Nancy has shared her ETA
Ned's eyebrows rose when he saw the notification on his phone. He had just finished tying his running shoes, and did a few mental calculations. He had decided to go for a run to burn off some of this tension, but now, well, the urgency had dimmed some.
He went for a twenty-minute run, pushing himself hard, and by the time he returned to the apartment he was drenched in sweat, not all of it thanks to the sultry summer weather. It felt good, but any tension he had worked off was swelling back. She wasn't supposed to be home yet, and he knew she'd had a difficult time of it. She also hadn't called him to come pick her up from the airport, and that didn't sound particularly great either.
He took a very quick shower, checked his phone, and dressed quickly. He had towel-dried his hair, and the cologne she had given him that one incredible Christmas was still her favorite on him.
When she was apparently a minute away, he pocketed his keys and took the stairs at a near-run. The night was still just as stifling, the heat making the air thick as soup, and he grimaced. Not the ideal weather for her homecoming, not even with the clouds building overheard, promising a brief respite from the heat wave.
The cab pulled up and she swung her door open, stepping onto the pavement. She wore travel-casual, hair pulled up in a messy bun, leggings and a loose sleeveless tunic, and she looked exhausted. The bruise on the point of her jaw had purpled, and her other arm was bandaged.
Ned pressed his lips together, then let it go. They'd had so many versions of that fight early in their relationship, explored every permutation of it, and it boiled down to whether he trusted her and wanted her to be happy. He wanted both. Bruises would heal. He wasn't going to encase her in bubble wrap, shove her in a closet, and keep her safe forever. She had angrily dared him to try, once upon a time.
Her blue-eyed gaze met his, and the tension between them sparked immediately. Ned stepped forward, reaching for her bags, and she bestowed one of her glowing smiles on him. God, he remembered the first time he'd been subject to the power of that look. He had never really recovered; he'd been chasing the high ever since.
"About to go out?" she asked, her gaze catching on his still barely damp hair.
"Absolutely not," he replied solemnly, and her lips curled up.
He insisted on carrying her luggage upstairs for her, and as he followed her into the apartment, he kicked the door closed behind them, then leaned backward to jar it firmly into the frame before engaging the deadbolt. Nancy had turned around and was regarding him from beneath lowered, dark lashes, her eyes glittering.
"What did I interrupt?"
"What were you hoping you interrupted?"
"Your usual 'my girl's out of town' date."
It was a running joke between them, based on an impromptu visit and Nancy having never met Ned's cousin before. Nancy had barely been keeping a lid on her simmering indignation, and Ned had thoroughly enjoyed her jealousy for the handful of seconds before he had told her the truth.
"She had a previous engagement. I'm open to a change in cast, though."
Nancy gazed back at him, feeling a strange thrill of warning tingle down to her belly. Ned didn't often look at her this way, his expression almost predatory, confident and deceptively easy, his movements slow and controlled. It was a look that promised she would find herself in his bed, utterly spent, throat raw from crying his name—and soon.
Ned was significantly taller than her, heavier than her. In a fight, unless she somehow tricked him, he could destroy her. He'd fought beside her before, and she had seen the raw power in him as he defended her.
But she had never feared him, not in that way. He had never used his size or power to physically dominate her in any way that wasn't playful, a "threat" that would evaporate not only at the faintest objection, but at the warning of a too-sharp breath or an averted gaze. Ned stayed keyed to her, to her needs, wants, fears, desires, and when he sensed a shift in her, he adapted. It was part of why they had stayed together for so damn long, and once she had begun expressing her appreciation for all his careful consideration, well… he had rewarded her.
And maybe his needs changed occasionally, but right now they were simple: a cold beer, a plate of hot nachos, ESPN, and his hand on her thigh went a long way toward his happiness. She was generally more than happy to oblige.
So this wasn't their usual dynamic, and seeing him this way was just unfamiliar enough to be tantalizing. A role he was playing with her, possibly for her. A strong hand caging her wrists that would release its grip at the softest plea.
Maybe a role he was playing for himself, a side of his personality that generally remained untouched.
"If I said," she murmured, watching him take a step toward her and noting with amused detachment that a part of her definitely wanted to choose "flight," "that I'm tired and can we postpone…"
"I'd hope that you wouldn't." His gaze was still just as intense on hers as he took another step. "Because I want to check you over. Seeing you hurt makes me angry."
This time, she didn't tamp down the shiver. That rang as true; several very passionate discussions about it were etched in her memory. His dedication to her was generally positive, but his jealousy and protectiveness were breathtaking to behold. Her man was definitely all or nothing.
"Angry at me?" She kept her tone neutral; she didn't widen her eyes in faux innocence. That, she wouldn't play at; it hit too close.
He shook his head. "At anyone who could hurt you that way."
She smiled slightly. "You gonna kiss it better?"
He shook his head deliberately and took another step. He was almost close enough to touch, and she caught her arms trying to cross protectively over her chest. She forced them back down to hang loosely at her sides.
She trusted him completely. This was pointless otherwise. He had proven himself so many times.
"'Fuck it better' might be more apt."
This time when her lips curled up, they parted to reveal a wicked grin. That simmering anxiety hadn't gone anywhere—nor had her exhaustion—but the join of her thighs felt almost soft and warm in welcome. "Can't wait to see where this is going."
"First—" His hand, quick as a flash, was at her side, and she raised her chin in haughty permission as he snagged the waistband of her leggings with his thumb. She flinched when his other hand brushed her bare stomach before he gripped the other side too, and then he was shoving the tight fabric down her thighs.
She was just drawing a quick breath to speak again when his mouth found hers.
His kiss wasn't anything close to gentle or easy. It was claiming, rough, intense enough to steal her breath. He pulled her up, so her feet were off the ground and their faces were level, and the shock of his pants' fabric, rough against the newly bared join of her thighs, had her gasping. She met his kiss, wrapping her arms tight over his shoulders, and breathed him in with a soft moan. God, he smelled incredible. He felt incredible, after such a shitty case.
She realized, dazedly, that he was carrying her toward his bed, that he was tugging her leggings down as he nuzzled against her neck. "Why didn't you call me," he growled into her skin, the vibration of it and the heat of his breath sending a liquid shudder down her spine. "I would have picked you up."
She grumbled as he put her down. "I was still working through it," she admitted, tipping her chin up to meet his gaze. "It's been a long time since it's been that bad."
"All the more reason." He finished tugging her leggings and panties off, and then his hands were skimming over her body, drawing her arms up over her head. She smiled, but her heart was pounding as he held her wrists and ducked in to find that sensitive spot near her earlobe, the one that sent her hips arching up to grind against him. He made a quiet masculine grunt of approval.
"I thought—" She gasped when his other hand snaked under her shirt. Her soft bra provided little protection, and she cried out when he roughly shoved up the elastic, dragging it over her nipples, to bare her breasts.
"You thought what," he said, his voice a quiet growl, as she bent her knees and drew her legs up, cradling him between her thighs.
"That your damn fine cock would be out by now, or was that just talk?"
She gasped with the stroke of his thumb over her nipple, and arched again as he closed his mouth around it. His suckling was just as demanding and possessive as his kiss, and she writhed under him, tugging ineffectually at the grip of his hand at her wrists. He fumbled one-handed with his fly, and then—
She hissed briefly before sucking in a sharp breath. "Condom."
He groaned loudly but released her, rolling away to fumble in the bedside table, and Nancy took advantage of the interruption to swiftly tug her tunic and bra off. He chuckled when he turned back to her, freshly opened condom wrapper in his hand, to see her sprawled totally naked, arms back over her head and legs parted to him.
"That's right," she cooed, nodding as his cock bobbed with a renewed throb of arousal. "I'm home, baby."
He rolled on the condom with quick, practiced movements, then reached for the lube, popping it open with a jerk of his thumb. "Damn right you are. My turn."
This time, when she felt his cock between her legs, his fingers were laced between hers and their gazes were locked. She moaned, her breath catching with each thrust, arching to give him a better angle.
"Fuck," she grunted. "I need to pack you in my suitcase next time."
"Every time."
He released one of her hands, moving his own to where they were joined, and she cried out in pleasure as his thumb glanced over her clit. She slid her fingers into his hair, combing through it a few times before she lightly dragged her nails down his spine.
Their gazes met again and she felt that renewed thrill of fear just before they crashed together, claiming each other with another brutal kiss as she took the full length of him. She was always so intensely aware of him at his first thrust, feeling full and stretched and tight, and his moan of pleasure made her smile against his mouth. Then his thumb rubbed deliberately against her clit in wicked retribution, and she bucked under him with a gasp, opening her legs wider.
He released her hand to cup her hips, and then he was rolling onto his back, holding her so she landed astride him. She sucked in a breath and began to ride him hard as he kept stroking her clit, and when one clever hand found her breast and fondled her hard nipple at the same time, she cried out. "Oh don't stop don't stop, oh God—"
"Never, baby," he promised, his voice a low, fierce growl.
She was near her climax, and she knew he knew that, when he rolled her onto her back again. The liquid glide of his hot cock against her slippery inner flesh, the perfect angle of his long, deep thrusts...
She released a broken cry when he stroked her clit again, when she jerked in an involuntary spasm at the unbearable pleasure of this and him. Her cries and moans became shrill breathless screams, and she tipped her head back, twining her legs around him, her nails dug into his shoulder blades.
He was hers, just as surely as she was his. This could never be more perfect. This could never be more—
More.
"I love you." Her voice was desperate, a moaned, reluctant admission.
"You love my cock." He ducked in and bit gently at the side of her neck, sucked her earlobe into his mouth, dug his thumb against her clit.
She sobbed, helpless, fascinated and horrified by how weak she was in the face of this. He knew her so well, could reduce her to a pleading mess so easily, her hips grinding eagerly against his. She was panting as she dragged her tongue against the line of his jaw, as his thumb—
Her next cry was wordless, a sob of agonized pleasure that built to another round of screams as her orgasm roared through her. Every thrust, every drag of his cock against her sensitized inner flesh, had her jerking, meeting his movements in a haze of delirious joy.
She didn't know how long it took for him to release her. She dimly realized she was riding him again; by the time she collapsed to him, boneless, entirely spent, she was slick with sweat and lube and arousal, and every twitch of his thumb against her clit made her jerk and brokenly sob again.
"I love you too." His voice was hushed, and then he circled her clit with the point of his thumb and she sobbed profanity before biting him.
"You love—" She whimpered. "My clit."
"I do," he agreed. She loved that even he was a little breathless. "So perfect for licking and sucking..."
"Much like your cock."
"Very much," he agreed. "First, a bath, dinner..."
"And cum, the dessert every girl loves."
"One in particular is all I'm really concerned with." He moved and she slowly opened her eyes, meeting his gaze. "I hate seeing you hurt. And I guess part of me always hopes that I'll do this perfect, and you'll never want to leave again."
She smiled gently and caressed his cheek. "You know it's not like that," she said softly.
"My head does..."
"But your cock doesn't."
He smiled. "Can't blame a guy for trying."
"And you can't blame a girl for volunteering to help her man test this theory. As often and as vigorously as possible."
He searched her gaze. "To perfect sex."
"Ah," she said, "those first few times were practice, but you know by now that you have it down perfect. Reunion sex, though..."
He shook his head mournfully. "We still don't have that perfect."
She reached for him and drew him to her, meeting his mouth in a long, rough kiss. "Hope springs eternal."