A/N: Thank you to everyone who was taken the time to review, favorite, and/or follow this story! I really appreciate the support. Thank you also to BK2U, who kindly beta-read this chapter for me.
"Prior Rings" Chapter 42: Tobias – Letter
It has been a very long day – the type that makes me wonder why I keep working when I have the so-called "hero's pension" that would support me just fine if I didn't. Even my body is drained, and I can feel the strain in my back as I make my way up the stairs.
But my mood improves once our apartment door is in sight. The prospect of seeing Tris always has that effect. And the actual sight – as soon as I open our door – is even better.
"Hi," I murmur, letting myself relax for the first time all day as I move toward her. It's not until I'm leaning down, about to kiss her, that my tired brain registers how upset she looks. She backs away from me rapidly, her expression showing fury and misery in equal parts, and I find myself staring at her from three feet away.
"What's wrong?" I ask, more than a little startled. "What happened?"
For a second, she just glares, and then she spits, "Maybe you should ask Nita."
The words don't make sense to me. I can't think of anyone I know by that name, either at work or elsewhere, so I can't imagine what whoever-she-is might have done to make my wife this angry.
"Who's Nita?" It's an innocent question, but judging by Tris' expression, she doesn't agree.
"Don't," she snarls, clearly livid. "Don't deny it." She narrows her eyes at me before adding, "I found the letter."
That does nothing to clarify the situation, despite the way my tired brain is now racing to figure out what's happening. Tris seems to be accusing me of something beyond my comprehension.
"What letter?" I try warily.
Her response is furious. "Were there so many that you have to ask?"
My confusion is growing by the second. "Tris…." I step toward her tentatively, reaching instinctively to touch her face. But she pulls away sharply, leaving me standing there with my hand hanging in the air.
Rocking on my heels, I stare at her, utterly unable to fathom what has happened. "Tris, please talk to me. What is going on?"
She scoffs, refusing to even look at me. "You know damned well!" This is getting old very fast.
"No," I tell her firmly, "I don't."
Apparently, my tone doesn't help, because she heads straight for the door, abandoning any attempt at discussion. It's fundamentally unfair, given I still have no clue what's bothering her, and I find myself stepping forward quickly, grabbing her arm to stop her.
She does stop, but definitely not in the way I would have preferred. Yanking herself free from my grip, she glares murderously at me as she yells, "Leave me the hell alone!"
For a long moment, the shout seems to echo through the air, freezing my entire body in a helpless mixture of hurt and anger and outright fear. I can't remember the last time I saw her this upset, and there's no doubt that it's directed solidly at me. But I don't know why.
"How about," I try again, needing her to at least talk to me, "just for a moment, you consider the possibility that I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about." I run a frustrated hand through my hair. "And you give me some kind of explanation."
"Fine," she snarls, finally meeting my eyes briefly. The level of rage in them is daunting. "I found the love letter that you wrote to Nita."
My confusion is greater than ever, and it mixes with utter misery as tears begin sliding down her cheeks. Tris cries so rarely, and it rips my insides apart whenever she does.
"Is that enough explanation?" she manages to add.
All I can do is shake my head, opening my mouth and closing it again with no ability to respond. None of this makes any sense whatsoever, but clearly she's thoroughly convinced that I've done something I haven't.
"Tris," I eventually start, trying to figure out what words will reach her, "I don't even know anyone named Nita. And I sure as hell haven't written any love letters – to whoever she is, or to anyone else."
It's a completely honest statement, but it's obvious that Tris doesn't believe me. "Then why was it in our apartment," she yells, "in your writing?"
The accusation is like a physical blow, pushing me a half-step away from her. My hands rise automatically in defense as I wrack my brain for any kind of reason why a letter I never wrote could possibly be in our home, in writing that incriminates me. But I can't think of any explanation at all.
"I don't know how it got here," I begin slowly, "or why you think it's my writing, but I guarantee it is not. I haven't handwritten a letter since the last one I wrote to you, right after I returned Anna's ring. And I have never written a love letter to anyone except you."
My mind flits through all the letters that I wrote to her in support. I didn't mail them, of course, since that's not the reason we write them, but I spent countless hours telling her about my thoughts and my life – and my hopes and despairs.
Belatedly, it occurs to me that it must sound strange to mention those, since she's never seen them. "I didn't send them to you," I add quickly. "I wrote them and then destroyed them."
That must sound even stranger, and I stare at the floor, breathing hard as I try to come up with a better way of describing that approach – one that she'll hear in her current state of mind.
"It's something we do in support," I decide to say, "to help us put our feelings into words. We write to the people we wronged, and the ones who wronged us. We put it all in letter form, and then we destroy it as a way of trying to move on."
It's not until I say those words aloud that I suddenly understand. I'm not the only one from group who has been in this apartment recently.
An enormous rush of relief goes through me as I glance at the desk where I had Dave empty his pockets when he came here for help that night. Of course that must be where the letter came from – and who wrote it.
"It's Dave's," I tell Tris, almost giddy as all the tension drops from my muscles. "From when he came here last week, in the middle of the night…whichever night that was. It must be his."
My gaze finds Tris', hoping to see that she believes me, but it's apparent she's not there yet. She must have been completely convinced of my guilt, and she's never been good at recognizing when she's wrong. It's the problem with being right most of the time.
"I made him empty his pockets," I add, knowing that she needs more detail, "because he's from Dauntless. I assumed he had a knife or a gun, and he's still unstable enough to use them the wrong way. So, I had him dump everything on the desk." I step over to it, placing my hands on the corner for emphasis. "Right here."
I look at her again, desperately hoping that the letter was somewhere in that vicinity when she found it. If he dropped it somewhere else, I'm totally screwed.
"He must have missed the letter when he picked everything up afterwards," I finish, nodding as I say it. It must be true, after all. There's no other possible explanation.
Clearly, Tris doesn't agree. "It's still your handwriting," she growls.
"It is not," I snap back, feeling the hurt and anger more acutely now. It was one thing for her to reach the wrong conclusion when all the evidence pointed that way, but now she's hanging onto one false fact out of stubbornness. I've earned more trust than that.
"A lot of guys have similar handwriting," I say forcefully. "You're seeing what you expect to see, but that doesn't make it mine."
Tris crosses her arms over her chest, glaring at me fiercely, but I meet her gaze unflinchingly. I haven't done anything wrong, and I refuse to act as if I have.
We stay that way for a very long time before I realize that neither of us is going to budge. She's deeply imbedded in what she thinks happened, and nothing I can say will change that.
"Fine," I state coldly. "You don't believe me. So, let's go talk to Dave. Maybe you'll listen to him." I know my voice is bitter, but I have good reason to be.
Tris snaps back her response. "Yes, because he's going to tell a complete stranger the truth instead of defending his sponsor while you're standing right there?"
The comment would make me laugh if I weren't so angry. Dave has been nothing but a pain in the ass to sponsor so far. There's no way in hell he would help me out of loyalty. But Tris doesn't seem ready to believe anything I say tonight, so I don't bother mentioning that.
Instead, I snarl, "Do you have any suggestions, then, Tris? Other than to assume I'm guilty of something I haven't done?"
With that, we're back to our staring match, each trying to wait the other out. But I'm not going to back down, because I'm the one who's right here.
Eventually, Tris must start to wonder about that, because her tone is much quieter when she speaks again. "I'll talk to him by myself."
The words raise instant alarm through my entire being, my protectiveness pushing the anger aside. I don't care how much we're fighting – I'm not letting my wife get hurt.
"No," I tell her quickly. "Dave is too dangerous at this stage in the program. You shouldn't be alone with him."
She opens her mouth to protest, but then she closes it again, and I know that at least some part of her is listening. I take advantage of that to press my case.
"What if Kevin goes with you?" It's a desperate offering, but it's the only one I can think of.
Fortunately, Tris accepts it. "Fine," she snarls.
We're silent as I lead the way to Kevin's apartment through the crowd of people heading home after work. We walk a good two feet apart from each other, staring straight ahead. My stomach is twisted into too many knots for me to do anything else.
It certainly doesn't help that my sponsor lives in Erudite, of all places. I've passed through that faction so many times over the years that I should be used to it by now, but today as I march through its doors, I can't help but think of all the bad associations I have with this building.
The reminders grow even stronger as we walk the long hallways, and I try to fight the memories that flood my mind. Images of Tris walking these corridors, looking weak and barely alive as Peter forced her forward. Thoughts of the torture I endured here. And worst of all, the memory of when I thought Tris was being executed.
We're not even in the same part of the building, but we might as well be. It looks too similar to bear.
It quickly becomes obvious that I'm not the only one who thinks so. We're only halfway to Kevin's apartment when Tris freezes abruptly, her eyes fixed on a door that must remind her of some terrible experience here. Her breathing is rapid, and her hands are clenched into fists, and I'm not sure if she's aware of my presence anymore as full-fledged panic overtakes her.
In that moment, I don't care about our argument anymore. It doesn't matter if she believes me or not. We're back in the war, and the only priority my brain can possibly fathom is to be there for her.
I move closer, taking her by the shoulders and crouching slightly so my face is directly in front of hers and is blocking out anything else.
"Tris, listen to me." My tone is commanding – my Four voice. "I've got you. You're safe. I'm not going to let anyone hurt you. Do you understand? I don't give a damn what you think I've done. I love you and only you, and I will always keep you safe."
It doesn't do any good. Her breathing is still far too rapid, and her heartbeat practically echoes through the corridor, and I don't think she even hears me. She needs to be away from here.
Shifting my grip to her arm, I haul her forcibly back the way we came. Honestly, I'm tempted to just carry her, but that might make things worse – might trigger memories of other attacks she endured.
So, I lead her into the nearest stairway, pressing her against the wall as I stand directly in front of her again.
"Tris. Tris, listen to me." My hand cups her chin and lifts it, forcing her to look at me. "You're safe. Do you understand me? You are not a prisoner. You are not being attacked. No one is going to hurt you."
I grab her shoulders again. "The war with Erudite is over. Jeanine is dead. Caleb is okay now, and so are we. It's all right, Tris. You're safe. You're safe."
She's breathing harshly now, dragging air in and out of her lungs as she stares at me wide-eyed. But there's a glimmer of connection there, and I know that some part of her hears me.
"Tris, I will never let something like that happen to you again. Ever. You are my wife, and I love you, and you are safe. Please believe me."
Slowly, her eyes start to focus again, and for a long moment, she stares at me with recognition. And then she shoves me away from her, hard.
"Don't touch me," she snaps.
The phrase sears through me like a whip, painfully knocking the air out of my lungs. How can she possibly be focused on that lie right now?
"Tris, I have never cheated on you. Ever." I glare at her, furious with her obstinacy. "You're hurting both of us for no reason."
"I guess we'll see" she hisses back, and I know she's beyond listening. Shaking my head, I turn away from her, leading the way up the stairs.
"We'll take a different route there," I tell her over my shoulder.
It's difficult to reach Kevin's apartment without passing through hallways that look like those, but I do my best, taking us on a very circuitous route until we finally get there. Stopping outside his door, I gesture Tris toward it, unable to bring myself to look at her.
"I'll wait out here," I tell her firmly, "so I don't bias Kevin into believing me."
She nods stiffly, raising her hand to knock, before it occurs to me to add, "Tell him about the letter. He needs to prepare for Dave's reaction."
It's true. Kevin needs to know what he's walking into. Dave is unpredictable and could easily go after Tris when he learns that she read his letter. Kevin has to be prepared to handle that situation.
At least she sees the reason behind that. "Fine," she mutters resignedly. "Come in with me, so you can make sure I don't leave out anything he needs to know." Her tone turns sharper. "But otherwise, let me do the talking."
It's certainly not the most unreasonable request she's made tonight, so I simply shrug, lifting my own hand and knocking loudly in the pattern I typically use.
My sponsor answers the door promptly, as he always does. He has never failed to be there for me when I needed him, and in this moment, I appreciate that more than ever. I don't, however, say so. Instead, I brush past him, walking quickly through the apartment and into the kitchen to give them the privacy I promised.
"Come in, Tris," I hear Kevin comment behind me. There's no mistaking the confusion in his voice.
I hear them moving across the living room and sitting down. They're silent for a while after that, but eventually Tris must show him the letter, because she says, "I found that in our apartment. It's in Tobias' writing."
"It is not," I snap before I can stop myself, looking out at them through the opening from the kitchen. It's impossible to let that go unchallenged.
Tris glares at me before returning her attention to Kevin. His response is soft enough that it's difficult to hear. "Well, if you wanted a handwriting analysis, I assume you'd go to your brother or to Cara, since you know them both a lot better than me. Which means you're presumably here for a second opinion about whether this sounds like Tobias?"
It's not why we're here, of course, and I expect Tris to admit that, but apparently she doesn't, because he continues. "Honestly, it doesn't seem like something he'd write, even disregarding who it's addressed to." The validation eases some of the ache that's been pressing into my chest.
"It's pretty typical stuff for someone in support," he adds. "Half the group might have written it. But even at his worst, Tobias didn't sound like this – he's always tended to blame himself more than this shows." I don't entirely know what to make of that comment.
His deep voice rumbles on. "And I've got to tell you…I can't imagine him cheating on you. I've seen a lot of shit in my life, and done plenty of it, too. So, I know this type of thing happens. But for what it's worth, Tobias just doesn't seem the type. So, I'd like to hear his side of things."
It's incredibly reassuring to hear Kevin support me this way, and I almost state my case right then. But something stops me. I guess I want to hear what Tris has to say – to make her process the perspective that she's refusing to see.
So, I just watch her, hoping desperately that she'll see the truth.
It takes her a while, but eventually, she tells him, "He said that Dave must have left it there. That's his new sponsee."
"I know," Kevin responds. There's a pause while he must be reevaluating the letter. "It could be his, but I can't honestly say I know him well enough to judge. I don't recognize the name, either, but that doesn't mean much. Dave is Dauntless, so he has plenty of exes."
He makes a movement, probably handing the letter back to Tris, before he leans back the way he often does when he's thinking. "Clearly, you're having trouble accepting this," he comments to Tris, "so I'm guessing that you want to go talk to Dave, but your husband doesn't want you going alone?"
Kevin certainly does know me well…. Through the opening, I see Tris nod, and Kevin rises to his feet. "Okay. All you had to do was ask."
The train ride to Dauntless is torturously slow. My mind keeps going through every time I've ever ridden this line with Tris, both good and bad. But given the current situation, I suppose it's not surprising that I dwell on the trips we took during the war. I was so afraid then that I would lose Tris, and I almost did more times than I want to count.
It doesn't help to think that it could happen today, even if in a different way. She's so damned stubborn sometimes. If Dave denies that the letter is his, for whatever reasons, there's no way of knowing how she'll react.
The fundamental injustice of it hurts. I haven't even done anything wrong.
Kevin tries to comfort me once during the ride, patting my shoulder and giving me a sympathetic look. But it's too much like pity, and I shy away from him instinctively. Besides, there's only one person I want touching me right now, and that's clearly not going to happen anytime soon. So, I stand by myself, trying to ignore the stinging in my eyes through the long trip.
They follow me through the cold hallways of Dauntless in silence, until I finally stop outside Dave's apartment. Gesturing to the door, I mutter, "That one."
They both step forward, but I catch Kevin's gaze briefly before he has a chance to knock. I know I can't go in there with them – that wouldn't help this situation. But no matter how upset I am about all of this, there's still a more important priority than proving my innocence. She's always more important to me than anything else.
"Don't let Dave hurt her," I plead.
"You know I won't." His voice is strong.
I nod, unable to resist turning to Tris. She looks startled, as if she didn't expect me to dare face her. It adds to my frustration and helplessness, and suddenly I know what I need to do while I wait. I need to go to the first place I ever felt powerful.
"I'll be at the practice range, shooting, when you figure out I'm not a lying scumbag." I don't wait for her reaction, instead turning on my heel and walking away. She doesn't call after me.
The gun range is just like it was the last time I was here, which is not particularly surprising. The Dauntless are attached to their traditions, so despite how much the rest of the city has changed, they tend to leave things as they've always been whenever possible.
No one else is here, but the supplies are all available, so I collect a gun and ammunition and set up the targets, deciding on a mix of circular ones and man-shaped ones. Out of some old habit, I set up every station as if I'm expecting a group of initiates to arrive. Or maybe part of me wants to practice some moving shots. It's hard to say.
I load the gun slowly, in careful motions, in order to focus my thoughts. And then I face the first target, staring at it briefly before firing through its heart. It seems like an appropriate choice, given how ripped up my own chest feels right now, and I stay there, aiming shot after shot into the same hole. It's been a few years since I last fired a weapon, but my aim is still good.
The smell of the metal gradually permeates my thoughts, reminding me of other days in this faction. I remember Amar teaching me to shoot, and how I, in turn, taught others. I taught Tris twice, really: once here and once in what is now the Kaizen faction, when she needed to get over her fear of handling guns after killing Will.
We've gotten through so much over the years. I just don't understand how she could trust me so little today. How she could think that I would ever cheat on her…. I truly can't imagine the concept.
Kevin's words drift through my head, that I'm not the type to cheat. I never would have been, I suspect, even if I didn't love Tris as much as I do. I associate everything about the act with losing my mother. Her death may have turned out to be a lie, but the feeling remained.
The paper sways from my latest shot, and I fire again before it stops moving, letting the motion provide extra challenge. It doesn't keep me from noticing when Tris enters the room. It's not that I actually see her or hear her as she slips in quietly – I just know that she's there, the way I always do. She's the person I'm most aware of in this world.
But I refuse to look as she walks slowly toward me, choosing instead to continue firing through the heart of my target. She should be the one to start this conversation.
And she does, even if her words are barely audible.
"I'm sorry, Tobias."
It's what I wanted to hear, I guess, but suddenly it's not enough. I don't just want her to regret this day. She needs to understand, to make sure this never happens again.
Slowly, I lower my gun, though I continue facing the target. I can't say this while looking at her.
"I spent eight years thinking that my mother was dead." My voice is hoarse. "That whole time, I was sure that Marcus had killed her for having an affair." Tris stays completely silent. "Even after I learned she was alive, I still thought that she'd left me to be with him. With whoever the 'other man' was."
Swallowing hard, I force myself to turn toward Tris, despite how much harder that makes this part. She needs to know how difficult this whole subject is for me.
"When I say that I would never cheat on you, I mean it. I could never even consider it after that." I shake my head a little. "Frankly, I'd be much more likely to hit you again, and you know what kind of lengths I've gone to to make sure that never happens."
She stares at me speechlessly, and I stare back for a long moment before I face the target again, resuming my practice. I've said what I need to; the next step is up to her.
It takes several minutes for her to decide what to do, but eventually I hear a second gun firing. Tris is standing two targets down, shooting at a circular bulls-eye. Part of me is tempted to watch her, maybe out of some old instructor instinct or maybe to see if she's all right, but I don't.
At least, I don't until she abandons the activity. But when she staggers to the table and drops her gun on it, I can't resist any longer. My gaze hangs on her as she grips the edge of the table tightly, her body shaking with quiet sobs.
The sight extinguishes my anger like nothing else possibly could. My wife is crying – nothing matters more than that.
My feet move to the table on their own, and I drop my gun next to hers before grasping her shoulders and turning her toward me. And then I'm doing what I've wanted to do for hours – I'm pulling her against my chest and holding her tightly.
She hangs onto me just as desperately, pressing her face against my chest as she cries into my shirt. The action releases something inside me, and I bury myself in her hair, letting my own hurt run down my cheeks. This has been an utterly horrible day.
"I'm sorry, Tobias," she gasps between sobs. "I'm so, so sorry." The words act as a balm to my damaged heart, and I hold her close, stroking her hair as she repeats them over and over.
"I should have trusted you," she adds, rocking back and forth in my arms now, too anxious to hold still. "I should have known you wouldn't do that…. It's just…." A hiccup emerges, interrupting her sentence. "When I read it, I formed this image in my head. Of you and…her." The thought makes me stiffen, repulsed by even the idea of being with someone else that way.
"And I couldn't get it out," she continues, her voice breaking. "No matter what you said, or how much sense it made, I just couldn't erase that image. And I couldn't think past it."
My breathing catches because I know that reality all too well. It took years for me to stop occasionally picturing Uriah kissing Tris. It wasn't about trusting her, really, because I believed her when she said she didn't return his feelings, and she has clearly and repeatedly chosen me. But part of me has always felt like I don't deserve her, and that someday she'll realize she should be with someone better. That image hit all of those insecurities.
Today must have had the same effect on Tris, and it's difficult to truly blame her for that. If I'd found a letter to some guy in our private space in writing that looked like hers, I can't say I'd have reacted any better.
"I can kind of understand that," I finally murmur, stroking her hair again, gently. Her scent is working its way into me, calming me. "It took me a…very long time to stop thinking about Uriah kissing you. An embarrassingly long time."
Some type of strangled laugh comes out of her, and I pull back far enough to meet her gaze. Her eyes are very red.
"I don't want to be mad anymore," I tell her softly, kissing the top of her head. A wry half-smile forms on my face. "Besides, you've forgiven me for worse things than a false accusation. So, I guess I owe you this one."
To my surprise, she shakes her head. "That's not how it works, Tobias. I forgave you – that means I can't hold it over you anymore. You don't owe me anything."
For a long moment, I have no idea how to respond. I've always struggled with forgiveness, so I never truly understood how fully she meant that pardon. It's more than a little moving.
Caressing her cheek lightly, I whisper back, "Then, I'll just have to forgive you, too."
She swallows, blinking away tears, and any trace of animosity I might have had left disappears.
"I love you, Tobias," she murmurs. "So much." It's what I've most wanted to hear all day, and a trace of pure joy ignites within me as I lean down to claim her lips. It's a long, tender kiss that heals my insides.
"I love you, too." Resting my forehead on hers, I breathe her air and just soak in her closeness, taking comfort from being with my wife.
It's hard to say when we finally move, but eventually, we begin cleaning the room, preparing to head home. We're not members of this faction anymore, and I don't want to cause trouble by leaving a mess behind that could lead to complaints in front of the city government. My mother wouldn't exactly appreciate it.
But it gets harder to focus the more time we spend cleaning. It's always distracting to be near Tris, but it's considerably worse right now. My eyes fixate on her, watching the curves of her backside whenever she leans over to pick up a bullet casing, and enjoying the hints of cleavage I see when she's facing me as she does that.
By the time we get to the final area, and my fingers are brushing against hers, my breathing is uneven and my pants are definitely too tight. Leaning close to her, I let my lips touch her ear as I whisper, "You know, Zeke is always talking about how good make-up sex is."
She looks up sharply, pulling back somewhat in the process as her face flushes instantly. But she seems to get past her embarrassment quickly, and she smiles as our eyes linger on each other. "Christina says the same thing." She moves close again. "I think we should find out if they're right."
There is no way not to grin at that. "How quickly do you think we can get home?" I manage to ask, even though I'm not entirely sure I can walk with the stiffness between my legs.
Maybe Tris isn't sure, either, because she glances around before saying something I never expected to hear from her. "That door has a lock, Tobias, if you know where the key is."
My eyes widen as I realize what she's suggesting. And while the Abnegation part of me thinks that we should wait patiently until we get home, that idea gets no support whatsoever from the rest of me. I want Tris. Right now.
My eyes move to the supply closet, to where I know the extra key is hanging, as I answer her. "I do."
I'm fairly certain that I break a speed record getting to the men's room and back to collect a condom, since I stopped carrying them when Tris and I moved in together. I'm almost as fast at disabling the cameras – whoever is on duty in the control room will send someone down eventually, but we'll have enough time first.
And then I'm standing between my wife's legs as she perches on the table, her fingers grasping at my head and neck while my own tug her hips closer to where I want them most. There's an intensity to every touch that makes it difficult to breathe right now. I'm not sure how much is because of our argument and how much is related to our location, but it's an incredible sensation either way.
We don't undress entirely, unable to wait that long, but our hands roam freely under each other's shirts as our lower regions find each other. And for whatever reasons, I talk this time. A lot more than usual.
"Only with you, Tris," I pant against her skin, my words coming with my breaths as I move in and out of her. "You're the only one I want this way."
Her grasp tightens, an appreciative moan coming from deep in her throat, and it spurs me on. "You're the only one I've been inside. The only one I've kissed. The only one I love. It's only ever been you, Tris."
"I used to think about this," I add, "when we were here. Not in this room, usually, but…I had such dirty dreams about you." My voice is low and guttural. "About being with you. It was hard to look you in the eye after some of them."
It's not an admission I've made before, but judging by the way she's smirking against my temple, she doesn't object. It makes me thrust harder, just remembering some of the images my teenaged brain came up with.
"I had quite a few daydreams like that myself," she says, surprising me. Her voice is as throaty and uneven as mine, hitching with my movements as pleasure courses through both of us. "The whole year we were apart…." She manages some type of chuckle that's partly a moan. "It's a good thing I had my own room."
The words reach spots in me that I didn't know exist, somehow making me even harder inside her. Her lips suck at the corner of my jaw, muffling her voice as she continues. "It wasn't very Abnegation of me, but I would…let my fingers wander while I'd think about you."
I pull back enough to stare at her, my eyes wide with disbelief as I pause in my motions for several speechless seconds. It's not until I see the worry on her face that I realize she's misinterpreting my silence.
"You have no idea what a turn-on that is, Tris." My hips buck forward on their own, proving my point. "The idea that you…." I can't even finish the sentence, but my eyes move down to the subject of our discussion. "While picturing me."
My hands shift so they're under her, lifting her and holding her closer to let me deepen my thrusts. "That is my new favorite thing to imagine," I pant. It makes her grin.
"Though this might be a close second," I add, finding an angle that makes her moan deeply. "I certainly never thought that I'd do this here. In this room, or even in this faction after we left."
Her response is difficult to understand, as her muscles are tightening around me with her buildup, but the words don't really matter right now. I love the incoherent sounds that indicate she's getting close to her release, and I love knowing that I'm the one bringing her that pleasure. I will never get tired of that.
So, I watch her as she lets her head fall backwards, her whole body arching against me while her face contorts with ecstasy. It's an incredible sight, and normally it would be more than enough to push me over the edge, too, particularly given how intense the ache to do so is right now. But today I want more.
Today, I want to feel this again and again as many times as we can get away with in this room. So, I find a way to ride it out, meeting her gaze afterwards before resuming my motions, slower now as we start the cycle of her next buildup.
Her eyes are dark, filled with the aftermath of her pleasure, and they arouse sensations in me that are way beyond words. I stare into them as I bring her to her second peak and even her third before I finally let myself join her. It's one of the most amazing experiences of my life.
A/N: Whew, that was a long one! Anyway, please let me know what you thought of this chapter. I always appreciate reviews very, very much.