Foreman felt like a giggling kid as they made their way up the stairs. It wasn't a comparison he liked, no matter how glad he was to get away. They couldn't possibly pretend that everyone in the house didn't know what they were doing, and yet it felt like they were getting away with something. Amber's hand in his was warm, tugging him along, and Foreman hurried after her. He saw no more than a glance of the upstairs hallway before Amber yanked him into one of the rooms and shut the door. The next thing he knew, Amber was pulling him into a kiss. Her palms cupped his face, warm from the glasses of wine he'd had at dinner, and her lips against his were soft at first and then firmly seeking.
It felt like he'd been waiting forever for the kiss. Foreman wrapped his arms around Amber immediately, spreading his hands over her back. He massaged one hand up and down her spine, while the other pressed her as close as he could. They hadn't kissed, not like this, since--Christ--days ago; work had gotten in the way, the pre-Thanksgiving rush, House's damn interference. The combination of wine and desire made Foreman's head swim. His eyes were closed, and yet he felt like he could see every inch of Amber. He kissed her again, slow and deep, like a drink after a desert. Her body was familiar, her breasts pressing against his chest, her legs fitting with his as he stepped forward, as close as he could get. Finally, he sighed, and dropped his head, only enough to breathe. "You feel good," he said. That deserved another kiss, which he gave her, more a whisper than a conversation this time.
He had no idea what they were doing. Amber's room might give them a measure of privacy, but he had to remember that one kiss here was far different than if they were at his place, or hers. More than once, they'd walked in the door and into each other's arms, by mutual agreement putting sex above dinner or even hanging up their coats. With Amber's family so near, nothing would be that easy. Still, Foreman kissed Amber again, tasted her lips, and hoped for more.
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It felt like he'd been waiting forever for the kiss. Foreman wrapped his arms around Amber immediately, spreading his hands over her back. He massaged one hand up and down her spine, while the other pressed her as close as he could. They hadn't kissed, not like this, since--Christ--days ago; work had gotten in the way, the pre-Thanksgiving rush, House's damn interference. The combination of wine and desire made Foreman's head swim. His eyes were closed, and yet he felt like he could see every inch of Amber. He kissed her again, slow and deep, like a drink after a desert. Her body was familiar, her breasts pressing against his chest, her legs fitting with his as he stepped forward, as close as he could get. Finally, he sighed, and dropped his head, only enough to breathe. "You feel good," he said. That deserved another kiss, which he gave her, more a whisper than a conversation this time.
He had no idea what they were doing. Amber's room might give them a measure of privacy, but he had to remember that one kiss here was far different than if they were at his place, or hers. More than once, they'd walked in the door and into each other's arms, by mutual agreement putting sex above dinner or even hanging up their coats. With Amber's family so near, nothing would be that easy. Still, Foreman kissed Amber again, tasted her lips, and hoped for more.