A/N: Many thanks to SuperVikinggirl. I'm glad you found this story again. Believe it or not, seeing your August 2014 review of Chapter 4 was one of the things that inspired me to finish this one… and we're getting close.

Never underestimate the power of a comment to help inspire a writer to continue… even if it takes a time.

Unbetaed, all mistakes are mine.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural.

Chapter Nine: For The First Time

They say you only get one first time with a new lover. That things can only be brand new once and there's no going back. But they're wrong... at least in my case. Because Sam Winchester and I had two...

We didn't have sex that night. After soaping each other up, we stood under the spray and Sam held me until my eyes grew heavy. He kissed me softly and tucked me into bed, lying beside me until I fell asleep. The next morning we left.

Two days later, we haven't talked about it. I'm not sure we really need to. He's still skittish about being the one with me and I'm still convinced it's the best thing for the both of us. The difference is he's settled in. If it wasn't for the demon, I could almost convince myself we were a normal couple on a road trip - the cover everyone we run into is lead to believe.

I'm leaning against the front of the Jeep when he comes out of the motel office at today's stop. He looks at me with those gorgeous blue-green eyes and I drown in the undercurrent of emotion I see in them. He worries his lower lip, his adam's apple bobbing nervously.

Reaching out, I take his hand in mine and he stares down our joined fingers. "Hey," I say softly, tilting his gaze back to meet mine. "What's with the long face? You look like someone just kicked your puppy."

His chest rises and falls as he takes a deep breath, releasing it on a sigh. "They only have one room left," he answers.

I nod. We'd passed a number of signs boasting a big family reunion and this wasn't exactly the big city. It was perhaps even smaller than my hometown. Not to mention I knew he wasn't going to let me out of his sight given what's already happened. My brow arched, I wait for him to elaborate. "Okay, and..."

"It's the honeymoon suite," his tone is as dry as stale bread.

I'm struggling to see how this is a problem. We've been stuck like glue for over a week now. We've shared motel rooms and kisses, we've even showered together. Then it hits me like a proverbial ton of bricks...

"One bed," we say in unison. Up to this point, sharing a bed has been temporary. Though he's sat with me until I felt safe enough to close my eyes, he doesn't stay. He's afraid of what his nightmares might make him do even if I'm not.

We grab our bags and carry things into the room. It's garishly decorated like a homemade valentine card with ruffles and lace. The comforter is red and the sheets appear to be pink. They aren't true pink though. It's more a pink that says they got thrown in the wash with the blanket by mistake. The carpeting is a white and burgundy berber, graying with age and there's a faux privacy wall constructed of metallic cookie cutter hearts. It's like something out of a bad 80's sitcom or romantic comedy.

I watch as Sam lines the windows and doors with rock salt before stashing weapons at various access points. He busies himself with everything he can think to do, clearly avoiding his fear for as long as possible.

"I...um..." he begins hooking a thumb over his shoulder toward the door. "I think I saw a diner a couple miles back. Are you hungry? I could..."

Sitting on the bed, I motion for him to sit next to me. Things won't get better until we acknowledge them. "Come on, Sam," I tease. "You know I won't bite." When he flinches, I realize the error of my words. "I'm sorry, I..."

He shakes his head and takes off his jacket. When he joins me I giggle lightly. "How about this room, huh?" We settle side by side on our backs and stare at the ceiling. "At least there aren't any mirrors, right? That would just be..."

"Yeah," Sam chuckles. "I've stayed in rooms like that. It's... um... different."

"Before this trip, I'd really only been away from home once," I confess. "Well, other than college that is."

I know he's traveled a lot - and not because he wanted to. He lets me ramble about the farm and the stars. He tells me a little bit about his brother and some of the few good times they've had, like stargazing from the hood of the Impala on clear nights and singing classic rock with the windows down. We talk about everything and nothing. Without fail, he makes me feel safe.

After a while, the weight of his big hand swallows mine and we turn to look at each other. His voice a deep and velvet caress, he says, "I think I'd miss you even if we'd never met."

I roll towards him, my free hand sliding across his jaw. His nostrils flare slightly and it reminds me of the horse I had as a child. He's scared. Of what I'm not entirely sure, but the stiff posture and the way he breathes gives it away. I stare at his mouth, inching closer until my lips brush over his. He practically moans at the contact.

I keep it slow and soft. A series of tiny, feathered kisses are the most we've shared since the night of the last attack. He melts like chocolate against my mouth and I sigh at the gentle flick of his tongue skimming across my lower lip. His fingers curl around my hip and it's my turn to whimper. "Sam..."

"Halley..." The way he says my name. The shade of his eyes as he looks at me. I can almost see the wall going up between us.

"Who are you protecting?" I ask softly. His fingers flex, tightening around me, and for a moment I think he's going to push me away. But I won't let him. I can't let him. He's done nothing wrong.

I watch his eyes close tightly. Pain laces into his voice when he speaks. "You. I hurt you. More than once," he answers. "I don't want to do it again."

My heart splinters. The man I'm with now isn't the man I was with a year ago. I trust that. I wouldn't be here, with him, if I didn't. I wouldn't let him get this close to me. And what happened the other night? He was asleep and I got too close. "Sam," I plead. "Look at me..."

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, trying to pull his hands away and release me.

"No," I say firmly, holding him in place. His eyes find mine and I know I have his attention as I nibble at my lower lip. "Do you trust me?"

He nods and I loosen my grip. "You aren't that guy, Sam," I tell him. "Not anymore."

His fear is palpable. He's rigid and still. It's as though he doesn't trust himself. I laugh uncomfortably, desperate to break the growing tension. If he was going to take advantage, wouldn't he have done it in the shower? Hell, if he had, I wouldn't have stopped him.

"How much do you remember?" I prod.

When he doesn't answer, I search his eyes. They're filled with sadness and regret. I know he remembers and that guilt holds him back. I set out on a path to prove my point. "Sure," I admit, caressing his cheek. "You have the same face."

His breath hitches ever so slightly. He thinks I see the monster he was when we met, but he's wrong. I don't. Not at all. That's actually what struck me the most when he came to the hospital. He carries himself differently. And that grin? The shy way it carves dimples into his cheeks?

"But your features are different." I trace over his eyebrows and down to his mouth. "For one, his smile was predatory. Yours shines like the stained glass windows in Dad's church. It lights your entire face."

Leaning in, I kiss him. My lips drift over his and I feel the wall start to crumble. "And you're a much better kisser..."

"You talk like I'm a different person, but it was still me, Hal..." he says huskily. The sound of his voice - that he's breathless like me - causes warmth to spread through my body.

"Was it though, Sam?" I ask, my brow furrowing. Moving his hand from my waist to the row of buttons on my shirt, I maintain eye contact. "Because it feels different when you touch me..."

"Halley..." he growls. His tone is one of warning, but I know what I'm getting myself into. I'm not afraid. Guiding his fingers, I help him slip the first two disks from their holes. "We should stop..."

I shake my head. "No, Sam," I answer breathlessly, "We really shouldn't..."

His mouth is on mine. The weight of this kiss is heavy. It's not driven by lust. It's filled with tenderness. Rather than forceful, it's reverent and gentle. I can taste the difference.

With clumsy hands, he carefully works the rest of the fastenings on my blouse. I purr softly into his mouth when his fingers brush over the bare skin of my side. The delicate way he touches me is maddening... and a far cry from the grabbing way he pawed at me before.

Needing to feel his skin, I sit up and tug his t-shirt out of the way. I go willingly when he pulls me into his lap, wrapping my arms around his neck. He kisses me - really kisses me - and I feel my limbs turn to Jell-O.

His fingers pluck at my rubber band and loosen my braid. They comb through my hair gingerly and he pushes it aside to run his lips along my neck. I arch into his affection, dropping my head against his broad shoulder as my hands explore his chest.

I feel his hands slide over my denim-clad thighs, guiding them around his waist. His eyes seek mine and he cups my face with both hands. "I need you to promise me something," he says as we both struggle to breathe. "Promise you'll tell me to stop if..."

I peck at his lips quickly before giving my answer. "I promise."

His fingers tangle in my hair and his face grows serious. "I mean it, Halley," he tells me. "I'll stop. I want you but I'll stop. At any point."

I nod, my hands rubbing his neck, "I know."

Standing, Sam turns and places a knee on the bed. He lowers us both, stopping to hover over me. "You're beautiful," he says.

I sit up, attempting to shrug out of my shirt only to have Sam's hands land on my shoulders. I find myself lost in the way he licks his lower lip. His voice is dark and rich, like my favorite coffee. It's as seductive as the smoldering heat in his eyes. "I want to undress you."

And he does. Both of us. My shirt, my jeans. His pants. Until the only thing remaining is our underwear. His hands and mouth drive me wild as they pepper my skin in light touches and kisses. I squirm feverishly beneath him as he moves at an agonizingly slow pace. When I arc against him, he slips a hand behind my back and unhooks my bra. I realize we're wearing far less clothing than we did the first time and what's left is dwindling.

Sam's fingers fan over my breasts and down my abdomen. His tongue dances across my lips and against my own as his hand dips lower and lower until it finds its way into my panties. I blush like a teenager knowing he's about to find me embarrassingly wet.

If it was possible to come undone just from a look, the one he gives me now would do it. The shy smile as he takes the last article of my clothing - the way his eyes sparkle even in the dim light - takes my breath away. It makes me shudder in anticipation of what's to come.

I gulp, unable to tear my eyes from his as he stills my hands to keep me from touching him. I whimper in protest. His warm mouth fastens to my left breast and he flattens his tongue against my nipple in a slow lick before trailing kisses to the right. I bite my lip, unable to hold back a moan. He inches down my body, kissing and stroking.

My skin feels like it's on fire. I know I'm inexperienced when it comes to men, but I've never been touched the way Sam touches me. I've never been kissed so intimately. The way his fingers and tongue work me over - the texture of his lips there - makes me want to scream and cry out his name. I struggle to remain quiet, work not to pull him closer as he devours me.

I feel a deep blush staining my cheeks when he makes his way up to my mouth. He kisses me, touching my face as he hitches one of my thighs around his waist. "You okay?" he whispers.

My mouth feels like it's filled with cotton and I nod at him wide-eyed. He shifts slightly and I bite back a moan. What he says to me next makes my blood pound and my breathing more rapid.

"Don't hold back, Hal," he gasps against my ear. "Let go..."

He fills me, moving in slow, even strokes. I can feel the tension in his muscles as I cling to him, my fingernails scraping lightly down his spine. Our bodies are misted in a fine sheen of sweat. It's sticky and delicious. I feel... whole. Like a part of me that's been missing is falling into place.

"Sam!" I cry out his name and his grip on me changes. Suddenly, I'm above him, resting in his lap as he cradles me against his chest. The sensation is almost too much. When I'm not sure I can take any more, he rolls my hips into his and hits a spot I didn't know was there.

"Oh, God..." the voice that escapes me is not my own. It's low and wanton, roughened by untold pleasure. "Oh, God, Sam... yes..."

I feel his tongue lapping at my throat and I run my hands over his shoulders and his back. I cling to him, climbing higher and higher before crashing into the abyss. My lips find his ear and I tug his lobe gently with my teeth. "Let go," I whisper, repeating his words back to him. "Don't hold back..."

Flipping our positions, he presses me into the mattress all over again. He grunts when I tilt my hips, changing the angle of his thrusts. "Halley," he moans, his forehead pressing to mine as his arm tightens around my waist.

He stares down at me, plucking my lips with his as his pace quickens. Our names are lost on each other's lips as we fall together and labor to breathe.

Sam eases onto his back, pulling me to rest against his chest as he brushes his fingers over my hip. I shiver, my body still quaking with pleasure, and giggle when Sam interprets that I'm cold and pulls the blanket around me. I stretch next to him, snuggling into his embrace. "I feel yummy," I mumble.

He grins at me, tucking my hair behind my ear as he leans in for a kiss as we both laugh. "You are yummy," he answers.

I blush. He makes me feel... beautiful.

"Still think you aren't different?" I ask, my fingers tracing over his tattoo as I turn my eyes up to meet his. "Because I wouldn't mind trying to convince you..."

And I did. Several times that night. Or maybe he convinced me... not that I needed further proof.

Each kiss, each touch - from the featherlight tips of his fingers to the deep thrust of his hips - lit my world on fire. It solidified that I could never get enough. Of this. Of him. Of us...

A/N: I hope you find this worthy of my original hook. Share your thoughts?