AN: Sorry, this took me a while because this is the first time I've written a sex scene that people other than myself are going to read. Yup, Bridget and Andrew get it on in this chapter. While this isn't the most explicit sex scene in the world (or even on this site), I decided to be on the safe side I'd better re-rate this fic as M. If you want to skip this chapter, go to the bottom and read the AN there for a summary and then go on to the next chapter.
Bridget had a problem.
In the middle of the most wonderful kiss Bridget had ever had in her life, she realized that kiss was the herald of a possible gigantic disaster.
Most adults, when about to make love with a partner for the first time, are aware that they don't know what their partner likes and doesn't like. They know what they like to do and what they like other people to do to them. But as a new couple, two people have to figure out a rhythm unique to the two of them. Making love with a stranger is a difficult process, one that requires patience and understanding and a willingness to trust that this other person is going to like exploring this new relationship. Putting two people together in intimate ways creates new possibilities. No two people make love the same way.
When adults have been in a relationship for a while, their sex life can hit a rut. They have sex the same way every time because that's how they've found it works between them. Familiar sex can be comforting. It can also be boring as hell. You always know exactly what your partner's going to do, and doing anything strange and different can cause arguments and break-ups, because new always means something's going on.
Bridget had a problem, because one of the two people here was with a new partner, and one was with someone he'd been together with for years.
She knew how to pretend. She knew how to be whoever the guy she was with wanted her to be.
She didn't know if she could possibly convince Andrew that she was the woman he'd spent the last seven or eight years of his life with.
Or if she even wanted to try.
She pulled away from him and looked into his eyes. "I'm not the woman you think I am," Bridget said.
He stared her directly in the eye. "You're the only woman I want," he said.
She was going to take that as permission to enjoy herself thoroughly.
Her arms still locked around his neck, she pulled him toward her, moving them both backward until her ass hit the wall. He pressed his body against hers, his hips pinning her against the wall, and pushed one of his legs in between hers, hitting her directly on her core. She groaned and squeezed her legs together against him.
He pulled her away from the wall, roughly, and his hands started stroking up and down her back. "Where the hell is the zipper on this thing?" he growled.
She had no memory of putting the dress on that morning, couldn't have explained how to get out of it if her life depended on it (which, given the hurry she was in, it might). The dress was a Pucci original, but all it was to Bridget right now was a big fat cotton annoyance.
Her hands dropped to his belt and simply by feel she undid the fastener and pushed the leather strip out of the belt loops.
Andrew looked down at her then, clearly surprised.
Apparently Siobhan never took the initiative. Bridget checked that off her mental list.
"Do you want me to stop?" she whispered.
"Oh, good God no," he said. "I like that very much."
She pulled his belt off of him and then started undoing the buttons of his shirt. When she got to the bottom she pulled the shirt open and ran her hand down his chest.
Andrew said, "No fair." He turned her around and pushed her up against the wall, effectively trapping her against the cold plaster. A rock and a very hard place indeed, she thought, and then his hand reached under her skirt and stroked her through her panties.
Her hips jerked from the sensation. "Andrew."
"There it is," he whispered, and his hand disappeared from between her legs. One of his hands held the fabric of her dress taut and the other unzipped her dress. He pushed the shoulders down her arms and the dress fell in a multicolored puddle on the floor.
He turned her back around and she felt like she was on display for him, standing there in a matching bra and panties in sheer pink silk. He ran his hands down her sides, then up to cup her breasts. He spread his fingers over her soft flesh, pushing it upwards, squeezing them. He unhooked her bra and pulled it off of her.
"My turn," she whispered, and her hands got busy undoing the button at the top of his dress pants. She felt him throb against her hands as she undid his zipper, and then she roughly pushed down both his trousers and his briefs together, allowing his erection to spring free. She grabbed him with one hand and he kissed her hard, pushing the back of her head against the plaster wall, his tongue in her mouth.
Bridget pushed him away and stared into his eyes, so familiar and yet so feral at the same time, her hand still stroking him firmly. She wanted all of him right this minute, in every possible way.
The grin that spread across her face surprised her. She had no idea why: Happiness? Trying to tease him? Excitement that she was finally making love to this man?
She grabbed him and kissed him as hard as he'd kissed her, her tongue in his mouth. Then she pushed him away again before dropping to her knees in front of him.
To be perfectly honest, blowing a guy was not her favorite sexual activity.
At the moment, however, she was pretty certain she would be happy to spend the rest of her life doing exactly that, if it meant doing it with him.
He braced himself against the wall using one arm, while his other hand ran through her hair, the fingers cupping the back of her head.
She had worked up a rather intense rhythm, her head moving back and forth with her tongue moving in concert with her lips, when he grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her head backward, tilting her face up to look at him. "We can do that later," he said. "Right now I want you."
He pushed her onto her back on the Oriental carpet and with a few forceful pulls he ripped her panties off of her. She barely had time to tilt her pelvis upward before he was inside her, his hips banging against with a need she'd rarely felt from a grown man.
She lifted her feet off the floor and locked them around his waist, to allow him inside her even deeper.
He pounded her so fiercely that she was taken by surprise when the first rolling orgasm hit her. She began shifting her hips in rhythm with him and her orgasm built, to the point where she screamed his name and then bit him on the shoulder, hard.
"Siobhan," he whispered, and then he thrust against her as he came, hard.
Bridget squeezed her eyes shut and told herself she wanted to cry because she was so happy, not because she knew he was in love with someone else.
~oOo~
"I think we may have left our clothes all over the living room," Andrew said.
Bridget shrugged. "It happens."
Andrew burst into laughter. "Thank God Juliet's away this week. She'd be traumatized."
"She'd be more traumatized by the noises we were making."
"Or the positions we were using."
"The positions? The language. I didn't even know I knew those words."
Now they were both laughing. Andrew leaned down and started nibbling at her neck. She moved her hand down his side slowly, her fingertips grazing the surface of his skin. When her hand got to his hip, she turned her head far enough so that she could kiss him again.
"Why, Mr. Martin," she said, "already?"
"I think it's the company I'm keeping," he said, and he rolled her on her back before raising his body over hers.
~oOo~
The only coherent thought Andrew had, over and over, was: That was amazing.
And another thought, underneath that: That was the most amazing sex he'd ever had with Siobhan. Possibly the most amazing sex he'd ever had in his entire damned life, but that had definitely been the best with Siobhan.
It was a thought that frightened him. He didn't want to know why it scared him, so he didn't want to examine it any more closely than that.
Jesus Christ, man, when was the last time Siobhan used her mouth on you without expecting a pair of five carat earrings afterward?
Something was different. Something was hugely different and wrong and God could strike him down now if Andrew wasn't happier than he'd been in five years.
He lay awake, listening to Siobhan's breathing as she slept. He should be asleep — from exhaustion, if nothing else. But he felt more alive than he had in a very long time.
And not because he'd gotten laid for the first time in…well, probably since Siobhan had gotten pregnant.
He lay on his side, next to Siobhan. She was faced away from him, cuddling a pillow. He put his hand on her hip and she jerked suddenly but didn't awaken. He moved his hand down her stomach, resting over her belly button.
Good God. How far along was she?
He couldn't remember exactly how his first wife's body had changed when she was pregnant with Juliet. Of course, he hadn't paid much attention to her all during that time, working 20 hours a day as he had, and that was how she became his ex-wife. He knew some women didn't show pregnancy for a while and some had bodies that changed immediately, some gained weight all over while others looked like a stick with a beach ball attached. But wouldn't a slender woman like Siobhan — and she was much thinner than he remembered her looking — show a little already?
His fingers spread out over her soft skin. Her stomach was completely flat. Maybe even concave. No, definitely concave.
Maybe there was a problem with the pregnancy and that's what she wanted to talk to him about?
Whatever it was, he'd work on the problem with her. He kissed her shoulder. She smelled a bit of of vanilla, the scent of her favorite body wash. But she also smelled of sweat (his, mainly, from his recent exertions) and cinnamon and even something a little spicier, like nutmeg. How had he never noticed that Siobhan smelled so good before? She smelled like a sweaty snickerdoodle. The idea made him laugh, which he tried his best to stifle.
Siobhan rolled on to her back and looked up at him through sleepy eyes. "Hi," she whispered. She brought her hand up and caressed his cheek.
He leaned down and kissed her. "Hello, princess."
She put her arms around his neck and then hitched one of her legs over his. When was the last time Siobhan had wanted sex more than once a week, let alone more than once a night?
For that matter…when was the last time he'd been interested in her that much?
She'd said they needed to talk. Andrew was beginning to accept that he needed the two of them to really talk too.
AN: Okay, so for readers who skipped the chapter: Bridget tries to tell Andrew she's not the woman he thinks she is, and he basically says he doesn't care. They have sex. Andrew realizes that there's something really, really weird going on, because he and Siobhan haven't had sex this amazing ever, but he and this woman sure have. You should probably read the last three paragraphs to get into Andrew's frame of mind there.
