alwaysright | October 29, 2007

October 29, 2007 - Evening

Nothing around here works the way it's supposed to work.

Of everything their John Doe--Robert Elliot--had said when Foreman had been with him, that was what rang the most true. It was stupid to think that talking with a patient with Giovianni's syndrome could change anything, least of all how he saw himself. The guy wasn't psychic; he was only picking up on the cues that Foreman had dropped inadvertently. Changing because of that was worse than stupid. It would imply that not only was Foreman ignorant about his own feelings and what he wanted, but also that he was spineless enough to act differently because of a stranger's neurological disorder. Foreman made his own choices. He wasn't looking for any advice, whether it was his own reflected back at him or not.

After the day's humiliation, Foreman had been more sure than ever that Princeton wasn't the right place for him. Less than an hour later, Chase had come up to him, clapped a hand on his shoulder, and laughingly asked if it was true.

Foreman fixed him with a furious stare. "I didn't know she worked here. And I didn't have to beg her every day for weeks."

Chase, far from being offended, just grinned wider. "Once a week. Anyway, I heard Amber was the one calling the shots."

Foreman didn't bother pointing out that Cameron walked all over Chase on a daily basis. "I have to run a biopsy," he said, turning to walk away, his shoulders hunched as he pushed his fists into his pockets.

"She seems like just your type!" Chase called after him. "Did you ever consider lightening up and enjoying yourselves?"

Fat chance of that. Not with the whole hospital in on the joke and watching. For what it was worth, Foreman didn't have to work with Amber directly for the rest of the day. Both of them were too busy running cultures and keeping the patient alive. Foreman let House do whatever crazy thing entered his mind. He didn't have any illusions about being able to stop him today, and Foreman was more interested in keeping his head down. In thinking about how to get away.

But when House sidled up to him with a job offer from Mount Zion, Foreman's first thought wasn't to jump at the opportunity. It wasn't even to suspect that House was having him on, dangling the possibility with every intention of yanking it away the second Foreman seemed likely to believe it was real.

His first thought had been, I can't go yet.

That had surprised him more than anything, made him stop and frown once he'd finally shaken House off. After having his affairs aired in the middle of a differential like a choice piece of gossip he couldn't believe that there was any reason not to take up the job hunt again. Farther afield, where the hospitals wouldn't have heard of him, or had their diagnostics cases redirected to Princeton-Plainsboro, so that they'd only know House by his reputation, not by personal experience. Maybe as far away as California; Foreman still had contacts there.

But he didn't want to go.

Partly it was the medicine. He'd felt in the thick of it again today. Working against the clock to solve a case. Challenged, following the clues from one to the next. He'd always loved that, even if he hadn't been happy working for House. But partly, Foreman knew, it was Amber, and he didn't know what do about that. He'd been shot down enough, rejected enough, that he should want to stay away from her just to avoid any more scenes like this morning's. Even so, he couldn't stop thinking about her. Wondering what she really felt and whether the attitude she'd shown in front of House was all there was.

Well, it didn't matter. He wasn't going to ask. Once the case was solved, all Foreman wanted to do was gather his things and escape. It was late, and dark, and he headed for the doors slowly, already knowing he wouldn't have the same luck he'd had on Thursday. Nothing worked out the way it should.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

This—kisses, undressing, fucking-- Amber understood. Dominated. She knew what to do, how to do it, and when. It was familiar-- fun-- terrain, and Amber eagerly lost herself in those old, yet never boring, rites. She wouldn’t make a fool of herself. So determined to throw herself into the act, Amber barely took in Eric's room and his comment about wanting to see her.

With sex, the goal was simple: get everyone off. She could do that.

There was the shedding battle, to see who would get naked first; of course Eric sided with stripping her, and Amber fought back with the cunning ploy of unbuttoning his suit and pushing it off him. It fell to the floor with a rustle, though she didn't hear it, occupied with kissing Eric back, gasping softly as his fingertips encountered her bare skin.

His touch was so hot it burned her, through her surface and deeper, deeper. Amber sucked harder on Eric’s lip, pressing her tongue out together with a moan. They'd just fucked, no more than a few hours ago, and already she was this turned on, this needy. She knew why. They’d— in the hallway, they’d done something, talking, coming to terms, or simply making each other all the more confused. Whatever it was, it’d affected her physically, and she wouldn’t let herself think about it, not now. The last thing she wanted was to become so namby-pamby sensitive again. Now was about wanting, giving.

“You make me so hot,” Amber whispered, vehement. That was safe, nothing she hadn’t said before. Trailing her mouth down his chin was old business, too, pausing to nibble his jaw line. Still—even if she’d done this countless times, smelling Eric as she did so, tasting his sweat, it made her dizzier. She set to undo his shirt buttons, too, to ground herself.

Fingers trailing over Amber's stomach, Foreman was determined to study her by touch, reading Braille in the heat of her skin, the tone of her muscles. He felt them quiver, tense and relax with Amber's breathing. The silk of her top brushed the backs of his knuckles. He'd meant to push her shirt off right away, uncover her, so that he could spend the same unhurried time admiring every inch of her, his hands and mouth following where his eyes led him. As soon as he'd formed that intention, though, Amber distracted him, kissing him fiercely. Her hands were busy, pushing his suit coat off, moving to his shoulders and then back to his throat to start on his shirt buttons. His tie was already hanging loose. He was falling behind, while Amber moved with the same single-minded determination that had caught him off-guard so many times already. He had to catch up.

But Amber's words wiped away whatever he'd meant to do. It wasn't the first time she'd said something like that. I'm here for the man. You have no idea how much I like you. You make me so hot. Self-satisfaction roared through Foreman, making him far more than smug. Like he'd won a victory. Pride and heat, clenching low in his stomach, and the desire to prove to her that he could do more than that. She was going too fast, for all she'd told him she wanted this slow. Foreman inhaled quickly, realizing that. Amber would have him hard and desperate all too soon if he didn't fight for what she said she'd wanted. He took his hands from under her shirt and lifted them to her arms, his fingers circling her wrists. "So let me," he said, meeting her eyes for a moment. It was nearly a taunt. He was stronger than she was, and his grip, while not tight, would be hard for her to break. Pulling Amber's hands away from his shirt, hanging half-open now, Foreman raised an eyebrow to...ask her if this was all right, or to tease her by holding her still, he didn't know himself which. "Amber. Let me." He leaned in and kissed her again. Too lightly, slowing the pace, then moving lower. He tasted her throat, lingering, open-mouthed kisses guiding him from her jaw to her pulse point, then down to the notch at the base of her throat. God, she was right. So hot, burning against his lips. Foreman nosed aside the neckline of her shirt to follow the line of her collarbone, sucking hard and then teasing with just the tip of his tongue. Her skin was flushed pink, and Foreman wanted to follow that blush as far as it went. Amber was beautiful naked, but she was all the more provocative when he couldn't see everything, when he teased himself as much as her by leaving her clothes in place.

Trying to hold her back, was he. Defiance flashed within Amber, like lightning striking ground. These emotional entanglements might be new to her, but physical restraints, she'd dealt with those before.

"Let you what?" she asked, all coyness. Striking up her competitive spirit seemed to be the motivation she needed to snap her out of her uncharacteristic, and frankly, annoying, insecurity. It brought herself back to an Amber she knew and enjoyed. It felt good, liking running and laughing against the wind, to be herself again. "Tell me, Eric," she teased, just as she rotated her wrists and slid them from his grip, freeing herself.

But she could tell what he wanted, his every languid motion crying it out loud and clear. She embraced his head and, moaning, let him. Let him kiss her slow and careful, let him adore her and her body. More importantly, she let herself relish every sensation, discovering worlds of pleasure in the mere brush of his nose against her throat. Her heart thudded, loud and all-encompassing, the sound of a time-ancient drum beat.

Her fingers ran over his head, taking in the rough texture of his almost-baldness. It was so different from her own long, straight hair. More intriguing, too. Amber played, skirting the smooth skin behind his ears before caressing the crown of his head, pressing softly. If lingering was what he craved, then lingering she’d give to him. She tilted her face so as to lay her lips against his forehead, fingertips hovering down to the nape of his neck. Amber let her nails graze over the area, wondering if she’d find a sensitive spot. She hoped so. She wanted to drive him crazy.

Foreman should have been surprised at how easily Amber broke his hold, but instead, it felt completely natural. Of course she'd slip free of any attempt of his to control her. She'd probably fight even harder if he'd gripped her tightly. God, he could imagine her delight if he ever tried seriously to restrain her. She'd use everything, every trick, writhing away from him, rubbing against him, to distract him or slip away, if he tried anything of the sort. Foreman had played at tying up bed partners before--finally, something he'd actually done--but it had never felt real, only like a game. With Amber, he was certain, it would feel real. Fighting him off energized her, Foreman could hear it in her voice, and he grinned against her shoulder. "Let me touch you," he murmured. She already was, but he wanted more. She wasn't rushing now. Foreman could feel her matching his pace, starting to explore the way he was. Her fingertips brushed over his head, behind his ears, making him breathe in sharply. Her fingernails skimmed lines of electricity down the back of his neck. Shivers tightened to goosebumps across his chest and down his arms. His breathing picked up, nearly panting now, feeling like, no matter how slowly he went, it would always be a race until Amber drove him out of his skull with desire.

"Let me tease you." That, Amber was less likely to allow, and Foreman glanced up at her, smirking in challenge. Under her shirt, his palm traced a line up the center of her stomach to the clasp of her bra, opening it with a twist of his fingers. Brushing the cups aside with his palms, Foreman returned to kissing her, this time dragging his tongue over the sheer fabric of her shirt, until he'd found her nipple through the material. Foreman's breath caught. His cock was already firmer, fuller, from the sight, from the sound of Amber's breathing. "God, I want you," he said, his voice harsh and low. Wetted by his tongue, her shirt clung to the curve of her breast, outlining the tight peak of her nipple. Foreman bent to lick it, spiralling around her areola before closing his mouth on her nipple and sucking lightly, tongue teasing. With his hand, he reached up to find her other breast, his thumb brushing over her nipple and finding it hard, too. Quickly, he pinched it, a sharp contrast to the soft suction of his mouth. He raised his head, then, watching for her reaction, and said quietly, "Tell me what you want."

Good-- no, perfect. Amber smiled wide, pleased by reaction she'd elicited from Eric with so minor a touch. She liked knowing she could make him tremble and shiver with just a stroke of her nail. The power of it made her as excited, if not more, as when his hands had travelled up her shirt, his lips on her chest. Arousal built up inside her, coiling in her abdomen, but present all over, making her skin tingle.

Slow was nice.

"Alright," she breathed. He already was teasing her, bringing her stride down, pacing himself as if time were a useless thing to be squandered. She wanted to know what he considered teasing and what other, subtler sensations they could create through mellow exploration. But she had to half-laugh, half-moan, as his mouth covered her nipple. It seemed he wouldn't be so patient after all, no matter what he begged of her. "If you're able to, that is." Hair falling and sticking to her sweaty face as she peered down at him, Amber raised her eyebrows in a dare.

And then her head was tilting back, her mouth gaping as she took in the gasps of air she suddenly needed. "Bite me," she commanded, pulling his head closer. Her fingers tightened of their own accord, curling. Her hips too pulsed forward, seeking a surface to rub against, and found nothing. The sheer frustration of lacking friction between her legs, with the scent of Eric so strong it overwhelmed her, made her gush. If he meant to torture her by asking what she wanted and not delivering, then telling him what she desired was dangerous. But she couldn't resist. "Pinch my other nipple," she gasped. "Hard."

Amber's gasp, the swift clutch of her fingers, pulling him forward--Jesus, she was so hot. Her whole body tightened when he'd pinched her, like he'd electrocuted her with a touch, brought her to a peak of sensation and left her there, balanced, precarious. It was fucking gratifying to see it, hear it, taste it. Amber's impatience, pleasure, desire, they all echoed his. Heat throbbed through Foreman, and fuck, he was hard. He wanted to press against Amber. Show her how damn much he wanted her.

Teasing her meant he couldn't. Not yet. He'd felt her hips buck forward when he pinched her, heard her moan when it hadn't brought her any relief. He fucking loved her reactions. Loved how open she was, never holding back, and, Foreman was sure, never pretending she felt more than she did. She wasn't stroking his ego. Only giving in to her own enjoyment, and Foreman wanted to give her even more. He stayed close--her hands curved around the back of his head would hardly permit anything else--but he switched his mouth to Amber's other breast, sucking firmly. His fingers found her nipple, moist and tight from his attentions, and he pinched, hard, not letting go but rolling it between thumb and forefinger. Fuck, he wanted to hear her moan, louder, not giving a shit if anyone might hear--Foreman knew she'd held back, if only slightly, in the restaurant, and he'd been damn glad of it, but now he wanted to hear Amber's every hitching breath. Wanted to hear anything she'd demand of him. Through her shirt, Foreman took her nipple between his teeth, only hard enough to hold it in place while he ran his tongue over it, again and again.

Anything to drive her crazy. To make her ask for more. Come on. Amber. Tell me. Their first night, she'd straddled him, touched herself, told him everything she did to bring herself off--that had been at least partly performance, but fuck, it had riveted him, left him captivated and helpless as he watched her. Foreman wanted that. Amber had barely been able to speak, her orgasm coming over her and breaking her voice into gasping moans, and God, he wanted that. The memory was enough to force a low groan out of his throat. He didn't want to stop to bother with their clothes, but at the same time, he wanted to see more than he could now. Get rid of any obstruction. He pulled back long enough to yank his tie loose and over his head, to undo the last button on his shirt and drop it to the floor. In a second, he was back, tugging Amber's shirt up and shedding it, and her bra. When they were gone, he took her in his arms and started pushing her backward, towards the bed.

"Oh," Amber cried out, and then again, her body jerking. She hadn't thought he'd do it, but he had, pinching so hard it almost hurt. She'd been expecting a caress, at best, but this, it concentrated all her sensations on that one spot, channeling them into a crystal-clear jolt of pleasure. And then again, on her other breast, with his teeth, and oh god it felt good, so right. All that was missing was his body against her lower half, so that she could thrust and thrust, in rhythm to her thudding heart.

They'd get there. She'd make sure of it.

Amber complained, loud, when Eric pulled away; how could he stop now, when she wanted it to never end? But she couldn't object to him ripping off his tie and shirt, not when it afforded her an uncensored view of his upper body, gleaming slightly with sweat. Amber cracked into a smile as she remembered what joys existed beyond a thorough tongue-job over her clothed breasts; she could return the favor. Lick him all over, nipping here and there. Taste his skin, feel the pulse of his blood, and-- best of all-- have him under her control. Begging.

So caught up in fantasizing her next steps, Amber forgot to get around to acting. She barely had the time to process him stripping off her blouse and bra, to appreciate just how freeing it was to be exposed, before he was pushing her onto the bed. "You," she laughed, her breathing off a beat from the impact against the mattress, "are a terrible tease." Her laughter became a wicked grin; they'd landed so that she could feel every bit of his erection, hot and hard against her abdomen. She rolled her hip once, not for her own benefit like she'd wished just moments ago, but to make him crave more. "And by that I mean you're not very good at the teasing." She propped herself up on her elbows, pausing long enough to whisper into his ear: "Let me show you how it’s done." Taking his face between her hands, she kissed him everywhere: cheeks, nose, eyelids. She avoided only his mouth, purposefully testing his reaction to him being forced to slow down. As for herself, she was more than happy. The warmth of his body bearing down as she learned the contours of his face with her lips, it was amazing. No other word for it.

Foreman landed with his knees on the bed, not quite comfortable. Looming over Amber, he grunted as he pushed himself up the bed, leaving room for Amber to join him, lying down fully. As loudly as she'd moaned in disappointment when he pulled away, she was quick to smile up at him, and Foreman's chest tightened. It was impossible to do anything but smile back at her. Foreman was nearly on top of her, and she was so warm, soft and yielding. His erection was trapped between them, constrained by his pants, and Foreman couldn't help nudging his hips forward incrementally until he was cradled just right between her hips. "You're hard to tease," he said, a feeling like laughter that hadn't quite escaped warming his chest, making him feel infinitely tender. He brushed a strand of hair back from her lips; they were wet and swollen from kissing. "I want to touch you so much." He sucked in a breath when she lifted her hips, pushing against him. Scowling playfully, he added, "Especially when you do that."

He let his eyes flutter shut when she kissed him. Each kiss was only a flicker of a touch, ticklish and airy. "Mmn," he said, sighing as Amber held his face in her hands, not giving him any choice but to accept the butterfly-light kisses. He supposed he should be pushing for more, but somehow Amber's kisses only relaxed him, so much that he could barely hold himself up over her. He raised his eyebrows, eyes still closed, waiting to see where she'd kiss him next. He couldn't believe that she'd be patient enough to keep it up longer than he had himself. Looking at her briefly, he gave her a half-smile. Teasing her probably worked better when she thought she was the one teasing him.

"I could smell you on my fingers all through dinner," he said, smirking a bit as he kept his voice deliberately low and intimate. "You were so fucking wet. You don't know how much I wanted to go down on you. Taste you." Firmly, Foreman ran his hand down Amber's hip to her thigh, feeling the change in texture as he reached the hem of her skirt and continued over her nylons. Reversing direction, he brought his hand up, but he didn't continue any further, just massaged the back of her thigh, pulling her a bit more tightly against him, until they were rocking together lightly. Felt so good. He was hard, but he'd come once already, and even though it had been a few hours ago, he'd have more control this time. He'd bet his stamina against Amber's, right now. Dipping his head so that he only had to whisper, he said, "I think you'd rather tease me than let me make you beg."

"If I made myself untouchable, would it be easier on you?" she asked, purposefully lowering voice and eyelids, smirking. She was pretty sure the answer would be a resounding 'no.'

And then he started to describe what he'd been thinking at the restaurant, Christ. Hanging on his every word, Amber's full-body blush only deepened. She knew Eric wanted her: if the way his gaze followed her, and a thousand other signs, hadn't been enough to clue her in, she had the concrete proof of his desire pressing up against her. But to hear him say it, to catch the pitch of his voice on keywords-- it was amazing. There was no other word for it. Amber couldn't not kiss him properly, sucking on his lower lip, slipping her tongue into his mouth. God, how she loved this, their being so close together, as if they could come to occupy the same space.

With Eric's rocking steady between her, the friction problem was more than solved. Amber hummed, buzzing from the consistent stimulation against her mound; she could stay like this a long, long while. "Duh," she answered. Teasing meant having power, with begging the polar opposite: submitting to someone's will. While she could relinquish control to a sexual partner for brief periods, before long she inevitably chafed against the structure and found a way to get back to the metaphorical top. "Don't you?" Being an underling didn't suit Eric; he'd risen to the position of department head the first chance he got, and it hurt him to be back under House's thumb.

Yet... Amber stroked Eric's back as she thought. That first night, despite his fears, he'd let her penetrate him. Wasn't that a form of submission? She'd been a stranger to him and still he'd let himself trust her that much. And their patient, with a neurological condition, pathologically imitating whoever was in control, had chosen her. Maybe Eric liked begging. Maybe he didn't know that about himself.

Now there was a theory to test.

Timing it just right to the roll of their hips, Amber pulled down her nylons and kicked them off before lazily bending her legs over Eric's. He liked seeing her, she knew. This might be enough to get him more excited but not so much as to make him lose his head—in other words, the perfect tease. Though, she reflected as she rubbed her bare skin against the silk of his trousers, this was not helping keep her own arousal down.

Foreman let a sound grow in the back of his throat when Amber kissed him. It was still slow, gentle, and it grew out of the low thrum of arousal that was rushing through his body like a rising tide. He met her lips, leading the way first with soft, open-mouthed kisses, before her hand cupping his cheek drew him closer. Foreman kissed her hungrily, twining their tongues together, the pleasure of the kiss mingling with the waves of heat from his groin. He breathed unsteadily, his rhythm deepening, and he couldn't quite focus on Amber's question. He'd thought he could challenge her to give up control, even if it didn't last, but she brushed past the implication without acknowledging it. Foreman would have pointed it out to her, taken his time to challenge her more directly, but he wasn't interested in semantics right now. Amber's fingers, skimming down his sweaty back, cooled him with shivers. Before he could retaliate, she'd pushed down her skirt, her nylons with it, and wrapped her legs around him. God, there was even less between them now, and Foreman could see all of her. He braced himself against the bed, his erection rubbing harder against her stomach as he pushed up for a better view. Amber's hair was spread out in a cloud across a pillow, her skin pink and flushed, her nipples hard, the curls of her pubic hair dampening the front of his pants. "Fuck, Amber." Foreman bent to taste her mouth again, wanting to show his appreciation, how much she affected him. "Beautiful," he whispered, kissing her hard, speaking against her lips. "So fucking beautiful."

She was, and Jesus, he had to get out of his pants. He was so hard it was starting to hurt. Foreman reached for Amber's thigh again and shifted her leg down, even though it cost him the feel of her body against him. His hands were nearly shaking as he opened his belt and unzipped, pushing his pants and shorts down. His cock throbbed, finally free, and Foreman let himself brush his hand down it, just once, while he stared down at Amber, his chest heaving as he panted. He kicked free of his shoes, quickly stripping off his socks and tossing his pants off the side of the bed. He wasn't thinking about looking awkward; all he wanted was to see her, and touch her, now that there was nothing between them. As soon as he could, Foreman bent down to kiss Amber's stomach, his tongue swirling in hot circles. The scent of her filled his nostrils, and Foreman wasn't going to miss an opportunity that had already passed him by once tonight. Maybe Amber wanted to tease him, wanted to wait until she heard him beg. If that was all she was waiting for, he could give it to her now. Spreading his hands over her hips, holding her down to the bed firmly, he grinned up at her, along the length of her torso. So fucking gorgeous. "Please," he said, his voice amused, anything but subservient. His tongue flicked out, licking just above her pubic hair. "Please..." He drew the word out, lowering his mouth to kiss the crinkly hair, and then, at last, slip his tongue down, along the length of her labia, as gently as he possibly could. She was swollen and wet, and Foreman's cock twitched the instant he tasted her. God, fuck. "I want to make you scream."

Her gambit worked better than she'd hoped, with Eric getting this close to crazed. Over her. Amber let him kiss her, her own mouth curling up into a self-satisfied grin, basking in his compliments. What made glow weren't the words themselves, but how he said them. Heartfelt. Intense. Like he couldn't ever have enough-- of her.

It relaxed her, somehow, made her ease in Eric's arms like nothing else had since that I know in the hallway. If she'd had anything to prove, she'd done it. No-- the one who'd had to prove himself was Eric. Had to make her believe she had gotten to him, somehow. And if she could make him lose himself, then she must've gotten under his skin. In a sexual manner, admittedly, but at that moment, arching into Eric, feeling his groans reverberate against her breasts, Amber demanded less. She was secure here, with him drawn to her like a butterfly to a flower. Her smugness grew when Eric stripped himself without any further motivating on her part; not once had she reached to cup his erection, and he was already giving in. That much abandon, just from humping and kissing. From her.

He went first went for her stomach. That was okay. More than okay, really. Moaning, Amber rolled up to him and into that wet hotness, her muscles quivering and twitching. She expected more of that. Expecting him to keep on tantalizingly slow, exploring her abdomen and paying her back in the same coin she'd used on him. She'd expected time.

But he went too fast, holding her down, dipping his head below her navel, and she gasped, her legs folding up as if she could escape that way. This wasn't what she'd planned, and now it was too late to stop him; he was already kissing her mound, licking her outer lips, short-circuiting her nerves. Amber couldn't stop her shuddering breaths, trying to get in as much air as possible, no more than she could keep her hips from jerking up for more of that stimulation he'd promised with that teasing dip with his tongue. She'd meant for them to stay at slow-motion until she mounted and fucked his brains out, and here she was, clenching bed sheets, starting a ride she wasn't sure she was ready for.

Amber didn't answer him, beyond the arch of her hips toward his mouth. Foreman smugly took that as permission. Maybe he could wrest control from Amber, at least for a time. If the only way he could was by going down on her, then that was more than fine by him. The only down side was that he couldn't watch her--couldn't see her face. Watching her mouth open with moans or twisting with the strength of the sensations he was causing. The idea of a video camera flashed through his mind. Fuck, that would be the ultimate jerk-off material; being able to see how he'd affected her, to hear her moans and words, to know if she'd only grabbed the sheets or if she'd reached for him too, or touched herself to heighten the pleasure he was giving her.

He licked delicately, enjoying himself, focusing his attention on Amber in order to ignore the tight clench of his cock. He knew he could cover Amber's clit with his mouth and suck hard until he dragged her orgasm out of her--he'd done that once before, when she'd already been on the edge after she'd sucked him off--but she'd already accused him once of not being a good tease. Foreman wanted to prove himself, and it didn't hurt that he couldn't imagine anything more arousing than taking his time. Practically worshiping her; her smell, her taste. With his thumbs on Amber's hipbones, she was caught exactly where he wanted her, and it was so damn easy to explore, slowly, and savour every second of it. He leaned closer, finding Amber's clit and circling it with the tip of his tongue. No direct stimulation, only the slippery movements of his tongue, the warm stream of his breath across her skin. From time to time he turned his head to scrape his beard across the soft skin of her inner thighs, or caught her labia between his teeth and bit down, not hard, but firmly enough that she'd feel the possibility of pressure.

God, he ached with wanting her. Foreman didn't know whether he wanted to make Amber come like this, or only make her so frustrated that she begged him to fuck her. He didn't know if he could--Amber might bask in his attention longer than he could stand to have barely a touch against his cock. But the important thing was her pleasure--drawing it out, making it last. She'd done the same for him when she'd sucked him, and that memory alone made Foreman groan against Amber, and quicken his pace. He found her entrance and teased her with quick flicks of his tongue, promising to penetrate her and then backing away. He listened as much as he could, trying to hear Amber's response above the rush of blood in his ears, his own pounding heartbeat, and the slick sounds of his mouth.

Oh, god, of all the times to practice his teasing, he just had to choose that moment, didn't he. Amber didn't even know what to do with herself, body shaking from head to toe, sweat breaking out all over her skin. "Eric," she cried out, far passed being able to think of controlling what did or didn't come out of her mouth. "Oh, god," she let out, and from then on, her cries were only that, formless and uncontrollable.

It was suddenly too hot, as if they'd cranked up the heating past the maximum and closed all the windows and doors. The air was stifling, nowhere near enough, and Amber's skin, it burned up. Eric was doing things to her, without doing anything at all, like a prolonged flirtation. His breath tickled her where she was most sensitive, maddening her, and his tongue, how slippery he was, sliding just past where she most needed him. Her thighs opened and closed as her hips rose and fell, over and over, desperately seeking relief, but finding it nowhere, not against the smooth sheets or his overbearing weight.

It was too much, and not in the good way.

Amber struggled to find the word she needed. "Stop," she choked out, and then again, "stop." This wasn't how she'd meant it, and she'd wanted to save her pride, hide just how taken aback she was by this unexpected turn. But, so sensitive it ached, she wouldn't come. Not this way.

She sat up and breathed in deep once, twice. Her hair stuck to her forehead and neck, and she wiped it away. God, how was Eric taking this? What was going on in his head? With one more breath, she knew she could speak properly, and so she did so. "I want to fuck you," Amber explained. She hoped it'd be enough. Maybe the smile would help; it was a real one, because she meant every word. "Me on top."

Foreman's heart felt like it was going to beat right out of his chest. So hot. So good, making Amber lose herself in what he was doing, bringing out whimpers and cries that would probably have his neighbours glaring at him. Or staring in open envy. Amber bucked up against Foreman's mouth, writhing underneath him, and more than anything else, he wanted to touch himself, feel Amber let go like this while he was stroking his erection, so that they could come together. He'd touch her soon, firm and unyielding. Slip a finger inside and press up, find her g-spot and rub against it until he'd overwhelmed her completely. Any moment, any second now, she'd ask, she'd want more and she'd ask him to go farther--

Amber cried out again, but it wasn't the encouragement he'd been waiting for. Foreman froze. He'd done something wrong. He must have, for her to cry out for him to stop. Foreman had no idea what it could have been, and he jerked back from her, releasing her hips, and fell to his hands and knees above her. "What--?" He was breathless, and the word barely made it out of his mouth. She'd sounded desperate, but at that moment Foreman had been expecting her to ask for more, for him to stop teasing and bring her off, and the reversal left a adrenaline-sharp uneasiness in his chest.

He nearly scrambled back to sit on his ankles when Amber sat up. Half-expecting her to tell him to get off her, he stared at her, wide-eyed, when she finally spoke. That's why she'd stopped him? Foreman let out a hitching breath and closed his eyes, nearly sagging with relief. A soft laugh came out on his next breath. "You don't say," he murmured, moving closer to her to rest his head on her shoulder, where she wouldn't see his expression. The skin of her throat was fiery, salty with sweat, and Foreman rested his lips there, breathing away the scare he'd had. God. It was all right. Nothing was wrong. He wrapped his arms around Amber, hugging her tight, and then let himself collapse, pulling her with him as he fell sideways and then rolled onto his back. The strength had been torn out of him, as well as the immediacy of his desire. He was still turned on, but Amber's stop had stopped him short, and gave him space to breathe.

He smiled, though, and shook his head slightly. Amber was on top of him now, his erection trapped between them. Foreman tucked her hair behind her ear and said quietly, "I won't say no." Whatever you want, he thought, but Christ, he wasn't going to say that out loud. There was too much she might ask of him. Still, he felt traitorously like it was true, no matter what--anything she asked, if he could watch Amber wanting him, watch her coming because of him, then he'd never say no.

From the bed's sudden dip and complaining creak, Amber knew that Eric had scrambled up. At that moment, nerves still humming with excess arousal and head spinning, Amber couldn't have explained even to herself why she'd jerked away. He'd gone down on her, for crying out loud, she should've locked his there with her thighs and hands til she came. He wasn't going to understand, was he, why she'd called a grinding halt when he'd technically been spoiling her rotten.

But in a split-second Amber watched his confusion give way to grateful relief, his shoulders sagging, and she saw that she wouldn't have to make sense of her reaction. It was okay. It was more than okay, given his words: he'd leapt to the conclusion that it was only about the fucking.

Amber wrapped an arm around the top of his shoulders and hugged his head. Closed her eyes, breathed in deep again. By now, she'd been covered by Eric for so long it felt as if she'd never smell anything but him. His mouth along her throat was so gentle and sweet that, somehow, Amber wouldn't have minded if that really were the case. Despite her scare, she wouldn't have left his side for anything in the world. Swelling with tenderness, Amber rubbed her cheek against the roughness of the side of his head. "Yeah, I do say."

With a tumble, their positions inverted, Amber making a point to roll herself to the top. Her elbows on either side of him and tendrils of her hair falling onto his face, Amber found herself smirking. Now this was more like it. "Good," Amber replied, warmth, the good kind, tightening in her chest. Still-- she cupped a hand to his cheek, carefully staring down at him. "You could, though, if you wanted to." She couldn't stand it when he said no. She'd been livid when he'd abruptly abandoned her in the restaurant, and when he'd frozen at her trying to penetrate his anus, she'd been so embarrassed. 'No' was a synonym for 'losing.' But the way he'd stopped, at once, when she'd asked, she couldn't not return the favor. Not now that she knew how important that could be. They were still here, body to body, because he'd respected her needs; where would they be right now if he hadn't?

"But I'm pretty sure," Amber said, her grin returning, "that you'll like my next suggestion." He must be starting to get restless, still rock-hard. "You just better have a condom somewhere around here." She spied around his bed for likely Trojan-containing furniture.

Frowning lightly, Foreman studied Amber, hovering above him and watching him just as closely. Now that he wasn't thinking that he'd made a mistake, he wanted to know why she'd pulled away. The hectic colour in her cheeks had deepened, and her eyes were dark, the blue overwhelmed by her dilated pupils. Her body slipped over his easily, the friction smoothed by her sweat and his. She was still breathing quickly. Foreman could see the tick of her pulse in the hollow of her throat. Everything about her screamed that she'd been aroused. Every sound she'd made, every twitch of her muscles, the way she'd blindly sought him out and pushed towards him, her thighs clenching against his head, they were all signals that he'd been doing everything right. And yet she'd asked him--begged him, really: no matter what Amber might have thought, she hadn't been in control when she'd cried out--for him to stop.

And it seemed like practically a revelation to her, as well, the idea that he could tell her to stop, if he wanted to. When he'd let her fingerfuck him, she'd promised--easily, too easily, he'd thought so even at the time--that she'd stop if he asked. But she'd assumed he wouldn't. And tonight, when he'd felt too exposed in the restaurant, when he couldn't stand to come where anyone might see, she'd followed him anyway. Luckily, Foreman had felt more comfortable in the relative privacy of the bathroom, and it had been stunning, fucking her like that against the door. But she hadn't, not really, let him say no. She'd followed him. Kissed him angrily, in some sort of revenge for him leaving her at the table. Don't you dare, she'd said. Don't you dare run away.

Had someone...had there been a time when Amber couldn't say no? Or wouldn't let herself, even if she'd wanted to? Some fucking bastard of a boyfriend, or a stranger--Foreman swallowed down a sudden rush of anger. Now wasn't the time to bring it up. Restless, he sighed against Amber's hand, turned toward her palm cupping his face and kissed her hand, forcing himself to calm down. He couldn't ask and maybe she'd never tell him. Maybe it was some wild guess and not true at all. Not his business. All he could do was tell her--show her--that it was all right, that she was safe with him. "Yeah," he said, nodding to the night table. He couldn't reach himself, with Amber draped over him. "In the drawer."

What, was he angry she'd told him he could say no? Eric's face twisted at her words, furrowing all the more as the seconds passed. As if the more he thought about it, the more offended he became. His body beneath her stilled in a sudden contraction; even his breath seemed paused, his chest not rising as high as before she'd spoken.

Why would he be pissed? Wasn't it good, that he could trust her? Or by saying it, had she made him doubt her? People could be like that, getting irritated if you presented them with the truth, but being perfectly happy to go on with a lie. Was that it? By saying he could say 'no', it had occurred to him that maybe he couldn't? If she weren't already as red as she'd get, Amber would've flushed with indignation. She didn't lie.

Her gaze flicked to the bed stand Eric indicated, but she only sat up, sitting on his thighs. She'd already made the mistake this evening of trying to go through an act when her heart wasn't in it, and once was one time too many. She didn't like pulling the plug again-- her muscles shook with impatience, demanding satisfaction rather than to stop yet again. Eric wouldn't be pleased either. But together with all the other things that had soured this evening, Amber knew she'd find no pleasure in fucking so long as she wondered what the hell had passed through his mind. Not even the comfort of his kiss, so tender, quelled her. "What're you thinking?" she asked quietly.

Foreman was sure he'd have himself under control by the time Amber found a condom in the bedside table. He still wanted her, needed her, all the more tenderly because he wanted to know she was comfortable with what they were doing. That hadn't changed, but it had deepened somehow; tonight, from the way they'd talked. Foreman wanted to keep Amber safe, hated the thought of hurting her. And that still terrified him, because in the end, he'd always hurt the women who'd come before her. Fuck, he didn't want to be wrong. When she stopped, narrowing her eyes, Foreman swallowed, wondering how transparent he'd been. Her question was steel, even disguised by her soft voice.

"About you," he said. He wished she were closer, that there wasn't a space between them, that seemed to be filling rapidly with cooler air. He rubbed his palms over Amber's thighs, gazing at her steadily. "You know I want you. Like this, however you want. God, you make me hot." The corner of his mouth turned up into a smile almost despite himself. He couldn't hide how much she turned him on, not with his cock so hard it nearly reached his navel, resting hot and curved against his stomach. She was so close, and Foreman shifted under her, impatient but pinned by her thighs straddling his. Even the ghost of a touch would be so strong now, and he ached for it--anything, her hands, her body as she slid down over him. "I want it to be good for you. I just--" He didn't know how to tell her, and he could feel his eyes sliding away from meeting hers, frustration at his own brain for refusing to give up these thoughts rising up and closing his throat. Christ, he had no idea what kind of a minefield he was stepping into. If he said the wrong thing, she might leave him like this, to jerk off alone, if he even could after she left him. "I want to know we won't have to stop if I'm on top, if I'm--" If I'm in charge. If I bring you so close that you don't even know your own name, if I make you forget about holding me down. "If you'll let me. If you'll let me make you come. I want you to want that, too."

Amber wouldn't be able to hold this position for long. Already a crick was building up at the base of her back, and her legs complained of the cut-off blood flow. If she were fucking him, that'd be one thing, since the motion would keep her body singing with joy. But to stay still like this... and the sight of Eric squirming with arousal that must be turning into pain was not one Amber wanted to see.

She knew he meant well, could feel it in the kindness of his caress and his carefully-chosen words. But the touch, too invasive when she was scrambling for a safe distance, made her anxiety coil further, tightening in the pit of her stomach. His first comments disappointed her. He was going to talk about how much he wanted her? Like he'd said, she knew that. She'd have to be on another planet not to. His desire, though, didn't explain the anger that'd flashed over his face just now. In fact, nothing he was doing right now, treating her like near-shattering china, was compatible with that brief rage. And Amber couldn't go on, not while she didn't understand. "Why were you angry, just now? When I said you could stop me?"

Eric's patience gave way to skittishness when he left the subject of how much he wanted her. Her blood turned to ice water, freezing her from the inside. Was that it? Being on top? Physically, it wasn't a problem. Back on Friday, she'd loved it when he'd flipped her over and fucked her hard, unable to help himself anymore. She could've spent all night like that and passed the next day grinning ear to ear. Figuratively, though. That was a whole other story. Amber didn't know. She wouldn't have thought she'd be unable to let her partner take over for a while; again, last Friday she'd been fine when he'd set the direction. Just, tonight she wasn't. And it might not be the last time. "I don't know if I can promise that." The way she was letting him (and herself) down, honesty was the least she could give him.

Shit. Shit. Earnestness shone from his face, like a kid trying to convince the nearest adult the truth of his imaginary friend. He might mean it, but it wasn't enough for her. His erection, it hadn't softened in the slightest, and it made her ache with guilt. She wasn't a tease. Amber had never understood women who made out with guys only to decide they weren't in the mood; when she wanted sex, she wanted with every fiber of her being. She clenched her hands over her own thighs. She didn't want to do this. She cared about him more than she'd let herself anyone else since-- More than anything she wanted to be able to give him what he wanted. To curve over him, butterfly-kissing him before finding a condom and spreading it over him. Spread herself, taking him in as deep as she could. Pleasuring them both. But more frayed than when he'd first gone down on her, she knew that to force herself would bring a repeat of that earlier plea. "I can't do this." She bent just enough to cup his face, willing him to understand. God, she hated to admit this. Never had she been unable to perform; she couldn’t stand that the first time had to be with him, of all people. "I'm so sorry. It's not you-- I don't know what happened, I just can't."

At least she knew he'd accept. Not that his accepting was a problem-- if he tried to make her do anything, she'd walk out. That simple. But she knew that he'd respect her needs. Opening doors for her, driving her back to her apartment just to prepare a night bag, asking what she liked in bed-- that hadn't been for show. And Amber knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that he wouldn't fail her as a gentleman at this crucial juncture. "I need a shower," Amber said, also certain he'd let her that much. "After that-- I'd still like to sleep with you. If that's okay." That last request he might refuse; if their positions were reversed, she might’ve kicked him out, not understanding that there could be non-sexual reasons for two near-strangers to want to spend a night together. Her hands trailed away, thumb brushing against his slick chin before settling back in her lap.

Foreman felt a rush of heat to his face when Amber asked about his anger. He couldn't tell her that, not without looking like an idiot for jumping to conclusions. His anger had been nothing to do with anything she'd done, only with his speculations about what her difficulties with no really were. Amber might be offended if he told her what he'd been thinking, or hurt. Or she might laugh at him. Foreman wasn't interested in having his thoughts dissected, not now. He settled for, "I wasn't angry at you," but he didn't know if Amber was listening. She seemed more focused on whether or not it was possible to give up her control. Foreman could see from her expression that Amber was closing up. Distancing herself. Her bright, breathless arousal was slipping away. Shit. He'd said the wrong thing. He shouldn't have said anything.

"I don't want you to promise," he said. Hadn't she believed him that it wasn't a matter of all or nothing? Most of the time he'd let her fuck him any way she wanted. Christ, he loved it when she did. But sometimes, he wanted to know that he could do the same. He wanted to see Amber stop thinking, and so far it seemed like she was the one who could drive him out of his mind, but always kept a part of herself set aside where he couldn't reach it. Casual, and more-experienced-than-thou--Foreman cursed himself, knowing even as he said it that he was asking for too much. It was too soon, and he'd already lied to her once. But: "I want you to trust me."

He shut his mouth, pressing his lips together, a second later. I can't do this. Nothing made him feel more ridiculous. More naked. He couldn't even roll away--she was still sitting on top of him. Frustration twisted with humiliation in his stomach, and the edge of anticipation throbbing in his cock became nothing more than a dull ache. Amber's apologies only made him feel worse. Foreman wanted to jerk away from her palm against his cheek, but he forced himself to stay still, accept what she was telling him, even if he couldn't meet her eyes. He wouldn't ask for more, obviously, not if she didn't want it, but Jesus, did she have to apologize? If he hadn't said anything, they wouldn't have stopped. It might be a stupid idea, but either way, it didn't matter. Foreman wasn't going to be the kind of asshole who took it out on his partner just because he didn't get his rocks off. He lifted his chin as she took her hand away. "Yeah." His voice was rough at first, like he'd forgotten how to use it. Earlier, he'd been thinking how good it would be just to hold her tonight. He hadn't counted on Amber's rejection, but he'd be a hypocrite to push her away now, after everything he'd said--that this mattered, that he wanted her with him for more than sex. It was still true, but that didn't mean he had to like putting his words to the test this soon. He closed his eyes and took a breath deep enough to raise his chest, and tried to breathe out the last few minutes when he exhaled. His body didn't quite relax, but some of the tension eased before he looked up at Amber again. "Yeah, of course."

He needed a shower, too, but he didn't want Amber to think he was pressuring her by following her into the bathroom. He'd already dropped his hands, curling one behind his head to stop himself from touching her, or himself. He nodded in the direction of the bathroom, behind her. "There's shampoo and conditioner in the cupboard under the sink," he said, trying to be matter-of-fact. He made no move to get up. Amber would have to move first, anyway, but all Foreman wanted was the chance to have a door between them for a few minutes, so he could deal with his stupid disappointment alone, and out of Amber's sight.

“Okay,” she said, since there wasn’t anything else she could say. “I just need to get my bag.” Amber had much to mull over as she sluggishly walked out of the room. Her legs were rubbery, needing time to recover from the kneeling before returning to full usage. She left Eric on the bed. He probably needed a moment, too. To gather himself emotionally, maybe to take care of his neglected hard-on. That was part of the reason why she'd gone to shower, to let him do whatever he had to. She wondered how she'd find him, when she returned-- somewhat sated, or still frustrated?

Either way, she knew he'd be surly. Eric hadn't liked the rejection one bit; he hadn't even tried to hide his disappointment. Amber preferred it that way. She was glad he hadn't given her false platitudes. It'd have only made her feel more guilty. When she came back, he'd be at least a little less prickly, and they'd still spend the night together. At least that.

She could go back. It'd be easy enough, to squat next to him and fist his dick until he came. Watch him as he finally found release, see that moment of ecstasy come and go on his face. Take satisfaction in whatever sounds he made. She half-wished she'd done so; but sitting on him, denied the answers she'd wanted, it was if someone had flicked a switch in her. Amber was turned off and no quantity of longing otherwise would get her back on. Not tonight. And so she padded to the living room and picked up the bag that she’d unceremoniously dumped by the front door. It seemed like a million years ago, walking in and having eyes only for him. She'd wanted him so-- and that's where things had gotten so mixed up, wasn't it? Too excited, she’d gotten ahead of herself.

Bag in hand, Amber went to the bathroom. If she weren't so confused, she'd have taken note of the cleanliness. Admired Eric's organization. As it was, she didn't care. She turned on all the lights she could find and opened her trove of possessions on the sink. Eric had offered her his products, but since she had her own with her, she'd use them. Not only were they bought tailored for herself, but it'd be good to put her hands on something familiar. Not alien, like his apartment was starting to feel.

That tired old, habit of rubbing and washing her makeup away helped slow her heart and breathing down. By the time she'd cleansed herself off, Amber almost felt like herself again. She’d be ready to face Eric soon, she was sure. Feet bare on the cold bathroom floor, she stepped into the shower and turned on the hot water.

At first, the water just felt good. Amber wasn’t thinking about what had and would happen, and the spray was strong over her face. She gave in to the sensation, her strain easing into relaxation. After a few minutes, she reached for the soap and, upon touching it, its scent made her think of Eric. Oh, god, how could she have fucked up so much? It was one mistake after the other. Telling him she liked him, and then overreacting to his vague reply. Going fast, then slowing down too much to match his pace. Obsessing over who decided what, and then being too proud to tell him what she didn’t want. The screeching halt. It’d be a wonder if he’d still want to put up with her after this night; sure he said she could stay, but that might be politeness. Ever the gentleman, not kicking the damsel out. And starting tomorrow, he’d just be one of her bosses.

Rubbing the soap over her arms and breasts, she thought back to what he’d just said. He’d asked her to trust him. Amber did. She wouldn’t have suggested they start over if she didn’t, wouldn’t have asked to sleep with him. It wasn’t a question of trust. Though, she had to admit, slipping a hand between her legs to wash away the stickiness clinging to her thighs and mound, it was hard to believe in him when he wouldn’t even tell her why he’d been angry. He said it wasn’t because of her, but what else could it have been? She had no clue.

That was it, she was tired of wondering and worrying. Amber washed her hair and rinsed off as quickly as she could, toweling herself with equal speed. She dressed herself in the short, thin-strapped nightgown she’d brought. It had seemed foolish, when she’d packed the bag, but now she was glad for the outfit, as well as the fresh thong.

There. Amber looked at herself in the mirror. Her hair was wet and her skin damp, but otherwise she was presentable. She turned around and opened the door, bracing herself for a still-mulish Eric.

Foreman blew out of a breath of air, rolling his eyes at himself once Amber was out of the room. He was in no mood to masturbate, not after knowing how good it would feel to have Amber, all of her, as slowly and deeply as she'd promised. Not with his own sulky, rebellious feelings that had emerged as soon as Amber walked away from him, naked, perfect untouchable ass and all. But if he didn't do something, his dick would--literally--come between them once she was back. He didn't need to magnify his own embarrassment by poking Amber in the hip with his erection just because he wanted to be close to her. Even if it subsided, there was no guarantee that he wouldn't do something stupid when he was unconscious. He might even go as far as rubbing against her and ejaculating in his sleep. He wasn't a goddamn teenager, but it wasn't exactly farfetched, not as aroused as he'd gotten.

Besides, it was his own place, and it wasn't like Amber didn't know what condition she'd left him in. Impatiently, Foreman reached down and wrapped his hand around his cock. His dick twitched against his palm, and it felt good, but at the same time, muffled and mechanical. Just a jerkoff because he was horny. Nothing real. Foreman tugged himself, tighter and faster than he normally would. He was already close. Amber hadn't even touched him. Not since her hand on his thigh in the car. Resentment tried to build up, but Foreman deflected it into the quick rhythm of his hand, the twist of his fingers around the head of his cock. He bent one leg to place his foot flat against the bed so that he could push up and fuck his own fist. With his right hand, he cupped his balls, rubbing his thumb along his scrotum. His breathing started hissing faster between his teeth. Even with his eyes shut, Foreman knew his face was scrunched into a scowl. It wasn't exactly pleasure, but he was getting the job done. He thought about Amber--in his shower, wet and slick with his soap, touching herself, lifting her face up to the spray.

It worked, for some definition of worked. With two harsh spasms, his orgasm washed over him, his dick spurting onto his hand and his stomach while he worked his hand furiously over his cock to wring out the last of the sensation. There wasn't much semen, and Foreman rolled to his side quickly to grab a kleenex. He wiped himself off and balled up the tissue, throwing it into the trash when he was done. The air smelled like sex--like Amber, his brain insisted; her sweat still mingled with his on his body--but it wasn't like he could hide what he'd done. Stubbornly, he didn't want to. It hadn't been much of an orgasm anyway, and it had been Amber's choice to opt out.

The shower was still running in the bathroom. Foreman got up long enough to turn off the light. He pulled on a clean pair of boxers, dark blue silk, and then threw himself back down on the bed, interlocking his fingers behind his head. Physically, beating off had left him relaxed, but it hadn't done anything to help his thoughts. He set his jaw and reminded himself that he wouldn't be any better than any fucker who wouldn't listen to the word no if he acted like he'd been entitled to something. They'd already had sex once tonight. A week ago, single, he'd have thought that was more than enough. Foreman stared at the ceiling and forced out another breath. He had to get over himself, for fuck's sake. It wasn't Amber's fault. And, he knew, there would be other nights. She hadn't left.

A minute later, the door opened, and Amber stood framed in the light from the bathroom. Wearing something filmy, soft, that barely reached mid-thigh. Any other time, Foreman would wonder if it was for him. Not tonight, obviously, but she was still so beautiful. Foreman's muscles softened, although he didn't shift his position. "Hey," he said softly.

Amber blinked at the darkness, her pupils contracted. The bathroom bulbs shed some light into the room, indicating its general form and furniture. Eric was only a dark shape on the bed; she couldn't make out his expression. But he greeted her tenderly, and Amber's rushing relief was tangible, as if a tight grip over her organs had just eased.

She hadn't realized until now how worried she'd been.

"Hey," Amber replied, echoing his tone as well as word-choice. She flicked the lights off and, now blind, walked slowly towards the bed. Her shin brushed against the bed frame when she'd guessed it would, and she then climbed in, knees first. From the mattress' tension she knew where Eric was and lowered herself next to him. If the soap had reminded her of him, now his scent was vivid and inescapable. Amber breathed in deep, drawn in by it, but wary as well. Her heart rate was rising again and she wasn't sure why. Was it arousal, her body unable to keep from responding sexually to his? Or perhaps it was just plain old dread that he wouldn't relax into her as she wrapped an arm around his torso, that he'd stiffen as she sank her head in the pillow besides his.

One thing she knew for sure, though. She felt in the relative coolness of his skin, the slackness of his muscles. "You took care of yourself. Good." Amber smiled. He might've been too proud, not wanting to bring himself off as if it were some kind of shame to masturbate, especially with a woman so near. But he must’ve come already, if he as this unwound. It was one less concern, that he wouldn't spend the night aching with blocked orgasm.

With her eyes adjusting to the darkness, she started to be able to make out details. The planes of his cheeks, the dip between his mouth and chin. Amber's lips parted. She wanted to kiss him. Not to get off, because she wouldn't. Just to hold him. Be with him. But she wanted to test his reaction, first, see if he was amenable to cuddling. "I had a good time tonight," she said, lightly stroking his sternum. "Even if things did get weird." Her nightgown and his sheets both were invitingly smooth, as was Eric’s heat. Amber felt well here. In good hands. If he took her sudden mood reversal this positively, maybe she really could trust him. Maybe he could handle her peculiarities. She’d screwed up big-time and yet he hadn’t turned away; that told her more than words ever could.

Cautious, Foreman watched Amber approach him. He'd almost thought she'd tell him she was leaving after all, even if there was no evidence for that at all. But he wouldn't be surprised if he'd screwed up somehow, in her mind, when he wasn't even there. Her response, as quiet as his, quelled those thoughts, and let him relax further. The bed dipped, and Amber lay down beside him. The scent of her hair was familiar--her own, not the stuff he'd offered her. Foreman hadn't realized how much he'd cooled down until Amber touched him, her skin warm from the shower as she draped an arm over his chest. Foreman closed his eyes. He'd been trying to talk himself out of being pissed off, but it hadn't really worked--not like lying next to Amber did. Absorbing the heat of her skin and drinking in her presence. That she still wanted to be with him, even when he'd driven her away a few minutes ago.

Foreman felt Amber's smile against his shoulder when she praised him for jerking off. A laugh jolted out of him. He'd expected Amber to figure it out, but he hadn't expected commentary. Or, somehow, approval. He'd thought she'd be as discomfited by him masturbating as he'd been to do it. Should have known better. Amber probably would have enjoyed the show. With a grin, Foreman moved at last, taking his arm from behind his head and wrapping it around her shoulders, urging her closer, filling the empty space between them. Not that good, he thought, but he kept the thought back; it was passing, anyway.

"I did too," he said, his fingertips mirroring her strokes against her arm. Despite the times he'd felt like Amber wanted to toss him in the deep end of the pool to see if he'd sink or swim, Foreman felt like he was still flailing somewhere near the surface. This second chance had already been...better, he supposed. It hadn't been perfect. Or, by any sense of the word, easy. Looking back, it seemed like Thursday night had been the smoothest first date he'd ever had. Tonight, with all its stops and starts and uncomfortable moments, was more realistic, more honest. Most of the time, Foreman's relationships stayed perfect longer...but most of the time, he didn't worry about what screwing up would mean. With Amber, he did. "Why did they?" he asked, his curiosity getting the better of him. It wasn't an accusation, and he hoped Amber could hear it wasn't meant to make her guilty. Shit, he'd never been curious about evaluating his own performance before; he hated to hear about his mistakes. But it was either that or fuck up again. Amber said it wasn't him, but Foreman knew that was a fiction that all women threw out when it really was, most definitively, him.

He took her in, no questions asked, and Amber breathed in deep through her nose. She nuzzled his throat, rubbed her face against the side of his head. Her nose bumped over his ear, her mouth, his jaw. It made her glow, to touch him for no reason other than that it felt good.

Amber's smile widened when he laughed. It hadn't occurred to her to wish for them to look back on this with good humor, too tense with how she'd messed up and what the implications would be, but she was glad that they could. And so soon, too. She sidled up closer, flushing their bodies up together, hooking a leg over his. Eric had already shifted to support her neck with his arm, and Amber complied, resting her head on his shoulder. Wouldn't his arm get numb?

He'd enjoyed the evening. Or he said he had, at least. Amber wanted to believe him, both because she preferred it if he really had had a good time, and because she hoped she could count on him to be honest. The languid, almost thoughtful, brushes of his fingers against her arm lent his words credibility. He wouldn't be so affectionate if the evening had been a complete disaster.

Amber let out a breath. That was the billion-dollar question. What had happened? She spoke slowly, parsing out her thoughts. "You know when you eat ice cream too fast, and your brain freezes up? It was like that, I was starting to hurt." Eric was listening intently, perhaps wondering what his part in his had been. The whites of his eyes stood out in the darkness, punctuated by his huge pupils. "I wasn't comfortable," Amber admitted. "I was too sensitive for that much pleasure, I should've told you. I'm sorry." It hadn't been just the excess. It'd been everything since she met him. Falling for him so fast, worrying about how he felt about her. Her anger at the times he'd let her down, lying and humiliating her in public. It was how much she had to be leading and deciding, always. "And then you wouldn't tell me why you were angry." Amber bit her lip. This was the hardest part. "Everything was out of control." There. There it was, the confession that she couldn’t stand it when things weren’t exactly as she wanted. If she’d told him, it was only because he’d already figured it out: I want to know we won't have to stop if I'm on top. He might as well know the whole truth.

October 29, 2007 - Evening

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