He reached out and touched my face gently, then stepped into me. I gave way, but was brought up short by the passage wall. Connor stepped into me again, and my heart hammered in my chest as I stared at him; as I felt the gentle pressure of his body against me. I reached up, crooked my arm behind his neck, and pulled against him, hard, letting him feel my body. Both of us made a sound; not English, not intelligible – that quiet moan of presence, of immediacy, of need. I could feel him against me, and I ached for him. His lips were warm and soft, and he left me weak at the knees as he released me.
“You are a wicked, wicked man,” I panted as I leaned my head against him.
“I do not apologies.”
“Don’t. Don’t ever.”
“Tell me if I go to far.”
“I will. You haven’t.” I paused, took a breath. “You need to go to work, now. Go, now.”
“I don’t want to,” he murmured, pressing himself to me.
I kissed him again, a quick one, and stepped to the side and then out of range, flushing furiously. “You have to. Get going. Be safe. Come visit tonight.”
“Or else?”
“Or else face the wrath of Ceridwen, before whom even the Gods tread lightly.”
.:.
His laughter warmed me for long after he had left, and the memory of the taste of his lips and the feel of him against me drove me back to my room. I closed my door, dug furiously into my dresser, way into the back of my underwear, and retrieved my dildo. I didn’t even bother to strip; I just slid my gym pants down my legs, pulled my panties aside and pushed my dildo into me, not even bothering to slick it with saliva or lube first. I needed to be filled in a way I hadn’t felt for months; the immediacy of my need overwhelmed me.
“Oh god,” I moaned as I penetrated myself. “Oh fuck… ungh… fuck…”
I knelt gingerly on my bed, then slumped forward, heedless now of my aching body, conscious only of the feeling of the toy in me and of the pressure on my breasts and face as I leaned on my bedspread. I drove the ridges of my toy in and out of my aching body, muffling my quiet moaning in my pillow. I could feel the craving in me, the need for him, for Connor, hard, thrusting between my legs, his flat stomach against mine, against my thighs, his cock in my pussy, in my mouth, in my pussy again… I felt a spasm and arched, groaning, forcing my dildo deep into myself, spreading my tight, aching vagina over it, distending over the base, feeling the cool silicone of the fake scrotum nestling against the hood of my clit.
I hunched down on it, then rose, then slid down again, impaling myself with a grunt. Again, and again, and again I lifted and pushed back. But I needed it deeper, and I rose to my knees and sat back, toy buried deep in my dripping pussy, and squirmed my hips back and forth over it, feeling myself building, feeling my climax bearing down on me like a tidal wave.
“Uh… uh… fucking… goddamn… uh… ” and from there, a wordless wail, my bandaged left hand clamped over my mouth in case our neighbors heard as my orgasm took me, dragged me by the scruff of my neck and flung me face-first into a crashing set of contractions. I collapsed forward, sobbing for breath, spasming against the solid rod in me, wishing that it was Connor, wishing he had just filled my pussy with his hot, sticky come.
Convulsion followed convulsion, and I fell onto my side, shivering uncontrollably as my body let me know in no uncertain terms that I had been neglecting it. Eventually, I was able to regain my breath, and slowly pulled the dildo out of me, moaning again as the wide, flared head popped out of me.
I lay, then, for a while, not willing to abandon the state of glorious lethargy that took me. I felt warm, and my immediate need faded slowly into the background. Eventually, however, I stirred, cleaned my toy with a hygiene wipe and packed it away.
I had to start my day, and I couldn’t delay any longer.
.:.
“Did you get to the office OK?” His voice, delicious, smooth like cream on velvet. I felt it deep in my chest.
“Yeah, eventually,” I breathed as I stirred my tea, phone clamped to my ear by my shoulder.
“You went back to bed, didn’t you?”
“It was warm. And…”
“And?”
“And it still smelled of you.”
“And that’s a good thing?”
“It’s the best thing.”
“You’re a decisive little thing.”
“I’m not little. You may be tall but I’m not tiny. Just scrawny.”
“Mm. You’re not scrawny, and I like your height. It’s a lovely height. A perfectly kissable height. And you’re delightful in Lycra…”
“Connor, stop flirting with me at work.”
“Why?”
“Because,” I whispered. “Because you’re very distracting. And I have to concentrate here.”
“Good,” he laughed. “I’m glad I distract you.”
“I suppose I’d be pushing my luck to ask whether I’ll see you tonight or not.”
“I need to go to St Thomas.” His voice changed, became softer, and I sighed, sorry I’d popped the bubble.
“I could come with you…” I left the sentence hanging, half statement, half question.
“I’d rather come see you after if that’s OK, Ceri? I don’t… I don’t want you to see me how I am there.”
“I could wait downstairs. I’d be there for you when you were done, and I wouldn’t intrude.”
“There’s not much to do there.”
“I’d be waiting for you. That would be more than enough for me.”
He was quiet a moment.
“Connor?”
“I’ll be there from about six thirty onwards, Ceri. Where shall I meet you?”
“The coffee shop.”
“Ceri?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. You’re an angel. You have no idea how much it helps to know you’ll be there.”
“See you later. I won’t say I’m looking forward to it, Connor, but I’m looking forward to hugging you.”
“Likewise, Ceri.”
“Mwa. Go to work. Mwa.”
I hung up and took my tea back to my desk, hoping the day wouldn’t drag.
.:.
I sat, watching the people in the St Thomas entrance foyer. They were a disparate bunch; people from all walks of life – rich and poor, normal and touched, all united by this place, this gate of Tartarus. Many looked tired. Some sat, eyes vacant, or cried quietly either to themselves or with family. Others walked briskly through in the blue scrubs of nurses or green of ambulance staff. People passed in and out, carrying balloons, plastic packets of toys or food. Sometimes flowers, sometimes not.
I decided I didn’t like hospitals one little bit, and I almost regretted coming here.
Then I saw him and my regrets blew away like leaves. I stood, shouldered my handbag, and walked out to meet him. His hug was gentle, but he held me a long time, and I for one was content to listen to the gentle thump of his heart as I pressed my cheek to his chest.
“You OK?” I breathed after a while.
“Almost,” came his equally quiet response.
“Is your sister OK?”
“Gemma is still alive, for what that’s worth. The surgeon is cautiously optimistic. She’s responding to antibiotics now and the surgery was successful… I just wish it hadn’t cost her her leg is all.”
“Is there any sign she’s improving other than that?”
“No. She’s still not there. Limited neurological activity. No change.”
I squeezed him to me, ignoring the pain of my bruises, trying to give him what comfort I could.
“Come,” he said. “Lets get out of here. I hate this place. Too many open wounds.”
We made our way through the hospital grounds and from there to the Jubilee walkway, where we turned west towards Lambeth. I held Connor’s hand and tried to match stride with him, and after a brief moment he shortened his to a pace comfortable for me.
“Sorry,” he said. “I forget sometimes that I lope.”
“You’re quick,” I agreed. “I need to scurry to keep up.”
He smiled. “I see you more as a sprinter than a scurrier. You’re too lithe to scurry. You’re more… feline. Graceful. A panther, maybe, with your dark hair and those eyes of yours.”
“Jaguar. I love them.”
“Mm, beautiful cats. But not exactly native to Wales either.”
“They are in my head. They guard the dragons,” I added.
He shook his head, amused, and we walked slowly on, watching the lights of the piers and riverboats reflecting in the chop on the Thames.
“Do you ever get the feeling that things happen for a reason?” he asked, after a while.
“Sometimes.”
“I feel like I was meant to meet you.”
“I hope that whatever force set you on me didn’t arrange for my fall purely to give you an in.”
“Ditto. I’d never want you hurt on my behalf.”
I moved in, my hip against his as we walked. We watched another couple kissing, and he squeezed my hand.
“Do you feel rushed?” I asked, after more silence.
“Rushed?”
“By this. By me. I like you. I really, really, like you,” I added breathlessly.
He stopped, and I turned to face him.
“Not rushed, no,” he said after a while. “It’s weird… but… the first word that I can think of is safe. Like I’m home.” He pulled me to him and lifted my chin, staring down at me. “But that doesn’t mean I want to rush,” he added. “I know you but don’t know you at the same time. I want to learn who you are. In case it’s not obvious, I really, really like you too, you know.”
“That’s comforting to hear,” I murmured, giddy.
He let me go, and we walked on a short distance until we found a sheltered spot to lean on the rail and watch the tide flowing under Lambeth Bridge.
“Can you make up your mind about someone in two days?” I mused.
He frowned. “We make decisions about people in two seconds. Two days seems an eternity by comparison.”
“Yet you admit you hardly know me.”
He smiled, wistful. “You held me when I was crying, and I felt safe enough to cry in front of you.” He glanced away, watching a boat as it slipped downstream with the ebb. “That tells me a lot about you, and about me.”
“I’m a hotheaded, foulmouthed harridan.”
“Nonsense. You’re a healthy, opinionated woman. A beautiful, healthy, opinionated, sexy woman.”
“Sexy?”
“Incredibly. You make my head spin. You make it impossible for me to think. I’d love the chance to see you in last night’s outfit again,” he added. “I’m sorry I wasn’t more appreciative at the time.”