Title: The Perfect Argument

Pairing: Stephanie and Ranger

Rating: M

Warning: Sexually Explicit Content. If that sort of thing offends you, or you are not of age, please turn around.

A/N: This is a prequel to A Good Morning. If you haven't read that, you can read it after this, or if you are not into smut, by itself.

I wrote this awhile ago after A Good Morning, but was really nervous about posting it because it is my first smut, though I was told it's more romantic sex than smut. I have been facing a major writer's block lately and went back to read some of your comments from A Good Morning for some encourgement, and thought that I would at least show my appreciation with this. It really did help, so thanks, and please review this too! Can't wait to know what you think!


Steph's POV:

The elevator doors swish open, and I push through in front of him. He's barely unlocked the door and I'm walking in quickly, throwing my purse and jacket over a chair.

I wish that the reason for my haste was what it normally was. I wish that I was kicking off my heels so that in the second it would take for him to wrap that arm around my back and make me lose any conscious thought with that mouth and those fingers, I would be ready.

But I'm not.

I'm not losing the shoes or the jacket or the purse to make this go faster. I'm not rushing so that I can get that man all over and in me, so that I can feel that delectable body under my lips.

I'm losing my shoes so I have enough balance to get into my attack stance.

I'm taking off my jacket so I can wave my arms.

My purse is lying on the chair so that when I feel the need to exhibit a number of Italian hand gestures or maybe to deliver a firm poke in that hard chest, my hands will be free.

I turn and glare.

He's watching me from the doorway.

He looks relaxed, but I can almost feel the tension in his shoulders. And the blank face is in place.

I know it's a mask. He hasn't worn it around me, when we're alone, for over a month.

He does now though.

He doesn't realize, or maybe he does, but has no other way to handle this, that his mask is more of an indicator to me than any expression that could possibly grace his handsome face.

"What's going on?"

I impress myself. My voice is level. It is even. I don't sound nearly as angry as I feel.

"What do you mean, Babe?"

I'm no longer going for impressive.

"What do I mean? What do I mean? Damn it Ranger! You've been an asshole for the past week. We just had the date from hell. We never have the date from hell. So what the fuck is going on?"

He stares at me.

I hate him for his silence.

I hate him for being so damn calm when I feel like I'm about to burst.

I hate him for not just making me angry, but for simultaneously making me feel like my insides have been ripped to shreds, and I can't do anything but cry with the pain of it.

He calmly moves towards the couch, sitting down, calmly sitting down, and I just want to tear him apart so that he can feel some of the emotion that is sending shockwaves through my body.

"Say something Ranger!" I finally yell, feeling my voice strain with the effort.

I know he can tell I'm close to losing it.

I can't keep doing this. I can't keep on feeling this distance, this coolness from him.

I can't do this if he won't.

Ranger's POV:

I don't know how to do this.

I can handle her anger, but this is something else.

She's unraveling before my eyes.

And I can't do anything to stop it. Or if I can, I'm at a loss for what that is.

I hate being at a loss for what to do. But I've never done this before.

I have no excuse. No reason to act this way towards her. We've been perfect, perfect for two months.

It happened a week ago. It wasn't some astounding life or death situation. We had had those before.

I always thought it would be.

Isn't it supposed to be like that, dramatic, life altering?

But it wasn't.

It happened when I wasn't prepared. It happened when I was least expecting it.

And I hated surprises.

She had been sitting on the couch in the Bonds Office.

I didn't think she had noticed me, though she normally did.

I noticed Connie's breath catch and Lula's eyes bug out of her head.

She had giggled.

"Hi Ranger."

And I was gone.

I managed to pull her out of the office, into the back alley and was kissing her senseless before I realized that I couldn't hear a thing, couldn't hear anything with her giggle ringing in my ears.

I left. I got in my car and drove. I drove and I drove and I drove until I could finally hear the roar of the Porsche's engine.

I drove and realized I had no idea what to do but drive.

I found myself at my parents' house. I hadn't really realized I was there until I was knocking on the door and my Mother was beaming up at me and ushering me inside for dinner.

"What's wrong, Carlos?" she asked me softly after dinner, handing me a soothing cup of tea, breaking my silence.

I ran a shaking hand through my hair.

"I don't know what to do with this, Mama," I managed.

It wasn't very eloquent, and if she was a lesser woman, she might not have understood it.

But she understood me.

I hated to be out of control. I hated not knowing what to do.

"What is it?" she asked again.

I sighed.

"I'm in love with a woman, a perfect, beautiful, intelligent woman, and I have no idea how to handle that. I have her body and her mind; I think I have her heart, too. But I don't know what to do with this feeling. It's all consuming; I'm sick with it."
A grin broke out onto her face.

"Well you tell her of course," she said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, as if that would solve this overload of emotion, and she ushered me out, demanding I visit with said woman in the very near future.

I drove again.

But this time, I was at her apartment.

But when she asked me, asked me if I was okay, I opened my mouth and nothing came out. I couldn't stand that.

How did I explain it?

So I am sitting here, staring at this woman who I love more than anything, and she is watching me, raging and breaking and looking like everything in the world is wrong and everything's perfect.

Or should be perfect.

How do I explain that nothing's wrong? That I don't know how to deal with this type of emotion? That I've been treating her like an asshole for a week because I'm so utterly terrified of being dependent on anyone, and I've realized I already live and breathe for this little white girl from the Burg.

"Well?"

"Be quiet, Steph," I tell her, and though my voice is soft, not harsh, she looks taken aback as I pull her to the couch and run a hand through my hair.

I've never told her to be quiet before.

I've never wanted her to be. I love that voice chattering away about nothing and everything. I love that she can't keep her mouth shut or her cute little body still for more than a couple minutes. I love those lips moving.

But it has the desired effect.

A switch has gone off in her head. As she watches me rest my elbow on my knee and rub my forehead with my hand, she knows I'm not cheating or leaving or ending us.

She can tell this is in my head.

"Steph," I say, and I finally look at her, "Nothing's going on. That's why I can't explain. Nothing's wrong. In fact, everything's perfect."

"What do you mean!" she yells, and I can tell the switch has flipped back.

She thinks I'm not listening.

I kiss her this time.

She jerks away after a second but remains quiet.

"I'm in love with you."

I say it and I meet her eyes and I'm more terrified than I can remember being since I pulled her out of a coffin and thought she was dead.

"I'm sorry," I say, "I'm not very good at this. I didn't know what to do."

I let the intense vulnerability I'm feeling slip into my eyes for a moment, and I can hear her breath catch in her throat.

She half laughs, half cries, "You did it, Carlos."

Thank God she's back to calling me by my name. I don't mind Ranger in public or on occasion. But during an argument it feels distinctly and pointedly non-intimate.

"You told me. That's what you do about it. You tell me."

She pulls me to her, and I bury my head in her curls.

Its times like these that I realize that while I may be physically stronger, seemingly in control, she is the one with all the power.

"I'm in love with you," she whispers, "I have been, for forever."

I pull back and look at her.

And for the first time in a week, I smile. A real smile.

"So this is what I do? I tell you?"

"Yeah," she grins, a wolf grin that makes my slacks feel oddly tight, "Yeah, you tell me. And then you make love to me like there's no tomorrow."

"I can do that," I say, "But that's my point Babe," she smiles as I lower my body over hers on the couch, "There is a tomorrow. There's a tomorrow, and the day after that, and every day after that. For the rest of our lives."

She sighs, smiles softly, satisfied.

God do I love this woman.

Stephanie's POV:

He's in love with me. Ricardo Carlos Manoso is in love with me.

Be still my heart.

Not only is he in love with me, but he's leaning over me, pushing me into the cushion, about to love my body.

I didn't think I could feel any better than I did a few seconds ago, but as his strong hand reaches into my hair and his soft, full lips settle over mine I know that the physical ecstasy of sex cannot compare to what I'm feeling now, this thing that has suddenly changed between us. I don't know how I could possibly survive his body in mine when just his lips feel like this.

His free hand slips beneath my dress as his tongue slips into my mouth and I can only gasp in breath for half a second when he strokes the outside of my thigh.

In minutes he has me trembling. My dress has been hastily discarded and his lips are covering the expanse of my chest that is exposed while his hands continually roam through my hair, down my stomach, onto my legs, just briefly, feather like across the stretch of lace over my center. So far I have only managed to unbutton his silk shirt and it remains hanging on his perfect body as I unbutton his pants, gasping as he quickly unsnaps my bra and pulls it from my body, sucking a hardened nipple into his mouth. I arch and try to remember how to breathe.

Ranger's POV:

Dear God if she moans like that again I think I might come in my pants. She's so close to being naked and I can hardly figure out what I want to kiss first. I've settled on her breasts: they're firm and soft and Dios, she smells incredible. Her skin tastes like honey and Stephanie and I can't get close enough, get enough of her in my mouth, in my body.

I want to consume her.

This, this is not enough. I want to be so far inside of her that it seems we melt together and I can't figure out where she ends and I begin.

I've moved my lips down her abdomen, down to the top of those lacy panties that drive me crazy the second I see her put them on and realize that they're all I'll be able to picture in my brain until I'm pulling them off of her. I can't help the sigh that slips through my lips as I maneuver them down those long legs. Kissing up her shins, past her knee and onto her thigh, I slow, passing her center, closing my eyes and inhaling her scent for just a moment before moving over to the other thigh.

I know that Stephanie likes my shower gel because every time she exits the shower she smells like me.

I, however, have reached a new level of obsession with the way she smells. Not just her singular smell, but her smells. There is the smell of her skin, soft and sweet. The smell of her hair, strawberries. I never understood the idea of fruity smelling things. I could never understand why somebody could possibly want to smell like something they would eat. Now I understand it.

It's hypnotizing.

It's delicious.

It makes me want to eat her.

God, It makes me want to devour her.

Then, there is the smell that I'm receiving now, when I have settled over her center and am parting her, lowering my mouth to her, listening to her sigh and losing all sense past the utter overwhelming surrounding of how she smells, how she tastes, how she feels, writhing when I do this to her.

I think I've found heaven.

I know she has when I bring my fingers down and push them inside of her, feeling her pulse around them, groaning at the dampness. Her back arches and I feel like I might spontaneously combust.

Watching her come is possibly the single most erotic experience of my life, no matter how many times I see it. Her whole body moves, she screams, she gasps in pleasure and I can do nothing but keep pushing, wanting to see her do this again and again and again until she can't move anymore. I don't know how much harder I can get until she is unconsciously grasping at her own nipple as I stay with her, eyes slanted upward, watching.

Dios.

Deep breaths.

Joder.

More deep breathing.

Mi Dios, Amora.

I kiss back up her body, not able to look away as she continues to twitch beneath me.

If I'm not inside her soon I'm going to explode.

She groans and then pulls her hands off the couch, roping them into my hair, pulling me down and slipping her tongue into my mouth while simultaneously devouring me with those lips.

Hers slip away and she whimpers.

"Please Carlos," she moans, music to my ears.

She always tests my control.

"Please what, Amora?"

"Please, please make love to me. I want you inside of me."

I push my fingers beneath her and kiss her, parting her lips and slipping my tongue into her waiting mouth. Standing without breaking the kiss, I carry her swiftly into the bedroom, lying her down on the bed.

"I don't want to wait anymore, Carlos," she says, and I can feel myself twitch, "Now. Please."

I hastily discard my pants and crawl up her body, grasping her hands and bringing them above her head, kissing her lips. I slip inside her the slightest amount I can manage.

Dios she's soaking wet and so hot it feels like she's already engulfing me she's radiating so much heat. I push a little bit further inside of her and listen to her sigh as I grit my teeth in an effort to only enter her a fraction at a time.

There is no experience more satisfying and utterly all consuming, so incredibly pleasurable as being inside this woman.

When I am finally all the way inside of her she gasps and my eyes roll into the back of my head. She is so tight, so drenched and hot that I have to hold her hips steady and focus to regain control before even contemplating moving.

By the time I begin my slow rhythm I can't help but groan.

She is perfect.

Stephanie's POV:

I can't breathe properly with him inside of me. It feels like he is trying to crawl inside my body and I want to cry and welcome him in closer, because he can never be close enough. Not when he feels like this. Not when I can feel him full and amazing inside me, feel his hands grasped tightly in mine, those huge, magnificent hands that tantalize and torture and pleasure me, that caress and soothe me, that love me in every sense. Those lips of his, those pillowy lips that I would die for are back on mine and I'm sucking his lower one into my mouth and its perfect.

He's perfect.

We move perfectly.

Together.

Us. Together.

I urge him to go faster with my body and he reads it, the same way he reads me, and moves faster, faster so that I'm beginning to lose myself in him and the sensations of his body. His lips pull away from me and those chocolate eyes are staring into mine and my breath catches.

Just like that I'm gone.

I'm screaming his name and pushing against him and he's moving harder, faster, panting into my ear and I can't think any longer, I can only feel.

Everything feels perfect.

His groan somehow penetrates my pleasurable fog and I get another surge of waves of ecstasy as I feel him empty inside of me.

And the next thing I know, he's next to me, stroking my hair, pulling me to him and whispering to me in Spanish.

I finally open my eyes.

I'm met with his brown ones.

His face breaks into a smile.

"You okay, baby?"

"God yes," I say.

We're quiet for awhile, and then he leans forward and kisses me softly.

"I love you, Babe."

I smile and my heart flutters in my chest.

"I love you too."
He wraps strong arms around me and I am warm and content.

Ranger's POV:

She feels fantastic.

I'm pretty sure that was the best orgasm of my life, but then again, this is Stephanie, so I can't really be sure. Especially since I'm pretty sure I made the same assessment a week ago when we were in the shower.

As I wrap my arms around her, she lets out a little sigh and I can't help the smile creeping over my face. She's perfect, and she's mine.

I feel her breathing steadying and her eyes closing against my neck. Kissing her curls, I sigh to myself.

Apparently I need to invite my family, namely my mother, over for a thank you dinner.

"Amora," I whisper, as I begin to drift off too.

Lover.

I love you.

The tension in my chest yields and I am filled with something else. Something equally consuming but not quite as unmanageable.

Because she loves me back.

Perfect.


Hope you enjoyed this. Please drop me a review and let me know what you think!