*Note* Consider yourself warned, this chapter is smut heavy!

Chapter 11 - Strangers

They'd moved on from that house more quickly than usual. Doyle had suggested that it might be a good idea to find another place with a wood burning stove, and Emily had agreed a little too quickly, her eyes deliberately avoiding both him, and the sofa where they'd sat and read the night before. He didn't say anything about her skittishness, and in a way he was glad that she wouldn't look at him. It meant that she couldn't see the shame in his eyes.

They moved on, heading North as always and staying within more rural areas in the hope of finding a house with a wood burner. The weather was getting cooler, and alcohol only helped so much when it came to keeping warm. And the more tense Doyle became, the more he realised that drinking was not a good idea.

It was early afternoon when they found a suitable place, and they went about their usual duties getting set up and settled in. Doyle was outside, chopping some wood for the stove when he heard Emily call his name from the front doorway. He looked up, and she gestured over at the road.

Two figures were walking towards their house, backpacks on and hoods up. It was hard to make them out clearly, but Doyle figured a man and a woman. They were walking normally, no evidence of the unnatural, jerky movements of the Infected, but the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He placed the axe down on the ground and picked up his M4 from its resting place against the wall of the house.

"Go inside," he said, voice terse with the adrenaline pumping through his body. He looked back at Emily to make sure she understood, but she just huffed and stepped out into the garden.

"Don't be ridiculous," she replied. "They're the first people we've seen since the outbreak. Maybe they have news."

"Or maybe they want to fucking kill us and take our gear," he countered, reaching out to hold her back, but Emily shrugged away.

"Do you think they'd have made it this far without gear of their own?"

"That's not the point, Em."

Emily just snorted as she walked through the garden and out onto the road. The two strangers were only about a minute away, and she turned to them and waved. They waved back, and started to jog to come to meet her.

Pete and Anna were brother and sister, or so they said, and Emily had welcomed them into the house as if they were long lost fucking relatives. Doyle hung back, nodding his head in acknowledgement as Emily tried to introduce them, his hand dancing along the trigger of his M4, itching for a reason to use it.

He'd never seen Emily so animated and friendly before - certainly not with him, and it set him on edge. By the time he forced himself to go back into the house, she had sat them down at the table and broken out the packet of only slightly out of date chocolate digestives that she had previously insisted were for the most special of occasions.

Emily was chatting away to Pete, staring up at his stupid fucking puppy dog brown eyes and smiling and insisting he have another fucking biscuit. Anna looked up at Doyle as he entered the room and smiled, licking along her top lip in a way that he would have found sexy if he hadn't already decided that he wanted to kill them. So maybe they really were brother and sister. Or maybe Pete just wasn't Anna's thing and she'd friend-zoned the stiff-upper-lipped bastard in the same way that Emily had done to him. Either way, he didn't like the situation one bit. The entire fucking country was empty, and they just happened to stumble across each others' paths? Nope. No fucking way.

She got up to make dinner, insisting that Pete and Anna stay the night and that they had plenty to share. Doyle finished securing the house and sat himself down on the couch out of the way. Pete decided to 'help' Emily, which apparently consisted of opening cupboards, saying "hmm" a lot, and accidentally bumping into her ass every thirty seconds. And she fucking giggled at all of his awkward shitty jokes.

Doyle tried to look busy, but he couldn't concentrate on anything other than his own anger. Then Anna got up from her seat at the kitchen table and sat herself down next to him, uncomfortably close. Her thigh was pressing against his, and she leaned into him and stroked her fingers along his jaw.

"Hello handsome," she murmured, smiling as she saw him blush. "I remember you from District One. Weren't you one of the sniper team?"

"I was," he admitted, shifting his weight as he felt his cock start to stir. She was young and blonde and flirty, exactly the type that he would have gone for if he'd wanted a night of company back before the shit had hit the fan. Her legs were long and lithe, and she was showing them off in the tightest pair of skinny jeans he'd seen in a long while. They were fucking impractical, but damn they made her ass look good.

"Well aren't I glad that we found you," Anna whispered into his ear. She ran her tongue along the side of his throat, leaving a hot trail of her saliva that she then followed with her lips. Doyle closed his eyes and moaned softly, felt her hand rest on his thigh and stroke dangerously close to his cock. She felt good, really fucking good, and the temptation to pull her into his lap and let her ride him was unreal.

But then suddenly Pete was awkwardly clearing his throat and telling them that dinner was ready, and Doyle's eyes snapped open and he shot forward in his seat to hide his painfully large erection. Anna got up and went back to the table, complimenting them on the meal as if nothing had fucking happened. Emily looked over at him questioningly.

"You coming?" she asked.

"Yeah," he replied, knew his voice sounded strained. "In a minute."

She stared at him for another moment until she realised the reason for his hesitation. "Oh. Okay."

She looked away quickly, and Doyle couldn't work out if she was angry or just embarrassed. The last thing he felt like doing was eating, but he sat down at the table surrounded by the artificially bright conversation of embarrassed British people that were too polite to face the elephant in the room. He pushed his food around on his plate until everyone else was done, and prayed that they would all settle for an early night.

—-

Emily woke early and went to prepare some coffee for their stirring visitors. She was relieved to have an excuse to leave the bedroom; things had been painfully strained between her and Doyle since the night of Fifty Shades, and last night just made it even worse.

It shouldn't bother her. She had no claim to Doyle and it was absolutely none of her business if he decided that he liked Anna. But still, she'd felt it like a stab in the heart when she realised that he'd been turned on by the other woman. It was ridiculous, she felt like Emma Thompson when she'd realised that Alan Rickman had bought the necklace for someone other than her. What if Doyle decided that he'd rather be with Anna?

Emily had been so determined to go it alone at first, but now... Now she couldn't imagine carrying on without him beside her. She sighed as she waited for the coffee to brew. The thought of endless days without his easy, practical strength and his earnest eyes and those cute rounded cheeks was harrowing.

If only she had let Doyle scare them off, like he'd wanted.

Pete and Anna made their way downstairs first, lured by the smell of coffee. Emily poured them all a mug full and they sat at the table, mumbling pleasantries until Pete went off in search of the toilet.

"So," Anna said, a sly smile on her lips that made Emily feel uncomfortable. "Are you and Doyle... a thing?"

It seemed perfectly obvious that they were not, but Emily replied as politely as she could. "Oh! Erm, no. No, we aren't like that."

"Oh," Anna said, in badly acted mock surprise. "Well, if that's the case, would you mind if I was to... go wake him up?"

Emily tried her best to suppress her sneer and maintain an even tone of voice. "Of course not. Doyle is a big boy and it's none of my business what he decides to do."

"Fabulous! Well, I'll try to make sure we keep the noise down."

Her superior smile was loathesome as she got up from the table, and as Anna disappeared up the stairs, Emily found herself wishing that the other woman would slip and fall to her death.

A few minutes later Anna stomped back down the stairs, and Emily and Pete glanced at each other awkwardly as she snatched her pack up off the floor. "Come on Pete," she ground out between gritted teeth. "We're leaving."

"Are you alright?" Pete asked. "What happened?"

She glared at Emily, and Emily felt her cheeks redden with embarrassment. "I think we've outstayed our welcome," Anna replied, and Pete pushed back his chair and stood up.

"Right then," he said, looking flustered as he guessed at what had happened during Anna's brief excursion upstairs. "Erm, thank you so much for having us, Emily. Please give our best wishes to Sergeant Doyle."

"No, actually," Anna cut in. "Please don't!" She turned towards the door, and then stopped in her tracks and turned back towards Emily. "Next time you fancy using a stranger to try and tease your tame American up there, I hope it blows up in your bloody face!"

With that, they left, Pete mumbling apologies on his sister's behalf as Anna swore and hissed her way out of the house. Emily locked up behind them, her heart hammering in her chest as she wondered just what the hell had happened upstairs between Doyle and Anna.

She waited a few moments, unsure what to do, until she realized that she could hear Doyle thumping around the bedroom, stuffing things into his go-bag. What the hell was he doing? Leaving? What could have possibly happened to anger him so much?

Emily padded up the stairs as quietly as she could, and stood listening outside the door to their bedroom. He was still shoving things into his bag, his movements careless and aggressive, and entirely out of character compared to the way that he usually handled his gear. She heard him eject the magazine from his M4 and slam it back in with such force that he must have hurt his hand. Doyle never treated his gun with anything other than care and respect.

Her hand trembled as she reached out and pushed the door open. "Doyle?" she asked as she stepped through the doorway. "Are you okay?"

He didn't look at her until he'd finished with his gun and placed it down on the end of the bed. His eyes were dark with fury, the expression on his face suggested that he wanted to kill someone, and Emily felt herself shrink away in alarm.

"I'm just fucking great, Em," he seethed as he turned away from the bed and stepped towards her. "Thanks for asking." His shoulders were tense and his hands were clenching into fists as he regarded her with a look of utter disgust.

"Was…" she started, her voice wavering under the weight of Doyle's fury. She knew the stupidity of her question, but she couldn't think of a single other thing to say. "Was everything ok with Anna?"

He cocked his head to one side as realisation dawned on his face, and his sneer grew deeper. He snorted in derision before he spoke. "She told me that you sent her up here, and the stupid fucker I am, I didn't want to believe her. But you fucking did, didn't you?"

"I-"

"Just fucking shut up, Emily." He stormed back to the bed and finished zipping his pack closed. "You know," he said, a rueful and humourless laugh spilling out as he stalked back towards her. "You don't fucking want me. I get it, I mean you've made that very fucking clear. And I don't push it. But you've still gotta throw that in my fucking face too, haven't you? Every chance you get. You can't just fucking let it go."

"Doyle," Emily pleaded as his eyes blazed into hers. She felt the sting of tears as an overwhelming sense of loss settled into her stomach. "I don't understand what you're saying. Please, don't go. Just talk to me."

"You sent her up here, didn't you?" he demanded. "Just fucking admit it, Emily."

She was quiet for a moment. "Anna wanted to come up here," she said, her voice small. "She asked if we were… together… and I told her we weren't. So she went. And, I mean, it's none of my business who you sleep with, Doyle."

"Did you really think that's what I fucking wanted?"

"I don't know. But like I said, it's not up to me-"

"So, you think… What? I can't have you, so I'll be happy to fuck anything else you throw at me instead?"

"I didn't exactly do any throwing. And you seemed perfectly happy with her attention last night."

"Maybe you thought you could even get rid of me onto them, that it?"

His eyes were agonising as he stared at her, glistening with enough emotion to make his chest heave. The full meaning of his words finally sunk in, and Emily felt her face flush hot with shame. "God, Doyle, no!" she replied, a tear finally running down her reddened cheek. "I… I didn't know. You never said anything."

Doyle's eyes narrowed skeptically. "You didn't fucking know?"

"No! I mean, you were the one campaigning to sleep in separate rooms."

He stepped closer, and she had to tilt her head up to look at him. "You didn't know me, and you had already tried to ditch me once. I didn't want to do anything to make you think I was a fucking asshole."

"But you never even look at me."

"Oh I look at you," he corrected. "I'm just very fucking sneaky."

Emily was silent for a moment as she tried to think of all the reasons why she's been so sure he had no interest in her whatsoever. "You treat me like I'm your stupid little sister."

"You fucking friend-zoned me," he whispered. "So that was the only way I could touch you."

"But you never even tried?"

"You know I fucking did." His voice was dark as he said that, and he looked away, his jaw tightening in shame. They'd never talked about that drunken night, and Emily had started to think that maybe he didn't even remember.

"That was different," she breathed, her heart racing in her chest.

"Why? Because I was a fucking asshole and I tried to corner you?"

"No, Doyle. You didn't do anything wrong."

"Yes I did. I let myself get so fucking drunk that I couldn't hold back anymore. And I held you down and made you tell me shit that you didn't want to fucking share. And it was wrong, but it made me so fucking hot I can't stop thinking about it."

"Doyle… we were drunk."

"Because I'm a fucking coward. Because when I'm sober I'm too fucking afraid that you'll leave."

"You really think that I care so little about you?"

"Yes… I dunno. You push me away every fucking chance you get."

"I don't understand why you think that. It nearly killed me when you went off into the forest on your own."

Doyle frowned, and shook his head. "We speak the same language, but you're like a fucking alien creature. It's like you're cold but you're not, and I don't fucking understand."

"I'm sorry. I'm just…"

"British."

"Well, yes. It's not my fault that you have no concept of how I feel."

"It isn't?"

"I mean, we sleep spooned half naked together, for god's sake."

"We did. And now we don't."

Emily sighed. "Look, that night hurt. I didn't… I didn't want to be the woman you only wanted when you were drunk, or because there was no one else there."

"Jesus," Doyle whispered, stepping closer until she could feel his body heat. "Is that what you really think, that I only want you because I'm fucking desperate?"

She looked away, too afraid to finally see the truth confirmed in his eyes, but he pushed in even closer and lifted her chin until she had to look at him again.

"Do you want me to show you how you really make me fucking feel, baby?" His voice was husky and honeyed again, and he grabbed her by the hands and pushed until her shoulders hit the wall. He slid their hands upwards until he held them trapped on either side of her head. Emily's heart raced again, her body buzzing with tension and burning heat as Doyle leaned his full body against hers.

He was warm and heavy and muscled against her, and Emily whined as she felt the thick outline of his hard cock press against her lower belly. Her head fell back in submission, her body screaming for more, and Doyle leaned in to rake his sharp teeth and stroke his soft lips against her throat. His hips jerked against hers, grinding into her, and her whine turned into a sharp cry as Doyle lifted his head to look at her.

"Do you see what you fucking do to me, Em?" he growled as he let his hips circle into hers. "I think about putting my hands on you every second of every fucking day. I want to fuck you until you lose your god-damned mind, and that wouldn't change even if we had the whole fucking world around us."

"God, Doyle!" Emily whimpered, her body arching against his and she had no control over it. He nuzzled her ear, then scraped the stubble of his beard against her cheek as he edged his mouth a hair away from hers.

"If you don't want this, then tell me to stop," he murmured. "Don't just let me do it to make me fucking feel better. Okay?"

Emily frowned, and felt fresh tears fall down her cheeks. He flinched, released her hands and stepped back, but she grabbed his shirt collar and pulled him back. "Don't go."

"What do you want, Emily? Do you want me to back off?"

"No."

"Then what? Do you want this or not, because I have no fucking idea."

"I just, I've never done this with someone that looks anything like you before."

"What does that even mean?"

"I mean," she replied hurriedly as she spotted the pain in Doyle's eyes. "I mean, look at you. I've only ever been with sensible men with office jobs and bodies like forty year old dads, and you're… you're definitely not that. Nobody like you has ever looked twice at me."

Doyle frowned, then the corners of his mouth turned up into a tiny grin. "You wanna know why? Because grunts are fucking stupid, and we like to pick the easy prey. I took one look at you at District One and I knew that the swagger wouldn't have worked on you. And that terrified me because that's all I fucking had. So no, I wouldn't have let you see me look twice at you. Didn't stop me from watching you through my scope at night, though."

Emily's jaw dropped, and she blushed furiously as she thought about the things he might have seen. "Could you, I mean… Did you watch me when I was in the bloody bathroom?"

"No, course not," he replied, and Emily sighed in relief until he added the rest of his sentence. "You always closed the fucking door."

"You're such a dickhead," she said affectionately, and Doyle smiled back at her.

"Okay," he admitted. "Maybe I didn't explain that as well as I could have. But the point I was trying to make-"

"With your story about how you tried and failed to perv on me in my bathroom through the night vision scope on your sniper rifle?"

"Yes, with that story. My point was supposed to be that we had people all around us back then. And I still watched you, even when there were other people to choose from who might have given me the time of day."

"I think that's maybe the sweetest, creepy thing that anyone has ever said to me."

Doyle smiled a little as he lifted his hand and stroked the pads of his fingers over her cheek. "You're fucking beautiful, Emily."

"Don't be silly," she chided, and he shook his head.

"You are. I don't know how you don't see that. And you saved me from fucking burning to death and from being chewed up by a dog in one day. You've survived the end of the fucking world, twice, with no help and no training. You're a fucking badass, baby. I mean, you can't fucking shoot straight, but you gotta let me have something I'm better at."

Emily blushed and rolled her eyes as she lifted her hand to stroke it against Doyle's cheek. "I'm sure you already know that relationships that start in high stress situations don't tend to end well?"

Doyle wrapped his arms around Emily's back and pulled her in tight, slid his hands into her hair and kissed her forehead. "I don't fucking care."

She snuggled closer and wiped away her tears into the fabric of Doyle's shirt.

"How did this get so fucked up, Em?"

"No idea. We must be pretty stupid."

Doyle loosened his grip around Emily's back and tilted her chin backwards until she looked at him. He stroked his lips against hers, gently, as if he was expecting her to pull away again. Emily trembled, heat flushing her body as she felt him lean back into her. She eased her hands into his hair and urged him against her more firmly, and Doyle moaned into her mouth as he slid his hands onto her backside and pulled her hips against his.

"You sure you want this?" he asked as he came up for air, and Emily smiled a little. They'd made such a mess of trying to understand each other's words and actions up until now, and it was sweet that he wanted to be absolutely sure. But how could she be certain that he'd believe her?

She felt her cheeks burning as she spoke, but for the first time in her life, she didn't chicken out. Emily took Doyle's hand in hers and slid it against the button of her jeans. "Why don't you see for yourself?"

His eyes were suddenly intense as he stared at her. He tangled his right hand in her hair to keep her eyes level with his as he unfastened her pants with his dominant hand and slid inside. She felt his strong fingers whisper against the soaking material of her underwear, and Doyle groaned, his eyelids fluttering in pleasure. He shoved the material out of the way and rubbed a slow, delicate finger from the bottom of her opening to the tip of her clit, and back down.

Emily shuddered, fire burning through her veins and a mewl escaping her mouth as her back arched and hips bucked to urge him closer. Doyle gave her what she needed, twisted his hand so that he could rock the calloused ball of his thumb over her clit while his fingers stroked deeper. He eased his middle finger just inside her opening and she felt herself clamp down on him hard.

"Fuck, Emily," he growled, keening as he felt her muscles fluttering against him. He stayed still for a moment, trembling, and then slid his hand back out of her pants. His fingers glistened with her juices as he held them to his face and sucked them clean. Her cheeks burned, but suddenly he pulled her away from the wall and pushed her down onto the bed, dragging her jeans and thoroughly ruined underwear down her legs and onto the floor.

Doyle kneeled on the floor at the foot of the bed and grabbed Emily by the hips, dragging her closer until her arse was almost at the edge. He slid his palms to her thighs and spread them wide, and she tried to wiggle away in panic.

"Oh god, Doyle, I really need a wash if you're planning on doing that!" she squeaked, and he hooked his arms under her legs and held tight.

"You're going nowhere, mama," he murmured into her thighs, and Emily shuddered as she felt his warm breath tickle her wet flesh. He dipped his head lower, pressed the heat of his tongue against the bottom of her quivering hole and slid upwards all the way to her clit in one firm, broad lick. He repeated the movement again, and again, and if the enthusiasm of his tongue wasn't quite enough to dispel her fear and awkwardness, his long, keening groan of satisfaction certainly did the trick.

Emily slumped back onto the bed, her thighs relaxing as Doyle snuggled even closer, letting his nose and chin nuzzle into her flesh as he circled the tip of his tongue around and then into her hole. She whined, her cunt filling with rolling waves of pleasure as the intimacy of what he was doing took her breath away. He slid his mouth up to her clit and grazed it between his teeth, then fastened his lips over it and started to suck in a strong, pulsing rhythm that had her whimpering and writhing desperately.

"Oh shit, Doyle!" she whined, trying to wiggle free again as the heat of his tongue became overwhelming. He held on tight with one arm, and stroked his left hand up her thigh and onto her soaking flesh. He edged the tip of his middle finger around her opening, teasing, until she keened and clutched at the bedsheets in frustration.

"What?" he asked innocently as he came up for air. His mouth glistened and his eyes were wicked as she stared down at him with a glare that could kill small children. "Something you need, mama?" He eased his finger almost inside her, and then pulled back again, and Emily's hips bucked against the immovable strength of his bicep holding her down. He dipped his head again, kissed and licked over her clit as he repeated the same frustrating wiggle of his evil finger.

"Please!" she begged, and she felt the corners of his mouth twitch into a smile as he slowly slid deeper inside her. She moaned, her muscles grabbing onto him and squeezing as her body drowned in heat. Doyle went back to sucking on her clit as he twisted his finger and stroked against her inner wall, rocking deeper inside her.

"Come on, baby," he whispered between licks and sucks of his mercilessly talented mouth. "Let go and come on my fucking face." He slid a second finger inside her and stretched them gently, fucked inside her harder, and Emily let out an almost pained-sounding whine as she felt her cunt muscles spasm and quiver.

Doyle held her down as she came, and wouldn't move his fingers or his mouth despite Emily's desperate hands clawing at his head. For a moment it was too much, the sensation beyond agonising as she whimpered and shuddered, and then suddenly she was flying, her body burning in pleasure as she was overcome with waves of heat and glorious, slick friction. Her clawing hands were grinding Doyle's mouth into her clit so hard it must have hurt, but he only moaned in satisfaction at her heated cries.

When the tension finally melted from her body, Doyle gently pulled his fingers free and stroked them over the soft fuzz of her pubic hair. He released her thigh from the death grip of his arm and leaned forward, nuzzling his cheek into her abdomen. His stubble burned her skin, but she liked it. Her hands were still in his hair, and she rubbed her fingers against his scalp.

"You okay?"

"Mmm," she replied. "I think I'm broken."

He chuckled softly, and his breath tickled her belly. "I like hearing you lose your shit."

"Mmm?"

He lifted his head to look at her, a devilish grin on his face as he stood up and climbed onto the bed between her legs. "But there's something else I'm gonna love," he whispered, settling his weight over her so that he could plant aching kisses along her throat.

"What's that?" Emily asked, her voice wavering as her breathing became unsteady.

Doyle looked up and met her eyes as he spoke again, and his words made her already aching cunt flutter in embarrassment and filthy anticipation. "Watching you."

He kissed her, sliding his tongue inside her mouth and stroking gently. She could taste herself on his lips and it filled her with guilty pleasure. Emily's hands moved to Doyle's shoulders and were met with the unbearable obstacle of his shirt.

"How do you still have all your clothes on?" she asked, and he put on a pouting face that made him look adorable.

"Because you're cruel and neglectful," he replied, and she laughed as he sat up and helped her peel off his shirt and then kick off his pants. Emily stared, slid her hands to his broad shoulders and then down over the hard, sculpted veiny muscle of his arms.

"Shit, Doyle," she whispered as her fingers worshipped over his body. She was a little amazed to realise that her normally overactive imagination still hadn't done him justice, and he chuckled as he reached for her t-shirt and tugged it over her head. Then his fingers fiddled with her bra and made short work of that, too.

Emily's hands moved shyly at first, still not quite able to shake her disbelief that a man with a body as unbelievable as Doyle's would actually want her. But he moaned deep in his throat as she touched him, his beautifully expressive eyes filled with pleasure, and then even her biggest fears were fading into the background.

He slid his hands up her ribs until he cupped her breasts, bent down and captured a nipple between his teeth then mercilessly lashed at it with the tip of his tongue. Emily keened, then whimpered as he fastened his mouth over her and started to suck. She arched her back and slid her hands into his hair, pulling him closer as he covered her other nipple with his hand and rolled it against his warm palm.

Emily stroked along Doyle's back, feeling the muscles bunch and roll as he circled his hips against hers. He was hot and hard, even through his underwear, and she cursed herself for not getting rid of them when they kicked off his pants.

She pulled him away from her breast and back up to kiss her, and slid her hands to his chest, down over his happy trail and into the waistband of his boxers. She curled her fingers around his shaft and squeezed gently, and Doyle tensed, his hips bucking into her as he closed his eyes and moaned into her neck.

"Fuck, Em," he swore as he lifted his head to look at her again. She pulled her hand away for a moment to lick it, and then stroked back over him, pumping slowly with her slick, wet fist. His eyes fluttered and he moaned, writhing against her as she brushed her thumb over the head of his dick. He grabbed her hand and held her still, buried his head against her ear as he whispered "I can't… You're fucking killing me."

Emily smiled. She slid her other hand along the crack of Doyle's ass until her finger danced against his perineum, and he whined in pleasure. "Bit like what you were doing to me before, then? Is it my turn now?"

He looked at her, eyes following her tongue as she opened her mouth and licked across her top lip. She felt his cock pulse in her hand, and Doyle let out a groan as he stroked his fingers against her tongue, pushed between her lips and let her take them into her mouth. She sucked hungrily, and he slid his fingers in deeper, staring at her with an expression of longing that made her tremble.

Doyle pulled his fingers free and smeared Emily's saliva over her bottom lip, then leaned down to capture her mouth in a hungry kiss. He let go of her hand and cupped her face in both of his, his tongue stealing her breath as she slid her fingers down to stroke over his balls, then back onto his shaft.

He grabbed her hands and pinned them above her head, his cock suddenly grinding against her clit as he keened in pleasure and rocked into her. Emily shuddered, heat flooding her as her body craved even more. She wasn't sure how much Doyle remembered of that drunken conversation that had made him so ashamed earlier, whether he knew how he was affecting her or if he just wanted to keep her still, but the feeling of being held down with his weight on top of her was overwhelmingly hot.

"No." He finally answered her earlier question as he came up for air, and Emily looked up at him, questioning and breathless. "I want to watch you come first."

His grip on her wrists was still unbreakable even one-handed, and Emily wriggled urgently as she felt Doyle slide his hand down between her bodies and onto the slick, wet flesh of her slit. She whimpered, his fingers dragging waves of heated pleasure straight to her core, and then he was pushing them inside her, and she couldn't stand another second more.

"Doyle!" she moaned, desperately trying to escape from the torturous pleasure that he was inflicting upon her. "Please!"

"What is it, mama?" he whispered into her ear, trailing kisses along her throat until his mouth reached her ear again. "Tell me what you want." He twisted his fingers inside her and rocked against her deeper, his thumb dragging over her clit, rough, but with enough lubrication to make the walls of her cunt tighten and flutter with want. "Tell me what you fucking need."

"Please!" she whimpered, her body writhing against him. "Please, just fuck me!"

"That what you want, baby?" he asked as he thrust his fingers deeper inside her until her voice cracked with emotion. "D'you want my cock balls deep inside that beautiful little pink cunt? Huh? Want me to fuck you until you're screaming? Until you lose your fucking mind?"

"Yes!" she begged, too desperate to even care that her face was burning at the things that Doyle was saying. "Please. Please just… I can't. I can't take this anymore."

Doyle slowly slid his fingers free of Emily's body and then lifted them to her face. "Taste that beautiful cunt, baby," he growled, and forced his fingers between her lips. She obeyed, sucking him clean as he stared at her with eyes that were completely wild.

He finally shoved his boxers off his legs and Emily mewled in anticipation as he bumped the head of his cock against her opening. He grabbed her hip to hold her still and pushed, staring into her eyes as he slowly sank his thick, veiny shaft inside her. She arched, hips trembling as her body bucked and screamed for more.

"Fuck," he whispered, thrusting as deep as he could as he leaned down to fuck his tongue between Emily's panting lips. He let go of her hip and she raised her legs and tightened them around his waist, squeezing desperately. He pulled back and rocked into her, slow and hard and deep, and Emily moaned low in her throat.

"Don't stop!" she begged, and Doyle shoved his hand between their bodies again to rub that rough thumb back over her soaking wet clit. She cried out, absolutely wrecked with pleasure, and his eyes fluttered closed as she pulsed around his cock.

"I'm not gonna stop," he replied, breathless as he fucked her faster. "I'm never gonna fucking stop."

His words pushed her back over the edge and Emily whined as she came, her body shuddering as waves of heat stole her breath and her legs went limp and her toes curled in mindless desperation. Doyle slid his hand to her face and whispered to her to open her eyes and look at him, and her cheeks burned as she did as he asked. She would never have done it for anybody else, but this was Doyle and she would do anything to make him happy.

"Jesus, Em," he groaned, his eyes full of emotion and pleasure as he watched her. "You're so fucking beautiful. And I gotta come."

Emily wriggled her arms and he let her go, and she sank one hand into the thick, silky gorgeousness of his hair and slid her other arm around his back, pulling tight. He braced both his arms on the mattress to steady his weight over her as he pounded into her, the muscles of his magnificent body rippling with his powerful thrusts.

"Is this okay?" he asked, and Emily hugged him tighter with her thighs as she locked her legs around his back again.

"God yes!" she replied, desperately trying to pull him closer." Don't stop. I want to feel you come inside me."

His eyes rolled at that, his body trembling as he moaned in pleasure and the rhythm of his thrusts faltered. He writhed, and let out an animalistic grunt as she felt his come pulse hot inside her. His eyes were still on hers but his pupils were unfocused as he let his body slide until his weight pressed her down into the mattress.

Emily bit her lip, her throat choking up with emotion at the sight of Doyle coming completely undone inside her. He came to his senses and moaned into her mouth as he lowered his head and kissed her thoroughly.

"We're never moving from this fucking bed again," he murmured, and Emily smiled against his mouth. She would give anything for that to be possible.