Disclaimer: The Mentalist show and characters are the property of Bruno Heller, Primrose Hill Productions, Warner Bros. Television, CBS,…
Author's Notes: Apparently all your kind reviews motivated me enough to write a second chapter so soon. I also want to thank my anonymous reviewers; your insights were welcome. This part is a bit more graphic, I hope it's not too much.
Enjoy.
The fourth time brought change.
The second and third times were a quasi-perfect replica of the first time. The only difference was the bar and the hotel. Every time they chose a different place to have a drink and have sex. She didn't know why. At least that's what she told herself.
In reality the reason was quite simple. Going to the same place every time meant that people started asking questions and tried to get to know more about their customers. She didn't want that. She wanted anonymity. She didn't want to be recognized. She simply wanted to have a drink with a coworker and end up in bed with him. It was nobody's business but her own.
People looked at them with disdain when they were together. It was no doubt because they noticed his wedding ring while her finger was obviously bare. It annoyed her. She had never understood why people always felt the need to judge and make up stories. Sometimes she wanted to blurt out that his wife was dead and that they just used each other for meaningless but great sex. She never did because she valued their privacy too much. She suspected that Jane knew how she felt about it, yet he never said a word.
She hated to admit that she started to like what they had. It was still wild and hard but they were slowly getting to know each other's bodies. What they liked and what made them moan and groan. It was a slow and sometimes difficult process. She knew that some of her moves reminded him of his wife. She saw it in his eyes. The look of sudden remembrance followed by pain, guilt and sorrow. Unconsciously her brain and body saved those moves so that she couldn't repeat them.
What they had. It sounded ridiculous. They had nothing. It wasn't a romantic relationship. It wasn't even friends with benefits. It was sex between coworkers. They hadn't become closer since that first time. They hadn't suddenly become friends. Friends saw each other outside of work; friends talked to each other about trivial and important things; friends were there for each other in times of need.
All they gained from those nights was a deeper understanding of themselves and the addictive need for release they both shared. It wasn't healthy nor was it destructive. It wasn't bad or wrong. It was cathartic and pleasurable. Like right now.
She moved over him with practiced ease, the muscles in her thighs twitching with the repetitive movement of her hips going up and down. She used her hands on his stomach for leverage. Her back arched when she felt his fingers pinch her nipples. Her internal muscles squeezed him like a vice and she could feel his penis getting larger inside of her. He was close and that was incentive enough to move more rapidly. Her satisfaction was deep when she felt him coming. His cock was pulsing and his body tensed. She continued her rhythmic up and down, trying to prolong his pleasure. It gave her a thrill to milk her partner for all that he had. It made her feel powerful; like a goddess.
She could feel him starting to relax after a few minutes and she collapsed onto him, exhausted. She hadn't come but her energy had left her. She felt drained and limp. They stayed like that until their heartbeats slowed down. He carefully lifted her and laid her down next to him so that he could go into the bathroom for his cleaning ritual.
For once her eyes were closed when he came back, she was on the edge of falling into a deep sleep. The bed dipped under his weight when he joined her. She felt him move closer to her and was going to ask him what he wanted when his fingers touched her stomach. Her eyes flew open in shock. She couldn't move as his hand slowly traveled downward. She kept her gaze fixed to the ceiling as she spread her legs and let him pleasure her.
Her orgasm came hard and fast. When she became aware of her surroundings again he was lying on his side of the bed with his eyes closed. She didn't say anything, her thoughts a jumbled mess. Why had he done that? Normally she was the one to take care of herself. He had never tried to do that before. She always thought he liked to watch and feel.
She didn't understand what this meant. Did he want to repay her? Did he do it because he felt inadequate that he never got her off before himself? Was it a sign of wanting more intimacy? She didn't know. All she knew was that she was too afraid to ask him. Too afraid of what his answer would be. She thought they had been clear with each other when they silently agreed on sex only? She couldn't deal with more than that. More meant that they had to become closer. She didn't want that. She wanted meaningless sex. She was happy and content with it. Why did he always have to complicate things?
Oh God. This meant they had to talk about it. They never talked about their arrangement, another silent agreement. It all happened in their silence. They used silence as a refuge, trying to ignore it was really happening. They never talked, be it during or after sex. Maybe it was time they did?
Confused and full of questions she finally fell into a restless sleep.
The morning after was like the others. They showered, dressed, drove back to work and didn't mention what happened. She went home and when she came back her habitual coffee and muffin were waiting for her on her desk. For the first time she was hesitant to go greet her team and smile her thanks. After a pointless internal debate she squared her shoulders and decided to bite the dust. Her smile froze when she noticed the empty couch.
The fourth time brought change. She didn't like it.