Churned out in about 20 minutes because DAMN do these two have chemistry. But seriously, there's nothing but smut here. Not even a hint of anything clever.

Later, she'll have no idea what exactly their argument was about. If it was consistent with the rest of their relationship, it probably had something to do with her having an inconvenient crisis of conscience and his being an unrepentant sociopath. Or perhaps it concerned Jack.

Either way, she winds up pinning him to the wall, his goddamn smirk fanning the flames of her anger. The problem starts because she's holding onto his biceps. Also, because she hasn't gotten laid in nearly four years.

That makes for a pretty lethal combination.

He notices her tensing at the feel of his iron muscles beneath her fingers, and before she knows it, he's reversed their positions, hands shoving her hips into the surface behind her.

"Let go," she demands, not struggling one tiny bit.

"Really?" His hand begins trailing up the curve of her waist. Just being touched is actually enough to make her heart skip a few beats.

"God no," and her voice is a breathy gasp because his thumb has reached her nipple, is circling it through her shirt, and a pool of lust radiates low into her loins.

"Good." His hot breath is on her throat, and his lips land there after a moment's hesitation as his strokes to her nipple become firmer. His other hand slides to the side and undoes her jeans, and slight panic wells in her throat because she's embarrassingly wet just at his proximity.

"How long has it been?" he growls when he feels how soaked she is, and that growl is probably the most erotic thing she's heard in her life.

"Shut up," she demands, closing her eyes, and then his fingers, his fingers slip gently into her, and, "oh God..." And then his fingers slightly curl at their tips, sending a shock of electricity through her abdomen that spreads to her chest and upper thighs instantly. A thumb brushes over her clit, and Erica's hips instinctively thrust forward, needing more of that touch.

And Hobbes gives it to her, slamming his fingers in all the way roughly. With a firm nip, he adds a third finger, and now she can feel her arousal literally dripping down the inside of her thighs. She unconsciously spreads them wantonly, a throaty moan breaking from her lips as those fingers begin driving deeper and deeper within her until the heel of his hand is simultaneously hitting her clit with each vicious movement.

"You're hot when you're helpless like this," he whispers against her skin. When that low voice whispers in her ear, dirty, sexy, Erica feels herself rising to orgasm.

But he withdraws his fingers all of a sudden, and she practically screams in frustration.

"Here," he says, turning her around and leading her to the table in the middle of the room. She complies, her legs jelly, so aroused she's a total mess. He pushes her back onto the table and finishes removing her jeans as she leans back on her elbows. The sound of his zipper sliding down echoes through the church basement.

With another one of those subtle growls, he climbs on top of her, mounts her, for an instant pauses and cups her face, before taking his cock in his hand and sliding into her swiftly. She puts a hand on his chest, stilling him until she has time to adjust to his size. After a moment she nods, and he plants both hands just above her shoulders.

His thrusts are thorough and slow, which makes her think he's more interested in pleasuring her than himself. He's inside of her, penetrating her with each movement, every time sending a line of heat spiraling from her core through her entire body. One of his hands darts back to her hip, and in a second his fingernails bite into her skin. The pain makes her gasp, as well as the sensation of the rough denim of his jeans against her bare skin.

He moves the same hand to touch her swollen, throbbing clit, circling it, flicking it. The steady rhythm soon has her thighs trembling, her legs parting further, her head thrown back. The blood rushing to her clit in her impending peak.

He fucks her hard, through the table, panting with the exertion of each movement. "Come for me, Erica."

And her orgasm crashes over her violently, almost knocking her unconscious. A sharp, erotic cry rips from her throat as her hips buck forward, and her other hand flies back to grip the edge of the table, her nails breaking on the surface. Wave after wave of sheer ecstasy pound through her as she comes and comes, her mind shutting down, spiraling into a void of pure, white-hot sensation. Falling into the grips of an overwhelming climax.

Somewhere above her he shudders and orgasms inside of her, growling her name, before gently pulling away from her, breathing roughly.

"Shit," she whispers, head falling back as she tries to regain some composure. "I hope Jack and Ryan aren't standing one room over."

He shrugs, zips his pants. "Who cares?"