A/N A short yet quick chapter, I'm too nice, but then I did leave a big cliff hanger. Warning, this chapter contains adult material...FINALLY!!!

Chapter Twenty Seven

Oscar couldn't breathe, this felt like everything he wanted...and more. He also knew that his bubble could burst in an instant. But her lips were like a drug, the kiss intoxicating. He was floating as her arms rose to link around his neck, then she shifted so that she was in his lap, curled into him. His body responded, so aware of her touch, the scent, and those bloody lips causing havoc.

He couldn't remember ever feeling the way he did as he slid his tongue into her mouth, powered over her, pinned her to the sofa. And still her hands touched him, clutched at him, pulled him into her.

He shouldn't be doing this, she was full of grief, had fallen apart in his arms, she was emotionally drained and here he was kissing her. He tried to lift his lips from hers to check, to question her, he didn't want regrets, he wanted this because she wanted it.

"Lizzie," he breathed against her mouth.

She shook her head gently, "don't..."

Her hands clasped either side of his head and pulled his lips back to hers.

A thousand questions entered his head, don't what? But within seconds none of that mattered, all that mattered was kissing her, tangling his tongue with hers. Consuming her. His lips left hers, tasting her skin as he kissed his way to her ear lobe, after a quick nip, he sank his teeth into the base of her neck, enough to thrill, not to hurt. She moaned, a heavenly sound as she writhed, forcing her body deeper against his. Smiling against her neck, he licked her skin, soothing the bite, then kissed the softness of her shoulder.

Lizzie groaned again, her nails sinking into his shoulders, then kicked out her legs so that she was reclined on the sofa, under him. He loved that moment of power of control, that he was in charge, and then she wriggled pushing her pelvis in to his teasing his hardness, and he realised he was just a passenger, his desire for her rendering him useless.

"Are you sure?" he asked against the slope of her breast as a hand slipped under her shirt, finding the warm soft flesh of her tummy. She gasped, and when he lifted his head, met her eyes, she gave a small nod, then closed her eyes. Doubt flashed in his mind, he still wasn't convinced that she wanted the same as him. What do you want? He tried to ask himself, but there was too much going on, too much to process, soft moans, warm skin, pliant lips...he popped open the top button on her shirt, the lace of her black bra suddenly visible, and it killed him , literally. Dropping his head, he ran his tongue over it, just the edge, half skin, half lace. Then she arched up into him, pushing her breast to his face.

With a sigh, he popped another button and her cleavage was there, soft breasts, curved into the sexy lace. They were large, larger than he expected, and it drove him wild. He'd always thought he was a leg man, legs and a cute arse were what turned him on, but as he covered her cleft between those mounds, he honestly felt he could die happy, just there.

Within seconds he'd pushed the shirt right off her, and was mesmerised with the dark nipples peaking through the lace, teasing him. He couldn't reach the clasp behind her, so he pulled the shoulder straps down her arms, she had to drop her arms from around him as he tugged down, peeling the cups from her breasts as he went.

"Fuck..." the word escaped his lips before he even thought about it. "You are fucking perfect Liz..."

He couldn't resist it, he had to taste her.

Lizzie wanted to squeal, like a child. His teeth sank into her nipple and she almost dissolved into mush. Every time he bit her, that little flash of not so much pain, as tension set her body alight, she wanted to free her arms, drag her hands all over him, but they were trapped at her side by her off kilter bra. That left her body literally in the hands of Oscar. And what hands they were. She couldn't decide whether his finger tips or his lips were the most skilled. But she could barely think straight, it was pointless.

Those very finger tips moved to the breast that wasn't blessed with the attention of his lips, and she wanted to explode, it was all so much, so intense, yet nowhere near enough either. Pushing up off the couch, she reached behind herself and unfastened her bra, then when her arms were free; she pushed him up to his knees, astride her legs, and tugged at his t-shirt.

Oscar lifted it over his head, and tossed it to one side. That left his glorious body for her attention. And study it she did, first with her eyes, running over his defined chest, the whorls of hair around his dark, flat nipples, then with her hands, over his flat stomach, the trail of hair continuing down to the belt on his jeans. Biting her lip, she looked up, met his eyes, then reached out to tug at that belt.

He dropped his head back, looking at the ceiling as she unbuckled the belt, then started on his jeans. She felt him, her fingers brushing over his hardness and it scared her, it was a long time since she'd been with a man, and that hadn't felt like this, he'd been nothing like Oscar, tall, big, imposing. It was a moment of self doubt, she couldn't do this, even though she needed it, needed him, because this was how she'd pull herself back together, losing herself in him.

He sensed her hesitation, reaching for her hands; he brought them to his lips, kissing each finger tip gently. It was what she needed, relaxing her, and she let Oscar push her back to the sofa. The leggings she wore came off with very little effort from him, and suddenly Lizzie felt exposed.

Almost as if he read her mind, he placed a hand either side of her head, then lowered his mouth to hers. The kiss settled her, rekindled that flame that had almost blown out. His lip teased, distracted as his hands once again slid over her skin, touching her.

When his lips left hers, started to track down her body, she squirmed, wanting to be out of his scrutiny, but then his fingers slid up her thigh.

"Shit," he murmured against her stomach. "You are as ready for this as me."

His fingers slipped easily into her, and her eyes rolled to the back of her head. Suddenly nothing else mattered, she wasn't self conscious any more, she wasn't regretful. His hands...and then Oh shit, his mouth followed and she was lost in a wave of passion.

Oscar lifted his head, there was no greater feeling than making a woman, Lizzie, not just any woman scream out his name in passion. It was the greatest aphrodisiac, if he wasn't already rock hard from the kisses, then her face, flushed from pleasure, breathless from her orgasm, the moans, the sighs, the screams...would have done it for him. Reaching for his jeans, he grabbed his wallet, really glad that he had kept a condom in it. Sitting back on his heels, he rolled it on, then lowered himself onto her.

She was smiling, "that was good."

He chuckled as their bodies aligned, "I loved it too..."

It was Lizzie that wriggled, that brought her body closer to his, and with a noise he wasn't able to quantify, he slid into her. He'd never felt anything so perfect, so special, so amazing as that moment, buried inside her, gliding like he was meant to be there.

He lasted less time that when he was a teenager, but he was too far gone to care, collapsed on top of her, he wasn't sure his heart would ever stop racing. Lizzie was panting too, and he knew he must be hurting her; she was taking his full weight. Sliding off her, he headed to the bathroom to dispose of the evidence, pulling on his boxers as he went. All he wanted was to curl up in bed with Lizzie and relive the last half an hour. Instead he detoured via the kitchen, filling two large glasses with water, before heading back to the lounge. He froze in the doorway, dismayed to see Lizzie stood, her shirt wrapped around her and her clothes in her arms. Her curves covered up, and a grave expression on her face.

Walking up to her, he leaned in to give her a kiss, another kiss...it was all he could think about, but she turned away at the exact same moment.

"Is this for me?" She asked, stepping towards him and reaching for one of the glassed. He watched as she took a long drink, drain gin half the glass, then offer him a smile. "Thanks Oscar, you're a star," she turned and strode away from him, tossing, "see you in the morning", over her shoulder.

Oscar stood there stunned. The morning? See you in the morning? He shook his head, trying to clear it. What the hell had just happened? One minute consuming each other, the next scurrying away. He punched the table and huffed, she had played him, hit then quit...it had never happened to him before. He'd never been brushed off, he'd escaped, run out on many women, but never had he been abandoned.

The irony wasn't lost on him.

Lizzie lay in bed, the duvet pulled over her head, heart pounding, body aching. She wasn't sure how to describe what had just happened, but it was so much more than sex. But that was all it could be, she wasn't about to be broken by someone like Oscar, he'd humour her, for a while maybe, but then it'd be over, and at the very easiest she'd have to watch him date other women...forever. That was why she ran away...but then he'd already told her that he wasn't looking for more than a fling, he'd had it, hopefully now, they could both carry on as if it never happened. That was all that she could hope for.

Rolling on to her side, she bit back a moan at the aches and pains that he body gave, she'd not expected her legs to be so thoroughly...moved. Maybe she needed to go to yoga?

That was her last thought as her body relaxed into the darkness of sleep.

Oscar was pacing, he'd tried everything, but he couldn't sleep. Hot drink, cold drink, music, TV, counting bloody sheep...he was still wide awake, and ruing the fact that he wasn't snuggled up against the delectable curves of her body, hearing her breathing, falling asleep to the beat of her heart.

He shook his head, now he was becoming a love sick poet.

Physically shaking himself, he threw that comment away, far too ridiculous. Nope, he had two options, sleep, or break down her door. And there was no way he was doing the latter. So he punched his pillow a few more times, then closed his eyes, begging for sleep.