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dionysus-drabbles · 4 months ago

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A Dance of Thorns

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x Reader ༊*·˚

Warnings: cheating; adultery; smut fight; makeup sex; slight dark Anthony Bridgerton; implied age gap; period-typical sexism.

Word Count: 6,000+

Inspired by gothicquill

Trapped in a marriage of duty rather than love, the Viscountess Bridgerton finds herself locked in a silent war with her husband, Anthony. Once, there had been respect — now, only cold stares and cruel words remain. But when a late-night confrontation spirals into something far more dangerous, buried truths and unspoken desires begin to unravel.

Seated in the dimly lit bedroom, you feel the crushing weight of your title – Viscountess Bridgerton. Once, it had been an honor, a purpose. Now, it feels like a prison. The distance between you and Anthony has grown into an abyss, neither of you daring to bridge it. Nights stretch long and lonely, your marriage reduced to obligation and cold pleasantries.

The door swings open with force, the hinges protesting under Anthony’s impatience. He steps inside, the flickering candlelight casting harsh shadows across his face – tired, frustrated, yet unreadable in that way he has perfected.

"You’re still up?" His voice is clipped, edged with something dangerously close to disdain. He pulls off his gloves with slow, deliberate motions, his eyes never leaving yours. "One would think a Viscountess would have better sense than to waste her time waiting for a husband who clearly has enough burdens without adding to them. Or do you have something pressing to say? More grievances, perhaps?"

You lift your head from where it had been resting against your knees, your body still trembling from earlier sobs. But the sorrow fades as his words settle in. Too cold. Too cruel. Too much.

Anger replaces grief, sharp.

You push yourself to your feet, wiping at your face as if scrubbing away the last traces of vulnerability.

"Oh, forgive me, my lord," you bite out, the title twisted into something venomous. "Forgive me for wanting to lay eyes on my husband, if only for the briefest of moments before he disappears again into whatever… obligations keep him so very occupied."

Anthony stills, his expression impassive – but you know better. You see the flicker of tension in his shoulders, the minute clench of his jaw. He knows exactly what you mean.

Your marriage had never been one of love. That was no secret. It had been arranged, convenient, expected. But at the very least, there had been respect.

Once.

Now, there is nothing but silence, suspicion, and resentment.

Anthony exhales sharply, shaking his head. "Spare me the dramatics." He steps closer, slow and measured, like a predator sizing up prey. His gaze is unreadable – cold and calculating, yet laced with something far more dangerous.

"You knew what this was from the beginning," he says, his voice low but weighted. "Affection was never a requirement. Duty, however, is. Or have you suddenly forgotten the role you so readily accepted?"

The words cut deep, but you refuse to let him see it.

A bitter laugh escapes you, though there is no amusement in it. "Readily accepted?" you echo, incredulous. "I was a child, Anthony. A child promised to a man with power enough to shape my entire future before I could even dream of choosing it for myself."

His expression flickers, something shifting in his eyes. But it’s gone before you can name it, replaced by that same indifferent mask.

Your hands tremble, but you refuse to back down.

"You had a choice," you push, your voice rising. "You, with all your influence, all your control. If this arrangement was such an unbearable weight, you could have ended it. But you didn’t."

His jaw tightens, and you know you’ve struck a nerve.

"So don’t you dare stand there," you seethe, stepping closer now, "and act as if you are merely a victim of circumstance. You made your choices, Anthony."

Anthony’s jaw clenches tighter, his chest heaving with restrained emotion. The anger he felt moments ago shifts into something more complex, something he can’t quite identify. Your words sting, cutting through the layers of indifference he has built around himself.

He looks at you – really looks at you – and sees the exhaustion in your eyes, the frustration in your clenched fists. He sees the person he married, the one who stood by his side through the years, even when things were far from easy.

You lower your head as soon as the words leave your lips, your breath unsteady. But before you can retreat into yourself, his hand tilts your chin up once more.

Your gaze meets his, locking onto the dark depths of his eyes. Your own irises glisten, tears pooling but refusing to fall. They are born from too much – sadness, anger, exhaustion, frustration.

He watches you, his expression unreadable. There is no sharp retort, no immediate rebuttal. Just a steady, almost contemplative calm in his eyes, as if weighing something unspoken between you both.

You bite your lower lip, the silence stretching too long, too heavy. Waiting.

Waiting for him to say something. Anything.

Anthony’s fingers caress your chin, the touch surprisingly gentle, in contrast to the fire in your earlier exchange. He watches you intently, his gaze never leaving yours, and for a moment, just a moment, the intensity in his eyes falters.

Then, his thumb brushes the corner of your lip, smoothing over the indentation left by your teeth. The gesture is an unconscious one, born from something he doesn’t quite understand himself.

He opens his mouth, his throat feeling tight with emotion, and murmurs, "Why must you always challenge me?"

"You are the Viscount," you say plainly, your voice steady, unwavering. "If I don’t challenge you, no one else will have the courage to."

You hold his gaze, refusing to back down.

"I am simply fulfilling my role as a wife, husband," you say, your voice steady, almost matter-of-fact.

"So, that’s the only reason, then?" he asks, his thumb still tracing your lower lip with surprising tenderness. He seems almost in a trance, his gaze fixed intently on your mouth.

He leans imperceptibly closer, his voice lowering to a whisper. "Is it fun? Driving me up the wall? Testing my limits?"

"I manage the household. I tend to our guests. I handle the simpler matters. I build connections. And I…"– you tilt your head slightly, as if stating the most obvious fact in the world – "I challenge you."

Your words hang between you, deliberate, undeniable.

He freezes, his jaw tensing, his nostrils flaring. There it is, out in the open, his most shameful secret. His chest heaves, his body rigid, caught off guard by your unexpected mention of his indiscretions.

"If I didn’t, you would live comfortably on your pedestal of certainties. You would continue treating me like nothing. And you would keep spending your nights with whores."

You spit the last word like venom, sharp and cutting, daring him to deny it.

His hand falls from your chin, clenching into a tight fist by his side. For a moment, he doesn’t respond, the silence in the room palpable, charged with something he can’t quite name.

When he speaks, his voice is low, rough with barely controlled emotion. "What, did you think I was going to deny it?"

"Of course not. Why would you deny it?" you say, almost amused. "It’s the truth, and everyone knows it."

You shrug, feigning indifference – though you both know better.

"When I attend afternoon tea with the other ladies, Anthony, they all talk about it."

You tilt your head, watching him, watching for the flicker of something – guilt, irritation, anything. But he gives you nothing.

"Everyone knows the great Viscount Bridgerton works tirelessly, and when he isn’t working, he’s fucking whores."

The words are laced with mockery, punctuated by a humorless laugh.

"You think I don’t smell it? That I don’t see the marks on your neck?"

Before he can step away, you reach up, your fingers gripping his collar. In one swift motion, you yank it aside, forcing him to stumble – just slightly.

Even you are surprised by your own strength.

As his shirt is suddenly jerked to the side, Anthony stumbles forward, his body colliding against yours. He catches himself in the nick of time, his hands braced against the wall, trapping you between him and the stone. His chest rises and falls under your touch, his breathing labored and ragged.

"You seem awfully preoccupied with my…escapades," he bites out, his tone sharp, his eyes glittering with unsuppressed anger. "Are you jealous?"

"Me? Jealous?" You tilt your head slightly, your eyes darkening as a slow, knowing smile curls on your lips. "Don’t worry, husband… a mutual betrayal doesn’t hurt."

You bite your lower lip, watching him, daring him to react.

It’s a bluff, of course. But Anthony is barely home for more than five hours a day – how could he possibly know the truth?

Two can play this game.

His eyes flash darkly, your words hitting him square in the chest. "Mutual."

His gaze flickers down to your mouth, his own lip curling into a sardonic smile. He leans in closer, his body pressing against yours, pinning you between the wall and his unyielding frame.

"You expect me to believe that you’ve been unfaithful all these years?" he asks, his tone dripping with doubt.

His hands move to your waist, his fingers digging into your skin, possessive and demanding. "Or are you just bluffing, wife?"

"However, husband…"

"I don’t expect you to believe anything," you say sweetly, tilting your head ever so slightly, your eyes wide, innocent – dove eyes. "You’re free to believe whatever you like."

Your voice is light, almost playful. But then –

Your expression shifts, the softness melting away like a mask slipping from your face. Your eyes narrow, sharp as a blade, the look of a woman who knows exactly where to strike.

"Before I was a Viscountess, I was a Marquess," you remind him, your tone softer now, but no less dangerous. "My family is wealthier than yours. And if there’s one thing I never run out of, it’s connections… and money."

The words spill from your lips like a secret shared between friends, a quiet whisper laced with something dark, something dangerous.

Then, you feel it – his grip tightening at your waist.

There it is. The seed of doubt, the tiniest crack in his unshakable confidence.

Your words echo in the silence, and he stiffens. No. He couldn’t possibly believe that you had taken a lover, could he? And yet, the image of you with another man – any other man – makes him see red.

He grips you tighter, his fingers bruising your skin, but he doesn’t care. That possessive part of him, the one he tries to keep contained, is rearing its ugly head. He hates the idea of another man with you, just as you hate the idea of him with any other woman.

The tension between you is like a taut wire, stretched thin, ready to snap. His chest heaves, his heart pounding with a mix of possessive anger and denial.

"Are you telling me you’ve been using your connections and money to… what exactly?" he growls, his voice low, barely above a whisper. "Is this your way of getting back at me? By paying someone to warm your bed while I’m away? By betraying me just as I have betrayed you?"

You merely shrug in response, offering nothing but a sharp, ironic smile. Then, without warning, you press your hands against his shoulders and shove.

He isn’t expecting it.

Anthony stumbles backward, the force sending him down onto the bed behind him. A rare moment of vulnerability – one you savor.

Now, you stand before him, tall, unyielding. But you don’t stay there for long.

Slowly, you lean down, lowering yourself to his level, your face inches from his.

"Let this be a reminder, husband," you murmur, your voice silk wrapped around steel. "If you are venom, I can be the very viper itself."

Your lips curve into something between a smirk and a warning.

"Don't test me."

The sudden shift in power dynamics leaves him reeling. He finds himself on the bed, pinned beneath your gaze, his breath catching in his throat as you hover over him, your face mere inches away.

He opens his mouth to retort, his usual sharp tongue ready with a scathing response, but your words silence him.

"Vixen," he mutters, his tone a mix of begrudging reverence and irritation.

He knows it. This woman, the woman he married, the woman he calls his wife, is a viper in disguise. Sharp. Dangerous.

"I’ll be sleeping in the other room," you say casually, as if the last few minutes hadn’t just been a battlefield.

Rising to your full height, you turn on your heel and stride toward the door. When you swing it open, you’re met with the wide-eyed stares of several servants – clearly caught in the act of eavesdropping.

Their eyes go wide in panic, and they immediately scatter, hurrying away as if they hadn’t been standing there, hanging on to every word. You watch them for a beat before letting out a short, amused laugh.

Still, a thought lingers at the back of your mind – Had you gone too far?

You had just all but confessed to adultery, a bold-faced lie, but one that Anthony doesn’t know is a lie. And knowing him, he will not let it rest. He will dig, search, turn the entire ton upside down in pursuit of this phantom lover.

Oh well. A problem for another day.

You lift a hand and beckon one of the maids forward with a single finger. The poor girl hesitates before approaching, eyes downcast, as if terrified of being caught in the crossfire.

"Prepare the guest room at the end of the hall for me," you order smoothly.

Meanwhile, Anthony feels a strange mixture of disbelief, irritation, and… something else. Something more primal, more possessive.

"Like hell you are." He gets to his feet, his gaze following you as you walk toward the door, his eyes dark and intent. He barely registers the scattered servants, too focused on you.

When you turn and order the servants to prepare the guest room, Anthony bristles. No. You aren’t doing this, not tonight. Not tonight after that conversation.

He stalks after you, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the hallway. "You’re not leaving this room." His hand shoots out, grabbing your wrist. He whirls you around, your back colliding against the bedroom door. The force of it sends a sharp jolt up your arm, but it is nothing compared to the way your heart is racing now.

His grip is firm – borderline painful – and his expression is dark, his jaw clenched so tight you can see the muscle twitching there. His body is close, too close, trapping you against the door, trapping you in him.

"Yes, I am leaving, Mr. Bridgerton," you say, your voice steady despite the shock flickering in your eyes.

Your heart stumbles over a beat – you hadn’t expected him to grab you. Let alone throw you back against the wall.

For a brief moment, you simply stare at him, processing the sudden shift.

"I’ve already asked Clara" – the maid you had summoned – "to prepare the room for me."

Your tone is cool, as if stating the obvious. As if his grip on your arm, the way his body towers over yours, is of no consequence. "There is nothing more for us to discuss tonight."

Anthony’s grip tightens, his free hand slamming down on the wall beside your head, effectively caging you in. His brown eyes are stormy, filled with a mix of anger, frustration, and something else, something dangerous. He leans in, his lips hovering dangerously close to your ear.

"Oh, there’s more to discuss," he growls, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down your spine. "And we’re not finished until I say we are."

While Anthony continues his performance, Clara – poor Clara – remains frozen, eyes wide in fear. You neither move nor breathe, trapped between the two most relentless forces in this house.

The Viscount and the Viscountess.

Two worlds colliding.

You exhale sharply, throwing your head back in frustration before shooting a sharp look at the petrified maid.

"You may go. You’re dismissed for the night," you order, your voice rigid but controlled. No need to turn this into an even bigger spectacle.

Because by morning, the city will be buzzing – whispers of the scandalous Viscountess Bridgerton and her alleged affair, rumors of how her husband laid hands on her in a fit of rage.

Wonderful. Just wonderful.

The moment Clara disappears, your attention shifts back to Anthony. Your gaze is pure fire – dark, untamed – like a predator watching its prey.

His body becomes a barrier against yours, blocking any chance of escape.

"So tell me, husband," you taunt, your voice as cold as a sharpened blade. "What else is there to discuss?"

Anthony’s eyes burn, ignited by your provocation. Without hesitation, he steps forward, eliminating the last shred of space between you, pressing his body against yours. He can feel the frantic beat of your heart, can taste your resistance.

"You really want to know, wife?" His voice drops to a deep timbre, a low growl vibrating through you.

The hand that once braced against the wall slides up to your cheek, a surprisingly gentle touch, completely at odds with the fury in his eyes.

"Then let me make it very clear for you…"

His fingers trace a slow path down your neck, a touch so light, so careful it almost contradicts the fierce hunger in his gaze.

You bite your lip, swallowing the gasp that threatens to escape. No, you will not give him that satisfaction.

"You," he pauses, savoring the moment, watching the way your breath stutters, how your chest rises and falls unevenly, "are not sleeping in the guest room tonight."

His hand drifts to your waist, possessive, determined. His thumb grazes the sliver of exposed skin in your nightgown.

"You’ll be sleeping in my bed."

Your eyes narrow, laced with judgment as they meet his.

"Now, you want me." Your smirk lands like a sharp slap.

"Funny," you murmur, your voice laced with mockery. "Not too long ago, you wouldn’t even think of touching me. But now that you think another man has…"

You lean in, defiant, even with his grip restricting your movements.

"You’re pathetic, Viscount."

His fingers tighten on your hip – a silent warning to watch your words. He’s teetering on the edge, patience wearing thin, worn down by every sharp-edged provocation. He’s not used to this – not to being challenged, to being resisted. And, damn it, as much as it infuriates him… it also excites him.

A low, dangerous chuckle slips from his lips.

"Oh, pathetic, am I?" He leans in, his mouth hovering over yours. "Let’s see who’ll be pathetic tonight, wife."

His fingers slide to your chin, forcing you to look at him. His face dips, nose brushing along the side of your neck as he breathes you in, inhaling your scent like a drug.

"You think you can just accuse me, challenge me, and I’ll let you go?" His whisper brushes against your ear, hot, laced with a quiet threat.

"Oh no, darling." His voice drips with arrogance. "You won’t get rid of me that easily."

His fingers glide from your face to your hair, tangling in the soft strands before giving a sharp tug, forcing you to expose your throat.

Before you can react, his lips claim your skin – teeth grazing, bites marking, just enough to steal your breath.

He doesn’t stop.

His mouth carves a burning path, invisible marks seared into your skin, as if branding you with a single truth: Mine.

You bite your lower lip, fighting to keep any sound at bay. But it’s useless.

Because he knows.

He always knows.

He feels the way your body trembles, the way your breath shudders. A satisfied smile ghosts over his lips as he presses a kiss to the pulse point in your throat.

"You can pretend all you want, wife," he murmurs, voice thick with possession.

His lips trail along your skin, his hand slowly traveling up your body, a touch balancing between tenderness and dominance. "But I know the truth."

A gasp escapes you, involuntary, tangled with a whisper.

"I hate you…"

You breathe it out between ragged sighs, your eyes fluttering shut against the pleasure. Your hand moves to his right shoulder, fingers finding rigid, tense muscles beneath them.

And he laughs.

And then, without hesitation, you dig your nails in.

Low, rough.

Like a man who has already won.

A sharp, stifled hiss escapes Anthony's lips, the pain blending seamlessly with pleasure. Your nails, digging into his skin, only fuel his desire. His grip on your hair tightens, pulling just enough to make you gasp.

"Hate me? No, darling," he murmurs, his voice thick with need as his lips resume their slow, tormenting assault on your neck. "You can try, but you will fail. We both know you can't resist me any more than I can resist you."

The sharp pull on your scalp intensifies, the sting spreading like fire. The pain – blistering, exquisite – sends a jolt straight through you. A moan tumbles past your lips, raw and unbidden, your body betraying you.

He knows you. He knows you've always liked a little pain.

Your hips move instinctively, rolling forward, meeting his. The friction, the heat – it’s intoxicating. His body, firm and unyielding, presses against yours, and through the thin fabric of your nightgown, you feel everything.

Anthony exhales sharply, his grip on your waist turning possessive, his fingers sinking into your skin. His free hand slides up, resting just below your ribs, anchoring you to him. His forehead nearly brushes yours as his dark eyes, wild and smoldering, lock onto your own.

"You want me, don't you?" His voice is a low rasp, teasing, taunting. "You can deny it all you want, love, but your body betrays you."

"Oh, really?" His voice is still low, dark. "You actually think you just want me for pleasure?" His lips hover over yours, his breath hot against your skin. "You think I don’t see through you? Through this cold, detached façade you cling to so desperately?"

Your jaw clenches at the pet name, anger flashing in your eyes. "I want you the same way I want others." Your voice is sharp, cutting, meant to wound. "Only for my pleasure."

The words hit him like a challenge. His fingers flex against your hip, his grip tightening just enough to remind you of his strength.

The loose neckline of your nightgown shifts dangerously, fabric slipping, baring more than intended. You bite your lip, gaze locked onto his, refusing to let him see just how much this – he – is affecting you.

He moves swiftly. Before you can react, his hands capture your wrists, pushing them above your head, pinning them against the wall.

Your breath stutters.

His eyes flicker downward, darkening as they take in your disheveled hair, your flushed cheeks, the way your chest rises and falls unevenly. He drinks in the sight of you – vulnerable, defiant, completely at his mercy.

"What are you going to do now, Mr. Bridgerton?" You ask, your voice laced with defiance, deliberately refusing to call him husband, refusing to call him Anthony.

The way you say his name – or rather, the way you refuse to – sparks something dangerous inside him.

His jaw tics.

"Now?" he growls, his voice rough, thick with frustration and something deeper, something unspoken.

"Now, I'm going to remind you who you belong to."

Before you can respond, his hands leave your wrists only to seize your waist in an iron grip. In one swift movement, he lifts you, carrying you across the room with long, determined strides.

The door slams shut behind him with a forceful kick of his boot.

You barely have time to process before you feel your back collide with the mattress, the air leaving your lungs in a sharp gasp. The irony isn’t lost on you – look how the tables have turned.

You push yourself up onto your elbows, your breath uneven, your pulse wild. Your gaze meets his, and in that moment, nothing else exists.

His gaze is dark and unrelenting as he takes a lingering moment to drink her in – disheveled, flushed, sprawled out across their bed. The sight of her like this, breathless and defiant, only feeds something primal inside him, a hunger sharpened by the way she looks at him with both defiance and undeniable want.

He steps forward, slow and deliberate, his body taut with tension, every movement exuding dominance. "You think you’re in control, sweetheart?" His voice is a low growl, smooth and dangerous. "You’re not. Not here. Not in my bed."

His hands move with practiced ease, undoing his belt without ever breaking eye contact. The sharp sound of leather sliding free from the loops cuts through the air, a silent warning. He lets it drop to the floor carelessly before rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, exposing his forearms, his movements precise and methodical. His fingers work deftly at the buttons of his shirt, revealing golden skin and hard muscle beneath.

You shift, rubbing one thigh against the other, the sight of him – unraveling, controlled yet lethal – sending a rush of heat through you. He is effortlessly beautiful, intoxicating in the way only a man who knows his own power can be.

He steps to the edge of the bed, towering over his wife, looking every bit the predator you refuse to admit that you want. His voice is deep, unwavering.

You part your lips, dragging your teeth over your lower one as you exhale through your nose, your expression shifting into something smug, defiant. You want to obey, to let yourself sink into the moment, but the idea of handing him that victory so easily is unbearable.

"Lose the nightgown." It is not a request. It is a command.

"If you really think I –" A gasp rips from her throat, sharp and unbidden.

Anthony’s patience has never been his strong suit. He moves without warning, his fingers catching on the delicate fabric of your nightgown and tearing it apart as if it were paper, the sound of shredding fabric filling the air.

His eyes are feral, burning with possession as he discards the ruined silk, his body moving over you, his presence all-consuming. He leans down, his lips hovering just above yours, his breath mingling with your own.

"You were saying, love?" His voice is silk and steel, rough with amusement and something deeper.

You barely have time to react before he presses against you, forcing you down against the mattress, his warmth searing against your bare skin. The solid weight of him steals your breath, leaving you utterly trapped beneath him.

"You’re unbelievable," you breathe, your pulse hammering, your body betraying the irritation you try to hold onto. Even now, you can’t believe he had the audacity to rip your nightgown.

Anthony smirks, leaning in ever so slightly, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear.

"Oh, darling." His voice is velvet-wrapped sin, deep and knowing. "You haven’t seen anything yet."

"You love it," he growls, his mouth moving to your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. "You love it when I’m like this – out of control, consumed with desire."

With deliberate slowness, he parts your legs, positioning himself between them, his movements filled with intent. You feel his hardness through the thin fabric between you, and despite yourself, a breathless sound escapes your lips.

He presses his body even more against yours, leaving no space between them. The feel of her skin against his is a delicious torture, only fueling the fire between them. His hand moves up your arm, his touch both possessive and tender.

Your fingers instinctively find their way to the back of his neck, gripping onto him like he's the only thing keeping you tethered to reality.

"Fu– fuck..." you whisper, eyes fluttering closed.

A low chuckle rumbles from deep in his chest. "No need to hold back, sweetheart," he breathes against your ear. "I want to hear every little sound you make for me."

"You think you can fight this? Fight me?" His voice is dark, laced with amusement. His lips graze your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. "But we both know the truth, don’t we?"

His lips return to your neck, teasing, biting – just enough to leave a mark. One hand holds yours above your head, effortlessly pinning you in place, while the other explores your body, tracing slow, burning lines down your sides.

You inhale sharply, refusing to give in, refusing to let him see just how much he's unraveling you. But Anthony is nothing if not relentless. He knows every tell, every weakness, every unspoken desire.

"Say it," he murmurs, his tone softer now but no less commanding. "Say what we both already know."

You still shake your head, refusing to answer. His hand then goes to your panties, wrapping his hand around them and giving a strong pull, ripping the fabric in one go.

Anthony’s eyes lock onto yours, his gaze dark and smoldering with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. He can see the desire burning within you, evident in the way your breath hitches and your chest rises and falls with each shallow inhale. But he doesn’t just want to see it – he wants to hear it. He needs you to admit it, to confess that you are his, completely and irrevocably.

He leans in closer, his warm breath brushing against the shell of your ear, sending a wave of heat through your body. His lips hover mere millimeters away, teasing, as his voice drops to a low, commanding growl. "Say it," he demands, his tone leaving no room for defiance. "Say you're mine."

Without warning, he guides himself inside you in one swift, confident motion, filling you completely. Your head falls back instinctively, a sharp cry of pleasure escaping your lips as he grips your hips, pulling you against him with a possessive urgency. Holy shit, you think, your mind spinning as the sensation overwhelms you.

Your eyes roll back, your body trembling under his touch. It had been too long since you’d last been together like this, too long since you’d felt this kind of raw, unbridled connection. The ache of his absence had been unbearable, and now, with him so close, so deep inside you, it’s as if every nerve in your body is alight with electricity.

Anthony is lost in you, his movements deliberate and rhythmic, a dance that is both familiar and exhilaratingly new. It’s been far too long since he’s felt this way, since he’s been able to lose himself in the warmth of your body, in the way you respond to him so perfectly. In this moment, there is no doubt – you are his, and he is yours, bound together in a way that transcends time.

His lips find your neck, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the sensitive skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. His hands roam your body with a possessive hunger, mapping every curve, every inch of you, as if committing you to memory all over again.

"You're mine," he murmurs against your skin, his voice a deep, gravelly rumble that reverberates through you. "Only mine. Always."

"Fuck, fuck, fuck..." You repeat the words under your breath, your mind spinning, completely lost in the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body. You can’t think straight, can’t focus on anything but the way Anthony makes you feel – consumed, possessed, utterly his.

"I'm- I'm yours, Anthony," you manage to say, your voice trembling, your breath coming in ragged gasps. Beads of sweat trickle down your forehead, your body trembling from the intensity of it all. Even in this state of blissful delirium, you muster the strength to shoot him a defiant, accusatory look, as if daring him to deny it.

"And you are mine..." you whisper, your eyes locking with his, the intensity of your gaze mirroring the fire in his.

"Absolutely, love," he growls, his voice low and rough, his dark eyes burning with a desire that threatens to consume you both. His hands tighten on your hips, his touch possessive, his body responding to every movement, every breath you take.

"You're mine," he repeats, his voice deeper, more commanding than before. "And I'm yours. Completely and utterly."

He rolls you over effortlessly, pulling you on top of him. His hands grip your hips firmly, guiding your movements as if you weigh nothing more than a feather. Your legs feel weak, shaky from the pleasure coursing through you, but Anthony holds you steady, his strong hands keeping you in place. You know you’ll feel the marks of his touch tomorrow, and the thought sends a shiver down your spine.

Your body moves with his, your breasts rising and falling with each breath, each motion. Sweat glides down your neck, tracing a path along your collarbone and down your chest, leaving your skin glistening like a rare jewel under the dim light.

The two of you are close, so close to the edge, and Anthony’s hand slides down to your ass, gripping it tightly, pulling you even closer to him. He sets a relentless pace, his body moving in perfect sync with yours, guiding you in a rhythm you couldn’t possibly follow on your own.

Your body responds to his every touch, your skin flushed and hot, your moans escaping your lips unbidden. You’re at his mercy, completely under his control, and yet it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

He lifts you higher, bringing you closer to him, his eyes never leaving yours. The intensity of his gaze is almost too much to bear, but you can’t look away. He bites your lip, a sharp, possessive gesture that sends a jolt of pleasure through you.

"Say it again," he growls, his voice strained, his body taut like a coiled spring ready to snap. "Say I'm yours."

"You're mine, Anthony. Mine. And I'm yours..." you whisper, your voice weak, your eyes fluttering shut as the pleasure threatens to overwhelm you.

The moment the words leave your lips, he lets out a deep, guttural groan, and you cry out in ecstasy, your voices mingling as you both reach your peak together. Your head falls back, your body trembling as waves of pleasure crash over you, leaving you breathless and spent.

You collapse against his chest, your ear pressed to his skin, listening to the rapid thud of his heartbeat. His arms wrap around you, holding you close as you both try to catch your breath. He’s still inside you, his body slowly relaxing, but the connection between you remains, unbroken and undeniable.

You can’t form words, can’t think of anything but the way his heart beats against your ear, steady and strong. In this moment, there’s nothing else – just you and Anthony, bound together in every way that matters.

He feels your body go limp on top of him, your head resting gently on his chest as both of your bodies slowly relax, the tension melting away. His arms encircle you, pulling you tightly against him, his heart still racing from the intensity of the moment. The warmth of your skin against his is intoxicating, and he can’t help but savor the way you fit perfectly in his embrace.

He looks down at you, his gaze sweeping over your disheveled hair, the soft flush that colors your cheeks, and the delicate sheen of sweat that glistens on your skin. You are a vision to him – utterly breathtaking, a beautiful mess that he can’t tear his eyes away from. His fingers brush a stray lock of hair from your face, his touch tender and reverent.

Gently, he lifts your chin, urging you to meet his eyes. His voice is soft but firm, filled with a possessiveness that sends a shiver down your spine. "You're mine," he repeats, his gaze never wavering from yours, as if he’s trying to imprint the words into your very soul.

You don’t respond immediately, letting the silence stretch between you for a few more moments. Then, unexpectedly, you begin to laugh – a soft, almost incredulous sound that grows louder, more unrestrained. It’s as if you can’t contain it, the laughter bubbling up from deep within you.

"I lied..." you confess, your laughter softening into a sly smile. Your voice is low, almost teasing, as you continue, "I don’t have a lover. I just wanted to make you mad." You bite your lip, a mix of shame and pride flickering across your face, as if you’re both embarrassed by your admission and delighted by the effect it had on him.

But then your expression shifts, the playfulness fading into something more serious. You raise your head higher, your eyes locking with his, and there’s a challenge in your gaze. "But if you keep looking for other women," you say, your voice steady and firm, "I won’t hesitate to do the same."

The room seems to grow quieter, the weight of your words hanging in the air between you. Anthony’s grip on you tightens almost imperceptibly, his jaw clenching as he processes what you’ve just said. There’s a flicker of something in his eyes – surprise, perhaps, or maybe even a hint of admiration for your boldness. But above all, there’s a fierce determination, as if your words have only solidified his resolve.

"You won’t have to," he murmurs, his voice low and intense. His hand cups your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin in a gesture that’s both possessive and tender. "Because now there’s no one else for me but you."

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dionysus-drabbles · 5 months ago

Text

oh my god i literally have 0 words for this…i’m OBSESSED!!

friendly competition

declan o’hara x female reader

summary: on a business trip with declan, the two of you are forced to share a room which can only lead to rising tensions and unspoken realizations.

content: nsfw, 18+, enemies to lovers-ish, one bed trope lets gooo, angst, arguing, hate sex, infidelity [but does it really count if his wife left him??], oral m & f receiving, cock warming for a hot second, dirty talk, kinda rough, unprotected sex [oops], finishing inside [oops again]

author’s note: she’s hereee! i had so much fun writing this one so thank you to whoever suggested hate sex with declan lol i hope it lives up to your expectations

—

Declan didn’t work with you very often. He had exchanged plenty of pleasantries and seen you around the office enough to know he didn’t care to talk to you more than the occasional “Hello” or “How are you today?” He knew it was rude to be so judgmental and short with you, but he was only in the building for one thing and it wasn’t to make friends. He was there to produce hard hitting journalism in the form of an unoriginal talk show to please the one and only Tony fucking Baddingham.

His bad attitude about work wasn’t helped by the fact that his home life had become an absolute shit-show since moving to Rutshire. Between his failing marriage and his daughter’s constant frustration with him for meddling in her dating life, he found himself desperate to stay out of his own home. He worked late most nights and poured himself empty into the never-ending glass of Corinium television.

So when Tony asked him to go on an overnight trip to London for a work prospect, Declan agreed without so much as a second thought. His boss then decided to add that you of all people would be joining him, and it had Declan’s head spinning with regret.

You were everyone’s favorite producer and subsequently the one person Declan couldn’t stand sitting next to in meetings. Simply put– you annoyed him. The way you walked, the way you talked; Declan was constantly irritated by your happy go lucky personality. You were always so cheery and optimistic, and it got under his skin. It was so unrealistic for someone to be that happy all the time. It was all fake, he knew it had to be; the constant smiles, the sing-song tone of your voice, the way you had everyone wrapped around your finger with your constant jokes and can-do attitude. Surely it was all a ruse to become a network favorite so you could climb your way to the top. Whatever the reason was for your encouraging outlook on life, Declan told himself he could suck it up for a day and be cordial on this little business trip with you.

He had done a good enough job once you arrived in London. The two of you were so busy with business matters that you didn’t interact much.

You were your usual polite and perky self, yet he found himself much less annoyed with you in this environment. Maybe it was because you weren’t around the others from the office, or perhaps he had psyched himself out the night before, losing sleep over the idea of being stuck with you for 24 hours, when the reality of it was much less jarring.

The point was Declan was beginning to find your presence much less unbearable than usual.

However, that all came crumbling down once you checked into your hotel for the night. He was standing at the front desk fuming with annoyance while you were just standing next to him all pleasant and nonconfrontational.

“Like I said before, neither of us booked the room. It’s through our company, but I can assure you there should be two separate rooms under the name.”

Declan’s voice was loud and stern; not quite a yell, but if this woman at the front desk tried to convince him he didn’t know what he was talking about one more time, it would be.

There had been some sort of mistake with the hotel booking. When you and Declan checked in you were given the keys for one room with a single bed. Declan had argued many times that you should have two rooms, but the woman across from him had no issue disputing his claims. She informed Declan that there was only one room on the reservation and the hotel was currently at capacity so there were no extra rooms available to even attempt solving the problem at hand.

While Declan was growing more livid by the second, you were nothing but calm and cooperative– a complete pushover.

“It’s really okay! We’ll figure something out, no worries.”

Your voice was unphased and you were smiling apologetically at the staff that was now gathering at the front desk. You took the room key and shuffled Declan off toward the elevators.

He was looking at you with the most aggravated expression imaginable. He wasn’t even close to being done debating with the hotel staff, he was determined to right their wrong. He always got what he wanted.

Yet here you were pulling him away from the conflict with an annoyingly hopeful tone in your voice, regardless of the shitty situation. Why the fuck were you being so nice.

“Declan, there’s nothing they can do. We’ll just have to figure it out with one room.” You were doing your best to level with the angry Irishman as he shot you another look of irritation.

Pressing the button on the wall in front of you, you silently hoped that an elevator would come available so you could just get to your room as fast as possible. You were certain Declan was going to continue fighting you on this, so getting away from the lobby was your current priority.

“That’s absurd, I’ll just take a train back home this is ridiculous.”

“Seriously? That’s how big of an issue sharing a room is?” you were laughing at the silliness of the situation.

“We have a meeting in the morning with that guy from BBC. Are you planning to hop on another train to get back here by 8am?”

He just stared at you as if answering a silent, “if that’s what it takes.”

“Fine do whatever you want but I’m staying in room 553 and enjoying free breakfast in the morning.” Looking down at the key in your hand as you spoke, you recited the room number printed on it in a sleek black font.

With that, the elevator doors in front of you opened with a ‘ding’ and you were taking a step inside. Declan was deliberating for a split second before he followed behind you, the doors closing and sealing his fate.

“I’ll even sleep on the floor if that makes you feel better.” You were lightly laughing but you meant it.

You didn’t want Declan to be upset or uncomfortable. It was just one night; you could deal with whatever repercussions found you tomorrow if it meant he would be in a good mood and not yelling at hotel employees.

After your offer to sleep on the floor echoed in the small space, his head snapped in your direction. His expression was a mixture of humor and impatience.

“You are absolutely not sleeping on the floor.” His voice was a low hum matching the deep whirring of the moving elevator.

You looked ahead avoiding eye contact with Declan. The thought of sleeping next to him suddenly making your chest warm, and you couldn’t tell if it was out of anger or excitement. No– it couldn’t be excitement, you hated him. Well hate was a big word to describe the feeling you had toward Declan. It was more indifference with a hint of aggravation for the way he thought he was better than everyone else. He was always riding around the office on his high horse, so smug and reserved in his own little world detached from the rest of you, unless he needed something or wanted to overstep.

It was always about what Declan wanted and he never cared to interact with anyone who didn’t serve a purpose for whatever project he was working on.

He was nice, sure, but it was only ever surface level. He was all work and no play and, in this moment, the most stubborn man you had ever met. So why on earth did you have butterflies in your stomach at the thought of sharing a bed with him.

Maybe it was his thick accent, the one you noticed the first time he said hello to you months back. Or possibly, it was the way his hair was all messy from running his frustrated hands through it over and over again in the hotel lobby. No, it was probably because you hadn’t had sex in god knows how long, and the idea of sleeping next to a perfectly handsome man had you just a little worked up.

But this wasn’t just any man, it was your coworker. It was Declan O’Hara who was nothing but professional and arrogant. Not to mention he was married, so there was no way in hell anything would happen between the two of you, not that you wanted it to.

The elevator doors opened once again and the two of you were stepping off onto the fifth floor. This time you were following his lead. Of course he wanted to be the one in charge– shocking.

“I’ll call down and see if there’s someone else, I can talk to.” Declan was saying from ahead of you leading the charge down the long hallway.

“Declan it’s really okay, I don’t think it’ll kill us to be in the same room for a night.” You were laughing off his annoyance, but you’d be lying if you said his persistence wasn’t beginning to drive you bat-shit crazy.

With that you were at the door to your room, Declan fidgeting with the key only to swing the door open and pace inside. You were hardly even through the entryway by the time he was calling down to the front desk.

After two separate conversations that both ended in the same response and nearly an hour of huffing and puffing, Declan gave up.

You were laying on the fully made bed just listening to him rant when he finally came to terms with the reality of your situation.

“I need a drink.” Was the last thing he grumbled out before trapsing out of the room and to the bar downstairs.

Such a diva, you thought as you stared at the ceiling and listened to the door slam shut. But you also thought about how hot he looked when he was angrily pacing around the room. The way his eyebrows knit together in frustration and how his voice dropped an octave in annoyance. What the fuck was wrong with you? It was getting late, maybe you were just tired and in the beginning stages of a sleep deprived delusion. You gave in to your exhaustion, changing into comfortable clothes and crawling into the only bed in your shared hotel room.

Meanwhile, Declan was down in the lobby nursing a glass of bourbon.

If he were being honest with himself he needed a distraction.

He had been so angry about the room situation earlier that he hadn’t even let himself think about the fact that he was going to sleep next to you. But then he was walking the floors of the shared room, fuming about the whole situation and you were just sprawled out on the queen size mattress with your eyes on him, listening. You were carefully paying attention as he spewed curses and complained about the woman at the front desk for the hundredth time in an hour. You didn’t even look annoyed. You were simply listening. It was unsettling and even a bit thoughtful the way you just laid there letting his angry words fill your ears without a single response or objection. Relaxed on your back with your head turned to face him as he paced the room, he couldn’t help the subtle drift of his eyes on your body. Your shirt had come untucked and was bunched at your waist exposing your midriff and Declan was staring, his eyes wandered to the skin of your stomach as he talked. It looked so soft- you looked so soft, all spread out on the bed like that. He quickly realized his gaze was raking over your body and he snapped back to reality, deciding to get a drink to clear his mind and prepare him for the night ahead.

Now he was taking a small sip from the same glass of bourbon that he’d been working on since he sat down at the bar. Each sip of his drink only making him think more about you on that damn bed. The bed he would inevitably be laying in, right next to you. Maybe he should sleep on the floor.

He gave up hope that the alcohol would help with the problem at hand and downed the rest of his drink in one swig, standing from his chair and trudging toward the elevators.

Once he was back inside your hotel room, Declan noticed your body underneath the covers of the bed, sound asleep by the looks of it. He searched through his things to find a change of clothes before walking to the bathroom, silently thankful that you left the lamp on in the corner of the room to illuminate his steps. Of course you would make sure to leave a light on for him- Jesus, did you always have to be so considerate?

On his way back from changing clothes, he tried not to let himself think about how weird it was– seconds away from lying next to your sleeping body. Someone he barely knew and didn’t even like.

“I figured you might try to spend the night in the lobby”

Your quiet voice was finding him as he made himself comfortable on his side of the bed, as far away from you as possible. He was surprised to hear you were awake, it somehow made everything feel even more awkward than before.

“Thought about it but I don’t know if I’d be able to get comfortable on the shitty barstools they’ve got down there.” His voice was stoic, barely a hint of humor in it despite the sarcasm of his words.

“It wouldn’t kill you to have a little fun you know. To smile or tell a joke every once and a while?”

You were talking at the wall. Your bodies were facing away from each other, at least two feet of empty space between your backs.

“That was a joke.”

“Jesus you’re so literal.”

You sounded annoyed. Declan had never heard such a cruel tone in your voice before. It was a far cry from your usual kind attitude.

“Sorry we can’t all be little rays of sunshine.” He was mumbling into his pillow, unsure if you could even hear him.

“I’d rather be a ray of sunshine than a grumpy, arrogant asshole.”

Declan was stunned into silence.

“Sorry that was mean.” You were too polite to insult him without an immediate apology.

“Again with the apologies. Here I was thinkin’ you’d finally grown a backbone.”

You sat straight up at his words, bringing the comforter with you causing Declan to roll over at the loss of warmth.

“What the fuck is your problem?” That was the second curse word to leave your mouth that day, must be a new personal record, Declan thought.

“My problem? My problem is havin’ to spend my entire day with someone so invested in what other’s think of her that she can’t even have a personality of her own.”

It sounded so harsh as it rolled off Declan’s tongue, but the day was catching up to him and he was beyond pissed, he had to take it out on someone, and your presence was all too convenient.

“Yeah and my idea of fun is listening to you bitch about not getting your way all day.”

Third curse word, you must be going for an Olympic medal.

“I mean really Declan, the sooner you realize the world doesn’t revolve around you the happier you’ll be.” You were laying back down, your head meeting the pillow with a muffled thud as you looked up at the ceiling.

“I’ve never met someone with such a gigantic stick up their ass.”

Your words were left floating in the air between you. You were beginning to feel bad for being so rude, but you had finally had enough of his negative attitude, and you didn’t feel like playing nice anymore. The silence ringing in the room was deafening and you feared the two of you might not speak another word to each other for the remainder of the trip.

And then Declan was chuckling. A real, genuine sound of amusement.

“God you’re right, I’m a miserable fuckin’ bastard aren’t I?”

He was staring at the ceiling alongside you mumbling something about the stick up his ass under his breath as he laughed.

He seemed tickled by your insult, but you couldn’t help but feel bad for the guy. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t overheard all the gossip about his wife supposedly leaving him for another man. Not to mention how Tony Baddingham was always using Declan to fulfil his own personal vendettas. It was all just sad. No wonder he seemed so angry all the time. The poor guy needed a break, and instead you were just adding to his despair.

After his soft laughter died down and the room was once again filled with silence you decided to speak up; putting your bright attitude that Declan despised so much to good use.

“Not all the time.” You were correcting his previous statement. The one about being a miserable bastard.

You weren’t lying. There were times you found Declan charming– endearing even. You would be lying if you said you hadn’t found yourself glancing over at him in meetings to see the way he always listened so intently to Daysee when no one else did. Or the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed at one of Seb’s many dumb jokes. Come to think of it, maybe he wasn’t as self-absorbed as you had painted him out to be.

“No?”

He was turning his head in your direction. His dark curls contrasted with the cotton pillowcase they rested on. You were staring into his eyes; they were surprisingly kind. It suddenly felt so intimate, lying in bed next to him.

“Sometimes you get this goofy little smile on your face.”

As if on cue he unknowingly gave you the exact grin you were thinking of. You smiled back at him, the two of you facing each other in the dark. The light of the moon shining through the sheer window curtains was just bright enough for you to appreciate the gentle curve of his lips.

“I can be mean you know.”

After allowing yourself to see the good in Declan, you wanted him to know he was just as wrong in his assumptions of you. Afterall, you did just curse at him three times.

“Oh yeah?”

He was challenging you with a raise of his eyebrow.

“Prove it.” He was still smiling at you from his side of the bed, his once silly grin now an enticing smirk.

“Tell me what else you hate about me.”

His voice was like velvet in your ears, wrapping around your mind and tying your inhibitions back with a neat little bow.

“You think you’re better than everyone else.” Your delivery was confident as you hit him with another insult.

“Is that right?”

He was slowly trailing his hand up the empty space between you, bringing it to rest gently on your face before tracing your jaw with his fingertips.

You were frozen under his touch, almost ashamed at how such a simple gesture had your heart racing. You were hungry for someone’s touch, anyone’s touch, and right now, Declan’s touch.

“What else angel?”

He was watching his own hand as his fingers drew lightly down the curve of your neck. The pet name fell so easily from his lips that you were convinced he’d thought about this before; about calling you sweet names with his hands on you.

“You always seem so unimpressed by everything.” You were listing off another of the many things that annoyed you about Declan, but you had to try your best to sound composed. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he had you falling apart under his touch.

“Nothing is ever good enough for you.”

“Nothin’? I don’t know about that.”

He was closing the space between you replacing the touch of his hand on your neck with his lips and you couldn’t keep a quiet gasp from slipping from your mouth.

“Your company seems to meet my needs quite nicely at the moment. I’d say more than enough.” The movement of his lips against your neck as he spoke sent a pleasant chill down your spine.

Declan had no idea what possessed him to cross such a prominent line, perhaps it was the proximity of your scarcely clothed body, or the way he could feel the heat radiating from you underneath the shared blanket, or maybe it was the way you opposed him; after all, he would never turn down a friendly competition.

He thought about his current relationship with his wife who claimed he paid no attention to her, while in fact she was the one paying no attention to him– running off to sleep with his best friend and shamelessly flirting with other men in his own home. He had been so loyal for so long, catering to her every whim and it did absolutely nothing to mend their broken connection. She kept him at her disposal, on a leash like a dog, and he had grown tired of it. She didn’t love him, not really– not anymore.

So why was he trying so hard to make her stay when he knew she wanted to leave; trying so hard to please her when he knew it was an impossible task. He had held onto her for dear life with the crippling fear that no one else could possibly want to be with him, yet here you were preening under his touch and whining at the feeling of his lips on your neck.

All he knew in this moment was that he needed to hear more of how much you wanted him. He kissed down your jaw, savoring the sweet little sounds you made as his lips connected with the warmth of your skin.

“Keep goin’ love. What else?”

He was encouraging your harsh comments as his hand slid to the waistband of your shorts, his words humming into your skin.

“You curse like a sailor.” That one made Declan chuckle into the crook of your neck. Such a harmless insult, fitting for the innocent lips speaking it.

He was moving his body to hover over yours, your back now flat against the mattress.

“Oh, so you don’t like my foul mouth, that it?”

His voice was laced with ulterior motives as he continued placing kisses on your neck trailing them lower one by one until he was sliding his entire body down your torso, dragging the comforter to the foot of the bed as he moved. He pushed up your shirt ever so slightly placing one gentle kiss just above the waistband of your shorts looking up at you with a devilish grin.

“Maybe I can change that.”

He didn’t even bother taking off your pants, he just pulled your shorts and underwear right to the side in one swift movement and placed a hot wet kiss straight to the bundle of nerves at your center.

Another shocked gasp was leaving your lips at the sight of Declan between your legs. He was kissing and sucking on your clit, doing things with his mouth that you hadn’t felt in a very long time– or perhaps ever. You were trying to keep the moans from spilling from your mouth, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing how good he was making you feel.

Declan could feel it though, the way your body was tensing up and the sighs of relief that you were so desperately trying to hide. It only surged him on more, causing him to lap at your core in a way that he knew would have you losing your control.

The second you felt his tongue flat and heavy dragging through your folds, you were sending a hand down to thread through his curls. You were holding onto his hair in an attempt to gain some sort of stability, afraid that you might lose yourself in the pleasure coursing through your veins.

You could feel your release spiraling closer all from the work of Declan’s tongue when it was all suddenly gone. The feeling of your core tightening, the warm sensation building in your chest, Declan’s mouth on your cunt; all of it gone in an instant.

He was crawling back up to assume his position perched above you.

“How you feelin’ about my dirty mouth now angel?” His voice was so hushed and deep you thought you might drown in its bottomless allure.

The familiar feeling of frustration for the man above you was clouding your mind as you sat up pushing him to his back. The sudden switch in positions gave you a control you’d always longed to have over Declan.

“Like I said earlier,”

You took this new opportunity of power to straddle his waist, running your hands over his chest.

“Always so arrogant.”

Your whisper held a sultry twist of innocence, and it had Declan stirring from underneath your body.

You decided to give Declan a taste of his own medicine and followed down his body with gentle kisses, mocking what his lips had done to you just moments ago. You were hooking your fingers in the waistband of his pants allowing him to lift his hips to assist you in undressing him. You were shoving them off and settling in between his legs, lowering your head to meet his erection and placing a sweet kiss to the tip of his length before taking him into your mouth.

The groan he let out at your actions was so guttural you couldn’t help but take him deeper into your throat.

“Fuck- not as gentle as you let on, huh angel?”

He was practically growling as he caught a glimpse of you staring up at him. Seeing you like this was so out of character, the vulgarity of it had him throwing his head back on his pillow.

You were absolutely ruining him with your mouth, his panting breath was like music to your ears. It was so satisfying having him like this. You were working deliberately with your tongue to coax more moans from the man before you, treating his pleasure like a challenge that you were determined to conquer.

“Christ- that sweet little mouth of yours.” He was mumbling between moans and it had you humming onto his cock.

You were ready to combust from the taste of dominance as you took your mouth off him, a small sigh escaping his lips.

“Thought you didn’t like how sweet my mouth was?” Your voice was taunting as you moved back to sit over his lap, your legs on either side of his hips.

“Keep talking to me like that, and you might just convert me.”

He was eyeing you, the warm embrace of your cunt just one thrust away from his throbbing cock.

In an instant you were easily sinking down onto him, already soaked from having his mouth on you.

“Fuck darlin’.” His voice was a low snarl as he grabbed onto your hips pulling you down onto him until his cock was fully sheathed within you.

You could feel his fingertips digging into your side. With your hands splayed out on his chest, you steadied yourself. Feeling the stretch of him as he filled you completely. You needed to move, needed the friction of him pushing into you, but his hands were holding onto you hard keeping you from rocking your hips against him.

“Feels good doesn’t it angel?”

You were moaning out a muffled “mhmm” to his question but you were nearly shaking with anticipation as you waited for his grip to ease up so you could move.

“You wanted this huh?” Another question was coming from his mouth.

“Didn’t complain about the one bed thing because you wanted to fuck me.”

You had no idea how he was carrying on a conversation all nonchalant like his dick wasn’t buried deep inside of you right now.

“Probably been thinkin’ about it for a while now.”

His voice was deep and on edge as he accused you of having dirty thoughts about him. Always so cocky, he couldn’t help but tease you in such a vulnerable position.

“In your dreams O’Hara.” You fought back from on top of him, your voice only wavering slightly from the pleasure of your current state.

He wasn’t expecting you to be such a smartass. He lifted you with the grip he had on your hips and pushed you back onto the bed, staying inside of you as he maneuvered your bodies.

“What was that?” He was asking with an edge of annoyance in his voice.

You couldn’t repeat yourself; couldn’t even think straight due to the sweet gratification of finally feeling him moving inside of you. Declan was thrusting into you at a slow pace, but he was driving deep with every movement.

“Cute that you thought I’d let you be in charge.” He was almost chuckling above you, but you could hear the words faltering at his own pleasure.

“Now be the sweet little thing we both know you are and take it like a good girl.” His voice was breaking with grunts and groans as he pushed deeper into you with each thrust.

You really didn’t care if his words were degrading, you would let him win this battle if it meant he’d keep fucking you like this.

Your fingers were reaching up to intertwine in his hair, clutching and pulling at his dark locks and earning a deep moan from the man above you. His hips were snapping into you at a delicious pace and your hands were losing their grip in his hair only to slide down his back, leaving marks in their wake.

The sound of him mercilessly plunging into you was masked by the breathy noises falling from his lips. The sounds he was making were all the proof you needed to know he wanted this just as badly as you did. Both of you had been so desperate to be touched, to be appreciated, to finally feel some sort of release; the growing tension between you acted as a catalyst for your grand undoing.

You were so wound-up, your release just within reach as Declan continued to hit a spot that had you whimpering out his name.

“Fuck- so good.” His mumbles were nearly incoherent as he kept a quick pace against your body.

“Gonna cum for me? I can feel ya sweetheart.”

All of the endearing nicknames he was giving you were starting to add to the fuel of your pending relief. Maybe you had wanted this all along– maybe you longed to have Declan calling you sweet little names as he fucked his frustrations out on you. Everything about the current situation had your toes curling and your body tensing.

“So tight baby.” His head was falling to the nape of your neck, sucking and kissing as he mumbled sweet nothings into your skin.

He kept going and you were whining out in pleasure as you let the pressure building within you disperse, your release crashing onto you. Declan hardly acknowledged your orgasm, he just continued thrusting into you even harder than before.

You were squeezing and clenching around him as he fucked you through your orgasm and the feeling of it had him losing his mind.

“God, I can’t take it anymore.” He was groaning into your neck as he drove into you at an insane pace.

“Feel so fuckin’ good around me like that angel.”

The feeling of him sliding in and out of you had you biting your lip from pure overstimulation. His words were so breathless and drawn out; just mumbles coming from a man on the edge of ecstasy, but they were turning you on in a way you couldn’t even understand. So you dug your nails ever so slightly into his shoulder blades bringing his body closer to yours, your chests meeting and heaving against one another.

“Gonna cum sweetheart.” He was panting out a warning of his release, but you didn’t let him pull away, instead you pushed him further into you, signaling your need to have him finish deep inside.

That’s what did him in; you grabbing at him, begging him to cum inside of you with the pull of his body against yours. Fuck it was hot. He was coming undone in seconds. The rush of his orgasm causing the filthiest profanities and whimpers to tumble out of his mouth. He was driving deep into you with each twitch of his cock, filling you with his warmth.

“didn’t realize you’d be so good in bed.” you were smirking underneath his body, now lazily collapsed on top of you.

“must’ve felt good getting all of your pent-up frustration out.” Patting him condescendingly on the back, your sarcastic words flowed out as a breathless whisper.

Wearing an entertained expression, Declan Shifted his weight just enough to glance at you with an eyebrow raised.

“And I’m sure you enjoyed getting to let loose for once.” Returning your sarcasm with a jab of his own, he replied.

“Probably good for you to be a little bad sometimes.”

He was copying your demeaning gesture and patting you gently on the head, convinced that he had won this round.

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