Rating: NC-17 (language, graphic sex)
Classification: VR
Archive: Yes. (Redistribute with permission only)
Spoilers: Hollywood A.D.
Keywords: Mulder/Scully Romance
I haven't written much NC-17 XF fanfic, because I always swore I wouldn't
write a "Mulder and Scully get together" story until I could do so in a
way consistent with the tone of the show. Been there, done that,
got the web-site to prove it. Now it's time to have a little fun.
DISCLAIMER: If they were mine, we wouldn't be in the middle of a *six
month* hiatus.
Scully in a Little Black Dress. Me in a tuxedo. An IMPAC
card in our hot little hands. Our boss's blessing to use it however
we see fit. Life doesn't get much better than this.
Scully looks beyond belief gorgeous. Personally, I'd prefer my jeans
and a gray t-shirts, but Scully seems to approve of the penguin motif,
so tonight we're doing the stuffed shirt thing.
Skinner's gonna regret giving us that card when he has to sign off on
the bill. And I mean really regret it. He may even lose
the rest of his hair.
Good. He deserves it for letting that idiot Federman make that
fucking movie. That stupid fucking movie. The Lazarus
Bowl of Crap. The movie that mocked everything that means life and
death to Scully and I...Everything we mean to each other...
In love with A.D. Skinner...Bigger flashlight...
Shit.
Who, me? Jealous?
Hell yeah.
I didn't need to be sharing a bed with Scully every night to make my
muscles tense every time another man gave her the once-over twice.
Or to know the soft heat of her flesh or her unbelievably vast repertoire
of impassioned sighs and gasps and moans and cries...shit. It's no
wonder I've always been undeniably compelled to move into her space in
the presence of other men. It's my patented Alpha male move, screaming
"MINE!" in body language. The wonder is that I didn't start baying
at the moon and pissing in the corners.
We staked our claims on each other long before we ever became lovers.
I can't help a smug grin, thinking about some of the moves Scully's made
in her day--she can be a pretty impressive Alpha bitch herself. I
don't think I'll tell her that, though. Not unless I grow very disenchanted
with the prospect of breathing.
So no, I didn't need to be her lover to feel territorial about her time
and attentions. But now, knowing what it is to awaken with my face
against her silken hair, breathing the scent of her, the sweet heat of
her, the primitive way she smells makes me want to do more than howl.
The mere insinuation that she might love another is enough to make me
want to commit mayhem upon one follicle-challenged Assistant Director of
the FBI. Not to mention that idiot Fuckerman...Freakerman...Fudderman...
I pause for a moment, cataloguing all the variations of his name my
Oxford-educated, eidetic-memory-enhanced, testosterone-saturated brain
can come up with. Then I stop, deciding not to bother. I had
nailed it on the first try.
Now all I need is his head and a bottle of champagne to help him launch
his new name.
It's not that I'm particularly insecure, at least not in this regard.
I know Scully, and I know that when she does something, she doesn't do
it by half-measures. I may not quite understand precisely how
she could possibly love me, but I have no questions that she does.
So it's not her that I don't trust. It's Them.
Who's Them?
Men.
All of 'em.
Every single last hormone-driven, led-by-the-prick one.
Okay, maybe not every last one. Some of them are gay and thus
immune to Scully's magnificence. But as for the rest...
And just where precisely did that smarmy little bastard Federman get
his idea about Scully and Skinner in the first place? Who, oh who,
might have planted that particularly noxious seed in his wormy little brain?
At the very least, who allowed it to germinate there?
Ohhh, yes. The Skinman is definitely gonna regret giving us that
card. He's gonna regret that he ever met Wayne-fucking-Federman.
He doesn't need to know that I made reservations for us weeks ago at one
of the most expensive restaurants in Beverly Hills and that I'd planned
to pay for said dining experience out of my own pocket. He doesn't
need to
Special Agents Mulder and Scully are going to do something they've never,
in their seven year shared history, done before.
We're going out on a date. A real date. A date with candlelight
and dancing and food that doesn't come out of a carry-out sack and a couple
bottles of wine that cost more than the gross national product of any number
of small Eastern countries. And after that, we'll return to the honeymoon
suite of an outrageously posh hotel and make love 'til dawn, over and over
again, until neither of us can move.
And it's all courtesy of Uncle Sam.
Gotta send that guy a thank-you note someday.
It's a good thing we booked a late flight home day after tomorrow.
Not only do we get a mini-vacation, we have an entire day free to play.
I'm thinking the beach...Scully lying beneath me in the sand with the
water lapping around us, surrounding us in foamy brine, the waves drowning
out the sound of our passion...
Of course, the bill on this little holiday will no doubt remove any
lingering questions in Skinner's mind as to the status of our relationship
when we're not on the clock, but that's okay. We're here on our own
time and I'm feeling territorial enough to make sure there are no
such questions.
At first, Scully and I decided to play the romance thing low-key, certainly
not denying it, but not making a big production of it either. We
decided that driving home from the mountains the day after we first made
love. But in the intervening weeks, something has changed.
I don't think either of us is particularly content with constantly being
stared at oddly as the people we encounter wonder about us. So each
day we get a little more careless about who knows what. And by the
time the dust settles in the wake of this weekend's events, Associate Producer
Walter Skinner will know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I've got something
he never will.
I've got Scully.
Actually, charging the hotel room to the government card is probably
overkill. I think my reaction at the movie premiere was enough to
drive the final nail into that particular coffin. The first
nail was hammered home the morning, several weeks ago, when Skinner's assistant
Kimberly called Scully at seven in the morning to tell her we were wanted
in Skinner's office first thing, and I answered her phone without thinking.
I doubt there's much that Kimberly knows that Skinner doesn't. The
matter wasn't helped much by her smug smile when we finally did appear
at Skinner's office and her ostentatious show of calculating her pool winnings.
So much for our plan to not make a big production of things.
There's Scully, sitting beside me in the chauffeur-driven limousine
we received courtesy of Federman Productions, giving me a bemused look,
wondering at my expression. I'm still grinning, this time with satisfaction.
Sure, Scully knows we're about to have a night out in Tinsel Town, but
she doesn't know that this night has been carefully planned for weeks in
advance.
So I'm an opportunist. Sue me. I figured if I had to get
decked out in a monkey suit and Scully would be wearing that simple, sleek
black sheath that does more for my libido than a dozen yards of taffeta
and sequins ever could, I might as well make the most of the situation.
It's a rare and special day when we're not in either our work clothes,
chasing the impossible or improbable until we're ready to drop, or jeans
and t-shirts, desperately needing nothing more than to just unwind.
We flew out to LAX this morning, reached the hotel just after noon, took
a long nap and got up to get ready to go to the movie premiere. For
us, the night is just beginning.
"What's that look for?" Scully finally speaks.
Jesus, that dress! And there above it, Scully with a sexy, quizzical
half-smile. Apparently, we haven't been lovers long enough for her
to decipher my "I want to roll up the privacy window between the driver
and us and ravish you here and now" expression. This is an odd
feeling for me, no doubt a remnant of my earlier anger and jealousy.
I feel Neanderthal. What's driving me tonight is something much more
primitive than the tenderness and protectiveness I usually feel toward
Scully.
If I'm being honest with myself, and there's no reason I shouldn't be,
then the truth is that for the first time since we began sleeping together,
I'm really not all that interested in making love to her. I want
to fuck her, plain and simple. I want to use her, repeatedly, until
neither of us can think straight. I want to fill her to the point
where nothing and no one else exists in her life. I don't just want
other men to know she belongs to me, I want her to know it as well.
This feeling worries me a little, but not enough for me to stop feeling
it. Only enough to make me wonder how receptive she might be to something
entirely new and unexplored between us.
That's what that look means. But as I am trying to put into words
precisely what my desire is, Scully nods understandingly, as though she
has indeed deciphered my expression. What can I say? The lady's
a quick study. Her hand slides along the console at her side and
a quiet hum alerts me to the privacy window going up. Before I can
react, Scully's moving across the seat toward me with a gleam in her eye.
Either she's much better at reading me than I thought, or I'm pouring out
pheromones by the bucketful, but something of my sexually charged mood
seems to reflect in her expression.
Christ, I want her. Every minute of every day, the hunger just
gets stronger. No matter how many times we've had sex, it's never
enough. I want this very second to be buried in her hot, tight body
with the musky scent of her surrounding me.
"You gonna tell me what this is all about, Mulder?" She murmurs
as she raises herself on her knees, leaning over me.
No, Scully, not tonight. You're not taking the reins this time.
"What's what all about?" I shift, rise, turn toward her, force her back
until, rather than her leaning over me, I'm leaning over her. She
twists to move her legs out from underneath her bottom, stretching them
out on the seat.
"You seemed to know exactly where you wanted the driver to take us,"
she commented, her voice husky. "If I didn't know any better--and
I don't--I'd say you've got some secret agenda for tonight."
"Ooh, 'secret agenda.' I love it when you talk conspiracy."
I bear down on her, forcing her to slide back and down, until she's lying
across the seat with her head and shoulders propped up against the wall
behind her. I brace myself over her, one hand on the edge of the
seat, the other braced on the back of it, trapping her where she is.
"You're evading the question." She licks her lips, studying me thoughtfully.
She looks playful, intrigued, as her fingers toy with
Did I mention I want her? Badly. To the point that it's
exquisite agony just to look at her.
"Mmm, 'evading.' Keep talking, Scully."
She smiles and opens her mouth to respond and that's when I make my
move, swooping forward to capture her lips. I could devour her tonight,
overwhelmed with impulses that have very little to do with gentleness and
much more to do with sheer hunger. Scully's right there with me,
her hands clasped around the base of my skull, her mouth ravenous against
mine. My hands cup her breasts and work them roughly through the
fabric of her dress and she moans into my mouth. I have to trust
her to stop me if I do something she doesn't like, because at this moment,
I don't have a tender impulse in my entire body.
I want to possess her, every part of her. I want to leave an indelible
brand on her that no one would ever dare to question. I want to...
Want to ignore the fact that the car has stopped and our driver is getting
out of his seat to come open the door for us. I raise myself off
her and she gives a low growl of frustration.
"How about we say 'screw dinner' and go back to the hotel?" She proposes
hopefully, that gleam in her eye again. I think I've come to recognize
it pretty well. Our relationship during this transition has been
refreshing in that we both feel perfectly at ease letting one another know
of our desire. We don't hide it, don't mask it, don't deny it for
the sake of decorum. We simply let it exist, even when we can't do
anything about it.
I ponder her suggestion. Two seconds ago I was thinking the same
thing myself, but hearing her say it curiously eradicates the urge.
I want her to experience the same unquenchable desire for me that I feel
every day of my life in her presence. I want to make sure she knows
what it's like to go nearly insane with wanting. I want her to hunger,
want to whet her appetite and then fulfill it only when I decide
it's time.
We can't do this back in D.C. There's just too much going on for
us back there. Too big a chance of the cell phone ringing at the
wrong moment and destroying all our carefully laid plans for the evening--the
inanimate harbinger of news of a situation that needs our immediate attention.
I think there's a very specific reason our first sexual encounter took
place when and how it did. A very strict set of prerequisites had
to be met first.
I had to reach a place in my life where Scully was my first priority
and the only one that really mattered to me, where I wasn't blinded by
the obsessions that have dominated my adulthood. She had to reach
a place in her life where she had let down some of the barriers of science
and rationalism and professionalism with which she shielded herself from
things she didn't understand. And we had to be someplace where there
were no interruptions, where nothing mattered but the moment. Despite its
utter lack of elegance, that little cabin in the mountains fit the bill
perfectly.
Once we overcame that first obstacle, the rest was easy. We just
allowed ourselves to fall into a new pattern, a process we have done many
times over the years when something changed between us. Adaptability
is what allowed us to get to this point. But as adaptable as we are,
we can't ignore the goddamned cell phones, even when they ring at 10 o'clock
on a Friday night in the middle of a restaurant. So we don't go out
on dates.
But the cell phones aren't here tonight. They're not even back
in the hotel. The evil little bastards are back in Washington where
they can wreak no havoc on our time together here. No one but the
limo driver knows where we're staying. Tonight, we're free.
And with that freedom comes the opportunity to do things we've never done
before.
I'm not ashamed of what I'm feeling--not horrified or put off by it.
Whatever exists between Scully and I is founded in truth, and this desire
is as honest as they come. I'm not going to hide it from her, or
pretend it doesn't exist. And Scully will never censure me for being
honest with her, even when that honesty is less than flowery.
So we're going to play this my way tonight.
I shake my head in denial of Scully's request. "I made this reservation
weeks ago," I reply by way of excuse, and sighing, she
* * *
* *
"So are you ever going to tell me what that look is about?" Scully asks,
taking a sip of her desert wine. There's nothing like a five star
dining experience to make you realize just how humble your day to day existence
really is. It's been far too many years since I've done this, but
the old habits don't die easily. I knew growing up on Martha's Vineyard
had to serve some good. At least I know how to wine and dine
a lady.
It's a tease, a seduction at its finest. I don't plan to give
her a moment to get comfortable with things...I want to keep her on edge,
maybe even a little unsettled. By the time we leave this place, I
want her panting for me. Charm is one way of accomplishing the goal,
and I'm pouring it on for all its worth.
"What look?" I ask again, leaning toward her. Our chairs are not
across the table from each other, but side by side. Forget the wine,
which is phenomenal; the bouquet of Scully is enough to make me drunk.
She's the one who should have grown up on Martha's Vineyard. There
isn't an inch of her that's not rife with understated elegance. In
the glow of the candle on the table, her soft white skin is lustrous, and
in the dim ambient lighting, her eyes look darker than their normal translucent
blue. They glitter like the finest of sapphires.
The elegance is yet another turn-on. To know what lies under all
that calm and composure, to know what she's like in the throes of a mind-blowing
orgasm, moaning and shuddering and sweating. There's not a man in
this place who isn't at one point look at her and wonder at her beauty
and poise. But I'm the only one who's going to end the evening between
her thighs.
"The one you gave me in the car," her voice is pitched low, barely loud
enough to be called a murmur. "I'd say you looked like you wanted
to eat me alive, but I've seen that particular expression before,
and this one wasn't it."
Scully, love, you have no idea...
Her tongue darts out to lick her lips, and I stare, entranced, imagining
what she must taste like now with the wine on her lips and tongue.
I've been in a state of full-blown arousal since my mental tantrum in the
car. That the raw, wild feeling I experienced in the car still hasn't
gone away. It's still there, urging me to a recklessness I've never
really felt toward her before.
"I was thinking that for a civilized person, I'm feeling particularly
uncivilized tonight," I answer finally, watching her expression
"Really?" Her eyes widen. "And here I was thinking I'm seeing
you at your civilized best right now. I have to admit, Mulder, that
this is not an environment I've ever had a chance to observe you in.
You're very debonair when you want to be."
"Scully," I lean closer, my lips practically next to her ear.
"You of all people ought to know to beware when I'm on my best behavior."
I lean back and pick up her free hand, kissing her fingers gallantly
even as my thumb traces slow, suggestive circles in her palm. Still
holding her hand, I run a finger of my other hand down the underside of
her bare arm, raising goose-flesh on her skin.
I've managed to surprise her. She struggles with a reply for a
moment, staring at me. I find myself surprised as well. I've
thrown her off-balance just a little, which is always a satisfying experience.
What surprises me is that I find the fact that I've managed to do so very
arousing. I like seeing her this way, a little unsure, a little confused.
So rather than allowing her the opportunity to formulate a response, I
rise, still holding her hand.
"Would you care to dance?"
Ahh, 007 never managed the line more suavely. I'm not trying to
be pretentious, just making a point.
I'm on my best behavior. Scully, beware.
Dancing with Scully may be the most exquisite form of torture known
to mankind. I have learned from intimate experience in the last several
weeks just how well our bodies fit together. But swaying with her,
her body occasionally brushing against an erection that needs no urging
to begin with, is enough to make me think twice about my plan to drag out
this seduction as long as humanly possible.
"So why, precisely, are you feeling uncivilized tonight, Mulder?"
Scully asks, looking up at me. Her fingers toy idly with the hairs
at the back of my neck, sending shivers down my spine.
She knows. I know she knows. There's a look of expectancy
in her eyes, but she's waiting for me to say it. If I don't say it,
she'll assume it's because I don't want to talk about it, don't want to
admit to it, and she'll let it go.
That's not us, though. Not anymore. We don't let unspoken
words fester between us. Besides, I don't have any problems with
discussing this. She needs to know exactly where I stand. Especially
tonight, when I'm on the verge of going someplace I've never gone with
her before. She needs to know why I feel the needs I'm feeling right
now.
"Jealousy," I confess frankly, unapologetic.
Three...two...one...take-off.
The eyebrow launches. "Because of that stupid movie?"
"Because all it takes is another man looking at you sidewise to make
me want to put him through a wall," I reply, pitching my voice low, speaking
next to her ear. "Because you're mine and I want everyone to know it.
And because I know exactly what kind of conversations about you are going
to be floating around the bullpen at work when that movie hits the theatres."
"Well, I can always start a rumor among that female agents that I have
absolutely no problems with your flashlight," she offers with a
sly smile.
Ohh, I like that look; that sexy, suggestive smile that says Scully
wants to play. We've always flirted, from practically the first day
we met, but since we became lovers, we've elevated innuendo to high art.
I don't think anyone realizes just how much foreplay we do on the job,
with those small, inside jokes that go over everyone's head, but go straight
to mine. One of them, at least.
These days, I have to get a little more outrageous, a little bawdier
to out-do her in the double-entendre department. "The D-cell market
gonna miss you, Scully?" I pull her a little closer to my body, brushing
deliberately against her, and murmur into her ear. "After all, my flashlight
doesn't need batteries." The bulge of my cock nestles intimately
against her lower belly, her flesh yielding to mine as it always does.
Jesus, she is so unbelievably soft. My hand around her waist rests
perhaps a bit lower than what might be considered proper, right on the
upper curve of her ass, but I figure it doesn't matter. This is California.
I doubt anything we could do would shock anyone in this restaurant.
As if I care, anyway.
Another woman would blush at my words. But another woman is not
Dana Scully. "With very good reason, Mulder." Her voice pitches a
little lower, gets a little breathier, "I think we both know what power
source you plug into."
I'm feeling a little breathless myself. My cock gives a little
twitch at the idea of plugging into that particular outlet. Thank God for
dignity-preserving tuxedo jackets.
Not that the jacket is hiding much from Scully. With every contact,
every clench of my jaw, she gives me a knowing look, and rubs against my
burgeoning erection like a cat.
"Care to tell me why it is we're not on our way back to the hotel yet?"
She purrs as our third dance ends. My cock gives another little hop at
the idea, but, by god, Stanley the Power Drill can buzz all he wants, he
is not in charge here tonight. I have a goal, and so I escort Scully back
to the table, sparing no expense in the gallantry department. Pull
out the chair, scoot it back in, pour us some more wine. Whatever
my nefarious motives may be, this evening truly is a once in a blue moon
opportunity for us, and I'm enjoying it for all its worth. Best to
take advantage of it while I can.
"I don't think I want to leave yet," I reply, proud of how smooth and
calm I sound. Scully gives me a narrow look and I wonder if maybe
instead of smooth, I sound smug about her obvious frustration. She
knows goddamn good and well what I'm doing, knows I'm teasing her.
I think someday soon she'll exact dire recompense, but for now she's playing
the game. I had just better hope I don't sound too smug. After all,
there is retribution, and then, there is Retribution.
Her forbearance, however, is not without the occasional warning "this
better be good, Mulder" glance as we sit at the table, drinking our wine.
My hand dallies on her thigh beneath the tablecloth.
Don't worry, Scully. It will be.
"I like seeing you like this," I murmur, stroking her knee. I've
never been a huge fan of pantyhose, but whatever brand she's chosen are
soft as silk beneath my fingers. "I like the opportunity to treat
you this way."
"What way is that?" She's a little flushed with wine and desire.
It's an incredible look on her.
"Like the woman I'm going to take to bed tonight," I reply hoarsely,
speaking so low that there's no chance I'll be overheard. Never underestimate
the power of some well-timed dirty talk. We both twitch slightly
as the arousal heightens another notch. We're both vibrating with
it. "Like the woman I'm going to strip that dress from and fuck until
dawn."
Her nostrils flare, her eyes darken. "Then take me back to the
hotel and do it, Mulder," she says bluntly, licking her lips again.
Her respiration just increased, and I can see the tiniest hint of her nipples
standing erect beneath her dress.
I shake my head, smiling softly. "Not yet."
The look she gives me is filled with exasperation and longing.
It falls just short of pleading. When it actually gets to the pleading
stage, then I'll take her back to the hotel. And not a minute before.
She tries to give back a little of what she's getting, placing her hand
in my lap. At that point I sweep her out to the dance-floor again,
where she instead makes a point of brushing against me as hard and as often
as possible without drawing scandalized stares from the other diners.
I'm not going to let her pull me off course here, though. I'm a man
on a mission. The way our lives go, it will be another seven years
before we have a chance to dance together again. Better enjoy it
while it lasts. And whatever demands my libido might be making, it
doesn't change the fact that moving to the music with her small, nifty
little body pressed against me is superlatively nice.
She looks ready to break into the Hallelujah Chorus when I finally,
hours later, announce I'm ready to leave. Before the driver even
finishes closing the door behind us, I'm rolling up the privacy window
while Scully watches me from her side of the rear seat. By the time
the driver is behind the wheel and we're in motion once more, I'm already
stalking her.
The first part of me to reach her is my hands, which slide up her thighs
and under her skirt. As the rest of my body catches up, I take hold
of her hips and pull her forward, causing her to slide down in the seat
until her sweet, shapely ass is on the very edge and she is slouched down.
"Jesus, Mulder!" She gasps, surprised by the abrupt action. Her
pupils are dilated, the pulse in her fine, elegant throat plainly visible.
She's breathing through her open mouth.
I move in over her, parting her thighs and kneeling between them on
the floorboard, moving in closer until the only thing keep her perched
on the seat is the pressure of my pelvis against her thighs. I lean
forward, suspended above her, and this time we gasp together as the pressure
of my erection--which has reached crisis proportions over the last hours--settles
into the soft nest of her sex. The heat of her scalds me through
my clothes and now, with her skirt pushed up around her hips and her thighs
parted, the scent of her arousal is rich and heady.
Her eyes don't leave mine for an instant. I know she must wonder
about this different mood I'm in--hell, I wonder about it--but there
are no questions about what's gotten in to me, no probing comments about
how different this is or wondering what brought it on. Only an adventurous
sense of acceptance fills her gaze, coupled with a hint of challenge.
You began this Mulder, she seems to be saying with her eyes. Where
do you plan to take it?
I pull her head to the side with one hand and begin working my way down
her neck with my mouth, to the sensitive point where her pulse throbs brutally.
I listen appreciatively to the small, rapturous sounds she makes as my
free hand lays claim to her breast again, pinching her nipple through the
fabric of her dress. I thrust my hips forcefully against her, and
my own moan of pleasure comes hard on the heels of hers.
I badly want to unzip the back of her dress and slide it off her, to
let my eyes feast on the sight of her porcelain perfect skin accented by
her black satin and lace bra, but I don't. When I strip that dress
off her, there will be no need for hasty repairs to our appearance before
we leave the car to return to our room. Once that dress is gone tonight,
it's gone for good.
Instead, I slip the hand that had been kneading her breast between her
legs, stroking her moist heat through two thin layers of material; one
of satin, one of nylon. She shudders and gasps, thrusting against
my hand, causing the knuckles of my fingers to rub up against my own straining
erection. I pull my hips back, away from her, unwilling to allow
myself to be pushed beyond the realm of control just yet. I focus
my attention on firm, even strokes of my fingers against her center, damning
the barriers which refuse to allow me entrance.
"My God, Mulder," Scully pants in my ear as I continue to nibble and
suck on her neck, "if you don't quit soon...I'm going to come right...here
in the car."
"So do it."
"I'd..." breathy gasp "...kinda like you to be in on...that particular
party."
"Party's a long way from being over, Scully," I mumble against her neck.
Drawing back for a second, I pull her nylons off her hips and slide them
down her legs. I make a deliberate show of stuffing them in her handbag
and tossing it negligently aside, my eyes never leaving hers. The
point is made and taken without a word being spoken between us. Nothing
short of an actual "no" will stop me tonight from taking what I want.
And what I want is to see her at the mercy of her desire, helpless beneath
its ravages, even at this very moment here in the car. There's something
immensely satisfying about the idea of making her lose control regardless
of our surroundings.
Control. That's what this is all about, I realize. Too few
things in our lives lately have been within our control. They happen
to us, and we make our way through them, but we don't control them.
We couldn't control the way that moron Federman portrayed us and our relationship,
but here, now, I have the ability to seize control. Not just over
myself and our surroundings, but over Scully as well. It's an intoxicating
feeling, this ability to control, and not one I feel the need for terribly
often, but here, tonight, it's the most vital thing on earth to me.
My hands return to her, sliding up her bare thighs to her provocative
black panties. She sucks in her breath suddenly at the first contact,
a shiver running through her as goose flesh ripples her skin, and I realize
that she is already aroused to the point where every touch becomes an electric
shock. I run my fingers along the bottom edge of the delicate bikini
underwear, along the ridge of her hips and the sensitive skin of her groin.
Then I slip a finger beneath and begin caressing the hot, wet folds of
her flesh, sliding slowly into her body, intoxicated by the scent and sound
of her as she gasps and moves beneath me.
The car is slowing down as we exit the highway when my efforts pay off.
Five minutes away from our hotel, Scully sinks her teeth into the padded
jacket over my shoulder to muffle her sounds as she shudders around me,
her body tensing, pressing hard against me. I ease my fingers away
from her core as her spasms subside and allow myself to enjoy the moment
afterward that she slips from my arms, a sublime expression of pleasure
on her face. She seems to melt, sagging back against the velvet upholstery,
and I slide up into the seat, ignoring the protest of my knees from having
knelt so long on the floor, and pull her close, enraptured, as always,
by the passionate abandon with which she gives herself to me. Unwittingly,
however, she has raised the bar for me tonight, and I set my sights on
a new goal. Before this night is over, I want to hear her scream,
without any effort to muffle the sound. I want to add a few new noises
to her repertoire.
Yep, definitely got some Neanderthal impulses happening here...
She smiles up at me, her face flushed, her eyes slightly glazed, licking
lips gone dry from too much breathless gasping.
"This is no fair," she murmurs. It's the closest sound to a purr
I think I've ever heard from a human being. "You haven't even broken
a sweat, Mulder."
I give an incredulous chuckle and hold out my hand to allow her to witness
its shaking. I've wanted Scully thousands of times over our years
together, and made love to her dozens of times since that blissful afternoon
in the mountains weeks ago, and still the ache of wanting takes me by surprise.
Being with her only serves to make me want her more, crave her like a narcotic.
But tonight's yearning is about more than fulfilling the needs of my body.
I could come here and now and I still wouldn't be satisfied until I had
achieved from her the responses I desire. Tonight is about more than
making love to her, more than finding a release for the throbbing of my
cock in her body. Tonight, I want to own her, and I want us both
to know it as fact.
She interlaces her fingers with those of my outstretched hand and brings
them to her mouth, kissing the back of my hand softly. Stunning,
the dichotomy of my emotions at this moment. Underpinning the greedy,
wanton lust, the part of me that wants to use her until we collapse into
a single boneless, intertwined unit, is the fact that I love her more than
life, need her more than air. If anyone else proposed to do the things
that I want to do to her, I'd kill him with my bare hands. But its
all right for me to want to use her this way because I know she will always
be safe with me. My loving her prevents this act of selfish desire
from cheapening what we share.
"We'll have to do something about this," Scully says, holding my hand
to her face and resting her cheek upon it. Only the fact that she
is holding it prevents it from trembling still. Her face is slowly
regaining its composure, the flush fading from her cheeks, lucidity returning
to her eyes. Only Dana Katherine Scully could manage to look composed
with her skirt hitched up around her hips and the interior of the car saturated
with the scent of sex. But I'm not sure I want her composed.
Not yet. Maybe not all night. It's time to upset her equilibrium
a little.
I glance out the window and see our hotel only a block ahead, as our
car sits stopped at a traffic light. I quickly slide to the floor
again and begin tugging at her panties, sliding them down her hips and
off her legs. I tuck them in the inside pocket of my jacket and slip
her high-heeled shoes on her feet as she watches me in surprise.
"Do something about what?" I ask as the car begins to move once more.
With brisk, business-like aplomb, I pull her skirt down to cover her hips
and thighs once more, placing one nipping kiss on her thigh before it disappears
from sight.
"About this," she very gingerly runs the toe of one shod foot over my
groin. The contact is electric; it's all I can do not to react.
Not yet. I don't want to give her that yet.
"Maybe later," I reply, non-committal. The car turns into the
rounded drive in front of our hotel and I reclaim my place on the seat,
reaching over to pick up her handbag and set it in her lap. Scully
quickly brushes her hair with her fingers as she realizes were pulling
to a stop before our hotel and double-checks to see if her clothes are
suitably straightened. Then she faces me.
"Maybe later?" Hmm, lethal Scully-brow flying at three o'clock.
"Yeah," I reply, trying to control a smile. "When I'm ready."
"I dunno, Mulder, you look pretty damned ready to me," she comments
with a pointed glance at my crotch. "If you were any readier, you'd
lose your deposit on that tuxedo."
"Scully," I lean toward her, close enough that my lips brush her ear
as I whisper her name.
"Yes, Mulder?" There's a catch in her voice, the tiniest shiver ripples
across her skin.
"I'll let you know when I'm ready."
Her eyes widen slightly and she turns her head to stare at me.
There it is then, the actual declaration. I'm running the show tonight.
If she has any objections to the proposal, this is the moment to make them.
I can't blame her for her surprise; usually I wait for her to set the tone,
because I don't ever want her to feel compelled or obligated in any way.
It's vitally important to me that she be happy with everything that happens
between us, that her wants and needs are fulfilled first and foremost.
I'm treading on dangerous ground here, on her sense of control, and that
might be going a bit far. If she wants anything other than what I'm
proposing right now, I'll be more than happy to oblige. All she needs
to do is say the word...
She doesn't. She blinks a couple times, studying me. Her
lips purse slightly, and then she gives just the tiniest nod of assent.
The curious smile is back, the one that says if she had half a chance,
she'd stick me under a microscope and study me until she had me figured
out.
Then the door is opening and I slide out of the car. Reaching
back in, I offer my hand to help her out, tip the driver generously, and
escort her into the hotel lobby.
Scully and I are both subdued as we wait for the elevator. We
have it to ourselves as I push the button that will deliver us to the twenty-second
floor and the doors slide shut. The car is barely in motion before
I have her pinned to one of the many mirrors that surround us. She
gasps into my mouth as I kiss her savagely, ravishing her lips, demanding
everything she has to give in that kiss. My hands cup the bottom
curves of her ass, and I bend my knees, grinding my pelvis against her.
Her arms twine around my neck and I tear my lips away from hers, pressing
rough kisses and love-bites along her neck.
"Do you know--" I breathe against her satiny skin, "--how many times
I've dreamed of fucking you in an elevator?"
"Let me guess--" she pants as I nibble the tendon joining her neck to
her shoulder, "--the one in the J. Edgar Hoover Building, am I right?"
"Mm hmm." I thrust against her again, the movement ungentle. Her
low moan is gratifying.
"I think I've had that fantasy once or twice," she replies breathlessly.
I pull away abruptly as the elevator dings, heralding
I take her hand and pull her along behind me to room 2212, releasing
it only to fish my wallet out of my pocket and retrieve the card key that
will allow us entrance. With my blood pounding in my veins, I open
the door and stand aside to let her precede me into the room. The
instant she steps past me and into the doorway, however, I follow her,
grabbing her roughly with an arm over her shoulder and across her chest.
My lips seek out her throat again as I propel her into the room and allow
the door to swing closed behind us. One hand smacks the wall and
hits the light switch. I fall back against the door, dragging her
with me,
I reach over her shoulders and my hands cup her breasts, kneading them,
molding them, tweaking the nipples. I release her suddenly and grasp
the collar of the black jacket she's wearing over her dress, pulling the
garment off her shoulders, still kissing her neck. Scully makes a
low, growling sound as I toss the jacket aside and take her by the shoulders,
tugging her back against me. I grasp her hair and turn her head to
run kisses over her delicate jaw. After a moment, my fingers find
the zipper running up the back of her dress and pull it down. The
dress parts and begins to sag away from her body. Insistently, I
push it downward until it pools around her feet in the same instant that
she kicks off her high-heeled shoes. Suddenly, I have to bend over
a little further to keep kissing her neck. Then she's standing, with
her beautiful, curvy little ass nestled just below my groin, leaning back
against me clad only in her lacy black demi-cup bra.
I unhook the front clasp of the bra and it hangs open, spilling her
breasts out. I take her soft flesh into my hands, manipulating it
as the cups of her bra swing loosely against the backs of my hands.
A pinch a little harder than normal brings a sharp gasp from her and I
stroke the offended nipple to soothe away the sensation, before repeating
the process with the other breast. I rub my hips against her bottom
as I play with her breasts and her head lolls back against my shoulder,
her eyes fluttering shut.
I bend my knees a little, wrapping an arm around her waist to support
her. My other hand slides down her belly and into the forest of auburn
curls at the juncture of her thighs. My fingers comb through her
curls, seeking out the tight, engorged knot of nerves hidden within.
At the first touch she jerks violently, crying out. Her straight
white teeth pull on her bottom lip and her knees begin to sag beneath her.
I slide my thigh between hers from behind, helping her to remain upright
while at the same time spreading her legs to give myself better access.
I nibble on her shoulder while my fingers spread her own moisture over
her tender, sensitized flesh, stroking lightly.
Her hips buck against my hand, her cries increasing in frequency and
volume as I move my fingers back and forth across the center of her pleasure.
I'm the one who moans when I slip two fingers into her, feeling her pulsating
tightness, looking forward to the moment when it's not my fingers that
invade her body. I move them slowly in and out, rubbing past her
clit with each stroke. Her weight is wholly supported by my arm now,
the sounds coming from her throat breathless and hoarse.
After a moment I pull my hand out from between her legs, not wanting
to over-stimulate her to the point of discomfort. Scully is trembling
as she leans weakly against me, her moan as I withdraw my hand dwells somewhere
between regret and relief. I become tender, kissing her gently across
her shoulders, giving my own ragged breathing a chance to even out and
my heart a chance to slow before I give lie to my claims of not being ready.
I'm in an agony of wanting, wishing for nothing more right now than to
spread her out on that bed in the other room of our suite, that bed that's
larger than some small towns, and bury myself inside her. At the
same time, I want to prolong this exquisite torment. I can't take
her until I've won that scream I promised
Seeing her like this, trembling and weak and entirely at my mercy brings
out every protective instinct I possess--and there are a great many of
those where Scully is concerned. I cradle her to me, supporting her
limp weight with my body, nuzzling my face in her neck. The scent
of her--soap, lotion and sex, is nearly enough to drive me over the edge
on its own merit. After a long moment, I straighten, bringing her
upright with me. She slowly gets her feet beneath her, standing on
her own power. She turns to face me and I kiss her gently, sliding
the straps of her bra down and off her arms. I trace a finger lightly
over her collarbone and she sighs.
"You're going to drive me crazy, Mulder," she murmurs, pressing her
forehead to my breastbone. "You know that, don't you?"
"You've been telling me I'm crazy for years, Scully. I'm just
trying to share the insanity."
"So you're saying it's unfulfilled sexual tension that's rendered you
nuts?"
"Seven years worth of it."
"Well, hell, if I'd known that I would have fucked you seven years ago."
OhdearGoddon'tletmecomeyet...There's nothing like Scully when
she talks dirty...
"Welcome to my insanity, Scully."
That gets a laugh from her and she tilts her head up at me, her eyes
glowing as she gives me a disbelieving smile. I take her hand and
lead her into the bedroom, stopping only to snag a bottle of water out
of the mini-bar and to kick off my own shoes. I hand the water to
Scully and she perches on the bed and takes a long drink while I remove
my shirt. Whatever her claims in the car might have been, I am, in
truth, sweating bullets. The climate in the suite is nice and controlled,
but my condition has nothing to do with room temperature.
The bed is high, reaching to the tops of my thighs. It even has
one of those little steps to climb up into it. Scully watches me
as I approach her slowly, her eyes moving over my body in frank appraisal.
That's one of the little beauties that comprise the whole of Scully--she
never leaves me not knowing when she wants me, doesn't know the meaning
of playing coy. Once we became lovers, she began allowing me to see
things in her eyes and on her face that she hadn't before, and I see the
expression of desire on her face often enough to feel that I am a fortunate
man indeed.
I take the bottle of water from her and drink. If I'm this parched,
I can only imagine how Scully must feel from all the panting she's been
doing. I run the bottle over her nipples teasingly, causing her to
gasp and giggle as the peaks stand instantly at attention. Then I
set the water aside. We'll need it...I plan for this to be a long
night.
"Come here, Mulder," Scully murmurs invitingly, reaching for me.
I brace my hands on either side of her hips, and capture her lips in
a kiss. Her small tongue darts into my mouth, caresses my lips and
she opens her mouth for a return gesture, which I proceed to make.
I press her backwards until she is lying on the bed and I am lying on her,
the bottom half of her body hanging off the side of the bed, while I'm
standing on the floor, bent at the waist. I dwell for a blissful
moment in the sweetness of the kiss and her mouth, then slide slowly down
her body--my hands grasping her hips as I press fervent, open-mouthed kisses
down her neck and across her shoulders.
"Mulder, I want you inside me..." There's a mewling tone to her voice
that I'm not sure she's even aware of. It's music to my ears.
"Not yet, Scully."
She groans with frustration. "I'm gonna get you for this, Mulder,"
she gasps.
"Promises, promises."
I linger at her breasts, nibbling, suckling, drawing her pebble-hard
nipples between my lips and laving them with my tongue. I fasten my lips
on the upper swell of her right breast and apply brutal suction, marring
her perfect white skin. Leaving a brand on her body that only she
and I will ever see, when we're alone together and naked. I think
she knows what I am doing, and why I am doing it.
Soft little moans of pleasure rise from her throat, encouraging me,
telling me yes. They are interspersed with the sighing exhalation
of my name, tumbling like a mantra from her lips. My attentions to
her breasts become more insistent and accordingly, the sounds she makes
grow louder and less restrained. Her hands cup the back of my head, pulling
me to her, and I leave off kneading her thighs to grasp her wrists and
pull them away from me, holding them at her sides. The message is
clear--this is my game, we play it at my pace, at my leisure. Scully
shifts her body beneath me, giving a small murmur of
She nearly bolts upright off the bed with a surprised yelp as my lips
close over the hood of flesh covering her clitoris and my tongue delves
within to find the center of her pleasure. I grip her thin, elegant
hands, the feel of them deceptively delicate as her bones move beneath
her skin. She lifts her head and shoulders off the bed and then lets
them fall, her back arching, her hips thrusting against my mouth.
I leisurely stoke my tongue over that hypersensitive nubbin of nerves;
hard strokes, soft strokes, long lingering strokes, quick darting strokes.
The taste of her is ambrosia on my tongue and I am drunk on the essence
of her. I have tasted her dozens of times, in dozens of different
ways since we became lovers, and every time I am amazed by how wonderful
the sensation is. Salty, sometimes bitter, sometimes a little sweet,
with something indefinable mixed in. I could do this for hours, for
days, listening to her moans and cries like blessings being bestowed upon
me.
I tighten my grip on her hands again, preparing in advance for the moment
I slide my tongue inside her moist, narrow sheath. Her response is
as I thought it would be, her body tensing and thrusting and arching off
the bed, her impassioned exclamations the sweetest of arias in my ears.
I close my lips over her clitoris, sucking lightly, massaging, pinching
it lightly between my lips. Her cries grow louder and more rapturous
and I think I might hear that scream after all. I take her hands
and place them over her breasts, caressing and kneading her flesh with
her own fingers as I penetrate her with my tongue once more. For
a moment we play with her breasts together, then I release her hands, leaving
her to do with them as she will. I am satisfied to see she
Without taking my mouth from her center, I unfasten my pants and push
them down my hips as far as I can. The task accomplished, I grip
her hips, not necessarily gently, holding her steady as I continue lavishing
strokes of my tongue upon her taut bundle of nerves. After a long moment,
I bring one of my hands between her legs and slowly insert a finger into
her hot, tight center. Her cries are growing feral, desperate, and
I slide another finger into her, wiggling them to find the pressure point
on the roof of her cavern, which causes a whole new flurry of writhing
and jerking movements. Her body arches, not in
Within seconds, I receive my heart's desire. Scully's impassioned
shriek echoes through my head and her body goes tense, the muscles of her
sheath clenching in ferocious spasms around my fingers. It's everything
I can do not to spill myself that very second, and frantically, I kick
my pants and underwear away and brace my feet on the floor, gripping her
hips tightly. I bury my face between her breasts to listen to the
pounding of her heart even as I bury my shaft in her still-pulsating body.
Beyond my wildest dreams, this earns me a second scream, this one right
next to my ear.
Christ! I don't want to come yet! The feeling of
her quivering around me, still shuddering, and the sound of her exclamations
in my ears are nearly my undoing. This time it is I who bites my
hand, relying on pain to keep me from tumbling over the edge too soon.
I want this feeling just a while longer and I pray for just a little more
control.
Scully too, has grown still, gasping for air. Her fists are clenched
tightly in the bedspread beneath her, strands of her fiery hair
"You okay?" I murmur, using my instinctive concern for her as yet another
buffer against the physical sensations threatening to overwhelm me.
I press a tender kiss to the perspiration dampened skin over her heart.
"Mm hmm," her reply is low, hoarse, and she licks her lips to moisten
them. Coherency returns by slow measures. "More'n okay."
"Want me to stop?"
"Jesus, no!" She becomes instantly reanimated. "Don't you dare!"
I can't help but laugh at her adamant refusal, and Scully smiles, still
looking dazed. I shift slightly and we gasp in unison.
Slowly, I raise my weight off her, bracing my arms on either side of
her. I begin to pull back slowly, withdrawing from her before thrusting
forward again, sliding a little more deeply within her. She hooks
her ankles around my waist, so that our lower bodies are at ninety-degree
angles, her lying, me standing. We groan together in a mutual pleasure
so intense it's nearly unbearable.
I start to move in slow, steady strokes, my breathing growing ragged,
watching her eyes as the pace quickens. I am christened by her low,
soft murmurs of pleasure, which begin to grow louder as my thrusts grow
more forceful.
"Oh, God! Oh, Jesus! Oh, Mulder!"
Ah, there it is. That's what I've been waiting for. An opening
to make a joke. Why? One, because Scully has a gorgeous laugh,
and I've made it my mission to evoke it as often as possible. Judging
by her obvious gaiety these last weeks, I've been fairly successful.
Two, because we always share a laugh during sex, preferably several.
It's just one of our things. It keeps us from becoming too overwhelmed
with the power of the emotion that exists between us. Three, because...well,
there are very few sensations more intense that having a woman laugh--I
mean really laugh--when you're buried inside her. The only
thing I can think of that is more intense would be to have her sneeze,
and I think any attempt to evoke that would earn me a well-
"So which is it, Scully?" I gasp into her ear, thrusting hard.
That does it. She starts to giggle even as I chuckle with her.
The
"Shit, Mulder," she moans. "All three of 'em!"
Laughter recedes as I continue to thrust into her, faster, harder, deafened
to any noises she might be making by the pounding of my blood in my ears.
There's no delicacy here, just brutal animal passion. How anyone
can experience rapture this intense and survive I don't really know.
I put everything I have into those movements, into explicit words of encouragement
that I groan. I want nothing more than to stay inside her forever
as the pleasure mounts exponentially.
Scully echoes the sentiment. "Jesus...Mulder...more!"
I increase my thrusts, pounding into her harder. It took me a
few times to get comfortable with the idea that I could cut loose without
fear of harming Scully. There's no more control left here, now, just
mindless, violent thrusting and grunting, our skins slick with sweat.
This is it, the final inning, the home stretch. It's going to
be over all too soon, and as pleasurable as our current position is, I
want desperately to stare into her eyes as I spill myself within her.
Her head is turned to the side, her eyes squeezed tightly shut as loud
whimpers of ecstasy fall from her lips. Abruptly, I withdraw from
her, earning a dismayed cry.
"Look at me, Scully," I demand gruffly. "I want to see your eyes."
She complies with the demand and I nudge her backward, further onto
the bed and I crawl up onto the mattress, between her silken white thighs.
I brace myself above her with one arm and with the other, guide myself
back into her welcoming warmth.
Her eyes flutter closed for a moment and I kiss passionately.
When my lips release hers, she obeys my directive and meets my gaze.
I nudge my hips forward and her thighs spread just a little bit wider.
Her body accepts my intrusion as the natural course of things, adjusting
to me, molding around me. She hooks one leg around my waist, her
other leg bent and spread out to the side, as I begin to move again, the
rhythm increasing rapidly after the initial couple thrusts.
"Do you know," I confess in a breathless growl, "how perfect you are
to me?"
She nods solemnly, little moans of pleasure escaping her throat.
"Do you know, Scully, what I was thinking tonight as I watched you in
the car?"
"No, Mulder," she gasps, whimpering as our movements accelerate and
she begins to instinctively rise to my thrusts. Her arms wrap around
me, her fingers digging into my back, her nails gouging painfully.
"What were you thinking?"
"I was thinking I wanted to own you, own you so completely no one could
ever question it. I wanted to fuck you tonight so well, and so hard,
and so thoroughly that you would never, ever doubt who you belong to."
Her eyes are wide and rapt at my admission. "I wanted to possess
you body and soul."
I punctuate the statement with another forceful thrust, this one hard
enough to rattle our teeth.
"You do, Mulder," she replies with a soft sob, biting her lip for a
moment as I butt up against her womb. She stares into me, her eyes
glassy with unshed tears, though of emotion or pleasure I cannot tell.
"Every day of my life."
I love her madly, with a terrifying intensity, for giving herself over
so completely, so selflessly to me. Out in the world, Dana Scully
belongs to no one but herself, but in our bed, in her head, in her body,
she is mine entirely.
My gaze falls on the dark mark I left on her breast, and as though a
floodgate has burst, I lose the ability to moderate my motions any longer.
With frantic hunger I seek out her lips as I move harder and faster within
her, each second approaching the mindless euphoria of release.
"I think it's you who owns me," I rasp against her lips, "every day
of my life."
I brace my elbows above her shoulders, letting my weight rest upon her,
and bury my fingers in her hair, trapping her head, my thumbs gripping
her temples, forcing her to meet my gaze as I move in and out of her body.
She shudders, yielding to a third climax, though at this point she is becoming
tired and her orgasm lacks the intensity of the previous two. She
gives a weak, keening moan, a tear slipping from the corner of her eye,
down her temple and into her hair. With a loud cry of exultation,
I sink my face into her shoulder and allow the pleasure to carry my beyond
the edge, my universe narrowing to the point where
* * *
* *
"Oops," I murmur sometime after dawn, hours later, stroking Scully's
neck as I lay behind her, my face pressed into her fragrant hair.
Her back is nestled against my chest, her ass pressed up against a cock
that doesn't quite seem to realize the rest of me is exhausted.
"What's oops?" She turns her head, not quite managing to look
back at me, but at least making the effort.
"Oh, nothing..."
"Mulder..."
"Well, I may have been a little--over-exuberant--in my attentions to
your neck."
"You didn't..."
"Hope you have a couple good turtlenecks, Scully."
She flips onto her back, scowling at me. "You do realize it's
been sixteen years since I've been required to wear a scarf around my neck,
don't you?"
"Got one or two stashed in your closet still?" I hadn't intended
to mark her neck...the only intentional mark I left upon her was the one
on her breast. If that one fades within a week, I'll be greatly surprised.
But I can't bring myself to bear terribly distraught that I did so.
With her talent for looking right into me, Scully gives me a small smile,
shaking her head affectionately.
"You do know what everyone will say when I show up looking like a teenager
the night after a hot date?"
"Yeah, I imagine so."
"Feel better, do you?"
"'Bout what?" Now I'm getting sleepy, the exertions of the night have
drained my body as well as my lust.
"Marking your territory."
Hearing it spoken aloud after my possessive outrage has faded makes
me feel a little sheepish. But not too badly so. "Sorry," I
mutter half-heartedly.
"No, you're not," Scully replies with a soft chuckle. "But you
will be."
"Why's that?"
"Because all those old silk scarves are in the closet of my old room
in my mother's house. And you get to explain why I need them
when we go see her tomorrow when we get back to D.C." With that,
she flips back over, turning away from me. "'Night," she says cheerily,
wiggling her fanny against me once more for good measure.
Ouch. I should always remember the lady gets her payback, one
way or the other. Sure, she'll play my game, but not without exacting
a toll...
Hey, Scully, how about a rematch?
THE END
SPECIAL DISCLAIMER:
The "Stanley the Power Drill" line is ALL SHELBA'S FAULT!
Honest. She did. Really.
know how much per night we won't be spending on our hotel room.
the studs on my shirt.
pulls herself upright and quickly smoothes her hair just as the driver
opens the door.
carefully. If she had any reservations about this wild impulse
that's driving me, it's best to know now so I can change my plans.
I need to kiss her more than I need my next breath. So I do.
With a passion bordering on violence, I take possession of her lips, starved
for the taste of her. I plunder her mouth, demanding and receiving
more with each thrust of my tongue, my hands buried to the wrists in her
hair, cupping the back of her skull, turning her head to one side or the
other to better suit my own demands.
our arrival at the proper floor.
never breaking the contact between my mouth and the side of her neck
as my free hand pulls roughly at my bow tie and the button at the collar
of my shirt. I shrug out of my jacket, alternating the arm with which
I hold her captive against my chest, and let it drop carelessly to the
floor.
myself.
protest, and then a long sigh of acceptance. I continue my ministrations,
lacing my fingers with hers to hold her hands immobile, and I continue
my course down her body, trailing my lips over the cool, soft skin of her
belly, running my tongue over the ultra-tender flesh where her hip meets
her thigh.
continues to stroke her breasts after I have let go, pulling and tweaking
the nipples as she writhes against my mouth.
discomfort, but in an excess of sensation. Simultaneously, I
increase the pressure of my tongue on her nerve center and my fingertips
on her g-spot. One of her hands flies to her mouth and she bites
down on it to muffle her cries as they begin to crescendo. Roughly,
I reach up with my free arm and pull her hand away from her mouth, holding
it firmly in my grasp.
trailing over her face from the thrashing of her head. I slide
my hands slowly up her arms as we lie there, the pounding of her heart
against my ear beating in counterpoint to my own.
deserved black eye.
sensation is exquisite, and the emotion that accompanies sweet and
heady.
it holds only her and the wonder she brings.
I was bound and determined I WOULD NOT name Mulder's penis.
SHE MADE ME DO IT!