Nostra Culpa

"You can clutch the past so tightly to your chest that it leaves your arms too full to embrace the present." ~Jan Glidewell

June 2013. Washington, D.C.

After ice cream, everyone dispersed—Christopher and Jordan to some late-night showing of a summer super-hero action flick, Anna back to her father's house for the night, and Peter back to his own city. Erin had been nervous as hell, letting her children go out into the wide, wide world without a protective detail, but David had reminded her that they couldn't live in fear, and he had quietly assured her that all would be well. Eventually, she'd believed him, and for the first time in a very long time, she allowed herself the simple luxury of hope.

There was a lovely contented silence as Erin and David walked back to the restaurant to retrieve the car, David humming softly as his fingers played with the fabric at her hip and Erin simply relishing the sweetness of the moment.

"I like that," she spoke gently, slightly pulling him from his thoughts.

"What, bella?"

"The feeling of your arm around me. I like the certainty of it."

He gave a small hum of understanding, because he understood the emotions behind her words—after so many years of odd chances and uncertainties and vagueness, it was refreshing and wonderful to actually feel the weight of knowing. They stopped at the crosswalk, waiting on the light to turn, and his hand slipped up her spine, his fingers tangling themselves in her hair as he tilted her head towards him, leaving a kiss on her temple.

She turned her face slightly, her lips on his ear as she added in a whisper, "I like how possessive it feels."

"Do you?" There was warm amusement in his tone, tinged with curiosity. She hummed in affirmation, the corner of her mouth quirking into a smile as they continued across the street.

The people who were walking near them were finally far enough away for her to continue without being overheard, though she still kept her voice low, "Last year, at Big Smoke, that's all I wanted, you know. I wanted you to put your arm around me, I wanted everyone to know that at the end of the night, we were leaving there together...I wanted...ownership, if that makes sense."

"Perfect sense," he assured her, and suddenly he was feeling every single aching second of the past three nights which had been spent without her. Her hand was slipping underneath his coat, back up his spine, and he could feel the heat of her palm through the fabric of his shirt, and he wondered how he could have missed her so deeply after only three days, while still wondering how he'd survived a whole three days without her. His own hand moved to the nape of her neck, lightly feathering the smooth skin and the wayward wisps of hair that had slipped from her chignon. She gave a small shudder in response and he grinned at how easily she always reacted to his touch. Silently, he was thankful that they'd decided to spend the night in Vienna—he surely didn't want to have to wait any longer than he had to before unwrapping this delicious woman and enjoying her to the fullest.

Obviously, Erin was thinking the same thing, because she murmured, "You need to get me home, David Rossi, before I get in trouble for public indecency."

He merely chuckled at the quip, tearing his gaze away from those glowing eyes long enough to acknowledge the valet, who went to retrieve the car. Soon they were happily on their way, her hand on his thigh and her chin on his shoulder as he navigated through traffic.

"You know, I can't concentrate when you're all over my like this," he informed her, though he didn't really seem bothered by the current situation.

Her voice was teasing, filled with a knowing warmth, "I'm sure you'll somehow find the will to get us home safely. You always were a determined man, especially when there was an incentive."

She nipped his shoulder through the fabric of his coat, her hand moving further up his thigh, fingers pressing deeper into his flesh.

"Bella," he warned. "You keep this up and I'm gonna have to just pull the car over and have you here and now."

"Would you really?" Her eyes lit up with playful curiosity. "Would the infamously cool Dave Rossi be pushed to such—"

"Only by you," he interrupted, though he actually enjoyed her teasing. They'd been sparring all evening, though not in the earth-shatteringly blood-boilingly explosive way that they used to, and he enjoyed feeling the sparks of a good retort or a witty one-liner. They were at a red light, so he had a few moments to level the playing field by taking his hands off the steering wheel, his right hand straying to the buttons on the front of her dress, slipping one out of its buttonhole and pushing back the fabric to reveal the first hint of the soft skin underneath.

Erin's eyes were electric, fastened to his face with humming fascination as she held her breath, waiting for his next move. They were surrounded by people in cars and he was actually beginning to undress her as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"I have very fond memories of this particular outfit," he admitted, his hand slipping through the open space, his fingertips rejoicing at the first brush of the smooth outline of her bra, smiling as he remembered the last time he'd taken this dress off her—the night of his birthday, the night that everything had truly changed.

"David, we're in the middle of traffic," Erin's voice was filled with breathless wonder, but despite her protest, she was shifting in her seat, angling so that he had better access, allowing his fingers to push over the cusp of her cup and sample the warm, tightening breast beneath.

"And?" He looked up with an expression of feigned confusion. "Didn't I state earlier that you're much too beautiful not to be constantly caressed and adored?"

One would think that this woman had never been complimented before, the way she blushed at his words. The light turned green and sadly, David's hand withdrew, returning to its place on the steering wheel. With another crooked grin (because he'd heard her sigh when he pulled away), he added, "Besides, you were the one who started it, kitten."

She laughed at this man and his impossibly childish logic, "Oh, sure, blame it all on me."

And because she'd been feeling giddy and playful all evening (and because she knew exactly what it would do to him), she leaned forward again, her voice dipping into a purr, "So long as that's not all you lay on me, il mio amore."

"Erin Strauss, you are incorrigible," he used the descriptor that she'd so often used on him.

"Well, if I start something, I might as well finish it," she shrugged nonchalantly, and he was grinning again, taking her hand and kissing it warmly.

"You'll get no argument from me, bella."

"Wonders never cease—I thought I'd die before I ever heard such words from your lips, David Rossi."

He laughed at the quip, shaking his head at her flippancy. She was vibrant, bright in the way that she used to be twenty years ago, before they'd both broken and rebroken each other's hearts, and he loved it—things had been so heavy, so dark and serious these past few weeks, and it was nice to know that there was still so much room for play. After everything, there still had to be some parts that remained the same—like the quiet intensity that was already settling into the car's atmosphere as they moved closer to their destination, the blood-pounding anticipation of things to come.

"You know what I'm looking forward to the most, bella?" He asked softly, keeping his eyes focused on the road ahead. "With everyone gone, we can be as loud as we want."

The image inspired by this admission made Erin's throat go dry, and for a moment, she forgot how to breathe. Finally, she found her voice again.

"David Rossi, tu es très coquin."

Vienna, Virginia.

Since Anna's car was gone, David parked in the garage, next to Erin's crossover. By now, things were positively electric, the final breath before the plunge, and their eyes kept finding each other, having silent conversations, affirming the mutual sensations already coursing through their veins.

He was grabbing his go-bag from the trunk, and she brushed past him, head down as she rummaged through her purse for the key to the back door. Suddenly, he turned, grabbing her arm and pulling her back to him with unexpected ferocity, his mouth smothering her sound of surprise as his hands brought her hips to his own. And though the action caught her off-guard, Erin quickly recovered, pulling his mouth further into her own as she stepped backwards, almost falling against her vehicle.

"This is ridiculous," she panted as she finally pulled her lips away from his. "It's only been three days, and we're acting like—"

"No more talking, bella," he growled, recapturing the sharp tongue that had been taunting him all evening. She moaned in agreement, sinking slightly as her hands snaked up his back, her fingers pulling against his jacket, trying to take in every ounce of him.

They broke apart for air, and she slipped out of his grasp, moving away from him, her eyes still shining. He stooped to pick up his bag once more, each movement slow and measured and so full of intent that it stirred a tremor of anticipation in the pit of her stomach. She searched for her keys again, moving back to the door, and soon he was behind her, hands and mouth seeking her out as she unlocked the door. There were a few beats of calm before the storm as she disengaged the house alarm and they tossed keys and bags and purses to the side of the hallway, but as soon as they turned back towards each other, all the air disappeared from the room as hands reached for the places and things they'd been missing for what seemed like an eternity of need.

Her hands were in his hair, pulling his mouth back down to hers as the rest of her body pressed against him, seeking his weight and his warmth. He shrugged out of his jacket before allowing his hands to return to her body, and she was moaning into his mouth at the first contact of his hands on her waist, which only made him grin (if you like this, bella, just wait until I really start touching you).

As usual (as it always was with this man), it was all too much and not enough for Erin—all evening, there had only been time for a few quick kisses and brief, stolen touches, and now that the world was gone, she wanted nothing more than to simply devour him whole. She wanted to tell him this, wanted to tell him that Peter knew their secret, wanted to tell him how much she'd missed him, how she loved him so, and yet, David had said no talking, and she was nothing if not a rule-follower (at least when it came to these types of games, these types of rules). So, she decided that she would let her mouth do the talking—without saying a single word.

Her lips strayed from his own, moving down the column of his throat, taking the time to sample the flesh beneath them, smiling as she felt his pulse humming just underneath the skin. She was unbuttoning his shirt, pushing back the collar to reveal more of the body that she'd missed so much over the past few days.

It took every ounce of self-control that David Rossi possessed to remain still, to simply keep his hands in the nest of her blonde locks, to let her continue bestowing these tokens across his skin, but he remembered her words from earlier—I wanted ownership. He could give her that, could show her that she had full possession of his heart and his soul, every aspect of his affection from the emotional to the physical.

Her breath was quickening and her hands were trembling as she continued down the row of buttons on his shirt, her mouth never leaving his warm skin. She removed his shirt and took a moment to simply wrap her arms around him, to hold him, to feel him against her again, to soak up the heat of his body with a shuddering sigh that almost seemed like a prayer of gratitude.

However, gratefulness soon turned to greed, and her mouth was seeking him out again, and this time, teeth soon followed, with fingers that pressed into the smooth curves of his shoulder blades, pulling his closer, conveying the frenetic need that was building within the blonde frame that suddenly seemed so much smaller than his own, though even now he could feel her strength, could feel just how easily she could overpower him, even if just for a second.

For example, he felt the full strength of her hands as she pushed him against the wall of the small, cramped hallway. He felt the things she was holding back as she planted those hands on either side of his shoulders, allowing only her lips to touch him as she traveled back up his throat. But he didn't want her to hold back, so his own hands pulled her into him again, pressing into the curve of her spine, silently encouraging her for more.

She took this permission with both hands (literally), grabbing his shoulders and further pushing him into the wall as her mouth moved downward again, alighting on his nipple, which she bit and sucked as her hands trailed downward again, her fingernails pressing just deeply enough into his flesh to be felt. Then she was unbuckling his belt, her agile hands slipping past the fabric to encircle his cock, stroking him with a harsh neediness that only sent more sparks across his skin. He released a low moan in response, and she could feel his lungs tighten as he held his breath. Her forehead was rolling against his chest and she was whimpering, all teeth and frustration—please give me something, push when I push you, bite back, fight back, please, please, anything, please….

With a growl of his own, David took her head with both hands, kissing her fiercely as he turned the tables—spinning her around and pinning her against the wall. Now she was moaning in approval, holding her hands up in surrender, allowing him the chance to do whatever he wanted. You belong to me; I belong to you.

David's could barely think over the blood and fire pounding in his ears, over the sounds of her heavy breathing mixed with his own, a strange little symphony that only increased his hunger. His hands were quickly unfastening the remaining buttons on her dress, but the inside button wouldn't come undone, and he needed to feel her skin now, so he simply gave the fabric a rough jerk. There was a light pop, followed by the sound of a button skittering across the tile floor, and she made a small sound of dismay at the thought of her ruined dress, but her concerns were quickly forgotten when she looked into those dark eyes and saw the desire radiating from them like a pulsar. No man had needed her so much that he'd actually ripped her clothes off, and the realization of the effect she inspired in David Rossi was both wonderful and intoxicating. He pulled her forward by her hips, far enough away from the wall to let her slip the dress off her shoulders, taking a moment to appreciate the simple black full slip that she wore underneath. The moonlight was spilling through the large French doors in the kitchen, slipping down the hall and tracing the outline of their forms, bringing attention to the lines of her collar bone—one of his favorite parts of Erin's body, because the warm, soft skin over those delicate bones always seemed in need of a good, hot kiss.

Erin watched these thoughts play across the outline of David's face, her body shivering with anticipation and her heart swelling with pure, unadulterated adoration for this man, this man for whom she would move heaven and earth, this man to whom she would give everything, even before he asked. He stopped time with a single touch, his fingers tenderly tracing the upward curve of her collarbone, ghosting over the slope of her shoulder as he pushed her bra strap away. He brought that beautiful mouth to her neck, so sweetly and reverently that she actually thought she might cry as she turned her face to heaven, granting him better access.

If longing and relief had a taste, it would taste like Erin Strauss' skin, David decided. Before, she'd been a bundle of pounding nerves and frenetic need, but she'd become pliant in his hands, and though he loved her for her sense of fair play, it wasn't what he wanted—or needed—right now. After so many nights of fear, of soft, quiet love-making and deep, long, somber talks about the uncertain future, he wanted the flash and fire of old, the original spark that had started this twenty-eight year flame.

He pulled her into him again, this time his teeth grazing the flesh of her neck, and she moaned in response, her arms suddenly wrapping around his bare back as her fingers bit into his shoulder blades again. With one arm around her waist to steady her, David's other hand went to her hair, pulling her head to the side so that he could enjoy the taunt line of her neck. She was arching into him, encouraging him with hums and little gasps, which he returned with growls of his own as her mouth found purchase on his skin again, returning his nips and caresses, matching his movements as best she could in her current position.

His hands were moving again, pushing up the hem of her slip, singing with delight at the feeling of her bare skin beneath his fingertips. She rolled against the wall, turning her body so that her back was turned to him, her hands bracing against the wall as her hips pushed out against him, pressing, seeking, asking, calling. His hands were still at her waist, so they simply slipped further down again, peeling her underwear from her hips. She shifted, bringing her legs closer together so that he could remove the clothing without difficulty, and his hands firmly pressed along the lines of her legs, enjoying the feeling of her taunt muscles, straining even more due to the height of her heels. She stepped out of the simple black underwear, and he grinned at the wetness that he could already feel on the fabric. Taking a moment to admire the cut of her calves, David nipped the soft skin at the back of her knee, grinning again as he felt her shift, shivering, pressing, wanting more.

Erin wasn't sure that she could remain on her own two feet much longer—David's hot mouth was sucking on her skin, sending waves of fire through her blood, and she felt like she might just dissolve into a puddle on the floor. He was standing again, his mouth tracing the curves of her shoulder blades, coming back up to the place on her neck that always made her entire body freeze at the lightest sensation of his touch. His hands were moving, slipping around to cup her breasts, pulling her closer to him, and she loved the solid strength of his arms around her body. Still it wasn't enough, and it only increased the heat pounding through her body at a rate that seemed dangerously close to exploding. His mouth moved again, to the curve where her neck met her shoulders, and she gave a huff of impatience—David heard a light smack as her hand slapped the wall in frustration, and he found her aggravation adorable (though he was smart enough not to say so, because Erin Strauss would hate being thought of as adorable, especially in a moment like this).

His hands disappeared, and Erin gave a sigh of relief when she heard the light rattle of his belt buckle, the sounds of him pushing his clothes further down his hips, and she silently rejoiced at those aural heralds of the release to come, and David bit back another chuckle at her antics (he never could understand why everyone called her the Ice Queen—he'd never been with any other woman as hotly alive as this one, as deeply passionate or as aggressive, how could anyone ever think she was frigid?). His hands glided up the sides of her hips again, pushing up her slip, and she shifted in response, pushing her hips out further. He could feel the heat radiating from her core before he even entered her, and they both let out a soft moan of happiness when he finally did enter, slowly absorbing every sensation that flitted across his skin at the familiar belonging that only came from being with her.

He was moving slowly, with deep, purposeful stokes, and she was panting again, giving small huffs and mews (partially because she knew that was what he wanted to hear—we can be as loud as we want, bella—and partially because really, she needed more and he was moving much too leisurely for her frenzied nerves). And the sounds coming from David Rossi certainly weren't helping the situation either—he'd never been very loud (or vocal at all) during sex, and now he was moaning with her, answering her whimpers with growls of his own, and dear gods above, Erin was certain that soon, there would be some kind of explosion to rival Hiroshima, and there would be nothing left of either of them, except outlines of their shadows on the wall.

Suddenly, the phone rang, and for a moment, they both stopped.

"Answering machine," her voice was ragged and she was certain that she was nearly incapable of forming complete sentences.

He hummed in agreement, resuming the movement of his hips, thought this time he was moving even more slowly, enjoying every inch of the wet heat that was tightening around him, which earned him a growl of irritation from his partner.

After a few rings, Erin's automated voice filled the room, "You've reached the Strauss family. Please leave a message."

David couldn't help but chuckle at how detached and calm the recorded voice sounded, compared to the woman who was currently making inhuman noises, arching into his hands, which were still at her hips.

There was a beep, and then Paul Strauss' voice came on the line, "Erin, it's Paul. Just calling to let you know that Anna made here, safe and sound. Talk to you soon."

Erin's shoulders were shaking, and suddenly, David heard her laughing breathlessly (though he wasn't sure what was so funny—having sex while her ex-husband droned on in the background brought up too many memories of before, of too many times when they'd both committed horrible sins against this man). He pulled away, and she stopped, turning to face him.

"David?" Her expression was suddenly fearful, confused.

"Bad memories, bella," he answered simply, trying not to be angry at her, because this certainly wasn't her fault (or at least not entirely).

She was moving to him again, her hands cupping the sides of his face, forcing him to look her in the eyes, "That's all they are—memories, love. There's nothing wrong now."

He shifted away again, pulling up his pants and walking towards the kitchen, and her heart broke.

"Please don't do that. Don't pull away from me."

The aching in her voice stopped him in his tracks. He turned around again, "I'm not pulling away, Erin. I'm just—"

"You're pushing me away," she corrected, her voice hardening as she crossed her arms over her still-flushed chest as she followed him into the kitchen. They'd discussed and re-discussed the past so many times now, and Erin had thought that they were finally ready to move past it all, but obviously David wasn't there yet. "Is this how it's always going to be, David—you and your damn Catholic guilt, ruining any chance we have at being happy, even for the tiniest moment?"

"Erin, I don't want a fight."

"I don't, either. I just want an answer."

"You're not gonna like what I have to say."

"And when has that ever stopped you before?" Though her tone was still mainly filled with angry hurt, the corner of her mouth quivered in the briefest of almost-smirks, and he felt the tension in his chest go down a notch.

He took another deep breath, "Well, at some point, we are going to have to acknowledge exactly what we did—to each other, to our spouses, to your children, to our son—"

"We've paid that debt, David."

"Have we?"

Those two words hung in the air like a death knoll. Erin simply stared at this man, this man who stood in her home, the moonlight spilling over his shoulders in a way that made her heart catch in her throat (because he was beautiful, yes, beautiful, in every way, physically, emotionally, spiritually, and now he was pulling away and she couldn't breathe, couldn't look at this man and know that he didn't believe in her the way that she believed in him).

She slowly shook her head, the tears already threatening to overflow as she kept her eyes locked onto his, "I've done a lot of things that I'm not proud of, David. And there may have even been times that I hated myself for what I did to Paul—for what I did with you—but I never, never regretted it, even when I wanted to, or when I thought that I should. We've spent the last twenty years punishing each other, and I'm done. I'm done feeling guilty for wanting you, for wanting to be with you—gods dammit, I have waited long enough, and so have you."

She never raised her voice, but there was still vehemence behind her statement—and more importantly, there was sincerity. He took a moment to contemplate her, to contemplate her words and her simple truths.

"You really believe that, don't you?" He asked quietly, and she couldn't read the light in his eyes, which only scared her more.

"I do," she gave a small nod, fighting down her own fears.

How could he not love her in that moment? She had always had more to lose and less to gain by their relationship, she'd always had more to hide, more demons to deal with, and yet, she had never seemed to doubt its worth, had never lost an almost-blind trust in whatever strange thing that was between them.

"Do you?" She asked, taking a tiny step forward, her eyes so wide with fear and her voice so heartbreakingly small as she repeated, "Do you regret the times before? Do you...do you wish they had never happened?"

God Almighty, here this woman stood, looking somehow an angel despite the devilish appearance of her flushed skin and messy hair and slinky black slip, so full of fear and rejection that he thought she might shatter his heart completely—to think that, even for one second, he had let her doubt his love, his devotion, his all-consuming passion for her, this woman who could rend the foundations of his very existence with a single look, a simple touch, and for whom he would gladly suffer any torment.

"I could never," he shook his head, swallowing the lump in his throat as he quietly admitted, "I tried to—I tried to regret it, many times in the past. But I just couldn't."

He saw the tension in her shoulders melt into relief, but her eyes were still wary as she asked, "And don't you think we've paid the price? After all this with the Replicator, with the way we were torn apart and thrown back together again, the absolute hell of the past few weeks, don't you think we suffered enough?"

He felt the truth of those words long before he even answered, "Yes, bella. I think we've atoned for this, in some way."

"Atoned?" Now it was Erin's turn to feel a pang at her lover's sadness. "Do you really think that you need to atone for what we've done?"

He looked down at the ground.

"Is that what you need? Some kind of confession, some admission of guilt?" At first, he thought that she was angry, that she was mocking him, but then she moved to him, cupping his face with her hands again—when he looked into those eyes which seemed ghostly-grey in the wan moonlight, he suddenly realized that she was utterly serious. She would do whatever he asked, give him whatever he needed (even beg forgiveness from a god in whom she no longer believed, even admit to wrongs that she did not truly consider wrongs, if that was what it took). Her voice was filled with love and pleading as she asked, "What do you need, David?"

"I honestly don't know," he admitted softly. "And that's what makes it worse."

He saw another wave of compassion roll across his lover's face. She pressed her lips into a thin line for a beat, mentally weighing some inner question. Then she gently tilted his head towards hers, until his forehead rested against her head, and she closed her eyes, her voice as soft and reverent as if she were praying, "I confess to marrying a man whom I did not love. I confess to staying with him longer than I should have. I confess to running from my feelings for you, for not having the strength to tell you the truth about so many things a long time ago. I confess to wasting over thirty years of my life trying to be something and someone that I'm not, for all the wrong reasons. I confess to being fearful, petty, weak—"

"Bella—"

"But I also confess to not regretting a single moment spent with you. Even the moments that broke my heart."

The light pressure of David's fingers on her lips stopped her confession, and she opened her eyes again to see tears shining in the dark orbs that were just a breath away from her own.

"I never regretted what we did," he assured her, his voice husky with emotion. "I just…I hated the thought that I had somehow ruined your shot at a simple, happy life with Paul. I never wanted to harm you, or to take away any chance of happiness that you might have had. If we hadn't…if we had never started down this road, if New York had never happened, would you still be with him now?"

"I don't know," she answered truthfully. "But I know that if I were, I would be horribly, horribly unhappy. And probably still a raging alcoholic, even more detached from my children than I already am—"

"Don't say that. Don't you ever say that," he kissed her forehead fiercely, and his protectiveness made a small frisson of simple happiness burble in her heart. "They love you. They know you love them. Don't say that, please."

"I won't, so long as you promise that you'll never blame yourself for whatever happened between me and Paul," she agreed quietly. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes again as she simply rested her head on his chest, "We got married for the wrong reasons—it would have ended, one way or another, and we would never have been happy, no matter what happened. Please understand—I need you to understand that, more than anything else."

"I understand, bella," he assured her, pulling her even tighter into his embrace. He felt her shoulders shift as she gave a deep sigh of relief.

Then she pulled back suddenly, giving him a rough shove, "And David Rossi, don't you ever scare me like that again!"

"What?"

"Oh, don't play innocent. You can't want to marry me one minute, and the next suddenly wonder if we should regret ever being together at all. You can't make me fall so hopelessly in love with you and then scare me like that—"

"Like what? I was merely asking a question," he was grinning now, because he could tell that her anger was really playful relief, because although her tone was reprimanding, her hands were running up his arms and over his shoulders and chest in a way that was reigniting the fire building between them earlier. It was crazy, how easily they tumbled back into playfulness—it was a skill developed over the years due to their line of work, an ability to quickly set aside hurts and forget grudges, using humor as a shield, as a way to heal and reset, and now it was something that they so effortlessly brought into their personal relationship that it simply fit.

Still, she was shaking her head at him, giving him another light shove as she continued with her feigned irritation, "You profilers and your damn mind games—"

"That was not a mind game. I would never play mind games with you—"

"Liar."

"It was a legitimate question," he assured her, wrapping her in his arms again so that he could stop her from shoving him.

"Well, it was horribly timed," she informed him. He gave a small hum of agreement as he captured her mouth with his own. After a beat, his expression filled with amusement.

"Hopelessly in love with me, huh?"

She rolled her eyes heavenward, "You tease me for not being romantic, and then when I do say something poetic, you tease me for being romantic."

"Maybe I just like teasing you."

"I've noticed."

"You're the kind of woman who should be teased often."

She hummed in amusement, her fingers burying themselves in his salt and pepper locks as she brought his mouth to hers again.

"There are other things that should be done to you often, too," he admitted in a warm, low tone.

"Oh? What things?"

He chuckled at how well she played the wide-eyed innocent (yes, kitten was and had always been the perfect moniker for her, regardless of how she loathed it). He took her face in his hands, the pads of his thumbs gently brushing her cheeks, mapping out the contours of her visage in the shadows, "Well, for starters, you should be kissed—well and deeply and very, very often."

"How?"

"Like this." He drew her smiling lips to his again, brushing them tenderly, sweetly taking the time to absorb their texture, their taste, their warmth, dragging his teeth lightly across her bottom lip, to which her mouth opened in response, allowing him the perfect excuse to slip his tongue between her teeth. She hummed in approval, using every last ounce of self-discipline to keep herself perfectly still, to let him show her exactly how he felt. His fingers kept tracing the outlines of her face, as if he were a blind man trying to learn how she looked, trying to commit every nuance, every shade, every line to memory, and the reverence in his touch created a longing in her that pulled with such great force that she thought she might actually stumble back under the weight of it.

David was supposed to be the one in control of this moment, but Erin was moaning softly, pushing her breath into his mouth, and he felt his heart stop for a full beat—how could such a simple action have such a dynamic result? Then her hands gently came to his wrists, her thumbs lovingly rubbing against his pulse points, returning his caresses with a sweet tenderness of her own, though each circle of her thumb sent another ripple across his skin.

Then she pulled away, her eyes dancing mischievously as she asked, "What else? What other things?"

"Hold your horses, kitten. I'm still demonstrating the first point." He grinned at her expression, at her impatience as his hands moved down to her waist, taking a moment to admire the form still half-hidden by her slip, "That was just a warm-up."

"Really?" She bit her lip, trying to reign in the smile blossoming across her face. Of course, David still saw it, and he grinned again, that smug grin which made Erin unsure of whether she wanted to kiss it away or simply smack the expression off his face.

He leaned in again, repeating the first part of the kiss—tenderly grazing her lips with his own, nibbling on the bottom lip was that now red and wanting from their last kiss—but then, instead of entering her mouth again, his lips trailed down her chin, taking a moment to suck on the pulse point at the top of her throat before continuing further down. He finally reached his favorite nesting place, the curve of her collar bone, and he put all of his affection, his fiercest devotion into bestowing a kiss on that spot. Her head rolled forward, her lips brushing his ear as she gave the softest of sighs. His hands drifted beneath the hem of her slip, sliding across her bare skin as his fingers found their way underneath the wire of her bra. He held her, using his thumbs to massage those soft breasts, which were tightening and aching under his touch, as his other fingers pushed into the sides of her ribcage, the pressure of his motions actually moving Erin's entire body (and again, he remembered how much smaller she was at times). She closed her eyes and purred happily at the sensation, giving another slight gasp as his oh-so-lovely mouth continued downward, tasting the supple flesh that his fingers were pushing out of her cups. And now Erin's hands were back in his hair, slipping down his neck and shoulders, her own fingers pushing and searching on his flesh, just as David's were on her body, being so careful not to disturb her lover's ministrations.

David was using his teeth again, and Erin gave a breathless chuckle at the sensation of his hot breath rippling over her skin, creating a wave of goosebumps in its wake. Her knees almost buckled again, and the muscles in her legs reminded her that she couldn't last in these heels much longer. She pulled away, dancing out of his reach as she moved closer to the master bedroom—however, she stopped before reaching her destination, giving a wicked grin as she turned to him, leaning back against the dining room table.

Her lover got the message loud and clear, because he began grinning again, in that full-faced, bright way which made Erin think of how he must have looked as a little boy, or as a charming, dashing young man. She simply watched him, waiting for his next move, taking in every nuance and shift of his form in the faint moonlight that poured through the French doors, making everything seem sable and silver, adding a flair of drama to the unfolding scene (so suited to her lover, who was nothing if not dramatic, in all the best of ways).

He stood just inches from her, his fingers barely tracing across her shoulders, gently pushing away the straps from her bra and her slip, smiling softly at the unbroken expanse of the delicious skin on her chest, his voice husky as he explained, "Now, bella, kissing is just one of the things that you should experience often, because you see, you are what would be classified as a full-package woman."

"Oh?"

"And as such, there are certain things, which should be done on a daily basis, to fully engage your body, mind, and soul."

"Oh, my. And what types of things would those be?"

He placed his hands on her hips again, his face completely serious as he informed her, "I think it's best to simply demonstrate this next point, bella. If I use words, something might be lost in translation."

"Well, we certainly wouldn't want that."

"No, we wouldn't."

She gave a warm hum of amusement as his hands tightened their grasp, his thumbs pressing into her pelvic bones as he lifted her hips, setting her on the edge of the dining room table, and as she leaned back, using her arms for support as her legs left the floor to wrap around his hips, pulling him back to her. He leaned forward, and she met him halfway, closing the gap between their mouths, which met again softly, sweetly, each movement of their lips increasing in pressure and passion. Blindly, he reached back, slipping her shoes off her tired feet, and she gave a sigh of relief, wiggling her toes and flexing her heels at the sudden freedom. Then his hands were slipping back up her ankles, up the curves of her calves, down the lines of her thighs, around her hips and back up to her waist, snaking up her back and pulling her shoulders closer to him, allowing his tongue to forge deeper into her mouth, which was beginning to fill with the familiar huffs and heavy breathing of earlier. Her hands were caressing his arms, his shoulders, the heat from her palms pressing into his flesh with a reassuring weight (he loved it, loved feeling the weight of her touch, so assured and unafraid and unashamed, so unabashedly adoring and openly affectionate, things he never thought he'd feel from Erin Strauss' hands, which had held his beating heart for so long). Then her warm hands were traveling down his torso, unzipping his pants again, pushing away the last bits of fabric that separated them again.

Her hand reached for him, lightly caressing his member with a ghost of a touch, just enough to send a flush of fire across his skin before she guided him back inside, her warm wetness only increasing the flames instead of quenching them. She gave a heavy sigh of relief, her teeth lightly sinking into his shoulder as he began to move inside of her, turning her head so that he had access to her neck, which he gladly accepted, moaning into her skin as he simply tried to acknowledge every sensation, every ripple of emotion and taste and touch and sound and sight that his lover afforded. Her arms were around him again, her hands splayed across his lower back and his shoulders, fingers pressing deeper into his muscles, encouraging him with each thrust, humming her approval and enjoyment as her lips and teeth continued leaving little blessings across his skin.

Erin could feel that David was close to the edge, but it was an odd angle and there wasn't enough pressure or friction for her—she felt her frustration building as she felt her orgasm shimmer and dance just beyond reach.

She reached up again, grabbing his head in her hands and kissing him fiercely before gently pushing him away. He stood back, slightly confused, and she tried to regain her breath enough to explain, "Sit. I need you to sit."

He simply nodded, sitting in a dining room chair (looking slightly ridiculous with his pants still around his ankles, but Erin's eyes were not focused on his feet), holding his hands out to her, and she gave another breathless smile (because he didn't question, he simply let her take what she needed, her thoughtful and always caring and careful lover, and it only made her adore him more). His hands went to her waist, holding her steady as she straddled him, slipping her knees on the sides of his hips (silently thanking her former self for choosing the dining room chairs with arms, which acted as holsters, allowing her to basically kneel in the chair). She braced herself by gripping the back of the chair as his hand pushed up the hem of her slip again, the other hand guiding himself back inside of her core, and she gave another moan of relief, because a simple change of angle was already helping push her closer to the edge.

She was moving again, and his hands were on her ass, pushing her further, pushing himself deeper as his mouth found purchase on the flushed flesh of her chest again, and she leaned further in, her skin starting to shimmer and spark with the familiar sensations that started deep in the cavern of her hips and seeped into the rest of her blood with a power more intoxicating than any alcohol. She was making incoherent sounds again, and David was answering her, which only increased their mutual fervor.

David felt Erin's body tightening and coiling with the first signs of her climax, and he tightened his grip, rising to meet the grinding of her hips with his own, trying to hold back his own orgasm while praying that hers would come soon.

Suddenly, Erin became quiet, and he could feel her holding her breath—he pulled her as deeply onto his hips as he could, his mouth landing on her collarbone again as he heard the cry rumbling in his lover's throat, feeling her silken walls clenching and trembling around his cock, and he finally allowed himself to tumble into release too, pulling and clutching at her curves as he felt the blissful golden relief of his own climax.

Erin was laughing again, in a hoarse, breathless way as her bones slowly began to melt, her forehead resting on his shoulder for a moment as he simply held her, his hands tracing the curve of her spine, trailing along her back in small circles.

She sat back, and his hands moved to her waist, steadying her as she gingerly placed her feet back on the floor. Pushing a few wayward locks of hair from her face (a truly futile gesture, for there was more hair out of her chignon than whatever was still left in place) and rearranging her displaced slip, she offered another grin.

"Well, I guess it goes without saying now, but I don't think that I told you how much I've missed you since you've been away."

And suddenly, David was laughing with her, as he sat and she leaned against the dining room table, both completely disheveled and thoroughly debauched, happy and breathless in the silver strains of the summer moonlight, both knowing that somehow, tonight, they had crossed yet another hurdle on the path from who they used to be to what they were always destined to become.

"What you need to know about the past is that no matter what has happened, it has all worked together to bring you to this very moment. And this is the moment you can choose to make everything new. Right now." ~Unknown.