#captainprice one shot

[sicutpuella]

The Other Woman (Reader & Captain Price)

size difference, mild sexual content, infidelity— Capt. Price is in a political marriage, a forbidden and secret affair, AFAB, she/her pronouns

Divider by @iluvpooks

Past midnight on his private estate in The Cotswolds, the only sounds are their deep breaths, the crackling of the fireplace, and the faint jazz record playing.

Sitting upright, her head nestled against his chest, their eyes lock in an unbroken gaze. With delicate fingers, she traces soft circles upon his breast, her gaze catching the scars that mark his rugged frame. A silent understanding passes between them, for she is well practiced in the art of unspoken observations. Never does she mention the marks that adorn his skin; such matters are left unsaid. A tranquil silence envelops them both, a shared accord that requires no words.

His hands wrap around her waist, one on her soft, smooth back, and another around her small frame. She is safe here; that is sure. As he looks into her eyes, he senses her admiration for him and her affection. It is all a beautiful sight: her touch and her warmth, her gaze and her aura. Everything.

With tenderness, he caresses her arms, his touch gentle as he fears his roughened hands might mar her delicate and tender skin. She finds solace in his soothing strokes, feeling as though she were a lamb, cherished and protected. In his affectionate manner, he refers to her as "his lamb," a term of endearment that bestows warmth upon her heart.

Leaning in, he kisses her; their bodies press together. Their lips meet softly but with passion, melding seamlessly, as if they have always belonged together. The kiss deepens and becomes more sensual, his tongue exploring her mouth, his lips caressing hers. Each kiss intensifies, filled with passion, tenderness, and desire. Their eyes gaze at each other, breath quickening as they kiss. He pulls her against him, hands gently holding her hips. It is a perfect moment.

"Already told my driver to bring you back to London by morning," his voice, tinged with the rasp acquired through years of indulging in cigar smoking, rouses her from her reverie. She sighs, a gesture that has become all too familiar within their routine. He intimately kisses the back of her neck, his lips lingering on her skin, relishing the soft, silky feeling against his tongue. He pulls her close to him, the heat of his breath grazing her skin, sending shivers down her spine.

“I hate leaving you…”

"I know, love." He kisses her neck softly again, his voice husky, tinged with yearning. "But duty calls, and I need to get back. You know how it is."

“More like your wife…”

"You know I only have eyes for you." He leaned against her, pressing her closer, his hands tracing her skin softly, his breath hot on her neck.

“When… when will I see you again?” Her eyes drooped with sadness.

"Hmm... Perhaps in January," he mused, his voice trailing off. "I... I cannot say for certain. It’s December now… you know how my wife is with the holidays.”

She sighs, pulling away from him a bit. “A month without you…” She softly spoke.

"I know," he sighed, reaching forward to stroke her cheek lovingly. "But we'll speak every day, and I'll think of you. You'll be in my thoughts, I promise."

“I hate that… I can’t be with you on the holidays.” She spoke so painfully; it was the reality of being his mistress—the holidays, the important days were spent with his wife, not her.

"I would take you to my cottage in Scotland if I could," he sighed. "My wife won't come, but you can't come because of... the circumstances.” He sighed. "You know, if I could divorce her, I would, no second thought. But I can't."

“I know…” she sighs, pulling away slightly.

"If I'm honest..." he leaned in against her, their bodies pressed together. "You mean more to me than she ever has. And it breaks my heart knowing she's the wife and you're not."

“That’s…” she couldn’t speak properly, “I’m so touched by it.” She whispers, kissing him on his cheek.

"I wish I could marry you," he whispered back, his breath brushing against her cheek, his heart pounding in his chest. "That's not an option, though. But know that you're my heart."

He leaned his forehead against hers, their breath mingling together. It was a tender moment between them, and although his words couldn’t express the love he felt for her, the way he looked at her spoke volumes.

“I’ll be in Switzerland with my family.” She shares, her head stuck to his chest again.

"I'll miss you," he whispers, leaning forward, their faces only inches apart. "Be on your best behavior over there; don't get up to no trouble. Don't want you stealing the local men's hearts."

“Oh… shut it… you’re my only old man.” She laughs.

"Old man?" He scoffs. "You really gonna call the man that can pin you against the wall and kiss you into oblivion an old man?"

She giggles into his face, taunting him, “Oh yes. Definitely.”

"You little... you wanna go that route?" He smirks, pulling her in towards him.

“Make me!” She stands up, running to the far corner of the bedroom.

He sprints after her, pinning her to the wall once more, his breath warming her neck. Their bodies are so close; she can feel his heartbeat thumping.

He lifts her up, taking her by surprise.

His hands grip her thighs, her legs hanging over his arm as if she were a princess in a fairy tale. She feels light and small in his arms, yet, despite her weight, she feels entirely safe. His eyes bore into hers, his expression darkening, and his breath is hot as he leans in, his lips a mere inch away.

“Seems like the old man still has it.” She laughs.

"So you're a wise-ass, then." He scowls, but underneath it, his eyes sparkle, and his cheeks are flushed. He lifts her leg upwards, bringing her higher onto him. She can feel the pressure of his frame on hers, the force of his strength, and his warmth. He's so much bigger than her.

She shakes her head playfully.

His hands caress her smooth legs, her breath catching at his touch. His fingers trail up her thigh, his breath hot against her sensitive skin. His eyes are fixed on her face, but his mind is elsewhere.

“So you’re a dirty old man too?”

"I'm a gentleman," he growls, his voice tinged with masculine intent. Her leg is still in his grasp, her thigh still brushing against his hand.

She gasps as he carries her back into his bed.

He sets her down into the bed, her frame pressed against the mattress, her legs wrapped around him. His body covers hers almost entirely, her waist in the space between his thighs. They share an unspoken understanding, their gaze unwavering as he inches closer to her…

It was perfect… this night was just perfect. His estate here in The Cotswolds made sure to let them forget the outside world for a minute, to forget their responsibilities. In this little world they have here, she’s not just the mistress—the other woman. In fact, he detests calling her his mistress; he loves her more than his legal wife. Their entwined bodies spoke a language only they understood, a silent declaration of their love.

As the first rays of sunlight pierce through the curtains, casting a soft glow upon the room, he holds her a moment longer.

But he can't. She must go. The driver's already parked outside, only missing is her and her bags.

She looks back at him, while seated in the leather car seat. He kisses her once more on her lips, and he closes the car door, kissing her goodbye for now.