::SEVENTEEN::
Just like this morning, I find myself going to look for her. I could tell myself that it was just concern, that talking with Franks about Dufresne was what drove me to find her. It would be a lie to say it was the only reason. I wanted to find her because I wanted her, pure and simple.
She’s already in the shower, by the time I catch up with her. Walk by her pile of clothes on the bench. Ignoring the clean pile, holding her dirty shirt to my nose, to breath in the smell of her. Sweat, that heady pheromone tang. She doesn’t wear perfume. That indefinable spiced scent of her. That deeper scent, I realize, pulling back a little, is me, she spent the day smelling like me.
I’m pretty good at not being seen, not being noticed. If I had wanted, I probably could have just watched her, as she showered, and she’d never even know I was here. Was tempted to. I want more than to just watch her though. Kissing her wasn’t nearly enough. For either of us.
He’s leaning in the doorway, watching me. He’s so damned quiet. I didn’t even hear him, just knew he was there. Just watching. His expression unreadable behind those goggles. Staying perfectly still. Clearly, he wants me to know he’s watching. It would have been pretty easy for him not to be seen. But he made a point of standing in the light, where I would notice him. The hard lights making his skin look paler than it is, making every line harder, crueler, than I knew it to be.
We stand, both of us watching each other now, for the space of a heartbeat. I turn to face him, not noticing, maybe not caring, that I’m naked, and wet. His only reaction a slight tilt of his head. I point to the light switch, before turning back to the shower. The lights drop to about ten percent. Close my eyes, letting them adjust to the darkness.
His hand on my back is no surprise, when it comes, a few minutes later. The touch is tentative, gentle at first. The gesture a question in itself. He’s always giving me a chance to pull away. Like asking permission, without saying a word. I get the feeling those are words he’d never say. He’d never ask. But there is this. This first touch. Where he lets you know what he wants, and gives you an opportunity to turn him down. Whether he’d actually let me leave is another matter.
I fight the instinct to cover myself, and press back into his hand. His soft growl, at the acceptance. I can’t cover my nervousness, so I don’t bother. I get the feeling Riddick would notice, no matter what I did. Rest back into his hand, arching my neck when the kiss comes. A subconscious exposing of the throat, a gesture as old as time.
Grateful for the dark, I don’t think about my scars, and what they must look like to someone else. I know he can see in the dark. Maybe it’s enough that I can’t. I have the feeling Riddick doesn’t look at me in that way, as a thing broken and damaged. But I still fight that in myself, and force myself to be still, when his hands run over me.
His every exhale a low soft growl, kissing the side of my neck. Hands on my hips, caressing slowly, firmly, the strength in his hands undeniable. His arousal unmistakable, pressing into my lower back. Pulling me close to him, not a sliver of light between us, the heat of his bare chest making my heart beat faster. His hand runs over the jagged tear in my upper thigh, making me tense up a little, nervous.
“Don’t.”
His voice is deeper than I’ve ever heard it before. So quiet, a whisper against the skin of my neck, as his hand deliberately stops over the scar. I grow still again, as he leaves his hand there, settling into his touch again.
“Don’t pull away from me, Jane. I don’t see you like that.”
He doesn’t need to spell out how he doesn’t see me. Doesn’t see me as damaged. He’s holding me a little tighter, as though he expects me to pull away from him anyways, and has no intention of letting me. Will hold me here, until I’m still again, until I accept his hands on me without pulling away.
His lips move to the other side of my neck, not just kissing any longer. Small bites, and nips, at the tender skin where neck meets shoulder. The vibration of his low deep growls moving right through me. His hands exploring again, stroking, caressing everything that can be reached.
“This is hardly fair, sweetheart.” As one hand glides down between curls, a slow pass over my clitoris. I can feel his lips spread in a grin, against my neck, his chuckle a low deep rumble against my back. His voice low and dangerous again.
“No such thing as fair.”
Said quietly, almost gently, leaning in, sucking at my earlobe, his arm across my chest, pulling me tighter to him. His body hard and strong behind me, a consolidation of power that only middle age will bring. Cupping my small breast gently first, the stroke of thumb over nipple almost painful, between the heat of my own arousal, and the heat of the shower.
My moan, low and ragged, a sound I barely recognize as my own. As though he were waiting for just that sound, turning me to face him. Pulling me tight to him again, our moans, a muffled hum of pleasure, our kiss passionate, as though we had never separated before.
Not about to let her pull away from me now. Maybe, in the very beginning, but not now. I won’t let her, not when I know she wants me. Not when I know that the only thing making her pull back are those scars. And there’s no doubt that she wants me.
The scent of arousal coming off of her enough to make me light headed. Press her hard to me, loving the feel of her skin finally on mine. Run my hand back over her hip, cupping her ass. My other hand holding her jaw gently, remembering the break. Running my hand over her exposed throat, her neck arched up to me, before knotting my fingers in her wet hair.
Her back is arching into me, pressing us even closer together. Her hands running over me, as mine did with her, caressing everything she can reach. Fingers kneading my ass, up past my hips. Fingers spread, running over my chest, pulling at a nipple. My growl answered with one of her own, her every panted breath shouting her need.
Reach behind her, shutting the water off, slowly pressing her back into the tiled wall behind her. Her hands sliding up my chest, behind my neck. I don’t need to look to know she’s balanced on her toes. It would be so easy to pull her up, and fuck her hard, right here. Part of me wants to. I can feel the hard nub of her clitoris, press my cock harder against her, loving the sound of her moan.
Pull back just a little, breaking the kiss, the look of confusion, and the beginnings of hurt, in her eyes. Let go of her ass, cupping her face in both of my hands, kissing that bunched spot between her eyebrows.
“Not here. I want you in your own bed.” Not here. Not for the first time with her. Kiss her again, trying hard to ignore my ache, before we quickly dry off, get dressed, and make our way back to her room.
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