DISCLAIMER: Murder in Suburbia and its characters are the property of ITV. No infringement intended.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
Kate collapsed onto the mattress in post-orgasmic bliss, riding the decreasing aftershocks in a series of bone-trembling shivers and shakes. Insides still tied in knots, dozens of butterflies fluttering under her skin. Eyes closed, she reveled in the sensations of Emma's lips and tongue kissing their way up Kate's skin. Kissing, the only way Emma knew how - with teeth, lips and tongue, hungrily, wetly and, unusual for Emma, a bit leisurely.
It hadn't been their first time. And hopefully, no matter how many times Kate felt guilty afterwards (albeit, many, many hours later), not their last.
Emma finally kissed her way to Kate's lips. And Kate tasted herself on Emma's tongue, until they parted and Emma snuggled closely next to her. Kate drifted towards the edge of slumber, warm and contented. Except, like the tiniest burr caught under the hem - negligible but irritating nonetheless, she could feel the slight tension in the body snuggled next to her. Kate could imagine what she'd find if she'd opened her eyes Emma gazing down expectantly at her and wanting to talk.
Scribbs, Kate discovered, was a post-coital conversationalist.
It seemed ironic, that of the two of them, Kate was the one to roll over and fall asleep after a good shag, while Emma was the one wanting to stay awake to chat.
"What?" She cracked opened an eye. And, sure enough, Emma was staring at her.
"I was just.." Emma shook her head. "Nothing."
"It's not nothing."
"Go back to sleep."
And she would have too, except Emma had one of those expressions that always made Kate worry. The kind of expression that told her if she rolled over and went to sleep she probably wouldn't be having another orgasm for a good long while. "C'mon, if it's important to you, it's important to me."
"I was just wondering," she exhaled, trying to get the words out. "Why aren't you more vocal?"
"What do you mean vocal?"
"I mean, when I come my ears are ringing, the walls are shaking and dogs in Cardiff are howling. When you come," she widened her eyes in frustration, "barely a peep."
"I make noise."
"A church mouse makes more noise than you do, Ash."
"Fine," Kate grumbled. "Maybe I am a bit tight-lipped. Is there anything wrong with that?"
"Nothing. It's just. It feels like you're holding back."
"I'm not a screamer, Scribbs. I can't."
"Can't or won't?" Emma huffed, rolling over onto her side. Kate groaned. Could feel the tension knotting in her shoulders, wondering when the Hell everything went wrong? And why was she the one feeling guilty? So, she didn't scream like a banshee. Admittedly, Kate felt a visceral thrill whenever Emma did it for her. But that wasn't Kate. Or, it used to be which, she supposed, was the problem. But, how could she explain it to Emma? How could she explain the sheer horror of her father bursting into her room, cricket bat at the ready, as she sat, mid-orgasmic scream with Tommy McMahon's head bobbing up and down between her legs.
That type of trauma has a tendency to take its toll.
"Emma," Kate sighed. She rolled into Emma, sliding a hand around her waist. "All right, I'll give it a go."
"You don't have to."
"And you don't have to pout, but I don't see that stopping you." She continued talking to a cold shoulder. Kate inhaled. "I mean it, Emma. For you, I'll be a bit more vocal."
Emma quickly rolled over, a wide grin on her face and Kate realized, once again, she'd been played. She was pushed onto her back, Emma pinning her to the mattress playfully. "You really have to go for it. I wanna hear you scream."
"I said I'd try. Not audition for 'Pop Idol'."
A curious eyebrow rose. "You watch Pop Idol?"
"Okay, okay," Emma giggled. She waited until Kate relaxed. "Hey! No keeping your eyes closed."
"I don't keep my eyes closed." Which was a lie. A bad habit created because of one too many lovers who, while in the throes of passion, looked like they were about to pass a stone. It was easier for Kate to keep her eyes closed and think of England than the embarrassing moments that followed where Kate had to fake an orgasm to keep herself from laughing.
"Yes, you do," Emma retorted.
"Okay, I do. But, I can't do this, and, keep my eyes open. Especially with you looking at me like I'm the science experiment you must finish to pass your A-Levels."
"I always was good at Biology," Emma laughed, features turning a little more serious, a little more lascivious. "I just.. I like watching you come." She drifted a hand towards Kate's breast, caressing it gently. "I like making you come. And now," she squeezed the nipple, lips curling upwards at the hiss exhaled from Kate's throat. "I wanna hear you come."
Kate arched into the touch. A touch that sent a surge of energy rippling across her skin and pooling between her legs. Accented with a low throaty moan that caught the both of them by surprise. "You're a pervert, you know that don't you."
"Pervert, eh?" Emma purred, sliding her hand a bit more deliberately, two fingers gliding between still wet and swollen lips. "Ask me again after you've screamed my name."
Return to Murder in Suburbia Fiction
Return to Main Page