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greta-van-chaos · 4 months

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I Will Possess Your Heart // Part 4

Oliver Reed x Reader

Part 3 < > Part 5 (wip)

Warnings | Explicit sexual content, oral (m recieving), cursing

Word Count | 3.6k

Authors Note | I take a lot of breaks, I think you guys have caught onto that by now. I don't want to sit here and be like i'm really busy guys, sorry but truly i'm just so busy and my heart hasn't been in writing at all. I want that to change but I can't make any promises. For now, as a peace offering, here is the next part to I Will Possess Your Heart and hopefully the fifth and final part will be releasing very soon after.

The morning slides into the afternoon and the afternoon slides into the night and before you know it, once again you are beneath the covers of Oliver's bed, ear pressed to his chest as you listen to the slow, content beating of his heart. Although he denied his tiredness he has fallen into an easy sleep with you beside him and though anxiety pools in your stomach you refuse to deprive him of the sleep he seems to need so desperately.

You know you should leave, you can't stop thinking about it. Who in their right mind seeks a stranger out in the dead of night due to car troubles and then let's him entertain them for a weekend with sex and booze? It wasn't a normal situation and the guilt was truly getting to you.

For now, you decided, you'd sleep. At this point in the evening there wasn't much for you to do in terms of relieving Oliver of your presence and you weren't even sure he'd want you to go when the time came. So, sleep. It was a problem for future you to sort out.

And so, morning came, much faster than you'd have preferred but seeing Oliver still sound asleep, face beautifully calm in the morning light you knew it was time to go.

Reasonably, there is no way, no way at all that you have fallen so deeply for a stranger. You've known him for two days and already you felt an attachment that makes you shiver when you begin to even think of severing it.

Finally, you rise, peeling yourself carefully away from the bed and assuring that Oliver says sound asleep. Before leaving the room though, you move to stand on his side of the bed so you can brush a kiss to his hairline. You feel bad about what you're going to do but you know that if he woke and asked you to stay again, you may not be able to bring yourself to say no.

Once down the stairs, stepping as carefully as you can so as not to make much noise, you begin searching for your phone. You expect not to find it without a fight but there it is, perched on top of your now cleaned and dried clothes that lay folded on Oliver's desk in the living room. Miraculously it still has a charge to it and in an even greater leap of luck you now have cell reception.

Without thinking to hard on the money you're able to set up a tow truck and a ride back into the city where you reside, all things able to be neatly wrapped up before dinner time this evening.

You'd really feel unforgivable if you didn't leave something for Oliver, some sign of life, maybe an apology letter. After a small bit of deliberation you decide to scrawl your number on the legal pad you find at his desk and a short note. You don't feel the need to say much as you really aren't certain of your feelings yet but still, you make sure it's something substantial enough not to leave him with hard feelings.

With that, you gather your belongings, opting to keep the clothes he's lent you and call a car. Not a single sound alerts you that Oliver has stirred awake and for that you are grateful. You'd rather be out and gone without a word, like some specter or ghost, unseen.

The car pulls up within a timeframe you're certain is impossible considering how far out and into the woods you are. Once situated you take one more look at the manor house before your driver pulls away. You swear that in one of the windows on the top floor you can feel Oliver's form, standing, stoic. It takes all of your willpower to turn your cheek and leave without a single whisper of a goodbye.

You're doing what needs to be done. You can't live in a fantasy with a man you barely know. You hope he calls, of course you do but you know it's better for both of you if you're rid of the house now rather than later.

Days went by, days and days and days until the days faded to weeks and now, it's been almost three months since you left Oliver's glamourous home. Almost three months since you scrawled your phone number on a notepad atop his desk. Almost three months without a single call. Almost three months since you were forced into the realization that you won't ever be seeing him again.

Huffing you curl your body sideways, allowing your forehead to rest on the chilly glass of the train car you're sitting in. The world moves by in a blur and as you watch you wish the endless slew of city lights would swallow you whole. Ever since you left his house that night, you'd felt empty which almost made you laugh considering you had nothing to build upon apart from the strange situation you had found yourselves in and incredible sex.

An automated bell dings and your stop is called out by a voice that is equally as artificial. Gathering your bag and pulling your coat on a bit tighter you stand to leave. As you approach the doors, which are very slowly hauling themselves open you're robbed of all breathe.

With a dull thud your purse hits the floor, "Oliver?"

His eyes are tired and dim but when he hears your voice they seem to open wider and brighten. "Y/n?"

None other than Oliver Reed is standing at the very end of the train car, following a short line of people to exit the vehicle. The world stops around you and the overwhelming rush of emotions that grasps you keeps you glued to the spot. Hardly aware of people pushing past you to get off the train you take in Oliver's appearance and your heart aches. He's wearing a vest similar to the one he shrugged off after inviting you into his house on that fateful night and a pair of slacks. His hair is neatly brushed unlike the tangled tresses you were so used to. Even as the sky donned the night like a silky, starlit nightgown he wore a pair of oddly cut sunglasses that somehow looked perfect on him but would make anyone else look ridiculous.

Finally your brain catches up and before you realize you're doing it you rush towards him, belongings forgotten on the floor. You stop right in front of him, mere inches away from touching, your hands folded together at your chest, "I never thought I'd see you again."

He huffs out a breath and reaches for you, placing a hand on your cheek. "Neither did I."

As though you've been forced back into your body and made to see out of your eyes you blink away the haze of excitement just enough to remember that you're supposed to be exiting the train. He makes a noise of affirmation when you turn to get your bag and grab his hand, pulling him off the train and into a tight embrace once you're steady on your feet. Both of your hearts are beating fast and hard, as if to escape their confines and meld together, two halves finally whole. Oliver holds you against him and now that you're back in his arms you never want to leave. The cold outside does it's best to chill your exposed skin but the warmth of the man in front of you helps quell the bite.

When he pulls away you step back, blurting out the one thing you couldn't stop thinking about, "You never called."

"I didn't know what to say but--" He sighs and looks at you, forlorn "--please believe me when I tell you that I wanted to. I think I was just... confused."

"I do, I swear. I just wish that you did. I--" You pull yourself into his chest again, pressing your face into the crook of his neck to bite back your words, not ready to fully realize how deep your feelings run. "God, I missed you."

He smells the same as before, warm, sweet and slightly alcoholic. "I've missed you too, love."

You break away for a moment and just stare into each others eyes, the train leaving the station a blurry background noise to your occupied brain. The entire world around you has dimmed and all you know is Oliver, all you feel is Oliver, all you want is Oliver. Without really thinking you thread your fingers through his hair and pull his lips to yours, smiling at the softness of his mouth moving in sync with your own.

When his hands move to your hips and pull you flush against him you smile against his mouth and he hums. It feels perfect.

All of the questions, the worry, the unanswered want, they're all melting away and making room for this moment. You never thought you'd be reunited and now that you are it's sweeter than you could have ever imagined.

"Let me buy you dinner," He mumbles, words muffled against your lips.

"Please."

You both walk in silence, the streetlights illuminating the rain speckled road. Apparently Oliver is in town for a movie audition and plans to be around for a few days, the thought that you'll have him nearby for the weekend puts an immovable smile on your lips.

Hand in hand you make your way to a small pub and as soon as you enter you're warmed from the crown of your head to your toes. The lighting is dim and the bar is crowded with people but somehow you're able to find a little booth tucked away in the back. Everything is falling into place as if this moment is destiny. You truly believe that to be so.

Once you've ordered drinks, Oliver places his chin in his hand and gazes upon you with nothing but pure bliss and adoration in his eyes. "It's so fucking good to see you, love. I never thought I'd be able to again."

You look up at him through your lashes and smile bashfully, "I never thought I would either." You still can't shake the hurt of knowing that he was fully capable of contacting you the whole time but chose not to. Clearing your throat you lock eyes with him and press again, "I still don't really understand why you didn't call."

He sighs and looks to the side, avoiding the almost accusatory expression on your face. "I just... I was upset and confused and I really thought that your number may have just been a courtesy. I didn't know if you actually felt the same." The pained look on his face makes you reach out for his hands. You take them in your own and rub circles into the backs of them with your thumbs. His instinct at first is to pull away but quickly he melts into it and lets out a deep breath through his nose.

"I'm sorry."

Completely shattering in the moment the waiter walks over and places your drinks down. Oliver nods his head at the boy and then looks back to you. "So, do you come here often?"

A dumb grin pulls on your lips and you laugh. "I do, in fact. I live just down the street." You cock an eyebrow at him "What brings Oliver Reed to this neck of the woods?"

He looks surprised for a moment before you can see on his face that he realizes he hasn't explained his presence in your city. "I've got brunch with a director tomorrow, I was coming in tonight to stay and get my bearings before we met."

"Funny coincidence that you end up so close to me," you laugh, truly just so happy to be in his presence.

"You've got that right, love. What a surprise to see you on the same train as me, I thought I was hallucinating until you came right up and I could touch you."

"Well, I'm real and I'm right here and I am just as surprised as you."

You both sit in silence for a moment, just staring, taking each other in. What a situation you have found yourselves in, to being on the same train and now to knowing that Oliver will be staying a night in the place you've lived your whole life.

"What do you say we head back to mine after dinner?" You ask without thinking "You could even stay with me for the night if you want. Though I'm sure if you've booked a hotel you'd better stay there..." You trail off, slowly getting quieter and mumbling throughout the sentence but he shakes his head.

"How could I ever say no to you, darling. Let me worry about the hotel and I'll let you worry about leading the way." Letting go of one of your hands that you didn't realize he'd been holding he reaches to sip his drink. Taking the opportunity you run the toe of your shoe up his leg, you hope the gesture is sexy and not awkward. Guessing by the way his eyes darken and how he sets down his glass, you had the effect you were going for. Something about him makes you so much more playful and daring than usual. "I think I might take you up on that sooner than I had anticipated."

"Patience, Oliver, patience." You send him a flirty wink and he just smirks, a million plans of what he could do to you seemingly flashing behind his eyes.

"I'll show you fucking patience doll, just you wait." The look in his eyes has your pressing your thighs together.

You spend the rest of the night drinking and laughing and shamelessly flirting. It feels so natural and now that you've fallen into a rhythm with him you don't want it to stop.

You cash out and leave quicker than you'd anticipated, dragging him down the street. You truly do only live a couple blocks away and in this situation that is more than perfect. You're both itching to get inside.

The whole walk you're both giggling like teenagers and Oliver can't keep his hands off of you, the entire time his arm is firmly planted around your waist, effectively keeping you pressed into his side.

"This is my building, right here" You say, fishing out your keys as you walk up the steps and approach the door. Once unlocked you lead Oliver by the hand to the elevator.

Almost immediately the doors open and as soon as you step in Oliver is on you, pinning you to the wall and kissing your neck. He presses his leg between yours and grips your chin so he can give himself all the room he needs to suck and lick and kiss at your throat. You giggle and pull him off of you just enough to haphazardly throw your hand to the panel of buttons on the wall and hit your floor, all the while his hands are trailing down your top until he can slip them under your shirt and cup your breasts.

"So impatient" You breathe, the words holding the same cadence as a soft moan. Despite your words you thread your hands into his hair to pull him back and grind down on his thigh.

"Seems like you're the impatient one, you and your needy little pussy" He practically growls.

You can feel your cheeks get hot and when he looks down at you you almost melt. Every time your eyes meet it feels like an electric shock.

"I think you like it." You whisper, guiding his mouth to yours by a soft hand under his chin. He releases a content sigh when your lips meet, almost melting completely at having you this close again.

"Oh yeah? and what makes you think that?" His voices is taunting and his breath is warm against you cheek as he breaks the kiss to speak.

Instead of using words you slide the hand that isn't holding his face between your bodies, palming him through his pants. Usually it's him that does the smirking but right now you have the most smug look on your face and he does nothing to challenge it and regain control. A whimper-like sound shakes out of him and he leans into your touch, starting to press his hips harder into your hand as you rub your hand against him faster.

The elevator doors opening makes you both freeze, your bodies eerily still. He rests his forehead against yours and sighs. You're reluctant to break apart but force yourself to in favor of being able to indulge in the privacy of your apartment.

Once again, Oliver's hands refuse to leave your body and when you get to your door he presses himself against your ass, letting you know just how hard he is... as if you weren't already aware. "When that door opens... I'm going to ruin you" He murmurs into your hair.

"Oh I'm counting on it" You throw back, pushing the door open and stepping inside. Instantly following through on his threat he slams the door closed and spins you around, starting to unbutton your blouse. You might have assumed that he'd already been in your apartment by the way he walks you back to the couch without hesitation but you have a feeling that if there was no couch to run into he would've kept walking you back until you ran into something else. He just got lucky, apparently.

When the backs of your knees hit the arm you're almost forced to sit down which brings you level to his belt. You slide back so you can kneel on the couch and then pull him closer by said belt. He abandons any attempt at removing your shirt when he sees you unbuckle it and claw his pants down. You've waited for too long for this, you're not gonna waste any time with pleasantries.

As soon as he is no longer confined to the sleek black boxers beneath his slacks you put your mouth on him. First by flattening your tongue and dragging it along the underside of his cock, then by taking him fully into your mouth. He throws his hips forward at the feeling and hits the back of your throat. You recover quickly and hum around him, bringing one hand up to rest on his stomach.

"My god, you look so fucking hot like this" He mumbles, starting to guide your movements with the hands he's anchored in your hair.

Even after the short amount of time you spent with him you're relishing in everything that is Oliver. You missed it so... the feel of him, the weight of him on your tongue, his moans and breaths and the way his fingers feel dancing over your cheekbones to coax himself further down your throat. He's got you in a trance and you wouldn't have it any other way.

You tenderly rub your thumb over his hipbone, a far more gentle and loving action compared to the way you're lavishing him with your mouth. His hips stutter and you can assume he's already close by how desperate his thrusts have become. At this point he's controlling everything, holding your head in place and guiding himself in and out of your mouth at whatever speed he pleases. You don't mind one bit.

He lets up briefly, pulling away from you and stroking his hand over himself. Spit has managed to smear all over your lips and cheeks and you can feel that your makeup has fallen into a state of disarray. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and slide your eyes up his body "I've thought about this every single night since I left. I just can't get you off my mind."

That does something for him, maybe the geuninity in the admission or the soft look on your face, you'll never know but he pulls you up by your arms and kisses you deeply. His hands are back in your hair but this time, the way he's holding you feels so different, almost loving, like you'll break if he isn't gentle.

After a beat he pulls back and searches your face. The entire mood has shifted and the air has grown thick with unspoken words. You'd never guess what he says and when it passes his lips you feel so incredibly full of affection, "You're the only thing I've been able to think about. I spent so many nights just staring at that note. I really and truly am so sorry I kept you waiting."

"We're here now," You whisper and then you pause, thinking. "Do you think you would have called if we didn't run into each other today?"

Your arms are around his neck and you're still close enough that if you leaned forward your lips would touch. "I honestly... I don't know. I want to say yes but to be truthful, love, I was fucking terrified."

"Don't be... there's nothing to be afraid of." And that's that, any other words that could've slipped into the sliver of space between your mouths dies in the air as you pull him back in.

Slowly but surely you slide a hand behind you and lower yourself back onto the couch, bringing him with you. You're vaguely aware of him kicking off his shoes as he climbs on top of you, eventually making himself comfortable as your legs fall into place around his hips.

One more part left and then these lovebirds will have a complete story. Give me all your thoughts!!! Do we want part 5 and soon?

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gretavanlace · 2 years

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Decorum and Refinement

Jake Kiszka/Oliver Reed x reader

18+ only! Minors do not interact!

Warnings: graphic sexual content, language, alcohol consumption, dirty talk, degradation, praise, foreign objects, fingering, oral sex (f/m r), terrible English accent/diction (bc come on, it’s Oliver), etc.

“Do you think you guys’ll ever do the whole masterclass thing again?” The thought, that has been bouncing around in your mind for most of the drive home, spills from your lips before you have a chance to think better of it.

His head swivels over in your direction, but you keep your eyes on the road. “I dunno.” Lazily, he sips at the whiskey he shouldn’t be enjoying in the passenger seat. “Why? That’s a strange question.”

“You would know.” You smile, stealing a quick glance over at him. He looks sinful, relaxed back in his seat, legs spread wide, cut-crystal glass he stole from Josh’s sweating in his hand.

“Why would I know?” He grins back. “Are you trying to imply that I’m strange?”

“No!” Your inflection is exaggerated to showcase the lie. “Would I ever say something like that about you, Jake? My beloved. My prince. Love of my life. Keeper of my—“

“Oh, shut up.” He laughs, cutting you off. “And stop dodging. Why’d you ask?”

Now it’s your turn to shrug. “Just making conversation.”

“That’s not true at all.” He challenges. “You never speak just to make noise. Like that about you. Now, out with it.”

“Cal.” You sigh dreamily. “That chef’s hat really does it for me. And when he yelled at the fly? The aggression? Irresistible!”

“Yeah?” He’s in on the joke and playing along. “Verbal attacks against insects kink? Wonder if there’s a name for that?”

“Oh sure…there’s a convention every year, too. You should come scream at some ants with me.”

He takes a long swig of his drink, draining it to the dredges and then lowers his tone. “Yes, thank you, darling. That sounds lovely.”

A shiver tickles up your spine as Oliver peeks out, but he pretends not to notice, and you pretend it hasn’t happened.

You’re safe with Jake, and he is always more than willing to dip into uncharted waters with you…but it’s inexplicably embarrassing; this thing you have for his ridiculous alter-ego.

The way he speaks, so grizzled and rough. Seemingly hardened from years of cigars and Jack. Harsh and clipped, unbothered by anyone’s bullshit.

The swagger in his walk, like he knows everyone in the room wants to fuck him and he hasn’t the time to deal with them, but he’ll give ‘em a bit of a show anyway.

The accent. Even though it’s barely passable at times. A cobbled together mix of dialect he’s picked up through movies and travel, and bits that don’t really make much sense at all, at times. But even that seems terribly Oliver. As if he’s said, “Well, alright then, I’m English, but I’m not like the rest of these cunts.”

That stupid cane. That stupid, unbelievably sexy, fucking cane.

Now, standing in your kitchen, sifting through a stack of mail, you wonder where he’s gone. Normally he’s a touch clingy after he’s had a round or two, or seven, with his brothers, but he disappeared nearly as soon as the two of you walked in the door.

Likely to his music room to pluck away at an acoustic. Winding down for the night with a vinyl spinning softly in the corner. You’ll go and find him soon, maybe lie down on the crushed velvet couch and let him play you to sleep.

The thought, too cozy to resist, sends you wandering up the stairs, only to find the room dark and quiet. He isn’t there, but the room is so Jake, you’re drawn inside anyway.

It smells of him. The piney scent of gin and sap-dripping trees, beaten up leather, linen, metallic strings…

You wander through, ghosting your fingers over instruments in the moonlight streaming through the windows he fought to leave untreated. “No curtains in this one.” He’d argued. “We’ll let the outside in as it sees fit.”

Your touch lands on a row of guitars, lightly skimming the tops. Electric, acoustic, steel…then moves along to the nomads. The instruments he loves, but leaves to lie in wait. Ukulele, banjo, mandolin, lute, sitar…

A gorgeous, posh, cello waits in the corner regally. He swears one day he’ll teach himself to play it. Just as he promises of the violin resting, beautifully neglected, in its case.

You don’t fault or tease him for these two…if the instrument boasts strings, Jake is drawn to it and hungry to take it home.

“Look at this!” The memory fondly floats into your mind. “It’s called a Balalaika!” He’d reached out for your hand, guiding you to strum over it. “It’s Russian…I ordered it from that place downtown months ago, and it finally came in…listen.” A jaunty little tune had sounded out as his fingers excitedly worked it over.

A soft knock on the open door startles you out of your thoughts and sends you spinning around to find Jake leaning against the door frame.

Only, it isn’t Jake. Not quite…

“So sorry to scare you, love,” He raps the end of his cane against the wooden floor absentmindedly, “But I thought I’d let you know that Jacob is, unfortunately, indisposed for the evening. He thought I might keep you company instead.”

He figured it out. Worked to connect the pieces in that brilliant, pretty head of his. Of course he did.

Gaze drinking him in, you feel parched rather than satiated…he looks like a drunken pirate who has done his best to look presentable for an event at which he fully plans on creating a scene.

Rumpled vest layered over a wrinkled button-up, which is anything but buttoned up. Layers of necklaces swaying gently against his bare chest. Cuffed trousers that highlight the anklet that drives you wild, though you can’t decide why. Scuffed, but clearly expensive loafers made of buttery soft leather…worn out in the most perfect way.

“Look all you like, darling.” He sighs, waving his hand around as though he’s royalty, “I am merely a gallery for the female gaze. Male, too, come to think of it. I suppose I just like to be looked at.”

Your cheeks flush with heat…this is silly, right? So why is your pulse pounding in your ears? Amongst other places… “Jake,”

He saunters forward and tilts your chin up with the glossy handle of his cane “I’m sorry, but I’ve already told you. Jake’s not here. Try and keep up, girl, ‘right?”

Hands now clutched around the lapels of his vest you tuck your chin submissively against his cane and finally allow it to sigh off of your tongue… “Hello, Oliver.”

“Hello, love.” He raises your face a touch higher, until he can brush his lips over yours. “If I wasn’t so fond of our boy, I might fuck his pretty thing right here. His favorite room…his favorite girl,” He reaches down and cups his warm palm over your cunt, “Wouldn’t that be bloody dreadful of me?”

“I won’t tell him.” You breathe, sinking into the narrative.

“Oh, I’ve got a wretched little witch in my arms, don’t I?” he’s walking you backwards now, leading you towards the wall. “Willing to let Oliver slip it inside like a common whore when Jacob just loves you so much? Naughty. Disgusting. Vile.”

The air knocks out of your lungs as your back hits the wall. “Dirty girl thinks she needs a bit of cock, when what she really needs is a priest to absolve her of all this sin. Shall I call Father Sam? You can repent and say your Hail Marys and then ruin all your hard work on your knees for me.”

“Fuck repenting…” your legs wrap around his waist, searching for friction. “I’ll go to hell and burn for you.”

“Wonderful,” he takes pity and grinds against your cunt. “I’ll see you there…we’ll rot together.”

His hand is wandering down now, between the two of you, seeking to disappear into your jeans, which you wish would also disappear. “Jake…please, just fucking touch me.”

“Now, now…” he tsks. “That’s all wrong, innit it, girl? Can you say it right for me? Behave for Oliver and stop thinking with your head, hmm? Think with that pretty cunt… my bet’s she knows who she wants.”

A noise you would absolutely die if you ever had to admit to, sounds out of you. “Touch me, Oliver…please…I need it…”

His fingers inch away from where you need them most, “Where?” He circles your belly button. “Right here? You know, I’m bit drunk, darling…a touch inebriated. So sorry to ask, but, I’ll need you to be specific.”

Another moan of frustration escapes you.

“C’mon then…” now his hands are shoving your shirt up. “Tell Oliver what you need.” He tugs your tits free and a raspy laugh greets them like he’s never laid eyes upon them before “Hello, dolls. Beautiful.”

His mouth is suddenly relentless. Licking and sucking and groaning softly against your nipples as you pant and silently pray for his cock to force him into further action.

“Tell me where.” He mouths around your nipple.

“You know where.” Your hands are in his hair now…tugging and pulling.

He drops to his knees and yanks your jeans down to your ankles, taking your panties along with them. “Well hello, lovely girl.” He growls out, nuzzling his nose against your clit. “Name’s Oliver, and I’m about to show you a fucking fantastic time.”

You’re propped against a wall, in this seemingly sacred room where he creates, writhing and whining with your panties at your feet while he carries on a little conversation with your aching pussy. You wish you could say that you feel badly for it, but you’ve never been the best liar.

“You’ve met my mate Jacob…” he continues. “Nice enough, but…” his tongue swirls over your clit and a sob rips from your chest. “Bit upper crust, isn’t he?”

“Darling…” He looks up, drawing you into the conversation he’s been having with your desperate cunt.

“Our Jakey…does he do this for you? Does he get on his knees to kiss her as sweet as she deserves?” His eyes, clear and unashamed of the depravity of it all, stare up at you.

“Yes…” it trembles out weakly as you try your hardest to force him in closer.

“Ahh…” he sounds very proud of Jake, indeed. “That’s my boy.”

Momentarily, you adopt an accent of your own. “He’s lovely, Oliver. Now, give us a kiss.”

“M’only regret is that I’ve shaved.” He drags his finger over his smooth jawline and kisses at your clit. “Might’ve been nice to smell as pretty as you do all night.”

“Couldn’t find the beard?” You tease breathily.

He winks up at you in confirmation and promptly buries his face between your thighs, sucking softly until your legs are struggling under the weight of your quivering body.

“Take me over to the couch.” You whisper, imagining the gentle kiss of velvet against your flushed skin.

“Sofa.” He corrects as though he’s lord of the manor. Then he’s on his feet, sweeping you off of yours, as if you are the lady of said manor. “You damned Americans. Common. The lot of you.”

He deposits you tenderly, but orders roughly, “Let’s get rid of this nonsense…” gesturing dismissively at your state - half-dressed and disheveled. “I’d like to get on with it.”

His cane has somehow found its way home, nestled in his grip. He catches you staring at it as you hastily strip as instructed.

“That was a mistake, girl…” he taunts. “You should learn to hold those filthy cards closer to your chest. Spread your legs, love. Let Oliver see tonight’s stage.” He bows gently, “I am but a thespian.”

You open wide for him, spreading until your hips flare with a dull ache. “Please, Mr. Reed…make me feel good. Jake never has to know.”

“I think someone who’s about to fuck herself with my cane deserves to address me a little less formally, don’t you, darling?”

The smug smile swept across his lips makes you want to cry tears of frustration…he is just so fucking beautiful. Instead, you moan wantonly at the mere thought.

“Nasty little bit likes that, doesn't she?” He’s really leaning into it now. “Wants Oliver’s cane right in her sweet, pink, cunt? You look so tight, think you can even take it, love?”

He speaks as if he’s never been inside you before…fingers tucked in, fucking against the perfect spot. Cock stuffed inside, making you see stars and wishing for it to never end.

He returns the nod you offer.

“Right then,” he tosses the cane at you and you, thankfully, catch it like a pro. “On with it.”

You’re so lost in him you begin inching the bottom closer to yourself, but he puts a quick stop to it. “No, sweetheart, what’s been on the ground doesn’t deserve the perfection you’ve got there between those thighs. Handle, yeah?”

Eyes on his, you guide the handle to your mouth, licking and sucking it as if you aren’t already so dripping wet it’ll slip right inside.

“Thank you, Oliver.” You fix your fucked out doe eyes on his blushing face.

“What for, little love?” He asks - a bit of cockney coloring that ramshackle accent of his.

“For letting me use your cane.” You clarify with put-on innocence. “I just need to cum so badly.”

“S’that right?” He taps his foot, pupils blown as he moves in closer. “Pretty thing just needs to cum so badly?”

“So badly.” The cool handle of his cane begins nudging at your entrance.

“Go on, then, Miss America…” he rasps. “Let’s treat her right, shall we? Together? Can’t have you running back to tell Jacob I made you do all the work, now can I?”

“Thought we weren’t telling Jacob?” You smile softly.

“Oh, my dear girl.” He smiles right back. “You think he doesn’t know your body well enough to know when you’ve gotten off properly? Even when you’re all alone and you think it’s a secret. He knows, love…he knows.”

“How does he know?” You slip his cane inside and bite back a whimper.

“I’m not exactly in the habit of asking him about his beautiful girl and how he knows when she’s enjoyed an orgasm…but I s’pose I could guess if you’d like.”

“Yeah…” your back arches away from the couch as you slide against a particularly sensitive spot inside with his cane. Fuck, with his cane…the vulgarity of it makes you tremble.

“Alright then, love…” he sinks to his knees before you and kitten licks at your clit. “If I had to make an educated guess - and I’m very educated - I’d venture that you might get a bit…loose limbed, yeah? Languid and gentle. The prettiest baby…”

“Whose fucking baby is this?!” You interject, with the smallest of giggles, because you just can’t help it, and he gives you a look that could kill.

“Settle down.” His fingers swat at your thigh just hard enough to sting.

“Did I ruin the mood?” You tease.

In response, he slides his cane out, replacing it with two long, warm, fingers to find you soaked and squeezing. “Doesn’t feel like you’ve ruined anything at all. What a pretty little wreck she is. How’s Jakey boy ever get anything done?”

Your hands are buried in his hair again, yanking him in until his mouth is kissing, soft and hot, along your neck. “I have to force him to leave me alone. He wants it all the time.”

His fingers are moving inside of you like heaven…circling and massaging against that perfect place, rather than fucking in and out. “S’that right? Just wants to live buried inside this tight little cunt, does he? Can’t say I blame him.”

Grinding shamelessly into his hand, you pitch your voice gentle and quiet, in the way you know he can’t resist “You wanna fuck me and find out why?”

“You couldn’t handle it, darling.” His teeth sink deliciously into your throat until you shudder and pull at fistfuls of his tangled hair. “Oliver’s not got a gentle bone in his body. I’d tear Jacob's pretty girl apart.”

Your shoulders shiver, his voice, like cashmere over sandpaper, huffing so menacingly in your ear. “Oh, someone likes that…” you can hear the half-smirk in his tone, though your eyes have fluttered closed.

“Tell Oliver how much your pretty cunt loves him already. Does she, darling?” You can’t help the way you clench around his fingers any more than you can help the ragged sound that gasps from your parted lips. “Hmm, feels like she does. I said, tell me.”

Tears are burning in your eyes, he’s gotten you so close, but he’s holding back just enough to keep you right there, watching you intently, eyes trained for your body’s tells.

“I need more,” the tears are falling now, and you know he adores every single one of them. “Need to cum.”

Instead, he slows down even more and lessens the pressure. “Does he let you act like a brat, or’s the pleasure all mine? I asked you for something, and I expect you to give it to me.”

“Yes…” you nod frantically, lifting your head to find his eyes. He offers a lazy wink like a smug bastard. “She loves you, Oliver.”

But it isn’t good enough. “Who loves me?”

“My cunt…” you rush on, eager to give him what he wants in order to get what you’re after. “She loves you. Now, please, baby…c’mon.”

“S’right she does. Just look at her soaking my hand so pretty. Sucking my fingers in. Greedy little baby, isn’t she?”

“Please?” You whine pathetically and he hums in approval.

“Love a girl with manners.” He’s teasing now, with both his words and too gentle touch. “Reminds me of a someone I used to know, she’d beg so nicely for my cum whenever she was thirsty.”

Your nails dig into his wrist in warning and it sparks a laugh out of him. “Jacob didn’t tell me you had such a jealous streak, girl. I like that very much.”

Finished with his games, you reach down and find your clit, stroking quick, slick circles over it. Writhing and panting, trying to get there before he stops you.

Rather than scolding, he praises, as his fingers begin moving with a purpose deep inside you. “That’s it, darling. So pretty. Show me what a filthy girl you are. Take what you need.”

“Faster…” you breathe, barely making a sound as your head drops back, expression twisted up in bliss. “Fuck me faster.”

His hand quickens, working into you at a lightning fast pace until your thighs are shaking and the nails of your free hand are raking over the upholstery.

Here, love…” he hands you his cane to grip instead. “Let’s not ruin the velvet, right?”

All thought has sizzled apart in your brain, so you nod aimlessly and grab it up in your frantic grip, squeezing around it so hard it stings your palm, though you don’t much register it.

“Gonna cum,” you manage to whisper.

“Let’s have it then.” He encourages, reaching up to stroke your cheek as he twists his wrist, scissoring those perfect fingers inside your fluttering cunt. “Come on, darling, let’s go.”

That’s what does it. It isn’t his hand, or even your own, that finally pushes you over the edge, it’s those gravley, coaxing words, in that fucking addicting accent. It’s Oliver, he’s what does it.

A near scream moans out of you, and he’s suddenly wrenching the cane out of your hand, only to place it between your teeth; a makeshift bit as he growls into your ear. “Keep quiet, girl. What if he’s back? Wouldn’t want him to hear your cumming all over Oliver’s hand like a whore, would you?”

You thrash and fight through your orgasm beneath him, teeth sinking marks into the wood stifling your incoherent cries.

“S’good, sweetheart. That’s lovely. Plan to shut that pretty mouth up with my cock next. Would you like that? Has he throat trained his gorgeous girl yet? Will you be able to swallow me right down?”

He knows you’re too gone to answer, he’s simply winding you tighter, working you through, but keeping you stirred up enough that you’ll be eager to suck him off rather than float off to sleep, after. Clever, devious, delectable, man.

You’ve pushed him away and fallen to your knees the second you can breathe again.

“Love a pretty girl on her knees.” He muses, brushing the hair away from your blushing face. “My cock hurts from watching you. You’re a dream when you cum, love.”

The metal of his belt clinks into the room like wind chimes as you pull it open. “Can I fix it?”

His response comes lazing out, thick with accent, with a Jack Sparrow wave of his hand “You may.”

You pull his cock into the cool night air and sigh, “Its so pretty.” And it is, it really fucking is.

Licking a warm, wet stripe along the side, you end with a swirl just below the tip, smiling when a shiver rattles through him.

“Is that the spot right there, Oliver?” You purr as if you don’t know. “Does that feel good?”

“Perfect, darling.” A tiny pant of a breath escapes him, making you crave more.

Sucking him in softly with a warm kiss, you wait until his hands find your hair with a tug, and then swallow him down to the base - allowing a gag just to let him feel your throat constrict around him.

With a choked groan, he holds your head still and buries in a little deeper. “So he did train you…or is this natural talent?”

He knows the answer as well as you. And you flush with heat at the countless memories of him nudging further and further down your throat; gently teaching you how to take a bit more each night until you could welcome him in one go without batting an eye.

Still, he pulls you off and tilts your head up by your hair, raising a brow in question.

“He taught me.” You blink up innocently. “I didn’t know how before, but he was so patient with me while I learned. Let me show you.”

“Jesus, fuck.” Jake appears for just a split second before he shakes it off.

Back in character now, he pulls you back down around him. “Go on, then, love. Swallow it down nice and sweet.”

You pull out every stop, every trick in the book. Every little thing that has ever made him moan in surprise, or thrust into your mouth…he gets it.

Your nose is pressed against the soft plush of his stomach when his fingers tighten in your hair. “That’s so good, darling. You’re so good. Gonna hold you still, fuck that pretty face, that alright, love?”

You nod eagerly around him and swallow just to feel his body tense up in pleasure. You get your wish and beam inwardly with pride.

“Did that on purpose, dinnit you, girl?” He hisses, grabbing for the upper hand. “You’re gonna get it now.”

He taps your face, a subtle reminder of how you should tap if you need to stop, and then - without warning, begins fucking your mouth. It’s hard, and deep, and fast, and sloppy…wet sounds that should make you blush echoing through the room. It’s dirty and slightly uncomfortable. It’s all of those things, but it’s perfect.

Staring down at you, with eyes so full of love and lust it makes your heart ache, he nods. “Good girl, darling. Good girl. You look like a bloody angel, cock down your throat, letting me fuck it like this. You just want to make me feel good, don’t you?”

You answer with your eyes.

“S’right, love.” He slides in deep and groans in appreciation when you ripple your tongue. “Again.”

Tongue working him as best you can, you let him hold you there until your lungs are screaming for air. He pulls you off when he feels the slight struggle, lets you catch your breath and then shoves right back in.

When his thrusts begin to falter you grow desperate to taste him, but at the last minute, he yanks free, one hand still tangled in the roots of your hair, the other fisting over his cock.

“Open up.” He demands, sounding weak, and so close you could cry you want it so badly.

Your mouth falls open, and you present your tongue in waiting.

“Gonna feed it to you, girl.” He pants, gritting his teeth. “Would you like that? You want to taste me?”

Resting your hands primly in your lap, you nod. “Yes, please.”

Your little display of innocent decorum while asking for something so depraved sends his end crashing into him wildly. He jerks his cock roughly through it, warm cum spurting into your mouth and splashing across your cheeks and lips.

Accepting it all, happily, you wait until his shoulders slump with a drawn out fuck, before closing your mouth to savor him.

He stares down at you for a long, smoldering, stretch and then tucks himself away before leaning in. “Looks like I’ve made a mess. I’ve been known to do that, y’know. Apologies.”

With a kiss, though your lips are still dripping with him, he straightens and stretches. “You wait here, darling. I’ll go fetch Jacob to clean you up. Not really Oliver’s thing. You understand.”

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