Conditioned Aversion7
John rolled them over suddenly. Moira was beneath him again. Sweaty, hot skin sliding along his. Bodies pressing, pressing intimately. He kissed her. Hands stroking. Guiding. "Let me make it up to you, sweetheart. Sweet and slow. Just sex, Moira. Making love." His mouth wandered.
Moira sighed pleasantly. Surrendering. "Yes, John, oh yes..." But she tensed as he stopped. Hand sliding along her inner thigh.
"Moira? What's this?" He traced the cuts along her skin. Kissed them, running his tongue along the deep scratches. Making her murmur, move. He considered her earlier words. "Moira? You did this, didn't you?" he realized.
"Yes." She could barely think as he kissed up them again, up her thigh. So close, so close to her most intimate area. She moaned, arched, thighs parting for him. Unable to stop as she flooded. As his fingers played along her thighs, then her crotch. Probing. Stroking. "Oh John, oh John," she breathed warmly.
He kissed her skin again, slid up to kiss her breasts. Up again to nuzzle her throat, nibble her earlobe. Catch her mouth. "Moira, my Moira...one of those old habits? You cut yourself after the fiancee...oh baby, oh baby."
"Just love me, John, love me," she urged, pulling him close. Closer.
"Baby, it must have been bad for you to do that to yourself. Now, and back then. Back when he–"
"Yes. Yes," she answered, kissing him. "John, John, you have no idea, no idea how...how..."
"It's all right, Moira," he soothed, seeing she was on the brink of tears again. "Tell me later. In your own time. Drunk or not. I love you. Nothing will change that."
"But you don't know. You'll leave me, John, because everyone leaves me when I love them, or, or dies...you could have died to protect me!" The anguish leaked out of her. The fear.
"Not me. Not ever." He kissed her, entered her slowly, gently. She gasped in reaction, pleasure as he started a slow, steady rhythm. "Moira, I'm going to make love to you like I should have the first time. I'll drown you in my love and sex. Give me all that sorrow and guilt, baby. Give me all of your demons."
"Oh John, oh John!" she whispered intently as he kissed her. Groaning softly as he became hard, harder still. Moving to give her slow but maximum pleasure. Not as frenzied as earlier, letting her guide the pace, the passion this time. Moira relaxed into the gentle, loving intercourse. Felt the orgasm closer, closer. Pleasure circling, circling as he moved just a little faster. His mouth on hers, on her throat, on her breasts. Gentle, seductive kisses. Hands caressing, cajoling. Entwined intimately. "Oh John! John, John, John," she enthused in a whimper, coming pleasurably, sharply but comfortably.
"Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck," he rejoined, coming sweetly. A sensual release, pleasant. Enjoyable. He thrust once more, a quick, hard release that made him groan. Made her writhe, gasp as she flooded with orgasm again. He thrust a few more times, very fast to make her squirm, moan. He kissed her deeply, tongue gliding into her mouth. Hands caressing her breasts, then her sides, hips as he pulled out of her. He rolled them so she was on top of him. "Go to sleep, baby. I'm exhausted."
"Oh John...oh John..." she purred. Happy. Content. Pleasured. Sated at the moment. Calm.
He smiled, relaxing. "God I missed that! I missed oh John so much it hurt," he confessed. "My Moira...so sweet. So fucking sweet. We'll never be apart like this again. I swear." He pulled the blankets over them. "Go to sleep, baby. We can get dinner later."
She snuggled comfortably on him. "I missed sleeping on top of you, sweetie. So nice, so warm. So solid. Protective," she muttered, succumbing to fatigue. To security. To his love.
"Wow. You're falling asleep right after sex? That's a first," he noted fondly. Closed his eyes.
"Shut up, John."
"I missed that too."
"Sure you did, sweetie."
John woke. Stirred. Moira was still sprawled on top of him, fast asleep. He kissed her. Brushed her hair tenderly from her face. Enjoyed the quiet moment. The warmth of their bodies. Hot, sticky, entwined after sex. Gently he scooted out from underneath her, slipped out of the bed. Moved to the bathroom to relieve himself. He washed his hands, face. Stared at himself in the mirror. Fingered the cut above his eye. On his side. He returned to the bedroom. Moira was still asleep. He stepped to the window, peered out to see the sleet storm. Icy rain turning to a wet snowfall. He lifted the phone to order food, suddenly hungry.
Moira stirred, reaching, reaching. Hand sliding along the big bed. She woke, hearing John's quiet voice. Relaxed. The moment of panic easing. She sat and smiled broadly. He was standing near the table. His back to her, giving her a delicious view of his naked body. Broad shoulders, long back, firm rear, strong legs. She smirked. "Jo-hn," she called in a sing-song voice. Teasing. Tempting.
He smiled but kept talking. "And a bottle of your finest wine...yes, that will do. And–"
"Colonel, as much as I enjoy the sight of that fine, fine six of yours get it back into bed with me," she wooed.
He tried not to laugh. "Better make it two hours," he amended. Cock stirring at her invitation.
"Move it, soldier! Move that fine, fine ass of yours!"
"Moira!" he scolded, hung up the phone. "I was ordering dinner. In two hours." He turned, moved back to the bed, giving her a full view of him head to toes. Her eyes wandered. "Geez!" he complained with a smile, getting under the covers next to her.
"Damn, John. I'd forgotten how gorgeous you are...you really are amazingly gorgeous! I mean, my God...how the hell did I ever end up with you? And that ordnance...wow...it's just as–"
"Hilarious, Moira. Shut up." He kissed her, pushed her onto her back. Moved onto her. "I ordered dinner."
"You already said that. Want to work up an appetite, sweetie?"
He grinned. "Hell yes, baby." He rolled them so she was on top. "Ride me, baby. Ride me hard. I want to watch."
"Kinky," she noted, but kissed him. Teased his mouth, nibbled his lower lip. Circled his ear and bit to make him groan. Become aroused. She slid down his chest, arms, carefully kissing around a cut here, a bruise there. Shifting, flinging the covers off to lift her rear, to wiggle it. Her breasts brushing along his torso. She sat and straddled him. Took him into her with a satisfied sigh. He gazed upon her happily. Hands on her thighs.
Moira rocked, gyrating. Moving up and down, up and down in an increasing excitement. Pleasure rolling as she guided him along every fold, along every sensitive spot over and over. She gave herself over to it, knowing he was staring, getting wildly aroused by watching her, by feeling her, by the way she was taking him. She closed her eyes, head flung back, hair flying. Body arching, tensing as she clenched hard on him, moving faster. Whimpers and moans escaping her parted, rosy lips. He felt so big, so hard inside her. Jerking with his own thrusting motions, reactions.
John lifted his hips, thrusting up into her harder, reveling in the feel of her. Of watching their vigorous, noisy joining. Finding her utterly beautiful as she pleasured herself on him, with him. The motions of her body, riding him. Arching, tensing. Breasts bobbing, thighs parting wider. Her soft sounds, moans of pleasure, sighs of desire fulfilled. Soon to culminate in the rush to release, to climax. She was moving faster now, faster, rocking wildly on him. Whimpers and cries telling him the orgasm was upon her, would sweep her away in seconds now. Her shapely rear bouncing, bouncing on him.
"John! Oh John, John, John!" The litany burst out of her as she came.
"Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!" he rejoined, rushing after her. Doubly aroused by the physical consummation of their passion and the sight of her coming hard, fast. "Fuck!" He sat and thrust deeper, faster. Grabbed her rear to squeeze, to keep her in place lest she fall off him.
"John!"she cried, startled. Legs sprawled around him, on him as he took her again. She grabbed onto him, riding him wildly now as he increased the momentum. She kissed him, over and over, suddenly bit his ear hard as another burst of pleasure made her throb mercilessly. He groaned, grunted and came with a shudder. So deep within her he thought he'd never get out. Not that he wanted to, not just yet as they were tangled tightly together now. Joined as close as two people could ever be, as a man and woman ever could be.
"Fuck! Moira, all the way, baby, all the way to that sweet center!" he growled, squeezing her rear, all but shoving her onto his still erect cock. She whimpered, squirming but he kissed her. A long, deep kiss, tongue thrusting in time to his cock. Bodies rocking, rocking until he came with a violent shudder. "Fuck, oh fuck that was exquisite!" he hoarsely commented. Freed her to fall back onto the bed. Breathing heavily. "Moira."
Moira was dizzy. The raw, sexual passion almost too much, too fast, too intimate. She lifted to free him. She nearly fell beside him. "John...oh John...my God! I...you, you give me an orgasm every fucking time! Every...more than one...you...you..."
He laughed. "Is that a complaint?"
"No."
He laughed heartily. "Good! I'd hate to change my style now." He stretched languidly, but sat. "I'm starving! Where the hell is our food? Oh. Don't you get dressed, baby."
"What? I'm not eating naked!"
He laughed. "Why not? I told you, baby, you don't need clothes for at least two days." He got of the bed, moved to the bathroom. Returned in a heavy white robe that fell to his knees. He had it loosely belted, giving her an enticing view of his chest. Dark hairs framed by the white fabric. "There's another one in there for you."
She frowned. "Gee, thanks, sweetie. You could have brought it to me."
He smirked. "And miss seeing you get out that bed naked? Hell no." There was a knock on the door. "You better go now, baby, or the bellhop is going to get a very special tip."
"Hilarious, John!" She scrambled out of the sheets, rushed to the bathroom.
He wolf-whistled, laughed. Moved to the door. "Ah. Thank you." He watched the bellhop roll in a tray filled with covered plates and serving dishes. He produced plates, utensils, set the table for them. Goblets of fine crystal. A bottle of wine. A vase full of roses for the center of the table. Rich red blooms. John glanced back at the bathroom. The door was still closed. Water was running. He looked at the bellhop. "Any word on the package?"
"Tomorrow, sir. They're expressing it."
"Good. Good. Here." John snatched his wallet from his pants, gave him another one hundred dollar bill. "No interruptions like before. And if that package makes it here before noon I will double that."
"Yes, sir! Anything else?"
"No. That's all. Thanks." He closed the door. Locked it. "Moira!" he called, moving to the table. "Food's here! Moira!" he barked.
She opened the door. Emerged wrapped in the robe. Her hair flowing down her back. "John! Don't order me like one of your marines!"
He laughed. "Get that pert little ass over here, now! I'm starving! Moira!"
"John, shut up!" She laughed as he did. She sat next to him. Smiled. Touched the scarlet roses. "Aw..."
"Would you like some wine?"
"A little, thank you. What time is it?" She caught his wrist, turned to see his watch. "Twenty-two hundred...ten o'clock? Why can't you have a normal watch?"
"I do." He poured her some wine, poured himself some. "Wait," he cautioned, before she could take a bite. She had removed the covers, was busily heaping food onto both of their plates.
"What? This looks delicious! Like Thanksgiving! Turkey, dressing, potatoes, rolls, gravy, and cranberry sauce! Come on, you must be as eager to devour this as I am," she teased.
He smiled. "True, but wait. A toast."
She stared. Lifted her glass as he lifted his. The mulberry liquid swirled in the crystal goblets. They turned to each other, bumping knees which made them laugh. "A toast? Oh, this should be good. Let me guess, something about sex? About multiples?"
He laughed. "That's for later. I'm serious, Moira. A toast." He sobered. "Do you know what tomorrow is, sweetheart?"
She smirked. "Tomorrow? Hmm...let me think. What could tomorrow be? Well, it's probably not tease John's cock day, because I am already doing that. It's not pleasure Moira out of her mind day, because you are already doing that. Gee, I'm stumped."
He smirked. "Moira!" he scolded, trying not to laugh. "I'm serious. A toast."
She sighed. "Fine. Will you do it already before the food gets cold?"
He laughed. "Shit, Moira!" He sobered. "I'm trying to be romantic here, all right?"
"Oh? Oh! Sorry, sweetie!" She kissed him. "Go ahead. A toast. Good luck!"
He shook his head, sighed. "You really don't know what tomorrow is, Moira?"
"No. Apparently tonight is let's starve Moira, though." At his scowl she shrugged. "What, then? Our last day here, right? Before we return to Atlantis."
He smiled. "Yes. A toast. It also happens to be our six-month wedding anniversary, baby. As of tomorrow we will have been married for six months. Doesn't seem like it, though. So...to us." He clinked his glass against hers, drank. Licked his lips. "Moira? I'm surprised you didn't know. Okay, yes, Carson did remind me but I knew it was coming up," he admitted.
Moira was staring at him, utterly charmed, enamored, startled. "I...I've been a little pre-occupied, sweetie. I'm shocked you knew, but you said that Carson reminded you. Of course." She drank the wine, downed nearly half the glass to his surprise. "Ooh, that's fruity. Like strawberries. You're right, John, it doesn't seem like six months. We've been apart for three, almost four."
He touched her thigh, kissed her. Savoring the softness of her lips. The taste of the wine. "I know, sweetheart. But never again. Let's eat." He began to enjoy the food.
Moira started on hers. "And, and we've known each other longer. We've been together longer than six months, so it is longer than six months," she babbled.
"Yes." He glanced at her, wondering at her sudden tension. "Moira?"
"We've been together longer than that, John!"
"Yes, sweetheart, we have," he assured. "Am I missing something?"
"No. Yes. No." She sighed. "Eat. It's nothing. Just the past again. Six months. I'm sorry, John, I didn't mean to ruin it! This is lovely, so lovely! You are lovely to remember, even if you had to be prompted by Carson!"
"Moira, it's all right. You can tell me later, if you wish."
She relaxed. "Sorry."
"No. No apologies. This is pretty good, isn't it?" he diverted to the food.
"Yes. Not as good as mom's, well, grandma's, but oh..." She had seen his reaction. Quick as it was. The sudden cessation of movement, of relaxation. A hardness that came and went so swiftly she would have missed it if she had not been staring at him. "Shit. I'm sorry, John...I stepped into it again."
"It's all right, Moira," he soothed, met her gaze.
She kissed him. "Who knew a turkey dinner could be such a minefield?"
"Or a six-month anniversary?" he agreed.
"Face it, sweetie...we are really fucked up, aren't we?"
He smiled, relaxing again. Poured more wine for both of them. "Yes, baby, I guess we are. A toast to being fucked up?"
She smiled. "I don't think so. At least we understand each other."
"Yes, thank goodness!"