Foreman had resisted relaxing. He didn't know why, only that he wasn't ready to give up his anger, and that's what Amber was asking him to do. But the longer this went on, with Amber touching him carefully and deliberately, the less he was able to maintain any sort of stiff indifference. In the shower this morning, he'd still been half-asleep when they washed each other, and the heat of the water and the slip of the soap between them had eased Amber's touches and his own. He couldn't remember the last time he'd let go of so much, for anybody. His muscles went slack, his breathing and heart rate slowing down, but each sweep of Amber's palms over his body left his skin tingling, his blood surging as it carried the whispering sensations to the rest of his body. Foreman had thought it was only that one moment, or that it was a state she could only cause when he was already calm.
Now he knew better. She was doing the same things--so damn simple--and he was loosening up with every breath. There was an edge to it, a feeling that it could become urgent, that hadn't been there this morning. He'd known then that they didn't have time to take it anywhere. Tonight, these same touches could become whatever they wanted; they had all night. If Amber kept on like this, he didn't know if he'd fall asleep or explode from anticipation first. "You are," he whispered. He'd unwound so much that he couldn't even find the energy to speak any louder. She'd done that. She had to know how good it was. "You do."
He let out a low sound of quiet satisfaction when her tongue flicked against his neck, his collarbone. His shirt was still partly in the way--unbuttoned, brushing against his skin--and Foreman finished loosening his tie, opening his cuffs, and then dropping them to the floor behind him. The apartment was warm enough, but there was still a chill to the clothes Amber was wearing, and he could feel goosebumps rising over his skin, tightening his nipples. "Yeah," he answered her. "You do. So much, Amber." He wanted to get through her clothes and touch her the same way, give her the same tranquil, unhurried pleasure. He opened her coat, following the line of bared skin with his mouth until he could trace his tongue over the notch at the base of her throat. Underneath she was wearing a thin blouse, but Foreman didn't try to get rid of it immediately. With her coat open, the heat of her body reached out to him and drew him in, and he slipped his arms around her, under the coat, feeling the scrape of buttons against his chest, wrapping himself in her warmth. This time when he kissed her, it was gentle again, easy, not because he was holding himself back but because he'd found the rhythm he wanted to share with her.
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Now he knew better. She was doing the same things--so damn simple--and he was loosening up with every breath. There was an edge to it, a feeling that it could become urgent, that hadn't been there this morning. He'd known then that they didn't have time to take it anywhere. Tonight, these same touches could become whatever they wanted; they had all night. If Amber kept on like this, he didn't know if he'd fall asleep or explode from anticipation first. "You are," he whispered. He'd unwound so much that he couldn't even find the energy to speak any louder. She'd done that. She had to know how good it was. "You do."
He let out a low sound of quiet satisfaction when her tongue flicked against his neck, his collarbone. His shirt was still partly in the way--unbuttoned, brushing against his skin--and Foreman finished loosening his tie, opening his cuffs, and then dropping them to the floor behind him. The apartment was warm enough, but there was still a chill to the clothes Amber was wearing, and he could feel goosebumps rising over his skin, tightening his nipples. "Yeah," he answered her. "You do. So much, Amber." He wanted to get through her clothes and touch her the same way, give her the same tranquil, unhurried pleasure. He opened her coat, following the line of bared skin with his mouth until he could trace his tongue over the notch at the base of her throat. Underneath she was wearing a thin blouse, but Foreman didn't try to get rid of it immediately. With her coat open, the heat of her body reached out to him and drew him in, and he slipped his arms around her, under the coat, feeling the scrape of buttons against his chest, wrapping himself in her warmth. This time when he kissed her, it was gentle again, easy, not because he was holding himself back but because he'd found the rhythm he wanted to share with her.