She rang the doorbell, noting with some amusement that it had the same jarring buzz that hers did, and realized with a tiny thrill that she'd never been in his flat before. She'd picked him up outside a handful of times, but any time they'd been alone together, it was in his office or her apartment. She drummed her fingers on the wall above the button, trying not to dwell on the reversal of their positions she'd orchestrated.
It was usually him who showed up unannounced, finding her in a bathrobe or pajamas, barreling in and demanding drinks and snacks and time she was all too willing to give. So, she reasoned, it was only fair that she should get to do the same. Especially now, with the spectre of Fitzpatrick finally exorcised from their lives, an ordeal of nearly a decade ended at last, she had every right to be here.
She waited, and was about to jam her thumb onto the buzzer again when the door opened, revealing her former boss, the newly minted full Commander James Langton, on the other side. She gazed up through her bangs and flashed him a smile, trying her best not to let nerves get the better of her. Everything in her screamed that she should turn tail and run, that she'd never be able to turn back from this. But ultimately, that was exactly why she'd come here in the first place, to settle it once and for all.
"Evening, Gov." He stared at her blankly, and she pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows. "You going to let me in?" He cleared his throat, then stepped aside to let her through.
She desperately tried to look anywhere but at him, taking in the utilitarian bachelor pad with a detective's eye. Galley kitchen, small living room, all sparse and clean. A narrow hallway led to what she presumed was a bedroom. Not wanting to think too much about that, she sat on the couch, and smiled up at Langton as he closed the door and flipped the lock.
"What're you doing here, Travis?" She knew better than to take the growl in his voice seriously. If he'd been truly angry, she'd never have been allowed inside.
"You left the office before I'd had a chance to congratulate you. Thought I'd stop by for a drink, bid good riddance to that right bastard Fitzpatrick and toast your long-overdue promotion, sir." He huffed out a laugh and stuffed his hands in his pockets.
He'd abandoned his tie and undone the top three buttons of his standard blue dress shirt, which was untucked and rumpled. His hair - once so dark it looked almost black but now threaded through with a steely grey - fell into his face. Despite his stature and the lines that time and care had worn into his features, he managed somehow to look like an embarrassed schoolboy.
"No drink to offer you, I'm afraid. Not really keeping the stuff in the house anymore." Her stomach clenched with anxiety at that; he'd always been more open to intimacy with a drink in him. Still, she reflected, it was probably for the best that they both remain sober for this conversation.
"Anything fizzy will do." He tipped his head indulgently and shuffled into the kitchen. She noted with a swell of tenderness that he was barefoot. She bit her lip and cast a glance over towards his bookshelf, which was filled with what appeared to be popular detective novels. She almost laughed. The books were trash, but maybe he needed some fictional cases to solve, ones where things always worked out for the good guys. She frowned at that, thinking of all the times they'd lost the fight.
From the kitchen, there was a chorus of clinking glasses and the popping fizz of a bottle being opened, and he strode back out with two tumblers of something bright pink and carbonated. He handed hers over, then smiled a bit at the bemused way she held it in front of her eyes.
"Soda water and grenadine. My daughter loved them when she was a kid. Never stopped keeping it around. I dunno why." He sat heavily on the other end of the couch, not quite spilling his drink, and sipped it casually. He eyed her over his glass, his calculating look undercut somewhat by the fuchsia beverage gripped in his enormous hand. "Why're you really here, Travis?" His voice was quieter now, a little tired, and she badly wanted to run a hand through his hair and tell him that everything would be alright.
She sipped her drink, almost coughed at the sickly sweetness of it, then set it down on the glass-topped coffee table. She slipped her shoes off and tucked her legs up under her while she turned to face him. She didn't quite know what to say. She'd come here without much of a plan; she'd just needed to see him. So, she figured telling the truth was probably her safest course of action. Especially with such an astute observer of human nature as James Langton.
"I wanted to see you," she said simply.
"Here I am, Travis." He laughed again, a little bitterly, and gestured around the spartan flat. "In my natural state. Impressive, no?" She pressed her lips together and glanced around again at his behest, then shook her head.
"Sir, stop it, you know that's not what I meant. I just wanted to congratulate you." He grunted.
"Well, you've done that, so what else is there? You've done your due diligence by an old compatriot. Coulda just signed the office card, rather than coming here to gawk." His tone was acidic, and her temper flared, as it always did when he sneered at her like that.
"Everyone at the station is still there celebrating! We've all had the chance to put our - yes, our - failure to rights, and then I look up and you're just plain gone."
"Nobody needed me there anyway. The boss always cramps a party." He sipped compulsively at his drink again, as if it did carry some numbing agent she wasn't aware of, and she reached forward and took it from his grasp. She set it on the table hard enough to make the ice rattle, and he sat forward and opened his mouth to tell her off, but she was too quick.
"How dare you. We got Fitzpatrick, James. We got him. Don't cheapen that for me or the rest of the team just because you've got some, what, bizarre fucking hangup about finally getting over the last remaining obstacle to your lifelong dream?"
"Watch it, Travis." His tone carried a warning, but she didn't care.
"We're a family, James, you know that, how can you not know that, after all this time? The incident with Fitzpatrick, with you not getting commander, the way poor Joan broke down in tears over the idea that she buried your promotion, honestly." She put her hand over her eyes, frustrated beyond belief. "And that's all done with now, you made it, this is finally it for you! How can you be so maudlin when today you finally got everything you've ever wanted?"
"Not everything." His voice was so quiet, almost sounding scared, that it halted her tirade immediately. She stared at him, pushing her bangs out of her eyes. He stared back with an intensity she recognized, a look she had half-convinced herself she'd imagined so many times before. He cleared his throat and looked away. "Look, Travis, I don't know what you want from me. Yes, we did it, yes, I'm glad the bastard is finally behind bars, I'm glad I got commander, I'm happy for you and for the team and everything I should be." He didn't sound happy, though, he sounded robotic; like he couldn't even muster up fake enthusiasm, let alone the real thing. She put her feet on the floor and leaned over toward the coffee table, staring at the rug and bracing herself for what she was about to say.
"Do you remember when you tried to chase that stupid plane?" She glanced over her shoulder at him, but he scowled at her and didn't answer. "Of course you do." She stood up and paced around the table to the far side of the room, arms crossed to protect herself from the weight of what she was about to say. "What I don't think you remember, what you probably couldn't have realized anyways, was what that did to me." He rubbed his hands together, elbows on his knees, staring down at them and refusing to look at her. So, she pressed onward.
"I saw you, you know, I was there, and I knew you were desperate enough to do anything to stop him. Including getting yourself killed. Frankly, I still can't believe you didn't try to ram the plane with your car." He chewed his lip, still not looking at her, then muttered something she couldn't quite hear. "What?" She took a half-step closer.
"You were in the car." His voice was still quiet. Her breath caught in her throat, and she licked her lips and swallowed what was either a laugh or a sob. A surge of hope spurred her onward.
"I knew that, in that moment, you'd rather die than let him go. Because I know you." At that he did look up, his eyes huge and hurt. "You remember me trying to stop you?"
"Yes." He smiled a little bit. "And I remember you yelling at me." She sighed heavily, knowing she was in particularly treacherous territory now.
"Do you remember what I yelled at you?" He shrugged, then shook his head. "You basically said your career was over so what do you care if you get yourself killed?" He flinched, looking back at his hands. "And I told you that I cared. Because I did. And I do." He shook his head slowly, his expression one of apology.
"I know that, Anna, I do. I apologized, didn't I?" He held his hands wide, beseeching her.
"You didn't let me finish." He froze. "You walked away, your back was turned, and the fucking plane was right overhead. So you didn't hear what else I said." She wrinkled her nose, suddenly fighting back tears as if she were in that airfield again, watching him leave her. He saw her lip tremble, snagged a tissue from a side table and brought it to her.
With him standing there, looming over her, she felt so incredibly small. It wasn't usually a bad thing; he'd always made her feel safe. But this time, with him so close to her, so large and strong and real, she wasn't sure she could actually say the things she'd come here to say. She felt herself almost falter at the final hurdle, yet again. She stepped back, but could go no further, pinned between him and the kitchen counter.
He handed her the tissue and smiled sadly, then reached out and rubbed both of her shoulders. For a moment, she let herself feel what it was like, being boxed in by him, held and caressed and, just maybe, wanted. But she could already sense what was coming next, the dismissal in his touch.
"Anna, it's been a long day. Everyone is emotional-" she brushed his hands off, then shoved him away from her.
"No, no, you don't get to do this again." She knew her voice was shrill, felt tears coursing down her cheeks, but she couldn't stop herself. "You don't get to bring me close, look at me the way you do, touch my hair or my hands or my cheek and then run away when it gets real. Not this time."
"I'm sorry things have gone as far as they have in the past. We know better. Or," he rubbed the back of his neck. "I should know better, anyway."
"You're wrong." She snapped. He turned away, a look of disgust crossing his features.
"No, I'm not wrong, Travis, and you know I'm not. And it's not just the immutable fact that I am your superior officer. For fuck's sake, look at you and then look at me. It's bloody ridiculous." He skirted the coffee table and flopped back on the couch. "You know you can do better. Every man who sees you wants you, surely you must know that." His anger faded. "I'm washed up, Travis. I was past my prime when we lost him the first time; God knows I'm well done in now." She hated to see him looking so pathetically downtrodden, and she still leaned against the counter, gripping the cold lip of it with one hand, feeling steadier now that he was out of such close proximity.
"You're right. There's every reason not to feel the way I do, I've known it forever. But ultimately the only thing that really matters is that no matter where I go or what I do, I always find myself coming back to you. And then," she pointed an accusing finger at him with the hand that still clutched the tissue, "You come to me, too, you know." He gritted his teeth, lips turning downward in an all-too familiar way.
"I admit that I do, Anna, I'm sorry-" she scoffed and cut him of, throwing her head back, eyes closed, breathing deeply. After a long pause, he spoke again. "Come and sit down, please." He was pleading with her now. She chewed her lower lip and regarded him for a second, but he looked genuinely concerned, so she did as he asked. She made sure to sit as far from him as she could, and though she faced him, she pulled her feet under herself again to avoid brushing against him; it would only make things worse.
"I know every single objection there is." She had her voice under more control now. He handed her a fresh tissue, and she blotted carefully under her eyes, knowing her mascara had to be a disaster. "You were my boss, my direct superior, for a long time. But then you weren't. After the Red Dahlia case, things had changed, you know they had. You can't deny that." He shook his head.
"No, I can't. I wouldn't." He said, then opened his mouth to speak again, but she held up a hand to stop him.
"And before you even start, this isn't some idiotic misplaced filial sentiment. I don't give a damn that you're older than I am, or that you knew my father. I never see him when I look at you. I don't think about him much anymore, actually." Her voice had turned bitter, and broke a little, but she cleared her throat to get through it.
"I know that. I never really thought you did," he said, speaking quietly, with his head down and his hair falling in front of his eyes. When he'd begun wearing it longer, so many years ago, it had driven her to distraction for weeks.
"You think you're damaged goods," she said. He scowled. "I know you do. But what you seem not to understand is that we're all damaged goods." She leaned forward, ducking into his field of vision. "We all help each other, James. We always have. Think of Mike and his wife." He nodded slightly and pursed his lips thoughtfully, but still wouldn't hold her gaze for long.
"You've always gotten me through, Anna. Even when I don't deserve it. You can and should do better than me." He sounded utterly resigned. "I'm old and I'm tired."
She laughed weakly, and he looked surprised and even more hurt.
"God, don't you think I'm tired? I'm so fucking tired. I'm tired of waking up alone every day. I'm tired of being rational and pragmatic and detached. I'm tired of you."
"Me!" He was indignant, as if she'd just proved his point for him. "See that's what-" she cut him off again.
"Yes, you! You push me away, over and over again, then just when I think I've found a way to move on, you go and get drunk and turn up to look at me like, like…" Her voice finally broke again, a full-body sob choking off the words she couldn't yet dare to say. She took a few deep breaths and blew her nose, scrambling to regain control.
"Anna." Startled by some strange change in his voice, something serious and steady, she looked at him fully, blinking through the tears. His eyes were steady, his jaw was set, his lips parted.
"You look at me like that," she breathed, feeling herself teetering on the edge of a precipice.
"I'm dead sober now." He leaned toward her, one hand braced against the back of the couch. His eyes held hers, green and gold and huge in his weathered face, and for once she saw neither artificial scorn nor drunken vulnerability. This was a look of shining, crystalline clarity.
"You are," she agreed.
"What did you say to me, Anna, at the airfield? What didn't I hear?" She pursed her lips, wrinkling her nose and looking down, hiding behind her bangs.
"Don't you know?" She asked, her voice barely a whisper. He took her by the chin then, gently lifting her gaze to his. He sat still, but for his eyes, which searched hers with a razor-sharp insight that made her shiver.
"Yes, I think I do." Then she was drawn toward him, ever so gently, and he touched his lips to hers. It was soft and sweet, exactly as it had been when she kissed him, years before, in that narrow country stairwell. He pulled back, his hand sliding from her chin to cup her cheek, and she found that she'd placed her hand on his chest. His heartbeat was steady and his eyes were calm. He tipped his chin back, looking down his nose at her, then nodded slowly.
"I love you, Anna Travis." He sighed heavily as he said it, as if a huge weight had been lifted from him.
"Oh, I love you, I love you, you must know I do." She buried her face in his chest, arms around his neck, and breathed deep. His hands were at the small of her back, holding her tightly, and he pressed his lips to her forehead again and again.
"Yes, my girl, I do. God damn it, I know," he murmured, lips brushing her temple. She sat back and ran both hands through his hair, pushing it back away from his face. His eyes were red-rimmed, and she brushed her thumb across his brows, smoothing out the furrow that sat persistently between them. He kissed her again, but it was both too gentle and too brief. She buried her hands in his hair, drew him close, and opened her mouth under his.
A startled grunt escaped him, and he pulled away sharply. He stared at her for a moment, and seemed to hold a question in his mind that he was not quite willing to ask.
"Don't be delicate." She arched an eyebrow, issuing a challenge with her tone, and he surprised her by chuckling, and a tiny smile danced across his ordinarily dour face.
"Oh, my dear, I am never delicate." He cupped her jaw again, and she was sure he must feel the racing of her heart. "But I intend...
to take my time." He traced one fingertip across her chin and down into the hollow of her throat, then followed it with his lips. His kisses were searing, and she buried her nose in his hair. She tried to draw him in for another kiss, but he ducked away from her eagerness, only grazing her mouth with his, just close enough that she could feel his breath when he spoke. "I love you."
Then, at last, he kissed her properly, lingering and slow. The first dart of his tongue made her whine, for it was barely a fraction of a second of delicious heat and then it was gone. She hit his chest with an open palm.
"What's the matter, Travis?"
"You're a dirty tease, James Langton." And at that, he grinned, wide and open and free in a way she'd never seen before, in all their time together.
"But you love me, don't you?" Instead of answering, she rose up on her knees and pushed his shoulders, forcing him to lean against the back of the couch. She hooked one leg over his lap, then nipped at his throat as she settled down atop him. He was quite hard, and she bit back a moan. Her own arousal was so powerful it was almost sickening, so quickly had her anxiety and pain been swept aside by pulsing heat. His breath came in shallow gasps as she drew wet kisses from ear to collarbone.
Her lips were halted on their journey when he swiftly pulled her shirt up over her head. Her arms rose with it, and in the moment when her vision was obscured he dropped his lips to her left breast, suckling the swell of it above the simple white cup of her bra. It wasn't nearly enough, and once her hands were free she reached behind herself to undo the clasp and toss it aside.
She dove back in for another kiss, trying again to get her hands on his body. She could feel her need stealing away her coordination; she couldn't seem to settle herself, pulling haphazardly at his clothes, fumbling at buttons, and kissing him with a desperation she couldn't control. He cradled her head in both of his hands, leaning forward a bit and slowing the pace before pulling back. His hands slipped along her neck, her shoulders, drawing a flat warm plane down her back before skimming along her hips and up to cup her breasts far too lightly.
"Do you know how long I've wanted you?" He asked, eyes wide and sincere. She wasn't used to gazing down at him; his height advantage always left her craning her neck up to see him, but from this angle, his lashes made every blink look like an entreaty. His thumbs traced lazy patterns on the undersides of her breasts, tantalizingly close to her nipples, but his eyes never left hers.
"I've an idea, I think." She pursed her lips, feeling a little sad. Before she could grow maudlin by dwelling on time wasted, he took her left nipple into his mouth while his thumb found the right. The shock of so much sensation at once caused her to gasp aloud, then she buried both hands in his hair and leaned into him. Her lips dropped lazy kisses along his hairline, before she pulled him up to seek his mouth once more.
She refocused her attention on the overpowering need to find bare skin. She forced his hands away from her to strip his button-down away from his shoulders and leave it crumpled behind his back. The moment his torso was bared to her, she wrapped both arms around him. They locked in an embrace, breathing heavily, and she nearly started crying again at how right it all felt.
This time, when she nuzzled him from ear to chin to throat, her fingertips trailed unobstructed through the fine dusting of hair on his chest. The smell of him, so familiar and so intoxicating, was too enticing to resist. She kissed along his collarbone, tongue darting out to taste him as she did. His hands drifted to her shoulders, then across her back again, and finally down to cup her ass. She felt him freeze with one hand over her back right pocket, and she leaned back to catch his eye.
"Travis." His voice was stern, approaching annoyance, but his eyes sparkled.
"Yes sir?" she linked both hands behind his neck, trying to look innocent and failing, as surely as he was failing to look angry.
"Awful sure of yourself, aren't you, girl?" His fingers traced the foil-wrapped ring she'd nearly been too afraid to stash there. She shrugged and tossed her hair, trying to seem less vulnerable than she felt.
"Never hurt anyone to be prepared." She felt herself blushing, suddenly a little embarrassed. His expression softened at once.
"You came here for this," his voice was soft, almost awed. She shook her head.
"Not precisely. But I admit… I had hopes." She almost broke on the last word, the gut-wrenching uncertainty not quite fully burned away by the heat coiling in her belly. But he grinned again.
"Oh Anna, you sly thing, you." He leaned forward and tipped her weight away from him, gripping under her thighs as he stood in one swift motion. She yelped in surprise, then locked her legs around his waist and buried her face against his shoulder. It was all she could do to hold on as he carried her, never faltering, from the little sitting room to his bedroom. He dropped her unceremoniously onto the bed, and she fell into a fit of giggles, covering her face with both hands.
"I wouldn't have thought you had that in you!" She was barely able to speak for laughing. Her legs were dangling over the side of the bed and he leaned down to pull her hands from her eyes and pin them above her head with one of his. The look in his eyes stopped her laughter like a bolt of lightning, for it was deadly serious.
"You wouldn't believe what I can do when properly motivated," he growled, towering over her, using his size to every possible advantage. But his hand on her wrists was quite as gentle as it was firm, and she licked her lips, feeling a fresh wave of heat.
"Why don't you show me, then?" She tried to sound coy, but heard a sort of desperate whine creep into her voice. She was quickly approaching the limits of her patience. In response, he released her hands and licked into her mouth, then down her throat, between her breasts, and along the curve of her stomach. He stared up at her, eyebrows raised, and inched his fingers beneath the waistband of her pants. She hurriedly reached down to unzip them, and he pulled both pants and underwear from her body in one fluid motion.
The sudden feel of his lips and tongue and teeth on her hip had her gripping the sheet beneath her; she smiled a little when she realized the bed was unmade. He slipped a hand between her legs, and swore softly when his fingers met the silken wetness pooled there.
She gasped when he slipped a finger inside of her, but couldn't even catch her breath before he'd withdrawn and added another. His head rose to her chest, his hair tickling her chin as he lapped at her nipple, drawing it to a near-painful peak before sucking lightly. She fisted a hand in his hair, biting her lip, and cried aloud when he curled his fingers experimentally. He hummed, then withdrew from her and stared at his hand, seemingly transfixed by her arousal.
"I…" he said, sounding distracted. She watched as he slowly slid his fingers between his lips. His eyes lost focus and flickered closed again, and a muffled groan escaped him.
Suddenly he was kneeling on the floor, pressing her hips into the mattress with both hands, pressing his nose into the curls between her legs. She flinched a little, only in surprise, but he stopped and looked up at her with a kind of fragile desperation.
"Please, Anna, I have to. I have to." His voice broke, colored by a desire so deep it sounded like pain. His brow was furrowed and his breath came in ragged gasps; how could she possibly refuse such an earnest request? Unable to speak, she jerked her chin in acquiescence.
James Langton, despite his clearly overpowering need, did not dive right in like she had expected he would. He caressed her thighs lightly, and gazed between her legs. His eyes were wide, and he stared just long enough to make her squirm uncomfortably.
Then he moved toward her, eyes falling closed again, and he tasted her with one long, soft sweep of his tongue. He moaned, high and soft, and his hands clenched her thighs convulsively. His movements were unhurried, almost lazy, and she found herself growing somehow more sensitive beneath his gentle ministrations. She shifted a little, trying feebly to thrust against his mouth, her legs twitching beneath the hands that still pressed her to the bed.
He hummed a little laugh through his nose, then wrapped both arms under her legs and around her hips, holding her more firmly in place. When he punctuated the maddeningly slow pace by wrapping his lips around her clit and sucking far too lightly, she bucked her hips, needing more. She was reluctant to lose such an intoxicating view, but when he increased pressure she threw her head back, unable to stop herself from arching her back.
He released her hip with his left hand and, before she could prepare herself for the sensation, slid two fingers back inside of her while his tongue slid lightly over her clit. He curled his fingers just as he had before and she cried out, fisting a hand in his hair. She did her best to match his rhythm, despite having little purchase with her legs wrapped around his shoulders. All at once, she knew that she was near the point of no return. She propped herself up on her elbows to look at him again.
"James-" she tried to speak but failed. As she felt the first wave of true pleasure crest within her body, he slowed his movements further, not quite stopping the rolling pulse of his fingers and liquid caress of his tongue. She felt her brows knit in a frustration so acute it was nearly grief, but then his eyes locked with hers and he increased the pressure just a fraction more, and it was enough. Her head fell back again as she moaned aloud, astonished at the intensity of the pleasure. He gentled her through aftershocks so deep and languid that she might have been dreaming.
Once she had caught her breath, he released her, letting her legs drop to the floor. He snatched a tissue off the nightstand and wiped his mouth, shooting her a slightly self-conscious smile. She scooted back on the bed, reorienting herself so that she was laying on it properly, and he climbed up beside her. She finally realized that he was still half-dressed.
"Oh for fuck's sake!" She covered her face with her hands, blushing furiously, so embarrassed she thought she might catch fire right there. He'd managed to give her the best orgasm of her life without even taking his pants off. He rolled onto his side to face her.
"What's wrong? I'm sorry if I-" his face was pinched with worry, his voice high and fretful, as he gently pulled her hands away from her eyes.
"No, no, it's nothing." She turned to face him and smiled as brightly as she could; his concern was so touching and so unlike him. She had never known James Langton to be insecure. "I just," she reached a hand between them and palmed him through his trousers. Even through the fabric, the heat of him was obvious, and the weight in her hand made her press her legs together as her desire surged back to life. "Oh," she begged, "oh I need you. Please." He stared down at her hand, then up at her face, his mouth contorted in a kind of charming, befuddled grimace as she caressed him gently.
"Ahh," he didn't quite moan. "Right."
He slid off the bed and fished through the pockets of her discarded slacks before safely depositing the condom on his night table. She lay on her side, watching him undo the zip of his trousers with undisguised hunger. When his cock slipped free, she barely held back a whimper; it was powerfully gratifying to at last view the object of her countless fantasies.
He lay back down beside her and reached for the condom again, but she was quicker than he was, and she wrapped herself around his middle, one knee hooked over his thigh. She skimmed a palm across his belly and hips, transfixed at the sight of him, then drew her fingers lightly along the underside of his cock. It twitched quite visibly, and a soft smile played across her lips as she moved to take him fully in hand. His throat clicked as he swallowed dryly. When she glanced up to see his face as she began to move her hand experimentally, his eyes flickered closed.
Watching the pleasure play across his face almost distracted her from her own desire, but when she looked back down at his cock to see a glossy bead of fluid gathering at the tip, a shock of need struck her again. She leaned over and froze, then looked at him again. His eyes were closed, so she hissed his name. They flew open, wide and staring; she held his gaze as she lightly cradled his testicles and dragged her tongue along the underside of his cock before licking the droplet away.
"Christ!" he groaned, reaching for her. He grabbed her chin and hauled her in for a kiss, then turned back to the side table. She immediately draped her body over his again, tracing patterns along his collarbone and nuzzling beneath his ear.
"What's the matter, Jimmy?" She tried to flirt, to catch him off-guard with the nickname, but he was unfazed. He turned his head and nipped at her mouth, dancing away from her when she tried to deepen the kiss.
"Give me a minute, girl." She was feeling almost numb, still buzzing from how hard she'd come under his tongue, so she simply contented herself with caressing his hip lightly with one hand while he fumbled with the condom. He rolled back to face her, then roughly shoved her onto her back before sliding on top of her.
She was firmly pinned beneath his bulk, and felt fire course through her at the sensation of being so powerless. She could not have thrown him off if she wanted to; his entire body seemed to envelop hers, leaving her feeling small and feminine and beautifully vulnerable. She could feel him, hard and hot, pressed against her thigh, and she shifted to one side until he was nestled snugly against her core. He moved up onto his hands to see her face, and the friction between them made them both gasp.
She expected him to thrust immediately, but he didn't. Instead, he rocked his hips forward ever so slightly, eyes heavy-lidded and lips parted. He slid into her slowly, too slowly, and she cried out softly as he filled her completely. He trembled with the effort of staying still, sending rivulets of pleasure skittering up her body, and he smiled just a little, just with his eyes.
"You know I love you," he said. It wasn't a question, but a statement; his voice as hard and determined as she'd ever heard it. He raised a hand and brushed her hair away from her face, then slid his thumb across her cheekbone, before pressing his forehead against hers. She slid her hands through the short, spiky hairs at the back of his neck, tilting her head to kiss him lightly.
"And I love you," she said. He sighed, settling more of his weight back atop her. "But James?" she whispered into the side of his neck. He pushed himself away again to catch her eye. As he did so, he slid out of her slightly, and she whimpered.
"What is it? I didn't hurt you, did I?" he asked, caressing her shoulder with the hand not propping him up. "You feel so fragile," he murmured, voice softer still. She huffed out a laugh, and shook her head.
"I need…" her voice failed her; he was studying her face with such tenderness she felt she might cry.
"Tell me," he breathed.
"I need you to fuck me," as she said it, she squeezed herself around him as tightly as she could, and his breath caught in a choking gasp. "Hard."
His eyes registered half a heartbeat of surprise, then darkened as he withdrew and thrust into her. When he finally used all of his considerable size and power to possess her fully, she groaned aloud and clutched at him.
"Yes, yes please, please don't stop," she hissed in his ear, fingers clenched tightly in his soft hair. He cupped her face again with his free hand, and she turned her head to kiss his open palm. His head fell to her shoulder again and he moaned softly, letting his hand drift low enough that she could lightly bite a fingertip.
He grunted in surprise, driving into her hard enough to steal the breath from her lungs. His kisses now lacked their earlier finesse; they were open, uncoordinated, and charmingly needy. Sweetest of all were the breathy moans that punctuated each thrust.
"My girl," he murmured unto her hair.
She felt herself beginning to crest again, and fought against it. His movements were becoming less controlled and his breath against her cheek grew ragged. She wanted so desperately to come with him, something she'd imagined a thousand times over. She struggled to hold her own pleasure at bay and wait for his.
Oh, but it was nearly impossible; every stroke dragged his belly across her clit. She moaned, deep in her chest, and a wicked smile stole across his face. Again and again their bodies met, the dual stimulation almost too much to bear.
"Please, please, please," she heard herself begging, but felt no shame in it. His lips were parted, his eyes wide, and his skin ran slick with sweat. She saw a bead of it run into the hollow of his throat and raised her head to taste him again. He groaned loudly at the feel of her tongue, and she responded by nipping lightly as the soft flesh beneath his ear. When she bit a little harder than she intended, he shouted aloud.
The sound of his voice, broken almost beyond recognition by pleasure, was too much for her.
"James I'm going to come," she whined, fearing they'd kissed their chance. But he moaned appreciatively.
"Oh yes, my girl, oh Anna."
A tear escaped her eye as she felt herself shatter beneath him. Her whole body went rigid, and she sank her teeth into the beautiful curve of his shoulder. Time froze when she felt him shudder and cry out, hips faltering and fists clenching in her hair hard enough to hurt. He fucked her through both their orgasms, drawing out their shared pleasure as long as he could.
He collapsed atop her, almost crushing her, and she hooked her legs around both hips, running her hands over the broad expanse of his back and humming happily through her nose. She was content to hold him there, still inside her, while they both caught their breath. She kissed his shoulder, hoping she hadn't done any real damage. He chuckled sleepily.
"It'd take a lot more than that to hurt me." The hint of possibility in his voice caused a little involuntary clench inside her, and he huffed a little in surprise. She could feel his pulse echo through her from the place where they were still joined.
"I'll try harder next time," she put a promise in her voice and had to hold back a laugh when she felt him twitch in response. He lifted his head and kissed her hard.
"See that you do." His expression was dark but his eyes were delighted, hopeful, and she smiled back at him.
Before long she shifted uncomfortably, and he took the hint. They both gasped again as he slid out of her and he stood to head to the attached bathroom. She curled up in his sheets, breathing in the smell of him, and listened to the water running from the tap. When he came back out, she hopped briskly out of bed.
"My turn," she said, slipping past him into the little en suite and shutting the door. After she'd used the toilet, she turned to the mirror. She looked a mess; eyeliner smudged, lipstick gone, hair a disaster. But she smiled at herself, feeling fully happy for the first time since… Well, since she'd watched that stupid plane fly away.
She found a cloth and ran some cold water to clean her face, neck, and chest, then headed back into the bedroom.
James Langton was either already asleep or nearly so, lying naked atop the tangled sheets. She took the opportunity to gaze at him at length. It was nearly overpowering, to have that privilege after all this time. She had loved him in silence for a decade or more, and now he was hers. His face, normally severe and firm, was soft and calm. His chest, broad and strong, could be her pillow. The gentle curve of hip and stomach, formerly only glimpsed, were open to her touch. Even, somehow, the fragile intimacy of seeing his bare knees made her want to laugh with the sheer joy of it.
"I can feel you staring, Travis." His voice, sardonic but not cutting, broke her reverie. He cracked one eye open. "Are you coming to bed or not?" She slipped in alongside him, dragging a blanket with her. She threw a leg over his and rested her hand on his chest.
"I love you," she whispered. He turned his head and kissed her, sweetly.
"I love you too." His voice was muzzy with sleep.
She smiled, trailing her fingertips along the line of his collarbone. When she slid her palm over the soft swell of his stomach, she felt a renewed spark of heat. She cut a glance to his face, but he seemed to be truly asleep now. She inwardly chastised herself, feeling like a teenager, all raging hormones and uncontrollable desire. But, she supposed, that must be love.
She shuffled onto her other side and he instinctively rolled with her, cradling her back against his chest and pulling her to him tightly. She felt herself beginning to drift, and idly wondered if he'd had anything to eat. He'd be certain to wake them both up if he got hungry enough, and besides; there was nowhere else they needed to be.