Her Melting Point

No Way Around It

"Wait," she moaned and pressed her hands into his chest. "Alexander..."

He hummed, as if agreeing with her, and slowly withdrew.

"We should sit," he said and pecked her lips again.

"But– What–"

She blinked purposefully a few times, trying to focus. He wasn't restraining her in any way, but his scorching palms on her waist were distracting enough. It had been an age - but she was almost certain that she'd never been touched like that! She could feel his heart pound under her right palm.

"What is this–" She could hardly recognise her own voice.

He picked up her chin, between his thumb and his middle finger, and dipped her head, to her left and slightly backwards. She felt his hungry mouth on the side of her throat; and she had to clench her jaw, to suppress a whimper.

"Why can't I–" she mumbled. "That's not me–"

He continued caressing her neck, while gently manoeuvring her backwards, to the window seat. And then he spun her; she gasped - but before even a grain of reason woke up in her, he caught her mouth in a deep kiss. His movements were more and more demanding; his teeth teased her bottom lip; and a louder rumble rolled somewhere behind his sternum. He sat down; his hands firmly cupped her backside; he hoisted her up and pulled smoothly - and she was straddling him.

He released her lips - and trailed hot kisses along her jaw, to her ear. Jackie squeezed her eyes shut, panting, and grasped handfuls on his jumper.

"Jackie?" he called.

His voice sounded amused. Her head swam.

"I don't know what's– what's happening," she breathed out. "This is– new."

"Good new, or bad new?"

She finally peeled her eyes open. His face was right in front of her, and she flushed, painfully embarrassed. She couldn't bring herself to meet his gaze or to even look at him: at his long, fluffy eyelashes; or his lips, swollen and brighter than usual; or his beard that she still hadn't dared to touch.

She fleetingly wondered whether it had been like that with Gabriel or Stephen, or even with her first boyfriend, back in the secondary, all those years ago - and the answer definitely was 'no bloody way.'

"I– I don't know–" She cowardly hid away from him.

The tips of his fingers danced along the neckline of her jumper; and the skin on her collarbone felt as if scalded.

"I'm forty two years old," she rasped out. "I'm not s-supposed to– It's like I'm bladdered–"

"Then it's a good 'new,'" he postulated.

His palm lay on the back of her neck; and he confidently led her to his lips. Despite her slowly awakening, sobering doubts, she lifted her hand to touch him - or maybe to push him away - and then his palms lay on her hips, and he pressed her down and into him. She gulped air with an open mouth, overwhelmed, acutely aware of what she could feel under her. To her shock, her body reacted and reciprocated. His left hand was mashing and groping her thigh; and his other arm looped around her, his fingers hooked on her shoulder from behind; and he was pulling her down, bucking his hips. She couldn't tell at what point she started rocking, matching his rhythm.

"Jackie..."

She moaned, and tangled her fingers into his hair - and then she gathered handfuls of his heavy curls, far from delicately. He snarled into the muscle between her neck and her shoulder; and he was probably leaving fingerprint-shaped bruises on her backside that he was kneading ever so greedily.