Wakefulness is a nebulous concept as my eyes crack open. It's dark and the house is still. Is it night? Or, it is morning? Little by little consciousness is returned to me and immediately these questions burn. The warm hand on my waist pulls me back as I try to maneuver and reach the chronometer, whose last location was on the floor.
"Beverly," His sleeping form mumbles. "Come back to sleep."
"Jean Luc," I nudge his hand away from my waist. "What time is it?"
"I don't know," he whispers. "Come back," the warm hand is persistent and again tries to detract me from my goal.
"Jean Luc!" I lark, swatting his hand away. "Stop it!"
I hear a muffled laugh before his weight pounces on me. "I think," he expertly rolls me onto my back, momentarily knocking the wind from my lungs. "That Wesley is still asleep." His tone is playfully suggestive as his breath warms my neck before myriads of tiny kisses find themselves wetly planted first on my cheeks, down my neck, and onto my breast. And just like the chronometer, our earlier disagreement is all but forgotten. Damn this man – he makes it impossible for me to stay angry with him!
"This," he fumbles with the closure of my bra. "Most certainly has to go." He's not always smooth, and his efforts are yielding no results; the stubborn clasp refuses to budge.
"Need help?" I cock my eyebrow, a huge grin already planted on my face.
"Would you mind?" He supports his weight over me, wolfishly watching me as his body covers my own and showers me with his warmth.
Long fingers expertly manipulate the obstinate closure and the garment is tossed aside. A Cheshire grin exaggerates his smile lines, "Now," he attacks my chest with delicate, worshipful kisses. "Where were we?"
Every touch, every kiss, every sensation is heightened. His erection is throbbing, burning hot against my thigh through his boxers. In the midst of his gentle ministrations against my breast, my hands slide down and drag his boxers out of the way. A knee insinuates itself between my legs, opening me to him as his kisses move lower.
"I've missed you," I whisper, so grateful to be here with him – to be making love with him like I've dreamed of doing – like we promised one another. His hands cradle my sides as delicately as one would handle a newborn. With an agonizing languidness his head moves down towards his goal. One of his hands moves from my flank to shuck away the superfluous boxers and deposit them on the floor, adding to the frenzied sartorial turmoil.
I've shut my mind off – rational thought fled from me the moment his body covered mine. I'm governed wholly by sensation – the want to feel him join with me, the desire to feel my walls wetly clasp him. The sheets have been thrown off and in the scant light shining through bedroom windows I watch him through lidded eyes. He pauses, just above the last piece of cloth hindering our joining. "Jean Luc," His name is torn between wheezed pants in breathy supplication. "Please."
He's intent on his goal. My head falls back against the pillow as I feel my thighs pulled apart. Silk is drawn down my legs, exposing me to the coolness of the room. Soon, though, a warm stream of air replaces that chill just before I feel his mouth on me, giving, tasting, and loving. It's exquisitely torturous as I feel an orgasm build, inexorably dragging me towards release. "Jean Luc," I pant. "Wait," I try to detract him, to make him join with me, but he's content where he is. "Jean Luc!" I try to remember that Wesley's just down the hall, but nothing muffles the scream when I feel two fingers enter me. White light flashes behind closed eyelids as the reverberations tumble over and over. "Jean Luc," is all I can say over and over. He stays, leveling me from my release. But after what to me registers as an eternity those same lips travel a trail back up, kissing over my sensitized flesh and encouraging currents and clenches in the thin muscles wrapped beneath.
"I love you," I whisper as his mouth claims my own. His tongue plunders, as he tastes more, loves more, gives more. I can't handle being apart from him. "Jean Luc," I break the kiss. "Please," I beg again.
Again, he doesn't deny me; in one swift movement he pushes through the last barrier, stretching the tissue to its limit, filling me to the hilt. But, I whine, he doesn't move. "Jean Lu-"
My bewilderment is cut off with another kiss. "You're magnificent, Beverly," I feel him admire breathily against my chest.
"I love you," My hands trail down his back, eliciting undulations in the broad muscles sheathed beneath as they end on his backside, hauling him deeper. "Move!" I entreat against him. In response, one hand moves down my inner thigh, bending my knee as he penetrates deeper.
My head falls back automatically as a groan slips from my lips. It's not possible, I think in the back of my mind, to feel this much pleasure. I see it dangling in front of me again as he moves, pounding forwards and backwards, rubbing against that spot that gives me chills. With one hand grasping my knee, the other hand moves between us, touching and manipulating me. I feel it in my stomach as the muscles there tingle and tighten. "Jean Luc!" His name is the only thing I can manage – the only words that make any sense to my muddled, pleasure-overwrought mind.
"I love you," I hear him whisper as he claims my lips. My mouth opens to him; I'll refuse him nothing – no part of my body, and no part of my soul.
"Jean Luc!" My climax shatters over me and the strong, overwhelming contractions in those muscles drag him over the precipice. I feel him pulsing, giving more of himself as his body collapses onto mine.
As the contractions go on and on, my legs cradle him to me, holding him inside of me as I'm unwilling to let him go. I feel moisture on my cheek, and I'm unaware if they're his tears or mine.
"I was so afraid," he murmurs into my hair. "No," he raises his head to catch my eyes. "I was terrified that I'd never make love to you again – that I'd never hold you again." Big saline drops trail his chin and pool at my neck.
"Oh, Jean Luc," My own tears mingle with his. "I love you."
He tries to move away, but I'm insistent; I hold his body to mine. "I'm going to crush you," he susurrates tiredly.
"No," I shake my head against his chest. "Stay." The feeling of fullness even in the midst of his softening is alluring, addictive. For now, his weight and the feeling of heaviness overtop me is comforting. He's still here; we're still here, together. After all of our trials, all the battles, all the time wasted – the fates have made it known that Jean Luc and I are meant to be together – that our lives are unalterably, inerasably written beside one another in the Book of Life. Our souls are twined – one can't stand, nor can one live without the other.
"I hope," I laugh before sleep claims me. "That Wesley was asleep for that."
"Well," I feel him grin before dreamlessness claims his own consciousness. "Even if he was, we likely woke him up…"
"Jean Luc," my one last thought before somnolence. "Tomorrow we've got to get the kids and clean the house and –"
"Shhh" one last kiss silences me before dormancy dominates. "Let tomorrow take care of itself."
Martin: I ALWAY come through... okay not always. But I try :)
Meg: This chapter is for you Megling! I hope you like it!
Linds: Here is something to brighten your art class... which you've likely left by now. But here's a little something anyway.
Thanks everyone! Can't wait to hear from ye! Hope you're all having a great day :).