ATTENTION: For an extra delightful treat, go there: www. fanfiction .net/s/4826095/1/Uriel It's one of the hottest, most brilliant fics I've read.

A/N: I'm being punished for not commenting on people's fics, yes? That's okay, I can take that. What saddens me, is the slow traffic -- has the Jack love died out? Oh well, more of him for me. :p

This chapter is a short one but necessary to keep things realistic...

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Faint bluish hue highlighting the contours of his broad shoulders. The high curve of his tight buttocks filling out the dress pants and making her mouth water. The back of his head… And the way his eyes glazed over when she licked the last of his semen with a purr. So sexy to her, sated and aroused both at once.

The drawing becomes a blur of intersecting lines before her eyes but the love, the joy, the gratitude in his must have etched into retinas when he kissed her a few hours ago with a wordless promise of bliss. It's details of him that her memory picks, vivid and intense. His eyelashes and the shadow they cast, his heartbeat against her cheek, his fingertips, gentle, exploratory, on the back of her thighs… She's helpless against the draw and the magic of Jack's hands.

There's no point pretending she's working anymore. The file idles open on her computer as she stares blankly at the screen, trying to concentrate on the deadline, trying to make her brain co-operate and come up with something productive rather than memories and images of him. In vain. He is all that she can see.

Those spotlessly beautiful manly hands that hold so many skills -- They play piano, they stitch up a broken spine… They are strong and capable and uncompromising when need be. They handle her body expertly, tenderly. With affection and purpose… There isn't a square inch of her skin that he hadn't touched. And she comes to live every time he does. Her heart pumps faster, the surge of heat and the recollection too seductive to give up for some dull work task. His precious, dear hands against the pallor of her body…

They found their way underneath her skirt as she leaned into him in his office, as he allowed his body to regain composure, caressing the underside of her buttocks. His lips, languid and thorough on her neck, his hot, wet tongue linking the dots of an invisible pattern. His warmth… All the crooks and nooks of his unique earlobes that she loves tracing with her tongue…

She told him that she was all for quality over quantity and giggled into his chest, picturing Jack at sixteen, all cute, puppy-eyed and blushing, as he'd learnt that lesson the hard way. She meant to ask him about it, tease him a bit but with his long fingers probing her core through the panties from behind, with his whole body pressed to hers, she let the wonderful sensations capture her instead and push all coherent thought away.

God, with that man every day feels like it's the peak of her cycle.

With a sigh, she stands to open a bottle of iced water, amused by her own anguished horniness. No, no amount of iced water would quench the fire; he kindles it and he's the only deliverance.

She's alone in her office, staying late to try and have some of the day's work done, knowing he won't be home yet anyway. He'd still be at the surgery, the one he was called into just as she was about to give in and let him play her body until discretion became a foreign concept and until she screamed for the whole ward to hear.

Holding the cold glass to her throat, she chuckles, recalling the expression on Jack's assistant face as he stepped out, almost walking into the stunned girl. His pager had gone off in a reminder of the surgery scheduled for that afternoon and she had to let him go, part of her disappointed and the other one proud of him and his talent that saved so many lives. His cheeks were still slightly flushed and his shirt not tucked properly into his pants, the tie gone and she'd swear the other woman's observant gaze noticed it abandoned on the floor. It felt entirely too good to smile sweetly at her as she glared around in envy badly disguised as disapproval.

She takes out an ice cube and lets it melt a bit between her lips, a cold droplet trailing slowly down her chin and neck. It could be the tip of his wet tongue, or a drop of his come, hot, burning her like the chill is carving a sensitized path down between her breasts.

He'd be working now, putting together broken nerves, restoring the complex structure and restoring the hope for someone to walk again. He's so humble about it and she feels ridiculously thankful, like she wants to thank him along with his patients and whether it's appropriate or not, it turns her on to think about the precise, healing cuts of the scalpel in his hand. His bright eyes focused and the surgical mask damp from his breath. The first time she's seen him wearing the blue scrubs, she wanted… well, she wanted exactly what she yearns for non-stop with Jack. But yes, it is intensified by his profession, if she's honest with herself. He's the bearer of life in more sense than one.

She remembers the night when he woke her up, coming back home after a long and difficult procedure he'd performed. She remembers his tension, how wired up he was when his arms gathered her close, when his lips trailed her spine in featherlike kisses but she could sense the restrain. Until she turned to him and asked if the surgery was successful and he said yes and she smiled at him. And then he swallowed her mouth in a dizzying, aggressive kiss that told her she would remember that night. Oh, she does.

"Is Dr. Shephard available?" Of course Jane will recognize her voice, but she takes some sort of twisted pleasure from using his official title. She bites back a grin. Jane, the whipper-snapper St. Sebastian receptionist-turned-Dr. Jack Shephard assistant, smitten by him like another dozen of his dreamy-eyed co-workers has not exactly been her fan and this afternoon hasn't helped.

The voice on the other side of the phone is dry. "He's operating."

That's perfect.

"Any idea for how much longer?"

"No idea, but Dr. Shephard's consulting hours are up for tonight," Jane tells her meanly, succeeding to make that grin break out. "Would you like to leave a message?"

"No, thank you. I'll deliver it personally."