Tempered
III: Tying One On
The rain
hadn’t delayed the flight, but still the grey clouds hung low
over the island,
making it a
little cooler than it usually was. Cuddy let herself into
the
cottage and moved to the fireplace,
switching the gas on, watching the
flames
pop up along the ceramic log. She opened the glass
doors and stretched
out her
hands to the warmth, grateful for the heat.
It was
nearly four in the afternoon of December 24th,
and Cuddy found
herself alternately
keyed up and worried as she began to unpack and
settle into
the cottage. Out of habit she
made her shopping list, adding a few
extra things
she knew House would like, and called the
market. The phone rang a few
times
before being answered. “Lucky Conch, how can we help
you?”
“Good
afternoon Mr. Pepper, it’s Doctor Cuddy.”
“Doctor!
I
was just wondering when you’d phone. Geoffrey mentioned you
were back on
island--
the usual order?”
“Yes,
with
a few added things. How’s that ointment working for
Clara’s rash?”
They
chatted
for a few moments, and by the time Cuddy had hung up, not only were
her
groceries ordered, but Mr. Pepper had insisted he’d be
sending a sprite tree
along as well.
Cuddy didn’t have the heart to talk him out of
it.
She
puttered about a bit after that, feeling restless and slightly excited.
Catching a glimpse of
herself in the low mirror near the umbrella stand
Cuddy
stopped, staring for a long moment at
her pale face, noting a fever
brightness
to her eyes.
“Chill
out—“ she ordered herself, knowing it
wouldn’t happen. “So he’s coming to join
you in a
few hours. For Christmas. Do NOT make this into anything more
than it
IS.”
Her
reflection smirked back at her, and Cuddy gave in to the little flare
of
excitement deep in
her stomach, letting herself enjoy the anticipation.
In
truth, she hadn’t felt this way about a
holiday—or
about a man--in years.
Wandering back into the little living room she dropped
herself onto the
sofa
and kicked her shoes off, then curled her feel under her, trying to
settle
down.
He
drives me crazy,
Cuddy sighed. And not just in the usual combative administrative
buck-the-system maverick ways either anymore. No, now there was a new
level, an
undercurrent of desire and dread in her emotions, a tension fueled by
memories
of intimate
passion.
He
drives me crazy, and God help me, I think I love him. What the hell am
I going
to do?
And there was no answer for that, no clear and simple course of action like there had been with
Myron or
Edward.
House wasn’t agreeable, mild or responsible; he argued and
provoked
responses
that left her either limp with exhaustion or charged with righteous
wrath. The
man
never made anything easy and yet somehow so much came out . . .
right.
Cuddy realized with a
little
thrill deep in her stomach that
she’d rather
bicker with House than agree with anyone else.
On
anything.
Abruptly
she bit her lips, fighting back a little wave of panic. I
can’t do this.
This is House, the
original Mr. Pain in the Ass. He
says it, but . . .
and she couldn’t finish the thought, because
the sweet sting
of his words still
sent shivers through her. House said things he didn’t
mean;
that was part of
his charm and his curse, his twisted mantra about lies always drifted
around
him like a wreath of smoke.
.
. . he could be lying about this too.
House
checked his watch for the third time, and tried to settle back in the
seat of
the plane.
The low hum of the engines rattled through the cabin, and he
felt it
right through his leg,
vibrating an extra frisson of pain through the
nerves
there. He’d already taken as much Vicodin
as he dared but
this added torture
was setting his teeth on edge.
Fortunately
the old man next to him was sound asleep, and House swiped the bag of
honeyed
peanuts from his tray without a second thought. Outside the tiny window
the
shredded
cottonball clouds hung low over the rippled grey of the
alerted him
before the soft chime and the captain’s voice.
“Ladies
and
gentlemen we’re now approaching
landing in approximately fifteen minutes. The local time
is just
after six-thirty and the weather is
slightly overcast this Christmas
Eve, with
the temperature at about sixty-eight degrees.”
House
sighed, tipping the bag of nuts into his mouth. He felt a tension in
his
stomach, a
different sort than his usual annoyance with the universe.
This one
had a personal edge of acid,
and had ever since he’d left
Mrs. Farber’s house
on
little, trying to keep the vibration of the plane
away
from his thigh as he pondered the issue
sitting so heavily on his mind
and
stomach.
He could
talk her into it.
Hell,
they were already halfway there for all intents and purposes; a clear
tribute
to his powers
of persuasion thus far. He had the license already and
now a
ring—with the right bit of
emotional connection House was
pretty certain he
could get Cuddy to say yes. She might try to
take it back a second
later, but
that didn’t worry him. He’d had plenty of practice
in getting his
way with her
already.
The
problem
was in the actual . . . process. House scowled, wondering if he should
have
consulted Jimmy first; after all, if anyone was an expert on proposing,
it
would be James
Wilson, Serial Husband.
“Ladies
and
Gentleman we’re beginning our descent, so I’ll ask
you to fasten your
seatbelts,”
came the soft murmur of the pilot’s
voice. Clumsily House fastened
his belt and gingerly set his sneaker back on the floor. He sighed
softly.
The best
approach with She-Beast had always been a direct steamroller one;
overwhelming
her before she had a chance to think about the implications or
consequences. It
worked with
their professional disagreements, and the track record for
their
personal ones gave him hope
too—not that House wanted it to
be a battle. He
absently ran a hand over his chin, feeling an
inner shiver stir his
chest.
Next to
him
the old man yawned and shot House a tired smile. “What a long
strange trip it’s
been, huh?”
House
slowly nodded back. “Truer than you know.”
The
doorbell rang again;
discharged,
the
elderly dog settled back down under the coffee table dropping off to
sleep
again. On the sofa, Emily giggled and wriggled.
chest
once more and lightly squeezed, happily admiring the sweet swell of her
breasts
against
his palms.
“I’ll
get
rid of whoever it is. You stay put—“ he told her
quietly but firmly. “This gift
unwrapping is
NOT done.”
“James—“
she sighed, tugging the edges of her blouse closed, “Just . .
. hurry.”
He gave
a
grunt of agreement and ran a hand through his hair, trying to calm down
enough
to
answer the door; whoever it was had a lot of nerve to be out on
Christmas
Eve. Padding
barefoot across the foyer
sudden chill
of
recognition ran through his system, dousing his libido in one guilty
flash.
“Mom,
Dad .
. . . come in, why didn’t you call?” he called out
loudly, hoping his voice
would carry through the house. He opened the door wider, letting them
enter.
The gust of cold air followed
as the couple walked in; the woman hugged
guilty and delighted.
Leah
Wilson
was a bubbly woman, curvy and just slightly heavy, with big brown eyes,
ash
blonde hair and an infectious laugh. She pulled back and cupped her
son’s face,
eyeing him
carefully. “Hello my baby oh, you look feverish,
Jimmy—are you all
right?”
“I’m
fine, Mom,” he assured her, hoping he didn’t have
lip
gloss on his face anywhere. She
frowned.
“Nathan,
I
think he looks flushed, what do YOU think?”
“I
think
you ought to let the doctor in the family decide for himself if he
feels all
right, Leah. Hey
Jim—“ his father rumbled, giving
dinner. We’re on our way to the
Goldsteins.”
Nathan
Wilson towered over both his wife and son, a lean man in a three-piece
suit,
nearly bald
with thick glasses forever sliding down his long nose.
The
thudding footfalls of Oliver grew louder and the dog wandered in, tail
wagging;
instantly
Nathan bent to pat him. “Hey Ollie.”
“HE
looks
good,” Leah agreed, patting him as well.
“Yes,
he
doesn’t have a fever either Mom. So, ah—“
he began softly, “I—“
“James?”
Emily wandered in, smiling gently.
up: hair pinned
back up, blouse
re-buttoned, shoes back on. Leah looked at her cautiously.
“You
have
company,” she murmured in a neutral voice. Emily’s
smile deepened and she
cocked her head.
“Mom,
this
is Emily Mansfield—“ at the mention of her name,
Leah softened instantly and
stepped forward to catch Emily’s hands, squeezing them gently.
“Emily!
The
girl we hardly know anything about except Jimmy mentions you every time
we talk
on the phone! THAT Emily--”
Emily
flushed a little. “It’s good to finally meet you,
Mrs. Wilson. I see where
James gets his
amazing eyes.”
It was
the
right thing to say; Leah laughed and even Nathan chuckled a bit, the
two of
them
flashing a quick smile at each other. Emily looked puzzled;
“Family
joke. Dad’s first words to Mom were quote, ‘you
have amazing eyes’, unquote.”
“And
I’m
Leah, my dear. I’m SO glad to meet you—Jimmy told
me all about your move and
your practice and how the two of you’ve been sharing his
office these past
months . . .” So saying,
Leah gently dragged Emily off
towards the kitchen,
chattering away and leaving Wilson with his
father in the foyer. Nathan
shot
his son a dry, amused look, waiting until the women were out of earshot.
“You
have
lipstick on your neck, under your ear. So--company, eh?”
know you two were
stopping by.”
His
father
rolled his eyes, shrugging his big shoulders. “Neither did I,
but your mother
got it into
her head that we’d go see Ruth and Aaron, maybe
do Atlantic City
over the weekend. And . . .”
here his father looked
uncomfortable, shifting
from foot to foot. “ . . . Well, this time of the
season you
know. We both
wanted . . . to check . . . “
squeezing
it tightly as he
studied the older man’s sorrowful face. He shook his head in
the slow
painful
moment between them.
“
. . . I
already did, Dad. Still nothing.” It hurt him to say it, and
the older man’s
shoulders
slumped as hope died yet again. Wordlessly the two men hugged
once
more, and this time
Wilson
The
ghost
of Joseph lingered between them for a moment.
Then
Nathan
gently released his son and pushed his glasses up, blinking fiercely.
He looked
up, a tremulous smile in place, his gaze resigned. “So it
stays in God’s hands.
So be it. Shall we
go see what the girls are up to?”
Cuddy
fretted. Outside darkness was stealing over the horizon, and as she
glanced
through the
sliding glass door at the ocean twilight, a pang deep
inside her
echoed sadly. The clock over
the mantel said it was nearly seven forty,
and her
cell phone on the kitchen counter remained stubbornly silent. Cuddy
went to the
tiny refrigerator and poured herself a glass of wine.
There
were
still groceries to unpack; Mr. Pepper had sent them up nearly half an
hour ago,
and with resignation Cuddy began to sort through the three paper bags,
carefully stocking the
pantry shelves. Nothing looked particularly
appealing
until she hefted the bag of rice. Maybe a
quick Paella . . .
The
knock
at the front door startled her badly; she dropped the rice and the
plastic bag
split at
the seam, part of the contents spilling out on the linoleum.
Cuddy
winced at the mess, but
stepped over it, hurrying to the door and not
even
thinking about why she was doing it, just
letting her anxiety carry her
forward
as she pried open the little deadbolt and tugged the door
wide.
They
stood
for a second, looking at each other, staring with quick, painful
intensity,
registering
each other’s reactions, feeling the mutual surge
rise up in a quick
flash of deep indefinable
emotion.
“About
TIME,” Cuddy finally croaked, reaching up to curl her fingers
around the edge
of his
leather jacket. House leaned forward, eyes bright with mischief
and
pleasure.
“You’ve
been waiting for me. You LIKE me.”
“House—“
she
instantly responded, rising to his tone as she always did. This time he
cut her
off with a rubbing of his nose against hers, his mouth barely brushing
her lips.
“I
like it
that you like me, She-Beast,” he whispered softly.
Cuddy
couldn’t control a deep shiver at the feel of his mouth, his
words, and she
wanted to turn
away but House caught her chin, cupping it gently.
“Come on,
tell me you missed me.”
“All
right,
I missed you,” she hissed gently, no sting to her words.
“Though God knows why
I
should after the way you embarrassed me at the staff party.”
“Nothing
any more outrageous than what I usually do, and you know it. Gonna kiss
me?”
Cuddy
made
a moue and right in the middle of it House pulled her to him, his mouth
dropping on
hers warmly; the kiss flared through them both with sweet
heat.
They pulled out of it reluctantly,
and Cuddy shook her head a little,
chest
heaving. “Damn it, Greg—“
“Shhh,
Santa’s coming to town. Wouldn’t do to make his
naughty list at the last minute
you know.
Got any beer?”
Cuddy
cleaned up the rice and cooked the unspilled part of it; House
stretched out on
the sofa
in the living room.
“Is
it
about Wilson and Doctor Mansfield?” Cuddy called, trying to
open a can of peas.
From
around the corner House made an affirmative sound. They were on
the
seventh question of
Twenty Questions and he took a sip of beer, staring
at the
tiny Christmas tree on the coffee
table. House felt smug, looking at
the
presents that engulfed it, the ones he had smuggled out
when Cuddy went
into
the kitchen. Sure the wrapping jobs weren’t very good, and a
few looked
slightly squashed from being in his backpack, but on the
whole—
“Are
they
dating?”
“Sort
of.”
“So
that’s
the news?”
“Nope.
There’s more.”
“Can
you
give me a hint?”
“No.”
“
She came around the
corner and paused a
second, looking at the little tree and pile of presents around it. A
twisted
smile crossed her face and she dropped her hands on her hips.
House
glanced at
her, then away as he sipped his beer, feigning nonchalance.
“MY
family
always opened stuff on Christmas Eve,” he announced.
“And I see no reason to
break with tradition just because you have an overdressed twig instead
of a
real tree.”
Cuddy
walked around the coffee table and gently poked a package or two,
amused at the
amateur wrapping jobs and touched by the sentiment. “So
it’s tradition, huh?”
“Yep.”
“Okay
then,” she told him, moving towards the bedroom.
“Let’s see what Santa brought
YOU, Hasi-Greggie.”
House
craned his neck, watching as Cuddy returned with two gift bags, a large
package
and
two smaller ones, all stylishly wrapped. His lower lip went out in
a pout.
“I
wrapped
mine MYSELF,” he announced in a slightly peeved tone. Cuddy
gave a pointed
stare at the Jezebel’s box and he relented, “Okay,
except for that one.”
“Oh
I could
never tell—“ Cuddy told him with big eyes, her mock
sincerity making him snarl
playfully at her for a moment. It was almost too much and they both
looked away
for a second.
Cuddy settled herself on the carpet, resting her weight
on one
hip as she reached up and toyed
with the tiny tree. House used his cane
to push
a present towards her.
“Only
because Farber would insist on ladies first.”
“Un
huh,”
Cuddy carefully peeled open the paper, taking her time. House rolled
his eyes.
“You’re
as
bad as
“No.
I hate
shreds,” she told him as she stared at the bizarre ceramic
item in front of
her. It
looked like a bright pink ashtray with an erection, and she
picked it
up, studying it from all sides.
“Okay I give up. What IS
it?”
“It’s
for
spoons,” House muttered, moving to sit up. “Has
something to do with them
anyway,
according to the nutless wonder who sold it to me at the Big
Lots
store. I think you park them on
it.”
Cuddy
bit
the inside of her cheek trying not to laugh; the spoon rest was garish
and
poorly
made, with weird designs along the edges that looked like mating
paisleys. She stroked the
heavily glazed bowl on it and nodded, touched
that
House had even remembered that she
collected spoons.
“I’ll treasure it.”
House
snorted, but her words sent a little vibration through him that bounced
off in
the insides
of his chest because despite the light tease in her words
there was
a kernel of truth to them.
Cuddy WOULD treasure it; part of him knew
that.
House
coughed artificially, and Cuddy pointed to one of the gift bags. He
leaned over
and
picked it up, slightly annoyed. “Bags—nothing
to RIP with these babies.”
“Easier
to
wrap—“ she countered. “And before you get
your boxers in a twist, yes I DO save
the bags.”
He
rolled
his eyes and shoved his hand deep into the fluted tissue, pulling out
the
Gameboy DS,
and blinking at this unexpected largess. Cuddy beamed,
delighted
that she’d actually stunned
him into momentary silence.
After a
second, House cleared his throat. “You’re
encouraging my inattention to clinic
by giving
me this. You KNOW that.”
“I’ll
just
make you give it to me before you go.”
“Fat
chance, She-Beast. You’ll have to wrestle it out of my grip .
. . which could
be sort of fun in
and of itself, actually,” House brightened,
shooting her an
invitingly smutty look. Cuddy laughed;
a sweet, husky sound.
“I’m
not
wrestling you for a TOY, House. I’ve got more dignity than
that.”
“Not
if I
can help it,” he warned her, leaning forward to push another
badly wrapped
package
towards her. Cuddy carefully peeled the paper back amid a few
annoyed
hoots from the sofa,
feeling a queer tightness in her shoulders.
The lump
of
glass was in the shape of a fat Koi, the heavy smooth form more the
artistic
suggestion of a fish rather than the clear image of it. Within the
clear depths
were long trails of translucent green glass spiraling through it in
beautiful
artistic tendrils along with tiny embedded bubbles. The entire thing
fit into
her two hands, the cool weight of expensive crystal fluidly
evident.
“It’s
a
fish,” House pointed out slowly and clearly, as if speaking
to an idiot. Cuddy
shifted her
gaze from the figurine to him, her expression torn between
dazed
delight and annoyance.
“It’s
an
Imakato glass Koi, Greg! These . . . these are collector’s
items, they’re worth
hundreds
of dollars! My GOD, you got me an Imakato?” As if
this had just sunk
in, Cuddy clutched the
little glass statue to her chest and
hyperventilated a
tiny bit. House cocked his head, amused
and gratified at her reaction.
“Hey,
hey--if ANYTHING gets pressed to your sweater meat with that sort of
passion
it’s going
to be ME, not a glass fish—“
Cuddy
glanced down and blushed, aware that the figurine was indeed nestled
into her
cleavage.
With an attempt a dignity she pulled it away and set it on
the coffee
table, hands trembling a tiny
bit. She rose up and padded around to him
slipping her arms around his neck and pulling his
face forward.
House
instantly grabbed her ass, snuffling happily into her
décolletage while she
squirmed and laughed, her fingers raking through his hair.
“No
biting
and no hickies—“ she ordered. In response he blew a
wet raspberry between her
breasts; the tickle of it made Cuddy squeak. “Greg!”
“My
turn to
unwrap something—“ came his muffled comment as his
hands found the zipper of
her skirt. She reached back and smacked his hand lightly.
“Ow!”
“Thank
you
for the fish, it’s gorgeous,” Cuddy spoke up,
ignoring his wounded expression.
“Here, open this—“ she pushed the other
gift bag towards him as she pulled out
of his embrace
and sat next to him on the sofa.
House
made
a great show out of sulking for a moment, but let his attention return
to the
bag.
He reached into it and his expression grew slightly perplexed.
When he
withdrew his hand it
held a leather-bound book, heavy and worn, with
gilt-edged
pages. Slowly he read the title out
loud. “Diseases of the
Urinary Organs, A
Compendium of Their Diagnosis, Pathology and
Treatment . . .
“ Carefully House
flipped open the cover, scanning the verso of the title page,
his
eyebrows
going up. “First Edition, published in eighteen
fifty-eight—somebody dropped a
bundle on this.”
Cuddy
shrugged to cover her embarrassment. “Yeah, well every
specialist needs a few
collectables. Consider it your hedge against inflation.”
“Pawnshop
collateral,” he jibed, even as he reverently opened it to the
hand-colored
plates in
the center of the book. For a long moment he studied the
drawings
while Cuddy did the same
for his profile. Then House turned and caught
her
gaze; his smile held a rare sweetness to it,
and she squirmed as he
softly
murmured, “Thank you.”
The two
other small gifts took far less time: a collection of naughty bathsoaps
for
Cuddy and liquor-scented whiteboard pens for House.
“These
are
obscene!” She examined the lavender penis and testicles while
House inhaled the
hearty perfume of whisky from the brown marker in his hands.
“That’s
kind of the POINT, She-Beast. Now open THIS one—“
he handed her a soft lumpy
package in Rudolph paper. Cuddy squeezed it suspiciously for a moment
before
gently peeling
the tape back from one corner. She tugged, and a bundle
of
whisper light lace slid into her lap.
Cuddy picked one up and stared at
it.
“You
and
gloves . . . out of all the damned things to have a fetish over . . .
“
“Shhhhh,
cater to my sick little whim—you know you WANT to,”
House whispered back,
leaning
closer. Cuddy was already drawing one on, sliding it over her
slender
forearm with sultry grace.
Her pale skin showed through the gauzy
designs, and
after she’d pulled on both of them she
flexed her fingers.
“Okay,
they
have a certain amount of . . . class . . . “ came her
observation. House let
his
fingers circle her wrist; he brought her palm to his chest and his
gaze
traveled down the length
of her arm.
“They
make
you look like an evil princess.”
“Maybe
I AM
an evil princess.”
“I
don’t
think there’s any ‘maybe’ about
it,” House growled. He pulled up the last gift
for her; the
one expertly wrapped. “Here,” he
added; a slightly strangled note
of desperation in his voice.
Cuddy took the box, letting her gloved
fingertips
slide over the big bow, toying with it. She was
delighted to note that
House’s
hot blue gaze never left her hands.
Carefully,
as if she had hours of time Cuddy tugged on the ribbon and undid the
bow in a
teasing fashion. Next to her on the sofa House shifted a little.
“Stop seducing
the box already
and open it.”
“Pushy,
pushy—“ she complained gently as she lifted the lid
off and folded back the
sparkly
tissue paper. Cuddy stared, and a rosy flush crept up her face.
For a
moment neither of them
said a word, and then she reached for the gold
envelope.
House
watched her carefully, noting the quick beat of her pulse at
Cuddy’s throat,
the flutter of
her lashes as she read the card. Quicksilver excitement
surged
through his system in little
alternating charges of hope and caution.
Cuddy
looked over the top of the card at him, her eyes glinting now in that
shade of
sea storm
blue that always intrigued him.
“Do
you
really mean this?” came her demand, soft and urgent as she
waved the card at
him.
House nodded. He had no idea what the card said, but clearly it
was doing
the trick; Cuddy was
right on the edge, almost ready to acquiesce.
“Yep.”
A beat;
Cuddy waited a moment then drew in a deep breath, rising up with the
box in her
gloved
hands. “All right then. I will get into this outfit on
ONE condition,
Gregory Phillip House, and one
condition only.”
“Yeeeess?”
he encouraged cautiously. Cuddy pointed with her chin at the last
present on
the
table; the package wrapped in nearly identical paper to the box in
her
hands.
“You
have
to do the same.”
House
paused, delicately. His mind raced through the possibilities with the
speed of
a computer
and finally he nodded, feeling the warmth of a successful
bluff—after all, the worst case
scenario would probably be a
pair of outré
boxers he could always shove to the back of his
underwear drawer in
later days.
Cuddy
flashed him a smile, “Lovely. I’ll go change and
then it will be YOUR turn.”
She sauntered
into the bedroom and he settled back, fighting the rising
gloat
of sheer masculine delight. He
folded his hands behind his head,
listening
happily to the rustle of clothing in the other room as
it mingled with
the
sound of the ocean outside.
“Merry
Christmas to ME, “ he softly chanted.
A few
minutes later he heard the soft footsteps coming back out; House turned
in
quick
anticipation that fell at the sight of Cuddy in her velour
bathrobe. She
shook her head.
“No
peeking
until you’re . . . dressed.”
House
glared at her. She leaned against the doorway, and let part of the robe
open
slightly.
Enough to make him blink and reach for his cane, fumbling a
little.
“No maybe about it at ALL.
Okay, we’ll play this
little Christmas cheer YOUR
way for the moment, oh Evil Princess. But
once I’m back out
be prepared to pay.”
He
passed
her, his fingers stroking the collar of her robe, attempting to flick
it open
but Cuddy
merely laughed at him.
“Greg—don’t forget to read the
card,” she
called before pushing herself
away from the doorframe and walking over
to the
sofa. In her head she began counting even as
she listened to the
tearing of the
paper, One, two, three,
four—
The
quick sharp taps of cane and
outraged man made the floorboards creak; House glaring
from the
doorway, his glower
seeming to throw sparks of annoyance; even his hair seem to
curl with
indignation.
“You,”
he
began in a low and threatening tone, “Have GOT to be snorting
crack, She-Beast.
The House love python isn’t going to FIT in that . . .
hackysack!”
The
effort
of not bursting into gales of laughter was hard, hard
hard—Cuddy bit her lips
and felt
her face go red with the effort. She gulped a deep breath and
looked
over the back of the sofa
at him, her eyes watering.
“Did
you .
. . read the card?”
“Sorry,
I
was too distracted by the flame-covered GAFF you bought me!”
House growled.
Cuddy gripped the cushions tightly and fought down more hilarity.
“Read
it—just, read it.”
With an
exasperated sigh House turned reluctantly back into the bedroom; Cuddy
heard
him
fumbling with paper. A few more seconds went by and she held her
breath.
Then House’s voice
rolled out, his tone low. And slightly
dangerous. “Oh God.
NOT fair.”
“All’s
fair
in love and underwear, Greg.”
“Damn
it. I
want it on the record that for you, and ONLY for you would I even
consider
this,”
came his unhappy grouse.
“Noted.
Are
you coming out?”
“In
this
damned thing, from every angle, apparently—I think you need
to come in here.”
His tone
turned wheedling. “Where this nice big bed is, you
know?”
Laughing,
Cuddy pushed herself up from the sofa and slowly walked into the
bedroom. House
was there on the bed, propped up with his back against the headboard,
his arms
folded across
his chest in absolute defiance. He wore nothing but a
sour
expression and the greatly
expanded posing pouch; Cuddy admired the
bulging
flames.
“Any
and
all camera phones will be confiscated and put where the sun
don’t shine—“ House
warned. Cuddy threw her robe off in a lazy confident gesture, dropping
her
gloved hands on her
hips.
“Do
I look
like I could HIDE a camera phone anywhere on this?”
House
blinked. “I better check . . . “ he muttered in a
low, rapid voice. “In fact I
insist. Top to
bottom, She-Beast every secret little place
onyousogetthe
hellOVERhererightNOW.”
Cuddy
sauntered, rolling her hips in ways that would have done Lily St. Cyr
proud;
House he
leaned forward to snag her but she pulled back and smoothed
her gloved
hands over her
bustier corset, grinning.
“Like
it?”
“The
very
image of you is seared on my libido, my Evil Princess. The only way to
douse
these
flames,” he gestured vaguely towards his significantly
increased bulge,
“Would be to drown
them in bodily fluids.”
“Mmmmm,”
she agreed throatily. Cuddy climbed onto the bed and lightly straddled
House’s
knees. She dropped forward a bit, giving him a breathtaking view of her
pushed
up cleavage
and ran a lace-covered finger along the straining pouch.
“I think
you’re going to pop it.”
“No
shit,”
House snapped. “You made a promise on that card, so make with
the teeth,
She-Beast.”
At that
Cuddy laughed, letting her giddy arousal echo in the sound. The sight
of nearly
naked
Greg was always a thrill, but the added naughty touch of seeing
the best
part of him bound up in
flame-printed silk was utterly delightful. She
bent
lower and breathed on the pouch as House
groaned, his hands sliding
onto her
shoulders.
“Get
your
jollies now because once I am out of this thing it’s history
. . . oohhhhhhhyeah—“
his
words died away as Cuddy wetly mouthed the thin silk, the heat and
dampness
of her tongue
sending shivers all through his frame. He closed his eyes
for a
moment and Cuddy lightly
nibbled.
Working
slowly,
she nipped at the strap as it rose along his left hip, finding the
little hook
hidden
in the elastic. Carefully, Cuddy managed to undo it, and used
her teeth
to peel back the pouch.
Once the cloth shifted, House’s
turgid shaft flexed
forward, free at last, rising thickly from the
tangle of wiry fur
around the
base and grazing her cheek.
“Nice,”
came her whisper. Cuddy turned her face and deliberately brought her
gloved
hands up
to caress the veiny pillar of his cock. House fought a deep
shudder of
intense pleasure. He
watched her intently, and flexed against the
tickle of
lace against his sensitive flesh.
She
slid
her gloved fingers up and around his prick, teasing it to straining
stiffness,
and House
began to breathe erratically, his own hands tightening on her
shoulders after a few slow
delicious moments of her teasing.
“I
want to
bury myself in you—“ he groaned, “deep.
And stay there all night, Lisa.”
Cuddy
squeezed her eyes shut, fighting tears and the shocking flood of desire
that
surged
through her body. She nodded, her long hair spilling over her
shoulders
as she scooted up and straddled his hips. Carefully House guided
himself
against the hothouse flower of her pussy,
working the thick head of his
shaft
back and forth along the outside of her until the slickness of
her
arousal
drenched him.
“Now—“
she
whispered, her hands sliding around his wide shoulders. “God
Greg, I want you,
please, NOW.”
“No,”
came
his gasp from between clenched teeth. “I need something more,
She-Beast. You
know
what I want.”
“Greg
. .
.” Cuddy whimpered, trying to push herself onto him. House
had a firm grip
around the
head of his cock, holding back, preventing her. She tugged
at his
wrist, her gloved fingers too
small to fully grip it. House used his
other hand
to cup the back of her slender neck and pull her
face to his; as his
mouth
touched hers he spoke again, his voice a quiet plea.
“Say
it! I
KNOW it, Lisa, but God damn it, you’re going to SAY it if you
want me!”
Something
within her soared and burst; Cuddy felt as if a boulder had been rolled
off her
chest.
“I love you Greg. I’ve loved you for a long,
long time,” she gasped,
kissing him frantically.
“Longer than you’ll ever
know. Longer than I want to
admit, okay? And most days I told myself it
was stupid and wrong and
completely
screwed up because you’d never know and even if you
did know
you’d never love
me back. Now for God’s sake FUCK me!”
House
thrust.
Cuddy
grunted, her spine arching as she swiftly sank onto him, mad for the
solid
slick heat of
his arrogant cock, the rub of fur to fur. She locked her
hands
behind his neck, moving her body
in the hard rhythm it demanded, the
pleasurable impalement filling her tightly. House’s
hands
cupped her taut ass,
hands splaying to grip it as he pulled her onto him and his hips rocked
up
into
hers.
“Come
on,
come on sweetheart—“ House urged hoarsely, his
whisper against her cheek
compelling and hungry as he pumped, “Come for me because
I’m not going to last,
not with you
fucking my cock like this . . . . oh God,
Lisa---“
The
sound
of his voice as he pressed his lips to her ear, his normally smug tone
now
desperate and thick with pleasure did it, and Cuddy felt her body
clench and
the slow blissful
waves of raw magic surged through her, rising from
her tender
bud to resonate through every
muscle of her body. She gave one sob,
clinging
tightly to House’s damp chest, burying her face against his
neck as he groaned
and the searing splashes of his orgasm gushed deep within
her.
It was a
few hours later in the quiet darkness of the night that House woke up.
He
smiled into
the darkness, savoring the feel of Cuddy sleeping on him,
splayed
over his chest like a
contented cat.
He had a
plan. Carefully, he reached for her limp right hand and slowly slid the
beautiful lace
glove off, working unhurriedly in the darkness. House
did the
same for the left, and tossed them
to the floor.
Gently
he
shifted her off of him, amid some tiny protests, but she rolled over as
he sat
up and
made his way to the bathroom. By the time he returned she was
curled on
her side, breathing shallowly. House reached down for his pants and
fished in
the pocket. With care, he opened
his pills and popped two, then climbed
back
into bed.
He slid
his
left arm over hers, gliding his fingers down until he reached her hand,
then
very
gently began sliding the ring onto her finger, moving it up until
it
nestled snugly and perfectly on
her hand.
House
curled up behind her, sighing gently.
