Author's note: Shameless smut, okay? Don't like, don't read, don't hate. Thank you!

Okay, so he's not perfect. Pollock will admit that freely, if only to himself. And he's made mistakes in the past, his biggest beginning and ending with Jess Mastriani, but it seems like the one on the horizon, the mistake closing in on him like a fucking heat-seeking missile, could never have been avoided.

He might talk a big game, but when it comes down to it she's on his team and he will look out for her. He'll hold her if she really needs it, like right now, even if it's driving him crazy and her perfume is turning him on in all kinds of ways.

She feels good, and he thinks about all the times he's looked at the back of her neck or the curve of her waist and wondered, because now he knows his fantasy is just as good as reality. She's soft, and warm, and feminine, but she has a rebel streak a mile wide, and he's never been a goody two-shoes kind of guy.

Maybe that's why he doesn't see eye-to-eye with his wife any more, or why he hasn't been able to sleep next to her, let alone with her, in two years. It's a never-ending dry spell he hasn't, until recently, given a shit about, but with Jess holding onto him for dear life and her breasts crushed against him...fuck the dry spell. But, more importantly, fuck her.

"Come on," he manages to choke out over her laboured breathing. "Come on."

He leads her towards his black Merc, patient with her stumbling footsteps and half-grunts of distress. He opens the passenger-side door and gets her inside, before shutting it and turning to take a deep breath of the cold night air around them.

His eyes land on Officer Tamita and the agent prying the gun from her hand. She's crying, slumped next to the injured and groaning Chief Sanderson, and all Pollock can think at this particular moment is that Tamita could have killed his agent.

He glances into the car to see Jess with her head between her shaking knees, her hands laced behind her neck as she tries to slow her breathing. He can see it's not working. He can also see that despite being nearly shot point-blank, she's not crying her eyes out like the rookie across the parking lot. She's made of stronger stuff.

Pollock indicates to the others he's heading back, before circling the car and getting inside.

"Fuck Ridgeport," he says to Jess, tentatively squeezing her slim shoulder.

She nods, sitting back in the seat and belting up. Her bright eyes are fixed on some far distant point, but her breathing is steady.

He turns the key in the ignition.

She hasn't felt like this before.

There had been times in training and out with Brooke or Nicole that she'd been threatened, but she'd never felt so...betrayed before, not like with Officer Tamita.

She'd felt so close to saving her, and then to have it all thrown back in her face along with the barrel of a gun... She'd nearly lost it, she'll admit it. She'd thought that was it – kaput – and her mom and Doug would be without another member of the Mastriani clan.

Jess couldn't even redeem Tamita in her mind for pulling the gun on the Chief at the last second, because Tamita had made Jess plead for her life, and Jess is still shaking from it.

There's desperation inside of her, screaming for the rush of adrenaline as proof that the rookie shot Sanderson and not her, but Pollock's driving too slow and the wind coming through the open window feels like nothing against her skin. She needs more.

Jess turns to look at Pollock, his loose tie, his undone jacket, and she knows what she needs. Her body wants it like air.

"Pull over."

He glances from the road to her, frown in place. "You going to be sick?"

Jess says nothing as Pollock turns off the road they're on and down a side-alley. He cuts the engine and looks over at her expectantly. She doesn't get out.

"Mastriani?"

She pulls off her jacket and unzips her boots, before shoving them down into the footwell. Her shirt comes off next, leaving her in just her bra and slacks, but a hand stops her from unbuttoning her pants.

His palm presses flat against her fly, halting her progress, but his thumb is giving her another signal. It's moving, pressing down, and she throws her head back with a moan as Pollock puts pressure directly on her clit.

"Oh, God..."

She turns her head to see Pollock lick his bottom lip, his eyes heavily lidded and trained on her. "If this is gonna happen, I want a bed, not the backseat in a Bureau car."

She's about to tell him that the feel of car leathers against her naked skin really gets her going because she's such a grease monkey, when he takes off his FBI jacket and throws it over her chest, before revving the engine and gunning it out of the alley and down the street.

He sees the glow of a motel sign before her and pulls into the parking lot of the E-Z Dream.

"Wait here," he grits out, getting out of the car and heading for the brightly lit front desk.

Jess puts on his jacket and zips it up, rubbing her damp palms off on her pants as she squeezes her thighs together. She's so hot, so wet, so needy, and if she doesn't get her blood pumping soon she thinks she'll go crazy or nearly break down again.

A knock on her window knocks her out of her daze and she sees a room key swinging from a finger. Pollock motions her out of the car and she joins him without fuss, slamming the door and leaving him to lock up.

She practically bolts across the gravelly, potholed lot for Room 7. Pollock is close behind, gripping her around the waist as she reaches the door and pulling her back against his chest.

Jess can feel him, his broadness, his muscles, and she can feel his hard cock pressing against her ass, their clothes keeping them apart.

The click of the key in the lock forces her to part from his hold, but only for a second as they tumble into the dark room. He flicks the lights on, revealing pale yellow walls and floral curtains, and she almost flicks the switch back off.

But the look in his eyes and the way his fingers yank off his tie...well, she wants to see more of that, and she wants to see it now. The lights stay on.

She's on her knees before she knows it, pushing the door shut behind him and shoving him against it. He starts to say something, but her hands pulling down his pants and her mouth around his cock cut him off.

He tastes clean and salty, and the feel of his cock, long and thick and hot, pushing past her lips and nudging the back of her throat...it's so good, so exciting, and she can feel herself getting wetter.

Jess pulls off his jacket and slings it somewhere behind her, letting him set the pace with his thrusting hips as she unclasps her bra. She feels so good, so dirty kneeling on a motel carpet in front of her boss, sucking his cock, but most importantly she feels alive.

She moans around him, scoring his thigh with her nails, and he grunts above her, hips stilling as he shoves a rough hand into her hair. She holds him there at the back of her throat, listening to his heavy breathing.

"Look up," he croaks. "Look at me."

Her eyelids flutter and she looks straight up into his eyes. He bites his lip so hard it turns white.

"Fuck," he breathes. "Fuck, fuck..."

His hand suddenly releases her hair and she pulls back with a gasp, relishing the feel of air rushing into her tortured lungs. Her body is on fire.

Pollock pulls her up, urging her onto the bed before tearing at his shirt. It comes off awkwardly, but as Jess falls back onto the bed, leaning back on her elbows, she relishes his slow reveal of taut skin and broad shoulders.

After giving up and just pulling the shirt over his head, Pollock turns his attention to Jess and, more specifically, her slacks. He grins and he pulls them down, sliding them straight off, along with her panties.

"You have a vision of this?" Pollock asks breathlessly, fighting to kick off his pants.

Jess just shakes her head, not bothering to explain her visions at a time like this. His smile is replaced with pure, hot lust.

"Shame," he says. "'Cause what a fucking image you make."

He crawls over her, naked and moaning, his hair mussed, and Jess can't help but push her hand into his soft hair, tugging his face down to hers and licking a long line up his throat to his ear.

"I need it." She parts her thighs, canting her hips as he settles against her. "Right now."

"Bossy," he comments, biting the juncture between her neck and shoulder and driving her wild. "I'm the boss, Mastriani."

She gasps at the dirty reminder coinciding with a thrust of his hips, pressing his hard cock against her wet cunt.

"I'm your boss," Pollock growls. "I've been wanting this for a long time. You're protected, right?"

She nods, her hands running down his back to grip his firm ass. He moans, grinding his hips into hers.

"Good," he mutters, before grabbing her hips in his big, strong hands and pushing his cock inside her.

It's perfect, so good she can feel every inch of her body begin to vibrate with the pleasure ahead of her, and Pollock's body is so brilliantly hard and weighty against hers. Her nerves are frayed but they're there, and her skin just feels like one big electrified mass.

His lips are a live wire, shocking her shoulder, her neck, her breast, and his hips are punishing hers, making her arch and flex, just how she wants.

She bites his ear, shoving a hand into his hair as her other grips his ass as she rocks against his thrusts.

"Come on, Mastriani," she hears him growl against her neck. "Where's that fire? Or are you just that innocent rookie I always thought you were?"

She clenches her jaw and turns him over as if he's just another sparring partner in gym and they're on the wrestling mat instead of a motel bed. She pins him down like a pro and rides him like the animal she needs to be right now.

Her heart is pounding, her belly is twisted in knots, and Pollock's expression – this twisted awe of lust and pride – pushes her over the edge. She comes with a heavy, breathy moan, and another noise she's never made before when she's had sex, this cry of pure relief that sounds like it's directly out of a skin-flick.

Pollock follows after her with forceful thrusts and long groans, coming apart thick and hot inside of her.

Every sensation furthers the belief that she is still alive, and though she would have never acted on her little bit of lust for her boss in any normal situation, Jess is so relieved that he didn't turn her down.

He collapses back on the bed with a sigh, his hands running up and down Jess' thighs as she stays on top of him, catching her breath.

"Guess you showed me, huh, Mastriani?" Pollock murmurs, one hand squeezing her ass as his other thumb runs through her neat curls to find her sensitive clit.

This time, Jess knows, will not be about making her feel alive. This time will most definitely be them just fucking.

"Yes, sir," she breathes, mouth parted and eyelids heavy.

She can feel heat rising in her belly and his cock getting harder inside of her. He starts off slow, teasing and circling his hips and kissing her breasts, but her nails digging into his shoulders start off a whole new chain reaction.

She's so fucking sexy above him or underneath him, and she's beautiful, too. Her mouth is perfect, red and soft, around his cock or moaning, and her skin feels so good against his, so womanly and silky.

He only has flashes of thought as he fucks her on her hands and knees or as she bounces herself on his cock. She's tight and lush and wet, and he's never had sex this good.

Pollock pushes her shoulders onto the bed and fucks her harder, hissing something in her ear about her ass, but she doesn't take the delicious fucking like a meek little toy.

Christ, no, she laughs and she stretches beneath him, giving him an angle that makes him see stars, before turning the tables and screwing him into next week, straddling his hips and riding him like a cowgirl again.

He might've met his match.

When they're done, spent and sweaty, panting as they lay side-by side on the messed up bed sheets, Jess turns to him.

"Thanks...for the first part."

He nods, taking a long breath and expelling a sigh. "We better get you back for a debrief."

She cocks a dark eyebrow at his choice of words, and reaches over him to pick up her panties before twirling them on a fingertip.

"Think we've already gotten to that part," she sasses, and he can't fight his grin, because she might be young and have one hell of a smart mouth sometimes, but he likes that.

"So, did Pollock help you out any?" Nicole asks innocently, checking over a file.

Jess shrugs, inwardly thinking of floral curtains and skin-muffled curses. "Kind of."

"Yeah, he's cold," Cortez says.

Nicole laughs. "Like ice."

Jess glances over her shoulder to see Pollock at the door to his office, hand pressed to the jamb, smirking.

She knows he isn't cold, and she hopes to find out again soon.