DEFAULT :: Part Fifty-Seven

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Ronni wakes and for a moment thinks she’s in Ankara, massive hotel double bed rewarded once her first stint of undercover work was complete. Except this is a part of the French base not yet fully operational, living area that would be used for married staff when the facility was in lock-down. The bed is immense, incredibly comfortable, and she’s alone on the left hand side. Rolling over, Bond remains, pretty much where he’d lost consciousness. Looking at her watch, they‘d managed over six hours without drugs. Rachel had reassured that they weren’t needed anywhere for at least a day, possibly more, and the small bag of supplies she’d provided plus directions and key meant they could effectively live here as they pleased, without observation.

James is still asleep, yet naked, surprise she decides to watch for a while.

They’d showered separately, and slept clothed as the room was colder than both were comfortable with. He’d talked about what happened with Blofeld, at length, and that how there was genuine regret being a good man with Maddy. Ronni just listened, until the night in Monte Carlo had come up, and then she’d pushed for details. 007 opened completely, telling truths about brother and sister that made her body feel uncomfortable, around pictures Swann had made so very public. Then there’d been a long and frank discussion on sexual practices, what both of them considered acceptable. It was reassuring to know how sadly conventional they were, right down to Bond never wanting more than one woman in bed with him, despite the fact the offer had been presented on several occasions.

In many ways, he was more old fashioned than Ronni was.

Eyes flicker open and for a moment there’s no reaction, until James rolls onto his side and Ronni is suddenly aroused with a force that comes as a shock, having to consciously hold herself back.

‘Good morning.’

‘Yes, it is.’

‘You slept well?’

‘Amazingly so. I’m awake now, though.’

The desire to couple is sudden and almost desperately overwhelming and she’s struggling to hold it in, really needing to have mouth on him and body wrapped around his. Conscious of the night before, that he needed the space, pushing to break down the distance seems wrong: Bond lies, assessing with a languor that’s almost frustratingly passive.

‘You know, I’d like to think that over the years, my field training’s given the opportunity to pick up intent, grasp what I’ve landed in or woken up to. In this case, I’d guess that your feelings on sex have altered since last night.’

‘They have.’

‘Just how desperate are you, Ronni?’

‘May I demonstrate?’

The nod’s there, almost imperceptible, body language accepting and Ronni stops for a moment to think: does she restrain herself or is this the truth? All the times before genuine passion had been tempered, a part held aside because of the understanding that once she crossed this threshold, there was no going back. Then she became the woman that Bond didn’t need to satisfy, and instead became his partner in every respect. Peeling off her shirt, she almost pounces in desperation.

The kiss is sudden and brutal, pushing into a body with urgency unrestrained, capable of swallowing him whole yet remaining unsated. As force meets resistance, body shifts, pinning onto his back, refusing to allow movement from the bed, restraining arms at sides as she devours chest, kisses placed to make him gasp out loud, knowing the sensitive spots to stimulate. He’s gone from relaxed to erect in an embrace and before there is an objection her sex swallows him, audible gasp as erection completely fills space inside, mouth back for an even more desperate kiss. Foreplay is utterly unnecessary, because she’s still in Italy, lying in the cot that was empty alone, entire body wired to explode.

Then there is lucidity, moment of concern, and she stops to stare down: his eyes wide and amazed, clearly loving every moment of dominance. They never speak during sex, not ever, and suddenly there’s a need to grasp willingness, that this use of a body so flagrantly is acceptable. The look galvanises, provides incentive to enter the game as he pushes himself up to sitting. Ronni shifts, no longer kneeling as legs are wrapped around Bond’s back. Then they sit, joined at the groin, staring at each other as energy flows between them at their most intimate point of contact. Now she can register movement, him pushing inside and their next kiss is so hard and forceful she wants to cry out at the pleasure of the moment.

There is no idea how they manage to stay joined but he lifts her from the bed with a strength that belies both age and recent history, almost dropped onto the dresser to their left, almost slammed against first wall then chest in a manner that only strengthens the desire to wrap legs tighter, forcing him further inside. Joint thrusts makes the inside of her body begin to need, over and over, because now the point where they start and end is lost to the business of pleasure. All that matters is that his gasps are more pronounced and vocal than she’s ever heard: Bond doesn’t do overt expression, only action, and it always bothered her. To make the point, Ronni gasps at the moment each stroke brings her climax closer, progressively less articulate as he loses the need to do anything other than friction and repetition.

It doesn’t take long, only a few more strokes and she blossoms, expands and then contracts with a force not recalled for quite some time, enough to make him cry and shudder in short order, and they’re both panting from exhaustion, limbs suddenly heavy and tired because neither of them are as fit as they could be, and that needed to change, as did so much else. Bond is breathless, sweat pouring from a body clearly struggling with effort, and it is Ronni’s turn to be surprised. Finally, he finds the ability to speak.

‘Better?’

‘Needs work.’

‘I’m not as young as I used to be. Give me a minute and we’ll start that again.’

He laughs and she joins, vibrations of them still intertwined enough to begin the process of arousal anew, and Ronni accepts this relationship is no longer just sexual, but has mutated into something far more interesting.


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OBLIGATORY DISCLAIMER:

Everything related to James Bond (007) belongs to Eon Productions and Danjaq LLC, except the bits in here that are mine and I made up. I get how this works.

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