Author's note: Hello everyone, I'm back with a new chapter to this story! Thanks a lot for your support and reviews, and to those of you who have recently joined us, welcome! This is a bit longer than what I usually post but it would have just been rude to split this into two parts. Thanks a lot to the people who reviewed my last chapter and thanks to the people who favorited/followed this story. I hope you enjoy this chapter, thanks again for reading! - hannahorgrace

Chapter 7

Dinner with Peter and his friends is as dull and uninteresting as she'd predicted, although in his defense, he's trying his best to keep everyone entertained, including her. She tries to take part in the conversation, tries to sound lively when she's asked about her job, until she realizes Peter only asked about her current cases to try to make her feel included, but it doesn't seem like anyone cares. All the men seem to have jobs in the financial department of obscure corporations she's vaguely heard of before, without really understanding what they were about. None of the women work, except for one, who is a part-time English teacher in a private school, and well, Alicia.

"Paul wants to be in politics," the man sitting in front of her says. She tries to remember his name, but there was a lot of new information in the last hour and she's on her second glass of red wine. "Or the Senate," he adds, "I'm not sure. It changes a lot."

"Mike's son is going to law school in Loyola next year, here in Chicago," Peter tells her.

"He is," Mike goes on. "I don't understand his choice, I keep telling him to go into finance, but you know how kids can be."

Mike's wife laughs then, brushing her straight blonde hair behind her elbow. "Paul said the same thing to me the other day. I told him that going into finance was the smart choice, but he said he doesn't want to be like his father," she says, still laughing. "He said we're smothering him, can you believe this?"

Peter laughs softly, and she frowns, because she realizes she doesn't know if he thinks it's funny, or if he just doesn't want anyone to be uncomfortable. She sighs, and takes another sip.

"So, Alicia," Mike starts, "how long are you thinking of staying at Lockhart/Gardner?"

"How long?" she frowns. "However long they'll have me there, I guess."

He laughs, obviously amused. "But Peter is working again."

Oh, she thinks, and she casts a glance at Peter quickly. He doesn't say anything, just smiles.

"Indeed he is," is all she manages to say.

"How old are your children?" he asks, and she smiles at him, taking a sip of her wine.

"Zach is sixteen, Grace is fourteen."

"That's nice," he says. "What do they think about their mom being back in the workforce?"

Peter laughs an uncomfortable laugh, and again, she doesn't know if he's trying to tell her something or if he genuinely thinks the guy's being funny.

"I think they like it better this way," she starts. "At least when I come home, they're happy to see me. And Grace wants to be a lawyer now," she says, looking to Peter with a smile, "I think we're doing a good job with them."

"It's always good for a woman to be a lawyer," and Alicia frowns, wondering if it's a backhanded compliment. "You know, when the judge is a man."

Everyone else laughs but her, and her next sentence comes out too quickly for her to reconsider.

"Of course," she starts, "because that's the only way women can be good at their job."

The general laughter quickly fades, and she can feel Peter's eyes on her, but she looks straight into Mike's eyes.

When the plates have been taken away and the bottles have been emptied, she excuses herself to go to the bathroom.

Washing her hands, she briefly catches her reflection in the mirror but quickly looks away. She dries her hands, walks out and stops suddenly, almost hitting Peter on her way out.

"What was that?" he asks, voice low but strong.

"What was what?" she refuses to answer.

"Alicia, I need you to do this for me," he says, eyes piercing.

She chuckles, ironic. "I don't think I want to do this anymore, Peter."

"What?" he asks between his teeth.

"This is the last time," she says calmly, before walking past him and rejoining their table.

She doesn't comment on the previous topic anymore, faking a polite laugh when it feels appropriate, and everyone seems to buy it except for Peter, but she doesn't care.

She has so little care, that when the waiter comes back asking if they want desserts, she orders a mojito.

Peter frowns, and it's almost scary, but then Mike chuckles and says he'll have one as well, and five minutes later she's turned Peter's political evening into a cocktail party. She didn't even mean for it, and she notices Peter seems to be taking advantage of the situation to implement some aspects of his political business into the conversation, but she doesn't care.

At 10.30, she and Peter say goodbye to the others as they leave the restaurant. Outside, he has a car waiting for them.

"It's alright," she says, "I can get a cab."

Peter scowls. "Alicia," he starts, almost condescending. "I can bring you home."

"Peter," she says, imitating his tone. "Thank you for dinner, but I'll take a cab."

He watches her, speechless, as she walks in the opposite direction and gets in a car.

"Alicia," Will says, obviously surprised. "What are you doing here?"

She had given Will's address to the cab driver, probably out of anger towards Peter. He didn't know that she wasn't going home, of course, she hadn't told him. But still, it made her feel good.

It made her feel free.

But the moment she steps into Will's building, she gets nervous. She doesn't know what she's doing. She doesn't know what she wants. She doesn't even know if Will's home.

So when he opens the door, wearing a white t-shirt and a pair of gray sweatpants, she knows she looks as surprised as he does.

She looks down, trying to get her thoughts in order. "Can I come in?" she whispers.

When he doesn't move, she feels her stomach clench, the sting of rejection hitting her hard. But then,

"Sure," he speaks, moving to the side to let her in.

She doesn't walk far into his apartment, instead just stands there, eyes on him.

"Are you okay?" he asks, closing the door behind her.

She doesn't even know how to answer that question. She feels his gaze on her, quickly scanning her body before settling on her eyes.

He says her name, trying to get her attention, and immediately, she knows she shouldn't have come.

He takes a step towards her, silent, but she can see his question still lingers in his eyes.

She takes another step then, closing the distance between them, and closes her eyes as she lets her lips brush against his. It's the alcohol, she knows it's the alcohol, but it's not only the alcohol, because alcohol doesn't make her do things she would never do, it makes her do things she doesn't have the courage to do.

He stands frozen against her, and she's terrified of his reaction, or lack thereof, so she opens up her mouth a little, gently capturing his lips between hers. She feels unsteady, the pounding of her heart working against her, and she almost loses her balance as she tries to focus on his reaction; but she feels his arm slide past her side and around her waist, and softly, he's pulling her closer to him, kissing her back.

She lets it all go then, as if she feels she's been granted permission, and then he's walking her backwards until she softly hits the wall. She lets her hands crawl over his arms, one hand sneaking behind his neck, fingers gently brushing through his hair. He's holding her firmly, hands on her waist, but his lips are delicate against her mouth, like it's the first time he's kissing her and he doesn't want to scare her away.

He knows she's been drinking, he can taste the rum, the sugar and the lime, but mostly he can taste her. Her lips are soft under his, her breath warm against his cheek, her skin silky under his fingers. She breathes his name softly, barely audible, and it sounds like a plea, but he doesn't know if she wants him to stop, so he doesn't.

But she's been messing with his feelings for the past couple of weeks and he wants to be mad at her, he wants to hate her really but he's so in love with her, and he wants her so much, he knows it's pointless to fight.

"Alicia…" he whispers, his lips grazing the skin of her neck, and she knows he's asking What the hell are we doing?, but she has no idea. She doesn't want to think anymore, she just wants to feel.

And the truth is, Will makes her feel. He makes her feel good, he makes her feel alive. He makes her feel like things are going to be okay, like she doesn't have to be on her guard all the time. Mostly, he makes her feel wanted, and she desperately needs to feel like she means something to someone.

He pushes her jacket off her shoulder so he can kiss her collarbone, and she tilts her head to the side, giving him better access. His lips feel so good on her skin, burning their way against her in a way she knows will leave bruises. She hates that thought, hates the idea of being branded by someone; but it's Will, so tonight, she welcomes it.

Her fingers touch his chin and automatically, his mouth is back against hers, muffling the sigh that escapes her lips.

She thinks maybe she should go, she shouldn't even have come in the first place, but go where? Who else wants her like Will does? Who else cares for her like Will does? She feels his body react against her, she feels the way his hands touch her and stroke her, she feels herself burning from the inside and she lets her mouth wander against the skin of his neck, begging him with her touch, fighting against reason, blocking out all coherent thoughts.

She surprises herself when she pulls away from him, hands on his shoulders, his hands falling from the back of her neck to her hips.

"You said you wanted to fight," she starts, reminding him of his own words from the previous week. "You said… you said it was worth it," she breathes, eyes pleading.

Because the truth it, she remembers. She remembers every word he said to her that night, from I'm not supposed to be in love with you to I want to be with you. She remembers the way his voice sounded when he said You're the only one, full of hope and passion and longing. She remembers his bright eyes when he said I want to feel like this, making her heart tighten and ache in her chest because she knew, she knows how he feels, because she feels it too. It's pointless to ignore it, to pretend it's not there, to act like she's indifferent, disinterested, detached enough that she can afford to push him away, but the truth is, she's not. She's not indifferent, she's not disinterested, she's not detached, she's not any of these things. She's infatuated, she's intoxicated by his love and by his care, by his want and by his need.

"Show me," she whispers.

She hears the silence around them like a thick fog, deafening, telling her to run, but she feels his eyes on her and her heart tells her to have faith, to trust him.

Maybe she can have what she wants if he shows her how to trust again.

Suddenly, he's lifting her, arms under her thighs, and she has to wrap her arms around his shoulders to hold herself stable. Before she can even think, he navigates them to his room and there, he gently lets her slide from his embrace until her feet touch the ground. He kisses her, like it's the first time and like it's the last time, as if he's been waiting all his life to kiss her and all they have is now, all they have left is them.

She slides out of her heels, forcing him to lean closer to her because of the lost height, and as she reaches for his arms, he slides them over her sides, holding her waist against him in fear of her slipping away from him. She caresses his lips softly with hers and she can feel his passion when he returns her kiss.

She can still feel his confusion, in the way he's trying to be gentle with her, but there's an urge to his touch that makes her lose her senses. Before she knows it, he's moved them to the bed and he's lying on top of her, arms on each side of her face, kissing her like he might never get to kiss her again.

She feels out of control, almost besides herself with excitement and anticipation, and she doesn't know who of the two is more surprised when she hooks her leg around his waist, pushing her hips into his, making him gasp.

"I need you," she breathes into his ear, as softly as she can, because if it's a whisper maybe it doesn't count as much, maybe it's not binding, maybe she can take it back.

He stops kissing her and looks into her eyes then, and she knows she's being unfair, she can see in his face that he wants to know, needs to know what they're doing, but she's not ready to give him an answer.

He shakes his head side to side, and when he catches her confused look, he presses a kiss against her forehead.

"You wanted me to show you," he says against her cheek.

So he gets up from the bed, removes his clothes and then hers, and soon, he's pulling the covers on top of them. He kisses her everywhere, not leaving a single patch of her skin untouched by his lips, and her eyes are begging, pleading with him, and he wants to give her everything he has, everything he owns, everything he is.

He gets that feeling again, that feeling of being so mad it makes him want to hate her, but when her eyes close and she bites her lip, he moves closer to her and presses his lips against hers, soothing her as much as he can. Her eyes open again and they're shimmering, so he moves behind her and wraps his arms around her, pressing his chest against her bare back.

"Hey," he whispers, "I've got you."

He hears those three little words resonating in his mind, and he feels so moved to be with her that it's almost impossible to keep them in. So he presses his lips against her shoulder to keep quiet, and when she turns her face to look at him, he kisses her, putting everything he has in it, because if she won't let him say it, then he will show her.

He locks her in his arms, pulling the covers tight around them.

Later, when he feels her calm down next to him, he moves on top of her and lets his lips travel over her body again, only stopping when her breath starts to hitch. He makes his kisses soft, tender, dragging his lips over the most sensitive parts of her, and when her breaths turn to moans, he moves on top of her and waits for her to guide him. She lets him set a rhythm and soon, it all gets too much for her to handle. She doesn't know if she's crying, but when he kisses the top of her cheeks, she knows he understands, and he slows down. Their bodies seem to know each other so well, words have become unnecessary. She breathes him in and kisses him again, because she can't get enough, so he starts moving faster. He laces his fingers with hers and presses kisses all over her lips until it's all too much, until she feels nothing and everything at once.

When he lets go, her sighs are the only thing he hears as everything around him goes pitch black.

Author's note: Hi again! I hope this satisfied those of you who really wanted all the angst from the previous chapters to turn into something more for these two. We're not exactly there yet but I'm sure this is progress, especially on Alicia's side. Please let me know what you think. Also, if you have any ideas/suggestions, feel free to tell me about them; I always like knowing what you want to see happen for these two. I think we're getting close to the end of this story, there are probably two or three chapters left. Thank you for still being here. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, thanks again for reading! - hannahorgrace