protest. Before you could respond, he leaned down, placing a kiss on your palm, gentle as a whisper.

It started there, with a touch that was tender and fleeting. Then, his lips found your wrist, lingering just long enough to send a shiver racing through you. Slowly, he moved to your forearm, his kisses deliberate and unhurried, igniting sparks with every step. By the time his lips brushed yours, you could no longer tell where one breath ended and another began.

The two of you collapsed onto the mattress as if the weight of distance had become unbearable. His hand slid into your hair, and his head rested against your chest, his breath warm and steady.

"What does my hand truly reveal?" he whispered, his voice softer now, a question wrapped in both vulnerability and yearning.

Your fingers brushed against his hair, a smile forming on your lips despite the intensity of the moment. "It reveals that even the wounded can find love—if they’re willing to let it in."

His lips found your neck, his movements reverent, as if savoring each moment. Outside, the sky darkened, and the sun slipped beyond the horizon. With every word and every touch, William poured his emotions into the space between you, grounding himself in your presence.