He freezes, completely surprised. Then he melts into it. Softening as her warm, soft lips push into his. His eyes close. His hand moves up her back to push through her hair. She pushes harder. Kissing firmer. Mouths open, tentative and slow, gently, testing, teasing, seeking confirmation that this is okay. Is it okay? It is okay. It’s more than okay.
He can feel her heart whumping through her chest. He can feel the tremble in her body. Lips part. Tongues meet. She groans at the touch of it. At the sensation. She murmurs and kisses harder, needing more. She sinks down, pulling him with her. Her hands slide over his shoulders, down his back, pulling him closer. She opens her legs to wrap round as he moves between them. Still kissing. Kissing harder. Mouths pressed. Breathing each other. He grows and stiffens. She feels it. Heat blooms. A need. An urge. A hunger inside. He does nothing without consent. He doesn’t touch or grope, but he waits and holds back. She takes the lead, needing to take the lead, needing to control the motion and what happens.
She takes his hand and guides it to her breast, then gasps at his touch. She tilts her head so he can kiss her neck, and gasps at his touch. She lifts her top and pulls it off, then gasps more as he kisses down her neck to her breasts and stomach. Everything slow. Everything safe. Everything with love and care. He comes back up, pausing to kiss as she stiffens in his mouth. The feeling is incredible. Like nothing she has ever felt before. Slow and gentle. His mouth finds hers. He doesn’t grind or push, but waits. She can feel the rigidity of him and senses the willpower exerted to resist the urge to move.
She moves. She tells him it’s okay. A tiny motion at first, and still he waits. Still he holds. He will wait forever. He will hold forever. She is brave, courageous, fearless, tough, hardened, combat-experienced, but this is new, this is different.
She moves. She tells him it’s okay. The tiny motion grows more. They kiss and touch. They hold and stay close. The heat builds. The urge grows with it. Her hand goes down to find him. Touching. Gasping at the hardness. He swallows and blinks at her touch, but still waits. That he can do that tells her the depth of his inner strength. She pushes his boxers down, freeing him. She uses her feet to slide them down his legs. She takes his hand to move it between her legs. The breath catching in her throat. Her eyes closing. Gentle. Slow. So slow.
Everything is okay. It is more than okay. She pulls her knickers down and smiles when he lowers to slide them from her legs, then smiles again when he comes back to kiss her. Naked they lie. Him between her legs. Still waiting. Still holding. Still showing he will wait forever. They kiss and breathe. Her hands run over his body. His stroke her cheeks. She moves more. Needing to move. Telling him this is okay. No need for words. No need to speak. She cannot speak. The feeling is too much. The growing desire becoming a tangible thing to be held and nourished. She moves more, gasping again when she feels the hardness touching her. She moves again, slowly back and forth. He moves with her. Gradual, easy, gently. Nature is as life intended, and without help he finds her. She feels him holding, not going in, waiting, exerting that control. She moves to take him inside. The groan escapes her mouth, slow and long and filled with something far greater than pleasure. He is inside her. That thought captivates her for a second. That thought whirls through her mind. He is inside her. Still he holds, still he shows the greatest of respect, still he kisses gently, lovingly.
‘You okay?’ he whispers. Needing to know. Needing her to tell him this is okay.
She nods, she nods quickly, firmly, holding him. ‘Yes.’ It is okay. It’s more than okay. ‘You move,’ she breathes into his mouth, still kissing. She wants him to do it. She wants him to take control now. He has proven himself, and more. He has shown such tender care that the wall crumbles to fall away and it’s okay to be vulnerable now. It’s okay to show weakness. ‘I love you . . .’ She whispers the words, feeling the liberation of being able to show emotion, of being able to express something that otherwise causes confusion and angst. He moves, and what she felt before magnifies tenfold. Emotions surge inside. ‘I’ve always loved you . . .’
He moves. They kiss. He lowers his head to her ear; she can hear him breathing. She always wants to hear him breathing. He moves. She closes her eyes, never wanting this to end. This feeling. Never realising it could be like this. Never daring to dream this could happen.
He hasn’t said it back. Sudden worry. Sudden fear. Did she go too far? Did she say it too soon? The vulnerability shows. The fear grips.
‘I love you.’
Instant relief. She needed to hear it. He had to say it. He didn’t want to say it straight back for fear of sounding trite or cheapening the power of her words and what they meant to him, but the same emotions that she feels are inside him. She realises that, and it’s okay. It is more than okay.
He moves as he takes the control given. Understanding and knowing this is right. His body on hers. Her hands on him. He moves with a power that grows. With an intensity that builds. She moves too. She has to. Her body tells her what to do. Instinct now. Organic. Everything organic. He moves faster. She groans harder. She breathes faster. She runs her hands down to his backside that she grips and holds and guides him to move more. Still with love. Still with care.
It can never end. It should never end. It has to end. It’s been a long time. He comes, sudden and powerful. She gasps at the sensation and the heat, at his body driving into her. His mouth finds hers. She takes him in. Kissing passionate and long. Kissing as the waves of orgasm sweep through his body and mind. Kissing as the driving urge abates to ease and slow. She can feel his heart thundering. His muscles locked. The intensity of him, and all for her. Only for her. Still the kiss goes on. As he sinks to lower. As he softens. As his heart rate slows, still the kiss goes on.
At some point, they stop and lie with each other. At some point, they drift to sleep. Neither could say when. Everything organic. Everything natural. It is okay. It’s more than okay.
At the other end of the bunker, it is not okay. Not okay at all. Ria sobs in the darkness. She has never felt so alone.
Thirty-Eight
Pistols checked and made ready. Spare magazines pushed into the slots on their tactical vests. Bootlaces tied and double-knotted. Muscles thrumming from the warm-up of running light circuits outside. Sweat shines on brows. Faces grim and ready.
They gather in the main room. Coffee brewed. Coffee drunk. They are not hungry, but the day will be long, so they eat. Harry prepares the Browning. Loading the first links of the live ammunition belt. Emily checks her assault rifle and the contents of her pouches. She fastens the strap of the pistol round her leg.