Chapter Text
She kissed Rupert Campbell-Black.
Taggie kissed him and he kissed her back. In front of everyone on the dance floor.
God, did Caitlin or mummy or daddy see? No. If Mummy saw she would have run out the room crying and daddy would confront Rupert if he had seen.
It was an impulse, really. A curiosity that consumed her when so near and touching him. When he was looking at her like he could see her, truly see her, and smelled comforting and warm like something toasty like nutmeg and an open flame. The longer they danced and he looked into her eyes the more it curled into her, warming her from the inside. In her gut, more too though.
When she pulled away from him she swore she saw him panic for a split second, like he didn't want her to leave and wanted to keep kissing her and that… Taggie doesn't know what to do. So, ever the coward, she ran.
Taggie, reeling from a ghost of an impression of Rupert’s lips on her own, walks into the kitchen once again. Thankfully it’s empty this time, so she grabs the half full bottle of brandy she used to soak currants in earlier, pulls off the cap and takes a long drag of it. She would take anything to calm her heart down, to slow her breathing.
She has so much to do tonight. The kedgeree needs to be prepared so she doesn't have to cook tomorrow morning and there are countless dishes to do. Yet, she can’t stop thinking. About him.
Despite her inexperience, Taggie has kissed boys. Not many boys or on that many separate occasions. Certainly, not many fantastic kisses, but she had kissed two boys before Ralphie. Ralphie was the first boy she necked and went further with. However, she’s kissed enough boys, sweet and hesitantly, to compare to Rupert and how it made her feel, which is precisely the problem. Because the moment she kissed Rupert she knew it was different. His kiss is different. He’s different.
Rupert Campbell-Black, no matter how absurd it is, may very well be Taggie’s mate.
It’s the only explanation that makes any sense. Why else would he be interested in Taggie? Why would he spend any of his New Years Eve seeking Taggie out when so many women in the priory would surely have their way with him? Why else would she have felt so dumbly compelled to snog him in front of everyone, utterly forgetting herself. He’s a middle aged MP, an attractive one, sure, but he’s also a heartless rake who has a history of bedding any woman he wants regardless of consequence. Yes, he’s apologized to Taggie and she’s choosing to forgive him. That doesn't cancel out the rest! And Taggie knows this, so why would she fucking snog a man she knows cannot possibly have any long lasting interest in her?
Unless he’s your mate, a small part of her thinks.
It would explain the spontaneous heat.
Swallowing down a second mouthful of brandy, she breathes out, “Impossible.”
Perhaps she’s in denial or maybe Taggie’s simply gotten too fantastical with her whims to excuse her crush and make her feel like she has a chance when logically Taggie knows she does not.
Shaking off her roaming thoughts, Taggie pulls everything she needs from the larder and fridge: rice, milk, spices, haddock, eggs. Choosing to lose herself in the movements of cooking breakfast to avoid thoughts of Rupert. Of what Rupert may be doing now, if he has considered coming to find her or if he’s already snogging someone else. Truthfully, she doesn't want to know. She’s already too aggravated and exhausted with the day's events.
More than an hour or, maybe, two later, Taggie can’t tell at this point, the kedgeree is safely in the refrigerator and the counters and table are covered in drying dishes that she’s done with no help from anyone.
She doesn't mind, really.
Caitlin is fifteen and off doing god knows what; likely drinking tha malibu she thought she snuck away without anyone noticing. She knows her parents are busy hosting, entertaining company in ways Taggie has no experience in. Mummy’s likely off with the women somewhere or dancing, while daddy has a crowd, like always, holding their breaths and watching him enraptured as he recites poetry in the kitchen. Patrick’s in the kitchen too, but she doesn't have the heart to ask for help when it’s his birthday party and Cameron Cook is latched to his side. She still feels guilty for possibly ruining the woman’s suit earlier this month.
Taggie has enjoyed having company while she works, if only for a distraction, until Ralphie and his girlfriend stumbled in drunk and giggling. Of course, they also had to sit right near Taggie as she drying up some glasses, so she can overhear Ralphis’s drunken babbling about how wonderful his girlfriend is and how grateful he is that she agreed to spend hols together. It’s grating on Taggie’s last nerve when the girl has the gal to stub out her cig on a freshly clean champagne glass. Knowing she’ll have to rewash it is somehow the last straw.
“To and fro we leap and chase the frothy bubbles,” Declan sweetly recites.
It barely distracts Taggie from her annoyance. Yet it does force her to keep quiet which is a good thing for she doesn't know what she would even say. It would all come out embarrassing. She knows that much.
“While all the world is full of troubles and anxious in its sleep. Come away O human child with a fairy, hand in hand –”
The sound of mummy’s heels as she walks in gets Taggie’s attention as she’s had enough and starts to leave.
Glancing up as they pass, Taggie freezes at the sight of her red rimmed eyes, but it’s her scent that has her nearly growling in disgust and something she doesn't want to admit is hurt. It’s impossible to miss the way mummy’s normal scent, now curdling with sadness, is muddled with what she knows to be Rupert’s scent.
She can't stifle her anger as she meets her mother’s watery gaze.
It's a different kind of betrayal. Not on her part, really. She doubts her mother could know Rupert is her mate. Daddy deserves better though. The only thing that stops her tongue is the knowledge they’re not alone.
Maud whimpers, tears starting to fall as she looks at her husband.
“How many have loved your moments of glad grace, and loved your beauty–”
Taggie watches them with a new kind of revolusion. Daddy knows, he must. Mummy hasn't hid her interest in Rupert, and now he’s declaring his love all over again when she smells of the other man? If this is what mated couples are like, she wants no part.
Leaving the kitchen in a rush, needing distance from her family, she doesn't look back. Too busy wondering what Rupert did and why mummy’s crying. Did he turn her down? Christ, did Rupert kiss mummy only hours after kissing Taggie?
Feeling absolutely foolish, she walks by people utterly invisible - because no one seems to see her- in the hopes of nicking a bottle of whiskey from daddy’s office stash. She makes it to the office quickly enough, barely noticing as she passes by Lord Baddingham.
Without thought she closes the thick carved walnut doors, locking them so no one can find her. Taking a shuddering breath she forces herself not to cry at the thought of Rupert and mummy doing god knows what, but the night has been too long, too frustrating, too emotionally compromising.
It takes all of seconds for Taggie to realise she’s not alone, scenting him.
Turning in a rush, Taggies eyes widen as she takes in the sight of Rupert’s dashingly mystified face as he stands in front of daddy’s desk, his hands in his pockets looking casual as ever as he watches her like she can’t really be here with him.
“Taggie,” he says, as if her name is stuck in his throat like l
a particularly thick caramel.
“What are you doing in here?” she demands, surprised and oddly proud by how angry she sounds. Her voice doesn't crack once.
“I–”
Scoffing at the guilty expression on his face, Taggie chooses to ignore him as she walks to the bar cart, grabbing a bottle at random. She’s too upset to attempt to read a label. Only once she’s opened it does she steel herself to look over once more.
Rupert’s watching her with pained eyes that she simply doesn't understand, so she says the first thing that comes to mind. Something she hopes ruffles him too.
“How’s mummy?” Taggie says, eyebrows raising as she takes a sip of alcohol. “Was it good?”
Rupert’s expression morphs into what she imagines is disbelief, mouth opening and closing silently. At her for being angry about something she has no spoken right to or something else, she doesn't know.
Nothing about Rupert feels simple.
It’s all too loaded with everything she’s trying to bottle away, hopes and fears she’s never acknowledged as a possibility for her until she met this goddamn man, but she’s unstoppered perhaps more than whiskey tonight.
So, when Rupert doesn't speak quickly enough, Taggie decides he isn't planning to. Disappointment and embarrassment eats at her, so she swallows as much whiskey as she can in one go. Her burning throat makes her stop to breathe, but it helps a little. Helps to numb her feelings and ignore the way his scent is changing more with every second. She shouldn't be able to tell the difference of his scent, she barely knows Rupert, but she does and she can.
And she understands why.
Even if it’s not what she wants the answer to be under these pathetic circumstances. It’s still good to know, really. She’ll likely be grateful later for her hopes being dashed so quickly.
If Rupert is her mate – and he is, she knows it, but she cannot admit it here and right now – and if she ever chose to bond with him, she can see their future so clearly. She’d end up just like daddy, surviving on the hope that Rupert comes crawling back to her after one of his many affairs. She’d bite her tongue when he comes home smelling like some other woman and pretend not to notice. When it gets bad they would fight and then fuck and she would decide it’s enough. She would tolerate it their entire lives because no one abandons their mate, right?
And she can’t.
It’s a baffling realisation to experience while locked in a room with her fated mate on New Years Eve, while he’s staring at her in a way no one has ever looked at Taggie.
And no one will again, if she leaves.
It knocks the wind out of her, what exactly she’d be giving up. But all of this is contingent on Rupert wanting her, on him wanting to stay, on him not abandoning her. She could choose to tolerate all his likely future affairs and he could still leave her. Just because she can see her future in her parents' dynamic doesn't mean Rupert would come back to her like mummy always does. In fact, Rupert’s already left a wife before. Why wouldn't he also leave Taggie? She cannot possibly be enough for him in the long run.
It’s too much.
Clearing his throat, Rupert crosses the room with long strides until he’s standing in front of her, close enough to touch yet not so close they have to touch. He reaches out for her, hands almost grazing her arms, but Taggie doesn't meet his gaze, instead staring at her feet.
“Nothing happened,” he breathes out, voice low and oddly affected as his hands drop to his sides. “I didn't touch her. Is that what you want to hear?”
Frowning, Taggie looks up at Rupert, who's closer than she expected, and into those eyes she thinks she could get lost in. The world is fuzzy enough for her to be brave, honest with him. “Only if it’s true.”
“It is,” Rupert says quietly, nodding slowly once as they stay locked in some unfathomable trance he seems just as unwilling to break.
“Why?” It’s out of her mouth against her wishes, her brain only catching up to her once the question sits between them.
She doesn't know if she’ll like his answer, but she cannot reconcile his words with the world she’s subconsciously built in her mind of what they’d look like, be like. Of their doom.
His answer would explain her mother’s tears though. But, still.
Taggie needs to know.
She needs to know if she’s somehow wrong and Rupert sees her as more. She needs to know why he didn't want mummy and if it was because Taggie asked him not to. If it was out of some odd begrudging guilt or something else. She just needs to know, needs to hear him say it. Whatever the reason.
For a horrifying moment, she sees his hesitation and wants to curl away and hide from what she knows is coming. Rejection, cruel or belittling.
What she does not expect is a slight curve of his mouth, his eyes piercing into hers with something far too akin to affection.
Almost too casually, Rupert says, voice deep and honeyed, “You know why.”
The problem is she doesn’t. She knows what he is to her, but she doesn't know what he is thinking or what this may mean to him.
Taggie goes to say something, to ask while she’s still brave with the taste of whiskey on her tongue, but then his hands are gently taking the bottle from her and putting it back on the cart. She lets him.
Why does she let him? She wanted that bottle, didn’t she?
She can’t think with Rupert so close, with the warmth of his fingers as they barely touch hers, goosebumps ghosting down her spine at the prospect of more. She barely has the strength of mind to stop herself from reaching for him like some pathetic girl would.
His scent, comforting and safe like the best of homes, blurs the harsh lines, softening everything. Her perception of the possibility of them. The harsh reality outside this door. His sharp jaw as Rupert turns back to her with hesitation and, dare she hope, want in his gaze.
The sounds of the party and every horrible feeling she’s felt today because of her family or Ralphie disappear as she tilts her chin to see him more clearly.
When his eyes drift to her mouth she bites her bottom lip and wonders if he’ll kiss her. Despite all rationality, Taggie hopes he does. So, when his brushes his thumb awfully gently against her cheek, Taggie doesn't question it.
Not yet. She knows she must, later.
In the moment, she simply closes her eyes and cherishes the sweetness of his touch. Something warm twists in her gut and chest as she inhales deeply and recognizes a shift in his scent, but she’s too overwhelmed by the feeling of his other hand shakily pressing against the side of her neck, his nose brushing against her own.
Almost too afraid to open her eyes and find him pulling away from her, she grips his shirt in a fist to keep him with her. To pull him until their bodies touch. There's no reason to hold him quite so tight. She’s the one who ran last time. Yet… That can’t be.
When his lips brush against her own, Taggie opens her mouth to him. She feels more than hears him exhale into her mouth as they crash together. It’s not hesitant or sweet like their kiss on the dance floor. There's something possessive and needy silently spoken as he licks into her mouth, grabbing the back of her neck, fingers tangling in her hair.
A whimper escapes her throat as she holds his face and then trails her fingers through his hair, so she can try to pull him impossibly closer.
He moves in an instant, molding their bodies as one, one hand on her back, his other never leaving her neck. Everything feels impossible while wrapped in Rupert’s arms, his mouth melding hers to his attention without any real effort. If she was sober and not fatigued by being on her feet all day, then she’d likely be self conscious or second guess every move.
But, for once, Taggie allows herself to feel first, and do only what feels good, right. She doesn't think.She kisses Rupert, uncaring if her inexperience shows. All she cares is if he responds to her, and, despite everything, he does.
As if possessed, Rupert snogs her until she’s breathless and dizzy. Until she feels her spine licking with heat, her nails digging into his skin, and noises she’s never made coming unburdened from her throat, gasping and whining.
Despite having been kissed before, Taggie’s realising she has never been kissed like this. She’s never been kissed with such unrelenting determination. Almost as if he doesn't kiss her he’ll lose something vitally important. Like all that matters, all that he can see or think of, is her and her lips.
Somehow, Rupert seems to be doing fine, breathing in and out in between their mouths as he shows her things she’s never felt, but she can't catch her breath. Sadly, Taggie does have to breathe, so she tugs his hair to get his attention. Only a moment to back off, she needs.
Instead of letting off like she expected, Rupert groans low and hot. Taggie does it again, experimentally. Just to see. When he groans, once more, and bites on her lower lip, she gasps and presses her chest into his. Surprised by the way she enjoyed the spark of pain, and so does Rupert, apparently, she starts, unable to stop herself from chuckling as he suckles her lip into his mouth.
He huffs loudly, leaning away enough to look at her face, not far enough he has to step out of her grip. For a second he seems annoyed. As if she ruined something delicious, but then he catches her smiling and grins down at her too. Only now does she catch the way his chest is rising and falling in quick succession, his cheeks heated and eyes hazy with lust.
A rush of something unfamiliar, maybe pride or power, fills her chest. Simply knowing she’s the one to make Rupert Campbell-Black look somehow so wrecked and happy leaves her speechless. She could stop this now. She should stop them, if he won’t.
Rupert blinks and she swears she sees the same thought flash through his mind as one of his hands flexes against her hip. When he doesn't step back or say something to end this, Taggie knows. She doesn’t want to stop. Not yet.
Hope bubbles to the surface. She tampers it down and uses her hand still in his hair to drag his face close to hers again. Just to feel that newfound rush again. Of his proximity, scent, filling her senses and blocking out everything else.
She sees him questioning, hesitating as his eyes find hers, which makes her stomach flip nervously. But then he presses soft kisses to her cheek, to her cheekbone, ear and down her neck. It’s teasing and sweet, like he’s waiting for her to decide what happens next.
Does he?
Taggie doesn't know what to do with it. To think he’d let her lead, if she wants to. She never expected it to feel like this. So overwhelming and thrilling. Blood thrumming under her skin, not in fear but want. Boys have always led, rarely if ever asking more of her. She assumed Rupert would be the same. She expected him to already have a handful of her tits or arse. And until this very second, she hadn’t realised he’s kept his hands oddly respectably on her waist or back, in her hair, on her chin or shoulders. The lowest he’s gone is her hips and only to squeeze a little, as he’s doing so now.
It confuses her more than it should, she thinks. It’s a good thing, isn’t it?
When he sucks a spot on her neck, Taggie sighs and tilts her head to give him more easy access. His thumb is sweetly rubbing her chin as he licks and sucks her neck, oh so close to her scent gland. She steps closer to his body, wishing she could climb him, and feels his arousal hard against her thigh. It’s perfect and not enough. Intimidating as it is exhilarating.
Taggie knows they can’t have sex in daddy’s office, that she really shouldn't tonight at all.
Rupert mouths at her scent gland and Taggie can’t stop herself from wrapping both arms around his neck and one leg round his waist, needing him closer any way she can get. It’s slightly awkward, and she thinks she could fall any second. But then his hands steady her with one on the back of her thigh and his other on her spine as his teeth graze her gland.
“Rupert,” Taggie gasps, low and pathetic, gripping him close as a shot of fear hits her and her legs begin to shake.
He can’t bite her. He must know!
Before she can truly consider saying something to remind him, his lips move to the front of her throat and around to the other side of her neck and Taggie loses her train of thought. Too lost in the feeling of his hot mouth and tongue on her skin, goosebumps left where he abandons as he marks more of her skin.
For a fleeting second, she recognizes he’s marking her.
It’s not permanent, but it will linger long past her next shower. It makes her weak kneed, heart in her throat, at the thought of Rupert wanting to linger on her in a way others will be able to scent. It has her gasping for air despite his mouth not cutting off her oxygen, eyes rolling back as he licks the perfect spot. It has her mind feeling lazy and her tongue lax.
“Please,” she whines, not recognizing her own voice.
Rupert grunts against her neck, speaking as he continues to mouth at her skin. “What do you need?”
“More,” Taggie breathes, eyes rolling to the ceiling when he sucks on her mating gland, not exactly knowing what she does need. Just that this isn’t enough.
Rupert groans, nodding against her skin as he grips both of her legs and helps her up. Taggie’s relieved he understands, so when he walks them somewhere she thinks he may be planning to press her to the wall and grind against her. She would welcome the friction.
What she doesn't expect is for him to drop her. Taggie makes a small sound of surprise as she lands on something hard and vaguely flickers down to see her daddy’s desk. But then Rupert is stepping between her legs and touching her cheek. She meets his heated gaze and her mouth goes dry.
“How much more?” he drawls, all confidence and heat, his gaze promising things she cannot fathom.
Taggie just blinks, staring into his gaze and suddenly knowing. She’s a goner for him. Isn’t that just her luck?
“Tag?” Rupert asks, this time softer, his other hand now on her neck. “How much more?”
Taggie nods, not sure what she’s agreeing to, but knowing she wants it. Whatever he’s offering, really. There’s something in his gaze that makes her think he doesn't just mean this second. That this may not be about sex at all, actually. It has her pausing. Wondering. Could he want more?
“I need to hear you say it, darling.” Rupert steps closer, smiling sweetly or cockily. She can’t tell, she’s too busy staring in his eyes because he seems as focused on hers.
Everything, mate, is on the tip of her tongue.
She’s so close to admitting she wants him, that she knows. Apparently, Taggie isn’t drunk enough to be so blindingly brave. So, she does the only thing she can think to do.
Taggie takes the ends of his untied bow tie to tug his mouth down. He bends easily to her pull. Taggie pries his mouth open with her own and he grunts in response, a small huff of surprise, but he doesn't move closer or touch her.
It’s maddening. It makes her bold.
Wrapping her legs against his waist once more, she nudges him closer with her feet against his arse as he holds her face like she’s precious to him. The desk is too short for what she wants though, so she huffs.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, voice raspy and honeyed, kissing the corner of her mouth.
Frowning Taggie looks between their bodies and tries to scooch closer to the edge, tilts her pelvis and moves her legs higher up his hips, but nothing lines them up right.
“The desk is too short,” she whispers in disappointment as her cheeks blush furiously.
“Fuck,” Rupert mumbles, hands falling to her hips to squeeze and knead her flesh. “Is that what you want? To grind or –”
Taggie nods dumbly.
It’s stupid, she knows. It probably won’t feel good for him. Isn’t enough to tempt him. He could have any woman he wants tonight. She’s sure if they walk out together, she’d be able to spot a half dozen women eying him within minutes.
But Rupert is looking at Taggie like she’s a dream, the only dream he wants, so she doesn't apologize like she thinks she should.
“Scoot over,” he says, not unkindly, tapping her thighs. Confused but curious, Taggie does as he says. She’s about to ask why, when Rupert sits on the desk and pats his lap with a smirk that has her breath hitching in her throat.
“Will feel better with clothes on,” he explains hesitantly when she glares at him a little too long. “Promise.”
Taggie nods, knowing she must be a blushing mess as she crawls onto his lap and lets her knees hit the desk on the outside of his legs.
As she gets comfortable, his hands palm her thighs through her denim trousers. She wonders what it would feel like without any clothes. If his hands would be warm or calloused. If his touch on her legs would burn or make her squirm. As it is, it’s different when her legs spread wider, her core resting against his lap fully, which he’s directing her to do with a gentle press of his palms to her thighs.
Taggie gasps when her inner thighs brush the tops of his thighs, not from shock. No. Taggie can feel him nudging between her legs.
She saw Rupert’s soft cock months ago. She’s thought of it more than she would admit aloud.
Like this, hard and trapped between them, she’s not sure what to make of him. She wants to look down, but knows she won’t see much. Their bodies are too close. They are clothed. Still, she catches her gaze flicking down between them, imagining what could be if she was brave enough to ask for what she wants, what her instincts are purring for.
His hands grip her thighs, squeezing and massaging her skin lazily, yet she can see the almost shake of his hands as he touches her. The thought that she may not be the only one nervous makes her heart stir, even as her fuzzy brain tells her not to be naive. After all, why would Rupert be nervous?
When her gaze finds his own once more, she’s blown away by the vulnerability in his dark eyes.
“You scare me a little.” Rupert’s earlier admission sits between them silently. She thinks she understands why now.
Swallowing down the only thing she wants to say, ‘Mate,’ Taggie tries to breathe slowly. It comes out ragged and rushed, impossible to hide from him.
“Oh, Tag,” he drawls, slow and oddly rough, as he looks into her big blue eyes. “Take what you want, Angel.”
Hesitant because she’s never done this before, not when on top, she doesn't know where to start. She’d rather let the world swallow her whole than admit that to Rupert though.
Taggie wraps her arms around his neck and chooses to get lost in his mouth first. In his taste and sounds. In the way he responds to her touch and kisses firmly. In the way he seems utterly entranced by her every movement. Until she’s on the verge of losing her mind with want. Until she’s relaxed, hazy enough to do what he asked and rolls her hips experimentally against his hardness.
Once. Twice.
Rupert groans, capturing her mouth in another kiss, tongue dancing against her own, as his hands flex against her moving thighs.
Taggie gasps when she finally hits the spot she prefers to play with when touching herself and rolls her hips forward again at just the right angle to rub that spot again.
“There you go,” Rupert mumbles, brushing his mouth against her cheek. It would be sweet, innocent, even. If not for the pathetic noise escaping Taggie’s mouth and his cock rubbing against her covered core, nudging at her clit through multiple layers of clothing. “Come on, Angel,” he says, nosing at her gland again. “You’re doing so well.”
Taggie shivers at the touch or his praise, she can’t parse why or which it is as she feels herself slowly soaking her knickers, heart pounding in her ears.
All she knows is she wants this to last all night or however long it can. Taggie imagines taking Rupert to her bed, locking the world out and stripping down to her knickers. She imagines doing this in bed sliding against his bare cock until she comes. She imagines sinking down, trying to ride him. She doesn't know how, but as Rupert murmurs things like “So good,” “Perfect, Angel,” “Keep going,” “I know you can,” to her while sucking the skin of her neck into his mouth… Well, she thinks she’d like to try just about anything.
As her legs go wobbly, she finds her movements losing steam. Annoyed, it was just starting to feel good, Taggie digs her nails into Rupert’s neck, making him hiss in pain. Right as she’s about to apologise for hurting him, he squeezes her arse and helps her move against him with rather rough movements that sends a spark licking up her spine and her core burning for more.
Taggie’s tongue freezes against the roof of her mouth as a desperate whine claws at her throat, begging to escape, and her forehead falls forward to nuzzle his neck, savouring his scent until she finally leans close enough to taste his skin with her tongue.
“Fuckin’ Christ,” Rupert grunts, stilted and breathy, his hands squeezing her arse so roughly she feels her slit rub against the denim more roughly.
“Mmm,” Taggie hums against his neck, sucking a touch too hard.
But hands kneading her arse and his cock rubbing at her slit feels too tempting, too good, to stop. Even if it’s to speak. Even if it means Rupert’s mouth can’t reach her own neck.
She doesn't know how long they sit like this. How long Rupert lets her grind against him helplessly. How long he lets her lead without ever pushing for more. Eventually, when Taggie feels her knickers absolutely soaked through and her thighs burning, she groans in anger. “I can’t–”
One of Rupert’s hands is suddenly on her face, his thumb resting on her chin, guiding her to look at him.
“What do you want, darling? Tell me and I’ll give –” Rupert swallows the rest of what he was going to say, but she can see the honesty in his expression.
“Touch me,” Taggie gasps, her brain barely registering her own words, even as she knows she wants it. “I–”
Rupert’s lustful gaze softens, for a moment. Just one. And then he nods and suddenly he’s reaching between their bodies and cupping her sex through her denim. “Like this?” he rasps, a hint of a playful smirk returning.
“No,” Taggie admits boldly, undoing her belt.
“Fuck,” Rupert says, breathing rough and hot against her face as they both watch her hands work her belt open and then the button of her trousers. “Tag, are you sure–”
“Yes,” Taggie says without hesitation as she looks at Rupert whose mouth is gaping, his eyes mesmerized by her face. He’s not looking down, which has her almost frowning. The sound of her unzipping her pants gathers his attention, eyes glancing down. She sees it plain as day in every microexpression: Hunger.
But, still.
He doesn't move his hands to where she wants. He just watches her, studying.
“Touch me,” Taggie asks breathlessly, on the verge of begging. The moment Rupert meets her eyes, his hand slips under her trousers.
“Pl–” Taggie chokes down a plea as his fingertips brush against her slit through her knickers.
“Christ, Tag.” Rupert’s mouth falls open as he watches her face, barely touching her cunt, but she’s so wet that every brush has her gasping with need. “Drenched for me, hmm?”
Taggie nods, uncaring if it makes her look needy or wanton. She just needs him to touch her, to make her come.
No matter how brave she felt to ask for this, she can’t speak that last request aloud. Asking him to touch her should be enough, she thinks, but when he doesn't slide his fingers under her knickers, she doesn't know what to do. What to think.
“Rupert,” Taggie whispers shakily, gripping his hair with one hand and tugging hesitantly. She noticed he enjoys it before, but what if–
Her hesitation dies as he grunts, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply. “Yes, angel?”
Taggie presses her lips to his when he doesn't open his eyes right away and whispers hesitantly against his mouth, “Need more.”
Rupert chuckles against her mouth, placing a kiss to the corner of her open mouth as two of his fingers slide up and down her slit more firmly. It’s teasing with a hint of something more. Taggie’s desperate, wants to tell him to move on with it already, but she’s too lost in his hungry gaze to speak. When he finds her clitoris and presses insistently, Taggie has to bite her bottom lip to keep quiet.
“Good girl,” he praises with a roughness that has her spine tingling, the hairs on her arms raising. “Don’t want anyone to come knocking, do we?”
Taggie’s eyes widen in fear and something else, biting back a moan as Rupert rubs her clit through her soaked knickers alternating the pressure and direction of his movements.
Grinning like he caught a great fox, Rupert groans. “Or do we like that idea? Do you want someone to see us? Want to claim me –”
Taggie can’t stand it.
Not because he’s wrong. She’s startled to realise she doesn't hate the idea, which is something entirely new. But because she can't tell him. Not now. Not yet.
Not like this.
So, she silences Rupert with a snog until they're both breathless and she feels herself dribbling in her knickers further, her core molten and tightening with every swipe of his slippery fingers against her pulsing clit.
Shocked by how swiftly it happens, Taggie comes squeezing around nothing, mouth wide in a silent gasp against his waiting mouth. She catches sight of him watching her face, rubbing her through her orgasm.
“Still need more of my touch, darling?” Rupert asks darkly, and with affection.
Barely catching her breath, Taggie laughs.
The stress of the past twenty four hours lessening on her shoulders as it washes over her and leaves her blissful.
When she’s finally brave enough to look at Rupert’s face, knowing she must look and smell a mess to an alpha, she doesn't find judgement or anything sinister. He doesn't look like he’s going to press her to return the favour or use this against her, which she wouldn't have put past him days ago. And, perhaps, she’s wrong and the next thing out of his mouth will turn her interest and send her running out of the room.
However, all Taggie sees is a heated curiosity and touch of lightness she didn't notice in Rupert’s expression previously.
It has her near asking for more than she should give. More than she’s ready to.
As does his scent, which is somehow curled warmly around her like a blanket. He smells content, and if Taggie wasn’t currently coming down off a wonderful orgasm, she would marvel at it. After giving her, and only her, an orgasm, Rupert Campbell-Black doesn't smell annoyed or frustrated. His scent hasn't started to curdle with disinterest or disgust. If anything, she instinctively senses he’s more interested.
“Taggie,” he drawls, sounding controlled yet confusingly hesitant, soft, to her ear, and brushing his fingers down her slit with a featherlight touch; Something she didn't know was possible when shoved between two layers of clothing.
Biting her bottom lip and closing her eyes, Taggie sighs when one of his fingers nudges at her entrance through her slippery knickers. He presses against her again and again, teasing where it’s impossible to press inside with such a barrier. Shivering, core pulsing, Taggie nuzzles into his neck, breathing him in.
Her hands comb through his hair almost without her even realising, she just needs to feel more of him. Anything she can, but he’s still completely dressed - they both are, she reminds herself. His hand stuffed in her trousers doesn't feel like enough.
Taggie’s lightheaded with whiskey, and his scent is driving her crazy in a manner of which she would be utterly confused by if not for knowing.
Rupert’s her mate.
There is no arguing against it, even if she wants to, and she does. She really does. It would be so much simpler if he wasn't. Gulping down her feelings, she presses his nose to his neck and wonders if he’s thinking the same thing.
“Oh, Tag,” he breathes roughly against her hair, as if hearing her thoughts, rubbing the hand not on her knickers up and down her spine. “I’ve got you.”
Taggie keens, wishing she could crawl under there just to stay somewhere warm and safe where his scent lives. It’s so much more settling than anything else she can imagine, as absurd as it is to think. Not even her own cooking or a good bath makes Taggie feel this relaxed. Is it the whiskey and brandy she’s had on a relatively empty stomach? Or is it the orgasm? It was better than most she’s given herself.
“More, still, Angel?” he asks, a bit clipped, restrained.
Opening her eyes, Taggie sighs agitatedly as the world starts coming back to her. They’re on daddy’s desk. In daddy’s office. Sounds of the party, of music and laughing and chatter, filters in through the thick doors.
It’s late, but not so late she can simply drag Rupert to bed and ignore the world. She highly doubts it’s past three in the morning. People will be leaving soon and then she has to handle cleaning up and the deejays, unless daddy’s already taken care of it. She doubts it though. The Makepiece family are all knackered or passed out somewhere, so it’s on Taggie now. And, God, has someone heard them? Taggie was quiet enough, she thinks. But the mere thought has her suddenly anxious.
“Tag?” Rupert asks, rough and quiet into her hair as he removes his hand from her trousers. “It’s alright. Why don’t we–”
“No,” Taggie huffs out.
Rupert’s arms go still on her back as Taggie removes hers from around him while blushing profusely.
When had she begun clinging to him like a panda?
Embarrassed to be leaving him high and dry, or more accurately, leaving him hard and wet, Taggie crawls off his lap avoiding his gaze. Shaky feet find solid ground and Taggie attempts to fix her disheveled hair, but it's impossible without a mirror, all while avoiding the stare of Rupert who has gone quiet.
“I’m sorry,” Taggie whispers, glad to have something to do as she fixes her trousers and buckles her belt again.
“Should I –”
Swallowing down her feelings, she attempts to ignore his sudden shift in his scent. An odd mixture of fear and disappointment, maybe, though she’s not exactly sure why, clouding her nose. She ignores the need to ask him if he knows or what this means. For so many reasons, she must.
“I-I-I need to go,” Taggie stutters, avoiding his gaze as she bolts for the door, closing it sharply behind her.
“Taggie, dear,” Lady Baddingham says oddly.
Taggie doesn't stop or respond, not willing to look anyone in the eye as she heads for the loo. However, the line for the loo is so long, she runs by a horde of people to find the nearest room with a mirror. What she discovers when she does is mortifying. A line of bright red splotches all along both sides of her neck are painfully obvious.
Rupert has marked her for anyone to see. She doubts he did so on purpose.
“Fuck,” she whispers to no one as she stares at her reflection in the mirror.
Not willing to dally or touch the marks, Taggie undoes her clips and tries to arrange her hair to cover more of her neck. It wouldn't do much in daylight, but for in the relative dark of the priory it's not atrociously done. If Ralphie notices though, she wouldn't mind. She’d actually quite enjoy his notice.
“Show ‘em what he’s missing,” Patrick said earlier today.
If Taggie didn't have to keep working, then she thinks she may do just that. She thinks of what people’s responses would be if she dragged Rupert out of that office with the imprint of his mouth on her skin and danced with him for hours. Maybe even kissing him again in front of people.
A man Taggie doesn't recognize tumbles into the room tripping over their feet only to tip a small baggie of white powder onto the table in front of her and snorts.
Disgusted by the display, knowing exactly how horrible the house will be to clean if mummy’s friends are doing cocaine, Taggie heads for the emptied out dance room to clear dishes from the dessert buffet table.
Every step of the way people somehow aren't seeing her. They block her way and avoid looking at her when she politely says, “Excuse me.” Over and over.
She makes two trips back and forth to the kitchen. Slightly mollified to see her parents and Ralphie and his girlfriend have disappeared somewhere else, she breathes deeply and tries to ignore any and all thoughts of Rupert.
With arms full of dishes, Taggie is stopped by the voice of Lord Baddingham. “Taggie, where are the children?”
She has to stop for a moment to think. She walked by most of the rooms downstairs and hadn't seen Caitlin or any of the children in hours. Knowing Caitlin nicked a bottle of Malibu, she takes a guess.
“Um, I think they're in Caitlin’s room. Second floor.”
She could give better directions or show them the way. Taggie decides they’ll eventually find Caitlin's room despite the priory being a bit of a maze of staircases and landings as she walks away.
But then Tony yells, “Please, retrieve our coats, thank you.”
Wishing she could say no to daddy’s boss, Taggie sighs an “Excuse me” to a guest.
After dropping off the stack of plates she wanders the second floor bedrooms hoping to find the one the Makepiece girl used for coats. The girl is nowhere to ask. Taggie doesn't know what all their coats tonight look like and can only hopes they're the same ones they wore to the Jones’ this month.
Too stressed by the thought of not finding them, she misses the noise of someone in the room when she opens Ralphie’s room and finds a large stack of coats on the bed. Scouring, she thinks she finds Lord Baddingham’s coat when she suddenly hears someone sniffing.
She walks around the bed and is shocked to find one of daddy’s co-workers crying on the floor.
“Mr. Fairburn?” Taggie asks worriedly. She recognizes him from the times he’s visited their London flat for a meal while daddy and Charles Fairburn worked at the BBC. “What’s wrong?”
The man won't look at her. Just continues to cry as he whispers, “I don’t exist.”
It’s more to himself than anything else, but Taggie can’t not respond. Not when the man looks so desperate and lost.
The problem is she didn't truly hear him, so she nervously stutters, “Sorry?”
“Mother doesn't know who I am. The only person who ever loved me and now–”
Taggie gapes, her heart breaking for a man she's only ever seen bubbly and happy.
“She doesn't recognise me and soon she’ll be gone… and I’ll have no one. Do we even exist… if no one sees you’re there?” Charles asks, now properly sobbing.
Taggie crouches in front of him in a panic as her heart clenches painfully because she’s wondered the same thing. Many times. For years, if she’s honest.
“I hope so,” Taggie admits truthfully, wishing she had a better answer.
Charles takes a few shuttering breathes, his cries calming. Taggie wants to reach for him but she barely knows the man. And then suddenly Charles clutches his chest with a pained noise.
“What can I do? What I - um –” Taggie’s trying not to cry, but today has been arduous and her emotions are barely contained.
“Oh my god,” Charles groans.
“I’ll get help,” Taggie promises, horrified he may be having a heart attack.
“No,” Mr. Fairburn weakly argues, but Taggie is already running out of the room to the nearest phone.
She makes the call with relative ease despite her dyslexia running amuck and runs back to Charles who is sitting on the same spot.
“I called for an ambulance. They're on their way. L-let me grab the Baddingham family coats and I’ll-”
“No!” Charles gasps in horror. “Tony can't see me like this.”
Confused by his request and anxious about leaving him again Taggie stays quiet for a moment. But she doesn't have much time to argue. Every second matters in both situations. Lord Baddingham will come looking for their coats on their own if she doesn't bring them.
“I-I’ll be right back,” she promises once she's found the coats. Charles calms ever so slightly at the promise, so Taggie rushes off trying to stop herself from worrying, knowing it's useless. About Charles because the man must be having a heart attack. And, selfishly, about what he had said to her; Do we exist, if no one sees you’re there?
She finds Lady Baddingham quickly who thanks her for the garments and says something about her husband checking the bedrooms to avoid “quite the sight” whatever that means. Politely, Taggie doesn't ask and instead makes an excuse to leave.
“They’re this way, Tony yells down the hall. “I hear music!”
“Thank you, deary. The party was a smash,” Monica says with a delighted grin before setting off in the direction of her husband.
Taggie immediately turns around and heads in the opposite direction. Thankfully, one has to take a different staircase to reach Caitlin’s room so she thinks she’ll avoid an encounter entirely even if they head down soon.
Rushing into the room she’s momentarily relieved to see Charles still awake and lucid. She’s not sure what the next signs of a heart attack are, but he can't stay here.
“Do you have a coat?” she asks, staring at the pile. When he refuses to answer, crying once more, Taggie grabs the rec blanket on the foot of the bed and wraps it around his shoulders. It will have to do.
She convinces Charles to stand, helping to pull him up, and place his arm around her shoulder. He’s breathing slightly better but the man keeps gasping an apology and trying to tell her why Tony can’t see him like this. Taggie doesn't understand. She also doesn’t want to ask him to elaborate.
“It’s all right,” she reassures as gently as she can manage while overwhelmed and woozy on her feet from whiskey. She’d hoped it would dissipate. It hasn’t.
The stairs are slow work but she gets him down fine, just nearly stopping herself from yelling for people to make room for them to pass. It’s unnerving how little people seem to be aware of them. How little people see them.
“Don’t tell anyone,” Charles huffs quietly as they make their way to the front door. “If Tony finds out, he’ll sack me.”
Disgust at the thought of firing someone for having a heart attack, Taggie almost loses her footing but she doesn't. She stays steady and nods to him so he knows she’ll tell no one who might tell Tony. The man needs help, not to be sacked!
A flash goes off repeatedly. Taggie spot the photographer and has a conniption. “What are you doing? Stop it, please?! Can you–”
“Was it you that called the ambulance?” says a man, drawing her attention back to her immediate concerns.
“Yeah. He’s got pain in his chest,” Taggie responds nervously, helping Charles to the man who takes over.
“I’m just finding it a little bit difficult to breath,” Charles says, gasping for air as the ambulance worker puts some sort of breathing mask on his face.
The photographer takes a photo of her. It snaps her from her maudlin thoughts. Glaring at the man with seemingly no remorse, she yells, “Stop it!”
Turning back to Charles, she says, hoping to make him feel a tad less alone in the world, “Call me whenever. I’m always here.”
“I’m so sorry. So, so sorry,” Charles cries.
Taggie tears up, barely getting the words “It’s okay!” out through her tense throat. And then the door shuts.
He’s so alone, she thinks, feeling as if she could be in that ambulance herself. Because she’ll always be alone.
Patrick is already moving on with his life, barely even staying for holiday breaks anymore; she understands why but it’s exhausting not having the choice to do so as well. Caitlin will move on eventually too. Sooner than Taggie can truly fathom. She’ll find her own career path and marry someone. She’s already barely home because of school. And her parents… Well, they have never truly seen her.
And now she has a mate who may never want her.
Is it worse to feel lonely with people around or no one in sight, she wonders, watching the ambulance drive off.
She only hopes Charles will be all right and that she found him soon enough.
Wiping tears out of her eyes she heads back inside, ignoring the people who are still standing around and the ones asleep on chairs, sofas and even one bloke passed out on the kitchen stairs. She ignores them all, choosing to find more alcohol.
It’s truly been an utterly shit night.