Disclaimer: This is smut at its purest – NSFW, don’t read if you’re under 18, or if you don’t care for descriptions of raunchy sex and swearing.
I don’t own any of these characters, but MY GOD DO I HAVE FUN WITH THEM. This may be a one-shot, or they may come back for more, I haven’t really decided yet. I hope you all enjoy!
___________________________________________________________________________
She stood near the bar, swirling the glass of red wine in her hand, legs of the darkest garnet swishing up to cover the glimmering crystal, then slowly weeping down to join the pool of Cabernet resting at the bottom of the goblet. Eyes transfixed, she watches the phenomenon of physics as her mind attempts to avoid the realities of her life. On the floor across the room, each beautiful pair spins and dips, dedicated to the structure of the waltz and, by extension, the charade of courtly life. Her eyes lift to gaze at them: friends; enemies; lovers. It’s all a game, she knows. A game that she has never desired to play, but one she does – she was born into this life, after all. As the dancers shift, each beautiful woman twirling into the arms of her next partner, one pair comes into her view, their hands clasped, eyes locked, smiles genuine.
She feels the flame that continuously rests in the pit of her stomach flare into an inferno. Mechanically, her hand brings the glass of wine to her lips, gulping at the the sanguine liquid as though it can extinguish the fire coursing through her veins. While it does nothing to quench the blaze of jealousy and anger that consumes her, it does impart a numbing haze, blessedly wrapping its fingers around her and bringing her some semblance of peace. Despite the emotions raging underneath her skin, her face remains impassive, the mask she wears never betraying her true feelings. It is all part of the game, after all. And so, she watches them. And she waits. And with each passing second, she dies a little more inside.
She feels his presence at her side before he says a word. Feigning ignorance (or disinterest, she doesn’t really care at this point), she again raises the chalice to her lips, the sweet burn of alcohol her only true friend. Savoring the flavors of blackberry and tobacco coating her tongue, she fixes an enigmatic smile on her face and turns to greet the newcomer.
“Enjoying the ball?”
She watches as his jaw ticks, teeth grinding, his own gaze resting on the nobles cavorting on the dance floor. “Of course,” he replies. “It’s a celebration. What’s not to enjoy?” He smiles at her, his handsome face elevated from strikingly attractive to undeniably gorgeous. He may be able to fool the others, she thinks, but she sees that the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. She knows him, better than she would ever have him believe, and in his gaze she sees herself reflected. Emotions swirling behind their depths mirroring those she feels at this very moment. Envy. Anger. Desire. She can see the brokenness, the despair. Her heart breaks a little more, for him and for herself. It surprises her. She didn’t realize she could break any more than she already had.
“You’re lying.”
He cocks an eyebrow at her. “And why would I lie about that?” he challenges, raising his own glass to his lips. Lips which are, she notices (not for the first time, she is a woman, after all, and just because she’s in love with another man doesn’t mean she can’t appreciate the one in front of her), full and lush, perfectly shaped and delicious.
She smiles at him again, that thin little smirk that gives away everything and nothing all at once. Leaving his question unanswered, she sips again at her wine. Another rush of heat, partly from the alcohol, and partly something new, something unexpected, forbidden. She needs to forget, needs to be away from all of this, from the nobility thronging the ballroom, from *them.*
Sitting her glass on the table next to her, she turns to him and looks him straight in the eye. There will be no mistaking her intention.
“Let’s get out of here.”
He’d watched her peering at them from across the room. For all her supposed poise, she gave herself away too easily. Even after all this time, in these places with these people, she hadn’t learned to quiet the emotions which raced across her features. Oh, she thought she kept every nuance tucked safely away, but he saw through her. He’d known her far too long. Crossing the floor, he headed toward her under the guise of distracting her. In truth, he needed distracting, too. He couldn’t stand seeing *them* together, their bodies flush, *his* hands touching *her* in all the places he could only imagine, their smiles lighting up the room. No, he definitely needed a distraction.
He arrived next to her, standing in silence, hoping to forget, just for a moment, about the woman he couldn’t have. But, in true fashion, she did the unexpected, tilting everything on its head. Turning her pretty little face to him (of course she was beautiful; he knew it, she knew it, the whole court knew that she was gorgeous. He may have been in love with another woman, but he wasn’t blind), her lips stained berry-red as she uttered the words he never imagined hearing from her. It was a command, not a question. There was no room for discussion. he realizes she needs this as badly as he does.
They gaze at each other, staring straight into temptation. His tongue comes out to wet his lips, a reflexive gesture that makes her eyes dart down to his mouth. He watches her pupils dilate before she flicks her eyes back up to meet his stare. A smirk graces her features.
“Is that a yes?”
“It’s a hell yes.”
The pair skirts around the room, managing to avoid attention from the curious revelers around them. Of course, they’re all focused on the couple of the hour; it is an engagement party after all. Once free from the confines of the ballroom, they stop to look again at one another. Where do they go in a manor unfamiliar to both of them? “If I remember correctly, there’s a study on the third floor,” she states, heading toward the grand staircase to their left. It is quiet in the halls, all the servants tending to the needs of the nobles at the celebration. They make the first flight of stairs quickly, both eager to be away from the proof of their heartbreak.
Once they round the banister and continue up the lushly carpeted staircase, she reaches back to grasp his hand, needing to ground herself to something, someone, him. He twines his fingers with hers, his hands soft yet strong, holding on to her, reminding her that she’s not alone in this. Dashing up the stairs together, hands tightly bound, the finally arrive at the door of what she believes is the study she’s looking for. Near the end of the hallway, away from prying eyes and listening ears, a polished, heavy oak door to protect them from the world of heartbreak and pain which encompasses them.
He reaches out to twist the ornate knob, pleased when the door swings inward to reveal the darkened room inside. He pulls her quickly in behind him, shutting them in, twisting the lock to ensure they are not bothered. He turns her to face them, his chest rising with anticipation and, frankly, fear. He never thought it would be the two of them, running away from it all and finding solace in each other, but here they stand. He raises a hand to her face, ghosting over her bare shoulder and the graceful slope of her neck before resting against her cheek. He sees the pain in her eyes; she’s unable to hide it from him, not when he sees it every day in the mirror. Yet now, there’s something more hidden in their depths. Lust. He’s seen it before, directed at many of the noble men who passed through their circle, even at himself once, perhaps twice, when one drink had turned to many and they were among the last of their friends standing. He knows he shouldn’t do this, not now, not with her, not when they were both hurting so badly. He opens his mouth to reassure himself that this is what she wants tonight, afraid of both possible answers.
“Don’t you dare tell me no, not now, not when we’re here,” she whispers fiercely, her fingers coming up to twist in his hair, pulling him to her. Their lips crash together in a head-on collision, aggressive and needy, each starving for the sweetness of affection that they’ve been denied. He tastes like liquor and cigars and the chocolate dessert they served at the ball, and she moans as her tongue delves into his mouth. Her hands pull at the hair near the nape of his neck, just enough to arouse him even further. Pressing herself fully against him, she lets one hand drift, over his shoulder and down his chest, past his belt and stopping at the bulge in his pants, roughly cupping him through the fabric.
He’s on fire, every nerve ending lit up with her touch. Her lips cover his roughly, her tongue plunging into his mouth. He always assumed she would seek dominance in the bedroom; now he has his proof. Her hands graze his body and his cock, already stiff and throbbing, impossibly hardens more when she grips him over his clothes. He breaks away, breathing heavily, to spin her around, his hands coming up to knead her breasts roughly through the beaded tulle of her gown. She keens at his touch, throwing her head back to his shoulder, allowing him access to nip and suck roughly at the sweet skin of her neck. Her perfume invades his senses, an intoxicating, dark, floral scent that spurs him on even more. He pulls back from her to yank down the zipper of her dress, the layers spilling down to pool on the floor, her back now bared to him.
Turning around, she again captures his mouth with her own, demanding entrance. Her breasts, freed from the confines of the couture design she had meticulously chosen for the evening, press against the smooth fabric of his dress shirt. His kisses are far better than she ever could have imagined, his lips designed for this very purpose. Their tongues wage war against one another as the fire builds between them, ready to consume them both. Breaking away from his kiss, she drops to her knees in front of him, clad in nothing but a lacy, dark purple thong, and reaches for this belt. Smiling coquettishly up at him, she teases him by slowly threading the leather through the buckle, finally letting it hang open as she unbuttons his pants and slides down his zipper. She finally lays eyes on what her hand has spent the last few minutes stroking, and she can’t help but gasp at the sight of his dick straining against the dark blue fabric of his boxer briefs. A small wet spot mars the fabric, marking the tip of his excitement, and she presses her mouth there, laving him through the material.
Her mouth on him is nearly his undoing, and he groans as his head falls back against the door. Small fingers come up to the waistband of his briefs, and she pulls them down quickly, dragging her nails up his thighs as her hands return to grip his swollen, bare flesh. He’s never seen anything as exquisite as this woman on her knees in front of him, stroking his cock, her eyes glittering in the moonlight streaming through the windows of the study. She wets her lips and leans forward, engulfing his sensitive head in the heat of her mouth.
“Oh, fuck, yes, suck that cock,” he growls, gripping the back of her hair in his fist as she moves, forward and back. His roughness turns her on, she loves to dominate and be dominated, and she feels the wetness soaking the thin fabric of her underwear. Whimpering, she slides her mouth back over him, taking as much of him in as she can. She feels him hit the back of her throat and stills for a moment, trying not to let her reflexes take over, before she continues her ministrations. His breathing is ragged, his head thrown back, and she’s never seen a more beautiful sight than this man in the throes of passion. She passes her mouth down his shaft once, twice, three times before he grips her arms and pulls her to her feet, cupping her jaw roughly as he meets her gaze.
“I’m not coming anywhere but in your pussy tonight.”
Her hooded gaze meets his own and he quickly lifts her up, wrapping her legs around his waist, his hands gripping her ass, pulling and spreading it apart as he massages it. He feels her wet center, hot on his shaft, and nearly comes apart at the sensation. Moving quickly through the room, he finds a leather settee against one wall and lowers her on to it, leaving her sitting, legs spread for him. Her breasts heave as she watches him and it thrills him, to see her so bare and wanting, all for him. He kneels before her, his hands pushing her knees even further apart, her thong useless at covering her sex. Roughly grasping the satin at her hips, he rips the panties down her legs, never taking his eyes from hers. He lifts his hands to her breasts, massaging and tweaking her perfect nipples, now hardened into stiff buds. She gasps and her head lolls back against the sofa, lifting her hips in an unconscious response. He can smell her arousal, sweet and musky, and he dips his face in between her legs to press his nose against her core.
“You smell amazing,” he mutters, his breath washing over the sensitive skin of her upper thighs. “I can’t wait to fucking taste you.”
She can’t hold back the moan that rises in her throat. It’s almost feral, the need she feels for him at this moment. Looking down, she meets his eyes as he deliberately rakes his tongue up her slit, savoring her juices. She can’t believe she’s here, with this man; she can’t believe the things he’s saying, the things she’s feeling, what he’s doing to her body. But she wants more. She wants him to fill her up, to fuck her senseless, until she can’t remember anything but the feeling of him all over her body. His mouth latches on to her clit, his teeth gently biting her, just the way she likes, although he doesn’t, couldn’t, know that. As his lips wrap around her sensitive nub, his fingers come up to plunge into her sex, one, two, and finally, three long digits, twisting and curling to hit the rough bundle of nerves deep within her. She feels the spiral of heat curling through her pelvis, bright, hot flames of lust scorching her and pushing her to the brink.
“I’m so close, please don’t stop, please,” she begs him, completely at his mercy. He loves this, loves that he’s the one tasting her, making her come apart. He can’t remember anything outside of this room, it’s only her, them, together, consumed by the inferno of passion threatening to consume them whole. He continues to thrust his fingers into her wetness, hot and dripping down his hand. Lips suctioned to her clit, he refuses to move, licking and biting her, waiting to taste her orgasm. Finally, she clenches down on his fingers, her sweet essence coating his tongue and fingers as she screams his name, and he’s never heard anything more erotic than his name spilling from her mouth like an oath.
Behind her eyes, the world explodes into shards of white, simultaneously destroying and repairing her as she cries in ecstasy. He wastes no time, shifting her to lay back on the couch, one delicate foot still on the ground and the other attached to the leg he wraps around his muscular hip. Without a word, he sinks himself fully inside her, stretching her and filling her completely. Barely recovered from her first orgasm, she feels another building rapidly as he begins to thrust into her. In and out, the only sounds are flesh upon flesh, smacking wetly, and their breathless panting. She watches him intently, his mouth open and eyes closed as he pounds into her, over and over. She wonders if he’s picturing *her* underneath him, just as *he* briefly flashed through her own mind when she came. The thought tugs at her heart in a strange way; she wants to make him feel good, wants to make him forget about his heartache for a night.
“Look at me,” she commands.
His eyes snap open and focus on her face. “What?”
“Just remember who you’re fucking tonight.”
Her words are rough, but her eyes are tender as she studies his face. She’s beautiful, skin flushed, her hair now down around her shoulders. He continues to slam into her, forgetting everything but the woman underneath him. He feels the tightness in his balls, signaling his own impending orgasm. His fingers find her clit, circling it. He’s not climaxing without her, not again. “Come for me,” he grinds out, his fingers rubbing her and his dick thrusting. He can feel her tightening around him and she brings her hands up to her chest, brushing repeatedly against her nipples. Her moans turn to breathy little whimpers and he knows she’s almost there. He just has to hold on for one … more … moment.
“YES, FUCK, YES,” she cries, biting into the palm of her hand to stifle her shouts as she falls apart. Her pussy clenches down on his cock and she feels him stiffen before his own orgasm overtakes him, his shouts mingling with her sobs. She locks eyes with him as he releases inside of her, possibly the most erotic thing she’s ever experienced. He’s fucking beautiful and right now he’s hers, and that thought takes her breath away.
They rock together, coming down from their high, eyes never leaving the other’s face. He gathers her up to him, his arms crushing her to his chest, and she can feel his heart pounding. Stroking her back softy, he tries to calm himself, breathing deeply while he holds her close. She clings to him as though he’s the only thing tethering her to this world, and he feels a rush of protectiveness surge through him. He wants to save her from this court that wants to destroy her, wants to make sure he never has to see the hollow pain in her eyes like he did earlier tonight. This instinct to save isn’t a natural one to him, yet for her, he feels like he would fight every last one of them. Kissing her temple, he pulls back and carefully looks at her face, afraid of what he might find.
She peers at him through her lashes, suddenly shy around this man who she knows so well. Bashfulness is a strange sensation for her, and she’s not sure what to do or say. She gives him a small smile before standing up and leaving the safety of his arms – oh, how she wishes she could stay in them forever – to cross the room. She picks up her dress from its heap on the floor and tugs it up her body, first masking her legs, then her hips, waist, breasts. She turns her back to him and softly calls to him, her voice only a whisper.
“Zip me?”
He stands, his sex now flaccid, and grabs his underwear from near her toes, sliding them up before submitting to her request. Gently kissing her bare back, he slides the zipper up, hiding her soft flesh once again from his view. Finding his remaining articles of clothing, he dresses himself, watching her carefully as she remains turned away. She twists her hair back in an attempt to recreate the updo she wore earlier, and he tentatively helps her, their fingers tangling together in her thick tresses as they secure the bobby pins that drooped among the locks.
She breathes a small sigh and finally turns to face him. He has succeeded in making her forget, in making her feel closer to whole than she’s felt in ages. When she meets his eyes, though, her heart falls to her stomach. He may have been able to make her forget *them,* but now she fears she can’t forget him. She’ll never be able to erase the memory of this man’s touch as his fingers lit fire across her skin, of his mouth as he claimed her and made her scream his name. She can’t forget the feelings he’s awakened in her. What was once unknown, a rarely-thought fantasy, has become all too real. This was something she never planned for when they arrived in this room tonight. But no, she can’t think of this, of him, like that. This night was an escape from the cruel reality that she wasn’t loved, that she couldn’t be loved. She repeated this like a mantra in her head, stepping back from him and placing her hand on the knob of the door.
He sees the moment her walls come back up, her eyes now shuttered like windows before a storm. His heart sinks, but he can’t say he didn’t expect this. He just hoped that – no, he couldn’t let himself think of that. This was for tonight only, it was nothing except for exactly what it was. She turns her head a little as she sets her hand on the doorknob, and he waits with baited breath to hear what she has to say. In profile, he sees her small, sad smile, and he can’t help but break the silence.
“Olivia, are you okay?”
She lets out a small huff that sounds like the beginning of a sob as she twists the knob and opens the door.
“I’m always okay, Maxwell.”