Fire and Ice (3 page)

And though I still can't speak, I don't have to. Innes knows me, probably better than I do myself.

"Let's pretend you're Florence Nightingale and I'm a recovering soldier in need of a bit of TLC to enhance my treatment."

The sweet laughter in his voice releases the tension. I'm still bursting with excitement and months and years of suppressed desire, but I feel free now, and happy, to express it.

"Well, I don't have the benefit of a history degree..." I chuckle too as I lean in towards Innes and kiss the corner of his mouth while I move my hand on his erection. He gasps as I go on, "But as far as I know Florence didn't shag the soldiers. She just waved her lamp about a bit and gave them laudanum and all that."

"You can give me more of the medicine you gave me last night… body heat works for me." He rocks his hips, thrusting into my grasp. "It's far more effective than Lemsip or Night Nurse. I feel much better now, and parts of me are 100% again."

No need to single out which parts, obviously. The thick, hard, hot shaft in my hand feels like a 1000% to me.

I thought I was besotted with Innes before I walked into his flat tonight, but suddenly I adore him more than ever. He's a sexy, playful man who's somehow reborn, like a phoenix, from the ashes of forty-eight hour influenza.

Why not have him? Just for Christmas? A gift to myself. At work, things are never going to be the same anyway. It looks like a new job is on the cards now, so why not grasp these moments of crazy paradise while I can? Come the New Year, Innes might well be all business once again.

"But what if the treatment's too rigorous? What if you have a relapse?" I ask, letting my thumbprint slide over the fine, silky skin of his penis. "I'd be lacking in my nursely duties if I made you ill again."

"I'll risk it," he growls, sounding more energetic now than he has done since I walked in the door, "and I can always have a nice rest afterwards, can't I, Nurse Florence?"

"Yes, you certainly could do that." I try to sound airy, but it's difficult when Innes slithers his free arm around me beneath the covers and pulls me down towards him, squashing our two hands, still holding his cock, warm and hot between us. It's not the most elegant of clinches, but it's infinitely erotic as I kiss him hard and hungrily.

Innes' cheeks are stubbly, and the feel of that is unexpectedly piquant. He's such an immaculate man, so smooth and groomed, and here in bed, he's all kinds of raw, delicious and primitive. As we kiss like wild things, I feel a pang of disquiet, wondering what my middle of the night breath tastes like, but it doesn't seem to bother Innes or quell his sudden voraciousness. His own mouth still tastes of whisky toddy, all spicy and honeyed. We wriggle about beneath the weight of bedding, and I'm forced to relinquish his cock as he tips me onto my back and starts to explore me. His hand feels like a firebrand on my midriff as he works it under my jumper and tee-shirt, slithering upwards. He cups my breast through the soft cup of my bra, squeezing gently, his thumb flicking around my nipple through the cotton. I suspect that usually he's a far more sophisticated and circumspect lover, but who needs a virtuoso at a time like this? I start wiggle and drag my heels as energy builds.

We don't say much as we fondle and kiss. We're totally focused, and I sense that Innes wants to channel all his depleted strength into pleasuring me. His hand feels like feverish magic as he sneaks it beneath my bra and strokes bare skin at last, exploring and pleasing. He swaps from breast to breast and back again, teasing and toying with my nipples until I can't think straight, and can't stop twisting around and rubbing my crotch against his hip, his thigh, and his cock. I've never been so excited before a man's even touched my pussy. I usually need quite a bit of extended foreplay. But with Innes I'm all a-fire from the very beginning.

Expertly, he presses a strong athletic thigh between mine, and starts to working himself against me; to and fro, to and fro, rubbing me with hard muscle and warm skin, stirring my clitoris. I'm almost embarrassed how wet I am. I'm a simmering pond down there, a pool of needy moisture that's soaked right through the flimsy cotton of my knickers.

"God, I want you so much, Cally," Innes gasps, the words blurred because his mouth is still pressed to mine, "I want you so much."

Overcome, I howl out then have me! inside my mind.

As if he's heard me, he rocks faster against me, despite all the constriction from the sheets and quilts. His hands slide down and around me, gripping my bottom to hold me closer, work me harder. I slide my arms around him, reciprocating; helping him to help me towards my climax. I can't help but smile. We're as good a team in bed as we are at the office. Maybe better.

Pretty soon, I can't hold out any longer. Not that I want to. My pussy clenches in a hard, deep rhythm and I come. Innes feels my spasms through my knickers and growls and laughs in primitive triumph. My nails dig into his back as the pleasure surges.

While I'm still gasping for air, he rolls away from me, pausing to give my pussy a friendly squeeze, then wiggling an arm out of the covers in the general direction of his bedside cabinet. Ah, condoms, I presume.

He fishes around blindly for a moment, while still trying to kiss my neck at the same time, then lets out a curse as it becomes apparent he can't find them. Goddamnit!

"Haven't you got any?"

"Yes, I have some, but it's a while since I had need of them and they must have go buried."

"Let me look." With my sex still simmering, I half roll, half clamber over him, and my thigh brushes his hot erection as I go. I edge a little way out of the cave of duvet heat and lean over to look in the drawer. It's full of typical male detritus: passport, car documents, an old iPod, but underneath them, I find an open 12 pack of condoms, barely touched. I'll ponder what this might mean about his recent sex life another time. For now, I just want get a contraceptive on him, so I rip the foil off and set to my task.

Innes efforts seem to have tired him, and he lies inert as I enrobe him in latex. "Are you sure you want to do this?" I ask, even though it's blatantly obvious his cock wants to do it, even if the rest of him is flagging.

"Hell yes," he says fiercely, and as if regenerated by a moment's respite, he surges up again, rolls me onto my back again, and rears up over me, duvets and all. "There's still a bit of life in me yet, so don't you worry!" He pauses to give me a rough but pussy melting kiss. "I'll probably be completely knackered afterwards, but it'll be worth it! I've wanted you far too long to let anything stop me now."

For a moment, I feel sad, thinking of months and months of lost opportunities. But then, there's no time and no reason to feel sad, because first I'm wriggling and squirming out of my panties, and then Innes' lovely erection is nudging at my pussy. After a few moments of the manual adjustment dance, he pushes on into me.

And pushes and pushes. God, he's big. Just the way I imagined him during idle moments at the office spent fantasising about what lay inside his elegantly tailored trousers. He's everything he promised to be and more.

Finally, he's right in. Deep. To the hilt. And we both lie still as if adjusting to a whole new world. My mind keeps chanting, "This is Innes. This is Innes. Oh my God, this is Innes" while my heart just croons, "thank you, thank you, thank you."

But pretty soon, my body instinctively rises, pushing against him, wanting to be closer, closer.

"Cally," he groans, not really thrusting, just pushing back. Despite his claims, I know he's still fighting the illness, but desire gives him strength from out of nowhere and enough to give me pleasure, through pressure and friction. As I strain against him, he jerks his hips, and the action knocks my simmering, needy clit.

"Ah… oh… Oh, Innes," I croon his name as orgasm claims me again, so soon, so quick, so deep, so intense. No need for a long extenuated dance of the flesh. He's in me. I love him. So I come.

Gasping and whimpering a lot of wordless nonsense, I arch even harder against him, my body working of its own accord, while my mind is blank but for the white world of pleasure and the single word "Innes". He moves too, kissing my face and my neck, his chest heaving as he drags in long breaths. Bracing himself with one arm, he slides a hand beneath my bottom to hold me closer.

"Oh hell, I wanted this to last. I told myself if it ever happened, I'd make it good for you." His narrow hips buck fast, faster, then furiously as I cling on, gripping his back and his bottom, just as he grips me. "Cally… oh my Cally," he gasps through gritted teeth as he jerks in a desperate rhythm and comes inside me.

The feel of him pulsing sends me soaring yet again.

*** *** ***

Afterwards, it's like having survived a cyclone. I haven't got the flu. I'm in rude good health at the moment. But even I'm completely exhausted by our efforts, so heaven knows how Innes feels.

After he climaxed, he hauled himself off me with an obvious effort, then collapsed beside me, his fingers searching blindly beneath the duvets to lace with mine. There was still strength left in him to hold on tight, really tight. "Oh God," he sighed, then promptly fell asleep.

Not that I can blame him. If ever a man deserved to sleep after sex, it was Innes, now. His performance was above and beyond the call of duty for a man as sick as he's been.

I lie for a while, just holding onto his now relaxed hand like it's the Holy Grail. Either that or the greatest Christmas gift ever, barring none. And it is Christmas now. We've slept and made love through Christmas Eve and now it's the early hours of Christmas Day.

I'm tired. In fact I'm exhausted. But I fight to cling on to consciousness.

This is Innes. I made love with Innes. What's to become of us?

I squelch all thoughts of the future, kiss his shoulder, and then drift off myself.

*** *** ***

Actual morning rolls around, and I'm awake again. The room is still cold when I poke out an experimental limb, but fortunately Innes feels comfortably warm beneath the covers, neither feverish nor chilled. Sleeping easily, he looks like an adorable rumpled angel.

Staring down at his beautiful, sexily stubble-clad face, I make an executive decision. While he sleeps on soundly, I wriggle into the various bits of clothing I took off, then drop a kiss on his cheek, preparing to go.

As I turn away from the bed, his hand shoots out from beneath the duvets and clamps around my wrist, his grip ferocious for a recovering invalid.

"Don't go. Please." His eyes snap open, blue and clear and luminous. "I know it's going to be crap Christmas here in this ice box, but we can always keep warm by staying in bed." His smile is as wicked and playful as I've ever seen it.

I place my free hand over his, on my wrist. "Don't worry. I'm coming back. I'm only going for supplies. I've got a fan heater, and some hot water bottles, and some Christmas dinner stuff I want to bring round." His smile widens, and there's real relief in his eyes. "If we combine our assets, I think we can have a decent little Christmas between us."

Innes draws my hand to his lips and kisses it in a way that makes my knees go wobbly and the rest of me just want to crawl back beneath the duvets with him, double quick. "That's all right then." He winks at me. "I'm all for combining our assets, if last night was a taster." He kisses my hand again, with evident meaning, then releases me. "Hurry back though. I'll miss you while you're gone."

I give him a little wave and dash out of the room, before I say something really, really stupid. He's fond of me, I know, but this is probably the Christmas equivalent of a holiday romance to him. To me, it's a treasured dream, despite the cold, and his flu.

Trying not to think too deeply, I summon a taxi, ride back to my flat, and have a quick shower and change before gathering together the things I think we'll need. Then I stuff everything, along with my weekend bag, into the boot of my car, and hurtle back to Innes' place as fast as I dare on the icy Christmas roads.

Innes sounds bright when I buzz up to be let in, and when I reach his flat, I find him up and shaved and showered. He's bundled up in his dressing gown over a sweatshirt and track pants, and his complexion is a still little bit pale and wan, but his smile is happy.

"You idiot, have you had a cold shower? You'll have a relapse!" I upbraid him as he grabs me for a quick kiss.

"Don't fret, woman. The bathroom's a bit cold, but it's a power shower, so we can get any hot water we need by using that." He hugs me hard.

"Very civilized. But I wish you'd get back to bed and rest. You're still poorly, despite having..." I pause and he quirks a dark brow at me. "Despite you having recovered some of your… er… capabilities." Speaking of which, the way he's holding me tells me that wasn't a fluke.

"Everything's in perfect working order, nurse," he whispers, sliding his hands down to my bottom and holding me against him, "Would you like to check?"

Tempting. Oh so tempting.

But I resist. "I've got stuff to bring in from the car, then I'll see about an inspection, maybe." I give him a stern look as I pull away from him, then wink.

"Let me get my coat and I'll help you."

"No way! There isn't that much. You need to save your strength!"

I see the decisive, always in control Innes of the office longing to assert himself, but then he smiles and shrugs, abandoning macho stubbornness. "Okay, boss," he says, with a twinkling wink, "But is it okay then if I make us a cup of tea and some breakfast while you're bringing in the hoard?"

I give him an old-fashioned look. "All right then, but don't overdo it."

Not long afterwards, we're back in bed, under the covers, eating toast and marmalade and watching a silly film on TV. The fan heater is soughing gently in the corner of the room, and though it's not tropical, the worst of the chill has left the air.

What follows is the strangest Christmas Day ever spent, and the best. Some of it's spent platonically, scuttling between the kitchen and the bedroom, preparing and eating rich but jumbled meals and getting slightly tipsy on seasonal beverages, then goggling mindlessly at daft but traditional television programmes.