This kind of just popped into my head after I watched the Addie/Noah scenes on PrP again. I couldn't just let it turn into nothingness. So despite my uncertainty at this Maddison one-shot I am going to publish it anyways. I am very insecure about this piece so it would really help if you all could give me some sort of comment/constructive criticism so I know I'm not a completely shitty writer. It's my first attempt at something truly porny so there may be some sexually graphic content. Also it's pure Maddison angst. As the title and summary would suggest haha. For those of you reading...enjoy!
He cannot pinpoint the exact moment he fell in love with her. He knows it was a gradual descent into forbidden longing, unlike Lucifer's sudden fall into darkness. The many nights he spent nursing bottles of wine with her at the brownstone when Derek couldn't be bothered to entertain his wife after a long surgery, were his equivalent to the conversation with the serpent in Eden. However, he would not need convincing; sinning without remorse was his most constant trait.
On one such evening he recalls in particular the positioning of their bodies curled up against the frame of the hideous lime green futon in the guest room. Her toes flex against the inside of his thigh, provoking inappropriate sparks to crackle in between the pair of them. Her teeth sink into her lower lip, drawing along the plump red line in a tantalizing manner. She arches her left brow at him, a bold expression void of self-consciousness crossing her face. It's a foreign look; one that he never expects to be associated with Addison. And yet here he is, allowing her to massage the inside of his leg with her long painted toes.
A crooked smirk splays across his lips before he lifts his glass of red wine to part them again. There isn't enough alcohol in his system to allow Addison's foot to slip against his crotch, creating ripples against the stiff fabric of his denim pants. "What do you think you're doing?" He muses partially horrified and partially excited at the prospect of blurring the lines of inappropriateness with her.
She laughs giddily, lifting her foot up off his lap and at eye level. "Trying to get a foot massage out of you," Her glass empties with a single, lengthy gulp.
Despite her obvious drunken state, Mark can't help but think he never saw a more beautiful woman. Her meticulously curled crimson tresses, contrasting against her ivory flesh and at the same time highlighting the intense verdant hue of her almond shaped eyes are characteristics unlike any woman he's fucked before. She'd be more than a fuck (or at least would be if he were to choose to cross that line) she is after all, Addison.
He studies the relaxed demeanor she's now settled into, wondering if she could read the intrigue passing through his cool, grey eyes.
"Mark?" She leans forward, squinting for dramatic effect. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Why are you touching me like that?" He counters swiftly. Letting his head hang back against the rear of the futon, he doesn't let his eye contact waver from hers. He is taunting her, challenging her to confront the feelings they've kept bottled up inside for too long. His eyes fall momentarily between his legs where her foot is still rubbing against dangerously before flitting back to hers.
The sly reference sobers her considerably. Addison's emerald eyes that were fanciful are now widened in shock. She instantly retracts her foot like a sudden shock had been sent through her body. Curling her legs into her chest, her cheeks flush red and emerald eyes glue onto the sandy carpet underneath them. She tries to remain calm, but the liquid courage has filled her up with self-doubt and loathing.
Mark senses the shift from happy, drunken Addison to sad, drunken Addison and he braces himself. The latter of the Addison's is not the one he wants massaging his member. But the latter of the Addison's is the one he covets. The tangled, broken mess of what used to be a strong and unafraid woman is the one he feels obligated to save.
"I'm sorry Mark," She mutters softly like a small child who was caught doing a forbidden act. The crimson curls fall forward like a veil and mask the innocent shade of her face from his scrutinizing eyes. Her palms shield her eyes as she breathes in and out a couple of times to regain her fully guarded composure.
He moves to a seated position on the futon and reaches a hand forward to clasp onto her shoulder reassuringly. To tell her it isn't a big deal is a lie he doesn't want her to hear because to deny the pleasure he received from it is the greater lie. And he struggles to lie to her even though his feelings have betrayed this shred of goodness for nearly a year now.
His hand kneads into her flesh tenderly. Mark rubs at the tension in her arm, hoping to produce some type of reaction from her.
She flips her hair over her shoulder and her face meets his with immense pain flooding her eyes. "You should go," She whispers weakly. It's an attempt to show her assertiveness and control in the situation that neither one of them actually has claim over.
"Do you want me to go?" He questions with a solemn concern growing in his voice. Mark's eyes search her face for any type of resistance, which he cannot find.
Her emerald eyes full of contrasting feelings and beliefs waver between his eyes and his mouth. There's a sensuality in her look where there shouldn't be, which startles both of them. "You should," She offers again, with a more defined purpose.
The hand resting on her shoulder moves up to the meeting point of red and ivory, gently stroking back a thick strand of her hair. His calloused thumb circles the length of her jaw and around the outskirts of her cheekbone. His eyes travel in a similar path.
Addison struggles to keep hers open and focused on him.
Mark strokes the edges of her face until he reaches the top portion of her lip. He hesitates; knowing he's about to take the first bite of the fruit and there's no taking it back once the flesh has been ripped into. But her eyelids flutter shut and mouth gapes open slowly as his arousing touch becomes so close to the tender area. This gives way to any sort of faith they might have had before then.
His finger grazes the top portion of her mouth, causing Addison to purse them together again, the smallest flap of skin catching in between her lips. Mark finishes the trail until its end point underneath her chin. A bit of pressure is applied to angle her face so that it's symmetrical to his.
"Mark," She mutters quietly without any other coherent thoughts attached to his name.
He returns in a similar intonation both mournfully as well as intoxicated, "Addison."
Her emerald orbs flicker between his hungry eyes and waiting lips as their faces slowly incline towards each other.
Mark's palm takes the entire side of her face as his cracked lips brush lightly against her plump, glossy ones. The immorality lies in the context of the kiss whereas the quality is chaste for the both of them. It stops them momentarily and the world suddenly stands still.
They lean back a few centimeters and search one another's eyes for any hint of regret or guilt. It takes them to a whole new level, where the strict moral codes of right and wrong no longer apply. They feel nothing short of pure elation at the prospect of ecstasy with one another. When guilt and regret appear to be misplaced amidst their misdeed, the electricity of carnal desire takes hold of them.
Their mouths collide hastily and without another precursory gesture. Addison's hands fly to the back of Mark's head. Her fingers tangle in his hair while her mouth battles with Mark's for control. His hand moves to the back of her head, pressing her face even closer to his, the free one grappling for her waist. The pulsating tightness in his jeans is suddenly making everything around him hot and blurry.
At first she fights against his physical demands that she straddle his lap. But as his mouth detaches from hers and finds its way down the length of her neck and then rests at the base of her throat, she gives in. It is no longer a secret that she wants him too; in the worst possible way a married woman could want a man who isn't her husband.
Mark's tongue trails wet kisses at her throat, daring to reach the opening of her loosely buttoned blouse. He teases her until Addison can no longer stand his reserved foreplay. Her hands move from his hair and onto the bottom of neck, forcing his face against more of her flesh.
He obliges without a second thought. He kisses along the swell of her breasts that peek out of the top of her shirt, eliciting a breathy gasp from her throat. His eyes lift for a half a second just to meet hers and they both grin devilishly at each other. Mark dips his tongue further into her blouse, running it just beneath the fabric of her white lacy bra.
Addison cries out in a higher pitched noise as his warm, wet tongue flicks against her hardening nipple still contained in two layers of clothing. It's unexpected and new just like the rest of this. She finds herself reaching forward to the hem of his shirt and then jerks upward so as to feel his muscles tensing underneath.
Mark rocks back a bit to give her room to pull the shirt above his head and discard it on the floor in front of the couch. Her mouth finds his again and she nibbles on his bottom lip, while his fingers fumble with the buttons of her purple satin blouse. He succeeds in revealing the white lace hugging her perfectly shaped breasts appealingly.
She unclasps her bra. The straps slid down her shoulders, off her arms to reveal her supple breasts. Reaching behind her, Addison lets the white fabric fall to the floor. Her gaze fixates on his lips and she bents forward to kiss him open-mouthed again. Her tongue slips inside his mouth, fighting for control with his own.
After a moment of heavy kissing and exploring hands, Mark's palm presses against the crook of her shoulder blade. He urges her body upwards to give him a perfect view of her chest from where he's sitting.
She hovers above him uncertainly and his mouth reunites with her left breast. He kisses the under swell purposefully before his tongue travels around the entire form and then settling against her hardening nipple. He swirls his tongue in clockwise circles. His lips capture the entirety of it in his mouth and he pleasures the other by kneading it with his thumb and forefinger.
Addison arches her back, giving into the sheer pleasure of the moment and forgetting about anything that would keep them apart. As he sucks and then bites down with just enough force for her to feel it, a shrill breath escapes from her throat. He pulls away momentarily wanting to see more of her.
But she has other plans. Addison scoots her body back to conceal her nakedness against his, their chests rubbing together in sync. She kisses the length of her neck. She allows her tongue to loll against his salty skin. And her hot breath against his flesh creates bumps along the edges of his skin and elicits a moan of growing elation from his throat. Her hands run down the length of his muscular chest, stopping at the waistline of his jeans. She takes her hand and cups the bulge, letting herself enjoy the way it feels.
He moans again and closes his eyes when she leans back to look at him deviously. Her right hand squeezes inside his pants and she strokes him through his boxers. Mark leans forward and presses his face in between her breasts, planting soft kisses there.
The ecstasy nearly takes them further, but in his decency Mark relaxes and allows his gaze to linger over her naked upper half.
She continues to stroke him through his underwear, completely unaware that his thoughts are very different than hers in that moment.
Every aspect of this Addison is more than appealing to him. He stares at her in awe while she returns a look of perplexity and frustration at his pause to admire her. "Wow," Mark venerates unnecessarily, running his hands over the slight curves of her upper body. "You are so beautiful," His hands stop at the flatness of her stomach and he notices a slight scar directly above her belly button.
She suddenly feels on display before him. The vulnerability of the moment dissipates any feeling of otherworldliness for her. Addison's body tenses and she flinches at the sincerity of his words.
She ambles out of his lap, bringing her arms up in front of her chest. Her feet land on the ground and she searches desperately for her bra, shirt and his own to cover up any traces of a ventured indiscretion. Shame stings her cheeks a rosy color and she wants nothing more than to run away.
"You need to go," Addison insists without a precursor. She tosses his shirt into his lap before slipping into her bra swiftly.
"What?" He doesn't understand her actions in this moment, but begins to flip his shirt right side out again.
"You need to go," She repeats again. Draping her blouse over her shoulders, Addison's fingers nimbly try to redo the buttons. "This is…so wrong."
Mark stands with the shirt in his hand and tries to reach for her. Sometimes he realizes that human contact is the only way to bring her back from the corners of her fragile mind. "Addie, look it's ok."
She flinches at his hand against her arm. "Don't try and make me feel better." Her eyes now lining with tears connect with his. Her voice crackles with strain and guilt racking inside of her chest. "This is wrong and you have to go because we shouldn't be doing this," She rationalizes evenly. It becomes clear the put together Addison is back; the one that would never let him make her feel so exposed.
He pulls the shirt over his head and feels at a loss for what to do. Her mercurial behavior doesn't illustrate his place in this sort of situation. "Addie I-" Mark's tone is apologetic and uneasily, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry if I did anything to offend you. It's just that…I think I'm falling-"
"Mark!" She interrupts fiercely. Her hands fly up to put the space between them forbidding him to approach her. She notices the severity of her voice and readjusts it; "We can't talk about this right now. We just can't."
"Well when then Addison?" He exhorts rigidly, towering over her due to the natural height difference between them. "Because as far as I'm concerned this isn't an isolated incident."
He's suddenly gotten her full attention. Addison purses her lips together and looks up at him intently and utterly bewildered through a film of blurry shapes and lines. "What are you talking about?" She mutters in a raspy tone.
"Look," His hand slowly maneuvers to her forearm, a false sense of reassurance. "I know things are different for us now. I know you can never look at me in the same way again."
She frowns but remains silent.
"But the truth is, I haven't been able to look at you as just his wife for a long while. I look at you and I can't stop thinking about how beautiful you are. And the fact that you are married doesn't even cross my mind. It's like…" He pauses and then lowers his voice, "…I'm falling for you."
The weight of his words hit her like a fall brick. She doesn't trust herself to say or do anything in response to this. She knows some abdominals sin will transpire, more so than it already has. She's not ready to completely abandon her marriage for the emotional confession he's bestowed upon her.
"You have to go," Her eyes drift away from him along with the volume of her voice.
But he's not letting her off the hook that easily. "I have to go or you want me to go?"
"Just go, Mark." She twists out of his grip until her arm is free. Her expression meets his again as they disconnect. Regret and guilt etch their ugly selves in her smooth crème skin and tormented emerald orbs.
Mark doesn't move despite her half-hearted protests.
"Please," She practically begs to be left alone to nurse her wounds, which run much deeper than she cares to admit to him. "I already feel terrible about this. Can you please...just leave?"
He suddenly feels ashamed because he doesn't have a right to ask anything from her. She's married to his best friend. And Mark's feelings for her cannot undo the vows she once took.
Nodding in agreement Mark passes her and heads to the doorway. But on his way out the door he stops for a moment. She watches him, not saying anything. He turns his head back to glance at her. Something occurs to him and he tries to put her at ease. "You shouldn't feel this terrible about something that didn't really happen, Addie. It's not like we actually slept together."
"Mark, it doesn't matter," She tucks a strand of red behind her ear. "It's still coveting. It's a sin." Addison shrugs.
His brow wrinkles and pale grey eyes narrow, "Since when did you become religious?"
"I'm not. I just…I know it's wrong." She offers weakly.
"Well it's a good thing I'm never right then."
Addison opens to her mouth reply but finds herself at a loss of how to respond. Luckily for her, her fallen angel fills the silence with three words. And although they are completely wrong in every sense, it is enough to keep her emotions for him tucked away.
"I covet you."
For now, he can walk away from her as he points out their misdeed and acknowledges it as unspeakable. However the problem is rooted deep within temptation. A feeling that still lingers within his heart next to the image of a stunning redhead, whom he can never claim for his own.