She hadn't been inside his townhouse since he got married. She didn't want to see the way his wife had taken over his personal space, taking it from 'his' to 'theirs.' It made her relationship with him feel cheaper---not that hiding in hotels made her feel like it was particularly valuable.
She knew they were only begging to get caught by continuing their affair, but since that first night, when they could only blame their behavior on a rough case, it grew harder and harder to step back from the passion they stirred in each other. She knew that every night they escaped, undetected by his wife or anyone else, was one more lucky night. She knew that some day, they wouldn't be so lucky.
But, she couldn't walk away from what they started.
It wasn't love---the kind with batted lashes and skipping hearts---but something neither of them could explain. There were no excuses or facades or apologies between them; it was refreshing for both of them.
But, now, he wanted her to come to his home---the home he shared with his with---and she wasn't sure that would be a good idea.
"Come over," he had insisted in her ear, on the phone a few hours ago, when she told him that she couldn't get a room at any hotels---even her late father's hotels, even though they had decided not to try any of the hotels remotely close to the Strip.
"Gil..."
"I want to see you," he had told her in a voice that said much more than those five words could. "She's away for the week, teaching that seminar. Come over in an hour. Please."
She had given in, but looking at his townhouse from her car parked down the block, she wasn't sure if it was such a good idea.
But, she did want to see him as much as he wanted to see her. Within a few minutes, she was leaving the solitude of her car and walking towards his home.
He greeted her with no words, only a passionate kiss against the door, and she allowed herself to get swept up in the embrace so she wouldn't have to look around at all the changes in his home.
Each kiss they shared took them further into the house, past the kitchen and living room, down the hall, and into the bedroom. For a moment, she wondered if she would smell his wife on their sheets, but then he bit her throat and her thoughts slipped away.
He liked to mark her and while she wasn't pleased about wearing his dental impression on her neck for a few days, she did enjoy his reaction to seeing the bruise the next day, while they were working together in the lab.
"More," she whispered, straining against his body and tugging against his clothes. "Hurry---"
"We have all night," he reminded her, pushing her down onto the bed before he covered his body with hers.
"I want more," she whispered.
He smirked. "And you'll get it," he promised, before zipping open her hooded sweatshirt and kissing the skin he uncovered.
She moaned as he tormented her. He was always very determined to explore every inch of her---even when they only had an hour or two to share---and she never wanted to discourage him from his exploration because it always made her feel so good.
Once, over pillow talk, scotch in plastic cups, and a shared post-coital cigarette, he told her that he never got a chance to be so thorough. That was the last time he had told her anything about his married life, but she cherished those words because it made their relationship seem less sinful in her mind.
They removed each other's clothing and defenses with feverish touches and kisses between each garment, until both of them were bare and exposed.
He turned onto his back and brought her over with him, so she was straddling his upper thighs. She smiled, loving this position out of their repertoire more than any others; she liked having a little control in midst of their wanton behavior.
She leaned down and kissed him, feeling the stubble of two days without a wife to convince him to shave tickling her skin. For a moment, she wondered what it would have been like to kiss his lips when he had his beard and what it would have been like to have him kiss her in other places when he had his beard. She let the thought fade away as she seduced him into a deeper kiss, using her tongue and teeth to drive him as crazy as he had driven her.
"Catherine..."
She brushed her fingers over his swollen lips. "Want more?"
"God... yes," he breathed. He threaded his fingers through her hair and tugged her down for another kiss. When they parted, he didn't release her head. He smiled up at her. "The way you make me feel..." he trailed off and smirked.
She chuckled. "Good, huh?"
"I wish we hadn't waited so long," he added quietly, "I wish we knew how good it would---"
"Shhh," she whispered, silencing him with two fingers to his lips. She hated thinking through her 'rearview mirror,' especially when it involved her relationship with him. They had missed the boat, so they had to settle for secret meetings in a sinful affair; she didn't want to think about it anymore than that. "No regrets, remember?"
"Don't give me the 'scratching an itch' speech again," he scolded, after pressing a kiss to her fingers. "I know what this is and you know what this is."
A lump had worked its way into her throat. He massaged the mark he left on her neck as she blinked and nodded. Then, he smiled up at her before stealing another kiss and tugging her down so she was pressed flush against his body.
They kissed until she couldn't stand it anymore and then she rose above him, palming his erection with one hand while she supported herself on her other. She listened to his quiet sighs and groans until they told her that he was approaching dire need, and then she lifted her lower body up to move onto the next level of their evening together.
As she started sinking down onto him, taking him inside of her, she looked down at his face. He was staring off, behind her, with a dark look in his eyes; when she turned to see what had grabbed his attention, he grabbed her. She sank down onto him with an aroused yelp and then found herself tugged down to his level for several long kisses.
"Have enough leverage?" he asked.
She grinned at him and nodded, before she started gyrating her body against his. He groaned and tipped his head back. She admired the view as she leaned back, rising into a sitting position as she moved up and down ever so slightly. He moved his hips with a bit more urgency and she was pleased to feel him hitting against the sensitive places inside of her, setting off a chain reaction of pleasure-pain sensations that traveled along her nerves.
She moaned and rocked back against him. He put his hands on her hips, forcing her to rock forward again with gentle guidance.
As her climax hit, she felt his body stiffen underneath her. Their groans shared the bedroom air, low and happy sounds that told each other how satisfied they were.
When the storm passed she leaned down and kissed him. He kissed her back, brushing her strawberry-blonde hair off of her face and neck so he had unfettered access to the marks he had left there.
"Hi, honey, I'm home."
She heard his wife's angry voice and she turned her head to see her standing in the door. She was instantly transported back to a time when she walked in on her husband with one of his stripper distractions, when she was in the wife's shoes. She should have winced, apologised, or made excuses, but she didn't want to.
When she had been the wife, she had wanted apologies and excuses, but she didn't get them. She understood, although she couldn't put the understanding into words, why this wife wouldn't get the apologies or excuses.
"How long were you... watching?" she asked.
"Since 'Don't give me the "scratching an itch" speech again,'" his wife told her in a voice laced with hurt feelings. "Very nice performance, guys. I believed it was nothing but sex."
She looked down at him, her blue eyes meeting his blue eyes, and she realised that he had known his wife was there. She didn't know if she should be angry with him or not. If his wife pushed for divorce, they could have the relationship they always wanted---public, official, and sinful and sinless at the same time.
With more grace than she knew she probably should have had in that type of situation, she rose off of his body and started searching for her clothes. He found his pants and put those on, while avoiding his wife's questions with nothing but silence.
She turned and looked at him when she was dressed. He offered her a half-smile and she returned the gesture, before walking past his wife and heading towards the foyer.
As she walked through the house she noticed that nothing in his home decorating scheme had changed. There were no signs of his wife or happiness or romance anywhere.
"How could you?!"
She turned and saw his wife standing behind her. She shrugged.
"That's it?! That's all you're going to say to me, Catherine?"
She sighed. "Sara, what do you want me to say?" she asked. "That I'm sorry? I'm... I'm only sorry we got caught and that's not the apology you want. You want me to say we won't do it again? I can't promise that. It's as much his decision as it is mine. You want me to tell you how long it's been going on? Go ask your husband."
She opened the door and stepped outside, once her shoes were on, and she walked away. She didn't know what would happen when she went into work the next night, nor did she know what would happen to her friendship with him; but, she didn't regret the affair and she wasn't sure what kind of woman that made her.
