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Threshold Events	By : abra Category: M through R > Monk Views: 8687 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Monk, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 4
- 5
Threshold Events

By Abra

Beta: Ann

Disclaimer: The characters and the show belong to USA Network. They were created by Andy Breckman. I don't owe them and I did not write this story for any kind of material gain.

Feedback: Yes, please.
Thank you, hanimeangel. I wanted at least one review before posting the last chapter. Come on people, follow this brave first review and tell me what you think.

Dedication:
To Ann, who had the patience and enthusiasm to help me write this. Thank you!

Threshold Events

Chapter 5

Natalie stood up slowly. She had been in his bedroom so many times she had lost count, but after what had just happened, she was feeling out of place.

She looked at her freezing bare feet, and wiggled her toes. She walked around the bed to retrieve the bathrobe. The fabric felt cold and coarse on her skin. She was cold all over. She went into the living room with an icicle where her heart used to be. She couldn't do anything about the cold loneliness, but she could at least take care of her icy-cold feet. She put on her high heel shoes. They didn't feel comfortable at all, but she immediately discarded the option of borrowing a pair of slippers. Mr. Monk had been raised in the spirit that sharing was wrong.

Natalie went into the kitchen to get a hot cocoa. There wasn't a drop of milk in the house, so she had to force herself to drink the nearly tasteless beverage just for its warmth. How could anyone be afraid of milk?!

She let the thought pass. She had to look for another job on Monday. She went to the window holding the warm cup in her palms. She was looking out into the street without seeing anything. Should she go back to serve in a bar again? She hadn't ever really liked it. She couldn't go back to Pebble Beach and flop back in the family money. She could not and she would not. After this job… nothing would ever feel challenging enough.

She wanted to run away so badly that she couldn't think about anything else. She certainly couldn't think about what she had done. What had possessed her to leave her clothes in the bathroom?!

She tried to think back over the earlier events. She had come into his house, sexually frustrated and slightly inebriated, and forced herself on him. God, she had to leave. Leave the house. Leave the job. Leave him. She knew it in a cold sort of awareness. All in all, she couldn't believe how calm she was.

The sex had been good. Strange, but good. She closed her eyes for a second trying to cope with the intense sensation that swept through her at the mere memory of his hands on her hips. Maybe that was the explanation; she had pushed it to the limit, but he had gone along. So, there she was, feeling odd, and bad, and alone, but not quite guilty.

She refused to think about Mitch. The pain of missing him and the irrational guilt of having cheated on him were too much to bear at that time. She could bet that Mr. Monk was overwhelmed by guilt right about now. Guilt and loathing. She really had to leave.

The urge to walk out and never look back became stronger.

Suddenly, the noise coming from the shower changed. She heard in quick succession the bathroom door opening, then slamming shut, followed by running steps passing by the kitchen and the front door unlocking and banging against the wall.

She dreaded facing him, but she stepped into the hallway. She did it just in time to prevent him running out of the house.

"Mr. Monk?" she inquired worried.

He was halfway out the door when he stopped at the sound of her voice.

Natalie couldn't help staring at him. He was wearing only a towel wrapped around his hips. Wrapped carelessly at that.

He came back inside and locked the door behind him.

"What's wrong?" she asked, too worried to feel embarrassed for the moment.

"I was afraid you left."

Natalie's jaw dropped, but she recovered quickly.

"We're not all brave enough to take a cab wearing nothing but a bathrobe."

"Where are your clothes?"

"In the bathroom."

"I didn't see them." He looked amazed. "I didn't see them," he repeated. "I, didn't SEEâ..."

"Speaking of clothes," Natalie coughed, uneasy. "You're kind of…¦ naked… ish…"

He seemed mildly amused by this remark.

"Oh. Here's the thing."

Natalie's face broke into a smile. He may have been half naked, have foam on his shoulders and dripping on the floor, but he still had a thing to make clear.

"Here's the thing," he started again, only to fall silent.

"What's the thing?" she asked.

"You know I have certain… compulsions. I was already in the shower when it occurred to me…"

He paused, then took in a breath as if he was about to say something, but did not speak.

"I understand," she said gently, encouraging him to keep talking.

But he didn't. He leaned his head on one shoulder and looked at her attentively. Natalie shuddered. It wasn't exactly the _expression he got when he studied a crime scene, but it was a very close approximation. He walked towards her and stretched out his arm.

"What?"

She had tried to ask shocked, but it had only come out as a whisper. He was so close now that Natalie could see the foam drying on him. She pulled the sleeve of the bathrobe over her hand and placed her wrist in his open palm.

He looked at her "gloved" hand and gave her one of those rare, crooked smiles. He started to walk back to the bathroom pulling her along.

"What are you doing?" she asked, in a strangled whisper.

She didn't dare assume anything. Things were never what they appeared with this man. He could very well be taking her to see his rock polishing kit.

Natalie looked at the drying foam, and the streaks left by the drops of water sliding from his hair. Her palms were itching to wipe him. Her lips were also itching. His skin seemed velvet smooth. She knew for a fact he never sunbathed, but his skin had a wonderful shade, like a delicious cappuccino. She just had to bow her head a little and she would touch his neck and his shoulder with her lips.

The noise of the shower he had left running was getting louder the closer they got to the bathroom. The safe semi-obscurity of hall shattered abruptly when he opened the bathroom door. The bright neon light made her feel insecure. It was too much like daylight. She followed him in, despite the deep need to run away.

He closed the door, and turned to face her. They stood in the middle of the bathroom, in front of the fogged mirror. For a moment, Natalie struggled with the idea that there were four people in the room. The two of them, looking at each other in silence, and their sane alter egos in the mirror, surprised to reflect such a situation.

She watched his hands advancing slowly through the air between them. And suddenly, the bathrobe vanished. She closed her eyes instinctively, for a second. When she opened them again, his towel was also on the floor. She drew in a shocked, sharp breath.

"I thought you had a thing about nakedness," she murmured, having trouble maintaining eye-contact.

"I do. With strangers," he replied.

"Oh."

"Are you OK?" he asked without the merest trace of self consciousness, and only a shade of concern.

"It's just so bright in here," she said.

"It would be a lot worse with the lights off."

"Probably," she agreed vaguely.

She wasn't one for making love in the dark, but she preferred candles to neon lights.

He stepped in the shower cabin, and gestured for her to follow. The water felt scalding on her cold skin, causing her to take a half step forward instinctively nearly bumping into him.

"You're going to have to change the shower head," she remarked distractedly, watching him put on the bath gloves. He poured some shower gel on one, and then rubbed them together to create foam.

"Hmm," he murmured, neither in agreement, nor disagreement.

When he was satisfied with the amount of foam, he looked at her again.

"I'm very thorough. Tell me if it hurts."

With that, he began scrubbing her shoulders and the back of her neck. He was indeed quite thorough. The sensation, though not wholly unpleasant, was always at the edge of pain. His touches were precise, brisk, efficient. He went on scrubbing her arms, with the smallest indication that his attention was actually on her breasts.

How could this feel good, she wondered. But it did. This strange, unromantic, unheard of kind of foreplay felt sort of good.

Her hands were itching, and it wasn't all due to his attentive cleansing process. She wanted to touch him, but she couldn't risk seeing him withdraw. When he finished with her hands, she dug her nails in her palms and waited. He put some more shower gel on the gloves and stepped even closer. Natalie concentrated on the familiar smell, trying to keep in check the heat his closeness released inside her.

He undertook the uncomfortable task of washing her backside without ever touching her skin directly. His arms were around her body, and she was feeling the rasping sensation of the gloves on her back. He was almost holding her. He was so close, her nipples were almost touching his chest. She wondered how much of this torture she could take.

When he reached her ass, she squeaked aloud. She heard his intake of breath at her reaction, and hoped for a second that he'd wrap his arms around her, and crush her against his body. He didn't. He went on kneading her flesh for a while.

By this time, Natalie could no longer keep her eyes open. She snuck a last peak down between their bodies to take the image of his renewed enthusiasm behind closed eyelids.

She gasped and screwed her eyes tighter when she felt him kneel down before her. She heard both the sound of his kneeling, and the change in the splash of the water on his body. His hands were sliding up and down her legs in far longer movements than before. She wondered if he considered her legs less likely to be germ ridden, or he was getting impatient himself. She desperately hoped for the later explanation.

His touches were becoming gentler, and gentler. She tried to concentrated on the mild chafing of the gloves on her legs, not on the knowledge that his head was at the level of her lower belly. She was grateful for the constant hot rain that offset the feel of his breath on her skin.

She noticed that he avoided venturing between her legs. But after a while, his meticulous decontamination had mellowed down to the pace of an erotic massage. When the gloves slid up on her inner thighs, the strokes were so slow that Natalie couldn't help trembling. He kept caressing the sensitive skin, bringing her to a state of arousal that overcame her anxiety.

When he stood up again, Natalie readied herself, thinking that he was going to wash her stomach and breasts. She was wrong. She heard the small squelching noise of the fallen gloves almost at the same time that she felt his hand between her legs.

"Oh, God!" she exclaimed when his fingers started to caress hesitantly the soft, sensitive folds of the most intimate part of her. He was rubbing delicate, small circles over the very center of her being causing waves of pleasure to radiate all throughout her. His left arm snaked around her waist, pulling her close.

"Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God!" she kept murmuring when his lips found her neck, and covered it with kisses.

His head was buried in the crook of her neck, his fingers were finding their way inside her, and Natalie had to say something to cope with the intense sensations.

"You're touching me."

He smiled. She could feel the muscles of his face moving against her neck.

"Was that a complaint?" he asked huskily.

"God, no," she admitted, moaning. She couldn't take this for much longer. "May I touch you?" she asked breathlessly.

"Please." His answer came in a tone heavy with desire.

She put her arms lightly on his shoulders. His fingers stopped moving, his lips stopped kissing and he tightened his grip on her. It kept tightening as one of her hands slid down his back, while the other glided up. She entangled her fingers in his thick, wet hair, and pulled his head away to look into his eyes.

"I want you," she whispered.

"Good," he answered, and relaxed the embrace.

He pressed her gently against the wall, slid his hand from the slippery softness, along her thigh, lifting her leg, and placed himself at her entrance.

"So good," she agreed dreamily. "Sooo very good."

He pushed. He let out a groan, paused, then pushed again. He sheathed himself completely in her willing warmth.

"Oh, Natalie," he murmured, and continued to chant her name softly while moving slowly and evenly in and out of her.

Natalie held onto him tighter when he sped up the pace, bringing her to climax. She proclaimed her wonderful release with inarticulate cries of pleasure. He slammed harder into her until he followed her on the peaks of intensity.

They remained embraced under the continuous jet of hot water.

"Natalie," he whispered in her ear.

"Yes?" she answered hazily, caressing his shoulders without thinking of anything.

"When you think we're ready... you should stop taking those pills. The pink and green… tic tac… candies," he added when he saw a flicker of incomprehension in her eyes.

Her heart swelled all of a sudden. She nodded, silently. Of all the things he could have said or thought at that time... She smiled. This was as good as an "I love you".

~~~ The End ~~~
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Threshold Events