Type: Short Story/Romance/Complete
Rating: R
Summary: Jason struggles with his attraction to Courtney Quartermaine while protecting her. This is a sequel of sorts to "So Good, So Right" written from Jason's point of view this time. Enjoy! I disclaim -----------------------------------------------------------------
THE BEST INTENTIONS
It amazed him how good someone could feel. She was doing it again - derailing his composure and all but taking his breath away with a simple embrace. Her face disappeared in his chest, full of tears that were shed for a man who didn't deserve an ounce of her sorrow. . or love. The changing autumn leaves became a blur and he shut his eyes and gave her an assuring pat on the back. He didn't quite know where to put his hands, he never did.
To want her was bad enough. To touch her was more than he could handle.
He remembered many lap dances that were paid for and never exactly redeemed -- when Daisy would slide across a cracked vinyl booth and cozy up next to him. She did it to "make it look good." He did it to keep the animals, salivating with bills and drinks in hand, away from her. If they knew anything about Jason Morgan, then they would know to back off. His arm was a shield drawing her closer to his chest -- a warning for them, forcing greedy eyes to look away.
It was an act. The intimacy was all for show. He was there to protect and make sure none of them came too close to his boss's sister as she stripped off the layers of her innocence, night after night -- all for a man that didn't deserve her love.
A blank stare and remarkable resilience -- she was strong, determined and disturbingly focused, but he wondered when she would break. He would make sure that wouldn't happen.
He became skilled at diverting his attention when Daisy hit the stage - shifting his feet on the sticky floor, fighting a rise in him that he would never admit existed. He was a man after all. It would be normal to have certain feelings - abnormal not to. Any swell of desire was usually overridden by anger anyway. All of the men clawing after her looked like AJ. He would clench his fist around his drink and fight the instinct to pull her off the stage and carry her away. And he would eventually do that - triumphantly while her husband skulked away.
He had ways of convincing himself that he didn't want Daisy. Cold showers never worked much for him; the thought of it was laughable. After staring at the ceiling and relieving himself - of the image of her in naked, gyrating glory, he would head for his bike. What he needed was a swift ride in the high hills with sharp turns and wheels gripping the edge, making his heart pound from a different source of adrenaline, one without silky blond hair and a curvy body. He would travel at warp speed without a helmet and let the summer wind sting his cheeks as punishment for his thoughts.
He could forget Daisy. But not Courtney, no matter how hard he tried.
A blank stare and remarkable resilience -- he was strong, determined and disturbingly focused, but he wondered when he would break. He was *supposed* to make sure that didn't happen.
There was something about her touch. There was something about her. And he couldn't forget how he slipped-up and kissed her in the pouring rain. Her wet fingers gently grazed his head wound as she desperately expressed her concern for his safety. He couldn't just go beating people up. She cared about him, that was all he absorbed, and at that moment he needed a restraint of a different kind. Conflicted and disoriented, he gave in. The kiss exploded like a short burst of pent-up passion - packed with so much meaning. Too perfect to be wrong. But she couldn't be near him. He shouldn't have been near her. She loved another.
And he promised that it would never happen again.
Now he struggled against the urge to pull her tighter. Despite the autumn chill in the air, she warmed his body and cut through the icy barriers that had put a chokehold on his heart years ago. Even through her wooly overcoat, he felt her warmth. His jaw clenched as she uttered the name AJ, saying that she always believed marriage was forever. *Forever?* He fumbled with his own wedding ring and prayed that wasn't true.
*Leave him.* That's what he wanted to say. But he held back and remembered that people are entitled to make their own choices, and for some reason she chose AJ. And he didn't want to waste any time talking about AJ.
She pulled away from the embrace but still held him drawn with wide sapphire eyes and lips curling into a magnetic smile. Daring him not to remember how they exploded against his, feeling so warm and soft and forbidden. The wind picked up and blew strands of her hair across his cheek. He raised a hand to touch her flesh and wipe a tear from her eye, but was halted by her reality check.
"How is Brenda?"
"Fine." The phantom vice grip on his ring finger grew tighter. Did he neglect to mention that he really couldn't stand Brenda? Did she forget why he had married her?
Her concern for him was sweet. She truly believed that he was not responsible for Alcazar's death. He wondered what he did to earn her faith. He wondered why she wasn't afraid of him, why she felt like he could comfort her - why AJ's exaggerations didn't penetrate.
"I just want to get this trial over with. And we have to stay married because of that. That's the only reason . . ." He stopped while he was ahead.
"I feel silly crying on your shoulder like this," she confessed, pressing her palm against her forehead. "Sorry."
"Don't be." He looked at her diamond ring and matching band on her finger, and remembered his place in her world - the protector. That was all. He was a protector, not a nurturer . . .not a lover. Never a lover.
All he could do was escort her home - to protect her. That's what he told himself when she wrapped her arms around him as he sped off on his bike. "Hold on tight." She gripped his chest and rested her head between his shoulder blades. The ride was long and glorious and torturous.
"Hey," he said, blocking Rosie's wet greeting. He really didn't need this mutt licking his face. "Does she remember anything I taught her," he asked, watching Rosie retreat to her favorite spot on the couch. "She looks awful comfortable on that couch. Lying down on the job."
"I am sure she remembers. She had a really good teacher. Didntcha Rosie." Courtney laughed heartily and rubbed her under her ears. "She really barks when strangers come around, honestly," she said in the dog's defense. "She's a good watchdog. But I think she misses you. Yea you miss Jason don't you girl." Rosie whimpered as if to say yes, which made Jason smirk. "Yea, I miss Jason too." Her voice halted and she bit her lower lip and shyly tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. "I mean, uh."
"I should probably go now." He turned towards the door. She had gotten home safely. His job was done.
"I mean I haven't seen you in awhile. And I am glad I ran into you because I want you to come over for dinner. I mean I want to treat you to dinner maybe sometime. This week in fact. To thank you that is. Maybe tomorrow?"
He fought back a smile as he watched her roll her eyes around, rambling and stumbling over her words. That piece of hair could not have been shoved any further behind her ear. But despite her best intentions, he needed to decline.
"Yea." His voice cracked. He was shocked at his eagerness. He was shocked that he said yes.
"So you'll come." She perked up, practically bouncing up and down. He nodded his head. It was an knee jerk reaction. It had nothing to do with reason. It was too late to take it back.
"Great. Because I really have to thank you for everything you've done for me. You've been such a good friend, Jason. I want to do something nice. So how about tomorrow at seven?" Rosie lifted her lazy head and wagged her tail. That dog was devious. "Maybe I'll have my neighbor watch Rosie," she laughed.
He started to tell her that he was just doing his job - no thanks were needed. He didn't need to be fed. But her smile drew him like always and saying no to her didn't seem to be worth the effort.
*Why didn't he say no to her?* He sat up straight in his bed and looked around his darkened room. He slowed his heavy breathing and tried to calm his arousal. He didn't seem to dream like most people. Images floated in and out of his consciousness as he slept, and he was always fully present in them. Everything was very vivid and just like in life, nothing happened in his dreams that he didn't want to happen. He ran his hand along the empty side of his bed, thinking of an excuse to back out of his dinner date with Courtney.
It wasn't the first time he dreamt of her. Sometimes she was Daisy at the Oasis other times she was in that Princess costume. He always came so close, too close to having her. In tonight's version he was on her lumpy couch, like he had been many times, listening to her as she paced her bedroom floor and riffled through magazines. She was not sleeping either.
Rosie was heavy on his feet, refusing to move, so he swung his legs to the floor. It was a hot summer night, but he insisted on keeping the windows closed and locked, and he kept his gun on the coffee table at arms reach. He was there to keep her safe after all. For no other reason than to protect her, even in his dream - *especially* in his dream.
He got up to check the window near the fire escape. The light peering out from under her door drew him and he stopped to listen to her breathe, sigh, moan, whatever. Sometimes she even snored. Now she was whispering, wrapping up a call to her husband.
*Yes everything is fine. Me too. Yes I miss you too. No don't rush home -- take care of your business. No, nothing is going on . . .*
He waited to hear her say *Jason.* Ah, once again she neglected to tell her husband about her frequent houseguest. There was some significance in that, which he couldn't quite name, but it was definitely something short of marital bliss.
He hit the couch just in time not to get caught eavesdropping. Surprised to see him awake, she muttered something about needing a glass of water.
"Rosie," she said exasperated. "Please get down. Bad girl," she said shoeing her off the couch. "Oh I'm sorry Jason. I guess she really likes sleeping with you. I mean, uh."
She blushed again, evidently speaking before thinking, a habit of hers. It was okay, he appreciated her hopeless honesty.
He stroked her flushed cheek with the back of his hand. The moonlight or the streetlight made her mussed, silky hair glisten. Her flesh was as soft as he had imagined. Her pajama top dipped low, drawing tight across her breasts. Her bottoms hit just below her belly button. Freshly scrubbed with no makeup on, she was as beautiful as ever.
"It's really hot out here Jason." She said it as a whisper, not looking him in the eye, staring at his chest maybe. "I mean there is no air." He was shirtless. He had forgotten about that and he smoothed his palm along his chest as if to shield it. "circulation. . .to cool you down." She released a soft gasp as his lips grazed her cheek. He decided to skip the explanation of his high tolerance for extreme hot and cold, opting to kiss her instead.
He moved to her lips, and she opened for him, letting him explore. And he intended to take his time doing just that. The kiss in the rain was way too quick to fully enjoy or even feel guilty about. He let her fingers run through his hair as she pulled him closer. Her soft throaty moans were music to his ears. His hand massaged the warm, exposed flesh of her lower back. He floated.
Before he woke from his dream, Carly materialized, unwelcomed and ranting away. *I told you so Jason. I knew she would get to you.* Instead of firing back at her, he woke himself up and went to splash cold water on his face. Cold water, what a joke. It would never work for him.
"No, it is *not* a date." He told Carly that until he was blue in the face, mashing the elevator buttons as she clipped at his heels. Courtney was still vulnerable and probably still needed his protection. He was sure of it. He needed to make certain that AJ did not continue the stalking nonsense that he had started.
"Oh yea. Do you need to be so dressed-up to protect someone?" Carly smelled spicy cologne and noticed that he was wearing his "good" jacket. Tell-tale signs in her jaded opinion.
It was his "good" jacket, and he had the best intentions when he slowly climbed the stairs for his *dinner* that wasn't a *date*.
"Hi!" She beamed -- she was radiant. Fresh and renewed with a slight innocence that he was glad she didn't lose, she greeted him at the door. He wanted to fold himself in her - he wanted to speed away on his bike before it was too late.
She did smell good, yes, but he was actually talking about her cooking. He would make a mental note of her perfume, however, for future reference.
Not one for small talk, he answered her questions as best he could. He preferred to sit and listen. He liked the sound of her voice, always did. He liked the way the candlelight danced across her skin. He liked . . .her.
And this evening was not just about filling his stomach with a hearty meal -- he knew there was more. It made him uncharacteristically edgy. A bundle of nerves, playing with his dreaded ring under the table to keep from grabbing and kissing her. He noticed that she had taken her rings off as she lifted a glass to toast the evening.
And a lovely evening it was turning out to be despite the fact that she had spilled half the meal on his shirt. Not again. It was wine this time. Her innocence drew him. His dream was coming true.
She was dangerously close and he couldn't hold back. He was so lost in her that there was no hope of escape. He surrendered to her softness, to the sweet taste of wine as he devoured her, searching, wanting every bit of her. No longer willing to deny himself. He pulled away for air to ask if she was sure. He was teetering on the edge and soon there would be no going back. Her supple breasts heaved as she stood several feet away. Under a sultry gaze, her swollen lips mouthed yes. His hand slipped into her grip and he went blank as she led him to the bedroom.
He mumbled something into her lips about how long he had wanted her as he removed the first layer of clothes from her body. Aching for her. Anticipating the journey.
"Me too Jason, me too. I want you." Her response drove him completely over the edge.
She lay naked under his gaze and blushed when he told her how beautiful she was. *Why didn't she know that?* Every inch of her was perfection. Every part of her demanded his touch --her dimple, her navel, the soft warm spot at her nape. Her magnificent breasts that he wanted to touch and taste for so long. They had contours, peaks and valleys to journey. They were plump and soft and heavy. Heavenly.
She felt better than he could have imagined. Soft lips on his flesh, silky hair brushing against him. Hands stroking under his guidance -- eventually knowing where and how to please. He hadn't been touched this way for way too long, maybe never, not this delicately. He couldn't have dreamed something so good, so right.
He eased satin and lace aside, exploring moist areas. He knew that he was touching her in ways that no one had before, doing things to her that she probably only giggled about with her girlfriends. He slipped inside her innocence. Tender and warm, she clung to him and surrounded him.
She gasped and tensed up. He needed her to trust. He wanted to see her eyes. "Look at me, Courtney." She released them -- painted blue. "Just relax honey, let it go." She finally opened for him fully and exploded around him, warming his skin with short gasps of pleasure. His mind separated from his body and all reality, shattering into a million pieces.
He kissed her forehead, and with comfortable familiarity she snuggled into him, melting into his body like warm honey. This was real, this was right.
This was more than sex. He knew. Love. Despite his best intentions, he had fallen.
Rating: R
Summary: Jason struggles with his attraction to Courtney Quartermaine while protecting her. This is a sequel of sorts to "So Good, So Right" written from Jason's point of view this time. Enjoy! I disclaim -----------------------------------------------------------------
THE BEST INTENTIONS
It amazed him how good someone could feel. She was doing it again - derailing his composure and all but taking his breath away with a simple embrace. Her face disappeared in his chest, full of tears that were shed for a man who didn't deserve an ounce of her sorrow. . or love. The changing autumn leaves became a blur and he shut his eyes and gave her an assuring pat on the back. He didn't quite know where to put his hands, he never did.
To want her was bad enough. To touch her was more than he could handle.
He remembered many lap dances that were paid for and never exactly redeemed -- when Daisy would slide across a cracked vinyl booth and cozy up next to him. She did it to "make it look good." He did it to keep the animals, salivating with bills and drinks in hand, away from her. If they knew anything about Jason Morgan, then they would know to back off. His arm was a shield drawing her closer to his chest -- a warning for them, forcing greedy eyes to look away.
It was an act. The intimacy was all for show. He was there to protect and make sure none of them came too close to his boss's sister as she stripped off the layers of her innocence, night after night -- all for a man that didn't deserve her love.
A blank stare and remarkable resilience -- she was strong, determined and disturbingly focused, but he wondered when she would break. He would make sure that wouldn't happen.
He became skilled at diverting his attention when Daisy hit the stage - shifting his feet on the sticky floor, fighting a rise in him that he would never admit existed. He was a man after all. It would be normal to have certain feelings - abnormal not to. Any swell of desire was usually overridden by anger anyway. All of the men clawing after her looked like AJ. He would clench his fist around his drink and fight the instinct to pull her off the stage and carry her away. And he would eventually do that - triumphantly while her husband skulked away.
He had ways of convincing himself that he didn't want Daisy. Cold showers never worked much for him; the thought of it was laughable. After staring at the ceiling and relieving himself - of the image of her in naked, gyrating glory, he would head for his bike. What he needed was a swift ride in the high hills with sharp turns and wheels gripping the edge, making his heart pound from a different source of adrenaline, one without silky blond hair and a curvy body. He would travel at warp speed without a helmet and let the summer wind sting his cheeks as punishment for his thoughts.
He could forget Daisy. But not Courtney, no matter how hard he tried.
A blank stare and remarkable resilience -- he was strong, determined and disturbingly focused, but he wondered when he would break. He was *supposed* to make sure that didn't happen.
There was something about her touch. There was something about her. And he couldn't forget how he slipped-up and kissed her in the pouring rain. Her wet fingers gently grazed his head wound as she desperately expressed her concern for his safety. He couldn't just go beating people up. She cared about him, that was all he absorbed, and at that moment he needed a restraint of a different kind. Conflicted and disoriented, he gave in. The kiss exploded like a short burst of pent-up passion - packed with so much meaning. Too perfect to be wrong. But she couldn't be near him. He shouldn't have been near her. She loved another.
And he promised that it would never happen again.
Now he struggled against the urge to pull her tighter. Despite the autumn chill in the air, she warmed his body and cut through the icy barriers that had put a chokehold on his heart years ago. Even through her wooly overcoat, he felt her warmth. His jaw clenched as she uttered the name AJ, saying that she always believed marriage was forever. *Forever?* He fumbled with his own wedding ring and prayed that wasn't true.
*Leave him.* That's what he wanted to say. But he held back and remembered that people are entitled to make their own choices, and for some reason she chose AJ. And he didn't want to waste any time talking about AJ.
She pulled away from the embrace but still held him drawn with wide sapphire eyes and lips curling into a magnetic smile. Daring him not to remember how they exploded against his, feeling so warm and soft and forbidden. The wind picked up and blew strands of her hair across his cheek. He raised a hand to touch her flesh and wipe a tear from her eye, but was halted by her reality check.
"How is Brenda?"
"Fine." The phantom vice grip on his ring finger grew tighter. Did he neglect to mention that he really couldn't stand Brenda? Did she forget why he had married her?
Her concern for him was sweet. She truly believed that he was not responsible for Alcazar's death. He wondered what he did to earn her faith. He wondered why she wasn't afraid of him, why she felt like he could comfort her - why AJ's exaggerations didn't penetrate.
"I just want to get this trial over with. And we have to stay married because of that. That's the only reason . . ." He stopped while he was ahead.
"I feel silly crying on your shoulder like this," she confessed, pressing her palm against her forehead. "Sorry."
"Don't be." He looked at her diamond ring and matching band on her finger, and remembered his place in her world - the protector. That was all. He was a protector, not a nurturer . . .not a lover. Never a lover.
All he could do was escort her home - to protect her. That's what he told himself when she wrapped her arms around him as he sped off on his bike. "Hold on tight." She gripped his chest and rested her head between his shoulder blades. The ride was long and glorious and torturous.
"Hey," he said, blocking Rosie's wet greeting. He really didn't need this mutt licking his face. "Does she remember anything I taught her," he asked, watching Rosie retreat to her favorite spot on the couch. "She looks awful comfortable on that couch. Lying down on the job."
"I am sure she remembers. She had a really good teacher. Didntcha Rosie." Courtney laughed heartily and rubbed her under her ears. "She really barks when strangers come around, honestly," she said in the dog's defense. "She's a good watchdog. But I think she misses you. Yea you miss Jason don't you girl." Rosie whimpered as if to say yes, which made Jason smirk. "Yea, I miss Jason too." Her voice halted and she bit her lower lip and shyly tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. "I mean, uh."
"I should probably go now." He turned towards the door. She had gotten home safely. His job was done.
"I mean I haven't seen you in awhile. And I am glad I ran into you because I want you to come over for dinner. I mean I want to treat you to dinner maybe sometime. This week in fact. To thank you that is. Maybe tomorrow?"
He fought back a smile as he watched her roll her eyes around, rambling and stumbling over her words. That piece of hair could not have been shoved any further behind her ear. But despite her best intentions, he needed to decline.
"Yea." His voice cracked. He was shocked at his eagerness. He was shocked that he said yes.
"So you'll come." She perked up, practically bouncing up and down. He nodded his head. It was an knee jerk reaction. It had nothing to do with reason. It was too late to take it back.
"Great. Because I really have to thank you for everything you've done for me. You've been such a good friend, Jason. I want to do something nice. So how about tomorrow at seven?" Rosie lifted her lazy head and wagged her tail. That dog was devious. "Maybe I'll have my neighbor watch Rosie," she laughed.
He started to tell her that he was just doing his job - no thanks were needed. He didn't need to be fed. But her smile drew him like always and saying no to her didn't seem to be worth the effort.
*Why didn't he say no to her?* He sat up straight in his bed and looked around his darkened room. He slowed his heavy breathing and tried to calm his arousal. He didn't seem to dream like most people. Images floated in and out of his consciousness as he slept, and he was always fully present in them. Everything was very vivid and just like in life, nothing happened in his dreams that he didn't want to happen. He ran his hand along the empty side of his bed, thinking of an excuse to back out of his dinner date with Courtney.
It wasn't the first time he dreamt of her. Sometimes she was Daisy at the Oasis other times she was in that Princess costume. He always came so close, too close to having her. In tonight's version he was on her lumpy couch, like he had been many times, listening to her as she paced her bedroom floor and riffled through magazines. She was not sleeping either.
Rosie was heavy on his feet, refusing to move, so he swung his legs to the floor. It was a hot summer night, but he insisted on keeping the windows closed and locked, and he kept his gun on the coffee table at arms reach. He was there to keep her safe after all. For no other reason than to protect her, even in his dream - *especially* in his dream.
He got up to check the window near the fire escape. The light peering out from under her door drew him and he stopped to listen to her breathe, sigh, moan, whatever. Sometimes she even snored. Now she was whispering, wrapping up a call to her husband.
*Yes everything is fine. Me too. Yes I miss you too. No don't rush home -- take care of your business. No, nothing is going on . . .*
He waited to hear her say *Jason.* Ah, once again she neglected to tell her husband about her frequent houseguest. There was some significance in that, which he couldn't quite name, but it was definitely something short of marital bliss.
He hit the couch just in time not to get caught eavesdropping. Surprised to see him awake, she muttered something about needing a glass of water.
"Rosie," she said exasperated. "Please get down. Bad girl," she said shoeing her off the couch. "Oh I'm sorry Jason. I guess she really likes sleeping with you. I mean, uh."
She blushed again, evidently speaking before thinking, a habit of hers. It was okay, he appreciated her hopeless honesty.
He stroked her flushed cheek with the back of his hand. The moonlight or the streetlight made her mussed, silky hair glisten. Her flesh was as soft as he had imagined. Her pajama top dipped low, drawing tight across her breasts. Her bottoms hit just below her belly button. Freshly scrubbed with no makeup on, she was as beautiful as ever.
"It's really hot out here Jason." She said it as a whisper, not looking him in the eye, staring at his chest maybe. "I mean there is no air." He was shirtless. He had forgotten about that and he smoothed his palm along his chest as if to shield it. "circulation. . .to cool you down." She released a soft gasp as his lips grazed her cheek. He decided to skip the explanation of his high tolerance for extreme hot and cold, opting to kiss her instead.
He moved to her lips, and she opened for him, letting him explore. And he intended to take his time doing just that. The kiss in the rain was way too quick to fully enjoy or even feel guilty about. He let her fingers run through his hair as she pulled him closer. Her soft throaty moans were music to his ears. His hand massaged the warm, exposed flesh of her lower back. He floated.
Before he woke from his dream, Carly materialized, unwelcomed and ranting away. *I told you so Jason. I knew she would get to you.* Instead of firing back at her, he woke himself up and went to splash cold water on his face. Cold water, what a joke. It would never work for him.
"No, it is *not* a date." He told Carly that until he was blue in the face, mashing the elevator buttons as she clipped at his heels. Courtney was still vulnerable and probably still needed his protection. He was sure of it. He needed to make certain that AJ did not continue the stalking nonsense that he had started.
"Oh yea. Do you need to be so dressed-up to protect someone?" Carly smelled spicy cologne and noticed that he was wearing his "good" jacket. Tell-tale signs in her jaded opinion.
It was his "good" jacket, and he had the best intentions when he slowly climbed the stairs for his *dinner* that wasn't a *date*.
"Hi!" She beamed -- she was radiant. Fresh and renewed with a slight innocence that he was glad she didn't lose, she greeted him at the door. He wanted to fold himself in her - he wanted to speed away on his bike before it was too late.
She did smell good, yes, but he was actually talking about her cooking. He would make a mental note of her perfume, however, for future reference.
Not one for small talk, he answered her questions as best he could. He preferred to sit and listen. He liked the sound of her voice, always did. He liked the way the candlelight danced across her skin. He liked . . .her.
And this evening was not just about filling his stomach with a hearty meal -- he knew there was more. It made him uncharacteristically edgy. A bundle of nerves, playing with his dreaded ring under the table to keep from grabbing and kissing her. He noticed that she had taken her rings off as she lifted a glass to toast the evening.
And a lovely evening it was turning out to be despite the fact that she had spilled half the meal on his shirt. Not again. It was wine this time. Her innocence drew him. His dream was coming true.
She was dangerously close and he couldn't hold back. He was so lost in her that there was no hope of escape. He surrendered to her softness, to the sweet taste of wine as he devoured her, searching, wanting every bit of her. No longer willing to deny himself. He pulled away for air to ask if she was sure. He was teetering on the edge and soon there would be no going back. Her supple breasts heaved as she stood several feet away. Under a sultry gaze, her swollen lips mouthed yes. His hand slipped into her grip and he went blank as she led him to the bedroom.
He mumbled something into her lips about how long he had wanted her as he removed the first layer of clothes from her body. Aching for her. Anticipating the journey.
"Me too Jason, me too. I want you." Her response drove him completely over the edge.
She lay naked under his gaze and blushed when he told her how beautiful she was. *Why didn't she know that?* Every inch of her was perfection. Every part of her demanded his touch --her dimple, her navel, the soft warm spot at her nape. Her magnificent breasts that he wanted to touch and taste for so long. They had contours, peaks and valleys to journey. They were plump and soft and heavy. Heavenly.
She felt better than he could have imagined. Soft lips on his flesh, silky hair brushing against him. Hands stroking under his guidance -- eventually knowing where and how to please. He hadn't been touched this way for way too long, maybe never, not this delicately. He couldn't have dreamed something so good, so right.
He eased satin and lace aside, exploring moist areas. He knew that he was touching her in ways that no one had before, doing things to her that she probably only giggled about with her girlfriends. He slipped inside her innocence. Tender and warm, she clung to him and surrounded him.
She gasped and tensed up. He needed her to trust. He wanted to see her eyes. "Look at me, Courtney." She released them -- painted blue. "Just relax honey, let it go." She finally opened for him fully and exploded around him, warming his skin with short gasps of pleasure. His mind separated from his body and all reality, shattering into a million pieces.
He kissed her forehead, and with comfortable familiarity she snuggled into him, melting into his body like warm honey. This was real, this was right.
This was more than sex. He knew. Love. Despite his best intentions, he had fallen.