Across the Mountaintop
"Can't you see what your gentle insanities do to me?-Rob me of anger and give me despair! Blows and abuse I can take and give back again, but tenderness I cannot bear!" ~Joe Darion (Man of La Mancha)
*Author's Note: This chapter is RATED M. And much darker than previous M chapter. Here be dragons, ye were warned.*
July 2002. Seattle, Washington.
"Honestly, Dave, I'll never understand why you chose to stay here," Myra, a sliver of a girl with an attitude the size of Texas, wrinkled her nose in disdain as she surveyed the hotel lobby from their table in the hotel bar.
"It has charm," David Rossi replied smoothly, taking a sip of his drink and casting a glance around the bar. There was a lovely lady across the room who'd been smiling at him for the last fifteen minutes, and he briefly thought that she might have been at his book signing earlier that day.
"Next time, I'm booking the hotel," Myra gave a slight shake of her head as she downed the last of her martini. David simply smiled at his young assistant, who obviously didn't share his love of charming old locales—although this one held a deeper allure, one which he'd never explain to the pragmatic brunette seated across the table. In some ways, Myra reminded him of Erin. She was practical, not one for flowery words or romantic gestures, dedicated to schedules and her PDA. She was smart as a whip with a sharp tongue to match, but she lacked that special something extra that Erin had which made her bite so much more pleasurable to bear. Still, she was an excellent assistant; she kept David on-track and on his toes whenever he was on book tours.
The younger woman continued her assessment of the establishment, her dark eyes sweeping over the lobby once more. She saw something that interested her, because she suddenly sat up.
"Now that has charm," her voice became warmer.
"What?" David looked up from his drink with an amused smile.
Myra nodded towards the lobby. "I don't usually do older women, but she looks absolutely delicious."
David turned to see the object of his assistant's lust, and he felt his heart stop. The woman at the front desk had her back turned to them, but he'd know those hips and that light blonde head anywhere. He told himself that he couldn't be sure, so he simply waited and watched.
Myra's target turned back around, key card in hand as she stooped to pick up her bags again, and David's hopes were confirmed. For whatever ungodly reason, Erin Strauss was back in Seattle.
"I know that woman," his voice was filled with wonder.
"You do?" Myra looked at him incredulously.
"She's an old colleague from the Bureau," he replied.
This earned him a devilish grin from his assistant, "Think she carries her cuffs with her?"
"She's administration now," he shot Myra a disdainful look.
"So...that's a no?"
"A definite no."
"That's alright," Myra grinned again, wagging her eyebrows playfully. "I brought my own."
That was a mental image that David Rossi stored away for future reference. Right now, he was too busy following Erin's movements as she relinquished her bags to the bellhop, giving a polite smile that didn't reach her eyes.
Something was wrong. Erin, as usual, was moving along smoothly, but there was something just under the surface that screamed that she was about to fall apart at any minute.
"Excuse me," he rose to his feet, feeling like he did the last time he spotted Erin Strauss in this hotel, as if he were part of some strange dream. He couldn't begrudge Myra's attraction to the older woman—Erin's figure was lusciously encased in a moss green wrap dress that only intensified the hue of her grey-green eyes, her feet clad in simple bronze flats that allowed the clean lines of her calves to take center stage. Her hair was pulled back into a low chignon, showing off the delicate structure of her neck and shoulders, which drew attention to the deep v of the dress' neck, accenting her breasts in a way that almost seemed obscene.
Yes, delicious was the perfect description. If it weren't for the sadness in those beautiful eyes, she'd be the epitome of a siren.
She was halfway to the elevator, the bellhop following dutifully behind her (and greatly admiring the view, David noticed), when David approached. He suddenly realized that she might not be glad to see him—after all, their last words had been horrible and bitter—and he pulled back, uncertain of whether or not he should intrude. She pressed the elevator call button and he saw her shoulders sag as she gave a heavy sigh. That was all the encouragement he needed—if nothing else, she could at least yell at him, which used to always make her feel better.
He sidled up to her, tucking his hands nervously in his coat pockets as he glanced over, trying to keep his voice as casual and nonchalant as possible, "So, what's a lady like you doing in a place like this?"
She turned to him, and in the briefest of flashes, David saw an entire range of emotions pass through her eyes (she was uncertain, then shocked to see him, then there was fear, because obviously she hadn't forgotten the venom behind their last meeting, and then there was relief, because he didn't seem angry, and then there was something softer, something warmer, and that was the something that gave David hope).
Erin Strauss felt as if she'd just been struck by a bolt of lightning. On today, of all days, at all times and in all places, David Rossi had chosen this moment to re-enter her life. If Erin didn't already believe there was a god, she certainly did now—and now she knew that he was a French absurdist with a sadistic sense of humor.
"David," she hated her voice for sounding so breathless. "What...what are you doing here?"
"In Seattle for a book tour," he motioned back to Myra, who by now was positively glued to the scene unfolding before her. He gave a small smile to Erin, "As you know, this is my favorite hotel."
"Yes." She was distracted by the dark-haired vixen who was staring at them, looking as if she might devour David Rossi whole. Of course he'd brought some hot young thing on tour with him—Erin stamped down a wave of irritation. All she wanted was to go to her hotel room, where she could be alone and perhaps finally cry over the loss of her mother, and here was David Rossi, popping back in just to show off his newest lover or wife or what-the-hell-ever.
She really wanted to punch him in the face right now.
As usual, the object of her anger was completely oblivious—he was too busy taking her bags from the bellhop, handing the young man a generous tip and dismissing him with a wave of his hand. The elevator opened and David followed her in, acting for all the world as if he belonged here, with her.
"Are you sure your little friend won't mind?" Erin asked flatly, studiously avoiding his gaze so that he couldn't see the anger in her eyes.
"Myra can handle herself just fine," he replied easily, a little uncertain of why Erin's mood had shifted so suddenly. He took a moment to observe her, to take in the lines and shadows and contours that he'd missed so much over the past four years (even though he hadn't realized just how much until now, until he was struck once again by the nearness of her).
On the next floor, the doors opened again and more passengers filled the elevator car. Out of habit, Erin immediately shifted towards him, allowing more room for their new companions. Her hip brushed against his hand and she pulled back, giving a soft apology and rearranging the hem of her skirt. David simply smiled and used the silence as a chance to further examine the blonde specimen beside him.
She looked good. Well-rested. She was dyeing her hair an even lighter shade of blonde these days, but it suited her. There were a few more lines around the corners of her eyes and mouth, and he suddenly realized that she was over 40 now—it seemed odd, because he always tended to think of her as the fresh-faced 26-year-old field agent whom he'd met in a smoky bar at an FBI Christmas party. Had they really known each other that long?
She swiveled, turning her face upwards so that her gaze locked onto his, "Stop."
"Stop what?" He asked quietly, although he knew the answer.
"Stop profiling me," she whispered back, trying not to be overheard by the rest of the occupants.
"A man can't appreciate a lovely view?"
"Not when he's got some hot-to-trot twenty-something waiting downstairs," she retorted. Erin generally wasn't the jealous type (especially when it came to David Rossi, because, after all, she had no claim to the man), but it was an easy excuse, a way to channel the stress and sorrow into anger (because anger was an emotion that she could deal with, it was something she could handle, something she could understand and control so much better than grief). And as usual, David Rossi made the perfect victim.
So that was what the sudden coldness was about. David couldn't help but grin as he thought about just how far off the mark Erin was—yes, Myra was 'hot-to-trot', but it wasn't because of him.
"I'm glad you find this amusing." Erin obviously didn't share his humor. Her irritation simply made him laugh, which did nothing to alleviate the scowl on her face. The elevator arrived at her floor and they exited, traveling down the hall towards Erin's room.
"This looks familiar." David commented.
The look she shot him could have withered an oak tree. She suddenly hated herself for being so weak, for giving in to the manic desire to be in the same hotel room from one night almost nine years ago. Of course, he would remember those kinds of details, of course, he would put two-and-two together and realize what a pathetic hopeless romantic she truly was.
David did recognize the room number, but by now, he'd sensed enough of the various emotions rolling off Erin's silent frame to realize that it was probably best not to mention it. Still, there was a warmth in his chest at what seemed like a sign of divine providence.
She opened the door easily, holding it for him so that he could enter with her bags. He set them on the edge of the bed, turning to her with a small smile. The angry creature from the hallway was gone. At the doorframe stood a small, incredibly lonely looking thing, whose size seemed to shrink as she wrapped her arms around herself, biting her bottom lip as her eyes stared vacantly at the carpet.
His mind flashed the same thought that had occurred to him in the lobby: Something's wrong.
"Erin," he said softly, that single word containing the compassion and confusion and tenderness that he could never express (because she would never allow him to, because doing so would be tantamount to admitting and remembering all the times before, because things were too uncertain and unstable right now).
She physically flinched at the sound.
"Don't." She spoke through gritted teeth, and he understood the rest of the command (don't pity me, don't profile me, don't look at me like that, don't recognize me, don't remember, don't notice, don't ask).
And because he always obeyed when she asked for such things, he simply nodded and began to leave. She moved away whenever he came to the door, retreating further into the room. His heart was heavy with the realization that this would probably be the last time he saw her again for many more years, but her next words stopped his heart completely.
"Stay. Please."
Her voice sounded so small, so broken and desperate and completely unlike Erin Strauss. He turned around slowly, his face filled with uncertainty. Her back was still to him, her arms still wrapped around herself as if they were the only thing holding her together. He knew how much it had taken her just to utter those two words—how much she had to let go, how much she had to push past, how much pride she had to swallow, and how many fears and insecurities she had to overcome. She was reaching out for him, as best she could. He could sense that, could sense the doubt and the sorrow and the deeper something else that seemed to pour from her body in waves.
He quietly shut the door and moved back towards her, noticing her shoulders stiffen at his approach, as if she was steeling herself, like the patient taking a deep breath before the doctor administers the needle. Gently, cautiously, he placed his hands on her shoulders.
She shouldn't have asked him to stay. She knew that. She knew it before she even asked, knew it with every fiber of her being, even though every fiber of her being was crying out for him from the second he appeared beside her in the hotel lobby, like some guardian demon, quietly waiting to overtake her soul once more. For some reason, her mind flashed back to a line of Hebrew poetry that she'd read in college: Across the mountaintops, I saw you, and my heart flew across the desert to your hands, my soul went out to you, and I remembered your name because I loved you….
She couldn't remember the rest of the poem, but she'd felt that sentiment the moment she'd turned to look into those dark eyes and the rest of the crowd in the lobby had seemed to disappear. When she was younger, she'd thought it was the most beautiful thing that she'd ever read, and she'd hoped that one day she'd truly know that feeling—now that it was here, she realized that it was the most terrifying thing in the world. The mere warmth of his hands on her shoulders was enough to unravel her carefully-contained emotions. She no longer had control (the one thing she needed, wanted, had spent her life and her energy obtaining) because her stupid little heart suddenly felt the need to leap from her chest at the sight of a man, who during their last conversation (argument, that's what it really was) had called her an unworthy, unqualified tramp and had broken her heart. She was weak, pitiful, pathetic, a strange kind of junkie who couldn't refuse the call of her next fix.
Her self-loathing didn't alter the fact that she needed him. She needed him because he was someone who knew her deeply, who saw her flaws and accepted her strangeness, and right now, he also didn't know about the aching hole that would be forever in her heart. Right now, he was someone who knew her before her mother's death, who also still didn't know about her mother's death. Erin was a master of avoidance, and reality was something that she didn't want to deal with until she was safely back in D.C. Right now, she wanted to be Former Erin, with two alive and loving parents, with a picture-perfect life and no reason to mourn. She didn't want tears or condolences or sad searching questions about how she was doing. She wanted to devolve into blissful oblivion, wanted to feel anything besides the absolute hysteria that was clawing its way up the back of her throat at the realization that the one woman whom she thought could never die was now gone forever. David could help her sink into oblivion. He could do that for her. She knew that he could. More importantly, she knew that he would, if only she asked.
David watched these thoughts and emotions tumble across her classical profile, and he wanted to ask what was wrong, but he hesitated—Erin was the type of person who would share things when she was ready to share, and trying to get her to open up before then would only push her further back into her own shell. He'd never seen her like this, and with the added unresolved tension of their rocky parting four years ago, he felt like he was on foreign ground.
She turned her face to the window, the corner of her mouth turning downward in a sour moue, "Don't look at me like that, David."
Despite her expression, his name on her lips sounded like a caress. With another heavy sigh, she tilted her head back, resting against his chest, her eyes closed as she whispered, "I don't want you to look at me like that. I want you to pretend that nothing has happened, and things are exactly the way they were."
He wanted to counter, But something has happened, and things aren't the way they were. However, he held his tongue, because he knew that Erin never could deal with things directly, and he didn't want to hurt her any further.
David would do anything she asked. She knew that. Perhaps it was cruel, using this knowledge in such a way. Perhaps that was the point. Perhaps it was justified. Her hands went to the tie at her waist, pulling at the strings and sliding the dress off her shoulders.
He took a step back, removing his hands as she shrugged the material off her body. She wore a lilac full slip underneath, the late evening sun poured through the windows and revealed her silhouette through the thin fabric. She still didn't turn to face him as she quietly requested, "Please. Make me forget."
"Forget what?" He couldn't stop himself from asking as he moved closer again, this time his hands resting of the bare flesh of her upper arms.
"All of it," came her simple reply (every sweet memory from this room, the soft creation of our son, the fear after, the sadness between us, the fights, the loss, my loss, my world, my life, all of it).
He felt a pang in his own heart at her words, "Erin—"
"David, please," she interrupted, not wanting to hear the pity and uncertainty in his voice. She arched her neck, allowing him access as she reached up, snaking her hand around the back of his head and pulling his mouth to her flesh. As expected (as ordered, as desired, as usual, as predetermined by his need to please her), David complied, tenderly following the curve of her neck down the slope of her shoulder, feeling a small measure of accomplishment when he heard her sigh again, felt her fingers curling in his hair, felt her shift again, moving her body closer to his.
His hands moved down, tracing the curved indention of her waist, moving around to the softness of her abdomen, pulling her tightly against him, feeling the sharp edges of her shoulder blades pressing into his chest. He buried his nose in the warmth of her neck, taking in the smell of her hair (foreign yet familiar, as if everything and nothing had changed), trying to lose himself in the simple rise and fall of her breasts as she breathed, the softness of her skin, tautness of her shoulders, trying to simply rediscover this continent that hadn't been explored by him in nearly a decade—but none of this stopped the voice in his head from wondering, What are you running from, Erin?
The tenderness behind David's touch was almost enough to dissolve Erin completely, but that was the last thing she wanted. Tenderness would only breed more tenderness, and that would lower her defenses, allowing those emotions to come crashing to the surface. She didn't want that. She didn't need that. What she needed was blood and fire and teeth and talons and things that steeled and hardened her, things that hurt her body to take away the pain in her soul. It was something that she would never ask of Paul, and again, perhaps that was the point.
She turned to him for the first time, pulling his lips to hers, pillaging his mouth with her own tongue and teeth. He didn't pull away, he simply returned her ardor, his fingers digging into the flesh of her hips. There was the bitter copper taste of blood in his mouth and he wasn't sure if it was his or hers.
Erin released him, panting slightly—the look in her eyes actually scared David, because he'd never seen it before. With shaking hands (shaking from what, he wondered, lust, anger, mania, hysteria?), she pushed his sports coat off his shoulders, quickly turning her attention to the buttons of his shirt, which soon joined the growing puddle of clothing on the floor.
David passively allowed her to undress him, his dark eyes never leaving her face as he tried to discern the emotions going through her mind. His hand reached out to caress her blonde head, but she jerked away as if it were a red-hot poker iron.
"I don't want that," she said curtly, turning her attention to the belt of his pants.
"Then what do you want, Erin?" He asked, fearing the answer.
"I've already told you," her voice was filled with irritation. "I want you to make me forget."
"Erin, I think we need to talk first—"
She gave a whine of frustration, suddenly abandoning her mission of disrobing him as she threw her hands out in exasperation, "I don't want to talk!"
She stepped back, kicked off her ballet flats, reached under her slip and pulled off the lace boy-shorts underneath, ripped the pins from her hair with a vehemence that frightening, "I don't want to think; I don't want to talk; I don't want you to think and I don't want you to talk—I just want you to fuck me."
She moved forward again, grabbing the belt loops of his pants and pulling him towards the bed as she sat down. There was a moment of stillness and silence as she simply looked up at him, waiting for his next response. Her hair was wild and her mouth still red from her attack on his lips, tears glistened in her eyes and David was certain that he'd never seen her so close to an absolute breakdown.
David knew that he'd do anything she asked when she was like this, because he'd do anything he could to save her from this strange and scary state. She knew this and he knew that she knew this. She laid back on the bed, her eyes never leaving his.
"Alright, bella," he said softly (using the same voice he used during hostage negotiations, which did not go unnoticed by Erin), taking a moment to remove his shoes before reaching down to the place still barely concealed by the hem of her slip—he could feel the heat radiating off her thighs, but when she opened her legs wider, he found that she was barely wet.
"You're not ready yet," he retorted gently.
"I don't care," her voice was filled with tears and frustration.
"I can't do this, bella," he admitted softly. "Not like this."
She turned her face to the window again. He leaned forward, dipping his fingers in what little moisture there was (silently thankful when she shifted at the touch, because it meant that she hadn't left him completely), and trailing his way up to her clit, increasing pressure as he began to make small circular motions. She shifted again, biting her lip and holding her breath as the tension began to slowly coil inside of her. His free hand traced up the line of her hip, under the silk of her slip, over the ridge of her hip bone, across the soft plain of her stomach, to the jagged cliffs of her ribcage. His eyes were trained on her face, watching and waiting for some kind of sign. She remained flat and lifeless, staring vacantly out the window, like some poor imitation of the creature he knew.
"What's wrong?" He asked quietly.
"I don't want this," she replied stolidly, sounding every bit like a sulky child.
David fought back a wave of frustration as he asked, yet again, "Then what do you want?"
Erin knew exactly what she wanted, but she was never good at asking for such things—at least not with words. So she abandoned speech and went straight to action. She sat up suddenly, whipping her open palm across his face. There was a moment of shocked silence as David's brain tried to register what had just happened. In all their fights, she'd never actually hit him before. He looked down, into the defiant eyes that glowered back at him, the searing heat of their gaze much more intense than the warmth he felt rushing to the site of the blow.
She pushed him, causing him to stumble back as she rose to her feet. Then she was against him again, her hands capturing his face as her tongue invaded his mouth with frightening intensity. David pulled her away, "Erin, what are you doing?"
She jerked away from his hold, but she came back to him, her hand easily slipping beneath the band of his boxers. Her fingers easily found him and she began to stroke his member, her voice breathless as she asked, "Don't you remember how it was the first time, in New York? Don't you want that again? After all those fights, all those moments, haven't you ever just wanted to have it just like this?"
She didn't voice the rest of her thoughts (how it was in New York, when it was just fucking, when you didn't care and neither did I, when things were simple, when I wasn't the mother of your child, when we weren't in the strange uneasy place we are now). She gave a smug smile as she felt him stiffen beneath her fingers. She dragged her open mouth across his chest, her teeth pushing into his flesh barely, just enough to be felt, her breath hot and heavy on his skin as she continued, "Don't lie to me, David. You know you have. You've thought about it, you've wondered how it would feel just to lose control like that again. You know, you know, you know you have."
His throat tightened and he couldn't deny the effect her feral nature was having on him—but then again, every nuance of Erin, from the hue of her eyes to the softness of her skin to the shade of her voice, was like a drug cocktail that had been carefully tailored to him, as if the Devil himself had crafted a Trojan horse just for David Rossi. She'd never been this aggressive before (not even the time in New York), and he probably would have fully enjoyed this new side of Erin, if his instincts weren't telling him that she was trying to deal with some emotional trauma in a very unhealthy way.
"Not like this," he kept his tone gentle as his hand clasped her wrist, pulling her hand away from his cock (though he instantly regretted it, he knew there was something deeper that needed to be dealt with first). He allowed himself a moment of truth as he added softly, "I never wanted to hurt you like this."
The moment he'd pulled her hand away, her expression turned to one of complete bewilderment and hurt. Now it was her turn for her voice to soften, breaking with tears and desperation as she simply stated, "But I want you to."
"I can't."
Her gaze fell to the floor, and his heart fell with it. He gently wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into his chest, resting his chin atop her blonde head. He expected her to finally cave in, to finally dissolve into tears and tell him what the hell was going on.
But as always, Erin Strauss never did anything according to his expectations.
The instant she felt the warmth of David's bare chest, she exploded into a fury, pushing away from him, slapping away his attempts to hold her again. Instinctively, he grabbed her wrists, but she still pulled away. With a quick jerk, he pulled her into his chest, pinning her arms behind her back.
A beat passed as they simply stared at each other, two fighters sizing up their opponent, weighing the determination they saw in the other's eyes, looking for a weakness. Of course, it was Erin who found her target first.
"Then leave," she leaned further into his chest, taunting him. "Leave so I can find someone else who will. I'm sure I could find at least five guys at the bar downstairs that wouldn't mind getting a little rough—you know it, David, you know better than anyone the type of people I could find."
There was a hardness in her eyes that told him that she would do it. It was a bullish move, but one that fulfilled its design—Erin could see the moment of capitulation in David Rossi's face, because, as she'd pointed out, he did know better than anyone the type of strange and sadistic bastards that a gorgeous, depressed masochist could find in a city like this.
She's not running from something. She's trying to purge it from her mind completely. The thought hit David with sudden clarity as he looked into those grey-green orbs staring up at him. Whatever had happened to put that sadness in her eyes wasn't something that she was trying to avoid—it was something that she was trying to obliterate.
If he agreed to what Erin was asking, he wouldn't be any better than those men. But at least he could know that she wasn't being hurt any more than she wanted to be. He could know that the hand that hurt her did so out of loving obedience, out of some twisted desire to truly take away the pain in her heart.
She remained silent as she watched David slowly succumb to his decision—unlike David, once she knew that she had won, she didn't push any further. She simply waited, her heartbeat quickening as each second brought her closer to exactly what she wanted and needed from this man. He quietly released his hold on her wrists. With the slow reassurance of a victor, she placed her hands on his shoulders and pushed him again—it didn't hold the anger or the force of the last shove, but it was a volley, a test shot to see how he'd react. She advanced, moving to push him again, but he recaptured her wrists, pulling her into his chest.
Her tears were gone, the blush had returned to her cheeks, the pulse point on her neck was humming at a rapid pace again—David told himself that even if he hated what he was about to do, at least he could be certain that it was what she wanted.
He hated her in that moment, hated the power she held over him, the calculating way she'd manipulated his affections to get what she wanted, the way she'd used her supreme knowledge of him to goad him into this darkness. He hated himself for being so weak, for always giving in to her demands, for allowing himself to care in the first place, for opening that little window to his soul that let in this sharp-edged creature, hated the fact that despite his mind's reluctance, his body was already pounding, begging for the release that he knew her curves would afford.
He let go of her wrists, shoving her back onto the bed. She sat up slightly, still poised for whatever may come. He kept his eyes locked on hers as he slowly pulled off his pants. Realizing that she'd finally, truly won, she laid back, closing her eyes in silent gratitude.
He pulled her back to the edge of her bed, bracing his knees against the mattress, grabbing her hips as he took her roughly, and he hated every second of it—hated the harsh friction (though thankfully she was wetter than she'd been at first), hated the feel of her being bruised, hated the rigidness of her body as she internalized the pain, the way she bit her lip to hold back her cries, hated how she wouldn't let him caress her, hated how his own body reacted to the entire charade.
Erin could feel the loathing radiating off David's frame in waves, and part of her mind was actually grateful, because this would be her new memory of this room, this hotel, this city—the pain and the sadness and the loathing, not the warmth and the love and the softness of their last encounter. The look on his face was unsettling, because she knew that he was only doing this because she'd bullied him into in, and she felt a quivering in her stomach as she realized that she'd just created yet another gap between them, had burned another bridge on the strange road to their mutual redemption. So she simply closed her eyes, willing herself to focus only on the rough pull, the hard weight of his fingers gripping the flesh of her hips.
She felt a sob rising in her chest and she fought it as best she could, clamping her lips together tightly. David saw this, knew that whatever storm inside her mind was about to break, so he dug his fingers deeper into her skin, pushed harder, pushed her closer to whatever strange release she needed. He could hear the small whimpers of pain that she kept locked in her throat, saw how she pressed her lips together so tightly that the skin around them became absolutely white, and suddenly his anger and loathing and hatred turned into sorrow. Don't you know this won't take the real pain away, bella?
Erin held her breath, because it was the only way to keep that tidal wave of grief at bay. She was ruining everything, and she knew it, felt it with every part of her being. Regardless of how things had ended four years ago, what happened in this room before that was still a beautiful thing—and now she'd ruined it. She'd destroyed that lovely memory with a single-minded sense of nihilism that had followed her for her entire life, she was defiling her mother's loss because she couldn't even shed a damn tear unless someone else forced her to through physical pain. For years, she'd overheard the things whispered about her (frigid, stone-cold bitch, ice queen) and now she'd discovered that the rumors all seemed to be true—she'd become a hard, inanimate object, incapable of emotion or feeling or anything at all. And her lack of humanity had pushed her to destroy yet another sweet, tender thing—David's feelings for her—and now he would hate her, just like she deserved to be hated, just like she hated herself. Now he sees me as I really am.
The cry ripped through her lungs and she couldn't keep the tears away any longer. It was the sight of those rivulets running down her cheeks, the skittering rise and fall of her chest that broke David Rossi's iron-clad resolve, and he couldn't finish. He pulled out, and as he did, Erin truly began to cry.
"I'm sorry, bella, I can't," he whispered mournfully. She simply rolled to her side, and then the sobs came tumbling from her lungs, devolving into small, pitiful wails as she slowly curled into herself, the force of her grief actually shaking the bed as she finally unleashed the feelings that had been building inside her skin since she'd heard Andrew's soft voice uttering those horrible words in a crowded airport.
David crawled onto the bed, pulling her sobbing, broken frame into his arms as he slowly rocked back and forth. He didn't try to quieten her cries or offer any words of comfort. He just let her cry, let her exorcise whatever ill spirits flooded her chest, let her get it all out.
Her sobs subsided long enough for her to finally choke out, "I have to go back home."
He wasn't sure what that meant, so he simply said, "OK."
"I have to go back home," she repeated, her voice quivering as she added, "Because my mother died this morning, and I have to go back home."
Suddenly, her actions all made sense—she didn't want to go back home, back to the sadness and the certainty of death, back to dark rooms and black mourning cloths and clichés about being in a better place, back to holes in the deep, cold earth and rows of entire lives summed up in a few words chiseled in granite.
David sat up, pulling her into a sitting position as well. Cautiously, she looked at him, the uncertainty written plainly across her face, which was red and mottled from crying. He gently reached forward, cupping her face in his hands as his thumbs wiped away the tears pooled under her eyes. Of course, this caring gesture brought more tears to those green orbs, and David felt his heart break all over again.
She hadn't been angry; she'd been hurting. She hadn't wanted him to cause her pain; she'd wanted to simply get rid of the pain in her heart. He understood that, and he would have gladly done those things for her, if only she'd told him what had happened in the first place.
"You could have just told me, bella," he said softly.
"I didn't want you to know," she replied, quickly adding, "Not at first. I wanted…I just wanted things to be—I don't know—I wanted to have a few more minutes of not knowing and not remembering."
She felt like a bumbling idiot, but he seemed to understand because he simply nodded.
"You want me to make you forget," his voice was barely a whisper. Again, the sadness in those grey-green eyes was enough to tear his heart in two. He wanted to comfort her, to hold her and let her cry and tell her sweet things to mend her soul, but he knew (he knew because she'd told him, because she'd made it crystal clear) that wasn't what she wanted. So instead, he decided that he would do exactly what she wanted (because that's how it always was between them, she set the tone and he followed, because he always twisted and turned himself inside out just to be whatever she wanted, because he always wanted to be whatever she needed, because he couldn't stop himself, no matter how dark or unbalanced or unhealthy or wrong it may be).
"I can still do that," he took a moment to run his fingers through the tangled and tousled blonde halo. His eyes locked onto hers, making sure she understood his words as he gently repeated, "I can still do that."
She seemed doubtful, but she nodded. His eyes remained on hers, as his hands found the hem of her slip, slowly guiding it upwards. She dutifully raised her arms, allowing him to slip the garment over her head. He pulled her closer, and she rested her head on his shoulder as his arms moved around her back, unclasping her bra, which was easily discarded as well.
He sat back, taking a moment to appreciate the form he hadn't seen in almost a decade. Erin blushed slightly, suddenly feeling self-conscious as she realized that she'd aged ten years and bore two more children since that last time he'd seen her naked.
"I suppose it's not much compared to the lithe little girl you've got waiting for you in the bar," she couldn't stop herself from saying it, even though she hated how insecure and needy she sounded.
This time, David didn't laugh. He simply looked at her, "It's not like that with Myra, Erin. She's just my assistant; she tours with me and keeps me on-schedule. That's all."
"But…the way she looked at you when we were at the elevators—"
"She wasn't looking at me," he replied. "She was looking at you."
The expression of pure shock on Erin Strauss' face was priceless, and he couldn't help but laugh.
"Me? Why me?"
The fact that she was completely oblivious of her sexual hold over people was actually adorable. David's grin deepened as he pulled the confused blonde closer to him again, stealing a kiss from her lips before answering, "Well, to quote Myra, she thought you were absolutely delicious."
His mouth moved to her neck, taking a moment to savor the supple softness of her skin before adding, "And I have to say, she absolutely right."
Erin shivered at his lust-saturated tone, closing her eyes as she surrendered to the feel of his hands moving across her skin. He gently pushed her back onto the mattress again (she fought back the involuntary cringe at the thought of what gravity did to her breasts at this angle), lying on his side next to her as his hands wandered the planes of her skin, ghosting over the pool at the top of her collar bone, dancing around the soft mounds of her breasts, trailing down to the outlines of her hips. His fingers were as light as feathers and her skin instantly shivered at his touch.
Her eyes remained on his face, filling with soft wonderment at the expression she saw there—he wore the softest of smiles, as if his hands were taking him on a journey into warm memories of the past. He sat up again, his mouth gently replacing his hand's position on her hip (which he could already tell was going to bruise, so raw and red was the skin). Her flesh reacted immediately, prickling with goosebumps. He smiled to himself and continued his tour, moving to the edge of the bed and gently taking her left foot in his hand.
She lifted her head, still trying to watch him, transfixed by his smooth movements, by the lines and contours of his own body as he shifted. Obviously retirement had been good for him, because he'd been working out more (or at least more than he had been nine years ago), and his skin was darker (more time at the beach, she thought enviously). But those were not the things that filled her body with that old familiar rush of heat—one look informed her that he was fully aroused and the desire in those dark eyes was unmistakable. He looked at her as if he could devour her whole, and she suddenly understood the strange plight of the bird that could only stand still, transfixed by the oncoming snake, though the pulsing through her veins was not the heavy weight of dread, but the delicious electricity of anticipation.
David grinned devilishly when he saw her eyes on his cock—in moments like these, Erin was the easiest read in the library, and if her hungry eyes hadn't given her away, the sudden flush across that smooth freckled chest was a definite clue. He silently congratulated himself on successfully taking her mind away from her current troubles, though he knew that his mission was far from over. She pushed herself up on her elbows now, her eyes slowly and purposefully traveling back up to his. Once he knew he had her full attention, he lifted her foot to his lips, placing a deep kiss on her ankle, smiling smugly as he felt the muscles of her foot flex, toes curling as she bit her lip. He continued upward, toward the curve of her calf muscle, laying light caresses and slow kisses along her skin. Then he gently laid her leg back on the comforter, allowing only his mouth to touch her for the rest of his journey. By the time he reached her thigh, she was practically squirming, but he skipped upward, his mouth landing just above her hipbone.
She gave a frustrated sigh, letting her head roll backwards as she huffed, "You cruel, cruel man."
He simply chuckled at the accusation. "You have no idea, my dear."
Those words sent a shiver down Erin's spine as he moved further up, his lips ghosting around the curve of her left breast, just enough to tease her. His kisses were too light, and each time, she tried to move towards him to press her skin more firmly to his lips, but he always pulled back. This earned him another impatient huff. He planted another warm kiss on her collarbone, moving up slightly to the muscle of her shoulder. Now his lips lost their tenderness and his teeth sank into the soft flesh, eliciting a small gasp of surprise from the woman beneath him. His left hand snaked around the curve of her waist, pulling her up to him as his teeth found her skin once again. She came forward easily, arching towards his mouth, her legs opening involuntarily at the shock of his sudden roughness. His left knee planted between those hot, sticky thighs, and she whimpered when she felt the weight of his cock against her leg. She wriggled her hips, silently begging him to enter, but he simply chuckled and shook his head.
"We're not done yet, bella."
She needed some kind of release, so she sought out his lips with her own, but he pushed her back down, back into the mattress. She tried to rise up again, but his hands snapped to her upper arms, holding her down. Her eyes filled with wonder as she looked up at the man above her, his shoulders bowed and poised like an angel of death hovering over its prey. My soul went out to you…to you, to you, to you….
David took a moment to fully appreciate the view—Erin's wide eyes, her open mouth, the pulse pounding at the base of that lovely neck, the red, wet mark on her shoulder, the soft tremor of her breasts as her chest rose and fell with each heavy breath. The words left his lips before he could catch them, "You are magnificent."
That statement only intensified the inferno raging in Erin's core and she strained her hips towards his once more, her right leg hooking over his back, trying to pull him into her. He easily slipped out of her grasp and she gave a soft whine. He grinned at her obvious distress and brought his mouth to the smooth valley between her breasts. Slowly moving up the gentle slope of her right breast, his teeth came out again, nipping at the tender flesh, then salving it with his tongue. She jumped at every bite, moaning with relief when she finally felt his wet mouth on her taunt nipple. But the respite was only temporary, and if anything, it only increased the tightening in her core, which was pounding with blood and heat and need.
David turned his attention to her upper arm, still pinned beneath his own hand, as he sucked and bit at the flesh (softer than it was a decade ago, but in a good way, he decided). He cruelly ground himself into the side of her thigh, taunting her. Her hips bucked involuntarily, and he felt the muscles of her arms as she strained against him again.
"David," his name was like a prayer on her lips, but it would remain unanswered. His mouth moved to her left breast, giving it the same treatment as the other before moving down to the curve of her ribcage—he never stayed anywhere long enough for his kisses to feel like relief, only to tease and to draw out the irritation and the want and the shiver of her skin. His teeth lightly scraped the soft skin of her belly, and by now, she had simply melted, willing herself to be complacent so that the delicious torture would end. He felt her surrender and released her arms, his lips smiling against her skin as her hands automatically sought him out, her fingers burying themselves in his dark hair, caressing the head that traveled down her torso, down to her hip bone (keep going, keep going, oh please please keep going!).
He placed his hands on her warm thighs, pushing them further apart as his mouth continued its trek, across the soft, silky skin of her inner thigh, the dark scent of her flooding his senses. By now, Erin had devolved to expressing her frustration and delight through hums and huffs and pleading mews, and her breath caught in her chest as she silently pleaded for him to go further up and further in. Instead, his mouth moved down, towards her knee, and she let out a low groan, her fingernails digging into his scalp with frustration. But then (oh glorious then!) he moved back to her upper thigh, his teeth sinking into her flesh so suddenly that she jumped and cried out in surprise.
David sucked hard on the skin, knowing he'd leave a mark—he'd already left so many others, what was one more?—relishing the salty taste of her skin, which was sheening with sweat and trembling with want. He sat back, placing a hand on each thigh, deeply pressing his fingers into the muscles, massaging the quivering tissue, pushing just enough to cause a strain. Her hips rolled with his movements, she was past all point of controlling her animalistic responses to his touch as a low keen rumbled in her throat, calling out for him in a tongue that beat back to the dawn of time. He could feel the heat radiating from her core, could smell the dark primal scent of her, and at the sound of her call, he couldn't contain the need pounding through his body any longer. He moved forward, capturing her lips with his own as he pushed himself inside of her. She let out a low moan that pulled from the tips of her toes all the way into his mouth; he felt her walls clench around him, silently welcoming him back into her body.
He had given Erin what she wanted, but there were things he needed and wanted as well. He suddenly sat back—Erin whimpered at the abrupt departure, but he pulled her up as well, his arms wrapping around her back as he moved her into a sitting position, giving her a moment to adjust as he guided her hips, entering her once more. Her arms wrapped around him, her heels pressing into the small of his back as he set the pace again, her lips and teeth finally finding some measure of relief on his shoulder. His hands were cupping her ass, his fingers pressing into her flesh, pushing her further down as her bare chest slid against his, the friction sending sparks through her nipples. His mouth was on her neck again, gently tugging at her pulse point. Erin let out a soft hum of pure relief.
In a moment of clarity, her hazy mind decided that if home were feeling, it would feel just like this.
The soft patter of rain on the window greeted Erin as she slowly tumbled out of sleep and back into the waking world. It was still dark outside, and she felt a sudden chill, grimacing slightly as she felt the faint soreness deep in her muscles that would certainly be a problem tomorrow. David was still asleep, his heavy head on her breast, his breath sending warm gusts across her skin. They'd collapsed onto the bed without even bothering to slip beneath the covers. She smiled warmly at the thought, her hand automatically moving back to his hair, running her fingers through the thick dark locks. There were a few sprigs of grey that weren't there several years ago, but she decided that it actually made him look sexier (something she hadn't thought possible, but she'd learned long ago that when it came to David Rossi, wonders never ceased).
Before they'd drifted off into golden sated slumber, she'd silently thanked whatever lucky star that she'd been born underneath for bringing her the unexpected comfort of David Rossi.
Her lucky penny was waking again, his mouth searching out her skin, his body stretching and shifting as his hands traced the familiar lines of her curves. He hummed softly, grabbing her waist and rolling over, pulling her on top of him. Her thighs parted easily as she pushed herself up slightly, straddling him, and his member twitched at the feeling of her still warm and wet center pressing into his skin.
He opened his eyes to see the smiling face of Erin Strauss.
"Hello," she murmured softly.
"Hello yourself," he returned gently, his hand reaching up to brush her hair from her face. He took another breath before he asked, "Do you wanna talk about it?"
She knew that he was referring to her mother's death. With a heavy sigh, she gave a slight shrug, her gaze dropping down to his chest as she flatly related the details, "She was on the way to our house in Nantucket—we were all going to spend a week out there whenever I got back from Seattle—a family vacation, you know. And then somewhere on I-95, she suffered a severe cerebral aneurysm, and wrecked the car. But the EMTs said that she was probably gone before the impact. So, she didn't feel anything, I think."
It was the last two words that truly hurt David's heart, "Oh, bella…."
"Let's not," she gave a quick shake of her head, and the tears forming in her eyes disappeared as she quickly blinked them away. She forced another smile, mimicking David's movement by caressing his face with her hand. "We aren't those people, not to each other."
She saw the hurt in his eyes (which he tried so bravely to mask), but she couldn't recant her statement. Still, she softly reminded him, "We can't be, David, remember? We're…we're not…"
"I know," he replied. "You don't have to explain."
"Then why do I feel like you don't understand?" She asked quietly, her light eyes searching out his dark ones, which were nearly hidden by the shadows in the room.
"What I understand and what I feel aren't always the same thing," he answered simply. His hands went to her hips, moving up and down her sides aimlessly as he tried to find the best way to say the things he needed to say, "I know what we are, Erin, and I know that's what we agreed to be, the very first time this happened. And most of the time, I'm OK with that. But regardless of what happens in moments like this—regardless of the things we're supposed to forget—the fact remains that in all the other moments, I still care about you. We worked together, we've seen some pretty strange things and fought some pretty tough battles together—"
"And sometimes against each other," she couldn't help adding with a dry smile.
He smiled lightly in agreement as he continued, "And through all that, we've come to care about each other, as friends and colleagues would. Now, I agreed to the terms of this little whatever-this-is-between-us, but I'd still care, even if this never happened."
She gave a small nod, swallowing the lump in her throat and carefully schooling her voice before she answered, "I know. And I am—I am glad that you care. I just…I just needed something else for a little while."
She bit her lip, taking another deep breath before adding, "You know…you know I wouldn't have really found someone else—I said earlier that I could find someone, and I guess, I mean, it's true, I could….but I wouldn't have. I wouldn't have done that at all."
Her eyes moved back to his as she uttered the last part of her damning confession, "I wouldn't have, because none of them would have been what I needed. None of them would have been you."
There was a moment of silence as David fully registered her words. In all the years that they'd danced this intricate ritual, he'd never asked if there were others (because it wasn't any of his damn business, it wasn't his place, they didn't mean anything to one another, at least that's what he told himself), though he'd wondered. Now she was telling him the truth—there was no one else, there had never been anyone else, he was the only one for whom she broke her vows and her oaths and her rules, the only one who'd been worth the risk, worth the shame and the guilt and the heartache. Though she'd just reminded him that they couldn't be anything more than a casual fling, she'd also just confessed that he held a special place in her life, that he held the place of a need, albeit a twisted and uncertain one. That was all he needed (though perhaps not all he hoped for).
She gently leaned forward, her chest pressing into his as her lips tenderly mapped the geography of his face—she traced his brow, kissed his closed eyelids, the bridge of his nose, his cheekbones, his jawline, his chin, slowly winding her way back to his mouth with a surprising sweetness. Her lips trailed away again, moving to his ear, her breath hot on his skin as she whispered, "Make me forget again."
The next morning as Erin prepared for her shower, she caught sight of her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Her entire body flushed when she saw the marks across her flesh, her eyes taking in every bruise and token in the mirror with a soft wonderment as her fingers lightly caressed each dark stain, like inscriptions of some arcane cult written up on her skin. She felt another flood of warmth invade her core as she thought of the tongue and hands and teeth that left these symbols.
She half-expected him to be gone when she returned from the shower, but he was standing there, already dressed, with her bags packed and waiting on the edge of the bed. She offered a soft smile, placing the last of her toiletries in the bag and readjusting her sweater one last time (she had to wear a sweater in the middle of summer, because of the marks he left on her arm and neck, but it still filled her with a naughty delight, having some deep, hot secret like this). He grabbed her bags, returning her smile with a soft one of his own as he said, "Let's get you home, bella."
In the elevator, he began to feel her pulling away as she clutched her purse, looking up at the elevator dials as she quietly said, "I'm sure this goes without saying—"
"And I'm sure you're gonna say it anyways," he countered with false irritation, and she smiled at the sarcasm.
"But if we ever see each other again, if for whatever reason—"
"This never happened," he recited the familiar litany that always accompanied these little excursions.
"Right," she gave a curt nod of approval.
Once they reached the front desk, David set her bags down beside her, "Well, bella, this is where I say goodbye."
"So long, sailor," she gave a mock two-finger salute, looking every bit like a USO girl from an Andrews Sisters' film. In the last nine years, she'd gotten better at saying goodbye—she masked the sorrow and uncertainty with a dry and slightly caustic humor that kept the tears away.
"Marine," he corrected haughtily, which earned him another smile.
"Isn't that the same thing?" She feigned innocent confusion. He chuckled at her snarkiness.
"Take care, Erin," he wrapped her into a warm hug.
"You, too, David," she whispered back. Then they pulled apart, giving each other one last smile as David walked away. It was by far their strangest, darkest, most explosive encounter, and yet, Erin would count this as one of the most serendipitous moments of her life.
When David finally reappeared at breakfast—an hour late, freshly showered, and looking a bit too tired to have spent the night alone (or sleeping for that matter)—Myra swore that she'd hate him eternally for taking away her chance with the blonde temptress, though her eyes were still dancing mischievously when she asked, "So, was she worth it?"
David answered with all of his heart when he replied quietly, "She's always worth it."
*Author's Note: I actually cannot remember where the line of poetry that Erin remembers from college comes from-I know it was something I translated while taking Sephardic Hebrew years ago, but I've searched for it many times since then and could never find it. If you somehow know, please tell me!*