aheroliveshere | [for man_without

Goosebumps rise under his fingertips, her own personal braille message to him, telling him exactly how good he feels, how much she wants this, how long she's wanted this. Goosebumps across her belly, her back, down her arms, up her chest. She wraps her arms around his head, kisses him through the breathless shudders. His palm finds her areola ruched tight and her nipple hard, and she's breathing like she's running for her life. Chasing the next tender mouthful, the next bright wash of heat from below, where she can feel him through his trousers, the next quiet rumble of his voice resonating in her chest.

Matt can run a mile while leaping across rooftops and hardly break a sweat, but right now with her his chest is heaving while his heart races along with it.

He reads her, his fingers feeling her prickled flesh, every hitch and shudder his touch causes. He hears her, the soft gasps and moans, when her breath catches and the thrum of her heart. Perspiration and more is in the air and all of it tells him what she wants.

Removing his hand from her breast he takes both hands out from beneath her shirt and reaches for the hem of it, drawing the t-shirt up to take it off of her.

She lifts her arms long enough for him to strip the shirt off her, and god damn she's glad she took her bra off when she got home and changed. She slips her hands between them, greedy fingers working the buckle of his belt.

She grins against his lips, stealing more kisses, breathing his breath, his own excitement fueling hers, like pouring gasoline on a bonfire.

"I'm the lucky one," she breathes.

The shirt gets tossed carelessly aside and his hands seek her skin again, grabbing her and pulling her close to press his chest to hers, feeling her skin with the expanse of his.

He only creates space in the name of giving her access to his waist. While she works on his belt he goes for her neck, kissing her and grazing her skin with tongue and teeth as his hands wander her back, trying to stay out of her way.

"Hm, your argument?" he asks, smiling against her skin, already knowing that she can't convince him the lucky one here isn't him. She's better than he deserves, and by some miracle the date he ruined tonight has still found them here now.

Her hands stutter in their movements, her chin tipping up and her head falling to one side, inviting his exploration of her throat. It takes a moment for her to regain her thought process, and the belt gets stripped out of his trousers and joins her shirt on the floor.

"I see you," she breathes, trying to find the words. "I see how hard you fight to keep everyone at arm's length. Even Foggy."

She leans into him, her hands cradling his face, moving to delve into his thick hair, her nails grazing his scalp.

"I'm not giving up on you. Never gonna happen."

He pauses for a moment hearing her words, his chin on her palms and his expression shifting; apology, guilt, and something else flashing across his features.

His eyes meet hers, and sightless or not they still seem to be searching.

"Sometimes it's safer that way." For them, for him; there are so many ways for them to be hurt if he let anyone all the way in.

"I don't care," she says. Her hands stroke his hair back from his brow, her touch almost reverent. "I want this. I want you in my life. I know that scares you for some reason."

She leans forward and rests her forehead against his. "It scares me, too."

But it's the truth. And she's always preferred the terrifying truth to comforting lies.

A part of him wonders if she would care if she had the full truth and knew his history. What he does and has done, how so many of the people he's cared about have been hurt, or left.

The rest of him though, shoves those thoughts aside, not letting fear make him back out now.

His hand raises and he reaches for her, his forefinger and thumb tucking against her chin and holding her.

"I want this, too," he says at last. When he leans in and kisses her again it isn't with the frenetic pace of before. It's slow and deep and far more meaningful.

He's willing to try. Letting her in won't happen all at once, but if she's promised not to give up on him, he's going to fight to make this work.

She sinks into his kiss, letting herself begin to believe that he really does want this. That this isn't just some pipe dream, or little girl's fantasy. She kisses him, taking him at his word, and telling him in this silent, mutual way, she believes in him.

After a long moment, he can feel her smile return, can feel the way her hips curl and circle, nothing but the most subtle movement. The kiss breaks and she bites her lip, her hands gently urging him to lie back.

"Then why are you still wearing pants?"

Tension he didn't realize he was carrying eases out of him at her acceptance, and for the first time in a long time he feels hope.

He smiles when she does, a low, warm, happy chuckle vibrating in his throat.

Laying back with the push she gives him he shakes his head, "I don't know," and moves his hands to deal with button and zipper on his pants to rectify that.

She has to shift off of him, lying on her back to shimmy out of her own pants. He can feel her feet flutter as they tangle in her panties, and something goes zinging across the room. The air grows thick with the scent of her musk, and she keeps one hand on him, eyes wide, eager to continue exploring him in a whole new way.

He shucks his pants and boxers, letting them fall over the edge of the bed before rolling onto his side to face her. There's the shimmer of nerves that always happens the first time with someone, but they're the good kind. The butterflies in your stomach kind.

He's eager as well, and when she's ready he reaches out, laying his hand on her shoulder at first, fingertips toying with her collarbone teasingly before sliding lower down to her breast. He wants to look at her, to take her in in his own way.

"Did I mention you were beautiful?" he asks with a smirk, his thumb stroking across her nipple.

She pillows her head on her arm, her free hand resting on his chest, smoothing down over his ribs, careful to avoid the still fresh bruises there.

"You might have said that, I think," she says, grinning like the proverbial kid in a candy store. "Did I mention I think you're sexy as hell?" God, the words that come out of your mouth, Karen, sometimes I swear.

She has a reason for being a little distracted, a little out of breath, with his hand playing over her body like that. She tries to even the playing field a bit, hooking one heel behind his calf and drawing it up to his knee, pulling his leg gently between her thighs.

As her fingers trail down his sides jump, more from the graze of her touch than reaction to any tender spots.

Letting out a low chuckle he gives her his leg, sliding his knee between her legs while shifting closer.

"You said I drive you crazy, but I took that more as I make you mad than anything else," he replied, clearly teasing.

Meanwhile his hand continues to map her, moving from one breast to the other, following the line of her sternum down, drifting slow and purposefully down her belly towards her naval.

She laughs. "Well, you're not wrong. Oh holy fuck."

Her breathing grows quick and shallow again, her lips parted, her heart pounding. She's transfixed by the path his hand is taking, her stomach muscles fluttering under his fingertips. Her knee caresses up his thigh, drawing him in at the same time as she opens to him. Her hand comes to rest on the back of his.

"I've dreamed what it would be like, you running your hands all over me."

"No pressure, right?" he says with a smirk that belies the fact that his heart just skipped a beat or two on her admission.

He shifts closer still when she does, feeling her heat on his skin.

Her trembling beneath his touch prompts him to take his slow and lazy time tracing a path down with his fingers, leading her hand over his, circling her belly button twice before finally gliding lower still. He leans in and nuzzles her nose with his first, and then he kisses her as his hand finally slips in between her thighs, feeling her wetness.

He catches her lips as she gasps, and she can't hold back the quiet moan. She can't get enough of kissing him, can't help but drink deep from his lips and drown in his scent. Her hips cant into his touch, and he finds her slick and hot as an overripe summer peach.

His touch is delicate and precise, and with just one fingertip, he sets her whole body alight. She doesn't want to rush this part. She wants this moment to last forever.

He doesn't want her to hold back, in fact he encourages her by kissing her deeper while his hand caresses her below.

In moments like these there is a definite benefit to having an extremely sensitive sense of touch. He can feel her every reaction, each trembling hitch, catch of her breath, urging shift of her hips, and the tiny minutia that tell him exactly how he's making her feel.

He wants to give her everything she wants, and like her he wants it to last. That being said his pace is slow, almost torturous, seeking out those spots she wants him, but dragging out getting there; dancing close and then away, moving over, but not lingering.

It isn't long at all before he has her completely wound up. Her arms encircle his neck and she returns that deep kiss, almost growling under her breath. He teases her and she gasps, telegraphing every sweet spot, and when he glosses over them, she whimpers in delicious frustration. He draws her out, and she rises for him, until she can't help but roll over on her back, bringing him with her. This way her hips can lift off the bed, chasing those devilishly enticing fingers of his, wanting more, silently begging for more.

"Matt..."

So much heat and hunger wrapped around his name. She's exposed and vulnerable and it's fucking amazing.

He rolls with her, planting knees into the mattress to keep himself above her, the upper half of his weight resting on an elbow while his other hand continues to play her like an over-tightened bow string.

It isn't just winding her up, though. Touching her, hearing her moan and say his name, the scent of her strong on the air, and all the naked flesh between them, he's driving up the wall, too, and ready to snap.

Bowing his head under her arms and leaning in, his breath falls on the sensitive skin of her neck and he whispers into her ear, "Karen, I want you."

It's then he slides a finger into her, giving into that begging, but knowing there's still more.

She arches into him, holding tight to wherever she can reach, his shoulder, his neck, needing as much skin to skin contact as she can get. When he finally, finally slips into her, she lets slip a sound that is nothing but raw pleasure given voice. Her hips dance under his palm, a deep, decadent undulation in time with his agonizingly slow pace.

His words draw a stuttering nod from her, quick birdlike motions and a fervently hissed "YES", almost lost in another breathless string of profanity. If he has any doubt at all that she feels the same, then he is not paying attention.

In fact he's paying very close attention. Enough so that even though he's giving her what she wants, it isn't everything and he keeps her on a precipice with it.

Not for long, though. He eases his finger out of her, giving her one last caress while shifting above her, nudging her knee with his, asking for more room so he can settle in between her legs.

She welcomes him into her arms, catching his face in her hands and demanding more of those lush kisses, more of his own hunger, more of the wildness she knows lurks just beneath the surface. Her knees rise and she wraps her long legs around him, heels urging him closer. Her hands find their home in his hair, and she drags her nails down his neck to the tops of his shoulders, letting him feel how desperate she is for more of this, more of him.

He bends low, his chest brushing hers while he lets her pull him in. He shares that hunger and the urgency to let out what is inside is growing.

He's hard and aching and anymore teasing would be too much to take. When her legs wrap around him he shifts his hips and reaches down, guiding himself to her entrance. His shoulders arch under the graze of her nails and he pulls his lips from hers, wanting to hear and feel her reactions as he pushes into her.

She looks up into his face, knowing he can't see her, but uncaring of the fact. She knows he can feel her, hear her, smell her, taste her. She loses her breath as he penetrates her, a long, low keen of bliss rising in her chest. Her hands cling to him, and her heels dig in, urging him to fill her, to take every inch of what she's offering to him.

She can't keep still, even with his torturous pace, and her head falls back, her hips writhing and curling against him. She throbs around him, strong and soft all in the same breath, and he can feel her fierce desire for him in every sigh, in every beat of her heart.

[for man_without_fear]

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