DISCLAIMER: Don't own 'em. Willing to stage a coup.
A/N: Companion piece to "Need You Tonight." This one is from Woody's POV. And hey, two down in my vast collection of works-in-progress on the hard drive. Apparently, my brain decided to kick in today. Now, if only my work projects could get done…
DEDICATION: If you don't know who you are by now…
LAST NOTE: If you are not 18, please go read something else. If you are over 18, let me know if you enjoyed this – after the cold shower.
Need You Tonight: Woody's POV
I didn't know if she'd even answer my knock at her door, but I had to try. I'd seen her – briefly – this afternoon. Garret and Lily had been with her, radiating a mute warning, a protective order meant to keep away any and all members of the BPD and the D.A.'s office. She'd only been at the precinct long enough to sign a statement and accept the apologies of the captain. I'd caught her eyes just once. She'd looked away.
I didn't know what I'd say to her. Did I want credit? Did I want her to acknowledge that I'd spent the last three and a half months of my life putting my career on the line almost daily for her? That I'd walked out on a relationship I'd thought was working? That since the big break Nigel'd found three days ago, I'd only been home once? Slept only a few fleeting hours? Or did I just need to see her, hear her, touch her – her hand, her shoulder, her cheek, anything – just to know she was really safe and really back with us? With me. I didn't know and I didn't care. I wanted to erase the last year, wave a magic wand, slay the dragon and start over from that moment in the hospital. Once upon a time….
I heard her at the door, knew from the small shift of light that she was checking the peephole. I met what I imagined was her deep brown gaze and prayed to every saint I could think of. I heard the scrape of a chain and the flip of the deadbolt and the door opened.
The adrenaline I'd been living on melted away at the sight of her. Exhaustion and the booze I'd consumed trying to get my nerve up to come see her took over. I bounced off the doorframe and stumbled into her place. And into her arms. She reached for me as if nothing had changed. I felt her fingertips on my arms and I couldn't pull her to me fast enough.
What was I going to say? What did she want me to say? Did she want to yell at me? To lump me in with the others – with Lu – who'd rationalized away some pretty hard evidence just to keep her in the frame? Suddenly, it didn't matter. I kicked the door shut behind us and, keeping her close, took her mouth with mine.
I felt the tiniest flicker of hesitation within her and then it was gone. I needed her so damn much. I whispered the thoughts tumbling in my brain. "Want you, Jordan. Want to fuck you." She shivered delightfully despite the crude vulgarity of my words and matched my fervor, slanting her lips against mine, opening them to me when I skated my tongue along them. I'd tasted her before – those chaste kisses or two and that night at the Lucy Carver Inn – but those seemed like some pale imitation, a colorless, bland mixture compared to now. I didn't think I could ever get enough of her. She tasted of wine and cinnamon sugar and something that could only be her own ineffable taste.
I didn't recall her apartment being this big. Clearly, it had doubled, maybe even trebled in size since my last visit because it was taking way too long to reach her bed. I wrapped my arms around her more tightly and hoisted her up against me, feeling her heat against my body, feeling my body react as if it had been fed electricity. Without ever breaking the kiss, I bore her toward the mattress, my body already aching for her.
As much as I wanted to make love to her, to spend as much time as it took to learn her body, to map every contour, to measure every angle of her, it wasn't what either of us needed. For perhaps the first time in our long, complicated relationship, we were on the same page. It was the sort of page my aunt would have grounded me for reading when I was a teenager, but we could tell the gentle stories later, explore the sweet chapters ahead at our leisure.
I jerked up her t-shirt, pulling it over her head, tangling her hair in enchanting curls and waves around her face. I didn't give her any time, getting out of my own constraining shirt and tie and brushing away her fingers as she tried to undo her jeans. I was almost rough with her, but she seemed to understand it came from a desperate, needy place deep inside.
I caught her hands, my mind registering for a moment that her wrists in my grasp were too thin, and then I was nudging apart her legs with one knee, reaching between her thighs. Her heat almost overwhelmed me. I slid a finger along the intimate seam of her body, feeling her moisture coat my skin. She gasped and buckled into me when my fingertip found its goal, the nub of flesh at the top of her folds. Holding her to me, I moved my finger back down, reveling in her soft, wet heat. She cried out when I pushed that finger inside her. I stroked her, reaching as deeply as I could, moving smoothly, teasing her sensitive flesh as much as either of us could stand. It didn't take much before she whimpered my name.
"God, you're wet," I whispered into her hair and felt her shudder against me. I brushed my cheek over hers, knowing the roughness would tingle and scratch at her skin, wanting to mark her in some small way. I pushed her gently and she was falling onto the bed with me following her. I gave her no time to collect her thoughts, no time to do anything but feel as I guided myself into her. She gave a wordless, beautiful cry and I stilled within her. I stared down at her until she opened her eyes and stared back at me, her honey-colored irises warm and alight with passion. I lowered my mouth to her ear and murmured, "Next time I'll make love to you, Jo. That's not what this is about though."
For a few long heartbeats she simply gazed up at me before, finally, she shook her head. Her words – as crude and base as mine had been – told me she was as desperate for this as I was. "Fuck me, Woody."
I held myself up on my arms and pulled back, almost out of her and then thrust back fiercely, sharply until I was buried in her tight body. She arched against me, her pelvis grinding against mine, demanding more. Her heels locked around my back as I wove my fingers into her hair, caging her head, taking her mouth in a possessive, almost brutal kiss. We moved together, stroke for hard, smooth stroke. It didn't take her long to begin to move erratically, to moan almost continuously, making these breathtaking little sounds that I had no idea could be so erotic. I slid my free hand between us, stroking the engorged bundle of nerves at the top of her opening, pinching gently, flicking, pressing until I could feel her muscles tighten around me and then she was climaxing. I watched her beautiful face as release swept through her, pulsed within her. Truthfully, I didn't know if she'd come that night at the Inn, but this night I had no doubt. I wanted her mindless in my arms, aware of only the pleasure of our joined bodies so I kept moving inside her, hitting the sweet spot over and over again, my fingers never lessening the pressure on that sensitive nub of flesh. Not until she was limp beneath me, her voice soft, my name almost a sob on her lips, did I relent. Watching her, feeling her body pull at mine a few last times, did me in. My control fractured and I joined her. She shivered when I came, letting me know she could feel it. Her nails dug into my back, letting me know she liked feeling it.
My arms might as well have been al dente pasta for all the strength I had, but somehow I kept from crushing her. She didn't complain, didn't push at me though. If anything, she wriggled beneath me, seeming to enjoy the feel of my weight on her. Her head lolled to one side, exposing the soft skin of her neck. I pressed a kiss onto the curve of sinew and then bore down, need primal and insistent again. She was mine; I wanted – needed – her to know that. More than that, I wanted anyone who saw her to know it. In the barely functioning recesses of my rational mind I expected her to push me away, to protest. Jordan Cavanaugh didn't belong to any man – never had and never would. She didn't though, just canted her head a bit more, giving me more access to the soft, silken flesh I was so intent on marring.
Satisfied and feeling as needy and untried as a shy seventeen year old virgin, I moved back to her mouth and kissed her again. Part of me ached to be tender with her and that part waited for her to demand – oh so quietly – that I stop my onslaught, but the deeper part, the piece of me that had been so fearful for so long that I'd never see her, never hold her, never touch her again won the brief battle. I knew I wasn't taking anything she wasn't eager to give – her every reaction told me that.
Even as I kissed my way down her neck, her hands began to explore my chest, to wander in the coarse hair there and to trace the shape of the muscles beneath the skin. Her fingers, so capable and deft, moved slowly lower until I retook control of the situation. She gripped my shoulders and threw her head back as I sucked one nipple into my mouth. Over and over I washed my tongue over the taut bud, nipped gently, pulled with teeth and lips until she could do nothing more than hang on for the ride. I massaged the other breast with one hand, her moans and inchoate pleas shooting hot messages straight to my groin.
My control was close to breaking, but I wanted hers utterly shattered first. My mouth released her and my libido exulted at her whimper of loss. I soothed her by nipping, licking and kissing my way down her body, throwing an arm over her belly, restraining her as my fingers found her body's opening. She trembled, her breath rushing in and out, small syllables of need and desire filling the air. Despite my arm, she bucked sharply when I drew my tongue along that opening.
I breathed against her, inhaling her scent, letting the memory of her taste flood me. I'd done this before – at the Inn – back when we were different people. Circumstances had conspired against us, from paper-thin walls (as we knew all too well) to the fact we both tacitly ignored – that she was involved with someone else. The element of unreality had constrained us; the knowledge that another world waited beyond the snow had sapped the moment of its true sweetness. I wouldn't let that happen again and I planned on proving it to her. I stroked her with my tongue, top to bottom and back again until she writhed beneath me, until she had no idea that she was screaming with pleasure. That was when I gave in and moved back up her body, feeling her reach for me even as I did so.
Her hand on my length made me shiver with pleasure. She began to stroke and was soon tugging me toward her. I doubt a half an hour had passed, but I already ached to be inside her again, to bury myself in her and feel her flesh grip at me, ripple around me. Her name fell in a whisper from my lips as I moved inside of her. We twined our hands and moved together. This time she followed me over the edge into bliss.
"I love you," she murmured as we lay together. The words had rushed from her like a runaway train, but she made no effort to take them back. I couldn't help but smile against her. "I never stopped."
A lock of her hair clung to her face. I freed one hand and slipped the errant hair behind her ear. Gently, slowly, my finger taking in every tactile sensation of her face, I then traced a line down her cheek. "I love you, too, Jo. I've given up on ever loving anyone else."
She chuckled at me and approved, telling me she was pretty sure she could be the jealous type and that she did know how to commit the perfect murder.
I smiled down at her, hardly daring to believe she was real, that this was real. We'd both done so much to screw it all up, but here we were anyway. I kissed her before rolling off of her and pulling her into my arms. I needed to apologize for the way I'd behaved – crudely, aggressively, disrespectfully. She hushed me though, assuring me she really had enjoyed every bit of it.
Spent, emotionally and physically, we drifted off to sleep. When I woke up, it was still dark. She was still in my arms. I thought briefly of the other time I'd woken up with her spooned against me like this. As now, she'd woken up first that time; unlike then. I could tell from the way she relaxed into me that she had no qualms.
"What time is it?" I breathed into her ear, knowing already the night was not over.
Her voice was soft and sleep-slurred. "Don't know. It's still dark."
I felt the blood tingling in my veins again, desire pooling in my groin. We teased back and forth for a moment, the words easy, the emotions finally just right. I knew we'd have our share of problems, but I also knew that for the first time we really stood a chance. We'd come far too close to losing this fragile thing between us not to fight for it again.
I reminded her of my earlier promise and leaned down to kiss her. This kiss was soft, but just as hot and arousing, as necessary as breath to both of us. She sighed softly as we pulled apart, our foreheads resting against each other. She opened her eyes and smiled at me. I was utterly lost.