She leads him by the hand up the stairs, feeling her heart beat fast with anticipation and nerves. Thank God she spent this afternoon and early evening doing a bit of tidying up and cleaning, putting fresh sheets on her bed and towels in the bathroom, she thinks as they reach the landing and she turns left, opening the door to her bedroom before turning to glance up at his face. "This is it," she smiles nervously before letting go of his hand and walking into the dark room. She doesn't want the overhead light on, it's too bright, so she crosses the room quickly and pulls aside the curtains, letting in the soft glow from the street lights outside. "Bloody London weather," she murmurs to break the tension as she glances at him over her shoulder. "Too many clouds; there's no moonlight."
He chuckles and moves towards her, coming to stop beside her and lifting his hand to her waist, using it to guide her round to face him. "I'm glad," he murmurs.
"You're glad?" she frowns, scanning his face in puzzlement. "Why?"
"Because it means two things," he whispers, trailing his hands up from her waist to her shoulders under her dressing gown, softly caressing the sides of her breasts through her pyjama top in the process and making her breath hitch.
"Which are?" she asks a little breathlessly as he pushes her dressing gown off her shoulders and it falls to the floor with a quiet whoosh.
His hands grip her hips again as he leans in and presses his lips softly against her cheek bone, trailing kisses round to her ear and murmuring, "Firstly because it means I can be the one to do the ravishing tonight." She moans in pleasure as his lips close around her earlobe and she grips his shoulders with her hands, feeling a part of her melt at his words and the rest at the feel of his warm mouth on her skin. "And I've always wanted to do that, Ruth," he adds huskily, his hands slipping under her pyjama top to caress her stomach and sides as his lips find their way to her neck.
She moans, pulling him closer, her fingers spreading into the curls at the nape of his neck as she gasps, "And secondly?" fighting to keep track of their conversation.
"Secondly," he murmurs, lifting his head until their eyes meet and holding her gaze with his beautiful, now smouldering, hazel eyes, "it means that we'll have to do this again... soon... on a moonlit night... so you can keep your promise." Then his lips find hers and she's lost as, for the second time in as many nights, her body takes over, her mind emptying of everything but him and her, together in this moment.
She pulls him towards the bed, their lips still locked together, their hands sliding under clothes and exploring bare skin. His touch is teasingly soft and gentle and it sends shivers running up and down her spine as his lips devour her, sucking on her lips, her chin, her jaw, her neck and moving back again for more. Soon they're sprawled on the bed on top of the covers, their mouths fused together, his body half covering hers while he supports himself on his left forearm and wraps his fingers in her hair, leaving his right hand free to explore, to tease her, running softly over her skin, her stomach and higher, her breast, her nipple. She moans into his mouth, the sensations exquisite as she clings to him with her hands and wraps her left leg around him, anchoring him to her and pushing herself against him, feeling his hardness against her hip. She moans again in pleasure as he responds, but next moment, she feels a stab of pain as his hand begins to kneed her flesh more firmly and she can't help the whimper that escapes her lips.
He pulls back at once, murmuring huskily, "Ruth?" as he stills and looks down at her, frowning in concern. "Are you all right?"
She nods, not wanting him to know, to see the marks on her skin. She'd hoped that he wouldn't notice the bruises in the dim light, but she'd somehow forgotten how much more tender they are tonight compared to yesterday.
"Are you sure?" he asks softly, scanning her face, clearly not convinced.
"Yes," she whispers. "It's just my... breasts. They're a little... tender tonight."
"I'm sorry," he murmurs, looking contrite. "I'll be more gentle."
She nods, not wanting to think about it any more, and she slips her hand behind his neck and pulls him towards her until their lips meet in a soft kiss. She runs her tongue over his lower lip and hears him groan in pleasure before he deepens their kiss, his right hand gliding down her side and slipping under her pyjamas to kneed her bum, rocking her against him, her heat rubbing against his thigh and his cock nudging into her hip, making them both moan. Soon his hand has worked its way round, over her thigh to her slickness and she feels his fingertips glide gently across her several times, bringing her so much pleasure that when he slips his fingers inside her and his thumb brushes against her clit a few times, she climaxes powerfully, arching her back towards him and moaning in ecstasy. She slumps back against the bed, totally exhausted, her muscles lax, her eyelids heavy. She feels him moving, jogging the bed, but she can't lift her eyelids and all she can manage to do is whimper, lifting her hand towards him, worried he's leaving. "Don't go," she breathes.
He chuckles softly and presses his lips against hers before murmuring, "I wouldn't dream of it. You're so beautiful, Ruth, especially when you come. I don't think I'll ever get enough of you. Let me look at you."
She hums in pleasure and feels his hands grip her pyjama bottoms and pull them off, taking her knickers with them and gently pushing her knees apart, and she's so lost in a fog of deep lassitude, that she doesn't even feel self-conscious about him gazing at her naked sex. She feels his lips gently kiss her mound and moans in pleasure as he moves lower, his tongue venturing out to taste her, his lips closing around her clit and sucking on it gently while his fingers caress her thighs and slip inside her. "Oh God, Harry," she pants, finding her voice as the energy begins to build inside her once more.
She opens her eyes and finds him watching her, his eyes intense and hungry, peeking above her pubic bone as he laps at her sex, and it's possibly the most erotic sight she's ever seen. "Harry," she gasps, closing her eyes momentarily as he does something exquisite with his tongue and moaning in pleasure, but she forces them open again and murmurs, "I want you, Harry. Come here."
He doesn't hesitate, planting a soft kiss against her pussy and sitting up between her legs before reaching for the condom that's lying on the bed. "You're well prepared," she comments in surprise as she watches him rip open the packet and extract the latex tube, noticing that he's taken all his clothes off already.
"I was a scout," he smiles, looking up at her with twinkling eyes, "not to mention an army officer and a spy. I think, at this point, it's probably ingrained in my DNA." He slips it on and leans over her, supporting his weight on his forearms and kissing her lips softly before adding, "Besides, we can't keep having you visit the doctor everyday, Ruth. Once was understandable, but more would be careless bordering on irresponsible."
"Everyday?" she teases, reaching her hands up to stroke his naked skin, his chest, his sides, his back and shoulders. "You're optimistic!"
"I know," he smiles, "one of my biggest faults. Cheerful and optimistic – that's me."
She laughs and lifts her head to kiss him, feeling her heart expand with love for him. She wraps her legs around his hips and feels him push into her, filling her slowly with his length as their kiss becomes deeper and they both moan in pleasure. Her hands roam over his bare back, delighting in the feel of him as he begins to move inside her, slowly and steadily, sending sparks of pleasure straight through her.
"Oh God, Ruth," he groans as they break apart for air, "you feel so good... so very good." He drops his face to nuzzle her neck, trailing kisses down towards her chest, kissing and licking her skin as his hands begin to unbutton her pyjama top, and it feels so exquisite that she doesn't react until it's too late.
He lifts his head to look at her and she sees his face and body freeze in shock, bringing her back to her senses with a jolt. "Christ!" he exclaims and she feels him pull aside her pyjama top as he shifts his weight onto his left arm. "Oh God, Ruth. I didn't do this, did I?" he asks, his eyes darting up to hers and she feels tears spring to her own as she shakes her head no. So much for forgetting about it.
"He... he..." she chokes out, swallowing convulsively in an effort to keep her emotions in check, but finding herself unable to finish the sentence without breaking down. Her left hand reaches to close her top as she sees his eyes flash, his jaw set and his nostrils flaring in anger, but he takes her hand in his to stop her, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, releasing it slowly as he seeks to control his emotions.
When he opens his eyes again, his gaze is soft with compassion as he lets go of her hand and strokes her cheek with his fingertips before lowering his gaze again to look at the damage. "Oh, Ruth. It must be so tender. Why didn't you tell me?"
"I didn't..." she stammers, still fighting to keep the tears at bay. "It looks..." She turns her face away from him in embarrassment as she struggles to maintain control, pulling her top closed and, this time, he doesn't attempt to stop her.
"Ruth," he murmurs softly. "Look at me, Ruth." She feels his fingers stroke her cheek, coaxing her gently to turn to him, and when she does, his eyes are soft and gentle as he whispers, "You're beautiful, Ruth. So beautiful. It's just bruising. It will fade." He smiles softly and she nods, unable to speak and yet feeling so grateful that he's being so gentle and kind, especially since they're in the middle of making love and she knows it can't be easy for him to just stop. "But even if it never did, Ruth," he adds, his eyes shining with an odd mixture of tenderness and fierceness, "you'd still be beautiful and I'd still want you. This doesn't define who you are, or how much you are... valued, how much I care." And now she can't hold back the tears, turning her face towards his left shoulder as her body begins to shake with quiet sobs.
"Hush," he murmurs softly and she feels him slip out of her and move over to lie beside her, pulling the covers out from under them and wrapping his right arm around her as he covers their bodies and presses his lips against her forehead, holding her against his strong, broad chest. "It's all right, Ruth," he coos, "I've got you. He can't harm you any more; he's dead... It's all over now... I'm here; you're safe."
And now that the floodgates have opened, she can't stop weeping, sobbing against his chest as she wraps her arms around him and clings to him for dear life, crying her heart out over what happened, what didn't happen, and what could have happened. His fingers are running through her hair, his hand rubbing her back, his lips pressing soft kisses against her forehead and whispering words of comfort, supporting her and making her feel safe so she can let it all out.
Eventually, she runs out of tears and she begins to quieten in his arms, feeling acutely embarrassed to have fallen apart like this. So much for being strong in front of Harry, she thinks grimly. "I'm sorry," she mutters against his chest and begins to pull away from him. "I didn't mean to-"
"It's all right, Ruth," he interrupts, pressing his lips against her forehead again, not letting her turn away from him. "You have nothing to apologise for. I'm glad I was here. What you're going through... it's normal after such a... traumatic experience. And I can tell you, it's no fun going through it on your own."
"You've... had that happen to you too?" she stammers in surprise, momentarily forgetting her embarrassment in her concern for him.
"Not the exact same thing, Ruth," he says softly, "but I have been... interrogated in the past... on more than one occasion."
"Interrogated?" she asks. "You mean tortured."
"Yes," he sighs.
"Oh Harry," she frowns in concern, her mind flooding with images of Harry in pain, subjected to every type of torture she's seen pictures and videos of in all her time at Five.
"It's over and dealt with," he shrugs, softly stroking her hair, "but the point is that the nature of the... experience makes little difference to how one responds to it. It still brings up the same feelings of shame, guilt, helplessness, fear, and even self-disgust, self-loathing, hopelessness, and despair... It takes time to... deal with all that, to process it and move past it, but the most important thing to realise right now, Ruth, is that it's not your fault. None of it. Not that they found out who you are, not that you were captured, not failing to escape, not that Adam or I were hurt and in danger, not that... that despicable excuse for a man manhandled you and almost... raped you. None of it is your fault, Ruth. Do you hear me? It's not your fault." She nods, tears gathering in her eyes again and beginning to slide down her cheeks as she listens to him describe her feelings so accurately. "I'm going to keep telling you this everyday, Ruth, until you accept it and start telling yourself the same thing. It's not your fault."
"But if I hadn't been captured," she whispers softly, struggling to accept what he's saying, knowing that if she'd been a little more careful none of it would have happened, "then we'd have been safe, and you wouldn't have... almost died, or had to kill a man... for me."
"Perhaps," he concedes, pulling back a little to look at her. "But at what cost, Ruth? If you and Adam hadn't been captured, we could have lost them. They could have gone underground and we mightn't have been able to stop their attack on two of the busiest train lines in the country. How many people would have died then, Ruth? How much more damage would this group have caused in the future? How many more women would have suffered at the hands of that... monster?... And how many more months, years even, would we have worked together, hoping for this intimacy between us, before one of us had the courage to do something about it?"
"I don't know," she admits.
"We can't dwell on the what ifs, Ruth. It isn't healthy and it doesn't solve anything," he smiles, lifting his hand to stroke her cheek, wiping away any remaining traces of her tears. "I learnt that the hard way, but you're much smarter than I. And if I can help you get past this because of some of the worst experiences of my life, then I will not have suffered in vein and that's another silver lining to add to the rest... When it gets too much, try to focus on the good that came out of it. How you stayed strong, how you escaped and swam for hours, how you saved my life, how your work helped capture a group of ruthless terrorists. Okay?"
She nods but can't help murmuring, "I didn't save you, Harry. That was Fred."
"You pulled me out of the water and performed CPR long before Fred arrived on the scene, Ruth," he replies, his eyes suddenly dark and intense. "You didn't give up on me and that means more to me than I could ever possibly say."
She smiles softly, glancing down at his chin to avoid the intensity of his gaze for a moment before she looks back up at his eyes and whispers, "I couldn't bear to lose you. You mean too much to me for that."
"Then I'm the luckiest man alive," he murmurs huskily as he leans close and presses his lips softly against hers, his kiss gentle, chaste and yet so incredibly sensual too as he caresses her lips with his own and runs his thumb across her cheek and jaw, his fingers trailing along her neck. He pulls back, smiling softly and whispers, "Now... it's late. Time to sleep or tomorrow you'll be exhausted. I've kept you awake long enough."
"But, Harry," she protests, "you didn't... I mean, it's not fair," she blushes as she struggles to find the words to express herself, but he comes to her rescue again.
"It's fine, Ruth," he smiles. "I'm fine. In case you haven't noticed, I'm not some... randy teen who can't cope with a little... delayed gratification."
"I have noticed, Harry," she replies, giving him a shy smile. "It's... you're quite... wonderful, but I'd still like to... try to give you as much pleasure as you give me."
"You do, Ruth," he reassures her. "You do... so much more than you realise." His gaze is soft and tender again and it makes her breath catch in her throat, unable to quite believe that she's not imagining all this. This is the Harry of her daydreams - kind, soft, loving, warm, considerate, generous, affectionate, supportive. Could he possibly be real? Isn't he just a figment of her imagination? How can the demanding, often angry, frequently devious, sometimes ruthless, and occasionally violent man she works for be the same person? "Let's sleep, Ruth," he murmurs, interrupting her struggle to merge the two men into one. "It's late."
She nods, unable to find her voice, and closes her eyes, scared that he can read all that she feels for him in her gaze. She hears his quiet whisper of goodnight and repeats it back to him, feeling his hand cover hers as it lies on the mattress between them.
When she wakes up the following morning, she's alone.