It's the first day she doesn't have to wear a jacket (Noah has stubbornly been walking around in just his tee shirt for two weeks) and he's walking her to the theater because he doesn't work for a few hours, and she says it's nice, sometimes, to just walk through New York. Being a cop has jaded him a little bit, but she can always make him see the beauty in tourists in Times Square or private school kids holding onto a string or even the taillights and honking horns.
(Not really. He thinks it's all annoying bullshit, but she gets so excited that he doesn't have the heart to disagree with her statements. And he loves New York. Really. It just drives him insane sometimes.)
A stranger stops them to ask if they'd mind taking a photo, and Puck rolls his eyes, but Rachel smiles brightly. Then, as Rachel's holding the camera, Puck looks around and notices a smattering of posters on a wall, Rachel's face as Maria plastered over them. He nudges her side with his elbow and she scolds him before following his gaze.
It's not like it's the first time. They see her everywhere. She gets recognized now, and they've gone to industry parties and worn fancy clothes and he listened to her squeal over meeting Taye Diggs one night at a party. (Yeah, he knows. He was there, too. She still told him the entire story, start to finish. Twice.)
Naturally, the tourist and her blue haired friends freak out and start gushing over Rachel, and Puck tries really hard not to scoff and tell them to calm their shit, but then they say he's handsome, so he doesn't want to be a jerk. And when Rachel mentions that he's NYPD, the women like, legitimately swoon and tell him to be safe and actually thank him, even though they're from Nebraska or some shit.
Rachel slips her arm through his, though they don't really do this much. Usually when they're together in public, they don't hold hands or anything like this. Puck doesn't really mind it, per se. Sometimes a guy just likes his space, you know? But more often, a guy likes his girl pressed against him, letting the world know she's got a boyfriend. (So back off.)
When they get to the theater, he reaches for her hips and pulls her close, because he's not going to see her again until after midnight, and they'll both be sleeping, so really, these are their last few moments together until morning.
And yeah, he cares.
She leans in and kisses him, her hand slipping into the back pocket of his jeans. He loves it when she does that.
"Hey, Rach?" She pulls away and looks up at him, shaking her head quickly to get the hair out of her eyes. "I um..."
"You...?" she draws out quietly. Her heart is beating so hard she can't stand it.
This is it.
This is the moment.
And he's telling her on Broadway. How sweet!
"I love you," he whispers. It's soft and raspy and he hates how lame he sounds. He doesn't even know if she heard him; he figures if he said it once, he can say it again. "I love you."
She literally fucking beams at him, like the 16 year old she used to be, and kisses him so hard that he's backed into the wall next to the performers' entrance to the theater.
"I heard you the first time," she mumbles against his lips. He doesn't know whether to be pissed, or to laugh, because she's so adorable right now, but fuck, he's never said those words to a girl before, and it'd be nice if, you know, she said them back. "I love you too, Noah."
He smiles and runs his hands over her hips. "Yeah?"
She slugs him on the chest.
"Yes, of course, you fool," she says, both of them laughing as he pulls her against him again. "I've loved you for...for so long."
"Good," he says against her hair. "Me too." She pulls away, kisses him again. "Took you long enough to admit it, though."
"I didn't want to push you," she admits quietly. He takes a breath. She's awesome like that. "I didn't want to pressure you into saying something that you weren't ready to say. It was easier this way."
"Okay."
"And besides," she says, giving him this cheeky little grin, "now I can tell everyone that you said it first."
He knows she means it as a threat or something. To be honest? He doesn't fucking care. She's his girl, after so much time just being a girl, and if everyone knows how cool with that he is, then so be it. Fuck everyone else.
She says goodbye, that she really has to get inside, and he kisses her real good, just to give her something to think about when they're both at work.
----
"No, no, no," Rachel says from her place beneath him, holding him close as his phone rings. "Leave it."
"I can't, baby," he says, trying desperately not to grit his teeth. Fucking phone. They both know he has to answer in case it's work. Which it is this time. Fuck! "Puckerman." Rachel shifts against him, and the only (and he means only) saving grace right now is that they're both wearing clothes. (Well, some clothes.) "Are you serious?...Please tell me you're fucking firing that guy...This is the third time!...No, no. I'll be in. Give me 20."
He hangs up the phone and Rachel is just looking up at him as he throws it back onto the bedside table. "You're going."
"Valetti called in again," he explains. He leans down and kisses her soundly, and she whines when he pulls away. "Sorry. You know I don't wanna leave you."
"I know," she says. He gets up, and she watches him move around the room, grabbing his tee shirt and slipping his holster onto his belt again. "Please be careful?"
He furrows his brow at her. She's never really said that before, not those words. But then again, she's rarely ever home when he has to go in for the night shift, either. "I will," he says sincerely. She takes a deep breath and nods, and he looks up at her after buckling his belt. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing." He doesn't believe that blatant lie. "I just...I got this really bad feeling just now."
"That's only because you're all wet for me and I'm leaving."
She throws a pillow at his head. "Noah!" He smirks smugly and kneels next to her, running a hand up and down her arm. "I'm serious."
"Okay." He kisses her gently. "Get some sleep. Don't...don't fuckin'...handle any business that's all mine." He raises his brow as he says it, and she giggles and shakes her head at him. "I'm serious. I'm comin' home for you, Rach."
God, she thinks that sounds like just the best promise.
He winks and slips out the door, and she sighs, switching off the light and laying back in bed.
He comes home in the morning and wakes her up like she knew he would (he's already in just his boxers when he lays on top of her).
It's not until two days later that her bad feeling makes sense. Even then, it doesn't, because she doesn't know how she knew something was going to happen. She tried to ignore it, and it worked, for the most part.
Until she's at home on her day off, basically waiting for him to get off work so they can have an evening together. He's already picked out the movie he wants to watch (though A Clockwork Orange, she thinks, isn't really a date night kind of film; the things she does for him...)
Her phone rings and she laughs when she sees the name on her caller ID.
"Hi, Jay."
"Rachel."
"Let me guess, you have to work late, and he's making you do his dirty work?" she asks, smiling still as she tidies up the coffee table.
"No, that's not...Look, Rachel, today...Shit, I hate this." He mumbles the last part, and it's then that she realizes how he sounds; exhausted, scared, totally not like himself.
"What?" she asks, freezing in her place. She swears her blood is running cold. "Jay, what?"
"There was an incident," he says, like she knows he's trained to.
"Just fucking tell me!" she shouts, tears in her eyes. She's lashing out, and she knows it's wrong, but her heart is at her feet, and she can't possibly wait any longer.
(And the curse is just a habit she's picked up from somewhere...)
"He's going to be okay. There was a shooting, Rachel," he says. She's thankful he at least gave the good news first. "He took one to the leg. He's in surgery right now."
"Where?" she asks, already grabbing her keys as she heads for the door.
"Lennox Hill. I'll come get you."
"No," she says before hanging up.
She has her hand on the doorknob when she feels the bile rising up within her, and she rushes to the bathroom, kneeling in front of the toilet just in time to empty her stomach. She tries to tell herself he's fine, he'll be fine, but that doesn't seem to mean much. He's in a hospital, in surgery. He was shot. She splashes water on her face and rinses her mouth with Listerine, then runs out of the apartment and down the stairs, because she can't wait for the perpetually slow elevator.
She's thankful to have a cab driver who doesn't so much care about speed laws, because when she tells him to get her to Lennox Hill as soon as possible, he does that very thing. She throws a $50 at him, way more than the ride cost, and jumps out of the cab.
When she gets to the surgical wing where she's told Noah is, she sees Jay first, and he just locks eyes with her. Then she notices the blood, her boyfriend's blood, staining Jay's uniform, and she thinks she's going to be sick again.
A few other officers are there, Jonesy (whose first name she honestly doesn't know) and Stephen (who she absolutely refuses to call Boner), and another man she's never seen before.
"Rachel," Jay says, walking towards her. He goes to hug her, but the thought of his uniform, that blood, against her is too much, so she holds out her hands. "I'll be another couple hours, probably." She just nods, and it's then that she realizes she's crying; she probably has been since she hung up the phone. "Can I get you anything? You need...anything?"
"Water," she manages.
Jay comes back after a few minutes, and Jonesy asks Rachel if she wants to sit, or if she wants a stick of gum or something, and she refuses both. Gum? Really? Yes, that'll make her feel better about the bullet in her boyfriend's leg. She paces the floor, and Puck's captain comes to check up on things, then Scott arrives, and all the nurses in the place are looking extra concerned, because this is a police officer, and the mood is somber.
Rachel hates it.
These people don't know him like she does. She knows he'll be okay, physically. It's his leg, his calf, Jay told her. It'll heal in time. But being a member of the NYPD has become his identity. He loves his job and everything (most things) that come with it. He loves his partner and the things he has to do and the friends he's made.
What is he supposed to do while he heals? Take a desk job? He's going to hate that.
And she is terrified.
She's always been scared, worried about him, but now that this has happened, she's reluctant to ever let him out of her sight again.
She's pacing back and forth on the floor, biting her thumbnail as she waits for news. And she knows she's just getting more and more anxious as the minutes pass.
"Rachel, why don't you sit down?" Jay suggests.
"I don't want to sit down!" she snaps. She doesn't even apologize. She doesn't think she needs to, judging by the look on his face and the way he nods. "Did you...did you catch the guy who did this?"
"Does it matter?" Jay asks quietly, shrugging one shoulder.
"Yes, it matters! I want to know. And he'll want to know."
Jay lets out a sigh and Rachel's pretty sure that she's trying his patience. She does not care about that in the slightest.
"We lost him," he admits, and she thinks he sounds ashamed. "We didn't get him, but he's known to police, so he should be..."
"He's known to police?!" she asks loudly. Jonesy steps towards her, pushing her a little further into the waiting room so she doesn't make so much of a scene. "So Noah is laying in a hospital bed because you people can't do your job?"
"Hey," Jay says, face hardening. "Easy. I know you're upset, but can you just try to calm down for me, here?"
Normally, she wouldn't take someone speaking to her that way. Normally, Noah would be there to warn the guy not to use those words. But he's not, and her lashing out at everyone isn't going to help anything.
She runs her hands through her hair and walks towards Jay, and the blood, now dry, doesn't even bother her anymore. She wraps her arms around him, though he looked scared for a second that she was going to hit him.
"I'm sorry," she says. "I didn't mean that. I'm just..."
"I know. He told me about that bad feeling you had," Jay admits, pulling away from her and leading her over so they can sit down.
"He looked at me like I was crazy," she says. She doesn't need to mention what they'd been doing before he'd gotten that call. "And I'm sure he told you that I am."
"Wasn't the first time," Jay says, smiling at her. Her eyes are welling with tears again. "Rachel."
"No, I know." She wipes her face and tries to smile. It is absolutely insane of her to think about how much she'd miss it if Noah didn't call her crazy at least a few times a week. "It's just really, really...I'm scared. And I've always been scared, but this just makes it all real, you know? How incredibly dangerous his job is."
"Yeah."
"But he loves it. And he's good at it," she continues. Jay simply nods. "I mean, when he's not getting his stupid self shot at."
Jay smiles a little bit and goes for levity. "Hey, he wasn't trying..."
He stops talking when a doctor wearing a surgical cap and mask walks into the waiting room. It seems that the non-disclosure rules don't apply when the patient is NYPD and there are no less than five officers waiting on news.
"He's fine," the doctor announces. "He's in recovery. We got the entire bullet, which I have waiting for your forensics team. He'll make a full recovery, after some physical therapy." Rachel thinks he repeats that last part just for her, because she's crying again, clutching Jay's sleeve. "Would you like to see him?"
She thinks all the guys in the room laugh when she shoots up out of her chair and heads towards the doctor. She's not in any frame of mind to scold them for teasing her.
Noah is sleeping soundly when she walks into the room, and she surprises herself by not running to his side. She had every intention. But then she just looks at him, laying there in a bed with monitors and wires hooked up to him, a pale blue hospital gown on that she knows he's going to complain about for as long as he's wearing it.
And she sees his leg, propped up on the bed with a bandage around it, and her hand goes to her mouth. She is being such a baby about this, she knows. But in the last couple hours, she's gone over every possible scenario, every what it. She knows how lucky he is, let's just put it that way.
She pulls a chair up next to the bed and reaches for his hand, running her free hand over his cheek and jaw. He didn't shave that morning. She smiles. She likes him with a little scruff, so much so that she doesn't 'let' him shave on the days they both have off. He calls it her fetish. She rolls her eyes.
Jay, Jonesy, Stephen and Noah's captain come into the room to check on him, but he's still out, which the nurse says is normal, that he won't come off the anesthesia for a while. Rachel tells them all to just go home, and that she'll call when there's any change. They all hug her and kiss her cheek, tell her to call if she needs absolutely anything, and she cries again after they've left, because she realizes for the first time just how close these men are, what it means to be in this brotherhood. (Noah would scoff at her, but definitely agree.)
He wakes up when she's got tears in her eyes. Of course.
"Hey." His voice is raspy and dry, and he lets out a groan when he tries to move. Rachel looks at him and smiles, though more tears fall. "Babe..."
"Don't move. Don't try to move," she insists, sitting up straighter as she reaches for a cup of water. Then, before she can hand it to him, she changes her mind, takes his face in both hands, and kisses him. "Don't do this to me ever again," she pleads quietly.
"Rach." He tries to reach up to wipe her face, but she holds his hand down. "What?"
"Don't move," she repeats seriously.
"I'm fine."
"You were shot, Noah," she says, her throat tightening. "You just got out of surgery. You're not fine."
"I'll be good. Doesn't even hurt."
"That's because they've got you on morphine," she insists. She takes the cup from the bedside table and adjusts the straw. "Here. Drink."
He takes a sip because he's pretty sure that if he doesn't, she'll like, hit him or something. "'S'Jay here?"
"He went home a couple hours ago."
"You bitched him out." He smirks at her lazily and she rolls her eyes. "Knew it."
"Shut up. Get some rest, okay? I'm going to call your mother," she explains. She leans over and kisses him, and he brings his hand up to rest on her cheek.
To be honest, he was scared as hell and in the worst pain of his life until they put him out for surgery. And even as he was laying in the back of the ambulance, all he could think about (you know, other than the searing pain ripping through his body) was Rachel. He was worried about her, about how she was going to react. He knew she'd freak out. And probably rightly so.
"I love you," he says, because he figures that if there's ever a time to say it, it's now.
"I love you too," she whispers. "But I'm mad at you."
She pulls away from the bed and he laughs a little. Shit, this morphine stuff is good. "You're mad at me?"
"I told you to be careful."
"I am. I was," he insists, grabbing for her hand. She pulls it away. Fuck. She's really mad at him? "I'm sorry, baby." More tears fall down her cheeks. She hates herself for being such a baby. He's fine! He's alert and awake and fine. "Rachel, come here." He pulls her back towards the bed and she lays down next to him, his arms wrapped around her. "Stop worrying."
"I can't," she admits.
He doesn't know what to say to that, so he just kisses her forehead and holds her as closely as he can in this stupid bed with all this stupid shit hooked up to him.
"This fucking hospital gown..." She starts laughing before he even finishes.
It's the best sound he's heard all day.
----
Rachel takes three days off when Noah comes home from the hospital. He's on crutches, which makes doing anything with his hands pretty much fucking impossible, and he's on paid leave from work, you know, since he got shot and all. And no, he's not letting any of his buddies give him a hard time, even if they are joking.
He's already getting enough shit from his mom, thanks. (Seriously. What's with the women in his life thinking he was trying to get hit with a fucking bullet?)
So yeah, Rachel's around, making sure he has everything he needs.
Frankly? She's driving him fucking insane.
Does he need two kinds of water and seven pillows? Or a three course lunch and...Okay, maybe that part isn't so bad. But Jesus. He doesn't need her to wait on him hand and foot.
"Rachel," he says when she tries to roll up the sleeves of his shirt for him. What the fuck is that about?
"Yes? What is it? Do you need more Tylenol? Are you..."
"Stop," he interrupts. "Stop doing...all this. I don't need a fucking nurse."
He can't tell whether she's going to cry or scream at him. It really fucking freaks him out that she does neither. She just puts her hand on her hip and stands in front of the television. (Seriously!? There's a game on!)
"No, you don't. But you need to take it easy, and all I'm trying to do is make sure that you're comfortable and taken care of. Forgive me for wanting to ensure that you heal properly!"
"Okay, fine. Whatever. But...Christ. Just get me a beer and bring me my meds, and I'm good to go. I don't need you to fluff my goddamn pillow, Rach," he argues.
"First of all, you know that you can't drink while taking your pain medication, so don't even try it," she says. She's literally pointing at him, like he's a child who needs to be reprimanded. "Second of all...screw you!"
Wait. What?
"Rachel, don't be so fucking dramatic, alright?" Well, that was the wrong thing to say. He watches as she grabs her wallet and keys, and stuffs her feet into her shoes. "Where're you going?"
"Out! Somewhere I don't have to deal with you! Frankly, Noah, you're being a complete ass right now. I can't..."
He doesn't even know the last time she didn't finish a sentence. She slams the door behind her, and he's just sitting there, leg propped up on the table, trying to figure out what the hell just happened. He knows it's his fault, at least. (Shocking.)
And his water glass is empty. He's thirsty. He can't carry a glass to the kitchen while using crutches.
Well, fuck.
----
He calls her cell, but hears it ring in the bedroom.
Two hours later, she's still not home. It's not like her not to let him know where she's going. Hell, even when she's pissed at him, she yells that she's going to the coffee shop down the street or to her friend's place, or shopping or whatever. He honestly can't remember the last time she just left without telling him where she was off to, or at least when she'd be back.
This is not good.
What did people do before cell phones? Honestly, when dudes' girlfriends just walked out, how did they get ahold of them and tell them to come the fuck home before dark?
And now he's hungry. Of course, that's not the reason he wants her home. No. He wants to apologize for being an ungrateful bastard. Yeah, he figured that one out about 10 seconds after she left.
Four hours later, and his hand is shaking, stomach churning, worrying about her. He wonders if this is how she feels when he's working. Fucking sucks.
It's just after dark when he hears the key in the lock and cranes his neck to look at the door. She walks in - well, stumbles in - and kicks off her shoes, dropping her stuff on the hall table.
She's drunk. He can tell immediately. What the hell?
"Rachel..."
"You should apologize to me," she states, hand on her hip as she stands right in front of him.
"I'm so, so sorry," he says sincerely. "I'm sorry. I was a jackass. You're amazing."
"I know."
He smiles at her. He kinda loves her more when she gets all conceited and self-righteous like that. He reaches forward, but she's standing too far away for him to grab her. "'C'mere."
She takes a step towards him, but doesn't look all that impressed. "What?"
"What do you mean, what?" he asks with a laugh. "I'm apologizing." His thumb runs the inside of her wrist as she stands there, her knee brushing against his good leg. She lets out a little humming sound. "Where'd you go?"
"That pub around the corner that you love," she explains. "You know, lots of men find me attractive."
He clenches his teeth. "Don't tell me that shit."
She bends her leg, running her knee along his thigh as she does so, and he pulls her towards him more. "Four men offered to buy me drinks."
"Rachel," he growls.
"I bet they'd appreciate me." She's got this smile on her face, like she knows just how pissed this is making him. Fuck.
He tugs her arm a little harder than he probably should, and she takes the hint and straddles his lap. The pressure sends a sharp pain through his leg, but he doesn't fucking care. She's talking shit and he's not going to let her. He lowers his leg to the floor, knowing it'll feel better if he sets both feet on the ground.
"Don't fucking talk like that," he says seriously. Her hands are on his chest and she smells like gin. Fuck. He knows gin gets her totally hot. They don't call it liquid panty remover for nothing. "I appreciate you." She actually scoffs and turns her head. He cups her chin with his hand. "I do, Rachel. You're so good to me. I don't deserve it."
"No, you don't," she says. When he looks at her, she's smiling. She doesn't really believe it. "But you're forgiven." She leans forward to kiss him, and he immediately grabs her waist, pulling her closer to him. Her hips grind against his. "You can't. We can't."
Yeah, he hasn't yet been able to convince her that as long as she's on top, he's good to go. Seriously. What's wrong with that?
"I can't," he murmurs into her ear. "You can."
He is so glad she wore a skirt today. It hardly ever happens anymore. What a happy coincidence.
"Noah, I..." He slips his hand beneath her skirt, fingers brushing the front of her panties. "Oh," she says, and god, he loves making her do that, lose her words. "You don't...it's okay."
"Shut up, Rachel," he says before he kisses her. "You refuse to let me fuck you, so make-up sex is out of the question." He runs one finger just along the elastic of her underwear. She breathes out his name. "Let me do this."
"Okay," she says quickly, angling her hips. "Okay. Do it."
He smirks at her, her eyes closed as she bites her lip and holds onto his shoulders. She's so fucking gorgeous that it almost surprises him sometimes. I mean, come on. There was never any doubt that whatever girl he ended up with would be hot as fuck. Seriously. Have you seen him? But this? This woman? He thinks she's perfect. Even when she yells at him and pisses him off by talking nonsense about other dudes being into her. And yeah, he knows she totally did that shit just to get him going.
He presses his fingertips against her and feels the moisture seeping through the cotton separating them. Her breathing becomes a little more rapid, and she kisses the side of his mouth as he teases her through her underwear. He feels like it's been forever since he saw this look on her face.
You know, if forever is five days. But seriously, it's the longest they've gone without sex since they got together. And if he can't get off, then he's sure as hell going to get her off.
"Noah, please," she whispers, rolling her hips.
"What do you want, baby?"
"Touch me." She's begging him, pushing herself closer. Her face is flushed and she's breathing all heavy.
She's still wearing all her clothes. Totally not right.
"Get up," he says gruffly. Her eyes fly open and she looks legitimately sad. "Just do it, baby. Please." She stands up, directly in front of him, and he looks her up and down. So beautiful. "Take off your underwear." She looks apprehensive, checking over her shoulder to make sure the curtains are drawn. "Rachel."
She does as she's told, her hands disappearing under her skirt so she can pull the thin cotton down her legs. She then runs her hands through her hair and tips her head back, and he swears she's trying to kill him. As much as this is about her, he's starting to realize just how much it sucks that he's not going to be getting off today. Well, not with her help. He's a grown man, but he's almost certain that this woman, his woman, is enough to make him come without her even touching him.
He tells her so, and she smirks and bites her bottom lip.
"Get over here," he demands. She giggles and straddles his lap again. "You know how fucking beautiful you are, Rach?" His hands slide up her thighs and disappear beneath her skirt. "This...this skirt reminds me of when we were 16."
"Shut up," she laughs. He's still not touching her enough. She thinks she's going to die if he doesn't.
"You remember?" he asks, leaning forward to speak against her lips as he unbuttons her top. "When we were together? My hand under your skirt, on your ass when we were making out."
"Noah." She gasps when he runs his middle finger between her legs.
"Fuck, baby. So fucking wet." She kisses him hard, pushing her hips forward, but he doesn't give her any more than he has been. "Do you remember that? Straddling me? Rubbing yourself against my cock?"
She knows he's not going to give her what she wants until she answers. "Yes," she answers quickly, practically panting. "Yes. I remember."
"Yeah? You remember telling me you'd never gotten off?" He nips at her earlobe as he runs two fingers over her most sensitive spot. She presses herself down against his hand.
"Noah, shut up," she pleads. "Just...stop talking. Please. I can't...just...please."
"I wish you hadn't broken up with me," he says as he kisses along her jaw. "I really wanted to be the first person to touch you here." He swirls his finger around her opening, and she whimpers. She's begging him for it. God, he wants to fuck her. Stupid fucking leg! He hooks his finger inside her gently, watching as she bites her lip. "You okay, baby?"
She can hear him smirking. Bastard. "More," she says evenly. "I need more. Now." He obliges, slipping a second finger inside her, loving the sound that tears from the back of her throat. "Fuck. You're...you're..."
"What?" he asks, smirking as he works his hand, bringing her to the edge. God, he loves it when she curses.
"Amazing," she breathes out. "So good."
"No one else does this to you, Rachel," he says softly, his lips right next to her ear. "Those other guys...they'd never make you feel like I do." She lets out a hum when he kisses just below her ear, where he always seems to kiss her. (It's that spot, the spot he first marked her.) "Right, baby? You only want me."
"Yes, Noah. God, yes. Just you."
He smirks in satisfaction. Perfect answer.
She arches her back and he gets the message, stroking his thumb against her nerves, and he can literally feel her tension building. He knows her and her body so well by now. He knows that if he slows down, she'll moan and whine and ride his hand. He knows that if he quickens the pace, she'll be falling apart in seconds. He knows that, right now, this second, if he pulled his hand away completely and told her to fuck him, she'd probably do it. But he's not going to, because that feels really selfish, given that this is their 'make-up' and he doesn't want to make it seem like it's about him. (No matter how hard he is and how much that's going to suck.)
"Rachel, come for me." He trails wet kisses along her neck, free hand cupping her breast.
"Almost. So close." He hooks his fingers forward, and she cries out. "Again."
See, this is what he loves about her. She's not afraid to tell him what to do, what she wants.
And he has absolutely no problem giving her what she wants.
He repeats the action twice, then she's calling his name, back arched, and he's watching her fall apart before his eyes. She's fucking gorgeous when she comes. Her face is all pink, and her lips part, and fuck, he needs to get laid.
"Oh my god," she breathes out, sagging against him. She whimpers when he removes his hand from beneath her skirt. "That was..." She punctuates that sentence with a sexy moan.
She kisses him, and his hands slip into her open shirt to rest on her back. She doesn't seem to care about the wetness his fingers leave on her skin. As if she has anything to be shy about anyway.
But then she reaches down and cups him through his sweat pants. Jesus fuck. "Rachel."
"Shut up." She climbs off him and moves so she's sitting next to him, somehow never taking her hand off him.
He thinks he's going to lose his mind when she gets onto her knees, leans over, and pulls him out of his pants. The last thing he sees before his head falls back is her mouth clamping around his tip.
He'll later complain that she'll go down on him, but she won't ride him.
And she'll climb on top of him in their bed, just to shut him up. (As if he cares what makes her do it.)
Their sexless streak ends at five days.