What They Call Sin

by Philippa Grey-Gerou

  Her head snapped back with a moan as he nosed his way into her damp curls. His breath, warm and moist on her most intimate places, was overwhelming, and she cried out as his firm tongue began making gentle forays of exploration into her folds. Her legs slipped over his shoulders, drawing him in, encouraging him, and he heeded the demand, working deeper and harder into her. “Rogue!” she gasped out ecstatically, the bottoms of her feet on fire, the skin on her scalp tingling.

  She felt him hesitate for a split second. When he continued, there was a subtle change, just a hint more aggression as he sucked hungrily at her lips and clit. She cried out and arched against his mouth as his arms slid under her waist, holding her up so he could devour her more readily. He had forgotten nothing during their long separation, and it took bare moments longer before the fires he had stoked in all parts of her body merged and she came, screaming his name.

  He stood up as she lay there, lost in her release, her enormous eyes never leaving his. She heard his shoes skitter off the rug and onto the hardwood floor before he bent to pull off his socks, his own gaze never breaking with hers. She wondered if he felt the same way she did, afraid that if she closed her eyes or looked away, he would be gone again. He released the button at his waistband and in a moment he was naked before her, proud, humble, hard. It made her want to cry.

  He stepped back between her legs and bent down to kiss her, wrapping his arms about her waist and shoulders as he delved into her mouth. With a deft lift and twist he pivoted them so he was sitting on the bed with her astride him. She felt the teeth on the zipper of her dress give, and a moment later the warmth of his coarse hands coasted over her back, cleanly releasing the clasp of her bra as he explored her back, his mouth hungry on hers.

  She broke the kiss to lean back slightly, rising up on her knees over him. He understood her encouragement, gathering her skirt up in his hands and lifting it up over her head and off, the delicate bra tangled up in the fabric as well. Her arms curled around his neck as she slid back down him, her body screaming in relief at the skin on skin contact. He must have felt it, too, because he groaned deep in her mouth, making her tremble.

  His cock was hard and hot against her belly. She bounced slowly on the springs of her legs, rubbing her stomach along his shaft in time to his grunts of pleasure.

  She was proud she hadn't forgotten anything, either.

  He tipped her back over his arm slightly, making her breasts more accessible. He nibbled and licked at the upper curves of them as she moved against him, her hands reacquainting themselves with the muscles of his back, bunching and releasing as he caressed her. But it wasn't enough for him, and finally with a growl of frustration he wrapped his hands around her ribcage and lifted her up to suck one dusky nipple roughly between his teeth.

  She cried out at the electricity that shot through her body at his rough treatment, clutching his head to keep him in place. He laved and sucked each nipple to marble hardness, his hands cupping the fullness of each breast as he worked it. She could feel his cock, now freed from between them, bobbing and prodding at the soft flesh of her thighs and ass cheeks, seeking entry. She shifted, catching the head in her wet center before slowly sinking down onto him.

  It was like coming together for the first time, only better. A revelation tempered, deepened by their knowledge of each other, their history, their loss and pain. There was nothing separating them anymore. No secrets, no commitments elsewhere. The anger and guilt and insecurity lingered, but it was theirs, and finally they were both free to deal with it. Free to be together, however they wanted to be.

  She began to move, rising and falling over him in undulating waves, the luxurious friction of his generous cock stroking every surface within her as she encircled him. He breathed her name, his eyes wide in wonder, dark with desire as he met her rhythm. She rested her forehead against his, meeting his gaze unwaveringly, her hands coming up to cup his head, her thumbs tracing along his cheekbones.

  She didn't even realize she had begun to cry until he kissed the first tears away. “Shh, shh, don't cry, petal. Please don't cry."

  The growing pleasure inside her seemed to push the tears out, making her weep more, harder, as her climax approached. “I missed you,” she admitted in a hoarse whisper. “I missed you so much."

  He held her tightly, helping her ride him as he kissed her tears and lips. “I'm here now, Lindy. And I'm not going away again. Lindy...” She could feel him swell within her as his own release approached. Her channel tightened in response, strangling him with each stroke.

  She couldn't breathe, couldn't think, could only feel the orgasm that ripped through her body. He held her tight as she seized around him, keeping her from falling, keeping her from pulling off him as he thrust up into her fiercely, pushing through the tight muscles of her clenching tunnel before catapulting into his own release, sobbing her name.

  The first thing she noticed as awareness returned was that his own face was damp with tears. She gently stroked her fingers along the tracks, but he turned his head away and buried his face in her shoulder.

  When they could move again, he hitched her up to slide up the mattress, slipping out of her so they could lay side by side on the bed. She gathered him to her, softly stroking his hair as he held her.

  "I missed you, too,” he murmured into her neck.

  She kissed the top of his head. “Not anymore."

  He shook his head in agreement. “Not anymore. ‘m home now."

  And she realized that she was, too.

  Chapter 50

  Neither of them remembered much about Saturday.

  Their muscles, aching and relaxed and blissed out, remembered.

  The bed, stripped of all but the fitted sheet, a comforter tossed haphazardly across, remembered.

  Their hearts, now content and eased, remembered.

  But had anyone asked for any of the sweat-dripping, come-soaked details, they both would have been at a loss.

  Sunday started out a bit less intense. Rogue woke first, the dawn's light just starting to filter in through the scrim walls. He rose quietly and dressed, clothes feeling awkward on skin that had worn nothing but her for the past thirty-six hours. He raided her pocketbook for her keys and slipped out silently.

  When he came back, bakery bag in one hand, a carrier containing large steaming coffees in the other with the Sunday Times under one arm, she was waiting, a look of relief evident on her face. He moved to the table quickly to put down his load. “What is it? What's wrong?"

  She pulled the silk of her robe tighter about her. “I woke up and you were gone.” Her voice was so small.

  "Just went for breakfast, love.” He gathered her up in his arms, dropping kisses on top of her head and down along her face. “I'm not goin’ anywhere, Lindy. Not until you send me away. And probably not even then. You let me back in, and I'm gonna be hard to get rid of now."

  She caught his mouth with hers, showing him how much that thought bothered her.

  They were both grinning when the kiss ended. He gave her a light swat on the behind. “Now back to bed with you! I'm not through having my evil way with you."

  She trembled in false fear and grabbed the bakery bag as she scampered away. “You are a bad, bad man."

  He caught his tongue between his teeth, his eyes running over her lasciviously. “And don't you forget it."

  She laughed, a happy sound that lightened his heart. He picked up the coffee and the paper and followed her up the stairs.

  * * * *

  Being bad today seemed to consist of lying across the bed at her feet while she sat up against the headboard, doing the Sunday crossword. She had a sheet half draped over her, although Rogue wasn't sure if it was there for modesty or just to keep the crumbs out of her lap. Too bad. He wouldn't have minded going in after those lucky crumbs.

  He curled his arm under his head and lay back, contented. Her toes occasionally slipped out from under the sheet to caress lightly along his bare hip. He didn't th
ink she was even aware she was doing it, just confirming for herself that he was still there. He slid his free hand under the sheet to drift up and down her calf absently.

  His eyes drifted around the room, registering for the first time the changes she had made to the space. The bigger bed was the most obvious, and a change he was grateful for. The furniture was all a honey maple to match the color of the floors, with wrought iron fittings and ornamentation. The scrim panels creating translucent walls were alternately bunched and tied with raffia, making texture and pattern along the plain surface. Color in the room came in localized pops from the rug, a dark blue oriental one that was soft under his feet, from the royal purple armchair and from the purple and blue bed linens. The comforter cover was strips of multicolored patchwork alternating with blue and black velvet to make a sensual, colorful pattern on the bed. Well, currently on the floor. “I like what you've done with the place,” he finally said.

  "Thanks.” She nibbled on the end of her pen. “But I didn't do it. What's an eight letter word for kingdom with G as the third letter?"

  "Hegemony. What do you mean you didn't do it?"

  "Hmm?” She glanced up from scratching letters into boxes. “Oh, my friends did it for me as a housewarming present when I moved in. Cara's a designer. She specializes in boudoirs,” she exaggerated the pronunciation, making it BOO-dwars, “so she went a little nuts up here."

  "Cara.” He thought for a minute. “Do I know her?"

  "I don't think you met.” She filled in another row on the puzzle. “She's mom to the kids I did the Halloween picture of."

  "Oh, that one. Scary lady. Got cornered by her at your show."

  "You think she's bad now, you should have seen her when all she cared about was money and sex. The kids have grounded her. A ten letter word for a Roman spring with R and C as the fifth and sixth letters?"

  "Lupercalia,” he supplied without hesitation. “The box looks good up there."

  Her eyes shifted to the dresser where the red and black silk box rested on top of a stack of graduated boxes. “It was too pretty to throw away."

  "Uh-huh.” He rolled over on his side, propping his head up on his elbow to watch her. “'S that why you've got my picture hangin’ up downstairs? Cuz I was too pretty?"

  She gave him a hairy eyeball over the top of the magazine. “I had nothing to do with that. I hadn't come up with a way to revise that one, so it was stuffed in with the other waste canvasses. Cara found it and hung it up. Seven letter word for poetic victory with Y as the second letter?"

  "Pyrrhic. And you could have just destroyed it."

  She lay the paper down, meeting his gaze with a look that conveyed both sympathy and amusement. “No, I couldn't."

  He tried to hold her gaze, but couldn't. “I'm glad,” he said, looking down to pick at one errant fingernail. “The changes you made to the others were excellent, amazing even. But I'm glad to know there's something left from before."

  "Michael,” she said softly, “I didn't change the paintings in order to hurt you..."

  But he didn't hear her as blood surged in his ears. He rose up and pounced on her, making her squeal as he pinned her to the mattress. He covered her mouth in a joyful, exuberant kiss before drawing back to look into her eyes. “Say that again."

  Her eyes filled with compassion, and she laid a gentle hand on his cheek. “I didn't change the paintings to hurt you."

  "Not that,” he shook his head. “Before that."

  Now she just looked confused. “Um. What's a seven letter word for poetic victory?"

  "No, pet, after that."

  "I don't..."

  He leaned close to her ear, felt her tremble beneath him. “Say my name,” he breathed into her ear.

  She exhaled. “Rogue..."

  "No.” He met her gaze, and knew he was begging, knew she could see how desperate he was.

  She swallowed nervously, as though facing a personal demon. “Michael."

  "God. You can't know...” His mouth descended on hers, certain he could taste the lingering sweetness of that one word in the recesses of her mouth. After long, decadent minutes he pulled away to bury his face in her neck. “I've been waiting for months to hear you say that again. Every time you call me Rogue, it's like another knife in my heart, reminding me how I'd hurt you, how I'd failed you."

  Her fingers came up to toy with his soft curls. “I don't know what to call you anymore,” she said quietly. “I don't know who you really are."

  "Yes, you do.” He raised his head. “You know me. You know me better than anyone. You know the man I should be. I want to be that man, Lindy. For you. For us."

  She kissed him softly. “I want you to be him, too. If only because you seemed so happy then."

  "I was. I am.” He began kissing along her neck. “How could I be anything else with you?"

  She tangled her strong limbs around him, drawing him closer, and he couldn't be separate from her anymore. He moved into the cradle of her hips and sheathed himself in her.

  Home. He was home. She was his home, and it was the only place in the world that he ever wanted to be. Burying his face in her fragrant hair, he gathered her close and began moving into her, short, slow, deep strokes that sank him further and further into her. “God, Lindy,” he quaked at the power of his feelings, “God, I love you. Love you so much."

  He felt her tighten, tense slightly beneath him. Her hesitation hurt, but it was a pain he would gladly face every single day as long as she let him stay.

  "Shh, shh,” he caressed her hair, never slowing his movements as he spoke against her ear. “Don't. You don't have to. Just say my name. That's all I need to hear."

  She sighed, relaxing beneath him. “Michael.” And in that name he heard compassion.

  "Michael."

  He heard forgiveness.

  "Michael!"

  He heard desire.

  "Oh god Michael!"

  And as he lost himself in her completely, he allowed himself to hear the smallest fragments of love.

  Chapter 51

  Monday morning came and found them still in bed.

  Lindy cracked one eye open from the shelter of Michael's arms to look at the clock. She closed it again with a groan. “I have to get up for work."

  He pulled her closer, nuzzling into her hair. “Nuh-uh. Called Diana and got you the day off."

  "When did you do that?” She snuggled back against him, feeling his length rising to prod against the curve of her ass.

  "Last night, after you fell asleep.” His hands joined his mouth in caressing her, stoking her desire. “You've had a tirin’ weekend. Figured you could use a day off to recover."

  Lindy giggled. “Yeah, somebody's been riding me hard the last few days."

  "Oh, you think so?” His voice was deep with arousal and amusement. “Fine then.” He rolled onto his back, pulling her along to mount him. “You ride for a change."

  She grinned through sleep heavy eyes, positioning him with a practiced hand before sinking down onto him. The sense of wonder she felt every time flooded her, and she poured it into him with each stroke, each movement perfect choreography to the music of their pleasure.

  Hours later, Rogue finally did chase her out of bed. “I'm taking you out to lunch. You haven't had a decent meal in three days, and you have to keep your strength up."

  She stretched decadently on the sheets. “Are you talking out out, or out in the park out?"

  "'M talking restaurant. I want to be seen in public with you for a change."

  Lindy blushed, pleased at the possessive tone in his voice. “I'd better shower, then. I'm rank."

  He leaned over her, inhaling deeply at her neck, between her breasts and over her stomach. “You smell magnificent. Like one of Aphrodite's priestesses, all incense and sex...” His head moved lower.

  She gripped his hair to stop him. “If you want to go out, you'd better not start that again."

  Rogue growled but backed off. “Hurry up, or I might dec
ide to eat early."

  She squealed and scrambled from the bed, catching up her robe as she dashed to the bathroom.

  The hot water felt good on her blissfully overworked muscles. She felt like a new woman when she got out of the shower and dressed.

  Rogue showered quickly while she changed, cleaning up as best he could since he had to dress in the same clothes he'd been wearing on Friday. She was pleased to see he'd left his hair natural, the soft curls lending him a sense of vulnerability.

  "So, where are we going?” she asked when they'd settled into the cab.

  He smiled. “Back in time."

  "That's not very informative."

  "It's a surprise. You'll see when we get there."

  Lindy curled up in the safety of his arms. “I don't usually like surprises."

  He kissed the top of her head. “Maybe I can change that."

  She sighed melodramatically. He just chuckled.

  She relaxed against him, listening to his heartbeat through her skin, feeling his warmth seeping into her as she watched the city go by. Feeling this good, this comforted, should be wrong somehow, a small part of her whispered. But she couldn't for the life of her think how.