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Polarity	By : dragonslover1 Category: +A through F > Enslaved: Odyssey to the West Views: 2444 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: “Enslaved: Odyssey to the West” is owned by Namco Bandai, Ninja Theory, and more distantly, Wu Cheng’en. I am not profiting from this fanfiction.

Chapter List
- 1-Polarity
- 1
Polarity

From the very beginning, Trip had depended on him. She needed him—and she’d accepted this from the first moment. The decision had been difficult to make, warring with her good-natured side, but enslaving him had been the only way she could ensure he would help her.

She hadn’t been expecting all this. Point of fact, she hadn’t expected much from him at all, besides that he would protect her to safeguard himself. And yet, during their down time and during exceptionally harrowing moments, she’d found herself both leaning on him more than she’d though she would. . .and coming to fear for his safety.

Somehow they’d bonded. She was using him, but she cared for him. He was caged by her, but he was being gentle with her.

Trip could describe this in a number of technological terms: magnetism, opposites attract, positive and negative, gravity, polarity. . . All of them being two contradictive substances that somehow requires the other to function. She needed his strength, his power, to stay safe. He needed her technological intelligence to give him an edge.

In the end, they’d managed to end Pyramid’s enslavement—by working together. Neither of them would have made it even half this far alone. Her, because she simply couldn’t survive on her own, she didn’t have the physical strength or knowledge of the wilderness needed; him, because it was her knowledge and tools that taught him how to fight against the more advanced mechs—and because he wouldn’t have cared to do anything on his own without some fatalistic reason.

They seemed to be constantly drawn to each other, revolving around one another. It eventually reached the point where she would reach for him, and even if he wasn’t looking, he would come back to her, or he wouldn’t see the mech coming at him and she would distract it for him. She was always on the lookout for further weaknesses of the mechs and landscapes, trying to make things as easy as possible for him.

It was the least she could do—she had enslaved him, after all. . .

And yet, when her conscience finally got the better of her and she turned the headband off—freeing him—he’d told her to turn it back on. Underneath that order, she’d heard a desperation in his tone. What was he afraid of? Being alone? Being apart from her? Or was he worried for her safety, if he wasn’t there to watch out for her?

Whatever the reason, her heart had skipped a beat. Maybe she’d been reading too much into it, but she’d seized the opportunity. She hadn’t wanted to let him go anyway; a part of her was stuck to him, attached firmly. She feared that if he’d chosen to leave then, he’d break a piece of her off and she’d never get it back.

But he’d chosen to remain shackled to her, as if he’d die without her. And she was so inexperienced with romance that her mind had begun instantly weaving scenarios before her eyes: the two of them side by side, holding hands, then kissing, then laying together under a starry sky, then with a rough-and-tumble boy between them, the spitting image of his father. . .

If he’d asked her to strip then and there, she would have done it, consequences be damned. But he didn’t. He didn’t ask anything of her, in fact. For a few moments, at that time, she’d felt bitterly disappointed. And then she’d decided that if she wanted him and he wanted her, well, someone would have to make the first move.

In hindsight, she’d perhaps shown too much eagerness. She did, after all, practically throw herself on him. She couldn’t really be blamed for that, though, right? She’d been attracted to him from the start, this huge, hard man all decked out with masculinity and muscles and scars. Back when she’d put the headband on him, she’d first felt him over for broken bones or other wounds, relieved when she found none. . .and tingling a little from the feel of him.

She’d felt it again then, when his arms went around her, holding her against him as they kissed. It was then that she fully registered the heat of him, and how heavy he really felt. So much raw power was in him, and yet, he was so careful with her. His hands alone could have snapped her bones without difficulty—instead, they cradled her, as though he feared just that scenario.

It was insane, but it was happening. By all logics, she should be with a man who was skilled with mechanics, not with destroying mechanics. She was tall for a woman, but she was dwarfed by him. He was so large and broad that he could have swallowed her up if he’d just bring up his knees.

And she loved it.

Something raw and primal in her demanded that she leave some form of mark on him, and maybe that was what had driven her to put the headband on him. In retrospect, perhaps she’d wanted him all along, and not just to get back home. No, what she’d wanted was what she was getting now: a tangible, dangerous, protective, fierce man.

Yet she didn’t know exactly what he wanted. Her, yes; that was obvious. But what else? He knew her, didn’t he? He wasn’t confusing her with some conjured image he’d constructed in his own head?

The kissing had grown heavy then, and soon they were grasping at each other with fervor. She’d felt every heavy beat of her heart as it sped up, sending heat to every last part of her. With a measure of shock, she realized she was being dominated by the same man she’d just dominated. The power play was something like a drug, and without any verbal confirmation, they began to shift sides.

Almost playfully, they’d rolled, pushed, pulled, nipped and licked and teased. It was more than just passion, it was fun—a game she was beginning to understand would never end.

It could, however, be put on hold.

It seemed like the moment she began touching him the way she wanted to, Pigsy sent an alert through the comm system, requesting that they rotate driving the Leviathan between sleeping. Since Monkey had no idea what to do and Pigsy was tired from driving it all day already, Trip obligingly went to the main deck to take over.

Pigsy went right to sleep, but Monkey stayed up with Trip. They talked as she “drove”, about their pasts, about this crazy adventure they’d been on, about what they would do after. The last subject made her nervous, and she was surprised when he simply shrugged and said, “I’m bound to you, ain’t I?”

He only explained himself enough to say that where she went, he would go too. He had nowhere he called home, nowhere he needed to be. Having been a drifter his entire life, he had no ties to anything except his tools, his weapons, his bike—and now, her.

To her exaggerating mind, that was as good as a proposal. She said nothing about it, though, merely joked that she might take over Pyramid and see what comes of it.

At the time, she had no idea how close she’d come to the truth. Because once she unplugged that machine-man, she’d experienced a wave of regret. There was so much knowledge here, so much lost technology. It was a tragedy to let it go to waste, and so, despite her hatred of this place, a part of her began coming up with ways to salvage what she could, once the building was a husk.

For a long moment after Monkey got her to stop, they stood together, and her shock began to fade. She heard herself asking the same question over and over—“Did I do the right thing?”—but there was no answer to be given. When she could finally see again, she was looking straight at his chest.

She noted that he was breathing, and in that second, she no longer cared if she’d done the right thing. He was still alive, still with her. He wasn’t demanding she turn the headband off so he could abandon her. He wasn’t chastising her or yelling at her. He—

Wasn’t in Pyramid anymore, and neither was she. She glanced around to get her bearings, her memories slowly unfurling behind her eyes. When the people below had begun sounding outraged, he’d snatched her up and darted from the building. Now they were in an overgrown area, sitting, his arms around her, and she could see a desert off in the distance. Pyramid was out there—behind that mountain, maybe?—but Monkey had taken her from there.

She felt herself smile just a little. The moment a threat presented itself, he’d reacted, taking her over a mountain while she’d still been in shock. It didn’t take a genius to figure out where his priorities were. And her mind was still reeling, overwhelmed by everything that had happened in the last few weeks. Her, kidnapped. Her family, dead. The desire for revenge. Pigsy’s death. The truth behind Pyramid. And through it all, a new truth, forcing its way into her mind.

Holding onto Monkey like this, all but drowning in his strength and the heat radiating off him, she felt that truth solidify. She didn’t just need him, not anymore. Now. . .or perhaps all along. . .she loved him. Gruff as he’d once been, rebuffing everything about her, she would’ve thought she’d grow to hate him. But he’d surprised her. The odd, quiet curiosity he displayed when she spoke about mechs, his adaptation to the improvements she made on the headband, the gentle way he handled her now. . .

“Monkey,” she moaned, her arms tight around his waist, keeping herself pressed as close to him as she could.

“Y-yeah?” was his answer, his deep voice vibrating his chest. He flicked a few strands of her hair.

Trying to distract himself? She hummed, demanding her previous courage to come back. No more uncertainties, she told herself. She lifted her head, caught his gaze. They had the same thing in mind, she could tell; heat was banked there, turning his blue eyes darker. Her mouth opened, closed, unable to think of any words.

Fuck it.

Deciding to just take what she wanted, she rose to her knees, her hands seizing his face. Without warning, she dove in, kissing him again. He met her halfway—maybe there had been warning—his arms winding around her. Soon she was desperate to get closer, sliding her arms around his neck and legs straddling him. Nothing would stop them now. She wouldn’t let it stop.

Then something new and startling happened: she felt his tongue dart across her lips. She gave a jolt at the feeling, liking it even as she puzzled over it. Was that. . .normal? Curiosity rose within the passion, leading her to mimic the move on him. Only he didn’t just let her lick him—he met her tongue with his own. He groaned; she shuddered. Oh, yes, that was normal. And she liked it.

Her body only grew hotter as this continued, Trip finally, blessedly, learning the art of passion. She’d never kissed more than a peck or two in her life, having no idea that more could even be achieved. But Monkey had known and now he was showing it to her.

She was fully prepared to submit herself to more lessons.

She hadn’t noticed him take off his gloves, but suddenly his hands were on her without the cold shock of metal. Those hands ran up her sides, back down, up again. It almost felt like he was asking permission to move on—or preparing her for what came next.

A hand found the top of her shirt and yanked it down. She gasped into the kiss, a trickle of fear going through her; he redoubled the pressure of his mouth. Her top was bunched at her waist now, her naked breasts against the heat of his skin. Nothing like this had ever happened to her before. . .and she liked this, too. She shivered against him, her fingers diving through his spiky hair and grasping tight, moans easing from her throat.

This. . .this was Heaven.

Then her hips began shifting, seeking. . .something. She wasn’t sure what, but there was a kind of emptiness inside her that she wanted filled. A call for mating, she wondered? Probably. She pressed harder against him, growing drunk on the sensations which kept coursing through her. His mouth, his tongue, his rough hands, his hard chest—she loved it all.

“Trip,” he breathed then, when their mouths were apart for a split second.

She moaned in response, devouring his mouth. Next was a cry of disappointment as he arched his back, putting space between their chests. She didn’t want space, damn it, she wanted more—

More was given. Oh, lord. . .

His fingers spread across one breast, his other mapping her spine. Her breath caught, electric jolts singing through her veins. She shuddered again, but this was a good sign. More and more of those jolts rent her as his fingers moved, seeking, holding, massaging, testing. Heat burned between her legs, aching and demanding and needing.

“Monkey,” she heard herself say, voice tortured and full of craving. “More.”

This time, he shuddered. More pressure assaulted her breast, his mouth all the more firm against her own. It didn’t last very long, though, and then he moved. Before she knew what was happening, she was bent over his arm, his moist mouth sliding down her chest. Anticipation both purred through her and pained her, and then his mouth was all over her breasts and she yelped at the sudden onslaught of pleasure.

Quivers raced through her, shocked at how much she was enjoying this. She let her head fall back, not the least bit worried that she might fall; she trusted him. Oh, did she trust him. A hand was secure and steady between her shoulders, taking her weight without so much as a waver. That skilled mouth played her like a musician with a favored instrument, wringing cries of rapture from her. Over and over he kissed, licked, sucked, swapped and repeated the process.

Soon her nails were digging into his arms, her entire body rocking to his ministrations. Each suck of her breasts made her convulse, her hips pressing against him, her chest rising to offer more. And at each suck, another sound was wrung from her, ranging from whimpers to cries to moans to gasps. His name, too, made the occasional appearance.

Her heart was racing, pounding, so clear in her throat and the tips of her breasts. A new, slick sensation was pooled between her legs, pulsing with her heart, the feeling foreign to her but still managing to be analyzed by her muddy mind. Her body was ready for him, then, and she needed him to fill her.

With effort, she pulled herself up, her fingers diving into his hair to tug him up. He resisted, angling his head to continue his assault on her breasts. She caught herself cradling him there instead of trying to pull him away, too enraptured to remember why she was trying to stop this in the first place.

Then another pulse of pleasure cascaded through her, centering in her woman’s core, reminding her what was to come—as soon as she could get his mouth off her breasts. “Monkey,” she moaned, pleading. Her fingers tugged more forcefully.

At last, he lifted his head, gazing at her. His eyes were glazed over from desire, she saw, the sight thrilling her. “Trip?” was his response, his breathing heavy and just a little quick.

Her body wouldn’t stop shaking. In all her life, she’d never even entertained the prospect that passion could be like this, soul-shaking and all-consuming. But here they were, the desire flooding her and drowning her. “I need more,” she confessed, and found herself surprised that she didn’t feel her face flame at the declaration. Her eyes dropped, her hands following the motion to pet him the way she’d wanted for so long. . .

She needed her pants off, she realized. Which meant her boots had to go first. Driven now, with a plan guiding her hands, she hiked up the fall of her pants to wrench a boot off, dropping it without care. Monkey caught on, going for the other, and she really, really couldn’t resist the urge to take advantage of this. Maybe she was being selfish, but she wanted to see him, all of him, before she tore her pants from her body.

Once more, her hands slid down his chest, intrigued and thrilled by the scars she found. When her fingers traced the edges of the ropes of muscle across his stomach, they jumped, twitched. Her other boot was pulled free, his mouth on her neck now, as if he couldn’t resist the pull of their proximity. She understood that, was feeling the draw herself. And it was growing stronger.

Her hands continued their dive, somehow unabashed as they ran across his groin. He gave a sudden shout, wordless, when her fingers passed over a bulge that had never been there before. Or, well, it’d never been this pronounced. It didn’t take but a second for her mind to analyze that, too, wringing another shiver out of her. She wet her lips, a wicked thought flitting through her mind.

Sure, she was desperate to have him inside her right now, but her curiosity was just as powerful. She angled her fingers to point down and began to stroke over that swell, pleased with herself when he shuddered, his hands gripping her hips so strongly she knew she’d have bruises. The shock of pain, however, only spurred her on—as did his groan, a tortured but pleasured sound.

She was thrilled by this. Once again their play began anew, the power being passed from him to her. She’d been so helpless in his arms a moment ago, lost to the ministrations of his mouth. Now she had him helpless, scouting out the size of him and where to apply pressure in a way he would enjoy.

The power play shifted after a few more moments when he decided to pounce on her. The lush vegetation here softened the landing, only a surprised gasp leaving her. Then his mouth was back on hers, his own desperation filtering through the contact. Then his hands caught her wrists and pinned them above her head. Her breath caught. Had she touched him wrong?

She didn’t have long to muse on it before he withdrew, his eyes boring into hers. Judging from that look, she’d been touching just right. “Monkey—” she began, his name a plea, only for her breathing to stop at what happened next.

He rose to his knees, releasing her wrists, to fiddle with the waist of his pants. Her eyes riveted to those motions, unable to help herself. So much anticipation poured from her, he must be able to feel it. She’d just never seen that part of a man—well, not while aroused like this, anyway. She knew, in general, what it looked like, and her mind had already connected the dots about its rock hard pose, but she hadn’t seen one. Not up close, not like this. It shocked her how much she wanted to.

She was so focused, right now, that she didn’t even notice how he was working the metallic belt. It was just there one moment and clanking to the ground the next. He shoved the pants down his thighs in the next motion.

She sucked in a gasp. Holy canoly, she thought, an expletive her father used to use. Standing upright like that, the length of him looked nothing like she’d expected. The foreskin was pulled taut, the color a deep red, a vein snaking up one side. To her surprise, her mouth watered and her hands twitched, wanting to explore him fully.

A single moment of awe was offered to his thighs, as well, because good lord, that was muscle. He didn’t give her much time to stare, though. He all but fell back on her, only this time, he eyes and his hands were at her waist. She would have to pay him proper homage later, then; they were too hungry for one another to bother with explorations. When he pulled at her belt, she shoved his hands away to deal with it herself, concerned that he might break the contraption.

A snap and a click and the belt was off. She lifted her hips to push it off to the side, then went for her pants. With him between her legs like this, she couldn’t push them very far, which he seemed to catch at the same time she did. He reared back again, taking over when her pants hit her knees to yank them off her. She had a moment of unease as her knees fell open again, his gaze eating up the sight of her there. Did he like her there, too? She shivered, the heat at her womanhood vanishing under a wave of cool air.

With a groan, he dove back in, smothering her mouth with another frantic, domineering kiss. Instincts took over her then, turning her thighs into a cradle for her weight. And, oh, she liked his weight, too. Her arms and legs both welcomed him, her hips arching to beckon him closer. They both moaned when the move brought their sexes together, skin brushing against skin.

Then he was moving again, kissing her jaw, sucking her neck. His hand went between them, seeking out her very core and stroking her there. She shuddered, unused to such touches. It was less mind-blowing than the attention he’d given her breasts, she noted, but it was so wanted, so very necessary that she didn’t care. She craned her hips against those fingers, seeking more.

A shudder tore through him. Then his fingers abandoned her, murmuring against her ear, “Tell me if it hurts.”

Tell him what? She was unprepared for that comment, unsure what it meant. They were about to couple, right? Why would it hurt? So far she’d felt nothing but pleasure, the wetness between her legs a clear sign of that.

Jolting, she felt him come back again to stroke her, pressing into her. She wanted this so much, she looked down between their bodies and got another thrill. His hand was at her side now, his manhood doing the pushing. Yes. Finally, finally, finally, yes! She moaned as she canted her hips, her fingers biting into his back to pull on him. His pace was so slow, damn it, and she needed him to fill her now. . .

With a gasp, she felt him breach her and suddenly understood his warning. Ouch. A shock of pain made her go rigid, dousing her passion as though she’d thrown water on the flames. She didn’t understand that. No one had warned her—except him, just now. Surely he wasn’t that endowed, was he, to cause her pain? None of this made any sense to her; they were the same freaking species, they should fit together without any issues!

He was watching her now, she realized, his hips moving gently against her. The passion hadn’t been totally doused, though, and the deeper he pressed into her, the more satisfying it became. He was careful, so damned careful, diving inside little by little and withdrawing to the tip each time. Soon it was getting easier for her, and that horrid emptiness was starting to fill.

Her eyes slid closed on a moan, body relaxing as he took more of her. He pressed a little harder, testing, then eased up when she hissed in a breath. The pain was surprising and a little sobering, she admitted, but it didn’t change the fact that she wanted this. Her heart was still pounding with need, her body humming with electricity, shaking from how riled he’d made her. And each dive was getting easier, granting him new depth and her less difficulty.

When she started to lift her hips to meet his strokes, he finally relaxed, his pace picking up. She moaned in approval, feeling the last twinges of pain flicker and die. Her eyes flitted open, catching his look of desire, pleasure and adulation, her hands seizing his neck to pull him down. As his weight settled more directly on top of her, she kissed him, unable to stop herself—even if she’d been willing to.

More and more, he drove into her, moans evolving to cries of ecstasy, her body rocking under his strength. But still she felt him holding back, her fingers discovering the knots in his back as he moved over her.

“Don’t,” she mumbled against his mouth. He made a sound of despair, so she quickly added, “Don’t hold back.” She nipped at his neck, trying to urge him on. “I want everything,” she managed between pleasured pants.

His thrusts barely hitched, a shudder rent through him, and then he did just that. He braced a forearm above her head, gripped her hip with his free hand, and truly began. She cried out at the onslaught, a new twinge of pain appearing and fading in the same second, a reminder that she did have limits. But she no longer cared. His pace picked up and up and up, skin slapping together, her body forced to bow and accept each punishing stroke.

Still he poured more of his strength into the motions, the pleasure going from gentle but insistent waves to bolts of pure lightning. She was reduced to holding on any way possible, her legs anchoring around his hips and her hands gripping his arm above her head. Her voice rose as his actions strengthened, soon becoming shouts punctuated with the occasional whimper.

Her body was heating all over, her caverns so wet that each stroke forced it to trickle down her rear. It was hard to believe that she was reacting this strongly, yet the proof was there. Her nipples had beaded into tight little rosy buds, her stomach quivering, her mouth watering, her breathing gone raspy. Even her eyes seemed to be wetting, the pleasure sending her emotions in a riot of joy. It was just so good, she wanted to cry. Maybe she would—later, when she had control of her motor functions again.

Above her, she could hear him shouting, too, not as frequent as her own but still a declaration of his intense desire. It all sent her higher and higher, the pleasure coalescing in her belly. Her body started to tighten, tensing, as if trying to hold her ground against his far superior strength. It did no good in that endeavor; slapslapslap went their skin, her body jolting with each dive.

But the tensing continued, starting to focus on where they joined, her walls constricting. And oh, that was even better than everything else. “Don’t. . .stop,” she gasped between her cries and moans. “Don’t stop!”

“Trip,” he answered on a moan. He didn’t just obey, but he did her one better: somehow he made his strokes faster, harder.

She screamed. Just screamed, her muscles trying so damn hard to clamp down on him. His newest pace made her dizzy, forgetting which direction was up to focus on more important things, like how deep he was striking her and how much more could she possibly take before she just died. Not much, she realized, because a moment later and she swore she had died.

Her body went totally rigid, drawing upon a reserve of strength she hadn’t known she possessed, her back arching off the grass and her walls constricting around him so tight she didn’t think he’d ever be able to get free again. And she screamed, long and loud, stars winking behind her eyes as pleasure cascaded all around her. She was drowning, she realized, unable to breathe properly, the weight of the water holding her down. Her entire body was quivering, most prominently in her legs, muscles locked in place.

And Monkey roared. Roared. His thrusts had stopped, fingers biting into her hip nearly hard enough to cause bloody gashes. With her walls so tight around him, she could perceive pulses coursing through him, heat flooding her further from a foreign source. Her mind was buzzing, unable to make sense of what was happening right then, but after a moment it cleared enough for her to realize he’d just filled her. It added a new thrill to the flickers of pleasure inside her.

Seconds ticked by like this, her face and chest burning with heat, beads of sweat she hadn’t even noticed until now bringing a chill that tried and failed to battle the fire between them. Her mind was more muddled that it’d ever been before, her body slowly relaxing. First her back eased to the ground, then her legs, then her fingers released their death grip on his arm. And then she exhaled hard, shocked to find she’d been holding her breath.

Her entire body was in varying stages of numbness, she realized with another shock. She couldn’t feel her feet or her fingers at all, but oh could she feel where he still remained inside her. She moaned. An almost painful throbbing was between her legs, in a place that hadn’t yet been touched, encouraging her to explore it—later. . .

As she panted for air, Monkey began relaxing, lowering until their chests brushed. He all but pried his fingers from her skin, moving his arm to lay with his other. She liked this pose, she realized; it was like he was shielding her from all sides. Another moan eased from her lips.

Her eyes had to struggle to part, but struggle they did; she needed to see him. He was sweating, too, lines of moisture trailing down his face. His eyes were so satisfied, eyelids halfway shut and pupils huge as he gazed down at her. A wealth of affection flowed between them. The wetness in her eyes increased then, a tear slipping free. She didn’t care; she was too happy to care.

She managed to lean up and nip his chin. He gave a gruff chuckle. In return, she hummed, shifting to discover where her limbs had gone, the feeling slowly coming back to them. The quivers hadn’t ceased yet, and honestly, she doubted they ever would at this point. To her surprise, she felt the same affliction in him, a shiver overtaking him every other second.

“Monkey,” she purred, so incredibly satisfied right then. Her voice was rough now, her vocal cords giving a protesting twinge every time she made a noise.

The corner of his mouth lifted, drifted, lifted again. His eyes darted across her face, eating up every little sign of her pleasure. After a moment, he answered in a hum, “Never made a woman scream like that before.”

That implied he’d had plenty of women, she realized, but somehow that didn’t bother her. She shifted under him, testing her muscles for any stiffness as she answered, “Bet no woman’s ever made you scream like that before, either.”

The tease brought a grin to his face. “You’d bet right,” he agreed. He leaned in further then, running his mouth along her neck before starting to kiss, slow and lazy.

She turned her head away to give him more room, humming in approval. She wiggled her toes, stretching them, willing the numbness to ease. It did, slow but sure, allowing her to plant her feet on the ground. Then she stretched out, purposely rubbing against the heavy, hard body above her. It jostled him within her, and she found—with a measure of disappointment—that he’d gone soft. She didn’t want him soft ever again; she liked him hard much more.

He groaned. “Tryin’ to get me going again?” he wondered, lifting his head.

Wicked though that would be, she shook her head, smiling at him. She could still feel tears in her eyes, and in the next blink, another trailed down her temple. “I just really like the feel of you,” she admitted.

He bit his lip. It was sexy, drawing her eyes there. Was it just her imagination, or were his lips thicker and darker than they’d ever been before? “Then you’ll be feeling me a lot in the future,” he promised her. She shivered. Amusement flickered through his gaze, but then he sobered. “For now, though, you’ll be needing to recover.”

Recover? What? She watched him, confused, as he began to rise, withdrawing from her body. As soon as he left her confines, understanding dawned, because holy canoly, a new ache was blooming to life. She groaned, rubbing her belly with her hands. That was unexpected.

She watched him as he turned on his side, kind of flopping over there. Glints of guilt were visible in his eyes, drawing an aww from her. He was pulling his pants back up then, though he didn’t bother with latching them. She followed him, her shirt around her waist the only clothing she now wore.

Her leg eased over his thighs, intimate, demanding and possessive. His hand curled around her knee, equally intimate, demanding and possessive. She liked that, ignoring her pain to give him a satisfied cat grin. She pushed herself halfway onto his chest, suddenly more pleased about her selection of lover than she’d ever been about anything, ever.

“Monkey?” she said, bringing his attention from a study of her lips to her eyes. “I’m completely in love with you,” she informed him.

His eyes widened ever so slightly at those words, his lips parting. He clearly hadn’t been expecting that confession. But that’s what made it a confession, didn’t it? “Trip,” he whispered, a wealth of emotion wrapped around her name. She shivered again. “Trip,” he repeated, more force in his tone this time, his hand catching her by the neck and tugging until he could mesh his mouth against hers again.

She accepted the kiss, smothering a feeling of disappointment. Terrible as he was about dealing with emotions, of course he wouldn’t be capable of saying the words back to her. Not yet, at least. She’d have to be patient with him, she knew, and reinforce a desire to have them spoken. She began now, murmuring around his lips, “I love you.”

He shuddered, hard, his hands abruptly at her rear and back, squeezing, clutching. He moaned into her mouth.

Good enough. She’d take that as a confirmation. She hummed in approval back at him.

A measure of passion began to flare up again, but she tamped it down. As he’d stated before, she needed to recover, not jump back on him for another round.

Later, though, she promised herself. Oh yes, later. . . She could imagine it now, her tongue tracing his scars, her hands mapping him out, his groans in her ear. Later she would take him, she would render him helpless under her ministrations and grant him the same kind of powerless satisfaction he’d given her.

The power play, she thought, giving a mental grin. Oh, she liked their power play. Giving, taking, trading, swapping; theirs was definitely a unique love.

- - -

End.
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Polarity