Slide 28: Firelight Confessions

Firelight flickered across Bill Adama as he knelt in front of the heat stove and loaded in more wood.

Sitting up in bed, his uniform tunic around her bare shoulders, a blanket pulled across her lap, Laura Roslin watched him, couldn’t take her eyes off him. She studied his weathered features, committed them to memory for the umpteeth time, took in the tangled mess she’d made of his hair, the love bite on his upper arm — she wasn’t sure why she’d latched onto him there in the middle of everything, but it’d sent him into a frenzy.

Reaching out, Laura skimmed her fingers over the spot. He turned his head, looked at her for a moment, a knowing smile gracing his mouth, then went back to his task. He used the makeshift poker to stir the embers to a roaring blaze before pushing shut the small door on the front of the stove. He set the poker on the rocks that surrounded it then pivoted to sit beside her, knees raised, arms propped atop them. He wore only his tanks and boxers.

Laura slid her hand across the arm nearest her. His skin was warm from the fire, the dampness from their earlier exertions had dried. She curled her fingers around his forearm, taking in the strength, slid them down to his wrist then, finally, his hand. She stroked the back of it, his thick digits. She trembled at the memory of his touch.

Eyes flickering up to his, Laura saw him watching her with a mixture of tenderness and curiosity. He gave voice to the latter.

“What are you thinking?”

She gave him a coy smile, looked back to her hand as she glided it back up his arm to the mark she’d given him. She fingered it deliberately, absently, replied. “That you’ve spoiled me.”

“Good.” It was such a Bill answer. Confident, honest, amused … sensual.

Leaning forward, Laura kissed the spot she’d just been touching. He curled his hand back and slid it into her hair, causing the muscle to flex and bulge under her lips. She opened her mouth and sucked lightly at another spot, just below the first. He groaned in response then touched his lips to her brow, kissed gently, lips brushing across her skin.

“Have you always been so insatiable?” he whispered, lips grazing her temple.

She released her hold on him long enough to ask, “Complaining?”

“Frak, no,” was his answer.

She smiled around his flesh, nipped gently then resumed suckling, enjoying the rumbling sound that rose in his chest. His fingers massaged her scalp, his mouth lingered near her face, dropping kisses wherever he could reach.

Laura relished the attention. Truth be told, his attentiveness was the reason for her insatiability. She liked it, loved it. He made her feel desired, precious in how he touched her and looked at her, in how he liked her being close to him, welcomed her touch and attention. He indulged her need to be his lover as much as he was hers. Whatever she wanted to do to him, he allowed. However she wanted to take him, he let her. That kind of intimacy was a powerful aphrodisiac, especially when coupled with Bill Adama. He was like sunshine on a warm spring day, making her want to toss responsibilities to the wind so she could just bask in it all day.

Her mouth sliding down a little lower, she began to make another mark. She didn’t know why, just knew that she could so she did. She cherished having the time to explore him, to discover what he liked and please him. His whispered “that feels good” only encouraged her to continue. She wanted him to feel good, and wanted. Because he was wanted, very much, and not just sexually, though, at the moment, that was admittedly a prevalent desire.

It is nice to be so carefree with a lover, she mused, realizing that she hadn’t had that in ages and never to this degree. She enjoyed being a woman with Bill. It was just so easy with him, to have these feelings and indulge them. The fact she was no longer president was a factor, of course. Her career change was something she hated at times and was glad of at others. Now was one of the glad times. Here, now, in the firelight in this tent on a forbidding planet, she was at peace. She was safe. She was wanted, needed and, yes, loved — she’d have to be an idiot to not know that.

Releasing her hold on Bill’s flesh, Laura nuzzled against him then wrapped her arm around his, hugging the strong limb. She pressed her cheek against the curve of his biceps, facing away from him. Into the shadows, she whispered, “This is different for me.”

There was a warm kiss to the crown of her head, a breathy question murmured. “What is?”

Laura smiled, lifted her head, propped her chin on his shoulder, fell headlong into his gaze. “This,” she breathed.

He brushed fingers down her cheek, eyes softening impossibly. “Me, too.” It was a confession, one that made Laura’s heart rise in her breast, made her want him impossibly more.

Releasing his arm, Laura shifted onto her knees. She put a hand on Bill’s shoulder. Without a word, he lowered his knees and welcomed her astride him. She started to shrug off his jacket, but he stopped her.

“I like it on you.”

Laura smiled as she settled into his lap, liking immensely that he liked seeing her in his jacket. The one time she’d slipped on Richard’s shirt for a three-minute trip to the bathroom, he’d had a conniption fit instead of finding it sexy. As Bill flipped the lapels out, making the jacket frame her breasts, she decided he might have a fit, but it’d be of an entirely different sort altogether.

Laura hummed when he took her breasts into his hands. His eyes held hers as he thumbed the peaks, rubbing back and forth, slowly with deliberate intent.

“Feel good?” he asked even though he very well knew the answer.

“Uh-huh.”

He raised his knees behind her and she leaned back against his thighs, essentially putting herself on display for him. He liked it. A lot. His eyes burned a quick, hot trail from her face down to the juncture of her thighs. One of his hands followed, smoothing down over her stomach and then delving boldly but gently into her sex.

“Oh gods,” Laura moaned, her eyes falling shut and her head dropping back. Her hands gripped him tightly as he curled a pair of fingers inside her, his purpose clear. She shuddered again and again, with each caress he made, pleasure building quickly, intensely, until it was almost unbearable. Then he stopped.

“Give me your eyes.”

It was a command. She obeyed, peering into eyes the color of a clear midnight sky, and was rewarded, his fingers beginning a gentle rhythmic stroking in and out. His other hand, eased under her arm, his thumb taking station at the side of her breast, his fingers curling around to her shoulder blade. He massaged her inside and out in a matching cadence.

Gods, it felt good. Incredibly good. She struggled to keep her eyes open and on his. But she knew that’s what he wanted. She saw it in his gaze, the need for her to see him, for him to see her. She wanted him to have what he needed, all of it, everything, whatever it might be.

Laura moved into his touch. He increased his pace, the force of his thrusts. She moaned and gasped as heat rushed through her flesh, ignited in her veins. Her hands moved to his upper arms, gripped tightly as she squeezed around him.

“Yes, Laura.” His voice was deep and thick, a rumble that filled the space between them like an approaching thunderstorm. It was electric and what he said next shot through her like lightning. “After you cum,” he stated without equivocation, his thumb moving to finish her off, “I’m going to eat you.”

That was all it took. Those crude but intensely beautiful words of lovers said so boldly and with such affection by that voice she knew so well shattered her. She jerked and quivered. She moaned and shouted. She threw herself into his chest with a cry of his name and dropped her head to his shoulder with a shuddering sigh when his arms came around her and held her close.

For the longest time she quaked in his embrace. Then he was easing her back, laying her on the blankets, her head on her makeshift pillow. He moved over her, took her mouth with his, kissed her slow and soft. She ran her fingers through his hair, held him, following him as he slipped down, down, caressing and kissing her breasts, her stomach, her thighs. Then he was there. Right there, tasting, devouring, consuming her. He was gentle, reverent, thorough, coaxing her body to yield to him again in a series of small climaxes that left her breathless and tears welling.

He kissed them away when he rose over her, lips tenderly moving across her lashes even as he drew one of her legs around his hip. She arched under him, a breathless mewl of pleasure, of love spilling from her lips when he joined his body to hers. Gods, she hadn’t expected that, that he would be ready for her again. But he was and he was in her now, stroking deep and slow, making love to her.

Looking up at him, she saw his eyes closed, his expression one of bliss. She touched him, hands cradling his face. His lids lifted and she watched him smile the smile he only ever wore when they were like this. There were no words to describe what all it held, what all it spoke to, but it contained him, all that he was and ever would be. And it plundered her heart, making her ache for him in ways she’d never ached for another.

“Bill,” she whispered, prompting him to kiss her, passionately, robbing her of thought and breath. He then laid claim to her soul when his body took hers with a sudden ferocity, sending them both into oblivion.

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