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Who the fuck gets married in Ireland?
Dad and Godmother, apparantly. They announced their wonderful little idea at the end of the infamous dinner, right after her little miscarriage, and it took her a while to process what the hell that even meant.
As Godmother explained, she visited this beautiful little town years ago for one of her exhibitions and hasn't stopped thinking about it since. They expected everyone just to put their lives on hold and fly over for the weekend, naturally.
Claire booked her ticket alongside Martin and Jake, of course, first class on an airline the average person couldn't even afford to look at. Dad and Godmother flew a few days prior, to get everything sorted and enjoy some time reconnecting with each other's bodies, as Godmother put it.
And so that's how she finds herself looking at flights one late night in her living room, a glass of red wine in her hand as she sorts her options from cheapest to most expensive. She clicks on the first one that pops up, the only one she can even think about affording, checks the times once or twice, and books it without thinking much about it before she changes her mind or throws up.
The flight is in two days precisely, and she promises herself she'll pack on time and be responsible, but she ends up doing it mere hours before the flight anyway.
She throws the basics into the small bag on her couch – a simple, floral red dress for the wedding and a small, lacy black one for the after-hours, assuming that the town they picked even has a decent pub to turn to when she starts feeling empty and decides she wants company.
She puts on a black denim skirt, a striped tee and the first sweater she can get her hands on, and decides that that's enough effort for clothes. She has a pair of socks and a pair of matching underwear on herself; surely she doesn't need a spare for just the weekend. Face and body cream, a toothbrush and a Plan B – she's all set.
The Priest might be off-limits, but surely she can find comfort in someone who sort of looks like him after a couple of shots.
As she makes her way down to the airport, she searches for any suitable eye-fucking candidates to pass the time, but everyone seems so damn busy, and she finds herself feeling almost offended as she waits at the gate.
That's when she sees him. He's just standing there at the gate, looking handsome as ever, with the little smirk that never seems to leave his face. Fuck. He looks so good. She can practically see the outline of his bulge through his tight jeans. It pisses her off beyond reason.
She's grateful that he doesn't notice her. She's not sure what she would do. Whether it would be appropriate to greet him, pretend this isn't awkward, or ignore him and make things even more awkward at the wedding.
Once boarding begins, she rushes to the front door, determined to take her seat as soon as possible and avoid walking across the plane, allowing him to spot her. She sinks into her window seat and faces the wall.
"Oh, wow." She hears a familiar voice from the aisle, followed by a chuckle. "Fancy running into you here." She turns her head, forcing herself to smile.
He's just standing there, looking down at her with a grin. She wants to smack him. "Hey."
"Looks like we're neighbours for the next... hour and a half or so." He attempts to put his bag above the seat but struggles to do so given his height, before giving up and shoving it under his seat.
She allows herself to look at his arms as he handles the bag and wonders what they would look like wrapped around her neck, holding her wrists as he fucks her. He sits down in the aisle seat and smiles at her again.
The minutes that follow seem like the longest of her life, as she watches the remaining passengers board while silently praying – would he think that's blasphemy? – for someone to take the middle seat between them.
No one does. Much to her dismay, the doors lock behind the last of the passengers and crew, and everyone seems to have taken their seats.
The Priest looks at her again. "Looks like it's just us." He grins.
"Indeed." She chuckles nervously as she's already eyeing the plane for the nearest flight attendant to order a drink. "Just us."
Once the plane is up and running, she patiently eyes the flight attendant making his way down the rows, and she's practically on her toes as he approaches. But before she can react, the Priest is way ahead of her, clearly on the edge of his seat just as much, if not more.
"Can I get a shot of tequila?" He asks. "And a glass of white wine. Thank you."
"Anything else I can get for you?" The flight attendant asks, looking at both of them.
"I'll also have a shot of tequila." She quickly grabs her chance. "And, uh, a glass of Chardonnay."
They sit in silence – she's tapping her foot nervously, and he's looking around, pretending not to glance over at her every couple of seconds. "Not a fan of flying?" He asks.
"I don't mind." She tries to laugh it off. She twirls her hair for just a moment longer than appropriate. "It's more so the next part that I'm dreading. You know, with the whole wedding thing."
He laughs. "I'm guessing that can't be easy for you."
Before she can respond, the flight attendant is back with their drinks, and she's never been more grateful. She drinks the shot of tequila in a single movement – so does he – before grabbing the glass of wine.
"You know, you can move over if you want." The Priest gestures to the middle seat. "If you fancy a chat or something."
"Oh, that's okay." She waves her hand. "I quite like the window." She tries to sound as convincing as possible, given that her window seat consists mostly of the wall and a few inches of the actual window.
"Makes sense." The Priest chuckles. They finish their glasses quickly, so he orders a gin and tonic once he can get a hold of the flight attendant, and she's doing the same.
He drinks a lot, she started to notice. But then again, she sleeps around a lot. It's a match made in Heaven, as far as she's concerned. No pun intended.
About an hour into the flight, they're both far more drunk than appropriate. The passengers around them are starting to notice, and the flight attendants are starting to notice, but no one says anything.
"Shhh." The Priest whispers as they both laugh at one of her inappropriate jokes. "We have to keep quiet." He speaks slowly, emphasising each word, but can't get through the whole sentence without erupting into more laughter.
She's feeling dizzy, and the room is starting to spin a little. The plane is starting to spin a little, and being drunk so high up in the air is certainly a new experience, even for her.
When she looks around, she realises that he has found himself sitting next to her, and she can't recall that happening. He's just there now, his hand just above her thigh, whispering sweet nothings into her ear.
His hand trails higher and higher until it’s resting on her upper thigh, his fingers trailing along her exposed skin. "Did I ever tell you how beautiful you are?" His breath full of scotch and gin is on her ear, and she can feel herself getting wet at his words. She crosses her legs in an attempt to hide it. "You drive me fucking insane."
"Is that so, Father?" She whispers in the most seductive voice she can muster. If he's usually good at pretending it doesn't turn him on, he's certainly not now – she can see his bulge through the outline of his pants, and she licks her lips a little as she looks at it growing.
"Yeah." He nods, his voice low and raspy, but he's not looking at her. He's looking straight at her lips, licking his own.
It's a dangerous game. She knows that much. She has to take a few deep breaths to steady herself, and that takes a lot of strength when all she wants to do is spread her legs for him and let him do whatever he wants to do to her right there and then.
No. She closes her eyes and thinks about her family, about everything she put them through already. She can't do this.
"Uh, excuse me." She mutters in a low voice, pushing past him until she's practically running down the aisle and towards the bathroom. She closes it behind herself.
Once she's there, she's immediately unzipping her skirt, sneaking a hand into her panties until she's pressed against the wall, moaning. She thinks of the Priest, his strong arms, his beautiful neck; she thinks of what his cock might look like, and how she would spread her legs for him, moan for him, let him do anything he wanted to do to her while she moans Father over and over again.
And then, the door flings open, and before she can gather herself, he's right there. Standing in front of her, an amused smirk on his lips, his eyes drifting all over her until he notices her hand in her panties. He licks his lips.
"Fuck- what-" She stumbles against the wall, confused, blushing as he steps inside the already tiny cabin and locks the door behind himself.
"Forgot to lock the door?" He asks.
She finds herself trapped between him and the wall. He leans in closer, and she can feel his erection pressed against her thigh. She feels her cheeks burning red. "I don't know what-" She attempts to explain, but before she can, his lips are pressed against hers and her mouth is open for him, moaning into his mouth and against his tongue.
"Came here to touch yourself?" He asks as he grabs her wrist, making her unable to move her hand any further. "I'm pretty sure that's a sin." He slips his hand into her panties instead, and she gasps. "Maybe I need to fuck you instead."
"Yeah." She doesn't mean for it to come off as desperate as it does, and then she's blushing even more than before. He just laughs as his fingers start to circle her clit, and he inserts two fingers inside of her without much warning. "Please, Father." She gasps.
"So wet for me." He chuckles as he begins to finger her, her legs shaking in pleasure. "Spread your legs for me." He presses a kiss to her burning red cheek, and she looks down at the floor as she obeys, unable to meet his eye. "Good girl." He adds before extending his other hand behind her and smacking her ass just once – not too hard, but hard enough to make her jump, hard enough to make her throb against his fingers.
"Father." She moans helplessly as he kisses her lips again and strokes her hair to soothe her. "I'm gonna- I'm gonna come." She struggles to finish the sentence as she feels herself getting closer to the edge as his fingers inside her begin to pound her at a brutal pace, while his finger on clit runs soft, teasing circles.
"Come for me." He demands before spanking her once more, harder this time, and that's all it takes before she's a whimpering mess on his fingers, legs spread wide for him as he pounds her through the orgasm.
There's not much time to recover as she breathes heavily, trying to catch her breath, because he's already unzipping his pants and lifting her skirt. He pushes himself inside with ease and starts pounding into her at a brutal pace right away, like it's something he's been waiting to do for a long time.
"Father-" She moans as she spreads her legs wider for him.
"Yeah, that's a good girl." He smiles as he kisses her neck, holding onto her hips as he fucks her. "Spread your legs for me."
She wraps her arms around his neck, his beautiful neck, as he continues pushing himself inside her, and her legs are shaking in pleasure with every thrust. He's bigger than she imagined - and oh, did she imagine - and thick, hitting all the right spots with ease.
"You going to come again for me?" He murmurs against her lips, and she just moans into his mouth in response. His hand finds her clit again, and she's ready for a wave of pleasure that's about to come, but instead, he slaps her clit with a flat hand. She cries out in pain, but a wave of different pleasure altogether crashes through her.
"Please-" She begs.
"You wanna come again?" He asks in an almost mocking tone, and something about it makes her clench around him as he continues to fuck her.
"Yes." She nods.
"Yes, what?" He demands.
"Yes, Father." And then she's blushing again, realising that this has been turning him on all along just as much as it was to her. His fingers find her clit again and begin rubbing her, and she comes against his fingers, whimpering and moaning as he holds her in place with ease.
The Priest grunts in a low voice before grabbing onto her hips, nails digging into her skin and spilling himself inside of her. He continues groaning softly, giving it a few last strokes, making sure every drop is spilt inside her. She moans with every thrust, feeling his cock pulsate inside of her.
When he finally pulls out, the cum spills right out of her and down her thighs – there's so much of it, she can barely take it.
"Oh, shit." He laughs, seemingly concerned. There's something different about the tone in his voice, as if he's already back to his usual, caring, affectionate self. "Let me help you with that." He grabs a couple of tissues and wipes the cum dripping down her thighs.
"Thank you." She tries not to blush.
He waves his hand, then leans in to press a kiss to her cheek. "Let's get back to our seats, shall we?"
"Yeah?" She fixes her skirt as he buckles his pants. "Might be landing soon."
"Indeed." He says, watching her closely. He leans in closer and moves her hair aside. "Don't worry. I know what to do with you then."