Champagne
Patrick Dempsey x Reader • MDNI •
This story contains explicit sexual content, including rough sex, dominance/submission elements, oral sex, unprotected sex, spanking, hair-pulling, and consensual rough play. It is intended for mature audiences only. All characters are consenting adults.
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The premiere afterparty buzzed with energy, a glittering sea of celebrities, producers, and industry insiders packed into the grand ballroom of the upscale hotel. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over tuxedos and gowns, while waiters wove through the crowd with trays of hors d'oeuvres and flutes of bubbling champagne. You'd weaseled your way in through a connection—a friend from the wardrobe department who owed you a favor after you'd covered her shift last month. It wasn't your usual scene; you felt a bit out of place in your form-fitting black dress that clung to your hips and dipped low at the neckline, but the thrill of being here made it worth the nerves.
You clutched a half-empty glass, scanning the room, when your eyes landed on him. Patrick Dempsey stood near the bar, surrounded by a small group of admirers, his laughter cutting through the murmur of conversations. At fifty-something, he was still devastatingly handsome—his hair a perfect mix of silver and dark waves, those iconic blue eyes crinkling at the corners when he smiled, and a jawline that could cut glass. You'd harbored a crush on him for years, devouring his roles on screen, imagining scenarios far steamier than anything Hollywood had scripted. Tonight, though, he was real, flesh and blood, just a few feet away.
Trying to play it cool, you edged closer to grab a napkin from a nearby table, but in your distraction, your elbow clipped a passing tray. Champagne sloshed out, soaking the front of a white dress shirt right in front of you. "Oh shit, I'm so sorry!" you blurted, snatching up every napkin within reach and pressing them to the damp fabric.
Warm hands wrapped around your wrists, stopping your frantic dabbing. "Easy there. It's just a shirt—nothing a dry cleaner can't fix." His voice was deep and velvety, sending a shiver down your spine. You looked up, and your breath caught. It was him. Patrick Dempsey, close enough to count the faint lines around his eyes, his gaze steady and amused as it met yours. "You make a habit of baptizing strangers, or am I special?"
Your face burned, but you managed a laugh, pulling your hands back. "Definitely the latter. You're... kind of hard to ignore."
He tilted his head, that famous smile spreading slow and teasing. "Flattery will get you everywhere. I'm Patrick, by the way. And you are?"
You introduced yourself, and just like that, the ice broke. He steered you away from the spill, ordering fresh drinks at the bar. Conversation sparked effortlessly—favorite films, the absurdity of red-carpet poses, stories from sets he'd worked on. His hand grazed your arm as he leaned in to speak over the swelling music, each touch lingering a second longer than necessary. You caught him glancing at your lips, your cleavage, the way your dress shifted when you laughed. The air between you thickened, charged with unspoken possibility.
As the party wound down, clusters of guests drifting toward exits, he set his glass down and fixed you with an intent look. "This place is getting too loud. I've got a suite upstairs—quieter, better views. Want to keep talking? Or... see where the night takes us?"
Your pulse raced, but you nodded, the invitation too tempting to refuse. The elevator ride was torture—mere seconds, yet it felt eternal. The mirrored walls reflected the two of you side by side, his broad shoulders filling the space, your reflection flushed and expectant. As the doors slid shut, he turned, crowding you against the cool metal panel. His mouth crashed onto yours, hot and insistent, tongue sweeping in to claim every inch. You kissed back hungrily, tasting the crisp bite of champagne on him, your fingers curling into the lapels of his jacket.
The elevator jolted to a stop, but he didn't pull away immediately, nipping at your lower lip before murmuring, "Come on." His hand engulfed yours as he tugged you down the hallway, fumbling the keycard with one hand while the other stayed locked on your waist. The door swung open, and he kicked it shut behind you, the click echoing like a starting gun.
In the dim light of the suite—plush king bed dominating the room, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city skyline—he backed you against the wall, shedding his jacket in one fluid motion. His lips found yours again, deeper this time, while his fingers traced the zipper of your dress, tugging it down inch by inch. The fabric whispered to the floor, leaving you exposed in black lace panties and strappy heels, the air cool against your heated skin.
He stepped back, eyes darkening as they roamed your body—over the swell of your breasts, the dip of your waist, the curve of your thighs. "Jesus, look at you," he breathed, voice rough. "So fucking perfect."
Emboldened, you closed the distance, your hands working the buttons of his shirt with trembling urgency. They popped free, revealing a chest sculpted from years of discipline—firm pecs dusted with dark hair that trailed down to his belt. You shoved the shirt off his shoulders, palms sliding over warm skin, feeling the flex of muscle beneath. His pants came next; you knelt as you unbuckled him, heart hammering, freeing his cock from the confines of his boxers.
It sprang out, thick and heavy, veins pulsing along the length, the tip already slick with arousal. Your mouth watered at the sight—long enough to make your jaw ache, girthy enough to stretch you wide. You wrapped your hand around the base, stroking slowly, then leaned in to drag your tongue from root to tip, savoring the salty tang. He groaned low in his throat, fingers threading into your hair as you parted your lips and took him in.
You sucked greedily, head bobbing as you worked more of him past your teeth, tongue pressing flat against the underside. Saliva built quickly, dripping down your chin as you hollowed your cheeks, drawing out another rumble from him. "Yeah, just like that—fuck, your mouth is heaven." His hips rocked forward, shallow thrusts pushing deeper, the head nudging the back of your throat. You gagged softly but didn't stop, relaxing to take him further, your free hand cupping his balls, rolling them gently.
He watched you through hooded eyes, breath hitching as you swirled around the crown, teasing the slit. But after a few minutes of your devoted attention, he tugged your hair, pulling you off with a slick pop. Strings of spit connected your lips to his glistening shaft. "As much as I love that pretty mouth on my dick, I need to fuck you now."
He lifted you effortlessly, carrying you to the bed and dumping you onto the soft duvet. Your panties were next—ripped aside rather than removed, the lace scraping your skin. He knelt between your spread legs, inhaling deeply as his face hovered over your core. "So wet already. All for me?"
Before you could answer, his tongue delved in, broad strokes lapping at your folds, gathering your arousal. You moaned, arching off the mattress as he zeroed in on your clit, flicking it rapidly before sealing his lips around the nub and sucking hard. Pleasure shot through you like lightning, your thighs quivering around his head. He pushed two fingers inside, thick and curling just right to hit that sensitive ridge, pumping in time with his mouth's rhythm.
"Patrick—oh fuck—" The words dissolved into a whine as he added a third finger, scissoring them to stretch your walls, his beard rasping against your inner thighs. He hummed against you, the vibration intensifying everything, his free hand pinning your hip to keep you from bucking too wildly. Your orgasm built fast, a tidal wave cresting; you shattered with a cry, pussy clenching around his digits, juices flooding his palm as tremors wracked your body.
He lapped through your release, drawing out every aftershock until you whimpered from the overstimulation. Rising up, he wiped his chin with the back of his hand, his cock bobbing as he positioned himself at your entrance. The head nudged your slick lips, sliding through the mess he'd made. "Tell me you want this. Want me to fill you up."
"Yes—god, yes, please," you gasped, hooking your legs around his waist, heels digging into his back.
He drove in with a single, powerful thrust, bottoming out in one go. The stretch burned sweetly, his thickness forcing your walls to yield, every inch claiming you. You clawed at his shoulders, adjusting to the fullness as he held still, forehead pressed to yours, breaths mingling. Then he moved—pulling back almost to the tip before slamming home again, setting a brutal pace from the start.
The bed frame groaned under the assault, his balls smacking wetly against your ass with each plunge. He captured your wrists in one large hand, stretching them above your head, his other palm bracing beside you as he rutted deep. "Tight as hell—your pussy's squeezing me so good. Like it was made for my cock.
You writhed beneath him, meeting his drives, the friction igniting sparks everywhere he touched that spot inside. Sweat beaded on his skin, dripping onto your chest as he pounded harder, the room echoing with the lewd symphony of flesh slapping flesh, your shared gasps and moans. Your second climax snuck up, coiling low in your belly; he sensed it, grinding his hips to rub your clit with his pubic bone.
"Cum for me again—let me feel it," he demanded, voice gravelly.
You did, shattering around him, inner muscles rippling in waves that milked his length. He fucked you through it, relentless, but as the sensitivity peaked, you squirmed, pushing weakly at his chest. "Wait—too much, I can't—"
He paused, buried deep, his blue eyes locking on yours with a predatory glint. A slow, wicked smile curved his lips as he leaned down, capturing your mouth in a possessive kiss, tongue dominating yours. His cock throbbed inside you, far from spent. Breaking the kiss, he nipped your earlobe. "Oh no, I'm not finished with you yet."
In a blur of motion, he withdrew, flipping you onto your stomach with firm hands. You scrambled to your knees, ass up, face pressed to the pillows as anticipation thrummed through you. He gripped your hips, thumbs digging into the soft flesh, and aligned himself. One sharp thrust later, he was back inside, the new angle allowing him to sink even deeper, the head kissing your cervix.
"Fuck—yes," you moaned, pushing back to take him fully.
His fingers knotted in your hair, yanking your head up as he set a punishing rhythm, hips snapping forward with enough force to jolt you across the mattress. Each impact sent ripples through your ass, the sting of his palm connecting with one cheek adding a sharp edge to the bliss. "That's it—take every fucking inch. Your ass looks so good bouncing on my dick.
He spanked you again, harder, the heat blooming across your skin, syncing with the pressure building anew. His other hand snaked between your legs, fingers finding your swollen clit and rubbing in tight, rough circles. You rocked back onto him, grinding down, lost in the haze of sensation—his cock dragging along your walls, the pull on your scalp, the slap of his thighs against yours.
"Harder—don't stop, fuck me like you mean it!" The words tumbled out, raw and desperate.
He growled in response, pace turning feral, the headboard thudding rhythmically against the wall. His breaths came in harsh bursts, control fraying. "Shit, you're gonna make me lose it. Where—where do you want my cum?"
"Inside—fill me up, please!" The plea heightened the rush, the forbidden thrill pushing you closer.
With a guttural roar, he slammed home one last time, cock swelling as he erupted. Hot jets painted your depths, pulsing in time with his final thrusts. The warmth triggered your own release, pussy fluttering wildly around him, drawing out his orgasm until he had nothing left.
He slumped over you, chest heaving against your back, before rolling to the side and pulling you with him. His arm banded around your waist, holding you close, skin sticky and cooling. Soft kisses trailed along your shoulder as you both caught your breath. "Incredible doesn't even cover it," he murmured, voice husky with satisfaction.
You turned in his embrace, smiling lazily. "Best accident of my life."
He chuckled, brushing a damp strand of hair from your face. "Stay the night? I make a mean room-service breakfast.
