A/N: Hello dolls! So here we have a Bonlijah ONE-SHOT. For a while I've wanted to write a story featuring these two, but with my current workload I just don't have the time to commit to writing a multi-chaptered fic, but I at least wanted to contribute something to this pairing. This is AU/AH, and I hope you enjoy! Mature content ahead. PWP. Polarisjewel this is for you.
Disclaimer: These characters are the creative property of LJ Smith and The CW. No copyright infringement is intended.
They were going to get caught. She just knew it. But the thrill of being caught, the danger of being exposed made everything a thousand times better.
She had never felt this way about anyone before. Plenty of times she told herself her feelings were wrong. That what they were doing wasn't right, but it was never enough to get her to stop. Her father had taught her restraint; her mother—to listen to her gut. And what her gut was telling her was that the only relief she could find for her feverish skin and the only solace potent enough to squelch the heat of her libido was him.
She wasn't even sure how it all started—her infatuation. It didn't happen the moment they laid eyes on one another. It didn't spring up the second they sat down together and poured through books and she listened to his lectures. She just woke up one day while sitting in a private drawing room, observing him as he walked back and forth across the herringbone hardwood floor where he repeated the same verse over and over again in fluent, impeccable Portuguese and she thought: I have to have him!
He wasn't so much a man of mystery. His life had pretty much been an open book mainly because discretion wasn't part of the deal. She loved the way he entered a room, one hand invariably tucked in the pocket of his trousers, killer smile on his face that haunted her and taunted her ceaselessly.
She wanted to squeal in delight every single time he opened his mouth and that smooth, cultured, and accentuated voice of his would pour over her like honey on ice cream. The more she wanted him, the more space he put between them. He must have picked up on her signal and was trying to divert or abort any attempts to maul him behind closed doors.
She remembered the first time she made a move on him. She had gotten bold enough to slip her hand under the table while she was eating lunch with him, her mother, and one of her mother's friends. Conversation flowed, but he paused briefly in the middle of the story he was telling the second her hand landed in his lap. He didn't look at her and she made damn sure she kept her eyes as faraway from him as possible. At first she merely rubbed his knee before running her hand long the inside of his leg. With every single swipe of her fingers, he cleared his throat, stopped, paused, took a sip of water after every other word he said, before he finally excused himself.
The next day she figured he'd berate her for crossing a line, for feeling him up while in the presence of her mother. Instead he behaved towards her like he always did and like it never happened.
Afterwards she could admit to feeling a tiny bit cheap. If what she did had no effect on him other than making him momentarily flustered then it meant things were one-sided. The compliments, the praises, the times he'd squeeze her shoulder, or held her hand briefly whenever they walked down a staircase didn't mean anything. He was just being polite.
She let it go. She wouldn't pressure him to feel something for her simply because she had a crush.
Of course she didn't notice this at first. The hungry stares, the times he bit into his lip when she was distracted or was looking elsewhere. The near touches of her derriere when he'd stand behind her after opening a door allowing her to walk ahead of him. The times he closed his eyes to savor the scent of her perfume. She had been killing him without knowing it until one day she did and began to respond back.
Their conversations soon flowed with innuendo. Innocent touches became gropes of human flesh. A kiss on the cheek slowly inched its to way to kisses on the corner of the mouth, until finally two pairs of lips were fused together in a hot embrace that lasted for hours it seemed.
He couldn't look at her or hear the sound of her voice or even catch a hint of her perfume without getting hard.
And one particularly dry summer day they stopped with the pretenses and laid it all out on the table before her panties and bra took flight and his boxers were around his ankles.
It hasn't stopped ever since.
::::::
The room was in complete disarray. Dishes smashed, chairs overturned, food painted the walls. The sound of a Spanish melody Matador de sa Pena played in the background directing the sway of her hips and placement of her feet against the floor. She turned and dipped, her cardinal red dress taking flight in the air. Every once and a while she's flick her eyes in his direction to find his hadn't moved a single inch away from her.
He couldn't look away to save his life, he thought as he brought the bottle to his mouth and chugged greedily. More than one appetite was wetted and what had begun as a peaceful treaty between them soon escalated into a fight with no victor.
"You can hate me all you like. Still won't change the facts," he said and watched in awe as she lifted her right leg as high in the air as it could go, executing the perfect arabesque. He salivated at the fabric that fell, gave way and revealed that sienna brown skin of hers. With the right luck her sculpted legs might be wrapped around his lean waist as he pumped relentlessly into her.
He admonished his way of thinking. Not everything boiled down to sex between them. They could go days sometimes weeks doing no more than kissing; and he was perfectly content with that. There were some bonds and relationships that transcended the natural and entered the supernatural, and he felt—no, knew what they shared surpassed everything else.
But these tireless sparring matches between them where they tossed insults like grenades was old, and he was done fighting her and denying them what they wanted.
Each other.
She had a way of drawing attention to her like a spark of fire in a pitch-black room. Eyes followed the way she moved, ears perked up at the sound of her sultry voice, skin shivered at her touch, and he had little immunity against being affected by her.
Elijah Mikaelson supped eagerly at her fount when she was in a generous and giving mood, which wasn't often but often enough that she was foremost in his mind. There was little he wouldn't do for her except give her up. Their argument tonight had been about her leaving for a couple of weeks to visit some old friends from back home. He knew she was young and desired to be around people her own age, but he couldn't handle the anxiety that fluttered in his bowels at the thought of her jumping continents to get drunk and party with her friends. At least not when things were so unsettled between them.
"I don't hate you, Elijah," she contested. "I just hate the way you try to control me."
A corner of his whiskey colored eyes narrowed and he drank again from the bottle. His feet shuffled against the floor, inadvertently scraping pieces of broken china with the bottom of his boot—the sound alone made his teeth stand on end.
"How is not wanting you to travel alone controlling you?"
"Admit it," she sauntered closer to him but remained out of reach. "You think I'll meet someone else, forget all about you, and never look back," she shrugged. "It has a strong possibility of happening."
He jumped up from the chair, captured her around the waist, and pulled her into his chest. Her head fell back and she grinned up at him knowing he hated when she made that threat.
"Don't delude yourself into thinking that you'll find someone else who is more worthy. I've taught you everything you know."
"And you've been a wonderful teacher," she reached for his right hand, brought it up to her cherry red lips and slipped his middle finger inside her mouth. "I owe my tutelage to you."
Elijah's jaw became slack and he found himself incapable of stopping his cock from getting hard. She was a tease; he's known that all along but he continuously fell for her seductive tricks every single time. Perhaps her accusations about him being pussy whipped and weak were accurate. How else could he account for the fact he was willing to give her the world if only she'd allow him to suck on her juicy mound?
Thought escaped him along with the breath in his lungs the second she initiated fellatio on his digit. Another part of his anatomy grew furious with jealously because it wanted her mouth on it.
Elijah blinked the cloud of lust from his mind. "Perhaps I trained you too well," he said thickly. "But I'm not a fool, Bonnie. You can't manipulate me to get your way."
She visibly pouted then. "I can't? Yet you have no qualms manipulating me. Maybe you forgot about Sunday. I had been invited to brunch with Alonso and Guilia, and right when I was about to head out the door you stepped out of the bathroom naked, wet, and semi-hard."
He didn't attempt to suppress his grin. What happened on Sunday hadn't exactly been intentional. What could he say? He was good at doing things right in the nick of time. Needless to say, Bonnie never made it to brunch.
"I think we need a time out, Elijah. My mom is beginning to suspect you're doing more than teaching me foreign languages."
Shame rushed through him. No, he hadn't been adhering to what he had specifically been hired to do. Tutor and instruct the daughter of Rudy and Abby Hopkins-Bennett in seven world languages as she traveled Europe with her parents who were UN Ambassadors.
Elijah recalled walking through the doors of the villa they were renting in Assisi, Italy a year ago. He took one look at the then fresh-faced twenty year old who was taking a sabbatical from school and knew he was in trouble. Yet he did his best to keep things professional between him and Bonnie. But with each private session, with her mastery of the correct spelling and pronunciation of a chosen language, Elijah's attachment grew until one night everything imploded.
Her parents, if they ever found out, would not approve of the way he rewarded Bonnie for her fluency in Sicilian.
Plenty of nights Elijah hung his head in shame at his lack of restraint. He had Master's and Doctorate degrees in English and Foreign Affairs, worked previously as an interpreter for the United Nations, and served in the British Royal Army for goodness sake! He was the pillar of level-headedness, and propriety.
Yet all of that flew out the window the second he'd sneak Bonnie into his flat and the two would get lost in their own world; and condemn his soul into the fiery pits of hell he didn't want them to stop, didn't want things to end.
This seductress was the real Bonnie Bennett while her innocence with her parents was calculated. It took him a while to see it, but she would never be satisfied with living a quiet and mediocre life.
What bothered him the most was others around Bonnie had taken notice of her passionate spirit as well. Most in particular, Damon Salvatore and his brother Kol. The former was an old acquaintance of Elijah's who lived in Italy off and on. It just so happened to be during one of those on periods that Damon and Elijah's paths intersected while he and Bonnie shared wine and cheese at a local palazzo having a conversation in Spanish.
Kol, who was bit of a nomad but spontaneously visited his kin, met Bonnie when she was leaving Elijah's apartment after a heavy session of translating Voltaire's work into English.
Though both encounters had been brief and Bonnie had been nothing short of polite and civil with his old drinking partner and little brother, Elijah had seen the interest flair on their faces.
Since then she hadn't brought up either one in conversation. He was pleased by that.
"For an educated man you can be very dense," Bonnie ridiculed knowing Elijah had slipped into his thoughts once more. "Every single day I feel like I have to come up with a new lie to tell my mom so she won't grow suspicious, but she's a woman. I think she knows."
"If that's so," Elijah tightened his arms around her waist in an unconscious effort to keep outsiders from snatching Bonnie away from him, "why hasn't she said anything? Or fired me at the least?"
"I don't know. You'd have to ask her. But I think she might be a little miffed that you fell for me and not her."
Elijah's eyebrow arched. "What are you saying? Your mother isn't a faithful woman?"
"My parents have been married for a long time and a majority of that time was spent with one or both of them living in separate countries while I rotted away in boarding school. What do you think?" Bonnie traced his clean-shaven jaw with her finger.
Elijah thought he wanted to get off this topic of discussion. Speaking of her parents' marriage wasn't high on his list of priorities and Bonnie didn't seem too broken up by the fact that her parents might have engaged in numerous affairs. It was so common place these days one had to wonder why bigamy and polygamy was still illegal.
"Be that as it may," Elijah began, "I don't like the idea of you leaving."
"I'll only be gone for seven weeks. You'll hardly miss me."
"I beg to differ. Several parts of me would miss you terribly."
Bonnie looked down at the one that was poking her in the hip. She smirked. "I guess I should leave you with something to remember me by, but I've already been gone long enough."
When she attempted to extract herself from Elijah's arms, he only held on tighter. "Wait," he sank a hand into her thick mane of hair, and hugged her. "The right thing to do is to end this, but I can't. Do you wish to go?"
Bonnie gnawed on her bottom lip. She shook her head. Being with Elijah broke all the rules. He was being paid—handsomely—by her parents to keep her busy for lack of a better phrase. He was in his thirties while she was just getting started in her twenties. He was refined and distinguished whereas she still liked to watch Disney XD while munching on a bowl of Cookie Crisp. But he had taught her so many things, not just about languages, art, and classical music, but how to ride a man into oblivious and deep throat without gagging.
Pulling away slightly she stared up into his handsome face. Elijah was a work of art. Brown hair cut into a fashionable style, brown eyes she drowned in every single time she stared at them, olive skin that was unblemished, pink lips she loved kissing, that baritone tenor voice she could listen to for hours and never get bored or fall asleep. And the best thing about Elijah…the man could wear the hell out of a suit!
"Bringen Sie mir eine Lektion bei, bevor ich gehe." (Teach me a lesson before I go) Bonnie enunciated in German. There was obvious mischief in her eyes.
Elijah replied in French, "Asseyez-vous au bureau et sortez votre journal et ustensiles." (Sit down at the desk and take out your journal and utensils)
"Ik vergat mijn dingen. Ik was in een weinig een haast hier te worden." (I forgot my things. I was in a bit of a hurry to get here) this time she posed her statement in Dutch.
"Così state dicendomi che siete non preparati? Quello che cosa siete sta dicendo?" (So are you telling me you're unprepared? Is that what you're saying?) Elijah questioned in Italian.
Bonnie dipped her head a bit, yet stared up at him from under her lashes. She too began speaking in Italian. "Mi avete detto che parecchie volte sempre essere aspetti e preveda l'inatteso." (You've told me several times to always be ready and expect the unexpected.)
He stepped closer to his student and tipped her head back by the bottom of her chin. "And I told you what would happened if you showed up not ready to work. My time is precious, Miss Bennett," he said in plain English. "I'm going to have to teach you several lessons indeed."
Instead of going into the small room adjacent from his bedroom where they often worked, Bonnie walked backwards to the dining room table and climbed on top. "Don't you think this area is more conducive for learning? There's plenty of light, much more space. We'll need the room, don't you agree?"
While she had been asking her questions, Elijah's eyes were trained on her bare legs and the fact she lifted the hem of her dress until it cinched her waist. He took a step forward and wet his bottom lip with his tongue already catching faint whiffs of her moistened slit. Elijah grazed her thigh with the back of his knuckle and touched her sweet spot through her panties that were already damp at the crotch.
"I agree," he finally snatched his eyes away from her mound to look at her. "This is much better for what I have in mind. I think you need to get more comfortable, though. Wearing these can't possibly feel good."
"No, they don't," and Bonnie lifted her hips the second Elijah grabbed the waistband of her panties and tugged them down her legs.
"Much better," he said, mouth drooling as her shaved kitty came into view. "I think I'll teach you the Turkish alphabet tonight."
"Whatever you feel is best, Professore."
Pulling up a chair, Elijah sat down between Bonnie's legs, grabbed her under the knees and pulled her towards the edge of the table. Her hair and boobs bounced at the sudden movement, and then she groaned, and closed her eyes the second Professor Mikaelson's tongue separated her folds. He spread her as far as she could go until the inner pink walls of her channel were visible and then, he stiffened his tongue and impaled her with it, lapping away at her center to the point Bonnie was a quivering ball of nerves looking for release. She grabbed him by the hair on the crown of his head for purchase as wave after wave of brutal pleasure crashed into her.
His hands weren't idle as they grabbed the neckline of her dress and ripped it clean down the middle, exposing her globes which he eagerly kneaded with his warm hands. Her nipples hardened and grew numb from the repeated stimulation.
Her first orgasm approached and she screamed but wasn't given a chance to catch her breath. Elijah continued to eat til his heart's content, wildly and lewdly flicking his tongue in and out of her before circling her clit with the underside of that talented muscle.
Elijah was harder than the streets of Detroit, but he'd hold off on finding his own release because this was about Bonnie. Her pleasure came first. Her satisfaction was priority. So he doubled up his efforts by squeezing, pulling, and pinching her nipples to the point his ears were being assaulted with various languages and phrases he taught her. Blood rushed to the head of his cock and he nearly came himself but with a Herculean amount of control he held off and brought his student to completion once more.
Bonnie was done, toast, cooked. But she knew that was only the beginning. She saw through half-lidded eyes Elijah rise from the seat and loom over her. She heard the distinct sound of his zipper lowering, then a condom wrapper being ripped open with his teeth. The exhausted student didn't blink as Elijah lost his shirt and his mouth found its new home on hers. Their tongues touched and teased and she tasted herself, along with the bourbon Elijah had been drinking, and underneath that was his unique flavor.
He ravished her mouth at the same time Elijah reached under Bonnie, grabbing her ass, tilting her hips at the right angle and leisurely sheathed himself deep inside her weeping, dripping pussy.
Bonnie hissed and dug her nails into his back while she arched hers against the table. She saw stars and began rolling her hips to meet him thrust for thrust.
For one regrettable moment Elijah wished he didn't need to take such precautions with Bonnie. But she wasn't on birth control and neither one of them could risk her getting pregnant. So this prophylactic was necessary; and though he was deriving a great deal of pleasure in being buried within her he knew it would feel much better without a condom. Yet safety first.
Elijah concentrated on pumping into her alternating between hard and fast, soft, long, and slow strokes. He kissed Bonnie's shoulders, licked a trail from the dip at the bottom of her throat to the tip of her nose, and moaned when her hand grabbed his ass. Seven more strokes and he knew he would be done for.
Bonnie wrapped her legs around his lower back and began muttering, "Svp incitez-moi à venir." Please make me come.
"Ce serait mon plus grand plaisir." (It would be my greatest pleasure) Elijah leaned up, placed Bonnie's legs on his shoulders and really began to pound into her. He licked his fingers and strummed that bundle of nerves, heightening her pleasure and the experience.
Bonnie couldn't breathe, couldn't catch a single breath to save her life. She had kissed boys, slept with one or two, but they had been disappointments. Elijah was like finding a novel that made you laugh, cry, curse, and angry, yet at the end left you satisfied and thirsty for more. He was like a modern day version of Mr. Darcy or Mr. Rochester and this was her turn of the century story.
She was glad her parents hired him to be her teacher.
Her eyes sprang open when Elijah circled his hips and did it again before he found her spot and started attacking it with fervor. He reared back nearly pulling out of her, but slammed back into her and the fifth time he did it, Bonnie came undone. She burst apart like a piñata.
All she could do was lay there while he found his own end.
Liquid hot heat ran through his shaft and exploded into that thin latex barrier. Winded, sweaty, and muscles slightly aching, Elijah lowered Bonnie's legs from his shoulders, kissed her, and rested his weight on her. She giggled; he laughed and then abruptly pulled out of her at the sound of someone's voice standing behind him.
"What the hell are you doing to my daughter?!"
Bonnie and Elijah gawked at one another wide eyed. Shit, they were caught. There was no colorful way to explain themselves out of this.
Reaching for his boxers and pants simultaneously, Elijah slid them back on, turned, and attempted to block Bonnie's partial nudity…from her father.
"Mr. Bennett I can explain…"
The End
A/N: I know, such a cruel way to end this. Just call me, Missus Cliffhanger. I might be persuaded to write an epilogue to this. But for now this work is finished, done, complete. Thank you for giving it a shot. Until next time, love you guys!