You're in the luxurious oversized shower in the home you share with Harry. You've been wanting to try this since forever, so you pick a day when Harry is in the studio recording and will probably be home very late.
You've printed out some pictures of Harry in action doing the whale and have them taped to the shower wall so you can see his various "whale" positions. You've stocked the shower with several bottles of water. Since you're not actually taking a shower, you're dressed in a cute cotton top and shorts and you don't care if the clothes get a little wet.
To set the atmosphere, you have some of your favorite 1D songs playing in the next room and you've left the bathroom door open because why not?
Now you have to figure out how much water to have in your mouth for an effective whale. You kneel down in the shower, take a large gulp, hold it in, lean back a la Harry and spit it out as hard as you can. You've just performed the puniest most pathetic whale in history, but this was only the first attempt.
You continue to practice, sputtering along like a garden hose with the front of your cotton top getting soaked. Damnit Harry, how do you do this? What's your secret technique?
But wait, did someone just turn up the volume on No Control? No, Harry is back home early and he's singing along with the music!
Before you can jump up and close the bathroom door, Harry wanders in, still singing, sees you in the shower with the wet top, empty water bottles, whale pics taped to the shower wall. It only takes him a moment to figure out what's going on, and when he does he bursts into hysterical laughter the likes of which you've never heard from him.
Another way Saltburn displays some brutally insightful class commentary:
Oliver pretends that he grew up poor, with some poverty porn stereotype of a childhood including mentally ill drug dealer parents, and the Cattons eat that shit up because of course the Poor People have Problems, isn't it just so sad?
And then not one person (except Farleigh, who mostly didn't like Oliver already for personal reasons) even questions when one of the wealthy, spoiled Catton children dies of an overdose and the other one kills herself because she was mentally unwell.
Maybe if that family had spent less time looking for voyeristic poverty porn in the guise of 'friendship' with those less fortunate, and spent more time looking after each other and caring about the problems running rampant in their own home, they might have fared a little better for it.
Unfortunately for them, the mythology of their own importance, their own untouchable perfection, a family with no problems that couldn't be easily fixed or managed or swept under the rug, was crucial to maintaining the myth that they in anyway deserved everything that they had, and thus because they deserved it didn't have to think too deeply about all the ways they used their wealth and power only to benefit themselves.
you could never make blazing saddles today. movies take a really long time to film and it's already 11am on the west coast. also most actors and film staff would probably like to spend christmas eve with their families.
The young man in the second gif whose job it is to hold Mr. Rafferty's hat whenever Mr. Rafferty is about to do something dangerous 😊. I would take that job. Yes, I would.
Just finished this and James Norton is superb, of course, every inch the dapper English gent. This dramatization was enlightening because I was vaguely aware of The Profumo Affair but never looked into it. One intriguing detail: the Stephen Ward Files won't be released until 2046!
i’d love to know rafferty’s backstory because how on earth did he end up in his position and what about his upbringing dictated his political and social beliefs. i’m so curious all of a sudden because surely he wasn’t raised upper class but at the same time he has no sympathy for the fenians and he was against the pension scheme
Summary: There is no more hiding the truth, and both of them know it.
Warnings: angst, fluff, sexual content, swearing, detailed descriptions of violence, blood, injuries, murder/death, forced marriage, law-breaking behavior in every manner really, alcohol (18+)
Word count: 5.3k
PART 1
Sean runs a hand over his face, the rough scrape of his knuckles against his bruised skin grounding him. He sighs, the sound as heavy as his heart. He cannot speak. He is trying to forge the words, but they will not come. She is looking at him, her gaze patient, waiting. He hates that. He hates the raw expectation in her eyes, the worry etched around her mouth, and what it must be doing to her.
He knows what she wants. What she needs to hear, especially now, with her hand resting protectively over her womb. But how can he say those words? How can he speak of love when she has never truly seen the other side of him? The unending darkness that pulls him under until all reason is lost, and all good is gone. Killing that old man... that was nothing. That was a simple, clean act. What he is truly capable of is far, far worse. She pulled him from that. She gave him air to breathe and a warm, safe place to rest his head. If he ever goes back into those shadows, he knows he will not wash clean. He will lose a part of himself, and he will, quite possibly, lose her in the process. That would be his ruin.
His mouth works. Finally, he speaks. “Are you certain?”
It is a monumentally stupid question. He knows it the instant the words pass his lips.
Her eyes, wide and pleading a moment ago, narrow at him. For a moment, he is certain she will strike him, her fist reopening the wound on his lip.
“Am I certain?” she hisses, her voice trembling with rage. “No, Sean, I am not a blasted magician! But I have not bled since I arrived in Ashford. I have not been able to keep food down. And my dresses,” she gestures angrily at her waist, “are becoming impossibly tight. It does not take magic to solve that riddle!”
“And -” he begins, his logical mind searching for another possibility.
She interrupts him by kicking a spray of snow in his direction. “And if you dare ask if it is yours, I swear to God I will find a pistol and shoot you where you stand.”
He raises his hands in mock surrender, a flash of the old, arrogant Rafferty returning. A slow smirk, all the more devastating pulls at his lips. He actually gets down on one knee in the snow. "I was merely going to ask if you are alright," he says, his voice laced with amusement. "But if you insist on shooting, aim for the head. My heart, as you know, is long gone."
She rolls her eyes, a grimace of pure exasperation. "Get up. Stop being so dramatic."
"I am not being dramatic," he retorts, staying stubbornly put. "It is called romance. Is this not the poetry you are always demanding of me?"
Huffing, she gathers her skirts, turning her back on him and marching toward the house. He scrambles to his feet, the coat she now wears trailing from her shoulders, and follows. "Well? Is it?" he calls after her.
She spins on her heel, her patience snapping. She shoves him in the chest with all her might. Her effort yields almost no result; it is like pushing against a stone wall, but he stumbles back a half-step, surprised by her vehemence. "Do not mock me!"
"I am being genuine," he states, his humor gone, his face hardening.
She shakes her head, the tears returning, hot and angry. "After all this time? Now you are being genuine? Am I supposed to believe this? Saying all this now," she gestures again to her stomach, "now that you know I am with child, your child, is awfully convenient! It is suspicious!"
"WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!" he roars, the sound tearing from his chest, a raw cry of a man pushed past his limits.
She swallows thickly, sniffing, her anger deflating into pure, heartbreaking sorrow. "I just wanted to be loved," she whispers to the snow.
“You are!" he says, his voice breaking. "You mad, headstrong, gorgeous woman! You are loved!" He pauses, his chest heaving, lowering his voice as he reaches for her hands. She slaps them away.
"Y/N," he says, his voice now rough with an emotion she has never heard from him before. "I have been in love with you since the first moment I laid my eyes on you in that ballroom. I have made terrible, unforgivable mistakes. I know I did." He looks down, unable to meet her gaze. "But however much I tried to ignore it, to pretend it was not happening, I have never stopped loving you since that goddamn night. I am never going to stop."
He looks up, his eyes pleading. "So, whether you let me take your hand in marriage or not is completely up to you. If you feel any different, I will not question you. One word from you... one word... and it will silence me forever."
Y/N listens, her heart pounding, wondering how many nights she has dreamed of this very moment. Her heart is exhausted. "I do not have it in me to take any more pain and survive," she confesses, the words coming from a place deep inside her, pure and true. "I am not as strong as you think I am." Her eyes gloss over, the tears rushing in. And although it means she is in anguish, Sean cannot help but think how the tears make her eyes glitter... but even still, he never, ever wants to see her cry again.
"I know I ask a lot," he says, his voice gentle. "And you have no reason to believe me. But I swear to you, I mean this. I love you. I do. If you need me to say it every day, I will." He knows she would be fine without him, perhaps even happier. But he is too selfish to allow it, too possessive to imagine another man's hands upon her. "I have said those words before, that is true. But it was never like this. I never gave a sliver of my heart to those women. I offer you my whole heart. I offer you this home, my undying loyalty, and I promise you, you will never be alone again."
It is a practical, self-aware, and deeply protective response, put in the sweetest way he knows how. There, finally, is the charming, magnetic man she loves so much.
Before she can answer, he continues, as if afraid to let her speak. "I promise to love you with all I have until my heart stops beating. If there is a life beyond this one, I will fight whatever force there is to be by your side even then. I am not to be parted from you, Y/N. Not in this life or any other. I will, forever and always, put you first. Till the end of time."
The torrent of poetic, desperate words stops. He waits, breathless.
"Okay," she responds quietly, a single tear tracing a path down her cold cheek.
He frowns, confused. "Okay? Is that all you have to say to me after that? Just... 'okay'?"
"You love me," she acknowledges, a small, watery smile beginning to form.
He nods, his expression serious. "I do."
"And you want to marry me?"
"Yes."
"You are supposed to be my late husband's son," she points out, the practical, damning reality of it settling in. "How will that look to the public?"
"I don't give a single damn about their opinions," he says, waving a hand dismissively. "We will let it be known you did not consummate your marriage. And that I, being a kind and chivalrous man, did not choose to evict my father's poor, virginal widow, but have married her instead as a form of protection."
"Great," she says dryly. "And the fact that I am already pregnant will surely be ignored by the gossips."
He smirks, his hands finally finding their place on her hips, pulling her closer, settling her against him. "You are not showing yet," he murmurs, his gaze warm. "We can be married by special license tomorrow. Or next week, if you wish for a grand ceremony."
She scoffs. "No, thank you. I have had quite enough of weddings for one lifetime."
He rests his forehead on hers, his eyes closing, a soft, genuine smile gracing his lips. "Then it is settled. We are to be wed tomorrow, if the church allows."
"I have no objections to that."
He pulls back slightly, his eyes glittering with a familiar, wicked light. "And... do you have any objections to premarital sex?"
She gasps at his audacity, then a real, unrestrained laugh bubbles up from her chest. She pulls back, swatting his shoulder. "Follow me and find out, you rake!"
She rushes inside, dismissing the bewildered staff for the day while Sean has to remind her, laughing as he follows, that he must first write to the bishop for the license. She decides to wash up, to scrub away the last three weeks of grief, before meeting him in the bedroom. Her hands tremble as she undoes her laces, as if she has never, ever done this before.
Sean sits on the edge of the bed, already naked, waiting for her to come to him. The moment she enters the room, her eyes find his, and her heart gives in. Her lips lift in a crooked smile that has him stiffening, his body already tightening in anticipation. Lifting her hands to her shoulders, she slides her robe off and lets it fall in a pool of silk at her feet, revealing all the things about her he loves.
“I’m not letting your rip apart anymore of my clothes.”
He smirks. “I already told you -“
“You’ll buy me new ones. Yeah, yeah. I still don’t have the replacement,” she smirks as she steps closer into the light.
Sean loves every crevice, every scar she tries to hide from him. He loves the small, pale birthmark she has right above her right shoulder blade just as much as he loves the one nestled between her breasts. He fights the urge to reach for her, to pull her to him; he cannot stop his gaze from devouring her. She senses it, the heat of his stare, and smiles once more.
While Sean pulls back the covers, she moves to the bed and slides in beside him.
He turns and draws her into his arms before she can even touch him. She sighs softly and sinks against him, her body a perfect, soft fit against his hard planes.
“Once we’re wed, I’ll take you shopping anywhere you want to go.”
“I’ll hold you to that.”
She lifts her face to his. He kisses her gently, unhurriedly, content to savor the soft warmth of her body pressed freely against his, content to explore the soft warmth of her mouth, his to claim as he wills. As is she. He holds that possessive thought back, channels his aggression into anticipation, and keeps every touch languid.
So he holds himself back and lets her urgency build. He lets her grow hot, her skin fevered, her kisses increasingly demanding. He sinks back on the pillows and lets her take the lead for the second time he has known her, and just as he did then, he lets her think she is in control. Sean knows she likes to feel in charge, to sometimes take on the more dominant role, and he does not want to take that away from her so fast.
Half-atop him, she kisses him wildly, and squirms. Her heated, soft as velvet skin presses caress after intimate caress upon his.
He grits his teeth and enjoys every minute.
But he keeps her hands high, lacing his fingers through hers to prevent her from speeding up this night; the night he intends to be in charge of. He seems content to wallow in the heatwave, a passive, patient lover. With a mental snort, she tugs her fingers from his, frames his handsome face, and kisses him eagerly. Greedily.
She sinks into the kiss, caught in a sudden flare of her own need. Her limbs heat, and she melts against him, wanting to melt beneath him, wanting him to finally be one with her. Sliding her fingers into his hair, she lets her lips, her tongue, taunt him. Challenge him. Incite him.
Despite responding ardently, he remains beneath her, giving her the dominance without a fight. She avoids his hands and sets hers to trace the ridges and hollows of his chest, the heavy bones of his shoulders, the tensed muscles of his upper arms. His arms lock around her, heavy and warm across her waist, denying her quest to reach lower. Not that she needs to touch his cock; he is already fully aroused, the steely length of him brushing hard against her hip. That much of him, at least, is cooperating. The rest of him is not. She wants him to fight her for dominance. She wants him to care enough to push her limits, just as he always does out of the bed.
Shifting, she lies fully atop him, settling his erection between her thighs. She rolls her hips, experimenting until she finds the particular shifting slide that most evocatively strokes him. The muscles in his arms shift, tensing, relaxing, and then tensing again, as if he cannot make up his mind.
Swallowing a curse, she traps his lips with hers and puts her heart and soul into a slow, deliberate pace, moving her thighs. Deliberately suggestive, she calls to him in a language without words, and he answers. She feels the wave of response building in his body, feels the need she baited flare and spread like fire, feels hard become harder, feels tense muscles turn solid like rock.
With a gasp of relief, of anticipation, she drags her lips from his and half wriggles, half slides to the side. Puppet-like, his body follows; as she turns on her back, she grasps his upper arm, tugging him over her.
The reins of his lust locked in a grip of iron, Sean follows her lead. He lets her shift, lets her tug, lets her believe he is dazedly following her directions as she urges him over her. He complies, moving heavily, unhurriedly.
While she pants, he smirks, enjoying the view of her, flushed and wanton, beneath him.
"Hello there, my Lady."
He uses the name, the title she carries, but his passion hazed mind cannot agree. She is more than a lady. She is his queen. She always was. She is the one he has waited for since the dawn of time, and he will not let her slip away.
At his unspoken touch, her thighs part. He swings heavily over her, then lets himself down between them. Taking his time settling himself, settling her, Sean watches her frown. Impatient, she arches, her hips lifting from the mattress, and he feels her body calling to him.
He catches his breath and feels, in his chest, something shift, something lock into place. With a soft, desperate gasp, she arches again. He can no longer refuse her need and desire for him. He eases into her. He sinks deeper, slowly, savoring every inch of her hot, tight softness as she stretches to accommodate him, savoring the subtle easing of her body as she accepts him. She sighs as he sinks even deeper, then her hands, tensed on his arms, skim down his sides.
He catches them; first one, then the other. He lets his weight down on her, trapping them above her head. Gently but firmly, he removes the reins from her grasp as he claims his dominance.
Beneath him, she shifts, sinking deeper into the soft mattress, angling herself to cradle him more effectively. Tentatively, she lifts her legs, sliding them over his sides.
"Beautiful," he breathes the word against her lips as he settles fully upon her. He finds her lips with his and takes them, takes her mouth, then presses deeper into her.
He drinks her instinctive gasp of pure pleasure. Inwardly smiling, he draws back, then sinks deep again, and feels her eagerly respond.
With each slow, controlled thrust, the pleasure tides within her rise higher. He holds to a steady, rolling rhythm until she is burning. Until, hot and heated, awash with desire, she rises beneath him, meeting every thrust, her body caressing him, clinging to him, cleaving to him. Until she is aflame and desperate in her need.
She flexes her fingers, trying to slip them from his grasp, frantic to hold him, desperate to draw him to her, to dig her nails into his skin, to reach the physical bliss that hovers on her. Sunk deep in the mattress, she squirms and pants, trying to get that last inch closer, trying to get him that last fraction of an inch deeper.
His fingers clamp around her wrists, and he raises his chest slightly, just enough so her nipples brush against him.
A scream wells in her throat. Struggling to lift her heavy lids, she swallows it as he moves his face higher, breaking their kiss. He is a dense shadow looming over her. His face, no longer a ruin of bruises, is clear and harsh in the candlelight, his features sharp with a passion that mirrors her own. His shoulders and chest surge in a slow, powerful rhythm, a rhythm she can feel in her marrow, in her womb. In this moment, all she wants is to feel him fill her with every inch he is endowed with, to hear his moans in her ear as he presses kisses under it.
With her hands still anchored, one on either side of her head, she grips his sides with her thighs, gasping, arching, as he thrusts harder, deeper.
Then he draws back farther. Lips parted, senses whirling, she waits, quivering, for the next stroke. Only to feel him rock lightly, penetrating her with just the tip of the hard length she wants buried inside her.
“Stop teasing me,” she growls, feeling her mind is on edge with her need.
She opens her lips on a second protest; instead, she gasps anew as he bends his head and takes one nipple into his mouth. Hips rocking gently, teasingly, he feasts on her swollen nipple, until she starts losing herself in the pleasurable sea he sends her adrift.
After lavishing her hot skin, his lips burn when they again brush hers.
“Don't ever stop loving me.”
She is not, at first, sure whether he has spoken, or she has simply heard the words in her head. But his hips stop rocking. He lies, hot and hard, just parting the swollen folds about her entrance.
“I won’t. I won’t ever,” she pants, lips trembling with need.
After an instant’s pause, he starts rocking again, once, twice, then he slides into her again. She sighs, then loses what breath she has left as he pushes deep, then nudges deeper, and lets his weight down on her once more.
Sean rides her, just a little deeper, just a little harder, just a fraction more intimately. He is having a hard time clinging to his reins. Only rock hard determination, and his strength of will, of endurance, allows him to do it; to see her panting beneath him, her hair a veil spread across the pillows, her thighs gripping him urgently as he loves her. She responds without guile, without reticence, without hesitation, with a complete lack of reserve, the strongest feminine spell he has ever encountered. And he has had countless women before her, but none feel as good as she does. None of them have truly loved him as she does. Her welcome, every time he sinks into her, is bone deep. The temptation to lose himself in her arms, in her body, grows with every passing second.
But he needs to know she is not leaving him. He needs to know that his coldness toward her has not pushed her too far away from him. If it has, he will never forgive himself. Gradually, he slows, letting the rhythm not die but slow to the point where her frantic need, a need he knows well how to manage, rises again.
When she whimpers, and squirms, trying to urge him on, he brushes a kiss to her temple.
“Tell me if you hate me. If you want to leave me.”
A frown passes across her face, then she shakes her head and it is gone.
“I could never hate you. Never leave you.”
She lifts beneath him, wriggling more urgently. Swallowing a curse, he impales her fully again, then kisses her breathless.
“Good. 'Cause you’re mine,” he growls out.
And he gives her a little more, rides her a little faster. Despite his weight, she moves beneath him, rising, meeting him more fully. Letting go of her hands, he grabs a pillow. Releasing her from their kiss, he eases back, lifts her hips, and stuffs the pillow beneath them.
Tilting her up so he can sink deeper, without stimulating her to completion. Her breath fractures when he thrusts deep, a moan escaping her. He shuts his ears to it. "Wrap your legs around me.”
She does, immediately. Arms braced, he holds himself over her and drives her up, up, and on to the next level of passion. Eagerly, she clings to him, her hands, now free, trailing over his chest and arms, then gripping tight as he delves deeper and pushes her on.
“My lady, my love.”
Fingers sinking into flexing sinews, Y/N lets her head fall back, lips parted as she struggles to breathe. Senses lost, her wits long gone, she surrenders to the whirlpool of sensations he commands, surrenders to the power she can feel in every thrust that joins them, in every synchronous beat of their hearts. A sense of beauty, of delight, of joy unimaginable hovers just out of reach.
A soft moan surprises her. She bites her lip, determined to be quiet in case any of the servants did not leave as she requested. Then gasps as he surges more powerfully, faster, deeper.
She catches her breath on a strangled gasp, then cries out in shocked disbelief when he pulls back and leaves her.
Fighting to raise her lids, she sees him lift fully away from her. Stunned, she reaches for him, half sitting, but before she has a chance to truly complain, large hands catch her, flip her over, then lock about her and pull her back onto her knees.
And they are everywhere, those large, hard hands are stroking, squeezing, and probing. Until her back aches, until her skin glows, until her nerves are tingling. Until she wishes for the night, the intimacy, to never be over, despite the aching pain of her need for release.
Kneeling behind her, he is a dark, aroused presence in the room. He reaches over and around her, bending his head to nip her ear lobe, then soothes the small sting with his lips. “Lean further forward,” he murmurs, his voice a low vibration against her skin.
His hands clamp about her as she does, steadying her on the mattress. Then he nudges her thighs wider, his fingers finding her, caressing her slick, swollen flesh until it is throbbing again, until she sobs his name, the sound muffled by the pillows.
He slides into her, smoothly, easily filling her deeply, until she is so full of him she can sense him throughout her body. Eyes closed in rapturous delight, she presses back, taking him all.
Sean feels her clamp tight about him. His features are set, etched with a passion so intense he cannot smile, not even smugly. She needs him inside her now; he knows if he were not there, she would feel empty. This way, he can fill her without risking her willfulness getting the upper hand. He knows she cannot reach climax this way, not without his active cooperation. Taking her from behind, with her on her knees, he can keep her locked in this fever of passion for just a little longer, keep her tangled in the web he has woven. But first…
He is going to love her until she cannot think, until she has no will left. Until he is sure she knows no other man could ever offer the pleasure he can. Until he knows her promise to stay, to marry him, is secure.
So he caresses her inside and out, using his body, his hands, his lips, consciously bringing the full force of his expertise and experience to bear.
He intends to be ruthless.
He fills his hands with her swollen breasts and she whimpers with desire. He shuts his ears to the sound, dotting kisses along her exposed nape. Locating her nipples, he teases and tweaks, until she moans and sobs. Nuzzling aside the heavy fall of her hair, he presses hot, open-mouthed kisses along her shoulder, then down her spine.
And all the while he fills her, to a slow, steady rhythm guaranteed to leave her both satisfied and wanting, ready to sell her soul just to get more.
He is going to be ruthless.
He has already studied her curves, inch by inch; he knows them well. Now, with her on her knees before him, he takes in other aspects of her beauty: her delicate bones, the sleek, supple strength of her spine. The sweet hollow between shoulder and throat, the long sweep of her neck, and even the faint, silvery stretch marks that trace her hips.
Hands trailing farther, he traces the long muscles of her thighs, braced, lightly quivering, flexing slightly as he rides her. His gaze, however, has fixed on the junction of their bodies; on his own cock, rigid and engorged, gleaming with her slickness, sliding effortlessly into her, deep into the embrace of her waiting body. It is not the first time they have come together this way, without protection, but it is the first time he needs to drive her to the brink of madness, to brand this night onto her very soul so she will never forget.
The sight holds him entranced. She moans softly, then rotates her hips, clinging to him. Sean gasps. He closes his eyes and tightens a death grip on his impulses.
Opening his eyes again, he draws a ragged breath and leans forward. And reminds himself to be ruthless.
But the instant his hands curve about her shoulders, then trail down to cup her breasts, he knows the best he can hope to be with her is ruthlessly gentle. Lavishing attention on her. Helplessly in thrall, drawn deeper with every heated thrust, every caress he presses on her and she presses on him. He is a victim of the emotion that binds him to her, reaching into his very soul. It demands his obedience, his acceptance, his surrender.
Little does she know, he is always hers. He surrendered long ago.
When next he straightens, his breathing is beyond ragged, his control badly frayed. Chest swelling, he sets himself to take her up the last stretch of their road. Sean drags in a deep breath; fingers sinking into her flesh, Sean anchors her and thrusts deep. Again, and again, pushing her high, then higher, swiftly taking her toward the shattering climax he has deliberately designed for her. On and on, higher and higher.
Raising one hand, she reaches back, her fingers blindly finding his face, tracing his lean cheek. “Please, Sean. Now.”
His face is beside hers. She hears a soft hiss, then a smothered curse. He wanted to hear her beg, a sign that he had not only won, but also driven the stubbornness from her for one night. Then he reaches around her, grabbing first one pillow, then another. Piling them before her, even as his other hand presses on her back, guiding her down. Swiftly, he draws her knees up, and she is lying on her stomach, the piled pillows beneath her hips.
And he is behind her, between her spread thighs, his cock pressing against her. Against skin flickering with heightened nerves, her inner thighs excruciatingly sensitive to the brush of his legs.
With one thrust, he surges into her.
She screams with sheer delight. Horrified at the noise, she grabs handfuls of the twisted sheets and holds them to her face. And hears him groan, braced above her, his hands planted on either side of her. He draws back and surges deeper, and deeper, no longer holding back as his own moans fill the room.
In bliss, she screams as her high finally catches up with her.
Eyes closed tight, braced above her, Sean drinks in the lovely sound. Half muffled by the sheets, it is still pure magic; the sound of her ecstasy is pure ecstasy to him. Sunk to the hilt inside her, he holds still, rigid, and savors her contractions, the rippling caress as her body's release sweeps through him.
He waits, not patiently, but with steely determination, until she eases beneath him. Then, gritting his teeth, he leans forward, grabs two more pillows, lifts her, and raises her still higher. So he can ride her on, up to the next high. When she realizes it is there, she joins him, eagerly, as focused as he. Heated once more, flushed, her skin covered in sweat, she writhes beneath him, urging him on not with words but with deeds, with the flagrant encouragement of her lush body.
And when he sends her over the edge again, the effect is cataclysmic. He hears it in her unrestrained scream. The sound catches him up, tugs at his heart, his soul. Closing his eyes, he fills her completely and swiftly follows her into the undeniable pleasure, their minds and bodies as one, their relationship, he hopes, finally mended.
“We are supposed to get married today,” she murmurs some time later, nuzzling her face in the crook of his neck, trying not to move too much from her place atop his chest.
“I feel married already. How about we continue the honeymoon?” Sean jokes, kissing her temple while rubbing her arm up and down.
Exhausted, Sean watches her sleep in his embrace, a small, possessive smile touching his lips. People called him ruthless before, the devil, but they have no idea who he truly is. If they think he was ruthless before, but Y/N or this newfound fortune has softened him, they are sorely mistaken.
She has not softened him. If anything, she has made him more ruthless. She is why he has to be merciless, because there is nothing and no one in this world that will stand between him and his lady, his soon to be wife. She is why he would do anything, kill anyone, just to come home to her at the end of the day.
It took a few days for the church to approve of their marriage. The news of their engagement spread like wildfire across the kingdom. They did not care much for speculation and despite Arthur urging them to have a ball, they wanted the day to be their own.
On their wedding day, Sean kissed her and the world fell away like it always did. It was slow and soft, comforting in ways that no words will ever be. His hand rested below her ear, his thumb caressing her cheek as their breaths mingled. She ran her fingers down his spine, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them and she could feel the beating of his heart against her chest.And that heart beat for her and her alone.
--
A/n: Hope you enjoyed this series. I'll likely write more for him, however, I need a bit of a break after an 11 day streak (I sacrificed my post work naps for this, lol). Since I'm also actively writing a Twilight series, I have to post at least one chapter for that story before going off about Mr. Rafferty (and possibly Edward Guinness) again. So, if you enjoyed this, stick around. :)
