EIGHT
Elizabeth had always been pretty self-sufficient. She had never had much family to speak of, after all, and her friends had always been quick to ditch her once the chips were down. She had simply assumed that always relying on herself was the way it was supposed to be.
(Oh, sure, she had asked her bosses for small favors now and then, but nothing that would ever win anyone any sort of recognition for going above and beyond. She had never asked them for anything huge or notable. She had always assumed that she would be denied.)
It had always struck her as a bit far-fetched that some people always had someone to jump at their call if they needed help. And maybe it had led to her feeling a bit neglected in the past, but she had gotten used to it. She was fine with it, most of the time, at any rate. And as long as she was alright with it most of the time, she figured that was good enough. At least until things began to change.
Ambrose was very good at making Elizabeth never feel neglected. He cooked. He was happy to spend time with her at nearly every moment of the day. If he was leaving, he typically asked if she wanted to go with him, and he never took it personally if she didn’t feel like tagging along.
And he was always willing to keep her…entertained, in more ways than one. Rather frequently. Multiple times a day, on some days, though that was admittedly uncommon.
There was no special occasion, generally speaking. They didn’t need one, which was unexpectedly refreshing.
That evening, it was simply a matter of Maxwell leaving for the evening, and as soon as the door closed and Ambrose put his work away and made his way to the bottom of the basement stairs, Elizabeth pulled him into a languid kiss, her hands wandering leisurely under the bottom of his shirt.
They made their way up the stairs slowly and carefully, pausing every few steps to keep kissing without falling down the stairs like a pair of dominos. It was not their most graceful ascent, but they were unbothered by their own clumsiness, as occupied as they were by other activities.
They paused in the kitchen after they made it to the top of the basement stairs, leaving the basement door hanging open, neither of them even bothering to break away from the other for the half a second it would take to push the door closed as they leaned against the counter, tongues tangling together and hands wandering. The urge to just stay there and carry on was tempting, but in the long run, they both knew that it would be more comfortable and more enjoyable if they made it to the bedroom. Even so, their detour in the kitchen lasted a few minutes longer than expected, and by the time they started moving again, Elizabeth’s panties were damp, and she could feel Ambrose’s erection beginning to press against her. Even once they began moving again, they couldn’t keep their hands away from each other, fingers still tugging at clothing and skating over any skin that was revealed.
Getting up the second set of stairs was a bit less cautious than the first, but they survived the trip, so they were willing to consider it a success. And once they were standing in Ambrose’s bedroom—it was maybe more accurate to call it their bedroom at that point, at least for the duration of Elizabeth’s stay—they finally stepped away from each other so they could take off their clothes, shedding it haphazardly and dropping it to the floor in a pile, both of their clothing mixing together to separate later. As soon as they were both bare of any clothing, it was as if they were pulled back together by magnets, and they resumed kissing as if they had never stopped. Ambrose’s hands explored her chest, kneading her breasts and gently tugging, pinching, and twisting her nipples, while Elizabeth’s hands explored his abdomen, fingers grazing perilously close to his erection but never quite touching it, until his patience ran out and he picked her up. She squealed in surprise when he toppled down onto the bed while still holding her, pulling her down with him. By the time they landed in a heap in the bedding, they were both laughing.
Their laughter dwindled as their lips met again, and slowly they disentangled themselves from each other, but only for the brief moment it took to rearrange themselves into a more comfortable position. Elizabeth stretched from her position beneath Ambrose as he knelt over her between her legs, purposely arching her back so his erection dragged against her stomach, and she grinned wickedly as he sighed out a slow breath.
It wasn’t quite accurate to say that they were hurried, as each movement seemed languid and leisurely, and it felt as if they had all the time in the world to do whatever they wanted. It was more accurate to say that they were no nonsense about it, rather than spending half an eternity on foreplay and teasing. They had done that the entire way up from the basement, after all, and it was very safe to say that both of them were definitely in the mood by then. Instead, Ambrose simply wrapped a hand around his cock and stroked it a few times, before he grabbed one of Elizabeth’s hips with his other hand, urging her to lift them up. She wrapped her legs around his middle, and he lined his cock up with her entrance before he let go of himself and took hold of her other hip to hold her up off of the bed.
The first thrust was slow, and Elizabeth sighed in something that almost felt like relief as the head of his cock breached her, and she rolled her hips to meet him until his pelvis met the backs of her legs. He paused for only a moment to let her adjust, because a moment was all Elizabeth had in her before she began rolling her hips more insistently, watching him expectantly with half-lidded eyes and raised eyebrows. He took the hint and began to pull out, until just the head of his cock was still sheathed within her sex. When he pressed back in, it was a steady, continuous slide until he was fully sheathed once again, and Elizabeth’s head rolled to the side as she sighed out a delighted breath. Her legs tightened around him as she urged him on with a low murmur of, “Keep going.”
He was only too happy to indulge her.
The pace he set was neither notably fast nor notably slow, but very deliberate. With each pull outwards, he pulled out almost entirely, until only the head of his cock remained sheathed, and with each thrust inward, Elizabeth was jolted a tiny bit towards the headboard. Her legs tightened around his middle, and her fingers curled in the blanket beneath her, tighter and tighter with each thrust until it felt as if she was going to tear straight through the blanket to the sheets beneath.
She grew steadily louder and louder with each thrust, from breathy sighs to moans that grew increasingly more wanton, and heat coiled in her belly, welcome and satisfying as it wrapped around her spine and set all of her nerves alight.
When she came, it seemed to sweep over her slowly, every muscle tensing as if in slow motion as her back arched and her legs tightened around him. His rhythm began to falter as her muscles clenched around him, squeezing tight around his cock, but he kept thrusting throughout her entire orgasm, milking as much out of her as he could until she slumped down in a boneless heap. Her legs were only loosely draped around him after that, and it was only his hold on her hips that kept her from completely collapsing onto the mattress.
It was only a few more moments before he came, his rhythm stuttering slightly as it slowed until finally halting, his pelvis pressed tight to the backs of her legs as he came while he was fully sheathed within her. He stayed there for a moment, panting slowly through his nose, until he finally shifted back on his knees, his cock slipping out of her. Her legs tumbled down, and he lowered her back down to the bed and flopped down beside her, heaving out a blustering but content sigh as he did.
Afterwards, they curled together on the bed, slotted together like a set of mismatched spoons that were, nonetheless, designed for each other. They contemplated dozing off, but it wasn’t that late, and yet still late enough that dozing off would simply be going to bed, and neither one of them wanted to wake up at four in the morning because they slept too long.
And on top of that, they were both understandably a bit gross, and the idea of sleeping in their post-sex sweat and fluids was not a particularly appealing idea. Maybe it had been scandalous once upon a time, but they had both grown out of that period a rather long time ago and graduated into the stage where languishing in it was mostly just uncomfortable.
Soon enough, they started stretching and sitting up, and they made their way into the bathroom to shower. They pawed at each other playfully, but there was no real intent behind it, and their shower remained remarkably tame and practical. Afterwards, they wandered down the stairs to the main room to keep themselves busy as they might on any other night.
Yes, indeed, Elizabeth liked having friends, though perhaps it was a bit simplified to say Ambrose was only a friend. Truth be told, she wasn’t sure what to call him or what to classify their relationship as. But she felt no need to at that point. If he asked, she would try to put it into words, yet he seemed as content to let it simply be as she was, so she was in no hurry to try to define it. She was content to let it remain as calm and as comforting as it was.
She liked what they had. Maybe it was even love, though she wasn’t sure; she wasn’t even sure if she had ever felt love before. But if it was, she found she was happy with it. If it was love, then it wasn’t the drama or the comedy of errors that she always saw on television and in movies, and that lack of unnecessary antics suited her just fine.
She figured it was perfectly alright if comfortable was what she wanted in a relationship. It always seemed like something that the people around her lacked, as if they thought it was better to always be shouting and arguing with each other, even if it meant they had to make something up to do so. Frankly, Elizabeth was mostly of the opinion that there was such a thing as the wrong sort of passion.