He wakes slowly, pleasantly, feeling well-rested and possibly even… content, as he surfaces out of sleep. He's warm and comfortable, cocooned in blankets, with his limbs full… full of Lizzie.
He smiles softly and takes a deep breath to absorb the scent of her hair. Unable to stop himself, he nuzzles into her neck, tightening his arms just a little, wanting to feel every piece of her he can, curled into him like she belongs there. Her soft skin and long limbs prod his memory; just as he starts to grow warm inside, remembering, she stirs against him, her bare feet rubbing lightly against his own.
She murmurs a little, arching her spine into him with a catlike stretch. "Good morning, Red," she says softly, her voice husky with sleep, rousing him further.
"Lizzie," he replies, voice low and rich, breath hot on her neck. "Sleep well, sweetheart?"
She shifts in his arms, gently pulling her legs free of their tangle with his so that she can roll to face him. The first thing he sees is the smile on her face, and everything inside him goes soft at the sight of it.
"I slept…" She hesitates and lowers her eyes.
He reaches up to touch her face, to reassure; can't stop himself from rubbing his thumb gently over her full lower lip. She inhales shakily; blinks; sighs.
"Red," she says, leaning into his hand. "I slept better than I have in months."
He closes his eyes briefly and lets his head slide across the pillow to rest against hers.
"Me too," he admits. "Only you'd have to make it years. I haven't slept so well, or for so long, in years."
Moved, she covers his hand on her face with hers. "Kiss me good morning?" she suggests, striving for lightness, but not quite making it.
"It would be my pleasure," he says, succeeding where she failed with light words; feeling anything but as he captures her delectable mouth with his own.
Still, he intended only a brush of lips, a greeting, a reassurance that they were of like mind and heart. But, like before, like each and every time — will it always be like this? — the lightest touch of her soft, sweet lips sets the banked fires within him ablaze. It takes a split second for his tender caress to change to a wild devouring; he needs more than a simple kiss, he wants everything she has, and more. The only thing left in the world is her.
When his senses return momentarily, sparked by the feel of her nails digging into his back, she's pressed beneath him, her hair a tangled knot in his fist, her tank shoved up around her neck as his other hand roughly massages her breast. The marks of fresh love bites scatter across her collarbones, the upper swells of her chest. He remembers the raging, primitive urge to brand her, to permanently mark her as his. He is as hard and aching as if it has been months since his last release, rather than mere hours. He wonders if he has lost his mind.
He tries to gather his thoughts; focuses on her face. "Lizzie," he chokes out, grasping at sanity, fumbling for the shreds of his civility, humanity.
She thrills him utterly when she hums softly in pleasure and blinks her eyes open to meet his gaze, her blue irises gone hazy with lust.
"Mmm… Red…" she purrs, squeezing him firmly with the legs he only now realizes are clamped around his hips like a vise. "Don't stop…"
He just stares at her, mesmerized, hovering.
She smiles, then, with more than a touch of wicked. "Tired?" she asks, that hint of mischief in her voice that he finds simultaneously infuriating and arousing. "Allow me." And she gives a twist of her hips that knocks him off balance, and he finds himself abruptly underneath her, looking up, now, into her laughing eyes.
"Mmm," she murmurs, low and sweet. "Where to start…"
Every nerve ending in his body tingles and burns; his cock already leaks lightly in anticipation. "Be my guest, Lizzie," he manages. He reaches out to touch her — somewhere, anywhere.
"Ah, ah," she says, appallingly cheerful. "I think not." She takes him by the wrists; presses them to the mattress, leaning into him. She quirks her eyebrows at him; he nods, speechless, more than willing to play along.
Satisfied, she hops up and strips with quick efficiency. He wonders if he's literally drooling, or if he's managing to maintain a small piece of dignity. He watches, barely restraining himself, as she climbs back on the bed and swings a leg over his abdomen. She meets his eyes as she palms her breasts; moaning as her thumbs and fingers pinch and extend her nipples. She settles into him, back arching a little, her ass brushing the tip of his cock so he twitches, again and again.
She lets her hands slip from her breasts, sighing, running her fingers down the planes of her sides and scraping her nails up his ribcage and through the hair on his chest. She leans over to follow the path of her nails with her tongue, leaving hot, wet trails that make him shiver.
She slides backward to his thighs, the friction as she rubs down his body making him moan. She leans down and yanks at the drawstring of his pajama pants with her teeth, her hands hooking under the waistband and drawing them downward. She nudges his leg with a knee; he lifts his rear a bit so she can pull his pants off. She moves down his legs with them, tosses them to the floor. As she crawls back up the bed, still focusing her gaze on his, he thinks he might just blow on the spot. When she settles back onto his thighs and wraps a hot hand around him, he groans, itching to move his hands, to touch, to grasp, to cling. He doesn't; this stillness may be the most difficult thing he has ever done.
"Lizzie," he rasps, wanting to be inside her more than he's wanted anything, ever. "Please."
She closes her eyes briefly, as if the desperation in his voice has overwhelmed her. Then, in a series of graceful movements, she rises to her knees, positions herself, and engulfs his cock in one smooth rush, giving a small mewl of pleasure as the junctures of their bodies meet.
His vision blurs as she starts to move; he thrusts helplessly into her as she rides him, her hands pressing into his shoulders, her legs gripping his. Her panting breaths are incredibly erotic, and it doesn't take long for him to start to tighten, the heat in his belly burning.
"Lizzie," he grinds out, pleading (he won't go without her, he can't). "What do you need?"
"Kiss me," she says, and bends her head to his.
The press of lips, tangle of tongues, friction of their bodies pressed and moving together causes the intensity to build until it pushes them both over the edge, crying out together, pleasure cresting in a wave.
Later, they eat breakfast, sitting in friendly silence. Lizzie wears nothing but a button-down of Red's, filched from his closet while he shaved; Red is back in The Jeans and a worn Arsenal shirt. He absently runs a bare foot up and down her leg while he eats; her fingers toy with the hair on his arm as she munches toast and pores over a stack of notes from the previous day.
"Well," he says finally, taking a last, lingering sip of coffee. "This is positively domestic."
She starts a little at that, flushing, and snatches her hand back to clench in her lap. "Sorry," she mumbles, looking away. "It just… I… needed to touch you."
He reaches out to take back her hand. "Don't misunderstand me, sweetheart," he says gently, using his other hand to nudge her chin so she's facing him again. "I'm rather enjoying it. And I know just what you mean. The touch, it… centers me."
She smiles in relief and pleasure, a little sigh escaping. "What's on the agenda today, then?" she asks.
"Today," he replies, "I should… we should be getting an email from Dembe, telling us to either stay put, or giving details for our extraction, if it's safe."
"Wait," she says, disbelieving. "Wait a minute. All this time… there's internet down here, and you're just NOW mentioning it?"
"Well," he says, eying her cautiously, "Not exactly. I have to hook everything up. There's CAT5 cable coming in, spliced off the service at the ranger station in the park. But since we're using their connection — a government connection, Lizzie — we have to be extremely judicious using it, to avoid notice."
"All right," she says, an odd expression on her face. "That makes sense. You've got a computer in here somewhere?"
"Yes, there's a laptop in the library. I'm just going out to the service corridor to connect to the port there, and we'll be in business."
He rises from the table, raising a questioning eyebrow when she stands up with him.
"Do you need something else, sweetheart?" he asks.
"Just pants," she answers, her voice full of repressed laughter, mischief back in her face, her cornflower eyes. "You couldn't pay me to miss this."