He stood outside her door and wondered, for the dozenth time, if this was a decent idea or not. He thought back to the way she'd made amends to him after Ba'al, though, and remembered how they'd made a sort of tacit arrangement to do that sort of thing when things got difficult and, well, things had gotten difficult. Again.
He'd thought he was going to lose her. Hell, she'd thought she was going to die. Niirti's machine had scared the life out of both of them – very nearly literally, in her case. And now she'd been allowed to go home and he wasn't one hundred percent certain she should really have been allowed to be on her own just yet. Not really physically, for she'd been given a clean bill of health, but psychologically. He just wasn't sure she was ready to be alone yet.
That was his excuse, anyway. The truth was, he needed to see her. He needed to touch her. She'd put her head on his shoulder in that cell and he'd felt like maybe she was exactly where she was supposed to be if she was dying. So where, exactly, was she supposed to be if she was living? He could think of a couple of places and none of them were exactly regulation.
He raised his hand and knocked on her door. When she answered she was dressed in the same clothes he saw her leave the base in. Jeans, a soft looking sweater set, little white tennis shoes.
"Sir!" she exclaimed softly, truly, apparently, surprised to see him.
"Carter."
She stepped back and admitted him to her home. As if she had no idea why he'd come. Maybe she didn't. Maybe she'd forgotten that not so long ago she'd sucked him dry while he sat on his couch. Then he looked her in the eye and saw an interested sort of spark burning deep down in the back there and he knew she was remembering that night not so long ago, too.
In the living room he sat while she fetched beers from the kitchen for something to do, and less because he wanted one. Really, he was more interested in the taste of her than the taste of the Killians Red she put in his hand. They made small talk he couldn't have repeated until, finally, he reached out and fingered the cuff of her sweater and her mouth snapped closed.
He was nervous about getting her out of her pants, he wasn't afraid to admit that to himself. He wasn't exactly sure how to do it. Did he just tell her what he wanted? Did he just ask her to arrange herself for him? Should he kiss her first? It would make things easier... He knew how to do this if he'd kiss her first. He could get her a little hot and ready and get his hands down her pants and from there he could get her laid back and her pants down around her ankles and his head between her thighs and it wouldn't seem so abrupt.
"Sir?" she asked in a small yet amused voice.
He realized he was staring at her crotch. She realized it, too.
He groaned and grasped at the back of his neck. He looked up at her through lowered lashes, feeling a bit contrite. She was blushing. She looked hot. He scrubbed a hand over his face then took a deep breath. He could do this. He really could.
He reached for her hand as he settled back into her couch. He pulled her to him, touched her, guided her, positioned her over his lap, her legs spread to accommodate his, the heat of her center warm against his upper thighs – he wished she wasn't wearing jeans – and her feet flirting with his knees. They sat there and looked at each other for long moments. She bit her lip becomingly and it forced him into action.
He leaned forward and captured her lips with his own. Kissing her without the taste of him in her mouth was reminiscent of the timeloop kiss and felt too much like something he wanted too badly to contemplate. He used the forward momentum to lean into her further and reach past her for her feet. He wrestled first one shoe off her foot and then the other. He felt soft little socks over a portion of her foot and he hooked those off with his thumbs, too, until he could stroke at the sensitive soles of her feet. She gasped into his mouth when he caught a ticklish place.
Once she was completely divested of her footwear, he leaned back. She followed him. He liked her enthusiasm. He continued to kiss her languidly, his tongue stroking at hers. She kissed like she did everything else – with attention to detail. He felt her cataloguing his mouth and filing away all the information she obtained – the places that made him shiver and shudder, the places that made him kiss her back the way she liked the most, the places that made him go still and dumb.
While she was distracted by the way his tongue flicked against the tip of hers – she liked that, he thought because it was reminiscent of other things – he popped the button of her jeans and slid his hands around her waist to slide them into her pants to grip at her ass. He felt lace under his fingertips. He had a sudden and strong desire to see that lace.
"Stand up," he said against her lips, unable to stop kissing her, even though he wanted more.
She kissed him once more, sucking his bottom lip into her mouth then laving it with her tongue. Then she clambered off his lap. His hands were dragged out of her pants over her hips and soon she was standing in front of him, looking a little debauched with the front of her pants open and her sweater set riding up.
He slid forward on the couch. He wanted to be the one to pull her zipper down and tug those jeans down her legs and reveal her panties. He reached for her. She sucked in an anticipatory breath that made her breasts press against the fabric of her sweater and he though about getting her to take that off too, but there was something kind of hot about having her dressed from the waist up and naked from the waist down. God, they were going about things all wrong, weren't they?
He reached for the tab on her zipper and pulled slowly, reveling in the rasp of the teeth as they popped one by one. He looked up at her as he lowered the zipper and she was watching him with heavy eyes, her breathing labored. He kept his eyes locked on hers as he reached for the waistband of her jeans and pushed. She shimmied her hips to help him move the fabric down her body and soon, the garment was falling to the floor and she was stepping out of the pool of denim and kicking it to the side.
He looked at her panties. The front was a panel of midnight blue satin that looked decadent against her pale skin. But it wasn't the lace he'd felt under his fingertips. "Turn around," he rasped. He caught the Cheshire grin on her face before she turned, slowly, and presented him with her back.
He took in the slimness of her shoulders, the curve of her waist, the slight hint of the dimples of her lower back where her sweater had ridden up, before he settled his eyes on the lace-covered cheeks of her ass. He'd always had a thing for a woman's skin covered by lace. He liked the peek-a-boo nature of the flash of skin between the intricate design. He liked the tactile scratch of the fabric and the silk of the skin when he slid his fingers underneath. He reached out and ran his fingertips over the curve of her rear. She shivered. He trailed his fingers over the lace and down to the place where skin met the edge of the fabric and tucked his fingers up under the elastic and tugged just a bit so she swayed towards him.
He leaned forward and tongued one rounded cheek through the lace. She made a sound he'd never forget as long as he lived because he'd made Major Samantha Carter – formidable warrior that she was – squeak. He grinned against her skin, then bit her gently. She giggled.
"You can turn back around."
She did. His eyes focused on the satin of her underwear and he was torn between wanting her to leave them on long enough to watch them turn wet with desire and wanting them off of her immediately so he could replace them with his mouth. Expediency won. "Take them off."
She slid her index fingers between the fabric and her skin and shimmied her hips and the scrap of satin and lace fluttered to the floor.
"Fuck," he breathed, reaching out for her reflexively, his fingertips lighting on her smooth mons. "How long?"
She blushed, instantly, and not just a little, but a bright, brilliant red.
And he knew, immediately, that she'd done this for him, after he'd said what he'd said after she'd done him. She'd been completely bare and ready for him ever since he'd said... Good god, the maintenance. That was dedication, he'd give her that. But to be this perfectly smooth meant that she'd prepared for him today.
"You didn't have to do this for me," he told her. Though, the feeling of her skin against his tongue was going to be something he'd dream about long after their encounter was over.
"I did it as much for me as for you. It feels different," she said on a rush. "It feels... more."
"Ah."
He couldn't fault her for wanting to feel more.
He moved his fingers so he could swipe at the apex of her slit with his thumb, he didn't apply pressure, he just caught the juncture with the side of his digit and watched as her eyes dropped closed and her knees shook. She was sensitive and responsive. This was going to be so good. For both of them.
He considered the couch, the coffee table, the floor, did some quick calculations, realized his knees would take a lot more abuse now that he'd spend some time in a sarcophagus, and pulled a throw pillow off the couch which he promptly knelt on. "Sit down," he patted the edge of the couch.
She sat, demurely, her legs closed. He raised an eyebrow at her. He grabbed the leg closest to him and lifted it over his head, opening her legs so one was on either side of him and opening her sex to him. Her pale skin split to reveal deep, glistening pink that made his mouth instantly water for her.
"Lean back," he told her, softly, hoping to open her more fully to him. She did and the new angle revealed all of her to him. He pressed her legs open further to more fully accommodate his body and then he leaned forward. He exhaled against her, making her jump a little, then took a deep breath, taking in the musky scent of her. He rubbed his hair against the sensitive skin of her inner thigh and she sighed.
He wanted to take his time, work her up before he really touched her. It might be selfish, but he wanted to be remembered well, he wanted to be the fantasy later, and he didn't know if there was going to be another opportunity to do this or if they were going to come to their senses after this whole tit for tat thing.
So he placed a kiss on the inside of the opposite thigh and felt the way it shook. She was tense, from anticipation or nervousness, he wasn't sure. So he put his big hands on her thighs and ran them up her body to her hips then back down the outsides of her thighs to her knees, then up again, in long soothing motions, continuing to press kisses on the inside of her thighs first one, then the other, until she was fully relaxed and he could feel her thighs pressing outwards against his hands. He looked up and saw her head listing off to one side and her eyes closed. Okay, that was relaxed enough. He grinned and blew a cool breath out onto her hot center and watched as her eyes snapped open and she looked down at him.
"Just making sure you were still with me," he said.
"Definitely still with you," she said.
He licked one crease between thigh and body and then the other and she gave a little moan. Now they were getting somewhere. He could still smell her, hot and musky and it took everything he had not to bury his tongue in her and just taste.
With the pad of his middle finger he pressed at her entrance feeling the tissues give way under pressure and accept his digit. She was so hot and he could feel her wetness against his finger, slick and slippery. He rubbed tiny circles against the sensitive area, opening her to him gently with his sensuous massage. He found the hood of her clit with the tip of his tongue and licked with soft, long strokes, no teasing, just wet, delicious pressure. The combination of sensations made her lift her hips off the couch and groan his honorific.
He dragged her wetness from her center up to her clit and used his fingers to spread the frothy lubricant all over and around her needy little bundle of nerves. Her hips rotated against his fingers as they both searched for a rhythm that gave her pleasure. He dragged more and more of her moisture up until she was sloppy with her own desire and then he wrapped his lips around her clit and used the flat of his tongue to stimulate her. While she keened the pleasure she took from his strong muscle, he grew hard on her sweet, tangy flavor.
He gave a strong suck on her little bundle of nerves as he inserted two fingers deep inside her, curling his fingers to stroke against her inner walls to find that place that made her hips levitate off the couch and made her make a groaning, gasping noise that went straight to his balls.
He alternated between flicking at her clit with his tongue and suckling at it deeply as he thrust his fingers inside her. She began to thrust her hips back against him, searching for her own pleasure. She grew ever wetter around his fingers, drenching his hand in her fluids. It made him so hot to know she was that turned on. She was constantly making aroused sounds that went straight to his cock. If his hands weren't busy buried in her wetness or roving on her body he'd have one on himself, but he wasn't turning loose of her for anything.
After what seemed like far too soon she reached down and grabbed his head holding him in place against her clit which he took as direction to keep doing that, exactly that so he did. And she started chanting oh god, oh god, I'm gonna, oh, god, which he took to mean she was going to come, so he redoubled his efforts with the fingers he had inside her and kept doing the thing with his tongue that she seemed to like so well.
Everything went still and quiet for a second and then all hell broke loose. She groaned long and low, the hand in his hair tightened painfully, her thighs shook around his ears. She was coming in an abandoned way that he could have only dreamed about. It went on and on, he counted along in his head to fifteen then to twenty and then she quieted. Her hips still jerking occasionally as he licked her gently, cleaning the last of her juices off her skin and extending the pleasure of her aftershocks as long as he could.
When it was all over he looked up at her from between her legs and she was looking back down at him, her fingers lax in his hair and she had an unfathomable look on her face. She was breathing deeply and chewing on her bottom lip.
"You okay?" he asked her.
"Intense," she merely said.
He pulled his fingers out of her body, her eyes went wide as if she hadn't realized they were still there. With his eyes still locked on hers he put his fingers in his mouth and licked them clean. She didn't blush, she probably didn't have it in her after the orgasm. She did pull him up her body by his hair, though, and she kissed him, pulling his tongue into her mouth with her own. She lapped at his tongue with hers and moaned and he knew she was getting off on her taste in his mouth and it made his dick throb.
He needed to get out of there before he did the easy thing and took his pants off and slid inside her warm, wet, finger-readied body.
"I need to go," he said, desperately, against her mouth, hoping she understood.
She nodded, apparently she understood all too well. Maybe she did. She'd had to leave relatively quickly, too.
He scrambled up off the couch and looked down at his debauched second in command, laying sprawled and open on the couch, all pink and wet and satiated and it took everything he had not to fuck her sideways. He knew the once over she was giving him was revealing his willingness to do just that, but he didn't have what it took to be embarrassed. Not after what he'd just done to her.
"See you Monday, Carter," he said, striving for a bit of normalcy after an evening of anything but.
"Yes, sir," she said, her voice every bit of Major Carter, if Major Carter had just had an epic orgasm.
He reached down and adjusted his erection then made for the front door. In his truck he jacked off like a teenager before he even started the ignition. It didn't take ten strokes and he was coming like a geyser. Monday was going to be hell, but he was going to love every minute of it.