In honor of Punk's amazing win tonight at NOC. Here is a new, LONGER, chapter.

Rated M. Beware.

With love,

Skee.

A few hours had passed since then. We'd arrived in Miami.

I'd found Punk outside the front doors for the station.

There wasn't a word spoken the rest of the night.

And now, he was sound asleep next to me in the hotel bed.

It was pushing 8AM.

He was going to wake soon, and I had a phone call to return.

I looked down at my phone, replaying the message left for me not too long ago.

"Miss Strong. We were very impressed with the DVDs you sent us last week and would love to set up a live try out. Also, we have received a faxed copy of your contract proposal from your lawyer, Mr. Wilkins. I couldn't find any problems with it. So we'd like to proceed. We'd like to set up a sit down to discuss your future with us."

The man's name was Bruce Prichard; the EVP of Talent relations for TNA.

Apparently he'd gotten the ok to higher me from the company president a few days ago.

They wanted me in today for that sit down.

I guessed it was working.

With my phone on loud, I wasn't too sure where I was when the message was left.

But I knew I had only a few hours before I'd have to fly out to Tennessee.

I looked down at Punk, who was rolling on to his stomach.

I sighed.

This meeting was bittersweet really.

It took me away from the torment of silence from Punk; and took me away from Punk, who I loved.

The while situation was bittersweet.

I'd be making great strides with my career in leaving, but I'd be taking huge steps backwards with my relationship.

It was horrible.

I turned, kneeling, facing the headboard.

I missed my old Punker.

I didn't try to stop the absentminded movement to touch his back.

The moment I did, he shivered.

I smoothed my hand over the skin a few times, missing the feel of it.

He groaned, peaking at me through his slitted lids.

I gave him a soft smile, hoping we'd stay like this for another moment longer.

And to my surprise, it did.

"Baby." I whispered, his lips pealed back into a grin at the name.

What the hell universe were we in right now?

Skin-on-skin contact?

Conversation?

Smiles?

Who was this man and where what did he do with Punk?

Frankly, I didn't really care.

I had my old boy back, if only for a second before I broke more bad news.

"I got to go." I mumbled, watching him carefully.

His brows furrowed, and his smile disappeared.

"Where?" he rasped.

It made me smile.

It'd been a long time since I'd heard that voice.

He flipped onto his back; my hand staying on his flesh.

It made a new home on his oh-so lovely stomach.

Oh god did I miss this place.

I let my fingers caress the area around them before I answered.

Surely the reminder of my huge mistake would snap him back to the real world.

"Nashville." I muttered.

Watching my fingers play over his skin.

I glanced up at him sheepishly, expecting the cold glare I'd gotten on the train.

But instead, I got dumbstruck and sleepy.

That could explain it.

The reason he was so... normal right now.

He'd only gotten a handful of hours for sleep.

And with the sleep schedule he'd been keeping lately, that surely wasn't enough.

"Impact called. They want a sit-down this afternoon."

He blinked his eyes free from sleep and looked at me.

Now that he was fully awake, I expected the usual.

Snap, distance, and ignore.

"When will you be back?"

I blinked in surprised and shrugged.

"They said something about a tryout. Plus I'd have to do a photo shoot and a bunch of paper work for bio's and shit. It'll be at least a couple of days."

And finally, here it was.

The emotionless pit that was Punk the last few weeks.

It was starting to sink in now.

I was really leaving.

He just blinked at me until I said something.

Anything.

The silence was killing me.

"Punk, I hate being like this."

Already the burn of tears started as I spoke.

"I know that I shouldn't have agreed to do this. Not right when we were so close to being normal again. I'm sorry, I really am."

I tried to take a deep breath; stave off the tears just a little longer.

I shoved my hands into my hair, gripping at it tightly.

"You have every right to be mad at me. But I wish you'd just talk to me."

There was only a few seconds before all hell broke loose on my tear ducts; it was total silence.

"I just can't stand not talking to you." I tried to whisper, but a sob caught in my throat.

My fingers pulling on the gripped hair helped force down the sob; the pain distracting me from the emotion.

It was actually kind of refreshing.

With my eyes squeezed shut, I didn't see Punk shift on the bed.

But I felt it.

And his hands around mine in another second.

"I know I've told you before. Stop that."

His voice was low, but the intensity was the same as his furious tone.

I couldn't stop the hick-up that came up my throat at his harsh tone.

The thought of making him more mad at me utterly defeated me.

Punk released my hands, making them flop back into my lap.

I didn't realize until then how much that little contact meant.

How much hope it built inside of me.

But before I could lay on an even thicker layer of self loathing, I felt it.

The ever slightest touch of Punk's fingers brushing against my shoulder.

I sucked in a hard breath, my stomach clenching.

Then again.

The tiniest of brushes from his other hand against my face; his fingers pushing the hair in my face back behind my ear.

His hand fell down to my side, then down to my hip.

I couldn't stop myself.

I had to reach out and wrap my arms around his neck.

I had to.

I'd wanted to for days.

I dug my fingers into the hair at the back of his head; inhaled his scent like it was the first breath I'd in weeks.

When he tightened his grip around me a second later; pulling me closer towards him, my throat released a new sob.

For the first time in weeks I was relieved.

Happy even.

I'd missed him so much.

I buried my face in his neck, the feel of his skin not something I ever wanted to forget again.

My lips brushed up against him, feeling so nice.

I did it again, this time letting my tongue trace around the same spot.

I felt Punk stiffen against me.

"Eli, don't." his voice was different.

Raw.

Heated.

Desperate.

I didn't listen, and let my teeth scrape against his skin.

There was a low rumble in the back of his throat, I could feel it as I heard his breathing quicken.

I trailed one hand over his shoulder, and down his bare chest.

I rested over his heart for a moment, it pounding against my hand.

He wanted this just as bad as I did.

I reluctantly pulled my hand from him, and pulled down the zipper of the sweatshirt I'd slept in.

When I'd finished, I used that hand to push it open, over my shoulder.

I was desperate too.

My hand went back to his shoulder, and followed his arm down to his hand at my hip.

"Touch me." I whispered, pleading to him.

I didn't just want him to.

I needed him to.

I needed to know we were ok.

And this was the only way I'd truly know.

I let out a shaky breath, thinking, maybe this wasn't going to happen.

When I felt his grip tighten around my thighs, pulling me on to his lap.

Even between our underwear, I could feel him hard against me.

I wrapped my legs around his waist and took in a ragged breath; my hand returning to his chest at the sensation.

I could barely breath, my face resting against his.

I kissed his scruff covered cheek, trailing down his jaw.

I could barely feel his hand come around my thigh, to my stomach.

I was too focused on trying to kiss him for the first time in weeks.

I brushed my nose against his, my hands holding his face close to mine.

Our lips brushed against each other a few times, I was still working up the nerve to kiss him.

Faintly, I felt his fingers trail their way up my abdomen, skimming over my breasts.

I gasped, not needing any more convincing.

I pressed my lips against his, not hesitating to slip my tongue along his lips, into his mouth.

That's when he lost it.

All that brooding self control he'd been holding on to for days.

It was all gone.

And only pure, starved, Punk remained.

His hand tightened in my hair, pulling me closer, and opening his mouth wider.

His need echoing mine.

The scruff on his face tickled the edges of my mouth.

His other hand that had made it's way up my chest, went back down, wasting no time at all.

His fingers pressed against me through my underwear; my whole body jumping at the sensation, grinding against him.

There was no prelude for what happened next.

Punk pulled aside my underwear.

There was only a second's pause, which I assumed was him bypassing his boxers, then he was pressed fully inside of me.

I tore my lips from his.

The ability to breathe was completely gone now.

I fought for the small gasps I got every few seconds.

I had been reluctantly prepared to be at odds with him for the next six months, or longer.

But those thoughts were far from me now.

All I could focus on was his hands gripping my shoulders, pulling me down on to him.

My hands went back to his hair, it the only place I had to hold on to.

And I'd need to.

Already, I was feeling the mind and body numbing climax build.

It was hard to control the volume of my voice as I groaned and moaned.

After the first few moments, I stopped trying.

Punk was the same.

Usually a quiet lover, his lips were letting out all sorts of profanities now with his filter gone.

I wouldn't be surprised if the neighbors could hear.

But I really didn't care.

And I couldn't do anything to stop it.

I couldn't even move.

The bridge of my nose pressed against his neck.

I could hear every word from his lips, and every grunt from his throat.

And there I was, stuck, slumped against him; bones like jelly, when it started.

The final ascent to totally body meltdown.

First, it started in my stomach; muscles clenching.

I tightened my grip on his hair, holding on for dear life.

Suddenly, it ripped through me; the build skipping over my back, arms and legs.

Every muscle in my body clenched, squeezing against my bones.

I felt they could crumble at any second.

Even my jaw was clamped shut.

My cry of sweet, agonizing, pleasure muffled by teeth and flesh.

In mere seconds I'd been reduced to a writing puddle of Eli.

And Punk was no where near being finished with me yet, that much was certain.

While I was struggling to control my frenzied cry; Punk didn't hold back.

Didn't miss a beat either; still pulling me down to meet his hip's thrusts.

I hadn't really noticed we'd toppled over until I was flat on my back, arms held wide apart.

He'd slowed down some, pinning my elbows down and kissing my chest.

He smirked against my skin; my body shaking and twitching for the next few minutes.

I flexed my hands, trying to find his own flesh.

I wanted so badly to touch him.

The thought of his velvet covered skin against the pads of my fingers set off a new need inside of me.

I pulled as hard as I could, putting the weight of my whole body into freeing myself, but his grip held fast.

I felt his lips rumble against my skin a moment later; it not clicking until after the hard slam of his hips that it was punishment.

He always wanted me to lay there and take it.

But I just couldn't do it.

And that got me a knock to the head.

His slam was just hard enough to push me up into the stupid headboard, I was only an inch from it in the first place.

I let out a whimper after the bang.

Punk's head popped up, letting me look at his face.

Concern flashed for a moment, but at my pout, his hunger returned.

He leaned up, kissing my forehead all along my hairline.

This was my Punk.

Sweet, sexy, dangerous.

And I never wanted him to leave again.