FIC: Turn the Page ~ Chapter Twenty-six
Title: Turn the Page ~ Chapter Twenty-six
Author: bugs
Genre: AU, Romance, Drama
Rating: MA
Word Count: 2,400
Chapter 26:
Her eyes locked with Bill's, Laura slowly lowered onto the cradle of his thighs, sliding down to encase his length, hot as the fire that flickered beside them. He wrapped his arms under hers, his wide fingertips lightly dancing along her back as though it was crackling from the heat.
They'd returned from their stroll and found the cottage chilly and damp, the windows still open. While Laura closed them and pulled the drapes closed, Bill had built a fire, the sharp smell of burning pitch soon filling the room.
"No lights," he'd said when she'd reach for the lamp. "I want to find you in the dark," he'd added with a chuckle.
He'd urged off her clothes, promising to warm her faster than any flames. His mouth on her breasts, his hand between her legs, the other cupping the swell of her hip, drawing her closer and closer to his own bare skin until she thought they'd melded.
"Here," he'd murmured in her ear as though they were in a crowd instead of the quiet little cottage, with nothing but the crackling fire and rolling waves filling her senses. He'd drawn her down onto the thick shearling rug before the hearth where they could leisurely explore each others body with tongue and touch, waiting for the logs to all catch and radiate their warmth.
Now she was hot as a curling sliver of bark, twisting and writhing before him. He lapped at her neck, along her jawline, visiting her mouth again and again as though he found relief there like a font of cool water. She clutched at his wide shoulders, supporting her movements to rise and fall. He guided her hips, holding her weight--she felt the strength in his muscles when her fingers slipped down to grip his biceps.
"Bill--" she mouthed on his collarbone.
"Right here," he promised.
He was right there. Her uncertainty, the underlying anxiety and urgency of all their other joinings was gone. She could feel his climax nearing in the hardening of his testicles as she slid down to rest on them for a moment, in the tightening of his groin when she rolled her pelvis forward to rub her clitoris hard against his pubic bone, but most of all, in the pulsation with each clench of her vagina on his length. And she could finally temper her own frantic rush, joining his rhythm, his quickening breathing, his trembling limbs.
"Laura--" he croaked.
"Right here," she breathed, lolling back her head, unable to contain her silly grin as she throbbed in time with his last frantic thrusts deeper and deeper, their cries sudden and stark in the silent room.
They tumbled to the rug, murmuring shadowy intimacies quieter than even before--a log broke, flashing the room with bright orange light and Laura held that moment close, seeing the sweat sheen on his heaving chest, the tight nub of one nipple, her own darker one sliding along his skin to touch it, the glisten of his mouth right before it dropped onto hers and the room plunged back into darkness.
~*~
"You're still not a shopper, are you?" asked Bill as the strolled down the business street of the former artists' colony, now wealthy enclave, Carmel-by-the-sea.
Laura turned her bored gaze from the shop window she'd been staring blindly into. She shook her head with no shame.
He only laughed. "It is all very rich tourist, isn't it?" he said, turning away from the Thomas Kinkaid gallery with a shudder of his wide shoulders.
She laced her arm through his, squeezing as tightly as she held his hand. She liked this, just walking and finding other ways to touch him in public yet remain within her own sense of decency.
His gaze sharpened. "Here's a place we need to go into," he said, tugging her toward a store's door.
With a sigh, she followed. Once inside, she saw his intent; a display holding piles of richly colored silk scarves. Her heart immediately seized with anxiety. So many patterns...
He picked up one with butterflies and held it up to her face. "Lovely," he said approvingly. "And the butterflies as a reminder of Monterey."
"Yes, that's nice," she said quickly, grateful that the decision seemed to be made.
A sales clerk appeared beside them. "May I help you?"
Bill handed her the scarf but Laura relief was short-lived. "We'd like to look at some purses," he said.
Laura looked at her sensible square black handbag questioningly.
"Of course, sir," the clerk said with a gleam in her eye as she led them to racks and racks of bags, all different sizes, shapes and colors. Laura felt faint.
"I don't need--"
"You can barely fit your tablet in your bag and see how the strap's getting worn from the weight," Bill said as he picked up a larger, loose sack-shaped bag.
"My tablet would get lost in that," she said.
"Something more structured, ma'am?" asked the clerk, removing briefcase-shaped purse made of butter-soft leather from the glass case.
Laura flipped it open, approving of the slot for the tablet and areas for her wallet and other items.
"I think we have a winner," said Bill.
Laura fumbled for the price tag, but before she could turn it around, Bill removed the bag from her hands.
"We'll take it," he said, reaching for his wallet.
"Bill--"
"Would you need the scarf if I didn't get the convertible?" Bill asked craftily, nodding at the clerk to accept his credit card.
Vexed, Laura bit her lower lip. "No," she admitted.
"And would you never look for a purse if I didn't point out the wear?"
"No..." she said slowly.
"There you go," he said triumphantly. "It's my purchase."
Confused, Laura let the clerk quickly transfer her things into the new bag. Snipping off the price tags and dropping them in the garbage, then the clerk tucked the scarf into the purse.
Bill led Laura back to the street. "Now something for you. To the mission?"
Her face lit up.
"To the mission," he repeated.
The Carmel Mission was a humble adobe building but even Bill had to admit it was beautiful in its genteel decay. Outside the large oak door, Laura halted and tied her new scarf over her head. Bill waited, feeling nervous for some reason. Without looking at him, she slipped into the dim vestibule. He trailed after her.
Walking up the aisle, she headed to the stand of flickering candles. The drop of her coins in the box was loud in the silent chapel. She lit candle after candle; Bill counted six. Her mother, her father, her two sisters, her sister's baby...One more. For Zak? Herself? Him? Bill couldn't guess.
The orange glow on her pale face reminded him of the previous night. As the fire's flames had risen, her eyes filled with wonder and love; he had found her in the dark.
He turned away.
After much searching, Laura finally discovered Bill at the tomb of the California mission system's founder, Father Junípero Serra. Her lover's face was dark and unreadable. She started to cross herself in reverence but now there was an expression; disgust.
"Is something wrong?" she asked.
"Not everyone appreciates his work," Bill said, twisting the last word.
"I understand," she said slowly, even as she wasn't sure if she did. Her hand dropped from her chest.
"Come on," he said, taking her hand and leading her away.
They discovered the display for John Paul II's visit in 1987, making this humble church a basilica. A lovely set of vestments was in a glass display case, the white silk covered with orange California poppies. Laura smiled in memory of that special day for her.
Bill looked at the photographs of the Pope's visit. He searched the faces of the postulates, novices and full sisters gathered around the Holy Father.
"I'm right there," Laura said quietly, pointing to one of the white circles under a dark wimple.
He hadn't recognized her.
"Ready for lunch?" he asked casually.
"Yes, I think so," she said, her voice distant.
~*~
Once Bill had warned her that he would use care not to overwhelm her. Obviously he'd decided she was ready to take it.
Her legs draped over Bill's shoulders as he knelt at the edge of the bed, she writhed on the wide mattress, buried in the thick goose down duvet. Her heels drummed on his bare back.
He wasn't relenting. With his fingers and mouth, he build her arousal, then backed off just as she was close to her climax. At first, she'd felt her familiar frustration, then she realized there was no need. She could ride these feelings like being carried on the swelling waves on the other side of the dunes. As she ebbed and flowed with the sensations, her confidence grew. Loosened from the bounds that held her to earth felt pretty damn good. Good, as in she never wanted it to end.
Reaching down, she swept aside her curls and held herself open with one hand, while she guided his head closer with the other. Approving, he rumbled around her clitoris, inhaling the swollen flesh to work it with his tongue and lips.
Her head flung back, she levitated off the mattress, grinding shamelessly into his face. His two slick fingers reached as deep as he could inside, rubbing furiously on her walls. She grabbed her knees to hold her legs open wide, giving him all the access he needed as he bent to his task.
She was at the top of the wave. With a deep breath, she tipped over the curl and dropped, sliding and spinning fast.
"Yes, yes, yes," she cried out, exhilarated.
His smug chuckles around her clit only extended her pleasure but she still tweaked his ear for arrogence. He nibbled at her sweaty thighs, ignoring her rebuke as he kept chuckling under his breath.
Barely able to breathe as tremors still swept through her limbs, Laura grabbed a handful of his hair and tugged. "Get up here," she ordered.
He scrambled onto the bed, grumbling as his knees cracked. She had no sympathy, only her goal; his bobbing, dark penis. None too gently, she grabbed it and pulled him toward her mouth.
"Laura--"
Ignoring him, she wiggled close, pressing him onto his back with her elbows on his thighs.
"You don't have to--" His shaking fingers laced through her tangled curls.
Her answer was to lick the engorged head, savoring the thick droplet she caught on the end of her tongue. Not tasty, but not repugnant. She could do this.
Pinning him to pile of pillows with her seething gaze, she then followed her tightening fist down his length to the base with her tongue. Groaning, he moved his hand to her shoulder, stroking her skin with shaking fingers.
She wasn't going to play him as he'd played her, or see how long she could keep his orgasm at bay. She wanted to see how hard and fast she could push him. Her own energy was waning; the stars were still spinning before her eyes.
Reaching lower, she cradled his sac, sweeping her thumb across both orbs aggressively until she heard him hiss. Maybe it hurt, maybe it excited him--she'd wanted both.
Her head bobbed up and down, working her tongue along the throbbing vein that twisted like a thick root with his erection.
"God," he growled. "You're...Kill me."
She would, she decided with satisfaction.
Then he shocked her. With forethought she would have expected she had driven from his mind, he grabbed her hips and dragged her up and over his torso to straddle his head.
With a gasp, she had to pop loose to realign her mouth and find her balance.
His lips were between her legs again.
"I can't--" she moaned, suddenly on the defensive even as she shifted into his seeking mouth.
No, she couldn't come once more. But she could enjoy the sensation of his tongue tracing the still swollen contours and lapping at the gush of renewed arousal that his ministrations caused.
Pulling his straining erection back to her lips, she worked just on the swollen tip. She'd learned how sensitive the wide head was, the tender skin pliant beneath her suckling mouth.
He whimpered against her own flesh. He couldn't slow the inevitable; she would win the game despite his last minute move.
Her hand went to his sac again, now tight and hard against the base of his erection. She growled with satisfaction--he was lost.
The first spurt in her mouth was punctuated by his gasp of relief between her sweaty legs. He tugged at her thighs, giving her another chance, but she responded with a twist of her wrist at the base of his throbbing length, increasing the power of his orgasm.
His head thumped back on the pillows and his hips surged up to meet her mouth--he was going down the wave now.
Only when he finished did Laura allow herself to drop, flopping onto his heaving body with no thought of their dignity.
"You okay?" he rasped.
She managed to nod and swallowed one last time.
"You sure?" His big hand smoothed from her quivering thigh over her hip to catch the sweat pooling in the small of her back.
"Uh huh," she gasped out.
"Bath," he suggested.
She squinted at the large tub across the room. "Too much trouble," she grumbled. Wiggling around, she found the edge of the duvet and flipped it over for them to crawl under. "Shower. Later."
Draping an arm around her, he tugged her close. "Okay," he mumbled. "Later."
"Dinner later," she whispered, her eyelids drifting shut.
"We just had lunch." His breath teased her ear.
"Eat. Make love. Eat." She found his hand and drew it up to her lips. His skin smelled like their sex. A week or so ago she would have wanted to wash this away, but now it was familiar and something she wanted to linger.
"Sounds like a good plan," he husked.
He slept then, but she remained on the edge of sleep for the longest time, listening to the rhythm of his breathing and whooshing of the waves outside, noting how they moved in cadence until she was riding on the ocean again, carried far out to sea under the blanket of fog.
End ~ Chapter 26
Author: bugs
Genre: AU, Romance, Drama
Rating: MA
Word Count: 2,400
Chapter 26:
Her eyes locked with Bill's, Laura slowly lowered onto the cradle of his thighs, sliding down to encase his length, hot as the fire that flickered beside them. He wrapped his arms under hers, his wide fingertips lightly dancing along her back as though it was crackling from the heat.
They'd returned from their stroll and found the cottage chilly and damp, the windows still open. While Laura closed them and pulled the drapes closed, Bill had built a fire, the sharp smell of burning pitch soon filling the room.
"No lights," he'd said when she'd reach for the lamp. "I want to find you in the dark," he'd added with a chuckle.
He'd urged off her clothes, promising to warm her faster than any flames. His mouth on her breasts, his hand between her legs, the other cupping the swell of her hip, drawing her closer and closer to his own bare skin until she thought they'd melded.
"Here," he'd murmured in her ear as though they were in a crowd instead of the quiet little cottage, with nothing but the crackling fire and rolling waves filling her senses. He'd drawn her down onto the thick shearling rug before the hearth where they could leisurely explore each others body with tongue and touch, waiting for the logs to all catch and radiate their warmth.
Now she was hot as a curling sliver of bark, twisting and writhing before him. He lapped at her neck, along her jawline, visiting her mouth again and again as though he found relief there like a font of cool water. She clutched at his wide shoulders, supporting her movements to rise and fall. He guided her hips, holding her weight--she felt the strength in his muscles when her fingers slipped down to grip his biceps.
"Bill--" she mouthed on his collarbone.
"Right here," he promised.
He was right there. Her uncertainty, the underlying anxiety and urgency of all their other joinings was gone. She could feel his climax nearing in the hardening of his testicles as she slid down to rest on them for a moment, in the tightening of his groin when she rolled her pelvis forward to rub her clitoris hard against his pubic bone, but most of all, in the pulsation with each clench of her vagina on his length. And she could finally temper her own frantic rush, joining his rhythm, his quickening breathing, his trembling limbs.
"Laura--" he croaked.
"Right here," she breathed, lolling back her head, unable to contain her silly grin as she throbbed in time with his last frantic thrusts deeper and deeper, their cries sudden and stark in the silent room.
They tumbled to the rug, murmuring shadowy intimacies quieter than even before--a log broke, flashing the room with bright orange light and Laura held that moment close, seeing the sweat sheen on his heaving chest, the tight nub of one nipple, her own darker one sliding along his skin to touch it, the glisten of his mouth right before it dropped onto hers and the room plunged back into darkness.
~*~
"You're still not a shopper, are you?" asked Bill as the strolled down the business street of the former artists' colony, now wealthy enclave, Carmel-by-the-sea.
Laura turned her bored gaze from the shop window she'd been staring blindly into. She shook her head with no shame.
He only laughed. "It is all very rich tourist, isn't it?" he said, turning away from the Thomas Kinkaid gallery with a shudder of his wide shoulders.
She laced her arm through his, squeezing as tightly as she held his hand. She liked this, just walking and finding other ways to touch him in public yet remain within her own sense of decency.
His gaze sharpened. "Here's a place we need to go into," he said, tugging her toward a store's door.
With a sigh, she followed. Once inside, she saw his intent; a display holding piles of richly colored silk scarves. Her heart immediately seized with anxiety. So many patterns...
He picked up one with butterflies and held it up to her face. "Lovely," he said approvingly. "And the butterflies as a reminder of Monterey."
"Yes, that's nice," she said quickly, grateful that the decision seemed to be made.
A sales clerk appeared beside them. "May I help you?"
Bill handed her the scarf but Laura relief was short-lived. "We'd like to look at some purses," he said.
Laura looked at her sensible square black handbag questioningly.
"Of course, sir," the clerk said with a gleam in her eye as she led them to racks and racks of bags, all different sizes, shapes and colors. Laura felt faint.
"I don't need--"
"You can barely fit your tablet in your bag and see how the strap's getting worn from the weight," Bill said as he picked up a larger, loose sack-shaped bag.
"My tablet would get lost in that," she said.
"Something more structured, ma'am?" asked the clerk, removing briefcase-shaped purse made of butter-soft leather from the glass case.
Laura flipped it open, approving of the slot for the tablet and areas for her wallet and other items.
"I think we have a winner," said Bill.
Laura fumbled for the price tag, but before she could turn it around, Bill removed the bag from her hands.
"We'll take it," he said, reaching for his wallet.
"Bill--"
"Would you need the scarf if I didn't get the convertible?" Bill asked craftily, nodding at the clerk to accept his credit card.
Vexed, Laura bit her lower lip. "No," she admitted.
"And would you never look for a purse if I didn't point out the wear?"
"No..." she said slowly.
"There you go," he said triumphantly. "It's my purchase."
Confused, Laura let the clerk quickly transfer her things into the new bag. Snipping off the price tags and dropping them in the garbage, then the clerk tucked the scarf into the purse.
Bill led Laura back to the street. "Now something for you. To the mission?"
Her face lit up.
"To the mission," he repeated.
The Carmel Mission was a humble adobe building but even Bill had to admit it was beautiful in its genteel decay. Outside the large oak door, Laura halted and tied her new scarf over her head. Bill waited, feeling nervous for some reason. Without looking at him, she slipped into the dim vestibule. He trailed after her.
Walking up the aisle, she headed to the stand of flickering candles. The drop of her coins in the box was loud in the silent chapel. She lit candle after candle; Bill counted six. Her mother, her father, her two sisters, her sister's baby...One more. For Zak? Herself? Him? Bill couldn't guess.
The orange glow on her pale face reminded him of the previous night. As the fire's flames had risen, her eyes filled with wonder and love; he had found her in the dark.
He turned away.
After much searching, Laura finally discovered Bill at the tomb of the California mission system's founder, Father Junípero Serra. Her lover's face was dark and unreadable. She started to cross herself in reverence but now there was an expression; disgust.
"Is something wrong?" she asked.
"Not everyone appreciates his work," Bill said, twisting the last word.
"I understand," she said slowly, even as she wasn't sure if she did. Her hand dropped from her chest.
"Come on," he said, taking her hand and leading her away.
They discovered the display for John Paul II's visit in 1987, making this humble church a basilica. A lovely set of vestments was in a glass display case, the white silk covered with orange California poppies. Laura smiled in memory of that special day for her.
Bill looked at the photographs of the Pope's visit. He searched the faces of the postulates, novices and full sisters gathered around the Holy Father.
"I'm right there," Laura said quietly, pointing to one of the white circles under a dark wimple.
He hadn't recognized her.
"Ready for lunch?" he asked casually.
"Yes, I think so," she said, her voice distant.
~*~
Once Bill had warned her that he would use care not to overwhelm her. Obviously he'd decided she was ready to take it.
Her legs draped over Bill's shoulders as he knelt at the edge of the bed, she writhed on the wide mattress, buried in the thick goose down duvet. Her heels drummed on his bare back.
He wasn't relenting. With his fingers and mouth, he build her arousal, then backed off just as she was close to her climax. At first, she'd felt her familiar frustration, then she realized there was no need. She could ride these feelings like being carried on the swelling waves on the other side of the dunes. As she ebbed and flowed with the sensations, her confidence grew. Loosened from the bounds that held her to earth felt pretty damn good. Good, as in she never wanted it to end.
Reaching down, she swept aside her curls and held herself open with one hand, while she guided his head closer with the other. Approving, he rumbled around her clitoris, inhaling the swollen flesh to work it with his tongue and lips.
Her head flung back, she levitated off the mattress, grinding shamelessly into his face. His two slick fingers reached as deep as he could inside, rubbing furiously on her walls. She grabbed her knees to hold her legs open wide, giving him all the access he needed as he bent to his task.
She was at the top of the wave. With a deep breath, she tipped over the curl and dropped, sliding and spinning fast.
"Yes, yes, yes," she cried out, exhilarated.
His smug chuckles around her clit only extended her pleasure but she still tweaked his ear for arrogence. He nibbled at her sweaty thighs, ignoring her rebuke as he kept chuckling under his breath.
Barely able to breathe as tremors still swept through her limbs, Laura grabbed a handful of his hair and tugged. "Get up here," she ordered.
He scrambled onto the bed, grumbling as his knees cracked. She had no sympathy, only her goal; his bobbing, dark penis. None too gently, she grabbed it and pulled him toward her mouth.
"Laura--"
Ignoring him, she wiggled close, pressing him onto his back with her elbows on his thighs.
"You don't have to--" His shaking fingers laced through her tangled curls.
Her answer was to lick the engorged head, savoring the thick droplet she caught on the end of her tongue. Not tasty, but not repugnant. She could do this.
Pinning him to pile of pillows with her seething gaze, she then followed her tightening fist down his length to the base with her tongue. Groaning, he moved his hand to her shoulder, stroking her skin with shaking fingers.
She wasn't going to play him as he'd played her, or see how long she could keep his orgasm at bay. She wanted to see how hard and fast she could push him. Her own energy was waning; the stars were still spinning before her eyes.
Reaching lower, she cradled his sac, sweeping her thumb across both orbs aggressively until she heard him hiss. Maybe it hurt, maybe it excited him--she'd wanted both.
Her head bobbed up and down, working her tongue along the throbbing vein that twisted like a thick root with his erection.
"God," he growled. "You're...Kill me."
She would, she decided with satisfaction.
Then he shocked her. With forethought she would have expected she had driven from his mind, he grabbed her hips and dragged her up and over his torso to straddle his head.
With a gasp, she had to pop loose to realign her mouth and find her balance.
His lips were between her legs again.
"I can't--" she moaned, suddenly on the defensive even as she shifted into his seeking mouth.
No, she couldn't come once more. But she could enjoy the sensation of his tongue tracing the still swollen contours and lapping at the gush of renewed arousal that his ministrations caused.
Pulling his straining erection back to her lips, she worked just on the swollen tip. She'd learned how sensitive the wide head was, the tender skin pliant beneath her suckling mouth.
He whimpered against her own flesh. He couldn't slow the inevitable; she would win the game despite his last minute move.
Her hand went to his sac again, now tight and hard against the base of his erection. She growled with satisfaction--he was lost.
The first spurt in her mouth was punctuated by his gasp of relief between her sweaty legs. He tugged at her thighs, giving her another chance, but she responded with a twist of her wrist at the base of his throbbing length, increasing the power of his orgasm.
His head thumped back on the pillows and his hips surged up to meet her mouth--he was going down the wave now.
Only when he finished did Laura allow herself to drop, flopping onto his heaving body with no thought of their dignity.
"You okay?" he rasped.
She managed to nod and swallowed one last time.
"You sure?" His big hand smoothed from her quivering thigh over her hip to catch the sweat pooling in the small of her back.
"Uh huh," she gasped out.
"Bath," he suggested.
She squinted at the large tub across the room. "Too much trouble," she grumbled. Wiggling around, she found the edge of the duvet and flipped it over for them to crawl under. "Shower. Later."
Draping an arm around her, he tugged her close. "Okay," he mumbled. "Later."
"Dinner later," she whispered, her eyelids drifting shut.
"We just had lunch." His breath teased her ear.
"Eat. Make love. Eat." She found his hand and drew it up to her lips. His skin smelled like their sex. A week or so ago she would have wanted to wash this away, but now it was familiar and something she wanted to linger.
"Sounds like a good plan," he husked.
He slept then, but she remained on the edge of sleep for the longest time, listening to the rhythm of his breathing and whooshing of the waves outside, noting how they moved in cadence until she was riding on the ocean again, carried far out to sea under the blanket of fog.
End ~ Chapter 26