Snow floats around her body, tickling her nose and glittering in her hair. She pulls her coat around her and shakes her head in disgust. This does not bode well for her and it doesn't bode well for the situation she's so precariously put herself in. "It never snows here," Cristina mutters, her words turning to vapor as they leave her lips.
"Obviously it snows here sometimes," Jackson says wryly and then blows into his hands and rubs them together, "it's freezing out here."
"It never snows," she repeats, her irritation obvious. She looks up at him and jams her petite hands in the pocket of her jacket, "You're a wuss. It's not that cold out here."
"Really? Because the bank sign across the street says that it's twenty-eight degrees. If my college education serves me right, that's below freezing."
Cristina makes a face at him and paces back and forth on the sidewalk, "Where the hell are all the cabs?"
"Probably parked. Like they should be," he answered, glancing up and down the street. Every car he could see was covered in at least a couple inches of snow, "quit complaining and come back in."
"In case you've forgotten, I'm supposed to be at home. I was supposed to be home two hours ago," she says, shooting him an angry glance, "and I'm not in the mood to play twenty questions."
Jackson smirks, "I forgot that you had to report back to the Major," there's a tone of mocking in his voice that annoys her to no end and she wonders momentarily why she bothers with him. He sees her shiver slightly and he pulls his coat off and puts it around her shoulders despite the fact that he's freezing and he doesn't make a big deal about it.
Cristina quits wondering why she bothers.
"Maybe a cab will come soon," he says, making the disappointment obvious in his voice.
"Stop," she sighs, "I have to go home. Do you really want to get caught?"
Despite his better judgment, he reaches out to grab her hips and he pulls her back against him, "Yes," he answers, low in her ear. "I'm tired of you running."
A shiver runs down her spine and it has absolutely nothing to do with the weather, "You knew what you were getting into. And I didn't hear you complaining an hour ago."
"That's because you were underneath me and naked an hour ago," he grins before he brushes her thick curls out of the way to kiss her neck. "It's snowing and it never snows here," his voice is a rumble against the cool flesh of her neck, "you can't get home. You're stuck wherever it is that you were going. You'll be home in the morning."
Cristina's hips push back into his and her eyes drift closed, "I'll be home in a couple more hours," she corrects him half heartedly, "I'm just trying to find-"
"In the morning," he interrupts her, pressing his hardening length against her ass, "he'll deal with it. He's probably in surgery anyway. He doesn't even know you're not home."
"Surgery?" She breathes, ignoring the ache between her legs.
"Surgery," Jackson echoes, pulling her back towards the door, "do you know how many traumas there probably are right now?"
Sometimes she feels as if she's powerless to his pleading and now is one of those times. She moans softly when one hand slips from her hip and down between her legs to cup her through her jeans. He presses his fingers hard into the seam, rubbing hard.
"Come inside," he urges, "it's cold."
The coat he'd offered only a few minutes ago hits the floor just as she steps inside the door. He strips her coat away and leaves it a few feet away as he pushes her up the stairs. His lips are on her neck and his teeth are scraping her flesh and the way he's uttering her name makes her forget about anything except him.
She's already wet, aching as if she hasn't had him for days or weeks. When she tries to strip his clothes away, he grasps her wrists and holds them over her head with one arm. Cristina doesn't try to fight him because she's learned her lesson from doing that and explaining the bruises to her husband wasn't an easy task.
Jackson strips her clothes away again, this time making an effort to toss them somewhere that she can't find him before he turns back to her lithe frame beneath him. He reaches between her legs, spreads moisture from deep inside her and drags it up to her clit, rubbing slowly at the swollen bud. Each time he flicks against the sensitive skin a jolt travels through her body and her hips rise off the bed, eager for his touch.
"You're so hot," he whispers, eyes traveling over her naked flesh.
She tries to tell him that she knows in a broken voice but it blurs into a moan when he pushes three fingers inside her. He takes his liberties with her and that's what she loves about him. She loves a lot of things about him but she'll never tell him that because she can't.
When her hips grind into his hand, he starts to move his fingers harder. His erection is straining against his pants and he needs to be inside her but he waits until her walls are clenched around him and she's crying out his name. He waits until her body goes slack beneath him and she's sated and her breathing is ragged and then he grasps her hips to flip her over.
Cristina grins into the rumpled bed linens and rises her hips, looking back over her shoulder at him. He's already naked and he's pressing his dick against her. She purrs his name, an invitation to take her.
She doesn't have to ask twice.
At first, he moves slowly. He enjoys her heat clenched around him, feels her walls stretch to accommodate him. Almost immediately, her hand slides down and she's touching herself, already greedy for more but Jackson isn't having it and he reaches down to grab her wrists. He grips them behind her back with one hand as he begins to slam into her more violently.
It isn't playful when he slides his hand over her ass and slaps it harshly, leaving a screaming red imprint of his hand on her ass. She cries out and he does it again just because he loves how she responds. Her hips are falling and he releases her hands and leans over her to wrap an arm around her hips. He bites her shoulder gently and grips a fistful of hair and tugs backwards until she's looking up, "You love this," he growls against her ear, "tell me how much you love it."
Jackson knows that hell would freeze over before he'd get that kind of affirmation out of her but it is snowing in Seattle and that's close enough.
The best he gets is a plead for him to touch her again. He complies, using the hand that's holding her hips up to reach down and pinch her clit roughly, pull and roll the tender flesh ruthlessly. Moments later she falls apart beneath him and he follows quickly, hips snapping audibly against her skin.
Together, they fall to the bed and he reaches out to brush damp curls from her face. He doesn't speak, he only studies her with soft blue eyes.
The exact opposite of Owen's.
Between the snow blowing outside the window and the way he's looking at her, Cristina knows that she can't walk away from him tonight. She sits up and surveys the room for her clothes. She can't help but be amused by the disappointment on his face and how quickly it fades when she pulls on one of his t-shirts and crawls back into the bed beside him.
"You're staying?" He asks even though he knows that she's likely to harass him for stating the obvious.
"Yeah," she murmurs, pulling the blankets up and then curling her body into his, "it's cold outside."
xxx