A Woman in His Life

Chapter Fourteen: A Rare but Predictable Phenomenon

By Penmom

Author's Notes -- (1) Since this takes place beyond the present cannon - this is AU. (2) Long time no see - please accept my apologies the alignment of computer viruses, work, kids, family and real life have all come between me and my writing. () Rest assured that I have read every single review at least three times and honestly, if it weren't for the kind words, I would have probably just hung this up by now. I hope to respond to many of these soon but for now I want to get this chapter out.

Immediately upon waking, she is immediately aware of him pressing against her. His proximity, the meld, the much needed rest - have restored a great deal of her composure. Even in sleep his presence is staggering. She yields to old habits, and eases a space or two away from him.

Her slight retreat wakes him immediately. He misinterprets her intention and makes a move to release her, his hands suddenly feeling awkward on her skin.

He speaks, suddenly trying to avoid her gaze at all costs. "Gosh, T'Pol, I'm sorry. I didn't mean t' --- I shouldn't have taken advantage --- with you so tired and all. I'll just ---"

His words come to a sudden halt when he feels her strong grasp on his forearm.

"Charles, please, wait."

Her words, they sound strangely seductive coming out of her mouth. He turns toward her. She is so close that she must raise her face to meet his eyes. She has not released him from her grasp as he turns, the combination of her touch and the close proximity of her body disorient him, dampening thought and laying him bare to impulse.

Her pupils dilate as she maintains their contact as if she is posed and waiting for him. She draws him to her like a siren summoning him into depths from which he will never return. The analogy is his last thought as he submits willingly to her current.

Imperceptibly, they move even closer together. He raises his hands, brushing her ears with the pads of his fingers before sliding down to grasp the sides of her face just above her slanting brows.

At his touch, her eyes close and her body releases a huge wave of tension. She leans into him, her hands grasping his shirt. Her mind sings a constant Yes.

Not moving the hands that frame her face, he brings his head down, nuzzling her soft cheek with his own. Her soft breath exhales near his ear and the simple sensation is so sublime that he can hardly quantify it. But now is not for thought, he feels her desire and he is her slave in this. He will always be.

Trip brushes his lips against her forehead and once more relishes not only her consent but her welcome as well.

Yes.

Come.

Now.

Yes.

It is as if there is a duality to him, a complexity that is both alien and ancient. It wraps around him like a cloak, like a second skin and all the while, her voice sings in his head, urging him on. Whatever this is, this magic, she is at its center. As she breathes heavily in his arms, he can do nothing but accept.

The impulses are clearer now, stronger, infusing his being with purpose and want. He wills her eyes to open to him and they do. Here is the sea in which he is drowning. He dives. He dives in with his soul, with his physical self.

"My mind to your mind, your mind to my mind" he whispers roughly, caressing her temples as he speaks.

Somewhere his mind understands that this communion is a gift that she has given him, but he gives it no thought as he acts. Her ancestors are his, her needs are his, her instinct is his.

She is his.

She gives herself over to him, trusting completely as she anticipates the coming storm. And as before it comes. She is moving through him at the speed of light, running through his veins, his memories, his desires. Random sounds, smells, tastes run through her - peaches - she recognizes that taste of peaches. Her mouth curves upward as she holds fast to his solid body.

Colors, he sees colors, purple and red skies. He feels her blood pumping through her veins, the perfume of her arousal. His senses, his mind is filled to the brim with her. Only her.

It comes to him that she is thinking of peaches. Peaches make her happy. This thought brings him joy. His laugh rings in the silence of her chamber as he feels some sort of sob run through her.

Pulling back, he forces his eyes to look at her. He realizes that she is trying to laugh. "Aww honey, let it out. It's OK to be happy, it's wonderful. Be happy. Be happy for me!" he urges as he gently breaks the meld.

He realizes that her face is wet. That she has tears on her face. He wipes her tears and sets to tasting each one. Each is all the more precious for its rarity.

The salty taste of her tears lights a fire within him. It is beyond arousal, it is a truly primal fire threading through his veins. He feels hot and driven. As when he initiated the meld with her, he feels the words and knowledge to propel them forward.

She is mesmerized by his presence, by the sheer masculinity of him. There could not have been another. He is more than acceptable - he simply is the one, the only one for her.

His eyes are shining now and she can see his muscles clenching as he looks at her. She knows what to expect although it is new to her. She reminds herself that he is responding to the Vulcan heat. It saddens her a bit to think that the look in his eyes is because of his physical need and not his want of her. She reminds herself that she is practical and logical, that none of this matters now. He is hers whatever the cause.

Again, her feelings of uncertainly reach him even through the fire. He comes to her, cradling her face in his hands. "Aww, Honey, no. It's not like that." He begins to pepper kisses over her face as he speaks.

"I've wanted you since the moment I saw you, look inside my head if ya' want. I just never thought --- never dreamed."

She finds that her heart responds to this human affection more than it could to any Vulcan passion. More hot and silent tears run down her face. The feeling that he gives to her is true, not manufactured from genetic codes and hormones.

He can do no other than to draw her back into his kiss .

Something inside of her first yields, then rejoices. 'Yes. It is he. '

She twines around him. He feels wonderful. All of her uncertainty is brushed aside- burnt away in a firestorm of want. Logic? Possessing him is the only logic she knows. She slides her hands around his waist drawing as close as possible, burrowing her face into the curve of his neck. Oh to inhale his scent. It fires her blood. She opens her mouth drawing on his flesh. Still it is not enough. Her teeth close on him.

Her ardent assault rouses him and ignites a cascade of physical responses that simply over ride higher thought. There is only touch, only need - but no - need is too weak of a word.

His body surges forward sounding a growl from low in his chest. His hands rise to tear at her clothing as his body flips hers under his own. Somewhere in her mind, it registers that his touch is no longer tentative, there are no more sideways glances shyly asking for permission. His touch is sure, firm, even rough. She revels in his desire, his possession.

Her hips rise in seeming protest, he responses only bearing down harder. In frustration she raises her head, letting out a sigh of her own. She only wishes to --- there, he eases up for a fraction of a second. Long enough for her to open her limbs to him, tilting her hips for a better contact.

Their eyes meet, they are of one accord, one mind. Whatever passes between them releases more --- more of everything. Hands grab and tear at any garment in their way. His hands cup her face as he devours her with his mouth. She arches into him, her legs curling into backs of his thighs.

He enters her without delay, the cry from her mouth driving him forward. A primal part of him relishes her pain, acknowledging its significance. He has no mercy, not this man he has become. If anything, the knowledge only serves to intensify his movements.

She welcomes his assault. For so long, her blood has been humming - unsatisfied - a continuous disturbance from within. But he, he has answered her blood call with his mind, with his hands, with his very being. And now the hum is so loud that it is all she hears. It is all she is. Her arms grasp behind her for something to stabilize them.

Grasping her hips with a bruising grip, he savors the picture before him through half closed eyes. It comes to her that there is something incongruent about his slumberous eyes and his ferocity. An emotion spikes through her as they seem to explode in sensation --- this is her beloved.

He stills as his mind shares her own. She watches him closely, allowing the feel of him - so intimately entwined with her - to sink into her every pore. It is as if he is looking inward - eyes seeing but not and then --- suddenly --- a smile lights his face as his eyes sparkle.

"Well, I'll be damned" he says with delight as he cups her bottom ensuring that she stays right where he wants her. "So much for 'a random series of biological events coalescing into a rare but predictable phenomenon.'"

She savors his delight over the fact that it was their attraction and emotion that set this special chemistry in motion and not the other way around. She arches a familiar brow as her lush lips curve up ever so slightly, "Commander Tucker, I am impressed, I had not thought that you were following the Doctor's lecture so closely."

He laughs deeply at her comment and relishes the joy radiating her.

TBC