Out. Out of the bed NOW, her mind commanded. She worked delicately but firmly to unfasten the fingers, then the hand, then the arm, from her tender flesh. Oh lord, she was completely nude, the realization suddenly dawned on her.
What the *hell* happened last night?
Aside from the obvious.
She threw back the warm covers and rose slowly from the bed, careful not to move so suddenly that he would feel the movement and wake up. The room was almost pitch black and unfamiliar, so she took care in feeling around, hopeful she'd at least left her clothes in the same area. She felt around the floor, feeling like a silly fool in the process until her right hand passed across a fabric of some sort. A shirt! She smiled, relieved as she quickly pulled it on, not realizing it was too big for it to be hers. It covered the important bits, that was her main concern.
She started to feel around the floor again when she her the bed behind her creak gently as he turned over and she froze, silently pleading for him to not wake up. After a few moments, there was silence and a thought occured to her. She wasn't scared and she knew that her encounter had been consentual and yet here she was, crawling around a floor in the middle of the night, scowering for her clothes so she could slip out unnoticed. She had nothing to be ashamed of really. Why didn't she just turn on the lights?
"Why don't you just turn on the lights?" he spoke, his voice gentle.
She froze again, was he dreaming or was he awake?
"I can see my white shirt on you, I know you're crawling all over the floor, why don't I just turn on the lights?" he explained, the quiet kindness never leaving his voice.
Turning on the lights would mean getting a good look at who she'd spent the night with. Not that she didn't already know, but if he removed the darkness, she'd have to look at him now, straight in the eye and confirm her mistake. It was most definately a mistake. Her stomach twinged gently, as if disaproving of her thinking, but she wasn't willing to even consider what her inner voice was telling her.
"It would make it a lot easier for you to find your clothes, you've never been here before," he pointed out considerately, although a teasing hint tinged his comment.
He was being nice, sweet almost. She shook her head, this wasn't what one night stands were supposed to be like. One would always leave before the other even woke up. If they knew each other, they would immediately try to forget it had ever happened but the uncomfortable tension would always remind them of their encounter. She knew better, she really did, but something in his voice made her feel she could trust him, just in this moment.
"I guess so," she stuttered out and within a few seconds, light filled the large bedroom. She didn't dare look up, at the room or at him. Instead, she sat on the cold floor, refusing to move, hoping he would excuse himself to another room while she hunted around for her missing clothes. She heard him pad across the floor and open a drawer from his dresser, before slipping on whatever it was he took out. He then slowly approached her and bent down to sit next to her on the floor. Her heart surged as she felt his eyes on her, why on earth was he making this so difficult?
"Like the shirt?" he asked, growing amused as she refused to raise her head and meet his gaze. Her hand felt the material and she blushed, realizing she was wearing his discarded shirt. "Sorry, I thought it was mine," she said softly.
"It's okay," he answered. He was a little surprised himself. Never in a million years did he ever expect to wake up with her. Never in a million years did he ever think it would be as explosively wonderful as it was. They were different people though, people would talk if they ever found out what had happened last night between these two. He felt her shame and embarrasment and his heart went out to her, he knew where she was coming from. He wasn't feeling the same things she was, she was the respected public figure, the widely admired resident of Port Charles. He wasn't and although it hurt, deep down inside of him to know that she was expressing this shame and embarassment by refusing to even look at him, he knew he could not let her leave with her head down.
There was nothing, in his mind, for her to be ashamed of. Although they were two incredibly different people, one night, some sort of magical karma came their way and they had crashed together, making incredibly beautiful music. He couldn't even begin to address what it was he was feeling last night or even now. All he wanted, was for her dark eyes to look into his.
Gently his hand reached out and tentatively stroked her cheek. She didn't pull from him but she did shiver gently at his touch. Why was he making her feel this way? More importantly, how was he doing it? His fingers nestled under her chin and he guided it upwards in a deliberately slow fashion.
"Look at me," he requested, willing her to comply. Her eyes fluttered for a moment before her gaze met his. She seized her breath trying desperately to dismiss the wonderful sensation that was rushing through her veins. Her hands clasped together tightly and she blushed even further but she did not pull from him. She became entranced by his dark, serious eyes, feeling them silently invade the very depths of her core, finding the way to the secret place where she locked away the deepest of her thoughts and feelings.
He stared at her as she stared at him. Most women were put off by his lingering gaze, as if frightened by what his eyes were truly telling them. She didn't, not now and not the night before. And just like last night, he was pulling her close, feeling her silky smooth skin as she neared him, her scent feeding the need that bowled him over like nothing else.
Their lips met. Softly at first, pulling apart gently, before pursuing it further, their gaze never breaking for a second. His hands cupped her face gently as she closed her eyes and felt herself being pulled back into the wonderful world that was him. Her hands unclasped and began to re-explore the fine contours of his upper body, her finely manicured nails raking lightly over his chest as her arms settled around his neck.
God, he was a magnificent kisser. Sweet, slow, patient and fulfilling, making sure her needs were met before gently prodding her mouth open with his tongue. At this point, she greedily took it, her hands running through his silky hair, only putting them down as his fingers gently pushed the shirt off her shoulders, shivering with excitement as his fingers gently danced down her back before settling them at her hips and pulling her even closer to him.
He needed her, he needed the closeness of her, everything about her was calling him to hold her near him and to never let go. He managed to pull his mouth from her spellbinding lips and he began a trail of light kisses down the left side of jaw to the tenderness of her neck. A small gasp escaped her, and she tilted her head back, inviting him to continue and so he did, arroused further by the fact that she was enjoying this as much as him, and he wanted it that way. He didn't want to be selfish, not with her.
Her hands roamed his strong arms and well built chest, making their way further down. She was dizzy but became slightly annoyed by the fact that he'd put on silk boxer shorts earlier and was now causing her delay in getting what she wanted. He gave a guttural groan as her fingers fumbled with the elastic band on the shorts, why had he put them on?
He pulled her even closer, feeling the fire that was blazing inside both of them, in the back of his mind, he remembered this feeling, from last night, the pure electricity, the explosiveness of it all. He wanted to take her there again.
"Oh, Dara," he moaned blissfully as her tongue danced around his ear.
Dara. As in Dara Jensen. As in Dara Jensen, A.D.A for Port Charles. As in what in *God's name* am I doing here?
Instantly she pulled from him, "I'm sorry, I have to get out of here," she mumbled, the intense shame, hitting her full force as she stumbled to the bathroom, greatful that her clothes were near the door. Quickly she retrieved them, refusing to look back at him and rushed into the bathroom. Hurry and get out before more damage is done, she thought crossly as she dressed quickly, never stopping to check herself over in the mirror. It would be far too painful to look at herself right now. Taking a deep breath she opened the door and quickly headed to the bedroom door, snapping it open and briskly walking down the hallway, never once looking back, despite the fact that her head was screaming for her to stop, screaming even louder for her to go back to him.
She couldn't.
She wouldn't.
"Dara, wait!" he called urgently, grabbing the silk robe from the dresser and slipping it on before jogging up to her. Just as she grabbed the handle to the front door, he stopped her, placing his hand firmly over hers. "Please don't leave like this," he implored. He couldn't lose her like this, he couldn't just let her walk out in the state she was in.
"Please, I have to go," she said, trying to be calm and detatched but again, she refused to meet his gaze.
"Dara," he said, this time, his voice soft and tender and instantly, she felt herself weaken. Nobody had ever spoken her name to her the way he did. Her head rose and once again, she looked into his dark eyes, this time, seeing the pain that was contained by them.
"I'm sorry, but we can't do this, we just can't," she began before he interrupted her by possessively taking her lips in his, the force sending both thumping into the door. Despite her initial protest, she once again became lost in the overpowering joy of being in his strong arms, his body pressed to hers, nothing else around them mattering.
He pulled from her and stepped back, "if you want to leave, I won't stop you, but don't kill us before we start."
Feeling suddenly foolish at his manipulation, she pushed him further from her, but truthfully, she knew it was also to prevent her from rushing back into his alluring embrace.
"I have to go," she told him, trying to sound more proper, if there was any way to do that.
He smiled gently as she straightened her hair and smoothed out her jacket and skirt.
"Just forget this ever happened," she issued him warningly, her voice taking on a serious and firm tone. His face fell slightly and she knew she had hurt him, but it was for the best, she told herself quickly as she turned and opened the front door.
"Goodbye Ms. Jensen," he drawled softly to her back.
She stopped but did not turn around.
"Goodbye Mr. Corinthos."
Dara quickly entered the elevator and leaned against the wall as the doors closed. Did she mean it, did she really mean goodbye?
Sonny shut the door and stood silently for a moment. He could have let it go, he could have dismissed her and moved on to the next woman.
Only he knew, he didn't want to move on. He couldn't, he couldn't just let her walk away, not this one.