isles-of-man

[isles-of-man]

Eric's eyes darkened at her words, pupils dilating until only a thin ring of blue remained. Something primal shifted in his expression—a momentary crack in his carefully crafted veneer. No one had ever claimed to see him, not truly, not beyond the carefully constructed façade he'd maintained for centuries.

"And what do you see?" he growled, his voice rough with desire and something deeper, more vulnerable. His rhythm faltered for just a moment before he redoubled his efforts, driving into her with renewed purpose as if trying to fuck away the sudden exposure he felt.

The blood trail on her breast beckoned him like a siren's call. Eric lowered his head, his tongue tracing the crimson path with exquisite slowness. He savoured the metallic sweetness, feeling it awaken every cell in his ancient body. When he reached her nipple, he circled it lazily, watching it peak at his touch.

And she looked.

Looked deep into his eyes and saw the bloodthirsty monster that many perceived him to be. She saw his arrogance, his penchant for lust and ambition, and his capability for cruelty to those who crossed him.

And she also saw his light.

It had been cloaked in darkness for so long that maybe even he refused to believe that it was still there. But Eliana saw past everything and saw...him. So, despite the brutal thrusting of his hips, she smiled serenely, her pale fingers running along his neck before gently pulling down at his chin to expose part of his lower lip. Quick as a flash, she leaned closer to start sucking on it like she was trying to draw blood from him, too.

"I see you," she whispered once she leaned back, her breasts finally popping free from the tight bodice. The blood that had trickled out of the bite wound continued to travel down, over one of her tits, as if she was inadvertently trying to entice him to bite her there. "Of that, there is no challenge, my love."

[isles-of-man]

Giles strolled over, loosening his tie just enough to look relaxed but still clearly worn from the day’s chaos. He gave her a lopsided grin, the kind that meant he was half teasing but fully genuine underneath. “You know, if you keep talking about cake like that, I might just collapse into a chair and demand a fork. Kirsty’s schedule has me running around like I’m auditioning for a sprint, not a wedding photographer.” He glanced at her empty wine glass with mock suspicion.

“And you look way too composed for someone who didn’t have to calm down a flower girl having a meltdown ten minutes ago.”Leaning casually on the table beside her, he flicked a quick smile her way. “I saw you tucked away here earlier, in your little shadowy corner like some wedding-themed cryptid. I seriously considered sneaking a candid, but I could practically hear your mental post-it note scolding me already. You know you’d have a field day with that.” His eyes twinkled, the teasing warmth softening his words.

His tone shifted just a bit, quieter and more sincere, a flicker of something tender beneath the banter. “But honestly, I’m glad you’re here. Even if you won’t admit it out loud, I know you don’t hate weddings as much as you claim. And having you around, keeping me from turning into a total disaster, reminding me to eat and making fun of how wiped out I am—it’s better than I expected. You keep me grounded in ways I didn’t know I needed.”

He bumped her knee gently with a grin, eyes sparkling with playful challenge. “And if you’re bringing me cake, make sure it’s the good stuff—the lemon and vanilla layers, none of that boring chocolate nonsense. If you show up with the wrong cake, I’ll know it’s a trap.” He straightened up with a soft sigh, then gave her a last look, a half-smile lingering. “Alright, back to work for me. Don’t disappear on me completely, alright?"

"You’re my quality control—emotionally and editorially. And I might need you to keep an eye on me, in case I start acting like a total lunatic.”

“No you won’t!” She called back, fighting off a smile, even if he couldn’t see it with her back to him. It would still come through in her voice she was sure. Despite how often the two bickered, she couldn’t deny that Giles was starting to get under her skin in a different way. Maybe the idea of matching mugs and being complimented on her dress choices weren’t the worst thing.

Pushing those thoughts aside, Ophelia found a seat in the back row, thankfully on the outer aisle, so she could remain inconspicuous and hopefully out of any photos. No one really paid her mind, which was all well and good. She wasn’t even sure she was sat on the bride’s side or not, but it hardly mattered in the end.

The wedding began and she did find herself smiling along for Kirsty, happy to see that one of her mates was so full of happiness. The ceremony wasn’t too long or too emotional, with only immediate family seeming to get misty eyed. No tears sprang to her eyes though, even if the couple’s vows did make something twitch in her heart. Would she ever be able to experience that devotion?

Clapping as it ended, she waited for everyone to head out to happy hour, grateful that they splurged on an open bar. She knew Giles would be busy capturing more pictures, so she made herself at home in the corner, watching him from afar as she took sips of her wine. If someone had to make sure he was staying in line, it would be her, even if she wasn’t acting as his boss officially today. It was still good to keep an eye on him.

When that was over, she offered him a sympathetic smile as he began to head back in. “Will I need to snag you a piece of cake so you have something to eat while she’s got you everywhere capturing things? I don’t know how you’re still upright right now honestly. She’s got you running ragged.”

[isles-of-man]

Iain’s fingers stayed perfectly still against her cheek, but his pulse betrayed him—thudding hard and hot beneath the surface. Her skin, with its softness, the way she leaned into his hand as if it were the only thing keeping her grounded… it undid him. And that kiss, not quite on his lips? It wasn’t an accident. It was designed to drive him insane.

His voice came low, just above a whisper, like speaking too loud might break the tension that curled tight between them. “You say transparency,” he murmured, eyes locked on hers, “but you do it like seduction.” His gaze dropped to her lips, then back to her eyes. “You know exactly what you’re doing to me, don’t you?” He didn’t move. Didn’t touch her more than she’d allowed. But there was heat in his stillness—controlled, burning, waiting.

Listening to Iain speak, Relta couldn’t help but smile…almost smirk..at his apparent enjoyment of her borderline ‘dirty talk’. “Oh, so you’re fond of biochemistry then?” she teased with a playful tone of voice, putting a hand on one of his shoulders and looking up at him through long eyelashes barren of mascara or false lashes but naturally long.

“Either way, I do want that man happy…and sated,” she informed him, raising her other hand, taking his, and putting it on her cheek before leaning into his touch. “None I’m not willing to orate about,” she confessed, “I prefer transparency in relationships” She wanted to be honest and forthcoming about things with Iain. Kissing his cheek — barely brushing his lips with the corner of her mouth — she then smiled at him, this time almost…adoringly.

[isles-of-man]

His voice came out rougher than he meant, low and taut like a wire ready to snap. “Relta…” Just her name, but full of meaning. A warning, a prayer, a plea. When she pointed out the twitch in his lap, like it was just another diagnostic, he almost laughed—but the sound died in his throat, replaced by a sharp breath. “Of course I’m twitching. You’re sitting on me like a goddamn fever dream.”

He leaned his head back slightly, swallowing hard, willing himself to keep his hands at his sides. Not out of disinterest—never that—but because if he touched her now, he wasn’t going to stop. His self-control was wearing thin, further thinned by the way she looked at him, studying him like a live specimen, savouring every reaction she drew out of him.

"Of course," Iain replied, his voice a low rumble, knowing Relta would grip his broad shoulders as she always enjoyed doing, her slender fingers digging into the taut muscle beneath his shirt as his hand finally made contact with her slick heat. Iain watched her face intently, wanting to watch her, to savour the way her lips parted and her eyes fluttered when he slid one finger inside her. His cock throb painfully against the confines of his pants where her palm pressed against him.

"You're so responsive," he murmured, curling his finger to stroke that sensitive spot inside her. His thumb found her clit, circling it with just enough pressure to make her gasp.

Iain couldn't suppress the groan that escaped him from the pleasure of just watching her on his lap. His free hand moved to cup one of her breasts, thumb brushing over the thin fabric covering her nipple. "Is this what you wanted?" he asked, adding a second finger and watching her reaction carefully. The sight of her pleasure was intoxicating, her emerald eyes now hazy with desire.

Relta kept her emerald eyes locked on Iain’s as she wet his fingers, squirming a bit to get properly seated as straddling him yet still putting some weight on his lap rather than just her knees on the seat. It was nice and convenient that he had oversized furniture for his height as it gave her more room to fool around with him. “Rather I do something flexible?” she teased with a smile, hearing how gruff and strained his voice already sounded.

She watched him with keen eyes, looking for even the smallest reaction. Granted, she was ignoring his lap despite being in it, and his third most “vital” organ was obviously craving attention. “You’re twitching,” she observed, it boosting her self-esteem.

Relta leaned back a bit to give Iain access to her torso, just enough to let him reach up to her breasts to play with them and possibly even rip the top part of her lingerie as it was basically just string aside from the nipples and crotch. She couldn’t resist her body responding to being able to make Iain respond, flustered when she felt Iain’s eyes on her chest. “This isn’t a ‘no touching’ situation,” she assured him, taking his non-sucked hand to her chest, hovering above it a bit so he could pick which he touched.

Relta awaited his actions, aching for him to act on her teasing and do something about it. If she couldn’t, she’d just kiss him before getting on her knees for a ‘primary sampling’. She was admittedly shocked Iain was cooperating with her doing…any of this.

“I’d rather be known for my medical work,” she laughed, reaching down and gently palming him to, ideally, get him fully ready or ease his suffering. It seemed like being constrained while around when male would be…unpleasant. When Iain went between her legs — finally — she nodded and consented to his request to slide her panties aside and slip his fingers in her. “May I grip your shoulders?” she requested, her dominant side fading with him just from his hand being primed for her and so close to where she wanted him.

[isles-of-man]

Lorcan's breath hitched at her bold positioning, his hands instinctively gripping her hips as she settled against him. The innocent yet provocative combination was driving him to distraction - her sweet perfume, that virginal white bra peeking from beneath her top, and the way she spoke of bruises and choking with such earnest determination.

"Such eager questions," he murmured, his voice rougher now as he felt the heat of her through the thin fabric of her barely-there lingerie. "But theory only goes so far, doesn't it?"

His fingers traced along her exposed bra strap, watching her reaction carefully. "You want to know what pleases me? Then let's start with what you can handle right now."

Without breaking eye contact, Lorcan guided one of her hands downward, pressing her palm against the growing hardness beneath his pants. "Feel what you do to me," he commanded softly, his other hand tangling in her red hair. "Get used to the weight of it, the shape. Learn how I respond to your touch."

He held her hand there firmly, not letting her pull away even if she wanted to. "This is lesson one - understanding exactly what you'll be working with when that pretty mouth of yours gets involved."

Aislin was, truthfully, rather affectionate despite having a healing broken heart still. Lorcan…Lorcan could possibly fill some of the voids she was feeling — quite literally at that. She enjoyed being in his lap, wanting to lean into his chiseled chest (or so she assumed based on how his too small shirt fit).

She hadn’t meant to wear such a short, tight, easy to ride up, skirt around him yet. She wasn’t prepared to tease yet, needing to build up the confidence for that. She decided to be direct with him, noting his reaction. She wanted to know exactly what would please him so he could teach her how.

Aislin eagerly listened to Lorcan, trying her hardest not to push up into his touch with her hips, craving affection. At Lorcan’s answer to her question, she licked her lips subconsciously then nodded. “I’d like to try that, much as I enjoy breathing with ease,” she responded with a soft laugh at the end so he knew she was kidding about concerns about choking a bit on him.

“I need some water for my throat, but yes,” Aislin answered determinedly, sounding almost proud about the reckless decision. She was wearing vanilla, pink peppercorn, and a mystery note perfume, coming off as sweet yet sensual smelling on the redhead. “I hope it’s helpful information,” Aislin offered, coming off a bit innocent seeming in her optimism about a rather odd request.

“I mean it though, you can leave bruises, ‘choke’ me with your hand…hands?…I can handle a lot,” Aislin assured him, swinging her legs around so that she was facing him, her skirt now practically part of her blouse it’d hiked up so much from her movement and the friction against Lorcan’s clothes.

She was intentionally letting him get a view of the “virginal white” bra she wore by letting the shoulders of her top slip off the side a bit and revealing the bra straps. However, she was close enough to him in his lap that their groins were pressed together.

[isles-of-man]

Eric snarled against her neck, his fangs still embedded in her flesh as she pulled at his hair. The slight pain only intensified his pleasure, making him thrust harder, deeper. Blood trickled down her collarbone as he withdrew his fangs, licking the wound closed with deliberate slowness.

"You think you can challenge me?" he growled into her ear, his voice dark with lust. His hand snaked around to grip her throat, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind her who was in control. "Little one, you have no idea what you're asking for."

Eliana gasped as he suddenly withdrew completely, leaving her empty and aching. Before she could protest, he spun her around, lifting her effortlessly. Her back slammed against the wall, legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he impaled her in one brutal thrust.

"Look at me."

He fed from her, and every time he seemed to make it more pleasurable than it normally was. Eliana had seen how Pam and the other vampires fed, and none of them made it look as sensual as Eric did. Then again, none of them drank blood while in the middle of sex.

None of them kept their cock inside her, as if by sheathing it in her cunt, she was reminding them of what it felt like to be warm again. His growls and possessive grunts had her whimper, though she managed a yes in response to his questions.

Her head tilted back a little more, her eyes closing, as another wave of euphoria crashed over her. His body, bucking against hers from behind, was like the wild sea, and she was helplessly being borne upon it.

And yet, she’d never felt safer.

Eliana reached up behind her, managing to thread her fingers through the hair on the back of his head, before another powerful thrust forced her to fall forward against the wall. She managed to brace herself against it, and with her slightly adjusted position, she was able to shove her ass back against him, fucking him back with the same wild abandon.

[isles-of-man]

Rupert's eyes darkened as he watched her in the mirror, his hands sliding possessively over the curve of her hips. The sight of her like this—willing, wanting, completely his—sent a surge of raw desire through him that he could barely contain.

"Look at yourself," he commanded, his voice rough with need as his fingers traced the delicate lace at her hips. "Watch how beautiful you are when you surrender to me."

His grip tightened, and with one swift motion, he tore the fragile fabric away, the sound of ripping lace echoing in the small space. Maxine gasped, her eyes widening in the reflection as he held the torn panties up between them, a triumphant smirk playing at his lips.

"Mine now," he murmured, tucking the silk into his pocket with deliberate slowness, never breaking eye contact with her

Maxine’s breath hitched as Rupert’s lips crashed onto hers, the heat between them exploding with an urgency that left her dizzy. She melted into the kiss, her own hunger matching his, fingers tangling in his hair as she pressed closer.

When he tugged down her zipper, a slow, wicked smile curved her lips. Her eyes flicked to the mirror, watching their reflection—her own body responding eagerly to his touch—and the sight made her pulse race even faster.

Without hesitation, she turned, arching her back just enough as she met his gaze in the glass. “Like this?” she teased, voice low and breathless, hands resting on the edge of the sink for support. “You want me bent over for you, Rupert? Make me yours.”

Her skin tingled under his hands, every nerve alive and craving more. The night was theirs—no rules, no holding back.

[isles-of-man]

Jorah didn’t fully wake when Duncan’s cries rang out, but they pierced the edge of his sleep like a blade through mist. He felt the shift of the bed, the slight weight of Kate rising from beside him. His instincts stirred, years of battle-hardened awareness urging him to move, but then he heard her, quiet and calm, padding softly across the room. He stayed still, listening. Her lullaby was soft, a sweet hum from the back of her throat, the same one he’d heard her use before naps in the early days. It soothed Duncan within seconds and, though she didn’t know it, it soothed Jorah too.

He heard the creak of the chair as she sat, then the gentle rustle of fabric. Their son latched with a familiar greed, and Jorah heard her sigh—not in pain, but in the wearied patience only a mother could carry. He knew the sound now. He’d heard it in letters, in her inked words describing the long nights and feeding battles. But here, now, he could hear it for himself. And it cut him in a different way.

She’d done it all. For months. Alone. Not because she had to, but because she chose to. Because she loved their son that deeply. Because she loved him enough to endure.

When she finally slid back into bed, Jorah turned to her instantly, his arm pulling her tight before she even settled. Her skin was cool from the air, but she melted into him like she was made for it—like they were two halves being joined again. He pressed a kiss into her hair, his fingers spreading across her back like a silent promise.

He didn’t speak, didn’t want to wake her, but he stayed awake just a bit longer, long enough to feel the rise and fall of her breath against him, to take in the faint scent of her skin, and to understand the weight she’d carried every single day he’d been gone. Pride bloomed in his chest, tangled with guilt and something deeper, something softer.

Holding her now, with Duncan sleeping peacefully nearby, Jorah made a vow that wrapped around his heart like iron: she would never carry this burden alone again. Not if he could help it. Not while he still drew breath.

kate smiled at jorah's words. the way he called duncan their little tyrant was quite amusing. it was true that ever since he was born, her needs were put after. it was all about him, about protecting him, feeding him and show him the few things he could learn at his young age. she would eat after, or sometimes every skip a meal and simply eat the rests in the evening. her sleep was now divided as she would wake up more often to feed him.

"he may be a tyrant, but he's still a wonderful little baby." she whispered in jorah's arms, closing her eyes as she could feel her exhaustion now invading her. the woman hummed and just breathed deeply, for once relaxing as jorah was back. holding her tight and protecting her from anything.

a few hours later, duncan woke up and cried. kate walked out of the bed and slowly picked him up in her arms, patted his back before walking around the room. she hummed a soft lullaby for her son before slowly sitting on the chair. as she opened her gown, duncan grabbed her breast and immediately.

his little hand caressed her soft skin and kate just rested her head against the chair, relaxing and hissing sometimes as duncan's teeth would bite her. she gently caressed his head until he decided to was now okay to return to sleep. slowly putting him back in his crib, kate rocked him lightly before returning back to jorah's arms. as she slid into them, kate found immediate sleep, knowing that rosie would pick duncan in two hours and let her sleep longer.

[isles-of-man]

Henrik's eyes darkened at her words. With a swift motion, he lifted her from the chair, his strong hands gripping her thighs as he carried her to the bed. Her weight was nothing to him, and he relished the way she clung to his shoulders. "Any woman?" he growled, laying her down on the soft mattress. "No, Daphne. Not any woman. You."

He pinned her wrists above her head with one hand, his grip firm but not painful. The position arched her back slightly, making her breasts rise toward him in silent offering. Henrik's free hand traced down her neck, across her collarbone, hovering just above where she wanted him most.

"I want them to know exactly who is making you scream," he said, his voice low and commanding. "I want every servant, every guard, every noble in this castle to know that it is Henrik, King of Denmark, who has turned their prim princess into a wanton woman."

His fingers finally descended, skimming over the swell of her breast, circling but never quite touching her nipple. Daphne squirmed beneath him, seeking more contact, but he kept her pinned firmly to keep her in place.

daphne looked at her king as he murmured those words and kissed her. she closed her eyes and hummed lowly before then looking back at him and whispering: "i just wonder... because what you are giving me right now is pure pleasure.. i have never experienced this before and i feel addicted to it. i want more. i want to learn more and be your naughty princess."

the image of someone walking on them, finding daphne mounted by henrik was quite hot. she could imagine the whispers of the maids talking about how the prude little princess was now becoming the equal of a tavern whore. her smile grew as she became proud of this. whispers in the corridors about how the king of denmark was now fucking the daughter of his ally.

as henrik explained to her the countless ways of pleasuring herself, her green hues looked at him with interest. "how.." she whispered simply, hearing his voice becoming slightly rougher. her smile grew as he suggested that he could show her how to touch herself. "oh yes, please..." she caressed his face as she bit her lip. "i am afraid of the day you will leave back to denmark.. how will i survive without you here?"

her worry of never seeing him again increased as she wondered: will she ever be able to feel sexually happy without henrik? she doubted it greatly. her hands caressed his chest as she looked at him leaning closer. "i want that. i want that the castle hears my moans, that they hear the king of denmark enjoying some sexy time with a woman. any woman..." she added sensually.

[isles-of-man]

August's hands gripped her hips possessively as he positioned himself at her entrance, the heat of her arousal evident against his throbbing length. He leaned forward, his breath hot against her ear as he whispered in a voice thick with authority and desire.

"Such a perfect queen," he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. "So eager to fulfill your duty." His hands traced along her curves as he teased her, sliding his cock along her wetness without entering, making her gasp with need. "Tell me again what you want, my queen. Let them all hear how desperately you need your king."

The council watched in reverent silence as August slowly began to push inside her, his movements deliberate and controlled. He savoured every inch as he claimed her, his voice a low growl in her ear. "Feel how perfectly you take me," he breathed, his hands steadying her trembling form. "Your body was made for this, made to bear my heirs."

He established a slow, deep rhythm that had her crying out his name, each thrust calculated to drive her wild with pleasure. "That's it," he praised, his voice commanding yet tender. "Show them how their queen surrenders."

the fact that august spoke those magical words back filled her heart with love and desire for him. her fears slowly vanished as she felt that she was now safe, protected by her king and his strong arms. her smile grew as she looked at the council, standing tall and proud in front of them.

as she felt august positioning himself behind her, the woman slowly caressed herself. her fingers slid along her soft skin, caressing her breasts, her nipples and going lower. slowly parting her legs, the woman just bit her lip as her fingers caressed her clit, feeling her cunt swelling as she breathed lowly.

the way august spoke those words made her gather more courage. she smiled and whispered: "a king deserves the right queen. the one who will welcome his big cock, scream his name and let him fill her womb until the last drop breeds her." she turned her head to look at august and whispered: "and i am ready for it. i am ready to produce the heir of your dreams."

feeling his hard cock now, the woman breathed deeply. she tilted her head back, arched her back and let her breasts now at the view of everybody. she bit her lip and whispered. "take me, my king. i am all yours and i am ready to be bred by you." she spoke, this time slightly louder for the council to hear that she was ready. her cunt let some of her arousal drop on the floor as she felt her fingers becoming wetter.

[isles-of-man]

The sight of her tongue extending to meet the sensitive tip of his cock sent a jolt of electricity through his entire body. His hands instinctively moved to tangle in her silky hair, guiding her movements with gentle pressure.

"God, yes," he managed to rasp, his voice thick with desire. The professional composure he maintained in the lecture hall had completely dissolved, replaced by raw need and overwhelming pleasure. His hips involuntarily pushed forward, seeking more of her warm, welcoming mouth.

Emily's technique was masterful - the way she alternated between deep, throat-constricting swallows and teasing flicks of her tongue along his most sensitive spots. Erik could feel the tension building in his core, his muscles tightening as waves of sensation coursed through him. The knowledge that they were in a semi-public space only heightened his arousal, the thrill of potential discovery adding an intoxicating edge to their intimate moment.

His eyes rolled back as she took him deeper, her dedication evident in every calculated movement of her head and tongue.

emily looked at erik as he revealed his hard cock and stroked it in front of her. her smile grew as she licked her lips and breathed deeply. "of course i can return the favor, my love." she smiled warmly, finding his cock so beautifully hard. the head of it was red, ready to spill some of his cum on her delicate mouth.

slowly approaching her fiancé, emily smiled and stroked his cock first. she looked at him in the eyes and made sure to press her breasts together, fondle them with her free hand as her tongue rolled on her lips in anticipation of what was about to come.

slowly approaching, emily wrapped her mouth around his cock and pushed her head to welcome it fully. her tongue wrapped around his shaft as her green hues looked up at erik while her mouth stretched to take him fully. her hand caressed his balls as she started bobbing her head, like the thirsty little slut that she was.

moaning at this amazing feeling, emily just gave all of herself in sucking her future husband with so much precision and devotion. she knew that anyone could see them and was proud to show people how much of a slut she was for her fiancé. she popped his cock out of her mouth and tapped the tip of it on her tongue.

"like that, my hot professor?"

[isles-of-man]

Oscar’s gaze softened as he regarded Matilda, sensing the fierce protectiveness burning in her eyes. “I know you want what’s best for her,” he said gently, “and I don’t blame you for wanting to keep her safe here, away from anything that might harm her.” He paused, weighing his words carefully. “But her father, he won’t agree to anything less than a proper facility. That’s the reality. It’s not just about control or pride; it’s about ensuring she gets the care he believes she needs.”

Taking a slow breath, Oscar stepped closer, lowering his voice to a calm, steady tone. “I don’t agree with everything Monty wants, far from it. But what I do promise you, Matilda, is that I want to help Soren, not just as a patient, but as a person. I want to treat her well, with respect. She deserves that much.” His eyes held hers, earnest and unwavering. “I’m not here to take away her strength or her spirit. I want to help her find a way through this on her terms, if she’ll let me.”

That evening, Oscar picked up the brass receiver, fingers steady as he dialled Monty Pembroke’s number. When Monty’s gruff voice answered, Oscar didn’t hesitate. “Monty, it’s about Soren. We need to formalize her treatment. I’m prepared to take full responsibility for her care through you, with your oversight.” Monty’s suspicious silence was met with Oscar’s calm assurance. “She’s fragile and needs steady hands. I won’t let her fall through the cracks. If you want her well cared for, this is how.”

After a tense pause, Monty relented. “Fine. But if she’s in trouble, I’m there. No excuses.” Oscar lowered his voice but stayed resolute. “Understood. She’ll be closely monitored, and you’ll know every step.” Hanging up, Oscar turned back to Matilda, his voice quiet but certain: “It’s settled. She’ll be officially a patient, under my care, with her father informed. This is her best chance. I know you want what’s best for her, and I’m on her side.” He hesitated just a moment before adding, “I’ll arrange for a car to take you back. It’s the least I can do.”

Soren went swooning up the stairs. Her feet had barely made it into her bedroom before she un crumpled the piece of parchment that Oscar had given her. She held it so delicately between her fingers, feeling the heat of where his touch once was. Her nails traced the curves and lines of each letter, committing every loop and stroke to memory. She wondered why some letters curled more than others, noticing how a few extended elegantly beyond the rest. When she finished, she slipped the note into a drawer on her vanity, tucked beneath her makeup. There, it would be safe, somewhere where no one would ever think to look.

She slept deeply, unmoving, wrapped in the kind of rest only the unraveling of your being could bring. It wasn’t until well past mid- day that Matilda came trailing into her room, moving with the careful quiet of a mouse. Soren hadn’t heard the door, the footsteps, or the clink of the tray. Only when she felt a warm hand press softly against her forehead did she stir. Her face barely lifted from the pillow as she waved Matilda off with a lazy flick of her fingers, teetering still between dreams and waking.

“Please, mija,” Matilda whispered, pressing a kiss to her damp temple, slick with sweat from too many heavy layers. Soren blinked her eyes open. The blurry, familiar lines of the housekeeper’s face brought a flicker of a smile to her lips, small but inviting. That doe-eyed smile was reserved for her only.

Matilda had brought her tea, something that smelled faintly floral and but strange in a cup. She had brought her tea, a special tea, she explained. It would make her hurt, for a little while, but it would help. “With what? I don’t feel sick,” Soren murmured, her voice soft, and naive, but she drank it anyway.

"Miss Soren, she sleeps." Matilda had obtained Doctor Leon's house address through some notes she found in the master's office. Once she memorized it, she put it back right where she found it. "She will not feel well," she began, nervously tugging at the frays of her braids as they hung over her shoulders. At this time, she was meant to be gathering groceries for dinner, but instead she had taken a bus here, because she desperately needed to speak with him, "I think, is best if you no see her." The insinuation that the events today did not repeat, at least for the moment while she recovered.

[isles-of-man]

Rupert felt a surprising warmth as Rosie batted her eyelashes at him, the clear intention behind the gesture impossible to miss. When he tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, he caught the flicker of vulnerability in her eyes, and his voice dropped to a gentler, almost teasing tone without meaning to. Her playful comment about the coffee maker made him chuckle softly, breaking the tension just enough.

He sensed she was holding back, and honestly, he hoped she wouldn’t. Every glance, every subtle move pulled him closer, not just in body, but in something quieter and more electric. He found himself genuinely curious how far this night might go.

Opening her car door and offering his hand felt like the natural thing to do, a small but meaningful gesture that deepened the growing connection between them. Her smile, shy but dazzling, made his chest tighten just a bit. As they walked toward the elevator, the close space made the air between them charged with unspoken possibilities.

In the quiet elevator ride, Rupert let himself wonder what it would be like to be alone with her, away from all distractions, if the spark he felt was real and not just a fleeting thrill. His faith was important, but right now, he was just a man drawn to a woman who’d opened a door to her place, to herself, and maybe, just maybe, to him. And he was more than willing to step through it.

Rosie batted her eyelashes at Rupert sweetly, yet with enough intent behind them for him to know she was serious about allowing him to stay the night — or so it could happen at least, if he wished. And she didn’t meant to only sleepover with her so he didn’t have to walk home. Part of her wanted to be domestic…again… for the first time in a while and wake up extra early to make them both breakfast.

Rosie’s eyes watched Rupert tuck her hair behind her ear before returning her gaze to his, an honest, or rather vulnerability, showing as her lips slightly parted from the fireworks at his touch. The way he spoke didn’t help her case either, more sensual than before somehow. “I am, as long as my coffee maker cooperates,” she jested, having fought her urge to lean into his touch earlier.

After she parked, Rosie found herself getting out of the car to Rupert already opening the door of it for her. “Oh! Thank you,” she told him, not having that done for her since she’d been dating her late husband. Getting out of the car with the aid of his hand, Rosie offered him a dazzling smile.

Walking to the elevator with him, she wondered how it’d feel to be alone with him in something not moving, for she wanted to find out how his touch — his lips — felt against her for certain. To know if he was worth even going all the way up to her place or if the spark had been a fluke. No, something that felt like that wasn’t a fluke, she realized. She also noticed the smell of cologne coming from him, ever so faint. It could even be his deodorant she was picking up on, but whatever it was it smelled intoxicating to her.

[isles-of-man]

Iain’s smile deepened, slow and deliberate, like he’d just uncovered a delicious secret. “Devoted,” he echoed, letting the word hang between them like a teasing riddle. His eyes locked on hers with that familiar mischievous glint. “Attentive, yes, that’s me. But disbelief? Good. Keeps you guessing. Keeps me entertained.”

He stepped a little closer, the faint scent of espresso and cedar mingling in the air. “Warmth, you say? Well, I wouldn’t want to disappoint. But I’ll admit, my office leans more ‘pressure cooker’ than ‘cozy fireside.’ Perfect for brewing ideas and, apparently, for stirring up tensions.”

He nodded toward his half-empty cup. “Coffee does wonders, doesn’t it? Especially when mornings start with unexpected guests wielding red pens like weapons.” His grin grew wider, eyes twinkling.

“Though, if I’m honest, your ‘annotated rage’ might be the best thing to wake up to.” Chuckling softly at her jab about solipsism, he tapped his temple with a mock-serious look. “Ah, yes, early morning self-indulgence. Dangerous, but I’m a doctor. I prescribe a healthy dose now and then. Keeps the mind sharp. And the blood pressure… well, let’s just say I’m perfectly fine entertaining a little risk.”

He paused, then cocked an eyebrow, lips quirking into a sly smile. “But enough about me, what brings you here, Meadow? Did you come just to test my patience with your impeccable banter, or is there something more urgent beneath that pointed red ink?”

His gaze held hers, playful yet probing, waiting for her answer with the calm confidence of a man who’s ready to spar or surrender.

Devoted?. . .Meadow blinked slowly, her lashes heavy with disbelief, her brain buffering slightly. Tsk. Her eyebrows knit over her chestnut eyes, the faintest trace of annoyance etched across her face as she searched for some hint of… a joke in his eyes.

Was... was that supposed to work on people? Even with the softness in his cadence, the sugary, saccharine language he used didn’t seem at all sincere to her. Caring people didn’t spend so much time telling you they cared. They just… did. You felt it. In the quiet. In the way you breathed easier around them. In the way they left the room warmer than they found it. Her gaze stayed on him. "You're a doctor, aren't you?" she asked gently, tilting her head just slightly. She couldn’t imagine a man as sanctimonious as Dr. Holmes being described as warm. Presumido quizas. Y su oficina es sofocante, qué colonia es esa? Se hecho mucha!..Mmm… pero… el café.. huele bien.. She hadn't even had her morning coffee before she'd driven here. Meadow didn't want to risk him becoming busy the rest of the day, for once, she wanted to wipe that smirk off his face.

He stirred something else in her entirely, something strange, almost beastly her husband described; as he'd watch her spend hours scrolling through comments of women fawning over him in the web article comments. It was nearly impossible not to roll her eyes at his quip about fan mail, but if she was his only friend she wouldn't mock him for it. "Wouldn’t you advise against such solipsism this early in the morning?" A pause, then a slight upward flick at the corner of her lips. "Aren’t you worried about your blood pressure?"

[isles-of-man]

Henry sat still as stone, the only movement the subtle rise and fall of his chest beneath Kit’s shifting weight. She had repositioned herself deliberately, straddling his lap now, not lounging, but owning. Her fingers coiled tighter around his tie, sliding the knot up toward his throat with slow, precise pressure. The silk tightened with sensual authority, not enough to choke, but enough to command. It wasn’t just seduction. It was a test. And he had no intention of failing.

He let her. Made no move to stop her. The silk could bite, she could tighten her grip, and Henry would take it all. His hands rested at her hips, firm but unmoving, an anchor, not a cage. Her body shifted above his, deliberately slow, just enough to make him feel it. Her words were sharp and poised, dressed in silk just like her grip, but it was the challenge beneath them that held his attention: Do you really want me fierce? Tell me something real. Don’t lie. And God, she said it like she already knew he might.

Henry met her gaze with calm fire, the corner of his mouth curling into the faintest smirk. “Fierce is the only way I’d have you. Anything less would be... forgettable.” His voice was low, darkly warm. His thumb began to move, tracing slow, deliberate lines along her waist, not in comfort, but in emphasis. “You want truth? Fine. Every room I walk into, I walk in alone. People like me don’t get to need anyone.”

His hand slid higher along her spine, fingers brushing her skin just beneath her blouse. “And neither do you.” His voice softened, though it lost none of its weight. “That’s what we are, isn’t it? You and me. People who learned early that needing someone only gives them leverage. So we don’t need. We take. We burn hot, but never too long. Never deep.” He gave a slight pull at her hips, just enough to draw her fractionally closer. “But this... this feels like a risk. You feel like a risk.”

He leaned in, breath skimming her jaw. “You asked what no one else knows?” His voice was barely above a whisper now. “Loyalty’s a mask. I wear it well, but I’d trade it in a heartbeat for someone who sees me without it. Who sees this, the tie, the tension, all of it and doesn’t blink.” His gaze locked on hers, unwavering. “So bare your claws, Kit. Pull tighter. Bite, if you need to. I won’t flinch. I won’t run. And I won’t submit. If you’re in my lap, it’s not because I broke. It’s because for once, someone else knows what it is to never get to need... and they came anyway.”

Yet again, she took in all of his words. Kit could appreciate now, his rise through the ranks and it being so effortless - Henry had the gift of the gab without said gab coming across as either uneducated or crass. When he spoke, he didn't just charm, he enthralled. Even to someone like here who obstensibly, had heard it all before. But she'd been transfixed, especially when he'd offered himself up as 'an obidient'.

On that point however, she really was well-versed. Men often claimed they could handle their woman being the sexual dominant, but then their supposed 'inner alpha-male' broke through. They began to think about what their peers might make of them should they be caught in the compromising positions she's dream up to put them in, of the things she'd make them do, the marks she would leave. And then they got embarrassed and squirmy, they wanted out.Not that she'd let them of course. The photo's and recordings were enough to keep them right where she wanted them.

That was how she knew that despite Henry's doubts - not a one would ever tell on her. Because whatever she had done to them, they'd not just wanted it, they had craved it. Really, who'd look the worst if things were to get out? She'd be applauded and lauded, a strong female, empowered et cetera. They'd be humiliated.

"They won't talk, not a one. I can guarantee it. Cast iron" she corrected, not sharply, only with the absolutely certainty she knew to be true. "As for hiding bodies........". Deftly, forefinger and thumb began to twist and wrap around in the tie, tightening it, as her other hand went to it's perfectly put together Windsor knot to slide it upwards, nearer to his throat. ".......I've not found myself ever in the need to stash one away. As you're no doubt aware, dear Jasper was cremated after a very touching funeral, following his unfortunate passing that was officially recognised as an accident of his own making". That hand that held the knot was now pressed right up against his Adam's apple and so, Kit moved to be straddling his lap, rather than sat across it - she was testing to see if what Henry would live up to what he'd said.

"Do you really, truly want me fierce, Henry? Do you crave seeing me teeth-bared and claws out? If so, I can give you that. But we'll have to be quid pro quo. You say you know things about me, then I have to know things about you too........so tell me what others don't and wouldn't ever know. And don't lie, as I can sniff those out just as easily as you can".

[isles-of-man]

Tommy let out a low hum, the kind that rumbled in his chest like a warning or a promise. His smirk widened just a fraction, but his eyes darkened with something far less innocent than the words hanging between them.

He took another step closer, the space between them disappearing like smoke. “Innocent,” he echoed, tasting the word as though it were foreign on his tongue. “You always were a terrible liar, love.”

His fingers trailed down the edge of her robe, just grazing the fabric, slow and deliberate. “You’ve missed me,” he said, quiet now, voice dipped into something rougher, heavier. “And I’ve been in places where there was nothin’ soft. Nothin’ kind. And now I come back to this…” He looked her over, gaze lingering, full of heat and want and something deeper still. “Back to you. And you're standing there pretending this is just a bit of talking.”

He leaned in close, lips brushing her ear, breath warm as he murmured, “You sure that’s all you want from me tonight, Mrs. Shelby?” His hand settled on her hip, grounding her, pulling her gently toward him. “Because I’ve got hours of company to give… and none of it’s what I’d call innocent.”

Paige noted the smirk that adorned Tommy's features. God, how she missed everything about him. For him to finally be home was truly something she was thankful for. Her husband, whom she missed deeply during those months at war. Watching the scene unfold, as he placed their son to rest in the crib, it tugged on her heartstrings.

A low chuckle escaped at his teasing question. He knew her perfectly well. Nothing had changed too drastically in that aspect at least. "My, my Tommy. Whatever do you mean?" she questioned dumbly with a grin. Shaking her head, it was true. With him gone, she had missed him terribly.

A deep breath expelled from her lips as her eyes fluttered as he brushed away a stray strand of hair. "Tommy you know," her lips formed into a smirk. "I've just missed you. I just wanted your company while we have a sleeping baby," she whispered. "Purely innocent," she commented, whilst her eyes gleamed. Honestly, anything but pure thoughts ran through her mind.

[isles-of-man]

Simon felt himself shatter at the sound of his name on her lips, his body surrendering completely as waves of pleasure crashed over him. He buried his face against her neck, breathing her in as tremors ran through his frame. God, he could drown in that sound. Her sweet coos and his name on her lips. Rose," he whispered against her skin and shifted just so to lie with her. His arms tightened around her as the intensity slowly ebbed, holding her as if she might disappear if he loosened his grip even slightly.

He pressed soft kisses along her collarbone, savouring the salt of her skin and memorizing the way she felt beside him. Simon murmured, his voice rough. His fingers traced lazy patterns along her spine as their breathing gradually returned to normal. He felt his chest tighten with overwhelming tenderness. He shifted slightly to look into her eyes, brushing a strand of hair from her flushed cheek.

“I hate the idea of leaving this bed,” he murmured, fingers tracing the bare line of her back. “Feels like every second with you is running out the moment it begins. But I’ll make it up to you.” The two weeks of bliss they had weren't enough, and as much as he had plans to officially end his relationship with her mother, he didn't want to lose any time with her.

He closed his eyes, leaning his head on hers with a slow, relaxed breath as he settled in her bed. He knew at some point he would have to leave her, but he was far too selfish to leave just yet.

Goddamnit. His growl was the sexiest thing ever. His reactions were everything to her. She shifted as his mouth moved to her other breast, giving it equal attention as her hands grasped the back of his neck. His possessive nature as he marked his. So erotic and sinful and only heightened her ever-growing arousal. Rosalie hummed blissfully at his praise, his words always spurred her into action during their intimate moments. There was never a time when she hadn’t wanted to please him, much like Simon gave and gave more of himself when he was with her. He cherished and worshiped her body, but his love for her, knowing his desire for her, thrilled her to the core each time. The blonde rocked her hips against him as he continued his relentless thrusts. The feeling was exquisite. There wasn’t anything quite like it. A low giggle escaped as he tried to quieten her. She knew he was right. They couldn't risk her mother finding out. But God, he was making it hard for her to do so. After a while, she was unable to stop the whimper that threatened to fall. Eliciting another growl from her throat. “Yes, yes,” she cooed quietly as it only added to the euphoric hysteria that clouded her mind. “Fuck, Si,” she moaned breathlessly. Blood was pumping through her veins, her whole body was alight, her heart rate increased. It would only take a further few minutes of brutal thrusts, before she finally came undone. Her body convulsed beneath him, as his name came out in a harsh cry. Her walls clamped hard around him, in a vice grip.