Chapter Text
Samira knows that Jack Abbot has a crush on her.
She’s known since Dana would give her cheeky glances when they’d share a shift together. She’s known by the way Robby would say hers and Jack’s name together. She’s known since PittFest, with the way Jack Abbot body checked Dr Walsh. The way his eyes bore into hers. The impressed look he gave her afterwards, and the rough ‘Solid work’.
She’s known for a while, but sure, it was PittFest that really cemented something within her.
Maybe she was far too used to Robby breathing down her neck to be quicker. When she worked with Abbot that day… It was like having a safe place to fall. It was like knowing someone trusted her. He didn’t hesitate when he said ‘I’m not gonna do anything. You are.’ And yeah… That did light something, vaguely, in her stomach.
So, she notices when he looks at her for a beat longer. The hair behind her neck sticks up when she feels him pass by.
She’s just… She’s aware of him.
Jack Abbot is a good-looking guy. It’s not just Myrna who thinks that. Trinity comments on it regularly, always adding a ‘not my type, obviously. But I’m not blind’. Princess and Perlah watch the way he easily moves around, commanding the Pitt, and share a giggle and conversation in Tagalog. Samira doesn’t need to know the language to know they’re saying something inappropriate about Dr Abbot. Maybe about his arms. His jawline. His curls…
Plus, there’s that whole… He’s really smart, quietly confident, and utterly competent thing. He’s a steady beating heart, in the bodily system that is the ER.
Yeah. Samira’s noticed it all, too.
But she also knows he wears a wedding ring. She knows he doesn’t do anything casually. He’s the kind of guy to stare at you, hard, then trust you to do a pigtail catheter procedure by yourself.
What this means is that he’s scary, somewhat. Scary in his trust. It overwhelms Samira.
Samira has never really been a dater. She’s had sex a handful of times, mainly in college, and mainly while inebriated. For a long time, she’d listen to her friends wax on about it and she just didn’t get it.
“You study way too much.” Samira’s friends would say. “It’s blocking out your horniness.”
And maybe that was it.
But then she started working properly, and that killed any drive or desire for romance and sex even more.
You can’t see the things she does, day in and day out, then go home and want to fuck anyone. Most days, Samira looks at herself with a certain blankness. She’s just a person.
So, when Jack began to notice her… It shifted something within her. It reminded her that no, she isn’t just a person. It made her begin to see herself in a different light.
He looked at her as if she was something worth looking at. He looked at her in ways that Samira had only seen people do at temples, before they begin to pray.
And sure, did it make sense to start applying a layer of lip gloss onto her lips, on night shifts, just to see the way Jack’s eyes would look at them briefly, before meeting her eyes?
Did it make any sense (AT ALL) for her to wear a lacy, black push-up bra, so when she got ready in the changerooms, she’d hope he’d walk past and double glance her?
Did it make sense for her to start spritzing perfume behind her ears, because she knew he’d pass her in the hallways?
Did any of it really make sense?
No.
But. The attention. The awed way he’d look at her. The smiles. It did something to her. It made her feel wanted and desired. She liked that feeling so much but had no idea what to do with it.
“He wants to fuck you; you want to fuck him. What’s the big deal?” Her cousin, Anika, asks. She’s on her third glass of wine, meanwhile Samira is still swaddling her first.
“He’s… A bit older.”
“Hot.”
“No. I mean. Yes. Yes.” Her voice drops a little bit as she thinks about it more. Her fingers mindlessly run over the top of her glass.
Yes. It is hot. It’s hot to see his desire for her. It’s hot to think about him panting on top of her. It’s hot to think of his forearms on either side of her head, as he fucks into her. It’s very hot. “He seems like he’d probably want to settle down, though.”
“What, your pussy’s so good, he’ll sleep with you once and marry you?” Anika tilts her head back and laughs. Samira forgets, sometimes, how much her cousin reminds her of Santos.
Samira rolls her eyes, takes a small sip of the red wine, swirls it in her mouth.
“I don’t know. I also don’t know what I want. I probably shouldn’t mess with anyone, until I figure it out, right?”
“Jesus, Samira. Only you could take something as simple as being fucked and overanalyse it.”
Samira closes her eyes. She sighs. She knows Anika is right. But she also knows it isn’t actually that simple.
Nothing about Jack Abbot is simple.
“He wears a wedding ring.”
That does give Anika pause.
“I don’t think you can sleep with a married man, Sam.”
Anika is ok at crossing a lot of lines, but as a married woman herself, cheating is particularly abhorrent. Samira shoots her an annoyed glance.
“I’m pretty sure his wife is dead.”
Anika opens her mouth, then drags it closed again, pondering.
“That’s a bit of baggage.”
Samira closes her eyes again. She definitely can’t mention the police scanner, go bag, leg blown off, or war medic days either then.
“You don’t know the half of it.” She mumbles out instead. “But see? This is a guy who… I don’t know. He’s serious, you know? He doesn’t half-ass anything.” He wouldn’t half-ass it with me. Which is both good and bad. Terrifying and comforting.
Anika sighs, long and tired. She drains the rest of her glass, then looks Samira square in the eye.
“You can put as many excuses on it as you want, but you never talk about anything except work with me. So, the fact that you’re talking about this Jack Abbot guy? I think you want him just as much as he wants you.”
Samira thinks to herself, not for the first time, if she needs to seriously try making friends with people who aren’t just her cousin.
Jack Abbot has never really been a patient guy. He sees things, and he acts fast. It’s what drew him to emergency medicine in the first place. It’s what signed him up for the army. It’s what made him propose to his wife, after half a year of dating. It’s what makes him a workaholic, who works on cars in his garage with his police scanner buzzing in the background.
When he first saw Samira Mohan, he felt his heart do a little one-two beat. It surprised him, because it wasn’t something he’d felt in close to a decade. Not since Amy.
He knows he hasn’t been exactly subtle, either. His eyes would flick to Samira, naturally, no matter what room or situation they were in.
PittFest? His eyes almost always found a way to track back to her. Change over in shift? He’d notice the exact moment Samira was entering the same space as him.
Jack Abbot has never been a subtle guy. When he first met his wife, Amy, he’d watched her from across an army base bar for long enough that she walked over to him, threw a beer down and said:
“Is it just the eyes you fuck with, doctor?”
And that had been that.
While he isn’t subtle, he is slightly fearful. Fearful of his age. Of being perceived wrong or making the wrong move. He doesn’t like the idea of making anyone uncomfortable.
He’s not a first move guy, unfortunately.
However, the first time he heard Robby call Samira Slo-Mo, he frowned deep enough that the wrinkles on his forehead were pronounced.
“Not cool.” He’d closed the conversation off, causing Robby to sigh in return.
The next time he’d heard Robby and Langdon calling her that, he’d scowled. “Cut that shit out, won’t you?”
He wasn’t protective over Samira, per se. More so, he knew what she deserved. She was an excellent doctor. She was thorough and pleasant. She had better bedside manner than anyone else at the damn hospital. It seemed unfair for her to be critiqued for that.
Did his eyes follow her every time they were on shift together? Yeah, maybe.
He knew others knew. The amount of times Walsh would talk to him, see his eyes fade over her shoulder to Samira, and she’d shake her head at him. Even scoff scathingly at him.
He's just. He’s aware of Samira. He’s aware of her presence. Of her lilting voice. Of the pleased way she grins to herself when she’s proven right. The way she bites her bottom lip when Robby’s being a hard ass on her.
Now, he stands by Dana’s desk, charting. He can see Mel and Samira out of the corner of his eye, talking about a patient together. Samira is practically bouncing on the spot. Mel looks pleased.
A smile tugs at his mouth, as Samira holds up a hand for a high-five.
“You’re high fiving me?” Mel asks, excitedly. She removes her glove and smacks her hand against Samira’s, who laughs easily.
“Yeah, you like high-fives, right?”
Mel beams. And…. Isn’t that just Samira in a nutshell? She knows people.
“Mohan.” Robby’s voice interrupts the moment, and Jack allows his head to tilt up, more obviously paying attention. “We got plenty of other patients waiting. No time to high-five over all of them. Let’s go, let’s go, Slo-Mo.”
The effect is almost instantaneous. While Jack is hardly a vibe-smith himself, he can tell that Robby’s completely killed the mood. Samira sets her shoulders, smile quickly fading. She rushes away. Mel awkwardly turns on the spot, before heading to the ambulance bay.
Jack considers, not for the first time, if he can punch Robby.
Dana lets out a whistle behind him, and Jack glances at her. Her eyes are on Robby, too. She looks at Jack, as if the pair are colluders.
Sometimes, he feels like they are. The mutual silence they share over a cigarette is nice. Sometimes one of them will speak, sometimes neither of them will. It doesn’t matter. Dana is great like that.
“Someone’s on the warpath today.” Dana comments, flicking her eyes between Robby and Jack.
Jack hums, non-committal, just as Robby approaches them.
“Morning.” Robby drawls out, reminding Jack that his shift is technically over.
Both Dana and Jack greet him back. There’s a lull. Jack wanders if Dana is waiting for him to say something. He does feel an itch.
He takes a beat, then opens his mouth.
“The nickname’s a dick move, Robby.” His voice is flat. He meets Robby’s eyes, who blinks in surprise.
He knows Dana is grinning in that shit-eating way of hers. He knows she knows why he doesn’t like it. But he doesn’t look at her. He keeps his eyes on Robby. “If you don’t want Samira on days, I’ll happily take her on nights.” Jack lifts a shoulder, in a modest shrug. “You don’t wanna appreciate her, fine. But then don’t get mad if I steal her, ‘cause I do.”
He turns and walks away, a stiffness to his movement from his prosthetic’s silent plea to be removed.
He hears Robby call out after him, confused. Knows Dana places a hand over his to stop him. Knows she’s fixing him with a look. Knows she has his back, in a way that’s similar but also incredibly different to how he has Samira’s.
He walks past Samira, crouched over an 8-year old girl with ear pain. She glances up at him, unbeknownst. He pauses mid-step, in case she needs his help.
Because he’ll gladly stay back another two hours (prosthetic pain be gone), if it means being near her. If it means helping her. But Samira gives him an easy smile and wave of her hand.
“I got it covered, but thanks Dr Abbot.”
He tries not to act like just that simple sentence doesn’t make his heart thud a lot faster in his chest.
It’s a pitiful failure.
“So. Samira Mohan.” Dana states it a few days later, as Jack and her both stand together in the otherwise deserted smoking area.
Jack cuts her a quick glance, smoke pilfering out one corner of his mouth. It makes Dana cackle.
“Dr Abbot, I fear you’re what the kids call… Being ‘down bad.’” She chortles.
Jack frowns and tugs the cigarette out of his mouth. He leans back against one of the brick pillars that supposedly keeps the hospital standing.
“I don’t know what the hell that means.” He tells her, honestly, and tries to stop his brain from immediately imagining Samira Mohan’s big doe eyes. He clears his crackly throat.
“Anyone with two eyes can see the way you feel about her, Abbot.” Dana sighs, gestures at him with her own cigarette dangling from her lithe fingers. “You and Robby both just don’t know how to keep it in your pants when it comes to resident’s, huh?”
Jack frowns at this, allows his gaze to fall to the floor, and his shoes. He’ll never not find it odd to look down at his feet and be reminded one isn’t technically there anymore. It’s like a trick of a mind. Stumbling when you thought there was an extra step on the staircase.
“Nothing’s happened.” Jack says, voice curt and rough. He doesn’t want anyone thinking that Samira’s only where she is because he couldn’t keep his eyes to himself.
“No, I know. Samira’s smarter than that. You? Not sure.” She cackles again, before meeting the cigarette back to her lips and taking an inhale. “It’s nice, you know.” Dana’s voice is softer. He can feel her eyes digging into him with care. “To see you like this.”
Jack sighs. He rubs a hand over his face and knows better than to lie.
“You think she knows?” He feels like an idiot. It’s like asking your friend on the playground if your crush is looking at you. Jack is embarrassed at his own behaviour.
Dana shrugs though, turns to look out the front at cars passing on the highway.
“She’s only thinking about one thing, Abbot. And sorry to say, I don’t think it’s you.”
“She works herself too hard.” Jack comments. Knows as soon as the words are out of his mouth how hypocritical they are. Dana, bless her, doesn’t feel the need to rub that in.
“So, what? You’re her white knight, Abbot?” She snorts.
Jack takes a large inhale of smoke; lets it settle in his chest before he exhales again. He’s been a smoker since he was 16 years old. Never more than 3 or 4 a day. Funny, because he’s pretty sure he thinks about Samira at least 20 times a day.
“No. She’s not the kinda girl you rescue or whatever bullshit people think of.” Jack agrees.
He thinks to himself, what does he want then? To make her smile. Make her laugh. Make her gasp. Make her moan. Make her fingers curl into his bedsheets, and her legs wrap around his waist. Maybe even make her breakfast sometime, if she’d want. He clears his throat again.
The truth of the matter is that he wants anything she wants. Whatever she’ll give him. He blows out another plume of air.
“I just wanna make her happy, I guess.”
Samira has had two gin and tonics. She only has a third one because Robby bought it for her and stated he hoped she’d ‘didn’t think he didn’t appreciate her’.
It’s the closest thing she knows she’ll ever get to a potential apology, or recognition of how hard she works. Although she isn’t quite sure what’s prompted it.
They’re celebrating Dana’s proper return to work. She’s been in and out of the hospital the last few months, having lots of meeting with HR and Gloria. Samira only saw brief glances of her, around the nurse’s station.
The hospital felt different without her. Lonelier.
Finally, she announced that yes, she was coming back but only part time.
Robby, clearly the happiest out of all of them (and relieved), had immediately announced that anyone who’s shift was ending in the next two hours was mandated to come to the bar. No excuses.
Samira isn’t much of a drinker. Especially not around work people. She’s never been very good at socialising, or small talk. Her idea of a great conversation is rehashing work business, which nobody else finds nearly as fun as she does.
Jack Abbot plops himself down next to her,
“Did you read that journal article about Artificial Intelligence in children’s medicine, from Japan?” He offers.
Samira immediately smiles at him, grateful. She feels her entire body relax. Tries to act like she hasn’t been counting down the minutes until she could politely leave.
“I did. Japan’s always miles ahead of us with that tech stuff.” She hums.
Jack holds out his beer bottle, tilts it. She clinks her short glass against his, feels her cheeks blush for no real reason.
She can smell his aftershave. Knows he always slaps it on after the hospital, when he washes his face again. He’s changed into jeans and a t-shirt that’s tight around his broad chest and biceps. Samira noticed as soon as he entered the bar but pretended like she hadn’t.
Just like she could feel his eyes on her for the last half an hour. Knew it made her purposely stand up straighter and cross her legs on the bar stool enough that her dress rode up her thigh a little.
She’d mentally been counting how long it would take him to come sit down by her.
Samira knows she needs to know better. To be better. But when she looks over at Jack and sees the way he smiles at her, lopsided, it makes her heart warm. She wants him to look at her like that forever.
But then her brain reminds her just how scary forever can be. How nothing is really determined, and people’s lives change in a second, every day. Their job is proof of that.
She takes a long sip of her Robby-feels-guilty gin and tonic. Jack watches her and raises his eyebrows.
“Feeling hot?” His voice has a croakiness to it that she’ll never fully accustomed to. She gives him a playful roll of her eyes. The liquor is juvenile within her, enough to loosen her tongue.
“Don’t get all flirty with me, Dr Abbot.” Her smile is apparent, though. They both know she likes it. Likes the attention. Maybe even likes him.
Jack’s smile turns wider. He moves, slightly awkwardly, on the stool, to face her properly. Nobody is paying them any attention. The bar door hasn’t stopped opening and closing with people for the last hour.
“I thought you liked when I flirted with you, Mohan.” He counters.
Well, damn. Touché.
Samira tilts her body to face him too. She uncrosses her legs, sees the way his eyes dip down, guiltily, before pulling up again.
She grins at him, quick flash. She knows this is a bad idea. A very bad idea. She had no notion to flirt with him, but god, she can’t remember the last time she flirted with anyone. It warms her up more than the alcohol does.
In the bar like this, it’s almost like they can pretend they’re two strangers meeting.
And maybe this is what they need? Maybe both of them just need to get this – whatever it is – out of their system.
Maybe then she’ll stop thinking about him. Maybe then his eyes won’t stick to her anymore. Maybe she won’t prickle up, or feel her panties dampen when he praises her after a procedure anymore. They’re two humans. Good looking. This is all they’re made for, really, isn’t it?
Samira cocks an eyebrow at him, mouthing around her straw.
Jack’s eyebrows raise, a light pinkness of his cheeks too, as if unsure what to do with this brazenness from either of them.
“How about I show you what I like?” She finally says.
They’re up against each other in the bathroom. Or, more specifically, Jack is crowded against her, and she’s sat up, precariously, on the bathroom sink.
Her mouth hasn’t left his.
“Off.” She whispers, tugging at his jean pant buckle. Abbot groans back, tongue licking inside of her mouth. His hands have moved their way up, grabbing both of her breasts and gives them a squeeze, testing. She nods against his mouth, and Abbot slides a leg between hers, as if reading her mind, that she needs some tension. She clings to him, desperate, legs hooking around his muscular thigh and grinding herself against him. She can feel him hard against her hand, and she palms over him. He swallows, hard.
“Slow. Down. Samira. I-”
“No,” She says it hurriedly, almost with a panic. She doesn’t know what he’s going to say, she can’t deal with it. Her heart leaps bounds, and Abbot seems to notice, because he obediently closes his mouth. “No, just- just fuck me. Please.”
He exhales, releases her breasts, and rucks up her dress, over her stomach. The flimsy material slides easily. Abbot’s forehead presses against hers, before he’s undoing his jeans, finally.
“I don’t. Have a condom. Jesus, Samira.” He croaks out, wretched over the fact he can’t give her the one thing she wants (demands). It’s the second time he’s called her Samira, and it makes her head dizzier than the alcohol did.
“I do.” She whispers it out, sounding almost pathetic. He blinks at her. “In my purse.” She knows he has questions. Is glad he doesn’t ask a single one. Instead, he leaves her for only a brief moment.
He finds her bag scattered on the floor, rifles in it for a second, before pulling out the packaged condom.
He shouldn’t look sexy like this, eyebrow arched up at her, condom between two of his fingers, a tent in his jeans all because of her. She shivers, knows her nipples harden in the dress. His eyes go dark, and he moves over to her again.
“I just. Need…”
“I know.” He smooths back some of her hair from her face, ducks down a tad, to meet her eyes. “Let me… I gotta finger you first, okay?”
Samira feels like she could scream. She shakes her head, far too quick.
“No, really – I just need you to.”
“Samira. You’re in charge here. But I’m not hurting you, okay? So just. Fucking.” He exhales. Closes his eyes. “Let me finger you and get you there, yeah?”
She’s never had someone want to do that to her before. Not really. If so, it’s been a quick fumble before they fuck into her.
“You can just… Spit.” Her words sound meek. Jack reels back as if she’s slapped him. His eyes narrow.
“Is that what men usually-?” He seems to think better and shake his head. “I’d prefer you enjoy this, too.”
Her heart does that lurching thing again. It feels like she’s falling. It feels like she could cry. He’s too earnest and kind. The bar is in fucking hell for her, but she can’t tell him that because she doesn’t want that look back on his face.
She nods.
He helps her out of her panties. When he looks down at her, his entire face flushes. Samira tilts his head back up to meet hers, urgency written on her face.
“Jack.”
He crowds closer, his hands large and capturing her thighs. He slides one palm closer, and it’s enough to almost tickle. She exhales, anticipating and waiting. Jack’s finger grazes over her folds, and she knows she’s wet, but when he touches her it’s like… It’s like something more than pleasure floats within her. It’s new. It’s warm. Oh, god, it’s good. And he’s barely touched her.
She knows he can tell how wet she is. Knows he wants to comment on it. Samira doesn’t know if she’s ever gotten this wet in her life, let alone just from some vague fumbling and kissing.
She can feel his eyes on her, watching, gauging, trying to figure her out. It’s why she keeps her own eyes keenly pressed closed. She can’t watch him do this because she doesn’t know if she’ll ever be able to look at him again normally.
His finger slides within her, and Samira hooks her chin over his shoulder, breathing him in deeply. Jack’s own forehead falls, pressing against her. His breaths are ragged, like they’re being torn right out of his own body.
He slides in, with some resistance, but not a lot, and it’s that roughness that makes her body melt. She turns to goo.
“Oh.” Samira whispers out, heavenly. Jack hums in response. His finger pumps in and out of her, slow, building. Samira’s hips impatiently meet his finger, begging for more.
“Good girl.” He whispers and seems to relish in the fact that another bout of slick heat coats his digit.
“That feels – oh. Good.” Her own voice sounds scratchy and far away. She wonders if she could orgasm like this.
Sometimes, Samira isn’t sure if she’s had an orgasm in her life. She knows she’s come close. Swears she’s been able to do it to herself, but the way people describe it… Again, she always thought she was missing something.
This feels like that something.
He presses open mouthed kisses to her skin, any part he can reach.
“We don’t – we don’t have time.” She whimpers. Her nails dig into his back though, keeping him on her.
“There’s always time for this. Let me – let me take care of you.”
Nobody’s said those words to her in her life. She muffles a moan into his shoulder blade. Wants to bite.
“Another?” He prompts, as his finger begins to move faster, and with more ease. Samira nods, eager, and she can feel his smile, knows he’s thinking I knew it.
“Samira, you gotta – gotta make sure people are prepping you.” It sounds close to a lecture, like how he’d teach her to position a needle for a lumbar puncture. He leans back from her, and Samira allows her eyes to fall open, drunk and hazy.
Jack’s looking at her, as if searching for something. He slides a third finger in, crooks them up, and Samira’s nails dig deep into his forearm flesh, a high-pitched noise leaving her. She can’t remember the last time she was this slick and heated.
She chances a glance down and sees his fingers disappearing inside of her and it – it makes her brain feel like it’s restarting.
Her hips chase him, wanton, and jerky. She can’t look away from his thick, careful, pale digits disappearing into her. It takes her a second to realise that his fingers are sinking deep enough to only stop where his wedding ring is and-
“I think I’m gonna cum.” She whispers out, almost horrified at the prospect. But Jack grins, a flash in his eyes, like he’s found exactly what he was after.
“Give it to me, Doctor Mohan.”
Fuck.
Samira’s heart is in her throat, her hips are desperate, and she can see him watching her, nodding with approval.
So much for a quick fuck.
This man is going to ruin her life.
Her hands stay clinging to his forearm as his fingers continue to flow within her. She feels warm and sticky. The tension within her builds and builds. Her other hand finds purchase behind her, on the bathroom sink. She wonders if Jack can see himself, see the way he looks at her.
Her orgasm rolls over her, and to not make noise, Jack grabs the nape of her neck and buries her face into his shoulder. She bites his flesh, hard, to muffle her shriek.
Jack keeps his fingers tucked inside of her. Samira shivers around him as she comes down from it all. She reopens her eyes sluggishly and Jack looks far too happy with himself. He presses a kiss to both corners of her mouth and Samira blinks. Because. Ok. Something about that feels far too intimate.
Jack Abbot seems like he’d want to settle down.
She pushes his fingers out of her and hops down from the sink. She turns, sees herself debauched, and ignores it. She rests her forearms on the sink and quirks an eyebrow up at Jack.
“Fuck me like this.”
His cheeks are dusted light pink, like he isn’t quite sure what to do with her. But Samira brought him here to fuck her. She’s going to get what she wants. Get this both out of their systems so she doesn’t have to keep thinking about him, and what it all means.
Jack looks at her as if she could be his favourite person.
And that’s just. It’s a lot.
“Jack.” She snaps him out of his revere, sliding her ass back, wincing at the cold air hitting her slicked thighs. “Please… God. Please. Fuck me hard.”
He nods, fervent, and unzips his pants. Samira tries not to think about how strangely erotic it is for her to be laid out completely bare for him, breasts sloped out of her dress, full cunt on display, while Jack is still fully clothed. His hands are skilful and fast as they rip open the condom packet and roll into his length.
Her mouth dries as she sees his cock in the reflection of the mirror. He’s thick and curved. It makes her body tense in pure anticipation. Her mouth opens, although she knows she shouldn’t be surprised at how big he is.
He connects eyes with her in the mirror.
“This is why we gotta prep you.” His voice is rough. It sounds like he’s talking her into surgery in the OR. She doesn’t know how she’ll work beside him ever again. Her brain flies into a million different scenarios.
Something deep within her strangely ticks, wanders what it would be like to do this on a bed, with hours to spend together.
The head of his cock nudges her, and Samira almost collapses onto her arms against the sink. She inhales sharply, feeling the pressure of him rubbing against her. A distant part wishes they could do this without the condom.
“You’re so – you’re so fucking beautiful. You look unreal. Jesus, Samira. Wish you could see yourself like this. See how you’re gonna open up for me and take me. Fuck. Fuck.” He slides the head in, and Samira bites down on her lip to keep from moaning. His words are hushed yet bounce in the space of the small bathroom. Her nipples are painfully hard. Her body shivers.
“You’re. You’re…” His voice is pained. She looks up in the mirror and meets eyes with him. His face is red and heated, screwed up in concentration. “You’re so tight.”
“You’re so big.” She whispers out, unable to stop herself. “I don’t… I don’t even know if you’ll fit.”
He groans, inches in closer, and Samira keens back, helpless. Weak. She’s slick enough to take a few more inches. He feels snug inside of her, just like this.
“Breathe. Breathe through it. That’s my girl.” He whispers. His spare hand slides down her back, warming up every knob of her spine. She curves down against him, knows the way men like it, knows the angles, the exact way to dip her spine and bounce her ass. She doesn’t know how to react to being called his girl. Part of her relishes in it. The other part is frightened. She’s never been anyone’s anything.
She reaches behind her, frantic, and sees Jack eyeing her. She finds his dog tags and yanks him closer, immediately feeling him tumble over her and sink right in and-
“Ah!” Both her and Jack cry out sharply as he bottoms out into her, filling her in a way she’s never been filled before. She exhales weakly, trembling.
“Shut up. And just. And just fuck me.” Samira’s voice is thin and breathless, trying to adjust to the thickness of him. She gives the tags another yank, before her fingers messily find his mouth, with the front of him pressed against her back. Her fingers unceremoniously shove inside the warmth of his mouth, quieting him, save for a muffled noise of surprise.
His eyes darken. Samira sees the exact moment it happens. She feels a thrill shoot through her. Yes. This is what she wanted. Jack makes a muffled noise around her fingers, and she allows them to slide out of his mouth, damp with his saliva.
“You want me to fuck you like a slut?” His words are so hoarse, and unlike anything she’s heard before that Samira swallows audibly.
She whimpers, nudges back and feels his cock twitch inside of her, waiting, expectant. She meets his gaze in the bathroom mirror again and nods, just once.
Yes, she wants to tell him. But she doesn’t have to.
He pushes off her back, his hand going to her hips and the space between them and her ass.
“Arch your back more for me.” He orders. His voice is succinct and sharp. She can see the army man she knows he is. She arches her back, and he flashes a pleased grin. He doesn’t meet her eyes in the mirror again though. He keeps his gaze on her ass. On his cock disappeared inside of her.
And then he fucks her. It’s messy and hard. The bathroom sink digs into her hips painfully enough to leave bruises.
Samira gets the air fucked out of her, breathless as she falls against the sink, clinging to the taps.
Jack’s hips piston against her with such harshness that the smack of their bodies is distinct and crude. She can hear her ass slapping his thighs. She can feel his cock grinding right inside of her, short and fast.
Her mouth stays open, relishing in the pain and pleasure of it. In the feeling of him fucking her so hard that she feels dizzy with it. His cock is big enough to make her gasp for air.
She can’t move, she realises. He has her completely pinned down. She can’t twist or bounce back. She can’t do anything but be fucked by him.
He follows her instructions. When she told him to shut up and fuck her, he listened. He doesn’t say anything, although she knows he wants to. His teeth wear into his bottom lip, face screwed up as he fucks her harder and harder.
Her cries are short and pinched. She muffles them into her own arms, almost sobbing from the intensity of it. From him.
There is something so animalistic that Samira likes about this. Something so dirty. Something that she can’t articulate. She’s never had sex like this before and felt it mean something.
Jack pummels into her with a ruthlessness she didn’t even know he had. When she collapses slightly, he makes a noise of disapproval. His hand clings to her hip, holding her in place, doubling his speed. When she arches her back again, he hums in approval:
“Good. Don’t you dare fucking move again.”
She can’t cum like this, but she knows she’s soaked his cock further. She wanders, distantly, if one day she could cum from the way he talks to her. The words he uses. The control he knows she needs. The sweet things frighten her. The dirty things thrill her.
His cock nudges so deep inside of her that her toes curl. She tries to pull away, but Jack lets out a quiet laugh.
He flexes his fingers deep into the flesh of her hip. When she looks in the mirror, he meets her eyes, give a small shake of his head. A nice try. He keeps himself angled right there, bullying into the spot, watching the way Samira’s face screws up. She’s unable to make any noise from the feeling alone.
Jack doesn’t give any warning. His thrusts are violent hard, but they shorten and stutter. That’s the only way Samira knows. She’s unable to stop herself from looking at his face. His eyes screwed up, mouth falling open. Sweat dampening his forehead. She’s in awe of him.
You look incredible, she wants to say. But she doesn’t.
He collapses against her back, heaving out large sloughs of air, gulping it down, desperate. Samira allows her own body to return to her. It takes her a few moments before she weakly pushes herself away from the sink, wincing.
Jack’s soft cock slides out of her, and when he reopens his eyes and looks at her – he looks wrecked. She turns to face him, weak smile fluttering over her lips.
“Was that-?” He asks, voice low.
She nods, quick and hard. His hands move to reach for her, and Samira forces herself to take a step back and away. She notes the quick flash of hurt on his face; shoulders slumped. There’s sweat patches on his t-shirt.
“We should go.” She murmurs, surprised at the callous way her own words sound. She sounds like every man who’s ever fucked her before and couldn’t find a quicker way to leave. She doesn’t know why she’s acting this way. Only that his eyes are deep and draw her in. His lips are plump and kissable. If she doesn’t leave this bathroom right now, she maybe never will.
Samira rucks her dress back down, hands trembling. She doesn’t look at him as she rakes her fingers through her hair. She’s trying not to look like she just got fucked in a bathroom, in a shitty bar.
She clears her throat, and gently shoulders past him. Bends to pick up her handbag.
“People will be looking for us.”