Disclaimer: All the characters unfortunately belong to GF Neumann.
A/N: I may write more spin off stories for this series, I may not. Please review if you read. Smile!
A couple of days later, when George finally simmered down enough to go and check on John, just to make sure he was all right, she couldn't help but wonder how she was supposed to help him. He was obviously going through a serious mental and emotional patch of going off the rails, and all because of Little Miss Oxfam. As she drove towards John's flat, George couldn't help but wonder if Jo knew the true extent to the hurt she had undoubtedly caused John in agreeing to marry this surgeon. George doubted it, as Jo hadn't ever given any significant consideration for anyone's feelings but her own where she and John were concerned. Perhaps it was time Little Miss Oxfam was told a few home truths about the way she was treating John, but that would have to come later.
As she rang John's doorbell, she vaguely wondered if he might have some other female in attendance, which considering his current behaviour would certainly not be beyond the bounds of possibility. When he answered the summons and instructed her to come up, she did so, all the while wondering just what she had really come here for. When John opened the door to her, he gave her a tentative smile. "Have you come to shout at me again?" He asked as he let her in. "No," She replied almost confidently. "Though that doesn't mean that I'm not still mildly cross at the way you thoroughly embarrassed me in front of some of Neil's colleagues." "I suspect you'll get over it," He said, moving to the sideboard and pouring them both their usual drinks, a martini for her and a scotch for himself. "Still drinking I see," she observed, sitting down at one end of the sofa, not on her usual stool, which for some reason gave his spirits a lift. "Do you have any objection?" He asked mildly. "It's your liver, John, not mine," She replied dismissively.
"So," He said sitting down beside her. "To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?" God, that voice, she thought as she sipped at her drink, it could still do things to her, things that might cloud her judgement at any second. "John," She began carefully. "If you even think of repeating your actions of the other night, you won't be putting his career on the line, but yours. What concerns me, is that I think you know that, which means that you are currently prepared to take the biggest risk of your professional life. Whilst I can accept that you've always taken risks in the face of the establishment, this is going way too far." "George, my career, as you put it, is coming to mean less and less to me as time goes by." "That's because the woman you've loved for an extremely long time, has decided to marry someone else." "Is that why you were so irrationally furious when you first found out about Jo?" He asked, not entirely expecting an answer. "Discovering Jo's existence, and just how happy she made you," George said, avoiding his penetrating gaze. "Made me realise that I could no longer give you what you wanted, whether that be freedom or security, and that I hadn't been doing so, for some considerable time." As he watched her, he saw her surreptitiously wipe a stray tear from her eye.
Trying to give her a little space, John got up to refill his glass, seeing that George had barely touched hers. When he sat down again, and saw that she was a little more composed, he tried to lighten the atmosphere. "You're not trying to stop me drinking," He said with a teasing note in his tone, immediately putting her back on the footing she was used to with him. "What would be the point?" She replied dismissively. "Anything else I've asked you not to do in the past has fallen on deaf ears, so why should you start listening to me now?" Then, realising that she had just plunged them both back into dangerously remembered territory, she added, "Besides, Your little prop won't become a habit as mine did. Anyway, you watched me either avoid food or throw up afterwards often enough." "I never saw you do that," He said, referring to her occasional need to purge. "True," She said, taking another sip of her drink and then putting it down on the coffee table. "Knew about it though, didn't you." "Of course I did," He said very seriously. "Just as you were aware of it whenever I'd picked someone up, and each addiction hurt us both immeasurably." "Admittedly the thought of your flings did become somewhat wearing," George said, clearly making light of how she had really felt at the time. "But why did my complete inability to maintain a healthy weight get to you so much?" "Because when you love someone," John said very quietly, his gaze locking momentarily with hers. "The fact that they want to harm themselves, either by starving or purging, which may at least partially be your fault, is something that never quite leaves you. It means that you can never quite be at peace with yourself, no matter how hard you try." They stared at each other for some considerable time after he'd said this, both of them acknowledging inwardly if not outwardly, that they had both been somewhat to blame for the other's most deep-seated flaw.
"Do you still do it?" John asked, absent-mindedly beginning to play with a strand of her hair. "Yes, of course I do," She said without any hint of hiding it from him. "Just as you still pick up women with no more interest for you than what they have under their clothes." "Is Haughton aware of it?" He asked, gently twining the strand of hair around his finger. "Don't be ridiculous," George replied scornfully. "Neil wouldn't notice something like that, even if it was announced to him in 'the Times.'" "Yeah, well, if you can hide it from me as long as you did, I suppose you can hide it from anyone," John said philosophically. "John, Neil doesn't notice what's going on right under his nose, because he doesn't want to know," George said with total assuredness. "The only flaws he wants to know about, are ones that he can exploit, and my little tendency to avoid dinner, isn't a tactical advantage I am willing to hand over to him, because we both know that he would use it at every given opportunity." "That's hardly the basis for a true and lasting relationship, George," John said almost disgustedly. "No, perhaps not," She conceded mildly. "But at the moment, being with Neil is a professionally expedient position to be in." "You don't need his professional help, you don't need anyone's," John protested vehemently. "If anything, you need to avoid the type of professional help he does give you from time to time." "I'm not doing it for me, you stupid man," She said exasperatedly. "Because you're right, I don't need him anywhere near as much as he needs me. You ought to realise, that my being in the current Home Secretary's bed, no matter how distasteful that may be, does allow me to give you information, and god knows what else, in an effort to maintain your continued professional survival, something that will become entirely void of a future, if you keep on acting on the inevitable urge to beat him to a pulp." John just stared at her. She was doing this for him. She was sleeping with that odious cretin, in order to keep him professionally safe if not actually so. "Well, well," George said with a smirk of satisfaction on her face. "It isn't often that I manage to make My Lord speechless." "I suppose there's a first time for everything," He said, her words having lightened the atmosphere considerably, for which he was enormously grateful. He had no idea why she was persisting in her quest with Lover boy just for him, and he certainly didn't know how to acknowledge how much he appreciated it.
"So," George said, entirely taking the wind out of his sails. "Other than Little Miss Oxfam's desertion of you, what has made you behave quite so irrationally for the last week and a half?" "You'll no doubt think me stupid," He said, not really knowing how to explain the feelings that had been haunting him ever since that boy's death. "Yes, I'm sure I will," George agreed with him. "But that's hardly a reason not to tell me." "After Macdonnald Brock killed himself, Jo accused me of being the cause, albeit an indirect one. She was furious with me because I'd given him a custodial sentence. She said that if I hadn't, he would still be alive." He could see the rising tide of fury in George's eyes, and put out a hand to try and stem her anger. "You needn't look like that," He said, taking her hand in his, an automatic gesture that she didn't try to resist. "I can't help thinking that she was probably right." "Oh don't be ridiculous," George said in exasperation. "You sentenced him according to the guidelines laid down by our highly illiberal Home Secretary. What does she expect you to do, perform miracles?" "Yes, most of the time, she does," He replied mildly. "John, whilst you might sometimes give rulings that are novel at the very least, you are not the all mighty in different clothes, and even I know that where there are very strict guidelines to be adhered to, you must abide by them, no matter how much they might originate from the dark ages." John was forced to smile at her tirade, because the sensible part of himself knew she was right. "It's about time that Little Miss Oxfam grew up, and realised that you can't always do what she wants you to do." "Isn't that what you told me to do the other night?" He said, remembering the words she had thrown at him before slamming the door in his face. "Yes, well, on that particular night, you deserved it."
"I went to see his mother," John said, getting them back to the topic of the boy. "Was that wise?" George couldn't help asking, knowing of John's propensity to become far too emotionally involved with some cases. "No, probably not," He conceded. "But it was something I had to do. I almost wanted to tell her that I partially knew how she felt." "And did you?" George asked quietly, thinking that he hadn't mentioned the death of his mother for years. "No. She was too angry with me, too angry at the whole world, to want to hear something like that. Even though I had no choice but to send him down, I still feel in some way culpable." "John, you cannot blame yourself for the failings of the prison service," George told him gently but firmly. "You could no more have prevented that boy from killing himself, than you could have prevented your mother from doing exactly the same." Still having hold of his hand, she felt the shudder run through him at her accurately chosen words. This boy's death had obviously resurrected a lot of unresolved feelings about his mother, feelings that John clearly didn't know how to deal with. "Darling, you cannot be held accountable for the things people choose to do to themselves, after leaving your courtroom," She added quietly, seeing the mental torture going on behind his eyes. "I wish I could believe that," He said regretfully, currently wanting nothing more than to have her arms around him, arms that he knew as well as his own, arms that had once held him with such tenderness and passion.
"Do you know what I've missed?" He said quietly, gazing into her beautiful blue eyes. "I've missed your gentle way of talking some sense into me." "John, I've never been gentle in my life," George replied with a laugh, but he was perfectly serious. "Yes, you have," he contradicted her. "Admittedly more often by actions rather than words, but it was still there, and it comes out occasionally now, no matter how much you don't want to see it." "If memory serves," She said with a soft light of remembered times in her eyes. "I had more barbs than gentleness in those days, something that I've no doubt Charlie would testify to. You were the one she went to for those parental things called love and affection." The self-loathing that was present in her tone still hurt him as much as it ever had, making him want to hold her even more. "You weren't always angry," he told her softly. "There were times that you made me feel more loved and cherished than I ever have done in my life." "Don't confuse love with sex, John," She said, still unable to believe that she had ever made him really happy. "Oh, I'm not," He assured her. "You made me extremely happy for a time, something that will never be entirely overshadowed by the acrimony that came later." "It's just a pity I couldn't make it last," She said bitterly. "And we both know," He said, gently pulling her towards him so that he could put his arms round her. "That most of that was my fault, not yours."
Oh, that feeling of being in his arms again, it brought every emotion she had buried for so long well and truly back to the surface. He could see the need in her eyes, just as she could see it in his, but neither moved to further direct that need, both of them wanting to savour the moment of anticipation as long as possible. Very slowly, as though being propelled by some inexorable force, George's arms came around him, returning the familiar embrace that he was bestowing on her. His gaze softened as he watched her, seeing the internal battle going on behind her eyes. He had always been able to read George's face like a book, and this time was no exception. The air seemed to crackle with tension as her face gradually moved closer to his, but he allowed her to make that final decision, knowing that she needed to dictate the pace on this occasion, not him.
When her lips gently touched his, he kissed her back with all the tenderness he could muster. Their tastes were so familiar, so well-remembered, that it felt to both of them as though they were in some way coming home. Her lips were so soft, and his so full, that they both could have remained in that position forever. But when they eventually came up for air, George leaned her cheek on his, frantically trying to get her feelings under control. When she thought she could speak without quite revealing just how overwhelmed she was, she said, "What on earth made me do that?" "Desire, one hopes," John said with a soft smile. They sat in silence for a time, the clock gently ticking on the sideboard, with just their continued kisses occasionally permeating the quiet. John was happy to do this, to sit with her as he was doing now, to have her in his arms, and to be indulging in such simple affection from her. But his body could all too well remember what else she could do with that extremely talented mouth of hers, and it was inevitably reacting to her soft, fragrant presence. "I want to make love to you," He told her softly. "And given your suggestion of the other night," George replied with a smile. "That is hardly a surprise." "And is your reaction of that night still the same?" he asked, his gaze fixed unerringly on hers. "I said no to your admittedly enticing offer," She said, her face still very close to his. "Because sleeping with you, in the bed I have to share with Neil, would I suspect have been less than successful for both of us." "You still considered it though, didn't you," He said, inwardly agreeing that she might have had a point there. "What makes you assume I did?" She countered back, their flirtatious banter always having been a part of their foreplay. "Oh, that smile, without a doubt," He said perfectly seriously. "When I suggested staying with you, you practically glowed. It reminded me far too readily of how I'd previously managed to make the light of passion dance in your eyes, like so many real live angels. As you said, I know you too well, and I think you wanted it that night, just as much as you do now." His romantic words of persuasion were weakening her resolve, shattering her restraint into a thousand pieces right in front of her. John watched as she arrived at her decision, though he could see that she didn't know how to relinquish that final smattering of control. "Is it so difficult to say yes?" He asked, wanting her to give in, but only if it was really what she wanted. "John, it never was difficult to say yes to you," She told him, her voice a little unsteady with the feelings that were surging through her. "The challenge was saying no. Every time you've tried to get me back into your bed over the years, and you can't fail to acknowledge that those occasions have been numerous, I've had to rein in every ounce of desire I possess, not to give into your charms. What almost frightens me, is that I no-longer want to resist." "So what's stopping you?" He asked, wanting to entirely understand her motivation for at last giving in and going to bed with him after all these years. "Once I start this," George tried to explain. "There really is no going back." "George, you ought to know by now," John said in mild irritation. "That if you ever want to stop, all you have to do is say so." "John," She said with a smile. "I'm not talking about your usual level of self-control, but my own." "Ah," He said, understanding her instantly. She would no more be able to stop once this had started, than she could go back and erase the mistakes of the past.
When she kissed him this time, he could tell that her decision had been made. There was no going back for her, no backing out, and she wanted it all. Taking her hand in his, he gently tugged her up from the sofa, and they moved in the direction of his bedroom, hands feverishly undoing clothes and casting them aside. George's hands slightly shook as she worked on the buttons of his shirt, the anticipation of what was to come building steadily in her loins. John was quicker at undoing her clothes, eventually uncovering her beautiful body, clad in a perfect black lacey bra and thong. "You're beautiful," He said, momentarily crushing her to him and seeking out her lips with his. Pushing the shirt from his shoulders, George's bare ahms went up around his neck. As he reached behind her to unhook her bra, she smirked up at him, feeling the extent of his arousal between them. "Well, at least I know that my body still has the desired effect on you." "Your body will always have that effect on me," he replied, his voice deeper with restrained passion. Pushing her slightly away from him so that he could remove her bra, he simply gazed at her, before gently cupping a small, perfect breast in each hand, delicately caressing every inch, his thumbs grazing her hardening nipples and making her gasp. They made fast work of the rest of their clothes, finally coming together under the soft duvet, both of them yet again feeling that strange notion that here was where they always should have been. They clung as close as possible, their mouths seeking out further contact. John could feel her breasts grazing his torso, and she could feel his familiar hardness nestling at the top of her thighs. They ran their hands over each other, re-familiarising themselves with each other's skin, all the time with their lips and tongues dancing the delicious tango of seduction.
When his hand crept between them, to again begin teasing at her breasts, she briefly wondered if she would be able to restrain her usual vocal encouragement. Part of her didn't want him to know just how inflamed her senses already were from his touch, but she didn't know how long she would be able to maintain this level of quiet. "I want you to tell me everything you're feeling," He said, gently rolling her right nipple between finger and thumb. "Right now," She said, her breath slightly quickening from his ministrations. "I feel as though every inch of me is on fire." "And I've barely begun," He said, his voice telling her of the sheer onslaught of pleasure he had in store for her. As his hand began to trail downwards, he couldn't quite prevent himself from counting the ribs he could far too prominently feel. She saw the slight sadness in his eyes as he did this, and strove to reassure him. "It's not as bad as you might think," She said quietly. "I wish that it didn't have to be this bad," he told her regretfully. "Never mind worse." "Try not to dwell on it," She advised him gently. "I'm not." Seeming to take her word for it, he continued tracing the familiar contours of her body, eventually arriving at the juncture of her thighs, which slightly parted to allow him access. "Mmm," She couldn't help groaning as his fingers sought out the little bundle of nerves that were hiding there. As his fingers slid ever so skilfully over her skin, two of them carefully penetrating her silky warmth, George couldn't help but wonder just why Neil couldn't be this good at giving her pleasure. "What would you like me to do for you?" He asked between kisses, his hand still moving on her, her sensitive flesh becoming more lubricated as he did so. "John, you're talking to the woman with one of the widest ranges of taste in the whole of sexual history," she said with a smirk, slightly writhing under his touch. John laughed. "You certainly introduced me to the idea of a few things I might not have discovered," He said, agreeing with her assessment of their sexual antics when they were married. "And I enjoyed every minute of it," He added seriously. "I want whatever you want to give me," She said, just as seriously as he had affirmed his enjoyment of their sexual experimentation. "Oh, that's good," He said with a smile. "Because I want you to be as relaxed and as aroused as possible, before I take in that incredibly well-remembered taste that is pure George Channing." He'd known a long time ago that his voice could turn her on, and as he elaborated on what he intended to do to her, he felt a definite increase in the moisture that surrounded his fingers. "Do you have any objection with that proposed course of action?" he teased her, knowing just how much his voice alone was arousing her towards boiling point. "I'd be insane if I did," She replied dryly, still wanting to cling onto a modicum of control, though it was fast slipping through her fingers.
When John gently pushed her onto her back, and kissed his way down until he was suckling on one of her pert, pink nipples, his hand still continuing in its former quest, George simply allowed herself to go with the flow of whatever he might do to her. Seeming to feel the lowering of all her barriers, John vowed to make this the most fulfilling experience she'd had in years. He would gently tug at her nipple with his lips, soothing it with his tongue, and ensuring that it was fully erect before moving onto the other. Then he began kissing his way down towards his wandering hand, briefly laying his cheek on the flat plain of her abdomen, remembering when it had steadily grown with her pregnancy. When he laid his cheek on the smooth, warm skin of her left thigh, gazing at this part of her that he had pleasured so often during their marriage, he breathed in the heady aroma of her arousal, making her laugh. "John, I'm hardly a bitch on heat." "Don't you believe it," he quipped back, the tip of his tongue creeping out to lightly tease at the smooth, hairless skin of her labia. "You know," He said almost conversationally. "I read somewhere that the scent of a woman is a gift from the gods." "I'll take your word for it," She said with a smile, and then groaned helplessly as his tongue inched its way inside her. God, John thought to himself, he was so lucky that he was a man, and that he was being given the opportunity to taste her exotic sweetness again. "You taste incredible," he said, his mouth moving against her flesh. "Have you missed me that much?" She asked, remembering how he could never get enough of doing this to her in the old days. "Every woman is different, George," He murmured. "Then I suppose it's a good thing that what you are currently doing, turns you on just as much as it does me." "You're not kidding," He replied, his endeavours increasing until he was alternately licking and nibbling on her bud, driving her almost to screaming point. He could sense the feelings that were flooding her body, and he wanted to utterly overwhelm her with ecstasy. When she came, a cry of pure, mind-blowing pleasure was torn from her, a sound he hadn't heard in far too long.
When he moved back up to lie beside her, he saw that her expression was entirely soft, with all the sharp edges that she usually displayed, completely gone. Her eyes were hazy, holding nothing but the self-satisfaction obtained from a very intense orgasm. When she turned over and put her arms round him, he kissed her, sharing her taste with her, as he knew how she'd always liked the naughtiness of it.
"Did that meet with My lady's satisfaction?" he asked her between kisses, knowing full well that it had.
"My Lord did manage to live up to the task admirably," She drawled, her voice sounding deeper and slightly husky from the orgasm she had just received.
"I'm glad to hear it," He quipped back.
"I just wish that all your gender were gifted with such skilful mouths both in bed and out of it."
"Why, doesn't Lover boy approve of that particular activity?"
"It's not that he either approves or disapproves," George said disgustedly. "He simply doesn't like it. At least that's what he's always told me when I've tentatively asked him to try it." "
The fool doesn't know what he's missing," John said confidently, it secretly pleasing him that Haughton was also a despicable lover as well as the most feeble politician he had ever encountered.
They lay there simply kissing for a while, both of them waiting for George to regain some of her energy. When she gently pushed John onto his back, and slid down the bed to rest her cheek on his hip, gazing at the smooth, turgid organ in front of her, a very wicked smirk adorned her lips. "You don't have to," John told her, never having had a problem with a woman if she didn't want to perform this particular act. "I bet Little Miss Oxfam wouldn't do this in a million years," George quipped, before swiftly enclosing the head between her smirking lips. "That's absolutely none of your business," John said with a laugh, conveniently forgetting that he had just asked about Haughton. "You can't tell me she does though, can you," George retorted, briefly lifting her mouth from his engorged shaft. "It's not everybody's cup of tea, George," He persisted, not wanting to betray Jo's confidence. Laughing a little evilly because she could see right through him, George vowed to make him well and truly lose control with her mouth and her mouth alone. Dipping her head again to take him into the warm, moist depths of her mouth, she heard him groan with delight as she teased at the underside with her tongue. If John could make her come with his mouth, so she could do the same to him, and had done on a number of occasions when they were married, one of the most memorable being when he'd been at his office expecting a very important client. Gently cupping his testicles with her right hand, she remembered his liking for these to be carefully fondled or sucked, it being just one of the ways he had felt her love for him. When those wickedly sinful lips of hers began delicately nibbling his flesh right down to the base, he knew what was coming. Dropping tiny butterfly kisses over his testicles, she preceded to take each one in turn into her mouth, her tongue running over them before returning to its former endeavour. He began running his fingers through her soft, blonde hair as she did this, closing his eyes, and almost drowning in the pleasure she was giving him. He'd never met anyone who could measure up to George's skill at doing this, but he supposed that this was because she'd had years of being married to him in order to learn precisely how he liked it. When she again began sucking on him in earnest, taking him into the soft hollow of her throat, before returning to teasing just the tip, he really did think that just for once, he must be in heaven.
But this wasn't how he wanted to reach orgasm. He wanted to do that inside her, really inside her, with their bodies merging to become one, in the way that nature had intended. Gently detaching her from him, he encouraged her back to lie beside him. Realising what he wanted, she pushed him back to lie on his back when he would have moved over her, swung one leg over his hips and sank down on his substantial erection without further warning. Being suddenly enclosed by her moist, boiling heat had surprised him. It felt right, it felt true, and it felt as though they were whole again. Gazing down at him, George saw the hitherto buried love for her shining out of his eyes, their gazes intertwining just as their bodies were doing. Pulling her down to lie on his chest, John almost fiercely clutched her to him, part of him irrationally afraid that she might again leave him. They kissed deeply and lingeringly as they eventually began to move, their sliding to and fro feeling to George, nothing like the quick touch and go she occasionally received from Neil. Every thrust was long, languorous and full of tenderness. But as their kisses became hungrier, so did their movements. When George leaned to the side, John understood what she wanted, and flipped them over so that George was now writhing underneath him. Having much better purchase in this position, he thrust into her again and again, their lovemaking becoming harder and more frantic, their gasps of pleasure more erratic. Inching a hand between them, John was about to further stimulate George by stroking her clitoris, something she'd always loved. But for a reason he could never identify, she said, "No, please, just hold me," in that higher, passionately pleading tone that spurred him onto greater potential. Their arms about each other, they soared towards their peak, simultaneously cresting the tidal wave of the explosive surge of passion that hadn't engulfed them for years. They both cried out as they came, knowing that doing this, making love with each other again, had fundamentally altered what may or may not lie ahead.
When he gently withdrew from her, John realised that George was crying, as yet almost silently, but still with the tears cascading down her face. Cradling her in his arms, he gently rocked her, running his hand up and down her back, and murmuring words of comfort and reassurance. He didn't ask the reason for her tears, because he was fairly close to such an emotional outburst himself. Their lovemaking had been an epiphany of sorts for both of them, bringing to the surface all the memories and feelings associated with the time they were married. All the hurt, all the anger, all the guilt, none of it seemed to matter as they lay clinging to one another, both of them in some way grieving for the good times they had shared. As the words left his lips almost without warning, he knew that despite all the heartache they might cause, they needed to be said. "George, I…" "Don't," She said almost desperately. "Please don't say it," She further clarified. He'd been going to utter those utterly fatal words, I love you, and she knew it. "Because if you say it," She continued. "I'll have to say it too, and that would make going back to Neil even harder than its going to be after this." "Sh, don't talk about that now," He urged her quietly. "You feel it, and I feel it, and that's all that matters." "But at some point, I will have to leave you and go back to him," George replied, unable to stop her tears. "Not in here you won't," He said, softly kissing her forehead. "There's one thing I think you're forgetting," She said, taking her own plunge of words that cannot be taken back. "In here," She said, touching the skin just above her left breast. "I don't think I ever did leave you, not entirely." Moving down slightly, John laid his cheek against her chest, hearing the reassuring regular beat of her heart. John felt his own sense of being overwhelmed, because never in a million years had he expected her to voice such an admission. George gently ran her fingers through his hair, as he traced delicate patterns on the fleshy softness of her right breast. Both movements seem to calm the other, lulling them eventually into an emotionally exhausted sleep.
When George drifted into consciousness about an hour later, she at first wondered what had woken her. When she realised what it was, a soft smile touched her lips. John, whose face had remained against her chest as they'd slept, was now gently nibbling at her left breast, all the time avoiding the pinnacle of her nipple. "I see you're awake," She said, her voice deep and husky with sleep. "Mmm," He replied, gently taking her nipple between his lips and softly caressing it with his tongue. Tenderly stroking his cheek, running her thumb along the line of the faint stubble adorning it, she gently detached him from her, and pulled him back up so that she could kiss him. "That was a nice way to be woken up," She said, her voice holding nothing but softness for him. "Ah, well, I can't exactly pretend that my methods are without motive," John said, smiling broadly and making her laugh. "When were they ever?" She quipped back. "You've always got a motive when it comes to nibbling at breasts." John laughed softly, conceding her point. "I'd like to make love again," He said, as though she didn't know already. "Yes, so I see," She drawled, moving her thigh up against his renewed hardness. "Do you have any objection?" "None, what, so, ever," She told him between kisses. But they didn't linger over the approach to their lovemaking this time, both of them wanting to be skin to skin as quickly as possible. When John's hand crept between her legs, he encountered the evidence of their earlier passion, it making his job of arousing her all the easier. When he eventually slid inside her, their union was much gentler than before, the urgency having left them with a need to express the softer side of their feelings for each other. They lay on their sides, and gently rocked to and fro, the base of his shaft grazing her clitoris with every thrust. Their kisses were deep and languid as they did this, and when they eventually came, they remained in this position, John's softened self still inside her, still maintaining their connection for as long as possible.
But eventually moving away from him, George voiced the inevitable phrase, "I've got to go." John didn't deny her assertion, knowing that their afternoon of loving pleasure must eventually come to an end. "Would it be terribly adolescent to say that I don't want you to go?" He said, dropping a kiss on her shoulder. "Well, as I don't especially want to go either, no it wouldn't," She said, wanting to leave this bed about as much as she wanted to continued to inhabit Neil's. "Can I have a shower?" She asked, certainly not wanting to risk going home with evidence of both hers and John's passion all over her. "Sure," He said, seeming to rouse himself out of his wish to keep her with him, and wondering, when she did leave him, just where they would go from here.