At long last, a chapter of sensuality and sexuality. Pardon my cruelty to strain your patience for so long.
His fingers first wrapped tightly just beneath her jaw, clawed loosely around that milk-white neck. He lifted her face up to his, fingers cupping her chin in his palm, bringing those ruby lips closer to his. With an eager breath, her mouth reached up for his, pressing her moist open lips roughly into his. Her taste was sweet, perfumed even itself, as if flowers had a taste to them.
A sort of growl sounded from the depths of his throat, and a slight smile moved over his face, the light catching just a hint of his teeth as he took a step back. His fingers swiftly unbuttoned the cuffs of his sleeves, and even quicker, they began their work on the top-most buttons of his shirt. Fingers caught his, stopping their relentless motion, and Cécelie sighed, bracing her body along his as she gripped his hands. "Permettez-moi, Inspecteur," she whispered.
His thick brows twitched once as her hands continued down his front, her hands allowing his shirt to fall open on its own. He shrugged the fabric off as she slipped the sleeves from the brawn of his arms.
Her fingers knotted gently through the mat of curled hair in the center of his chest. Twirling it between her finger and thumb, Cécelie felt each contraction beneath her palm, each rise, each fall of his heavy breathing. He leaned down towards her, smiling crookedly as his hand ran down her back to her rear. The welts, running over her cheeks and down to her legs, puckered under his touch. He leaned down to taste her breath again, but her fingers stopped him short, pressing against his clean-shaven chin.
"Say it again, Monsieur. Please say it again," she said softy, her voice unusually delicate and gentle.
Javert paused, his eyes steeled over, searching her imploring face. "What do you mean?" he demanded quietly.
Leaning her full weight against him, she pressed her breasts to his bare chest, reaching her hand to the back of his head. Fingers finding the silk ribbon, she released his dark hair to fall over his shoulders. "You asked something of me, Inspector. I have not yet answered you, so ask it of me again," she whispered as close to his ear as she could, standing on her toes, her hands pulling him down by the shoulders.
Every muscle beneath her gentle touch clenched; he shifted her in front of him, bringing his darting green eyes above her face again. His gaze had lost its usual ferocity, sparking with some other light, no less intense in its concentration. He took a deep breath and pulled her suddenly and firmly against his chest again. "Forgive me, Cécelie," he murmured and pressed a burning kiss on her forehead. She shuddered under his lips, wrapped in his strong arms. He said it once more, "Forgive me," and swiftly pulled her chin up to face him, gratified to see her eyes damp again.
She nodded, smiling her acceptance weakly with one corner of her mouth, "Of course I do, Inspector Javert." Pausing, she pressed her lips to his neck, kissing it gently and nipping his flesh playfully. Her conscience stirred inside her heart, where it had rested unprovoked for years. His unfamiliar words had pierced right through her hardened protection, her chilled exterior. Guilt, a stranger to her emotions, raised bittersweet words to her lips. "Forgive me in return?" she asked hesitantly.
He casted his gaze down to the floor beside them, a dark length of hair spilling from his shoulder, covering his face from her sight. With an effort, he kept a sneer from twisting his half-hidden face.
He felt her hand pull his hair back over his shoulder, stroking gently through his patch of whiskers. A subtle smirk crossed her mouth as their eyes met, the pure blue of hers searching for his answer, pleading for him to but speak the words. She was nearly his.
Javert smiled, reaching his hand into the flowing hair that cascaded over her left shoulder. He drew her towards him, pressing her fervent lips to his again.
She felt the firm hesitation to his mouth, and laughing inside, her lips moved quickly between his, her tongue tracing over the stillness of his own, entering between their pressed moisture.
Fingers gripped into the top of his trousers, pulling his body along hers, a grateful sigh escaping her busy mouth as the warmth of his pelvis seeped into hers. The warmth, the taste of his silent forgiveness washed over her chilled heart, her shivering body. Dry fingers traced from her chin down her neck, his thumb pressing painfully straight down her windpipe, lightening at the softness of her chest, drawing to a sudden halt just at the edge of her course fabric chemise.
Pulling away, Cécelie looked up at him, pressing his hand with her own harder across her skin. "Do you not like it, Inspector?" her voice deep and soft in her throat.
She watched as his nostrils flared, feeling his fingers grip the wide collar of her blouse. Roughly, he jerked the fabric down on shoulder, his green eyes fascinated by the paleness he bared beneath. "Inexcusable," his clear voice, judiciary even, passing judgment on her garments. "Save their use for the arrest. They do not become you, Comptesse."
Smiling, she tugged the fabric swiftly from her body, allowing it to tumble around her feet. She gazed curiously at his stiff form, sensing just how taut every muscle was, from his tweaking jaw to his clenching stomach and rigid stance. Standing naked in the starlight, Cécelie chuckled, slightly in humor but mostly in sudden nervousness. "Are you still unsatisfied, Inspector?" she asked, hiding a slight tremor in her voice.
He exhaled loudly through his opened mouth. His dry hands gripped her around the shoulders, pushing her before him as he stepped closer to the edge of the bed. She shifted her hand from where his chest pinned it to her stomach, brushing inadvertently over the growing bulge in his trousers. Laughing, she stood on her toes, grazing her lips over the bottom of his jaw. Her lips molded to his own, moistening them with her laughing breath. "Apparently you are not satisfied, Monsieur," her chuckle grew harsher as she traced over the stiffness in his pants.
He shuddered under her touch, his shiver palpable through her own body. His kiss consumed her, working over every corner of her mouth, every inch of her lips. "Lie down, Cécelie," he ordered quietly, barely breaking from her to utter his command. She stepped back as he pressed her forward, banging the backs of her thighs, bruised and battered, roughly against the footboard of the bed.
His kiss swallowed her gasp of pain, his lips and tongue crushing hers in his relentless force. Rough hands braced against the tops of her shoulders, pushing her down to sit on the bed. Pain seared through her as she landed on the course linen sheets. His hands left her body, making short work of his boots and trousers. Taking a deep breath, Cécelie felt her nerves hum through her body. The pain of her backside mingled with the aching pleasure, a throbbing heat that ignited between her thighs. She turned over to her hands and knees to crawl further up on the mattress.
But before she could even move an inch, Javert's hand gripped tightly around her ankle. His thumb harshly rubbed her ankle's soft inner side, almost tickling her. Cécelie turned herself around, careful to ease herself on her backside once more. His sever face smirked down at her. "Too eager to wait for me?" his clear voice demanded. The warmth from his hand ran up her calf, stroking her thigh as he moved himself over her.
She sat on the bed, her legs spread slightly for him. With one hand, she beckoned him closer, grabbing the back of his neck once it was within her reach. His lips she brought to her mouth, indulging herself in his brutal, suffocating kiss again.
Pushing her legs apart, his hands twitched as they ran over the milk-white of her body. With a sigh, thick with desire, he finally allowed himself to touch her breasts, so soft, so supple in his hands. A moan escaped from her at his attentive touch; scorching, burning, searing her body as he stroked every inch of their fullness.
Lightly, she ran her fingers up the length of his cock, so swollen, so hard in her hand. With her other hand, she brushed through his long dark hair, knotting and coiling at the nape of his neck, pulling his weight fully on top of her. His massive body squeezed her last breath from her lungs. Breathless and aching, she guided him between her thighs, the pressure exhilarating as mixed with the pain that screamed through her back. She dared to speak over their gasping, throaty breaths. "Make love to me and forgive me," she kissed the stiff muscles of his neck and whispered his name into them, "Javert."
At that moment, she finally dared to look directly into his eyes, frightened by their stillness, their harshness, and also their desirous glow. He thrusted deeper as he slid his body fully over her panting, quivering form, encircling her breast in his firm grip. Never once did his eyes leave hers, boring down and holding her riveted in place by his gaze. He felt each breath that rattled through her frame crushed beneath him, each moan that passed through her lips with every thrust he made deeper into her. The milk-white mound in his hand swayed and trembled with his thrusts; he was determined not to let go of her. Hold her in place until she was his obedient, supplicating follower. Adorer. Lover.
Rocking back and forth, her blood raced through every inch of her body, overflowing in a teeming flood of pleasure. She refused to close her eyes, as if this moment of thrilling ecstasy would disappear when she looked away. That the Inspector would vanish, his lovemaking and his honeyed forgiveness along with him. He was really there, plunging his cock deeper and deeper between her legs, sending flashes of light over her vision and heat through her core. Her fingers gripped tighter in his hair, unwilling to let it go. With her other hand, she wandered everywhere over his side, along his back, light and scratching in her touch. All thoughts and worries vanished, his thrusting building speed faster and faster, deeper and deeper. Blinding heat rose from the inside outwards, consuming every nerve it touched as it raced up her back. Clutching his hair tighter in her fist, Cécelie cried out in her pleasure and her pain.
Her body rose up against his, and every muscle tightened beneath him and around him. Constricting around his cock as though she meant to hold his hardness within her. So tight, so warm, he drove faster into her, gripping her round breast painfully tight in his hand. And she cried out again, her hips rising beneath his, sending a burst of heat through his body, releasing the relentless pressure from inside him.
A groan escaped from his throat as everything left him. He rested his head on her shoulder, feeling her hand unclench from his hair and brush tenderly through its long darkness.
He left her inner warmth, breathing in her scent as he tried to steady himself. The heady scent of roses perfumed her skin, everywhere on her body. The skin of her shoulder. The flesh of her breasts. All of it covered in the intoxicating fragrance.
Her hands caressed his hair, drawing his mouth to hover over hers. But he didn't bring his lips to her mouth. Aiming lower, he sucked and nuzzled the creamy skin of her bosom, teasing one pink peak in his mouth, then the other. As she moaned and sighed at his attentions, he nipped the milk-white fullness, entranced by their velvet softness.
With all his strength, he pulled himself away from her, occupying his unsettled mind by retrieving his clothes. Disturbing that his blood still pounded, that his muscles still craved more. He sneered into the darkness as he fastened the final buttons to his jacket and straightened his cravat. Must be the gypsy in him, impossible to eradicate completely.
He reached to pick up his hat from the chair, but it was gone.
Javert spun around, halting suddenly in place at what stood behind him. Cécelie stood wrapped in a bed sheet, proffering the plain black bicorn in her palms. It was a simple offering from her polluted hands. Her eyes scanned demurely over his face, waiting patiently for his acceptance.
"Precisely at eight o'clock in the morning then, Monsieur l'inspecteur?" she inquired reservedly as he took the hat from her and straightened it over his hair, perfectly and methodically retied in his queue.
"Not a second later, Rénauld." His reply was cold, his face unmoving and flinty as he opened the door.
She caught his hand before he even had a chance to release the doorknob from his grip. "Of course," she ventured with a hint of flirtation in her voice, "but if I were late, I would find your forgiveness ready to consume me again, would I not?"
A slight sneered twitched at his lip, but Javert would not let the chill shatter around his heart only to fan back into flames of anger. A twisted smile formed as he noticed only a mere glimmer of defiance in the blue of her eye. Then, grabbing her hand in his, he pulled her barely-covered body against his, pressing his mouth to hers one last time.
Then he pushed her decisively away, stepping into the empty hall. "As you well know now," he said softly but clearly, "my forgiveness is not something readily bestowed. Do not expect to find it so easily. Do not seek it again."
"Oui, Monsieur," she replied before shutting the door noiselessly.
In the few steps he took crossing to his own room, Javert allowed a silent chuckle to rise from the depths of his throat. The revolution was quelled in the lights of her eyes, the disturbance eradicated from the melody of her voice. He had beaten her at last, the mere mention of forgiveness enough to lure the wolf into domesticity. Forgiveness, he sneered as he finally entered his own room, was a word and nothing more.
Javert counted on the power of a promise to prevent trouble. But what the Inspector had not counted on was a pair of observing eyes and acute ears in the chamber across the hall. Eyes and ears of an authority greater than his own, even, spending a late night in a vacant attic room. The eyes and ears of Commissioner Genot, himself.