Shaun

Shaun Christie dawdled aimlessly at the keyboard of her computer, rolling her neck in slow circles, unable to focus her thoughts on finishing the demanding task at hand - finishing her dissertation.  Her tapered fingers tapped lightly over the keys, but wrote nothing.  It had been months since she had begun working on it and still she couldn't arrive at a mind set that would carry her through to its completion.  Distracted, vaguely depressed, she sipped a glass of fine cognac, gave up, and let her mind wander where it wanted to go.

She thought of her past relationship with Nick, colleague, beloved ex-lover, and now friend.  There had been no one in her heart since Nick, but that had been two years ago.  Many dates, many friends, many social occasions, but nothing reached her inner core.  Her tenure as an English professor at a North Eastern University in Massachusetts was going well.  She was held in high esteem, respected, admired and was rumored to be brilliant not only in her field, but in many areas.  So why couldn't she get her dissertation done?  At thirty one she was still young enough to change careers if she chose.  Why was she thinking of changing?  Was she unhappy, dissatisfied?  What did she lack?  She sipped more wine and lit a cigarette, a habit she was trying to break.  "What the bloody hell do I want?" she wondered out loud. Sighing, she rose from the desk and peered out of her apartment window at the setting sun over the Charles River, the pink light spilling over her face, warming her skin.

She was beautiful in the classical sense, with a heart shaped face, roses and cream complexion, stunningly direct, intelligent, crystal green-blue eyes framed by heavy lashes, long, shimmering chestnut hair and a full mobile mouth with a dimple in her cheek when she smiled.  She overwhelmed most men when they first met her, but her disarming natural charm and outgoing manner put people at ease quickly and she proved to be more than approachable, despite her striking looks.  She had many dear friends and was a success in any area she attempted, so why was she so restless and unsettled lately?  Why was she toying with the idea of changing careers after all the work she had put into becoming entrenched at the university?

She thought of her parents and their long dedicated careers in law enforcement and almost without another thought, suddenly made the decision to join the FBI and follow in their footsteps.  They would heartily disapprove, she was certain, but her mind was off and running with a decision suddenly made to apply to the FBI Academy at Quantico, Virginia. She stood at the window for a long time, with the waning sunlight reflecting in her eyes, drinking her wine and contemplating some radical plans to dramatically change her life.  With her usual headstrong spontaneity she suddenly felt an electrified charge of positive energy - a feeling, no, a knowledge, that her searching spirit had been granted its ultimate answer.

She awoke early the next morning and started on the beginning of the rest of her life.  She applied to the FBI Academy, was accepted, and trained like a Marine for the next year.  With great enthusiasm she happily began her new career as a rookie agent in San Francisco, working with a crew of raunchy, salty,  long time veteran agents who gave her an absurdly hard time, albeit good naturedly, every chance they got. 

The extraordinary new changes in her life brought an exuberant excitement and adventurous experiences that propelled her out of bed every morning, ready to take a bite out of crime with gusto.  She felt alive, energized, useful, needed, vital.  However, underneath it all, when she was all alone, when she stopped long enough to be truly honest with herself, or when she was having a few drinks at The Office, a favorite watering hole of the gang, her underlying loneliness often penetrated her attempts to really relax, to enjoy herself.  This sense of waiting for something, anything, grew stronger as time went on, and manifested itself in taut nerves, increased smoking, an alert watchful demeanor and a sense of readiness - but for what?    

Zack

She saw him for the first time at one of  their early morning briefing sessions at headquarters - federal agent, Zack Grant - assigned to this latest case because of his particular talents.  His formidable reputation preceded him, as she had heard much about him since arriving at her present duty station.  He was a widower at a young age, having lost his wife in childbirth.  He never dated, his life revolving around his work, he was said to be a workaholic, and his seven year old son, Eric.  He was popular and much admired by his fellow agents, whip-smart, fair, intense, loyal, bold and headstrong, with an irascible, irreverent nature, a disgruntled-bordering-on-rude manner, a totally no bullshit personality, with a mouth to match, and an extremely dry wit.  He was seldom wrong, and let people know it without a trace of humility. He was a handful, a force to be reckoned with and did not suffer fools lightly.  It took a large man to live up to this formidable reputation and he appeared to handle it with comfortable aplomb.  

He entered the room late and noisily, after the proceedings had begun and as they were discussing their latest case.  He appeared distracted and preoccupied, unapologetic for disturbing the room, slightly rumpled blue oxford shirt and jeans, under a distressed black leather jacket, brushing long ruffled chestnut hair out of his handsome face with both hands, and looking like a thundercloud.  The air around him fairly crackled with the force of his presence and personality. 

Looking up from her note writing, at the sounds of his entrance and her first sight of him, Shaun's eyes flew wide open.  She ceased to breathe, her pencil stilled over her pad, fixated in total fascination, instantly devastated.  The moment freeze-framed in her mind.  There seemed to be a light around him.  He was perfection.  With his leonine grace and edgy alpha male masculinity, he owned the room upon entering it.  Heads turned and nods of acknowledgement were exchanged with his team.  She perceived his angry, dangerous mood and craved to know more about it, and him.  She didn't wonder what has upset him, it didn't matter.  It could be as simple as his son getting in trouble at school, or something far more complicated.  She only knew it was as if he was magnetized and she was being pulled into his aura, unable to resist it.  With a sudden and rare clarity, she knew why she was there.

Her previous interest and ability to concentrate on the subject matter of the meeting was severely impacted and compromised by his presence.  It was a physical effort not to look at him, his clear, sea-colored, heated eyes with their upside down eyebrows.  She kept jotting things in her notebook that made absolutely no sense just so she wouldn't appear to be as absurdly distracted and dazed as she was.   Then he spoke.  His voice was like honeyed whiskey, smoke-deep, resonant and rumbling.  Shivers went down her spine as she actually sensed how it would have felt to have him whisper in her ear in that velvety voice.  She did not hear what he said, only how he sounded.  Panicky, she strove to regroup and concentrate on the proceedings.  His eyes moved slowly around the room, taking everything in, and then he looked over at her, their eyes holding for a longer than normal moment.  He nodded imperceptibly and returned his gaze to the speaker at the front of the room.  Warning lights went off in her head.  "Get a fucking grip!" she reprimanded herself.  She felt like a teenager at a rock concert.   What she couldn't know is that he had seen her more clearly than he had ever seen anyone in his life. 

The Case 

The essence of the briefing involved several instances of violent sadistic assault on what were essentially prostitutes, or perhaps students, supplementing their tuitions by turning a few tricks.  There were complaints of stalking and telephoned threats of further dangerous behavior by an anonymous skinhead rapist.  He terrorized the local university area, surrounding parks, recreational areas, and yet no one seemed to know exactly who he was, where he came from, or where he was likely to strike next.  FBI was involved because the local police were in great need of further assistance to successfully bring him down.  It was priority one that a plan be devised and utilized, and quickly.

Shaun heard these reports and the teams' planned strategy to use a decoy to lure the criminal's to approach and possibly engage an agent disguised as a working girl, to lure him into the open.  She saw this as the perfect opportunity to volunteer for something close to her own experience of being stalked at one time by a fanatical admirer while in college.

That night the team members gathered at The Office for a few drinks and discussed this strategy in depth.  Zack was nursing a beer, laying out his ideas, and generally running the show.  Shaun sat across the table from him and, as usual, tried to present as casual but serious.  She met his eyes as he spoke and could swear a flash of light momentarily blinded her.  His gaze was riveting, but he was sounding focused and all business, so she convinced herself it was her fevered imagination, as always.  It seemed to her that every time they met, in the hallways, in the car park, in the lunch room surrounded by colleagues, convulsing in laughter over some story, snappy dialogue or bawdy humor, wherever, their eye contact was always laden with impact.  In any case, it was to her. 

For his part, when faced with the sudden vision of her approaching him - down the halls with her graceful stride, swinging long legs out of her little BMW in the parking garage, or sitting in the office busily jotting in her little notebook, or lounging serenely at the bar, looking like some ethereal goddess  Zack always managed to be consistently courteous, careful not to be  exclusively attentive to her.  He was, as always, in total command of himself, letting nothing be shown that he chose to conceal.  He was curt in his conversations, as if always in a hurry to be off somewhere else.  He was hiding the reality that he was running scared for the first time in his life and didn't know how to handle it.  This new face, this bright light, this incredible woman suddenly thrust into his life was all but destroying his finely honed edge, his total ability to focus on is work, and his peace of mind.

As the smoke from his cigarette curled around his head, he took sips of his beer and talked about the case and his ideas.  She listened intently, learned, plotted her own strategy, and decided to offer herself as the lure.  She decided she would tell Zack in the morning, erroneously convinced he would quickly accept her offer and be proud of her.

Rejection with Bias

It was crucially important that she present herself appropriately to him with this offer of becoming the bait in the operation.  He must take her intentions seriously. She tore through her closet, the next morning, trying on a variety of outfits as she attempted to choose clothing that sent the message she was strong, confident, competent, sexy but not obvious.  In her heart she knew her decision to do this - to offer herself in this way - was not because of her attraction to him but because she believed in what was trying to be accomplished.  She wanted to do her part.  There was a deplorable lack of safety for women in all areas of law enforcement and she wanted to make a difference.  She wore a white collared silk blouse tucked into slim black jeans, a deep burgundy cashmere blazer and low black boots.  Choosing a light woodsy scent as her only concession to sensuality, she put small antique silver hoops in her ears and she kept her hair back with a simple clip and wore neat rimless glasses. 

Feeling as if she was bearding the lion in his den, she breathed in, squared her shoulders, opened his door and faced him before his desk in his office early that morning.   She had to smile inside at his reaction to her sudden appearance in front of him.  He had been perusing a paper intently, cigarette in hand, and chewing on the edges of his coffee cup as he read.  He left it hanging out of his mouth as she stood in front of him, blinking owlishly.

"Morning, Agent Christie.  What can I do for you?" he managed to get out.

She carefully laid out her offer to be the decoy in the upcoming operation after accepting his offer to have a seat and a cup of coffee.  She went on confidently as he didn't stop her.  His eyes, which up to then had been idly surveying the contours of her mouth as she spoke, flew open when the content of her speech sunk in like a slap to the side of his head.  He instantly refused in any way to consider it. He stood up like a shot and came around his desk.

"No way."

"Please, Zack." she reasoned with him.  It's very important to me.  It's really my first chance to do something substantial, something of impact - to prove myself!  I can be what you need in this situation.  Please!  Give me a break! Let me try."  She kept her voice in control, belying the outrage she suddenly felt.  Was she being rejected for being a woman?  For being a rookie?  Or because he felt something for her?  If he did, would he reveal it?

"No!  Absolutely not!  Not a fucking chance!  Out of the fucking question!" he bellowed in her face. At his explosion, her look of first shock, then wondering scrutiny unnerved him and he turned away, lighting another cigarette.  His mind spun suddenly with a myriad of questions.  This reaction was out of the blue; he didn't have time to arm himself.  Would he have been so quick to turn her down had she been someone else?  He was too afraid of anything going wrong, of her being hurt in any way, because.... because ... he didn't want to risk losing ...what?...something he didn't have? ...Someone who was basically a stranger and unknown to him?  Because, if it all went awry, the blame, the responsibility would reflect on him; it might endanger his getting ahead in the FBI if he screwed up again?  Too much, too fucking much!  He needed out, needed to think. No. Not think.  Better not to think about this one.  Just go.

Suddenly his office seemed too small and the room started to close in on him.  He had to get away from her questioning, accusing, disappointed green gaze. 

"Sorry, Shaun.  It's not gonna happen.  No.  Never.   I won't talk about this again." and he left the room quickly.  She was left with swimming eyes and a million questions, but her resolve, if anything, deepened.  She would work with him on this, or she would work on him.  He would accept her.  She would break him down if it was the last thing she ever did.  "Well then," she thought out loud.  "There's not a moment to lose." 

Accepting temporary defeat, she left his office slowly and headed for her own desk, fighting tears of anger and frustrated indignation.  She poured another cup of coffee and sat quietly sipping it and resolved to find him, corner him, attack and over power him with her logic and reasoning prowess.

He, on the other hand, fled the area on an improvised, impromptu mission, escaping all entrapment.  Later that night he returned to headquarters, weighted down with paperwork, and busily attempted to accomplish it without interruption.  Feeling momentarily out of the eye of the storm he knew he would sooner or later face, he hunkered down, pen in hand, and worked until the wee hours. 

At last, exhausted, over-caffeinated, over-nicotined, and drained, he left his office and headed for the parking garage, blinking some moisture into his dry eyes.  Sitting on the hood of his car was Shaun.

"Jesus!" he yelped.  "What the fuck are you doing?  Are you nuts?  It's two a.m.!"

She stared at him intently.  "I know.  I thought you'd never quit hiding in your office and leave for home." she quipped sarcastically.  

"Hiding in my office?  What the fuckin' hell are you raving about?" he roared.  He was too weary for this, too vulnerable.  She wore a tan raincoat belted tightly around her waist and he couldn't help wonder what was under it. 

"Zack, I'm not going to give up on this, you may as well know that."  

"Yeah, well neither am I."  he sounded resolutely final.  She slid slowly off the hood of his car and approached with a deadly level stare.  

"What is it with you, Zack?  Why am I not even being considered for this gig?  I won't even go into the unfairness angle - the discrimination of it.  I want to know, right here, right now, why you're turning me down.  And I want the truth, not your bullshit Zackified version of the truth."

He had to choke down a chuckle.  "Zackified version."  He liked it. "Balls of steel, eh?"  he parried.  Further dissuading her, he continued.  "We're going to go another way.  The bait angle is out of the current plan."

She snorted.  "You're lying through your proverbial teeth." she hissed "And you know it.  Stop fucking grabbing at straws and give it to me straight.  I'm not good enough?  Not experienced enough?  Not 'man' enough?  What?"

Cornered, exposed, he couldn't tell her the truth.  He scrambled for an explanation she would accept or believe.  "Look, I don't like to put my team members in any unnecessary danger.  I'll go another way if I can, and I'd like to do that in this case.  Of course you're good enough, Shaun.  That was never the issue.  I just prefer to go another way."  It sounded reasonable to him.

"There is no other way.  You said so yourself.  I want to do this.  I need to do this.  I want you to accept me."  She stood directly in his face, daring him to do his worst. 

"You don't accept no for an answer very well, do you?" he snapped at her.  

"No better than you do,"  she murmured.  "Please, Zack, reconsider."  She wanted to suck his perfect bow lips into her mouth as he stood percolating with anger in front of her.  She craved it, but she would not resort to manipulation, especially sexual manipulation of him to get her way.  It had to be real.  He had to honestly believe she could be effective.

They stood squared off at each other for a long silent time, reflecting each others' desire in their exchange of stares, doing nothing about it.

His shoulders dropped slowly, he looked exhausted and she felt instant pity for him.  She ached to wrap her arms around him and comfort him, and much more. 

His voice was thick, "Ok, ok, look, we'll discuss it in the morning - later, I mean.  Not now.  Not here, like this."  He looked hungrily at her for a long moment and added softly.  "If this is what you want, have at it." 

The double entendre rocked her into silence.  She smiled slightly, bit off what she wanted to say in return, and nodded.  "Ok.  Fair enough.  Thank you, Zack.  Tomorrow then."  And walked to her car, slinging her bag over her shoulder.  As she drove out of the garage, she waved at him and smiling again, roared off. 

He stood rooted to the spot for a full five minutes and tried to quiet his aching groin.  He was so hard it hurt and he had to readjust himself before he could get into his car.  "She's going to kill me" he muttered into the chill night air.

As she drove home she was super-charged with adrenalin; she really wanted to speed, but as she replayed the scene and her tactics, endlessly in her head, she slowed considerably.   She finally broke him down; then wondered why she took no joy in it.  Their confrontation left so many open-ended questions.  She was unable to sleep when she finally fell into her front door and crawled up the stairs and into bed.  She told herself that tomorrow is another day.  She decided to allow him to be the leader and tell her, from this point on, what to do and how to do it.  She trusted him and now she knew, there was something more between them than a mutual physical attraction.  He was hiding it well, but she knew he cared.  For now, however, it was on with the business at hand. 

Over the next few days the situation became more critical.  The word from upstairs was - we need results, and quick.  Heads would roll if this one slipped from under their feet.  Shaun saw her chance.  At briefing she raised the question of entrapment; the women were all prostitutes working a known patch of the city.  He had a taste for redheads.  She could wear a wig and draw him out.  If he made a move, used the same MO - they had him.  It was dangerous but what choice did they have? 

Zack kicked over a desk and walked out; his senior officer told him the decision had been taken.  Agent Christie had volunteered and they were going for it.  He had had time to reconsider her brave offer and had once again decided against involving her.  He had not yet, officially informed her of this decision; having his nuts chewed off not being high on his priority list at the moment, so he was doubly pissed off by the decision of his seniors.

"Count me out."

"Are you crazy?  You'd send a partner in alone?"

"Fuck you ... you can't ask a woman to do that..."

"That so?  I'm a woman.  I'm your boss.  You think women in the Bureau are just here to make you coffee?  Decorate the office?  Fuck you, Zack..."

"You know what happened last time...!"

"Then make sure it doesn't happen this time...and that's an order.  You fuck with me again, Zack, and it will be you who is working the coffee machines.  Got that?"

The plan was simple.  Shaun, dressed up to look like a 'working girl' would hang about the streets, tout for business.  This guy would make his tastes known.  If he mentioned any of the fetishes that the dead women had been involved in then she was to accept.  If some John just wanted straight sex or a blow job, she was to quote an unreasonable price and get rid of him.  They would be within range at all times; they would either move in if they heard what they needed or if she gave any audible sign that she was calling it off.

Zack wandered in while an assistant was preparing her, applying makeup flawlessly.  He watched for a while and then launched into his patter, business-like, informal, his emotions well in check.  But beneath his gruff professionalism, he was transparent; his briefing was unnecessary, taking her over ground already covered time and time again, fussing, examining her outfit, constantly warning her that she must not take any unnecessary risks.

Shaun listened until he was finished and then gently reminded him that this was why was became a government agent; if she couldn't do this then she had no place in the game.

"I need to do this, Zack.  I need to prove myself.  This is what all the training was about.  I won't let you down."

"You don't have to do this.  You can still say no..."

"I volunteered, Zack.  I can do this."  She leant over him as he knelt before her, retrieving a dropped earring.  She tilted his face to hers.  One look in his eyes and she read his real fear; she knew what he had been hiding from the start.

Her fingers fisted into his thick hair; she dipped down and pulled is head to her.  As her lips opened, she kissed him: hot, quick, hungry.  Then she broke the kiss as suddenly as she had grabbed him.  "I'll be fine," she whispered in his ear.   

Quiet laughter erupted from the other agents in the room; Zack struggled to maintain some semblance of control.  He wiped his mouth to remove the smear of red on the back of his hand and announced brusquely.  "Ok, looks like we're on.  Re-do her lips."

After hours of seemingly fruitless hanging about, the end, when it came, was fast, furious and unexpectedly violent.  The car stopped, the pulled her in; there was no time for her to quote a price.  Shaun played her part, arguing, foulmouthed, silenced by an elbow in her face and the knife he produced.  He drove a few blocks and then down to a deserted factory lot.  She tried to run; he caught her, threw her against a wall and held the knife to her throat.

He liked to talk.  Told her about the women he had already done; the details alone were enough to convict him; no one but the real killer would have known.  And then he told her something else and she knew she had no choice.  He said he wanted to watch her bleed out first.  There was no time to wait for the cavalry.  With a shout, "NOW!" she raised her knee, caught him full in the groin and pulled out the concealed gun.

It was instinctive, fear driving her.  She took aim and shot.  He went down.  She had shot a man.  Freezing, the gun in her hand, she stared at the prone body sprawled out in the dark compound writhing in pain.  Someone was screaming, police sirens pierced the night.

Zack leapt from the care before it had stopped, raced to where she was and found her standing there white as a sheet; he pries the gun from her frozen fingers.  She was in deep shock.  He took her gently by the upper arms and shook her.

"Is he dead?  Is he dead? Is he dead?" she kept chanting, like a mantra.

"Shaun, honey...can you hear me?  It's Grant.  It's ok.  He's not dead, but you put a real hurtin' on him.  You did good, sweetheart!  We got him.  Baby, we got him..."

For long moments, he shook her again, she did not respond.  He touched her face, stared into her eyes.  "Shaun!  It's me!  It's Zack!  Come back!  Please..."

He saw her blink and her eyes recognized him, sought his own - and then she swayed into his body and collapsed.  

The rest of the night was a blur for her as she allowed Zack to take control, lead them back to headquarters, guide her around, directing her every move, what she said, what she stated happened, handing her cup after cup of hot black coffee to keep her focused. 

She knew that night that she was not in the right field, after all, but didn't analyze it further for the time being.  Zack looked at her closely, concern written all over his face.  She looked drawn, depleted, shattered, but somehow stubbornly reluctant to give in to it.  When all was done, he offered to drive her home for some much needed rest.  She said no, she could drive herself.

He simply said, "The fuck you will." And with his arm protectively around her, he led her out to his car and put her inside, stealing worried glances over at her from time to time.  After a while she appeared to relax and leaned her head against his shoulder, her eyes closed.  She had never told him where she lived, but somehow he pulled up in front of her house as rain started to pour down onto the windshield from the giant tree which graced the front of her property.  It didn't occur to her until later to wonder how he knew.

She opened her eyes, surprised to find herself at her front door, and looked up at him.  He looked so concerned, she couldn't help but smile.

"I'm ok, Zack.  Really.  Just too much of a rookie for tonight's gig, I guess."  He smiled softly and brushed a strand of hair off her cheek, "You were great.  No one should be ready for a gig like that..."  There was a long silence as they appraised each other questioningly.  His eyebrows drew together in a line as he took his time and formulated a question.

"Shaun......what was that before...?"  

She looked confused.   "What do you mean?"

"That ...kiss...at the stakeout before we set out."  She nodded slowly, staring at his perfect mouth.  Her voice was husky and slow. "Oh, yes, that ... Well, I didn't know how it was all going to go down, or if I'd ever see you again, and I was just saying goodbye, in my own way I guess, in case something happened.  It was a spontaneous thing.  I'm sorry if I upset you."  

"I'm not upset." he stated.

She scanned his eyes for clues.  "What then?"  She asked.  He leaned closer, staring at her mouth.  "I just thought we might, y'know, try it again.. Sort of 'hello' this time..."  

"Oh...!"  She nodded, as if drugged, and smiled slowly.  "Yes.  Yes, I think we might."  The heat between them was steaming the windshield as he took her mouth slowly into his, one lip at a time, his tongue tracing, savoring her incredible taste, before devouring her completely in a, searing kiss.  They hesitated, resisting the sudden passion for a breath, then at the same moment both dispensed with all pretense and leaned together in a tightly perfect fit, hungrily feasting on each other as if ravenous.  Moans escaped their mouths as their kiss deepened; their hands stroked and caressed, and all breathing became labored. 

Suddenly Zack's cell phone rang.  For an instant he thought about ignoring it and kept on kissing her until finally he gasped, "Fuck!  Fuck!  I'm sorry....." he nibbled at her lower lip.

"I know, I know." she assured him, running her hands over his softly bearded cheeks, smoothing his hair from his brow.  

Barking viciously into the phone: "Yeah! What?"he took the call without an iota of politeness, then mumbled, "Yeah, right, be right there..." and clicked off angrily.  Turning to her, regret registering strongly in his eyes, he took her face in his hands and kissed her deeply again, apologizing against her lips, "I'm sorry, Shaun.  I have to go." 

"I know." she sighed mournfully. 

"Rain check?" he whispered.  

Her eyes filled with tears, "Oh yes, please."

Once inside the privacy of her home she collapsed on the couch and cried like a child, dropping her head onto her knees and sobbing.  Leaving him like that was the hardest thing she ever had to do and she had had to do it gracefully so he wouldn't know how devastated she really was.  He couldn't know how desperately she craved him, how her body ached for his.  Before tonight she had wanted him - after the terror of the episode a stronger urge possessed her, some sort of affirmation that she was alive and there were still good men out there.  She was wet with her need and squeezed her knees together as if in pain.  She knew he was dedicated to his work and he had to do what he did, but that knowledge did nothing to ease her.  Curling up on the couch, covering herself with a down comforter, she fell into an exhausted, dreamless, coma-like sleep.

Hours later, the rain still pelting against the darkened windows, she awoke to the sound of rapping on her front door.  Disoriented, she sat up and looked at the clock on the mantel.  "Two-thirty!!  Who the hell would be calling at this hour?" 

She stumbled to the door, anxiety curdling in her stomach - and saw through the side glass panel, a wet, bedraggled, exhausted looking Zack, peering back at her.  Her heart leaped into her throat and she whipped open the door, the rain blowing into her face. 

"Zack! Are you ok?" 

"Yeah, pretty wet though.  Can I come in?"  

She grabbed him by the lapel of his leather jacket and drew him inside, closing the door behind him.  He started to apologize for the lateness of the hour, telling her details of the job he just left, and she listened without hearing, only silently rejoicing at the sight of him standing in her foyer, dripping wet and utterly delicious, rambling and nervous, embarrassed and unsure.  She covered his mouth with her hand and nodded, placing her forehead against his.  "It's ok, I wasn't sleeping."

"Liar." he smiled, brushing her hair out of her eyes.  "Your hair's all mussed and you're all warm and soft like you were under a blanket, and ....." His voice became gravelly with need as he grabbed her suddenly and kissed her hotly, craving the feel of her supple warm body against his.  His cock grew instantly, painfully hard.  She started to take his jacket off, then his shirt, reaching for his belt as he took her shirt off over her head and slipped her jeans down over her hips.  Clumsily but efficiently they tore each others clothes off as he murmured into her hair and neck.  

"I had to come back, I had to see you, Shaun.  I didn't mean to be so late.  I couldn't stand it anymore..."  

She silenced him with kisses as they sank to the carpet on the floor in front of the couch she had been sleeping on.  His hands smoothly moved over the silk of her skin, cupping her breast and massaging her erect nipples into  frenzied peaks of sensation.  She slid his jeans down his powerful, athletic legs, kissing his skin as she bared it.  He gasped, his breath hissing as she nuzzled into his groin, licking and gently nipping his impressive erect flesh. 

"Ah, God, Shaun, I'm dying here!"  

"Want to go upstairs to my bed?" she offered between kisses.  

"No." he moaned quickly, "No... Here... Now... Please."  Wordlessly, she sank down before him, her legs falling apart naturally as he lowered himself on top of her, and with shaking fingers, eased his considerable length inside her.  She swallowed him, adjusting to his girth in her ready wetness.  They moaned and clung to one another, rocking together in a perfect rhythm.  They cried out their mutual ecstasy and wept tears of disbelief at the intensity of their release.  He lay with his head buried in her neck as they shuddered with aftershocks and she stroked his luxuriant hair.

"I didn't mean this to be so fast, Shaun."  He started to explain. 

"It was perfect," she whispered into his hair.  He nodded in agreement, and continued.  "I didn't even come for this.  I knew I couldn't stay.  Eric... that's my son...his baby sitter is already having a cow because it's so late.  I just had to make sure you were alright..."  She studied his eyes, they seemed sincere, but inside she wept at the thought of his leaving again for the second time the same night. She nodded, stroking his cheek, loving the look of him, savoring the feel of him still filling her.  God, she loved this man ... But, she couldn't let him know how she felt, not yet, so she reluctantly allowed him to withdraw from her body, moaning mournfully as he slid out.  He winced with the sensitivity still throbbing in his cock.  This was way harder than either had ever anticipated.  They didn't speak of all the feelings and endearments left unsaid; but they both felt something extraordinary had just happened and were unable to articulate the full impact it had on them.  She complied with his need to go; struggling to remain genial about his sudden exit, and eventually let him out of her house, as graciously as she was able.  

She watched as he pulled away from her drive, feeling acute withdrawal and heartache.  "There is always tomorrow," she told herself as she climbed the stairs to her bedroom and curled up in a fetal position in her bed until daylight.

Into the Desert

The subsequent days turned into weeks; passing in an endless gray haze of unbelievable pain and sense of disbelief.  She was so lost and confused - so hurt she could barely function on any level.  It took all her discipline to get up in the morning and put herself together to face another day at a job she no longer felt enthused about or dedicated to, and Zack's implacable countenance.  He had apparently had second thoughts about their intimate encounter, and decided to totally back off.  He didn't call.  She hadn't thought he would, but never expected the complete shut out she was receiving as time passed.  She wondered miserably if he had merely used her as a one night stand.  Had he thought she just needed a man that night, any man?  Was he wondering if he took advantage of her vulnerability?  She strove to read him for clues, but the real reasons eluded her. 

He ignored her as if she wasn't there.  He never included her in whatever discussion was taking place at work; he was distracted, aloof, alien, even brusque.  If he spoke to her at all it was invariably to do with some aspect of work, as if she was a stranger.  He had clearly decided against any further relationship or collaboration, but his face was suffused with a kind of aggravated quiet anger most of the time, as if attempting to hold her and everyone else at bay.  Her only relief was that he didn't seem happy with his choice; he looked abjectly miserable.  She chose to see this as a positive sign.

In their efforts to avoid one another, they stopped attending the local watering hole where the agents went after hours to relax and unwind.  If they went out with friends, they made sure the other one wasn't around.  They suffered unspeakably, but neither would make a move in the other's direction.  Shaun went back to some of her friends who lived on the west coast in the academic world she was accustomed to prior to joining the bureau, and began to spend time with them, talking, spending hours reading, sketching and generally hibernating. She lived in an agony of regret and she was never so in love in her life. 

After allowing herself to be convinced by her friends that she should go back to singing as a possible release for her feelings,  she went with them to a small blues club they frequented, and she agreed to meet with the manager.  She auditioned for him, he was duly impressed, and they set up an impromptu schedule for her to appear on different nights, as she felt up to it. 

Her voice had a smoky quality and drew a considerable bit of attention to the venue on the nights she sang. Word of mouth drew people who asked her where she had been before, and told her how much they had enjoyed her unique treatment of great blues classics.  With her long lashes closed against the blue stage lights, it was easier than ever to get into the lyrics of the songs she sang.  She felt them as never before and was able to escape into the sadness and depression of the words on a deeper, more personal level.  She drew wild applause at the end of each set.  After some weeks, she became somewhat of a draw and more people frequented the little pub to hear and see her. 

Her haunting beauty added a dimension to the songs and made people feel that she had touched the world she sang about.  If you haven't felt the blues, baby, you couldn't sing 'em.

Word of her after hour activities eventually got back to Zack.  He didn't want to know how she was spending her off time, but he couldn't resist.  He had been living in his own personal hell and, except for Eric, his world was bleak and empty.  Whereas he had accepted this isolation as his fate for several years after Samantha's death, he now found it intolerable.  He found himself snapping at Eric, who would look at him with wounded seven year old eyes and wonder what did he do to make his Dad so upset.  Zack's conscience nagged at him each time this happened, and he would roughly muss the boy's chestnut hair, or pull him into a brief bear hug.

"What's wrong, Zack?"  Eric asked often.  He was used to calling his father by his first name because their relationship, though close, was more of buddies than parent and child.  Zack could never pierce through his fear of becoming too emotionally close to anyone again after Samantha.  What they had together had been so perfect.  He had given her everything he had, and she had left him devastated.  Maybe if he didn't get too close to his son, if he kept him at arm's length, he wouldn't run the risk of losing him, too.  With the wisdom and pure vision of a child, Eric looked into his father's haunted eyes and said quietly one night, 

"Y'know, Zack, you need to get out and get a girl friend."  Zack laughed gruffly, surprised, and nodded his head in agreement against his child's forehead. 

"Y'know, Son, you might be on to something there."

Every Form of Refuge Has Its Price

As his son's prophetic words replayed in his head, he found himself driving through the city one evening after leaving headquarters, looking for the club he heard she sang in.  He had a demanding compulsion just to see her, even from a distance.  She certainly had kept her distance from him so completely, he almost never saw her.  At first he was relieved, realizing what a giant miss-step he had taken by breaking the rules with her so completely, (not that he gave a shit about that); he had broken his own rules by making passionate love to someone again after all this time who was not Sam.  And Shaun had been right.  It had been "perfect."  The guilt of feeling that he had tainted Sam's memory, added to the fear of being again made so vulnerable by his passions ate at him relentlessly, and royally pissed him off.  He found it more bearable to avoid her for awhile to see if his blood would cool down, but he knew it never would, and now he admitted to himself that he yearned for just a glimpse, a jolt to let him know he was still alive.  A look at her would grab him by the balls and not let go.  He craved tactile stimuli but he would settle for visual stimulation.  She would do that for him, he knew, and admit it or not, he wanted it.  He wasn't clear on what else he wanted, but he knew he wanted that physical connection again; ached for it - just to feel alive again.

After a time he found the unpretentious little club and, as darkness closed in around him, he pulled into the parking lot and sat in his car, smoking, pondering the wisdom of what he was about to do.  Her car was in a corner space so he knew she was inside.  He felt like a fool - sitting - a prisoner in his car for so long he had to open the window to let out the smoke.  Calling himself every cowardly asshole name he could think of, he waited some more - until it was very dark, inside and outside the club, and he knew he could sneak in the back and stand there watching her without being detected.  In his worst days, he asked himself sadly, could he be more pathetic? 

Slipping quickly in the side door, he headed for the smoky, hazy back of the small venue and quietly ordered a beer.  He took it to the back wall and looked quickly around in the dim light for any sight of a familiar face.  Luckily, he didn't see one.  There were enough patrons inside that he blended in well, keeping to the shadows like a criminal, waiting and watching.  As he lit a cigarette, he looked over into the corner to the right of the small stage and saw her.  She sat at the table with someone, a man.  She wore some shimmering, pale pink top, with one shoulder exposed.  The force of that vision punched him in the stomach like a line backer.  He literally rocked on his heels with the power of it.  Shaun's eyes were down, she smoked and sipped a glass of white wine, and did not see him.  The man with her talked and smiled and she responded in kind.

It killed him.  He could not bring himself to stay and hear her sing.  He left the club quickly, gasping for air as he hit the outdoors.  What the fuck was the matter with him?  She was eating away at his defenses without the merest effort.  He knew he couldn't keep up this facade for much longer.

However, he saw fit to repeat this penance twice more the following couple of weeks, and listened to her sing with a knife so deeply embedded in his heart he was surprised it wasn't sticking out his back. Her song, one night, was so evocative and haunting it had him pinned with particular interest to the lyrics.

....I know I left too much mess and destruction to come back again
and I cause nothing but trouble, I understand if you can't talk to me again
and if you live by the rules of it's over then I'm sure that that make sense but 

......I will go down with this ship and I won't put my hands up and surrender
There will be no white flag above my door, I'm in love and always will be.      

.....and when we meet, which I'm sure we will
all that was there, will be there still
I'll let it pass, and hold my tongue
and you will think that I've moved on ........ 

Now he knew he was a masochist.  Her voice and her words hit him squarely in the balls and made him physically ill with desire.  He gave up pretending not to be there and stood his ground, staring at her, stunned by the force of his arousal - feasting his eyes on her.

On one of those nights, when she looked up during her song, she saw him, back lit against the open door as someone came in.  She pretended not to have seen him, finished the song breathlessly and quickly left the stage, disappearing like a ghost into the shadowy back area.  He tossed back his beer and left as hurriedly and she had departed the scene.  Driving home was difficult with the mist of tears in his eyes.  What in the name of God was he going to do?  Did he dare risk all again?  He must be sure - certain in his bones - before he could give all of himself again.  He also knew in his soul ... he must have her.

Within the next couple of days he received notification that she was leaving the Bureau; had turned in her resignation.  His first reaction to the news was elation.  He could finally stop worrying about her; on the other hand, he would also no longer see her.

That night he went to The Office with some buddies for a few beers and she was there.  They both froze in mid-step, quickly recovered, and proceeded to their opposite corners.  Laughter from his table assaulted her ears like an insult.  How dare he pretend to be happy?  And she was sure he was pretending.  Impulsively, she tried very hard to get drunk but only relaxed instead.  Halfway through the night she caught him approaching her table, his eyes directly staring into hers, and she found herself actually able to smile at him. 

"Zack.  Hey, how are you?"  Without acknowledging anyone else at her table, he extended his hand in an invitation to dance. She thinking this could not be happening; surely she was hallucinating.  Nevertheless, she took his hand and they walked onto the tiny dance floor, coming together as if they did this every night.  For a time they just moved together slowly, adjusting to the feel of one another, breathing deeply and not speaking.  The music playing was sexy and rhythmic.  It took all her will not to slide her arms up around his neck and bury her face in the sandalwood-fragrance of his neck.  This mutual torture could only last so long before one of them died, so he made the first move.  He pulled his head back and gazed into her face.

"Shaun, I want to talk to you.  Can we go somewhere?"  Her eyes flew to his, her expression guarded, wary.  

"Talk to me?  About what?"  

"Not here," he replied, gesturing with his head to the center of the room.  "Outside."  Now she wasn't sure she was up to this turn of events at all.  All credit to her liberal libations, she had relaxed enough not to bolt and run, but she knew she couldn't risk a 'I want you, but I won't take you' encounter.  Besides, she had come to terms with her decision to leave the FBI and was basically there that night to say goodbye to the people she had come to know and love.  But not him; she could never in reality say goodbye to him; she hadn't expected to see him.  He had been incommunicado for so long. 

Unable to be this close to him for much longer without touching him the way she wanted proved to be too much; she nodded cautiously.  He took her hand, leading her outside into the cool darkness, where they stood by his car.  He lit a cigarette and she took it out of his mouth, taking a drag off it.  He watched, mesmerized, as she drew in the smoke and blew it out slowly in his face.  As she did this she felt herself giving in to a rising resentment and anger.  He wanted to talk?  Ok, she would give him something to talk about. 

"OK, Zack.  I'm here.  What?" 

He suffered conflict on a massive scale; scared shitless of the bubbling fear rising inside him, but was compelled to tell her truth, brutal as it was.  She looked at him quizzically, and began to build her attack.

"What is this, Zack?  You feeling horny tonight?  Thought you'd pay a visit to the sure thing?  I never took you for such a jerk!"

He looked at her, astounded, his chin jutting forward; taking an aggressive stance. 

"Who you calling a jerk?" he snapped back.

"You...the guy who turns up at two in the morning, has a quick fuck and then walks out. 'I'll call you tomorrow, honey'...yeah...well, I'm still waiting.  Look, if it was just a one night stand - then - say so!  Just don't treat me like an embarrassing mistake - you shit!"

"Jesus Christ, Shaun, is that what you think?" he replied.

She forced back the urge to cry.  "What else am I to think?  You think I make a habit of screwing guys who ignore me most of the time and then turn up in the middle of the night...?" 

He continued with gut wrenching effort.  "Shaun, look, I need to tell you a few things; I don't like everything being so unclear." 

"Taken you long enough to reach this decision, hasn't it?"

"Don't be such a ...."

"Such a what, Zack?" she dared him to finish; then added cryptically, "Sorry, agent Grant.  Do go on."   

"Fuck!" he exploded.  "Why did you bother coming out here with me if you're not going to listen?"

"When are you going to say something?" Her eyes were vivid and cold.

"Jesus, you don't make it easy, do you?"

"On the contrary, I think I made everything extremely easy for you," she snarled cynically.  Drawing first blood was getting easier. 

"Don't say that, Shaun.  That's not what I meant."  

"Then say what you meant, Zack.  Fucking spit it out!"  She felt relentless.  Even as she ranted, on some level she understood his acute discomfort, but pitilessly refused to acknowledge it.   

"I never meant to hurt you - but obviously I have..." he stumbled on.

She purred wickedly, "Please. Don't flatter yourself."

He hesitated, the air knocked out of him, smoking furiously.  He paced back and forth like a tiger in a cage; completely undone by her unexpectedly venomous attitude.  He repeatedly ran his hands through his hair as she waited impatiently, mentally tapping her foot.

"Look, Zack.  You're obviously not ready to say whatever it is you think you have to say to me.  Maybe it's better left unsaid."  And she turned from him suddenly, sprinted to her car and leaped inside.  The ignition started so quickly he hadn't time to react.  He stood open-mouthed as she drove up to him, lowering the window as she approached him.  There was ice in her tone as she snapped, "Call me when know what the fuck is on your mind!"  and sped out of the club lot in a spew of gravel.

He had never fully realized the depth of her pain and anger.  It hit him broadside, knocked the wind out of him like a club; but he begrudgingly admired her brass to stand up to him so boldly.  He would wait, bide his time until she got home, but he would confront her again. And this time, by Christ, she would hear him out.  Failure was not part of the plan.  He lit cigarette after cigarette and paced around his car, trying to cool off.   

A New Day at Midnight

She sped into the darkness, aggravated tears streaming from her eyes.  She had waited weeks for a confrontation of some kind with him and had blown it with her impatience.  The irony of it was that she totally understood his inability to articulate his thoughts.  Had she not done such a grand job of it herself? 

"This is demented!" she screamed into the night, feeling more than a little unhinged.  She drove around for a long time, sobbing, hot tears blurring her vision, her heart in shreds.  When she finally arrived home she dragged herself inside and winced at the scene.   Her apartment was in disarray as she had been sorting stuff prior to packing.  She looked around the room discouraged, then slowly started to attempt to neaten it a bit.  She waited, moving things from one place to another absently, trying to calm her churning stomach, convinced his arrival was imminent.  As she saw what was obviously the beginning of her intentions to exit from this current life - his life - a sense of panic began to build.  Could she really leave him, returning to the emptiness of her past?  Did she ever indeed have him?

Slowly she shed her club outfit and drew a hot bath, hoping to find some solace in a long soak.  She indulgently poured a generous amount of fragrant botanical oils into the water and eased her exhausted body into the warm fluid, luxuriating in the sense of floating on an endless cloud of serenity. 

She awoke much later to cool water and a distant feeling of disorientation.  It was late, she had to force herself to get out of the tub and dry off but her limbs were unwilling to move.  Snapping her eyes open, she realized how long she had been soaking, examining her pruned fingers.  Her insides felt as cold as her outsides as she dried her softened skin.  She slipped into soft melon-sherbet colored lounging pajamas, unpinned her long hair and let it down to dry naturally.  She felt hollow and bruised physically and mentally.  Thinking of ways to comfort herself she lit several candles and fixed a cup of hot jasmine tea, settling on the couch to drink it.  She felt totally alone - lost.

When Zack pulled up in her driveway some hours later he could see soft shadowy lights in the apartment windows.   He was unsure if she was still up and paused, nervous despite his intrepid intentions, hating the fact that she could render him so useless.  He had no prepared dialogue, his head was empty of words; but he had to clarify things with her.  She didn't deserve to be punished for his rampaging fear of commitment and love again...

He knocked gently on her door and leaned against the jamb waiting, his collar up, his hair falling over his forehead in a jumble, his eyes wretched.  She came to the side window panel and looked out at him.  They stared through the glass into each others eyes for what seemed an eternity.  He lifted his chin in a gesture of request and she opened the door guardedly without a word.

"Will you talk to me now?" he asked softly, stepping inside.  She kept a comfortable distance from him, but her anger had long ago dissipated; and his eyes reflected a portrait of pain that softened any desire she ever had to be snotty or clever.  She just nodded silently.  He came up close to her and caught her scent - like warm rain on meadow flowers.  He could taste it.

He stared deeply into her eyes; moved closer, his honeyed soft voice whispered, his lips so close to hers.  He began at an even measured pace. 

Shaun, listen to me.  This is not about you.  You are a beautiful woman ... everything a man like me wants ... needs...but I don't want a relationship.  I don't want commitment.  I don't want expectations.  I don't want to call you.  I don't want you to call me.  I don't want to look for you whenever I'm alone.  I don't want to miss you when you're not around ... I don't want you to miss me....  He took a long pause, his voice breaking slightly ... "I don't want to crave kissing you."   He traced the outline of her full lips with his index finger almost absently as he continued his list of undesirables.  "I don't want .... I don't want to want you......" 

At first his words shocked her, though her expression didn't reveal her reaction.   Their stinging effect cut her heart like a razor, but in spite of her own pain, she understood.  What he was desperately trying to say in his confusion was his desire not to repeat the pain of losing love again.  He had lost Samantha, his wife.  She had died.  He couldn't take another traumatizing loss, so he had simply decided not to repeat or relive any of it.  However, his overwhelming physical desire for Shaun and his desperate need for love was driving him to distraction.  The closer he got with her, the further he ran from it.  He wanted her with his whole being, and his two desires were in total conflict. 

Though rocked by his words, she liked his bold directness.  It was refreshing, challenging - brutally honest.  She came up closer to his face, looking at his beautiful soft mouth hungrily, slowly nodded her understanding, trying to soothe him.

"Oh, Zack, I know ... I know ... I see  ...  Really, it's ok." she murmured, breathing into his face.  He felt weak in the knees, barely breathing.  She whispered his mantra back to him, 

"You don't want ....  You don't want ....  You don't want...  I know....  But what about me, Zack?"  She formed the question with her lips barely touching his.  "Do you want me?"  His eyes betrayed him completely.  A tremble shook him and he swayed toward her, whispering imperceptibly, his mouth breathing into hers.  Oh so quietly, he said, "Yes."  His mouth captured first her lower lip, sucking on it gently, as a moan started deep in his throat.  He moved to her the upper lip, drawing it into his mouth softly as he ran his tongue over it, then encompassing her whole mouth with his own, drawing her in like the air he breathed.  "Yes," he sighed resignedly into her open lips, "Yes."  Her world spun as she sighed and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, returning his kiss passionately.  Her vision blurred, her flesh grew hot and she melted into him, into his arousal, pressing as close up against him as she could.  She filled her hands with his silky chestnut hair, "Please, Zack!  I want you so much.  Don't you know that?  Don't be afraid.  Baby, let me love you. I won't hurt you."  He groaned deeply in his throat and lifted her off the floor, holding her up against him as tightly as he could, his strong arms completely enfolding her.  She felt small and safe and cherished.  Never did she want to leave the security she felt in his embrace.  Tears of joy filled her eyes at the intense pleasure she felt at his touch.  In a brief period of time he had become what she was about and there was no turning back, no denying her need.

"I know you're afraid, Zack.  I know why.  Please know I won't do anything to hurt you like you've been hurt in the past."

He pulled back and studied her face and eyes before sweeping her in his arms and stalking into the living room with her and depositing her full length on the couch.  He stretched his long frame over her, covering her totally with his body, never taking his lips from hers.  "Are you sure you want this?" he whispered softly.  She wept her answer, whispering, "I'm sure I want you.  I've never been more sure of anything in my life."  He kissed her passionately, lost in her mouth, and was distracted suddenly as she pushed gently against his chest as she tried to sit up.  His eyes flew open with a concern and slightly annoyed look and he pushed against her, unwilling to move. 

"Not here, baby..." she whispered.  "Come with me..." 

"N-o-o-o-o...!" he struggled against this change in direction.  He was determined to take her right where they were, before she could change her mind.  She succeeded in forcing him up off her and she pulled his resistant form by the hand toward the stairs to her bedroom.  He protested being moved - hung back, but she kissed him all the way up each stair, undressing him systematically - let him undress her, until he was putty in her hands and they were both naked by the time they reached the bedroom.  He attempted to lift her into his arms but she resisted, took his hands and pushed him firmly onto the bed.  He looked questioningly at her, his hooded green eyes heavy and sensual, as she crawled slowly up his body.  She straddled him firmly, holding both his hands over his head against the headboard. 

"Keep these here,"  she directed.  Her hair hung in a silky curtain on either side of his head as she kissed him lightly, hungrily all over his eyes, face and neck, blurring his vision, ramping up his urge to plunge inside her without further ado. 

"Don't move." she whispered.

"Are you kidding me?" he said hoarsely, his body twitched with need beneath her ministrations.  She kissed him some more, delicately, wetly licking across his collar bone and down his chest.  She positioned her heated velvet folds carefully just above his straining cock, as it lay against his stomach, weeping with anticipation.  She allowed the drenched petals of her sex to gently touch the tip of him so he might feel her juices; then she moved up his body, leaving a damp trail as she brushed her hard, stimulated nipples over his soft ruffled chest hair, barely grazing his warm smooth flesh, as she nibbled, licked and kissed him to delirium.

Driven to madness he whimpered, arching up his hips.  

"Ah...God... Shaun ... sweetheart, ... I can't take it...!  Sit on me - let me feel you ...please!  This is torture!" 

She smiled silently.  "Oh no." she whispered in his ear, sucking the pink lobe into her mouth.  "After what you put me through these past weeks, I've just begun to torture you.  You have much to pay for."

"Is this how you're gonna do it?" he groaned.

"Absolutely," she smiled against his lips.

"Fuck...  I'm dead.  Finish me off."  She chucked silently at his moan, expelling hot breath over the erect nipple she held between her teeth.  She continued her torment of him, switching to his other nipple, and worked her way down his torso to his softly furred crotch and licked the highly sensitized tip of his cock. 

"Oh yeah..." he groaned.  "I'm done..." 

She let the tip of his dick enter her a bare inch and pulled back...then pushed herself down on him again - a little further and pulled back, rubbing her clit against him.  He almost cried. 

"Oh no... I'm not going to let you die, my love...."  She sat fully down on his erection then, hissing with pleasure, and further drove him on, 

"I'll keep reviving you ... again ...and again... until - you've - paid to - my-ultimate - satisfaction." She punctuated each word with a thrust of her hips, pushing him deeper and deeper inside her.

With a roar, he suddenly came up off the bed; grabbed her around the waist and pinned her onto his raging cock so she couldn't move, exploding waves of molten seed into her.  She gasped when, without missing a beat, he turned them both over and was fully on top of her.  He continued to plunder her with his still erect cock until she screamed his name repeatedly -  fisting in her hands in his hair as a surging crescendo of crashing orgasms ripped through her.  "Zack!Zack!Zack! Oh my God, I love you!"  He came again with her as they melted together in a frenzy of sexual abandon.

Finally, they held each other, sated, tear-stained, covered in a sheen of sweat, panting, juices mingling, for a long time until the world righted itself again.  When she opened her eyes he was looking at her, still inside her.  Overwhelmed with awe he traced her face and brushed stray tendrils of hair off her face. 

" 'Lo, Darlin ..." he whispered.  She smiled and traced the underside of his beard with soft fingers, her eyes shining.  She was thinking that he had not said he loved her.  She leaned toward him and kissed his open lips. He smelled of cigarettes, sandalwood and raw male sex.  He dipped his head and took her breast into his mouth, wanting her again, already.  She was quivering, saturated in an instant.  Their hunger for each other was overwhelming.  He explored with his hands and his mouth, fondling, caressing, making incoherent noises against her flesh.  With every straining muscle she let him know how much she craved him.  Consumed by passion he never left her but continued to move inside her again until they came together, groaning in their mutual ecstasy. 

"Zack, I love you so much..." she breathed passionately.  

He sensed her unspoken tenuous insecurity about the depth of his capitulation; kissed her deeply, slowly, talking into her open mouth.  

"Shaun...my love...I don't ever want to be any farther away from you than this.  Do you hear me?  I want you completely, totally in my life, in my world, in my arms, in my house, in my bed.  Wherever I am, I want you to be.  I want to see you whenever I look up; I want to trip over you every time I turn around; I want you in my hair, under my skin, in my way, and underfoot everywhere I go.  Do you understand, Baby?  I love you..."

She giggled into his open mouth, delighted with his characteristically unique turn of a phrase.  "Zack, my darling.  What are you saying?"

"I thought I'd said it, luv ...I want you ....I need you ....be with me...stay with me... travel with me... live with me .... love me..."  

She reached up into his mass of shining hair, pulled his mouth into hers, kissed him all over his lips and face and murmured  "Yes....yes....yes...." after every kiss.  "I thought you'd never ask!"

"Baby ... I have my son, y'know? ... I have Eric.  Will that make a difference?"  He was wracked with sudden trepidation; concerned that maybe she hadn't contemplated a ready-made family situation with him.  Maybe she wasn't ready for the kind of baggage he came with - did she want to take that on?  Was he expecting too much of her?

He need not have worried.  She lifted his head and looked deeply into his eyes.  "Zack, it's what people in love do for each other.  It's wonderful.  Eric is a part of you ....and as much as I love you, how could I not love him?  You're not worried about that are you?"

"Not now." he breathed against her breast.  "Not now."