When his mouth closed over her nipple, Maria heard the sound of her own harsh cry of pleasure greet her ears. Her hands found his head and she wove her fingers through his hair as her head fell back against the lumpy pillows. Granted, this wasn’t the most romantic setting. The sheets were stiff and the mattress was thin and the whole apartment still smelled like Pine Sol and mildew but . . . but that didn’t matter. Because Michael was kissing his way down her stomach now and her fingers slipped from his hair as she felt his hands hook into either side of her navy blue satin panties.

He looked up at her and found her staring back at him through heavy-lidded eyes. His own eyes asked a silent question and hers gave an unvoiced answer. He pulled the scrap of satin down her long, shapely legs. For someone not quite so tall, Maria DeLuca had amazing legs. His lips skimmed over her left knee and she watched him toss her panties into the floor.

She tried to relax as she anticipated what he would do next. She was sure that she knew and she wanted what he had planned. Still though, she was scared. She couldn’t help it. She wanted it to be right and good and everything that he thought it should be and she had never done this before and . . .

"Oh God!" Maria cried as she felt him against her hot center. She grabbed two fistfuls of the slightly scratchy bed sheets and clenched her teeth as her eyes squeezed shut of their own volition. Michael’s hands rested on her inner thighs, keeping her legs apart as his mouth worked her over carefully. She was on fire. Nothing, not that hot night of kissing at the Crashdown, or the feel of Michael’s fingers in her most intimate places during their trips to the eraser room, or even the feel of her own fingers so many morning in the shower . . . none of it had ever made her burn like this. His tongue scorched her flesh as his fingers filled her body. She felt herself pushing towards him, needing more. Michael’s free hand held her hips down gently. ‘Michael-Michael-Michael,’ her mind chanted, but the best her brain could manage at that moment was, "Mi . . . uhhh . . . ooohhhh."

"Mmm . . . Maria," he murmured against her and the words vibrated through her, causing a quick jolt to run through her body like a live wire. She shuddered beneath him. He knew that she was close. Michael moved his attentions to her clit, circling it slowly, torturously, making her squirm beneath him and then . . .

"Ahhhh!! Michael!" she shrieked and he had a sudden thought that his neighbors were just going to *love* him. But the thought was fleeting. There was no time for thought, after all. Not when the woman he wanted more than anything in the universe was screaming his name as she came against him. He waited until her body sagged back against the mattress before he climbed back up the bed and met her mouth in another deep kiss. What had Isabel told her that day at the Crashdown about how they liked their food? Sweet and spicy? Mmm, definitely . . .

"God Maria . . ." he breathed as he finally let her lips leave his.

"Jesus . . . where did you learn that?" she asked. She was still a little out of breath and it made him smile as their eyes met.

"It’s amazing," he told her as he touched her face.

"*That* will definitely go down as amazing," she agreed with a teasing grin.

"Yeah . . . but that’s not what I meant," he replied. He bent forward and brushed his lips over her cheeks one at a time, then the tip of her nose, then just barely across her lips. "I meant, it’s amazing that I found you. Out of all the girls in the world, all the girls in Roswell even . . ."

She smiled at his words, then countered, "Maybe I found you."

He grinned back and kissed her again. "How about we found each other?"

She returned the kiss and mumbled against his lips, "I can live with that."

The more they kissed, the more she wanted to do *more* than just kiss him. He’d given her so much; she wanted to return the favor. And, from the feel of the hard heat that was trapped against her upper thigh, he wanted more, too.

"Michael . . . mmm, Michael?" she said between kisses. "We should, um . . . find that, uh . . . thing. What happened . . . mmm . . . to it?"

"Huh?" he asked, not bothering to stop kissing her to try and comprehend what she was asking. "Oh, um . . . it’s uh . . . on the nightstand," he managed to say, his lips moving to her neck as he reached blindly towards the side of the bed to find the condom he’d sat there when they had fallen onto the bed together.

"Here," she said as she finally pulled away from him enough to reach over to the nightstand. Michael took a second to catch his breath as he watched Maria pick up the condom and open the package. "Lie down," she instructed.

"Wh . . . um . . . you mean you’re gonna, uh . . ." he stammered.

"Lie down," she repeated more forcefully, a mischievous glint in her green eyes. He nodded and obeyed. His eyes never left her as she moved down his body at an excruciatingly slow pace. He held his breath as her hands stopped on his hips. She slid her fingers under the elastic band of his boxer shorts and looked back up at him to smile wickedly before pushing the material down. When she had tossed the garment into the pile on his bedroom floor, Maria turned her attention back to the man beneath her. She looked at his body for a moment. She’d touched him before, but she’d never seen him. This was new . . . and she liked it.

When her fingers wrapped around his cock, Michael jumped and sucked in his breath. She grinned and continued. Her fingers moved over him slowly as something akin to a growl began to emanate from his throat. She sped her pace a little. "Ohhh . . ." he groaned. "Oh God, Maria, you’re . . . ooohhh . . . you’re gonna have to stop that . . . I can’t . . . oh God . . ." he moaned.

She decided it was about time to stop torturing him and quickly rolled the condom over his length. As soon as she finished, Maria moved back up the bed to lie beside him. Here eyes met his as she asked, "Ready?"

He didn’t answer; he just smiled and flipped her onto her back so that he was lying over her. Maria smiled back and pulled him down to kiss her. She felt him positioning himself over her and began to brace herself for what would come next. She could feel him at her entrance.

"Maria," he said softly. "It’s going to hurt a little . . . I’m sorry . . ."

"It’s okay, I know," she assured him.

"I’ll go slow," he promised. She nodded and watched as he pulled himself up to look at her while he gently pushed his body into hers. It burned and she winced. Michael stopped and raked his teeth over his bottom lip as he caressed her cheek. "Okay?" he asked.

She nodded again. "Keep going," she said in a hoarse whisper.

"Maria, it hurts you . . . I’m hurting you . . . we can stop," he said definitively as he started to pull out.

"No!" she cried. "No, don’t . . . I want to . . . please. It’s almost . . . and I want it to be you, Michael. It’s okay, I’ll be fine," she ascertained.

He stared back at her for a moment, then finally nodded in ascent. "Okay," he whispered. "Ready?" She nodded back and he slowly started to sink into her again. Maria took a sharp breath as she felt her body stretched to impossible widths. "Maria?" he questioned.

"Okay . . . I’m okay," she said. And she was; it didn’t hurt as bad anymore. And even as much as it had hurt to begin with, it still felt good, too. She liked the feeling of being a part of him and him being a part of her. She liked holding him inside her body and knowing that nothing was in his mind at that moment but her and her alone. "I love you, Michael," she whispered. Michael smiled and kissed away a tear as it rolled down her cheek.

Before long, he had started to move inside her . . . and it felt better. It hurt less with each thrust. It was different than the way she had felt earlier when his mouth had covered her. That had been amazing . . . but then, in a different way, this was amazing, too. She opened her eyes and saw that Michael’s eyes were closed and his face was contorted in pleasure. She grabbed his arms on either side of her and watched him as he drew closer and closer to oblivion. When he finally came, she was crying. But the tears weren’t from pain . . . she’d never felt so wonderful in all her life.

"Oh God . . ." he gasped out as they lay together afterwards in a sweaty tangle on the rough cotton sheets. "Maria . . ." He reached out his arms and drew her against him. She went willingly. "Are you okay?" he asked.

"I’ve never been better," she told him.

"I’m sorry, I didn’t want to--"

"No, don’t Michael. It was everything it should have been," she told him happily. "And I love you." Those last words were followed by a kiss. The kiss lasted long enough to make Michael forget what he had planned to say . . . and then they slept.

* * * * *

When she opened her eyes the light was starting to fade. It had to be late afternoon. The room still smelled of their coupling and the memory of him filled her mind. And then she realized it. Something had felt strange since she had opened her eyes but it was in that second that she realized just what it was that her heart sank to her feet. She was alone.

‘God, I’m so stupid!’ she thought as her eyes filled with tears. ‘Dammit!’ She hated this; she didn’t want to cry. Where was he? How could he do this? What would she say to him now? How would she ever face him again after . . .

"Morning . . . er, afternoon, I should say," he said brightly as he entered the bedroom. He was wearing his boxer shorts and carrying two glasses of orange juice. "Courtesy of Isabel . . . she stocked the ‘fridge," he explained as he sat down on the bed beside her and handed her one of the glasses.

"Michael," she said with a smile and a sigh of relief. He hadn’t left her; he hadn’t run away. She felt a million pounds of worry instantly lifted from her chest.

It was then that he noticed her expression. He turned and set the glasses of juice on the nightstand, then turned back to her. "You thought I left you," he said in a low voice. She could hear that he was hurt by her unmade accusation.

"No, Michael--" she began.

"It’s okay," he said as he waved away her protest. "I don’t blame you. I deserve that. All I ever do is run away . . . how can I expect anyone to think I won’t do it again?"

"I’m not just anyone . . . am I?" she questioned softly as she threaded her fingers through his.

"No," he whispered. "No, you’re not."

"I love you . . . and I trust you," she said softly. "I just . . . I got scared. I’m sorry."

"No, it’s my fault," he insisted.

"Michael, please . . . let’s not do this, okay?" she pleaded. "I want . . . I want to think about everything that’s *right*, not the stuff that’s still wrong. Can we do that . . . please?"

He turned to look at her and finally nodded. Then his arms were around her and she was so close to him that she could feel the rise and fall of his chest with each breath and she could no longer tell which heartbeat was his and which was her own.

They didn’t say anything else for a long time. All the professions of love had been made; they both knew how the other felt. It didn’t need to be said anyway; they could both feel it. They wanted each other and loved each other and, most of all, needed each other desperately. They made each other complete . . . and it was a great feeling at long last.

* * * * *