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They're fighting again. They're always fighting. She doesn't even know why this time. He just makes her so angry she can't think rationally. Everything about him is infuriating, with his insufferable face and his eyes that won't stop judging her and his snide remarks and his mouth that won't shut up. She just wants to make him shut up for once so she can hear herself think. But he's talking at her and she can't even hear him she's so angry and she pushes at his chest with strength born of her unreasoning fury but he's like a wall, a solid oafish wall of muscle and heat. He grabs her wrists and wrenches them behind her so she's pressed against him and he's right in her face and Kate inhales sharply as heat flashes through her entire body.
"So that's what it is," Doug says with a smirk on his infuriating mouth that she can't seem to stop staring at.
"No," she snaps automatically, or tries to, but it comes out more breathless than anything. She doesn't even know what she's denying. "What?"
He's backing her up, pushing her against the cool surface of the mirrored wall, lifting her arms so that he's got them pinned above her head. The look in his eyes is hot and knowing. "You want me."
"No, I don't." It's a shaky denial; she can hear the weakness in her own voice.
"Yeah, you do," he murmurs against her cheek, lips brushing her skin then dragging a slow path over her jaw, along her neck and up to her ear. "Don't you?"
"I—I—oh—" she gasps, incapable of coherence because he's sucking gently on her ear lobe and rocking his hips into her and she's melting. Her bones and muscles have gone soft as wax. His hold on her wrists is all that's keeping her upright.
"Just tell me to stop, Kate." His voice is so low and rough it makes goosebumps rise up and down her arms. "Tell me you don't want me and I'll stop."
She will. Any second now she'll tell him, make him stop.
"Tell me you haven't thought about it," he murmurs against her throat. God, she's so dizzy. "Tell me you've never imagined us like this."
The tang of his sweat fills the air around her. The heat pumping off his skin envelops her entire body. He's inescapable. His breath is warm and damp where it trails the path his lips follow. Her mouth opens because she can't get enough air to breathe. Her eyes flutter shut because she doesn't have the strength to keep them open. All her energy is taken up with feeling what Doug's doing to her, what he's making her feel.
"Tell me," he whispers to her lips just before he kisses her.
It's deep and wet, not like a first kiss at all. He dives in without hesitation, his tongue meeting hers and rubbing, stroking, licking, making her whimper, making her open her mouth wider for more. Kate's never imagined wanting to be manhandled like this but he's taking her over and, oh, god, she wants him to. Hale has always been a gentleman in the bedroom, tender and caring. Sex with him has always been very nice, if not precisely exciting. In the privacy of her own thoughts she can admit that she's never really understood what all the fuss is about. But this, with Doug, this is nothing she knows; this is something else entirely.
She's so focused on his mouth she barely notices the movements of his hands until one of them begins sliding down her arm and then her side. Her wrists are still pinned by his left hand but his right's now curving over her hip, pulling her lower body in tighter against him. She writhes helplessly against the stiff ridge pressing into her and he groans into her mouth. Then he's dragging his hand up her torso until he's cupping her breast, where her nipple rises to greet him eagerly. He squeezes her gently, more gently than she'd once thought him capable of. It's so sweet, so good, his big warm hand touching her, even through the fabric of her leotard. She pushes her chest against him, needing more, needing him to take more. He's sucking on her tongue and rubbing slow circles over and around her nipple and she's trembling. Soft, high noises rise in her throat. She can't believe this is her; she's never been like this, never felt like this before.
He finally lets go of her wrists and steps away, reaching up to tear the shirt over his head. Her arms flop uselessly at her sides as she watches the rise and fall of his chest, the bulk of his muscles. All she can do is hold herself up with the mirror at her back, too dizzily aroused to think, limbs too heavy to move. Doug rests his palms on her shoulders, cupping them with his fingers before sweeping both hands in to cradle her neck. His eyes are almost entirely black, dilated pupils overtaking the blue. Because of me, she thinks in astonishment. He rests his brow against hers and she feels his left hand leave her skin. "Kate," he whispers, and again, "Kate," as if only her name has any meaning left. A moment later he's tugging at the elastic in her hair, pulling it free, then his fingers are tangling in the loose strands, cupping her head with that same gentleness. He kisses her again with his hand in her hair, soft presses of his lips, the lightest suction, just flickers of his tongue. She remembers she has arms and hands and can use them. She touches the solid heat of his back, the slick skin, the long muscles that move beneath her fingers.
As if her touch is a spark, he erupts, moving sharply to yank down the straps of her leotard until she's bared to the waist. For a few seconds, all he does is look at her. Kate's never been entirely comfortable with her own nudity in anyone else's presence. She knows she doesn't have the kind of figure men usually like. Hers is the body of an athlete: strong and graceful but without many curves to speak of. But the way Doug just stands there, as if transfixed, and the expression on his face — she doesn't feel awkward at all. She feels powerful and sexy in a way she never has before.
When he touches her again it's to span his hands across her back and tug her forwards so that she's arched into him, supported in his grip. Her head just meets the surface of the mirror. It's a feeling both completely familiar and utterly strange to be so vulnerable with him. But she trusts him. Even in this, she trusts him not to let her fall. Then his mouth is on her breasts, wet and hot and every part of her begins to throb with a heavy, insistent beat. He's sucking and licking at her skin, tugging at her nipples, as if he wants to consume her. She grips his arms urgently, rises up on her toes to get closer, needing more of his touch.
He pushes at the waist of her tights, fingers slipping down between her legs. "Jesus," he says hoarsely. His head drops to rest against hers as if he's somehow undone. He slides one finger a little farther, just barely parting her labia, and she moans, loudly, shocking herself. "Christ, you're so wet," he pants, slippery fingers moving against her, and she's widening her legs, hips rocking. She's burning all over and she can't breathe and the most humiliating sounds are coming out of her mouth and she feels like she might die if he stops touching her even for a second.
"Doug," she whispers through dry lips. "Doug." Kate can't give up control, can't admit anything. She needs him to take it, to prove it, to batter down the door she's barricaded herself behind and lost the key.
His blue eyes meet hers for a hot, breathless infinity. Then he's kissing her again, sliding one slick finger back and forth along the edge of her clitoris. She's moaning into his mouth and It's never been this fast or this easy for her before — he's barely touching her; how can this be happening? — but a sudden orgasm blazes through her like a lightning strike. Her head rears back, smacking against the mirror. She doesn't feel the impact, still shuddering and blissfully overwhelmed. Before she can gather a single thought, Doug's dragging her tights down with rough movements and pulling them off. All she can manage is try to stay upright. He shoves his sweats off his hips, then moves back into her, hands beneath her thighs, lifting. She wraps her legs around him instinctively and then they're pressed together, nothing but sweat and skin, writhing frantically against one another.
"Wanted this," he's saying breathlessly. "God, Kate, wanted you."
"Yes," she gasps. She couldn't say it before, not even to herself, she's been fighting herself for so long.
And then he's right there, she can feel him, and he's pushing in, so hard and hot, stretching her exquisitely. Nothing, nothing like Hale. They're both moaning and shaking. Her hands are slipping on his sweaty shoulders so she fists them in his hair. He starts moving in short, sharp bursts, and she's so close to orgasm again, she can't believe it, ohs pushed from her with every thrust. It's never, ever felt so good before. Her sweaty skin is sticking to the mirror at her back and Doug is grunting harshly in her ear. There's nothing elegant or sophisticated in what they're doing, yet somehow the very rawness of it only excites her more.
She feels her orgasm building and building like a wave. The most nonsensical things start coming out of her mouth and Doug croons, "yeah, that's it, c'mon sweetheart." It's one perfect grind of his hips and that sweetheart that send her tumbling into an ocean of hot, dark pleasure, coming harder than she ever thought possible. Limp and shaking and stunned, she feels Doug's movements grow faster and more erratic until he snaps his hips with one last powerful thrust.
"Kate," he gasps in her ear. "Love you, love you."
And it feels so right to hold him like this. To run her fingers through his hair, over his back, feeling how the frightened thing inside her has finally eased. He's still undulating gently against her and with a surprised gasp she feels another soft orgasm ripple through her on a warm, effervescent wave. "Oh," she sighs and Doug makes an mmm noise that sounds so satisfied she starts to giggle.
She lifts her head, wanting to look at him, to kiss him sloppily in her happiness, tell him he's not alone, he's been right all along. She opens her eyes and—
"Honey, are you all right?"
It's her father. God. Oh, god. She's on a plane and she's just had a sex dream—and three orgasms—with her father in the seat right next to her.
"What?" she squeaks.
"You look flushed. Are you feeling okay?"
"Yes. Yes, I—I'm fine," she stutters. "It was just a dream."
Just an incredible, humiliating, horrifying dream.
Her father smiles indulgently. "You always did have bad dreams before a big competition, even as a little girl."
Kate makes an effort to smile in return, to pretend she's herself, whoever that is now. "I think I'll just go splash some cold water on my face."
He stands to let her out of the row and as she turns she catches a glimpse of Doug asleep against the window behind them. Shame sears every inch of her skin as she scurries down the aisle to the tiny lavatory and locks herself in.