I have no idea what came over me, but i decided to give this another try. If this actually works out for me, this will be a four-parter, with a little bit more plot and evaluating of situations and feelings, but this started out as an excuse for some steamy Alice/FP sex and that's where this will stay.
This is a direct continuation of chapter 1
read and enjoy
"Why don't you just shut up and fuck me?"
She doesn't give herself any time to rethink her words, before sinking down on his hard cock. Truth is, that she doesn't want to think about what they are doing, because that makes it all the more real. She is about to cheat on her husband of twenty years with the man she had been so incredibly in love with those twenty years earlier, the man who had been everything to her except the ticket out of the shithole she had called home as a teenager. The man she, if she was honest with herself, still harbored feelings for. She'd already shattered around his talented tongue and questing fingers twice in the last ten minutes, she can't deny that, but she can still tell herself she hadn't really been cheating at all (it's stupid and a lie, she knows that. It 's still easier though). But this, right here, is different. He's sheathed in her completely, being as intimately joined with her as at all possible, while her husband is still waiting for her to forgive him for his misgivings. A part of her recognizes the irony behind the situation.
And then he moves inside her, gently at first, and all thought of her husband or why she shouldn't be here were wiped from her mind. All that still exists are the two of them, moving as one, reconfirming what they already know. That even after twenty years, they still know each other, still know exactly what to do. Still have that incredible spark between them that had made their sex so great decades ago.
He sets a slow pace to start with, guiding her gently with his hands on her hips. She's panting above him, leaning forward into his space just far enough for him to capture one of her breasts with his mouth. He's biting and sucking the sensitive nub, draws back to blow cold air over the heated flesh, watches with satisfaction as her skin breaks out in goose flesh and she visibly shivers - and then he starts all over again with her other nipple. She braces her hands against the back of the couch, on either side of his head and starts to move her hips in a faster rhythm.
This slow and languid pace is not what she wants, what she needs. It gives her too much opportunity to think, to feel the emotions she pushed down as far as they would go. This is not the time for that. This is nothing than a short lapse in judgment, a quick fuck to relieve tension and frustration. A mistake never to be repeated again. But, to make her believe that herself, he needed to actually fuck her - the harder the better.
"FP" it's the first time she says his name since she had shown up at his door and the way she says it, equal parts warning and begging, makes him come to the same conclusion she already has. This is not a non emotional fling, but neither of them could afford to let it be anything but that. So he closes his eyes for a second, grips her hips hard enough to have her stop moving. And when he opens his eyes again, he's right there with her; pretending.
Holding her firmly in place above his lap, he turns them over abruptly. She lets out a gasp when her back hits the couch hard, that turns into a low moan when he shifts inside her as reaction to his movement. He has to bite her shoulder to anchor him to something not to come right this moment. And then he claims her mouth with his own and starts moving inside her again.
It's hard and fast and everything she hasn't done and felt in a very long time. His bruising fingertips digging into her flesh are just painfull enough to keep her grounded, to remind her of the one thing she can not forget. This can't be gentle or she's going to fall down the rabbit hole that is loving him again. That had been a train-wreck waiting to happen even then, and it certainly is now. So, before her mind decides to supply her with images of how they weren't destined to crash and burn, she rakes her manicured fingernails down his back. She's leaving red streaks and bruises and, when he hits her just right and she digs her nails into his lower back, she's sure she's drawn blood. Not that either of them cared, really and that bite mark on her shoulder is going to bruise by tomorrow anyway, so she thinks a little payback is not amiss.
Eventually, her hands settle on his ass, pulling him deeper inside her with every one of his thrusts. She laughs, a short hard sound, when her mind registers the expletives he's whispering against her naked skin. She answers in kind, encouraging him to pick up the pace still, to move even faster, to take her even harder. To just fuck her, consequences be damned, because everything else feels too much like this isn't a mistake.
He gets the hint, pulls her hips off the couch for a better angle and with a few sharp movements has her screaming his name, among other things. He wants to kiss her again, but he's torn between his desire and the urge to hear her scream and moan and curse – and to know he's the one responsible for those sounds leaving her lips. In the end, he opts for just watching her as she falls apart under him again.
She hadn't thought she would climax again but it seemed like her body didn't share that believe, when the first waves of her orgasm ripple through her body. He can't hold on much longer, she can see it on his face, but that doesn't matter, because she's right there with him. A few more thrusts and he's coming inside her, in turn bringing her own realease.
He collapses on to of her for a moment, both of them panting hard, trying to catch their breaths, before he slides away from, and out off, her. She bites her lip to keep from sighing at the loss of contact and scrambles off the couch to find her clothes. He doesn't bother with much himself, it's his house after all, so sinks back into the couch in only his underwear. He watches her get dressed, supresses the urge to stalk over to her and start undressing her all over again.
"This has never happened" She's fastening her bra behind her back, looking him over with a raised eyebrow. How can she expect him to forget this ever happened when she's standing in front of him, wearing nothing but her underwear, the obvious sings of their activities still prominent on her body and in her face.
"Of course not" He answers nevertheless. From the moment he had kissed her this was noting they would ever speak of again – he knew that, she knew that and they were both okay with it. (Another lie – seems like they are telling themselves quite a lot of those tonight). "Won't ever happen again either"
"Of course not" She's finished dressing, plucking her coat from the floor next to his front door and slides it on. Doing up the buttons she deliberately looks anywhere but at him, because the last thing she should be doing is sliding out off her clothes again and spending the rest of the night naked, making love to him. But that's exactly the only thing she really wants to do right now and when she'd look at him, see the same desire reflect in his face, she would not be walking out of his door anytime soon.
So she picks up her purse, slings it over her shoulder and opens the door without looking back.
"I'll talk to them, make things right. Don't worry"
She closes the door behind her with more force than necessary, just barely resisting the urge to bang her head against it, repeatedly.
Shit, she'd had a purpose fro coming here.
