A/N: oops! Almost overstepped the rating.

Part 10

.

Staring up at the ceiling, Donna knew she would need help to sleep and calm her racing thoughts. It seemed inevitable, somehow, so she scrambled out of bed and walked into the lounge of her hotel suite.

"Couldn't you sleep either?" John asked as he strolled in, clad only in pyjama trousers.

"Bit of a problem," she admitted, taking in his almost bare torso on view and the intimacy of them being in their nightwear. "Perhaps a drink will help us nod off. What can I get you?" She stooped to open the mini refrigerator in invitation. "Or would you prefer room service?"

"Not sure if I could eat enough to force some poor soul in the kitchen to cook at this time of the night," he considered. "I'll have a whisky, please."

"In that case, I'm having a gin and tonic," she declared, "with ice and a slice."

"Cheers," they both thrilled, chinking glasses as they sat down on a settee together and took a long sip of their drink.

"Been a while since I did this sort of thing," he commented.

They were on their third drink when their carefully constructed walls of defence crumbled away, and they relaxed even further into an intimate relationship, nicely mellowed. It was easy to slump together, sharing snippets of their lives. Family, career choices and the topic of exes loomed up.

Donna had allowed herself the luxury of cuddling up against John's body. Her friend. Her brand-new best friend, who now knew all her festering secrets. Well, except one.

"It hurt," she whispered into his neck.

Unsure what she was going on about, he sleepily queried, "Hmm? What did?"

"When we… It really hurt. 'Go on, you'd let me touch you if you loved me' he'd said. All the old bumph. Before I know what was happening, he stuck it in me, and I screamed. He told me to shut up and stop spoiling it. Selfish prat. I've hated sex ever since. Can't stand the thought of it and getting pregnant again. Not until I'm safely married or something."

"That's understandable," he agreed. "You couldn't have had a worse experience."

"Depends if you read the Daily Mail," she darkly joked.

His mind tried to process this new information: she didn't like sex. What else did it cover? "I thought you were engaged when we shared the same bill, but you never got married. Was it the bad and hateful sex that stopped you?"

She tried to shrug nonchalantly against his chest. "My fiancé ran off with someone else, so it certainly stopped him. I never got to find out if I'd like it later on."

"Excuse my French but he is an arsehole. What a wanker," he spat. "You're better off without him." He shifted uncomfortably as a thought struck him. "Do you have any aversions against kissing?"

She lifted her head off him. "No. Why?"

"Just wondered."

"Just wondered?" she questioned. "Seems an odd thing to suddenly ask about."

"Well. You must have had men who want to kiss you, and vice versa," he argued.

"Must I? Why's that?" she teased. "Men only fancy an image, not the real person beneath it all."

"That's not true," he defended.

"Oh yeah? Says him who said he fancied 'the blonde one' the other day. You didn't even know Rose's name," she countered.

"Did I? Oh. I suppose I did," he blustered. "That's because I'd forgotten her name."

Now curious, she asked, "Did you remember my name?"

"Of course I did. There's no way I'd forget you," he stressed.

She immediately sat up properly to face him, keen to find out more. "Why's that? And do I want to know?"

"It's for good reasons," he quickly assured her. "Nothing bad. Unless you don't like…"

Quirking an eyebrow, she pressed for information. "Unless I don't like what? Tell me."

The best way to explain would be by showing her, so he reached a hand to tenderly cup her cheek. "This."

"It's not inherently bad," she noted. "Depends what you follow it with." Seeing him hesitate as he drew closer, she offered, "I'm guessing you want..."

She placed a sweet but brief kiss upon his lips. A taste that was as tempting as it was forbidden.

"Would that be wrong?" he asked.

"It is a bit, but I don't expect anything to come of it," she assured him, "and I suspect we both need this right now."

"This being?"

"Just a kiss and cuddle."

Just as he had expected. "Then I can work with that."

"This isn't supposed to be work, you prawn," she chided.

"Definitely not. Tonight has been rather different," he carefully voiced.

"What, you don't normally attack your client's long-lost child and then end up confessing what your nightmares are about at some point before drinking into the small hours?"

"I never said…," he started to query, but she was right about his nightmares. After she glared meaningfully at him, he admitted, "Okay, I sort of did. It wasn't hard for you to guess."

She shook her head. "What was her name?"

"Jenny," he brokenly supplied.

"How lovely," she complimented. "No doubt she was as pretty as her name."

He couldn't say anything but, "Yes."

"To Jenny," she proposed, swigging down her drink.

"To Jenny. And Callum," he added. He then took a deep gulp of his own glassful.

She watched him with interest. "You know, when you do that kind of thing, you're sort of perfect. Stop doing it."

Feeling much more daring as the warmth of the whisky hit his stomach, he wondered, "Or what?"

"Or I'll kiss you again," she answered.

"Oh no. How awful," he cheekily pretended to grumble. "Can't have that happen, can I?"

"It'd be dreadful," she agreed, easing forward. "Whatever would come of it? As long as I'm not just a distraction."

"You could never be 'just' anything, let alone a distraction," he murmured and closed the distance between them.

Her eyes raked over his body with approval, her gaze silently giving him permission to let go of the tight resolve he still held on to. Would it really be wrong to give in? When she wanted if not needed him, when his own body had craved her from afar for many years and now keenly desired to be more than a casual acquaintance. They were both adults who could deal with any fallout from this encounter in a professional way even though his job and reputation were on the line.

But her body was beneath his caress, the swell of her breasts pushed against his sensitive skin, and her arms were wrapped around his shoulders, allowing him to willingly worship her mouth and other soft delights. Wouldn't it be worth it just to taste her for one night? Nothing else, just pretend for a few short hours she was his, and that was all he needed in life.

Overpowered by her presence, he could only give in and let the consequences take him wherever they wanted.

He had the woman he loved in his arms and nothing else mattered beyond expressing that sentiment.

.