Disclaimer: I think it should be quite obvious that I own nothing.
A/N: This is deliberately vague time-wise. Though the boat is still in the basement so that's a pretty good indicator.
Also, just as a warning, this isn't going to be a lot more than a fairly plot-less selection of kinky sex. There will be BDSM and a whole variety of interesting ways to copulate so if that freaks you out then you'll likely want to stay away. (Though this first chapter is pretty damn tame).
She's dressed like sin.
It's the first thing he notices and the only thing he cares about and if that dress weren't enough to put the question of why the hell she came here after the latest one of her innumerable rubber chicken dinners out of his mind then her shoes (and the utterly delicious things they're doing to her legs) would be more than enough to force away any and all such thoughts.
As it is, he can't even catch his breath for a 'hubba hubba'.
Sin, he considers, may be an understatement.
Her dress is silky. A dark green colour that she wears oh so well. It drapes in a way that is sinfully suggestive yet not indecent, not to a passer-by at least (he is hyper aware of the fact that every place it touches her, his hands have touched her).
"Jethro."
Her greeting is simple. It doesn't apologise for being here but it no more asks anything in return (her body is doing enough of that asking for the both of them).
He doesn't reply, merely empties a nearby mason jar of myriad screws and nails and pours in a generous slug of bourbon before handing it to her.
She sips it gently, slowly, maintaining eye contact over the rim of the makeshift tumbler.
He moves towards her, invades her personal space deliberately. She puts the mason jar down when he gets close enough she can feel his breath on her skin.
Neither of them knows who moved first. Neither of them gives a fucking damn.
His lips are on hers, hard and unyielding and her tongue forces its way into his mouth as she gives as good as she's getting.
Their tongues slide together, picking up their battle of dominance as though they'd never abandoned it and he tugs at her hips, pulling her body flush against him.
He tugs at her dress sharply and she backs off a few steps before toeing off her shoes and shrugging the silky contraption off her shoulders. It pools at her feet and he chokes on air when he sees she's wearing thigh highs and a bra. And nothing else.
His eyes trail down her body, re-committing her curves to memory. She really hasn't changed very much, except for a collection of scars he has never seen before. His perusal reaches her thighs, visibly glistening in the low light and he draws in a sharp breath at the evidence of her obvious arousal.
He turns her around and pushes her flat against one of the ribs of his boat, her hands scrabbling for purchase against the smooth wood.
He drags his hand between her legs and he can't help but thrust against her when he feels just how wet she is.
"You're dripping" he growls in her ear and she moans, rubbing against the wood in front of her. Searching for friction, pressure, something. Anything. He grabs her hands and pulls them above her head, holding her wrists in one hand as the other rests on her hip, fingers drawing a teasing pattern on her skin.
He leans his head down to her neck and licks her skin gently. She moans, head falling back, and he takes advantage of the increased access to bite down on her neck, just hard enough to toe the line between pleasure and pain. (He hopes she still likes this).
"Jethro", she gasps, grinding her hips against him as well as she can (which isn't very well at all).
"Jen." He replies. The first word he's spoken all night and his tone tells her he knows just exactly what she's doing to her.
He bites down on the juncture of neck and shoulder. Her cry turns into a whimper as he laves the spot with his tongue.
His free hand comes up to her breasts, palming them through her bra and he grins against her skin as he feels the nipples hardening beneath the silk.
He pulls the cups down, exposing her breasts to the cool air and she hisses at the sensation, wiggling in her attempts to brush the hardened peaks against the wood pressed up between her breasts. But his body is pressing against the length of her, the fabric of his clothing is rough against her skin, and she doesn't even have enough range of movement to thrust back against the cock she can feel tucked snugly into her lower back.
He returns his attention to attacking her neck with his mouth, alternating sharp bites with kisses and licks of his tongue and she's so wrapped up in the sensations he's causing that she doesn't realise his hand has left her breast until it sneaks its way between her pubic bone and the rib of the boat. One searching finger invades her wetness and he groans against her ear.
"God, Jen. You're soaked." He bites her lobe gently and drags one calloused finger against her swollen clit. She whimpers and thrashes her head and he can tell it's not going to take a lot to push her over the edge. He strums his fingers against her clit in an ever-quickening dance and then pinches it hard between two fingers as he places a harsh bite just under her jaw and she gasps for breath as her orgasm washes over her.
He strokes her clit gently through the aftershocks and waits for her breathing to even out before he releases her hands. She starts to move them but he grasps them quickly and returns them to their position above her head.
"Don't move" he admonishes huskily, backing away slightly so he can undo his jeans quickly, pushing them down his hips with his briefs, but keeping one hand against the small of her back, knowing that she would be quick to assert control, given the chance.
He's back in place as quickly as humanly possible, and he wastes no time in guiding himself into her.
"God" she moans, pushing down on him as he thrusts slowly into her.
"Just me," he replies before his mind is wiped of anything but the sensation of being engulfed in her silky wet heat. He pauses for a few seconds, taking a few deep breaths to aid his composure and then he's thrusting gently, his hands moving up to pluck at her nipples.
"Harder" she whimpers, but his pace doesn't change.
"Huh?" He's asking her for more and even though it's been years since they've been in this kind of position it's not the type of cue she's likely to forget.
"Please Jethro." She begs. "Please fuck me harder!"
He quickens his speed, thrusting into her at a brutal pace and pinching her erect nipples. She comes suddenly, breaking off in the middle of yet another plea of "Oh fuck please Jethro" and at the fluttering of her cunt around him he spills his own release.
He releases her as soon as he catches her breath and she regains her composure in the time it takes to stride to his workbench and polish off the bourbon he had given her.
As she dresses he takes a critical eye to the marks her fingernails made in the wood of his boat. He turns around once she's done and when he nods his head towards the marred wood she gives him a shrug that says punish me (and the challenge in her eyes says if you can).
"Shall we skip the 'we shouldn't have done that' bull" she asks huskily and he shrugs,
"Why start lying to each other now, Jen?" They echo their earlier conversation and the words that had followed hang unspoken in the air between them (he has as little problem taking orders from her as she from him).
She walks up to him and gives him a soft kiss on the cheek.
"Night Jethro."
She's up the stairs and out the door by the time he raises his bourbon in a mock salute and replies "Night, Jen."
I plan on running this a bit like my own personal kink meme. If there's a kinky scenario you'd like to see fulfilled by these two feel free to review/pm me/ask me on tumblr (link in my profile). Feel free to make requests as an anonymous reviewer (or asker on tumblr) so you can share your fantasies safely. And if you choose to pm me you can ask me to keep you anonymous and I will be more than happy to do so.