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summary: you didn't know that making a mistake was so exquisite
word counter and tw: (2,4k) smut, age-gap, sex without protection, cheating
It all started by mistake. Or at least that’s what you tell yourself every time you think about it, as if repeating the word could soften the sharp edges of what you did.
It was just an ordinary Wednesday, one of those days when the routine of the house felt heavier than usual. Your mother had left for a night shift at the clinic, and Tom was in his room, immersed in some video game with headphones that isolated him from the world. You had come back from the bar exhausted, feet aching and your body smelling of other people’s cigarette smoke. You went down to the kitchen looking for something quick to eat, and there you saw him.
Simon was sitting at the central island, with a half-finished glass of whisky and his gaze lost on the window overlooking the dark garden. It wasn’t his usual posture, that of a man who always seemed to have everything under control. His shoulders were hunched, his tie loosened and hanging loosely over his chest, and there was something in his expression that stopped you dead in your tracks. Or at least that’s what you thought you saw.
Perhaps it was just your own projection, your own loneliness reflected in him, but in that moment it felt real. He looked vulnerable.
You didn’t plan to approach him. You were just going to walk past, mutter a “good night” and go up to your room. But something made you stop.
You leaned against the opposite counter, arms crossed, and said the first thing that came to mind…
“Are you okay?”
He raised his eyes slowly, as if he hadn’t expected company. His gaze locked onto yours, and for a second you saw something that wasn’t his usual hostility. You saw concern, or at least that’s how you interpreted it. He let out a low, humorless laugh and took a sip of whisky.
“Nothing a good night’s sleep won’t fix,” he said, but his voice sounded hollow.
You didn’t leave. Instead, you took one step closer, pouring yourself a glass of water just to have something to do with your hands.
You talked, or something like it. He spoke vaguely about work, about pressures he didn’t specify, and you listened, nodding at the right moments, asking just enough to keep him talking. It wasn’t real compassion, it was more like an opportunity to see him unraveled, to confirm that beneath that perfect facade there was a broken man like any other. But as you spoke, the air in the kitchen grew thick with something unexpected.
His eyes occasionally dropped to your mouth, to your neck, and you felt a treacherous heat rising across your skin.
You don’t quite remember how it happened. One moment you were standing next to him, the next he stood up, closing the distance. His hand brushed your arm and the silence became dense. He looked at you with an intensity that wasn’t just sadness, but something rawer, hungrier.
And you, instead of pulling away, stayed still.
“You’re too good at listening,” he murmured, his voice low and rough.
You didn’t answer. You just looked at him, and that was enough.
He closed the distance completely, his mouth finding yours in a kiss that started tentative, almost as if testing whether you would reject him. But you didn’t. Your lips parted under his, and the kiss turned urgent, desperate. His hands moved to your waist, pulling you against him, and you felt his erection pressing hard and insistent against your belly.
Before you could process it, you were responding, tugging lightly to deepen the kiss.
Simon lifted you easily, sitting you on the counter, and positioned himself between your legs. His hands slid to your thighs, pushing under your skirt, and he yanked your underwear off in one rough pull, exposing you to the cool kitchen air. You gasped against his mouth, but you didn’t stop him. Instead, your hands moved to his belt, unbuckling it with trembling fingers, freeing his hard, hot cock. You felt it in your hand, thick and throbbing, and a moan escaped your lips as you guided it to your entrance, already wet from adrenaline and forbidden desire.
He thrust into you in one deep stroke, stretching you with a force that made you arch your back and let out a muffled cry. The pleasure was immediate, intense, a fire spreading through your body as if it had been waiting for this moment. His hips moved urgently, thrusting again and again, each stroke hitting that deep spot that made you see stars. Your nails dug into his back through his shirt, and he growled against your neck, biting the skin there with teeth that left a red mark.
It was brutal, but not violent. It was as if he were unloading all that feigned, or real, sadness into you, and you took it, pushing down to meet every thrust, your legs wrapping around him to pull him closer.
“Fuck… yes…” you murmured, voice breaking, as pleasure coiled tight in your belly. His hands gripped your hips hard, guiding you, and one slid between your bodies to rub rough circles over your clit that made you whimper. The sound of skin slapping skin echoed in the kitchen, mixed with your gasps and muffled moans.
You came first, convulsing around him, clenching his cock in rhythmic pulses that made him gasp.
He kept fucking you through your orgasm, drawing it out until the aftershocks made you tremble, and then he came inside you with a low groan, spilling in hot pulses that filled you completely.
Afterward, he stayed still, breathing heavily against your shoulder, his cock still inside you as sweat cooled on your skin. Guilt hit you instantly, a knot in your stomach reminding you that this was your mother’s husband, that this was pure betrayal, but the lingering pleasure drowned everything else. He had made you feel alive, desired, whole in a way no one else ever had. And though you knew you should stop, that this was a mistake that couldn’t be repeated, a part of you already knew you wouldn’t be able to let it go.
Now here you were.
It was one of those nights when the house seemed quieter than usual, as if the outside world had withdrawn to make space for what was happening within these walls. Gemma had gone to a dinner and Tom was at a friend’s house. Simon had texted you that afternoon, “Come to my study at 10.” It wasn’t a question. It was an order disguised as an invitation.
You entered without knocking, as had become customary. He was sitting on the study sofa with a glass of whisky in hand and his tie loosened. The light from the table lamp was dim, casting long shadows across the walls lined with books no one read. He looked at you as you entered, and his eyes traveled over your body with that deliberate slowness that made you feel exposed, desired, claimed. He said nothing.
He just set the glass on the side table and leaned back a little more, spreading his legs slightly in a silent invitation.
You approached slowly, feeling your pulse race in your throat. You were wearing a loose t-shirt and shorts, but the way he looked at you made you feel already naked. You stopped in front of him, between his knees, and for a moment you just stared at each other. His eyes were dark, charged with that mix of residual hatred and need that now defined him.
He reached out, grabbed your hip, and pulled you toward him, seating you astride his lap. You felt his erection already hard against you, pressing through the fabric of his trousers, and a shiver ran down your spine.
You leaned in and kissed him, a deep, urgent kiss that tasted of whisky and surrender. His hands slid under your t-shirt, pulling it off in one smooth tug, exposing your breasts to the cool study air. His thumbs brushed your nipples, hardening them instantly, and you let out a low moan against his mouth. His hands moved to your shorts, sliding them down your hips along with your underwear, and you lifted just enough to let him remove them completely, leaving you fully naked on top of him while he remained dressed.
His eyes dropped, raking over your body with an intensity that set you on fire. “Fuck,” he growled, voice low and ragged. “You’re perfect.”
You looked at him, feeling that rush of power and vulnerability mixed together. Your hands moved to his belt, unbuckling it with fingers trembling with anticipation. You freed his cock, hard and hot in your hand, the vein pulsing under your palm as you stroked it slowly, up and down, feeling it tense under your touch. Simon hissed through his teeth, his hips pushing forward slightly, and that gave you the courage to take control.
You positioned yourself over him, the tip of his erection brushing your wet entrance, and sank down slowly, inch by inch, feeling how he stretched you, how he filled you completely. The pleasure was immediate, intense, a fire spreading from your core to every nerve in your body. You let out a choked moan, hands braced on his shoulders for balance, and began to move.
At first slow, rising and falling with deliberate rhythm, feeling every glide, every friction against your inner walls. It was exquisite, addictive, the way his cock slid in and out, hitting that deep spot that made you see stars.
“Simon…” you whimpered, voice breaking, almost a sob, because the sensation was too good, too overwhelming.
Your hips moved with more urgency now, tilting slightly with each downward motion to increase the pleasure, grinding against him where your bodies joined. You felt the heat of his skin through his open shirt, the beat of his heart under your palms, and it only made it better.
“God, it’s so… so good… don’t stop…”
He stared at you fixedly, eyes locked on your face, on the way your expression twisted with pleasure. His hands rose to your hips, guiding but not fully controlling you, letting you set the pace. But his fingers dug slightly into your skin, leaving red marks that would ache deliciously tomorrow. He growled low, an animal sound that vibrated in his chest, and one hand moved to your breast, pinching your nipple with just enough pressure to send waves of pleasure arching your back.
“Move faster,” he ordered, voice hoarse, but there was a hint of pleading in it, as if he too was on the edge.
You obeyed, speeding up, riding him harder, your thighs trembling with effort. Each downward motion was a delicious impact, his cock hitting deep, brushing that sensitive place that made you whimper uncontrollably.
“Simon… please… oh fuck… yes, like that…” The words came out in broken sobs, your nails digging into his shoulders as you moved up and down, circling your hips to feel everything, to maximize that friction driving you insane. Sweat beaded on your skin, sliding between your breasts, and you felt the orgasm building, a tight spiral in your belly threatening to break you.
He was panting now, hips thrusting up to meet yours with each movement, deepening the contact.
You whimpered louder, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes from the sensory overload.
“I can’t… it’s too much… Simon, please… you’re going to make me…” You didn’t finish the sentence. The orgasm crashed over you like a wave, convulsing your body around him, clenching his cock in rhythmic pulses that made him growl with pleasure. You moved erratically now, chasing the aftershocks, sobbing his name over and over as ecstasy coursed through you.
But Simon wasn’t finished. With a fluid, powerful motion, he gripped your waist and flipped you, laying you on your back on the sofa. He was over you in an instant, his body covering yours, his weight pressing you into the cushions. His still hard cock slid back inside you easily, deep and possessive, and he began to thrust with a slow but relentless rhythm, each stroke hitting that sensitive spot that made you gasp.
He looked down at you, face contorted with pleasure, sweat shining on his forehead. His hands pinned your wrists above your head, immobilizing you, and that only intensified everything. You felt every inch of him, every deliberate movement, and the post orgasm sensitivity made every brush send sparks through your body.
“Kiss me,” you begged, voice a broken whisper, almost a plea. “Please…”
He didn’t hesitate. He lowered his head and captured your mouth in a deep, possessive kiss, his tongue tangling with yours as his hips kept moving, fucking you with an intensity that was both punishment and worship. The kiss was wet, desperate, his lips devouring yours as if he wanted to consume you entirely. You moaned against his mouth, legs wrapping around him to pull him closer, deeper.
He kept thrusting, faster now, his control fracturing as the kiss grew wilder. You felt his cock pulsing inside you, nearing the edge, and it aroused you again, pleasure building once more.
Simon growled, breaking the kiss only to pant against your neck, his thrusts turning erratic.
“Mine… fuck, you’re mine…” he murmured, and then he came with a violent shudder, spilling inside you in hot pulses that made you arch your back.
But he didn’t stop there. While still trembling inside you, he lifted his head just enough to look into your eyes, his ragged breathing brushing your skin.
“Mine,” he repeated, this time lower, firmer, as if imprinting it on himself and on you. “You’re mine. All mine. No one else touches you like this. No one else makes you feel this. Do you understand?”
You nodded, still panting, body sensitive and trembling beneath him.
“Yes…” you whispered, voice cracked from the lingering pleasure and from something deeper you didn’t want to name yet. “I’m yours.”
He stayed on top of you for a long while, breathing heavily against your skin, his hands releasing your wrists to caress your face with a tenderness that contrasted with the earlier intensity. You held him, feeling the aftershocks in your body, heart racing.
Neither of you said anything afterward. You just stayed there, entwined, in the silence of the study.
Part of the same universe series — but each fic can be read on its own
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
(for the next couple of weeks — including other hcs and asks ofc 😘) these are literally just fics i have ready to be typed up :))
BABY BLUES — maekar targaryen x wife!reader
— In which, amid the happiness and chaos of welcoming your newborn, your husband feels a sense of jealousy and neglect on not being able to be alone with you for longer than five minutes. And he makes an effort to act on it. (smut, fluff)
THE STRANGEST THING — blind!baelor targaryen x wife!reader
— After the events of the trial of Ashford, Baelor is left mortally wounded and without his sight. As he regains memory and the ability to walk, he relearns you and your family all over again, and yet it’s as if nothing had ever changed. (angst, fluff)
THE GHOST ON THE SHORE — maekar targaryen x baelor’s wife!reader / baelor targaryen x wife!reader
— You and your brother in law are both haunted by the death of the one person who meant the most to you in your lives. Now you are left to pick up the pieces together, a new future, a new marriage, and something new blossoming under the surface. (angst, fluff, potential smut)
THE SHAME OF LIFE — bf’s dad!simon foster x reader
— When Tom starts neglecting you, his girlfriend, spending more time out late at night without a single text, his father finds ways to comfort you. Because who else better? (smut)
SMILE LIKE YOU MEAN IT — maekar targaryen x wife!reader, aegon ‘egg’ targaryen / mother!reader, ser duncan / reader
— Weeks after the arrival back to Summerhall, you and Maekar are left with a decision to wait for your youngest son’s and his hedge knight’s arrival without a single word, or search for him yourself. And going to find him on your own, the pair of you ended up with more than bargained for. AKA the time you and your husband end up on the road with Dunk and Egg. (fluff, minor angst)
A LITTLE RESPECT — ser duncan the tall x targaryen!reader, aerion targaryen x sister!reader (one sided)
— Dunk intends to prove how much he loves you, adores you, worships you, even if that means a certain someone in between you both, has to watch. (smut)
— —
A/N: ps let me know if you’d like to be tagged for any of these sexies 😘💗
