Author's Notes: Thank you to Guest, savinglives44, ParijanTaiyou, grouchysnarky, mstimekeeper, sandlinerica, LiaHuddy, Alex, Ocean'sWriting, Abby, IHeartHouseCuddy, fantasiadvd, and Lana for taking the time to read and review. Most especially thanks to grouchysnarky for providing the inspiration for this fic.
Disclaimer: The show was David Shore's, not mine.
Darker Inclinations
Chapter Three: Justify My Love
By Duckie Nicks
When he picks her up to go to the movies, he's in a great mood. His patient has been diagnosed. His new team has been selected with an additional member he's managed to trick Cuddy into giving him. Wilson's played right into his hand again, and all told, Cuddy's not sure she's ever seen House cheerier. But that is the best way to describe him when she opens the door and sees him standing there with a bouquet of purple, orange, and yellow lilies.
She smiles, the flowers unexpected. He proudly holds them out to her as she says, "You didn't have to do that. Thank you."
He leans in and kisses her briefly. "No problem. It's been a good day."
"I just need to put these in water," she tells him. Turning, she retreats into her home. He doesn't follow her, which she takes to mean that the movie starts soon and they don't have time to waste. She quickly fills a glass with water and places the flowers into the small drinking cup.
Stepping back, she glances at the bouquet. It only takes her a moment to decide that when she gets home, she needs to take the time to find a vase. Right now, only half the lilies have any real access to the water. And since she wants the beautiful flowers to last, they need more care than she's currently giving them.
She doesn't have time to fetch a vase though. House isn't yelling for her to hurry up, but his inherently impatient nature makes irritation likely. Quickly, she grabs her purse off of the kitchen table, turns off the light, and heads back to him.
Wordlessly she locks up the house, and they walk down her front steps to his car, which he has left running. Stupid as that is, she appreciates the gesture, because it means the car is warm when she gets in.
"The flowers really are nice," Cuddy says as he starts to drive away.
"Keep that in mind when you have to find room to pay for a third fellow. Fourth?" he asks in confusion. "Does Foreman still count as –"
"I've already taken care of that."
He's surprised. "Really?"
"I am good at my job."
"Of course. I just didn't think…." His voice trails off. Then he adds, "Guess I didn't have to buy the flowers after all."
Instantly she understands what he means and frowns. With a scoff, she says knowingly, "You only got them so I would be kinder when it came to cutting your department costs."
As soon as she says it, she knows it's true. Probably not even realizing it, he has tried to trade romantic favors in exchange for professional ones.
"No," he denies, shaking his head. As he pulls up to a stoplight, he uses the red light to turn to look at her. "Cuddy. That's not what I did."
She doesn't believe him. "I think you should take me home," she says firmly.
"Really?" He's surprised at her reaction.
"Yes."
He turns the car around at her instruction, but he isn't willing to give up the fight. Regardless of where he's driving, he defends himself, explaining, "I bought the flowers, because I knew you would have to smooth things over with whoever the hell you pimp yourself out to for –"
"You think that's the way to get out of this? Likening me to a prostitute?" She scowls.
"Didn't do that either." But he doesn't finish the thought and starts over. "Letting me have four members on my team meant that you were going to have to sacrifice some time explaining and justifying that to someone else. I didn't buy you the flowers, because I was hoping you would do that. I already knew you would." He's so matter of fact about it that she feels taken for granted. Even though it's the truth, it doesn't exactly help his case. "I could have set a bag of flaming dog crap on your porch as a gift, and you'd still make things better for me, because that's your job. And you're not a complete idiot."
"So this is your way of saying I'm pathetic. Thanks."
He groans in frustration. "No. What I'm saying is: I wanted to thank you. It wasn't a bribe. I don't need to bribe you. But since you're my girlfriend, I felt it was appropriate that I show you that I don't take you for granted."
"Really?"
He shrugs. "It's that simple."
She doesn't say anything at first. Her instinct is to believe him, but then again, he knows she's suspicious. They've just started dating, and there's no doubt in her mind that he doesn't want to anger her. Maybe he's telling the truth, but it's just as likely that he's telling her what she wants to hear so that they can continue their night out at the movies. If the latter is true, she can't find fault with the impulse. After all, if there's a reason she's almost willing to ignore her doubts, it's because she too wants to see where this date will go. They have to do so much just to go out in public together, and she understands why he doesn't want to pass up that opportunity because of a mistake.
But if he has tried to bribe her, that's a pretty big mistake to make. It's not a deal breaker, but he needs to understand and respect that boundary. And she's not saying that he has done those things, that he has failed in some way for sure. She just… needs time to consider what he has said. It's too easy right now to believe him outright and to be manipulated because of it.
"You're not saying anything," he interrupts, perhaps sensing that she hasn't automatically taken him at his word.
She tells him, "I need to think about this."
He looks over at her with dismay, confusion, concern. "And you can't do that at the movies? You need –"
"I need time away from you, yes." It's not worded particularly kindly, but then, she doesn't think there's a nice way of putting it.
"You're mad. You don't believe –"
"No. It's not like that. I just…." She turns her head and looks out the window at the familiar scenery passing by. "I need to know that I'm believing you, because you're being honest, not because I just want to avoid a fight with you."
In the reflection of the passenger side window is his face, more confused than ever. He opens his mouth, shuts it once more, then says slowly, "I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do now."
"Take me home. Give me a few days."
"You want time to think."
"Yes."
"Because you don't trust me?"
Cuddy knows how cliché and pathetic her answer is. "I'm not sure I trust myself right now. With you."
"You've done fine so far." It's not said to placate her. "No one would even know I've been –"
"Let me interrupt before you make another nauseating euphemism," she says in a flat voice. "I know we've kept it together so far. I just want to make sure I'm not letting you walk all over me because –"
"That's not what I'm doing."
"And I'm not saying otherwise. But this relationship only works if we both have boundaries, and right now, I just need to know that professionally we haven't done anything wrong."
"Fine." He sounds angry, and that must not be the emotion he's going for, because he takes a deep breath. Then he adds, "If you need to think about it, all right. I'll drop you off."
"What will you tell Wilson? He'll want to know how the movie was."
"I'll tell him that we fought. It is the truth."
But Cuddy's wrong. Wilson doesn't ask her how things went the next day. In fact, he seems perfectly content to avoid her – almost as much as House is. The latter she understands, appreciates. Part of her is concerned that he has stayed away due to anger; he doesn't seem mad or even irritated, but he is good at hiding the true nature of his thoughts when he wants to. Their relationship is a testament to that fact, and it's possible that inside him is resentment. Yet for all of her wondering, she sees no proof of that. The few interactions they do have are normal, seem that way anyway. Wilson though… she doesn't understand the distance he's placed between them.
In this situation, she expected that he would be in her office first thing to talk about House, to apologize for making her hang out with him. Perhaps knowing that she has had a fight with House, he is avoiding her; he doesn't want to hear her say she'll never help him out again. That's fine by her, she concludes eventually. The less Wilson apologizes, the fewer times she'll have to muster up the conviction necessary to make her agitation seem real.
The last thing she wants is to have the act become a reality for her.
After being dropped off that night, she has come to halt in a state of unease. She cannot describe this as being irritated with House and therefore doesn't want to be triggered into feeling that way when she understands he hasn't done anything wrong. He says he bought her the flowers as a token of appreciation, and she believes him. They're a beautiful bouquet, but if he were bribing her, he would have done something more elaborate or planned it more meticulously. If it were a bribe, it was fundamentally a bad one, an obvious one, something she would clearly reject. But the gift, innocent as it was, has left her wondering if the limits she has listed for him are enough. He wasn't doing anything wrong, but clearly they have given themselves many opportunities to screw this up.
That fact is what keeps her from him now. She's not mad, not convinced he's done something wrong – just… unsure of what needs to be done to keep their private and personal lives separate.
In her head, that was never going to be easy. She always knew that.
She didn't know that that line could be so obscure that they might accidentally cross it.
Yet here they are, brushing so closely to the edge she can feel the drop below her toes and gaze at the bottom of the abyss without any trouble.
So far she's done her best to ignore her initial impulse – to end the relationship immediately. Leaving him seems like the right thing to do, but Cuddy knows she's once again confusing safety and convenience with rightness. Turning her back on her feelings would put an end to this particular complication, but that doesn't make it right. A year ago, she wouldn't have seen that. Now, she can't imagine walking away from House. Whatever the danger, they'll have to find a way to get around it. And if she hasn't gone over to his place or let him over to hers, it's because she needs a solution first. She needs a plan.
Cuddy hates to be caught off guard by the same thing more than once.
The morning after their little fight, she thinks of the list. She's not so stupid that she doesn't think of the most obvious answer. But for the longest time, the wording never seems correct. Given what the list represents, the language matters. Unfortunately the harder she tries to get it right, the worse what she writes sounds. And desperation for the answer leaves her haunted, constantly reworking the idea in her head.
Today it becomes overwhelming while she's eating lunch. As she cuts the larger pieces of lettuce in her salad, she thinks about it.
"Don't do anything that might look like a bribe"? Too vague, she decides. Their entire relationship could fall under that umbrella.
"Don't give me gifts"? That puts them outside the realm of any relationship that could be considered normal. They can't celebrate birthdays and holidays together because it might look bad? That's stupid, she thinks, and to be perfectly childish about it, she likes the flowers; she likes presents, and she doesn't want that to stop. She just wants to know that any gift he gives her is an act of love, not an attempt at buying her off professionally.
But how to make that distinction is hard for her to define. In a way, this is all new enough that any act of kindness seems suspicious. As she chews a bite of carrot, she thinks that they haven't forgotten how they were before they slept together. The dynamic then shadows what they have now, if only because they have to pretend there is no before and after. Things have changed, however, and even if they never let on to the outside world, they have to remember that. Things are different. It doesn't seem right for House to be giving her anything. But she has to accept that it is… under the right circumstances, because it's been months since they've been just employer and employee.
And then, with a sudden jolt, she understands what needs to be done. She rushes back to her office to jot down the thought on a post-it note. Her salad lays abandoned, half-eaten, much to the dismay of the cafeteria workers who will be left to clean up the mess. With only a few bites of food in her stomach, she should be starving by the time she leaves work that evening. Instead, she's relieved.
It was the reference to time that did it, she thinks. She was looking for a specific set of circumstances that would clear things up; she hadn't thought of time. It seems obvious to her now, of course.
She just hopes that House will be as acquiescent as she needs him to be.
After she's changed, added the new item officially to her list, she picks up the phone. He answers right away, and she is just as quick to get to the point.
"Are you busy?" she asks, trying to contain the excitement in her voice.
"Nope."
Nerves creep up within her, but she fights the urge to get to the point slowly. Given all they've done, being coy is a joke. "Can I come over?" she forces herself to ask.
"If you want to." He's fishing, more than likely hoping he isn't obvious about it. He is.
"I wouldn't be calling if I didn't."
"Okay. Come over when you feel like it."
"Is now okay?"
His voice is knowing. "You sound eager. Miss me?"
"Something like that."
"Vibrator not doing it for you these last couple of days?"
She groans. "That's not what this is about."
"Then what is it about exactly?"
"We need to talk."
Instantly, he's on the defense. "You're dumping me, because I bought you flowers."
"I'm – no, of course not."
"So then you're breaking up with me, because –"
"I'm not breaking up with you, jackass," she says hastily, unpleasantly.
He tries to hide his relief. "Well, fine. Are you coming over now or –"
"Yes."
"Lucky me" is his dry response. She's about to say that, actually, he is, but he hangs up before she gets the chance.
It doesn't bother her. By the time she's finished packing an overnight bag (she's optimistic about this relationship to a fault), she's completely forgotten about the harsh words they've had. And when she knocks on his door and answers it, he seems to have as well.
Standing in pajama pants and a t-shirt, his hair damp, he's smiling. He's trying very hard not to seem glad to see her, at least.
"You brought a bag?" he asks judgmentally, eyebrow raised. "The vibrator really isn't cutting it, huh. Who said you could stay?"
She doesn't bother to answer the question. "I added something to the list."
The words leech out whatever joy he's felt until this point. He makes no sound right away. His disappointment is obvious to her, but he tries to tamp down his reaction. Watching him do this, she takes it to mean he is frustrated that this… non-fight of theirs isn't over with. When she asked to come over, he assumed everything was okay, that things could go back to normal. He sees that they haven't, and that fills him with dread.
He's so busy warding off the inevitable setback that he hasn't moved from the doorframe. He lingers there, and she's stuck in the hallway.
Cuddy knows the only way to move forward is to address the subject right then and there. Unceremoniously her hand slips into her bag and pulls out the list in question. "Here."
He takes the paper and reads what she wrote not long ago: Don't thank me for doing my job. If you want to give me a gift, I need a week's notice that –
"This is ridiculous," he states, shaking his head a little.
"No, it's not."
"I have to warn you if I plan on doing something nice for –"
"Yes."
"And that's not ridiculous."
She concedes. "All right. It is – a little."
"Or a lot."
"House. What you did was nice, sweet even, which I never thought I would say, but there we are," she half-mutters under her breath. "But it's a little less nice if I'm left wondering if you're trying to –"
He interrupts furiously, "It wasn't a bribe."
"I know. Okay? I understand that."
"Then why the rule?"
"Because I don't want to go through this every time you hand me a gift," she says with irritation infused in every syllable.
"Trust me. If this is what happens, I'm not –"
"I don't want," she says, talking over him, "to think that your motives have anything to do with work, and I really don't want anyone else to ever think that I make my professional choices based on what you do for me personally."
"They're already going to think you do that if and when they find out you're with –"
"Then I don't want to give them any more of a reason, all right?"
"Fine."
He says it not because he agrees, but because her tone leaves him with no room to disagree, because he must realize: he has no way out of this. The list was his idea, a symbol of his respect for her boundaries. If he violates her trust in that list, there is no relationship left. It will be over. She hasn't intended to blackmail him, which is what she's essentially doing, but this is too important to let him do whatever he wants.
Naturally, he's not happy.
Stepping back, he says seriously, "I need a minute." He walks away before she has a chance to say anything. The door wide open, there's no reason she can't go inside.
Nevertheless she hesitates. As he heads towards his bedroom, it's clear that he's not retreating joyfully. She can see the frustration, the irritation, even from behind. He hasn't told her to leave, but the way he looks, she wouldn't be surprised if he did. Fearing that that's how things will end, she is reluctant to let herself in. But she has no other choice when she considers how it will look if she stays standing outside her apartment with her bag in hand.
Cuddy goes inside, shuts the door behind her. She leaves her things there, just in case she needs to make a hasty exit. That's not at all what she planned when she came over. This isn't what she wanted. And the fact that he might not understand, might not accept her terms, fills her with dread. Cautiously she takes a seat on his couch and waits.
When he comes back out of his room a few minutes later, he looks no happier. As he sits next to her, he says, "If we're dating, I don't think it's too much to ask that I be able to do nice things for you. That is what boyfriends are supposed to do, right?"
His reticence makes her smile. Underneath all that bravado is a man who wants to make sure that he is treating her decently, appreciating her. She likes that.
Turning on the couch to face him better, she says, "You can still do nice things. You can always do that."
"Yeah, sure." He looks down, shakes his head. "It's not as nice if I have to warn you about it every –"
"It's just a warning," she tells him with a shrug, as if to say that it's nothing. "All you have to say is, 'I'm doing something next week for you,' or 'I'm going to celebrate your birthday.' Whatever. It doesn't matter what you say exactly. I just want a head's up."
He thinks about if for a while, eventually admitting, "I get that. I do understand what you're saying."
"I know you do," she says softly.
"I'm not saying no. Not saying I won't do it." He stresses that point, looks at her expectantly until she nods her head in agreement. "But let's review, shall we? I'm using my best friend's relationship to further my own. We have to plot to date. We have a list of kinks no sane person would ever consider doing, and –"
"Are you complaining about our sex life?" she asks with a raised eyebrow.
He looks at her like she's insane. "Not even slightly. But with all of that and now this, it doesn't feel like we have a relationship so much as we have a protracted negotiation that involves you occasionally getting naked."
"I would like to think that happens more than occasionally, but –"
"You know what I mean."
Again she nods her head. She understands his problem, because the issue is inescapable. They spend so much time working out the terms of their relationship, figuring out ways they can be together. It shouldn't be that hard. It shouldn't be that they spend more time discussing their relationship than living it. She is aware of the problem agitating him. She knows what he means. But Cuddy isn't dissuaded by the current state of things. It's the opposite really.
"It's not going to be like this forever," she tells him reassuringly.
"No," he agrees. "I just thought the whole secrecy thing was supposed to be appealing."
"It was," she says. When they first began sleeping together, the danger made the act more seductive than it would have otherwise. Drawn to one another, they could not avoid the fire once they'd first been licked by the heat. "It's just lost its charm."
"This has to stop eventually." She takes it to mean the secrecy, not the relationship in general.
"I would like that to happen. But before we let everyone know what we're doing, we have to know that we can maintain some boundaries. Professionally." He starts to fight her on that, but she points out, "You can still give me gifts, buy me flowers, whatever. I just need to know that you're not manipulating me – and that's not even beginning to touch how you might feel if you wondered if I were making professional choices based on personal ones."
"You wouldn't do that."
"Not intentionally, no, which I know is true for you as well. That leaves the unintentional, and I don't want to even think something's off. Okay? If we're going to eventually go public, I think we both want to know that our relationship is strong enough to withstand that scrutiny."
He says nothing, which prompts her to keep talking. "I know this isn't what you want."
"I already said okay," he says then, slightly irritated.
"Then why do I feel like I have to keep trying to convince you?"
"Because I think that you're not going to get any reassurances about the prospects of us dating if you constantly put unnatural restraints on the thing. Because I think it's a dumb idea, and you're not used to me playing along with your dumb ideas."
She glowers at him. "Please call it a dumb idea one more time."
"If that's what you need," he says with a wave. "I'll play along."
"Patronizing me?"
He bites down on his tongue. Awkwardly, he apologizes. "I'm – that's not what I was going for. I'm sorry."
Cuddy thinks at that moment that she's never heard him say "I'm sorry" before. Certainly if he's said it, she can't remember ever it being to her or said with any honesty. For that reason, it's shocking to her that she detects nothing but earnestness in his tone. As haphazard as the apology is, it's something he means. She doesn't know what to do with that.
House, on the other hand, is quick to take advantage of her silence to move on. "I'll do what you want. I'll warn you in advance if that's what you'd like. And when you change your mind… if you change your mind," he corrects before she can object. "You can let me know that by serving me pancakes in bed."
"Pancakes?"
"Or you can admit you were wrong. Whichever you prefer."
"Who says I'll be wrong?"
"Then pancakes it is, isn't it?"
"If I make them, if that ever happens, don't take that as an admittance of guilt."
He looks at her like he's so innocent. "I would never do that."
She doesn't believe him for a second. If she changes her mind, loosens the rules a little bit, he will never accept that the conclusion was the result of a process she needed to go through. He'll choose to think that she realized she was wrong, that she somehow came to regret the rule she first put into place. Even if she ever manages to convince him that he's wrong, he'll still tease her for it, she knows. He'll still rewrite history to suit his own needs.
"'Would never' might be overstating," he says, as if he's plucked the thought from her mind. "Can't do that cause of the outfit you'll be wearing is more like it."
The muscles in her face ease into a look that verbalizes the "of course' she feels. "There's an outfit?"
"Definitely."
"Do I get to know what it is or –"
"I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise."
He can't help himself. No matter what, he has to toy with her. It's a game to him, always, and there have been times where his playfulness – she doesn't think there's any malice behind it – has frustrated her. At the moment, any irritation she shows him is forced, fake. If he's messing with her, then things have gone back to normal. Whatever his reservations about her new rules are, he has given up the fight.
Gratitude doesn't have a chance to take hold though. Her attention shifts to his hand beckoning her towards him. "Come here," he says.
She shifts until her side is pressed into his. From this small distance, she can see the uncertainty in his eyes. "We okay?" he asks, even as she rests her head on his shoulder.
"We're fine."
"You're not mad."
She doesn't say yes or no. She doesn't understand. "Why would I be –"
"The flowers."
"I wasn't mad."
"And my reluctance to go along with this plan of –"
"Are you going to do what I ask?" she interrupts, getting straight to the point. When he nods his head, she says, "Then that's all I care about." He seems reluctant to believe her. "We're fine," she repeats. Just in case it's not enough, she adds, "If I were angry, I would tell you. Since I haven't said anything like that, you can assume that we're okay."
"Okay" is his quiet response.
She's not sure he truly believes her. If he did, he would be eager to move onto other subjects; the conversation would bore him. As it is, she's fighting her own lack of interest. She can't imagine anything would be different in the reverse.
But unlike House, she is more willing to tolerate the repetition. His behavior means he fears hurting her, running roughshod over her needs. Once more, without even meaning to, he's reinforcing her trust in him.
For that reason, she puts him out of his misery by changing the subject for him. "Have you talked to Wilson?"
"I'm assuming you're asking because he's avoiding you."
"So you have talked to him."
"Of course."
"And?"
"And I really don't want to talk about Wilson," House says calmly. "You know why he's avoiding you. He doesn't want you to be angry with him for making you his substitute."
"I know."
"Because it's obvious. Which is why there's no point in discussing it."
Her diversion rejected, she isn't sure what to say. She doesn't want to return to what they were talking about before. The whole point of bringing up Wilson was to move on from the subject. There's no denying she's failed at this point. But where she should take the conversation now eludes her.
"You want to make things better with him," House says dismissively. "You're going to have to see the movie with me. Cause if we don't make up in a way Wilson sees, he'll avoid you for a very long time, because he'll think you're mad at him. And since you're not married to him, he doesn't know what to do with that. Which, again, you know."
She looks at him with a small smile. "I'll see the movie."
"Wilson will be glad to hear it."
"I don't care about Wilson."
"That's not nice." As he taunts her, he pulls her closer. A hand pushes on her shoulder gently. The implication is clear, and she lays her head down in his lap without hesitation.
The second she does it, a rush of embarrassment warms through her. She can't help but remember what they did the last time she was here, on this couch, in this position.
"You all right?" House asks, noticing the change in her immediately.
She nods her head, hopes to distract the uncomfortable energy inside her by kicking off her shoes. Bringing her legs up onto the sofa, she prays her answer is convincing enough. He doesn't want to talk about Wilson; she doesn't want to talk about this.
"Yeah," she tells him honestly. "I'm just amazed that this is happening."
He's cautious. "Is that good or bad?"
"Good. Good. It's surprising is –"
"Because you're with me?"
"Because I'm not used to being happy." The answer is so snappy that she hopes the shamefulness of the sentiment is lost on him.
It's not.
"If that isn't the saddest thing I've ever heard," he tells her mockingly. But even as he says it, he's leaning down to kiss her. A hand runs along her thigh in reassurance. "Guess I'll have to do something about that," he says when his mouth is almost on hers.
She crosses the short distance between their lips and kisses him. The way he openly expresses his desire to make her happy fuels her need for him. It ignites something inside her, knowing how he feels about her. It makes her think over and over, as he touches her: this is House.
This is a man who has never gone out of his way to make someone else feel good. Even as her boyfriend, he was not expected to be giving or sweet. Not even privately had she anticipated or hoped for that. It had been the opposite, honestly. She'd started screwing House, because he would, she'd thought, never let it mean more. They'd have sex, and it would be amazing, but in the end, it would mean nothing. Once the heat had been expended, he'd coldly walk away, and they could both pretend nothing had changed. To say things hadn't gone according to that plan… well, that was obvious the second she considered dating him. She'd underestimated him, the warmth he could possess.
It's all around her now – in the scratch of his stubble, in the way his fingertips slip gently beneath the hem of her shirt. How could she not know this was what lie under the cold exterior?
Realization makes everything different for her. Since deciding to date, they've had sex that has been almost exclusively rough. Desperate to act on their feelings, they have barely spent any time slowly relishing what they're doing. They've raced straight for the heat, his dick inside her, and the control and violence that seem to get them off quickly. She's not complaining. But right now, when things seem so gentle and sweet and slow, when he's kissing her without any insistence, it feels like maybe they've missed something all along.
Just as she starts to see what she's missed all this time, he pulls away from her. The disappointment she feels is obvious; her frown makes it so. But as he leans back against the couch, it's clear he doesn't care. He's too busy smirking to alleviate her frustration.
Apparently deciding he needs to torment her further, he asks, "How was your week?"
She looks at him as though she doesn't understand the question. In fact, she doesn't. "That's what you want to know?"
"It's been a while, I admit, but I'm pretty sure part of dating involves conversation. I know the concept is foreign to you, but your mouth has other purposes."
The point is lost on her. His insult never stings. Given that her head is on his lap, his words just make her aware of her nearness to his dick. It makes her think of what they could be doing, makes her want him more. He's so close, and it would be so easy to –
"You should really focus on answering the question," he advises.
She fights the urge to turn her face towards his crotch, to rub against him through his pajama pants. "Why's that?"
"Short memory?" He pats her on the head and reminds her, "The last time you didn't do what I say…."
"I remember." She doesn't like where he's taking this. "Are you saying that I'm not going to –"
"I'm saying that sometimes it's in your best interest to go along with my plans."
That's hardly reassuring, but then she's not sure why she's reluctant to begin with. He wants to hear about her life. He's not asking her to sign off on a dangerous procedure – something she would have already okayed, if that were the case. He wants to talk about her day. There's nothing wrong with that.
It doesn't feel right exactly, she realizes, but, she asks herself, isn't that because he took her by surprise? Had she really expected him to have any interest in her life? Obviously not is the answer if the shock hasn't worn off yet. She didn't think, at least part of her didn't, that he would care about her in that way. In spite of everything, she assumed he would be a boyfriend in name only.
That was stupid. She sees that now. It was silly to believe he would ever commit halfway. House doesn't act in measures. He has never made choices in increments, carefully try to get what he wants. He would not behave any differently with her.
"Well," she says, grappling to accept reality. Thrown off, she struggles to answer the question. This isn't what she expected from, and yes, it's what she wants, but it's thrown her. Finally, she's recovered enough to tell him, "I can't tell you everything."
"I'm not asking you to."
He seems to mean it, and she needs him to. Their jobs prevent them from total transparency, thanks to doctor-client confidentiality. Her professional power over him prohibits her from telling him about certain things that he might use to his advantage. Knowing when the latter is a possibility is difficult and will remain so. She doesn't expect it to get any easier, because she knows he'll always be tempted to use what she says in a moment of desperation. She hopes that he will care about her enough to not use any information against her. But he will be tempted, and for that reason, she wishes to protect both of them from that situation. So, for now anyway, she chooses to be cautious, see how he does before taking risks with what she says.
"It was pretty uneventful," she admits. "The nurses are going to strike. The new union rep is out for blood."
House nods his head in agreement. "I thought your balls looked a little busted when I saw you the other day."
"The board agreed to look at the nurses' demands again, not that they're ever going to concede before a strike happens."
"Probably not."
"So…." She shifts on his lap a little, which earns her a warning look. She's only trying to get comfortable, but he's clearly affected by the act – or at least assuming that she's moving to entice him. She tucks the thought away for later. "There's that. And I know that when the nurses finally do get what they want, the budget committee will want to cut costs."
"If you're firing people –"
"Probably."
"I have a whole list of people you can start with."
"I'm not firing someone because they have a problem with you."
He doesn't mean it when he asks, "Why not?" She knows he's not serious.
"Because disagreeing with you is a sign of sanity."
"You do realize you're the hospital employee who agrees with me the –"
"Yes, I am aware."
"And?"
"And what?" she asks in confusion.
House is doing his best to seem casual, sarcastic even, in the way he says, "You're okay with that?" What she sees though is a man who is desperate for reassurance.
She smiles. "Let me show you how okay I am with that." She tries to sit up so she can kiss him, but he stops her. Hands on her shoulders, he pushes her back down.
"Not yet."
"You're being ridiculous."
"And you haven't asked how my week has gone."
"I know how your week –"
"Do you?"
"Your team looked for a patient. You made fun of them when they didn't find something you liked. You bothered Wilson. You avoided the clinic. I more than likely paid you to play your guitar and watch porn."
He acts like she's being silly. "You don't know that."
"I do too."
"All right, maybe you got sixty – seventy percent of that right. Maybe. And that would only be because you have the ability to look out into the clinic, so –"
"I didn't say it was the result of psychic abilities."
"Whatever," he dismisses. "Point is: your powers of deduction aren't as great as you think they are."
"What did I –"
"The porn?"
"You think I.T. doesn't tell me every time you frequent prostitutes and porpoises dot com?"
Again, he is quick to ignore what she tells him. "Then, and that was an experiment by the way, you should know I was good –"
"Good?" She scoffs at the idea.
"As in there were no naked women or marine creatures of any sort in front of me this week."
He's completely serious. At first she thinks he must be joking. His insistence is so severe that he can't actually mean it. But he does, because a boyish smile never comes. He never lets on in any way that he's mocking her in some way. His seriousness lingers instead.
"All right," she says hastily, sensing the urgency with which she needs to validate his feelings. "You didn't watch – what does it matter exactly?"
"It matters, because you should realize I don't need to watch anything when I have you."
The compliment is implicit, ridiculous. She's enough to keep him satisfied in bed, and that's nice to know – but not nice to hear. It might be praise, but it's not exactly flattering to be told that she knows how to make her boyfriend come. By now, she has witnessed first hand the proof of that fact, felt him grip her tightly, listen to him cry out as the orgasm takes hold of him.
She has no doubt that she is better than something he can find on the Internet.
"If that's supposed to be flattering –"
"You're implying that it isn't."
"Just implying?"
He doesn't get it. "There's something wrong with saying –"
"If we had bad sex, we wouldn't be together," she says flatly. "You don't need to say it, because it's obvious."
"Most of the things I tell you are obvious. Every time I step in your office to ask for your approval, I tell you things that are –"
"Don't start."
"If I compliment you, by definition, I'm stating the obvious. If I say you're beautiful –"
"All right," she interrupts, rolling her eyes. "You've made your point."
"You don't agree with –"
"I just don't need to be told that I'm better at getting you off than a video."
"Okay." Probably fed up with the ridiculous direction the conversation has taken, he gives in. "I guess that makes sense," he says after a brief moment's consideration. "You like it more when I'm telling you how bad you are."
She feels the nervous energy inside her, knows that her cheeks are beginning to turn pink. It makes no sense, as she's hardly ashamed of anything he's saying. But knowing that they have an understanding now, she finds that incredibly sexy.
Breathlessly she tries to deny it, if only because she feels like that's what she should do. "That's… that's not –"
"It is," he insists, fingers gripping her hair tightly so she can't move. His other hand starts to undo the button of her pants. Her body clenches with anticipation, even as she knows that there's no way he's going to give her what she wants. "You are so naughty you'd prefer I spank you and treat you like the dirty girl you are than sing your praises."
She abandons any plan to fight his conclusion. Maybe it would be better if she told him he was wrong, but in the end, he's right. And if he's right, then she'll eventually allow herself to be proven wrong. And if she does that, then she'll look like an idiot for having disagreed with him in the first place.
"You're right. I would. So if your goal here is to make me happy, why don't you –"
"Why don't I do what you want?" he supplies with a sneer. "Because that's not the way this works. You do what I say, not the other way around."
"But –"
"Let me guess. This is the part where you deny it." She glowers at him. "You don't have to admit you like it this way. You've already done that once, haven't you? And the orgasm you have later –"
"So we are going to have sex at some point then?"
He continues talking like he can't hear her. "Is going to prove to me once again just how you like it."
"So if I enjoy it, it means you're right? That's what you're saying? Because that's ridiculous."
"Is it?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because it's sex. If you're involved, it's always going to be good enough to –"
"Now who's stating the obvious?"
"Shut up."
He switches tactics. "Okay. Fine. Have it your way. We can do whatever you want."
"You don't mean that."
"Sure, I do."
Cuddy isn't so eager that she can't see the potential trap in front of her. She knows that he's trying to prove his point and nothing else; he thinks she'll make him right, and if she's not careful, she'll have to admit to that later on.
Nevertheless, she doesn't shy away from the opportunity. If she can get what she wants right now, that's all that matters to her.
"Fine," she says before he can change his mind. "No more talking."
"If that's what you want." He's egging her on, toying with her.
She sits up abruptly, moves to straddle him. A week without him has made her more direct, not that passivity had ever been a problem before for her. And it shows.
"Shut up," she orders, hands running through his hair. As she eases herself down on top of his lap, she waits for him to taunt her further. For all of his willingness to relinquish control, being able to follow through isn't a guarantee. He's convincing, but she knows it's just as likely that he will change his mind soon.
But he stays quiet.
It's surprising but maybe not, given that she doesn't give him much of a chance to say anything. Need outweighs the desire to see his reaction, and she quickly finds herself kissing him.
His lips warm against hers, she no longer cares about whatever endgame he might have. She just wants him.
Now.
Her hips grind against his lap, a promise of what's to come. Her hands guiding his to her fly, she encourages him to help her undress. "You have no idea how much I've missed you," she tells him between kisses.
"I missed you too," he admits, thumb dipping beneath the waistband of her pants. "I don't want to do that again."
On that they agree. They've only been apart for a week, but it's made her wonder where they might be if there hadn't been any fight. Things probably wouldn't be much different, she guesses. It took them months to want to start dating, so she knows they don't move quickly. They would probably be in the exact same position. Only they would have had more sex together, more conversation. There would be less awkwardness right now. And while she understands that this fight was inevitable, she has no desire to live through it again.
The fact that they might forces her to pull away from him. "Promise me you'll warn me." She can tell that he thinks she's being ridiculous.
But what he says is, "I don't live to make you unhappy. If you –"
"There have been moments that would suggest otherwise," she points out.
He doesn't deny it. "Yeah. That's true. The reverse is also accurate. But those are aberrations. I don't get off on hurting you. If you need a warning, Cuddy, I'll give you one, because, like I just said, I don't enjoy making you miserable. Especially since your misery now has the side effect of me not getting laid."
"So this is about –"
"This is about both of us being… happy." He stumbles over the words as if the concept isn't one he really understands. "If we're dating, I want it to work. I don't want to make you think I'm taking advantage of you. And if you think I'm going to refuse your conditions, you're an idiot. And if you don't trust me to listen, because you think I really just enjoy torturing you for no good reason, you're an idiot who needs to rethink who she lets penetrate her."
It's almost amazing to her how he can be both reassuring and cold. By now his demeanor is one she has experienced in nearly every scenario imaginable. She knows how he reacts, how he sees the world. She can anticipate his responses in her bones without even considering it consciously. Yet there is still a piece of her that is taken aback every time he acts like this.
Every time he lays something that seems so complicated out so clearly.
"I understand," she says coolly. "I'm not an –"
"Then trust me."
"I do," she says, hands moving to his shoulders. "I do. I just needed some reassurance to –"
"And now you have it. Don't you?"
It's a loaded question, but she immediately says, "Yes." He has done his best to give her that.
"Yet we keep coming back to this issue. Why?"
He knows why. They both do. It's hard to trust him when there is so much at stake. Promises and reassurances mean little by comparison, seem inadequate no matter how honest. But that doesn't lessen her need for them. If anything, it's the opposite; she needs the encouragement more than ever. The more he fails to relieve her doubts in any sort of permanent way, the more she wants him to do just that: reassure her. Seeing the cycle for what it is, she shakes her head.
"Let's not talk about it."
"Why not?"
"Because you know the issue."
"You're worried about the outcome of all this," he says knowingly.
She nods her head once. "As much as I want you to tell me it'll be all right, you can't say anything that will work."
"Then you have to stop prompting me to –"
"I know." But even while saying that, she feels herself look to him for reassurance.
"Well I'm convinced."
"It'll get it easier for me," she says, more to herself than to him.
"That is actually true."
She knows that. Dubious as she seems, she understands that her doubt will lessen over time. These moments will plague her less; she'll trust him more. The deeper she sinks into this relationship, yes, the harder it will be for them to extricate themselves, but so too will it shield her from the fear of it ending. And more than wanting to run away, she wants that security. Tentativeness washes over her in waves, but that hardly stops her from being carried away with need for him, with desire for this relationship to be real.
"I've ruined the moment, haven't I?"
"Don't be ridiculous. I love having to convince my girlfriend to be my –"
"You don't have to convince me."
"Really." He doesn't believe her.
"I want to be with you," she says flatly, honestly. It's obvious though that House doesn't believe that. In his mind, if she wanted to be with him, she wouldn't be concerned; this wouldn't be happening. She rolls her eyes. "Don't tell me you don't have doubts."
"I don't."
Cuddy scoffs. "Of course not. I don't know why I tried to –"
"No, I know for certain that, if this ends, I'm screwed. We break up? That's not a problem for you." She starts to object, but he doesn't let her get the thought out. "Sure. It's uncomfortable, but you don't need me to do your job. I am a footnote to your career."
"That's not –"
"It is true. It is. A pretty large footnote, granted, but you don't need me the way I need you. Professionally," he clarifies. "You have a problem with me, I have to fix that, because I can't work if you're that mad. You can't work with me at all, then I'm gone."
"You're a good doctor."
"I'm a great doctor, but as you are aware, it takes a certain kind of person to hire me." She doesn't ask him what kind of person that would be; she knows his answer would be insulting. "I'm the one who's losing out here if things go wrong. And if you can't date me? Who else will?"
She's tempted to laugh, because he's acting as though a lack of options is exclusive to him. He makes her sound like a better catch than she is. Unfortunately he's probably accurately estimated his own desirability to the outside world, but he hasn't even remotely come close to describing hers properly. As nice as her body might be, men don't like her. They really don't. Too often they resent her success, take issue with her all-encompassing devotion to her job. They get off on trying to change her, make her less of a doctor, less self-assured.
And now that she has this… proclivity of hers? She's afraid that that complicates matters. She can't imagine trusting another man to do the things that he has done. She knows that some would be game – a very few who wouldn't bat an eye at her requests. But the quality of those men concerns her.
Some might love to punish and control her… but only as a means to feel better about themselves, to degrade her because she's as successful as she is. And how would she be able to trust or love someone who would be tempted to do that? She wouldn't; she couldn't. But the likelihood of other men behaving that way makes House just as equally her only option as she seems to be his.
"You make it sound like you're the only one with something to –"
"No. What I'm saying is: I have no doubts about it. I know for sure that I'm done if we break up."
"And that doesn't make you hesitate –"
"What is there to hesitate about? It's done. You've gotten what you wanted. We're dating. There's no going back now."
She can't get past what he's said. "What I wanted?"
"Don't read into that."
"I think I have to."
"I said that because it was your suggestion."
"And you went along with –"
"When have I ever gone along with anything?" he snaps.
"My point exactly. This is what you want too."
"Then please let that mean something to you, Cuddy."
"It does," she insists.
But words aren't enough for him any longer. The merry go round she has put them on has robbed him of his patience. His unyielding expression says as much. And he reinforces that by telling her, "Prove it to me. Now."
Cuddy would if she knew how. As it is though, she's not sure what he wants, what will please him. "I – I don't know what you –"
"Do you want me?" he demands.
"Yes." It's the only thing about this relationship she knows to be unequivocally true.
"Then show me that."
She hesitates. Unsure she looks for clarification. "You want to have sex?" It's a stupid question, but it's the only thing she can think of that he wants. How else is she supposed to show –
"I really do have to spell it out for you, don't I?" he asks condescendingly, interrupting her thoughts. "Yes, you're going to have sex with me. And since you can't control your need for me to pat you on the head and tell you everything will be all right every five seconds, I will control that."
She feels childish pointing out, "I can't help it." But she says it anyway.
"Let me say it again: I have no interest in hurting you, whether we break up or not. If you want a warning, you will get one. Believe me: you will get one. I have no desire to violate that list in any way. I won't." He gives her a moment as if to let the words sink in. "Now I'm not saying it again tonight. You understand, I'd like to never say those things again ever. But I'll start small for you."
"And what if I need to hear you –"
"Then you have a way of making it clear that that's what you need, don't you?"
She realizes that she does. She has her safe word. "I do."
"Then it's settled. Unless it's absolutely necessary, don't bring this up again tonight."
"What are you going to do if I do?"
His gaze narrows on her. "Something you don't like."
The vagueness is enticing though she knows it shouldn't be. "So you don't know," she challenges.
He's amused. "Oh, I know."
"Then –"
"You don't need to be this annoying. If you want to know what will happen, you can bring that topic up again and find out." He cocks his head to the side. "I don't recommend that. But if you're that desperate, by all means, go ahead."
She doesn't dare. Her curiosity is not like his; she won't follow it through at all cost. Unlike him, she can control that part of herself. And if she does end up crossing that line, it will not be because she's interested in seeing the punishment House has decided is appropriate for this particular infraction. It will be because she can't help but say the words he has deemed verboten.
Cuddy wants desperately to avoid that.
"No," she says, shaking her head. "I don't want to do that."
He's surprised. "I'm impressed."
"You think I'm dying to –"
"I think you enjoy it, yeah. Actually, I know –"
"Yes. Obviously." The steeliness in her voice melts away instantly. Her forehead coming forward, she rests her head on his shoulder, whispers, "More than anything, I just want this to work."
His stubble scratches her cheek as he looks over and down at her. "Me too."
"I don't want to make you think otherwise out of… stupid curiosity."
"I wouldn't. I know what you want."
She sees a way out of the lull she's caused and takes it. "Know what I want right now?"
"Hmm," he murmurs as though he has to think about it. "I think I have an idea."
She pulls back, just enough so that she can look at him. "An idea?"
"'Idea' is what I like to call my boner."
It's not even funny, but she laughs anyway. The mood between them has lightened, which makes her almost giddy with relief. Wrapped up in the momentary feeling of weightlessness, she leans forward once more and kisses him.
Her smile rubs off on him as he chuckles too. Their kiss is light and soft, his hands warm against the small of her back and between her shoulder blades. His touch is gentle, making her feel precious.
Cherished.
His behavior is the antithesis of what she has come to expect from him. Yet she is no less turned on by it. And when she slips his cock inside of her, when she slowly rocks against him, her cries are earnest.
He moans encouragement throughout, sweat dripping along his collarbone. But he doesn't control, doesn't direct her. Afterwards, she'll be mildly pleased that they can have sex without the secrecy (well, with less of it at least), without the power play. As the moment though, she doesn't care.
His dick is inside of her, stretching her, pushing her closer to the edge. She's warm and wet, and his occasional thrust to meet her motions spread the heat in her. His hand reaches between their bodies and rubs her clit. If he started this to prove that she needs it to be rough, he's doing all he can to make sure her orgasm is just as good now. For all of his words, they are both making it clear right now that she likes the games they play; she doesn't need it.
When they come together, her toes dig into the couch cushion, and she knows:
He is without a doubt her one chance at happiness.
She doesn't want anyone or anything else.
He picks her up from her house ten minutes before he says he'll be there. He acts normal (normal for him anyway), but she gets the feeling that he's eager, anxious.
It's their first date without Wilson's cover.
She tries her best not to see it that way. Technically, they're making up the date that she canceled, which Wilson had had a hand in. House didn't, as far as she knows, tell Wilson that they were going to redo the trip to the movies. But Wilson had been involved at one point. So Cuddy's not sure that this really counts as a step forward.
House has obviously decided otherwise. This is progress of some sort for him.
Cuddy does her best to ignore that. If she too places importance on the date, it will end in disaster, because she will be just as anxious as he is. And if there's one thing she understands, it's that they must even one another out emotionally. That's how they bring out the best in each other professionally – by her keeping him from taking too many risks and him preventing her from not taking enough; they average one another out, protect each other from their shortcomings.
Since their relationship began, he has been the one consoling her. Tonight it's her turn.
Her strategy is simple: act like it will be okay; don't talk about it. If she tries to reassure him through her words, he'll ignore her, make fun of her. He'll be so embarrassed at needing her to say that it will be all right that he will automatically and instantaneously reject whatever she says. So she'll give him what he needs through her actions.
She starts by holding his hand in the car. He looks down briefly at the contact but says nothing. Instead he abruptly pulls away so he can turn the steering wheel.
"Did you let Wilson know?" she asks, trying to smooth over the moment.
"No. He was busy. With his girlfriend."
"Have you figured out who –"
"No. And he won't tell me."
Looking at him, she can see that the line of questioning has made him increasingly uneasy. It makes her wonder if the nervousness she saw had anything to do with her or if he has just twisted himself into a fit over the secrets Wilson is keeping.
"Maybe you should just give it time," she says, leaning over so she can kiss his neck. He doesn't pull away from that. They're in a car, so it's not like he can get away from her touch. But afterwards, he looks at her as though she's acting strangely.
"You're in a good mood," he accuses.
She smiles. "I am. I'm with you."
"We'll see if you feel the same way after the movie."
"I don't care about the movie."
"Considering the reviews this thing's gotten, that's probably a good thing." He means that the movie is bad, but that fact, for whatever reason, pleases him, because he smiles. As he reaches over and takes her hand, he seems happy, not nervous but eager to spend time with her.
It doesn't last.
Within minutes, his mood falters. His mind goes back to Wilson.
At least she assumes this is what happens. "I need to give you more work if you're this obsessed with –"
"Who's that nurse with the ponytail in the clinic?" Since that describes approximately eighty percent of the nurses in the free clinic, Cuddy's not sure who he's talking about. "The blonde." That doesn't help. "She's new."
"I haven't hired anyone to work in the clinic in eight months."
His face falls. "Oh…. well, she seemed new to me."
"Because you haven't been in the clinic in –"
"I was there today, wasn't I?"
"Yes. And apparently, only so that you could figure out who Wilson is sleeping with."
"Well, why else would I be there?"
He's completely serious, which makes her grouse. "To do your job, maybe."
"If you knew how many asses I've fingered and how many crotches I've swabbed today, you wouldn't say that. Just because I distracted myself with finding Wilson's girlfriend doesn't mean I didn't do –"
"Oh, you poor baby. Having to treat patients. That must have been so hard for you," she mocks. "Should I get on my knees and thank you for making that sacrifice?"
When he pulls up to a red light, he looks over at her. "Keep talking like that, and I'll have to pull over on the side of the road so I can put you over my knee."
She clenches her thighs together to stave off the heat spreading through her body. It's a threat, she tells herself. He's going to spank her; she shouldn't want that as badly as she does. Not surprisingly the internal pep talk doesn't work. "Really?"
He shakes his head. "I don't think so. You'd clearly enjoy it too much."
Her disappointment is palpable, so much so that she's no longer in the mood to make him feel better. Uninterested in discussing Wilson, she falls silent for the remainder of the car ride.
By the time they get to the movie theatre, House has surely picked up on her displeasure. He just doesn't care, because he makes no move to cheer her up. He simply buys the tickets, offers to buy popcorn (which she turns down), and walks behind her as they head into the theatre.
Unlike when they were in the car, they act as though they hardly know one another now. He coolly sits next to her, like he doesn't really want to be there with her. And she in turn appears annoyed, uncomfortable. But then, she is irritated, frustrated by his ability to make her wet and then deny her what she wants within seconds. For her the line between fiction and reality is blurred, but he doesn't seem to notice.
She tries to ignore the way she feels. She tries to tell herself that she should enjoy being on a date with him, not desperate for him to take her home and have sex with her. And after a moment, she does appreciate what they're doing. It's not as though she can't see how amazing it is that they're at the movies together, like a real couple. She can. She just wishes she could forget the threat House made and the way it made her feel.
By the fifteen-minute mark of the movie though, she knows she can't. The film is too awful to hold her attention – a fact that seems to be true for the handful of people in the theatre as well, save House. The plot is ridiculous, both convoluted and unbelievable, and she finds her mind drifting back to the one thing she doesn't want to think about.
Eventually, she gives up fighting altogether. The movie's not good, so why not think of other things? For that matter, why not force House to recognize her dilemma, to address it?
The darkness emboldens her. There are a few other people in the room, but they aren't looking back at her. Even if they did, seats in the theatre block their view. And the one person sitting a few rows behind House is currently snoring, so she won't see anything either. The only one who will be a witness to what Cuddy is doing is House, is the only person she wants to capture the attention of.
As she glances over at him, she realizes that this could easily backfire. If she attempts to leave him as turned on as he did her, he could very well decide to punish her. But her frustration makes it worth the risk.
Without a word, she leans over and rests her head on his shoulder. Immediately he stiffens.
"What are you doing?" he asks in a hushed voice.
"No one's going to notice. It's dark."
"Still."
"There are six people in here. No one knows us. Who cares?"
He looks at her as though she's lost her mind. When she doesn't say that she's kidding or pull away, he says quietly, "You're serious." She nods her head.
It takes him a second to process what she's saying. He remains tense, unsure that she means what she says; she can feel his doubt radiating from him. Eventually though he calms down, accepts that this is what she wants. "Fine," he tells her, moving one of his arms out of the way so she can get closer to him.
She lets herself relax against him. His fingers lightly stroke her upper arm, the touch barely felt thanks to the thickness of her sweater. But when she lays her head on his chest, he's soft against her cheek, and she can hear his heart beating – although just barely because of the movie blaring in the background. And it seems like enough.
The movie is forgotten soon after however. Try as she might to pay attention, all she can think of then is how far they have come. Before she didn't think they were taking much of a step, doing this, but when compared with where they were three months ago, three weeks ago, they have come far.
They're in public, on a date. There's no pretense, no pretend. His arm is around her, and anyone looking at them would know they're a couple. Normally that would make her afraid, that people would see she was crossing a line. But no one watching the trashy film in front of them cares, and she certainly isn't bothered by what they might see.
Anonymity makes her reckless. House's soft touches make her yearn for more.
It's a dangerous combination. It's one she can't resist.
Her caution abandoned, her hand slides along his leg. He shoots her a warning look; if she continues, she knows what will happen. He is making sure of that. But she doesn't slow down, doesn't even consider whether or not she should be trying to turn him on in a public place.
She just keeps going.
To be continued
