Twenty Two

A/N: Another M chapter.

Samantha flipped him over, watching him hungrily, seeing the moment when he realized her intention and his eyes went molten hot. She latched onto his throat, licking, biting, sucking hard enough to bruise, just as uncaring of his still-healing injuries as she knew he was right now. All were forgotten in the face of this passion. His breath came in heavy staccato gasps as she loved him with her mouth, with her lips and teeth and tongue, so close to the edge already again, just seeing that look in her eyes and knowing she was going to consume him. Her mouth moved over his chest as it heaved, jerking as she flicked his nipples with her tongue, moaning as she took them into her mouth and then moved lower without giving him a chance to catch his breath. She nipped at his stomach like he'd nipped at hers, a barely-there warning of what was to come, and, unbelievably, he was rock-hard again before her mouth ever touched him. "God, Sam!" he yelled when he felt her tongue tracing him lightly for the first time, his hips bucking already and she'd barely touched him.

She looked up his body, knowing that turned him on tremendously, as she licked teasingly, taking him deep without warning, watching him carefully for the signs on his face. It amazed him how quickly she had him right there, how unbearably explosive this moment was, and the next, when she was suddenly moving over him and sinking down onto him, taking him deep without warning. He shouted, unable to look away as she arched back sinuously, her hands on his thighs as she rode him. He slid his hands up her body desperately, knowing he needed to get her to where he was very quickly, wanting her to be there with him again. The shock of his hands lavishing attention on her body made her eyes jerk open, made her stare at him lustfully, still amazed after all this time that he knew exactly what she wanted, exactly what she needed, at just the right time.

She shifted, bringing her hands around to scrape her nails up his stomach to his chest, clamping onto his shoulders carefully as he growled his approval. And then his hands were sliding to her hips, holding them still as he thrust up into her, the feel of her clamping down on him as she shattered bringing him instantly, the feeling of releasing himself deeply inside of her an ancient, feral satisfaction that he felt in his bones. Looking up at the blissful shock on her face, he laughed, bringing her down onto his chest with his nearly-still-useless hands, smoothing the heels of them over her back as they both caught their breath, laughing together now at the intensity of what was—always—between them. "Mine," she whispered into his skin, way beyond satisfied now, both physically and mentally.

"Always," he told her, still deep inside her, body, heart and soul, where he always wanted to be.

It was much later as they sat at the table and ate dinner and drank wine and talked, fresh from the shower, and Jack looked at his wife with a sly smile. "You miss any pills during the last couple of weeks?" They both knew from very good experience that they didn't need to actively go off the pill to get pregnant.

She smirked and quirked an eyebrow. "What do you think?"

He leaned over and kissed her warmly. "Oops, Mrs. Malone." She just laughed, delightedly.

The phone rang and they both startled, staring at it together, loathe to answer both because whoever it was was interrupting this glorious evening, and for the possibility of bad news. Finally Jack picked it up, taking her hand in his as he answered it. "It's Danny," he told her, his eyes meeting hers, understanding exactly how she felt, and hoping she could read his eyes as he told her wordlessly that whatever it was, they would face it together. She read him instantly, curling her fingers around his, carefully, telling him with her eyes that she would never let go.

"Hey, what's up?" he asked, as he lifted her hand to his lips to kiss the back of it. That action never failed to move her, as often as he did it. And then as she saw his face relax and realized nothing was wrong, she turned his hand in hers, bringing it to her mouth to kiss, smirking evilly as she sucked one of his newly-healed fingers into her mouth. She giggled at the look on his face right now; it was priceless.

"Okay, Danny, thanks, and thank Elena for us, too," he managed to choke out as lust the likes of which only this woman could inspire in him began to course through his veins once again. He hung up the phone and set it down on the table, playfully tugging at her hand until his wife rose from her chair and moved to straddle him, even as she released his finger and moved on to another.

"He says they want to stay the night," he said on a long groan that she'd inspired.

He looked up into her face, saw when gravity replaced the flirty mischief of just a moment ago. "Sam?"

"I owe these hands some TLC anyway," she said, on the verge of tears now, thinking of what he'd endured, the pain he'd gone through, for no good reason except he'd thought he had to, to get their family back. She still hated herself for that, and probably always would.

Damn it. He hated to see her cry, for any reason, but especially for him. He still thought that he didn't deserve it. He took both of her hands in his, pulling her close until she curled onto his chest, and kissed her forehead. "You don't owe me anything," he told her, meaning it. "But I'll take it. Anything you want to give me, I'll take it."

And she didn't deserve this. Didn't deserve him. Not after the way she'd treated him. But she couldn't tell him that, not now, when he was looking at her like she was everything, when he was holding her so carefully, so lovingly. All she could do was hold him just as lovingly, and do better. She had to. She loved him too much to let him go.

Lifting his hands to her face, she brought the one on her right to her mouth, kissing each finger lingeringly, before sucking each of them into her mouth just as lingeringly, her eyes on his, and then repeated with the left, enjoying the expression of lustful adoration that spread its way across his face. She kissed the scars on his wrists just as he'd kissed hers so often, paused to look into his eyes, then extended her tongue very carefully to lick along his vein. His sudden intake of breath made her smile, and she leaned forward, dropping feather-light butterfly kisses on his nose, his cheekbones, his ears, his eyes, his jaw. Every place that he'd been injured. Every place that he'd hurt because of her, and his breath caught again, knowing exactly what she was doing. He didn't waste his breath to tell her it wasn't necessary, because he knew that to her, it was. When she bent to spread kiss after kiss over his chest, his ribs, his heart, he thought he could feel it crack, a little.

He could have told her that it didn't matter, that as long as he was still hers nothing did, but he didn't say a word, though he did raise a brow as if to say, you're stopping there? And it made her laugh, which had been his intent. And then he pushed her gently off of his lap and to her feet and rose with her, kissing her more gently than he thought he ever had, his hands still cupping her face carefully. "Let's go back to bed," he told her, and this time when they got there they made love slowly and sweetly, confident once again that what they had found was forever, and not even the two of them had been able to ruin it.

This time when they lay breathless in each other's arms they closed their eyes and slept together, never letting go for a second, not believing how much they had missed something as simple as this.

TBC…