She had carried the conversation at dinner. Talking about Dwight and Angela and Andy. In fact, she was still talking about Dwight when they pulled in to the parking lot of her building. And as they walked up the path to her door. And as they shuffled out of their shoes and sat on the couch.

“So.You realize that the cat Andy gave Angela is the same cat Dwight tried to give her, right? Garbage. Andy recycled Garbage. I mean—”

“Wow.”

“What?”

“Just…you are talking. A lot.”

She blushed slightly. “I’m sorry. It was a crazy day though, right?”

“Yeah…”

“What did you do?”

“What?”

“When you went to find Dwight. What did you do?”

He swallowed audibly. He’d told her he didn’t want to talk about their past. The dark, ugly parts, anyway. But the way he was looking at her just…reminded her of something. A cold night on a boat when they could see their breath, a silent snack in the break room.

“I…” He took a breath, pressing his lips together. The mood had suddenly gotten heavier, “I told him it was hard to see the woman you love with someone else.” He said it freely, with conviction, and the way he looked at her after held no ill will or challenge—just honesty and wanting. Wanting her to know. Wanting her to realize that this, that she, was everything. Everything to him.

“Oh.” Her heart fluttered and she couldn’t catch her breath. He reached for her hand, and held it firm between both of his.

“It’s hard,” he nodded, “It was hard.”

He could see the pain and resistance in the way she set her jaw, and her eyes clouded.

“Pam…I’m in love with you.”

Her nostrils flared and her mouth pinched so she could bite the corner. It was the first time he’d said it since that night in the parking lot. He’d heard her say she loved Roy so many times after she’d fallen out of love with him. She didn’t feel like her words, her returning the sentiment, would mean as much. Would ever mean as much as when he said it. When he’d said it before.

She reached out for him and he fell forward, hugging his arms around the whole of her back, up over her shoulders. Tight. Solid.

“Jim,” she said it with a shaky voice—still not sure whether or not she was going to cry. She pressed her lips to the side of his neck, breathing in hard through her nose. Okay, she was going to cry. She squeezed her eyes shut and Jim felt the wetness against his skin. She pulled back just enough so that they could look at each other, and didn’t bother to try and wipe the evidence from her face.

“I hurt you,” she half whispered, half whimpered. He just stared at her, his eyebrows knit. If they were going to finally confront this he didn’t want to taint it with a brush-offy reassurance. When he said nothing, her gaze fell to his chin, his shirt, anywhere but his eyes. Then back, “You’re hurting.”

“Not any more.” He shook his head, rubbing his thumbs over her forearms as he held them in his hands.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice was broken. One more tear dropped down the side of her face.

“I’m sorry too.” A beat, and then, “I hurt you.”

She finally pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes, and then pulled him closer to her again. Wrapping her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck. Her chest was aching. There was nothing she could do. Nothing she could say that would convey how much sorry she was. How much in love with him too she was. She’d said it all before. She’d done it all before. With the wrong man. And he called her bluff. I do love you. I do. I mean it. I never want anyone else. I’m yours.

“I’m yours,” she said into his neck.

Everything he felt, had been feeling for years, was bubbling at the surface. The way he’d held back the first few times they’d been intimate so as not to scare her away. The way he’d tried to love her the way he thought she’d want to be loved, rather than blanket her with the all-encompassing everything that he felt for her. It was all swirling around him. It was the reason he would wake her up in the middle of the night just to pull her closer. The reason he’d kissed her mid-sentence in the middle of the workday. His desire, his hunger for her. And knowing he could quench it. The feeling of not wanting for her all the time. Of not aching for her every night. It was freeing, and blissful. She was his.

“Come to bed with me.” She washed her hand over the side of his face. He nodded almost involuntarily. She got up first and then reached for him, pulling him behind her as she walked down the hallway. Almost to her door, he stopped and wrapped an arm around her middle, pressing her back against him, and pushing her hair aside—his lips connecting with the nape of her neck. She bent her head forward for a moment, then laced her fingers with his on her stomach and started walking again.

Once she sat on her bed, she looked up at him and pulled her shirt off. Not quickly, not teasingly, just to get rid of it. She raised a little to pull her skirt down, then her underwear, to pool at her feet. He got out of his own clothes in much the same way, and then kneeled down to her level. She cupped her hands over the sides of his face and pulled him forward for a long, sweet kiss. She pulled away and scooted back to lie on her side, knees bent, facing him. He joined her, pushing her hair over her shoulder and pushing her bra strap down a little to kiss the slight indention it had made from being there all day. His teeth scraped against her skin. Not biting, just—feeling.

“You can take it off.”

She was usually uncomfortable with being completely naked in front of him when they weren’t in the throes of passion. If there was one thing he didn’t want tonight—it was to make her uncomfortable.

His hesitation prompted her voice again, “I want you to. I want you to look at me,” her tone dropped at the end.

The look in his eyes was still heavy with a thousand different emotions and confessions as he reached around behind her to pinch and pull at the clasp until it fell open. She reached for the front of her bra and pulled it off, tossing it to the edge of the bed. She was sitting up, supported by one arm, and using her other hand to run over his chest, through the scratchy-soft hair there. He scooted himself up on one elbow to face her and ran his fingers lightly over the curve of her breast.

“You’re beautiful,” his voice seemed foreign to his ears. Choked with something. He bent his head forward to run his lips over the top of her breast, her nipple, and finally to press a kiss to the soft underneath. “So beautiful,” he mumbled against her skin.

She watched him. Watched him swirl his tongue over her nipple, close his mouth around it. Being open to him, being naked with him. Watching him enjoy her body. Watching her body enjoy him. The way she seemed to spread open for him. And arch forward in to him. It felt good—like tingles and sparks.

He pushed her shoulder so she would lie flat on her back, her hair fanned against the pale blue of the pillow. She reached an arm back to turn the lamp on and it cast a yellowy glow over her smooth skin. He watched the stretch of the muscles in her side, under her arm, the way her breast moved and then lay heavy on her chest once she’d settled back with her hand resting on her stomach. He trailed his eyes over the dip under her ribs, leaned down to press his nose against it, then his cheek to her stomach as he looked over the two-shades-darker than-her-hair patch of curls that disappeared between her legs. He kissed her stomach, felt it flutter, and dipped his tongue in to her belly button. She moved her hand to brush through his hair, and he raised his head again to look in her face. She pulled his arm to scoot further up against her, and turned in to him, trapping his substantial erection between their stomachs. She reached her hand between them to cover him with her palm, pressing him harder against her. He breathed hard out his nose and leaned forward to kiss her—his mouth wide open to devour hers. In the kind of kiss that left saliva at the corner of their lips. When be broke from her he pressed his fingers over her swollen, shining, bottom lip—dipping his index finger shallow in to her mouth. First her tongue washed over the tip, then her teeth—biting. Hard enough that he felt it elsewhere, but not painful.

She clenched her thighs together against the increasing wetness and wanting she felt there, and he took his hand from her mouth to trail along her side, over her hip; he brought her leg up over his to pull her closer—feeling the warmth emanating immediately—and she pushed her other leg between his thighs, barely nudging his balls. His lips were on her shoulder again, just rubbing over her skin, licking at her neck, kissing the area were her collarbone ended and her breast began. He hummed quiet moans that were only audible because of how incredibly close he was to her. Just vibrations against her skin and rumbles in his chest.

“Jim…” He looked up at her again, his eyes flooding hers with feeling. She eased him back gently, letting her legs slip back beside his, and smoothed her hand over his chest. She took a deep breath, looking at his face—every curve and slope. Her eyes washed over his chest, his stomach, the way the head of his cock lay bobbing against it—slightly to the right. She threw a leg over his again, and rubbed her smooth inner thigh against the hair on his. She kissed his chest, her hair falling over her shoulders to tickle him, and make the muscles in his stomach jump. She moved down his body, let her tongue swipe out over his tip, closing her lips around him just barely, like a kiss—the front of her teeth touching his slit. He could feel her breath on him, her tongue dotting a wet trail over the underside of his penis.

“I think…” his voice caused her to look up at him.

“What?”

“C’mere,” he put his hands under her arms and hoisted her up beside him, pulling her into a warm embrace that had their faces touching. She could feel him breathe out against her cheeks, see one eye directly above his nose, and she smiled before capturing his top lip between hers. They sucked lightly, tongues rolling over lips and teeth. She pulled at his arms and he leaned back to look at her.

“I want to feel you…I want you—”

He nodded, rolling on top of her, his elbows resting near her shoulders, pushing the hair out of her face and kissing her cheeks—his full weight on top of her. He could feel her taking deep breaths, working to fill her lungs, with his chest so close to hers. And he relished in feeling nearly every inch of their bodies pressed together.

He pushed himself up and reached for himself, rubbing the head of his cock through her slick folds, nudging her clit, listening to her shuddered breaths, and then he pressed just the tip inside her. Her legs opened wider, and her feet slid against the sheets as she raised her knees on either side of his body. He pushed himself up further to see the ridge of his cock bump against her clit as he pushed further inside, then all the way out. He edged inside again and she clenched around him, trying to pull him in further.

“God…” he pressed slowly, all the way in, feeling every give, every ridge inside her, “You feel so good. You can’t—you have no idea.” A half smile crept on to his face.

“Jim, I love you too,” She had no idea why she’d said it just then. Why she’d decided it was worth anything. But it was. To him. His whole face changed and his hips froze. “It should’ve been you. For a long time. For everything. You’re everything. You—”

He shushed her and pressed his lips to hers, “Just—say it. Again.”

She put her hands on either side of his face and his mouth attached to her jaw, “I love you. So m—”

“God, yes,” he closed his eyes, thrusting inside her, going from shallow to deep, setting a rhythm that she followed with her hips. When they came, him shortly after her, he wondered if he would ever just feel content this close to her—instead of so lucky. And thankful.