It’s 1987. You’re in Ireland. You’re also alone with your boss in a hotel room.
⋆˚࿔ tags: smut (quickie!!!), forbidden romance, age gap (reader is in her 20s),
⋆˚࿔ w/c: 2.4k. short n sweet!
“I brought your notes.”
“Ah,” Declan said, taking a puff of his cigarette before gesturing to a tiny dresser next to the bed. “Leave them there. That’s the last thing I need from you, I promise.”
You scoffed playfully, shutting the door behind you with two fingers before following his instructions, just as you’d been paid to do. Declan was sat in an armchair by the side of the bed, one leg folded over the other as he flicked through folders of various photos and messy sheets of paper that you assumed were about the wider administration of Venturer. He looked…homely, domestic, nothing like the image of a dashing bachelor on horseback he’d portrayed earlier today.
Ultimately it didn’t matter, because Declan was gorgeous either way.
“There’s never a last thing,” you said matter of factly, sitting on the edge of the bed, your legs a safe distance from eachothers. Squinting, he made a pained face.
“Am I that bad?”
You chuckled. Being his assistant meant you’d seen it all.
The Friedlander interview. The Valentine’s Day special. The broken Thatcher promise, so forth and so on until inevitably, the implosion. Like a good little girl you’d watched and crisis managed where you could; calming buzzing phone lines and staying up until dawn with faxes in your best attempt to not get swept away in the chaos around you. Public and private.
‘Somehow, you always manage to keep your head above water,’ Declan had said, words muffled against a cigarette. He’d placed a hand on your shoulder and given it a slight squeeze. ‘I’m going to need you with me at Venturer.’
There was a distinction; I’m, not we. Rupert and Freddie didn’t know you like he did. They saw you at shindigs and industry nights, dressed nicely but modest, and made silly jokes about how you could tame such a spitfire, but they didn’t see the funny in-between…because no one did.
Being, they never saw the pre-show dressing room chats – the ones where you’d sit crossed legged opposite him in a high chair, running through notes whilst he combed his fingers through his hair, messing up the stylist’s hard work – all for you to chuckle and for him to know immediately what you were laughing about.
‘Jesus. I’ve fucked the sides up again, haven’t I?’
‘A bit. You’re lucky it’s a bit of a blind spot for camera two.’
Nor did they see when you’d bring him his coffee, where he’d take a long, thirsty sip, mug tight in his hands as he acknowledged you, voice honeyed, content; as if he were savouring the very taste of you on his tongue.
‘Thanks love. You always make it perfect.’
Your favourites were the late night drives.
The ones punctuated by fleeting glimpses over at you, Declan’s intensity enough to make your cheeks warm and heart shudder, all the while you’d try not to look down at his spread thighs, one hand on the wheel as the car seemed to glide down the road effortlessly. It was always quiet because you’d both grown to be content with each others’ company, unless you’d asked him to drop you somewhere unfamiliar — to which he’d chide and pry with the tone of a concerned adult.
“It’s 2 o’clock in the bloody morning and you want me to drop you off at the pub?”
“It’s just a small gathering with some friends. This guy’s dad owns it.”
“You know you’ve got to be at Corinium for 11, don’t you?”
“That’s plenty of time.”
Declan sighed.
“How are you getting home?”
“I’m just going to stay over…I’ll catch a ride from someone in the morning.”
You were both adults. You knew what ‘staying over’ meant, yet the idea felt foreign to you both. Like Declan wasn’t supposed to know such things – even if you were an adult– and like you should’ve reconsidered spending the night at all.
Pulling on the brakes, the car stopped with a halt, gentle rumbling of the engine still audible. Soothing, almost.
“Be careful, alright?” Declan spoke. “Drunk fuckers are the worst.”
“It’s nice that you worry about me,” you snorted. “Most assistants are treated like crap.”
“Well, you’re well worth the investment,” he replied nonchalantly. There was a glaring lack of hesitation in his words, like he’d spoken the first thing on his mind. “See you tomorrow.”
You’d returned the greeting and got out of the car.
“Thanks for the ride,” you beamed, bending down as you popped your head through the window, “say hi to the family for me.”
He nodded but didn’t speak, exhaling softly from his nose.
“You know you’ve really got to get that car of yours fixed,” he called out. “I can’t keep driving you places.”
“Perhaps if you stopped insisting, I’d have an incentive to get it out the garage,” you giggled coyly, “maybe you should learn to control your impulses.”
It was just a tease, but in that moment you were unaware of just how much Declan was holding back.
“Go,” he insisted. “Enjoy your evening. Don’t spend it here with me.”
“It’s my job,” you shrugged. “Besides, you’re practically having a party on your own…” you trailed off, nodding towards the glass of whiskey also on the dresser, and back to the cigarette in his hand.
“Trust me love, I don’t always drink to celebrate,” he spoke, voice gravelly as he flashed you a small smirk. “Soothes the body. ‘S a bit of a bad habit…want some?”
You cocked your head.
“A sip wouldn’t hurt.”
Declan playfully raised his brows before handing the drink to you, warm fingers brushing each-others against the cold glass. The contact didn’t seem to bother him, instead finding your eyes locked on each others as you diligently took a sip, downing the oaky liquid with ease.
You preferred lighter spirits, but you didn’t mind the burn of scotch. It had an intoxicating way of lighting your insides.
Declan briefly glanced to the floor as you handed the glass back to him, swiping a tongue over his lips. There was a moment of heavy, punctuated silence before he spoke, his words careful and less confident than before.
“…Patrick’s got his eye on you, you know.”
Sighing, you rolled your shoulders. Patrick O’Hara was nice enough; he had rich, dark curls that you could envision running your fingers through, and was educated aptly to the point that you could probably hold a decent conversation together over dinner – but he lacked the excitement a twenty-something girl like you wanted in her life.
It was hard to find happiness in security when it seemed everyone in Rutshire were pining for cheap thrills.
Taggie had her thing with Rupert.
Boys had dalliances with other boys.
Even Maud, Patrick’s own mother, had fell on her sword chasing the slightest bit of euphoria.
Patrick simply didn’t measure, at least not for now.
“He knows where to find me. My room is opposite his.”
“He’s just trying to be a gentleman,” Declan said sincerely, taking a sip of his drink. “Might look a bit improper if he barged in, begging to see you.”
“We’re both adults. We can express what we want if we want it,” you shrugged. “And he shouldn’t worry about looking skeevy or whatever. If the TV landscape is anything to go by, shame is not common.”
“Fair enough,” Declan mused, pursing his lips. Absentmindedly, he swivelled his glass. “…I think you’d make a nice pair, you two.”
He was just saving face. In fact, you were almost certain he was lying.
“Did I come here just for you to play matchmaker?”
“Maybe,” he acquiesced, slumping back in his seat. The cotton of his shirt slid against the velvet lining of the sofa, pulling so that it exposed more of his chest, a tease; just enough to get a glimpse of how a gold chain sat upon his clavicle, and the tips of his chest hair poked out like wild grass, a picture of the wide plains underneath. “Give him a chance. Let him take you out dancing, for dinner. Somewhere nice. You ever taken a ride on his bike?”
You chuckled.
“Grow up,” the man chided sportively. “I didn’t mean it that way.”
“Unfortunately for you I can’t help it,” you snickered, “why do you want us together so much anyway?”
“Mainly because it would stop the sad songs in the middle of the night.”
“Mainly? Is there another reason?”
You peered at him curiously, and he seemed to shrink under your gaze, tucking his chin to his chest as he fumbled with the glass, his fingers uncoordinated as they fiddled with the rim.
You’d finally crossed the threshold, however thin and unguarded it had become over the years. He was looking at you now; and ran a hand over his moustache in contemplation, calculating the weight of his words before he delivered them in the same manner he would conduct business, because, in a way, it was. He was your boss and you his assistant. You were the object of his son’s affections and he were his father. Any outcome were guaranteed to have a nuclear fallout.
But, this wasn’t Venturer. Neither of you needed to consider what was good for profit, or the team. You could be selfish. It were the only place you were allowed to.
“You’re a bright girl,” he insisted, voice gravelly. “You deserve a good guy.”
“He is a sweet boy,” you hummed. “But you’d never escape me. I’ll be at work and in your home. Do you want that?”
He shrugged.
“It doesn’t bother me.”
“As long as I don’t end up filing your electricity bills.”
“You have my word.”
“Alright,” you announced decidedly, standing to your feet with a smile, “I suppose there’s nothing wrong in making a boy happy…Get some rest when you can, alright?”
You placed a hand on his shoulder and gave it a gentle pat, to which he wrapped his larger, calloused hand ontop of yours and gave it a soft squeeze in response. You glanced down.
“Oh. Did you lose your ring?”
“I took it off,” he spoke sincerely, like he was still processing the act. His eyes were wide, yearning with something you couldn’t quite place. “I’m not kidding myself anymore.”
You nodded slowly, swallowing the lump of anticipation in your throat. Your words came out soft, girlish; just with a hint of suggestion that made it seem like a purely innocent offer.
“Declan…Do you want me to stay here tonight?”
He didn’t respond with words, but discarded the papers from his thighs to the bed, grip now on your wrist and tugging you onto his lap. Instinctively, you straddled him, fingers tracing patterns on his broad chest whilst one of his hands found your legs.
“You’re gonna be the fucking death of me, you know that?”
“I know.” Was all you said, enough permission for Declan to take your lips into his own, hand firm on the side of your cheek as he kissed you. His moustache was thick and bristly, but in a way you rather enjoyed – prickly, like him. He grunted as you adjusted yourself on his lap, sliding a hand down the inside of his shirt and coiling your fingers around his hairs, inner thigh grazing the growing mound in his slacks.
Skilfully, you popped open the remaining buttons on his shirt. Once freed, you pressed your lips down his toned chest, from his pectorals to his abs, and eventually, his belly button — dangerously close to his pelvis. That was when he pulled you up, hands firm on either of your shoulders.
“You don’t have to do that, love,” he whispered, voice breathy. You twisted your lips.
“I want to…”
“Fuck,” he grunted, cock twitching. “I’ve thought about it. God knows I have. But – not now…I want to be inside you…”
With a grin, you watched him intently as he glided his hands down your shoulders; running his fingers along the side of your breasts and tracing them with the focus of a sculptor before undoing your cardigan, exposing your bra. Declan glanced up at you through half lidded eyes, cupping them in his hands as he danced between your torso and your hips whilst you rubbed against him.
He was content in worshipping you as you fumbled with his zipper. You licked your hand before wrapping it around his length; hot, twitching and ready for you.
“Dirty girl,” he crooned, steadying you as you pressed your knees into the cushion, hips raised so that he could free himself. You remained like this for a few moments, letting him fiddle with a condom before he lowered you onto him.
Shuddering, your mouth ran dry as your walls adjusted around him, gasps satiated by Declan’s kisses to your throat, as if breathing the very life out of you. You began to move only once you’d taken him halfway, hips rocking in a steady rhythm as he kept you balanced.
What he didn’t have in length he possessed in girth, stretching and filling you completely each time you sank down on him, all to a chorus of his heavy grunts and your whimpers. Declan’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he watched you come undone, absentmindedly beginning to thrust, desperate for you to take him further.
“You take me so fucking good sweetheart…so wet…all for me….”
Brushing his hair with your fingers, you gripped at his roots, an action that made him throw his head back in pleasure.
“Is that good?” you cooed, “This is what you wanted, hm? All those nights —“
“— I should’ve taken you sooner,” he spoke through gritted teeth. “On my desk. In my car…”
“I quite liked the wait…” you lulled, kissing the side of his face as your cunt twitched around him. You were close. “Made me want it more.”
“Shit,” Declan hissed, squeezing the supple flesh of your thighs. “ ‘M gonna fill you up—“
He finished with a loud groan, a wet heat bursting in your core as he emptied inside you, chest heaving and muscles twitching. Your release followed shortly, finding yourself collapsing onto his chest. He held you there; delicately, hand on the plane of your back as if he were afraid you might break. His touch was warm.
“You’re sweaty.” He lamented, chest rumbling as he spoke. The scent of whisky still lingered in the air.
warnings - smut. cursing. cheating. age gap. declan is boyfriends dad.
word count - 2k ish maybe ??
authors note - this is a continuation of the fatherfucker universe, so you may want to read Forbidden Fruit first!! this can totally be read as a standalone though. obsessed with that moral irishman. give me 14 of him right now.
masterlist. inbox.
“Oh fuck, you feel good.”
His hips drive into yours, pressing you into the mattress as you screw your eyes shut.
“Look at me, gorgeous.”
You stare up at him, grabbing a fistful of his hair to pull him down to kiss you to keep him quiet.
“Shhh, these walls are thin,” you whisper, trying to fight a smile.
“They won’t mind,” he teases, gripping your hips. “God knows they’ve probably heard it before.”
“Not the point,” you scold as you slap his shoulder. “Oh, fuck-”
“That’s it, beautiful. Say my name when you come.”
It hits you suddenly, building and releasing quicker than you can blink.
“Fuck, Patrick.”
“Oh, shit. I’m coming, fuck.”
He collapses on top of you, heavy and spent.
“Do I need to gag you next time?”
“What’s that, gorgeous?”
“You were so loud, Patrick. No one needs to hear you moaning at 10pm on a Thursday night.”
“No?” he asks with a smirk, pressing kisses into your neck. “Not even you?”
“Not even me,” you laugh as you shake your head, trying to wriggle free. “Now get off so I can go and clean myself up.”
He rolls sideways, cocooning himself in the duvet as he does it. You’re about to ask him a question when you hear a gentle snore, scoffing in disbelief.
“That is record time,” you say into the room. “Fucking hell.”
You take your time washing your face and fixing your hair in the bathroom, lost in your thoughts. There’s electricity thrumming through your veins, untapped energy waiting to be released. It’s making you jittery, fingers tapping against the sink as you brush your teeth.
It’s becoming pretty frequent. Patrick has no problems making you come, in fact, he’s pretty good at it. You’ve been together long enough for him to know what gets you there. It’s just getting more and more… unfulfilling. You finish, and it’s like it’s not enough. It’s nice, and you’re grateful for it, but it’s… underwhelming. It leaves you wanting.
You’re sure it has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that you’ve been fucking his dad.
Declan makes you come so hard you see stars, trembling and gasping as your orgasm lasts for what feels like forever. It always takes you a while to recover, panting and sweating like you’ve run a marathon afterwards. With Patrick, you can get up and out of bed and go about your day.
You know it’s not fair to compare them. In fact, you know it’s inherently wrong. And yet you keep doing it, consciously or not. The way they touch you, the way they kiss you, the way they say your name. Everything is a competition - one that Patrick doesn’t even know he’s been entered into.
You splash your face with cold water once more, trying to pull yourself back to reality. You figure you’ll go and get a glass of water, before crawling back into bed with your boyfriend who loves you. Your boyfriend who you love.
You pad downstairs in your socks, running the tap and filling the first mug you can find. As you’re turning off the faucet, someone clears their throat from behind you.
“Fuck,” you jump, miraculously still holding onto your water. “What are you doing sat at the kitchen table in the dark, you maniac?”
“Couldn’t sleep. It was all a bit loud upstairs.”
You bite your lip guiltily, looking down at the floor.
“Sorry.”
“Not your fault. You told him to be quiet multiple times.”
“You heard that?”
“I heard everything, sweetheart.”
“Sorry, Declan,” you say bashfully. “Not what you need in your own house.”
“I wouldn’t have minded if I could have heard you. But all I heard was him, and you telling him off. Not a single moan, darlin'.”
“I’m… good at being quiet.”
“That’s a lie.”
His matter of fact tone sends heat straight through the pit of your stomach.
“He didn’t make you come?”
“He did.”
“I didn’t hear it. Usually I can’t shut you up when you’re comin’.”
“It’s… different, with him. That’s all.”
“Worse?”
“That isn’t what I said.”
“It’s what ya meant though.”
Declan stands up from his chair, taking huge strides towards you through the dark. You instinctively take a step backwards, until you’re pressed up against the counter. He cages you in with both arms resting on either side of you, leaning in so he’s encroaching your personal space in a way that’s much too intimate to be between a man and his son’s girlfriend.
“I can feel it, you know.”
“Feel what?” you ask, voice shrinking more than you’d have liked.
“The buzz. The energy. You’re still high on it, aren’t ya? Still wired and ready to go.”
“Declan-”
“You want more, don’tcha? You’re still hungry for it.”
You’re shaking your head, trying to avoid his eyes as he shuffles in so his body is plastered to yours.
“Just tell me the truth, sweetheart. Tell me that if I slide my hand into those pyjama shorts, I won’t find you still wet and waiting. Hmm?”
You start to whisper under your breath, causing Declan to grip your chin and force you to look at him.
“You’ve gotta speak up, pretty. Use your words.”
His forehead is practically stuck to yours, breathing his orders into your mouth. You clear your throat, trying to speak as loud as possible without the sound carrying upstairs.
“He doesn’t make me come the way you do.”
“The way I do?” he asks with a cocky smirk.
“As hard as you do.”
“Ohh… that’s what it is, is it? You want more? Your boyfriend isn’t enough for you? You’re getting greedy, these days.”
You’d like to say that you hate it when he speaks to you like this - but that’d be a lie. It’s making you rub your thighs together, desperate for something, anything to relieve the ache.
“No,” you stutter, “he’s enough for me. He is.”
“Then why’d you keep crawling into my bed when he turns his back?”
All you can do is suck a shaky breath in, looking down at your socked feet to try and shy away from his piercing gaze. The heat is rolling off his body, blanketing you completely as he keeps you pinned in place.
“I should go to bed,” you whisper.
“Which one? His or mine?”
He’s not usually so brash with it, the whole affair thing. Sure, he loves to bring it up occasionally when he’s talking dirty, trying to rile you up and get you going. But he’s never been so arrogant, so self assured before. As if he knows who you’d rather choose. As if he knows you need him more than you’d care to admit. As if he can read your mind.
“I-”
“The way I see it,” he interrupts, “you’ve got two choices, sweetheart. The first is that you hop up those stairs and cuddle up next to Patrick, hoping that you fall asleep when really you’ll be staring at the ceiling fighting the urge to touch yourself.”
You inhale with a shudder, worrying at your bottom lip with your teeth.
“Or…”
“Or?” you dare to ask, as low as you can.
“Or, you slip into bed with me, and I’ll make you come so hard that you’ll struggle to walk back to his room afterwards.”
You know which one you should choose. You know exactly the correct thing to do, morally and emotionally. And yet -
“You. I want you.”
His lips are on yours before you can think, strong hands wrapping around your back to pull you into him. You can barely keep up with the frenzied pace, letting him take full control as he ravishes you whole. The countertop edge is digging into your spine, the tap is dripping slowly and your boyfriend is upstairs sleeping, blissfully unaware. But none of it matters.
The only thing that matters in this current moment, just like any moment spent with him, is Declan O’Hara.
“Upstairs,” he mumbles into your mouth.
He links his fingers with yours, pulling you to his bedroom insistently as if he’s worried you’re going to bolt the other way. You’re both tip toeing across the hard wood floors, praying the boards don’t squeak and give you away. You’d have no answer for the way you look right now. The game would be over before it’d even begun.
You’ve never been more grateful for how big The Priory is. Declan’s room is on the complete opposite side of the house to Patrick’s, which eases your mind ever so slightly. He only heard the two of you earlier because he was in the study, right underneath your floor. You should’ve known he’d be working late. As he always is.
“Strip.”
“Hmm?”
You’ve daydreamed your way to his bedroom, suddenly finding yourself in a place you’ve found yourself many times.
“Strip, darlin’. Don’t make me ask twice.”
“So bossy today,” you tease, doing what he wants anyway.
Your pyjamas hit the hard wood, leaving you stood in your socks and underwear. His eyes rove over you, looking at you as if it’s the first time he’s seen you undressed.
“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful.”
You wink and pull your underwear down and off, never breaking eye contact with him, despite how intense it’s getting. He’s staring at you with so much force, it’s like he can see into your soul. You’re stood bare but you don’t feel exposed. No, you feel seen.
“Do I need to warm ya up?”
He’s never one to skip foreplay, even if you’re short on time.
“Come find out.”
He practically dives at you, hands trying to sweep over any skin he can physically touch. They’re everywhere all at once, taking you in like he’s reading you in braille. Hips, tits, ass, waist… it’s like he can’t decide what he wants, overwhelmed by choices.
His fingers slip between your legs, swiping through your core to see what he’s working with.
“Oh you filthy girl.”
Your knees have gone shaky now he’s touched you exactly where you want. You grip his biceps for balance, taking a deep breath to calm you down.
“Who was it that got ya this wet?” he drawls into your ear, slipping a finger inside as he does it. “Was it him?”
You shake your head reluctantly, refusing to look at him.
“Answer me,” he spits as he crooks his finger, making your legs go jelly instantly.
“You,” you whimper, dropping your head onto his chest. “Obviously it was you.”
“That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
He’s got that cocky smirk plastered to his face, like he knows exactly what he’s doing.
“You wanna ride me, sweetheart? Or are you tired? Clearly he didn’t wear you out.”
The he sends a shiver down your spine, chilling and cold. Him. He’s talking about his own son, your boyfriend, while fingering you exactly the way you like it. And it’s only turning you on more.
You don’t trust your voice so you shove him backwards, pushing him so he’s laying flat on his bed. You’re straddling his hips immediately, settling into a place you’ve been many times before.
“Use me, darlin’,” he whispers. “Take what you want.”
You line him up and sink down with no hesitation, revelling in the stretch of him. He groans all low and slow, the vibrations of it rattling your bones.
“Perfect girl. Beautiful, filthy, perfect girl.”
“Declan. You feel so good.”
“Yeah, I do. Remember that, alright? Maybe you’ll come harder with him if you think about me.”
You slap a hand over his mouth to shut him up, moving your hips up and down to try to find your rhythm. He’s clearly having the time of his life, grinning like the cat that got the cream despite you trying to gag him.
You jolt forwards, trying to find that spot that he knows so well. His huge, rough hands are digging into your hipbones, hard enough to leave bruises that you’ll have to lie to Patrick about tomorrow.
Declan grabs your wrist from his face and twists it behind you, thrusting up as he does it to try and get a rise out of you.
“Atta girl,” he’s humming. “Take it like you were made for it. That’s it, don’t stop sweetheart.”
You smack your hands onto his chest, trying to keep your balance as he tries to throw you off it. He gets off on this, watching you desperately take what you need as he teases you relentlessly. He likes to watch you squirm, loves it when he feels like you need him so primally, so carnally that you’re willing to throw out all your morals for one kiss, one touch, one look.
He sits up suddenly, wrapping his arms around your back so there isn’t an inch of space between your bodies. This new angle forces him even deeper, both of you groaning at the change.
“Shhh, angel. You wanna get us caught?”
You shake your head, rolling your eyes at his stupid question.
“Quiet, then,” he retorts. “Shut that pretty mouth of yours.”
“That’s not what you usually say,” you manage to pant out.
“Dirty girl. You love this shit, don’t ya?”
You grab a fistful of his hair, yanking as hard as you can to hopefully inflict some pain to stop him talking. It doesn’t work, of course. He just eats it up and carries on.
He’s thrusting up as you’re winding your hips down, the both of you finding a perfectly synchronised rhythm as always. You work together so well, as much as you’d like to deny it. It’s not like this with Patrick and you both know it.
He wraps his mouth around your nipple, grazing his teeth over it and making you shiver.
“Fuck, Declan.”
“That feel good?” he’s asking, still with his mouth full.
“So good,” you whine as he licks the sweat from your sternum. “So fucking good.”
Your thighs are burning and you’re panting for air and your foot is a minute from cramping - but you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. You’re so close you can taste it.
“You wanna come darlin’?”
“Yes.”
“Beg for it then. Earn it.”
“Declan… please.”
He laughs at you cruelly, shaking his head.
“Oh, absolutely not. That’s not gonna cut it and you know it.”
“Declan- fuck- please. Please let me come. Please, fuck, it’s all I want.”
“Better…”
“Please, Declan. I’ll do anything, please.”
“Anything?”
“Yes, fuck, yes. Whatever you want.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” he says slowly, contemplating.
His hips never stop their movements, driving up into you and making you feel insane.
“Okay, sweetheart. Come for me. Now.”
You don’t need to be told twice. Your back arches as your nails dig into his shoulders, clawing at him as you come hard. Your vision goes blurry, dizzy with all the chemicals coursing through your veins. You’re gasping for breath, sweat dripping down your spine. It’s bliss.
Declan finds his release as soon as he’s done watching you, the sight of you totally lost in the moment sending him over the edge. He’s never seen you look more stunning.
You go boneless in his hold, limbs all tangled together while you sit in his lap. You can’t tell where you end and he begins.
“You feel better now?” he’s asking while he traces patterns up the shape of your spine.
“I do.”
You’re muttering into his chest, your face pressed into the soft curls. He smells like musk and sweat and cigarette smoke, masculine and familiar. It isn’t boyish like Patrick’s aftershave. Declan is all man.
“I wish you could stay with me,” he whispers into your hair. “I’d love to wake up with you here, have you lying on my chest as the sun rises.”
“Don’t make me sad.”
“Sorry, sweetheart.”
“You know I would if I could, don’t you?”
“Of course I do.”
You raise your head to look at him, admiring the way his dark locks are all unruly and loose.
“I should get going.”
“That boy sleeps like the dead.”
“Thankfully. But we can’t risk it. Don’t need him getting up and looking for me now, do we?”
“Sensible girl.”
“Someone around here has to be.”
He chuckles, pushing your hair back from your face gently.
“At least rinse off in the shower before you go back to bed. You smell like sex.”
“And whose fault is that?” you tease as you climb off him, wincing as your feet hit the wooden floor.
“Guilty as charged. Arrest me, officer.”
“Bet you’d love that, filthy old man.”
“Who’re you calling old?” he’s laughing as he catches you around the middle with his arm, trying to drag you back into the sheets.
“You,” you giggle, writhing away and avoiding his grip.
“Excuse you young lady, but daddy dearest here just made you come so hard you saw stars.”
“I knew that got under your skin.”
He looks at you quizzically from where he’s laying.
“That comment Patrick made at the party yesterday. Calling you daddy dearest in that sarcastic tone he uses when he gets defensive.”
“You can read him like a fuckin’ book.”
“I can read you, too.”
“Don’t I know it.”
You’ve pulled your pyjamas back on over the course of the conversation, like nothing ever happened.
“He always gets defensive when you try to criticise Cameron. I think he might still have feelings for her.”
“Sweetheart,” he soothes, moving to stand in front of you. His hands find your hips, squeezing gently. “He’d be mad to have eyes for anyone but you. Don’t worry about it, alright? He’s just a young man lashing out at his father occasionally.”
You take a deep breath, trying to let his words ease the ache you feel in your chest. Perching up on your tip toes, you press a slow kiss to his lips, all sweet and honeyed and full of warmth.
“For what it’s worth, Declan… I wish I was sleeping here tonight, with you.”
“Someday,” he assures, sweeping his thumb across your cheekbone tenderly.
“See you at the breakfast table,” you whisper as you leave.
“See you then,” he winks, watching you pad across the landing to the bathroom.
You dare to cast a glance backwards before you close the door, finding him leaning against his doorframe with the most mischievous look you’ve ever seen in his eyes. His gaze drops to your feet, dragging up your body slowly until he meets your curious stare.
He grins at you, before retreating back into his room.
You play that exact moment over and over in your head the next time you’re in bed with Patrick.
summary: declan's marriage is in dire straits. moving to the Cotswolds has not only changed his relationship with his wife, but also his working life. amidst all the chaos, he met you. a little spark in the dark.
characters: declan o'hara x reader
contents: age gap, cheating, sexual tension, guilt trip, forbidden relationshiop.
word count: 3.2K
Hello! I'm here to say that this is my very first fic of Rivals and I'm really excited! I wrote this for a dear friend, but I decided it was worth posting here too. Also, this will probably be a three-part story, so there will be more chapters to come.
It was only supposed to be a one year job.
Maybe a few months at Corinium. Something respectable to put on a CV. Something that might open doors later. Instead, you found yourself working for Declan O'Hara.
Most people at Corinium seemed to orbit chaos in one form or another. Tony Baddingham generated it smoothly. He could fill a room simply by walking into it, leaving everyone else to reshuffle themselves around his aura.
Declan was different.
You spent most of your days keeping track of his schedule, making sure he arrived where he was supposed to be, reminding him of meetings he’d inevitably forget and intercepting phone calls before they became someone else's emergency. It wasn't glamorous work, but he always thanked you for it.
A surprisingly rare quality in television.
The launch party for his programme was in full swing by the time you escaped to the drinks table.
Champagne flowed freely. Cigarette smoke curled toward the ceiling. Across the room, James appeared far more interested in Sarah Stratton than whatever story she was pretending to tell him. Tony and Cameron were also secluded, and everyone pretended not to notice the palpable sexual tension between them.
“Careful there, kid.” The voice came beside your shoulder. You startled hard enough that champagne sloshed dangerously close to the rim of your glass. Declan looked entirely too pleased with himself.
“God, Mr. O’Hara.” You snorted, feeling slightly lumpish for holding eye contact for more than five seconds.
Declan smirked.
“What's the verdict?” he asked.
“On what?”
“The party.”
You glanced around the room.
“It feels very expensive.”
A laugh escaped him.
“Tony's favourite sort.”
For a moment, neither of you said anything. The noise of the party faded into the background. Then Declan nodded toward your glass.
“Go easy on that.”
“Oh, it's just champagne.”
“Exactly.“
“Should I be worried?”
“Nah, not worried.” His mouth twitched. “Just keep an eye out. Corinium's full of opportunists.”
“And you're warning me because….?” You nodded, a smug smile playing on your lips.
“Because you're far too decent for this place.”
You almost choked. Almost. Before you could think of a response, he reached past you, stole an appetiser from a passing tray and stepped away.
“Enjoy the party, darlin’.”
You watched him disappear into the crowd. The ridiculous part wasn't what he'd said. It was how long you stood there afterwards thinking about it… What on earth was that?
That night, alone in your car on the way home, you replayed that moment over and over again, like a schoolgirl. You relived the way his eyes had lingered on yours, and how he’d curled his lip and given you an impish smile. You squeezed your eyes shut tight and blamed the drink. It was just a daydream. An alcoholic delusion.
You’d imagined it all. Declan O’Hara would never even look at you, let alone flirt with you.
By six o'clock, Corinium had emptied out. Except for you. The corridors that usually buzzed with ringing telephones and hurried conversations were quiet, save for the distant hum of equipment somewhere deeper in the building. Most people had fled the moment Friday afternoon became Friday evening.
You, unfortunately, had not been granted that luxury.
The production team had left the scripts for next week's episodes in Declan's office, and somebody had to make sure he actually took them home. That somebody, as always, was you.
You pushed open the door and reached for the light switch. The room flooded with soft yellow light. The blinds were drawn and there was a distinct smell of whisky in the air. You barely noticed the chair positioned toward the window as you crossed the room and gathered the stack of scripts from the desk. You tucked them against your chest and turned toward the door.
A metallic squeak cut through the silence as the chair spun.
“Fuck me!” The scripts slipped from your hands and scattered across the carpet.
For a second, all you could hear was laughter. Declan leaned back in the chair, thoroughly entertained by your misery.
“Oh, that's cruel.” But his laugh only worsened.
"Sorry, darlin’." He stood up, still laughing. "Thought it was someone else for a mo."
“It's fine.” With a sigh, you crouched to collect the pages. The sound of another movement made you glance up. Declan was kneeling beside you. “It's no problem, you don't have to help.”
“Probably not.” He picked up a loose page and handed it over. “But, if they're out of order, you'll blame me, ay?”
You grab the papers with a smirk on your face.
“I mean, I’d have to tell my boss about it.”
“Exactly.”
You stand up whilst you arrange the papers inside the pad so they don’t fall out again. Declan's smile faded first, you notice.
“I'm gonna head off, then." You nod towards the door without taking your eyes off Declan, whose gaze is somehow hellishly magnetic.
"Have a good weekend, darlin’"
You walk towards the door, but over your shoulder you see him sit down and swirl his whisky glass. You hear the ice clinking against the glass just as his expression blackens even further.
You should leave. The prudent thing would be to leave.
Wish him a good weekend. Go home. Stop wondering why a man with a successful programme, a beautiful wife and a family waiting for him was sitting alone in a dark office drinking whisky.
Instead, you heard yourself speak.
“Mr. O’Hara, are you all right?”
The question slipped out before you could stop it. Declan swivels his chair round, the glass clinking in his hand. You hold your breath, thinking you’ve overstepped the mark. You immediately regretted it.
“Sorry. That was probably none of my business.”
“Probably.”
You winced.
“Right.”
You looked up. Declan slowly frowns as he looks at you. You feel so bare before his eyes.
“S’that obvious?” he asked.
“No.” The answer came too quickly.
His eyebrow lifted. You sighed.
“Maybe a little…?”
A soft laugh escaped him.
“Ah.” The amusement faded as quickly as it had appeared. “I'm fine,” he said.
You recognised the lie immediately. Apparently, so did he. Because a second later he exhaled through his nose and shook his head.
“No. S’not true.”
Eventually, he glanced up.
“I'm not goin’ to bore you with my problems.”
“Oh, you wouldn't.”
Declan snorted.
“That's generous.”
“I'm serious.”
“You shouldn't be.” He swirled the whisky. “I'm considerably older than you.”
“So?” You shrug your shoulders.
“So you've probably got somewhere better to be on a Friday night than listenin' to a middle-aged man complaining about his life.”
You laughed hard. The sound echoed through the office.
Work has made any socialising in your life pretty difficult. Worse still, you can’t even remember the last time you made out with a guy at a bar or had any real fun. Adult life is such a bitch.
Declan studied you for a moment.
Then he stood. You instinctively stepped aside as he crossed the room. Instead of heading for the door, he set the scripts back down on the desk. A second glass appeared from somewhere in the cabinet behind him. Then he pours half a glass of whisky on the rocks and hands it to you.
“In that case,” he said, “you might as well stay for one.”
You were grateful the office was empty, so no one could hear your laughter bouncing off the walls of Corinium. You and Declan spent hours in the room chatting. At some point, the whisky ceased to be the reason you were both still there.
You talked about everything from politics and television to childhood stories and whatever silly thing happened to be on your mind at the time.
Talking to him was easy. He was funny, honest, intelligent, and very observant. He could make you laugh with the greatest of ease. When you laughed, he’d look at you as if you were from another planet until he started laughing along with you.
The hours passed without you noticing. The bottle of whisky on the table was now half empty.
Everything seemed smaller now. You felt more comfortable, as if you were in a bubble that you couldn’t bring yourself to leave.
You sighed with ease as you leaned back on the sofa at the end of a chuckle. But then your gaze fell on your wristwatch and an alarm went off in your mind:
“Oh, my God.”
Declan followed your gaze.
“What?”
“It's nearly ten.”
Neither of you had realised how quickly time had passed, and Declan raised an eyebrow.
“I should go.” Your voice sounded almost disappointed. He agreed.
“Probably.” He said. “I can give you a lift.”
“Oh, no. It’s fine. I’ve got my car.”
You both stood there, neither of you moving. For a few hours, everything had been easy, it had been too comfortable. Declan had hardly seemed like your boss during the time you’d spent getting to know each other a little better.
He walked you to the door. It was a perfectly normal thing to do, except that neither of you reached for the handle.
You were standing much too close, closer than was necessary. A silence fell between you that was louder than ever before. It was then that Declan looked at you, the haze that had lifted during hours of conversation now gone.
“Y’know,” he said quietly. “That was probably the longest conversation I've had all week that wasn't about ratings.”
You smiled.
“Is that meant to be a compliment?”
“S'not meant to be anything.”
For some reason, it was there, in that smile and those worn-out eyes, that all the charm lay.
You felt a tightness in your chest, an alarming sensation. At the same time, you saw something shift in his expression. You saw him realise it at exactly the same moment as you did. The distance between you suddenly became impossible to ignore. Declan glanced briefly at your lips, looked away, only to look again.
A huge mistake. You both knew it, and that should have been enough to stop the thoughts from coming. Instead, neither of you pulled away.
The kiss happened almost by chance, the two of you moving towards each other and colliding softly. Declan wrapped one hand around your neck, then he gently ran both hands over your face. He was waging a battle within himself, his brow furrowed painfully.
It was a slow, tongue-filled kiss with a hint of whisky. It lasted a second before you both remembered all the reasons why it shouldn’t have happened.
Declan was the first to pull away. Not far enough. Never far enough. His forehead almost brushed yours, his strong, whisky-scented breath kissing your cheek.
Then he let out a silent breath.
“Well.”
You laughed nervously.
“That’s one way to end a conversation.”
Declan shook his head, a faint smile appearing despite himself.
“Terrible idea.”
Your heart was pounding.
“Probably.” His eyes flickered shut again when you brushed your lips against his.
“Definitely.”
Yet neither of them moved to put an end to it.
After the kiss, you found yourself thinking it had been a mistake. Not a romantic mistake, because that’d have implied there had been something romantic about it in the first place. Declan was married. He had children, for god’s sake. A life that existed entirely outside the walls of Corinium. You were his assistant. The facts of the situation seemed straightforward enough when laid out plainly, which only made it more irritating that you couldn't stop thinking about him.
As a result, you threw yourself into the deeply mature strategy of avoiding him altogether. If lunch happened to fall at midday, you'd leave ten minutes early. If someone needed a message passed on, you'd scribble it on a note and leave it on his desk rather than deliver it yourself. If a conversation could be reduced to three words, you'd reduce it to two. It was childish, and you knew it.
Declan noticed almost immediately.
Every morning, he'd appear with a coffee in one hand and a stack of papers tucked beneath the other arm. Every morning, he'd greet you with an easy "Mornin', darlin’," and every morning you'd suddenly discover something on your desk that required your immediate and undivided attention. The look he gave you afterwards suggested he wasn't fooled for a second. It wasn't accusatory, exactly. More curious. As though he were trying to work out a puzzle and finding himself short a few pieces.
By the end of the month, Corinium had secured a sizeable contract. Flamboyant as he is, Tony decided that a party was the best way to celebrate. You debated whether to go, staring at your reflection in the mirror for so long that the idea of wearing a crimson lippie seemed like a bad one. The navy dress stayed, largely because there wasn't enough time to find anything else and because, if you were being honest, it looked rather good.
Promises, Promises drifted through the room beneath the hum of conversation, while waiters threaded their way between clusters of guests carrying trays of champagne. Laughter rose and fell in bursts. Cigarette smoke curled lazily towards the roofing. Across the room, Cameron sat beside Tony while he entertained a semicircle of executives with all the subtlety of a man auditioning for his own legend.
You made a beeline for the drinks table, as usual.
At some point, Sarah appeared long enough to tell you your dress looked lovely before immediately disappearing back into a conversation with Beattie. Charles arrived a few minutes later, topped up your champagne and announced that he'd rather be at home than spend another evening watching Tony parade Cameron around like a prize-winning racehorse. You laughed, and the two of you fell into conversation. Or rather, Charles talked while you contributed the occasional nod and suitably interested noise.
The truth was that your attention kept wandering. It wasn't intentional. At least, that's what you told yourself.
Across the room, Declan stood with a whisky in one hand, listening to some unfortunate executive explain something that was clearly boring him senseless. Every now and then he'd rub the back of his neck, glance towards the bar, or shift his weight impatiently from one foot to the other. There was something oddly comforting about seeing him look slightly out of place amongst all the polished smiles and expensive suits.
You looked away whenever you caught yourself staring. The problem was that every so often, against your better judgement, your eyes found him again. You felt self-conscious, but you couldn't help but notice him. Declan O'Hara had a habit of drawing attention without ever appearing to ask for it.
Even from the other side of the room, his presence seemed to alter the atmosphere around him. People gravitated towards him. When he laughed, his biceps flexed, making his suit look like a mere scrap of fabric under his skin. You hated that you noticed these stupid things.
At one point, in the middle of a fit of laughter, as though responding to some instinct he wasn't entirely aware of, he glanced over his shoulder. Looking for something… or someone. That’s when your eyes met, as if for the first time in a long time. The spark that had ignited when you kissed was back, more fiery than ever. You considered breaking off eye contact and pretending to be interested in the conversation, but neither of you did.
“Charles, excuse me,” you said abruptly. “I'm just going to find the loo.”
Charles waved you away without missing a beat. You left him near the balcony just as Kiss took over the party and got everyone moving. You put your glass on the railing and pushed through the crowd to find somewhere you could breathe without being consumed by Declan’s magnetic presence.
Relieved to have lost sight of him for a moment, you stepped into one of the hallways.
“Lookin’ stunnin', love.”
Your heart gave a traitorous lurch. One ankle crossed over the other, arms folded loosely across his chest. Declan looked like a deity. His hair was perfectly groomed, with uneven ends. Beneath his thick moustache lurked a devious smile.
This man was the Lucifer incarnate.
You should’ve damned the day you kissed, because ever since then, he’d been fuelling all your worst thoughts.
“Thanks.”
Outwardly, you appeared calm, but you could feel your heart thumping in your ears. Amidst the coloured lights dancing across faces, every shadow made Declan appear increasingly lecherous.
Declan's gaze travelled briefly over your dress before returning to your face.
“Blue suits you.”
You laughed softly.
“You're very determined to make this awkward, aren't you?”
“Am I?”
“Yes.”
“S'good to know I've still got some talents left.”
Despite yourself, you smiled. “Let’s put an end to this, shall we?” You took a deep breath, closing the gap between you.
“We certainly should.”
Declan stepped away from the wall, his tall, broad frame looming over you. Still, you forced yourself to meet his gaze.
“What happened…” You began. “It was a mistake.”
It felt good to say it out loud, to put a name to things.
“It was.” Declan grunted, nodding his head.
You blinked a few times. Relief flickering through you.
“Right.” You folded your arms across your chest. “I'm really sorry it happened.”
Declan frowned, his smile turning down at the corners.
“What?” Your stomach clenched.
“‘Can’t say the same, darlin’.”
“Declan…” Your gaze shifting between Declan’s eyes and his downturned lips.
“Well, I’m serious.” He took a step towards you. You stepped back.
“You're agreeing it was a mistake.”
“I am.”
“Then what are you saying?” Your voice was little more than a whisper. By now, you were cornered like an animal. Declan looked you up and down as if he could devour you.
A humourless laugh escaped him.
“I'm saying it shouldn't have happened. I've spent the entire week tellin' myself to forget about it.” His voice purrs in your ear and you take a deep breath, trying to keep your wits about you.
Your mind screams to back away, but your body says the exact opposite.
“And?”
“And s'not gone particularly well.”
Despite himself, a laugh threatened.
“That's not funny.”
“No,” he agreed quietly. "S'not.”
The noise of the party drifted faintly down the corridor. Music and laughter. The distant clink of glasses. It all felt very far away.
“We can't do this.”
“I know.”
“You have a wife.”
The words landed heavily. Something flickered across his face.
“I know that too.”
Neither of you seemed capable of leaving. You became painfully aware of how close he was standing. Of the way his eyes lingered on yours. Of the fact that every sensible thought you'd arrived with seemed to be abandoning you one by one.
“It won't happen again,” you said. The conviction you were aiming for never quite made it into your voice.
Declan's mouth twitched. “It won’t.”
“Declan…” You purr, your lips parted as he takes hold of your chin, lifting your head.
“Yes, love?”
A moment passes.
“It won’t happen again.”
He agrees. Your eyes met for a moment, certain that this really is a lapse. Your breathing becomes erratic and Declan studies tiny details of your face.
One more second is enough.
Your mouths collide fiercely in a kiss. There’s a taste of whisky and champagne on your tongue. Declan hovers over you, cupping your face with his large, broad hand, burying his fingers at the nape of your neck. You’ve grabbed him by the shoulder, pulling him close, closing any gap that might exist between you.
“Christ.” he breathed. Chest rising and falling like a crescendo. “This is a proper disaster.”
i am my father's daughter - declan o'hara x rupert's daughter!reader
synopsis: you knew you shouldn't be doing this, flirting with your dad's friend and business partner. but he's so irresistible!
content: age gap relationship (ages not specified), maud doesn't exist au, not very canon compliant just ignore it, nsfw themes, dbf trope, accidental tense switching (ignore it)
author's note: declan is sooooo hunky #needthat also this is a rather short piece but if you'd like to see a continuation of dbf declan, i would absolutely provide <3
you're quite positive that nobody has looked as good in a t-shirt as declan o'hara does now in the front of the priory's living room, leading an open discussion about what is next for the budding production company. his biceps flex underneath the thin material when he lifts his arm in a gesture and despite your efforts to remain focused on the conversation at hand, it's difficult when all you've been able to think about since he moved in is declan.
for a month or two after he and his two daughters moved in, he had been the sole object of your daydreaming. he was so strong, so intelligent, so witty on the television, so...everything.
however, there was little that you could do on that front, considering the last name that appears on your birth certificate and the fact that rupert campbell-black, your father, and declan hated each other. it was a rather difficult watch, the night declan interviewed him, but with rupert bonding with declan over their love for their small families, it became much easier to slink your way into his presence. thankfully.
then, it became regular to see declan in your home, or to see you and rupert in his. he was hard to depart from, what with his deep, thick accented voice and his wavy hair he kept running his hands through, and that t-shirt, that damn t-shirt. you lived in pure, unending agony for a while, having to be so close to him all the time without being able to give in to this torturous desire.
but then he started blatantly running a large hand over your back as he passed behind you and then he started making eye contact with you across the room and then he helped you with car troubles where he stood tantalizingly close behind you while showing you how to check your oil.
your father doesn't need to know that you've kissed and made out with and sucked off his friend and business partner. right?
when declan finishes his speech in the front of the living room, he makes his way through the crowd to the table in the back with a few drinks and refreshments laid out by taggie where you just so happen to be standing.
his eye contact with you is unwavering as he comes closer and closer to you and there's a smirk growing on his lips.
"could you be any more obvious with your ogling there, dear?" he says quietly once he reaches your side.
you scoff, but you know what he's saying is true. "i wasn't doing anything of the sort, mr o'hara. i'm just admiring your leadership and passion for venturer, is all," you whisper.
he leans against the table, then, watching as the crowd before him mingle with each other, completely oblivious to the conversation happening between you and him. even your father seems to be swept up into conversation on the other side of the room. he turns his neck side-to-side, clearly aware of the way that his shoulders and back tense underneath the tight shirt. your eyes betray your previous statement as they immediately flick to the sight, then flick downwards.
he chuckles and takes the smallest of steps closer to you. "so you like the shirt, then, i take it?"
a small blush overtakes your cheeks and you refuse to meet his eye. suddenly, you feel his body tilt towards yours, lips just before your ear.
"i can let you take it off me if you come over tonight."
his deep voice reverberated through your body, sending chills down your neck and spine. subconsciously, your back arched from the table you were learning on and he let out another laugh.
a few hours later, you found yourself slipping quietly out of penscombe, positively giddy. the walk to the priory was one you had done plenty of times and you knew it like the back of your hand, really. slowly, the centuries old building came into view and several feet up the wall was a window with its lights still on. declan's.
as he'd done before, he met you at the back door of the home, one that leads into the kitchen, a smug look on his face.
"you took my offer quite readily," he said. his big frame leaned against the door and he crossed his arms. still adorning him was that damn t-shirt.
"as if you weren't kicking your feet waiting for me," you retort, then come to stand before him.
he shakes his head then and a sly smile tilts the corners of his mouth up. he removes his body from the frame and steps to the side to let you inside. as you pass him, a firm hand comes down on your ass, making a small yelp escape your lips.
you turn suddenly and shoot him a glare. he just pats you again, a gesture to keep you moving forward. "get on up there, little minx. before your daddy realizes where you've gone, huh?"
you turn then and head for the stairs that lead up to his bedroom. declan didn't have to tell you much twice.
𝜗𝜚 press release (declano’hara x journalist!f!reader)
summary|| Being part of Corinium has always been a dream come true. However, when your boss, Tony Baddingham, brings on board the boisterous Irishman from the city, you realize that your once pleasant workplace is about to change for the worse. wc: 5.5k
Declan O'Hara, an Irishman, determined journalist, cutthroat talk show host, loving father, by every visible measure, and devoted husband.
As well as the most dangerously handsome, intelligent man you had ever been unfortunate enough to meet.
The time you'd spent working at the studio, you'd never met anyone like him. Compared to him, James Vereker looked like a schoolboy, and Sebastian Burrows a child. Declan O'Hara had been more man than anyone you'd ever met, and it was hard to ignore.
The way his voice carried around the office. It was earthy, his vowels were long and soft, but there was a flatness that gave it roots. You'd come accustomed to it, echoing around the building the more he tested Lord Baddingham and Cameron Cook.
It had been New Year's Eve the first time the two of you had spoken. You were leaving early for the day, hoping to get a table at your favorite restaurant before going back to your humble abode.
You entered the elevator turning around to press the lobby button only to be met with the front of Declan O'hara's chest.
Taking a quick step back before you crashed straight into him, he crowded your space, pushing you farther into the elevator.
"Floor." His voice was harsh, as it hummed in your ears. The look on his face was stern and impatient.
"Excuse me?" You asked in confusion.
His face relaxed and his voice softened. "Which floor, love?"
oh! "Lobby." You said quickly, stepping to the side, creating more space between the two of you.
The ride down felt awkwardly long, the tension lingering. You anxiously stood next to him. Fixing the strap of the bag slung over your shoulder and adjusting the jacket folded across your arm.
His gaze, not leaving you as the elevator continued its descent. You definitely could feel the way his eyes shamelessly gawked at your figure. The buttons on your blouse became tighter, and the length of your skirt suddenly felt too short.
"Declan." His name broke the silence, causing you to look over at him. His hand was stretched out toward you, waiting for your own.
You hesitated before reaching out, and when your fingers brushed, shocks shot through your hand. You mewled out your name, followed by a "...nice to meet you".
With a nod of his head, you bitterly slipped your hand from his, letting it fall back to your side.
Casually eyeing you up and down. His gaze raking over you, his eyes seem to betray a mixture of desire and restlessness.
There was something so enticing about you and the more he looked at you, the more his interest piqued. All this time he'd been working here and he hadn't noticed a woman like you walking around.
The silence dragged, and he felt the words build on his tongue. "Are you going somewhere?" He asked.
"What?" You answered, surprised he was still speaking to you.
He chuckled deeply at your tone, leaning his shoulder against the wall, getting closer. His head turned in your direction, his gaze fixed intently upon you.
"For New Year's, are you going somewhere?" He repeated slowly, his eyes never leaving yours once as he waited for a response.
The lilt of his voice made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. The Irish was thick and sultry on his tongue, his accent like rolling thunder.
"I was going to dinner." You answered hesitantly, unsure why he was even asking. In the soft light of the elevator, he took in the details of your face, the way your bottom lip caught between your teeth as you fidgeted nervously.
You were a quiet one, most women he'd come in contact with had done anything to gain his attention. Yet you stayed quiet, reserved, shy. A woman so beautiful, so… alluring, could have easily caught his eye, yet he'd never even noticed you. "Was?"
"I'm afraid I've waited too long, missed the reservation window." You told him, and he chuckled again. That earthy sound that seemed to completely fill the space.
Taking in a deep breath, you were suddenly encompassed by his scent, a mix of musk, and tobacco, something manly. You'd never known a man to have such a presence, the way he filled the room made you feel so small next to him.
"Pity." He hummed, the corners of his mouth twitched into a small smile, his gaze roaming your face slowly, taking in every fine feature. "You should come by my wife's party tonight, then. She's invited the whole office, you're welcome to join."
"Thank you, Declan. That's very kind of you." You said quietly, your eyes falling down to the floor. The butterflies in your stomach were fluttering around in a panic.
Did he just invite you to his house for New Year's?
Your mind was still racing, unsure of how to respond. You had just met the man, but the way he was looking at you made your head feel fuzzy, and you couldn't bring yourself to say no.
The thought of spending an evening in his presence was both thrilling and terrifying. "Of course..." You stuttered, trying to keep your voice steady. "...I'll try and make it."
As soon as the words left your lips, a satisfied smile spread across his face. "The party starts at eight o'clock." He spoke, tilting his head.
The elevator dinged loudly, signaling that you'd reached the lobby. The doors opened slowly and Declan stepped out of the lift. "I hope to see you there." His accent seemed to make his words sound almost teasing as he said his farewell, and you felt a blush creep up on your cheeks.
I hope to see you there…
The words echoed through your mind like a mantra.
The doors started to close, blocking him from sight, and it brought you back to reality. You quickly shot your arm out to stop them from shutting and stepped into the lobby, taking a deep breath.
The party was in full swing, and you arrived in the midst of it all. It was a typical extravagant upper-class party, the house was lit with an array of colorful, sparkling lights. The house was filled, everywhere you looked there was a person.
You caught glimpses of unfamiliar faces, all blending together into a sea of strangers. You took a moment to look around the room, in search of that familiar head of dark chestnut hair.
The warm ambiance of the room helped ease the tension in your shoulders, and you couldn't help but hope, looking for any sign of Declan, he wasn't a hard man to miss.
Despite the crowd, it didn't seem like Declan was anywhere to be found. You couldn't help but wonder where he was, the thought of spending the night searching for him made you anxious.
Across the room, leaning against the wall beside his daughter's, was Declan; his arms crossed over his chest as he scanned the room with a watchful eye. His gaze roamed over your figure shamelessly, taking in the way your dress clung to you.
Your petite frame, the way your skirt hung around your thighs, the length of your hair. There was a shyness, something timid and he fixated on your body, the way your eyes darted around the room.
A loud commotion caused everyone to turn their heads in the direction of the entrance to the living-room. A woman dressed in a bright green dress entered, riding in on a camel?!
"Jesus christ." Declan said, the sound of his voice drawing you to him.
He stood a few feet away, dressed handsomely, his dark hair slicked back, and a hint of a five o'clock shadow on his jaw. He was wearing a crisp, tailored suit that accentuated his broad shoulders, and a pair of trousers that hugged his muscular legs. The sight of him was almost intoxicating.
The crowd of guests parted as the woman in the vibrant green dress dismounted from the camel. Cheers erupted throughout the room as she stood there victoriously. You watched as people congratulated and welcomed her.
Your eyes went to Declan, seeing his gaze had already made it back to you. Standing solely amongst the crowd, looking like a mouse in the center of a lion's den.
He almost looked embarrassed, Declan could feel his shoulders tense in annoyance, a scoff escaping his lips. He hated when Maud did things like this, rightfully so when he was the one paying for it. It was one thing that had initially attracted Declan to her, but now, it felt like an old pony trick.
He'd never understood her need for attention. There was no doubt in Declan's mind that this party was more for her than it was for their son. She was thriving off it, soaking up every last bit. He clenched his jaw, frustration building within him.
The night pressed on. The room slowly returned to its normal pace as people continued with their conversations, drinks in hand.
The guests now mingling together comfortably, the music softer, more gentle. The lights were dimmer now, allowing for a much more intimate setting.
Declan, stood among the others, and his eyes caught sight of you once more.
You were sitting on the couch, legs tucked up underneath you. A soft smile appeared on his face as he watched you, unable to take his eyes away.
You looked up, your eyes meeting his as he approached. "Having fun?" He asked, his deep voice, gravelly and laced with whiskey.
He gives you a charming smile as he steps closer, his gaze drifting down your figure, pausing at the low plunge of your dress before returning to your face.
Taking a seat next to you, he leaned back, his body turned towards you; his eyes drifting over your figure.
A sly smile tugged at his lips as he watched you blush under his intense stare. He chuckled gruffly, finding your reaction endearing. The way you tried to hide your bashfulness, but couldn't help the way your body betrayed you.
He noticed the way you fidgeted nervously. It made his heart swell in his chest. He couldn't help but enjoy the effect he had on you, as your cheeks flushing an attractive shade of pink.
The tips of your ears burned when you realized just how close he was. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to keep your eyes on him while resisting the urge to look away.
Why the hell was he looking at you like that?
He was older than you, a man of authority and power, and yet, right now he made you feel like a shy schoolgirl with a crush. You couldn't remember the last time someone had looked at you this way, like you were the only person in the room
"I'm glad you decided to come tonight." He spoke low enough that nobody else could hear him but you. His voice rumbled in your ears, and sent a shudder through your body.
His gaze drifted down to your neck, a soft smirk forming on his lips as he watched the chill run down your spine.
"So am I. Thank you, for inviting me ...and for the booze."
He continued to look at you, his gaze roaming over you openly without any shame or reservation. He took a sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving your face. You were a sight to behold in this light, soft skin, wide eyes, it was almost hypnotizing.
"You look lovely." He hummed, his eyes still wandering over you. His gaze was intense, his voice deep, and velvety.
You thanked him softly, your breath catching in your throat when you noticed the desire in his burning gaze. His body was pressed up against you; his thighs touching yours, you could feel each breath with the rise and fall of his chest against your arm.
There was a moment of silence between the two of you, the tension in the air thick. You tried to distract yourself, but there was a dangerous gleam in his eyes that made you feel like a bird trapped in a cage.
Your heart rate quickening, and a warmth spreading through your chest. His gaze felt like a physical touch, making your skin tingle. His deep voice rolling off his tongue, the sound was like a low rumble, making your body hum with something you'd never felt before.
"Are you enjoying yourself?" He asked, breaking the silence. His voice was soft, quiet, meant just for you.
"Y-yes." You managed to stutter, your heart racing. "Quite."
"You looked a bit lost earlier." He chuckled in reply, his eyes never straying.
"Not lost." You confessed, your voice small in the presence of his dominating aura.
His eyes narrowed as he leaned closer, his body almost pressed flush against your shoulder. "Then what?" He asked, his voice now a mere whisper, deep and seductive
His hand reached out, fingers brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face, his touch linger for a moment longer than necessary. His fingertips were rough but warm, as he gently brushed the hair behind your ear.
You could feel his hot breath against your neck, his eyes fixed upon you intently, like a man possessed. You tried to maintain a sense of composure, but it was difficult when he was this close to you, his face was inches away from yours.
He was close enough that you could make out every small detail; the indentations in his lips, the faint shadow of stubble around his jawline, the way his eyes seemed to darken with each passing minute.
"I've noticed you've spent most of your evening alone." He began, his lips almost brushing your ear.
His fingers still playing with the loose locks of your hair, his knuckles just barely grazing your skin. You felt your heart skip a beat at his touch. His hand lingered on your cheek for a moment too long, leaving your skin buzzing with electricity.
He leaned back, his demeanor calm and collected, but a hint of a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I haven’t been a very good host, have I?" He said softly, taking a deep breath, his eyes still fixed on you.
For a moment, the room around you seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you in this secluded little corner. The sounds of chatter and laughter felt distant, as the world seemed to slow to a halt.
Your breath hitched in your throat as you looked back at him. He was watching you again, his eyes boring into yours, drinking you in. Your body was alive, your skin burned where it touched his.
He was older, more experienced, and had a presence that demanded attention. There was something dangerous about him, like a predator stalking its prey. Yet, he was charming and smooth, and there was an undeniable attraction pulling you to him.
"Declan..." You stuttered, feeling your nerves kicking in.
His eyes scanned your face, pausing briefly on your lips. His dark eyes seemed to look right through you, and you found yourself unable to pull away from him.
"Just hear me out..." He rushed, his hands getting comfortable as they slid down your hips, but the glimmer of his wedding band on his finger made your stomach sink.
You stood up quickly, stumbling as your legs adjusted to the amount of alcohol you'd consumed. "No... I-I don't... you're married, Declan."
Declan watched as you stumbled, a look of surprise etched on his features. He stood up quickly, reaching out to catch you, his hands gripping your waist for stability.
He held you like that for a moment, your eyes filled a mix of fear and contemplation. His fingers tightened involuntarily against the softness of your hip. The heat from his touch burned through the fabric of your dress.
"Wait-" He spoke, his voice a deep grumble, almost primal, that made your hairs stand on end.
"Let me go..." You muttered breathlessly, trying to break free from his firm grasp. He held you tighter, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hip.
He paused for a moment, his jaw clenching, his eyes flickering down to your trembling lips. He slowly let go of your waist, his hands lingering for a moment before they fell.
He still had you trapped, a few feet from the nearest group of people, the only way out was through him. His breathing was uneven, hot against your face, and the only thing you could hear was your heart thudding loudly in your ears.
"Can we just go somewhere quiet …to talk." His voice was commanding, but laced with desperation.
You swallowed hard, the thought of being alone with him made your heart skip a beat.
You gave him a slight nod, and his body turned, angling away from the crowd.
He slowly began making his way through the crowd, his hand resting on your lower back, gently guiding you.
Everywhere his skin met yours left you burning, his touch sending a wave of fire through you. He led you through the room and into a hallway.
The music and chatter faded as you turned the corner, and suddenly it was just the two of you.
Declan pushed a door open at the end of the hallway, guiding you into what appeared to be his office. You stood awkwardly for a moment, the room was small but cozy, a desk and a chair were positioned in the corner along with a leather couch.
The glow of a lone desk lamp illuminated the room, casting dancing shadows across the walls - which were covered in framed pictures; various awards, certificates, and one lined in bookshelves.
He leaned his back against the door, and for a long moment he stayed silent, watching you. His eyes were sharp underneath the dim light, his lips parted slightly, before his jaw clenched.
He couldn't keep the desire hidden, he let his eyes roam up and down your body. The way the dress hung on your hips, the way your chest rose and fell with each breath, the way your hair fell around your face. It was enough to drive him mad.
He looked relaxed yet on edge. He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a deep breath. This time there was something different in his eyes, something you couldn't quite place. Still a mixture of desire, and frustration, but something else.
"You're right. I'm married." He said, his voice firm, almost cold. "And I'm not trying to pretend otherwise." He began, his eyes fixated on your face.
He stepped closer, his body pressing against yours as he spoke. His hands reach out towards you again. He touched your chin, gently tilting your head back, forcing you to look at him. Your breath shuddered as his touch sent a shiver down your spine.
Declan's brow was low, making him look almost intimidating, but his eyes remained soft, almost pleading. "I'll just say one thing?"
"It's …complicated ...bird." He spoke slowly, his voice a low rumble. "I can't tell you it's perfect ...but I'll be damned if I don't admit that I want you."
The look in his eyes was fierce, possessive almost. His eyes watched every minute reaction your body had to the way his hands held you.
He wanted to keep you close, the way you leaned into him made his pulse race. His fingers moved from your hip, slowly trailing down the side of your exposed thigh, his touch was hot.
Your breath caught in your throat as his hand glided down your skin, leaving a trail of fire on your flesh. His words echoed in your mind, confusing you and sending your heart racing. You should be outraged, you should be pushing him away.
Declan's mouth dropped open as you forcibly shoved him away. Your hand sting as it connected with his cheek.
He stood there for a moment, heart hammering against his chest. His fingers brushing the red mark appearing on his cheek where you'd just struck him.
He looked at you, brow furrowed as his wild eyes searched your face, trying to gauge the situation.
Finally, he spoke from behind his hand. His voice low, almost a whisper. "I'm sorry."
The room was deadly silent, the only thing you could hear was the faint hum of music as your heart pounded heavily in your ears.
"You're sorry?" You repeated, your voice trembling as you spoke. "You're married, and that's all you have to say?" You said incredulously, your voice shaky. "You're sorry?"
Declan's eyes are glued to yours, a mix of regret, shock and pain etched across his face. He looked almost guilty, his eyes falling to the floor.
Your breathing was heavy, your chest rising and falling quickly, a mix of anger and attraction coursing through you.
This man, this married man, had just told you that he wanted you, had just touched you in a way no man should ever touch a woman who's not his wife, and it sent pleasure through your entire being.
He winced as you spoke, his jaw twitching as he clenched his teeth. He looked at you with a mixture of remorse and hurt, you knew better, he didn't deserve your sympathy.
Declan took a deep breath, his eyes flickering back to you. "It's not…" He paused, his voice low and rough. "…that simple." Even still, something about the way he looked at you, the way he spoke, it tugged at something deep inside your chest.
He wearily took a step forwards, reaching ever so slowly to hold you. Only you backed away quickly, trying to put distance between the two of you.
"That's what they all say." The words come out harsher than you intended, and you watch a flicker of pain in his eyes.
You stumbled back against the wall as he quickly closed the distance between you. "For god's sake …it's the truth." He breathed, his pleading eyes never straying from yours.
It was a strange feeling, to feel pity for a man who had just confessed his feelings for you.
Yet, watching his pained expression, and the way his eyes seemed to implore you, it made your stomach twist. "That's a bit unfair, don't you think?"
Declan's body pressed against yours, trapping you against him. "Fair?" His accent thick as he spoke in a low rumble under his breath, almost like a growl. "You think I give a fuck about fair?"
Declan made the space between you completely non-existent. One hand rested on the wall beside your head, his face inches away from yours. His other moved up to your cheek, fingers tracing the side, before cupping your jaw.
He could see the hurt, the fear, the confusion. Yet, underneath it all, he could see the heat, the want, the need in your eyes.
He leaned forwards, his lips hovering just above yours. You swallowed hard, your mind racing. You knew he was wrong, you knew this was wrong, your body betraying you as you fought against yourself.
His kiss made you feel unsteady. The way his hand tangled in your hair, his arm wrapped around your back kept you close to him, and his firm hold on your hip made your head fuzzy.
You breathed him in, and the soft sound of vanquish that escaped your lips filled him with pride as he savored the flavor of you for the first time.
With a hand pressed firmly against his chest, gripping the fabric of his shirt to ground yourself. The other, clutched at the wrist of his that had drawn you into him.
"You know what's unfair? How much you torture me in this dress. How I've had to hold myself back from pulling you into the nearest room just to rip it off of you ...and you want to talk about being fair?"
Declan gently turned you both around, guiding you a few steps backwards until your lower back met the surface of his desk. His lips kept you quiet as you wrestled with the realization of what was happening.
Suddenly, he took you by the shoulders, spun you around, and bent you over the wooden surface. With your arms down at your sides, you felt his presence looming over you, his hands gliding down your back and across your hips.
Standing on your tiptoes, barely grazing the floor, as he pressed himself against you from behind.
You could feel him everywhere; tangling through your hair, delivering a playful smack to your backside that made you gasp, humping against your core as your skirt rose higher and higher.
"There ...now we're even." He hummed teasingly, soothing the sting by gently massaging your heated skin.
You let out a scoff, subconsciously rocking into him. A smirk played on his lips as he slowly sank to his knees.
With a quick movement, he raised the hem of your skirt, his powerful hands parting your thighs before pressing his warm mouth against your panty-covered center.
You gasped his name, arching your back as you shot up from the table. Your feet almost slipped out from under you, threatening to send you crashing face-first into the desk.
He quickly stood back up, preventing you from moving any further. His face filled your senses, his mouth warm and wet as it buried into your cheek.
His hand gripped the nape of your neck while he swept your tousled hair to one side. "Do you enjoy that, birdy? Is it my mouth you want on you? Do you need to feel my tongue before you're wet enough for me to slip my cock into, hmm?"
You closed your eyes, attempting to breathe, but that turned out to be a mistake.
The subtle aroma of alcohol mixed with desire surrounded you; he smelled of sex and temptation. The image of him leaning in to kiss his wife goodnight, the lingering taste of you on his lips, was undeniably provocative. Scandalous and alluring, and yet you found yourself becoming even wetter at the thought.
He gently pushed you back down, laying you flat on his desk, the cool wood contrasting with the warmth of your flushed cheek.
He pressed another kiss to your neck, his lips lingering, before capturing your hands and guiding them to rest beside your thighs at the edge of the table.
"Stay still," he whispered while trailing down your body, eventually finding himself back on his knees.
His fingers danced along the edge of your panties before gently pulling them aside. Your hips fell limp against the edge of his desk, your knees buckling beneath you. His hot breath fanned across your soaked core.
His slick tongue flattened, delivering a long, tantalizing stroke before enveloping your cunt with his mouth. His mustache, rough against the tender skin of your supple thighs, ignited a searing heat that flowed like molten lava, feeding into the deep ache in your belly.
"Ohmygod..." You shrieked, a hand shooting out to grasp his hair. "Declan!"
You bit your lip, attempting to stifle the moans that threatened to escape as he hungrily explored every inch of you.
Your fingers tangled in his hair; you began to tug his mouth off of you, as the overstimulation became almost too much to bear.
He yanked your hands away, pinning them down, and crossing your wrist over your lower back, before you felt the slip of his fingers part your wet folds. He pressing them into your entrance.
The combination of both his fingering and his tongue teasing your slit quickly sent you over the edge, and you shuddered against his parted lips. "Please, Declan ...don't stop.”
You cried out his name, as his tongue drank up the mess you made all over his mouth—which remained attentive yet gentle, even after your body stopped convulsing—leaving you shivering from the overstimulation.
Standing up as quickly as you could on shaky legs, you spun around to face him. His lips met yours as his hands found their way to your hips. Bunching up your skirt, he laid you out over his desk.
He pushed you back, his strong hands reaching up, peeling your dress off your shoulders and chest, gripping at every new part of your soft skin that was revealed.
Pinning you in place by your neck, he reached down. The pinching and snapping of flimsy fabric felt raw, carnal, against your skin as he tore your panties from your body. "You enjoy it when I'm rough with you, don't you, birdy?"
His hand reached down to unbuckle his belt. You squirmed beneath him, pulling your arms the rest of the way out of your dress. You reach for the buttons of his shirt, despite the anxious shake of your hands, meeting him halfway, after he'd rid himself of his tie.
You pushed his pants down just enough to reach inside and pull out his aching cock, swollen and eager, leaking pearls of translucent pre-cum. Gently thumbing at the tip of him, red hot and slick in your grasp as you coated him in his own release.
His hands reached for you, gripping your hips to help line himself up with your entrance, before taking your face gently in his other hand. A gasp escaped your lips as the tip of him brushed against your sensitive clit while he parted your swollen cunt.
He pushed into you eagerly, and the stretch of him filling up you was thrilling. Declan caged you between him and the sturdy desk, his body like a furnace against your skin.
Your hands fell to his chest, dragging the nails of one over his shoulder, and latching onto his muscular back.
A shaky moan slipped from your lips as he delved even deeper, his tip igniting a spot you'd never been able to reach. You could feel every vein and ridge as he pulled back slowly, then dove back in forcefully.
It was tight, the sheer size of him had you second guessing your confidence, yet as the tip of his head grazed your cervix it eased the ache in your lower abdomen. Your heart races at the realization that he has completely ruined you for anyone else.
You flushed, the feeling of his body against yours was too much; the smell of his skin, the way his chest hummed against yours with every groan he released against the crease of your neck, his breath a cloud of spiced whiskey and you.
The hand gripping your hip, tangled in your hair, gently cradling the back of your head as he pressed his wet lips against yours. The pressure of his kiss and the warmth of his breath pulled the air from your lungs, instinctively parting your lips and allowing his tongue to lick into your eager mouth.
The coarse hair of his pelvis brushed against your clit, causing your eyebrows to furrow in delight. "Declan!" His name, a prayer on your lips as he leaned his forehead against yours.
"Shh, Shh, Shh..." You could feel him in your throat. Each thrust was forceful, causing the desk to shake with every merciful connection of your hips.
"Jesus ...you feel so good, birdy. Gripping me so tight, such a good girl." He mumbled breathlessly against your skin.
He couldn't stop himself from gripping onto you tighter, his nails digging into the soft flesh as his hips rut into you over and over, continuing their own steady rhythm, perfectly meeting every one of your thrusts.
The sensation is overwhelmingly intoxicating; it’s a perfect blend of pleasure and pain. You’ve never experienced anything quite like this, intertwining soft cries of bliss with whimpers of overstimulation, creating the most beautiful symphony of pleasure.
Your hands grip onto his shoulders, anchoring you as you fall apart in his hands, your hips moving eagerly, chasing that sweet moment of release.
"You're so well behaved when you finally get some cock in you." You flutter around him, his tongue teasingly tracing your pulse, your walls gripping him tightly, too helpless to reply.
A gasp of delight escaped your lips as he continued to abuse your sensitive cunt.
"So warm, and tight ...so good to me when you're getting what you want." He breathed heavily, his thrust remained unwavering.
"Declan, please..."
"What? What is it birdy, use your words." Declan playfully taunted, gently nibbling on your lower lip.
Your hands tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck, fingers weaving through his tousled strands as you drew him down for a searing kiss.
He silenced your moans of pleasure, your cries for him fading away as your body writhed beneath him.
It only took a few moments before he joined you. With a firm grip on your hip, he pulled you closer to him. His body stilled, pumping you full of his seed while your tongues danced together in tandem until his shoulders sagged and you began to tremble.
You can feel Tony's hand grip your ass under the hem of your skirt as you lean over the fence, trying to get a better look as the teams play on the far end of the field. Mere moments later, you feel his chest press against your back and his stubbled cheek rub yours possessively.
"You're going to make me jealous," he whispers in your ear, his free hand coming up to circle your upper arm. You know he's just itching to put that hand around your neck -- and he would be, if it wasn't for the very public place you find yourselves in.
All the while, you've only offered him a smirk in response. Everything you've done so far today, everything you continue to do, all serves only one purpose.
You eye him through the sunglasses you chose specifically to hide your eyes, then turn your attention back to the game.
You know nothing about Polo, and honestly you probably couldn't care less to learn anything about it. Hell, you've already learned something: there are horses!
You cheer, though, when it seems like Rupert has made a goal or whatever. You're not sure how points are gained. It doesn't matter. Rupert and team seem happy, so he must've hit a home run or something.
"You're such a fucking bimbo," Tony whispers behind you. "You certainly look the part. Dolled up like a fucking Barbie." He's insulting you to get your attention. You know his games better than he does, yet he hasn't caught on to yours.
The rest of the game goes on much like this. Tony attempts many methods to regain your focus. Physical affection, bribes, threats, pain. All the while you stay entirely focused on the game.
Finally, it ends, and you easily depart from Tony and run onto the field.
"Oh, Rupert. What a stunning display!" you enthuse, removing your sunglasses so that he can look you in the eye. He doesn't -- instead, his eyes rove over your body, drinking you in same as the water in his hand.
"Why, thank you," he says, beaming.
You flounce a little under his attention, beaming back even as Tony creeps up behind you. You can feel his anger in the way he holds you.
"Adequately played," he says to Rupert.
Rupert, to his benefit, doesn't seem to mind. His attention is still on you.
"Can I pet the horse?" you ask, and Rupert slides off the animal in response.
"Pet it? Would you like to ride it?"
"Ride? Oh, I couldn't!"
He waves your protest away and, with your enthusiastic consent, helps you atop the creature's back. "There you are. Absolutely perfect."
You feel quite at home in a saddle, but you dare not let the men in on that. Instead, you wobble a bit. It leads to you losing balance and slipping. Rupert comes in for the save, but Tony is there in an instant, his arms around you defensively.
Giggling, you brush yourself off and give the horse an uneasy pat. "Better I stay on the ground, I think! But thank you."
"Of course," Rupert says with a relieved grin. He takes your hand and kisses it, all under Tony's watchful gaze. "It's a pleasure to see you both."
He and Tony exchange a few tense words after that. You wander off and obtain an ice lolly to fight the heat while they talk business.
Not long after, Tony finds you and grabs you by the wrist. He's in your face a second later, glaring swords and daggers like that will do anything. "What are you doing?" he hisses.
"Eating this Jubilee," you answer easily, pulling your wrist free and taking a carefree lick.
"You make me look like a cuck when you prance around for other men's attention."
"Noooo," you say in mock sadness. "You, a cuck? No one would ever think that."
"Listen here, little bitch --"
You take the Jubilee into your mouth and stare into Tony's eyes as you do. He sputters to a stop, then groans. "Ugh. This is what you wanted."
"I like it when you get all jealous."
"You're in so much trouble when we get to your flat."
you’re no good for me, but baby i want you // declan o’hara
cw•professor x student, angst, smut, fingering, dirty talk, pet names (sweetheart and darling), infidelity.
summary•your favorite professor reads over an essay that you accidentally slipped too much truth into, revealing your feelings for him.
˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊
declan o’hara, esteemed journalist and your best friends dad. which was always jolting to remember when you were sat on his desk watching him grade papers. you were his favorite student, everyone at the school knew it. what they didn’t know is that you were in a relationship with him. if that’s what you could even call it, you didn’t really know what you two were. there was flirting, occasional touching, and eye contact. or, eye-fucking, as caitlin once said when referring to maude, declan’s wife, and her newest eye-candy. “she’s eye fucking him,” caitlin had muttered in the kitchen as you helped taggie shuck corn husks for a party last month.
declan is concentrating on the papers before him, muttering things to himself like: “who the fuck says the pope is the epitome of righteousness?” and “oxford commas are being utterly abused.” while shaking his head in disbelief. this was your ritual, after the herd of students filters out after his last lecture, which you conveniently were in, you’d walk down the steps and take a seat in the chair across from him. it started off as him asking if you’d be coming around for dinner that weekend, or if taggie had mentioned a party. then it became a habit of small talk, keeping you there for longer than appropriate. and soon, your seat became his desk. his second chair was stolen by some “cunt” of a TA, in declan’s words. and he let you sit upon his dark wood desk. so it shouldn’t have come as a shock to you when mr o’hara invited you over for the holidays.
and as your feet peddled up the long driveway to the o’hara’s, you noticed a lack of cars in the driveway. taggie must be out, and maude must be too. you knock lightly, and a messy haired declan opens the door. you had seen him casually dressed, but this? he was without a shirt and with damp hair pushed back. you tried not to gawk at him while he swung the door open. “shit, forgot you were comin’. everyone else went ahead and fled the scene after maude and i got into it.” he explains and you continue to stare. unsure of what the next move is here. would it be too selfish to waltz right into the devils den? or is the appropriate thing to do here to cut your losses and head back home?
declan laughs with a shake of his head, “probably shouldn’t have told you that last bit.” and you shake your head quickly, jumping to ease his embarrassment. “oh god, no really it’s fine. i get an ear full about it from tag anyways.” you laugh and go wide-eyed at the slight confession. “all within reason of course.” you expand and declan’s smiles and opens the door wider. you step in, he shuts it behind you.
as you stand in the doorway, uneasy—you have been in this house often, in fact it was like your second home but without taggie… it felt like a strange foreign place. declan stalks into the kitchen, grabbing a button up from the kitchen chair, buttoning up quickly before coming back to you. “i’m sorry, i know you expected tag.” he sighs and you shake your head. “it’s no worries, honestly. the drive back is short enough,” you explain and declan’s smile drops. “oh you don’t have to do that? surely you could stay for a bit? i promise i can sometimes will myself to be slightly less of a dick.” his words make you laugh. he is a dick. half of his students hate him for his harshness and sarcasm, but that always seemed to charm you. “i’ll stay for a bit then.” you hum and he smiles warmly.
you find yourself on the couch, the fireplace roaring and crackling. a mug of tea in your hands while declan sips on rum. he’s leaned back, completely comfortable. you’ve never seen him like this, he’s usually so uptight, so tense from maude and her infidelity—which is most likely something you should be oblivious too, but the fact that you’re not only adds to the element of obscenity. “i read your essay earlier by the way,” he hums, his voice has grown raspy with the alcohol. you fight off the embarrassment. “oh,” you hum. you weren’t sure what to say. “it was brilliant,” declan murmurs and your eyes catch his dark brown ones.
“seriously?” you ask and he nods slowly. “i’ve never read anything like it, sweetheart.” you have no choice but to give in to the flushing of your cheeks. “that really means a lot,” you scramble to find words and declan grins while taking a sip of rum. “s’for that creative writing class, yeah?” he questions and you nod. “yeah, we were told to write about the grappling of morality.” you explain, and he hums in understanding. “and you chose to write about an affair?” he questions with a bit of humor and you nod slowly.
“yeah, i guess it’s just the first thing that came to mind.” you shrug and declan grins. “an affair between a student and a teacher no less. i bet that ruffled feathers.” he notes and you shake your head. “professor cauldlin was understanding of the topic.. even complimented me on the complexity of the situation.” you brag. declan cocks his head, “the complexity in the married man who’s wife cheats on him, and the feelings that fuel his side of the affair. i think s’brilliant.” he smiles again, and you feel your stomach flutter.
you always had a thing for that. the compliments. it was intoxicating hearing this from him. “thank you.” you hum. “so, you and maude aren’t in the holiday spirit?” you knew it was tricky to bring her up. you knew it might be wrong. might set the wrong impression, might set this beautiful delicate paper house you have on fire but you couldn’t resist it. “is maude marie in your essay?” you jerk back at his slow words. eyes wide. “the adulterating wife?” he continues.
his brows raise. and you sit in silence. your eyes communicating things your mouths can’t. do we want to go there? can we? “yes.” you sigh and declan nods his head. “and that’d make me danny?” you chew on the inside of your cheek while you think of a way out of this. because this humiliation.. it was cruel. “not exactly,” you fight back. and declan nods with a grin. “what’s that mean?” he leans forward. your eyes catch his. “i’m not the narrator.” you explain but it’s useless by now. he’s got you all figured out.
“but you are the writer, aren’t you, darling?” his voice is deep and gravelly now. it sent shivers down your back. “it’s fiction.” you explain and he nods its head. “i’m painfully aware of that.” he murmurs.
“declan,” you sigh and he looks down at you. “i’m sorry if i’ve offended you, and your marriage—i never in a million years would have wanted that—“ declan’s hand comes up over your mouth. a smug grin on his face. “do you have any idea how worked up those pages got me? reading about all of this filth you’ve conjured up?” your cheeks burn under his palm. “i’d sneak out of bed to go read those pages. my one and only vice. i’ve tried to stay loyal to maude and keep out of trouble when it comes to you but you sat this dirty prayer in the form of a manuscript on my desk and i lost it all that day. all of my will, all of my honor.” he mutters, almost furiously. it’s been eating at him, you can tell just how distraught this has made him.
your brows furrow at the confession. “i—“ you mumble into his palm as your hand wraps around his forearm, pulling his hand from your mouth. “i never meant for this to happen,” you explain softly while his eyes look at up at you servilely. his eyes beg for a release. “you did,” he whispers and you shake your head, refusing the truth. “i didn’t,” you counter and his hands come up to cup your face. “you did, for fucksake what else did you think would come from me reading it?” he puts you on the spot and you blank. christ, is this what you wanted?
“i… i don’t know,” you fumble over your words. “hey,” his eyes catch yours as he dips to your eye-line. your eyes catch onto his an this feeling of complete peace washes over you. if this is wrong, you don’t want to be right, ever. your hand rests on his cupping your face while you look into his eyes. “declan,” you sigh again and he smiles softly. you were some sort of drug to him. “what sweetheart, tell me.” he whispers.
“we can’t do this. taggie and—and maude.” you shock yourself with the guilt overpowering the intoxication of him. his eyes close and he sighs. “i know. i know.” he huffs. you nod slowly, your thumbs sweeping over the back of his palms. his eyes open and they’re soft. they’re warm and inviting. “you’re right,” he whispers, going to pull away but your fingers tightly on his hands, holding them to you. he comes back with force, his lips meeting yours in a rushed collision.
it’s messy, it’s heated. your hands paw at his biceps and shoulders, slipping to the back of his neck as you pull him in. his tongue swipes over your bottom lip and you groan, relaxing into him. declan guides you to lay down on the couch, your lips never leaving his. your hands climb into the back of his dark curls, tugging on the roots roughly. declan moans into your lips, and between your legs pulses with want and need. “we should stop,” he pants as he kisses down your jaw, your head tilting back as you nod, slightly agreeing. his lips drag down the side of your neck, his hands finding the hem of your shirt. “tell me to stop,” he pants into the curve of your neck as he sucks and presses kisses into the soft skin there. your back arches into him, gripping at his hair once again. “declan,” you whimper softly while his hands slip up under your shirt.
his rough hands scraping against the softness of your skin. “you’re so perfect,” he murmurs as he kisses down your collarbones. “i don’t know how i kept myself from you all this time,” he continues as he nips as the skin of your chest. your shirt lifts and gathers just above your chest as declan kisses down your navel. “i won’t be able to stop myself now that i’ve felt you,” you moan at his words.
his lips trail down your stomach, his facial hair scraping you satisfyingly. his lips and hands stop above your jeans. “tell me how to stop,” he whispers pathetically, desperately. you can see the struggle in his eyes. the conflict you so empathetically wrote about in your essay. your legs spread for him, and he groaned at the gesture. his fingers quickly undid your pants, slipping them off before he could second guess himself. he had thought about this more than once with his hand wrapped tightly around himself, but this moment didn’t compare to those.
his fingers traced the delicate lace of your underwear carefully before pulling it to the side. his fingers trace up and down your core slowly, causing your hips to buck ever so slightly. “christ, you’re wet.” he whispers, looking up at you with want-filled brown eyes. you whimper at the feeling of him. your arm hooks over his shoulders and you pull yourself up onto his knees. straddling his waist. the action makes his fingers hit your clit just right.
your head falls into his neck, whimpering softly. “jesus christ,” you sigh. declan’s fingers circle your clit slowly, applying pressure. “i can feel your cunt beggin’ for me.” he whispers into your hair and you grind your hips onto his fingers. “declan, please, i need you.” you beg.
his fingertips slip down to your entrance, circling there. you whimper and try to grind onto them but he pulls them back each time. “patient,” he hums. you whine, shaking your head. “you have no idea how much i’ve wanted this, i can’t—“ you beg pathetically and while you do, declan slips two fingers into you. your cunt immediately clenches around him, throbbing.
“holy fucking shit, you’re so tight.” he huffs, his fingers moving slowly inside of you. “gonna cum just thinking about that pretty cunt of yours wrapped around my cock,” he pants against the skin of your cheek as you grind onto his fingers. you moan in response to his dirty words. his fingers stay put for too long, far too long. you grind your hips but he stills them. “please,” you whine and he only presses a soft kiss to your jaw as he grinds his thumb roughly against your clit.
“declan,” you groan, getting impatient. you lift your hips and slide back down his fingers while whimpering. finally getting the friction you need. declan watches in amazment, staring down, watching your cunt take his fingers so perfectly. “jesus christ, baby” he moans. your hips keep riding his fingers, your back arching and hitting that soft spot inside of you.
your body tenses as you, and declan starts bouncing his knee beneath you. hitting that spot over, and over. “that’s it, baby” he taunts. “that feels good, yeah?” your eyes pinch closed as you whimper and moan breathlessly. your orgasm hits you in waves, your body clenching and relaxing against him as you shout his name. he pushes hair from your face as your come undone, murmuring how beautiful you are. how long he’s pictured this. it’s all a blur as you come down.
panting together, his fingers pull out of your slowly while you wince. your fall onto his lap, and you cannot ignore the bulge pressing against your sensitive cunt. you grind slowly against it and he moans roughly. “don’t,” he grips your hips. “not tonight, not now. i don’t want to rush this.” he murmurs. you nod your head, slowly coming to a stop with your hips.
his hands come up to cup your face again, and he presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “that was incredible.” he murmurs while running his hands through the mess your hair has become.
From the prompt: an unexpected meeting at a carol service.
Declan O'Hara x F!Reader - warnings inc age gap (reader is presumed over 21), semi-public oral sex... in a church. Yep. If that's likely to offend, maybe steer clear 😅
the soul felt its worth
Things had cooled off as summer had rolled into autumn. Maud had returned from London, her play had received poor reviews and she'd marched back to the Priory as if she'd never been gone.
The mood had changed for the worse. Your Venturer meetings had gone from bristling with excitement to quiet and tense.
Declan had put his efforts into salvaging their marriage and you'd had to carry on with your job as if he hadn't broken your heart.
For weeks, you'd left the room as he entered, you sat on the outskirts of meetings and didn't speak to him unless it was necessary.
You'd made sure your work hadn't suffered in the aftermath. You met every deadline, every request was catered for.
And then Maud had left again. After a blazing row, Declan had been the one to tell her to leave. Brought to the brink, his children neglected, and on the receiving end of every criticism Maud raised, he had enough.
She'd snapped at Taggie for signing a consent form for Caitlin's school - something she'd been doing in her mother's absence, something Declan had no issue with.
“You've no wish to be a mother, Maud. Or a wife. You never have. You came back out of convenience.” He'd said sadly.
She was gone before lunch.
Declan had turned to the bottle - again - drinking more than ever.
A week before Christmas, Taggie had tearfully demanded that he come back to them.
She hosted a Venturer Christmas party, proving to him how much they all loved him, how much they needed him.
Rupert had pulled out his Santa costume and literally dragged Declan onto his lap, giving him a full lecture on being a good boy.
By Christmas eve, Taggie was proudly reporting that her dad was back.
You stood alongside the rest of the Venturer team, the carol sheet gripped in your hands. You saw him sneak in late, right behind Taggie and Caitlin.
Your voice faltered briefly at the sight of him, hovering behind his children, but you quickly regained your composure and continued singing with the group. The coldness between you two was palpable, and yet, there was an undeniable tension in the air, as if the universe had conspired to bring you together once more.
He slid into the pew behind you, Taggie, ever the observant one, reached out to squeeze your elbow in greeting. You nodded back at her, unable to hide the slight shiver that ran down your spine, feeling the proximity of his presence.
The distance between you seemed both vast and dangerously close all at once.
Your body betrayed you, as a wave of desire coiled deep in your belly, despite your mind stubbornly clinging to the hurt and anger from the breakup and his behaviour afterwards. The sight of him, so close yet so far, stirred a conflicting torrent of emotions within you.
From your position halfway down the aisle, you could see Lizzie. Across the other side, Tony shot daggers at Rupert who stood alongside Bas.
Monica gave you a little wave from the front row, beckoning you forward. Your big solo. you slipped past Seb and the others, making your way to the front of the church.
"And now, ladies and gentlemen, we have our first soloist of the evening." Fear took a cold grip of you, you could just about hear Taggie wolf whistling over the sound of your blood roaring in your ears.
As you approached the front of the church, a mix of nerves and excitement coursed through you.
The pianist turned their sheet music to the tune of "O Holy Night," and the hauntingly beautiful melody filled the church, setting the stage for your solo. Your mind raced, as the music echoed through the church.
"O holy night, the stars are brightly shining;
It is the night of the dear Savior’s birth.
Long lay the world in sin and error pining,
Till He appeared and the soul felt its worth."
Your voice wavered slightly as you sang the opening lines, finding solace in keeping your gaze steadily on Taggie's right shoulder, just a tiny shift away from gazing directly at Declan.
With a small shift, you allowed yourself a brief glance around the church. You saw Freddie beaming at you, Caitlin open mouthed in shock and nudging her brother.
You paused briefly as you reached Declan. To your surprise, you found him watching you with an expression of wonder written all over his face. His gaze was intense, almost reverential, and the sight made something flutter in your chest.
You hit the final high note with relative comfort and finish the carol. The village cheers you enthusiastically and as you return to your pew, Lizzie is there with welcoming arms. Freddie claps you on the back so heartily you almost fall forwards, his enthusiasm bubbling over. You accept their congratulations with a warm smile, but a part of you remains aware of the weight of Declan's gaze still lingering on you.
From their row behind yours, Taggie pulls you against her chest, her slim arms wrapped around your middle and her chin resting on your shoulders.
She whispers into your ear, "That was beautiful..." Her words hung in the air, sincere and heartfelt, further adding to the mixture of emotions churning within you.
Finally, unable to bear the weight of Declan's constant gaze, you make your way past Seb once more, who playfully teases, "Another solo?"
You flash a smile and murmur, "I just need some air," as you slip away from the group. You find a spot near the far wall, away from the crowded pews, seeking relief from the tension in the air.
You focus your attention on the bulletin board, reading the church announcements, hoping it will help calm the rapid drumming of your heart. The words blur together as your mind struggles to find respite from the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you.
"I'd no idea you could sing," he murmured quietly from behind you.
His soft voice, suddenly so close, sent a jolt through your body, causing you to nearly jump out of your skin.
Turning to face him, you reply, "And I had no idea you were such a sneak.”
Catching a glimpse of the unsuspecting guests engrossed in their own conversations, you can't help but notice how natural it looks for the two of you to be engaged in a conversation.
No one seems to be paying attention, allowing a moment of relative privacy in the midst of the festivities.
Declan's intense gaze pierces through you as he utters, "Can I talk to you?"
Your initial response is laced with uncertainty as you ask, "here?"
Your surroundings, still filled with the hum of the carolling and the chatter of the guests, seem both intimate and risky at the same time.
Understanding your hesitation, Declan gestures towards the two narrow confessional booth doors behind you.
His gaze remains fixed on your face, silently pleading for you to follow him inside.
The weight of his request hangs in the air, and the idea of sequestering yourselves together in such a confined space sends a shiver down your spine.
With a bit of maneuvering, you both manage to squeeze yourselves into the tight booth. The space is so narrow that you're barely separated by the width of a hymn book.
The proximity is overwhelming, and your every breath is a reminder of how close you are to one another, your bodies gently brushing against one another with each inhale and exhale.
You're close enough to him to pick up the scent of menthol cigarettes and whiskey mixed with the warmth of his breath as it gently drifts over your face. It's an intoxicating mixture that makes your senses spin and your pulse quicken even further. Being this close to him, breathing in his scent, you find yourself torn between wanting to pull away and lean in closer.
Caught in the moment, you notice Declan’s gaze dropping to the deep V-neckline of your dress, as if drawn to the exposed skin. The look in his eyes holds a mixture of desire and uncertainty, mirroring the maelstrom of emotions you're feeling yourself. The tension in the confessional booth is palpable, and you can practically feel the electric energy flowing between you two.
In the hushed atmosphere of the confessional booth, you find the courage to speak up, your voice breaking the silence.
"What do you want, Declan?" Your words hang in the air, and you wonder if he can see the frantic beat of your heart or the quickening rhythm of your breath. The intensity of the moment seems to stretch time itself.
He doesn't say anything in response, but he leans down, cupping your cheek in his large hand.
Caught off guard by his sudden movement, the gesture is both tender and possessive, sending a shiver down your spine at the feel of his palm against your skin.
The silence that follows is deafening, and you can just about hear your own heart stuttering in anticipation.
Your traitorous body arches up towards him, your breathing ragged and needy.
The heat between you two is almost unbearable, and you find yourself struggling to keep control of your rising emotions.
His gaze flicks down to your lips and then back up to lock with your eyes, the intensity in his stare making your breath hitch in your throat. Every nerve ending in your body seems to tingle, as if electricity is crackling through your veins, and all you can do is stand there, frozen, watching him.
In the heat of the moment, it's hard to tell who gives in first. Your arms snake around his broad shoulders, pulling him closer as his lips crash down onto yours. The taste of him is a heady, intoxicating mix of mint and alcohol that sends your senses spiralling. His mouth claims yours with a desperate hunger, as if he's been starving for the taste of you.
His arms tighten around you in a possessive grip, his large hands bunching the material of your dress against your thighs as you instinctively angle your hips towards him.
The thin fabric feels almost non-existent under his touch, and the heat radiating from him is overwhelming.
You can feel the hardness of his body against yours, and it sets every nerve ending in your body ablaze.
His tongue teases the seam of your lips, seeking entry to your mouth, as his hands drift lower, discovering the split in your dress and tracing the edge of your lacy underwear. The touch of his calloused fingers against your skin leaves a trail of fire in their path, sending a shiver of desire through you.
Amidst the heat of the moment, he murmurs with a chuckle, "God forgive me. My mother would turn in her grave," as his hand cups your breast over the fabric of your dress.
The combination of his words and the touch of his hand adds a layer of forbidden pleasure to the already intense situation, making your head spin and your body ache for more.
With a decisive turn, he guides you to sit on the rickety wooden chair, the hardness of the wood digging into your thighs.
He kneels before you, his gaze fixed on your face as he asks with a hint of boldness, "Any sins to confess, love?"
The sudden change in position leaves you feeling exposed, vulnerable, yet at the same time, unbelievably excited.
The feel of his hand slowly trailing up your leg and through the split in your dress is nearly enough to make you gasp aloud. "Any impure thoughts?" he asks, his fingers gently grazing the damp lace between your legs, causing a shudder to run through your body.
The sensations coursing through you are almost too much to bear, and the room seems to be getting hotter by the second.
Despite the fact that your ears can hear the faint singing of the village, your body betrays you, your hips involuntarily bucking towards his hand, seeking more of his touch.
The conflicting sounds create a strange dichotomy; the purity of the church hymn outside compared to the sin of this intimate exchange within the booth.
Under your dress, he hooks his fingers into your underwear and slides them down your legs.
With dexterous ease, he gathers them up and pockets them, a wicked grin spreading across his face.
He then spreads your knees apart, the gesture exposing you to him, vulnerable and ready.
He guides your leg over his shoulder, opening you up widely to him while you position your other for
foot against the woven window of the confessional. The change in angle provides him with a better view and access to you, making your breath catch in your throat.
"I've missed this view," he mutters in a low, almost guttural tone, his eyes locked on your exposed body.
He licks his lips, relishing the sight before him, and there's an undertone of dark need in his voice that makes your skin prickle with heat.
Your words come out as a strained whisper, "Declan… we don't have time for this -" Your mind is reeling, your body aching with need, but the harsh reality of the situation sinks in.
There's no time, no place, for this kind of reckless abandon, and yet the primal lust between the two of you seems almost impossible to resist.
His response is barely above a growl, "I'm gonna make time, love. They'll be singing and chatting for a while yet, plenty of time for me to taste your sweet cunt."
His words send a thrill of anticipation through you, as if the very air between you is crackling with electricity.
With a sense of purpose, he gets to work, his mind set on making the most of the limited time you have together.
Your fingers twist into the thick curls of his hair, instinctively pulling him closer, as your other hand blindly searches for purchase on the smooth wooden wall next to you.
You're practically shaking with anticipation, every muscle in your body taut and on edge, waiting for the feel of his mouth on you.
The moment his tongue makes contact with your sensitive skin, a gasp escapes your lips, your body instantly responding to the gentle touch.
The sensations flood through you like a wave, and your fingers instinctively tighten in his hair as if pleading for more.
He groans into the wet heat of your cunt, the sound of his moan against your sensitive flesh sends ripples of pleasure coursing through your body, the vibration of his voice creating a new kind of sensation that sets your nerves on fire.
Your hand involuntarily tightens in his hair, fingers digging into his scalp in an attempt to anchor yourself to reality.
He works the point of his tongue around your clit, teasing the swollen bundle of nerves.
With his head buried between your thighs, the sound of his breathing is almost as intoxicating as the feel of his tongue against your sensitive core. Your thighs clench involuntarily around his ears, not with the intent to pull him away, but rather to hold him closer, to feel every tiny movement, every breathless gasp.
He uses the flat of his tongue to spread your pussy open, delving it as deeply into you as he can.
The whispered words escape your lips, "God, Declan," as you struggle to hold back the moans threatening to spill from your mouth.
His touch is everywhere, his fingertips holding you against him with an almost possessive grip, grazing across your thighs, your ass, adding to the overwhelming barrage of sensations coursing through your body.
With a trembling hand, you press your fist to your mouth, desperate to stifle the moans that escape you as he continues to drive you out of your mind. The sound of the hymns being sung outside is like a distant, mocking reminder of where you are, adding an element of sin and guilt to the pleasure he's bringing you.
The feel of his long fingers joining the assault on your cunt is almost too much to bear, the dual attack sending you spiralling out of control. You're trembling, on the edge of something monumental, your voice strangled as you try to keep quiet, to not let your gasps spill out into the open church.
His fingers fill you to his knuckles, stretching you, making you desperate to be filled by his cock. He curls them inside you, pumping them in and out while his tongue flicks over your clit.
It's dark in the confessional, the only light filtering through the cutouts in the wood.
You look down to see him gazing up at you, his eyes almost black in the darkness.
It feels like a confession of sorts. A confession that your love for Declan never went away even when he left you to go back to Maud. A confession that you'd been on his mind throughout their torrid reconciliation.
With every breath, every gasp, his name leaves your lips like a prayer, a desperate plea. There's no denying your devotion to him, the way your body responds to his touch, the way your heart beats for him. You're his completely and utterly.
Despite the obstacles that lie ahead - his children, the differences in age - you find yourself caring less and less.
When you're tangled up in his embrace like this, the world outside doesn't matter. All that matters is the overwhelming love you feel for him and the realization that you'd do anything for him.
His tongue delves deep, coaxing more sounds from you, his fingers working in tandem to drive you to the brink.
The intensity of it all is almost unbearable, the pleasure so overwhelming that your legs tremble under him, a visible sign of how he's affecting you. Even through the haze of sensation, you realize that this moment is just the beginning of something much bigger than either of you.
The faint mutterings of the entire village outside the confessional reach your ears, the music beginning to fade, and the sound of talking becoming more prominent.
It's a stark reminder that this stolen moment of bliss has to come to an end. The service is over, and it's only a matter of time before you're discovered.
The danger of being caught somehow makes your approaching orgasm even more intense.
Declan refuses to give up until he's brought you to release. He works your body with his tongue, circling your bundle of nerves until you feel your gut tighten and the walls of your cunt contract around his fingers. You disguise the wail of his name by clamping your hand over your mouth as you climax under his touch.
You try to steady yourself by gently stroking his hair. Your breaths come in deep and shuddering gasps, trying to calm your racing heart. You know that you need to collect yourself quickly before someone discovers you.
With a cheeky smile, he wipes his mouth on your thigh, his moustache scraping against your sensitive skin and leaving a trail of your cum.
With trembling legs and a racing heart, you mutter, "It's finished, we need to move." You breathe, referring to the service. Yet, despite the situation, he responds with a sincere smile, his words sending a shiver down your spine.
He gets to his feet and offers you a hand, his eyes locked on yours. "We're far from finished, love." The determination in his voice is undeniable, the heat in his eyes telling you that he's not done with you yet.
You hold out your palm, a silent demand for your stolen underwear. With a mischievous grin, he innocently shrugs, pretending ignorance. "I don't know what you mean." His eyes are full of playful twinkle, clearly amused by his own little prank.
You adjust your dress, trying to regain some semblance of decency, and roll your eyes at his antics.
You peer through the narrow gap in the door, observing the village filtering out through the main doors.
Your mind racing, you turn to him and give a firm instruction, "Wait for a second before you leave. I'm going to join the crowd."
He nods in agreement, silently acknowledging the plan and waiting patiently for you to make your move.
As you move to open the door, his hand on your hip pulls you back and he dips his head to kiss you.
The taste of your cunt lingers on his tongue, marking your territory.
You lean into him just slightly, your palm covering his racing heart, then you step out into the open and join your friends.
After a few seconds,his presence behind you becomes a steadying force, as he engages jovially in conversation with the unsuspecting vicar.
Lizzie sweeps you into her ongoing conversation with Rupert, who gives you a subtle, knowing look, as if he's aware of what had just transpired in the confessional booth.
"Darling, your hair!" Lizzie chuckles, her observation drawing your attention to your disheveled appearance. "You must have been yanking at it with nerves for your solo. It's all come loose.”
You remove the simple hair clip that barely held your locks in place and set them free, shaking your hair out.
"I was very nervous,” you admit.
Rupert's lascivious grin widens.
"However did you calm down afterwards?" His implication is clear.
"I just stepped away for some air," you tell him firmly, maintaining a neutral expression.
Rupert's grin remains in place as he muses, "I'm sure it was nice to find a... release."
As Declan steps forward, Rupert offers a warm greeting, "Ahh, Mr. O'Hara. Late arrival?" The way he says it seems almost challenging, as if testing Declan's response.
"A little late. Then I helped our soloist here settle her nerves afterwards, we just had a little catch up on work. Back to the Priory for a nightcap?"
He looks around the group, casually inviting you under the pretense of inviting everyone.
Rupert turns to Taggie, his own intentions clear. "Yes, sounds good to me. Tag, angel, do you have any leftovers for us to tuck into?"
Taggie blushes under his gaze.
"I have," she assures him. "Got a bottle of champagne as well?" She turns to you with a grin.
“Well, I'd better come with you, then." You beam at her, appreciative of her invitation.
Walking towards the Priory with the group, Declan falls into step alongside you, his little finger gently brushing against yours. It's a subtle touch, meant to be unnoticed, but sending a thrill through your body nonetheless.
The anticipation builds, the thought of having Declan back in your life, and your bed, exciting you beyond belief. You find yourself unable to keep the grin off your face, your mind filled with thoughts of all the things you want to do with him once you're alone.
“Come on, you,” Lizzie coos, “gosh, you look done in! No more solos for you!”
