Avenoir – by Rachael Y

Avenoir

avenoir – n. the desire that memory could flow backward

We take it for granted that life moves forward. But you move as a rower moves, facing backwards: you can see where you’ve been, but not where you’re going. And your boat is steered by a younger version of you. It’s hard not to wonder what life would be like facing the other way…

Marlena 

I enter Kristen’s hospital room with only one thought in my mind, to confront her about her duplicity, her lies, and her manipulation of John, and of me.

I have been so damn patient. So many times, I have almost told him how I feel, but I have stopped short.  At first because I felt it wasn’t fair, after pushing him away for so long, to suddenly confess my love for him.  Because I honestly thought I didn’t deserve him after everything I put him through.  And then because I thought he was happy with her.  

He seemed to be, after we returned from Aremid. To keep me safe from Stefano and his obsessive pursuit of me, John convinced me to move into the DiMera mansion for a time and during those months I was forced to watch them.  I watched them from doorways, from out of the corner of my eye.  I walked into rooms to find them wrapped around each other, their mouths suctioned together, their hands clutching at each other’s bodies.  I happened upon them laughing, touching, and kissing more times than I would like to count.  

It broke my heart a little every time I saw them together, but I figured it was my punishment for pushing him away after Roman left.  For not being honest with myself when he saved me from the Devil. 

Once, during those interminable weeks, looking back now, I think maybe he almost told me he still had feelings for me. But I stupidly trusted her.  I trusted a DiMera, more fool me. 

I took her at face value and believed the façade of kind, caring, embarrassed friend.  I let her play on my guilt and my love for him, and I naïvely let her convince me that he felt nothing for me but friendship.  She told me he felt guilty and beholden to me, and she persuaded me that I should be clear that all I felt for him was friendship, so that he could move on with her with a clear conscience.

I should have known better.  I am a professional, for goodness’ sake.  It is my job to see beneath the deceit, to unravel the artfully woven fabric of lies and half-truths.  Of guile and manipulation.  I had seen enough of it with Stefano.  I should have seen through her cunning and all the ways she sought to bind John to her in the wake of her faithlessness in Aremid.

But I didn’t.  I was gullible.  I was blinded by my own guilt, by my desire to put his happiness first.  And by her trickery and the falsehoods masked by the smile of someone I once believed a friend.   

And then I found the letter.  A letter he wrote to me in his cell in Aremid, waiting for what he thought to be certain death in the gas chamber.  A letter where he declared his love for me.

But the love we shared was something special, Doc. There never was, and never could be, anyone to fill the special place that you hold in my heart. I love you. I know now, I always have, and I always will.

I can recite it by heart.  When I found it, between the leaves of a romance book, a book of Kristen’s, I was confused.  But oh, once I read it, I was incandescent with joy and full to brimming with hope and anticipation.  I read it over and over again, running my fingertips over the words he had inscribed.  He had written those words with fingers that had once touched me, once made my body sing with desire and want.  And the words he wrote, touched my soul in the same way his fingers had brought my body to life.  Suddenly everything was different, suddenly I was alive again.  I had hope and I could see a future for us, for our family. 

But by the time I found the right moment to tell John I knew how he felt about me, it turned out to be the wrong moment.  As I was about to confess what I knew and what I felt for him, Kristen delightedly announced her pregnancy, dashing every hope I’d had for the two of us to smithereens.  

I, of course, found out subsequently that it was Kristen that found, read and hid the letter.  That she was fully aware of John’s feelings for me and had obviously gleaned mine for him.  And she had done everything in her power from then on to make sure that we remained apart.  Loving each other, longing for our love to be realised but from a distance.

Since then, I have been forced to be silent while Kristen struggled to hold onto her precarious pregnancy.  While she carried John’s baby in her rounded belly.

But I still hunger for him, for his touch.  I dream of him, of his mouth on mine, of his blue eyes, sparkling like the Pacific Ocean in the sunlight as he takes my hand and pulls me to him for a kiss.  I have been doing this for him, so that his baby can have the same chance at a wonderful life with him as a father as Belle and Brady have.  

But I can’t, I won’t be silent forever. 

I have been waiting for the day that I could be honest with John about my feelings. I have endured loneliness and I have watched John fawn over her, bringing her hot chocolate, slippers and a plethora of loving kisses. I have watched her laugh, hang off him, carry and give birth to his child. I have watched her try to supplant my place in his heart with her cunning and lies.

I am almost sure he still loves me. I think I see it in his eyes.  I am sure I feel it when he embraces me, his arms wrapped around me, holding me tightly.  I sense it when he buries his nose in my hair, and he inhales my scent. 

And once he knows what kind of person she is…

But….  But suddenly everything has changed.  Because he married her. Oh my God, he married her. In the delivery room her hair tangled and matted from hours of labor, the truth of her devious nature hidden beneath the miracle of childbirth. To him at least.

How can I break his heart like that? But in the same breath, how can I keep the truth from him? How can I leave him tied to such a malicious, selfish creature? And how can I deny the truth of how I feel about him?

Every time he looks at me, I feel like he must see the truth in my eyes, he must hear it in the words I do not say. In the touch that lingers a little too long. In the smile that I reserve only for him. My heart beats a little faster every time he is near, and I wonder how it is that he can’t see it, can’t feel my love for him flowing from me in waves.

I have to believe that she will reveal the truth of herself before him soon enough.  He can’t remain blind to her deceitfulness forever.  Can he?  And if, when he comes across the truth, will he blame me for keeping it from him?  I have put myself in danger, repeatedly, to protect Kristen, to protect his child.  I can only hope he will see it is because of my love for him that I have done that.

But there is no guarantee, once he knows the truth about Kristen and her lies, and my complicity in keeping them quiet, that he will still feel the same about me.  There is no guarantee that he even feels the same way he felt in Aremid, all these months later.

But I have to put these thoughts to the back of my mind for now.  I have to concentrate on ensuring that Kristen doesn’t make her hold on John any more watertight.  We had a deal, but as per usual, she was crossing her fingers behind her back as she made her promise, and I am not having it any longer.

So, I enter the hospital room, expecting to see Kristen, but instead, I see him.  I see John, my love.  I don’t know where she is.  Tests maybe, or feeding the baby? All I know is he is here, and she is not.

He is lying on her bed, dozing. He hasn’t had much sleep.  Becoming a father and a husband in the same night can take it out of you, I guess.

I stare at him hungrily.  Black jeans, black turtleneck, black hair… my Mr. Black.  He looks good enough to eat.  But then doesn’t he always?

But I don’t often get the chance to just feast my eyes on him like this.  I can’t sit there and study him with Kristen hovering like a demented hummingbird at his shoulder all the time.  I can’t quietly run my gaze over his body, noticing the way his black sweater clings to his biceps or the way his jeans accentuate his fine, fine behind.

I am torn between watching him and leaving.  My intention was to confront Kristen, not to land the heavy weight of the truth on John’s shoulders.  Not while his baby son’s life hangs in the balance.

I should go, I should leave now, while I am still uncertain about my next steps.  But… but… oh my gosh, he pulls me like a magnet towards him even when he’s unaware that I am here.

I spent time with Brady before I came back here. My little dark-haired sensitive boy. He is as much mine as Belle is. I love him because he is John’s. I love him because he is Brady. Because he is the son of my heart as much as Carrie is the daughter. Blood doesn’t make a family, love makes a family, and Brady and Carrie are my children, just as much as the children I birthed from my own womb.

He said that John told him that Kristen is his new mommy now.  My heart cracked in two when he asked if I would still love him.  As if I could ever stop.  He is my perfect, gentle little knight.  My little prince.  And yes, he is mine.  When I think about him living with John and Kristen, it breaks me a little, every time.  He’s my baby.  He’s mine.  He has been, from the moment he and John lost Isabella.  And I will always consider him my son, wherever circumstances take us.  

I pulled him into my arms, buried my nose in his chestnut hair, and promised him that I would always, always love him.

After I talked with, and then snuggled with my darling boy, Lexie came to visit. She knows how I feel about John.  She was one of the friends who could see it written all over my face as far back as Aremid.  And now, she knows about Kristen’s lies. It’s so hard to remain silent in the face of John’s sweet love of Kristen. His mistaken belief that Kristen is good and kind, true and pure when really, she is the devil in disguise. 

Oh, the irony, that she was the one to uncover the demon inside me, when she has since become the devil incarnate.  If I didn’t know better, I would think that the devil left my body just to take up residence in hers.  But no, hers is just a very DiMera brand of evil.  Jealous, covetous, and selfish.

She’s not narcissistic like Stefano.  Her jealousy and possessiveness are shrewdly insecure.  With good reason.  She has been vacillating between Tony and John for years, always picking the man whom she thought would give her what she needed.  Not because she loved him, but because she saw in him, stability, security, money and drama.  I am not sure she is capable of loving.  Like her father, she is obsessive, possessive and self-absorbed.  If she really loved John, she would let him be happy.  But she is not, and she will not.  She will destroy everything and everyone in her way to hold onto him and in the process, she will make him miserable and she will trap him in a marriage that is nothing but a sham and a web of lies and deceit.

Sometimes I feel so frustrated with his inability to see the evil that emanates from her very pores. And then I remember again that I thought her to be good and kind. I even once stupidly believed Stefano to be changed and reformed. I am a professional trained to see beyond artifice and falsehoods and yet, when I want to believe the best of people, I convince myself to ignore the truths that stare me in the face.  

John has invested so much in Kristen. So much time, so much love and emotion.  He has fought for her, he almost died because of her.  I understand his reticence to let his doubts take hold. It is hard to accept someone you care for has taken you for a fool. It is even harder to accept that you have wasted so much time, time that could have been devoted to the place where your heart truly abides.

All these thoughts file through my head as I finally make a decision, and I move closer to the bed where he is sleeping. I don’t want to wake him. I just want to be in his presence, even if it’s just for a few moments, and imagine that he is mine.

I know I am racing against time.  I am racing against Kristen convincing him to consummate their marriage. I must tell John the truth. And yet, how can I tell him now?  How can I land this on him, these terrible truths about the woman he married, the mother of his baby, when the future, the life of his son hangs in the balance?

Kristen is definitely selfish enough to try and take advantage of him while he is caught in his overwhelming concern about his baby boy, but I am not. I want to spare him as much anguish as I can. Even if it causes me more. I love him so much. I only want his happiness.

No. If I’m going to be honest, I have to admit that’s a lie. I want our happiness. I want him to be able to make a free, honest, and informed choice. And I want him.  I love him so much and I want to be with him.  I want to be the person he turns to, the woman he curls his arms around, the one he takes to his bed at night. Maybe that’s selfish, but I’ve put my own needs at the bottom of the list for so many years now. Don’t I deserve to be happy? Haven’t I given up enough? Lost enough?

I lean against the bed and watch him sleeping. The stress and exhaustion are etched on his face, even in slumber. I want to release it for him.

“Oh, John.” I think about how different things might have been if I had told him how I felt before Kristen announced her pregnancy.  If I had just been two minutes earlier.  If I hadn’t felt the weight of a new, innocent life on my shoulders.

I reach out and touch his face, running the backs of my fingers down his cheek as though to smooth away the intrusive dreams and fears he must be holding in his body, even now.

I should stop, I know I should stop. This is foolish.  He might wake and how would I explain the way I am touching him? Not like the friend he takes me to be, but the lover I long to be.

A small smile curls his lips as he turns his head toward me slightly. and he sighs. “I want you.” The words fall from his lips, low and soft, and I stop and swallow, feeling a flutter low in my belly. Feeling flutters elsewhere.

Oh my God, I shouldn’t be doing this.  I should go right now.  I should turn and just leave this room.

“What did you say?” I ask, despite myself. I know exactly what he said, but I want to hear him say it again.  I am desperate for him to tell me how he feels.  I am desperate to hear it from his own mouth.  That he still wants me the same way I want him.  Even after all these years.

“I want you, so much.” His voice is low and full of need, and it makes my heart skip a beat.

He reaches out slowly, and when his hand touches my shoulder, I give up any pretence at thinking of leaving and I say the words I have been longing to say to him. “I want you too.”

He’s still mostly asleep and I know I shouldn’t be doing this, but I can’t help myself as his fingers curl around the back of my neck.  My heart pounds against my ribs like mallets against timpani drums.  I have imagined moments like this for the better part of a year. I have dreamed moments like this and woken to find myself alone, aching, and frustrated.  I have dreamed of his lips on mine.  Of him slipping into my bed at the DiMera mansion, his hands skimming my skin his mouth seeking mine.  I have dreamed of his tongue sliding into my mouth and his hands on my hips, his long, eager hardness against my centre proving his desire for me.

And there have been kisses. Real kisses in waking hours.  Mistakes, or maybe they’ve been ‘mistakenly’ on purpose, but they have been fleeting and followed by blushes and embarrassment from one or other of us.

But today, I think I know what he wants, even if he lies and covers his desire with declarations of love and devotion to Kristen. I do see the way he looks at me still. The way his eyes linger when he thinks I am not looking. He is trying to be loyal and honorable. It would be so commendable if only it wasn’t so sad. If only Kristen hadn’t stolen months from us. If only she wasn’t trying to steal our future together.

He pulls me gently down to him and I watch him for any sign that he realizes it’s me and not his treacherous wife. What I expect him to do, I don’t know. Stop? Or just abandon himself to the moment?

And what do I do if he does realise it’s me and he pushes me away?  What then?

Whatever I might be waiting for, my thoughts dissolve as my lips meet his. His black-clad arm curls around my neck and he kisses me with determination. With passion. And I am lost to him, to the sensations he elicits in me. There is no pause, no hesitation for either of us. His tongue searches my mouth, exploring, tasting.

I curl my own arm around him and climb onto the bed next to him so that I can more easily melt into his arms. Also, because my legs have somehow dissolved into jello, I think that maybe I am no longer capable of standing. He has that effect on me.

He always has done.

Even when I was married to Roman, trying so desperately to be faithful to a husband I loved, one touch from John would sear a pathway through my nerves, like a spark trailing along a dynamite fuse, only the detonation happened all through my body. In my stomach, my heart, my head.

And it would set fire to my desire for him.

There were times, even before we came together in that thunderous explosion of need and desperation on Victor’s plane, there were times he would come to my office and when he left, I would lock the door behind him.  And half-lying on my couch, one stockinged foot on the pale lemon fabric, my skirt unzipped and my hand down my panties, I would make myself come, with shaking fingers and stifled moans, just to sate my frustrated desire for him.

But it’s so much worse now. Now that I have admitted my love for him. There is no one else for me, I am a one-man woman. I always have been. In those wilds of West Virginia, while we ran from Victor and the KGB, I gave my heart to him, and it has been his ever since.

His fingers thread through my short hair as he kisses me and my hand roams his torso, relishing the feeling of his muscular body beneath my eager fingers. I moan quietly as his arm curls around my neck again and his tongue slides into my mouth, diving and exploring. The taste of him explodes on my own tongue and I feel my body responding, the throbbing between my thighs becoming insistent, and the wetness coaxed forth by his touch soaking into my cotton panties.  I feel his hard length against my thigh, and I groan softly, wanting so much more than this and known I cannot have it.  Not now, anyway.

Finally, he releases me, and his lips curve into a soft, lazy smile, still caught somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. “Oh, it’s been so long,” he says, his eyes still closed, his hand sliding down to play with mine where it rests on his chest.

I look down at his beautiful face, knowing I shouldn’t be here, but still caught in this moment where I think I can be honest without repercussions. “Been much too long,” I whisper as I relish being so close to him, his warm body against mine. My gaze devours every feature of his face, his long eyelashes, his Roman nose, his soft lips. The stubble on his chin, which leaves my flesh pink and tingling.

“I want you so much,” he tells me with a sleepy smile, and his hands caress the back of my neck, his fingers toying again with my cropped hair as he pulls me towards him for another kiss. I respond, as if I can do anything else… I have dreamed of this moment for months, maybe for years, the feeling of his mouth on me, his tongue digging and sliding against mine. His arm is around my neck again, pulling me closer as if he can’t get enough and he practically inhales me, practically swallows me whole.

Who am I to argue?

I sink into his embrace, trying to take in every sensation of this moment, his warm hands against my skin, the smell of him, the feeling of his leg wrapping around mine as he envelopes me.

And then he pulls back, a smile curving his sweet lips again as he opens those limpid blue eyes, his gaze sweeping my face. For a moment he looks surprised and confused. “Doc?” he says softly, his hand sliding up my shoulder to my neck. And then he smiles again, this time a satisfied, delicious smile. Like the cat that got the cream. “Ahhh, this must be a dream.”

I smile back at him, unable to help myself. I love him so much and this is heavenly, just being here with him. I can’t lie. “No, my love,” I tell him softly. “It’s not a dream. I’m really here.”

He reaches for my face again, splaying his warm fingers against my cheek and pulling me back down to his mouth as he wraps his leg more tightly around my thigh, pulling me closer to him. 

If anything, our kiss grows deeper, more passionate as he rolls me down to the bed, angling himself so he is above me and he can control the kiss, so that he can probe and explore the recesses of my mouth with his tongue.  And I give myself to him.  Just allowing him to take what he will, to surround and possess me.

When we finally cannot breathe any more, we draw apart and he buries his face against my neck as he gathers himself.  My hands still hold him, one curled around his neck, the other against his ribs, feeling his pounding heart. And then suddenly, he jerks upright, pushing me away, his face surprised and shocked.

“Oh my… Doc, it is you.”  He flops back down on the bed, closing his eyes as he tries to make sense of what is happening.  I could tell him if he would only ask.  “Oh my God, I’m so sorry.”  His hand slides down my arm and his fingers play with my hand.  Even in his confusion and his embarrassment, he can’t let go of me.  “Ah… I ah, I ahh… My God, I was dreaming, and I thought you were Kristen.  I’m sorry.”

I feel slightly confused and more than a little hurt and frustrated, but I’m also sad because he feels that he has to lie and cover his true feelings.  That is what he’s doing, isn’t it?

“Don’t apologise to me, please,” I say.  He sits up again, his hand holding mine, but he can’t quite meet my eyes.

“No, I have to.  I’m sorry.  It was,” he still can’t look me in the eye.  “I’ve um…” he leans back against the bed again.  “It’s just that Kristen and I… we um… we haven’t been intimate in a few months and um… well, her pregnancy’s been really delicate,” he takes his hand away from mine, “and ahhh and well, you know, she wouldn’t even let me touch her.”  He takes hold of my hand again, but his eyes still shy away from mine, and I can’t quite control the look of distaste that crosses my face.

“Yes, I know,” I nod.  I have something to do with that.  I made Kristen promise not to be intimate with John if she wanted me to keep quiet about her deceptions and the fact that she’s an utterly despicable human being and has been lying to John at every turn.

“Right,” John looks at me now.  “Well anyway, she’s ah… well since the baby’s been born, she’s wanted to get closer.”  I feel a sudden heaviness in my chest and a lump in my throat and I look away, fussing with my hair as an excuse, but John doesn’t seem to notice my discomfort.  Too caught up in his own, possibly.  “And we were just together, and I was… I was holding her and … and I fell asleep and I…” he smiles awkwardly, indicating the door…  “I guess you came in.”

I look at him closely.  I know he’s trying to make sense of it, to try and make it make sense to me.  And maybe I might believe it if I hadn’t read the letter he wrote me in Aremid.  Maybe I might be fooled if I didn’t see the way he looks at me, or the way he holds my hand even when he doesn’t need to.  And maybe then, it might hurt less.  I don’t know.  I don’t know if, or how it could hurt less.  I love him and he’s telling me he thought he was kissing Kristen.  Kristen DiMera, of all people. 

“And then I came in,” I repeat his words, but I imbue them with a meaning that he didn’t.  

He laughs awkwardly again, a laugh of embarrassment and worry.  Worry that he’s upset me, that he’s offended me somehow.  It seems to have completely bypassed him that I am on the bed with him, that I was fully participating in the kiss, that I was returning it.  That I was enjoying it.

It makes me wonder if he is so used to lying to me, and to everyone else, that lying to himself has become second nature.  It makes me wonder for a moment if it really was Kristen he was dreaming about.  It makes me wonder if I am being presumptuous, assuming that he’s thinking of me.

“I hope you understand,” he says with another forced laugh, the brows between his eyes creasing.

“I do understand,” I say firmly, although my certainty is being tempered by his own assurance that he was dreaming of Kristen.  “I know exactly what’s going on.  I think it’s time that you know what’s going on.”

“Marlena?”  The voice from the doorway sets my every nerve on edge.  I hate her with every fiber of my being.  If I had to choose between her and Stefano and say whom I hate more, I think I would struggle to pick.

I close my eyes to steel myself and when I open them, John is looking shocked and worried again.

I take a deep breath and turn around to face Kristen who is standing in the doorway.

“Ahh-ha-ha, what?” she shakes her duplicitous head, her long blonde hair jiggling as she does so.  “Uh… what are you doing in bed with my husband?”

John 

Oh, my fucking God.  I thought I was having the most amazing dream.  I was kissing Marlena.  I could feel her against my skin and smell her scent, and that should have clued me in that it wasn’t just a dream, but damn, I was enjoying it so much.  My fingers in her hair my lips against her skin.  Holy fuck, she’s just perfection and I would drown in her if I was able.

But it wasn’t just a dream.  She was really there, and I was really kissing her.  The moment I realised, I had to come up with some kind of reason, some kind of excuse as to why I was wrapped around her with my hands in her hair and my mouth seeking out hers.  So, I said the first thing that came to mind.  That I was dreaming of Kristen.

And as if things couldn’t get anything worse, Kristen stands in the doorway, looking both suspicious and confused.  I have gone from near euphoric, to embarrassed and awkward, to absurdly guilty all within a matter of about five minutes.

My protestations to Marlena, my explanation that I thought she was Kristen, was, as I said, a complete fabrication.  I wouldn’t, I couldn’t mistake her for Kristen.  Marlena, in my arms, feels like she was made to fit there.  She’s warm and soft, and she smells like vanilla and lilac and home.  She feels like the one place where everything is safe and loving and is also filled with fire and passion.

Kristen, on the other hand, is bony and angular.  When I kiss her, it feels like a performance.  I have to be one step ahead, thinking about where I put my mouth, where I put my hands.  And her response feels even more rehearsed, all full of purpose; her movements and moans all appear deliberate, all staged.  I try not to dwell on it, I tell myself because she’s been so fraught about the pregnancy, so scared that any stress might cause a problem, so she is resistant to me touching her because she is over-anxious.

But as a glaring juxtaposition, Marlena’s touch and her kiss are simply second nature.  Muscle memory she called it once.  But I think it was always like that with her.  From the first moment I felt her mouth on mine, it’s like we knew how to move in synchronicity with each other.  Our mouths, our hands, our bodies fit together like a jigsaw puzzle.  We don’t have to think about it.  It’s instinctual, it’s just a waltz that we do where our bodies simply move together in time and space and create magic out of thin air.

Or at least they used to.  Before I was an idiot and let her get away.

I have a truckload of regrets but losing her is the biggest.  Letting her walk away with Roman-fucking-Brady, only to see him walk out on her when she couldn’t be the perfect wife that he’d invoked in his tormented mind for the seven long years he spent in captivity.  

If I am honest, pushing her away and keeping her at arm’s length before that, is the biggest regret of my life.  If I had taken her home that day she came walking out of the mist, if I had brought her back to the family and been honest with Isabella about the fact that Marlena is the love of my life, and no-one could ever hold a candle to her; maybe things would have been different.  Maybe she would still be mine.  

Maybe I would be happy, instead of settling for second best with Kristen.

But here I am.  Newly married and a father to a day-old baby, but still desperately in love with my beautiful, kind, adorable ex-wife, and still dreaming about having her in my arms.  Still dreaming about kissing her, tasting her, making love to her.

Fucking hell, how mortifying.

I slide off the side of the bed as Marlena swings her legs off her side.  What are her legs doing on the bed, I wonder, but I don’t have time to ponder.  I have Kristen’s inquisitive, downright hostile gaze to contend with.

“Sweetheart,” I round the end of the bed as Marlena smooths her hair and straightens her blazer, looking at Kiristen from under heavy bangs.  I have to mollify Kristen somehow.  Of course she’s upset, who wouldn’t be, coming in to find their husband in bed with another woman?  With their astonishingly gorgeous ex-wife, no less.

“I have… a little confession to make.”  I come to stand beside Marlena as she finds her shoes and slips them back on.  Why isn’t she wearing her shoes?  I am so confused, but I have to deal with the Kristen situation.  I take a deep breath.  I feel guilty, so I say what comes to mind, because in my head, it’s true.  In my heart, it’s true.  

“I was… I was just unfaithful to you.”  Maybe some wouldn’t call a kiss cheating, but in my heart, I wanted to kiss Marlena and, holy fuck, I wanted to do so, so much more.  I want to lose myself in her, to sink into her warm wet depths.  I want to breathe her in, to taste her on my fingers and to feel her hands against my naked skin.   I want all that, and a million more intimate and forbidden things.

So, I can only call it what it was.

Next to me, a hearty giggle slips from Marlena, and she turns away to collect herself.  I feel even more confused because if she was upset about what happened, about me kissing her, mistaking her for Kristen, surely, she wouldn’t be laughing.  And if she was worried about Kristen being upset about catching us together, she definitely wouldn’t be laughing.  If she was worried about Kristen’s feelings, she certainly wouldn’t make it worse by laughing.  And Marlena is the most caring, thoughtful person I know.  I would have expected her to be horrified by this situation, by Kristen discovering us together in an illicit, case of mistaken identity embrace.   So no, I don’t understand what is happening at all.

“Excuse me?” Kristen demands as Marlena turns back and smiles broadly, as she looks at me expectantly.  I feel so very lost here, there is an undercurrent of something I truly don’t understand, between Marlena and Kristen….  between Marlena and me….

“Well, I was ah… well Marlena came in while I was sleeping, and I was having… I was having this incredible dream about you and I… I kissed her by mistake.”  I wince, waiting for her explosion.  

“Ooooh,” Kristen looks slightly amused but thankfully and oddly she doesn’t seem too upset.  “That must have been very strange for you.”

Marlena says nothing, just looks at me and then at Kristen and if I didn’t know better, I would think there was some kind of open hostility between them.

“Anyway…” I run my fingers through my hair, straightening it.  But why is it messed up?  I tap my forehead as I realise how selfish I am being.  “You’re the one that just had the baby.  You should be the one in the bed resting here.  So please, why don’t you do that, and I’ll go and check on our son.”

“Okay,” Kristen smiles broadly, seemingly willing to forget my foolish indiscretion.  

“Okay,” I agree with her.  I can’t look at Marlena for fear I will betray my discomfort and my very real and very strong feelings for her. 

“You do that.”  Kristen says and I kiss her before I head for the door.  “I’ll be right back,” I tell her before leaving her with Marlena, hoping like hell this hasn’t created any bad feelings between them.

Kristen  

I watch John leave the room, and then slowly I turn back around to glare at the smug, sanctimonious bitch who is just constantly trying to make my life a misery.

“How dare you come in here and try to seduce my husband.” I sneer at her.  God, I fucking hate her.  She’s so fucking perfect and thoughtful and kind and ….  Aaargh!  Too good to be fucking true.  Marlena-fucking-Evans, patron saint of the do-gooders and the holier than though brigade.

“That isn’t what happened,” she shakes her head and I want to slap that supercilious smirk off her ugly face.  Ugh.  I know she’s not ugly.  I know she’s not.  But I want her to be ugly.  I should be the most beautiful woman in John’s life.  In his eyes.  But how can I compete with that perfect bitch.

I scowl again and then I smirk.  I can compete because I am the one married to John.  Well, okay, maybe not, but she doesn’t know that.

“He’s my husband Marlena.” I hold up the finger with the rock of a diamond engagement ring and the wedding ring he put on that freak, Susan’s, finger. Marlena doesn’t know the truth, and what she doesn’t know, she can’t use against me. I will be legally married to John before she knows anything different. I just need to keep her ignorant about Susan and the baby until I figure out how to get rid of good ol’ Doc, permanently.

She just stares at me, unable to refute my statement. “That’s right,” I press home my claim on John’s love and fidelity. “Mine. And I want you to stay the hell away from him.” I point directly at her, frustrated and furious that she continues to intrude on my life and my relationship and try to seduce John away from me.

Marlena stands her ground, her hands on the hospital bed, lounging against it like she owns the fucking hospital. God, how I loathe that bitch.

“How dare you lash out at me after all you’ve done,” she says. I can tell she’s angry, but she says it remarkably calmly. “Your lies and your schemes. You even broke your own promise not to try to marry John.”

“I already told you, that was his idea,” I step forward towards her. I don’t want anyone to overhear her. I can do my best to write off her ramblings as those of a jealous and insecure harpy, but there are people who won’t believe me. Marlena is too highly thought of in this hospital. It makes me sick the way they all put her on a pedestal. The fucking perfect Doctor Evans; beautiful, kind, angelic.

Vomit!

I know, she’s way too good to be true. If they only knew her like I do. Malicious and greedy, constantly trying to take away what’s not hers. “He found the priest; he made all the arrangements.” I remind her.  If only I had really been the woman in that bed, giving birth to his child.  But no, she took that away from me like she’s trying to take John.

“Please, please!” She rolls her eyes, but I ignore her. “Lies.”

“Simply because he wants to spend the rest of his life with me.” I rub it in. It must chap her perfect, cute, rounded ass that John chose to marry me. She might think he’s secretly obsessed with her, but the fact is, whatever she thinks, whatever overdramatic drivel he wrote to her the night before his near execution, he chose to marry me. It’s been a year since her wrote that letter and I have his baby and his ring, and she has nothing, except her prying, her meddling, and her arrogance.

“Oh! Stop now!” She uses her hand to slice through my words, to punctuate her accusation. “Lies. Your whole life is about lies. In fact, if I hadn’t seen you in delivery, I wouldn’t have thought you were even pregnant.”

“Poor pathetic little thing, you’re just so jealous of me, aren’t you?” I am unnerved by how close to the truth she is and decide that attack is the best form of defence.

“Jealous?” she demands, and I nod my head with a smug smile and hum my agreement. “Please don’t flatter yourself.” I can see I have irritated her, and it is a small victory for me. “I see things very clearly,” she continues. “I see you using this child’s illness to try and cement your relationship with John.”

“I’m sorry?” I say indignantly, as though the thought hasn’t even occurred to me. Maybe it wouldn’t have if he was really my child. But he’s not. He’s not, because of her. My baby died because she wouldn’t stay away from John. She wouldn’t mind her own business, she had to be the weak, helpless victim who needed John’s protection. She had to be the wounded sparrow that needed to be saved. Fucking bitch.

Stefano took her away and that should have been the end of it. I had John, I had our baby, and we were ecstatic. We would have looked after Belle and Brady. I would have been a wonderful mother to his children. Stefano would have had Marlena, and everyone would have been happy. Well, I guess not her, but then she’ll never be happy.  She’s a perpetual martyr and even if she got her claws into John I have no doubt she would tire of him the way she did poor Roman, and she would leave him heartbroken as she moved onto the next man.  Well, I am not going to let that happen.  I will save John from that particular heartache.

And I tried.  I thought if Stefano had her, John would believe she had perished in a plane crash, and he would eventually forget her and move on.  But no, he had to find that damned headset.  And then he had to go and play hero. He had to run off to Paris to go and rescue poor, helpless Doc. He almost got himself killed in the process. And my mother was killed. It’s all Marlena’s fault. I lost my baby and my mother in one fell swoop. Is it any wonder I hate her oh-so-perfect guts? All I want is John, our baby, and that bitch out of our lives. Is that too much to ask?

I guess it is. For right now.

I glare at her, daring her to accuse me again of using this baby’s illness to bond John to me. Of course, we both know that’s exactly what I intend to do, but John won’t believe it. He loves me, and he won’t like her accusations or her condescending attitude.

“But I’m not going to let you away with it,” she says furiously. “I will put a stop to this.”

Marlena 

Kristen’s attempts to appear innocent of scheming to marry John, and to be outraged that I would believe her to be low enough to use her newborn son’s illness to manipulate him, are enough to set fire to my temper.  I know she is that low, and I have absolutely no doubt she will try to do just that.  

Behind my back, she will scheme to get John into her bed, to consummate this farcical marriage, and she will perform the role of frightened mother to ensure John is stuck to her side for every moment that the child is in the hospital.

“I’ve kept quiet this long out of love for John, and concern for this baby,” I speak angrily.  “But I will not stand by and let you sink your claws deeper into John.” I stare at her, hoping my glower settles deep into her bones so she knows that I see the truth of her blackened, treacherous soul.  And I realize that whatever John feels for me, he deserves to know the truth about this malignant bitch.  And I need to be the one to tell him.

“You know, all I’m trying to do, is keep my family intact,” she grimaces, and I am astonished by her bare-faced audacity.  To claim John as her own, even after everything that has happened.  Even after she read the letter, after she hid the truth from both of us.  After she convinced me to tell John I only thought of him as a friend, to release him from what she said was his feeling of responsibility for me.  All the time, knowing that it wasn’t responsibility he feels, but love.  Soul-deep love.

She would, she will use her child to take John from my children, and that makes me so angry I can barely see straight.

“All you’re trying to do is hang onto what does not belong to you,” I say, my temper simmering just below the surface.  But I will not let her drive me to lose my apparent calm, to speak in a way that others might think unreasonable, should they overhear us.  “Look, I was trying to wait until your child was safe, but you’ve left me no choice.  Now I have to go to John and tell him the truth.”  I stare murderously at her.  “The truth.  About Kristen.”  I say the last in a singsong voice that I know will irritate her and I feel a flash of satisfaction at the look of fury that flits across her face.

She scowls at me, her nostrils flaring with pent-up frustration and anger.  She appears sulky, like she knows there’s nothing she can do to stop this.  To stop me from telling John the truth, to stop me from revealing the depths of her deception, and of her betrayal.

That she conspired with Stefano to kidnap me, to take me away forever from John and my children.  I can’t forgive that.  She would let my children grow up without their mother.  She would make me prey to Stefano’s narcissistic greed and his lecherous appetites, and she would not care one iota.  

I had known in that underground cage that it would only be a matter of time before he lost his patience and took me physically, against my will.  His reaction to my refusal of his offer of my freedom for a night with him told me everything I needed to know about his level of patience and his willingness to wait for me to bend to his will.  It was terrifying, the fury in his eyes when I changed my mind, when I turned him down.  He is not a man who is used to not getting his own way.  What he wants, he takes.  And he would have taken me, by force, eventually.

And she hadn’t cared.  As long as she had what she wanted.  She would take everything that was mine, and not think twice about my fate and the misery and pain I would be forced to endure.

So, I have no patience and no sympathy left for her.  She deserves everything she will get once John knows the truth.

I push past her, but she grabs my arm.  “No!  No!  You can’t tell John, not now.”

I pull my arm from her grip, unable even to bear her hands on me.  “He has the right to know what kind of evil person you are.  That you would even use your son’s illness to tie him closer to you.”

“I would not do that!” she proclaims huffily.  “And I won’t do that, I promise you.”

“I don’t believe you,” I say.  And why would I?  When has she, in this whole sorry saga, ever proved herself trustworthy, ever proved her word is even worth the oxygen she uses to speak?

“Look, he’s got too much going on right now.  He’s got too much weighing on his shoulders with the baby having surgery.”  Her plea catches my attention.  I know what she’s doing, of course.  Using my love for John, and my concern for his well-being to manipulate me.  And I want to ignore her.  I want to march up to John and take him somewhere private and tell him everything.  

But she has a point.  He is worried about his son.  He loves his children so much, and this is taking up every available ounce of emotional energy that he has.  The fact that he fell asleep in her hospital bed is evidence of that.   “If you tell him everything else, it’s going to be too much for him.  Just wait, just wait a little bit, until after the operation,” she begs me.

I think.  I consider her request and weigh it with my desire that he knows the truth about his wife before she can do anything more to entrap him.  But, unfortunately, she is right.  His child’s life is at stake here.  I hate it, but it would be selfish of me to land this on him, to expect him to process the information that his wife has lied to him and has used his own sense of integrity and loyalty to manipulate him and keep him from his family.  That his trust in her almost sealed my fate as Stefano’s unwilling concubine.

“All right.” I finally say.  I love him too much to put him through this pain while he needs all his strength to be there for his baby.  “But for John.  So that he can focus on his son.”

“Thank you,” Kirsten says but I can tell she resents saying it.

“But there are rules,” I add with a quiet ferocity that she cannot miss.  “And you had better damn well commit them to your memory.  You will not make love to John.  You will not let him touch you.  Not even a pat on the shoulder while passing.”

“Fine!” Kristen spits out, but it’s clear that this is anything but fine by her, and I get another momentary flash of satisfaction.  She has made my life miserable for so long, it feels like a tiny slice of revenge to be making her equally miserable.

“And if you try doing anything behind closed doors,” I tell her, “I’ll find out about it.  And I will tell John.”  She knows it’s not an empty threat.  She knows John tells me everything.  And even if it’s too late to grant him the easy annulment I know he will want, at least he will know the truth about her.  And she will be left alone and miserable.

“Oh, you are just such a bitch!” Kristen snaps impotently.  She knows there’s nothing she can do and it’s driving her crazy.

“I was thinking the same thing about you,” I say with the hint of a smile on my face.

Kristen 

God, I hate her.  I hate her so much.  Fucking conceited bitch.  I swear to God, I will find a way to shut her up.  I’ll make sure Stefano can finally take her away and stash her where she can’t cause me any more grief.  But this time, he’d better sure as hell make certain John can’t find her.

I continue to glare at her and then John opens the door and comes into the room.  I school my expression into a loving smile, pretending we’ve just been having a friendly conversation, passing the time while we wait for him.  It’s a switch I have perfected over the long months I’ve had to endure Doctor Bitch-face living with us, so it’s not a hard task.

“Our son is sleeping soundly,” John says with a smile, “but his mom sure isn’t.  You were supposed to be getting some rest, remember?”

“I will, I’ll go and lie down right now,” I turn as he says alright, and I throw the covers back and climb into my bed.  I do feel tired.  It’s hard work pretending to have just given birth.  Keeping watch for that numbskull Susan Banks and manipulating Smart-asslena into backing off.

While I’m doing that, John turns to the uber-bitch.  “Now, you were going to tell me something earlier?” he reminds her with stupid puppy-dog eyes that make me feel sick.  I look sideways at her and hold my breath as I wait for her to answer.

“That can wait,” she says with a vomit-inducing simpering smile at him.  Ugh.  These two idiots.  The sooner I get Stefano to snatch her away, the better.  “The baby is more important.”

“You sure?” John asks her, in his magnanimous, caring way.  Shut up John, I scream internally.  Just let her go. 

“I’m sure,” she looks thoughtful and then, “we’ll have lots of time to talk later on.”  She looks straight at me her bronze eyes flashing.  Arrogant cow.  

I stare straight back at her, every muscle and every nerve transmitting my hatred of her.  

Like hell you will, I think.  Because I’ll never let that happen.  I’ll never let you take John away from me, Marlena.

John

I fuss around Kristen, making sure she’s comfortable in bed.  And I give her a long, lingering kiss, as if somehow I need to prove to both her, and to Marlena, the truth of my earlier claim.  That I’d been having a dream about Kristen.

I hope I appear more convincing than I actually feel.  Because the God’s honest truth is that the only person I dream about, the only person I have ever dreamed about since I can remember, is that incredible, stunning woman behind me.  The kindest, funniest, sexiest, most beautiful woman I have ever had the good fortune to know.  The one I once called mine.

During all the years I have known her, and to my shame, during all the relationships I have had with other women, the only person that has persistently slipped into my dreams to seduce me and to be seduced is the gorgeous, sharp, funny and kind-hearted Marlena Evans.

“I, um, I have to go now,” Marlena says suddenly, looking at her watch and then looking around at the door.  “I have a patient to check on.”

“Okay,” I turn and nod with a friendly smile that I hope hides the multitude of emotions and sensations that are flooding through my body.  And I am still wondering what it was that she was going to tell me.  I feel like there’s something I don’t understand going on beneath the surface here.  There was a tension when I entered the room that doesn’t make sense to me.  And undercurrent.  Or maybe just a current.  Like there’s something they’re both not telling me.  “Can we talk later?” I ask her.

“Sure.  Of course we can.”  She looks at Kristen but there is something in her eyes.  Something unfriendly which is incredibly unlike Marlena.  Like I said, she is the kindest person I know.  She doesn’t have a bad bone in her body, and she doesn’t dislike anyone.  Well, unless they really deserve it, like Stefano DiMera.  And even then, she will give the benefit of the doubt far more than that person deserves.  So, this is very strange.   “Kristen?  I’ll see you later.”

“Sure,” Kristen says lightly, but I sense animosity beneath her even tone.  “Nice talking to you Marlena.  As always.”

I watch Marlena leave the room and close the door quietly behind her.  I turn to Kristen, frowning.

“Is everything okay with you two?” I ask.

“Sure, why wouldn’t it be?” Kristen asks with a bright smile and then she yawns loudly.  “I think I’m gonna try and go to sleep honey.  Will you stay with me though?  In case they come in with news about the baby, I will sleep better if you are here.”

“Yeah, of course I will sweetheart.”  She smiles gratefully as I pull up a chair and sit down.  She sighs quietly and closes her eyes, settling her head back against the pillows.  She reaches for my hand, and I take hers, stroking my thumb over her long, graceful fingers.  “Go to sleep Kristen, I’ll be here when you wake.”

But inside, I am more than frustrated.  I am sure that there is something and Kristen isn’t being entirely honest with me.  That’s one thing that bothers me about Kristen.  I am fairly sure she lies to me, and she’s good enough at it that I don’t think I can always pick the untruths and the diversions.  This though, was fairly obvious.

I really want to go and find Marlena.  I know that if I press her, she will always tell me the truth.  She might want to protect me but she can’t lie to me.  She never has been able to.  And I need to know what’s going on.  What does she know that she thinks I don’t know?  She wanted to tell me something and I want to know what it is.  I have the feeling that it’s important and despite what she says, the baby isn’t more important.

The truth is, she’s as important to me as my wife and newborn son.  Hell, if I’m honest, she’s more important to me than my wife is.  I married Kristen because she is the mother of my child, and he deserves two parents who are together and who love each other.  I couldn’t give that to Brady because Isabella died, or to Belle because of Marlena’s guilt and broken heart.  I want the opportunity to do right by at least one of my kids.  

And I do love Kristen.  Well, as much as I am able.  Despite my misgivings, I am sure she only lies to protect me.  I am sure she is a good, kind, honest woman, despite Stefano’s influence and she deserves to be happy and to have my love and support in bringing up our child together.  The harsh truth though, is that while I know it is possible to love two women at once, one will always win out over the other.  And the reality is, I don’t love her anywhere near as much as I love Marlena.

I know it’s selfish, but it’s a fact.  I can’t have Marlena; she has made it clear that she considers me a friend.  A best friend, to be sure, but only a friend.  She doesn’t want more, and I have to respect that, given how I destroyed her life so spectacularly a few years ago by not accepting it.  She’s rebuilt that life now, and she seems settled and happy, Stefano DiMera notwithstanding, so why would I want to risk ruining that? Why would I risk pulling the rug out from under her by admitting my quite intense feelings for her, by placing unfair pressure and expectations on her?

So, I try to be the best friend I can be.  I try and love her from an acceptable distance, while spending as much time in her company as I can.  Being with her gives me a sense of peace, a calm that I can’t find anywhere else.  While John Jr. is ill, I know being close to Marlena will give me the strength I need to get through the next few hours, the next few days.  It might be selfish, but I need her in my life.  I can’t pretend any differently.

All this is to say that when I realised it was Marlena I was kissing earlier, I was embarrassed and disappointed.  Not because I had kissed her, but because I was half asleep for most of it, and because I didn’t want it to end.  

Yes, I do dream about her.  I dream about her all the fucking time.  It drives me to distraction if I am honest.  I dream about holding her in my arms, about drifting my lips over her delicious golden skin.  I dream about kissing the freckles dotted over the bridge of her adorable nose when she’s half-asleep.  About running my tongue along her lower lip and nudging her mouth open.  About finding that spot just below her ear, the one that used to make her whimper when I licked it.  About the sounds that she used to make when my hand slid over her goddamn sexy ass…

I shift uncomfortably in my seat as I let my eyes drift closed and recall the feeling of her in my arms.  I move my tongue in my mouth, and I can almost taste the delicious remnants of her.  I let myself drift back in time, recalling her warmth, the way she molds into my arms, her body warm and supple against mine.

My mind meanders back in time to the first time I held her in my arms.  We were in West Virginia, in a dark, damp cave.  We were already hopelessly in love with each other, but neither of us would admit it.  She thought I was Stefano DiMera.  I thought she was the most astonishingly beautiful, sexy, and feisty woman I had ever laid my eyes on.  And also, one of the most frustrating and irritating.  But damn, I wanted her so badly.  It was cold in that cave, and I wrapped my arms around her so we could sleep without the risk of hypothermia.

Oh, who am I kidding?  That’s what I told myself.  That’s what I told her.  But in all honesty, I held her because I could.  Because I desperately wanted to know how she felt against my body.  I curled my arms around her, curled up my legs and tucked them behind hers and it felt like I’d come home.  I just hoped like hell she couldn’t feel my burgeoning hard-on against that gorgeous ass.

Some months later, she informed me, with a sly and cheeky smirk, that she had indeed felt it and she’d fallen asleep with a wet ache between her thighs.  If I had known that at the time, I am not sure I would have been able to stop myself from kissing her.  From slowly undressing her and touching her.  I briefly imagine unbuttoning the striped shirt she was wearing, watching the way the light from the dying flames would have painted her skin amber, and I bite back a groan as I feel my cock jump against the heavy denim of my jeans.

A week later, we were back in Salem, both of us under the misapprehension that I was Roman Brady.  I can’t lie, I was more than willing to accept that I was Roman, because that would mean that I was married to this magnificent creature, and I had a life with her.  It felt right, because I wanted it to feel right.  I would have believed anything that meant I could continue to hold her in my arms.

And I did more than hold her.  That first night, I took her up to our bedroom, and slowly and with reverence, I undressed her, and I made love to her all night.  

It was like a goddamn religious experience.  

I had no memory of her before coming to Salem as, a man with no face and no name.  But her body sang under my fingers, and it was a melody, a symphony of angelic proportions.  The sighs, the soft whimpers and moans… all had me seeing something greater than the tangible world around me.  They had me looking into the face of God.  Making love to Marlena was like coming home, if home was also a golden slice of heaven on earth.

That summer we made love endlessly.  We made love loudly.  We made love like storms were raging around and inside us.  We made love like the world was about to end.  

Little did we know it was.   

She was taken from me three times that year.  The last time, I thought it was for good.

For five long years, I lived without her smile, the soft cadence of her voice and without the touch of her hand.  It felt like eternity.

I shift in my chair again, opening my eyes as I feel a stab of pain.  Even now, the absolute agony I felt in the wake of her presumed death can echo down the corridor of the long years and leave me breathless with pain.

I crumbled emotionally after she died.  I was dead inside myself for such a long time.  Part of me longed to be wherever she was.  I lived only for the children and for my family.  I put one foot in front of the other and I filled my life with work and women and just about anything that helped me to breathe.  

In short, I tried to pretend I was living, first with Diana and then Isabella.  They were band-aids I put over my haemorrhaging heart.  They helped me breathe, but they didn’t fix my brokenness.

She did when she walked out of the fog that night.  

That fateful night in August when my world changed again.  When I came back to life.  

It was late and it was dark, just the pier lights casting an oblique light over the mist rolling off the river and something, some intangible feeling, something tugging at my soul, called me down there.   I know now that it was her.  It was the connection between us, the one I have felt ever since the day she shook my hand in that hospital room.  When my face was swathed in bandages, and I was unable to even talk, let alone be honest about the fact that I knew nothing about who I was and where I had come from.

From that first moment, that first touch, she grounded me.  She made me feel safe and seen.  I have never felt that with anyone else, in all the years I can remember.  People see me, they live with me as part of their lives, but they don’t see into the depths of my soul.  They don’t know me and understand me like she does.  They don’t make me feel safe and calm and whole.  

So, from the moment she was gone, I was adrift in a leaky lifeboat on an endless ocean of grief and loneliness.

Occasionally, someone would toss me a life preserver and try and reel me in to land.  But I think that really, I wanted to stay out there.  I wanted to stay close to her memory.  

As the years crept by, I started to forget those little details.  Like the way she sounded when she threw back her head and laughed from the bottom of her belly.  Like the way the freckles scattered across her nose darkened in summer.  The floral, earthy scent of her as I kissed her neck.  The way her hand felt in mine.  

So, I would try hard to catch hold of them again.  I would unearth the recordings from the old video camera and watch them over and over, late into the night.  The twinners would wake me in the morning, still lying on the sofa with an open photo album on my lap, salt trails of dried tears on my cheeks.  Other times, I would lie on our bed and bury my nose in her pink satin robe, or the yellow, black and white sweater that I kept tucked away in the back of my top drawer.

A sigh captures my attention momentarily and I look closely at Kristen.  She appears to be sleeping so I pull my hand away from hers and close my eyes again, allowing myself to retreat into my memories.  I shouldn’t, I know that.  I am being self-indulgent and unfair to both my wife, and to Marlena.  

And I know I am unearthing memories that will make it hard for me to look at Marlena without my love and desire for her written all over my face.  Yet… I find I can’t help myself.  Having her in my arms for those few short moments, smelling her scent and feeling her warm, slippery tongue against mine has unleashed an explosion of memories and I feel overwhelmed as the images and emotions scatter through my head and my body.

So, I let myself be selfish.  Just for a few minutes, I tell myself.  I will indulge myself for a few short minutes, recalling our past, the moments that we’ve shared, the miracle of her return and the ordeals that we have survived together.

In my memories, I return to that humid night in the late summer of 1991. I can still smell the scent of the river and feel the moisture of the fog clinging to my skin.  I can still feel all those feelings, the confusion, the magnetic pull towards the docks. 

That day…. that day in August, all those memories came flooding back, unbidden.  I couldn’t explain it.  I was working at my desk, and I heard her voice.  Not out loud, but I heard her in my head.  Heard her whispering my name.  And somehow, I felt the tingle of her warm, golden hair between my fingertips.  I had flashes of memory… kissing her beside the rushing water in the Gauley River Valley… her squeals and her laughter as I tossed her over my shoulder and carried her upstairs.  Her filthy, sexy laugh as we listened to Patch and Kayla knocking on the door in a hotel in Stockholm, Sweden.  I saw her smile at me as she walked down the aisle, and I felt her fingertips wiping away my tears and my snot as I said my vows.  My heart ached and burned with the loss of her.  There were times when the agony of remembering that she was gone would leave me breathless, even five years later.  And this was one of those times.  Suddenly it felt like it was only yesterday that her plane had gone down, that I had screamed her name and felt my heart breaking all over again.  And I can still feel that agony even now as my heart aches heavily in my chest.  

All those moments and more came back to me in a torrent, rather than a trickle, and somewhat overwhelmed, I made my way to the pier.  I told myself it was because I needed air.  I needed space.  I had just asked Isabella to marry me.  It was natural that I would be having memories of Marlena.  I was still grieving her in a way, and in moving on, I was having to say goodbye to her.  At least, that’s what I was trying to tell myself.  

The truth?  In five long years, I had never come close to being able to say goodbye to her.  I held her memory close, held her safe in my heart, as though I knew on a soul-deep level that one day, I would see her again.  In this world, or in the next.

And then, that night, she came walking out of the river mist.

I looked in her direction, and for a moment, my heart stuttered.  The figure looked so much like her.  Her hair blonder and longer but there was something about the way she moved, something about the way she practically glowed in the watery lamplight.  Then I told myself to stop being so stupid.  Marlena was dead.  She’d been dead for five years and wishing it wasn’t so, was not going to change that.  Seeing visions wasn’t going to make the harsh, painful reality of losing her go away.  I had asked Isabella to marry me, hoping that it would be the next logical step in moving on.  But it wasn’t.  All it did was remind me of what I’d had with Marlena.  The fire and the passion and the joy.  And oh my God, I missed her.  I was missing her so much I was hallucinating, seeing things that weren’t there and I needed to get a grip on myself.

So, I turned away and started down the pier.

And then I heard my name.  Heard the sound of God in that single word.  Heard my prayers answered.

I think maybe my heart stopped for a moment and then I turned, and she came walking towards me like an ethereal goddess emerging from nothingness into solid form.

On one level, I thought I was dreaming, that my poor thunder-struck mind had finally shattered, and I was hallucinating my very beautiful but very dead wife.  But on another, suddenly everything made sense.  The woman that had come to the station and spoken to Schofield asking for Captain Brady, the flood of memories I’d had, and the pull I felt, the urge to revisit the place that was so special to us.

The moment I touched her face, the moment I held her in my arms, I knew she was real.  It was her.  She was warm and she smelt like memories and like home.  I found healing in her arms, and I found the peace that I had lost the day she had been ripped away from me five years before.

I was so unbelievably dense not to take her home that night, not to claim her as my wife there and then.

But I didn’t.  I was too stupid, too scared and I prevaricated and procrastinated.  I looked for the wrong answers and found answers to questions I wasn’t even asking.

Marlena

What I said was true.  I did have a patient to check on.  But also true was the fact that I didn’t need to leave right at that moment.

However, seeing John being so kind to Kristen, so loving and so concerned about her health and happiness is galling to me.  If only she was half as concerned about his happiness.  But no, this is about her and what she wants, as it always is.  This is about her need to win at all costs.

Sometimes I think she is more concerned about beating me than she is about having John.

There are moments that I struggle to maintain a hold on my temper where she is concerned and earlier in her hospital room was one of those.  I wanted to smack that spiteful smirk right off her face.  I want to scream at her and tell her she doesn’t deserve John’s love or loyalty.  But that would only be playing into her hands.  She would know then, how much she angers and irritates me, and she would find some way to use it against me, to play victim in John’s eyes.  So, I behave like the reasonable, measured woman I am, and I take a deep breath and walk away, knowing that one day, this will all come crashing down on Kristen, whether I am the architect of her downfall, or not.

I watched him kiss her and I lost what little breath I had in my lungs.  He had just kissed me like that, open mouthed, searching, demanding.  Watching him kiss Kristen in the same way made me die a little inside and I knew I had to escape.  If I can’t tell him the truth, then I can’t be around him.  I can’t continue to lie to him with a clean conscience, so I will just keep my distance until I can tell him all the facts I know.

After seeing my patient, I find myself outside the nursery, watching the babies.  Watching their baby.

He’s such a little beauty, although strangely I don’t see much of John in his delicate little features.  I guess that will come in time.  I lean my forehead against the glass, watching him as he moves his unfocussed eyes around the room.  I imagine John holding him, kissing his sweet, soft baby head, whispering how much he loves him.  I imagine him in the nursery at night, holding John Jr. as he feeds him a night-time bottle.  I imagine how much he will love and adore him and what a wonderful daddy he will be to this sweet little boy.

“Oh, please let him be okay,” I send up a prayer.  John has already lost too much in his life.  He lost his memory and his past.  He lost his wife and then his family, his children, and his identity.  And then having rebuilt his life, he lost Isabella.  He can’t lose his son too.  That would be too cruel.

But won’t he lose him if I tell him the truth?   Not completely, of course, but he will surely lose time with him.  I know Kristen, I know how vindictive she is, and I know she will use the baby to try and hold onto John.  And if he chooses to walk away, if he chooses to be with me, she will use his son to punish him.

Is it fair of me to take that from him?  Doesn’t that make me just as bad as Kristen, putting my desires ahead of his son’s needs?  His baby needs a daddy, needs stability.  Right now, he’s a very sick little boy, and he needs all the love and energy that his parents can give him.  Am I selfish enough to consider taking that away from him?

I watch his little face scrunch up as he prepares himself to wail loudly.  He might have a heart problem, but he can still give an energetic scream or two, it seems.  One of the nurses comes over to him and picks him up out of the crib, crooning soft, soothing noises I assume.  I can’t hear, I can only watch the silent show before me.

I imagine it’s me picking him up and comforting him.  I imagine he’s mine and that John is there with me as I coo and kiss his sweet head, inhaling his fresh baby scent.  I imagine John coming up behind me and murmuring to our son as he wraps his arms around us.  I imagine the baby grabbing hold of handfuls of my hair and rooting around against my neck with his tiny open mouth, looking for his next feed.  My breasts actually tingle as I remember what it felt like when Belle would latch on and suckle, taking nourishment from me as I watched her, overwhelmed with love and protectiveness.

We didn’t get to share that, John and I.  Sami stole that from us.  Not intentionally… well yes it was intentional, but it was done to protect Roman, I understand that.  But it only made things worse in the end.  

I sigh as I watch the nurse smile and coo at the baby.  We’ve lost so much time.  And so many opportunities.  If I had known Belle was John’s before she was born, I would have told him.  I would have come clean with Roman so much earlier.  Maybe John and I would have found our way back together.  But the way things happened, with that terrible scene at the baptism, with my agonising guilt and shame, and with… everything that happened later….

Now we’ve lost any chance to give Belle a brother or a sister.  That was taken from us too.  By Sami, by Stefano and by Kristen.  And the only chance she might have to get to know her newest brother is if John remains wedded to Kristen.

I find my feelings so conflicted.  I love this baby so much already, because he is part of John.  But he is also part Kristen and that is so much harder to stomach.  I think of the people I once loved who have succumbed to the DiMera curse.  Tony, Peter and Kristen herself…  and then much earlier, there was Megan and Renee.  We will never know how those two might have turned out, but I suspect not for the best.  Lexie is the only one who has so far not been stained by Stefano’s malignant influence, but then, she wasn’t raised by him.

John Jr. (will they call him JJ I wonder) will be raised by Kristen.  And if John leaves her, she will likely retaliate by taking him away and raising him without John’s stabilising influence.  John will not know his son; much less be able to guide him and have the wonderfully positive effect on his development that I see with his other children.

I feel my eyes fill with tears.  How can Kristen be such a vile person?   I am, of course, making assumptions, but I know in my heart that will be the ultimate outcome of telling John the truth about Kristen and what she has done.  

It’s so utterly unfair.  That he has a baby with her of all people. That she fell pregnant just as I found out the truth.  That fate and timing has been so cruel to us.  That people that should love us and care for us want to take away our happiness.

“Marlena?”  I hear Laura’s voice behind me, and I take a deep breath and push myself away from the window, surreptitiously wiping my eyes and schooling my expression into my usual friendly, welcoming smile.

“Hi Laura,” I greet her as cheerily as I am able.  “Everything okay?”

“I was just about to ask you that,” Laura looks at me suspiciously.  I can’t hide anything from her.  It annoys me, to be quite honest.  I am used to being able to put on the professional Dr. Marlena Evans mask and hide my inner turmoil from everyone.  Even John.  

Once upon a time, he could see beyond the façade, but not lately.  Not since Aremid.  I am not sure whether he has lost the ability to, whether he just doesn’t know me in the way he once did, or if he chooses not to see the truth that I am hiding behind pretty smiles and not so white lies.

“I’m fine.”  I smile brightly but she knows I’m lying.

“Is it John?” she gets right to the point.  Typical Laura.  I love that about her, but I also find it irritating.  She knows me too well and she lets me get away with very little.

“I’m worried about the baby,” I say.  It’s not a complete lie.  I am worried about the baby, that much is true.

“Come on Marlena,” Laura says softly.  “This is me you’re talking to, honey.  You don’t need to pretend with me.”

I shake my head, trying to supress the tears that blur my vision, and I turn back to watch the nurse sitting down with John Jr. in her arms and offering him a bottle.

“He’s so little,” my voice is choked with emotion as I speak.  “And he’s so ill.”

“You’re feeling guilty again.”  It’s a statement, not a question and I just shrug, unable to lie but unwilling to go into the truth.

“I heard what happened,” Laura comes up behind me and wraps her arms around me, leaning her chin on my shoulder.  I take comfort in her embrace.  There are times when I crave the reassurance of the physical touch of people that love me, and today is turning out to be one of those days.    “In the delivery room, I mean.”

“I was too late,” I whisper, a lone tear trickling down my cheek as I watch John Jr. sucking hungrily on the bottle of formula.  “By the time I realised what was happening, it was too late.”

“It’s never too late,” Laura says with her infinitely sweet patience.  It’s no wonder she’s such a good therapist.  Her combination of unapologetic frankness and gentle support is quite disarming.   “Not when two people love each other as much as the two of you do.”

“Do we?” I ask faintly, remembering the way John kissed Kristen in her hospital bed.  The way he claimed he was dreaming of her when he kissed me.  Am I just fooling myself?  He wrote that letter a year ago and it was at a time when he felt slighted by Kristen, by her uncertainty in his innocence.  Am I just convincing myself that he still has feelings for me?   Am I seeing things that aren’t there because I am still so hopelessly in love with him?

“Of course you do!” Laura pulls back from me and puts her hand on my arm, pulling me around so that I am facing her.  “Oh honey, surely you’re not doubting how much he loves you now?”

“How can I not?” I demand, flicking the tear from my cheek irritably.  “He married her Laura.  He married her.  She’s Mrs. John Black.  Not me.  She’s the mother of his son.  Not me.  I have no claim on him.”

“Oh honey, you are the mother of his daughter, and what’s more, you own his heart, you always have done,” Laura says with a gentle smile. “You’re just feeling a little insecure.  That’s not surprising, given everything that’s happened.  But surely, even if you didn’t think John loves you, don’t you think he deserves to know what kind of an evil witch he married?”

“Yes,” I say slowly, but I turn back to see the nurse holding the baby against her shoulder to burp him and my heart grinds out painful beats in my chest.  “But it’s more complicated than that, you know it is.”

“Because of the baby,” Laura follows my gaze.  

“Because of the baby,” I nod.   “And because Kristen is his mother,” I add, watching the nurse smile and praise the tiny bundle as he spits up all over the towel over her shoulder.  “Because she’s vicious and vindictive, and I am afraid she will keep John from his son if he leaves her.”

“So, you’re considering staying silent because you think John values his child over you?” Laura asks.

“No,” I reply, although I know how much John loves his children and I think that maybe he does.  Maybe he will put John Jr.’s needs first.  And why shouldn’t he?  John Jr. is an innocent, he has never let John down, never hurt him.  I can’t say the same.  Is it fair for me to ask John to make a choice between us?  When the reality is that when I was faced with a similar choice, I chose Roman and my family and not John?

“I just… I promised Kristen I wouldn’t tell John anything until after the baby has the operation.  For John’s sake.”  I look sideways at Laura who is standing next to me at the window now, watching the nurse with the baby.  “Laura, he’s got so much on his plate right now.  So have I, with Sami.  Telling him about Kristen… it will take his focus off the baby, and he needs all his energy for that right now.”

“You really think Kristen cares about how much energy John has for the baby?” Laura flicks a disbelieving look at me.  “I can guarantee that she’s putting all her energy into figuring out how she can keep John by her side, and away from you.  And you’re aiding and abetting her.  You should be siting him down and telling him everything she’s done to keep the two of you apart and you should be doing it before she convinces him to consummate this sham of a marriage, because we both know that’s what she’ll be trying to do.”

I sigh and tear my gaze away from the baby, who is now back in his clear crib.  I can’t argue with Laura on this point.  That is, of course, why I came to the hospital in the first place.  Because Lexie had intimated that was exactly what Kristen was trying to do.  And John had confirmed as much when he’d said that she wanted to ‘get closer’.  I grimace.  The woman has just given birth and she wants to have sex?  Does she have no shame?

“I made her promise,” I say firmly but I am much less certain about this than I sound.  “That she won’t touch John.  Or I said that I will tell him everything.”

“And if she breaks that promise?  Honey, by then, it will be too late,” Laura takes me by the hand and leads me to some seats by the wall.  “You, yourself, have said that John will feel as though he must stand by his vows.  He’s a highly principled man.  If he feels like he entered this marriage of his own free will, without any coercion, he will feel honor-bound to stay with her, even when he knows what she’s done to keep the both of you apart.  And if they consummate this marriage then there will be no grounds for an annulment, despite her lies and shenanigans.”

“I know, I know!” I throw myself in a chair and press my hands to my face.  I don’t want to cry here, in front of all my colleagues.  I feel so frustrated and so confused.  Less than an hour ago, I was euphoric, thinking that John was kissing me, he was deliberately kissing me, and I was about to tell him everything.  And now I feel wracked with self-doubt and fear for the future of a child that isn’t even mine.

“Laura,” I look at her, caught by her blue-gray gaze.  “Laura, he kissed me.  He was asleep and he grabbed me, and he kissed me.  But once he was awake, he said he thought I was Kristen.  That they had been getting…” I flush and look down at my hands, my fingers nervously twining above my primrose-yellow slacks “I guess they had been kissing.  He said she wanted to get closer.  And he fell asleep and then I came in and he started kissing me.  He said he thought I was Kristen.”  I look at Laura again, feeling dejected and a little heartbroken.  “He thought I was Kristen.”

John 

The next time I properly held Marlena in my arms was on an island in the Caribbean.  In a deserted monastery, no less.  I had kissed her on a beach in Miami, pouring my heart and soul into her where we touched, our hands, our lips, our tongues….  By the time we landed in San Christobal, that kiss had settled deep in my soul.  I had been avoiding making a decision because I didn’t want to hurt her, and I also didn’t want to hurt Isabella.  Most of all, I didn’t ever want to feel the same pain again that I had felt when I lost her five years previously.

But on a filthy mattress, with the lush sounds of the jungle all around us, I held her.  I traced the curves of her face with wandering fingers, pushing strands of spun gold hair from her porcelain pale cheeks, and I watched her sleep.  I had no idea what had happened to her in the years that she’d been gone, but I could see this – she felt safe in my arms.  For the first time since she’d returned to me on the pier that night, her beautiful face relaxed into happiness and contentment.  How could I leave her alone when my heart was hers?  And hers, mine.

I finally listened to my heart instead of my anxious, fearful head.  I had at last accepted that she was real, and this wasn’t a dream.  She wanted me and dear God, I wanted her.  Body, heart and soul, I wanted her.  I wanted her so much it physically hurt when I looked at her.  And by accepting that, the reality was that if I lost her again, I would be heartbroken, even if I chose to still keep her at arm’s length.  No matter how much I tried to convince myself that if I stayed with Isabella, I was protecting myself from heartbreak if I lost Marlena again, the reality was that my heart was hers.  As it had always been.  She was the love of my life.  My soulmate, and nothing was going to change that.  Not pushing her away, not loving Isabella, not pretending I would be okay moving on without her.

I whispered to her as she slept.  Murmured against her silky hair.  Soft words of love and devotion that hadn’t faded one scintilla in the five years since she’d been gone.  Promised her that I was hers forever and that I would make everything right as soon as we were home in Salem.  I would go to Isabella and break her heart as gently as I could.  And then I would go home and tell Marlena that I was hers and only hers, and I was never letting her go again.

I would make up for the weeks where I had held her at arm’s length, not able to give her what she needed, the love, the reassurance, the gentle touches and the kisses.  I would give her all the love I had denied her, and I would take her to the bedroom, gently undress her and show her the face of God, as she once showed me.

But I was a day too late and a dollar too short.

We found Roman Brady in the jungle, and I had to watch her walk away with him.  I had to give up my family and try and be happy for her.

It was my own fault.  I guess she was never meant to be mine.  

The next time I held her body close to mine for any length of time, we were sitting amongst broken floorboards.  I’d wrecked my knee; she was starving and filthy and I think she’d busted her ankle and been bitten by a snake.  Jesus she’s something, isn’t she?  The things she’s survived… a single one of them would have destroyed a lesser woman.  Or man, come to that.

She had been missing, and none of us had realised for how long.  Stella-fucking-Lombard, jealous psychotic lunatic that she was, had thrown Marlena into the basement of that warehouse and she’d been down there for more than a month.

She was a hell of a mess when I ended up down there with her and still, I have never seen anyone more beautiful than she was when I pulled her out of the rubble of the initial demolition blast.  She’s a survivor, that’s for sure, and we kept each other going down there, while we waited and prayed for someone to find us.  And we talked.  We talked about our past, and about loving each other so much that we never thought it would end.  I remember us saying that we were happy that if we had to die, that we were together. 

(That’s still true for me, you know?  If I have to die, I want it to be in her arms.  If she has to die, I want to take my last breath next to her.  I don’t want to be in this world without her again.  Not ever.)

And all those feelings… the ones that I had forced down, the ones that I thought I had locked away, safely and securely, they emerged like a thousand fluttering butterflies as I held her close to me.  They danced around my heart, danced through my head, and very inappropriately, in amongst the wreckage and grime, as we stared death in the face, they danced through my groin.  I got a fucking hard-on as I held her all too slender body against mine in the squalor and rubble and I realised then that I was never going to stop loving or wanting her, no matter what happened. 

The next time I felt her body lying next to mine was a few months later, after angst-filled conversations and confessions and very difficult decisions.   That night found us on a leather couch on Victor’s jet, making desperate, frantic, passionate, soul-shattering love.  

I was planning on leaving Salem, thinking I could outrun my love and my desire for her.   Seeing her day–in, day-out was, quite frankly, killing me.  Loving her so much that she filled my every waking thought, being drawn to her like a moth to a flame every time she was nearby.  It was slowly, but surely sucking the life from me.  I was consumed by her, by the memory of the way she tasted, the feel of her soft, wet heat as I sank into her.  I was beset by memories of holding her in my arms, listening to the rain on the window as we lay exhausted from our fifth round of lovemaking.  I wanted to run my tongue over the tender skin of her neck, kiss the freckles dotted across her belly, rub her feet when she was exhausted from a hard day at work.  I wanted to choke down her terrible cooking.  I wanted to hold her as she cried after a nightmare.  I wanted to sleep with her in my arms, the lights blazing because she was afraid of the dark.

In short, I was desperately in love with her and seeing her almost every day but knowing she was just out of reach was sheer fucking torture.  If I’m honest, it still is.  But it’s a torture I have learned to live with after all these years.  I have learned to manage it.  Just about.  Although waking up to find her in my arms, to taste her on my tongue, may have just shot that sense of self-control to smithereens.

Anyway, back to me leaving Salem.  I have to wonder now, what in the hell was I thinking.  I’d ached for her for five whole years, thinking she was dead. So, I don’t really know what made me think that only being an ocean away was somehow going to put an end to my longing for her.  To my hunger, to my craving, to my undying love for her.

That fateful night, she had gone to the loft, knowing that I was intending to leave Salem.  But she’d found the loft empty, and she’d realized I was already on my way, but thanks to a well-timed storm, she found me at the airport before I could leave.

She tried to convince me that leaving was the wrong thing to do.  I tried to tell her that I couldn’t do anything else because every time I looked at her, my hunger for her was almost overwhelming.  The temptation to touch her, to hold her in my arms… to kiss her.

I didn’t want to hurt her.  I didn’t want to ruin her life.  I loved her and I was running away, mostly for her.  To save her the pain I saw bearing down on us like a freight train.

She was upset, she was trembling with fear and grief, and I simply couldn’t help myself.  I took her hand, and I pulled her into my arms, and I kissed her as her tears melted into my skin.  I consumed her, overwhelmed by the feeling of her in my arms, the taste of her on my tongue.  And when we parted, just a few inches, I knew there was no going back.  She was dazed, her eyes glowing a dark amber, flashing green and gold.  Mascara bled down her cheeks, carried by tears of pain and passion.  

My heart ached in my chest.  She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.  Pink and gold.  Roses and salt streams.  Perfume and passion.

I wrenched her coat from her shoulders, and she gasped, the sound only increasing my desperate hunger for her, and then we kissed again, or rather, we devoured each other.  There were no thoughts, no words.  Just a tangling of tongues and instinct.  Hands pushing and pulling.  Skin against skin.  Taste, sound and scent.  I inhaled her.  I licked and sucked and bit her.  I felt the wetness of her, listened to her whimpers and moans and screams which were lost in the sound of the thunder overhead.  I filled her and felt her surround me.  I felt her grip me tight as I slid into her and out of her.  My eyes rolled back in my head as I entered the divinity of her heated, slippery inner sanctum.

I’m not lying when I say it was a spiritual experience.  Much as that first night after West Virgina was, but in a different way.  That was a prayer of devotion, sweet, slow and sensitive.  This was frantic desperation, grappling and reaching and swan-diving off a cliff into erotic oblivion.

Afterwards she cried and told me it was a mistake.  She buttoned up her crumpled baby-pink suit and said she was going back to her husband and what had just happened would never happen again.

I knew better.

A little more than a month later, we made love on a conference table at Titan with all our friends and family milling around upstairs.  I laid her back on the polished wood and pushed up yards of purple taffeta and kissed her senseless while I pushed my hard, aching length into her.  Fuck, I wanted her so badly, I would have done anything to have her.  Almost anything.  I loved her too much to destroy her life on purpose.  I chased her, I pursued her, I practically goddamned stalked her.  I paid ridiculous amounts of money just to dance with her.  I made her scared and angry and crazy, and then I made her cry in ecstasy.  

But that was the last time we made love.

I could have pushed it at the hot springs at the Titan retreat the following month.  I could have pushed her up against the rock, dropped my head to her breasts and circled her hard nipple with my tongue.  I could have pushed my fingers inside her and used my thumb to flick her sensitive clit until she cried my name in ecstasy.  With her thighs around my hips, I could have slid inside her, impaling her on my throbbing cock which was twitching and jerking with every touch and kiss.

But she’d made it clear her future was with Roman.  She loved him, she was committed to him, and I knew this was simply a moment of weakness on her part.  I could have made love to her, but she would have felt nothing but guilt and shame afterwards.  She hated herself for what she perceived as her weakness.  So, I put her needs before my desires, and I let her go.

Only to see Roman walk out on her when he discovered what we’d done.

I watched her sink into a pit of despair, blaming herself for Roman’s misery and for Samantha’s distress and subsequent problem behaviour.  I watched her and I blamed myself for bringing so much pain to her door.  If I had only been stronger, if I had only stayed away from her when she begged me to, instead of following her to the conference room that night.

And so, attempting to give her the space she needed, in the hopes that she and Roman could find their way back together, I tried to find something else.  Someone else.  And I found Kristen.

And then I made the mistake of going after Stefano.  He lured Marlena to Maison Blanche because he saw into my heart.  He knew my love for Marlena would make me do anything to protect her.  I would have given up everything I have, everything I am for her.  To keep her safe.  

I still would

I wince, recalling the night I watched her plying Stefano with drugged wine as she teased him, slowly stripping off her clothes as he watched, fascinated and increasingly aroused.  It was a game that was far too dangerous, and which fanned the flames of an attraction that turned into a raging obsession.  She fabricated an fascination with him in order to free me, but instead she found herself the target of his fanatical fixation, being drawn into his silken web time after time.

So that was the next time I held her.  In the dungeon at Maison Blanche.  Filthy, my hair matted, smelling rancid, she nursed me and cared for me, and I held her as if my life and my sanity depended on her.  Which they did.

She saved my life; she sacrificed the last chance she had at saving her marriage by coming after me and by trying to free me.  Roman left Salem and Stefano’s obsession with her took hold.  

To this day, I still don’t really know what he did to her in those months between our rescue at Maison Blanche and the moment the Devil invaded her body and took hold of her soul.  I know she was having strange dreams; she was unsettled and unnerved, but I think, also strangely captivated by whatever was happening to her.  

All I remember is my concern burgeoning to worry and then fear as she became sicker and sicker, her face deathly pale, purple shadows under her eyes.  And then the strange and distressing behaviour.  The discovery that she was the Desecrator.  And then her trying to shoot the police officer who was guarding her and her threatening to shoot me.

It was such a strange and confusing time.  She seemed to get better for a while, but if I am honest, her behaviour was really off for months.  She was bothered by the discovery that I was a priest, and she was determined to talk me out of putting on the collar and understanding how and why I had been called to the seminary.

And then there were the …. the more intimate moments.  The time she invited me for dinner and came downstairs dressed to kill in a strapless red gown that had my jaw dropping and my cock jumping in my pants.  And then the time she came to the loft and pushed me towards the bed, kissing me with a ferocity that left me breathless, trying to seduce me in an aggressive way she never had before.

And then, that night at the Horton Cabin on Smith Island.  It was a sultry evening, unseasonably hot and humid.  She wore a yellow checked shirt over white pants and a white top that revealed inches of ludicrously luscious flesh.  I remember sitting there with a cold drink, trying not to watch as she took an ice cube and slid it slowly down her throat and dipped it down into her cleavage.  I could hardly think straight.  Hard is the appropriate adjective.  

She knew exactly what she was doing, of course.  Well, not her.  The demon in control of her body.  But I didn’t know that at the time.  I sat alongside her and all I saw was the woman I loved more than anything in the world.  The woman I dreamed of every night.  And my god, they were erotic, filthy dreams.  Sometimes they still echo in my head….

Like now.

Laura 

I laugh in disbelief as Marlena tells me that John claims to have mistaken her for Kristen.  That he’s been dreaming about being intimate with that viper and he’s grabbed Marlena and kissed her, thinking he’s been kissing Kristen.

“You’re telling me John can’t tell the difference between having you in his arms, kissing you, and kissing that scrawny piece of trash?” I say archly.

“Laura!” she chides me gently.

“C’mon honey.”  I grab her hand.  “Honestly.  Be honest with me.  He knew it was you, right?”

“At first I thought so,” she sighs.  “He told me he wanted me.  I couldn’t help myself and I told him I wanted him too.  For a moment, when he was half-awake, he said he thought he must be dreaming and then he kissed me again.”

“See!” I smile triumphantly.  “I knew it!  If he was dreaming about anyone, it was you!”

“But when he really realized it was me, and that he wasn’t dreaming, he pushed me away,” Marlena wraps her arms around herself, rubbing her upper arms, as if to comfort herself.  “He said he and Kristen had been…” her eyes fill with tears, and she looks away.  “She wanted to get closer he said.  They’d been… I guess they’d been kissing, and he’d fallen asleep.  So, he thought he was still kissing her.”

“Bullshit!” I curse loudly and then slap my fingers over my mouth, looking around to check I haven’t disturbed anyone.  Thankfully, we are still alone.  “Honey, for a start, the scent you wear smells nothing like what Kristen wears.  And I’m pretty sure she wasn’t wearing a pantsuit or got her hair cut overnight.  He couldn’t possibly have mistaken you for her.”

“Laura, he was asleep.  He’s not going to notice hair length or fragrance in his sleep,” Marlena argues wearily.  I am not sure why she’s so invested in believing John’s cock and bull story about thinking he was kissing Kristen.  Kristen is lanky and scrawny, and she’s just given birth.  She’ll smell like hospitals, bodily fluids, and sweat.  Not lavender, rose and vanilla like my gorgeous friend here.

“Oh honey, he’s going to notice,” I raise my eyebrows.  “Trust me on that.  Subconsciously, he knew that was you.”

“Then why didn’t he acknowledge that I was responding to his kiss?” Marlena demands, her mood a mixture of confusion and defensiveness with a smattering of anger.  “I was lying on the bed with him.  I wasn’t making any secret that I was reacting.   But he pushed me away, Laura.  He was embarrassed.”

I sigh.  How am I supposed to know exactly what John was thinking, why he reacted the way he did?  “I don’t know the exact answer to that, sweetie,” I shrug.  “Maybe he was worried about Kristen coming back and trying to figure out how to explain it to her.”  I take her hand in mine, “and he doesn’t know you feel the way… you feel about him.  You haven’t exactly been honest with him.  Maybe if you were, and you asked him what he was thinking you would know the answer.”

“I can’t,” she says softly.  

“You can’t?” I ask, disbelieving once again. “Um, hey John, you know when you kissed me earlier, did you happen to notice I stuck my tongue down your throat?  It might help you to know that I wasn’t dreaming about Kristen.  Perhaps we should talk about that again?”

“Oh Laura!”  She swipes at my hand irritably.  She’s miserable, I can tell, and I know she’s tying herself up in knots again, trying to do the right thing for everyone else.  Not once does she ever consider what is the right thing for her.  “I told you; I promised Kristen I wouldn’t tell him anything until the baby has had the operation.”

“And meanwhile, you leave the field open for Kristen to have her wicked way with him.” I sigh.  She’s her own worst enemy.  It’s almost like she’s scared to be happy.  Still, after what she’s been through in her life, I can hardly say I blame her.  Salem is not a place where people are happy for long.

Well, maybe I’ll just have to take matters into my own hands and maybe John and Marlena can be the ones who buck that trend.

John

I shift again in the chair, trying to adjust myself so I’m not so constricted by the stiff denim of my jeans.  I open my eyes, checking that Kristen is not awake as I push uncomfortably at my hard, throbbing cock, trying to get some relief.    Thoughts of Marlena do this to me all the time.  Memories of her, her softness, the way she touched me, her kisses.  The way she nibbled at my throat, the way her fingers felt, stroking my straining dick as she pulled it from my boxers.

I groan in the depths of my throat as I remember one dream I had during the time she was possessed.  I was in the hospital, much like I was this time.  Father Francis had relapsed, and I was there late.  She came to me, dressed in silk and lace, all in white, looking like an absolute angel.  I lay on a hospital bed; I was groggy, and I didn’t know whether I was dreaming or not, but I hardly cared.  She took my jaw between her firm fingers and kissed me hungrily.  Greedily.  

And then she slid down my body, unbuttoning and unzipping my jeans and pulling my aching length from the confines of my boxers.  

It was a come to Jesus moment.  Or maybe, a come to Satan moment.

I swallow, my throat suddenly dry as I recall the feeling of her soft fingers encircling my engorged shaft, sliding down and then up, her thumb swiping across the wet slit at the top.  In my dream, my hips bucked, and as I remember while sitting in a hospital bed next to my wife, they do the same.  

The dream was so real.  So vivid.  I could feel her fingers as she stroked my straining length, her thumb following the line of my swollen veins.  I groaned again and in a deep husky voice, she said, “you want me to suck you baby?  You want to feel your cock deep in my throat?”

Fuck!  I thrust up into her delicate hand and groaned again as her hand stroked skilfully upwards and then downwards.

“Oh John,” she said hungrily.  “I want to taste you.  Tell me what you want, baby.”

“Oh Jesus,” I whispered, and I felt her hand tighten around my shaft and she gave my cock a quick, painful tug.

“What do you want, John?” Her voice was harder, more demanding.  “Tell me.”

“Oh fuck!  Suck me off, baby.” I begged her, desperate to feel the warmth of her mouth enveloping the head of my throbbing dick.  “Oh hell!  I want my cock in that fucking gorgeous mouth of yours.”

“That’s more like it,” she chuckled and bent her head to flutter her tongue teasingly across the head of my penis.  

“Oh, fuck, Doc,” I had groaned in my dream, but I also found myself groaning it in the chair in the hospital room, my present predicament mirroring my past, with my cock quickly swelling in the tight confines of my jeans.

And then I had remembered, I was supposed to be a priest and I wasn’t supposed to be doing this.  I had made vows and allowing Marlena to give me pleasure like this was forbidden.  It was wrong.  I was….

“You can’t,” I raised my head and looked at her as she held me in the palm of her hand.  “Doc, baby, you can’t…”

“Shhhh, baby,” she had whispered with a devious smile.  “Let me take care of you now.”  Then she had enveloped me in that warm velvety sweetness, her lips sliding down my length, following her hand.  She took almost my full length in one smooth movement before she receded again, her teeth lightly scraping the skin as she dragged her mouth upwards.

I groaned deep in my throat, my eyes rolling back in my head.  It had been so many years since she had done this to me.  And oh my God when she did it, it was beyond erotic.  It was like performance art.  I have never felt anything else like it, not before and not since.  When it came to oral pleasuring, Marlena was unparalleled.

When we were together, despite her grace and her elegance, and despite her seemingly ubiquitous professional demeanour, Marlena was a wildcat in bed.  She and I did things that I would blush to say out loud.  She would try pretty much anything, and she would suggest things I had never even thought about.  

Once, she unzipped my pants under the table in Shenanigans and gave me a hand-job while she casually read the menu.  Another time, she came to the Police station and sucked my dick while I tried to carry on a conversation with Abraham who had no idea what was going on under my desk.

And boy, she could do things with that pretty little pink tongue that would make your eyes bulge and make you sweat.  That dream in the hospital room wasn’t the first dream I’ve had about her running her tongue up and down my throbbing cock and then taking me in her mouth and sucking me until I exploded deep in her throat and fucking hell, it wasn’t the last.  Not by a long shot.  I am pretty sure that one was initiated by Satan himself, but it didn’t take a demon to put filthy images of her in my head.

If that was it, I would have stopped having those dreams when he was banished back to hell.

But I didn’t.  If anything, I had them more and more often.

I almost made love to her on Smith Island.  It wasn’t just the Devil making me horny for her.  All it took was being near her, and being alone with her, to make her damn near irresistible to me.  It was hot and I was hot.  I chopped wood to try and keep my mind off my wood, while she wandered around in a flimsy summer dress, pressing a wet flannel to her throat, making me wish that it was my tongue instead. 

And then she went skinny-dipping, got into ‘trouble’, and I had to rescue her.  I dragged her up onto the beach and started giving her mouth to mouth.  My lips on hers.  Her skin hot and wet against mine.

Next thing I knew, we were kissing, her tongue in my mouth, her hands attempting to strip off my shirt and I was lost to her.  God, I wanted her so fucking much, all I could think about was the way she felt as I kissed her, those sweet curves under my hands.  Her breasts pressed against my damp priestly shirt.

Kristen saved me.  Arrived just in time, screaming that I had to stop.  Now I wonder what would have happened if we had consummated our love?  Well, my love for her.  If I’d buried myself deep in her wet, tight, velvety heat.  Would the Devil have stripped my soul from my body right there and then?  Would I have been as lost to hell as she was?  

The thought doesn’t even bear considering.  I still have nightmares about what happened.  About her lying there on that bed, arms and legs bound, growing weaker and weaker.  Her face deathly pale, violet bruises around her beautiful eyes. Eyes which were first yellow and then disappearing into white nothingness.

And the voice of the beast that emanated from her fragile body.  The way he taunted me, accusing me of wanting her, using the truth to unmoor me.  Stripping her so that I was forced to look on her naked body and feel the shameful lust that flooded me at the sight of her.  

He seeded me with those filthy dreams, dreams which have echoed in my head ever since.  Both in sleeping and waking hours, making me so hard I’ve ached with the wanting of her.  Instead, to my shame, I have turned to Kristen to ease my pain.  To ease my need.  I bury myself between Kristen’s thighs and imagine Marlena.  Imagine it is her mouth on my neck, her fingers interlaced with mine.  Her voice whispering my name.

I often recall that afternoon I came home to the loft, days after Marlena came back from the dead, after I offered my soul up in exchange for hers and God wrought his miracle and gave her back to us.  

She was wandering around in a towel, looking for soap.  Holy fuck, despite everything she’d been through, she looked downright edible.  I wanted to throw her on the couch, untuck that towel and lay it open, revealing her perfect rose gold flesh, the gentle slopes and curves, reduced by months of malnourishment but still beautiful to me.  I wanted to run my fingertips over the gentle swell of her breasts and circle those tight pink buds, watching them harden under my touch, while I listened to her whimper her arousal.

Instead, my heart pounding, I had handed her the soap, the feeling of her skin against mine where we touched sending thrills through me and making me feel more alive than I’d felt for months, maybe years.  She had smiled awkwardly, almost shyly and then she had gone to have her shower and I had tortured myself, imagining her, her skin slippery with the soap and hot water streaming down that delicious body of hers.

That time that she spent in the loft with me is burned into my brain.  It was delicate and delightful.  It was, for me, fraught with longing, but saturated with love and gratitude.  I had realised in fighting for her life and soul that I loved her beyond reason.  I had offered up my soul for hers, how could I not have realised it?  And I still wanted her.  

God, how I wanted her.  The temptation was strong, having her so close, having her cuddled up against me, her warmth, her scent surrounding me as I held her and comforted her after traumatic dreams.  After memories which would come back to her unexpectedly, making her feel distraught and guilty.

She was ashamed, distressed at times.  I tried to reassure her the best I could but without putting any pressure on her or having any expectations.  And when she encouraged me to fight for Kristen and I had to accept she had no interest in me beyond that of a friend.  So, I did as she suggested, and I rekindled my relationship with Kristen.  Because what else could I do?  Just pine after her?  Just make her feel awkward and uncomfortable by confessing my deep, unwavering love for her?  And my ill-contained desire?  

I felt out of control around her, touching her, pulling her into my arms, kissing her hair.  I would run my hand down her back to comfort her and it would slip a little too low and I would have to give myself a stern speaking to and lift it up again, back away, hoping she hadn’t noticed, hoping she couldn’t feel my cock stiffening against her belly.

So, after a few weeks, I let her slip away, let her go back to her life and I went back to mine.  Except her life included rehabilitating none other than Stefano DiMera which honestly made me a little bit insane with fear, and with jealousy.  How the fuck was that man living in her apartment and spending time with her, when I couldn’t?  Him having more access to her time and her friendship than I did made me crazy and so I buried myself in the thing with Kristen, and we went to Aremid to be there for Jennifer and Peter Blake’s wedding. 

There, I was accused of Tony’s murder.  And once again, when I needed her, Marlena was right there, at my side.  And more and more, I realised that my love for her was simply endless and non-negotiable.  When I was accused, she came to Aremid, and she stood by my side through everything.  When everyone else believed me to be capable of murder, even the woman I told myself I loved.  Even Kristen believed I was capable of murdering a man.  Murdering Tony DiMera.

But not Marlena.  She didn’t believe it for a moment.  And she never stopped fighting to prove my innocence.  To the point where she put herself in danger once again, braving Stefano’s obsessive greed for her to try and find the journal which eventually bought my freedom.  Just as she almost lost hers.

The next time I lay next to her was after I had rescued her from Stefano’s clutches.  I climbed into bed and wrapped my arms around her, relishing the feeling of her next to me.

I’d almost lost her again and I was ready to confess my feelings to her.  I’d written her a letter in that jail cell in Aremid where I’d finally been honest about my innermost feelings.  About what she really means to me.  

I know our life together has been complicated. You’ve been in love with other men, and I’ve been in love with other women. But the love we shared was something special, Doc. There never was, and never could be, anyone to fill the special place that you hold in my heart. I love you. I know now, I always have, and I always will.

She never saw that letter.  I never told her how I felt.  We were interrupted by Mike and then Kristen cornered me, wanting to know if there was still a chance for us… and then the moment was gone.

I don’t even really recall why I didn’t tell her.  I mean I am glad I didn’t.  I’m glad I didn’t embarrass myself.  I’m glad I didn’t put that kind of pressure on her.  She might have felt beholden to me, she might have felt embarrassed or like she had to give me some kind of affirmation when really she didn’t feel that way about me at all.

But then I think about how she risked her safety and her freedom to save my life and I find myself wondering…

And yet, all that time since…. She’s never said anything to me, she’s never given me any indication that she feels anything for me but friendship.  

I mean, she’s encouraged me to make things work with Kristen.  She’s lived with us, and she’s never said anything.  Once, I almost confessed my feelings for her.  There were reports that Stefano was seen nearby, and I had been frantic with fear, frightened that he was going to snatch her from me once again.  I had convinced her to stay at the mansion with us and she had borrowed a nightgown from Kristen.  I had run into her in the hallway and fuck she had filled out that nightgown like you would not believe.  I couldn’t stop looking at her, at the soft slope of her breasts where they disappeared below the floral satin.  She’d blushed, looking shy and I’d thought it so fucking adorable.  It’s not like I hadn’t seen everything before, but still, she seemed adorably reserved and nervous and it made me just wonder, just gave me a little glimmer of hope.

Then we’d had the call about a sighting of Stefano, and Abraham and I had raced off in pursuit of the portly phantom.  We didn’t find him, but we did talk about my feelings for my ex.  And Abe convinced me to tell her the truth about how I felt.  The long-standing love I harboured for her.

So, I went back, intending to lay everything out in front of her, to reveal my heart and bare my soul.  But before I could, she reaffirmed our current relationship status.  She friend-zoned me.  I owed her nothing, she said.  She was grateful for my friendship, but I should commit to Kristen because she was my future.

I can’t pretend I wasn’t heartbroken when I smiled and nodded and hugged her.  But she’d made it clear what she wanted, and what she didn’t want.  And what she didn’t want, was my love.  So, I could only abide by her wishes.

I can’t decide whether it’s heaven or hell, being so close to her and not being able to touch her the way I long to.  I turn and find her looking at me and my heart skips a beat.  I round a corner and bump into her, and I relish the feeling of the warmth of her skin for just the fraction of a second that it brushes against mine.  We sit together on the sofa with our children, and I can’t help but pretend that we are a real family and when she looks up at me and smiles, I imagine that I can see love shining in those amber eyes and my heart swells with love for her.

I feel guilty, don’t get me wrong.  It’s not fair to Kristen, I know that.  It’s not even fair to Doc.  I have sought to keep her with us at the mansion for much longer than I should have.  When the danger from Stefano subsided, I begged her to stay with us to help Rachel Blake.  And then to be there to reassure Kristen during her precarious pregnancy.

Of course, I had presumed on Marlena’s sweet, caring, and nurturing nature.  Her desire to help the people who need her, the people she cares about.  And it was safer having her there, there’s no doubt about it.  Although, I am still not sure how Stefano knew which plane Marlena would be on when he spirited her away to that grotesque underground carnival in Paris.

But now, there’s no reason for her to stay any longer.  Once the baby has had his operation and recovered enough to come home, she will leave me.  She will go back to the Penthouse, and I will have no more excuses to keep her close.  And I will have to finally let her go and accept that my life is with Kristen now.  Kristen and our son.

Marlena 

 “Laura, I can’t talk about this anymore,” I say wearily.  I am tired of talking about it.  I am tired of the ache that has settled in my chest.  I am tired of knowing that there is a decision that I have to make, and that what I want and what is right are diametrically opposed outcomes.

“Honey, please don’t give up on him, not now!”  Laura pleads.  “You’re so close.”

“Am I though?” I ask her, the question painful in my mouth.  I no longer know.  I have waited for months to tell him the truth but now the moment is here, I am nervous, and I am questioning just why it is he is still with her if he loves me so? “Or am I just hanging onto something that was over a long time ago?”

“He wrote you that letter in Aremid,” she reminds me, taking my hands in hers again.  “He thought he was going to die, and his last thoughts were of you, Marlena.  He realised he loved you.”

“That was a year ago, Laura,” I pull my hands from hers and stand up, frustrated and irritated.  I know everything she is telling me.  And this morning I would have agreed with her.  But John kissing me and then denying everything about that kiss… claiming that he thought I was Kristen, and not even acknowledging that I was responding, that I was enjoying everything about our encounter… well at the very least I feel a little demoralised.  At the worst, I feel hurt, exhausted and defeated.  “If he really loved me like that, if he still loved me, wouldn’t he have told me by now?  Wouldn’t he have shared his feelings with me after he rescued me in Aremid?  Wouldn’t he question just why I risked everything for him if I didn’t love him too?”

“Oh honey, I don’t know what he’s been thinking,” Laura sighs.  “Except that maybe he doesn’t feel confident in your feelings for him.  Maybe he doesn’t want to embarrass you, or himself.  All I know is the way I see him looking at you when he thinks no-one else is looking.  The way he takes your hand and the way he holds you.  And what about the way he’s insisted you stay at the mansion?”

“He wants to keep me safe,” I say uncertainly.  I want to believe her; God knows I do.  But that’s just the problem, I can’t sort out fact from fantasy in my head right now.  I feel so terribly confused and uncertain if I am simply making up scenarios in my head and reading things into his actions because I want him so badly.  “He cares about me, of course he does. I’m the mother of his child.  But that doesn’t mean he’s in love with me.”

“Oh, come on, Marlena,” Laura scoffs.  “You really think he’s loved you for all these years only to suddenly stop now?  He was frantic when Stefano had you in Paris.  He would have done anything to find you.  He barely even remembered Kristen existed.  I’m telling you, that man is crazy about you and the sooner you get over yourself and tell him you feel the same way, the better for everyone.”

I turn and look at John’s baby through the nursery window.  Not everyone, I think.

John

Kristen moans in her sleep and I open my eyes to check on her.  She rolls her head to one side and mumbles something.  It sounds like Marlena, don’t do it.  

Don’t do what?  I wonder what it is she’s dreaming about, and I frown as I see her forehead crease and her face twist in what looks like fear.  “Don’t!” She starts to thrash about, and I lean closer, running my hand down her arm.  “Please don’t tell him!  Don’t tell John!” She slurs the words in her sleep, but they are clear enough this time and I sit back in my chair feeling confused and more than a little bit suspicious.  Tell me what?  What is she worried that someone might tell me?  That Marlena might tell me?

I think back to the earlier interactions between Kristen and Doc, the undercurrent that I sensed between them.  The slightly acid edge to Kristen’s tone.  Marlena’s unexpected laughter when I confessed to Kristen that I had kissed her.

I realise with a start that Marlena was going to tell me something.  Right before Kristen walked in, when I was… when I’d woken up with her in my arms.  That was why I was frustrated about having to sit here with Kristen before I took my wander down memory lane.  She wanted to tell me something and I knew it was important.

Something Kristen doesn’t want me to know.

I lean forward, my elbows on my knees and rub my hands over my face, trying to clear my head as I pick back through the events and conversations of the past hour in my mind.  What were we talking about when she said she wanted to tell me something?  I thought I’d been having a dream, and I woke up and it was Doc.  It was Marlena I was kissing.  And she felt just as warm and soft under my hands as she had in my dream.

I was dreaming she’d come to my room at the loft.  I don’t know why I was dreaming that I was at the loft, but I was in my bed, unable to sleep and I looked up to see her standing in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe with the hint of a smile on her face.  

She was wearing one of those white silky, lacy nightgowns she wears sometimes, the ones that make her look like an angel, but an incredibly sexy one that you might just want to ravish when she falls to earth.  I’d smiled at her, and she came to me, leaning over me and smoothing her fingers across my face.   She looked and smelled good enough to eat.

“I want you,” I murmured, and standing there with the moonlight softly shining behind her, illuminating her, she told me she wanted me too.  With a groan I pulled her into my arms, finding her soft, warm lips with mine and I kissed her hungrily, my arms tight around her, relishing the feeling of her beneath my palms and my fingertips.  

The last time I kissed her like that was on a polished conference table at Titan.  At least, the last time when it wasn’t the devil wearing her face.  It has been such a long time.  That feels like a lifetime ago, and yet my hunger for her is still as real and as present as it ever was.

My fingers threaded through her hair, short now which was a was a new sensation and I felt the warmth of her melting into my skin.  I licked my way across her soft, plump lips and I swallowed the gentle sigh that fell from her as she opened her mouth my tongue met hers.

I feel myself growing harder as I recall the dream and how real it felt, and I surreptitiously push against my throbbing cock as my heart thumps in my chest.   It felt real, because it was real.  She was here and I was kissing her.  I recall waking out of my dream and seeing her face.  It’s hazy, she was smiling down at me, and I figured I must still be dreaming.  So, I curled my arm around her and kissed her again.  My mouth on her delicious lips, my body against her warmth, my thigh wrapped around hers as I devoured her.  Pushing her back against the pillow, against the bed, kissing her as though my life depended on it, my tongue searching her mouth, her fingers tracing the muscles of my back.

I open my eyes as I recall my shock at realizing I wasn’t in fact, dreaming. That she was really there, it was really her.

My brow creases into furrows as I recall her smile.  Her smile.  My thigh wrapped around hers…

I track through my memories, trying to recall exactly what happened.  Was it real or am I imagining it?  What was the dream and what was real?

Kristen came in and …  

…Marlena swings her legs off her side.  What are her legs doing on the bed, I wonder… 

…I come to stand beside Marlena as she finds her shoes and slips them back on.  Why isn’t she wearing her shoes…?

…I run my fingers through my hair, straightening it.  But why is it messed up…?  

My heart is thumping.  I was confused.  I’m still confused but… is it possible that she was … ? She was on the bed.  She’d taken off her shoes, she’d climbed onto the bed, and she’d let me kiss her.

She’d let me?  Her arms were around me and her tongue was in my mouth.  I can still taste her.  My heart is pounding frantically.  I push myself out of the chair and walk over to the window and I lean against the window frame.

Are you sure about this, John?  If I’m wrong and I pursue this, I could make a damn fool of myself and I could embarrass Marlena horribly.  But her legs were on the bed.  I had my leg wrapped around hers, and I was kissing her like there was no tomorrow and she wasn’t pushing me away.  She was kissing me back.  

She was kissing me back.  I am sure of it.  My fingers rise to my mouth, and I can almost feel the tingle of her lips against mine.  The fizz of her as my mouth brushes over hers.  Holy fuck!

What does this mean?

“I hope you understand,” I said, embarrassed and scared that she was upset and angry with me.

“I do understand,” she replied firmly.  “I know exactly what’s going on.  I think it’s time that you know what’s going on.”

She kissed me back and she was going to tell me something.  Something Kristen doesn’t want her to tell me?

Is it possible that she still has feelings for me?  Is it possible that she still loves me?

But if that’s true, why hasn’t she told me before now?  Why was she so adamant that night at the mansion, wearing that damn slinky nightgown that had me salivating for her, that she only feels friendship for me?

I turn around and look back at Kristen.  She’s lying still now in her hospital bed, and I walk over and look down at her.  What is going on between Kristen and Marlena that I don’t know about?  I sensed it earlier, the undercurrent of animosity between them and now… well it doesn’t exactly make sense as such, but I am sure that there is something going on that I am not aware of.  If Marlena has feelings for me, if Marlena loves me and Kristen knows it….?  

But why would they both keep it a secret from me?

I look at the door and then look back at Kristen.  I promised Kristen I would stay here while she slept but…

I need to talk to Doc.  I need to find out what it was that she was going to tell me.  I need to know whether she still has feelings for me.

My lips tingle again as I think of the kiss we shared earlier.  Of kisses we shared under mistletoe, and sweet kisses across the head of Santa.  Tempting, lust-filled kisses when Satan inhabited her body.  Stolen, forbidden kisses when she was another man’s wife.  Deep, passionate kisses when she was my wife.

Is it possible?

I have to know.  If there is even the smallest chance, I have to know the truth.

But… but… what if she doesn’t?  What if I am making a fool of myself and I somehow inadvertently ruin our friendship?  What if I upset and embarrass her?  I think about how I almost told her before and how she forestalled me by insisting that she valued our friendship above everything, but that I needed to sort things out with Kristen.

I think about how she blushed that night when I caught her in Kristen’s satin nightgown, how she looked shy and awkward and just fucking enchanting and sexy as all hell.  I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her and as I watched her go, her gorgeous ass swaying, I had to adjust my pants so that my burgeoning erection wasn’t too obvious to either her or Kristen.

Then I think about how awkward and upset she was the day she happened on Kristen and me in the cellar.  God, I feel horrified just thinking about it.  The idea that she walked in, and we were…  Fuck!  

I thought she was embarrassed, but suddenly I wonder if it wasn’t more than that.  If she wasn’t upset because she feels more than just friendship for me.  I know if I ever walked in on her with another man, I would want to fucking burn the world down.  I am not sure what I would do, to be honest.  At the very least, I would want to smash the guy’s face in.  The thought doesn’t even bear thinking about.  

But that raises another question I have studiously avoided considering.   Marlena’s conspicuous lack of ‘gentlemen callers.’  

I haven’t thought about it at all, or at least not much, because the mere idea of her seeing someone else makes me feel a jealous, murderous rage that burns deep in my belly.  I have wondered from time to time why a woman as fucking beautiful and funny and brilliant as her is not out there in a social whirlwind of coffee-dates and dancing.  But every time the thought occurs to me, I push it away because I’m telling you, when even Mike Horton gets a little too close to her, I want to pull him to one side and tell him to keep his fucking filthy hands off her.   I don’t, of course.  But I want to.

One time I even saw Bo looking at her with a little too much appreciation and I had to jam my hands in my pockets and remind myself that he’s her brother-in-law.  Or at least, he was once.  And she would never look at him in that way. 

But hell, ignoring it doesn’t make it any less of a reality.  Or at the very least, what should be a reality.  

I mean, look at her.  Seriously, just fucking look at her.  She’s fucking perfection.  Those astonishing smoky eyes that glow like semi-precious amber and peridot.  That perfect, adorable ski-slope nose with those beautiful golden freckles scattered all over it.  Those lips that bring such delight, such pleasure, such frustration.  Those fragrant golden tresses where I would bury my fingers as I lost myself in the feeling of her mouth against mine.  

And that body…  let me tell you, having had those legs wrapped around me, those hands and that mouth teasing me to life, and my hands and tongue on those magnificent breasts… her body doesn’t just look sexy as fuck, the way it feels… the way it felt… she was like a Stradivarius, goddamn priceless, and I could draw heavenly music from her like a virtuoso violinist.

Marlena could have her pick of the bachelors of Salem.  And I am absolutely sure that there is no shortage of eligible doctors that she meets at conferences that have shown an interest in her.  And yet here she is, three years after that fucking idiot Roman Brady turned his back on her and left Salem and she’s still single.  Still alone.

Not one man, not even one date that I know of.

I mean, that’s insanity.   That woman was made for loving.  She gets under a man’s skin and that’s it.  You are as good as ruined for anyone else.  Ask Roman who fled Salem and has never come back.  Ask Stefano who is obsessed with winning her heart.  

Ask me.

So, obviously, I have to ask why.

Is it her guilt over Roman?  Is it her fear of being hurt again?  Or is there another reason, one closer to home?

I look at Kristen again and I think of waking up on that bed with Marlena in my arms.  I recall the taste of her on my lips.  I think of my thigh wrapping around hers.

Doc? … I was confused but lost in the sweetness of how she felt in my arms…. Ahhh, this must be a dream…

No, my love…. she told me softly with a sweet smile… It’s not a dream. I’m really here….

Did that really happen?  What the fuck was my dream, and what was reality?  

What in the hell is going on?

I have to find out.  I have to know.

Turning, I head for the door.

Laura  

“Laura, can you just leave it please?” I can tell Marlena is tired by the way her words are laced with acid. I mean, I know she’s not always sweetness and light. If you cross Marlena, then woe-betide you. Her glare is enough to fell a person at ten paces. Well, unless you have absolutely no shame, like our friend, Kristen DiMera.  Kristen seems to be immune to any kind of reproach, blithely ignoring the righteous indignation of those she has wronged.

But to her friends and loved ones, Marlena is usually the epitome of gentle kindness, even when she is frustrated and irritated.

“I’m just trying to help, honey,” I tell her, my words full of all the love and concern I feel for her. Marlena is such a wonderful friend to everyone, and she so rarely asks for anything for herself. Much less the support and care that she needs and deserves. I sometimes wonder what happened in her childhood to make her push away the offers of help and care from those who love her the most.

It’s maybe one of the reasons she’s so dependent on John. Because, despite everything, she trusts him above everyone else. She feels like it’s safe for her to be vulnerable with him in a way she can’t seem to be with any of her friends or family. I wonder if she realizes that at all, about what the emotional intimacy between them signifies.

“I know you are,” she sighs. “But you’re not right now. I’m tired and you’re not really helping at all.”

“I just think if you talked to him, it would clear up your confusion about his feelings,” I insist. “You might think this is a reach, but I think both of you are so busy trying to protect each other that you’re missing what’s so obviously right in front of your faces.”

“Protect each other from what?” Marlena snaps.  

“I don’t know,” I shrug, “why don’t you tell me?”  She glares at me, and I smile softly.  “You’re trying to protect him from feeling responsible for you.  And he’s trying to protect you from getting hurt again.”  I take her hands in mine.  “And you’re both trying to protect your own hearts.  But it’s not working, is it?  Because you’re in love with him and it hurts you every day that you can’t hold him in your arms and tell him that.  It breaks your heart that you have to watch him with Kristen.  And I am certain it breaks his heart that he has you so close and yet he can’t touch you and he can’t kiss you the way he wants to.”  

“And I think you’re so invested in this you’re seeing things that aren’t there,” Marlena says archly as she pulls her hands out of mine.  But I see the tears glittering in her eyes as she turns away from me.  I have hit the nerve that she is trying so desperately to protect.   

“I don’t understand how you can say that, Marlena. The man kissed you. He stuck his tongue in your mouth, told you he thought he was dreaming of you, and then wrapped himself around you and if I know John, he practically swallowed you whole. And you immediately decide that means he’s madly in love with Kristen?” I am frustrated with her refusal to pursue this.  

I understand her fear, of course I do.  She’s been hurt so much.  She’s lost her baby and her twin sister.  She’s been loved and left by Don Craig and Roman Brady.  She’s been shunned by family, and she’s been stalked by a fixated madman (or three).  She’s been threatened, kidnapped and lost five years with her family because of one of said madmen.  And she lost John.  When Roman came back, whatever way they tried to spin it, she was deeply in love with that man, but he walked away with Isabella while Roman took Marlena and the children back like they were possessions he owned.  So, I see why she’s terrified of making the first move.  I really do.

But she knows how John feels about her now.  Yes, he may have written that letter a year ago, but every time he so much as looks at her, the truth of his feelings is written all over his face.  It’s as plain as day to me and pretty much everyone else that knows them.  So, she needs to be brave and just take the plunge.  Right now, is the perfect opportunity to approach John with her real feelings. With the truth about Kristen. Delaying it because of the baby, because it will weigh too heavily on John’s shoulders is bullshit. These excuses are simply Marlena avoiding the truth because she’s too afraid that things will go wrong.  If she doesn’t tell him now, I fear she never will.

Like I said, I can understand her reluctance to challenge the status quo. At least she has John in her life now, at least they are close, even if it’s not the romantic relationship she really wants.

But that’s not enough. It’s not enough for her. She’s a woman that was made to love. A woman who has an enormous heart and who will make the right man the luckiest man on the face of the earth. And the right man is John Black. I completely believe that. She will never get over him and he… like I said, it’s clear to me and everyone else that he loves her.  Hell, it’s clear to Kristen, that much is obvious.  I just don’t understand why the two of them are so blind about it.  If they would just open their eyes and stop letting their fear and sense of responsibility control them, they would see the truth and it would all become so very easy.

“I’m tired, Laura,” Marlena waves off my comments. “I can’t think about this anymore. Not today. I need to clear my head.”

“I’ll come with you,” I offer.  I don’t want to let this go.  She’s so close.  Maybe a little more of a nudge and I’ll push her over the edge.

“Thank you but I’d rather be alone right now.” Her tone is curt and brooks no argument and I feel a little hurt and frustrated, but I understand. Her better angel is at war with her heart, and she is struggling to find an answer that will satisfy her.

“Take care, honey,” I say as I watch her take one last lingering look at the baby before she exhales deeply and sets off down the hallway.

John 

I decide to swing by and see the baby before I try and find Doc. I am not sure yet what I want to say, and honestly, I am afraid of what she might say in return.  My hope, like my love for her, is a smouldering ember which I keep damped down with regular helpings of reality checks.  But this latest interaction has that ephemeral emotion hope flaring brightly in my heart.  Like a firework that might explode into a thing of unparallelled beauty, all noise and light and sparkle.  Or, it might flare briefly and then die, burning itself out with barely a person noticing.  

Except me.  I don’t think I even realised that I’ve been harboring small glimmers of hope, like butterflies fluttering inside my chest and head, alighting ever so briefly as she flashes me that brilliant smile, her hazel eyes glittering in a way that reminds me of so many years ago.  I feel the flutter of their wings as she touches my hand, holding it for what feels like a moment too long to be just friendship. Or the way she whirls around when I enter the room, before I even say her name, her cheeks glowing a soft rose and her mouth curling into a smile that makes me want to kiss her senseless.

Every so often, those butterflies are captured and pinned in a place where I can see them, can see what they were.  Where they taunt me with the hope that was and the reality that is.  Like the night I was all set to tell her the truth of my feelings.  The night when she told me that she wanted nothing more than friendship.  The night she pushed me back into Kristen’s arms.

And I think, the butterflies are all gone now.  They are like the memories.  Pinned in the past where I can look back at them as they recede into the distance.  Their wings shimmer in the half-light and I grieve for how beautiful they were when they were alive and dancing in the sunlight.  And I long to bring them back to life even as I watch them fade away.

And then… then I realise months later that there are new butterflies.

Today, there are a multitude.  And they flutter and sing their tempting siren song in my head, their wings feeding the flame oxygen.  So, I am hopeful, and I am absolutely fucking terrified, and I think maybe a moment or two watching my son won’t make too much of a difference.

When I round the corner, I find Laura standing in front of the nursery window. But she’s not looking at the babies. She’s staring down the hallway with a sad expression.

“Hey Laura,” I greet her and nod at the babies beyond the window. “You heard Kristen had the baby?”

“Oh, hi John,” she turns to me and nods her head sharply without a smile. “I did, yes.”

I move alongside her and pick out my boy in the field of pink waving arms and legs. “He’s a beauty, isn’t he?” I say as I allow myself a moment of calm reflection. In my uncertainty over the situation with Marlena and confusion over Kristen’s mumbled dream revelation I have let my son slip to the back of my mind and I feel immediately guilty. I already love this little guy so much; I want to give him the world.

“He is,” Laura looks at the baby and then at me. “I suppose congratulations are in order.”

“Yeah,” I look at her sideways. Her tone is anything but congratulatory. “Thanks. I think.”

“I heard you married Kristen in the delivery room.”  Her tone is downright acerbic now. “Really John, what on earth were you thinking?”

“Excuse me?” I lift my eyebrows in surprise, turning to look at Laura.  I can feel my heart thumping hard in my chest.  I know it seems unorthodox but really, what kind of a response is this to a wedding? “Kristen is the mother of my baby, why wouldn’t I marry her?”

“Do you love her?” Laura asks spikily. “Because you didn’t marry the mother of your last baby, if I recall rightly.”

I feel an acid barb of pain lance through me.

“You know that the situation we were in made that impossible,” I say, my voice choked in my throat. I would have given anything to marry Marlena. To complete our little family with Belle and Brady. If we had known from the beginning that Belle was ours then maybe…. I shake my head. There’s no point in enumerating the maybes. They were forks in the road and they lead to roads not taken. Roads that are shadowed in uncertainty and the ache of regret. Roads where butterflies lie dead in the shadows.  If I allow myself the luxury of contemplating the present that could have been, I might sink into the remorse and the what-ifs and never come out.

No, the present is what it is, and I have to deal with it on those terms.

“Do you, though?” she asks with evident curiosity as she turns around and crosses her arms, leaning back against the window. “Love Kristen, I mean.”

“Of course I do!” She doesn’t miss the pause that I take before I answer. Do I love Kristen? Or is she merely a distraction, a replacement for what I truly love and cannot have?

“Marlena was just here,” she says conversationally, turning back to the window and watching the babies. “She’s very concerned about your son.”

“Well of course she is,” I say. “He’s a sick baby. Doc will always be concerned about her friends and their children.”

“She’s concerned because he’s your son,” Laura says, as though I haven’t even spoken. “She’s also confused, John.”

“About what?” My already thumping heart starts to beat a little faster.  Laura has obviously spoken with Marlena.  What is it that Marlena has told her?

“About what happened earlier. She said you kissed her.” Laura turns her blue-gray gaze on me, and I feel like it’s stripping me bare and picking over all my ill-hidden secrets.

“I explained that,” I say, feeling my cheeks redden. “I fell asleep in Kristen’s room.  I was dreaming about her. I thought when Marlena came in, that it was her. I…” The heat flares in my face and I look away, searching out my son again. I think about Marlena’s legs up on the bed, about my thigh hooking around hers, and I swallow.

“Yes, so she said,” Laura says slowly. “But I have to wonder, John…. Were you really dreaming about Kristen? Or was that just a convenient cover story because the truth scares you too much?”

“I….” I don’t know what to say. Laura turns to me and leans with her arm against the glass and her arms crossed.

“John, did you even stop to ask Marlena what she was doing there before you launched into your explanation?” she raises her eyebrows.  “Did you even stop to wonder why she was kissing you back?”

“No, I didn’t want to… I was… I was embarrassed,” I stammer as I respond to the first part of her question without considering the inference of the second.  “Doc is … she’s such a wonderful friend. I was… I didn’t want to upset her. I didn’t want her to think I was… presuming… putting pressure on her to respond…”

“She knew you were asleep, why on earth would she think you were putting pressure on her?” Laura sighs and shakes her head. “Honestly, the two of you… you would try the patience of a saint. And I,” she points to herself, “am not a saint.”

I shake my head, confused. I don’t understand what she is getting at, or what she is trying to say. “Laura,” I say, “Marlena is my best friend. I don’t want to upset her, to make her feel like I am… I expect anything more from her than she wants to give.”  As I say this, her words echo in my mind.  Did you even stop to wonder why she was kissing you back?

Why would she say that unless Marlena had told her that she was kissing me back.  And if Marlena told her, then Marlena was kissing me back.  Which means…. what?  What precisely does that mean?

“What if she wants to give more?” Laura asks pointedly, her words outlining my unspoken questions in neon. “Have you asked her what it is that she wants? Did you ask her how she felt about the fact you kissed her?”

“Well I…” I don’t really know what to say. I didn’t ask her, of course not. I was too busy trying to explain why I’d practically devoured her, not allowing for a moment of awkwardness, not wanting to make her ask the question. But in doing that, I realize, I didn’t give her time to say anything else either. At least, until just before Kristen interrupted us.

I shake my head. “No,” I say softly. “I didn’t.”

“Maybe you should,” Laura lifts her eyebrows suggestively. “Maybe you should stop offering answers and start asking questions.”

I frown, trying to read the unspoken suggestions that fall between her verbalized words.  Is she really saying what I think she’s saying or am I just reading into this situation what I want to because I am so desperate to hang onto my butterflies?  “What exactly are you saying, Laura?” I know she is one of Marlena’s closest friends and one she confides in. But I also know that she has her own issues with the DiMera’s. I don’t know whether she is a trustworthy source of information, she seems to have her own take on things that doesn’t always align with reality.  And more than that, I am not sure that I trust myself to correctly interpret what she is saying.  Because I am in danger of talking myself into a hope and belief that could destroy me if it’s unfounded.  

But I can’t completely ignore the things she seems to be implying.  If I am reading her correctly, to ignore it would be foolish at best, completely self-defeating at worst.   “Are you trying to say that Marlena…” I don’t even dare to voice my question. Marlena wanted me to kiss her? Marlena has feelings for me? I swallow, my mouth suddenly feeling sticky and dry.

“I’m saying that you need to speak to Marlena,” Laura sighs. “Don’t let anyone interrupt you this time. And don’t let her fob you off with a non-answer. If you want to know how Marlena feels, then ask her and make sure this time that she’s honest with you.” She gives me a sneaky, knowing smile. “Maybe you should try being honest with her for a change. Maybe that would be a good start.”

She lifts her wrist and turns it to look at her watch. “Ooh look at that, I need to go. Have a patient due very shortly.” She turns and looks at the baby. “Congratulations on the baby. Although, he doesn’t look very much like you,” she muses thoughtfully.

“Laura I…” I start but she waves me off.

“Can’t stay any longer,” she taps her watch, “like I said, I have a patient.” She smiles at me. “Good luck!”

With that, she is gone, and I watch her retreating form before I turn to look at my son. She’s right, he doesn’t look like me. I thought babies were supposed to look like their fathers to help with the bonding process. My scattergun mind slingshots back to Belle’s birth. I remember feeling that connection to her the moment she entered the world. I remember looking into her hazy, unfocussed little blue eyes and loving her so much I felt like my heart would explode.

Do I feel that with John Jr.? I don’t know that I do. But maybe that’s just because he’s not…

…because Marlena is not his mother.

I will always feel a connection to Doc, no matter where she is, and I will always feel a connection to her children. But Belle especially. My little blonde-haired, blue-eyed beauty.

This baby looks nothing like Belle, and for that matter, nothing like Brady.

Oddly, he doesn’t even really look like Kristen. I can’t think who he looks like. But then, I don’t know what my face looked like before Stefano got hold of me. Maybe something like I look now, but then again, maybe not.

I watch my son as he closes his eyes and yawns contentedly and I feel a pang in my heart. I wish he was Marlena’s. I wish he was ours.  I can imagine her holding him, cooing over his soft little head, kissing him.  I can imagine her rocking him to sleep, singing him a lullaby and placing him in a crib in the Penthouse while I watch her.  I can imagine myself wrapping my arms around her and the two of us just standing there and watching him sleep.

It’s an impossible dream and the imagining of it makes my heart hurt.

I turn away from the window and consider my next move. If Marlena was here only a few minutes ago, as Laura indicated, then she’s probably still close by. Still in the hospital, at the very least.

I decide the most sensible place to start, would be her office, and I set off in that direction, my nervousness building as I walk.

Marlena

I exit my inner office with my coat looped over my arm and my purse in my hand.  Hillary is on a break, for which I am grateful.  I am not supposed to be working today and I really don’t want to have to explain my appearance at the hospital, especially given how irritable and flustered I am right now.  In my other hand, I hold my keys and I am just about to lock my office door when John comes into the outer office. 

Damn!  I had hoped to avoid him until at least after the baby has his operation.  My heart thumps wildly as he rushes toward me. “Doc, we need to talk,” he says breathlessly.

“I um…” my cheeks flare hotly. I promised I wouldn’t say anything to him today and I know I can’t be around him for any length of time and keep silent about Kristen. And I can’t look him in the eye and lie to him about how I feel any longer. I feel like, after that kiss, it must be written all over my face. “I have a patient I need to see.” My voice is choked, and he puts his hand on my upper arm.

“With your coat and your purse?” he asks softly.

I pause for a moment, trying to wrack my brain for something to say, something that will sound plausible.  My hands are shaking, and I clutch tightly onto my keys and bag, praying to God that he doesn’t notice how much he is unmooring me.

“I am seeing… I have to go out afterward. Pick up…”  I exhale in frustration.  Why am I looking for an excuse when I have one ready-made?  “Lexie is watching the children. I have to get back…” I know I sound ridiculous.  Marlena Evans, the queen of preparedness.  Entirely organised and ordered as though I function by clockwork.  And suddenly I don’t know what I’m doing or where I’m going?  He watches my face carefully and I can see the scepticism in his eyes.

“You’re trying to avoid me, Doc.” He rounds me, pulling my arm so that I pivot and am facing the door of my office.

“No!” I shake my head, my stomach churning as he pushes down on the door handle and pushes the dark wood of my office door open. “No, John, I really have to go.”

“No, Doc,” he pushes me through the doorway into my office and closes the door behind him. “Not until we’ve had this conversation.”

My heart flutters wildly in my chest as he leans against the door, locking it behind him with a simple twist of his beautiful fingers. 

“What…” I can feel my cheeks reddening as I back up and throw my purse and coat on the couch behind me. “What do you want to talk about?”  I don’t really have to ask.  I can see it in his face.  Why else would he suddenly come looking for me?

“What happened earlier,” he says, fixing me with his deep blue eyes. They are almost hypnotic in their limitless depth, and I feel for a moment like I am falling headfirst into him. Into his intensity and his magnetic personality. “You said you were going to tell me something.”

“I….” I attempt to smile.  I don’t feel like smiling.  I feel like I am crumbling inside.  My resistance to him is so low.  He’s magnetic and I am drawn to him, like a bee to nectar.  Especially after that kiss.  “I said that could wait,” I turn around, as casually as I can manage, making sure my back is to him, and make my way to my desk. When I am there, I start to pick through papers as though I am looking for something.  But my hands are still shaking.

“I know you did,” his voice is quiet behind me, and I am curious for a moment as to what expression his face wears. But still, I can’t bring myself to turn around and look at him.  It’s tempting but I know he will read the truth all over my face.  I am like an open book. I feel like my love for him has exploded out of me and is floating all around me like an aura.  “Doc, I know you did. But I got to thinking and I felt like… whatever it was, it must have been important. I don’t know why, I just…” he trails off as I continue to shuffle through the papers on my desk. “It was an awkward moment and I feel like I didn’t…”

“It was,” I say quietly, my heart hurting in my chest. “It was awkward, yes.” I so badly want to tell him everything. About Kristen, about her lies, about my feelings, my love for him. But the truth is, I am scared. Despite Laura’s reassurances, and her absolute certainty that John is in love with me, I am no longer sure. I want to believe it, but I also don’t want to embarrass myself or embarrass him. As long as I stay silent, I can still believe that there is a chance for us, that one day, we will find our way into each other’s arms. If I tell him right now how I feel, and he doesn’t feel the same…? Then it’s all over. I will finally have to relinquish my dreams of being with him.  And then what will I have?

And God, how pathetic does that sound? I’m not some naïve young girl, pining after her first crush. I am an adult woman, nearing middle age. I am a psychiatrist, for goodness’ sake. And here I am, behaving like an awkward ingenue.

“Doc,” he is close behind me now. I can feel him, the warmth of him, the way my body vibrates with his proximity. The hair stands up on the back of my neck and I feel momentarily breathless and slightly dizzy.  And I feel it between my thighs, that growing ache, the throb of blood, the wetness of my need for him. “Doc, look at me.”

“I…” I scoot around the edge of the desk and slip behind it, holding tightly onto the back of my chair. I still don’t look at him, just leaf through the folders that sit on my blotter. “I can’t find… what I’m looking for. I know it’s here. It has to be here.”

“Marlena!” His voice is sharp as he follows me around the end of the desk. I am being stupid, I know I am. He knows I am. I couldn’t be more obvious if I tried. He takes me by the upper arms and bodily turns me so that I am facing him. I am forced to look up into his face. Into his electric blue gaze. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he tells me gently, “you’re acting like you’re scared of me.”

“Oh, I’m not,” I can’t help the thrill that shimmers through me at his touch.  And still my hands tremble.  I feel breathless and an odd panicky fluttering settles in my belly. “I’m not scared of you, John.”

“Then why are you shaking, baby?” he asks me softly, smoothing his right hand down my left arm as his left holds my right.

I swallow, my throat tight. I don’t know what to say to him. Being so close to him earlier, to feel his mouth on mine, his arms around me, it has unbalanced me. My world has toppled off its axis. I have longed for this moment, this opportunity for months, and now it is here, I don’t know how to grab it. I don’t know what to say to him.

Oh honey, he’s going to notice. Trust me on that. Subconsciously, he knew that was you. Laura’s words echo in my head. He doesn’t know you feel the way… you feel about him. You haven’t exactly been honest with him. Maybe if you were, and you asked him what he was thinking you would know the answer.

“John, please let me go,” I ask, and cringe at the pleading note in my voice. I want nothing more than for him to take my face between his sensitive hands and to drift his lips across mine in that gentle teasing way he used to, but I can’t get the words out. I love him so much it’s overwhelming, and yet I can’t bring myself to say the words that would end all this, one way or the other.

“Doc,” that nickname, that endearment falls from his lips so impossibly softly, but he doesn’t let go of me. If anything, his hold on my arms tightens. “Baby, you’re shaking.” I see him swallow nervously and I wonder suddenly if this closeness is affecting him as much as it’s affecting me. “If you’re not scared of me, then what is going on with you? What are you feeling?”

I am caught in his undertow, and I don’t even know which way is up anymore.

“I… I don’t know what you mean,” I stammer.

He sighs rubbing my arm softly and then smoothing his hand down until it finds mine. He watches his fingers weave between mine so that we are indelibly joined where our hands meet. Then he lifts our hands so that they are between us. “Doc, you’re my best friend. You know I don’t ever want to lose that, right?”

“I know, I know.” My vision blurs and I tremble with the restraint it takes to stop the tears spilling over my lashes and down my face. I can’t take him explaining again. I can’t bear to hear about how he was dreaming about Kristen, dreaming about kissing her, making love to her.

This is unbearable.

John

My heart pounds in my chest as I hold Marlena’s hand with mine, our fingers spliced together. She is warm and soft, and she smells like roses, jasmine, and vanilla. I want to lean forward and lick across her lips again, to see if she tastes as good as she smells. I know she does. I kissed her less than an hour ago and now all I can think about is how that felt, and how it would feel to kiss her again.

I don’t know what I will do if she shoots me down in flames. I honestly don’t know how I’ll go on. I have never allowed myself to even hope that she might feel the same. That she might feel anything more for me than just warmth and an easy smile when she thinks of me.

But now I have unlocked the cage that holds those thoughts, I am consumed by them. In the space of an hour, I have been consumed by her, by the possibility that I could hold her in my arms again. That she might willingly curl her body against mine, she might lay down with me and let me run my hands over her golden skin. I can’t stop imagining her smiling up at me with that astonishing, burnished amber come-hither gaze of hers. Running her fingers through the hair on my chest. Gasping when I slide my fingers over the soft flesh of her naked bottom and moaning when they come to rest in the soft, slippery space between her thighs.

If I have to go back to watching her from afar, to longing for her with that hollow ache in my chest as she swings Belle in the air and showers kisses on Brady’s head, I don’t know how I will cope.

And if she knows how I feel? If she knows that every time I so much as touch her, my heart stutters with the nearness of her. If she knows that I dream of her, that I long to make her smile and then capture that smile with my mouth as her eyes sparkle and hands reach for me. Won’t that change our relationship? Won’t that make things awkward?

It was awkward, yes.

“You don’t need to explain again,” she says, but she doesn’t look at me. Instead, she looks toward the door and tries to pull her hand from mine. “Honestly. It’s fine. I understand.”

“No, Doc.” I let her go and watch her as she slips around the other end of the desk and rushes to the couch, swiping up her coat and her bag, fumbling them in her rush to get out of the office.  To get away from me. I think of Laura and her words. Don’t let her fob you off with a non-answer. If you want to know how Marlena feels, then ask her and make sure she’s honest with you.

“I’m afraid I really need to go.” She looks at me, her eyes glittering.  I can usually read her so well, and this looks like… pain.  And fear.  She’s hurt and afraid.  Why?   Because I kissed her?  Or because I kissed her and then denied it?  Without another word, she turns for the door.

“Wait!” I rush around and catch up with her as she reaches the door. “Doc, stop!”

She ignores me and reaches to twist the lock. If I miss this chance to tell her how I feel, I may never get another one. And I have to. There is so much I don’t understand right now, but the one thing I do understand is that there is a depth to our relationship, a history, that makes this risk worth it. I don’t want to hurt her, I don’t want to fracture our friendship but if there is the smallest chance that we could have more, then I owe it to myself, and I owe it to her to pursue that.

“STOP!” I feel frantic, and not even realizing how rough I am being, I grab her and spin her around, slamming her back against the door. She gasps and the sound of it makes my still semi-hard cock twitch in my jeans. She stares up at me and swallows, her cheeks red, her lips parted. She is breathing heavily, and her eyes are wide, her pupils blown with what looks like arousal.

“Doc,” I whisper, my voice harsh with restraint. I want to kiss her so badly it actually hurts. I lift my hand to touch her face, but I am scared.  I am so scared.  This is the point of no return.  I either go all in or I swallow my words and turn away and accept that she will never be anything more than my very good friend.  

I ball my hand into a fist as her eyes scour my face. I wonder if my desire for her is written as plainly across my face as it is inscribed in my heart.

Her chest rises and falls rapidly and unconsciously, and the tip of her moist, pink tongue slides along her lower lip. I almost groan with the effort of checking myself. I want to devour her. I want to lick those luscious lips, slide my tongue inside that warm, beckoning mouth, and feel hers, soft and wet and probing. I want to press my body against hers so that I can feel her breasts, soft against my chest. So that she can feel my need for her digging into her softly rounded belly.

I hear the thump of her purse as it hits the floor and the soft shuffle of her coat as it follows, the gentle folding into itself as it hits the floor between our feet.

“Oh, fuck!” Tears fill my eyes. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to say. I am lost to her, but I can’t find the words to describe my thoughts and my feelings. I inhale her and memories flood through me. The night on that dirty mattress in San Christobal. Desperate kisses with thunder overhead, leather, sweat, and skin. Kissing her on an airstrip with explosives strapped around her body. Holding her in the pouring rain outside St. Luke’s… “Doc, baby…” I shake my head.

Slowly, she lifts her small, delicate hand and reaches out to touch shaking fingers to my cheek. Slowly, slowly her slender fingers reach out and slide around the back of my neck. My heart hammers against my ribs as she tugs, pulling me closer.

My eyes search hers. Forest green, flecked with flashes of golden light. They are beautiful. They are full of mystery, history, and desire.

Desire. Fuuuuck!

“Doc,” I murmur, my own eyes wide as they fall to her lips. “Oh, Marlena.”

“John,” she whispers, her voice hoarse with barely restrained emotion and need. “For God’s sake, kiss me!”

Marlena 

One of John’s hands is still on my arm, his other balled up into a fist. My back is hard against the office door and my breath is coming in short, shallow pants as I stare up at him. In the space of two minutes, everything has changed. I had been pushing him away, trying to escape what I thought was his embarrassed concern. I had thought he was going to try and apologize again, and I couldn’t bring myself to listen to it, to his sweet, pained explanations of how he was dreaming of kissing Kristen. Touching that traitorous, evil bitch.

And then he chased me across the room, pushed me bodily against the door, and suddenly I knew. His desperation and his single-mindedness were reminiscent of a time before, a time when we lost all restraint. When I thought I was losing him. When he thought he couldn’t have me.

My heart is thumping scattered pulses as my purse and coat fall to the ground. My stomach is in turmoil. I want him to touch me so badly but he’s resisting it. I think… I know he wants to. I can see it in his eyes, in the way he’s looking at me. His gaze is captivating. His eyes, I feel like I could dive into the deep blue, like it might fill me up, in me and around me. I feel as though he can see deep into my soul, see the truth of my feelings, my hidden fears and desires.

“Oh, fuck!” he moans, his eyes glassy. “Doc, baby… ” He shakes his head. I know he knows I want him. How can he not know? I am staring into his eyes, practically inviting him in.

And yet, he still resists. Wanting, watching, waiting. Waiting, for what?

For me? If he’s not going to make the first move, then I will have to. I am desperate for him to kiss me, to touch me.

I don’t think about Kristen. I don’t even think about the baby. All I can think of his is warmth, so close. About the way he tasted earlier, the way his fingers felt on me. The way his leg wrapped around mine. I am overwhelmed by him; his closeness annihilates any vestige of self-restraint I might have been fooling myself that I have.

I lift my hand and touch my fingertips to his cheek, rough with stubble. I see his Adam’s apple bob in his throat as he swallows. My fingertips trail over his cheek and then down the side of his neck. His skin is warm to my touch, and I can feel the pounding of his pulse under the pads of my fingers. I slide my hand carefully around the back of his neck and pull him closer to me.

“Doc?” he whispers, and he is so close, I can feel the waft of his breath against my skin. His eyes drift down to my lips, and I shiver, knowing what is coming. Anticipating it. Needing it. “Oh, Marlena.”

“John,” I moan softly. I can’t wait any more. I can’t wait for him to figure this out. I need him. My body is screaming out for him, it’s aching for his touch. For his mouth. “For God’s sake, kiss me!”

I lean forward so my lips are a mere inch from his. My eyes are still open, and I watch the realization dawn in his eyes. I watch them widen and the electric cobalt darkens and intensifies to a deep lapis blue.

“Kiss me,” I whisper again, and he uncurls his fingers and brings them up to my cheek. They are shaking and tentative. But the feeling of his fingers on my skin makes me gasp. It reminds me of all those years ago, when he reached out and touched me on the pier. The night I showed myself to him, after five long years away from home. Away from him.

His touch is tender as he traces the curve of my cheekbone, his gaze scouring my face, looking for any hint of discomfort. Any indication that he should stop. But I don’t want him to stop. God, I want him to keep going. I want him to dive into me, to pull every last gasp and moan from my body. I want him on me, around me, in me.

I shiver with the enormity of this moment. I feel like I have waited a lifetime. I lean my face into his palm and close my eyes for a moment, relishing the feeling of his palm cupping my cheek. There are a million memories attached to this, to his touch, his smell.

And then I feel it. The gentle nuzzle of his face against mine. That ever-so-soft way he rubs the side of his nose against my cheek, taking a deep breath, filling each of his senses with me. Touch and scent combine and the low moan that sounds deep in my throat serves to add sound to his repertoire of sensory experience.

Finally, I feel his lips brush against mine. I suck in a breath, whimpering almost uncontrollably at the electricity that courses through me at that single touch. He sets me on fire, my heart roaring like an express train, my stomach tightening, my pussy aching.

Oh God, everything tingles. Vibrates. Throbs.

“Oh, fuck. Baby,” he whispers against my mouth. “Say it. Say it again. So I know this is real.”

“Please,” I beg him, opening my eyes again so that I can fix him with my most longing gaze. So I can make him believe that I want him, and only him. Now and always. “Stop teasing me and kiss me properly.”

He groans and grazes his lips across mine again. I shiver and he digs his fingers into my hair and intensifies the kiss, his mouth opening, his tongue sliding out to lick along the seam of my lips. He asks a question that I answer by parting them and allowing him access to my mouth.

He replies by groaning into me. I swallow the noises of craving that come from him as he begins to kiss me softly, his lips searching across mine, his mouth tentative at first. I whimper against him, and he kicks away my coat, pressing his body against mine, sandwiching me between the hard door and the unyielding firmness of his well-muscled body.

“Fuck, Doc,” he pants as he releases my arm and slips his hand behind my back. I feel his pelvis roll against me, the hardness of his erection pressing into my belly, and I lose any and all sense of self-control. My free hand reaches behind him and cups his hard ass. It’s been years since I’ve been able to touch this part of him and just looking at him from behind sometimes makes my mouth water. You’d better believe I’m going straight for the jackpot as he attacks my mouth again.

It’s firmer this time, his kiss, more insistent. More searching. I feel his tongue slide into my mouth, not tentative this time. This time it’s determined. This time it slides against mine, tangles in a familiar dance that makes me feel weak with need.

His hand is behind my head now, fingers laced in my hair, pulling it tight so that he can tilt me so that I am just at the right angle for him to plunder my mouth. He likes to be in control, I remember that and right at this moment, I am more than happy to relinquish any and all power to him. He can do anything to me, as long as he keeps going.

But suddenly, he stops, pulling back and looking at me. “You were kissing me back,” he says, his eyes wide with understanding.

“I was kissing you back,” I say, a small smile curving my lips. “Yes, honey. I was kissing you back.”

He takes a moment to catch his breath, to think about that, about what it means. About what he said in the wake of that kiss.

“I lied,” he says with a smile that tells me he finally understands. At least some of it, anyway. “I wasn’t dreaming about Kristen,” he leans forward and nuzzles my face again. “Oh baby, I was dreaming about you. It’s always you.”

My heart leaps with this confession. It does somersaults in my chest. Laura was right. I was running scared because I was frightened of being hurt again. Of putting my heart out there, just to be shot down. But she was right. He does still love me. He loves me. He loves me!

I curl my arm around his neck, trying to get closer to him, pressing my body close to him. “I love you,” I whisper into his ear. “I’ve always loved you. Always, always, always.”

John  

Marlena feels absolutely fucking heavenly as I push her against the door. My mind is still fucking reeling. Those five words. For God’s sake, kiss me! I haven’t asked her anything, I haven’t needed to. She asked me to kiss her. She made her feelings clear in those five little words and I am floating on cloud nine.

I still don’t really understand what is going on. I am running on pure adrenaline right now, afraid if I slow down that I’ll realize that this is a dream, and I will open my eyes to find my arms empty and my cock throbbing with a need that will once again go unsatisfied.

A dream. I think about earlier and the look on her face when I tried to explain that I was dreaming of Kristen. The way she looked away and fiddled with her hair. I think about her legs on the bed, and her shoes on the floor. I think about the way I wrapped my thigh around her.

Oh fuck. She was responding. None of it was a dream. She was as into that as I was. I pull back and look at her, “You were kissing me back,” I say, just knowing that she will understand what it is I am talking about.

She gives me a small, knowing smile that makes my heart flutter in my chest. “I was kissing you back,” she confirms my realization. “Yes, honey. I was kissing you back.”

I just… I feel a little at a loss here. She was kissing me back. She wants me to kiss her now… does she… Well of course she must have feelings for me. Marlena wouldn’t… she doesn’t do relationships casually. She would never risk our friendship if she didn’t have feelings for me. If she didn’t love me. I think again of her on the bed, looking away, and I realize it wasn’t embarrassment on her face. It was pain. Oh fuck, here I was trying to save her pain and embarrassment and instead, I was causing it.

“I lied,” I tell her quickly and with all honesty and sincerity. “I wasn’t dreaming about Kristen.” I lean forward and smooth the side of my nose up and down the soft skin of her cheek. It’s so familiar and right to be this close to her. To be this intimate. I have dreamed about and longed for this moment for years. It’s a moment I thought would never come. But it has and I have to be honest about how I feel. Completely honest. “Oh baby, I was dreaming about you. It’s always you.“

She smiles, her green-gold eyes glittering as she walks her fingers around the back of my neck and then slides her forearm against the base of my skull, pulling me into her so that she can press her body firmly against mine. The feeling of her warmth, of her curves fitting into the spaces my body holds just for her, is sublime. I feel like I have died and gone to heaven.

“I love you.” Her breath is warm and damp against my ear and my cock jumps with the feel and the sound of her. “I’ve always loved you. Always, always, always.”

“I can’t believe this is happening,” I say as my fingers twine in her hair, and I pull away to look at her again. “I can’t believe you’re really here. Are you sure… this isn’t a dream, is it?”

For a moment, it is a very real and terrifying fear. I have dreamed variations on this theme for months. No, years, if I am honest. She’s inhabited my dreams for more than a decade, haunting me, tempting me, taunting me. I wonder for a mad moment if I am about to wake up in Kristen’s hospital bed, alone and aching with the loss of her all over again.

“It’s not a dream,” she says softly. Her left arm is still around my neck, her right hand reaches up and her fingertips gently brush over my lips. “Do you feel that?” she asks, her voice a familiar evocative melody.

I feel it. I feel her touch in my lips, in my chest, in the turgid stiffness between my legs. I close my eyes and lose myself in the sensations: her touch, her scent, her warmth. Even the sound of her soft breaths brings back a thousand beautiful memories.

“Yes,” I say. “I feel it. But honestly, I don’t understand,” I catch her hand in mine and press a kiss to her fingers. “You love me?”

Her lips quiver for a moment and her eyes grow glassy as she tries to hold back the tears. When she finally collects herself, she simply nods.

“How long?” I ask. I don’t even know where to start, or what to do.

“Too long,” she says simply. “John, there’s a lot you don’t know. There’s a lot I need to tell you.”

I search her face. I have loved this face since almost the first moment I remember. She was the first person who actually saw me. Who saw a man behind the bandages. A lost and frightened man who was unsure of who he was and where he belonged in the world. She was gentle with me, and then she was grateful and sweet, and then argumentative and feisty. And then she became my world. She and the children became my whole world. They were where I belonged. Even when it was revealed that I was not Roman Brady, she was still my rock, my anchor.

She still is. She is still the sun I revolve around. Without her, my life doesn’t make sense.

With her at arms-length, my life is confused and jumbled, and it is hard to make it through the day. But her killer smile, the amazingly warm way she will hug or hold me, her embrace generating the most amazing recuperative powers… being a recipient of those things brings me contentment if not joy.

“I want to hear it all, Doc,” I tell her. “But first, I need to do this.”

I draw her to me again and I take her face between my hands and nudge her lips open with my tongue. It doesn’t take much to persuade her and she whimpers softly as I tease her with my mouth and tongue. The taste of her is a million memories rolled into one delicious sensation. “Oh fuck,” I groan as I feel her hand grab my ass again. “Oh God baby, I love you too. I love you so much.”

I push her back against the door and roll my hips against her. She can’t fail to feel the evidence of my desire for her, and she proves as much as she cries out as the hard bulge of my eager dick presses into the softness of her belly.

“I want you,” my words are smudged against her fucking gorgeous lips as I suck and bite them. “Oh fuck, Marlena, I’ve always wanted you… always want you. But I’ve never… I thought… I thought you didn’t feel that way about me-“

She swallows my words as she attacks my mouth and I moan as she pulls my hips even harder against her. Her tongue slides along mine and my eyes roll back in my head for a moment as she pulls my dark cotton shirt from my pants.

“Shut up, John,” she murmurs before she bites my lower lip. And then I feel her fingernails scratching lightly over the skin of my back and I groan, thrusting my hips against her. She gasps and I bite her jaw and kiss my way to her ear. There I suck and lick the fragrant skin of her neck. She still wears my favorite perfume, and she still tastes slightly salty but at the same time, sweet like honey and roses.

“Aw fuck, baby!” I try different spots, trying to find the one that makes her mewl like a kitten and eventually, I am rewarded with a heady whimper and moan, and I feel her hips undulate against me. I know what she wants, and I want it too. I crave it. I’ve thirsted for it for years.

I step back slightly and fumble with the buttons of her pastel yellow pinstripe blazer as I look into her eyes. Her pupils are wide with arousal. God, I’d almost forgotten how delicious she looks when she’s turned on.

When I have slipped all of the buttons out of their holes, I pull the jacket roughly down over her shoulders. She fucking whines when I do it and I feel a shudder of lust and need run through my body like a fucking freight train.

The arms of the jacket are still around her wrists as I pull her across to the sofa. I pull the jacket off and untuck the white t-shirt from her pants. She stares at me, her eyes wide, her pupils huge and inky with desire.

I begin to unbutton my shirt, but she stills my hands.

“John,” she bites her lip and looks like she’s about to cry. “John, we can’t do this. You’re married. You’re married to Kristen. I can’t ask you to betray your vows.”

Marlena

“Aw fuck, baby!” His mouth fumbles the words between swipes of lips and tongue against my neck and throat. I am at his mercy as he teases me, taking small tastes of me, sucking and biting me with gentle teeth. I feel myself tremble, feel the moisture collecting between my thighs.

I moan, unable to control the sounds of desperation and need that he draws from me. His touch is electric, it’s like fire licking in sizzling trails over my skin. This is everything I have wanted for so long and having him here, now, touching me like this is overwhelming. I can’t even think, I can’t string a coherent thought together let alone speak. My hips move against him as I seek more pressure, more friction against my aching mound.

He moves back, capturing my eyes with his, a deep ocean blue, containing mysteries that I’m not even aware of. I swallow and my heart thumps a staccato rhythm as his fingers stumble over the buttons that hold my blazer together. When he finally manages to twist the last one free, he pulls the jacket over my shoulders with a single, frantic tug and it wrenches a sound from me that is foreign and familiar all at the same time. It’s a gasp and a whine melded together, as though the heat from his touch has melted all the sounds he is wringing from my body, and they are fluid and pliable. Much like the rest of me.

He pulls me by the arm to the sofa and he finishes divesting me of my yellow suit blazer before he pulls my white t-shirt from my pants. I kick off my shoes as he starts to unbutton his shirt.

And then I catch the glint of his wedding ring and suddenly I am brought irrevocably into the present.

He is a married man, and he is not mine. Not now, anyway. While I know he wants this, I know the act of committing adultery will eat away at him. He is the most honest and honorable man I have ever known. It’s going to break his heart to find out what Kristen has done. But he needs to know, and he needs to know before we do anything that will cause him pain and anguish.

I can wait until he is free. I have waited so long already. Now I know he loves me, now I know he wants to be with me, I can wait a little bit longer. I can tell him the truth about Kristen. After the baby has had his operation, I can make sure he knows the truth and he can file for an annulment. And then we can be together.

He is halfway through unbuttoning, the dark, glistening hair on his chest slowly being revealed in a vee as he moves down the front of the black shirt. At war with myself, I place my hand over his urging him silently to stop.

“John…” I bite my lip as tears fill my eyes. As much as I know this is the right thing to do, it breaks my heart to push him away like this. “John, we can’t do this. You’re married. You’re married to Kristen. I can’t ask you to betray your vows.”

He looks at me, his eyes wide as his hands slow to a stop.

“I’m not…” he exhales heavily, his exasperation obvious. “I wouldn’t have married her if I’d know you felt…” He wheels away, pushing his fingers through his hair. When he turns back to me, his eyes are beseeching and almost desperate. “You should have told me, baby,” he shakes his head, not understanding. “Why didn’t you tell me? I would never have married her.”

“You weren’t supposed to marry her,” I tell him quietly. “She agreed.”

“She agreed?” He looks confused and then slowly, some kind of realization dawns, his eyes widening, fixing me with the darkest indigo pinpoint gaze. “Doc, what’s going on between you two? What aren’t you telling me?”

I take a deep breath and close my eyes for a moment as I try to work out how to navigate through this maze of lies, manipulations, and deception without breaking my promise. And without causing John any more pain than I have to.

“Doc,” I feel his hands on my hips, his lips against my forehead. “What is it, honey?”

“Come and sit down.” I take his hand and pull him to the couch where I sit down and pat the cushion next to me. He looks at me, his brow furrowed as he tries to make sense of all the things he knows and tries to figure out all the things he doesn’t know.

“Did she know?” he asks suddenly. “Did she know how you feel about me?”

“She knew,” I take his hand in mine and run my thumb over the back of it as I stare at the white gold ring on his third finger. That should be my ring. He should be my husband.

He was my husband once, but fool that I was, I threw that away. Maybe that is why I have resisted telling him how I feel for so long. Because somehow I thought that I deserved to be alone. After all, I threw what we had away when I chose Roman over him. Not once, but twice. Why should I ever have expected that he would still love me after all this time? Why should I deserve that love?

The truth was, I didn’t expect it. Not until I read his letter.

“John, she also knew how you felt about me,” I look up at him as I carefully choose my words. The last thing I ever want to do is cause him pain. But he needs to know. “Because she read your letter.”

“My letter?” He looks confused again and his fingers curl around mine, clasping them tight as if he is frightened I might fade away. Maybe he is. I understand that fear only too well.

“The one you wrote in Aremid,” I tell him softly. “The night before you were scheduled to…” I can’t finish my sentence. Every time I think of it, my blood runs cold. When I think how close I came to losing him forever, it makes me feel dizzy and nauseous. I would have done anything to save him. I would have walked through the gates of hell. And that is said in all seriousness. He risked his soul to save me once. I would do the same for him in a heartbeat.

As it was, I risked a lifetime as Stefano’s unwilling prisoner, and God only knows what else at his hands. But John, in his turn, risked his life to save me from that hell on earth. Why we chose to keep our feelings to ourselves after that, I still don’t understand.

“You know about that letter?” he blinks disbelievingly. “You read that letter? I thought it had been destroyed. Why the hell didn’t you say something?” He pushes himself off the sofa, stalking across the room, trying to outpace his frustration and confusion.

“I wanted to,” I tell him. “Oh honey, you have no idea how many times I thought about it, how many times I tried. But…” I sigh. “It’s complicated. Kristen was pregnant and you know that the pregnancy was high-risk. She begged me not to tell you how I felt. Not to tell you that I knew how you felt. She said the stress might cause her to lose the baby and I couldn’t do that to you. Or to her.”

“She knew.” He repeats my words from earlier. “She read the letter?”

“She read the letter and then she hid it,” I stand and walk across my office to where he stands near the bathroom door. “John, she’s not the person you think she is. She’s a true DiMera. I hate to say that, but it’s true. She learned at Stefano’s feet, and she’s had us all fooled for a long time.”

John

“She read the letter?” I swallow hard, still trying to wrap my head around what it is that Doc is saying. “When?”

“I don’t really know,” she shrugs. “But I do know it was before she fell pregnant. I was about to tell you that I had read it, that I knew how you felt about me when she announced that she was having your baby. And then, if you remember, we came here, to my office and I was trying to tell you that I’d found your letter and read it.  I was going to tell you that I love you too, but Karen Bader came by and told us that Kristen’s pregnancy was very precarious, and any stress could cause her to lose the baby.”

“So, you… you didn’t tell me because of the baby?” I am still confused. I don’t understand why Marlena would keep all of this from me. Marlena, of all people. We have a child together; she is Brady’s mother in all but biology. We could have been together for months and yet she kept this huge secret. Why?

“I know how much you love your children,” she says sadly. “And I knew how much Kristen wanted a baby. It seemed cruel and unfair to put that at risk to get what I wanted. At least, that was why at the beginning….”

“Oh.” Suddenly it’s as though things start slotting into place. John, she’s not the person you think she is. She’s a true DiMera…. She read the letter and then she hid it…. Do you love her? Because you didn’t marry the mother of your last baby, if I recall rightly…. Please don’t tell him! Don’t tell John!… That can wait. The baby is more important. Uh… what are you doing in bed with my husband?… I do understand. I know exactly what’s going on. I think it’s time that you know what’s going on.

“Oh, Doc,” I search her beautiful face to find the truth of the facts that I am gleaning. The things she has not yet said, buried between the words that she has. “Are you saying that Kristen used the baby, the precariousness of the pregnancy to stop you telling me the truth?” I sense she is just about to walk away again, to try and avoid what could be a painful conversation, so I step forward and use my hands to frame her face. “Look at me baby,” I say softly. “You’ve been living with us for months. It must have been hell on you not feeling like you could be honest. I need to understand why.”

“She’s manipulative,” Marlena says breathlessly. “John, she’s Stefano’s daughter in every sense of the word, except blood. She used anything and everything to keep me from telling you. Every time I tried, she would have cramps.  I didn’t know whether they were real or not.  Even if they were real, I think she probably exaggerated them.  And she even teamed up with S-…” she looks down, avoiding my eyes, suddenly stopping mid-sentence. “It doesn’t matter. Not right now.”

“It matters.” My heart is pounding again. Everything is starting to make sense. Some horrible, warped, macabre sense. Kristen is Stefano’s daughter. Stefano knew what plane Marlena would be on when he snatched her and took her to his fucking twisted underground haunt. When he kept her fucking caged like a beautiful, delicate, and exotic bird. When he tried to coerce her into giving him her body in return for her freedom.

That fucking animal. I could fucking kill him for everything he’s put her through.

“She gave Stefano the information,” I feel winded as the knowledge hits me full force. As my absolute stupidity hits me right between the eyes. “She told him which plane you would be on. She wanted to get rid of you because you were a threat. Because she knew that the moment I had the slightest clue how you felt about me, I would walk away from her.”

“John I…” Tears tremble on the threshold of her lashes, magnifying the golden intensity of her gorgeous eyes. So full of emotion, compassion, and concern. “I’m so sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” I am once again astounded by her capacity for forgiveness, for magnanimity, for love. “Baby, it should be me apologizing. I’ve been such an idiot. Who else could have told Stefano what plane you would be on? How could I be so fucking blind?”

“You trusted her,” she lifts her hand and touches her fingers to my cheek. “You loved her. Of course you believed the best of her.”

“I loved you,” I drop one hand from her face and push her bodily backward against the bathroom door. “I love you. I want you. You say she’s a liar and a fraud, and I know you wouldn’t lie, baby, so I’ll annul that farce of a marriage.” I nuzzle her face again and she moans. “Marlena, I can’t… don’t ask me to wait any longer. I want you. I’ve wanted you for so long.” I snake my tongue out to taste her lips and she whimpers. “You’re all I’ve ever wanted. Everything… everyone else. Kristen, Rebecca… even Isabella. It was only because I couldn’t have you, baby. You know that, right?”

“Oh John,” she digs her fingers through my hair. “Honey, I’m so sorry I pushed you away. After Roman…” I lean forward and press my lips against hers, not wanting to hear about Roman. Not wanting to remember how she chose him over me, again and again.

I push against her, sandwiching her between the door and my heated body. Now I understand, now I realize what she has suffered because I have been so blind to what Kristen was up to, I can’t let her walk away. Even an hour without her is too long.

I still don’t understand it all, but I trust Marlena implicitly and if she says Kristen is calculating and devious, then I believe her. And more than that, I feel the truth of what she is saying. It makes more sense than I would like it to. It explains so much, the sudden changes in behavior as I walk in the room. The strange way she would look at Marlena from time to time. Marlena’s awkwardness around the two of us.

She whimpers against my mouth, and I take the opportunity to slide my tongue out and taste her lips. She’s sugar and cream. Cherries, desire, and wanting. “Baby,” I mumble against her pink, plump lips. “I don’t want to wait.”

“Oh God,” she moans as she licks my lower lip, her hands pulling at my hair. “Don’t say that if you don’t mean it.”

“I mean it,” I move my pelvis against her, and she mewls into my mouth, the sound full of need and unquenched desire. “Fuck baby, I mean it so bad. I need you. I have waited for this for years. I can’t wait any longer. I don’t want …” I nip her lower lip between my teeth and groan as I thrust my hips into her yielding softness. “Please don’t say no,” I beg her, my hands lifting the bottom of her t-shirt and finding the soft, warm skin of her waist. “Please. I’ve dreamed of this for so long. You’re all I want, Marlena. Only you, baby.”

“Oh, John,” she gasps, rolling her own hips against mine as I touch her. “Oh, God. I want you so much. But honey-“

I place my fingers against her lips. “No buts,” I tell her. “Let me deal with the fall-out. Let me deal with whatever comes after this. This is what I want. I don’t care what the implications are. What the complications are. I’m so afraid if I let you go right now, I will lose you forever. Do you understand that?”

“That’s not going to happen,” she curls her arms around my neck with a smile. “I’m yours. For as long as you want me.”

“Forever, baby,” I slide my hands up her sides over her ribs. “I’ll want you forever. Now lift up your arms for me.”

“John,” she starts.

“Shut up Marlena,” I lean forward and slide my tongue into her mouth and kiss her soundly as I grind my hips into her, and she groans against my mouth.

Marlena

“Forever baby,” John slides his hands up my sides over my ribs, pushing up my white t-shirt, exposing my midriff to the cool air of my office. When they reach my arms he pushes up against my armpits. “I’ll want you forever. Now lift up your arms for me.”

“John-” I know he says he’s sure, but I am not positive he’s thought this through. This is madness.  He married her in a delivery room just days ago, and now here he is pushing me up against a door, wanting to make love to me.

“Shut up Marlena,” he leans in against me, and suddenly, whatever I was thinking vanishes like a fine mist from my mind. All I can think of is the way his lips feel as they press against mine, how his tongue feels as it excavates my mouth, and how his beautiful cock feels as it digs into my belly as his hips thrust slowly against me. I groan against his mouth, the sound buried deep in my throat. “Lift up your arms,” he repeats, his murmur low and sexy as he tightens his grip on my ribcage.

I feel a gush of wetness between my thighs, and I press them together, trying to ease the throbbing ache that is growing with each kiss and each touch. And then I give up all pretense at trying to persuade him that we should be doing anything other than what we’re about to do. He’s right. We’ve waited for this for far too long. Like him, I don’t want to leave anything to chance. I want him and he wants me. That’s all that matters right now.

Slowly, I lift my arms and lean them back against the door. At the same time, I look up into his eyes, and I shiver with the intensity of his indigo gaze, of his desire for me. It strips me bare and shreds any lingering doubt that this is going to happen. That it should happen. I believe in marriage vows, but I have broken my own, and his were made to a woman who doesn’t even exist.

And once, we made those vows to each other. They still live in my heart, and I believe they will forever. 

Having someone come into your life that you can love as fully and completely as I love you is very rare and very special and something to be cherished…. We’re not just lucky, we’re more than lucky.  We’re more than blessed, we’re twice blessed.  I love you; I love you.

John skims my t-shirt up over my head and discards it on the floor behind him and then he takes a step back to look me over.

I do remember the first time I saw you after I came back again.  In the hospital, and you were working, and I had no idea who I was or my past.  But there was a major connection there and my heart stopped.  They can take a human being and they can do a lot of things to them, but they can’t take away his love.  I love you and it is that simple…. Oh honey, we just are meant to be together, and I am so happy that we are.  I love you.

“Do you have any idea how hard it’s been watching you walking around the mansion in those skimpy nightgowns?” he asks with a shake of his head. “You’re such a beautiful woman, Doc.”

I blush as he moves forward, his warm hands encircling my waist.

“It was so hard being so close to you,” I say, staring up at him, my cheeks pink, my eyes wide. “You’d walk into a room and my heart would beat a little faster and sometimes I would feel breathless. I lived for the moments when you would touch my hand or hold me close.”

“Oh baby,” he leans forward and nuzzles my cheek with his nose. “God, I’ve wasted so much time. I wanted you so bad. All the time. The number of dreams I had about you. I’d watch you as you walked through the room, and I would ache for you. To hold you. To sink into your warmth.”

“Oh God!” the feelings he is arousing in me are almost overwhelming. I want him to touch me, to tease me, to breach me, and make me his again.  In every sense. “Kiss me,” I whisper breathily as I try to get close to him. “Kiss me again. And touch me. I need your hands on me.”

“Oh fuck,” his breath comes in stutters as he brushes his lips over mine and he sneaks his tongue out to lick me. “You promise this isn’t a dream?”

“No,” I pant as his hand drifts down and tweaks the button of my pants open. “Oh fuck, no, this is real. Oh!” He nips at my jaw and then his mouth is on my throat again, teasing, licking, sucking, biting as he pushes the stiff yellow cotton fabric of my pants over my hips. They fall to the floor with a soft thud and his hand smooths over my behind, squeezing it before he pulls me close to him. I can feel his hard length against me again, and he groans loudly.

“Oh fuck, I want you so bad, baby,” he says into my ear, his breath hot and moist before his tongue flicks over the soft sensitive skin of my earlobe. “My cock is aching to sink into your soft, sweet heat. It’s been so fucking long.”

“Too long,” I tell him, echoing my words from earlier. “It’s been far too long.”

John

“Come here,” I pull her with me, back to the couch where I finish unbuttoning my shirt. I pull it off, flinging it over the armchair Marlena usually sits on when she is conducting sessions. But even as I do it, my eyes never leave her for a second. Despite her reassurances, I am still anxious, and I fear that if I turn away, if something happens to interrupt this, she will fade away and I will find out that this was never real. That my poor, confused, lovesick head was making all of this up, once again.

She looks fucking incredible. Satin and lace panties in a virginal white, offsetting skin which is pale but with a lingering hint of gold from summer. The freckles scattered across her shoulders and her décolleté bring back a thousand memories. Really fucking wonderful ones. Dancing with her at Blondies, my lady in red. Lying in bed, kissing them in a hotel room in Stockholm. Pulling that pink satin robe off her shoulders and pushing her across the table so that I could spank that fine little ass of hers and fuck her quickly before the kids woke up and I had to get off to work.

If those freckles could talk, oh man, the stories they would tell.

“What are you thinking about?” she asks me, and I realize I am smiling.

“I was thinking about when we were married,” I tell her, coming close to her. She threads her fingers through the hair on my chest and I have to stop and swallow heavily.

“What about it?” she asks, her eyes green like the canopy of a summer forest, light glittering through in flecks of sparkling gold.

“Sometimes you used to get up early,” I tell her. “I wouldn’t get my good morning kiss… or anything else.” The corner of my mouth curls up as I smooth my hand over her freckled shoulder and down her back until it comes to rest on her rounded ass. “Do you remember what I would do to you?” I squeeze her gently and then slap her lightly and she gasps, her eyes widening.

“Oh.” The pink flush on her cheeks deepens and she bites her lower lip, looking up at me from under heavy-lidded eyes with an expression that is both innocent and as sexy as fuck. She knows that look gets my motor revving. She knows that look used to get her into all kinds of trouble. “I remember.”

If I am honest, it is the first time in years I have really allowed myself to remember that time in any kind of detail. Remembering those glorious short months that we had together, when we made love all over the house and all over Salem, (where we could get away with it), has always been too much like torture to be pleasurable. Knowing that she was back in my life, in our lives, was heavenly. Knowing that I couldn’t touch her, couldn’t hold her, and make love to her because she wasn’t mine, was hell. All the more difficult to bear because it was my own fault. Because I had pushed her away when she first returned home.

“Oh baby,” I pull her close to me, kissing her again as she curls her fingers against my chest, pulling on the dark hairs, the feeling sending spikes of pleasure through me, collecting at the base of my twitching cock. My cock, which is aching with the anticipation of being buried inside her after all these years. “My God, I have missed you so much.”

“Mmmmphhh,” I smother her reply with my mouth, my tongue exploring the recesses of that dark, wet space, digging and searching for, I don’t know what. Just more of her. The taste of her and the noises she makes. The way she squirms in my arms as I explore her body with my mouth and hands.

Her hands slide up my chest and over my shoulders and loop around my neck and then I feel her calf against my thigh and with a single movement, I pick her up and she wraps her thighs around my hips, grinding herself against the bulge of my eager penis. She is as light as a feather in my arms as I carry her to her desk, and with a sweep of my arm, I send her blotter, pens, and the pictures of the children flying. I half expect her to react with exasperation, but she is too caught up in the moment to notice, or care if she does.

My hands cup her ass and pull her hard against me and I thrust my denim-clad pelvis against the soft, damp space between her legs. She is fragrant and warm, and the most beautiful noises come from her as I assault her mouth, jaw, and throat.

She slides her hands between us and wrestles with the button on my jeans as she lets me kiss her, hard, almost brutally. I want to fucking demolish her, I want to make her fucking scream with pleasure, so loud that her secretary, fuck all the doctors in the offices up and down this corridor know exactly how well the good doctor has been fucked.

I wouldn’t do that to her, of course. Not the consummate professional Dr. Marlena Evans. But fuck, the thought, the fantasy is seductive.

My hands find their way into her hair, and I clutch at it, pulling her head back so that I can control my access to her mouth. She whimpers, her thighs tightening around my hips, her feet digging into the back of my thighs. “I like your hair like this,” I tell her, “But if I’m honest, I like it better longer. Gives me more to run my fingers through. More to hold onto when I kiss you.”

“I’ll wear it any way you like it,” she moans as I kiss her jawline and then suck on her earlobe. “Oh God, John. Please.” She manages to force down the zipper of my jeans and pulls the front open, sliding her hands inside, over the satin which sits betwixt her slender fingers and my aching cock. “Ohhhh,” she closes her eyes and smiles as she takes me in her hand, stroking me through the slippery satin of my boxer shorts.

“Oh baby,” I still her hand with mine, quickly. “If you keep on doing that, I will completely lose my shit.” I don’t want to come in my boxers like a fucking schoolboy, but I fear that is what will happen if she continues to run those magic fingers up and down my throbbing dick.

“Take off your jeans,” she entreats me, parting her thighs so that I can push the denim over my hips, and buttocks which are tight with the tension of holding myself in check. If I let myself go, I would tear that sexy lingerie from her body and force my aching length into her until I was so deep inside there was nowhere left to go.

But I can’t do that. I know it’s been a long time since Marlena has been intimate with a man. Probably years. I will hurt her if I don’t take this slowly and I would never hurt her. Not knowingly.

I struggle out of the denim, kick my jeans away, and look down at her. She is leaning back, her hands on the desk behind her, her legs wide, inviting me in. Her eyes roam my body, taking in the muscles I work so hard to build and maintain at the gym as I work off my frustration at being so close to her and not being able to touch her. Not being able to taste her. Not being able to love her in the way that seems so natural and right.

And now, here we are. It’s been four years since we last did this dance. Four interminable years without feeling her naked skin against mine.

“I’m never letting you go again, Doc,” I tell her as I step forward and run my thumb over her cheek. I can smell the scent of her arousal and it sends prickles of electricity scattering across my skin. That smell is… God, it brings back so many memories, and so many emotions. Lust, love, laughter, desperation, sadness… I run my hand over her shoulder and down her arm and then drift it across to her waist.

I am torn between just wanting to touch every part of her, to run my fingers over all those familiar curves and planes. To touch and stroke, to lick and suck and pinch and bring forth all those beautiful sounds that only she makes for me. The sounds which are mine and mine alone. Soft sighs and whimpers. The whispering of my name. The little cries and gasps and moans. The way she begs me to touch her, harder, softer…. just there, John, and Oh baby, that feels so good. And the way her body responds to my touch, the way her hips rock, the way her back arches… the way her skin raises in goosebumps when I lick a particularly tender and erotic spot. The way her nipples harden into little rosebuds of pleasure when I flick them with my tongue. The way she sucks in a breath when I nip her with my teeth, grunting and arching so that her soft, rounded breast fills my mouth.

I could just explore the landscape of her body for hours, arousing each of her senses in turn, as well as each of mine. At least, I like to think I could. The reality would probably see me so fucking hard and desperate, I’d either explode all over her or she’d get so frustrated with longing, she’d push me on my back and climb on and ride me like a cowgirl.

I groan at the thought, and she smiles knowingly. “I’m sure you want this to be special,” she tells me as she reaches up to cup my cheek with her palm. I want to assure you that it is special, simply because I am with you. But if you do want to wait, if you want to deal with Kristen first and get that annulment, then that’s okay. I’ll understand and I’ll support you in that.”

“Doc,” I shake my head, astonished once again at her selflessness and compassion. She’s spent months at the mansion, forced to watch Kristen and me together, all the while being manipulated by Kristen, terrified that Stefano would come for her again and loving me but unable to tell me because she felt responsible for the well-being of my child. And yet she is still putting my feelings first. Still thinking about my needs rather than her own. “If you think you’re getting away from me that easily, baby, then you are very much mistaken,” I tell her, winding my fingers into her hair and then pulling her forward so that I can kiss her.

“I love you, baby,” I murmur against her mouth, suddenly worried that I haven’t said it to her yet. That I might leave her doubting for a further moment my feelings for her is completely unacceptable. She needs to be absolutely sure how I feel about her. After waiting all this time, after making herself miserable and potentially putting herself in danger, to protect my child and me, and even Kristen, she deserves that at the very least. “God, I love you so fucking much!” I smooth my hands down her thighs and pull her toward me so that I stand in the welcoming space between her legs. As always, we fit together like the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. No angles, no gaps, nothing but warm, sweet damp flesh and satin meeting satin.

She sighs and curls her arms around my neck, arching her back so that her lace-covered breasts rub against my chest.

“I love you, Marlena,” I say it again, pressing my cheek to hers. “I am so sorry for everything. I’m sorry if I hurt you, I’m so sorry if I let you down.”

“Never!” she says with deep and real feeling. “You never let me down, John. It was me. I pushed you away. I pushed you into Kristen’s arms. If this is anyone’s fault, it’s mine.”

“Oh no, baby,” I dig my fingers into her hair as she scrapes her fingernails down my chest. “No. This is not your fault.” I take a deep breath. “We’ve both been the victims of circumstance.”

“Circumstance with the name DiMera,” she looks up into my eyes, her own full of longing. “John, we’ve lost so much time.”

“Then let’s not lose any more,” I tell her, staring into those magnificent eyes, honey, cinnamon, and moss green. “Fuck, I love you, Marlena. I just fucking love you. With all my heart and soul.”

Marlena

“Never!” I can’t believe he would feel guilty for all this. The only thing he ever did was what I urged him to do. What I begged him to do. To walk away. To make a life with someone else. “You never let me down, John. It was me. I pushed you away. I pushed you into Kristen’s arms. If this is anyone’s fault, it’s mine.”

“Oh no, baby,” I feel his fingers thread through my hair and clutch handfuls of it and I draw my fingers down his chest, dragging my fingernails lightly through the dark hair. “No. This is not your fault,” he tells me earnestly as he takes a breath. “We’ve both been the victims of circumstance.”

“Circumstance with the name DiMera,” I look up into his eyes. I want him so badly. I don’t want to spend the time we have together discussing who is to blame and I definitely do not want to sully it with thoughts of Kristen or her vile father. “John, we’ve lost so much time.”

“Then let’s not lose anymore,” he says as he looks down at me, his eyes a deep midnight blue, full of mystery and wonder. And love. So much love. “Fuck, I love you, Marlena. I just fucking love you. With all my heart and soul.”

My heart feels full to overflowing and I have to choke back my tears as I reach up to kiss him. “I love you too,” I whisper against his beautiful soft lips, “I love you with my whole, entire heart. There is no one else for me. There really never has been, since the moment you took my hand in Shenanigan’s, I was yours. I was so stupid to ever let you go.” I slide my hands down over the concave arch of his lower back and pull his ass close to me so that I can kiss him, deeply and firmly. I never want him to doubt again how much I love him. I will spend my life making my mistakes up to him.

“I want to touch you,” I tell him softly against his ear as his mouth explores my cheek and the curve of my jaw and my throat. “I want to see you. All of you.” My hands slip beneath the elasticated waistband of his boxers so that I am fingering the warm soft flesh of his ass. Almost immediately I feel him tense beneath my touch, his buttocks taut as he groans and pulls back.

“I’m telling you,” he growls, “If you so much as touch me, Doc, I am not going to be able to control myself.”

“Maybe I don’t want you to,” I smile and bite my lip again. I know that drives him wild. This is all taking far too long. Foreplay is nice, but I am already more than ready for him. I can feel the moisture already coating my thighs, pooling on the wooden surface of the desk below me.

“Baby,” he shakes his head. “We need to take this slow. It’s been a long time since you…” He swallows and his cheeks redden slightly. “I mean, I am assuming here, I know. I mean, you’ve never dated or… anything… to my knowledge.”

“You noticed?” I raise my eyebrows.

“Honey, honestly if I had seen you with another man, I probably would have gone insane with jealousy,” he steps forward again and runs his fingertip ever so softly along my collarbone. “Maybe you should have,” he murmurs, watching his finger as it traces a trail down over the swell of my breast and then hooks it between the lace of my bra and my skin. “Maybe it would have shaken me out of my stupid, selfish complacency.”

“I couldn’t,” I confess slowly, my breathing shallow with arousal. Every time he touches me, my desire for him grows. And I didn’t think I could want him any more than I did when he kissed me on Kristen’s bed. But I was wrong. “I mean at first it was… the pain and the guilt after Roman left. You know it destroyed me. I didn’t believe I deserved to be happy. I certainly couldn’t let myself believe that I deserved you. And then, well…” I trail off.

We don’t talk about what happened in late 1994. It’s too painful for both of us. Him because he had to watch me do terrible things and had to resist my attempted seductions of him. And then, in the summer he had to watch as my body faded, terrified that if he failed to rid me of the demon, my soul would be damned to eternal torment.

Me, because I was ashamed. Am still ashamed that my actions and my resulting guilt left me open to intrusion. I let Stefano seduce my mind and my soul, presenting me with an intoxicating alternative dreamland to escape my reality. And by following him into his twisted world, I opened myself up to an even greater evil. One that would have taken my soul, and John’s, if God hadn’t intervened.

“I wouldn’t let myself accept that I still loved you,” I tell him as he glides one hand over the front of my chest, trailing his fingers down over my tingling skin and then the lace that covers my pebbled nipples. “Until I just couldn’t deny it any longer. When I thought you were going to die in Aremid, I… oh….” I inhale sharply as flicks his fingers over one of my nipples and then pinches it gently through the lace. Slowly, he looks me over and his mouth curls in a sexy smirk.

“Fuck, Doc,” he shakes his head. “Baby, I love you but sometimes, you talk too much.” He sighs as his eyes drift from my mouth to my breasts where my nipples are stiffening and puckering under his watchful gaze and touch. “Damn, but you are so fucking beautiful.”

I completely forget what I have been saying as I watch his eyes roam over me.

“Touch me,” I beg him. “Please, touch me. It’s been so long.”

“Oh baby,” he cups my breasts in his oversized hands, relishing the feel, the weight of them for a long moment. Then he pushes the straps off my shoulders and pushes the fabric of one cup down to reveal the taut pink nub of my nipple.

“Oh man,” he can’t drag his eyes away from my breasts, he’s like a kid in a sweet shop for a long moment and then he looks up at me. “Lean back a little, baby.”

I swallow breathlessly, anticipating what is about to come. His mouth on me, exploring, tasting. I place my hands behind me and lean back, my legs still spread wide, the satin of my panties wet with my anticipation. I am laid out for him, like a buffet, and for a moment, I can tell that he doesn’t even know where to start.

“Taste me,” I tell him, my voice sounds low and raspy, sexy and wanton, even to my ears. “I want your mouth on my breasts. My nipples are aching for your tongue.”

“Oh fuck,” he groans. “Damnit baby, just when I think I can’t get any more turned on, filthy words start coming out of that beautiful mouth of yours. Do you have any idea what you fucking do to me?”

“Well, I didn’t,” I confess. I’m still a little astonished by the turn this day has taken if I am honest. But his reaction to my near-naked body and his confessions of love and lust are certainly compelling. And extremely flattering. “But if it’s anything like what you do to me, then I’m certainly very glad.”

“Let me give you a sample of what you make me want to do to you,” he licks his lips as he stares at me and then shifts his gaze to the exposed fullness of my breast. “Damn, you have always had the most beautiful breasts and that hasn’t changed.”

He leans forward and kisses me softly and then peppers a moist trail of kisses down my throat and over my collarbone. He plants wet kisses on my chest and over the swell of my breast, stopping to lick me, to taste me as he moves downward. I watch him as he laps over the skin of my breast with his tongue, breathing heavily and giving soft little grunts as he feasts on the softness of my rounded breasts. My senses are overwhelmed with the feel of his mouth on me, the sight of him as he takes small mouthfuls, sucking and nibbling at me before he finally rolls his tongue around the outside of my nipple before flicking it and then sucking it between his lips and into his mouth.

I cry out at the intensity of both the physical sensations and the intense emotions as they roll through me. I grasp at his hair with one hand, still leaning back on the other, holding him to me as I arch my back and whimper loudly. He nibbles on me and lathes me with his tongue, sucking the hard, tingling button of my nipple deep into his mouth, sucking on it the way he knows I like.

“Oh,” I pant, “oh, God.” My hips and pelvis roll against the hardwood of my desk as my back curves and undulates, trying to get more of him, trying to relieve the growing pressure. “Oh John, that feels so good.”

Tears leak from the corners of my eyes as he tongues a warm trail of saliva across the valley between my breasts and pulls the other cup down below the full curve of my flesh and then swipes at the other tight, rosy nub with his lips and tongue. I feel dizzy with the feeling of him loving me. And this has barely started. I vaguely wonder how I am going to make it through this mentally intact. It has been so long since I have been loved, since my body has been touched like this. I remember the last time only too well. That was on a hard, wooden surface also.

“Oh baby,” he moans in between long, loving strokes of his tongue, soft nips with his teeth, and gentle suction from his lips. “Oh Jesus, you taste so good. Just like I remember.”

I look down at him again, marveling at the way his muscles bunch and ripple beneath his smooth, olive skin. I can see the shadow of the phoenix tattoo on the rise of his shoulder, a branding given him by Stefano but one that he has since taken and made his own. My love, my John Black. A man who has risen and remade himself from the ashes of a past that was scorched from his memory. A man who had an identity torn from him and who rebuilt himself again. A man of integrity and a man who loves with a passion unrivaled.

And he loves me!

I run my fingers through his hair and one of my feet up and down his thigh as he continues to worship my breasts. He is so beautiful. I could watch him for hours. Sometimes I do. But not like this. Not nearly naked and showering such masterful attention on my eager body. And as much as I want to watch him, there’s something I want more. Something I need.

“John,” I pull on his hair gently and he looks up at me, so I know I have his attention. “I need you inside me. Please.”

John

Her breasts are one of the seven wonders of the world.  Seriously.  Perfect rounded globes of soft, fragrant flesh.  And I am honoured enough to be allowed to touch them.  To taste them.  Fuck, she is so delectable.  

She leans back on one hand, the other in my hair and I am between her heavenly thighs as I bend my head to those beautiful, full, and round handfuls of perfection.  I slowly lick my tongue across her nipple and the sound of her gasp makes me even harder where I am constricted within my boxers.  Involuntarily I thrust against her center, and she moans loudly.

“Oh baby,” I lick around the little nub and apply wet kisses, sucking her flesh gently, and sometimes not so gently into my mouth.  She is sweet and clean and the sensation of her under and in my mouth brings back a thousand memories.   “Oh Jesus, you taste so good. Just like I remember.”

She rolls her dampness against my aching hard-on and I have to clench my teeth and my buttocks for a moment to control myself.  I want to be inside her, I want to release all this pent-up lust and wanting, thrusting deep inside her inviting softness.  I want to empty everything into her, all my love, my desire, my long-stored sexual frustration.

But at the same time, I don’t want this to be over any time soon.  I want to bring her all the pleasure, all the gratification she’s been denying herself for four long years.  I want to remind her of how good we are together, how great her body can feel when I take my time to slowly worship every inch of it.  I want to remind her how special she is and how much loving she deserves.

“John,” I feel her fingers tug on my hair and I look up at her. “I need you inside me. Please.”

“Oh baby,” I place my palms on either side of her hips and lean forward to drop a gentle kiss on her mouth.  But then I can’t help but lick along that sweet rosy swell of her sensitive lower lip and my tongue just keeps going, exploring the taste of her, the soft gasp as I lick along her upper lip.  And then my tongue is inside her mouth again and I grab the side of her face, tipping her head backwards so that I can control the kiss.  I want her so badly; I want to be on her and inside her.  I want to be moving with her, thrusting myself into those hot, sweet recesses of her.  Her mouth, her tight, slippery sex.  Anywhere and everywhere she will let me in.  I want to make myself part of her and I want to make her beg for Jesus.  I want to make her cry with pleasure, and I want to lick the sweet, salty tears from her face.  I want to feast on her, slide my tongue inside her, suck on her and hear her cry out my name.  “Doc,” I moan into her mouth.  “Baby, I want you so bad.”

“Then take me,” she curls her arms around my neck and wraps her calves around my ass so that I am not sure where she ends, and I begin.  “I need to feel you.  I want you to fill me up.  I want you to fuck me.  Hard.”

I growl incoherently as I smash my mouth against hers.  Christ, she makes it hard for a guy to turn her down.  Not that I plan on turning her down, at all.  I just… we need to take our time.  I’ve waited long enough for this; I can wait a little longer and be sure she is really ready. 

I mean, it’s not like this is going to be the only time.  Is it?

Suddenly a blaze of panic sweeps through me.  The last time we did this, she broke my heart.  Yeah, I know the situation was different.  But I can’t help but be scared.

“Can I just check,” I say uncertainly.  “There will be more?  This isn’t…”  I place my palms on the sides of her beautiful face and move back so that I can see her eyes.  Those tawny pools of love and desire.  Her eyes are fucking incredible.  Honey and moss, olive and sparkling gold.  “You really love me?” I ask again.  “This is real?  I’m not dreaming this?  Not hallucinating?”

“It’s real,” she says gently, running her fingers gently across my forehead, smoothing out the creases of fear and concern that have suddenly burrowed deep in my brow.  “Oh honey, it’s real.  I love you.  I love you with everything I am.  I was so wrong to push you away.  And I will never do that again, I promise you.  So yes, there will be more.”  She looks into my eyes and the passion and sincerity I see in hers momentarily floors me.  “If you want there to be more, there will be just as much as you want.”  She smiles softly and with an adorable hint of shyness as she runs her fingers over my lips.  “I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” she says simply.  “I want us to be a family.  You, me, Belle and Brady.”

“And John Jr.?” I ask her, suddenly remembering that I have a baby with a woman she clearly hates and with good reason, it seems.

“He’s your son,” she nods.  “Of course, he’s part of the equation.  If that’s what you want too?”

“If that’s what I want?” I shake my head in astonishment.  How could she ever doubt it?  That’s all I have ever wanted.  To me, it has always seemed like an unattainable fantasy, something I would go to my deathbed wishing for and regretting the choices that I made that kept me from it.   “Doc, baby, that’s all I’ve ever wanted.  That sounds like heaven to me, honestly.”

“Oh, me too!”  Tears fill her beautiful eyes, and one spills over and dribbles down her cheek.  I use my thumb to wipe it up and then lick the saltiness from my skin.  I want everything, every part of her.  Forever.  “I love you,” she whispers.  “With all my heart and soul, I love you.”

“Oh Marlena,” I kiss her again, firm and demanding, as I slip my hands around her waist and pull her tight against me.  I feel her hot against my throbbing dick as I slide my hands under her buttocks and pick her up.

She pants and I feel her rubbing herself against me, her hips and ass moving backwards and forwards as she whimpers headily.  I feel the softness of her breasts pressing against my chest and I know that my hair must be adding extra friction, stimulating her nipples.  For a moment, all I can do is watch her and feel her body moving against mine, her breathing heavy and wanton.

“Fuck, Doc,” I groan.  “Baby, you’re gonna make me come before I even get inside you.”

“It’s been so long,” her voice is high and tremulous.  “You have no idea how often I have made myself come, thinking of you.  Fantasizing about you touching me.  Fucking me.”

Oh FUCK!  “What are you trying to do to me baby?” I grind out the words between gritted teeth, trying to control myself.  I want to fucking throw her on the couch, rip those flimsy little panties off her and fucking wreck her.  I want to fuck her so hard she won’t be able to walk for a week.

“I just need you,” she sobs.   “I don’t want to wait any longer.  When you kissed me on that bed earlier, you broke something in me.  Some kind of dam, some barrier that kept my feelings for you, my desire for you in check.”

“Baby,” I sense something more than just desire beneath her words.  I sense fear and desperation that feels so familiar it could be my own.  “Sweetheart, I’m not going anywhere.  I promise you.  Whatever happens, whatever Kristen or Stefano tries to pull, we know the truth now.  I know you love me, and I am not letting you go.  Not now, not ever again.  So, we don’t have to rush this, okay?  I’m not letting anyone take this away from us.  I’m not letting anyone take you away from me.  Or me away from you.”

“You promise?” she asks, her eyes bright.  “John, I have dreamed of this so many times.  I’ve tried to tell you so many times and every time…”

“No longer,” I kiss her softly.  “You don’t have to be scared any more baby.  You are mine and I am yours.  I will be with you every moment of every day if that’s what I have to do to protect you from Stefano and from Kristen.  I won’t let you out of my sight.  And we can spend 20 hours of every 24 in bed if that’s what makes you happy.”

She gives a moist chuckle and then buries her face in my neck.  I feel the hot tears leak from her eyes and melt into my skin and I spin and sit down on the sofa, her straddling my lap, her knees bent.  And I just stroke her back as she releases all the emotions she’s been hoarding for so long.  Emotions she’s been unable to share, unable to release.

Laura

My appointment was a no-show, which is annoying but also gives me time to think.  There is something bothering me.  Something more than Kristen being a devious troll, and something more than John and Marlena being sweet but frustrating and adorable idiots.

I wander back to the nursery, trying to work out what it is that is niggling at me, and I see a woman whom I don’t recognize standing and looking at the babies, a look of loss and longing on her… well, her unfortunate face.  I try not to be judgemental but homely is probably the kindest statement I could come up with to describe her.

I stand next to her at the nursery window and watch the babies.  John Jr.  is sleeping now, his little face scrunched in what I hope is contentment and not discomfort.

I hear my companion whimper next to me and I look at her, side-on.  She really is quite ugly, but there is something about her that makes me feel uneasy.  There is something… I don’t know what it is.

“Do you know one of the babies in the nursery?” I ask her softly.

“Ma bayby,” she says in a very twangy southern accent.  “Ma Elvis Jr.”

“Oh,” I look at her again.  She is not a patient here, she’s not wearing a hospital gown, nor does she sport a statband around her wrist.  She wears a dowdy, oversized denim pinafore and an old gray cardigan peppered with pilling bobbles.  “Is he…” I look back at the field of pink and blue hats.  “When did you have him?”

“Yesterdaaay,” she draws out the word, as though it is stretching around her unfortunate bucked teeth.  “Ma bayby, he’s sick.”  With that, she seems to suffer a dizzy spell and I catch her as her knees start to buckle.

“Shouldn’t you still be in hospital?” I ask her, concerned as I lead her over to the chairs where I spoke to Marlena earlier, and help her sit down.  “If you’ve just had a baby, you need to let the doctors monitor you.  And they can bring him to you.  You don’t have to come down here.”

“No!” she shakes her head, her stringy brown hair bouncing around her shoulders.  “Ah can’t….” She looks at me and I get the impression that she is suddenly very afraid.  She bites her lip and squeezes my hand before pulling it away.  “You’re very kind an’ all.  But ah need to be goin’ now.”

“No!” I clutch at her hand.  “I’m concerned about you.  I think you need to be seen by a doctor.”

“Ah’m fine,” she gives me a watery smile as she stands.  “Ah just needed to check on ma boy.  But ah need to go.”

“Wait!” I call after her as she skitters down the hall, her shoulders hunched over.  “What’s your name?”

“Soo-san,” she turns and gives me an awkward smile, revealing her awful teeth in all their protruding glory.  “Soo-san Banks.”

Marlena

The tears finally run dry, and I pull back and look at John.   “I’m sorry,” I release one arm from around his neck and use the back of my fingers to wipe the tears from my face.  “I didn’t mean to…”

“Shhhhh,” he interrupts me, using his thumb to gently wipe the remaining traces of tears from my cheeks.  “Don’t apologize, baby.  I missed this.  You trusting me enough to be vulnerable with me.”  He kisses me softly.  “I love everything about you, Marlena.  I love your brilliance and your smarts; I love your softness and your sensitivity.  I love your body and I fucking adore your mind.   Your sense of humour makes me weak at the knees, your smile and your laugh reduce me to mush.  And when you cry in my arms, I just want to make everything right for you.  I would do anything for you, you know that, right?”

I sniff wiping my nose and I look into his eyes.  He is earnest and sincere.  I know him so well; I know his heart probably better than I know my own.  He is the better part of me, honest, sincere and true. 

“If you’ll do anything for me, then make love to me,” I beg him.  “Please honey?”

“I will,” he nods.  “But can you just wait a little longer, baby?  Just let me touch you and taste you for a little while.  Let me explore you.  I wasn’t able to last time we…” he trails off and I am forced to think about the last time we made love.  Quick, frantic thrusts on a wooden conference table, our family and friends milling around overhead.  And the time before that, desperation, and tears.  Eager, illicit love, fast and furious.  Skin on skin, no foreplay, just needy, repressed emotion.  Just him inside me, our passion, his fear, my guilt.

Who am I to deny him his wishes?  I have denied them too many times before.  This time, I give myself to him, completely and fully.  He gets to do whatever he wants.  I will give him whatever he needs.

“I love you,” I say with a smile.  “If that’s what will make you happy, then I won’t argue.”

“Oh baby, it will,” he gives me a delighted grin, his ocean blue eyes sparkling.  “And I promise, it will make you happy too.”

“Oh, I have no doubt it will,” I smile back as I feel his hands roaming over my ass cheeks, squeezing them together and then pulling them apart so that he can run his fingers down the centre where the satin covers the most forbidden part of me.  The part that only he has ever touched.

“Oh,” I feel a gush of wetness moisten my panties as I press myself back against his fingers.  “Oh God!”

“You still like that, baby?” he murmurs against my ear.  “You always did like a bit of ass play.  And it’s still as sexy as fuck.”

“Mmmmmph,” I find myself sinking my teeth into his shoulder as he continues to massage my buttocks through the satin, working his fingers into my ass-crack.  I had almost forgotten how amazing this feels.  I had almost forgotten this part of our sex life.  After all, it has been more than ten years and I haven’t let anyone anywhere near me in that way, let alone been honest about all my kinks and turn-ons.  The only person I have ever been truly honest with, is John.  

“You are so fucking hot,” he mutters as he pushes me back, unhooking my bra with practiced fingers and using one hand to slide the straps off my left arm and then my right.  He flings it over my head in the direction of my chair and without warning, he attacks my breasts again, sucking my nipple into his mouth and lashing it furiously with his tongue.  I cry out, bucking my hips against him as he pinches my other nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pulling it and rolling it as he presses the first against the roof of his mouth with his tongue and suckles hard on it.  And almost unexpectedly I find myself bucking against him and crying out as I fall over the edge into the first of many orgasms.

I clutch at his hair and arch my back, thrusting my breast into his mouth and cry out his name as I roll my hips over his thighs, pressing myself against the tumescent hardness beneath his satin boxers.  He nips at the hard pebble in his mouth and groans as I whimper and dig my fingernails into his shoulder.

“Let me feel you,” I vaguely hear him murmur and then I can feel his hand between my legs, sliding down over the lace panel of my panties, his middle finger sliding over the sensitive swelling of my clit.  

“Oh, fuck!” I push against his fingers and suddenly I am coming again, crying out my pleasure and delirious climax into the air above us.  Somewhere deep inside my head, in the professional psychiatrist part of me, I know I shouldn’t.  I am at work, in my office.  But that part of me has been in control for far too long.  This part of me, the sexy, wanton lover has been starved of sunlight and oxygen.  She has been starved of touch, emotions, and passion.

So, I can’t help myself.  I have waited too long for this.  I am consumed by the feeling of him against me.  By the way he looks at me, making love to me with his glittering blue eyes and the soft cadence of his voice.  It has been so long since I have been loved, since I have felt the touch of another human being, like this.  It has been so long since he has looked at me in this way, with those eyes of electric sky blue, like I am a present that he is unwrapping, a priceless gift that he has been anticipating for his whole life.

“Oh God, Marlena,” he captures my mouth with his and swallows my heady cries of passion as he continues to gently stroke me as I descend from my sudden rapture.  “You are so fucking gorgeous.  So abso-fucking- lutely perfect, you know that?”

“Oh.” I clutch at his shoulders, digging my nails into his solid muscles as I try and come round.  I feel dizzy and I am trembling with the intensity of the sensations he has created with just the gentle touch of his fingers.  But still, he continues to wring small aftershocks from my willing body as he drags his thumb back and forth over the damp lace.  “Oh God, John I…..”  My mouth forms a silent O as I feel his fingers slide between the lace of my panties and the close-trimmed hair of my sex.  Oh fuck.  Oh fuck, oh fuuuuck.

I feel his mouth on mine and then he slides his lips to my jaw, and he is biting me, his teeth and tongue demanding, tasting, scraping, lapping. His fingers slide down inside my panties and over my still throbbing clit.  I whine and buck against him again and I feel the pad of his finger slide down the wet, slick crevice between my shaking thighs and I hear him groan deep in his throat.  

I grab at his hair again, threading my fingers in between coarse dark locks and I lean back, lifting my hips so that he has better access to my centre.  I want him inside me and if it’s not his beautiful cock, then his fingers will do.  For now.

He grunts as he slides his finger through my slippery folds and I see him close his eyes for a moment, trying to keep a grip on himself.  I moan and roll my pelvis against his hand, trying to position myself so that he will be persuaded to curl his finger into my depths.  But he refrains, instead, drawing it back over the small, vibrating nub of my centre and the pulling his hand out and lifting it to his nose.

I feel slightly embarrassed but more than a little bit aroused as he sniffs at the scent of me all over his finger and then he snakes out his tongue to taste my juices, liberally smeared all over his skin.  “Oh fuck!”  His eyes roll back in his head as he licks his finger, sucking it into his mouth and making sure he drinks every last drop of my taste from his skin.  “Oh Marlena, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve woken up dreaming of the way you taste.  Every time it was like torture.  Especially knowing you were sleeping just down the hallway.”

“You dreamed of me?” I whisper.  “When you were with her?”

“Dreamed about you, fantasized about you…” he nods.  “I watch you all the time, baby.  Playing with the kids, talking with your friends, wearing those damn sexy glasses when you’re buried deep in one of your psychiatry journals.”  He looks slightly embarrassed.  “Sometimes I watch you from the doorway of your bedroom while you sleep.  I shouldn’t, I know.  It’s invading your privacy.  But goddamn, I love you so much.  And I couldn’t help myself.”

“Oh, baby,” I stroke the backs of my fingers across his forehead and down his cheek, remembering how I held him to me as he was under the spell of the truth serum that Laura gave him.  When she tried to get him to tell the truth about who he really loved.  And I remember how I relished the feeling of him next to me, his face sleepily nuzzling into my breasts.  How can I be angry at him?  Why would I be angry?  He loves me!  He has been longing for me, craving me this whole time in just the same way I crave him.  The only person I am angry at is Kristen DiMera.  Well, her and her narcissist, malignant father.  

“I watched you too,” I tell him.  I don’t tell him how it broke my heart to see him canoodling with Kristen.  How difficult it was to watch him plan to marry her.  That’s a conversation for another day.  Right now, the very last think I want to think about is that devious snake, or how much time we’ve lost.  

“But now who’s talking too much?” I smirk prettily.  “Tell me later about how much you wanted me when I was parading round in those sexy nightgowns.  But right now, I want you to show me what you fantasized about doing to me.  And I want you to show me in exceptionally spine-shattering detail.”

Kristen

When I awaken from my sleep, I immediately reach out for John’s hand.  But all I encounter is thin air and a scratchy cotton bedcover.

“John?” I say sleepily.

“’Fraid  not.”  The voice is familiar and unwelcome.  I crack my eyes open to find Laura Horton eyeing me with open curiosity and not a little hostility.  God, could this day get any worse?  Not one but two fucking nosy, interfering shrinks.  I feel like an animal in a zoo in this hospital room, the way they all come and stare at me with their sappy but insincere smiles and their manufactured concern.  And me, trying to act like I’ve just had a baby when all I want to do is take little John Jr. home and get John to ‘renew’ our vows.  

That won’t be too hard.  I’ll just tell him I don’t want my only memory of our wedding to be while I was pushing a watermelon out of my vagina.  He’s compliant enough.  I just have to make sure that bitch Marlena is out of the way first.

“Uh, where’s my husband?” I ask Laura, not bothering to hide my irritation.  I wave my fingers around so she can’t fail to notice the rock and the wedding ring on my finger.  “He said he was going to stay with me while I slept.”

Laura shrugs carelessly.  “He wasn’t here when I came in,” she says with a sly smile.  “I guess he had better things to do than watch you sleep.”

I glare at her, trying to figure out if she knows something I don’t.  She certainly looks smug enough.  I swallow as I am filled with a sudden fear that he has disappeared to talk to Marlena.

But she did promise me she wouldn’t tell him.  That she would keep quiet until John Jr. has his operation.  Marlena is nothing if not pathetically easy to manipulate when it comes to John.  All I have to do is remind her how terribly difficult all this has been for him and how terribly worried he is about the baby, and she caves almost immediately.  I’ll have to think up some other excuse to convince her to keep her interfering mouth shut until I can get John to make those vows again, to me this time.

“I was just at the nursery,” Laura observes haughtily.  “He’s a beautiful boy, your baby.  But he doesn’t look much like his Daddy, does he?”

“Oh really, you think? I think he’s the spitting image of John,” I say airily and with a forced smile stretched across my face.  

“Yes, I think,” Laura says, cocking her head on one side.  “In fact, he doesn’t even look that much like you, Kristen, now I come to think of it.”

I feel my heart skip a beat and my face starts to heat up.  She can’t have figured out my ruse, surely?  How on earth could she suspect that it wasn’t me that gave birth to John Jr.  I was in that birthing room, and everyone thought that idiot Susan was me.  Including my occasionally dumb as rocks ‘husband’.

“Well, I guess he has that little old man baby look,” I yawn.  “I’m sure he’ll start to look like both of us in a day or two.”

“Hmmmmm,” Laura obviously remains unconvinced.

“What are you trying to insinuate, Laura?” I demand irritably.  This is too stressful.  First Marlena threatening to tell John that I knew about that damned letter and now Laura coming infuriatingly close to the truth about the baby.  “John married me in the labour room.  He watched me have our baby.  So, unless someone swapped him in the nursery then the baby you were looking at is ours.”

Damn John for writing that letter.  I should have just destroyed it when I had the chance.  If Marlena had never found it, she wouldn’t know the truth and she would still think that I was her dear, sweet friend Kristen and she would probably have been matron of honor at our wedding.  I would have loved that, to be honest, the thought of making that holier-than-thou bitch stand up for us and watch John put the ring on my finger and make me his wife would have been just too sweet.  The pleasure of rubbing her oh-so-perfect nose in my happiness would have been almost better than getting to marry John.  Almost.

“Yes,” Laura says slowly and thoughtfully.  “I have to say, if I didn’t know John had stupidly married you while you were in labour, and been there while you were giving birth, I almost wouldn’t have believed that it was you who had a baby.  You certainly don’t look like a woman who just popped out an eight pounder.”

“Well, I did,” I snap.  “I can’t help it if I bounce back well.”

“Amazing how all that baby weight has just disappeared, literally overnight,” Laura observes with a spiky laugh.  “Really amazing.”

John

“Oh, I’ll show you, pretty lady!” I match her smirk and then without warning, I flip her over so that she lands on her back on the pale-yellow sofa, her head bouncing safely on a cushion.  My knee is still between her thighs, and I lean over her taking in her wide golden gaze and her momentary breathless bewilderment.

Stroking my fingers down her left arm, I lace them between hers and then lift her arm up over her head.  As I do so, I lower my body onto hers, the bulging shaft of my cock grinding against her lace-covered centre.  I groan as I move my aching length against her, the friction dangerously pleasurable.   I know if I don’t stop in short order, I am going to disappoint both of us so I still myself and instead I pull her other hand up over her head and then lick across her sweet, pouty lips, easing my tongue between them as she willingly opens her mouth for me. 

Kissing her is something I could never tire of.  Her mouth is a wonderland of sensation.  The feeling of her soft skin against mine, those sensitive and tactile lips tasting me, teasing me, making me hers, is heavenly.

She arches her back, pressing her soft, pliant breasts against my chest and she moans as I nibble at her lower lip.  And it strikes me anew.  I am here with her!  And she wants me.  She loves me!  She loves me!  Everything I have longed for, for years now, everything I have dreamed of… it’s happening.  It’s really happening.  This is not a dream.  She is right here, almost naked and she is kissing me back and making all those lovely little noises that have filled my dreams for so many thousands of nights.  She is just as supple and soft and beautifully warm as I remember.  And she smells like… she’s a bouquet of lilacs and roses and vanilla… and she smells like home.  

I have been homesick for her for almost forever.

“Oh, Doc,” I lift my head and stare at her, brushing locks of messy golden hair from her face.  “Baby, I wish I could tell you how I feel right now.  I am….” I laugh softly.  “I think I might be the luckiest guy in the world.”  I run my fingers over her cheek and lips and that adorable soft dimple in her chin. 

“No, it’s me.  I’m the lucky one,” she brings one hand down and strokes it across my brow, her eyes a deep sparkling hazel as she searches my face, as though committing it to memory.  “I love you so, so much.  You make me so happy.  You always have.  I’m just sorry I let… circumstances get in the way of remembering that.”

“Come here,” I murmur, digging my fingers into her hair and lifting her head up so that my lips can devour hers.  “I am gonna make you happier than you’ve ever been in your whole life, Doc.”

“You already have,” she tells me with a beatific smile.  “The moment you said you still love me.”

“Mmmmm-hmmm-hmmm,” I grin at her and then I kiss her jaw before trailing little licks and kisses down her throat as she tips her head back and gives a long, husky moan.  

I drag my tongue down over the beautiful freckles on her chest, stopping to kiss several of the larger golden ones as I go.

I tarry a while to play with her magnificent breasts again, enjoying the feeling of her nipples tightening under my tongue and the roll and arch of her back as she allows the sensations I elicit to shimmer through her beautiful body.

“Oh John,” she breathes and moans my name.  I groan and press my solid length against her thigh, trying to get some relief without coming like a frustrated schoolboy in my boxers.  “I need you to touch me,” she gasps.  “Please, please.”

“My pleasure, baby,” I tell her, as I slide down her body, kissing her softly curving stomach and stopping to dip my tongue into her naval.  She whimpers again, stretching her hands up over her head and arching her back.  She’s so responsive to my touch.  She always has been, but this is something else.  This is a beautiful mind and body that has been starved of affection, of love, for far too long.  

I can’t tease her for too long, it’s not fair, so I slide my fingers under either side of her lacy panties and draw them down over her gorgeous hips.  I know she’s watching me as I slip the lingerie off her feet and drop them on the floor.  Then I take my palms and slide them up her calves, over her knees until they are caressing her thighs.

“Spread your legs for me, sweetheart,” I look up and entreat her.  “Let me see what I’ve been missing.”

She says nothing, but I can see her swallowing her nervousness as she allows me to part her thighs, revealing that sweet glistening pink centre.  I inhale, taking in the generous scent of her arousal and the fragrance that is uniquely Doc.  I lean forward and kiss my way up the inside of her right thigh until I reach the promised land and without any further delay, I stroke my tongue up the cleft of her sex and curl it around that pretty, sensitive nub at the top.

“Oh, God!” she fairly sobs.  “Oh John.”

“More, baby?” I look up and ask her with a satisfied smile.  God, I love going down on her like this.  I always did.  It was such pleasure and joy to make her squirm and pant and come apart under my tongue and fingers.  And that pleasure is only magnified now.  After all these years, knowing she still loves me, she still wants me, that I arouse her like this is…. It makes me feel invincible.  That the perfect, adorable, magnificent Marlena Evans loves me?  Honestly there is nothing in this world that could, or would, make me happier than being here with her in this moment, touching her, making her cry for God.  And for me.

“More, yes!” she pants, lifting her pelvis up toward my mouth.  I grin and slide my hands under her gorgeous ass and bend my head to her again, gently flicking her clit with my tongue and then sucking it into my mouth.  Impossibly, she orgasms again, almost immediately, her head rolling from side to side as she comes against my tongue, her teeth biting into her lower lip so hard I am afraid that she might draw blood.  

This probably isn’t the ideal location for us to make love again after so long.  But we, neither of us, can stand to wait any longer.  There is a frisson of fear underlying our passion.  That if we delay, this may slip through our fingers again.  And that’s untenable for me, and for Marlena too, it seems.

As she descends from the high of her climax, she sighs, her voice shaky and I slide my tongue back through the folds of her sweet, wet pussy.  I hear myself groan with pleasure deep in my throat as I swipe my tongue deeper into her and then deeper again.  She bends her knees and pushes herself against my mouth and I flutter my tongue deep inside her and she cries out again.  “Oh fuck, John.  Oh, John yes, right there baby, just like that,” she whimpers.  “Oh God, that feels so good when you do that.”

I do it again and again, swirling my tongue deep inside her pussy, so warm and wet and velvety.  She tastes like fucking heaven, like a font of liquid ambrosia I could drink from forever.  I feel her hands clutch at my hair and I redouble my efforts as I squeeze her ass, my fingers digging deep into her lush flesh.  Between my own legs, my cock throbs mercilessly but I try and ignore it and concentrate on Marlena’s pleasure, her cries and the pulsing of her pussy walls around my tongue.

She rocks her hips and I withdraw my tongue, licking up and over her clit again, flicking it several times, making her cry out loudly.  Then I dive in again, fluttering my tongue against her sensitive walls.  She gasps and whimpers as I alternately fuck her with my tongue, and lick and suck that little sensitive jewel that crowns the apex of this valley of wonders.

“Oh, baby,” she winds her fingers in my hair and holds me still. “There, right there,” she says breathlessly.  “Just like that, oh god….” her thighs tense around my ears, “Oh God, oh Goooooodddd!” And then she is bucking against my mouth, grinding herself against my tongue, riding the waves of her orgasm as she squeals loudly.  

“Shhhh baby, you need to be quiet” I take a moment to try and remind her that discretion might be something she wants to consider, but my words are lost in her incoherent cries of pleasure, and I shrug mentally.  I’m not about to stop, I just hope to God anyone who walks past her office just keeps on walking.

“Oh, oh, fuck,” she looks at me, dazed as I lift my head.  “What… what was that?”

“Something you obviously needed, honey.” My heart skips a beat as I look at her.  She’s sexy as fuck with her tousled hair and pink cheeks, swollen lips and glazed eyes.  Her pupils are blown with pleasure and arousal, and she makes me want to bury myself in her as deep as I’ll go and fuck her senseless.

But first… if that blew her mind, I have something else that might make her totally lose it.

Hillary

I sit at my desk, my cheeks bright red as I try and ignore the sounds coming from Dr. Evans’ office.  She wasn’t even supposed to be coming into the hospital today but… well… apparently, she is.  In the hospital.  And coming.

Multiple times, if the sounds she’s making are any indication.

I came back from my break just in time to see Mr. Black push her into her office and close the door behind them.  He locked it, which made me a little curious at the time, but now of course, it’s more than clear.  

I’ve been sitting here for the better part of thirty minutes, trying to figure out what to do.  I mean, it’s not like I can make or take any calls with that going on in the background.  And I really can’t concentrate on typing up reports.  I feel very voyeuristic, remaining at my desk, listening to them… listening to her.  I mean, she’s my boss.  It’s um… weird.  But also, she’s so lovely, and she’s been in love with Mr. Black for as long as I’ve been her secretary, so I am absolutely delighted for her.    

I mean, even when she was married to Commander Brady, she was still in love with Mr. Black.  At first, after Commander Brady returned, she would light up every time she saw Mr. Black in the hospital.  Then after she got kidnapped by that loopy Stella Lombard and Mr. Black went to find her and fell into that pit and got trapped with her, things became pretty weird and tense for a while.  That weirdness got explained later on.  

I felt so bad for her when things went south in her marriage.  I mean, I guess it wasn’t that surprising.  The way the whole thing went down at her baby’s baptism.  Man, it was the talk of the hospital for weeks.  Commander Brady was kind of an asshole after all that and then she went and got kidnapped by that creepy-ass Stefano DiMera who is kinda obsessed with her.  When I say kinda, I mean like a freaky, stalky, rapey kind of obsessed.  It’s gross, honestly.   But she was destroyed by that whole deal, and not herself for a long time.  Obviously, that also got explained.  Kind of. I mean, it was in the papers, so it must have been true, right?

However, when friends ask why I worked for another doctor for months in ‘94-’95, I tell them my boss took a sabbatical.  Cos honestly, who wants to tell your friends your employer was possessed by Satan himself?

But, since then, she’s only had eyes for Mr. Black.  And I was pretty sure he’s had eyes for her too.  And why wouldn’t he?  I mean she’s freakin’ beautiful, as well as lovely.  But for some reason, he’s been with that awful Kristen DiMera.  I mean, I guess I don’t really have any good reason to dislike her.  Other than she’s got Dr. Evans man, and Dr. Evans should have Dr. Evans man.  

They would make the most gorgeous couple.  I mean, their kid is one of the cutest little tykes I’ve ever seen.  She got good genes.  And honestly, I could just quietly watch them for hours when they’re together.  The way they look at each other.  The way they touch, even though I don’t think they’re aware of it.  They are two of the most attractive people I have ever seen.  

Why they’re not together, why the two of them can’t see the way the other one feels about them is one of my life’s greatest mysteries.  I’ll be honest, I have considered calling Mr. Black and telling him that Dr. Evans is in trouble.  Because I am telling you, he would break the land-speed record to get here to save her.  So then, my plan would be just to lock them both in her office and slip a note under the door telling them to work their shit out, admit they’re crazy in love and just bang each other.

However, apparently, that idea is now redundant AF.

I hear a particularly loud Oh God! through the door and I blush beet red before I drop my face into my hands.  I really want to just go.  But what happens if I do, and someone thinks she’s in trouble?  What if someone bangs on the door, or even worse, gets the caretaker to open it with his master key?  

It doesn’t bear thinking about.  No, I’ll have to stay, and run interference until they’re done.  Then hopefully I can sneak away, and she will never even know I’ve been sitting here listening to Mr. Black make her scream like a porn star.

“Hillary?” I start at the voice coming from the doorway of the outer office.  “Darling, is everything all right?”

“Oh, Mrs. Horton,” I look up, blushing an even deeper shade of red.  “Yes, of course, everything is fine,” I lie, “why wouldn’t it be?”  

“Well… I thought,” Mrs. Horton looks pointedly at the door to Dr. Evans office. “I thought I heard Marlena’s voice.  It sounded like… maybe she was in trouble.” 

“Oh no,” I shake my head, my cheeks heated.  “She’s not in trouble.  At least not the kind you’re implying.”  I know Mrs. Horton quite well, she’s a fixture around this place, she’s been here even longer than Dr. Evans.  Her husband Dr. Tom Horton used to be Chief of Staff for many years.  And I know Dr. Evans used to live next door to her.  When she was married to Commander Brady.  And before that when she was married to Mr. Black.  (It’s a thing… I am not going to go into it because I find it confusing enough to think about, explaining it will sound like I am a nutcase.)

“Oh?” Mrs. Horton raises her eyebrows and then there’s another muffled “Oh fuck, yes!  Right there.  Oh God, John!” and I see her cheeks flush the palest of pinks.  “Oh.”  She presses her lips together and tries not to look completely gleeful.  “Oh, I see what you mean, dear.”  She smiles and gives a little chuckle. 

“I didn’t know what to do!” I exclaim quietly, although I am pretty sure Dr. Evans is not going to hear me over the party she has going on in her pants.  “I came back from my break, and I saw Mr. Black push her into the office.  And then… I guess they were talking… and then next thing, this was happening and …. well, I didn’t know whether I should stay or go.  I mean, you know how professional Dr. Evans is.  Well… usually…  I feel like she might be embarrassed if she knew I had sat here listening to… um… everything.”

“Marlena is the epitome of professional,” Mrs. Horton says kindly.  “But I suspect she didn’t plan on this, Hillary dear.  And she has been alone for such a long time.  I think we can forgive her for a lapse in judgement in this particular case.”

“Oh, I know.” I think about how many years she’s been single.  I mean, guess in between kidnappings and possessions, it’s not really that long but that’s probably being picky.  I mean, like I said, she’s very beautiful and so kind.  “And she’s been pining after Mr. Black,” I add.  “I mean… I shouldn’t speculate, I know, but you’ve seen the way she looks at him, right?”

“I have Hillary,” Mrs. Horton nods with a gentle smile, her blue eyes sparkling brightly as we’re interrupted by another muffled moan.  “Marlena loves him, that much has been obvious for years.  And …. well, clearly, he loves her too.”

“I thought he was having a baby with Kristen DiMera though,” I say, confused.  I’ve heard some rumours, like, Mr. Black married Ms DiMera in the delivery room while she was squeezing a baby out of her vagina.  But I don’t know how true it is.  Some weird rumours get passed around this hospital.  I try not to listen, there’s enough crazy shit that goes on with Dr. Evans for me to worry about any other wild rumours.

“True love will always win out, Hillary,” Mrs. Horton says with absolute certainty.  “People make mistakes, and they try to do what they think is right, when it patently isn’t.   But the truth is, when the right two people love each other, nothing and no-one will keep them apart forever.”

“You think Dr. Evans should be with Mr. Black?” I ask, trying to ignore the sound of Mr. Black’s voice as he groans Dr. Evans name.  They sound like they are having the best sex of their lives, and quite frankly, it’s turning me on, which is kind of embarrassing.

“Yes dear, I think Marlena and John belong together,” Mrs. Horton nods.  “You didn’t know them when they were married before.  When he thought he was Roman Brady.  It was as though those two were made for each other.”  She looks at the door, her lips pursing in amusement as another “Oh John, oh yes, oh fuuuuck!” is emitted behind the closed door.  “So, you and I are going to do everything we can to ensure that no one interrupts them.  Especially Kristen DiMera.”

“But how do we do that?” I ask, my eyes wide.  If Ms. DiMera comes by and hears Dr. Evans screaming Mr. Black’s name, all hell is going to break loose, and it isn’t going to be pretty.

“You just stay here and guard that door,” Mrs. Horton gives me a stern look.  “And don’t let anyone in while I am gone.  I’m going to have this part of the floor blocked off so that no-one is allowed within hearing distance of this office.”

“You can do that?” I gasp.

“Darling, I am Alice Horton,” she smiles, her eyes twinkling again.  “I can do whatever I darn well please.”

Marlena

“Oh, baby,” I clutch at his head and hold him against me, his tongue massaging my clitoris with just the right amount of pressure and in just the right places. “There, right there,” I gasp as I feel my orgasm building.  It’s like a wave, rearing, just rising and rising like a tsunami.  “Just like that, oh god….” my body tenses, trying to catch the feeling, surfing on the crest of the wave.  I am so close, and this feels unbelievably good. “Oh God, oh Goooooodddd!” And then it hits, crashing over me like a vast flood of sensation, of pleasure.  It smashes through me like an explosion, obliterating every thought, every shred of self-awareness until I am simply just a writhing mess of euphoric sensation, my mind registering every touch, every movement of his tongue, the pleasure rolling through me in wave after pulsing wave of overwhelming bliss.

“Shhhh baby, you need to be quiet.” I hear him but I don’t really register the words.  And I can’t.  I simply can’t be quiet.   I mean, I take care of myself from time to time.  I am fully versed with the pleasures my own fingers can bring, or a those of a discreet vibrating toy.  But this is something completely different.  I had honestly forgotten how fucking incredible he is at this, and how my body responds to his touch.  The pleasure he can call forth with the stroke of his fingers and the swipe of his tongue is nothing short of miraculous.

When my orgasm has finally burnt itself out, I collapse limply on the sofa and exhale noisily.  “Oh, oh, fuck,” I finally manage to lift my head and look at him.  I feel stunned and discombobulated.   “What… what was that?”

“Something you obviously needed, honey.”  His eyes are a deep midnight blue, full of mystery and intention as he looks up at me.  They crinkle at the corners, and I wonder what he is thinking but I am still too incoherent to even be able to string words together to ask him.

He dips his head again and I moan.  I am not sure how much more of this I can take.  “John,” I whimper.  “Can you… I want… to…. feel you,” I spit out between labored breaths.

“Soon baby,” he says before he flicks his tongue over my clit again and makes me shudder with another aftershock from my intense climax.  I moan and he grins, “soon, I promise.”

I feel his mouth on me again, his tongue lapping at the moisture spilling from the cleft of my swollen pussy, and I feel the arousal rise in me again.  It feels impossible that there could be more yet pleasure to be derived from my overstimulated body but still, here we are.  

His tongue is magic.  

HIs fingers are too, and I feel the tip of one slide between the sensitive lips, the slickness lubricating his slow and careful entry, as he pushes his finger into me.  “Oh,” I breath as he slides inside me, and I feel my inner walls contract around the intrusion with the ebbing echo of that intense orgasm.  “Oh John!”  I want to ask him to take it slowly.  It’s been a long time.  But he knows and he is being loving and gentle.  I look up and I see him watching his finger disappear inside me.  I have to admit, it’s a sight that turns me on, seeing him so fascinated, so aroused by my body and the way it responds to him.

I roll my hips upward almost unconsciously, and I exhale a long, watery moan as he withdraws his finger, brushing against the sweetness of my g-spot which makes me roll my eyes and curl my toes in pleasure.

“So hot, baby,” he growls as he pushes gently into me again, sliding his finger deliberately along the upper wall so that he hits that mystical spot again and I buck my hips with a long cry of pleasure.  “So fucking hot.  Christ, you are so fucking sexy.”

“Oh, oh!”  I roll my head back, my body responding to his ministrations like a marionette.  A touch here and my hips roll, a lick there and my stomach clenches.  A suck there and I am wailing in appreciation.  He plays my body like it’s an instrument, his beautiful fingers sparking magical notes of ecstasy with the lightest of touches and caresses.  “Oh fuck, yes!  Right there.” I cry eagerly, encouraging him.  Begging him for more.  “Oh God, John!”

I feel him withdraw and then slowly enter me with a second finger, carefully, gently pushing me open a little more with each incursion.  As he does, he licks his way up to my clit again and starts to slowly and softly massage it with his tongue.

I feel tears slip from the corners of my eyes as the consequences of his loving start to gather and multiply inside of me again.  It’s not just the physical sensations, it’s the deliberate gentleness, the care and attention he pays.  It’s the way he knows me, just where to stroke, just how to move his fingers inside me.  Bar our desperate encounters on the plane and at Titan, it has been ten years since we have been intimate in this way, and he hasn’t forgotten a single thing about how I like to be touched.

And more than that, he knows just how fast to move, makes sure I am comfortable before giving me more than I can take.  He doesn’t even have to ask me; I don’t have to say anything.  He just knows.  He reads my signs, my sighs and my moans, the way I reach for him, the movement of my hips as his fingers slide into me.  He waits for an invisible signal that even I am not aware of before the gentle pressure of his entry becomes a more insistent plunge.  He hears my cry of desire, of encouragement and he flicks his tongue and sucks me inside his beautiful mouth as he feeds me a third finger and slows down again, waiting until I am relaxed and comfortable enough to accommodate him before he starts the slow, insistent movement into my slick, pulsing tunnel.  

From somewhere nearby I hear his soft crooning.  “Oh Doc, you feel so good baby.  So wet.  So hot.”  I feel his tongue again, curling around the nub that will be part of the equation that drives me over the edge into a throbbing, explosive cacophony of white light and the harmonic resonance of a detonation that will obliterate all conscious thought. 

He withdraws his fingers and I lift my hips, moaning my disappointment at the absence of him.  “Shhh baby,” he draws his fingers over the wetness of my swollen folds and follows it with his tongue, diving it deep into my pussy.  And then his fingers are back again, pushing, breaching, thrusting deep inside me.

“Oh,” I groan and push against his hand, trying to deepen his reach.  I want more.  I want to be filled by him.  “Oh honey, oh, God.”

I feel a wet finger glide down the cleft of my ass, and I gasp and tense as he adds pressure until his finger is softly rubbing the tight, puckered entrance.

“Is this okay baby?” he asks softly as he massages me.  I look up at him, my eyes wide and I nod my head.  I can’t say anything.  I don’t have the words.   His fingers are still slowly sliding in and out of my pussy, stroking my g-spot as his fingertip exerts gentle pressure against my ass.  I feel dizzy and my stomach clenches as he moves back and forth against the incredibly sensitive flesh.  “Just relax, Doc,” he murmurs before he bends to take me in his mouth once again.

I think I might be dying.  Or coming to life.  I don’t know what or how or why.  All coherent thought is a thing of the past.  I am simply light and ecstasy.

 And then he is entering me, forcing his finger beyond the resistance I unwittingly offer and sliding it inside me.

Oh fuck.  He is everywhere.  He is… oh my God.  Oh fuck, he’s inside me.  He fills me up and my mind is obliterated by the feeling of his fingers inside me, probing, stroking, rubbing and his tongue, flicking, licking, sucking….

“Oh John, oh yes, oh fuuuuck!” I wail my joy as I tense my thighs and my hips buck, looking for more pressure, more depth, more fucking everything.  I grind myself against his mouth, his hands and then I am writhing, my back curving and undulating, my hands flailing at the arm of the couch, trying to push myself ever closer to him and closer to heaven.  “Oh Jesus, ohfuckohfuckohfuck!!” I scream as I pulse around his fingers, my body contracting and expanding as the orgasm rips through my body and John continues to drive his fingers into both of my most intimate places, all the while worshipping my sex with his tongue like it is a holy relic.

I have no idea how long I am thrashing around beneath him.  Time stops, the world stops.  The world vanishes and it is just the two of us, the sound of my wetness as he plunges into me and the waves of euphoric sensation which crash through me again and again.  It is my juices, gushing from me, it is his fingers, his tongue, flooded with me.  It is my voice, my cries, my ragged breath and the sound of his name which I repeat over and over again as though it is a prayer.

Until finally, I collapse in a spent mess, my hair sticking to my sweaty face, my breathing coming in shaky gasps.

I barely feel him withdraw but suddenly he is hovering over me, stroking the damp strands of hair from my forehead, staring at me with those electric blue eyes of his.

I open my mouth to speak but no words come.  Instead, there is just a sob and a sudden pricking of tears, and I fling my arms around him, burying my face in his neck.

Laura

“Amazing how all that baby weight has just disappeared, literally overnight,” I laugh but there’s no humour in the sound.  “Really amazing.”

“Oh, shut up,” Kristen snaps nastily.  “Go away, you interfering busybody!”

My eyebrow raises almost of its own accord.  Now isn’t this interesting?  I’ve hit a nerve.  A nerve that’s making her nervous.  I can see it in the way she is fiddling with the bedsheet, in the way her shoulders are rising up around her ears.  I haven’t been a psychiatrist for half of my life to miss when someone is lying.  Or when someone is nervous that I’m too close to the truth.

My spidey-senses aren’t just tingling, they’re damn-near twanging back and forth.

“I met someone,” I say with deliberate casualness.   “While I was visiting the nursery.”  I have a theory.  It seems highly unlikely, but this is Salem.  And she is a DiMera.  If anyone could make this happen, it’s Stefano.  “She was a little strange.  She said she was there to visit her baby, but she wasn’t a patient at the hospital.”

“So?” I see Kristen’s knuckles whiten where she grips the bedcovers.  Interesting.

 “She said she only gave birth yesterday and her baby is sick.  That’s very odd, don’t you think?” I lean back in my chair and perch my chin on my fingers thoughtfully.  It’s a very theatrical gesture (I did theatre in high school, and it was either that or medicine when I went to college.  Obviously, medicine won out) done with full deliberate effect.

“Is it?” Kristen shrugs her shoulders sulkily.  “What’s it got to do with me?”

“Well, that’s the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question, isn’t it Kristen,” I smile easily.  “What on earth would a mousy brunette, buck-toothed southerner have to do with you and your baby?”

I see her visibly recoil, her face pales until it is almost gray and I know I have her.  Soo-san Banks and her baby have something to do with Kristen and John Jr., and as unlikely as it seems, I think I know what that something is.

“Why would a mother of a sick baby be released from hospital on the day she gave birth?” I ask carefully and slowly.  “Unless, of course, she wasn’t released.”

“You’re not making sense, Laura!” Kristen looks past me to the door.  “Look, I’m tired and I need to sleep.  I have a birth to recover from, and my baby is having an operation in the morning.  I don’t have the time or energy for your stupid riddles.”

I raise my eyebrows and bite back a smile.  She is freaking out and I think I know why.

“Yes, of course,” I nod, pushing myself out of the chair and going to the door.  “You have just been asleep though Kristen.  I’m a little concerned that your fatigue is not normal, even for a post-partum mother.  Dr. Robbins has checked you out, hasn’t he?”

“Of course!” her answer comes a little too fast and a little too frantic.  “I am fine.  Just tired.”

“Right,” I go to the door and look out and smile.  “Oh look, here’s David Robbins now.”

“What!?” I turn around in time to see the look of panic flit across her face as the door swings open.

John

“Hey, hey baby,” I pull her up into my arms and hold her to me as she sobs into my neck and shoulder.  “Doc, did I hurt you?  Baby, talk to me.”

I stroke the hair away from her cheek and my fingers come away covered in her tears.  “Honey, baby, you’re scaring me.”

“No…” she gulps back another sob, her breathing coming in harsh, ragged pants.  “No John.  It’s not… I’m not…” she pulls back and hiccups back another sob.  I softly wipe the tears from her cheeks with my thumbs.  

“What is it then?” I ask her gently.  “I thought you were enjoying yourself.”

“Oh, I was, I was!” She looks shocked.  “Oh John.  I am.”  She sniffs and wipes her face and then swipes at the tears that are all over my neck and shoulder.  “It’s not… these aren’t bad tears.”  She shakes her head, giving me a tremulous smile.  “It’s just… it’s a lot.  It’s been a long time and it’s…intense.”  She reaches up and cups my cheek with shaking fingers.  “I love you so, so much.  I’ve loved you for so long, and for years I didn’t allow myself to even hope that one day we might find our way back to each other.  But here we are.  And it’s…”

“A lot.”  I nod my head.  I understand what she is saying.  It is a lot.  One moment, we are good friends, (best friends), and the next we’re confessing our love and we’re kissing and naked and having some of the best sex I’ve ever experienced.  And I know Marlena feels intensely.  She always has.  She is a feeler.  She lives and loves with a passion that leaves me breathless. 

“It’s just a little overwhelming,” she touches her fingertips to my lips, and I slip my tongue out and swipe at them.  It’s enough to break the ice and she giggles.  “Oh my gosh, I just love you so much and I can hardly believe this is happening.  I can hardly believe this is real.  That we are here and that you love me the way I love you.”

“I do,” I nod my agreement and stroke her cheek with my fingers.  “I do, sweetheart.  I love you with my whole heart.  I only wish I’d known earlier.  I wish we hadn’t lost so much time.”

“I know,” she sighs and leans her forehead against mine.  “I know.  I’ve been so lonely without you.”

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, walking my fingers around the back of her neck.  “I wish I could go back and change it, baby.  I wish-“

“Shhhhh,” she touches her finger to my lips and pulls back, fixing me with her drowned golden gaze.  “No regrets.  No more wasted time, okay?”

I search her beautiful face.  It always astonishes me that she can cry like that and still look as dewy fresh as if she’s had a casual stroll in the sunshine.  But then, she is sunshine in human form.  She sniffs and a soft smile curls her pink, swollen lips.

“No more wasted time,” I agree, tugging gently on her neck and pulling her to me for a kiss.

“Ohhhh,” she curls her arm around my shoulders and pulls herself closer to me as she licks her way across my lips and flickers her tongue into my mouth.  “Oh my.  Can I just say… that was….” She shakes her head and then rolls her shoulders.  “I think you left me speechless.”

“Well, there’s one for the books,” I tease her.  “Marlena Evans, lost for words.”

“Honestly, honey,” she draws her fingers down over my chest, her fingernails dragging light score marks through the soft curls of hair.  “I don’t think…. I think that might be the best orgasm you’ve ever given me.”

“I’ve ever given you?” I ask her, raising one eyebrow as I palm her breast, feeling the warm, heavy weight in my hand before I run my finger over her nipple, using my fingertip to tease it back to life.

“Oh, you were already purveyor of the best,” she purrs as she arches and stretches as I curl my other arm around her waist.   “No-one else has ever come close.  But that was… that was…”

“Spine-shattering?” I supply for her with a grin.

“I am not sure I’m going to be able to walk after this,” she agrees with a nod and a cheeky little smile.  “I’m not sure I can walk now!”

“What I have in mind now, doesn’t involve any walking,” I reassure her, and I tweak her nipple as I lean in and kiss her again, my tongue leisurely exploring her mouth once again.

“Oh, baby, you are so sexy,” she murmurs as I nibble my way across to her ear, still squeezing her breast and manipulating her taut, pebbled bud.  “Are you going to let me feel you now?”  Before I know it, her fingertips are on my boxers, lightly tracing a delicate trail down the length of my aching cock, and I practically jump off the sofa.

“Fuck baby!” I grab her wrist.  “You want to make me come before I even get inside you?”

“No!” she shakes her head, her beautiful eyes wide and I marvel at how innocently surprised she looks.  When I know she is anything but.  My gorgeous pretty lady is very good at playing innocent, but she actually has a fascinatingly dirty mind when she is so inclined.  She knows exactly what she is doing, and I fucking love her for it.

Deliberately, she licks her lips and then she smiles her sweet, fuck-me-now smile.  “Are you going to take those off or am I going to have to get down on my knees and beg you?”

Fuck!  Marlena on her knees, now that’s a fantasy I’ve had more than a few times.  Not to mention the memories I have cherished for more than ten years now.

“Oh baby,” I groan.  “What are you trying to do to me?”

“Never mind you!” she laughs.  “I’m the one who hasn’t had sex in four years.  Are you trying to torture me here?”

“Good point!” It’s not really a laughing matter but she does make a fair case to finally get her own way.  And honestly, if I don’t find my way inside her soon, I won’t be responsible for my bodily reactions.  

“Let me,” she says, her voice low and sexy as she leans forward and slides her fingers between the waistband of my boxers and my waist.  I raise my ass off the sofa as she slides the satin over my hips, pulling the elastic up over the bulge of my dick.  She licks her lips again as it is revealed, released by the satin so that it bounces against the trail of hair that leads up to my naval.

Marlena draws the boxers down over my legs, and I help her untangle them from my oversized feet.  And then it is just us.  Nothing between us, any longer.

“Can I?” she asks as she hesitantly reaches for me.

“Please,” I tell her, anticipating the feeling of her sensitive fingers as they wrap around my length.  I just hope I can control myself.

“Oh, mmmm,” she sounds as though she’s the one being touched as she enfolds me in her hand.  “Oh, how I have missed this part of you.”

“It’s missed you too, Doc,” I say before I suck in a breath and groan it out.  “Oh fuck, baby.”  I lean back on my hands, watching her as she strokes her hand down my length.  My stomach tenses as she slides her hand up and then repeats the motion. 

“You feel so good,” she licks her lips and reaches in with her other hand to gently cup my and massage my balls with her fingers as she strokes my shaft with the other.  “Oh honey, it’s been so long.  Do you know many times I dreamed about this?”

“Uhnnnnhhh,” I am struggling to control myself, my hips thrusting up to meet her hand as she strokes it down to the base of my cock.  And when she bends her head to take me in her mouth, I have to catch her, my hands in her hair and pull her back.

“No baby,” I push her upright.  “If you do that, I am gonna come in that pretty mouth of yours, and while that is a very pleasurable thought, I want to be between your legs when I come, okay?”

“Oh,” she raises her eyebrows with a half-smile.  “Okay then.”

“Lie back now baby,” I push her backward with my hand and crawl between her legs.  I lean down and kiss her, the tip of my penis digging into the top of her thigh.  I grind myself against her, groaning as I roll my hips, the moist heat of her body inviting me forward.

“Oh John,” she gasps and reaches for me.  “I need you.  Now.  I need you inside me.”

“Oh Doc,” I groan as she moves, bringing her knee up and resting her foot on one of my buttocks.  She moves again and then her hand is around me and it is wet and slippery, and I almost come in her grasp as she draws her palm and fingers down and up my length, gently guiding me toward her.  “Oh fuck,” my voice is choked in my throat as I start to feel the tell-tale tightening at the base of my balls.

I reach between us and grab her wrist, dragging it away from my throbbing, painful length.  I push her hand up over her head and shake my head.  “Give me a moment,” my voice is like gravel as I concentrate on pushing back the impending tidal wave.  “Fuck, baby.”  I rest my forehead against hers as I pant heavily.  “You turn me on so much, you know?  You… I’m so fucking horny for you.  All the fucking time.  And I have wanted this for so long.  I have dreamed of this for years.  And I don’t want to blow it by coming before I even get inside you.  So, let me just get control of myself.  It’ll just take a minute.”

“Whatever you need baby,” she coos at me before she delicately reaches up and runs her tongue along the seam of my lips.  “I just want to make you as happy as you’ve made me.  That’s all.”

“Oh honey,” I grunt as I move myself, nudging closer to that tight, wet center.  “Oh God.  You have made me the happiest man on earth today.  You have no idea.”

“I think I do,” she shifts her hips, and the head of my cock comes into contact with the lush, swollen folds of her sex and we both groan loudly.  “Oh fuck, John.  Are you…. do you need more time?  Because, baby, I need you inside me now.  Now.“

Laura

“Hi David,” I greet my colleague with a gleeful smile.  “You here to give Ms. DiMera her post-partum exam?”

“That’s Mrs. Black,” Kristen corrects me angrily.

“Hi Laura,” David Robbins smiles easily.  “And hello Kristen.  How are you feeling?”

“Fine.”  Kristen glares at me.  “But I was just about to try and have a sleep.  So maybe you could come back later?”

“Kristen has been complaining of feeling tired,” I explain to David Robbins.  “I am concerned that her fatigue is more excessive than I might expect, even considering her post-partum status.  Have you done an exam since she gave birth to rule out internal bleeding?” I ask pointedly.

“Excuse me!” Kristen snaps.  “That is privileged doctor-patient information.”

“And I am a doctor at this hospital,” I smile sweetly but my voice is strident, “with concerns about a patient.  If Dr. Robbins doesn’t care to tell me, I can just consult your chart.”

“No need,” David Robbins looks a little surprised at this exchange and I can’t blame him.  Usually, I am the embodiment of calm and collected.  But Kristen DiMera winds me up.  The things she has done to my dearest friend, the things her father has done to Marlena, and to me…  I will not allow her a single extra moment to lie and manipulate if I can help it.  “I haven’t examined Mrs. Black yet.  I was just about to.”

“Oh,” I pretend to look surprised.  “Kristen seemed to think you’d already done an exam.”

“No,” Dr. Robbins shakes his head, looking ever so slightly confused.  “I had to perform an emergency section earlier, so I am only just now getting to my rounds.”

“I wonder why you thought he’d already examined you, Kristen?” I turn to my nemesis, cocking my head to one side.  “Seems strange.  Care to explain?”

She glares at me, her eyes narrowed in fury.  “Oh, I don’t know Laura.  Maybe I dreamed it.  You did wake me up.”

“Oh, did I?”  I can’t help the shit-eating grin that curls across my face.  Kristen knows she’s about to be found out and she’s bricking it.  And the only way I’d be enjoying this more is if Marlena was here with me watching Kristen scramble, but I sincerely hope she’s somewhere getting things straight with John.  In fact, if she was somewhere getting her back blown out by Mr. Black while all this was going down, that would be a scenario that would make my whole year.  “Well maybe you did dream it, Kristen.  But now it’s time for the real thing.  Dr. Robbins will find out what’s going on with you, you can rest assured.”  

“Of course I will,” David Robbins smiles kindly.  “While I am sure that there’s nothing to worry about, I can put everyone’s mind at rest.”

“Oh, I uh…” Kristen’s eyes dart around frantically, and I know she’s trying to pull an excuse out of her non-baby bearing ass.  “I’m uh… I’m so tired Dr. Robbins.  Is it possible to wait until later.  When John is back maybe?”

“I’m afraid not Kristen,” David shakes his head as he looks at his watch.  “I am off shift in thirty minutes, and I have an appointment I have to get to, so it has to be now.”

“What about tomorrow?” Kristen is trying hard not to show her fear, but I can see it written all over her face.

“Oh no, if you’re that tired, you need to be checked out now,” I interrupt, not allowing David any leeway to give in to Kristen’s demands.  “And your baby’s operation is tomorrow.  Surely you won’t want to be distracted.  Best to get it over and done with now.”

I smile at her again, a smile that lets that bitch know I am onto her, and I am not going to let this go.  My friend has had far too many heartbreaks over the past few years.  If Kristen is not the one that gave birth to that baby, is not the woman that John Black married in the delivery room, then she has no hold over him and he is free to be with Marlena.  And Marlena with him.

I turn to David Robbins and pat him on the shoulder.  “I’ll leave you with Ms. DiMera but I’ll wait for you outside.  There’s something I want to ask you when you’re done.”

Marlena

John is hovering over me, and it feels like eternal torment having him so close but not being able to feel him moving inside me.  I mean, I know that last orgasm just about made me pass out.  That’s not even an exaggeration.  I saw stars in front of my eyes.  I think I saw the end of the universe.  Or something.  Something magical.  Something existential.  The mysteries of birth, death and creation, all wrapped up in a single explosive moment.

But nothing compares to the feeling of him moving inside me.  It’s been so long and last time, guilt came as an unwelcome chaser, filling me more indelibly than he ever could.  Well, except that he left me with a gift that I will forever be grateful for in the shape of our beautiful daughter.

But now?  Now my love is freely given.  My heart is his, and only his.

Him?  I know he loves me and there is a part of me that is scared that after all this is said and done that Kristen will not let him go.  At least not easily.  But his heart is mine, that I do know.   He is woven into the tapestry of my life, a beautiful, complicated past, and a future that I can only dream of.  Even if legally, we have some threads still to unravel.

“Oh John,” I moan and slide my hand around the back of his neck again.  I can’t wait any longer.  “I need you.  Now.  I need you inside me.”

“Oh Doc,” he murmurs, his voice caught in his throat as I bring my knee up, my thigh soft against his waist and I rest the sole of my warm foot on his fine, fine ass.  My other hand, I slip down between us and draw it down through over my warm, moist opening, coating my fingers with the copious moisture that still spills from me.  I vaguely wonder what a mess we are making of my sofa and then I banish it from my mind.  I can have the sofa recovered if needs be.  No-one needs to know.

When I am sure I have enough lubrication, I reach for him, my fingers curling around his length.  He is hot and hard, but his skin is velvety soft, and I can feel the pulsing in the veins that run down the sides of his shaft as I trace them with my sticky thumb.

I slide my palm and fingers down his cock until they nudge the tight dark curls of hair at the base and then I draw it back up, gently guiding him toward the aching space that exists just for him.  

“Oh fuck,” His voice is tight and choked in his throat.  He reaches between us and grabs my hand, pulling it away from him and then he pushes my arm up over my head as he bites his lip, looking at me with a shake of his head.  “Give me a moment,” 

His voice is rough and shaking as he closes his eyes and I see the effort of trying to control himself.  “Fuck, baby.”  He rests his forehead against mine as he forces the breath from his lungs and then sucks it in again.  “You turn me on so much, you know?  You… I’m so fucking horny for you.  All the fucking time.”  He lifts his head again and looks at me, fixing me with his bottomless blue eyes.  “And I have wanted this for so long.  I have dreamed of this for years.  And I don’t want to blow it by coming before I even get inside you.  So, let me just get control of myself.  It’ll just take a minute.”

“Whatever you need baby,” I say softly.  Instinctually, I lift my face to his and run my tongue along the seam of his lips.  “I just want to make you as happy as you’ve made me.  That’s all.”

“Oh honey,” he groans as he moves himself, and I can feel his hot, hard length slide down the inside of my thigh.  My pussy contracts with the thought that he will soon me inside me and I moan my encouragement against his mouth.  “Oh God.  You have made me the happiest man on earth today.  You have no idea.”

“I think I do,” I move myself as he hovers over me so that the head of his cock nudges against the wetness of my opening.  I am hot and swollen and I am aching to have him slide inside me.  We both groan loudly.  “Oh fuck, John.  Are you…. do you need more time?  Because, baby, I need you inside me now.  Now.“

“Oh God, Doc,” he breathes against my mouth.  “Oh, fuck baby….”  My heart soars as he calls me baby again.  It has been so long.  Occasionally he slips and calls me baby, usually in times of crisis and I have brushed it off, thinking that it was just habit.  During our last frantic coupling, it was all Doc’s and Marlena’s.  It was far too serious, far too angsty for sweet and gentle endearments.  I have longed to hear these affectionate words from him for so long.  His baby’s, his sweetheart’s, his pretty lady’s.  He knows how to make me feel like the most beautiful, most loved woman on the planet.  He knows how to make me feel like I am the most important person in his life.

He moves his hips, pushing against my entrance and I move my knees about his hips, opening myself up to him.  “Ready baby?” he pants.  “I’ll try and take it slow.  Tell me if it hurts at all.”

“Don’t worry about slow,” I moan.  “I just want you inside me.”

“I love you,” he groans as he breaches the tight, thrumming folds, the head of his cock pushing into me.  “Oh Doc, oh baby I love you so much.”

“Ohhhh,” I inhale a sharp breath as the pain comes.  He possesses quite a sizable ‘member’, and it has been a long, long time since I’ve had sex.  It always takes me some time to adjust to his girth, and four years with no loving has made me nervous and tight.  

“Too much?” he asks softly.

“No.  I just need you to wait,” I tell him as I try not to grit my teeth.  “Stay right there.”

“You want to..?  We don’t have to do this now if it’s too much,” he tenderly strokes the tousled hair from my forehead.

“Oh no,” I shake my head in determination.  “You are not getting away from me now, Mister!”  I curl my arms around his neck with a small, nervous smile.  “Please… please.  We’re so close.”  I can’t bear the thought that this moment I have waited so long for might be snatched from me by my own nervousness, by my own uncooperative body.

“Okay, okay, just relax honey,” he says softly, brushing butterfly kisses against my jaw and my lips.  “We can take our time.  We have plenty.”  

I think we both know we really don’t have a lot of that.  Kristen is somewhere in this hospital and if she knows John has come looking for me, she is going to come after him, sooner or later.  But I appreciate his effort at trying to take the pressure off.

“I love you,” I whisper as his tongue toys with my earlobe before he sucks it between his sensitive lips and nibbles it softly.  “Oh, I love you so much.”

“Oh baby, I love you too,” his breath is warm against my ear, his lips soft on my neck.  I sigh and then whimper as he kisses that spot below and slightly behind my ear.  He follows it up by licking it and then sucking on the sensitive skin.  I groan and move my hips upwards so that he slips slightly deeper into me.  It still hurts but it’s starting to feel good.  That good kind of pain when your body starts to relax and accommodate something that you know is going to end up feeling incredible.

“Oh Doc,” he groans as I feel him withdraw slightly.  “You feel so good, baby.”

“More,” I gasp, feeling the emptiness of his retreat.  My hips roll and I let out a lengthy sigh as he pushes slightly deeper into me.  I can feel every inch of him, but it feels better and better as the moments pass.  “Oh God,” I thread my fingers through his hair and arch my head away from him, pressing my body harder against his.  He licks the skin at the base of my throat and sighs happily.  

“You taste so good, Doc,” he says as he runs his hand down the back of my thigh, keeping my hips in place as he pulls out and then pushes himself inside me even further.  I groan and roll my hips up to accept even more of him.

“Oh, John,” I pant.  “Mmmm, more baby.  That feels so good.”

“More?  Deeper?” He wants to make sure, and I love him for that.  I love him for everything.  He is the most amazing person I have ever had the privilege of knowing.  Of loving.  I am a one-man woman, and this man is my whole world.

“Deeper,” I nod, pressing my breasts against his chest as encourage him to slide further into me.  “Oh, fuck!”

“Should I stop?” he asks, worried.

“NO!” I practically shout.  “Oh, God, No!”  I press my lips together and try to repress the cry of pleasure that wants to slip forth.  But then he bucks his hips and pushes even deeper into my inner recesses and there is nothing I can do to control myself.  “Oh fuck, yes baby!”  I cry, as I wrap my calves around his hips and his taut ass and welcome him deep inside me.  “Oh, oh!  Oh shit, John.  Oh God, I have missed you!”

John

 “Deeper,” Marlena arches her back, pressing her soft pillowy breasts against my chest.  “Oh, fuck!”

I immediately cease moving as I scour her face, trying to elucidate whether this is a good or bad fuck. “Should I stop?” I ask, prepared to pull out if it has become too much for her.

“NO!” Marlena shakes her head.  “Oh, God, No!”  Almost despite myself, I find myself thrusting my hips forward, forcing myself more deeply inside her.  “Oh fuck, yes baby!”  Marlena pulls her knees up even further and wraps her legs around me.  I can feel her heels on the back of my thighs as her body moves like a wave on the shore, drawing me deeper inside her.  “Oh, oh!  Oh shit, John.  Oh God, I have missed you!”

“Oh baby!”  Again, I have to stop and pause for a moment.  Being inside her is… I don’t even have any words for how divine it feels.  Like I have come home.  I am where I belong.  This is a holy communion, being joined with her.  She is the flesh and the blood.  She is the holy temple I worship at.  She is everything and she wants to be my everything.

She loves me.  Holy shit, she loves me.  She is my past and my future.  She is my entire world.

“Oh fuck, Marlena!”  She is so tight, sheathed around my aching, throbbing, needy cock.  I want to consume her; I want to possess her.  I want to make her fucking cry with happiness and bliss.  I want to drive her into that heavenly oblivion, and I want to fall over the edge of that cliff with her, losing sight of everyone and everything except for the feeling of our skin and our pleasure.   “Oh god, baby!”  I groan as she contracts around me.  I think it’s impossible that this could feel any better and then it fucking does.  I groan as I pull back and then thrust into her.  

When she doesn’t complain, I do it again.  “Okay?” I ask her breathlessly.  My words are short, and my tone is almost pleading.  I am just about beyond controlling myself.  I want her, I want to pound into her, I want to empty myself deep inside her.  I want her to feel every moment of it, every inch of my incursion.  I want to make her feel like she’s been hit by a freight train.  In the best way, of course.

 “Yes!” she breathes heavily before she presses a kiss to my jaw.  I love the feel of her lips on me.  They are so soft, so feathery.  So real.  I have taken so many chances over the years to kiss her.  Unexpected moments.  Mistletoe over the doorway.  Santa pictures.  Not so mistaken identity.  I fucking love this woman with my whole body, heart and soul and I know now that I have been slowly dying as I kept her at arm’s length.  I have been half a man, living half a life.  And now I am whole again.  Now I am home.

She moves under me again, her hips opening up, her calves against my ass as she pulls me deeper inside her.  I move slowly but this time I don’t stop.  This time I press myself all the way inside her.  Until I am buried completely inside her tautness.

“Oh baby,” I groan.  “Christ, you are so tight.  You feel so fucking good.”

“Mmmmmph,” she moans against my throat.  “Oh, oh.”   I can feel her hips slowly move backward and forward, and I still myself, letting her adjust, letting her control the movement and her enjoyment.  “Oh John!”

“Doc,” I groan as I start to push myself against her, meeting the movement of her body with small thrusts of my own.  “Oh God.”

“Oh John!” she wraps her arms around me.  “This is…” she arches her neck and I suck on her throat.  “Oh, oh, oh!”

“Doc!” I can’t help myself as I start to roll my hips, pushing myself into her and then withdrawing and thrusting unto her until I am buried deep inside her.  “Aw fuck!”

“Mmmph,” she gasps, rolling her head back again.  The noises she makes have always been enough to send me over the edge.  She vocalizes her pleasure in a way that maximises my very own pleasure.

I feel the bite of her fingernails in my skin and then the scrape of them up my back as she starts to come apart beneath me.  I know her so well, even after all these years.  I know the signs, I know the sounds she makes, the way she moves, the pressure of her thighs, the way her fingers clutch at me.  She’s close, and so am I.

“Oh Doc, baby,” I groan as I move slowly in and out of her, pushing myself into her depths until I feel her hot, wet moisture envelop the whole length of my throbbing cock.  My eyes roll back in my head, and I dig my forearms underneath her back, my hands curling over the top of her shoulders so that I can feel every inch of her skin against mine.  “Oh God!”   This feels so fucking amazing I find myself wanting to utter every profanity under the sun.  Ohshitfuckfuckfuck.  JesusfuckingChristyoufeelsofuckingamazing.  But this is Marlena.  And this is the first time we’ve done this in years.  I don’t want to chance fucking things up.  

And, quite frankly, I am not even sure I am coherent enough to form words anymore.  My lips and my mouth are moving of their own accord, seeking the sweet, salty taste of her throat, the warm slippery depths of her mouth.  

My hips start to move faster, pulling my length out of her and then slamming it back in, faster and deeper every time.  She moans loudly and I vaguely think maybe all this noise is… what?  It’s fucking amazing is what it is.  Those sounds are addictive.  Sweet whimpers and mewls.  Gorgeous oh’s and ah’s and Oh my God’s!  Her heels dig into me as I thrust deeper into her, and her own hips rise to meet mine in a rhythm that feels timeless and perfect.  We fit together like … I don’t know, like we were made for each other.  Like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.  Like cogs, interlacing, turning, driving, creating perfection.

I feel her fingers in my hair, clutching it, her mouth on mine, her tongue sliding over mine, flickering in a dance we perfected more than a decade ago.  I feel her pussy clench around me, and she lets go a long, ecstatic cry into my mouth and I pound into her even harder as she tenses under me, clutching me and crying out her orgasm in long, voluble moan that is muffled against my throat.

I am so close, but I want her to watch me as I come.  I want to make her come again as she watches me fall over the edge and pull her with me, so I wait until she has come down off her high and I withdraw out of her.

“John, you didn’t…” she looks at me and then at my aching dick, clearly confused.  “Baby?”

I push myself upright on the sofa and tug ag her hand.  “Come and sit on my lap, pretty lady,” 

She looks at my lap and a smile spreads across her gorgeous face as realisation grows. “Your lap?” she asks, raising her eyebrows.

“Okay, maybe not just my lap,” I grin.  “Come here you absolutely gorgeous woman.”

“Oh!” I am not sure how it is possible, but she blushes as I pull her up and she straddles my thighs with her own luscious legs.  “Oh, baby!”

I hold my cock in my hand, guiding it between the swollen slick folds as she lowers herself onto me and we both groan loudly as she swallows up my length, her sweet tightness gripping me and pulling me in, inch by inch until I am fully embedded in her.

“Oh yeah,” I roll my head back.  “Oh, there’s my good girl.”  She whimpers her appreciation of my words and then cries out again as I clutch at her bottom, digging my fingers into her beautiful, rounded ass-cheeks.  “Oh, fuck Marlena, I’m not gonna last much longer,” I tell her as I buck my hips, holding her down against my hips, pushing my painfully solid dick deep into her.

“Oh fuuuuuck,” she whines, hissing out a breath through her beautiful mouth.  “Oh God, baby, you feel so good.  Oh my God, I missed you.  I missed this.  Oh!” 

She throws her head back and I attack her throat and then slide my mouth down to her breasts and use one hand to lift her breast, lapping my tongue across the hard, swollen nub before I suck it into my mouth and feast on it.  Her body is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.  A Renaissance artwork made flesh and blood.  A fiery golden goddess made mortal, utter grace and perfection.  An angel, fallen from on high, an angel with a dirty laugh and an even dirtier mind.  And she’s mine.  At long last, she’s in my arms again and I am joyful beyond compare.

She cries out again and pushes her breast against my mouth and starts to ride my cock, her hips sliding back and forth, up and down my shaft.  I groan around the pretty button, nipping it with my teeth, flailing at it with my tongue and sucking it hard against the roof of my mouth as she threads her fingers in my hair, grabbing it, grinding her hips against mine in wild, frantic jerks.

“Oh baby!” she pants.  “John, darling.  I’m… oh fuck.”  She pulls me off her breast and looks me in the eyes, her golden eyes flashing dangerously.  “You can come now, honey, I want to feel you.  Deep inside me.”

I groan as I jerk my hips burying myself as deep inside her as I’ll go.  It’s time.  I couldn’t stop myself now even if I tried.  It’s inevitable.  I grab hold of her ass again and buck my hips into her.  

“Oh baby,” I moan, “oh fuck, Marlena!”

“Mmmmph,” she whines again as I dig my fingers into her ass and then I draw my hand back and slap her lightly.  She gasps and whimpers and our fucking grows even more frenzied.

“Oh, fuck baby I’m…”  I feel it gathering inside me, a tightening of my belly, an exquisite ache that gathers and grows in my balls and then an impossible tightening that heralds my impending climax.  “Oh, Jesus!”  Everything is tight and momentarily beautifully painful and then I explode inside her and for a moment all I can see is white light and I am in that transcendent place where it is bright and glistening and I fancy that this is what heaven feels like.  That when I come face to face with God, it will look and feel just like this.

“Oh Marlena!” I wail, clutching at her and continuing to push myself into her, emptying wave after wave of my love and desire into her, thick and viscous, my worship of her made physical.  

Marlena

I feel him digging his fingertips in the flesh of my bottom and I vaguely wonder if he’ll leave bruises.  If he does, I will cherish them until they fade.  I used to secretly delight in the subtle, hidden marks of his loving back when we were married.  The tenderness I would feel in the morning after a particularly rampant lovemaking session would serve as reminders of the many ways he brought me pleasure and I would spend the day smiling quietly to myself with every ache and twinge I felt as I moved around.

“Mmmmph,” I press my lips together, aware for the briefest of moments that this impropriety of this whole thing is terribly unlike me.  But then he spanks my ass and suddenly I don’t care.  I suck in a deep breath and let out a heady whimper as he continues to pound into me, and I continue to ride his beautiful cock like it is a show pony.

“Oh, fuck baby I’m…”  His breathing is labored, and his eyes are glazed, and I know he is teetering on the edge, so I lean forward and nip his lower lip between my teeth.  “Oh, Jesus! Oh Marlena!” 

The sight of him, finally surrendering to the pleasure of our communion, is so incredibly hot that my belly rolls and clenches, and my muscles tighten around his straining length.  As I feel him start to come inside me, I too, fall once again into the abyss of another thunderous climax where it is the feeling of him inside me and around me that is all I can feel.

The imprint of his fingers in my flesh, the feeling of his length sliding, hitting all the sensitive spots inside me.  The sound of his voice calling my name, entwining with the sound of my voice calling his.  It is thunder and lightning, it is a storm of sensation, of pleasure, of bliss.

Hilary

Jesus Christ on a pogo stick.

I am dying.  Truly dying.  I swear to God, I can’t cope with much more of this.  I mean that woman has some stamina.  I think she just had orgasm number three.  Not that I am counting or anything.  I am trying not to listen, but a girl can only keep her hands over her ears for so long.

I’ve been out to the corridor a couple of times to check for Mrs. Horton but no sign of her.  Thankfully, no sign of anyone else though.   Not sure how I would explain that without breaking into a fit of completely inappropriate giggles.

So, I am still sitting here, surfing the internet, waiting for…  I don’t know what.  Them to finish?  Mrs. Horton to come back?  The floor to open up and swallow me?

“Oh Jesus, ohfuckohfuckohfuck!!”  

Oh, boy.  That’s her again, and I am pretty sure that is orgasm number four.  I never thought she’d be a screamer; she seems so prim and proper.  But then I have tried very hard not to ever think of her in that way.  It’s not very professional, is it?  

But she’s not exactly giving me a choice in this right now.  And the worst thing is I am pretty much imagining every possible thing they could be doing to make her make those noises, and now I am as horny as fuck, and I just know I am going to go home and be unable to resist fantasizing about my extremely hot boss and her equally hot, possibly married, lover.

I mean, talk about inappropriate.

I am never going to be able to look her in the face again.  At least not without giving everything away by going fire-engine red.  And given my propensity to stick my foot in my mouth when my mind is wandering, I’m probably going to get myself into real trouble.

Hillary, I’m going to be coming into the office late this morning.

Why, sure Dr. Evans, is Mr. Black eating you out for breakfast again.  OH SHIT.  I meant taking you out.  Is he TAKING you out to eat breakfast? 

Yeah, that would go down real well.  Which I am also pretty sure Mr Black does also.  Go down I mean.  

Stop Hillary, for God’s sake, STOP!

Oh, come on Mrs. Horton, where are you?  I can’t take much more of this.  

It strikes me that they’ve quieted down for a spell, and I have the insane notion that maybe they are done.  Maybe they’re gonna stop at four, at least for a while, and, I don’t know, go somewhere more sensible to bang each other’s brains out?

But then I hear “Oh fuck, baby,” and this time it’s him.  Mr. Magic tongue?  Magic fingers?  Magic (and incredibly staminal)  dick?  Or all three?  So what, now he’s joining the party?  At least he can only blow his load once.  At least, I fucking hope so.

“Oh Doc,” I close my eyes and cringe as I hear him again.  The rest of his sentence is muffled but I think it might be something like, “Ooo veel so hood, maby.”  Or something like that.  

Damn, if she hasn’t had sex for four years, I am pretty sure she feels pretty fucking amazing right now.

Hillary, STOP!  Bad, BAD Hillary!

I hear a knock at the door, and I leap from my seat and race across to crack it open an inch.

“It’s just me, Hillary darling,” I see Mrs Horton’s sparkling blue eyes outside the door.  Behind her stands the other Mrs. Horton.  Not to be confused with Dr. Laura Horton who is yet another of that large clan of Very. Nice. People™.  This one is Mrs. Maggie Horton, and she is married to one of Mrs. Horton’s sons, and she is a volunteer, just like Mrs. Horton.  She’s very nice and she’s friends with Dr. Evans but I am also aware that she is quite a nosy gossip, and I would much rather she wasn’t here to hear Dr. Evans very vocal enjoyment of the jolly rogering that she’s getting.

“NO! Oh, God, No!”  

I see the younger Mrs. Hortons’s eyes widen in concern and I smile awkwardly as I open the door wider and usher them in so that I can close the door.

“I’m pretty sure that’s a no, don’t stop,” I tell her quietly.  “I’ve um… her consent is pretty enthusiastic; you can trust me on that.”

“Oh fuck, yes baby!  Oh, oh!  Oh shit, John.  Oh God, I have missed you!”

“See?” I wince but I can’t help but smile as Mrs. Horton the Younger blushes almost the same colour as her auburn hair.

“Ah, yes.  I do.”  She purses her lips slightly and I wonder again why Mrs. Horton the Elder has brought her up here.  Last thing Dr. Evans needs is Mrs. McJudgy-Pants spreading her business all over the hospital.

“Did you manage to close this area of the hospital off?” I ask Mrs. Horton with a pleading note in my voice.

“Of course, I did, darling.”  Alice Horton smiles and pats me on the upper arm.  “I told you I would.  As far as anyone knows, there has been a gas leak in this corner of the building and this part of this floor and floors four and six have been evacuated for the safety of all the patients and staff.”

“Oh.”  My eyes are wide.  “That’s a lot of fuss to go to just to protect Dr. Evans reputation.  But I appreciate it. And I know Dr Evans will too.  If she ever finds out, which I honestly kinda hope she doesn’t.”

“You can go now dear, if you like.“  Mrs. Horton takes my hand in hers.  “I will stay here, and Maggie is going to wait out in the corridor until there is no danger of anyone interrupting them any longer.”

“You mean no danger of Ms. DiMera interrupting them,” I say.

“Yes, that’s what I mean,” Mrs. Horton nods her head.  “For their sake and for Kristen’s.  I think it is better for everyone if she doesn’t find out about this from anyone but John.”

“If he chooses to tell her,” Maggie adds, her tone all Judgy-McJudgerson again.

“Uh, it’s okay,” I say.  “I am happy to stay.  Mrs. Horton,” I nod at Judge Dredd again, “doesn’t need to stay.  I am pretty sure Dr. Evans would prefer that the less people that know about this, the better.  And she’s going to know I heard and she’s going to know you heard if she finds out about the floor being shut off,” I nod at pretty little Mrs. Horton Sr., “but she doesn’t need to know you know,” I give nosy Nellie the evil eye.  “And she really doesn’t need to think that she’s the number one subject of hospital gossip.  If you know what I mean.”

“Nobody is going to say anything dear,” Mrs. Horton reassures me, squeezing my hand.  “If I hear even the hint of a rumour, I will make sure the staff responsible are severely reprimanded.  You can trust that.”

“I sure hope so,” I say.  I feel very protective of my boss right now, especially with –

“Doc!  Aw fuck!”  That’s Mr. Black.  Well obviously, she’d hardly be calling him Doc. “Oh God!”   

“I ah,” Mrs. Maggie Horton looks at Alice and then at me.  She looks even more uncomfortable than I feel.  And let’s be honest, I bet this isn’t the fantasy fodder for her that it clearly will be for me.  “If you’re sure, Hillary.”

“I’m sure, I’m sure,” I nod eagerly.  “I’ve already heard so much, a bit more isn’t going to make any difference.  Honestly.  You go.”

The younger Mrs. Horton looks at the older Mrs. Horton, who nods her head.

“Okay,” she nods and looks sincerely relieved.  I guess her embarrassment outweighs her nosiness, and knowing she can’t gossip about it has probably made it way less fascinating.

“Do you want to wait in here or out there?” I ask the nicer Mrs. Horton.  “I mean, in here is pretty… um… graphic.”  The good doctor lets out a long, muffled cry that I estimate to be orgasm number five, and I slap my hands to my cheeks.  

“Oh darling, it’s nothing I haven’t heard before,” Mrs. Horton chuckles quietly.  “I lived next door to them for the year they were married, and they had a very active and noisy love life back then.  And besides, nothing much shocks me.  I’ll wait in here.  You wait out in the corridor.  At least then if Marlena comes out, she won’t know you’ve heard everything.”

“Thank-you,” I whisper.  The sudden quiet coming from the inner office is a little unnerving.  Then Dr. Evans starts up again and this time Mr. Black is moaning right along with her.  I wince again and point at my bag.  Mrs. Horton nods and I run lightly across the office, grab my bag, sign out of my computer and then make a very quick exit.

Laura

I wait patiently, leaning on the wall outside Kristen’s room, waiting for David Robbins to finish his exam.  When he finally walks out, his confused face tells me everything I need to know.

“I was right, wasn’t I?” I ask.  “She hasn’t given birth.  Ever.  Let alone two nights ago.”

“I…” he shakes his head, trying to make sense of what has just happened.  “I can’t…”  He looks back at the door behind him and I see a look of fear flit across his face.  “Uh, I… I’m not sure what you mean.  Of course she gave birth, Dr. Horton.”

“Oh David,” I shake my head.  I know he’s lying.  David Robbins is a principled man, and he wouldn’t ever take a bribe.  He does have a family though and Kristen is a DiMera, after all.  “Did she threaten you?”

“I’m sorry, I have to go,” Dr. Robbins takes a final look at the room behind him and then pushes me out of the way before he rushes off down the corridor.

“Oh, not what you expected?” Kristen’s smug voice sounds behind me, making my skin crawl.  I take a moment to compose my expression and hide my irritation before I turn back to her.  “Dr. Robbins gave me a clean bill of health.  He is drawing up my discharge papers as we speak.”

I look at her again and realise she’s already dressed.  She must have dressed in her street clothes after Dr. Robbins finished the exam.

“I don’t know what you did to make that poor man lie for you.  I can only imagine you threatened him or his family,” I glare at her angrily.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Kristen smirks haughtily.  “Are you quite sure you’re feeling all right Laura?  You’re not going loopy again, are you?  Should I call Jennifer for you?”

“Screw you, Kristen,” I snap.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” Kristen grins.  “I’ll save that for my husband.”

“We both know he isn’t your husband,” I step closer to her, and she backs up against the door.  “And we both know it isn’t you he loves.  And hopefully by now, he’ll know the woman that he really loves, loves him back.”

“What!?”  Kristen’s smile suddenly falls and is replaced by shock and a very real fear.

“Oh,” I shrug, “I remembered.  I saw John outside the nursery.  He was looking for Marlena.  He had some questions about what happened in your hospital room earlier.  Specifically, why she appeared to be kissing him back when he stuck his tongue down her throat.”

“He thought that was me!” Kristen insists as her eyes dart from side to side.  “He doesn’t care about her.  He doesn’t give a shit about her.  He’s married to me!”

“Oh, give it up, Kristen!” I laugh spitefully.  “You might have David Robbins under your manipulative thumb, but I know you weren’t the one in that delivery room.  You are not John Jr.’s mother, and you are not the person that John married.!

“You really are losing the plot, Laura!” Kristen lets out a stressed, angry laugh and I know I have her on the ropes.  “You’re hallucinating.  You’re insane.”

“I am perfectly lucid,” I tell her slowly, enunciating every word.  “And you might be able to threaten David Robbins into keeping your twisted secret, but you can’t shut me up, Kristen.  And you really think John’s not going to notice your perfectly unblemished non-birth-giving vagina if you manage to get him into bed again?”  I smirk now, malice in my smile and bleeding into my voice.  I want to hurt this bitch, the way she’s hurt me, and my friends, and probably that poor woman at the nursery window.  “Not that I think he’ll be going anywhere near your vagina ever again, not when he’s got Marlena offering herself up on a silver platter for him.”

“Where is he?” she screeches.  “Where is John?  Where is my husband?”

I shrug, my smile gloating.  “You might want to try Marlena’s office.  He was headed there the last time I saw him, oh,” I look at my watch, “more than an hour ago.”

Hopefully by now, John has forced Marlena to tell him the truth and with any luck, their desire for each other will have resulted in at least a kiss or ten.  Hopefully they’ve had enough time to sort their issues out.  Hopefully I’ve given them enough time and Kristen won’t be able to create any more damage.

“Arrrrrggghhhh!”   Kristen screams.  “You bitch!  You absolute bitch!”  She lifts her hand to slap me, but I catch her wrist in my hand.

“You’re welcome,” I tell her in a low, hate-filled voice.  “And I hope when John finds out everything you’ve done to keep him from the woman he truly loves, that he reviles you just as much as I do.”

John

I don’t know how long it is before we come back to our senses, and I feel Marlena slumped limply against me, our sweaty bodies still entwined.

“You okay?” I ask softly as she groans, pushing herself away from my damp chest, the imprint of my dark chest hairs curled in her damp skin.

“I…” she puts her hands on my shoulders to push herself back and she looks at me with her captivating hazel eyes.  “I am amazing, Mr. Black.  Just amazing.”  She leans forward and kisses me softly on my lips.

“That you are, pretty lady.  That you are.”  I bring my warm hands up and uses them to frame her face, a palm caressing each cheek as I nuzzle her and then sprinkle soft kisses all over her gorgeous mouth and face.

“Oh, John,” she sighs as she rolls her hips slightly and I can feel her clench around my half-hard cock.  “This…. I didn’t expect any of this.”

“I didn’t expect to wake up kissing the most beautiful woman in the world, but here we are,” I murmur against her cheek as I press myself into her still spasming depths. “Honestly, Doc.  I can’t believe you love me.  After everything… I thought I blew it.  I thought there was no chance you would ever want me back.”

“No,” her eyes widen as she shakes her head.  “I thought I was the one had messed everything up.  After Roman… after what happened in New Orleans.  You were in love with Kristen, and I was focussed on just trying to pull my life back together.  And then.. well after…” her eyes sparkle with tears and my own heart constricts as I think about that terrible time in our lives.  A time when I came so close to failing her, to condemning her to an eternity of unthinkable misery.

“I knew,” I say softly.  “After that, I knew how much you meant to me.  How much I loved you.  I would have gladly given my life for you.  My soul.”

“You did,” the tears shimmer brightly, magnifying the tawny gold of her iridescent eyes.  “You offered yourself.  You didn’t hesitate and it astonishes me every time I think about it.”

“I loved you,” I say, searching her face.  “I love you.  I would do anything for you, Marlena.  To make you happy.  To keep you safe.  I couldn’t bear to watch what happened to you.  The thought of you…” I swallow, my throat suddenly sore and tight.  “I couldn’t… I had to do whatever I could, even if it meant taking your place. I would sacrifice myself for you.  In a heartbeat.”

She opens her mouth, as though to say something and then closes it again, the tears spilling from her eyes.

“I didn’t think I deserved that,” she whispers, almost inaudibly as she brings her hand up to my face and strokes my forehead and temple gently.  “I didn’t think I deserved you.  So, I pushed my feelings for you, my love for you, away.  I told myself I would be happy as long as you were happy.”  She sighs.  “But I wasn’t.  Not really.  I was happiest when I was with you.  And the children.”

“So, you told me you just wanted to be friends?” I ask her, still trying to understand how she could have stayed silent for so long.  How she could sacrifice her own needs for what she thought were mine.  “Even after you realised how you felt?  Baby, you put everything on the line for me, to save me from that gas chamber.  But you still didn’t tell me how you felt.  I don’t understand why.”

“I was going to the night you first convinced me to stay at the DiMera Mansion,” she sighs, finally climbing off my lap.  I swivel and bring my legs up, lying down on the butter yellow sofa, my head on a cushion.  Marlena curls into the crook of my arm and hooks her thigh over mine with a small, conflicted sigh.  I pull the throw off the back of the sofa and pull it over our cooling bodies. “But while you were out looking for Stefano, Kristen took the opportunity to convince me that you felt responsible for me.  That as long as you felt that way, as long as you were confused about my feelings, you wouldn’t commit to your relationship with her.”

“She manipulated you,” I frown as I stroke her hair.  

“She reminded me of how many lives I destroyed when we had our affair.  She said she was sure I wouldn’t want to destroy Belle and Brady’s lives like that,” I feel the warm moisture of her tears sinking into the skin of my chest, and I sigh, kissing the top of her head.

Then I take a deep breath, trying to control my anger.  And my guilt.  I can’t believe I didn’t see the truth of what a manipulative monster Kristen is.  I can’t believe I let her push Marlena around like this.  Marlena, who is the sweetest, most honest person I have ever known.  She has more integrity in her little toe than the DiMera’s have in their whole collective, twisted family.  

“Baby, we were in love.  And we were torn apart when Roman came home.  We had people we thought we owed love to.  We thought we owed them the best we could give them.  But we should have been honest with ourselves back then.  Back in Mexico.  I never should have walked away from you.  I loved you and I was terrified of losing you again.  So, I pushed you away before you could push me.  And I am so damn sorry.  I have been sorry ever since.”

“But Isabella.  Brady,” she says softly.  

“Sure, I loved Isabella.  But not like I love you sweetheart,” I insert my finger under her chin and tip her head up so I can see her eyes.  “It’s always been you, Marlena.  Always.  I should have been honest so many years ago.”

“Why weren’t you?” she asks plaintively.  “I tried so hard when I first came back.  I just wanted you.  I wanted my family.  And you pushed me away.  It hurt so much.”

I can’t answer for a moment.  I can feel her pain and my own echoes it.

“I was scared,” I say eventually.  “Baby, when I lost you in 86… and in 87, it destroyed me.  I don’t think you understand just exactly how much I love you.  My feelings for you are overwhelming.  I thought maybe… I guess when you came back, I felt like maybe if I didn’t allow myself to feel those feelings again… as intensely as I did when we were together, then I wouldn’t hurt so much.  Having you meant I could lose you again.  Not having you…” I shrug.  “It was stupid.  Because it never made it any easier.  Watching you with Roman.  Having you close but not close enough… it’s been heaven and hell at the same time.”

“But you were happy with Isabella?” she asks quietly.

“Were you happy with Roman?” I ask softly.

There is a long pause as she threads her fingers through the hair on my chest and then brushes her thumb across my nipple.  I suck in a breath as it hardens beneath her touch, and I feel my cock twitch against her thigh.  It takes so little with her.  Such a little moment, just a word or a touch.

“No,” she says eventually.  “I tried to convince myself I was.  But if I’m honest, the whole time I just missed you.  I missed the way you would treat me as an equal.  I would miss your smile, and your touch.  I would miss the way you would listen to me, the advice that you would give.  I missed the way you respected my experience and my expertise.  Roman treated me like a possession, like I should bend to his will.  He didn’t respect me, he wanted to control me.  I loved him, but no, I wasn’t happy.”

“Isabella was the easy choice,” I tell her.  “She didn’t challenge me.  I was happy enough, but she wasn’t you.  And honestly, I think I would have been drawn back to you even if she’d lived.  You are… I feel like you are my other half, Marlena.  I don’t feel complete unless I am with you.  How could Isabella have competed with that long term?  In the end I would have ended up in your arms.  I have no doubt of that.  Like I am now.”

“Oh, honey,” she reaches up and kisses me softly.  “I think we were destined to end up together, whatever happened, whomever came along.”

“I’m just sorry anyone else got hurt,” I reference Roman.

She doesn’t answer and it’s a long silence as she lays her head back on my chest.

“Is she really that manipulative?” I ask.

“She helped Stefano take me away from you,” she reminds me quietly.  “She is evil, John.  She’s Stefano’s daughter.  She would do anything to keep you for herself.  Anything.”

Kristen

I practically run down the corridors heading for Marlena-fucking-smug-bitch-Evans office.  I am trying to work out what the fuck I am going to say when I get there. I am trying to work out what the fuck they have been doing while I’ve been stuck in my room, pretending to have given birth to a fucking watermelon of a baby.

Goddamn Laura fucking Horton.  Fucking know-it-all nosy bitch.  I have to find John before she can get to him with her tales of … well… the truth.

What the hell am I going to tell him?  David Robbins will back up my story, I have enough details about his wife and children to make him afraid for their safety.  Father will make sure any of my threats are enforced, so he is not a problem.

But Laura Horton is.  And Susan Banks is.

Susan is the only one who can or will disprove my story.  She’s the only one who can provide any kind of incontrovertible proof that it was not me in the delivery room, giving birth to John Jr.

I turn into an elevator and push the button for floor five.

FUCK!

What is John doing chasing after that bitch?  We are married for fuck’s sake.  Or, at least, he thinks we are.  OMG I am SO sick of her interfering in our lives.  The sooner Stefano can come and take her away, the better.

The door slides open at floor five and I exit, turning and stomping down the corner toward Marlena’s office.

I am stopped halfway there by tape across the corridor and a security guard holding up his hand.

“What on earth?” I demand.  “I need to get past.  I need to find my husband.”  I point down the corridor to where it bends around a corner.  Marlena’s office is on the other side of that corner.

“Your husband isn’t down there, ma’am,” the security officer says blandly.  “There’ve been reports of a gas leak.  This part of the building has been evacuated.

“A gas leak?”  My disbelief must show plainly on my face because he shrugs lazily.  “A gas leak and they’ve only shut down this part of the building?”

“Precautionary measures,” he practically yawns in my face, and I scowl.  This would be laughable if it wasn’t so fucking annoying.  And suspicious.  This imaginary gas leak just happens to be centered around Marlena’s office?  I don’t think so.

I muster the most winning smile I can and plaster it across my face.  “Can you just let me go and check for him?” I place my hand on the officer’s arm.  “Our baby is sick, and I need to find him urgently.  I won’t be long. Just a few minutes.  I think I know where he will be.  I promise, I will be in and out in a couple of minutes.”

“I’m sorry ma’am but I can’t.,” he shakes his head.  “Mrs. Horton was clear that no one is allowed in this part of the building.

“Oh, okay.”  I nod, trying to look disappointed, rather than the frustrated and angry that I feel.

Alice fucking Horton.  That damn meddling busybody.  Just as bad as her daughter-in-law.   Now I am more suspicious than ever.  Marlena is in her office and John is with her and Alice Horton is protecting them.  From what?  From me?  What the fuck are they doing that Alice needs to shut down half the floor?

If that slut has thrown herself at my husband, I am going to scratch her fucking eyes out.  I swear to God.

I retreat down the hall a little and wait around the corner, trying to work out what my options are for getting past this idiot guard.  Diversion?  Hit him over the head?  Damn, if I’d thought about it, if I’d known, I could have forced Dr. Robbins to provide me with some sedative.  Still… maybe that might look a little too obvious.

I hear a radio crackle and a muffled conversation and then unexpectedly, I see the shadow of the guard approaching.  I press back against the wall so that I am partially covered the large pot plant and I watch him turn right so that his back is to me, and he walks down the corridor and turns into the men’s bathroom.

Well, I guess if you’ve gotta go, you’ve gotta go.  But what a stroke of luck for me!

I step out from behind the pot plant and as stealthily as I can, I make my way back to the tape and slip under it.  Then I hotfoot it around the corner.  And come face to face with Marlena’s secretary of all people

“Ms. DiMera,” she says loudly, as she crosses her arms and leans against the door to Dr. Do-Gooder’s outer office.  “You’re not supposed to be in this area.  It’s been closed off.  Possible gas leak.”

“So, I hear,” I snap.  “But if that’s the case, what are you doing still here?  Surely you should have evacuated too?”     

“Well, I…” Marlena’s little minion looks around.  “I’m waiting for someone.  Someone’s checking the rest of the floor.”

“Why don’t I believe you?” I sneer.  She’s lying.  And she’s not even good at it.

“Marlena’s in there,” I point at the door as she slaps her hand against the dark wood.  “And I want to talk to her.”

“You’re mistaken,” she… what’s her name?  Mary, Lesley?  No, it’s Hillary. That’s right.  Hillary, Marlena’s loyal little gatekeeper.  “Dr. Evans isn’t even working today.  She’s at home with her children, as far as I know.”

“You’re lying,” I narrow my eyes.  “If she wasn’t here, and this floor had been evacuated, you wouldn’t be here.  You would have called it a day as soon as you were ordered to evacuate.  No, you’re protecting her.  This is all an elaborate cover.”

That little bitch raises her eyebrows and shrugs.  “I’m sorry,” she says blandly.  “I have no idea what you could possibly be talking about.  I haven’t seen Dr. Evans today.”  She shrugs, “And why would I be protecting her?  From what?”

“She’s got my husband in there, doesn’t she?” I demand and I step forward and bang on the door.  “Marlena?  Marlena, I want to see you.”

“Do you mind?” the homely little blonde lackey pushes me back with a surprisingly hard shove.  “Have you ever heard of personal space?”

“Has your boss?” I demand.  “Because I am pretty sure she’s getting all up in my husband’s personal space.”  

“Oh, I wouldn’t know anything about that,” she says, so perfectly innocently that I suspect she is lying through her annoyingly perfect teeth.  

“John!”  I shout.  “Marlena!  I know you’re in there telling him lies.  John, she’s lying to you.  Honey, please come out so I can explain!”  How I am going to explain, I am not entirely sure, but I am not a DiMera for nothing.  I have been raised having to think on my feet.  I have been raised to use my brain and my feminine wiles to get my own way.  Marlena might be irritatingly perfect, but she’s also burdened with that pesky integrity and honesty which make her such an easy target for manipulation and emotional blackmail.  At least, until now.

And John, well he just wants to believe the best of everyone.  Especially the mother of his child.  I conveniently ignore that Marlena is also the mother of his child.  I can twist the truth better than anyone so I am sure I will come up with something in the moment.

I always do.

Marlena

“I’m just sorry anyone else got hurt,” John says. I know he’s talking about Roman and my heart aches a little as I think about my ex-husband.  My feelings for Roman are still so complicated.  I know, with distance, how badly he treated me on his return.  I know I tried everything I could to make our marriage work.  I know that my affair with John was probably inevitable given how badly we all dealt with my return and then Roman’s return on top of it.  A natural result of the way we tried to close off our feelings and pretend they had never existed.  And part of me is still angry with Roman for skipping out on his family, for literally abandoning the children that still needed him so much.

But part of me still loves him and always will.  Part of me still feels guilty, feels responsible for his pain, for his absence from Salem.  

Like I said, complicated.  But I do know that he is my past.  Now, John is my love, an integral part of my past, and my whole future.  

I lay my head back on his chest and run my fingers through the coarse dark hair as my mind picks through our history, through the mistakes I have made.

“Is she really that manipulative?” John asks quietly.

I wonder momentarily how he can even ask that.  In what other circumstances would I have kept quiet about my feelings for him? 

“She helped Stefano take me away from you,” I remind him.  “She is evil, John.  She’s Stefano’s daughter.  She would do anything to keep you for herself.  Anything.”

“I…” he sighs.  “I don’t understand any of this.  How could I be that dense, Doc?  I thought Kristen had escaped Stefano’s influence.  I thought she was honest and kind.  And now I find out she’s anything but…?”

“Don’t blame yourself honey,” I say, but it sounds lame, even to my own ears.  How can he not blame himself?  I blame myself for not seeing who she was earlier than I did.  I should have known; Stefano’s influence is nothing if not insidious.  Even those biological children who have grown up not knowing he was their father quickly fall under his malignant spell.  How could children who have grown up in his house, learning at his knee not fall prey to his twisted thinking, his perverse influence?  “She had all of us fooled for a long time.  I think maybe she was trying to combat Stefano’s influence but when she thought she might lose you, that’s when it came to the fore.”

“She helped Stefano take you away,” he repeats my earlier words.  “Not just from me, but from our children.  From all the people who love you and need you.”  He shakes his head, his blue eyes swimming with pain.  “Doc, she didn’t spare one thought for your safety, for your happiness.  She would have let our children grow up without their mother.”

“Don’t think I haven’t thought about that,” I say softly.  It still haunts me, the memory of Stefano’s fury in that hideous cage when I turned him down.  I had been so close to giving in to him, so desperate to clutch at the double-edged straws he was offering me.  All the while knowing that his word was as reliable as his temper, liable to turn on the wrong word.  

And for me, the wrong word (or the right word in that case) was no.  

You bitch… you BITCH!  He had lifted his hand and I had cowered, thinking he was going to strike me.  But he had gathered what little restraint he had left and stalked from the cage, insisting I would never see my family again.

And Kristen did everything in her power to help him make sure that happened.  That my children never saw their mother again, that I remained Stefano’s unwilling captive and probably eventually a victim of his desire to physically possess me.  “I wanted to tell you so many times,” I say as I trail my fingers across his pectoral muscles and twirl my fingertip around his nipple.  “But I was nervous.  I was scared your feelings for me had changed.”

“My feelings for you have never changed, Doc,” he slips his finger under my chin and lifts my head so that I am looking into his bottomless pacific-blue eyes.  “Never.  And they never will, I promise you.”

I open my mouth to reply, but I freeze as I hear a soft tapping at the door.  I have almost forgotten where we are and the sound, the reminder that there are other people nearby suddenly strikes me with horror.  My eyes widen as I stare at John, trying to decide whether I should respond.  The decision waylaid as the knocking comes again but this time it is accompanied by a soft, familiar voice.

“Marlena?  Marlena darling, it’s Alice.  I’m so sorry to disturb you dear, but I’m afraid Kristen is outside and she’s not going away.  Hillary has tried to tell her you are not here but she’s looking for John and she’s… persistent.  Darling, you probably both need to get decent and get out here.”

I look at John horrified, both at the thought that Alice is in my outer office, and she knows that we need to ‘get decent’. The fact that Kristen is outside in search of John is not nearly as distressing as the realisation that one of my dearest friends has just heard my very vocal enjoyment of some of the best sex of my life.  And if Alice is here, who else has heard us?

“Oh, my god,” I moan, my cheeks flaring red with embarrassment.  “Alice Horton?”

“I did try and tell you to keep it down, Doc,” John chuckles gently.  “But honestly, it was fucking hot listening to you.  The noises you make when you’re turned on make me fucking insane with desire for you.  You are unbelievably sexy, you know that?”

“Maybe so,” my blush deepens, “but I don’t really need all my colleagues knowing how sexy I am.  My sexiness is for you, and you only.”

“Oh, my sweet, gorgeous girl,” he smiles and shakes his head.  “I hate to tell you, but your sexiness is for everyone.  You exude it.  I don’t think you have any idea the effect you have on a room when you walk into it.  Every head turns.  The men want you and the women want to be you,” he grins. “Actually, I am pretty sure half the women want you as well.”

“Stop!” I bury my face against his warm chest, dying of embarrassment.  I pride myself in my professional demeanour and the idea that my colleagues might be mentally undressing me when I walk in the room makes me feel…. Disturbed?  Humiliated?  But sexy and powerful? I don’t think so.

Or, maybe… maybe a little bit?  Maybe it’s a little bit of all of the above.

“Marlena?”  I hear Alice’s voice again and I moan against John’s chest.

“We’ll be out in a few minutes Mrs. Horton,” John answers for me as he strokes my hair reassuringly.

“Try not to take too long John, dear,” Alice says.  “Kristen isn’t very happy.”

“Point taken,” John replies as I try and struggle into a sitting position, but he grabs my shoulders and pulls me back against him.  “We’ll be as quick as we can.”  He cradles my face between his warm hands and stares deeply into my eyes.  “It’s going to be fine, baby.  I promise. “

I swallow, wondering how he can know me so well, when for so long he seems to have barely known me at all.  It feels like we kissed, and it broke some kind of curse, some kind of evil spell that had been cast over us.  It sounds ridiculous, especially coming from me, the eminently sensible and professional doctor, but I feel like I am in some kind of twisted fairy tale, where I kissed the sleeping prince and suddenly the veil has fallen away.  The prince has looked into my eyes and seen the princess beyond the prim and poised psychiatrist.  And the evil witch has finally been revealed in all her conniving selfishness.

“I love you, pretty lady” he says softly and then kisses me.  I feel my eyes fill with tears.  It has been so long, so many long years and this feels like a dream.  I am frightened this will slip through my fingers before I can grab hold of it.  “I’m not going anywhere, Doc.”  He kisses me again and then wraps his arms around me, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.  “You’re stuck with me now, baby.”

“Do you promise?” I ask in a small voice before I press my lips to his warm chest.

“I promise, I promise,” he lifts my head again and impales me with his impossibly blue eyes.  “You’re mine.  I’m yours.  Kristen has no more power over either of us, okay?”

“Okay,” I nod my head, the anxiety assaulting my head and my heart easing a little with his reassuring words.  “We should go…”

John nods and kisses me once more and then I regretfully peel myself away from him and we start to dress ourselves.  

I am tucking my white t-shirt blouse into my trousers and slipping on my shoes when John goes to the door.  He looks at me and smiles, holding out his hand.  I go to him, and he closes his warm, strong fingers around mine before he opens the door to my outer office.

Laura

I watch Kristen take off, hotfooting it towards Marlena’s office I have no doubt, and I make to follow her, but instinct diverts me away from the elevators.  Because I have a problem.  David Robbins won’t back up my theory, Kristen has obviously silenced him with threats of the long reach of the Famiglia DiMera.  Stefano might try and make out that he is a legitimate businessman now, but we all know that he will never stop the more nefarious dealings that have brought him the power he wields.  Money talks, but his money speaks in the language of threats, blood and revenge.  And of course, kidnapping and brainwashing.

Any sensible person who falls within the orbit of the DiMera family must escape before they are sucked into the hellish vortex of their black hole of morality.  Or they will eventually have to pay the piper and succumb to the inevitable blackmail or threats that will have them become the tools that Stefano and his children wield in pursuit of their twisted wants and obsessions.

So, if David is not going to be any help, I will have to try and find the one person who can corroborate my theory.  A theory that, without proof, will make me sound even loopier than everyone already thinks I am.  Without that proof, Kristen will just laugh off my accusations and she will probably somehow twist my words to make herself seem the victim of the crazy woman.

And I owe my dear friend more than that.  If I can unmask Kristen as the liar and fraud that I know she is, if I can prove that it was not her in that hospital bed giving birth, if it was not her that John married, then he is free to be with Marlena.  They can be together with no guilt and no way for Kristen to inveigle her way between them once again.

As I turn the corner to the nursery, I am relieved to see that my prediction is correct, and the mousy buck-toothed southerner is back at the window staring at her baby.  John Jr.  Or rather, Elvis Jr.

I come up quietly behind her and stand at the window next to her.

“Hello again,” I say quietly.

“Oh!”  The other woman starts and glances at me, her brown eyes wide with fear.

“It’s okay,” I say, laying a hand on her arm.  “I’m not going to hurt you.  In fact, I want to help you.”

“Help mee?” she asks in a high, squeaky voice.  “Haow can yah hey-ulp me?”

“If you help me,” I say, “if you tell the truth about what happened when you gave birth to your baby, I can help you get him back.”  I watch her face go through a myriad of emotions.  Fear, hope and sadness all struggle for a foothold on her ever-so-homely face.

“Susan, someone has taken him from you.  I think they have tricked you into something you think you can’t get out of.”  I see her look back at the baby that the nurse has taken out of the crib.  The baby that Kristen is claiming is hers.  Little Elvis Jr.  Her gaze softens and she looks wistful and scared. 

“That’s your baby, isn’t it?” I say, pointing to the baby that has the name John Black Jr. affixed to his wrist.  “Kristen DiMera has forced you to give up your baby to her.”

“No!” Susan’s reaction is immediate and telling.  “No!  I cain’t!  Them mean ol’ vampires will get meh!”

“I won’t let the vampires get you, Susan,” I tell her softly.  “If you help me, if you tell the truth about your baby, about what Kristen forced you to do, I’ll make sure you have all the help you need to keep your baby and look after him.”

“That mean, mean, mean ‘ol Kris-tan DiMera and the vampires, they won’t let me,” she says, cowering back in fear.

“John will make sure they do,” I tell her.  “Once John Black knows the truth, he will make sure you get to keep your baby.  He will make sure Kristen and the vampires get locked away for a long, long time.”  I’m not one hundred percent sure who the ‘vampires’ are that she’s talking about, but I’d lay good money on Stefano being involved.  And probably Vivian and Ivan given how much they’ve been hanging around the DiMera mansion of late.  Obviously, this woman is a few fruit-loops short of a breakfast bowl but if she’s capable of taking care of her baby, and I have no reason to doubt that she is, then she shouldn’t have that right taken away from her by Kristen and her cronies.

Besides, I have walked on the wild side of sanity a time or two, so who am I to judge?

“Mr. John Black?” she asks, suddenly perking up.  “He is dreamy, ain’t he?”

“He is,” I nod.

She leans forward so close that I can see her revolting teeth in all their yellowing glory.  “Ah’m married to Mr. John Black,” she says confidentially before her mouth stretches into a wide smile, exposing those unsightly gnashers.

YES!  I do an internal tap-dance on Kristen’s imaginary grave.

“Well, I am friends with Mr. John Black,” I tell her, “And I promise you that if you tell him the truth, he will help you keep your baby and he will make sure that Kristen and the vampires can’t hurt you ever again.”

“If he’s a friend of yours, do you think there’s a chance Mr. John Black might fall in love with poor ol’ me once he knows about Kris-tan?” she asks hopefully, and definitely deludedly.

“Oh Susan,” I put my arm around her shoulders, guiding her gently away from the window.  “He is a very kind man, but I am afraid he is already in love with another very good friend of mine.  Kristen has been keeping them apart and I need to make sure they finally the chance to be together.  Do you understand?”

She looks at me, crestfallen for a moment but then a smile crosses her face.  “As long as it’s not that mean, mean, mean ol’ Kris-tan!” she says firmly.

“It’s definitely not,” I smile back.

“Is she a good person, this freend of yours?” Susan asks as she pulls at the edges of her ugly cardigan sweater.

“She is absolutely the best person I know,” I tell her honestly.  “And she deserves to be happy.  Just as much as John does.”  I have guided her a little way away from the window.  “Now Susan, do you think you can help me?”

She looks thoughtful, raising her dark, bushy eyebrows and sucking on her lower lip.  After a moment, she seems to come to a decision.  “Ah think ah can.  What do you want me to do?”

Marlena

I follow John out of the office, and stand in front of Alice Horton, feeling like a guilty child as I smooth my free hand over my hair, trying to make sure I look at least a little presentable.  I feel John squeeze my hand as a banging comes on the outer office door.  

“John!?  I know you’re in there!   I need to talk to you!”

.  

Bang. Bang.  Thump.

“Ow!  Stop that!”  

That was Hillary!  I look from the door to Mrs. Horton, feeling my cheeks flaming with shame and embarrassment.

“Oh Alice,” I say in a softly shaking voice.  “I didn’t mean… I forgot where…” I cover my mouth with my free hand and then slide it up to my eyes so that I can’t see her soft, forgiving smile.

“Marlena, darling.” I feel her hand pulling gently on my arm and I drop it and look into her sparkling blue eyes.  There is no reproach there, only love and acceptance.  “You don’t need to apologise.  I couldn’t be happier to see the two of you together at long last.  It’s not before time.”

“Marlena!?  Can you hear me?  I’m not leaving.  I don’t know what lies you’ve been feeding my husband, but I want to see him.  He’s my husband, and the father of my sick child, and I am not leaving without him.”

Bang.  Thump.  

“Mmmph!  Get off me!  You crazy bitch!  Doctor Evans doesn’t answer to you, and she doesn’t lie!”

I can’t help smiling at Hillary’s assessment of Kristen and her defence of me.  Hillary is a very good secretary, if maybe a little blunt at times, but she is loyal, and I am incredibly lucky to have her in my corner.  Even if I might die a little inside if I think of what she’s probably heard in this office this afternoon.  I think the girl probably deserves a raise and a bonus after this.

“I think perhaps you should go and take care of this?”  Alice suggests and this is aimed at John.  “I don’t think she heard you, I think you were… done before she arrived.”  She bites back a smile and her pale blue eyes glitter with amusement.  I moan quietly and John squeezes my hand.  “Ah, why shouldn’t you enjoy yourself dear?” she asks conspiratorially.  “It’s about time you let go a little.  One day, I will tell you about the time Tom and I got caught in OR2.”

“Alice!” I am shocked but also deeply appreciative of her attempts to ease my mortification.  “You are humouring me, aren’t you?”

“Can I let you in on a little secret,” Alice leans forward.  “Tom and I were young once too.”  She winks at me.  “You two remind me so much of us.  It fills me with happiness to see you find each other again after all these years.”

“JOHN!”  Bang, bang.  Thump.  Smash.  “Get away from me you psycho little tramp!  I am going in there and nobody is stopping me!”

There is a final thump, and the door swings open so hard that it slams against the bookcase behind it.  In the doorway is a wild-looking Kristen with one hand buried in Hillary’s hair, pulling her back.

“Hillary!” I gasp.

“Hi Doctor Evans,” she says with a smile that looks as guilty as mine probably looked earlier.  Her head is angled towards Kristen and the whole thing would look comical if it wasn’t so outrageous.  “Sorry ‘bout this.  Ms DiMera wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

“I can see that,” I say caustically as I glare at Kristen.  “Care to tell me why you’re assaulting my secretary?”

“She said you weren’t here!” Kristen practically spits the words at me as she yanks her fingers from Hillary’s hair and then pushes her irritably so that Hillary stumbles against the doorframe, hitting her upper arm.  I wince and try and take a step forward to go and assist her but both John and Alice restrain me, John by tightening his hand around mine and Alice with her hand on my arm.

“I’ll go,” she murmurs as Kristen stalks into the room, the fury pouring off her.  Alice keeps her eyes on Kristen until she has passed her and then she goes to check on Hillary.

“Kristen,” John keeps a tight hold on my hand as he faces down his wife.  “What are you doing here?”  His voice is calm but there is a hard, demanding edge to it that I have never heard before.

“I…” she blinks, clearly thrown by his question, and his manner.  And then I see her gaze fall on our joined hands and her eyes flick up to mine and narrow with hatred.  “I woke up and you weren’t there,” she turns back to John.  “You said you would stay with me while I slept.”

“I did,” John nods.  “But you were asleep, and I needed to speak with Marlena.”

“Why?” she whines.  “I woke up and when I realized I was alone I was terrified something had happened to the baby.”

Behind Kristen, Alice, satisfied that Hillary is not injured, indicates that she should sit on one of the chairs set out for patients.  Then she goes out into the hallway and picks up Hillary’s coat and bag, bringing them back into the office and quietly closing the door behind her.  Alice is more discreet than I could ever hope to be, and I adore her for her thoughtfulness.  And I also can’t blame her for wanting a ringside seat to this circus.  Even I am curious as to how this is going to go down.

“Why?” he asks, his voice is still unnaturally calm, but I can sense the roiling storm brewing beneath his quiet and still exterior.  “Why, what, Kristen?”

“Why did you have to speak with Marlena?” she shoots me a poisonous glance and I realize immediately that John can now see everything as it is.  I feel his shoulders stiffen beside me as she unknowingly reveals her hatred of me, and conversely mine relax.  

“Because I felt like there was something she needed to tell me,” John tells Kristen sharply.  “So many things have been left unsaid.  I think it’s time to put an end to that.”  His manner is so quiet and reasonable, but I can feel the fury he is keeping in check.  I can see it in the muscle twitching in his cheek, feel it in the way his thumb brushes across the back of my hand.

“Whatever she’s told you, it’s a lie!” Kristen spits frantically.  

“What do you think Marlena was going to tell me?” he raises one eyebrow.  “And whatever reason would Marlena have to lie?  About you, of all people?”

“Because she’s jealous of me!” Kristen takes a step forward, twisting her face into some kind of approximation of sorrow or regret.  “I’ve tried to keep it from you John because I know you care about her, but she’s been so horrible to me.  She’s accused me of trying to take you away from your children, your family.  She sees John Jr. as a replacement for her children and she resents him, and me.  You don’t really know her!  She will do anything, say anything to make you think I am the bad one here.”

“I don’t believe this!” I say, genuinely astonished.  I should believe it of course, and part of me does.  But just the barefaced gall of the woman, to accuse me of all the things she is guilty of, stuns me.

“Oh, don’t try and deny it, Marlena!” she points at me with one bony finger.  “You’d love nothing better than to turn John against me.”

“I don’t need to do that,” I snarl back furiously, “you’ll do a fine job of that without needing my help.”

“Doc,” John runs his hand down my bare inner arm gently and reassuringly.  “It’s okay.  Let me handle this.”

“Handle this?” Kristen shrieks.  “I need to be handled?  Our son is seriously ill and you’re in here doing… I don’t know what with that, that covetous bitch; and your wife needs to be handled?”

I see Hillary open her mouth and I hold up my hand and shake my head.  I am sure she means well, but Hillary can be impulsive and often speaks without thinking.  I don’t want her to make herself a target of Kristen’s fury, no matter how well she might mean.

John stares Kristen down and I squeeze his hand, trying to remind him where we are and that while he might be furious with Kristen, she is (unfortunately) still the mother of his child.  And he’s married to her, as much as I might hate it and he might want to ignore it.

“You will not talk about Marlena like that,” John grinds the words out over what sounds like a tight throat.

“Oh, but it’s fine for her to call me a bitch and for her to threaten me, is that correct?”  Kristen shakes her head angrily, her perfect blonde hair spilling around her shoulders.  “She got to you, didn’t she?  You believe her lies about me?  Your wife?  The mother of your child?”

“Pffft!” Hillary snorts her derision behind Kristen and Kristen turns her head impaling her with a glare that makes Hillary lift an eyebrow in a not too shabby imitation of John.

“So that’s your story then, is it?” John asks softly but dangerously.  “It’s Marlena that’s the one who is the liar.  She’s the one that’s jealous of you and is trying to keep me from you.”

“Yes!” Kristen turns back to John having rearranged her face into a sorrowful tearfulness.  “I know you asked her to stay so you could protect her, but she’s been so cruel to me.  She’s tormented and threatened me, saying she’s going to take you back.  And not because she loves you, because she doesn’t John.  She just wants to take what I have.”

I can barely believe what I am hearing.  She could be describing herself here.  If I didn’t know her better, I would think she genuinely believed what she was saying and was projecting her own thoughts and actions onto me, to make me the villain and herself the victim. 

But I do know her better.  She’s attributing her own motives to me because it’s the easiest story to come up with on the spot.  It’s close enough to the truth to almost be believable and for a moment, I can feel my heart pounding in my throat which constricts with anxiety and fear.  If John somehow allows himself to question, even a little, the veracity of her version of events, I think I might just curl up and die.

“Marlena tormented you?”  John feeds her own lies back to her and she nods, the crocodile tears trembling on her eyelashes.  

“Marlena?  Doc, the kindest, most tolerant, most selfless person I know?  She has been cruel and unkind to you?  She has threatened you?”  John slowly hands her the rope to hang herself.  “I don’t understand.  Why didn’t you tell me?  If she was threatening you when you were so close to losing your pregnancy, why didn’t you just tell me?”

“Yes!  It’s true!”  Kristen wipes away the tears that spill down her cheeks.  “I didn’t want to tell you because I know she’s Belle’s mother and you care about her.  You’ve cared about her for a long time, and I know you feel partially responsible for her.   I didn’t want to deprive you of that friendship, but she’s not who you think she is!  She tormented me yes, and she didn’t care if I lost my baby, in fact she said she hoped I did because then I would have no claim on you!”

“Oh, I can’t listen to this!” I say and I pull my shaking hand from John’s and turn away from the duplicitous creature that John has tied himself to.

“Is that right?” I feel John move so that he is in front of me, shielding me from Kristen’s vitriol.  “Is that why you helped your depraved father to kidnap her and put her in a fucking cage?  Is that why you helped him to take her away from her children, away from me, from all the people who love and care about her?  All the people who need her? Because she’s jealous?  Because she’s cruel?”

“I…”  I can’t help but turn again, curious to see the expression on Kristen’s face.  It is almost as satisfying as it has been in my many dreams and fantasies of this moment.  “John, what are you talking about?” she asks, looking shocked and hurt.  But I see something more in her gray-green eyes.  Something she can’t hide.  Fear.

John

I let Marlena pull her hand from mine and I see Kristen note that particular before and after moment.  Nothing escapes her.  Nothing except what she doesn’t want to see.  Marlena is upset, I know, and she has every right to be.  Everything Kristen is saying is so ridiculously out of character for Marlena as to be utterly laughable.  If it wasn’t so hurtful and so infuriating.

I wonder, if I had not chased Marlena down this afternoon and forced her to tell me the truth about her feelings and about how Kristen had been manipulating and deceiving her, and me, whether I would have been tempted to buy Kristen’s lies.  I like to think I would have drawn a firm line at believing anything bad about Doc, but I have to confess, I have been so stupidly blind and so gullible where Kristen is concerned, I might have felt compelled to believe her.  I might have questioned Marlena’s integrity, and she would never have been able to forgive me.  And she would have been right to turn her back on me.

The thought doesn’t bear thinking about, and just the possibility makes the rage fizz beneath my skin.  I can feel it in my jaw, in my stomach, in the way my hands pulse with every beat of my heart.  I don’t want to hit Kristen, of course not.  But if Stefano was here, I would probably wring the fat bastard’s neck.

I feel Marlena’s warmth beside me, and I can feel the tension rolling off her, so I move forward and to the side so that she is behind me.

“Is that right?” I ask, as though it is a genuine question.  And it is, kind of.  I am giving Kristen one final chance to come clean.  To backtrack on these ludicrous accusations, claims that in a thousand years would never be true.  While I am sure Marlena has it in her to be jealous, she has never, could never be cruel.  Just the idea that anyone could think that of her, could think that I would believe that of her, hurts me to the core.  She is the better part of me, she always has been.   I saw the truth of what she had been through as I drew out those confessions from her.  What keeping quiet had cost her.

What has it cost Kristen?  Nothing.  She has the child she so desperately wanted, and she thinks she has me. 

“Is that why you helped your depraved father to kidnap her and put her in a fucking cage?” I demand angrily.  “Is that why you helped him to take her away from her children, away from me, from all the people who love and care about her?  All the people who need her? Because she’s jealous?  Because she’s cruel?”

“I…”  Kristen’s eyes widen and her face pales.  I feel Marlena move behind me, turning to look at Kristen over my shoulder.   “John, what are you talking about?”

“You were the only one who knew the details.  I told you which plane she would be on.  Her and your mother.  You would sacrifice your own mother to get Marlena out of the picture.  To keep her away from me.  So, I wouldn’t find out how she felt about me.  So, she couldn’t tell me that she knew how I felt about her.”

“I…” her mouth falls open and I can almost see her brain ticking over as she scrambles for an explanation, a refutation of my accusation.  And it hits me once again, how stupid I have been.  How blind.  This woman is not kind and innocent.  She is Stefano’s daughter.  She’s manipulative, she’s possessive and she doesn’t love, she covets.  That is why things have been so awkward for so long now.  All the unspoken words, the stories she’s been telling herself, telling me.  It’s all been a big web of lies and exaggerations and emotional blackmail.  I’ve known it in my bones and yet I haven’t been able to admit it to myself.  Now I have, it’s painfully clear.  

“John,” she shakes her head, tears brimming in her soulless eyes.  “I don’t know what you are talking about.  Did she tell you that?”  Her mouth hangs open again in a pretended kind of shock and anguish that turns my stomach.  “I would never!  I don’t know how my father got that information, but it wasn’t me!  You have to believe that!” 

“There were only three people who knew which plane Marlena would be on.  Myself, Abraham and you.”  I point at her, trying hard to control the anger which is causing my hand to shake.  “I know it wasn’t me who told Stefano and Abe would rather die than let that bastard get his hands on her.  So that only leaves you.”

“I can’t believe you would think that I would do that, John!” she whines, and the sound of her voice makes my skin crawl.  “What possible motive could I have for putting Marlena in that kind of danger?  I wouldn’t do that!  I know how much her children need her.  How much you need her.”

“Yes,” I nod, my nostrils flaring as I face her down.  “You do.  You know it all, don’t you Kristen?”

“You’re not making sense, John!”  Her voice is rising in pitch, and she is trembling.  I know that she is starting to realise that this is not going to go her way.  No matter how much she twists things and attempts to throw the shade back on Marlena, I am not going to believe any of it.  I love Marlena, my heart is hers and it always has been.  And I know her.  I know her honestly and integrity.  I know how unfailingly kind she is, even to those who have wronged her.  I think about how good she was to Isabella in her final days, how she took the amnesiac Stefano into her home to make up for misdeeds that weren’t even hers.  I think of how she risked her life to save mine in Aremid, how she stood resolutely by my side when everyone else doubted me.  I think of how she tried to move out of the mansion at least three times by my reckoning.  Now I realize, fuelled by her desperation to get away from the distress of seeing me with Kristen.  And most likely from Kristen’s needling attempts to get under her skin.  “She’s told you a pack of lies and you’ve swallowed them, hook, line and sinker.  John, you’re my husband, not hers.  It’s our baby who’s lying in that nursery, sick and defenceless.”

“Marlena didn’t tell me anything about you helping Stefano,” I take a step towards her, and she squares her shoulders, refusing to step back.  “I figured it out, all by myself.”

“Well, you’re wrong!” she cries helplessly.  “I have no reason to hurt Marlena!”

“Oh, no?” I laugh, the sound hollow and brittle.   “Marlena told me about the letter.”

“What letter?” she shakes her head, managing to look both confused and irritated at the same time.

“Oh, come on Kristen!” Marlena’s voice sounds behind me, full of weary frustration.  “The game is up.  It’s not working.  John sees you for who you really are now.  The best thing you can do now is to slink away to your disgusting father and leave us in peace.”

“Leave him with you?” Kristen sneers.  “You must be out of your mind if you think I’m going to just roll over and let you take him from me.  He’s mine!”   She holds up her hand, the large diamond with the white-gold wedding band nestling against it.  “He married me!  And I’m not giving him up.”

“Holy shit, you lunatic, he’s not a possession!” Hillary, Marlena’s feisty secretary pipes up.  “He does have his own brain, you know.  He gets to make his own decisions.”

“We’re married, you little dipshit!”  Kristen spits over her shoulder.

“Only because I didn’t know how Marlena felt about me,” I say, my voice heavy with anger and scorn.  “Because you found my letter.  The one I wrote to her in Aremid.  The one where I told her I realised in that jail cell that I loved her more than I would ever love anyone else.  And that I would always love her.  But instead of giving her that letter and stepping back, like any normal person with some self-respect would do, you hid the letter, and you used your knowledge to manipulate her, and me.”

“John!  That’s not true!” she squeals.  “I didn’t know what that letter said.  I didn’t hide it on purpose.  I just… I needed a bookmark and I grabbed a peice of paper.  I didn’t know what it was.  You have to believe me.”

“That’s what I thought had happened when I first found it,” Marlena says behind me, her voice crisp and pained.  “I thought… I thought it was a mistake.  I thought, Kristen… I thought you were my friend.  I thought, there’s no way Kristen would keep information this important from me.”

“I was your friend,” Kristen whines.  “I helped save you from Satan for God’s sake!”

“You were my friend until you saw me as a threat to your relationship to John,” Marlena comes to stand next to me again.  “I don’t understand when it was you changed, or why,” she says softly.  “I will always be grateful to you for what you did during that time.  But it doesn’t change the fact that when you realised that John was still in love with me, you kept that information to yourself and you did everything in your power to keep John and I in the dark, and to keep him for yourself.”

“That’s a lie!” Kristen snarls.  “I didn’t know.”

“I heard her talking to Rachel,” Marlena says to me softly.  “I heard her telling Rachel that she’d had to hide the letter.  That if I knew you still loved me, I would tell you how I felt about you.  And she would lose you.  She was terrified of losing you.”

“Yes!” Kristen snaps furiously.  “Yes, I was terrified of losing John!”  She turns back to me.  “I lost my mother and my brother, and my father is… he’s a terrible person.  I couldn’t lose you too.  I need you.  Marlena doesn’t need you.  She has a family; this town is full of her friends and people who love her.  She has children.  What do I have?”

“The audacity!” Marlena’s secretary says, with wide, incredulous eyes.  “Dr. Evans just said she heard you telling your mother about the letter.  So, she was still alive when you chose to lie to everyone.”

“Your mother is dead because you helped Stefano take Marlena away from all those people that love her.” I am shaking with anger.  Kristen will never take responsibility, that is clear.  She will twist things to make herself the victim, to hurt and malign Doc.  “Kristen, enough of this!”  I seek Marlena’s hand and wrap mine around it.  “I can forgive a lot of things, but not that.  Not helping your father take Marlena away from her children.  You didn’t care what she went through, how terrified she was.  You didn’t care what he might do to her, you just wanted her out of your way and that is unforgivable.”

Kristen

I stare at John feeling equally outraged and nauseated.  That witch has woven her spell around him.  It was obvious the moment the door opened what they’ve been up to.  Holding hands, her lips bruised, his hair wild and his shirt crumpled. 

That fucking slut!  He’s mine!  He’s my husband.  She can’t just waltz in here and snap her fingers and take him from me!  She can’t stick her forked tongue down his throat and erase his love for me.  He loves me!  He chose me after Aremid.

I feel hot and sick as he takes her hand again, running his thumb over the back of it.  I could scream, I could flail, I could wrap my hands around her haggard old neck and wring the last breath out of her oh so perfect body.

But instead, I clench my teeth and try and hold my outrage inside.  Attacking Marlena will not bring John back to me.  What I have to do is to convince him that he belongs with me, that he can’t break his marriage vows and walk away from his wife and his son.

“He never would have hurt her,” I say scornfully.  “He loves her.”

“That’s not love,” John growls.  “Stefano covets her.  He wants to possess her.  You and he are no different.  You really are his daughter, aren’t you?”

“And what if I am, John?” I snap derisively.  “You still love me.  You chose to be with me after Aremid.  You chose to have a baby with me.  What makes Marlena so special, so much better than me now?”

“I don’t love you!” he exclaims.  “I loved who I thought you were.  I loved the facade you wove to fool me.  I love Doc, because she’s kind and thoughtful and honest.  I love her because she always considers other people’s feelings, and she cares about what happens to them.  I love her integrity, her genuine commitment to helping others.” He turns to her and catches her eyes, smiling at her as he reaches up with his free hand and slides hia thumb across her cheek.  “I love her heart.  I love how devoted she is to her family, to her children.  I love her strength and her vulnerability.  I love her wicked sense of humour.  I love that she would never, ever put her needs first if it meant anybody else getting hurt.”

“Oh, spare me,” I snipe as I make a retching noise.   “Of course, who could possibly compete with Saint Marlena?”

“Not you, that’s for sure,” that smugly annoying mousy blonde behind me pipes up again.  

Not hesitating for a moment, I spin around and whip the palm of my hand across her homely face.  “I have had enough of your smartass commentary!”  I shout as Alice Horton cries out, and I hear St. Marlena gasp behind me.

“Hillary!”  That false bitch pulls away from John and runs to her little protege who is holding her face in shock.  Marlena tugs on her hand, pulling her up from the seat and folding her arm around her shielding her from any further attacks.  “Kristen, how dare you lay a hand on this girl!”

“What the fuck is she even doing here?” I demand.  “This is none of her business.  This is none of your business, you thieving bitch! What, you think that you can just open your legs and his marriage vows mean nothing.  You slut!“ 

“Kristen, that’s enough!” John shouts angrily.  “You do not speak to Marlena like that.”

“I will speak to her any damn way I want!” I scream.  I am so fucking furious I feel like my head might explode.  “She’s a damn liar!  This is all lies!  She just hates me and she’s trying to ruin my life.”

“Why on earth would I try and ruin your life?” Marlena stands there all self-righteously, her arm still around the nosy secretary.  “What possible reason could I have for deliberately trying to hurt you?”

“You hate me because I’m a DiMera,” I say scornfully.  “You could never get past that, not from the moment you found out Stefano was my father.  You’ve been plotting to take John away from me because you don’t want your brats to have a stepmother who is a DiMera.  So, you’ve made up all these lies to steal John away.”  I will the tears to well in my eyes as I turn to John, my expression beseeching.  “John, it’s true!  She’s lying.  I didn’t know what was in that letter.  And I never told my father which plane Marlena was on.  Why would I put my own mother in danger?  Why would I do any of this when I know you love me?  You chose me! You married me!  I had your baby!  We are married in the eyes of God, John.  You can’t take Marlena’s word over mine.  I am your wife and I need you.  I love you!”  

I see a moment of wavering doubt in John’s eyes, and I rush at him throwing my arms around his neck.  “John!  John, baby, I love you.  I love you so much.  I just want to be a family with you and John Jr.  You made your choice after Aremid.  You chose me!  We were married by a priest, in front of God.  That was your idea, John.  You made vows to me, you promised to be mine for the rest of our lives.  You can’t turn your back on me now!”

And then a horribly familiar voice sounds from the doorway.  “Oh, I wouldn’t be too sure about that!”  

Hillary

I stand next to Dr. Evans, watching that fucking crazy maniac Kristen DiMera hanging off Mr. Black, practically choking him.  Dr. Evans quietly takes my chin in her hand and checks my face.

“Are you okay?” she asks softly.  I nod, my eyes wide, unable to say anything.  All I can think about is the noises she was making earlier and how warm and soft she is.  And she smells like… flowers and sex and…. oh fuck, this is really, really bad because my heart is pounding and so are other parts of me.  “I’m so sorry,” she whispers, and I am not entirely sure what she is apologizing for.  For Ms. DiMera smacking the smart mouth off my face, for getting me involved in this, or for having to listen to her screaming for Jesus for an hour.

“It’s fine,” I say brightly.  “Really.”

“….You chose me!”  Ms. DiMera’s voice is so high-pitched, I think if there were dogs around here, they’d all be baying for blood.  “We were married by a priest, in front of God.”  She’s pawing Mr. Black’s well-muscled chest, although it is covered by a crumpled, black, long-sleeved t-shirt.  I sense Dr. Evans wincing beside me, and I look up at her.  She’s so fucking pretty it almost hurts.  How Ms. DiMera thinks Mr. Black will even give her bony ass a second glance when Dr. Evans is sashaying around looking like a fucking goddess, I have no idea. 

“That was your idea, John.  You made vows to me, you promised to be mine for the rest of our lives.  You can’t turn your back on me now!”  Ms. DiMera claws at his face and seems to be completely missing the way he is looking down at her in distaste.  That woman is really freakin’ delusional.

“Oh, I wouldn’t be too sure about that!”  

I look up to see the outer office door swinging open and Dr. Laura Horton steps through the door.

“Hello sweetie,” she looks across at Dr. Evans and then pauses as she looks her up and down.  A large smile spreads slowly across her face.  “Well, well, well!   Good on you, Marlena!”

“What the actual fuck!?” Kristen DiMera is still hanging off Mr. Black’s neck as she turns her head to glare at Dr. Horton.  “I thought there was supposed to be a fucking gas leak in this part of the hospital.  Someone may as well be selling tickets!”

“Oh, I wouldn’t miss this for anything, Kristen.”  Laura Horton takes several more steps into the room and then looks at Dr. Evans again.  “I’m so sorry I was late to this little party, honey, but I had to make a stop first.”

“Laura,” Dr. Evans still has her arm around my shoulder, and I have to resist the urge to slide mine around her waist, or accidentally feel up her fantastic ass (not that I’ve ever noticed it before, truly!).  “What are you doing here?  What did you mean, you wouldn’t be too sure?”

“Well, that’s just the thing,” Dr. Horton leans against the filing cabinet and crosses her arms, grinning smugly.  “I was at the nursery earlier when I encountered something unexpected.  Someone.  And it got me to wondering.”

There is a long moment of silence as Dr. Horton waits for one of us to ask her what exactly she’d been wondering.

“Wondering what, Laura darling?”  Mrs. Horton does the honours, eventually.

“How it is that Kristen just gave birth, and her stomach is so amazingly flat.”  Dr. Laura lifts her eyebrows and gives us all a quirky smile before her gaze comes to rest on Ms. DiMera.   The look on the woman’s face is actually kinda hilarious.  She looks furious and confused and just a little bit terrified.  “How it is she never put on any weight at all when she was pregnant.  Why she wouldn’t ever let anyone, not even John touch her during this miraculous pregnancy.  Why her doctor’s visits were such cloak and dagger affairs.  And why, oh why she was so reluctant to let David Robbins do a post-partum examination earlier.”

“I told you!” Ms DiMera’s voice comes out as a strangled half-scream.  “I was too worried about John Jr.  I couldn’t concentrate.”

“You needed to concentrate for a physical examination?” Dr. Horton looks supremely unbothered by Ms. DiMera’s reasoning, and her somewhat frenzied manner.  

“Dr. Robbins said everything is fine, anyway!” Ms DiMera snaps as she finally lets go of poor Mr. Black and turns around, smoothing her dress over a stomach that is remarkably flat for someone who was just toting around a nine-pound whopper in her belly.  “So, whatever you’re trying to insinuate, you’re wrong, Laura.   Now can you just get out of my face and crawl back under whatever rock you slithered out from?”

“Oh, I know what David Robbins said.”  Dr. Horton’s lips purse into another quirky smile as she regards Ms. DiMera.  I don’t know what is going on here, but I do know Dr. Horton is enjoying this. “And I also know you are a DiMera and like your charming father, probably not above threatening or buying off judges, doctors… pretty much anyone that gets in your way.”

“Oh, this is ridiculous!” Ms DiMera swings around and looks imploringly at Mr. Black.  “John!  Can’t   

 you tell her to go?  This is our business.  I don’t understand why we need to have an audience.  We need to talk, just you and me.  I can explain and then you’ll understand, and we can get things back on track.”  She grabs his hand.  “Come on.  We have to go now.  We have to go and check on the baby and then we can go home, and we can make things right.  We can sort this out, John.”

“No, I think John will want to hear what I have to say,” Dr. Laura pushes herself away from the filing cabinets.  

“Laura,” Dr. Evans starts beside me.  “I’m not really sure this is the best-”

“Marlena,” Dr. Horton’s expression softens as she looks in our direction.  “Honey, do you trust me?”

“You know I do,” Dr. Evans says firmly.  She opens her mouth to say something else but then she looks at Ms. DiMera and she sees the same thing on her face that I do.  A desperation, a terror that her world is about to unravel, and she thinks better of it.  “Go on,” she tells Dr. Horton.  “What is it?  What do you suspect?” 

“Oh, I don’t suspect anything,” Dr. Horton smiles triumphantly.  “I know it.”  She turns to the open doorway.  “Come on in, Susan.”

“No!”  Kristen shrieks as a strange woman shuffles into the room.

And when I say strange, I mean…  she looks like she fell from the top of the ugly tree and hit every damn branch on the way down.  Poor woman, she looks really…. unfortunate.  She has lank brown hair, she wears glasses so thick they look like the bottom of jam jars.  And those….teeth!  They’re like tombstones, they gleam a sickly yellow and they protrude so far, she can hardly close her lips over them.

And the clothes are…. interesting, to say the least.  A dowdy denim pinafore, woollen stockings striped in pink and green with purple converse trainers on her feet.  Underneath the pinafore, she wears a paisley shirt in yellow and purple psychedelic swirls and around her neck is wound a stringy scarf in brown and red.  In front of her, she holds a dirty Mary Poppins style carpet bag in a dingy floral brocade.  It’s certainly um… an eccentric look.

“Who is this?” Mr. Black asks wearily.  He looks tired (well that’s hardly surprising considering the workout he had earlier) and fed up.   I’m sure this wasn’t how he expected to finish up his romantic tryst this afternoon.  It’s not exactly what I would have planned for them either.  They should be basking in the afterglow of that clearly phenomenal shagfest earlier, running their hands over each other’s gorgeous bodies…..

Goddamn it, Hillary!!  STOP IT!

“This, John, is Susan Banks,” Laura says as she takes Susan’s hand and pulls her into the room.  Susan Banks looks like she’s trying to fold in on herself as she pulls her hand from Dr. Horton’s and clasps her carpet bag, hunching her shoulders forward and swinging from side to side in embarrassment or shyness.  

“Hello Susan,” Dr. Evans says softly, obviously trying to set the odd woman at ease.  “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Susan, this is my friend, Dr. Marlena Evans,” Dr. Horton rubs Susan’s upper arm.  “She’s the one I told you about.”

“Hello, Doctor Marlena Evans,” Susan speaks for the first time and her accent is strongly southern hillbilly, which kind of figures.  “Nice t’meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you too,” Dr. Evans says.  She looks at Susan for a long moment, and then quizzically at Dr. Horton.  “Laura, what is all this about?  Why have you brought this woman here?”

“Because she’s crazy!” Kristen DiMera squeals.  “Laura’s delusional again.  It’s the only explanation.  John, don’t listen to her!”  She scrabbles at Mr. Black’s chest.  “Please, please, let’s just go home and we can sort everything out.”

Mr. Black stares at Susan and then helplessly at Dr. Evans.  His face is full of confusion and pain.  It’s obvious he doesn’t know what to think, and Ms DiMera’s insistence that his marriage vows are somehow sacrosanct even though she’s a lying, thieving ho, seem to be getting to him.

“I met Susan outside the nursery earlier,” Laura Horton explains.  “She came to see her baby.  She told me he’s sick.”

“He ee-uz.” Susan Banks says in her strange, sing-song voice.  “Mah Ehlvis Junior, he’s see-uck.”  She looks sadly at Mr. Black. “Ahm so sorry Mr. John Black.”

“Why would you be sorry?” Mr. Black asks, still clearly confused.  

“Susan here gave birth to her baby yesterday,” Laura says.  “But she was never admitted to hospital because, for all intents and purposes, the hospital doesn’t even know she exists.”

“What on earth?” Mrs. Horton finally pipes up from her seat next to the wall.  “How can that be, Laura, dear? 

“It can’t be,” Ms DiMera yells.  “I told you, she’s crazy!”  She takes a step toward Dr. Horton, her eyes wild, her hands curled into claws.  “Laura, you’ve lost the plot!  You’re completely loop-the-loop.”  She turns around to look at Mr. Black and I think if anyone is loop-the-loop, it’s Kristen DiMera.

“She’s the one that’s crazy,” I murmur to Dr. Evans.  “She’s losing it big time.”

Dr. Evans takes a breath and uncurls her arm from around my shoulder.  She’s about to take a step forward, I can just tell, and I really think she just needs to let Ms DiMera hang herself with the rope that Dr. Horton is about to hand her.

I grab her arm and squeeze it.  “Don’t get involved, Dr. Evans,” I say in a low voice.  I know I am being presumptuous, but Ms DiMera honestly seems more than a little bit crazy and she’s desperate, which could possibly make her dangerous.  So, I’m kind of worried for Dr. Evans safety if she gets any closer to that weirdo.

“Pretty sure Dr. Horton has got this.”  I can tell she has, from the smug grin on her face and the way her eyes are sparkling.  I know Dr. Horton has had a tough time lately.  Like I said, this hospital is a hotbed of gossip and rumours and boy I’ve heard some good ones about Dr. Horton.  I mean, I heard she accidentally did the nasty with her son-in-law so, yeah, they’re juicy.  But despite that, I am pretty sure she’s not crazy and I am pretty sure that Ms DiMera’s frantic protestations that she is, prove that she’s not.

Dr. Evans looks at me, unsure.  Damn, she has beautiful eyes, they’re hazel, like a combination of mossy green and cinnamon brown with beautiful golden flecks in them.  And her lips, are dangerously kissable.  Of course, she looks like she’s been kissed this afternoon, and kissed good and that must be making Ms. DiMera really wild with jealousy.  She must know she’s lost Mr. Black.  I mean, all you have to do is look at the pair of them to know they’ve been flagrantly violating each other’s personal space.  Her makeup is smudged, her lips puffy and swollen.  His hair is a mess, his top crumpled.  And they smell like sex.  I mean, they smell great and if I wasn’t already as horny as fuck, just being in this room with them right now would have me weak at the knees.  As it is, my knickers are soaked.

“I’m not crazy,” Laura says with a laugh.  “There’s a good reason Susan wasn’t admitted.  It’s because when she gave birth to her baby, everyone thought she was someone else.”  She looks directly at Kristen, her grey eyes flashing.  “Didn’t they, Kristen?”

Laura

I stare directly at Kristen, daring her to claim, yet again that I am crazy.  

I’m not crazy.  I’m gleeful, I’m furious and I am vindictive.  But I am not crazy.  I have never been more lucid than I am at this moment.  The moment before I finally bring Kristen DiMera to her scrawny knees.

I knew as soon as I walked in that everything I had hoped for was coming to pass.  It’s obvious, looking at Marlena, that John found her and finally wrangled the truth out of her.  She has, they both have, a glazed look about them, like they’ve stumbled into a dream, like they’ve finally hit the jackpot.  Their clothes are crumpled, Marlena has the beginnings of bruising on her neck and when John looks at her, he has the look of a man who is head over heels in love and no longer cares who knows it.

It has clearly rocked Kristen’s smug, self-satisfaction, causing the bubbling anxiety that has probably been plaguing her for months as she desperately prayed for all the pieces to stay in place, to finally spiral into a full meltdown.  

First, Marlena found out the truth, both about John’s feelings and Kristen’s efforts to keep the truth from her.  Then John married Susan, and the baby she stole from Susan and claimed as her own is sick.  On top of that, she walked in to find John and Marlena canoodling in her hospital bed, Marlena ready to tell John everything.  And now, well now John clearly knows Marlena still loves him.  And despite thinking he’s married to Kristen; he has thrown caution to the wind and Marlena finally has her man back.  And If I am not wrong, will probably be rather achy and tender right now.

So, all that remains is for me to deliver the coup de grâce and release them from any lingering guilt or regret they might be feeling over their actions.  John deserves to know the truth, as much as it might hurt to know that little Elvis Jr. is not his child, I hope it will be balanced out by the relief that he is no longer tied to Kristen and is free to be with the woman he loves more than he has ever loved any other.

“Susan?” I nod at her.  It’s time for her to do her thing.  Then we can all go back to our lives.  John and Marlena together, Susan with her baby and Kristen…?  Well, with any luck, Kristen will be staring at the inside of a Statesville prison cell for the next five to ten years.

Susan looks furtively at Kristen, who is glaring angrily at her.

“Don’t worry about her,” I tell Susan gently and patiently.  She assured me she could do this, but I know she is scared of ‘that mean, mean, mean Kristen DiMera’ and the other ‘vampires’.  “She can’t hurt you Susan, not with all these people around.  John won’t let her hurt you, will you John?”

“No.”  John looks confused, poor love.  I don’t blame him.  I am pretty sure his brain has been scrambled by mind-blowing sex with Marlena.  I suspect that’s why this part of the hospital was cordoned off, not that imaginary gas leak that I am fairly sure darling Alice invented to keep Kristen away from John and Marlena’s long overdue and probably noisy reunion.  “No, Susan.  Kristen won’t hurt you.  I give you my word.”

“Thank you Mr. John Black,” Susan smiles awkwardly, her egregious teeth glistening as she sucks on her lower lip.  “You are such a kahnd, kahnd man.  Ah sure wish you were the real daddy of mah baby.”

John looks across at Marlena, his brow crumpled in confusion.  Marlena shrugs, equally bemused, although I fancy I see a glimmer of understanding starting to blossom in her eyes.  Her young secretary Hillary stands next to her, her hand on Marlena’s arm.  Her eyes narrow as she looks from Susan to Kristen and then back again and I see her lean into Marlena and whisper something.  Marlena’s eyes widen, and then narrow as she looks at Kristen and then at John.

Whilst all this is going on, Susan turns her back on everyone and puts her carpet bag on a chair.  She opens it and begins to rummage around.  For a moment everything is silent as each person in the room tries to figure out what is about to happen.  

Kristen, of course, knows and after a moment or two of casting her gaze about wildly, she starts to panic and turns to John, clawing at him again.  “You can’t listen to her,” she shrieks.  “This is all a lie.  You need to come with me.  Now!”  She clasps her claw-like fingers around his arm and tries to drag him toward the door.

“No!”  Marlena steps forward.  “John, honey, don’t listen to her.   She knows everything is about to crumble around her ears.  She knows I’ve told you about her lies, the way she’s twisted things to keep us apart, to get what she wants.  I don’t…. I suspect there are things she has done that I don’t even know about.”

“Oh, there are things…” I say with a gleeful smile.  “Which is why Kristen is so desperate to get you out of this room right now.  Because I am just about to tell you what they are.”

Next to me, Susan has fitted the blonde wig to her head.  She looks sideways at me and even I am astonished for a moment.  Then I nod at her, “you can turn around now.”

Susan turns around and Marlena gasps, despite the fact that I am fairly sure she had already gleaned the truth.  Hillary’s mouth hangs open for a moment and then she lets out a delighted laugh.  I knew I liked that girl.

“You have to be shitting me!” she says, blinking in amazement. 

“No, I am not shitting you,” I feel like if my smile gets any wider, my face might split in half.  “I am not shitting anyone.”

“I don’t understand.”  John looks at Susan as Kristen and then looks at Kristen.  “Why does she look like you?”

“She…” Kristen tightens her grip on John’s arm.  “She’s been stalking me John, she’s mad, she’s completely crazy.  She’s trying to take over my life!”

“Oh, give me a break!” I laugh.  I should have guessed Kristen would come up with some outrageous claim to try and divest herself of any blame, any culpability.  “John, Kristen, as usual, is lying through her oh, so perfect teeth.  I don’t think she and the truth have had even a passing acquaintance for months now, if not years.”

“Will you explain this?” he nods at Susan and then looks at me with haunted eyes.  “Laura, what the hell is going on?”

“John,” I sigh.  I’m not sure if, whether being with Kristen for so long has dulled his wits or if he just doesn’t want to believe the truth his eyes can see.  I can understand why that might be the case.  To be fooled by Kristen DiMera must be painful and embarrassing.  Especially when Marlena has been waiting in the wings, ready to love you.  “John, I am so sorry, but you are not John Jr.’s father.   In fact, Kristen isn’t even his mother.  His mother is Susan here.”  I turn to Susan, looking uncannily like a shy, mousy version of a badly dressed Kristen.  “It was Susan, dressed as Kristen that gave birth to that little boy in the nursery.  Susan is his mother, not Kristen.”

“But if it was Susan in the delivery room,” Marlena looks at me with wide eyes and then at John.  “Then John, you didn’t marry Kristen.  You married Susan.”

“Yes,” I nod.  “He did.  And that marriage is null and void because it wasn’t the woman he thought he was marrying.”

“I still…” John shakes his head.  “I still don’t understand.  How can… what happened to…”  he stops and frowns, looking at Kristen as he starts to put all the pieces together.

“Noooo…” she shakes her head, tears filling her eyes.  “They’re lying.  That’s our baby in there.  That’s our John Jr.”

“Were you ever pregnant?” John asks Kristen in a hoarse, pained whisper.

“Yes!” Kristen cries, digging her fingernails into John’s arm.  “I had our baby.  John Jr.  You have to believe me!”

“Stop lying to me, woman!” John roars, violently shaking off her hands and pushing her away.  “Tell me the truth for once in your miserable life!”  

“I’m not lying!” Kristen screams.  “Tell him the truth, Susan!”  She turns around and starts toward Susan but John grabs her before she can even get close.

“You so much as touch that woman and I swear to God, I will end you.  Now tell me the goddamn truth, Kristen!”  He shakes her and she turns her grey-blue eyes blazing and burning with hatred for Marlena.

“This is all your fault,” she spits furiously.  “Couldn’t keep your hands off him, could you?  You whore!”

“Woah!” Hillary looks absolutely indignant.  “You better watch who you’re calling a whore, you fucking crazy bitch.  Dr. Evans is worth about a hundred of you.”

“You little tramp!”

Kristen rushes at Hillary and she knocks her to the ground and has her hands around her neck and is trying to strangle her before anyone even knows what has happened.

“Hillary!” Marlena yells.

“John!” I hear myself cry but John is already on the case, and he is hauling Kristen off the girl and dragging her across the room before she can do any real damage.  He throws Kristen into a chair across the room from where Marlena is helping Hillary sit up.

“You!  Fucking stay there.” He points at Kristen, his face wild with anger.  If Kristen had made the mistake of attacking Marlena, I would actually fear for her safety right now.  “Doc, is Hillary okay?”

“I’m fine,” Hillary holds up one hand while feeling her throat with the other one.  Her voice is hoarse, but she seems otherwise unharmed.

“Susan,” John says, his voice as gentle as he can make it given the circumstances.  “Just tell me, is what Laura is saying true?  Is John Jr. your baby?”  Susan nods, her eyes wide.  “And was it you in that delivery room?” he asks.  “Was it you I married?”

“Yee-as.”  Susan nods and she looks a little sad.  “Ah kinda lah-ked bein’ your wahfe, Mr. John Black.  But ah’m sorry ah tricked you.”

“Was it Kristen’s idea?” John asks.  Susan nods again but says nothing.

“Kristen was pregnant but I’m guessing she lost the baby in Paris,” I tell John and Marlena.  “Stefano somehow found Susan and saw the likeness.  He paid her to impersonate Kristen for her doctor’s appointments and scans.”  

“Ah needed the money,” Susan says guiltily as she runs her hand over her forehead and sweeps off the blonde wig.  “Ah felt bad for fooling you, Mr. John Black.  Ah never meant to hurt anyone.”

“What Stefano didn’t tell Susan was that Kristen planned to keep the baby.” I say, putting my arm around Susan.  “She gave birth and then Kristen swapped places with her, and Vivian and Ivan took Susan out of the hospital and gave her a large sum of money and a ticket to leave Salem.”

“Ah never wanted to leave mah Elvis!” Tears trembled in Susan’s eyes, dislodging one of her blue contact lenses.  She rubs at it irritably and when she removes her hand, she has one brown eye and one blue eye.  “Them mean, mean vampires, they tricked me!”

“Susan wants her baby back,” I say softly.  “I’m sure you can understand that.”

Marlena has helped Hillary up off the floor and has led her to the chair next to Alice.  Hillary seats herself next to Alice, who pats her hand comfortingly and then Marlena crosses the room to John.  “Honey,” she cups his cheek in her hand.  “I’m so sorry.”

“He’s not my baby, Doc,” John says plaintively.  “He’s not mine.”

John

“I know honey,” she leans her forehead against mine.  “That must really hurt.  I know how much you love him already.”  Her fingers find mine and she squeezes them, and I feel a rush of gratitude.  Marlena loves me.  I may have lost the son I thought was mine, but I have the woman I love more than anything in the world and I have our children.

“It does,” I tell her.  “It hurts.  But knowing I have you to comfort me, Doc, it makes it bearable.”

“Oh, give me a break,” Kristen says from behind me and makes a retching noise.  “So, you finally got what you wanted, didn’t you, you selfish bitch?  You turned him against me.”

I turn around to look at Kristen, not bothering to hide my loathing for her from my face.

“Marlena didn’t turn me against you,” I say, the anger and pain seeping through every word.  “She didn’t need to.”

“She lied to you,” Kristen tries to play victim.  “I didn’t know about any letter.  I didn’t help Stefano.  All I wanted was a family.  You and me and our baby.”

“Our baby that you miscarried!” I scowl at her.  “You didn’t even have the decency to let me mourn my child.  You … what did you do, how did you pull it off?”

“She wore a pillow,” Laura says suddenly, her eyes wide.  “I remember seeing her adjust it after Peter’s funeral when she was…   Oh my God!”  She looks at Kristen.  “Peter is still alive.”

“She’s crazy,” Kristen says dully.  “She’s crazy and Susan’s crazy.  She’s trying to take my child and my family and you’re letting her, John.”

“If I’m crazy and we’re lying then you won’t object to Michael examining you,” Laura says triumphantly.  “To prove you just gave birth.”

“I’ve already been examined, by Dr. Robbins,” Kristen huffs angrily.  “I don’t have to prove anything to you, Laura.”

“You have to prove that boy is your biological child if you want to take him home.” Laura smirks.  “A DNA test should prove who his real mother is.  And I am pretty sure that John wants proof that you’re telling the truth.”  She laughs but there’s no humour in the sound.  I can’t say as I blame her.  She must hate Kristen almost as much as Marlena does.  These good, kind women have been manipulated and victimised endlessly by the DiMera’s.  They have every right to be furious.  “Maybe you want to show your coochie to him.  I think even John can tell the difference between a vagina that’s just squeezed out a baby and one that’s unblemished by the trauma of giving birth.”

All eyes turn to Kristen.  A series of emotions pass across her face, fury, rage, helpless frustration and finally, surrender.

“All right, yes, I lost our baby,” from somewhere, Kristen summons up tears that spill from her lashes, down her reddened cheeks.  “In Paris.  The stress, the trauma of losing my mother, and I thought, my father.  It was too much.  I lost our baby, John.  And I didn’t know what to do.”

“Your mother wouldn’t have been there, you wouldn’t have been there if you hadn’t helped your father kidnap me,” Marlena says angrily.  “You knew your pregnancy was precarious and yet you insisted on going to Paris!  Why?  To throw John off the trail so he wouldn’t find me?”  

Marlena tugs on my hand and opens her mouth to speak to me but before I know it, Kristen has launched herself at Marlena, ripping her away from my grasp and shoving her back against the wall with an almighty thud.  There is a flurry of movement, Kristen’s hands first in her hair and then around Doc’s neck, trying to strangle her as she did with Hillary.

I vaguely hear a commotion behind me, but I am on Kristen before a conscious thought even enters my brain.  Marlena is trying to fend her off, but Kristen is endowed with the kind of super-strength that only a psychotic rage and revenge can provide.

“Kristen, get off her!” I pry her hands away from Marlena’s throat and slam her up against the wall face first, forcing her hands behind her back.  I hold them with one hand and thump my forearm across Kristen’s shoulder blades, effectively pinning her against the wall.  

Then I look at Marlena.  She is gasping for breath, her hands clutching at her throat.  “Doc, baby, are you okay?”

“Mmmm, o-kay,” she croaks but she’s trembling, and her eyes are filled with tears.  

“L-” I start but she is one step ahead of me.  Laura and Alice are at our side, pulling Doc away from the wall and leading her to a chair across the room.  Hillary is at her desk, on the phone, I can only assume she is calling the police.

I look around the room and spy the scarf around a wide-eyed Susan’s neck.  “Susan, sweetheart, can I borrow your scarf?” I ask.

“Mah scarf?” she asks, clearly unsure.  

“I need to tie Kristen up until the police get here.” I tell her.  “I can’t let her hurt anyone else.”

“Oh, sure thing Mr. John Black!”  She unwinds the scarf from around her neck and edges her way toward me, holding it out.

Against the wall, Kristen lets out a roar of fury and frustration.  “Shut up, Kristen,” I hiss at her.  “It’s over.  This is all over.  We’re not married, we don’t have a child together and I am glad of that now I know what a despicable person you really are. “

“But I love you,” her words are muffled by the wall, her mouth pressed up against the magnolia drywall.  “I only did the things I did because I love you.  I can’t lose you John.  You can’t leave me.”

“Ha!” I take the scarf from the timid Susan who skitters back to the other side of the room.  I loop it around Kristen’s wrists, pulling it tight and knotting it.  Then I push her down into one of the heavier chairs and knot the scarf to one of the upright struts.  “You.”  I point at her.  “You do not move a muscle.  If I so much as see you fucking blink, I will knock you out.”  

“You wouldn’t hit me,” Kristen sneers.  “You would never hit a woman.”

“You disgust me.  I wouldn’t be so sure I can resist hitting you,” I tell her.  The muscle in my jaw twitches as I regard her, and my hand curls into a fist.  “I have never wanted to hit a woman more than I do right now.  But even if I can resist it, I’m pretty sure Laura can get me a sedative.”

“It would be my pleasure to shut that bitch up for a while,” Laura pipes up from where she sits next to a shaken Marlena.

“Kristen,” I crouch down in front of her.  “I can leave you and I am leaving you.  If you think you can threaten me or Marlena, if you think you can continue to control me and manipulate me and snow me as to your true nature, then you’re completely delusional.  I see you now, for who you really are.  A calculating, devious, manipulative, possessive fraud.  You are a true DiMera.”

“But you love me,” she whines.  “You chose me after Aremid.”

“Because you pushed me into it,” I tell her, standing up.  “Because I didn’t know how Marlena felt about me.  Because I was a fool.”  I rub my eyebrow as I consider the time spent in Aremid, how Kristen doubted me, how she had accosted me as soon as we knew Marlena was safe, demanding to know if there was still a chance for us.  I think about the time Marlena spent in my loft after I freed her from the demon.  I think about how much I loved her then, how much sexual tension there had been between us.  I think of how she encouraged me to go and work things out with Kristen.  I think about how she has always put me first and how Kristen has always put herself first.

“I always loved Marlena,” I tell Kristen.  “You were only ever a substitute, because I couldn’t have her.” I turn to look at the woman I love.  “And I will forever regret that I didn’t have the courage to tell her how I felt all the time that we were apart.  I will spend the rest of our lives making up for my stupidity.  For all the time we lost together.”

She looks back at me and suddenly it is like we are the only two people in the room and I remember how her body feels under mine.  I taste the echo of her on my tongue, I feel the softness of her, the wet silkiness as she surrounds me.  I hear the heady whimpers and the soft moans.

“Oh Doc,” I cross the room in three strides and pull her up and into my arms.  “Baby, I am so sorry.  I’m sorry I didn’t see the truth.  That I let her torment you for so long.  I’m sorry I lied about my feelings, I’m sorry that I pushed you away.”

“You don’t have to apologise honey,” she brushes the hair off my forehead with her fingertips.  “I’m just glad the truth is finally out in the open.”

“Oh Doc,” I sigh and breathe her in.  She smells like heaven.  Roses and lavender, caramel and sex and that indefinable scent that is so very Marlena.  “I love you.  I just love you so much.” Forgetting Kristen, forgetting everyone else in the room, I brush my nose against her cheek, nuzzling her.  She gasps quietly, melting against me as I thread my fingers through her hair and whisper my lips against her cheek.

“I love you,” I say so quietly only she can hear.  “I love you and I am going to spend the rest of my life proving it to you.  Starting right now.”  I sweep my lips past hers, just feeling the hint of a touch, the whisper of sensation, the tingle of electricity that is generated every time our mouths meet.  She whimpers and I bring my lips to hers, moving my head back and forth lightly so that the friction of my lips meeting hers starts to filter into our senses, the sensation uncoiling from our mouths, down through our bodies.  I can feel my dick starting to swell again and I groan softly with the thought that I am going to get to bury myself in her soft wet heat again tonight, and every night for the rest of our lives.  I feel the tip of her tongue dancing across my lower lip as she curls her arms around my neck and presses herself against me, rubbing herself against my burgeoning hard-on.  

And then I am kissing her as though my life depended on it.  And somewhere, a long way away, I hear Kristen screaming and I don’t care even a little bit.

Marlena

“Kristen DiMera, you are under arrest for kidnap, two counts of assault, fraud with the intent to deceive, intentional misrepresentation and accessory to kidnap,” Abe fastens the handcuffs around Kristen’s wrists.  “You have the right to remain silent.  If you give up the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to consult an attorney before speaking to the police and to have an attorney present during questioning now or in the future.  If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you.”

He turns to the officers with him and points at Kristen with a scowl.  “Take her down to the station and book her.”  They nod and lead Kristen away.  She has finally given up screaming and ranting, spitting curses and threats at me and desperate pleas for John to listen to her.  Abe turns back to us.  John and I are sitting on chairs, his arm around me and my head on his shoulder.  “I assume you don’t want to come down to the station now and make your statements?”

“Not if you don’t mind, Abraham,” John rubs my leg.  “Doc is exhausted and quite frankly, so am I.  We can come down first thing tomorrow morning if that’s acceptable.”

“More than acceptable.” Abe looks at me, noting the bruising around my throat.  “Marlena, are you sure you’re okay? Maybe you should get Mike to check you out?”

“I’m fine, Abe.” I say wearily, lifting my head from John’s warm shoulder.  “I just want to go home and have a hot bath and some pizza.”

“And where is home now?” Abe asks curiously.

“Oh my gosh,” my eyes widen.  “Lexie is still with the children at the mansion!  I completely forgot!”

“It’s okay, I called her on my way over here and told her what was going on,” Abe smiles at me affectionately.  “I have to go back to the station and deal with Kristen, but I can ask her to drop the kids off with Caroline and Shawn if you’d like?”

I look at John and he looks back at me, a question in his beautiful sapphire eyes.  I nod and he smiles, a smile of relief and happiness.  

“Yeah partner,” he nods.  “Doc and I are going back to the Penthouse.  I think we need a little time to talk and absorb everything that’s happened today before we bring the kids home and tell them.”

“That’s what I thought,” Abe chuckles, knowing there probably won’t be much talking going on.  “I’ll see you both in the morning then.”   

“That you will, thanks partner.” 

John stands up as Abe turns to Hillary.  “You’ll come in the morning too?”

“Wouldn’t dream of missing it,” Hillary grins and I could swear she’s thoroughly enjoyed all the drama this afternoon. 

Abe has one of his officers take Susan’s details and he promises to contact Alice and Laura to get their statements and then John walks Abe to the door.  

Laura comes to me and checks my throat.  “I don’t think all that bruising is courtesy of Kristen,” she murmurs with a conspiratory smile.  “But I think you’ll live.”

“Laura,” I pull her into a hug.  “I can’t thank you enough.”  I am fairly sure that without her encouragement, John wouldn’t have come to my office this afternoon.  He wouldn’t have been so insistent; he wouldn’t have pursued my honesty so relentlessly.  We certainly wouldn’t have been aware of the truth about Kristen’s most egregious transgressions.  The pregnancy fake out and the kidnapping of Susan’s baby might have gone completely unknown had it not been for Laura’s persistence and her dogged determination to figure out the inconsistencies in Kristen’s pregnancy and the birth of little Elvis Jr.

“It’s been my pleasure,” Laura hugs me tightly.  “I’m just so happy to see you and John together.  You promise you’ll invite me to the wedding, yes?”

“Only if you’ll agree to stand up for me,” I pull back.  “Honestly, Laura.  I am so lucky to have you as a friend.”

“We both are,” John comes back and stands behind me, curling his arms around my shoulders.  “We owe you a lot.”

“You can repay me by being happy,” Laura smiles.  “Now if you’ll excuse me, I am going to take Susan back to the nursery and introduce her to the nurses. “

“Oh!” I look over at Susan.  “He’s having his operation in the morning!” I turn to find John’s eyes.  “Can we come here after we give our statements and check on the baby and on Susan?”

“Of course we can.” John kisses me gratefully.  “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.  I still love that little guy, even if he isn’t biologically mine.”

“Thank you, Susan,” I say to her as Laura takes the battered old bag from the strange woman.  “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Thank-you, Doctor Marlena Evans.”  Susan smiles awkwardly, her teeth protruding from her mouth.  “Mr. John Black.” 

We watch them leave and then Hillary gathers up her coat and her bag and joins Alice at the door.

“Dr. Evans,” she turns and smiles at me.  “I hope you know I am very happy for you both.  You belong together.”

“Thank-you, Hillary,” I feel John’s hand rubbing my back reassuringly and I realise he is wondering exactly how much of our office escapades Hillary and Alice were privy to.  “Uh, I ah…. we appreciate the two of you trying to afford us the discretion we rather neglected to think about ourselves.”

“Darling, we all get carried away from time to time,” Alice smiles magnanimously.  “And I rather think that after four years apart from the man I loved, I wouldn’t have been thinking much about discretion either.”

“I know but…” I sigh.  “I am… I have to apologize.  It wasn’t at all professional of me.”

“Honestly, don’t worry about it,” Hillary smiles conspiratorially.  “I’m not.  And honestly, it’s kind of nice to know you’re not perfect, Dr. Evans.”

“Oh, I am far from perfect,” I find myself blushing.

“Don’t let her fool you,” John chuckles.  “She is pretty much walking perfection.  And sexy as hell with it.”

“Stop!” My cheeks feel hot, and I think they must be fire-engine red.  

“You’re not wrong there,” Hillary laughs and then she slips out the door, followed by a knowingly smiling Alice.

“I think your secretary has a little crush on you,” John teases as he wraps his arms around me, watching Hillary and Alice exiting.  “I saw her checking out your gorgeous ass earlier.”

“John!”  I hook my hands over his arms and lean back against him.

“Think she’d be up for a threesome?” he murmurs in my ear.

“Oh, even if she was, I don’t share,” I bite my lower lip and give him a come-hither smile as I turn in his arms to face him and wrap my arms around his waist.

“Oh baby, I don’t think you’d be the one having to share,” he tells me as he dips his lips to mine and kisses me soundly, his tongue exploring my mouth languidly.  “Do I need to be jealous?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I slide my hands into his jeans pockets and palm his gorgeous ass.  “You never need to be jealous of anyone.  I’m not interested in anyone else.  I am all yours, and only yours.  Always and forever.”

“That’s a long time,” he murmurs as he brushes his lips across mine again.  “Quite frankly, all I am worried about right now is if you’re gonna be mine tonight.  I have a long, long list of filthy things I want to do to that beautiful body of yours, Dr. Marlena Evans.”

“Oh, you do, do you?”  I feel a liquid rush between my thighs as I suddenly imagine all the naughty things we could…, or should I say, will, get up to in the next few hours… or days… or weeks.  “Well then, Mr. John Black, what are we waiting for….?”  

FIN