I'm just gonna leave this here before I change my mind. So...*backs away slowly, then half the distance to the door, turns and runs full speed*
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Liz moaned softly in her sleep. The purity of the sound fell on the room like soft rain. He'd watched her since she first drifted off, and until now she had slept relatively soundly.
Liz turned toward him and he could see the deep furrow in her brow, the consternation there. Sleep should be a reprieve for her, he thought, not a nightly torment. He frowned, watching her sleep.
Her arm went beside her, searching, finding emptiness. Looking for the person that was usually there. She sighed and her mouth moved almost imperceptibly. Even in her sleep she looked impossibly sad, and to see her need and do nothing seemed suddenly unthinkable.
He stood in the near-dark and approached the bed quietly on the opposite side. The mattress dipped gently as he moved across the bed to her, his movements stealthy so as to not disturb her rest. He lay behind her, his head resting in the curve of her neck, his body flush against hers outside the covers. Even through the thin barrier that separated them, he could feel her heat. He put one arm across her middle, and she sighed. He smiled as he felt her relax against him.
The darkness allowed him the benefit of continuing his observation, and looking at Elizabeth Keen was something he never tired of. He reclined on his elbow so he could see her face. Gently, he swept her hair back, exposing her neck to the cool air. She stirred quietly but did not wake, and he was confidant that she would continue to sleep as long as he was careful. He let his fingertips trace her temple, her hairline, and then down to her neck and imagined kissing her there.
She moaned softly and opened her eyes. She moved partially to look up at him, her eyes bright and somewhat vulnerable. She turned her face into his touch where his fingers still hovered tellingly and merely looked at him. "Your hands are cold. Why don't you get under the covers?"
He studied her face, noting her lack of surprise that he was now lying beside her. He nodded and left the comfort of her presence for a few seconds as he drew back the blanket, careful to not expose her to the cool air longer than necessary. When he was by her side once more, he didn't move to embrace her. He was simply there.
Liz absorbed his heat, his closeness, silently inhaling the rich scent that was unmistakably him. She moved quickly beside him, and Red observed two practiced hands go behind her back and unclasp her bra under her shirt. Silently and with the same deft illusion of movement, she removed it through one of her shirt sleeves and tossed it onto the floor. Red quirked his mouth at this. This little magic trick had been the plague of his youth, a sort of dark magic that allowed a woman to disrobe without exposure. He never ceased to find it equally fascinating and hateful.
When she had settled once again she inched closer to him, craving the strength of his arms, the cocoon he created with his mere presence whenever he was close. He slipped his arm around her, complying with her unspoken request.
Red lay in the dark with Liz's body curved against his and wondered how this had happened. Not that he minded, of course; he wanted nothing more than to lie beside this woman for the rest of his life, but Red was a patient man. He hadn't expected this so soon.
She still had not faced him, and he could feel from her coiled tension that she wasn't asleep. She felt distant, and from her apparent absence he could sense that she was thinking; he could almost hear the cogs turning.
He bent his head into the crook of her neck, and she could feel the whisper of his eyelashes against her skin.
"You're wrong Red," she said quietly, "I do know what I want."
She was looking away from him, at the empty chair he'd spent most of the night in. She knew he was being chivalrous, and she hated him for it. She didn't need a boy scout. She needed him.
She slipped her hand in his where it rested below her breasts and turned on her back to face him. He didn't have time to change positions, and their faces were a breath apart. She sighed, and it escaped through her gently parted lips, teasing the line of his jaw. She released his hand and ran hers slowly up the length of his arm, testing the taut firmness of his muscles beneath his shirt. She looked into his eyes.
"Kiss me Red."
His heart drummed in his chest; his throat tightened just to look at her, and he couldn't remember the last time a woman had made him feel that way. He studied her mouth, the gentle slope of her cheek, the arch of her eyebrows. Their proximity was such that he couldn't see all of her at once, so he flitted from one feature to another, drunk on her beauty. He met her eyes, dark with need and questioning. Wanting him.
This wasn't supposed to happen, not yet. It suddenly didn't matter. He decided then that he would be whatever she needed for however long, no matter the consequences.
His hand went up to brush the delicate flesh of her neck, the fan of hair where she lay against the pillow. He continued to look at her, transfixed.
"Kiss me," she repeated, and it pulled him from his revelry.
He studied her lips, and his curved into a crooked smile. "I heard you," he said. "I'm deciding on how."
His voice was raw silk with a hint of dark promise. Just the words against her face pooled warmth at her core, and she ached for him. She would never admit to herself how many times she'd felt that same ache, how many times his intimate conversation alone had aroused her like no one else. She would admit it now; she'd been foolish to deny it.
At some point her hands had moved to his chest, and she could feel the steady thump of his heart against her palm. "Dammit Red," she said breathlessly, "you can be so maddening at times."
She kissed him hungrily, her tongue sliding between his teeth without preamble, savoring his taste, the heat of him, and getting lost in the little noises rising from the back of his throat.
He responded to her instantly, and his weight settled on her upper body. Possessive. Authoritative.
He felt good. So damn good, she thought, his weight pressing her into the mattress as his talented tongue lavished her mouth. God, it had been so long since a man had touched her like this. Had one ever touched her like this? Her powers of cognition seemed inconsequential.
She needed more of him. She pulled away, breaking their contact as she began working on the buttons of his shirt. Her eyes never left his, and her fingers trembled slightly at the task, desire already a potent narcotic. She worked silently for several moments under the intense scrutiny of his unreadable expression until he moved to still her hands.
He raised her wrist to his mouth. He placed a gentle kiss there, and then another; his tongue flicked between his lips as he traced the rough edges of her scar with his mouth. He'd wanted to touch it like this since he first saw it.
The little moan that escaped her lips was sweeter than any music, he decided, and he would never tire of its melody. He couldn't suppress the self-satisfied smile when he realized it was brought to life by his hand.
He separated her hands and brought them back on either side of her head. He held them gently but with enough force to cause her wriggling body to still. He lowered his mouth to her ear, and she instinctively arched her body into his. Her taut nipples skated against the fabric of his dress shirt; she caught a button and hissed through her teeth.
"Slow down," he said seductively, almost amused. Her breath was coming in little pants and that, coupled with her hooded eyes, her breasts tight against him, and her swollen, dewy lips was enough to threaten his fortitude.
She responded to his request and almost immediately the resistance against his hold on her began to relax. She worried her lower lip, enjoying his momentary dominance of her, secretly thrilling at being pinned by this powerful, dangerous man in her marital bed. The very thought of the illicitness of their act sent a jolt of heat directly to her center and she moved under him, needing relief. She brushed the rigid length of him, and he inhaled sharply.
"God Lizzie you are so beautiful," he murmured into her neck. His words were rushed, lacking the practiced control of his usual diction. Her arms were free, but she found herself unable to move under his attention.
He could feel the tight swell of her breasts beneath the t-shirt, but it wasn't enough. He fingered the cotton fabric appreciatively. "This has to go," he said darkly. He slid his hand beneath the shirt, relishing in the heat of her smooth skin, exploring briefly what lay beneath before he tugged the fabric up and over her head.
She lay before him, splendorous and perfect. Her hair cascaded around her shoulders, her breasts laid bare, doe eyes looking up at him, venerable in her passion but belying the strength there. One hand was up by her head where he had left it, the palm like a half-opened flower and inside it, that little scar.
He realized then how stupid he'd been, how ridiculous it was to plan for, to try and predict this volatile force of nature that was his Lizzie. How arrogant he was to think himself in control.
A flash of uncertainty crossed her face as she endured his penetrating gaze, and after several moments he realized he'd said nothing. "Perfect," he managed. Given his limited cerebral blood supply at the moment, he found that was pretty eloquent.
She smiled then and her hands went up to caress his face. It was an adoring touch, one that Red was not accustomed to. She pulled him into a soft kiss, as passionate as before but less erratic, and her lips lingered there for several seconds.
He pulled away only to return his mouth to the hollow of her throat, her collarbone. The scrape of his stubble sent a shock of sensation through her body and she gasped. He smiled against her skin. There was so much to delight in, he scarcely knew where to start.
The hand at her waist tracked slowly up her side, gliding smoothly over her ribcage, the flat plan of her stomach. Red could feel her breath hitch from the sensation of his hands, the cool air. The skin over the pulse in her neck fluttered rapidly.
Finally, he ran a hand over her breast, just enough to cause her to quicken beneath him, and then he took one into his mouth.
Liz twitched against him and breathed his name, and the little sound was even better than the first. He teased one while he suckled at the other, letting his teeth graze her nipples just enough to delve into that gray area between pleasure and pain.
She was rocking gently into him now, and he knew she was close. He stopped his ministrations long enough to grab her hip roughly, stilling the movement. He looked her in the face, a dark glint in his eye. "Calm down, now," he chided, and his voice was so full of mirth that it pissed her off.
He watched as she balled her fists petulantly, refusing to look at him, and he chuckled, a low, resonant staccato that seemed to match the staccato of her throbbing sex. He placed a kiss along her abdomen, eliciting a sigh from her either because of or in spite of her frustration, he couldn't be sure, and her hands relaxed. God, it was irresistible to see her so worked up, he thought. This fierce, beautiful woman would be his undoing.
Red continued his slow exploration, placing a kiss on the smooth skin around her navel and tracing the curve of her hips with his hands. When he found her panties, he slipped a thumb beneath the waistband of the blue silk lace and gently slid them off.
He sat back and exhaled a slow, steadying breath at the sight of her. Soft brown curls framed by the arc of her feminine curves. Her legs, lean and shapely, akilter among the sheets.
He made a noise she could only label as a growl, a low, hungry sound that caused the tightly-wound coil of desire within her to grow ever larger, threatening to split her in half. He held her at the waist and pulled her down the length of the bed a little rougher than he intended. He reached over and grabbed Tom's pillow and slid it under her hips.
She made a surprised little sound, and then grew quiet. Her eyes were shut and she had one hand over her face.
"Lizzie," he said as he gently parted her knees, "take your hand away. I want to see your face."
She complied, revealing a deep, rose-colored blush that had spread its way down the creamy column of her neck. He turned his face into the crook of her leg and kissed the side of her knee. "That's better," he breathed.
He took his time, running his hand over the length of her calf, the delicate ankle and down to those brightly painted red toenails. He couldn't think of a more perfect color for her.
He kissed his way back up, stopping to rest in that little recess between her hip and thigh. What a beautiful spot, he thought. His fingers brushed her sex, slipping inside her but withdrawing just as quickly that she scarcely had time to react and she wondered if it had happened at all. She twisted against him, desperate for more contact to satisfy the sweet agony he had visited upon her.
He stole a glance at her, lips parted and pupils black. She had two fistfuls of sheets and he'd barely touched her. He brought his fingers to his mouth, letting her essence moisten his lips. She had a sweet tang, like raspberries just before ripening. He closed his eyes.
"Mmm, Lizzie. You're exquisite." He smoothed a hand along her thigh and lowered his mouth to her.
She bucked beneath him, a series of moans escaping her lips unchecked, and he stilled her hips, intending her to remain there. "Be good," he said as he released her, "I'm going to need my hands."
Her mouth went dry and she had no concept of time or place as his mouth moved against her. She nodded meekly, not remembering the question or command, only that she was agreeing to something, anything, so long as he didn't stop. She felt the crescendo of her climax starting to build low within her, spreading into her legs and arms. He stubbornly ignored her throbbing core, his tongue expertly attending everywhere but there, and she wondered wildly if it might kill her, the want of him. She whimpered at the neglect.
He sat up, leaning over her, and his lips brushed the underside of her breast. He slid two fingers inside her, finding where that little bundle of nerves should be and applying gentle pressure. He remembered their conversation in the hat shop, and smiled.
He felt her tighten around him, and she was breathing heavily. He placed a flat thumb against her sensitive core and looked up to watch her.
She moved against him now, and he let her, matched her strokes. She arched her back, dug her heels into the mattress as she came, but instead of the relaxed tension of release, she gasped once more, experiencing an intensity, a blinding shock of pleasure that stole her breath. She cried out; her body racked by waves of sensation. She reached for him and he was there, fingers still inside her. He held her with his other arm as her body trembled, as it relaxed in blissful degrees. Her face was buried in his shoulder and she was crying.
He leaned forward and kissed her mouth and she tasted herself on his lips.
"That was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," he whispered into her hair. She scarcely heard him. She wet her lips, looking into his dark pupils. It was beautiful, but not enough. She needed more; she needed him.
"Red." Her hands went up to the collar of his shirt, and this time he did not stop her. She kissed his jaw line, the smooth flesh below his ear. She heard him suck in a breath as she reached the little spot where the chip was. Secretly, she wondered if anyone was monitoring him now, if whoever was on shift was watching with interest as the little on-screen blip glowed brightly on the grid of what would be her house, her bed. The thought both thrilled and terrified her. She nipped at the flesh there.
She discarded the shirt and set to work on the undershirt, one identical to the one she had left his penthouse wearing almost 24 hours ago. She pulled it out of the belt and slipped her hands under it.
She smoothed her hands over the strong plane of his shoulders, then down to his chest, marveling at the wonder of him, and further downward, stopping at his belt. He stood then, divesting himself of the rest of his clothes. His eyes never left hers.
She was on her knees on the edge of the bed as he stood looking at her in the moonlight. She reached between them and took him in her hand. She looked up into his face, her eyes alight with desire and locked on him.
"I want you inside me Red," she said as she stroked him gently. "I need that."
His eyes fluttered closed, and he grunted with the effort it took to maintain control. He swiftly picked her up, laying her against the sheets a little sloppily as he settled on top of her. Liz thrilled inwardly at the danger she saw in him, the want, satisfied in knowing that it was for her, all for her. She pulled his head down to hers, claiming his mouth, his expert tongue of whose talents she would forever be appreciative.
He broke the kiss long enough to look into her face. She gave him a little nod, looking at him through her lashes. She wanted this as much as he did, he realized, and he smiled inwardly.
He caressed her thigh and then drew her leg up around him to cross over his lower back as he eased inside her.
She gasped, adjusting to his girth. He let out a slow, decompressing sigh as he slid deeper inside her. It was the most beautiful thing she'd ever heard. He locked eyes with her as he rocked his hips forward in long, slow strokes.
The deep, smooth heat of him fit her perfectly, made sense somehow. He'd been missing, she realized. All these years he'd been missing from her life and she'd never thought to look.
She watched his face change...the emotions flitting briefly across his face like light through that damn tree at Hempstead's window. She never knew what Red saw in that view, but it couldn't have been more lovely that what she now saw before her. She reached up to caress his shoulders as she matched his rhythm.
He quickened his pace, and she made no effort to thwart the moan that escaped her lips. She grabbed his ass, pulling him tightly to her, and heard him groan.
She felt herself tightening around him, and her hands went up to trace the straight column of his back. From the look of concentration on his face she could tell he was close to the edge.
Liz turned her face up to his, and he bent to kiss her. She studied him, breathless and nearly gone. Her hands went up to hold his face, memorizing it. "Let go Red," she said into his ear. And with two more emphatic thrusts, he did.
She came almost simultaneously, and as she tightened around him he whispered her name. Something inside her broke to hear it and she shuddered against him, legs trembling as he held her tightly. She freefalled into nothing, but he was there. He would always be there, she realized. Had always been there. She clung to him and he breathed heavily into her hair as the waves of their orgasm receded between them.
They lay entwined, their spent bodies glistening and weak. Red lazed kisses at her temple, her ear, the line of her throat. The contented hum there vibrated against his lips, and he smiled against it.
He would appreciate her more fully in the light of day, he thought. He would appreciate every inch of her properly. He snugged his arm around her, pulling himself close against her. She brushed a hand against his face, studying him, disbelieving. She laughed then, a soft sound at how surreal it was, Red holding her in his arms after making love like they were the only two people in the world.
She closed her eyes and rested her forehead against his. He kissed her lips and they simply lay in each other's arms, neither of them speaking or needing to. After several moments, he could tell from her weight and from the rise and fall of her uncovered chest that she had fallen asleep.
He lay his head on her shoulder, relishing the feel of her skin against his, the scent of her. He felt his eyes sting. How many nights had he dreamt of holding this woman, of resting against her sleeping body?
He kissed her shoulder and closed his eyes. Too many to count, he decided. Red would do anything, anything in the world for her. It had always been this way. It would never change.
His breathing slowed, and soon his breath matched hers as he slipped into a peaceful and dreamless sleep.
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I've never written/posted anything this explicit before, so if you read this and it wasn't terrible, please let me know, seriously. Or let me know if it was. Gah. I'll be rocking in a corner beneath a blanket of shame awaiting your comments. Thank you for reading!