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It tickles.
Her hair spread out on his chest — It tickles when she moves in her sleep and buries her face further into the nook under his chin. He wants to rub at his chest, his chin, relieve the pesky feeling. But at the same time, it makes something warm and stupid bloom under his ribs.
He holds her tighter, breathes in the smell of her shampoo, floral and sweet, always lingering in his nostrils long after she's gone. He almost asked what it was a few times, but thought better of it. Didn't want to have her go assuming he was spending his time thinking of her damn shampoo or her when they were apart. It's not what this is. Who they are.
And he can't be doing any stupid shit like that now. Especially not now.
~
She's been acting skittish ever since she invited him over that one time a few weeks ago. Well, more like insinuated during a drop that she'd be alone, the kids at her ex's for the week.
When he got to hers she seemed surprised to see him at first. He almost thought he got her not-so-subtle hints all wrong until she muttered that she wasn't sure he knew how to find her front door or even knock. He laughed at her stupid joke, mostly because she was getting all fluttery like it was the first time they were doing this instead of like, the eighth. Not that he's counting or anything, he's just got a good working memory.
Watching her get all tense while she offered him a drink, it dawned on him that it was the first time she invited him over since, well, before. The first time they were doing it at her place since that time he dropped by before Christmas. And the first time they're not pretending she doesn't want him there and it's only him who can't get enough of her; always him seeking her out; eager to bend her over her desk while she pretends she called him to check on the books; or in that dingy warehouse where she insisted on going with him to see the new shipment of spas he got under the table, and that she was so pissed about only the day before.
Yeah, she always made it seem like his idea while she was just there, caught off guard by his suggestiveness, clutching her proverbial pearls as if she didn't have him exactly where she wanted him.
So maybe he let her squirm a little longer. Maybe he didn't want to do all the work. Maybe he didn't even wanna meet her halfway this time.
She offered him a drink and he accepted, rolled the glass in his hand while she tried to make small talk, her kitchen island between them. Her eyes kept darting to his hands and perhaps he let his fingers caress the glass a little more fondly, his tongue dart out to lick the liquor off his lip a bit more conspicuously. It was so hard to bite back a smile while she shifted on her feet, that blush spreading all the way down her chest as she eyed him expectantly, waiting for him to make it easy on her.
He didn't.
Their tumblers empty, she sighed in defeat and moved to put them in the sink before walking over to his side of the island, tentatively flattening her palms on his shoulders, and kissing him. It was brief and hesitant as if they've never done it before. Man, she's a trip.
She moved towards her bedroom then, and he followed. When he closed the door behind him and she looked back at him he knew she was remembering the same thing he was. Only they stood on opposite ends of the room this time.
She gulped, went for the buttons of her shirt, and made slow work of unfastening them as he stood by the door, taking her in, his hands clasped at his back. When she got enough of them so he could see her bra peeking out, he recognized the set he got her for Christmas — the red one he had imagined would look great against her skin. And he was right.
The wine red on the creamy white skin of her tits — she looked like a fuckin' berry-covered desert. His fingers itched to take over, rip off her clothes, send the buttons clattering across her hardwood floors, and bury himself in her for days.
But he didn't.
He let her go on, and eventually, she got all of them, letting the shirt slip to the floor. Popping the button on her jeans, she shimmied out of them and straightened up to look at him.
"You look so damn good in those," he drawled, biting his lip as her hands ran up the straps of the bra, straightening it up and making her tits bounce a little in the process.
"You like?" she sighs, all breathy relief and, damn, how could she look like that and be second-guessing herself?
"Yeah, I do. Though I like you even better in nothing at all."
She took a deep breath, pushed her hair back, and stepped closer. And maybe he was tired of this game because he ended up meeting her halfway after all.
It didn't matter. The moment he was licking into her mouth, her small moans vibrating around his tongue, nothing did.
It was dangerous — the way she had the power to make him feel that way.
Yet it didn't matter one bit when his fingers traced the swell of her tits above the lacy cups of her bra, her skin soft under his pads, her chest rising and falling impatiently as she leaned into his touch. When he was pushing aside those panties, dipping two digits into her and she whimpered, trying to stop his name from tumbling over her lips. Or when he was pushing into her, her big blue eyes glazed over and locked on his, her thighs drawing him in like she's been missing him inside her just as much as he missed feeling her warmth grip him again and again until he's spilling inside her.
He was lying on his back feeling uncharacteristically chipper afterwards. And he made a slipshod joke — asked her if this meant he was her Valentine.
It was a joke, for real. He never took much notice of that stuff. And he didn’t think that whatever this was had anything to do with it being Valentine’s. He knew her better than that.
It was just that the date had registered, what with helping Marcus make a card for this girl he liked all of the previous evening.
But she got all twitchy, sputtering that she hadn't realized what day it was.
He found it cute at first; watching her go into overdrive, over-analyzing shit like she always did. But she didn't relax again and he felt weird sticking around, so he left shortly after.
She avoided him for weeks after that.
Up until the other night when they were looking over the books and she didn't try to kick him out as soon as they were done but offered him a drink instead. They mostly shared it in silence but, unlike the previous few meets, she didn't get all huffy or look like she couldn't stand his presence.
And then he was supposed to drop off the ones for their next batch last night but was running late, and Elizabeth wasn't at that store of hers anymore. She texted him to swing by her place.
He went out back and knocked on her french door this time, just to fuck with her.
She didn't find it amusing and, by the look on her face, she wasn't having the best day either. He knew her well enough to notice when she was pissed, or stressed. That night it seemed like she was both. But then her features softened before they sharpened into something else, something all too familiar.
She didn't waste any time. As soon as he handed her the duffel she opened her french door wider for him and walked backwards, giving him that look — the one she had given him across the crowded bar that first time and that made his cock twitch.
Elizabeth wanted him to fuck her against the wall, so he did. But not before he ate her out till she was trembling above him, her cheek pressed into that ugly wallpaper. He noticed she was avoiding her bed at all costs, but eventually, they ended up in it anyway. He wasn't gonna fuck up both their knees by fucking her on the hardwood floor.
They lay there afterwards, catching their breaths, and he could feel the tension he didn't even know was there leaving his body. He didn't care to further analyze that feeling or the timing of its onset.
When she stirred his eyes snapped open and he realized they had somehow ended up asleep, her curled up to his side, his arm around her. She must have just realized it herself, and he waited for her to get all weird and stiff, shake him awake and make some bullshit excuse for why he should leave. But she didn't; just draped her arm over his chest and let her thumb stroke the bullet scar on his shoulder until her breathing evened out again.
She did that a lot when she thought he wasn't paying attention — looked at them, touched them, as if she thought he wouldn't allow it otherwise. And he probably shouldn't. Whatever her little ritual was, it was probably designed to make her feel better about what she did. But he couldn't bring himself to feel bitter over it anymore, and it bugged him on some level that, little by little, he was letting it go.
~
So here they are now. It's dawn, and as much as he wants to indulge in her warmth a bit longer, he knows she will get all weird again if he stays, if they have to have that weird dance in the morning where she doesn't know if she wants to offer him some coffee or kick him out.
He closes his hand over her small soft one still on his shoulder, rubs his thumb over her knuckles, and slowly lifts it to slip from under her. She doesn't stir then nor as he gets dressed, and he doesn't wake her either. It's not the kind of thing they do.
Once he's outside and the fresh morning air makes his head clear out a little bit, he can finally breathe without inhaling her with each breath. Without feeling like he's letting her creep into his lungs, burrow herself deeper under his skin.
His phone vibrates with another text from Mick. He ignores it, the same way he did his five missed calls before that.
The thing is, he should've dropped off the bag at her place last night and headed to pick up Mick so they could go on a short trip across the border, meet with their supplier for this new thing they're trying out.
But then, well, then his plans changed and he ain't gonna sit all the way to Canada with Mick huffing in his ear. He swears that man is loudest when he doesn't speak. He just ain't in the mood for that shit right now.
So he's going alone. There's still more than enough time before their meeting at noon. They were gonna arrive the evening before, case the joint, see if there's any suspicious activity. But he's known AJ long enough for that to be nothing but a cursory precaution.
He stops by his apartment to take a shower and change before he heads for the border.
Just as he arrives at the checkpoint, he declines another phone call from an unknown number and huffs at Mick's new tactic.
When he gets to the place with an hour to spare, Rio stops by some little diner on his way to the warehouse where the meeting is at. He orders coffee, eggs and bacon with hash browns on the side. Turns out he's really hungry.
He looks outside the window as he eats, tries to stop the memories of last night from swarming in his idle mind; the way her broken moans sounded out his name, the way she lay next to him, chest heaving as she tried to get her breathing back in check; and then how soft she looked in the morning under her fluffy white duvet, face pressed into the pillow where he was just minutes before.
He clears his throat and shakes his head a little to clear it, doesn't want to be sitting there with a stupid grin on his face. He's got more important stuff to attend to. And, right, he should really get going.
It's a short drive to the warehouse from there, and as he parks, he sees three cars in front of it. More than he expected there to be since AJ usually shows up only with his right-hand man, on occasions even alone like Rio is now.
He shrugs it off. He's there already, isn't he? He's gonna have to see what the hell is going on for himself.
The moment he steps inside Rio realizes his mistake as ten pairs of eyes turn his way, several guns being cocked in quick succession.
"What the fuck is this AJ?" he hears one of them bark out.
Rio keeps still, looks at the men, and then AJ, trying to figure out his best course of action.
"I'm sorry, Tig, this is my associate, Rio. He didn't get my memo apparently," AJ speaks through his teeth and Rio suddenly realizes Mick might have been calling for a whole different reason.
He takes a better look at the guy. He’s tall with broad shoulders, tufts of curly hair, sunken eyes, and a goatee. He’s on edge, but something about his appearance tells him it’s his default condition.
"Yeah, man. I'm gonna come back once you guys are done," Rio sways towards the exit.
"No one's goin' anywhere," The first guy growls, squeezing his gun harder and fixing his aim at Rio, but looking back at AJ. "I told you this deal is on the table only as long as no one knows about it."
AJ tries for a calm tone, "And I get that, you know I do. Rio works with me. Very closely. I can vouch for him."
"Yeah, well that means jack shit to me. I don't fuckin' know this guy. I'm already under so much heat. Can't afford these sort of fuckups."
Rio looks around the room again. There are six of Tig's guys and only two of AJ's. Drawing his gun would be futile even if they backed him up. And he doesn't know that they would. He has no idea who this guy Tig is, and who he is to AJ.
He's fucked up, plain and simple. His mind wasn't one hundred percent on the game.
And it's fuckin' ironic. For all the times he tried to get it through to her that you don't have the luxury of making mistakes in the line of work they’re in, he never thought he'd be the one that needed a reminder of that.
He takes a steadying breath. Tries to look at his options.
He either shoots while the guy's still distracted and hopes for the best. Or he tries to talk him down. But the way that's going for AJ so far, no, there's no talking this guy down. He's too paranoid.
He tries to think of a third option but he's coming up blank. And the weirdest shit fills his mind then.
He thinks of Marcus's gap-toothed smile as he dashes out of his car clutching that heart-shaped card that had him cleaning off glitter off his car seat the whole morning.
Thinks of Rhea's pursed lips and furrowed brows, the way her brown eyes analyze him quietly whenever she knows something's going on that she doesn't want to know about.
And then there’s Elizabeth's hand on his chest and that stupid shampoo that he still has no idea what the smell is. He should've asked. Should've woken her up this morning even though that's not something they do. Even though her big eyes would be filled with confusion. Should've kissed her long and hard too, even though she'd get all weird.
He can vaguely hear the guy saying that AJ had to get rid of Rio or his guys would take care of them both.
Yeah, he fucked up big time and he has no idea how to fix it or clear his mind so he can at least try. He's gonna have to wing it.
"Listen, man, I don't know you. I have no idea what your business here is, and I don't give a crap. Just wanna solve this so we all get to walk away, a'ight?"
"No, no, no. Not gonna happen, man. I've got too much riding on this. I can't afford loose ends."
And Rio gets it, he does. It's what he would've said in this situation as well. He would've been a whole lot fuckin' calmer, but still. The outcome would've been the same.
AJ speaks again and Rio hates the way his voice is strained; he clearly believes this guy when he says he’s gonna shoot, "Listen, Tig, how about you have your guys run a check on my associate."
"Nah, my way's safer."
And yeah, again, Rio agrees. Clearly, he can't deal with this guy his way.
He has to — fuck, the thought's so ridiculous he wants to laugh. He would burst out laughing if this nut job wouldn't blow his head off the same moment — He has to do what she would do.
His mind goes to that day in her kitchen when she spun that bullshit story about why he shouldn't shoot her. Sometimes it feels like it was a decade ago. Sometimes like last week.
And the thing is, Rio's never had much trouble getting people exactly where he wanted them, be it by force or charm. It's just that it's been a damn long time since he had to do it from this end of the barrel. He doesn't count that first time he handed Elizabeth his gun. She was so easy to read back then, almost too easy. Unlike the second time.
Rio clears his throat, rolls his shoulders, and smiles sharkishly, "I'm gonna ask you to calm down and pay a close look now, man."
Tig doesn't react except to fix his grip on the gun still pointed at Rio.
"If you do, you gonna notice I came all the way to this shithole and walked in alone," he gestures around himself for effect before clasping his hands at his front. His eyes are cold as they bore into the other man’s.
"You know why that is?"
The guy just shakes his head once, unsure if he wants to be entering this or not.
"’Cos I don't need no backup," Rio deadpans. "Ain't no fool in a 500 miles radius of Detroit that would take a shot at me ‘cos they know it's as good as puttin' a gun to their own damn head."
The guy doesn't lower his gun, but Rio can see his resolve shake a little so he continues while he still has him.
"So you wanna put the gun down now while I still don't care who you are and what your business here is? Or you wanna pull that trigger and have eleven dead men instead of none?" he cocks his head with a half-grin.
The silence sends chills down his spine.
This is it.
The final fuckin' ace up his sleeve.
He wonders if this is how Elizabeth felt each time she delivered one of her lil' speeches. Eyes gleaming, chest puffed out, preening under his attention as if she was giving a performance of her life and he was her favorite audience. He's never wanted her more than in those moments. Keyed up with the need to touch her until it was a physical ache.
Tig exhales sharply. Looks at his guys, then at AJ before he puts his gun down and the rest of his men follow suit. He mutters something about a goddamn waste of time.
And then they're heading out.
AJ looks like he might call after them, ask about the deal, but the look Rio levels him with keeps him silent.
"What the fuck was that?" the moment the door slams shut with a creak, Rio is grabbing him by his suit lapels. AJ's guys make a move for their guns but he signals for them to back down.
"I called. You didn't answer. Called your guy even, he couldn't get a hold of you."
"Why the fuck you double-book me with this nutcase? This how you do business now?"
"I didn't. I've been trying to get a meeting with him for months. And then he reached out, wanted to meet today or no deal. Guy's too paranoid, but he's the guy I needed. The guy we needed to really get this off the ground and quick."
"I don't give a fuck. I ain't workin' with that guy."
"Yeah, I'm sure the deal's off the table now."
Rio shakes his head, still trying to calm himself. He loosens his grip on AJ's shirt, backs away slowly, lets his hands fall to his sides before he raises his right one to swipe over his face.
"Where the fuck were you even?"
Rio looks back at him, anger building again, "Ain't none of your fuckin' business."
"It is when it's affecting our business."
“I’ll fix it, a'ight. Find us another connect.”
AJ just bites his lip, nods. And Rio knows he’s biting back a lot of stuff he wants to say and that Rio deserves to hear. Hell, if it was the other way around he’d probably have a gun to his head. But that ain’t AJ.
They end up discussing their options for the next few hours before Rio finally heads back.
He's on the road, alone at last, his grip on the wheel is too tight, but his muscles just won't relax. It's not his first close call and probably won't be his last. But it’s not the come down from the adrenaline that has him fucked up, his tendons aching from the way he's still unable to release his grip on the wheel. It’s the familiar images that invade his mind each time he gets this close, and that he can’t shake off for hours after.
It starts with that sickening feeling at the thought of all the pain and disappointment he'd cause to Marcus and Rhea. On occasion, he sees his mom's warm knowing eyes, even though she's long passed and can no longer worry about him.
But this time was different.
This time his mind went over the well-familiar repertoire and then settled on her. Elizabeth. Overwhelming him with a weird sense of rue, making everything they've done to one another seem far-flung, leaving only a pit in his stomach for not trying to...
Rio scoffs. Try fuckin what? He shakes his head and tries to peel off his fingers from the wheel, flex the stiff joints.
He can’t trust it, the stuff that goes through his mind in those moments, he knows that much. But now that he’s made it out he has no idea what to do with that feeling that lingers. It fucks with him.
He drives straight to the bar, where Mick is waiting so he can fill him in on the events of the day.
As usual, he doesn't say much, but even if he wanted to he can probably tell that Rio is too pissed to listen to any crap he might give him.
They’ve just settled into having a quiet drink when the door opens and closes with a slam.
“Are you kidding me?”
Rio turns slightly in his seat to see Elizabeth marching towards him. Of course the 'closed' sign didn’t stop her.
Eyes blazing, fists curling on her sides, and damn, did she have to wear that black number that he likes. He has a little more trouble concentrating when she crosses her legs in that thing during their meetings and the side slit reveals her thigh. His eyes roam more than he intends to when she leans over her desk in it. And ever since she’s noticed the effect it has on him she’s been wearing that thing whenever she needed the upper hand. Which in turn also meant he would have to deny himself the chance to bend her over her desk that night.
“Ey,” Rio nods before he turns to Mick who gives him an apologetic sigh.
He told him he had to ask her where Rio was when he didn’t answer. Hers was the last place he went. Rio saw a few missed calls from her as well. And he would’ve called her, eventually. He just needed to wind down, put some space between them and figure out what to do next. Because the way she affects him is clearly fucking with his business. Not that it hasn't before. It’s just affecting it in a whole new way that he doesn’t know how to deal with.
“ 'Ey?'" she parrots, "Are you serious?”
“You seem like you need one of these,” Rio raises his glass and swirls it around without looking at her again and nods at Mick to fix her one. But before he has a chance, Elizabeth’s grabbing his glass and smashing it against the floor.
He slips off his stool and turns to face her, their faces only inches apart as he straightens up, his jaw clenched so tight he feels his muscles itch. But she doesn’t even blink. Of course she doesn’t.
“Where were you?”
“None of your concern, sweetheart.”
“I called."
Rio nods and chuckles unkindly before agreeing in a drawl, “Yeah. A bunch of times.”
“He called me," she points her finger at Mick, voice brittle like glass," Telling me you went AWOL.”
“Yeah, and I’m here now, aren’t I?” he bites the inside of his lip, nostrils flaring, all amusement gone from his face now.
Why the hell won’t she drop it?
Elizabeth just stares at him disbelievingly. He can vaguely hear Mick mutter something before the door of the bar opens and closes with a creak.
“I fucking hate you,” she bites out.
“Yeah?" Rio cocks one eyebrow and juts out his bottom lip, steps even closer to crowd her in before he adds in a husky tone barely above a whisper, "Well right back at ya, darlin’.”
He rocks his jaw, but his eyes are already downcast, and by the way that he's pressed into her he knows she can feel his cock hardening between them. Her eyes reflect the glare he must be wearing as well.
But then she's surging up for a bruising kiss, ending with her biting into his bottom lip, and hard, making it bleed. He licks off the drop of blood there before he's picking her up, her arms already around his neck as he walks them backwards to set her down on the bartop, pushing up her dress hurriedly as she puts one of her heeled feet on the barstool for purchase, the other over his shoulder. He rips off her panties, nudges her thighs further apart, and when her heel digging into his shoulderblade urges him to move faster, he groans in approval as his mouth finds her soaking wet already.
Rio wonders if it's some twisted joke of fate how much they still want each other, even at times like these when they want nothing more than to tear into the other and twist. And she asked him once before: when does it end? He knew it even back then but is more sure than ever now that the answer is never. Not while they're both still kicking. They'll always be finding excuses to drag each other back down for more.
He curls his fingers around her thighs to draw her in closer, feels her pulsing around his tongue already before he replaces it with his two fingers, and she slumps back on her elbows, throwing her head back with a moan.
Dragging his tongue over her slick clit, he's intoxicated by the taste of her on his tongue, the way she responds to his touches, feels under his fingers and the scent of her skin that he's sure has invaded his every pore and is now triggering some chemical reaction in him whenever she's near. She feels like a fuckin' addiction. Plain and simple.
His calloused palm slides up her soft stomach to push her down until she's splayed flat on her back, her head almost hanging from the bar, completely at the mercy of his tongue and fingers. Her fingers curl around the edge of the bartop, knuckles turning white. It isn't long then until her heel is digging into his back again and she's choking on broken moans as Rio licks her through her orgasm. When he removes his fingers she lets out a desperate little sound that makes him harder if that's even possible.
She's straightening up, her cheeks flushed, chest heaving while she tries to catch her breath. She drops back to her feet and tries to straighten out her clothes.
“Don’t ever do that again.”
“Do what?”
“You — " She takes a steadying breath. “ I thought you were dead.”
And Rio laughs. It’s mean. He knows, but he just can’t help it, “I thought you’d be happier to think that, sweetheart. After all, you did try to off me yourself, what, twice now?”
And he doesn’t see it coming when her palm connects with his cheek. He rocks his jaw, moves to cradle it, but then he changes course and grabs her by her shoulders instead, hard enough to bruise but she doesn’t wince or break her glare.
“Don’t ever do that again,” he echoes in a growl.
“Then stop being a dick,” she hisses in return.
“Elizabeth,” he pulls her into him roughly, and she looks up to hold his gaze, her wild eyes still filled with rage. And good. Because he's done playing with her.
“Go home.”
He lets go of her and she stares at him a beat longer before storming out the door and slamming it shut so hard the glass shakes in its frame so loud it should’ve shattered.
He pours himself another drink, cradles it between his fingers as he stares at his feet.
Rio knows it’s been long enough. He hasn’t exactly forgiven her, but they’ve moved past it way before they restarted all of this. It’s cruel to throw it in her face now after all this time.
It’s just this day. This fuckin' day. A reminder of how stupid it was to pretend they could ever truly move on and be anything more than they've always been. That it wouldn’t affect his business. That it wouldn’t eventually put one of them in front of a barrel of a gun again.
It hasn't been five minutes when he hears the door open and close again and he sighs. He's drained; isn't sure if he has it in him to do it all over with her again tonight.
“When you left...” her voice is shaky when she finally speaks. He doesn't look back at her.
“...you didn’t even wake me up," she lets out a humorless laugh. "It’s all I could think about ever since Mick called.”
Something inside him cracks and splits. A huge rock breaking off a cliff. And it feels like the longest free fall, always does with her. Always suspended in the fuckin' air, unable to climb up or reach solid ground.
He huffs. Looks at her finally and tips his head towards the stool next to him.
"Sit down. Have a drink," he pulls out the barstool next to him.
She just looks at him for a minute before she walks around him and finally sits down.
They nurse their drinks in silence, staring ahead, their eyes meeting only in silent 'cheers' when he refills their glasses.
They're on their third one when he finally speaks.
“That shampoo of yours. What is it?”
Her head snaps towards him. She stares at him, confused, probably wondering if he's lost his damn mind. He wonders that himself.
“Guava. Why?”
He frowns, still staring ahead, “There’s something floral in there as well.”
Elizabeth shakes her head, further perplexed, “Lotus flower? What are you — ”
“It’s all I could think of. That and... that I should've woken you up.”
She's still looking at him and after a minute he finally turns to meet her gaze. Her mouth opens and closes.
And isn't that just like her; demanding shit from him but then not knowing what to do with it once she gets it. Now that he's laid his cards down she's gonna turn around and ignore him, stop showing up at drops, demand to be out. And he’s just so tired of repeating that cycle with her.
"Take me home."
He blinks. His gaze hasn't left hers, yet he missed the shift. Didn't expect the words coming out of her mouth.
His eyes dance around her face, take her in carefully before his lips turn up into a small smile.
"Okay."
*
They don't speak on the drive to her place, or once inside. She just beelines for the bedroom and he follows.
His fingers feel stiff as they undress each other hurriedly, yet somehow carefully. It's different tonight. Weighed with the few words that passed between them, but revealed too much. More than he ever planned to.
At first, it's fast and demanding. Desperate, like it hasn't been since before. She’s riding him pressed close to his chest as his fingers dig into her hips, slide up her back to hold her closer still. She rolls her hips with mesmeric abandon. Shallow breaths and wet mewls in his ear driving him to the far edge of sanity before she’s writhing in his arms, his cock in a lusty grip of her cunt until she's trembling and pulsing around him. It takes every last bit of his self-control not to follow her over the edge.
He gives them both a minute to recollect before he straightens up, lifting her with him until they’re sitting in the middle of the bed. The way she cleaves to him then makes his heart drip with something warm and heavy. She's in his lap, his feet crossed under her and hers wrapped around him.
And it's slow then.
The dark bedroom illuminated only by the moonlight shining through the door panels and making their skin glow, still slicked with a sheen of sweat from her enthusiastic stride. Rio moves the damp strand of hair off her face, slides his hand to cradle her nape as his mouth seeks out hers; palm of his other hand at the small of her back, drawing her to him like he could melt into her any moment, and stay there.
He'll never get used to how good she feels around his cock as her greedy warmth grips him with each thrust. How her tongue tastes licking into his mouth, spilling her little moans into their kiss. Her cheeks flushed and breathing ragged even at this slow pace. He loves how her eyebrows shoot up when she's loose like this, her pretty pink lips agape in silent moans. He wants to hear them spill from her lips, so he makes his thrusts firmer. And they do, little staccato moans that he knows so well he fuckin' dreams about them. When she unravels she pulls him right with her, and he knows that the sounds she makes as she feels him pulse deep inside her will haunt him in his bed for weeks.
Elizabeth shivers, goosebumps erupting under his fingers that are tracing a path up her back to end up at her nape.
"You cold?"
She shakes her head slowly peering at him with hazy eyes. He gets it. He's felt it too. The pinpricks under his skin. An exposed nerve. Bare and pinned on the dissection tray. She can reach inside and do her damage. He knows he can't go back after tonight, not without tearing himself up in the process and leaving some flesh behind.
They stay sitting like that for a while longer before they untangle; her forehead pressed into his shoulder, his arms wrapped tightly around her. And the way he feels in that moment is closest to touching the ground he's felt in a long time.
*
Her fingers are drawing slow circles up his arm, and the orange glow behind his eyelids tells him it's morning already. A slow smile tugs at the corners of his lips and her fingers move to trace their upwards path. The featherlight touch tickles, and he rolls his head to press a kiss into her palm and bite it lightly. She giggles and Rio opens his eyes to find hers traveling around his face, crinkled in the corners, still soft with sleep. He lets his fingers trail the side of her face, brush an unruly curl back behind her ear.
She smiles softly and as her eyes flutter shut again he lets his close for a moment longer as well.
They have time.