A/N: This is the end. I think its pretty good. :) Please review. Kelsey really likes reviews.

Nellie’s senses were overwhelmed by the feel of Sweeney’s mouth against her skin. He caressed every inch of her, his warm lips tracing her skin with affection and growing need. His fingers played with the laces of her apron, finding it increasingly hard to untie the damn thing with his lips glued to her. She could sense his struggle, and moved her hands toward the knot, willing to undo it in hopes of making haste. She felt her hand bump into his, and new instantly this was a mistake. He grabbed her hands, pushing them back up toward the head of the bed, holding them down by her wrists. “If I wanted your help, I would have asked for it,” he growled, looking her deep in the eyes. It was more than lust that shown, it was anger, it was revenge, and she knew she had a reason to be frightened.

When the apron finally disappeared, he had no patience for waiting. He would rip her damn clothing if he had to. He wanted her. He wanted her now. His lips crashed into hers once more, their tongues dancing in a fierce tango. She bit his tongue, darlingly, provoking him even further. She was frightened, true, but that was half the fun. Let him do what he wished—she was clay in his hands, and she wanted molding. He unfastened her dress quickly, much faster than the dreaded apron, only to find several more layers beneath it. “Women and their damn layers,” he hissed to himself. She was half exposed to him now, laying in a swarm of sheets and pillows with merely her undergarments on. He released his grip on her wrists, immediately moving his hands up and down the newly exposed skin of her sides and abdomen.

His touch felt wonderful, her nerves tingling with a sensation she hadn’t felt in years. His touch provoked her and warmed her body to an unimaginable degree. Her skin pounded against his touch, pleading for more of him, for all of him.

Her hands now free, she tugged at his shirt, unbuttoning it as hastily as possible. She now understood his anger and frustration with her apron—his shirt was easy and yet she was becoming impatient, let alone his struggle with the knot.

His shirt now lay sprawled on the floor with her apron. She stopped for a moment, studying his muscular body. He was incredibly toned, his abdomen hard and taut. She ran her hands up and down him, her fingernails brushing gently against his skin, making him shiver. She could tell he enjoyed this, as a soft growl—possibly a moan—has escaped his throat. She enjoyed his teasing, but teasing him in return was even better. They were perfect counterparts, making love and making war at the same time.

She fumbled with his trousers, tossing his belt aimlessly across the room. Their lips molded together once more, sucking, biting, tasting one another with a hunger that was building with every passing moment. With every second’s passing, she ached for him more, as he ached for her. She feared making the first move, yet she wondered if more provoking would cause him to reach his peak, ready to invade her with feverish longing.

They both lay in their underwear, waiting for who would make the move toward the next point of passion. Finally, she broke, unable to take the prolonging any longer. “Please,” she whispered, her fingers running against the elastic of his knickers.

He snickered, continuing to run his hands up and down her. “Good things come to those who can wait,” he teased, unfastening her bra and slowly but forcefully moving her arms as to pull the final pieces of closing off. He threw it onto the floor, a pile of their clothing now forming. He gazed at her. She really was beautiful, whether he wanted to admit it. And he had fallen for her, again, whether he really wanted to admit it or not.

Nellie shivered as Sweeney moved toward her breast, his hands and lips massaging her. She ran her fingers through his hair, pushing his lips harder against her, sucking every point that made her squeal in ecstasy. She ran her hands down him, pulling his remaining clothing off, feeling his naked body against her bare skin. He returned the favor, removing the last of her underwear.

They gazed at each other momentarily, both shivering slightly in anticipation. They were both ready, both unable to wait another second more. He positioned himself between her legs, placing his palms against the pillow in which Nellie’s head lay. He looked at her once more, and she nodded, giving her signal.

She gasped as he entered her, wrapped her legs around his waist as to give him more leverage. Her eyes fluttered, her body thrusting hard against the bed, the bedpost clanging against the wall of the parlor. He growled with every thrust into her, pushing harder and harder with each entry.

Nellie choked, a small squeal leaving her throat as the ecstasy built within her. Her eyes closed, color flashing before them. She ran her fingers through his hair with one hand, the other on the bed, trying to keep herself steady. The pace was increasing, and she couldn’t believe the pleasure that ran through her as he claimed her. It was an unexplainable feeling, and she needed more.

She looked at him, panting and sweating, his own eyes closed in fixation and concentration. She realized he was waiting for her, waiting for her pinnacle before his. She pulled him to her with her legs, trying to get more of him, all of him. “Come on Nellie,” he growled, thrusting as hard as he possibly could. He bit her, his teeth sinking into her neck, sucking on her exposed neck. With that, she was off, clenching her eyes shut and arching forward as her body gave way to him. Sweeney crashed his lips against her. She screamed into him, a powerful scream that could wake the devil. Her fingernails clenched hard in his back, climaxing so hard her body shook in ecstasy. She lost all sense of sight, sense of sound, sense of reality. She could feel his nails digging into her skin as well, no doubt the result of him experiencing his own.

She shook beneath him, sweat and goosebumps felt on them both. She kissed him softly, still catching her breath. It had been harder than love making, it was an allowed violation, and while she had enjoyed every moment of it, she knew she would be sore. He was always rough, and this was no exception. Making war with him was better than any apology. “I accept your apology,” she growled, running her fingers once more through his hair.

He laughed with her, a genuine laugh, and she smiled. And they slept.

Their beddings weren’t an every day occurrence. That is, until Sweeney had a reason to apologize. Then ‘I’m Sorry’ gave justification to their love making. Or war-making. But you’re the judge of that.

Fin