Watching You

It feels as if she's almost vibrating, tiny but strong tremors running up and down her belly and spine. I run my hand back down until it's on her bottom again, stroking it in slow circular patterns. Her head drops as I push one finger inside her, finding her tighter than I thought, letting her decide on the pace as she moves and rolls her hips.

'Margot, look at me.'

She lifts her head up, her grey eyes huge, glittering. I raise my head up to kiss her, sliding my finger almost all the way out of her, tapping her clit a couple of times, pushing two fingers up against her, watching her eyes all the while, waiting until she's ready for me. She angles her hips downwards and I press into her, releasing her mouth from mine, concentrating on the feeling of her gripping my fingers from inside.

Dropping my head back onto the pillow I look down. The sight is beyond sexy as she kneels over me, head and hair hanging down, hips swaying and rolling, my fingers disappearing inside her. I groan. I'm so deep into her now, the heel of my hand is up against her clit. I tilt and rub it as gently as I can, remembering how sensitive she'd been earlier, sensing the way her tension is rising, listening to her breathing becoming more and more irregular, feeling the tremors along her back, how she's squeezing my fingers.

'Look at me, Margot,' I whisper.

She raises her head, a low guttural sound escaping as she spasms onto my hand, her back and head whipping upwards. If I hadn't been pressing on her bottom with my other hand I think she'd have been across the other side of the room.

'No,' she's moaning. 'No. Stop, please stop.'

But her hips belie her, still swaying over me, so I use my top hand to press her downwards back onto my stiff fingers.

'No,' she moans again.

I release my pressure on her bottom but she doesn't move away, so I press her down even harder, pushing my fingers into her at the same time, fucking her with my hands. Her hips writhe, her spine coiling and uncoiling over me, her breath utterly ragged. I'm transfixed by her beauty, the way her body is moving inbetween my hands.

'Let it go, Margot.'

I nearly lose hold of her again as her body rips and contracts over me, and I lever myself up to wrap my arm around her hips to hold her down, pull my knees up to give her something to come to rest against when she's finished. Eventually, gravity wins, and her hips sink downwards, still gyrating, pulling and squeezing over my fingers, until she's sitting down on me, her back supported by my raised thighs. I move inside her until her contractions subside and she begs for the final time for me to stop.

She's breathing heavily, her chest heaving. But she's not the only one. I feel as if my heart is hammering its way out of my ribcage. I'm afraid to blink in case I miss something.

I ease my fingers out of her as gently as I can, but she still shudders.

'My God, Margot, that was stunning. You're stunning.'

She whimpers, breathes in, still trying to return to earth, by the sound of it.

Pulling my arm out from around her hips, satisfied she's not going to fly away now, I use it to prop myself up so I can carry on looking at her, push my other hand back into her hair, running it through my sticky fingers, wanting to make her look even messier.

Her eyes are coming back into focus, her breathing returning to normal. I stroke her cheek with my palm, watching her turn to press her lips against it, open her mouth and pull my fingers into it. I groan aloud, my hips kick again, and I feel her smile, even with her mouth as full as it is. Push my fingers around her mouth and tongue, thinking if I die now I'll die a happy man. I let her suck on them for a while, thinking of the times I've enjoyed watching her lick her own fingers from my kitchen window; pull them out, trailing her saliva down her chin and neck down to her collarbone.

Seems like she blushes that pretty pink when she comes, too.

She drops forwards over my chest, a change of weight that makes me writhe.

'Sorry,' she breathes, and this apology I'm ready to accept. I shift her hips over to one side, adjust myself, find a more comfortable position, look down at her as she giggles.

'You find that funny, do you?'

She giggles some more.

I adjust myself again, closing my eyes, mentally repeating the nine times tables to calm down. It's worked well for me ever since I hit puberty. Open them when I feel her hand brushing down my chest to my jeans, snatch at it and hold it still.

'No. There's no rush, Margot.'

She raises her head, looking a little puzzled.

'First of all, that really was stunning and is going to be difficult to follow. And second, I'm starving and need to eat. Six feet and five inches needs a lot of feeding.'

'Oh, I guess there's a little more than a foot difference between us, then.'

'Well, I knew that.'

I pull her shoulders up to look at her, reach up to kiss her on the mouth. Her scent has me. I drop my head back, shocked at how aroused it makes me.

Her grey eyes are looking into mine, serious now.

'Declan, I don't quite know what to say,' she begins. 'Nothing so good has happened for a very long time. It was - totally unexpected.'

'I'll say. Do you come like that every time? I don't know if I can handle it.'

'That's unfair,' and she's broken free of me, shoving her hand into my waistband, but I'm fast enough to stop her from getting in too far.

'Ok, ok. You're right. That was unfair of me. I'll apologise, ok? But you can't do that. Not yet, anyway. I have to eat, really I do.' I kiss her forehead, revelling in her scent again. I'm completely addicted.

She shivers.

'Are you cold?' I pull her closer to me, rub my arm along her arm and back.

'Uh, I think I'm just in shock,' she shivers again.

I pull the bedclothes up, wrapping them around her. If I wasn't so damned hungry I could fall asleep with her tucked in next to me like this. I allow myself to almost doze for a few minutes before heaving myself off the bed.

'I'll put the dinner back on, it'll be about twenty minutes,' and I leave her there. Naked in my bed.

+++++++++++++++++

He's standing over the cooker as I walk back into his kitchen, feeling self-conscious. He's picked up my sweatshirt and hung it over the back of a chair, but my shoes are in the same place on the floor where I discarded them. His feet are, I'm happy to note, still bare. I pull the sweatshirt off the chair. The movement seems to catch his eye, and he pivots around.

'Hey, hi!' holding out his arm towards me. 'Are you ok?' and raising his eyebrows.

I drag the sweatshirt over my head and arms, move up to him and let him pull me into his side. Whatever it is he's cooking, it does smell very good indeed. It also feels really good the way he's holding onto me like this.

'Are you? Ok?' He's looking down at me, his blue eyes kind.

'Oh, sorry. Yes. Yes, I'm fine. Hungry!'

'Good.' He cinches my waist more tightly, then releases me. 'It's almost ready.'

'Is this how you seduce all the girls? Make them good food?'

'Sure. It works a treat.' He's doing his best to sound offhand.

'I'm not trying to pry.'

He looks at me then.

'Do you know you have kind eyes? Do your patients tell you that?'

'This is ready to eat,' he lifts the pot onto the table. 'Sit down.'

He pulls bowls out of the oven where they've been warming and sets those on the table too, dishes the food out, then sits down opposite me.

'Uh, I'm not sure whose glass is whose,' he indicates the glass tumblers.

'Does it matter?'

That draws a smile from him. We toast each other, and eat. It tastes as good as it smells. I watch him as he eats, total concentration on his face. My eyes flick to the clock on the oven, and I see how much I've managed to lose track of time today.

'Margot?' I turn back to look at him. 'You're miles away.'

I blink.

'Yes. I haven't thought about work for hours - all day.'

'And that's how you usually spend your weekends? Thinking about work?'

'Mmhmm. I suppose I do.'

He leans over the table, draws my hand into his. I press my lips together, hoping he isn't going to ask me something awkward.

'Margot, this might not be something you want to even respond to. But I get the impression there's a lot you're never going to tell me about yourself.'

He pauses, perhaps giving me the chance to say something, contradict him, but I stay quiet, so he continues.

'That being the case, I'd ask you to be as honest as you can with me about this,' he pushes our hands across the table and back, 'about whatever this turns out to be between us. Can you do that?'

'Yes, I'll do that, Declan.'

He squeezes my hand. I take a sip of the wine.

'It's really only my job I'm not going to talk about very much, Declan. The rest is -,' I pause, trying to find the right words. In the end, I simply raise my hand up and shrug.

'Ok, I'll take that.'

I sit back, assessing what's going on here.

'Does this mean we might be doing this again, another date at the recycling centre, something like that?'

His face relaxes. 'I was thinking we could step it up - the cinema, a walk in the country? Whatever you like to do.'

'Well, if that's how it's going to be, I'd better do the washing up, seeing as you've done all the cooking. That's how it works, isn't it?'

He smiles. 'There's a dishwasher.'

And when I pull a face at him, he laughs. 'I don't use it much, it's true. But the view from my sink can be spectacular, so I don't mind washing up by hand.'

'Is that so?'

'Yes.'

I like the way he holds my gaze.

'What do you like to do when you're not working?'

'I'm not sure I can remember.' He scratches at his hair. 'Since moving here, working is pretty much all I've done.'

'You go running,' I inform him and he smiles.

'True. But that's about all.'

'What did you used to do, before you came here?'

He looks away. 'We'd been doing up the house for the past couple of years.'

'Ah. I see.'

'No. Don't feel sorry for me. It was a lucky escape, really it was.'

I push my chair back and gather up plates and cutlery to rinse out for the dishwasher.

'How about a walk now? Help to digest all that delicious food?'

We walk across the Common and back. It's windy. He gives me an amused look when I pull my hair back to tie it up again. We don't say much to begin with, but he holds my hand, which surprises me. My husband hadn't been the sort for showing affection in public. Or in private, actually. So I don't know how I feel about holding hands with Declan like this. Faintly ridiculous, and then after some time, I begin to get used to it.

This is one of the routes he likes to run. He's just signed up for another half marathon. He's found someone at work he might train with sometimes, someone he won't mind spending time with outside of the hospital. Did I do ballet as a child? Where do I go now for classes? We chat like this. It feels easy. Except for a couple of vivid flashbacks, of what he'd done to me with his hands, on his bed.

By the time we get back, it's much colder.

'Tea? Coffee? Something stronger? What'd you like?' he's asking.

Tea, I tell him, watching him, thinking about what I'd like to happen next. I'm interested to know why he'd held back earlier. Ok, so he'd been starving hungry. But it felt as if there was more to it than that.

We take the tea into his front room. It's pretty sparsely furnished - all rented. But he has books, quite a lot of them, and a few photographs on the bookshelves. I examine the photos, remembering that night he'd been in my kitchen, looking around for the same.

'Your sisters?' I point at one of the pictures.

He nods.

'What's the age gap between you all?'

He smiles, and l love the way his eyes are so clear. 'There's sixteen years between me and Roisin, the eldest.'

'Sixteen? Your poor mother!'

'She wanted a boy.'

'And what about the gap between you and the youngest sister?'

'Erin? Five years.'

I drink my tea.

'You really were the baby, then.'

'Yes.'

I turn back to the shelves.

'Nieces and nephews? How many of those are there?'

'Thirteen. Ten girls, three boys.'

'Goodness me. So many women!'

'Tons of them,' he agrees. He's holding out his arm to me, wanting me to sit down with him. I push my fingers into his, but stay standing. For now.

'So your eldest sister is older than me,' I can't resist saying.

'Two of them are, actually,' tugging at me now with one hand, putting his mug onto the table, holding his hand out to take mine off me too. 'Does it really matter?'

I look back at the photographs. He tugs at my hand again.

'Margot?'

I turn back. He does have lovely, blue eyes. And as I settle myself onto his lap, I enjoy the way they widen. And the slight sound he makes in his throat as I wiggle around a little. And the pressure of his hands on my ass, pulling me closer, tighter onto him. All of it is feeling really good. I'm already slippy.

He lifts his hips up, and me with them, shifts himself lower on the sofa, looking at me. It's a good move. I can feel more of him now, smile, and he smiles back. He feels nice and hard.

I tilt my hips and press myself down more firmly, appreciating the way he's moving his hands over my thighs, my hips, my waist. He drops his head onto the seatback, eyes still on me, watching me moving over him, his eyelids dropping until his eyes are half open, half closed, his breathing deepening. He lifts me up, settles me down in a slightly different place, and I resume moving my hips, tilting and tipping them, rubbing us up against each other. He's keeping pretty still, but I have the impression it's taking a measure of self-control. He does it a third time, lifting me up a little, setting me down again.

It's hypnotic, watching this man, the way he's controlling himself, and me. I lean forwards, trying to be careful, but my hips buck, his kick up and he's scrambling to grab for me, to steady both of us.

'Woa, don't go anywhere,' his head pulled up straight, lips parted.

'I'm trying not to, Declan, really I am.' I exhale. 'But this is what you like, isn't it? The anticipation, the promise? Spinning it out for as long as you can?'

He grunts, pulls me to him, kisses me open-mouthed, moving his hips now, pushing me down onto him, his hands underneath my clothes, running down my back, into the waistband of my jeans, his breath hot on my face. I moan, can't stop it, bow my back, trying to hold out. He releases my mouth.

'Come for me, Margot,' his lips still touching mine. 'I've got hold of you.'

I'm gasping, writhing, my spine curling and uncurling over him, his hands jamming me onto him, hips jerking up into me.

I cry out, a sound I hardly recognise.

And then he's gradually releasing me, one hand stroking my back, up into my hair, soothing me while I wait for my heart to stop hammering at such speed. I breathe in, loving the smell of him.

'Back down to earth?' he asks softly.

'I - '

'Mmmhmm. I could watch you do that over and over again.'

He's dropping his head back onto the sofa and I raise mine up to look at him.

'Take that out,' he tips his chin at me, and I reach around to take my hair down again.

'When do you get to let go?' I reach up to kiss his mouth, flick my tongue along his lips. 'Or do you like the anticipation better than anything else?'

He seizes me, pulling both of us off the sofa, stands up and carries me out of the room and into the hall, holding me the same as before, close on his hips.

'Do I need to be looking to see if I have any condoms, Margot?' in a low voice.

'Oh. No, Declan. No I can't have children now. Not anymore.' My arms start to tremble. He halts, still in the hall, presses me up against the wall, pushes my legs out wider with his hips, moving underneath me. I drop my head down onto his shoulder, twist so I can lick his neck.

'Please take some clothes off, Declan. I want to touch you, feel your skin.'

He laughs at that, pulls us away from the wall and carries me into his bedroom. Puts me down on my feet and starts to take his t-shirt off over his head, pulls at the button on his jeans, but my hands are already there. I decide on a little more teasing, run my hand over him, up and down, sometimes pressing, sometimes not. When I look at his face he's got that same expression, half closed eyes, but still watching me.

Unzipping him, he exhales into my hair. Taking him into my hands, his hips thrust towards me. I sigh. He's rather bigger than I'm used to and I hope he can stay patient.

'Take these off,' he's running his hands down my sides, ruffling the fabric of my clothes. 'All of them. Everything.'

And then we're both tearing at our clothes, laughing when we collide with each other, all knees and elbows.

He bends down, presses his mouth to mine, pushes his tongue into me. Pulls away and sits on the bed, urging me down to him, lifting me as he lies down, moving us both up the bed until we are lying next to each other.

I feel him twitch as I stroke his skin, moving my palms over his shoulders and arms and chest, his muscles contracting as I skim down his belly. Nice and firm. Tracing the line of hair down from his navel makes him twitch more and he bumps up against my hand.

But I move away, pushing down over his hip bones instead, stroking and touching all the way until I'm sliding my hand inbetween his thighs, listening to his breathing, the intake of breath when at last I run my fingertips along him, his fingers pulling in my hair, pulling more tightly when I press my thumb around his head, already sticky, circling slowly around and around, pulling my hand downwards, pushing it back up, circling again, loving it that his hips are kicking and thrusting in response.

'Declan, how much more anticipation can you take?' I whisper.

He pulls my face to his and my mouth to his, shoves his tongue deep into me, his eyes wide open, such an intense expression in them. His arms are moving me on top of him and the feel of his cock bumping up against my ass makes me feel a little more ambitious about fitting him inside me. Can I?

My heart starts thumping more rapidly as I wriggle down his body, pushing his cock right up inbetween my cheeks, feeling him groaning into my mouth as he slides up against me, feeling how wet we are now. I sit up, lift my hips up and let his cock come down to rest against his stomach, lower myself down to slide along him, thinking I need to get him as lubricated as I can. One of his hands presses against my breast, smoothing and tweaking over my nipple, sending shivers down my spine.

I breathe in, tilt my hips up to make room for my hand to hold him, and oh, it's been such a long time since I've felt this - this delicious invasion. I hold myself there with him just inside me, look up to see him pulling pillows over to prop his head against, his eyes still on me, leaving his hands behind his head. I consider this might be his way of telling me I can take my time.

I rotate my hips, pushing down a little more, testing, keeping my hand around the base of his cock, feeling the heat we're generating between us. Appreciating how much he seems to be controlling himself, his hips hardly moving. I pull up, touch myself as lightly as I can, not wanting to go over the edge yet, but needing to relieve the pressure inside, or at least give myself a bit of distraction from it.

But the feel of us together is intoxicating and I push downwards with more determination, gasping with it, gasping again when he kicks up into me. He grunts.

'Sorry,' his eyes checking mine.

I lean forwards to relieve the pressure again, finding an angle that is altogether more comfortable and push down onto him once more, noises catching in my throat as I breathe into the feeling of being so full. Rocking my hips slowly against his, I pull my hand away from us, taking all of him inside me, getting used to him now.