Chapter Text
The only reason Samira shows up, in retrospect, is because her date is shit.
She pushes her way into the pub, past some of the nurses she recognizes from night shift and some folks she's never seen before. It's a welcome surprise - she hadn't pegged Dr. Robby as someone with friends outside of the hospital.
Running a hand through her curls, Samira scans the packed room. Her eyes fall first on the bartender and then on Dr. Robby a couple feet away and yes, that is the perfect order. The buzz from dinner has worn off and Samira wants to quiet some of the more persistent thoughts as soon as possible.
It's when she's nearly at the bar that she spots him.
Dr. Jack Abbot leans against a high-top table, looking like he'd rather be anywhere than the conversation he's currently locked into. Samira would bet money that he posted up with his back to the wall so he would have a perfect surveillance point of the whole establishment. She nearly rolls her eyes at what a walking cliché he is, except she blinks and he's looking directly at her.
Samira watches as Dr. Abbot's mouth flattens and then twitches, watches as he swallows and his Adam's apple bobs, watches as his eyes flit down the length of her in less than a second.
She should have fucking changed.
It's nothing scandalous, which is almost more irritating. The skirt is simply different from her usual scrubs - wouldn't anything be? - and she'd put a hint of effort into her appearance because she wasn't really interested in her date, per se, but she was very interested in getting laid.
Eight months. Eight months.
It's a long time, okay.
The guy was fine, nothing too exciting but also nothing too threatening - the perfect amount of bland for Samira to spend a night with if it meant she got lucky at the end. She tolerated the inane conversation, smiled and laughed (genuinely!) at all the right moments, complimented his work. She was positive the night was cinched except he had walked her back against the exposed brick of the restaurant exterior - that was quite nice - and then tried to stick his tongue down her throat.
Samira was tired.
Not because her shifts were long, not because Robby still wasn't clear about how much or how little he wanted her with the patients, not because her research funding was being threatened by the current shitheads in power.
At thirty years old, Samira was tired of having to teach men how to please her.
Dr. Abbot probably wouldn't have to be taught anything.
Samira's head whips so quickly towards the bartender she hears the crick before the pain lances through her.
Where the fuck had that come from?
It had been two months since the "shift from hell," as she had so lovingly deemed it. That designation changed, of course, every six to eight months because there was only so much time before the next perfect storm hit the ER. PittFest, though, had left it's indelible mark on her and the rest of the day shift.
A lot could happen in two months.
For example, Samira had decided to cut her hair a little shorter than she normally did and then realized no one would notice since she wore her hair up at work.
For example, Samira started weekly yoga because a pinch had formed in her lower back and god damn it, she was a new thirty, she wasn't old.
For example, Samira worked with Dr. Abbot a couple more times than she expected.
Dr. Abbot was great. Different than Dr. Robby, not necessarily better or worse. Just...different. She couldn't exactly put a finger on it. She liked that Dr. Robby was vulnerable with his colleagues, liked what a great leader he was while simultaneously trying to push back against the power hierarchy of the department, liked that he seriously considered her suggestions even if he took his sweet time coming back and telling her so.
She liked that Dr. Abbot was also a good leader, was both organized and able to adapt in a moment's notice. She liked that he gave them a bit more leeway than Dr. Robby when it came to making their own decisions, but always made them justify the why. She liked that he was willing to be a bit unconventional, was willing to stand up for his residents, students, and fellows.
(She liked the way he looked at her -)
Their shifts rarely overlapped except when they did and, when they did, Samira was Dr. Abbot's right hand woman. She's not sure how exactly she fell into this role - neither of them talked about it and they didn't see each other outside of the ER - but she really, really liked how right it felt. She pushed him, he pushed her. There was a confidence brewing in her that she had started and Dr. Robby had cupped his hands around, but that Dr. Abbot was helping fan into a broad flame.
All this to say - Samira liked Dr. Abbot, a lot. As a colleague. She definitely didn't have a certain dream that kept -
No need to lie, Samira.
"Can I get a gin and tonic? Please." Samira tacks on as the bartender starts putting together her drink. She keeps her gaze forward, decides she'll have one drink, she'll make one set of rounds, and then she'll get the hell out of here before she does something she regrets.
Samira should know not to make promises she doesn't want to keep.
"If I didn't know any better, Dr. Mohan, I'd think you were avoiding me."
Samira looks over her shoulder, her ass firmly planted on the stool she had commandeered after hovering purposefully around its previous occupant.
Dr. Abbot rests his forearms on the bar, nodding at the bartender. Samira - two drinks in, which means she's only slightly tipsy but way more relaxed than she usually is - lets her gaze trail across his exposed forearms, across the veins that stand out so prominently. Across his corded neck and up to his face where he wears the barest hint of a smirk.
Fuck, she never was very subtle.
Samira returns her attention to the room, pointedly ignoring him. Ignoring, not avoiding.
"Nice that you came." He continues, taking a swig from the fresh beer bottle. Turning, he mirrors her pose, elbows resting on the wood.
"We all love Dr. Robby. It's good to show it, to remind ourselves who's in our corner." She finishes her drink and waves off the bartender's inquiry into a refill. This is her sweet spot, plus she's planning on saying her goodbyes soon. She hadn't gotten laid, but she'd spent time with her friends and that'd suffice, at least for tonight.
"Mhm." Dr. Abbot hums in acquiescence and she glances over quickly. His eyes scan the room, a curated nonchalance on his face that she knows only goes so deep. "Were you on a date?"
Samira's mouth falls open, but there's no point in denying. "There's no way you could know that."
His eyes flit over, the smirk more pronounced. "Your hair's down, you've got makeup on, and you're wearing what's obviously an outfit for a date."
She scoffs. "I can want to look nice for my coworker's party." Crossing her arms, Samira shifts to face him fully. "Try again." She's not sure why she's pushing, but there's a challenge in the statement and it sends a thrill down her spine when Abbot clearly rises to the bait.
He leans down, face close - he's only this close when they're working on a patient and Samira tries to keep her face impassive. Somehow his words are crystal clear over the din of the crowded bar. "You dropped a condom from your purse when you paid earlier."
Samira reels back and her panicked gaze darts to the floor. There, perfectly strewn under her hanging bag, is a lone foil packet.
Her boot slams down over it automatically.
"Oh my god." She whispers, covering her face.
"If that's for your coworkers party, I'll get out of your hair then." Dr. Abbot laughs and she swears she can feel it against the growing heat of her cheek.
"Oh my god." She reiterates and lets herself wallow for only three more seconds before remembering who she is. Samira sits up straight and looks Abbot directly in the eye.
His eyebrow raises, surprised by the abrupt change but clearly intrigued.
"Yes, I was on a date. No, I did not come here planning to have sex with any of my colleagues." Samira states, though she has the wherewithal to keep her voice down. The two of them are secluded, but she has zero interest in being the prime target of the gossip mill come Monday.
"Mhm." Abbot hums again, sipping his beer. "Date didn't go well, I take it?"
Samira sighs, weighing how much she's willing to give him to satiate his curiosity. "No."
His eyebrow jumps again.
"He just wasn't...for me." Illusive, perfunctory.
Abbot isn't buying it.
"He was a shit kisser, alright?" Samira grumbles and Abbot nods once, finally turns away from her and she finds she can breathe again.
A minute goes by, two, and then Samira is opening her mouth to make a hasty exit when there's a whisper in her ear.
"What an absolute shame."
When she can blink, Dr. Abbot has disappeared.
Samira clenches her thighs and pretends she imagined their entire encounter.
Samira shrugs on her coat and fluffs out her hair, giving Dr. Robby one last hug. "Happy birthday, Robby."
He responds with his thanks, with a reminder to stay safe, with a check to see if anyone else is leaving, maybe they could go with her -
She simply laughs as Dr. Collins drags him back into the fray with an exasperated sigh.
Shouldering out the way she came, Samira heaves a breath as she breaks out the door and into the frigid air of Pittsburgh. Tucking her hands into her pockets, she does a check to make sure she has everything and turns right -
Dr. Abbot takes a deep inhale of a cigarette, jacket tucked around him and braced against the cold. He doesn't catch sight of her right away, and it's for that reason alone, she convinces herself, that she stares.
Samira thinks he's younger than he looks; salt-and-pepper hair, stubble, exhausted lines carved into his face. She can imagine a young version of Jack Abbot starting out as a spunky, slightly cocky doctor - similar to Santos, she thinks with a grimace. Or maybe he grew into the certainty, a quiet student, keenly observational and cautious of fucking things up. Or maybe he was an army medic from the beginning, maybe he's always looked this exhausted.
She can tell the second she's been made. His posture tightens, back straightening up. He doesn't look at her but he knows she's there and Samira has no interest in sending his hackles rising this late at night.
"Thought those things killed?" Samira braves against the distance and she doesn't fight the smile that forms when his shoulders drop, when he stubs out the cigarette and finally looks up.
"Doctors are liars, think I've heard that." Abbot observes the empty sidewalk. "You headed home?"
"Yup." Samira nods, but makes no move.
"Got a shift tomorrow?" He cocks his head.
"Nope." Samira responds.
The electricity confuses her as much as it excites her, because Samira is not a rule-breaker in the traditional sense. The 'taboo', the 'illicitness' - that doesn't do it for her. In fact, Samira is distinctly wary of men in positions of power who like to laud it over pretty, young girls.
This isn't that, is what she knows.
Abbot is all restraint, all talk and no bite. She knows he's been flirting with her, knows it as clearly as she knows that if she ever showed a flicker of discomfort, he'd back off immediately. Hell, he'd probably permanently take himself off her shifts if he could get away with it.
Samira knows he's been flirting with her, because she'd discovered weeks ago she's been flirting right back.
And if you think about it -
Eight months is a long time with just her fingers.
"Jack." Samira says and the reaction it elicits immediately sets her heart pounding. Dr. Abbot - Jack - inhales sharply, eyes widening. He takes a step forward, pure instinct driven, before stopping himself. And, oh. There's a power that she suddenly feels, coursing through her veins and setting her blood on fire. Samira knows now, without a shadow of a doubt, that she was always going to have to be the instigator.
"Walk me home?"
Samira Mohan loves many things. She loves the cafe that's two blocks away from her apartment and makes the best Adeni Chai she's had in the city. She loves her job and her research, even though they both make her want to rip her hair out sometimes. She loves cats and she loves movies that make her cry and she loves spending her days off traveling - to different countries, states, neighborhoods, it doesn't matter.
But what Samira loves, more than most other things, is when she's fucking right.
Her apartment door slams shut and she hears the lock click into place as she's pushed against it. She has no time to kick off her boots, to lose her coat, to rid herself of her purse. She has no time for anything before Jack Abbot's lips are pressed against hers.
She fucking knew he'd be good at this.
One of his hands - those quick, dexterous hands she's watched work for months - cups her cheek and the kiss is insistent but not hard. He angles her slightly, their height much closer with her boots helping. It's a control she's willing to concede when his lips fit between hers, when his other hand slithers onto her waist, around the bulky fabric of her coat. She can't remember when she shut her eyes - doesn't matter now, of course - and she falls into the feeling, the months of tension finally reaching its breaking point.
Jack shifts and her hands come up, grab onto the lapel of his jacket and keep him exactly where he is. She can feel the smile against her lips, decides to try and erase it. She sucks on his lower lip, lets her teeth sink in for a second. The hand on her cheek slides into her hair, collects a handful at her scalp, and tugs with only the barest hint of force.
Samira's eyes fly open.
"Couldn't stop thinking about this gorgeous hair all night." Samira fights the full body shudder, refuses to let him see the effect of his words, of his voice. It's low and pointed, and suddenly the layers upon layers are stifling.
"Off." She mutters and there's an abrupt emptiness in front of her. She blinks and Jack is a foot away from her, hands flexing at his side. Samira bites the inside of her cheek, narrows her eyes. Likes the way his gaze track her movements as she unbuttons and lets her coat drop to the ground, her purse following. "I meant our clothes. But good to know you follow instructions so well."
He takes an enormous breath, perhaps to steady himself, and Samira prefers when he's back within grabbing distance again. Jack leans in and Samira puts a hand on his neck. She doesn't grab, doesn't curl her fingers - she simply stops him in his tracks.
(She does file the slight uptick of his breathing away for later, though.)
"I'm exactly where I want to be." Samira says, maintaining eye contact. "I appreciate your vigilance, but I want this. And I will let you know if that changes at any point, with a resounding no. Which I expect would be understood."
Jack nods, and then the corner of his mouth twitches up. "Was never planning on treating you with kid gloves."
"Good." Samira says and pulls her hand away. Jack's lips are on hers before she can take a full breath, and she responds enthusiastically. Her hands push under his collar, slide his jacket off. She tosses her wrists over his shoulders, dragging him in closer. She can feel his hand span the width of her lower back, palm a brand through her sweater.
She feels his tongue at the seam of her mouth and now, she's ready. Now, she's eager to know exactly what he tastes like. She arches off the door at the first pass of his tongue against hers and he grunts into her mouth. His hand glides down, squeezes at her ass before sliding back up and there's the wonderful sensation of his fingers against her bare skin.
Samira breaks away to suck in air, and Jack takes this opportunity to turn his attention elsewhere. He presses kisses to her jawbone, down her neck, pausing for a second at the spot she knew she dabbed perfume on earlier. The thought flits through her mind until she feels his lips latch onto her skin. She gasps, hand coming to rest against the back of his head, keeping him against her. He works her over, a jarring alternation between gentle pecks and harsh sucks. Jack moves with a surety that sets her teeth on edge and she's about to pull him back when he finds a spot she didn't know existed.
"Oh." Samira makes a noise - a strange something between a hiccup and a moan - and then Jack is flush against her, panting in her ear.
"Fuck, I did hope you'd make some pretty noises for me."
Samira's vision goes a little hazy at the corner because there's a lot happening at once and she's not sure she's ever felt this keyed up. Her heart is pounding in her chest, her panties are starting to get uncomfortably sticky, and she's relatively sure she can feel Jack's erection against her thigh.
"I -" She starts except she has no idea what she wants to say. There's so much less fumbling than she's used to and it hits Samira that she's always been the one in charge with her sexual partners. They followed her lead and she was more than content telling them exactly what to do - it was usually the only way she'd guarantee an orgasm, after all.
But Jack is...Jack is ten years her senior, probably closer to fifteen. There's no awkward dawdling, no second guessing, no faltering. A sense of relief floods into Samira's nervous system and she sags against the door. Jack, as she suspects, is there to hold her up.
"I don't have to teach you a damn thing, do I?" Samira whispers against his cheek, almost purrs at the scrape of his stubble against her smooth skin.
She feels him pause and then a chuckle follows. "There's plenty I have to learn from you, Mohan." She hides the dopey smile in his neck. "But for this, I'd say you're in pretty good hands."
"They're really nice hands." She agrees and his chuckle grows louder. Finally, Samira leans back and kisses him, licks into his mouth and swallows the groan he lets out.
Jack pulls back, hands appearing at her waist. She raises her arms obediently, lets him relieve her of her sweater and all she's left in is her bra, her rucked up skirt, and - damn it, her fucking boots are still on.
She tilts her chin up, tries to catch his attention and ask for a kiss without actually asking. But Jack is tracing her exposed skin with a heated gaze, pupils blown with a hunger that has Samira clenching around nothing.
"Can I tell you what I'd like to do with these nice hands of mine?" He starts at the band of her bra and trails down, his fingers pressing into each divot of her rib cage as if he's counting.
Samira nods, finds that's all she really can do.
"I'd like to push your skirt up and see how wet you are. And then I'd like to eat you out, for as long as you'll let me or until I pass out from exhaustion, whichever comes first."
Samira swallows, her throat dry. Jack pauses in his ministrations and ducks his head to catch her eye. "I was in the military and I'm the night shift attending, I wouldn't worry too much about exhaustion."
Oh and she has many questions about that, except her brow furrows because she's finally processing the first part. "Wait - you only wanna do that?"
He chuckles, slides his palms up her sides again. "You sayin' only makes me think you don't understand the full extent of this situation." He pauses, eyeing her for a moment. "Or maybe people haven't taken care of you the way they should have."
She goes to open her mouth, goes to interject except Jack captures her lips in a kiss bordering on tender and then sighs into her mouth.
"Samira."
She realizes with a start it's the first time he's said her name.
"I'm getting on my knees now, okay?"
Jack Abbot is a man true to his word.
(Has Samira mentioned how much she loves being right?)
"Fuck." Samira cries out, head pressing back into the apartment door with force. She clenches at the silky fabric in her hand, mindful to keep it high enough so that she can watch him but not too high that it covers her breasts. Just like Jack told her to.
She feels him groan, focuses on that and not the sounds that keep escaping her lips, not the sounds he's drawing from her core.
He had told her she was drenched, with a sort of reverence that made Samira blush. (Samira didn't blush.)
His tongue darts out and into her core, and the leg that he had thrown over his shoulder jerks against his back. His hand tightens around her thigh, the other pressing low on her abdomen, two fingers spreading her open for him.
His tongue tracks a path up and finds her clit once again, kitten licks lulling her into a false sense of safety before he sucks and hollows out his cheeks. Samira can't help the pitiful moan, one hand releasing the grasp of her skirt and finding purchase in his hair.
Jack retreats and Samira feels like crying.
"God, you're fucking stunning." He looks surprised at the words, like he had meant to scold her for letting her skirt drop and instead was mesmerized into praise.
"Jack, please." She says and she's not begging, not in earnest. He may be good, but he's not -
"Please, what?" He asks, except it's in the same tone he sometimes uses in the pit, and fuck.
"You -" She pants out, eyes darting around. "You know what."
Jack shakes his head, almost mournful. His hands haven't moved a muscle and he refuses to return to her dripping pussy. "I don't. You're the smartest one in this room, Mohan, so tell me."
And god, she would swear she didn't have a praise kink before meeting Jack fucking Abbot.
"Grab your skirt." He commands and then immediately softens. "Please. I want to see you. Hold your skirt and tell me what you want me to do."
Samira stares down at the man - this fucking man - on his knees, her own slick glistening on his chin, on his lips. And something in Samira snaps. "I want you to do what you said you would do. I didn't say to stop - are you exhausted already, Dr. Abbot? Guess all that training doesn't matter after a certain age."
A silence, so profound, falls on her apartment.
Jack stares up at her, so still he could be mistaken for a statue. And then Samira watches his eyes flash, watches a grin so feral form on his face that she wonders if she should be afraid. "You're fucking trouble."
He doesn't give her the opportunity to form another word against him.
Jack devours her with all the skill and fervor of a man who believes - truly - that there is nothing better than this kind of pleasure. His tongue starts a steady, relentless pace against her clit and it's less than two minutes later that Samira jolts out of her daze.
Her bottom lip rips itself out from between her teeth. "Jack, I'm gonna -!"
It doesn't matter, anyway. Jack's pace is steady, sure, and within seconds, Samira's mouth is opening with a wordless moan. Her orgasm hits her and she clenches her hands into her skirt, holds onto the smallest amount of sanity so she doesn't grind into Jack's face. She rides out wave after wave, thighs shaking until finally she can catch her breath again.
Except, her thighs won't stop shaking.
Except, her core keeps tensing and her eyes won't open and -
Jack hasn't stopped.
Jack continues the onslaught against her clit and Samira gives a quick tug at his hair.
"Jack, I - shit - I came, I -" Her words stop at a particularly clever swipe of his tongue. Jack, mouth still working her over, glances up. His eyes are dark, his brow set with determination.
Samira realizes, with a growing sense of trepidation, that perhaps she has absolutely no idea what she got herself into.
He manages to readjust his grip on her thigh without slowing his pace, and she's still staring down at him with a mixture of arousal and disbelief when she feels a pressure at her core.
Oh fuck, oh fuck.
There's no hesitancy, no resistance as he slides a finger into her - her orgasm has made her pliant under (above) him. He crooks it immediately, pressing once, twice, maneuvering as if he's searching for -
"Abbot!" Samira cries out and this time, her head slams backwards. The sound is loud and Jack jerks, pulling away faster than she thought possible.
"Hey, no concussions." He frowns and waits for her to flutter her eyes open again. "You're alright?"
She wonders if he'll ask her to list off all the possible symptoms of a concussion. She has to bite back the delirious giggle, but she nods all the same. "Yeah, I'm -"
He gets his proof of life and promptly decides that's good enough.
Whiplash. It must feel like this, Samira manages to think, as she grinds down onto Jack's two fingers, onto his tongue's attention on her clit.
She's lost all sense of time, of pretense. She's shameless, and that's okay she's decided. She doesn't try to cover her mouth, doesn't try to stifle the sounds leaking from her mouth; it's a truly fruitless endeavor, but it also seems to drive Jack crazy and she's not above playing dirty.
Mainly, Samira has decided, she would simply like to orgasm again.
Jack replaces his tongue with his thumb - whether it's for respite or not, Samira doesn't care. She quite likes his thumb, actually, because it's as agile as the rest of his hand. She glances down and sees Jack leaning against her thigh, panting heavily but watching her with this wicked smirk on his face. She doesn't like how much it sets her off.
Jack's wrists twists and his fingers press down, hard, and Samira chokes out a whine - a new sound. She swears she feels the temperature shift, the way Jack's shoulder stiffens under her thigh, the way his fingers press again and again on that exact spot, attempting to draw out the sound. She's past caring, hovering at the precipice of so close, she -
"Come on, Samira." His voice drifts up to her and Samira clenches around his fingers instinctually, receiving a groan for her effort. "I know you want to come. You look so beautiful when you do. Such a beautiful woman."
She grinds down harder against his thumb, suddenly teetering on the edge and oh fuck, it hasn't felt like this before, it hasn't felt -
"Such a beautiful doctor."
Samira almost bites her tongue. "Bastard!" And then white stars burst behind her eyelids as Samira comes, harder than she ever has. She releases a gasp but any other sound is trapped within her as she constricts, nearly folds into herself as spasms wrack her body. It lasts another couple of seconds and then she exhales shakily, grabbing blindly at the door behind her, at the bookshelf somewhere to her side.
This time, Jack's fingers slow with her breathing, coax some last shudders from her before coming to a full stop. She doesn't have time to express any sort of gratitude before he's up, with a bruising kiss and a groan.
"Is that because of me or your knees?" She can't seem to stop smiling.
"Both." He huffs out and that gets a real laugh from her. His hand stays on her thigh, rubbing into the muscle and she almost stops him before she understands - he held it over his shoulder for so long, it's likely to cramp. Her heart thumps, heavy in her chest. "Turn around, Samira."
Pulling back, she gapes at him. "I can't -"
"I'm going to take your boots off." Jack cocks his head. "What'd you think I was gonna do?"
Samira sucks on her teeth, a clear stand-off between the two of them. "Exactly that."
"Well, good." He takes a step back, the picture of nonchalance except for the bulge in his pants. Her eyes dart down once, twice, and then she turns around to ignore that stupid, cocky smirk he throws at her.
Samira presses her hands into the apartment door and breathes out, limbs feeling loose and unsteady. She hears Jack behind her, feels his hands at her knee, at her calf, unzipping her boot and then sliding it off, placing her foot carefully back on the ground. She swallows against the lump in her throat. He does the same thing on the other side, ritualistic in his attentiveness.
Samira is about to turn around when she feels his hands dancing up the backs of her legs, over the material of her skirt. There's a whisper of his breath at her back, at her neck and then he is unzipping her skirt. The fabric drops, pools at her feet. His fingers trail up and Samira knows she's shaking slightly, knows there are goosebumps all over her body. He unhooks her bra, slides the straps delicately off her shoulders. It joins her skirt and all he says is, "step out", before collecting the material and joining her panties wherever he had thrown them earlier.
Samira stares at her apartment door, chest heaving at the feeling of being fully naked. Before she can turn around, before she can turn the tide and finally regain some control of this night, she feels Jack plaster himself against her back, fully dressed.
"You -" She starts, because this is starting to feel a bit unfair, starting to feel -
"Samira Mohan, you extraordinary being." Jack breathes against her neck and Samira freezes. She glances down, his fingers cupping her ribs again and slotting his fingers into place. "I cannot believe a single person has ever let you go." Without her heels, he now stands a couple of inches taller than her and she can tell that he's dipping down to nip at her ear. It sends a shiver down her spine. "I cannot believe how lucky I am to be able to taste you. To watch you come."
"Jack."
"Fuck, to hear my name come out of those sweet lips." His voice is low, though its rough and fraying at the edges. Samira swallows, wondering what Dr. Jack Abbot losing control would really look like. "Can you come again for me?"
Samira's eyes widen and she finally notices that his hands have been drawing patterns in her skin, one circling upwards, the other down. His one hand traces the underside of her breast, gives a gentle squeeze - but her body is too keyed up from two orgasms and she bucks in his hold.
Jack grunts, pushes back instinctively and she can feel him, hard and wanting against her ass. It's pure instinct that has her pressing back again in retribution, suddenly desperate to feel him.
He hisses, but his other hand grasps at her hip, holding her in place. He doesn't push her away but he doesn't let her grind back either. "You want it?"
She doesn't know how to respond but he takes the opportunity to swipe a thumb across her nipple and her head turns, trying to stifle the sound in her shoulder.
"Oh, no. Don't do that, you know I wanna hear you." He nudges his forehead into her temple and there's a nice sort of intimacy in that movement. She smiles, bites at her lip.
"Thought you were gonna eat me out. That was the deal, wasn't it?" Samira doesn't usually tease as much, but she finds she likes Jack's reactions. Likes riling him up. Likes what it gets her, too.
He places a gentle kiss to her temple and releases the hand at her waist, works his way down her abdomen, through the curls framing her cunt. Her clit is too sensitive and he seems to sense that as she gives a hard shudder, bypassing it to find her entrance. His other fingers tweak at her nipple and she rests her forehead against the door, lightheaded.
"You were right - my knees weren't up to the task, unfortunately." He sounds so morose she lets out a laugh that quickly transforms into a moan. His fingers dip into her soaking entrance, but go no further. "So I have a compromise. You let me make you come one more time against this door and then we move."
She tries to escape the repeated ministrations of his hand on her breast, but that either pushes her into his waiting fingers at her core or into his cock, hot even through his slacks. God, between a rock and a fucking hard place, huh.
"On one condition." Samira finds her voice, cracked and dry, but determined. It seems to draw something from Jack, who jerks his hips forward for a second before regaining some composure. "After, you sit on my couch and you let me ride you until you come."
Jack's hands pause on her body and Samira feels like she's finally won something tonight. (Barring the multiple orgasms, of course.)
"You run a hard bargain there, Mohan." It sounds like a laugh, but it gets stuck in his throat. He crowds her against the door, no part of their bodies not touching. "You've got a deal."
And maybe - just maybe - Samira miscalculated that whole winning thing.
"Jack, Jack, please - please, harder -" Samira rises up onto her toes, grasping at his wrist and turning it so his fingers hit her just right.
"Yup, I got you. Like that, right?" She wonders if he's actually as composed as he sounds. His hips have bumped hers a couple of times, a clear sign that his own pleasure is a frayed razor wire at this point. But he's one-tracked, focused solely on her.
Samira won't lie and say she'd never had a fantasy about what it could be like, with Dr. Jack Abbot. But she hadn't considered - all the drive, the concentration, the obsession that he brings to his work.
She hadn't considered what it might be like to be the center of it.
"You wanna ride my hand, don't you? You can, go ahead." She can't think of anything when he talks to her like this. "Or are you picturing my cock instead?"
Samira almost chokes on air and that same whine from earlier escapes.
"Shit, there it is, there you are." His fingers begin a persistently determined pace, and Samira's entire body starts to shake. "You have no idea what you do to me, do you? I'll give you whatever you want, baby, whatever you want from me."
She's not sure if he registers the pet name but it's soon gone from her own mind as he tugs at her nipple in perfect coordination with the pads of his fingers working her over from the inside out.
Samira pushes one hand into the door to get leverage, and tosses the other behind her, gripping at the back of Jack's neck. There's nowhere for her to go, but she needs to ground herself otherwise there's a chance she might float out of her body, never to return.
"I want you to make me come again." Samira tries for assertive, tries for demanding, tries for a semblance of the surety she was sure she possessed thirty minutes ago. But she's quite sure what comes out is more breathless, is more pleading.
Jack - with his single, undivided attention - does as Samira asks.
His fingers do not relent, though there's no way they're not cramping by now. He shifts his hips, steps his feet outside of her own so she can lean her full weight back against him - which, inadvertently, gets the angle of his wrist absolutely perfect. Samira wrenches at the back of his neck harshly, mouth set in a frown from how much she truly wants to sob.
The crescendo rises again, this time with the slightest hint of 'too-much' under it that makes her toes curl but brings a vicious satisfaction to her chest, to her throbbing pussy, to her wrecked throat. Jack whispers mantras into her ear, praises and adorations that eventually descend into a single plea.
"Come for me, Samira."
This time, it's an implosion that Samira quickly loses control of. She clamps down around Jack's fingers and immediately starts to fold in. It's Jack's arm around her waist - and god, that fucking bicep, how had she not noticed - his broad body holding her up. Samira lets herself go lax, breathy sobs escaping out that leave her dizzy, made worse by Jack telling her how good she was.
She swats at his hand until he falls silent, until he slides his fingers out of her - another convulsion wracking her at that - and carefully maneuvers them both to the floor. Jack holds her, for which she is immensely grateful, until the numbness in her fingers and toes subsides and she can form a single thought besides 'fuck' again.
"Too much?" Jack asks after some time has passed. Samira groans, leans back heavily into his waiting arms and wraps them around her fully.
"Give me a sec." She slurs out. Her cunt is pulsing and her nerve-endings feel like they're hooked up to an electric fence.
She can feel Jack's erection, still full, against her hip.
Samira takes a deep breath, lets it out, and then turns fully around.
Dr. Jack Abbot sits, one knee crooked up, his shoes and jacket the only items of clothes missing. His hair is slightly disheveled, his fingers glisten with her slick, and the only indication that he's at all rattled - besides the aforementioned erection - is the pink flush on his cheeks.
Dr. Jack Abbot smiles at her and Samira's heart pounds. He looks ten years younger and suddenly, Samira -
Samira wants.
"Get on the couch, Jack."
Samira might not be able to fully feel all of her limbs. Sure, she might have to lean against some of her furniture to make it to the couch without her knees giving out. There's perhaps a non-zero chance she has a concussion.
But Dr. Samira Mohan didn't spend years in med school, in her internship, in an emergency medicine residency to be called a fucking quitter.
As soon as Jack's boxer briefs hit his ankles, she's pushing him back onto the couch. He spreads his arms out, cock bobbing against his stomach, pre-cum glistening at the tip. It's a nice cock, Samira will admit that. She lobs the condom from her purse at him, smiling as it hits him dead between the eyes, reflexes dulled. His brows crawl up as he unrolls the condom, distracted by her movements.
"Are you...stretching?" He asks, hand frozen at the base of his cock. A, like, really nice cock, wow. Where had he been hiding that?
"I don't want a cramp." She frowns, confused by his questioning.
He blinks, a little dazed, so Samira takes the opportunity to swing a leg over his hip and settle into his lap. She retrieves a little bottle of lube she keeps in her miscellaneous drawer - she's still ready, but a cock is different than fingers.
Samira rubs the lube up his shaft, delighting in how Jack shivers, tosses his head back and exposes the corded muscle of his neck. A nice neck, too.
She lines him up with her entrance, settling one hand on his shoulder for balance. Jack suddenly grabs at her hips, holding her just above him. His eyes dart over her face, catch the wince as his cock rubs against her sensitive clit inadvertently. He smacks his lips together, looks about ready to say something, but Samira simply stares. The hesitancy melts away, back to desire and heat mixed with the flicker of fondness she's just picked up on.
He trusts her. And she trusts him.
Samira sinks down onto his cock and it's like all the air has been punched out of her.
Samira has had a decent amount of sexual encounters; in fact, she prefers cowgirl because it allows her to set the pace. But it has never - and she means never - felt like this. She's confident most of it can be attributed to the preceding three orgasms. But there's also -
There's also the way Jack is watching her.
She rests her hands on his thighs - and god, they're thick, aren't they? - as she catches her breath, and Jack clutches at her hips like she's his lifeline. He keeps looking at her face, then down to where they're fully connected, and back up again. There's a line between his brows that she desperately wants to smooth out but that would mean moving, and that's gonna take another second or three.
"Take your time." Jack says, voice deep and calm. Samira sniffs and sits back up, getting a thrill of delight as his eyes widen. She raises her hips up and brings them back down, hard, into his lap. "Jesus Christ."
"Don't tell me what to do." She does it a second time, squeezing her eyes shut at the fullness. Her breathing turns harsh and she tries to raise her hips again.
Jack doesn't let her, his grip a lock on her waist.
"You're so damn stubborn." He grits out, eyes blazing but a smile fighting its way on his face. She leverages her weight forward, palms on his shoulders, and twitches her hips forward and back. He doesn't have the right traction but as soon as Samira starts a lazy circling rhythm, he stops fighting.
A huff escapes from him and he shakes his head. She grins down and that dazed look makes a reappearance.
Samira is kind of exhausted, but there's a simmering exhilaration as she observes Jack under hooded eyes. She can tell he's still holding back from chasing his own pleasure - which, in her current state, she does appreciate - but there's a clench to his jaw, a tightening of his chest that tells her there's only so much he can take.
To be fair, Samira's not that far behind.
She's never orgasmed more than twice in one night, and even that time was an hour or so apart. Her overworked clit rubs against Jack's pelvis as she grinds forward and half of her wants to retreat while the other half wants to see what happens if she goes for four. The curiosity, the oversaturation - all of it is almost too much to bear. But it's Jack, who rests his hands over hers as they rest on his chest, who eggs her on.
"You want to come again, don't you?" He asks and she finds herself nodding before she can register what she's doing. Her back straightens, and she pulls away from him but Jack is quicker. He grabs her hips, drags her against him again, and says, "Don't run away from me."
God damn it, fuck.
"I don't run from shit." Samira grates out and Jack meets her.
"No, you don't."
It shouldn't be this fucking hot, should it?
Samira feels like she's out of her body when she says, "So what are you going to do then - baby."
Time stands still, for a second.
Samira watches the word hit Jack, watches his face shutter and contort. Then, she feels his hands tighten on her waist, feels his hips punch up, fuck into her with a strength that's as surprising as it is pornographic.
Jack releases the death-grip on her hips as he comes back to himself, deflates - except for his cock, still hard and wanting inside of her - and breathes out, "I think we should create religions around you."
Samira's never been threatened with deification before.
"No cults." She demands.
Jack chokes. "Deal."
He watches her for another moment before coming to some sort of conclusion. He tucks an arm behind her back, shifts them so he can lean his head back on the couch cushion once more.
And then, Samira watches - breath held - as he takes her wrist and guides her hand to his neck. As he molds her fingers to his skin.
“Squeeze your thumb and your middle finger. Don’t put any pressure on the front of my neck - why is that, Dr. Mohan?”
It shouldn’t be this hot, it shouldn’t make her clamp down around him, it shouldn’t leave her breathless.
She answers reflexively. “Sustained pressure against the larynx can result in lack of oxygen to the brain and bruising to the vocal cords.”
“What else?” He stares, putting pressure on her thumb and two fingers. She presses a little harder and watches in fascination as his eyes flutter - not fully shut, but hazy with desire. Aimed right at her.
“There was a case where asphyxiation caused carotid artery contusion, it was barely caught in time -“ Samira cuts herself off, wills her fingers loose as Jack moans into the space between them. She can feel it in his neck, against the palm of her hand.
“You really are the smartest of us, fuck."
Samira sort of loses herself after that.
She keeps her hand on his neck - never pushing against, only squeezing the sides when she remembers. Her body is starting to flag, but she pushes down, grinding into him over and over and over as - somehow - the heat builds within her again. It's sharp and firing in her fingers and her toes and at the edges of her periphery. Her movements become sloppy as she pants, as she moans and makes these little breathless whimpers that make Jack's grip grow tighter and tighter.
He can sense it, as she hits the edge for the fourth time that night. He breathes out, almost pushing his neck into her hand, and wraps hands around her back. Samira welcomes the respite, her thighs burning, but she keeps her hand exactly where he wants it. Jack plants his feet down and fucks up into her once, twice, three times and Samira has to let go of his throat before she chokes him for real.
What Samira hears is the broken cry she releases, Jack's name completely jumbled.
What Samira hears is him groaning into her ear as he finally - finally - lets himself go. He pushes deep into her repeatedly and Samira would be astounded if she had anything left in her.
What Samira hears is Jack calling her name and then she is out like a fucking light.
She fell asleep. She did not pass out, no matter what Dr. Jack Abbot claims.
When she first wakes, it's dark and there's rustling as she's tucked under some covers. She grabs at the arm, grips the bicep with whatever strength she can muster.
"Stay." She mumbles, eyes blinking, trying to adjust, to focus on something.
"I can go, Mohan." He tries to argue but she does not relent. He knew she was stubborn, after all.
"I'm asking you to stay." She says and so help her, if he makes her try to form another sentence she's gonna lose it.
There's a beat of silence before she hears a sigh and then the adjustment of sheets next to her. A wave of cold air comes in, she shivers, and then she is promptly met with her very own personal heater.
Samira latches on to the bicep and does not let go.
When she wakes up the second time, it is clearly late morning. Samira tries to swallow and and finds her mouth dry. Tries to reach out to her nightstand and lets out a gasp as her body comes back online.
Sore. A deep, bone-aching sore.
Samira falls back into her pillows and finally opens her eyes. She squints around her room as the night returns, piece by fucking piece.
She fucked Dr. Jack Abbot. What the fuck.
Her eyes fall on a piece of paper, corner peeking off her end table. She grabs it and reads,
Sorry I left early - had to cover day shift. I think we can go for 5 next time.
JA
Samira sits up, a cold sweat breaking out on her skin.
"He had fucking work today?!"