Her Head v. Her Heart

A/N: I have said it before, and I will say it again: Nobody fuckin' rocks a suit like Dave Batista. For those of you who didn't understand the term "lickable" in the first chapter of this story - I ask you to watch any footage of Batista's entrance on Smackdown tonight. When he climbed into the ring and tossed his sunglasses to the mat? That, my friends, is lickable. I was losing my mind. My boyfriend is threatening to revoke my TiVo privileges if I don't stop running it back and watching it repeatedly. That being said, I knew I had to write another chapter in this story while I'm still on the euphoric high of how damn good he looked! Maybe the best he's looked since rocking the gray suit and the pink shirt on RAW! I don't own any of the characters in this story, but after Smackdown tonight, I know what I'd do with Batista if I did!

For the first time in six weeks, Dave faced the morning sunlight with a smile on his face. With his eyes still tightly closed, he listened to the sound of Trish's laughter, and felt butterflies fighting for position in his gut. He rolled to his side, face still half-concealed by the pillow, and opened one eye.

Trish winked and waved as she pressed her phone to her ear and moved around the room, tying her wet hair up in a ponytail. "Because if you don't get up now, you're gonna miss the fuckin' bus. Again," she scolded John with a smile.

"It's early," John groaned into the phone.

"Well, maybe," Trish sank to the bed beside Dave and ran her fingernails down his bare back, "if you didn't stay up all night playing video games like a dumbass frat boy, you wouldn't be so drained," she scolded.

Dave rolled over and grabbed her hand, raising it to his lips. He grinned as she gasped when he sucked her middle finger into his mouth. He listened to her try to explain away the sharp intake of breath as his tongue swirled over her knuckle. "I'll pick you up in forty-five minutes." She reminded him of his ex-wife, every time she had tried to get the girls up for school.

When she shut her cell phone, she leveled Dave with an amused, but sincere, look. "What?" he asked.

She leaned forward and dropped a kiss on his chest before groaning and standing. "I gotta get outta here," she whispered, tilting her face for a quick peck.

He turned it into a throat-licking embrace, pulling her fully-clothed body flush against his fully-naked one. "Why?" he asked when he finally withdrew his tongue from her mouth.

Trish ground against his hardening erection, and then stood with ease. "I don't have time to go again. I have to get home, get my shit, get John, and get to the bus," she rolled her eyes, standing. "But maybe, after we check into the hotel in Manhattan? Maybe we can find some time?"

Suddenly, what they were doing seemed to click in his head. He struggled to sit, securing a mound of covers over his lap and running a hand over his head. "Trish, this can't happen again," he informed her. She looked confused. "Not because I don't want to, believe me. But John's my friend," he said.

"I don't want to hurt him, either," Trish stated, reaching for her purse on the floor. "But, Dave, it's just not the same," she explained.

He cringed and felt like his heart broke a little bit. "Trish, if it was that great, you wouldn't have left," he pointed out.

She watched his eyes darken with sadness. She couldn't stay. John would be waiting for her, and if this was the day Dave decided to talk? She didn't know what she would do. "You know what? You're right. Things with John are really good and I don't wanna fuck with that, so I'm gonna go," she stuttered, heading toward the door. Turning, she gave him her most wide-eyed look. "Please don't tell him," she asked.

He nodded and watched her leave. He had never intended to tell his friend anything, but now that she had asked it of him? His lips were sealed. Because he knew, no matter how much distance he managed to put between them, there would never come a day when he wouldn't move and Heaven and Earth for that girl.

XXX

"Did you guys have fun last night?"

Trish's head whipped to the side. John was looking out the window at the passing scenery, tapping his hand to the rhythm of the radio. "Huh?" she asked.

He met her eye and laughed a little at the "deer-in-the-headlights" look he was giving her. "You and Stacy? Did you have fun last night? Ya know? With your Girls' Night?"

She swallowed her guilt and nodded, laughing slightly. "Yeah, it was, um, fun. Stacy spent the night trying to make Randy jealous," she rolled her eyes.

"It worked," John nodded, turning his body toward her. He thought he saw her shoulders stiffen, but he couldn't be sure. "He showed up around two, bitchin' and moanin' about how she started gettin' all this attention last night, and about how she salted his game," he laughed.

"Oh," Trish forced a laugh. Randy had gone to John's? What if he had said something about she and Dave disappearing together? What if he already knew what they'd done and he was just testing her. She felt like her skin was on fire all the sudden, and she nearly ran off the road when he put a hand on her thigh.

"You okay, baby?" John asked, concern in his features as she slowed the car to a stop on the shoulder of the road. "You want me to drive?"

She shook her head and put a hand on the back of his neck. "I want you to kiss me," she breathed, pressing her lips to his. She had to get the taste of Dave out of her mouth. What they had done had been an indiscretion. It had been a mistake. This man, willingly kissing her on the side of some deserted highway in Connecticut at 6:45 in the morning, was the one that she wanted to be with.

"Please don't think I'm complaining about this," John sighed, searching her eyes for some explanation to what she had just done. Shaking his head, he chose to let it go, instead. "Nevermind. I'm not complaining," he winked, leaning in for another round.

Trish leaned her forehead against his. "I missed you last night," was all she said before she kissed him again. Dave had been great last night. He had been everything she remembered him to be. He had been generous and gentle. He had been passionate and powerful. And he had been lovely and lickable. But he hadn't cracked any post-coital jokes. And he hadn't blasted the hip-hop music to mask the sounds of their heavy breathing. He would always be the best she ever hand, but he wasn't John.

And if she kept telling herself that, maybe she would forget the four orgasms she had experienced over the course of the six hours she had spent in Dave's bed.

There it is, Liv - "Throat Licking" in a story, just for you. I think this means you can stop saying it now - it's gross!