“Oh my God, Y/N,” Livvy gasped, instantly seizing up with panic. “Your waters have broken! Oh my God, what do we do?!”
“Just help me clean up,” you said, your tone surprisingly calm, already looking for a towel.
“Y/N, we have to get to the hospital like now!” she was practically screaming, the pitch already grating on your nerves.
“Would you relax!” you snapped back. “Jesus Christ. Labor can start hours later. Let me call my midwife.” You walked to the kitchen to get your maternity notes.
“Are you sure it's alright?” she asked, worried, and you shot her an unimpressed roll of your eyes that answered the question for her.
You spoke to your midwife. Since your mucus plug had dropped a week ago and you weren't dilated then, she advised you to rest, get moving, and that walking could help. She wanted you to wait for contractions; if nothing happened in 24 hours, you'd head to the hospital for induction. At 36 weeks, it was early, but the baby was measuring fine in your last scan, and you reassured yourself that her organs were well-developed.
You changed your clothes, opting for leggings and staying in your bra because of the sudden heat, and moved to the living room. You started bouncing and swaying your hips on your ball, determined that this baby was going to come naturally, even though you’d privately thought a C-section was inevitable.
Cillian was nowhere to be found. He always left his phone on his trailer—so utterly typical. He wasn't supposed to get off work until late, so it could be hours before you'd hear from him. You didn't want to bother him until it got serious, but Livvy, ignoring your warning look, quickly texted him just one line: “Y/N’s waters have broken.” She sent it into the void and prayed he saw it soon.
You soon grew bored of the yoga ball, too, and started packing your hospital bag. Elisa’s little bag was ready, but yours was still sitting on the to-do list.
“Just sit down,” Livvy commanded, pointing toward the bed, but you were restless and anxious.
“It’s fine, I can do it,” you protested, but she spread her arms out, blocking the way.
“I’m serious, Y/N. I don’t know how you can be so calm,” she said. You finally complied, sitting on the edge of the bed; your back was starting to kill you.
“Me neither, I mean. I’ve heard horror stories, but my pregnancy has been so… peaceful.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Physically,” you corrected, knowing what she meant.
“Remember that thing with your placenta and all? Where are your knickers?”
“Jesus, thanks, Liv. I’m trying to stay positive here. Left top drawer,” you sighed, knowing you were lying to yourself. It felt like the quiet before the storm.
“Shit, sorry, babe, you know what I mean.” She came over to hug you, and you felt tears well up in your eyes. “I just want you and this little princess to be safe. I love you so much.”
“Me too,” you squeezed her tight. She went back to the drawer as you dabbed your eyes. You were getting hungry and suddenly very hot.
“Aha!” she exclaimed, holding up a delicate, lacy white bodice. You instantly flushed and let out a genuine, teary-eyed laugh. She always knew how to cheer you up.
“I didn't know you still had fun!” she teased.
“Ha! I couldn't fit into those now even if I tried—they’d rip all over,” you joked. She kept rummaging, pulling out a plum bra and panties set, then a grey silk one. “Oh my God, stop, please!” you pleaded, blushing hotly at the rush of memories those sets brought back.
“Cillian’s a lucky man!”
“I bought those long ago, when we first started, actually,” you reminisced, gently rubbing your hand over your belly. You’d had cramps all day, but you thought the baby was just pushing down.
Livvy paused, folding a stack of soft t-shirts and sweats. “Can I say something?” she asked seriously. “I never thought he would stay. Like, really stay and commit. I honestly thought he was going to run away.”
“Yeah, he was a real coward back then,” you recalled, remembering the sharp sting of heartbreak when he’d temporarily bolted earlier in your relationship.
“Good thing he’s not anymore,” she said quickly.
“Yeah, well, let’s see how he manages this,” you scoffed, signaling dramatically at your entire current situation. “I can picture his face when he sees me ten centimeters dilated—just… boah.” You punctuated the image with a gesture of explosive chaos.
“I don’t know how you can do it,” she admitted, looking terrified.
“Me neither, I’m shit scared.”
“Don’t worry, baby, just think how worth it it will be when she’s in your arms.” You smiled, suddenly feeling nauseous and lightheaded. A wave of hunger hit, but you knew it was the hormones as you quickly ran to the toilet and brought up all the lunch you’d just had.
“Shit, Y/N, are you alright?” Livvy rushed behind you.
“Yeah, it’s normal, I think,” you mumbled, dabbing your eyes.
___________________
Cillian had been going through script readings and filming scenes all day. He was deep in the zone, working hard, and in the rare moments between takes, he was either resting or trying to unwind from the intense character he was playing. He, too, was scared. He didn't know how he was going to manage filming a demanding project while simultaneously welcoming a newborn. They were in the middle of production; he couldn't just take two weeks off. He had to be everywhere, and you, sensing his stress, hadn't wanted to bother him too much.
In the middle of a scene change, he felt the familiar urge to check on you, as you typically texted and talked throughout the day. On the break, he strode quickly to his trailer and grabbed his phone. The color instantly drained from his face when he saw Livvy’s single, stark text. He immediately clicked your contact and rang, once, twice, three times—his leg was shaking frantically beneath his costume trousers when you finally picked up.
“Hi, sorry, I was in the loo,” you said, your voice deceptively calm. You settled back onto the kitchen stool while Livvy made some tea and toast for you.
“How—wha—are you okay? Your waters have broken?” he stammered, already pacing back and forth in the narrow confines of his trailer.
“Wha—how do you know?” Your eyebrow knitted together in confusion.
“Livvy texted me.”
“Fucks sake,” you mumbled under your breath. “I’m fine, love, really, nothing yet, and I spoke to the midwife.”
“Y/N, I’m coming home.”
“No, don’t worry, really, it’s fine. The midwife will come to check on me later. For now, just finish your workday, and we’ll see how things are tomorrow.” You knew he would protest. But you were as stubborn as him, and given your short patience these days, he knew better than to push back.
“Okay, fine. I have about two hours left. I’ll try to rush things here.” You could sense his stress mounting—the way he was running a hand through his perpetually messy hair and that little tick of furiously tonguing his slightly crooked tooth.
“Keep your phone with you. I'll text you if anything happens.”
“Kay, bye. Love you,” he said.
“Love you,” you replied. As soon as you hung up, you felt a light contraction start, just like the ones from the past few days.
You spent the hours moving, stretching, and swaying on the floor in the living room while you watched TV. You tried the sofa, the floor, your ball, getting increasingly frustrated. You watched a movie and texted your sisters and mother snapping a quick picture for them.
Your mother called as soon as she saw the message. She talked your ear off rambling about what you should do and how exited she was. You were getting contractions now and just wanted to hang up and jump in the bath to regulate your body temperature and ease the pressure on your groin and back. The pain was getting too strong now, and you couldn’t stay still.
The midwife arrived right on time. She examined you and confirmed that everything was okay. The baby was well positioned, and you were three centimeters dilated. Still too little to go to the hospital.
The pressure on your hips and back was killing you, and breathing through the contractions felt impossible. You didn't know how it could possibly get worse.
“Alright, you wanna play daddy?” the midwife said to Livvy, and she instructed you to get on all fours.
“Sure,” Livvy said eagerly, ready to be useful in more ways than just making endless cups of tea that just made you nauseous.
“Just press on her back and hips with your knees and fists,” the midwife showed her as you breathed heavily.
“Like this?” Livvy asked, unsure.
“Ooh, yeah,” you groaned, the pressure from Livvy’s hands instantly easing the blinding peak of the contraction. The waves were getting harder, sharp and demanding, but the timing was still frustratingly irregular. You closed your eyes, wishing Cillian was here right now. You tried to rest, to eat, to move—but nothing offered true relief. You just wanted this phase to be over, ready to finally be holding your baby with Cillian.
As if summoned by your need, Cillian burst through the door about half an hour after the midwife left. He had his eyes wide and panicked. “Hi, love,” he rushed, running straight to you and kissing your sweaty forehead.
“Hi. You just missed it. The biggest one yet,” you managed to joke, though your hair was sticking damply to your forehead. He’d been worried sick and explained he'd scrambled out early, the cast sending their regards to you. As he rubbed your belly, absorbing the details, Livvy retreated to the kitchen, visibly pacing—you’d think she was the one about to give birth.
“Did you eat? Do you want something?” he asked, already sliding down to massage your feet.
“Mmm, no. Just feel a bit nauseous,” you admitted, tired and weak.
“Just wait here,” he murmured, quickly walking to the kitchen to grab you a glass of water.
“How has she really been?” Cillian whispered, pacing the kitchen floor. He still had his back to Livvy, demonstrating his complete lack of patience for small talk.
“Great,” Livvy hissed back, “but Cill, I think she needs to get to a hospital. It’s better to be there if anything happens. It could be dangerous.”
“I know,” he sighed, glancing toward the living room where he could hear your low moans. “She just won't listen. Thinks she has everything under control.”
Livvy didn't wait for his decision. “Go and get the bags,” she instructed firmly.
He walked into the bedroom to gather the bags and your coat, returning to the living room a moment later. He stopped short when he saw your bizarre position. He laughed confusedly. “What are you doing?”
You were on the floor on all fours, swaying side to side as another wave hit. You were trying to speed up the process and were now really considering going to the hospital.
“She needs to come out the same way she came in,” you gasped breathlessly.
He let out a choked, breathy laugh and knelt beside you on the carpet. “You’ll have to lay on your side for that, y/n,” he teased gently, trying to coax you up. “Come on, love, let’s go.”
“Yeah, we should—AH!” You screamed, the act of standing triggering a massive contraction that nearly buckled your knees from the sheer pain and pressure.
Summary: After waiting for weeks for it, Steve and Bella are off to Wales to enjoy a whole weekend together with no need to hide. But as Steve continues to take more and more medication, Bella struggles with keeping her concerns to herself.
Warnings: 🔞 Smut inc. some slightly rough stuff and voyerism (can you be a voyeur if you're looking at yourself? Maybe that's exhibitionism...anyway, it's dirty! Enjoy!). Themes of infidelity, childhood neglect, substance abuse and past serious drug addiction - more notes on this at the end.
Massive thanks to @peakyscillian for beta reading. Cassie also belongs to her, and you can read her story HERE.
Word count: 12,375 PART 6 | SERIES
7. Reflection
Working back to back night shifts on Wednesday and Thursday - to cover your own, as well as the first of the night shifts you owed Andy - wasn't exactly the build up you would have chosen ahead of going into a weekend away. Particularly as Shy had woken you at three in the morning the night before, having one of his habitual nightmares, and although you got him settled faster than usual, it took you a long time to get back to sleep.
"You look done in," remarked Amanda, catching you in a succession of gaping yawns that you were doing your best to hide behind your sleeve.
"M'fine," you replied, yawning again and she eyed you with concern.
"What do you have this afternoon?"
"Karl, Shy and Benny for top set, and then one-to-one with Tarone."
"That's it?"
"You need me to cover something?" you asked, praying she would say no. The idea of running around playing football made you want to curl into a ball and weep.
"No, I want you to get out of here and get some rest, you've got a big weekend."
You looked at her sharply, heart beginning to race, and she frowned.
"With your sister?"
"Oh! Shit, yes, you're right. Christ, I'm so tired I genuinely forgot," you sighed, scrubbing a hand down your face. "I'll need all my health and strength for that one."
"Have a lot of stuff, does she?"
"It's not moving stuff I'm worried about," you said darkly and she laughed.
"Get yourself away after classes, we'll cope without you for one afternoon."
"Well, as long as you're sure, I'm not going to say no," you smiled, the moment short-lived as shouting erupted down the corridor, swiftly followed by the distinctive sound of crashing of furniture.
"Fuck's sake," Amanda grumbled, striding out the door, voice raised in warning.
*****
Packing up your stuff in your room after an exceptionally painful session with Tarone - his mood had been worsening for weeks and none of you could get a handle on why - a shifting of the light next to you made you jump. Looking up, you found Shy standing beside your desk, twisting the cuff of his green hoodie between his fingers.
"Jesus christ, Shy!" you exclaimed, clutching your chest as your heart made a bid for freedom. "You can't sneak up on people like that!"
"Sorry," he mumbled, still fidgeting with his sleeve, head dropping to dodge your eyes.
"It's ok, I just didn't hear you come in. Do you need something?"
"Nah, it's fine," he said, barely audible, beginning to back towards the door.
"Hey, c'mon. I'm sorry, you just caught me by surprise. What is it?"
"I've got that thing you asked for."
You quickly cycled through the many things he could be talking about and he must have seen it in your eyes because his face clouded.
"The tape?"
"Oh fuck! Yes! Sorry, my brain's having a hard time today. You're joking, you really made me one?"
He shuffled his feet, mouth turned down. "You asked for it."
"I know," you said, coming round your desk to lean against the edge nearest him, smiling broadly. "I just thought you'd think it wasn't worth it for someone as naff as me."
He cracked a half smile and your heart soared at this extreme display of emotion.
"Yeah, well… figured you probably only listen to shit, so you need it."
"Cheers," you laughed, reaching out to take the cassette tape he was proffering at you, turning it over in your hands. The track list was written on the sleeve in his small, precise writing, 'Wild Bluebells' inscribed along the spine in a swirling, artistic font. Popping it open you found some of his characteristic artwork decorating the inside of the sleeve, supplemented by tiny bluebells.
A lump lodged in your throat.
"Shy… this is amazing," you said quietly.
"S'nothing really."
"No, it's really not nothing. It's brilliant. Thank you so much."
He shrugged, hands shoving into his pockets, startling when you quickly wrapped him in a hug.
"Thank you," you said again, giving him a light squeeze before pulling back to a more respectable distance.
"Yeah… well… don't fast-forward anything, it'll sound shit if you do."
"I promise," you said, giving him a little Girl Guides salute and tucking it carefully into you bag, just as the bell began it's shrill clang.
"You'd better get going or you'll be late for Owen," you said, shouldering your bag. "Thank you, Shy, I really appreciate it."
Proud mortification painting his features, he nodded, and slunk quickly out of the room.
*****
"Oooh, I almost forgot, I have car music," you said, rummaging in your handbag for the small plastic case. Steve had picked you up earlier than planned after your early escape from Stanton, and you were already over the Severn bridge and speeding along the M4 through Wales. Finally finding it, you popped out the tape that was already in the deck and slotted in the one from Shy.
Immediately the little vehicle was flooded with the - slightly tinny, thanks to it's below-average speakers - thudding of heavy drum and bass.
"What the fuck is this??" Steve shouted over the noise.
"Shy made it for me," you called back.
"Shy??"
He turned his head fully to look at you and you pointed at the road.
"Try not to get us killed before we even get there, eh?"
"Shy made you a mixtape?"
"Don't say it like that," you replied, pulling a face.
"Like what?"
"Like he's made me a 'mixtape'." Your fingers curled mockingly in mid-air.
"Sorry, is this not a mixtape?" he shot back with a grin.
"Fuck off," you huffed, sitting back with your arms folded, music thudding in your bones.
"Well why was he making you a mixtape is if it's not a 'mixtape'?"
"Because I asked if he would."
He fiddled with the knob, turning it down slightly so you could hear each other better.
"You asked him to??"
"I thought it would be funny. But maybe also pretty good? He, Benny and Nabz seem like they know what they're doing. Besides, I thought he could do with a little project. He's been quieter since half term, don't you think?"
Humming in agreement, he reached across from the gearstick to rest his hand on your thigh, squeezing gently. His palm was warm through your jeans, and you covered it with yours, linking your fingers through his.
"Doesn't feel real yet," he said quietly. Or rather, just loud enough to be heard over the thrumming baseline.
"What doesn't?"
"A whole weekend, just you and me. No colleagues, no kids, no interruptions."
Warmth blossomed in your chest, seeping slowly through your veins.
"Is it weird that the thing I'm looking forward to most is—"
"The beach, I know, you've only mentioned it four hundred times."
"No," you laughed, squeezing his hand, feeling heat climb to your cheeks as the confession lingered on your tongue. "Being able to go out for dinner. Or just walk around together… not having to hide, y'know?"
He lifted your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles lightly. "No, it's not weird." Forced to relinquish it to change gear as the traffic in front of you slowed, he glanced quickly at you, tongue flicking across his lips. "I can't wait to be able to kiss you in public."
"Ok, but that is weird," you grinned, the warmth in your chest joined by dancing butterflies, laughing when he flicked his middle finger at you.
"I'll turn this car around if you can't behave."
"Oh yeah?" You reached across the central consol and rubbed your hand lightly over his crotch, earning a sharp intake of breath. "You sure you want me to behave..?"
*****
The journey should only have taken a couple of hours but a crash on the motorway delayed you for what felt like forever. The lack of sleep overtook you as you finally began to speed up again and when you woke you were on small country roads, weaving down towards the south coast.
By the time you pulled into the car park at your hotel in a small seaside town, the sun was already beginning to disappear across the bay. Climbing out you stretched your arms high above your head and groaned, stiff after sitting still for so long. A bracing wind blew in from the sea, the fresh salty tang filling your lungs. In the twilight, the beach was only just about visible on the other side of the road.
"Are you coming?" he asked and when you turned he was smiling, hands full of luggage.
"Let me help," you said, hurrying to relieve him of your bag but he tutted you away.
"Go on ahead and get the door, I'm fine."
The hotel itself was a handsome, rambling old building, the white painted stone facing out towards the bay. The large reception area was softly lit, built around a grand flowing staircase that spoke of a bygone era.
There was an awkward moment checking in, where the receptionist referred to you as his wife and you felt him stiffen next to you before you slipped your arm through his with a smile and let her believe she was correct.
"Sorry about that," he mumbled as you waited for the lift.
"It was weird hearing her use your surname. Let's not do that again," you replied, nudging him lightly in the ribs.
"We'll just call you Mrs Steve from now on then, shall we?"
The lift chimed as heat rushed to your face, something stuttering in your chest.
Mrs Steve.
Upstairs, he unlocked the door with an old-fashioned key, and held the door open for you to pass through first. It was much larger and grander than you'd been anticipating, decorated in muted cream and honey tones, the seemingly antique furniture darkly polished. Everything in the room was arranged so to ensure that anyone lying in bed would have a clear view out of the wide bay window. With darkness falling outside and the light in the room, it was a struggle to see anything other than yourself in the glass, but cupping your hands against it to peer though, you thought that perhaps in the morning you would be able to look right out across the bay.
"Jesus christ, Steve…" you mumbled, turning back towards the room and dropping your handbag on a nearby armchair while he set your bags down by the wardrobe. "This must have cost a fortune."
He smiled, cheeks tinging pink as he came across to where you stood, wrapped his arms around you.
"Worth it."
"Won't she—"
"No. I don't want to talk about her, not when we're here."
"I thought we were going to be making plans…"
He pulled back and cradled your face between his hands.
"We are. But not right now and I don't want to have to discuss her any more than strictly necessary. This weekend is about me and you, not her."
He kissed you gently and you leaned into it, wobbling when he pulled away faster than you'd anticipated.
"Right," he said briskly, a glint in his eye. "We've still got a bit of time before dinner and I think we should start as we mean to go on. Get those curtains closed and take your clothes off."
*****
It was surreal to be walking through the streets of the little town holding his hand like it was the most normal thing in the world. No one even looked in your direction. Passing an estate agent's window, you stopped to nosy and it took half a second for him to realise, tugging your arm slightly as he carried on without you.
"That one's pretty," you commented, pointing at a little cottage in the corner as he reversed his steps to join you.
"You'd want to live here??"
"You never play the 'what would you buy?' game??"
His reflection in the window smiled back at you, and he slipped an arm around your waist, keeping you warm with your back tucked against his chest.
"Ok, well if we're doing that, we should do it properly. What about that one?"
He pointed at a much larger property with a price-tag that would never be within reach of either of you, even if you combined. Not unless one or both of you had a dramatic change in profession, anyway. Or maybe perhaps if you won the lottery.
"It doesn't have a sea view though."
"So fussy," he teased, pressing a kiss into your hair. "Well if that one's not to m'lady's liking, what about that one?"
You spent several more minutes debating the relative merits of various properties you would never own, his fingers linked through yours against your stomach, lips and beard occasionally tickling at your neck.
"Come on, we're going to be late," he said eventually, nudging you by the waist and you fell into step beside him again, his hand warm in yours.
It was still only the middle of March, and being out of the school holidays and high season, the town was quiet, but the little bistro he ushered you into had a nice low-level Friday night buzz, the cosy interior wrapping itself around you after the crisp chill outside.
"I keep thinking someone is going to see us," you said after your waiter disappeared with your orders, taking a sip of the wine he'd just delivered.
"Me too," he chuckled before reaching across the table for your hand. "This," he continued, thumb stroking a circle in your palm, "somehow feels like the most risky thing we've ever done in public."
"And that's really saying something," you giggled. "Lorna's face the other day in the laundry room. I swear she knows you were knuckle deep inside me seconds earlier."
Out of the corner of your eye you saw the man at the table next to yours glance sharply in your direction and you turned to meet his stare, slowly raising an eyebrow.
His already ruddy cheeks darkened in hue and he looked away hurriedly.
Steve tried and failed to muffle a cough of laughter behind his hand and you shook your head at him, grinning and raising your glass.
"To us. Happy Wales."
"To us," he agreed, eyes crinkling at the corners, lightly clinking his glass against yours.
*****
His fingertips dug into your hips with a bruising grip as you rode him, nails dragging across his chest.
"Careful," he warned through ragged breaths, hips rising to meet yours, pushing him impossibly deeper and you cried out, not caring whether anyone in the next room might hear you.
"Seriously, Bells, don't," he said, catching your wrists and lifting your hands away from him, fingers interlocking so you didn't lose your balance. In their wake you could see the red crescent moons you had left behind on his flushed, freckled skin.
He groaned when your cunt clenched around him at the sight.
Pushing himself into a sitting position, he manhandled you onto your back, on his knees as he slammed back into you so hard it made your head swim.
"If you can't be trusted to behave," he mumbled, hitching your legs up over his arms, the change in angle sending dots dancing across your vision.
"You could always tie me up again," you gasped out with a wicked smirk, and he smiled dryly, shaking his head.
Undeterred, you tried rocking your hips against his driving rhythm, reaching to up to let your nails trail down his chest again he groaned, dropping your legs to grab your wrists, pinning your arms above your head.
"I said stop," he ground out, barely audible over the desperate whine that left you; in leaning forward to pin you to the bed, the thick tip of his cock was pressing mercilessly against your gspot.
"Oh fuck…there…fucking… harder…" you whimpered.
But he stopped moving altogether, hovering above you, his weight balanced on your wrists, a sly smile creeping across his face.
"I told you in the car there'd be trouble if you couldn't behave."
"Steve…c'mon…please..."
His cock twitched heavily inside you at your thin whine and he shifted so he was circling both your wrists with one hand, dragging the fingertips of his free hand down the side of your face and over your lips.
"Open."
He barely had to say it before you had parted them, his fingers invading your mouth, skin vaguely salty on your tongue. With a faint roll of his hips, lights exploded across your vision and he pushed his fingers further into your mouth until you made a muffled choking sound.
"If your pretty little cunt didn't feel so fucking good, I'd be in your mouth right now and you could just wait."
A keening noise rippled out of your throat and he moved his fingers, sliding across your tongue until salvia began to gather at the corners of your lips, slipping down your chin.
He gave another roll of his hips, harder this time, more deliberate and a desperate moan choked against his hand.
"Should I make you get on your knees? Cum all over this pretty face?"
You were slipping, even without the delicious friction of movement, just having him buried so deeply inside you was dizzying. At his words, your body unintentionally jerked against him and you both groaned, darkness flickering across his eyes.
"I thought I told you to behave?" he almost growled. "That's it, on your knees."
In a heartbeat he slid out of you, his fingers pulled roughly from your mouth and before you knew what was happening, he was practically pushing you to the floor, the thick carpet plush against your bare knees. With his hand on your chin he gripped his cock in the other, tapping it against your lips until you let him press into your mouth, sliding deep.
"Fuck…" he groaned, hand curling into your hair, hips rocking against your face. Bracing your palms against his thighs you tried your best to keep up, not to gag, your chin damp with your own salvia, feeling it dripping down your chest.
He swore again, huffed out between ragged breaths, having to tug your head back by the hair so he could pull back fast enough, the familiar tang already coating your tongue before it fell in warm ribbons over your face. A small amount landed near your eye and you swiped it away, so you could keep them open, staring up, open mouthed, as he pumped the last of it onto your waiting tongue.
"Jesus fuck…" he sighed, the relief palpable on his face, cock still semi-hard in his fist. Licking the small dot from your finger you stuck your tongue out to he could see the pearly liquid pooled there before you made a show of swallowing.
"You're enjoying that too much," he chuckled, smearing a trail of cum over your lips with his thumb, groaning softly when you licked it away.
"What can I say," you shrugged, pushing yourself your feet, legs a little wobbly. "You're just not very good at devising punishments."
Your spit and his release lay stickily on your skin, but you made no effort to remove it.
"But that's besides the point - you have unfinished business."
With a wry shake of his head he followed as you hopped back onto the bed, legs hanging over the edge, spread wide to welcome his face between them.
"Reckon if I said no, that would be a better punishment," he winked, warm palms pushing your thighs further apart and dragging his tongue between your slick folds.
"Shit!" you hissed, head falling back against the bed, arching up into his mouth. "Well, it would be… but that really all depends how well you want the rest of this trip to go, doesn't it?"
*****
The next morning dawned bright and clear, blue sky and sunshine that promised a warmth they couldn't match. Undeterred, bundled up in coats and scarves, warm and full from an overly-indulgent breakfast, you finally made it to the beach.
"Happy now?" he asked as you picked your way over the softer sand, sinking and wobbling your way towards the shore with glee.
"Could you sort out making it a bit warmer?"
"Look, it's not pissing it down, that's the best I can do."
Flashing him a grin over your shoulder, you stopped just short of the wave line, closing your eyes and breathing deeply, letting the salty air fill your lungs and pull at your hair.
"Fuck, I love that smell."
"Bristol harbour smells like that."
You opened your eyes and fixed him with a look. "Fuck off, it does not."
Laughing, he wrapped his arms around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder.
"We hardly ever got to come to the seaside," you said quietly, covering his arms with yours, leaning back into him.
"When you were a kid?"
"Yeah."
"I grew up in a rubbish little town on the south coast of Ireland. The beach was about five minutes from my house."
"Seriously?" you exclaimed, twisting to look back at him, wide-eyed. "You're so lucky!"
"Nah, it was shit. I couldn't wait to leave."
"How can it have been shit if you had the beach?? You ungrateful bastard."
He laughed, the rumble warm against your spine and you relaxed back against him once more.
"I remember when me and Bonnie were about six, our grandparents brought us down to the coast. We stayed in a caravan right by the dunes and I never wanted to leave. It was nothing fancy - in fact that's an overstatement, it was the smallest caravan you've ever seen with four people crammed into it - but I loved every minute of it. I cried the whole way home. And then when we got back, our mum clobbered me for banging on about how great it was."
He squeezed you a little more tightly, lips pressing against your temple.
"I was thinking about that when I was in Barcelona. I could never have even imagined just deciding one day to get on a plane and just going to another place, just like that. That something like that would be allowed, or even possible."
"Yeah, no one went abroad on holiday where I grew up," he agreed. "Except for the O'Rourkes. Posh cunts." He chuckled quietly against your hair.
"There were no posh cunts where I grew up - the only people with the money to go abroad for their holidays were the criminals," you laughed. "I remember me and Bon being insanely jealous of Jacqui Downy having one of those braids in her hair when she got back from Spain. You know the ones where they wrap the coloured thread around it?"
"Oh yeah, the girls got those when we went to Menorca last summer."
"Posh cunts," you giggled.
"Says the woman who's just had an impromptu mini-break in Barcelona," he shot back, tickling you in the side until you yelped.
"We tried to do it ourselves at home," you continued, settling back in his hold. "Unsurprisingly, it did not work. And we'd nicked the thread out of our Gran's mending box and she was absolutely livid. Chased us round her flat with a slipper."
"Some day I'll take you to Menorca and get you one," he chuckled.
"I'll hold you to that," you smiled, turning in his arms, the wind whipping around you, ruffling his hair.
"Thank you for this," you said, kissing him softly, butterflies dancing in your stomach at how open and brazen it was to kiss him in public.
"I love you," he murmured as you pulled back, cupping the side of your face, thumb stroking across your cheekbone.
"I love you too," you whispered back, looping your arms around his neck and kissing him again.
*****
The beach stretched out into the distance and you ambled slowly along the length of it, your fingers linking with the hand that hung loosely from where his arm was slung around your shoulders.
"Have you had a chance to think about it all now then..?" you asked tentatively when he still hadn't mentioned anything to do with leaving Helen and the far end of the strand was almost upon you.
The thumb that had been absentmindedly rubbing against your fingers stilled and you glanced sideways at him to see his jaw jump against his stubbled cheek.
"Steve…I know you don't want to talk about her, but we said this weekend was going to be for—"
"I know," he said quietly, drawing his arm away from you as he rooted in his pocket. The now familiar plastic crunch of a pill packet rustled in his pocket and he quickly fired it into his mouth, swallowing it dry.
"Do you need to turn back? I don't want you to hurt yourself," you said quickly.
How many was that since you'd woken up? Three? No, four? More..? You tried to push the rising worry back down where it came from.
"I'm fine."
"You're clearly not fine if you need pain relief."
"Bells, I said I'm fine."
You stopped walking at the snap in his voice and his face immediately crumbled in apology.
"Sorry, sorry. I didn't mean to… I'm fine. Honestly, it's just a niggle. Look, there's a pub up there—" he said, turning to point back up on the shore. "Let's go and get a pint and some lunch and we can talk. Ok?"
Mumbling your agreement, you let him take your hand, leading you higher up the beach to a small wooden-slatted path that led to the road above.
The pub was busier than you'd expected given how sleepy the town had seemed the night before, but the bright day had clearly drawn people out into the air - or a pub near the air anyway - and it hummed with a low roar of voices and laughter, the five nations rugby playing on TVs dotted around the place. Squeezing through the crowd you managed to find a small table tucked in an awkward corner, just two low stools on offer.
"Will your back be ok on that?" you asked as he set down the drinks and an assortment of crisps.
"I'll be grand. Sorry, they don't do food so this is the best I could find."
"It's fine," you shrugged, tearing into a packet of salt and vinegar, ripping it open to spread wide on the table to share. "I'm still a bit full from breakfast."
Smiling, he copied you, laying out a packet of ready salted and you took a long sip of your beer.
"Ok, come on then, tell me what you've been thinking."
Spreading his hands on the table with a small sigh, he nodded.
"It's difficult."
"Well, yeah, of course it is."
"You're probably not going to like it."
"Try me."
"I have to think about what's best for the girls…"
"And you think I wouldn't understand that??"
"No… no, I know…I just… I can't fuck up their lives like this and be working the way things are at the moment. It's too much - my idiot work sons take up too much of my time and energy."
You gave him a half-smile and reached for his hand.
"It has to be in the holidays then, right?"
He nodded.
"That's ok, Easter's not that far away. Barely even a month."
He cleared his throat and took a swift slug from his pint.
"Easter's not long enough."
You slid your hand away from his, straightening on your stool.
"Meaning..?"
"It needs to be the summer."
"The summer?! But—"
"Please, just let me—"
"That's months from now, Steve!"
People near you turned to look and he winced, reaching out his hands towards you, imploringly.
"Please… please, just listen."
You sat back away from him, folding your arms, jaw tight.
"Easter is only two weeks long, Bells, and then I'll be straight back into the mayhem at work. I need time - time to tell Helen, which probably is going to be shit for us both, and time to work out with her how we tell the girls. I'll have to move out, I need to know where that is."
"There's always my house," you said quietly and he frowned, fiddling with the ragged edge of the nearest crisp packet.
"I need somewhere the girls have a room." He cleared his throat. "Somewhere just with me." Your feelings must have been written all over your face because he swallowed quickly. "I mean, it wouldn't be right for me to move them in with you right away, would it? It's going to be messy and confusing enough for them. And that's why I need to be around to move, and help them get used to the change, and everything else that's gonna come with this whole fucking mess."
"I'm a fucking mess??"
"No, c'mon on, that's not what I meant and you know it."
"Steve," you said, biting the inside of your cheek, "if you don't want to do this… it wasn't my idea… if you're having second thoughts I'd rather you just told me."
"I love you."
"That's not the same thing."
He dragged a weary hand down his face, fingers fidgeting in his beard.
"Bella, please, I'm so fucking tired. The lads… I can't do it all at the same time. It'll fucking kill me. I'm just trying to be honest."
"Just say you don't want to and stop pretending."
"That's really not what I'm saying."
"You want to wait until July, Steven. It's fucking March!"
"Can't you even try and see where I'm coming from?!" he snapped, hands banging on the table, making you - and several others around you - jump. He held up a hand in apology and people returned to their drinks, but you could feel them watching you out of the corner of their eyes.
"I do," you said quietly, swiping a drip of the condensation trickling down the outside of your pint glass. "I guess I just… when you said it before, I thought it would be sooner. That you weren't talking about carrying on having an affair for the better part of another five months. I don't know how I feel about that."
"It hasn't seemed to bother you so far," he muttered.
"It was just sex before," you shot back, eyes narrowing. "You're the one who stopped it being that. I told you I wasn't looking for anything."
"So why is waiting longer such a problem?"
"Because you told me you loved me!"
Heads turned again and you huffed out a sigh, standing abruptly and gathering your coat, bag and pint.
"Bella… where are you—"
Ignoring him, you started pushing your way outside, desperate to get away from prying eyes before the tears that were pressing in your throat made an appearance on your face.
The beer garden was almost empty, only a few hardier souls braving the bracing breeze off the sea with their drinks, and you dropped down at a weather-beaten picnic table as far away from anyone else as you could get. Slurping shakily at your pint, you dashed irritably at the tears that slid down your cheeks.
"Bella…"
You hunched further into your coat and kept your back turned, not looking up when he sat down across from you.
"I'm sorry. I don't know what I'm doing here, ok?"
"Don't use that voice on me."
"What voice?"
"Steve of Stanton Wood. I'm not Riley, I'm not throwing a fit because someone looked at me wrong."
"I don't know what you want me to do, Bells," he sighed, dropping his head into his hands, elbows on the table.
"Just be honest with me."
"I thought I was being honest."
You lifted your head and he met your eyes.
"Do you even want to leave Helen?"
"Yes," he replied without hesitation, gaze unwavering, and you nodded slowly.
"I don't know if I can do this for another term, Steve. It's going to be so much worse for you when she finds out it's been going on since Christmas. I understand wanting to protect the girls, please believe me, I do. I don't want to be part of fucking them up. But do you seriously think this is going to work?"
"I…don't know. I just don't know what else to do," he said quietly, eyes dropping to the table.
"Every week that goes by that we keep doing this increases the risk of us getting caught and then you'll have no control over it at all."
"So what are you saying?"
You shrugged slightly, taking a sip and letting the bitter bubbles settle on your tongue before you swallowed.
"Maybe we need to stop? Until you can leave her."
Anguish flashed across his eyes and, in what appeared to be an almost unconscious movement, he rifled in his pocket, pulling out a blister-pack of the little round pills like the ones you'd found, and chewed one right out of the plastic. He didn't even take a drink to swallow it.
"You want that?" he asked hoarsely.
"It's not about what I want. They're your kids."
"I need you."
You smiled slightly, a heaviness crushing in your chest. Opening your mouth to reply he carried on before you could finish your attempt to form words.
"I'll leave her at Easter. I'll figure it out."
"No, I don't want—"
"I don't want this to stop," he said fiercely, reaching across the table to take your hand in both of his. "I don't want to be without you."
"You'll still see me almost every day."
His head cocked to the side, sadness dragged heavily on his features.
"You know that wouldn't be the same. And do you think we'd really be able to keep our hands to ourselves..?"
"I think if you tried very hard. Aren't we always trying to teach the lads impulse control?" you smiled, your fingers gently linking through his.
"Now who's using their Stanton voice?"
You laughed quietly and he smiled, the soft kind that crinkled his eyes and made butterflies erupt in your stomach.
"I don't want to force you into something you don't want."
"I want you."
He let go of your hand and got up, coming to sit beside you, legs slung either side of the bench so he was looking at you.
"Easter then?" he asked, cupping your cheek when you turned to face him.
"Easter," you agreed, letting him lean in and catch your lips in a soft, slow kiss. He drew back slowly, hand still resting warmly on the back of your neck, thumb drawing teasing little strokes along your skin.
"So…" you said slowly, a cheeky smile sneaking across your face. "Did you leave those crisps inside?"
*****
He'd booked a table for dinner in the hotel that night, the old building's former ballroom converted into a beautiful dining room, the high ceiling decorated with ornate plasterwork, delicate chandeliers suffusing everything in a shimmering, golden glow.
"Are you sure I look alright?" you mumbled, tugging at the hem of your dress, suddenly self-conscious about how much thigh you had on show. It was one of Celia's and it had looked perfectly fine when you were packing, with her sitting on your bed talking you up. But now you were here it seemed unsophisticated and out of place.
"You look beautiful," Steve replied, dropping a kiss to your shoulder, his hand warm in the small of your back as you were shown you to your table. You did an awkward little dance with the smiling maître d' when he pulled your chair out for you when you weren't expecting it, and with heat flaring to your face you managed to get settled, grateful for the flowing white tablecloth hiding your legs from view.
"Relax," Steve smiled, reaching for your hand, thumb smoothing over the inside of your wrist. "You look stunning."
"Just don't let me make a tit of myself using the wrong fork or anything."
"Bold of you to assume I've a fucking clue myself," he laughed, squeezing your fingers and letting go as a waiter came to fill your water glasses and offer you menus. Behind him, another of the staff appeared, bearing a tray with two delicate flutes of champagne. Smiling, she placed them down on the table and you frowned at Steve.
"What're—?"
"We're celebrating," he said, the staff dissolving away once more.
"Are we?"
"Are we not? It's not every day we get a whole weekend alone."
Shaking your head at him, you lifted your flute and clinked it gently against his with a light crystalline ding.
"Now you're just showing off."
He smiled warmly over his glass as you both took a sip, the bubbles dancing crisply on your tongue.
"I love you," he said quietly and it was as though the bubbles had migrated from your glass to your chest.
"I love you too."
He insisted you do the full three courses, apparently not interested in sparing any expense, though you fretted silently about how he was possibly going to explain such an extravagance to his wife. Before dessert, you excused yourself to go to the loo and as you wended your way, somewhat unsteadily, back towards the table you saw him popping two pills into his mouth, washing them down with his wine.
"Everything alright?" you asked as you sat back down, smoothing your dress over your thighs, trying to tug it closer to your knees.
"Why wouldn't it be?" he replied, brows tightening slightly.
You opened your mouth to remark on the pills but as you drew breath to speak, your desserts arrived and the moment passed.
"Can I interest you in any teas or coffees?" asked the waiter as your dishes were cleared and you shook your head, Steve doing the same.
"Could we get the bill please?" he asked instead.
"You have to let me split that with you," you said when it was delivered, even though you feared the prospect of much it might be. But he'd already refused to let you pay towards the hotel, or dinner the night before, so really it was only fair.
"Absolutely not."
"Steve, c'mon, I know where you work, stop pretending you're loaded," you laughed, reaching to take the slip of paper from him.
"No way," he said, snatching it back before you could see. "This weekend is on me."
"Don't be silly, it's for us both. Let me share."
"Not a chance," he said stubbornly, covering the page with his hand like one of the lads at school trying to stop the other boys from copying his answers, as he added your room number and signed at the bottom.
Shaking your head at him, you sighed.
"Stop looking at me like that."
"You're being ridiculous."
"Why am I not allowed to spoil you? This is the last two and half months of drinks and dinners and fucking, cinema tickets or whatever, in one. I never get to take you anywhere, so please, stop looking at me like that and just, I dunno, say 'thank you, Steve',"
"Thank you, Steve," you parroted back in a silly high voice and he rolled his eyes. "Sorry… thank you, really. It's been lovely. You're very sweet when you want to be."
"Not all the time?" he winked, standing and dropping his napkin on the table, reaching for your hand as you stood as well.
"Well… I'm not sure I'd call what you did to me last night very sweet," you giggled in his ear and he flushed bright pink as he led you across the room and back towards the stairs.
*****
He had you pushed against the wall the moment the door closed, tongue sliding into your mouth, your hands tangling in his hair.
"Is it sweet you want then?" he mumbled against your lips, squeezing gently at your waist.
"Not necessarily," you replied, humming appreciatively when his hand crept under the hem of your skirt, warm against your skin. Lifting your knee to his hip his fingers roamed until he was cupping the curve of your behind, groaning against your mouth when he found you bare.
"Fucking hell," he rumbled, pulling back to look at you. "Have you not been wearing anything under this the whole fucking time?"
Biting your lip, you ran your thumb over his, smoothing away the traces of your lip colour. "No, just since dessert."
"And to think you're allowed to work with children, you dirty girl," he muttered, grinning darkly, smothering your laughter as he kissed you hungrily.
"Come here, I need a better look," he said as you came up for air, gently dragging you across to stand in front of the long, freestanding mirror in the corner. Slotting himself behind you, you watched in the reflection as his hands smoothed down your sides, following your curves, until he reached the hem of your dress. Flicking a glance up to his face, you caught the dark gleam in his eye, leaning back into his lips against your neck.
"Look how fucking beautiful you are," he murmured, slowly lifting your skirt until it skimmed your upper thighs, making you shiver. "Just look…" Raising it higher, your absence of underwear came into view and he groaned, the sound reverberating against your spine, making a small moan slip from your throat. Bunching your skirt at your waist in his fist, his other hand stroked delicately over your bare thigh and up to your hip, tracing the crease down towards where you were already aching for him.
His fingertips hovered just shy of your pussy and you could feel the wetness gathering, his cock beginning to dig into your back. Flicking your tongue over your lips, mouth suddenly dry, your heart raced in anticipation.
"Hang on," he muttered, hand dropping and pulling away from you.
"What?? No…" you whined, reaching to stop him and he let you pull him back into a needy kiss.
"Just wait, I'll just be a second," he said, extricating himself from your hold. "Go and get on the bed."
Too turned on to try and make sense of what he was doing, you did as you were told, wriggling your way into the middle of the bed.
"Not so far," he said and you finally realised what he was planning, watching him strain to drag the heavy mirror across the room.
"Fuck, you're gonna do yourself a mischief, let me help," you said, quickly clambering off the bed to help him.
"This was sexier in my head," he huffed with amusement, for once not fighting you and you realised why when you started helping him shift it. It weighed a fucking tonne.
"Here good?" you puffed, bringing it into position at the foot of the bed.
"As any. Go on, up you get."
He swatted at your bum and you giggled, climbing back up into position. A cracking sound made you turn and you saw him throwing another pill into his mouth.
"You should have let me help you from the start."
He rolled his eyes, swallowing it down and began to unbutton his shirt. Crawling over to him, you sat up on your knees, taking over undressing him.
"I could kiss it better," you winked, his shirt landing on the floor, his belt rattling in the loops as you pulled it free. Dropping it to the floor, you traced a fingertip down the trail of dark hair that led from his belly-button down beyond the waistband of his trousers, his erection straining against the fabric.
But he shook his head and cupped you face between his hands, kissing you gently.
"I want tonight to be about you."
"Because it's so rarely is about me?" you smirked and he rolled his eyes, ushering you further back across the bed, shedding his trousers and climbing up to settle himself behind you, gathering the pillows to help keep him upright as he positioned you both in front of the mirror once more.
"I want you to see you how I see you," he mumbled, his lips on your neck as he ran his hands down your body, squeezing your breasts, making you arch against him. "How fucking gorgeous you are."
Pulling your skirt back up, he parted your thighs, opening you up to you both in the mirror.
"Touch yourself," he murmured, taking your hand and resting it over your bare pussy. "Like that night in the office."
Biting back a moan, heat flaring across your skin, you did as he asked, easing your fingertips down to your core to gather your wetness, sliding it up and over your clit. He made a low groan of approval behind you, your breath catching in your throat as you rolled circles across the sensitive little bundle, your slick-coated skin glinting in the low light.
"Not so fast."
With a quiet whimper you tried to comply, slowing your pace, need prickling under your skin and curling up your spine. His hands slid over the front of your dress, cupping your breasts again, thumbs searching for the telltale firmness of your nipples beneath. You gasped, arching slightly, when he found one and then the other, dragging his thumbnails across them, the friction delicious through the fabric.
"Let's get you out of these wet clothes," he smirked and you stopped what you were doing, sitting forward to let him ease the zip of your dress down your spine. It slid down your arms, pooling at your waist and as he made short work of your bra, you quickly wriggled out of the dress, chuckling it unceremoniously on the floor.
Oh well, it needed a wash before you gave it back to Celia anyway.
Resting back against his chest, relishing the feeling of his skin against yours, you tipped your head back to kiss him.
"Where were we?" he smiled, hands on your thighs, spreading them wider until your legs were draped over his. "You're not looking," he added, brushing his lips over yours again briefly, his fingers sliding between your slick folds and over your clit
"Oh fuck…" you whimpered, eyes dragging back to the mirror, both watching and feeling his hand gently caressing across your most sensitive parts.
"Look how wet you are for me," he whispered, lips ghosting along your neck, the tickle of his beard making you shiver and pulse. Holding your eyes in the mirror, he lifted his hand, his fingers already glinting with your arousal.
"Don't stop," you mumbled, clutching at his forearm, trying to push his hand back to where it had been, and he chuckled throatily in your ear.
But he did as you asked, slightly rough fingertips dragging tight circles across your clit, fast and slow, never setting a rhythm you could fully relax into. When your eyes slipped closed at the pleasure sparkling through you, he scolded you softly, teeth on your neck until you opened them again and watched him dismantle you.
His free hand danced across your breasts, teasing the firm buds, and stroked lightly over your heated skin, until he brought it down to join the other. You choked on a moan, watching as it took over on your clit, the first dipping lower, pressing against your core.
"See how well she takes it," he murmured, easily sliding two thick fingers into you, stretching you open. "You should see how pretty she looks wrapped around my cock."
You choked on a moan and felt his dick twitch where it pressed against your lower back. Struggling to catch your breath, you could only watch as he pumped lazily in and out of you, his fingers shining in the low light. Dragging them against your walls, he brushed across that spot inside that made you jolt, a wicked light in his eyes when you managed to force yours open again.
"Always so pretty when you're about to cum for me," he murmured and your cunt tightened, hips rutting urgently against his hands and the slick roll of his fingertips. "Look," he urged, lips on your neck. "I want you to see what I see."
Breathless, head spinning, flames licking up your spine, you tried your best to keep your eyes open, blurrily watching him fuck you with his hands, his movements punctuated by the wet sounds of your arousal. Your own fingers gravitated to your breasts, hearing him groan quietly behind you as you started teasing the stiff buds, stroking and squeezing just hard enough to make you whimper.
"That's it," he urged, adding a third finger, your cunt stretching to accommodate in the mirror in front of you. "Let me see you touch." He stopped rolling across your clit to grab one of your wrists, pulling your hand down between your legs. "Make yourself cum."
With a whine, your fingertips flew across the little bundle of nerves, his fingers stroking you from the inside, and your thighs began to quake. His cock pressed thickly against your back, twitching in his underwear as you began to slip and with a string of incoherent cursing, the dam broke, washing you away, dripping down to his palm.
"Good girl," he mumbled, lips curving against your neck. Blinking hard, head still buzzing from the rush, you met his eyes in the reflection. He smirked and heat burning across your skin as he pushed your thighs apart from there they had clamped around his hands, showing you the mess you'd made when he pulled his fingers from between your legs.
"Fuck, I—"
You choked on your words with a whimper when he smeared your orgasm over your pussy, your skin glinting slickly back at you in the mirror.
"Beautiful," he smiled, trailing damp lines up your stomach towards your breasts.
Twisting your head you arched back, fingers curling into his hair to bring his lips to yours in a fierce kiss, tongue pushing needily into his mouth, a groan rumbling against your back.
"Fuck me," you mumbled against his mouth, kissing him again until you were forced to move, to help him with the awkward struggle to remove his underwear when you were lying on top of him. His cock sprung up thickly against his stomach and you began to turn to straddle his lap, stroking him gently.
"No," he murmured, catching you by the waist and easing you back to face the mirror. "I want you to see."
"But—"
Large hands gripped your hips, lifting you up and back towards him until his cock pressed up, sliding between your sticky folds. You both mumbled obscenities at the feeling, his thick tip nudging against your clit, your previous orgasm painting his flushed skin.
Lifting yourself higher, planting your hands on his chest, behind you, to keep your balance, you watched in the mirror as he guided himself into you.
"Am I hurting you?" you gasped out, mouth falling open as you watched your body stretching wide around him as the inches slowly disappeared inside you.
He let out a low groan wreathed in amusement.
"Christ no, you're not hurting me… jesus fuck, would you just look at that…"
You could see him behind you in the reflection, craning his neck to see around you, to watch as you began to move, rocking your hips to slide along his cock.
"'D'you see how beautiful you are?"
The graveled reverence in his voice sent a hum running through you and you glided down onto him more slowly, hips grinding in a circle, toying with him until his breath was coming in short bursts, his fingers bruisingly tight at your waist where he helped support your weight. Holding yourself just on the tip, rocking lightly, you smiled at the way his mouth fell open, the pink flush that had spread across his freckled chest up to his cheeks.
It wasn't something you would normally say about yourself, but in that moment, you felt beautiful. Powerful.
And then he pushed his hips up, filling you entirely in a single, hard stroke, robbing you of breath.
"Fuck!"
Wrapping a heavy forearm around your middle, he held you still, fucking up into you, until his cock gleamed with your arousal and your thighs burned with the effort of holding yourself in position. Open-mouthed, gasping, whining, struggling for breath, you did your best to keep watching as he buried himself in you over, and over, and over again, each devastating thrust angled perfectly to meet that sweetest spot, stars bursting across your vision.
"I'm…I'm gon—" you whimpered, unable to get the words out before you unravelled. The force of the orgasm that overtook you, forced him from you, his hips still rutting upwards, dragging his length through your folds and over your over-sensitive clit, making you cry out weakly. Limbs like jelly, you would have collapsed back into him had he not had hold of you.
With a soft kiss to the base of your neck, he guided you gently, easing you forward until you were able to catch yourself on your hands and knees. The bed dipped as he moved behind you, a mumble of over-stimulated protest slipping from your lips when he ran his fingers over your wet, twitching cunt, making you jolt when he slipped them over the swollen little bundle of nerves.
Leaning forward to hover over you, fingers still casually toying with your leaking cunt, he brought his head level with yours, tenderly kissing your shoulder.
"Keep your eyes open," he murmured, meeting your lips when you turned towards him, before pulling back and guiding his cock back into your tight core.
With a moan that was more of a wail, you immediately failed to heed his words, burying your face in the bedding, fingers curling into the sheets at the overwhelming feeling of him filling you completely.
Thick fingers tangled in your hair, gently tugging your head up.
"I said watch," he ordered softly, groaning when your cunt tightened around him in response.
You did your best to keep your eyes open, too lost in the exquisite feeling of him to be embarrassed by how your mouth hung open in dogged pants, or how your make-up had been smudged wantonly over your face. Your hair still in his grasp, you pushed up on your hands to arch back towards him, your breasts rocking with every deep snap of his hips, hard nipples occasionally grazing against the bed, the air filled with the scent of sex and the wet sounds of your pleasure.
"So f'king pretty," he groaned, his rhythm stuttering, hand falling from your hair to grab at your waist, your ass, pushing at the soft flesh so he could glide even more smoothly into you and watch your greedy cunt devour each and every stroke.
Your head dropped between your hands as you felt the waves come for you again, yelping when he slapped your bum sharply, the clenching of your cunt making him groan.
"I said watch…" he huffed out between ragged breaths.
But no amount of instruction could stop how your vision was clouding at the relentless drive of his hips and with a high, wordless whimper you slipped over the edge once more, collapsing forward to bury your face in the sheets as you shook, his still arrowing cock sending aftershocks ricocheting through you. Gasping for breath you lifted your head just in time to see him follow you, his face contorted into a mask of pleasure as his thrusts stuttered to a stop, pushing deeply into you as he filled you with his release.
He slumped forwards, sweaty forehead pressed to your back, rapid breaths hot against your skin. Kissing along your spine, he recovered himself and pulled back, murmuring softly.
In the mirror, your heartbeat finally nearing something akin to normal, you watched as he bit his lip, a slow grin of satisfaction spreading across his flushed face.
"What..?" you asked and he glanced up, eyes dark.
"I could watch that all day," he replied. You jumped slightly as his fingers grazed between your legs and then he held them up for you to see, coated in white.
"Pervert," you chuckled, shifting so you could roll onto you back, stretching out your arms towards him. He settled next to you, holding up his sticky fingers with a cheeky grin. Opening your mouth, you let him press them against your tongue, swallowing the salt-sour tang and he groaned in appreciation.
"And I love that too."
You laughed softly, coaxing him down into a kiss, not caring that he could likely taste himself on your tongue. He probably got off on that too, you giggled to yourself.
"I love you," he mumbled against your lips as you came up for air, peppering soft kisses across your cheek and jaw, down to your neck.
You swallowed, catching his bristled chin between your fingers to draw his mouth back to yours, letting the smell of his aftershave and warmth of his skin pressed against yours suffuse into you before you answered.
"I love you too."
*****
You came out of the bathroom to the sound of him cracking yet more pills out of their plastic packet. Turning when he heard the door open, he threw them into his mouth and shot you a smile before washing them down. Uneasiness blossoming in your stomach, you tightened the belt of the hotel's white fluffy dressing gown and sat down, cross-legged, on the bed.
"Has it been bad today?"
A frown creased across his face for a second, gone so quickly it might never have been there at all.
"Sorry?"
"The pain."
"Oh. No, not really. Just normal, I think. Though, I might have just overdone it a bit there," he replied with a wink before disappearing into the bathroom.
As soon as the door clicked shut you scooted across the bed to see what he'd taken, the packet casually discarded on his bedside table.
Oxycodone, all the small holes empty.
The toilet flushed and you retreated to your original spot before he came out, drying his hands.
"Why did you ask that?"
Forcing yourself to meet his eye, you swallowed.
"No reason." He frowned and you sighed, fusing a hand over your hair. "You just seem to have been taking a lot of pills today and I was worried I'd hurt you, or we'd walked too far, or… I dunno, I was just concerned."
His face relaxed and he chucked the towel back onto the bathroom counter.
"Well there's nothing to worry about," he replied lightly, busying himself with picking up his hastily discarded clothes, the scars on his back standing out pinkly against his skin above the band of his boxers.
"You sure?"
The words left your mouth before you could stop them and you saw his shoulders tense. Straightening, he turned slowly, a half-folded shirt in his hands.
"What's the matter?"
"Nothing… I just worry. It's my one flaw." You passed it off with a smile and he chuckled, but it sounded just as forced as your smile. "I just didn't realise you had to take so many, that's all. They're strong stuff."
His eyes narrowed slightly. "What do you know about how strong they are?"
"I— I don't. What I mean is… everyone's heard of Tramadol, right? And oxycodone is…"
You trailed off under his chilly stare.
"Why do you seem to know so much about what I'm taking all of a sudden?"
"Why shouldn't I? Is it a secret?"
His frown deepened. "No. But my painkillers aren't really any of your business."
"Oh, so you want to leave your wife for me, but the pain management of the man I love isn't any of my business??"
"Unless you're my GP, no. It's not."
"And you get all those pills from your GP, do you, Steve?" you shot back, unable to stop the fears that had been building within you for weeks from spilling out.
He froze for a second before straightening his shoulders. "Excuse me? What's that supposed to mean??"
"Nothing…" you said, picking at a tread on the sleeve of your dressing gown, regretting even starting this conversation. It was entirely the wrong time to having it. Why were you spoiling what had been a lovely evening?
"Answer me, Bella. You clearly mean something. Spit it out."
You flinched slightly at the sharpness of his tone, a rare display of the headteacher he could be, the one he usually kept hidden under gentle, jovial cajolling.
"You left a packet of oxycodone at my house last week," you began, hesitantly, watching him closely. "I tried to give it back at school, but you know what it's like. So I thought…" You swallowed and two deep lines formed between his brows.
"You thought what?"
"I thought I'd just leave them in your drawer."
He stiffened, colour beginning to drain from his cheeks.
"You went through my things?"
"No. I mean, I didn't mean to. I was concerned—"
"You had no right—"
"I love you!" you snapped. "I just wanted to understand what you were taking, ok? Because I was worried when Celia—"
"What the fuck does Celia have to do with this??"
"She's a pharmaceutical rep, she told me what the oxy was. And my sister said—"
He barked a rough breath of laughter.
"Jesus fucking christ, Bella. You go through my things - my personal, private things - and then you talk to anyone except me about it…"
"I… I don't have a lot of luck with people and drugs," you mumbled.
"Drugs..??" he exclaimed, staring at you in confusion. "Wait, do you mean to tell me that you think I'm some sort of druggie, is that it??"
"No, I—"
"You see me taking pills and just assume that makes I'm some kind of addict? I was in a fucking car crash, Bella! You know that! You want the truth? Well here it is: my back is fucked and it hurts all the fucking time. Every single minute of every single day. I take those fucking pills for some fucking relief."
"I'm sorry… I just—" you mumbled
"You're unbelievable," he snapped, raking his fingers through his hair. "I do all this for you, I change all my plans to leave Helen for you sooner, even though it's probably going to fuck up my girls, and this is how you thank me."
You sat up straighter, eyes narrowing. "I never asked you for this," you said, gesturing around the grand room. "And I would have shared the cost but you wouldn't let me. And don't you dare throw your kids at me like that! I told you, if you don't want to leave her now, then there's a perfectly sensible alternative on the table. I'm not forcing you to do anything."
He cleared his throat scornfully.
"And I never said that you're not in pain either," you continued, climbing off the bed. "But you don't take them like 'oh, look, it's time for my pills'. You take them all the time, like you're not even aware you're doing it. And you can't tell me you're supposed to take that many because the dosage was right there on the fucking box."
"I take what I need to—"
"To numb what you're feeling."
"No—"
"I think you do. That day at the conference - you'd already taken your normal dosage. I know because I saw you do it when we were upstairs, but then you started taking extra because you were stressed. Today on the beach, you'd already had at least four before we even got there but as soon as the conversation got hard, you took another. And again in the pub. That oxy is like fucking morphine and you're popping them like they're fucking tick tacks, Steve, so don't lie to me, it's insulting."
"You have no idea what you're talking about. How fucking dare you—"
"And then there's the fact that half the boxes in your desk were unmarked."
He squinted at you. "I don't know what you—"
"They didn't have pharmacy stickers."
"So?? That makes me a fucking druggie then does it? Because some minimum wage kid at the chemist didn't put a sticker on a fucking box."
"You know who else doesn't put stickers on the boxes?"
He scowled at you in response.
"Dealers," you said, his scowl deepening, red climbing his face. His whole body was tense, hands flexing in fists at his sides and for a moment you wondered if you should be afraid of him. Of being here, alone, with him. But you dismissed the thought almost as fast as it arrived. He might be many things but he wasn't dangerous. Not to other people anyway.
"So you see a box without a label and you decide that two plus two equals four hundred and seventy-six, and now I'm a scumbag addict scoring a fix, is that it?" he hissed.
Wrapping your arms around your waist, you took a deep breath.
"Both my parents were scumbag addicts. And I grew up watching what happened when they scored a fix."
He flinched like you'd slapped him.
"Yeah. I know what I'm talking about. I know what addiction does to people. To the people they love. Cassie tried to convince me I was wrong, and I let her because I didn't want it to be true."
"It's not true."
"Then tell me where you got those pills."
"I already did! The fucking chemist."
"You're lying, Steve. The fucking pharmacist would never let them go out like that. There are fucking rules, especially with how strong those drugs are. You think they're not checking every fucking opioid that goes out the door??"
He dragged a hand down his face, scratching at his beard.
"What do you want me to say, Bella?? You've clearly already made up your mind."
"I just want you to tell me the truth. If we're going to do this - you and me - you cannot lie to me about this."
"I'm not—"
With an anguished groan you threw your hands up. "Fine. Have it your way. I'm going to bed."
Stomping around to your side of the bed to you shrugged off the gown, letting it fall to the floor, and climbed into bed. Switching off the night you huddled against the edge of the mattress, putting as much distance between you as possible.
"Come on, Bella, don't be so fucking infantile."
You didn't reply, hunching further in on yourself, until at last you heard him curse under his breath and the shuffling of him getting into bed too. The bed dipped as he got in beside you and the room was plunged into darkness, as tears leaked across the bridge of your nose, soaking down into the pillow by your cheek.
*****
You lay awake for a long time and you could tell he was too by the rhythm of his breathing and the way he tossed and turned.
"I know you're awake," he said eventually, but you didn't reply.
"Bella."
"Go to sleep."
He moved closer to you, his fingers brushing lightly down your arm but you jerked away.
"Why won't you believe me?"
"Because I know I'm right." You rolled over suddenly to face him, startling him, though you were barely able to make out more than a Steve-shaped mound of darker shadow in front of you. "I've spent literal decades of my life watching the people I love lie to me about drugs, lie to me about using, lie about being high. Trying to hide it from me, pushing me away, making me feel like I was going insane. Promising me it would never happen again."
A fresh tear leaked down your cheek and you scrubbed it away in frustration.
"I didn't want it to be true. That's why I let Cassie and Cee convince me I was seeing ghosts. But I've been watching you since Birmingham, Steve, and you've been getting sloppier around me. I don't want to be right about this - believe me, I don't. But I am. And I don't know if you're just not ready to accept it, or if you're just so used to lying that you don't know what else to do—"
"I'm not ly—"
You swore bitterly under your breath. "If you're not going to be honest with me, there's no point in talking about this anymore tonight," you huffed, rolling away from him again, tucking the duvet tight around you.
Silence lapsed between you again, the space between you larger than just the expansive hotel bed.
"What happened with your parents?" he asked softly and you hugged the covers more tightly.
"They were both addicts, from the time we were born," you began after a moment, voice barely more than a whisper. "I don't even know how they let them take us home from the hospital, but they did. But they were our parents and we didn't know that wasn't how parents were supposed to be. Not until we went to school anyway. But where we grew up, we weren't the only kids in the class with parents who'd choose shooting up over making sure there was fucking milk and bread in the house."
He shuffled slightly closer and you rolled onto your back, staring up into the darkness, falling backwards into the past.
"Once, when Bonnie and I were about five, they got so high they left the hob on with a pan of water on it, and it boiled dry and almost burned our house down. We were lucky one of the neighbours saw smoke and called the fire brigade. And they were always disappearing - sometimes for days at a time - out on benders. I remember so many nights of me and Bon huddled under the covers together, listening to them arguing about who got the last hit when there wasn't enough for two."
"Jesus," he murmured, inching closer and you no longer had the energy to pull away, the warmth of him comforting as old, unpleasant memories engulfed you.
"By the time we were six, I was regularly making dinner for us both. When there wasn't food in the house - which was often - we stole it. I'd be the distraction, crying like I'd hurt myself, and Bonnie'd grab what she could." You laughed dryly, letting your head rest against his chest. "It was like Ready, Steady, Cook. Never knew what she'd come out with and we'd have to do our best to make something from it."
"Why did no one ever call Social Services?" he asked hoarsely and you shrugged.
"Around our way, that was just how it was. Nobody cared, not back then. Everyone had their own shit going on and if you meddled with the wrong people, it could be dangerous. I didn't know it at the time, but our dad dealt for the big man on the estate, and no one was going to risk trying to help us in case our dad sent Harry Downy after them. Our grandparents did their best and they tried to protect us - we lived with them a lot - but eventually our mum would always show up, screaming and threatening them until they had to give us back."
He kissed your temple, hand warm against your stomach and you covered his fingers with yours.
"I don't know why she bothered, it's not like she wanted anything to do with us when we were there. But I suppose it was the guilt."
You swallowed at the ball pushing in your throat.
"But it wasn't all bad. There were the bits in between, when they would get clean for a few weeks, or sometimes even months. And they'd take care of us and tell us it wouldn't happen again. But it always did. They'd lie and lie and lie… Bonnie was smarter than me - she knew it was bullshit - but I wanted to believe them so much that it took me by surprise every time."
You took a deep breath, squeezing absentmindedly at his wrist.
"And then when we were eight, our dad died of an overdose."
He stiffened, grip tightening around you. "I'm so sorry," he whispered.
"After he died, mum got clean - properly clean for the first time since we were born, I think. But then she met Frank, and then she got pregnant with our brother, and it started all over again. And at least it's not coke and smack and pills anymore, but Frank's a drinker, so… she just picked that up instead. Booze and fags and a bit of weed. She hasn't been properly sober since I was twelve."
Lapsing into silence, exhausted, you rested against him, breathing in the sharp notes of his aftershave that still clung to his skin.
"I'm so sorry, Bells," he said again, kissing your hair. "I didn't know…"
"It's not exactly a heartwarming family story."
"No…" He cleared his throat. "But just because you had such a tough upbringing and your parents struggled, doesn't mean—"
You pushed away from him and he struggled to keep you close, a strong arm around your waist as you flattened your palms against his chest.
"Let go—"
"Stop… stop it," he hushed you, other hand coming to cradle the back of your neck. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry that happened to you. That's no way for a kid to grow up. And look, I get it. I can see what you were saying earlier, but I've got it under control. I'm not like them, I'm not addicted. I just take a few extra, here and there, when I need to take the edge off because what they gave me doesn't work—"
"That's how it starts, Steve."
"I'm fine," he said emphatically, stroking your hair. "I promise you. You have nothing to worry about."
"But—"
He silenced you with his lips against yours, soft and insistent.
"I love you, Bells. I promise, it'll be ok. I'm not like that."
Your chest tightened, tears spilling over and down your cheeks.
"Hey, c'mon on now… don't cry, pretty girl," he soothed, wrapping you in his arms, curling himself around you. "I've got you, you're ok. It'll be ok, I promise."
Guys, do we think it will be ok? It might not be ok... 🙈 As ever, come yell at me in all the usual ways, I weep with joy at your comments 🤍
NOTE: I really grappled with how to bring the issue of Steve's addiction issues out in as careful and sensitive a way as I could. And to be very clear, of course I don't think people who need to take pain meds for chronic pain are addicts! But Steve definitely is 🙈 We also have to factor into this that the story takes place in the 90s and I think we probably have better understanding and vocabulary around dependency and addiction now, than we did back then. That said, I don't have any first hand experience of these things, so if you think anything here feels wildly inappropriate please do tell me (kindly if you can, any error was unintentional) so I can address it. Thanks, xx
Uuuuuuuuh sooo much going on on this episode. 🥵😰 Both my reactions lol. Can i just say that i agree completely with bella? She’s way more smart and mature than steve and she is right about the pills cause she knows what shes talking about.
Anyway i just feel like steve doesn’t really love bella, he just made a mess of his life and she was in the perfect place at the perfect time and there’s no way shes getting a happy ending. At least with him.
Thank you lovely! I was really anxious about that scene playing properly and I’m glad that it worked for you.
She really does know what she’s talking about but there’s still the lingering doubt of if she making more of it than there is 🙈 And yes, do they really love each other? Or is it just another form of addiction/dependency?
The next chapter is going to bring all that to a head - I hope you’re all ready 😬🤭 Thanks for the love! xxx
Summary: After waiting for weeks for it, Steve and Bella are off to Wales to enjoy a whole weekend together with no need to hide. But as Steve continues to take more and more medication, Bella struggles with keeping her concerns to herself.
Warnings: 🔞 Smut inc. some slightly rough stuff and voyerism (can you be a voyeur if you're looking at yourself? Maybe that's exhibitionism...anyway, it's dirty! Enjoy!). Themes of infidelity, childhood neglect, substance abuse and past serious drug addiction - more notes on this at the end.
Massive thanks to @peakyscillian for beta reading. Cassie also belongs to her, and you can read her story HERE.
Word count: 12,375 PART 6 | SERIES
7. Reflection
Working back to back night shifts on Wednesday and Thursday - to cover your own, as well as the first of the night shifts you owed Andy - wasn't exactly the build up you would have chosen ahead of going into a weekend away. Particularly as Shy had woken you at three in the morning the night before, having one of his habitual nightmares, and although you got him settled faster than usual, it took you a long time to get back to sleep.
"You look done in," remarked Amanda, catching you in a succession of gaping yawns that you were doing your best to hide behind your sleeve.
"M'fine," you replied, yawning again and she eyed you with concern.
"What do you have this afternoon?"
"Karl, Shy and Benny for top set, and then one-to-one with Tarone."
"That's it?"
"You need me to cover something?" you asked, praying she would say no. The idea of running around playing football made you want to curl into a ball and weep.
"No, I want you to get out of here and get some rest, you've got a big weekend."
You looked at her sharply, heart beginning to race, and she frowned.
"With your sister?"
"Oh! Shit, yes, you're right. Christ, I'm so tired I genuinely forgot," you sighed, scrubbing a hand down your face. "I'll need all my health and strength for that one."
"Have a lot of stuff, does she?"
"It's not moving stuff I'm worried about," you said darkly and she laughed.
"Get yourself away after classes, we'll cope without you for one afternoon."
"Well, as long as you're sure, I'm not going to say no," you smiled, the moment short-lived as shouting erupted down the corridor, swiftly followed by the distinctive sound of crashing of furniture.
"Fuck's sake," Amanda grumbled, striding out the door, voice raised in warning.
*****
Packing up your stuff in your room after an exceptionally painful session with Tarone - his mood had been worsening for weeks and none of you could get a handle on why - a shifting of the light next to you made you jump. Looking up, you found Shy standing beside your desk, twisting the cuff of his green hoodie between his fingers.
"Jesus christ, Shy!" you exclaimed, clutching your chest as your heart made a bid for freedom. "You can't sneak up on people like that!"
"Sorry," he mumbled, still fidgeting with his sleeve, head dropping to dodge your eyes.
"It's ok, I just didn't hear you come in. Do you need something?"
"Nah, it's fine," he said, barely audible, beginning to back towards the door.
"Hey, c'mon. I'm sorry, you just caught me by surprise. What is it?"
"I've got that thing you asked for."
You quickly cycled through the many things he could be talking about and he must have seen it in your eyes because his face clouded.
"The tape?"
"Oh fuck! Yes! Sorry, my brain's having a hard time today. You're joking, you really made me one?"
He shuffled his feet, mouth turned down. "You asked for it."
"I know," you said, coming round your desk to lean against the edge nearest him, smiling broadly. "I just thought you'd think it wasn't worth it for someone as naff as me."
He cracked a half smile and your heart soared at this extreme display of emotion.
"Yeah, well… figured you probably only listen to shit, so you need it."
"Cheers," you laughed, reaching out to take the cassette tape he was proffering at you, turning it over in your hands. The track list was written on the sleeve in his small, precise writing, 'Wild Bluebells' inscribed along the spine in a swirling, artistic font. Popping it open you found some of his characteristic artwork decorating the inside of the sleeve, supplemented by tiny bluebells.
A lump lodged in your throat.
"Shy… this is amazing," you said quietly.
"S'nothing really."
"No, it's really not nothing. It's brilliant. Thank you so much."
He shrugged, hands shoving into his pockets, startling when you quickly wrapped him in a hug.
"Thank you," you said again, giving him a light squeeze before pulling back to a more respectable distance.
"Yeah… well… don't fast-forward anything, it'll sound shit if you do."
"I promise," you said, giving him a little Girl Guides salute and tucking it carefully into you bag, just as the bell began it's shrill clang.
"You'd better get going or you'll be late for Owen," you said, shouldering your bag. "Thank you, Shy, I really appreciate it."
Proud mortification painting his features, he nodded, and slunk quickly out of the room.
*****
"Oooh, I almost forgot, I have car music," you said, rummaging in your handbag for the small plastic case. Steve had picked you up earlier than planned after your early escape from Stanton, and you were already over the Severn bridge and speeding along the M4 through Wales. Finally finding it, you popped out the tape that was already in the deck and slotted in the one from Shy.
Immediately the little vehicle was flooded with the - slightly tinny, thanks to it's below-average speakers - thudding of heavy drum and bass.
"What the fuck is this??" Steve shouted over the noise.
"Shy made it for me," you called back.
"Shy??"
He turned his head fully to look at you and you pointed at the road.
"Try not to get us killed before we even get there, eh?"
"Shy made you a mixtape?"
"Don't say it like that," you replied, pulling a face.
"Like what?"
"Like he's made me a 'mixtape'." Your fingers curled mockingly in mid-air.
"Sorry, is this not a mixtape?" he shot back with a grin.
"Fuck off," you huffed, sitting back with your arms folded, music thudding in your bones.
"Well why was he making you a mixtape is if it's not a 'mixtape'?"
"Because I asked if he would."
He fiddled with the knob, turning it down slightly so you could hear each other better.
"You asked him to??"
"I thought it would be funny. But maybe also pretty good? He, Benny and Nabz seem like they know what they're doing. Besides, I thought he could do with a little project. He's been quieter since half term, don't you think?"
Humming in agreement, he reached across from the gearstick to rest his hand on your thigh, squeezing gently. His palm was warm through your jeans, and you covered it with yours, linking your fingers through his.
"Doesn't feel real yet," he said quietly. Or rather, just loud enough to be heard over the thrumming baseline.
"What doesn't?"
"A whole weekend, just you and me. No colleagues, no kids, no interruptions."
Warmth blossomed in your chest, seeping slowly through your veins.
"Is it weird that the thing I'm looking forward to most is—"
"The beach, I know, you've only mentioned it four hundred times."
"No," you laughed, squeezing his hand, feeling heat climb to your cheeks as the confession lingered on your tongue. "Being able to go out for dinner. Or just walk around together… not having to hide, y'know?"
He lifted your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles lightly. "No, it's not weird." Forced to relinquish it to change gear as the traffic in front of you slowed, he glanced quickly at you, tongue flicking across his lips. "I can't wait to be able to kiss you in public."
"Ok, but that is weird," you grinned, the warmth in your chest joined by dancing butterflies, laughing when he flicked his middle finger at you.
"I'll turn this car around if you can't behave."
"Oh yeah?" You reached across the central consol and rubbed your hand lightly over his crotch, earning a sharp intake of breath. "You sure you want me to behave..?"
*****
The journey should only have taken a couple of hours but a crash on the motorway delayed you for what felt like forever. The lack of sleep overtook you as you finally began to speed up again and when you woke you were on small country roads, weaving down towards the south coast.
By the time you pulled into the car park at your hotel in a small seaside town, the sun was already beginning to disappear across the bay. Climbing out you stretched your arms high above your head and groaned, stiff after sitting still for so long. A bracing wind blew in from the sea, the fresh salty tang filling your lungs. In the twilight, the beach was only just about visible on the other side of the road.
"Are you coming?" he asked and when you turned he was smiling, hands full of luggage.
"Let me help," you said, hurrying to relieve him of your bag but he tutted you away.
"Go on ahead and get the door, I'm fine."
The hotel itself was a handsome, rambling old building, the white painted stone facing out towards the bay. The large reception area was softly lit, built around a grand flowing staircase that spoke of a bygone era.
There was an awkward moment checking in, where the receptionist referred to you as his wife and you felt him stiffen next to you before you slipped your arm through his with a smile and let her believe she was correct.
"Sorry about that," he mumbled as you waited for the lift.
"It was weird hearing her use your surname. Let's not do that again," you replied, nudging him lightly in the ribs.
"We'll just call you Mrs Steve from now on then, shall we?"
The lift chimed as heat rushed to your face, something stuttering in your chest.
Mrs Steve.
Upstairs, he unlocked the door with an old-fashioned key, and held the door open for you to pass through first. It was much larger and grander than you'd been anticipating, decorated in muted cream and honey tones, the seemingly antique furniture darkly polished. Everything in the room was arranged so to ensure that anyone lying in bed would have a clear view out of the wide bay window. With darkness falling outside and the light in the room, it was a struggle to see anything other than yourself in the glass, but cupping your hands against it to peer though, you thought that perhaps in the morning you would be able to look right out across the bay.
"Jesus christ, Steve…" you mumbled, turning back towards the room and dropping your handbag on a nearby armchair while he set your bags down by the wardrobe. "This must have cost a fortune."
He smiled, cheeks tinging pink as he came across to where you stood, wrapped his arms around you.
"Worth it."
"Won't she—"
"No. I don't want to talk about her, not when we're here."
"I thought we were going to be making plans…"
He pulled back and cradled your face between his hands.
"We are. But not right now and I don't want to have to discuss her any more than strictly necessary. This weekend is about me and you, not her."
He kissed you gently and you leaned into it, wobbling when he pulled away faster than you'd anticipated.
"Right," he said briskly, a glint in his eye. "We've still got a bit of time before dinner and I think we should start as we mean to go on. Get those curtains closed and take your clothes off."
*****
It was surreal to be walking through the streets of the little town holding his hand like it was the most normal thing in the world. No one even looked in your direction. Passing an estate agent's window, you stopped to nosy and it took half a second for him to realise, tugging your arm slightly as he carried on without you.
"That one's pretty," you commented, pointing at a little cottage in the corner as he reversed his steps to join you.
"You'd want to live here??"
"You never play the 'what would you buy?' game??"
His reflection in the window smiled back at you, and he slipped an arm around your waist, keeping you warm with your back tucked against his chest.
"Ok, well if we're doing that, we should do it properly. What about that one?"
He pointed at a much larger property with a price-tag that would never be within reach of either of you, even if you combined. Not unless one or both of you had a dramatic change in profession, anyway. Or maybe perhaps if you won the lottery.
"It doesn't have a sea view though."
"So fussy," he teased, pressing a kiss into your hair. "Well if that one's not to m'lady's liking, what about that one?"
You spent several more minutes debating the relative merits of various properties you would never own, his fingers linked through yours against your stomach, lips and beard occasionally tickling at your neck.
"Come on, we're going to be late," he said eventually, nudging you by the waist and you fell into step beside him again, his hand warm in yours.
It was still only the middle of March, and being out of the school holidays and high season, the town was quiet, but the little bistro he ushered you into had a nice low-level Friday night buzz, the cosy interior wrapping itself around you after the crisp chill outside.
"I keep thinking someone is going to see us," you said after your waiter disappeared with your orders, taking a sip of the wine he'd just delivered.
"Me too," he chuckled before reaching across the table for your hand. "This," he continued, thumb stroking a circle in your palm, "somehow feels like the most risky thing we've ever done in public."
"And that's really saying something," you giggled. "Lorna's face the other day in the laundry room. I swear she knows you were knuckle deep inside me seconds earlier."
Out of the corner of your eye you saw the man at the table next to yours glance sharply in your direction and you turned to meet his stare, slowly raising an eyebrow.
His already ruddy cheeks darkened in hue and he looked away hurriedly.
Steve tried and failed to muffle a cough of laughter behind his hand and you shook your head at him, grinning and raising your glass.
"To us. Happy Wales."
"To us," he agreed, eyes crinkling at the corners, lightly clinking his glass against yours.
*****
His fingertips dug into your hips with a bruising grip as you rode him, nails dragging across his chest.
"Careful," he warned through ragged breaths, hips rising to meet yours, pushing him impossibly deeper and you cried out, not caring whether anyone in the next room might hear you.
"Seriously, Bells, don't," he said, catching your wrists and lifting your hands away from him, fingers interlocking so you didn't lose your balance. In their wake you could see the red crescent moons you had left behind on his flushed, freckled skin.
He groaned when your cunt clenched around him at the sight.
Pushing himself into a sitting position, he manhandled you onto your back, on his knees as he slammed back into you so hard it made your head swim.
"If you can't be trusted to behave," he mumbled, hitching your legs up over his arms, the change in angle sending dots dancing across your vision.
"You could always tie me up again," you gasped out with a wicked smirk, and he smiled dryly, shaking his head.
Undeterred, you tried rocking your hips against his driving rhythm, reaching to up to let your nails trail down his chest again he groaned, dropping your legs to grab your wrists, pinning your arms above your head.
"I said stop," he ground out, barely audible over the desperate whine that left you; in leaning forward to pin you to the bed, the thick tip of his cock was pressing mercilessly against your gspot.
"Oh fuck…there…fucking… harder…" you whimpered.
But he stopped moving altogether, hovering above you, his weight balanced on your wrists, a sly smile creeping across his face.
"I told you in the car there'd be trouble if you couldn't behave."
"Steve…c'mon…please..."
His cock twitched heavily inside you at your thin whine and he shifted so he was circling both your wrists with one hand, dragging the fingertips of his free hand down the side of your face and over your lips.
"Open."
He barely had to say it before you had parted them, his fingers invading your mouth, skin vaguely salty on your tongue. With a faint roll of his hips, lights exploded across your vision and he pushed his fingers further into your mouth until you made a muffled choking sound.
"If your pretty little cunt didn't feel so fucking good, I'd be in your mouth right now and you could just wait."
A keening noise rippled out of your throat and he moved his fingers, sliding across your tongue until salvia began to gather at the corners of your lips, slipping down your chin.
He gave another roll of his hips, harder this time, more deliberate and a desperate moan choked against his hand.
"Should I make you get on your knees? Cum all over this pretty face?"
You were slipping, even without the delicious friction of movement, just having him buried so deeply inside you was dizzying. At his words, your body unintentionally jerked against him and you both groaned, darkness flickering across his eyes.
"I thought I told you to behave?" he almost growled. "That's it, on your knees."
In a heartbeat he slid out of you, his fingers pulled roughly from your mouth and before you knew what was happening, he was practically pushing you to the floor, the thick carpet plush against your bare knees. With his hand on your chin he gripped his cock in the other, tapping it against your lips until you let him press into your mouth, sliding deep.
"Fuck…" he groaned, hand curling into your hair, hips rocking against your face. Bracing your palms against his thighs you tried your best to keep up, not to gag, your chin damp with your own salvia, feeling it dripping down your chest.
He swore again, huffed out between ragged breaths, having to tug your head back by the hair so he could pull back fast enough, the familiar tang already coating your tongue before it fell in warm ribbons over your face. A small amount landed near your eye and you swiped it away, so you could keep them open, staring up, open mouthed, as he pumped the last of it onto your waiting tongue.
"Jesus fuck…" he sighed, the relief palpable on his face, cock still semi-hard in his fist. Licking the small dot from your finger you stuck your tongue out to he could see the pearly liquid pooled there before you made a show of swallowing.
"You're enjoying that too much," he chuckled, smearing a trail of cum over your lips with his thumb, groaning softly when you licked it away.
"What can I say," you shrugged, pushing yourself your feet, legs a little wobbly. "You're just not very good at devising punishments."
Your spit and his release lay stickily on your skin, but you made no effort to remove it.
"But that's besides the point - you have unfinished business."
With a wry shake of his head he followed as you hopped back onto the bed, legs hanging over the edge, spread wide to welcome his face between them.
"Reckon if I said no, that would be a better punishment," he winked, warm palms pushing your thighs further apart and dragging his tongue between your slick folds.
"Shit!" you hissed, head falling back against the bed, arching up into his mouth. "Well, it would be… but that really all depends how well you want the rest of this trip to go, doesn't it?"
*****
The next morning dawned bright and clear, blue sky and sunshine that promised a warmth they couldn't match. Undeterred, bundled up in coats and scarves, warm and full from an overly-indulgent breakfast, you finally made it to the beach.
"Happy now?" he asked as you picked your way over the softer sand, sinking and wobbling your way towards the shore with glee.
"Could you sort out making it a bit warmer?"
"Look, it's not pissing it down, that's the best I can do."
Flashing him a grin over your shoulder, you stopped just short of the wave line, closing your eyes and breathing deeply, letting the salty air fill your lungs and pull at your hair.
"Fuck, I love that smell."
"Bristol harbour smells like that."
You opened your eyes and fixed him with a look. "Fuck off, it does not."
Laughing, he wrapped his arms around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder.
"We hardly ever got to come to the seaside," you said quietly, covering his arms with yours, leaning back into him.
"When you were a kid?"
"Yeah."
"I grew up in a rubbish little town on the south coast of Ireland. The beach was about five minutes from my house."
"Seriously?" you exclaimed, twisting to look back at him, wide-eyed. "You're so lucky!"
"Nah, it was shit. I couldn't wait to leave."
"How can it have been shit if you had the beach?? You ungrateful bastard."
He laughed, the rumble warm against your spine and you relaxed back against him once more.
"I remember when me and Bonnie were about six, our grandparents brought us down to the coast. We stayed in a caravan right by the dunes and I never wanted to leave. It was nothing fancy - in fact that's an overstatement, it was the smallest caravan you've ever seen with four people crammed into it - but I loved every minute of it. I cried the whole way home. And then when we got back, our mum clobbered me for banging on about how great it was."
He squeezed you a little more tightly, lips pressing against your temple.
"I was thinking about that when I was in Barcelona. I could never have even imagined just deciding one day to get on a plane and just going to another place, just like that. That something like that would be allowed, or even possible."
"Yeah, no one went abroad on holiday where I grew up," he agreed. "Except for the O'Rourkes. Posh cunts." He chuckled quietly against your hair.
"There were no posh cunts where I grew up - the only people with the money to go abroad for their holidays were the criminals," you laughed. "I remember me and Bon being insanely jealous of Jacqui Downy having one of those braids in her hair when she got back from Spain. You know the ones where they wrap the coloured thread around it?"
"Oh yeah, the girls got those when we went to Menorca last summer."
"Posh cunts," you giggled.
"Says the woman who's just had an impromptu mini-break in Barcelona," he shot back, tickling you in the side until you yelped.
"We tried to do it ourselves at home," you continued, settling back in his hold. "Unsurprisingly, it did not work. And we'd nicked the thread out of our Gran's mending box and she was absolutely livid. Chased us round her flat with a slipper."
"Some day I'll take you to Menorca and get you one," he chuckled.
"I'll hold you to that," you smiled, turning in his arms, the wind whipping around you, ruffling his hair.
"Thank you for this," you said, kissing him softly, butterflies dancing in your stomach at how open and brazen it was to kiss him in public.
"I love you," he murmured as you pulled back, cupping the side of your face, thumb stroking across your cheekbone.
"I love you too," you whispered back, looping your arms around his neck and kissing him again.
*****
The beach stretched out into the distance and you ambled slowly along the length of it, your fingers linking with the hand that hung loosely from where his arm was slung around your shoulders.
"Have you had a chance to think about it all now then..?" you asked tentatively when he still hadn't mentioned anything to do with leaving Helen and the far end of the strand was almost upon you.
The thumb that had been absentmindedly rubbing against your fingers stilled and you glanced sideways at him to see his jaw jump against his stubbled cheek.
"Steve…I know you don't want to talk about her, but we said this weekend was going to be for—"
"I know," he said quietly, drawing his arm away from you as he rooted in his pocket. The now familiar plastic crunch of a pill packet rustled in his pocket and he quickly fired it into his mouth, swallowing it dry.
"Do you need to turn back? I don't want you to hurt yourself," you said quickly.
How many was that since you'd woken up? Three? No, four? More..? You tried to push the rising worry back down where it came from.
"I'm fine."
"You're clearly not fine if you need pain relief."
"Bells, I said I'm fine."
You stopped walking at the snap in his voice and his face immediately crumbled in apology.
"Sorry, sorry. I didn't mean to… I'm fine. Honestly, it's just a niggle. Look, there's a pub up there—" he said, turning to point back up on the shore. "Let's go and get a pint and some lunch and we can talk. Ok?"
Mumbling your agreement, you let him take your hand, leading you higher up the beach to a small wooden-slatted path that led to the road above.
The pub was busier than you'd expected given how sleepy the town had seemed the night before, but the bright day had clearly drawn people out into the air - or a pub near the air anyway - and it hummed with a low roar of voices and laughter, the five nations rugby playing on TVs dotted around the place. Squeezing through the crowd you managed to find a small table tucked in an awkward corner, just two low stools on offer.
"Will your back be ok on that?" you asked as he set down the drinks and an assortment of crisps.
"I'll be grand. Sorry, they don't do food so this is the best I could find."
"It's fine," you shrugged, tearing into a packet of salt and vinegar, ripping it open to spread wide on the table to share. "I'm still a bit full from breakfast."
Smiling, he copied you, laying out a packet of ready salted and you took a long sip of your beer.
"Ok, come on then, tell me what you've been thinking."
Spreading his hands on the table with a small sigh, he nodded.
"It's difficult."
"Well, yeah, of course it is."
"You're probably not going to like it."
"Try me."
"I have to think about what's best for the girls…"
"And you think I wouldn't understand that??"
"No… no, I know…I just… I can't fuck up their lives like this and be working the way things are at the moment. It's too much - my idiot work sons take up too much of my time and energy."
You gave him a half-smile and reached for his hand.
"It has to be in the holidays then, right?"
He nodded.
"That's ok, Easter's not that far away. Barely even a month."
He cleared his throat and took a swift slug from his pint.
"Easter's not long enough."
You slid your hand away from his, straightening on your stool.
"Meaning..?"
"It needs to be the summer."
"The summer?! But—"
"Please, just let me—"
"That's months from now, Steve!"
People near you turned to look and he winced, reaching out his hands towards you, imploringly.
"Please… please, just listen."
You sat back away from him, folding your arms, jaw tight.
"Easter is only two weeks long, Bells, and then I'll be straight back into the mayhem at work. I need time - time to tell Helen, which probably is going to be shit for us both, and time to work out with her how we tell the girls. I'll have to move out, I need to know where that is."
"There's always my house," you said quietly and he frowned, fiddling with the ragged edge of the nearest crisp packet.
"I need somewhere the girls have a room." He cleared his throat. "Somewhere just with me." Your feelings must have been written all over your face because he swallowed quickly. "I mean, it wouldn't be right for me to move them in with you right away, would it? It's going to be messy and confusing enough for them. And that's why I need to be around to move, and help them get used to the change, and everything else that's gonna come with this whole fucking mess."
"I'm a fucking mess??"
"No, c'mon on, that's not what I meant and you know it."
"Steve," you said, biting the inside of your cheek, "if you don't want to do this… it wasn't my idea… if you're having second thoughts I'd rather you just told me."
"I love you."
"That's not the same thing."
He dragged a weary hand down his face, fingers fidgeting in his beard.
"Bella, please, I'm so fucking tired. The lads… I can't do it all at the same time. It'll fucking kill me. I'm just trying to be honest."
"Just say you don't want to and stop pretending."
"That's really not what I'm saying."
"You want to wait until July, Steven. It's fucking March!"
"Can't you even try and see where I'm coming from?!" he snapped, hands banging on the table, making you - and several others around you - jump. He held up a hand in apology and people returned to their drinks, but you could feel them watching you out of the corner of their eyes.
"I do," you said quietly, swiping a drip of the condensation trickling down the outside of your pint glass. "I guess I just… when you said it before, I thought it would be sooner. That you weren't talking about carrying on having an affair for the better part of another five months. I don't know how I feel about that."
"It hasn't seemed to bother you so far," he muttered.
"It was just sex before," you shot back, eyes narrowing. "You're the one who stopped it being that. I told you I wasn't looking for anything."
"So why is waiting longer such a problem?"
"Because you told me you loved me!"
Heads turned again and you huffed out a sigh, standing abruptly and gathering your coat, bag and pint.
"Bella… where are you—"
Ignoring him, you started pushing your way outside, desperate to get away from prying eyes before the tears that were pressing in your throat made an appearance on your face.
The beer garden was almost empty, only a few hardier souls braving the bracing breeze off the sea with their drinks, and you dropped down at a weather-beaten picnic table as far away from anyone else as you could get. Slurping shakily at your pint, you dashed irritably at the tears that slid down your cheeks.
"Bella…"
You hunched further into your coat and kept your back turned, not looking up when he sat down across from you.
"I'm sorry. I don't know what I'm doing here, ok?"
"Don't use that voice on me."
"What voice?"
"Steve of Stanton Wood. I'm not Riley, I'm not throwing a fit because someone looked at me wrong."
"I don't know what you want me to do, Bells," he sighed, dropping his head into his hands, elbows on the table.
"Just be honest with me."
"I thought I was being honest."
You lifted your head and he met your eyes.
"Do you even want to leave Helen?"
"Yes," he replied without hesitation, gaze unwavering, and you nodded slowly.
"I don't know if I can do this for another term, Steve. It's going to be so much worse for you when she finds out it's been going on since Christmas. I understand wanting to protect the girls, please believe me, I do. I don't want to be part of fucking them up. But do you seriously think this is going to work?"
"I…don't know. I just don't know what else to do," he said quietly, eyes dropping to the table.
"Every week that goes by that we keep doing this increases the risk of us getting caught and then you'll have no control over it at all."
"So what are you saying?"
You shrugged slightly, taking a sip and letting the bitter bubbles settle on your tongue before you swallowed.
"Maybe we need to stop? Until you can leave her."
Anguish flashed across his eyes and, in what appeared to be an almost unconscious movement, he rifled in his pocket, pulling out a blister-pack of the little round pills like the ones you'd found, and chewed one right out of the plastic. He didn't even take a drink to swallow it.
"You want that?" he asked hoarsely.
"It's not about what I want. They're your kids."
"I need you."
You smiled slightly, a heaviness crushing in your chest. Opening your mouth to reply he carried on before you could finish your attempt to form words.
"I'll leave her at Easter. I'll figure it out."
"No, I don't want—"
"I don't want this to stop," he said fiercely, reaching across the table to take your hand in both of his. "I don't want to be without you."
"You'll still see me almost every day."
His head cocked to the side, sadness dragged heavily on his features.
"You know that wouldn't be the same. And do you think we'd really be able to keep our hands to ourselves..?"
"I think if you tried very hard. Aren't we always trying to teach the lads impulse control?" you smiled, your fingers gently linking through his.
"Now who's using their Stanton voice?"
You laughed quietly and he smiled, the soft kind that crinkled his eyes and made butterflies erupt in your stomach.
"I don't want to force you into something you don't want."
"I want you."
He let go of your hand and got up, coming to sit beside you, legs slung either side of the bench so he was looking at you.
"Easter then?" he asked, cupping your cheek when you turned to face him.
"Easter," you agreed, letting him lean in and catch your lips in a soft, slow kiss. He drew back slowly, hand still resting warmly on the back of your neck, thumb drawing teasing little strokes along your skin.
"So…" you said slowly, a cheeky smile sneaking across your face. "Did you leave those crisps inside?"
*****
He'd booked a table for dinner in the hotel that night, the old building's former ballroom converted into a beautiful dining room, the high ceiling decorated with ornate plasterwork, delicate chandeliers suffusing everything in a shimmering, golden glow.
"Are you sure I look alright?" you mumbled, tugging at the hem of your dress, suddenly self-conscious about how much thigh you had on show. It was one of Celia's and it had looked perfectly fine when you were packing, with her sitting on your bed talking you up. But now you were here it seemed unsophisticated and out of place.
"You look beautiful," Steve replied, dropping a kiss to your shoulder, his hand warm in the small of your back as you were shown you to your table. You did an awkward little dance with the smiling maître d' when he pulled your chair out for you when you weren't expecting it, and with heat flaring to your face you managed to get settled, grateful for the flowing white tablecloth hiding your legs from view.
"Relax," Steve smiled, reaching for your hand, thumb smoothing over the inside of your wrist. "You look stunning."
"Just don't let me make a tit of myself using the wrong fork or anything."
"Bold of you to assume I've a fucking clue myself," he laughed, squeezing your fingers and letting go as a waiter came to fill your water glasses and offer you menus. Behind him, another of the staff appeared, bearing a tray with two delicate flutes of champagne. Smiling, she placed them down on the table and you frowned at Steve.
"What're—?"
"We're celebrating," he said, the staff dissolving away once more.
"Are we?"
"Are we not? It's not every day we get a whole weekend alone."
Shaking your head at him, you lifted your flute and clinked it gently against his with a light crystalline ding.
"Now you're just showing off."
He smiled warmly over his glass as you both took a sip, the bubbles dancing crisply on your tongue.
"I love you," he said quietly and it was as though the bubbles had migrated from your glass to your chest.
"I love you too."
He insisted you do the full three courses, apparently not interested in sparing any expense, though you fretted silently about how he was possibly going to explain such an extravagance to his wife. Before dessert, you excused yourself to go to the loo and as you wended your way, somewhat unsteadily, back towards the table you saw him popping two pills into his mouth, washing them down with his wine.
"Everything alright?" you asked as you sat back down, smoothing your dress over your thighs, trying to tug it closer to your knees.
"Why wouldn't it be?" he replied, brows tightening slightly.
You opened your mouth to remark on the pills but as you drew breath to speak, your desserts arrived and the moment passed.
"Can I interest you in any teas or coffees?" asked the waiter as your dishes were cleared and you shook your head, Steve doing the same.
"Could we get the bill please?" he asked instead.
"You have to let me split that with you," you said when it was delivered, even though you feared the prospect of much it might be. But he'd already refused to let you pay towards the hotel, or dinner the night before, so really it was only fair.
"Absolutely not."
"Steve, c'mon, I know where you work, stop pretending you're loaded," you laughed, reaching to take the slip of paper from him.
"No way," he said, snatching it back before you could see. "This weekend is on me."
"Don't be silly, it's for us both. Let me share."
"Not a chance," he said stubbornly, covering the page with his hand like one of the lads at school trying to stop the other boys from copying his answers, as he added your room number and signed at the bottom.
Shaking your head at him, you sighed.
"Stop looking at me like that."
"You're being ridiculous."
"Why am I not allowed to spoil you? This is the last two and half months of drinks and dinners and fucking, cinema tickets or whatever, in one. I never get to take you anywhere, so please, stop looking at me like that and just, I dunno, say 'thank you, Steve',"
"Thank you, Steve," you parroted back in a silly high voice and he rolled his eyes. "Sorry… thank you, really. It's been lovely. You're very sweet when you want to be."
"Not all the time?" he winked, standing and dropping his napkin on the table, reaching for your hand as you stood as well.
"Well… I'm not sure I'd call what you did to me last night very sweet," you giggled in his ear and he flushed bright pink as he led you across the room and back towards the stairs.
*****
He had you pushed against the wall the moment the door closed, tongue sliding into your mouth, your hands tangling in his hair.
"Is it sweet you want then?" he mumbled against your lips, squeezing gently at your waist.
"Not necessarily," you replied, humming appreciatively when his hand crept under the hem of your skirt, warm against your skin. Lifting your knee to his hip his fingers roamed until he was cupping the curve of your behind, groaning against your mouth when he found you bare.
"Fucking hell," he rumbled, pulling back to look at you. "Have you not been wearing anything under this the whole fucking time?"
Biting your lip, you ran your thumb over his, smoothing away the traces of your lip colour. "No, just since dessert."
"And to think you're allowed to work with children, you dirty girl," he muttered, grinning darkly, smothering your laughter as he kissed you hungrily.
"Come here, I need a better look," he said as you came up for air, gently dragging you across to stand in front of the long, freestanding mirror in the corner. Slotting himself behind you, you watched in the reflection as his hands smoothed down your sides, following your curves, until he reached the hem of your dress. Flicking a glance up to his face, you caught the dark gleam in his eye, leaning back into his lips against your neck.
"Look how fucking beautiful you are," he murmured, slowly lifting your skirt until it skimmed your upper thighs, making you shiver. "Just look…" Raising it higher, your absence of underwear came into view and he groaned, the sound reverberating against your spine, making a small moan slip from your throat. Bunching your skirt at your waist in his fist, his other hand stroked delicately over your bare thigh and up to your hip, tracing the crease down towards where you were already aching for him.
His fingertips hovered just shy of your pussy and you could feel the wetness gathering, his cock beginning to dig into your back. Flicking your tongue over your lips, mouth suddenly dry, your heart raced in anticipation.
"Hang on," he muttered, hand dropping and pulling away from you.
"What?? No…" you whined, reaching to stop him and he let you pull him back into a needy kiss.
"Just wait, I'll just be a second," he said, extricating himself from your hold. "Go and get on the bed."
Too turned on to try and make sense of what he was doing, you did as you were told, wriggling your way into the middle of the bed.
"Not so far," he said and you finally realised what he was planning, watching him strain to drag the heavy mirror across the room.
"Fuck, you're gonna do yourself a mischief, let me help," you said, quickly clambering off the bed to help him.
"This was sexier in my head," he huffed with amusement, for once not fighting you and you realised why when you started helping him shift it. It weighed a fucking tonne.
"Here good?" you puffed, bringing it into position at the foot of the bed.
"As any. Go on, up you get."
He swatted at your bum and you giggled, climbing back up into position. A cracking sound made you turn and you saw him throwing another pill into his mouth.
"You should have let me help you from the start."
He rolled his eyes, swallowing it down and began to unbutton his shirt. Crawling over to him, you sat up on your knees, taking over undressing him.
"I could kiss it better," you winked, his shirt landing on the floor, his belt rattling in the loops as you pulled it free. Dropping it to the floor, you traced a fingertip down the trail of dark hair that led from his belly-button down beyond the waistband of his trousers, his erection straining against the fabric.
But he shook his head and cupped you face between his hands, kissing you gently.
"I want tonight to be about you."
"Because it's so rarely is about me?" you smirked and he rolled his eyes, ushering you further back across the bed, shedding his trousers and climbing up to settle himself behind you, gathering the pillows to help keep him upright as he positioned you both in front of the mirror once more.
"I want you to see you how I see you," he mumbled, his lips on your neck as he ran his hands down your body, squeezing your breasts, making you arch against him. "How fucking gorgeous you are."
Pulling your skirt back up, he parted your thighs, opening you up to you both in the mirror.
"Touch yourself," he murmured, taking your hand and resting it over your bare pussy. "Like that night in the office."
Biting back a moan, heat flaring across your skin, you did as he asked, easing your fingertips down to your core to gather your wetness, sliding it up and over your clit. He made a low groan of approval behind you, your breath catching in your throat as you rolled circles across the sensitive little bundle, your slick-coated skin glinting in the low light.
"Not so fast."
With a quiet whimper you tried to comply, slowing your pace, need prickling under your skin and curling up your spine. His hands slid over the front of your dress, cupping your breasts again, thumbs searching for the telltale firmness of your nipples beneath. You gasped, arching slightly, when he found one and then the other, dragging his thumbnails across them, the friction delicious through the fabric.
"Let's get you out of these wet clothes," he smirked and you stopped what you were doing, sitting forward to let him ease the zip of your dress down your spine. It slid down your arms, pooling at your waist and as he made short work of your bra, you quickly wriggled out of the dress, chuckling it unceremoniously on the floor.
Oh well, it needed a wash before you gave it back to Celia anyway.
Resting back against his chest, relishing the feeling of his skin against yours, you tipped your head back to kiss him.
"Where were we?" he smiled, hands on your thighs, spreading them wider until your legs were draped over his. "You're not looking," he added, brushing his lips over yours again briefly, his fingers sliding between your slick folds and over your clit
"Oh fuck…" you whimpered, eyes dragging back to the mirror, both watching and feeling his hand gently caressing across your most sensitive parts.
"Look how wet you are for me," he whispered, lips ghosting along your neck, the tickle of his beard making you shiver and pulse. Holding your eyes in the mirror, he lifted his hand, his fingers already glinting with your arousal.
"Don't stop," you mumbled, clutching at his forearm, trying to push his hand back to where it had been, and he chuckled throatily in your ear.
But he did as you asked, slightly rough fingertips dragging tight circles across your clit, fast and slow, never setting a rhythm you could fully relax into. When your eyes slipped closed at the pleasure sparkling through you, he scolded you softly, teeth on your neck until you opened them again and watched him dismantle you.
His free hand danced across your breasts, teasing the firm buds, and stroked lightly over your heated skin, until he brought it down to join the other. You choked on a moan, watching as it took over on your clit, the first dipping lower, pressing against your core.
"See how well she takes it," he murmured, easily sliding two thick fingers into you, stretching you open. "You should see how pretty she looks wrapped around my cock."
You choked on a moan and felt his dick twitch where it pressed against your lower back. Struggling to catch your breath, you could only watch as he pumped lazily in and out of you, his fingers shining in the low light. Dragging them against your walls, he brushed across that spot inside that made you jolt, a wicked light in his eyes when you managed to force yours open again.
"Always so pretty when you're about to cum for me," he murmured and your cunt tightened, hips rutting urgently against his hands and the slick roll of his fingertips. "Look," he urged, lips on your neck. "I want you to see what I see."
Breathless, head spinning, flames licking up your spine, you tried your best to keep your eyes open, blurrily watching him fuck you with his hands, his movements punctuated by the wet sounds of your arousal. Your own fingers gravitated to your breasts, hearing him groan quietly behind you as you started teasing the stiff buds, stroking and squeezing just hard enough to make you whimper.
"That's it," he urged, adding a third finger, your cunt stretching to accommodate in the mirror in front of you. "Let me see you touch." He stopped rolling across your clit to grab one of your wrists, pulling your hand down between your legs. "Make yourself cum."
With a whine, your fingertips flew across the little bundle of nerves, his fingers stroking you from the inside, and your thighs began to quake. His cock pressed thickly against your back, twitching in his underwear as you began to slip and with a string of incoherent cursing, the dam broke, washing you away, dripping down to his palm.
"Good girl," he mumbled, lips curving against your neck. Blinking hard, head still buzzing from the rush, you met his eyes in the reflection. He smirked and heat burning across your skin as he pushed your thighs apart from there they had clamped around his hands, showing you the mess you'd made when he pulled his fingers from between your legs.
"Fuck, I—"
You choked on your words with a whimper when he smeared your orgasm over your pussy, your skin glinting slickly back at you in the mirror.
"Beautiful," he smiled, trailing damp lines up your stomach towards your breasts.
Twisting your head you arched back, fingers curling into his hair to bring his lips to yours in a fierce kiss, tongue pushing needily into his mouth, a groan rumbling against your back.
"Fuck me," you mumbled against his mouth, kissing him again until you were forced to move, to help him with the awkward struggle to remove his underwear when you were lying on top of him. His cock sprung up thickly against his stomach and you began to turn to straddle his lap, stroking him gently.
"No," he murmured, catching you by the waist and easing you back to face the mirror. "I want you to see."
"But—"
Large hands gripped your hips, lifting you up and back towards him until his cock pressed up, sliding between your sticky folds. You both mumbled obscenities at the feeling, his thick tip nudging against your clit, your previous orgasm painting his flushed skin.
Lifting yourself higher, planting your hands on his chest, behind you, to keep your balance, you watched in the mirror as he guided himself into you.
"Am I hurting you?" you gasped out, mouth falling open as you watched your body stretching wide around him as the inches slowly disappeared inside you.
He let out a low groan wreathed in amusement.
"Christ no, you're not hurting me… jesus fuck, would you just look at that…"
You could see him behind you in the reflection, craning his neck to see around you, to watch as you began to move, rocking your hips to slide along his cock.
"'D'you see how beautiful you are?"
The graveled reverence in his voice sent a hum running through you and you glided down onto him more slowly, hips grinding in a circle, toying with him until his breath was coming in short bursts, his fingers bruisingly tight at your waist where he helped support your weight. Holding yourself just on the tip, rocking lightly, you smiled at the way his mouth fell open, the pink flush that had spread across his freckled chest up to his cheeks.
It wasn't something you would normally say about yourself, but in that moment, you felt beautiful. Powerful.
And then he pushed his hips up, filling you entirely in a single, hard stroke, robbing you of breath.
"Fuck!"
Wrapping a heavy forearm around your middle, he held you still, fucking up into you, until his cock gleamed with your arousal and your thighs burned with the effort of holding yourself in position. Open-mouthed, gasping, whining, struggling for breath, you did your best to keep watching as he buried himself in you over, and over, and over again, each devastating thrust angled perfectly to meet that sweetest spot, stars bursting across your vision.
"I'm…I'm gon—" you whimpered, unable to get the words out before you unravelled. The force of the orgasm that overtook you, forced him from you, his hips still rutting upwards, dragging his length through your folds and over your over-sensitive clit, making you cry out weakly. Limbs like jelly, you would have collapsed back into him had he not had hold of you.
With a soft kiss to the base of your neck, he guided you gently, easing you forward until you were able to catch yourself on your hands and knees. The bed dipped as he moved behind you, a mumble of over-stimulated protest slipping from your lips when he ran his fingers over your wet, twitching cunt, making you jolt when he slipped them over the swollen little bundle of nerves.
Leaning forward to hover over you, fingers still casually toying with your leaking cunt, he brought his head level with yours, tenderly kissing your shoulder.
"Keep your eyes open," he murmured, meeting your lips when you turned towards him, before pulling back and guiding his cock back into your tight core.
With a moan that was more of a wail, you immediately failed to heed his words, burying your face in the bedding, fingers curling into the sheets at the overwhelming feeling of him filling you completely.
Thick fingers tangled in your hair, gently tugging your head up.
"I said watch," he ordered softly, groaning when your cunt tightened around him in response.
You did your best to keep your eyes open, too lost in the exquisite feeling of him to be embarrassed by how your mouth hung open in dogged pants, or how your make-up had been smudged wantonly over your face. Your hair still in his grasp, you pushed up on your hands to arch back towards him, your breasts rocking with every deep snap of his hips, hard nipples occasionally grazing against the bed, the air filled with the scent of sex and the wet sounds of your pleasure.
"So f'king pretty," he groaned, his rhythm stuttering, hand falling from your hair to grab at your waist, your ass, pushing at the soft flesh so he could glide even more smoothly into you and watch your greedy cunt devour each and every stroke.
Your head dropped between your hands as you felt the waves come for you again, yelping when he slapped your bum sharply, the clenching of your cunt making him groan.
"I said watch…" he huffed out between ragged breaths.
But no amount of instruction could stop how your vision was clouding at the relentless drive of his hips and with a high, wordless whimper you slipped over the edge once more, collapsing forward to bury your face in the sheets as you shook, his still arrowing cock sending aftershocks ricocheting through you. Gasping for breath you lifted your head just in time to see him follow you, his face contorted into a mask of pleasure as his thrusts stuttered to a stop, pushing deeply into you as he filled you with his release.
He slumped forwards, sweaty forehead pressed to your back, rapid breaths hot against your skin. Kissing along your spine, he recovered himself and pulled back, murmuring softly.
In the mirror, your heartbeat finally nearing something akin to normal, you watched as he bit his lip, a slow grin of satisfaction spreading across his flushed face.
"What..?" you asked and he glanced up, eyes dark.
"I could watch that all day," he replied. You jumped slightly as his fingers grazed between your legs and then he held them up for you to see, coated in white.
"Pervert," you chuckled, shifting so you could roll onto you back, stretching out your arms towards him. He settled next to you, holding up his sticky fingers with a cheeky grin. Opening your mouth, you let him press them against your tongue, swallowing the salt-sour tang and he groaned in appreciation.
"And I love that too."
You laughed softly, coaxing him down into a kiss, not caring that he could likely taste himself on your tongue. He probably got off on that too, you giggled to yourself.
"I love you," he mumbled against your lips as you came up for air, peppering soft kisses across your cheek and jaw, down to your neck.
You swallowed, catching his bristled chin between your fingers to draw his mouth back to yours, letting the smell of his aftershave and warmth of his skin pressed against yours suffuse into you before you answered.
"I love you too."
*****
You came out of the bathroom to the sound of him cracking yet more pills out of their plastic packet. Turning when he heard the door open, he threw them into his mouth and shot you a smile before washing them down. Uneasiness blossoming in your stomach, you tightened the belt of the hotel's white fluffy dressing gown and sat down, cross-legged, on the bed.
"Has it been bad today?"
A frown creased across his face for a second, gone so quickly it might never have been there at all.
"Sorry?"
"The pain."
"Oh. No, not really. Just normal, I think. Though, I might have just overdone it a bit there," he replied with a wink before disappearing into the bathroom.
As soon as the door clicked shut you scooted across the bed to see what he'd taken, the packet casually discarded on his bedside table.
Oxycodone, all the small holes empty.
The toilet flushed and you retreated to your original spot before he came out, drying his hands.
"Why did you ask that?"
Forcing yourself to meet his eye, you swallowed.
"No reason." He frowned and you sighed, fusing a hand over your hair. "You just seem to have been taking a lot of pills today and I was worried I'd hurt you, or we'd walked too far, or… I dunno, I was just concerned."
His face relaxed and he chucked the towel back onto the bathroom counter.
"Well there's nothing to worry about," he replied lightly, busying himself with picking up his hastily discarded clothes, the scars on his back standing out pinkly against his skin above the band of his boxers.
"You sure?"
The words left your mouth before you could stop them and you saw his shoulders tense. Straightening, he turned slowly, a half-folded shirt in his hands.
"What's the matter?"
"Nothing… I just worry. It's my one flaw." You passed it off with a smile and he chuckled, but it sounded just as forced as your smile. "I just didn't realise you had to take so many, that's all. They're strong stuff."
His eyes narrowed slightly. "What do you know about how strong they are?"
"I— I don't. What I mean is… everyone's heard of Tramadol, right? And oxycodone is…"
You trailed off under his chilly stare.
"Why do you seem to know so much about what I'm taking all of a sudden?"
"Why shouldn't I? Is it a secret?"
His frown deepened. "No. But my painkillers aren't really any of your business."
"Oh, so you want to leave your wife for me, but the pain management of the man I love isn't any of my business??"
"Unless you're my GP, no. It's not."
"And you get all those pills from your GP, do you, Steve?" you shot back, unable to stop the fears that had been building within you for weeks from spilling out.
He froze for a second before straightening his shoulders. "Excuse me? What's that supposed to mean??"
"Nothing…" you said, picking at a tread on the sleeve of your dressing gown, regretting even starting this conversation. It was entirely the wrong time to having it. Why were you spoiling what had been a lovely evening?
"Answer me, Bella. You clearly mean something. Spit it out."
You flinched slightly at the sharpness of his tone, a rare display of the headteacher he could be, the one he usually kept hidden under gentle, jovial cajolling.
"You left a packet of oxycodone at my house last week," you began, hesitantly, watching him closely. "I tried to give it back at school, but you know what it's like. So I thought…" You swallowed and two deep lines formed between his brows.
"You thought what?"
"I thought I'd just leave them in your drawer."
He stiffened, colour beginning to drain from his cheeks.
"You went through my things?"
"No. I mean, I didn't mean to. I was concerned—"
"You had no right—"
"I love you!" you snapped. "I just wanted to understand what you were taking, ok? Because I was worried when Celia—"
"What the fuck does Celia have to do with this??"
"She's a pharmaceutical rep, she told me what the oxy was. And my sister said—"
He barked a rough breath of laughter.
"Jesus fucking christ, Bella. You go through my things - my personal, private things - and then you talk to anyone except me about it…"
"I… I don't have a lot of luck with people and drugs," you mumbled.
"Drugs..??" he exclaimed, staring at you in confusion. "Wait, do you mean to tell me that you think I'm some sort of druggie, is that it??"
"No, I—"
"You see me taking pills and just assume that makes I'm some kind of addict? I was in a fucking car crash, Bella! You know that! You want the truth? Well here it is: my back is fucked and it hurts all the fucking time. Every single minute of every single day. I take those fucking pills for some fucking relief."
"I'm sorry… I just—" you mumbled
"You're unbelievable," he snapped, raking his fingers through his hair. "I do all this for you, I change all my plans to leave Helen for you sooner, even though it's probably going to fuck up my girls, and this is how you thank me."
You sat up straighter, eyes narrowing. "I never asked you for this," you said, gesturing around the grand room. "And I would have shared the cost but you wouldn't let me. And don't you dare throw your kids at me like that! I told you, if you don't want to leave her now, then there's a perfectly sensible alternative on the table. I'm not forcing you to do anything."
He cleared his throat scornfully.
"And I never said that you're not in pain either," you continued, climbing off the bed. "But you don't take them like 'oh, look, it's time for my pills'. You take them all the time, like you're not even aware you're doing it. And you can't tell me you're supposed to take that many because the dosage was right there on the fucking box."
"I take what I need to—"
"To numb what you're feeling."
"No—"
"I think you do. That day at the conference - you'd already taken your normal dosage. I know because I saw you do it when we were upstairs, but then you started taking extra because you were stressed. Today on the beach, you'd already had at least four before we even got there but as soon as the conversation got hard, you took another. And again in the pub. That oxy is like fucking morphine and you're popping them like they're fucking tick tacks, Steve, so don't lie to me, it's insulting."
"You have no idea what you're talking about. How fucking dare you—"
"And then there's the fact that half the boxes in your desk were unmarked."
He squinted at you. "I don't know what you—"
"They didn't have pharmacy stickers."
"So?? That makes me a fucking druggie then does it? Because some minimum wage kid at the chemist didn't put a sticker on a fucking box."
"You know who else doesn't put stickers on the boxes?"
He scowled at you in response.
"Dealers," you said, his scowl deepening, red climbing his face. His whole body was tense, hands flexing in fists at his sides and for a moment you wondered if you should be afraid of him. Of being here, alone, with him. But you dismissed the thought almost as fast as it arrived. He might be many things but he wasn't dangerous. Not to other people anyway.
"So you see a box without a label and you decide that two plus two equals four hundred and seventy-six, and now I'm a scumbag addict scoring a fix, is that it?" he hissed.
Wrapping your arms around your waist, you took a deep breath.
"Both my parents were scumbag addicts. And I grew up watching what happened when they scored a fix."
He flinched like you'd slapped him.
"Yeah. I know what I'm talking about. I know what addiction does to people. To the people they love. Cassie tried to convince me I was wrong, and I let her because I didn't want it to be true."
"It's not true."
"Then tell me where you got those pills."
"I already did! The fucking chemist."
"You're lying, Steve. The fucking pharmacist would never let them go out like that. There are fucking rules, especially with how strong those drugs are. You think they're not checking every fucking opioid that goes out the door??"
He dragged a hand down his face, scratching at his beard.
"What do you want me to say, Bella?? You've clearly already made up your mind."
"I just want you to tell me the truth. If we're going to do this - you and me - you cannot lie to me about this."
"I'm not—"
With an anguished groan you threw your hands up. "Fine. Have it your way. I'm going to bed."
Stomping around to your side of the bed to you shrugged off the gown, letting it fall to the floor, and climbed into bed. Switching off the night you huddled against the edge of the mattress, putting as much distance between you as possible.
"Come on, Bella, don't be so fucking infantile."
You didn't reply, hunching further in on yourself, until at last you heard him curse under his breath and the shuffling of him getting into bed too. The bed dipped as he got in beside you and the room was plunged into darkness, as tears leaked across the bridge of your nose, soaking down into the pillow by your cheek.
*****
You lay awake for a long time and you could tell he was too by the rhythm of his breathing and the way he tossed and turned.
"I know you're awake," he said eventually, but you didn't reply.
"Bella."
"Go to sleep."
He moved closer to you, his fingers brushing lightly down your arm but you jerked away.
"Why won't you believe me?"
"Because I know I'm right." You rolled over suddenly to face him, startling him, though you were barely able to make out more than a Steve-shaped mound of darker shadow in front of you. "I've spent literal decades of my life watching the people I love lie to me about drugs, lie to me about using, lie about being high. Trying to hide it from me, pushing me away, making me feel like I was going insane. Promising me it would never happen again."
A fresh tear leaked down your cheek and you scrubbed it away in frustration.
"I didn't want it to be true. That's why I let Cassie and Cee convince me I was seeing ghosts. But I've been watching you since Birmingham, Steve, and you've been getting sloppier around me. I don't want to be right about this - believe me, I don't. But I am. And I don't know if you're just not ready to accept it, or if you're just so used to lying that you don't know what else to do—"
"I'm not ly—"
You swore bitterly under your breath. "If you're not going to be honest with me, there's no point in talking about this anymore tonight," you huffed, rolling away from him again, tucking the duvet tight around you.
Silence lapsed between you again, the space between you larger than just the expansive hotel bed.
"What happened with your parents?" he asked softly and you hugged the covers more tightly.
"They were both addicts, from the time we were born," you began after a moment, voice barely more than a whisper. "I don't even know how they let them take us home from the hospital, but they did. But they were our parents and we didn't know that wasn't how parents were supposed to be. Not until we went to school anyway. But where we grew up, we weren't the only kids in the class with parents who'd choose shooting up over making sure there was fucking milk and bread in the house."
He shuffled slightly closer and you rolled onto your back, staring up into the darkness, falling backwards into the past.
"Once, when Bonnie and I were about five, they got so high they left the hob on with a pan of water on it, and it boiled dry and almost burned our house down. We were lucky one of the neighbours saw smoke and called the fire brigade. And they were always disappearing - sometimes for days at a time - out on benders. I remember so many nights of me and Bon huddled under the covers together, listening to them arguing about who got the last hit when there wasn't enough for two."
"Jesus," he murmured, inching closer and you no longer had the energy to pull away, the warmth of him comforting as old, unpleasant memories engulfed you.
"By the time we were six, I was regularly making dinner for us both. When there wasn't food in the house - which was often - we stole it. I'd be the distraction, crying like I'd hurt myself, and Bonnie'd grab what she could." You laughed dryly, letting your head rest against his chest. "It was like Ready, Steady, Cook. Never knew what she'd come out with and we'd have to do our best to make something from it."
"Why did no one ever call Social Services?" he asked hoarsely and you shrugged.
"Around our way, that was just how it was. Nobody cared, not back then. Everyone had their own shit going on and if you meddled with the wrong people, it could be dangerous. I didn't know it at the time, but our dad dealt for the big man on the estate, and no one was going to risk trying to help us in case our dad sent Harry Downy after them. Our grandparents did their best and they tried to protect us - we lived with them a lot - but eventually our mum would always show up, screaming and threatening them until they had to give us back."
He kissed your temple, hand warm against your stomach and you covered his fingers with yours.
"I don't know why she bothered, it's not like she wanted anything to do with us when we were there. But I suppose it was the guilt."
You swallowed at the ball pushing in your throat.
"But it wasn't all bad. There were the bits in between, when they would get clean for a few weeks, or sometimes even months. And they'd take care of us and tell us it wouldn't happen again. But it always did. They'd lie and lie and lie… Bonnie was smarter than me - she knew it was bullshit - but I wanted to believe them so much that it took me by surprise every time."
You took a deep breath, squeezing absentmindedly at his wrist.
"And then when we were eight, our dad died of an overdose."
He stiffened, grip tightening around you. "I'm so sorry," he whispered.
"After he died, mum got clean - properly clean for the first time since we were born, I think. But then she met Frank, and then she got pregnant with our brother, and it started all over again. And at least it's not coke and smack and pills anymore, but Frank's a drinker, so… she just picked that up instead. Booze and fags and a bit of weed. She hasn't been properly sober since I was twelve."
Lapsing into silence, exhausted, you rested against him, breathing in the sharp notes of his aftershave that still clung to his skin.
"I'm so sorry, Bells," he said again, kissing your hair. "I didn't know…"
"It's not exactly a heartwarming family story."
"No…" He cleared his throat. "But just because you had such a tough upbringing and your parents struggled, doesn't mean—"
You pushed away from him and he struggled to keep you close, a strong arm around your waist as you flattened your palms against his chest.
"Let go—"
"Stop… stop it," he hushed you, other hand coming to cradle the back of your neck. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry that happened to you. That's no way for a kid to grow up. And look, I get it. I can see what you were saying earlier, but I've got it under control. I'm not like them, I'm not addicted. I just take a few extra, here and there, when I need to take the edge off because what they gave me doesn't work—"
"That's how it starts, Steve."
"I'm fine," he said emphatically, stroking your hair. "I promise you. You have nothing to worry about."
"But—"
He silenced you with his lips against yours, soft and insistent.
"I love you, Bells. I promise, it'll be ok. I'm not like that."
Your chest tightened, tears spilling over and down your cheeks.
"Hey, c'mon on now… don't cry, pretty girl," he soothed, wrapping you in his arms, curling himself around you. "I've got you, you're ok. It'll be ok, I promise."
Guys, do we think it will be ok? It might not be ok... 🙈 As ever, come yell at me in all the usual ways, I weep with joy at your comments 🤍
NOTE: I really grappled with how to bring the issue of Steve's addiction issues out in as careful and sensitive a way as I could. And to be very clear, of course I don't think people who need to take pain meds for chronic pain are addicts! But Steve definitely is 🙈 We also have to factor into this that the story takes place in the 90s and I think we probably have better understanding and vocabulary around dependency and addiction now, than we did back then. That said, I don't have any first hand experience of these things, so if you think anything here feels wildly inappropriate please do tell me (kindly if you can, any error was unintentional) so I can address it. Thanks, xx
Uuuuuuuuh sooo much going on on this episode. 🥵😰 Both my reactions lol. Can i just say that i agree completely with bella? She’s way more smart and mature than steve and she is right about the pills cause she knows what shes talking about.
Anyway i just feel like steve doesn’t really love bella, he just made a mess of his life and she was in the perfect place at the perfect time and there’s no way shes getting a happy ending. At least with him.
“Right girls, get on the barre for pliés!” you called out, walking over to your phone to start the music.
The little ones lined up quickly, pink leotards and soft slippers squeaking against the floor. You paced slowly behind them, correcting posture as the familiar piano notes filled the studio.
“Shoulders down, Saoirse,” you said gently, tapping the girl’s shoulder as you passed.
A knock on the studio door made you glance up mid-combination.
“Now to the left side,” you instructed, keeping your voice steady as you crossed to open the door.
Cillian stood there looking slightly frazzled, Claire’s ballet bag slung over his shoulder. Claire’s hair was perfectly bunned, but her cheeks were flushed like they’d run the last block.
“Sorry we’re late,” Cillian muttered, a little out of breath.
“It’s fine,” you replied, biting the inside of your cheek hard to keep the smile off your face. It was almost impossible not to think about how you’d woken up this morning with his head between your legs.
“Don’t worry, love. Come in,” you told Claire, opening the door wider. “We’ve only just started.”
You gave Cillian a quick, shy little “Bye.”
Claire hurried inside and started pulling on her warm-ups. You turned to one of the older girls near the front.
“Cecee, would you mind running through the combination with Claire while I pop to the bathroom?”
Cecee nodded cheerfully. “Yes, Miss.”
“When you’re done, repeat it once more on each side,” you called to the class as you slipped out. A chorus of “Yes, Miss” followed you down the hall.
You made sure Emily, the owner, was still outside on her smoke break before tilting your head toward the small staff bathroom at the end of the corridor. Cillian followed without a word.
The second the door clicked shut behind you, his mouth was on yours.
The kiss was hungry, almost desperate. He pushed you back against the wall, tongue sliding against yours as his hands gripped your hips and then slid down to knead your ass, pulling you flush against him.
“We shouldn’t—” you gasped, but the words dissolved into a soft moan when his lips moved just below your ear and his hand pressed firmly against your clothed core.
“Ten minutes,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “That’s all I ask.”
You barely managed to whisper, “Five,” before he spun you around, pressing your front against the cool tiles. His hands made quick work of your tights and knickers, dragging them down just enough. You heard the metallic sound of his belt and the rasp of his zipper, then the thick, blunt head of his cock nudged against your entrance.
He pushed in with one hard thrust.
A broken sound escaped you. He groaned deeply, forehead dropping to your shoulder as he felt how wet and ready you already were.
“Fuck… so tight,” he breathed.
It was fast and rough. His hips snapped against yours, the wet slap of skin echoing quietly in the small bathroom with every thrust. His balls tapped rhythmically against your clit, sending sparks of pleasure through you. You bit your lip hard, trying not to moan too loudly.
He reached up, wrapped your braid around his fist, and pulled your head back gently but firmly, arching your back. The slight sting made you dizzy.
When a moan threatened to slip free, his other hand covered your mouth, warm and steady.
“That’s it,” he whispered hotly against your ear, voice strained with effort. “Dont let them hear you.”
Your cunt clenched hard around him at his words.
He groaned, pace faltering for a moment before he drove deeper, harder, chasing both of your releases. The bathroom filled with the sounds of ragged breathing, your muffled whimpers, and the slick, obscene rhythm of your bodies.
His grip on your hair tightened, just enough to make you tremble.
“Come on,” he rasped, lips brushing your ear. “Come for me. I can tell you're close.”
The combination of his filthy praise, the relentless drag of him inside you, and the tight pull on your hair sent you spiraling. Your orgasm crashed over you hard, thighs shaking, walls pulsing around him as you cried out against his palm.
He followed right after, burying himself deep with a low, guttural groan, hips stuttering as he came inside you.
For a few long seconds, the only sounds were your heavy breathing and the faint hum of the flickering bathroom lights.
Cillian pressed a soft, almost reverent kiss to the back of your neck before slowly pulling out of you. You felt the warm trickle of him down your thigh as he carefully helped you pull your tights and underwear back up, his hands gentle now, almost protective.
You turned in his arms on shaky legs. He cupped your face with both hands, thumbs brushing over your flushed cheeks, and kissed you — slow, tender, and sweet. A stark contrast to the rough, desperate way he’d just taken you against the wall.
“You wanna go out to dinner?” he asked quietly, voice still a little rough as he zipped up his jeans.
You tried to fix your appearance in the small mirror, trying to look like you didn’t still feel him leaking out of you.
“Sure,” you said, your breathing finally settling.
“Eight’s fine.”
“See you then.” He gave you one last soft kiss, lingering just a second longer than necessary, before slipping out of the bathroom.
You waited a few heartbeats, checked yourself once more in the mirror, then hurried back toward the studio.
When you opened the door, the room was buzzing.
The girls had abandoned the barre and were clustered in small groups, chatting and giggling.
“Hey, come on. What’s going on here?” you called out, voice firm but warm.
The studio fell silent instantly. The girls scurried back to their places along the barre, looking appropriately guilty.
“Good. Now off the barre. Relevés on center, please.”
—————————————-
Dinner had been a romantic affair, filled with too much wine and endless laughter that left your cheeks aching. You had fallen into a comfortable routine these past weeks; late-night phone calls that stretched into the early hours, lazy makeout sessions on his couch, waking up tangled in each other’s sheets more often than not.
You were letting your guard down. Giving yourself a real chance. Trying, for once, not to overthink it, just to see where it would go. And it showed. Mel, another teacher at the studio who had slowly become something like a friend, had teased you about it just the other day.
“You look happier,” she’d said, nudging you with her elbow during a break. “Mystery man treating you right?”
You’d brushed it off with a laugh, cheeks warm. It felt good to have a friend. But the guilt gnawed at you. She trusted you with her messy dating stories, her insecurities, her life. And you still kept most of yours locked away.
Still, you couldn’t deny it felt good. Being held by him. Being kissed by him. The way he looked at you like you were something worth staying for. You tried to tell yourself it was just sex, just convenience, but that lie was getting harder to believe every day. You didn’t want to be kissed by anyone else. You didn’t want anyone else’s hands on you.
Over dinner Cillian commented that he thought Claire was suspicious about you two, after you showed up to pointe class wearing his shirt.
“So… you want to tell her?” you asked, taking another bite of your dessert, trying to sound casual.
“Yeah. But what if she gets mad at me?” He looked genuinely worried. “She’s been through enough with the divorce. I don’t want her thinking I’m replacing her mum or something.”
“I mean…” you pondered, kicking him lightly under the table. “She’s thirteen. She’s a smart girl. She at least suspects you fuck around.” You grinned.
Cillian rolled his eyes, but a giggle slipped out of him anyway.
“But seriously,” you continued, softer now. “I don’t think she’ll take it that badly if I tell her. She likes me. We have a good relationship.”
He studied you for a moment, thumb brushing over your knuckles on the table.
“You sure?” he asked, a little skeptical. “You don’t have to do this.”
“Yeah. I don’t mind,” you said, surprising even yourself with how much you meant it. “We have class tomorrow. I can talk to her after if you want.”
Cillian’s expression softened, something warm and grateful flickering across his face. He lifted your hand to his lips and kissed your knuckles.
“Thank you,” he murmured.
—————————————
You both were tipsy and giggly by the time you stumbled through his front door, the wine from dinner still warm in your veins. The second the door clicked shut, his hands were on you — impatient, greedy, pulling you close as your back hit the wall.
Your lips crashed together in a messy, laughing kiss. His fingers worked quickly down the buttons of your blouse while you tugged at his shirt, desperate to feel skin. The fabric whispered to the floor as you peeled it off him.
“God, I hope you never shave this beard,” you breathed, running your palms over the rough scruff along his jaw.
He smiled against your mouth, nipping at your bottom lip. “Do you like it that much?” he teased, voice low and playful as he trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses down the side of your neck.
“I love it,” you purred, the words turning into a soft moan when his beard scraped deliciously against your sensitive skin.
That was all the encouragement he needed.
Cillian grabbed the back of your thighs and lifted you effortlessly. You wrapped your legs around his waist, arms around his neck, still kissing him as he carried you through the house. Your shoes clattered to the floor somewhere along the way, both of you giggling into each other’s mouths when he nearly tripped over them.
He kicked the bedroom door open and threw you onto the bed with just enough force to make you bounce. You laughed, bright and breathless, as he crawled over you, eyes dark and hungry in the low light.
You wrapped your legs around his waist as he peeled off your blouse and bra, tossing them somewhere behind him. His mouth moved lower, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses down your stomach, teasing the sensitive skin just above the waistband of your jeans. He took his time sliding them down your legs, along with your underwear, until you were completely bare beneath him.
Your chest rose and fell quickly in anticipation, skin already flushed.
He took his sweet time, kissing and licking every inch of your hips and thighs, scraping his beard lightly against your skin, deliberately avoiding the one place you needed him most.
“Please,” you whined, arching your back, trying to chase his mouth.
Cillian smiled against your inner thigh, clearly enjoying how desperate you were. Only then did he finally give in.
He dragged his tongue in one long, slow stripe from your entrance to your clit. You gasped, fingers twisting into the sheets. He did it again, and again, savoring you like he had all night. When your hips started twitching, he held them down with one strong hand and sealed his mouth over your clit, sucking gently.
Your moan of his name filled the room.
He worked you with devastating focus. tongue flicking, swirling, then moving side to side in that perfect rhythm he’d learned you loved. The wet sounds of his mouth combined with your broken whimpers made everything feel filthy and intimate at the same time.
You were already close when he slid one finger inside you, curling it upward to press firmly against your G-spot.
You came hard, thighs trembling around his head, crying out as pleasure crashed through you.
But he didn’t stop.
He added a second finger, thrusting them deep and steady while his tongue kept working your swollen clit. The overstimulation made your eyes water, your body twitching and jerking under his mouth, but he held you firmly in place.
“Cillian— fuck— I can’t—” you gasped, voice wrecked.
“You can,” he murmured against you, the vibration making you whimper. “One more for me, love. Come on.”
He curled his fingers again, sucking harder on your clit, and you shattered a second time, sharper, longer, almost too much. Your hands flew to his hair, tugging desperately as you rode out the waves.
Only then did he finally ease off, kissing your trembling thighs softly as you came down, gasping and oversensitive.
You looked down at him, eyes glassy, chest heaving.
“Please,” you begged, voice hoarse. “I need you inside me. Now.”
Cillian crawled back up your body, kissing you deeply so you could taste yourself on his tongue. His cock was hard and heavy against your thigh as he settled between your legs.
“Greedy girl,” he whispered against your lips, a hint of a smile in his voice. “You’ll get me.”
He stood up just long enough to push his pants and underwear down his legs, kicking them aside. Your teeth sank into your bottom lip at the sight of him, thick, hard, and already glistening at the tip.
Cillian planted his knees on the mattress and settled between your thighs again. He took his cock in hand and dragged the head slowly through your soaked folds, teasing your clit with lazy taps until you were squirming beneath him.
“Please,” you begged, hips lifting desperately. “Stop teasing.”
With one smooth, powerful thrust he buried himself inside you.
Your head fell back against the pillow, mouth open in a silent gasp as pleasure bordered on pain. He gave you a moment to adjust before he started moving, deep, steady strokes that made your tits bounce with every snap of his hips.
One of his hands held your thigh open wide, the other came up to cup your cheek. His thumb brushed your lower lip.
“Look at me,” he said, voice low and commanding.
You obeyed, eyes fluttering open to meet his. “Good girl” he rasped and you gasped as his praise.
He took the opportunity to slide his thumb into your open mouth. You sucked on it eagerly, tongue swirling around the digit as he fucked you harder.
The view was intoxicating; his broad shoulders hovering over you, hooded eyes fixed on the way your body moved beneath him. He pulled his thumb from your mouth, wet with your saliva, and used it to tease your nipple, rolling the sensitive peak until you clenched hard around his cock.
You pushed yourself up onto your elbows, wanting to watch where he disappeared inside you, slick and obscene, stretching you open with every thrust.
“God, I love your cock,” you moaned, voice wrecked.
He groaned at your words, pace faltering for a second before he drove in even deeper. His thumb moved down to circle your clit, firm and relentless. The pressure built fast and overwhelming.
Your elbows gave out. You fell back against the bed, nails digging into his thighs as another orgasm ripped through you, stronger than the last. Your cunt pulsed around him, squeezing him tight as you cried out.
Cillian didn’t stop. His hips kept their punishing rhythm, chasing his own release while dragging every last tremor from you. He planted one hand beside your head for leverage and rested the other lightly on your throat.
He applied just enough pressure to make your head spin in the best way. Your eyes rolled back, another broken moan slipping from your lips as your body tightened around him again.
“That’s it,” he rasped, voice strained. “Come on, love. One more.”
You shattered around him for the fourth time, cunt fluttering wildly as your orgasm dragged him over the edge with you. He buried himself deep, hips stuttering as he came hard, groaning your name while he filled you with pulse after pulse of warmth.
For a long moment the only sounds were your ragged breathing and the faint creak of the bed as he slowly relaxed on top of you.
He kissed you softly, almost reverently, before carefully pulling out. You winced at the loss, feeling the warm trickle of his cum between your thighs. Cillian noticed immediately and reached down, gently pushing some of it back inside you with two fingers, a possessive little gesture that made your stomach flutter.
He collapsed beside you, pulling you into his chest. His arms wrapped around you tightly, one hand stroking slowly up and down your back.
“Fuck,” he sighed, breath still ragged as he tried to steady himself.
“That was great,” you said, the words dissolving into giggles that made him huff out a laugh against your hair.
He looked down at you, eyes soft and warm, and cupped your cheek to steal a kiss that quickly turned deep and breathless. You gave in completely, tangling your fingers in his hair as he pulled your thigh over his hip. You could already feel him getting hard again against your skin.
You didn’t had any complaints, but it still shocked you how, at almost fifty, he could fuck you like this for hours if you let him.
Remembering you both had to wake up early tomorrow, you reluctantly pulled back from the kiss before it could escalate again.
“Come on,” you murmured, a little breathless. “We need to wake up early tomorrow.”
You sat up, trying to stand as gracefully as your shaky legs and sticky thighs would allow. Cillian made a low, protesting sound in his throat and reached for you, fingers brushing your waist.
“Come on one more,” he mumbled, voice husky.
You laughed softly and swatted his hand away.
“You already said that. I'm afraid there's no more.”
He grinned, unrepentant, and watched you walk toward the bathroom with heavy-lidded eyes.
He floated through the entire day on a quiet, unfamiliar high.
It wasn’t until you had spent the night in his bed that Cillian realised how deeply miserable he had become. The emptiness had settled in so gradually that he’d stopped noticing it, an endless, grey loop of days bleeding into one another.
Ever since the divorce, he had been lost. For the first month he could barely get out of bed. He told himself he didn’t need anyone. He had good friends, a loving family, and Claire, his little princess, the brightest light in his life. She was the only reason he got up some mornings, the only reason he pretended he was okay. For her, he went back to work. For her, he kept showing up.
With each new role came more recognition, until one night he stood on stage accepting an Academy Award. Everyone told him he had made it. That he had everything a man could want. But as the applause washed over him, he felt nothing but hollow. The statue felt heavy and meaningless in his hands.
He had his friends, his colleagues, his daughter. But at the end of the day he wanted someone to come home to. Someone who would ask about his day. Someone to take care of, and to be taken care of by. He tried dating a few times, forcing himself back into the game, but it never felt right. Nothing clicked. After a while he accepted it. He was getting older. This was probably it.
He could still fuck when the loneliness got too loud, but the relief was always temporary.
That was until you.
Now, he found that he was smiling more when he got to the set. Tim and Emily kept teasing him throughout the day, whenever he checked his phone to see if you had replied to his texts. He had rolled his eyes and tried to brush it off, but he couldn’t deny the quiet sting he felt every time he opened his messages and saw nothing from you. The silence hurt more than he wanted to admit.
But he had hope.
——————————
You had been ignoring him all week. As if not answering could erase the memory of his lips on yours, the quiet kindness in his eyes, the way he looked at you like you were something worth staying for.
You felt guilty for giving him that kind of hope. For letting him think there could be a chance for something normal here. Something healthy. You were convinced you would never be capable of that again, not with anyone, and certainly not with a man like him.
He wasn't pushy, trying to tell himself that you were just busy. He didn't text much or appeared at the bookstore. He was giving you space, and somehow that only made you crave him more.
You were lying on the couch under a blanket, rotting in the dim glow of the television. It had become your default spot when sleep refused to come in your bed, which was every night since that lunch at his house. You flicked through channels—apocalyptic news, cooking competitions, endless romantic movies where the handsome man loved the clumsy, imperfect girl exactly as she was. It didn’t matter if it was a dystopian romance, a superhero flick, or softcore porn. Everyone was in love. Or at least fucking.
Hugh Grant was making love to Julia Roberts on screen, but you weren’t really watching. Your mind kept drifting back to Cillian. Frustrated, you turned onto your back and stared at the ceiling. With a sigh, your hand slipped under the blanket and beneath the waistband of your bottoms.
You closed your eyes and let the memories take over. Your fingers found your clit, circling slowly as you remembered the feeling of his tongue on your lips, your nipples, the inside of your thighs. Your mouth fell open in a soft gasp when you found the right rhythm.
You recalled the weight of his body behind yours, the deep, steady way he moved inside you. A low moan escaped as you remembered how his eyes never left yours, the quiet praise in his voice when you came around him. Your free hand slid up to squeeze your breast, hard, chasing the building heat.
Your thoughts drifted to that morning in his bed. The taste of him on your tongue—heavy, thick, slightly salty. The way his fingers had twisted in your hair, the slight ache in your jaw afterward. That memory was what finally pushed you over the edge. Your back arched slightly as you came with a quiet, broken moan, thighs trembling under the blanket.
Your breathing slowly evened out. A small, tired smile tugged at your lips when you realised what you’d just done.
You missed him.
It wasn’t just the sex, though that was a big part of it. It was the way he cared for you. The patience he showed when you pushed him away. The quiet proof, day after day, that he wanted you anyway.
As if sensing the thought, your phone pinged inside your bag on the floor beside the coffee table. When you saw his name on the notification, you sat up.
“Hi”
You plucked courage from somewhere you didn’t know you still had and replied instantly.
“Hi”
The three dots appeared almost immediately. He was typing.
“Can we meet? I miss you.”
Your stomach dropped. Could he have been doing the same as you? Lying somewhere thinking about the two of you, replaying the same memories?
In a move that felt completely out of character, you agreed and gave him the code for the building buzzer.
And now here you were.
He had barely stepped inside before the kiss started. A soft hello that quickly turned hungry. You peeled his coat off his shoulders as he settled between your legs on the couch, his body pressing you back into the cushions. His hands slipped under your top, warm palms sliding over your skin, while he rocked gently against your clothed core, already hard.
“I didn’t come here for this,” he murmured when he finally pulled back, breathing hard, forehead resting against yours.
You looked up at him, eyes half-lidded, a little defiant.
“Then why did you come over?”
He kissed the corner of your mouth, soft and lingering. “To talk.”
“About what?” you asked, voice a touch more serious now, even as your hands stayed fisted in his shirt.
“About us,” he whispered.
His lips moved to your jaw, then slowly down the side of your neck.
“Us?” you asked, voice catching as his nose kept nudging downward along your neck. The word landed like ice water. You knew exactly what he meant, but it still startled you, made your stomach drop.
He lifted his head to meet your gaze, eyes dark and steady. “You, me… and whatever this is.”
“Wait—wait, wait.” You pushed against his chest and sat up quickly, forcing space between you. “What do you mean?”
“This, Y/N.” He said gesturing the space between you and him. His voice was getting frustrated now, the heat of the moment cooling into irritation at your interruption. “Whatever the fuck we’ve got going on. We have lunch. We fuck. We have a great time. And then you disappear and don’t call?”
“Oh, what are you? A girl?” You scoffed, the words slipping out sharp and defensive.
You stood up abruptly, walking away from him toward the kitchenette, needing distance from the conversation you could feel coming.
You filled the kettle with water, flicked the switch on, and heard him approach from behind.
“You know? You can be a real cunt when you want to be,” he said, his voice soft but laced with clear anger and frustration.
You sighed heavily and covered your face with both hands for a moment, suddenly exhausted by the whole thing. You were already tired of this fight before it had even properly started, and you were beginning to realise that of course he hadn’t just come over to fuck. He wanted to talk.
“I know, okay?” you said, leaning back against the counter and running a hand through your hair. “I’m sorry. It’s just… I hate that you act surprised when I can’t give you something I never said I could give. You already know how I am. You know I’m fucked up. Why are you so demanding?”
The tears came then, hot and sudden. You were frustrated with yourself — because some part of you desperately wanted to give him everything he was asking for, but you knew there was only so much you could offer without hurting him in the process.
“Hey, hey, hey…” Cillian walked toward you immediately, pulling you into his arms. You let yourself collapse against his chest, face buried in his shirt as the sobs finally broke free. In his arms you felt like you could breathe for a second. Like only he could loosen the tight confines of everything you kept bottled up.
When you realised you were soaking his shirt, a small, embarrassed giggle slipped out through the tears. “Fuck, I’m sorry…”
You tried to wipe your face with both hands, but he caught them gently, holding them between you. He looked at you — so vulnerable, so raw — and couldn’t resist pressing a soft kiss to your lips. His heart ached at the feel of your tears against his skin.
“I’m sorry, okay?” he whispered against your mouth. “I’ll let you take the lead on this. Whatever pace you need.”
He kept holding your hands like he was scared you might run again.
“I just want you to open up to me,” he said, voice soft, almost a whisper. “Tell me what’s going on in there.”
If you only knew what goes on inside my head, you thought.
“You can trust me,” he added, almost pleading now, eyes searching yours for any small crack he could hold onto.
You didn’t have the words. Not yet.
So instead you gave in.
You leaned up and kissed him — slow, deep and passionate. It escalated quickly, resuming the passion from before.
His lips traveled down. His hand on the back of your head tilted it to the side so he could run his tounge up the side of your neck to give a nibble to your ear lobe.
Your hand was tangled in his hair. Tugging and running the hands through his soft locks. The feeling of his beard gave you a shiver that traveled from your neck to your throbbing cunt.
His hand tugged your top up and he admired your naked figure for a second before diving in. Licking, flicking and biting your tits. One hand was on the back of your head while the other one palmed your core through your thick pajama pants.
Applying presure your gound down. “Please” you sighed. He complied, going past the waist band of your pants and knickers to stroke your folds.
He groaned when he found you were dripping already. Quickly grabbing your hips to sit you on the counter he resumed his assault on your folds. With ease he entered a finger inside of you.
“How are you always so ready for me?” He asked, lifting your top further up and off and he resumed the teasing of your nipples as you kept him in place with your hand.
“I was touching myself before you texted” you confessed, dizzy from the way his middle finger rubbed that perfect spot inside of you.
He groaned and you could feel the twitch of his cock on your thigh at your confession.
“You were?” He asked, looking at you. His stare only adding to the pressure on your lower belly.
“Yes. Ive missed you too” you whispered and he entered another finger with a groan. It slit in with ease and you were in heaven.
—————————
You both had Friday off and stayed up until the light crept through the curtains again. Talking, kissing, fucking. Slow and lazy at times, urgent at others. The hours blurred together in the soft glow of your small flat.
True to his word, Cillian didn’t push. He let you lead every conversation, every touch. But it surprised even you how easily the words came. You told him about your childhood in Sligo, your mother’s sharp tongue and softer hands, the day you got your first pair of ballet shoes, the way books had always felt like safer places than people. He listened like every word mattered, laughing quietly at your stories, eyes warm in the low light.
He loved seeing you like this, unguarded, in your own bed, wearing nothing but one of his t-shirts, hair messy, cheeks flushed. At home. Real.
Eventually you fell asleep tangled together, his arm heavy around your waist, your back pressed to his chest. For once, sleep came easily.
—————————————
The loud ringing of your phone dragged you awake with an annoyed groan. Sunlight was already pouring into the lounge. You dragged yourself up, squinting, and grabbed whatever clothes were closest, your panties and his t-shirt, before padding out to answer it.
It was your sister.
“Hello?” Your voice came out raspy and low.
“Hiya,” she said, far too cheerful for whatever time it was. “How are you?”
“Fine,” you groaned, pulling the t-shirt down as you sat on the couch and tucked your legs under the throw. “You?”
“Uh… I’m in a bit of trouble,” she sighed.
“Go on.” You rolled your eyes. It was usual Rosie, every week a new problem to whine about.
“Y/N! Why were you asleep? It’s like eleven!”
“It’s my only day off in weeks, now spit it out.”
She sighed dramatically. You tucked your legs tighter under the blanket.
“I think I’m pregnant.”
“What? Didn’t you guys break up?” Your voice came out louder than you intended. You glanced toward the bedroom, checking if you’d woken Cillian.
“We did… sort of.”
“Rose.” You scolded her softly. Even after all your troubles, your little sister still managed to outshine you when it came to chaos.
“I know, I know. It just sort of happened. I’d taken the implant out and now I don’t know what to do.” Her voice was climbing, breath shaky.
“Well, have you taken a test?”
“No, I’m about to do it right now.”
“Well, do it!” You walked to the kitchenette and filled the kettle, needing something to do with your hands.
You heard plastic rustling, the toilet flush, the cap clicking shut.
“Never have sex unprotected, Rosie. At least have him pull out.”
“First of all, ew. Second of all, he did!” Another pause. “Now we wait.”
“Fuck’s sake.” You ran a hand through your messy hair.
“So how are you? How’s work?”
“No, don’t change the subject. Have you missed your period?”
“Ugh, yes. Like a week.”
“Probably just stress from moving. Anyway, I’m fine. Just busy and fucking cold.”
“Have you made any friends there?”
“No. Not yet.” Your tone sharpened.
“Have you tried?”
“Jesus, what’s with the twenty questions? No, I haven’t. I’m fine like this.”
“Fine! I was just asking.”
“Well don’t.”
A beat of silence stretched between you.
“I did meet someone though,” you said, a small, wicked smile slipping onto your face.
“A man?” Rose wailed, instantly perking up.
“Mhm.” You agreed, looking towards your bedroom.
“What’s his name?”
“Cillian.”
“How did you meet? You didn’t tell me you were dating again.”
“I’m not. We’re not. We’re just—”
“Fucking?” she finished wickedly.
“No, of course not.”
“Course you are. I can hear you giggling, you little minx.” Heat crept up your cheeks as you smiled despite yourself.
“Well what does he do? How did you meet?”
“He’s an actor.”
“Y/N, are you talking about Cillian Murphy?”
“Uh… I think so.” You knew so but you knew how she would react.
“WHAT?! How the fuck?”
“I teach his daughter.”
“Look at you, fucking an a-list actor.”
“We are not.”
“Whatever you say,” she laughed. “Is he a good fuck? He’s really hot—”
“Alright, waiting’s done.”
“Here we go.” She sighed.
“And?” You bit your lower lip nervously.
“Not pregnant.”
You both let out a long, simultaneous sigh of relief.
“Oh thank God,” you said, pouring hot water into a mug.
“Okay, that’s a relief,” Rose laughed, the tension draining from her voice. “So… are you guys serious? Does he know about—”
“No. And he will never know. It’s not serious, okay? We’re just… fucking,” you said sharply, keeping your voice low.
“You do deserve someone though. You can’t punish yourself forever.”
“I know,” you lied.
“So now what? Are you getting back together?”
“Fuck no. It was just a goodbye.”
“Good for you, Rosie.”
“Alright, I'm leaving. I'm supposed to be at my desk now my boss already hates me”
“You're at work?!”
“Yes and I'm supposed to be working!”
“Alright bye. I love you”
“Love you too”
You hung up and stood there for a moment, staring at your phone, the steam from your tea curling lazily upward in the quiet flat. The relief in Rose’s voice still echoed in your ear, but it did nothing to loosen the knot in your own chest.
You took a slow sip, the heat burning your tongue. Typical Rosie — always falling into chaos and somehow landing on her feet. You envied that. Your own messes never seemed to resolve so cleanly.
Behind you, the bedroom door creaked softly. You turned to see Cillian padding out, shirtless, hair tousled from sleep, sweatpants slung low on his hips. He looked soft and rumpled and unfairly beautiful in the morning light. When his eyes found you, a slow smile spread across his face.
“Morning,” he murmured, voice still gravelly.
“Morning.”
He crossed the small space and wrapped his arms around you from behind, chin resting on your shoulder. You let yourself lean back into his warmth, his bare chest solid against your back. For a second, everything felt simple.
“Who was that?” he asked quietly, pressing a kiss just below your ear.
“My sister. Rose. She’s… having a moment.”
He hummed, not pushing for details. One of his hands slipped under the hem of his t-shirt you were wearing, palm warm against your stomach.
“You okay?” he asked.
You nodded, even though you weren’t sure. “Yeah. Just family stuff.”
He didn’t press. Instead he turned you gently in his arms until you were facing him, searching your eyes with that intensity that saw right through you.
You swallowed hard. The urge to spill everything, the phone call, the guilt, the things you’d never told anyone, rose up so suddenly it scared you.
Instead, you rose onto your toes and kissed him, slow and deep, trying to lose yourself in the taste of him rather than the noise in your head.
He kissed you back, hands sliding down to your waist, pulling you closer. When you finally broke apart, foreheads resting together, he smiled again — that small, private smile that always made your chest feel too tight.
“Do you want a cuppa?” you asked softly.
“I’m fine, thanks,” he hummed, his hands slipping under the hem of his t-shirt you were wearing, palms warm against your cool skin. “You’re freezing.”
“Warm me up,” you whispered against his lips.
Without another word, Cillian scooped you up, hands sliding under your thighs as he lifted you effortlessly. You wrapped your legs around his waist, arms around his neck, and he carried you back into the bedroom, mouth never leaving yours.
I think I have caught all the loose ends from this one so it’s finally safe to share! Fingers crossed I can get back to weekly posting again now 🙏🏼 Thanks for your patience! 😘
Summary: As things continue to escalate between Bella and Steve, the Stanton team heads to Birmingham for a national teaching conference. When you bump into some colleagues from your last school, Steve is a little jealous once again. But is Amanda onto you?
Warnings: 🔞 Smut. Just like, non-stop 😂 I can’t seem to make them stop. Infidelity and a slightly toxic dynamic. Suggested substance abuse.
Word count: 12,226 PART 4 | SERIES
5. Speeches and Lies
You were curled into his side when he woke, body warm against his. Shifting ever so slightly, careful not to wake you, he pressed a kiss to the soft skin of your shoulder, breathing you in, your perfume still lingering on your neck. With a mumble that made him smile, you wriggled, turning over to rest your head on his chest. Stretching - gritting his teeth against the complaint down his spine - he reached for where he'd left his watch on the bedside table, squinting in the low light to read it, surprised to see it was almost seven.
He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept a full night.
Running his hand over your hair, he dropped a kiss to the top of your head and you stirred properly, fingers roaming blindly across his chest.
"Wakey wakey, sleepyhead," he murmured and you grumbled in protest.
"S'time is it?"
"Almost seven. I have to make a move."
Twisting to look up at him, you blinked groggily, wrapping your arms around him more tightly.
"No."
"No?"
"Not yet. You can just leave when I leave, can't you? It's too late now anyway to pretend you've been there all night."
Brushing his knuckles across your cheek he shook his head. "I don't want there to be any chance of Helen seeing the car when it shouldn't be here."
"Does she comes this way?"
He shrugged slightly. "Doesn't matter. Can't risk it." You whined, burying your face into him and he laughed softly, kissing your hair. "I don't want to leave."
Uncurling, you looked up at him, shifting slowly until you were on top, knees bracketing his waist. With a glint in your eye, you rocked experimentally, smile broadening when you felt the hardness in beneath you.
"Don't go yet."
"It has to be quick."
"Hmm… I believe in you, old man."
He raised an eyebrow and you giggled, shimmying out of your underwear and sinking slowly down onto him.
"Fuck…" he groaned, hands drifting to your hips, guiding you as you started to move. "How are you always so fucking tight…"
"Just lucky I suppose," you mumbled, lips brushing against his as you spoke and he caught you by the back of the head, drawing you into an urgent kiss.
*****
Drying off from the shower, he reached for his trousers, fishing out the half-spent packet of Tramadol from the pocket. Popping two, he leaned over to drink the tap to wash them down. Swallowing, he turned the little blister pack over in his hands.
"And one for luck," he mumbled to no one, popping a third and sending it on its way.
Dressed, he opened the bathroom door to head down to where you were making tea and almost collided with another girl, still in her pyjamas her long dark hair piled into a knot on top of her head.
"Fucking hell!" she almost screamed, backing away.
"Sorry, I didn't know—"
Pounding on the stairs preluded your wide-eyed arrival.
"I thought you were at Mark's," you stammered, somewhat accusingly, at the other girl whose eyes were flicking between you and he.
"We had a fight - I came home. You were already…uh… busy."
"Right…well, I should be off," he mumbled, mortification rushing to his face as he tried to slip past you down the stairs.
"I've made you a tea," you said quietly, reaching for his shoulder.
"Sorry, I really need to…"
Nodding slightly you moved to let him fully pass, following him down the stairs.
"Sorry," you mouthed and he smiled, glancing up to make sure your house-mate wasn't watching before he leaned down to kiss you.
"It's fine. Sorry I gave her a fright." Kissing you again, he backed away, pulling on his boots. "I'll see you at school."
"Yeah, see you soon."
"Don't be late," he winked and you rolled your eyes, unlocking the front door to let him leave.
"Bye," he murmured, catching your lips in a final kiss behind the safety of the door before slipping out into the brightening morning.
*****
"I take it that was the sender of the flowers?" said Celia from the stairs, stumping down towards you as you headed for the kitchen.
"Yes. Here, do you want this tea? It's the same as how you take it."
She gratefully accepted the mug, wrapping her hands around it.
"He's your boss."
It wasn't a question but you answered it all the same.
"Yes."
"Isn't he married?"
You took a long drink from your mug.
"Yes."
"Fucking hell, Frenchie."
"Hey! You're the one who was going on about only needing half an hour to seduce him!"
"As a JOKE! You can't seriously be sleeping with someone else's husband."
Your mug thumped against the worktop harder than you intended, sending tea slopping over the rim.
"Well I am. And it's none of your business. You weren't even supposed to be here."
"Does he have kids??"
You turned away, grabbing the cloth to mop up your tea.
"French…"
"Yes."
"Jesus!"
"Oi! You're acting like I'm forcing him into it. He's the one who pursued me."
After I climbed into his lap and took my clothes off, muttered the little voice in the back of your head.
"He's still fucking married though! Just 'cause he's taking the lead doesn't mean he's not cheating scum."
"Don't talk about him like that, you don't know a thing about it."
"What happens when his wife finds out?"
"Well given that the only people who know are me, him, and now you, I don't think that's something we need to worry about."
Celia let out a dry burst of laughter. "Right, because affairs never come out."
"It's just sex. It's not a relationship."
"And when you break up, what then? You going to keep working at that school with your scummy ex?"
You pulled a hand over your hair, stomach churning.
"It'll be fine. It's meaningless. We could stop tomorrow and go back to work and nothing would be different."
"So stop."
"Why should I? It's his marriage not mine. What happens there is none of my business, but they don't even fuck anymore. We're just having fun, so why would I stop."
"Don't you even feel a little guilty??"
You paused, sipping at your tea, contemplating the question.
"Yeah. Of course I fucking do. But what she doesn't know can't hurt her."
"Are you fucking Mark as well??"
You blinked at her over the rim of your mug, steam rising into your face.
"You what??"
"'Cause someone is. And if you can be that cold about—"
"Mark's cheating??"
Celia nodded slowly, dropping down into a chair at the kitchen table.
"I think so."
"Fuck, Cee…" You slipped into a chair beside her and wrapped her in a hug. "I'll murder him with my own hands."
"How can you say that when you're doing the same to someone else?"
"Because it's not the same. You love him, you fuck all the time, you're gorgeous and smart and, frankly, completely out of his fucking league. Steve's marriage isn't like that. Except for the gorgeous girlfriend - well, wife - part."
She lifted her head to stare, wide-eyed, at you. "You've seen her?"
You nodded and hugged her more tightly. "A story for another day. Tell me what happened, what did he say?"
"That I'm being crazy and there's no one else."
Guilt slithered in your guts as you had no difficulty in imagining Steve saying the exact same thing to Helen.
"And why do you think he is..?"
She clung to your arm as she quietly set out her concerns and your frown deepened as she spoke.
"Cee…"
"I know, he's such a fucking shit."
"No, Cee, I think—"
"I'm going to make him regret being born."
"Celia," you said more firmly, holding her by the arms to make her look at you. "I don't think he's cheating on you."
"What?? Is this because of what I said, because—"
"I think he's going to ask you to marry him."
Her eyes widened. "What??"
You played back his transgressions, one at a time and a look of horror slipped down her face.
"He's going to propose."
"Did he not try last night? It was Valentine's Day."
Celia flushed, looking sheepish. "I didn't really give him a chance." Covering her face with her hands she moaned. "Oh my god, he wants to marry me."
"Well…"
She snapped up straight, glaring at you.
"Well you did accuse of him of fucking someone else and then didn't stick around long enough to let him explain."
She waved a hand in the air, shaking her head dismissively. "Oh that's nothing. It'll be fine. Oh my god, I'm getting married!" she squealed, clutching you.
"Maybe you should give him a ring first…"
"Oh my god… a ring! Do you think he's bought one? Oh christ, he has really bad taste in jewellery, what do I say if it's ugly?"
"I think you have to say 'hi Mark, sorry for being insane, do you still love me' first, babe."
Twisting in your seat to check the time, you hissed, jumping up.
"Fuck, I have to get in the shower or I'm going to be late." Dropping a kiss to the top of her head, you swiped your tea and headed for the door. "Call him."
*****
A week later, on night shift with Steve, you wandered into the office after doing a final lights out check to find him muttering into his dictaphone.
"Do you ever actually listen to those things or is it just the act of saying it out loud that makes you feel better?" you asked, swinging yourself into his lap, feeling the rumble of his laugh as he chucked it onto the desk.
"I listen to them. Sometimes. Most of time… maybe."
Smiling, you leaned down to kiss him, his hand coming to rest on your thigh, warm through your leggings.
"And what are you muttering to yourself about today?"
His fingers played idly in your hair, brushing lightly over the back of your neck in the way that sent shivers rush through you.
"Working on that stupid presentation I have to make at conference next week."
You stroked your fingers over his beard, tilting his chin up to make him look at you.
"You're going to be great."
Pink dusted his cheeks. "Not too sure about that at the moment."
Kissing him slowly, you pulled back, resting your forehead against his.
"Well, even if it's awful we get two nights in a row in the same bed."
"Hopefully."
Leaning back, you frowned. "What does that mean?"
"We can't being having sex if… I dunno, fucking Amanda or whoever, is in the next room and can hear it all."
"Says the man who made me cum twice while someone was blatantly in the corridor outside."
He smiled wickedly, fingers on the back of your neck coaxing your lips back to his.
"You fucking loved that," he mumbled, hand sliding higher up your thigh until his thumb was tracing a teasing along the line where it met your body. "Soaked my fucking hand."
You bit his lip and he mumbled a groan, hand pushing more insistently between your legs.
"You better make sure we can be in the same room," you muttered between fierce kisses, his knuckles rolling along the seam of your folds, sending sparks flickering under your skin, "even if you have to gag me to make it work."
He groaned heavily, pushing you off his lap so you could hop onto the desk, dragging your clothes off as you went.
"Let's practice seeing if you can be quiet for me. Do you think you can be good?" he murmured, not waiting for a reply before pushing two fingers into your already slick heat.
*****
You were on the road almost as soon as the last boy was collected at lunchtime, speeding - probably literally, given that Owen was driving - up the motorway in the school minibus, to Birmingham. It might be the half-term holiday for the kids, but for all of you, the break couldn't begin until after the long weekend for the annual National Union of Teachers conference. From your seat in the back you could see Steve, sitting up front, head resting back against the seat, eyes closed.
"So, tell us more about Pretty Chris," said Amanda, grinning at you from across the aisle.
You saw Steve's eyes flicker open for a second.
"There's not much to tell."
"Oh come on, a pretty boy sends you a gorgeous flower arrangement and there's not much to tell?? How did you meet?"
You could feel heat crawling up your neck.
"He's uhh… he works with my best friend's boyfriend. Or, fiancé, as he is now. They got engaged last week."
"How sweet! Congratulations to them," cooed Amanda. "But stop changing the subject. Are you seeing him?"
Sucking in a deep breath, you tried not to look at Steve. "We're going out for dinner next weekend… assuming I don't get roped in to cover at work."
"Noted," mumbled Steve from the front, not opening his eyes.
"Where's he taking you?"
"I'm not sure yet. There's a new little Thai place that's opened near me, maybe there?"
"Have you been there, Steve?" asked Amanda, leaning forward to peer at him. "You live in that part of the world, don't you?"
"No, not yet."
Amanda tutted. " You and Helen need to get out more. Maybe Bella could babysit for you some time?" she said, turning to smile encouragingly at you and this time you saw him open his eyes, sitting up a little straighter.
"Well… I mean, sure, I don't see why not," you said.
He twisted to fix you with a look, a grimace of pain flashing across his face as he did so.
"You ok?" you asked gently and he nodded, fishing an mostly empty pill packet from his pocket and swallowing one small white oval without water.
"Fine." He swallowed again, face screwing up and he cleared his throat. "I couldn't ask you to babysit though, you get enough of that at work."
Trying not to let your face betray the amusement you felt, you shrugged, blinking innocently at him.
"I wouldn't mind. Date nights are important."
Sitting directly behind him, Amanda didn't see the scolding look he shot back at you.
"She's right, Steve. You and Helen deserve a treat after everything you've been through these last few years."
He cleared his throat again and settled back in his seat, looking out the front window.
"It's a very kind offer… I'll think about it."
"Be sure you do," you urged earnestly, having to chew your thumbnail and turn your head away to look out the side window so Amanda wouldn't see how hard you were struggling to control your face.
*****
You stood, squished together with the others, in the hotel lift going up to your rooms, praying that there would be enough distance between you all for you to not have to worry about being overheard. Traipsing down the corridor, the red patterned carpet stretching out into the distance giving the impression that it just kept going forever, you finally came to a stop outside your room. Andy on one side, Steve on the other. Glancing around you saw Amanda and Owen buzzing their keys against doors on the opposite side, slightly further back.
"The opening session starts at five, so we've got time for a swift one before. Downstairs in the bar in half an hour?" asked Andy, holding his door open with his foot, a chorus of general agreement wafting back towards him.
Catching Steve's eye, you let yourself into you room.
Standard, corporate, deeply devoid of personality, and with view of an enormous car park, but the bed was bigger than the one you had at home. Sitting down on the end of it, bouncing experimentally, you heard a knock at the door. Rushing to open it, to your confusion you found there was no one there. Peering up and down the empty corridor you frowned and closed it again.
And then you heard another knock.
"Bella?" came a muffled voice as you retreated back into the room, and you realised the door you thought was a cupboard was actually a connecting door to the room beside yours. Twisting the lock, you opened it.
"Connecting rooms?" you laughed, slipping past him into his room, seeing it was the mirror image of yours. "Did you plan this?"
"I wish I could say I did, but just it's lucky."
Hands coming to rest on your hips, lips on the back of your neck, he hustled you gently towards the bed.
"We don't have long," you murmured, turning in his hold to meet his searching lips, squeaking as you fell backwards onto the mattress, Steve landing on top of you.
"I'm pretty sure that won't be a problem," he mumbled, fumbling between your bodies, the rattle of his buckle making your cunt clench with anticipation.
"I dunno if that's cocky or just sad," you giggled, wriggling out of your jeans, taking your underwear with them, gasping as he wasted no time in pushing into you, the sudden stretch almost painful.
"Are you really going for dinner with that guy?" he asked, dragging out to ease back into you with a long, deep stroke.
"No," you replied, choking on a moan as a light shift of his hips had him pressing heavily on that sweetest spot inside you, pleasure lighting up through your veins. "You really gonna use me for babysitting?"
He chuckled deeply, gliding in and out of you now, stars bursting across your vision as you clung to his shoulders, fighting to keep your eyes open.
"Only if I get to fuck the babysitter. What's the going rate? A tenner and a blowie in the car on the way home?"
"Hardly. I'm not sure you could afford me," you laughed breathlessly.
"Good thing I'm already getting it for free then," he laughed, lips brushing across yours as he upped the pace, until neither of you could speak. With one hand propping himself up, he dragged your top up, pushing your bra up with it, until he could palm your breast, head dropping to run his tongue over the stiffening bud. Whimpering, you licked your fingertips and slipped a hand between your bodies, rolling across your clit.
"Fuck…that's it, keep touching, I can feel it…" he groaned, forehead pressing against yours, his hot breath mingling with your gasps.
"Shit…I'm—"
He crashed his lips into yours, fucking into you hard and fast as you lost control, orgasm rippling through you in bright waves of relief. It didn't take long for him to follow, just a handful of stuttering thrusts later, hips pressing deeply into yours as he filled you.
"See, told you we'd have had plenty of time," he mumbled, kissing you slowly as he pulled out, dropping down on the bed beside you, chest still rising and falling rapidly.
"Good thing too, 'cause it's going take me a minute to not look like I've just fucked my boss," you retorted, still a little out of breath, tugging your bra and top back down into place.
He smiled, pulling his trousers back up and rolling to catch your lips in a gentle kiss.
"I think you should look like that all the time." His hand roamed across your chest, squeezing over your clothes. "And these should never be hidden."
"Oh really? You don't think that would cause a bit of a problem when I'm teaching?"
"On the contrary," he chuckled, hand sliding up your top, thumb sneaking down into your bra to brush your nipple, earning a quiet, needy murmur from you. "I think they'd all be paying very close attention. Whether they actually hear anything you say though is another matter."
"Pervert," you laughed, batting him away so you could push him onto his back and lean over him, stealing a brief kiss before wriggling off the bed. Scooping up your pants and jeans, you headed back towards your room, trying not to make a mess, feeling your combined release sliding stickily between your legs and down the inside of your thigh.
"I'm going to have a quick shower, I'll see you downstairs in a bit."
*****
If it wasn't for the fact that the drinks were usually good fun and that you had the luxury of sharing a bed with him for two whole nights to look forward to, you would have happily skipped this conference. The opening speeches droned on for an interminable amount of time and even Amanda, who was usually so vibrant and committed, was struggling to stay awake next to you. At some point - when you'd naively thought they might be near the end - you noticed Steve fumbling in his jacket pocket and sliding a pill between his teeth. It looked smaller and rounder than the ones he usual took and you frowned slightly.
Catching you looking, he swallowed it before you could get a better look, and gave you a small smile.
Eventually you managed to escape the business part of the event and were back in the bar for a couple of drinks before going to some restaurant Amanda had booked.
Nursing a white wine, you scanned the crowd for familiar faces from the other schools you'd worked in before Stanton, when a shout came from behind you.
"Lizzie!"
Turning, offering an apologetic squeeze on the arm to Owen who had been in the middle of talking, you burst into a grin.
"It is you!" crowed a young blonde woman, pushing through the crowd followed by a tall, sandy-haired man, launching herself at you in a hug before you could even speak. "Fuck me, you look great."
"Oh my gosh, I was hoping you lot might be here!" you squealed, squeezing her back and then turning to be enveloped in a bear hug by the man beside her.
"Alright, trouble?" he smiled.
"How are you both? Are the others here too?"
"Some of them. We had to leave Wickham and Mary behind."
A quiet clearing of a throat came from behind you and turned back, an arm still tucked around the man's waist.
"Sorry, I'm being rude. Guys, this is, Steve, Amanda, Andy and Owen," you said, gesturing in turn and they all nodded politely. "Everyone, this is Jane and Darcy, from my last school."
Amanda's eyes narrowed slightly.
"Darcy..?"
"It's her fault," explained Jane, pointing at you. "She always had a copy of Pride and Prejudice on her so we started calling her Lizzie, and then it sort of…spread. We're the English department at St Michael's."
"They're actually called Fran and James," you added. "But that's much less fun. Oh!" you exclaimed, turning back to your old friends, "Is Lydia here?"
"No, she couldn't come. The baby's due any day now," replied Jane, waving vaguely from the direction they'd appeared.
"God, that's gone so fast, I would have sworn she couldn't have been more than six months yet," you said, hiding behind your hand.
"Oh, Lydia - I get it. Another of the sisters, right?" said Steve, a smile on his face, but you couldn't help note how his eye lingered on how Darcy's arm was casually wrapped around your shoulders.
"Actually no, she's really called Lydia," you said.
"So we usually call her Kitty," explained Darcy.
"She was too nice to be Lydia," you added.
"And no one could really replace our original Lydia," agreed Jane, the three of you exchanging a warm smile.
"We were really hoping you'd be here," said Darcy, squeezing your shoulder. "You got time for a drink? The others would love to see you too."
You glanced back at the Stanton team. "I don't know… we've got dinner reservations in a bit."
"You could come with us," suggested Amanda. "How many of there are you?"
"Ah, no, we couldn't impose like that, there's loads of us." He gave you another squeeze and stepped back, but Jane immediately reached for your hand instead.
"Can we borrow her for half an hour?"
"Sure, but we really will have to leave then, Bella."
"I'll be quick - we've got all weekend," you nodded, feeling Steve's eyes on your back as Jane led you through the busy bar.
"Look who we found!" crowed Jane, catching the attention of the set of tables where all your old colleagues - and several others you didn't recognise - were getting stuck into bottles of wine. A chorus of welcome went up, the ones who knew you best getting out of their seats to give you a hug.
A shout of your real name came from behind and no sooner had you let go of the person you were hugging, was your previous headteacher pulling you into a tight squeeze, enveloping you in a cloud of Chanel No.5.
"Put her down, Adele, she might need to breathe," teased Faz, one of the geography teachers.
"What are you doing here??" said Adele, holding you at arms length to get a good look at you.
"Well, I'm still a teacher so…"
"I see you haven't got less cheeky," she tutted and you grinned.
"Our Head is speaking at one of the sessions tomorrow so we're all here in solidarity."
"Oh, is that Steve? I saw that on the agenda and thought I might look in."
"You should, he's going to be great."
"Adele, can I borrow you a sec?" said one of the people you didn't recognise and she nodded, waving that she'd be right there.
"Sorry, let's catch up later. We miss you."
"I miss you all too," you smiled and she was gone, allowing the English department to claim you once more.
"So why'd he call you Bella earlier?" Jane asked.
"What? Oh, because I like bluebells…it's a whole thing, it doesn't matter," you replied, waving it away. "How's school? I really do miss you all so much."
"Oh, it's the same," sighed Jane, leaning in conspiratorially and lowering her voice. "Boring as shit, except worse now that you're gone. I still can't believe you abandoned us."
"I know, I'm sorry."
"Like fuck you are," said Darcy, topping up your glass from one of the bottles on the table, it having been empty for mere seconds.
"I am! Well, sort of. How are the kids?"
"They're fine, still causing headaches, you know, the usual. Oh! Did you hear from Ricky Ashton?" said Jane and you shook your head, making her huff out an irritated sigh. "Little rotter, I told him to get in touch and how to contact you."
"Why? Is he in trouble again? Does he need a place at Stanton??"
Jane's face creased in mirth and Darcy almost choked on his wine. "What? Gracious, no! He got into college!"
"Fuck off!"
"I know! Can you imagine!"
"That's because of you, y'know," said Darcy, nudging you gently.
"Ah no, I wasn't even there for the important bit," you said quietly, heat rising to your face and you hid your expression behind your wineglass.
"He would never have even got to applying if it wasn't for you."
You smiled softly against the rim of your glass, warmth blooming in your chest.
"So is the bad lads place everything you dreamed it would be?"
"Well, it's definitely not boring," you laughed. "They're a great but a total handful. One of them broke my nose last term."
"Fuck off!" exclaimed Darcy. "You're joking."
"I'm not."
"Tell us everything!" said Jane, her eyes like saucers.
*****
You had to tear yourself away, with the promises of meeting up the following day, to reunite with the Stanton team. In a little Italian restaurant not far from the hotel you found yourself sitting opposite Steve, Amanda commanding the head of the small table.
"Did you have fun with your other friends?" asked Owen as you all tucked into the shared starters, a cheeky glint in his eye.
"Yes, about that - how dare you have other friends," agreed Amanda.
"I'm sorry, I promise never to acknowledge anyone from any other school ever again."
"Quite right," said Steve, smirking at you over his wine glass, "Lizzie."
"Alright, no need to be jealous," you shot back with a raise of your brow.
"How is it that that fella is Darcy?" said Amanda, picking the soft middle out of a piece of garlic bread. "He doesn't look anything like Colin Firth."
"He's ginger for starters," agreed Andy. "And Scottish."
"Well we were calling him Darcy before that was on TV," you shrugged. "Besides, we already had a Wickham, and no one wants to be Mr Collins. And Mr Bingley's a bit of a wet blanket."
"Lizzie…Bella…Frenchie…" mused Owen, pausing to take a bite of his bruschetta. "Does anyone every call you by your actual name?"
Your own piece of bread stopped short of your mouth and you frowned.
"No. Not really."
"What, not even your family?" he asked.
"Well, if I'm in trouble then yes, I get the full Sunday name treatment, but otherwise no."
"So what do they call you?" asked Steve.
You chewed slowly, all eyes waiting for you to swallow.
"Birdie."
"Birdie?? Why?" asked Andy.
"When my sister and I were born, the cord got stuck—"
"You're a twin?!" exclaimed Amanda.
"I know, there's two of me. Horrifying."
"No that's not— you've just never mentioned it."
You shrugged, spearing a slice of parma ham from the platter onto your plate. "I have a twin sister, it's not very exciting. I also have a little brother."
"So why 'Birdie'?" asked Steve quietly and hearing him call you that sent a funny little shiver down your spine. Like he'd stepped into a different part of your life without asking.
"Oh yeah, well, Cassie - my sister - was born first but I got stuck and the cord was wrapped around my neck so I came out blue."
Considering he was the size of small bungalow and primarily on hand for breaking up fights between the boys, you were surprised to see Owen looking slightly nauseous, so you quickly moved on.
"Anyway, my grandad nicknamed me 'bluebird' and it just sort of…stuck."
"Bluebird to Bluebell," smiled Amanda.
"Is your sister still local?" asked Steve, poking at his food, but not really eating much of it you noted.
"No, she's in London now. I don't…" You swallowed quickly. "I don't get to see her very much. My brother lives with my Gran."
"Is everything ok with your food?" asked a passing waiter, distracting the group and when he left the conversation moved on. The starters were quickly replaced with mains, bottles of red wine flowing happily, and you let the warmth of being with this little group of people wrap itself around you.
It was hard to imagine you'd spent years working somewhere like St Michael's with so many staff. Seeing them all in the bar had been oddly jarring, almost like it had happened to somebody else. In the short year since you'd been at Stanton, you'd probably spent more time with the people around this table than you had with anyone else. Possibly ever, except for Cassie. You'd covered for each other and looked after each other. You'd cried together and laughed until you couldn't breathe. And that didn't even include your recent extra-curricular exploits with Steve. Looking around the table, Andy animatedly telling a story you were certain you'd all heard at least once before, you felt a lump forming in your throat.
Or maybe it was just the wine making you sentimental.
"You alright?" Steve asked quietly, not loud enough to distract from what Andy was saying.
"Yeah, fine," you said, swallowing down the odd surge of emotion with the end of your glass before meeting his eye. He reached for the bottle, topping you back up and, under the table, you slipped your foot out of your shoe, stretching out to let it graze up along his calf.
The bottle wobbled slightly as he set it down, shooting you a glance with widened eyes, one eyebrow raising slightly.
Painting on your best innocent smile, you turned your attention back to what Andy was saying, making sure to laugh in all the right places as your toes moved further up his leg, brushing along his inner thigh.
As you stretched just a little further to press against his crotch, his hand suddenly gripped your ankle, and you let you a little yelp of surprise.
"Alright, Bells?" asked Owen and you did your best to cover it with a cough.
"Sorry, drink went down the wrong way," you replied, hoarsely. "Carry on."
Andy started back up where he'd left off and you shot a look at Steve who simply gave you a blank stare, his fingers still wrapped around your ankle, thumb rubbing small circles against your skin.
"Anyone want pud?" asked Amanda, lifting her voice over the general din of the room, a waiter hovering by her elbow.
Steve let go of your foot and you quickly pulled it back down to earth, wriggling back into your little ballet pump.
"No, I'm fine," you said, need humming between your legs.
"We should probably head back soon," said Steve. "Early start tomorrow."
There was general mumbling of agreement, though Andy looked a little put out at the lack of tiramisu in his life, and the bill was requested instead. Walking back into the hotel afterwards, you feigned a long yawn.
"I'm calling it a night or I'll be no fun for the big one tomorrow."
"I thought you were supposed to be young," teased Amanda. "Steve, a whisky for the road?"
"Nah, I'd better go up too. I don't want to make a twat of myself on stage tomorrow."
The others agreed to stay for one more, and with hugs and promises of meeting for early breakfast, you and Steve sloped off towards the lifts.
"That was a dangerous game you were playing at dinner," he mumbled, the back of his knuckles brushing against yours.
"If you hadn't made me jump, you might have enjoyed it more," you replied in the same hush, even though, for once, there was no one there to hear you, and he chuckled softly.
"Your room or mine?"
Threading your fingers through his, you squeezed, glancing sideways with a smile.
"Andy's next door to me, so we'd better use yours."
*****
Your skin was slick and your thighs burned with the effort, but you braced your palms against his chest and kept moving, every slow glide along his thick cock sending sparks flickering up your spine. Large hands circled your waist, guiding your movements, both teetering on the edge, trying to prolong the moment of collapse.
"I can't—" you whimpered, grinding desperately against him, his groan reverberating against your hands.
"You can," he replied, pulling you down towards him until your lips brushed his, hands sliding to squeeze your bum, opening you wider for him to drive up into you.
"Oh fuck…please…I can't…I can't…"
"Shush, you can. Be a good girl— jesus fuck," he grunted, gasping when your cunt clenched desperately around him at his words. "Such a fucking people pleaser, aren't you?" he chuckled breathlessly.
"Shut up," you mumbled into his neck, spots dancing across your vision every time he bottomed out inside you, dragging heavily against your gspot.
"My good, pretty girl," he murmured and you whimpered, walls quivering around him making him hiss in reply. His hips began snapping into you faster now, knocking the breath from your lungs, arms tight around your waist to hold you still as he drove you both closer than ever to the edge.
"Steve…pleeease…" you whined, teeth scraping over his shoulder. Fingers tightened, biting into your skin and his cock twitched heavily in your cunt, and whether he agreed or not, you no longer had a choice. With a ragged cry, muffled between his skin and the pillow, the wave took you, washing you away in a dizzying rush. He swore thickly in your ear, stuttering hips sending him chasing you into bliss.
You couldn't move for a long moment afterwards, your limbs like jelly, your damp skin stuck to his. He trailed his fingers up and down your spine in slow strokes, dusting kisses across your shoulder, slowly easing you back into the world.
"You ok?"
"Yeah," you croaked, biting back a whimper when you eased off him to tuck into his side, his arm wrapped around your shoulders. He shifted slightly so he could look at you, brushing his fingertips over your cheek before he kissed you softly.
"I like that I'm not going to have to rush out of bed at six in the morning," he smiled.
"Mmmmmm….I like that too," you agreed, stretching our your complaining muscles and threading your legs through his. "I could get used to having you to myself like this. Well, sort of."
"Only a couple of weeks 'til we get to have a whole weekend to ourselves with no prying eyes."
He kissed you again, slow and languid, and you sank into him, his beard no longer making your nose tickle. When had you stopped noticing it, you wondered, pressing more closely into him, bare skin pressing warmly together.
When had kissing him begun to feel like you never wanted to be kissed by anyone else?
The unbidden thought made you jolt slightly and you pulled back, smoothing your thumb over his lips, easing the slight crease that had crept between his brows.
"I'm just going to get my pajamas."
"You don't need 'em," he yawned, arms tightening around you.
"But I do need to clean up and brush my teeth," you replied, prying yourself free and carefully scooting off the bed, trying not to think about him watching you scurry, naked, back into your own room.
*****
There was something deliciously luxurious about waking up with you in his arms. No alarm at some god-awful time of the night. Just the warm weight of your body against his, the scent of your skin and lingering perfume. The quiet huff of your breathing giving way to little murmurs as his fingers stroked down your side, dancing over your hip. The way you leaned into him and sighed a little when he brushed between your legs.
Fuck, he loved waking you up like this. Watching sleep recede as your body responded to his touch, arching tiredly against his hands until you were moaning, grinding against his fingertips. The gentle flicker of your eyelids as you properly came to and the pleasure rolled through you. The way you reached for him without even looking, guiding him to hover above until he could press into you, losing himself in the velvet warmth of your body.
He was still thinking about it at breakfast, not listening to whatever Amanda had just asked him.
"Steve?"
"Sorry," he replied, blinking the memory away, catching you smirking further down the table. "I was— what did you say?"
"Are you all set for this morning?"
He nodded, chewing on the last piece of his toast, chasing it with a sip of coffee.
"Yeah, I think so. I'll try not to make a show of myself in front of you all."
"You'll be great," you smiled and his stomach flipped.
There was nothing he wanted to do less than stand on stage in front of his peers and tell him how fucking brilliant he was, but they needed this. Stanton needed this. They were a national experiment and an expensive one at that. But maybe if he could show everyone else how important the work they did every day was, how much it helped and the difference they made, then maybe it would give him enough to persuade the Trust to let them survive a few more years.
They shuffled through the first of the morning's sessions, listening to the Secretary of State for Education spinning the usual broad platitudes and hollow promises, his stomach forming tighter and tighter knots as the time of his talk neared. In the coffee break before it, he had to abandon his drink; he couldn't stop his hand from shaking. The rest of the team followed him as he made his way into the small backstage area of one of the bigger conference halls, the rows already filling up, air humming with chatter as people found their seats.
"You got your notes?" asked Amanda, gently smoothing her hands over his shoulders and he nodded, afraid that if he opened his mouth he might be sick. "You're going to be brilliant."
"We'll be ready for you in a moment, Steve," said a young man, appearing at his elbow with a clipboard. "Gemma's going to introduce you and then you're on."
"We'd better fuck off," said Amanda, ushering the others away but you lingered behind her and he beckoned for you to stay.
"I'm right behind you, save me a seat," you called as Amanda frowned slightly but she led the others away and you came closer to him.
"You ok?"
"Why is this a thousand fucking times more nerve-wracking than standing up in a classroom in front of the lads?"
"Because you know that when they heckle you - even when they're being nasty little pricks - it's out of love," you smiled, smoothing your hands over his lapels. "Here, it's just because people are nasty little pricks."
"Thanks, that's very reassuring."
"Happy to help," you grinned and he wanted to kiss you. "Stop it, you're going to be great. We're so fucking proud of you. Of our school. Just go and show them who we are."
He nodded, cracking two pills out of his packet in his pocket and chasing them down with the bottle of water he'd been given to take out on stage.
"Is it hurting you?" you frowned.
"Worse when I'm tense."
"So all the fucking time then, huh?"
He blew out a shaky laugh and smiled. "Right."
You moved closer, glancing around the now deserted space. The crowd had hushed and the rumble of the announcer's voice filtered back towards you as they began their introduction.
"You got this, knock 'em dead," you said softly, cradling his face between your hands and pressing a kiss to his lips. Before you could pull away he slipped a hand to the back of your neck to keep you close, noses brushing, and he let the warmth of you seep through him.
"Just try and remember to breathe. And if you're very good, I'll help you relax afterwards," you winked, kissing him again, running your thumb over his lips to make sure you hadn't left anything visible behind.
"From Stanton Wood Manor, please welcome, Steve—"
"Showtime," you smiled, shoving him gently towards the wings and hurrying out of sight. Taking a deep breath, he climbed the two steps up to the stage, squinting in the lights and holding out his hands to try and stop the applause. Settling his notes on the lectern, he spotted you disrupting a row near the front as you claimed your seat, and he smiled quietly before clearing his throat.
"Hello… you're very kind. Thanks very much for having me, and thank you for that kind introduction, Gemma, I'll give you that fiver later." A ripple of laughter ran around the room and he swallowed, willing himself to relax. "I'm here to talk to you today about a different kind of education and a different kind of school that I have the privilege of leading, where we are trying new approaches to support kids who face some of the most challenging circumstances and who, without a school like ours, would not still be in education. Let me tell you about our school, Stanton Wood."
*****
"Is he ok?" whispered Amanda as you sat down next to her.
"Just last minute nerves. It was probably you he needed, not me, but he'll be fine," you whispered back as he cleared his throat and began to speak.
You could see the white of his knuckles where he gripped the edge of the lectern but as he got into his stride, he seemed to relax, becoming the Steve you were used to seeing at school.
As he rounded out his speech, he waved a hand at the crowd.
"Of course, I don't do this alone and I'm incredibly lucky to have such a small but dedicated team beside me. They're all here today, give us a wave, Stanton."
For a moment none of you moved.
"Ah, they're never normally this shy back at school."
The crowd laughed and you all lifted your hands to give them an embarrassed wave.
"Thank you for your time, thank you for listening, and thank you most of all for showing up and not leaving me standing here talking to an empty room," he smiled, gathering his notecards back into a neat pile, knocking them into line gently on the podium.
The audience clapped and Gemma came back on stage, shaking his hand and calling for questions. You thought you saw him pale slightly at the prospect but he did a sterling job of tackling some tricky questions about cost and the rationale for a school like Stanton, as well as some much more thoughtful inquiries about teaching techniques for students like their lads.
And then, finally, it was over. The lights came back up, and the four of you quickly shuffled out of your row to go and claim him.
"You were brilliant!" crowed Amanda, wrapping him in a tight hug the moment she got near him, Andy and Owen clapping him on the back and shoulder as he mumbled pink-cheeked thanks.
"You did us proud," you smiled, slipping your arms around his neck in a brief hug, having to actively remind yourself not to kiss him when you felt him fingers pressing just a little more tightly than appropriate into your back.
"Thank fuck it's over," he said, scrubbing a hand down his face. "C'mon, let's get some lunch before it's gone."
The hall where the buffet was laid out was a seething mass of people, the noise of a hundred different conversations bouncing off the walls.
Immediately, Steve and Amanda were cornered by some people who had been at the talk and you, Andy and Owen slipped away in search of food. Wandering with full plates of beige buffet, you were trying to find somewhere to perch when you bumped into Jane, Darcy and some of the others from St. Michael's. They shifted round an inadequately small cocktail table and you reintroduced Andy and Owen to your former colleagues.
"Are you going to the thing tonight?" asked Jane.
"Yeah, free food and free wine? As if we'd miss that."
"Shit food and shit wine," laughed Darcy.
"Yes, but - and this is crucial - free," you replied, pointing at him with your fork, when someone tapped your shoulder.
"Sorry to interrupt," smiled Adele when you turned. "Can I borrow you for a minute?"
"Course," you nodded. "I'll find you in a bit for the next thing," you said to Andy, Owen deep in conversation with one of the science teachers from St. Michael's.
"There's someone I want you to meet," Adele explained as she led you through the thinning crowd, most having claimed their food and begun to drift off around the conference centre, towards a tall, thin man whose hairline wasn't so much retreating, as waving a white flag in surrender of defeat.
"This is Martin Davies," Adele smiled. "Marty, this is who I was telling you about earlier."
He broke into a smile that completely lit up his face, warming him to you immediately, and you took the hand he proffered, repeating your name as you shook it.
"It's lovely to meet you."
"Likewise, Adele's told me a lot about you," he beamed.
"Oh dear," you laughed. "That can't be good."
"Marty's setting up a new future leaders programme," Adele explained and you turned in surprise. "Don't look at me like that, we both know that's where you're headed," she admonished you kindly. "I'll leave you two to chat."
*****
In the afternoon you went your separate ways, he and Amanda going to a series of sessions for senior leaders. People milled around the smaller seminar room, waiting for it to start and he dropped into a seat in an empty row, Amanda settling next to him.
"So, on a scale of one to ten, how worried should I be?"
"About what?" he frowned, scanning the room for familiar faces.
"About you and Bella."
A bolt of cold shot through him and he twisted to look at her, pain joining the fear as his back flamed in reproach.
"What are you talking about??"
"C'mon mate, you have to have noticed the way she looks at you?"
"What??" he scoffed, scratching at his beard. "What way?"
Amanda fixed him with a stern look and he made himself hold it without flinching or dodging before he lifted his hands in a resigned shrug.
"Amanda, I've no idea what you mean. It's…she's just Bella."
"She's very pretty."
"Yeah she is, and..?"
Amanda frowned. "And you're close to her."
"I'm not sure I like what you're implying."
"You should just be careful, that's all I'm saying."
"I don't—"
The speaker for their session appeared at the podium and the room fell silent.
"There's nothing to be careful about," he hissed as the person began to speak, earning a sharp look from a woman in the row in front of him. Holding up a hand in apology, he lapsed into silence, anxiety sliding in his guts.
*****
He came with a groan, fingers tight in your hair as you did your best to swallow it down, some spilling out over your lower lip and down your chin. His grip slackened and you sat back, smiling as you swiped the escaping drops on your thumb, making sure he was watching when you licked them up.
"Fuck me," he sighed breathlessly, leaning back against the pillows, opening his arms when you crawled back up beside him, snuggling in against his chest.
"Feeling more relaxed now?"
"Much." His chuckled reverberated against your ear, fingers stroking through your hair. "I didn't get a chance to ask you earlier, what were you doing talking to Marty Davies earlier?"
"You know him?"
"We started out in the same school. He's head at some posh place in Oxfordshire now I think." He tilted his chin down to look at you. "What did he want?"
"You going to be jealous of him too?"
He huffed out a sigh as you grinned cheekily up at him. "No. I'm just curious."
"Pity," you giggled, stealing a brief kiss. "Adele - my old Head - thought I should meet him. Apparently she's convinced him that I should be part of this new future leaders development programme thing they're trialling."
"You should," he said immediately, his brow tightening. "Sorry, I should have thought of that myself."
"You have a million other things to worry about every day besides my professional development, don't worry about it."
"I'm neglecting you. I promise, when we get back, you're top of my list."
"Hmmm…" you murmured, shifting in his arms and pulling his free hand down between your legs. "I can think of other, more immediate, ways you can correct this neglect."
"Is that so?" he laughed, nudging you further onto your back, your legs falling open, murmuring as his fingers brushed over your underwear. "Struggling to see what this has to do with your continued professional development."
You rocked up against his touch, sighing contentedly when he pushed your pants to the side and slid a finger into your already soaked core.
"Well given this seems to be most of what I do at work these days, I think it's very relevant."
He chuckled lowly, gently easing a second thick finger into you, your hips rolling into his touch.
"Hmm…yes, that's true…and I agree, your CPD is very important."
*****
There was nothing fancy or glamourous about the hotel conference centre but you had to admit that with the ambient lighting and the large round tables bedecked with white tablecloths and small floral centre-pieces, it scrubbed up better than you'd expected. Teachers from across the country milled around in their finery and you smoothed your hands over the skirt of your cocktail dress, accepting a glass of fizz from a passing tray.
"It's not the best," mumbled Andy next to you.
"Still free though," you grinned, taking a sip and wincing.
"Told you so."
"Free," you repeated through gritted teeth.
Meandering through the crowd, trying to find your table you felt fingers brush the small of your back.
"You look beautiful," Steve whispered in your ear, immediately drifting away from you, your back burning from his touch, warmth spreading in your chest.
"Lizzie!"
You turned to find the St Michael's crew already at their table.
"Where are you sitting?" asked Jane.
"Not sure… that way I think," you gestured vaguely before spotting Owen waving at you. "Oh, there they are. I'd better go - I'll see you in a bit."
The meal was exactly as average as a mass-produced corporate hospitality usually was but it was free and the wine seemed to be more generous than you remembered from previous years. Which was lucky, because the speeches seemed to take an inordinately long time compared to usual.
"Jesus fucking Christ, if Doug doesn't shut up soon, I'm going up there to take him down," muttered Amanda and you had to hide your splutter of amusement in your napkin.
Either he heard her, or he'd just decided you'd all suffered enough, but moments later the General Secretary for the union wrapped up his speech and a collective sigh of relief drifted around the room as he left the small stage. Immediately, hotel staff were milling around, asking people to move so some of the tables could be taken away, leaving your table right on the edge of what was now the dance floor.
Steve and Amanda got another couple of bottles of wine and the other people who had been on your table drifted away, only to be replaced by Jane, Darcy and some of the others from St. Michael's. You settled into a half-shouted conversation with your old friends, the music quickly shifting from background to full volume and in no time at all, the more lubricated of the crowd were hitting the floor.
"Oh I love this one! Come and dance!" squealed Jane, dragging you by the hand and leaving you with no alternative but to follow. So you grabbed Darcy on the way past.
"Come on, if I have to, you have to."
He smiled, giving you a glimpse of his dimples, and let you pull him along and into the crowd.
*****
"See, I don't know what you were worried about earlier," said Steve, gesturing at where you were dancing with the people from your last school, that Darcy bloke hovering around you like a bad smell.
Amanda hummed noncommittally.
"Look at her," he continued, pointing with his wine glass where you had turned around, smiling up at the tall - and undeniably handsome - young man. "She never looks at me like that."
Amanda turned in her seat and he hid his lie in a long sip of wine.
"So you have been on the lookout for it then?"
"Oh come off it," he scoffed into his glass.
"You wouldn't be the first, not in our line of work and especially not when we live the way we do." Her eyes softened. "You've had a rough few years, it would be understandab—"
He sat up straighter, setting down his glass with a thump.
"I'm offended you think I'd be capable of doing something like that to Helen."
She sat back, nursing her wine.
"Fuck… You're right, I'm sorry. I just… I think she has a little crush on you, alright? Promise me you'll be careful."
On the dancefloor, you were somehow even closer to Darcy now, his hands resting lightly on your hips, chest pressed against your back. He leaned down and said something in your ear and your head tipped back in laughter.
Jealousy slithered darkly in Steve's guts and then you looked up, locking eyes with him.
Slowly, you smiled.
"See," said Amanda, reaching for the almost empty bottle, sloshing the remains into both their glasses.
"That's not anything," he replied, clearing his throat.
"Maybe not," she shrugged. "And anyway, it looks like she's got plans to distract herself for tonight at least."
*****
He caught you by the arm as you turned the corner into the corridor with the toilets.
"Oi! What're— oh it's you."
Voices chattered towards you from the ballroom and before they could reach you, he bundled you both into the disabled toilet, twisting the lock behind him.
"That's quite a show you're putting on," he muttered, crashing into you, lips trailing from yours to your neck and down across your chest. "Is that for my benefit?"
"I thought you might enjoy it," you chuckled, yelping as he pushed you back against the sink making you wobble in your heels.
"He's practically got his hand up your skirt," he growled, hiking your dress up to your hips, fingers delving into your underwear.
"No, he hasn't— fuck!" you hissed as he pushed two into you without warning.
"Do you want him like this?"
Your vision went cloudy as he dragged broad fingertips over the delicate spot inside.
"No."
"No?"
A muffled whimper spilled from your lips, his thumb brushing lightly over your clit.
"Have you fucked him before?"
"Yes. Once."
He let out a low groan, teeth scraping against your throat.
"You gonna fuck him tonight?"
"Why? You wanna watch?" Your taunting gave way to a gasp as he rocked his hand into you faster.
"You this wet for him or me?"
He pressed harder on your clit and your reply died in your mouth, head flopping back as you struggled for breath.
"Answer me."
"Y-you."
"Good girl," he murmured, hand disappearing from between you thighs.
"Hey! Come on, that's not fair," you wailed and he hushed you with a kiss.
"Someone will hear you."
"Finish what you started or I'll make sure everyone knows you're in here with me," you hissed, lifting your chin to glare at him. "And then I'll go back out there and I really will fuck Darcy."
His eyes darkened and he cupped your pussy, a thick finger pressing up between your folds over your underwear.
"You wouldn't."
"I fucking would. And I'd do it in my room so you had to listen."
"He might not want to."
You laughed roughly, palming the bulge in his trousers, a spasm of need flickering across his face.
"Yeah, ok, that's realistic. How badly do you want to find out?"
He tugged the flimsy material of your underwear aside and slid his fingers back into your slick cunt.
"I didn't think so," you huffed out between desperate pants. "Even though I think you'd love listening to him fuck me."
He pushed you back harder against the basin, fingers working ruthlessly inside you.
"If I asked him very nicely I bet he'd let you watch him bend me over. Maybe with my face in your lap so you can have a front row view when he makes me cum."
"That's enough," he muttered, clamping his free hand over your mouth and your walls fluttered desperately around his driving fingers. He leaned closer so you were eye to eye, his nose brushing yours above his fingers. "Nobody makes you cum but me."
With a choked whimper behind his hand, you came hard and fast, gripping the sink to keep you upright.
He didn't move, fingers slowing within you but his thumb still rolling lightly over your clit.
"Isn't that right?"
You blinked slowly, head fuzzy, and then nodded. He smiled broadly, gently pulling his hand from you and freeing your mouth.
"Good girl," he winked, nudging you out of the way to wash his hands.
"Fuck you," you mumbled, straightening your dress.
"Later," he agreed, kissing your temple and you rolled your eyes at him.
"I'm going to pretend I've had too much to drink and that I need to go bed soon. Wait a bit and follow me up."
"You going up alone?"
"Of course I am," you said primly, shoving his chest gently. "I'm not that kind of girl."
"Will you be naked on the bed when I get there?"
"Did you not just hear me?"
He pulled you into a slow, searing kiss, cradling your head between his hands.
"Oh, I think you're exactly that kind of girl."
*****
You were beginning to regret meeting his request; when you'd told him to leave it a reasonable amount of time before following you upstairs, you hadn't been banking on laying naked in the middle of his bed, getting colder by the minute.
Just as you were pondering getting up to get a shirt to pull on, you heard voices in the corridor, one of them unmistakably belonging to Amanda. A low rumble of reply sounded like Steve and you tensed.
"Do you have the—" you heard her ask, but couldn't make out what she was asking for.
"Right now?" His voice was clearer now, more distinct, standing directly outside the door.
Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuck.
The lock buzzed but you heard it beep in protest, the handle rattling ineffectually.
"Ah, I'm useless with these things," you heard him say.
FUCK.
Launching yourself off the bed you threw yourself into the en suite, the door luckily beside the bed, just as the lock buzzed again and the door opened.
"Sorry, I always sleep like shit in hotels so thought I'd read them—"
Silently pulling a towel from the rail, you wrapped it around your body and peered carefully out of the tiniest crack in the door seeing Amanda eyeing the bed and he cleared his throat, tugging at the messy duvet.
"Excuse the mess, I had a lie down earlier," he explained, pushing a hand through his hair. "Here, let me just get them."
He moved out of your line of sight and you heard papers rustling.
"Here you go."
"Thanks. Night then, see you in the morning."
"Yeah, yep… goodnight. Maybe those'll put you to sleep."
She laughed and a moment later you heard the door close, the lock twisting into place.
"Bella?" he hissed and you pulled the door open, seeing him over by the door to your room.
"Over here."
He turned with a start, a hand over his heart.
"Fucking hell."
"Indeed," you said quietly as he came across to you, wrapping you in his arms. "That was too fucking close."
"I tried to get rid of her but she wasn't having it." He pulled back, cupping your face, thumbs stroking over your cheeks. "I'm sorry."
"Maybe I should sleep in my own room tonight."
He frowned, catching you as you tried to pull away. "Why?"
"What if she comes back?"
"I'm in bed, I'm not letting her in."
"You said earlier she was onto us."
"I've shut that down, I think. She just thinks you've got a crush on me."
"Shows what she knows," you scoffed, tightening the towel around your chest and he tilted your chin up, kissing you softly.
"Hmm… yeah, because you've no interest in me whatsoever," he murmured against your lips.
"Absolutely none," you agreed, letting him pull the towel away and back you onto the bed, covering your body with his own, his clothes rough against your bare skin.
"You were really waiting here naked for me, weren't you?" he mumbled against your lips, running his hand from your cheek down to your breast, pausing to thumb your already stiff nipple before stroking his way down to lift your thigh to his hip, squeezing the swell of your rear.
"Apparently I am that kind of girl, yes."
He sat back, ridding himself of clothes, admiring you and you tried to cover your breasts with your hands and pull your legs back together.
"Ah, ah, no. Don't do that," he said, quickly kicking his trousers away with his socks, gently prying your fingers from your body as he settled down with his head on your stomach. "Don't hide, you're too pretty to hide like that."
"Stop it," you mumbled, heat rushing to your face.
He kissed your stomach and down towards the crease where your thigh met your body, gently pushing your legs further apart and teasing the very tips of his fingers through your folds.
"Beautiful," he said reverentially, dragging his eyes from your parted thighs to your burning face as he lowered his mouth to your pussy and licked slowly from your core to your clit.
You swore harshly, clit still a little sensitive from your earlier orgasm, and threaded your fingers into his hair.
He smiled and sucked gently on it, your back arching from the bed as he feasted on you, teasing tongue coaxing you towards the edge by degrees until you were shaking with the need for it. Stretching up, he cupped your breast, pinching the firm little bud between his fingers, your hand closing over his, chasing friction as desperately as the air you were trying to suck into your lungs.
"Please," you whimpered, other hand twisting in the sheets, body taut on the brink of unravelling, but he held you fast. "Please, Steve, pleeease."
He moved faster than you might expect for a man with his back troubles, shifting to hover above you, his cock sliding between your folds. The needy cry that tore from your throat was lost to his mouth, tasting yourself as he pushed into you, filling you right to the hilt. Scrabbling at his shoulders, hands coming to rest on the back of his neck, you clung to him as your world collapsed into a thousand stars burning across your vision.
He grunted, burying his face in your neck as you came in a rush, fluttering and squeezing around his cock, so tightly it made his head swim.
"Oh my fuck…" you mumbled, blinking blearily up at him when he lifted his head. Chuckling softly, he kissed you as he started to move again, every long drag sending sparks up your spine, every nerve alight.
It was slow, unhurried, languid strokes that stole your breath. You wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him deeper, cupping his face as one hand gently curled around the back of your neck, lips and noses brushing as you moved together.
"Look at me," he murmured when your eyes slipped closed, overwhelmed by the feeling of him, by the closeness. Slowly, you opened them again, falling into the expanse of blue of his hovering just above you as he split you wide around him. "Good girl," he smirked and you faltered, the edge glittering just beyond your fingertips.
"Hold on," he whispered, lips on your neck, his hair ticking your face, a slight shifting of his weight making you see stars as he nudged more firmly at the sweetest spot inside you.
"Come with me," you replied, stroking your fingers over the back of his neck, rocking harder up into him, pleasure bursting brightly through your veins. He groaned, driving into you harder, fingers digging into your neck a little more and you pressed your heels into the dip of his lower back. With a low whine his face disappeared into your neck, teeth scraping gently over your skin.
"Cum for me," you whispered against his ear and he shuddered, clutching at you as he lost control, the feeling of his cock twitching heavily inside you sending you rushing over the edge after him, clinging to him in the moment of freefall.
You lay in silence for a long moment before he lifted his head again, smiled softly and then kissing you slowly. His heart thumped from his chest into yours.
"I love you," he whispered as he broke the kiss, brushing his fingers across your forehead and down your cheek.
A sensation that you could only describe as panic shot through you as he stared tenderly down at you.
"What?"
The tenderness wavered, the lines between his brows puckering.
"I said, I love you, Bella."
With an effort you wriggled out from under him, not rough, but forceful in moving him away.
"No."
"What do you mean, 'no'?" he said, catching you before you could make it all the way off the bed.
You pushed your hair back from your face.
"No, you're not."
"I think I'll be the one to gets to decide how I feel. Hey, come here," he said, losing his grip and you wriggled further away and finally off the bed. Snatching up the towel, you wrapped it around you.
"This isn't love, Steve. What you're feeling is lust."
"Maybe at first," he said, awkwardly dragging his boxers back on and sitting on the edge of the bed. "But not anymore. And I'm old enough and ugly enough to know the difference," he added tersely when you audibly scoffed.
"Come off it, you can't be in love with me! You don't even know me!"
"What?? What the fuck are you talking about, of course I know you!"
"Really?? I don't see how given that all we do is fuck. Name three things you know that aren't the fact that I'm good teacher and a great fuck!"
"Ok, well you are a great teacher and a fucking excellent fuck," he began and you shrugged in grudging appreciation.
"Stop trying to butter me up," you muttered, folding your arms across your chest.
"You don't like carrots."
You squinted at him. "What?"
"You don't like carrots. I see you when we're in the dinner hall. You'll eat them but you always eat them first like you're trying to get them over with."
You straightened slightly.
"And you pretend to like horror films but you don't."
"How do you—"
"You're always act like you're game when the lads want to watch one on a Saturday night. And then you spend most of it hiding your face in the collar of your jumper, or behind a cushion."
"No I don't," you muttered huffily and he reached for you, gently pulling you to stand between his knees.
"Yes you do. Because I don't like them either so I'm usually watching you instead."
"That's only two."
"You have a twin sister."
You slapped at his shoulder. "Fuck off, you didn't know that until last night and I'm the one who told you!"
"I know you have a difficult relationship with your parents, or with your mum and step-dad at least. I heard you talking to Shy about it."
"So I'm a great teacher," you mumbled and he shook his head.
"No - that's not about teaching. I remember your face at christmas when you talked about going back to your mum's and how much you were dreading it. Because that's how I feel about spending time with my in-laws."
"That's such a cliché."
He cracked a half-smile. "Maybe. But probably not for the usual reasons. Anyway, we're talking about you."
"Steve…"
"No, I'm not finished. You really don't think I don't know a thousand little things about you? And, yeah ok, you're right, it was just sex. I wanted you, and I thought we could fuck, and it wouldn't mean anything. And for a little while, it didn't. But then you got those fucking flowers and I saw just how easy it would be to lose you. And it scared the shit out of me, Bells. Because I need you… I'm in love with you."
You tugged yourself out of his hold again, retreating just far enough to lean against the wall.
"You can't say that to me, Steve."
"Even if it's true?"
"How can it be true when you're fucking married to someone else?!" you half-shouted.
"Keep your voice down," he warned softly.
"Oh yes, that's right. Better not let anyone know that I'm in here. Would hate for anyone to find out that you're fucking me. What with you being in love with me and everything!"
He was on his feet, boxing you against the wall, hands on your waist.
"I am in love with you. And if you want me to, I'll leave her."
You sucked in air like he'd just punched you in the stomach.
"What?"
"You heard me."
"I never wanted to— I always said that this wasn't about—"
"Do you love me?"
You looked up at him, startled.
"Because I will leave her. And look, I don't mean, I'll go home and do it tomorrow or anything - we'll need time to work it out - but if you wanted me, that could be where we're heading."
"I— I don't…"
Words failed you and he visibly sagged, chin dropping towards his chest.
"I mean… fuck, Steve, I never expected… this isn't what this was supposed to be."
He nodded slightly, fingers kneading at your hips.
"Yeah, no, I understand."
"But yes."
His head whipped up to meet your eye.
"Yes, what?"
"Yes, I love you," you whispered.
Oh dear… this can’t be good, can it? 🙈🤭
Also, quick note for any UK teachers frowning at me - guys, I know the NUT conference is usually at Easter, but that doesn't work for my timeline so I had to employ a little creative licence, sorry!
So be it, I’m your crowbar. If that’s what I am so far. Until you get out of this mess. And I will pretend that I don’t know of your sins, until you are ready to confess. But all the time, all the time, I’ll know.
Could I request a Drabble for Steve finding out your pregnant and being over the moon
Done and dusted. I loved this, it really stretched me yet it came together quite easily! Thank you for sending the first writing request I have received thus far! Hope it's what you were looking for, please enjoy 🥰
Also I realize this is probably more of a ficlet/one-shot than a drabble upon further reflection so please forgive my still being pretty new to all of the terminology 🙃
On a Positive Note (Headmaster Steve × you)
Word count: ~1.1k
Content warnings: Language, mentions of alcohol/drug addiction, very brief mention of violence, pregnancy discussion
~♡~
"Hullo? I'm home, girls."
The house is eerily quiet, even for this early hour, as Steve steps gratefully across the threshold and into the front hallway. He strips off his faded blue blazer that's in need of a good wash, hanging it on its usual hook along with his bag of overnight shift necessities. Toothbrush, medications, flask.
It's then that Steve notices his daughters' school bags and jackets are missing from their customary spots beside his things, and his heart sinks a little. How did he miss seeing them off to school? They're usually not out the door for another half hour or so, and exchanging hugs and kisses with his baby chicks before they leave for the day is the thing he most looks forward to when he returns from an overnight shift at Stanton Wood.
No wonder the house is so still.
Last night was particularly rough, with Jamie and his new roommate needing to be pulled apart in the midst of an altercation over whose side of the room was whose. A diverted blow from Jamie sent Steve crashing into a wall, and now his back is even more fucked than usual.
Steve combs his fingers through his tousled, graying hair and looks up when he hears the familiar creak of the stairs. All the turmoil of school is forgotten when he sees you descending from the second floor, looking weary yet oddly energized given the early hour.
"Good morning, sweetheart," you greet your husband, coming to a stop on the bottom step as he approaches you. "Long night, I gather?"
He nods heavily, leaning on the wall a bit -- the way he does when his back is particularly hobbled. His crystal blue eyes are bloodshot, but full of love and relief at the sight of you in your sweats. You could be wearing a bin bag, and he'd still melt at the sight of you. After all these years, as unkind as they've been to both of you, you're still equally enamored with Steve.
"Same old rows, and I'm a bit worse for wear," Steve says, grimacing a little as he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you close. "But so happy to see you. Where are the girls?"
"They have their first Girl Guides meeting of the term. Ella's mum picked them up, just before you pulled in, I reckon."
Of course, Steve thinks with a pang of guilt. He knew about Girl Guides. He just can't seem to keep track of things lately. With a bit of extra care from the physiotherapist and a new medication, he hopes he can kick his self-medicating habits of late. For his family. For the boys. And yes, for his own wellbeing too.
Everyone looks at Steve lately like they're afraid he's about to combust. With the recent announcement about the Trust planning to shutter Stanton Wood, he just might.
"Sweetheart?" Steve gazes up to see that same concerned expression hanging heavy on your face. "You look positively knackered. But I do have ... something we should discuss."
Inside the pocket of your sweatshirt, there's a little plastic stick bearing two pink lines that have burned themselves into your retinas. You're scared and a little hopeful as you carry this news all by yourself so far, and despite Steve's dire need of rest, you must tell him now. There's to be another baby -- finally. You were so afraid to hope for it, even as two weeks passed with no period and you chalked it up to stress and hormonal changes at first.
After years of trying and failing to conceive a third child, you'll soon be a family of five if all goes well.
But can Steve handle the emotional weight of it? Especially given all that he's been through since the accident. You worry about the increasing number of empty pill packets that he tries to hide. The liquor bottles you've discovered throughout the house, even in the attic when you were bringing out the girls' old clothes to take to the charity shop.
Now, maybe you should start holding onto the girls' things again. You've already offloaded so much of it, thinking there'd be no more use for a pram or tiny jumpers.
All of this weighs on your mind as you sit with Steve round the kitchen table, tea and toast laid out. He passes a hand over his whiskery jaw and watches you feigning a casual sip from your mug, nearly dropping it in the process. Still too hot.
Your unease isn't lost on Steve, as tired as he may be. He can spot a storm cloud from miles away.
"What's troubling you, darling?" Steve asks, laying a trembling hand over yours as he leans across the table. "Are you well?"
The question brings laughter bubbling out of your throat. "Yes, sweetheart, I'm quite well. For now, at least." Seeing the growing concern on Steve's face, you slip a hand into your sweatshirt pocket to grasp the pregnancy test.
Now is as good a time as any. But you're so nervous. Will he say there couldn't be a worse possible time to add to the family? Their finances are already stretched thin, his job is under threat, his mental and physical health are tenuous at best.
Or ...
"What are you on about, love? You're worrying me." Steve furrows his brow, an edge of anxiety in his voice.
Carefully, you slip the piece of plastic from your pocket and lay it gingerly on the table in front of your husband, dragging your eyes to his face. At the same time, his eyes drop to the potentially life-changing artifact that's just been presented.
Steve inhales a sharp intake of breath, and exhales a laugh. Hell's bells, he wasn't expecting anything quite like this. Some good news. Wonderful, actually.
"This is ... positive?" he murmurs, lifting his eyes back to yours. "Two lines is ..."
"Yes," you croak, unsure how to interpret his reaction. "I'm pregnant, Steve."
In an instant, searing pain forgotten, he's on his feet, nearly upsetting the kitchen table and sending tea sloshing across the untouched toast. "We're having another baby! That's brilliant."
"You're not upset?"
"Oh, love, of course not," he reassures you, and his smile is a mile wide. "It will make things ... interesting, to be sure. We'll have to tighten our purse strings. But of course I want another little one. So long as you do, too."
Steve folds you into another hug -- nearly lifting you off your feet, he's so elated -- and kissing you deeply. Quick on the heels of celebration, he's also feeling a great burden of responsibility and resolving that he's finally going to flush the pills and booze. He'll ring up that substance abuse counselor that Jenny recommended. Start going to meetings.
He knows that it won't be an easy road, but needs must for his family. Now more than ever.
~♡~
Please reblog/comment/like if you enjoyed this piece! And message or comment if you would like to be added to my tag lists 🥰
General tags: @lau219 @katyispunk @jtargaryen18 @kikimurphys
As of this posting, I am currently accepting requests for moodboards and one-shots/drabbles!
Pairing: Broken Cillian Murphy x YoungTouristReader
Genre: Spicy fluffy feel good content
Word count: 4,1k
Summary: You are a backpacker in Ireland and meet Cillian in a bar. Just a harmless flirt, but if you could read his mind…
CN: Age gap, heart-broken Cillian being needy and flirty af, nice and filthy guy peak duality I swear
🆘Author’s note🆘 This strange ban really sucks! Please help me to make my content visible again and interact (like, reblog) as much as possible. Thank you so much! 🙏🏻
***
Cillian
The little bar on the edge of Cork, tucked away down a side street and hardly inviting from the outside, rarely attracts tourists. Which is exactly why Cillian keeps coming back whenever he finds himself in his hometown. A couple of old neighbors, childhood friends, and John – the gruff bartender who really should have retired years ago – all of them make the Mutton Lane Inn feel just right.
No one here treats him like a star. No lingering stares, no phones flashing in his face. He despises that more than anything. He’d rather have a quiet chat than pose for some stranger’s weird trophy collection. He never understood what made a photo with an actor any more valuable than one with a dentist or a butcher. It was a job, nothing more.
The Mutton Lane Inn offers him old stories that feel like home, the occasional burst of bold pub songs, and the kind of beer that feels like it’s been poured by God himself.
These days, there isn’t much time for trips like this. Between acting, writing, producing… all the creative projects that keep his mind ticking, his visits to Cork have grown rare. But since his boys have grown up, and more so since his wife finally left him after all those years – he finds himself at John’s more and more.
And really, who could blame him?
The pint just tastes better when your heart’s broken.
***
You
You’ve just finished your first year at university, and you’re spending your summer break doing what you’ve always dreamed of: seeing the world. Ireland had always called to you – the jagged coastlines, the lush, impossibly green hills, the salt-laced wind and the honesty in the way people speak. With a bulky backpack and no set plan, you’re hopping from hostel to hostel, couch surfing here and there, letting the country carry you wherever it wants.
A sudden downpour catches you between stops, and you're grateful when your search for shelter leads you to the Mutton Lane Inn.
Soaked to the bone, your shirt clinging cold and damp to your skin, you push open the weather-beaten wooden door. It squeaks like an old man’s knees.
The warmth hits you like a wave: heavy pub air thick with the smell of spilt beer, wet coats, and too many people packed into too small a space. And yet – it’s a blessing.
You shrug off your overstuffed backpack at the bar and wriggle your arms out of your drenched jacket. Maybe there’s a radiator somewhere to hang it over before you move on. It’s busy, and you grab the only free stool at the bar to catch your breath.
The bartender is focused on pulling a pint, his hand steady as he sets it down in front of the man to your right. Then he turns to you with a smirk and a voice as warm and scratchy as the pub walls. “Well now, love – made of sugar, are ya? How about an Irish Coffee to warm you up?”
“John, the second a woman shows up in this place, you're all sweetness and charm,” the man with the fresh pint chimes in, tone teasing.
“I wish you'd be that nice to me once in a while.”
John smirks, drying off a glass.
“Come on, Cill. You can handle a little tough love now and then.”
You can feel the man’s curious gaze on you – not awkward, just quietly observant. You glance back for a moment and manage a faint smile, polite, nothing more. Still, it makes you self-conscious. Soaked to the skin, mascara likely washed away by the rain, your shirt clinging a little tighter than you’d planned; no wonder he’s looking.
How sweet…no gloss, no posing…
somehow, she looks like the most honest thing I’ve seen in months…
You accept the Irish Coffee with a grateful nod, then dig your small microfiber towel out of your backpack and slip off toward the restroom, the man’s eyes still lingering on your back.
She probably has no idea how fucking good she looks.
I hope she doesn’t dry off too fast.
I just… can’t stop staring.
That ass—fuck.
Get a grip, man!
Look into her eyes when she comes back!
***
The place is old – the paint on the walls cracked, the mirror clouded, and the radiator under the window so thick with layers of paint its original shape is barely visible. You drape your jacket over it anyway. No one’s going to steal it here – you're probably the only woman in the entire pub tonight.
The mirror in the old bathroom doesn’t show much, and honestly, you don’t care. A place like this, tucked away in the suburbs of Cork, probably doesn’t see many women under fifty, let alone anyone who’d judge you for a bit of rain. Your mascara has already washed away; nothing looks smeared or messy, just…bare. You towel off your hair and warm your numb fingers a little under the rickety hand dryer.
***
When you step back into the bar, a few heads turn. Nothing rude, just mild curiosity. You’re young, clearly not from around here, and slightly out of place. But no one says anything, and you let yourself enjoy the quiet attention for what it is. When you slide back onto your barstool, a warm, steaming glass already waits for you. Irish Coffee, creamy and strong. You take a cautious sip of the whipped cream and let out a long, relieved breath. What a day. You’ve earned this indulgence, even if it’s a little expensive for a backpacker’s budget.
I wonder what she looks like without the shirt clinging to her?
I want to slowly pull it over her head and suck on her nipples…and then...
Christ, what the hell am I thinking?
I’m a grown man, sitting next to a sweet girl, and my mind’s gone completely feral?
The whiskey hits fast. There’s no stinginess in a place like this, and your empty stomach doesn’t help. The warmth that spreads through you is almost too good.
“Delicious, isn’t it?” the man to your right says again, his tone casual, unbiasedly friendly now.
“Decades of experience,” John mutters from behind the bar as he bends to refill the fridge with soft drinks, joints creaking in protest.
Oh god. Please don’t let her think I’m just some creepy old bastard who won’t let her enjoy her drink in peace!
You glance right, ready to give another polite nod – and that’s when it hits you. Really hits you.
You blink once. Twice.
And somehow manage not to let your jaw drop.
Cillian Murphy. Cillian fucking Murphy!
Right there. Sitting next to you like it’s the most normal thing in the world. You’ve been a Peaky Blinders fan for years – how didn’t you recognize him immediately?
Maybe it’s the longer hair. The softer edges. The fact that he doesn’t seem to want to be recognized. But still – it’s him.
You sip again, this time slower, and give him a small smile. “Yeah. Exactly what I needed after a day like this.”
I don’t even know her name.
But I can barely stop imagining how she feels, how she tastes…
Should’ve gotten myself off earlier.
Fucking idiot move.
“Cillian,” he offers, voice polite, almost overly so, extending a hand.
You take it, grip steady despite the sudden rush in your chest.
That touch—fuck.
It's been too long since something that simple made me feel like this.
“Y/N,” you reply. “Nice to meet you.” You smile at him, light and unassuming, and lift your Irish Coffee in a quiet toast. You are going to need more than one strong drink to stay calm tonight.
Not even a flicker of recognition…
Am I losing my face?
Or maybe she knows and just doesn’t give a damn.
Christ. That’d be a first.
“How do you say it again in Ireland? I can never remember,” you say, steering the conversation elsewhere.
“Oh, we say S-l-á-i-n-t-e,” he answers with a crooked grin. “It’s pronounced slawn-cha.”
He smiles wider when he sees your puzzled expression, and the creases around his eyes deepen, warm and unmistakably real.
He looks different than he does in Peaky Blinders. Better, in a way. Like a good wine that’s had time to mellow, not spoil. Maybe he’s had something done, just slightly, the kind of quiet adjustment people in his world consider maintenance. You doubt it was his idea. Showbiz is showbiz. He always struck you as pragmatic. Someone who does what the job demands. And that’s kind of...endearing. If he’d been obsessed with perfection, he would have traded his long-time wife for some Hollywood model years ago. The fact that he never did says more about his character than any interview ever could.
Anyway, you stick to your little “stranger in a bar” act, partly out of courtesy, partly to avoid being read as a silly fan girl.
“Sláinte,” you repeat, awkwardly but earnestly.
He laughs. So do you.
If she had the slightest idea what she’s doing to me…
She’d run.
And maybe she should.
She’s so much younger, and even if she wanted this… it’s too much.
She’d be far too…innocent for the filth I crave.
But fuck, I want her under me, push her open like a secret and tear her apart.
Jesus. What the fuck is wrong with me? I haven’t thought like this in years.
And here I sit, pretending to be a gentleman.
Like I’m not dying to hear the sounds she’d make when I finally sink into her.
“To bad weather and unexpected company,” he toasts, smile flickering into something a little too charming for a stranger in a bar who just met you.
You’re a little taken aback by how quickly he warms to you – and he notices right away.
Fuck! What did I just say? Am I stupid?
“God, that sounded like a line from a bad rom-com. Ignore me.”
Damn, that’s so exciting…is Cillian fucking Murphy really flirting with you? That self-deprecating charm of his…he could say the dumbest thing and still somehow make it sound like poetry.
He lifts his pint again, taking a long pull and that’s when you notice it:
No wedding ring.
You’re almost sure he used to wear it. Always. At least in public. Odd. And... interesting.
You let that detail slide, choosing instead to meet his eyes with a smile that tells him you’re still here, still listening. “Too late. Now I’m curious what the next line would’ve been,” you answer.
Okay… maybe she’s not as…innocent as she looks.
She’s not a teenager anymore.
Probably knows her way around by now…
Wonder what kind of guys she fucks.
HOW she fucks.
“Oh, it involved bad poetry and worse intentions. Trust me, you’re better off not knowing.” He says it with a low, amused drawl, eyes steady on yours, just long enough to make you wonder exactly how bad the intentions were.
If she would ever go for someone older?
Oh, let’s hope she would…
Gosh, why the fuck am I thinking so much about this age gap?
I’ve never chased youth for the sake of it.
I like women who’ve lived. Who bite back.
Men who use age to overpower? Pathetic.
But her? She seems to be so ageless in her mind. Maybe she doesn’t care at all about age?
“You know,” he says after a pause, leaning on the bar with a relaxed slouch, “I was told Mercury’s in retrograde… or whatever excuse people use for clumsy flirting.”
You raise an eyebrow, amused. He is flirting indeed. You decide not to let it show. Not yet. Instead, you pivot the conversation just enough to let him think it’s still innocent. “Wait. Are you that kind of person who is seriously into astrology?”
Wait, what?
She dodges the obvious line and still manages to make my trousers feel too tight.
Who even is this girl?
If this is just her being polite, I’m fucked.
But if it’s not…
Please, don’t let me just be the “harmless older guy” to her, the one she laughs about later. The one who gets banished to the friendzone the second he makes a move.
He smirks. “Only when I need someone else to blame for my bad decisions.”
You laugh – openly this time – and it’s the kind of sound that turns heads. “God, you’re not serious, right? That stuff is basically cosmic Mad Libs for emotionally overwhelmed people.”
His brows rise. “Mad Libs?”
“I mean those Mad Libs games we used to play as kids. Fill-in-the-blank nonsense that somehow still feels personal. It’s all cognitive bias. Cold reading, confirmation bias, projection... People want patterns. Meaning. Astrology gives it to them without asking for anything in return.” You take the last sip of your Irish Coffee, eyes glinting. “It’s the ultimate emotional shortcut.”
His lips part slightly, like he’s about to say something. But he doesn’t. He just watches you.
She’s so educated and enjoyable. Not the flashy kind. Doesn’t try to impress – no leaning in, no fluttering lashes. Just… effortless. And that’s what kills me.
Most women perform. She doesn’t.
And that brain of hers?
Fuck, that’s the real danger.
“Sorry,” you say, suddenly self-conscious. “I’m studying psychology, kind of obsessed with it lately, I sometimes get carried away. At least, it makes me ruin fun things.”
“No,” he says quickly. “That wasn’t... No. That was awesome.”
Don’t lay it on too thick…
Then again, none of this is fake. She’s sexy, smart, confident. How the fuck am I supposed to resist that?
You laugh again, a bit shy now. Now he's really laying it on a bit thick. But his words go down like a treat.
Fuck, I can’t help myself…she’s too gorgeous, too tempting…
I wonder if she’d let me cum on her face? Swallow?
No. Stop. Not now. Not with her.
If she'd let herself be fucked in the ass…imagine the tightness and the friction...coming inside her...
Jesus. Get a grip. You’re spiraling.
Maybe none of her lovers have been naughty enough… I could show her…
Stop it, before she sees it in your eyes.
Shit. Shit. Shit!
What the hell is my brain doing?
Just thinking this way about her feels like…harassment.
Christ, I need to snap out of it.
Don’t picture it.
Don’t go there.
One more second and she’ll see how hard I am...
He tips his glass toward you, seems a little out of sorts. “So, you don’t believe in fate, then?”
“I believe in patterns,” you reply. “And chemistry.” After a brief pause, you add: ”Not just neural. The other kind, too.”
Jesus. If she keeps saying words like that in that voice, I’m going to have to shift in my seat.
She knows.
She fucking knows.
She’s playing me…testing if I’m man enough to handle her.
I would love to spank her naughty little ass for that.
“Dangerous thing, chemistry. Can blow up in your face if you’re not careful.” He lifts a brow, trying to keep the tone light, as if it was a joke. But the way his gaze settles on your collarbone, then lower, it doesn’t feel like banter…it feels like a test. Or an invitation.
I know what I wanna see in your face, girl…aaaah, I must stop myself…
He doesn’t just look. He studies. Traces your outline with a gaze that feels like intent, so precise that it’s impossible to ignore. Like he’s already memorized the blueprint of everything he plans to do to you, anticipating the way you’ll taste when he finally gets his mouth where he’s been imagining it.
“Only if you add the wrong ingredients,” you counter, your eyes catching his with just enough edge to remind him what not to touch. “Some elements just… react well together. No matter how volatile.”
Fuck. That mouth.
With my cock inside…
And how she just put me in place without words.
I should say something safe, something to reset this whole thing…
Hell no, I don’t want to! I want to find out how to cross that line...
I want her to make the next move…
or give me a reason to…
Cillian leans in just slightly, enough that his voice lowers. “You talk like you’ve done…a few experiments.”
The conversation is slipping, more and more. It coils heat in places you’ve been trying not to think about – and part of you suspects he’s been waiting for that shift. To make you feel it first, so he has permission to follow.
You shrug. “Enough to know when something’s… worth testing.”
Alright. She’s playing this smart. But she’s in.
“Speaking of testing – can I get you a beer?” he asks, seemingly casual. “Was about to order one anyway. You really should try the draught here. It’s the only reason half of Cork still comes.”
A smooth pivot. Too smooth. And a mock-offended huff from behind the bar – just enough to make you both smirk.
He’s cooling the heat he just stoked. Why?
Is he about to pull back because he’s going home to his wife? Isn’t he supposed to be like twenty years married? Maybe he still wears his wedding ring, just not here. Just not tonight. Maybe he keeps certain truths out of the spotlight, private in the way real things often are.
You're not sure what’s missing in the story, but something is.
Still… he’s here. And so are you. And he’s looking at you like you’re not just decoration.
So, you decide to let it play out. Whatever this is.
You grin and nod, heat rising in your throat as you meet his eyes again. What do you have to lose? “Sure. I trust your taste.” Maybe he just wants to get you drunk? For whatever reason…you hope he’s not that silly and push the thought aside…
Cillian signals John, who slides two fresh pints over, no questions asked.
You watch him closely. He’s so fucking magnetic. Your shirt may be rain-drenched, but have to admit to yourself that it’s not the only thing damp anymore. And as much as you’re soaking up the attention, something in you recoils at the thought of being just another backpacker he flirts with while his wife waits at home.
“Careful,” Cillian says, nudging the glass toward you, “the second one always talks louder than the first.”
You laugh softly. “Then let’s hope it has something interesting to say.”
Oh, you start to love the game you are playing.
You’re circling something shared, something unnamed. He won’t say it, unless you do. And you’re not quite ready to give him that win.
You like this thrill of the moment just too much, the not-knowing, the slow burn, the quiet dare in every glance. But a part of you already aches to find out what comes after the restraint slips.
He taps his glass against yours again. “To science,” he says, mock serious. “And slightly improved flirting techniques.”
Okay, no risk, no fun. If she bites, even a little, I’ll know she’s curious. If she laughs it off, no harm done.
I have to get her with me somehow…
Not by offering her one drink after another. That’d be dull. She won’t fall for it anyway.
No, I want her sharp.
I want her to offer herself.
God, I need her pussy around me, wanna make her scream my name…
Fuck. Not here. Not like this.
Don’t let her see what you’re thinking.
He’s already been bolder than you had expected. Still, you are pretty sure he’d never come right out and say it. He’d never be crude enough to ask if you wanted to fuck him. Like Tommy Shelby in Peaky Blinders did – dry voice, zero hesitation, as if the answer had never been in doubt.
You rewatched that scene more times than you'd admit.
Almost came undone each time.
But this isn’t Tommy. This is Cillian Murphy.
Charming. Disarming. Devastatingly attractive, yes, but in the end? A nice guy. Polite. A gentleman.
And yet—
You wish he’d drop the act. Just for a second.
Ask you, without flinching, if you’re wet from the way he’s been talking to you.
If you want to go home with him and prove it.
“Flirting?” you ask, lifting your glass again. “Is this the Irish way of being friendly?”
He smiles. “Only when we want to be misunderstood on purpose.”
Your laugh escapes before you can stop it. It’s soft, a little too close to something else.
Cillian watches you for a beat longer, then glances toward the hallway at the back. “Excuse me a moment,” he murmurs.
He rises without a sound, the kind of movement that feels planned, not casual, like if he doesn’t get away now, he might say something he wouldn’t be able to take back.
I needed a second…just to breathe.
She’s sharp. Steady. Looks me in the eye like she’s trying to read what I won’t say.
She’s so fucking…intriguing.
So.
Say it.
No lines. No pretense.
“Would you come with me?”
“Don’t worry,” comes John’s voice from the other side of the bar, low and just for you. “He’s decent.”
You glance up. The older man doesn’t look at you directly, just wipes down a clean glass like it needed doing.
“Bit quiet these days, but that’s no bad thing,” he continues, casual as ever. “Pretty sure he’s grateful for some company. It’s been… quieter still since his wife left.”
You blink. John says it like it’s nothing, just one more fact in a long line of barroom trivia. But it settles somewhere between your ribs and starts to warm.
Then the old man grins faintly. “Though I’ll say this…he always did have a thing for clever women.”
You try not to smile, but you fail.
You see him returning through the hallway, jacketless now, his sleeves rolled to the elbows. Your pulse quickens again, faster than before.
He meets your eyes just as you open your mouth, and—
“Actually—”
“I was going to—”
You both stop. A shared breath. Then you laugh. Not nervously. Not politely. Just… delighted. He grins back, a little crooked.
“I was going to say something wildly inappropriate,” he admits, voice lower now.
“But you might beat me to it.”
You lean your elbow on the bar, chin tilted in mock consideration.
“That depends. How wildly are we talking?”
He looks at your mouth, then shakes his head once, lightly, like someone surrendering.
“It’s getting late,” he says, as if it’s the beginning of a casual sentence. “And I was wondering… if you already had a place to stay tonight.”
You let your smile deepen just enough to tip the meaning. “That’s a very reasonable and not at all inappropriate question.”
He leans in then, close enough that his lips almost brush the shell of your ear. “That wasn’t the whole question, though. Because if not… “
Oh god. He’s not actually—
Is he really asking what you think he’s asking?
Your pulse kicks against your ribs.
You swallow, barely breathing. “What then?”
“I want you with me.”
In his bed.
In my bed.
Naked.
Hands above your head.
My mouth between your thighs.
Telling me how long you’ve been waiting for someone to ruin you properly.
And no one around to hear the way you beg.
"And if I said yes, what would you do to me?" To see how it turns out, you toss the question like a coin.
"Do to you?" His blinking is a mocking sign of surprise. As if the entire conversation weren't already humming with suggestion.
“I mean – come on. At least you’ve been undressing me with your eyes all night. Thought you’d never get to the point.”
That mouth.
She got me.
How bold she is...damn, that’s so fucking…appealing.
I could take her right here.
Tell her! Go ahead!
“Oh, I wasn’t just undressing you,” he counters with a slow grin. “I was…” He leans in just enough to drag the words across your skin. “…making plans.“
The heat that’s been simmering low in your belly spikes suddenly. Your thighs shift beneath the barstool; it’s instinct, not decision.
“Is this the Irish version of foreplay?” you tease with a grin, as if you haven’t already decided to play along.
“I don’t care what you call it,” He shifts his knee, so that it brushes yours beneath the bar as if by chance, then stays there. “As long as you’re wet by the end of it.”
“I already am.”
“Then come with me.”
He watches you.
Not with hesitation, exactly.
More like he’s calculating the last variable before letting go of whatever’s holding him back.
Then he asks, almost sheepish: “You didn’t recognize me, did you?”
You lift a brow. “Oh, I did,” you say casually, like it never needed to be said.
That makes him pause, just for a second.
“But you didn’t say anything.”
You set your glass down, steady. “Yeah, what was I supposed to say?”
Then, after a beat, as if it only just occurred to you to explain:
“Didn’t feel the need to bring it up. Would’ve ruined the fun.”
You shrug.
“Besides, I didn’t stay for your name.” Your knee nudges his, slow and sure, like a yes spelled out in pressure. “I stayed for the way you’ve been looking at me all night.”
“You’re sure?”
“Shut up and find out.”
Gosh, I know why I wanted her the moment we met.
Gosh, you wanted him the moment you met. He’s so dangerously fuckable, no matter who he is.
***
Outside, the air bites cooler against your skin, but you barely feel it.
He closes the space between you in three quiet steps, one hand bracketing your jaw, the other finding your hip like it’s always known where to land.
Then his mouth is on yours, warm and hungry, tasting of all the plans you’ve both been circling without saying.
You kiss him back and it feels like you’ve been waiting for this exact sensation.
Not fame.
Not fantasy.
Just him.
***
You liked that? Follow the link to find more stories like this ⤵️
💬 2 🔁 37 ❤️ 812 · Masterlist · Cillian Murphy stuff
Corrected, not punished
Pairing: Jonathan Crane/Scarecrow x PsychologyStudent!Reader
In case anyone wondered how Clara was feeling about his appearance last night - the answer is F E R A L. I wrote this so fast, it’s only lightly edited and it’s very silly. Enjoy! xx
Summary: It’s the night of the premiere for The Bone Temple (28 Days series). Running late to get home to get ready, Cillian’s already been fully glam-squaded when Clara gets there and she has certain feelings about their work 🤭
Warnings: 🔞 Smut. Silly, fluffy, quickie nonsense. References to their other premiere antics 🤭
Word count: 1790 LOCKDOWN SERIES
Premiere… Again
Gareth and the gang are here - have you left yet? xx
Swearing internally, Clara surreptitiously read her husband's message under the table as the conversation flowed around her. Several glasses of wine deep, Mal was at his most gregarious in their joint endeavour to charm in some new and very lucrative business and their target was eating it up.
Swirling what was left of her wine, subtly declining a refill as Malcom emptied the rest of the bottle into their prospective client's glass.
"Gentlemen, I'm sorry to break up the party, but I'm afraid I have to be on the move in a minute."
"Kids, is it?"
"Oh no, Clara here moves in slightly different circles to the rest of us," chuckled Malcolm and Clara resisted the strong urge to kick him under the table.
"Is that so?"
"Not at all. Malcolm likes to exaggerate - but not about our excellent services, obviously," she smiled. "I just have to be somewhere this evening and I'm not allowed to be late."
"She's going to a premiere."
The other man's eyes widened slightly, his eyebrows lifting.
"Anything good?"
"The new 28 Days film."
"Her husband's in it."
"Only briefly…I think," she demurred. “He’s more involved on the production side of things.”
"She's married to Cillian Murphy."
"Malcolm!" she hissed, doing her best to cover it with a sweet smile.
Their hopefully future client sat back in his seat, cradling his wineglass.
"Blimey."
"It sounds impressive but he's very boring and normal," she said hurriedly, heat crawling up her face.
"Didn't he win an Oscar the other year?"
"Yes," said Malcolm before she could try and downplay it. "We're all very proud - he's practically part of the Penguin family."
Clara fixed her boss, and long-time friend, with a stern look at this blatant lie. Cillian hadn't even let her publish the one book he'd been involved in a few years earlier because he wanted to use a smaller Irish house.
A fact she was still smarting from.
"Anyway," she said, trying to wrestle the conversation away from her marriage. "I'm very sorry to have to cut and run, I hope you won't hold it against us - I promise you I'm very diligent for my writers. But unfortunately I also promised him I'd be back in time and I'm already late."
"It's fine - my fault for getting lost on the way here. And I wouldn't want you to be late for a public appearance," he smiled warmly and Clara felt the warm glow in her chest of the certainty of a victorious conquest. "I'm sure Malcolm can answer any other questions I might have?"
"Of course!" Malcolm enthused, raising his glass in salute. "Go on, Clara, we're fine."
After handshakes and hugs, Clara hurried out of the smart restaurant, wobbling slightly after a more liquid lunch than she'd intended; Mal's pouring was a liability sometimes.
Getting on the tube now, see you soon, xx
*****
The flat was a chaos of people and noise when she got back, permeated with the fruity scent of hair products. Anita, her downstairs neighbour, was holding court from the comfy chairs by the french doors in the kitchen with Clara's former - and now very elderly - cat, Hemingway, perched contentedly on her knees.
"Hiya," Clara waved vaguely towards the assembled bunch of hairdressers, MUAs and stylists, noticing Cillian wasn't amongst them. "Sorry I'm late."
"Darling! Gareth says he'll give me a make over after you leave! Isn't that nice of him?" Anita called gleefully and the big ball of fluff on her lap, lifted his head, blinking in her direction. Slowly rising and gathering his limbs, he clambered down to greet her, stretching deeply.
"Very nice," she smiled, sharing a knowing look with Gareth. "Oooh, big stretch," she cooed at Hemingway, scooping him up to her chest. "Hello baby, how's my gorgeous man?"
"I'm fine," mumbled Cillian from behind her, earning laughter from around the room.
Spinning to face him, her breath caught in her throat - his longer shag of hair that he usually favoured had been pared back to the shorter version that she preferred, and he was already dressed for the premiere.
Rose had really outdone herself this time, she thought, heat rushing to her core.
"What?" he asked, tugging self-consciously at the high neck of the black jumper he was wearing, the soft wool clinging to the toned planes of his body, hugged by the smart cut of his jacket.
"N-nothing," she stammered, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his lips. "You look…" She laughed, letting out a quiet rush of air. "Yeah, you'll do."
He flushed slightly, smiling. "Your turn."
"I…umm…" She set Hemingway back down on Anita's knee with a quick pet on his furry head. "I just need to sort something upstairs quickly, can you give me a hand?"
"I need you in the chair in ten minutes, Clarabella," called Gareth as she hurried upstairs, Cillian following more slowly behind.
"What's up? What do you—?"
He was cut off by her launching herself at him, his back colliding noisily with the bedroom door, her lips on his.
"Fucking hell, Mac," he mumbled against her mouth and she took the opportunity to sneak her tongue past his lips, hearing him groan quietly as she kissed him fiercely.
"What's gotten into you? Are you drunk?" he said, letting her carefully shed the textured charcoal suit jacket from his shoulders.
"I've had two glasses of wine—"
"Yes, then," he smirked, squeezing her bum over her dress.
"Fuck off," she huffed and his smile widened. "Anyway, you have no idea, do you?" she continued, wasting no time in delving into his trousers.
"No idea about wh—fuck!"
She grinned up at him, her hand wrapped around his stiffening cock.
"About how fucking hot you look right now."
The flush on his cheeks deepened from rosy to fire-engine red. "I don't think—"
Steering him to the bed and pushing him down so she could straddle his lap, a sharp shake of her head silenced him.
"Don't argue with me, Murphy. I need you. Now."
"We haven't got time."
"I won't take long."
He rolled his eyes, lips twitching. "You?? And what about me?"
"I have every faith you can make it fast," she winked, pulling her skirt up to her waist and he laughed, the low sound rumbling against her palms as she slid them under his jumper.
"You're not allowed to wrinkle me," he chuckled, the sound giving way to a deep groan as she sat back, tugged her underwear to the side, and guided him inside her.
Finding her voice, temporarily robbed of breath by the deep stretch of him, she smiled, "They can steam you while they're making me beautiful."
Pushing himself back up into a sitting position so they were nose to nose, her breath on his lips, he brushed her hair back from her face.
"Already fucking beautiful," he rumbled, tugging her into a deep kiss, smothering her whimpers somewhat as she ground his cock against the sweetest spot inside her, making lights dance across her vision.
"Jesus fuck, really?? You're this fucking wet already??" he groaned, hands sliding to her waist to help guide her movements.
"You should really look in a mirror," she gasped out, cupping his face as she moved in his lap, thumbs dragging along the sharp lines of his his cheekbones, emphasised by his newly shortened hair. "I'm giving Gareth and the gang a raise in the morning… oh fuck…"
Her hands slipped to his shoulders, using him for leverage as she bounced and his lips trailed along her neck, sucking gently, careful not to leave a mark the team downstairs would have to deal with.
"We could have waited til we got home."
"Nope," she huffed out, small whimpers sounding in the back of her throat every time she took him deep. "No way I'd have lasted that long and we're too old for fucking in the disableds. Fucking christ!"
"Beg to differ," he chuckled quietly, swiping his thumb over her clit again, and she whined needily.
"Shush," he teased, voice laced with amusement. "They'll hear you. Can you be quiet for me?"
She shivered violently, a barely contained moan humming from between her tightly compressed lips and she felt him smile against her skin.
"Good girl," he murmured near her ear and her movements faltered, the waves rushing to meet her as he continued to slowly roll his thumb over her clit.
"Gonna wear me to this premiere?" he muttered, his breath coming in rapid pants, hips rising to meet every rock and roll of hers. "Stand next to me getting your photo taken with me leaking out of you?"
She pushed him backwards roughly, leaning over, chewing her lip to stay quiet, the change in angle making her head spin. His hands landed heavily on her bum, dragging her underwear further to the side as he fucked up into her, harder and faster.
"Shit," she hissed, gasping for air as her control began to slip. "I'm—"
"Cum," he ordered, voice low and full of gravel, delivering a light smack to her behind, and with a cry she tried to muffle in his chest, she let the breathless, boneless bliss carry her away.
"Christ," he grunted, hips stuttering, pressing up into her hard as he followed her over the edge.
"Fucking hell," he huffed out as she sat up, hands cradling her head so he could coax her into a soft kiss. "We're going to be so late."
"Nah, Gareth said I had ten minutes - that was barely five. Got ages yet, you want another go?" she grinned.
"Get off me you minx, I have to wear this to work."
"You're keeping that one, by the way," she said, sliding off him and straightening her skirt. "I don't care if they say no, you buying it."
Rolling his eyes, he pushed himself off the bed and fixed his trousers.
"Do you think they heard us?" she asked, checking her hair in the mirror, trying to make herself look less wanton.
"Us?? You more like. I'd be amazed if they weren't able to hear you two doors down."
"Please, I was very restrained."
"Hmmm… I wouldn't mind having you restrained later," he winked, lips on her neck.
"Clara!! Are you coming??"
"Already have," she giggled quietly to Cillian before opening the bedroom door. "Sorry! Coming now! Just need to nip to the loo," she called down the stairs. Cillian followed her out onto the landing, buttoning his jacket again and she smoothed down a wayward hair.
"You ready for this?"
"Not at all."
"Well at least the internet is going to go feral when they see you," she smiled cheekily, catching him in a final kiss.
Told you it was silly 🤭 If you enjoyed, I’d love to hear from you - don’t be shy 😘 xxx
stormborns
snowghoul
turnnoffyourmind
tangentwithtanner
ellievsbear
germansingergirl
2087
pixelskylines
kianamaiart
