Author's note: Utterly plot-less and nearly inexcusable. I don't know what's gotten into me and this is most certainly worthy of its rating. Please read and, if you can escape your blushing, review.
Disclaimer: None of the characters herein belong to me, they are the property of Disney and Meg Cabot, and I make no monetary gain from writing.
Straight Answers
He knows the risks, he repeats them to himself in a list of endless punishments and panics. But right now, as he watches her pass into the shards of moonlight that invade her bedroom, the list fragments and becomes an abstract concept that is so far away from now. She stops there, framed by moonlight and darkness and he feels his body stir.
Maybe, at this age, his body shouldn't stir like that.
"Do you want me to leave?"
He asks into the darkness, knowing that her answer will please him. She eyes his meticulously folded clothing on the dresser chair. He wonders what she thinks of him, standing there, totally brazen. Then she touches the rich cotton sheets. Her nails are still red, unusually, matching her dress from earlier in the evening. She never wears the colour, there's something irreverent about it she once told him, so he supposes it suits this moment, this night. He tried so hard to just go to bed, to read, to have a whiskey and fall asleep. But he couldn't and for that, he wouldn't apologise again.
"No," she shakes her head, loosens the belt of her robe.
"I am sorry..." he watches her as a desperate smile slides onto her face, "It's been so long without you."
"Did anyone see you?"
He knows his voice is strong, "No."
She smiles again, despite herself, "We can't go on like this."
"Don't," he insists, "Don't. Not tonight."
"Alright," she drops her robe to the floor.
His breath catches in his throat as her own hands splay out across her flat stomach. He feels the motion as if it's his own; the soft, gentle rise of it below his palms, the prickle of flesh as she shudders under her own touch.
"I couldn't stop looking at you, tonight, with that dress…"
"I know," she kneels on the bed, and her skin is honey-coloured in the moonlight, "But this needs to stop."
He thinks of the red satin, rustling in the limo when his hand went to her thigh, and how she wore it with such baffling confidence. He'd not seen her in red for years.
"Do you have any suggestions about how I stop?" He splays his fingers out against her soft stomach too, mimicking her actions from moments before.
"I'm the Queen," she groans, as if in pain, when his fingers move downward, "I should have you banished…"
He kneels up and pushes the sheets away to the bottom of the huge bed, so that it is just them and their breathing and the secretive moonlight.
"Joseph," she breathes as he pulls her neck towards his mouth and starts on the soft flesh there. Underneath his hands her skin shivers, almost as if she's reacting against her will.
"Clarisse?"
"You should not be here," she tips her neck back, allowing him better access to her collarbones and shoulders, which he devours as if he has never done so before.
"So you keep saying," he says gently, relishing the moan that has escaped her lips, "You see…you think it can be just once. Just once…and it cannot be just once. We've failed at this, we really have."
"It is so…"
"So?"
"Such…a…risk," she is losing this battle as he gently pushes her back so her head is towards the bottom of the bed and he is lying fully on top of her.
"Give in," he whispers as her hand finds his and their fingers wrap together.
He has her now. He has her fully and entirely for the few hours she'll give in to him in her bed. Then he'll sneak out before Clarisse leaves and the queen wakes up. He has her body in his hands but more importantly he's in her head, he's in her eyes now.
Her pulse is quickening.
"You are so convincing," she whispers.
"You love that about me," he says, stating a fact.
"I do," she moans as he trails a hot tongue across her ribs.
"The first time…" he groans, kissing a trail towards her naval, "The first time wasn't half as good as now. You're more…"
"Desperate?"
She gasps as he parts her thighs with a firm hand.
He lifts his head, "No, confident."
Her hand flies encouragingly to his head and she cries out, uninhibited, as he sets about his task diligently. She wraps her soft thighs around his neck and he's suddenly validated in his crime. She wants this, even though she lies that she doesn't.
"Once," he reminds her as he climbs back up minutes later, her cries still ringing in his ears, "You wouldn't let me do that."
She is panting heavily and she is trembling, she's biting her lip. He feels powerful.
"Joseph," she whispers, "Don't make me beg."
He grins as she pushes him over so he is on his back and she straddles him, her breath still uneven.
"Was that worth it?"
He nods, "Breaking in? For that?"
He wants to touch her but her arms are pinning him to the bed.
She bows her head to kiss him.
"What do you think?"
He wriggles his hips to encourage her but she's preoccupied, or teasing, he can't tell.
"I think I like straight answers."
"I love you," he growls.
She smiles and moves against him, "Yes, that's straight enough."
Her laugh, and his, seems louder then, less secretive, less guilty. He shouldn't have done it, he knows, but any risk is always worth it to see her so undone and so…his.
So, what did you think?