If she thinks about this too hard, she's going to chicken out, and it's not every day Donna finds a guy who's willing to throw a girl into walls. Not push, not press, throw, hard enough to rattle her teeth. Hit hard enough to bruise. Pinch and not stop until there are tears rolling down her cheeks.
Yeah, she's not going anywhere.
She's got her phone in her pocket, her safe call set up and good to go. Usually it'd be Jules, but not tonight. Jules would hear it in her voice: the nervousness, the fear of being caught, and she'd be saying hell no and I don't know who he is, but you're not going home with him, you hear me? before Donna could get out more than a few words.
Jules would talk sense into her, which is why Donna called Sam instead.
Her date for the evening isn't talking, but that's only fair. She's not talking, either. It goes right along with not thinking too hard, not letting her brain get in the way of her body tonight. Maybe it's the same thing for him. Maybe Ed doesn't think he could go through with this if they had to accept that after tonight, there's going to be a tomorrow.
So no. Like they said at the club: No complications. No outside world.
She's never been to his apartment; it's a little thing, not too far from work (don't think about work), and when she steps inside it reminds her of her own: a place to sleep, sometimes eat, sometimes shower, nothing more. Tonight it's going to be a place to fuck, which puts it to a better use than it's probably seen in the whole seven months he's been here. It's a better use than she gets out of hers, most of the time.
He drops his keys on the kitchen counter; she slips out of her jacket. He looks her over, head-to-foot, and if he really were a stranger it'd be like he was scoping her out, figuring out where he wants to bite first, working out the territory.
Ed looks her over like he's seen it all before, and he's just running over an all-too-familiar plan in his head.
She takes in a breath through her teeth, because yes: she's seen him looking. She's looked, herself, she just didn't let herself look too hard. They were on the same team. He was married. He was divorced, but they were back on the same team.
But, oh, God, she's looked, and tonight, seeing him across the room, watching him with another woman, watching him watching her with another man--she could've fucked the other guy, yeah, could've slipped out of her jeans and wrapped her legs around his waist and let him fuck her while her eyes were locked with Ed's, but it would've been a shitty thing to do, even to a stranger.
And fuck it. If she could fuck a stranger, then maybe--
--and she saw it in his eyes, then: if he could fuck a stranger, then what if--
She'd slipped away from her top; he'd slipped away from his girl. They met halfway, and he said it first.
"We don't have to bring it back with us."
"You think?" She looked him up and down, ended with her eyes on his face, her chin tilted up. "I play rough. Break-the-walls-down rough. Can you leave that at the door?"
She caught the twitch in his hands, the tightening of his lips, the way his nostrils flared just a little.
"If you were a stranger, I wouldn't even ask," she said--not quiet, couldn't be quiet, he'd never hear her over the crowd. But she could look into his eyes and mean it. "I'd just tell you to take me home."
Another beat, her heart in her throat. And then Ed nodded and held out his hand.
"Come home with me."
Now here she is, and he's holding out his hand again. She slips her fingers into his and squeezes.
"You want me to stop, I'll stop."
She tries not to laugh and doesn't quite manage it. "I haven't called a safeword in years." She hasn't called one, ever, but saying it that way makes it sound like she won't, like she refuses to on principle. And it's not principle; it's that she doesn't get pushed hard enough very often.
"I don't mean just for that."
Her fingers tighten on his. She sobers a little. "Okay," she says. "Same goes for you."
"Are you ready?"
"Hell, yes, I'm ready--"
And she should've known this, should've seen it coming, but he doesn't come at her like a dom chasing a sub. He comes at her like Ed, like a man whose life is tied up in his training and his job, like a man who knows how to put someone down on the ground hard if talking isn't enough to get them there on their own.
But she's got that same training, and when he comes for her, she dodges.
She grins when she's backed away a couple of steps. He grins back, and he shrugs out of his jacket. "Tap out if you need to," he tells her.
"You have to catch me first."
And it's on.
The apartment's not big enough to do much wrestling, but there's a hallway, and she's betting it leads to a bedroom and a bathroom. The big doors in the hall might be for laundry, or they might just be storage. So maybe they can't wrestle without hitting their heads against the walls, or the couch, or the table, but she can use the space to her advantage, take off down the hall and dodge when he comes for her. Shift so he's the one facing air, so she's behind him, and she taps him on the shoulder before dropping into a deep squat so he can't get his hands on her. She scrambles back, he pushes forward, and it's only when she crosses through the doorway that she realizes he's been leading her into the bedroom all along. He sweeps her feet out from under her, and she tumbles onto the cheap carpet, landing on her ass and then rolling out flat, taking some of that impact on her back and arms.
"You're good," she says, breathless, from the floor.
"You're gonna find out," he promises, and while she's reeling from that, he comes down to the floor with her and slams her down flat on it, hands on her shoulders, weight bearing down on her. Her head hits the carpet, hard enough to daze her, and he's pushing between her legs, thighs between hers, shoving down against her.
It is too fucking early to beg.
She goes loose instead, lets the tension come out of her. Without her fight to counterbalance, he's off-guard, and instead of trying to squirm out from under him, she tightens her thighs around his hips and pulls him closer, rolling him, landing on top of him with a light snarl and a warm grin. He's hard underneath her, so hard, and her pussy's wet just thinking about how good it's going to feel when he wins this fight.
His hands are scrambling for hers now, and for a minute it's a fair fight--he's got the strength, the size, but she's on top. But nobody ever said she had to play fair, so while he's trying to grab her hands, pin them, she lashes out and tags him on the cheek. It's not hard enough to leave a mark or do anything more than sting, but it gets his full, undivided attention, and for the moment when he's not grabbing for her arms, she thinks she's got him--she drops down and puts her forearm against his throat. It forces his chin up, and as hard as he tries to keep his eyes on her, by the time she's done pushing at his chin, he's got no line of sight to her anymore.
"So maybe it goes this way, huh? You got a strap-on in your nightstand?"
Ed actually laughs at that--his full-on, genuine laugh, the one he lets out when Wordy's got one of his stories about his girls or Sam's said something so adorably boneheaded they can't help but be delighted. Now that's not fighting fair, not fighting fair at all. Donna loses her grip on him, and he's rolling her over again, straddling her hips, this time getting her hands in his and pinning them both at the wrist, which--fuck. He's got both her hands in one of his, and one hand free now.
He runs that hand down her arm, and she almost shivers, it's so good. There's some threat in that touch, a little scrape of fingernails, and when he gets to the inside of her upper arm, he gets his thumb and forefinger on her skin--and she knows, oh God, she knows what he's going to do the instant before it happens. She has just enough time to suck in her breath, and then he's pinching, the pain starting at that one heated spot and then going straight to her breasts--her nipples tightening and tingling--and her pussy, wet and getting wetter by the second. She rocks her hips up, tries to rub her thighs together, anything for a little more sensation--God, if he'd just rub up against her clit, just press down, damn it--
He lets the pinch go and takes a hard, serious look at her. "Good?"
"Yes," she gasps. "Come on, please--" So much for it being too early to beg. "Please."
He moves down three centimetres and does it again. This one's even better than the first, because she knows it's coming, knows it's going to hurt, and she even has time to brace herself--but the pain's just as bright and beautiful as it was the first time, and bracing herself doesn't do a thing to mitigate it.
He makes a line of bruises down her arm; she'll have six perfect marks on her skin when this is all over, six little bruises she'll be able to feel when she crosses her arms and rubs. Every single one makes her squirm and gasp, and she's panting out "please, please, please" as he keeps going. Somewhere along the way she let her eyes fall shut, but when he switches his grip on her hands and moves to her other arm, she looks up at him again.
He looks--focused, yeah, totally intent on what he's doing, but he's also watching her. He's taking in every single one of her reactions, adding them to his assessment of this one-night stand the way he adds new information to his assessment of a situation on the job (Christ, don't think about the job). And he's got the tip of his tongue poking out between his lips, licking at them, and his cock's hard like steel and pressing against her thigh, and--
--another pinch, and she stops thinking for a second, all swept up in that beautiful, perfect pain--
--and they are both so completely fucked.
"Ed," she pants. "Ed."
His eyes snap to hers, and he waits her out. She's got to say it now, has to say it--it'd be both of them sharing a lie, not admitting what's going on here--
"Kiss me," she says, and he flattens out on top of her, groaning as his mouth captures hers, grinding his hips down and tightening his grip on her wrists. She moans underneath him, rocking up against him--a little shift, and she'll have his cock pressing right where she needs it. She tries for it, but it's not happening; he's got her pinned too securely.
He keeps on kissing her as his free hand travels down her side. She's kissing back, her tongue sliding against his, but God, he's fucking her mouth with his tongue, fucking her, and she twists and squirms and arches up against him, so close she could come with just a word.
He breaks the kiss, and now they're both panting. He's still got his hand on her, and he jerks at her shirt, getting it out from the waistband of her jeans.
She takes a couple of slow breaths to keep herself from saying his name again. She licks her lips; they're already starting to feel swollen, and God, she hopes that kiss isn't all they get to do tonight. "Please--"
"How close are you?" he asks. He slips his hand under her shirt, his fingertips rough on her bare skin now. His hand moves up, past the knife scar--she feels the moment's hesitation when he touches it, but he's seen it, he knew it was there--and further up, over--God--over the lower curve of her breast, and he skims the soft cotton and cups her breast in his hand, squeezing gently. "Answer me. C'mon. How close are you?"
She bites down hard on her lower lip and tries to get a little friction between her legs, just a little pressure--but he's on to her now, and he shakes his head. "You're not gonna like what happens if I have to ask you again."
"I'm really fucking close," she bites out, and he laughs, bringing his face down to hers again. He nuzzles her cheek, breath mingling with hers, and he licks her lip where she's been biting it. His fingers are still exploring the swell and curve of her breast, but he's not skimming them over her nipple, because, as she's starting to discover, he is a fucking tease. It figures.
"So I could get you off just by looking at you tonight?" He squeezes again, and she moans, shudders, tries to squirm back, tries to squirm forward--he's blowing all her circuits, and he doesn't look the least bit sorry about it. Thank God for that, at least. "Just by breathing on you? Telling you to do it?"
"You could get me off by fucking me," she growls. "How about that?"
"Oh, we're so not there yet. Come on." His thumb comes up, and she holds her breath as he rubs it over her nipple--even through the fabric, it's enough to make her whole body shake. She squirms and rubs her thighs together; at this rate, she's going to soak through her panties and her jeans, both. She can practically smell the scent of her own arousal, and she's sure Ed can, too.
Now that he's had her nipple under his thumb, he's not letting up. He rubs his thumb in circles, rubs it back and forth, makes her twist back and forth under his body, under his hand. His name's on her lips again, and she bites her lip again, holding it back. "Please," she gasps, "Please, please, come on--"
"What do you want?"
He groans when she says it, like he wasn't expecting her to put it quite like that, blunt and certain and desperate for pain, and he pulls the fabric of her bra aside and gets his fingers on bare skin. She nods at him, takes a deep breath and locks her eyes onto his, and he's watching her nice and close as he rolls her nipple between his fingers, then twists.
She'd come up off the floor if he didn't have her pinned down so hard; it's an effort not to let her eyes close all the way, and even so, they're narrowed into slits. But she can't take her eyes off him, not while he's hurting her this well, not when this might be the only time she gets to feel his hands, his fingers, all the strength she's been trying so fucking hard not to want for all these years.
"God, you--" He doesn't say more than that; he just kneels up, coming off her, and he starts yanking at her shirt, pulling it up above her head. She sits up just enough to help him, and then he's got her shirt off and he's reaching around behind her, hands quick and deft as he unhooks her bra.
"Bed," he says, and he rolls to his feet. She starts to stand and then thinks better of it; might as well get out of her boots first. She slips her bra straps off her shoulders, ditches the thing, and then goes for her boots. Down on one knee to get the first boot unlaced, the first sock off, then switching off to the other, and suddenly it occurs to her that she's pretty much on her knees, and he's standing in front of her. She looks up; his cock's hard and very, very visible underneath his jeans, and she wants it in her mouth so badly right now she's almost drooling down her chin. She wants it inside her so badly she's almost aching.
She licks her lips and looks up at him, and he reaches down and strokes his hand over her hair. It's still up in the usual French braid, but if he's into hair-pulling, fuck the braid. She reaches up and yanks the elastic off, threads her fingers through her hair to get it loose around her shoulders.
Another quick swipe of her tongue over her lips. His grip goes tight in her hair, and he drags her forward, pressing her face up against his cock.
She moans out loud and swipes her tongue over the denim, breath coming out hot and fast. She gets her hands on his thighs and squeezes, tugs him forward as much as she can. She can feel a tremor running through his legs, and she'd grin at the accomplishment if she weren't so busy trying to suck his cock, denim and all.
"Donna, Jesus," Ed groans, and Donna clutches at his thighs, closing her eyes tight. She knows that tone of voice--it's the same tone she had when she said his name earlier--and she doesn't know if she wants him to say what they're both thinking, hear him admit to what they're doing, or if it's better to keep trying to be anonymous, keep pretending this is just another pick-up fuck, another one-night stand. She holds onto him, waiting him out.
He loosens his hold on her hair and pets her, just a little. She turns her face into that touch, wanting more of that--more of the rough stuff, more of the gentle stuff, more of anything, really. Everything. He strokes his fingers over her cheek, and she kisses the swell of flesh just under his thumb. She came here for the rough stuff, for the walls, for the bruises, but who's she kidding? It's Ed. She'd take the sweet stuff, too--it'd just wreck her a little more, after, when she has to go home.
"What do you--" His voice breaks, and he clears his throat. "What do you like? What do you do?"
Okay; okay. Back to the basics. Back to the reason they're here. She closes her eyes for a second and nods. Pull it together, Sabine. When she looks up at him again, she feels a little more sure of herself. "I like it rough. I like to suck, but I'd rather have my mouth fucked. I like fucking, but I'd rather be taken."
He's nodding, and thank God he gets it, because she could explain, she could break this down into a negotation, but somehow looking Ed in the eyes and saying I'm a submissive and a masochist, and I'd like to be hurt and roughed up while you fuck me seems like tearing down another wall, paper-thin as it may be. But she doesn't have to say it in so many words, and he doesn't have to hear it, and who knows--maybe it'd be as hard for him to look her in the eyes and hear her say those words as it would be for her to say them.
Dangerous territory, she realizes, not really knowing where the limits are. She thinks back to the way he told her he'd stop if she wanted him to, and the way she dismissed it at first. Maybe not such a bad instinct after all.
"I do have a safeword," she says softly. "I'll use it if I need to."
"Good. That's good." He takes his hands away from her, rubs his palms down his thighs. Sweating. Nervous. That makes two of them. "What's your safeword?"
He grins at that and nods at her. "Okay. If you need a minute or you need me to back off for any reason, you tell me to hold."
Abort. Hold. It's like they're going out of their way to bring who they really are into this, all while pretending they're not. It's the lie they're telling because they can't afford the truth.
From her knees, Donna nods. "All right. What do you like?"
His mouth twists a little before it shifts into a smile. Maybe he's going through the same thing she did, trying to do this and trying to hold something back, all at the same time. "I like it as rough as you do. And I like to hear 'please' more than I like to hear 'sir' or anything like that. Matter of fact..." He swipes his tongue over her lower lip, and she straightens up, puts her hands behind her back--focusing on her position gives her something to do other than take the initiative and suck his thumb into her mouth. "I've been having a hell of a time deciding whether I'd rather fuck that pretty mouth of yours or whether I'd rather hear you beg."
It's like everything he says is designed to go straight to her pussy, to make her squirm. And, hell--maybe it is. This is Ed; even if he's not trying to cheat, he knows how to make people do what he wants. He knows how to read people and figure out what they really need. More than that, he knows her. He knows her better than she thought he did, and now he's going to know the rest, too.
"Do I get a vote?" she asks, her voice barely more than a whisper.
"I really want you to fuck me."
Ed exhales softly and nods. "Yeah," he murmurs, and he takes a step back. "Come up on your feet."
She stands up, slow and easy, with her hands still laced behind her back. Ed takes a long breath in, watching her, and he looks her up and down once she's standing. None of the bruises he left on her are visible. There's the knife scar just under her left breast and the pavement scrape above her right hip, but other than that, she's not wearing anybody else's marks, either. She's perversely glad about that; having bruises might be a sign that she knows what she's getting into, that she wants what he does, but she can prove that just with the two of them. Right now she wants to be able to look at him and say All yours tonight, sir.
"Put your hands behind your neck," Ed says. Donna does it, fingers laced there, Ed's bruises on display now. Ed comes forward a step and runs his hands over her arms, thumbs pressing down against his bruises as he makes his way from shoulders to wrists.
"Hold still," he warns her, and he reaches down to her waist--thank God, finally--but with a warning to hold still, she keeps her eyes locked on the wall behind him. With some effort, she keeps her breathing steady, even as he unbuckles her belt and draws it out of her belt loops. It joins her boots and socks on the floor, and he moves to the fly of her jeans. He unbuttons the top button, and then slowly--slow enough for her to shudder and moan with anticipation--draws her zipper down.
"God," she pants, "yes. Please..."
"Yeah," Ed agrees, but he's not dragging her jeans off just yet. He brings his left hand up, curves it against the side of her neck, and rubs his thumb back and forth across her jawline, in little circles over her cheek. She shudders again, but she can't stop herself from turning into that touch, trying to get a little more of it. Ed rubs the tip of his thumb across her lower lip, and she parts her lips for him, opens her mouth. The offer's there; she's going to wait for him to decide it's time to take it.
His other hand sweeps over her breast, cupping the weight for just a moment before slipping down her belly. And then his fingertips are dipping under her panties, and she whimpers with the effort it's taking to keep still.
"Please--God, yes, please--"
His left thumb sweeps over her lips again, and his right hand moves lower, fingers brushing her curls. She wants to bite down on her lower lip, wants to bite down on his thumb, wants to close her eyes or tease his thumb into her mouth with her tongue and suck, but instead she holds still, waiting, trying to feel everything at once.
A little lower. He isn't parting her folds yet, isn't trying to put his fingers inside her; right now, he's just cupping her, his fingers between her thighs, already slippery with her juices. She can't help the noises she's making now--a soft keening with every exhale, the word please on the tip of her tongue. Real words are just a little beyond her capabilities, and the heat of his hand on her cheek is the only thing she can feel besides the heat of her hand between her legs.
He rests his left thumb on her lower lip, and his other fingers move, fingertips brushing forward, exploring. Her folds part for him, too slick and ready to do otherwise, and as he starts moving two fingers inside her, his thumb pushes forward, into her mouth.
"Suck me," he tells her, and she closes her lips around his thumb and sucks hard. His fingers, below, move further inside her, her slick heat taking him in centimetre by easy centimetre, and when his fingers are all the way inside her, he rubs the heel of his hand back and forth, zeroing in on her clit. When he's found it, when the pressure's just right, her teeth come down on his thumb--God, she doesn't mean to, she isn't trying to, but she's so close she's almost vibrating with the need to come.
Now that he's got the lay of the land--the lay of his hand, she thinks inanely--he goes a little harder, drawing his fingers back the few centimetres he can, with her jeans still on, and then pushing them in, deep and heavy. The heel of his hand rubs and presses against her clit, and Donna gasps, rocking forward, Ed's thumb forgotten as her whole world distills down to the heat between her legs. "Ed--Ed--"
"Yeah," Ed growls. He doesn't back off, doesn't give her a minute to breathe or think. "C'mon, baby, say it--"
Her eyes fly open--say it? No, she can't possibly say what she's thinking--and he catches the distress immediately and slips his hand free. "Hey--"
"I'm good," she says quickly, "I'm good, I just--"
He wipes some of her slickness off on his jeans and puts both his hands on her shoulders. She can still smell herself on him; she wants to turn her head, wants to suck those fingers into her mouth. "Did I hit something?"
You called me 'baby' and told me to tell you what I was thinking; what do you think I'm thinking right now? She shakes her head. "I just didn't know what you wanted me to say."
He squeezes her shoulders; his brow draws together, and he tilts his head down, looking down at the ground for a second. She's not the only one fighting for control here, and that's partly a relief and partly another warning sign. What the hell are we doing, Ed?
She finally unlaces her fingers and reaches out for him, cupping his face in her hands. "We need to keep it simple," she says softly. "Right?"
"Yeah," he says, nodding, and then he's got his face in order again, his expression clear. He looks back up at her, and his hands tighten on her shoulders. "Simple."
"Do you still want to fuck me?"
Her heart leaps, and she's not sure that's a good thing right now, not at all. "Still want to do it rough?"
"God." He licks his lips; she scratches the back of his neck, not too lightly. "Yeah."
"Come on." She backs away a step and pushes her jeans and panties down, steps out of both. "Come on--"
Second time's the charm. Ed strips his shirt off over his head--oh, God, she's seen him with his shirt off, but it's different this way, different when it's for her and not just because she and Jules stormed the men's locker room to get a headcount for Hockey Night. His chest hair's dark and thick and she wants to run her hands through it, have him rub her face into it before forcing her mouth down to his cock.
His cock. Jesus. She's felt it through his jeans, had it rubbing up against her, but she hasn't gotten her hands on it, let alone her mouth. She's staring at that bulge between his legs like she's got a one-track mind, but if he's noticed, he isn't calling her on it. Instead, he gives her the show she's been waiting for--no halfsies here, no kink for fucking with his jeans on, apparently. Ed strips down to his boxer-briefs and then loses those, too, and fuck--his cock's hard and thick, blunt and cut, and right now it's all for her.
He digs a condom out of his nightstand, which is probably a good thing; she wasn't thinking that far ahead, couldn't really think anything other than fuck me, do me, hurt me, make me beg.
Maybe her eyes are broadcasting a full video and audio feed of that after all, because as soon as Ed has the condom on, he doesn't ask or check in or give her one last chance to back out. He grabs her by the arms, rough, and pushes her down on the bed, on her back. She wraps her legs around him as he presses in between her thighs, and then he's got one hand on his cock, steadying it, and he's--God, yes--pushing in, fast and rough and deep, driving in hard, drawing back a couple centimetres so he can drive in harder the second time. It's three heavy, rocking thrusts before he's all the way inside her, but when she's got him, when she feels his hips pressed to her thighs, she groans and reaches out for him.
He grabs her by the wrists and holds onto them, turning his head to the side so he can kiss the center of her palm. He's not panting the way she is, not as desperate as she is, maybe. Or maybe it's just that he can't come a dozen times in a night the way she can, so he's trying to make it last.
"You--" She licks her lips and gasps, trying to convince herself to make words. "You wanted to hear 'please'?"
He lets go of her wrist and slides his hand down the front of her thigh, pulling her closer, rocking in deeper. "Yeah," he says, and his voice isn't much more than a growl, either.
"So--" He moves, one hand on her thigh, the other still gripping her wrist, and she cries out, too close already. "So don't let me--tell me I can't come without permission," she manages, and both his hands tighten on her as his eyes fall closed.
"You don't get to," he growls, voice like tire tread on gravel. "You don't--until," he says, and it's all he can get out; he draws back, pushes into her again, loses himself to the motion for a few seconds.
But now that she knows she can't, not until he says, it's a little easier. She moves with him, rolls her hips as he drives deep into her. Every thrust in gives her a moment's firm pressure against her clit, and it's a tease, but it's a good one; it'll keep her on the edge, if the sight of him wasn't enough. Looking up at him, one arm tight and tense as he keeps hold of her wrist, the other stretched out with his fingers splayed across her thigh, going a little red around the throat as the pleasure takes him over--yeah, the sight of him's plenty, but the feel of him is pretty fucking great, too.
He gets his eyes open as he falls into a rhythm, and his gaze goes from her pussy, where he's rocking into her, to her thighs tight around him, to her belly, her breasts, her face, and then finally to her free hand, lying loose against the bed. She can guess what he's about to say the second before he says it.
"Hurt yourself for me."
Her pussy clenches hard around his cock, and he groans from that; she's no better off, though, curled up slightly, panting, trying to hold to her promise and not come before she's allowed to. Just the thought of doing that, hurting herself while Ed's watching, while Ed's fucking her--
Christ, stop thinking like that, he's your top, he's your top for the night, just--do what you'd do with any other guy you went home with, do what he says--
She scratches herself from her hip to her breast, then reaches up and takes her nipple between her thumb and her forefinger. "Yeah?"
She twists, hard, and he pounds into her, rougher, faster. She gasps and babbles out, "Good, so good, it's so good so good Ed, God, can't wait, can't wait, please, can I come, please--please, God, can I come, please--"
"Stop. Let go," he tells her, and he doesn't slow down or back off, but he reaches out and shoves her hand away from her breast. He leans over and runs his fingertips over her breast, and she arches her back, trying to get more.
"Please what?" Ed narrows his eyes, focuses on her while he keeps going, keeps fucking her. "What do you want?"
Everything, she thinks, but it's a useless answer at the best of times and it's even worse now that it's Ed. "Pinch me, hit me, fuck me, choke me, pull my hair--"
He does back off this time, fingers biting so deeply into her wrist that she's starting to think she's going to walk away from this with his handprint on her skin. Long sleeves, then, and she'll have to hope no one asks any questions--she's worn bruises to work before, but she knows she won't be able to laugh this off or lie to Jules about it. But the pain is good, and knowing she's had that kind of effect on Ed is fantastic. He's staring down at her, openmouthed, panting, and she wonders what exactly pushed him that far. Maybe it wasn't one thing in particular; maybe it was everything. Maybe it's all of this, the heavy scent of sex permeating the room and her soft heat all around him.
Or, she thinks, as he curves the flat of his hand to her breast, maybe it was one particular thing after all.
"You sure?" he asks, and his hand's as much a promise as a threat.
She nods, and he slaps her breast, open-handed, just hard enough to sting for a split-second. "Again, please, more," she says, and she's only partway through please before he does it again, the same speed and weight, the same barely-there impact.
She puts her teeth together and growls. "Harder, goddamnit," she snarls, and his eyes widen for a second before he gives her what she's asking for: a hard, loud slap agains the side of her breast, shocking and gorgeous, pain going right between her legs and amping up the pleasure from being filled and fucked.
His hand rests against her breast, and she looks up at him, wanting more. He grins down at her. "Ask nice this time," he says.
Yeah, okay; harder, goddamnit is maybe not the nicest way to ask for what she wants. And he likes please. "Please," she whispers, "please, please, again, please, please, Ed--"
The slap lands nice and solid against her breast, and she moans, almost shivering with the overload of all these sensations. "Please," she moans. She slips her free hand onto her thigh, fingers moving over--maybe he won't notice, maybe she can get away with touching herself, just a little, bring herself off while he's distracted--
"Hey." He grabs her wrist and then leans forward, pinning both her wrists to the bed. "No. You ask."
She nods, but now he's covering her, his whole body almost-but-not-quite making contact with hers, the light scratch of his chest hair teasing at her nipples. She squirms under him, trying to get more, trying to get him fully on top of her--and then she laughs, all at once, because he told her already, and she's just so fucking distracted by the feel of him all over her that she forgot.
"Please," she whispers. "Please, come on, closer, I need you--"
"How bad?" He moves inside her, slow now, not easy, never easy, but so slow the pleasure's almost killing her. "How bad do you need me? C'mon--"
"God, yes, yes--" She tugs him in with her legs, tries to get him as close as she can. "Yes, fuck, I always fucking needed you, needed this--"
For a moment, he goes completely still, and her breath catches as she realizes what she said. She looks up at him, and his eyes lock on hers.
Jesus. She can't even claim she didn't mean it, because she did. She meant every word.
"Donna--" She thinks he's going to say something back, and she's waiting for it, holding her breath while she waits, but then he lets her wrists go, hands moving to her face, cupping her face, and he kisses her, rough and desperate. She gets her arms around him and squeezes him all over, with her arms and her legs and inside, too, and he gasps, breaking the kiss to drive into her, fast and then faster, deep and then deeper, and God, so good, it's all so good, she can't stand it--
"Ed, please, please, now, God, please--"
"Come, baby, c'mon, come for me, right now, right fucking now--"
She does, and halfway through her first shout, his mouth comes down on hers again. He swallows up her cries, never losing his rhythm, and when the first crest's come and gone, she digs her nails into his back and rocks her hips up hard, moaning against his lips, letting him swallow the rest of her pleas, too. She comes again, holding onto him so hard she's shaking, and when the second orgasm leaves her limp and winded, she collapses onto the bed, gasping for air.
He kisses her forehead, of all things, sweet and tender, and then he's pushing up, standing again, and he braces himself on the bed, already pushing up the pace, each thrust harder than the last. She clutches at the bedcovers and moans through it, because it's almost enough, almost--she's so close, again, she could, so close, so fucking close--
He comes with a yell, head tilted back, chest heaving with the exertion, and when it's done, he half-collapses, all his weight on his arms, head tilted down as he catches his breath. She sits up as best she can and grapples for him, trying to pull him down on top of her--he's so fucking far away now.
He grunts softly, gently moving her hands off him, and then he steps away, both of them grimacing as their connection's lost. But he's got the condom to deal with, and she crawls onto the bed as he stumbles down the hall to the bathroom.
This is the part where she's supposed to leave.
Ed's back before she can convince herself to get out of bed, and when he sees the way she's curled up on her side, he climbs into bed and spoons up behind her. He rests his head on her shoulder, and she closes her eyes.
"I should go," she murmurs.
He slides an arm around her waist and holds onto her, holding her tight.
"Ed. Come on. You know why I can't stay." She turns her head slightly, trying to look back at him, but he just tucks his head into the space between her shoulderblades. "Ed--"
"Fuck," Ed whispers; she can feel it more than she can hear it. "Okay. Okay. I know."
She closes her eyes and slides her arm over his, laces her fingers with his. "If things were different--"
"But they're not." He pulls away from her, and she swallows past the lump in her throat. "I'll take you home."
On the way back to her apartment, he doesn't look at her, and she doesn't look at him. They're two people staring through the same windshield at the same open road, all the twists and turns set out in advance. There's only one way to get where they're going, so it shouldn't hurt so goddamned much when he pulls up outside her door.
When she's climbing out the door, he says, "I'll see you at work," and she nods, not trusting herself to say anything at all. She closes the door and heads inside, and while she doesn't feel his eyes on her as she unlocks the door and walks into her apartment, she doesn't hear the car pull away, either.