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We Won't Need Silk

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Jack hadn’t ever considered she might enjoy something like this, not after all the times they’d been captured and bound and beaten until they passed out. He wasn’t going to try to delve into the psychology of it now, though, because the words Sam murmured in his ear still echoed in his head: “I want you to tie me up.”

He certainly wasn’t a stranger to Sam’s desire to indulge in the rougher edges. There were plenty of nights where she wanted nothing less than him pushing her down and clamping his hands around her wrists, holding her still until she inevitably squirmed and arched up beneath him. In that regard, this wasn’t really a surprise, but Jack still felt like a guy running into a maze without a map.

By now, he thought he had a good grasp on what was and wasn’t too much for her, but he still assumed she’d lay out a whole mess of ground rules for him. Instead, she just shrugged and said, “It’s not about pain.”

He quirked an eyebrow at her. “Feel free to reel in that dissertation.”

She laughed and lightly smacked his arm. “You don’t want to have free reign?” And then she turned her big eyes up toward him, smiled coyly, and suddenly free reign sounded pretty great.

The scarves were black and made of thick, tightly-woven cloth. They both knew she was strong enough to tear those little wispy kinds to shreds should she feel compelled to yank on them in the throes of passion (and he could only hope she would feel very compelled.) He wrapped one around each wrist, spreading her arms to loop the remaining cloth around the headboard posts. She watched him the entire time and when he tied the final knot, her eyelids had slipped half-closed.

Her chest rose and fell with a slow sigh.

“They good?” Jack asked, gesturing toward her bindings.

She tugged at them a little, then pulled hard enough that her muscles flexed. The cloth stayed in place.

She gave him a satisfied smile. “Looks good to me.” Nodding toward the remaining scarves in his hand, she shifted her legs and asked, “You gonna let those go to waste?”

He felt the corner of his mouth turn up. “They won’t go to waste.” He dropped the scarves off the side of the bed and just sat for a moment, taking in her appearance. The path of her outstretched arms was easy to follow, and he felt her eyes on him as his gaze traveled down her neck. He skipped ahead to her legs, long and golden in the lamplight, before he finally settled on the subtle rise and fall of her breasts.

And he thought this was going to be weird. He must have been out of his mind.

Slowly, he crawled to her, listening to her breaths come a little faster and a little shorter. He hovered above her and looked, really looked, at her wrists bound by those scarves. It was almost intoxicating, the thought that he had to be the one to move things forward.

Fingers brushed against her cheek, her lips parted as she breathed out and leaned into the touch, and that was all he needed. He lowered his head to kiss her, slow and soft and lingering. Her mouth opened under his, already warm, and she moaned softly into his mouth.

If he listened hard enough, he could hear the sound of cloth tightening against wood.

He cupped one breast, let his thumb brush over a stiff nipple. She shifted under him, trying to better angle herself and his hand, but there was only so far she could go. She smiled against his lips and he smiled against hers.

Exploring her skin suddenly felt very important, so he left her to put his mouth on the curve of her neck, to kiss her collarbone, to work his lips down her chest until he found her other breast. He tweaked one nipple with one hand while his teeth grazed the other, and there was an audible, “Oh,” before she shuddered beneath him.

His hand came to rest on her hip, and she, anticipating his next move, began to open her legs.

“Ah,” he said softly, touching her knee. “Don’t move.”

When he looked up at her, there was an almost wicked smile on her face.

“Are you that sure of yourself?” She pulled on her restraints and lifted her hips. With that predatory look and her deliberate teasing, Jack was struck, momentarily, by the idea that he might not have actually been the one in charge here.

He let his hand move across her stomach and down, and he watched her face as he found her curls. Watched her eyelids flutter shut as he ran a finger along wet heat, watched her pull her bottom lip through her teeth as he dipped inside, just a little. She breathed hard and thrust her hips forward, trying to find more of him to take in.

There was a tiny part of him that was tempted to drive her completely crazy, to draw this out until she breathlessly begged him, or to pull the classic get her all keyed up and then leave her on the bed gambit. But he wouldn’t give in to that yet. It’s not about pain. It wasn’t about pain, and she had spread herself out before him, all trust and no secrets. He wanted to make certain that all he gave her was pleasure.

He finally parted her legs, wrapping his arms around them to hold her open. Her head hit the pillows and he heard her breathe out a sigh, low and harsh. He teased a little at first to keep it interesting and as soon as his tongue touched her clit, her thighs clenched and she arched up off the bed. His hold on her was tight and he made it even tighter so he could give her exactly what she was looking for.

It didn’t take much; he felt like he’d only just started, but soon he felt and heard her coming, thighs shaking as she gave voice to her orgasm.

They were both still for a few moments as she came back down with shaky breaths. He half-expected to hear her do something like happily hum her satisfaction, but when he lifted his head, her face was flushed and her eyes were wild, completely focused on him. Her expression was difficult to decipher: it was every bit a challenge, daring him to continue, but there was something else. He had given her pleasure and he had given her tenderness, but now her breaths were erratic and her hands fidgeted in their bindings.

“That’s not all you’ve got, is it?” she asked, voice wavering slightly.

It wasn’t so much a challenge, he realized then, as it was her assurance that she trusted him. She was urging him to the darker areas because she knew, after so much time spent fighting and dying together, he would never use them to hurt her. Their trust had always been absolute.

“Nope,” he finally responded, and sat up.

The scarves came undone with ease and she watched him as he freed her, brain working to analyze every one of his movements, attempting to puzzle out Jack’s plans before he even thought them up. She moved her free hand toward him while he untied the second scarf, and his fingers closed around her wrist almost automatically, pushing her back down.

If that was a test, then he definitely passed, because her eyes brightened while he pinned her and her tongue darted out to wet her lips.

She lay still as he finished untying her.

Jack remembered the leftover scarves on the floor but then decided, on his way to grab them, that they wouldn’t need them. All he needed to do was turn her over onto her stomach, which he did, just roughly enough to get a gasp out of her.

“Hands behind your back.” His voice was low, fast approaching primal, as the impatience crept up on him. He was only human, after all, and there was only so long he could last under the influence of naked Carter. She obeyed his command without question and he held her forearms on top of each other to hastily tie them together.

After shoving some pillows out of the way, he hoisted her up and planted them both against the headboard – his back against it and her back against him. Her ragged breaths suddenly sounded very loud in the quiet of the room.

“Comfy?” he asked.

She shoved herself back into his chest. “How are you still capable of being a smartass right now?”

He smirked and hooked her legs over his knees, spreading her open for him. His hands snaked to her breasts and he admitted, “Hanging on by the barest of threads,” before he finally buried himself inside her.

“Oh, God,” she breathed, and everything after that was little grunts and gasps as Jack started to move his hips. Sam’s back arched and her hands balled into fists behind her as she tried to move, tried to meet his thrusts, but she couldn’t. There was no leverage for her at this angle; she was essentially relegated to twisting and squirming as he pumped into her. Judging from the way her voice ratcheted up a few octaves, she seemed to be well aware of the futility of her struggles.

His mouth sucked at her neck and her head instantly fell to the side, giving him better access. She moaned aloud when he squeezed her breasts, when he nipped at the edge of her jaw and the shell of her ear. He was so deep inside her and she was so hot, so wet, that all he could do was groan her name and hold on.

“Jack,” she whimpered, body shaking as she teetered on the edge. She gave a particularly ragged cry through clenched teeth and tried once more to get what she needed, but it was still impossible. It had to be him who gave it to her. The very thought made his head spin.

He buried his face in her neck again as his palm slid down her stomach, and when he brushed against her clit, she let him know with a hard gasp. His fingers rubbed tighter circles the more she tensed and he felt her losing it rapidly.

The sound she made when she came was just short of being a scream. He wasn’t far behind her, heat spiking through him as Sam bucked and shivered in his arms.

His brain was so out of order that he barely felt them easing them down to the pillows, so sated and boneless that Jack wondered if they would ever move again. It was a little frightening to know to that even off the battlefield, Sam was still a wellspring of crazy ideas that could kill him dead.

He was all right, however, with the idea of dying a very contented man.

It wasn’t until Sam nuzzled his shoulder with her head that he realized her arms were still bound. As soon as he slipped the cloth away from her skin, her hands went straight to the back of his head, pulling him in. Her kiss was deep and unhurried.

She cupped his face in her hands, running her thumbs in slow circles on his cheeks. The corners of her eyes crinkled with her drowsy smile.

“Maybe next time,” she murmured, “we do you.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Assuming I’d be able to survive the experience.”

She laughed. “You survived this, didn’t you?”

He certainly did. It was something to think about, anyway: the thought of him sprawled out under her, completely at her mercy as she moved above him. He couldn’t say it wasn’t a tempting image.

“Nah,” he decided, lowering his lips to her hair. “This is your thing.”

She curled into him, smiling. “It is.”

He rubbed her arm lightly while her hand slid up his back and her face pressed into his shoulder. He let his eyes close and just held her, wordlessly drifting toward sleep.