ascent.
The lift descended at a rapid rate, fast enough that her stomach lurched (or was that the flutter of butterflies and bile?). Anna clung to him as they kissed again and again and again, and nineteen floors wasn't enough to slake her thirst. John groaned against her mouth and pulled her close, his arousal already evident against her belly. She was just beginning to undress him in her mind when the lift slowed to a stop. They pulled away from each other in time for the doors to open, pressing themselves against the back wall and breathing heavily. She reached forward and punched the button for his floor, giving him a little wink and a smile. Soon the doors would close again and...
Some bastard stepped into the lift with them.
She hid a giggle behind her hand at John's annoyed sigh when the man turned around to face the doors, obviously blind to the fact that John was now covering his tented trousers with his bag and her hair had come somewhat loose from her ponytail. She bit her lip to swallow a gasp when she felt John's hand slide up under the hem of her t-shirt, dipping into the waistband of her jeans to caress the skin under the elastic of her knickers. She shivered when one finger traced the cleft of her buttocks and leaned backward to trap and still his hand against the wall, shooting a glare at him.
"You just wait," she mouthed at him.
He waggled his eyebrows back, a promise and a threat (it seemed they were both in deep trouble).
Finally (after the longest thirty seconds of her life), the lift stopped again and they pushed past the man and out into the corridor. "Nineteen-twelve," John rasped as he took her hand and led her toward their destination. He fumbled the keycard out of his pocket and cursed colourfully when it took four tries to get the door to finally open (her hands all over him didn't help). They stumbled into the darkness, immediately seeking each other out, all hands and arms and thumping parcels.
"What...the hell...is in that bag?" John hissed between kisses. "It's cold."
Anna snorted and shook her head. "Mint chocolate chip," she replied, stealing another kiss. "I had another sort of need before you came along."
John returned her laugh and took the bag from her hand. "I think this room has an icebox," he muttered, turning on the light and looking around for a moment before tossing the offending confection into the small refrigerator under the minibar. He turned back to her and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. "Come here," he husked as he dipped his head to hers. He pulled the elastic tie from her hair and shook the damp lengths loose.
Anna whimpered as they kissed (and oh god, he could kiss) and backed up toward the bed, pulling him along with her. She fell backward and he fell atop her (and everything was right again). She immediately reached for his belt buckle and John hissed when she slid one hand along his length
and
then
he
stopped.
"What's wrong?" she asked, breathless and worried.
John sat up, his jaw square and lips pressed in a thin line. "I don't have a condom," he said after a moment. His face folded into a grimace as he waved his hand helplessly. "I didn't think that you and I would…" He let the words trail off and heaved a heavy sigh, his shoulder slumping. "That you'd want to see me again. After."
(oh)
After a few seconds of consideration, Anna slid her arm along his shoulders and put her lips to his ear (and let her hormones and emotions get the better of her). "I'm on birth control," she breathed as her nails ticked along the shoulder seam of his oxford shirt. "It's all right." She reached for his hand and laced her fingers with his.
John's eyes widened and his nostrils flared. His hand tightened around hers, then released, and tightened again. She could see him thinking about it, calculating and imagining. Finally, he shook his head and lifted her hand to his mouth, kissing her knuckles. "I trust you implicitly," he said carefully as he met her eyes. "But I think we need a backup. The consequences aren't something either of us is ready to deal with, let alone discuss right now, wouldn't you say?"
(the voice of reason and sanity in all of this reckless mess of theirs. she'd never been so impulsive in her life as she was with him. doctor anna may smith, what's gotten into you?)
(him)
"You're right," she resigned. She trailed her hand along his thigh and took her lower lip between her teeth, a smile blooming on her face. "There are other things we could do tonight. We could always…" Her fingers slid over the diminishing rise of his trousers, a hint and an offer.
"We could always wait five minutes and I could run over to that shop across the street," he interrupted, looking at her pointedly. He leaned in and cupped the back of her head, fingers weaving through her hair, then pressed his lips against the shell of her ear. "I promise to make it well worth the wait," he said in a low rumble that shook her spine and tightened her belly. He drew his lips down the cord of her neck before stopping at her collarbone and giving her a quick kiss there.
Anna shivered and gasped and arched into him just as he stood up and adjusted his trousers, the dark fabric hiding the evidence of his arousal. He took a few bracing breaths, flexing his hands (she was always drawn to his hands, all long digits that played at her like a piano). He leaned down and, with those wonderful hands, cupped her face to give her a lingering kiss that burned her from head to toe.
"Ten minutes," he growled against the corner of her mouth. "You'll have plenty of time get out of those wet clothes."
And then his spun on his heel and walked out the door before she could grab him and pull him back onto the bed with her.
Somewhere in that interminable time that he was gone, as she sat stock still and missing the warmth of him, she realized that she had to be as honest with him as he had finally been with her.
nascent.
He considered the champagne bottle in his hand carefully. It wasn't that he didn't drink anymore, in fact, he had the occasional beer or glass of wine during business dinners. And he'd had a little to drink the night that he and Anna had found themselves in bed together for the first time. It's just that it was…
...cheap. Ten dollars worth of cheap. She deserved far better.
She also deserved better than the slightly wilted roses that he'd grabbed from the end of the aisle, probably leftover from a week ago. He sighed and fretted that their entire relationship (yes, he could call it that now, but what should he call her? girlfriend?) had seemed cheap, set inside of hotel rooms and full of clandestine meetings and messages. He wanted to do things as right as they could, as long as she would let him. He wanted to take her to dinner and on walks in the park and to the theatre and everything a normal couple would do.
Would she be willing to wait another two and a half years for him to be rid of Vera? Suddenly that seemed longer than eternity.
(mistress?)
She deserved better than this. Better than him. But fate or God or the Devil himself had put them together again, and he wasn't one to back down from such serendipity. She was far more to him than a convenient place to lose himself. They were in a relationship now, that couldn't be denied. He scrubbed his face at the realization that he was quite possibly in love with her.
(lover? that sounded saccharine, but oh so decadent)
Swallowing the lump that had risen in his throat, and his ardor completely quenched for the time being, he scanned the shelf behind the counter until he saw the brand he wanted. He indicated his choice to the tired looking clerk, who eyeballed him dubiously.
"I didn't misspeak, mate," John muttered, pulling out two twenties from his wallet (cash was safe, credit was a risk, he'd vowed not to leave a trace of his distractions while on business).
The clerk shrugged and handed over the gaudy box (American brands weren't subtle in their sizing, were they?), then squinted at John. "You British?" he asked.
"I am."
The clerk smiled and waggled his eyebrows. "There was a hot British chick in here earlier," he chuckled.
John felt his hackles raise, then his ego overpowered his jealousy. He took back his change and held up the box, tapping on it with one finger. "Yes, I know," he replied with a smirk. "Cheers." He didn't need to see the look on the clerk's face to feel the satisfaction that Anna was his as he walked back to the hotel.
(everything? reason for carrying on every single day of his miserable life at home?)
He hummed a little tune as the lift took him back upstairs to her and practically danced down the hall to the room. Keycard in one hand, cheap champagne, wilted roses, and prophylactics tucked under his other arm, he slipped into the room.
(anna. the name that carried the weight of his entire being.)
She was seated on the bed, still clothed, in the same spot he'd left her in, except her legs were drawn up to her chest. Her arms were around her knees and she looked up, her eyes not meeting his as she fidgeted with her jeans.
"I figured you'd be under the covers by now," he quipped, setting down his purchases and waggling his eyebrows at her.
And then, with wide eyes and nervous hands, she said the three words that strike fear into the heart of every man when uttered by his lover.
"We should talk."
