Slipping his hand around the base of her head, he took gentle hold of her and drew her face close, pushing himself half the distance between them, so that they met in a deep and longing kiss. She pressed up against him, too, winding her arms around him as that kiss swiftly grew beyond one of lips alone, to include tongues and breath and hands and very soon bodies, as well, moving together in matching rhythm.
Acutely aware of their limited privacy, they traded their kisses quietly, though there was no trade of passion for silence. If anything, the effort of their subterfuge made them both more heated, turning them almost feverish with desire; where she drew her tongue from his shoulder to just below his jaw was like the stroke of a cool cloth over sunburn. So he returned the favour, with a wet, licking kiss along her neck, that made her pull a full breath over his ear.
He craned his mouth to her ear then, as he slipped his hand over the pliant mound of her breast. “I love you,” he told her in a breezy breath, squeezing her tenderly in his palm.
She echoed him in voice and action, whispering the same words just as he'd done, her mouth tilted so close to his ear that her tongue flitted between hollow and helix with each syllable. Then, hooking her hand behind his head, she brought his mouth back to hers, shushing the wish he wanted to make with another kiss. They broke from each other with a tilt of his head, though, and it was then that he whispered aloud, for the first time in too long, into her mouth:
“I want you.”
She pulled back from him and gave a quiet sigh, her breath so close and warm that it made the bow of his lip bead with sweat. And then she began to chuckle. “You have terrible timing, Mister Finch,” she told him in a hushed murmur, the stutter of her voice something between a laugh and a sob.
Ross dropped his head and rubbed his cheek against hers; the sound of his faint, unshaven stubble against her skin was louder than his lamenting reply. “I know,” he said. But then he tilted his chin and kissed her lips again, still wanting.
Amber didn't protest against this; her mouth clutched to his for not just one or two but a string of kisses, all of them almost soundless yet still equal to his desire. After a few moments, she pulled away again to speak: “Venus is right in the next room...!” she said, as though in warning.
“I know,” he whispered again, and then he pressed his mouth to hers once more, full of aching feeling. And while he knew that it would be more responsible and more prudent and more sensitive to tell her that the time wasn't right, that they should just get to sleep, that they could wait until the morning when Venus was gone to satisfy their renewed affections, he didn't say any of those things. Rather, he smiled as he let his lips unclasp gently from hers, and told her:
“It just means we have to be quiet.”
Her eyes seemed to flutter open just as he looked at her, and the tiny twinkling he saw in them now wasn't scared, or admonishing, or even hesitant, just a bit embarrassed. “You'll have to help me,” she said, and he nodded and smiled again. Then she gave a single low cough of a giggle. “And be very quiet,” she added, and at that, he had to grin.
“I will be whatever you need me to be,” he said, and in reply, she grinned, too, pulling herself against him with her hands as they met for a new kiss that would bring them both to bloom.
So, let me know:
Do you like what you've read?
Do you want to read more?
Do you think this is enough?
Or should I just go back to writing fan fiction?
...Though I'd appreciate it if you didn't just grab the claw hammer and start bashing.
Thanks!
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