A/N: Thank you skzb, Catsluver, and Cartersdaughter. Your input, encouragement, and hard work beta'ing this story continue to humble me. You guys are saints!

Thank you for the sweet comments those of you left as guests. They are very much appreciated!

Some of you have asked me about the twins' age, so this is just a reminder that, although they were born on January 1st, they were so premature in their development they were still considered fetuses while they were in the NICU. As a result, the doctors, TJ, and Sam go by the due date the twins should have been born on to measure their progress and development as babies, which was April 30th. That is why, in the middle of October when Sam and TJ went to San Diego, the twins were considered to be five and a half months old when their age was adjusted. Hope that clears some confusion. This chapter continues with TJ and Sam's first wedding anniversary, which is November 27th. That makes the twins now seven months old.

**WARNING**: This chapter contains a lengthy sex scene, so I'M GIVING IT AN M RATING. I apologize to those of you who aren't in to that sort of thing because it takes up most of the chapter. However, if you don't want to read the sex scene, skip down to the "XXXXXXXX" that denotes the beginning of a new scene at the end of the chapter. That scene is important to the story.

Chapter 30

"First, I want you to help me," Sam instructed. His voice was a rich, low vibration that washed over TJ like she was easing into a hot bubble bath. He was still looking up at her, his hazel eyes smoldering. She loved the feel of his hands, the weight of them on her hips.

"Okay." Her mouth was suddenly dry and she swallowed. "What do you want me to do?"

He pressed his palms into the mattress and scooted himself back a little, never taking his eyes off her. "I need help with my legs."

He didn't really. She'd seen him maneuver his legs perfectly fine by himself many times, but she did as he asked and lifted his heavy, long legs onto the bed. There was something very satisfying and proprietary about the gesture—intimate, even—and it made her feel very wifely. It made her feel like his wife, and she liked that he'd let her help him. Once his legs were on the bed, she carefully removed his socks from his feet, then sat on the edge of the bed next to him.

All her senses were on overdrive—all her Sam senses—and her heart was beating wildly. He was studying her intently, and she remembered what he'd told her at her birthday party. "I'm always watching you."

The memory of his words caused a pleasant shiver to roll down her spine. It wasn't a creepy-stalker-guy thing to say. It was protective, and she felt safer knowing Sam would always watch over her and the twins.

She cleared her throat, trying to still the hummingbird wings in her chest and stomach. "Now what?"

"What do you want to do, TJ?" he asked softly.

There was a heat coming from him, a magnetic force drawing her to him she couldn't resist. "I—I want to touch you."

He took her hand and placed her palm on his chest. She could feel his hard muscles through the layers of his T-shirt and pullover, and her blood pressure spiked.

"I want you to touch me, too," he said simply, eyes locked onto hers.

Holy God. She was going to have a heart attack before they ever made it to it. She swallowed hard. "I'm scared, Sam. What if..."

"What if...?"

Her throat suddenly felt tight. "What if it's not the same—for you, I mean? What if I can't—what if I'm not as good as Other TJ?"

He brushed her hair away from her face and then tenderly traced the line of her jaw with his strong fingers. "It's okay. We'll go slow. Trust me. You're all I need, TJ. You're everything I want. Just you."

"Why, Sam?" she asked with genuine curiosity and a bit of skepticism. "Why do you want me?"

"Because you make me laugh."

"And because I'm a great cook?" she supplied with a wry grin.

He gave her a glimpse of white teeth and dimples. "Uh, no." After a slight pause, he said, "Because you're smart."

He caressed her cheek, and she leaned into his touch.

"Because you're generous and loving."

She kissed the palm of his hand.

"Because you're a great mother."

She raised her brows. "Really?"

"Yes." He looked so earnest and intense when he said it.

She knew he meant it, and she looked away modestly. Motherhood was a scary, unknown frontier for her. She felt like she was walking blind and was constantly second-guessing herself, wondering if she was doing the right things with the twins. Were they warm enough? Too hot? Were they getting exposed to dangerous RSV germs every time she and Fern took them to the grocery store? Were they getting exposed to a hundred other illnesses every time she took them to the pediatrician's office for a checkup, where sick kids abounded?

Sami Joy and Robby were seven months old (ages adjusted) and had never been sick—unheard of according to some of TJ's cousins and friends who had kids. Was she being too clean, always using hand sanitizer and constantly hand-washing? Were the twins getting exposed to enough germs to build their immune systems properly?

Was she a bad mother because she was buying store-bought baby food in a jar rather than making it from scratch with the vegetables from her mother's garden? The questions and insecurities were endless. TJ had Fern as a guide and to reassure, but Sam's compliment made TJ feel lighter than she had in weeks.

The corners of his mouth curved upward as if he knew what she'd been thinking, and he continued. "I want you because you're beautiful."

She rolled her eyes.

"Hey," he said, his gaze burning into her, "I mean it."

"I think maybe you need glasses."

"I see you very clearly. You're the only woman I'll ever see, TJ."

Unable to speak around the sudden glut of emotion clogging her throat, she kissed him instead—a chaste, sincere touch of her lips to his, thanking him.

He eased himself down so he was lying on his back, adjusting his legs with his hands using quick, fluid movements that were obviously second nature to him. Resting his head on a pillow, he pulled her down to him. She snuggled up next to him, laying her head on his shoulder in her favorite spot, and he put his arm around her. He took a lock of her hair and rubbed it between his thumb and index finger. "I love your hair, TJ. It's like silk. The color reminds me of dark cherries and chestnuts."

She'd always thought it was sort of the color of mud. She liked his description much better.

He gently rubbed his finger along her nose and across her cheekbones, making her stomach flutter. "Your freckles are beautiful, like sprinkles of cinnamon. They fit your personality—all Kentucky spice and sass."

"Pfft." She rose up and looked at him, incredulous. "Are you serious?"

He smirked a little, like he was both amused and a little exasperated at her surprise. "Yes, I'm serious. And your eyes..." His expression turned soulful. "God, your eyes are so gorgeous, TJ."

She glanced down, feeling a blush coming on.

His thumb brushed feather light over her eyelashes. "Your eyes are this amazing brown, like cozy fires and rich hot chocolate on a winter day. Your lashes are thick and insanely long, and every time I look at them—"

"Okay, okay!" she said, laughing. "Lord have mercy, Sam. Stop. You're gonna have to lay off the Harlequins."

He grinned. "I won't stop until I convince you that you're the most beautiful girl I've ever known."

She rested her chin on his chest and was quiet, mulling over the sweet, thoughtful, eloquent things he'd said. And, finally, she took the first step toward forgiving herself and accepting her body. She let herself believe him.

Never taking her eyes from his, she rose and straddled him, wiggling her hips suggestively. "Before, did Other TJ do this?"

His brows went up and he smiled a little lopsidedly. "Yeah."

"What did she do after that?"

"It doesn't matter what you did before, TJ," he assured. "Just do what feels right to you now." His expression grew heated. "Trust me. I'll like whatever you do."

"Show me, Sam," she said with innuendo, feeling provocative and more confident. "Show me what you like."

He didn't move at first, just searched her face for a moment, but then he pulled at the hem of her negligee and slowly began to lift it up. She helped him tug it over her head, and he held the plum satin in his hand for a brief second before letting it fall to the floor. There was something about the way the slip looked so impossibly feminine in his very masculine hand that turned TJ on even more.

He drank in her body with his gaze and raised a trembling hand, as if he wanted to touch her but was afraid she might disappear. Then he shut his eyes and whispered, "Oh, yes. You're so beautiful."

His words kindled a fire within her, but she also heard anguish hidden in them—the pain he'd experienced in the past year, the longing—and her throat tightened with emotion. She swallowed hard and took his hand, kissing him tenderly on his palm and then placing it over her heart. He opened his eyes and locked them onto her face, then gently started rubbing his thumbs over her nipples, teasing them until they were erect and hard.

She could barely put a coherent thought together. Instinctively, she grabbed both the bottom of his pullover and the T-shirt underneath it and began to pull them up, exposing his narrow waist and perfectly defined torso. She tugged the clothing up to his chest muscles and then over his head and let them fall to the floor, much as he had her negligee.

He was still kneading her breasts with his warm palms and fingers. His hands were slightly callused and added a sweet chafing feeling to her already overly-sensitive nipples.

She mirrored his movements, although more tentatively, coaxing his nipples to taut peaks with the pads of her thumbs. He closed his eyes, his brow creasing. His breathing got harsher. "TJ, that's...so good. You have no idea."

She gave a short, throaty laugh, savoring the feel of what he was still doing to her breasts. "I think I have a pretty good idea."

He opened his eyes. "You're touching one of the most sensitive parts of my body."

She was intrigued by that. "Really?"

"Yes," he said vehemently, sucking in a breath as she pressed a little harder.

She let up. "Did I hurt you?" She remembered what he'd told her, how certain parts of his body were so sensitive just the lightest touch was enough.

He gave her a roguish smirk, eyes liquid with desire. "Almost."

She gently stilled the motion of his hands on her breasts, laced her fingers with his, and pinned his hands to the mattress near his head.

"Why are you stopping me?" he asked.

She was almost lying on top of him now, her breasts brushing against his chest, soft on hard. "Because I want to know you, Sam. I want to see what feels good to you."

He shook his head. "This is about you, too, TJ. I want you to enjoy it."

She kissed the curve of his neck, just below his chin. "I am. Believe me." She breathed in the spicy, earthy scent of him. "I want to know what makes you tick." With little circles of her tongue, she trailed her way down his neck, all the way down to first one nipple, then the other.

"Oh, God." His voice was ragged. He pushed his hands against hers, breaking free of her hold on him, and pulled her up to him, drawing her face to his. He thrust his tongue into her mouth, demanding and needy, and she felt lust surge through her like the top blowing from a volcano. She returned his kiss just as passionately, loving the feel of his tongue pressing against hers and tasting his mouth, running her tongue along the ridge of his teeth.

As they were kissing, she let her hands run down the side of his body, over the bumps of his ribs, trying not to go below the point where he couldn't feel. She ran her hands along his biceps, admiring the bulge of them and his smooth skin. She tried to pull away from his mouth so she could taste more of his body, but he wouldn't let her. He held her to him. "No," he said, biting her bottom lip.

"Let me explore you, Sam," she whispered against his mouth. "Please."

He swallowed hard and closed his eyes with a grimace. "I love you."

She sat up straighter and placed her palms on his chest, feeling his rapid breathing and his heart beating beneath her fingertips. She let the heat of his skin soak into her and infiltrate every molecule of her body, then began where she'd left off before, tracing the top of his sternum with her fingertip and following the trail down to his navel. "Where does it stop?" she asked. She knew he would understand what she meant.

He opened his eyes, holding her gaze, and took her finger, guiding it to his navel. Just at the top of it, he said huskily, "Here, I can feel." He lowered her finger down a fraction, to where it was right at the point of the bottom of his belly button. "Here, I can't."

She scooted down a bit and kissed the area just above his navel very lightly where he'd shown her. His stomach muscles flinched. She let her tongue trace what she imagined was a thin sash around his waist, demarcating the line between what was exquisite for him and what would have no meaning.

His hands were on her shoulders, and she could feel his fingers tighten and relax as she continued to explore his body, dancing her tongue over every inch of his torso and hitting spots that were particularly sensitive. She made her way to his shoulder and began a sultry perusal of his bicep with her mouth, then down to the crease on the inside of his elbow—which elicited a particularly enthusiastic gasp from him that she filed away for future use—and then down the inside of his wrist to his hand. She took his hand, closed her eyes, and very carefully defined the lines of his palm with her tongue.

"TJ," he breathed shakily, "please."

She knew he didn't want her to stop, that what she was doing was right. She let her hot breath caress his hand as she kept darting her tongue in and out of the lines on his palm—a fortune teller of a different kind.

His eyes were hooded and glazed with pleasure, his breathing uneven and quick. She loved that she could get such a response from him—loved the simple fact that she could make him feel good. She could tell he was nearing the brink of something, but she wasn't done yet.

She gently withdrew her tongue from his hand and started to lick and kiss his waist on the "sash," beginning at his side and working her way to his navel and then to his other side.

He drew in a gulp of air and made a low moaning noise in the back of his throat. She'd never heard anything sexier or more male and primal, and she got a charge from it. His pleasure was her pleasure, and she had an intense desire to please him, to make him forget Other TJ.

TJ's body responded each time Sam gasped, each time he flinched and tensed his cut muscles, each time he groaned. She burned for him, and her body readied itself, growing slick with desire. She'd never felt anything like it before in her life. This was passion, pure and raw, and she was quivering with it.

She made her way to his other shoulder, then down his other arm, mirroring what she'd done before on the opposite side. When she reached his hand, she became the palm reader again, outlining his lifeline with her tongue, and he responded with another silky groan. She sensed he was no longer capable of speech, that he was adrift in his head, only aware of his hypersensitive nerves and what they were letting him feel.

She took his fingers into her mouth, one by one, and sucked on them, making sure to be thorough and enjoying the powerful shape and length of them. There was something very erotic about his fingers, something that touched her on a very primitive, animal level.

She thought about the rest of his body, the paralyzed part, and was curious. She wanted to explore all of him, was extremely turned on by the thought, but she didn't want to do anything that would make him lose his concentration. She'd seen his legs before, and while they were thin, they were still his legs—a man's legs—and they were long and sexy. She wanted to taste them and experiment with the more private parts of him. The thought made her blush furiously, and she felt guilty. He wouldn't be able to feel it. It wouldn't be fair to him.

She tried to push the curiosity away, tried not to wonder about what it would feel like to have him inside her. There was no doubt he could rodeo. The twins were living proof of that. He'd explained to her that he could get an erection by touch but he couldn't control it; it was purely reflexive, not generated by emotion, and his endurance was sporadic. She was intrigued and wanted to see what would happen.

But another time. Tonight was about him. He'd waited so long, and she wouldn't be selfish. She could satisfy her curiosity another time.

She flicked her tongue over the tip of his thumb, then pulled it from her mouth and kissed his palm. "Do you want more of this, Sam? Tell me what feels good." She whispered it, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible into his thoughts.

His eyes were closed, and he opened them halfway like he had before. They were filled with lust. "You're—it all feels good, TJ. It all feels so good. Just trust your instincts."

She shook her head. "Show me, Sam. I want you to teach me." She ran her hands up over his torso, feeling the hard ridges of his upper abdominal muscles, his ribs, his pectorals. He was sinewy and stunning. She traced his collarbone with her fingertips.

He encircled her wrists with his hands, guiding them down the center of his chest to his navel. "Touch me like this, like you did before," he said huskily, showing her with her own fingers how she should do it, brushing her fingers along his waistline where his sensation began. "It's a fine line, and sometimes it can feel uncomfortable—weird." He ran her fingers from his navel down to his side and back again, closing his eyes. "And sometimes," his breath hitched, "it feels incredible."

"Okay," she said, savoring the electric feel of his smooth, molten skin. She memorized the amount of pressure he was showing her, learning what would be too much or too little.

"Touch me there, TJ...with your tongue."

She smiled and obliged, swirling little circles like she'd done before along his waist. She felt bolder now, less like she was in unknown territory. "Like this?" she murmured into his skin.

"Yes," he answered tightly. "Oh, God."

She felt his hands on her shoulders again. His arms were tense, holding her in place. He was telling her without words that what she was doing was incredible and he didn't want her to stop.

She breathed him in and tasted his salty skin. She felt him start to vibrate, felt his heated skin break into a fine sheen of sweat. He was panting heavily, his grip on her shoulders getting tighter and tighter. "Jesus, TJ," he rasped between breaths.

His hands moved to her hair and he wove his fingers into it, massaging her scalp and tugging on the strands a little, not hurting her but pulling enough that it made her more ardent—made her excited. She could feel the button from the fly of his jeans that rode low on his hips rub against her stomach and was reminded the lower half of him was still fully clothed. It was amazing how she could bring him to the brink of coming without even touching that part of his body.

She exerted a little more pressure with her tongue on his waistline, still swirling and circling, and he cried out, this time pulling her hair harder. She knew he had no idea what he was doing, that he was past the point of reason. His roughness wasn't really painful, so she didn't stop him. In fact, she was surprised to discover there was a wild side to her she'd never known existed, a side of her that definitely liked it.

Finally, his body heat began to ebb and his taut muscles began to relax. She wriggled up his torso, letting her breasts and belly glide against his sweat-moistened skin, loving the feel of his lungs expanding and contracting under her like he'd been running a race. She rested her palms on his firm pec muscles—couldn't seem to ever get enough of them—and buried her head in the curve of his neck. She soaked him in, blanketed with a feeling of satisfaction and contentment, a sense of accomplishment, and grinned into his neck, kissing his skin there.

They rested that way for a minute, silent, until he combed his fingers gently through her hair. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice still a little heavy with spent passion.

"Why are you sorry?" she asked, resting her chin on his shoulder.

"For pulling your hair."

She rose up to look at him, smiling coyly. "I didn't mind."

He grinned, showing her his wicked dimples, and pulled her to him for a kiss. It was surprisingly chaste, his lips lightly brushing hers, and the tenderness of it was intensified by the memory of the hot, heady sex they'd just experienced.

She sighed with pleasure. "That was...wow. That was incredible."

His forehead wrinkled. "The kiss?"

She giggled. "Well, that too, but I was talking about, you know, everything else."

"For me," he emphasized a little ruefully. "I'm thinking you didn't get much out of it."

"Are you kidding?" She dropped a kiss on his mouth. "I enjoyed every second of it. I love your body, Sam. I love how it responds to me. Your pleasure is my pleasure."

He held her gaze for a moment in the dim glow of the bedside lamp, just a hint of hazel visible in his dark eyes. "You just stole my line."

"I did?"

"Yes."

She wasn't sure exactly what he meant but didn't pursue it. "So, it was okay?" she asked tentatively. "Maybe not as good as Other TJ, but—"

He rolled his eyes. "TJ," he said intently, taking her face in his hands, "to me, you and Other TJ are one and the same. There's no difference. You're just TJ who lost her memory. That's all. Do you hear me?"

She got a lump in her throat. "But don't you miss her?"

He kissed her, slow and sweet. "No." He ran his thumb along her jawline. "Why would I miss her when she's right here? I love you, TJ, not some ghost of you that never existed."

She kissed his mouth, then his chin, then traveled down his throat with little nibbles and kept going. When she took his nipple in her mouth, he sucked in air and said, "TJ, what are you doing?"

"Buying groceries," she quipped between flicks of her tongue.

She could hear a bit of a smile in the sexy rumble of his voice. "You know what I mean. It's your turn."

"But I like tasting you. I can't get enough of you." She kissed him again on his mouth, sucking on his lower lip.

He deepened the kiss, exploring her. At the same time, he rubbed her back with his magician's fingers, a light caress that tickled the fine hair covering her skin. It was one of the most luxurious things she'd ever felt. She wanted him to touch all of her that way.

"Lie down for me, TJ," he breathed, his lips ghosting over hers as he spoke. "Lie on your back."

The simple command sent a thrill of anticipation rippling through her, and she did as he asked. It seemed her body knew what was about to happen, even if she couldn't remember on a conscious level.

He rolled onto his side and adjusted his legs, knees bent slightly to give him more stability. He looked devilishly hot with his ripped upper body and his faded jeans hugging low on his hips. His faint five-o'clock shadow accentuated his strong jawline and sensuous mouth, and the effect was decadent and a little dangerous. She could see the waistband of his gray boxers and imagined herself undressing him and running her hand along...

"Close your eyes," he husked.

Have mercy. His voice alone was like the purr of a tiger, and there was no way she could deny him anything. If he told her to rob a bank, she would happily do so.

She felt him caress her like he had before, and without ever opening her eyes, she pictured his graceful fingers touching her. He was fulfilling her wish, running his fingers over every inch of her—down her ribs, across her stomach, over her arm, her wrist, inside the crease of her elbow. He lovingly touched her faded scars—causing her to gasp at the unexpected pleasure of it—and stopped at her breasts. He paid careful attention to her nipples and was gentle, teasing them lightly and then increasing the pressure in increments until she was arching up to press them into the pads of his fingers. Her body yearned for a connection to him.

After he'd coaxed her nipples into taut peaks, he made his way leisurely down her body to her thighs, caressing the insides of them, causing her to ache with need. He pulled her black lacy panties down past her hips, lower and lower, as far as he could reach. "Take them off for me, TJ."

She did, pulling them down the rest of the way with her toe and kicking them off haphazardly, not caring if she ever saw them again.

He brushed his fingers again over her stomach, and she flinched at the current emanating from his fingertips. Every nerve in her body tingled with need. He made a steady trail from her navel down to the top of where her pubic area began. She moaned and almost cried out at the urgent, frenzied tension building inside her, but he didn't give her release.

Instead, he heightened the tension, teasing her most private, intimate area, the little nub that was already hard and begging for attention. The next thing she knew, those lovely fingers of his were inside her. She was moist and ready for him, could feel him glide easily in and out of her. She sucked in a breath of air, almost coming in that instant, but he seemed to sense how close she was and quickly withdrew, leaving her wanting and pleading with soft groans.

"Not yet," he soothed, taking her hand and kissing the back of it, then taking her fingers, one by one, into his sinful mouth and sucking. It was like his sole purpose for existing was to make her die of pleasure.

All of her senses were invaded with him, and she craved his touch, his smell, his voice. He was her whole world. She marveled at how lucky she was to have this gorgeous, incredible man as her husband. Even better than that, he was in her bed, and she realized they could do this every night if they felt like it. Why had she even waited three months? Why had she been so shy, so insecure? There was no premarital-sex guilt involved, no hangups. They were married and had permission to rock each other's worlds anytime they wanted. Marriage definitely had its perks.

"Open your eyes."

She did, absorbing every detail of him, etching every one of his hunky muscles into her memory. He was rubbing little circles yet again across her stomach, sweetly tormenting her. "Please, Sam," she begged. "I want you to go back down there."

His mouth curved into a knowing smirk. It was cocky for him, not like his usual humble nature, but it was sexy as hell. "We're going to take this slow, TJ. Very slow."

She moaned with frustration, her breathing uneven and rapid. Her gaze scanned his body, resting involuntarily at the fly of his jeans.

"Do you want to undress me?" he challenged.

Her mouth went dry and she swallowed. The thought of fulfilling her fantasy, of having the chance to touch and explore all of him, made her naked skin prickle and burn. "Y-yes," she stuttered.

He rolled onto his back and pulled her to him, his eyes branding her. "Do it. Undress me."

She rose up to where she was sitting on her heels next to him and helped him adjust his legs. Her fingers trembled a little when she began to unbutton his fly. She unzipped his jeans slowly and peeled them off of his hips with a little help from him, easing them down his thighs but leaving his boxers intact. She hesitated, swallowing thickly.

"Don't stop. Do what you want to do, TJ."

Her heart was racing like a freight train, her body still slick with wanting him, with the memory of his fingers inside her. She wanted him to fill her. She pulled his jeans off the rest of the way, over his feet, and let the denim fall to the floor.

His feet were slightly swollen, the skin of them smooth. She knew they swelled sometimes if he'd been sitting all day without a break. Without really thinking, she began to massage his feet and toes. They were cold, and she wanted to infuse some warmth into them and get his blood flowing.

"What are you doing, Teej?" he asked quietly.

She paused. "Oh. Just, um, massaging your feet. Do you—should I stop?"

"No," he replied, closing his eyes, "but I like it when you tell me what you're doing, since I can't feel it."

"Oh." Duh. She cleared her throat and started kneading his feet again. "I'm just rubbing your feet, warming them up." She made her way to his calves, loving the feel of his cool skin and the way the coarse hairs on his legs prickled her palms. His legs were so very...male.

She felt shy again but went with her instincts. Still massaging his calves, she bent down and kissed his knee. "I'm massaging your calves now, Sam," she drawled softly, "and I kissed your knee because..."

When she didn't go on, he opened his eyes halfway. "Because why, TJ?" he asked in his tiger's purr.

She felt a blush that seemed to infuse her whole body with warmth. "Because I love you, Sam. Every inch of you. Your whole body turns me on."

She was rewarded with dimples that were almost smug, and he closed his eyes. "I know."

She poked her cheek with her tongue, holding in a smile, and made her way up his legs, massaging his thighs. It was so weird, the way she was touching him and feeling the smooth skin of his legs, rubbing them, doing something that would give an able-bodied person at the very least a release of tension—at the most, intense pleasure—but he couldn't feel it. She was the one who was enjoying it, the intimacy of it, the sense that she was claiming every bit of him and making him hers.

She made her way to his boxers and blushed again when she began to slide them off his hips. "I'm to your boxers, Sam. My fingers are inside your waistband, and I'm sliding the boxers off of you." She did so quickly, throwing them on the floor to join the rest of their clothes.

Every part of her was curious and excited. Sam was naked! She had all six foot gazillion inches of him to herself, no clothes to inhibit her view of him. He might be paralyzed, but it took nothing away from him. She didn't care if his legs weren't perfect, if his skin was marred with hunting scars. He was all man, he was beautiful, and he was hers. Her body longed for him, pined for him, and she would go insane if she didn't have him.

He opened his eyes and held her gaze. "You have to make me ready for you, TJ," he said, like he knew what she was thinking.

Her body felt like it was melting, and the only thing that would be left of her was a pool of hot lava down low in her core. He took her hand and placed it on the most intimate part of him. "You have to touch me there," he instructed.

She did, stroking him, but nothing happened, and she was afraid she was doing something wrong.

"Touch me where I can feel you, too," he said. "I want you on top of me."

She moved up to where she was lying on top of him, her breasts on his chest, her nipples instantly hardening at the first feel of his steely muscles pressing against her. His hand was still over hers on his private area, moving with her as she rubbed him. He was showing her, teaching her, urging her not to stop, to be patient—something she was quickly losing control of.

With his other hand, he laced his fingers in her hair and gently pulled her head to him, bringing her lips to his, coaxing and taunting her with his tongue. To her relief, she felt him finally begin to grow beneath her hand, and she wrapped her hand around his swelling shaft. Her heart went wild with anticipation. While she continued to rub up and down his length, he let go of her hand, making his way to her private area. He eased two of his fingers inside her. She was still wet and ready, almost out of her head with desire.

Unable to wait any longer and unsure of how long his erection would last, she grabbed his wrist, pulling his hand out of the way, and moved over on top of him, fitting him inside her. She arched her head back, groaning with satisfaction and utter joy at the way he filled her. "Oh, God," she whispered breathlessly.

He kissed her throat, and his hands slid down to her hips. "How does it feel, TJ? Tell me how it feels."

She could hardly speak, she was so overwhelmed. "It's so...tight, so firm. It feels perfect," her breath hitched, "like we were never meant to be apart." She braced her hands on his broad shoulders and began to rock, burying her head in the curve of his neck. The rocking caused a friction that felt incredible, and she wanted more of it, moving her hips up and down in an increasingly faster rhythm.

His breathing matched hers, heavy and rapid, and she realized that he was enjoying this with her. It spurred her on, made her more aroused than she thought was humanly possible.

It didn't take her long to climax, and when she did, time ceased to exist. She had no breath, no heartbeat. Every fiber of her ignited and built and built and built into a pressure so intense she exploded into a million pieces. She screamed Sam's name over and over and shuddered with wave after wave of something indescribable and so lovely that she was weightless.

Finally, her heart beat once more, time started up again, and she began to breathe, panting in gulps of air and falling lazily back to earth. She couldn't move. All her limbs felt weak and she was spent. She found herself draped over Sam, his ribs hard against hers, her ear over his heart. She listened to his heartbeat, rapid at first and then slowly returning to normal along with hers.

They were both slick with a light sheen of sweat, their bodies feverish everywhere that they were melded against each other and cool in the places where the chilled air hit their bare skin. It was wonderful.

He rubbed her back idly and tenderly with his fingertips. She didn't know how long they stayed that way, but neither of them seemed to want to ruin the perfection of the moment. She thought about the past. How many nights had she spent with Sam like this? No wonder Other TJ—correction—no wonder she had been willing to risk everything for this man. Demons, monsters, ghosts, freaky evil demon blood—who cared? She would stand by him no matter what. He was her sun and air; her past, present, and future.

He glided his thumb over her cheekbone. "You're crying."

"I am?" she said, genuinely surprised.

He wiped away a tear she hadn't even realized was on her cheek. "Yes." His voice was a deep vibration in his chest. "Why are you crying?"

"I didn't know I was." She rose up to where she could look at him. "But that was...what we just did...have mercy. There are no words. That was my first time, Sam." She felt a surge of emotion and drew in a breath, shaking her head. "Nothing else will ever compare."

His brow crinkled, his dark eyes turning soulful. "I love you, TJ."

She smiled, biting her lip as her heart almost burst. "I love you, too, Sam." She kissed him and ran her finger over the faint cleft in his chin, delighting in the scratchy feel of his stubble and the faint noise it made as her finger rubbed over it. "So, are you gonna make an honest woman of me now?"

His brows went up. "What do you mean?"

She wiggled her ring finger where he could see it. "Wedding band? Engagement ring?"

His mouth curved rakishly. "Not yet."

She rolled her eyes.

"Patience is a virtue," he admonished lightly.

She quirked one side of her mouth. "I'm not feeling very virtuous right now."

He grinned, dimples deep and making her pulse leap. Curious, she eased her hand down the length of his body and couldn't help the widening of her eyes when she touched him. He was still hard.

"Uh," he said with a slightly embarrassed laugh, "sometimes that happens. I guess it's better than the opposite."

"Hmm," she said, eyeing him naughtily. "Maybe we shouldn't let it go to waste."

He smiled. "No. We definitely shouldn't."

XXXXXXXX

It was just after lunchtime, and Wyman Trammell was scrutinizing Sam with a funny look, assessing him, his black eyes bright and sharp beneath graying eyebrows that weren't bushy but ample.

Sam sat across from Wyman's desk trying to get information about Wyman's latest case so he could research and brief it, but, as often happened, it was hard to get Wyman to focus. Sam knew he should've gotten to the office before bourbon-thirty. "Wyman, did you hear what I just said?"

Wyman waved a beefy hand in dismissal. He wasn't fat, but he was stocky with the ruddy complexion of an alcoholic. He had strong, symmetrical features that were a little cocky and arrogant. He'd probably been a lady-killer once, but years of hard drinking had taken their toll. He was a confirmed bachelor, and God help any woman who ever tried to take him on.

By five o'clock, his thick gray hair, styled like something from the '20s—short on the back and sides, long on top and slicked back—would be disheveled, and his suit jacket would be rumpled and flung over the back of a chair. His tie would be loose, collar undone, shirtsleeves rolled up, and he would smell like a brewery mixed with a distillery.

He was an excellent lawyer but also a functioning alcoholic—at least functioning for most of the day—and it was a shame the booze had such a hold on him. Before he'd destroyed more than a few brain cells, Sam had no doubt the man had been brilliant.

"We'll talk about the McCray case in a minute," announced Wyman in his usual abrupt manner that was mixed with a Kentucky drawl. A slight slur would be added to his accent as the day wore on, after one too many of what Wyman called his "elixirs." His manner of speaking was a strange mix that was uniquely Wyman. "You saved my ass on that Becker case," he commented.

Sam looked at his watch. He had a full schedule today and was supposed to meet with another client in Colleyville in an hour. If Wyman was in a talkative mood, Sam would be late. "Wyman, I think the McCray case—"

"Later." Eyes narrowed in a piercing look, Wyman said, "What are you gonna do with your future, Sam?"

The unexpected question threw Sam for a loop. "I...don't know," he replied honestly. "I've sort of been taking things day by day, trying to get settled again after everything that's happened in the last year. I'm just glad to have my wife back."

"Hmph." Wyman stared at him for a moment. "You're no fool."

Sam waited for the older man to elaborate, but he didn't. "Uh, thanks?" said Sam, a little unsure if Wyman had given him a compliment or not.

"I don't suffer fools lightly, and there's not many people I like—but I like you."

Sam was uncomfortable with Wyman being nice. It was a little weird. Wyman wasn't the touchy-feely type.

"Have you thought about going back to law school?"

Sam had. But Berkeley was well over two thousand miles away, and his life was in Kentucky now. He had to think about TJ and the twins, about how he would support them and still pay off all their hospital debt. Living at the farm with Fern and Vern was a bit cramped, but it was ideal in a lot of ways. Fern and Vern were a huge help with the twins, and Sam and TJ didn't have living expenses like rent or utility bills to worry about.

Sam had offered to help out with buying groceries and things like that, but Fern and Vern wouldn't hear of it. As a result, Sam was able to put a lot of what he made as a paralegal toward the medical bills—after buying mountains of diapers, baby formula, clothing, and anything else the twins required. He'd even started putting aside a meager amount of money each month for the twins' college fund.

"Sam?" barked Wyman, snapping his fingers impatiently in front of Sam's face. "Law school. Have you thought about going back?"

Sam blinked. "Yes, I have, but—"

"No buts. You wanna go back or not?"

"Truthfully," Sam said, running a hand through his hair, "I do, but law school and I don't seem to agree with each other. Every time I try to go, something catastrophic happens in my life. I think maybe something or someone is trying to tell me to forget it. It's not meant to be."

"Bullshit. You're a great paralegal, and it's an important profession—I'm not knocking it—but you were born to be a lawyer. Your instincts are right on the money, and you're sharp. You think quick on your feet." He drew up short, like he'd just remembered Sam's feet didn't work, and gave a half-ass roll of his eyes. "You know what I mean."

"Right. Thanks," said Sam, holding in a bit of amusement. Wyman never treated him like he was disabled. In fact, Wyman hardly seemed to notice.

"I've got a proposition for you," Wyman said.

"A proposition?"

Wyman gave a short nod and declared, "Kentucky."

"Kentucky?"

"God Almighty, are we in a cave? I hear a fuckin' echo. Yes. Kentucky, as in University of. It's not Berkeley, but it's a pretty damn good law school."

"I've thought about applying," Sam said with a shrug, "but I think it might be hard for me to get another scholarship since my track record for staying in school isn't exactly stellar. And I'm already up to my eyeballs in debt. I don't want to take out another loan."

"Good."

"Good?"

Wyman rolled his eyes again. "Stop with the echo. It's good because I want to own your ass for the next several years."

Sam eyed him uncertainly. "I don't get what you mean."

"I'll pay your way through law school," Wyman said matter-of-factly.

Sam raised his brows. "Why would you do that?"

"Because I'm getting old and tired. I want an associate—a partner—someone who can keep me in line and keep me from getting disbarred and deal with all the crap I don't want to deal with. Trouble is, anyone worth their salt goes on to greener pastures than our little Podunk corner of Kentucky here. I figure, if you owe me, I can get a few good years out of you before you move on."

"Uh, thanks, I guess, but it's not just a money issue. Like I said, I've got a few strikes against me that probably wouldn't impress an admissions committee."

"Well, my older sister is the Associate Dean for Admissions at UK Law."

Sam was impressed, his interest piqued.

"The old bitch is a tyrant. She thinks she should've been born Wyman Trammell, Jr. instead of me: The Great Family Disappointment. I was supposed to be president one day, not Moss Fork's town drunk."

Sam wasn't sure what to say to Wyman's sudden candor.

"Anyway," Wyman continued, as though his family history was no big deal, "she thinks she's Billy Badass because she ended up Associate Dean for Admissions, but I think it had more to do with the large donation my father made to the law school before he died than any brilliance on her part. Still, I can get you an interview with her. She won't do it gladly because she hates me. The feeling is mutual, but blood is thicker than water. She'll see you. Of course, the fact that you know me will be a mark against you that you'll have to overcome. You interested?"

God, was he ever, but Sam was wary. "I don't know. There's still the issue of my job, and law school full time would make that difficult. I can't quit working. I have a family to support."

"I'll be your only client, and I'll pay you twice what you're worth to work for me part time."

Sam was sorely tempted.

"And don't look at it as charity. The more obligated to me you are, the longer you'll stay here. I'm doing this for purely selfish reasons. I'm a bastard and a drunk, and you know it. Don't make the mistake of thinking I'm being nice."

"Right." But the truth was, working with Wyman wouldn't be so bad. Sam had always liked him, despite Wyman's abrasive, curmudgeonly demeanor. He was like Bobby—all rough and prickly on the outside and a decent man on the inside. Then there was the fact that Wyman had forgotten more about practicing law than Sam could ever glean from law school alone. He could learn a lot from Wyman, especially the more wily aspects of the profession that weren't necessarily taught in textbooks. The experience he would gain from working with Wyman would be invaluable.

"Besides," said Wyman, a mischievous glint in his eye, "I'll give you all the cases where I know the poor saps won't pay."

Sam laughed, remembering TJ's prediction he would never be able to turn down someone in need, even if they couldn't afford a lawyer. Apparently, Wyman suspected the same thing.

"So, what do you say?"

"Can I think about it?"

Wyman nodded. "Just don't think too long. Spring semester starts January 10th. Today is December 3rd. We need to get the ball rolling. There's not much time to set up the interview and get your application before the committee. The short notice will drive my sister up the wall. I'm sure we'll be breaking all kinds of application deadlines." He sounded almost gleeful at the prospect.

"Okay," said Sam. "TJ left today to go on a Christmas shopping trip and won't be back until Sunday, but I'll talk to her about it as soon as I can. It's something I'd like to talk to her about in person."

"All right. Oh, and a word of caution. If you decide you want me to set up an interview with my sister, don't be late. Like I said, she's a tyrant and a stickler for shit like punctuality. You'll blow it for sure if you're late."

"Right. I'll keep that in mind."

"Don't forget it."

Sam nodded, and they went back to talking about the McCray case, but he was only halfway paying attention. After everything that had happened—with Jessica when he'd tried to go to Stanford and with TJ when he'd tried to go to Berkeley—was he an idiot for even considering law school again? Was he just tempting the Sam Winchester curse to screw with his family all over again?

Even with Wyman's generous offer, Sam was far from sure it was worth the risk.

TBC