The Good Fight IV

The bed creaked under them, mattress groaning deep as he slowly pushed his hard cock into her, lifting his hips at the end and her from the bed.

She gasped her pleasure, her fingers curling into the bedding, seeking purchase as he did it again and again and again

She wanted him to go faster, take her harder still. She needed to forget the conversation of less than an hour ago, needed to forget how she had exposed her very personal pain to a man she had once cared for but had never truly let close, who was her boss and friend. She needed to forget the look of shock on his face, how it had made her feel so vulnerable, how it had made the disease real in yet another way she could do without — the disease she ached to forget before it made her flesh ache.

She wanted this, to lose herself in the blindness of passion with the man who’d sat silently at her side, a bastion of silent strength, the one man she trusted with her heart and her body, who could make her forget everything but him and love and how good it felt to just let go

So she pushed back onto his thick cock as he retreated and pleaded for more. “Harder, Bill … please … harder.”

He didn’t ask why, didn’t say a word beyond her name, but gave her what she needed, his hands spanning her hips and pushing her forward, up the bed until she was bracing her palms against the heavy wood.

Then he was pushing his hips against hers, stirring her with his cock until…

She heard the protest of wood under his strong grip, breath fleeing as he withdrew then slammed back with a shuddering groan. Once, twice, three times, landing so deep, the blunt head of his cock meeting her cervix hard enough to make her yelp. But she told him not to stop, begged for him to just take what was his.

He did but not in the way she had expected.

Instead of plowing her into oblivion from behind, he withdrew and moved back, flipped her and curled strong hands around her thighs and pulled her to him. With absolutely confidence, he put his slick dick back in her pussy then yanked her up into his lap, into his arms and a kiss that was sleek and wet, passionate and so full of love.

His hands palmed her ass, slid around to cup her breasts, to knead and milk, to pluck her aching nipples until she was gasping into his mouth.

She let him have his way, shut her eyes and just…

“Love you, baby,” he panted into the swollen heat of their kiss, his breaths laborded and humid, blending with her own.

Laura did not, had never, and would never doubt that after what followed.

Not after he walked them up the bed until her sweat-slick back was against the headboard. Not after his unfathomably blue gaze held hers so earnestly as his hips drilled hers against the wood in heavy, deep, determined strokes, her cancerous breast in one hand, her jaw cradled in the other. Not after he ignored the complaining knocks from the other side of the hotel room wall and just made love to her, hard and with a husband’s purpose.

She just held his face in her hands and gave him her body, her heart and took his cock into her depths because there was nothing she wanted or needed more than what she had in that moment.

Gods, she was so much his, every part of her. He could have anything he wanted from her. Anything. Everything.

She needed him so much, loved him even more.

She petted him as he worked his cock in and out of her, caressing his cheeks, his neck, his shoulders, wrapping her arms around him as she kissed his mouth, his brow and cheek as a variety of emotions welled up in her.

“I love you,” she confessed and shut her eyes, smiling at feeling him smile, at feeling his arms ease around her and hug her, at the burn of his emerging whiskers.

He moved slower then, turning their fevered frakking into something akin to a dance. She lay her head on his shoulder and let him lead, trusting him to guide them along the current of notes to the end as she smoothed her hands across his back, adored the feel of him inside and out, listened and breathed and scented him and them.

The end nearing, he buried his face in her hair and rose up on his knees as his hands tangled in her long tresses. He pressed closer to her and she thrilled at the rub of her breasts against the solid expanse of his chest, at the heat of his grunting breaths and hoarse murmurings of her name and other things.

She came on the heels of his unleashing inside her, great gobbets of his seed washing over her womb and triggering her own surrender to the pleasure, to him and the love that bound them. And in the thick of it, she clung to him, wondering how she could bear to be apart from him if he took Galactica.

A part of her wanted him to for a number of valid reasons, but another part…

Quaking, Laura bit at the ridge of his shoulder and threaded her fingers in his hair. She seared his neck with kisses, whispered in his ear that she wanted to go home and spend the rest of the day in bed loving him, just loving before they talked about things on the horizon.

His reply was a deliciously soft rumble that comforted her in more ways than she could name and came with a lingering kiss to the sweat-slick swell of her breast.

“Whatever you need, Laura.”

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