Sorry for the delay between posts - was debating whether or not to leave it at the previous chapter, but thought there was a little more left to be told. This is where the 'M' rating comes into effect - nothing graphic, but there are sexual references and some bad language. This isn't my usual fluffy style but, please, no flames!

I have written another chapter after this one, but that is certainly NOT suitable for this site (bad Aussie!), so it won't appear here. It has no plot, so is unnecessary (it was just fun to write - bad, BAD Aussie!). I'm working on the last chapter as we speak.

Thanks for all the great reviews.

Three months later:

"Hey, Carter! Wait up!"

Brigadier General Jack O'Neill strode off the ramp and into the embarkation room, pulling his olive ball cap from his unruly gray head, and grasped Sam Carter's arm.

"What?" she practically snarled at him.

"You've had a bee up your ass for most of this mission, Colonel – just what is your problem?"

"There's no problem," Sam replied, pulling her arm away from his. "And if there was, this wouldn't be the place to discuss it. Sir."

With that, the woman handed her pack and P90 to one of the SFs and stormed out of the embarkation room.

"Nothing to see here!" Jack barked at the SFs. "Get back to work!"

He stomped out of the room and headed up to his office, running his hand through his hair. He'd catch up with Sam later and find out what exactly had got her panties in a bunch.

He let out a most un-General-like whine when he saw the backlog of mission reports from the Alpha Site he was expected to get to Hammond. Oy vey!

The last three months had been amazing. Sam and her science geeks … uh team … had visited many planets, bringing back a crap-load of technology to work on, and she was thoroughly enjoying her first command.

Teal'c had not accepted the commission with the USAF, offering instead to act as liaison between the growing Free Jaffa movement and the Tauri. In this way, he could also spend more time with his son and his old mentor.

Daniel was in his element as head of the archeological and linguistics sub-division.

And Jack …? It had been hard for him to make the adjustment at first – from "sticking it to the Man" to being "the Man". Or one of the Men, at least. But he appeared to have the unwavering loyalty of every man and woman on this base, and had already helped the crew of the Prometheus win a decisive victory against the forces of Bastet.

Sam and Jack were now dating – whenever their busy schedules would allow it – and so far things were going well. They'd had some arguments, naturally. They were both strong-willed, passionate people and were bound to come into conflict.

But usually he knew why they were fighting. This time, though, he was clueless.

Sam signed out for the day and walked out of the complex, needing to punch something. Or someone. Preferably a high-handed stubborn military jackass by the name of O'Neill.

It was raining. Perfect. Just the match for her mood.

"Carter!"

Speak of the devil. She turned to see him jogging up to her position with an easy movement that gave the lie to his complaints about his age. "Sir," she said.

His eyes darkened and he grasped her arm, pulling her over to his truck. "Get in," he instructed.

"Like hell."

"Get in, Colonel, or I'll paddle that hot little ass of yours till you do," he snarled.

"You wouldn't."

"Don't push me, Sam. You really don't want to know what I'm capable of," the man told her.

She had some idea. She'd served with the man for seven years, and knew that he'd worked in Black Ops. He was a trained killer – likely an assassin. The first time she'd truly realized the darkness in him had been when he'd practically invited Alar into coming through the 'gate – only to meet a grisly death on Earth's iris.

He'd acted as jury, judge and executioner – and had shown no remorse. Yes, Alar had been committing genocide, but that glimpse into Jack's darker side had appalled Sam. It had taken her a while to get past that.

"Fine," she said, snatching her arm free and flouncing – even at her age – to the passenger side. "But I'm not going to your house. I want to be alone."

"Save the Garbo impersonation for another time," Jack shot at her, scrambling into the driver's seat and starting the truck. Then he shot off with a loud squeal of his tires.

Sam folded her arms and seethed silently as she watched the scenery whiz by – she was surprised the police weren't on his tail.

"Carter …," he said quietly.

"Jack – not now," she replied.

"For cryin' out loud!" he yelled. "You're acting like a child!"

"Well, you keep treating me like one, so why not?"

"What?" He turned with an alarming screech of his tires and made a sharp 180, causing several drivers to honk furiously. He opened his window. "And the same to you, asshole!" he yelled.

She'd never seen him this angry before – and she'd seen him in a lot of moods.

He pulled off onto a side road that led to the woods around the mountain, then skidded to a halt, gravel spraying around them. "This can't wait till we get to your house," he said. "What the hell's going on with you?"

"If you don't know, then I'm not going to tell you!" Sam yelled right back, unclipping her seat-belt and stomping out of the truck into the woods, uncaring of the rain that dripped down her neck and was beginning to soak through her tee shirt and skirt.

He stomped right after her, not even bothering to grab his jacket. "Carter; spare me the female histrionics. If you won't tell me what's going on as the guy you're involved with, then I'll order you. I'm still your superior officer."

So, it's going to be like that, is it? "You're a higher ranking officer, General – that I'll grant you," she said nastily. "Superior is still debatable."

The crease between his brows deepened, and she thought for one second that he was actually going to hit her. He wouldn't – she knew that – but he was just that angry. "You … little … bitch," he said in low tones.

At that word, Sam lost the tenuous hold on her self-control. "You bastard," she hissed, her fist flying out to make contact with his cheek.

It never made its destination. Jack clasped it quickly in his large hand, then spun her round and pressed her face-up against a tree, driving her arm up between her shoulder-blades. "Don't even try it, Carter," he said. "You're good. But I'm better."

Sam shivered – not with anger, not with fear, but with arousal. The man's firm body was pressed against hers, his breath hot and heavy on the back of her neck, his arousal pulsing against her rear.

She was furious with herself! And with him. How could he turn her on like this?

"Let go of me!" she raged, flinging her head backward, hoping to make contact with his nose.

He let go of her and skipped quickly backward, giving her space to turn and face him. And he looked … glorious. His eyes black, his hair on end, his cheeks flushed and his fists clenching. He was pure, raw, untamed.

And she wanted him.

"Shit, Carter," he groaned, then grabbed her shoulders and crushed his lips to hers, backing her up against the tree. It wasn't the soft, sensual, exploratory kisses in which they'd indulged on their few rare dates. It was … wild and bruising.

And that was exactly what Samantha Carter wanted right now. Something raw and primitive. No soft words, no soft caresses. Just plain sex.

Sam would have collapsed but for his hands on her and the support of the tree. Their breathing came in heavy gasps and he withdrew quickly from her, then rested his forehead against hers for a moment. "Get cleaned up," he said gruffly, pulling his shorts and pants back up and handing her a Kleenex.

Sam cleaned up the evidence of their first encounter, her insides still fluttering from both the climax and Jack's large heavy member. "Jack?" she said, feeling him withdraw emotionally.

"I'll drive you home," he said still gruffly.

Sam nodded her head, knowing not to push him for now. For all of his tantrums, Jack really didn't like to lose control. He needed her to be quiet for now.

Jack walked with Sam back to his truck, clenching his fists when she gave a small moan. Shit; you hurt her, you son of a bitch! He knew it had been a long time for her. She was small and tight, and he'd been in enough locker rooms to know that he was … well, above average.

It was one of his worst fears come true. He'd actually physically hurt the woman he loved. He'd become just another user – another SOB scarred by too many years of Black Ops.

She groaned softly as she got into the truck, and he felt … bits of him stand to attention. Bits that shouldn't have been ready for a while yet. He really was a son of a bitch. She was in pain, and he was aroused.

Then she giggled.

"Sam?" he said, still gruffly, but trying to hide the anger he felt. It was himself he was mad at, not her.

"We're just a bit … ridiculous," she said. She waved her hand around their surroundings. "Our first time – up against a tree. We didn't even get naked! And did we even manage five minutes?"

Jack gave a short huff of laughter. "We can remedy that," he told her. "Later." He took her hand gently, her warmth filling the hole that had developed.

"Promises, promises," she said, looking him straight in the eyes. The self-flagellation must have shown, for she grasped his chin. "Don't start beating yourself up, O'Neill," she told him. "Just think of it as … tension release."

"I hurt you, Carter," he almost whispered.

"Yes, you did. A little," she replied. "But we both needed it. And it was … exciting. I don't think I've ever …". And now the woman blushed! After screwing him up against a tree! She cleared her throat. "I don't think I've ever … climaxed so hard."

He wasn't going to preen. He wasn't going to be smug. He wasn't going to smirk. He was determined.

Heh. She hadn't seen anything yet.

Sam looked at the handsome man as he drove, his hands competent and steady on the wheel. Her insides did funny little flip-flops as she thought of him inside of her.

Part of her was glad it had happened this way, despite her still-present anger with him. There'd been no seduction, no thinking, no time for her to get nervous.

Good Lord! She'd screwed Brigadier General Jack O'Neill against a tree. She – quiet, reserved scientist Samantha Carter – had actually had sex outdoors. In a public place. Where anyone could have seen them.

And now she could feel herself flush again. Her body hummed at the new delicious memory and she clenched her fists.

"You okay, Carter?" the sexy General asked, glancing her way.

"Yeah," she said. She put her hand softly on his thigh and couldn't help but notice the rather large bulge. "You're right," she added. "You deserve an explanation of why I've been so pissed with you the last couple of days."

"Yeah," he agreed. "I'll take you to your place."

The man was a lot more sensitive than he'd like anyone to believe. By taking her to her house rather than his, it meant the discussion would take place on her territory. Where she felt comfortable and from where she could ask him to leave.

And he would go. She knew that from their previous disagreements. He seemed to have an unerring instinct for when she genuinely needed to be alone.

It was just one of the many things she loved about him. And it was about time she told him that.

Jack followed Sam into her house and watched the woman appreciatively as she headed into the kitchen to grab two sodas. Damn; but she had a fine ass!

She came back in and lobbed one of the cans at him. He caught it easily, then sat down next to her, fiddling awkwardly with the ring pull. It snapped off. "Damn," he mumbled.

"Give me that," she said, taking the can off him. She produced a small pocket knife then pressed on the can, pushing the tab down. "Physics," she said.

"An object's only as strong as its weakest point," Jack muttered, taking the soda back off her.

That look of big-blue-eyed surprise on Colonel Doctor Samantha Carter's face? It never got old.

"Okay …," she said, then opened her own soda and took a sip. She sat back and squeezed his thigh. "I've been pissed as hell with you the last few days, but it doesn't change anything," she said.

"About that …," he said.

Sam sighed. "It seems stupid," she began, "but …".

And now she stopped.

"Carter; you could never be stupid," Jack told her. "What's been bothering you?"

She sighed again. "It's just … that was my mission. It was science. Your mission was separate from mine."

"And …?"

"It was like you were still my CO!" she exclaimed in a rush. "Barking orders, brushing off my explanations, treating me like some weak link. I got more respect from you the first time we went to Abydos! At least then, you had no way of knowing how good I am at my job. But now …? It was like you couldn't see anything other than Sam, your girlfriend."

Jack thought back over the mission and realized that she was right. He'd shoved his oar in many times over her mission, when he should have left her to it. He'd been on that planet for strategic purposes – scouting it out as a possible Beta Site.

A couple of years ago, she hadn't been ready for command – her fascination with her science made her sometimes oblivious to dangers. But she'd grown and matured over the last year, and had become a fine all-round officer – someone to whom he would've been proud to give command of SG-1.

"You're right," he said softly. "And I'm sorry."

Her eyes grew wide again. "You are?" she said.

"Yeah," he said. "I'm stubborn, immature and a freakin' idiot at times, but I'm not too big to admit when I'm wrong." He grabbed her free hand. "I don't want to stop going on joint missions with you and your science g … hmm! We used to be able to work great together – we can be like that again. You just have to tell me when I'm stepping on your toes. No more sulking."

Sam sighed and curled into him, resting her golden head on his chest. "No more sulking," she agreed. Then she kissed his cloth-covered heart. "I love you, you know," she told him, placing a series of soft kisses on his neck.

And his heart pounded. She loved him? He wanted to race around in circles, punching the air and crowing. But he had a warm blonde Colonel curled into him doing marvelous things to his neck with her lips. "I love you too, Sam," he told her. "I don't know when it happened, but I've been wanting to say that for a long time."

"Me too," she said, then made a brief foray to the soft patch of skin just behind his earlobe.

"So … shall we take this to the bedroom?" he asked, waggling his eyebrows hopefully.

She laughed and punched him playfully in the stomach. "You're such a guy," she chided.

"Yep," he said, then followed her up the stairs, watching that sweet little ass wiggle, and humming off-key.

To his delight, she yanked her damp tee shirt over her head and flung it at him.

And now Jack was confronted with soft Sam skin. Lots of soft Sam skin. Lots of damp soft Sam skin.

He was one lucky man. And he was never letting her go!