She heard about his parents dying in the paper and for some reason it struck a chord with her. Perhaps she ought to go to the funeral tomorrow, she thought. A frown rose to her face, and she shook her head. Why in the world would she even entertain that thought? Just because she'd kissed the man once months ago she now felt obligated to go to his parents funeral?
The remainder of her day off passed without much fanfare, and she went on about her normal day activities. She went to the store and grabbed ribbons, and sewing material, and she spent the day fixing up and old dress. She then went into the garden and plucked up weeds for hours until she was overcome with exhaustion from the sun and from the ending of the day.
Sleep came fitfully, bringing with it the memory of Cassios mouth on hers. When she awoke, it was to find that she had literally soaked the sheets with her sweat. She felt as though she were burning alive inside of her own skin, and the feeling shamed her. Yesterday she'd felt sorry for him, and last night she'd lusted for him. Today was his parents's funeral, and she had come to the conclusion that she had no place there. It wouldn't be right for her to go when all she had done was tease and yell at the poor man.
She washed herself off, and then pulled her hair up into a delicate chiffon. She pulled on a some bloomers and started changing her bedsheets when she heard a loud noise in the living room, indicating that someone had rang her doorbell. As soon as she answered the door arms had encircled her waist, and someone's mouth was on the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder.
"W-who-" she stuttered, totally caught off guard.
"Please," he said, his voice choked. She would know that voice anywhere. "Please. I just need to feel something tonight." She was so confused that she didn't stop to think about her state of dress– nor did she stop to reason why he had chosen to come to her, of all people. There was a time and place for analyzing and cataloguing things, and this was not it.
He kissed her and rush came back. Soon their lips were bitting, and nipping at each other in a frenzied pace. Her breath rushed past her lips, and she pushed into him, seeking some sort of release for the feelings that were building. Just as quickly, his hands moved from their position on her waist to cup her breasts, both kneading and caressing with the same touch. The fire was back, building inside of her, rising to incredible heights, and making her wonder that her touch didn't scorch his smooth skin.
When she moaned and her knees started to give out, he turned her to face him, and instantly their mouths were fused together. He pulled her bloomers down and she kicked them away as her fingers fumbled with the clasp of his dress pants.
Dress pants. Funeral attire.
The realization broke through the haze of lust, and she forced herself to pull away from him, though she was careful not to retreat too far.
"What are we doing?" she breathed through swollen lips.
"I need this," he said, his voice husky and his eyes cloudy. His hands sought her skin again, and before she could come up with any semblance of a reply, his mouth was fastened to hers.
She opened her mouth to protest, but when his hand moved around to cup her bum and give it a gentle squeeze, all that escaped her lips was his name. It came out as a moan. She was about to ask him if he could keep going when she realized that his shoulders were shaking silently. It wasn't until she felt the hot splash on her breast that she realized what was happening.
He was crying.
Her own satisfaction was pushed to the back of her mind as she wrapped her arms around him and began whispering soothing words in his ear. How difficult this must have been for him, she wondered, if he had felt overwhelmed enough to cry in front of her? She managed to disentangle herself, all the while whispering to him, and then led him into her bedroom.
She turned down the sheets and helped him into her bed, and without giving it another thought, she crawled in beside him, enfolding him in her arms once again. He cried silently, never once letting a sound slip past his lips, until the sobs dissolved into hiccups. She smoothed his hair away from his face and whispered until her throat was raw from the effort, and when his breathing steadied in sleep, she snuggled closer to him.