For a moment Jen stood staring up at his house, questioning just what the bloody hell she was thinking, turning up in the middle of the night after everything they'd been through. Everything she'd put them through. Maybe he'd think she was cruel; maybe he already had someone else inside, had already picked up the pieces of the heart she'd shattered, and moved on.
Jen didn't blame herself, not exactly. She'd sat with her decision for days, fed it on scraps of fear and questions about the future, nurtured it with the wisdom of experience and the rich fertilizer of heartbreaks past, and in the end it had grown from a niggle of doubt into the closest thing to certainty she knew she'd ever find. She loved Nick; she could not have him. Not like this, when they were forced to lie to their friends, when every night they spent together brought her closer to the disastrous loss of the life she'd worked so hard to build, when every time she looked at him she saw in his eyes the question he longed to ask her. She loved Nick, but he was hurtling towards forever, to marriage and babies and a commitment to put them above her and she wasn't ready, yet, might not ever be ready, to sacrifice the dream of the life she could have had. It was too much, too fast; Nick would laugh and say it had been five years in the making, and surely that was enough time, but Jen knew better. They'd only been shagging for less than a year when SIS came calling, for only a few weeks after they took Hartono down, and she couldn't sacrifice Homicide, and her chance to see her name on the placard outside Waverly's office, and the little house that was hers, and hers alone, for an uncertainty.
But she did love him, and he had offered to transfer, for her. In the moment she had been too terrified to let him talk her out of it, had worried that if she surrendered one single inch of ground she'd wake up months later trapped in a prison of her own making. Jen didn't want him to transfer, didn't want him to give up the most prestigious position a detective in the state police could ask for, not for her sake. She didn't want him to grow to resent her, to begin to wonder if she'd been worth it, after all, or if it had all been a huge mistake. Nothing could wound her so terribly as watching the love fade from Nick's eyes, seeing disgust there instead. Leaving him would be easier, she thought, than watching him slowly fade away.
Only now, now she wasn't so sure. Had she made a mistake, rushed into her decision too quickly; was there something else they could have done, some way they could have made it work, had their cake and eaten it, too? The last few weeks had proven that they could still work together, even after the disastrous end of their personal relationship; the work had not suffered, and no one had noticed a thing. No one noticed when they were shagging, and no one noticed when they weren't, and surely, she thought, that must work in their favor. What if they asked Wolfie outright, laid their cards on the table? The rule against fraternization wasn't hard and fast; exceptions had been made in the past, not many, but more than one. Maybe they could be an exception, too. Or maybe Nick could sit the Sergeant's exam - it was high time, she thought, Nick would make a better boss than Matt any day of the week - and move up, instead of just out. Or maybe she could; she loved Homicide, but if she was going to make Commander one day she couldn't be a detective forever. Jen wasn't ready for marriage and babies, wasn't ready to move in with him, even, but if they both made a choice to advance their careers, they'd be free to pursue each other, too, and maybe in a year, or two, or three, she could wear a ring without feeling it heavy as a chain on her hand. And if they never got that far, well, they'd still have the job.
That was the conversation they should have had that day in the car, she thought. Jen had been sitting with her decision for so long that it felt like a foregone conclusion to her, but Nick had been blindsided by it. Oh, he'd taken one look at her face and known what she was planning to say, to do, but he hadn't had a chance to marshall his arguments. If he had, then surely he wouldn't have so casually suggested marriage; surely if he had time to think he would have realized that was the worst possible thing he could have said to her, the nail in the coffin of their relationship. He wanted to get married, and she couldn't even hear the word without panic licking like fire down her spine. If they'd just had a little more time, maybe they could have come up with a different answer. But Jen had felt time running out, and she'd done what she had to in order to save herself.
And she was certain, now, that a break was what she needed. She needed to see him pull himself up short when heartbreak made him cross, needed to see for herself that disappointment didn't turn him cruel or sour. She needed to see what it would be like, carrying on without him. What she'd discovered, over the last few weeks, was that while she could live without him, quite easily, she simply did not want to. Especially after her little chat with Waverly earlier in the evening, before the Women in Blue dinner. Waverly had sacrificed everything for her job, and while she found satisfaction in it there was a terrible sorrow that hung over her, a devastation that Jen feared might be contagious. What Jen knew now, what she had not known when she broke things off with Nick but what had been made abundantly clear to her over the last few weeks, was that she could not be content with him alone, but she likewise could not be content with the job alone. To be whole, to be at peace, to have the total happiness she longed for with all of her heart, she needed both.
It might be she'd come to that realization too late, but somehow Jen didn't think so. I want you, he'd said with such earnest sincerity; when she closed her eyes she could still see his jaw working as he warred with himself, struggled to say the words. This isn't a casual fling, he'd told her, and she had heard the words he could not say. I love you, that's what he meant, but it was so hard for him to talk about his feelings, must have been twice as hard when she was in the process of breaking him in half. But he loved her, and she knew it, and somehow she didn't think it was the kind of love he'd bounce back from in a hurry. It just wasn't his way; he didn't go from woman to woman to woman, seeking satisfaction and nothing else. He was a patient man; he waited for what he wanted. Maybe he was waiting for her, too.
As if to prove the point a light flickered on by his front door, and in the next breath the door had opened, and Nick himself stepped out onto the porch. He was still wearing most of his suit from the day's work; he'd lost his jacket, but his tie still hung around his neck. Jen had been standing by her car debating with herself for a minute or two, and he must have heard her car pull up, must have looked out the window and seen her, must have decided to help her make the decision she was still struggling with. It was his nature to help, but not to push; he leaned in the doorway, looking out at her across the pavement, the door open behind him. An invitation, should she choose to accept it, but not a demand.
Jen took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and marched towards him, the heels of her outrageous shoes clicking softly as she went. Perhaps it wasn't the best idea, coming straight to his after the dinner, still wearing her tight satin dress, miles of leg on display, but her conversation with Waverly had been echoing through her mind all night, and she could not bear to wait a moment longer, terrified that if she slept on it she would lose her nerve, and lose her last best chance to make this right. As she drew near the door Nick stepped back, and she walked straight into his house, pausing in his foyer while he closed the door behind them.
"You want a drink?" he asked, leaning back against the door, away from her, watching her warily.
"Please," she said. A drink would help, would give them an excuse to stand together in his kitchen, give her something to do with her hands. Nick didn't answer, just pushed himself up off the door, and set off for the kitchen, Jen following along behind him. In the weeks since last she'd been here he'd made great strides with the reno; he'd laid new carpet in the sitting room, and the stonework around the fireplace was finally finished, though much of the furniture was still covered in plastic tarps, to protect it from sawdust and paint. The kitchen was the first room he'd completed, and Jen loved it. The appliances were sleek and modern, but the wood cabinets were warm, and the colors cheerful. In the morning the sun shone brightly through the windows, and made it her favorite room in the whole house.
Jen leaned against the bar while Nick pulled two bottles of beer from the fridge, twisted off the caps and tossed them in the bin before turning back to her. He held out a bottle, she accepted it, and then they drank in silence. It would be up to her to say something, and she knew it. That day in the car Nick had laid all his cards on the table, and she knew that he hadn't changed his mind; he wouldn't have let her in his home tonight if he didn't want her still, always. Jen was the one who'd had a change of heart, the one who had instigated this little tête-à-tête; he was waiting for her. Again.
And so Jen took one very deep breath, and spoke.
"I've been thinking," she said. "About what happened, that day in the car."
Nick's eyes went dark and his jaw tightened, but he didn't speak. For now it seemed he was just waiting, willing to let her go first.
"I made this choice for us," she forced herself to continue. Christ, but this was awkward; she could hardly find the words to say, and her skin crawled uncomfortably. It made for an unwelcome change of pace; she'd never been uncomfortable around Nick before. But she felt vulnerable, exposed, forced to admit not only that she feared she'd made a mistake, but that she wanted him so badly she was willing to sacrifice her pride to ask him for a second chance. Jen had never liked to ask for anything, if she could help it.
"But I think maybe it's a choice we should have made together. I felt like we didn't have any other options, but now I think maybe that's not true."
"I meant what I said," he told her, the words coming out slow, carefully measured, like he was trying not to seem too hopeful, or too eager. Jen hoped that was a good sign. "I'll transfer, if that's what it takes."
Jen sighed, frustration rising like bile in the back of her throat. "That's not what I want," she said, a bit more sharply than she intended. "I don't want you to give up your job for me, and then hate me for it a year down the track."
"I wouldn't," he said, very softly. "I've left Homicide before, Jen, and I managed just fine. I can do it again."
"But I don't want you to. I want us to work together."
"Jen," he sighed, and she could hear that he was frustrated, too, and so she rushed to explain herself.
"I think we should talk to Wolfie." Nick's eyes widened in surprise; he hadn't been expecting that. Of the pair of them, she was the one who had always been most concerned with keeping their relationship a secret. Six months before, she would have rather died than tell Wolfie that she was shagging Nick. Things had changed.
"He might agree to give us a trial run," she said. "We could tell him what's happened, that this...thing between us didn't affect our work. He might let us both stay on."
"And if he doesn't?"
"Then maybe it's time for one of us to sit the Sergeant's exam."
A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, and Jen's belly flooded with relief. They were going to be all right; she was certain of that, now, more certain than she had ever been before.
"If we do that, we wouldn't be able to stay on Homicide together," he pointed out, but he wasn't fighting her, wasn't trying to disabuse her of the notion. He was doing what they always did, what they did so well; working through the problem with her, looking at it from every angle, and she loved him for it.
"But our careers will keep moving forward. This won't be the end of us professionally."
"Is that what you were so worried about? You thought you'd never advance if people found out we were shagging?"
"It's one of the reasons I was worried," she allowed. "I'm not ready to get married, Nick. I'm not ready to have kids."
That was her biggest fear, truly, and she'd not let him know it, before, had used it as a secondary argument, too terrified to confess that while she loved him she hadn't been ready to give him her future. Work she could rationalize; she didn't know how to explain this fear to him without wounding him. He'd done nothing wrong, exactly, had been the sort of partner most women dream about, kind and calm and considerate, always, a safe place to land, a quiet word to make her laugh, shouldering her burdens and never expecting her to carry him through. How could she explain that he'd been almost too perfect, that she'd been suffocating beneath the weight of his regard and the sense that he already had the rest of their lives planned out, down to the minute? How could she explain that he'd made her feel as if she'd never be able to match his quiet certainty?
"I know," he said, softly. "I shouldn't have pushed. We've both got to want it. And I don't blame you for not wanting it now."
Only Nick could have been so kind, so thoughtful, when the woman he wanted to marry told him she wasn't ready to wear his ring. Allie sometimes liked to laugh, liked to say that Nick was like a robot; he almost never raised his voice, almost never seemed to feel anything so deeply as the rest of them, but Jen knew better. She'd seen him rage, seen him weep, and she knew how much he could feel. He felt so much, and that was why he was so kind, she thought. The last thing he wanted was to hurt her.
"I'm not saying never," she told him quickly. "I think...I think one day we could be very happy, together."
She remembered very well what it was like being married to him, the quiet Saturday mornings at the shops and the fights over laundry and the takeaways on Friday nights, his body warm and quiet beside her as he slept. One day, maybe even one day soon, she might like that very much. But first she had to know, had to find out for herself, whether she could have him, openly, and her job as well, whether they could make this work long term, or if they had always been destined to crash and burn.
"You want to give it a trial run," he said knowingly, and she smiled, to see him read her thoughts so well.
"I think so, yeah."
"So we talk to Wolfie. If he says no, one of us sits the Sergeant's exam. Which one?"
That was a point Jen hadn't worked out quite yet. Advancement had never been a priority of Nick's, it stood to reason she ought to be the one to go for her stripes. But if she did, she'd have to leave homicide. Matt had taught her that lesson the hard way, and she had learned from his mistakes.
"I don't want to leave Homicide," she said slowly, more to herself than to him. "But I want to move up. A transfer was always in the cards. I hadn't counted on doing it now, but maybe...maybe now's the right time."
"You want to do it?" he asked her gently. He'd made no assumptions, knew already that her mind wasn't quite made up yet, and she loved him for that, too, for the way he gave her the space to be uncertain.
"I've never liked change," she told him wryly. "But if I'm going to get what I want, yeah. I think it has to be me."
"Wolfie might let us both stay on," Nick pointed out. "You may not have to move right away."
That was her Nick, always the optimist.
"Maybe not," she said. "But if he says no, at least we have a plan, now."
That made her feel better. The uncertainty had been eating away at her, but she and Nick had just rather neatly solved their problems, she thought. They could be together, and take their case to Wolfie. If he said no, they wouldn't be scrambling to put themselves back together; they had a way forward, now, where before there had only been darkness, and questions. With the matter of their jobs settled, then, there was nothing stopping them falling together. They could hold each other now, without fear or doubt.
"Just like that?" Nick asked, taking a swig of his beer. She knew what he was asking her; are we all right, now? Can I kiss you now, if I want to? Is this all it takes to put us back together? And why the bloody hell couldn't we have had this conversation weeks ago?
"I just needed some time to work through it," she said.
Nick shot her a knowing look; she'd taken time off work to devote to this problem before, and come up with a completely different answer.
"And next time," she said, drawing in a deep breath, "we can start by talking to each other. I made the decision, last time. We need to make these choices together."
And that, she knew, sounded rather a lot like marriage. It was all the commitment she could give him now, this promise that they would face the challenges before them united, that she would not pull away again. That promise felt more binding than any vow made in a church, and she rather thought he recognized it for what it was, because in the next breath he set his beer down on the countertop, and reached for her hand. She took hold of him gladly, their fingers twining together, palms pressed flush, the warmth of his skin an encouragement, a promise all its own.
"That's all I want, Jen," he said, softly. "I just want you to trust me."
"I do," she answered, her voice as low as his had been. "This means everything to me, Nick. You mean everything to me. I trust you."
With my heart, with my life.
Slowly, very slowly, Nick used the hand still holding hers to draw her to him, and Jen set her own beer down and let him pull her in, their arms winding round each other while she nestled her face into the crook of his neck.
"I love you," he whispered, his breath ruffling her hair, and she smiled, thinking of the first time he'd said those words to her, when they'd been naked and warm in his bed, when she'd been sitting on his lap, utterly surrounded by him, her heart broken and terrified in the wake of their operation with SIS, and then, as now, his love gave her strength, and peace.
"I love you, too," she told him, her words muffled against the soft skin of his neck.
The trip from his kitchen to his bedroom was easy, natural after everything that had come before it. They'd gone up the stairs, hand in hand, smiling like fools, too eager to reach their destination to spare a moment for lazy kisses. That all changed the minute his bedroom door closed behind them, however, for Nick caught her face in his hands, held her for just a moment, his eyes searching her face as if seeking permission. Jen smiled up at him, hopeful, and he grinned, and leaned in slowly, gave her the chance to meet him halfway, lifting herself up on her tiptoes as their lips brushed together once, softly. A second time, a third, and Jen's heart began to race, eager, now, for everything she'd been denied these last few weeks without him.
She opened her mouth to him and he groaned, let his hands slide down her back while his tongue slipped between her lips, and she just smiled, and held him tighter, let him take her over completely. This felt right, she thought; this felt like relief, after so much uncertainty. Nick's hands traced over the shape of her body beneath her dress, fingertips gliding along smooth satin, and Jen shivered, impatient, her skin prickling with need. She was ready to be out of that bloody dress and free from those bloody shoes, ready for him, just him, his body against hers without obstacles of any sort, free and comfortable together in the darkness. Nick's fingertips stuttered against the zip of her dress, and she seized the opportunity at once.
"Please," she gasped against his lips, reaching for his belt with her own hands.
Nick needed no further encouragement; he blindly tugged the zipper down, his kisses landing clumsily at the corner of her mouth while she worked his belt free. Quickly, hastily she tossed it aside, and Nick's hands dove between the parted folds of her dress, palms ghosting over the tender skin of her back, moving around to the front of her body while Jen shrugged her arms out of her sleeves. The dress gave way, slid down her hips to pool at her feet, and Jen kicked it aside, breathless, grinning up at Nick as he took in the sight of her in just her underthings and those impossible heels.
"Christ, you're gorgeous," he groaned.
Jen grinned and leaned in to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw, her hands returning at once to the button of his trousers.
"So are you," she whispered against his skin.
While she was busy with his trousers his hands gravitated, unsurprisingly, to the swell of her bum, kneading her flesh softly and drawing a little gasp from her lips. Nothing in the world felt as good as Nick's hands on her body, and having gone so long without him she was eager, now, for more of him, for all of him. With a push of her hands she sent his trousers tumbling to the floor, intent on reaching next for his tie, but Nick surprised her. With a sudden burst of strength he caught hold of her, lifted her bodily from the floor. Jen thought he meant to bring her to him, to hold her in his arms for a moment, but he did no such thing, just lifted her and then laid her gently out on bed.
What a sight he made, she thought, gasping as she lay back on his bed, looking up at him through hooded eyes. His trousers tangled round his feet, his shirt wrinkled at the end of a long day, his tie hanging half undone around his neck, his cock half-hard already and straining for her through the fabric of his soft grey trunks. She watched him, grinning, as he struggled to free himself from his trousers and his shoes, knowing that as much as she was enjoying the view of his powerful legs he must have been likewise enamored with the picture she presented, in her black lace and her stilettos, flushed and gasping on his bed. It occurred to her then that perhaps she could put on a bit of a show for him, but before she had a chance to move her hands he had dealt with his own trousers, and approached her at once, kneeling at the end of the bed and catching one of her feet in his hands.
Tenderly, reverently he pressed a kiss to the soft skin of her thigh, and then he carefully slid the shoe from her foot, his fingertips pressing against her, massaging her aching flesh tenderly. Jen reclined on her elbows, watching him, enjoying the sight of him kneeling between her legs and thinking fond thoughts of how she adored him. Slowly he moved to the other side, once more kissed her skin, once more reached for her foot, gently slipping off her shoe, tossing it aside.
"That's better," he said, pleased with himself.
"Come here," Jen answered, holding out her arms to him. She liked him like that, on his knees in front of her, but she liked holding him more, and she wanted to feel the weight of him against her, the slide of his skin across her own, wanted to peel the shirt from his back and run her hands along the broad plane of his chest.
Nick grinned, and raised himself up at once, his tie dragging delightfully across the tender skin of her belly as he stretched himself out across her, his hands landing heavy by her head, holding him up above her. Careful, always, he was careful with her, careful not to press down too hard against her, careful in the way he bowed his head, let his lips brush against her own, let his hips settle in the cradle of her thighs. Jen reached for him, caught his face in her hands, felt the prickle of stubble beginning to rise at the end of a long day scratchy against her palms, and pulled him to her for another, longer kiss, deeper than the last, her thighs clutching at him, drawing him closer. Everything about this, about them, about being with Nick, was beautiful and familiar and filled her with joy, but sometimes she rather thought she liked this best, just holding him, kissing him, feeling him smile against her lips, heavy between her thighs, caught in a moment that was entirely, completely, about love, not a rush for release or the fevered grip of adrenaline but affection, as much about care as it was about want.
Still, though, he was mostly dressed, and Jen wanted him bare and beautiful beneath her hands, and so she let her palms ghost down over his cheeks, let her fingertips glide along the length of his jaw, until she could wrap her hands around the tie that still hung haphazardly around his neck.
"This has to go," she breathed against his lips, and Nick laughed, and rose up on his knees between her thighs.
He unfastened the tie himself, but as he slipped it free, running his hands along the length of it, his expression grew strangely serious, as if some thought had just occurred to him, something that perhaps he wanted to share but was afraid to speak aloud, and Jen quirked an eyebrow at him in response, wanting to know what was going through his mind, wanting to know what had made him look at her like that. As if he were half in love with her, and half afraid of her, all at the same time.
"Do you trust me, Jen?" he asked softly, quietly, his eyes dark and uncertain.
Oh, she thought, realization slowly sinking in. He was threading the tie through his hands, his fingers turning it over and over; whatever it was he wanted, that tie was almost certainly a part of it. Did he mean to bind her hands, or cover her eyes, or something else entirely? Did she mean to let him? For a moment she looked at him, trying to catch her breath, took in the breadth of his strong thighs, the tender skin of his neck exposed where his collar was unbuttoned, his sweet face, watching her so hopefully. I just want you to trust me, he'd told her in the kitchen, and she had known what he meant, then, that he wanted her to confide in him, when she was uncertain, wanted her to run to him, and not away, wanted her to know that she was safe with him, always, that he would care for her heart as tenderly as she did herself. He was asking for that trust, now, asking her to put herself in his hands, to trust that he would treat her well, that whatever came next he would make certain she enjoyed it, as much as he did.
It seemed a monumental thing for him to ask of her, now. Now when she had confessed to the fear that gripped her at the thought of committing herself to him, of no longer being the sole arbiter of her own fate. There was always a certain amount of give and take, when they fell into bed together, a playful jostling between them, power and control passing from hand to hand as they gave to and took from one another. And he was asking her to set it aside, to let him take the lead between them, but somehow she knew he did not mean to do so indefinitely. He was not trying to assert himself over her, or change the rules of engagement; he was asking her to trust him now, this one time, so that he could show her that her trust was not misplaced, that he would, always, take care of her. He had left the decision up to her; she knew that he would, always, respect her choices, and give her only what she had asked for. Even now he was waiting, breathless, unwilling to continue until she had agreed.
"Yes," she said. Yes, she trusted him, and yes, she wanted to see what he might do, and yes, her belly clenched with want at the thought of letting him have her, in whatever way he chose, knowing that he would, always, seek to bring her only pleasure, and never, ever hurt her.
Slowly, carefully, Nick knelt over her, and she followed the gentle urging of his hands, let him wrap that tie carefully around her eyes, the entire world plunged into near darkness in a moment. Near, but not entire; his tie was not made for this, and a bit of light snuck in around the edges of it, enough to keep the panic at bay while also blocking her view of him, and of the room. He fastened it securely at the back of her head, and then gently lowered her back down until she was resting once more on the softness of his bed.
"All right?" he asked, a bit nervous, a bit breathless.
"All right," she agreed.
It was better than all right; her heart had begun to race, and tension coiled within her, wondering what he might do, wondering how he might tease or tempt her, wondering what he thought when he looked at her this, half-naked and utterly at his mercy. She had thought that perhaps he might start to touch her at once, but he did no such thing; she lay, shivering, and his hands did not come for her. Without the aid of sight she relied on her ears, listened closing to the soft rustling sounds of him removing his shirt, felt the dip and sway of the bed beneath her as he removed his trunks, too. She felt the smallest sting of disappointment at that, for she would have liked to watch him strip himself bare for her, would have liked to run her hands along the hard muscles of his body. Blindly she reached for him, but her hand found only the curve of his shoulder.
Nick laughed, and caught her hand in both of his, lifted it away from his skin and pressed a sweet kiss to the center of her palm.
"This is about you," he told her quietly.
"I want to touch you," she told him truthfully; if this was to be about her, he ought to know what it was she wanted.
"Later," he promised, and then he caught hold of both of her wrists, pressed her hands back down against the mattress, silently requesting that she keep them there. For the moment Jen decided to do as he asked; she was dreadfully curious, and she knew that he knew her well enough not to expect her to be completely passive during this encounter. But he had asked for her trust, and so she gave it to him, and twisted her fingers in his bedsheets rather than reach for him again.
For the space of several heartbeats the room was still and silent, and Nick kept his hands to himself, left her hanging, suspended in a moment of excitement and need. What is he waiting for? She asked herself. What further sign could he need of her commitment, her compliance, her enthusiastic willingness to follow where he led? Perhaps a gentle nudge in the right direction would not go amiss, she thought, and so she grinned, and slowly spread her legs, arched her back in a gentle stretch as if seeking to make herself more comfortable, when all she sought was to entice him. There was no groan from him, no sound of movement in response, and she hated that she couldn't bloody see him; had his eyes gone wide with want, the way they always did when he looked at her like this? Had he taken himself in hand, watching her? She hoped not; if he'd done that, she'd much prefer to see it.
She felt the movement of his body in the sagging of the mattress beneath her, and in the next breath he'd pressed a single, gentle kiss to her belly, his touch fleeting, and gone again in a moment. Behind the blindfold her eyes fluttered closed; there was no sense in keeping them open, anyway, when she couldn't see him, and her whole body seemed to hum with electricity, sparks flying along her skin at his proximity. Though he still refused to touch her she could feel him hovering above her, the weight and the warmth of him, delicious in its promise.
The brush of his fingertips at her hips heralded his next move; his skin glanced against hers, warm and soft, and then he curled his hands around the waist of her knickers, and she lifted her hips to him obligingly, let him tug the knickers off her before she settled back down against the mattress. She grinned, reflexively, eagerly, thinking she knew what he meant to do, but his next touch surprised her, for he did not slide his hand between her legs. Instead the wet heat of his mouth blazed like fire across her breast over the thin lace of her bra, left her gasping in surprise and delight as she arched up towards him, eager for more.
But he was a tease, her Nick; the moment she lifted herself towards his seeking lips he vanished, left her pouting and frustrated. If only he would-
His fingertips trailed featherlight across her belly, and she shivered, anxious for more. Down and down his hands travelled, those hands, broad and strong, fierce in a fight and endlessly clever traced round her bellybutton, out to her hips, down her thighs. The muscles of her legs quivered, hopeful, but he took no note of her distress, remained unswayed by the way her legs fell open for him, by the way her body burned for him. His thumbs pressed behind her knees, trailed down her calves, and then the touch vanished once more, and she was left grinding her teeth in frustration.
"Nick," she groaned, hoarsely. She started to lift herself up onto her hands, thinking to move things along, but one broad palm settled in the center of her chest, gently urged her to settle back down.
"Take it easy, sweetheart," he whispered, and she gasped to hear his voice so close to her ear. She'd quite lost track of where he was, so distracted was she by the touch of his hands.
"Don't make me wait too long," she told him breathlessly.
Beside her Nick laughed, but he heeded her words; his hands fell heavy against her breasts, kneading her firmly, his thumbs catching against her nipples and drawing a little whimper from the back of her throat. It was nice, it was good, it was better than good, but would have been better still if only she were bare.
"Take it off," she gasped at him. Though she could not see him, though he'd made it plain that he wanted to be in control of the particular encounter, she could not cede herself to him fully, and she knew he'd never expect her to. No one had ever described her as passive, in bed or out of it. In answer to her breathless command Nick's mouth once more descended on her breast, sucking at her nipple, the scratch of the lace and the wet drag of his tongue drawing a moan from the depths of her chest. All thoughts of keeping her hands fisted in the sheets forgotten she reached for him, caught hold of his head and threaded her fingers through his hair, holding him tight to her breast, encouraging him to continue. Through the thin fabric of her bra she could almost feel the edge of his teeth, and her hips bucked up towards him, trying to find him, searching for some sort of relief. He did not move, did not settle his body between her grasping thighs or pull his lips away from her. Instead he caught her quite by surprise; one of his hands slid suddenly, sharply between her legs, and his fingertips at once zeroed in on her clit, pressing hard and fast against her, and she cried out then, taken off guard by the unexpected touch and hungry for more. She couldn't see anything but he could; he could see the way her body arched towards him, could watch as his hand disappeared between her thighs, could see the flush that washed over her at his touch, while she lay beneath him, blind and yet demanding. Her nails scraped against his scalp and his teeth nipped at her through fine black lace and his hand strummed against her aching sex; oh, but this was delicious, every sensation heightened by the darkness, her body left excited and overheated, wondering what he might do next. The yearning was building within her, want and need swirling tighter and tighter, the breath leaving her lungs in eager little pants. This was what she wanted, what she needed, Nick touching her, making her come undone, making her feel precious, wanted, loved, and she needed-
As suddenly as the touch of his hand had come it vanished, and the weight of him lifted off her, his head slipping away from the anxious grip of her hands. He was gone, had left her thrumming and unsatisfied right on the very edge of bliss, and she could not help but swear.
"Fuck, Nick," she whined, and he laughed again, delighted by her frustration, but his voice was not as close as it had been before. Where had he gone? She reached out, searching for him, but her left hand glanced fecklessly off his hip and brushed it away, unwilling to let her draw him into her once more.
"Patience, sweetheart," he said, his tone light and teasing.
He's enjoying this too much, she thought crossly, but before she had the chance to tell him that she'd had quite enough of his teasing his mouth claimed hers in a heated kiss. Jen arched towards him, pressed herself hard against him, her tongue tangling with his own. The taste of him left her dizzy, left her hungry for more of him, and she reached for him once more, palms ghosting across his shoulders, but Nick had his plans, and would not be waylaid. Once more he caught hold of her wrists, once more pressed her hands against the mattress, and he pulled back from her, his lips now just out of reach. Jen strained to reach him, craned her neck and searched for him blindly, and he indulged her. One fleeting kiss and then he was gone again, and she grumbled, turned her head, trying to find him. A second kiss surprised her, and she grinned, delighted by this new game, and the third time her lips found hers she laughed aloud. While she was occupied with stealing kisses his strong arms wrapped around her, hauled her hard against his chest as his fingertips danced across her back, searching for the clasp of her bra. This was more like it, she thought; with the solidness of his chest at her front to ground her she could touch him more easily, and her hands wove between them at once, intent on finding his cock. Jen didn't need her eyes to find what she sought; she knew his body well, and followed the lines of him until she was able to wrap her hand firmly around his shaft, already rock-hard with want of her.
"I want you," she told him, her lips brushing his shoulder as she spoke. Though he stubbornly continued his efforts to unclasp her bra his movements were made clumsy by the distraction of her hand upon him, and she grinned, pressed open-mouthed kisses to the warm skin of his shoulder while she pumped his cock slowly in her fist.
"Soon," he told her, and then he managed to pull her bra free at last. She was forced to release her hold on him so that he might remove it, and he took advantage of this sudden opportunity and rolled her suddenly, strong arms turning her over on her belly. Jen sighed as her cheek pressed against his pillow, relieved; surely, she thought, he'd had enough of teasing. In the hope that it might encourage him she lifted her bum to him invitingly, but he didn't take the bait. Instead he caught her hands in his, stretched her arms above her head and held them there while he bowed his head, and left a string of soft, sweet kisses along the line of her shoulders.
This felt more familiar; even without the blindfold she wouldn't have been able to see him like this, and it would hardly be the first time he'd taken her from behind. For her part Jen was quite keen to repeat the experience. She could feel his body tense, could feel the way his muscles strained and his fingers tightened against hers as he moved, settled his body over her back. When he lowered himself down upon her she could feel his cock settle between her legs and she moved at once, widened her thighs and held herself up for him, waiting to see what he might do. He groaned, just a little, and changed the angle between them so that his cock settled against her glossy folds. That was what she'd been waiting for, the chance to finally feel him, and Jen ground herself against him, painted the thickness of his shaft with her own desire and shivered at the feeling of him, hot hard, thick and heavy, pressed against her in such an intimate way.
"Patience," Nick told her again, and then he released her hands, and some of the weight of him lifted off her. As if she might be able to see him Jen opened her eyes, but found only the darkness of the blindfold, and groaned, petulant.
"I'm getting bloody tired of- oh," her admonishment turned into a sigh as his heavy hands settled against her bum, massaging her firmly. He knew just how to touch her, and the heavy grip of his hands on her ass and the heavy weight of his cock between her thighs left her breathless. Seeking some relief from the sudden onslaught of desire that threatened to drown her Jen shifted her hips, thinking she might entice him to slip inside her, might take him in of her own accord, but Nick's restraint was stronger than hers, and he rolled away from her, left her wet and wanting without the warmth of him behind her.
"Nick," she gasped, a warning in her tone.
In answer he trailed his fingertips gently down her spine, and she shivered at even that tender touch.
"I love you," he told her softly, seriously. "You know that, don't you?"
"Of course I do." Of course she knew; she'd always known. Though he was quiet, though he was calm, though he so rarely gave voice to his thoughts she had known for years now, because the love he bore for her was not demonstrated in words but in deeds, in his cautious, constant support of her, in his kindness, in the way he opened his arms and his door to her, always, without question.
He kissed the rise of her bum once, and she laughed, delighted and surprised by the gesture, but then he reached for her, rolled her over once again so that she was lying on her back. One of his hands slid between her legs, trailing softly against her glossy folds, and the other settled heavy at her breast, a comfort, a reassurance. Two of his clever fingers slid slowly, achingly slowly into her wetness, curling against her in a way that left her whimpering with need. She caught hold of his wrist, encouraged him to thrust his fingers deeper inside her, guided him to grind his palm against her clit until she was shivering, right on the verge of coming undone beneath him.
"Please," she gasped. She was tired of waiting, tired of games, tired of anticipation and teasing, tired of words. She just wanted-
The mattress sagged beneath her as he shifted atop her, stretched himself out along the length of her body. Once more his cock settled in the valley of her thighs, and once more she rocked against him, felt the slick slide of them and lost her breath in hopeful anticipation. Once more his hands trailed featherlight over her body, her breasts, her belly, her hips, and then she felt the warm wash of his breath against her cheek as he bowed his head over hers. The fire that had been simmering inside her from the moment they stepped into his bedroom had roared into a blaze she could hardly contain; blindly she reached for him, wrapped her arms around his back and held him tight against her while still her hips worked against him, the friction between them leaving them both aching and ready, more than ready, to finish what they'd started.
"You're mine," she whispered fiercely, searching desperately for the words to tell him what he meant to her, the understanding that she had reached in this place, blind beneath his hands. "And I'm yours. It was always us, Nick."
They were meant to be, somehow, thrown together by tricks of fate time and time again until she could no longer deny that whatever the future held in store for he must, of necessity, be a part of it. She had chosen, and chosen him. They had laid their plans, and joined their lives to one another, and maybe she wasn't ready for marriage and babies but she could not hide from the truth of her own heart, and the truth was that she loved him, wholly, trusted him, completely, and the only life she wanted was one with him in it.
Nick's hands reached for her suddenly, and in a moment he pulled the blindfold away, and she was left blinking up at him in the sudden glow of his lamp, staring into his wide, warm eyes and seeing there all the love, all the affection she felt for him returned to her a hundredfold. Without hesitation Nick threw the tie away, and then he lowered his head and kissed her soundly, his tongue sliding past her lips even as the head of his cock slid slowly between her folds, and Jen shivered and clutched at him, held him tight in every way as they sank slowly into one another. All but vibrating with need she moaned into his mouth as his cock filled her, every hard, delicious inch of him plunging slowly, achingly slowly into her fluttering heat until at last he was as deep inside her as it was possible for him to be and they lingered for a moment, gasping and relieved and bound to one another.
But only for a moment; their need could not be denied indefinitely. Nick rocked gently against her and Jen met him, kissing him messily while her hands clutched at him, while her body swayed in time with his. Each languid thrust of his hips left her shivering, her whole body already keyed up and anxious from his merciless teasing, and as the pace of his movements increased she danced closer and closer to the edge of bliss.
"Please," she panted against his mouth, and Nick answered at once, raising himself up on his arms above her and thrusting harder, and harder still, his hips working against her wildly while she tried her best to match him, pulling him into her again, and again. She missed the closeness of his body, though, the warmth of him, and so she flung her arms out behind her, raised herself up, and he followed with her, both of them looking down to the place where they were joined, where his heavy cock, slick with both of them, plunged in and out of her, faster and faster, and she gasped, and he groaned, the pair of them laughing, sweating, overcome with the joy and the relief of finally, finally finding themselves right where they belonged.
Close, she was close, and as if sensing this Nick moved, suddenly, caught his fingers tight in her hair at the nape of her neck and drew her to him, kissed her hungrily, his teeth catching against her bottom lip, his tongue tangling with hers as still he rocked against her, and with every pass of his hips his body caught against her in a way that made stars sparkle behind her eyelids, and Jen gave herself over to it, to him, to the endless press of his cock inside her, and fell apart, a high, needy whine sliding past her lips as her whole body shattered, and Nick the only thing left to hold her together.
She collapsed back against the pillows, shivering, and he followed, panting against her neck as he thrust against her like a man possessed. The power of his body, the need and the heat and the strength of him, focused solely on her, left her reeling, and she tangled her fingers in his hair and held him against her as at last he found his own relief.
"I love you," she whispered as his thrusts turned messy and desperate, as he spilled himself inside her. "I love you, sweetheart."
Relieved, stated, he fell heavy against her, and she held him close, pressed a gentle kiss to his temple and ran her fingers through his hair. So as long as they were together they could find their way through any calamity, and the joy she found with him meant more to her than anything else she'd ever known. She loved him, and that was, she thought, the only thing that really mattered.