aheroliveshere | [for man_without

He's not thinking about the time ahead when he has to leave. All of his focus is on her and the moment now, and he's all to eager to agree with her request.

"No. Let's go." Because he hasn't gotten enough of her, either.

Another kiss and then she has to move, gently extricating herself from his embrace, taking his hands and urging him to his feet. Yet another kiss, hands moving over his torso, his ribs, down to his hips, leading him by backing away slowly, drawing him along with her.

A slow dance, tinged with a heaviness and a hunger she can't quite figure out how to express. Her robe falls to the floor, forgotten, as they navigate the space between living room and bedroom. She never looks away from him, never breaks contact.

His hands continue to roam as he lets her lead the way. They cover her sides up to her shoulder, tracing her collar bones, trailing along her neck, cupping her cheeks as he kisses her again.

He steps over the robe without giving it another thought. He hovers over her, close and in her space, not allowing a break in contact either while following her to the bedroom.

Why hadn't they done this months ago? Why hadn't she told him, the first time she felt this powerful draw to him? Why hadn't she reached out and touched him, kissed him, held him?

Every kiss grows longer, deeper, every touch grows bolder. Her hand slips between them before they even reach the bed, daring to caress along his length through his trousers. She needs him, needs to feel that same need from him. Another kiss, breathless and tinged with a quiet desperation, drawing him down with her to the mattress.

How did she live so long without this? How could she ever do without it again?

Both of their heartbeats are beating loud in his ears, he can feel heat rushing to the surface of their skin, smell arousal and perspiration thick in the air. Desire is growing into urgency and his breath stutters with her touch and he kisses her harder in response.

Moving onto the bed over her he sheds his pants and boxers while she draws him down. As she lays back his mouth devours her, lips, cheek, throat, the hollow where her neck and shoulder meets; tasting her, breathing her in, showing her how much he needs her.

Her head tips back, her hands threaded in his hair, clenching and caressing. Her legs tangle with his, and she arches beneath him, trying to get as much skin to skin contact as she can manage. Heat calling out to heat, her soft curves pressed against his hard planes.

She whispers, moaning under her breath, clinging to him, drowning in him. Every breath, she wills him to return to her, wills whatever crazy madness that swirls around him to stay at bay. He is flesh and blood, tendon and bone, and he belongs to her now. She presses her nose against his temple, breathes him in and whispers, "Please."

There is no denying that plea, even if he wanted to, which he absolutely does not. He shifts, moving an arm beneath her and clutching her to him as he pushes into her.

This morning was about slow torture and savoring, now all he wants is to move into her, to feel her against him and around him, to give her everything she's clamoring for.

He wants her to know he knows how she feels. He needs her, too. It's well beyond want at this point and if he allowed himself to think about it it might be overwhelming, so he doesn't. Instead he focuses on how it feels to be with her, letting that fuel motions and reactions and drive back everything else.

Karen responds in kind, rising on the heat he draws up from deep within her. She groans her approval of the direct approach, her long legs wrapping around his waist and pulling him into her. More kisses, until they both need to breathe, and then she presses her temple to his, holding him close, breathing his breath.

A quiet litany of Yesyesyes falls from her lips and he can feel his need mirrored in her own.

His chest rises and falls in deep breaths as his hips continue to arch into her; her voice in his ears driving him on.

His palm slides along one of her legs wrapped around him, gliding along her smooth skin to her thigh which he squeezes tight, drawing her even closer as he thrusts deeper into her.

He knows the moment he's found the right depth, the right rhythm, knows precisely the moment he finds the right angle to make her moan and arch into him. Her heels dig in and her head falls back, every line and curve of her body inviting him to keep going, to never stop, to join her in this rising heat and flame reaching for the sky.

Reading her reactions, feeling them and responding, he gives her what she wants, what they both need.

When her head goes back his own bows, kissing her throat, gasping into her collar. As much as he wants to continue on and on, the end is coming and he works hard to make sure it's something they reach together.

Every motion, each thrust, is meant to build upon the blaze that's already burning, striving towards an inferno to engulf them both.

Just a few strokes more, she just wants this to last just a few moments longer. He's magnificent like this, unfettered in his power and strength, driving into her to make the bed rock and the mattress springs sing. She swears, the words lost in a breathless wanton cry. He can feel the moment she starts to break, to melt, to flow. Shivers of ecstasy make her thighs tremble, and he can feel her body clench hard around him, rhythmic pulses that go on and on and on. Her head curls off the pillow and she pulls him close, wanting to not miss a single moment of his own unraveling.

He comes undone a piece at a time, like a taut rope that's cut through strand by strand until he snaps all at once.

She meets her peak and it takes one, two strokes more and then he joins her, a groan rumbling low in his chest while the air sucks from his lungs. He clutches her tight, riding the wave of bliss with her.

When his breath finally comes again its in deep gasps taken against her skin while his heart drums hard enough against his chest that he's certain she must feel it as he feels hers.

"Jesus, Karen... " It's all he can manage to say.

Oh but he is glorious like this, free and wild and perfect. Her own breath is ragged, her heart pounding in time with his, every inch of her skin alive and awake. Her hands card through his hair, her heels stroke down the backs of his thighs. He can feel the aftershocks rippling through her, electricity bleeding away one breath at a time as they drift back to calm.

She manages a shaky grin, nuzzling against his cheek up to his ear, her voice quiet, playful, but still tentative.

"Wanna go steady?"

He plants both hands in the mattress to support himself above her as they each make the slow, languid descent back down from their peak.

Tilting into her when she brushes against him he hears her question and gives a smile, flushed and pleased.

"With you? Absolutely."

She pulls him down beside her, keeping him close. More soft kisses, more gentle touches, his hair, his face, his throat, his chest.

"Can I call you mine, Matt Murdock?"

He wants to reply again with an absolute, but a flicker of doubt stirs in his chest beneath her hand. Worry brought on by knowing his own history, how the good things in his life don't seem to last.

How the people he cares about can be touched and swept up by the chaos that surrounds his life.

More, can he give himself to her when so much of him belongs to Hell's Kitchen?

He reaches out, fingertips trailing along her cheek, tucking stray hair behind her ear. He feels her skin, listens to her breathe, and realizes their heartbeats are still in-sync even now that they're calm.

Taking in a slow breath he gives her a smile that's warm, but on the edges and underneath there's a wistful shadow. He hopes, he prays that this can last, that he isn't setting her up for hurt, or them up for ruin.

"I'm yours, Karen." As much as he can belong to anyone, he'll entrust himself to her.

That touch at her cheek makes the heavy brightness in her chest flare up. These are the moments she's always wanted from him. There are still secrets. There are still doubts, but this, the way he touches her, the way he dares to trust her? This is the heart of who they are when they're alone together.

She cups his cheek, brushes a thumb over his lips. She wants to tell him it will all be okay. Wants to tell him not everything has to be a fight. But it's in his nature, and she loves him for that.

"And I'm yours. No matter what."

He leans in and kisses her, to seal the promises they've each made.

He has to leave very soon, but with her word and his own binding them together he'll come back to her, and she'll be waiting. That truth gives him greater hope than he's had in a long while.

"No matter what." If she can make that promise not knowing his secrets, then he can do no less than pledge the same knowing hers.

[for man_without_fear]

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