|Chloe Rose Montgomery // Demeter (_demeter) wrote in greek_swim,|
@ 2008-12-05 07:56:00
|Entry tags:||apollo, demeter|
Apollo/Victor and Demeter/Chloe: Morning After
Who: Apollo/Victor and Demeter/Chloe
Where: Victor's apartment
When: Friday morning
What: Hangovers and conversations the morning after their date
Rating: PG-13ish. Some cursing and suggestive imagery. xD
The smell of a eggs scrambled in a sauteing mix of bell peppers, onions, and mushrooms, alongside that of bacon, and pancakes in neighboring pans filled the apartment Victor had come to call home. He had been cooking for a little while, cheerily preparing breakfast for his guest, who had basically taken over his large bed despite her small frame. He'd left her there, in his room, with a grin, his golden hair tussled as he put on a robe good-naturedly, used to naturally rising as the sun came up.
The evening had been a lovely one, good wine, excellent food, and -- most importantly -- superb company coming together to make for an altogether memorable experience. They had had fun at the club, before finally making it back to his place and... well, there they were. He smiled at the memory as he flipped some of the pancakes, humming to himself as he did so.
It was that delicious smell that called Chloe back from her dreams and into the waking world. She blinked awake slowly while stretching before a pretty and confused frown formed at the sight of her unfamiliar surroundings. The walls were definitely not those of her hotel room and the fact that she was naked beneath the nest of blankets she'd somehow collected around herself lent itself to the heavy probability she had not spent the night alone. She sat up, rolling her neck as she surveyed the room, the memories of the previous evening slowly seeping back into her somewhat hungover brain. Victor. The club. And the many enjoyable hours after their date.
Climbing off the mattress, Chloe smirked at the sight of rather respectable amount of condoms in the garbage and paused only to scoop up his discarded shirt which she threw on then half-buttoned before following her nose out to the kitchen. Hair disheveled and make-up slept away, she knew she must be a sight to see but her stomach was protesting too much to allow time for a quick shower. "Mornin'" the petite blonde yawned, her voice filled with a heavy Texan accent. "You been up for long?"
She looked like a goddess. Victor couldn't recall -- in recent memory or otherwise -- a woman he had seen who just glowed so much after waking up. She was gorgeous, and he had to force himself not to tackle her and put off breakfast for a bit longer. "Good morning, sunshine," he said, smiling brightly. "Haven't been up for too long," he said. "Did you sleep well?"
He gestured toward the stove and the plethora of items cooking on it. "I wasn't sure what you might like for breakfast, so I made a bit of a few things," he said. The kitchen was, however, for its part, remarkably clean for the number of things he had made and ingredients he had used. Victor was quite keen on cleaning up as he went while he cooked, so that the only things left out scattered about the counter were a list of ingredients, a handful of ingredients he hadn't yet finished with (eggs, butter, blueberries), a couple of spatulas, and -- off in the corner -- his journal, which he'd thumbed through before starting to cook.
Not that she would have minded any postponement of their meal but breakfast - and some aspirin - were first on her list. The diminutive blonde smiled back at him as she tossed back the long, messy curls over her shoulder and made her way to his side, stealing a blueberry as she went. Chloe popped it into her mouth then surveyed the offerings. "I slept very well, thank you. Your bed's quite comfortable." Hazel eyes lit once more when she teasingly ran her fingers along his arm and bumped her hip against his. "Not often I get people cookin' for me, though. Usually it's the other way around." She wrinkled her nose sweetly before tossing a dash of salt into the nearest pan when Victor wasn't looking. "Everythin' looks wonderful. Thank you." Stretching on her tiptoes, Chloe pressed her lips to his cheek almost chastely, though the way tiny digits played with the sash of his belt was most certainly not innocent.
Victor chuckled at her cooking comment, and when he felt her lips pressed to his cheek his arms went around her, holding her gently. "I'm glad you slept well," he said, though, as far as beauty-rest went, she certainly didn't need it. She was a picture of beauty in and of herself as it was, even in this recently-woken state. "You're very welcome, and thank you," he said, happy that she seemed pleased with the breakfast selection. His fingertips traced over her back, on top of her shirt, quite contented to have her close. "Are you thirsty? Can I get you something to drink? Can I get you anything at all?" he inquired, wanting her to be comfortable and feel at home.
He radiated a warmth she could bask in for days. Comfortable and reassuring; sensual and soft. Chloe was likewise content and reciprocated his hold, though it was around his strong shoulders that her arms landed. "I hope you slept well, too," she nearly purred, snuggling in closer to his embrace. The robe was nice though from what she remembered, having his bare chest pressed to hers wasn't bad either. "Coffee would be wonderful. And some aspirin, if you've got it... though I can wait on both for a bit." One golden brow lifted suggestively as her eyes sparkled with the same mischievous mirth she'd shared with him the night before. "Is there anything I can get you, my generous host?"
Victor grinned slightly, nodding at her. He felt inexplicably, indescribably delighted at her presence, as though she herself was the embodiment of perfection. With one hand, he reached behind himself, opening a cabinet and reaching up above his head, taking a bottle and shaking it, rattling inside indicating that it was the correct one. "Aspirin," he said, offering her the bottle. "And coffee will be ready in a few minutes. I just have to set it to brew," he added, smiling at her brightly. He grinned at her suggestiveness, his fingers continuing to trace over her back. "I have everything I need right here," he said, giving her a light squeeze.
She watched as he retrieved the medication then offered the blond man another grin of her own as she took the bottle then placed it on the nearby counter. "My hero," Chloe cooed then chuckled. He really was a dear. Sweet and suave; a charmer whose powers and technique would only get better with age. That, added to his handsome face, and no woman stood a chance. When his fingers brushed along the base of her spine the downward, it sent a chill shooting up her back. Oh, those magical hands... The petite Texan had to bite back a whimper as she pressed closer to him, ignoring the way her body's hunger was beginning to shift from food to him. "You have everythin', huh?" she laughed then nipped at his jaw, closer to his lips then where she'd kissed him before. Victor didn't seem to be minding the interruption. "You don't mind me borrowin' your shirt, do you? I figured my dress from last night would be a bit too much but I can change." The shiny, purple number she'd sported to the club was still on the floor of his room. At least, that's where she hoped it was. For all she knew, it could have been tossed out the window and was now serving as a stray dog's bed after he'd peeled it from her body the night before.
"Aw, please," he said, almost sheepishly, feeling excitement growing in him at her presence, and trying to think on other things -- he focused on the last baseball game he had seen, trying to clear his head, a technique that seemed to work almost all of the time, but was not proving so effective at the moment. What was it about her? What was it about the way she cooed, the way she chuckled, the way her lovely blonde tresses waved gently every time she moved her head? He could not place it, did not know what it was that was so familiar about her, why she stood out so in his mind -- and not that he was about to complain about it. One of his hands continued its movements over her back, while the other chanced a touch to her hair, patting down along the lengths of the blonde locks from roots to tips in an intimate fashion. "Don't mind at all," he said. "And help yourself if you want to get something more comfortable. I have tee shirts in the room, too, if you'd like that," he added, wanting her to be comfortable, above all else.
"I kinda like the shirt I'm wearing, if that's all the same to you." Beneath the lingering smell of smoke, there was him: the musky scent of male mixed with a touch of cologne and, she would swear to it, sunshine. Youth and beauty, strength and sensuality. Everything that had drawn her to the author in the first place. Still smirking like Alice's cheshire cat, Chloe took a step closer to Victor, pressing herself fully to his broader frame. "I'm not going to end up in one of your books, am I?" the blonde asked with eyes dancing and another petal-soft laugh. She honestly didn't believe he would, but writers were a tricky breed who did draw inspiration from many real life experiences. "'The Goddess of Glyfada' or something along those lines? Just so long as it's flattering and not too revealing. Otherwise, I'll have to extract some revenge by naming some horrid recipe after you. Some bland, over-rated, done-in-ten-minutes dish," Chloe teased then began to twist a lock of dusty blond hair at the nape of his neck around her finger as she dropped her other hand to fiddle once more with the belt of his robe. She wouldn't be so cruel but Jesus, how she loved playing games again! He rejuvenated her; made her feel young and carefree... and cherished. Like a long awaited wish finally come true.
Victor smiled at her, her very smirk screaming of familiarity to him, picking flowers in fields -- she smelled of poppies. He chuckled, managing to return her smirk, suavely, blue eyes alight with mirth. "Sounds like a catchy erotic piece, with a title like that," he said, giving her a playful sigh. "But, alas, if you insist," he said, throwing up a hand in mock-disappointment. "After all, I can't have a ten-minute dish named after me. That's almost quickie status, there," he said, the last word with a half-growl. And really, why did she have to tease him so? He was getting quite hot under the collar -- images danced in his head he could see the rich green fields, filled with bright flowers of every kind, could hear her sighs as she looked off into the distance, despondent, could hear the sound he knew was coming from the plectrum between his fingers picking at each string of his instrument -- his lyre -- as he tried to play something to lift her spirits -- as if something like that could, but still, he would try to do what he could for her. He blinked, trying to will back the images again, his eyes refocusing on the then and there, and not the... whatever that had been. His eyes shot to the journal sitting on the counter, not three feet away from them, for a split second, before returning to her.
Filled with happiness and a gentle playfulness as soft as the spring breeze, Chloe's laughter rang out again. A catchy erotic piece indeed, considering what they'd shared the two days they'd been together. Her smile faded, however, when the little blonde watched his face shift. "You okay?" she asked, moving the hand from the back of his neck to cradle his cheek in an affectionate manner. "You still there, hun? You seemed a million miles away for a minute." Not miles, minutes. A million minutes, or hours, days, years away. Lost in time, that was how he'd looked. There'd been something, a shadow but not, that his crossed his beautiful features. Something light, not dark, full of power that sent another series of shivers dancing along her spine. Something she recognized.
As he came back to himself, Chloe continued to frown prettily up at the author; stroking her thumb over his cheekbone in a fashion more maternal than seductive. "Victor?" the Texan said softly but even as she did, the name felt wrong as it spilled from her lips, much as it had the night before when she'd called out to him in esctasy. "What is it?"
Victor blinked, shaking his head, trying to shake the feelings and and images from his mind, trying to put the sounds aside, but there was her voice, light as a breeze through those far-spanning fields. He tried to focus on her, even her frown spoke of familiarity, so pretty and gentle -- maternal, almost. "Something," he said, trying to get it together. "I'm so sorry. I just keep seeing things, hearing things. That probably sounds crazy," he said. "Like, I'm somewhere else, sometime else, but that doesn't make any sense at all. It's been happening since I got here --" alright, if he took the time to think on it, it had been happening since as far back as he could remember, but he was not going out on that limb. That was just not the sort of thing you did with a beautiful woman in close proximity. "Maybe it's something in the water, I don't know. Maybe its just the Crown from last night." Yes, blame it on the alcohol, a pseudo-hangover, or something. He nodded, as though that would fix everything. "Yes, perhaps I just need an aspirin myself." He tried to shrug it off, offering her a smile.
"Not as crazy as you'd think," Chloe - Demeter - replied. She understood all too well. Hearing things, seeing things, remembering things. The visions that took her far away to the fields with her daughter; to the mountains in solitude; to Olympus and everywhere in between. Hazel eyes filled with sympathy as she took in his confusion and tried to sooth it away with gentle strokes of fingers over his cheeks. "And you shouldn't be havin' hallucinations with your hangovers. I don't think that's a good sign," the diminutive blonde added with a warm chuckle, trying to lighten the mood.
It shifted back the instant her gaze traveled to wear his had gone before. Laying not too far away was a black journal. For an instant, she thought it to be her own before realization dawned. Still frowning, Chloe moved from his arms over to the book and flipped open the cover with a knowing flick of the wrist. The nameplate; she knew she would find it. He was part of this, too. Of course, he was. He was... Her brow draw in confusion and fingertips lightly danced over the Greek symbols. "The Sun Son," she whispered and lifting her head turned back to stare at Victor. No... not Victor. Before her stood a radiant youth who glowed from head to fingertip; whose warmth she could feel ghosting over her skin even across the room. Deep, soulful eyes and a head of gold, he wasn't the man she'd bedded the night before. He wasn't an author but a poet, a musician, a healer. The Shining One. "Phoebus... Apollo."
He regarded her with a puzzled look, but let the first comment pass without interjection of his own. "There are worse things than hallucinations, I'm sure," he said, though the statement trailed off at her actions. Victor blinked again as she took the journal that had sent his head spinning, the thing he'd tried to stay away from, tried to get rid of and put aside, but still kept managing to turn up everywhere, almost as if it was trying to get his attention. The name on her lips seemed so familiar -- it was his name! -- no, that was absolutely ludicrous. He'd read the myths, studied the works of Homer and they'd even cropped up when he'd read Keats in his college English class. They were just stories the ancients had come up with to fit in with their primary-causality worldview. But why did that explanation not seem satisfactory to him? The suave smile had faded from his lips, replaced with a frown of confusion, as he looked at her questioningly. "Rich-haired Demeter?" he knew not where the words came from, or why they came unbidden to his lips, and -- perhaps more than that -- why they sounded so right in reference to the beautiful blonde in front of him.
All she could do was nod. No words came as the petite blonde stared at him from across the kitchen for a few, long silent moments before dainty hands began to page through the journal until she spied her own familiar script. Her last entry. Chl- Demeter held it out to him but kept her other hand tightly balled at her side, willing herself not to touch him. Remember Iasion. And she did. The youth, another son of the Thunder God who she'd seduced at the wedding of Cadmus and Harmonia who was struck down by his father's lightning for laying with the goddess. No longer one of Zeus' lovers, but forever one of his loves, to give into temptation and take his favored son to bed, even now, would be insanity if not suicide. Everything the golden-haired woman had felt towards Victor - Apollo! - on the beach had increased tenfold. An age difference was one thing, something just enough to add a bit more flavor to the affair but this... being who they were meant it should not happen again no matter how much she desired it.
"I... I am she," the bountiful goddess replied when her voice, though still shaky, returned. "Or so I've been told. There are others with those books, others like us." She swallowed hard and tore her eyes from his face as she spoke, choosing to focus on the countertop instead. "That's what Per-Kore... Anne! - Jesus, I don't even know what to call anyone anymore," the blonde sighed then started over. "I found my daughter and she's the one who told me what it meant. That that's why we've been seeing and hearing and dreaming what we have. We're them and they're us." With a deep breath, her hazel gaze lifted once more. "I am Demeter. You are Apollo."
Victor -- Apollo? -- swallowed, reaching forth and taking the journal as she offered it, his eyes scanning the page quickly, then looking back at her. He caught a glance of her as he entered the throne room, a rare sight at Olympus, and he tried not to let his eyes roam back to her. But he could feel her presence, could feel the warmth of the fields and flowers coming off of her, almost. She herself was a flower, soft and -- he stopped himself from thinking such things. "How can this be..." his words trailed off, an almost-question, but not quite, as though the realization was dawning on him, the gravity of things intensifying.
...and he'd slept with her. "Oh, fuck," he mumbled, barely audible, his free hand going to his hair as he put the journal down. He needed whiskey. "Who else is here?" he asked. And that was the real question, wasn't it? Who else had made their way there?
"Not him," the diminutive woman said quickly, hoping to put the younger man at ease. "At least, not that I know of. I've only met Kore. And Tristan - but I don't know who he is. Was." She shook her head, sending the blonde curls dancing about her shoulders. "Other than that, I think, um Hecate. And... Hades." The last name was nearly growled though she managed to keep some of her dignity about her. "But not him. Not Zeus. Not that I've seen or heard. I think Kore said something about Ares and Eris and some kind of coup, but I don't have any memory of that." Just darkness. And pain. She couldn't stop the pain. Couldn't ignore it, couldn't make it disappear no matter how hard she willed it gone. The wound still wept blood, warm and wet as it flowed from her belly to her hands as she clutched at herself. Voices floated around her, buzzing like her bees but none were able to penetrate the hazy that surrounded her mind. Not until his fingers, soft and magical touched her flesh, bringing comfort and relief briefly before the darkness came.
Demeter hadn't realized she was clutching her side, phantom pains and images haunting her once more until hazel met stormy blue once more. "You remember, too." It wasn't a question. "You remember... us. A-And how this shouldn't have happened." Both arms wrapped about her smaller frame now, holding herself more to keep from touching him than defending herself against him. The urge was strong, to take advantage of the situation while they still could and claim ignorance later - if there was indeed a later to be worried about - still, she resisted. But for how much longer, she didn't know.
"Oh." Vic--Apollo knew better than to make comment on the names, as she'd listed them, and noticed the change in her tone. Best to leave that alone. He was, however, concerned as he saw her clutching her side, his concern shifting to her and away from -- well, to be quite frank, his own ass and how he did not want it to be fried by a thunderbolt -- that would be tragic, since it was such a nice ass, really, and he rather liked it the way it was.
He placed a hand on her shoulder. "Are you alright?" he asked, concern on his features, in the depths of his blue eyes as he looked at her. He sat in his throne, in the vast hall of Olympus where they'd all assembled. He could see her there, his eyes scanning the faces, stopping instantly as they met a pair of dark, hate-filled ones. Where had he seen those eyes before? They seemed familiar. He tried to shake the feeling, tried to focus elsewhere, but found his thoughts going to how very much he would like to take her back to his room while he could...
The golden head bobbed once, quickly. She was fine. She was fine. There was nothing wrong, not physically, at least. "I'm okay, thank you. Just an old injury acting up. From before." Hazel was a bit cloudier than before, rimmed with the dissipating fear and pain though they darted to his hand once it was placed on her shoulder. Nimble fingers danced over the instrument in his lap, entrancing her. They conjured up images as easily as they did notes: those same fingers brushing over her cheek, through the long cascade of gold.
Another frown came to her lips as she captured his hand and began to guide it lower. Over the small bump of her collarbone, the thrum of her heart, the soft swell of her breast whose peak strained for more of his touch against the material of the borrowed shirt before finally coming to the place the phantom pain radiated. There was nothing there of course; no gushing wound, no scar hidden under the material. Nothing but memories. "I never thanked you. For helping me. For healing me. I never had the chance." From battlefield to the horrid pit, it was a blur of agony and terror. Darkness. Tight spaces. She couldn't thrive in either. Demeter knew the risk she was taking, they both were taking, if they were to give in to the temptation that was nearly palpable between them.
He had always been infatuated with her, had always looked forward to seeing her, ever since he could remember, even from a young age. He would play his lyre for her, his fingers dancing on the strings, across the instrument, hoping she would like it. He tried to focus on the present, even as more images came forth, the floodgates opened, as her hand guided his to that spot. She was hurt, hurt by the same woman who had hunted down his mother, and he could feel both concern and anger, wanting to make sure that she was alright, and likewise wanting to make sure that no one ever hurt her again. He wanted to heal her, wanted to do anything he could to make it better, and he focused, willing the healing to complete, willing the pain to go away...
"You never needed to thank me for anything, nor will you ever," he said, his other hand going up to her cheek.
Hazel eyes fluttered shut at the added touch and she basked in the warmth he provided while nuzzling his palm sweetly. There was so much that could go wrong, so much that was wrong and yet... She opened her eyes to gaze fully at his face once again with a small frown. They couldn't continue this. No matter how much they both desired it. Her free hand lifted and pressing to his chest, slipped under the warm fabric of his robe to lay over his heart. "I don't need to, but I will," Demeter said softly. Standing on tiptoe, she kissed his cheek fleetingly, afraid of consequences should it be drawn out. "Both for the past... and last night. I know you'd planned breakfast," the blonde said, motioning toward the stove, "but if you would prefer I leave while you sort things out, I understand."
The feel of her lips on his cheek, of her skin on his, of any contact from her, really, left him instinctively wanting to reach up and touch his cheek, longing for just another instance of touch. He restrained himself, however, resolved, offering her as much of a smile as he could muster and a kiss of his own, to her forehead. "You're welcome," he said, with a soft sigh. He looked at her, for a moment, regarding her words. "Not at all--" He paused. "I just--" Why was it so difficult to find the words he wanted to say? How he wanted to reach up, his fingers pushing that curtain of lovely golden tresses back behind her ear, to cup her cheek and claim her lips with his -- but he could not. He would not. "I'm afraid of what more I want to do with each passing moment that you're near," he said, honestly.
The goddess' golden head bobbed once in understanding. She, too, was afraid of the 'what more' especially now that they'd - yes, even unknowingly - crossed a barrier that should not have been crossed between the two of them. To act on their impulses, now that they knew who the other was should be unfathomable... and yet, Demeter wanted to follow him back to bed. To worship him as he ought to be, and be worshiped in return by those large, gentle hand that had filled her with such pleasure the night before. She would not listen to the stories of his escapades. Would not listen to the giggles and sighs of the silly young things who danced in her fields and gossiped about time spent with the young, poetic god. It was ridiculous to envy them in the slightest bit; she who was a goddess and love of Zeus.
A hard blink was followed by a hard swallow and the blonde took a step back to put space between them; but effectively trapped herself between him and the counter instead. "We both know we can't," Demeter said softly as she pulled the material of the borrowed shirt closer to herself. "But... that doesn't mean we can't enjoy a friendly breakfast together." They were both adults. They could control themselves. Hopefully.
Control themselves? But what if he didn't want to? He'd yearned for her since he'd known what it was to yearn for a woman, had wanted beyond what he could fathom to take those strands of gold between his fingers and press his lips to hers while their bodies were close.
"Mmm... breakfast..." The words were half-interested, and he was suddenly quite aware of her position against the counter. With one step, he closed the gap between them, a thing of instinct, more than thought -- for to have thought such things and acted on them would be madness -- and he reached up and pushed her hair behind her ear, as he'd wanted to for so long. "Why can't we?" he asked.
Demeter's breath caught as he pressed closer, so warm, so strong and young and powerful... And her heart damn near stopped when he ran his glorious fingers through her hair. A drawn out moan slipped from her lips and the blonde felt her determination to refuse him wane. "We can't because... because of Zeus. If he finds out..." But what if he didn't find out? There was no proof he was even here, after all. And if he was, he'd be as mortal as them which meant no hurling of thunder bolts. Her eyes flashed with renewed heat; her fingers curling then scratching lightly at his chest. "I'm not goin' to deny I enjoyed myself last night - a lot - but are you sure?" she asked, voice slipping back into a more pronounced accent that belayed her apprehension as well as her resolution. "Are you sure you want this? I'm not lookin' for a relationship; I don't know how long I'm goin' to be here but... I'm willin' to continue this, whatever this is, if we're careful."
"Where is he?" he asked, looking at her. "There's no way he's going to find out, and even if he does, we can feign ignorance," he reasoned, his fingers starting to play with her hair as he inched closer, ever so slightly. If anything, he was something of an expert in staying in his father's good graces -- or at the very least relative good graces. He had not earned the status of one of Zeus's favored sons for no reason, after all. There was something about it, though, something about the danger of the situation that made it all the more erotic, and the sexual energy in the air was electrifying. "I've never been the relationship kind," he said, "and we can be careful, if you'd like. Why don't we see how much more you can enjoy yourself?" his tone was suggestive, voice low and husky as he leaned close to her ear to speak.
The soft purred sounded once more when she dropped her hand from his chest to the sash of his robe. With a quirked brow and a sultry smirk of challenge, Demeter deftly undid the knot then trailed her fingers down the juncture between his torso and thigh. "I'm up to it if you are," she chuckled, pressing herself against him more tightly. So much like his father. More than a shadow, for he couldn't be dark. Not with that radiance that surrounded him. "Do you think breakfast will keep or should we just plan on catchin' a late lunch sometime this afternoon?"
"We can see about lunch later on..." Apollo said, with a little smirk on his lips, his other hand moving to her hip, caressing it, moving up to her waist, pulling her closer still. "But you know I'll be up for it..." in fact, he was getting up for it as the words left his lips. He could feel the excitement, could feel that warm tingle like fire, even stronger than before. His lips moved to hers.
Her smile blossomed, full and bright as his mouth claimed hers once again, filling her with delicious warmth the shot from her lips to her belly before settling lower. One delicate hand drew his to the line of buttons that kept her shirt close, willing him to rid her of the material while the kiss deepened. He tasted like sunshine, like the sweetest melody ever created. "Apollo," the golden haired goddess whimpered his name, a simple prayer of desire and lust. "You need to turn the stove off 'cause I really don't want to be interrupted by any Greek fire fighters once we get back into your bedroom." If they got there; with the way they were pawing at each other, burning for each other, she wouldn't be surprised if they cooked up something else in his kitchen.
Apollo almost chuckled, smiling onto her lips as he sucked on the bottom one, his hands making work of the buttons, moving over them almost expertly (it was his shirt, after all!) and had they given him any trouble, he would have torn them right off the garment. "Demeter," he said, once the last button was undone, one of his hands reaching toward the stove to turn it off, "I think you're right." Once that task was done, however, his hand returned to her, and he took her in his arms, picking her up in one swift movement, carrying her back toward the bedroom, his lips once more on hers, hungrily.