Chapter Fourteen

Eames' POV

Her hands were small, they were delicate and gentle and so soft that they felt like silk gliding over me. She was encircling me from behind, hugging me close, so that I could feel her nipples hardening beneath her gown. One of her palms caressed the length of my arm, then moved, to trace its way along my chest, while the other moved lower, so that her fingertips could pluck at the waistband of my boxers, and occasionally one would sneak beneath the fabric, to trace along my skin in a way that had me biting my pillow in anticipation, with the hope that she meant to touch me in ways that I'd barely dared to dream of before that moment…but it seemed that she was content with teasing me instead.

The hand that was caressing my chest brushed across one of my nipples and made me moan and arch my back in response, while my hips surged forward, that part of me that seemed to be calling for her at all hours of the day instinctively, yet, futilely, seeking out the warmth and softness that I knew rested between her thighs. She was driving me out of my mind, and I ought to have been crying out with my need and my frustration, but something kept me quiet, and made me withstand the torture in silence, aside from the occasional groan and growl.

"You don't have to be so noble, my darling Eames," she murmured, running her soft lips, and then, dear God, the tip of her tongue, along the back of my neck. "I want you, and you want me, so why should we deny ourselves any longer?"

My breath caught in my throat when her fingers moved beneath the waistband of my shorts, traveling down, further and further, not quite touching me where I wanted her most…almost, but not quite. Couldn't she see that I had no choice but to be noble where she was concerned? She had been through so much, she'd endured things that ought to have broken her, and as such she needed time to heal, she needed to feel safe and secure, not constantly pressured by the randy git that was supposed to have her wellbeing first and foremost in his mind.

"I do want you, love, but I can't rush you into something that you're not ready for," I said softly, in a voice that was made rough from holding in the majority of the moans and groans that had built up inside of me. "You need time to heal, you need to feel secure, and what kind of man would I be if I were to take advantage of you, my dear?"

I don't know why I rolled over onto my other side, to face her. Perhaps I meant to remove her hand from its place, hovering just a whisper over my aching flesh, though, in the end, the feel of her palm moving across my backside did little to draw my mind away from the lascivious longings that had taken hold of my body. I told myself that my reason for facing her was so that I might gently, yet firmly, remind her that we had to take things slowly, but all of that was forgotten when she hooked her knee over my hip and pressed flesh that was very warm and very soft against my rampaging erection.

"It seems to me that I am the one who's doing her damnedest to take advantage of you," she murmured, surging her hips, so she could caress me in a way that made me bite back a moan born of pure need. "Am I rushing you, Eames, or are you ready for this? I know that I'm ready, I know that I need you to love me, to heal me, to make me feel secure…am I asking for too much, darling? Am I pushing your bounds, am I pushing your buttons, am I….?"

I grabbed her knee in my hand, taking care to be as gentle as I could manage at that moment, and drew back her leg so that her foot was resting against my bum. I seized her mouth with my own, and rolled my hips, pressing myself against her, until I felt her arch against me, until I could swallow her gasp of need and awareness. My lips were hungry, and almost desperate on hers, and I feverishly opened her mouth with my tongue, so that I could taste her, and fire myself even further, so that I could introduce her to a rhythm, an ebb and flow that I wished to mimic…..

….."Eames, wake up, you're having a dream!"

No, it couldn't be true. God would never be that cruel to me, would He? Archie's frantic barking told me that yes, it was true, and that, yes, God could, indeed, be that pitiless. The lone bright spot existed in the fact that Sophie's breasts, her warm, soft, and wonderful breasts, were pressed against my chest, and, even better, her nipples were hard, so much so that I could feel them through her gown, but nothing could chase away my sudden melancholy, not even Archie's long, sticky tongue, though he seemed to think otherwise, as he lapped my cheeks, my eye, my lips, and the inside of my ear.

"Down, Archie," Sophie ordered, in a tone that she probably believed was authoritative and commanding, but it fell short on that regard. It would have made perfect sense if our little lad chose to ignore her altogether, and continue to apply his healing saliva to me on every part of me that he could reach, but Archie loved his mummy, and immediately backed away from me.

I slowly became aware of the fact that I had an erection, one that had been there for a while, one that ached for release…one that threatened to erupt with said release, if I was to even think about moving. Dear God, how was I going to get myself out of this one? Sophie and I were just beginning to discover a physical sense of intimacy with one another, ours was a tenuous bond, in that area, and it would undoubtedly be…awkward…for both of us, if I was to, hmm, culminate my arousal in her presence, when we hadn't even indulged in heavy petting with one another.

Sophie did little to help my condition by sliding her hand over my chest, especially when I felt her palm gliding over my nipple, but I wasn't likely to complain anytime soon, because she nuzzled my neck with the tip of her nose and softly sighed my name. I suppose that I ought to have experienced more frustration because of her actions, and as such it would have made sense for me to react in one of two ways. I could have pulled her close and had my wicked way with her, which would have personified the notion of me not only stepping over a line, but sucker punching it, then kicking it repeatedly after it was down, or I could push her away with a curse of frustration, which would undoubtedly crush her feelings, but I did not choose either of those options.

I turned toward her, moving very gingerly, so that I could see her face. The illumination that the nightlight provided was not bright enough for me to see everything that she was thinking and feeling, but I sensed that she was battling with shyness and self-consciousness, and I forced my raging libido back as best as I could and cradled her face with my hand, gently tracing the curve of her cheekbone with my thumb.

"What is wrong, my dear?" I asked, taking a deep breath, in the hope of calming myself, before I bent my head to place a kiss on her brow. "Did I do, or say, something while I was asleep that disturbed you?"

She didn't say anything for a moment, and her silence made my heart sink, and thankfully, it worked wonders at taming me somewhat as well, which was a plus, though my happiness about that didn't have time to develop any further than a thought, because I was too worried about what I might have said or done to affect her this way. What if I had put my desires into words that had shocked her, or, even worse, what if I'd taken liberties with her that could be construed as me taking advantage of her, that might be seen as me forcing myself upon her…and, worst of all, what if she believed that I'd done so on purpose?

"It wasn't anything that you said or did," she told me, kissing me, very softly, on my throat, bringing my flesh, which had been flagging somewhat, roaring back to life. "I was just remembering the way that I behaved in the bath, and then…afterward…and it shames me to know that I was making a spectacle of myself….."

It took a considerable amount of self-control on my part, but somehow I managed to resist the urge to chuckle at her concerns. I suppose that it was possible that she didn't know that everything that she had said and done were textbook examples of how to drive a man out of his mind. Her actions had been the preliminary plot of a story straight out of Penthouse Forum…not that I was familiar with that sort of filthy smut…and the only thing that would have made it more perfect for me would have been for her to ignore my noble intentions and insist that I take her in a manly fashion.

"You needn't feel ashamed or self-conscious, darling," I told her, smoothing back her hair, so that I could kiss her forehead, and then each cheek, followed by the tip of her nose, then her chin, before I finally took hold of her lips with my own. "I can't speak for all men, but I can say that it thrills me to know that you are drawn to me, and that you want me for your own, and there's nothing disgraceful or offensive about you demonstrating your feelings toward me. To be perfectly honest, you enchant me, and beguile me and tempt me, in addition to stoking my ego, and I intend to make love to you one day, my dear, if you will still have me, but only after we have learned one another in each and every other way."

She made a humming sound, one that I took to mean that she was pleased, and she snuggled even closer to me, so much so that she'd nearly moved to lie on top of me…and she found, and caressed, my erection in the process. My libido had calmed down somewhat since I'd wakened, so I was out of the woods as far as an uncontrollable orgasm was concerned, but the brush of her body against me brought me back to full, aching neediness. I knew that she knew, there was no way that she could not know, and it shamed me to do so, but in the end I had no choice but to flee my bed, our bed, as quickly as possible and make a mad dash for the bathroom to, er, relieve the pressure.

It didn't take long…I was so worked up that it was a minute, maybe, after I took myself in hand that the moment arrived for me. I imagined Sophie the whole time, or, more specifically, I recalled the dream that I'd had, and I was forced to muffle my moans of release against a towel that I clutched in my free hand, one that I bit down on, hard, as wave after wave pulsated through me. I couldn't say how long it took for the moment to pass, but my knees were weak afterward, so much so that I slid down the wall and rested on the cold floor and wondered how on earth I would muster up the courage to walk back into our bedroom and lay beside her, much less take her into my arms, knowing, as I did, that she would know what I had done...perhaps it would be best if I slept on the bathroom floor instead.

Sophie's POV

"I assume that you are familiar with the names of the pieces and the moves that you are permitted to make with them, is that right, Sophie?"

Arthur was such a sweet man, I could see that just as clearly as I could see his deep and abiding love for Ariadne, and I appreciated him taking the time to teach me how to play chess. Eames owned a lovely set, one that sat lonely and abandoned in the corner of his study, and I'd found myself sitting beside it, worrying about its owner, who was out of sorts, so much so that he wanted to be by himself for the day, when Arthur came up to me, out of the blue, and asked if I wanted to play a game with him.

His offer had sounded wonderful to me, but I didn't know how to play, and I didn't want to embarrass myself, so I'd intended to tell him no, because I didn't feel like playing, but for some strange reason I admitted that I didn't know how to play instead, and before I'd finished speaking, he'd taken the other chair and brought it around by mine, so that we could sit side by side, and he'd set about teaching me the game of chess.

"I know who's who, but I'm not certain what they can do, and what they can't do," I answered, striving to concentrate on Arthur, and the instructions that he was giving me, but my mind was drawn, again and again, to Eames. I felt like it was my fault that he was in the mood that he was in, I was the one who'd tempted and teased him, I was the one who'd gotten him in such a state that it influenced his dreams, enough so that he was moaning my name in his sleep…enough to make him slip his hand beneath my gown and into my panties, so that his fingers could curve around me possessively.

I suppose that I could have let him continue his pursuits, God knows that his touch had made me respond, that it had made my nipples harden and the flesh between my thighs ache, but I'd known how guilty he would feel, if he was to "take advantage of me", so in the end I'd chosen to wake him up…and then it was my turn to feel guilty, and ashamed, not to mention very conflicted.

I'd known that it was my actions which had affected him so thoroughly, and had put him into that condition, and I'd wrestled with my shame after I witnessed the state that he was in. Thankfully, I'd managed to distract him from his raging libido with my self-consciousness, at least, I had for a moment, but then I'd brushed against the part of him that was so wound-up and needy, and he was right back where he'd been when I woke him up.

I suppose that it was a little wicked of me to have even considered such a thing, but I'd entertained the notion of offering to please him myself, with my hand, but he'd fled the bedroom, heading straight for the bathroom, where I knew he found a release from his arousal…along with a healthy dose of self-recrimination, which he carried back to bed with him.

He had eased himself beneath the covers and had lain down as far away from me as he could, and I could feel his shame and his mortification, but I'd also sensed that he needed to know that I wasn't put off by what he'd done, even though he expected me to feel that way toward him. I'd refused to let him suffer for even a second, I'd slid across the bed to hold him, and it had been obvious that he was relieved, and pleased, but he'd still been in a stormy mood all day, and I wondered what I could do to make things right with him again.

"Hey, Sophie, are you feeling alright?" Arthur asked, bringing me out of my worried thoughts with a start, with his words, and the hand that he'd laid on my forearm. "You seem a little sad today…is everything okay between you and Eames?"

No, things are not okay at all, I thought to myself, but I turned to him and smiled in a way that I hoped was reassuring in nature. "I'm fine, Arthur," I lied, laying my hand on top of his and squeezing it once. "I'm just a little worried about Eames, that's all. He seems a little out of sorts today, and I can't help but feel that it's my fault and….."

Well, hell, so much for keeping things to myself. I don't know what it was about Arthur that made me want to spill my innermost secrets to him, but it seemed like I had that problem more and more with each day. Maybe I ought to suggest that I make him my shrink, as opposed to spending one day a week with Dr. Axton, but I knew that I would miss my chats with the doctor, and I would miss having tea with him as well, so it was probably best to keep Arthur as my friend, and leave him out of the therapy sessions, wasn't it?

"I'm sure that you haven't done anything wrong, Sophie," Arthur assured me, turning his hand over, and twining his fingers with mine. "Eames is very fond of you, but he is also very moody, and tends toward periods of moroseness all on his own, so there's no reason why you ought to blame yourself….."

"Thank you for that stunningly accurate assessment of my psyche, Arthur," a sarcastic voice, his voice, said from the doorway of the study, startling both me and Arthur, and I turned to find Eames watching us, with one eyebrow raised above eyes that were positively tempestuous in nature. He was staring at our hands, which were still clasped, and it occurred to me that I ought to turn loose of Arthur, but I didn't, because, one, he'd tightened his hold on me, and two, there wasn't anything even remotely illicit about me holding the hand of someone that I considered to be my friend, so why should I feel obliged to stop?

"I don't know why you would think that you had done anything wrong, my dear," Eames said quietly, in a tone that was edged with something that was angry, and almost threatening in nature, though I suspected that the latter of those was not directed toward me. "I'm simply a little…moody…at times, as Arthur was so kind to point out, and if you'll give me time, I promise that I will be back to my old, charming self in no time…provided that Arthur removes his bloody hand from yours this instant, before I remove it for him, that is."

He never raised his voice, but then, he didn't have to. He managed to convey his anger perfectly, even though he spoke very quietly. I felt Arthur tighten his hold even further, and there was a part of me that said that I ought to stay exactly as I was, and take Eames to task for his lack of manners, but all of that was forgotten as he stepped behind me and pulled my hair aside, baring my neck.

I faltered in my determination to squeeze Arthur's hand, and then dropped it altogether and nearly shrieked with surprise when I felt Eames' lips, warm and soft, against my nape, gently caressing me until I whimpered his name. I was instantly awash with desire for him, and just a little bit of self-consciousness, because he was making me feel that way in front of Arthur, and then he opened his mouth and bit me, not hard enough to hurt me, but in a way that was possessive in nature, leaving me with no doubts that he'd just staked his claim, loud and clear. I suppose that I ought to have been enraged by his chauvinistic behavior, but for some odd reason, I loved it instead...and asked him to please, do it again.