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irwinwe

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I heard his footsteps approaching.  I heard him stop before the door.  I saw the knob as it slowly turned.  And before I could take a breath deep enough to slow my drumming heart, his figure was before me.  

His finger was still on his shirt button.  Half of his shirt was open, and dark hair sparsely covered his immense chest, augmenting his masculinity.  I swallowed, and then slowly let my eyes, which were shamelessly rebellious to any concept of self-control, travel up his neck.  They stopped at the angle between his jawline and his cheekbones, and I admired the subtle flinches of jaw muscle he always adopted when he was nervous, or angry, or thinking, or...desirous?  His face was angled down at me, and his Eden gaze smoldered beneath dark brows.  When I made eye contact with him, my lips parted, and I saw him clench his jaws together and swallow.  

We both stood there, stock still, bodies flaming as drafts of air blew between us and made us weaker in our separation.  Together, we'd be stronger.  But it depended on who made the move.  I had walked to his apartment, and now it was his turn.  So I waited, soul-speaking with him, long seconds that we stood there becoming moments that I would remember for eternity, because memories have no time frame.

I want you, I was telling him with my parted lips and dilated eyes.

My God, how I want you, he was implying back through increasingly ardent breaths.  

I could see the indecision cross his features for a fleeting moment, and he looked both ways to make sure the hallway was devoid of spies.  He caught a glance of my research book in the process, and I saw him check his emotions quickly as he resettled his gaze upon me.   

"Did you...'ave a question?" he asked me carefully, trying to douse his own flames, just in case I was actually there for that purpose.  

I could not answer right away.  He kept his true feeling masked well enough to leave me confused.  Did he want me as I wanted him, or did he not?  By admitting that I wasn't there for research, by telling the truth, I faced his rejection and possible expulsion from St.Andrews.  So I asked myself, could the truth cost me my future career?  Or could a lie save it?  

My eyes fell again to his opened shirt, where I could see the beginnings of a rock-hard abdomen.  Before my desire to touch him there overcame my common sense, I lifted my gaze to his lips, because I could not quite lift them all the way to his powerful eyes.  I could feel his unflinching gaze upon me, nevertheless, asking me what I really wanted, though he surely already knew.  If he felt the same as did I, then perhaps admitting the truth, rather, would lift me to heights in unimaginable places.  I had waited too long to give him any answer but, "no, I don't have a question," and so I delivered it to him in a barely audible whisper, voice still trapped in yearning.

Almost immediately after I admitted my guilty truth, it became a glorious truth.  He reached out to grip my arm and pulled me forcefully into his apartment with him.  My research book fell to the floor with a dramatic thud, and just after the door slammed, he crashed my body against it, one arm roughly claiming my waist and the other arm flat on the door behind my head.  His breathing was labored and tinged with whiskey, his gaze was heated and dark and sifting the fleshly barriers between us to reach my soul, and his mouth was less than an inch from my own. Once my surprise had caught up with me, it transformed itself to liberal desire.  No longer thinking about "what ifs", my chin, of its own free will, lifted so that my parted lips just barely grazed his.  I felt him shudder, and then his mouth fell onto mine as if I was the positive end of a magnet and he was the negative, and our togetherness was more natural than our separation.   Our separate fires, now in unison, formed conflagration.

"I'll wipe him from your memory" he rasped with possessive ardor against my lips, "every bluidy taste of him, tha' bastard, so help me God.  I'll brand ye with my own taste and ye'll never forget it."

Then his mouth reclaimed mine, his stubble sensually harsh against my sensitive skin.  The feel of his glorious masculinity possessing me, a masculinity that I had so longed to become subject to, incited animalistic ardor in my blood, and I was taken aback when I heard a low and urgent sound emerge from my throat.  I felt him stiffen fleetingly, as if he was surprised to hear it too.  But then he huffed savagely and kissed me again, this time even harder than before, as if he wanted to leave no doubt in my mind of his passion, now that I had left him no doubt of mine.  I shuddered, one of my hands moving inside his shirt and roughly to his back, my fingernails curling into his flesh like I was an animal clutching compulsory sustenance.  My other hand slid up his chest, roved through the dark curls, and then, as his mouth plundered mine more agressively, it slid boldly to the nape of his neck, and pulled him even closer, if it was possible, to my opened, and very happily bruised mouth.  I gasped as his tongue swirled hotly inside, searching for mine.  He did not have to search long to find it, and the moment they touched we were both seared, lost in a fever dance.  

His hard passion came in unpredictable intervals, and there was no set rhythm to his kiss; its glory was in its spontaneity, being everywhere and filling every need we both had in paranormal simultaneity.  He thrust me back against the door with his own body, one arm still holding me tightly around the waist and the other now half-way around my neck and half-way cupping my face.  In frantic rejoinder I arched my back to be even nearer to him, but the pressure between the door and his massive frame was equally solid, so I was frenzied in my entrapment of passion, and I cried out.  Everything he did made me want him even more.  I was parched with desire for him and now that he was here, at last, I could not stop drinking him in, and I was unquenchably responding.  I could feel every heated inch of his body as he moved seductively against me, and I could breathe no air but his lusty gasps.  In the rare, gasping moments when he would lighten his pressure, I would run my tongue against his lower lip and lightly bite at it with my teeth, or I would grip the nape of his neck more demandingly, and he would groan and come back even harder, hands now exploring any place that would bring me nearer.  Finally overwhelmed, I arched my neck, and his lips fell to my jawline, while his manacle arms fused us.  We were like two puzzle pieces whose body contours fit so as to leave no daylight between them.

"I wanted ye from the verra beginning" he gasped hotly against my neck with constrained emotion, "I was a liar, all the derogatory tings I said..."

I closed my eyes and I felt my throat tighten with passion at his sudden admission.  I shoved my fingers into his hair and angled my face towards his, and as he moved to kiss my mouth again, he stroked my face roughly with his hand.  He kissed me this time deeper and slower, with painstaking truth and revelation, his heart open and vulnerable.  He lingered and then left, as he opened his eyes and looked down into mine.  We stood there, revealed, our lips almost touching and thus keeping our passion so alive that it was hard to be still.  He stroked my face again, searching for words through his ragged breath, but he could not find them.  So I tried.

"Remember that first day of classes when you told me I should have been paying better attention?" I asked breathlessly, but with a quirk of my mouth.

He bent his head so that his lips grazed my temple.  "I was such an arse" he whispered in apology.  

"Well, I was paying attention that day" I corrected, whispering against his neck, "just more to you than the material."

He lifted his head again and looked down into my eyes.  A slight smile partially interrupted his darkly impassioned face.  "Somehow..." he whispered, "I knew tha'."

I rose my brow slightly, suddenly game for sensually witty banter, "Is that why you smirked?  Because you knew I had been distracted by you?"

His smile grew, and he huffed a bit with laughter, looking down.  "No.  I wasna smirking at you, actually."  He looked me in the eyes then, and grew serious.  

"I was smirking at myself, for my inability to take my eyes away from you.  I have a weak heart, Ellen.  Ye know why, surely.  I was angry at myself for not being able to treat you apathetically.  Instead, despite my mind's warning I...my sick heart craved you.  From the first time I saw you it beat with more life than I has in years.  And it hasna stopped since then.  I doona know whether to deny myself of you completely in hopes that it will stop..." he paused, looking down, "...or stop fighting it and submit to you, becoming your helpless subordinate."

He swallowed, fearing he'd said too much.

There was a pause before I spoke, either because I was too pleasantly shocked at his admission for words, or because I was trying to think of how I could express all I wanted to say in a relatively short and effective few sentences.  It would be impossible.  When I did speak, I raised my hand to his cheek, and I looked at him with eyes that were full of unshed tears, and spoke with a voice that was not above a whisper.  

"Your heart is not weak, sir.  As I told you before, it is strong to have survived all that it has.  And I beg you, do not fight me, or deny yourself what I offer so willingly.  You could never by my subordinate, for I would be just as helpless to your passion as you would be to mine.  Surely you know now that it wasn't just you who was wanting from the beginning.  I have always shared in your plight" I finished.  

I became aware that my fingers had clutched his shirt-front in the midst of my words, and by sudden impulse I began pulling at it to bring his mouth down to mine.  He came, slowly, pondering my words with surprise and mostly pleasure.

"Ye did a good job pretending tha' ye hated me" he said, right before his lips brushed against mine.

"And you did a good job being an asshole" I returned, grinning.  He chuckled softly, the vibration stimulating against my lips.

"Ye know why I did it, no?" he asked, on a more serious note.

"Because you were afraid of this?" I asked him, frankly.  He stopped breathing, and one of the muscles in his jawline twitched as I hit the very essence of truth.  He hadn't expected me to be so direct.  I touched his twitching muscle with my finger, and felt the ice slowly melt. 

"Aye" he said, finally.  I could tell it was painful for him to admit it, but he was stretching his inflexible heart strings, and any such action was bound to be difficult.  He was a man that had been torn to shreds by his past.  

"How can I make you unafraid?" I asked him, wanting to erase his pain with my soothing.

He sighed against my mouth.  "Be true" he said softly, and with solemnity and wisdom, "Just be honest.  There can be no secrets.  Trust...tha' is the only fearless thing."   

I brought my hand to his face, and our eyes connected.

"It will take time.  Not to mention that there will be restrictions placed upon us.  No one will approve" he reminded me.

"I know" I whispered as his lips brushed against mine in gentle caress, begging for me to meet him halfway, "And I don't care".

I arched my back again and came more fully into him, intensifying our contact.  His response was superfluously fulfilling, and his mouth came down upon mine with the force of a thunderstorm upon cracked dirt.  

***

oh...it shall continue