He didn't feel nervous, as such. Talking to Jen was never an anxiety-inducing experience; they'd been working together quite well for months now, and they had worked together very well for the year and more they'd been undercover. He knew her, as well as he knew anyone else, and he trusted her, more than he trusted anyone else. They understood one another, and conversation seemed to come easily to them.
Only this wasn't just any conversation. Not after what they'd just done, the way they'd slipped their fingers into the cracks of the wall of professionalism that separated them and torn the bloody thing wide open. The pictures she'd sent to him were burned into his memory; he had never forgotten the sight of her, naked and soft beneath him, never forgotten the sound of her breathy cries as she lost herself in pleasure, but he had buried those little pieces of their shared past, refused to draw them out into the light. Until now, until this, until he'd found himself lying in his bed, naked and wanting her, spilling out all his desires and all his secret hopes until they'd both come undone. Well, he'd come undone. She'd told him that she had, and he didn't think she would lie about that sort of thing, but he had not witnessed it for himself, and he regretted that, now. We should have been together, he thought as he pulled his car to a stop in front of her house, as he looked up at the soft glow of the lights spilling out from her windows. It would have been better, he thought, if they could have been together for this first foray into madness, if he could have touched her himself, but he was wondering, now, if this was the only way it ever could have happened. If the only way they'd ever come back to one another was if they were pushed, by forces beyond their control, by a mishap with a telephone and the relative safety of a text message instead of the unbearable pressure of facing one another.
They had to face one another now, though. Maybe they could have put it behind them, pretended it never happened, but Nick didn't want to pretend, any more, and Jen had asked for him and he had raced across town as fast as he could go, desperate to see her. Something had been started tonight that could not be left to fester another moment longer. He needed to see what might happen next.
And so he took one long, slow breath, and then stepped out of his car, walked up the pavement to her house and knocked upon the door. It wasn't so very late; the sun had long since sunk below the horizon but the world was not asleep just yet. It was a Friday night, and all around them the city celebrated the onset of the weekend. Maybe they could do the same, he thought; neither of them had to go into work again until Monday - barring catastrophe - and that meant they finally had time, finally had a chance to sit together, and speak to one another honestly, to say -
To say what? He'd told her already that he missed her, and she'd told him already how she hated the separation between them, the lies and the hiding. What else was there, really? So long as they worked on the same crew a romantic entanglement was ill advised, as it could well spell the end of one or both of their careers. They both cared too much about their jobs to just throw them away, but what if -
The door swung open, and there she was, Jennifer, and beautiful, and he could not help the smile that split his face at the sight of her. She was lovely, with her soft blonde hair framing her sweet face, wearing a bright, floral patterned robe that showed off an admirable swath of her perfect legs. And when she saw him Jen smiled, too.
"Come in," she said, stepping back to allow him entrance, and Nick stepped into her home at once.
It wasn't the first time he'd been there, of course. He'd picked her up from work at home a few times, and they'd had a little party in her back garden at the beginning of the summer, the team all gathered together, drinking beers and laughing. It was the first time he'd ever been there like this, though, the first time he'd ever arrived late in the evening, found her wearing her robe and precious little else, come to her with the express purpose of discussing the nebulous something that bubbled and swirled between them.
"Are you hungry?" she asked him softly. "I haven't had dinner yet."
"I could eat," Nick allowed easily. He always wanted to eat, after; she used to tease him about that. Jen's eyes sparkled up at him mischievously and he wondered if she was remembering that, too. He hoped so, at least.
"Come on, then," she said, and he followed behind her silently as she led him down the short corridor from her front door to her kitchen. There were pots bubbling away on the stove and two places already set at her table, and as he watched she danced across the room to the refrigerator, and pulled out a bottle of wine. He couldn't tell what it was from this distance, but he was certain it would be white and sweet and cheap. He remembered that, too.
"Smells good," he said. It did smell good, whatever she was cooking, but what he'd wanted to say was you look good; what he wanted was to take her in his arms and kiss her until both their heads were reeling, but he'd come over here to talk, and he meant to do that before anything else. It might be that she wanted to talk to him about how what happened tonight could never be allowed to happen again, and he'd look like the worst sort of bastard if he tried to kiss her before he let her get those words out. Whatever she wanted of him, he wanted to give it to her, even if what she wanted was to declare outright that they could never been more than coworkers. Nick wouldn't force himself where he wasn't wanted.
Across the kitchen Jen flashed a smile at him as she poured two glasses of wine.
"It's just noodles," she said, but Nick reckoned it was rather more than that, given there were two pots on the stove. Jen wasn't much of a cook - neither was he, truth be told - but they'd spent a lot of time in the kitchen of their borrowed house, and he'd tasted every single one of the recipes in her limited repertoire. He was certain that when the cooking was done she'd bring him a bowl full of pasta and veg in that lemon sauce she poured over everything. That was fine by him; it was one of his favorites.
Jen approached him slowly, shyly, and offered him a glass, which he took at once.
"Cheers," she said, clinking the rims of their glasses together.
"Cheers," he answered, holding her gaze as they both took a sip. It wasn't awkward, exactly, standing in the middle of her kitchen drinking her shitty wine, but he felt a strange sense of expectation creeping up his spine. He hadn't come here for noodles and wine, and she knew it, and the conversation that waited for them was one of the most important they would ever have. He was eager to be done with it, but he rather got the sense Jen was putting it off, and he liked that not one bit.
"Jen-"
"Sit down, Nick. I'll bring the food over and then we can talk while we eat."
Fair enough, he thought, and so he did not protest, only settled himself at the table and drank his wine while he watched her put the finishing touches on dinner. Quiet settled over them, and he found himself wondering what she was thinking, what she meant to say to him. If she'd wanted to put all this behind them then surely, he thought, she wouldn't have offered to feed him, to give him an excuse to linger. Unless she wants you to try to talk her out of it, he thought. Jen was a thoroughly practical sort of girl, not much given to flights of fancy or romantic notions, and surely she'd think her job was more important than some man, but maybe she wanted -
"Here we are," she said, carrying a steaming bowl of food towards the table. Carefully she filled both their plates, and then she settled into the chair across from him.
"Smells good," he said again. He was running out of safe comments to make; his heart was bursting with words that were decidedly dangerous, and he didn't want to upset her, didn't want to give her a reason to throw him out before they'd ever even decided anything.
Across the table Jen sighed, and ran her finger tip around the base of her wine glass, refusing to look at him.
"So," he said slowly. She'd said they could talk while they ate, and now that the food was in front of them, he supposed the time had come. It had been his idea, the talking; he had been lying alone in his bed on the other side of town, missing her, wondering if he'd just ruined everything between them, or if maybe they finally had a chance, here, to do something right. He hoped they did; he'd meant every word he'd sent to her, meant it when he told her that he missed her, that he wanted to touch her, that he thought she was beautiful, and none of that was allowed, so long as they were only colleagues. But how was he supposed to tell her the truth? To tell her that he was tired of dancing around her, tired of pretending? She'd told him she was tired, too, but a quiet confession in a text message while they were miles apart was not the same as sitting together at the same table, looking one another in the eye as they admitted to the feelings that sparked and swirled between them. Maybe it was a mistake, to come chasing after her like this, but she'd invited him and made him dinner and sent him a picture of her bare breasts quite on purpose, and he rather thought all of that together pointed to a favorable outcome for him. "About before. I...I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, Jen."
"You didn't," she told him, still refusing to meet his gaze, though there was a little smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She had been a willing participant, he knew, but that was then, and this was...something else.
"It's hard to keep my distance, sometimes. But I will if you want me to."
That little smile turned into a frown, and Jen lifted her gaze, finally looking at him. He could see the confusion in her, could see her torn, as he was, between what she ought to do, and what she wanted to do.
"I meant what I said. I'm tired of pretending you aren't special to me. But I don't know what to do," she told him miserably. "What happened tonight was... I've never done anything like that before. But I wanted to, with you."
"It's the same for me," he said. She needed to know that, he thought, that he didn't just go around sending pictures of his cock to every woman he knew, that he never would have written those words, dreamed of such things, with anyone other than Jen. It wasn't a moment's pleasure he wanted; it was her.
"But I want Homicide. I want my job. I don't want to risk it for something…"
She trailed off, and Nick frowned.
"Something that's not worth it?" he asked her softly. His heart clenched unpleasantly in his chest at the thought that perhaps Jen loved Homicide more than him, that perhaps she didn't think he was worth the risk.
There was grief in her eyes when she looked at him, and strangely, that reassured him.
"If anything's worth the risk it's you," she said. "But what happens when this falls apart? What will we do? I can't lose Homicide, Nick. I can't throw my career away."
"If this falls apart," he said, stressing that word if, for he refused to believe that their falling out with one another was inevitable. He'd been half in love with her from the moment they met, and there was something so...easy, so good about them together, something he'd never found with anyone else, something that made him think that maybe this was it, for him. That all he'd want, all he'd need, for the rest of his life, was her. "I'll leave Homicide. You can keep it, I won't take it away from you."
"I can't ask you to do that for me," she said, twirling her fork idly through her noodles.
"You're not asking. I'm offering. I've left Homicide before, and I was perfectly happy. Honestly, Jen, I'll be fine no matter what I'm doing for work. I don't think I'll be fine if I never get to kiss you again."
Her cheeks went a little pink, and inwardly he breathed a sigh of relief. He'd worried, for the split second after he spoke, that perhaps he'd said too much, but now he got the sense he'd said exactly what was needed.
"So..what? We just...date? And don't tell anybody?"
Nick tried to picture it, going to the cinema with Jen, taking her out to a nice restaurant, her voice cheering him on from the sidelines of his bi-monthly rugby match, but mostly what he saw, when he thought of them together, was this. Sitting in a kitchen - hers or his, it made no difference - talking, eating, comfortable with one another. Sharing their lives, not just spending the odd hour together here and there and then retreating to their separate spaces. He didn't want a girlfriend, to trot out for parties and try to get to know over cocktails. He wanted a partner, and Jen was that for him already. Sleeping next to her, holding her hand in the shops, washing the dishes side-by-side with her at the kitchen sink, he'd done all of that before, and that was what he wanted now, more than anything.
"There's plenty we're not telling them already," he said around a mouthful of his dinner. It was exactly the dish he'd thought she was making, and it was as good as he remembered. "We can keep home at home, and work at work. I think it'll be fine."
For a moment she was quiet, watching him, and then she sighed.
"All right, then."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," she agreed, and just like that they slid from friends to something more. A bargain had been struck, with those few simple words. Something like that should have felt monumental, he thought, like the plates of the earth shifting beneath their feet, but instead it just felt like the quiet opening of a door. What do we do now? He asked himself. Should he just abandon his dinner, go to her, gather her into his arms and carry her back to bed? Would she even accept such behavior from him, or would he need to woo her slowly, gently, take his time and not expect her to just fall into his arms after a few randy text messages? Whatever happened next, Nick keenly felt the importance of getting it right, and so he took another bite, and waited to see what she might do.
What she did was laugh, a bit uncomfortably, and drink down the rest of her wine in one go.
"Is it just me or is this awkward?" she asked. "I feel like I just flashed my tits at you and asked you to go steady."
"For what it's worth you can flash your tits at me any time." It was half a joke, and she laughed a bit more easily, and Nick breathed a silent sigh of relief. "I just...I care about you, Jen. And I just want to be with you." And he wanted, very much, to kiss her, but she had been hungry when they sat down together, and he didn't want to interrupt their dinner. Not yet, at any rate.
"I care about you, too, you know," she told him softly, shyly. "I wouldn't have done...that, if I didn't."
"Was it really an accident? That first picture?"
That was what he really wanted to know. Nick had never accidentally sent a message to the wrong person, let alone a picture of himself half-naked. He knew Jen wasn't in the habit of lying to him, but he still didn't quite understand how something like that could happen unintentionally. Not to say he wasn't grateful for it, and more grateful still that she had sent it to him, and not say Duncan or Matt. He didn't like the thought of either of them seeing her like that, half-naked and beautiful.
"It was!" she protested, laughing to let him know she wasn't offended. "I was just trying to make sure my hair looked all right, and then I dropped my phone, and when I tried to catch it…" she made a vague gesture with her hands, simulating her fumbling with the mobile.
"Why were you worried about your hair?"
Jen's face fell, and Nick's heart fell with it. The question had been mostly intended as a gentle sort of tease, pointing out that it was silly to be worried about her hair on a Friday night when she didn't have any plans - and obviously she didn't, he thought, given what they'd done together, given that she was sitting at her table with him in just her robe - but now he began to wonder if perhaps there was more to the story.
And as it turned out, there was.
"I had a date," she confessed. "Lisa set me up with someone. I was supposed to have dinner with him."
So Jen had been wearing that pretty lace and styling her hair for someone else. She hadn't gone on the date, of course, and the man had never seen the results of her efforts while Nick himself had enjoyed them immensely, and so he didn't feel so much jealous as he felt relieved. For the third time it seemed to him that fate had intervened in their lives, stepped in at just the right moment and made sure that they found their way to one another. The opportunity to work with SIS, that night in Matt's kitchen, and now this, one wayward text message, had changed everything. If it weren't for the slip up with the mobile, Nick would be alone at this very moment, and Jen would be doing God only knew what with someone else. Nick didn't believe in God, not really, but he was starting to believe that some things were meant to be, and that Jen was one of them.
"I'm glad you're having dinner with me instead," Nick told her gently.
"Me, too," she said, smiling.
The talking was a little easier, after that. She asked about his family - while they were undercover he'd let it slip that he had sisters, and she'd never forgotten, and he loved her for it - and they talked a little about her case, the case the brass had snatched away from her and left her feeling miserable over. They talked about Dunny - they were both worried about him, still on his own, still mourning for Clare - and they talked about Si - they were both worried about his temper - and they ate, and it was...nice. Unbelievably nice. Incredibly nice, to share a meal with her, and just enjoy one another's company.
But the noodles and the wine couldn't last forever; dinner was winding down, and an uneasy sense of expectation seemed to hover in the air. The table was safe; sitting together at the table, even if Jen was only wearing her robe and Nick was in a t-shirt and jeans instead of his usual suit, was still very much the sort of thing friends did. Only they'd just decided that maybe they could be more than friends, and that opened up a world of possibilities Nick wanted, very much to explore. But was now the right moment? That was the question he couldn't seem to answer. Would it be best for him to leave now that dinner was over, not to press for too much too quickly? They'd already leap-frogged over several boundaries earlier in the evening, and he wasn't sure how much more he could ask for, just now when everything between them seemed tenuous and delicate.
"Here," Jen said suddenly, reaching across the table for his plate. Nick handed it to her, watched as she stacked their plates together and rose to her feet. He rushed to do the same, gathering up the wine glasses and the silverware and walking beside her to the sink.
"Can I help?" he asked, gesturing towards the pile of dirty dishes. He was well aware that Jen had no intention of washing up tonight, that she'd just leave it for tomorrow - or more likely Sunday, she never was in any hurry to clean anything - but it seemed as good an excuse as any to linger. If she wanted him to go she could beg off, tell him to leave it and bid him goodnight, but if she wanted him to stay -
"That would be great," she told him, smiling. It was as close to an invitation as he was going to get, and he knew it, so he smiled right back, and took the plates and the silverware and stacked them into the dishwasher while she began to wash the pots she'd used for cooking. There was something familiar about this, something easy, something that he had been missing for so long now, a sense of rightness in doing the simple, domestic tasks of daily life with a beautiful woman whose company he enjoyed. He couldn't wait to do it again.
It only took a moment to load the dishwasher, and by then Jen had finished scrubbing the first pot, so he took it from her dripping hands, wiped it dry with a nearby dishtowel. He ran his hands over the pot in silence, watched her standing there, bare feet, bare legs, the curve of her neck calling out to him, begging him for his kiss, thinking about what they'd said to one another, earlier in the evening.
Sometimes I think I'd do anything just to be able to touch you again.
Sometimes I think I'd let you.
Was this one of those times? Was she just waiting for him? Jen had already given up a lot of ground tonight, confessing her fears about work, telling him that she thought he was worth the risk, giving him an excuse to stick around; maybe it was time for Nick to give something back.
Carefully he set the dried pot on the stove, and moved slowly to stand beside her. Jen didn't look at him, didn't say anything, but she leaned against him, just a little. That one gesture, small as it was, was enough for him; he was there, wanting her, and she knew it, and she was not backing away. He was suddenly, forcefully reminded of one evening they'd spent together in the Claybourne house, a delightfully silly evening that had led to a very memorable shag in the shower later on, and he couldn't stop himself.
He reached out, slipped his hand into the soapy water in the pot she was currently scrubbing, and quite deliberately splashed her.
Jen shrieked, a wonderful, decidedly undignified sound, but got her own back in an instant.
"You'll pay for that," she told him, and fast as lightning she splashed him herself, soaked the front of his t-shirt to match the water dripping down the front of her robe.
Laughing they both launched themselves at the sink, water flying back and forth between them, soap bubbles catching in her hair, puddles forming on the counter beside them. There was something wonderfully childish about it, something addictive about the way they always seemed to have fun, together, about the way she made him smile, but they were both perhaps a bit too competitive. They jostled for prime position at the sink, but the floor was slick with soapy water, now, and Jen lost her footing for a moment, and fell hard against his chest. He caught her easily, his arm looping around her waist, holding her tight to him while she smiled up at him, bright and beautiful and in his arms, where she belonged. And he wanted, more than anything, to kiss her, and so he bowed his head, and then-
And then Jen, sneaky bugger that she was, dipped her hand into the pot once more and then reached for the back of his neck, sending rivers of now tepid water running from the nape of his neck down the back of his shirt. Nick could not have cared less.
"You don't play fair," he told her, leaning in close, his lips almost touching hers and yet not quite, just close enough to tease. Jen lifted her chin, but he held steady, refusing to give in just yet.
"Neither do you," she answered, her voice an unsteady whisper.
It was enough for him. Holding her close, both of them dripping wet, hearts racing, delighted with one another; he wanted to kiss her and there was no reason not to, and so he closed the space between them, and captured her lips with his own, swallowing the soft sound of her sigh as she melted against him, her fingers tangling in his hair, holding him close against her. It had been more than four years since the last time, and yet it felt to him almost as if no time had passed at all; she felt the same, warm and soft and pressed against him. She felt like coming home, felt like the most beautiful thing he'd ever encountered in his entire life. She smiled against his lips and he took the opportunity at once to press his luck, his tongue surging forward, and she let him, pressed herself that much closer to him and let him take her over.
His hands were steady as he reached for her hips, drew their bodies flush together and then pressed her back against the sink, never breaking their kiss, not for a moment. He could go without air for a minute or two; he could not be without Jen. Not now, not after this. Not after the pictures she'd sent him, those heady reminders of the beauty of her in all her technicolor glory, not after knowing that a bare two hours before she'd been naked in her bed with her hand between her legs, thinking of him. They had done that to one another, the very idea of falling together enough to make them lose all sense of decorum, and now that he was touching her, he never wanted to stop, wanted instead to see how far they might go, together.
Still holding her hips he shifted, slightly, let his thigh press between her legs, and she widened her stance and let him, let him push them both that much harder against the sink. She was leaning back, now, and he followed her, followed the graceful arch of her body even as she caught his bottom lip between her teeth, pulling him down with her. There could be no doubt, now, regarding her wants, her needs; she was grinding herself against his thigh and teasing him with that clever mouth of hers, and he would have laughed if he had not been on fire with need himself.
But they were both of them soaked from their little war there at the sink, and he was itching to see her, to feel her skin beneath his hands, and not that robe, soft and lovely as it might have been. Still kissing her, hungrily, messily, he reached between them, and caught the sodden tie of her robe in his hands, untying it quickly. Jen did not protest, did not reach out to stop him, only scraped her nails against the back of his neck and let him peel the sides of the robe away from her. Eager as he was to see her he pulled back from their kiss, rested his forehead against hers and opened his eyes, watched as his hands pulled the robe open, and damn near swore when he saw what lay beneath it.
She wore only that same pale lavender thong, all lace and hardly there at all, slung low over her hips and barely covering her. When he'd decided to come to see her, when he told her he was on his way, she'd been allowed enough time to dress properly, if she'd wanted to. He certainly had, had found a clean pair of trunks and slipped on a pair of jeans and a serviceable grey t-shirt. But Jen had done nothing of the sort; her breasts were bare and soft, her nipples sweetly pebbled from the water that had seeped through her robe, her belly flat and warm, the span of her hips enchanting, and she had done nothing at all to hide herself from him. All through dinner, while they'd been talking, she'd been sitting across the table from him all but naked, and she'd been wearing that same thong in the photograph, he realized; what if she hadn't taken it off, before? What if she'd slipped her hand beneath it while he talked her through touching herself, left it damp with her desire and made a choice not to switch it out for something else? Had she been sitting there, still wet and thinking of him, while they talked about work as if it were the most natural thing in the world?
Christ, that woman was going to be the death of him.
"Well?" she asked him a bit breathlessly.
"You are the most gorgeous thing I've ever seen," he growled, her teasing voice reminding him of the purpose at hand. Once more he ducked his head, sucked her lip between his teeth while his hands slid under that robe, tracing the shape of her body, remembering how it felt, the warmth of her beneath his palms. I want to touch you, he'd told her, and now that he was he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to stop. His hands captured her breasts, felt the warm weight of them filling his palms, kneading her gently in time to her panting breaths, and beneath him Jen shuddered, and pressed herself that much harder against his thigh between her legs. If he'd opened his eyes he could have seen it, the way she sought some relief for herself, taking from him whatever she could get, whatever he was willing to give, and it occurred to him then that he simply did not have the patience to carry them off to bed. They'd never actually shagged in a proper bed, but there would be time enough for that particular first later; all he wanted was this, her, right here, in the kitchen.
And it seemed to him that Jen's thoughts must have run much the same course, for while his hands were busy with her breasts her own reached behind him, caught hold of the sodden fabric of his t-shirt and tugged. For a moment they wrangled together, breathless laughter passing back and forth between them as Jen struggled to pull his shirt up and off him, and he refused to relinquish his hold on her breasts. She won, in the end, when he thought of how much sweeter it would be to feel the rush of her against his bare chest. Deftly Jen pulled his t-shirt over his head and tossed it away, and then he reached for her robe, caught it his hands and pulled it back. Her arms were caught in the movement, still trapped inside the sleeves, and for a moment Nick held her like that, her arms tangled behind her back, a wicked smile on her face. Slowly, teasingly, he bowed his head; she thought he meant to kiss her, and tried to meet him, but he bypassed her lips entirely, choosing instead to plant his kisses on the curve of her neck. This was something else he remembered, the way she'd whine and throw her head back when he kissed her there, but oh, this was better than his memories, Jen all but naked, grinding against his thigh, so wet he could feel her through the fabric of his jeans, the soft sounds of want that left her lips while he held her arms bound behind her. It was in his mind to mark her, to leave her with a memory she could see and touch in the coming days, but at the last second he decided against it, knowing how much she'd hate having to try to hide it from their friends, and chose instead to trace the thin vein leaping along the side of her throat with his tongue.
"Nick," she gasped, her voice high and needy, and he grinned against her skin, reveling in her abandon. This was what he'd been thinking about, when he took himself in hand earlier in the day, but the reality of her was better than any fantasy. With one quick jerk he pulled the robe the rest of the way off her, and the moment her hands were free she was reaching for him, her fingertips slipping beneath the waistband of his jeans, pulling him in close, impossibly close.
"I want you," she told him, and there was no doubt in his mind that she did, for he could feel her want where she rested against his thigh, could see it in her eyes, could feel it building within his own heart and other places as well, his jeans unbearably tight now as his cock began to swell with need.
"Now?" he asked her. "Like this?"
He'd said the same words to her earlier in the night, and she was agreeing as readily now as she had done then.
"Right now," she gasped at him.
Nick needed no further instruction; he caught her hips once more in his hands, and lifted her bodily from the floor. Without the obstacle of her robe to impede her she wrapped her legs around his waist at once, her arms sliding round his neck, her face on a level with his, now, her eyes bright and full of warmth, and of the kind of affection that made his heart ache.
"You're wonderful," she told him softly. "I don't think I said that before."
As far as he was concerned she was pretty wonderful, too; he had never known anyone quite like her, anyone who recognized his quiet nature and didn't begrudge him for it, anyone who could look at his face and see his thoughts as plainly as she did, anyone as lovely, as brave, as brilliant as she was. The last few months, being back in Homicide, getting to know her again, seeing the way they once more fell into stride with one another, without question, without hesitation, the gravity of her radiance drawing him to her, closer and closer, had been the most wonderful, beautiful thing, but this was better still, and all the sweeter for everything that had gone before it.
I love you, he thought. Now might not be the best time to say such a thing to her, not now when she was naked in his arms for the first time in four years, when they'd only just decided to explore this thing between them. He didn't want to scare her, didn't want her to feel pressured by him in any way but he did love her, madly, desperately, more than he'd ever loved any woman before, or ever would again.
But Jen didn't always need the words, not from him. Her brow furrowed, slightly, as if she'd just been presented with a riddle to solve, and then she smiled as the answer came to her, reached out and cradled his cheek in her palm.
"I know, sweetheart," she whispered, and then she leaned in and kissed him again.
She knew. She knew that he loved her, even if she hadn't let him say the words, and that was enough for him, for now.
With her tongue in his mouth and a renewed sense of purpose in his heart Nick spun them around, and carried them both to the corner of the kitchen, and gently set Jen down on the countertop. Her legs were still locked tight around him, drawing him into her, but his hands were free to continue his exploration of her once more. And so he did, tracing his palms from the flare of her hips up along her sides, his thumbs brushing against the swell of her breasts, his fingertips dancing across her delicate collarbones until he held her neck in both hands, gently, keeping her in place while still he kissed her wildly, and she kissed him back, and his cock, now hard as marble beneath his jeans, ground against the place where she was hot and wet and ready for him. The tips of his fingers pressed against the line of her jaw, tilted her head back to get a better angle, and even as he sought to devour her Jen's hands slipped between them, popping open the button of his jeans before tugging the zip down. In the process though her hands brushed against the swell of his cock and Nick's whole body shuddered with need.
"Get these off," she told him, tearing herself from their kiss with a gasp while she tugged ineffectually at his jeans.
"This, too," he answered, letting his fingers slide beneath the scant lace of her thong.
"God, yes," she gasped, and they laughed together, each of them taking their own garments in hand. As quickly as he could Nick shucked his trousers and his trunks, and Jen did a shimmying little dance on the countertop, sliding that scrap of lace out from between her legs and tossing it carelessly across the kitchen. The sight of her like that, beautiful and naked sitting on the counter, eager for him, the crisp curls between her legs wet with want of him, tore a strangled groan from his lips, but Jen just laughed, and held her arms out to him.
Nick stepped up to her at once, but he had no sooner slipped his hand between her thighs than her own hand curled around his aching cock. With her legs spread wide and her hips canted to meet him Jen welcomed the touch of his hand, pressed her lips against his shoulder and pumped his cock slowly, slowly, while a stream of curses left his lips and his fingertips traced the shape of her swollen folds. Ordinarily Nick wasn't much of a talker in bed, but they weren't in a bed, just now, and there was nothing ordinary about Jen, about the way she touched him, the way he felt when he touched her. Remembering the thoughts that had consumed him while he lay in his own bed, reading her messages and imagining her drawing pleasure from her own hand Nick slipped two fingers slowly inside her, curled them hard against her and ground his palm against her clit, and it was Jen's turn to shudder, her grip on his cock tightening as pleasure coursed through her.
"God, Nick," she whined, and he grinned, relieved to know that he could still touch in her a way that left her breathless. It was in his mind to ask her what she wanted, to tease her, to see if she would tell him in explicit detail exactly what it was she needed, but he never got the chance; a few short thrusts of his fingers was all it took to have her reaching for his wrist, still his movements at once.
"Enough," she gasped when he looked at her curiously, wondering what she was thinking. "I don't want your hand, Nick."
As if to emphasize her point she squeezed his cock once, and Nick got the message, loud and clear.
"I don't want yours, either," he told her, grinning.
They moved together; Nick caught her lean thighs in his hands, lifted her legs to once more lock around his hips, and Jen took hold of his cock with both hands, guiding him into her as slowly, slowly, he moved forward. The first brush of her wetness against the head of his cock left him reeling, aching and desperate for her, and she must have felt the same for she did not make them wait. With her heels digging into the firm muscle of his bum Jen drew him into her, and they both groaned together, their voices echoing off the kitchen tiles, their pleasure mingling as slowly, slowly he breached her, and drowned in the molten heat of her.
To ground himself, give himself something to hold onto and avoid hurting her, Nick planted his hands flat on the countertop either side of her hips, let his panting breaths paint the tender skin of her shoulder while his hips rocked into her. Jen moaned, low and sweet, and flung her arms around him, clung to him while they ground into one another, his cock sliding deeper and deeper into her with each pass until at last he was fully seated and he paused for a moment to soak in the delicious feeling of her fluttering around his length, clutching at him, her body soft and warm and welcoming.
"God, Nick," Jen gasped, burying her face in the crook of his neck while she shuddered in his arms. "I missed you."
"We missed each other," he panted in response. It wasn't like this with any other woman he'd ever been with, not like it was with Jen. Like something right, like two pieces of a puzzle slotting into place, like she was made to hold him. Gently he moved, felt her sex clutching at him, felt the hot wet slide of his cock driving back into her, felt his tenuous hold on his self control slipping. There was a part of him that wanted to make this slow, to make it last, to rock her to her very core and keep going, but he had been so long without her, and she was perfect, and he wasn't sure if-
"Don't be slow," she gasped at him, turning her nails into the skin of his back. "We can do slow later. I want you to fuck me now."
That was a request he had no intention of denying. He nipped at her shoulder, once, caught her skin between his teeth for just a moment, and then he moved, slipped his hands under her ass, holding her tightly, as tightly as he dared, holding her in place as once more he drew his hips back, and then rushed forward, hard and deep, and she mewled, and shivered, and begged him to do it again. Lost in the thrall of her Nick held her close and rocked his hips against her, harder, and faster, felt the heat and the friction building up between them, the wet slap of their bodies meeting echoing around the kitchen, Jen's ragged cries rising higher and higher in time to the surge of his hips. With his hands clenched tight around her ass he lifted her ever so slightly, so that each time he slammed into her he brought her down hard against him, increased the pace and the frenzy of their coupling while she clawed at him and gasped and fell to pieces in his arms. He couldn't stop the groans that tumbled from his lips, couldn't stop himself from staring down her lithe body to the place where he was driving inside her, watching his cock wet with her own need disappearing into her again, and again, and he felt his own release rushing towards him, inexorable, undeniable. They had agreed to this, stood at the edge of a cliff and jumped from it hand-in-hand, with eyes wide open, but they hadn't spared a thought for protection, and he didn't know what she wanted, when it came to that. Perhaps the movement of his hips stuttered as the worry occurred to him, for Jen bit him none too gently on the shoulder and his hips shot forward once more in response.
"I'm on the pill, don't you dare bloody stop," she gasped, and he grinned, relieved, and redoubled his efforts at once. Even now, even like this, she could read his mind. She always had done.
Once more the longing between them built to a fever pitch, and this time Nick let it; there was no reason to stop, now, and she'd told him not to, and he could deny her nothing. Again and again he surged within her, felt her clutching at him, felt the tension coiling tighter and tighter at the base of his spine, but what he wanted, more than anything, was to feel her fall apart while he was inside her, to feel the rush of her desire washing over him. He leaned forward, dropped her back against countertop and ground his hips against her with every powerful thrust of his cock and she flung her arms out behind her, let him watch the way her breasts bounced with the movement of their bodies, the muscles of her belly clenching with need, her thighs locked so tight around his hips he could hardly move. There was only her, the glorious blush that painted her skin, and he ducked his head, wrapped his lips around one of her pale nipples and sucked it hard into his mouth while he filled her with his cock and ground against her clit and finally, finally she snapped.
Jen whined, high and needy, and her inner walls clutched at him, held him, refused to let him go, and he could feel the glorious wet rush of her release, could taste her skin beneath his lips, and he thrust into that bliss as hard as he could despite his limited range of motion. Jen reached for him with one hand, tangled her fingers in his hair and held his face against her breast while still he rutted against her, hungry and desperate and mindless with need.
"Come on," she gasped at him, her hips rocking beneath him. "Come on, sweetheart."
A strangled groan left him, and with a few last sputtering thrusts he spilled himself inside her, went slack and boneless in her arms with the kitchen counter beneath them holding them both steady while his need pulsed through him, burned through him with a righteous, white-hot fire and left behind it only his love of her.
Her touch was gentle, soothing, while he tried to catch his breath, his cock still nestled tight within her. Tenderly she raked her fingers through his sweat-slicked hair, cradled him close to her while he panted against her breast. In all his life Nick had never known anything as sweet, as beautiful as this, as them, together, as her, holding him, but even this moment of beauty could not last indefinitely. They'd made a mess of the kitchen, water splashed everywhere and their clothes strewn haphazardly across the floor, the pot still only half-washed in the sink, and they'd made a mess of each other, sweaty and bearing the marks of one another across their skin, and when he finally slipped out of her he could see his release smeared across her thighs.
"Take me to bed, Nick," Jen whispered into the stillness between them.
The bloody dishes can wait, he thought, and so he only smiled and once more caught hold of her bum, and lifted her easily, carried her across the kitchen and to her bedroom while she rested her cheek against his shoulder and held him, content.