Bronze God of Chaos and Harmony or Ethan Rayne,
TITLE: "Bronze God of Chaos and
Harmony" or "Ethan Rayne, Matchmaker"
RATING: NC 17
DISTRIBUTION: Solo, if she likes it and I'm hoping so. :)
SPOILERS: up to current eps, I guess
DISCLAIMER: Ain't none of 'em mine, wish they were. :)
DEDICATION: This story was written for Solo, for organizing the fling at the Bronze (hence the title... or part of it, anyway) and for turning me loose to say whatever I bloody well wanted (I even behaved <g>). My partner in crime <g> suggested a story where Giles asks Buffy out on a date, and Solo liked the idea, so here we go. Oh, and as an official summary: Ethan Rayne casts a spell on Giles. It works. Really well. <wicked g>
God, it was just like old times, Ripper getting sopping drunk
and complaining about his damned calling and the Unfairness Of
Life. There was something infinitely comforting about the
fact that Rupert Giles could still fall into the doldrums and
want nothing more than to hang out with old mates and drink
himself blind, no matter what kind of proper-English-gentleman
show he put on for his American brats. Thank god Ripper was
never far beneath the surface. It was just a damned shame
that it took so much to get him to come out and play.
Ethan swirled the dark amber liquid in his glass. Weeks had passed, but he still remembered the fun of sitting in that bar with Ripper, watching him abuse his liver and his life that way. Yeah, just like old times. Even worth the beating he'd had to take before they'd gotten down to the serious business of getting Ripper pissed-drunk. Even worth getting taken into custody by the Initiative and having to do some pretty creative spellwork to get away again....
Ethan set his glass down and grabbed a book from the little table by his hotel bed. He flipped through pages impatiently, looking for the right one, finally finding it and running through the list of ingredients, thankfully short.
Getting Ripper back-- full time-- was more than he really could hope for, normally. But destroying Rupert's bond with those children of his-- particularly with his Slayer-- would certainly be a start in the right direction. Without those children to need him, he'd be lost. Ethan couldn't run the risk of doing anything drastic, like bespelling Rupert to abandon them; they would all-- Rupert included-- know that some external force was at work there.
But operating on the dynamics that already existed-- well, now, that
could prove interesting, and ultimately just as fatal for his
relationship with the Slayer.
And what good was a Watcher with nothing to Watch?
* * *
Upon waking, Giles first thought that he had the mother of all
hangovers. As the ringing fog cleared from his head,
though, he remembered that he hadn't been drinking the night
before. He groaned at the light slicing across his bleary
eyes and buried his head underneath his pillows.
God. If he hadn't been drinking....
The phone rang and he jumped; his brain sloshed forward in his head, bouncing sharply against the front of his skull. His eyes still closed, he reached for the extension by the bed. "Hello?"
"Giles?" Buffy's voice asked. "You sound terrible."
"Thank you," he replied groggily. "What do you need?"
"Uh, well, I was going to ask you if we could use your house tonight for a pizza-and-movie bash...but it doesn't sound like you're up to it."
"Was that agreement?" When she got no response, her voice took on a more concerned tone. "Giles, are you okay?"
"I'm fine, Buffy. Good night," he replied, letting the phone slip from his hand to land noisily on the floor. He winced at the sound and dug his way back under the pillows. The sound of his blood throbbing through his temples reached volume levels he hadn't thought possible as he tried to fall asleep once more.
* * *
Buffy made it to Giles's apartment in record time. She
opened the door without knocking, took a quick look around the
living room, then turned and bounded up the stairs into the
loft. Giles lay in bed, blankets kicked down around his
waist, his head beneath the pillows. She quickly closed the
curtains, cutting down the shaft of light that had lanced across
the pillows, then sat gingerly on the side of his bed.
"Giles? Giles, are you okay?" She watched
his back rise and fall with his breathing. When he didn't
respond, she reached out and gently touched his shoulder
blade. He felt feverish beneath her fingers. She
rested her hand flat, applying slight pressure to get his
attention without jarring him. "Giles."
"Hmmmm," he finally replied from beneath the pillows.
"Giles, what's wrong? Is there anything I can do to help?"
He lifted his head, and she started a little to see the strain around his eyes. The light jade of his eyes looked dark as he tried to focus on her. "Headache," he breathed. He lay back down, but at least this time he kept his head on top of the pillows. "Thank you."
"For what? For freaking out when you dropped the phone and didn't pick it back up? What did you expect me to do?"
Eyes still closed, he pointed towards the window. He didn't speak or even lift his hand to do it.
"Okay, you're scaring me now," she said. "You're really sick. We need to get you to the hospital or something."
"Nonsense," he mumbled into the pillow.
She touched his forehead, and brushed his hair back from his face. She remembered when she was little, her mother used to do the same thing.... "Do you want anything? Do you think there's anything that will make you feel better?"
He made a noise halfway between an answer and a whimper.
"How about some tea?"
He reached out blindly and patted her hand where it rested on the bed beside him. "That would be very nice. Thank you."
She rose carefully and headed back downstairs and to the kitchen. While the water heated, she searched for something else that might make him feel better. What would her mother have done for her? She rifled through the cabinets and came up with a can of chicken soup with noodles. A bit predictable, perhaps, but if it might make him feel better....
When it was done, she loaded the tea, soup, and a bottle of aspirin on a tray and carried it up to him. She had to speak to him again to get him to open his eyes. When he saw her with the tray, he turned over on his back with an effort, then let his head drop back against the pillows again. "You're going to have to sit up to drink this, ya know," she told him, setting the tray on the bedside table and lifting the cup to gesture at him with it.
He nodded a little, but didn't move.
She looked at him a bit longer, considering how pale he looked, how drawn around the eyes and mouth. He was suffering badly, no question. She set the mug down and reached for his shoulders. "Let me help you," she said, carefully pulling him towards her.
His head lolled back as she lifted him, but he didn't protest. She gently braced his forehead against her neck, tucking the top of his head beneath her chin so that he rested against her chest. She could feel his fevered breath through the thin fabric of her shirt, and was a little startled at the wave of heat that flashed through her. This was Giles, she reminded herself. Her Watcher. Almost her father. He sagged a little more and she adjusted her arms around him protectively, then lifted the cup to his lips.
He sipped half-heartedly at the hot tea, and she waited patiently until he turned his head away and relaxed again. Unfortunately, "away" from the cup meant toward her chest again, and he nestled there quietly, drifting back into sleep. Great. Now she was afraid to move without waking or hurting him. God knew she'd done enough of the latter to last Giles a lifetime, so she just held him and waited.
* * *
Eventually, he roused again, had a little more of the cooled
tea, swallowed a small pharmacy of aspirin, and tried some of the
soup for her, even though he didn't look like he really wanted
it. This time when he drifted off, he lay back down,
freeing her to take the tray downstairs and wash up the few
dishes. She then called the rest of the gang to tell them
the pizza party was off, though she vagued up the details as to
why a little-- otherwise she'd have Xander and Willow both over
here hovering over Giles and bothering him. Afterwards she
turned to go upstairs again, and saw Giles descending the last
few steps, somewhat shakily, but considerably improved. He
was dressed now, buttoning his cuffs.
"Feeling better?" she asked as she came into the living room.
"Much," he replied emphatically. "What time is it?"
"I slept all day?"
"More like you tossed and turned and groaned and fell into unconsciousness occasionally all day," Buffy answered wryly.
He smiled at her, blushing a little. "Thank you for staying with me. For-- taking care of me."
Her turn to blush. "Well, you know, no biggie."
He cocked his head a little to one side, as if considering something. "Would you-- would you allow me to make it up to you?"
Raising her eyebrows in pleased surprise, she shrugged. "What did you have in mind?"
His eyes half-lidded, he replied, "Let me take you to dinner."
Slowly, a confused smile spread across her face. "Okay. Never one to turn down a free meal."
Giles had no idea why he asked Buffy out to dinner, but once he heard the question himself, he thought it was a good idea. He didn't look at that thought too closely. Instead, once she accepted, he gave her an anticipatory smile and headed back upstairs for a suit jacket. When he rejoined her, he appraised her sundress carefully.
"What's wrong?" she asked, watching his eyes rove over her. Something was definitely different here.
"Just deciding if you are dressed suitably for where I want to take you.?" He smiled at her again, and found that his headache had disappeared entirely. "You look lovely."
She started visibly. "Thanks. Uh, you look nice, too." Her tone was polite, but her expression was that of a deer who has just noticed oncoming headlights.
"Come on, then." and he swept his hand under her elbow and escorted her to the door.
* * *
Whatever Buffy had expected, this was most certainly *not*
it. She hadn't expected Giles of all people to take her to
McDonalds or anything, but this place? '„.
This was about as far away from McDonalds as you could get. Chandeliers, candles on the tables, exotic plants secluding the cushioned booths from one another. She guessed the tip would be more than she could afford in a place like this. Good thing Giles was paying.
She looked around their quiet corner of the restaurant; Giles had whispered something to the maitre d', he had glanced at her knowingly, smiled and led them to this booth in a dark corner. Real roses spilled down the wall behind them, adding soft fragrance to the air; an actual stone fountain trickled soothingly behind a screen of lush foliage. The place felt like an indoor garden. It oozed romance.
She didn't quite know what to make of that, but it was the nicest restaurant she'd ever visited, so she didn't worry about it over much. She just sat back to enjoy the ride.
When she leaned over to smell the roses, she saw Giles watching her. "You like it."
She nodded. "This is... well, something else. I'm not sure what."
He gave her another of the enigmatic smiles. "I hoped you would." He poured more wine for her.
She hated to miss an opportunity to be treated like an adult. Obligingly, she started on this second glass.
They shared quiet conversation during the meal, topics steered well clear of vampires and slayage. Neither of them ate much; Buffy found herself a little too? '·nervous, perhaps?? '·to eat a lot, and Giles simply seemed more content to watch her than to bother with food. No matter when she looked over at him throughout the evening, she found herself looking straight into his eyes. The soft flickering of the candlelight set off his green eyes magnificently, she found, making them deeper and almost luminescent.
He had incredible eyes.
Not that she hadn't noticed that before; in fact, it had come in quite handy recently that she knew those eyes so well. But now, in this light, with the heady scent of roses around them, it seemed infinitely more important that she notice that his eyes were *that* particular shade of green, that they shone to *this* particular depth.
And that's when she realized he wasn't wearing his glasses.
It was as if some shield had been lowered between her and her Watcher.
She further realized that she hadn't thought of him as her Watcher all night. Nor as the pseudo-father-figure Travers had named him. Nor as her trainer, nor partner-in-slaying, nor the man her mother still got tongue-tied around.
This was Giles. The real Giles, or one of them, anyway. She realized suddenly that this man had layers she hadn't even begun to fathom. This man.
Wow, she thought. Something's different. Something's changed.
He watched her watching him, and reached under the table to slowly stroke her thigh, never breaking eye contact. She felt an immediate flash of heat and a wet rush between her thighs. He smiled, as if knowing exactly what reaction he had just stirred in her. She wondered if it had shown on her face, and if she could get him to do it again.
* * *
Giles took her back to his home after dinner. She hadn't
argued; part of her reassured herself that she spent so much time
at Giles's anyway, that a few more hours wouldn't matter.
The much more aware and sensible part of her pointed out that
since she'd started college, she'd spent hardly any time there,
and that she was only going back to find out what he'd meant by
that touch, and if he was going to do it again. She amazed
herself with that particular piece of curiosity, but she didn?
'²t even try to suppress it. She told herself something
purely physical had taken over. Since the incident with Faith,
she and Riley hadn't had much of a physical relationship, but
that larger part of her mind seemed all intent to argue with
her. She shut it away insistently. She was busy
trying to get her Watcher to grope her again.
He turned suddenly after leading her through the doorway, and for a horrible moment, she thought she'd said that last bit out loud. Apparently she hadn't, though, as all he said was, "Would you like another drink?"
"Sure." Buffy replied, realizing belatedly that she probably at least should have asked what he had. She needn't have worried; he gave her another glass of wine and invited her to sit with him on the couch. She did, and they finished their drinks in silence. He had stopped looking at her, and she sighed. Apparently, whatever had gone on in the restaurant, or whatever she thought had gone on, was done with. Giles seemed to have his little invisible forcefield back up around himself, with no intention of letting anyone in. He leaned forward and put his empty glass on the table. She did the same after, and when she turned to sit back on the couch again, she found those jade eyes looking at her with an intensity that she knew she couldn't be imagining. His arms swept around her and he pulled her against him, twisting her on the couch until she faced him, her legs draped to the side and her hands on each side of his thighs to brace herself.
He kissed her deeply, tasting of wine and a sweetness that was just her Watcher. She whimpered as he teased her mouth open with the barest tip of his tongue, and quivered when he thrust inside, hard, deep. One large hand cradled the back of her head, holding her tight against him, and the other raised to cup one breast. She moaned around his tongue and he growled low in his throat, a sound of pleasure that set her on fire. She clenched her arms around his neck, holding herself to him as he kneaded her breast until she ached for him. He pulled back and searched her eyes again. "I want to fuck you," he said throatily, and her eyes widened as much at the tone as at the word. The way he said it, the way he used such a base word so casually, but with so much drive and passion, stirred her more than any sweet nothing could have. To hear her proper librarian reduced to such animalistic desire proved a heady aphrodisiac. She whimpered, and the way he grinned was feral... Rippery.
Leaning forward until his breath hissed against her ear, he repeated, "I want to fuck you. Hard and fast and deep? I want to pump into you until you tremble. I want to hear you scream my name as you come. I want you helpless underneath me, feeling what I want you to feel, doing what I want you to do. I want you shameless and begging." He squeezed her breast again, then dipped his hand beneath her skirt and unerringly found the fire that he had started in her. "I want to hurt you, and I want you to like it," he rasped, burying his fingers deep inside her, his thumb grinding against her clitoris at the same time. She screamed and came, and he grinned.
"I take it that's a yes?" he asked, almost pleasantly.
She managed to nod. She couldn't quite force the words out.
He pulled her up into his arms and carried her up the stairs, not giving her a chance to change her mind. He stripped her almost before she could realize what he was doing; she helped him out of his clothes, though he was doing a pretty swift job of it himself. She started to pull him down to her, but he grabbed her shoulders and spun her away from him. "No, luv, like this. I want you like this," he said, pushing her forward at the waist until she was on all fours for him. "That's my girl," he growled softly, slipping his fingers back inside her and twisting them until she craned her head backwards, her blonde hair spilling across her tanned shoulders. He slid his hand in and out of her, varying the angle, pushing at the walls of her vagina until she was fairly dripping. Then he placed a hand on each hip and she gasped, knowing what was coming. It was still a shock when he shoved himself home. He was certainly larger than Riley and Angel; Riley was still built like the youthful boy he was, and Angel... well, he was built like the man he'd been, nice, but average. Giles was not average. And he knew what to do about it. He grunted as he pumped her, and she braced her hands against the mattress, trying not to be thrown off balance. With her strength she stayed upright easily, though the waves of pleasure his violent invasion sent pounding through her were proving more difficult to resist. She thought she might well collapse from pleasure.
No one, no one had made her feel like this. Angel, Riley, even Parker had treated her like some kind of... well, normal girl. And if there was one thing Buffy wasn't, it was a normal girl.
Giles, on the other hand, was holding nothing back. He thrust into her as hard as he could, occasionally slamming into her cervix with a pain that was almost unbearable in its sweetness. She found herself arching and thrusting backwards, trying to increase the pressure. When she did, he leaned along her back, trusting her to keep them both upright as he fucked her. "That's my girl," he breathed again, slipping his hands beneath her to seize her breasts. He didn't caress her teasingly, or stroke her nipples to hardness; instead, he pinched them, hard. When she cried out he thrust harder and faster, grunting with each motion now, and doubled his attentions to her breasts.
When at last he curled his body against hers and sunk his teeth deep into the flesh of her shoulder, he twisted her nipples viciously and pulled on them, straight down, at the same time. They both came explosively and she soaked him with a sudden discharge of fluid, screaming his name as she did.
* * *
Buffy had heard plenty of jokes about "sleeping in the
wet spot" and plenty of information about trying to find a
woman's g-spot, but she'd never been directly exposed to any real
evidence of either.
She looked down at her naked body as if it belonged to a stranger. The only visible signs of their violent lovemaking were the bloody teeth marks in her shoulder, already healing, and the soggy sheets where her fluids had run down their thighs and onto the bed. That had certainly never happened with any of her lovers before. But then, she'd never come that hard before. She had felt her body forcing out, well, something, but she hadn't realized what was happening until her head drooped and she saw the liquid coursing down their legs.
Wow. What a trip. To librarian heaven and back. She hoped she could book another flight, really, really soon.
To that end, she curled her fingers around Giles's jaw and tilted his head towards her. He blinked and opened those gorgeous green eyes. "Hello, lover," she purred, trailing her fingers down his throat and chest, then swirling them across his stomach until he twitched.
His eyes widened. "Buffy??"
"Yeah, don't tell me you drank so much last night that you don't remember!?" She prepared to pout, but something serious in his eyes, something that actually looked like horror, brought her up short. "Rupert? You do remember, right?"
His mouth opened and closed a few times as if he were trying to figure out how to work it. Finally, he stammered, "Unfortunately, I- I remember it all." He pulled himself into a sitting position, carefully keeping the sheet around him, between them. "Oh, my god. My god, Buffy, I am so sorry."
She scowled. "So you didn't mean to...?" She began to draw back from him a little. God. Last night she was his passion; this morning he was horrified. This was far too regular an occurrence for her. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice cracking, and she flung herself out of bed and down the stairs. She nearly reached the front door before she realized she was still naked.
"Buffy, wait!" He came down the stairs behind her, also naked, but he seemed too concerned about her to have noticed yet. He seized her by the shoulders and turned her to face him. "You have nothing to be sorry for. You weren't the one who..." He broke off, trying to find a word horrible enough for what he thought he'd done to her.
"Who what? Who fucked you like a bunny last night??" The expletive seemed to shock him. "I can't believe you're the same guy who described what he wanted to do to me while he made me come on his coffee table."
The same guy...?
"I-I... I don't know what to say, Buffy. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I took such advantage of you, that I-I... that I seduced you." His pain made it sound evil.
She relaxed a little. Giles hurting. She finally recognized this. "It's all right, Giles. I wanted to. You weren't taking advantage of me. I was completely willing."
"I..." He turned his face away, and when he turned back, his eyes were bright. "I hurt you."
"It was quite an experience," she agreed. When he dropped his head in shame, she grabbed his chin and made him face her. "I liked it."
"Yeah. Who'da thought? I like it rough." She grinned playfully. "So, what, do you go Rippery like that every time you drink, or only when you're polishing off a headache?"
"Wait," he said, his voice suddenly clearer. She waited, though she didn't move back from him, he noticed, at least she wasn't afraid of him. He took some small comfort in that. Same guy? Rippery? Headache?
"I liked it."
His train of thought switched tracks roughly. "You liked it?"
She answered him by wrapping her arms around him and giving him the first hug they'd ever shared. "Who'da thought?"
"Certainly not me...." Bewildered, he responded to her embrace, encircling her with his arms and holding her close. When she sighed in contentment, he rested his head on top of hers and nearly cried. He had waited so long, so long for her....
"I don't know why I didn't get it before," she murmured into his chest. "You are the one guy who's always been there for me. No matter what I needed, no matter how hard I pushed, no matter how much I... how much I hurt you, you always took me in, took me back. You've always loved me." She raised her face, wet with tears, to look into his. "Even when I didn't."
He brushed her hair back gently. "Sweet Buffy," he sighed. "That's very true. I have always loved you."
She waited, then said, "Aren't you going to ask if I love you?"
He smiled faintly. "Have I ever?"
After a beat, she frowned. "No."
He laid his head back against hers. "And I won't," he promised. "I have never asked anything of you other than to be the best young woman you can be. And you have never disappointed me. I shall never ask for anything else." He closed his eyes and kissed the top of her golden head. When he opened them again, he found his gaze caught by the bottle of aspirin still sitting on the kitchen ledge.
His train of thought suddenly derailed from its new track, cars slamming through trees and buildings and tearing furrows in the ground. It was a pretty spectacular wreck.
"That bastard!" he snarled, and Buffy jumped.
Giles looked down at her, and she wondered what he was looking for. He wasn't looking at her, that was sure. More like-- through her. "Ethan. Bloody Ethan! I'm going to kill him this time."
Wherever this conversation had come from, it had arrived unannounced and at a very inopportune moment as far as Buffy was concerned. She hoped it didn't intend to stay long. If she had anything to say about it, it wouldn't even have time to pack its bags. "Giles. Make sense."
"Ethan. He used to do manipulative spells on people, on other magic users. It gave him a big thrill to be able to control people who could control those forces." He turned and started back up the stairs and she followed him. Just as well for her that she did, because he continued to talk without pause. "Of course, the risk with bespelling other magic users, especially ones who've worked with you closely, is that unless you're doing something major to their personality, they very likely will figure out that they're being tampered with." He had reached the loft and begun pulling on clothes. "So Ethan," he made the name sound like a swear word, "used to disguise the spell signature as a headache."
"You're saying Ethan cast a spell on you?"
"Why? To make you have sex with me?"
Giles looked down. "Apparently."
"But... why?" She took a step closer and looked up into his face, though he still wouldn't meet her eyes. "Would you not have done it, otherwise?"
"Of course I wouldn't have bloody done it," he hissed, setting her back a step. "I'd never have touched you like that if I'd been in control of myself." He blushed miserably, wretchedly. And apologized again. "I'm so sorry, Buffy."
The sound of his voice broke her heart. "So now you're going to beat Ethan Rayne to a bloody pulp." He didn't respond, but she knew damn well that was where he was going.
She also knew that he would never touch her again. Not even to hold her. Not even the most innocent of comforting gestures. And she now knew she couldn't bear that.
* * *
Even if the experience had just been physical, she would have
mourned its loss; it was the most incredible sex she'd ever
had. But it wasn't just physical. The way her stomach
clenched at the pain in his voice, how her heart seized painfully
at the tragic look in his eyes, told her the things she hadn't
been seeing for years. Anyone else on earth, her mother, her
friends, her boyfriends, she could live without. Angel had
proved that when he left her for Los Angeles.
But Giles... she couldn't. She couldn't live without him, without the one man who had always been there. Always been there, and she'd been too preoccupied to see. Forest for the trees, and all that, she thought to herself.
And now she'd lost him before she really had a chance to have him.
She reached out and grabbed his arms. "Giles, wait." She still couldn't get him to meet her eyes, but she kept talking anyway. "Tell Ethan something for me."
"Tell him I said, thank you."
His head snapped up, green eyes piercing. "You, what?"
She smiled a little, and hoped it was Rippery.
He continued staring at her, dumbfounded. "You, you're not sorry?"
"Not if you love me, I'm not. It may not have been what you'd do under normal circumstances, but when is my life ever normal?" When he just stood there, she dropped her hands to his, caressing his thumbs with hers. ? '³Giles. I know you love me. You said it yourself. And you weren't under the spell then, were you?? '“
"N-no," he replied shakily.
"Well, I'm not under a spell, either. Listen to me." Sure now that she had his attention, she said carefully, "I love you, Rupert Giles."
He looked positively stunned.
"Didja hear me?" she asked after a long moment.
He scowled to himself. "You know, I don't think so. I think..."
"I. Love. You. Rupert. Giles," she repeated, saying each word as if it were its own little world of pleasure. Especially the two that were his name. Even his name tasted sweet on her tongue... how had she never noticed that before?
He shook his head a little. "I don't... I don't believe this."
She reached up and began unbuttoning his shirt. "Let me prove it to you."
She grabbed his collar and dragged his face down close to hers. "I love you, Rupert Giles, and I want to fuck you, Rupert Giles. I want you to scream my name when you come." She licked his lips, taking her time, tracing their contours and nearly driving herself crazy with wanting him. "I want to give you a matching set of teeth marks."
She cut him off with a kiss, then pushed him back onto the bed. "Brace yourself, Watcher," she warned, then flung herself onto him, pinning him helplessly beneath her.
"Are you sure?" he finally managed to ask as she began literally ripping his clothes to shreds.
"Hey, if you didn't want to do this, you should have thought about that last night before you proved you could satisfy me like that," she replied, stripping him naked.
"Ah-- oh. Thank you," he said politely, though the bewilderment still rang heavy in his voice.
She laughed delightedly. Some things would never change. Thank goodness. She lowered herself over him and began licking his throat. He groaned and stroked her back. "Buffy?" he asked.
"Could you-- could you please--"
Somehow, she knew what he wanted. She raised herself over him and gazed with absolute love into those incredible jade-colored eyes. "I," she said, and kissed his forehead, "love," she continued, kissing one eyelid, "you," the other eyelid, "Rupert," followed by the corner of his mouth, "Giles," and she brushed her lips over his lightly before sucking at his bottom lip and teasing both his lips with her tongue.
He sighed heavily and pulled her to him, finally relaxing, finally content. "Yes," he murmured as she caressed him lower, stirring him back to hardness. "That's what I thought you said."