Please Note: This chapter has adult content so if you're easily offended, you might want to leave now.

Disclaimer: I still don't own anything……

Thanks Em :-)

Requiem for a love affair

Chapter 9

Harry opened his eyes, aware the right-hand side of his body felt colder; the soft, warm presence that had been there now missing. He turned his head and saw Ruth silhouetted by the window, the early morning light just starting to filter through a gap in the curtains. She had her back to the room and was unaware he had got out bed until he was standing behind her. She turned to face him as he said her name.

"Ruth? Are you alright?"

"Yes… no, I-I'm not sure. I've been having these dreams, well…nightmares really," she pulled the edges of the thin robe she was wearing together; "you are here, with me. As near to me as you are now." She moved her hands so they rested against his chest and he pulled her closer.

"Go on."

"I can feel your heartbeat under my fingers," her right hand skimmed across his skin as she spoke, coming to rest when she found the steady rhythm. "When I ask you to make love to me, you tell me you can't because you're not really here, you're dead…" Her voice was barely a whisper as she continued, "and then you're gone and I wake up crying."

He was silent for a few moments before responding, "Ruth…" he said her name softly and lifted her chin up so he could look into her eyes, "ask me."

There was a moment of confusion before she realised what he meant.

"Make love to me Harry."

His lips met hers in a sensual kiss before he deftly removed her robe, letting it glide over her shoulders before it fell to the floor. He walked them backwards to the bed and pulled her down on top of him as the back of his legs made contact with the edge of the mattress. Before she had a chance to straddle him, he rolled her onto her back, pinning her to the bed. Her left leg was between both of his and he could feel her need for him as she ground against his thigh. He caught hold of her wrists and moved her arms above her head, never breaking eye contact with her as he sought her permission to continue, which she freely gave. Their mouths locked together again in a hungry kiss, lips and tongues desperate for contact.

Gasping, he moved his mouth across her chin and then down her neck, his hot kisses leaving a burning trail on her skin. She moaned softly as he pressed the tip of his tongue into her pulse point before gently sucking on the skin as she arched up towards him. His lips traced across her collar bone before starting a tender journey along her right arm, his teeth nipping gently at the sensitive skin. When he got to her hand, he kissed the palm before biting on the soft mound of flesh under her thumb. He could feel her ragged breaths, hot against his body, as he brushed his mouth over her fingers.

He repeated the process, in reverse order, down her left arm. By the time his mouth met hers again, Ruth was frantic with desire and she sucked his tongue greedily. Harry released her wrists as he moved down her chest and she took the opportunity to grasp his head and press him against her skin. His response was to intensify his efforts as every kiss sought forgiveness and every touch begged for absolution for the pain he had caused her.

He lavished attention on her breasts, kissing and sucking her nipples as she writhed underneath him. The tortuously slow descent of his mouth down her stomach elicited soft moans of pleasure from her, which further enflamed his own desire. His lips moved to her hip and he planted tender kisses on her skin as he caressed her wetness, lovingly tracing the soft, damp folds. His attempts to move down her inner thigh were stopped by Ruth tugging on his hair and he rewarded her by stroking his tongue across her heat as his fingers moved inside her.

Her body shook with the force of her orgasm and Harry lifted his head up so he could look at her face. Her eyes opened as her breathing slowed and he saw the yearning in them. He moved slowly back up her body, placing light kisses on her skin before settling between her legs. He entered her slowly, using her reactions to guide him. He increased his speed as she wrapped her legs round his waist and murmured encouragement in his ear.

His hair was damp with sweat and she could feel beads of perspiration on his back; she knew he was tiring as he fought to hold on, trying to bring her release. She whispered in his ear, giving him the redemption he longed for and she felt him pulsating inside her as he gave in to his body's demands. It was enough to push her over the edge and she surrendered herself to the sensation, vaguely aware of his face, wet with tears, buried in her shoulder.

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Ruth propped herself up on one elbow and studied Harry. At some point they had disentangled themselves and he had ended up laying half on his side and half on his stomach. His left arm was bent up in front of his face as if he was shielding himself from some unseen night terror, while his right hung loosely over the side of the bed. Her fingers traced over the various scars on his back. She knew where some of them had come from; she'd had more than one illicit trawl through his file. Her hand paused as it touched a small mark on his side – a knife wound. He had suffered a punctured lung on that occasion. Then there was the mottled patch of skin on his right shoulder where he'd made contact with the tarmac as he'd been thrown from a car in Belfast. But that had not been the worst damage he had suffered on that occasion; the brutal beating he had received before being deposited in the road like a bag of rubbish was far more horrific.

She shuddered, wishing she had never read the detailed, clinical description or looked at the photographs of his injuries; 'evidential photographs' as they were coldly described. The doctors hadn't expected him to survive and Ruth took a deep breath, trying to quell the nausea she could feel rising. She had been physically sick after she'd read the report. He had been beaten repeatedly over a period of seventy-two hours; half his ribs had been fractured, all the fingers on his left hand were broken and he'd suffered internal bleeding and concussion. The damage had been compounded by the freezing cold weather, which had brought on hypothermia by the time he was found. But he'd defiantly clung on to life thereby thwarting his attackers. He had also discharged himself early from hospital, a habit he'd obviously not been able to break.

Her hand moved lower, pausing over some fresh grazes on the small of his back. There were bruises beginning to appear underneath them and, as she pressed her fingers into his flesh, he flinched and mumbled something.

Ruth leant over him and kissed the side of his face. "Sorry. I was wondering where you got those scratches from."

Harry twisted his head slightly and smiled sleepily at her. "Your kitchen floor. Stone flags aren't the most comfortable surface."

She apologised again and pressed her lips to his.

"Doesn't matter," he murmured. He shifted slightly and pulled her head down so he could kiss her more deeply.

"Harry…" she reluctantly reclaimed her mouth, "I need to get up, Claudia's dropping in at some point this morning."

"Who's Claudia and can't you put her off?"

"My neighbour and no, she's been very good to me."

"Stay for a bit longer, please. Keep me company."

He looked incredibly vulnerable and, for a moment, she was transported back to the roof of Thames House and a hesitant dinner invitation. "You're exhausted and need to rest." As Ruth spoke, he attempted to roll onto his back but she stopped him. "I'll stay if you go to sleep. Go on," she pressed against him, moulding her body into his.

"Still stubborn," he muttered into his pillow before reaching for her hand and pulling her arm round him, holding her fingers against his chest.

She smiled to herself before kissing his shoulder and resting the side of her face against his back. As she listened to him breathing, she whispered into his skin, "and you're still pig-headed," before drifting off to sleep.

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