| 8th Page of BOUND. �Be sure, Clarice.� His teeth at the side of her neck, a trickle of blood running down across her collarbone. A low moan rushed out of her, and she pushed her hips back into him. �Please!� It was all she could manage, but it was enough. With one fluid motion, he grasped her wrists and turned slightly to the left. She found herself facing an ornate column, wrists pinned against it, held fast in the hand that was bound to hers. She felt his breath at the back of her neck, felt a hand between their bodies as he freed himself, felt the heat of his erection poised to enter her. �Say it,� he whispered. �Fuck me.� He pushed into her with savage force, reaching to stroke her when he had penetrated her fully. She produced an inarticulate cry and tilted her hips, rocking back into him, ready to meet his thrusts when he chose to move. For the moment it seemed he was content simply to be inside her, to feel her wrapped around him while his fingers fluttered over her. His touch was gentle at first, growing firmer as her delighted groans intensified. He shifted his hips almost imperceptibly, barely moving inside her, until she was just at the edge and then one hard thrust in concert with the pressure of his hand to push her over. She was weak with pleasure, grateful for the pillar that supported her as the climax washed over her much like waves breaking on the shore. She felt his teeth just behind her ear as her orgasm subsided, heard his heavy breaths mingled with her own, and then his harsh growl as he plunged into her again. �This is what you want, Agent Starling.� �Oh God, yes!� She was amazed that she could form the words. His rhythm was slow and measured, his thrusts forceful. She contracted her muscles, gripping him firmly, and felt his sharp teeth nipping at her neck and shoulders as he filled her. Her body shuddered with violent pleasure and his name burst from her lips as he roared his own release, pouring himself into her. Finally he released her wrists, but remained inside her, the length of his body pressing hers into the pillar. The cool stone made a delightful contrast to the heat of him behind her. After several minutes, she noted that her breathing had fallen into a slow, steady rhythm with his. It was a simple leap to apply this recognition to their association in a broader context... at some point along the way, she had unconsciously fallen away from her devotion to the institutional life of the Bureau and aligned herself more closely with Lecter. What had he told her? �Some of our stars are the same.� More than she had dared to imagine, it seemed. He had never failed to speak the truth to her. It had been true then and was even more so now. Now, quite simply, she was his. The past several hours had bought that into strikingly sharp focus for her. She fought the urge to speak, to explore this realization with him, taste its flavor on her tongue. There would certainly be a time for that, but it was not now. For now she was content to feel him against her, his breath coming in concert with her own. For now it was enough to feel what it meant to come home. Epilogue It took several weeks for the package to make it�s way to Jack Crawford. It was a small box filled with tissue paper. Tucked in at the top was a postcard... a view of the Duomo from the Forte di Belvedere. He felt a lead weight drop into his stomach as soon as he saw it, and his hands were unsteady as he reached to turn it over. The handwriting was Clarice Starling�s. The choice was surprisingly easy to make, in large part because of you. It appears I owe you my thanks. � Starling P.S. I would appreciate it if you�d see that Mr. Garrett gets this. Crawford threw the postcard to the floor as if it had burned him, and sat for a long time trying to force down the nausea that had washed over him. Eventually he reached out, rummaged through the tissue, and withdrew his hand � now tightly clasped around Starling�s badge. Back to fan fiction index Give author, Hannah, feedback HOME |