#Marion Burns

[gatutor]

Marion Burns (Los Angeles, California, 9/08/1907-Laguna Niguel, California 22/12/1993).

[badmovieihave]

Bad movie I have John Wayne part One of Two it has The Dawn Rider 1935, The Desert Trail 1935, The Lucky Texan 1934, Neath Arizona Skies 1934,Rainbow Valley 1935, The Trail Beyond 1934, Texas Terror 1935, The Star Packer 1934, Paradise Canyon 1935, and Riders of Destiny 1933

[acourtofquestions]

Kingdom of Ash Chapter 61

Chapter; Highlights (okay the entire chapter is a highlight)🤣

As requested @mysterylilycheeta I NEED TO SQUEAL IN WYVERN FANGIRL WITH YOU NOW CAUSE OH M GOODNESS THIS CHAPTER ON SO MANY LEVELS I JUST AHAKWIHUHFEJLZXBKEKA

Agony was a song in Lorcan's blood, his bones, his breath.

Every step of the horse, every leap she made over body and debris, sent it ringing afresh. There was no end, no mercy from it. It was all he could do to keep in the saddle, to cling to consciousness.

To keep his arm around Elide.

She had come for him. Had found him, somehow, on this endless battlefield.

His name on her lips had been a summons he could never deny, even when death had held him so gently, nestled beneath all those he'd felled, I, and waited for his last breaths.

And now, charging toward that too-distant keep, so far behind the droves of soldiers and riders racing for the gates, he wondered if these minutes would be his last. Her last.

She had come for him.

Lorcan managed to glance toward the dam on their right. Toward the ruk rider signaling that it was only a matter of minutes until it unleashed hell over the plain.

He didn't know how it had become weakened. Didn't care.

Still Elide kept urging the horse onward, kept them on as straight a path toward the distant keep as possible.

No ruk would come to sweep them up. No, his luck had been spent in surviving this long, in her finding him. His power would do nothing against that water.

The farthest lines of panicked soldiers appeared, and Farasha charged past them.

Elide let out a sob, and he followed the line of her sight.

To the keep gate, still open.

"Faster, Farasha!" She didn't hide the raw terror in her voice, the desperation.

Once the dam broke, it would take less than a minute for the tidal wave to reach them.

She had come for him. She had found him.

The world went quiet. The pain in his body faded into nothing. Into something secondary.

Lorcan slid his other arm around Elide, bringing his mouth close to her ear as he said, "You have to let me go."

Each word was gravelly, his voice strained nearly to the point of uselessness.

Elide didn't shift her focus from the keep ahead. "No."

That gentle quiet flowed around him, clearing the fog of pain and battle. "You have to. You have to, Elide. I'm too heavy-and without my weight, you might make it to the keep in time."

"No." The salt of her tears filled his nose.

Lorcan brushed his mouth over her damp cheek, ignoring the roaring pain in his body. The horse galloped and galloped, as if she might outrace death itself.

"I love you," he whispered in Elide's ear. "I have loved you from the moment you picked up that axe to slay the ilken." Her tears flowed past him in the wind. "And I will be with you ..." His voice broke, but he made himself say the words, the truth in his heart. "I will be with you always."

He was not frightened of what would come for him once he tumbled off the horse. He was not frightened at all, if it meant her reaching the keep.

So Lorcan kissed Elide's cheek again, allowed himself to breathe in her scent one last time. "I love you," he repeated, and began to withdraw his arms from around her waist.

Elide slapped a hand onto his forearm. Dug in her nails, right into his skin, fierce as any ruk.

"No."

There were no tears in her voice. Nothing but solid, unwavering steel.

"No," she said again. The voice of the Lady of Perranth.

Lorcan tried to move his arm, but her grip would not be dislodged.

If he tumbled off the horse, she would go with him.

Together. They would either outrun this or die together.

"Elide-"

But Elide slammed her heels into the horse's sides.

Slammed her heels into the dark flank and screamed, "FLY, FARASHA." She cracked the reins. "FLY, FLY, FLY!"

And gods help her, that horse did.

As if the god that had crafted her filled the mare's lungs with his own breath, Farasha gave a surge of speed.

Faster than the wind. Faster than death.

Farasha cleared the first of the fleeing Darghan cavalry. Passed desperate horses and riders at an all-out gallop for the gates.

Her mighty heart did not falter, even when Lorcan knew it was raging to the point of bursting.

Less than a mile stood between them and the keep.

But a thunderous, groaning crack cleaved the world, echoing off the lake, the mountains.

There was nothing he could do, nothing that brave, unfaltering horse could do, as the dam ruptured.

Rowan made himself stand there, to watch the last moments of the Lady of Perranth and his former commander. It was all he could offer: witnessing their deaths, so he might tell the story to those he encountered. So they would not be forgotten.

The roaring of the oncoming wave became deafening, even from miles away.

Still Elide and Lorcan raced, Farasha passing horse after horse after horse.

Even up here, would they escape the wave's reach? Rowan dared to survey the battlements, to assess if he needed to get the others, needed to get Aelin, to higher ground.

But Aelin was not at his side.

She was not on the battlement at all.

Rowan's heart halted. Simply stopped beating as a ruddy-brown ruk dropped from the skies, spearing for the center of the plain.

Arcas, Borte's ruk. A golden-haired woman dangling from his talons.

Aelin. Aelin was—

Arcas neared the earth, talons splaying.

Aelin hit the ground, rolling, rolling, until she uncoiled to her feet.

Right in the path of that wave.

"Oh gods," Fenrys breathed, seeing her, too.

They all saw her.

The queen on the plain.

The endless wall of water surging for her.

The keep stones began shuddering. Rowan threw out a hand to brace himself, fear like nothing he had known ripping through him as Aelin lifted her arms above her head.

A pillar of fire shot up around her, lifting her hair with it.

The wave roared and roared for her, for the army behind her.

The shaking in the keep was not from the wave.

It was not from that wall of water at all.

Cracks formed in the earth, splintering across it. Spiderwebbing from Aelin.

"The hot springs," Chaol breathed. "The valley floor is full of veins into the earth itself."

Into the burning heart of the world.

The keep shook, more violently this time.

The pillar of fire sucked back into Aelin.

She held out a hand before her, her fist closed.

As if it would halt the wave in its tracks.

He knew then. Either as her mate or carranam, he knew.

"Three months," Rowan breathed.

The others stilled.

"Three months," he said again, his knees wobbling. "She's been making the descent into her power for three months."

Every day she had been with Maeve, bound in iron, she had gone deeper. And she had not tapped too far into that power since they'd freed her because she had kept making the plunge.

To gather up the full might of her magic.

Not for the Lock, not for Erawan.

But for Maeve's death blow.

A few weeks of descent had taken her powers to devastating levels. Three months of it

…

Holy gods. Holy rutting gods.

And when her fire hit the wall of water now towering over her, when they collided —

"GET DOWN!" Rowan bellowed, over the screaming waters. "GET DOWN NOW!"

His companions dropped to the stones, any within earshot doing the same.

Rowan plummeted into his power. Plummeted into it fast and hard, ripping out any remaining shred of magic.

Elide and Lorcan were still too far from the gates. Thousands of soldiers were still too far from the gates as the wave crested above them.

As Aelin opened her hand toward it.

Fire erupted.

Cobalt fire. The raging soul of a flame.

A tidal wave of it.

Taller than the raging waters, it blasted from her, flaring wide.

The wave slammed into it. And where water met a wall of fire, where a thousand years of confinement met three months of it, the world exploded.

Blistering steam, capable of melting flesh from bone, shot across the plain.

With a roar, Rowan threw all that remained of his magic toward the onslaught of steam, a wall of wind that shoved it toward the lake, the mountains.

Still the waters came, breaking against the flames that did not so much as yield an inch.

Maeve's death blow. Spent here, to save the army that might mean Terrasen's salvation. To spare the lives on the plain.

Rowan gritted his teeth, panting against his fraying power. A burnout lurked, deadly close.

The raging wave threw itself over and over and over into the wall of flame.

Rowan didn't see if Elide and Lorcan made it into the keep. If the other soldiers and riders on the plain stopped to gape.

Princess Hasar said, rising beside him, "That power is no blessing."

"Tell that to your soldiers," Fenrys snarled, standing, too.

"I did not mean it that way," Hasar snipped, and awe was indeed stark on her face.

Rowan leaned against the battlements, panting hard as he fought to keep the lethal steam from flowing toward the army. As he cooled and sent it whisking away.

Solid hands slid under his arms, and then Fenrys and Gavriel were there, propping him up between them.

A minute passed. Then another.

The wave began to lower. Still the fire burned.

Rowan's head pounded, his mouth going dry.

Time slipped from him. A coppery tang filled his mouth.

The wave lowered farther, raging waters quieting. Then roaring turned to lapping, rapids into eddies.

Until the wall of flame began to lower, too. Tracking the waters down and down and down. Letting them seep into the cracks of the earth.

Rowan's knees buckled, but he held on to his magic long enough for the steam to lessen.

For it, too, to be calmed.

It filled the plain, turning the world into drifting mist. Blocking the view of the queen in its center.

Then silence. Utter silence.

Fire flickered through the mist, blue turning to gold and red. A muted, throbbing glow.

Rowan spat blood onto the battlement stones, his breath like shards of glass in his throat.

The glowing flames shrank, steam rippling past. Until there was only a slim pillar of fire, veiled in the mist-shrouded plain.

Not a pillar of fire.

But Aelin.

Glowing white-hot. As if she had given herself so wholly to the flame that she had become fire herself.

The Fire-Bringer someone whispered down the battlements.

The mist rippled and billowed, casting her into nothing but a glowing effigy.

The silence turned reverent.

A gentle wind from the north swept down. The veil of mist pulled back, and there she was.

She glowed from within. Glowed golden, tendrils of her hair floating on a phantom wind.

"Mala's Heir," Yrene breathed.

Down on the plain, Elide and Lorcan had halted.

The wind pushed away more of the drifting mist, clearing the land beyond Aelin.

And where that mighty, lethal wave had loomed, where death had charged toward them, nothing remained at all.

For three months, she had sung to the darkness and the flame, and they had sung back.

For three months, she had burrowed so deep inside her power that she had plundered undiscovered depths. While Maeve and Cairn had worked on her, she had delved. Never letting them know what she mined, what she gathered to her, day by day by day.

A death blow. One to wipe a dark queen from the earth forever.

She'd kept that power coiled in herself even after she'd been freed from the irons. Had struggled to keep it down these weeks, the strain enormous. Some days, it had been easier to barely speak. Some days, swaggering arrogance had been her key to ignoring it.

Yet when she had seen that wave, when she had seen Elide and Lorcan choosing death together, when she had seen the army that might save Terrasen, she'd known. She'd felt the fire sleeping under this city, and knew they had come here for a reason.

She had come here for this reason.

A river still flowed from the dam, harmless and small, wending toward the lake.

Nothing more.

Aelin lifted a glowing hand before her as blessed, cooling emptiness filled her at last.

Slowly, starting from her fingertips, the glow faded.

As if she were forged anew, forged back into her body.

Back into Aelin.

Clarity, sharp and crystal clear, filled its wake. As if she could see again, breathe again.

Inch by inch, the golden glow faded into skin and bone. Into a woman once more.

Already, a white-tailed hawk launched skyward.

But as the last of the glow faded, disappearing out through her toes, Aelin fell to her knees.

Fell to her knees in the utter silence of the world, and curled onto her side.

She had the vague sense of strong, familiar arms scooping her up. Of being carried onto a broad feathery back, still in those arms.

Of soaring through the skies, the last of the mist rippling away into the afternoon sun.

And then sweet darkness.

[wouldyourfavepaychildsupport]

Would Frank Burns from Mash pay child support?

[bugthebog]

The warm bodies sequel books are majorly slept on

R as the guy who played a major role in causing the apocalypse and getting his memories back and hiding them and all the flashbacks drives me up the wall in the best way (Pacing making faces in the mirror trying to google the answers to the mystery and getting cockblocked my the total sleptoness of these novels)

I will admit Warm Bodies is a gushy zombie romance novel and the rest are action film books, but I love a genre shift and the stability of their relationship is also romantic to me

Things that make me gnash my teeth:

He’s revealed his last name in the narration but even in the flashbacks blots out his first name

I’m only halfway through and the b plot is bfnalamhshsj I need to know so bad how it ends and also wtf is going on. The hive mind thing is wild and clearly connected to the main plot somehow

His children??? Are characters? The zombie kids who are barely in the first. He’s committed to those kids

The way R realizes life isn’t as beautiful as he’d always imagined. It’s also hell, because this is the apocalypse. But it’s still living

I’m gonna have to scrounge the earth for the last book bc it was self published by my man Isaac Marion

[camyfilms]

THE DARK KNIGHT RISES 2012

 I see a beautiful city and a brilliant people rising from this abyss. I see the lives for which I lay down my life, peaceful, useful, prosperous and happy. I see that I hold a sanctuary in their hearts, and in the hearts of their descendants, generations hence. It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to, than I have ever known.

[number1spongebobfan]

Marion: Timothy! You're giving me a hug, what's wrong?

Timothy: Bill and Ben pranked me with a toy spider. They scared me.

Marion: Bill and Ben, put that spider away and say sorry to Timothy!

Bill: Yes Marion. Sorry Timothy.

Ben: Yeah, sorry.

Marion: Now get back to work!

Timothy: Can I have a lollipop Marion? Please?

Marion: Of course Timothy baby! (gives Timothy a lollipop)

Timothy: Yay! (sucks on the lollipop)

[shootingxstardust]

@special-delivery-in-blue​

 Marion boops the ferret gently with her claw.  She’s never seen a ferret before. “Is this weasel yours?” She asked Tom as she kept her index claw pointing outwards, as if waiting to see what the creature would do with her finger.

[probablyscreamingintothevoid]

"Leave it to a child to shout what we've been whispering."

-R, The Burning World by Isaac Marion

this feels like such a raw line because it IS. kids only know how to communicate directly, if they are afraid they will ask you about exactly what it is they're afraid of. children often remind adults that it's okay to just communicate sometimes. there's not always a need to talk in circles and speak in riddles

[gatutor]

John Wayne-Marion Burns "El jinete del alba" (The dawn rider) 1935, de Robert N. Bradbury.

[tv-moments]

Extrapolations

Season 1, “2068: The Going Away Party”

Director: Nicole Holofcener

DoP: Hillary Spera

[mythinginmyroom]

[svalleynow]

Burn Permits Required in Tennessee Starting October 15

Tennesseans are reminded to remember burn safety measures as the state heads into its fire season. Starting October 15, debris burn permits for leaf and brush piles are required. Permits are free via the MyTN mobile app or online at www.BurnSafeTN.org. Online permits may be obtained daily from 8 a.m. to 11 p.m. in Eastern and Central time zones (based on your location) for any leaf and/or brush…

[smol-soop-spoon]

Bunny: Love the jacket old man

Richard: Thx it was my grandfather's

Bunny: Oh my god, vintage! So adorable :)

Later, Bunny to the others: that was the ugliest effing jacket I've ever seen in my life

The secret history and mean girls are kinda the same…

[greenandsorrow]

ΦΙΛΗΔΟΝΙΑ. (i)

HENRY WINTER X SHAPELY!FEM!READER ⏳

☞ Here I am, writing spontaneous filth, a wet fever dream if you will... instead of getting the real work done (my tsh au with an oc). This one is quite suggestive, but I tried to incorporate nice prose in it as well! What if you take what you're about to read as an apology for not making any progress with 'What once was' yet ?? 🥺

☞ I know there are times I say that some smut fics of mine belong in the 'no plot just porn' category, even when it takes many paragraphs to get to the spice. But listen, I write and pace my smut like a female orgasm. (Iykyk☕) I was ovulating when I wrote this and it shows -says the luteal me.

☞ OOC!Henry??, adult themes, kinda slow burn, descriptive, teasing, masturbation, exhibitionism, voyeurism, public setting, the more you read the hornier it gets, cliché tension-heightening tropes, my first time writing for Henry specifically and for tsh generally

You're a good friend of Richard.

Neither of you was born swimming in money and as a result of your humble upbringings, you both share a sense of wonder at making it into a place like Hamden. However, the main thing that connected you and the brunette Californian when you first met, was your shared desire to become part of the Greek class. Richard wholeheartedly believes that you deserved to be accepted by Julian far more than he did, but the eccentric professor has his own unique -or rather, peculiar- way of thinking and evaluating who is worthy of becoming his pupil and who… simply isn’t.

Unfortunately for you, you didn't manage to enroll in Greek. You didn't quite fit the mold, so to speak. Oh well... French, sketching and sculpting are fine. And Richard makes sure to keep you up to date with his new experiences as part of what essentially is a clique of wealthy twenty-year-olds.

To the untrained eye of a bystander, the brooding umbrella bearer, the ginger fashionista, the blonde twins, and the Edmund guy all appear equally obnoxious and hoity-toity. Still, Richard has given you a retrospective of the Greek class -or at least he tried- because you can't help but poke fun at pretentiousness when you see it.

The first few weeks were relatively calm. You only ever saw the group when they walked out of the Lyceum and you were waiting for Rich. During those moments, you took the chance to observe them more closely, but you were still unsure whether you liked what you saw. Camilla, the only girl in their little clique, would always shoot poisonous glares your way, while Bunny would give you a nod, accompanied by an acknowledging half-smirk.

You first met Francis, by mere luck. You were over at Richard's dorm room when the ginger paid him an unexpected visit -and even though you weren't entirely sure if he was kind out of politeness or sincerity, you liked him. Francis is a nervous man with a great sense of humor and style.

As time bled into the heart of autumn, you started going out with your classmates. There was a cozy little bar hidden in an alley on Vermont where you'd enjoy a couple of drinks, when you didn't have early lessons. While there, you spotted Francis and Charles sharing drinks together. There were some 'scandalous' dating rumors... and you had a feeling they were indeed hooking up. You caught them once on your way back to Hamden. Francis must have noticed you, but the twin was likely quite drunk. You didn't tell a soul and Francis was silently grateful for it.

Weeks turned into months...

And boom! You, Francis and Richard started hanging out around campus. It didn't become a daily occurrence overnight, but when it did, Charles would also join you from time to time. You even started talking to Bunny through your light interactions with his girlfriend, Marion. He definitely stood out from their polished social image, but in a way, he was the necessary ingredient that balanced out their measured and cut off demeanor.

You're not part of the group. If anything, you're even more of an outsider than Richard. The thing with you, though, is that unlike him, you aren't trying to fit in. Bunny is talkative to a fault, so you have no trouble entertaining him. We've already covered Francis. Charles is surprisingly chill and friendly. But despite that, his sister might mirror his appearance, but she certainly doesn't mirror his personality. She seems to tolerate you more than anything.

When Charles casually invited you to their apartment for dinner, her expression had turned so sour that you almost wanted to strangle her.

However, the cherry on top is that mountain of stoicism, Henry Winter. He always seems to be in his own world, his piercing gaze often fixed on something far beyond the crowd. You can't help but notice how he will occasionally glance in your direction, but these moments are fleeting, gone as quickly as they come. There is an intensity in his eyes that makes your heart race, yet he remains an enigma, shrouded in layers of indifference.

While Francis and Charles are engaging and willing to include you in their conversations, Henry's aloofness is what stimulates your curiosity. You sense he is aware of your presence, yet he never acknowledges you, as if you are just a mere afterthought in the grand narrative of his life.

The dinner was a catalyst experience.

As you arrived at the twins' apartment with Richard, Henry's presence loomed large but distant. You felt eyes on you, but it was only Bunny, Charles and Francis who greeted you with cheerful banter, while Henry remained in his corner, a book in hand. His gaze did flicker to your shapely figure, lingering just a moment longer than he intended before he quickly averted his eyes, dismissing you as nothing more than an unimportant distraction.

"Well, well, don't you look like a million bucks tonight!" Bunny called out with a grin, his eyes openly trailing down your curves. "That dress is working overtime, sweetheart. We should get you to wear that to the next charity event!"

Charles chuckled -though there was a slight awkwardness to it- and Francis rolled his eyes. You forced a smile, used to Bunny's crude remarks. Your attention was elsewhere anyway...

Why did Henry refuse to engage, even when you found yourselves under the same roof? He frustrated you as much as he intrigued you.

The atmosphere in the twins' apartment buzzed with lively chatter and the clinking of glasses. As you settled into your seat at the table, you were acutely aware of Henry's presence at the far end. You wore a fitted dress that accentuated your curves, the fabric clinging to your defined figure. You could feel the warmth of the others' gazes, but when it came to him, it was as if a cold, impenetrable wall stood next to you.

As the meal progressed, conversation flowed easily. Bunny dominated most of it, animatedly recounting stories from campus -with Richard often his chosen victim. Occasionally though, Bunny's attention would drift back to you, making some offhand comment about how you should consider a career in modeling. "No reason to hide those killer curves, darling" he'd say with a wink, making Francis groan in exasperation.

Through it all, Henry remained silent, his attention fixed on his plate or the flickering candlelight at the center of the table. Though he said nothing, there was a tightness in his jaw that suggested he was aware of everything -and perhaps disapproved.

You caught glimpses of him out of the corner of your eye -the subtle shift of his gaze when he thought no one was watching, the way his fingers twitched when Bunny's voice grew loud and lewd.

It was maddening. He was magnetic and repelling all at once.

"Henry, what do you think?" Charles asked at some point, finally drawing him into the conversation. For a moment, hope flickered within you that he might engage. But Henry merely shrugged, dismissing the warmth of the moment...

As the evening wore on, you tried to focus on the camaraderie of the others, but you couldn't shake the feeling that Henry was watching you from behind that wall of polite ignorance.

His silence only amplified the tension that crackled between you.

Tension, tension, tension... Or is it your wishful thinking?

Since that dinner, things have warmed between you and the Greek students. You often find yourself in their company -whether it's studying together in the library, thrifting with Richard, going to the opera with Francis and even Camilla, or awkwardly using the coffee machine in the cafeteria with Henry.

Henry has shifted from not acknowledging your existence to silently accepting it. It's a delicate situation and you know better than to push for more. He's far from an average Joe. Initiating small talk with him would feel almost like a personal insult.

Let's focus on today though, shall we?

It's early morning and you're both making coffee in the still empty cafeteria. The small space in front of the coffee maker forces you to stand close, too close. As you reach for a cup, your fingers accidentally graze his much larger ones, sending an electric jolt through you. Henry's hand lingers for one delicious moment before he pulls away, his expression neutral, though you catch the subtle clenching of his jaw.

Is he annoyed... Or did he feel the same tingling sensation you just felt? You apologize quietly and he nods, not saying a word, but the air feels heavier now.

A pause.

You turn to say something -anything!- but he's already walking away, his umbrella and Gucci coat perfectly in place.

It was a mundane thing to happen, really. Boring and normal, unimpressive and simple. Ordinary and meaningless... Something that could happen between absolutely anyone. And yet, you spend the rest of the day replaying it over and over in your pretty head, unable to focus on your classes.

In the blink of an eye and after several cups of mediocre at best coffee, you find yourself waiting for Richard at your usual spot. He emerges with Bunny. Dammit... They appear to be engrossed in conversation. Looks like you're heading back to the dorms on your own...

You sigh.

There's no hurry so you don't leave right away.

The cold evening air bites at your skin as you stand outside the Lyceum, watching as the others come out of it. Francis waves at you and Camilla gives you a brief smile, but neither lingers. And then there's Henry, the last to leave. He steps out into the dim streetlight, his dark coat wrapped tightly around him as he makes his way down the steps.

You hesitate for a moment, debating on saying something or staying silent as always, but frustration gnaws at you and your tongue wins control over your brain.

"Why doesn't he want me there?" you ask, not moving from your spot.

Henry pauses. His eyes -sharp and piercing- meet yours and for a moment you wonder if he's going to ignore you, as he has countless times before. But then he walks over, his steps measured and his expression unreadable.

"You mean Julian" he states in a low voice, but there's an edge to it like he's already thought about this.

You nod, your breath visible in the cold air. "Yes. Everyone else... but not me. Why?"

He regards you for a long moment, his eyes tracing your face... and for the first time you're acutely aware of his smell -expensive cologne and aftershave mixed with tobacco. His presence is imposing, even though his demeanor remains distant.

"Julian is..." he begins, then stops as if searching for the right words. He then looks away, towards the dark street, the silence between you thick. "Particular. He doesn’t take everyone."

The words sting, even though they were spoken with a calm detachment. You cross your arms, not entirely sure if it's to block out the cold or the weight of his indifference.

"That much is obvious. But why not me?"

Henry's jaw clenches, a flicker of something unspoken passing in his dark blue eyes, but his voice remains steady. "You don't need Julian's approval in order to spend time with us."

And then a bit more earnestly "You already know that."

You scoff lightly, taken aback by his response. "You didn't answer my question."

"I did."

His gaze snaps back to yours, something new surfacing behind those cold orbs of his.

You feel like you're standing on the edge of some cliffhanger, but before you can push him any further with your questions, Henry takes another step dangerously close. He looks down at you, taking in the curve of your upper lip, your jawline, the shape of your nose.

"You're not like the others" he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. There's no judgment in his tone, just the acknowledgment of a fact. You blink, taken completely off guard by the sudden shift in his demeanor.

"Is that why Julian won't let me in? Because I'm not like all of you?"

Henry doesn't answer immediately. The tension between you feels fragile, like it could shatter at any given moment. Then, in a voice softer than you've ever heard from him, he replies "Maybe it's better this way."

His words hang in the air, loaded with a meaning you can't quite grasp. You search his eyes for something more, some explanation, but before you find anything, Henry steps back, his face closing off once again.

"Goodnight" he says, the tension breaking as he turns and walks away, leaving you standing there confused and more intrigued than ever.

A bottle of cheap wine and late night thinking is your next step.

"When Henry told me that Julian's judgment isn't everything, he revealed a small crack in his otherwise impenetrable loyalty to the professor. He respects Julian and his selective nature, but he doesn't entirely agree with my exclusion.

So Henry has protective instincts... whether he's aware of them or not. He senses that keeping me out may shield me from whatever lies ahead in Julian's world, which he must know isn't as glamorous as it appears...

I am such a philosopher..."

That evening, Henry remained by his car for a good while, watching you as you stood alone in the cold. He couldn't quite explain why your question had unsettled him, why your presence had been bothering him in ways he hadn't anticipated. You unsettled him -not because of what you said, but because of how acutely aware of you he had become.

You frustrated him.

Henry's need for control manifests in how he maintains a physical and emotional distance, even as the tension between you grows. He's hyperaware of how your interactions could escalate if he lets them. That's why he chooses to leave at the end of every single conversation you have. By walking away, Henry reasserts control over the situation, both over himself and you. He's not ready to let his guard down, so he retreats in order to keep the tension simmering rather than boiling over.

It was foolish, he told himself. He had no time for such petty distractions. Still, there was something about you that cracked the surface of his carefully constructed world.

You weren't part of Julian's circle, so you shouldn’t matter. But you did. He hated that you did.

Sexuality and romance... these are things Henry has never cared for. He can analyze them, dissect them from a distance, but the reality is different. He has observed enough to know how they work in theory, yet practice remains foreign to him.

Intimacy is something he has never sought, perhaps because it seems beneath him, too messy and unpredictable. But when standing before you, Henry realized something he hadn't expected... He was curious. Not in the detached, intellectual way he usually is.

A few days pass, but the memory of him looking at you outside the Lyceum is still annoyingly persistent. It's hard not to think about the odd tension between you. You tell yourself it's nothing, but it's not working, not really.

So you decide to head to the library. Not because you expect to see him there, but because your classes are starting to pile up and you need to focus. At least that's what you tell yourself as you step into the quiet, echoing halls. But as you move through the aisles, you spot him.

H. M. Winter

He's seated at a table near the back, away from the other scattered students, his serious expression fixed on a thick book in front of him. The mere sight of him -sharp jawline and tailored coat draped over the back of his chair- sends a jolt of something through you. You hesitate for a moment. You should leave, avoid him. But instead you find yourself walking over, heartbeat quickening, the air between you already charged before you've even said a word.

He doesn't look up immediately when you approach, his eyes still fixed on the book in front of him, his fingers carefully tracing the edge of a page as if he's deliberately keeping his focus there. But then, as you step closer he finally glances up, his gaze moving over your face and then lowering to take in the rest of your body, outfit and all.

Without a word, you pull out the chair across from him, the scrape of wood against the floor cutting through the heavy silence. You take your time, moving slowly. Your body brushes against the edge of the table as you sit, the fabric of your skirt clinging to your curves in a way you know he notices -even if he doesn't allow himself to look.

The scent of old books and cologne in the air adds to the heat building between you. You cross your legs, shifting slightly in your seat while you unpack your bag.

Time goes by.

The quiet hum of the library envelops you both as you sit across from each other, textbooks and notes now scattered on the table. You focus on actually studying for the most part, though you can still feel his bespectacled eyes shift on you from time to time. When you move in your seat, the hem of your skirt rides up slightly, revealing just a hint more thigh. His eyebrow twitches in response before he sharply returns his focus on his book, but not before you catch the encouraging micro expression...

You pretend not to notice, but the warmth crawling up your neck betrays you.

As the minutes tick by, the space starts to feel smaller than it should, the quiet charged with something unsaid.

Without the presence of the others, the air between you feels different -more electric and less restrained. With no one else to see, neither of you has to pretend anymore. Henry's usual detachment falters, his eyes lingering longer than they should, tracing the curve of your leg that has been exposed. This time, instead of shying away, you let the moment stretch.

Alone with him the rules feel different, unspoken boundaries becoming temptations to cross.

You lean forward ever so slightly -the movement causing your blouse to dip just enough to reveal a teasing glimpse of cleavage. You pretend to adjust the papers in front of you, but you know exactly what you're doing... The corner of your mouth quirks up in the faintest hint of a smirk when you catch the way his stormy, blue eyes flick down momentarily.

Henry adjusts his glasses, the subtle motion giving him a moment to compose himself. His eyes narrow. His voice is steady, level, as he finally addresses you -but there's clearly an edge to it.

"What exactly are you trying to do?"

His gaze locks onto yours now, no longer avoiding the obvious. It's a challenge spoken softly but laced with a mix of curiosity and frustration. He's intelligent enough to know what's happening, but inexperienced enough that your boldness throws him off balance.

His hand tightens on the spine of the book.

It's a good thing you put on this little lacy bralette in the morning, because it does your assets more than justice. You sit up straighter.

Henry's gaze falls on your generous cleavage again, before it darts back to the forsaken book he's been pretending to read for the past hour. His ears turn a slight red, an indicator of his flustered state. And oh, the way he clears his throat... It tells you everything you need to know.

"I was just wondering if I could see your notes. You know… so I can get a glimpse of what Julian teaches you lot. Or is that Latin? Richard mentioned you're working on a translation or something..."

"Yes… It's Latin."

"Can I see?"

Was that a provocative thing to ask? Maybe.

Indeed, Henry stiffens at your question, the directness of it catching him off guard and you even catch a brief flash of uncertainty behind his gaze.

"I… suppose you can" he mutters after a small pause. He fumbles slightly with the pages in front of him, which seems like an unusual action for him -to fumble. His square-nailed fingers brush over the worn paper of the translation he's been working on, but you can tell his focus isn't on the text. As he slides the notebook toward you, you notice the almost imperceptible tremble of his upper limbs.

"Thanks" you say, offering him a small smile. Then, you lean even closer, supposedly to examine the translation -to expose more cleavage.

...he bites the bait. Henry swallows hard and you don't need to look up to know that his eyes are fixated on your supple bosom. His breath hitches audibly as he sees more of your assets than is appropriate.

After another charged moment, with you still 'reading' from his notebook, Henry straightens up, shifting uncomfortably in his seat as the hardness that has formed in his pants becomes impossible to ignore.

He's never felt anything like this before. The sudden arousal surges through him, unwelcome and overwhelming, making his skin prickle under his usually immovable composure. Crossing his legs, he tries in vain to hide the evidence of his arousal. It's a humiliating thing to be so out of control, to feel his body reacting when his mind is frantically trying to impose some order. He disappoints himself by being so... so affected by something as simple as a glimpse of your breasts.

Henry adjusts his glasses once more. His body is betraying him right now, a true traitor, a meek renegade, pulsing with a need he doesn't know how to handle.

You're delighted to see him bite his lower lip, making his internal struggle more tangible to you...

Before...

Before he blurts out... "You're not wearing a bra, are you?"

The question echoes in your ears, blunt and so so uncharacteristic of him, but his eyes are wide and his pupils dilated. You understand that the words must've slipped out before he could catch them. Still, you don't give him an answer.

His normally pale complexion flushes a deep shade of red, the realization of what he just said hitting him like a freight train. His hand tightens even more around the notebook -knuckles white- and he looks like he wishes the ground could swallow him whole.

For a second it seems like he might apologize, but no words come out of his mouth. Instead, he shifts again, the discomfort of his confined erection making him painfully aware of what he assumes are your bare breasts under the fabric of your blouse...

Henry's mind is working without his permission as it tries to decide how your skin must feel against his hands. You've clearly gotten under his skin and he's struggling to maintain the control he's so used to wielding.

He can't help but steal another peek at the dip of your blouse, admiring, longing. He also can't help but imagine running his palms over your unconstrained breasts. The breath he takes does little to calm his racing heart, or the stirring in his expensive dress pants, the ache becoming harder to ignore with every passing second.

His hand moves to close his notebook, as if to signal that this study session is over, but the awkward energy still crackles between you. On top of that, you're not ready to give up, not now that you finally have him wrapped around your finger.

"Are you leaving already?" you ask, something playful in your voice.

Henry hesitates, fingers lingering over the notebook, his usual confidence visibly shaken. He clears his throat, glancing at you and then quickly away, as though torn between staying and the uncomfortable predicament in his slacks.

"I… hadn't planned on it" he murmurs, speaking more to himself than to you. He uncrosses his legs, the icy gaze returning to meet yours, betraying a mixture of reluctance and undeniable attraction. "But maybe I… should."

With a touch of sultry innocence, you turn your attention back to your own book, supposedly accepting his sudden departure -while also positioning your arms so they press your breasts together, accentuating your already tantalizing cleavage. Of course he tenses as he sees what the new position does to your body...

You turn your focus away from Henry to glance around, noting the empty chairs and half-abandoned tables. It looks like most students have left -or are leaving- for dinner. It's just the two of you now, tucked into a secluded corner, as if the quiet solitude of the library is conspiring in your favor.

Time has slipped by unnoticed, a realization for him as much as for you.

The soft glow of the lamps casts long shadows across the rows of books. The library has quieted. The world outside is fading into dusk. The room feels still, almost intimate. The building's ventilation is the only sound left, along with your breathing.

Henry isn't sure if he should feel relieved or more uncomfortable now that it's just you. The absence of others only sharpens the tension, leaving him acutely aware of his body's betrayal. He aches with need, his arousal throbbing painfully against his zipper, each pulse a reminder of how far out of control this has spiraled.

As if on instinct, his hand moves to his lap, fingers brushing against the strained fabric of his pants. His gaze is fixed on your cleavage, drawn to the subtle rise and fall of your chest with each breath.

Your luscious skin has Henry's breath growing shallow, each muscle in his body tensing as if bracing against a storm. His thoughts also betray him -he wants his face there, buried between your soft mounds, suffocated by them, losing himself in you as if he were a Roman indulging in the decadence of an orgy.

His breathing grows even more labored as his eyes fixate on your hands, now massaging your plump assets. This is unfair. Unbearable. Infuriating. Under any other circumstances, he'd be appalled by such lewd behavior. Yet, in all honesty, his frustration is less directed to you and more to himself -for being weak enough to succumb to such a primal, lowly instinct.

Lust.

Lust...

But… is it really so lowly?

Lust for a woman. Lust for a man.

Lust for food. For alcohol.

For a sports car, a tailored suit, an ancestral estate.

Lust for knowledge. For the thrill of experience.

Lust for life.

It has always been about hedonism. The pursuit of satisfaction, the fulfillment of one's desires. Yet Henry had never felt it like this before, not in its pure, unrefined carnality. Even the excitement for Julian's praise pales in comparison to the one he experiences now -with his face contorted in pleasure, as he stares at your coy expression. His chest tightens as his gaze shifts from your cleavage to your face, struck by how utterly radiant you look. He's never truly taken the time to notice it before, let alone appreciate it... The fullness of your cheeks, their youthful glow, their intoxicating freshness, healthy and ripe like apples.

It's a stark contrast to his own face, or even Camilla's, or Richard's. Their cheeks are hollowed from sleepless nights, their skin pale, only flushed when warmed by too much wine. But you... oh, you. The blood flows effortlessly, naturally, deliciously to your face as you meet his gaze with that knowing expression.

He feels more sweat forming on his brow and his hand -oh, damn him- is already moving, rubbing slow, small circles over his aching crotch.

It dawns on him, then.

A revelation as visceral as it is absurd. He's never quite grasped why literature so often wields cannibalism as a metaphor for love, for lust. But now, with his pulse racing, his breath faltering and his thoughts consumed entirely by you, he understands. He wants to devour you. Consume you wholly, utterly, and without remorse.

"You look so... so..." he gasps, his voice strained and trembling with unspent desire. "Play with your... play with your- Oh God!"

You can't help but grin at his unraveling. You've done it. The mighty Henry Winter reduced to a needy mess, his carefully cultivated composure shattered like glass. He's acting like some desperate, hormonal teenager and the power you feel is almost dizzying.

Teasingly, you raise your top just enough to give him a good glimpse of what's going on underneath. His eyes widen, hunger and disbelief etched across his face as he's treated to the sight of your lingerie-clad breasts, the delicate lace doing little to hide your hardened nipples.

A hoarse groan escapes him, while his hand strokes his length -the slacks barely covering anything. Whatever hesitation or awareness of his surroundings he had before has vanished. At this moment, he doesn't care who might see the two of you.

The mix of pleasure and frustration is overwhelming him. His underwear has become far too tight for his engorged member and with a muttered profanity, he unbuckles his belt. In one swift motion, he shoves both his pants and underwear down -just enough to free himself.

His thick, hard cock springs forward then, standing tall and heavy. The sight of it catches even you off guard.

"Henry, what-"

"Shut up!" he growls in a voice that's low and rough, dripping with need. His hand wraps around his hard length, giving himself a few slow, deliberate strokes. "Just sit there and look beautiful while I take care of this."

His eyes aren't their usual icy blue anymore. They're darker -almost molten- and they fixate on your cleavage with an intensity that sends heat pooling in your stomach.

You glance around, a flicker of apprehension sparking within you. The thought of getting caught lingers at the back of your mind, but the darkness outside and the deserted library reassure you. Thank God your table is tucked away in a secluded corner.

With a teasing smile, you lift your top again.

Henry's reaction is immediate. His eyes glaze over, his head tipping back slightly as his mouth falls open in a silent moan. The sight of your perfectly-rounded breasts seems to unravel him entirely. His hand moves faster over his pulsating shaft, the tension in his body building with every passing second.

"Please… please" he rasps, his voice almost breaking.

The desperate plea sends a jolt of heat through you. You press your thighs together -the throbbing between them is growing more and more. You lean forward just a bit, your tone dripping with feigned innocence.

"Please what?" comes your whisper.

His lips part again as he struggles to form words. "Please... touch yourself... Your n- nip-" He can't even finish his sentence, his composure completely shattered as his cock throbs violently in his hand.

"Now, please!" he gasps.

You feel a flicker of shyness at first but decide to indulge him, pinching your nipples gently between your fingers. Henry's gaze is unwavering, his breath hitching as your fingers close around your hard, (color) nipples. The groan that escapes him is loud and unrestrained, his hand now moving furiously over the length of his leaking cock.

When your hands push your breasts together, his expression shifts entirely. He looks hypnotized... Utterly transfixed by the sight. You can tell he's imagining his face there, buried between your mounds and lost in the warmth of you.

His body begins to tense, every muscle coiled tight as his release inches closer.

The moment is abruptly interrupted by the sound of footsteps and you immediately hurry to cover yourself, just as a boy approaches to retrieve a forgotten notebook. Henry's hand also retreats and he straightens in his seat, doing his best to appear somehow worldly. The boy barely glances at either of you before leaving, blissfully unaware of what he nearly walked in on.

Once the intruder is gone, you turn your attention back to Henry. His chest heaves. He's still catching his breath, face still red and damp with sweat. Ebony hair disheveled, round glasses slipping down his nose. With a shaky hand, he pushes them back into place, looking almost... human for once.

In this moment, he's not the calculating and untouchable Henry M. Winter. He's just a man -a flushed, trembling and utterly undone by you man.

"Show them again."

With the intruder now gone, silence blankets the library once again, thick with boiling tension. Still, you don't give him what he wants right away, liking the control you have over him.

"You were saying?" you murmur with a sultry undertone.

Henry's eyes snap back to yours. His hand hasn't stopped and it's picking up speed again, moving with urgency.

"I… I can't-" he breathes, his voice tight.

"Don't hold back." Your words are laced with mischief. "Let me see you, as you see me..."

That's all the encouragement he needs, really.

"You're-" he gasps out "going to-" another gasp escapes his lips "make me... ah- c- come..."

Henry's words are broken and almost incoherent, as he dangerously teeters on the edge. His breathing is ragged, every muscle in him taut with anticipation.

His grip on his erection tightens, his thumb brushing over the swollen tip, smearing pre-cum as his breathing grows more erratic. Oh Lord, he's so so close, his mind utterly consumed by thoughts and images of you -your breasts, the tantalizing curve of your perky nipples...

The weight of your gaze -intent and deliberate- feels like a physical touch and the unique cadence of your voice echoes in his head, soft yet teasing, pulling him closer to the brink.

His movements become frantic, his breath hitching as the coil inside him winds tighter. He's watching you, every detail of your parted lips and flushed skin, your teasing smile as you slowly trail your fingers over the tops of your breasts.

And then he falls apart.

Henry's hand freezes over his manhood as he looks into your eyes, his body trembling with need. "Can I...Can I come on them? Please?"

The raw need in his tone sends a shiver down your spine, igniting the flicker of power within you. You lean forward quite a lot, giving him an even better view of the soft curves he's begging for.

"Are you asking nicely?" Your is voice soft but also dripping with seduction.

Henry's jaw tightens as his restraint slips further away. This is embarrassing, it's debauchery, but he's in too deep to back away now.

"Please" he repeats, his voice breaking, the desperation evident.

His hand resumes its movement, jerking himself harder now, his focus entirely on you and the unspoken permission you haven't yet given.

You glance around quickly, the library as quiet as it's been the whole evening, the shadows growing darker as the last traces of daylight fade completely. A thrill courses through you at the sheer audacity of the situation. Meeting his gaze again, you slowly tug your top down to expose more of yourself -your cleavage a tempting canvas for his impending release.

"Alright, Henry" you purr. "Go ahead."

His head falls back at that, a strangled moan escaping his lips as the tension in his body reaches its peak. His hips jerk forward and his hand works in a frenzy, chasing the release he's been holding back for what feels like hours. His entire body tenses, veins standing out on his forearms and neck as his climax overtakes him.

The first thick, hot streak spills out, landing on your breasts, followed by another... and another. His release is messy -almost overwhelming- each pulse marking your skin in stark contrast to your flushed complexion. The sight alone seems to prolong his orgasm, his strokes slowing only as his body begins to shudder with overstimulation.

For a moment after that, the library is filled with nothing but the sound of his heavy breathing and the soft hum of the lights overhead.

Henry blinks, his gaze dropping to where he's left his mark, his lips parting in something like awe. His glasses have slid down the bridge of his nose, his hair tousled and for once, he looks completely undone.

His throat bobs as he swallows hard, his eyes still locked on you, an unreadable expression flickering across his face. Finally, he manages to adjust his glasses, his voice coming out hoarse and unsteady.

"You're… incredible" he mutters, almost to himself.

You lean back slightly, satisfied and victorious, watching as he shakily adjusts his clothes. The post-climactic haze softens his usual sharp edges.

But then his gaze snaps back to yours, -vulnerable and searching- like he's trying to understand what just happened, or what it means.

You grab a tissue, breaking the tension with a teasing smirk as you clean yourself off. "You're not going to forget this, are you?"

Henry's lips twitch as if he's fighting a smile, but his eyes remain serious.

"No" he says simply, his voice steady despite the faint tremor of his hands. "I don't think I could if I tried."

His answer causes you to chuckle softy. You begin to gather your things, breaking eye contact to avoid lingering too long in the still charged atmosphere. As you stand, you glance back at him, offering a small smile.

"See you around, Henry."

He doesn't respond, only watches you stand and leave, his expression a mix of longing, frustration and something deeper he hasn't fully realized yet.

As you step out into the cool evening air, you can't help but feel a spark of exhilaration. You've rattled him -really rattled him- and something tells you this is far from over.

ΗΔΟΝΟΘΗΡΙΑ. (ii)

Soon.

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[formulauno98]

Yacht Girl Summer - Chapter Six / Tuesday - George Russell x Reader, Toto Wolff x Reader

Word Count: 5.5k

Warnings: 🌶 This one is spicy, 18+ only. This is going to be a slow burn and if you're uncomfortable with the idea of two-timing don't read this.

Author’s Notes: Disclaimer, purely fiction. No use of Y/N and minimal descriptions because I want everyone/anyone to be able to enjoy this.

TUESDAY MORNING

The unexpected interruption jolted you. George's expression hardened, his grip on your hand tightening reflexively before he dropped it and moved to sit down on the bed. You exchanged a quick glance with him before you moved to open the door.

Toto stood in the hallway, his usually composed demeanour now tinged with uncertainty. His eyes met yours, a myriad of emotions flickering across his face, concern, regret and something deeper that you couldn't quite place.

"Can we talk?" Toto asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You hesitated, aware of George's presence sat on the bed behind you. He remained silent and brooding, his eyes fixed on Toto.

“I’m not sure if now is the best time. Can we talk in the morning?” you asked, knowing that you needed to explain the situation to George and disappearing with Toto would send the wrong message.

After a tense moment, Toto replied, “Fine. I will see you in the morning. Sleep well.” 

Closing the door once more, you turned to George to explain yourself further, only to see that he’d flopped down fully clothed, fast asleep. 

Sighing, you set about getting ready for bed, knowing that when he woke up in the morning, it was going to be more than awkward.

– – – 

You woke up in the warm embrace of George. His touch was gentle, his mind only on one thing as he snuggled closer, his hand caressing the curve of your thigh. A wave of surprise washed over you. Considering what you revealed to him last night, you hadn’t expected this reaction.

“Morning beautiful,” he said. A very odd reaction indeed.

"Morning,” you murmured, before adding “You’re perky this morning, do you remember anything from last night?" trying to keep your tone casual.

George groaned softly, shaking his head. "Nope. The last thing I remember is dancing with you. Everything after that is a blur. I couldn’t tell you how we got back here. How about you?”

Guilt gnawed at you. Deciding not to fill him in entirely, you forced a smile. "Things are hazy. Must have been the drinks," You extricated yourself from his embrace, knowing you needed some space to think. "I need a shower, I’m hanging badly," you lied.

“Ugh me too,” said George, “I’ll snooze for a bit, maybe shower after breakfast. I doubt Toto has anything planned for today.”

Nervous at the mention of Toto, you nodded as you disappeared into the bathroom, “Yeah probably not. Everyone drank a lot.” 

– – – 

Heading to breakfast, hand-in-hand with George, you had a knot in your stomach. The thought of facing Toto was daunting and you weren’t ready for that difficult conversation. A small part of you hoped that he’d be hit with the same alcohol-induced amnesia as George but deep in your heart, you knew it wasn’t the case. He hadn’t been anywhere near as drunk as the others and had appeared sobre when he’d knocked on your cabin door.

As you joined your fellow guests at the breakfast table, it was clear that they were all nursing severe hangovers, worse than the previous morning. James was silently sipping his coffee with a haunted stare, Cara had dark sunglasses on, her head hanging low and John kept rubbing his temples. Marion was nowhere to be seen, presumably too delicate to make an appearance.

Toto, conversely, looked wide awake, alert. “Good morning,” he said, somewhat stiltedly.

“Morning boss,” said George chirpily, causing Toto to raise his eyebrows.

“You’re in fine form this morning,” he said, his eyes not leaving yours as he was clearly trying to suss out whether George was onto him.

“I slept like a baby! I don’t know what was in those drinks but it was some strong stuff,” said George, “I was just saying that I honestly can’t remember how we got back last night. 

Toto’s eyebrows raised even further, turning to you, “And do you?”

Stuttering you blinked, “It’s a little blurry here and there.”

“Interesting,” said Toto, still looking at you transfixed, your fellow guests distracted enough by their hangovers that they didn’t clock the awkward interaction.

Throughout breakfast, he continued to look at you with an intensity that made you almost uncomfortable and as George was chatting to James and the plates were being cleared, he asked you in a low tone, “Can we talk?”

“Sure.” you said cooly, “Maybe you can show me the sea kayaks you were telling me about?”

Getting the message, Toto raised his voice, “Ah yes, the sea kayaks, I’ll show you them now and you can take them for a spin later  if you’d like?”

‘Great,” you said, your smile not meeting your eyes before turning to your boyfriend, “George, love, Toto mentioned he has some sea kayaks we can take out later. He’s going to show me where they’re stored and how to take them out, is that cool?”

Oblivious, George waved you off without a thought, "Yeah sure, go ahead, sounds cool. I'm going to take a shower in a bit anyway."

– – – 

Away from the group, Toto's steely manner shifted, his expression warming considerably. "I kissed you last night," he started, his voice low and apologetic. "I shouldn't have, considering George."

You nodded, feeling the weight of his words. "Yes, I know and I felt guilty. I told George when we got back, but he doesn’t remember."

Toto looked taken aback. "I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to complicate things or to upset you. I couldn’t help myself though. Have you not felt the same way these last few days?"

His question caught you off guard so you told a white lie, "No. I was too drunk last night to know what was going on. It was just a drunken mistake. I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression."

Disappointment flickered across his face, "Not at all. In that case, I should be the one saying sorry. I’ve enjoyed getting to know you. It’s been refreshing to talk with someone not about racing.” he paused for a moment before adding, “But yes, let’s put it down to a drunken mistake."

You nodded again, feeling a lump form in your throat. "Great, well if that’s all, I should go."

You turned and made the great escape before Toto could say anything else. As you made your way back towards your cabin, tears began to fall, what on Earth were you going to do? 

TUESDAY AFTERNOON

Fully repaired after the storm had damaged the electrics, the yacht had successfully headed back out to sea, setting sail for one last round of the Mediterranean before returning to dock in Port Hercule. You’d had a lazy day spent sunbathing and reading a book, trying to clear your mind. 

In the late afternoon, you got up and stretched on the lounger you’d spent the last few hours on. Deciding it was time to get up and do something, you thought a swim might do the trick, "Anyone interested in going for a quick swim before dinner?" you asked the group.

“I don’t think I can physically move.” groaned Cara, “Maybe tomorrow.”

“Yeah, I’m done for,” said John, equally as lethargically, “We’ll come tomorrow.”

Much to your despair, Toto volunteered, “I’ll come.” he said, sitting up on his lounger.

“George?” you asked, hoping he would join you.

“I’m working on my tan,” he said, stretching out luxuriantly. “Tomorrow I’ll come.”

“No worries,” you said, not able to back out of it. You gathered your things, kissing George on the cheek as you left, "Go. Enjoy." he said, quickly returning to his sunbathing, unbothered.

– – – 

Reluctantly, you found yourself alone with Toto once again, diving off the back of the boat, Toto following close behind. You swam out a little way, the tension palpable.

Floating ten metres from the boat, you felt the presence of Toto in the water beside you, "Sorry, I thought George would want to come too.” he said apologetically, “And it was weird to change my mind immediately.”

Your eyes softened, “No, don’t be silly, it’s nice to have some company.”

Toto quirked his eyebrow, “I didn’t get that impression this morning.”

Turning to face the older man, you sighed, “I’m sorry. Last night was… something. It was surprising. That’s all. And I feel guilty because of George…”

Toto looked at you, his eyes full of concern, “I feel guilty too. I shouldn’t have kissed you. George is my employee and my friend but I just couldn’t help myself. As I said this morning, getting to know you has been interesting. It’s the first time in a long time I find myself enjoying talking to someone.”

Surprised by his admission, you weren’t sure how to respond. 

Filling the silence, Toto swam a little nearer, his voice dropping low, “Look, one last question and we will never speak of this again. It’s driving me crazy talking like this over and over.” he paused, looking you dead in the eyes, “Do you love him?”

You couldn’t respond. The silence stretched between you, heavy and laden with unspoken feelings. Glancing up at the sun deck as if to check no-one was looking, Toto swam even closer, approaching you gently, one hand gripping your waist, pulling you close to him, and the other caressing your face. "Do you honestly feel nothing?" At that, he leaned in for a kiss, his touch tender, softer than the passion of the night before.

Breaking the kiss, you gazed into his dark eyes, shining warm amber in the late afternoon sun, finding them sincere. “Toto…” you started, before catching his lips once more, wrapping your leg around his torso as he effortlessly kept the two of you afloat with his free arm.

Time froze as you remained locked together, intimately embraced as the waves lapped around you. It was then that you knew. You had fallen out of love with George. George didn’t kiss you like this, he didn’t make your stomach lurch with butterflies. It was too early to tell if you loved Toto - Christ you’d only just gotten to know him, but you knew the potential was there.

The kiss growing more heated, you forced yourself to break apart, “Hang on, we need to stop.”

“Why,” asked Toto, growling as he pulled your leg further up his torso, grinding into you under the water, his growing hardness apparent.

You let out a moan, your heart not wanting to stop but your brain telling you otherwise. “It’s not the place.”

Reluctantly, Toto released your leg, “Sorry, I was getting carried away.”

“Don’t be silly,” you said, reaching up to cup his jaw as you pressed a chaste kiss once more to his lips, “I was too. But we just can’t. Not unless I end things with George.”

Looking somewhat deflected, Toto released you entirely, returning to treading water by your side, “You’re right. This is so not right.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, you’d of course heard his infamous “Michael, this is so not right.” during a Grand Prix a few years ago. Realising what he’d said, you were surprised to see his face tinged pink. 

“Sorry for laughing,” you said, stopping your giggles, “But look, let’s not do anything stupid.”

“Agreed.” said Toto, his face stoic, “Shall we head back to the boat?”

“Sure,” you said, keeping a careful distance between yourself and Toto as you swam back towards the yacht, your head racing with thoughts.

What you hadn’t clocked was the figure on the sun deck, leaning over the railings, mouth hanging open having witnessed your and Toto’s intimate moment.

TUESDAY EVENING

That evening, dinner was more relaxed, with the group discussing plans for your final day at sea. Plates were filled with delicious food and the air buzzed with an easy camaraderie, the previous nights’ shenanigans well and truly breaking down any remaining airs and graces.

You settled into your seat beside George as he leaned in intently to listen to what Toto was planning for the following day. After what had transpired in the water, you couldn’t quite look the tall Austrian in the eye as he proposed taking the jet skis out for the day. 

James nodded in agreement, "Jet skiing sounds fun. We could also set up a race. You know, just for laughs."

Rolling your eyes at the forever competitive older man, you knew George would not be able to resist the idea of a race. As if on cue, he nodded eagerly, “I’m down for a race.”

“Such a surprise,” you said dryly under your breath, Toto smirking at your comment.

Raising an eyebrow, Cara seemed to share your sentiment, "Friendly competition, right? Count me in.”

Sipping her wine, Marion nodded, "Agreed. But maybe first some sunbathing on the deck. I was all for a chilled morning."

Toto clapped his hands together, “Then it’s settled. Tomorrow let’s relax in the morning and a jetski race in the afternoon.”

George agreed enthusiastically, "That sounds fantastic. We could set up a course around that island we passed today. Start here, loop around the buoy near the cliffs, and back."

Nodding, John chimed in, "Yeah and let’s time each other. The winner gets bragging rights for the rest of the trip."

“The rest of the season,” said George mischievously, knowing that he would likely have the edge.

Stroking his chin, James added, "We could add some challenges too, maybe a slalom through some buoys.  Keep it interesting."

“Are you guys ever not competitive?” you asked, the men denying it in unison. Shaking your head and laughing, you stole a glance at Toto, noticing his dark eyes lost in thought.

Breaking eye contact, Cara leant across the table to clink her glass with yours, "Here’s to our silly other halves."

Marion raised her glass in tandem, "Cheers to that.” before turning to Toto, “ And to good friends."

Smiling at everyone, Toto raised his glass in turn, "Indeed. Cheers. Thank you for making this week very enjoyable. We needed this break."

You raised your glass, joining the toast to the memories you had made together. As the conversation shifted to other topics, you caught Toto’s eye across the table. He gave you a reassuring smile which you promptly returned. The butterflies were back.

Clearly privy to this moment, Cara suddenly piped up, “So how was your swim earlier?” she turned to you pointedly, “I saw you two out there, it looked like you were having fun.”

The blood drained from your face. No. She couldn’t have seen. Could she?

You exchanged a worried look with Toto, Cara’s face lighting up as she knew it meant that the two of you had been rumbled.

“It was lovely thank you.” you said politely, “Actually, we spotted an interesting island, if you’d like to see it I can show you from the sun deck?”

Catching your drift, Cara nodded, “I would love to, maybe we can head up before dessert comes out?”

“Great idea.” you said firmly, excusing the two of you from the table, George looking a little confused at your sudden departure and Toto shooting you a look as you disappeared up the stairs behind Cara.

– – – 

Once you were up on the sun deck, safely out of earshot you turned to Cara.

"Okay, spill it. What's going on?" she asked, “I saw you two canoodling in the water. How can you do this to George? What on earth were you thinking? Has this happened before?”

Feeling overwhelmed by the barrage of questions, you paused before admitting, "I don’t know. Like I told you, things between George and I are… not great. And then last night at the club, Toto and I... we kissed. I don't know what came over me."

Cara listened quietly, her expression turning serious as she processed your confession. Her eyes narrowed, “So then you went in for seconds today?”

“It wasn’t like that.” you said quietly, “I told Toto that we shouldn’t.”

Cara raised a perfectly pencilled brow, “But you did it anyway. Look I will say this once. These things happen, but you need to sort this out. George is a lovely lad, he doesn't deserve to be messed around.”

You nodded, tears welling up, feeling somewhat cathartic after sharing your guilt, “I know. I feel terrible about this."

Seeing your regret, the older woman’s expression softened as she gently put her hand on your arm, "Okay darling, take a deep breath. We'll figure this out. Just... be honest with yourself about what you want and who you want to be with."

You nodded gratefully, thankful for Cara's understanding and support. 

"Be careful though," she advised. "Toto is much older than you. You’re probably smitten because of all of this,” she gestured around the yacht, “If you’re not happy with George, end things first. Don’t jump into something with Toto. He’s likely only after a fling. I’ve never known him to be serious about any woman since his divorce and even during his marriage he had a wandering eye."

Her words left you at a loss. Had you misjudged Toto? After all, what kind of man pursues a woman who is already taken? Let alone one taken by someone who works for him.

“I will be,” you said, thankful that the woman seemed to be level-headed. “Thank you, Cara, I hope you don’t think badly of me.”

“Not at all,” she said kindly, “I can see it’s upsetting you, but equally, please be careful.”

You smiled, the warmth of her friendship offering comfort amidst the turmoil of emotions swirling inside you.

She turned suddenly, "Let's head back before they send out a search party. You've got a lot to think about young lady."

“Indeed,” you said, following her back down to the dining table where thankfully the chat was flowing freely once more.

Settling back down in your seat, George barely registered your return so you found yourself once again chatting away with Toto. This time talking about dancing, having shared opinions on the music last night. 

“Where did you learn to dance like that?” asked Toto, leaning in with a smile.

“Self-taught.” you teased, “How about you?”

He smirked, “Years of practice, I suppose.”

“Well you got moves,” you said with a smile.

“If only you knew,” he said suggestively, dropping his voice so only you would hear, your companions deep in conversation around you, oblivious to the overt flirtation. 

Blushing furiously, you tried to steer the conversation back to more innocent territory, “So a jetski race tomorrow huh? Think you have what it takes to win?”

Ever humble, Toto chuckled, “Probably not. George and James will have the edge. Perhaps I can beat John, Cara and Marion. You, I’m not so sure.”

You laughed, “Wanna make another bet?”

“Why not?” Toto asked, amused at your competitive streak.

“If I beat you, you have to jump off the boat and skinny dip tomorrow night.”

Toto quirked his brow, “And if I beat you, you are going to do that?”

You chuckled, not having thought this through, “Hm, maybe not.”

“Why not?” he asked, “It makes the race interesting.”

“Ok, deal.” you said, your eyes sparkling, taking his hand in yours to seal it “I’m ninety per cent sure I’ll beat you anyway.”

“That’s confident,” he said, dropping your hand, “Something you probably don’t know, I used to rally.”

Fuck. Maybe the bet was not so wise after all.

“What are you guys shaking on? Making a bet?” asked George, suddenly noticing your exchange with his boss.

“Yep.” you said, “On who will be faster tomorrow? We all know you’re going to win but for us normal folks, we’re spicing it up.”

George laughed, “I’m not sure about that, a jet ski is a bit different to a car. Besides, you’re much lighter, I reckon you have the weight advantage.”

“Are you calling me fat George?” said Toto, his eyes widened in mock horror.

“No, no.” said George, backtracking, “Well, you’re much taller. And all muscle. Very muscular. Yes not fat. I mean no… not fat.”

The table were now all engaged in your exchange and laughed at George’s furious backpedalling.

“What’s the forfeit?” asked John.

“To be decided,” said Toto tactfully, not wanting to share the true nature of the bet.

“Walking the passerelle?” suggested James with a laugh.

Toto’s eyes sparkled, the irony not lost that James wasn’t far off your wager, bar the nudity clause “Yes, let’s say that.” 

– – – 

Later that night you found yourself lying in your bed in your cabin, unable to sleep once again, heart pounding with uncertainty. George had quickly drifted off to sleep beside you, wrapped up in the duvet, looking cosy as a bug. 

You had to talk to Toto. Despite the easy banter at dinner, the kiss, his confession and Cara's words swam around your mind. With a deep breath, you slipped out from under the covers, careful not to disturb George. Quietly, you tiptoed across the cabin, pulling on a bathrobe and snuck out into the narrow corridor, trying not to make a noise as the wood beneath your bare feet creaked.

Toto's cabin wasn't far. You navigated the dimly lit hallway, your thoughts racing as you approached his door. With a hesitant hand, you knocked softly, hoping he was still awake.

After a brief moment, the door opened a crack, revealing Toto's silhouette against the soft glow of his cabin lights. His eyes widened slightly in surprise before a warm smile spread across his face.

"Can I come in? We need to talk," you said, keeping your voice low, not wanting to wake anyone.

Toto nodded silently and opened the door wider, allowing you to slip inside. The master cabin was spacious and elegantly appointed, a stark contrast to the cozy simplicity of yours. Toto closed the door behind you, the latch clicking softly into place.

You stood awkwardly in front of him, painfully aware that he was wearing nothing apart from a tight pair of boxers. Of course, you’d seen him in swim shorts but this was much more compromising. You gulped, he wasn’t making your life any easier standing there looking like that.

Noticing your awkwardness, he crossed the room, taking a seat on the large bed, “Sit down,” he said, patting a spot next to him, “What's on your mind?"

You perched on the edge of the bed, nerves fluttering in your stomach. The air between you was thick with unspoken tension, the weight of recent events hanging in the air. You were very much aware of the fact that you were now sitting with a half-naked Toto on a bed. A very handsome, half-naked Toto. One move and you could be back in deep water.

Stealing yourself and meeting Toto’s gaze, you spoke to him from the heart, "Today... what happened between us. I don't know how to explain it. I shouldn't have..."

His voice gentle, Toto surveyed you, "It's okay. We talked about it. You don't need to apologise."

You shook your head, "But I do. Cara saw us. She knows."

Toto looked at you wearily, “You snuck out of bed to come and wake me up and talk about Cara?”

Taken aback, you retorted, “No, what I’m saying is I don’t know what to do. She told me some things about you.”

“Like what?” Toto asked, curious.

You sighed, “Basically she told me to be careful.” 

Breathing steadily, Toto looked at you fondly, "And you think she’s right?"

“I don’t know,” you said helplessly, fighting not to react to the fact that Toto was edging nearer to you. "I feel so confused. About everything."

"I understand. These situations are never simple." Toto offered up, his eyes darting down to where your bathrobe was gaping, offering him a view of your skimpy nightdress.

Silence settled between you, the gentle hum of the yacht's engines filling the cabin. Toto's eyes searched yours, his expression a mix of understanding and something more difficult to define.

"What do you want?" he asked breathlessly, leaning closer.

Answering him wordlessly, you brought your lips to his, this time your lips locking in fiery passion. 

Breaking the kiss, he asked, “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” you said, shaking slightly, not having planned to do this when you’d snuck out of your cabin.

“Well if you insist,” he said, suddenly scooping you up and throwing you back onto the bed so you were now splayed out underneath him, your bathrobe flapping perilously open to reveal your thin cotton nightdress that left little to the imagination.

Dipping down, he kissed along your neck, whispering in his deep voice, “But this has to come off.”

Tugging at the belt, you got flustered as you tried to extricate yourself from the terry-towelling prison, Toto growing impatient and pushing it down off of your shoulders as you finally managed to untie the knot.

Hands exploring everywhere in the heat of the moment, Toto’s hands quickly found your breasts, palming them through your nightdress, setting you on fire. You reached around, clasping one hand around the back of Toto’s neck, pulling him closer, the other grabbing at his broad shoulders. 

As you kissed once more, Toto began to grind his hips into yours, his hardness more than apparent as you gyrated underneath him, desperate for contact.

Just as you were starting to find a rhythm you froze suddenly, painfully aware that you were about to cheat on your boyfriend. This was not just so not right, this was downright wrong. You glanced towards the door, a pang of guilt tugging at your heart. George was fast asleep in the cabin down the hall, unaware of your clandestine activities.

Noticing your hesitancy, Toto stopped, his hands dropping to your waist, holding you tight. “Are you okay?” he asked, for the first time looking nervous. “If you want to stop we can.”

Torn between feeling guilty and wanting to carry on with what you were doing, you looked up into Toto’s eyes, the warm brown meeting yours with concern.

“I’m more than fine,” you said, leaning up to kiss him once more, too far gone to stop now.

As the kiss deepened, Toto began to divest you fully of your bathrobe, then making quick work of peeling off your nightdress and throwing it wildly behind him, leaving you in nothing but your lace panties underneath him. Shy under his gaze, you shifted a little awkwardly, feeling exposed.

“You.” he kissed your neck, “Are,” he kissed your collarbone, “So,” he kissed your breast, pausing to take your nipple in his teeth, “Beautiful.” he kissed your stomach.

The sensations drove you wild as Toto parted your legs gently and kissed his way lower and lower, from your stomach to your hip, pausing to lift up your legs and pull your underwear off before continuing to kiss you all the way down to where you were now dripping wet.

“Such a pretty little pussy,” he said, seemingly mesmerised. He took a moment to gaze with admiration before kissing his way from the inside of your thighs all the way to your core. His tongue lapping gently as he found your sweet spot.

“Fuck.” was all you managed as he went to town, his tongue skillfully swirling, expertly flicking your clit. “Fuck,” you exclaimed again, grabbing a handful of the sheets you were lying on.

Toto came up for air, his eyes almost black with desire, “Tell me how you like it.”

“Keep doing that.” you breathed, never having felt like this before. You felt another pang of guilt. George never did this, never made you feel like this.

His deep laugh rumbling against you, he continued his ministrations before coming up for air. “Sit on my face,” he commanded, his authoritive tone making you blush.

“Huh?” you asked.

“Sit down on my face,” he said, sitting in front of you before twisting around and grabbing your legs so that you were now straddling his face. “Sit down and smother me.”

Bracing yourself against the headboard, you did as he asked, his tone hard to resist. His strong arms held your legs apart and pushed you down, your thighs wrapping around his shoulders as you pushed into his mouth.

It was heaven. His tongue lapped gently, exploring, making your stomach do backflips.

You couldn’t stop moaning and it seemed the more vocal you got, the more enthusiastic he became, pulling you tighter to his face with every grind of your hips.

It wasn’t long before you were seeing stars, his tongue setting you on fire. “Fuck, Toto.” was all you managed to say as he pushed you up, his mouth wet with your pleasure.

“Gladly,” he said, promptly moving your legs off of him, pulling off his boxers and coming up to kneel behind you, his prominent bulge digging into you as he pressed up against you tightly, your legs pulled apart straddling around him as you sat on his lap. “Focus,” he said, lifting you up and teasing you with the tip of his cock.

He continued caressing your breasts, nipping gently at the patch of skin behind your ear as he lazily rubbed up and down, agonisingly slowly. “Toto,” you said, your voice hoarse with need.

“Yes,” he rumbled, right against your ear, “Tell me what you need.”

“Fuck me,” you begged, discontent with his slow teasing.

“I thought you’d never ask,” he said, lifting you up off his lap once more before easing himself in, taking things slow and pushing in inch by inch to allow you to adjust to his size.

“Fuck.” you breathed, “Fuck, this is nice.” As he bottomed out, you felt full, complete even.

“Nice?” he taunted, nipping at your ear lobe “That’s all?” 

“You know what I mean,” you muttered, starting to impatiently move your hips, grinding down onto his lap.

“Is this nice?” he asked, before lifting you up and slamming you back down onto his lap, making you feel as if you were about to be split in two.

“Yes.” you breathed, barely prepared when he did it once more, and then twice “Fuck.”

Slowing down, he pumped up into you, starting to find a rhythm, one hand creeping forward to caress your clit. Oversensitive already, you were almost on the brink from the first touch. “Does that feel good?” he asked, his voice vibrating through you as he continued to thrust in and out.

“Fuck yes,” you said, moving your hips against his, bracing yourself once again on the headboard.

“Hang on,” he said, suddenly pulling out, leaving you disappointedly empty before grabbing you by the waist and flipping you over onto your back.

“I want to see your pretty face,” he said, lining himself up once more, entering you again, this time at a relentless pace, leaning down to kiss you as he found a new, faster rhythm.

All you could do was lay back and try to meet his thrusts, his muscular build pushing you further and further back up the bed.

“Ouch!” you said, as one particular thrust had your head crashing into the headboard.

“Fuck, I am so sorry,” said Toto, slowing down, kissing your head where you’d banged it and impatiently grabbing a pillow to stack behind you, “Sorry, overenthusiastic.”

“I’ll survive,” you said, pulling him down for a deep, sensual kiss.

It wasn’t long before you were reaching your second orgasm of the night, losing yourself in pleasure, your bodies moving as one. 

You could sense Toto slowly throbbing slightly, nearing his own high so you slowed down, pre-empting.

“I’ll pull out,” he said kindly, “But I need you to cum for me first. Cum for me.”

Once again, his domineering instructions had you on the precipice and coupled with a few, short, sharp pumps, he pushed you over the edge once more, your entire body shaking as you experienced one of the most intense orgasms of your life.

You barely had the chance to recover when he expertly pulled out, tugging a few times before he too found his completion, warmth spreading over your lower stomach.

Collapsing beside you, he leaned across and kissed your forehead before getting up to the bathroom to go and grab a towel. Returning shortly after, he wiped you down gently, making sure to clean up thoroughly before dipping back down to pull you in for a cuddle, his strong arms wrapped around you.

You lay there in content silence before he broke it, “That was… I don’t know. Fuck, you are out of this world.”

Smiling, you pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, tasting yourself, “That was the best sex I’ve ever had.”

Looking pleased by your admission, he drew you in closer, enveloping you from behind. You snuggled contently, not wanting the moment to end but knowing that you had to leave so as to not arouse suspicion. What had you done?

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