The water sloshes against the edges of the tub, the bubbles cling to her skin and then float away as she lifts her limbs out of the water and reaches towards the silver champagne bucket perched on the edge of the tub. She sets aside her champagne flute and instead concentrates on lifting the green and gold tipped bottle of Grand Cuvée out of the bucket. The ice – already half melted – falls and fills the space left empty by the bottle with a loud clang yet the alcohol turns it into a sweet melody, turns it into something she smiles softly over as she clutches the open, half-empty bottle in her hand.
The water sloshes against the edges of the tub; the bubbles cling to the hair on his chest and then melt away as he reclines backwards against the slope of the tub. The steam of the champagne flute all but disappears in the clutch of his large hand, and he quickly lifts the lip of the glass to his lips in order to drain the last remnants of the bubbly liquid left in his glass.
His eyes dip over the end of the crystal fluke to watch her slide across the tub towards him, to watch the bubbles cling to the chain around her neck, to watch her nipples peek out from under the bubbly water as it sloshes with her movements. And rather than raise the glass from his lips towards her in a silent request for her to refill the contents as she so clearly plans to do, he sets the glass aside on the lip of the tub and instead reaches out to pull her towards him.
"Chuck," she shrieks in surprise clutching on desperately to the bottle as hot, bubbly water crashes over the edge of the tub and splashes onto the tile floor. "Dorota is going to—"
Her words are cut off, her protests that Dorota won't be happy with a mess on the floor are silenced by the way Chuck bends his head and presses his lips against hers. A tender touch that feels like the wings of butterflies brushing against her skin and sends her fingers unfurling around the bottle of Grand Cuvée as desire to deepen the kiss, to run her fingers against the nape of his neck strums through her body. And almost as though he anticipates her wants and needs, he curls his fingers around the bottle just below hers and runs his thumb lightly against the bottom of her hand in silent communication that is okay for her to release her grip because he is there to catch whatever she may drop.
Her fingers release their hold and immediately and of their own volition fly to press against the soft skin of his cheek as he expertly sets the bottle aside without ever breaking their kiss. As he gathers her into his arms and allows his tongue to stroke against hers; as he gives himself room to appreciate more of her and how he feels towards her.
And her fingers run lightly, wonderingly against his lean cheek as his hand moves up her arm to her shoulder to the hollow between her collarbone and her neck sending warm embers of that ever present fire leaping to life in her veins and spreading along every nerve. Desire finally unrestrained; finally open and greedy, blatant and powerful.
Ready to sweep them both away in a feverish frenzy that is far hotter than the warm water surrounding them, a feverish frenzy that cools rapidly when his other hand leaves her hip and touches no other part of her body. When his lips pull away and she is left momentarily stunned with eyes closed and a body that leans forward to chase after his kiss. And her eyes fly open and flash with anger because this wasn't exactly had in mind when she promised that she would chase after him after he spent a whole year fighting for her, because this—
The thoughts – dark and angry – leave her just as quickly as they were formed when his fingers curl not the pulse point throbbing on her neck but rather around the chain hanging from her neck, when he begins to gently lift the necklace up and over her head. Her breath catches in her throat, a gasp of surprise and delight tumbles off her lips, and she lifts her eyes to meet his with expectation filling the dark pools of her eyes.
But the expectation cools as he sets the chain upon which the Harry Winston diamond hangs on the edge of the tub beside the bottle of Grand Cuvée. The magma that flowed in her veins at the feeling of his hands upon her hardens even as his right hand moves to curl about her hip, as his left hand rises to stroke against her cheek. And she turns her head away as she fights back bitter disappointment so that his hot breath laced with the smell of champagne and victory must brush against her cheek and then her ear as he presses his forehead against the side of her head.
"Soon," he whispers softly. "I want to do this in the way you deserve."
"This is what I deserve," she replies as she dips her head, as she allows her nose to brush against his cheek in search of his ear. "This is our victory party, remember? There's no business in the way of us being together."
"You and I both know that's not true," he murmurs in reply. Yet his voice is clear and his tone unyielding as his fingers stroke gently against the skin of her neck. "I know I've been caught up with everything having to do with my father, but did you really think I miss how the fashion show went? That I wouldn't realize your legacy still needs to be assured?"
"No," she confesses silently cursing the way he can read her so clearly. "Does this mean we have to wait to—"
And once again her words are cut off, her question is silenced by the way Chuck turns his head and presses his lips to hers, by the way he mumbles pronouncements that he is dying and can't stand the torture against her lips. Silent thanks that he won't hold so strongly to their deal shown in the way she slides her arms around his neck and kisses him back flagrantly and without reserve. In the way she fists her fingers in his hair and moves to place her legs on other side of his.
The water sloshes against the edge of the tub; the bubbles become trapped as she presses her breasts against his chest. And the muscles of Chuck's body – his chest and his legs – become hard and twitch against her chest as he moves his hand from her hip to wrap around her back, as he runs his fingers down the vertebrae of her spine to meet the gentle swell of her ass. Movements that only serve to encourage her, to fuel the duel of their tongues and their heated exchange of touches and caresses.
Sensations neither of them want to rein after so long a separation fueling the way her lips morph from soft and pliant to ravenous and firm in their own right, in their own invitation for a similar response on his part when she cups his face between her gentle hands and digs her nails into his neck. And he is forced to move his hands from her ass and her cheek to detract her claws, to focus her hands on the skin of his chest rather than the sensitive skin of his neck before the marks left in her wake can grow any redder.
A redirection Blair has become accustomed to over the years and uses as an opportunity to press her lips against the skin of his neck, to allow her teeth to nip at the marks already forming at the base of his neck in enticement for his hips to flex and lift upward under the now tepid water. A reaction she rewards by sinking her hips down under the water so his dick grazes against the inside of her thigh, so he hisses against the messy bun situated just behind her ear.
Just as quickly she lifts her hips back to the surface of the water giving her the appearance that she bobs in the water, giving her the opportunity to press her lips to his once more. Unwilling to allow any abatement or any ideas that they should wait for a complete victory rather than the partial one to enter his mind, she compensates any ease of pressure against her lips on his part with a fiery, passionate demand that reminds him of how she will never let him walk away. That he will never allow himself to walk away, to step down from the equal footing they have built up over the years between Chuck and Blair, Blair and Chuck.
He meets every press of her lips, every swipe of her tongue with the same demanding touch because passion and desire fuel them both, and his hands release their hold around hers so he can slide his palms up her arms to her shoulders to the nape of her neck and then finally down the slope of her back. Tasting the Grand Cuvée on her tongue, feeling the passion flowing freely from her touch, he lets his hands pause at her waist so his fingers can stroke the soft skin pulled taut over her hipbone and his mind can process that she – promise and pleasure and perfection – waited for him and supported him in everything he had to do in order to meet her here.
At a place where he can make promise to her that he longed to make for so many years, where he knows that he is not only what she wants but is the person she will fight for and she knows the same.
Releasing his hold about her waist, he slides his hand down the 'v' between her leg and her torso to touch the curls covering her from his sight. To brush his fingers against her inner thigh until she grows more urgent and demanding in her kisses, until she shifts her hips forward to meet his searching fingertips.
Hands now anchored once again in his hair, Blair flexes her fingers and grips tightly against his hair as his fingers and his mouth caress her swollen lips. She leans into him seeking to ease the ache building in her breasts and pooling low in her belly and trying desperately to give just as good as she gets, but he shifts his hips away from hers – wincing at the way his back slams into the ledge of the tub – and instead shifts his hands until his fingers are able to cup her, to slide against the part of her wetted without the aid of the liquid they are both currently immersed in.
Drawing his lips from hers, he skates his lips along her jaw and then tips back her chin with the nudge of his head. Chuck places lingering kisses in the hollow beneath her ear before stringing nipping caresses down the taut line of her throat when a growl of disapproval rings forth. A growl that turns into a purr of delight as Blair tips her head back further and gives a shivery sigh. He pauses at the base of her throat to savor her thudding pulse, to feel that moment when it skips a beat as his slides one long finger inside her.
Her whole body – her hands around his skull, her legs around his, her around his finger – tightens around him, and Chuck is forced to shift his hand in order to press deeper and stroke. To send her thoughts fragmenting as he slides his finger out from inside her only to return again and again; to send fire burning through her body as he expertly coaxes her to the point where she is wound so tightly that her body begins to curl inward until she thinks she might –
"Miss Blair!"
The interruption startles her sending her eyes careening upwards towards the crème-colored ceiling of her bedroom before shifting towards the open door of her bedroom. Her parted legs snap shut trapping her hand between them, and she frantically moves her brightly-colored, silk robe back over her knees as her eyes flash in anger.
"Dorota, are you insane? Knock first!"
"Door wide open, Miss Blair," the Polish maid tartly replies as she sweeps her eyes up and down her charge in silent appraisal as to what exactly Blair was up to. "Anyone walk by see what you doing."
"I was just holding onto a visual," Blair offers up in a voice that trails off and with eyes that widen into doe-eyed innocence. The maid's eyes narrow in response, and Blair moves to interject before Dorota can say any more on the subject. "Don't tell me that God is always watching, Dorota. He hasn't exactly been right about things in the last year. And shouldn't you be headed home now?"
"Yes, Miss Blair," Dorota replies holding up her purse in a silent reminder that she was just on her way out the door.
"Goodnight, Dorota," Blair says with a dismissive bob of her head. "And shut the door behind you."
"Yes, Miss Blair," Dorota says before dropping her voice low, before allowing the heavy door to cut off her mutterings so all Blair can hear are words about 'Mister Chuck' and 'hurry up'.
Her head falls back onto the pillows of her bed when she is left alone and her fingers slip out from between her thighs with a disgruntled sigh because the mood built up from her phone call with Chuck, the visual she formed for him and for herself during the course of their conversation has now been lost to the world of 'what if' and to the delay in their reunion once again.