Sleeping Single in a Double Bed

Category: PWP

Rating: NC-17

Spoilers: Vague ones, up through “Need To Know”

Disclaimer: Not mine. I just borrowed them for a few minutes.

Feedback: Please, no flames

Archive: Fine, as long as you tell me where

Author’s Notes: Mac’s POV, a companion piece to “Can’t Get Her Out Of My Head”

Not beta’d. All mistakes are my own.

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‘God, I can’t believe how tired I am.’

It had been a long week, and it was only Wednesday. Nope, it was, technically, at least, Thursday. But still, the week *had* been long. And boring.

Sarah Mackenzie rolled over and pummeled her pillow into a more comfortable shape, before throwing herself back onto it with a heavy sigh. ‘For God’s sake,’ she thought, ‘at this rate, I’ll never get any sleep tonight.’

She wasn’t sure why she was in such a petulant mood, but she really hated herself when she got this way.

‘What’s wrong with boring, Mackenzie? You’ve spent most of the past year dealing with crises, and now you’re bitching because it’s been a quiet week? You definitely need help,’ she told herself.

Besides, it really hadn’t been *that* bad of a week. There had been a few high points. She began going over them in her mind, hoping that counting relative blessings might act as a sleep aide, if counting sheep wouldn’t work.

But, damn it, she was just too restless, and, try as she might, she couldn’t fall asleep. She knew that if Chloe had come to her and said that she couldn’t sleep, she’d have fixed her hot milk or hot chamomile tea. But Sarah hadn’t taken her own advice, and so here she was, in the middle of the night, still tossing and turning.

She’d already been tired before going to the dinner for the Sudanese president at the White House tonight, and, mentally going over her schedule for tomorrow, she suddenly remembered that she had a meeting scheduled for 0700 hours. ‘Whose idiot secretary scheduled a meeting so damned early in the morning?’ she protested silently.

Part of the problem, she knew, was hormonal. It was *that* time of the month, “Baby week,” as her grandmother had delicately referred to it. There was an egg, sitting up there in her fallopian tubes, just waiting to be fertilized.

‘Well, too damned bad, egg! It’s not going to happen this month, or any other month in the foreseeable future,’ Sarah groused to herself.

Grandma Amirah had always said to let Nature take its course, whenever possible. ‘Ha! That was easy for her to say, she had Grandpa O’Hara. I don’t have anyone. Not Harm. Not Mic. No one.’ Not that she wanted either one of them. But it had been a very long time, and the only man she’d felt the slightest tingle for in months had been Clayton Webb, of all people.

Okay, that was a big mistake, thinking about Webb in her present condition. It had been like that all week; she couldn’t keep her mind off sex. Or, for some reason, off of Clayton Webb. She normally had better self-control over her hormones, but not this month.

‘Yeah, that’s it, Marine. Blame it on your hormones.’

First, there had been that tennis game at the Congressional Racquet Club last weekend. She’d gotten completely distracted in the middle of a doubles match with Bobbi Latham, Tom Jacobs, and, most surprising, Clayton Webb. She hadn’t even known that he was back in DC.

‘I mean, it wasn’t like I even missed him,’ she told herself, huffily. ‘I just wondered how he was doing. Where he was. What he was doing. But I didn’t miss him!’

Even more surprising than seeing Clay back in DC, was the realization of just how attractive he looked. Besides, it wasn’t like he even liked her very much; after all, he’d declined an invitation to her wedding to Mic.

But, still, whether Clay liked her or not, it had been incredibly stupid of her to let herself get distracted by the man’s chest...

‘And, oh, my, what a nice chest it is, too!’

...in the middle of a tennis match, even if he had just come into her field of vision. No wonder she had tripped over her own feet and fallen on the court. But had she been embarrassed by her lack of attention? No. Had she been annoyed by the knowledge of the inevitable bruises that would follow her fall? No. Instead, she’d been turned on by the incident.

...Giggle...

Then, of course, Clay had been the one that came over to help her get up. Which had been going from bad to worse. She had taken one look at the hand he held out to her, and her mind had suddenly flashed on the idea of those hands of his moving on her body, caressing her from her waist to her breasts, his fingers stroking her nipples. He had nice hands, supple and strong, and curiously gentle. She had just stayed there on the ground for a moment, blushing, trying to compose her thoughts, before she let him help her stand up.

‘I hope he didn’t notice me blushing. I wonder if he noticed how erect my nipples were, or the way they pushed against my shirt? Oh, God, I hope not.’

...Sigh...

At this rate, she was never going to get to sleep tonight.

‘And, speaking of breasts...’

Sarah suddenly realized that she had become incredibly aware of her own breasts. Her nipples were rock hard and, as she rolled over in her lonely bed, her nightgown rubbed against them, teasing them even further. Teasing was all well and good, but she’d been teasing herself, one way or another, all week long. Not to mention tonight, at the dinner party.

She wondered what in hell had possessed her to sit there and stare at Clay’s very fine ass that evening? Well, it was certainly more interesting than the dinner itself had been, even with all those good-looking men wearing tuxedos and dress uniforms.

‘I was *leering* at him, for God’s sake,’ she scolded herself. ‘Of course, Webb does have a nice ass; hell, he has a fantastic ass, the kind that makes me just want to... Okay, if I’m going to get *any* sleep tonight, I need to drag my mind out of the gutter it’s currently inhabiting,’ she sternly told herself.

She wondered if Senora Ramirez, who had been sitting across from her at dinner, had known what she was thinking--or worse, feeling? Probably, but the Spanish Ambassador’s wife had looked like she thought the not-so-subtle glances they’d been throwing each other all evening long incredibly amusing. Sarah sincerely hoped that no one else, especially her self-obsessed partner, had noticed what had been going on.

‘Well, I’m obviously not going to get any sleep this way. Good-bye, nightgown!’ The skimpy silk gown flew threw the air and landed on a chair. ‘Two points!’ she silently exulted.

God, it felt wonderful to take her clothes off. There had been times tonight when she was sure everyone could see her nipples, straining at the bodice of her gown. She wondered if Clay had noticed them at dinner. Oh, why did this always happen? Why couldn’t she get her mind out of the gutter tonight?

...Mmmm...

And Webb had looked *so* attractive in that tuxedo. There had been a moment tonight, when they were standing together, alone, in the hallway outside of her apartment, when the idea of just forgetting about all of her uncertainties, of forgetting about Rabb, of just crawling into Clay’s arms and letting her feelings take her wherever they wanted, had briefly crossed her mind. But then his cell phone had shrilled out its demand for attention, and she had simply said good night, before turning away and walking into the apartment and closing the door behind her. She’d known that Clay wanted her. She’d recognized that look on his face; the slightly glazed look in his eyes, the way he kept moistening his lips. It was the kind of sexual tension between a man and a woman that was virtually impossible to miss. Even for someone as evidently ignorant about men and their behavior as she seemed to be.

‘Oh, come on, Sarah. Stop thinking about this,’ she whined.

She’d never get to sleep at this rate, and she was going to have to be on her toes at that early meeting. Well, there was one surefire way to relax, even if it wasn’t nearly as much fun to do all by yourself.

...Deep sigh...

She’d wanted to just pull Clay into her apartment, shutting the door on everyone and everything else, and drag him with her into her bedroom.

‘I wonder what he’d do...’

Lowering his head, he’d kiss her gently. The next kiss would be firmer, and her lips would give way, just slightly, beneath his. She’d gasp slightly, as the very tip of his tongue brushed lightly and sensuously over her mouth. As her lips softened beneath his, he’d gently thrust his tongue into her mouth. She’d be able to taste the brandy on his breath, and that would excite her, just a little. Tentatively at first, her tongue would seek his out, fencing with his. For a long time, they’d just stand there, their mouths hungrily exploring each other, their bodies pressed against each other.

Then, finally, reaching up, he would loosen her hair, and it would fall down to her shoulders, his hands sliding through it, singling out one curl, which he’d take between two fingers and kiss. Reaching up, she’d softly caress his face, feeling the faint stubble of whiskers beneath her fingertips.

She’d undo his tuxedo jacket, and push it off of his shoulders and down his arms, dropping it to the floor. Then she’d undo his bow tie and the studs on his shirt, baring him to the waist. He’d be very close to her, and she’d be able to smell the male scent of him, along with just a hint of his cologne.

‘God, I love his cologne. I wonder if it’s Polo?’

She’d feel the heat of his body, and see the pulse beating wildly at the base of his throat. He would pull away from her, without saying a word, and, not stopping with his shirt, which would follow his jacket onto the floor, he’d take off the rest of his clothes, with almost frantic haste.

His hazel eyes would look at her thoughtfully, then he’d reach out and slowly unzip her dress, just enough to slide it down her shoulder and free her breasts. His thumb would slowly encircle her nipple, already thrusting forward with a desire she couldn’t hide, and then he’d lower his dark head to take it into his mouth, to tease it with his warm, velvety tongue.

‘Oh, God, that feels wonderful.’

His hands would push her dress a little further down her arm, and, finally, with the help of gravity, it would fall with a silken hiss to the floor, leaving her bare to his eyes.

‘I really ought to cut back on those Beltway burgers.’

Then his hands would slide down her sides, filling themselves with her hips, caressing her legs. He’d slide one hand along the satiny skin of her leg, to stroke her between her trembling thighs. He’d find her already wet with desire for him, and his hand would tease deliciously at her, the fingers seeking, finding, stroking, as she writhed under his touch. When those fingers found what they were looking for, she’d have to bite her lip to keep from crying out loud. And as he’d touch her, she’d find herself unable to keep from caressing him in return. Her fingers would move through his hair, enjoying the silky feel of it.

‘God, I’ve always wanted to touch his hair!’

Her hands would caress the back of his neck and sweep down over his smooth, muscled shoulders, down to his firm buttocks, and she’d dig her nails lightly into the hard flesh of his back, making him groan in anticipation of further delights.

...Moan...

By now, she’d be begging him to take her, to make love to her, and that voice, that wonderful, incredibly sensual voice, would murmur in her ear, “Of course I will, Sarah.” Sometimes just hearing the sound of his voice, especially when he said her name, was enough to make her a little weak in the knees.

‘It’s probably a good thing that he hardly ever calls me anything but Mac at work!’ she thought, irreverently.

He’d sweep her into his arms and walk across the room to lay her gently on the bed. His body would cover hers, their mouths open and their tongues entwined together again. The touch of his body on hers would be explosive. She would be able to feel every nuance: the dark hair on his legs and chest; the beat of his heart against hers; the softness of his skin; the very masculine, personal scent of him; the wiry curls between his legs that pressed against her own; his hardness pressing into her thigh. Together they would explore each other’s bodies, caressing, touching each other with tenderness, and anticipating, without haste, the final pleasure to come.

Finally, with a sigh, she’d open her legs to him, murmuring against his mouth, “Oh, Clay! Yes!” And tenderly, slowly, he’d enter her. He’d grasp her hips, pulling her body even closer to his, thrusting back and forth until she whimpered with pleasure from feeling him, warm and hard, within her. He’d move slowly at first, with deep measured strokes, until she’d moan, softly, uncontrollably. Deep within her she would feel the tenseness mounting until it was almost unbearable. She’d be desperate for release, but he’d withhold it, easing off just a little until the tension receded like a wave from the shore. Then their thrusting would increase in speed, with her knowing that she was going to die from the pleasure he was giving her. Her teeth would sink into his shoulder to muffle her cries as they found release with each other.

“Oh, G=god... Oh, yes... Clay, I love you!”

‘Well...’ She shook her head, wondering what deep recesses of her psyche *that* sentiment had come from.

...Sigh...

Sarah knew she wanted more from Clayton Webb, from any man, than just sex; she wanted to spend the rest of her life with the *right* man. If all she wanted was sex, she could get that any night of the week. But, no, she wanted, she *needed* much more than that. And she’d decided that, if she couldn’t have everything from a relationship, she’d rather have no relationship at all.

She wondered, now, after all the time they’d known each other, if Clay really knew what it was that *he* wanted from her. Would Clayton Webb be the man who could make the kind of commitment that she needed from the man in her life?

‘Does he do this?’ she wondered. ‘Does he lie in bed at night, and think of me, and do this?’ Would they ever share a bed, would she ever find out what he tastes like, if he’s ticklish, what he likes?

Maybe someday. It was a New Year, after all, and maybe the next time the opportunity presented itself, she wouldn’t let it slip through her fingers.

‘Oh, well, at least now maybe I’ll be able to sleep.’

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