XIII. HOUSE
It felt unreal; like one of his fantasies but with the added richness of all the senses channeling into him. Almost too much sensory input in fact; House fought for self-control as he leaned over Cuddy's supine form and looped one end of the sash around the metal bars of her headboard.
The sash felt cool and smooth against his fingertips, an impression standing alone for a long second. He closed his eyes for a single beat of his heart and looked down at Cuddy in the next. "A nice little slipknot—tight enough to hold you for the moment."
"That's what you think—" Cuddy muttered back, but her hot-eyed stare up into his face betrayed her, as did the flutter of her pulse along her throat. House took his time shifting back down the length of her bare body, appreciating the way her contours pressed against his.
He wanted this to go on all night; this out-of-body give and take, emphasis on the taking part. Cuddy restrained had him quivering; like a starving man looking over a banquet, not sure where to begin, but determined to have it all. House harshly sighed, and stretched out beside her, one big hand roaming over her body, the way he'd longed to do for years. Sweet curves under warm silk, and the scent of her skin intoxicating.
"I believe in being thorough, so let's start at the top . . . " he told murmured into her ear, letting his breath heat it. House lightened his touch, trailing his fingers up over Cuddy's breast lightly, sensitive to the heat rising off her skin. It was damper now; ripe and responsive. Feeling a tiny bit brutal, House pinched her nipple between his thumb and forefinger; Cuddy moaned and rolled her hips in a slow wriggle, her half-closed eyes unfocused for a second, then her gaze coming back in full smolder.
"That hurt," came her throaty outrage. House's gaze was still on her breast, and he rubbed the nipple with his index finger, toying with it in fascination.
"You're an animal, Lisa. Oh you might get away with taming yourself under cute little Donna Karan power suits and self-imposed routines throughout your career, but get you naked on a bed and that's all gone—" House murmured in a commanding monotone. He shifted his touch to her other breast, cupping it firmly, squeezing with enough pressure to be a full possessive grope. "Here, you're one sleek, hot little slut . . . "
"S-s-sticks and stoooones . . ." Cuddy stammered out defensively, but even then, her voice was uneven, and House heard her breathing quicken. He rolled closer, raising himself on one propped elbow the better to brush his face alongside the hollow of her armpit. It was smooth, and slightly damp with sweet muskiness that made him throb in happy response. Of all the senses he relied on to keep him grounded in the real world, scent had the most emotional impact, even before taste. House reveled in the scent of Cuddy; her perfume, her pheromones, her enticingly heated skin.
"You should go topless to work," he decided. "Set the girls free and see how much more cooperation you get from everyone." As he spoke, he used his index finger to circle around her tight, plump nipples, shifting from one breast to the other in a wicked tease. Cuddy wriggled again, her flesh pebbling in tiny responsive goosebumps.
"Riiight. That will really go over well at the board meetings—" she groaned, smiling in spite of herself at a fleeting thought of all the astonished faces staring down the table at her.
Then House shifted, bent his head and the sudden HEAT of his mouth against her nipple, searing, sending a throb of molten pleasure through her body, God! Cuddy gasped, arching off the mattress, but House draped an arm across her lean stomach and pinned her down, suckling hard for a few seconds, intensifying the mindless delight just to the sweet, sharp point of pain.
He stopped, lifting his head to stare up at her. "You liked that," House accused in a whisper. "The almost-hurt."
A quiet pause smoldered between them.
"It's . . . good sometimes," Cuddy breathed back, not looking at him, her gaze on the ceiling. "Edgy. Sometimes they're the same."
House grunted in agreement; pain could be pleasure and pleasure pain—it depended on which came first and how it was handled. The morph of one to the other had no fixed point, and the very fluidity of the game made it that much more fascinating. Just hearing Cuddy admit to it cranked the tension up, and had him pressing hard against her hip. His thigh ached, but the rest of his body ignored it, caught up in a more urgent, sensual need that he wouldn't be able to control much longer.
"Yes they are," he agreed thickly. "Sometimes that blurring of the line is just what the doctor ordered."
She growled in response, a low, sweet sound and thrashed slightly; House felt a warmth down the muscles of his stomach as he watched her lose herself in the moment. There was something so fierce and feminine in Cuddy; an alpha bitch for the wolf pack of their professional world without a doubt. It thrilled him that in this private little interlude she was letting her guard down . . . or merely letting the anima of her nature come through the carefully maintained defenses and habits of a lifetime. Either way, this was the Cuddy he wanted—a fighter just as likely to take him as he her.
A challenge.
"Since you've seen mine, as evidenced by the photo you stole from Stacy's possession, I think it's only fair I spend a little time perusing yours—" House decided, punctuating his announcement with a light nip along the underside of her nearer breast. Cuddy gritted her teeth against the pleasure, he noted gloatingly.
"Stop talking—" she hissed, and House laughed aloud at that, a lazy, happy sound. It wasn't difficult to focus on much more tactile ways of taunting her, and she did have a point: they were pretty much beyond the need for words now. He shifted awkwardly, but with determination, taking a meandering tour down the length of her body and pausing to enjoy the trip.
The firm muscles of her abdomen, tight from Pilates and Yoga no doubt, quivering a little now at the touch of his nose. The tiny navel, sweet to the kiss, and scented with lotion. The slightly concave cradle of Cuddy's hips, sleek, carved bones beautifully highlighted in shadow and sensitive to nips and licks. And between them, the lovely thicket of tangled curls, small, tight and silky.
House blew a breath across them just to feel Cuddy tense.
He rubbed his chin along the top of her thigh, and moved his hands, gliding them down along her legs, shifting to the insides of her knees, marveling at how his palms covered them easily. He hummed, letting the vibrations rattle through his chest and against her stomach, knowing Cuddy would feel them. When she tensed once more, he pushed her knees apart, firmly.
She resisted, and House smiled; of course. Never mind that her entire body was as taut as a string on a guitar, or that the rich, hot smell of her arousal was flooding his senses and making his breathing erratic, no this was Cuddy making things difficult even now.
Challenges were good. He bent and licked the warm crease along the inside of her thigh and hip. Salty sweet, and the gasping twitch his move created made her knees part involuntarily. House nosed his way through the ticklish curls along her mound, feeling his momentary pride dissolve as more urgent needs flared again.
A kiss. Soft and sweet, lightly, hotly dropped ever so gently at the top of Cuddy's cleft, right where everything was most sensitive. House braced himself as the woman under his mouth cried out, her hips surging forward at his blatant precision. He forced himself to pull back and keep the pressure a light touch, to keep his whiskers from scraping the delicate slick edges of her sex. This was a matter of control; of pride and lust and power and there was no second chance to get it right.
Cuddy deserved the best he could give her.
After a few long seconds, when her hips reluctantly settled back onto the mattress, he kissed her again, this time letting the heat of his breath blow across her slick, plump petals. Cuddy wriggled. "Grrrrrreeggggg---" it was his name, but in a thick, hungry low voice that made his balls tighten with pleasure.
"Shhhhhh---no talking," he muttered, smiling to himself.
