Case solved. Supermodel was…still hot, just disturbing. House walked down the hospital corridor, eyeing Cameron as he walked past her. She called after him quietly, "What? Looking to see if I'm completely female?"
He stopped and quirked an eyebrow. "Are you?"
"Well…guess you'll never know for sure." She flashed him an ironic little smile as she walked away.
"I've seen your records, remember?"
"Records can be falsified. You taught me how," she tossed over her shoulder, anger in her walk as she remembered when he had done that. To find out if she had had a baby. Bastard.
Rubbing his chin, he pondered briefly, then dismissed it. He reached his office and sat in his chair. She was too much on the straight and narrow to do something like that. Although…he leaned back, eyes closed, and remembered other things she had said.
Because I asked what kind of sex could kill you?
So, a woman can't express her interest in sex without it being some professional power play?
Do you always use a condom?
His words reverberated in his head. Who doesn't sleep with a drugged-out colleague when they have a chance?
He felt himself getting hard and sat up straight, staring at his desk. What the fuck?
You're not over Stacy. This is just reaction. Rebound. Shake it off.
Except…he couldn't. He still remembered Cameron's quiet, heart-wrenching words: I thought you were too screwed up to love anyone. I was wrong. You just couldn't love me. It's okay.I'm happy for you.
Since when did it matter what she thought?
He began rubbing his leg again and grimaced. Cuddy would have to stick another needle in him.
x - x - x
A fucking placebo?? She—she—
His thoughts bordered on black misery as he hefted the glass of scotch and downed the contents. Cuddy thought this pain was fucking psychological? He slammed the glass down and ran his hand down his thigh with a trembling hand. And suddenly, Cameron danced in front of his eyes.
"You'll never know," she singsonged as she walked away.
Like hell.
He grabbed his cane and headed out the door.
x - x - x
Cameron had walked miles on her treadmill. Miles. And rage still coursed through her veins. When would she learn that she couldn't win a sparring match with House? How many times before she gave up?
She adjusted the speed, slowing the machine's tread. It was time to cool down. Normally she wouldn't be on the treadmill in the evening, it got her too revved to sleep, but the adrenaline was still pumping and her legs continued to stride, going nowhere.
Finally she stepped off and wiped her face. Going nowhere. Maybe she should quit. Oh wait, tried that already.
She shook her head at herself and gulped some water. She was pathetic, pining for someone who didn't care, someone who tried to break up his ex-girlfriend's marriage to get her back. That was passion. She? She had nothing.
A sudden pounding at her door made her heart speed up again. She knew that sound. What was he doing here? She flung a towel around her neck and walked to answer it, feeling déjà vu cast a surreal pall over the room.
Cameron opened the door. House stood there. "Let me in."
"Why?"
"Let me in or I'll yell until your neighbors call the cops."
"That won't get you in if you're being arrested." But she opened the door and allowed him to sweep past her. She could smell the alcohol and wondered why she had to be mother hen instead of hot supermodel. Ugh. Best not to go there.
"You got something to drink?"
"Smells like you've already had enough."
He raised his eyebrows at that. "You do have zippy comebacks." His eyes dropped to her sports bra and he noted the stiffening nipples with interest.
She flushed. "It's my house and I'm off the clock. I can say anything I want here. Are you sure you want to be around for that?"
"I have no problem with that." His eyes dropped lower to the waistband of her sweatpants and below, before rising leisurely up her body again. His eyes, hooded, sensuous, gazed into hers.
"House, I think you'd better leave."
"So you're all talk? All those times you said sexually provocative things in front of me and the boys, was that just to prove you could match us?"
"No!" She stepped back and he followed. She lifted a hand to stop him from coming closer and then considered. "Actually, I was saying what I meant. No games. That's your department."
"Really?" He leaned a bit more heavily on his cane for leverage and pulled on her wrist, making her stumble against him. Even so, she avoided his bad leg.
"Considerate Cameron. Compassionate Cameron. Anymore C's in your name?" His breath wafted over her lips.
"You're drunk."
"I'm in pain."
She jerked free and stepped back while he tottered, trying to regain his balance. "Fine. You're drunk and in pain. What do you want here?"
"It seems…" he paused and stared at her with that look he had perfected, the one that made her shiver. "It seems I want you."
"Right. You short for cash? Need a loan?"
"Oooh, bitchy."
"Yeah, that's me. I'm a bitch. Now leave. How many times do I have to say it?"
"Just once—when you mean it." He strode past her and headed down the hallway, ignoring her huff of exasperation.
"Where are you going?" she called after him. "That's not the bathroom."
"Nope. Bedroom." He walked in and sat down on the bed.
She stared at him from the doorway. "What are you doing?"
"Sitting. Come sit next to me." He patted the space. Numbly, she sat, feeling the heat from his leg touching hers, and shivered again when his hand pulled the band off her ponytail and ran his fingers through her hair. She sat perfectly still as he swept the hair off one shoulder and leaned down to nip gently at her neck.
Then she was off the bed and standing away from him, eyes wide, body trembling. "That's what you need? A distraction?"
"Yes."
Suddenly, staring into his wounded eyes, the thought leapt into her head: Everybody lies.
She pulled off her sports bra and approached the bed. But instead of sitting next to him again, she knelt between his legs and breathed into the apex of his jeans. She heard him gasp and peered up, a sly smile dancing around her eyes.
His mouth was slack, his eyes half closed, and she placed her mouth over the spot again, breathing into the material, and was gratified to hear a tiny moan.
"Lie back."
He obeyed, popping the buttons of his jeans and pulling down the zip. She pulled off his sneakers and he raised his hips and lay passively while she pulled off the jeans and threw them in a corner.
"Hey, expensive!"
"Shut up." She straddled him, pressing against his erection and he groaned again.
"Forgot to remove something?" He clutched the blanket in his fist, gesturing towards his boxer briefs.
"Oh, did you want those off? I kinda like them on." She pressed against him again and he gripped her hips.
"Cameron, I'm not gonna last much longer if you keep doing that." His hands tugged at her sweats and he dipped inside and used his thumb to graze her clit and she jerked.
"Problem?" He grinned.
"Not at all." She got up and pulled off the rest of his clothes while he continued grinning at her. Then she stripped and stood there. Her expression changed, a mixture of lust and indecision.
He sat up and offered his hand. "Cameron. Come here." When she didn't move, he scooted off the bed and limped to her, invading her space until they stood skin to skin, arms wrapped loosely around each other's bodies. He pressed her closer and she gasped as she felt his cock trapped between them, hard and long. His hand cupped one ass cheek and he squeezed, then dipped a finger in the crease between until he trailed it up her back. His eyebrows raised as he realized she had pressed into his finger and he grew even harder at the thought.
"Back door action?" he murmured into her ear.
"Just—fingers—" she gasped against his chest. A blush started up her body and he squeezed her other ass cheek before stepping away from the hug.
She stood there in a haze of lust and embarrassment.
He shook his head at her. "I'm supposed to be the embarrassed one, cripple and all."
She caught the thread of his own insecurity, and confidence flooded back. "Ah, but you're the hot, sexy doctor with major tongue action."
"Major tongue action? Who told you that?"
"Wilson."
His jaw dropped in astonishment at her joke and she took full advantage, bending his head forward and thrusting her tongue inside his mouth. She sucked hard on his tongue, one hand kneading the back of his neck and the other kneading the muscles of his lower back, and smiled triumphantly when he pulled away and spun her to the bed.
"Hands and knees," he ordered.
She crawled onto the edge of the bed, her back facing him, and he thrust his hand between her legs, testing her wetness. He almost collapsed at how ready she was. He let two fingers fuck her gently while she groaned and begged in a breathless voice, "House," and then he replaced his fingers with his cock and she almost screamed in relief at the fullness in a place that had been empty for too long.
He clutched her hips and then balanced to reach around and stroke her clit while thrusting in and out. As he felt her spasm against his thumb, he wet the finger of his other hand and rimmed the small puckered hole of her ass.
She screamed then, arching, and it was sensory overload for him, her spasms, her willingness, her need for him wrapped up in electricity, and he came hard, jerking as spurts of his come released itself inside her. Then he collapsed beside her and she dropped flat, panting heavily.
He rolled onto his side and she faced him, sweat covering her body in a satiny sheen.
"Okay?" He had to know.
"Jesus, House." She laughed, more breath than sound and cupped his face with her small hand. She leaned in and kissed him softly, soothingly, and he allowed her gentle touch to wash over him.
"Stay." She stroked his chest. "There's always round two later."
He nodded, his eyes closed, and she tugged the blanket to cover them and then shivered with delight when he huddled close. He whispered something and she leaned closer to catch it.
"You're a girl, you are."