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Samira wasn’t sure when feelings started to grow between them. She knew, at least for herself, that she was almost immediately attracted to him. Abbot was a force of a man. He wasn’t tall by any means, but he just took up so much space with his presence. Stoic and strong, the type of man that could kill you with his bare hands, but instead used them to save lives. He was solid and confident without being cocky, and devastatingly competent. He was also ridiculously handsome in a way that made it hard for her not to stare at him. But for the first year she knew him, she thought he was married. And he was, of course, but she hadn’t known he was a widower. Even when she found out, it didn’t change much. She didn’t really know him, working those first few years solely on day shift. He was also very much her senior at work. Besides, Abbot was not the kind of man who was subtle. He wasn’t interested.
Until, of course, he was. That was what Samira couldn’t quite pinpoint.
Maybe it was sometime around the time she became an R3. She and Ellis had gotten fairly close, bouncing study sessions between their apartments, and they often switched between nights and days, each wanting to learn the ebbs and flows of the shift differential. Abbot far exceeded Robby in his ability to mentor her. He liked that she took her time, never called her names, never nagged or yelled. He encouraged her to look at the details closely and he pushed her. Because of his unwavering belief in her, she flourished in her skills and in her confidence. Because he believed in her in a way no one else ever had. And she got to know him in those quiet moments between patients, learned the rhythm of him in the chaos, realized he had a dry wit to him after shifts on the bench in the park.
Apparently, that’s what Abbot needed to be interested in her. He needed to know her. He stared at her a lot, his gaze a heavy weight that she could feel. At first it was intimidating, but now she craved it, the way his hazel eyes tracked her every movement at work. And he touched her now too. A splayed hand on her lower back as they crossed the pit, a thick arm across her shoulders as he leaned in close to her computer when he explained something, a gentle grip on her wrist when she tried to look away when he complimented her.
Samira was always waiting for him to break, or for her opportunity to make a move. She was an R4 now, pushing 31, with her life exactly where she wanted it in all aspects except for her relationship status. She had thought there were several times when things almost escalated, but for some reason Abbot would pull back. And she let him. They could take their time. There was no rush. Until one night, after several beers on the bench at the park, Jack invited her to his place for a “real drink”. The real drink ended up being three bourbon straights for him and two Jack and diet cokes for her (sue her, she liked all forms of Jack). One thing had led to another, and in the haze of alcohol and the adrenaline crash of another chaotic shift, Samira had crossed the cushions on the sofa and kissed him.
And Abbot didn’t kiss her back.
He was sweet and gentle, but he pushed her shoulders back and offered her a glass of water. When she declined, already on the cusp of tears, he stood up anyway, rubbing his palms on his thighs. He was uncomfortable, she had made him uncomfortable. She quickly said something about her Uber being there (she hadn’t even ordered one) and didn’t wait for him to argue before she bolted out the door.
That had been almost a month ago. She hadn’t switched shifts with Ellis since then because she didn’t want to make work weird. It was too important to her and it was too important to him to bring that awkwardness there. She would let it die down, and then she would pick up like normal.
Samira Mohan was very good at compartmentalizing. She was also very good at not being chosen. Always second place, always close, but not quite. Salutatorian in high school, second chair in violin, below Langdon to Robby, and always an afterthought to her mother after her father’s death. Not being chosen by Abbot was just another thing to add to the list.
Eventually, though, Ellis asked and Samira said yes. It was high time anyway, and it wasn’t like she hadn’t talked to Abbot since that night. She would smile and say hi at handoff, would hold her hands behind her back and pinch the thin skin of her wrist when his stare would linger. They still had a shared Doc where they would send each other journal articles with their own thoughts and comments in the margins.
It was fine. It would be fine. Samira would make sure of that. No more making Jack Abbot uncomfortable. And it was. After a very brief beat of awkwardness at the beginning of the shift when they were the first two there, they settled into the flow of the night, working off each other like they always did. Fluid, like water. She was the ocean’s tide to his moon’s gravity, being pulled and pushed without thought or words. She knew what he wanted, what he would need, and he was always there to catch her if she fell or faltered. But she never did… not until a 39 year old woman with multiple GSWs was brought in. She and Jack met the EMT’s at the ambulance bay doors, but she didn’t pay much attention to the man that followed hot on their heels. A big man, well over six feet, and thick, but on her periphery. The woman was the concern, the priority. They got her to trauma 1 and after the switch from the gurney to the cot, the EMT’s were replaced with Bridget and Lena. As the four of them worked, Abbot addressed the man.
“And you are?” he asked without looking up from what he was doing, but before the other man could answer, several armed police officers, guns already drawn, burst through the sliding doors of trauma bay 1. Samira, wrist deep in blood, was about to demand what was going on when she heard the distinct click of a gun being cocked. A quick glance across the cot showed Abbot staring intently at her, his entire body drawn tight and still, gloved hands held palms up. The man was behind him now, a burly arm wrapped around Abbot’s neck, the barrel of his gun shoved tightly to Abbot’s temple.
“Get them out!” he demanded. “Close that fucking door!”
“Close it, Lena.” Abbot instructed and the nurse did so, the police backing slowly out. They were yelling through the closed door, but none of them were really listening. Samira sure as hell wasn’t. Her heart was pounding in her ears, a panic rising in her chest.
“Hey.” She said softly, surprised her voice was steady. “What’s your name?”
“Wayne Knight.” He glared at her, tightening his grip around Abbot’s neck. “You save her or he’s dead.”
Wayne Knight. Samira knew the name. He’d been all over the news, along with his partner Nina Leigh, for an armed robbery spree. They’d killed 2 people so far.
“Okay.” Samira nodded, forcing a calm she didn’t feel. “I get it. But why don’t you let Dr. Abbot and I switch places. He’s a much better doctor than I am.”
“She’s lying.” Abbot said quickly, which made tears prick her eyes. “She’s the best goddamn doctor in this place.”
“No.” Samira shook her head, staring at him with watery eyes. “Jack, please.”
“Like hell, Samira.” He said firmly, then gave a sharp nod. “You got this.”
Samira glanced down at the woman on the cot. Nina Leigh. She was circling the drain, and fast. There were so many bullet holes, and her stats were dropping steadily. Coded twice in route. Odds are she was dead already, her body just hadn’t caught up to that fact yet. Looking back at Jack, Samira knew he knew that, too. He looked calm, though, and his eyes never wavered from her face.
“This is perfect.” Wayne laughed a little maniacally. “Here’s the deal, sweetheart. Equal stakes for the both of us. My girl lives, your guy lives. But if she dies, so does he. Either way, I don’t plan on leaving this room alive, so don’t fucking try me.”
Closing her eyes, Samira took a deep breath. Jack Abbot’s life rested in her hands. She would be damned if he went without a hell of a fight.
Everything went a little black around the edges, that tunnel vision she got when working a hard case. She focused in, calling to Bridget and Lena what she needed, when she needed. Her gown was soaked with blood, the booties covering her sneakers starting to get slick on the bottom, her hair long ago starting to curl wildly around her hairline from sweat. Her hands were steady, her thoughts focused. She knew exactly what to do, because Jack had taught her to do it. She knew this. She did everything she could, plus more. Half an hour of working on a corpse that was never going to make it.
Eventually, after exhausting every single thing that could be done, plus some wild Hail Mary’s, the monitor showed exactly what Samira knew all along. Nina Leigh was dead. Flat line with a steady, monotone beep. Samira stood back, throat closing and eyes swimming as she looked up to find Jack’s eyes already on hers.
“Shock her!” Wayne yelled. “Save her!”
“Can’t shock a flat line.” Jack said, calm and collected, eyes still on her. “We need to have something to shock back, man.”
“Please.” Samira whispered, reaching up to pull her goggles off. She caught Bridget out of the corner of her eye to the right of Jack palm a syringe. “Please don’t shoot him.”
Wayne had a wild look to him now. Sweat was dripping off his brow, eyes frantic, nearly black as tears poured down his cheeks. Everything was happening at once after that, things overlapping and colliding. The police were still yelling from the other side of the door, Bridget and Lena were talking as well, and Jack’s eyes never left hers.
“Oh, fuck you, you bitch!”
“Turn around, Samira. Don’t watch.”
“Please, please no.”
But then the gun wasn’t digging into Jack’s temple anymore. It was swinging out towards her. There was a split second where Samira realized what was happening at the same time Jack did. His eyes tracked the movement of the gun, his body tensing and shifting, but then there was a gunshot, a sting to her left shoulder, and her body hit the floor.
-
Jack Abbot had stared death in the face more times than he could count. He wasn’t even scared of dying anymore. For a long time, he sort of hoped for it. At first as an active suicide risk, but then more passively. If it happened, it happened, and he didn’t really care.
Until Samira Mohan walked into his life.
Jack noticed her. She looked too much like what his niece would call a Disney princess not to. But it was surface-level, objective. She was a gorgeous woman, and he noticed. That was it. Nothing deeper. And Jack had always needed deeper to really feel something. He needed something more to want, to desire. He needed a connection.
And, son of a bitch, did he ever connect with Samira. Eventually.
Having a gun pressed against his temple wasn’t something new, or life altering. Knowing Samira would watch him die, though. That was tougher to handle. Samira felt everything. She didn’t shy away from emotion, was empathetic, and wore her heart on her sleeve. He didn’t want to be the cause of more trauma to her. Yet, he was still glad it was him and not her. That, he couldn’t handle.
So when the gun eased off his temple and this asshole’s arm swung towards Samira, Jack leaned into the rage like he hadn’t in years. Didn’t even know he was capable of it anymore, thought it had been medicated out of him. Wayne Knight was taller than him by a whole five inches, but Jack was strong. And trained. Using his shoulder, he knocked Wayne’s arm off aim just as he squeezed the trigger. His heart still stopped painfully in his chest when he saw Samira go down anyway. Using his entire body, he threw himself backwards, taking him and Wayne into the wall behind them. It gave him just the right amount of space to drop out from the arm around his neck, and he grabbed Wayne’s wrist, wrenching it backwards until he dropped the gun. Kicking it away from them, he shoved his forearm hard against the other man's throat, and Bridget, god bless Bridget, reacted at the same time, jabbing a needle into his thigh. Wayne grunted, struggling against Jack until he went limp.
“B52 cocktail.” Bridget was saying, but Jack could give fuck all about that or the police that were now slamming into the room. Ignoring them all, he jumped over the cot and a dead Nina to get to Samira. Lena was with her, trying to help her to sit up, but Samira kept pushing her away.
“I’m fine.” She said, raising on shaky legs and ripping her bloody gown off, then her gloves. She wouldn’t look at Jack, and he went to reach for her, but she shoved him out of the way, pushing herself through the throng of police and ED workers. Jack, of course, followed after her. He had a ball of panic setting heavily in his chest and he needed to see that she was safe, that she hadn’t been shot. He caught up to her just as she closed herself into the bathroom.
He tried to open the door, but it was locked and a second later he heard her vomiting. Jack winced, flattening his palms against the door as he waited.
“Open the door, Mohan.” He said once he heard the toilet flush. “I need to see you’re okay. Did you get hit?”
“Just a graze.” Came her hoarse voice. “I’m not even bleeding.”
Jack let out a huge breath. “Open the door. Please, let me see you.”
“I just…” he heard her get closer to the door. “I need…oh my god this is so embarrassing.”
“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Mohan.” Jack dropped his forehead to the door. “Getting shot at is not embarrassing.”
“No, it’s…” he heard her suck in a breath. “I need clean pants.”
The last part was almost whispered, and Jack frowned, confused why she was focused on that and why that would be embarrassing, before it dawned on him. He knew what fear could do to a person. He’d witnessed battle-hardened grown men crying for their mothers, covered in snot and slobber and wetting themselves. His heart broke to know Samira had experienced that type of fear.
“Okay.” He nodded even though she couldn’t see him. “Yeah, I’ll get you some.”
“And…dry socks and shoes. In my locker, I have… I’m sorry.” She sniffed. “It was an accident, and I didn’t mean to, I don’t know…”
“Hey, hey.” Jack thumped his fist gently against the door. “Stop. It’s fine. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. I promise.”
“Okay.” She sniffed again. “You know my code.”
It almost physically hurt to pull himself away from the door, but luckily Lena was there at his back, waiting. He gave her the code and she got what Samira needed. A police officer came up while he waited, saying they needed statements from both him and Mohan, but Jack waved him off. They could wait. He wasn’t leaving her alone, and he needed to get eyes on her.
His knees went a little wobbly when the door finally opened, and Samira stepped out. She was wearing her street clothes she’d worn into work, leggings and an oversized sweater, white sneakers on her feet. Jack immediately took hold of her biceps, dipping down to look straight into her eyes.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.” she shook her head, then tugged the collar of her sweater to the side to show him the tiny burn mark on her shoulder where the bullet had barely missed her. His chest shook a little with the breath that left him, his finger gently touching the mark. Samira shivered a little before fixing her sweater. “I’m fine, Abbot. Stop fussing.”
“The cops need to talk to us.” He looked back up at her. “Get our statements.”
“Okay.” She nodded, a little dazed looking. Jack knew that feeling. Gripping her hand gently, he pulled her to the family room the cops had set up to speak to them. He let Samira sit down first, then set next to her, his left foot hooking behind her right ankle, needing to physically support her somehow.
The cops didn’t take very much time, and before long Robby was bursting in the room. He wasn’t supposed to be in for another 3 hours, but he told both of them to go home. Three days off, he didn’t want to see them back before then. He gave Samira Kiara’s card and told her to get in touch if she needed to talk to someone. Samira pocketed it with a nod but Jack had a feeling she’d never use it.
Jack didn’t let go of her hand when he went to his locker for his backpack. He didn’t let go when he walked her out to his Jeep. Didn’t even ask if she wanted a ride home, just opened the passenger door and helped her in. He’d taken her home before, so he knew how to get there, but when he pulled up to her duplex, there were four cars shoved into the driveway.
“Shit.” She groaned, dropping her head against the back of the seat. “My roommates' family are in town. I told her I’d stay in a hotel for a few days. Let me go grab my bag and I’m planning on staying at the Best Western on…”
“Go get your bag.” He cut her off. “But you aren’t staying at a hotel.”
Samira sighed, lifting her head to look at him. “I don’t need coddled, Abbot. I can stay in a hotel room. I’m fine.”
Jack ground his teeth together, frustration flaring inside him. “I’m not trying to coddle you. You just got shot at!”
“And you had a gun shoved to your head for half an hour!” she shouted, surprising him. “And you didn’t even flinch! I barely get grazed and I’m pissing myself. For fucks sake, Jack.”
“Don’t.” he reached across the console and grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him. “Don’t you dare. You were so goddamn brave tonight, Samira. I was in awe. Now why won’t you let me take care of you? Why is it such a fight?”
“Because!” she jerked her head away from him, but still held his gaze. “Because I don’t know how. No one’s ever done it before. My dad died, and that ended everything. My mother completely checked out. I took care of me; I’ve always taken care of me. I don’t know how to let someone else.”
Irritation gave way to understanding and it made his chest ache for her, but also so damn proud of her resilience. Jack took a steadying breath.
“You just have to trust me for tonight, okay?” he tipped his head, holding her eyes. Samira nodded. “Go inside, get your bag. That’s all you have to do right now.”
For a minute, he thought she would fight him some more. But she just sort of deflated before slipping out of the Jeep and heading inside. Jack let his head fall to the steering wheel, taking deep breaths while the thumb of his right hand touched the pad of each finger in turn, counting while he calmed himself down.
Last month, Samira had kissed him. But they’d been drunk, he’d been drunk, and Jack never got drunk. He didn’t like the feeling of not being in control of his body. So, he’d pushed her away and was now fighting against her past just to be able to help her out. He didn’t know how to tell her that he was just pushing her away in that moment, not forever. And tonight he thought he was going to die, and the only thing he’d regretted was not telling her how much he wanted her.
The passenger door opening had him jumping, and Jack turned to watch Samira slip back into her seat, a brightly colored orange and pink duffle bag shoved by her feet.
The drive to his house wasn’t far and neither talked. Once parked, he jogged around to her side to take her bag, which she begrudgingly gave him.
“I need to shower.” was the first thing she said once they got inside.
“’Course.” He nodded, leading her back to the bathroom connected to his bedroom. The hall bathroom didn’t have towels, and he wasn’t sure when the last time it was actually used. Maybe it never had been.
Setting out a towel from the cabinet, he made sure she knew how to turn the shower on before leaving her to it. While she was busy in the bathroom, he pulled out a container of leftover stew he’d made two days ago. He always made meals in big batches, then ate on them throughout the week. It was easier that way when cooking for one, and it made his days simpler. He ate his bowl and once he heard the water shut off, he heated up another for her. She came out a few minutes later, lovely black curls made longer by the water and wearing red plaid shorts and a matching red tank top. It left more skin than he was prepared to see exposed, and he nearly choked on the last bite of his stew.
Clearing his throat, he set his bowl in the sink before pushing hers across the island bar.
“Eat this.” He instructed. “It’s not anything special, but it’s hot and filling.”
“Thank you.” She gave him a small smile and then picked up her spoon. He waited until she took a bite before he gave a nod.
“I’m going to shower now.” He motioned to the fridge. “Anything you want, you can have. There’s not much, but there’s some bottled water, club soda, and maybe some milk if you’re deranged like that.”
Samira let out a small laugh and Jack grinned to himself as he went to the bathroom. Sitting on his shower chair, he tried not to focus too hard on the smell of her bath products that hung in the steam. It was vanilla and something else darker, richer. It overlayed with the tea tree of his shampoo and conditioner and made for a heady smell once he was drying off. He normally forwent his prosthetic after a shower, using his forearm crutches to get around the house. Dressing in his sweats and an old t shirt, he grabbed his crutches and made his way back into the living room only to find Samira in the kitchen washing her bowl and his.
“I have a dishwasher, you know.” He commented, causing her to look at him over her shoulder.
“It’s quicker by hand when it’s just a few things.” She grabbed a towel and dried her hands off.
“It’s been a wild night.” He tipped his head to the sofa. “Do you want to watch something, or you ready to sleep?”
“I think the adrenaline crash has hit.” She yawned. “I’m exhausted.”
Jack nodded. “I get it. Come on, you can take the bed. My spare room only has a desk and workout equipment.”
“I’m not taking your bed, Jack.” She said firmly and when Jack opened his mouth to argue, she lifted a hand to stop him. “No, I’m not hearing it. It’s not up for discussion. I’m here. I let you feed me and carry my bag, but I’m not taking your bed.”
“Fine.” He sighed. “At least let me get you a pillow and blanket. I run hot at night so I keep it pretty cold in here.”
Once he had her settled, with two blankets, thank you very much, Jack finally went to bed himself. He always had a hard time sleeping, and knowing Samira was in his living room, and still being able to smell her darkly sweet vanilla coming from his bathroom, he knew it wasn’t going to happen any time soon. Still, he lay down on top of the crisply made bed, body still somehow wired and ready for danger that was no longer coming and tried to relax.
-
Jack’s ceiling fan wasn’t on. Samira stared at it from where she lay on the sofa. The blades were clean, not a speck of dust on them as the grey early morning light filtered through the curtains. The one in her bedroom never stopped spinning, and she didn’t know when the last time she cleaned it was.
Sighing, she rolled over to her side but winced when the strap of her tank top rubbed against the burn on her left shoulder. A sob she wasn’t expecting crawled up her throat and Samira pushed her fingers against her lips to hold it in.
Holy shit. She’d been shot at. Had almost been hit. Jack was going to die, the gun shoved into his temple by a man who’d already killed others.
It was like everything was hitting her at once, and her body went into shock, shaking so hard she had trouble pulling the blankets up around her neck. But they smelled like Jack, the detergent he used, yeah, but also that tea tree and mint that followed him around everywhere. It helped some, but not enough.
Jack had been almost desperate to look at her after the shooting. He needed to lay eyes on her to make sure she was safe and unharmed, and Samira was now overwhelmed with that same need.
His bedroom door was left open, the room inside much darker than the rest of the house because of his blackout curtains. But she could see him lying on the bed. He wasn’t under the covers but was laying supine with his arms crossed behind his head and was clearly not sleeping. She didn’t make a noise that she knew of, but suddenly Jack was sitting up and looking at her.
“Sorry.” She winced, body still shivering. “I just…can I sleep in here?”
“Yeah.” Jack said immediately, twisting so his legs came over the side of the bed. “Let me just grab my crutches and I’ll go to the…”
“No!” Samira almost yelled, then winced at how desperate she sounded. “No, I meant with you.”
Jack froze, body going still as he looked at her. “Yeah.” He eventually said, grabbing the headboard to help him balance on his leg. “Let’s pull the covers back.”
“Can I…Jesus, this is going to sound crazy.” She inhaled deeply as Jack watched her carefully. “I need to be in control. Everything was so out of my control earlier and I want, I need, to get control.”
“Okay.” Jack said simply, like he knew exactly what she was talking about, which was crazy really because she wasn’t even sure what she was talking about. “Anything you need, Samira.”
Samira nodded, clasping her shaking hands together in front of her.
“Lay down on the bed like you were.” She instructed, and Jack did without hesitation. It calmed something unsettled inside of her. Wetting her lips, she came further into the bedroom, so she was standing next to him on the side of the bed. His head tilted so he could look at her.
He was calm, waiting. For her.
“If I ask you to do something you don’t want to, just tell me.” She swallowed. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
“Anything, Samira.” He said again and she let that wash over her like a cooling rain.
“Take off your shirt and then grab hold of the bottom of the headboard.”
Sitting up, Jack slipped his shirt off before laying back down, arms reaching above him to slide his hands between the mattress and the bottom of the headboard so he could grip the wood. The action stretched his body, accentuating how thick and strong his arms where. His breathing was deep and even, the solid slab of his stomach rising and falling with each breath. It took Samira a minute to realize he was belly breathing, a common tactic to regulate emotions.
Looking down at his chest, she reached out and drew her fingers over his pecks, nails scratching lightly at the dusting of chest hair there.
“Jesus, Jack.” She breathed, flattening her palm just over his diaphragm. “You’re so strong.”
He didn’t respond, just nodded, those heavy hazel eyes watching her the entire time. Samira trailed her fingers down his abdominals, smiling softly when his skin flinched under her touch. Her hands were still shaking some when she reached the low waistband of his sweats.
“Do you have underwear on?” she asked, dipping her index finger under the band.
“Yes.” His voice was deeper than normal, and it twisted something in her lower belly.
“Lift your hips.” She instructed and he did easily, bracing his weight on his left foot and the residual limb of his right. Samira pulled his sweats off, tossing them to the floor and crawling onto the bed between his knees. He was wearing boxer briefs, tight black fabric that hugged the shape of his lean hips and thick thighs. She briefly wondered what sort of leg exercises he did with his right leg to keep his muscles so defined, but the thought gave way when she put her hands on his thighs. His skin was hot under her cold palms, and it quickly heated her up as well.
He was gorgeous, she realized as she looked down at his supine form, not just handsome. Compact and solid, lightly tanned skin covered in freckles. He was so firm, so steady, so trusting, that the lingering panic settled inside of her as she touched him.
“Do you know how beautiful you are?” she asked him, leaning forward to slide her hands up his sides, feeling his ribs expand with a deep breath.
“Never been called beautiful.” He grunted a little when her nails dug into his skin.
“You are.” She informed him. “You’re so damn strong and solid. You have this quiet intensity to you that makes my skin tingle every time you look at me.”
Running her fingers back to the band of his underwear, she drew the backs of her knuckles along the bulge she found there.
“You’re effortlessly competent in literally everything I’ve seen you do.” She glanced up at him, checking in as she curled her fingers into his waistband.
“I said anything, Samira.” He reminded her. “Anything you need, you can have.”
“And there’s that.” She smiled at him, holding his gaze as she pulled his underwear down. “Just that steady, unwavering belief you have in me. It makes me feel powerful.”
“You’re the single most powerful person I’ve ever met in my life.” He said once his underwear was pulled off his foot. “It makes it pretty damn easy to believe in you.”
Samira only nodded, not knowing what to say to his praise, but enjoying it all the same. Besides, it was hard to think of much else when she had a naked Jack Abbot laying at her mercy. Shifting closer to him on her knees, forcing his legs to spread wider to accommodate her, she trailed a finger along the underside of his dick, flushing hotly when she realized he wasn’t circumcised.
“I want you inside me.” She told him, pulling her eyes away from his cock to look at his face, enjoying the way his pale skin was flushed red along his cheeks and chest. She wrapped her fingers more firmly around him, holding him tightly at the base. Jack grunted.
“Whatever you want, baby.” He bit his lip at the end of his sentence when she dragged her fist upwards. Samira nodded, rising up a little on her knees so she could shimmy her shorts and underwear off, kicking them to the side. She met his eyes once again as she carefully straddled his hips, running the lips of her pussy along his length a few times just to feel him.
“Wait, wait.” Jack panted, his forearm muscles cording as he gripped tighter to the headboard. Samira froze, thinking maybe she was taking it too far.
“Just, shit, are you sure?” he asked, breathing a little hard. “You’re okay? You don’t need me to warm you up first?”
Samira laughed, really, genuinely laughed, which had Jack’s mouth tilting up in a smile even as he looked a bit confused.
“Jack Abbot.” She smiled at him. “Just looking at you gets me wet most days, and that’s with your scrubs on. Seeing you like this…” she hummed, rocking herself against him again. “Yeah, I’m good. If you are.”
“Fuck.” He breathed, eyes squeezing shut for just a second before opening again. “Come on, then.” He flexed his hips upwards, and Samira giggled again, reaching between them to place him just right, letting her head fall back as she lowered herself down onto him. Once she was sat all the way down, her pubic hair meshing with his, she opened her eyes, leaning forward enough to touch his face. She traced his brow line, the creases of his crow’s feet, brushing gently against the bruise forming on his temple from the gun. Then she raked her nails against the prickle of his beard stubble before coming to rest with her thumb against his chin.
“Keep looking at me.” She whispered, starting to rock her hips, grinding her clit into his pubis. It hit right, and her body burned with the feeling. She was suddenly delirious with the need to feel good; to replace the intense anxiety and fear she’d felt for so long tonight. Bracing her hands on his solid chest, she chased the feeling, completely unbridled and fearless in her pursuit of it like she’d never felt comfortable enough to do before. When grinding wasn’t enough, she sat upright, leaning back with her hands on his thighs, forcing her burning muscles to move her faster, to get there quicker.
Jack let her, the headboard creaking under the strength of his grip, his muscles tense as he fought against reaching for her.
“You’re doing so fucking good, Samira.” He rasped at her, eyes taking in her wild movements. “Take what you need, baby, make yourself feel good.”
“You feel good.” She panted, whined more like, the edges of her vision going shimmery with her approaching orgasm. It was just there, so close she could taste it. Sweat was starting to form between her breasts, her toes itching from the sensations, and her thigh muscles were burning.
“Fuck, Jack.” She leaned forward, grasping onto his waist. “Help me, help me, please.”
“What do you need?” he lifted his hips into hers, making her keen.
“I don’t want control anymore.” She panted. “Touch me, help me, make me come.”
In the blink of an eye, she was falling and before she could even orient herself, her back was on the bed and Jack was over her, crowding her up into the pillows and lifting her legs around his hips. She clutched onto his broad shoulders, nails digging into the muscles there when he leaned down and kissed her. He didn’t move inside of her, just pressed his hips tightly against hers, pinning her to the bed as he kissed the breath from her lungs. Samira kissed him back, threading her fingers into his messy curls, scratching along his scalp enough to feel the flex of his dick inside of her.
He kissed her with focused intent. Learning the shape of her mouth with his, the texture of her tongue as he curled his around it, the feel of her bottom lip between his teeth. She was close to fainting from the lack of air when he finally pulled away, drawing his wet lips along her cheek and jawline, down her throat. His hands slid under her top, rough palms cupping her breasts.
“Take this off.” He demanded, rising off her only enough to pull the shirt off like it had personally offended him. He took a moment to look at her, jaw slack and eyes bright, then his mouth was lowering enough to suck on her nipple, and she moaned, low and lewd, her hips lifting into his.
“Fuck me, Jack.” She begged when he didn’t move.
“I will, I will.” He promised, but instead of thrusting into her, he pulled out. Before she could even begin to complain, he was moving down her body, sucking and licking her skin before biting down where her hip bone protruded.
“I’ve wanted to do this for so long.” He was saying as he lifted her leg around his shoulder, thumbs pulling her lips apart. “Goddamn, you’re all swollen and pretty.”
“Oh my god, please.”
She’d barely gotten the words out when his mouth was on her. She was already so wet, had been so close earlier, that everything was so sensitized that his tongue felt like a live wire. He took her direction well, capable fingers pressing inside of her, angling upwards and applying the perfect amount of pressure while his tongue rocked her swollen clit up and down, lips creating the most delicious suction around her. His free hand slipped between himself and the bed and when Samira realized he was stroking his own cock while he ate her, she came so fast it made her light-headed. She didn’t even realize she was crying until Jack was there, his hands cupping her cheeks, thumbs wiping away her tears as he told her how good she was.
“More.” She whispered, throat a little hoarse from her crying out, leg hooking over his hip.
“Here.” He rolled to his right side, so it was easier for him to get leverage with his one foot to fuck into her, taking her with him. “Like this.”
He grabbed her thigh, hiking her leg up and over his waist as he pressed back inside of her. Everything was a little tender now, soft and pliant and bordering on oversensitive, but it felt amazing. And Jack… he was perfect. One big hand kept ahold of her ass firmly, the other tucked under her neck and holding the back of her hair while he rocked into her. The pace was slower, but each thrust was purposeful, the power of it jolting a gasp from her each time, synched perfectly with his grunts.
“Samira.” He whispered her name, eyes tracking along her face, watching her every reaction. Samira curled into him, hand clutching at the shifting muscle of his back. “Fuck, I’m close, baby. Where do you want me to come, huh? Want me to pull out?”
“No.” she gasped, moving her hand between them so she could touch herself. “No, I want you to come inside me. But wait, wait for me again. I want to, together.”
“Yeah.” He nodded, pressing his forehead against hers, his hips picking up pace. “Together, yeah.”
“There.” She moaned, rubbing her clit faster until she could feel it pulsing under her fingers. “God, yes, I’m coming.”
Distantly, Samira wished she was recording this because Jack Abbot did not come quietly. He let her know just how good it felt, groaning and grunting as he came, biting off curses, his fingers tugging at her hair and digging into her glutes. And it felt so fucking good to come at the same time as him, shivering in an entirely different way than she had been earlier.
God, had that been just an hour or so ago?
Jack didn’t let her go once it was over, just held her tightly, rocking them through the aftershocks while kissing her deeply. Eventually he softened enough he slipped out of her and Samira shivered involuntarily at the feeling of his come dripping onto her thigh.
“I need to pee.” She said in a faux whiney voice. “But I don’t want to get up.”
“Would the reminder that UTI’s fucking suck help you get up?” he teased, brushing her hair back so he could kiss her nose.
“Ugh. You sound like a doctor.” She teased back, then pecked a kiss to his lips before climbing out of bed. Her legs were a little shaky as she made her way to the bathroom, but she could feel Jack watching her the entire time. She made quick work in the bathroom, cleaning herself up and arranging her curls to look less deranged. Wetting a cloth, she brought it back to Jack in bed, smiling when the only thing he’d done was roll over onto his back.
“Here.” She offered it to him.
“Thanks.” He sat up, unashamedly using the cloth to clean his dick and lower waist. When he glanced up to find her watching him, all he did was chuckle.
“Lay down before you fall down.” He teased. “Your legs look like a newborn colt right now.”
“That’s entirely your fault, Dr. Abbot.” She teased back, but she did indeed lay down after Jack pulled the blankets back.
“Give me a second.” He leaned over and kissed her forehead. “Be right back.”
Samira nodded, watching him with heavy eyes as he slipped his arms into his forearm crutches. He tossed the rag into the open bathroom door, then made his way out of the bedroom. A few minutes later he came back in with two bottles of water. She hadn’t realized how thirsty she was, but she downed half the bottle he handed her before setting the rest on the nightstand on her side of the bed. Jack completely drained his, then tucked himself under the covers with her. His hand reached for her under the blankets, pulling her bodily across the mattress until she was pressed against him, which made her laugh.
For a while they just lay like that, her head tucked under his chin, his fingers dancing lightly along her spine.
“I’m sorry I pushed you away last month.” He broke the silence. “I was drunk, and whatever happened between us, I wanted it to be when we both were in full control of ourselves.”
“That makes sense.” She pulled back to look at him. “But next time, maybe try talking to me. Rejection is never fun.”
“And I’ll never reject you.” He said firmly. “Christ, Samira, I thought I was going to lose you. When that gun went off…”
“Sh.” Samira hushed him with a kiss. “I know. I thought I was going to lose you, too.”
“I’m not going anywhere, yeah?” he tilted his head to look at her better. “I’m right here. Whatever you want from me, you can have it.”
“What if I want all of it, Jack?” she whispered.
“Then you can have everything.” He promised.
And if there was one thing she knew about Jack Abbot, it’s that he always kept his word.