Work Text:
It starts right after they win the Premier League for the first time. Once the celebrations have dulled, it’s like everyone retreats for a short period of time, letting the Greyhounds celebrate, letting Rebecca gift the team with a very last-minute holiday.
She has to slot it in between the last match and her departure to Kansas with Ted, their first trip together as a couple – she packs two suitcases, one for the holiday, and a larger one for Kansas, and doesn’t think twice about it when she leaves everything to hop on a plane with her boyfriend (god it feels weird, to say that) and her team.
The first call reaches her while she’s on the tarmac, ready to board the (Nora-approved) private jet they’ve chartered to fly from Valencia towards Kansas City. She doesn’t pay it any mind, but it’s the first of many: European football teams calling because they want Ted as their coach, and are ready to pay exorbitant amounts of money to get him. When she tells him about it, he’s flattered, but tells her to reject all the offers. I’m not interested in leaving you or the team, darlin’, he says. Ever. Or, until you get tired of me. She smiles and kisses him and tells him That’s not happening, no siree, and she’s rewarded with one of his beautiful smiles when he hears her say one of his catchphrases.
It keeps going until they’re back in London, mid-August, the other teams increasingly desperate after the European Football Cup, after some of the players have decided to switch their allegiances. It’s as if they think a new coach will solve all their problems. Rebecca begins to filter their calls and redirect them to Higgins, but even so, it’s maddening.
“It looks like everyone wants a piece of Ted these days,” Keeley says, lazily sipping on her glass of mimosa, during a brunch date with Rebecca. “And I’m not just talking about football teams.”
“Oh?” Rebecca feels something inside her flare up. “Then what are you talking about?”
“Oi, relax, lioness,” Keeley smiles. “I’m just saying. You know that luncheon I went to with Ted, the one you couldn’t attend, the other day?”
“What about it?”
“Well, no less than seven eligible women… and mind you, all of them were fucking fit, and rich as fuck – not as rich as you, but still – have tried to flirt with him. I kept track.”
Rebecca raises her eyebrows. “And?”
“Oh, you should have seen him. All flustered, he said I appreciate you, lady, but I already have someone to stay loyal to.” Keeley winks at her. “And of course, since you two are not… well, you didn’t go public, yet, those women were like vultures. Couldn’t believe him, maybe they’re not used to not getting what they want. I suppose winning the Premier League is really, really, really sexy, in their book.”
“Ted is sexy,” Rebecca blurts out, randomly – her mind is still spinning with emotions she can’t manage to comprehend yet.
“I… know,” Keeley says, slowly. “Fuck, babe. I didn’t upset you, did I? He’s not Rupert, he knows he scored, when he got together with you. He wouldn’t dare.”
“It’s not that – I trust him,” she says, because… it’s true, she does trust him, he would never treat her like Rupert did. “But… well, I think I… I think I might be jealous.” She sighs. “I know it’s immature.”
“Babe.” Keeley leans in, takes her hand. “You know there is a solution to that, don’t you?”
They can’t go public. Not yet.
She keeps telling herself that as if it’s a mantra, as if she needs to convince herself. They have talked about it many times and it’s the best kept secret inside of AFC Richmond – a handful of people know: Michelle, Henry, Beard, Will (the boot room is always too tempting to resist it), Sassy and Nora, Keeley, Roy, Nate, Trent, Higgins and Julie. She thinks Jamie knows too, but he has never said anything, although the frequency of his winks has definitely increased. Deborah has, of course, found them kissing in Rebecca’s kitchen one morning, but she’s just helped herself to a cup of tea and called Ted a good man and told him he should join her book club. Go figure.
Plus, their Head of Human Resources knows: a spirited woman named Charlotte, who admittedly has a crush on Rebecca and who has tortured Ted with a series of increasingly difficult questions only so that she could smile at him and say, Okay, but treat her well, Coach, even though Rebecca is the one in a position of power. Charlotte has agreed to shelf the subject until they feel ready to breach it again, she’s made them sign a few sheets of paperwork and locked the folder up in her personal safe.
Why can’t they go public? Well, the club, most of all. The players don’t know, and Will has been sworn to secrecy during a meeting with Rebecca, and she’s been absolutely terrifying and felt slightly bad about it afterwards. She and Ted have been too preoccupied with the chance of winning the Premier League title to add the fuel of a public relationship to the fire. There were too many news outlets saying that maybe that one second place Ted gained last year was a fluke, and the Greyhounds were hell-bent on proving them all wrong.
Now, though… now the season is over. They won, and no one could say Ted is Head Coach only because he’s sleeping with the boss, right? They should be free. And yet, the thought of telling the world about it makes her sigh in frustration. Being a public figure… it sucks big time (Nora’s words, not hers), and she wishes they could stay in their bubble for a little bit longer.
Well, she used to wish that.
Now there are women circling Ted like those fucking vultures in that Ice Age movie, women who only see him as a walking load of cash, as a living shtick, as arm candy; women who would never be able to understand the well of wonders that Ted is, the amazing human being he is, the exceptionally kind person he is, the hot –
God, Rebecca, she scolds herself.
He is, though. Hot.
Keeley’s solution is simple – talk with Ted. But she can’t do that, no. She can’t be that pathetic. What would she even say to him? I don’t want to share the existence of our relationship with the world but I don’t want to see women (and possibly even some men) flirting with you at any given event?
He wouldn’t understand, he’d think she doesn’t trust him, and it’s not that. It’s not, it’s just that she wants the world to know he’s hers, goddammit, they can’t have him, not now, not after she’s waited so many years to be blessed with such a gift from the universe.
So, she chooses the next possible solution. It’s not Keeley-approved and Keeley will give her hell for it once she figures it out, because it potentially is a PR nightmare, but. Fuck it.
Her devious plan begins at the end of August, when she and Ted and Keeley and the other coaches get invited to a sponsor event. No PDA, that’s obvious, not even some hand-holding, but they are going to walk the red carpet together, all of them, and that’s a relief (she hates walking it alone). So, nothing is going to happen during the event itself. But maybe something could happen before it.
For once, she’s quick to decide what to wear. No dress, this time, but a grey two-piece suit and a pair of heels. She waits for Ted, to get ready, because she has needs to be satisfied before they can get to the venue – she tells him to arrive at an ungodly hour, so early she surprises herself. Sends him a car and everything, and he barrels inside with his spare key that she’s given him some weeks ago.
“Honey?”
“Bedroom,” she calls. “Come on up.”
He’s still in his Richmond tracksuit when he enters. She’s told him to skip the niceties and just join her at home after he was done with training, and she’s pleased to see he’s obeyed her.
“Hi, darlin’.” He drops his backpack on the carpet and cups her cheeks, kissing her with all the enthusiasm and care she’s come to expect after so many weeks together. When he lets her go, she licks her lips. “Howdy, Ms Welton. How was your WFH session?”
“Lonely. Productive,” she says. She’s standing there in her silky dressing gown, which admittedly doesn’t scream productive, but she is not lying. “Thank you for leaving the biscuits, this morning. But I missed you.”
“I missed you too – didn’t know what to do with my allotted Boss Time, I even had Beardo lend me a book.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, didn’t make a lot of headway with that one,” he says. “Is it time to get ready?”
“Oh, not yet. We have lots and lots of time.” She brushes his chin with her hand. She bends slightly – her lips touching his neck, and she blows hot hair against his skin, doesn’t miss the shiver that runs through him. “And I was thinking we could be… equally as productive here.”
“Hm. What – god – what did you have in mind?”
Rebecca doesn’t answer, but presses her lips on the tender skin. He smells of aftershave and fresh air. She kisses him, and feels him tense, and yet he stays immobile – such a good boy – and doesn’t react, not even when she starts sucking at his neck, not even when she cups his balls, not even when she bites at his skin.
She feels, a little, like a vampire. Ted moans.
“R’becca…”
“Yes, darling,” she whispers. Her attack continues, and she moves downwards – he’s all red now anyway, just as she wanted. She drags down his polo and scrapes her teeth against his collarbone. Her kisses become patches of reddened skin so quickly, and Ted is absolutely still, letting her work, palming her arse. That’s all she allows him to do, for now.
“You’re so good for me,” she says. He shudders. “All mine.”
“All yours,” he breathes. He probably doesn’t know, or doesn’t imagine, what sparked this. She slides a leg between his legs, and start pushing him backwards, towards the bed.
“Lie down for me now, love.”
Ted obeys – he’s so compliant, his eyes a bit dazed, and she climbs on the bed. It takes a moment – a waistband she pulls down, and his cock springs free, his erection so evident.
“God, darlin’, you’re so beautiful,” he murmurs. His hands lift to search for her hips, but she stops him.
“No, Ted. You’re going to stay still. Quiet. Nice and put.” She curls a hand around his length. “Let me do this.”
It’s always a treat, to see him lose control for her. She starts slowly, licking him, then she moves down, lets him go to bite at his hip, at his thigh. He hisses, but places a placating hand in her hair, and she knows he’s alright. “Rebecca, my love.”
“I have a question for you, actually.” She pumps him, with lazy strokes, feels him twitch. “Are you my boyfriend, Ted Lasso?”
“Course I am.” His breaths turn heavier, now. “Course – Rebecca…”
“I need to hear you say it.”
“I’m your boyfriend. Well, shoot, boyfriend doesn’t even begin to cover it.” He pauses. “I’m thinking, your partner, and personal baker, sometimes masseur, full-time coach – and maybe if I’m lucky… I’ll get an upgrade, one day. But it’s a tad early to talk about that.”
Rebecca can’t help it – she smiles. He’s so unbelievably sweet, at all times, even now while she has his cock in her hand. She lets him go, and tells him to stay still, climbs down the bed. There’s his backpack on the floor. She rummages through it until she finds what she’s looking for: a black marker. It’s not a Sharpie, it’s one of the washable ones, and it’s perfect. She’s back on the bed, and she meets Ted’s eyes.
“What – what are you doing, sweetheart?” he asks. There isn’t a hint of concern there, just curiosity.
“You’ll see.”
She bends down, to write on his thigh, trying to hide the letters from his view as much as she can. Her penmanship has always been nice, and Ted has some body hair right where she wants to write; but she shifts a bit, until she finds a hairless spot.
When she’s done, she lets Ted lift his leg so he can read.
Mine, she’s written, with a small arrow, curled to point upwards. He smiles at it, a bright smile, and this time he is not staying put anymore, he sits up and takes her in his arms. The nightgown pools down between them as he strips her naked.
“Am I yours, then, Ms Welton? Irrevocably yours?”
“As long as you don’t mind,” she says, her previous confidence faltering a little. But Ted, the sweetheart that he is, cups her cheek.
“Of course I don’t, Rebecca. It’s the greatest privilege, being yours.” He kisses her forehead. “Till the end of time.”
She straddles him, then, lost in his kisses as if there is nothing around them. When he guides his cock inside she’s all wet for him, all ready, and Ted palms her tits and bites on them, answering to her undignified yelp with a maddening Tit for tat, darlin’.
He rubs at her clit until she comes too. “Fuck, fuck, Ted,” she breathes, held up by his arms, and he comes inside her, and she finds herself collapsed atop of him, her lips dangerously close to his neck again. She can’t resist – she sucks on one of the bruises she’s left earlier.
When Ted joins her in the shower, they are starting to be late, so she takes care of washing him without ruining her masterpiece (but he tells her she’ll need to trace it over again) – and god, seeing him with her dressing gown on does things to her, so much that she thinks she’d like to come again.
He kisses her, and tells her he’ll get ready in the other bathroom, the one next to the guest rooms, so that she can get dolled up in peace. He still doesn’t know what she’ll be wearing – she feels herself get excited at the prospect of surprising him, and she feels a strong rush of affection for him when she hears the music from the other room. (Beyoncé, and Elton John, and Dua Lipa, and Michael Jackson, today.)
When he comes back inside her room (their room, she supposes), she’s still not dressed yet, and she’s trying to put some make-up on. Ted is wearing a suit that makes him look like a proper snack, his dress shoes on, and a couple of very noticeable red spots on his neck.
“Do you, uh. Can you lend me some of that concealer, hon?”
She’s delighted to see him blush. She keeps putting her lipstick on, and purses her lips. “Why do you need it, darling?”
“I think you know exactly why.”
“Well, maybe I don’t.”
“Because you – well. Actually, let’s leave it.” He turns his head to look at himself in the mirror, his reflection smirking at her. “Gotta keep the ladies away.”
Rebecca raises her eyebrows. See, he’s starting to get it.
“I might have another idea.” She raises up from her chair at her vanity, and opens a narrow drawer in her wardrobe, lifting a necklace from it. “Come here.”
She fastens the necklace around his neck before he can even begin to wonder what’s on it. When she’s done, he looks at her, and she nods. “Go on, look at it.”
Ted lifts the pendant – a small R, sparkly of fake diamonds.
“I got it in Camden Town when I was on a girls day trip with Nora, and I’ll need it back,” Rebecca warns. “But it’ll do, for tonight, don’t you think?”
He blushes again. She thought he would hide it under the button-down shirt he’s wearing, but he slides it up around his neck, and hides the chain right under the collar of the shirt, the pendant resting underneath his blue tie. The chain is pretty short, so it doesn’t dangle, but she’ll know it’s there. They’ll know it’s there, and that’s all that matters.
“Perfect. I love it.” He presses a kiss on her lips. “Thank you, darlin’.”
“You’re welcome, love.”
They very nearly are late to the red carpet, because when he sees her in her suit, he very nearly wants to take her again, but she stops him, her palm pressed against his chest.
“Later, lover boy.” She lowers her voice. “I made you mine, and I might allow you to make me yours. If you play your cards right.”
No PDA seems like a very stupid idea, in retrospect.
She gets to witness first-hand what happens when Ted is around women these days. A couple of photographers on the red carpet (“Coach, give us a pose!”). A trio of rich women Rebecca used to know in her previous life – married to some friends of Rupert’s – whom she detests with a passion (she rescues Ted from that ordeal, stealing him away with a lousy but completely professional excuse). A young woman who probably is a model and who offers him a drink (it’s an open bar, for Christ’s sake). An old lady who probably is looking for a good-looking man to leave her fortune to when she passes – and her favorite: a couple of middle-aged women who sit on Rebecca’s seat and on Beard’s seat, temporarily vacated, and surround him, flank him from both sides, and he is… sweating.
She is about to go save him once again, but Leslie interrupts her ride of the Valkyrie to talk to her about the dessert, of all things; and when she finally is able to get away from the bar and reach their table, it’s too late.
She stops in her tracks.
One of the two women, the brunette, is giggling. Rebecca feels herself flush and pale at the same time when she realizes what the woman is twirling between her fingers: the necklace she gave Ted, the pendant shaped like an R, and fuck.
“Ooooh, Coach, wait, let me guess,” the woman says, in a shrill and annoying voice. “It can’t be Richmond, it’s too obvious. No, this has to be a lady’s initial.”
For fuck’s sake. Thankfully, no one has noticed her yet – she leans against the counter and watches as Ted blushes, deeply now, and shakes his head. Rebecca can’t quite grasp what he’s saying.
“Noo, let me guess!” the other woman claps her hands. “Alright – Rachel? Ramona? Rosalie? Rose? Rosemary?”
“Too simple. I bet it’s something fascinating… like Riley, or Regina, or Rhiannon, or Roxanne.”
Ted shakes his head again. He gently frees the necklace from the woman’s fingers, and starts to rise up, but the brunette places a commanding hand on his thigh.
(The same thigh, Rebecca thinks with a triumphant strength, where I have marked him as mine.)
“We’re having so much fun, Coach,” she laments. “No, I’m afraid you’re not leaving until we discover the identity of your mystery lady.”
“Could be a mystery gentleman,” the other woman says, inspired. “But imagine – what a waste would that be?”
Rebecca feels herself walk before she can stop her own legs.
“Hello – hi,” she says, placing a hand on Ted’s shoulder. She feels him deflate under her touch, relaxing instantly. “Excuse me, ladies, good evening, I am so sorry to interrupt – I need to steal Coach Lasso away for a very important matter. Duty calls, you see. Again, I’m so very sorry.”
The two women look annoyed by her presence, but polite enough not to protest when Ted finally manages to rise up. Rebecca hooks her arm under his, and pretends not to notice their whispers about her – Josephine was right, she is intimidating, and Well, it seems we have made her jealous, and Oh, wait. Wait. Oh. Do you think she could be…? – and she keeps walking, dragging a stunned Ted along.
“Do not turn around,” she mutters. When they reach a door, she leads him through, and there it is – the hall, blessedly empty. “Come on.”
The room she pushes Ted into – a storage room of sorts – is empty too, and thank fuck for that, because the door slams behind them and Rebecca loops his tie around her hand and Ted locks the door, and he grabs her by the hips and holds her against the wood and she whimpers.
His lips suck on her neck, hard.
“Ted,” she sighs, closing her eyes. “Ted –”
“All yours, baby,” he mutters. “Lemme just –”
But her hand holds his tie and she pulls him towards her. He’s hard against her thigh, she feels it, and there still is a slight flush on his neck. She inhales, deeply, melting between his arms, feeling like all the fight she had in her is deflating, leaving her body, because how can a woman fight anything when her lover is touching her oh so beautifully…
“Rebecca.”
“Say it again.” She leaves his tie and sneaks her hand under the collar of his shirt and grabs the necklace. “Say it again, Ted.” The R sparkles between them. “Who’s your mystery lady?”
“Rebecca.” He kisses her lips, once. “Rebecca.”
“Mine,” she whispers, against his lips. “Aren’t you?”
“Completely.”
“That’s what I like to hear,” she smiles, appreciatively, and lets the necklace go. She places her hands on his shoulders. “How about you show me that it’s true?”
He smiles back, devilishly now, and – god, he’s really doing it – he starts lowering down, his hand on her trousers, and…
“Ted, I just meant – I want – I need you to fuck me,” she huffs. “We don’t have time – ”
“There’s always time for dessert, darlin’.”
“Not this time,” she whines. “I need…”
“I gotta get you ready, hon.”
“No need for that.” She gets close to him, and – fuck, she bites his neck. Who cares, right?
His hand sneaks between their bodies, unclasps the button of her trousers, and… god, he touches her, and this is so fucking thrilling, and humiliating even, because she blushes – in a good way, though, she’s not ashamed, she’s just… she cannot believe she had it in her, to become so damn wet in a matter of minutes. He presses his palm on her knickers, his finger finds her still-covered clit.
She shivers.
“All of this for me, Ms Welton?” he asks, his voice hoarse, so dangerously close to her skin. “Would ya look at that.”
“Please – ”
Her words die in her throat when his finger slides down. “Guess I’ll have to do something about that.” He tuts. “We can’t have you cream this beautiful pantsuit, hon. The grey goes really perfectly with those pretty green eyes of yours.”
He uses the other hand to lower her trousers – it feels so weird, to have them reach her knees, rolling down as any skin-tight garment will do.
“Bastard,” she whispers. “I need –”
“Do you really need your panties?”
“I suppose not,” she says, haughtily. “If you don’t get going, Ted Lasso, I swear to god –”
He lowers her knickers down, and – finally, god – he rubs at her and she loses all coherent thoughts. He’s so good at it, every fucking time, picking up speed, finding all the right places to make her shiver in his arms, knees buckling, until she arches her back against the door and moans and bites her lower lip.
“You gotta stay silent,” he chastises her. “Or everyone will know what I’m doing to my lovely girl. My pretty, little, sparkling R.”
“Fuck,” she lets out.
“More?”
She nods, frantically – the angle is not quite right because he’s standing, bending his wrist, and he – god, he turns her around, her tits pressed against the door, her bare arse against his still-covered length, she pushes her forearms against the wood and her forehead against her forearms.
She is so, so, so wet. So fucking wet she feels herself tremble and his fingers are inside her and she doesn’t even know what he’s doing with his hands, she only knows it’s working – and god, he’s so bloody good, she thinks she could take four fingers right now and she wouldn’t even protest, only say thank you.
“You close, baby?” he mutters in her ear. She’s lost track of time, time is of the essence, she doesn’t care, she cares a lot…
She nods, sinking her short nails in the wood. “Fuck, I – yes,” she sobs. “Please.”
“Alright,” Ted smiles, and there it is, almost there, and –
It stops.
Abruptly, like a mirage in the desert disappearing, she feels the edge slip away, his hand slip away.
“What – Ted,” she turns around, and he’s smirking, the little shit. “What the fuck.”
“Maybe I have decided I wanna be a brat tonight,” he shrugs.
“And maybe I have decided I want to become an assassin, how about that.”
“Hey, that’s a great idea – you’d be sexy as hell. Girl power!”
“Ted.”
“To be continued?” he smirks. She sees him take a paper towel from a table nearby. “C’mere.”
He cleans her up – just the inner side of her thighs, though, because he carefully replaces her knickers up where they belong, and she is still wet, for fuck’s sake.
“What about that?” she motions at his still-covered cock, visibly hard, but he shrugs.
“You go ahead, hon. I’ll need five minutes and a full recount of all the capital cities from Alaska to Nebraska.”
“I’ll – I’ll go to the loo then,” she crosses her arms, and sends him a murderous gaze. “Happy now?”
“Very, very happy,” he says, serene, and lifts his index finger to suck at it. Good god. “And Rebecca – don’t even think about touching yourself, okay? Keep yourself nice and slippery. ‘Til we’re home.”
The car ride is long and torturous, even though it lasts ten minutes tops.
Ted’s hands are on her as soon as they get through the threshold, the door slamming behind them, and Rebecca moans – properly moans, out loud, the house so silent and quiet and dark and there are only their sounds filling the silence.
“You look so dang sexy in this suit, have I told you that?” Ted says in her ear. “Powerful. Beautiful. Gosh you’re amazing, Rebecca.”
“I, I…” she whimpers, her back pressed against the door. “I wore that for you.”
“Oh?” he says, interested, but he palms her arse again and she loses all coherent thoughts for a moment. His hand grabs her, a little more forcefully than she expected. “For me?”
“Because I – well – I know you like it.” She, inexplicably, feels herself blush a little. “I think.”
“Do I – geez, Rebecca, ‘course I do. I love it. You are gorgeous. I have wanted to kiss you and make love to you all evening, hon.”
She loves it when he’s so vocal with his desires, so she decides she can give back a little bit of that. Her hand finds his throat, curling gently around it. “Make love to me,” she says, as if considering his words, slowly, carefully. “Not fuck me?” She presses her thumb against his pulse point, feels him gasp. “Not ride me, perhaps, Coach Lasso? To have the one who’s yours, as much as you’re hers?”
“Yes,” he whispers. His voice is husky. “That too.”
“Tell me.”
“I want – I want to be yours, Rebecca,” he says. “And – I want – ”
“Say it. It’s okay.”
He almost avoids her eyes, when he says it, and she knows what it is about. It’s bad form, probably, and a man as chivalrous as Ted Lasso would never dream to say these words to a woman in a context that wasn’t exactly like this one. But she needs to hear it.
“I want you to be mine.”
She smirks. “There you go. Good boy.” She licks her lips, sees him gulp around her hand. She lowers it, gripping his tie. “Do you want me in the suit? Or do you want it off?”
Ted shakes his head, already muttering However you want, but she presses on. “In the suit, or off? What’s your fantasy?”
“In the suit,” he confesses. “Just the jacket and the tie, and the heels. Please, Rebecca…”
“Oh, fancy,” she smiles. “Thank you for telling me, darling. Now undress me.”
Ted’s hands are almost trembling when he gets her trousers down. She might have broken him, she thinks, because he takes an inordinate amount of time to observe her thighs, kiss them slowly, suck on her inner thigh as if his life depended on it. The heels come off and then on again, leaving her in her knickers, and fuck.
He presses his nose up there.
Still on his knees, thankfully on the carpet by the entrance, he kisses her thighs and her still-covered cunt as if he’s adoring a goddess, and she tangles her fingers in his hair and thinks she might cry.
“You’re a wonder,” he murmurs. “So wet still.”
“All for you,” she breathes.
He rises up – and now she gets his suit off, leaving him in a shirt and tie, the necklace dangling surreptitiously beneath the tie.
“Let’s get you all ready for me,” he murmurs. She lets him do it – she lets him get her suit off too, and her shirt, and her bra. He cups her tits and, of course, he sucks on them, moaning as he always does when he reaches this point. His tongue titillates her nipple so deliciously and she can’t stifle a moan, his hand twisting slightly her other nipple. She whines.
He places her suit jacket on again, and she lets him. She lets him do so many things, tonight. She lets him twist her tie around his wrist and lead her gently to the sofa – exactly like his fantasy, now, heels and suit and tie only, still in her knickers.
“Do you particularly care about your panties, darlin’?” he asks. His fingers are hooked around the waistband.
“I’d appreciate it if you could be careful, yes,” she says. “Not that I can’t replace them, but I’ve been buying too many of them, lately.”
“Never too many, to cover this absolute masterpiece.”
He is gentle, though, letting them roll down her thighs and pool down on the ground. He helps her step out of them, then grabs her tie again, tugging it down until Rebecca sits on the sofa.
“How do you want me?”
“Spread open, if you please, Ms Welton.” He grabs a pillow, places it on the floor. “I need to have a taste, you see.”
Her legs are draped on his shoulders, her tie still enveloped around his hand, as he licks at her cunt until she’s a shaking mess.
“Ted,” she pleads, but he doesn’t listen. She’s so wet she takes one, two, three fingers, just as she suspected. “God, god. Fuck.”
He raises up for a moment. “You are a delight, baby,” he smiles. “So good for me.”
“Yeah – fuck. Fuck.” She’s lost all coherence, babbling a nonsensical mess, her hands gripping the sofa cushions as if they’re her only connection to sanity.
“Geez, I could do this all night,” he grins, and dives right back in. Rebecca writhes against his tongue, pushing herself up, as if she’s not being taken care of with all the expertise he can offer, as if he’s not even touching her. But he is, he is, and she bites the inner of her own cheek, tangling her fingers in his hair, rising her pelvis up to meet his eager tongue.
“Ted,” she pants. “Fuck.”
He hums, and the vibration makes her moan a little more. She needs him. She needs him inside her. She needs him to –
Ted spreads her wider with his tongue, his fingers going in and out, making her contract her muscles and press her talons against his shoulders.
“Jesus – Christ!”
Ted smiles at her, his mustache shining of her fluids. “No need to be involving old Jesus, hon,” he smirks, his hand working its magic. His fingers are so familiar, so welcome inside her, but she yearns for something more, she wants all of him, she wants…
“Inside,” she orders. “I need you inside, please – ”
“What a lovely girl, askin’ so politely,” he observes. “But I’m not done here, darlin’, I’m sorry.”
He loops her tie around his hand again.
Somehow, something in that image – him, refusing her what she wants, holding her down by what used to be an accessory and has become a symbol – makes her so wet. So wet she feels herself build a very peculiar sensation she hasn’t felt more than three or four times in her life.
“Can I, oh god – ”
“Of course,” he presses his thumb against her clit, again, rubs at it, quickly now. She is almost afraid of what she’s about to do. It’s going to be powerful, she knows it.
“Come on, Rebecca,” he encourages her.
Fuck it.
Rebecca comes with a strangled moan, and she doesn’t properly see the effect, but she feels it, her tie tensing against her neck in such a wonderful way – not painful, just properly hot – and Ted watches her and her cunt as if he’s just seen a miracle happen.
He leaves her to recover, for a moment.
A moment that seems to be so brief but has to be longer – except, Ted passes a hand around her stomach, helping her to lift herself up. Oh, god, he’s taking charge.
“On all fours now,” he orders. “Good girl.”
She blindly follows, her cunt still pulsating after the orgasm, letting him position her as he wants. He has her ready on the sofa, and she doesn’t even know how exactly he’s planning to do this. She just knows he’s palming her ass cheeks with his large hands, and that she’d do basically anything he asked of her right now, just so that she can have him inside.
“You make me go crazy, pretty lady,” he murmurs. “Sometimes, I can’t believe you’re all mine.”
She looks at him over her shoulder – he’s a mess, his hair is a mess, his eyes are sparkling of lust, and she delights in the knowledge of being the one who has this effect on him.
“Fuck me, Coach,” she commands. “Get your prize, come on.”
“My god, Rebecca,” he says. She feels him as he aligns his cock to her, she knows she’s still all slippery and wet, but he’s so hard it makes her whimper.
The sounds she makes when he finally enters her are straight off a porn movie. Ted must think so, too, because he follows suit – she almost wishes they had a mirror so that she could see his face. God. He fucks her with intent, as if he’s reclaiming something, or offering himself up to her, or both.
His fingers dig deep into her hips.
She loses herself to the rhythm, the sensations, the obscene sounds of skin against skin. Ted doesn’t speak, now – he’s unable to – and she closes her eyes, her tie dangling down, forgotten, brushing against her arms.
She can tell he’s trying to go slow, but this won’t do.
“Faster – harder,” she lets out. “Please, darling.”
He squeezes her. “I can’t,” he says, “I can’t, I’ll – don’t wanna come already – ”
“I don’t care – fuck me harder.”
“Don’t wanna hurt you, baby.”
“You won’t,” she says, “harder, Ted, please.”
There he is.
When he starts fucking her – properly, this time – she feels it, her clit still raw, his fingers rubbing at it for a moment before he starts pounding into her as if it’s his supreme mission to obey her requests.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck – ”
“Rebecca,” he groans, “I’m gonna – ”
“Do it, do it,” she gives him permission, because she knows he’s not going to give himself permission, and feels the result inside her in a matter of seconds. God. His fingers are on her as soon as he recovers, rubbing at her clit, and it really doesn’t take long to build her up again as he palms her tit with his other hand, making her moan.
She comes again – he slides out of her, but she feels the loss so acutely, pulsating around nothing, and she whines.
He chuckles.
“What a gorgeous marvel you were.” He helps her lie down on the sofa, bends over, and kisses her forehead. He’s always so tender, after sex, it makes her feel all sorts of things, things that are too precious and raw to think about now. “Lemme go and get a towel – ”
“No,” she says. Her hand curls around his arm, pulling him down. “Stay. Just a moment, please.” She needs him close, she needs to feel him close, his weight next to her, his hand splayed on her belly, his nose nuzzling her neck.
He breathes slowly. Rebecca sees the drawing she made so many hours ago, the place where she’s written Mine on his thigh. It doesn’t sound so necessary, right now. She feels his. He feels like he’s hers.
Her fingers find the necklace – the chain has left an indentation on his skin, and she briefly wonders if it’s time to unclasp it and get it off.
“R,” she whispers. “I should get one with a T.”
Ted chuckles. “T as in Troy?”
Rebecca sighs. The fact that she knows what he’s talking about is a testament to the presence of younger people in her life. Not that she minds. “I knew you were going to say that.”
He smiles. His lips on her cheek, on her temple, are welcomed – and so comforting. “You don’t need to get a necklace, darlin’, because I’ll happily give you as many hickeys as you want.”
“Well, that’s an idea I’m not going to consider,” she smiles. “But, if I do get one, do you think people will get the hint? Leave us alone? Spare us the whole ‘going public’ affair?”
“Maybe?” He shrugs. “Maybe there’s a better way, though. But I’ll need my phone for that.”
The next day, Keeley Jones wakes to a flurry of texts and notifications, and thinks something catastrophic has happened.
She rolls over Roy to grab her phone, making him grunt in his sleep, and swipes in her password to find a plethora of requests for a press conference, for a comment (any comment) from the main news outlets, and – Sassy has texted, DID YOU KNOW THEY WERE GOING TO DO IT????, and Beard has texted, Good luck today, and she has received a heart-eyes emoji from Nora, and a series of question marks and exclamation marks from Trent, and a Good morning, world!!! picture from Deborah, that for some reason depicts a raccoon holding a cup of coffee.
She rushes to open Ted’s Instagram profile.
Sure enough, there’s a picture there. The source of all the chaos.
It’s a necklace – a pendant, a small and sparkly R, dangling from Ted’s fingers, and Rebecca’s hand (she’d recognize those manicured fingers anywhere) tangled with his. And a caption:
“Happy sixth monthiversary to the best girlfriend, best partner, best blanket-stealer and most gorgeous lady. I love you, Boss! Signed, T (as in Ted).”
“Fuck’s sake,” Keeley murmurs. “Couple of idiots.” Her smile spreads, as her phone keeps pinging. She looks at the picture for one moment more, and then she mutes the notifications, and shoves the phone back on the nightstand. “Hey, Roy-o,” she whispers, rubbing his arm, trying to rouse him. “Wake up. We need to celebrate.”