Her panties are on the
He’s so slow, and he’s driving her crazy. Crazier, Laura amends to herself in honesty. She always thought she’d cultivated a lot of patience in her life—her career demanded it, and all through the hellish last three years, patience has been rewarded more often than rashness.
He’s kissing her inner ankles, the brush of his lips softer than she’d ever imagined, and Laura is amused to realize her damn ankles are erogenous zones. Really. Her ankles. It’s bizarre and erotic, and she hisses a little.
Bill looks up, his gaze patient as he waits.
“You’re tickling,” she mutters, not wanting to admit the truth. She’s leaning back on her palms, her rump on the edge of his desk, and right now, all she can think about is how sensitive her ankles are.
Then Bill turns his head, and lets his tongue glide up, up, along the inside of her right shin. Startled, Laura shudders, the hot little ripples of pleasure moving over her skin lightly. She feels her flesh react in gooseflesh, feels the first quick pucker of her nipples.
He makes it worse by pulling back and blowing a soft, cool breath right where he’s wetted her skin. She notes he’s got that tiny smirk on his face; the one she’s learned to watch out for. “Billlll----“ she drawls in warning.
“Shhhhhh,” he replies, shifting his attention to her other leg.
And Laura hushes. This isn’t easy for her, this give to his take. It’s all well and good to hold hands, and hug; to stare into each other’s eyes. But this shift into the most basic human drive here at his *desk*, for the Gods’ sake, as if they were a couple of kids; a reckless pair of horny pilots needing to get physical.
But it’s not. For one thing, Bill Adama is dragging this out at it as if he’s got all the time in the world. Hours, damn it, days and *weeks* and he’s only at the inside of her knee now, his warm mouth lingering in ways that have her starting to squirm.
She’s often wondered if this man was any good in bed, and now she’s getting her answer, oh yes.
Laura tries to slow her breathing a little; keep *some* vestige of dignity here. Sure she’s got her legs open, and the Admiral of the Fleet is rubbing his nose along the inside of her thigh, but that’s no reason to let her nails scrabble against the oak desktop as she fights a gasp.
Oh Gods he’s so deliberate! Bill knows what the hell he’s doing, that’s for damn sure. His warm fingers are stroking along the tops of her thighs now, his lips shifting to the thinnest, most sensitive skin on the insides of them. Laura looks down at his head, noting the silver glinting in his hair, and the heat in her stomach pools; grows more urgent.
She closes her eyes as sensation races over her skin, the sweetness right on the edge of unbearable now. He’s evil, toying with her, every caress carefully orchestrated as he licks swirls and curves along the insides of her thighs, dampening them, making her feel ripe and hungry.
It shouldn’t be this damned good, Laura laughs to herself somewhere in the back of her head. They’re older, not running on hormones and high emotion. But maybe that’s exactly why it *is* good, she reconsiders, dimly now because her focus is seriously distracted by the way Bill is letting his tongue slide along the crease where her thigh and hip join, and she moans a little.
“Stop?” he rumbles, shifting his gaze up, his manner polite, but his pupils are wide and Laura sees the sheen along his upper lip.
A surge of heat and lightness lift her heart high in her chest and she feels herself smile as her eyes half-close. “Not a chance.”
Bill bows his head again, shoulders squaring, and lightly, deliberately plants his hands along the insides of her thighs, pushing them wider, opening her to the single light of his desk lamp. She languorously lets him, looking down the length of her body to where her skirt is pushed up to reveal her pale stomach and long thighs, and between them, a neat and still gloriously lush mound of curls.
Vanity, she chides herself for a moment, but old habits stay, and keeping one’s altar to Venus beautiful was one of those mother to daughter lessons that lingered, even when the rest of Hera’s domestic virtues were passed by in favor of a career.
Clearly it’s appreciated when Bill gives a low groan, his breath warm against her glistening cleft. Laura shifts a little, and reaches one hand down to splay her fingers over the delicate tangles; a move both flirtatious and inviting. He’s studying her with such intensity, such wordless focus that she feels very much the goddess for a moment, beckoning his continued worship.
And he is drawn, yes. With a slow close of those hawk-like eyes, Bill bends forward and possessively kisses the tender seam between the curls. His tongue slides out to taste her, gliding along upward in a slow, sure stroke. Laura tenses, her fingers quivering slightly against her furred mound. She’s not sure her other arm is going to hold her up, not with slow sensual licks going on between her thighs.
This is intimacy in a golden pool of light; this exchange of gifts; her body, his caresses. She offers, he worships, moving with control and passion, never rushing in his ruthlessly sweet way. He nibbles, he suckles and shifts now and again to turn his attention to her inner thighs, her petal lips, her glossy fur. Laura can feel her pulse beating in her ears, between the waves of liquid pleasure rolling hotly through her body, and by the time Bill softly kisses that tiny throbbing point of passion, she’s arched like a bow, rising up and offering herself fully.
He cups his hands around her ass, warm and strong, riding out her cries and tremors, staying gentle against her body, his mouth open and soft, savoring the feast.
When Laura slumps back, dazed, that’s the only moment when she’s almost afraid to meet his eyes. But she does, blinking slowly, skirt still high, hips damp and body already cooling now.
He looks back up at her in an expression of private adoration, and very gently, Bill Adama lays his weathered cheek against her thigh.