Around her she was aware only of the light spilling through his sliding glass door and the moonlight cutting swaths across the grass. The air was warm, but not as warm as his hands on her skin.
He smelled of missions, still, dressed in the dark black clothing he favored when he was a ghost. He tasted darker and more dangerous than she remembered.
The ground beneath her feet felt fluid, like something she could sink into, so she clung to him with a neediness that both surprised and irritated her. His mouth was on her neck, she could feel his lips, teeth and tongue working over the cords there. He was hard against her belly and she writhed against him to get closer, to feel more.
With his hands he demanded from her, with his mouth, he took from her. She liked that what was happening wasn't soft and sweet – she didn't need that from him, didn't want it. Not this time, not after the months of saying and thinking and doing some of the dirtiest things she could imagine. She reveled in the way his fingertips bit into her flesh.
He insinuated a thigh between her legs and she ground herself down on it immediately, seeking something to keep her from spiraling out into the ether on the brink of pleasure. His hands smoothed down her body to grip her hips and hold her to him. His honorific was torn from her lips with a broken sound that spurred him on.
His hands were behind her, under her, and she found herself on her back in the grass, staring up at the moon as his lips skirted her collarbone. His fingers made quick work of the buttons on her blouse and then he yanked the tails out of her jeans. He bunched her shirt impatiently as he pushed it from her body and made a frustrated sound when his mouth encountered the edge of her lace bra.
She forced herself up enough to reach behind her and unclasp the garment and he pulled it away from her with force. Soon she was topless in the moon- and incandescent-light, his lips wrapped around one nipple and his hand palming her other breast. She wrapped her hand around the forearm of the arm that was supporting him, his hand pressed into the ground. The feel of the tight, well cut muscle made her loose and wet.
She buried one hand in his hair as his mouth traveled down her torso and she fisted the silken strands when he dipped his tongue into her belly button. He nipped at the skin of her flat belly and then sat up on his heels and looked at her with a dark, expectant glint in his eye.
She reached for the button of her jeans and he nodded. As she undid her trousers, he yanked his shirt over his head. The glint of his dogtags in the moonlight sidelined her. She pushed her pants over her hips, hooking her thumbs in the waistband of her underwear, and tossed both to the side after kicking her shoes off in a fit of pique when she realized she couldn't get naked fast enough.
He surveyed her slowly in a way that made her feel almost self conscious until she placed the look in his eyes as hunger. With the toes of one foot, she prodded at his distended fly and listened for the choked sound he made in the back of his throat at the stimulation. The move prompted him into action and he shucked the black uniform pants and his jockey shorts faster than she would have thought possible for a man on bad knees.
She sat up, watched as his eyes dropped to her breasts, then let her own gaze trail down his body to tangle with the hard column of flesh that stood out from his body. She felt her body coil tightly in anticipation. With one hand at the back of his head she drew his mouth to hers. She pressed her lithe body against his, trapping his cock between them as she thrust her tongue into his mouth. He made that sound again, in the back of his throat, and she smiled against his mouth.
She reached down between them and wrapped a hand around him. Not to be outdone he reached around behind her and palmed at her ass, letting his fingers nestle into the slit between her legs. She gasped as she felt his fingers slide against her, through her wetness and he chuckled lowly and darkly; her stomach clenched in answer.
The world tilted as he maneuvered her back down onto the grass, one hand behind her head, the other between her legs, his fingers dancing across her clit before sliding down and into her without ceremony. She moaned long, and low. She licked her lips, in search of his taste. Then the moonlight was glinting off his silver hair in the same way it had his dog tags, only his head was dipping down between her spread thighs.
The first flicker of his tongue against her skin was like unspooling. He lapped at her moist flesh gently, almost reverently until she buried her fingers in his hair. The feel of her fingers gripping at the strands must have spurred him on. He nipped at the soft, sensitive flesh and then found her clit with his lips. He sucked first pulling her into a whirling spiral of pleasure that left her gasping for breath. Then he assaulted her with his tongue.
It went on and on until she felt tears gathering in her eyes at the pleasure of it all. But in that moment, just before she tipped over the precipice, he pulled back, surged up her body and kissed her, tongue slicking against her own, leaving the evidence of her arousal on her own tastebuds.
Then with a roll of his hips and the help of one hand, he slid inside her. She was wet and her body was willing so he met with no resistance. She felt every ridge of him, every vein, she was so tuned in to his body and the way it spoke to hers.
He planted his knees between hers and his thrusts turned heavy and hypnotic and he pushed into her over and over again. She looked up to find his eyes intense on hers, dark, dark in the low light. It was like every moment they'd had leading up to this had been digging its way down deep into the untapped part of him and he was pushing his darkness into her one roll of his hips after another. And she drank it down.
She wrapped an arm around him, the other anchoring her to the earth, and pressed her hand into his shoulder blade to bind him to her. His harsh exhalations made her bangs flutter against her forehead and the skin behind her ears tingle. And as her body fought its way to the edge of pleasure his thrusts were more all the time, more than she had been prepared for, but exactly what she needed.
In the dark of his backyard she yielded to him, stretched out across his plush grass she turned liquid for him. She bathed his cock in her pleasure and let the sound of her body breaking slowly soothe his battered psyche.
Her climax hit her like a freight train she saw coming and yet couldn't fully prepare for. Her back arched, her heels dug into the ground, her fingers clenched and she shook with a violence she could never remember feeling before. Her voice was quiet, his ear next to her lips to catch the small sounds of her pleasure, her body using all its available resources to stay conscious rather than to make sound.
When she was aware again, she could feel him still hard inside her. She hitched her thighs up on his hips and tilted her pelvis to maximize his pleasure. He started moving slowly at first and then his thrusts picked up speed before losing rhythm entirely.
As he spilled inside her – she imagined she could feel it – he groaned her surname long and low. It made her nipples tighten in response, the familiar name on his lips with the unfamiliar tone. And she realized that they were both a little messed up despite how right all this had felt because he'd been Sir and she'd been Carter despite everything they'd been through together over the last months, despite the times she'd moaned his name when it had come right down to it, he couldn't have been anything other than Sir.
As he pulled out of her she could feel the way the evidence of what they'd done spilled out of her body and onto the grass.
She was grateful to have him home, finally, the missions over, complete. She knew what had happened between them was inevitable while at the same time, reward.
He hovered over her, his hip pressing into hers. "Welcome home," she said, a sultry sound in her voice that told them both she wasn't finished with him yet.