#📂﹟𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐬 .ᐟ

[sincerelyverena]

can you do ollie watching felix and reader in the bathtub plss

this was so fun to write! i absolutely adored exploring a more submissive oliver in this one. thank u for the request my lovely anon. <3

⟡⁺ SALTWATER

. . . OLIVER QUICK X FELIX CATTON X FEM!READER ‘i'm your biggest fan, i'll follow you until you love me.’ @watercolorskyy

inbox is always open to requests!

in whichꕀ

✦ ﹒oliver witnessed his most secret fantasies play out before him.

tagsꕀ

✦ ﹒smut ﹐dom!felix﹐oliver being a creepy little fucker ﹐felix giving princess treatment﹐reader and felix are an established pairing ﹐oh felix! you little tease!﹐felix taking control ﹐voyeurism﹐non-consential voyeurism ﹐waterplay﹐rubber duck rubber fuck﹐masturbation ﹐pet names ﹐praise﹐bite-sized oneshot

THANK YOU TO MY WONDERFUL BETA READERS: @sparklehani ﹐@vikwrites

They always said an open door is an invitation.

What was remaining of Oliver’s good-willed conscience advised him to turn back. He turned a blind eye to the nagging voice polluting the crevices of his scalp. Alas, the musters of benevolence tumble into an attuned silence at the scene poured to life before him.

The vivid imagination from the deepest crevices of Oliver’s fantasies played out before the widening of his aquamarine irises.

You. Perched atop the broadened boundaries of Felix’s lap. The length of your legs propped on either side of his awfully prominent hips. A sight alone caused the fabric of Oliver’s lower nightwear to tighten, which caused the bridge of his throat to constrict with halted breath.

As if a single movement out of place would disturb such intimacy.

The extent of Oliver’s arm extended upward, hand grappled around the ridge of the rippled doorway. Fingers twisting, pouring the molten heat pooled behind his abdomen throughout the strain of his ever-so-whitening knuckles.

A soft moan sounded throughout the otherwise quiet air.

An even softer gasp accompanies the seemingly murmured noise. “Felix…”

Oliver’s eyes offered a singular flutter. The firmament blue hardened into an avid mirror of lust as he witnessed the scene playing out before his very presence. 

The depths of Felix’s girth are illustrated beneath your weeping cunt. Oliver had to refrain from any variation of a choked noise to escape the hollow of his throat at the depiction. The flimsy material of the garments hung by his hips seemed to be on the verge of snapping altogether in the hue of your strangled pleas as Felix teased your slit.

“Did my baby forget how to use her words?” Felix’s prodding words drawled onward, lazily at that. Each syllable bounced off of the bathroom’s sleazy walls and reverberated into the crook of Oliver’s ears. 

His left arm immersed itself in the translucent water pooling around the pair. The other extended toward yourself, the adequate length of his fingers combed throughout the dampness of your locks. Teasing each hair strand before the edges of his digits rim along your scalp.

Felix’s water-submerged hand crept toward the space sandwiched between the roll of your back and the soft fat of your thighs. His palm pressed deeply into your asscheeks, squeezed into it. You yelped.

“What d’ya want, princess?”

The tip of his girth continued to strain against you purposefully. “Felix, don’ make me beg…”

The hand that once cradled the side of your head retreated from the wetness of your hair. Broadened fingers pull around the dew-dusted surface of your jaw, stubby nails dug into whatever face fat you possessed. You moaned around his hands, the sound muffled by the pure pressure his hand possessed.

Your moans turned into pleas. “Fi, baby– I… need you in me.”

“Say please.” 

“Please..”

Oliver thought for a moment he’d release in his pants then and there.

As Felix began to ease himself into you, the bridge of Oliver’s hand wordlessly slipped into the fabric adorning his hips. Fingers itching to ease the throbbing strain of his groin, already slick with thin pre-cum. The ridge of your back arched with strangled breath as Felix’s girth disappeared into you completely.

Palms pressed toward his neck, and you choked back a whimper. The sturdiness of Felix’s hips began to shift toward you lazily. His thrusts were comparable to rolls as his girth massaged the tightness of your inner walls. You found yourself grinding desperately against him, the friction coursing speckles of pleasure to ignite within you.

As the snaps of Felix’s length gradually intensify, so does the work of Oliver’s palm. His eyes practically glazed over as he witnessed before him the writhing sensualness that occurred. If Oliver didn’t know his proper place, he’d be a whining mess as you were now.

“My beautiful girl, you’re doin’ so well.” 

Felix praised in between strained breaths. The base of his hand slipped from your dew-graced shoulders toward the roll of your hips. He bathed in the little noise that escaped the depths of your throat as he plunged himself deeper into you.

Oliver’s cock convulsed. Reams of pleasure built at the base of his spine.

You were similarly nearing the edge. Had given in ages ago to Felix’s timing rather than yours. Gone were the desperate writhing of your wetness. Replaced solely by the erratic pace your lover had built into you. 

“Fi, I’m… almost there.”

“I dunno, you feel too good ‘round me sweetheart.” Felix teased, a humorous tone alighting the drawl of his words. He pumped into you a tad hoarser for exaggeration. Upturned lips in the fashion in which you clung yourself upon him. A silent plea to go deeper. 

Oliver almost slipped a breathless curse from the hitched nature of his breath. His girth is hot in the base of his hands, dripping pure need between his fingers. The fact that he was as desperate as you are to release almost made him combust.

“On one condition.” Felix prompted at last.

“Anything.”

He continued to drive himself deeper into you. The hand Felix adorned upon your hips tightened with each word that escaped the lushness of his lips. He grunted with effort, yet kept an easygoing hue in his voice as he continued. 

“The only word I want to hear on your lips when you cum is my name.”

The renowned heir deep inside you now refused to await a proper response. Instead, the work of his hips tightened into a merciless tempo. Striking ass as he plunged into you over and over again. Prying out noises of pleasure you never knew were possible, all while singing his name with praise. 

Just as he ordered.

The pleasure that conquered the base of your torso intensified, just as Oliver, whose fingers grew warm with the strength he poured into his arm movements. He surveyed you, comparable to a hawk as he caught onto the scattered hints of your soon-to-be release. How Oliver only wished deeply to be inside of you as Felix is now, to have the opportunity to feel your tightness. He squeezed the entire wrap of his fingers around his length.

“Felix, Felix, Felix…”

You whispered his name like a prayer. Like a mantra. A mantra as you grew hot with a desire to peak, that peak approaching rapidly. The basis of your vision shifts rapidly with the pure intensity of the ecstasy that plunged into you. Oliver soon grew to repeat these mantras to himself, choking back physical moans as his digits pathetically rolled along the tip of his girth.

Felix’s release was growing closer, although he didn’t make it obvious. He never did. He just peered downward at you with a lazy drawl of a smile, soaking up the view of you sprawled out for him. Chanting his name. He reached downward into the lukewarm waters, the tip of his two fingers brushing against the pearl that lined your drenched entrance.

“I need you to cum for me. Can you do that?” Felix inquired aloud, a hint of childish glee audible in his voice. The pounding his girth offered to you never faltered the slightest in the meantime, an awe-aspiring – yet not surprising – sentiment he possessed.

In response to his words, you could only nod. Too overtaken with ecstasy.

Oliver, on the other hand, bored his eyes into Felix longingly. “Yes, yes, please.” His words too mustered to be heard over the fucking pounds of flesh and skin. It felt good to say. To good as his length pulsated in between his grip.

“Such a good girl.” Felix hummed his praises. The fingers that fidgeted with your clit fell back, pinching the bud instead. The motion is enough to pull you over the edge entirely. 

You snapped. Coming undone underneath his relentless jackings. The tide had broken, and the pleasure you had been chasing for minutes now had broken into you entirely. Felix. Felix. Felix. All you could vocalise. He was your beginning, your end. Your everything.

But the core of your fantasies. The middle. He stood blanketed in the shadows, relying on the small gap between the door and frame. His back arched with effort as he reached his peak. Oliver’s fingers squeezed around the doorway in an attempt to choke back any musters of his presence. White-hot pleasure seared through him, cock convulsing entirely as the centre of his boxers grew warm with the force of his seed. He could see stars. Hell, Oliver was convinced he could’ve taken a glimpse of the Earth’s secrets entirely with the force of his orgasm.

He came back down to reality with a single sentiment that overlooked the pure euphoria he had received. Oliver watched onward for a few extended seconds as Felix followed in his peak, and you slumped into him. Unaware of his presence, unaware of his thirst for the both of you.

You had never known the love he possessed for you.

You had never even suspected the fact Oliver would kill to submit to the two of you entirely.

Up until now, at least.

WORD COUNT: 1K MASTERLIST REQ ME!

[sincerelyverena]

the oliver fic section of tumblr is SOOOOO dry rn so I'm wondering if you could write about how you've been friends with ollie since oxford and got invited to stay the summer with felix. then while playing spin the bottle you and him have something? IDK IM JUST RAMBLING BUT YEAH

i enjoyed writing this so so so much. i diiiid take this in a way different direction than i anticipated, but i hope you enjoy this nevertheless. thank u dearly for ur rambles! mwah! 🤍

⟡⁺ SEVEN MINUTES IN HELL

. . . OLIVER QUICK X FEM!READER ‘testosterone boys and harlequin girls.’ @ajs-222 @michael-loves-chickens @surazim @soocore @fedyascoffin

inbox is always open to requests!

in whichꕀ

✦ ﹒hate has no bounds. except when you're stuck in a wardrobe with oliver quick.

tagsꕀ

✦ ﹒implied sex ﹐fade to black smut ﹐enemies with benefits ﹐dom!oliver ﹐spoiled!reader ﹐reader would’ve probs bullied you in high school ﹐oliverrr you little stalkerrr ﹐felix and reader have a sister-brother connection ﹐ oliver brat tamer arc ﹐farleigh has naturally sharpened canines beware ﹐reader is a homie hopper ﹐YES OLIVERR USE YOUR HANDS ﹐DRUNK N HORNY, DRUNK N HORNYYY ﹐smack my ass like the drum slurp the dick til it cum ﹐forced proximity ﹐degradation ﹐phat exposition beware ﹐the plot is absolutely plotting ﹐implied incest between minor characters

THANK YOU TO MY WONDERFUL BETA READERS: @sparklehani ﹐@vikwrites

You pushed the frame of your sunglasses upward with the pad of your thumb. The accessory nestled into the top of your hair, positioning yourself to soak up the grandeur of old money that ascended far beyond where the naked eye could see.

Saltburn. A spectacle passed down by word of mouth.

The double ebony archways are considered to be a set of doors shifted in position. Presented to you, the skyscraper-remnant entrance is extended with a gradual creak of effort. Revealing the beauty of the estate’s foyer in the process. 

“Miss Esmeray.” 

You were too absorbed in the elegance etched into every breath that was drawn in the manor alone to notice the suited male positioned behind the doorways. Declan, was it? You weren’t too opposed to not giving a singular shit about the name of a mere, working butler. 

To outsiders, those morals would’ve been doubted in the fashion in which you approached the estate’s employee. 

You inclined forward. The painted maroon of your lips puckered as you scattered lightweight kisses upon either side of the loose, wrinkled surface of the butler’s cheeks. “It’s a pleasure to meet you at last, Declan.”

He didn’t seem particularly phased – on the surface at least – apart from the cool hardening of his formerly strained eyes. 

“It’s Duncan.”

You stifled the urge to laugh.

“That’s what I said, wasn’t it?” You leaned backward with a hushed hue of voice and a poised frown. A frown that didn’t last long as you slipped by with an isolated thrum of your heels along the blemishless, maintained floors. 

The porters that had withheld your luggage followed suit, grasping the attention of Duncan. He continued to clasp his hands behind his back, surveying the situation with a stare that would put a hawk to shame.

“Leave the luggage there. The estate butlers will see to it.” The note of exasperation that tainted Duncan’s articulation caused your personal porters to arrange the stacks of luggage onto the flooring without missing a beat.

The bound of employees hit the open doorways, leaving you to bask in a well-deserved solitude. Or so you had thought.

The hue of your flickery eyes had fixated immensely upon the silhouette which overlooked the foyer. An individual that leaned along the fencing of the plank-relied stairway, slinked in the comfort of the shadows. Even in the limelight of darkness, you could scrutinize the sight of a chiseled jaw and the irises of dusked aquamarine. 

Oliver Quick. Bile slicked the crevices of your throat. That slimy, freakish companion of one of your closest friends from Oxford. The sole reason you were invited to the estate in the first place.

And that sole reason broke out into the foyer before you could’ve mustered a word.

“[Y/N]!”

Felix Catton. Gorgeous, radiant Felix Catton came bounding toward you. Arms sprawled wide open, and a grin of nothing more but graciousness broke across his lips. Devoid of awaiting a response, Felix tossed the base of his arms around your shoulders. The toned muscle propped behind the sleight of your neck, burying himself into you in the process.

“Hi, Fi.” You mumbled around the top of his broadened shoulder, basking in the familiarity of his scent and aura. The tension that had made itself known in the base of your abdomen uncoiled, just the slightest.

You had inclined backward momentarily. The palms of your hands propped themselves upon the sleight of Felix’s jaw. You surveyed Felix closely and blew out a sharp breath. “Felix, you’re looking thinner. What have they been feeding you here?”

“The summer fucks up my appetite, you know that,” Felix grumbled pointedly.

“That’s not an excuse, Fi.” Your forefinger pinched the practically non-existent fat lining his cheeks, reeling a small grimace from the male.

The dense thrums of rhythmic footsteps spliced unnervingly through the moment. You tore the unyielding hue of your stare from Felix toward Oliver, who positioned himself solidly against the foot of the stairway. 

“Ollie!” Felix unraveled his arms away from you, in turn, to acknowledge his self-titled best friend. The male was peacefully oblivious to the glowering irritation that etched itself into your gaze. “You remember [Y/N], yeah?”

“How could I forget?” Oliver quipped the mere intensity of his gaze maintained upon you. You felt as if he was staring right through you, aware of every crook, crevice, and secret of your being. Deep speckles of disgust were blanketed behind hues of feigned interest.

As the moment drew on, he extended a hand. You harshly glared into it. Whilst the remainder of the inner circle Felix had established in Oxford grew to warm up to Oliver’s meek, somewhat awkward presence. You loathed it. 

“Mum has been dying to see you all day, [Y/N].” The strained hues of Felix’s voice tore into the steadily growing silence. His lips curved upward into a thin smile. Felix could virtually feel the tension tighten between his two companions.

“She’s in the morning room.”

You pecked him on the cheek on your way out. “Thanks, Fi.”

Felix’s words of prominence held a generous truth. Lady Elspeth Catton pushed the teacup amid her hands aside the second her eyes had met the radiance of your presence. You mustered a small smile at the sight of the woman you had known for the year prior.

“Oh, darling. It’s been too long.”

The all-too-familiar scent of high-end designer perfumes assaulted your nostrils as Elspeth brought you into a momentarily embrace. You had come to terms with the preceding summer that she had grown to be more of a maternal figure than your mother ever would be. Even if you were inclined to remove your nose ring and settled for a less dramatic false lash to soothe her fear of what she deemed to be ugly.

In those logistics, you had no idea why she hadn’t thrown Oliver out the second she met his acquaintance.

“Come, come, come. Sit down, I’ll whisk up some tea for you…”

“Hot chocolate.” You had a hard time grappling with the concept of politeness.

“Oh, of course! How would I forget?”

As Elspeth handled the hot chocolate-bearing teapot, you were prompted to discuss the prior school year. Conversations flowed from academics to the selection of boys and girls alike who had the misfortune of encountering your diva-like logistics. 

Elspeth indulged in her tea. “Did Felix mention the festivities we’re having tonight?”

You propped a spoonful of whipped cream atop the chocolate goodness, a frown painting your lips. “Not at all. What festivities?”

“One of the annual dinners with the Catton’s family friends is proceeding tonight,” Elspeth explained, tone somewhat bored with the lack of any mentions of gossip present in this crevice of the conversation. The flimsy painted surface of her nail tapped away at her teacup.

“Please tell me it's the Lockwoods.”

“Who else would it be, darling?”

“Thank Christ.”

As Elspeth continued to chatter onward about the newest scandal she observed with the Lockwoods, you pertained to drifting off in thought. Concerning the night ahead. And the dread that followed with the idea of socialization with a bunch of stuck-up acquaintances alike yourself.

And Oliver Quick.

You rolled the base of your fingers around the rounded cigarette Felix had outstretched. Flimsy smoke curled outward from the plumpness of his lips, drifting upward toward the coiling stairs above your heads.

You circulated your lips around the rim of the drug stick, angling your hand backward as you took a hit – brimming with a  buzz of pleasure. The cigarette slipped back into Felix’s hand, which inclined away to pass it toward Oliver. Whom you hadn’t even bothered to glance toward once during the entirety of the night.

The remains of the others flocked behind, the light hue of conversation prominent in the air. The three others you’ve befriended – Wiona, Lincoln, and Valencia – had befriended the Catton children in their younger years. At the annual dinner that commenced the year prior, you discovered that they had developed an annual tradition for Spin the Bottle.

The sole reason why the group of eight traversed up the spiraling stairway in the first place, bottles of alcohol propped in hand.

A prominent part of you wordlessly hoped that the alcohol would loosen you up a tad. Alas, with the sensation of Oliver’s eyes bored into the back of your head. You were bound to feel a tad paranoid. Especially when you weren’t oblivious to how every movement you made was tracked. 

The minuscule smirk when the base of your nail had chipped. The glimmer of distaste when you looked up and down the outfits of the current houseguests. The burn of eyes when you laughed a tad too loudly. The indescribable emotion that blared throughout Oliver’s surveying gaze as you stared into him. An attempt of intimidation that was never accomplished.

The solid front of the bathroom’s tiles was undeniably cool, in contrast to the thin garment that shielded the top of your thighs.

You proceeded to tuck yourself across the minuscule opening between Farleigh and a most currently amused Felix. The glass-spun bottle of the night lay vulnerable in the grip of his broadened fingers.

“Care to make a bet on this year’s game?”

A short laugh stirred itself from the crevice of your throat. You inclined your head over the brink of your shoulder, scrutinizing gaze propped upon the curly-haired male sat inches away. Farleigh’s eyes crinkled with the intensity of his curved lips, tongue tracing the rim of his canines. 

You suddenly grew aware of the sheer amount of certain plastic bags you had smuggled down your bra upon arrival. Ziplock bundles of goodness Farleigh would surely die for. A sentiment visible from the mere spark of interest blanketed behind his eyes.

“You seriously think I’ll say no to a good gamble?”

With a tinge of casualty, Farleigh swung a singular arm over the bridge of your shoulders. His voice grew hushed, but the intention of his words burnt into the crevice of your ear. “One of those pretty bags of yours if it lands on Valencia and Lincoln.”

“They’re siblings, munchkin.” The force of your articulation twisted with a prominent combination of distaste and fluid judgment.

“So what?”

For someone who always had something to say, you hadn’t been rendered this speechless in a long, long time. Alas, Farleigh wasn’t the only soul that expressed his amusement with the fact.

Oliver stared right into you. Twisted amusement circulated within his gaze.

Felix proceeded to illustrate a spectacle of himself, the glass-rimmed bottle set down on the tiled ground before him. Dramatics and flairs. Nothing out of the ordinary for your beloved Fi, who expressed the rules and regulations of the game as if his company hadn’t played for the years prior. 

This excluded a scrutinizing Oliver. A prominent smirk threatened to overcome your lips at the sight of his cockiness. His prior attitude slipped away at the news of having to potentially be stuffed in one of the Catton’s family closets for several minutes – with his luck – accompanied by a total stranger.

You, on the other hand, couldn’t wait to begin.

Felix offered a riveting motion with his hand. The echo of uproar, paired with the creak of the bottle against the tiles bounced off of the thinly-veiled walls as he gave it a fluid spin.

The uproar crescendoed into a screeching halt as the pitcher shook into a steadied pace. Its glimmering tip angled precisely toward a noriette-haired girl, who was in the midst of pertaining her slight nose toward the strip of snow-white goodness laid out on the back of her hand. 

“Wiona!”

“You better hope and pray, darling.”

“Leave your drink with me, Wynn!”

Felix stuffled the broadened nature of his fingers into his mouth. He offered a low whistle toward Wiona, whose smirk was shielded by her bob-length curls.

He inclined toward the glass-rimmed bottle once more. “Right, whose the lucky boy… or girl? We don’ discriminate here…”

Murmurs of agreement followed the winding silence of the spinning contraption. Accompanied by short-circuited laughs, and gambled musterings. Overtaken by shrill yells as the crown cork inclined precisely toward Farleigh, whose curves were still draped over you. 

“Leigh, that’s you.” Felix had confirmed, to the delight of those inclined around the circle. His eyes crinkled, appropriate to the intensity of the sparkling grin that graced his otherworldly face. “The blue room awaits you lovebirds…”

The jangling of cash and the slip of dope occurred.

The game continued as such. And with gradual time, all participants grew intoxicated by the minute with the presence of booze and crack. Two of your tit-coke bags have been ripped out of your disposal with the force of the circle’s gambles, gaining triple the amount in the process. Especially when Lincoln and Valencia slipped into the next room.

You found yourself with the curve of your head lolling atop the pad of Felix’s shoulder. An endearing warmth buzzed throughout you, rooted in the alcohol burning the crevice of your throat.

One of Felix’s broadened palms settled upon the hitch of your scalp. The other claws at the scarcely dented bottle once more, sending it into a tile-searing spin.

Commotion peaked within the room as the pitcher sloped toward Oliver.

Shadowiness engulfed your vision as the wardrobe doors closed in. Bathing in the darkness of mere loathing for two factors in this twisted, twisted equation. For the bottle. And for Oliver Quick, who had never been closer to you than in this moment. Bile rose in your throat for the second time that day.

It was just your luck that the bottle inclined towards you at that moment.

“That’s ironic.”

A slither of outside illumination managed to crack into the wardrobe, lining the crevice of Oliver’s azure hues. Speckled with what was perceived as faint amusement, tightening the knot of tension present in the atmosphere.

The sleight of your back strained as you stumbled toward the clanky side of the closet, desperate to discover an escape. To no avail. The faint ghost of a scoff reverberated from the hollow of your throat. “What’s ironic, huh?”

For some reason. For whatever reason at all, Oliver inclined toward you. The slightest indeed, but it managed to send your heart hammering between your ears. Nothing more but pure loathing pulsated throughout you with the sudden proximity. It was the alcohol. Booze does funny things to the mind, right?

Olivcr’s alcohol-tinged breath mists upon your lips. His words slurred somewhat. “For som’one that gets everythin’ she wants, you seem pretty… helpless right now.” “Anyone that finds themself in a closet with you would be.”

“I’m jus’ sayin', it’s pretty pathetic.”

A gradual grin seeped onto Oliver’s face at the undeniable loathing that flared within the depths of your eyes. You looked as if you were a tick away from murdering him with your bare hands, and it brought him nothing but pure amusement.

“Pathetic…” The word dripped off of your lips with slow, taunting articulation. A twisted of taunted tipsiness. With the fiery force of each syllable, you leaned forward and clasped a sloppy hand toward the center of Oliver’s chest, an attempt to shove him further away. 

“Pathetic?”

You had made your intentions very clear to extend the distance between you and the male. To your luck, you had found yourself even closer.

Oliver didn’t appear phased, gaze carving holes into you. “You think the complete world of yourself, I’d say that’s pretty pathetic.”

Your stare narrowed down further. Silence draped over you momentarily with the intention of cold-shouldering Oliver until the seven minutes eventually ticked by. You adverted your eyes, purposefully scrutinizing the slight gap between the worn closet doors. The illumination blurred amid your intoxication.

 “Look at me.”

A roughened palm tore you back toward reality. Accompanied by a thread of fingers that pressed into the curve of your cheeks. Your once inclined head had surrendered into Oliver’s grasp, involuntarily meeting his gaze.

“Whoa… he’s finally thinkin’ for himself for once.” You spat out around the mere brute of his hands. Even though they radiated a certain chill only Oliver could possess, a prominent warmth glowed in every patch of skin he had clutched onto.

“Instead of bein’ Fi’s little hound…”

Oliver’s grappling hand seemed to tense with every batter of your words. “Shut your bloody mouth before I do it for you.”

“Wooow… so scary–”

You barely possessed the will to blow out another sharp breath before Oliver’s lips were interlocked with your own. The breath you had been holding hitched upright into your throat. Your chest constricted. In replacement of the disgust you preempted, velvety warmth pulsated throughout your entire being with a singular brush of the male’s mouth along yours.

With the fashion in which Oliver devoured your lips, you wondered if he wished to eat you alive.

You blamed it completely on the booze and the crack.

He was the first to pull back from the embrace, hands still tucked immensely around your jaw. A glow of succession is prominent in Oliver’s aquamarine stare, a glow that brought forth a sleight of irritation to overcome you.

“I believe you liked that.” 

“Your ego is as big as your head, Oliver.”

He inclined his head, a smile wandering upon his lips. “That wasn’t a denial, now.”

The palm that cradled the sleight of your jaw loosened the slightest. It moved toward the back of your neck, utilizing the position to guide you toward him further. His lips. So close. Nearing with time. The curve of your abdomen burned with a newfound desire, christening your inner walls with its molten warm goodness.

But you couldn’t care. You just couldn’t. 

“You’re completely… fuckin’ mad.”

The seven minutes must be up now, wouldn’t it? Your ears strained themselves through the momentary silence as you processed tidbits of laughter from the next room over.

You reminded yourself to beat the everliving Christ out of Felix Catton the next morning.

The palm still collared around your neck dug downward into the base of your shoulders. In the same leering motion, the edge of a heel curved into the density of your legs. Before you can even process the situation, the rock-hard surface of the wardrobe is felt underneath your suddenly aching knees.

“Now, now…”

You inclined your head upward. The twisted hues of Oliver Quick bored down upon you, like wood to an already brewing fire engulfing the inner workings of your womanhood. The hollow of your throat bobbled as you gave a dense swallow.

An even denser zip of Oliver’s dress pants sounded throughout the wardrobe.

“How about I teach you a lesson on how a brat should behave?”

WORD COUNT: 3K MASTERLIST REQ ME!