Apparently when you awake your sleeping smut muse, she won't give you peace for a while. So here it is. Something new. I never wrote angst before, so it was a big challenge for me.
The challenge and the prompt was given to me by the one and only Kadi912. Honey, I hope you will like it and it will meet at least half of your expectations. This is for you.
Thanks to my beta Anne, I know this one was a hardship, sorry! Any mistakes are mine!
And kate04us brainstorming with you was amazing, we need to try that more often. So much love! Thank you.
The absolutely fantastic and hot as sin cover was made by my dear friend Jules aka anonymouspebble isn't it great?
Another song is written somewhere in between the lines. :)
Enjoy!
The dim light of the first sun's rays was shyly entering Sharon's bedroom. She lay on her stomach, face turned towards the window, the warmth of the weak dawn was gently caressing her cheeks. Her naked figure was covered from a waist down with soft satin sheets. Her eyes fluttered but didn't open, the comforting slumber was slowly fading away even as she tried to resist. Before she could fully slip from Morpheus' arms, Sharon knew something was odd.
Not quite focused, alert to the chill, a shiver ran down her spine. Her hand instinctively moved to the other side of the bed. Her movement was light, keeping in mind her lover was sleeping next to her.
Except he wasn't. That was odd. Yes, that was very odd indeed.
Then she felt it: her cold skin, like an ice cube, dry and sharp. The unpleasant sensation of waking up this way made her grimace. When they were sharing her bed, the comforter or blankets were out of the question. His hot body would boil underneath it, and since his warmth would envelop her, she never had to worry about awaking to this kind of unpleasant cold. He would embrace her tightly, almost trapping her in his arms so she wouldn't slip away from him. She didn't mind. His firm and solid frame kept her centered; when the day made her emotions spin, this man found a way to keep her steady.
At first, she'd tried to resist him. This kind of closeness made her restless, left her wriggling in bed almost the whole night. She would gladly escape, spend a night on the couch or in Rusty's room when he was out. She would gladly avoid falling over the cliff of infinite intimacy with him.
Andy was patient, not in a hurry. His eyes soothed her every time, the scent of his skin would overwhelm her, and his warmth would chase away her frozen worries.
The light breeze in the room and the empty bed were proof he was the reason she'd woke up cold and lonely.
Sharon slowly rolled over to his side of the bed, burying her face in his pillow. The outline of his head was still imprinted on the fabric, but his heat had dissipated. Her expression relaxed when she breathed in the soft, musky fragrance that lingered. The scent of him.
She took her time opening her eyes, but finally glanced at the watch on the night stand. She had to blink twice to gain full focus. It was odd - even for him - to be up so early in the morning. Her eyes wandered through the room. His shirt was dropped on the dresser; his pants lay on the floor. She quietly sighed. At least he hadn't left.
With some effort, she pushed herself up, her legs swinging down from the mattress until her feet landed on something smooth. She picked up his tie from the floor. Her eyes sparkled and half way smile lit her face. This item was fundamental to last night's play. This man could keep her warm, steady and entertained, but he liked to play.
She trusted him. Maybe a bit too much. But when he whispered his wants and needs, boldly anticipating her response, she couldn't help but obey. She allowed the blind fold, and let him guide her through his land of fantasy.
Sharon walked slowly towards the dresser and his crumpled dark cobalt shirt. She caressed the fabric, thinking how she liked his outfit from last night: dark jeans, dark shirt, gray silky tie and the leather jacket.
After dinner, they had taken a slow walk down the beach. The wind had been strong, so he'd placed his jacket on her shoulders. She didn't protest. She wrapped herself tightly inside, enjoying the mix of his aftershave and the scent of the leather. It was almost sensual; it made her giddy. That's why she enfolded herself in his shirt now, to find shelter from the chill of his absence.
From the corner of her eyes she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. The electric color of the shirt was a contrast to her alabaster skin. Her thighs were barely covered, but since they were alone in the house there was no need to put on anything else.
Slowly Sharon clasped two button of his shirt and ran her hand through her tangled hair. Her eyes searched for a clip on the dresser, then she tried to pin it up. The locks were unruly, falling on her face, totally unmanageable at 4:45 in the morning, especially while still groggy from sleep.
The glow coming from under her door drew her attention. She stepped out into the corridor and almost groaned at the brightness of the light. The house was silent, but she could hear some noises coming from the kitchen. Her bare feet didn't make a sound as she calmly entered the kitchen where her lover was busy… cooking.
Odd.
She arched one brow and leaned on the refrigerator door. Her legs crossed at the ankles and her arms tightly in front of her. She watched him for a moment. His movements were hurried. There was way too much energy in every task he completed. She exhaled loudly, trying to get his attention. He couldn't hear her; the sound of running water masked her sighs.
From the look of her kitchen bar and what littered the surface, she could predict Andy was in the mood for a quiche. The thin lay of dough was already in the pan, the eggs and cheese were mixed together in a bowl nearby, waiting to be added. He roughly peeled the veggies, not with a peeler. Oh no. He was using knife, oddly enough. And then he started to chop them, the sound of the sharp blade in contact with the wood board was loud, breaking the quiet with the harsh reverberation.
She saw the force and vigor with which he sliced the poor greenery. The muscles of his arm flexed, and the knife hit the board hard, every time. It was clear something was bothering him. He was taking out his frustrations on the vegetables.
Andy was struggling.
Even though his back was toward her, she caught a glimpse of his profile and his serious expression worried her. His brow was furrowed; his lips were pressed in a thin line with a toothpick held firmly between them. His eyes were intense, focused on the task of tormenting the vegetables.
Her stomach dropped. She wasn't used to seeing him like this, at least not at home.
His jaw clenched forcefully, his teeth grinding the toothpick. For a moment she thought he was trying to break that little chunk of wood into tiny pieces.
With wet hands, he opened the cabinet door above his head and reached for an aluminum bowl. His jerky movements and slippery palms caused the bowl to fall in to the sink with a loud crash that only metal against metal can create. She jumped at the unexpected noise and frowned at the thought that something in the sink could be broken.
"Shit" he groaned harshly under his breath, hurrying to ensure there was no damage.
She saw him relax and sighed with relief. But only for a brief moment. The tension in his posture quickly returned and his eyes grew dark as pitch.
Concerned she moved from the refrigerator and walked toward him. Sharon was trying not to startle him, carefully moving to his side. He saw her shadow approaching but made no move to acknowledge her presence.
He wasn't wearing a shirt; Andy was wearing only his black boxers. Sharon placed her palm on his neck, her forearm falling along the bare skin between his shoulder blades. The first light touch made every muscle of his body contract. He grew taut as his flesh burned beneath her touch. The blood pounded through his veins, and she traced his pulse, trying to sooth this vital vein.
He didn't move. His still, rigid posture leaned slightly forward and his hands tightly gripped the rim of the kitchen counter. She felt his heart pounding in his chest, and she scanned his body, genuinely worried as she focused on his face that was starting to turn a shade of red.
"Andy," she whispered, hesitation audible in her voice. He was silent.
Her hand caressed his shoulder, moving to his arm where she squeezed it in comfort.
"What happened?" she asked.
He stepped back from her, putting space between them.
"Nothing," he said carelessly. "Go back to bed."
Of course it was nothing. Cooking at 4 am was normal, not odd at all.
She shook her head at his dismissive tone, and when he completely moved away from her, the frustration was showing on her face.
Without even looking at her, he moved away. But he was determined to complete the quiche, passing in front of her several times, ignoring her. His simmering anger and brewing irritation increased her frustration.
"Why are you not in bed?" she asked, crossing her arms in front of her. The urge to put her hands in her pockets, to protect and defend, was strong. She suddenly wished she'd at least put on some shorts.
He was restless, mixing greens with eggs and focused on the task, never raising his head.
"I'm cooking." The response was more a groan then a clear answer.
"I can see that." Now, she was utterly irritated with his attitude. "But why?"
"Couldn't sleep," he snapped. "You should go back to bed."
Back to abrupt answers and deflections.
She sighed. This man could be absolutely impossible. His usually left his attitude at work, where his hot head was tolerable. She never saw him like this at home, angry and unsettled. It worried her. Sharon decided to push him.
"Not until you tell me what is going on."
"Nothing is going on," he reassured her somewhat absently as he added shredded parmesan to the quiche.
He was still avoiding her gaze and she was getting more and more impatient.
"Andy!"
He shook his head at her and grabbed the pan, moving towards the oven. When the dish was placed carefully inside, he slammed the door with force and turned toward her.
"Fine!" he said, his voice harsh. "If you must know, your husband kept waking me up."
He turned to the sink and started to clean the used utensils. She blinked few times, confused and trying to understand what he meant.
"What are you talking about?" she asked him to clarify.
"Your phone kept buzzing," he said. "I thought we must have a new case, so I looked at the LED and his name popped up."
It still didn't make any sense. Yes, Andy was a jealous man, but he never got this worked up about her husband. They talked about Jack, but only when it was necessary. The conversations usually upset her. She would always seek refuge in Andy's arms, her safe place.
"I don't understand," she murmured quietly, sitting on the bar stool.
He tensed again, his posture changing as he shook his head.
How could he help her understand? Hell, he didn't even understand. How could he explain everything that was on his mind without sounding like an insecure teenager?
Her phone had been buzzing and there was no way he could get back to sleep. Even worse, he was lying there, holding her in his arms while ugly thoughts invaded his head. Jack wouldn't leave her alone; he was like a dog with a bone. He came and left as he pleased, even though she didn't love him anymore. That was clear to Andy. But there was still this connection between them, some invisible draw. The divorce was near, but it couldn't come soon enough. So, in the dark of the night, he was left fighting demons, and it was hard. It was so fucking hard.
He'd tried to get back to sleep, but then he'd looked at her sleeping so peacefully in his embrace and his heart ached. What if one day she woke up and had enough of it, enough of him, of them. It was just matter of time. He was an idiot, and with Jack hovering around them, it was only natural she would think she might be repeating history, she might realize he was a bad choice. And he was a bad choice for her. He had nothing to offer but his love. Would that be enough? He shook his head again and sighed with defeat.
"Andy," she looked at him, rising from the chair and taking a step toward him.
He tilted his head and finally let his eyes meet hers.
She was simply amazing. Her hair was messy, the locks dancing on her face. His shirt looked so good on her. The sparkling green of her eyes was filled with concern.
Andy took a few steps toward her and his hands landed on her waist. He inhaled her scent.
"I'm sorry," he murmured. "I'm an idiot."
He paused for a moment, leaning toward her, his nose touching her cheek. He buried his face in her neck and drew her closer with more force than she liked.
"I'm just not good at sharing."
His husky voice vibrated against her skin and his breath tickled the spot below her earlobe. A wave of heat enveloped her, covering her from head to toe. The cold forgotten, the loneliness abolished. When his hands slowly traveled up her sides and across her ribcage, a soft noise escaped her throat. He swallowed the sound with his own lips.
She parted her lips just enough to captured his, but his demanding tongue wouldn't wait for her sweet taste. He slipped between her lips and with determination started, stole her every breath, absorbed every little noise she elicited. It was a battle. His tongue stroked her teeth. When he touched the roof of her mouth, she let out a whimper and tangled her tongue around him, her ardor matching his vigor. Sharon trembled against him, and when need for air became too much, she moved her lips along his jaw, her fingers digging into the nape of his neck.
He moved his lips over her, a smug grin on his face as he listened to her heavy breathing.
He traced the arms covered by his shirt and laced their fingers together. With a few steps, she was pressed between his hot flesh and the cold fridge.
The loud bang as her back was pushed against the door was nothing compared to the hiss she made when he pinned her hands above her head in a tight grip. The shirt rose higher and their bare thighs met. At the contact, he situated himself more firmly against her and claimed her lips again. This time slowly and softly, with less pressure on her mouth so she could breath and he could savor.
Her wrists were crossed, trapped within his one hand as the other started to explore. He didn't rush. Andy's fingers crept behind her head and released her hair clip. The brown locks fell along the side of her face, through his fingers and along his hand. He tilted her head and looked her deeply in the eyes.
"I really, really, don't want to share you."
She nodded faintly. Without losing eye contact, she arched her back, her navel touching his stomach, seeking for more body unity, for more heat. He placed his forehead on her cheek and inhaled her scent as two fingers traced her neck down to her collarbone and lower. When they reached the first button, she moaned and writhed against him. The grip on her wrist tightened.
The first button was undone and he sucked on the skin of her neck, twisting his lips upon it. Yes, he wanted to mark her, to claim her as his own.
She whimpered in pain, but when his tongue soothed the spot, she closed her eyes and rested her head on the refrigerator door. She submitted to his claim, offering herself to him.
Her satisfaction and submission didn't go unnoticed. He opened the second button and revealed her cleavage, keeping her soft mounds hidden to tease them both.
He lightly touched her breast making her nipple spike and push at the fabric. He teased her until he was certain she'd shatter from the sheer need for him.
"You are mine," he whispered in her ear. His voice was coarse and heavy with possessive intent. She hummed and with a little force tried to break free of his hold. She needed to touch him. In fact, she ached for him.
Andy's fingers began a slow journey of discovery, unveiling skin and exploring each crevice and hollow revealed. He dipped into the hollow of her breast and slid lower, making a circle around her belly button before making the return trip to her breast. He did that twice, taunting her, igniting a fire beneath her skin. She shivered and felt the strike of arousal coiling in her core.
He felt it on a primal level and growled beneath his breath. He was going to claim her body. Now, and there was no way he would let her go. Ever.
His nose followed the path of his fingers, stopping at her cleavage. He uncovered one of her breasts and his wet mouth traced the areola, flipped the hard nipple with his tongue, and sucked. She gasped. Held her breath. For a moment she wanted to stop him, to demand he end this divine torture.
His voice distracted her.
"You hear me," he said, moving to the other breast and giving it equal attention. Her stomach muscles contracted when he took the other nipple between his lips.
"I put a spell on you," he mumbled against her swollen pebble.
His mouth moved down tracing her curves as his teeth dug mercilessly in her skin. He nibbled and sucked, marking her again and again.
"Because you are mine."
Sharon wriggled with more strength and effort this time. Her hands slipped out from his grasp and slid through his hair. She grabbed him by his neck and tugged him up to her mouth.
Their lips clung together as her palms touched his back. Her pelvic arched, and her leg wrapped around him. She teased him with her readiness. Two could play this game. She would make sure he was as awash with need as she was brimming with desire.
She rubbed against him, enjoying the feel of his hard member through his underwear.
His hands moved under the shirt she was wearing and around to her back. She moaned as he pulled her flush against him, a sweet sensation traveling through her spine and landing in her gut.
She cupped his strong rear and felt the muscles of his buttocks flex. She tugged at the waistband of his boxers and he pressed her so ruthlessly against the fridge that she felt dizzy.
Sharon wanted him bare and hard.
She quickly peeled the black boxers of him. His fingers frantically explored; she arched into him. Her breasts grazed the furry skin of his torso, but her hands had other plans. They were seeking his solid length.
He grabbed her thigh and lifted it. The pulse and tick of her hand almost drove him mad as she caressed him with her thumb. The head of his shaft was glistening, straining for release.
Their eyes met and when she rose on the ball of her feet, he propped himself beneath her. They shared a sloppy, wet kiss as he drove into her, filling her, jarring her with his complete possession.
The rocking motion started; their faces close, sealed to one another. Each and every sound emitted vibrated through them, intensified by their passion. The sensual rhythm was uneven, off beat. Their bodies weren't moving in union, but that was the beauty of it. They both were seeking, battling for the pleasure that could be gained on their own terms, through their own strength.
The shirt was sweaty, moist with the heat of lust. She wanted to take it off but he wouldn't let her. He wanted her just like that. Hot, wet, soft and willing. She was his and he in that moment would gladly lock her away from the whole world.
When her cries grew frantic and she desperately sought the fulfillment only he could bring, he increased the pace, pushed deeper and harder. He knew exactly how she needed him. Her body kept no secrets.
His hand slipped down between them, his finger circled her center, igniting the sensitive nerves. She clung to him. Her thigh wrapped firmly around his as she felt her release just within her grasp. When the final shattering explosion came, he held her in his arms, enjoying the musical sound of her pleasure.
Andy continued to pound into her in a rapid, frenzied pursuit of his own satisfaction. Sharon traced the shell of his ear and breathlessly said: "I'm only yours."
His response was a guttural groan when his blissful agony ended and he melted in her embrace.
Both panting heavily and finally in sync, they remained in each other's arms. They shared long languid kisses filled with mutual gratification. He gently stroked her hip and thighs in a steady rhythm that eased the remaining tension.
She massaged the small of his back where the muscles still contracted.
They were only brought back to reality by a ding from her oven indicating the dish was finished cooking. With a boyish grin and a raised eyebrow, he gazed at her, looking deep into her eyes as he asked: " So, you wanna snack?"
She snorted, shaking her head and kissed him before he left her arms to take care of the quiche, the second snack of the morning.
There was no doubt this man was impossible. He could keep her steady, but he could also make her tremble with desire.
Yes, she was his…and she knew the sentiment was mutual.
Thank you.
Happy ShandySunday everyone!