A/N: okay, so…pretty much, these are all the M-rated scenes from the Fractured. I wrote them separately because I didn't want to change the rating of the story by adding these scenes…and because I have a dirty mind and couldn't help myself. There will be three chapters featuring the three main couples. Some parts of it might not make too much sense if you haven't read Fractured, but they can stand alone. The italicized words at the beginning of each chapter are the words from Fractured preluding the mature scenes.

This first one is Cutter and Jenny, taking place between "Disarm and Desire" and "Falling to Pieces"…or just chapters 18 and 19.

"Nick," she whispered, voice husky as she grasped at him. "Nick, bedroom. Now."

Another deep growl slipped from his throat as he lifted her off the counter, staggering down the hallway towards his room.

Jenny gasped as they staggered through the door, her back meeting the wall, and he growled in reply as her legs tightened around his waist. His lips devoured her throat and shoulder, nipping and biting gently at her, then running his tongue across the tender red marks his teeth left. Her hands raked through his hair, combing through the thick, soft strands, then slid beneath the collar of his shirt, running across the warm skin of his shoulders. His hands were on the back of her thighs, holding her tight to him, the one hand slid up her thigh to her hip then upwards, pushing beneath the hem of her blouse to her bare waist. She loved this man's hands, large and callused and strong, but also nimble, able to handle fossilised bones and ancient artefacts without breaking them. The rough calluses scraped against her tender skin, igniting friction in her flesh. "Let me down, Nick." She wriggled in his grasp. "Put me down," she repeated, and he reluctantly loosened his grip on her arse, allowing her legs to slip from his waist and lower to the floor, but when he reached for her again, she slapped his hands away. "Not yet."

"What the hell do you mean, not yet?" he demanded, hardly able to force the words past his lips as she pushed against his chest, forcing him to back up into the wall. She'd practically been panting after him for weeks now, and when he finally gave in, she was pushing him away, quite literally?

"Exactly what I said," she replied, a note of feminine command in her voice that had his hackles raising. She looked up at him, face flushed, eyes bright, and lips swollen. Her fingers worked open his belt and tugged insistently at the zipper of his jeans. "I want to see those damned stripes of yours."

He stiffened slightly at the moan in her words, and from the sound of her voice, she obviously wasn't talking about the stripes on his shoulders, either. The metal zipper rasped down. "Jenny…" he cautioned as she pushed his jeans and shorts down past his hips.

There was another set of stripes on his hips, another set of four. One on his hipbones, one just above it, and two more on his thighs. To the untrained eye, the stripes were only peculiar tattoos, but she knew what them for what they really were. They were proof of the animal that lurked within, proof of how close it was to the surface. "I love those stripes," she murmured quietly, biting her lip as she stared at them.

His hand grasped her chin, tilting her head back up to him. "The stripes are not up for discussion," he warned, a carnal look in his eyes.

"Yet."

"Never."

She ignored the warning in his voice, sinking to her knees in front of him; he hissed through his teeth as her fingertips lightly skimmed over the tattoo-like marks on his hips and thighs. When her tongue followed the path of her fingertips, his head slammed into the wall behind him. "Oh, hell," he growled roughly. Her tongue was a lash of fire, exciting the hypersensitive nerves that were closer to the skin with delicate strokes. Until now, those damn stripes were his own personal shame, a permanent reminder that he wasn't human anymore, a souvenir of the torment he'd experienced, but now…. Christ, if that's what it took to get her tongue on him, he was all bloody for it. Let her lick. Hell, she could bite if she wanted to. Jenny lifted her arms, running her hands over his chest and stomach as she traced the edges of each dark stripe with her tongue. Cutter growled softly, reaching down to lace his fingers in her thick hair. "You'll pay for this, Jennifer Lewis," he warned.

"Promises, promises," she whispered, her breath dancing over the damp skin as she moved from his right leg to his left. When she teased the sensitive place where his skin was striped darker, he let out a deep-throated groan of pleasure, fingers tightening in her hair. She followed the path of the dark stripes with her tongue, feeling unaccountably pleased as she did so. Jenny knew that no other woman would get to do this. Nobody else would be permitted to caress him like this. On impulse, she raked her teeth across the stripes, scratching with her canine teeth the way he had when he bit at her throat.

"Enough!" he cried out, fisting his hands in her hair and pulling her head back. "Get up," he snarled in a feral voice.

Jenny felt a tremor of sweet arousal in the pit of her belly as she rose obediently, hands trembling as she did. She wasn't afraid of him, never afraid, but she felt…she didn't know what she felt, but it was erotic beyond belief. He wrapped both arms around her waist and lifted her up as if she weighed no more than a sack of flour, carrying her towards the bed; he didn't toss her down but rather laid her down gently. He climbed up beside her, kneeling over her. Reaching down, he unbuttoned her blouse slowly, allowing more of her pale skin to come into view; a low growl of pleasure rumbled from his throat when the black lace of her bra was revealed, a stark contrast to her complexion. When the last button was undone, he pulled the blouse open, slid the fabric down her arms, and tugged it out from beneath her, tossing it aside.

She let out a sigh, tilting her head back as he kissed her throat and shoulder, raising goosepimples across her flesh. Then he began to move down, trailing more warm, damp kisses down her chest, over the slope of her breasts. He paused slightly, then slid one hand beneath her back to unhook her bra. She gave a tiny gasp as he drew it off, a cool draught of air crossing her breasts. He continued kissing every inch of her skin; a low moan burst from her throat as he took one stiff, aching nipple into his mouth. The tug of his suckling sent bolts of pleasure from her breast to her core, connected by nerve endings she'd never known existed. He moved from her left breast to her right; his tongue felt rough, just like a cat's, rasping delightfully against her tender skin. Jenny pulled insistently at his shirt, hungry to feel skin against skin, and he drew away only long enough to pull the shirt off over his head and toss it aside, leaving her free to run her hands over his shoulders and back, consigning the feel of him to memory. She felt the scars that marked his skin, and she promised that one day she'd learn the story behind each one, memorising where each one was on his flesh.

He began to move down her body, leaving a path of soft, warm kisses down her belly, and she was panting by the time his lips met the waist of her skirt. He looked up at her through his lashes, a silent question in his eyes; she nodded. He unzipped her skirt, and she lifted her hips so he could pull it off. He didn't stop there, though, because her knickers were gone as well, and now they were both entirely bare, nothing but bare skin left between them. He moved back up the bed, and her eyes came open as he moved his body over hers. Jenny felt a faint tremor beneath her breastbone. Good God, he seemed so…big, that for just a moment, she felt a little quiver of worry, but Cutter held his weight up on his elbows, supporting himself. She slid her hands over his shoulders and back, tracing her fingers along the dark stripes across his shoulders.

"Jenny, do you trust me?" he asked, voice dipping into husky, wine-rich tones she'd never heard the likes of from him before.

"Yes," she breathed back. "Yes, Nick."

He laced his fingers into her thick hair, pulling her head back so he could look at her. Even in the dim lighting she could make out his familiar, rugged features, and the intensity in his blue eyes was enough to make her quiver. A soft gasp escaped her lips as he slid into her body little by little, oh-so-slowly to keep from accidentally hurting her, until they were fully joined. She whimpered at the feel of him, toes curling on the sheets. He was bigger than she thought, filling her entirely, and after so long without a lover, she felt a slight sting of pain. For a moment he held himself still over her, but then he began to move, and her whimpers turned to gasping moans. She slid her arms around him, hands moving over the smooth, warm skin of his back and feeling the hard muscle ripple beneath the surface; her fingers tripped over the scars. Eyes closed, she braced her forehead against the ridge of his collarbone, gasping for a breath as they found a steady rhythm in their movements, unpracticed but wholly natural. She could hear him, the pound of his heart and the low noises rumbling out of his chest as they moved together, her own answers light and soft as bird talk.

Jenny clutched at his back, panting, and tasted the salty skin of his collarbone, his neck. White fire fluttered in the pit of her stomach, flames licking higher with each movement against each other, electric tingles of pleasure gliding all through her nerves and gathering between her thighs, a wave that wouldn't crest. His hand clenched in her hair, not hard enough to hurt but enough to pull her head back, eyes holding her own, other hand grasping her hip and lifting her to him. He shifted somehow in their alignment, striking some previously unknown chord inside her, and she let out a whimpering moan. "Oh, God, Nick," she cried out, back arching up to him, feeling as if the moon and all the stars had imploded within her; her hands ran down his back, nails leaving stinging marks.

He buried his head against her neck, shuddering and moaning through his climax and spilling himself within her, mind going white from the overwhelming rush of pleasure. "Jenny, Jenny, Jenny," he panted, repeating her name like a mantra, breath hot and humid on her skin. He went heavy on her, trembling slightly. They stayed like that for a long while; she trailed her fingers over his back, feeling his heated flesh start to cool, skin slick with a fresh sheen of sweat. He turned his head towards hers, and she kissed his face as he kissed hers, lips brushing clumsily. After a few moments, though, he shifted, pushing his weight back up on his elbows. "I s'pose I must be gettin' heavy," he murmured sheepishly.

Jenny shook her head, stroking the softness of his hair, now dampened with sweat. "No, I like feeling you on me," she replied in just as soft a voice, tightening her arms around him to keep him from moving away. He kissed her softly, then lowered his head back to the crook of her neck, feeling his heart come back to its normal pace, his breathing levelling out. After a few moments, though, he eased out of her and rolled onto his back. She whimpered at the loss of him, even as he shivered at the harsh change. Jenny turned onto her side, snuggling against him, and he wrapped an arm around her to pull her in closer. She laid her head on him, feeling the steady beat of his heart under her cheek, fingers lightly playing with the hair on his chest; his hand stroked her back. Her lashes were half-closed when she felt the powerful chest beneath her cheek began to vibrate. Her lips curled up in a smile at the sound of his deep, grating love-growl, the contented note more pronounced than ever before.

She tilted her head up at him and smiled. "Y'know, somehow, 'I told you so' just doesn't quite cover it," she said.