alwaysright | October 30, 2007

October 30, 2007 - Evening

For the rest of the afternoon, Foreman found himself chuckling at odd moments. He'd be in the middle of the monstrous pile of paperwork, his back cramping from leaning over, his eyes aching, and all of a sudden he'd realize he was grinning like an idiot. He'd glance up, glad that there wasn't anyone to catch him at it, and think of Amber suffering horribly down in the clinic, and shake his head before going back to work. She'd be tired after a long day, and if her reaction to the usual run of mild complaints was anything like his, she'd be too tired to do much tonight other than go home and collapse. Foreman could spare some compassion then: he'd offer to cook, or at least, to order something in. Hell, even massage her feet if she wanted. The fact that he was going with her--that she'd invited him again, and that he already had all the things he'd need waiting in his car--buoyed him up, even when the stack of consult requests only seemed to get stupider the deeper he delved into them.

By twenty to five, Foreman had sent form letter replies to as many idiot doctors as he could without losing his faith in humanity. He'd go down and let the candidates off early, be magnanimous for as long as he could afford to be. He needed to ingratiate himself with them somehow, even if was only by knocking fifteen minutes off their drudgery. Cuddy could hardly complain: she'd been underusing six of the most talented doctors in the hospital for most of the day, and, Foreman knew--since they had to be sharing Cameron and Chase's old salaries among them--for a pittance. House was a bastard, but days like this were ones Cuddy probably counted as a win in their perpetual battle.

Foreman turned of the computer, turned off the lights, and grabbed his coat. He wouldn't bother with his briefcase tonight; he wasn't planning on sucking up to Cuddy any more than he'd be compromising with House. If he'd gotten his own office and his own staff like he'd asked for, then she could think about making him stay late trudging through House's paperwork.

He arrived in the clinic five minutes later. The first person he saw was Brennan, who only gave him a mildly disgruntled stare when Foreman gave him permission to go. He snorted, but he seemed glad enough to go and tell the others that they were off the hook.

Foreman checked the board to see which exam room Amber was in with her last patient, and, leaving his coat at the nurses' station, he went and knocked on the door. He was already sure that everyone in the whole hospital was well aware of what was going on between him and Amber. That didn't mean that he had to confirm all their suspicions--but he could also take a few liberties that he might not have if they were still being 'discreet'. Feeling pleased with himself, he opened it just enough to stick his head in and said, with as much seriousness as he could muster, "Dr. Volakis, could I have a word with you?"

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They'd been kissing so lightly that when Amber let out a small, sharp sound and pulled him closer, the rush of arousal caught Foreman unguarded. As he'd settled into the steady, soothing flow of exchanged kisses and touches, he'd felt like he could go on like this forever, never raise the pitch, never let it die away again. But the push of her hips against his reminded him, with a wave of sensation, how much he already wanted, how much more he could have.

Amber pulled him forward, until he settled his weight against her easily, between her hips. Without her shoes, Foreman didn't have to tilt his head to meet her eyes, to kiss her, and he took advantage, sliding his tongue against hers, exploring her mouth, his warmth and desire growing with every passing moment.

Under the light from the windows, Amber's skin glowed. After she spoke, her lips were parted, and Foreman obeyed instinct or invitation and kissed her, tasting her again. The hint of lipstick had nearly disappeared, rubbed away by each passing touch. Her order--and he suspected it was an order, no matter how breathlessly she'd phrased it--brought a surge of heat through his body, and he smiled, at once enjoying the feeling and not calling it to his attention, so that he could keep going like this without letting his body take control of his mind. Leaning on the desk, her body tilted back slightly, Amber couldn't have looked more desireable if she'd tried. God, she was so gorgeous. Even in the low light, her eyes were bright, and he could see what she wanted in the eager catch and release of her breath. Touching her with fingertips only, Foreman drew lines over her blouse; down her arms, over her stomach, between her breasts. Above the neckline of the shirt, where she'd already opened a few buttons, her skin was flushed and warm, and Foreman wanted to lean in and taste it.

He met her eyes when he finally brought his hands up to the next button. He undid it and grinned at her, teasing. Each button, he undid with resolute attention, letting his palms hover just over her skin. When he'd finally finished, he pushed the blouse off, his hands smoothing across her shoulders and down to her wrists until it had fallen on the desk behind her. "Anything else?" he asked, before sucking lightly on her earlobe, leaving hot, nipping kisses on her throat while he waited for her answer.

Slow beats of arousal, hard and deep like a drum, filled Amber, making her grow wetter with every second that passed. She didn't know if it was because Eric was unbuttoning her shirt with such obvious relish, drawing out his motions, or if it was because he was obeyind her command. Whatever it was, it worked.

Oh, god, did she want anything else. She wanted his hands on her breasts, wanted him to get through her remaining layers and squeeze her ass, wanted to get on her knees and suck him til he came, wanted him to slide into her now, hot and hard. Amber wanted everything. And he was offering. By the terms of their bet, she got to decide. Her chest heaved, eyes widening slightly as she tried to choose quickly amongst so many options.

How far could she push him? Most anything she cared to ask for he'd be happy to do-- what would make him balk? It'd be easy enough to embarrass him: make him dance naked and alone, sing for her. But, no. Amber's heart tightened at the thought of humiliating him; he'd hate that. Never again would make him repeat what he’d gone through in front of everyone on Friday, when he’d been laughed at for caring about her. This wasn't about that. So she closed her eyes, reveled in his kisses for a few moments. Tried to feel out what she wanted. Every kiss and touch of Eric's sent shocks of joy that spread throughout all of her, lighting her up with pleasure and anticipation. She found herself pulling him in closer, trapping herself between him and the desk. "I want everything off," Amber said, reaching for his belt and unbuckling it.

Skin, perspiration, a hint of perfume, the scents of the carnival and the cold freshness of the night--Foreman could taste them all as he licked his way down Amber's neck. She was responding, silently, but he could feel her quiver, the light intake of her breath when he explored a particularly sensitive area. Nothing made him want to explore her more--find each tiny spot that made her surge against him, or shiver, or moan. He didn't mind the wait to find out what she wanted. In the meantime, he took what he wanted, the leisurely chance to get to know her body, her reactions. Each tiny response he provoked increased his own arousal. He'd been getting hard gradually, his dick full and warm but not throbbing yet, not urgent. Better that way, for what he wanted. Time. Time to have everything he wanted, to give her everything she wanted.

That idea nearly broke when Amber abruptly started opening his belt. Foreman grunted, his dick twitching, his breathing increasing. She'd touch him soon, or bare enough of both of them that he could press himself against her. Burying his face at the juncture of her neck and shoulder, he left long, swirling sucks and bites over her skin, everywhere he could reach. His arms were already wrapped around her, and it only took a second to reach the clasp of her bra and open it. He let it fall with her shirt. "Like you?" he asked, against her throat. She was part of 'everything'. "I'd like to get you off." He grinned, lowering her head, his mouth trailing down her sternum. It turned him on so much to hear what she wanted--that she wanted him--but he could at least teach her to be more specific. With his pants still half-undone, he bent down, and felt the soft weight and curve of her breast with his tongue. His breath washed hotly over her nipple, and it only took a second for him to give in to the temptation to suck it into his mouth. Always before when he'd been in this position, he'd been intent on teasing, drifting here and there and only fleetingly giving Amber what she wanted. Now he took his time, sucking lightly, stroking over and over again with his tongue, and pausing long enough to breathe while he brushed his chin across her nipple, prickling her skin with his beard.

His reaction was immediate, sharply hissing the moment her hands touched his midriff. It was hard to focus enough to complete the rest, when all Amber wanted was to watch how he jolted, as if he'd held back a greater movement. But from ease of practice she unbuttoned and unzipped his trousers, encouraging the entire unit down by sliding it down his ass. If she let her touch linger, appreciating the firmness of his rear, that's what they were here for, wasn't it.

And then Amber was tilting back at his assault, shivering over and over and gasping softly as Eric persistently zeroed in on her sensitive spots. She had to maneuver her arms to untangle herself from her bra, the obnoxious thing, but it was soon forgotten in the wake of Eric's attentions to her chest. "And here I thought you didn't like bad jokes," Amber moaned, only partially because of the pun. "If you can make bad jokes, then you can take--" Her words cut off abruptly, her back arching into Eric's mouth, hips rocking. She whined breathlessly. His beard, the wet suction, the scent of him right beneath her nose, it all filled her with a suffusion of tingling pleasure. It was good, just right, light, and not nearly enough, not what she'd had in mind. "I'm still dressed," she managed to gasp, contradicting her own worlds as she curved her arms over his head and encouraged his mouth over her breast. "So are you. I want it all off-- the clothes, you smartass." Amber smiled at him, amused despite his nitpicking. The soft light really did him justice, accentuating the sharpness of his muscles, casting him a slight silver tone. God, she loved looking at him. Loved feeling, smelling, being with him.

Foreman inhaled through his nose, letting his eyes drift closed as he breathed her in. Amber's palms, firmly cupping his ass and pushing his pants down, made it difficult to concentrate on the movement of his mouth across her breast. His erection pushed against the waistband of his shorts, the pressure increasing with the elastic pushed down to his thighs in the back. Eventually he'd need to stop what he was doing and get them both out of their clothes, but he wasn't going to rush it. Amber's moans were too damn intoxicating to give up, not when the least suck or lick brought out another sound, another helpless jerk towards him. He shifted just enough to give her other breast the same attention, half-tease and half-worship. Her hips were moving, and Foreman couldn't help mirroring the motion, his ass and thighs tensing with the desire to thrust against her, finally feel her body against his dick. He toed off his shoes without undoing the laces and reached down to pull off his socks. She wasn't letting him go, but he could let his hands slide down Amber's back to the zipper of her skirt, and let his pants fall around his feet without worrying about tripping over himself.

The quiet hiss of the zipper made him throb. So fucking close. And the feel of her nylons under his hands--fuck, it was so sexy. So smooth. Along with his pants and shoes, he let her skirt fall and kicked it all away, out of sight and out of mind. He swept his fingers down her legs from her ass, then slipped them up between her thighs. Yeah. Oh, yeah, fuck. Foreman groaned against her breast, and finally, panting, lifted his head, his control breaking. He kissed her, a little more desperately, his mouth meeting hers and then moving on. "Fuck, Amber." He rubbed the pad of his thumb over the material, just over her clit, then cupping his whole hand over her vulva, his middle finger teasing her entrance--one more layer, and he could slide a finger inside her. It made him ache, how wet she was even through the fabric, how easily she'd accept him. He kissed her again, air harsh in his throat. "You're so hot, God, I can feel you. I want you like this, so much."

Through half-lidded eyes Amber paid rapt attention to Eric undressing himself, breathing faster as more and more of skin became visible. She wanted to see him. All of him. Wanted to see how hard he'd become, for her, wanted to drink in the sight of his entire naked form. She was disappointed, however, when he became distracted from the objective she'd given him and focused on touching her.

A flicker of foreboding cut through Amber's haze of pleasure as Eric broached her thighs, fingers slipping up to her vagina. She was suddenly reminded of the night before, when he'd gone down on her when she wasn't ready, and the memory made her return his kiss quietly, having difficulty matching his passion. She was almost glad for the barrier provided by the nylons. And just as quickly she flared with indignation; she would not allow a repeat of that disaster. This, what they were doing, was fucking hot, and she wanted this, even if Eric occasionally swerved from her immediate intentions. And the beauty of tonight was that she got to decide what happened when.

So Amber kissed him back, hard, sucking on his lower lip and then biting just enough for him to feel it. Her hand covered his, directing it to the safer ground of her thigh. "You will," Amber promised as she broke their kiss, staring intently into his eyes. "Soon." When she decided the time had come.

Her gaze turned back to his crotch. That was still what she wanted. Them to be naked. If he couldn't finish the task, then she would. She hooked a finger around the band of her nylons and thong, shoving them down and then kicking them off. At once she felt cooler, but sexier, too. She smiled, knowing that Eric would be even more turned on by her nudity. The only item remaining on her was her pearl necklace, weighing down lightly on her collar bone, and she allowed herself to pose a bit, hands on her hips.

Amber knew what she wanted next. She sank to her knees, pushing Eric just enough to have the space she needed, and pulled down his shorts until it pooled to the floor. Yes. The desk blocked any of the available light coming through the curtains, but this part was no mystery to her, either. She guided herself by following the curve of his thighs, palming their smooth, slickening surface; his scent was so strong here, more sweat and no cologne. Just Eric. Amber couldn't resist holding her face up his thigh, breathing in deep through her nose. And he was so hot, just to the side; Amber wanted so badly to go straight to that center, sense for herself his erection. But she wanted to tease, too. With a slight moan, Amber laid kisses along his hip bone; nuzzled where it jutted out the most. She was growing so aroused she could feel her wetness seep out beyond her lips; god she wanted to reach a hand between her legs and stroke herself. But instead she took hold of his ass, one hand on each side, prompting him nearer, turning her head just so to rub her cheek against his erection, his pubic hairs. Fuck, he was already so hard. For her. She made herself take in air—she’d need that—and enveloped his dick with her mouth, half-covering him. God, this, this. Amber wanted to make him go crazy.

With a huff of air, Foreman was wrenched back to himself, by Amber's teeth catching in his lip and her hand on his wrist, implacably moving his grip to her thigh. He stilled for a moment, meeting her eyes, his chest heaving with how hard he was breathing. Christ, he hadn't expected that. He'd been playing the game, pushing Amber playfully to give him more explicit orders, and then in an instant, he'd forgotten the bet entirely. Desire had washed over him so strongly that he'd lost control. Amber's reminder wasn't harsh, but Foreman felt it that way even so. He'd known since last night that she wasn't comfortable with him pushing, and she'd reset those boundaries tonight, used the terms of the bet to guide him. He nodded slightly, calling himself back.

His self-recrimination didn't last long. Amber took initiative, shedding her nylons, until she was completely naked, showing off, and fuck, Foreman had to force himself not to move forward again, not to let himself reach for her and explore every part of her body the way he had her neck and chest earlier. "Amber--"

God. No time to finish a damn thought. Amber dropped to her knees, authoritatively taking his boxers with her until his dick sprang free, hard and curving up towards his stomach. Pleasure and anticipation throbbed in rhythm deep in the pit of Foreman's stomach, and he groaned almost before Amber leaned forward to kiss him. Her hair drifted against his erection, and he could feel every whisper of her breath right where he was most sensitive. "Please," he said, the word practically falling out of his mouth. Touches along his hipbone, over his stomach, his ass, weren't enough. He wouldn't touch her--wouldn't force her--but, Jesus, he wanted her so much, wanted her heat, wanted her to suck him with the same light deliberateness that he'd used on her. Slow and careful until he couldn't stand it anymore.

It was easier, so much easier, to do what she wanted now. A deep, broken sound caught in the back of his throat when Amber closed her mouth over the tip of his erection, too him in. "God, yes. Amber, yeah. Yes. There." He stopped thinking, let himself babble. His hand found its way to Amber's cheek, but not to cup her head, only to stroke her hair back from her face so that he could see her. Her lips sealed around his dick, the wet, eager movements of her mouth that matched the flashfire of arousal pounding through him. He could barely stand, his knees buckling, a hot weakness moving through his muscles as the world narrowed down only to Amber. "Yeah, oh. Mmn, I--please, Amber. Please."

Fuck, this was hot. Amber could taste the rapid beat of Eric's heart; hear the pounding of his blood; smell his musk where it was strongest. Looking up at the touch to her cheek, she saw his eyes shining down at her, watching her, and god that was amazing. If she kept on breathing, fast and shallow, and sucking on his dick, it was only by sheer instinct. Thoughts were fast abandoning her.

She'd meant this as a quick feature of their night, just a bit of fun before settling in for a good, hard fuck, but Eric's reaction, his pleading, his imploring thrusts, it made her want to give it to him, make him see stars. And now with his dick in her mouth, hard and salty and thick and so full, Amber couldn't have stopped herself even if she'd wanted to. And the condoms were all the way in the bedroom, anyway. This was instant gratification. So Amber stayed on her knees, bobbing her head just so as to cover the tip of his dick. God. She gripped his ass tight, squeezing, and moaned. If she could just touch herself, she’d explode, shuddering with orgasm. But later. Later.

For now she let herself take in more of him, slow, pressing her lips tight around his shaft and sucking, tonguing the bottom of his dick. She'd make him come. Make him beg, like he was now, make him scream. Maybe he'd even let out her name. How about that. One hand delved into his ass crack, as she forgot that he might not appreciate that, and the other one slid forward to cup one of his balls, clenched so tight to his body. She didn't do more than hint and tease with her touch, seeking out from his reaction what he wanted. By now her back was aching a bit from the position, and her knees protested against being scraped on the carpet. Some strands of her had even entered her mouth. None of this mattered, in the face of Amber's excitement. She'd engulfed as much of Eric as she could, without provoking her gag reflex, and worked her jaw, creating more spit; began to take him in and out at a quick rhythm, obscenely wet sounds accompanying her movements as she fucked him with her mouth. He seemed close, Amber was sure he could make him come soon.

Time stopped meaning anything other than the sparking fire of pleasure along Foreman's nerves. His eyes fluttered closed, until he was watching Amber through his lashes, his mouth open, his chin fallen to his chest so that he could see her. He'd had no idea she was going to devote herself to sucking him off like this. Harder, her tongue circling the tip of his dick, then slipping along the underside, so fucking good. He had to adjust his stance just to stay upright, leaning over far enough to rest his hands on the desk behind Amber's head, so that he'd have something to hold on to. Already it felt like his body was flying apart, that Amber's breath, movements, the slick suction of her mouth were going to send him over the edge. He barely noticed her hand on his ass, on his balls, except as emphasis, a low roar as a counterpoint to the sharp spikes of pleasure each time she sucked him in deeper.

The last thing he could give a thought to was holding in his groans, the hoarse sounds that Amber seemed to rip from him each time she hit a sensitive spot. God, he'd stop her--he wanted more, he wanted to slide into her and kiss her while he did--but if this was what she wanted, he couldn't find any way to say no. All he could do was beg. Her name, please, more, all of it, pouring out of his mouth without a thought. Somehow, stop himself from thrusting into her mouth, and arch into the pure sensation as much as he could. Warn her, in case she wanted to back away. "Amber, God--I'm--nn--fuck. I'm coming--"

His breathing exploded in the same instant as his orgasm. Amber was good. So good he couldn't stop. He came, hard, the sensation whiting out his mind until he lost himself. A loud moan escaped the same instant his body froze in the rush of feeling.

Oh, yeah, like that, just like that. Amber wished her mouth wasn't occupied, wished she could tell him how hot he was, how he should come for her. His own pleas and groans filled that lack, and every time he uttered her name, choked out like he had no control-- Amber didn't know how she didn't come from just that. Fuck, she loved hearing how much she affected him. Sure he was hard, and the taste of pre-come filled her senses, but physical stimulus alone could do that. If he kept calling her name like that, maybe she'd gotten in him. In his head, and elsewhere.

It made Amber feel powerful. Good. Warm. Sexy. She never wanted to let this feeling go.

As Eric's tremors became stronger, his tumbling sounds more irregular, Amber quickened her pace, penetrating his crack more, applying pressure to his asshole; stroked the ball she held. Amber wanted him to feel every bit of his orgasm; to flush with yearning whenever he thought back on it. Wanted him to keep coming back for more because no one else could ever compare. And then there was that wonderful moment of stillness—it sang of victory-- before he shuddered even more, groaning harder than he had so far. It hurt to smile around his dick, but Amber did, smug as she sucked him, doing everything she could to draw out his orgasm. She did pull back her head a bit, opened her lips wider to protect herself from his helpless, erratic thrusts. Even as his pulses died down, his penis starting to decrease in size, Amber kept on, encouraging him with her tongue. Only when she was certain he was drained did she carefully let his penis slide out of her mouth; swallowed his bitter come, kissed his groin tenderly, her hands smoothing down the back of his thighs.

Amber looked up at him, grinning, and then clambered to her feet. Kissed his mouth-- he hadn't objected, that first night, to tasting her after she'd blown him-- deep, demanding. Her body still strummed in demand for release, but making Eric come like that had been a satisfaction in and of itself. "That was amazing," she whispered, "And so hot. So fucking hot, Eric.”

They couldn't fuck in the immediate future-- it was her own fault, and she cheerfully accepted the responsibility-- but they could before long, certainly. Eric had proven his stamina in their previous experiences. And as a stopgap measure, he could bring her pleasure in other ways. Amber took Eric's hand, pressed her lips to his knuckles, tenderly at first, then fervently; pushed it down her body, down her sternum, down her abdomen, then round to the swell of her hip. "You wanted to touch me-- now you can." How did she want this? She couldn't even have explained why, only that it felt so right: she turned over, supporting the base of her hands on the table, exposing her behind to him. Her legs spread slightly. Didn't think about how he wouldn't be able to look into her face like this, and see just how weak she'd be in this moment of indomitable lust. "I need you inside of me," she said, voice almost wavering with desire. And to avoid any misunderstandings, "Your fingers, please, in my vagina--"

"Oh, yeah..." Foreman moaned again, quieter, his hips rolling forward languidly as Amber didn't pull back, didn't even start to. Knowing he didn't have to worry about her sensibilities let him focus for that much longer on the sensations reverberating through him. Letting them echo, and finally ripple away. His moans became a low, sated hum. He felt wrung out, his whole body shivering, not from cold but from reaction. All he wanted to do was lie down and let the endorphins carry him away.

He met Amber's kiss with that feeling. Her mouth, bitter with his come, was urgent, demanding, and Foreman kissed her back as hard as he could, but with the sleepy, loving feeling underlying it. Amazing. As if blowing him had been something for her. Foreman's warmth tinged brighter with smugness. God, she wanted him like that, helplessly fucking her mouth, coming before she'd even thought to turn her face away. It had been her choice and she'd pushed his hands away, focused entirely on him. "Yeah," he answered, still feeling slow and quiet and not quite alert, despite the singing awareness in his nerves. "God, you made me come so hard..." He sighed, deeply, as if he was expelling every stupid memory and bad feeling from earlier in that one breath. He could have held himself together, waited, pulled away from her before he'd come. He could have told her what he'd wanted when they'd started. To hold her; to meet her eyes and see the pleasure filling her expression when he thrust into her; to kiss her in languorous increments, each one filled with all his feeling for her. For now, it wasn't his call. But, Jesus, he still wanted that, more and more as time passed.

Amber guided to his hand to her body, and Foreman smiled as she made him touch her only where she wanted. He didn't mind--God knew she was right, he wanted to touch her so much--but it did seem that her need to control him had only grown. His eyes widened as Amber turned away from him and bent over the desk. His eyes went immediately to her ass, to the firm curve where his hips would fit so well against her, the incredible length of her spread legs and the flex of her calves as she practically offered herself to him. Foreman stepped closer, leaning over her, where he could nearly cover her with his body, and speak against her ear. "You're incredible," he said. With his left hand, he reached around to her stomach to hold her back against him, and steady her. He spread his right hand over her back and slid it down her spine, and finally--Christ--between her thighs, feeling how wet she was. "So hot, make me want you so much." His fingers teased along her labia, until they were coated and slippery with her moisture, and then, with a grin, he followed her instructions. He slid one finger inside her until he'd found her g-spot, exploring and rubbing the pad of his finger over the slight change in texture. Perfect. Throbbing with heat, her heartbeat a pulse he could nearly feel in her muscles, quivering around his finger. "Amber, tell me what you want. Tell me you want more."

Amber broke. "Oh, god," she whimpered. "More, everything, please--" She didn't know how to tell him what she needed, for him to wrap her up, to cover her, to kiss her along her neck, to massage her stomach, to cup her breasts, to-- to surprise her. This wasn't enough, too cold, too distant. He'd ignored earlier what she wanted, making jokes about how she needed to be more specific about what (who) needed to get off, and now he was following her instructions literally, and it wouldn't do, it wouldn't do. In an erratic burst of resentment, Amber wished he could read her mind-- not everything, she'd keep most everything to herself, but enough for him to know exactly what she wanted, and when. "Eric," she let out, and tried to stand up, to let the warmth of his torso warm her back, to feel his breath against her cheek as she turned her face towards him, but she was stuck to the spot, not wanting to change what already felt so good, so overwhelming, so strong. She wasn't a machine, touch a button and make it go. "Touch me, anything, I want to feel you, all over, please--"

The smooth polish of the desk was slippery as it was, and her sweaty palms made it impossible to hold on firmly; even as Eric held her stomach, Amber slid with every tremor of her body. Couldn't anchor herself. She cried out, unable to stop the sounds of her pleasure, loud and frequently interrupted by sharp intakes of breath. It felt so good, Eric playing with her wetness, and god, that blew her mind, imagining how slick his fingers were now, covered with her arousal, and how it only helped him to drive into her faster, harder, more directed. Amber bent her head, eyes closed, rolling her hips because she couldn't help it, because that motion was instinct itself. She didn't notice how her hair brushed against her face, or how she was standing on tip-toe as if that would bring her nearer to heaven, for her world had narrowed down to the ecstasy rippling through her, the roar of building climax. Couldn't even distinguish scents anymore, overwhelmed with the aftertaste of his come, the strenghtening odor of their sweat. But that finger, its relentless stroking, it wouldn't be enough. Amber tilted her face towards Eric, asking without realizing herself that it was a request for more-- a kiss, a bite, a caress. Her lips parted with the unexpressed hope.

Through his own satisfaction, Foreman couldn't help feeling excited all over again at Amber's cries, the surge of her body against his, the way she let everything--every feeling, every sensation--show, in her voice or her movements. He hugged her closer to him, until her back was nestled against his chest, sweat slipping between them and magnified by their shared heat. God, he'd always loved this, from the very first night they'd been together. How Amber didn't hold back. How she let him see the pleasure he brought her bring her to pieces. "That's right, like that. Like that. Show me how it feels."

Fuck, Amber was magnificent, giving him what he'd asked for, telling him what she wanted, what he could do for her. His name on her lips--hearing that caught at Foreman's heart, like she'd pierced his chest with his name alone. Foreman let more of his weight fall on her, pinning her against the desk, giving her nowhere to go except arching up into him, then down onto his fingers. Amber was moving her hips, her whimpering cries getting more and more desperate as she begged him for more. Foreman added a second finger, then a third, until he could feel the tightness of Amber's muscles gripping him. He pushed in and up, stroking firmly. Over and over again, as she clenched around him, slippery and hot and needy. He kissed her shoulder, nosed her hair aside to follow the line of her throat, licking and sucking as he went. When Amber turned towards him, he kissed her deeply, her hair caught between their mouths.

When they parted to breathe, Foreman whispered against her lips, "Gonna make you come now, baby. Gonna be good." He didn't quite ask if you're ready, if that's okay--he didn't want to stop, and Amber seemed too caught up in her own pleasure to want to stop him. That was what he'd hoped for from the beginning. To give her this, without letting her fears or need for control get in the way. Foreman moved his left hand down her stomach, letting her feel where he was going, just in case. With light, circling pressure, he slipped his fingers between the top of her labia until he reached her clit. He massaged his fingertips over it, circling and rubbing, and he pushed his fingers harder inside of her from behind at the same instant. The rhythm of both motions, the heat and moisture already easing his way, and Amber's own need, all of it, Foreman wanted to see it drive her over the edge. At the last, he kissed her again, so that he could feel it, everywhere, the instant she came.

Oh, yes, oh please, fuck yes, he understood. Amber whimpered her appreciation, so glad, and it wasn't just because of the pleasure, though there was that, and it was amazing, so perfect, washing her over from head to toe, but her happiness was because he'd gotten it, he'd given her what she needed, even when she couldn't say what it was. She reveled his heat, rubbing against his chest, and it was so sexy, his nipples against so unexpected a place, his chin digging into the back of her neck, beard scratching her where she was so sensitive. And he was opening her up so wide, filling her, stroking, until she couldn't have taken anymore, so hard, so good, it was almost like being fucked with the real thing. She probed against his tongue with her own, flicking, the moist sensation heightening her thrill.

Her climax was building up, and Amber was almost there, so close, just a bit more, if he'd just touch her clit, that'd be it. Amber wanted to tell him, trying to mold her mouth into forming consonants, but as if Eric had read her mind, he did precisely what she needed, touching her lightly but insistently.

There. That. She was gone. Amber closed her eyes, let go. For all the noise she'd just been making, Amber was quiet as the orgasm flourished inside her, just a few soft gasps. She was still, only quivering slightly. It was as if all the emotion had been directed inside, and she felt it with the intensity of facing a large, open bonfire. Amber quivered for a moment, her heartbeat paused. And then she was crying out, shaking, rocking on his fingers, riding out this feeling for as long as she could. For a moment she just forgot it all, caught in the aftershock.

When Amber came back to reality, she was panting, soaked in sweat, and still covered by Eric. And couldn't have felt better. She twisted her head again to look into his eyes, since she'd straightened herself out and faced forward during her orgasm. Seeing his satisfaction, so clear in his expression, the pleasure glinting in his eyes, Amber actually did feel better. Warm, fulfilled. "God, Eric, that was--" she had no words for what that was. There were no comparisons. She didn't know if she'd ever come that hard before. Then again, her brain wasn't up for rigorous thinking right then. Amber mentally reviewed what had just happened, to try to get her bearings-- and when she remembered, she started to laugh, the sound coloured with her endorphin-filled joy. "I can't believe you called me 'baby.'" So cheesy, like a porn video or some asinine romance movie, but coming from him, at that moment, it had worked for her. Amber blushed, realizing how much she'd liked it. Never in her life did she expect that term would make her do anything but roll her eyes. But his tone, low and melodic, his sincerity, she'd been drawn by that. It'd been a part of what made her come.

Amber climaxed hard, bare moments after he'd started touching her. "Yeah, come on," Foreman said, the words lost as he spoke into her hair. Amber's mouth was torn from his as she gasped sharply for air, letting out shuddering, half-panting breaths. Foreman kept moving his fingers deep inside her, keeping up the intermittent pressure on her clit, to keep her at her peak for as long as possible. He was breathing hard himself, from the desire, the arousal, of seeing Amber like this. Making her come like this. God, she was so beautiful.

Gradually, Amber relaxed under him, the spasms of her vagina around his fingers slowing. Foreman drew his fingers out slowly, and wrapped both arms around her, nuzzling against her neck as he held her close and tight. "Mmm," he agreed, letting the sound out into her skin, along with a kiss to her shoulder, when she finally spoke. It had been. Everything. He didn't need the words, but it still felt good to hear it, pride swelling to know how much he'd affected her. He felt warm, satisfied, tired with the muscle-deep exhaustion of an amazing workout, his body still resonating on the same level as Amber's.

His head lifted, jerked up without his conscious knowledge as soon as Amber mentioned calling her baby. Foreman hadn't even considered it. He'd said it because he felt it, because of how much he felt about her. Maybe that was too much. In the moments when he wasn't with her, Foreman could see how damn fast this was all going, how much he'd invested without stopping even once to protect himself against it ending badly, or ending at all. "Baby" had come to his lips as naturally as all his other encouragements, every appreciative word pouring out of him. He never would have thought twice about it if Amber hadn't brought it up. And laughed at him.

Foreman took a step back, to let Amber up instead of keeping her bent over the desk. Instead of sharing her happiness, self-consciousness took over, leaving him embarrassed and resentful and more aware than he had been that they'd fucked in the middle of Amber's living room, without so much as a thought. A glance around showed him that all the curtains were closed, but Amber might just as easily have left one of them open, left them exposed to any nosy passerby who wanted a thrill. "Shouldn't I have?" he said, his voice struggling between defiance and the remains of the tenderness that had led him to say it in the first place. Was he supposed to police his damn words now, not only touch her only as and when she wanted, but keep his mouth shut about what he might feel as well?

Amber closed her hands over his forearms, smiling softly, glowing. This was perfect. Exactly how she'd wanted it-- well, not exactly, there had been some missteps. But they'd worked their way around them, Eric picking up on her cues when she wasn't content and changing his actions accordingly. Amber felt good. Safe. She sighed and rubbed her cheek back at the parts of him she could reach that way, each and every one of her senses humming with satisfaction. Amber was floating, lying on her very own cloud nine. All she wanted now was to find a soft surface and be there with him, languorously kissing and touching and smiling at each other.

Amber noticed the sharpness of his movement, wondered at it even through the haze of her afterglow. And then Eric wasn't there, and she missed him at once, the air nowhere near as satisfying as his warm torso. Amber stood up, wincing slightly at the ache that had crept into her lower back without her noticing, and turned towards him, brushing away the strands of hair that where still plastered to her forehead and neck. And then he asked that question. She heard his anger, caught the glower even in the near-darkness.

No. No. Amber blinked, her hands clasping quickly over her abdomen. Not now, why now, when everything was working out so well. "No," Amber whispered, vehemently. "Don't-- It was perfect." She reached up, cupping his cheek. Smirked wanly. "I'll deny it on my grandmother's grave if you tell anyone, but, actually, it was pretty hot." Amber took in a deep breath; god, she only wanted to kiss him, to make him not get caught up in this, to misunderstand what had only been amusement and embarrassment. And maybe it was the endorphins, but Amber let herself do so, refusing to be as paranoid about his reactions as she had recently been. Softly, like a butterfly landing on a petal, Amber brushed his lips with hers. What she wanted tonight, she got—that was the deal. And she’d decided he couldn’t get pissed at her over a few words. She simply wouldn’t have it.

He didn't want to tense up again like this. But Amber had blindsided him, held up a mirror that he wasn't ready to look in, and Foreman felt edgy and trapped. The only thing he'd meant by it was I like you. I care about you, but he had no clue what it meant that he felt so much, so soon.

Amber stood up and turned to him. Foreman kept his weight back on his heels, uncertain. Her face was flushed, sweat glowing on her chest and at her temples, and her eyes were still dilated. As if everything was still perfect. Foreman played her words back over, remembering the low, amused way she'd spoken. Amber hadn't been thinking, hadn't been judging him. She'd been speaking lazily, not to laugh at him but just to express how he'd made her feel. More reassuring than that, though, was her immediate step closer, reaching out to touch him. None of the rejection he expected if she wasn't comfortable or if he'd said too much.

Foreman closed his eyes and accepted her kiss, pursing his lips to echo the lightness of it. He circled Amber's waist with his arms, hugging her close, bringing her warmth back to his. "Good," he murmured, turning his face into the side of her throat. Kissing her, gently, only enough to taste the saltiness of the skin just over her jugular, before he spoke again. "Because if you're going to be that damn gorgeous, I might say it again."

He could relax now. Eyelids drooping, mouth parted slightly as he breathed Amber's scent, arms lax at her waist where he was holding her, he realized, in a distant way, that everything he'd needed had happened. Amber had helped him escape, forget. Feelings of contentment, low remains of pleasure, and most of all, the desire to be near to Amber, like this, all night--they took precedence, leaving no room for any of his embarrassment or anger that came from explaining about Marcus. God, it was so good. Being with Amber. Letting go with her, for her. He smiled, slowly, pressing his cheek against hers. "Don't you have a bed around here somewhere?"

Amber's glow intensified, her smile warm like spring day. Again Eric's words, calling her gorgeous so easily, made her heart pick up speed, doing its best to thud hard in her post-orgasm laziness. She believed him, just as much as when he'd said she made him feel good. But now it wasn't frightening. Amber felt immune, protected by their bet, by how much was under her control. His-- their-- feelings were definitely out of her grasp, but at this moment, fulfilled and with complete decision power, she could pretend that they were. Hadn't she just stopped his anger from ruining the moment?

Eric was still terrible at saying what he meant, but she thought she had an idea of what he was hinting at, now. "Oh, yeah?" Amber challenged, breathing in deeply with his mouth caressing her throat. "Do it." She wanted it. Wanted to hear him call her baby, wanted that spontaneous, natural affection. Didn't care that if it'd come from anyone else, she'd have told them off; all that mattered to her was that he meant it with whatever emotion he had. And Amber didn't know how, since she'd just come, but the thought of it, sent a jolt straight to her clit; made her wetter. Her arms folded around him, below his armpits, and she rose up into him, her bare, sweaty breasts pressing against his chest. Closed her eyes as she brushed her cheek against his, her chin resting on his shoulder. She wanted him, so much.

"Yeah," she murmured, nodding. It was about time they got horizontal.

"I will." Foreman dropped a few more teasing kisses along her carotid artery, to feel the pound of her heart against his lips. He'd say it again when he felt it. Probably it would have been sooner, if Amber hadn't brought his attention to it. Now he'd feel too self-conscious to simply let it slip out. But some moment, the heat of his feelings would carry him away again. Knowing it wasn't going to get Amber all hung up on what it meant would make it easier. Amber's arms around him were warm, and she was pulling him as close as he was pulling her. Christ, he was glad of that. His face was burning, and he knew he wouldn't be able to actually say the word, like this, prompted because Amber wanted to order it out of him. Foreman drew back slowly, just enough to meet Amber's eyes. He put off the move to the bedroom, his heart kicking harder against his chest as he forced himself to be open. Even in the darkness, he wanted her to know how much he meant this. "I don't--I won't always. But I will."

Amber waited: maybe he'd drawl it out, purposefully dramatic and cheesy. Or maybe he'd whisper it, repeating the word as he nuzzled her neck. But all that came was a promise.

She frowned, her arms slipping down slightly as her hold loosened; she'd told him to call her that. Later wasn’t good, she wanted it now. Hadn't he understood? Did he think that some of her decisions were optional, do only if you fucking feel like it? He'd felt like it when he'd had his fingers up her vagina, why not now?

It was hardly a big deal-- two syllables-- and if he didn't want to, then he didn't want to. When they set the terms, she'd asked him for his limits; he'd said he didn't know, and that he'd find them with her. Okay. Amber sighed. It was idiotic and made no sense, but she'd agreed, and Eric did have this right.

It shouldn't have mattered, but the refusal weighed on her, sinking in her chest. Amber slipped out of his arms. She wasn't really in charge. Sure she could call the shots, but the Eric got the final word; everything she wanted hinged on his approval. And if he couldn't call her one stupid endearment she wouldn't have ever thought of craving, before he himself had used it, what else would he refuse?

Amber tried to shove her disappointment aside, taking his hand and lightly covering it with hers. "Okay," she answered quietly. She couldn't get angry. She'd agreed to respect his boundaries, and that was that. Even if it felt like a slap to the face. Turning towards the bedroom, Amber was glad that it was dark; that he couldn't see her face as she led him; that she'd have these few seconds to recompose herself.

It wasn't hard to know that what he'd said wasn't good enough. It was a kinesthetic feeling, on the level of their bodies, a constriction, a weightedness that hadn't been there before. And Foreman could hardly fucking miss the fact that Amber backed away from him as soon as he'd managed, against his own better judgement, to tell her the truth. He'd nearly laughed off her order entirely, certain that she couldn't mean it. He probably would have pissed her off all the more if he had. And that wasn't fair. He'd nearly choked on his own quasi-explanation; he couldn't have managed more than that. But he'd tried. He'd fucking tried. He'd been honest.

Amber's response was quiet, but everything about her body screamed that she was holding back. She was holding his hand, but she'd pulled away from him, marching more than walking to the bedroom, refusing to look him in the eye. Foreman frowned at her back, following her but not because he wanted to lie down with her and go back to playing at being obedient. He wanted to spit out more questions. What would she ask next? It was her turn to be in charge--Foreman snorted mentally at the idea of "her turn", it had never fucking been his turn that he'd noticed--and so she'd tell him to say I love you, as if the empty words would make it true? Nothing ordered meant anything. This wasn't supposed to be another way for Amber to prove that patient of theirs right. Foreman got it, he wasn't the dominant one, message fucking received. That didn't mean he did what she said because he had no choice. He acted that way because it made Amber feel good, because she wanted it, because he wanted to give her what she wanted. He loved making her respond, giving her pleasure, making her come; if it turned her on for him to follow orders, then that turned him on too. It didn't mean he was no better than a dildo, acting only as much as Amber could manipulate it to do. He wasn't a fucking robot. He cared, and he'd tell her he cared, in his own way, in his own time.

He paused in the doorway of her bedroom, all his thoughts keeping him from going any further. He kept his voice as quiet as hers, but it damn well hurt, that she couldn't accept what he'd said. "Did you want me to say it, or did you want me to mean it?"

Amber took a deep breath, and then another, trying to become calm in what little time she had. She was just-- just so embarrassed. Embarassed that she'd reacted so strongly to so fucking stupid a word, embarassed that she'd wanted to hear it-- hear Eric and, oh god, that warm tone he'd used, like the one candlelight in the middle of darkness-- so badly, and so unbelievably embarrassed at how upset she was now. And how fucking could he, it was just a word, couldn't he have said it? It'd have been so easy. She could call him a baby right now. It'd be easy. Her grasp on his hand tightened. That's what he was, after all, just a big baby, one who couldn't make porno-doctor jokes without getting flustered and who couldn't follow the fucking rules. How sexy was that?

So firmly she'd been striding ahead that when Eric stopped, she accidentally went on a step or two without him, their contact broken. Something vicious flared in Amber, deliciously validating her anger. Good. Better this way. If he was going to start digging his heels, let him dig them in all the way. If he wouldn't do what she said, then let him fucking not do any of it. She hadn't forced him into accepting the bet and her position. This wasn't the Diagnostics Department, where he'd be her superior no matter how they fucked or how pathetically doe-eyed they got over one another. They'd promised, and if he hadn't been willing to follow through with the terms, he shouldn't have misled her by agreeing.

So she whirled around, hair whipping, and she squared her shoulders, daring him to spit out whatever crap he had in that head of his. He was a shadow in the doorway, unreadable. Her nostrils flared as he spoke, clenched fists flying to rest on her hips. "I wanted you to say it!" Amber exclaimed, lashing out. She'd wanted him to say it as a joke, for them to laugh and bond over it. "And to mean it, whatever the fuck that's supposed to mean!" He'd been-- it'd been just so right, tender and caring and she'd felt so good at that moment, safe. The very opposite of how she felt now. Naked. Sticky. Amber lowered her face slightly, fingertips at her temples. Burned quietly. "How could you mean it one moment, and not the next?" If she'd been yelling before, now she was subdued, eyes closed. Fuck. Fuck.

Stricken, Foreman watched Amber turn from anger to hurt, so quickly that he hadn't seen it coming at all. He knew it wasn't over a word--it was part of what he'd been trying to make her understand, that a word like that meant something beyond just forming the syllables. In some sense, she had to get that, because otherwise she wouldn't be this upset if she thought he'd somehow stopped meaning it.

Foreman moved towards her, then. Like he was drawn, like he couldn't have stayed away. He enfolded her in his arms, not letting her get away--he was strong enough to manage that--and held her tight, wanting to keep her steady, stable, let her hold on to him in return if she wanted. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to stay relaxed. He was holding like she was the only comfort he had, and he hoped she didn't fight, didn't want to back away, because he needed her to hear him. This time, the words bubbled up easily, through all his discomfort and insecurity; soft and gentle and low, for her, only for her.

"I care about you. That doesn't change, okay? I always mean that." Foreman cupped the back of her head lightly, stroking his fingers through her hair. "Saying something like that, it's special to me, and if I said it every time, it wouldn't be." He sighed, turned closer to her, pressing his nose into the side of her head. Now, when she was upset, when he was doing everything in his power to make it better--even if he failed--he felt the same welling up of tenderness that he had when he'd been driving her towards her orgasm. She'd been lost in his arms. She'd been something fragile, she'd given herself entirely over to his touch. He'd wanted so much to make her feel good. Now, it was a tightness around his heart; he needed her to know, beyond ordinary words, how much it mattered to him that she was happy, that he hadn't hurt her. And even though they'd just had a damn argument about the word, making him more anxious and awkward than he ever had been to start, and saying it might set her off--it was still what he meant, in this moment. "Baby, I mean it. I mean it so much, but you can't--I can't just say it. Amber honey, you gotta let me say it because it matters."

No, fuck no. Amber wanted to push him away, and she put her palms to his chest, ready to shove, because he couldn't fucking do this, he couldn't treat her like a princess one second, freeze up and yell at her the next, and then fucking envelope her like that'd make up for that moment of pure asshole. Because he was still an asshole and he still hurt her and if he could change his feelings that fast, flipping them as easy as a dime, then she didn't want it, she didn't want any of it. He could go find himself some other girl who'd simper along with that volatile behavior, and fuck her, and fuck himself. Amber did pull away, and drew in a huff of air when Eric refused to go along with it, insisting on closing himself in on her. Fuck that. It was against her will that he spoke to her, explaining himself. He was gentle, and her bitterness at hearing that caressing tone when she was so angry made her eyes sting. Fuck. He couldn't do this to her. She wasn't-- he had to stop treating her like she was fragile.

And then. He called her that stupid word again, worried, upset that she was upset, and it was dark, she couldn't see his face, but he held her so carefully, cradling, practically. Even his breath was tentative, as if he might blow her away. Tears spilled from Amber's eyes before she'd realized they'd built up. Fuck. And what did it mean, that he cared about her? How much? How? Like, he'd be sorry if she vanished, but he'd forget her when the next bit of news came in? Or was it more? How much more? And then it was honey, yet another word she'd never thought to apply to herself, and it hurt to hear him say it like he meant it, because how could he do this to her, yet another fucking ridiculous endearment. As if the first hadn't caused enough damage. Now she cried in earnest. Damn it, she hadn't cried since she'd been rejected for that fellowship at Mayo. Amber covered her face, hiding. "Fuck you, Eric." She said it with a sob, unable to stop that sound. "Oh, god, fuck you--" And the next thing she knew, she was clutching him, arms squeezed around his neck, her cheek to his, because she was mortified, because she couldn't bear if it he turned away from her again. She just didn't know how to believe him, at this moment, from now on.

Amber pushed against him at first, struggling against what he was saying, and Foreman nearly let her go. He could have backed away. Last night she'd asked him to stop and he had; he respected her, he didn't want to force anything. But she'd said--maybe she hadn't meant it, but she'd said that she hadn't done this before, been with someone long-term, and that she still wanted it. Wanted to learn. Maybe she knew more about having sex in washrooms, or whatever other wild stunt entered her mind, but maybe there was a way that Foreman knew more. He'd felt so embarrassed about not having that kind of experience, no store of raunchy stories or embarrassing morning-afters, and he'd thought she'd judge him for it. But to see her like this, it was clear that there were times he'd been in a place like this, and she hadn't. He knew what it was like to get so ground up and knotted by his feelings that he did the wrong thing, or nothing at all when that was worse; and, even when it was hard as fuck, he knew how to, in the end, get the hell over himself and say everything he needed to. He knew how much it hurt, when he didn't hear it back, or heard it wrong; when somehow, no matter how much two people tried, they could fuck up what they were saying to each other. If he'd said something wrong this time, he'd wait for Amber to tell him so, but he wasn't going to let her go in the meantime. He wasn't going to let her see distance when there wasn't any. It didn't matter if she swore at him, Foreman just kept his hold. He wanted to help her, to be with her and wait it out. He wasn't going to lose her because he'd been the one to let go.

"Shh," he whispered, maybe too soft for her to hear. His face was still buried in her hair, and now he could feel the hot dampness of her tears on his shoulder, against his neck. This morning she'd wanted reassurance about how they'd know, when they were fighting, that they'd make it through to the other side, and he'd said they'd talk. What it hadn't even occurred to him to say was that this was important too--holding on, closing his eyes and swaying with her, breathing slowly to encourage her to do the same. There was still a part of him that was so damn terrified of this--of caring--but it was fucking true, and he couldn't make himself deny it just for his own smug comfort. Amber was the one who mattered now, what she felt. Her shoulders were shaking, her breath catching in her throat, and Foreman spread his palms, his thumb rubbing in soothing circles over her muscles, the other still tangled in her hair. "It's okay. It's going to be okay."

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