Can't Fight this Feeling
"No matter how difficult and painful it may be, nothing sounds as good to the soul as the truth."
-Martha Beck
Flat Rock River, Minnesota - 2019
He came out of the shower to find her lying on the bed. The baby was there beside her, thumb in her mouth, watching the t.v.
Admittedly, he was disappointed...a little. Part of him had thought, what? He'd come out of the shower and fuck her bowlegged?
Yep. That was it exactly.
Amused, Chris slid onto the bed and Faith turned into his shirt and snuggled. She sighed happily and drifted into sleep. His other hand shifted, it opened. Rebecca laid hers in it over their heads where it rested. She draped her other arm over the baby and the man beside her.
They fell asleep together on her bed with Faith between them. She knew they were both aware of the shift in their dynamic here.
She was aware of him in ways she hadn't been before.
Because now she knew, he knew, THEY knew...there was no pretending to just be friends.
His eyes watched the flickering television screen. His hand shifted and skimmed over the outside of her thigh beneath her nightgown. Just his thumb. Just a little, stroking the back of her leg almost absently.
She trembled and drew his eyes to her. His hand slid along the inside of her knee, testing. Hers shifted and slid under the sleeve of his shirt, skimming his biceps.
His thumb stroked, just once, over the smooth softness of her panties - against the heat of her. And her hand curled around his arm and tightened, pleasing him.
His mouth turned up in a half smile. He didn't touch her more than that. He left his thumb against her and curled his fingers around her thigh to hold her there. Nothing really. Just a touch. Just his hand resting so easily between her legs.
Good god.
She quivered.
She fell asleep beside him while he watched her face. He vibrated with the need to shift her panties aside and touch her.
Instead, he slid his hand off her and put it safely back on her hip.
He pressed a kiss to Faith's warm forehead and sighed.
When Rebecca woke, he was gone.
She rolled to her back to stare at the ceiling above the bed. A kiss, that was all it was, a kiss. It didn't have to be more than that. It was over and done. The seed was planted.
Would it grow?
The shadows didn't have the answer.
The next few weeks were busy and dirty and rewarding. The mess was cleared, the infection controlled, they stood together at the end of every day like a family - laughing and eating and relaxing.
She'd missed it. Her time in STARS - before the fall - had been some of the best in her life.
She was back in the fold of a family. It felt really good.
Faith was the star of the show wherever they went. Everyone adored her. She was the star of the post office, of the local market, of the walk down main street.
Rebecca discovered something one day while she was in town dropping off reports to be sent back to HQ via courier - Flat Rock River felt more like home to her than Leon's ranch ever had. It felt more like home than Chicago where she'd lived for years. It felt more like home than Raccoon City - before she'd fled for her life.
She looked at Faith - laughing in the diner with Gustav and his wife Yvonne who owned and ran it - and she felt something shift in her.
Across from her, Barry lifted his brows in the booth, "What's the face?"
"The face is the truth. My truth. I think I know what it is." She rose. She kissed Barry's cheek, "I gotta bow out of duty this afternoon. Tell the bossman...tell him I've been waiting for this moment to arise."
Grinning, Barry watched her move to the counter and speak earnestly with the nice German couple.
Whatever was happening here, was he was glad to see it. He'd spent too long seeing the sadness on all of them. It was good, great, wonderful - to see the hope again.
Rebecca leaped out of the Jeep into the snow. She laughed and twirled.
Curious, Chris climbed out of his truck where he'd parked behind her.
Cute little house, small but functional, what did they call it? A bungalow style. It was a pretty pale gold color with a nice white porch. It was nestled on a chunk of land with a barn. There was a horse milling around near the barn and some chickens pecking at the snow near a house surrounded by fencing.
Rebecca grinned at him and announced, "What do you think?"
He shrugged in his parka, "About what? Global warming? I think it's a lie."
Rebecca gave him a narrow look, "Science would argue with you there, pal, but not about that. About this. This house. This place."
"Cute. Who's is it?"
She grinned, "Mine. I bought it. Leon's place? Never mine. This place? MINE."
Something shifted in his chest a little. He watched her twirl in the snow. From inside the house, Claire emerged holding Faith who shouted with joy when she saw him.
Claire put her down, Faith waddled in the snow toward him, and Chris knelt to pick her up.
A moment passed and he asked, "You're staying here?"
"I am. I think it's right. I think this is my place."
Claire touched her arm, rubbing, "I think you're right about that. You want all this fucking snow though?"
"Oh, yeah. Yeah. I'm a midwest girl. The snow and I? Compadres. Big time. They offered me a job." She grinned, wide and happy, "Science. Professor at the college. I'm thinking about taking it."
Shit.
The same arrow stabbed in his guts. "Yeah?"
Claire was grinning wide and happy, "Take it. Seriously. Get out of the game. Let it rest. Leon? He'd want that."
Rebecca waved that away, "I don't actually know what he'd want."
Claire looked a little surprised.
Rebecca laughed, lightly, "It's ok. We can say it. He was a great guy. He liked me a lot. I loved him. Sorta madly. Kinda nutso. I didn't know him. You did. Jill did. I didn't. He never let me in. Ever. The ranch? His things? It was his way of doing that. I know that. He tried. I think he might have or we would have been ok if he'd lived. But he didn't. He's gone. What he wanted? It can't be the reason I plan my life, Claire. It can't be."
She hugged her, hard. Claire was a little misty-eyed. "I miss him. Hard not to. He was so great. He was this lost soul. He saved me like I saved him. It was pretty fucking perfect...and so very brief. Would it have been more? I think so. But it doesn't matter anymore."
Rebecca turned to look at Chris. The look was pointed and hard. "He's gone. He's been gone for almost two years. And this house isn't his. It's mine. This place is mine. He'll live on for his daughter through everyone that loved him. Including me. But he's not here."
The snow drifted. It tossed flakes across his lashes.
The sun was bright and high.
She said it again, slow and pointed, "He's not here. And it's a fool that sits around waiting for him to come back...or trying to live with the guilt of moving on. Life is for the living. He knew that better than anyone. It was something that bonded us. And I don't do him any honors by dying in the grave beside him."
Claire cupped her face. They looked at each other. "...you go, girl." Soft. Strong. And redeeming.
She turned back into the house.
Rebecca stood in the snow looking at Chris across the divide.
Faith kissed his cheek.
Chris mused, "You cut yourself off from him to drown the sorrow of it?"
Stubborn mule of a man. He just didn't get it.
And Rebecca said again, "Maybe it was his way to pick up the bottle and drown his sorrows. It was never mine. He's not here. And this is my place. You're always welcome here."
"Am I?"
"Wherever I am, you're welcome there. Always. You know that. You think I can't have loved Leon Kennedy and let him go. But that's the thing about love, Chris. It's everywhere. And it's here, in this house, for you. What you do with that truth, that's on you."
She turned around left him standing in the snow.
At the door, she tilted her head at him, "If you get cold enough out here, feel free to come inside." And she went inside her house.
It wasn't very long before he followed. He waited to feel the pain of guilt at it. But there was no guilt. Just...hope.
They spent the evening with the whole crew fixing the house up. It was a matter of emptying out old boxes and cleaning. It was painting and laughing and replacing appliances.
The furniture they wrangled up came from locals. It was fun and easy and filled with light.
The couch took three tries to get in the house because Quint kept leaping on it while Barry and Chris tried to pick it up and carry it. The third time he did it, Chris grabbed him by his shirt and the seat of his pants and chucked him face first into the snow.
Dinner was boxes of pizza and bottles of pop, beer, and water. There were lots of questions about the job. Would she take it? Would she retire from the BSAA to do it? Was she done with the game entirely?
She answered the best she could.
The cold was a nice place to find your feelings. The big truck that rolled up beside Chris' was equipped with a huge brush guard on the front like glasses.
The man that alighted from it startled Rebecca where she was feeding the chickens.
She dropped the bag of food all over the ground. Concerned, the man moved over to help her clean it up. And as he moved? He shook his shaggy hair out of his face. "Hey...hey you ok?"
The face wasn't Leon. Of course not. Not him. But kinda him. Maybe him in a way no one else in the world ever would be.
Rebecca breathed, "Who are you?"
And from the porch, Barry shouted, "Ryman! You made it! Get your fucking ass in here and fix this breaker!"
Of course. Naturally. Ryman. Kevin Ryman from Raccoon City. She remembered the jokes now. The laughter. And Leon quipping, "We're twins...dontcha know? But Ryman? He always misses!"
Good natured ribbing. And Ryman had stood at their side when they'd come for her.
Rebecca mused, "Kevin Ryman."
"So, they tell me."
They held eyes in the setting sun. And she said, softly, "You look like him."
"So, they tell me too." He touched her arm, rubbing a little, "I'm sorry as hell about him. I am. I never met a stronger man. Ever. I want you to know, when he was in the hospital, he never gave up. Ever. He knew you were out there. He knew. And he never gave up."
She nodded, heart pounding a little. "Jesus, this is surreal." And she laughed.
Ryman smiled lightly and set her bag of food up on the bench beside her coop. He even wore a fucking faded leather bomber jacket like Leon. It was insane. The beard on his face was probably a week old and his chin had a hooking scar that had probably come from a licker.
Rebecca intoned, "Thank you. For coming that night. You didn't know me. You didn't have to do any of that. I'll never forget it."
To please herself? She hugged him. This guy she'd just met. This guy who looked like Leon. She hugged him. And he just..hugged back. Because she'd heard that too. That he was all heart.
"You're welcome. Jill - she's one of my best friends in the world. And Kennedy? He earned the loyalty. Chris? He's an assface, but I love him like a brother, so there was no where else I'd ever be but where they needed me."
Yeah. All heart.
Claire was leaning on the porch, watching them, "I'll be a monkey's uncle, you showed up."
He turned. He grinned. He moved up the porch to hug her and lifted her off her feet against him. She laughed and smacked his ass.
And it was girl radar. It was something. But Rebecca watched her face as he went into the house. And she saw those blue eyes linger. She waited for it and there it was. Claire tucked her lower lip into her mouth and laughed a little.
No.
GIGGLED a little.
Claire turned back to her. They held eyes. And Claire lifted both brows, "What?"
Rebecca pointed to her eyes. She pointed to Claire. She pointed to the house. "What was that?"
"What was what?"
Rebecca poked a hand on her hip. Claire gave her a deadpan expression. The silence dragged. Kevin laughed in the house and her face? It just...lit up.
Finally, Claire mused, quietly, "Shut up, Chambers. Stupid scientist girl. Think you're so smart."
She went back inside herself, chuckling.
Rebecca laughed, delighted. Life went on, it seemed, even when we were looking to hold on to what was left behind. Life went on. Even if it showed up and made your heart stop to remember what was gone.
They painted. They laughed. They had a great time. Kevin managed to fix the box and avoid calling an electrician.
And Rebecca found Chris on the back porch smoking.
With the laughter in the house behind them, she leaned on the column to watch him, "I think I need to tender my resignation."
In the dark, his eyes looked silver. He blew out a smoke ring and didn't bother to smile. It was something on his face she was trying to place, "Maybe you stay in an advisory capacity instead."
"Oh..." She grinned, "Like a special attache?"
"Something like that."
"What's the pay like?"
He glanced at her mouth. She shivered a little.
The pay seemed right. She'd never had a better offer.
They held gazes. Somebody dropped something in the house with a clatter. Faith started laughing like a loon. And Claire could be seen chasing her around the house whooping like an Indian. Beter than that? Along came Kevin Ryman pretending to be a raptor to get them both. Their laughter permeated. It bled. And it had Rebecca's heart hurting with happiness in her chest.
"Sure. Why not?" Rebecca watched his eyes as snowflakes settled on his nose and lips. "What's next for you?"
He shifted. Barry's grumbling voice floated into the dark. Quint farted so loud that someone started shrieking with laughter.
This was her life, she mused, it was pretty great.
Only one thing missing.
And it wasn't Leon Kennedy.
Not anymore.
Chris studied her face in the dark, "The fight goes on right? Until it's done."
"When is it done?"
"When it's done. When the fucking T-Virus is gone. When Wesker is done and stays done. It never ends, Rebecca. You know that."
No B. Rebecca. He was angry.
She shifted away from the column. He watched her. Her fingers tugged up the sweater he wore and slid underneath, stroking his stomach. He let her do that too, watching her face.
She leaned up to touch her mouth to his, speaking soft and low, "No one is asking you to quit here. Do you hear that when I talk? Is that why you're so mad? I know who you are."
His hands lifted and curled, hard, around her arms. He didn't push her away. He tugged her a little closer. Against her mouth, a hiss, "I'm not Leon Kennedy."
She fisted his sweater in her hands. "Who asked you to be?"
He was so mad. Why? She pressed her mouth to his, testing. That damn eyes open kissing of his, she liked it. He opened his mouth enough to sweep his tongue into her.
God.
She said it again, low and hard, "I know who you are."
She wondered if he knew who he was. And maybe that was why he was so mad.
She shivered. He set her back on her feet.
And he intoned, "Why here?"
She let go of him. She stepped back. Her voice carried in the quiet night. "You know why. This is the first place I've felt like me in a long time. Come back inside when you're done brooding. You're missing the party."
He was brooding. She was right about that. He didn't want her to quit.
He didn't want her to teach fucking science to snot-nosed college kids.
He wanted - what? What did he want?
He wanted her with him. He wanted her working beside him. He wanted her there. He just didn't want her telling him what to do or think or be or feel. He wanted her to just be there so he could look at her and hear her laugh and listen to her.
And what? Stick his tongue in her mouth every time she looked at him?
Yeah, maybe that too.
She was right. There was no Kennedy here. There was no Kennedy on her anymore.
So why was he still haunting him?
Claire took the third bedroom for the night. The rest of the crew headed out about eleven. Rebecca put Faith to bed in her new room.
There was Blackbird and laughter. There was his voice and Faith's answers.
Rebecca did dishes and listened to them.
What was he fighting so hard against? The idea of being happy? Was it that scary for him to just once, just for a minute, imagine what life looked like after the fight?
Didn't he realize he could still fight and have this too? That he could still fight and have a family?
Or did the idea of dying on the rooftop like Leon Kennedy and leaving behind those to mourn him just...scare him too much?
A coward at the core? Chris Redfield?
It was interesting to think of it that way. But it explained why he'd never pursued Jill. It explained why he was unmarried at 41 and still alone. No girlfriend. No real roots that he'd put down himself. A gypsy. A nomad. A wanderer.
Was the struggle in him as simple as knowing part of him wanted that?
Was Chris Redfield missing...faith?
She heard him in the hallway, "You mind if I use your shower? I'll rack out on the sofa when I'm done if that's ok."
She shrugged without turning around. "Sure. What's mine is yours."
She heard him leave without a word. Angry. Why?
Faith.
And need?
On the porch, Claire was laughing with Ryman. She kept touching his arm and watching his face. She looked at Kevin like Rebecca...what?
Like Rebecca looked at Chris. It was that simple.
At what point did they stop looking, and start grabbing on?
The shower turned off. She heard him in her bedroom rustling around as he dressed.
Rebecca set down the dishtowel. This was her house. Hers. It was her place.
It was the first time she realized she was trapped between one legend and the other. She'd let go of the Executioner. The Human Tank was in her bedroom brooding and lost. These men...how did she make peace with the fact that she was bound to the ones that were never, ever, simple?
One thing was. There was one damn thing that was always simple.
She turned and moved down the hallway. She checked on Faith and closed her door. She locked up the house and opened her bedroom door.
He was shirtless on the bed. The guitar was in his lap.
He turned his head. She closed the door and leaned back on it, breathing.
Her mouth felt like sandpaper.
He shifted the guitar on his lap. She moved, shaking. And sat down between his legs on the edge of the bed.
Her heart was racing as he settled the guitar on her lap and shifted her hands beneath his. Racing. She was choking on it. It felt amazing to do it.
The music that spilled out was Can't Fight this Feeling. Still rock enough to suit him, still clear enough to show him for what he was. The Human Tank - the big softie. No romance in him, Jessica Sherawat had spat once, he's so fucking oblivious.
Lies. There was so much love in him. It was just carefully locked down where no one would find it.
Oh, I can't fight this feeling any longer
And yet I'm still afraid to let it flow
What started out this friendship has grown stronger
I only wish I had the strength to let it show
I tell myself that I can't hold out forever
I said there is no reason for my fear
'Cause I feel so secure when we're together
You give my life direction
You make everything so clear
I can't hold out forever. Would he? Could he? She couldn't think of anything else she wanted more than that surrender.
Her hands followed his on the notes, on the chords, on the movement. She turned her head and kissed over the line of his jaw. She might have just left it alone. Maybe. Maybe she would have. But he trembled, just a little, just enough...and she didn't want to leave it alone anymore.
He set the guitar on the floor.
She moved, sensing his reluctance if he asked her to leave...she wasn't sure she'd have to courage to try again. It felt RIGHT, this moment, it felt right. She wanted it.
...she needed it.
And that was the difference.
THE NEED.
It curled in her belly and made her breathless.
He started to stand up and she pushed on his chest until he sat back down at the edge of the bed. Her hand slid against his chest. He looked so calm.
His heart was racing.
What a facade.
Rebecca touched his face, her thumbs swept his damp skin. Water dewed on his scarred flesh from his shower. It beaded in his chest hair.
She rolled her forehead against his and brought a shuddering sigh from him.
Now or never. Now.
Enough of never.
She spilled over his lap.
He tensed, fisting his hands on the bedspread instead of on her.
She whispered, against his mouth, "Don't say no."
He breathed, dying a little, "...B..."
"Don't B, me. Don't. Just say yes now, Chris. Stop making it complicated. This? It's easy. Say yes and let me have you."
Lord.
His hands smoothed back her hair. They twisted a little, roughly, and stole her breath. He vibrated.
The conflicting emotions on his face hurt her. She didn't want him conflicted.
And she whispered, "It's Rebecca. Tonight? Rebecca. Don't say it angry. Don't say it with regret. Say it because you want to."
She licked his mouth. She stole his breath. He gave her what she wanted, "...Rebecca."
"Say yes, Chris. Say yes to me."
He jerked her head back to look at her. He was so very commanding. It thrilled her and killed her and enthralled. She breathed it again, "Say yes."
And he just gave up.
He gave them both what they needed.
"...yes."
They arched together, making matching sounds of need, and straddling him, she was taller. Her hands angled his jaw to her, his slid around to cup her little butt and rub her against him, and she kissed him.
Hell.
Most people thought she was some little sweet pixie. She'd come on to Leon that first time like a whore. She'd never regretted it for a moment.
She wasn't a woman that waited. She wasn't often a woman that played games about it.
She just wanted to feel it again.
And she'd been so afraid she wouldn't.
The music hadn't died with Leon Kennedy.
She hadn't died with him.
And neither had her needs.
She was still able to feel it. And want it. And crave it.
She plumbed his mouth with her tongue, tasting him. It was a wet kiss, good and full. He tasted like beer and sunshine and laughter. She'd been waiting twenty years to find out what he tasted like.
His left hand shifted and hesitated.
What a boy scout, she thought, and grabbed his hand to put it on her. She rubbed it over her breast above her shirt. He took the action as a yes and slid it under her top, and up to palm one of those breasts he'd been eyeballing forever. It was full, heavy, and fit in his hand perfectly.
Rebecca made a little mewling sound into his mouth.
Chris popped their mouths apart audibly. She rubbed on his lap, making his blood rush into his groin and throb. His voice was so low it dragged, making her insane, "I'm not Leon Kennedy."
God.
GOD.
She fisted his hair and licked his mouth, cat like and hungry, "Neither am I. He's not here. But we are. We are, Chris. Stop being a fucking boy scout."
And he stopped trying to do the right thing.
He just stopped trying.
Chris shifted, jerking her down on his lap a little to rub against her body like a rapist. She moaned, gasping a little, and he fed her his tongue for it. It wasn't a sweet kiss now, it was hot, and desperate. She shot a hand down to tug him free of his pants. It made him grunt and surge against her little fist. She angled him at her short clad groin, brushing the sticky head of him against her aching body.
It was like they were sixteen and dying but trying so hard to be good. She started rubbing all over him in the world's most exciting dry hump. Rebecca rode on him like he'd paid her for a lap dance, sliding those shorts all over his trapped cock like she'd kill him with it.
Lab mouse his ass, he mused, she was a cock tease if he'd ever seen one.
She dropped down his body and licked him. One long, wet, swirling glide of her tongue along his needy slit.
That was enough. More than.
And the man with no words? He rasped, "Jesus Christ. You hot little thing. You want it?"
He liked to talk dirty. Lord. She felt her body thrumming with need. "God...yes...now. Please. Now."
And she saw the benefit of all that muscle. Because he stopped playing around.
He rolled, throwing her to the bed beneath him. She literally flew and landed, skidding across the bed and bouncing. Her pulse sped up so far she thought it might come out her throat.
He crawled up her body like a lion, bringing her mouth open in a whine of want. She couldn't get enough handfuls of his back or his chest. She scraped nails over his chest and had him grunting with pleasure.
He jerked up her shirt and licked her stomach like a dog or something, wet, and slow. LORD.
She scrambled her arms up to let him take her shirt.
And his mouth was all over her breasts, driving sounds of gasping need from her mouth. Her hands shot down into his pants to put nails into his ass while he devoured her. Not gentle. He was suck, and fuck, and pressure. He didn't let up either. He assaulted her breasts like he'd taken down his enemies – head on, no halting, merciless.
Her back bowed, her hands trapped by his over her head when she scrambled for something to hold on to. He pinned her and held her down. She jerked, breasts tingling, skin flushing with it.
He rasped, laughing thickly, "Tell me what you want."
Her voice squeaked, delighting him, and she begged, "All of it. More teeth. Harder."
A wolfish grin. His hand closed around her throat and thrilled her boneless. "Tell me who you want."
Need, she thought, he had it too. He needed her to say it...and free them both from the ghost.
"I know who you are. I know that. Do you?"
Like a demon exorcised. She grabbed his face.
"Who am I?"
A wolf in the darkness, "Rebecca."
"Yeah. No B. Rebecca."
He sunk his teeth into her breast and she bucked, shaking like a leaf.
Sweet little pixie...no. Sexy little demon sprite. She was clearly here to rip his soul from his dick and leave him a blithering, quivering, coming mess.
Sweat sprang on her body, her mouth opened on a soundless cry, he pinned her hands against her chest between her breasts to anchor her... and he shifted his teeth against her through her shorts.
She keened.
There was no other word. She keened.
Teeth. He bit her, sucking her through the fabric. She mewled, bouncing.
He ground the heel of his hand over her, making her flop and buck against him. Her shorts were soaked. His hands jerked them off and left her in little white panties.
Little white ones. Simple. Unadorned. Small.
Laughing, gruffly, darkly – he mused, "Jesus."
She grabbed for her panties and he shook his head, grabbing her wrists. He trembled and threw her arms over her head again. Gasping, bowing, she watched him shift against her.
His pants were barely down. But he rubbed himself against her.
She squeaked, shaking. The friction of him against her panties, forcing the cloth over her aching body, brought her mouth open a cry of need.
And yet he didn't take her.
Why?
Her brain said: "You know why. He's a boyscout. He doesn't have anything. He won't use you like that."
Touched. Desperate. She grabbed his face and fucked his mouth with her tongue until they were both dying from it.
And she gasped, "Do it. Ok? Please? Do it. Now. Please now. Now. Just…now."
LORD.
He was shaking.
Shaking, shaking his head, quaking and aching and heavy in his sack, his soul, and his guts. He jerked her panties to the side. She squealed with delight, whining a little as she humped her hips toward him.
He didn't fuck her.
He wanted to fuck her.
He ran himself all over her needy little slit. She bucked and jerked in his arms. He caught her flailing hands, held them down on her chest to keep her captive, and thrust against her wet folds, torturing them both. She begged, bucking, grunting.
He shoved his fingers into her while she almost wept with need.
First one of them. Then two, he shoved them into her creamy heat, they sucked him in hungrily – and she came. Instantly. Wetly. Wantonly. She just fucked his fingers and came all over his hand, a hungry little thing that wanted a good hard ride.
He wanted to ride her fast and endless. He punched the pillow beside her head with frustration, cursed with denial, and brought her gasping and excited beside him. She turned her face and kissed him, slow and rolling. Sucking his tongue, crushing his fingers inside her as she heaved and humped so hard against his questing digits that it tried to kill them both.
He wanted to be inside her. He wanted to bury himself in her and fuck until she was bowlegged.
He had nothing to do so.
He ran himself over her soaking heat until he was insane with it and let her panties slide back on her throbbing, bucking body. He kept his fingers in her while came and crested and cried.
He palmed one of her perfect breasts, rolling it.
She leaned up on her elbows, opened her mouth, and ran it all over him while he stroked himself and her, and shook. Like he was having a seizure or something.
Lord.
She was a siren. She wanted him to come for her.
He shoved his fingers into her hard enough to watch her eyes blur, she bucked and cried out.
And it was enough.
He pinned her to the bed, humped on her like a desperate teenager, rubbed himself all over her soaked panties in a desperate denial of the fucking they both wanted, had her gasping and jerked and dying...and he cursed dark and desperate.
Mewling, she grabbed him down to her. All tongue, all spilling hands and stroking.
He finally leaned back to grab a handful of her hair. He jerked enough on it to bring her shaking beneath him. They were transfixed with each other.
Finally, he shoved off her and rolled away, staring at the ceiling.
Boy Scout, Rebecca bought madly, he hadn't even gone.
And they lay in the quiet dark panting. Curious at his rage, she leaned over his shoulder and nuzzled his face.
He turned his mouth to kiss her. Soft. Smooth. Endless.
She shook, stroking his hair.
Not angry at her. He wasn't. Himself? A little.
She could have left it alone. It was so hot in the room. It was boiling. She could just..leave it this way and it was good. So good.
Her hand slid down over his stomach. She gripped him in her fist. He jerked like a shock rod was shoved against his groin.
She pulled him like a handle. He rolled. Her legs parted, her fingers twisted in his hair to bring him to her mouth. She guided him in her fist, shoving aside her panties like some kind of desperate thing.
She felt him jerk. She felt him resist.
And it was enough. Her voice rasped, high and desperate, "Please. I need you. Say yes."
It was the right answer. Somehow. The right one.
One hand slid around her throat and squeezed, bringing her breath in an excited whine, "How?"
God. She breathed it, desperately, "Hard."
He anchored her hips, rubbed once again her while she keened, and plowed into her.
Not hard.
Brutal.
Jesus.
She wasn't ready. Well, she was ready, her body was all kinds of ready. But his entry was swift and brutal. Her panties were simply ripped to the side to let him.
What had Jill said?
Jackhammer.
He plowed her like he'd kill her, or possess her, or destroy her. She bucked, his hand over her mouth to keep her quiet as she screamed behind it. Merciless, he hammered her into the bed while her fingers handcuffed around the headboard rails above her to hold on.
Three thrusts in and she came apart, grunting, jerking and coming. He shifted her legs over his arms and kept right on going. It drove her into the headboard, it brought her gasping and sweating and screaming. She felt him tighten.
She gasped, grasping and jerking at his face. "I need it."
What was it? She didn't know. She didn't. But she needed it.
She heard him curse in her ear and start shaking like he was trying so hard to resist. Finally, he urged her face up to his and tongued her mouth until she was nearly dead where she lay with it and he hissed, "Fuck it."
Two wet, thunderous thrusts into her aching body and she felt him go board stiff, almost painfully tight, and he finished inside her.
It was utterly possessive. It was so totally unexpected that she came apart with the thrill of owning him. Her mouth smashed against his, nearly biting too hard.
It brought his laughter, thick and dark and hungry. And she like that too.
She'd asked for it, she thought madly, as she clasped him to her and bowed, jerking and flopping and taking it. She'd said need.
He'd given her what they both needed: a good hard filthy fucking in a house that didn't belong to the wrong man.
He let her quaking legs go and they slid down his flanks and planted, leaving her splay legged with him between them. His ear dropped to her chest and laid there, listening.
Holy god in Heaven, she thought, that was what happened when you got flattened by a tank.
Her hands shifted and slid around his head to hold him to her. He didn't bother to roll off. He didn't bother to move.
And so she fell asleep with him still buried inside her...wondering what kind of merit badge he'd just lost for bare backing an old friend.
It made her smile and hold him tighter.
And left her breathless.
The morning after a spontaneous sexual decision, admittedly potentially twenty years in the making, Rebecca found herself in the kitchen in her big white t-shirt with Calvin and Hobbes engaged in a snowball fight on it, ugly gray sweats three sizes too big, and her hair sticking up off her head like she'd stuck her finger in an electrical socket.
She was making coffee, listening to Dora the Explorer teach her daughter about "no swiping" in the living room, and watching Claire sit at the table in tiny shorts, a sports bra, and a cute little headband. She'd been on the treadmill already it seemed…it was barely six a.m.
She was also reading the paper aloud and hooting with laughter, "You see this shit? They're saying the damn groundhog saw his shadow. That rat faced little turd. Who wants six more weeks of this crap!?"
Rebecca set a cup of coffee on the table for her with a smirk, "He's not a rat. He's a marmot…basically a big ground squirrel."
Claire gave her a narrow look as Rebecca went to butter a muffin from the oven. "Science nerd."
The girl scientist chuckled, unoffended, "You know they say gingers have no soul right?"
Claire gave her the finger and a kissy face with a wink. Rebecca pantomimed smooching back at her. Girl humor was only understood by those who were possessed of the right chromosomes.
She was kinda wishing she knew how to broach the uncomfortable topic of her wild night with Claire. Claire was, hands down, her best friend. But – the wild night? It was all about the unprotected sex she'd had with her best friend's brother…so…that conversation wasn't really something you just tossed out there.
In the living room Faith let out a squeal. There was the distinct sounds of raspberries and tickling. The deep grumble of his voice signaled the arrival of Rebecca's wild night. And the end of faking that she wasn't, entirely, nuts about the man who'd shared it with her.
And her brain said: EEK.