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doormatty3 · 9 months

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A True Gentleman (Patrick Wilson x Reader)

Masterlist Ao3

Summary:

[Patrick Wilson x Female Reader] [Patrick Wilson x You] He's just one of those terribly handsome dads that you're gonna talk about with your colleagues later - that's your initial thought when you meet Partick at a parent-teacher night. Those bright blue eyes, soft brown locks, charming grin, and that damn black wool sweater leave you smitten. When you accidentally burn your hand with hot coffee, he's a true gentleman, escorting you to the bathroom. But when seeing the two of you in the mirror you soon find out he's just as smitten and he teaches you the most important lesson - all you have to do is ask. OR: Patrick teaches you to be quiet while taking his cock

Wordcount: 7,673

Warnings: 18+, fingering, unprotected sex, cream pie, breeding, semi-public sex, vaginal sex, smut, dirty talk

A/N: This happened when I saw that picture of Patrick at the Sitzprobe for the 80th anniversary concert in London. Jesus fucking Christ HOW does he look so good in that black wool sweater.

I also wrote this while having Corona - great success

AND: Merry Christmas to you all

A hurried glance at the clock sends a surge of anxiety through your veins - you are late. While that would normally be excusable you know that it won't be today since you’re expected to attend one of the infrequent parent-teacher nights at the school. What complicates matters further is that you’re a teacher and parents wish to consult you to find out how their kids are doing.

You gather your students’ files from the table in the teachers’ room you were sitting at, cursing when you drop a sheet of paper.

All this stress is certainly not treating you well so you stop to take a breath, telling yourself that it will be fine, especially because not many parents have booked a slot with you. If your memory doesn’t fail you it should be two appointments this evening, one at the beginning and one at the end of the time period.

As you stand in the teachers’ lounge, you take another moment to compose yourself. With a deliberate sweep, you smooth over the fabric of your skirt and inhale deeply again.

You gather your paperwork and your files and step you, leaving the confines of the room.

Stepping into the corridor of the cool, a wave of hustle envelops you. Lockers line the walls, intermittently punctuated by vibrant bulletin boards displaying student achievements as well as upcoming events and general information. Your footsteps echo rhythmically through the hallway as you walk.

You exchange quick greetings with anyone you encounter in passing.

Observing from behind, his short, curly light brown hair styled backward catches your attention. Some rebellious locks playfully curl around the nape of his neck, framing the contours of his ears. It’s a distinctive look, one that would undoubtedly be etched in your memory had you encountered him before.

Fuck an internal curse echoes through your thoughts as you approach your office and find a tall man standing in front of it with his back turned to you. His figure is outlined by a snug wool sweater that accentuates the breadth of his shoulders.

You sift through your mental catalogue of students and their parents, but his name remains elusive, a puzzle piece refusing to fit.

Maybe he is standing in for the mother of his child? Because his presence seems out of sync with the typical attendees of parent-teacher events. The subtle cues in his body language, the nervous weight-shifting from one leg to another, and the intermittent hand running through his styled hair, all suggest a discomfort that aligns with someone unaccustomed to such gatherings.

“Hi, I’m so sorry! I lost track of time while grading papers”, you greet him with a sheepish smile, closing the distance between you, “I hope I didn’t let you wait for too long?”

He turns around, and you involuntarily suck in a breath, an immediate heat spreading across your cheeks when his gaze meets yours.

He’s handsome.

Bright blue eyes, reminiscent of a cloudless sky, reflect the ambient light in the hallway, exuding a unique vibrancy. His high forehead suggests intellect, complemented by a straight nose that adds a touch of refinement to his features. Thin, defined lips curve with an understated confidence, leaving an indelible impression. His well-groomed hair, mostly obedient, frames his face, yet there's an artful disarray - a few wayward locks that seem to defy the meticulous order.

He instantly breaks into a bright smile that reveals a set of perfect, white teeth and causes the skin next to his eyes to crinkle with an infectious warmth.

“Hi, it’s no problem. I was early anyway,” he reassures you with a friendly, soft tone.

You can practically feel his eyes raking over your form and some part of you desperately hopes that he likes what he sees. He embodies one of the terribly handsome dads that you and your colleagues will talk about in the future. You’re sure that he turned quite a few heads coming in.

With another smile, you turn toward the door, unlocking it with a practised ease. Gesturing for him to enter, you open the gateway to your office, inviting him in.

Closing the door behind him, you discreetly seize the opportunity to check out his ass.

He patiently waits for you to finish your task before extending his hand.

“I’m Patrick Wilson, by the way. I’m here because of my son,” he states, properly introducing himself.

You take his hand, feeling the warmth and strength in his firm handshake, a physical reflection of the confident presence he exudes.

As the name resonates, you recall Patrick Wilson’s son. The mental fog lifts, revealing a memory of a nice and quiet kid excelling in your class.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Wilson. Can I interest you in a cup of coffee?” you inquire.

“Please,” he says, accompanied by another of his infectious smiles and a playful wink, “And Patrick is fine.”

“So, I’m sorry to ask, Patrick, but I am curious…” you begin, and he looks at you intently, one eyebrow raised in anticipation, “You’ve never been at a parent-teacher night as far as I can tell... so why now? Is everything alright with your son?”

“Alright,” you giggle, caught off guard by the unexpected lightness he brings to the interaction. A momentary realisation hits you – he even made you giggle.

God, get a grip.

“Oh, oh yes,” he scratches his head, running his hand through his hair with a smile directed at you, “Normally his mother attends these… but since we split up, I just wanted to make sure he’s okay.”

Shit , you think, a sudden understanding dawning on you. Not only did you bring up a personal topic, but you did it with a lack of sensitivity.

“I’m so sorry, Patrick! I didn't mean to be inconsiderate,” you express genuine remorse colouring your words.

The sincerity of your apology reflects the understanding that you unintentionally touched upon a sensitive matter. He seems like a nice guy, and his child is genuinely a sweetheart, making the inadvertent misstep all the more regrettable.

Patrick makes a reassuring gesture with his hand, “Don’t mention it, it's fine—we just weren't compatible anymore.”

His understanding response eases the tension, but you can't shake off the lingering discomfort from your unintentional insensitivity. Despite his graciousness, the awareness of being a dick lingers, leaving you with a sense of regret.

“Let me get you that coffee, Patrick,” you suggest, gracefully redirecting the conversation. Making your way to the coffee machine in the room, you seize the opportunity to shift focus.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” you hear him say, his steps echoing behind you with a hint of sincerity.

You instantly stop in your tracks and turn around, catching Patrick off guard and causing him to collide with you.

His hand instinctively grabs into your waist, steadying you, you’re enveloped in his clean and fresh scent that lingers in the air. It’s a captivating aroma, reminiscent of the sea breeze on a crisp morning. The subtle notes of a light, refreshing cologne mingle with a hint of oceanic elements, creating a fragrance that is both invigorating and oddly comforting.

“Sorry,” Patrick murmurs, his face inches from yours, his breath brushing against your cheek.

“It’s okay,” you reply, breath catching as his fingers briefly tighten. Your gaze traces from his eyes to his lips and back up.

Nervously, you gulp at the close proximity, feeling a subtle tension in the air. Wetting your lips, you sense his eyes following the movement of your tongue. The touch of his large hands still lingers, a residual warmth seeping through your shirt, leaving a searing imprint that adds to the charged atmosphere between you.

“You didn't - it’s fine. I just didn’t want you to feel pressured or anything and felt that a coffee might be what we both needed,” you explain, stumbling over your words.

He nods in response and takes a step back. Instantly, you find yourself missing the warmth of his touch, a subtle yearning lingering in the aftermath of the unexpectedly close encounter.

You turn your back to him, attempting to compose yourself and switch on the coffee maker. It’s a proper barista machine, a deliberate investment made some time ago to make the longer hours spent in your office more bearable. The rattling of the machine reverberates loudly in the otherwise quiet room.

“How do you take your coffee, Patrick?” you inquire, attempting to shift the focus to casual small talk as you turn around to face him. It’s a subtle effort to smooth over the residual nerves lingering from the unexpected closeness a moment ago.

He embodies the epitome of cool and collected, casually leaning against the wall in the middle of your office. The ease with which he carries himself creates a visual snapshot, a moment you'd capture if you had a camera, as he appears as though he just stepped out of a magazine.

“Oh, just a dash of milk, please. No sugar,” he smiles at you, pursing his lips in an adorable way.

“Milk is in the fridge behind you,” you say, pointing at the small fridge. Turning back to the machine, you proceed to pour both him and yourself a cup of coffee.

After a few moments, you turn around again purely on autopilot to retrieve the milk from the fridge.

What you did not expect was Patrick’s strong chest colliding with yours again. He had just taken the milk from the fridge and intended to bring it over to you.

The sudden impact causes the freshly brewed hot coffee to spill over. It hits your hands, searing them with a sharp pain. A pained yelp escapes your lips, you involuntarily release the mugs. They shatter on the floor, adding a chaotic note to the unfolding moment as you clutch your burning arm.

Patrick's eyes widen in shock as he observes the aftermath of the spilled coffee, freezing momentarily in place. It's only a brief pause before he snaps into action, his apology filled with genuine concern.

“Oh god, I’m so, so sorry,” he utters, his voice laced with remorse.

Moving gently towards you, his eyes remain fixed on yours, a mix of shock and worry evident in the depths of his gaze.

“Let me see,” he coaxes, reaching for your hand.

Despite the pain shooting through your arm, his touch is surprisingly gentle, the warmth of his fingers a stark contrast to the burning sensation. As he holds your hand, the close proximity causes goosebumps to erupt all over your body, a physical reaction to the unexpected intimacy of the moment. Your hand, seemingly small in his, accentuates the vulnerability that has unfolded in the aftermath of the accidental mishap.

He holds your hand gently, his fingers trailing over the burned skin with feather-light touches. His eyes remain locked onto yours, the connection is unbroken. The tenderness in his touch offers a contrast to the pain.

“We should cool it,” he says quietly, his blue eyes intently staring at yours.

Despite the throbbing pain in your hand and arm, an unexpected sense of peace washes over you. Patrick’s gentle care and his big hands on yours feel surprisingly right, creating a moment you don’t want to end.

You find yourself imagining those large hands cupping your naked breasts, rolling your nipples between strong fingers, teasing and twisting and pulling just a little too hard. You can imagine the look on his face too, that concentrated expression, with furrowed brows and pursed lips, dedicated to the task at hand.

Struggling to regain composure amid the pain and the magnetic pull towards Patrick, you concede.

“You're right,” still savouring the comfort of his gentle strokes, “Some cold water may help”

He nods in agreement, his eyes shifting from your hand to meet yours, “Lead the way.”

“You don't have to…” you trail off. While it’s kind of him to offer assistance and accompany you, you convey that it isn't necessary.

Instead of arguing, you surrender to the sincerity of Patrick's offer, a subtle nod expressing your acceptance of his assistance.

“I want to,” he insists, his expression serious.

“It’s the least I can do…” Patrick says, his remorse evident. The warmth inside you grows, appreciating his genuine care despite the unintended hurt.

As you navigate towards the door, Patrick silently trails your steps. The subtle echo of his presence resonates in the corridor. Exiting your office, the two of you proceed towards the bathrooms. You can feel his proximity, a comforting closeness that extends beyond mere physical presence.

Patrick, without uttering a word, places his hand on the small of your lower back. It’s a gentle yet firm touch, a constant reminder that he's right there, steadfastly supporting you. The warmth from his touch permeates, creating a silent connection between the two of you.

Arriving at the bathroom, you open the door, and your eyes catch Patrick standing there, uncertain. The moment hangs in the air as he seems unsure of the next move.

“Can you come with?”

The request lingers in the air, wrapped in a delicate vulnerability that you allow to seep into your words.

“I don’t want to be alone in case I faint or fall.”

Patrick nods understandingly and opens the door for you, his hand gently guiding you with a reassuring touch on your lower back. As the door closes behind you two, you realise you’re in the typical school bathroom. Under ordinary circumstances, you might have opted for the private restroom reserved for teachers. Yet, in the current moment, with only a few parents and teachers lingering in the school, the distinction seems inconsequential and you're sure that you won’t run into someone you know.

That’s a half-truth. You’re veiling the fact that your injuries aren’t severe enough to induce fainting.

Yet, there's a subtle comfort in the notion of having him by your side. It’s not just about the potential physical support - you want him to accompany you to get to know him a bit more.

The bathroom is illuminated by harsh fluorescent lights that reflect off the white-tiled walls. The atmosphere is surprisingly calm, creating a stark contrast to the heightened emotions of the previous moments. Patrick’s continued presence provides an anchor, his hand still resting on your lower back, a gesture that feels oddly comforting in this ordinary yet intimate setting.

You stand at the sink, rolling up your sleeves, and let the cold water cascade over your burned hand and arm. The stinging pain intensifies, pulsating with each beat of your heart. Examining it closely, you notice red patches forming, and it looks like there might be blisters beginning to emerge. Despite the discomfort, you continue to let the cold water offer some relief.

As you stand there, you can't help but entertain a fleeting thought. Perhaps there could have been a better way to spend the evening than standing in this school bathroom, cooling your injury under a tap.

“You doing okay there?" Patrick’s melodic voice breaks through your thoughts. Your head snaps to him, and the sudden movement makes you wobble, momentarily losing your balance.

The image of Patrick in that damn wool sweater crosses your mind, and for a moment, you think about just taking it off him and about how that would lead to a much more enjoyable evening.

However, with a sigh, you push the thought aside, focusing on the practicality of treating the burn in the present situation.

He notices you are off-balance instantly, and he comes over to stand behind you, steadying you with a supportive touch. As you look at both of you in the mirror, you can't help but feel a sense of contrast. In his presence, you seem small, almost dwarfed by him, his large form surrounding you.

You sway a bit against him, feeling the steadying comfort of Patrick’s arms wrapping around you as soon as he notices.

“This is surprisingly effective,” you comment, a small chuckle escaping your lips.

As you rest in the circle of his arms, you become acutely aware of the heat emanating from his body, the solid warmth of his broad chest against your back. You can’t help but feel arousal pooling in your veins, slowly but steadily spreading through your body.

With a playful tone, Patrick responds, “Well, I aim to provide top-notch steadying services.”

“You got a talent for it, Patrick,” you quip, enjoying the warmth of the embrace.

He chuckles, the sound reverberating through his chest against your back, “Well, it’s all in the technique. A mix of charm and muscle, you know?”

“Ah, the secret recipe. I appreciate both elements,” you play along and you do appreciate both, they make an intoxicating mix. And if you’re honest your fingertips tingle to trace them over his mentioned muscles - over his hard chest that you feel rising and falling with every breath, over his strong arms that are wrapped around you.

His tone becomes a tad more serious, his arms tightening around you protectively, “In all seriousness, are you feeling alright? That burn looks like it stings.”

You nod, “Yeah, it does, but your impromptu rescue mission is definitely helping.”

He grins, “Glad to be of service.”

You can’t help but admire Patrick’s attractive smile. It’s something you’ve noticed before, but now, in the reflection of the mirror, you find yourself truly appreciating the genuine charm it holds. The interplay of his features, the crinkling at the edges of his eyes, the sparkling of his blue eyes like light falling onto a smooth water surface … it all adds an extra layer of warmth to the embrace.

Caught up in the moment you rub your ass against him, wanting to know if he feels that spark too.

His only reaction is a sharp intake of breath when you brush over his groin but nothing that indicates discomfort.

So you do it again, harder this time, feeling him hardening against your ass.

Patrick tightens his hold on you, pulling you even closer. In the reflection of the mirror, you find his gaze and fuck, you like what you see.

His eyes, once soft blue, have deepened into a more intense shade, revealing a hint of desire beneath the furrowed brows. The subtle play of light and shadow casts a captivating look on his face, where concentration blends with a dark allure. His lips have curved in a half smile, a mix of amusement and something more primal.

Patrick rubs his nose against the side of your face and breathes in, before sucking at the sensitive spot under your ear.

Your knees buckle and you realise that you're held upright by his steady grip on you.

“You know you could have just asked… no need to spill coffee and injure yourself,” Patrick murmurs against the back of your neck, his voice low enough that the slight growl of it vibrates against your skin.

Then his mouth is on yours.

Hot, heavy, heady, like you could get drunk off his kiss. You return it with the same intensity as you feel arousal crashing through your veins the sting of your hand long forgotten.

A happy murmur escapes him, reverberating through you low and dark when he notices your enthusiastic response. Immediately you feel the need to hear it again, so you move a hand under his sweater, the warmth of his muscular chest against your palm ignites the fire in you.

All logic and reason is gone when you dig your nails into his skin and he groans again, heavy against your lips.

Strong, hard fingers dig into the soft muscle as he devours you. You’re fairly sure that his grip will leave bruises and push harder against him.

His hard cock feels big against you, you can’t help but wonder if you’d struggle to take all of him in your mouth.

While you know that there are at least four layers between you, his probably tight boxers and the blue jeans as well as your underwear and dress pants, it feels immaterial. Like he would just be able to push inside you with one hard stroke.

You end the kiss gasping for air, both breathing heavily and you take in the reflection in the mirror.

Would he try to push three of those thick fingers inside your cunt? To edge on that boundary of pleasure of pain before withdrawing and going back to two.

The hand on your hip that is digging so deliciously into your flesh is flexed and you swallow thickly, noting the long fingers.

You wonder if he was able to fit two inside you, making sure you were ready for all of him because evident by his hard dick pressing into the low of your back, Patrick is no small man.

Patrick keeps his eyes locked on yours as he slips on hand under your shirt, making sure that you’re fine with it. When he registers no opposition from you, he places his hand on your breast, touching it through your bra.

His finger rubs over your nipple, eliciting a quiet moan from you as it feels like electricity shoots from your breast to your pussy. Involuntarily, your free hand finds the edge of the counter to grip something as your other hand digs into the hard muscles of his back. He squeezes them again, before letting his hand wander underneath your bra, pulling the cups down, so he can reach your boobs easier.

Patrick’s palm cups your naked tits and you feel the rough, warm skin of his strong hands. You can’t help but bite your lips when his fingers run over your nipple in an almost lazy gesture.

You push back against the hard swell of his cock in an attempt to also give him some friction or motivate him to touch you more.

Apparently, it works because he rolls your nipples between his thumb and forefinger, moving back and forth until they are stiff, before squeezing his fingers together roughly. You moan and arch your back, pushing into his hands at the sudden roughness that just touched that border of pain that you like.

He pulls your head back to kiss you deeply. His tongue curves gently into your mouth and runs over the edge of your lip, coaxing you to flick your tongue against him. You lean fully into the kiss, deepening it even further.

With one last flick on your nipples, he slides his hands out of your top and breaks the kiss. His hands find the hem of your shirt.

“This okay?” his voice is rough and deeper, clearly affected by the situation, His eyes are bright and questioning as he looks at you in the reflection, waiting for a response.

You nod breathlessly - to be honest you’ll be fine with whatever he does to you at this point. But the way he smiles and presses a quick kiss to your neck almost makes you swoon.

Patrick pulls the shirt up and off over your head, leaving you in only your bra is already pulled down to reveal your breasts.

For a split second, you wonder if he may not like what he sees but they melt away when you see the barely constrained heat and desire in his eyes as he licks his lips unconsciously. He runs his palms over your back, arms, and neck before bringing you back for a kiss while undoing your bra and sliding it off you.

You tug on his sweater, telling him wordlessly to take it off, something you have itched to do since you’ve first seen him. He obliges, pulls it over his head and you’re left with Patrick Wilson shirtless. A breath hitches in your throat as you take him in - a broad chest, muscular, dusted with hair, and a prominent line going down over his stomach.

You sense that you aren’t the only one who is eager to finally see what you only felt earlier.

He engulfs you again from behind, reclaiming your mouth into a kiss. You close your eyes to relish the feeling of his hot, hard, and bare chest on your back.

Patrick plants new open-mouthed kisses down the edge of your throat and neck, leaving brightly coloured marks in his wake. With each nibble and soft scraping of his teeth against your skin, you feel yourself getting wetter, the fabric of your underwear getting slicker.

Your eyes flutter closed when he runs his hand over your collarbone to cup one of your tits in his big palm, every touch of his fingers setting your nerves alight with blazing desire.

Patrick squeezes your breast deliberately, weighing it in his hand. You can feel his gaze on you, watching you, seizing your every reaction to his ministrations. Wanting to see him, you open your eyes and lick your lips breathlessly as you take him in. His eyes are heavy-lidded and the soft blue has given way to the blackness of his pupil. You watch his hand grope your body, mesmerised by the ripple of his muscles and the map of veins on his arms.

He lets go of your tit and places his hand on your sternum, fingers sprawled out to touch as much of you as possible and keep you upright as you feel your knees buckle a bit with his burning touch and tenderness while his other hand continues to explore your body, moving downwards.

His hand massages the inside of your thigh, drawing lazy circles and patterns before his strong fingers edge closer to your cunt. You can’t help but whimper when he trails his forefinger over the seam of your crotch.

“Needy,” he groans into your ear, hot breath fanning over it.

He has the nerve to shoot you a wink and a lopsided grin before he increases the pressure and repeats the motion. Your head falls back against his shoulder and you grind against his hard cock again. You’re pretty sure that he has to be able to feel the dampness seeping through the material of your pants.

A hiss escapes you when he uses the tip of his finger to gently rub over your clit and part of you is amazed that he manages to find it even through your pants. Your mind is blissfully blank, nothing is relevant and existing except the warmth radiating from Patrick’s broad body behind you and the wonderful feeling of his finger on your clothed cunt and clit.

You arch against him, pushing your ass into his covered cock. A jolt of pleasure courses through you as you hear him moan lowly against your ear. His eyes flutter closed and his jaw is slack in arousal as he rubs his dick against you.

You don’t think you have seen him look more beautiful today.

Unbeknownst to you, the words escape your lips, and a redness fans over your cheeks when you notice Patrick’s eyes opening, warmth evident in them. His lips curve into a sweet, shy smile, and the blush that creeps to cover his chest only enhances his handsomeness.

“Thank you,” he mumbles, his voice carrying a blend of sincerity and quiet delight before capturing your lips in a slow kiss.

His hand shifts against your hip, edging into the waistband of your pants as his fingers dance over the bare skin before he hooks them into the seam and drags both your pants and underwear down over your ass.

When his fingers trail over your bare cunt you let out a whimper and buck into his hand, desperate for him to give you more.

Patrick captures your mouth again in a wet kiss, biting down on your bottom lip just as he slips one of his thick fingers into your wet pussy. He swallows the moan that escapes you and you feel his cock twitching against your ass.

Suddenly, you are aching to touch him more too, to tease him in the same way he drives you insane. So you reach behind you to free his dick from his jeans.

His stomach muscles tense when you graze them softly with your nails. With your gaze trailed on him in the mirror you watch his reaction to you. His lips are parted and his eyes are watching you intensely, his finger thrusting shallowly into your cunt, not going deeper than the first knuckle.

Impatient you tug at his jeans and boxer shorts, pulling them down to expose his cock. Your fingers curl around him instantly, eliciting a deep and feral sound from Patrick that makes your whole body tingle. He feels hot and heavy inside your hand and you were right with your previous assumption - he is big. You move your hand over the length of him, swiping your thumb over the head to add to the stimulation.

Patrick moves his hand, so he can use the ball of his hand to rub against your clit, making you gasp sharply.

Finally , he adds another finger and pushes them in completely, You mewl, bucking against his hand as you enjoy the way his thick fingers feel inside you, deliciously stretching you.

You pick up the pace, letting your hand glide over his cock faster and he retaliates.

Patrick thrusts into you faster and you whimper when the edge of his palm meets your sensitive clit hard. The wet sound of him fucking your cunt with his fingers is loud in the otherwise quiet room. When he curls his fingers inside of you, you stop jerking him off. Both of your hands come to grip the edge of the counter, overwhelmed by the sensations.

Your mind is void of thoughts only the feeling of Patrick’s hard, hot body behind you and his thick fingers inside your pussy persist.

A loud moan falls from your lips when he adds another finger. Three of his strong, long fingers are pushing into you, feeling almost too big as the stretch is bordering on uncomfortable. With every thrust, you whine breathlessly as you grind into his hand.

Patrick only fucks your cunt a few times with three fingers before switching back to two that feel just perfect now. His palm still provides friction on your clit, slowly but steadily leading you to your high.

You whine when he pulls his hand back, “Please, Patrick -”

“I love it when you say my name,” he groans and nips at your neck before he taps your lips with his fingers, prompting you to open your eyes which you closed sometime during this as well as part your lips. Patrick pushes two of his slick fingers into your mouth, and the salty flavour of your pussy settles on your tongue as you lick and suck on them.

His mouth is on you the second he withdraws his fingers, tasting you on your tongue. He murmurs something against your lips, raw and deep but your brain is too foggy to register the words.

More, you just want more. More of him, his fingers, his everything.

And it seems like Patrick has a similar idea because he grinds his hard cock against the lips of your cunt, coating himself in your wetness, nudging your sensitive clit in the process.

You’re sure that you don’t breathe when he pushes forward slowly. Patrick’s head falls forwards onto your shoulder with a groan as he fills you. When he bottoms out, he stills, his fingers digging into your hips sharply when he lets you adjust.

“Fuck, you’re taking me so well,” his voice is muffled by your shoulder but the dark, masculine edge to it sends shivers through your veins.

Patrick lifts his head, pressing one lingering kiss to your shoulder, before catching your glaze in the reflection. He gives you a cheeky wink and pulls out only to slam back into you.

The drag of his cock over the slick walls of your cunt felt heavenly, hitting all the right spots and filling you to the brim. You push back against him to meet him for every hard stroke. As much as you want to keep quiet you just can’t.

In the reflection of the mirror, you watch the way his muscular arms bend and tense as well as the tightening of his abs whenever he thrusts inside you. You watch his cock plunging into your cunt, shining when he pulls back.

You clench around him, making him groan as he continues his fast pace. Patrick moves one hand from your hip to your clit, the pad of his fingers scraping over it softly, adding to the stimulation. You know that you’re close, the combination of everything adding up much quicker than normal.

The rhythmic clicking of heels echoes outside on the linoleum floor of the corridor and catches your attention. Initially uncertain if it's just your imagination, but Patrick gradually stills in his movements, causing an involuntary whine to escape you.

“Quiet”, he hisses, his head turning towards the door.

The clicking of heels draws nearer, and a sense of urgency tightens its grip on you. Your mind goes blank, leaving you unsure of what course of action to take and how to diffuse the compromising situation.

Patrick’s quick thinking kicks in with a fluidity that catches you off guard. In a deft movement, he seizes both your shirt and his pullover as he smoothly guides you backward, his cock slipping out of you. The urgency of the situation propels you both into a nearby toilet cabin, the door closing behind you with a hushed click.

The creak of the door opening sends a jolt of tension through you. Whoever was in the corridor has now entered the bathroom, and your hope intensifies that you both managed to grab everything in the hurried move to the cabin.

Patrick seems fairly sure of that as he takes a seat on the closed lid of the toilet, pulling you onto his lap with a seamless motion. The sound of the other person fades into the background as you take the opportunity to study him. Dark eyes, watching you intently, swollen lips, tousled curly hair, shirtless with sweat glistening on his broad chest and his cock still erect.

Something short circuits in your brain as you take in the handsome man opposite you as you mumble under your breath, “Jesus Christ, Patrick” and you feel the undeniable urge to taste him, feel him, and touch him.

You let your fingers brush through his hair, scraping your nails over his scalp as you completely mess up the neat styling of his curls. In the back of your head, you note, that his hair is pleasingly soft to the touch.

Patrick in turn grabs the back of your head, pulling you into him to claim you in a kiss. It is soft and easy, his tongue slipping into your mouth to nudge his.

He pulls back with dark eyes and drips his head to whisper into your ear, “You gotta say quiet, can you do that?”

Almost as if on cue you hear the other person in the bathroom entering a cabin.

And Patrick lifts you as if you weigh nothing and angles his cock before pulling you down on it. When he fills you completely and unexpectedly you cannot fully suppress the quiet moan that spills over your lips.

You instantly bite down on your lip, afraid that you were heard but nothing happens and Patrick doesn’t seem to be worried by it.

He thrusts shallowly into you while keeping his eyes firm on yours.

You feel like it’s all too much and not enough at once. The stretch of his dick inside you is just perfect, he feels deeper in this angle. You can’t help but roll your hips on him, desperate for more - even if you’re not sure what this more is.

Patrick cups your face and pushes your hair out of the way before looking into your eyes and pulling you into a deep kiss. You moan into his mouth when he thrusts upwards hard a few times.

He pulls back to whisper into your eyes, each word accompanied by a stroke of his dick, “It turns you on, doesn’t it? That they could just catch us…”

You clench around him because yes it turns you on beyond belief and he hoarsely chuckles.

You’re afraid that the other person will hear you with every sound you make and that you can’t suppress. You concentrate on the feeling of him inside you. How his body radiates an impossible amount of warmth, how he seems to surround you completely, and how he fills you entirely.

Desperate to also make it harder for him to suppress his sounds you start trailing kisses from his mouth over his jaw, subtle stubble prickling against your lips. You feel him swallow thickly, his Adam's apple bobbing. His fingers around your hips tighten, bruising your skin and making you whimper.

The other person seems to have left the cabin since you hear water running, you were so preoccupied you didn’t hear them flushing or unlocking the door.

Patrick’s fingers tangle in your hair, pulling you back to speak in a hushed voice again, “Do you want us to be caught? Do you want them to find me balls deep inside your cunt?”

You shake your head, no you don’t want them to know what Patrick’s doing to you. The consequences would be catastrophic. You’re supposed to tell him how his sons doing in your class, not letting him destroy you in a public bathroom.

“No, I don’t. But I wouldn’t have it any other way,” you manage to grind out lowly and breathlessly.

A sound deep in his chest rumbles and he cradles your face in his hands again to kiss you heatedly.

Finally, you hear the door. You’re alone again.

Patrick heard it too, because he gives you another searing kiss before thrusting hard, eliciting a moan from you. You hear the wet sounds of your cunt around his dick as he drives into you in earnest. His hand comes to rest on your clit, rubbing circles, desperate to make you cum now.

You bite your lip and watch the tensing of his muscles whenever he drives into you with purpose his gaze however is trailed on your pussy, looking at how his dick disappears into it.

You clench around him as Patrick brings you closer and closer, each time his dick hits that spot inside you, and his thumb brushes over your clit. He catches your breast in his mouth, sucking on your nipple, adding to the stimulation.

Overwhelmed by the sensations you bury your hand in his hair, pulling on it as arousal clashes through your veins, the telltale throbbing between your thighs intensifying. Patrick groans under you and you feel his thighs quivering as well as his thrusts getting sloppy, losing their piercing rhythm. Every thought on your mind is now occupied by the sensation of being filled again and again by Patrick’s hard, thick cock that scrapes the walls of your cunt just perfectly as well as the sound of your hips slapping together.

“Come for me, on my cock,” he grinds out and brings his hand down on your ass hard, rubbing the pinked skin afterwards.

The combined sensation of the pain and the pleasure Patrick is providing you steers you higher and higher until you heed his words and come apart.

Fire crashes through your veins, burning you from the inside as the sensations flow through you. Everything feels more heightened for a moment, his cock, his fingers, his body - just all that is him surrounds you and lifts you up.

You dig your fingers into his neck, half-frantic as you anchor yourself to him while the waves of your orgasm wash over you.

You dully note how you clench around him, making him groan loudly under you as he continues to keep you on your high.

After a few sloppy, hard thrusts you feel his cock pulsing inside you when Patrick comes with hoarse a mumble of your name on his lips, filling you with his cum. He presses his hips flush against you, grinding into you as he releases as deep as possible, letting his eyes fall closed, his long lashes resting on his cheekbones.

As soon as he stills, you slump against him, fitting your forehead against his, closing your eyes. Just breathing and coming down from your high.

Patrick’s warm hand cradles your cheek, coaxing you to open your eyes.

“Hi,” the word comes out as a whisper.

“Hi,” he echoes, his words carrying a soft smile as he leans in. His lips meet yours in a sweet, unhurried kiss that seems to suspend time for a fleeting moment.

As the kiss concludes, you take in the sight of him and he looks just as spent as you feel. His disheveled hair bears the evidence of your fingers running through it, the neatly combed curls now messy. A glistening layer of sweat highlights his features in the bathroom’s subdued light. But Patrick's eyes remain bright and alive, their soft shade of blue reminiscent of the calming sea. A radiant and genuine smile is etched onto his face as he looks at you.

You stand up with shaky legs and his cock slips out of you, leaving you empty. You feel his cum oozing out of your cunt and reach for some toilet paper to clean yourself up.

“Don’t bother,” Patrick says, catching your wrist and blocking you from grabbing the paper. You give him a confused look but he simply gathers your combined fluids on his fingers and pushes them back inside you, “We’re not finished yet and I want you to feel what I have done to you. I want you to think of me - of the mess I’ve made”

You can’t suppress a moan at the combination of his words and his thick fingers thrusting inside your overstimulated, used cunt a few times.

He pulls his fingers out and hooks them into your underwear to put them on you properly again.

“I want you to feel me with every step today, to feel my cum coat you,” Patrick’s blue eyes are intense on you, making you understand the meaning behind his words as he stands up, “If you are good I’ll fill you up again later, sweetheart.”

He bows down to grab your pants, pulls them up, and closes them. The intimate gesture causes heat to bloom on your cheeks, it is rather sweet that he helps you dress again so you want to return to favor.

With that he kisses you again, devouring you hungrily. You can’t help but respond and wrap your arms around him, pulling him closer so he engulfs you completely.

You separate breathlessly and he tightens his arms around you to press a kiss on your hair before losing his hold and stepping back.

Without a word you sink down to your knees again and grab his cock, causing him to hiss and look at you. It transforms into a low groan when you wrap your mouth around him, tasting the combination of both your releases.

“Fuck,” Patrick curses roughly, one hand tangling into your hair as you swirl your tongue around him to clean him.

You release him from your mouth when you’re satisfied and tuck him back into his underwear before pulling up his pants. As soon as you stand again, he pulls you in for another short, deep kiss.

Patrick breaks the kiss and reaches for your bra and shirt, handing it to you before grabbing his sweater. You clasp your bra and pull the shirt over your head as does he.

Part of you is sad that he is dressed again, you quite enjoyed seeing him shirtless but you can’t deny that he looks delicious in that damn wool sweater.

Patrick leans in for another sweet kiss, his lips pressing gently against yours. His palm cradles your cheek, and the rhythmic strokes of his thumb create a soothing caress, a silent reassurance that lingers in the air.

As he cautiously opens the cabin door, his eyes sweep the interior, ensuring that the coast is clear before giving you a wink and stepping out. The dim light of the bathroom casts a warm glow on his features, and you can't help but notice the subtle sparkle in his bright blue eyes.

With deliberate care, Patrick fixes his disheveled hair in the mirror, raking his fingers through it to comb it back again. Mesmerized, you watch as he restores his hair to its previous order, each stroke a deliberate motion that reminds you of how capable his stronger fingers are and you clench your thighs, feeling the sticky residue of his cum.

You gather your messy hair into a ponytail, not being able to do more with it or detangle it properly since you don’t have a brush with you. In the light of the bathroom you see the purple marks on your neck and let your finger run over it deliberately.

Taking stock of your appearance, you gather your messy hair into a makeshift ponytail, unable to do much more without a brush to detangle it properly. In the soft light of the bathroom, you catch a glimpse of purple marks on your neck and let your fingers deliberately trace over them.

Feeling Patrick’s gaze on you, you ask, “Proud of yourself?” Pulling down the neckline of your shirt to inspect your collarbones and upper chest, you openly display the marks left by him.

Patrick grins in response, wide and toothy, and his eyes twinkle mischievously, “I’d say that I’m sorry, but I think we’re pretty much even.”

He playfully rolls down the top of his turtleneck to reveal the little indents your teeth left on the juncture of his neck.

“You can be glad you don't wear a t-shirt under your sweater because I’d have stolen the sweater,” you muse, prompting a melodic laugh from Patrick and you find that you quite like it, “But I think I have a scarf in my office.”

“Well then, shall we?” Patrick gestures toward the bathroom door leading to the hallway. He opens it and guides you out with a reassuring hand at the small of your back.

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