InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity Redux: Metempsychosis ❯ Tidal Wave ( Chapter 59 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

"You're making quite an impression on everyone, you know?  Especially the ladies, I think . . . I've had a lot of women, asking me all sorts of questions about you—but you're not interested in that, are you?"

Ashur forced a tight smile, solely for Gin Zelig's benefit as he danced her around the floor, as he tried his level best to keep his gaze off of Jessa—as he tried to ignore the fact that she was dancing with a rather stoic-looking human that he vaguely remembered from having attended Ben and Charity's wedding.  Then again, there were so many people at Ben and Charity's wedding, it was hard to remember all of them, and even then, ending the bachelor party in the county jail . . .? Yeah, not really worth thinking about, honestly . . .

Gin smiled brightly, golden eyes shining in the glow of the hulking crystal chandeliers, suspended from the ceiling over the second level of the ballroom.  A soft flicker of light, reflected off the black beaded fringe of her short-skirted, black-lace-over-ivory-silk dress, added a very flattering glow to the woman who could have easily been the same age as Jessa and not nearly old enough to be the flame-youkai's mother instead.  "I also wanted to personally thank you for agreeing to step in for Mr. Weller . . . It's a shame that he couldn't make it, but it really couldn't be helped . . ."  She sighed softly.  "I mean, we could have just made do with the nine other bachelors, but the auction is always one of the bigger money makers of the night . . . and you're sure it's okay that you're participating?"

He shrugged, only really listening to half of what Gin was saying.  The man dancing with Jessa seemed a little stilted, very obviously out of his comfort zone.  Even so, Ashur would be lying if he tried to say that he was all right with the idea of her dancing with anyone that wasn't him, damn it . . .

Gin followed the direction of Ashur's repeated glances, and she laughed softly.  "I think it's utterly adorable that Kurt's dancing with Jessa . . . I don't doubt that Samantha had something to do with it, though, since he's not really known to dance too often, even with her . . ."

Ashur nodded.  Kurt and Samantha?  Now he remembered . . . Kichiro Izayoi's youngest daughter and her mate: the human with innate spiritual powers . . . He'd heard a bit of the man's story, and it was terrible.  To be frank, it was kind of a miracle that the man seemed happy enough now, given his rocky start in life . . . Even so . . . "He's a little close, don't you think?"

Gin blinked and frowned as she watched the couple in question with a critical eye. "It seems . . . respectful to me . . ." she finally said.

Biting his tongue since he was about ready to argue that point with her, he drew a deep breath and forced his gaze away from Jessa.

Gin sighed, but it was a rather happy sound, almost a dreamy sort of sound . . . "She's just gorgeous.  Maybe it's that hair of hers," she said quietly.  "When I met her at your birthday party?  I think I just stared at her for a minute or two . . . I wonder what it’s like, to look like she does . . .?"  Laughing softly, Gin gave a little shrug as a hint of a blush washed over her already rosy cheeks.  "I'd give anything to look like her," she admitted.  "Tall and beautiful and so graceful . . . As hard as we try, we short girls are just . . . not . . ."

Ashur smiled despite the turmoil of his own thoughts.  "I daresay your mate would be pretty unhappy if you suddenly didn't look like . . . you . . ."

She laughed, the sound of it, so light, so sweet.  "Zelig-sensei?"  Shaking her head, she giggled again, and then, she tilted her head to the side and peered up at Ashur, her expression an interesting mix of amusement and almost a touch of embarrassment, as her eyes seemed to cloud over, as her ebullient demeanor seemed to fade away.  "Can I tell you something?  Something I've never told . . . anyone before?"

"Okay . . ."

She grimaced slightly, but then, the smile returned as she leaned in, her voice dropping to just a touch above a whisper.  "I . . . I don't know why Cain wanted to be my mate.  I mean, I know why, but . . . I've . . . I've never really known why . . . Does that make sense?"

He chuckled.  There was something entirely endearing about Gin Zelig, and, objectively speaking, it wasn't really that difficult for him to see exactly what Cain might well have seen in the woman from the start.  "I'd say it was because he loves you," he replied, unable to help the small smile that quirked his lips as he gazed at the tai-youkai's mate.

She shook her head, bit her lip, as though she were pondering exactly what it was that she wanted to say.  "I don't . . . I don't really know how or why.  We didn't actually date, you know?  There were a couple . . ." Letting a little sigh slip, she laughed, almost like she was laughing at her own thoughts.  Maybe she was.  "He took me to this art exhibit, and it was . . ." Trailing off, she made a face, wrinkling her nose as she slowly shook her head again.  "Oh, it was a disaster . . . It was . . . really bad.  I thought . . . I thought that if that's what dating was all about, then I didn't want to date anyone anymore.  Then he tricked me into going on another one later, and it was all right, but . . . But that was after . . ."

"After?" he prompted when she trailed off.

She sighed and quickly shot him an almost nervous kind of glance.  "A lot of things happened, and I found out some of the things that he didn't want to tell me—things that he thought I couldn't understand, or maybe he just thought I wouldn't be able to deal with them . . . I . . . I don't really know . . . Back then, there was so much that I didn't know—things . . . sad things . . . awful things . . . Things he wouldn’t—maybe he couldn’t—tell me . . . By the time I found out everything, I remember . . . I was . . . I was so scared of telling him how I felt . . . I think it's because I was scared that he'd made a promise to his first mate, that he'd die for her after he'd raised their daughter . . ."

Shifting a little uncomfortably, Ashur frowned.  She had a point that she was slowly getting around to; he could feel it.  The thing was, he wasn't entirely sure what it was—or that he wanted to hear it.  "Why . . . are you telling me this?"

She sighed.  "I swear, I'm not trying to be nosy.  I just . . ." She grimaced, gnawing on her lip as she offered him a curt little shrug, no more than a slight lifting of her shoulders, and a soft sigh as they fell back again . . . "I know it's not my business, and I'm sorry if you . . . I-I-I'm not trying to be offensive.  It's just . . . I've caught her looking at you so many times tonight, and . . . and she seems so sad, so . . . lost . . . and the look in her eyes . . . I know that look.  I've seen it, only . . . only I saw it in the mirror . . . when I looked at myself . . ."

"Gin—"

Shaking her head suddenly, she drew a deep breath, like she was trying to bolster her faltering resolve, and she smiled at him, but the smile was thin, a little unsteady, and he winced inwardly.  "The thing is?  I know where my story ended up, but before we got there . . . I . . . I gave up for a while, Ashur.  At the time, I thought . . . I thought that it was the only thing I could do.  I mean, I . . . I couldn't ask Cain to ignore his promise, and . . . and I thought that it'd be better, you know?  If I let him go, if he didn't know . . . So, I . . ." She flinched, her gaze skittering off, as though she were too ashamed to even meet his eyes any longer.  "I watched him walk away, and it . . . it killed me inside.  I gave up because I . . ."

Her sigh was a painful thing, those emotions that she'd tried to bury so long ago seemed to take on a life, all their own, wrapping around Ashur with a harsh kind of abrasion, and for a moment—just for a moment—he could feel that swell of the darkest despair—a pain that Gin managed to banish in much the same way that Ashur had closed off the memories that hurt him, too . . . "I don't . . . I don't want to drag all this up for you," he told her.  "I'm sorry . . ."

She managed a very wan smile, shook her head as though to reassure him that she really was fine, despite the harshness in her youki.  "I just don't want to see her to give up, too . . . It's ugly, and it hurts, and there's no pain like it in the world . . ."

He stopped, slowly shook his head as he let out a deep sigh, as he pulled Gin into a hug before she broke down in tears completely, as he grimaced at the unnatural brightness that glazed over her amber eyes, made them sparkle like jewels—like tragic jewels . . . "I . . . I'm not sure what I'm doing wrong . . ." he admitted, unsure why he was saying as much, unsure what it was about her that reached through his façade, that touched him so, so far down deep within himself.  "I thought . . . but she . . . I don't know what to say to her, to make her want to . . . to stay . . ." he admitted, wishing that this night would end, wishing that he could just get out of here, that he could somehow grab even a single moment alone with Jessa—long enough for him to let her know that she . . . That she belonged with him—with Kells—and that he would do everything within his power to make sure that she knew it, too . . .

Gin sighed and stepped back, forcing a trembling smile that was all the more appalling because of the unshed tears that still stood in her eyes.  "I don't know, either, but I can tell you this: the only thing in the world that is worse than closing your eyes when you know in your heart that you won't open them again is opening your eyes again . . . because that pain is something you never forget.  It's like . . . you can feel yourself, crumbling away—like the earth below your feet is just . . . just dissolving . . . and at that time, I . . . I didn't want to wake up again—not if I had to wake up in a world without Cain in it."  She closed her eyes for a long moment, as though she had to put herself back together again, and maybe she did.  Then she cleared her throat, opening her eyes, slowly reaching up, her hand coming to rest against his cheek as she stared so solemnly into his eyes.  "So . . . So, don't do that to her, Ashur . . . I don't know what's going on between you, and . . . and I'm not asking.  It's not my place.  It's just . . . I know where she's going, and it's not pretty, and it's not kind.  It's terrifying and frightening and so, so empty.  There's nothing: no hope, no dreams, no laughter, no love . . . just memories, and . . . void and darkness and cold . . . and . . . and a loneliness that you can't imagine . . ." She let her gaze fall for a moment before reaching for Ashur's hands again.  "Please don't tell Cain.  I think he believes that I don't remember it, and I never told him because I know that it would hurt him.  I just . . ."

He resumed the dance because it was what Gin seemed to want.  "Your secret's safe with me, Gin," he whispered to her.

She sniffled, but she smiled: a tragic angel with invisible wings . . . "Write your story differently, Ashur—for her sake?"

Ashur nodded, swallowing hard.  "I . . . I will . . ."


"Here."
< br> Ashur glanced at Bas as the latter stepped up beside him and slipped a glass of champagne into his hand.  "Thanks . . . Don't take this the wrong way, but I'm really starting to despise your morbidly large family," he growled, tipping the flute to his lips.

Bas chuckled.  "Morbidly large?  Okay . . . Why's that?"

Ashur snorted and shook his head.  "Never mind."

"What?  You're not enjoying yourself?"

"In a word?  No. To be honest, I didn't actually want to come, at all, but then your mother did me dirty, planning that dinner and everything—flattening those ears of hers . . ."

Bas grinned.  "It means she likes you."

Ashur grunted.  "Right . . ."

Bas' grin didn't wane.  If anything, it grew, and didn't that just figure?  "Well, you know, I'm just trying to figure out who's more pathetic: Bitty, over there, trying to talk Griffin into dancing with her . . . or Gunnar, over there, trying to put the moves on your nanny."

"What?"

Bas nodded and lifted his drink to point at Gunnar, who was currently dancing with Jessa, and Ashur's gaze narrowed.  Bas didn't see it.  "I think he likes her accent," Bas went on.  "Must be a record.  Dancing with the same woman three times in one night?"  Bas sighed.  "At least she's making him put in a little effort . . ."

"Meaning, what?" Ashur demanded, unable to keep the darkening scowl off his face as he watched the future Japanese tai-youkai lean down, whisper something to her that made Jessa smile just a little.

Giving a little shrug, Bas set his empty glass aside on a nearby table before stuffing his hands into his pockets and leaning back.  "Well, he does have a fairly disgusting way of getting what he wants out of women.  Kind of sick, really . . . Sydnie, notwithstanding, of course . . . Come to think of it, I think she's about the only woman that I know of who has actually turned Gunnar down flat.  Go figure . . ."

"Is that right . . .?"

"Hmm . . ."  Then he sighed.  "She's too good for the likes of him.  I mean, it's not like he's actually looking for a mate, anyway—doesn't want one, either—at least, not a real one . . ."

Grinding his teeth together, Ashur very nearly snapped the stem of the champagne flute, but he managed to set it aside before he squeezed harder than he meant to . . .

Bas started forward.  "Oh, well, I guess I'd better go save her from him . . ."

Striding past Bas, Ashur didn't answer when the future North American tai-youkai called after him.  Weaving his way across the floor, he didn't stop to think or to try to talk himself out of it, either—didn't really even know, exactly what he was going to do; not really.  Ignoring the questioning glances, the curious gazes of the dancing throng, he kept his eyes trained on her, on the young woman he was intent on intercepting.  "Step aside, Inutaisho," Ashur growled, unable to keep the hint of menace out of his tone, ignoring the sharply-indrawn breath from Jessa as he reached over and grasped her hand to tug her behind his back.

Gunnar stopped and stepped back, his amber gaze awash with an almost amused sort of glint.  "Where are your manners, Ash?  Shouldn't you wait until this dance is over?" he drawled.

"It's over," Ashur allowed, feeling only a little less irritated since he was able to effectively separate the two.  "You've already danced with her enough for one . . . lifetime."

Gunnar chuckled and inclined his head before finally turning and walking away.  Ashur didn't move, didn't take his eyes off of the hanyou until he stepped off the dance floor and headed toward Bas.

"E-Everybody’s . . . staring," Jessa whispered behind him.

He turned to face her, though his anger had yet to subside—irritation directed at Gunnar Inutaisho and whatever sordid thoughts he had, rolling around in his brain—irritation with himself, for everything that had somehow gone completely sideways.  Without a word, he gave a terse nod and slipped his arm around her, resting on the small of his back as he took her other hand—her slender and graceful and perfectly-fitted hand—in his and started to dance.

Other people were, in fact, staring, though most of them had turned away by the time Ashur started dancing with Jessa.  Fighting desperately to tamp down the rioting anger that had yet to abate, he gritted his teeth and kept moving.

He could feel the stiffness in her body, in her stance, the trepidation rolling off of her in wave after painful wave.  For some reason, her acute discomfort only served to send his frustration soaring higher and higher with every second that passed, and that, in turn, caused her to withdraw even further, and as warm as the ballroom was, her hand in his felt like ice.

He felt her sigh more than heard it—the softest rise and fall, the vaguest lifting of her shoulders—a gentle exhalation that somehow hurt him.  "You . . . You don't have to dance with . . . with me . . ." she murmured.

He glanced down at her, just in time to see her eyes skitter down and away, the blush in her cheeks, riding high, almost painfully so, and just as abruptly, his anger redirected itself—at her.  "You really like trying to put words into my mouth—into my thoughts and actions—don't you?  And I find it fascinating that I'm the last one—the last one—to hear about any of it."

"I don't—"

His snort cut her off.  "Close that pretty mouth of yours, Amaterasu, or I swear to God, I may just turn you over my knee right now, before God and sundry, and beat some sense into you."

She gasped softly, her gaze flying up to meet his: liquid pools of molten lava, churning with an inner turmoil that shot right through him.  She wasn't challenging him, no, but there was something else there, something deep and dark and unreachable, writ in the depths of her sparkling eyes, and for some reason, that . . . that just added to his overall exasperation, too . . .

It was a mistake to dance with her.  It was a mistake to even look at her.  How the hell was it that a simple look from her could twist him completely inside out?  And the underlying knowledge that trickled over him, like the melting of the ice in the spring wind . . . 'I . . . I can't reach her . . . because she . . . she doesn't want me to . . .'

Wincing inwardly at that insular thought, Ashur shifted his gaze away, painfully aware of just how many people were there, just how many of them were watching the two of them like they were some sort of new and exciting display at the local zoo.

'You really need to talk to her, Kyouhei . . . You need to make her listen before it's too late—make her understand that she's wrong—dead wrong.  We can't go back to Canada without her.  We can’t go anywhere without her.  You know we can't.  She's as necessary to us—to Kells—as the air we breathe . . .'

He could feel her eyes on him, burning into his head, but he couldn't meet her gaze.  Teetering on the very edge of his control, of his reason, if he looked at her now . . .

She stopped moving, simply standing still as the couples swirled around them, past them, and she pulled her hands away.  "I . . . I think I'd like a drink of water," she finally murmured, gaze drifting down to the floor as she ducked her head, refusing to look at him.  She started to slip past him, but he caught her arm and pulled her back, grimacing as the pain in her aura pushed against him.  He held onto her, tugged her back into his arms as the song ended, and another began, this one softer, slower, and he sighed, letting his eyes close, just for a moment, as he breathed in the scent of her.

Funny, how he hadn't realized just how delicate she was, how perfect she felt, wrapped in his arms.  It felt like it'd been far longer than just a week since he'd held her, since he'd touched her.  He knew her scent, knew her aura, and yet, in his mind, those things seemed dulled in comparison to what he felt now.  The distance between them opened up a painful swell, an ache so deep that it left him reeling.  Unsure, just how it was that everything had spun so far out of his control, he felt like a leaf on the water, carried along, unable to fight against the current that was tearing Jessa away from him.

"Let . . . Let me go, Ashur . . . Please . . ." she murmured, and he wasn't entirely sure if she meant for him to hear her at all.

He ground his teeth together as he counted to twenty before replying.  "So . . . Were you going to tell me anything at all?  Or were you going to walk away, just like that?" he gritted out, unable to staunch the emotions that warred within him.  Everything—all of it—every last thing that he'd felt since the day she'd walked away from him . . . "And Kells?  Do you know what you did to him?  Do you even care?"

She winced.  He could feel the slight jerk in her body.  "I . . . I thought it was better this way . . ." she murmured.

He snapped his mouth closed on whatever it was that he was about to say.  The absolute irritation that shot through him warred with the sense of devastation, of loss, that was hard to reconcile.  In the end, the irritation won out.  Maybe it was just easier to deal with than the other . . .

'Calm down for a minute, can't you?  You know why she left.  You know what she thinks.  Can't you put your own feelings aside for just a moment and at least try to talk to her?  At the rate you're going, you're just going to push her farther away, and that's the last thing that we want, damn it!'

He hated to acknowledge the truth in his youkai's words, but he also realized quickly enough that he was standing on very thin ice, as it were.  The real problem was, he honestly didn't know how to reach her, didn't know how to breach the chasm that had opened up between them, had no real idea, just how everything had spiraled so far out of control . . . Holding her in his arms, unmindful that the music had stopped, that the lights had dimmed just a little as Gin took the stage to start the bachelor auction, he struggled to control his emotions, even as he felt them all, spilling out around him, like blood on a marble floor.  Still, he held onto Jessa, and if she noticed it or not, he didn't know.  Loathe to let go of her, knowing that if he did, he'd somehow lose her, he struggled to find a word—any word—that could reach through the careful façade she'd constructed against him—or maybe because of him . . .

The tinge of salt, of muted dirge, cut through his thoughts, he blinked, frowned, looked down at her, only to find her, staring up at him, a wash of unshed tears standing in her eyes.  Such a forlorn expression, but she didn't look away, staring back at him despite the quivering of her lips, the trembling of nostrils, and he realized in that instant, just what she was doing: committing this moment to memory, wasn't she?  Drinking in every last detail that she could because . . .

Deliberately slamming the door on that train of thought, he stared back at her, gaze narrowing, daring her to deny what he knew to be true: that the two of them really did belong together, that there was no, 'him' without her, and there would never be a, 'her' without him, either . . .

But the flutter of her lips drew his gaze as her mouth slackened.  Lips as scarlet as her dress, and the memories of kissing those lips shot through him with a vengeance.  He stopped, started to lean down, eyes slowly slipping closed as his lips drew near to hers, closer, closer, feeling the warmth of her unsteady breaths brushing over him like a caress . . .

"Ashur, I . . . I can't . . ." she whispered, turning her face away in a last-ditch effort to save herself, her words nearly lost in the ambient noise that was suddenly far, far too loud.

Her quiet words were enough to stop him, and he clenched his jaw tight, trying to unwind the mad tangle of bitter disappointment before he snapped entirely.  "Jessa, we need to talk.  I—"

Suddenly, she shook her head, tried to step away from him again, trying to run as panic surged in her youki.  When she tried to pull her hand away from his, though, Ashur growled and turned abruptly, dragging her behind him, through the crowd, ignoring the odd looks he was garnering, ignoring the sight of Myrna, who was trying to slip around people to intercept him.

He moved a little faster, unwilling to give her a chance to draw Jessa away.  He heard Jessa's protests as she tried to pull away from him, but he ignored her, dragging her along behind him, up the great staircase that led to the second story, through the milling guests, refusing to stop or to slow down until he'd dragged her into one of the small waiting rooms that were designed to allow guests to have a brief reprieve from the noise of the party.  Letting go of her hand, he turned the lock before finally whipping around to face her.

She gasped and tried to push him out of the way, tried to unlock the door.  "Have ye gone mad?" she demanded, trying to turn the lock and jerk the handle at the same time.

He slammed a hand against it, just in case she managed to unlock it.  "Damn it, Jessa, you're going to listen to me!" he growled.

She glared at him, her temper sparking, igniting, along with the dangerous glint that lit her eyes ablaze.  "Get out of my way, Ashur Philips!  Ye canna hold me in here against my will!"

"Yeah, I think I can," he shot back.

With a growl, she whirled around, tried to shove him out of the way.  It didn't work.  "Damn you, you bloody Philistine!  Move!"

"Not until you listen!  Not until you hear what I have to say!"

"I've heard what ye've had t' say, damn ye!" she blasted.  "I've heard it all!  Now move!"

"Damn it, Jessa, will you stop?"

"Move, ye hairy-knuckled cretin!"

Grasping her shoulders, he stubbornly shook his head.  "I said no!"

Knocking his hands aside, she glowered up at him, fire crackling in the depths of her eyes.  "What do ye care?  Ye don' wan' me!  I'm just convenient, aren't I?"

"Where the fuck did you come up with that?" he demanded, leaning back when she pushed at him again.  "Knock that off!"

"Oh, I'll knock somethin' of, damn ye!" she spat.

"Jessa—"

"Nay!" she shrieked, giving up her efforts to push him out of the way as she flailed against him, her fists doing nothing in the way of actual damage.  "Ye don' wan' me!  Ye've made that abundantly clear, ye ken?  Just—Just let me go!"

"I don't what?" he growled, catching her wrists easily enough, pushing her back against the door.  "Tell me again, woman, just what don't I want?"

"Me!" she yelled.

His temper snapped, his anger spiraling out of his control as he grasped her wrists in one hand, slamming them over her head as he dropped his mouth to hers.  No finesse, no gentleness, just the full force of his exploding passion as his rage instantly redirected itself.  She gasped against his lips, her body stilling almost instantly.  Crushing her mouth with his, he growled almost viciously as a wave of absolute need crashed down on him with a ferocity, with a brutality, that very nearly brought him to his knees.

Just as fast, the scent of her shifted and grew, her kiss goading him without words, her body arching toward his, willing him to understand, begging silently for the fulfillment that she knew he could give her.  Wrapping one leg around him, she pulled him closer as she tugged against his hold on her, as he rocked against her, as he dragged moans and whimpers from her.  Somewhere in the back of his mind, it registered that she hadn't put up even a token resistance, and for some reason, that just goaded him on a little more . . .

"Ashur . . ." she half-moaned, half-gasped when his lips dropped to her exposed collarbone, his fangs, dragging over her flesh, as a riot of goosebumps broke out under his brutal ministrations.  Her body bucked against him, but she wasn't trying to push him back.  God, no, she was trying to move in closer—as close as she could without the use of her hands.  "Ashur, please . . ."

That was all he needed to hear.  Letting go of her wrists, he dug the condom out of his pocket as her hands reached down, unzipped his slacks, nipping at his lips as she carefully tugged him free.  She started to squeeze him.  He shivered and growled, pushing her hands out of the way before tearing open the condom and rolling it into place.

Lifting her up, her skirt falling to the side, as though it was made for just this moment, he positioned her, one hand under her ass, the other hooking the crotch of her panties, pulling them aside, fingertips brushing against her burning flesh, already wet with her own moisture as he uttered a terse little growl when she ground against his hand.

She cried out when he slammed into her, her body welcoming him, her legs locking around his hips as he braced his hands under her arms, against the door.  She pistoned up and down on him, grasping the door frame on both sides, bearing down on him as he thrust back, as he kissed her hard, kissed her deep, the stroke of his tongue against hers, matching the movement of their bodies, his mouth catching her gasps, her almost guttural moans.   Her body quivered around his, swirled and ebbed and held him tight, burning him, scorching him, such incredible precision as she took and gave, perfect symmetry, perfect balance . . . It had been far too long since he'd held her, since he'd loved her, but he couldn't help himself, couldn't control the fierce desire that drove him.  Slipping his arms around her tiny waist, he fucked her fast, hard, pouring every last bit of emotion into every single pulse beat, every single time he drove into her.

She panted, keened, her body constricting around him as the first spasms of pleasure took her.  Tearing her mouth away, only to cry out his name, she bore down on him, the muscles in her body, all constricting, tightening around him, holding him in a brilliant wash of unrelenting heat, legs locked around him, quivering as she thrashed against him, panting mixed with the bittersweet sound of her half-sobs . . .

He grunted, groaned, feeling himself thickening, tightening.  He fought against the overwhelming orgasm that was building for a few seconds.  It was too late, and he knew it.  The rise of heat deep inside him was too hard to ignore, the sounds of her body, every time he started to pull out, every time he slammed into her again too stark in his head, obliterating common sense, maybe even his sense of propriety, as it all spun away from him, faster than he could reel it all back in . . . With another thrust, he felt the tide break wide, the waves of pleasure so intense they were almost painful, the spasm of release that covered him in his own burning rush . . .

Leaning against her, supporting her weight against the door, he struggled to breathe, struggled to form coherent thought, and for the moment, he held her, kissed her . . .

Loved her . . .