The morning sun has you squinting as you cross the street to the convention center, passing the lines of people, some sporting elaborate costumes, that are already eager to get in, and head along the side of the building to a less populated entrance. Showing your credentials to the security guard manning the door, you make your way through the back corridors to the staging area for guests and scan the already crowded room. As you suspected, your charge hasn't arrived yet so you make your way over to the heavily-laden breakfast buffet and help yourself to a pastry and a cup of strong coffee, knowing you're going to need it to get through the day. You talk to a few people you know in passing, catching up on events since the last convention and then you take up a position on one of the over-stuffed sofas from where you can watch the door for new arrivals, enjoying the rest while you can in the face of the crazy day ahead of you.

You watch as other guests come and go, taking a quick breakfast before meeting up with their handlers and heading out to their appointed spots. Checking the time on your phone, you sigh, thinking you could have taken an extra hour in bed this morning but knowing if you had, he would have probably been early for once and you would have been in trouble. Your head shoots up at the sound of a commotion by the door and finally you see him, his smile wide, as he makes his way into the room throwing out handshakes, back slaps and kisses to nearly everyone he passes until he spots you and makes a beeline in your direction. You stand up to meet him, unable to stop the smile that's splitting your own face as he pushes his sunglasses up onto the top of his head and wraps his arms around your waist to lift you up in a crushing hug.

"MEL!" he yells before kissing your cheek and lowering you back to the floor.

"Hi Norman," you reply, feeling his hands resting intimately on your hips, letting you know exactly what type of weekend you're in for. "You ready for this?"

"Hell yeah!" he exclaims. "But first, coffee."

You laugh as he releases you and turns to the breakfast table, giving you the opportunity to say hello to Clark who greets you with a warm hug.

"Okay, what say we go set up while the diva gets his breakfast?" Clark asks, ignoring the finger Norman flips him from the other end of the table where he's trying to decide what to eat first.

"Sure," you tell him, gathering up your purse.

"You," Clark says, pointing an authoritative finger at Norman, "stay right here, I'll be back for you in 15 minutes. "

"Yes, mom," Norman mumbles around a mouthful of food, winking at you as you follow Clark out of the room and into the bustling convention hall.

The entire space is a riot of noise and color already, everywhere you look you see zombies staring back at you and Norman's alter-ego emblazoned on everything from t-shirts to shot glasses. There's already a sizeable crowd at his booth, mostly women, chattering animatedly among themselves and giving a small cheer as Clark moves behind the table. You work efficiently together as a team, setting out the piles of photos for fans to have signed, making sure Norman has an ample supply of Sharpies in all colors and lining up the promo pieces for him to sign for various vendors at the show. As you work, you try to avoid eye contact with any of the fans at the front of the line, knowing that inevitably one or more of them will approach you with requests for special treatment – extra time with Norman, more than one photo and so on. You keep your head down and let the event staff deal with them as you get everything set up the way you know Norman likes it.

With everything laid out to his satisfaction, Clark gives you a nod and heads out to collect Norman and bring him back, leaving you to finish prepping. Your mind wanders a little and you find yourself thinking about Norman, naturally, surprised to realize that it's been a year already since you first met, actually at the very same convention that you're at now. You'd been working for his management company for some time but your paths had never crossed until his regular handler had quit on short notice and you were the only one available to step in. That first weekend had been insane, you had worked the convention circuit before but never for a celebrity with such a large following or who was quite as unique as Norman. What started off as a fairly sedate crowd of people, nicely paced and not too demanding on the Friday evening had degenerated into utter chaos by the time Saturday had rolled around, the number of people easily tripling as Norman entertained each and every one of them who lined up to see him. You weren't sure you had ever laughed so hard or been so frustrated in a single day so, when he had invited you out for drinks when it was all over, you felt that you absolutely deserved to go. The fun didn't stop when you reached the hotel bar, a large group of the cast and their friends gathering to let their hair down, until you were way drunker than you intended and Norman was glued to your side like a Koala. Not sure if it was just the alcohol clouding your mind or if it was actually happening, you felt quite certain that Norman was flirting with you, had been all day in fact as you thought back over it and you had found that you were enjoying it probably a little more than you should have been, given that he was technically your boss for the weekend.

When the evening had finally wound down, with the more sensible members of the group reminding everyone there was still another day of the con to get through, it had seemed natural to head back to your rooms together, Norman's arm wrapped comfortably around your shoulders until you reached your floor and he and Clark had said goodnight before carrying on up to theirs. You had barely gotten changed into your pajamas, the room still swaying a little from the alcohol in your system, when your phone had buzzed with a text from Norman telling you he needed to see you immediately. With a frustrated sigh, you had pulled on one of the hotel's robes over your nightwear and taken the elevator up to his floor, making a mental note to tell your boss that you expected overtime for this. Answering his door to your soft knock, Norman had surprised you by pulling you inside and pressing you up against the wall to devour your mouth with his, his hands already roaming your body in a way that had lit your insides on fire. He had paused just long enough to judge your reaction, to ask if you wanted him to stop and you had responded with a resounding no, taking the lead to tear his shirt off and push him against the opposite wall.

What had followed had been a fumbling, drunken encounter, both of you driven by nothing more than self-gratification, the sex dirty and fast and unbelievably hot. When it was over, you had both collapsed against the tangled sheets giggling crazily at the intensity of what had just happened, Norman wrapping you in his arms and covering your face with whiskery kisses. You had fallen asleep like that, comfortable in his embrace, until the early hours of the morning when you had awoken with a start, shivering a little, the sweat that had cooled on your skin making you itchy and uncomfortable. As you had looked at Norman's sleeping form beside you, your rational brain had suddenly kicked in and, with a sick feeling in the pit of your stomach that had nothing to do with the alcohol you'd consumed, you'd carefully extricated yourself from his grip, tugged on your abandoned clothing and fled back to your own room. Heading straight into the shower, you had furiously scrubbed very trace of him from your skin, your mind reeling with the implications of what your lapse in judgment could mean for you. At the very least, there would be the embarrassment factor of having to spend the rest of the day beside him at his booth but, on a more serious level, there could be repercussions in your professional life if this ever came to light. Cursing your stupidity, you had spent the next few hours curled up miserably on your bed, unable to sleep, wondering at just what point you had taken leave of your senses until the room phone had rang with your morning wake-up call and you had dragged yourself to get ready.

Breakfast that morning had been a subdued affair, with most of your drinking cohorts from the night before sporting major hangovers and mainlining caffeine before facing the masses. Norman was late and your nerves were jangling by the time he and Clark finally walked through the door, Ray-bans firmly in place, and headed directly for the large coffee urn on the table. You had waited until he had turned his head in your direction before approaching him and, with a whispered word to Clark who had disappeared from the room, Norman had taken your arm gently and steered you into a relatively private corner. Convinced that he was going to tell you to get lost, that the agency was sending him a new handler for the day, you had been surprised when he had slipped off his glasses, revealing his tired but still sparkling blue eyes, and had given you a warm smile. He had told you how disappointed he'd been to wake up and find you gone, how he wanted to make sure that you were okay and that there wasn't any awkwardness between you. He reminded you that you were both consenting adults and what you did in private was nobody's business but yours and his. With a growing sense of relief you had revealed your fears to him, wanting him to know that this wasn't something you made a habit of doing and you didn't want him to think it was and he had reassured you that he didn't either but something had just sparked between you the day before and it had just felt like the right thing to do at the time.

With the air cleared between you, the second day of the convention had run smoothly, something you were all grateful for, Norman still on top of his game, making sure every fan had the best experience they could even though you could see the tiredness showing on his face at times throughout the day. You had done your best to keep his stress at a minimum, working in tandem with Clark to keep the line moving as efficiently as possible and making numerous visits to the on-site Starbucks to keep all of you alert. When the last fan was taken care of and Norman had headed back to his hotel room with Clark escorting him, you had packed away the booth, readying the boxes to be sent on to their next destination until there was nothing left but an empty table, its once white surface covered in a collage of Norman's doodles. Checking in with the event organizers as you left, letting them know that Norman's booth was clear, you had headed back to the hotel, thinking you would have a quiet dinner in front of the tv and go to bed early. A handwritten note under your door had changed your plans and, with some trepidation, you had found yourself knocking on Norman's door once more, noting the 'Do Not Disturb' sign hanging from the handle.

This time, when he had opened it, there had been no rapid descent into passion but, instead, a table laden with room service trays and his insistence that you join him for dinner. You had accepted his offer with a smile and the two of you had spent a pleasant evening just talking over the events from the past couple of days and your plans for the week ahead, the time passing until it was 11:00pm before you knew it and you had told him that you should really get back to your room and let him get some sleep. At his door you had thanked him for a great weekend and told him, half-jokingly, that he could request the agency send you to all his appearances from then on and, without you really knowing how it happened, suddenly he was kissing you again, the taste of the wine you'd drunk with dinner sweet on his lips as he slowly explored your mouth. He had leaned his body into yours, kissing softly along your jaw until he had whispered roughly in your ear, asking you to stay for the night and you had shuddered slightly under his touch, knowing you were already lost, taking his hand in yours and leading him back to the bed.

And that's how it began, not exactly an affair as neither of you had respective partners to cheat on but not exactly a relationship either as you only saw each other at conventions and meet n' greets where he was assigned a handler to help man his table. To your surprise, after your first weekend together, when your boss had called to give you your next assignment, you found that Norman had requested you personally, had in fact made it quite clear to his management team that he didn't want anyone but you at his events from then on and the two of you had begun a string of passionate encounters. You were both careful about being discreet, although Norman confessed to Clark having known what was going on from the start, both of you having something to lose should the truth come out and as the months had passed, your liaisons evolved into something you looked forward to more and more. There were no strings involved, no commitment to each other and mostly no contact between dates, maybe a random text from him on occasion telling you he was thinking about you or a moment you'd shared and most importantly, there was no pressure on either of you to behave a certain way when you were together. You had spent weekends together where all you had done was talk, the physicality between you taking a back seat to fulfil another need and that was fine by you. Then there were other weekends where, from his very first word of greeting to you, you knew you were going to be a strung-out, sweaty satisfied mess by the end of the day, gasping for air on the soaked bed sheets of a hotel room that reeked of your sex.

'This is going to be one of those weekends,' you think to yourself as a cacophony of screams brings you back to the present and you look up to see Clark leading Norman into the booth. Your skin tingles in excitement as he brushes past you to deposit his backpack on the chair behind the table and then turns back to give you a big hug before getting down to business. You wonder if your skin looks as flushed as it feels after hearing the single hurried word he'd whispered in your ear as he embraced you, 'Later.'

The day passes way too slowly for your liking, Norman taking every opportunity to press against you, to touch your arm or take your hand, leaning in to whisper suggestive comments in your ear whenever he can until there's a steady ache between your thighs and you're about ready to throw him to the floor behind the table and punish him for the way he's making you feel. Throughout it all you have to maintain a professional air, keeping your desire for him masked at all times no matter how hard he's pushing all your buttons with his sly glances accompanied by a lick of his lips or the way he says your name when he wants something. At one point he even asks you to 'come with him' as he leaves the booth to head over to his photo ops and his inflection on those words has your pussy twitching. You take a seat behind the photographer to watch as one after another of his fans is brought in to pose for a brief moment, their expressions ranging from awe to disbelief to outright glee at being so close to their idol if only for a few brief minutes. You take your downtime to study Norman, watching every move of his lithe body, loving the way his grey jeans are slung low on his hips, remembering the way the worn material feels sliding under your bare thighs as you straddle his lap. Your eyes are drawn to the tight black t-shirt clinging to his torso, outlining every muscle below it and you can see the prominent push of his nipples against the soft material, your tongue running reflexively over your lips as your mind provides the image of your mouth pressed tight against those hardened nubs, licking and sucking as he moans above you, hands pulling roughly at your hair.

By the time the photo ops are all done, the last fan wandering away in a happy daze, you're ready to head straight to his room and lock the door until morning but he insists on taking you and Clark out to dinner with some of the other Walking Dead attendees and your group descends on a local restaurant much to the owner's delight. Somehow you all manage to squeeze in around one large table and you find yourself trapped between Norman and Clark at the back of the booth, Norman's thigh pressed tightly against yours, his fingers resting lightly on your knee under the table. As the meal progresses, you try to push away the lustful thoughts that have been crowding your mind all day and concentrate on the conversation around you, humbled that you get to spend time with such an amazing group of people. You're doing fine until the dessert cart comes around and Norman decides you need to try the decadent-looking chocolate cake he's chosen for himself, sliding a forkful into your mouth at the same time as his hand slides higher on your thigh, his fingers pressing hard against the tight denim of your jeans covering your crotch and you just barely manage to swallow the rich cake without choking. Reaching for your wine glass to take a gulp, you squeeze your thighs tight against his hand but, undeterred, his fingers are still rubbing against you, sending a delightful ache to your core.

It seems to you that it takes an eternity for the meal to end, your interest in the people around you now overshadowed by the more pressing need to get Norman alone so that you can have him finish what he's started with his endless teasing. When the bill is finally paid, everyone walks back to the hotel, you, Norman and Clark in the lead as you set the pace, desperate to get to the next part of your evening. Piling into the glass elevator up to your floor, you find yourself at the back and take advantage of the moment to do a little teasing of your own, swiftly sliding your hand up under Norman's shirt and across the heat of his skin to scratch your nails against his nipple feeling the skin pucker under your touch and eliciting a high-pitched gasp from him that has Clark disintegrating into a fit of giggles. Before anyone else can turn around to see what's happening, the elevator stops on your floor and you squeeze out, calling your 'good nights' to everyone as you leave. Taking your key card from your purse, you unlock your door and go inside, taking a seat on the edge of the bed to wait for the inevitable text to come through from Norman to let you know that the coast is clear.

When your phone is still silent 20 minutes later, no matter how many times you turn it on and off and adjust the volume up and down, frustration wins out over common sense and you head upstairs to the top floor, making sure the hallway is clear before tapping your knuckles on Norman's door. He takes his sweet time to open it, leaning one arm up casually on the doorframe as he blocks your way in, clad only in his jeans, the top button already popped open, the width of his bare chest at eye level causing all sorts of sensations to run through your body.

"Did you forget something?" you whisper furiously at him, waving your phone in front of his face.

"Nope, don't think so," he replies and your jaw drops before you catch the mischievous glint in his eyes and the suppressed grin quirking at the corner of his mouth.

"Asshole," you tell him, pushing your hands against the firm lines of his abdomen and you back him up into the room, thumping your fist against his chest as he deadbolts the door behind you, his throaty laugh sending a shiver down your spine.

The room is in darkness apart from the barely-there glow of the desk lamp in one corner and you barely make it two steps inside before Norman's hands grab you from behind and he spins you to face him, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you to him.

"How are you doing there, squirmy?" he asks, sliding his hands down over your jeans to cup your ass and squeeze it firmly. "I didn't think you were going to make it through dinner."

"You're lucky I didn't lay you on the table and give everybody a show with their meal," you retort, laying your palms against the heat of his skin, your fingers stroking at his ribs.

"We could have sold tickets," he says, throwing his head back with a laugh.

"You're a tease, Mr. Reedus, do you know that?"

"Me?"

"Yeah you, with your non-stop flirting and your tight jeans and that goddamn t-shirt. You know exactly what you've been doing to me all day."

"What about you? Could you have dropped anything else today? Every time I turned around I was faced with this," he says, fingers squeezing your ass once more. "And if the tushy wasn't bad enough, you had to sit directly in my eye line for the photo ops, didn't you? Sitting there all innocent-looking with your big eyes and your beautiful face, teasing me with every lick of your lips."

"Well you didn't look too distracted to me with all the buxom blondes fawning all over you."

"Aww, is my girl jealous?" he asks in a mocking voice, wriggling against you.

"Hardly," you scoff and he stops his movement.

"Why not?" he pouts, lower lip poking out like a petulant child.

"Because, while all the fangirls and boys are tucked in their beds right now, imagining doing this to you," you tell him, pressing your lips to his collarbone to suck on his skin, feeling gooseflesh pebble out from your touch, "I get to do it for real."

"Uhhh," he groans, his hands sliding up from your ass underneath your shirt to stroke at your skin while you lick and suck your way up his neck, pushing up on your toes to take his earlobe between your teeth and give it a tug.

"I think I'm done with teasing," you tell him, stepping back from him and peeling your t-shirt off over your head.

He grunts his approval either at your suggestion or the sight of your breasts one step closer to being naked, stepping after you to take your face in his hands, tilting your chin back so that he can open your lips with his, slipping his tongue between them with a hungry insistence that has you curling your fingers into his belt loops. You press your tongue back against his, tasting the faint remnants of the cigarette he smoked on the way back to the hotel, bringing one hand around to finish the job of undoing his jeans. His hands slide down from your chin, resting momentarily at the base of your throat before continuing down over the swell of your breasts, his thumbs brushing over the hard points of your nipples through the satiny fabric and you gasp a little into his mouth. Kissing him harder, tipping your head back, you push his jeans down over his hips, your skin gliding over his as your hands find their way back to his waist and he steps out of the pooled up jeans, pulling you further into the room. You giggle as he bumps into the end of the bed, breaking your kiss with a curse and you take the time to appreciate his naked form, your eyes lingering on his chest before dropping to the sight of his cock, thick and rigid and just ready to be pounded into you. With a speed born of lust, you strip out of the rest of your clothes, tossing them to the floor with abandon as he watches you, head cocked to one side until you're done and then he reaches over to flick off the desk lamp, leaving the only illumination in the room coming from the open curtains.

With a practiced move, he sweeps you back into his arms, his flesh pressed hotly against yours as he leaves a trail of open-mouthed kisses along your shoulder and up your neck before capturing your mouth once more. You plunge your hands up into his hair, grinding your hips against his, feeling the firmness of his cock leaving a sticky trail against your belly. You don't even know you're in motion until you feel the sudden press of cool glass against your back and realize he's walked you backwards to the floor to ceiling window.

"Norman!" you exclaim, parting your lips from his and pushing futilely against the hard skin of his abdomen. "Someone will see."

"We're on the 72nd floor, Mel, there's nobody up this high," he tells you, looking at you through lust-hooded eyes. "If somebody can see us then they deserve the show."

He's halts your next protest with another kiss to the underside of your jaw, arching his back as he lays them progressively lower, taking each breast briefly in his mouth to suck hard at your nipples before licking up between your breasts and then kissing his way down again over the fluttering skin of your stomach. When he sinks to his knees in front of you, lifting your left leg over his shoulder to open you to him, you moan in anticipation, hands reaching instinctively for his head as he buries his face against you, exhaling a hot breath against your skin and then flicking his tongue against your wetness. Using his fingers to part your folds, he licks deeper, sliding his tongue up from your entrance to roll over your aching clit, teasing it with a series of side to side swipes that has you panting above him. He works your pussy with his mouth, taking his time to lick and suck every part of you, pulling your clit between his lips to rub the tip of his tongue over it, the coarse hairs of his goatee scratching your sensitive skin and sending shivers through you.

"Norman!" you cry, feeling your body tipping into an orgasm, clenching your fingers tighter in his hair.

He keeps his pace even, licking your clit over and over until you cry out again, eyes clenching shut as your pussy goes into spasms, pulsing hard against the stroke of his tongue, your extremities feeling weak as all the blood rushes to your core. He licks until you stop shuddering against him, the soft warmth of his tongue parting your lips to taste your juices and you find your hips rolling with the rhythm of his movement, a familiar sensation building around your pussy again.

"Shit, don't stop," you tell him breathlessly. "I'm going to come again. Uhhh..."

He moans a little against your lips and you can feel the brief huff of air as he chuckles before renewing his attention to your aching clit, working just as hard to pull your second orgasm from you but he's not quite hitting the spot.

"I have to..."

You gently pull his face away from your pussy before releasing his head and slipping your own fingers into your wetness, rubbing hard and fast at your clit, seeing him sit back on his heels, his eyes glued to your pussy as he takes his leaking cock in his fist and slowly strokes his length, his other hand slipping underneath to tug and stroke at his balls. The sight is your undoing as your fingers slip rapidly against your engorged nub and another orgasm tears through you, this one bringing you to your knees also, Norman reaching forward to hold you in his arms as you ride it out, the sensations it's causing even more intense than the first.

You can feel the sweat coating your body, feel your wetness seeping out to dampen your thighs and your whole body feels like you've run a marathon but you feel amazing and you're not done yet by a long shot. Raising your head from where it's resting on Norman's shoulder, you look him in the eye, grinning wildly and he grins back, pushing the damp hair from your face and kissing you madly. Pulling apart, you take charge, determined to make him feel as good as he made you, pushing him down to lay on the floor and straddling his hips as you slide your body up his torso. Kissing his lips once more, you let your breasts scrape against his chest, your sensitive nipples aroused by the feel of his chest hair brushing over them. His hands come to rest on your hips and you sit up, lowering yourself until your spread pussy is slipping over the shaft of is cock and he's cursing up a storm beneath you as you grind against him. You slide your hands up his torso, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing under your palms, teasing at his ribs with a light touch that makes him squirm under you until you reach his chest. You swirl your fingertips through the smattering of dark hair covering his skin then push them out to skim over each nipple, hearing that sharp intake of breath that he always makes when you tease him this way, knowing his erogenous zones as well as you know your own.

Leaning forward, your hips still rolling slowly against his twitching length, you swipe your tongue across his left nipple quickly following through by blowing cool air on his wet skin, watching it harden even more under your touch. He moans as you take it between your lips, pinching the puckered skin, holding it for a few seconds and then releasing it only to wrap your lips over it and suck hard. He bucks under you, the movement causing an interesting friction against your pussy that has you whining a little bit in return. You turn your attention to his other nipple, your teeth barely scraping it before he bucks under you again and grabs roughly at your upper arms.

"Up now," he growls and you don't hesitate, climbing off him as he gets rapidly to his feet and pulls you up after him.

He pushes you back against the glass once more, it's cool surface a welcome relief against the heat of your skin, one of his hands wrapped loosely around the base of your throat as he scrapes his teeth out along your collarbone, nipping at the skin of your shoulder. He takes your mouth in a desperate kiss, his teeth clashing with yours, his tongue fighting for dominance and you reach between your bodies to grasp at his cock, his shaft still slick with your juices, making him groan and part his lips from yours.

"Fuck me," you tell him simply, stroking his length and meeting his eyes.

He groans again, spinning you against the glass so that you're looking out at the dizzying view below you, your breasts pressed against the cold glass as you spread your palms on either side to brace yourself. Norman doesn't waste any time positioning himself behind you, his cock rubbing briefly between your butt cheeks before he takes it in hand and slides it between your thighs, guiding it surely into your dripping pussy, moaning loudly as he pushes in until your bodies are flush against each other. He holds there for a split second, long enough for you to squeeze your muscles around him, enjoying the feeling of him filling you and then he pulls back until he's almost out and then rams back in again sending you breasts squeaking painfully over the glass in front of you. He starts pumping faster into you and you brace your hands against the smooth surface, arching your back and pushing against his thrusts, angling yourself just enough so that he's hitting your g-spot with every move, little stars of light bursting behind your eyelids when he does.

With a grunt, he slides his hands up your arms, fingers twining with yours and pushes your hands up above your head, bringing them together where he locks one hand around both your wrists, pinning you to the glass. His free hand runs down your torso, slipping between your breast and the icy glass, tweaking at your nipple until you're about ready to come from that alone. He slows his frantic pace for a moment and you're acutely aware of every vein ridging his shaft as he slides slowly in and out of you, the sensation turning you on even more. His fingers stop their assault on your tortured nipple, letting it press back against the soothing coolness of the glass and, instead travel down over your stomach, pushing their way in to tease at your clit and slide down to where he's buried in your pussy. You know it turns him on to feel himself while he's fucking you, just as much as it does for him to see himself, mirrors and cameras having played more than their part in your love-life, and you feel his fingers slipping in your wetness, the tips stroking his shaft as he starts pounding you faster again and his thumb rolling rapidly over your clit.

"Fuck, Mel...shiiit," the litany rolls off his tongue again and again until he's just repeating your name over and over, the crescendo building until he comes with a small yell, jerking into you, his fingers still pressed almost painfully against your clit.

You loosen one of your hands from his grip and reach down to move his hand, needing him to finish you off, wanting him to be inside you when you come. His body is still shuddering against yours, you can feel his thighs quivering with the strain but he follows your lead, his finger and thumb rolling your clit between them, rubbing at it until you feel your body succumb to another orgasm, your pussy clenching so tightly that you push his cock from you. He takes your weight as your body goes limp, lowering you both to the floor in a mess of tangled limbs and heaving torsos, somehow finding your lips to give you a last slow kiss before he lets his head crash back to the floor and you lay together until you feel capable of movement again.

"You know this carpet is probably filthy, right? God knows what people have been doing on it," he says with a laugh.

"Eww!" you yell, pushing up onto your knees and climbing to your feet where you stand bouncing on your toes. "Shower?"

"Uh huh," he agrees.

"Then what are you waiting for?" you ask him impatiently when he doesn't get up.

"I'm enjoying the view too much," he replies and you roll your eyes, aiming a kick to his ankle before turning and heading to the bathroom, your legs still feeling a little shaky.

He joins you just as the water is heating up enough, stepping into the shower stall behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist, dropping his lips to your shoulder for a soft kiss.

"You know, we get to do this all over again tomorrow," he murmurs in your ear, nuzzling at your neck.

"I don't know if my body can survive another three orgasms," you tell him, with a small laugh. "Were you going for some kind of record?"

"Hey, what can I say, Mel," he says, turning you in his arms to fix you with his blue eyes, "I missed you."

He stares at you for a long moment then dips his head to softly brush his lips over yours and you find yourself wondering if this arrangement you have is quite as 'no strings attached' as you thought it was.