Put on the red light

She looks up at him and her heart skips a beat. Part of her wants to look away as he hovers above her before dipping down to kiss her again; she's ashamed at what she thinks is her unworthiness to be with him. Still, she can't seem to stop herself from trying to memorize his face.

He's so much better than she feels she deserves. He's smart, wealthy, accomplished and will make something of his life while she muddles through dead end jobs and desperate attempts at living happily. In the very back of her mind she knows he's just slummin'. He's going to end up with the trophy wife; the kind of woman who comes from perfect breeding, knows how to behave at social gatherings and raises perfect children who never make noise or disobey their parents. He'll have perfection and she is not perfect. Not even a little.

Her breath quickens and shakes as his deceptively strong fingers trace up and down her sensitive spine. She may not understand why he's there, but she resolves to enjoy every second of it until he realizes that he doesn't want plain, simple, imperfect her.

She loves the way he tastes, so warm and sort of sweet. He kisses her the way she'd kiss herself if she could. Everything he does is perfection. She wonders for a moment if maybe, just maybe, they match each other. In a blink she realizes the danger of a thought like that and buries it deep in the back of her mind before she indulges too much in a hopeless fantasy.

All conscious thought fails her as he growls deep in his throat and gently bites her lower lip. Somehow he manages to do the impossible – stop the millions of thoughts that race about her mind. She tries to tell herself that anyone with a tongue that talented could do that, but she knows from trial and error that it's not true.

Couldn't it be possible, she pleads to herself, that I affect you the same way you affect me? With the same kind of intensity. It's a feeling that she's never felt before. Need. Desire. Both were foreign terms to her until recently. She did what she felt she had to do; with him she does what she desires to do. That, she's found, makes all the difference in the world.

The treacherous thought enters her mind and questions if the one before her was better. Was she more skilled? Did he respond to her more? She tries not to think of that as he traces circles with his tongue against her throat. The faint scent of Ivory soap clinging to his skin clouds her mind and she reminds herself that she probably doesn't want to know about her anyway. Then she wonders if he had asked himself the same questions. She wonders if he's ever had the same insecurities.

His teeth nip her shoulder and she bites her lower lip hard but doesn't stifle the soft moan that rumbles in her throat. In that moment she decides she would tell him if he asked. She would tell him that with one kiss from him, she forgets every other man in the world.

His teeth and mouth have marked her skin and she smiles. She allows herself to pretend that he has branded her as his so that no other man will covet his property. She tells him that she likes being marked and he laughs at her. Clasping her tattered robes, she bitterly wishes that he would take her as his and his alone. But why, she reminds herself sternly, why would he want someone so … damaged?

He prepares to leave after a short while; it's late and they are both tired. She leads him to the door and thanks him for his company. They stand there, say good-bye and not really meet each other's eyes. Both pretend that she isn't in love with him as she closes the door and watches him Apparate through the window. She sighs and heads up the stairs to the shower to wash away the precious, tainted dreams one more time.