Slide 35: Good Morning, Good Night

Laura Roslin and Bill Adama were both smiling as they reclined in bed. He was leaned back his pillows while she sat between his legs, resting against his chest. They had a blanket thrown over their lower bodies to ward off the slight chill that was a ever-present in the atmosphere of space vessels while she read over student essays.

Bill was looking over her shoulder, his body shaking with silent laughter as he read along with her.

“She thinks you’re handsome,” Laura said, pressing her cheek to his.

Bill’s laughter became audible. “She needs her vision checked.”

Laura slapped a hand lightly on his thigh. “Be nice.”

Turning his face into her neck, he kissed her gently, murmured, “I am nice.”

“Yes, you are,” Laura agreed as his lips lingered. She closed her eyes and tilted her head, giving him unfettered access. He took advantage of it, nuzzling, dropping soft kisses here and there, prompting her to sigh with contentment. She really did like this intimacy with Bill, how easy it was to relax and just be with him.

Sliding her hand along his thigh, Laura smiled at the memory of their earlier lovemaking and at the question he whispered in her ear now.

“Do you have to go back tomorrow?”

Laura shook her head gently. She probably should go back but she didn’t need to since it was the weekend. Frankly, she didn’t want to go back, not after Bill had informed her the meteorology reports indicated rain was to continue. She’d had enough rain for a while. A couple days of dry clothes and atmosphere appealed to her in ways that were downright on sinful. So did the thought of his company, sharing his bed.

With a smile, Laura turned her head toward him, met his gaze. “Is that an invitation?”

“Yes,” he replied, bringing a hand up to caress her cheek.

She leaned into his featherlight touch, prompting him to smile. “I’ll stay.”

He gave a soft laugh, lifted his chin as his eyes roved over her face. “Good. Let’s get some sleep.”

Laura nodded and gathered her papers. Once they were stacked relatively neatly, she scooted out of the bed and returned them to his desk, where she’d put them earlier. She set her glasses atop them then reached and took Bill’s from him when he handed them to her. They settled into the bed, she on the outside, he spooned at her back.

Laura was warm and happy. She had missed this. It didn’t matter that they hadn’t been involved all that long, or shared a bed as often as it seemed, she had truly missed this the last few weeks. A hand caressing Bill’s forearm, she told him. He cuddled her closer in response, whispered in her ear, “Me, too.”

Sleep took them soon after and they rested well. Laura woke before the alarm, started awake from a dream that seemed all too real and brought back unpleasant memories. She rubbed at her chest, at the ghost of pain and grimaced at recollections she would just as soon not have. She didn’t realize Bill was awake until his hand came up and covered hers. She stilled instantly, apologized for waking him.

He ignored the apology, asked, his voice soft but thick with sleep, “Worried?”

“Not really. It was just a dream.” It was the truth. She wasn’t worried, though, she would admit to it having been on her mind as the appointment neared, which explained the dream, and to occasionally entertaining fears, which she quickly squelched on the basis that fear would do her no good even if it was perfectly understandable. She didn’t worry for the same reason. Or at least she did her damnedest not to, for long.

She felt a wave of it now, wondering if perhaps the cancer had returned to haunt her once more and if Cottle would find it in a few hours. Before she could push the thought aside, she began gently palpating her left breast, searching for an abnormalities, stopping only when a squeeze from Bill’s hand made her realize what she was doing and that she had tensed. She sighed and forced herself to relax, shoved the thoughts and worry away.

“I don’t–” she began but silenced when he shushed her gently. Then his hand was moving, easing beneath hers to cradle her flesh.

“Let me,” he whispered in her ear as he took over where she’d left off, fingers exploring with aching tenderness, seeking what she had sought in a way that she could never ever do for herself. It was a gift, the kind that stole a woman’s breath away and made her heart learn new ways to beat. It was the kind of gift you could never repay, not in a thousand lifetimes.

Shutting her eyes, Laura accepted his gift. She thanked the gods for it and for him. She petitioned them to bless him and protect him always. She … was moving, being eased onto her back, and he was moving over her, lips encircling a nipple, tasting, lathing, suckling…

“Bill,” Laura moaned, her hands taking hold of his head as he nursed at one breast then the other, fingers continuing to caress and probe both soft mounds. He kissed and sucked, licked and nibbled. He made her gasp and hum, and then the penetrated her, sinking into her without warning but with infinite care.

“Yes, oh yes,” she whimpered, held to him, hands grasping desperately at his shoulders, his arms, his head — wherever she could reach as he moved inside her, reaching so deep, so slowly … and with love. And then he was kissing her, his mouth slanting over hers, warm and wet, sensual and gentle, stealing her breath and making her heart rise high in her chest.

“Yes, Laura,” he murmured against her lips when she arched under him.

He reached deeper still, hands squeezing her breasts in time with each gliding push into her. It was too much and not enough. Laura needed…

“More,” she moaned, her neck bowing as her head pressed back into the pillow. “Deeper,” she beseeched, hands leaving his body to grasp the shelf at the head of his bed.

He released her breasts and pushed himself up, flexed his hips purposefully, seeking and finding her absolute depths when she hooked her knees around his hips to give him ideal access. “Yes, there,” she groaned, her back curving until her belly was touching his.

Fingertips grazed the line of her spine then a possessive hand spanned her bottom and pulled her into his thrusts. Again. Again. Again. Until her body capitulated to the growing pressure and relentless rubbing of his pubic bone against her most sensitive flesh. A blossoming billow of pleasure rippled outward from where they were joined to encompass every part of her and yet she was not fully satisfied. Not until she felt him yield in kind in the moments that followed, shuddering and trembling above her as he filled her with a warmth unlike any other.

In the midst, Laura looked up at him, saw his head thrown back, his eyes closed. His expression … there were no words to describe it.

Laura reached up for him, hands landing on his shoulders, sliding across them as he lowered. She cradled his head in her hands and drew him down to her own trembling form, welcoming the searing heat of his body, the weight of him, the closeness.

She whispered his name and he surged against her, a reflex that was more than physical, groaning her own as he buried his face in her neck. Laura embraced him inside and out, trailed kisses across his sweat-slick skin, from neck to upper arm.

He moved and kissed her cheek. She felt his smile before she heard him laugh softly. She smiled when he whispered, “That was…”

She responded with a hum of agreement that was also half giggle. Unfortunately, it became something of a groan when his alarm went off and he moved from atop her, reaching up to shut off the annoying noise.

To her delight, though, he did not elect to leave the bed, at least not immediately. He lingered long enough to kiss her properly, until she was breathless and smiling. Only then did he depart for the lavatory and she watched him go with one thought prevalent in her mind: Bill Adama knew exactly how to make a girl happy.

A few hours later, she was wishing she was back in Bill’s bed. She hated mammograms. Hated them. A part of her wondered if they’d been invented by some misogynist to torture women under the guise of health care. If she ever found out that was true, she was going to make someone pay dearly.

As it was, she gritted her teeth and bore it. She tolerated Cottle’s smoking. She put up with his colorful mutterings and eye-rolling when he saw the faint, fingertip-shaped bruises on the very organs he had to examine. She endured the cold and the pressure and the pain. She bore it all and then she sat in the doctor’s private office and waited for the results, which might have been the most torturous thing of all.

Thankfully, Cottle never dragged things out when it came to that. He might be irritable and irritating at times. He might scold, but he really did care. And he was honest and didn’t beat around the bush. He just came out with it, whatever it was, good or bad.

“You’re clear,” he pronounced the moment he crossed the threshold into his office carrying a folder that contained her x-rays. He took them out and popped them up on the wall-mounted light box, flipped the switch to illuminate them. He gestured to them then pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and lit up.

For once Laura had no reaction to the doctor’s ignoring her express wishes he not smoke around her. She didn’t even think about it as a weight lifted from her, a heavier one than she realized she’d been carrying. She took a deep breath and blinked back the moisture beginning to gather in her vision, met Cottle’s gaze.

“Thank you.”

“I’ve got nothing to do with it,” he grunted then shut off the light box and dropped into the chair behind his desk. “You said you had something you wanted to talk to me about.”

“Yes,” Laura said, composing herself and dove into the conversation she wanted to have with him about potential health issues related to the less than ideal climate of New Caprica. She was not surprised that Cottle shared her concerns about the inherent dangers of living in seemingly perpetual damp and cold environment. They’d had a similar discussion a month or so ago and even devised some plans, but living with the reality of it had only sharpened Laura’s fears of contagion en masse.

She and Cottle spent several hours talking again about the types of infections and viruses that were most likely to crop up and how best to combat them with a limited supply of medicines. They also talked about stepping up efforts to survey local flora and fauna to find out what, if any, potential pharmacological application the native species might have. It wasn’t a new discussion either, but it seemed more important now than ever.

By the time Laura was ready to leave Sickbay, she and Cottle had hammered out a tentative plan to accelerate the survey and told Cottle she’d have Tory begin contacting the civilians with backgrounds in chemistry and any other applicable science that might be able to help.

On the way out of his office, though, Cottle couldn’t resist one more wheedle, a decidedly personal one that she wouldn’t have tolerated from anyone else.

“Uh, you two might want to take it easy,” he said, gesturing to her.

Laura knew to what he was referring — the residual soreness that always followed a mammogram — but fought smiling at the thought of she and Bill taking anything easy. What Cottle said had merit, of course, but she wasn’t worried. So, instead of smiling, she just raised an eyebrow at the physician who always looked like an unmade bed.

At her expression, Cottle backtracked as if it suddenly dawned on him who he was talking about. “Never mind,” he waved his hand, a trail of smoke following the gesture. “He’s not the insensitive type.”

Laura did smile at that. “No. He’s not.”

Upon departing the Galactica’s medical center, Laura considered where to go. She had a few more papers to grade but was in no rush since she had today and tomorrow to finish them. Plus she didn’t really feel like sitting down. Finding out she was still cancer-free had energized her. She wanted to be on her feet, up and moving, which prompted her to take a walk, her marine guards in tow, albeit at a distance.

And walk she did, winding her way through the maze of corridors that she’d come to think of as the veins of Galactica. They flowed with the ship’s lifeblood, the men and women who tended the great vessel and whom the ship, in turn, sheltered. It was an interesting metaphor to apply to a marvel of war engineering. But it was apt, and she’d come to realize that battlestar was much more than a tool of destruction. The Galatica was a steadfast defender under the hand of her commander and a home for the people who crewed her — specifically Bill.

It didn’t surprise her when her stroll ended at CIC, her feet having ferried her to the man who’d been in her thoughts much of the journey.

Laura slipped unnoticed into the upper level of the command center — the Core — and watched Bill as he signed reports and shared a joke with Saul Tigh. Eventually, though, someone noticed her and pointed her out to him. She gave him a little wave and a smile, as she had once before on a day that seemed further in the past than it was in actuality. He came to join her now as he had then.

“All clear,” she informed him as he approached.

“Good.” He smiled and she watched his body relax just the slightest bit. With anyone else, that subtle shift might not have been noticeable or even noteworthy, but that little change in Bill Adama spoke volumes. He had been worried, too. She wasn’t really surprised. The way he’d made love to her this morning, the special attention he had paid to her breasts … it had been about more than distracting her from her own concerns.

“You have your talk with Cottle?” he asked.

“We’re accelerating some things,” she replied, frowning when she added, “This planet’s frakking weather poses a serious danger. As Cottle said, ‘human beings don’t come with gills’. We’re just not made to live in this kind of environment long term, not without infrastructure to shelter us from the worse of the elements.”

Bill nodded his understanding. “Wish we could have done more.” His voice held regret and recrimination. Laura waved off both.

“You’ve done more than Baltar or Zarek even considered when they put us on this road. They thought only of winning the election. The how of living down there was an afterthought. You and your people have provided shelter and heat, two things neither of them has to worry about while they hole up on Colonial One.”

Bill huffed in distaste, looked down at the console beside them then changed the subject, making Laura smile. “Have you had lunch?”

“Not yet,” she told him.

He met her gaze then offered her his arm. “Join me?”

By way of answer, Laura placed her hand in the crook of his arm and let him lead her from CIC to the galley. The room quieted as they entered. It wasn’t a new occurrence. Laura had come to expect it but she still wasn’t comfortable with it. It served now to reinforce her reasons for avoiding the gatherings on New Caprica.

Bill, thankfully, being commander of the Galactica, could quell that reaction without seeming condescending. A quiet “carry on” from him was enough to prompt the resumption of conversations, jokes, laughter, and the clank of flatware touching plates and trays around the room as he led Laura to a pair of seats away from the bulk of the group.

The galley staff quickly brought food over to them, along with a cup of tea for her and coffee for Bill. She thanked them graciously, a little surprised that they’d noticed her preference for tea in the afternoons. But then again, she did dine with Bill often enough that they’d recognized the pattern — coffee when they had a breakfast meeting, tea with lunch and coffee again with dinner.

They ate quietly, chatted a little, but mostly, Laura and Bill found themselves laughing at the storytelling going on around them by the pilots and deck crew. It made Laura realize exactly how long these people had been working together, how the threat of death and danger had bonded them. The camaraderie was like that of siblings, as well as friends.

Glancing at Bill, she saw him watching them with respect and fondness — and a bit of wistfulness. She had undoubtedly he missed being among them, being “one of the gang,” as it were. His position, unfortunately, necessitated a degree of distance in order for him to do his job. Laura knew exactly how that felt and the price that distance exacted — loneliness.

“You miss it,” she said softly, drawing his attention back to her. His gaze was gentle. He gave her a bashful smile. It was the only answer she received and that was fine by her. He often said more with a look and an expression than most people did with hours of talking.

Picking up her tea, Laura cradled the cup in her hands and opened her mouth to ask him if she could rummage through his library for something to read when the room suddenly went dead quiet. She watched Bill’s expression cloud instantly, saw him tense. She wondered why but not for long.

“Why, Laura, I didn’t know you were here?”

Ellen Tigh. There was something about that woman’s voice that just made Laura want to scream the instant she heard it. She didn’t hate the woman, but she sure didn’t care for her. There was something about her that just rubbed Laura the wrong way.

Plastering on her best politician’s smile, she looked up at the wife of Bill’s XO, greeted her with a civil “Ellen.”

The woman, clearly lacking manners, invited herself to join them, taking up a seat beside Bill, sitting closer to him than seemed proper in Laura’s opinion. For his part, Bill looked incredibly uncomfortable with it. He shifted and flashed Laura a look that spoke to the fact. And when Ellen decided to put her hand on his back, the man went so still it was almost frightening.

Laura sensed the tension in the room ramp up, telling her that his crew had noticed the reaction as well, and probably her own. She did not like Ellen touching him. The way the woman did it there were clear sexual overtones and she didn’t even try to mask them.

Laura knew a thing or two about infidelity, had been the other woman, and if you didn’t want people to know you were involved or interested in someone, you kept it private and you sure didn’t touch them in public in anyway familiar for fear of setting tongues to wagging.

That Ellen did so now, in front of Bill and his crew showed a deplorable lack of respect for her husband, who so clearly loved her, if blindly, as Bill had said once upon a time. It made Laura hurt for Saul Tigh, something she, admittedly, had never really done for Richard’s wife.

That she hadn’t, shamed Laura now and the thought of how selfish she’d been spawned a wave of nausea. But both reactions fell to the wayside when Ellen began stroking her fingers across Bill’s shoulder — over the very spot Laura had kissed gently this morning as he shaved.

Seeing Ellen’s hand there made Laura…

Like Baltar and his debauchery on Colonial One, it more than improper. It was profane and a violation of Bill, of what Laura shared with him, of his friendship with Saul, and Ellen’s own marriage. It was just plain wrong and it incensed Laura to the nth degree.

She squelched the urge to reach over and take the woman’s hand off Bill, who, for the mask of stone he wore, radiated discomfort like a star gave off light. Thankfully, he was good at thinking on the fly. Tilting away from Ellen’s touch, he reached across the table and picked up Laura’s tea and then his coffee.

“Would you care for some more, Madam President?” he asked politely.

Glad to help him with a reprieve, Laura cast him a smile, “Yes, thank you, Admiral.”

Before Bill could offer to get anything for Ellen, the blond rudely announced, “I’ll take some coffee, Bill.”

“Of course,” he replied and wandered toward the serving line.

Laura watched him go, watched him ignore the nervous looks cast his way by his soldiers. He held his head high, with that innate aura of power that always seemed to surround him. No one said a word to him, but he did speak to Starbuck, a few words and the young woman departed with a nod. Probably sending her for the colonel, Laura surmised when she looked back to Ellen and saw the woman pull out a flask and unscrew the cap.

The aging blond took a swig then offered it to Laura, who begged off with a raised hand and an as-polite-as-she-could-muster “no, thank you.”

Ellen’s eyes took on a dangerous look as she baited, “Too good to drink with me?”

Laura didn’t rise to the challenge — and it was definitely a challenge. The woman was looking for a fight but Laura wasn’t going to give her one. She would not make a scene that would embarrass Bill, or the colonel, no matter what Ellen said.

“Too early in the day for me,” Laura said in response.

Ellen let out a decidedly unfeminine snorting laugh, then smothered an unattractive grin with her hand while precariously waving the flask as if Laura had just told her the funniest joke she’d ever heard.

Laura decided to change the subject. “I hear you’re wanting to move to the surface.”

And there came the pout. “Saul doesn’t want to go so I’m stuck here on this frakking ship while everyone else gets to go out in the sunshine,” Ellen complained.

Laura fought rolling her eyes, chose instead to inform Ellen of the realities of New Caprica. “There hasn’t been all that much sunshine to tell the truth. We’ve had rain mostly, some snow. Overall, it’s been cold and damp.”

“At least there’s fresh air,” Ellen scoffed then raised her voice slightly, looked over toward the crew gathered at the other tables when she added, “And people wearing something other than uniforms.” She punctuated the statement with another draw on the flask.

Bill, thankfully, returned with their beverages and saved Laura from having to respond. He set Ellen’s coffee in front of her then settled onto the bench beside Laura, handing her a fresh tea while taking a sip of his own coffee. Laura welcomed his presence at her side, was glad he was safe from Ellen’s wandering hands. She was also glad when Saul Tigh arrived a few moments later and joined them. The colonel cast Bill and she an apologetic look as he sat beside his wife, who was none-too-happy about his presence.

Laura watched Ellen paw at Saul while laying into him with her acid tongue. It was difficult to witness her tearing into him, worse yet, to see him tolerate it, seemingly enjoying it even on some level.

Casting a sidelong glance at Bill, Laura met his gaze. It was pained, aggrieved for his friend and yet filled with the resignation that this was how things were between Ellen and Saul Tigh, had been for years. Bill had seen it often enough to know that and that aggrieved Laura because she knew the bond between the two men went deep, that Bill loved Saul as a brother, that he hurt for him like a brother.

Staring into those blue eyes, Laura wasn’t sure she’d ever met anyone more capable of love than Bill Adama. What’s more, his love came without strings or restraint. He just loved. Laura admired the strength of his heart, his sense of loyalty, and how accepting he could be of people, flaws and all. It was a part of him that amazed her, and attracted her. It was quite something to be the focal point of someone capable of that degree of open affection. More often than not, it left Laura exhilarated, breathless … and other things that weren’t wise to feel in the presence of others.

And he knew it, Laura realized, seeing his expression shift gradually until he was smiling at her without actually smiling. She hid her own emerging grin behind her tea, taking a sip. He took a drink of his own coffee then turned his gaze back to the Tighs, who were still going at it. Through it all, Ellen kept tipping the flask and with each swallow, her agitation seemed to increase.

Saul stood suddenly and grasped Ellen by the elbow. He took the flask from her and nodded to Laura and Bill. “If you’ll excuse us, sir, Madam President,” he stated formally and towed his wife from the room.

Under other circumstances, the colonel’s display of machismo would have bothered Laura, but with an intoxicated Ellen, Saul really only had two civil choices: get her out of the room as quickly as possible and have it out in private or air their dirty laundry before an audience. The former was preferable to the latter, for everyone involved, participants and witnesses both.

Once they were gone, the crew began to talk again amongst themselves and Laura and Bill sat quietly, drank their respective beverages. Eventually, Bill broke the silence that had fallen between them with a gentle question.

“What are you going to do for the rest of the day?”

“Well, I have a few more papers to grade,” she began, looking over at him with a conspiratorial smile, “and I was thinking of perhaps rummaging through your library, with your permission of course.”

He grinned, eyes twinkling. “Of course.”

“Then I think I’ll do something I haven’t done in ages,” she continued.

“What’s that?”

“Curl up and read the rest of the day.”

Once lunch was finished and Bill returned to CIC, that’s exactly what Laura ended up doing, sort of. She settled into his quarters — first at his desk to finish the essays and then on his couch to read once she’d picked out a book — but, as it would happen, being warm, dry and comfortable facilitated her drifting off for an unplanned nap.

It was a long sleep and a deep one. She didn’t stir until Bill purposefully woke her for dinner. She’d missed him coming in, slept through him taking a shower, doing his daily logs and reports, and even the marines shutting the hatch, which always made a loud metallic groan when opened or closed.

She wasn’t complaining, though. The way Bill woke her was preferable to any of the other alternatives. It was a kiss, soft and lingering, drawing her from the depths of sleep until she was aware of his presence, of being snug and safe.

“Hey,” he whispered when he drew back.

She looked at him through her lashes, breathed, “Hey,” a smile blooming at the sight of him so close.

A corner of his mouth crooked into an answering grin. “Did you have a good nap?”

Laura nodded, the action as languid as her thoughts, sleep holding onto her. She closed her eyes when he leaned toward her, hummed when he brushed his lips to her temple.

“Supper’s on the way,” he murmured against her skin.

“Mmm.” She lifted a hand and touched his cheek, fingertips brushing over the textured terrain, skimming along his jaw to delicately guide his mouth to hers. They kissed, a simple, lingering touching of lips to lips, holding until there was a knocking on the hatch.

As Bill answered, letting Private Jaffee in with a tray bearing their dinner, Laura marked her place in the book and sat it on the chest in front of the couch.

“That smells good,” she said as she joined Bill and the private over by the table.

“It is, Madam President,” Jaffee said with a grin. “I had some myself earlier.”

Laura smiled at the young man, looked at what he’d brought. “Is that vegetable soup?” she asked, spying what looked like a healthy portion of fresh produce in the steaming broth.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Somebody’s bucking for promotion,” Bill muttered under his breath, half laughing as he said it.

Laura watched Jaffee blush but saw a promotion wasn’t what he’d had mind. He had that look of a child eager to please about him, wanting approval — Bill’s approval specifically. She’d seen it enough times in her teaching career to recognize it. She suspected Bill did, too, because he turned and held his hand out to the young man and offered his thanks.

Jaffee positively beamed in response, held himself taller as he took Bill’s hand. Laura offered her own thanks as well watched the young man blush yet again. He then excused himself a few moments later, leaving Laura and Bill to their dinner.

It was good, very good, and probably the last true bowl of vegetable soup she would have the privilege of eating for a long time. So she took her time, savored every spoonful of broth and each bit of the tender, tasty vegetables. Between bites, she and Bill talked about the book she’d picked out to read — a murder mystery, of course.

When they’d finished dinner, Laura elected to take a shower. To her delight, Bill decided he needed another as well. He kissed her with enthusiasm, repeatedly, as he walked her backward to the lavatory. They laughed between each caress of lips and hands enthusiastically divested clothing, leaving a trail in their wake. His robe fell once they were in the head, then he was tugging her out of her underwear, bra first.

Thick fingers eased the straps down her arms as he looked into her eyes, grinning, his mood clearly playful. His attention drifted downward, to her mouth, which he kissed, then further, to her breasts. She watched his easy smile fall away, a frown replacing it as he took in the bruising on her breasts from the mammogram.

“Frak me,” he muttered, dropping her bra to the floor. His gaze returned to hers, a question in them. He gave it voice. “How are you feeling?”

“They’re sore, but I’m fine,” she told him, saw his eyes drop again to her chest. His expression shifted again, to one of tenderness and heat.

Laura trembled and held her breath as he ever so carefully took her into his hands. She closed her eyes when he bowed his head and kissed each. His name was a whisper of whispers on her lips as his surrounded one of the hardening peaks and kissed lightly. When he moved to the other, she sank her hands into his hair, urged him to linger. He did, suckling, sending sharp tendrils of desire through her, flooding her with heat until her knees went weak.

Rising, his hands eased down to her waist and his eyes fixed on hers. “You want this?”

Laura nodded, her voice lost somewhere in the last few minutes. She found it soon, though, when Bill turned, lifted and set her on the counter, moving between her legs as he did so, broad hands sliding up her thighs, urging her wider.

“Kiss me,” she commanded, taking his face into her hands, staring into his eyes.

He did, slowly and deeply, hands roving over her body but avoiding her tender breasts. She hooked her legs around his hips when he grasped her bottom and moved her to the edge. She reached between them and took him in hand, stroked him as his mouth moved to her neck, blistering her skin, nipping, moaning.

Laura leaned her head back against the bulkhead and enjoyed it, the feel of him, what he was doing to her. There was a rhythm to them, a steady thrum around them, in their flesh and beyond it. It was tangible, a syrupy thickness in the air, enveloping them, hot and fluid. And then he was inside her. She guided him there, pulling him into her even as he pushed, fingers holding her panties out of the way.

“Laura,” he rasped, his mouth finding hers again. He tasted her mouth, then pressed his brow to hers and frakked her.

She held to him, hands on his shoulders, moving to his upper arms, then to his head as he filled her again and again, body straining against hers. But it wasn’t enough, the angle of the counter an impediment, frustrating them both.

With a groan, he stilled and touched his lips to hers. “This venue wasn’t a good choice,” he rasped then laughed.

Laura couldn’t help but laugh with him, teased, “But it was such a nice thought.”

Still chuckling, he drew back. His eyes were alive with amusement and such love when he looked at her. He brought a hand up and touched her face, fingers brushing her cheekbone then sliding back into her hair as he steadily calmed.

“Shower?” he asked after a lengthy pause, his voice beyond soft.

Laura shook her head. “Later,” she whispered. “Let’s take this to bed.”

He eased out of her then helped her down from the counter. He held her hand as they walked to his bed, each of them glancing at one another as they traversed the short distance. They weren’t looks of shyness, but of knowing, and there was something so sweet in it that Laura felt her heart lift to unimaginable heights. And it kept lifting as she lay back on his rack and he moved over her, warm and strong, mindful of her breasts.

His eyes were on hers as he rejoined their bodies and she welcomed him with a throaty sigh of his name, wrapped her body around his as he settled into a slow, steady rhythm. She smiled up at him, whispered, “Feels good.”

He smiled in return, murmured, “Yes, you do.”

His breaths were short and heavy as he brought his hips to hers again and again. Laura watched him as he watched her, dug her heels into his behind and arched under him, bringing him deeper, harder into her.

“You want this,” he moaned.

Laura shook her head. “I want you,” she panted as she ran her thumb over his bottom lip then eased the digit into the hot cavern of his mouth. She rubbed his caressing tongue, humming when he sucked it in time with his movements below. Her eyes fell shut at the tandem sensation. She writhed under him, suddenly wanting…

“More?” he breathed, pushing her thumb from his mouth.

She nodded, moaned when he eased his arms under her legs, drew them higher. Broad hands spanned her hips then and he gave her what she needed, what they both needed, taking her hard and fast to the edge, a hand finding its way between them to bring her over it. She took him with her, a loud moan of her name heralding his surrender as his body shuddered above her, first in release then, oddly enough, laughter.

Hearing the latter, Laura looked up at him, found him grinning ear to ear. “What?” she asked in wonder.

“I really am too old to be frakking like this,” he panted. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

Laura matched his smile, giggled on equally labored breaths and earned a lush, full laugh from her lover when she replied, “But what a way to go, Bill.”

< Slide 34: Shelter from the Storm | Slide 36: Living >