In the Eye of the Storm

The air was charged, crackled with the energy of a storm. Or was it passion? Both, perhaps? Laura Roslin didn’t know and she wasn’t in the mood to analyze. All she knew was the thrum of desire in her flesh, the wild fluttering of her heart as she stood behind a barefoot and naked-to-the-waist Bill Adama.

In the faint lantern light of her tent on New Caprica, she set her hands on the pronounced contours of his upper arms and pressed languid kisses to the nape of his neck, lips caressing his skin softly and sensually, drinking the rainwater that dripped from his hair. She pressed her body flush to his, the thin satin of her impractical nightgown heating between them, absorbing their combined warmth in a way that was erotic.

Everything with Bill, when they were like this, was erotic. The little shivers that shook his frame with each touch of her mouth, spawning echoes in her own. The heaviness of his breaths, which perfectly matched the light, shallow ones passing her lips. The olfactory cocktail of his scent combined with fresh spring rain and the rising musk of her body’s response to his.

Then there was the subtle curve of his impossibly toned behind as it fitted so perfectly against her belly. And how he just stood there, stock still, and let her do … whatever she wanted.

When he’d arrived just minutes earlier, wet and cold, she’d wanted him immediately, shamelessly. She hadn’t seen him in days, almost a week — entirely too long as far as she was concerned — and she’d missed him. She’d missed this with him, the intensity of their intimacy. It was intoxicating, better than any high alcohol or the marvelous, smokable weed that grew on this rotten planet could provide because it enraptured every part of her.

She was enflamed body, soul and mind.

A crack of thunder sounded beyond the canvas walls and roof and rain began falling in heavy sheets, but Laura paid it no mind. Her world didn’t involve weather beyond the rumbling of hearts, the dampness between her thighs and the dew that would cover their bodies in time, soon likely.

Flicking out her tongue, she lapped at a water droplet that dared slide down his spine. She caught it with the tip and followed its trail up, up to the dark, damp curls that lay just above the beaded chain of his dog tags. He shivered, rasped her name and reached back for her, hands grasping her hips and pulling her closer. She rubbed against him, using his arms as leverage, seeking friction, heat, to get impossibly nearer to this man who made her ache in ways she’d never imagined.

She moaned in protest when his hands left her hips only to murmur an enthusiastic “yes” when she heard the click and clank of his belt buckle. The muscles in his arms flexed beneath her fingertips as he unfastened it, then his trousers. Unable to resist, Laura slid her hands around inside the opening he’d just made for her, fingers slipping beneath the band of his boxer briefs to curl around his rigid cock without preamble.

“Gods, I’ve missed you,” she rasped, kissed his shoulder soft and slow, dragging her mouth across the muscled thickness, breathing hot and humid against his smooth skin. He raised his arm as she moved ‘round him and she ducked beneath, swooped up to kiss his chest, biting at his pectorals, collarbone, the line of his neck as her arms slipped around his waist, and his hers.

Hungry. She was so hungry for him. She should have been blushing. It wasn’t decent for a woman her age to be starving for a man. But she was, aching with an ache only he could soothe, that she wanted him him to soothe because he did it so damned well, because she couldn’t imagine any other man satisfying her the way he did. Because he was Bill and who she wanted.

She’d been like this since their relationship crossed the threshold to physical intimacy. Not always this intense, but he was almost always in her thoughts in some form, which inevitably led to thoughts of them together, skin on skin, breaths mingling, mouths melding, bodies merging in a heated, sometimes erratic dance of jarring thrusts and smooth advances, punctuated by twists of hips and the heavy slap of balls against her ass or pussy.

They were tender at times, too, achingly so. Sometimes it was unfathomably sweet.

But this … the hunger and desperation that was a product of too many nights spent apart, alone in less-than-comfortable beds with taste and sound and scent memory torturing blissfully … was how they were when they met again.

Like parched, cracked ground, they were open and oh-so ready, all but begging, for the deluge from the heavens to ease the pain of drought.

Laura welcomed the rain when it began to fall from his lips over hers, and his hands, hot, bold, possessive caresses to her skin and through the fabric of her night gown.

Gone, she wanted it gone. And it was, strong, thick fingers yanking the material up and away as he broke his mouth from hers with a groan of her name.

Her nipples, already aching, quickly drew to such hard, tight points in the air that she gasped at the sweet pain of it, then at the feel of his thumbs and forefingers each taking hold of one and twisting and tweaking them, plucking until she was rising into her toes with each pull.

“Come here,” he rumbled, taking a step back toward her bed, coaxing her to follow with those little, erotic gestures of his fingers.

LIke a puppet in the hands of a master puppeteer, her feet moved at his behest. Right then left then right again. Then again and again, progress unnecessarily slow and lengthy, and yet entirely necessary, as he took command from her, obedience making her dizzy as they inched toward the cozy wallow of blankets on the floor of her tent.

“Down, now,” he ordered, his voice thick with desire, deep and rumbling with more power than the thunder that clamored outside.

Laura went to her knees and he steadied her with hands on her shoulders while her own grasped at his hips, his body her anchor in the tempest.

The blankets were soft beneath her knees and toes, but not nearly as soft as his hands as they caressed her cheeks, tilted her head back until she was looking up at him.

Dark, dark blue eyes watched her intensely, searched her face then devoured the sight of her on her knees before him, making her feel sexier than she’d ever imagined … and incredibly powerful. She shuddered with the surge of it then closed her eyes and nuzzled like a meek kitten into the caress of his palm to her jaw, the shudder becoming an endless tremor in her frame at the dichotomy of what he made her feel.

Wavering under the potency, she leaned forward and rubbed her face into the open fly of his trousers, relishing the heat and hardness of his restrained cock as her fingers moved to peel away the clothing that kept her from him.

A heady elation took hold of her as she lowered his trousers then his boxer briefs, her body tightening deep within at seeing his enthusiastic flesh spring free of the confines as if reaching for her.

She reached for it, fingers cupping his length and bringing it to her lips. She kissed the broad head, dragging her lips through the pearly bead that awaited, then cleared away its remains with the tip of her tongue, moaning as his flavor whetted her appetite for more.

Above her, he rasped sharply one word, another command, one that she followed without question, because it’s what she wanted, too.

“Open.”

She did, lips parting around the advance of his cock, welcoming his hardness into the cradle of her tongue as his hands tangled into her hair and held her still, as he held still. She heard him panting, felt little shivers running through his body.

She looked up, saw his chest rising and falling rapidly and head thrown back in ecstasy, jaw slack, a visual reminder of why she loved this with him. He was so visceral, made this so visceral.

Gods, she felt when she was with him. He drew emotions out of her without even trying, like a magnet pulls at metal, beckoning a connection, an exchange that was innate, unconscious and irresistible. He made it safe for her to feel want, need, and affection. So she felt them, all and everything, and did not find it a strange revelation to have while she was on her knees with his cock in her mouth.

It fitted the moment with a precision that she had rarely known with past lovers and she did not stop to analyze it. She just acknowledged it, shut her eyes and drew her head away slowly with a sucking pull of her mouth that had his hands tightening in her hair and bringing her back to him with a groan of her name.

Back and forth. In and out. He frakked her mouth slowly and she let him, surrendering herself to his guiding hands, the steady, easy glide of him between her lips, against the fluttering flat of her tongue.

And then he was gone, her mouth achingly empty and filled only with air, her eyes opening and searching, finding him coming down to her. She felt hot, powerful hands on her skin, touching her face then her shoulders and waist. She heard baritone whispers, felt them stir the air around them.

“Lay back.”

She did, stretching out across against the varied textures of her bedding, legs falling open at his direction, arching her spine and exhaling on a rush when he pushed inside her without preamble. Through the haze of desire, she watched him, as he lifted her legs, bringing them up, pressing the backs of her thighs against his chest. He secured her there with his arm then laid his other hand low on her belly and began to move again.

Sweet gods.

Long, smooth strokes. Deep strokes. Reacquainting and claiming strokes.

Laura covered his hand with hers, held it to her body as her other sought purchase in the coarse weave of a tartan throw.

Good. It was so good. It had been too long. Too many days had past since she’d known him inside her, since he’d filled her every sense, overloading her with sensation, with feeling.

She mewled and whimpered his name against the backdrop of thunder, thankful for the roll and rumble of the heavens that would mask the sounds of their pleasure from prying ears, that would shield her desperation from all but him.

Looking up at him, she saw him watching them, where his cock slid in and out of her. He always did that, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was doing. She knew the felling well. So wonderfully well. It was with her even when they were apart. It fueled her imagination with fantasies and spawned dreams, beautiful dreams, erotic dreams … wet dreams.

She was always wet any more because she was always thinking of him. She feared someone would smell it on her and think it was for them. She’d seen the looks some men cast her way when they happened upon her in the marketplace, amidst the cacophony of vendors and patrons. Zarek seemed to like to surprise her there, sniffing around her like some damned dog who’d discovered a bitch in heat, hoping…

Frak what that terrorist bastard hoped.

The cream between her thighs was only for the man with his cock currently buried in her. Her body was his and only his, no one else’s, ever. Her tits, her pussy, her…

Dragging his hand from her belly, she urged him to caress her flank. He obliged, palm smoothing over her sweat-slick skin to her hip, under to her ass, where she purposefully guided his fingers into the furrow between her cheeks, that hollow that she’d let so few explore. One. Only one. And it hadn’t been Richard, but a boyfriend from long ago, one she’d once thought she loved and might marry, and he’d used only his fingers, a few uncoordinated fumblings that she hadn’t cared to repeat.

But in the dark of her tent on lonely nights, she’d thought about Bill and more than his fingers and it made her ache, her body tightening deep within at the thought of him there, claiming that dark and forbidden channel, filling it with his hard length and then his seed. She wanted it with a stringency that surprised her, that had grown increasingly difficult to ignore each time he pumped and spilled into her pussy, so close to that place, the only one that remained unclaimed by his cock.

Above her, he stilled, his chest heaving harder as his dark eyes linked with hers, a question in them, and desperate hope, and intensifying desire, held in check somehow. She gave voice to her own.

“Will you?” she breathed and felt the air around them increase in temperature.

“Yes,” was his reply and then he was moving again, hips rolling into hers with renewed purpose, his hand seeking out into her wetness then moving back under to caress and probe her entrance.

Laura’s eyes fell shut and she shivered head to toe at his touch, bold but infinitely gentle. His thrusts slowed, matching the pace of his fingers, and she moved with him, into his touch and onto his cock.

In the space between them, a question, “Have you?”

She shook her head, forced her eyes open. “Only fingers,” she confessed.

His arm around her thighs tightened involuntarily and his hips pressed against hers and held, keeping him deep inside her. Something akin to joy washed over his passion-hardened features, brightening his eyes. He squeezed her thigh.

“I need to get you ready,” he rumbled, his voice thick and deep, more powerful than the thunder that rolled outside.

Laura nodded, suddenly breathless and her body tensing with anticipation around him.

He shushed her, eased his hold on her legs as he ran his hand from her thigh to her knee and back again, attempting to soothe but only ratcheting her desire higher. He turned his head and kissed the side of her calf, bit lightly.

Then he was easing out of her, a move she protested vehemently only to still when he murmured, “Let’s take the edge off,” hands gripping her hips and lifting as he bowed…

His tongue danced over the head of her clitoris and she shattered instantly, unexpectedly, hands clawing at the covers under her as her hips bucked against his loving face. She heard him chuckle, felt his smug smile against her tender flesh.

Kisses. There were kisses then. Slow and gentle down to her weeping opening as he lifted her higher, until her bottom was resting against the rise of his belly.

She forced her eyes open and watched him lift his head and look down at her pink and quivering flesh and the sight of her slit in perfect alignment with the scar that bisected his chest made her racing heart lift inexplicably in her chest.

“Bill,” she breathed in acknowledgement, hands leaving the covers and reaching for his, covering them as they held her in place.

In response, he delved his tongue into her depths in a leisurely excursion that had her again closing her eyes and moaning, arching and wanting more.

He gave her more, easing her down to rest once more on this thighs, then pressing thick fingers into her, rubbing and coaxing more from her, making her wetter than she’d ever imagined possible. Then he gathered that wetness and drew it down, fingers trailing slick and hot down to the opening below, working it over and then gradually…

“Oh, gods,” she moaned on the first breaching, tried to relax when he whispered to her, urging her to ease, a command that was difficult to obey under the assault of such deliciously intense sensation as he continued to work her. He was slow, steady, careful, and loving, and her body opened to him, as it had to him in every other way, and she was trembling ceaselessly by the time he had one thick digit lodged inside her.

Laura had no idea how he was able to be so tender when she could feel the aching evidence of his need pressing insistently against her sex. She had no idea how he was able to hold off the urge to just burying himself inside her and pound her into oblivion because she wanted him to, desperately, even in the face of the pain it would likely cause. She wanted him that much, wanted this with him that much.

“Good?”

“Yes,” she nodded, her voice so deep and throaty, she barely recognized it. Eyes on his, she whispered, “I want you,” and felt the prick of tears at admitting her desire aloud, to him.

His response was to kiss her knee and run his other hand over her belly, murmur hoarse and hot against her skin, “Just little more.” Whether he meant it to assure her or shore up his hold on his desire, she did not know, and it did not matter, not when he began easing another finger inside her, still so careful.

Closing her eyes, Laura tried to relax for him, to ease his way despite the longing to have him inside her fully. She focused on the gentle rhythm of his thrusting fingers and let it take her to that place of languid existence, thankful he’d taken the edge off or she’d never have found it otherwise.

She could feel his eyes on her as she rolled her hips lightly into his hand, knew he watched her reactions and the leisurely plunge of his thick digits into a place many still considered taboo. She heard him grunt in approval when she moaned, whispered “yeahs” in echo of her hums when something felt particularly good.

And it did feel good, the sensations at once different and familiar, intense, both exciting and soothing, making her infinitely glad she’d had the courage to ask him for this, and thankful that he was willing to oblige.

A third finger entered the fray and was accompanied by a deep moan from him when her body opened around it without the slightest amount of protest.

Through her lashes, Laura watched him watch what he was doing, then close his eyes and luxuriate in what he was feeling … her. Then, at once, he stilled and eased his fingers out of her.

Blue eyes reopened, found hers. “Ready?” he asked even as he took himself in hand.

She nodded and prepared herself to take him, only he didn’t push into where she’d expected. Instead, he reseated himself in her pussy for one stroke, two, three, then he was easing out of her again, hot and hard, and now slick, with her.

Her body mourned the loss of him inside her even as it anticipated his reentry where she wanted him more than anyplace at the moment.

She watched him as he positioned himself, trembled at feeling the broad head slip between her cheeks and nudge her waiting aperture for the first time. He caressed her pussy as he pressed against her, murmured encouragements that helped her find that place she needed to be to relax how he needed.

“That’s it,” he breathed, wonder evident in his tone. “Open for me, Laura. Let me inside.”

“Oh, yes,” she exhaled and he pushed into her, slowly, just a little at first, then back out and in again, and again, further on each pressing, until, finally, finally, he was seated balls deep in her.

She was a quivering mass impaled on his cock, and he was in little better shape. She could feel the shudders in his frame, vibrating into her own.

“Gods, Laura,” he rasped and bowed his head as his hands curled around her hips and just held her in place.

Inside her, she could feel him pulsing and knew he was fighting the urge to cum. She had to be infinitely tight around him because she felt unbelievably full, as if she might explode if he moved, and yet she wanted him to move.

Laura would gladly risk bursting apart at the seams to feel the divine pleasure of his cock moving in and out of her in smooth, long, strokes … or even short, fast, hard ones. She didn’t care which at the moment. She just wanted him to thrust, but she knew he couldn’t just yet. This was going to be over too quickly for the liking of either of them, she surmised, but it would be in an instant if he moved right now, or if she moved. So she tried to stay still, to let him gain a bit of control, hoping and praying he found enough to make it last a few minutes at least.

When he finally moved again, it was to grip her hips. His eyes sought hers out and, across the distance, he telegraphed a look of apology. “I’m not going to last long.”

She nodded in understanding. “I know.”

“Will be better next time,” he promised and she felt a surge of desire at knowing he wanted to repeat what he was about to do, what he began doing.

Long and slow, he dragged his cock through her, until he was almost out of her and then he pushed back in, quick and smooth. Laura gasp, moaned and arched on the second thrust, and almost shattered at the sensation on the third. On the fourth, she did, hips bucking against his thighs and taking him with her, earning an anguished and triumphant growl of her name while she cried out his at the feel of him jerking hard and shooting hot inside her, at the feel of him trying to continue the advance and retreat, wanting more than their bodies were going to allow.

Laura reached for him, hands seeking his, covering them, holding them tightly to her as he pulled her hard to him and held her there on his pulsing hardness, his head bowed and chest heaving, as he gave up thrusting and just ground against her, primal need radiating from him like she’d never seen before. She moved with him, humming and moaning, eventually slowing when he slowed, stopping when he stopped.

The woman in her needing to soothe him, the lover in her needing to thank him, she whispered his name once more and slid her hands up his arms as far as she could reach.

When he looked at her, she stroked her thumbs across the bends of his elbows, beseeched, “Come here.”

He squeezed her hips, murmured, “Hold onto me.”

She did, clenching around his softening member to keep him inside her while he eased her legs down, one to either side of him. When he began lowering over her then, she ran her hands over his chest, slid them around to his back as he stretched his body along the length of hers, tangled them into his hair when he kissed her.

She melted under the gentle devouring of his mouth, relished the heat and weight of him above her as his lips caressed hers so soft and slow, loving. He touched the side of her face, tilting her head just so, then kissed her deeper, sending his tongue on a delicate foray into her mouth, before burying his face in her neck and searing the length of skin from shoulder to ear, where he made a confession.

“I’ve wanted you like that.”

Laura’s body responded instinctively to the admission, tightening its hold him, earning a soft grunt of pleasure from him and a just as instinctive surge of his hips, slight but unmissable.

“You didn’t say,” she whispered, hands gliding down his back. Indeed, he’d given her no indication he was interested in anything other than traditional, if inordinately passionate, lovemaking, and suitably frequent, old-fashioned frakking. That’d been okay with her since her sexual kinks didn’t stray far from the mainstream, but she didn’t mind exploring with him either.

“Not everyone likes it,” he replied, ducking down to swallow up one of her breasts as his hand lifted the soft mound as high as it would go.

Raising her head, Laura kissed his brow, just at his hairline. “I liked it,” she breathed, “very much.”

He sucked her nipple harder and slid his hand down and under her, easing his fingers back inside her after shifting and letting his cock slip out. He caressed her slowly then lay his head on her chest, between her breasts. It was desperately intimate, more even than what they’d just done, making her heart tremble in echo of the little quakes besieging her flesh.

Laura wrapped her arms around him, held him gently as his touch and the lingering intimacy eventually rekindling her desire. She said his name softly and he responded with a query, one he probably already knew the answer to, considering how easily he stirred her.

“More?”

“Yes,” she confirmed on an unsteady breath, flitting her fingers through his sweat-damp hair, “but I’ll wait for you.”

Fingers stilling, he murmured against the slope of her breast. “Sure?”

There was so much uncertainty in life, but Laura was sure of one thing: that she wanted him more than she wanted the results of any attentions he would bestow now, without hesitation and with no expectation of reciprocity. That alone would have made her love him if she didn’t already.

“Yes,” she replied, her fingers continuing to stroke his hair.

She knew he would rise soon, that the need to clean up would become a foremost thought as both their pragmatic natures reemerged from the cocoon of satiation. But in the minutes that remained, be they few or many, she wanted this quiet closeness, to hold him as he held onto her, memories and desires dancing at the periphery, waiting to be fulfilled while the storm continued to rage outside.