#oops my hand slipped and hit the reblog button

[a-butterfly-on-his-tummy]

Tequila

“Happy birthday, dear Sarah! Happy birthday to you!” The classic birthday song fills the sitting room located in Mitch and Sarah’s NYC flat. She blows out her candles as her friends celebrate her day.

“Thank you for coming!” Sarah says to her friends who have gathered. “Who wants cake?”

“I’m gonna go get another drink. Need a refill?” I say in my husband’s ear. My glass is empty, and I’m ready for another margarita.

“‘M good thanks!” Harry says, turning his face towards me. “I’ve still got a little.” I’m pretty sure Harry has been nursing this glass of tequila all night, and I’m slightly surprised. “Can I get a kiss from my wife?” Harry puckers his pink lips softly, and it sends shivers down my spine.

“I love when you call me that.” I say, moving in close, allowing my lips to land on his with a soft peck.

“My wife?” Harry has a smirk on his face that makes my lady parts tingle. I’ve been his wife for exactly a week, and I don’t think I will ever get sick of him calling me this.

“Mmhmm.” I stand up from the couch. “I’ll be back.” Stepping over my husband’s legs, I make my way to the kitchen. Setting my glass on the counter, I pour some tequila and Cointreau into a shaker and squeeze a lime in as well. Throwing a few ice cubes in the metal container, I place on the lid and shake the contents inside. The movement of my arms causes me to stumble slightly, having to lean against the counter to catch myself.

“Goodness.” I say under my breath. I pour the liquid into my glass and try to remember how many I’ve had tonight. Is this my second? Or third? Shrugging my shoulders I decide that it doesn’t matter because Harry and I can sleep in tomorrow. Plus, I don’t have to drive.

Raising the glass to my lips I take a sip of my drink, just to test the proportions and make sure I got them right. The margarita hits my tongue, and I instantly feel warm. The drink is smooth as it streams down my throat.

“Yeh alright?” Harry asks as I stumble over his feet on my way back to my seat.

“Yeah. Just tripped.” I giggle softly. Setting my glass on the coffee table. I pull my pink jacket open and peel it off my arms. Resting my jacket on the back of the couch, I adjust my necklace and reach for my glass.

“Does anyone else remember the concert in Chicago where Sarah’s drumstick went flying?” Adam asks from across the room.

“Oh let’s not....” Sarah starts to end the conversation about the time she almost killed Harry during a energy filled performance of Kiwi!

“Yeh mean the time I almost died!” Harry’s hand lands on my upper thigh. My skin burns under his palm. I take another sip of my drink, the ice clinking against the glass.

“Oh stop being dramatic.” Clare teases Harry.

“Wha’? ‘M serious. I was minding my own business singing a song when a stick comes flyin’ past my face.” Harry says with a small chuckle. His thumb moves along the skin of my thigh in small circles, and I can feel a rush of liquid begin to ruin my knickers. I cross my legs and the friction that comes from the movement makes my insides growl. I take another sip of my drink.

“I’m sorry! It just slipped.” Sarah’s cheeks are brushed with blush as they talk about the event.

“That’s what they all say.” Harry jokes to his drummer, and the group of friends laugh. “Gonna get some water.” Harry pats my knee and stands up, making his way towards the kitchen. I waste no time; standing up, I follow him into the kitchen with my drink of course.

“Darling…. what yeh doin’?” Harry says as I push my body up against his back. Pressing my boobs against his back, running my hand across his stomach and up his chest.

“I need your help.” I kiss the back of his neck, tasting his skin against my lips.

“With?” Harry wonders, turning around in my arms.

“I’ll show you.” I press my glass against my mouth and throw back the rest of my margarita, setting the glass down on the counter. Grabbing my husband’s hand, I lead him down the hall. Opening the door to a random bedroom I pull Harry inside, closing the door behind him.

“What are we doing in Mitch and Sarah’s room?” Harry looking around the room curiously; his eyes wide. My white long sleeve shirt is off and my necklace is hanging between my breasts that are covered by my sheer white bra.

“I need you.” I say, moving my hands to the buttons of my skirt. My fingers fumble struggling to get it open.

“Holy shit.” Harry says under his breath, his eyes grow wide with surprise as he walks towards me. I pop open the button and grab the zipper that spans the entire length of my floral leather skirt.

“I need my husband inside me. Now!” I state, moving the zipper down the fabric, letting it drop to the floor.

“Well, not here!” Harry says, rushing to pick up my skirt. As he bends down, my soaked lace knickers come into view and Harry lets out a deep breath. “Dammit.” Grabbing my skirt off the floor, he brings it around my body and attempts to hold it in place while he zips it back up.

“Baby…” My hand reaches out, running my palm up his hard dick. I hear a hiss come from behind his teeth as I make my way up to the top of his solid member. I want it. I need it.

“Darling, please don’t do this here. We can’t. Okay? Let’s get yeh dressed and we can do this at home.” Harry attempts to convince me to stop, but I think I can hear in his voice that he wants me too. He finishes zipping my shirt, patting my hips twice before leaning over to grab my shirt.

“I’m wet, and ready to take you…” I reach behind, popping the clasp on my bra open, letting it fall to the floor.

“Why are yeh doin’ this?” Harry stomps his foot against the floor as he turns around and sees that my chest is naked except for my necklace that is swinging softly between my breasts. The cold metal creates goosebumps against my hot skin.

“I want you.” Dancing my hand along my stomach and up my chest, I pinch my nipple between my fingers. My eyes roll back as I bite my lip when I roll my hard bud, and it makes the juices drip from my folds. “Please…”

“Grrr.” Harry growls slightly and it only makes me want to jump on top of him more. “Not here.” Leaning over, Harry grabs the strap of my bra, ready to help me put it on.

“Oops!” I say as the fabric of my skirt drops to the floor once again. I watch Harry as his eyes widen and he takes a deep breath. I let out a small giggle, tucking my hands into the side of my knickers ready to take them off and get things going.

“Elizabeth. Darling. This is not the time.” Harry is frustrated because obviously he wants his wife. She is gorgeous as she stands there in nothing but knickers and her boots, but it’s not the time. There is a birthday party going on in the other room, and his wife will be horrified later when she finds out what she did.

“I want my husband,” I say, rubbing my hand over the top of his jeans once again, and I can feel his thick hard cock throbbing from behind the fabric.

“And I want my wife to get dressed.” Harry threads my arms through my bra straps, and he clasps it so the fabric is secure. “Do not take that off.” Harry is firm. His hand grabs mine as he leans over to grab my skirt, bringing it up my to my hips and zipping it closed once more.

“Pleaseeee…” My bottom lip folds over in a pout, hoping to sway him. “You know we are married. I can have you anytime. Come on I’ll be quick..” I attempt to convince him one more time. “At home!” Harry says, kissing my forehead. “Shirt? Let’s get yeh covered up.”

“No.” Folding my arms over my stomach. I’m upset at the fact that I’m needy and ready and he insists on getting me dressed.

“Alright. Let’s go.” Grabbing my hand, Harry drags me into the hall. And into the entryway.

“Where did ya g..oh my eyes.” Mitch’s eyes are wide as he looks at me and then shields them from the view looking in the direction of Harry .

“Think I’m gonna take her home. She is done for the night.” Harry’s eyebrows rise as he gives Mitch a look that lets Mitch know not to ask questions. Harry walks around the corner and grabs my jacket, waving to his friends. “Elizabeth.. stop.” Harry says in a whisper, running to my side, as I attempt to pull down the zipper.

“Tequila makes her clothes fall off…” Mitch sings ending the line with a small laugh, knowing he will be teasing Harry about this later.

“Piss off.” Harry says, throwing the jacket over my bare shoulders and ushering me out the door, wondering how in the world he is going to keep me dressed on the ride home.

A/N: A massive shout out to the one and only @whoopsharrystyles​ not only is she an amazing beta but she calms my soul and I love her loads. Please check out my Masterlist and Wattpad page! Thank you for liking, reblogging and sending asks or messages. They feed my soul and keep me writing!! I love you all so much!! 

[diamondsaregold]

A Memorable Offense! - A Dave Reyes Fanfic

The Royal Romance x Most Wanted

#ChoicesCreates Round 17

Prompt: “Some souls just understand each other upon meeting.”

Rating: T

Pairings:  Dave/MC, implied Dave/Sam

Summary: Hired to investigate Prince Liam’s photo scandal, Detective Dave Reyes attends a dinner party at the Cordonian royal palace. What he finds is a flamboyant cast of Cordonian nobles and an enigmatic foreign suitor who he sees a little too much of himself in. Hilarity, impromptu make-out sessions, and mortal embarrassment ensue.

Author’s Note: One like/reblog = one prayer for Dave’s dignity. Enjoy!

In his past 7 years working both a renowned private investigator and charming socialite, Dave had never been so utterly overwhelmed and flustered as he was that night.

The assignment had been simple enough: Work alongside Bastien and the other investigators of the royal palace, to track down whoever in their midst was illicitly selling private information and photos of Prince Liam to the press. His first task was to attend this dinner party and to get a sense of the noble circles surrounding the royal family.

It would be no trouble at all. After a month of recovering Alyssa’s stolen private contracts, finding Cassandra’s lost in-progress scripts, and taking down Otis’s certifiably insane and shutter-crazy fan boy (who, incidentally, turned out to be his reality TV show star ex-boyfriend. Which was nothing new, either.), Dave was pretty sure that he could handle tracking down one phony in a whole flock of manicured, gold-plated royals. 

Bastien seemed to agree. “You’ll need little preparation, based on what we have all heard about you,” the mysterious, dark-haired man had asserted confidently, before giving an approving nod to his attire. “Armani is quite the popular brand here. You’ll be a hit with the nobles. Just make sure that you blend in.” 

And so, Dave had walked into the ballroom with suit freshly dry-cleaned, eyes alert, and charming smile ready to deploy.

It began well, he had thought. After making his rounds and introducing himself to a handful of nobles milling about the dinner tables, he started off for the dance floor, to make the acquaintance of the various people swaying to the music in the center. 

As he began to move to the beat and caught the eye of a very pretty noble woman, he began to relax and let loose. There was nothing wrong with having a little bit of fun while on the job, after all!

Then began the chaos—or in Dave’s world, mildly embarrassing himself in front of other people. 

His social disgrace occurred in a series of four distinct offenses.

The first offense occurred as he was seconds away from asking a lovely lady for a dance, when a young man with a black button-up and ruffled hair quite literally flew into him.

He was much more solid than he appeared, Dave noted as he groaned and rubbed his shoulder from the impact. 

The young man quickly apologized, before grinning and immediately challenging Dave to “a dance battle of epic proportions.”

Before Dave could politely decline—both because he was sure that he could not hold his own in such a dance battle, and, because just then he noticed the sauce smeared on the man’s cheek and shirt collar—the young man flopped onto the floor and began doing the worm.

The people around them gave them a wide berth, and a few rolled their eyes in Dave’s direction.

Dave hastily excused himself from the wiggling, sauce-smeared man and darted off the dance floor. 

The second offense began when a red-haired lady, with a wolfish smile and what appeared to be a roosting bird in her hair, asked Dave to dance. Still reeling from the young man’s impromptu worm (though, in the man’s defense, it was quite the impressive worm), Dave politely declined.

Apparently, rejection did not sit well with this one. At first, she repeated her question, but this time with growing menace in her predator-like gaze. When Dave stared her back down and declined again, albeit more forcefully, she growled.

Alright, now he was afraid. Dave took a step back as the redhead leaned in close. “How dare you! I am a descendant of the esteemed Nevrakis Family. I am doing you a favor by extending a request to waltz to such a lowly commoner.”

Her childish pout and gag-worthy floral perfume, as well as his close proximity to her animalistic stare (and features, as Dave observed her sharp, pointed teeth) clouded his social tact and willpower. Offhandedly, he mentioned that Nevrakis sounded like a really bitchy, whiny family of tyrants from a popular fantasy TV show that was filmed in his hometown.

(It was only much later that night, long after she had stormed off, fuming, that he discovered that the show was based upon real events and people, who were descendants of the present-day Cordonian nobles. If so, Dave mused, the producers had done an excellent job of capturing the Nevrakises accurately.)

The third offense happened to be the most humiliating of the four. After recovering from his sudden-social-death by worm and his run-in with an insane wolf-lady, he decided to start over again, beginning with the gorgeous blonde woman in a teal gown, standing off to the side. 

Dave turned to a burly man in the denim shirt and asked him if he would be so kind to give him her name. The man gave him the once-over, before stating with an amused smirk that the blonde’s name was “Olivia.”

When Dave sauntered up to the blonde with his best, winning smile and asked “Olivia” if she would like to dance, she shot him a withering glare that froze him in his tracks, before stalking off without so much a backward glance.

Only after, between fits of the stocky man’s roaring laughter, did Dave discover that the blonde “Olivia” was in fact a “Madeleine.”  

When Dave asked icily then whom “Olivia” would be, the man laughed even harder.

As Dave summoned up whatever minute shred of dignity he had left and exited the ballroom, amid the man’s ungracefully loud guffaws, he tried to reassure himself that it was the embarrassing slip-up and rejection that had stunned him. 

Not the blonde hair, the steely blue eyes, and the hardened, fiery gaze that reminded him of the blonde firecracker of a woman in his own life. And whom he had not heard from in months.

Detective Dave Reyes stepped out onto the balcony and shut his eyes, taking a deep breath of the night air. Behind him, nobles twittered and twirled about. The sound of clinking forks and laughter filled the air, along with the distinct scent of apple-flavored gourmet dishes.

The lively scene stood in stark contrast to his own increasingly gloomy mood. Thinking of her only brought up the memory of their fleeting touches and the undefined, fractured state of their current relationship. How he had wanted more, but she…

Dave clenched the railing. Relationship woes be damned! Tonight, he was a man on a job, and he couldn’t afford to be dragged down by personal feelings. 

Then he remembered that he also said to her once, long ago, and nearly cursed himself aloud, until he noticed the young lady standing on the other end of the balcony.

Her back was turned to him. The plumes of her white dress gently billowed in the night breeze. In the dark, the gauzy fabric had a sheer glow, giving her a ghostly effect.

As he approached, he noticed that her gaze was directed downwards, into the black abyss below their balcony. 

Dave was only a few feet away from her rippling frame when he realized that he had been staring uncomfortably at this woman for the past few minutes, all while slowly inching closer to her. 

He flushed. Damn the reminiscing! He had dropped his guard. Quickly, he tried to form a coherent apology, an explanation for being a total and utter creep.

“It’s quite alright.”

She was so soft that he almost did not hear her.

“Pardon?” (He did hear her. He was Detective Dave Reyes, for crying out loud!) But he wanted to hear her voice again—it was low, monotonous, but had a distinct, sweet lilt to it.

“You were staring at me,” she replied. Her features were soft, round. Wisps of hair framed her heart-shaped face, and her dark eyes were bright with amusement.

“Oh. Right! Sorry about that.”

“Ah, no worries.”

She went quiet. Awkwardly, Dave coughed. Then he fiddled with his thumbs. Shifted from one foot to the other.

“So what’s an American detective like you doing in Cordonia?”

“You…you know me?!” Oops. He coughed as her smile slowly grew. “I mean. Yes! You do know me. Oh, I’m here on...important business.” Smooth, Reyes, smooth.

“You’re doing a job for the Cordonian government?” Shit! Did he give it away? Maybe she had hypnotized him earlier…

“Don’t worry. You didn’t give anything away. But I’ve followed your career, and I know you’re mostly based in Los Angeles.

“You follow my career?”

Now it was her turn to be embarrassed. The lady blushed and looked away. Smirking, Dave placed an arm on the railing and leaned in a little closer. 

Her lips were a vibrant shade of fuchsia. It made him recall the bold, over-the-top stars he’d run into at awards shows and parties. Stars who’d pout when they didn’t get the drink they wanted, or pucker up for a kiss when they saw him. At his first Hollywood gig, he remembered thinking they all looked like cartoon characters, with extravagant dresses and obnoxiously loud lip colors.

Somehow, though, the color worked for her. It gave her gauzy figure a pop of brilliance, and brought out the flecks of gold in her eyes.

“Yes. I’m quite the fan of you and Marshal Samantha Massey. You make quite the duo,” she finally replied.

Well, wasn’t that straight to the point. Caught for a moment, he flinched, and then laughed, unconvincingly.  “That we were!” He leaned back even more, trying to put some distance, some air, in between him and the truth of her statement.

She arched an eyebrow, and Dave noticed how finely sculpted it was.  “Were?”

“Yeah…well…” He couldn’t speak. It was as if there was a weight pressing down into his lungs. Suddenly, it felt like he was tumbling down, down, and it all seeped out.

“We’re not partners anymore. I haven’t seen her since our last case in February, in fact.” 

There was a note of finality to his a voice, a bitterness that he didn’t recognize. 

“So, you’ve decided to run away to Cordonia to get over her?”

He stared at her in shock. The corners of her lips curved upwards and Dave realized that she was teasing him. Slowly, he began to smile as well.

“Are you flirting with me?”

“Was that a flirtatious remark?”

“No. But I know me.”

“Ah. Now I know why she left. You’re insufferable!”

“How dare you! I’m absolutely worth the suffering!”

It was a night that made for pleasant conversation, discussing their respective life stories and laughing at the similarities they saw in their own. Their confessions and hilarious anecdotes flowed out as they laughed and urged the other to go on.

“And then Maxwell said ‘Go get him, Princess,’ and I swear, he hip-checked me and sent me flying across the ice!” she giggled between laughs. It was more like a snort than a laugh, which only made him laugh even more.

“Did you glide like a princess?”

“Princess? Have you even met me? No, I face-planted in front of Prince Liam.”

“Oh, what a shame. Did Maxwell get a photo at least?”

“Excuse me?!”

Never before had he been so at ease with a stranger before, nor had he been able to find someone to hold their own as a worthy partner in intellectual conversation. The night wore on, and Dave found himself opening up amid her infectious laughter and inquisitive gaze, as the two wandered near pieces of their past they had never dared breach before.

“I’m not sure why I stayed in LA for long. Maybe my mother, maybe my job. This is the first time I’ve been away from home in so long.”

“Ah.” She looked away, and Dave made out the pain that flashed across her face. “I didn’t have much of a home to leave in the first place.”

She glanced back at him. “This the first time I’ve felt at home, in fact.”

As Dave peered into her dark eyes and observed the swirling sensation in his stomach, he had the strangest feeling that everything that night had led him to this moment.

Or maybe it was the tingling in his fingers as he brushed her hair out of her face and ran his thumb along the lines of her cheek. Her skin was warm, and flushed a soft pink wherever his touch followed.

After he pulled his hand away, with some reluctance, she took a step closer to him. She looked up at him to meet his gaze and he felt his breath catch. He drank in the flickers of desire in her gaze, the way she bit down softly on her lip as his own gaze darted over her face, stopping at her mouth. 

It wasn’t fuchsia, but a soft shade of purple, Dave noted, as he closed the distance between them.

It was the least talking they had done all night—save for when they slammed into the railing with resounding groans, before she desperately grabbed his shirt and tugged him closer. 

Or when he gripped his waist and slowly, tortuously moved south, as she whimpered into his mouth. 

Or, when she ran her tongue along his bottom lip and he made a guttural sound that he had never heard before. 

When they finally drew apart, the first thing he noticed was her lips. Flushed, slightly swollen (he thought to himself proudly), and very pink. Immediately, he swiped at his own lips. She laughed as he frantically rubbed the purple away.

Then the moment faded, and they were silent. Dave wondered why it was so difficult for him to meet her gaze now, but he forced his eyes up. Her face was guarded, careful, and a little regretful. 

He swallowed, and made the first move. “Sorry—”

“Don’t be.”

He got the feeling that both of them weren’t used to losing their composure. Now that the line had been crossed, they had no idea what to do. In the distance, he could hear the partygoers saying their farewells to each other, and the noise slowly filtering away. 

“I have to go,” she murmured.

“Right. Me too.”

Dave felt compelled to say something, to do something, to return from this spell he had fallen under, or to stop all walls they had torn down that night from slowly being erected again. 

“I’m really am sor—”

“Reyes.” He stopped at her harsh tone, before her face softened into something unrecognizable. Something he couldn’t quite pinpoint, but made his insides flutter. 

“It’s alright.” Then she smiled, wistfully. The understanding in her gaze sent an ache through his chest.

“We all need an escape from time to time, don’t we?”

He was speechless as she pressed a kiss to his cheek, and slipped quietly back into the ballroom. 

He wanted to call out to her, to ask her to stay for just a little longer, until he faltered at the realization he had never gotten her name. Her white dress swished against the night air, and vanished into the blaring lights inside.

Dave groaned and leaned back against the railing—reeling from what, he was not sure. Was it the kiss? The mistaken color of her lipstick? Or the way his mind ran through her burning touch, over and over again? 

Whatever the fourth offense was, he thought, as he smiled ruefully, it was certainly the most memorable. 

He shook himself out of his thoughts, before getting to his feet and squaring his shoulders. 

Carefully, he buttoned his blazer up, straightened out his collar, and patted down his gelled hair. Before he stepped back into inside, he deftly checked his reflection in his phone. 

He grinned, at the memory of the scoffs and rolled eyes he’d receive whenever he’d insist on fixing his appearance before heading into a new case. Her puckered, pursed mouth. Always without lipstick.

He took in the cool night air for one more breath. Then Detective Reyes strode into the ballroom without looking back.

There would be time to remember, later. Right now, he had orders to complete.

“Dave? We have a problem.”

“Ah? What is it, Bastien?”

“…I believe you forgot to detail three specific events in your mission report.”

“What?! How—”

“Ah, excuse me.  I meant to say ‘four.’”