He throws her down and she bounces a little, but he is on her instantly, the length of his lean, hard body pressed against hers. She can already feel his erection pressing into her thigh, and her own traitorous body is responding in kind. She can barely move, less from the weight of him on top of her than the languid softness that has suddenly overtaken her body. He feels nothing like Vaughn, and for that she is eternally grateful. Her arms are pinned at her sides, and she cannot, nor would not, resist him. The logical, professional part of her mind screams that she should stop this, no matter how good it feels, but she knows she won't. It is rare for her to move with any kind of abandon, and after the brutal eggshell life she's been leading these past couple of months, she just wants to feel something normal. Even if this is so completely abnormal—to be feeling this way because of… Sark.
Kissing her neck, he nips her skin hard enough that she knows she'll be bruised, and she arches back against the bed, baring her throat to him. She shudders to feel him slip his hand under her head, his fingertips on her scalp.
"Sydney," he breathes, and she forces herself to focus her eyes back on his face. He looks much younger than she remembered. There are tiny flecks of gold in the blue of his irises, and she notices that he's breathing hard, too.
"What," she lifts her head to peck his lips with her own. "Please, don't stop."
"Is your comm still on," he whispers, mouthing the words more than aspirating them. She silently shakes her head, and he eases off of her so she can remove the earring with the comm hidden in it. She turned it off an hour ago, but now she slips it into her jacket pocket.
She stands in front of him where he sits on the edge of the bed, he draws her close to him, his hands tracing up the backs of her thighs, over her buttocks where they're squeezed into these damn jeans, then up her front to where the zipper of her bustier runs down her midsection. His lips part ever so slightly and he looks at her with his lazy blue eyes as he tugs the zipper down, down, down until the bustier mercifully pops open and she can breathe all the way to the bottom of her lungs. For the first time in 5 hours she can draw a full breath, and she sighs deeply.
"Thank you," she murmurs as he runs his hands up her hard, flat stomach and around her ribcage to her middle back, where her black lace bra is still hooked together.
He doesn't respond, but presses his face against her tummy and she laughs a little as he tickles her with his nose and kisses her navel. He fumbles, uncharacteristic for him, with the clasp on her bra, and finally, she reaches around to help him.
"Sorry," he says, looking up at her and slipping the straps of her bra off over her slender shoulders. His fingers trace the scar on her shoulder, from where Irina shot her, and a shadow of… something passes over his face. But as quickly as a dark spot on the ground from a cloud, it's gone again, and she straddles him to unbutton his shirt. She can feel from the texture of the fabric that it's an expensive make, and she wonders silently how he had the funds to rebuild a wardrobe so quickly. He bites his lower lip a little, watching her hands even as his own hands caress her back.
Their mouths meet again, less desperate this time, as she slips her hands inside the collar of his shirt and pushes the cloth down off his shoulders. He is very smooth, and very warm. He pulls her tight against him, and she trembles as their bare skin meets and she feels her breasts smashed against his chest. It has been so long, but it doesn't feel like it. His thumbs brush gently against the sides of her breasts, and she closes her eyes against the undertow of desire that threatens to suck her into complete submission.
"Shall I turn off the light," he suggests quietly, and she nods, slightly embarrassed. She shimmies off of him and he goes to the door. She lies back on the bed, one arm underneath her head, and unbuttons her agonizingly tight jeans. When the lights flick off, she is surprised at how dark the room actually is. Usually hotels had more light from the window, but then she remembers that the drapes were drawn when she entered the room.
She feels the bed shift with his weight, somewhere near her feet, and then she starts a little as she feels his hand on the side of her hip. His breath is warm against her belly for a split second before she feels his teeth gently nipping at her skin, and she moans as he slowly unzips her jeans. The metal teeth of the zipper slide apart and she shifts a little so that he can get his hands under the waistband of her pants. Already she can feel the delicious, juicy wetness between her legs, and she is beyond shame at how it came to be. He tugs her pants off, leaving the tiny thong in place.
Now he lies beside her, and she is practically slack with desire; he takes her hands and guides them down to his pants, which are still wholly in place. Forget sexy, forget foreplay, she thinks as she undoes the button and zipper, not even disguising her grope to check out his assets. He draws a sharp breath as her fingers trace over his hard-on through the silk of his boxers, and now he lifts her chin with his free hand so that he can kiss her again. She keeps her hand on him, and the kiss seems endless: he bites her lower lip gently, then not so gently, as she strokes him and he arches against her slightly.
"Ow," she giggles, and he pulls away to push off his own pants. She props herself up on her elbows, one knee drawn up so that her foot is flat on the bed, and she hears his pants hit the floor. It is so dark she cannot see anything, but she can hear his breathing, and she would swear she could hear her own heartbeat, it's so strong.
He runs his hand up the outside of her leg, and directs her onto her front. She has butterflies, and she can feel her own heartbeat in her stomach against the bedspread. The heat of his body is near her back, and she shivers as he brushes aside her hair to kiss the back of her neck. He settles onto her, gently, still supporting his weight on his elbows, and she bites her lip when she feels that it wasn't only his pants he took off a second ago.
"Sydney," he breathes against her, "Are you ready?"
"I'm ready for anything," it slips out as easily as a lie.
He chuckles, and his stomach moves against her back as he reaches down and shimmies her thong off. She doesn't move as she feels him slide back on top of her, and when he nudges her legs apart with his knee, she obeys with no hesitation.