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She sees him first.
He's none the wiser, elbows resting heavy on the bar top as he nurses a beer. He drinks slowly – savoring it, she thinks – or maybe one is his limit and he wants to make it last. Much like Samira herself, he's alone. His attention appears to be on the TV mounted in the corner, but when a nearby patron says something to him, he doesn't seem to mind the distraction.
He's older, but then, she already knows that. It's never been an issue for her; in fact, she tends to prefer older men. Most of the time, they know how to make a woman feel good. They know how to kiss and touch and talk and when she's in the mood, there's little she loves more than being able to hand over control.
Control.
She's grappled with her desire for it, her need, for years. For most of her life, really. It bleeds into everything – school, work, friendships, relationships, you name it. She prides herself on maintaining control at even the most difficult times, on her ability to remain cool and collected in high-stress situations. It's part of the reason why she went into medicine at all.
But now that she's well into her third year as a resident, she's found herself yearning to not be so controlled. At least not all the time. It's rare that she finds someone she trusts enough to hand over the reins and even rarer that they're competent enough to take them. Maybe it's wishful thinking, but looking at him, she has the urge to put him to the test.
The precise moment he sees her – a random glance around the bar, not looking for anyone or anything in particular – is the same moment his breath is stolen away. Her hair, dark and wavy, curly, is pushed mostly to one side, a few errant tendrils artfully framing her face. Bright eyes, full lips, long, elegant neck, and an air of confidence about her that tells him she knows exactly how beautiful she is. In an instant, he wants her.
She's younger, of course, not even a whisper of a wrinkle or greying hair. Jack doesn't make a habit of seeking out younger women, and though he's been with a few, he's found he enjoys one who already knows what she wants. But this one… she knows what she wants and she knows her worth. It's in the set of her jaw, the way she holds her head high even as she sips her drink.
He watches surreptitiously as two separate men approach her, one right after the other. College kids, he thinks. Boys who wouldn't have a clue how to treat a woman like that. Though he can't hear their exchanges, it's clear that she's not interested in anything they have to offer.
At work, the lines are so much clearer than they are right now. At work, there's little time to do anything other than save lives and focus on the patients. And that's how it should be, Jack thinks as he sips his beer. Distractions can be dangerous, can mean the loss of someone they could have otherwise saved. But here, removed from the harsh lighting and sterility of the emergency department, Samira seems to glow. When she lifts her glass to her lips and meets his eyes, her hand is just as steady as when she's making careful, precise incisions with a scalpel.
In the end, it's Samira that approaches Jack first. Looking back, it was always going to be this way. She had to initiate or Jack would never be one hundred percent certain it was what she wanted. But when Samira purposefully walks over to the bar to close out her meager tab, Jack feels her before he sees her.
“Dr. Abbot,” she says with a nod of her head.
Before he can correct her, tell her to call him Jack, the bartender comes up, presumably to take her payment. Jack doesn't even think before the words are leaving his mouth.
“It's on me,” he says to both of them, already fishing a card out of his wallet. “Close me out.”
Both flattered and amused, Samira allows it, seeing little use in arguing. “Thank you. Are you heading home then?”
His throat goes dry. “Planning on it. And what about you, Samira?”
Try as she may, she can't keep her eyelashes from fluttering at the sound of her name on his lips. At the hospital, it's always Dr. Mohan, which she quite likes, of course, but there's something about hearing Jack Abbot call her by her first name that makes her weak in the knees.
“Home, yeah,” she recovers. “Though I'm always open to other ideas.”
The bartender returns with his card and a receipt for him to sign and he does so hastily, his eyes hardly ever leaving hers. She swallows and he watches the graceful line of her throat as she does so. Her skin looks soft and smooth and he has the sudden urge to taste her, to hear what sort of noises she might make if he did.
As he slips down off the barstool, she falls into step beside him and they walk out in comfortable, albeit anticipatory silence. On the sidewalk, they're met with the familiar sounds of the city and a cool, welcome breeze. It flows through Samira’s hair and she'd have to be blind not to see the effect it has on Jack. Now or never, she tells herself. If you're going to make a move on your attending, do it now.
“Walk me home?” she asks at the very same moment that Jack says, “Can I walk you home?”
Samira giggles and Jack gives her a wry but unashamed smile. “Lead the way,” he chuckles as they fall into step. The sound of her laughter makes something in his chest tighten, though after a while, all he can seem to focus on is the way each streetlight they pass beneath makes her glow all over again.
They make small talk, though strangely none of it is about the hospital. And it's not as though either of them are deliberately avoiding the subject. It puts them both at ease to know it's not the only thing they have in common. As is bound to happen in such close proximity, their hands brush as they walk and each instance is like an electric shock to Samira's body. The current zaps through her, lights her up from the inside out, and finds a home deep down in her belly, in her very core.
When they reach her apartment, there's no awkward invitations upstairs or pretending to consider the implications. Jack simply follows behind like they've done this dozens of times before. Judging by the soft smile curving the corners of her mouth upward, Samira feels much the same. Once they're inside, she stops to lock the door and turn on the lights, and then she steps forward into his space and places a hand on his chest.
“Just so we're clear,” she starts, voice quiet but steady, “I want you.”
“I've wanted you from the first moment I saw you,” he replies, and before he can say anything else, she's kissing him, equal parts curious and passionate. His hands find her waist with ease and he pulls her closer until their bodies are pressed up against each other.
Somehow, she tastes even better than he imagined, sweet and heady. Her confidence he already expected, but what comes as a surprise is the way she suddenly relaxes into him. He hadn't realized just how much tension she was holding, but when she surrenders and gives herself over to Jack, he knows what she's asking him and he'll be damned if he doesn't take it seriously.
“That's it, Samira, let go,” he breathes, trailing his lips along the defined line of her jaw. “Let me take care of you.”
His words crash over her like a waterfall thundering over the side of a cliff and she finds herself clinging to his shirt. And there it is again, her name, her first name, and she never wants him to stop saying it – or to stop touching her. She's spent a great deal of time watching those hands as he works, and though his touch is still careful and deliberate, it's so different. How is she ever supposed to look at his hands again when she knows how it feels when he touches her? When he slides one low across her back and further down to cup her ass, she feels him taking those last remnants of control and she's never been more sure that she's made the right decision.
Her head falls back and Jack wastes no time in pressing his lips to her neck over and over, mouthing at the flushed skin. In return, she clings to him and offers up breathy sounds that go straight to his cock. If he's being honest, he never truly thought he'd get this chance, to be allowed to touch her and taste her and be the cause of the beautiful noises she's making. They're almost melodic and he can't wait to hear more, to make her moan and not just sigh.
“Bedroom?” he mutters, his lips still affixed to her neck.
Samira straightens up, though she doesn't leave his embrace – if Jack stopped touching her now she's not sure what she'd do. Except it would seem she has nothing to worry about because he lifts a hand with the sole intention of brushing the pad of his thumb across her bottom lip, his eyes boring into hers without so much as a blink. Bedroom, indeed.
Though all she really wants to do is throw herself at him, she takes his hand and leads him through her small living room and into her bedroom. It's a modest space, but it's also her sanctuary. The last couple times she hooked up with someone, she kept them on the couch, but with Jack… Letting him into her space doesn't feel like she's betraying herself. It feels considerably more like he belongs there. Thankfully, she doesn't have the time to focus on that because Jack is guiding her back toward the bed and then he's kissing her again.
Before she can get too lost in it, he's slowly, sensually drawing her zipper down her back and pulling away just an inch or two so he can see her nod of consent. She gives it freely, thanking her lucky stars that she wore one of her nicer matching sets of underwear tonight. Not that she thinks he'd mind either way, but it's a set she knows she looks good in and his reaction certainly doesn't disappoint.
As soon as her dress falls to the floor and pools around her feet, Jack's jaw goes slack. It's just for a brief moment before a look of pure desire replaces his awestruck expression. “Beautiful,” he breathes, sliding a hand down her side as he takes in her curves. The room feels about a hundred degrees despite the cool evening and he can't help but appreciate the confident smile on Samira's face. He hardly has to think about it before he's sitting her down on the edge of the bed and sinking to his knees.
Her breath catches in her throat and some more of her hair has fallen into her face and as he gazes up at her, Jack thinks he's hardly seen another woman as gorgeous as she is. She stops him, however, before he can slot himself between her legs, but she makes the reason very clear.
She tugs at the collar of his shirt and then tells him to take it off as she pants. He's more than happy to oblige and within a couple seconds, the offending garment lands on the floor near her dress. Her eyes rake over Jack's upper body, taking in his strong chest and the silvery-grey hair and freckles dappled across it. Without realizing she's doing it, she spreads her legs wider, making room for his broad shoulders.
Jack nips at her inner thigh and savors the gasp it earns him. She's so soft and smooth and radiant and he wants, unabashedly and blatant. He leans in and pulls her panties to the side and is met with her own want, glistening and adorned with dark curls. His gaze meets hers just as he presses his mouth to her, his tongue parting her folds and easily locating her clit. He drinks down her resulting gasp, hands locking her hips in place, and settles in for however long it takes to give Samira everything she needs.
It's not long before gasps give way to whimpers and whimpers to moans and when Samira’s fingers thread into Jack's hair, he rewards her with his own fingers, two thick digits that press inside her with a precision that can only come with experience. His tongue swirls around her clit, lapping at the swollen bud, adjusting pressure based on her reactions. She's soaking wet around his fingers, pussy clenching and throbbing, drawing him in deeper, and he knows that when it's his cock inside her instead, they'll both be out of their minds. That's why he wants to make this count, show her how badly he wants her, that given the opportunity, he'll treat her the way she deserves.
“God, Jack,” she sobs as her head falls back, emphasizing the smooth line of her clavicles.
He pulls off of her with a grunt, eyes glazed over with desire, but keeps his fingers pumping in and out of her, presses them upward, dragging them over her g-spot with each stroke. “Look at you,” he breathes, awe in each word.
“L-look at me?” she stammers. She lifts her head to gaze down at him, her legs twitching where they're thrown over his shoulders.
“So wet you're dripping,” he continues. “It's beautiful. You're beautiful.”
“Jack…” She whimpers again, high-pitched, needy, and the sound of it goes right to Jack's cock, already straining against his pants.
He ducks his head and presses a kiss to the inside of her thigh. “Tell me what you need,” he urges. “Use your words, Samira. Tell me how to make you come.”
She chokes on another moan, eyes locked on his, and reaches for his other hand and slides it up her body until he's cupping one of her breasts. She shudders when his palm grazes her nipple and her hips buck and for his part, Jack smirks and lowers his mouth back down.
With his tongue lavishing her clit once again, her eyes roll back in her head. “There, right there,” she gasps, “please, Jack, don't stop!”
Her noises only grow in frequency and volume and when he pinches her nipple, she finally falls apart, pussy pulsing rhythmically as she comes. She grows wetter still, drenching his fingers, and it's all he can do to keep his mouth affixed to her as she writhes beneath him.
“Jack, Jack,” she gasps, already reaching for him, and it's not as if he could ever resist her, certainly not when she's saying his name with so much need.
He rises up and in an instant, she's undoing the button on his pants. “I need you inside me,” she tells him, and the moment she wraps a hand around his cock, his mind goes blank. “I've needed you for so long, Jack.”
“You've got me,” he assures her even as he mouths at her jaw. “Never had a goddamn chance when it came to you.”
She has the audacity to smile even as she moans and Jack's utterly enamored. “You know, you're not as subtle as you think you are. I've seen you looking at me.”
He digs in his back pocket for the condom he slipped in there earlier with no real hope that he'd have occasion to use it. The urge to be inside her, to feel the wet heat of her, is overwhelming. “Maybe I wasn't trying to be subtle. Maybe I wanted you to see.”
“You could have said something,” she fires back, snatching the wrapper from his hand and tearing it open herself. “Could have asked me out for a drink.”
“Could have,” he agrees, though his breath catches in his throat when she rolls the condom onto him. “But I'd say things are working out just fine this way, wouldn't you?”
“That depends,” she says with a smirk.
“On what?”
She guides his cock to her center, close enough that they can feel one another heat. “On how well you fuck me, Dr. Abbott.”
He mirrors her smirk and watches her eyelids flutter as he slowly presses into her. It takes everything he has not to join her, not to groan at the tight grip of her pussy, not to tell her how fucking perfect she is after one single second of being inside her. There will be time for all of that, Jack is certain, but just at the moment, he wants to watch her, take in every single second, commit each reaction to memory. He gives her a few moments to adjust – and while he's not cocky about it, pardon the pun, he knows he's well-endowed – but after that, all bets are off.
“And just how, Dr. Mohan, would you like me to fuck you?” He asks the question with a teasing lilt in his voice, and even that has her clinging to his arm and making soft noises. “Slow and deep?” He demonstrates exactly that, pulling almost completely out of her before driving back in with an expert roll of his hips. “Or fast and –”
“Hard,” she finishes for him, her mouth dropping open when he suddenly sets a brisk, punishing pace. “Oh my god, Jack, yes!”
“That's what I thought,” he growls, braced on his forearms on either side of her head. “Feel fucking amazing, Samira.”
She gives up on forming words since Jack seems intent on fucking her into the mattress. His hips snap forward over and over again, the sound of their flesh meeting echoing in the small room. Each thrust of his cock drives her closer to a second orgasm and rather than drawing it out, she slips a hand between their bodies and frantically rubs her clit.
“That's a good girl,” Jack praises, his jaw clenching when she tightens around him.
With her free hand, Samira reaches up to tug at the hair on the back of his neck. “I'm not just a good girl, Jack,” she says, voice dropping lower, “I'm the fucking best.”
Moments later, she comes on his cock and Jack's vision whites out from the sheer intensity of it. Her entire body goes rigid and she arches up against him, pressing them even closer together. He slows down, grinding against her and working her through it.
She shivers and hooks her legs up around his hips. “Fuck, that's good,” she whispers, finally opening her eyes only to find Jack already gazing back at her.
“It's the best,” he replies with a smug grin, though the look in his eyes betrays just how turned on he is.
She draws her nails down Jack's sides, making him shudder and grunt. “You're something else, you know that?”
“I've been told,” she says serenely.
“Good.”
He leans down and kisses her soundly, making his appreciation known when she licks into his mouth. The end comes quickly after that, with Samira rocking her hips up in rhythm with Jack's thrusts. She strokes his cheek and watches the minute changes in his expression the closer he gets and something about the prolonged eye contact is what truly does him in.
“Come for me, Jack,” she encourages, clinging to him. “Show me what I do to you.”
He has no problem doing exactly that, just a few more thrusts before he buries himself as deep as he can. He's no stranger to a good orgasm, but he's also never been with Samira Mohan before. He grits his teeth and groans through it, listens to her soft, honeyed words, words that prolong his orgasm and make it that much sweeter. And even as he comes down, she's still there, now cradling his face in her hands and pressing kiss after kiss to his lips.
“So,” he says breathlessly, “what's the verdict, doctor?”
“Jack?”
“Hmm?”
“Shut up.”
He kisses her instead.