Echo by TheFrenchOracle
Summary : After years of hardship, you finally realise your dream of studying journalism at one of the country’s most prestigious university. Everything would have gone well, if not for your encounter with a tall, handsome man who just happened to be one of your professors.
Chapter 17
Tags : modern au/ age gap : Reader is in her late 20s and Baelor is in his mid 40s/ teacher-student relationship/fluff/anxiety/smut/semi-public sex/a dash of breeding kink if you squint
Taglist : @marosemarry @blue-aconite @simonedk @depressedpolishgirl @tweebylamb @xglittergoddess
Hello hello again ! Long time no see haha 😅 Please apologise for the delay, here is the new little chapter. Hope you'll love it ! As always, don't hesitate to comment, like or reblog ❤️
The next weeks passed in a blur. You were still excelling at uni, except for a ridiculous class on social media. But you were determined not to let that stop you and worked twice as hard on it as you would any other subject. Tanselle had shared the interview you two had made on her Instagram and it had gone viral in her circle. You had debated the importance of arts, and especially on the lack of funding for them, which deepened the gap between classes as only rich kids were free to dabble in it. Which, surprisingly, had led to a nationwide conversation, with Tanselle being invited on a few local news channels. She had been her sunny self, but had not hesitated to point out flaws in the system. Little by little, more and more people talked about it and called for action.
Which was why you were currently in Baelor’s bedroom, twisting around to zip up your dress. The bloody thing was simply impossible to put on. It was a floor length silk monstrosity, and any attempt to zip yourself up ended in pain. Tanselle’s interview had created a little wave, people pointing their fingers at the rich and influential. And so, Baelor’s family being one, if not, the most famous of those people, had decided to organise a small gala at the opera to raise money. He had insisted for you to accompany him.
“Would it be wise ?” You had asked him, after he said it, the sheets tangled around you.
“Perhaps not,” he had said, fingers trailing up your spine. “But I feel the compulsion to show you off.”
You had shivered, your lower belly twisting and warming up at his words. It felt nice. Being claimed, even in secrecy. Or despite it. You had snuggled closer.
“Liar. You just don’t want to be alone with insufferable, rich people.”
“I’m afraid you’re right, darling.”
That. The little pet names he peppered here and there. They were going to undo you, if you were not careful. A “Love” here. A “darling” across the dinner table. A soft “sweet girl” when his cock was deep inside you. The way his hand would rest on the small of your back when you were cooking together. Or the way it found the back of your neck on the couch. Blissfully domestic.
A knock interrupted your thoughts. Baelor opened the door.
“How are we doing here?” He asked.
“Miserably. Whoever designed this had torture on their mind,” you grumbled, still trying to reach the zipper.
“Here, let me help you.”
He stepped behind you. You looked at your reflection. He had shaved for the occasion, his hair elegantly coiffed. He was as handsome as he usually was, though you had a clear affection for his beard. Or rather the marks it left on your thighs. He was wearing a classic, black tuxedo, looking every inch like a king of old. The dress he had gotten for you was lovely, showing off the barest hint of shoulders. The black silk hugged you tightly but you were not uncomfortable. The only bad thing about it was the damn zipper, unreachable by yourself. Placing one warm hand on your shoulderblade, Baelor dragged it up slowly, the gesture almost sensual. You shivered.
“There,” he breathed. “You’re all set.”
He gripped your hips, turning you around to admire you.
“You’re only missing one thing,” he declared after observing your reflection.
He fished around in his pocket, pulling something out of it that you couldn’t yet see. He put both arms around you, bringing them to your neck. There, you felt the cold caress of metal against the thin skin. Once he stopped moving, you couldn’t help but gasp. A river of diamonds encircled your neck, a shimmering choker glittering against your skin in the shape of a dragon.
“Baelor,” you whispered, frozen in place.
“It does look exquisite on you.”
“Baelor.”
“Yes, my love?”
“Have you lost your mind ?” You exclaimed. “I can’t wear this !”
“On the contrary. I assure you you can wear it. And well,” he smirked.
“It’s too much ! What if I lose it or damage it ?”
“I’ll get you another.”
You hid your face in your hands. You already had that discussion but the man seemed intent on spoiling you outrageously. The gesture was appreciated, you were not going to deny it. But, your anxiety was rearing its ugly head again. You were already worried about bumping into someone you knew at the gala. Now, with the necklace, it was painfully clear who had offered it to you. Who you belonged to. You didn’t know if you were ready for the weight of it.
“What’s going on in your head?” He asked you.
“There will be people at the opera.”
“That’s usually how it works.”
“They will see. Me. You. The necklace,” you whimpered, panic rising in your chest.
“Listen, there is no risk you will see someone from university. The only one will be Tanselle and she already knows about us. You do not need to worry about tonight. Just come with me and enjoy the night, alright?”
His thumb brushed across your knuckles, the gesture warm and soothing. You nodded, the hum of anxiety still buzzing in your veins. Baelor smirked.
“Or, we can stay here. I’ll admit I’d like to see you wearing that necklace. Just the necklace.”
You blushed, grunting at his teasing. The idea was tempting. Very tempting. But you had also promised Tanselle not to leave her alone with all the posh people.
“Let’s go, Professor Horny.”
The opera was magnificent. You vaguely remembered a school visit there when you were a child, but your memory had not done it justice. The marble building was lit, the lights making it shine golden against the night sky. A red carpet had been deployed at the entrance. Baelor and you arrived at the back, discreetly. He had left you with a kiss.
“I have to make an appearance on that damn thing,” he had nodded towards the red carpet and the army of photographers there. “I’ll join you inside.”
And so you had gone, happy to let him be under the flashes of the cameras. The lobby was grandiose, all pinkish marble. A sea of flowers decorated the hall, the stairs and the balconies. A massive crystal chandelier gleamed a few metres above your head. This was dizzying, your eyes not knowing where to look.
“Hello again,” a voice said behind you.
You turned around. To your surprise, Valarr stood there, looking impeccable in his suit. Your throat dried. You had met before, of course, but not officially. Even though you knew he knew about you. You forced a smile.
“Oh, hello,” you squeaked.
“Don’t look so alarmed. I should have introduced myself the other day. I just wanted…”
“To take the measure of me?” You offered.
He smiled.
“Something like that.”
“And how did I fare?”
“It’s too early to say. You’ve got to pass the trial of Seven first,” he answered, a serious frown on his face.
“What’s that?” You said, half fearing his answer.
“Oh nothing. You’ll just have to fight the hundreds of women who want to bed him,” he winked.
You both laughed, then tension in your shoulders relaxing.
“So, what are you doing when you’re not lurking in bookshops?”
“I study at KLU. Political Science,” he groaned.
“I take it you don’t like it.”
“I do. It’s just that most teachers are boring. And I have to deal with Aerion. My cousin,” he clarified after you looked at him quizzically. “You might have heard of him.”
“Wasn’t he the one who assaulted Tanselle last year ?”
“Yeah. Lucky for her, he’s not here tonight.”
“Val !”
A flurry of pink slammed into him. The girl was extraordinarily pretty, with smooth dark skin and the prettiest pink hair you had ever seen. Her dress was the same shade, full of ruffles. Gold glinted at her wrists, ears and around her neck. If you had to guess, you would say this was Valarr’s girlfriend.
“Oh hello,” she greeted you in a softly accented voice. “I’m Kiera, Val’s girlfriend. You must be his dad’s girlfriend.”
“You could say that. Did you like the books?”
“Oh yes ! The pirate one was fan-tas-tic ! I will definitely visit you guys.”
You exchanged a few more pleasantries. Kiera was lovely, her smile digging dimples in her cheeks. The look Valarr gave her was bordering on worshipping. It was rather sweet. Tanselle appeared, glad in a gold dress of her creation. You waved her over, introducing her to the young couple. Kiera and her were lost in a conversation about fashion as an art form when a warm hand splayed around your back. You were familiar enough with the touch so that it didn’t startle you.
“Dad”, Valarr smiled warmly.
“Son”, Baelor answered, wrapping him in a hug. “How are you Kiera?”
“I’m good, Mister Baelor,” she kissed his cheek. “Val introduced me to your girlfriend. She’s lovely,” she fake whispered.
“Isn’t she?” Baelor smiled, looking you up and down.
Valarr groaned.
“Please, not here. It’s disgusting.”
Baelor laughed, his arm wrapping around your waist as you blushed.
“I’ll see you around,” he said to his son, leading you towards the bar.
Tanselle remained, smiling knowingly at the two of you. You reached the bar, Baelor ordering a gin and tonic for you and a whisky for him.
“You survived the red carpet I see,” you teased him.
“A necessary evil,” he admitted. “When my father isn’t here, I technically am the head of the family.”
“That sounds kingly.”
“Well, technically…” he gave you a pointed look.
You chuckled. It was still funny to think that his ancestors had ruled the country, allegedly on dragonback. You tried to imagine him as a medieval king. He would hate every minute of it, wishing for a calmer, simpler life, but he would do it. And he would do it well.
“King Baelor does have a nice ring to it,” you took a sip of your cocktail.
“Does it?”
“Stop pretending you never thought about it.”
“Have you?”
“Have I what?” You asked.
“Thought about yourself as a queen.”
You choked on your drink, the alcohol burning your nostrils. That was an insane question. Who had not imagined themselves as a king or a queen as children ? But that’s what it was. Childplay. Silly dreams.
“Gods, no!” You laughed. “I would make a very poor queen.”
“Why?”
“Let me see. I’m mentally unstable, I don’t like most people and I’m dirt poor. I think those three things definitely p)lay against me.”
“You’re also smart, kind and patient. That’s three things in your favour,” he pointed out.
You blushed. Stupid man with his stupid compliments. As if being good-looking wasn’t enough.
“Well, monarchy has been abolished so it will never happen,” you rolled your eyes.
A bell signaled the audience that the show would start soon. Offering you his arm, Baelor led you to his family’s box. Valarr and Kiera were already there, offering you a smile as you sat. The view from there was incredible. You could see the entire stage with nothing to distract you from it. The oval ceiling was painted with scenes from Westeros mythology, with giants battling sea creatures, storm gods and their powerful winds and goddesses lying on beds of flowers. The lights turned off. Baelor took your hand, the gesture entirely too casual, and put it to his lips. You tried to concentrate on the show, a ballet about the daughters of Garth Greenhand. You really did. But you were hyperaware of his hand in yours, of his sleeve brushing against the bare skin of your arm. You felt the urge of sliding your hand on his muscled thigh, going higher and higher. The knowledge of so many people who could just see you thrilling you. The only thing stopping your indecent thoughts was Valarr and Kiera’s presence. You doubted he would appreciate you and his father doing that sort of thing.
By the time the intermission came, you were a ball of nerves and horniness. Valarr and Kiera went down for drinks. Baelor must have sensed something. He took one long look at you, his mismatched eyes glittering.
“Second floor. There is a private room after the dragon statue. Meet me there in five minutes.”
He rose, leaving you with only your thoughts and your quickening pulse. You counted until sixty. Once. Twice. After the fifth round, you rose, feeling a tremor in your legs already. The door was easy enough to find. Some attendees glanced your way, their eyes lingering on the necklace around your throat.
Let them look, a little voice in your mind said. You have every right to be here.
The heavy door of the private room muffled the swelling crescendo of the opera, but the tension inside the room was far louder. The moment it clicked shut, his hand was on the small of your back, guiding you with a possessive firmness toward a plush, velvet lounge chair.
He didn't waste time with gentleness. Baelor gripped your hips and forced you forward, bending you over the edge of the chair. The position left your backside arched high, your chest pressed against the fabric, exposing the vulnerable curve of your spine. He reached down, the rasp of his palms against the expensive silk of the gown creating a friction that mirrored the heat building between you. With a sharp, decisive tug, he pulled the dress down, bunching the fabric around your feet, until your bare skin was exposed to the dim light of the room.
He stripped you completely, leaving you in your towering heels, which forced your calves to tense and your ass to tilt even further back, and the shimmering diamond necklace he had fastened around your throat earlier that evening. The cold stones against your skin contrasted with the searing heat of his breath against your ear.
"Look at you," Baelor growled, his voice a low vibration that shuddered through you. "Wearing my diamonds, smelling of my scent, and shaking for me while the elite of the city are just a few feet away."
He freed his cock, thick and pulsing, and didn't use any preamble. He gripped your waist, his fingers digging into your flesh to anchor you, and drove himself deep inside you in one powerful, unrelenting thrust.
You gasped, fingers clutching the velvet of the chair as he filled you completely. Baelor didn't give you time to adjust; he began to fuck you with a rhythmic, punishing intensity. Each slam of his hips against your ass sounded like a wet slap in the quiet room. As he hammered into you, Baelor leaned forward, his chest pressing against your back, his hand reaching around to grip your throat lightly, just enough to make you feel the weight of his dominance. He wanted you to feel the ownership in every thrust. The thought that the people outside, the judges, the lords, the socialites, knew you were his, that you belonged to him body and soul, drove him to a frenzy.
"Tell me," he hissed, his pace quickening, his cock sliding in and out of you with visceral friction. "Do you like it? Do you like me claiming you like this? Right here, where anyone could walk in?"
"Yes!" you whimpered, voice breaking as a wave of pleasure crashed over you. "Yes, Baelor... please!"
The admission broke his last shred of restraint. He gripped your hips tighter, his knuckles white, and delivered several deep, bruising thrusts that hit your cervix, sending sparks of electricity through your nerves. He felt his climax building, a tidal wave of heat that demanded release.
With a guttural groan, Baelor lunged deep one last time, pinning you against the chair as he erupted inside you. He pumped load after load of hot cum deep you, his body shuddering with the intensity of the release. He stayed buried inside you for a long moment, breathing heavily, savoring the feeling of your internal muscles pulsing around him. You sagged against the velvet, breathless, your skin feeling electric.
He leaned in, whispering against your skin, his voice dark and satisfied.
"I love knowing that when we walk back out there, you'll be dripping with me. Every step you take, every smile you give, you'll feel me leaking out of you, reminding you exactly who you belong to."
As the adrenaline began to fade, Baelor’s grip softens. He didn’t pull away immediately, instead letting his weight settle against you for a few more seconds of shared breath. Slowly, he slid out of you with a wet sound, and you feel the first few drops of his seed begin to slip down your thigh.
He didn’t just leave you there. Baelor reached for a silk handkerchief from his pocket, gently wiping the excess cum from your thighs and the crease of your ass with a tenderness that contrasts sharply with the earlier passion of the act. He helped you stand, his hands lingering on your waist to steady your shaking legs.
He reached around you, smoothing the silk of your dress back up over your hips, ensuring you looked pristine once more. He turned you around to face him, his thumb brushing over your swollen lower lip. He leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead, then another to the diamonds at your throat.
"You were perfect," he murmured, his eyes searching yours with a mixture of pride and affection.
He wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close to his side.
“I’ll leave first,” he said after a while. “Wait a bit before following.”
You nodded, your body still humming with pleasure. With one last kiss, he disappeared. You waited, staring at the painted ceiling. Your body was pleasantly sore and you knew you would feel him tomorrow morning. Your legs shaking, you rose before the intermission ended, closing the door quietly after you. You had not walked five steps that you collided with a man.
“Oh, I’m sorry!” You exclaimed.
The man was massive and looked like he belonged more to an underground fight club than a ballet representation. He was towering over you, his shoulders broad but still lean. He had dark hair tied in a ponytail and deep purple eyes. Most uncommon. His face was all harsh lines, as if he had never smiled a day in his life. A pale scar slashed his left cheek. He looked oddly familiar, but you couldn’t remember clearly.
“You should watch where you’re going,” he grumbled, looking down at you with a grimace. “And you should be careful who you fuck.”
“I beg your fucking pardon?!” You almost screamed.
“I guess you’re Breakspear’s little pet,” he spat, eyeing the necklace. “His smell is all over you.”
“Who the fuck are you?” you demanded. “And what I do with myself is my concern only.”
“You should run while you still can. Would be a shame for a pretty girl like you to get hurt.”
With those words, he left, leaving you stunned and with your heart hammering against your ribs. You shook it off. It was probably one of those weird guys with ties to the criminal underground who got their kicks at scaring girls. You regained your seat. Baelor smiled up at you.
“Everything alright?”
You debated about telling him of your encounter but decided against it. That man was just another asshole in a sea of cunts. Nothing worth telling Baelor. You nodded, smiling. The show started again. But the knot in your stomach did not disappear.
