He's inside her. Thrusting into her in a steady rhythm. His mouth is on hers. One of his hands is gripping her hip hard keeping her at just the right angle. She thinks she might find red marks there after. Her arms are wrapped around him and her legs are hooked over his hips. She forces her hips upward to meet his and the sensation causes her to pull her mouth from his and a low moan escapes her lips. He buries his face in her neck and she feels him trail hot wet kisses there.
The only noise filling her bedroom is her gasping breaths and his heavy breathing.
She's close.
She feels his rhythm change and become slightly more frantic. The new pace pushes her closer to the edge and she knows she's going to make it to the finish line before him. Just a few more thrusts and she's falling over the edge.
She shatters into a million pieces all around him. All thoughts flee her mind and she focuses solely on the feeling of pleasure coursing through her. She grips on to him tighter and digs her heels into the back of his legs.
She can feel he is close now too, her orgasm has obviously spurred him on. His thrust are erratic, fast and hard. She knows it's over when she feels his weight collapse into her and his movements slow. He rolls off of her just a few seconds later and she's overwhelmed by the feeling of loss.
She rolls into his side. Knows he is going to get up and leave in just a few minutes. She wants to enjoy the few short minutes of closeness she gets from him now. She strokes his chest wants to ask him to stay but doesn't, she knows he won't. She focuses on his face and her eyes are drawn to his lips and she wonders what it'd be like to kiss him without the urgency. She wants to kiss him but doesn't want to be the one to cross the lines they'd silently agreed. There's no kissing after. She had his body now but his mind had abandoned her.
It's funny, she thinks she'd trade everything that had happened in the last three weeks for just one of those purely intimate moments they'd previously shared. She hates herself a bit for drawing him in this way. She knows this isn't what he would have wanted, but he is here anyway finding comfort in her body rather than from the closeness they'd shared only a few short weeks ago.
It had all started just a day after she'd left. He'd shown up on her doorstep without forewarning. She had opened the door and saw anger flash in his eyes.
He'd crossed the threshold quickly, shoved her into the wall and kissed her hard. It was angry, rough and urgent. His hand had found its way inside her trousers, and past her underwear quickly and she knew in that moment he was about to discover just how much she wanted him. She'd gasped into his mouth when he touched her, moaned when two of his fingers pushed inside her and gripped the front of his shirt when she'd finally pulsed around his fingers just a few short minutes after he'd started pushing them in and out of her in an agonisingly urgent rhythm.
He'd wordlessly given her exactly what she wanted, what she needed. She wanted more.
She had reached for his belt but he'd stopped her. Pushed her hands away. She could see the realisation of what had just happened dawn on his face. He withdrew his fingers from her quickly, dragged his other hand out from under her top, pulled her into him and held her tightly for a fraction of a second before letting her go and walking out the door. She'd wanted to stop him but hadn't been able to get her brain in gear fast enough.
She'd slid down the wall as soon as the door had closed. Still breathing heavy and physically stunned. She knows she pushed him to this. She'd ran away, refused to speak, refused to acknowledge her feelings for him. All that was left was the tension and it had finally boiled over.
Two days later he was at the door again.
She'd grabbed him by the hand and pulled him inside. She had no intention of letting him leave this time without getting exactly what she wanted from him. She'd dragged him to the living room and kissed him hard, stroked him with one hand through the front of his trousers. Immediately started tugging at the buttons of his shirt with her other hand. When he'd tried to touch her she'd batted his hands away. She hadn't wanted to risk him distracting her again. Freed from his shirt, she'd started working on his belt, and trousers. She'd dragged them down to his knees quickly and pushed him back on to the sofa. She'd rushed to remove her own trousers and underwear before straddling him and sinking down on to him without hesitation. He'd looked surprised. She wasn't really quite ready but she didn't care, she'd had to give herself a few seconds to adjust though, before moving. She had grabbed his hand and put it on her breast silently giving him permission to start touching her again now she was certain he wouldn't try to leave. He'd removed her top and bra seconds later and further frantic kissing had followed soon after.
They'd continued this way for the last few weeks. Every few days he'd be wordlessly at her door. They'd barely said a word to each other at all bar the occasional word of encouragement or instruction. She can feel the resentment building in both of them and she's worried how things are going to work when she has to return to Holby in a weeks time. She'd really thought this arrangement if you could call it that, would have suited her perfectly fine, but it didn't. She misses their close friendship, the banter and companionship. He was here, but not really. She feels like she ruined him.
He hadn't tried to talk to her once, not about the pain or her feelings. She figures he is giving her what he thinks she wants. She can still feel his anger too, it's practically burning a hole right through her every time she sees him. She'll soon be left with another gaping wound that will never heal. This is hurting them both, but she doesn't want to stop, doesn't know how to tell him she wants more.
"I should go." He tells her softly.
It's the same every time. He waits the obligatory five minutes before announcing his intention to leave. She's still stroking his chest and she can feel one of his hands trailing feather light touches up her spine. It's getting harder and harder to let him go. She feels tears prickle in her eyes. As satisfying as having him in her bed has been she wishes they could rewind a few weeks to undo the damage. She pushes her body further into him hoping he'll finally understand this time that she wants to keep him here.
"Stay." She asks him softly.
She closes her eyes, knows the answer will be no, but hopes it's not anyway.
"I really shouldn't." He states not a hint of hesitation in his voice.
She feels him move and she rolls back off him. It takes him just a few minutes to pick up all his clothes from the floor, get dressed and leave the room.
She sighs.
She knows they can't keep doing this.
