1993: Never let me go

This story occurs 24 hours after the plane scene had taken place.
Night time.
Marlena's house.

​

"Kiss me, Marlena. Now." 

John's mouth descended on hers, his husky demand that she kiss him searing through her. Fear fell away, no match for the way he kissed and protected her. His touch soothed her like nothing else would, melting away fear as if it'd never been there at all. As if Roman had never returned to Salem at all. Desire rose, higher and higher until she felt as if she'd spun out of control. She wanted John. 

Here. 

Now. 

Everything ached for him. Her skin begged to feel his hands on her. Her nipples were tight peaks beneath the lace of her white nightgown, as desperate for his touch as the rest of her. He groaned into her mouth, and propelled her deeper into the corner, harder against the wall. 

She wanted that too. 

Deeper. 

Harder. 

His body a heavy weight on hers. She didn't want soft and slow, didn't want the gentle caresses he'd given her in front of that mirror years ago when they were married, but the primal lust that had swept them both away the night on the plane. 

"You're beautiful." 

She would never tire of hearing the way he said those words to her. It was so reverent, like a prayer upon his lips. This time, the words shook. 

"John." 

She forgot what she meant to say before she ever had the chance to say it. The way he pressed his body to hers sent coherent thought skittering off in all directions. His tongue darted out to play at her lips. Bass shook the bedroom wall behind her, vibrating her entire body and that felt good, too. Everything felt good. Sensation seemed somehow heightened, intensified. Whether because of where they were, what this place was, the dangerous line they walked or something else entirely, she didn't know. 

Right then, she didn't care either. 

Desire for more raged through her and that was the only thing that mattered. 

More of him. 

Always more of him. 

"Please," she said as his fingers tangled with hers, lifting them up, and then pressing them onto the wall above her head. Desire coiled like a spring low in her belly, tighter and tighter as he attacked her mouth. No longer soft kisses, but demanding nips. A dominating onslaught that had her knees weak and her pulse pounding. 

"You like not being in control, don't you, Doc?" he whispered when she circled her hips, seeking relief from the pressure building between her thighs. He nudged them apart with his knee, sending a shard of pleasure lancing through her. 

She didn't deny it. 

She couldn't.

"Do you like this, Marlena?" he asked, lifting her hands from their position over her head and then pressing them back into the cool of the wall to illustrate what this meant. Him holding her captive in her and Roman’s bedroom. 

Did she like it? 

"God, yes." 

She liked everything about it. Loved that she didn't have to think or move or do anything but let him do as he desired. Her breasts ached. Her heart thundered. Her blood rushed in a dull roar in her ears, shutting out every single thing but him, her, and the cool wall at her back. A wicked smile spread across his face. He tightened his grip on her, pressing his body closer until his lips were at her ear. 

"I want to make you come right now, Doc." 

Oh… God. 

“Not here…Roman might- “She moaned. 

"And then I want to take you to my loft and make you come again. Do you want that?" 

God, yes, she wanted that. 

So badly her legs trembled at just the suggestion of what he wanted to do to her. She hissed when his teeth sank into her earlobe, a move she loved from their past together. His tongue followed behind, easing the sting of his bite. 

"Do you?" he asked. 

"Yes. Please, yes."

He leaned forward and kissed her again, his tongue thrusting in and out of her mouth as if illustrating exactly how he planned to make her come for him. By the time he pulled back, she was a sobbing mess. Everything he made her feel crashed through her at once, raging like an inferno. 

"John, please," she begged, needing him to touch her, fuck her… anything he wanted so long as it eased the ache building inside her. Strands of her hair caught in the miniscule crevices of the wall, pulling. Even that felt good, like little stings of pleasure radiating throughout her body. 

"Please what, sweetheart? Tell me what you need." 

She didn't know what she needed. Release and pleasure and him and here and now. To go home and do it again. Everything he'd promised her, exactly as he'd promised her. His teeth sank into the hollow between her shoulder and neck this time. She cried out, wanting more. She wanted his mark on her, proof that he'd really been there. That she really was splayed against a wall in her and Roman’s bedroom with John’s teeth in her flesh and his body all over hers. She tilted her head to the side for him as he sucked her skin into his mouth and released it, tongue swirling in that same gentle way that made her crazy. 

"Tell me what you need from me," he said again, lifting his head until his blue eyes met hers. "I want to hear you say it." 

"John, please." She shifted, tugging against his hold as if that would somehow get her closer to her goal. He smiled that wicked, devilish smile and pressed her hands more firmly onto the wall. Not enough to hurt. 

Not nearly enough to hurt. 

"I'll give you whatever you want, but you have to tell me." 

"You." 

"Me?" 

"Yes. God, yes," she groaned. "I need you." 

Something dark and light and brilliant all at once flashed through his eyes. "Say it again," he whispered. Not a command this time but a request, a plea. His mouth dipped to hers, tongue slipping past her lips and tasting her mouth before he pulled back.

"Please."

"God, I need you," she whispered in return. The words were breathy, shaky, but earnest and honest even so. "So much it hurts." 

"Ah, fuck, sweetheart." His head fell back. A tremor raced through him. And then his mouth was on hers, frantic, urgent, and as desperate as she felt. When he moved away this time, his eyes were pools of blue lava, sparks seeming almost to crackle as he stared down at her. She moaned his name at that look in his eyes, so unrestrained and undiluted and perfect. 

"Don't move," he warned her, capturing both of her hands in one of his. The other trailed down her arm and sent flames bursting to life there, too. His gaze stayed locked on hers as he roamed down her arm and over her breast to roll one nipple between his fingers. She cried out but didn't move, frozen in place by the emotion playing across his face. His fingertips trailed down her stomach. Even through her nightgown, heat seared her everywhere he touched. 

Lower, lower…, and lower again across her hip, and then down her thigh. He delved his hand beneath her gown, inching the fabric upward.

Everything stopped. 

Time. 

The lights. 

Her heart. 

"Breathe, Marlena," he murmured, his eyes never leaving hers even as his hand quested higher. Her breath left her throat in a rush, knees nearly buckling beneath her when he stroked his fingers across her center. He caught her about the waist, holding her up. Her hands fell to her sides. John adjusted his stance, hiding her from sight even as his weight pinned her gently to the wall. His fingers delved beneath the fabric again, sliding between the wet lace of her panties and onto her center. 

"Fuck." He closed his eyes and groaned. "You're always so wet and ready for me." 

She moaned her agreement, so far gone in anticipation she couldn't form a single word. "Hold on to me." 

She lifted numb arms and draped them over his shoulders. His lips curved upward. "You look so fucking good. Let me see it." He seemed almost to be speaking to himself, the words so soft she would not have caught them had his mouth not been so very close. His hand began to move. Not one finger, but all of them, rubbing across her clit as the dam on his self-control broke wide open.

Hers followed in its wake, ripped apart by the sensations he sent raging through her as soon as he began to touch her. She wanted to cry out, to scream, to let him know what he was doing to her, but she couldn't. 

Not one word passed her lips. 

Not a single sound. 

All she could do was stand there and feel the sensations tearing through her as he circled her clit fast and hard. 

She exploded in a matter of moments, her desperation and his sending her careening over the edge into bright white light and not nearly enough relief. She cried out as she fell, and then cried out again when he crushed her body to his. It wasn't enough. She needed more. He didn't make her ask for it. Didn't make her say anything at all, in fact. 

​

They stood in silence for a long moment, the way her feet shuffled across the floor the only sound between them. He ached to wrap his arms around her—to wipe that horrified, fearful look off her face. But every time he wanted to touch her, anything he wanted to say to her went right out the door, forgotten by the way the feel of her skin beneath his palms made his heart race. "I'm-” she said. "I really didn't mean any of that."

"Then talk to me, Doc." He wasn't interested in apologies but in the truth. In her letting him in before he really did go mad. 

"What do you want me to say?" she asked, hanging her head. He didn't want to fight with her either, but he didn't know what to say any more than she did. 

"What do you want from me?" She muttered wordlessly, shifting beside him. 

"I want you to say that I'm not the only one who feels so out of control. That I'm not seeing things between us where they don't exist. That you're tired of fighting what's between us, too. I don't know what I want you to say or do. I just want to know that I'm not in this alone. Not knowing what you want… I hate it, Doc.." 

“I don’t know what to say, John…”

She was killing him. "Maybe that I’m not the only one who feels that? My heart fucking aches when I see you with him" he said when she fell silent, lifting his head to look at her. His heart responded to her immediately, aching just like he'd told her it did. "The way my skin crawls when I can't touch you? The way I can't shut my mind off because every fucking thought belongs to you? I had no right to touch you on the plane last night, but I dragged you into this bullshit because I couldn't stop myself, Marlena. I wanted you. I still want you. I want to possess you. I want you as fucking crazy as you make me. But I don't have that right, not after I promised to keep my distance until you tell Roman the truth. Does knowing that make it better for you? Does that make it easier for you? It certainly doesn't for me." He stepped up beside her, and ran his hand down her cheek. "I'm dying to be inside you again, Doc," he whispered. "You're all I think about anymore, and it kills me that I can't have you." 

The rest of the fight went out of her right before his eyes. It drained from her entirely, leaving her eyes wide and watery and her arms wrapped around herself as if she tried to physically hold herself together. She looked so much smaller suddenly, so much more fragile than the woman who'd given him hell for what they did last night. 

"That's not your decision to make; It is mine, my own," she mouthed, nuzzling her cheek into the palm of his hand. 

"It's mine; I don’t want you walking around feeling guilty." 

"No, it's not." He shook his head, his resolve wavering, slipping away as she looked up at him, pleading silently with those watery, dilated eyes for exactly what he wanted to give her. "Fuck, Doc, all I've done since Roman returned was to put you on the spot. I can’t help myself." 

"I know," she sighed. 

"I just want you. God, I want you so much I can't think straight when you touch me." A tear slipped down her cheek, wrecking him. 

"Marlena, please don't–" She shook her head, cutting him off. "But I can't do this anymore too, John. I tried so hard to just take things between us as they came, and I can't. It's been two years since you moved on with Isabella, and I feel insane. I just… can't. We can't. I don't know why you make me feel like this, but you do. I don't know what to do, John, and I am so tired of trying to figure it out. I'm just done. I'll tell Roman the truth. I'll…." she trailed off, another tear rolling down her cheek. "I'm sorry." She sounded so fucking devastated as she whispered the words. His chest ached again. "How do I make you feel, sweetheart?" He swiped at her tears, hating that he'd made her cry. 

Hating that she'd reached her limit somewhere in that bedroom. "It doesn't matter, I've hurt you-" 

"It does matter," he argued softly. "It matters to me." 

She shook her head, trying to deny him that truth. "Tell me, Doc. Please." Marlena sighed and gave in, her bottom lip trembling though she tried so hard to hide it.

"You make me feel loved. Like not having you may kill me. Like… like you might consume me if I let you. Like I want to let you..." She shook her head, her frustration one he understood completely. "You scare me on the plane, John. I'm not the woman who has sex with men that are not her husband, but when you're around, I want to be that woman. That scares the hell out of me, and I don't know how to stop it. I don't want to stop it." She felt it too, that consuming thirst. The clawing addiction and burning desperation. Knowing that, he couldn't just let go. He couldn't just let her go. 

Fuck. 

He was so fucked.

"I'll call him now. I’ll tell him to meet me–" Once again, she sounded defeated, torn. Like she already regretted making that decision. 

"No." John shook his head, his decision made. 

"Don't. I can't–" He curled his hand around her elbow, dragging her closer when words failed. He shook his head, a frantic edge to his voice. "I don't want you to go." 

She groaned, tears still rolling down her cheeks. 

"Marlena…." Whatever he meant to say to keep her right there with him was lost to him the moment her body grazed his. Heat exploded between them, raging like an inferno. The breath left his lungs in a rush as relief at touching her eased every frustration and fear. He dipped his head, pressing his forehead to hers. 

"John," she whispered quietly, almost reverently… and that look on her face. Damn, that hopeful, yearning look on her face. 

"Please." His lips were on hers before the final syllable of her plea fell. He drew it inside himself, telling her what she needed to hear the only way he knew how: with his body moving against hers and his tongue working in tandem with hers. Their arms tangled around one another. Moans fell from him, from her… he wasn't sure. All he felt was her sweet breath across his face and the way she writhed as she tried to move closer. The way she filled every space inside of him with desire and silence and a thousand other things undid him. 

"Fuck," he breathed into her mouth, his tongue stroking hers as he fell backward into the wall. He delved his hands into her hair, tilting her head so he could get deeper. He needed deeper. He needed it so fucking badly…. She ran her hands up and down his back, setting him on fire and soothing him at once.

"John. God, I need…. Please don't…" Her words were frantic as he swept his free hand across her body, touching her everywhere in a desperate attempt to soothe the burn. It wasn't nearly enough, though. He needed her naked and screaming for him. Screaming because of him. Begging. 

He needed…. fuck, he needed her and he needed in and he needed it now and he needed her to stay. The rest of it, just fuck it. If she stayed, they would figure out the rest. They had to, because he wasn't letting her leave. 

He couldn't. 

Not until he had a chance to remind her how good things were between them before Isabella and Roman came into their lives. He lifted her into his arms, his mouth still moving with hers in a silent plea, the only way he knew how to voice it. 

Please don't give up now. Please don't walk away. 

She writhed in his arms, and he swallowed her matching pleas each time she offered them. "Shh," he whispered, stumbling toward the bed. The way she felt in his arms and their destination held his attention. Everything else—thoughts about what came next or how that would work out—could wait. Until she cried his name and came for him—until she was his in that carnal, intimate way—nothing else mattered. And she would come for him, again and again. He would make damn sure of that. His body was the only bargaining chip he had. 

"Tell me to stop, Doc," he whispered, attacking the exposed line of her neck, giving her one more chance to save herself even as he pleaded with his lips and tongue for her to refuse the out he offered her. "Tell me to stop, and I will, but tell me now." 

"Don't," she groaned, her head falling back again as he roved his mouth over her neck, tasting her. "Don't you dare stop this time, John Black." Her breathy moan eradicated the last thread of his control. 

Growling, he tossed her onto the bed. Marlena bounced atop the bed, crying out when John let her go. Her body ached in the most pleasurable way possible. Everything from the top of her head to the tips of her toes burned white hot for more. More kisses, touches, and greedy groans against her flushed skin and liquid heat. She wasn't drowning beneath John's wicked onslaught. She had already drowned, become submerged completely in the slide of his tongue with hers, the press of his hips into hers, and the rough glide of his fingers across her body. As he tore his shirt over his head and followed her down to the bed, he seemed to be everywhere at once. 

He ravished her mouth with intoxicating kisses before moving on to her neck, and then on again to nip and pull at the pulse pounding wildly in her throat. He raked his teeth across her shoulder before sliding his mouth down her chest and then onto her fabric encased nipple. He bit, licked, and sucked her into a moaning, frenzied mess before moving on. Hovering above her on straining forearms, he worked her over with sinful precision, he knew exactly how to make her burst into flame. His hands glided across fabric. Fabric slid across her skin. His questing fingers soothed and inflamed her as she writhed beneath him, cried out, and then writhe again. 

And still he didn't stop and didn't slow. He was frantic in his worship, setting her so far ablaze, she flashed to steam. Fabric pulled away from her body until she lay half bare beneath him—her blouse tossed in one direction, her backless, black lace bra in another. His gaze roved across her body as hungrily as his mouth had.

"So beautiful," he groaned, and then he went back to work. His tongue, teeth, lips, and fingertips stroked, pressed, and glided until the only thing that mattered to Marlena was the way he made her feel. She panted and moaned, begging wordlessly for him to never stop. Still, he kept on. 

Touching, kissing, and unmaking her with every languid sweep of his hands and mouth. 

One simple thought played like a mantra in her mind: Yes, yes, yes. 

Lying beneath him, she couldn't deny the truth anymore. She couldn't have found the will, the words, or the desire to deny him had she wanted to, and she didn't want to. 

She so did not want to. 

She needed this with him… this press and pull and burn, burn, burn. 

"John, please," she moaned when the sensations he brought roaring to life in her became too much and not nearly enough at once. "Tell me what you need, baby," he said, lifting his head from his wicked assault. His eyes burned that vivid, dark blue color that spoke to something wild and primal deep down inside her. She fought to press her legs together, desperate to relieve the pressure building there. But her thighs were spread wantonly around his body, keeping her prisoner to the ache in her center. She arched against him, undulating like a wave. He hissed as her heat brushed the bulge in his pants, and bucked his hips into her. 

"This, Doc?" he asked, grinding his erection into her center. "Is this what you want?" 

"Yes." Her answer to his question came as one long, drawn out moan. His lips curved into a wicked smile. He dropped down over her, holding his body inches from hers as he met her gaze. Somehow, he didn't appear hazy or blurry anymore. Everything in her system but him had burned out completely. She cried out as heat grew between them, crackling and snapping in the few inches that separated his body from hers. 

"Tell me what you need, baby." 

Marlena swallowed, her throat working but no sound coming out as bright blue once more stripped her of every thought in her head. She was wanted and needed, and Oh God, please. Yes and more and you. 

John dipped his head, his tongue sweeping once across her bottom lip before he reared back—waiting, wanting. 

"Tell me, Marlena," he said. "I want to hear you say it." 

"You." That one breathless word affected him as if she'd screamed it aloud. His entire body shuddered atop hers, causing the coarse hair on his muscular chest to brush across her sensitive nipples. His head lashed backward, tendons in his neck standing out as he hissed… and then he slid away, moving down the bed and her body. His long fingers danced up her calves, knees, and thighs, stroking and tugging her legs further apart. He dipped his hands beneath the fabric of her skirt, lifted, and swept it away. 

Her nightgown and little white panties disappeared down her porcelain legs. Within seconds, she lay naked, spread out before him on top of her floral comforter. His nostrils flared. His cheeks flushed. Burning, vivid blue darkened and dilated until those gorgeous eyes were nothing but blue-rimmed, hungry black. She felt salacious, debauched. 

"John…." She undulated beneath his gaze, arching, bucking, and begging with her body. The sensations ripping through her were too much. She needed him inside, filling and fucking her until the clawing, painful burn stopped. Until the madness shattered and she could breathe again, be again. Only, she wasn't sure she would. He'd seeped into every space inside her, filling her. 

"Please," she whispered, reaching out to him in supplication, no longer caring if she begged or not. "I need you." 

"Shh," John answered her, carefully jerking her legs farther apart to settle between them. "No begging, baby, not now." He lifted his head, meeting her gaze when those words tore a desperate groan from her lips. 

No begging. 

It was the most significant of the concessions he'd given her tonight. Running his hands up her legs, he spread her wider. "Let me hear you scream, baby," he whispered, his eyes blazing with wicked intent. 

“Oh… God!”

He grasped her hips and lifted. His hungry lips met her aching center. His warm tongue stroked through her dripping folds. And she was gone—screaming, crying, bucking into his ravishing mouth as he drank her down his throat, not tasting but devouring… eating her alive. He didn't take his time. He took her, just as he'd said he wanted to, thrusting his tongue into her pussy and fucking her with it until her mind went black with pleasure. The sight of him buried between her legs, taking what he wanted would be seared into recesses of her memory so deep, nothing would ever burn it out. 

He kept on and on, pulling her clit into his mouth, sucking and biting, until she was little more than one soundless scream after another. When she came down, sobbing and thrashing against the pillows, her entire body numb from pleasure, he was as naked as she. The drops of sweat on his chest seemed to blaze in the light. He stared down at her, pumping his fist over his hard length. 

"Tell me no now, Marlena, or I'm going to take you until you can't move," he promised her, his eyes flashing darker as he said the words she'd wanted to hear since their night at the party. She couldn't find the words to tell him yes or please or any of the other desperate, needy thoughts running rampant through her mind. All she could do was spread her numb legs wide in an invitation to take. Desire flared brighter in his eyes as he looked down at her glistening center, and he fell upon her like a man crazed. 

He lashed his hands around her ankles, lifting them up and dragging her gently toward him down the bed. Her legs fell onto his straining, muscular shoulders as he fought to hold himself in check. When his cock landed against her center, they both cried out. 

"Marlena…." She had no idea what he tried to say to her, and he didn't finish. With one smooth, hard thrust, he buried himself inside of her. She cried out as pain and pleasure at his invasion mingled. He stilled instantly, teeth gritted as his breath rasped in his throat. She didn't want him still though. She wanted that sword's edge between pain and pleasure and him moving inside of her. Not still and accommodating but hard and fast and now. 

"John." She shifted her hips, causing him to strike deeper. Pleasure radiated through her. Her head lolled against the comforter. 

"Doc," he tried to warn her. 

She moved again, not wanting his warning any more than she wanted him slow. She wanted him as crazed as she was, thrusting and grunting and taking until he couldn't think either. Needed him as out of control as she felt… and she was out of control, so far beyond reason or rational or anything but the feel of him finally stretching and filling her. 

And she was full. 

So full, and it felt good. 

God, he felt good. 

She shifted once more and got her wish. 

"Fuck," he hissed, head thrown back as he slid out slightly and was sucked right back in by her little movements beneath him. 

"Marlena, baby—fuck." Had she been able to say a word, she would have echoed that sentiment. Instead, she lifted her hips, a pressure in her chest releasing as if untied when he took her silent command and began to move. Not slow or easy or gentle in any way. It was hard and fast, him pounding deeply into her as they both cried out. Exactly what they'd both wanted for days—groaning, grunting, and slick, sweaty skin against slick, sweaty skin. 

He held her still to his thrusting hips, driving himself into her over and over. 

"So… good…" he grunted, "Fuck… you feel so good." 

Marlena had never felt anything like him before. The way he moved, the way his cock seared her, the feel of him slamming himself inside her. This wasn't love. It went beyond that to some level of mania she'd never experienced before. "Look at me, Doc," he gasped when her eyes threatened to close. The feelings he evoked in her were too intense to handle with his eyes locked on hers as he drove himself into her. In and out until she writhed beneath him all over again, gasping, crying out… ready to tumble over the edge into oblivion. Into more of this, and no way out. 

"Look at me." She shook her head, refusing to look at him as sensation built, focusing. 

"Look at me, Marlena," he commanded, shifting his position to strike more deeply. 

"Now." 

She arched off the bed, crying out at his pleasurable punishment. Her eyes flew open, landed on his, and she drowned all over again. Got swept right over the edge into blue-rimmed, hungry black, with no way out… just as she'd known would happen. 

"You've always been different for me," he groaned, eyes locked on hers as he pumped into her, hitting every spot she didn't know she had. "From day one, baby." 

Yes. Oh God, yes. 

"I'm not fighting it anymore," he said, pumping into her. Her last clear thought was that she'd been absolutely right so many days ago. And she no longer cared, not with his hands all over her body and his cock buried to the hilt in her. Not with his eyes locked on hers and those little confessions falling from his lips. 

"Come for me, baby," he said, reaching down to stroke her clit with his thumb as he continued to drill into her, his eyes locked on hers. 

"I need to feel it on my cock." 

“Oh god, John!” She came, unable to stop herself as he drove her into insensibility. Her inner walls clamped down around him. His name broke from her lips in a high pitched, keening cry. 

"Fuck, yes," he groaned as his name echoed around them. He drove his cock into her. Once. Twice. Three times and then he cried her name too, holding her still as he came. His cock pulsed as he filled her body, and sent her barreling over the edge again.