The Good Fight V

Bill ran shaky fingers through Laura’s long, red tresses.

They were wild from writhing against the sheets and pillows, mussed from his hands and her own. They were damp with sweat that amazingly didn’t conceal the resplendent array of golds and russets. It was like fire in the late afternoon sun that filled the room and worshipped her alabaster skin, flush with the passion that had flowed from her ever since they’d come home.

She’d kissed him as soon as the door was shut, the security agents out of sight and mind at the cottage just up the drive. She’d had him out of his shirt by the time they were halfway up the stairs and his pants by the time they were beside the bed.

His hands had not been idle, either, stripping her bare to his touch and gaze, tossing her onto the silken white sheets after throwing aside the thick comforter.

He loved the sight of her on white bedding, always would.

He’d devoured the look of her, that gorgeous mass of hair splayed around her, a pillow for her head, a frame for the beloved features of her face. He’d taken a moment to just look her over, head to toe, taken in the wanton splaying of her legs, how her hands grasped her breasts as if she couldn’t wait for his touch, the way her mouth was open to take in panting breaths, lips swollen and red from kisses.

He ate her pussy first, consuming her sweet juices, licking, sucking, thrusting his tongue into the grip of her  inner muscles.

Kneeling at the side of the bed, he’d just buried his face in her delicious snatch and dined, teased, coaxed, loved. He’d filled his mouth with her taste, his nostrils with her scent. He’d made her moan and groan, slap the bed in frustration when he denied her release. He’d made her tug his hair and pull his face into her. He’d made her sweat and beg and then cry out. Then he’d mounted her and frakked her across the bed, one side to the other, until her head was hanging over the edge, her hands tangled in his hair, her legs locked around his waist. And still he’d frakked her, driving his cock in her hard and deep, without mercy, even as her breaths became almost short gasps.

He hadn’t stopped when she looked at him wild-eyed and feral. He’d just frakked her, watching her beautiful tits slide around on her chest to his rhythm, the rapid undulation of her belly as she struggled to breathe. He’d frakked her even though tears fell from her eyes, mingling with the drips of sweat at her temples. He’d frakked her until he thought his cock might explode from the amazing friction and tightness of her grip.

He hadn’t cared about anything but giving her his dick, making her mindless, making her forget everything but him, feeling her around him, under him, hearing her cries and moans and rasping breaths.

He had just frakked and frakked and frakked her until the slap of his balls against her ass was the loudest sound in the room, second only to that of her wetness being pumped to a froth.

He had loved her body with his, the only way he knew how, the way he needed — with everything he had and felt, and felt from her — and rejoiced in her surrender, in the heavy shudder of her body and the bite of her nails into his shoulders, the relentless grip of her thighs around his waist. He’d rejoiced at how his seed shot out of him and into her, at how she keened his name at that first splash, heard over the rush of blood in his ears and his own hoarse breaths.

Then he’d worshipped her tits with his hands and mouth, licking and sucking, stroking, squeezing them. He’d braced each mound with thumb and forefinger, drew his hands upward, lifting their soft weight and stroking them from base to tip, milking her. Again and again and again while her hands covered his, stroked his fingers and wrists, traveled up his arms to curl around his biceps.

Then he’d crawled up her body, straddled her and put his soft but slick cock between them. Together, they’d gathered their twin softness around his length and, his eyes on hers, watching her tilt her head back with an almost rapturous expression, he’d frakked them slowly, until he began to harden again.

He shouldn’t have been ready again so soon, but with her under him, so given over to the sensuality the day had taken on, to her need and to his, he had firmed and thickened.

And now he was leaned back against pillows at the head of the bed and she was bent over him, sucking him even harder, lifting off him from time to time to trace the tip of her tongue along the thick vein on the underside of his cock, making him tremble and murmur her name.

When she smiled up at him, he couldn’t help but smile in return.

Reaching, he touched her cheek and she turned and kissed his fingertips, before closing her eyes and working her lips around the broad head of his dick, encasing it then rubbing her tongue against that sweet spot just below the rim.

“Baby,” he breathed in response and closed his eyes on an extended blink, his fingers again sliding through her hair, hoping to convey to her exactly how much he loved what she was doing, how much he loved her.

She was struggling, he knew, with the diagnosis of her cancer and this was her refuge, him and intimacy.

Earlier, once alone in the car after leaving Adar’s office, she’d asked him to take her to a hotel. She hadn’t looked at him, hadn’t touched him, had just murmured, “I want to make love.”

So that’s what they’d done, what they continued to do, losing themselves in the heady intoxication of sexual intimacy enriched by love.

Bill had no complaints. He needed it, too. To be with her, to make love with her and frak her. He needed the closeness and to know she wasn’t walling herself off from him or life in the shadow of her cancer.

More than anything, though, he needed to be what she needed.

At the moment, she needed a lover, one who would give her what she needed and let her take what she wanted. He could be that, would be until she needed him to be something else.

They still needed to talk, and would, but right now, just now, they needed this, and it was incredibly beautiful.

Through hooded eyes he watched her swallow up his girth, sinking until the tip of her nose disappeared into the thick thatch of hair above his cock. Her breath warmed him, the moan in her throat resonated through his whole body, raising gooseflesh and making him tremble.

He yielded himself to the slow loving of her mouth, how she suckled, rose and descended, how she massaged him with lips and tongue. He watched her face, amazed at the serenity that saturated her features, found himself fascinated with the curl of her lashes against her cheek and how the lines at the corners of her eyes softened as she delighted him.

She was beyond beautiful. She was beyond sensual. She was divine, an angel, his angel, and he came for her with a moan of her name filled with wonder at knowing she was consuming every drop his body had to give.

When she crawled back up his body, he wrapped her in his arms, returned the series of soft kisses she gave as he regained his breath, smiled when she hummed contentedly and lay her head on his shoulder, murmuring, “I don’t do that nearly enough for you.”

“I have no complaints,” he replied with a kiss to her brow, pleased that she did it at all, overjoyed that she so obviously enjoyed it.

She let out a throaty little laugh in response. “Do you ever complain?”

Bill chuckled. “I’ve been known to,” he confessed truthfully, recalling more than one conversation with Carolanne about the neglect of his needs, both for her attention and to give to her, before he’d realized the futility. It felt strange to laugh about it now, but also good. Laura was healing those wounds, he realized.

Her fingers stroked his neck and she hummed contemplatively. “You never have with me.”

Turning his head, Bill kissed her brow, murmured, “Never had cause.”

She let out a soft breath as her fingertips glided lightly across his collarbone. “I hope I never give you any.”

Bill smiled. He had no doubt she would give him cause for worry, maybe even make him angry at times, and other things, but he somehow doubted she’d ever give him reason to complain on the front she suggested. His needs were simple and she met them innately, just by letting him love her. So unless she stopped…

A hand coming up to cover hers, he stilled her fingers where they played along his skin, whispered low, “Just let me love you.”

In response, she lifted her head and met his gaze.

“Always,” she breathed then covered his mouth with hers, kissing him soft and slow, stealing his breath and thought, taking him down into the well of desire again.

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