It couldn't last. Foreman could feel Amber resisting, and he closed his eyes even more tightly. He'd thought she'd fucking be there. He thought she understood. But already his intensity was dissipating. Holding back everything, he accepted her kiss, his breathing still ragged. He took a short, sharp breath to get himself under control. There was no reason why he had to let something so stupid upset him. Marcus was a memory. The fact that he was in prison was just that, a fact, nothing that Foreman should get worked up about. If he was going to get over it, that meant not acting like talking about it had been the end of the damn world. Ignore it. Forget it.
Amber had responded more in the parking lot. Foreman had been trying so damn hard to hold himself in then--to go slow, soft. Times before when he'd tried that, Amber had nearly ordered him not to hold back. And now when he didn't, she wished he would. Jesus, he didn't understand her. Or he did all to well--what mattered to her was that the pace was on her terms. Foreman paused, his mouth still close to Amber's, so that he could feel her moist breath against his lips. In the darkness of the apartment, he didn't need to worry about what she'd see in his face. He'd promised himself, at least, that he'd do what she wanted tonight, although he was beginning to wish he'd won the bet after all, so that he could know if she really would let him call the shots sometime. Tonight, though, he'd do what she wanted. No questions.
He nodded, a bit jerkily, when she asked to see him. Taking his arms away from her long enough to slip his coat off, Foreman let his suit jacket fall with it. Amber's fingers were light on his shirt buttons, and Foreman helped her, tugging his shirt tails out of his pants and working the buttons open one by one as his hands moved up. That counted for enough of seeing him. His hands went back to Amber again, not demanding, just stroking above her jacket, following the lines of her body. All he could feel was the cool material, and the occasional hint of hot skin when her hands brushed past his, or slipped against his chest and stomach. He sighed, tipping his head to kiss her again in the same way. Not to push his way in, but as if he wanted to outline her, memorize her silhouette. Surfaces only; the column of her neck, the softness of the skin behind her ear, the line of her jaw. He brushed against her, but didn't ask for any more than that. The moment seemed to grow to encompass him, and Foreman tried to live with it: one breath at a time, one soft kiss with each breath.
no subject
Amber had responded more in the parking lot. Foreman had been trying so damn hard to hold himself in then--to go slow, soft. Times before when he'd tried that, Amber had nearly ordered him not to hold back. And now when he didn't, she wished he would. Jesus, he didn't understand her. Or he did all to well--what mattered to her was that the pace was on her terms. Foreman paused, his mouth still close to Amber's, so that he could feel her moist breath against his lips. In the darkness of the apartment, he didn't need to worry about what she'd see in his face. He'd promised himself, at least, that he'd do what she wanted tonight, although he was beginning to wish he'd won the bet after all, so that he could know if she really would let him call the shots sometime. Tonight, though, he'd do what she wanted. No questions.
He nodded, a bit jerkily, when she asked to see him. Taking his arms away from her long enough to slip his coat off, Foreman let his suit jacket fall with it. Amber's fingers were light on his shirt buttons, and Foreman helped her, tugging his shirt tails out of his pants and working the buttons open one by one as his hands moved up. That counted for enough of seeing him. His hands went back to Amber again, not demanding, just stroking above her jacket, following the lines of her body. All he could feel was the cool material, and the occasional hint of hot skin when her hands brushed past his, or slipped against his chest and stomach. He sighed, tipping his head to kiss her again in the same way. Not to push his way in, but as if he wanted to outline her, memorize her silhouette. Surfaces only; the column of her neck, the softness of the skin behind her ear, the line of her jaw. He brushed against her, but didn't ask for any more than that. The moment seemed to grow to encompass him, and Foreman tried to live with it: one breath at a time, one soft kiss with each breath.