Much longer chapter today, loves, but I think J & O had some shit to work out.

i'm drowning in shallows
cos it's in so deep
there's neon melting in the rain
took too much powder to sleep
cos when i hold you naked
when i hear you laugh
i get a sword to stem the rivers
and cut the moon in half
David Gray, "Coming Down"

The guys dealt with the guards easily. Nothing like the element of surprise to get a leg up on arrogant, over-paid assholes. After it was done they gathered behind the warehouse where three of the four bikes were parked.

"This's weird," Happy said with a scowl.

"Not really," Olivia said. They looked at her and she shrugged. "Viking funeral on a motorcycle. Has a certain style to it, don't you think?"

"Jesus Christ," Tig said, disgusted. "I've about had it with Teddy motherfuckin' Flanary."

She grimaced. "Join the club, babe. We've got a newsletter and everything."

"So what now?" Juice said. "Stephens didn't tell us where Doyle is."

Chibs lifted a brow at Olivia. She glanced around, startled. "What?"

"You know him best, lass. What's our next move?"

She crossed her arms over her chest and shivered a little. It was a cool night, and she was only wearing a thin tank over a cotton camisole. Juice shrugged out of his hoodie but stopped just short of draping it over her shoulders. She took it from him and slid her arms into the sleeves. Sometimes he knew her so well it almost hurt.

Before she answered Chibs' question she had one of her own. "What happened to Cindy?" she said.

They looked momentarily taken aback. Then Chibs set his jaw and, smoothly, "That bastard O'Rourke killed her. Shot her because she told us where to find you."

She absorbed that with a small quirk of her mouth. She wasn't stupid. She knew Cindy wouldn't've given up their location, and she knew Chibs wouldn't've fallen for such obvious bait. "Fair enough," she said, softly. "Kinda wish now I'd cut his balls off after all."

Chibs got the message loud and clear, but if she wasn't going to press the issue, he wasn't either.

"You need to get everyone together on lockdown," she said, abruptly brisk and businesslike. "Not at TM. Not at the shop. It's gotta be someplace new, someplace he might not think of. You're gonna want a guard—preferably two—on Tara at all times." She chewed her lip and flinched when her teeth hit the split. "Someone has to get in touch with Jax. He'll need protection inside. Also it'd probably be a good idea to call in some backup. We killed six of his men tonight. That's like a declaration of war."

"All right," Chibs said. "Anything else?"

His tone was so even and unruffled. He took every suggestion she made in stride, and the guys stood in a loose semicircle around them both, listening attentively. It was nerve wracking, especially considering everything that had just happened.

"Um…" Her eyes slid away. She let the hoodie's sleeves fall down to cover her hands so they wouldn't see how they trembled. "I would—appreciate it if we didn't tell anyone what happened here tonight." She lifted her chin and met their gazes, each in turn. "It could have gotten very ugly—uglier than it did, I mean—and I would prefer it if it stayed amongst the five of us."

"I got no problem with that," Tig said. "But, Ollie—you did real good in there. Real fuckin' good."

"You did, lass," Chibs said.

"Thank you," she said with a brief dip of her head. "Still, in the last twenty-four hours I've had inappropriate, alarming contact with way too many random men, so if we could all just—" She took a step back, spread her arms, and shrugged a little.

"So, what, we don't get to tell the rest of the club that we apparently share you now?" Happy said, struggling not to grin.

Juice glared at him, but Olivia just snorted. "Hap, listen. I came this close to cutting a man's balls off tonight. I'm still sort of feeling the urge, so maybe shut the fuck up."

"She has a colorful history of mutating genitalia," Tig said.

"Fair enough," he said. "Just make sure to tell me when it's my turn."

"Fuck you, Lowman," she said, but there was no heat in her tone. "Go away."

He laughed and sauntered off toward the bikes.

Chibs jerked his chin at the building. "Saw a van 'round back. You and Tig can take that." He frowned at Juice. "Can you ride, lad?"

"Yeah," he said. "I'm fine."

"Fine? Let me look at it," Olivia said. She took his hand in hers, gently, and he flinched. She paused and cut her eyes up at him. "This is going to hurt. Do you want to sit down?"

"Uh…"

"We've got nothin' to bind it with," Chibs said. "Maybe you should wait."

"Only gonna get more swollen if we do that." She wiggled out of the hoodie, stripped off her tank top, and ripped it down the seam. She tore off three long strips of fabric that she handed to Chibs before she passed the rest of the shredded mess to Tig. She gestured for Juice's hand again, and he gave it to her reluctantly.

She caught his eyes with hers and smiled a little. "Don't worry, baby," she said. "When we find him, you can break his leg." She jerked hard on his finger and he let out a groan.

"Fuck me, Ollie," Tig said. "Remind me never to get on your bad side."

"You told me to use my rage, Tiggy. Looks like you were right." She bound Juice's broken finger to the good one next to it using the strips from her shirt.

"How's that?" she said, her voice as gentle as her touch had been.

Chibs and Tig suddenly felt like they were intruding and looked away.

"Good," he said. He looked pale and a little green around the gills. Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead. "Kinda crazy how much something so small hurts."

"Yeah," she said and wiggled her own fingers at the memory. She brushed her thumb across the cut on his brow. Her face creased. She was sick and tired of having to patch up the man she loved. "Are you sure you can ride?"

"I can get your bike, Juicy," Tig said, clearing his throat. "If you didn't mind."

He was still looking at Olivia, and whatever he saw in her face made him nod. "Sure, Tiggy. That'd be great. Not sure how I'd grip if I can't bend my fingers."

Tig recognized it for the excuse it was, but he just clapped Juice on the back. "No problem, brother. I'll take good care of it."

"Fuckin' well better," Olivia said with a quick smile. "I just rebuilt the damn thing."

"We'll wait until you get the van goin'," Chibs said. "Meet us at TM. We'll decide our next move from there."

Happy rejoined them as Juice and Olivia walked away. "You know," he said once they were out of earshot, "I never completely believed the story about what she did to her husband."

"Change your mind about that, lad?" Chibs said with a shrewd look.

"She was gonna bite that guy's fuckin' dick off," he said, slightly awed and entirely appalled.

"I don't think she woulda bit it off," Tig said. "It takes a fuckload of pressure to bite through a dick, especially when it's erect. Human teeth aren't that sharp."

Chibs and Happy stared at him.

He shifted his weight and frowned down at his boots. "It just—it came up in conversation once," he muttered.

"Tiggy," Chibs said with a heavy sigh, "we are brothers and I love you, but you are one sick, twisted fuck, you know that?"

He shrugged, weakly, but didn't bother to deny it. Wasn't any point anyway: they all knew it was true.

Luckily the van was an old enough model that Olivia was able to hot wire it without much trouble. She got it going and Juice hopped into the passenger seat. They drove slowly past the other guys, and she heard the sound of motorcycle engines firing behind them.

"They do realize I have no fucking clue where we are, right?" she said with a glance in the rearview mirror.

His shoulders rippled. "None of us do. I'm sure we'll see a sign or something once we hit the road."

Her grip on the wheel was tight, her body unusually tense. Juice scooted a bit closer to the window, away from her.

"I didn't mean you," she said.

"What?"

"What I said before about needing space. I meant all of them. I didn't mean you."

"Oh," he said. "You don't have to—" He broke off and peered out the window.

"Don't have to what?"

Another shrug. "Tell me what you think I want to hear."

She glowered at the road ahead. "I'm not. When have I ever done that?"

He conceded that point with a tilt of his head. He clenched his good hand into a fist and stared down at it. "I'm sorry you had to do that."

"Which part?" she said with a snort.

"All of it. The thing with Teddy, and then later with the guard."

"I—" She started to make light of it, turn it into a joke like Happy had (which, to be honest, she'd rather appreciated at the time), but this was Juice. They didn't do that with each other. "I need a really long shower," she finally said.

"Yeah," he breathed. "Me too."

The bulk of the club ended up at the cabin. They sent the crow eaters and families to the gun warehouse. Gemma elected to go there, too—partially to stay away from Olivia, but also because she was still the person everyone looked to in times of crisis, and she knew where she was needed the most.

Both the Indian Hills and SanDino charters were on their way, and they'd been apprised of the situation, sans as much about Olivia as they could leave out per her request. Red-the-prospect (as Olivia couldn't help but think of him), Rat, and West were guarding Tara at the hospital. Someone had finally thought to tell Tig and Olivia that Chucky wasn't dead, and they'd greeted the news with whoops of joy (Tig) and tears (Olivia) and a huge hug that spoke strongly of their shared ordeal.

There had been a brief stop at Olivia's for some clothes, and when she'd come out looking ready to commit murder, Juice had to sheepishly explain what he'd done to the bedroom. She'd just closed her eyes, shaken her head, and climbed back in the van.

It was necessarily tight living quarters, with several of the guys camping outside, but it hadn't even been a discussion: obviously Olivia would have one of the bedrooms, and if Juice wanted to stay in there with her…well, more room on the floor for everyone else.

Besides, despite the way she dismissed everyone's expressions of concern, it was clear Olivia was deeply shaken by what had happened at the warehouse. While she'd asked for physical space and they gave it to her gladly, she also seemed unnerved by the idea of being left alone.

Finally, at almost four AM, Olivia was able to drag Juice into the larger of the two bedrooms—not the one where Darvany had died, but the one where she and Tara had operated on Bobby—to properly bind his finger and see about the cut on his head. She got the finger set and applied a couple of butterfly bandages to his brow. Then she disappeared into the bathroom for a while, and he thought he could hear her crying over the sound of the shower. He had hoped, if she needed to cry, that she would've come to him. He guessed maybe some things had to be wrestled with alone.

When she emerged she looked markedly improved. Steadier and somehow less weary, though no less tired.

"Next," she said with a brief smile. She wanted to reach for him as he passed her, but she wasn't sure…how, exactly. Physical intimacy had never been an issue between them—except for when they'd been struggling to stay away from each other—but suddenly she felt like a gulf had opened and she had no idea how to get across it.

It was like the aftermath of the abortion, but…dirtier.

She sat on the bed and rubbed lotion onto her damp skin, thankful it smelled nothing like strawberries. It was goat's milk and honey, a homemade mix she bought at the market downtown, and the familiar scent was comforting. She stared down at the glass bottle and had the sudden, almost irresistible urge to throw it against the wall just to watch it shatter.

Instead her hand tightened around it until her fingers ached. She set it on the nightstand and tugged a t-shirt over her head. She heard the shower shut off, and a few moments later Juice appeared, a towel slung low on his hips. He held it up with one hand while he dug through the small bag she'd packed for them.

She watched him, her gaze caressing every detail of his body like she'd never seen it before. His back was beautiful, a work of art in a way only a man's back could be—and she'd seen some really gorgeous women's backs in her day. His waist melded into his hips into his legs without no demarcation between them, which is why he always had to wear a belt and ended up with his underwear showing anyway. She loved his legs: the bulge of his thighs, the strength in his calves. The line where his ankle curved down into his foot.

His shoulders. The width of them. The way his strong arms wrapped around her and his big hands stroked her and he always made her feel so fucking—cherished. It wasn't a feeling she'd ever thought she'd needed until she met him. Until he made her feel that way and she'd realized it was exactly what she'd been missing all along.

Juice Ortiz was exactly what she'd been missing all along. His contagious grin and his warm brown eyes and the sound of his laugh. His vulnerability and his sweetness. His aching desire to please, to be accepted, to be loved instead of scorned. He had so much love to give, and apparently no one wanted it. No one even saw it.

They were all fucking idiots, and their lives were poorer for it.

Her heart hurt, but it was a sweet pain. She hated what had happened today. She hated, even, that she'd kissed Tig and sat in his lap, no matter the reason. She despised the memory of Teddy's hands on her, and O'Rourke's greasy smirk as she'd knelt in front of him.

She held out a hand. Her fingers shook, but she didn't care. He hadn't noticed her watching him, or if did he hadn't acknowledged it. The towel fell to the floor and he tugged on a pair of boxers. He looked up then, and saw her hand, and his brow furrowed.

"Liv…?"

"Please—" She broke off and had to clear her throat. "Please, Juice, I need…"

"What?" he said quietly. He laced his fingers through hers. "Tell me what you need, sweetheart."

"You." She tugged him closer. "I need you."

He climbed into bed next to her, but he hesitated before he touched her. He thought she wasn't talking about sex, but in one way it would be easier if she were. He could do that. Sex, with Olivia, had never been any kind of problem. But this…he wanted to be what she needed. He wanted to live up to the trust he saw in her eyes, but he wasn't sure he could. Not now. Not after a day like the one they'd just had.

"What's wrong?" she said.

"I don't think I can," he replied in a choked whisper.

Her face went tight. She wiped furiously at a tear that escaped to track down her cheek. "Right," she said. "Of course. It's late and we're both exhausted. We need sleep, not—"

"Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Pretend. Try to fake it. It might work with them," he said and jerked his thumb toward the living room, "but it's never worked with me."

Her lips curved. "I've never had to fake it with you, baby," she said, low and sultry.

"Don't do that either."

"What do you want me to do, Juice?" she said, her temper flaring. "Why don't you tell me, because I'm not sure there's a script for this. How should I react in the aftermath of my boyfriend seeing me almost raped twice in one day?"

He paused, momentarily derailed. She'd never actually called him her boyfriend before. It just wasn't language they really used. He shook his head to focus.

"I don't know, Olivia. How do I react in the aftermath of seeing it? How do I react knowing I couldn't help you, and if you weren't—if things had gone the slightest bit different, it would've happened? And I just fucking sat there, completely fucking helpless, while that cocksucker put his fucking hands all over you like he had some kind of right!"

He was practically shouting by the last word, but she regarded him calmly. "If I weren't what?"

"Huh?"

"You said I couldn't help you, and if you weren't…but then you changed your mind. If I weren't what?"

He gave a restless, angry shrug. "I don't know. There are days when I feel like I know you inside and out. Like you're an open book and I can read every fuckin' page. Then other days, like today, I realize you're a total mystery. I don't have a goddamn clue who you are. I love you so much it hurts, but I'm not even sure I really know you at all."

"You killed a man today," she said. "He begged you for his life. He was a Federal Agent, supposedly one of the good guys. And yet you shot him in the throat and left him to bleed out."

"You said you didn't have a problem with that."

She lifted her hands in a shrug. "I don't." She looked away, her normally bright eyes dark and stormy. "We both saw sides of each other today we've never seen before. Ugly sides. I think we both knew they were there—that's hardly the first man you've killed, after all, and you know I've done desperate things in my life to survive—but it's different when it's shoved in your face."

"You told me you still want to marry me," he said.

Her chin tilted toward him. "I do," she said. "You said the same thing."

"I meant it, too."

"Okay," she said. "Then why can't you touch me now?"

He let out a long breath and rubbed a hand over his scalp. He scowled down at the bed and picked at an invisible bit of lint.

"Juice," she said and brushed her fingers against his shoulder. "Talk to me."

His head shot up, and the look on his face was so fierce it made her breath catch. "Do you have any idea what I want to do to you right now? Look, you've taught me a lot about—about misogyny and sexism and just women, in general, but even before I met you I never in my life thought of a woman as a possession."

Her mouth was dry. "I don't understand," she said. "Are you angry because I—"

"Stop." He held up a hand. "I'm not angry at you. I'm actually pretty fuckin' proud of you, even though I know telling you that is a good way to piss you off."

"It's not—"

"Come on, Liv. You hate patronizing shit like that."

A smile tugged at her lips. "And you claim I'm a mystery."

"Some stuff's easy," he grumbled. He sighed again. "You remember the day I thought you were flirting with that girl at Diosa and I got so mad?"

"Hard to forget."

"You accused me of acting like someone had touched my toy without my permission."

"Is that what this is about?"

"I don't mean it like that. I mean—I'm not sure how I mean it. All I know is watching him touch you, and watching you have to touch the other guy, and have to pretend to flirt and act like none of it bothered you—it did more than piss me off."

She lifted a brow. "It made you—what? Want to mark your territory?"

His jaw fell open. He closed it again and gave a confused shake of his head. "That isn't what I mean when I say you're mine."

"I know it's not. It isn't what I mean, either. Doesn't mean I want anyone else pawing at you. Doesn't mean I could sit calmly by while someone hurt you."

"Except that's exactly what I fucking did," he said through gritted teeth.

"So did I," she said, quietly. She sighed and shook her head. "Teddy is a sadist, Juice. He doesn't get off on sex; he gets off on pain and fear. If you'd reacted the way you wanted to—if either of us had—it would've fed right into his fantasy. Honestly I think he'd been imagining that scene for ages, and the fact that we were indifferent to him ruined it."

He ran a hesitant knuckle down her arm. "You knew to laugh at him."

"Not my first rodeo," she said with a sad wistfulness to her voice.

His fist clenched on a handful of sheet and the muscles danced in his jaw. "You're so fucking calm."

"Not calm, love. Hard. Because I had to make myself that way, or I would've died a long time ago. I would've given up and let one of them kill me, or I would've done a better job with that steak knife."

She wrapped an arm around her middle. "There's something broken in me, Juice. I will never be whole and I will never be well."

He looked at her with soft eyes. "Neither will I, Olivia. That's why we're so much better together than we are apart."

The spark of anger returned and she shoved at his shoulder. "So then touch me! Put your hands on me and wrap your arms around me and just be with me!"

"I can't!"

"Why not, Juice? Am I really that—that corrupted? Is it really that hard for you to deal with another man's hands on me?"

"You're not corrupted, Olivia, but when another man's touching you like that then damn right it is. He had no fucking right! Neither of them did."

"But you do. I'm not asking you to fuck me! I get that that's the last thing you would want to do after—after everything."

"Except it is," he said almost like he was in pain. "It's exactly what I want to do. I want to fuck you into the mattress. I want to fuck you until you can't walk right. I want to hold you down and kiss you and lick you and bite you and goddamn fuck you until you scream. And I want you to scream my name. Just that. Nothing else. Don't tell me it's good or that you don't want me to stop; don't tell me what you want or that you love me; just my name over and over until the whole fucking world knows you're mine, Olivia. Mine and no one else can lay their hands on you."

She stared at him, wide-eyed. He had, on occasion, shown a more dominant side in their sex life—one of the more memorable being the time he'd just mentioned, at Diosa after that stupid fight—but she'd never quite seen this version of Juice Ortiz. Just last night (though it seemed like a hundred years ago, now) he'd had his head between her thighs as he made her come over and over until she told him to stop…and then when his turn came he'd squirmed and writhed and let her tease him, get him right to the edge, and then leave him hard and aching.

Juice liked to be dominated, plain and simple. Not in a painful or humiliating way (which Olivia would never do anyway, because gross), but in a way that let him know with utter certainty that someone else was in charge, and his only job was to do what he was told, and do it well.

Murderous biker by day, eager sub by night.

The contrast of it, the incongruity, turned her on almost as much as anything else. No one would ever mistake Juice for an alpha male—not in a room as bristling with testosterone as the fucking SAMCRO clubhouse—but the cut carried with it a certain badass gravitas, and when they were in bed together (or wherever they happened to be, since a bed had always been completely optional) and she had him lust-wrecked and begging, it was more erotic than she could really put into words. Now, though, his impassioned little speech made her shiver with need, and she suddenly wished they were nearly anywhere else than at this stupid cabin surrounded by his sleeping brothers.

He took her silence for horror, her shudder for revulsion, and he crumpled in on himself. "I'm sorry." He scrubbed at his scalp with both hands. "Jesus Christ, Liv, I'm so fucking sorry. If you want me to go sleep somewhere else I understand. I never meant—"

"Hush," she said and pressed her hand to his mouth. "I was just thinking—considering the circumstances—that maybe I could whisper your name instead. Or gasp it. Or, maybe, moan it. Quietly."

"What?" he said, thoroughly nonplussed and mildly aroused.

She guided him closer with a finger under his chin. "I would love it if you fucked me into the mattress, Juicy. I would love for you to hold me down and remind me that you're the one who touches me. No one else."

"I didn't protect you today, Liv," he said, his face scrunched.

"I protected us both," she said. "There was no other choice. I just wish he hadn't hurt you at all. He broke your finger."

"It's just a finger. It'll heal."

"Not the point," she said as her voice grew heated. "You're mine, Ortiz. He doesn't get to hurt you. He doesn't get to touch you at all."

"He doesn't get to touch you, either," he said, roughly.

"Who does, Juicy?" she murmured near his mouth.

"Me," he choked out. "Only me." He tangled his fingers in her hair and dragged her against him. "I don't want to hurt you, baby. I don't want to scare you."

"You never scare me, love. I watched you shoot a man in cold blood and it didn't scare me. You know why?"

"Tell me."

She smiled at him, warm and sweet. "Because I trust you. Because you're mine and I'm yours and everything else is just details."

He eased her back on the bed, and contrary to his words his mouth was gentle against hers. He pulled her shirt up and kissed his way down her body. He moved her panties aside and brushed his fingers over the crisp curls between her legs. He found the sensitive spot behind her ear and swirled his tongue across it.

"Who makes you come like I do, baby?" he whispered.

"No one," she said in a quiet whimper as he flicked her clit.

"That's right. And who gets you wet like me?"

His breath was hot on her skin. He dipped a finger into her to the second knuckle and pulled it out again. She squirmed a little. "Nobody," she said.

"Mmmhhmm," he said. "Who eats you out like I do?"

"Is that what you're going to do now?"

He made a low noise of disapproval. "No, Liv. I'm gonna fuck you so hard and so good you forget your name. But I asked you a question."

She smirked. She kind of liked dominant Juice. "I don't remember it."

He paused between each word to kiss or lick some part of her body within his reach: her ear, the side of her neck, the curve of her shoulder. "Who eats you out like I do, baby?"

"No one, Juicy," she said. His finger had been working her clit as they talked, and by now it felt tight and swollen and impossibly sensitive, and every brush of his skin against hers made her writhe.

"You like that?" he murmured.

"Uh huh," she said with a drunken nod.

"You wanna come, Livvie?"

She could tell from his slurring speech that he was almost as turned on as she was, and she pressed closer to feel his erection against her thigh. "Do you?"

"Not about me," he mumbled and dipped his head to capture her nipple between his lips. He circled around her clit, skimming past it without quite touching, before he rubbed directly over it, hard and fast, in a way that made her bite down a yelp.

"Fuck, baby, that's so—"

"What did I say?"

She let out a moan that she muffled by biting down on the heel of her hand. Correction: she really liked dominant Juice.

He thrust two fingers into her and pressed them firmly against her g-spot. Her hips came up off the bed and his name fell from her lips in half a dozen variations: "Juice, baby, Ortiz, Juicy, lover, Juan Carlos—!"

"So good, Livvie," he said, his own voice going breathless. "That's so fuckin' hot."

He stroked his thumb across her clit as his fingers caressed her g-spot. It was so goddamn good, hot spirals of pleasure that lifted her higher and higher. She wanted to tell him, and her soft moans of his name turned into a desperate, whimpered litany.

He sucked her nipple into his mouth, and as his teeth scraped across it she came. Her cunt clenched around his fingers and her mouth fell open in a silent, wordless o. She had one hand balled up in the sheets, and as the spasms rocked through her she gripped his forearm with the other, her nails digging into the skin and her fingers tight around the hard muscle.

"Fuck," she breathed as she came down from it. "Juicy, Juan Carlos…" She trailed off with a shiver, and he slowly pulled his hand away.

He brushed a shiny wet fingertip over her top lip, but he pulled it away when she opened her mouth. He sucked both his fingers clean, his eyes steady on hers as he did it.

"Mine," he said when he popped them out again.

She ran her tongue across her lip. "You know, don't you, that you're the only one I want touching me. Your hands, your mouth, your body. You. No one else."

He pushed her hair back behind her ear. "I know. But I'm insecure and need to be reminded from time to time."

"Well." She tugged her t-shirt into place and grinned at him. "If this is how you remind yourself, then be my guest."

"What are you doing?" he said with a frown.

"What?"

"With your shirt. What are you doing?"

"Er. Pulling it…down—back…down?"

"Hum." He grabbed the hem and stripped it off. Rolled over to lie on top of her so that she could feel him, hard and urgent, against her swollen labia. That they were both in their underwear barely mattered, and her breath caught in her throat.

"I haven't even gotten to the part where I fuck you yet," he said. Then he pulled back, his face a mask of concern. "Unless you're too tired. We haven't slept in—I don't know. A year."

"At least," she said. "Maybe two."

She shifted beneath him and he groaned. Her hand drifted down to free him from his boxers. He shoved her panties aside—again, and it was no less a turn on the second time—and plunged into her. He hooked her legs over his arms, but his eyes stayed steady on her face, searching for clues that she was okay. Better than okay.

She grabbed his head and pulled him down to kiss her, a hard melding of lip on lip that made them both wince even as they moaned into each other's mouths.

"Fuck, baby," he whispered. "Fuck holy shit—"

"No," she said.

He grinned. "Olivia," he gasped. "Liv, Livvie, baby, sweetheart, Liv, mine!" He bit the side of her neck, not hard enough to leave a mark but just enough for her to feel it. She kissed his shoulder and rolled her hips against him with every thrust.

"Babe, not sure I—"

"Doesn't matter," she said.

"But I want you—"

"Not about me," she murmured as she ran a hand down his back. "Not this time. It's okay, Juicy. It's good. Come for me, baby."

He pressed his face into the curve of her shoulder. He jerked against her, pushing deep, and she squeezed him with her slick wet cunt. He let out a strangled moan and she felt his cock pulse inside her.

"Yes, baby," she breathed. "Ortiz, Juice, Juicy, yes!"

He whimpered her name again and again as he came, and when he was finally spent he fell against her (carefully) with a shudder.

"I'm sorry," he said when he could speak again. "I should've waited."

"I told you to come, babe. I wanted you to."

"Yeah?" he said, a smile tugging at his mouth.

She kissed the pad of her thumb and brushed it over the split in his lip. "Yeah. Not sure I could have again anyway, after that first one."

His expression turned thoughtful. "Part of me wants to take that as a challenge."

She groaned and pushed him off her. "You are way too energetic for someone who's slept like five hours of the last thirty-six."

He laughed and pulled her against him. He went quiet and still, and after a few minutes she poked him. "Still with me over there?"

"Yup. I was just thinking."

"Hhmm," she said. Her voice was getting sleepy even as she spoke. "About what?"

He hesitated. She opened one eye to pin him with a look. "Do you think it's weird that any time something scary or bad happens, we…"

"Fuck like bunnies?" she supplied when he trailed off.

"Uh huh."

She ran a finger down his chest and tilted her head as she mulled it over. "No, I really don't. We live scary lives, Juice. It's like the entire world is out to kill or hurt us, and the only time we're really safe is when we're together. And—" She blushed a little.

"What?" he said, intrigued.

"Um." Her hand fluttered. "Just, I mean. For me it's easier to show you how I feel by…touching you. Words are hard for me. I've never been that great at them. But with you, sex is easy. I don't mean—" She rolled her eyes a little. "I don't mean cheap. I just mean we've always been good together that way, even when we weren't good together any other way."

"I was thinking that earlier," he said.

"People express love a lot of different ways. For us, it's through sex. And, you know, it's more than just sex. It's trust and communication and all that bullshit that's important in a relationship."

He had to laugh at the way she said it. It amused him sometimes how horrified she was at the idea of a relationship. He wondered how she'd react when she realized that she'd agreed to be his wife, and that he was going to be her husband.

He decided not to remind her of that just now. "I love you, Liv," he said.

"Mmmm," she murmured. "Love you too, Juan Carlos."

He long-armed it across her body to get the light and curled up around her. As he drifted off he reminded himself to show her the bit of t-shirt he'd sewn into his cut. The look on her face would be worth any grumpiness over him cutting the damn thing up.

He fell asleep with a smile, comforted by the warm feel of her body against him and the soothing sound of her breath as she slept.

I finished this chapter at about 11am yesterday (Sunday), and it's really ironic considering some things that followed.