alwaysright | November 3, 2007

November 3, 2007 - Morning

Foreman had been right about one thing: when he finally woke up, his whole body felt like he'd run a fucking triathlon the night before. He opened his eyes slowly, a smile already curving his lips. Saturday. No work, no obligations. Last weekend he'd thought that he'd fucked up completely with Amber. This morning, here he was, grinning half into his pillow at the sight of her hair, tangled and fanned out across the sheets. So he hurt; that was no different than the morning after a lot of workouts. Some stretching and he'd be fine. If that was the only price he'd pay for last night, he'd always choose to do it again.

They'd finally made it out of the bath when the water was cooling. Fingers and toes pruned, shivering because they'd both fallen asleep, towelling off vigourously to warm up again. Foreman hadn't bothered waking up beyond the most basic functions. He'd gotten his teeth brushed, pissed, hauled his boxers on, and fallen into Amber's bed all without engaging any higher mental faculties. He didn't even remember falling asleep.

Looked like he was the first one to wake up this morning. Usually his body woke him up after eight hours whether he needed more or not. Affection poured through him at the sight of Amber, still sleeping. This way he could admire her before she realized that her hair wasn't in place, and it made the feeling sweeter, somehow, that she didn't know. To let her sleep herself out, Foreman tried to keep himself quiet as he climbed out of bed. He eased out of the bedroom after he'd hauled his trousers and hoodie on. Amber's keys were next to her purse, near the door, and Foreman ducked out for a quick, shivering trip to his car. He came back in with the bag he'd packed yesterday without running into Murphy or any of the other tenants, thank Christ. It didn't take him long to sort out things that he could leave here--deodorant, shaving stuff, cologne, toothbrush--along with a few clothes, more comfortable stuff so that he wouldn't be limited to suits on the weekend.

He showered about as quickly as he would on a weekday, not lingering once he'd gotten clean. He dressed in a pair of battered jeans and a clean sweater, before heading for the kitchen.

He wasn't a great cook, which Amber knew by now. When he was a kid, Mom had let him and Marcus into the kitchen for baking only--to lick icing off the spoons, or to dump too much flour in the bowl, making a mess with the ingredients and then burning his tongue crunching through the resulting--usually rock hard--cookies or cakes. But she'd also considered the kitchen more or less her domain, and she'd swatted their rumps with a dishtowel if they'd gotten in her way when she was cooking the big meals. Not that it was her fault he'd never learned. If he'd ever shown a real interest, rather than sprinting through and grabbing at whatever was sitting out to stuff into his face while Mom was in the middle of preparations, she probably would have taught him. He'd been an ungrateful teenager, he'd expected his meals to be ready for him, and he hadn't paid much attention except when they weren't. What he did know, he knew from disastrous experiments when he was in college, and certainly Claire had never stooped to cooking for him when they both had the same punishing hours at the hospital.

But there was one dish that he was terrific at. It was Claire who'd taught it to him, actually, after he'd complimented her effusively one too many times and given her his best wide-eyed, hopeful look when it seemed like she might be about to make breakfast. Denver omelette, egg whites only since he was trying to keep himself in weight training trim. He'd seen all the ingredients he needed in Amber's fridge last night. Peppers, onions, even some bacon. Cheese, maybe. He'd have to check. He could even set the table this morning since he'd reuse the clean dishes from dinner last night. It wasn't that he always expected to cook, but in this one case, he knew what he was doing, and damn, he already knew Amber could be astonishingly grateful for a simple meal. The omelette, maybe some toast, and fresh coffee--God, who knew how she'd want to thank him next? Grinning, Foreman set to work, far more confident than he'd been about the stir fry.

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"That," Foreman said, snapping a soft chest pass at Amber, "was flirting." He arched an eyebrow, leering at her happily as she stretched. She'd know a truly horny move when she saw one. Or felt one. She'd told him not to hump her leg, but he didn't see how he could avoid it, seeing the way she bent over the ball, elbows sticking out like wings, her balance completely off as she dribbled around the edge of the court. Foreman kept close, on the balls of his feet, staying between her and the net but making no move for the ball. He could've stolen it from her a dozen times over, but he was actually studying her technique as much as he was keeping his hips glued to hers for...aesthetic reasons.

Last night he'd worked himself up so much, straining against those damn handcuffs of Amber's, that he'd thought he'd ache in the morning. The hot bath had helped, but he could still feel the pull in his muscles as he got into the game a little bit. Since Amber wasn't giving him much of a challenge, he took the time to work out some of the kinks and get through his initial stiffness. Would've been better if they'd stretched, but this was so much more fun. He resisted stroking a hand down Amber's spine or pinching her ass--that'd be cheating.

The longer she worked her way to the basket, though, the less Foreman believed she was as bad as she made out. She was just a little too awkward, the ball too invitingly easy to snatch. He wouldn't be surprised if she was trying to con him. When she twisted and made her shot, he raised his hands too late to block it, and glanced over his shoulder to see the ball swish through the net. Perfect. Chuckling, he nodded at Amber's celebration. She was trying to play him. Well, he wasn't going to lose to please her, that was for damn sure.

"One nil," he acknowledged, and held up his hands for her pass, taking the ball easily up to the foul line. "Play to eleven?" They didn't have time for a full game, and besides, Foreman was far more interested in defense than offense. Once Amber was in position, Foreman dribbled in big, exaggerated movements--she wasn't the only one who could pretend. He flicked his eyes right, twitching in that direction, and then slid easily to the left, going around her and flicking the ball up for an easy shot. Reaching out, he collected it as it fell and passed it back to Amber.

After all, the chance to drive Amber crazy, following her around the court, leaving not so much as an inch of space between them as she tried over and over again to drive to the net, was the best time he'd had in weeks. She was worried that they'd been in bed and hadn't had sex, but as far as Foreman was concerned, this was more of a tease than a simple hug and quiet conversation ever could have been. Keeping close, watching the sweat start to gather along her temples, panting himself as he blocked her shots, was practically foreplay. Amber was fast, but Foreman had the advantage of position, and on the smaller court, that meant more. He let her twist and dodge, and then, at the last minute, he'd sweep the ball out of her hands. One quick jog up past the foul line and he'd take a jump shot, hitting the net from farther and farther out each time, stretching himself a bit.

He'd hit four shots in a row when he finally over-judged himself, and his shot hit the rim, the rebound taking a bounce practically into Amber's hands. She was already close to the foul line. Damn. Foreman sprinted to get in front of her, but he'd put himself badly out of position.

Amber bounced the ball so as to reach Eric; she could’ve flung it, but that took more skill and she wasn’t ready to reveal her cards. "Sure," Amber agreed to the endgame of eleven. Fewer points worked in favor of her scheme.

As Eric stumbled with the dribbling, clumsier than that first graceful circuit when they'd reached here, Amber knew the jig was up. He was faking now. It was so stupid it was almost funny. Why would she fall for her own trick?

Even pretending to be worse though, fuck, he was better than her. Amber reached fast enough to grab the ball, but she didn't have the needed moves ingrained; Eric blocked her automatically as if he knew in advance where she'd be. And when he threw her the ball, for her turn at offense, he still managed to nab it right back.

Fuck. Amber just stood there, panting, a hand on her hip as Eric went in for a fucking fifth point. She might as well not even be there. Time to pull in more of her heavy-duty tactics. But before she could, Eric himself messed up. Just great. She could get the ball back, as long as he screwed up his own maneuvers.

She'd take up any opportunity, though. Amber grabbed the ball, dashed, jumped. Her ponytail had loosened from all the running and jumping, sweat ran down her face, but none of that mattered, because she felt fucking alive, driven by one glorious goal: to win. No more pretending, now, this was as good as she got, determined, fast, forceful. Eric getting in her grill without doing anything to actually stop her was annoying, but she'd still take advantage of his horniness. Feet pounding the smooth floor, Amber managed another shot, the ball whistling sweetly through the net. Score.

Catching the ball as it fell from the hoop, Amber hated to relinquish it again. Stupid rules. Not time to break them yet, though. Amber passed the ball back to Eric, running to block him. He was in his element, though, grinning, assured. He was sweating more than she was, stains spotting his shirt, but even so, lunging and throwing seemed to come effortlessly to him. Inside, Amber growled.

She managed to score another couple of points on the offense, reluctantly passing the ball back to Eric after each turn, so she wasn’t too far behind. The third time, though, about to lose the ball, she shot from far away; missed by a mile. Damn. Amber stopped for a second, hands on her knees, getting in air now. Damn it, she'd lost herself the chance to keep on scoring. If she was going to play like this, she might as well sit down on the outer edge and watch Eric as he slam-dunked consecutively. No. They were even and that'd be laughably easy to beat. Amber righted herself, ran again, the end of her ponytail whipping against the side of her head.

"Hey!" she cried out once she was within arm's reach of Eric. "Weren't we going to play for the skins?" He'd meant himself and the other guys, but whatever. Once she had his attention, Amber tore her tank top off. The distraction-- shock-- might just be enough for her to steal the ball back.

Ha, he'd called it. Amber's game improved by leaps and bounds as soon as Foreman showed he wasn't going to take it easy on her. Sure, he was bringing the level of his defense down to practically nothing, but he wasn't holding back on scoring. Taking a few more chances than he normally would when he had teammates to pass to, but that was the fun of one-on-one. He was the only hero on his team, and if that meant boasting with a few showy attempts from the center line, then that was what he'd do. As soon as he lost control of the ball, Amber grabbed it and dribbled for the net like she had the ball attached to her hand. None of that stumbling, clumsy push-bouncing she'd been doing before. Despite his race to get his position back, he missed stopping her from scoring.

With a smirk, he took the ball back. Now that Amber wasn't pretending, he shifted his own game into a higher gear. Spinning lightly on his feet, he danced around her, not playing games. No more stupid chances; he took clear shots from close in, layups when Amber wasn't close enough to block him--which she hardly ever was. She fell for his fakes nearly every time, one telegraphed move giving him all the time in the world to sprint the other way and make the basket. On defense, though, he wasn't interested in stopping her. The more he stayed with her, the closer she rubbed up against him, giving him the occasional hip-check. God, he wanted to wrap her up in a bear hug and bury his face against her throat, taste the sweat shining in the hollow of her collarbones. The longer they played, the hotter he got, and it wasn't just because he had to work a bit now to keep up with her. Any time he let his eyes wander down her body, she managed to twist around him and score. Wasn't very good for his pride, but he'd rather watch Amber extending to make her shots, muscles working in perfect unison, than worry about who was winning a damn game. Foreman bumped up against her a bit more, nothing hard enough for her to call a foul, but just to put her off-balance again, the way she had been at first.

After they'd traded points back and forth, Foreman worked Amber back from the net, until she had to throw the ball away or give it up. It didn't even hit the backboard, going out of bounds at the baseline. Foreman gathered in the rebound and sprinted for the foul line, ready to take another quick point and get back to the game. He ignored Amber's hey, since he'd gotten wise to her distractions, and sighted on the net, lifting his hands and bending, ready to spring with a sweet shot.

The sudden flash of skin caught his eye just as the ball left his hand. His shot hit the backboard and rebounded, and Foreman barely noticed. "Jesus, Amber--" She was gorgeous, and she knew it, and after spending most of the game fantasizing about getting her clothes off and really getting in close, the combination was hotter than it had any right to be. But, fuck, they weren't alone in the gym, and Foreman spun around to check the reaction of the players at the other courts to seeing Amber in those skin-tight pants and a sports bra, her smooth stomach and the dip of her spine curving under her waistband showed off to the entire world. The guys across from them had definitely noticed; they'd paused in their game to grin and stare. Foreman glared at them, clenching his jaw, but there wasn't anything he could do about it. It wasn't like Amber was naked, or even like she was showing so much as to be scandalous. It was only that Foreman wanted to be the only guy she showed off to, not every random gym jock who happened to be staring.

This morning in bed, she'd all but tried sending telepathic signals to him to make a move, to reaffirm that she hadn't lost her sexual appeal overnight. And now Eric was all over her, bumping into her from behind, hand-swats just missing the ball and brushing against her skin instead. Distracting as hell, and not because it was turning Amber on. She was too focused on not loosing to let her sex drive get started. Her attention was wholly focused on that leather sphere and Eric's next move: even their shadows in the bright halogen lights served as indications.

Eric ran for the ball after she’d missed and positioned himself, legs and arms ready to spring for what would certainly be another point. He didn't look her way at first and for a second Amber worried she'd blown her chance; but then he did glance her way and, oh, how lovely the sound of the ball smacking against the board was. Amber tossed the tank top without bothering to see how far away it'd landed and jogged a couple of steps back, catching the ball on the rebound. Her turn. Eric might be able to argue that it was his turn for the offense, but she could just as well argue that it was hers.

Amber wasn't deaf to the hoots as she bounded across the court; so she'd gathered an audience besides Eric. Pity she had a greater goal, otherwise it'd have been fun, playing up for the crowd, showing off skin just as much as skill. The air hitting most of her torso as she whooshed by felt good, cooling. And knowing she'd caused an impact gave her a boost, powering up her confidence and determination. She came up to the net, just to be sure Eric wouldn't block her shot, and gracefully jammed the ball in.

Amber scooped up the ball before hit the ground, dribbled once while glancing at Eric. He looked so pissed now, body tensed in ways it hadn't been since they'd started the game. Shoulders all hunched, elbows closer to his ribs. So he’d start to play angry.

He expected her to pass the ball. And now, by the rules, she definitely had to; there was no leeway for argument. Well, if she'd been shameless about scoring after he'd stolen the ball from her, no reason why to go back to having scruples. Amber casually tossed the basketball right back into the hoop, just about as close as when she'd scored the previous time. "Six to six," she declared cheerfully, catching the ball again. Halfway through. Now that she was cheating, Eric would get even more competitive; she could handle it. All she needed was five more and to make sure he didn't get any.

Foreman turned back to Amber, still glaring over his shoulder at the idiots ogling her. Instead of running, he marched over to her, ignoring the "point" she scored by blatantly cheating. If she thought he'd been crowding her before, it was nothing to how close he got now, getting right up against her. She still had the ball, and Foreman didn't try to grab it out of her hands. Yeah, he was pissed off that those jackasses were getting a free show, but he wasn't going to let that get in the way of the energy he'd been working up during the game. Until that moment, he'd been loving every minute of it. Seeing Amber's face, flushed with excitement, sweat making strands of hair cling to her forehead, and the rise and fall of her breasts as she panted, it got his blood pumping, but he actually could concentrate on his game even playing against someone so desirable.

"You think you can play me?" he asked, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. That was exactly what she thought, but as a matter of fact, no matter how hot Amber was, the truth of the matter was that Foreman had seen it before, and he'd see it again. "Go ahead," he taunted. "I'll even give you that point, if you think you need it." The one she'd taken by distracting him--that was fair enough. The one she'd stolen by usurping his turn, that was just sad, that she'd resort to that, and Foreman let her know it by lifting one eyebrow in disdainful amusement. She thought she could use sex, or his anger, or both--well, Foreman figured he could piss her off right back, by calling her tactics into question. And he wasn't going to hold back on his defense, either, if this was the way she was going to play it.

"I'll take it." Eric knew her by now: he'd accepted that she was cutthroat. If he wanted to get high-and-mighty about her tactics now, he could shove it. "Kind of like how you made House sign off on the article without letting him reading it first." Going ahead of Cameron was an accident, but standing over House's desk until he got the signature was its own brand of cheating. Taking advantage of his pause as he processed her accusation, Amber darted to the side and sprang another shot. "Oh--" she said in fake surprise as ball rolled around the rim, sank into the hoop. "Whoops, now how did that happen. My fingers must've slipped.” Then, voice serious, “Seven to six."

After that, though, the going got tough.

He just. always. got. the ball. Even when Eric threw it hard at her for her turn on the offense, within seconds he'd be up against her, this time striking his hands out to paw the ball instead of her, or skidding around and in front of her, making her lose her balance and concentration. It worked, too; his points racked up. Even as Amber spent herself, tearing across the court and twisting around Eric so hard she knew she’d feel the ache all over tomorrow, nothing she did was good enough. One, two, three. Nine to seven. Eric could be winning this within seconds. But not on Amber’s turf. Never. Distractions were out, she’d more or less used up that card.

So Amber tackled him. He’d stepped in with his oh so advanced technique and made her lose the ball, and she wasn’t just going to let him score. His back was to her, advancing for the net, so it was easy to quickly wrap her arms around his chest—not tight, just enough to take him by surprise, and maybe give her the chance to put her hands on the ball and dribble it back to herself.

"Hey!" Foreman had thought he'd gotten past any distraction Amber could throw at him, but he'd been expecting fouls, not for her to open up a discussion about whether he'd been right to browbeat House into signing off on his article. By the time he recovered, Amber was around him and the ball was spinning through the hoop for another stolen point--that should've been his turn, again. "Oh, is that what happened," he said, and with a quick swipe, he smacked the ball out of her hands and was heading up to the foul line. "So did mine!"

He'd never intended to make the game deadly serious. Winning was certainly what he'd intended. Amber wouldn't respect him if he just handed her the game, and she had to know that he was more skilled than she was, and more in practice. Even though she was better than he'd first suspected, that couldn't make up for the fact that he'd been playing since high school, had never really gone more than a month without playing at least one damn competitive game. If she'd wanted, Foreman would've been happy to give her some pointers, instead of just trashing her up one side of the court and down the other. Amber probably would take it as some weird form of pity that he offered to teach her. Maybe later, after he'd proved that he wasn't going to let her win, she'd want to learn how to beat him on a regular basis. Now that could get interesting.

Hell, in Amber's eyes, he was probably cheating by giving her any leeway at all. Well, no more of that. Foreman played all out, snapping the ball to Amber and stealing it back seconds later, as soon as the inevitable holes opened up in her defense. The game they'd been playing so far had dragged out because he'd given Amber all the time in the world to get her shots off. Now he was ready to finish it, and he scored three times in a row in under five minutes, while Amber's blocks got wilder and slower. He was lifting his arms for another shot, the words, "Game point," practically already forming on his lips, when Amber slammed into him from behind.

Foreman staggered forward a few steps, trying to hold onto the ball, but Amber knocked it out of his hands, sending it bouncing out of bounds. No way was she getting it back on a foul. Foreman spun around, easy to do since both their arms, and Amber's body, were slick with sweat, and wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her in place. Not hard, although he wasn't about to let her go chase after the ball. He didn't try any dirty tactics, just grinned at her, showing off all the fun he was having. "Personal foul gets me two free shots," he said. They were both breathing fast, and damn it, he was not going to get hard just because the scent of Amber's sweat and the warm press of her body against his didn't exactly remind him of the subject of basketball. "Unless you want me to finish this off the hard way?"

What, he was laughing? With a huge smile, too, like life was a pleasure and the thought of regrets never even occurred to him. After the way she'd shoved the reminder of his bureaucratic cheating in his face and then tackled him, Amber thought he'd be pissed. Instead Eric whirled around, bounding to her front in a single leap, dancing like a hyperactive boy.

Though-- not like a little boy. Amber grinned. She'd witnessed Eric's lust often enough to recognize that suave tone, to know why his eyes bore down so intensely on her. His sway, too, rubbing her pelvis against her more than he would've any other opponent, gave him away. Even his word choice betrayed him. Okay. Amber could do sexy. "Eric," she said lightly, leaning in closer, "you know how I like it. Give it to me hard." Amber stressed the last word, exaggerating the movement of her lips, letting her teeth show as she finished off the final syllable. And then she was kissing him, lips claiming his, tongue slipping into his mouth, just as her right hand found his ass and squeezed. Her face was slick against his, sweat covering even his beard; she gave a slight moan, since he dug her noises so much. Gave him no chance to back off, accepting nothing in turn but his kiss.

All this to push him away, running after the ball. It'd bounced off, hit the back wall, and was rolling in their direction. In a flash Amber scooped it up, leather almost sliding off her fingers, turned, and shot. Her position was awkward, standing directly beneath the backboard, but with a jump and a bit of force in her wrist, the ball curved right into the hoop. "Ten to nine, my favor," Amber announced cheerfully, catching the ball again. If she was going to cheat, might as well go all the way. This was fun.

Oh, fuck. Foreman knew Amber was playing him, but God, he couldn't resist. Her soft, tender voice, nearly a playful murmur, turned him on so damn much, sending a tingle of arousal shooting through his body. Christ, yeah, he knew how she liked it, how she demanded--and got--whatever she wanted. Her kiss was just another reminder of how hard she liked it. It was like she was dying of thirst and trying to drink him. Her moan seemed hardwired to his cock, and she gripped his ass and pulled him against her, making the temptation worse. Fuck. If he had to talk himself down from an erection on the fucking basketball court, he would, but he was not going to give up just because Amber could put on the most provocative show he could remember.

She disappeared out of his arms like she'd been mist. Going for the ball. Foreman gritted his teeth and forced his body to behave. He didn't even listen to Amber exaggerating the score. This game needed to end, he needed to win, and then he was getting the hell out of all public areas, because Amber might invite his advances, but Foreman would actually like to be able to keep his membership to this gym.

Foreman tilted his head, gave Amber an exasperated stare, and then, before she could take another cheap shot, he grabbed her in another hug. She was slippery and wily as hell, but Foreman was tired of giving up his advantages. This wasn't about getting off, it was about wrestling the ball away from her--not even cheating, since even if they went by Amber's loose definition of the rules, it was his turn; he was just enforcing that. Once the ball had spurted free of Amber's grip, Foreman chased it down and immediately spun around to take his shot. The ball circled the rim of the net, but finally dropped in, giving him the chance he needed to run up and collect it again. He bounced it to Amber and then dived forward to steal it, practically in the same breath. Another point. "Game point," he snapped out, not angry, but making it damn clear that he was nearly done here. Grabbing the ball from Amber one last time, with one final flourish which she'd better appreciate, Foreman took his shot. It was beautiful, taken from just outside the foul line, spinning through the air and swishing neatly through the net. "Twelve to ten," he said, sarcasm strong on Amber's half of the "score", although he was too smug to make a huge deal of it. "I win."

In capturing the ball as it fell from the hoop, Amber glanced at the other games in the room: one had stopped entirely, the players watching hers. In the sessions that had continued despite the theatrics going on in her court, a couple of the guys kept peeking back her way. Smugness filled Amber. She knew they knew she was losing, which was a mark against her image, true. But more importantly, they were captivated by her. By her physique or by her tactics-- either way it was incredibly flattering. At least, their gazes were.

Eric was already stomping her way, intent radiating from his frown, so Amber took the second to wave to everyone watching. The battle may be lost but she could lose it in style. In other circumstances she'd have burned with anger that Eric could just squeeze the ball out of her-- it hurt, too, because she refused to let it escape without a fight, so the leather scraped along the inside of her arms-- but the audience sweetened the ordeal.

Amber had known, even as she declared a ten for herself, that the game was over. Eric had, earlier and effortlessly, scored multiple points in a row, even when she was able to fight her very best. Now, breathe ragged, ribs caving in from exhaustion, Amber made a few symbolic swats, but she knew better than to expect anything to come of it.

His laying it thick, gloating about winning, irked Amber like a knife stab, ruining what she had of a good mood. She wiped at her forehead and eyes, removing the hair strands plastered to her face. Took a deep breath and jogged one last time to take hold of the skittering ball; her arms were shaking but, determined as she was, they shot true, aiming perfectly. The thud as the ball hit the backboard just enough to roll into the basket echoed in Amber's heart. "I'm still prettier," she informed Eric.

Foreman kept playing even as Amber did her best to keep pissing him off, this time by offering cutesy little waves to whatever slack-jawed idiots were staring at both of them. She had to know how much that irritated him. It was the same as fighting in public--he hated it. He didn't see the need to drag a bunch of bystanders into their life. Whether they were having fun or not, it was between them, it wasn't about having an audience. Even as he smugly celebrated his win, part of Foreman was chafing at the fact that Amber seemed to want everyone else to stare at them. He'd had fun because he hadn't worried about looking like an fool, grabbing Amber in a hug or kissing her in the middle of the court. Being under the scrutiny of anybody else made him feel less free about the whole matter.

He still felt damn good about winning, though. Even if Amber had stacked every odd she could in her favour. In fact, that only left him more satisfied, since she'd had to cheat and squirm just to make the "score" look anything like even. He wasn't going to begrudge her comment about being the prettiest, especially when it was true. He grinned slightly, tilting his head to take in her stomping, impatient shot, as if that would prove something. She looked like she was working herself into a royal snit over losing, but since he'd already crowed, Foreman was finished rubbing it in her face.

Sauntering over after she'd made her shot, he picked up the ball and tucked it under his arm, and then stopped at the bench next to the wall to pick up a water bottle he'd brought. "You're gorgeous," he said, completely honestly, and quietly enough that it'd only be for her. He offered her the water bottle first, almost with a salute, as if he was paying his respects to a worthy opponent.

Damn it, why did he have to be so good at flustering her? Thankfully she was so flushed there was no way his unexpected comment would make a difference on her face. He wouldn't know. "Don't patronize me," she told him, her patience short. Amber snatched the bottle, squeezed the top, and drew in water. It was like walking into sunlight after a year of night: god she was thirsty. Hadn't realized it until now. She'd taken the bottle mostly to mess with Eric, but now that the water was in her mouth, she couldn't stop chugging; only stopped when she needed air.

"Unhh," Amber breathed out, wiping her brow again. Passed the bottle back to Eric; it must've been half-empty by then. "One day," she declared, narrowing her eyes, "I am going to clean the floor with you." Tremors ran through her body from the exhaustion and the strange desire to push herself to do more, like run to the basket again. She had the ball, why not insist they play up to twenty-two points? But if she pressed on, mostly likely he'd beat her by more than half. She knew when to cut her losses. Her heart hammered away in her chest, showing no sign of slowing down, and everything seemed too sharp, too immediate.

Amber leaned to the side to gently place the ball on to the floor and retied her ponytail, which was perilously close to becoming undone. With her elbows up in the air as she rearranged her hair, she turned around, taking stock. The game that had stopped on her behalf had gone on, and fewer people were paying them any attention. But a couple were still darting glances her way. Amber winked at them and, leaving the ball behind-- Eric could keep it, all the good it'd do her now-- she sauntered to where she'd dropped her tank top, bending over to pick it up.

Foreman blinked, irrationally hurt and taken aback by Amber's abrupt reply. It was true, and it wasn't like Amber didn't believe in her own attractiveness--or she wouldn't have been showing it off to every guy who wanted to ogle her. He wasn't patronizing her; he was telling her exactly what he thought.

Once she'd sighed gustily and squeezed most of the water into her mouth, though, he got it. She was still pissed off about losing. When it came to the game, she'd have more of a case. He'd treated her pretty easily, and that could probably be taken as patronizing. But the game wouldn't have been nearly as fun if he'd simply stood at the top of the key and made eleven foul shots in a row. Foreman took the water bottle back. "I like that 'one day'," he said. He did; it sounded like a promise. But he kept his voice light, and added another dig, since Amber never would have taken it easy on him if she'd won. "I can school you til then." Lessons, after all, weren't out of the question.

Foreman squeezed water into his mouth, and nearly choked on his mouthful when Amber bent over to retrieve her tank top. Jesus, how did she do that? Water spilled down his chest, and he coughed sharply before he got his breath back. God, he really was ridiculous. To hide how completely idiotic he looked, Foreman squirted the last of the water over his head, the drops running salty into his eyes, but feeling deliciously cool on his skin. With a quick grab, he pulled his t-shirt over his head and mopped his face with it, then used it to wipe the spilled water and sweat off his torso. The t-shirt was already soaked through with sweat, and they'd be changing soon enough. He didn't feel completely worn, the way he would after a full workout or an hour-long game, but his body definitely knew he'd been moving. He tossed the crumpled t-shirt over his shoulder. "They have squash courts and a pool, if you want to make this a triathlon," he said. "Or we could go for lunch."

Talk about patronizing. Amber forced herself to unclench her teeth; pride mattered less than the chance to improve herself enough to regain it. "If you're willing to teach me how to kick your ass up and down the court, school me all you want." She'd listen to Eric's advice. She'd let him train her, smug and gloating because he knew oh so much more. But more importantly, she was going to practice on her own. Find other players, hone her skills til they were sharp as Eric's; she could beat him in a real game, without the cheating. Amber knew she could.

That'd mean time, of course. Weeks, at least. Probably months. Eric was more than just a bit better; he was in a whole other league. Wishing to have more endurance, to be more agile, wouldn't make her so. It'd take work. To take up a project like that-- it meant a few assumptions about the longevity of their relationship. Well. Even if they broke up before she could beat him, she'd still be better at playing ball. Wasn’t likely to, but that could come in handy elsewhere.

But Amber didn't reveal her thoughts. Unlike Eric, who was sputtering behind her, she could be subtle. Her stomach rippled with silent laughter as she straightened up; she hadn't meant to provoke a reaction and yet she had. Turning, Amber couldn't have hidden a smile even if she'd wanted. Eric was significantly wetter and more naked: just as she preferred him. His torso gleamed in the gym’s bright lights and the tiny shirt over his shoulder made his chest seem wider. Watching him now, sleek and self-possessed, gave his movements a whole new meaning. Amber had, from the very night they’d met, the pleasure to know just how much physical competence he had to back his confidence up with. He’d been cocky, but there was no denying that he knew how to touch her, how to use his body to turn her on. But having seen him in action in this game against her, her appreciation from now on might be mixed with a dash of resentment. It’d be hard to forgive him besting her—no, impossible to forgive herself. Amber couldn’t abide by being the lesser of the two.

"Don’t push your luck," she scolded, but her tone was mostly gracious. Inside Amber may be rioting for having let herself down, but she wouldn't betray her disappointment any further. Starting the walk out of the courts, she asked, "Do they sell food here? Or do you know a better place?" Amber normally didn't go out for lunch. If she'd had a strong preference, she'd have already insisted on her way, but since she didn't, she was curious to hear Eric's suggestions.

Ball tucked under one arm, water bottle in hand, Foreman headed off the court with Amber. Tempted as he was to fall back a few steps and continue teasing himself, he figured that the ogling would get old fast if he overdid it. Amber wanted to know that she was attractive, but Foreman wasn't going to act like an asshole while he was letting her know. Her immediate smile, when she'd turned and seen him shirtless, was more than enough for them to confirm to each other that they had no problem in that part of their relationship. Amber might have expected him to kiss her this morning, but it'd been so much better with the energy of the game prompting them. Even if it was so that she could steal a point. He'd won in the end, so that didn't matter.

"There's a good sandwich place a few blocks from here," he said, generally agreeing to drop the subject of the game. If Amber wouldn't be happy until she'd beaten him at something, he'd let her figure out what that was and when it would happen. Lunch, even though he'd had a filling breakfast, was starting to take up his attention. Casual was all he wanted, and nothing too filling. "They have good coffee, too."

He brought out the swipe card from his pocket when they reached the change room. Tossing his t-shirt at the bench, he sat down to take his shoes and socks off, and ripped off his warm-up pants. The air felt good, evaporating his sweat. Although he'd managed to keep himself under control for the length of the game, the fact that there was no a closed and locked door between them and the rest of the gym's patrons--not to mention how damn hot Amber had been the entire morning, and that last appreciative smile she'd given him back on the courts--even though he'd just gotten his breathing back under his control, the flutter of desire he felt in his stomach brought back the rush he'd never completely let go of. The shower was a tiny cubicle, not really meant for two people, but...Foreman grinned to himself and stood up, hooking his thumbs under his shorts' waistband and dropping them to the floor. Sauntering across the room, he turned the hot tap on and stepped inside, looking back at Amber for a second before he shut the door. "Consider this a horndog invitation," he said, with an enticing smirk.

Amber nodded. "Sandwiches and coffee it'll be." She didn't care how or where they ate, as long as they did. After this workout, she'd need both something nutritious and a caffeine rush. If it weren't for coffee, she'd have flunked out of med school or failed as a doctor; needed it just as much as water or blood.

Walking through the corridor was a brief and much-needed cool down. Her heart rate lowered and if her perspiration didn't dry off, at least she wasn't producing more of it. Even the tremors died away. Amber still felt ready for more, to burst out into a run until her legs couldn't stand it, to push her muscles to their limit. Beneath it all resentment simmered. She'd lost. That was the cold reality. Amber was a loser. Every time that word floated in her mind, her fist itched to punch a wall. Didn't matter that Eric had the advantage, being a basketball-loving freak; her tactics should've been enough to overcome that. She'd failed. Unacceptable.

In the changing room, Amber hastily removed her sneakers and socks and peeled off her sweat-soaked pants; her skin breathed more easily. Tore off her sports bra, too. Freeing herself of the tight clothing only made her want to stretch; she did so, forming an oval with her arms as they reached towards the ceiling. Then back down to touch the ground, elongating her spine, her trapezius. She moaned; that hit the spot.

Eric had shed his clothing far faster than her and was already turning the shower on. Her ponytail brushed against her face as she came back up to listen to him and properly see his invitation of a smile. God, of course he'd want some, he'd just won. (Over her.) Frankly, Amber was half-surprised he hadn't sported an erection during the game itself, he'd been treating it so much as foreplay.

Amber wasn't as in the mood as she'd have been as, say, this morning, when she'd woken up expecting a snuggle, or when they'd wrestled in bed. But she had been straining for more exertion. Might be interesting, fucking here, a semi-public shower. All the other gym patrons just outside, she'd hear them. Nobody would know, sadly, what was going on in here-- unless they "accidentally" got loud.

That was all reason enough to slip into her flip-flops and stalk towards the shower. But the strongest one of all was the possibility of releasing her anger. Maybe Eric could shoot hoops faster and better, but she always took the lead in their sexy life. It'd be a small compensation in the face of greater bitterness.

"That is the saddest horndog move I have ever seen," Amber declared, yanking the shower door open and shutting it once she'd stepped inside. There was barely enough room for them, so already they were as close as two bodies could get without touching. "Seriously. You're a guy. You just closed the door on me! Can't you do better than that? Or do I have to ‘school’ you?" Amber took hold of his two hands and pulled them back, making them mold her ass. In the process, their hips came up together. His back blocked all the water, but that was hardly important. "This is how you do horndog. See the difference?"

The water was as hot as Foreman liked it for all of two seconds, then it settled down into the gym's usual version of warm. The change room might be private, but that didn't do anything for the plumbing. Foreman rubbed his hands over his face, letting the temperature difference between his body and the water bring up shivers, and then Amber yanked the door open. He chuckled, turning to face her in the tight confined space. "It got you here, didn't it?" He hadn't been about to risk rejection if she was still feeling pissy about the damn game.

Completely willingly, he cupped her ass, jerking her closer against him. The water spilled down his shoulders, then between them, until their bodies were slick and hot, and every breath brought delicious friction. He might not have a hard-on yet, but Christ, it was going to take no time at all; he'd already been working on talking himself out of an erection. No more need to control himself. She felt so damn good, and he still had visions of the game playing through his mind. How proud she'd been, how intent, and--his fingers squeezed--exactly what she'd looked like in her yoga pants and the bright red sports bra.

Foreman leaned in, kissing Amber's jaw, and then contorting as best he could to suck at the sweat on her throat. Oh, yeah. The taste, the scent, the firm feel of her ass under his fingers--fuck, his arousal was already shooting through the roof. Didn't need kissing or rolling around in bed when he'd had her teasing him for the last half-hour. He nipped at Amber's collarbone, then the nape of her neck, letting her feel his teeth. "School me," he suggested, already starting to breathe harder. "Bet I can learn."

One thing Amber could definitely appreciate, pissed off or not, was his desire. Growled at how possessively he grabbed her, at the demand in his nibbles. Yeah, he wanted her. Couldn't hide it, his dick getting hard right against her. She felt every bit of him filling out, growing for want of her. And god, so greedy, taking, insisting.

Amber shoved him up against the wall, the lukewarm water now pouring over her neck, streaming down her back. "You're getting better," she said, strict like a teacher with the highest expectations. Stared deep into his dark brown eyes as a confrontation. "Lesson one: don't ask." Proving her words, Amber covered his mouth with hers, hard and hot as if to let no air escape between them. Ran her hands up from his waist to his water-and-sweat slick chest, stopping to squeeze him beneath his pits. Maybe he was ready to go, but she hadn't spent most of the game holding back dirty thoughts. She needed to get into this. So she kissed; lapped at his tongue, reminding herself just how much she loved his taste. Sucked his lower lip, reveling in how satisfying its fullness felt between hers.

Head spinning way more satisfactorily than a minute ago, Amber pulled away, a satisfied grin wide across her face. This she was good at. "You take. See what I mean?" Rolled her hips against his, purposefully rubbing against his cock. Let him feel that, lose himself with horniness. This could easily go wrong; she was still working up arousal, and she never did like it when Eric stepped out of pace from her. What he wanted—would try to take—could very well be what she wasn’t ready for. But she couldn’t resist. Loved making him forget all those rules he’d trained himself into about how to properly fuck a woman to satisfy her and just act, really giving in to his urges. And Amber knew, without the shadow of a doubt, that if he tried anything she wasn’t comfortable with, she could easily guide him in another direction. “Show me. Whaddya wanna take?”

Foreman grunted when Amber shoved him back. The tiled wall of the shower was cooler than the water, chilly against his back, but it warmed quickly. Don't ask, yeah, he'd heard that advice before. Hadn't exactly served him well, had gotten him fired in fact, even if it had saved lives. But that thought was easy to banish. He didn't care about work or about House's expectations, not when Amber was goading him. Kissing him. Foreman surged forward, licking his way into her mouth, panting and assertive, if that's what she wanted so much. She tasted fresh and hot, and Foreman's urgency only increased as she sucked his lip into her mouth. Amber could set off fireworks in him with nothing more than a simple kiss. Tingling with energy and anticipation, Foreman groaned in earnest when she rubbed against his cock. He was half-hard just from thinking about her, and if she kept up that rolling, eager pressure, he'd be ready far too soon.

He wanted to take--everything. "Yeah," he answered, trying to figure out the fucking logistics of having sex in a tiny shower. He wanted her, every part of her that he'd had to pretend to have a purely sportsmanlike interest in. He just couldn't reach. "You," he said, and getting his hands underneath her thighs, he hoisted her up. Amber's back against the wall of the shower, his arms under her ass, her mons pressed against his stomach, and even her feet pressing against the opposite side of the cubicle, all made it simple to hold her there. Foreman could tilt his head back and kiss her, and now there was all the scope he needed to taste her. Everywhere. Mouth hot on her collarbones, then down the center of her chest. He flicked a teasing glance up at her before he bent to test the curve of her breast with his tongue. He didn't suck right away, but scraped his beard across her nipple, watching for Amber's reaction, before he settled in to tease her thoroughly. Licking, sucking, biting gently, moving from one breast to the other, all while his fingers massaged her ass, and started moving lower.

So hard already, yeah. She loved that about him, how his dick practically sprang to attention, ready at a moment's notice. If Amber had started rocking against him to provoke him, now it was for herself, eyes lidded, needing to watch. Feeling Eric's erection rise against her tummy wasn't enough. Wanted to taste, fill her mouth. It’d feel so good, him around her lips, his groans echoing in the stall, her ears.

He had his own ideas, though, ones she'd prodded him into indulging. The cold, smooth plastic door rubbed against her spine as he lifted her-- show off, but sexy-- and for a second Amber hoped it'd withstand whatever they tried to put it through. And then such practical matters fled her mind as her sandaled feet pushed against the back wall, attention focused on what he'd do next. Drops splattered onto her thighs, the back of her ponytail pressed into her head, but all Amber knew were her whole-body tingles to have her legs around his waist, her groin flush up his stomach. Like this, limbs dedicated to supporting herself, all she could do was accept whatever he chose to do with her-- which was fine so far because she fucking loved what he was doing.

"Oh, yeah." Amber's hips bucked, suddenly exploding with arousal. Jesus, what he'd wanted was to touch her, doing all the things that turned her on-- that was so fucking hot. It blew her mind; rationalizations and justifications melted away. "God, yeah, that," she went on, not thinking, just wanting him to know that she one-hundred percent approved. This had to be why beards existed. And teeth. And lips. God. Everything he did to her breasts sent out wave after wave of pleasure to the rest of her, like water filling a vase. Amber squirmed, panting, feeling so much but unable to release any of it by action. It was both agonizing and delicious, only receiving. The most she could was speak. "You like that, doncha," she whispered. "Touching me, you can't get enough--" She stopped there, overcome by a shiver of anticipation; she knew where his fingers were likely headed.

It was absolutely graceless, having Amber up against the shower wall. They were both wet, slippery, and as Foreman started to touch her, Amber arched in his arms, sharp movements that he couldn't predict and only wanted to provoke again, trying to find the exact touch that had set her off, over and over again. His arms under her thighs were enough to steady her for now, but he wanted more room. Curving his hand, he was only just able to touch the entrance of her vagina, fingertips teasing along her labia, shallow and not nearly enough. After he'd lifted her, he lost the friction against his cock, leaving him frustrated, half-aroused, getting nowhere.

He hadn't thought this position through, and the more Amber squirmed, slick and restless, the less Foreman thought he'd be able to hold her up for long. His arms were tired, from the game and from his struggle against the cuffs last night. This wasn't going to last. But it was so good as long as it did. Amber was breathless, eager, her words spurring him forward as much as the sight of a drop of water sliding over her breast to gather on the tip of her nipple, until he couldn't hold back from tasting it. Slow, lingering. Gentle, and then a sudden hard suck. She was right--he couldn't get enough. Foreman licked a long swipe up her chest again, to her throat. God, he wanted to kiss her. "Yeah," he said, roughly, hoarse. "I want you, wanna see you--" Her long neck as she arched back, the sight of the flush on her skin, her nipples tightening; her arms and legs wrapped around him, God, he loved seeing all of it. Made the pleasure when he was inside her rise even higher, sharper.

If he let her slip down, slow, onto his cock--he wasn't quite there yet, but it wouldn't take long--Christ. No fucking condom. He wasn't going to forget that again anytime soon. Foreman groaned in frustration. He lowered his arms, letting her find her footing. He didn't have the damn brain cells to tell her the problem--think about it later--for now, he kissed her again, firmly, and let his palm slide up from her hips, fingers slipping through her pubic hair to touch her, softly, but fully.

It wouldn't last. His grip was giving way-- at last Eric revealed he was no Hercules, but he could've had better timing-- and Amber's back scratched and burned as she slipped down the door. Hardly seemed to matter, though. Amber was wet, outside and in, becoming more so at the hint of his touch at her entrance. That won a full-body jerk, trying to get more, only making her fall further.

He didn't go through with the promise, focusing more on her breasts. Well. Amber supposed that was acceptable, for now. Gasped as he sucked, the sound tapering off into a light moan as he kept at it, kissing, licking, eager as if it were for him. No wonder they were a match, if their wants and needs overlapped so conveniently.

No surprise when Eric lowered her for good; Amber's feet slid down til they met ground again, legs straightening to come face to face with him. Was the most natural thing in the world to kiss him, open-mouthed, slow, tongue melding against tongue. Amber watched him through lidded eyes, heart thudding because she felt so good, loved touching him so much. His family, the basketball game, they barely crossed her mind; how could they matter, when giving herself to pleasure was so much better than lingering over nasty thoughts. This was why they were together.

Eric was so focused, like he dedicated all his mental facilities to touching her. She loved that too. Loved the attention, his intensity. "Deeper," she said, breathing shallow. Amber wanted to see his finger disappear into her, god, almost as much as she wanted to feel it. Couldn't kiss him now, it'd block the view.

Didn't mean she was helpless, though. Back on her feet, she had full mobility. Choices. First thing was to lean over and quickly turn off the water growing increasingly cold. Rivulets streaming over half her body, her hair mostly damp, it'd be chilly, but the gym's heating would take care of them. And they could heat each other up. Lips parting, Amber then traced her fingers over his sternum-- she hadn't forgotten--starting out light, increasing the pressure as she lowered her hand. Followed a straight line down his abdomen and soon all she had to do was turn her wrist to lightly wrap her hand around his dick. Squeezed her fingers one by one, in sequence. So thick, so long. There was still enough shower water to rub him teasingly, enough to make him growl and fuck her hand and beg for more. "Something in your pocket?" she asked, smiling. “Or happy to see me?”

"Always. Happy to see you." Before Amber, Foreman never would have thought seriously about fucking in the shower at the gym. Fantasized about, maybe. The place had plenty of women who'd make more than adequate visual material if he was beating off. But actually being with someone, like the gym employees didn't have a key to the room--throwing caution to the winds, and pursuing Amber, and his own pleasure, simply because he wanted her so damn badly, needed her now, he'd never done anything like this before her. The restaurant, when she'd turned him on so much right at their table, had felt mortifying, but he'd come so hard in the bathroom, fucking Amber up against the door. That same excitement, the shivering tautness of knowing they could get caught, drove him now.

Slowly, feeling his way while he kissed Amber deeply, Foreman slid his middle finger deeper, until he was completely inside her. He explored, rubbing her firmly and inexorably, more massage than thrusting. Amber was wet, and knowing how much she was turned on made the feel of her fingers wrapped around his growing erection even sweeter. The kiss ended when he had to breathe, and Foreman let his head fall forward, so that he could watch. Her hand, working over his cock, was so fucking hot to see--to feel. "You know--you know how hot you were--" That wouldn't stop her from wanting to hear it, smug as a cat, eyes narrow and pleased as he started to rock into the friction of her hand. "Uh. Wanted to. Fuck you in the gym. You'd've--liked that--all of them watching--" Now that there was no possibility of a real audience, the idea didn't piss him off half as much. Instead, the power of it made him shudder. Showing those jackoffs that Amber was his, that she'd let him touch her, that she might have lowered herself down to her knees and watched him in amusement as she slipped her lips around his cock, hard and straining-- "Ohh. There, just--yeah, harder..."

Everything he felt, he wanted her to have. His fingers were already slick, and he spread her wetness along her labia. He let his forefinger join his middle finger inside Amber, and pressed his thumb over the hood of her clit. Pressure, moving only as much as the push of his fingers inside her allowed, echoing the pulsing rhythm of her muscles. "Amber," he whispered. His voice echoed in the shower cubicle now that the water wasn't spraying around them. The growing heat in his groin, the lingering strokes of her hand, was bringing him fully erect, pleasure burning along his nerves. But Amber--she'd been so sensitive before, telling him to back off when he went down on her, and last night she'd fucked him so hard. He wouldn't be surprised if she was more sensitive today, after that. "That good, honey? You want more?"

Amber squirmed slightly as Eric's finger delved deeper; felt good, she wanted more, but it was awkward too. The angle wasn't quite right and the way he was doing it, slow, circular, felt more like an examination than an attempt to turn her on. And why did he have to bring up the basketball game? She'd almost forgotten it and her wretched defeat. Amber's grip slackened then tightened excessively to compensate for that slip; well, he had asked for harder.

Settling for a pressure between the two extremes, Amber pressed her thumb into the under part of his shaft, rubbing the firm and yet oh so sensitive flesh just beneath his head. "Yeah," Amber breathed into his ear, closing her eyes, imagining. Wouldn't have been the right moment to fuck, she was too busy trying to win, but that aside, it'd be amazing to have that kind of audience. And she liked hearing her proud and shy Eric fantasizing people watching them. "Want everyone to know--" Paused to suck his earlobe, lick his jaw beneath. "How hot we are, make them all jealous-- ahh--"

She had to tilt her head back, drive her hips up. He wasn't exploring no more, stroking now, inside and over her clit. Amber stood on her toes, digging her shoulder blades into the door as she arched for more of that pressure. "S'good," she let out. "Real good." It took every ounce of concentration to not simply give in to the jolts of pleasure his every thumb flick brought, to not release herself to abandon. Forced herself to focus through the haze and fist his erection, to curve her other hand around him and down his ass crack. Still. Really hard to keep at it. Amber was burning up, from Eric's warmth and her own growing heat. Had practically forgotten they were in a shower, despite the wet strands against her neck, the hint of soap and mildew. Eric's scent was so much stronger, and he was all she could see, hear, feel. "Annh."

A short, sharp moan spilled out when Amber tightened her hand. Foreman jerked against her, pushing up, but by then she'd already relaxed her grip, and went back to the even, thumbing strokes. He panted shortly, trying to surge closer to her, taking everything she'd offer. She was making him feel so good, he was losing track of where he was, why it mattered. Bare feet slipped against the floor of the shower as he thrust his hips forward. He dropped kisses everywhere he could reach--close to Amber's mouth, on the point of her chin, against the damp hair at her temple as she suckled his earlobe.

He never let himself lose track of what he was giving her in return, no matter that his knees were turning to jelly under her ministrations. Amber cried out, and if it was possible, she seemed even hotter around his fingers. Foreman quickened his pace, not slamming in, but just enough to give her a rhythm to work against. As much as he could, he circled his thumb over her clit, feeling its hardness nestled in the slippery, swollen folds of her labia. Moving the pad of his thumb over it, back and forth, he let himself focus on the damn image. "They were staring, bet you left them with hard-ons." He had no intention of ever letting this kind of thing happen, but from the way Amber had started moving, moaning, giving herself over more to how she felt when he'd mentioned it, Foreman couldn't make himself hold back. Too bad for them. Mine. To touch, however he wanted. Foreman's free hand wandered over her body, stroking where the water drops had left her warm and wet, over her belly, up to her breasts to pinch her nipples again, then cupping her head to draw her into a long kiss.

Her fingers, whispering down over his ass, made him remember what else Amber could do--how much she could make him feel. A burning blush suffused his face, and his chest tightened before Foreman could speak. "It's, uh. Okay, if you want to touch me..." Jesus, he really was asking for it, not that they had any lube for her to finger him like she had that first night, but he wasn't going to deny wanting it. He'd learned his lesson, and she could touch him any damn way she wanted. All of it was good. She could drive him out of his mind if she had the slightest wish to, and she probably did. He trusted her.

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