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That tone of voice she was taking with him was unfamiliar, and he could nearly taste the fear wrapped around her words. She was threatening to find someone with no complications? No, she was pushing him away. He was sure of it.
But the thought of her with another man made his blood boil. He had seen it over the years, first with Jack (and he had loved her then), and on the Enterprise there was that infernal ghost creature (it had eaten him up inside to watch her in love with another, but watching her embarrassment and pain afterward, that hurt him even more) and the Trill (he had always wondered about that Odin, and if something ever happened between her and Will, but he simply could not think about that because the jealousy would eat him alive)....
Jealous. Jealous over a fictional, theoretical lover that she was threatening him with.
Merde. He was possessive. And hungry. For her.
"Beverly, if you have needs, I can take care of them.” He shocked himself at his own blatant words but there was no time to lose. She could end the conversation, escape these guest quarters at any minute, and all hope would be lost. But the upturn of her chin at his statement, combined with the flash of interest in her eyes, (she's so defiant) revealed more than she may have intended.
"I'm sorry?” She replied, arching an eyebrow, again with the stoic, smooth face.
“You deserve so much more than an impulsive fling. That’s what you’d find with someone without 'complications.’ If you have needs, you should trust someone with them. Someone who knows you well.” He stepped forward slowly, and she didn’t retreat. The twitch around her eye was her only sign of a response or reaction. So he kept moving, slowly, until he was centimeters in front of her. She kept her arms crossed and he could feel the warmth of her skin. But she wasn't stepping away, instead meeting his eyes with a steely challenge.
“But could I trust that person with my heart?” Her whispered question stole his breath away.
“Oh Beverly, you can trust me.” And he leaned forward and kissed her. No other touch, nothing but their mouths. She was stiff, but her lips were yielding, and, oh yes, now she was kissing him back. No other movement, but she was most certainly kissing him back.
She tasted sweet like honey, like softness, like home.
Merde, he was lost. He pressed her mouth open and tasted her.
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The sudden but gentle press of his mouth, not like the doppelgänger so many years ago, or the kiss in the ready room. And then a press of his hand against her shoulder, pushing her against the wall.
A flare of desire blossomed in her abdomen. She wasn’t saying no, but she wasn’t saying yes, but she was kissing him back, because how could she not? The smell of his skin, and his patient, pressing push, and she was backed up against the wall, and he was pressing his body against hers, and oh damn, it was good.
It was good.
Damn. Damn. What am I going to do?
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