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Chapter 15: Completion

When she had exhausted herself, I slowly moved us to sit on the floor—she was in no condition to face the rest of the guests any time soon. I leaned back against the door, pulling her into my lap—she straddled me, laying her head against my shoulder as I held her, her breath still coming in shuddering gasps and her body trembling. The position is intimate, but non-sexual… it's the easiest way to wrap her up within myself, and provide the most protection and comfort I can, and I gladly do.

Within a half an hour I could hear Jim's sister bidding guests farewell, and after another ten minutes, I heard her and her family walk out as well, the door closing a little too loudly. Sara lifts her head at the sound, meeting my eyes for the first time since we'd entered the room.

"…I'm sorry… about that." She looks down again, and I catch her chin, tilting her face up to look at me.

"Don't be sorry, Sara. He was being an asshole, and trying to manipulate you… I don't blame you for being upset."

She smiles, a bit awkwardly, but holds my gaze. "I… never told you about him."

I shrug. "You can, now, if you want to… but you don't have to. I gathered quite a bit from your… conversation, earlier."

"…He was my first… everything. First kiss right up to first… you know." She blushes, and I find it to be the most intoxicating color across her checks. My heart begins to race, but I nod seriously, listening—because I know that Sara doesn't open up easily. "When I graduated, I… I had gotten more than a full ride to Harvard. How many foster kids from small town public schools get above and beyond a full ride to fucking Harvard, you know? …Opportunity of a lifetime."

I nod again, gently running my hands over her back, trying to keep her calm as she relays her story.

"But he had a year of high school left, and said his parents couldn't afford out-of-state tuition anyway… so he couldn't come to Boston with me. I tried to tell him we could make it work. …He told me that… he wanted to be enough for me to be willing to give it all up. …But I wasn't enough for him to make those sacrifices either. And… I really loved him, Gil. I… I hadn't trusted anyone in… years, before him, and I would have given up everything in the world but my education… because it meant that I would never end up back where I started, and if I had children, neither would they."

She draws in a shuddering breath, her tear-brimmed eyes flickering to me in apprehension. There's a lot that she's given away, unintentionally, but I know well enough not to ask. She needs time to come out of her shell to people… questions make her defensive. Instead, I file it away for later consideration.

"So, he… made the argument that his education was… more important than mine, because, as the man, he would provide the 'primary income,' because my income would be unreliable, with all those babies I would be popping out." Her eyes close tightly, and the tears that have threatened again slide down slowly—almost poetically. My hands frame her face and my thumbs wipe them gently away. I feel like I'm beginning to understand, at least in part, what happened the day she left—I had called my income the primary one…

"…I had told him I didn't even know if I wanted to have children, and he had said he didn't care if we did or not. …Yet I was expected to give up the only thing I had that I could be proud of… the only thing that was just mine… just in case my uterus got in the way of our finances."

More tears fall, and I draw her against my chest. "He's a fucking high school teacher for god's sake! Really? I was supposed to give up Harvard for a public school teacher's salary?" And then she's sobbing against me again, and my hands are stroking her back, waiting for her to exhaust her grief once more.

When she finally calms, she meets my eyes again, and she looks apprehensive. "…I'm… I'm sorry, Gil. I'm sure our whole fight was really… uncomfortable, for you. And… and now I'm in here crying and…" She wipes at more tears, with the back of her hand—a very childlike gesture. "It really isn't about him. It's…" she winces. "He just… took so much from me."

And I nod, understanding completely what she means, because she had spelled it out much more explicitly to him—he had taken away what capacity for trust she had once had, he had made her afraid—and then smile softly, again guiding her chin until her eyes meet mine again.

"You don't need to be sorry, Sara. You're a strong, passionate woman, and you weren't going to let him manipulate you. That's… one of the things I love the most about you. And," I chuckle softly, "You defended my honor quite admirably, if I remember correctly."

She grins, almost wickedly, and then it dwindles into a look I'm not sure I can define—confusion, but also… hopefulness, perhaps? I know the question is in my eyes, and she answers with a question of her own. "…Do you?"

My hands cradle her face again, thumbs brushing over her beautiful cheek bones. "Do I what, honey?"

She blushes beneath my palms. "You said that… that I was strong and passionate and that… it was…" she lets her sentence trail into silence, but I finish my own statement in my head. I had told her it was one of the things I loved most about her.

My heart begins to race, and I draw in a deep breath, moving my face forward unconsciously and her eyes are locked on mine. I can feel her heart beating as rapidly as mine, and this gives me the confidence it takes to speak, despite how dry my throat is. "…Of course I love you, Sara. I've loved you since the moment I saw you…" I shake my head in disbelief. "I think it's been rather obvious, honey…"

And then her lips are pressed tightly against mine, her chest flush to mine, and I am the happiest man in the world once again. I gasp and my hands run through her hair, down her back, clutching desperately at her hips and pulling her tight against me. A breathy moan escapes her lips, and I feel desire rising in me like a tidal wave, and in the next moment she's on her back, on the floor, with me above her, my hands already pushing at the bottom of her shirt, my fingers trembling at the feel of her—she's even softer than I remember.

She moans into my mouth as soon as my hands make contact, even though they've hardly moved an inch up her abdomen. And then she breaks the kiss, her eyes out of focus and bright with desire. "Not… not here, Gil. Not in their bedroom… the couch…"

I shake my head. I don't want our first time back together to be on a couch… or the floor. "Let's go back to the hotel, honey. I can wait…"

She shakes her head this time, and I see the desperation in her eyes—something between grief and extreme need. "I can't."

I think for a moment, trying to ignore that she is now slowly rotating her hips, with me between her legs—the pressure makes cognition a struggle. "Okay… uh… then we'll… we'll… shower? How about the shower?" That, at least, doesn't make me feel like I'm taking her in a place of opportunity—like having her is more important than loving her—the shower can be romantic…

She nods, and I have a feeling that she would have agreed no matter what I had suggested. Still, those gyrating hips leave me no room to back out now, and I'm on my feet in a moment, dragging her back through the hallway and into the bathroom, pushing her hard against the wall once we've entered, my lips capturing hers again.

It's been far too long since I've been allowed to touch her intimately, and I have truly felt like a starving man, given a feast, and then expected to go back to starvation, as if I'd never known fullness.

But her urgency matches mine, and within moments we've managed to stumble, locked in each other's arms, to the shower and turn the water on, and then it becomes apparent that clothes need to be removed. I separate from her, allowing myself a brief moment to look deeply into her eyes—chocolate eyes that have haunted my dreams since she left.

She smiles, biting her bottom lip, and lifts her arms over her head. I gently clutch the bottom of her shirt, sliding it up and over her head and arms, drawing in a sharp breath at the sight of her.

"Sara… you're… you're even more beautiful than I remember, sweet."

She blushes, reaching behind herself and removing her bra and slowly sliding it down her slender arms. I swallow hard, and she grins. "Too bad I'm not wearing red lace…"

And I chuckle, starting to pull off my jacket and tie as steam billows out of the shower. "I promise you, I'm not even remotely disappointed…"

She grins, tugging the tie out of my grasp and removing it herself, and then letting her hands fall to my chest and slowly start to unbutton my shirt. My eyes take the opportunity to take in her appearance in greater detail—she's left her hair down, and curly, a few errant curls pinned up, away from her face, above her ears. Her face in flushed, her soft lips bright and slightly swollen from my attentions, her eyes deep and endless, reflecting my own absolute devotion back to me, and my heart swells at this realization.

I capture her lips in another kiss, because I can't resist, and she takes the opportunity to slide the shirt over my shoulders and down my arms, letting it fall onto the cold tile beneath us. Her nails rake gently over my chest, and I shiver, pulling her tight against me, reveling in the feeling of her chest against mine.

But after a moment, she moves away from me—taking a full two steps back—and then slowly begins to unzip the slate-colored skirt. I shiver more—at first glance, you would never expect Sara to be into strip teases, and she certainly didn't dance or strut… but on more than one occasion she had intentionally undressed in front of me, letting me look, but not touch.

I smiled softly, my eyes taking in the long line of her neck, the bare innocence of her collar bone, the sweeping elegance of exposed shoulders and slender arms, soft hands, the goose bumps teasing down her chest from the chill of the room and the heat of the steam, to two perfect breasts which, although modest, look almost large on her lithe figure, hardened to rosy points under my gaze.

A gently curving abdomen and soft, kissable stomach lead into rounded hips, over which gray fabric is slipping, revealing a silky white thong—the first time I've ever seen her wear this kind of underwear. I feel myself trembling again, a hot coiling desire in the pit of my stomach, as she toes out of her black heels and steps out of the skirt that has pooled eloquently about her ankles, imprinting her image to memory: sheer thigh-highs, topped with lace, and the elusive and surprising undergarments perfectly accentuate one of the most beautiful parts of her—those long, shapely legs, which I intimately remember running my fingertips over, tasting with my lips, moving up to her perfect, intoxicating apex.

How had I gone a single day without this woman in my bed? How had I drawn breath, without this beauty in my life? My eyes move back to her face, and I find her blushing under my worshipping eyes—she had wanted arousal, she had not expected adulation.

Without thinking, my hands move to my belt as my feet slowly slough off my shoes and socks. I step out of my pants, and move to her in only boxers, falling to my knees before her and softly kissing her stomach. Her hands find my hair, wrapping themselves into my curls and I trail my fingertips up from her ankles, over calves and knees and thighs, pausing to play over the lace at the top of the stockings, and then moving over her hips, stopping at the waist band of her panties, and sliding them down with just as much care, until she had stepped forward and out of them, putting herself as close to me as possible.

I rise slowly, kissing my way up, and stopping before my lips can fall over hers, my hands slipping off my underwear before coming to rest on her hips again. In one fluid movement, they move down to her thighs and bring her up, into my arms. She clutches at my shoulders in surprise and alarm, and I step us into the steam-filled shower, finally taking her mouth for my own again, pressing her into the wall, the hot water falling around us.

I kissed her endlessly, senselessly, slipping into absolute oblivion, pushing my body against her and losing myself in the moment—but Sara had always been impatient, and this time was no different. She arched her back to push herself hard against my erection, and when my deep gasp broke the kiss, she took the opportunity.

"Gil… make love to me, please? I need to feel you… Make love to me." With a little maneuvering, I positioned myself outside her opening and slowly slid until I was buried completely, gritting my teeth against the sensation of her tightening around me already, a grin on her face telling me she knew exactly what it was doing to me.

"Mean, Sara. You are just plain mean." She giggles, and then slowly pulls back until I'm almost completely out of her, and then slides back forward, until I'm buried again—impressive, considering the position she was in. A low moan escapes my lips as my head falls to her shoulder, and I can feel her chest shake as she giggles more.

"…I'm sorry, baby. Let me show you how nice I can be…"She starts rocking harder against me, sending electricity from my lower abdomen up my spine, down my legs, through my arms, and to the tips of every tiny strand of hair on my body. In a moment I'm meeting her, thrust-for-thrust, and she lets me take over the rhythm, my mouth playing over her neck and shoulders and collarbone, laying down adorations as her breathing increases and her nails dig into my shoulders. I recognize the actions—she's close.

I had really wanted to take my time, it being our first time back together… but it had been too long since we'd been together—our collective urgency overruled my hesitancy.

I increase my speed, gripping her hips tightly, feeling my own release fast approaching. I slip a hand between us with some difficulty, pressing between her dark curls in rhythmic circles, wanting to make sure she goes before I do, and I'm rewarded a moment later as her persistent moans turn into desperate screams of ecstasy and her body clamps around me tightly, throwing me violently into my own orgasm. I bite down on her shoulder the pleasure is so intense and she seems to rock even harder against me when I do, deepening my oblivion until there is nothing real in this world except the feel of her body against me and around me.

When I finally drag my head up, pulling myself desperately into full awareness, her head is leaning back against the wall, a look of absolute fulfillment etched on each and every feature, the water still rushing in streams across that perfect body. She opens her eyes at my movement, and I feel a shift somewhere deep in my chest. I know, without a doubt, that there will never be another woman who can affect me the way she does… that I will never look into those gorgeous brown eyes again without remembering the way they look, heavy with contentment, deep and dreamy in her afterglow.

I kiss her softly, and take a small step back, feeling myself slide out of her, before slowly lowering her to her feet. I make the mistake, however, of assuming she can stand by herself—with wet nylon-clad feet and weak-knees from our lovemaking, the minute her feet hit the floor, she's slipping, and I'm catching her in surprise. Once certain that she isn't going to fall on her face, I look down at the offensive hosiery and chuckle softly. I move to my knees, slowly pulling down each of her thigh-highs and slipping them off her feet, before rising back up to her, a grin on my face.

She's smiling as well—not in humor, as I am, but still softly… amorously. My own smile gentles, in response, and she takes my face in her hands, kissing me just as gently. "I love you too, Gil. I've always loved you."