September 4, 2011: Choices
Yes, yes, this is in fact thinly veiled fanfiction. While I name no names, the inspiration came directly from NCIS, so I am giving the usual disclaimer and props to CBS, et al. I make no money off of these words that came out of my fingers.
The plum just wasn’t enough to curb her hunger, but tired eyes kept drifting in the direction of the bedroom. The huge bed, empty now for far too long, mocked her as she approached. The slight rumple from when she’d sat on the edge earlier to remove her shoes stared at her; she would only barely move the sheets beyond that tonight. When was the last time she’d woken tangled in sheets, smelling of musk and sweat, her legs sticky in their slickness thanks to activities from the night before?
She knew the answer, knew how many men she’d turned down. It wasn’t right for a woman in her position to accept the attentions of gentleman callers. The whispers alone would ruin her reputation, let alone actually having done anything.
Women, forever marked by position and power. She could shoot an apple from a probie’s head at fifty paces, could go toe to toe with presidents, prime ministers, and even kings, but she could not dare give a hint that she shared her bed with someone other than a more powerful husband.
Not that the person she wanted to have share her bed was more powerful than her, though no one would know it from how people reacted to him when they were in the room together. Forever, forever in charge. Even of her.
The jeans she’d donned upon coming home went into the drawer, the t-shirt tossed into the laundry basket, and she stood in front of the mirror, examining a body she was still proud of. Just muscular to be toned but not overly done. Pale skin. A smattering of freckles. Her suits hit the lingerie that she treated herself to. There were few splurges she allotted herself – shoes, lingerie, and very good bourbon.
With a sigh, she removed her bra, tossed it onto the laundry pile, and slipped into the floor length lavender satin nightgown she’d bought her last time in Paris. It had been a selfish purchase, one she treated herself to in a fit of desperately needed retail therapy. Being in Paris without him had never been easy.
What made it worse was that this had been her choice. She had set the rules, right there, on the stairs in the bullpen. With people possibly listening to the exchange, she’d told him there would be nothing outside of work and then followed him home and found herself locked into his embrace before they even stepped out of the car. Passionate kisses and lingering looks aside, there had been nothing since that rule. She’d said no and he honored it.
Was it wrong that she hated how much of a gentleman he could be when he wanted to?
But she’d said no and he respected that and now she sat on her bed, surrounded by case files to review, knowing that if she picked up the phone and said yes, he’d be at her door in a heartbeat. But he would want more than she knew she was ready to give. He’d want her – all of her. So instead, she let the past linger, hating herself for being such a damned girl, for breaking every rule she’d broken in college when she and her girlfriends came to the very adult realization that they did not need relationships to be complete, that being fuck buddies was okay, and that going without was something to be welcomed.
But the phone was so close and she knew he was awake, working out his sexual frustration in his own way. Was it a new woman tonight, some smart ass who had challenged him on a case and tickled his fancy or was it the boat, hours of endless sanding to work out all his demons.
She never told him how sexy she found the smell of sawdust. Once, they’d camped in a forest and she’d woken at dawn to the dewy smell of the pine trees. A deep inhalation in his basement and she was back there, in his arms, ignoring protocol as they made love to each other as the sun came up.
Another time, another world, when she’d let herself enjoy her life and her body and her choices, before she’d had to make a choice, and chosen a world her father would be proud of. A world of success, of dinners and interviews and gala balls at the White House. All the while looking over her shoulder, forever wondering, what if.