Foreman tensed his abs as Amber wriggled on top of him, enough to protect himself from any flying elbows, and otherwise letting her use him as a pillow however she liked. She was warm, a comfortably heavy weight pushing him back into the softness of the covers and mattress. His smile quirked wider when she said it again, and he brought his arms up to wrap around her, rubbing her back with his splayed palms, pausing at times to knead gently at the muscles in her back. Her hair was sweat-dark at the roots, flyaway and tangled at the ends, the strands falling over her shoulders and brushing his chest and neck. Her eyes were large and dark and luminous, focused on his, and a gorgeous pink stained her cheeks. "I'm glad you told me," he said. It sounded stupid, but he'd run out of things to say at the very moment when he wanted to speak the most.
He raised an enquiring eyebrow when she claimed to know all about him. His chest rumbled with his chuckle. "You never did finish that story," he pointed out. Not that it'd been necessary. He hadn't even had a moment to think about the images, not when he had Amber herself. With a quick flick of his tongue, Foreman lifted his head from the pillow and kissed Amber's fingertip. The first way he'd ever kissed her, out in the cold rain the night they'd met. She'd pressed her finger against his lips then, too. Her mouth was better. Warm and inviting, the kiss was brief but endlessly promising. Amber had yelled once that she hated what he did to her...a flash of pain caught Foreman unawares, as wrenching and disconcerting as if his stomach had fallen out from under him during the first freefall on a rollercoaster. Had that changed? Either what he did to her, or how she felt about it? He swallowed, keeping his eyes on her face. The gentleness, the tender teasing, that wasn't a lie. Amber didn't play games, demand more while appearing to ask for less. That's why he'd been able to answer her; to say the word love. Because she hadn't been artfully angling for it, or giving him her love like a test.
He didn't want to doubt her. He didn't want to mar their time together, or think about how the minutes had to be slipping away while they mooned into each other's eyes. His hands stilled on Amber's back. Why ruin this? Why get hung up on questioning how much do you love me? or why do you love me? Foreman would be no better than some of his girlfriends in the past, the ones who tugged at him, asking him to quantify his feelings, teasing at first, but later, so insecure that Foreman only wanted to edge away from their pleas for reassurance. He wasn't going to ask Amber whether she loved him enough. What did that mean? It was enough to make him realize that he loved her back, and as competitive as he knew Amber was, it wasn't a oneupsmanship contest he was willing to get involved in. He didn't want to know.
Straining the muscles in his neck, Foreman pushed up to kiss Amber again. That, he could count on. The softness of her mouth, the warmth of their kisses. When he fell back, he let out a deep breath. "We're late," he said, massaging a fingertip along her spine. A small smile, the same one he couldn't seem to help, turned up the corner of his mouth. "Think House would believe us if we both called in sick?"
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He raised an enquiring eyebrow when she claimed to know all about him. His chest rumbled with his chuckle. "You never did finish that story," he pointed out. Not that it'd been necessary. He hadn't even had a moment to think about the images, not when he had Amber herself. With a quick flick of his tongue, Foreman lifted his head from the pillow and kissed Amber's fingertip. The first way he'd ever kissed her, out in the cold rain the night they'd met. She'd pressed her finger against his lips then, too. Her mouth was better. Warm and inviting, the kiss was brief but endlessly promising. Amber had yelled once that she hated what he did to her...a flash of pain caught Foreman unawares, as wrenching and disconcerting as if his stomach had fallen out from under him during the first freefall on a rollercoaster. Had that changed? Either what he did to her, or how she felt about it? He swallowed, keeping his eyes on her face. The gentleness, the tender teasing, that wasn't a lie. Amber didn't play games, demand more while appearing to ask for less. That's why he'd been able to answer her; to say the word love. Because she hadn't been artfully angling for it, or giving him her love like a test.
He didn't want to doubt her. He didn't want to mar their time together, or think about how the minutes had to be slipping away while they mooned into each other's eyes. His hands stilled on Amber's back. Why ruin this? Why get hung up on questioning how much do you love me? or why do you love me? Foreman would be no better than some of his girlfriends in the past, the ones who tugged at him, asking him to quantify his feelings, teasing at first, but later, so insecure that Foreman only wanted to edge away from their pleas for reassurance. He wasn't going to ask Amber whether she loved him enough. What did that mean? It was enough to make him realize that he loved her back, and as competitive as he knew Amber was, it wasn't a oneupsmanship contest he was willing to get involved in. He didn't want to know.
Straining the muscles in his neck, Foreman pushed up to kiss Amber again. That, he could count on. The softness of her mouth, the warmth of their kisses. When he fell back, he let out a deep breath. "We're late," he said, massaging a fingertip along her spine. A small smile, the same one he couldn't seem to help, turned up the corner of his mouth. "Think House would believe us if we both called in sick?"