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Mark Darcy never asks for much--really, he doesn’t. He’d much rather give, making sure Bridget is well taken care of and showering her with love and attention. But there was one instance where Mark asked for something, and Bridget simply couldn’t pass up the opportunity to give it to him.
They were celebrating their fifth Valentine’s Day together. They had previously agreed to forego getting each other gifts and chocolates, because honestly--it tended to get kind of tedious and repetitive after a few years together. Instead, Mark showed up to Bridget’s flat with a very nice bottle of champagne and take away from the fancy French restaurant near the Inns of Court. While Bridget chilled the champagne in the fridge, they ate their dinner at Bridget’s tiny kitchen table, two flickering candles between them and a Van Morrison record playing quietly in the background. Mark held Bridget’s hand for almost the entire meal, gently rubbing her knuckles with his thumb and occasionally bringing her hand up to his lips to press a gentle kiss there. Bridget, meanwhile, ran her foot up and down Mark’s trousered leg, hooking her toes underneath the cuff of his pants and teasing him mercilessly.
Needless to say, Mark had an incredibly hard time suppressing any of his urges once the meal was finished.
Leaving the dirty dinner plates on the table, Mark promptly scooped Bridget up in his arms from her seat across from him, hooking one arm underneath her knees and embracing her upper body with the other. He gave her a deep, passionate kiss, and even in the candlelit glow of the kitchen, Bridget could see his pupils blown wide with desire.
“Bedroom. Now,” he growled, nuzzling his face into the spot where her jawline met the soft skin of her neck. He placed quick, electrifying bite on her pulse point, causing her to gasp.
“We have to grab the champagne,” she responded, running a hand over one of his pecs that was tautly covered in the fabric of his button down. She gave his nipple a tweak, causing Mark to suck air through his teeth.
Without saying a word, Mark continued to carry Bridget over to the fridge, where she opened the door from her position in Mark’s arms. He leaned forward to allow her to grab the bottle out of the fridge all while dragging his teeth down the taut line that her neck was creating. Bridget laughed and swatted him away with her free hand, to which Mark responded with a quick squeeze to her arse cheek.
Bridget turned her face towards Mark’s, the bottle of champagne nestled against her chest with one arm and her other hand running tantalizing circles through his scalp. She kissed him softly, but nipped his lower lip before pulling away. Mark dove back in, a groan escaping his lips.
“Need you. No more distractions,” he rasped out, and promptly whisked her off to the bedroom. Without much ceremony, Mark dumped Bridget onto the mattress and was quickly on top of her. One hand was braced by her head, the other on her hip, and his mouth was quickly making its way down from her lips to her breasts. The touch of his lips against her skin left little electrifying shivers in its wake.
He quickly divested Bridget of her cashmere sweater, throwing it over his shoulder in an uncharacteristic motion. His mouth still covered hers as his fingers hungrily found their way into the waistband of her skirt and tights, his blunt nails pushing marks into her skin as he squeezed her hips. Bridget gasped, her mouth leaving his as she threw her head back. When she rolled her gaze forward again, she started to eagerly tug at the tie around Mark’s throat.
“Pink tie, huh?” she asked cheekily, throwing it over Mark to land next to her sweater. Mark bucked her hips up with his broad hands, pulling her tights and skirt off in a singular, deft, incredibly skilled motion.
“Was feeling festive,” Mark responded, quirking his lips up as he looked down at her. “God you’re gorgeous.”
Bridget paused her mission to unbutton the oxford Mark was wearing to meet his gaze. She narrowed her eyes at him, a smirk on her lips. Mark responded by cupping the red lace bra that she was wearing, his thumb brushing over her hardening nipple as he hungrily looked down at her. It was moments like this that Bridget secretly thanked her lucky stars that she remembered to wear a matching underwear set. His hand traveled from her breast down to the soft curve of her hip, and she felt his thumb hook on the elastic waistband of the red lace panties she was wearing.
“Ah-ah...not yet,” she scolded, gently pulling his hand away from her hip. “You need to finish undressing first.”
Mark smirked at her before pressing a kiss against her mouth. “As you wish,” he murmured, his eyes sparkling in the lamp light. Mark knew that Bridget loved to watch him undress--it was one of the few things that Mark secretly preened about in private. He made a point to unbutton the last few buttons on his shirt with painful slowness, his eyes never leaving Bridget’s. Once the front of his shirt was open and his chest was on display for Bridget’s hungry gaze, Mark turned around before completely ridding himself of it.
Bridget had told him once how sexy she found his shoulders when a shirt slid off of them, and since then Mark made it a point to indulge her little turn-on. He allowed the top of the shirt to slip down off of his shoulders before he undid the cufflinks on his sleeves. Bridget gave a soft hum of approval, and Mark couldn’t help smiling. He let the shirt drop to the floor, keeping his back to Bridget. Cheekily, he gave her a grin over his shoulder. It was clear that Bridget had done some writhing on top of the sheets, because the bedclothes beneath her were now rumpled and wrinkled. She was splayed out, leaning back on her elbows and one knee drawn up to her chest. The look on her face was satisfaction enough for Mark, but he kept going.
Giving Bridget a clear view of his arse, he started to unbuckle the belt on his pants, giving her a cheeky sway of his hips as he did so. He pulled the belt out through the loops and dropped it to the ground before unbuttoning his fly and unzipping the front part. He let his trousers fall to the floor in a puddle around his ankles, and he soon heard the sound he had been listening for.
Bridget had let out a bark of laughter, and Mark suppressed his own chortle as he said, “Something funny?” He gave his bum a wiggle and suddenly felt Bridget’s hand give his cheek a gentle crack.
“Where in God’s name did you get those?” she said, amusement clearly in her tone.
Mark peeked back over his shoulders and down towards where Bridget was indicating. “Whatever do you mean?” he bantered back, giving his hips another gentle sway.
“You know what I mean. Those boxer briefs. Where did you get them? And please don’t tell me your mother.”
At that, Mark laughed. He had found the black briefs on Amazon during one of his few breaks during work, and couldn’t help ordering them. They had two conversation hearts on each cheek with the words “BE” and “MINE” emblazoned across them.
Clearly they did the job, though, because Bridget leaned forward and gave his right cheek an affectionate squeeze. “Get down here, you loon,” she said. Mark turned around and covered her body with his. Their mouths met and both tongues immediately began to explore. Mark’s erection was hardly hideable at this point, and he rutted eagerly against Bridget’s thigh as he placed a soft bite on Bridget’s collarbone.
He felt her tense beneath him, and he quickly drew back. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he asked, concern overtaking the lust that had been in his eyes only seconds before.
“I’m fine!” Bridget responded. “I just realized that we didn’t grab flutes for the champagne.” She pushed Mark and he rolled off of her with an audible oof . “I’ll be right back,” she said, backing out of the room.
Mark scrubbed a hand over his face, his erection aching in his briefs. He could hear Bridget clattering around in the kitchen, cussing as cabinets opened and closed. He couldn’t help smiling to himself. Might as well pop the champagne , he thought, knowing that Bridget wouldn’t be able to find the flutes as quickly as she had thought. Mark grabbed the cold bottle off of the nightstand and deftly pressed his thumbs against the underside of the cork. It released from its hold on the lip of the bottle with a satisfying pop!
Bridget had clearly heard it from the kitchen, because he heard her yell out, “Ah-ha! Found them!” He smiled as he placed the bottle back on the nightstand. He could hear her soft footsteps on the tile floor padding back towards the bedroom. The thought of her returning to bed made his cock twitch, and he had to shift his body weight to a more comfortable position because the strain in his boxers was becoming unbearable.
A second passed before he realized that Bridget was pausing just outside of the doorway.
“Mark?” she inquired hesitantly.
“Yes?” he replied.
“Do you remember that thing you asked me for a few months ago?”
“You’ll have to be more specific, darling.”
“I’m sure you remember...that night we went back to your place after we got tapas with Shaz and Tom?”
Mark had to concentrate, taking his mind off of the ever-hardening erection in his pants. The night seemed faintly memorable. “I think so...I just don’t remember asking you for anything.”
“Remember? We were in bed, and we were snuggling, and you leaned in really close to me and asked me if I still had something?”
Mark let out an exasperated sigh, sharp and impatient as he rubbed a palm down his cock. “Bridget, for Christ’s sake, you’re killing me.”
It was then that Bridget stepped into the doorway, and Mark’s heart practically stopped.
She stood in the doorway, the crimson of her bra and panties boldly standing out against her creamy skin. In her hand were the two champagne flutes, loosely hanging from carefree fingers. The long line of her legs were angled as she cocked a knee in towards her other leg, which caused the muscles in her thigh and calf to flex deliciously. Around her shoulders, her blonde hair fell loosely and somewhat messily, and her blue eyes sparkled with mischief.
“Well? Remember now?” she asked.
There, on top of Bridget’s head, sat Mark’s number one fantasy.
She had somehow managed to remember him asking her if she still had the bunny ears she had work to Geoffrey and Una’s tarts and vicars party. He had asked in an orgasmic haze, right after they had made love, and Bridget had laughed at him.
“Why would I keep those?” she had teased him.
“No reason, I suppose. I just think you looked incredibly sexy in them. I find myself thinking about you in them quite often, if honesty has any bearing on the situation. You could wear your knickers on your head and look sexy, of course, but I’ve never had to struggle with a public erection like I did on that day.”
Ever since the party, he had wanked off to the thought of Bridget in those ears more times than he liked to admit. Even five years later, just the sight of them made his cock rock hard. He had spent most of the barbecue trying incredibly hard to hide the bulge in his khakis, and when it came time to go home, he had unceremoniously dumped Natasha on the curb outside of her apartment so that he could rush home to relieve his affliction.
The smirk on Bridget’s lips told him that she was incredibly pleased with herself.
“Like them?” she asked, her eyebrows raising slightly as she swayed her hips.
The words in Mark’s throat were caught. His erection was painful at this point, the tip of his cock tenting the fabric of his boxers. He let his tongue dart out and wet his lips in a feeble attempt to choke out the words he was trying to say.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Bridget answered for him with a wink. She crossed the threshold and made her way over to the nightstand where the chilled champagne stood. She made it a point to stick out her arse so that the curved line of her body was perfectly in Mark’s line of vision, and he noticed that she had even gone as far as to pin a fluffy white tail to the top part of her red lace panties. Placing the flutes on the nightstand, Bridget deftly poured them both a glass of champagne as she swayed her hips with torturing slowness.
Mark swallowed loudly, pushing himself up to the edge of the bed in a sitting position. As Bridget topped off the second champagne flute, Mark reached out to run his hand down her thigh.
“For fuck’s sake, Bridget. You’re going to kill me,” he rasped. He leaned forward and bit down on her arse cheek.
“You cheeky bastard!” she squealed, looking down at him with fire in her eyes. She held both flutes in her hands, and she offered one to him. “Something to cool you off,” she said as she handed it to him.
“Fuck the champagne,” he replied, taking both flutes from her hands and placing them back on the nightstand. “Get down here immediately.”
With that, Mark grabbed hold of Bridget’s waist and pulled her down onto the bed. He was quickly on top of her, divesting himself of his boxers and throwing them onto the floor next to the rumpled remains of his suit. With deft motion, he quickly pulled the moist fabric of Bridget’s panties to the side with one hand while he guided himself into her with the other. The second their bodies made contact, they both let out a breathy sigh.
“Oh, Mark,” Bridget whispered, her eyes rolling back into her head as her eyelashes fluttered on her cheeks.
“You are...the most amazing woman...I have ever met...in my entire life,” he growled. He punctuated his sentence with soft kisses to the skin between Bridget’s breasts, and she raked her nails through the curls on top of his head.
He pumped slowly into her once, twice, and then was gone. He locked his eyes onto hers and found himself pounding into her with reckless abandon. He couldn’t get over how sexy she looked in those bunny ears--Mark had never been given the opportunity to live out one of his sexual fantasies (let alone admit them), and he was now drunk with the heady feeling of someone loving him enough to care about what he wanted. One hand was planted next to Bridget’s head as he gently ran the pads of his fingers over her hairline, allowing himself to run his fingers up the silk of the ears and tweak the tip of them.
“So...fucking...sexy,” he panted as he continued to drive himself into her. “You are...so fucking...sexy.
“Please don’t stop,” she panted, lifting her hips slightly to give him a better angle. He pulled back, grasping her hips in his hands and giving them a squeeze. Bridget let out a strangled gasp, and Mark let his thumb stray from her hip and settle on the nexus of nerves that lay nestled beneath the silk of her panties. At this, Bridget took a startled breath, her mouth opening in surprise. Mark leaned down to take the opportunity, his tongue plundering her mouth and his teeth grazing her lip. She returned the kiss, teasing at his lips and clashing his teeth with her own.
Mark continued to massage at her most sensitive spot as he felt his own orgasm building up. He could tell by the look on Bridget’s face that she was close to coming as well, and it spurred him on. All it took was three more forceful thrusts before they were orgasming simultaneously, Mark’s coming out in a strangled yelp and Bridget’s erupting from her in a passionate, “ Oh, for fuck’s sake, Mark!” He collapsed on top of her, slowly removing himself from the heat between her legs and bringing the hand that had held her panties to the side up to his mouth. He kissed the moisture off of his fingertips before placing a reverent kiss against Bridget’s lips.
“That,” he murmured, “was bloody incredible.”
Bridget let a hum escape her throat as she threw an arm over her eyes. “I have to agree wholeheartedly,” she responded, peeking out from underneath her elbow to throw a smirk in his direction.
“Those ears...God, Bridget. You have no idea what they do to me.”
“I have a pretty good idea now. You weren’t lying, were you?”
“Never.”
“How about we see just how much they turn you on?”
Mark gave her a dirty grin. “Yes, ma’am.”
He dove back into the hollow of her throat, the two flutes of champagne clearly forgotten as Mark proceeded to properly unwrap Bridget’s Valentine’s Day gift to him...