"Fold"
Copyright 2007 Penn O'Hara
M
Usual disclaimers apply.
A/N: E.H. Wimp out? Me? Never! Bammi1. You're most welcome.
No one was able to help me with a name of a good hotel near OnePP, so I had to go with a guide book which said the Empire Suites Hotel was near the Hudson River. And I had this idea OnePP was near the Brooklyn Bridge so I added two and two and hope I came up with four. ::grin:: Someone can let me know if I'm wrong. I've never been to New York.
Be warned. We haven't seen this side of Goren, so I've allowed myself some latitude and you may not like what you see.
Chapter Two
Heat. Steaming. Body heat. Hers and his.
Pulsing, rising and sinking.
Touching, caressing and retreating.
Goren's body was on fire, his sweat mingled with hers, their naked bodies joined in, for him, a dance of desperation.
As soon as he stepped into the hotel room after her, she jumped him, tearing at his clothes. His jacket was tugged from his shoulders but his tie defeated her. Pulling at it, she almost throttled him until he pushed her hands away and handled it himself.
Frozen for a heartbeat, Goren questioned his being there. It felt wrong, but the whole day had been a slipped gear for him.
Her impatience at a peak, she ripped his shirt from him. Climbing up his frame, she fastened her lips on his, rousing him. Goren grunted, unlocked the cage and released the beast. He returned the feeding kisses, swallowing her fast and noisy pants.
He had the feeling that foreplay was going to be unnecessary.
The woman quickly discarded her trousers, then his, and mounted him. On autopilot, Goren rose to the challenge and stepped back to lean against the wall, holding her rounded ass in his hands. He took her weight and guided her, while she rode him, attuned to his rhythm.
The cerebral part of him was appalled at his lack of control, shrinking in dismay. The often repressed basal side of him gloried in its release and fueled him with the vigor he needed to satisfy her. She came quickly and noisily, throwing her head back and shouting her pleasure and Goren's confidence soared at her uninhibited enjoyment. His heart pummeled his chest to give her the potency she craved.
The woman may not have believed in foreplay, but she sure as hell went in for after-play.
After taking her pleasure from him against the wall, she shed the last of her clothes and coaxed him to one of the padded chairs in the room, pushing him to its seat and sinking onto his lap. Goren ground his teeth as she enveloped him, squeezing and wriggling, little whimpers of pleasure puffing through her lips. Digging her fingers into his bare shoulders, her thighs pumped against his.
Eyes shut tight against the reality of it, the mental image of what he was doing crowded in on Goren. He welcomed her use of him. It channeled his self-disgust into an anger directed at her, his mental punishment transferred into bruising thrusts on which she seemed to thrive. A keening cry heralded her second orgasm and she collapsed against his chest.
Suddenly guilt-ridden for his lack of finesse, Goren gently took her face in both hands, but she tossed her head and crawled from his lap. Drawing him away from the chair, she turned her back to him and placed her hands on the flat of the seat, provocatively rolling her hips. She swung her head to saucily grin at him.
Repulsed, his body belied him. He slowly approached, his fascination aberrant and addictive.
Despite knowing it would also be soul-destroying, he reached out for her.
Smoothing his palms over her back, Goren reveled in the velvet heat of her skin. He explored round her waist and up her ribs to cup her breasts in his hands. They seemed to throb in his palms, swell and fill his fists to overflowing. Exploring their heavy softness, he rolled the nipples into aroused hardness before splaying his hands down her stomach and between her inner thighs. She rubbed herself against him, urgent words of encouragement a staccato in her gasps. He gripped and hitched her from her feet.
And his mind closed down in horror as his body took over.
She squealed and laughed, but when he positioned her against his thighs and plunged, the laughter gurgled into a moan that seemed ripped from her throat. Her body opened to him and took his thrusts with abandon.
Goren pummeled into her until he gave up his pleasure with a bellow, the tension exploding from his body, taking with it, some of his frustration and the day's betrayal. Pulling her off the chair, he held her back against his chest and breathed the last vestiges of aggravation into the hollow of her neck.
"I don't know– This isn't–" He couldn't find the words to tell her that Robert Goren didn't behave like this, but it was important to him that she know. "I don't–"
He gave up.
Her head lolled against his shoulder, before she slowly rolled it from side to side. Sighing deeply, she reluctantly pulled herself upright and turned into him.
"I'm not quite finished," she breathed, her eyes heavy and barely open. "Are you?"
Pulling him over to the large bed dominating the room, she pushed him onto his back and coaxed his body into throbbing life again. With the last remnants of reason left to him, he tried to resist her but her hands and mouth were too practiced, too insistent.
Needing to regain control, he grabbed her chin and forced her head up, then rolled over, taking her with him. She went limp beneath him, closing her eyes and opening her mouth in a quiet sigh.
"Do it!" she breathed, her chest heaving. "Be gentle this time. Take me as you would a lady."
"You're not–"
"I know," she said sadly, "but I can be treated like one, can't I?"
"I didn't mean– You are, but–"
Turning away, he hung his head, hiding his antipathy. She wouldn't understand it was directed at himself.
"You may have let down the ones that know you," she whispered, "but you haven't disappointed me."
He gasped, her intuitiveness cutting at him.
Inching his head back to her, he sought her eyes. The appeal there was a mirror of his own anguish. She also had demons to fight.
"It wouldn't mean–"
"I know." Her mouth trembled. "I understand."
She wanted tenderness. Could he give it when it meant nothing to him? An image of Alex naked and pliant beneath him slipped between them, but he banished it. That was denied him now.
"I–"
"Please," she urged. "We've had sex. Make love to me now."
Her hands slid up and over his shoulders poised above her and they shuddered. Exerting pressure, she pulled him toward her, still resisting. She reached up to lay butterfly kisses on his lips, fanning a melt-down of the mental barrier he erected.
Moving sinuously beneath him, she showed him what she wanted. Goren held back, but his body quickened in protest. Her kisses became deeper, her tongue darting in and out of his mouth, mimicking what he had to do.
A groan of self-contempt was his last defense, but no one heard it. He slid into her slowly, answering her need and seeking to rid his body of the toxins of frustration.
The room become a sauna of mingled heat and sweat, their joining one of mutual demon-slaying and Goren accepted the part of him that was powerless.
She writhed beneath him, her head tossing from side to side. Cries of bliss tripped off her tongue. Her fingers tore at his back and her teeth sunk into his shoulder as she shouted her satisfaction. Goren let his own release tumble from him as he stroked into her until she gasped one last time and turned her head on the pillow, eyes closed.
He feathered his fingers down the side of her face, apologizing for his inability to feel a closeness to her that might endure. It didn't seemed important to her, but it tore at his sense of worth as a man.
She lay still as if sleeping, or worse, ignoring his mute regret.
Dragging himself from her, Goren went in search of his clothes, his earlier tension gone, but replaced by an irrevocable heaviness of heart.
In the bathroom, he stared at his reflection. He leaned heavily on the basin, supporting a weight that was more mental than physical. His eyes were half-closed, refusing to look into his damaged soul. Angry red marks on his neck extended into full-blown scratches from his shoulders around to his back and a set of teeth-marks branded one shoulder. Smoothing his hands through his short curls, his hair bounced back into a semblance of order. Clothes would cover most of the evidence of his weakness, but he couldn't erase the self-derision from the down-turn of his mouth.
Pushing away from the basin, he sorted through his clothes. The shirt was torn beyond repair, his trousers clasp damaged but still operational, and one of his jacket buttons was missing. Tossing the shirt to the bathroom floor, he donned the trousers and fastened the jacket as best he could, then, with leaden feet, left the hotel room.
The woman on the bed didn't move.
oOo
Heading his car toward home, Goren intended to trash his clothes, shower and set out for Carmel Ridge in the hope that his mother would understand he hadn't deserted her.
He parked in the street, then loped into the building, praying he wouldn't be seen in a damaged coat with bare chest. Taking the flight of steps to his floor two at a time, he rounded the banister, and was brought up short by the sight of Alex Eames sitting on the floor, her back propped against his front door.
She looked up, her eyes narrowing as she took in his dishabille. Goren watched the slide-show of shock, concern and realization shutter across her face. Disgust was the last thing he saw before she pulled in her lips and pushed herself to her feet.
Holding out a cell phone, she walked toward him.
"You left this on your desk," she said, her jaw grinding over the words.
Her gaze raked his body but she didn't break stride as she handed over his phone and passed him on the landing.
"I'm not even going to ask," she said, then walked down the stairs, the heels of her boots angrily clicking against the well-trod wood.
The woman had been wrong when she assured Goren, no strings attached.
They were attached and unraveling fast.
oOo
TBC… if TPTB at LOCI give us some more meaty episodies to watch.
Boohoo is right, though. I've confusing everyone with my jumping timelines and couples, but you know, I'm not confused myself. I feel I've got a handle on everyone and I'm enjoying the changes of pace and variety of personalities. I won't finish "Cowboys" quickly, 'cos it's too big a project, so perhaps I should publish it only when it's finished. Does that work for everyone?