AN: Sorry this was so long coming. I'm literally never home anymore. This is quite...adult...rated. So read it at your own risk. I'll try to update faster this time. Notice the use of the word try, however.

The Funeral of a Good Girl

By – TempestRaces

Chapter Sixty – Of Solving Puzzles and Tables Turned

"No Vince?" Dom asked Leon across the breakfast table in the morning.

"Um, I wouldn't count on it, no."

Dom's eyes narrowed. "Why not?"

"He was, ah, playing music in his room really late last night," Leon tried to answer tactfully. He tried to remember what Dominic thought of sharing dirty talk around the breakfast table. He tried to remind himself it wouldn't be right to get what he had heard out of his system in front of the whole group. But he wanted to. He wanted to tell them all in an angry tone what it had made him feel to hear her calling out someone else's name in the night. To hear the man she was with answer in kind. To hear them so obviously enjoying each other. To tell them all what it would do to him when she was finally broken by the very man who seemed to care so much for her right now and she still wouldn't turn to him for anything more than comfort in friendship. But he couldn't tell them any of that. Couldn't tell them how it had twisted in his gut to open the door of Vince's room to wake his friend up for work and find the two of them in a tangle of limbs in the centre of the bed, her face hidden against the side of his neck, and his head turned slightly to the side so that his cheek rested on hers.

Dom looked like he still just didn't quite get it. Letty leaned over and whispered something to him. When she straightened up, it was clear she had managed to enlighten him. "Ok, so I guess he's staying home."

"No big, I'll just head down for awhile," Jesse offered. "Sounds like I won't be needed to entertain Temp until sometime later this afternoon anyway," he offered with a smile. Everyone could tell it wasn't quite confident, that Jesse wasn't quite sure what he should make of the situation.

"Still can't believe she went out with a cop," Dom muttered.

"The cop was hot," Mia interjected. "If she hadn't, I would have."

Letty grinned. "How hot?"

"Calendar full of hot guys hot."

"She only went out with him to piss Vince off and it worked, so get over it," Leon growled.

"Simmer down now Le," Letty pushed back lightly. She knew that while Tempest's only goal had been to slash at Vince, she had also managed to slash at Leon. Unintended or not, she had also managed to make Leon unsure, and maybe a little angry with her. "Like you said, she only did it to piss V off so they could make up. Not like she really wanted to date the cop." It was clear Leon had more he wanted to say. He visibly forced his mouth shut and went back to contemplating his plate. Letty rolled her eyes. Boys!

"Finish up and let's get outta here," Dom growled to break the mood.

When he woke up, it was obviously daylight outside and he had a face full of hair that wasn't his. He turned his head to find the source and found Tempest asleep with her head hanging down into the crook of his shoulder, her breath warm on his neck and her hair flipped up over her head, streaming over the pillows and onto his face. He gathered it behind her back and smoothed it down before straining his head to the side to try and get a look at her face. She was out like a light. A quick glance at the still functioning clock on his wall showed it was just after eleven. He groaned. He really hadn't intended to blow Dom off for so long. But he couldn't remember the last time he'd slept so well.

She shifted in her sleep and the slide of skin on skin was one of the better things he'd ever experienced in the first few minutes of daily consciousness. She made a few murmured, unintelligible noises in her sleep before settling back down, her hand sliding from where it had been resting with the pads of her fingers on his collarbone down to rest on his hip as she dug closer to him. He didn't know how it was possible for her to get closer than laying totally on top of him while naked and asleep, but it felt like she had managed it when her lips came to rest semi-parted against the side of his neck. Her breath was a hot, erotic slide over his skin. Or, he was just hot for her, like he always was when he woke up with her in his bed.

As he lay under her, unconsciously stroking her back, feeling her hands on him even though she was asleep and unaware of her touch, and her lips on him even though she didn't know they were there, he remembered the time she had woken up before him. And what she'd done to bring him into the world of the living with her.

Arms wrapped tightly but softly around her, he rolled slowly to his side before lowering her softly onto her back amongst the pillows. She muttered a bit but didn't wake up. He tried to move away from her. A frown crossed her face and she sighed, her brows knitted together. He didn't want to wake her, but he had to get some distance from her. He ran the back of his hand over her cheek and she quieted, her sigh whispering over his hand. He lay on his side beside her, his head propped up on one hand as he looked down at where she lay. He knew if she were awake she'd be embarrassed to be the center of his attention while so exposed and naked. That was until he aroused her to a point where she just didn't care anymore.

He smiled, thinking of turning the tables on her. Maybe because she was asleep and not awake to push him, and tease him, and just look at him in that way she had that just conveyed her impatience better than words ever could, but he felt like maybe this time he could just take his time and draw the experience out.

With that thought in mind, he brushed his mouth over the fluted edge of her collarbone. He watched her eyes move behind closed lids and wondered what was going on in her mind while she slept and he played. Was she simply asleep still? Did his touch make her mind conjure a dream to match his actions? Was the person co-starring in that dream with her him? That line of thought was banished as quick as it came. If he was going to do this, he couldn't do it while thinking she might be imaging another in her mind.

He ran his free hand down the side of her face, across the side of her neck, down the center of her chest and lower, before sliding over the slight convexity of her belly to cup her hip. Female skin had never fascinated him so much before he had found hers to play with. She was easily as tough as he was, in her own way. And the same went for strong. She couldn't bench what he could, or lift the things he could. But when it came right down to it, if you considered that she was a female half his size, he had to bet she was almost his equal. But her skin was soft and it hid the strength underneath, which his did not. Her build wasn't obvious.

His build was obvious. If it wasn't, he would often find himself in pretty hot water. With the situations he put himself into, it was his intimidating build that let the others know he was not the one they wanted to pick a fight with to work out their petty frustrations, or to try and give themselves that big man feel. His strength on obvious display let the others of his world know that he meant business. There wasn't a thing about him soft. But solely because she was a woman, despite the fact she was just as strong as him in a female way, her soft skin hid the strength from anyone who wasn't looking for it. Also fascinating were the faint lines on her skin the sun had temporarily tattooed her with. She was the same even, light gold across her whole body but for narrow lines across her hips, along the lowest dip of her belly, and across her chest, faintly winding around her neck and across her back.

The amount of her skin on display for the other men at the beach momentarily made him want to break all of their random faces for looking at her. If he ever did go to the beach with her, she was leaving her shirt and shorts the hell on. He wasn't watching other guys stare at her. He wouldn't have time to break all their faces. He tripped his fingers across the line of her hip, and smoothed his hand back up toward her chest, her skin like living silk under his rough and callused palm.

Her head rolled on the pillow, her face turned toward him. She frowned again, and her hand reached out for something. Somehow knowing she was seeking him with her outstretched hand, he took her much smaller hand into his own and twined his fingers with hers before leaning down to kiss her mouth softly. Her frown faded as she kissed him back, still quite asleep. He smiled against her cheek as he headed for her ear after releasing her lips, still holding their joined hands over her head on the pillow.

She huffed softly but carried on sleeping. He scraped his teeth over her neck, releasing her hand so he could slide his down to her waist. He finally figured she was going to sleep through a bit before what he did to her woke her, and closed his mouth over the tip of her breast. Her back arched into his mouth and she sighed something that sounded suspiciously like his name. A fact that pleased him to no end. He teased her further in the same vein, and she said his name on a soft sigh a few more times as her breathing started to come faster than before.

Fascinating. Her reactions to his touch when she didn't have any thoughts of keeping a guard up were simply fascinating. Her responses were totally honest. She wasn't awake to hide anything she was thinking or feeling from him. Not that she often did, in this sense, he figured. But she might have often tried to make how she reacted more about rough and wild than she really felt in the thought it was what he wanted. But not now. Now she shuddered delicately under his touch, said his name on sighs, and arched languidly into his hands. Now, while she was asleep, there was time to slow down and not race to the finish. Fascinating to blame that tendency on her. Fascinating more by far to realize it was the truth. It was more her than he who turned every situation into a race, into some sort of competition. She was so driven to win every situation. But what was the prize in the race she spurred them onto every time they were together intimately?

What was she scared of? Why did she have to push him into frantic action every time they were together? Ok, it wasn't always her. But more often than not when he spared time to think on it. There was never time for this slow awakening of the senses. Just wild reactions and a rush to the finish. And because she was who she was, and how she was, exploring mutual reactions to their actions was something he wanted to do. And without the hectic flight to the end for once.

Normally he wouldn't care less. The finish was the point with the kind of girl he normally found in his bed. There wasn't much sense spending time getting to know the likes and responses of easy women. It wasn't what they wanted or expected in the first place. They wanted something from you alright. But it wasn't necessarily good sex. That was just a fringe benefit to them. If the sex was good, it was ok as they would be there participating either way. But, for the females, the sex wasn't really the point of the action. They really wanted the status, the cheap and temporary rise in their own worth to the underground world they spent their evenings and weekends pretending reality in. Monday to Friday they were waitresses, secretaries, clerks, college co-eds, dancers, cashiers. They didn't get too many professional women in their world. But there wasn't much point in caring what a girl liked you to do to her if you'd never see her again anyway, and that was how both of you wanted it.

But he found himself marvelling at the way this woman responded. Fascinated by the puzzle that was Tempest. He was never sure what she was thinking, or what she wanted. He was sure he knew how to give her what worked for her in bed, at least. Could give her what she needed. Often more than once, he allowed himself to smirk with the self appreciating thought. But it was the fact he gave a good god damn that had him thrown. She was supposed to be an easy solution to the daily question. It was supposed to be convenient to have someone so well matched to his appetites in the house. It wasn't supposed to turn into some desire to shock and please her with his skills in bed. Obviously, he was doing something right. He had her practically panting and the only place he'd touched her south of the border was along her hip bone. It was time to correct that oversight, he decided with a grin.

It was clear what she wanted, but he didn't oblige her right away. He let her want and attempt to get what she wanted without reaching her goal for a minute first. He had thought it before, and couldn't get it out of his mind. She was fascinating. The concentration lines on her forehead, despite the fact she was asleep. That, and the set of her bow mouth—slightly pursed—showed that in her subconscious or in the dream her mind was feeding her to go along with his actions, she was scheming how to get her way. He fought a laugh. She really liked to get her own way.

She'd like getting his way this time, he was fairly certain. He teased her mercilessly while she slept, her figiting and sighing showing that in her mind, she had some idea what was going on. Her eyelids started to flutter more rapidly.

"V?" His name was a query for reassurance and a plea for more.

"Shush," he kissed her, still stroking her where she needed his touch, in all the ways she liked. His familiar voice reassured her it was really him, even as his equally familiar touch proved the point. Her back was arched so tight he was almost scared she'd snap in half when she finally fell over the edge. She moaned in her throat, kissed him back.

"Please. V?"

"I'm here. Come on Trouble. You know what you want."

"I—I need—" And with a gasp she found what she needed.

Fascinating. It was his last thought before he decided she was awake and aware enough that it was time enough to start that ever present race for the finish. She welcomed his presence on top of her with open arms, her hands tangled in his hair as it was his turn to groan her name and shudder. The race was a draw as they each reached the finish line simultaneously, the other's name the victory call of choice for each.

He mused about the lack of finesse yet again, and a rueful smile formed on his lips, still pressed against the side of her neck as he tried to catch his bearings. He kept his weight on his forearms but wasn't ready to move just yet. Just not to suffocate his playmate. His utterly fascinating, utterly perfectly matched playmate.

"I might not hate mornings so much if I woke up like that every day," she mumbled, drugged with sleep and his touch.

"Waking you like that every day would kill me inside of a year." He finally found the energy to slide off her, landing on his stomach in an exhausted yet happy sprawl beside her. "Not that I'd mind."

She stretched languidly with an inelegant yawn. "I was having the best dream. And then it wasn't."

"As long as you were having the best dream about me that suddenly wasn't." He was going to take a nap, he figured, as he half heartedly tried to make his statement sound threatening.

"Um," she answered with the noncommittal noise before crawling onto his back and sprawling into the same position as him, but on top of him, not the sheets. "Sleep more?"

"Oh yeah. A year more sleep might be enough to get me to recover."

"Wake me up when you get up."

"K," he muttered. He was always amazed how quickly she could slip under the weight of slumber. She was asleep again almost before he could process the fact. Her arms were laid out across the tops of his and her fingers twined with his, her palms flat on the backs of his hands. Her head was resting on the pad of muscle on the back of his right shoulder and her breath was softly ruffling his hair with a steady, deep rhythm. Her body, all her muscles, had gone totally slack. With the heat of her relaxing him, it didn't take him long to join her in sweet oblivion.