As soon as her feet hit the floor, she was kissing him with abandon. There was only one time in the past that they kissed like this, and it seemed like centuries ago. But there she was, hands in his hair, tongue in his mouth, driving her body into his. 'Just like that night in the park,' he thought fleetingly. No sooner had he shut the door did he have her up against it. Running his hands up and down her body, tongue dueling with hers, when she cupped and gently squeezed his bottom, he saw stars and his body ignited. All he could think about was being all over her and inside her. 'Patience, Murdoch,' he thought to himself. Despite what the inspector intimated, this was not his first rodeo, and he could conduct himself with more aplomb than a randy teenager. It was just that the sheer fact of knowing that George, nor Henry, nor any constable nor morgue attendant would interrupt them had him grinding at the bit.
He begrudgingly pulled himself away. She groaned in response and her hips jerked into him, seeking more contact. "Too many clothes," he mumbled as an explanation as he turned her around and began to unbutton the interminable trail at her back. His teeth sank into the sensitive skin of her neck and she gasped. As he undid the dress, he kissed and licked the newly exposed expanse of her back. The dress pooled at the floor and he deftly did away with her corset, chemise, and undergarments. Freed from the restrictive garments, she turned around. She reached up to play with his tie, "Now, I do love you in a tie, Detective, but you are far too overdressed." She began to divest him of his clothes. He allowed her this indulgence, but the feel of her hands against his bare skin as she reached into his waistband to do away with his pants and underwear almost unraveled his tenuous hold on control. He stepped out of his pants, scooped her up once again, and laid her on the bed.
He covered her in seconds.
He looked deep into her eyes as his body sought out hers, his tip was at the brink of entrance, when he kissed her and simply said, "Julia, I love you."
He entered, she moaned and he finally got to finish the dance that began so many years ago.
She awoke, her body was cold from dried sweat and she was thirsty as hell, but she was sated. Oh boy was she sated. She glanced over and saw William, her husband, sleeping on his back with a contented smile on his face. She was tempted to rouse him, but she was so damn thirsty. 'Champagne,' she thought and vaguely remembered a bottle chilling when they first entered the room. Truthfully, she was surprised she took note of anything given how distracted she was.
She swung her legs over and tried to rise on shaky legs, which made her giggle. She once joked about how all that cycling served him well. Little did she know how well all that cycling would serve her. He was relentless and then even when he was spent, he made sure she was completely satisfied- she saw satisfaction three times if memory served.
She uncorked the champagne with the faintest of pops and decided to drink straight from the bottle. The cool liquid felt delicious going down her throat. Speaking of delicious, her gaze fell to her blissfully dozing detective. God, that man, although she may never admit this, even to him, he owned her. Before tonight, he owned her heart and her soul and now, he owned her body. Yes, she had been with other men, but this was unworldly. 'Positively delightful,' she thought as she guzzled more champagne.
With delight in mind, she decided that she owed him . . . and herself to try a little experiment.
He must've sensed her giddiness, because he stirred, sat up and searched for his watch. She laughed because she was pretty sure his watch lay in a clothes pile by the door. "What time is it?" he queried.
She wasn't sure and she didn't care so she shrugged.
"Julia, come back to bed, it's cold." That was all the invitation she needed. She grabbed the bottle and headed toward him. "Are you thirsty?" she asked as she sat on the edge of the bed.
He eyed the champagne in surprise, but then relented, "well, this is the most special of all occasions, so I suppose I am," he smiled. She handed him the bottle and he gulped it down. Then, she took it back and poured some out onto his stomach. She leaned over and slowly licked his left hip bone and then his right, sopping up the alcohol. He almost jumped off the bed.
"I've wanted to do that for a long time," she shrugged again and continued, "while we are at it, I have been thinking about doing this for a while now too."
She put the bottle aside and covered him with her mouth.
"Ju... Ju … lia... you don't have to . . .," he groaned but couldn't finish because the reverberation of her chuckle sent him flying.
He awoke again to sunlight streaming in through the blinds. Julia was tucked up beside him. Unable to resist, he kissed her shoulder and reached around to cup her breast. "Good morning, Doctor Ogden," he whispered into her ear. She sighed contentedly and sleepily replied, "That's Mrs. Murdoch to you."
Those words, coming from her, made him instantly rigid.
He gulped, "is that so?"
More awake now that she could feel him pressed against her, she reached around to pull him closer, "I certainly hope so." She moved ever so slightly and captured him once again.
He happily rocked them into the new day to their new life . . . together.
His only question was, 'how will he keep his hands off of her in public now?'