Autumn

"Don't say sorry," he groaned. "Do what you want. I'm here, I'm not going anywhere."

A burning knot of need was blazing deep in my belly. He felt so wonderful, and it felt so special to be wanted again. I felt suddenly constricted by the tee-shirt, and I rolled away from him so that I could struggle out of it.

"Rachel?" he whispered. "Are..."

And then I silenced him by rolling back to him, pressing my bare breasts to him, crawling partially up onto him so that I could stop his words with my lips, with my desperate desire to be wanted, to be needed, to be his if for even a moment...

And as I kissed him, I fumbled for him, found his rigid, throbbing cock, and instinctively started to stroke him hard and fast. He arched up against me with an almost pained grunt. I squeezed my eyes closed, forcing away the sudden scalding memories of other men I'd done this to, focussing everything I had on the core difference of this man, this man I needed, this man I craved, this man who had knocked down the prison walls around me and let light into places that had been dark for decades.

He was panting and moaning beneath me, squirming, his arm locked behind my back, fingers of his free hand fumbling between us for a nipple that he began to desperately tease. My belly ached, I was consumed with the desire to have him sunk in me, but I would not risk hurting him or myself with some stupid traumatic reaction to my past...

But I could pleasure him at least, make him come hard for me, maybe cry my name... then hold him to me, be with him, safe, warm, enclosed in his arms with boundaries still safely in place...

His lips were hot against mine. His chest was broad and warm under me. His belly and thigh muscles were shivering. We were panting like runners, sweat slicking us. I could feel he was close from the way his belly was spasming. I almost couldn't bear it. I wanted him in me, wanted his hard penis pistoning in and out between my lips, wanted him buried deep in me, wanted it like I'd never wanted anything else before...

He arched up off the bed with an almost agonised cry, and I struggled free of him, bent forward, took him in my mouth, swallowing each hot jet of his come as I continued to stroke him through his helpless, panting, utterly instinctive thrusts into me.

Finally, he was done. I licked him clean, let his head slip slowly out between my lips, swallowed one final time, and made sure my face and lips were free from any remnant of him.

Then I crawled in against him, hid my face in his neck, and tried very hard not to freak out.

He could feel me trembling. But, as I was coming to expect, he said nothing, tried no platitudes. He merely tightened his arms around me and held me as I worked my way through my darkness and, eventually, out the other side.

And I don't think I felt him relax until I raised my face, wiped my eyes, and kissed him once more.

.:.

"Rachel? Talk to me. Tell me what you're thinking. Let me help..."

"Just need a bit of time," I whispered back.

I felt him shift against me, move his legs in tighter against me. I fitted him perfectly, a lesser spoon nestled against his greater. I could feel the sticky head of his penis against my inner thighs - not unpleasant, just unfamiliar. Unfamiliar, like the strong arm curled around me, the sense of his breath flowing in and out against the bare skin of my back, and the near-agony of the need I still felt to have him in me.

"I'll be okay," I added, squeezing his arm. "It's... it's just going to take time for... for that not to bring up memories. That's all. Nothing bad. Definitely nothing bad about you and... about this. Just... stuff to process. Can... can you deal with that?"

"Yes," he breathed, pulling me closer.

I closed my eyes, basking in the sensation of him against me. "Was it... nice at least?"

"So nice. God, I was seeing stars. Especially... well... at the end when..."

"Good," I whispered. "Glad to know I still have the touch."

He snorted softly, and shifted against me once more. I shivered as his cock pulsed against me, and squeezed my legs hard together against the ache.

I could not remember ever being this wet, this aroused...

He moved again, and I squirmed, shivering as he trailed his finger over a breast.

"Tell me to stop at any time," he said.

"I will," I whispered. "But what you're doing right now is... very nice. Very, very nice. Uhn... what would also be very... oh God... nice is if you were to trail that finger slowly downwards..."

"How far downwards?"

"How far do you want?" I moaned. I opened my legs slightly, and then squirmed, panting, as his fingertips slowly trailed their way down over my ribs and belly.

"As far as you'll let me go," he whispered. I shuddered as he reached my ruined panties. I fumbled for them, and lifted the fabric away from myself, inviting him in.

"Go, then. I'll... uhn... I'll let... oh God... oh God, oh God that's... that's good."

He stroked a fingertip along my soaked, aching slit. "Rachel Fielding, you're soaked," he chuckled.

"I have... oh... been having a crisis since... since you let me... mm... rest my legs... on you..." I panted. "And if you were hard again I'd probably have you in me already. Caleb... please... stop toying... if... if you want me then just... just put a finger in me..."

"Wait. Just... just let me..."

He shifted out from under me; I moaned, disappointed.

"Where are you going?" I asked, plaintively. "I was enjoying that so much..."

I felt him moving upwards on the bed.

"Come up here," he answered.

"Where? It's too dark to see anything but shadows..."

"Follow my voice then," he said, clearly amused. "Come sit between my legs..."

"Um... Caleb, I may be skinny but I'm really not that flexible..."

"Stop complaining, woman, and come here," he laughed.

I rolled onto my belly and fumbled my way upwards; I misinterpreted and initially planned to spread myself and lower myself onto his lap, thinking he maybe wanted his cock butting against my lips as he nuzzled my breasts. but he caught me, kissed me, and then gently began to turn me around.

Puzzled, I followed his lead, and then let him guide me down between his legs with pressure to my hips. He wrapped his arms around me and I shifted up until my back was pressed hard against his chest; his cock nestled semi-erect and distracting between us.

"You're not going to be able to get that thing anywhere near any of me from there," I breathed. "Wait... I'll get on all fours for you if... if that's what..."

Then I shuddered as he ran his arms down my sides to my thighs.

"I don't want you like that. And as much as I'd love to... mm... to push myself to the balls in you, first I want to learn... you. Lean back against me and open yourself," he whispered into my ear, and, intrigued, I obeyed.

Then I arched hard back against him, groaning, as he put his hands to me. I felt him take a breast in his firm fingers; I felt him fumbling again with the fabric of my panties, and I reached down to help him...

His fingers brushed briefly over me, I groaned, and then he pushed two digits into me, and I honestly forgot everything else except the feeling of him in me and against me.

Time drifted away from me. I was shuddering, shaking, hips bucking uncontrollably, taking desperate, whimpering little breaths as he slowly teased his fingers in and out of me. I opened myself as wide as I could, hooked my calves around his legs, and reclined against him, head thrown back, shuddering as he sent rippling spasms through my deprived and desperate body.

Sweat beaded my skin. I could feel his belly against me as I moved and shuddered and shimmied in reaction to his exploration of me. I entrusted my full weight to him; stopped bracing myself against his hips, and found my nipples, rolling them, pinching them as I moaned and whimpered in time to the slow, wonderful pulsing of my pussy.

Then I squealed as he lay back into the nest of pillows and pulled me down with him; I found myself lying spread-eagled on top of him. The angle of his fingers in me changed, the penetration became far more intense, deeper, faster and more urgent. He was hardening again, grinding the ridges of his wonderful thick cock against the small of my back as he shifted his sweat slicked lap against me, and in a brief moment of lucidity I struggled up along him so he'd be nestled against the cleft of my buttocks and not rubbing himself raw against my spine...

But as I built, having him there wasn't enough, and so I lifted myself again, fumbled between my legs, found him, and then lowered myself, letting out a low moan as I felt his almost-hard shaft rub along my lips.

The sensation of him there - so dangerously close to being in me - made everything more real, and my muscles spasmed hard once, and then again. I fumbled around his hand, found my clit and began to stroke myself, gasping as he moaned and arched up against me.

It would take almost nothing to have his head in me. I'd just have to shift my hips, slip myself along him to prepare him for me, remove his delicious but distracting fingers from my pussy and angle him towards me...

And I'd be his and he could fill me as I could feel he wanted to. Fill me with him, fill me to the hilt with the wonderful ridges of his now quite-erect cock, fuck me until I was screaming his name and his come was oozing out between us...

I was building rapidly - the almost-forgotten tightness under my ribs, the tremors deep within me...

I started to moan loudly as my thighs began to shake; then shuddered and bucked hard against him as the first waves of my orgasm struck me. My legs clamped down on his hands and shaft and I writhed, crying out, squirming against and along him, loving him, loving his strong body against mine, his fingers in me, the way all I cared about now was being near him, being like this with him, with his lips hot on my neck, with him in me...

Then all the repressed emotions welled up and overwhelmed me, and I cried out again, flailing out, writhing off him and away, curling up into a shaking, twitching ball as I desperately tried not to shame myself with yet more tears.

But that was futile, because within a breath his arms were around me and his body was warm against me and the sense of safety from being beside him - of being held by him, of being shielded by him - meant that I simply had no hope of being strong any longer.

He cradled me to him, and didn't let me go until I was finally able to breathe once more.

.:.

"I feel like all I ever say to you is sorry for crying," I whispered, when I could.

"For what it's worth, I don't feel that way. Trauma is a funny beast, Rachel. You think it's gone and you turn around and there it is, staring at you in the face like... like a cow. Sullen and implacable."

"Like a cow," I repeated, amused despite myself.

"Blinking at you, utterly indifferent but very clearly there and... well... quite large and smelly and problematic to deal with when you are right in front of it."

"I suppose it's a good enough analogy."

I felt him shift again, then sighed softly as he gathered me in closer.

"Is this the first time you've..."

"Yes."

"Not even... self-pleasure?"

"No. I felt too dirty during and after... my previous self. I think... I think I just walled that bit of me away."

"Then I'm not surprised that this is how it's hitting you."

"How you're hitting me," I whispered.

"I wish I could have met you years ago," I added after some time. "I wish I could have been held like this, in the armpit of a dark night, when all the world seemed against us. I wish I could have had you there to hold on to. I wish Helen could have had you..."

"It's trite, but every thing has its season," he murmured.

"I know. It's still hard, though. The scars. The... memories."

"I know. I wish I'd met you years ago too. My life would have been far better for it to have a... companion, again."

"Companion?"

"A lover. A friend. Someone who kisses me the way you do. Someone I can be silly with like this. "

"I don't feel like you're being very silly."

"Maybe not right now."

"Mm."

He kissed my shoulder, and I let him pull me in still closer towards him.

"Thank you for being so very gentle with me," I whispered.

"Again, Rachel... stop thanking me for things that aren't within my control. This is... this is who I am when I'm with you. This is who being with you makes me."

"Don't ever change, okay?"

"I'm too old to change," he grumbled into my neck, and I smiled a bittersweet smile.

"God, I'm shattered."

"All used up," he agreed.

"Not quite. But I'm not match fit, that's for sure."

"I know. Sleep, then. I'll be right here."

"Will... will you hold me?"

"All night, if that's what you need."

"Can I get that in writing?"

I closed my eyes to the sound of his gentle laughter, and lay there, pressed to him, feeling rather than hearing each breath he took. I wasn't awake for very long; I was far too warm and comfortable and exhausted and safe, and my body swiftly called in the loans it had been underwriting for me.

.:.

Dim daylight woke me. I snorted, rolled up onto a shoulder, eyeing the foreign bedding and room surrounding me.

The shadow-muted colours and posters gave me the clue I needed, and everything clicked into place. Caleb's house. Caleb's bedroom. Caleb's scent on the sheets... on me.

I lay still for a moment, enjoying the way that made me feel.

I could hear clattering pots from downstairs. I peeled back the covers, donned my discarded tee-shirt, and quickly combed my hair into something less frightful with my fingers. Then I tiptoed downstairs.

Caleb was wearing a pair of fluffy moccasins, some ancient flannel trousers, and a chef's apron tied untidily over his bare torso. He was busy at the stove, frying something or other, and I spent an enjoyable moment or two watching his back muscles shift as he moved. Then I slunk forward and gently wrapped my arms around him, gratified by the way he sighed and paused to properly appreciate my embrace.

"Good morning," I mumbled into his back. "What time is it?"

"Late," he answered. "You probably should have been at work already but you looked so peaceful that I couldn't bear to wake you."

"It's OK. I'll plead a hangover. What are you cooking?"

"Whatever you want."

"Egg and bacon?" I asked, hopeful.

"Coming right up, as soon as you free me," he chuckled.

I lifted myself up onto his kitchen counter, shivering as the cold marble stung my bare thighs. But it was nice to be at his level; and I leaned there, idly swinging my legs forward and backward, watching as he quickly assembled something for me.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Still processing. Mostly... mostly I think I am. Especially with this view to appreciate," I added, in as lecherous a tone as I could manage.

"Good," he said. "Glad I'm still desirable in the light of day."

"What girl could resist your manly outfit?" I said with a smile.

"I'll have you know that this is the height of fashion amongst we Pirate kings."

"It suits you," I said, grinning.

"Breakfast is ready for madame," he announced. In a sudden gallant gesture that left me ever so slightly breathless he turned and lifted me effortlessly down from his counter top; I gave him a tight hug before I focussed on dealing with the food he'd made me.

"Are you busy tonight?" I asked him around a mouthful.

"Not yet," he said as he set an espresso down for me.

"Do you want to be?"

"Perhaps. What entertainment is on offer?" he asked, eyebrow edging upwards.

"Me," I said, staring up at him.

"Well then. Where do you need me and what time should I be there?"

"Um... sometime around seven, at my place? Bring... bring something to sleep in if you want," I added, flushing. "Oh God. How is it that you make me blush like this?"

"My rugged good looks and buccaneer charm," he said drily, then laughed as I smacked his arm.

The charm was real, though, because the goodbye kiss he gave me at his door made me curl my toes and melt against him, and it was a very real struggle to tear myself away from him and leave.

.:.

"And where were you last night that you're only getting in to work now?"

My daughter's voice was dripping with curiosity.

I stared out through the windows as the world whizzed by, wondering how best to put it.

"At Caleb's," I admitted, after a guilty pause.

She cackled. "I thought so. Did you have fun?"

"Oh Helen. We had stuff we needed to talk about..."

"Yes, yes, blah, blah, blah, but did you have fun? Did you at least kiss the poor man?"

I flushed bright red. "Yes," I confessed.

And then I laughed helplessly as I heard her giddy squealing.

"Finally!" she shouted, triumphant. "Finally! Oh my God, I feel like I need to crack a bottle of Prosecco to celebrate. Mum... I'm really happy to hear that."

"It's... early days, Helen."

"Oh ye of little faith. He's mad about you, Mum. I think you're in for quite a ride."

"That's an inappropriate choice of words, Helen..."

I could almost hear her rolling her eyes as she sighed theatrically at me. "You're a woman, Mum. An adult woman with needs. Needs I know you haven't been... filling, if you'll forgive the awful pun. You may hide them and other things from yourself but you're beautiful and wonderful and gorgeous and special. And he's gorgeous and caring and gentle and funny. Did I mention he's gorgeous? I'm not saying you need to throw yourself at him... but... it could be an amazing adventure."

"A distraction to take my mind off losing you."

"Now that is just your inner drama queen being daft," she said tartly, and I smiled as I heard myself in her words.

"When did you become so wise?" I asked her. "I don't remember giving you permission to mother me."

"We're team Fielding. We're the best team. When you're being senile I have to step in. So stop being silly and I'll go back to being your perfect little girl."

I felt a flush of warmth towards my daughter, and it took a moment or two for me to swallow the lump in my throat so that I could speak again.

"I love you so much, you know," I managed.

"I know," she said. "I have never, ever doubted that fact, Mum."

"Do you have any suggestions for what I could cook for him? Tonight?"

"You're seeing him tonight?"

"Uh huh."

"Is he staying over?"

"I hope I can... entice him to," I said softly, flushing hot.

She laughed loudly. "You're so bad at this. Cook that soy chicken and noodle dish of yours. He'll love it, he's very into his Asian cuisine. Then he'll be putty in your fingers. Oh, and wear that black dress you've got hidden in the corner of your cupboard."

"Helen! No! It's practically underwear!"

"My point exactly," my daughter said. "Give the poor, starving man something nice to look at. God knows he had to labour like Hercules to get past your defences."

"That's not nice."

"It's true though, isn't it?"

I sighed, and Helen, knowing that she'd scored the point, felt no need to rub it in.

"Mum," she said softly.

"Yeah?"

"It's not wrong to be happy."

"I know. I know it's not. It's just... I'm scared, Helen. I'm scared of how much I feel for him so quickly. I'm scared of..."

"Of being hurt again?"

"Yes," I breathed.

"The way I see it, you have two choices. You can wall yourself off, and exist solely off my love and your work. You'll be content, probably. It's not a bad life. Better than many people get. Or..."

"Or?"

"Or you can let him in; and sure, perhaps you'll get hurt. But I think you won't. And even if you do, Mum, I think you'll be better for having him in your life even briefly than never having him at all."

"Mm. I... oh. Oh fuck, it's my station. Shit shit shit, Helen, I've got to go, sorry!"