Author's note: Hooray, two updates at once:o) This chapter does include somewhat M-rated content, so be warned. Unfortunately, I can't write smut without sounding ridiculous, so this is all you get. Try to enjoy, and just fill in the blanks.

As a side note, I'm going to take a leaf from another author I've read often (so sorry I can't remember your name!) and include a cautionary note: these are fictional characters! Unprotected sex is not advised, even if he's drool-worthy and you're oh-so-ready for it. The consequences are not worth the risk. (steps off soap-box)

Story!

Chapter Five:

Flashback, a few days later

He pounded on the door, seething with frustration and anger. Again. It seemed that these were the only emotions he was capable of when he was around her.

She opened the door with a blank look. "I—I thought you weren't coming today," she managed to stutter before he pushed his way inside. He stalked into the kitchen, then turned to face her when she followed.

There was no easy way to say it. "I only came to tell you that I've put in for transfer to Barcelona."

To his utter shock, she simply nodded. He looked confused. "You knew?"

"Well, it became clear to me when they informed me that your replacement will be here in a few days." She seemed calm.

He frowned. "That's it?"

She shrugged. "What were you expecting?"

He felt deflated. He'd been bracing himself for some type of emotion, although he wasn't sure what. "Well… I don't know." He refused to actually admit he'd hoped for a reaction.

She raised a brow at him, and he felt like even more of an ass.

He carefully avoided her gaze, and instead looked out the window. In the awkward silence that followed, her voice sounded steady. Damn her. "So, why did you come here today? Did you want to do the field report again?"

Shaking himself, he decided to retrieve his train of thought. What was the second part of his plan? Tell her he was leaving, then…

Ah, yes.

He raised his head, and caught her fighting back the emotions. Her face had crumpled, and he saw the hurt and loss shining through before she tried to gather her mask back into place. With that, his resolve renewed, he strode forward confidently, and pulled her into his arms, kissing her with everything he had.

"I want you, Nicky. I admit it. But I'm wrong for you, and this can't happen," he murmured when he finally pulled back slightly. She nodded, but couldn't blink away the tears before he saw them. He kissed her forehead, and said, "I'm sorry. For everything."

She gave a faltering smile. "No, you're not. But you know you should be, and you're attempting to pretend, so I'll take that into consideration."

He chuckled and kissed her again, purely on impulse, vaguely surprised when he couldn't pull away. He couldn't walk away again. She wasn't making any move to push him away, either. If anything, she was pulling him towards her. He forced himself to speak as he planted kisses on her jaw. "Nicky, this can't happen."

She gave an absent nod as she pulled his mouth back to hers. "I know," she breathed into his mouth.

He gave up, gave into it, and handed over the reigns to desire. Slamming her against the wall, he sealed his mouth to hers, swallowing her surprised squeak.

Nicky had come through college and gone through her fair share of fumbling, clumsy frat boys. With each skillful move, he pushed hazy memories of them even further away; he had her panting with desire from a few kisses. She wondered absently if she'd be able to forget him as easily.

As if sensing her thought process, he growled—actually growled—as he hauled her closer, lifting her leg to wrap around his waist as he fitted her against him from mouth to hips to… She stopped analyzing his actions when he nipped her bottom lip before moving on to explore her collarbone—gently—with his teeth.

They left a scattered trail of clothes to the spare bedroom where it had all started, a few days ago. They fell onto the bed together, consumed with passion, unable to slow down; each promising themselves that they'd go slower the next time. With moans and gasps, they fought for and against one another the whole way as the stars finally exploded around them.

He took his time, the second time around, enjoying exploring her body, and watched her go blind with pleasure twice before he indulged himself. When she revived enough to complain about it, he simply gave an entirely male grin and explained that he liked watching the effect he had on her. "Besides," he added unrepentantly, "you have an incredibly expressive face." He allowed her to smirk with feminine satisfaction before finishing with, "that's why you'd make a shitty field agent."

Her response began with a pillow fight and ended with laughter as she took advantage of her position on top with sparkling eyes. He allowed her to ride him slowly, as desire slowly replaced the mirth in his gaze. Her name sounded beautiful when he said it with a throaty groan. When she shattered to pieces once more around him, he watched with a soft, dark gaze and a small, almost contented smile hidden at the corner of his mouth.

Later, as she finished dressing, he pressed a kiss to the back of her neck. "Thank you," he murmured, hating himself for everything. Once again, he repeated to himself, she deserved better. So much better. Someone who loved her, someone who would be able to experience the everyday with her. He was a fool for tasting the fountain and leaving like a coward. She had been so selfless. He felt like an ass, and, to his surprise, found that he actually felt bad for taking what she had to offer without anything lasting to give of his own.

She stood and faced him, her face stoic once more. "I know," she replied instead to his unspoken thoughts.

She bent her head fractionally and leaned against his shoulder. Acting of their own accord, his hands came up to cradle her, one resting at her waist and the other at her shoulder blade. "You knew this couldn't happen," he said roughly. She nodded into him, but still didn't lift her head. He wondered absently why she wasn't in tears.

Unable to remain any longer without doing something foolish, like shouting at her, or kissing her again, he brushed his mouth against the crown of her head, and left, slamming the door behind him. He refused to admit that it felt like he was running away from the best thing that had ever happened to him.

(a/n: smirk)