The crispy-cold air filled her lungs with every breath as she stared into the distance, taking in the piece of the night sky the terrace offered the view of; not many stars on it.
She shivered, the metal railing cold against her elbows and knee as she tried to fit the latter between the vertical bars despite the gauge not being wide enough. She pushed harder, till it hurt, imagining the jolt of pain electrifying her head to toe if she send the knee crashing against the bars as she was aching to do; but stopped herself and gripped the railing instead. So tight her bones hurt.
She shivered again, tensing, surprised to feel his presence behind her; and relaxed, eased into his embrace when his arms closed around her, the warmth of him around her upper arms, at the back of her head, soothing.
"We shouldn't have done this," she whispered.
"Done what? Fucked?" he asked, a painful sting in his voice.
She let out a breath, blinking, tears forming in her eyes. There was still someone by the pool; occasional outbreaks of merry laughter echoed in the distance. Her eyes fell on the two abandoned recliners at the very edge of the pool, inches away from the neon-blue water. Not long ago, the laughter was theirs. How strange, to recall it now; like a glimpse of a different reality.
He pulled away, cold air washing over her back. Not even a second later, a blissfully warm softness enveloped her head to toe as she found herself wrapped in a long blanket.
This was it; just as she was building up the strength to walk away, he would go and do something like this, crumbling all of what little defenses she managed to conjure.
Flashes of last night flooded her; the little tour they did around town together, several house visits they made. No wonder some of the girls felt safer in the club than at home. Nothing happened in the end, but there was one moment when, at some point they both reached for their guns, hands frozen on holsters, a perfect sync; and then he shifted to shield her with his body, a completely unnecessary move that angered her back then, the memory of which sent a wave of warmth over her chest now.
"Come on, it's freezing," he said.
She turned around and met his gaze, stern as his voice.
He carried her to bed, and there was silence for a while, when he stood and stared, his features sharp and grim even in the subtle, orange glow of the shaded floor lamp nearby, dark eyes glued to her face, then roaming down and up her body. There was no lust to it, not the one she was used to. There wasn't much of anything, really, no anger either. Anger she could deal with, but this — the heavy silence was growing unbearable.
He turned around and walked towards the door.
She raised herself on her elbows, her eyes widening in some stupid panic she would've ridiculed herself for, if it didn't feel the way it did; her heart about to jump out of her chest when the door closed behind him.
#
She must've drifted off for a while because when she jolted awake, he was back, her eyes instantly drawn to the outline of the huge, dark silhouette by the window.
Calming down, she fell back on the pillows with a sigh, and reached to the bedside table to grab a cigarette. She drew a deep first hit, her eyes closing at the pleasant sensation, quiet notes of a somber ballad filling the air, an unknown sequence of acoustic guitar chords. How perfectly it completed the moment, how painfully fitting; a perfect soundtrack for the quiet heaviness between them; how pensive, the tall, dark figure of him silent, clouds of smoke around him.
Her chest rose with a sharp breath, some strange sorrow filling her, blurring her vision, blending with the song lyrics; the words sung by a voice sad enough to make it all crash down on her head with a thud; the past, the present. The now, bordering on a thin line with what she dreaded to have to face in several hours when all of this would be over.
"And yet I fight this battle all alone…
No one to cry to…
No place to call home…"
She sniffed, her lungs contracting like she jumped in the freezing water.
He turned around slowly, and for a moment, just stood there. Then, unhurriedly, he walked to the nightstand, lit a cigarette, and climbed onto his side of the bed, reclining with his arm behind his head.
"Why're you giving up the case?" he asked without looking at her, coldly.
She rolled onto her side, tucking her hands under her head, taking in every inch of his face, something inside her chest tightening uncomfortably with each passing moment. Why was he asking her that? To gloat as she admitted what he already knew? "Because I can't do this anymore," she whispered.
"Do what?"
Driven by the sudden urge, she moved closer, till she could smell him; it calmed her down, somehow. And she couldn't help herself; she reached up and covered his cheek with her hand, and pressed her lids shut when he grabbed her wrist; sighed when he pressed his mouth to the middle of her palm and held it there, his breath warming her skin.
"I used to think you didn't love me," he whispered, making her chest clench. "But you've never looked at me like this before… not with tears in your eyes like that."
It cut her breath short; the softness of his gaze when he looked her in the eye, making the inches of distance between them unbearable.
Her eyes closing, her stomach tightened when their lips met, his so full and soft; and it blew her mind, how could someone like this — someone who just sentenced a man to death — how could he kiss her, touch her with such affection — it hurt, made her drunk with how it hurt — to know there was something tender and beautiful buried underneath this machiavellian exterior, that there was someone there, who — held her when she cried, who tucked her in when she was a mess — who was now eyeing her in a way that made her heart swell. This someone, she could — she needed him to be real, to be enough to exonerate the rest of him — wanted him more than her mind could take, in a strange, unfamiliar, suffocating way that made her ache, made her long for him to be there, always — always.
"Always…" she breathed before she knew it.
"What?" he whispered, his thumb grazing her cheek.
"Nothing." She leaned in to kiss him again, but he pulled back.
"Say it…"
Her eyes never leaving his, she reached for the hem of her panties and rolled them down in one swift move, hooked her leg around his back and pulled him on top of her; and sighed and groaned, blindly clenching the sheets when she took him in, an inch or two; the very thought he was about to fill her completely making her muscles go limp, a pleasant jolt shooting up her spine when his teeth sank into her shoulder.
"Tell me…" He kissed around the skin he just left painfully bitten.
"No…" she moaned softly, urging him in, grunting when he halted her.
"Why?" He ran his tongue up her neck, nibbled on her chin. "Look at me," his raspy whisper sent a tingly wave all over her, and she did; and thought she would die when, his eyes locked on hers, he sheathed himself inside her slowly, till the end, till their bodies joined completely, till she thought she would fall apart.
He pressed his mouth to her earlobe, his hand slipping under the back of her head, the gesture making her swoon — she was going to fall apart, now she knew it for sure — how it could it feel so—
"Why won't you say it?" he asked in a whisper.
"Because I can't love you," her voice rang in her head, her teeth clenching not to let it out, her throat going dry, the lump in it almost painful, two lone tears escaping from under her closed lids, more following as he nestled his face in the crook of her neck, his breath both hot and cooling on her damp skin, lips warm and soft when they traced across it for she didn't know how long, not long enough, it would never be enough.
"I could stay inside you forever…" he muttered against her breast before taking a handful and closing his mouth over it, sending a hot surge through her.
"Yes…"
"Tell me you want it…"
"I do…" she sobbed, unable to hold back any longer, "I do," she whispered, taking a hold of his face, running her thumb over his lower lip, drowning in his eyes hazy with pleasure, drunk on emotion that she saw there, reflecting her own, consuming her entirely.
"You're close," he whispered, nuzzling her face, "I love it when you squeeze me like that…"
She said nothing, couldn't if she wanted to, the space closing up on her as his thrusts grew frantic, her eyes clamming shut as she felt her muscles yield to the convulsing sensation flooding her, deafening and blinding.
"You would've skinned me alive if I was mortal," his slightly amused voice reached her as she struggled for breath, forcing her eyes open and making her understand what he meant when she realized she was clutching his shoulders, fingers buried nails-deep in the flesh.
"Sorry," she muttered, licking her dried lips.
"I love it when you do it…" He kissed her chin, and up along her jaw. "I love it when you lose it like that…"
"Hold my head," she whispered.
"What?"
"The way you did before…" She grabbed his hand and guided it. "Yes…" she moaned softly when she felt his palm cradle the back of her head.
"Like this?" he asked, his fingers grazing her scalp, his palm feeling so big that it felt like he was holding all of her head in it, the sensation sending a wave of warmth over her chest.
"Yes…" she uttered on the exhale, her lids falling shut as she gripped his biceps.
"You're amazing…" He nuzzled her cheek, making her hum. He chuckled. "If you told me earlier this is gonna turn me on, I would've — fuck—" he hissed when she started clenching her muscles around him hard.
She didn't stop, her pleasure rising the more she felt she was about to drive him over the edge.
"No," she whispered feverishly when he made a move to withdraw.
"I'm close," he said breathlessly, putting a hand on her hip to halt her.
"I want you inside me…" she whispered against his forehead, her eyes closing, the thought of him filling her with his seed making her delirious, her legs wrapping around him in an iron hold in some wild frenzy, out of control. Cursing, burying his face in her neck, he didn't fight it. She'd never seen anyone come this hard.
Their ragged breaths intermingling, she closed her eyes, her fingers running through his hair, over the back of his head. Flexing the muscles of her other hand, she looked towards it — above her head, in his grasp, their fingers intertwined. Her lashes fluttered, the pleasant heaviness of his body melted with hers giving way to the growing heaviness in her chest as the sobering realization of what just happened was starting to settle in, cutting her breath short.
She glanced towards the window, the blue of the sky much brighter than she remembered, the night almost over.
Light headache pulsing in the back of her head, she stroked over the nape of his neck and let her palm rest there, her eyelids falling shut, warm teardrops sinking into the hairline of her temples. The song was still playing; had to be playing on loop, she thought half-consciously.
It should feel bad; ruining her life always had.
And this, probably, maybe, was the worst thing about it; the worst of all.
That this time, it didn't.