Thank you for the comments and reviews. It's not easy writing this couple. They are both screwed-up, both simultaneously weak and strong when it comes to each other, and as a result of the baggage they carry, both fully engaged in a love/hate relationship. They both have done a lot wrong, and a lot right. They have both experienced pain on varying levels and for different reasons. I try not to place blame as I write them. I don't choose sides; I choose them. I hope you will too.
This smut is angsty. Try to breath. This is a romance, not a tragedy. Keep the faith.
Disclaimer: I have never written for House or David Shore. This is all on me.
Chapter 10
Cuddy felt it stirring in her before she could give it a name. It was rising up within her with seismic force, pushing beyond the passion and desire…beyond the guilt. She was angry.
Damn him! He'd spent years mocking and teasing her, embarrassing and humiliating her. She'd looked passed it; she'd pushed through and let herself love him anyway. He'd swallowed up that love and loyalty in his black whole of neediness. He'd drained all her reserves until she'd had nothing left to give. She'd been left empty; hanging on to the only thing she knew would pull her through: control. Now he was determined to break that, to break her with his declarations and insights into their warped time together.
Yes, I wanted to marry you. I knew we were screwed up. I knew we had problems, but I believed in us. I believed in you!
What about her and what she believed? She'd trusted him. He'd pushed the limits, tested her, lied to her and done what he wanted to do from the start. His positive moves were so meshed with the negatives it was hard to figure out what way to turn.
I was lashing out. I wanted you to experience the pain I was feeling.
He'd wanted to hurt her for hurting him. How dare he try to justify what he'd done! Nothing justified it. Nothing!
But he was touching her, kissing her, plundering her, and it felt good. So many months of pretending not to feel, trying to prevent him from going off the ledge while at the same time erecting walls for emotional distance, going through the motions had left her wound too tightly.
When his jacket and shirt were finally freed from his body, she caught him by the arms. Her fingers dug into his biceps and she bit his chest. House winced and grabbed her hair, pulling her head back so he could capture her mouth again.
Her hands fumbled with the snap of his pants until she freed his cock and took it in her hand. There were no tentative touches, no grazing his tip or exploring the feel of his massive erection. She dove right in. She began to stroke him with strong, even movements that drove him mad.
"God!" he cried out, and looked down at her.
He shuddered at the furious eyes staring back at him, daring him to stop her. There was something detached in the way she was touching him, the way she kissed him and continued to bite him. She was wild and ferocious. She was fighting him, fighting her own demons. When he felt her other hand take hold of his sac and her finger graze the pucker behind, his legs went weak and he staggered backwards. She pushed him into the chair behind him.
Cuddy dropped to her knees in front of him, taking him deep into her mouth. She was ravaging him, consuming him. Quickly drawing him to the edge.
"Cuddy," he said as he gasped for air. He wanted to stop her, to slow her down. He wanted her to feel more than angry desperation. He needed her to feel more than the survival instinct that seemed to be driving her.
Her tongue flicked the tip of him and his hips catapulted forward. He felt the pounding pulse in his cock and knew an explosion was eminent.
She pulled away from him, bringing the crescendo to an abrupt halt.
"You son-of-a-bitch," she said. The blood was pounding in his ears, but he heard the sneer, felt the hostility. "It's always about you, what you feel and what you want!"
She touched him again, stroking him hard, giving him a quick pounding. He was helpless to stop the response rising back up in his body. Even as his defenses shot up at the way she assailed him, the desire rocked him to his core. His body grew still and he shuddered against the tide rolling in.
She pulled her hand away from his shaft and fiercely cupped his balls. He shook from the sudden stop, his body convulsing as she held his orgasm at bay. He caught her glare, recognized her wrath. She was tormenting him.
"Cuddy," he said in a soft, husky tone.
Cuddy wouldn't let his tender eyes and careful voice sway her. She moved up his torso, her mouth and breast grazing his abdomen and chest before she hovered over him. Pivoting quickly so her back was to him, she straddled his legs, holding herself above him as she moved his cock along her moist sleeves.
House sucked in air through his clenched teeth.
"That feels good?" she asked coolly.
He experienced that familiar, untamed response to her. It left him trembling with expectation while he desperately searched for a deeper connection. She was such a tumultuous mix of conflicting emotions; he felt as if he were being sucked up in the funnel of a tornado. He was afraid, almost terrified that he would be destroyed by the force.
I did this to her. I brought out this venom.
The shame washed over him. They'd come so far and yet the past hung on to them like an albatross, a curse that drew them together and kept them apart. They were always out-of-sync.
He ran his hand gently along her spine, wanting to soothe and calm her. He knew what she was doing, blocking his gaze, keeping him at a distance while she used her body as a weapon. The ruthless, merciless torment and shame that was currently driving her was something he understood on a visceral level. It was ironic really. She was blocking him emotionally, but he was feeling a connection beyond any they'd shared. He knew what it was like to be so overtaken with pain, to be blinded by the savagery of intractable emotions.
She lowered herself onto him, slowly surrounding him with her heat. His arms slid around her, hugging her as she sank onto him, seeding his cock deep within. "That's it, Cuddy," he said close to her ear. "Let it out. Let go."
"Shut up!" she bit out.
Her hands grabbed his wrist, trying to pull them away from her body. He wouldn't let go. He held her tight, vaguely processing the grip she had on him would probably leave marks.
"Tell me what you need," he said, moving his hips to increase the pressure.
She tried to rise up, to fully pull away from him. He held her firm. It was killing him; his body was covered in sweat as he restrained himself beneath her. He knew he needed to be patient, to wait for the storm to pass. This was her time.
She pushed against him, fighting his embrace and writhing on his lap. Her interior muscles tightened around his shaft, gripping him, locking him within walls. It was a sheer strength of will and an abiding concern for her that prevented him from coming.
He moved a hand to cup her breast as the other dropped to cup her mound. His arms remained tense and held her tight, preventing her from escaping as he moved his chin gently along his back.
"Oh," she inhaled sharply when his finger slid against her nub. Her body was alive; every nerve ending was on alert, tingling and pulsating between pleasure and pain.
"Let it go, Cuddy."
She didn't know if he was talking about the anger or the orgasm, the pain or the ecstasy. It didn't matter. They were drowning her, robbing her of what control she'd been maintaining and leaving her quivering beneath the shock.
Her chin dropped to her chest and she felt the tears pressing against her eyes.
"What do you need?" He whispered.
"I don't know," she said in frustration.
He felt the crack in her shell and he made his move. He pushed her off his lap, swallowing a cry as his cock was released, and turned her around to face him. He pulled her down onto his lap and plunged into her.
She yelped as he filled her, spreading wide to receive him fully. He knew she needed to come, knew she needed the release even more than him, but they needed to be here in the moment together, not trapped in the punishing chains of the past.
He reached up and gently cupped her jaw. "Look at me," he pleaded, needing to remind her of the better part of them, remind her of his heart.
She looked down to where their bodies were joined and arched her back, creating a pull at his groin as her sex clung tightly to him. He groaned and dropped his hands to her thighs. He needed to move, to drive into her again and again, but she lifted up until all but the tip of him remained at her entrance. He pushed up and she pulled away, just out of his reach. She kept teasing him, promising the fulfillment he needed but keeping it out of his reach. He tried to remain calm and steady, allowing her to punish him with the angry tease of her body. She deserved it. She'd held it together for him. Hell, she'd held him together more times than he could count. He owed her.
His fingers ran gently along her thighs, lightly caressing as he tried to consciously relax beneath her. It was impossible. His entire being was quaking beneath the physical and emotional strain.
She felt his body shaking and shuddering, and at last her eyes locked with his. She froze as the laser intensity of his stare cut through the haze in her mind, and she processed what was happening between them.
"I hate you," she sobbed.
He leaned into her. "I know," he said, and she felt his breath heave out of him.
Cuddy caressed his jaw and studied his face, searching his expression, reading him like a book. His eyes didn't leave hers as his hips began to lunge. He was unable to hold out any longer; she was unwilling to fight him. She matched his rhythm, her breasts bouncing, her hips pounding. This was it. This was what they had: this stolen moment. It wasn't perfect. It wasn't even right, but it was what they needed. So she took it.
He came with a hoarse cry just as the tremors took her over. Their orgasm lasted extended over minutes; House was relentless in extending her pleasure with the focused intensity of his desire and obsession.
She collapsed against him. He held her close, his hands sliding up and down her back as their breathing calmed and they awaited recovery of their senses.
"I love you," she whispered in his ear.
"I know," he said, leaning back to look in her eyes. There was so much still unsaid, so much to confront, but he didn't want to let her go.
A sudden veil of sadness seemed to cover her as she kissed him lightly on the lips. He braced himself against the onslaught of fear and foreboding that washed over him at her light touch.
"I wasn't finding reasons to leave you, House," she finally said. "I had lost myself. I was trying to find my way."
He flinched. She didn't have to explain. He knew. He had been so desperate to please her, so demanding and needy, the pressure had been a vacuum sucking the life out of her.
"I can do better." He hated himself as soon as he said it. How many times would he say that to her?
But she smiled at him sadly. "So can I," she said. "But we can't try. We can't do this. Not yet."
He watched her slide off his lap and begin adjusting her clothes. He remained cemented to the chair, the weight of truth preventing his movement.
"You're not the only one who needs to make changes," she said.
"We can change together," he said in a hopeful voice that was almost her undoing. "We can work on it together."
She shook her head at him. "I bend rules for you, make exceptions for you, I make sacrifices and compromises every day for you," she said. "And that's okay because I choose to do it. What I won't do anymore is allow myself to get lost in you, to forget who I am because I'm trying so hard to hold us together. I have to do what's right for me. I'm not going to make the same mistakes over again."
She ran her fingers through her hair, looking slight mussed instead of put back together. She'd probably stop by the ladies room on the way back to the party and touch-up her hair and make-up.
She's leaving.
He closed his eyes at the realization. She was leaving him again.
"House," she called to him from the door. He looked at her with glassy, defeated eyes.
"I do love you," she said. "But I won't be the other woman. I can't. I'm sorry."
As the door closed behind her, his head fell in defeat. His eyes caught sight of his jacket and the paper sticking out of the pocket: the letter scheduling his divorce proceedings. He hadn't gotten around to telling her, to explaining his plan…maybe it was for the best.