Sunday 1:52 a.m.  Suite 502, lounge

The room was cool and quiet and dark.  Sam could hear Russell's breathing.  She could hear her heart beating.  It felt like a lifetime had passed since she'd blown out of Melcher on the Midnight Train.  She wasn't that person anymore.  And yet somehow, all the sophistication and polish in the world couldn't keep her from feeling a bit like that naïve little girl as she stood in the circle of his arms.  It wasn't his fame or his fortune.  Sam had made a name for herself-- and there was a modest sum attached to it.  She had a degree.  Spoke two languages, three if you counted her spotty French, and she had traveled the world.  But she'd never been in love. 

And she'd never made love with a man.

The experience was heady and new, and at the same time frightening and exciting.  She wasn't afraid of him.  She was no blushing virgin.  She was here because she wanted to be here; because she was in love and wanted to make love with him.  At heart, she was still very much that curious sensual girl she'd always been.  Jimmy hadn't snubbed out that spark.  He'd just made her more leery of sharing it.  But Sam had grown up; acquired confidence and grace and a sharp biting wit that had deflected pretty much everyone.  Except Russell.  It amused her how even their flaws seemed to compliment each other.  Even if he could drive her screaming, barking mad.

She thought back over the last few weeks.  How openly they'd spoken on the phone of their desires and of their bodies.  What they liked.  What they were doing to themselves.  What they wanted to do to each other.  It was quite surreal.  They'd never made love and yet she could gauge the level of his arousal just from listening to him breathe.  Still, what was happening between them in the suite was different than it had been earlier.  She had initiated that where now she was quiet.  Not shy.  Just demure. 

And it made her smile to think of their encounter backstage.  He'd liked what she'd done.  A lot.  And he'd really liked that thing she'd done with her tongue, which Sam found quite amusing.  She'd probably read about more blowjobs than she'd given.  She had no particular secret.  No special technique.  She'd simply let her natural sensuality guide her.  She'd done that thing with her tongue because she'd been curious about his foreskin and because she'd noticed it made his breathing change when she manipulated it a certain way.  It felt good to make him feel good, but more than that, she enjoyed the deepening intimacy.  Seeing his vulnerabilities and sharing her own.  And she wanted more of that.  A lot more.

Russell watched her, head cocked with his tongue on his lip.  His big hands were on her slender hips and he was holding her against him-- but for all the physicality of the moment, the real action was in his head.  Sam could see the wheels turning behind his eyes; the slow burn of arousal and the bright glitter of intelligence, too.  He was watching her.  Trying to work her out.  Sam's heart was in her throat.  She could feel it beating there, a dull sort of throbbing.  She thought with as long as they'd waited for this moment that he would simply drag her to bed and ravish her. 

The idea had considerable merit.  And to be honest, Russell had considered doing just that.  Sam saw a naked flicker of raw desire flit over his face and his hands tightened on her hips.  She trembled in response and her eyes flicked to the bed and then shyly back to him.  But then he blew out and stepped back.  "Don't tempt me."  His voice was sandpaper rough.  And he was not teasing. 

It made her flush but she also raised her eyebrows.  "Thought you said you weren't going to hold anything back?  Wasn't that the deal?" 

His resulting grin was positively wicked.  "I'm not.  You think everything I want to do with you happens in a bed?"  Sam's eyes widened and he lowered his head to purr into her ear, "Don't limit yourself, love."  He drew back.  "And don't limit me either." 

He enjoyed her little whimper as he moved away.  Sam's insides had turned to water.  In that moment, the promise of the thing was somehow more intense than the thing itself.  Like he'd poured her a drink and put it on the bar and then told her she couldn't have it.  Yet.  The anticipation made her focus on it all the more.  Which served two purposes, besides clearly establishing him as the one in control.  One, it provided a constant source of fuel for that fire growing inside of her.  And two, it heightened her focus on him as she waited to see where he would take them next.  He hadn't said he wasn't going to ravish her.  He'd merely implied there were other things he wanted to do to her.  First.     

She watched with no small amount of curiosity as he picked up the phone.  What was he up to?  He ordered up some champagne and put his hand over the receiver.  "You want anything?"

Her lips twitched.  "A side order of composure might be nice."  

He just shook his head.  "Sorry, darlin'.  That's definitely not on the menu tonight."  He looked her up and down and wet his lips.  "Maybe not tomorrow either.  You know what a glutton I am."  He'd always had a problem with moderation.  It was as true of sex as it was of work and food.     

Sam shivered.  Russell grinned, finished ordering and hung up the phone.  He walked over to the vanity's sink, turned on the water and didn't even use a glass-- he just cupped his hands under the cool flow and drank deeply.  It was so typical of him, ordering up posh champagne and then eschewing the use of a cup altogether to drink out of the taps.  He looked over at her and smiled, water still glistening on his lips and recently shaved chin.

She eyed him up and wondered if he was trying to romance her with the champagne.  Like he needed to?  He already had her and he knew it.  She also wasn't sure she wanted to be any tipsier than she already was.  He certainly didn't need to be.  He was already higher than a kite.  But nobody could stop him once he'd decided on a course of action.  You just followed along in the wake and enjoyed the ride.

Twining his fingers with hers, he drew her over to a low dresser and kissed her.  First her lips and then her palms and then he nipped at the third finger of her left hand.  Their eyes met.  He sucked it into the warm cavern of his mouth, deeper and deeper until his lips were at the juncture where finger met palm.  As if the sensation itself wasn't enough, the homoerotic undertone made her knees weak as she watched her finger slide in and out of his mouth and felt his tongue lap at it from base to tip.  She was hardly aware he'd removed her traveling ring until she heard the sharp plink as he dropped it into a shallow crystal dish that sat on the lacquered surface of the dresser. 

Her finger was wet and glistening.  So was his mouth.  So was the ring.  He stroked her wet finger with his and glanced at the discarded ring.  "I don't think you need that anymore."  Sam's heart flipped over.  She was also impressed at his restraint considering what had probably run through his head was something very like 'Don't wear it again.'  But then a wildness flared in his eyes.  He licked her palm and bit the fleshy base of her thumb and growled out to her that the only mark he wanted to see on her was his own.  He was fingering the ring on the golden chain at her throat when he said it, but they both knew that wasn't the only mark he'd been speaking of.

Her knees sagged.  He didn't steady her.  He let her lean into him instead, relishing both his strength and her momentary weakness.  She may be small and slight, but he knew full well that before long he'd be the one weak and trembling in her arms.  Sam rubbed herself against him softly, enticing him in way she hadn't before.  He idly wondered what this moment would have been like if she hadn't taken the edge off his fierce hunger earlier.  But he knew the answer to that.  He had few illusions about himself.  She'd have already been in his bed, on her back under the thrusting drive of his hips.  He was considering telling her exactly that when a soft knock at the door drew him away.

He left her to answer it.  Sam didn't move.  Her legs had curiously stopped working.  In no time he was striding back to her, grinning playfully where he'd been smoldering with desire only moments before.  In his hand was a bottle of very fine champagne, still dripping from where he'd pulled it from its bath of ice.  Taking her hand, he led her into the bathroom and kicked the door shut as he put the bottle down on the counter. 

It took a moment for Sam to find her voice.  The room was spinning.  "I'm not sure I should have any more alcohol," she murmured.

He didn't smile.  He didn't even laugh.  He just tossed back over his shoulder, "What makes you think I intended to use it for drinking?"  Sam swayed and leaned back against the counter for support.  Russell just kicked off his shoes and pulled his shirt off over his head, revealing a fitted black tank and an expanse of golden skin that made Sam's insides quiver.  He peeled the tank off as well, muttering to himself about the 'fuckin' barber' and how the hair that had fallen down the back of his shirt was itching him to death.  He flung it, with no small amount of force, into the far corner and the sight of his naked chest seemed to electrify the air.  

Sam shivered as he stepped closer and leaned into her, trapping her between his big body and the hard unyielding granite counter.  "I don't know... I just..."  She was finding it hard to put together a coherent thought.  "I just figured I'd warn you.  Another glass might finish me off.  I've been too excited to eat much lately."

He shrugged.  "I could tell."  Sam looked up.  "Your tits are smaller," he said with a gentle smile.  "I noticed when I felt them before.... not quite a handful."  Like they ever had been?  Sam had been tempted to respond but the words caught in her throat as his hands came up to cup them again; a discovery, slow and soft.  Her eyes fluttered shut.  He was slowly dragging her strappy black top up and off, wetting his bottom lip and humming to himself with pleasure as her breasts came into view.

Her nipples were hard but he didn't touch them.  He brushed his fingers over her lips instead and then trailed them over her chin and down the delicate column of her neck.  "Do you like it?" Sam whispered, wondering what he thought of the change in her body.  She'd been slightly more curvaceous the last time he'd seen her naked.

He answered without looking up.  "I could stand to see you a little heavier."  The casual tone of his answer was belied by the fact he'd had his hand on her belly when he said it.  But that was all he said.  And Sam was glad of it.  She was already in the emotional deep end, drowning in him.  Any more and she was in danger of going under for good.  It was a strangely charged moment.  He seemed a man at war with himself, struggling between physicality and emotion, between passion and love and also between lighthearted play and seriousness.

When he paused, Sam looked up to find him staring at himself in the mirror.  He touched his newly shorn hair and shook his head, a bit embarrassed to be caught looking at his reflection.  A bashful smile appeared as he dropped his eyes.  "Didn't recognize myself there for a moment."  The newness of it was exciting for Sam, and also kind of sad in an odd sort of way, but before she could say anything he'd leaned around her for a better look and slapped a hand on the few extra fallow pounds he'd packed on around his belly.  "Now that I fuckin' recognize."

They were both still tipsy and it sent them into peals of laughter.  Sam smoothed her hands over the red mark his playful slap had left on his belly.  Russell paid it no mind.  He was busy enjoying the way her laughter made her naked breasts bounce.  It felt good being with her this way.  He wished he had a picture of it.  Not of her breasts, though he wouldn't say no to that either-- but what he really wanted was to capture that moment.  The easy familiarity they had as they played in the bathroom, wearing only their jeans, barefoot and naked from the waist up. 

Sam tried to fit her fingers into his empty belt loops and pull him closer but he danced away, grabbing up the champagne bottle with a wicked gleam in his eye.  If he didn't intend for them to drink it, what was he doing with it?  There was hardly enough to bathe in.  He was unpredictable enough and in a silly enough mood to shake it up and spray the bathroom with it.  The sudden image of him penetrating her with the delicate neck of the bottle flashed in her head and Sam flushed a deep telling red. 

His hand froze on the bottle as if he'd read her mind.  She was sitting on the counter and he was standing between her parted thighs.  Condensation dripped down the cold green glass and left dark spots on her pants.  Neither of them noticed.  She swallowed hard as he stroked the bottle suggestively and then whispered, "Not this time, love...."  The wave of heat that passed through her left her dizzy.  But then as he had so many times already tonight, he turned on a dime, pulling her off the counter and around in front of him so he could wrap his arms around her from behind as he peeled the foil off the bottle and removed the cage with a practiced hand.

Sam smiled and when she spoke, Russell realized her soft intonation had the feel of something long committed to memory.  "I drink it when I'm happy and when I'm sad. Sometimes I drink it when I'm alone. When I have company I consider it obligatory. I trifle with it if I'm not hungry and drink it when I am. Otherwise I never touch it - unless I'm thirsty." 

He chuckled into her ear.  "And who said that?  Samantha Camille Douglass?"

"Hardly!  Mme. Lily Bollinger," she pronounced with a giggle that made the curve of her bottom rub enticingly against his groin. 

But not to be outdone, he fired back.  "Crack me a bottle as well, mate.... and don't ask if I intend to drink like a man or an animal.  'Course I intend to drink like a man.  I plan to get roaring drunk.  Animals stop when they're full."

Sam snorted.  "And who said that?  Dom Perignon?"

"Russell Ira Crowe."  She laughed at his teasing and he pressed in close to feel the full effect of her wiggle.  "Fuck...." he breathed in her ear.  She did it again and he groaned deep in his throat in a way that made her instantly, shockingly wet.  His thumb worked the cork.  Sam watched it.  It was all like some strange echo of a sex act.  First his big hand stroked the dripping length.  Then it slid up and went to work on the tip.  Soon it would erupt in a froth of creamy white and spill down over his fingers.  Her mouth watered.  "You see it?" his voice was a husky whisper. 

Sam nodded.  "Like sex."  As focused as she was, she wasn't sure whether she'd said it or thought it.  It didn't matter.  He was deep into it as well. 

Champagne always made Russell think of sex, though not for the obvious reasons.  It was hardly visions of crystal and strawberries that it brought to his mind.  Back when he and Dean used to busk in the Cross, on the really good nights when their guitar case was heavy with coins, they'd pick up some pretty girls and then go buy a few bottles of cheap champagne to celebrate, counting out the coins proudly as if they were gold.  Afterward, they'd go a bit crazy, popping the corks off at each other.  Cursing and singing and spraying the stuff around madly.  They'd sprayed themselves around pretty madly in those days as well.  Just the taste of champagne could bring that back sense of freedom, that youthful euphoria that was some blend of breaking the rules and following your heart's true passion.  Being with Sam tonight had made him feel that way too.  That's why he'd ordered up the champagne.  She had the power to make him feel a bit like a kid again, in the very best way imaginable.   

Thankfully he was better at opening a bottle than he used to be.  Experience could be quite the teacher and there had been a lot of bottles between then and now.  He could remove the cork with it hardly making a sound these days, but with Sam he opted for the showy spray instead.  That part of him would probably never grow up.  He liked the way it looked visually.... contents under pressure released.  An ejaculation.  A gush of white liquid accompanied by a sense of decadent excitement. 

"Like an orgasm," he purred in her ear as the cork rocketed off and toppled an arrangement of decorative bottles on the far side of the bathroom.  Sam shrieked as he turned the following rush of sparkling white foam over her naked chest.  It trickled between her breasts, spreading into a dark stain on her jeans as he spun her, trapping her against the wall, all the while grinning like a madman.  Her nipples had hardened further under the cold spray and she pushed at him in earnest.  He liked that too.  The feel of her struggling in his arms made it seem even more like some distant echo of a sex act.

Amused at her sputtering, he lifted the bottle to his mouth and took a large swallow.  She watched his throat work and stared at the drops that had overrun his mouth and were now dripping down his chin.  She had the urge to lick them away.  Her mouth watered.  He took another healthy swallow and spit it on her breasts with a dirty laugh, diving down as she shivered to take a nipple in his mouth, swirling his tongue in a sucking kiss to lap up the sparkling drops from her skin.  "Tastes better off you than from the bottle," he murmured as he switched from one breast to the other.  She whimpered and sagged against the wall.

"I can't believe you did that!" Sam panted when she could finally speak again, sliding a little in the puddle under their bare feet.  She hadn't been squirted with anything since she'd been fifteen, and that had just been one of her friends turning a hose on her at a school sponsored car wash.  What he was doing was a thousand times more arousing, but it had that feeling of letting go too, an almost childlike sense of abandon.  Like they were shedding away the last parts of themselves that were still clinging to any sense of propriety.

"How else am I supposed to get you in the shower with me?  Didn't want to take a chance you'd say no, darlin'."  He put his thumb over the bottle's opening and threatened to shake it.  Sam shrieked.  Russell grinned and let fly; only he was expecting her to turn away and shield herself-- She went on the attack and stole the bottle off him instead. 

He was impressed.... although Sam nearly died when he didn't run.  He just leaned in and put his hands on either side of her, pressing his palms flat against the wall and growled out, "Do your worst, love."  He braced himself for the cold fizzy splash, already imagining how her mouth would feel on his chest as her little tongue chased after the trickling drops.

His roar echoed loudly in the small enclosed space as she reached around and tipped the bottle at the small of his back instead.  A gush of chilly liquid followed and he howled as he felt its darting trickle flow down the path of least resistance, straight down the back of his pants, between his cheeks to fizz coldly on the back of his scrotum.  The denim wicked up the moisture, becoming sodden and heavy.  The foreign feel of water trickling under his clothes was strangely exciting, triggering a random explosion of stray thoughts; among them, a vague impression of what it would be like to piss himself.  It made him laugh.  That would have been warm not cold. 

The icy blast came again as Sam doused his chest and belly too and then she took a pull off the bottle and kissed him.  Drinking from her lips was incredibly erotic and sent a warm surge of blood flowing south.  He could feel the cold hard bottle between them and she kept pouring while they kissed.  Russell swelled painfully behind the wet restrictive denim, squirming with both pleasure and discomfort as the champagne tickled through his pubic hair and ran down over his distended shaft.  It felt curiously like the tickle of a woman's fingers.

"Fuck!" he roared when he couldn't stand the icy crawl a moment longer.  With a wicked grin he hooked his finger into her belt loop and pulled her in the roomy shower stall, jeans and all, and flicked on the taps.  In moments the cold downpour was warm and inviting.  Sam yelped at the hot spray warming her chilled back while he poured the remainder of the champagne down her front.  Their bodies squirmed and struggled against each other and Russell tossed the empty bottle onto the thick bath mat to free his hands for a full assault.

They kissed hungrily under the warm fall of water, pushing each other in and out of the spray, trying to claim the warmth for themselves while they attempted to keep their skin from coming into contact with the cold tile on the walls.  Russell licked her breast and then spun her, rubbing his groin against the curve of her hip while he suckled a stinging bite on her nape.

"You taste better without the champagne."  It was a romantic sentiment that seemed so at odds with their mutual horseplay.  It was also indicative of his need to deepen the encounter.  Both of them were ready to ditch their jeans, though removing the heavy waterlogged denim was easier said than done.  Russell managed to get her button and zipper down well enough, but no amount of tugging seemed to budge her pants.  She giggled.  He howled in playful frustration, running his hand over his face and flicking away the water as he slicked back his hair and rubbed his eyes.  He could see the wisps of dark hair peeping above her open zipper but he couldn't get her pants off to get at them.  It made him a little crazy and before Sam knew it, he'd shoved her out of the shower and they were rolling around on the thick bathroom rug.  The champagne bottle went skittering.

"For fuck's sake... hold still!"  She was wriggling like a slippery little eel and he was laughing, trying to get a better grip on her pants.  "No... just wiggle.... Christ!  Bit to the left... if I could just..."  He seemed to be going back and forth between groping her and actually trying to get her pants off.  "It's a good job you're smaller'n me, love," he said with a wicked grin.  There was a moment where he stopped playing and used a bit of his real power.  It was wild and exciting.  Sam felt herself being hauled up. 

"Yeah?" she could hear the breathlessness in her own voice and heard his answering rumble.

"Yep.  Cos I'd hate for you to be able to turn me on my head."  And up she went.  She hung there suspended for a moment and then felt something give and she came sliding back down to land on the rug.  Sans pants.  His eyes flared.  Her panties had come off with the jeans.  She was wonderfully, gloriously nude. 

"Hey!"  He caught a glimpse of those gorgeous pink folds that he couldn't wait to taste while she righted herself and knelt before him, breathless and excited.

"Damn, I'm good."  He playfully held her pants aloft like they were some kind of trophy, shaking them in triumph before he tossed them away to join the champagne bottle in some forgotten corner.  It made her smile.  He really was a bit of a peacock.  And a ham.  Funny and sharp and sexy and beautifully flawed.  Was it any wonder she loved him? 

He stroked a hand over the obscene bulge pressing against his zipper and rolled his hips lightly, thrusting against his palm.  Their eyes met.  "My turn."

His jeans were looser and put up less of a resistance as Sam eased them down.  Russell winced as the wet fabric caught a few of his less fortunate hairs and took them along as she pulled away his jeans and underwear, but it was worth the momentary twinge to finally be naked with her.  No more clothes between them.

Taking himself in hand, he showed off for her a bit.  Stroking slowly, partly glad to be free of the restrictive fabric and partly just wanting her to see him like this.  Hard.  Full of blood and power.  Full of himself.  He was a bit of a peacock, he knew it-- but he also knew that women liked that self confidence, and a bit of arrogance as well.  And the truth was, it also just felt good to stand before her, nothing hidden, while he showed off.  It was the adult version of a child running wild or climbing a gnarled old tree and shouting: "Look at me, Mum!"

He wanted Sam to look at him; at the part of himself he never put on display, heart on his sleeve and cock in hand....  He wanted her to like what she saw.  He wanted her to want him.  And this time when he dragged her back in the shower the mood was altogether different.  Sam realized that not only had the shower been an unexpected bit of creative foreplay, it had also served another purpose.  It had helped bleed off the excess energy from the concert.  His head wasn't in the clouds anymore.  It was here.  With her.   

He was calmer now, though what was happening between them was no less erotic.  In fact, it was charged with a different feeling now, almost painful in its intensity.  The way he kissed her was different.  The way he touched her was different.  Not more forceful.  More intrusive.  He wasn't playing any longer.  He was after a deeper intimacy than they'd ever shared before.

Sam suddenly became aware of how gentle he'd always been with her.  How patient and tender.  Even that night they'd spent in bed together, even when he'd touched her intimately, it had been strangely non-threatening.  He'd never penetrated her.  Not with a finger or a tongue or his cock-- and his whole bearing now seemed to scream at her that that was about to change.  He'd seemed to cast away whatever restraint he'd had left along with his clothes.  He wasn't pushy or demanding.  It was a deeper change than that.  More basic.  Always before, each of their encounters had had an underlying feeling of uncertainty.  This time, there was none.  They both knew how this night would end. 

The steam was like a living thing around them.  A presence they could see and feel.  They washed each other gently and kissed with open eyes and open mouths, water streaming down over their bodies.  Their fingers seemed to follow it.  The trickle of drops that led to rivulets that ran down his chest and into the dark thatch of hair at his groin.  The wet runnel streaming from the tips of her hair to trace down her spine and curl in the small of her back, trickling down between her parted legs as he bent her over to follow the glittering flow.

He found a different sort of wetness below, slick and warm.  An invitation to him to touch and explore.  He turned her, kissing her breath away before he lifted his mouth from hers.  She looked like sex itself; flushed and glistening, lips slightly parted and eyes wide and dark as she watched him.  It seemed to happen in slow motion.

Sam felt the cold tile against her back and the sensual press of a wet hairy leg against hers.  A hand, fingers spread wide to keep her still, held firmly to her hip, keeping her pressed back where he wanted her, still and anxious.  He was moving into the spray now.  Coming closer.  Water beat off his golden skin and made her blink as misty drops gathered in her lashes.  He pressed a fingertip to her lips.  She opened for him and it slipped inside.  Aside from the twitching of his cock and the rapid flutter of her pulse, neither of them moved.  Sam could taste a trace of herself on his finger before it slipped away, teasing down her chest to pluck gently at her nipple. 

But he wasn't done yet.  His fingertips trailed lower and Sam saw him wet his lips as his fingers slid down her belly and into the dip of her bellybutton.  She could feel the calluses.  The skin was thicker, toughened by years of strumming an instrument.  The rough feel of it against her soft flesh was exciting.  She didn't make a sound as his fingers slipped lower, into the dark curls hiding her naked sex, into the slick welcome her body had wept for him.... and then finally up... up, pressing deep inside.  Pressing home.

Her breath caught.  Neither of them moved.  He just watched her, blinking water from his long lashes, chin raised with a hint of defiance.  Pride.  Humility.  Passion.  Desire.  Love.  Elation.  Sam read a hundred things in his eyes just then as she felt the press of his fingers and the thickness of his wrist between her legs.

And still he didn't move.

It only served to make them both hyperaware of the moment, of every last detail.  How she stood trembling, impaled on his thick fingers.  How her teeth caught her lower lip as she fought against the rising tide of desire.  How his eyes darkened as she began to flutter around his fingers.  How this was so very, very different from how he'd ever touched her before.  It was almost like he was waiting for her to acknowledge that. 

He had invaded her.  Penetrated her.  And it was agonizingly deliberately.  He wasn't trying to do anything other than bring her into the moment with him.  This was her taking that wild chance.  He wanted to feel it with her.  He knew it wasn't easy for her... but the real truth is that it was exhilarating.  She hadn't followed him into the darkness.  They'd met there together as equals, and now, having acknowledged that, the balance was tipping.  He could feel her submission.  He wanted her to give herself over to him so he could gather her in his arms and catapult her into the stars.

He wanted to show her how a real man touched a woman.  He wanted to pleasure her.  He was honest enough with himself to admit he wanted to show her what her body could do, and arrogant enough to want to be the best she ever had.  He needn't have worried.  There was no comparison.  She was so far beyond any place she'd ever been that she was without a single point of reference. 

Her hand found his thick forearm and gripped hard.  The other found his neck, catching on the cross he wore before pressing against the pulse beating in the hollow of his throat, strong and steady.  Her knees sagged, forcing his fingers deeper.  He felt a momentary stab of worry.  She was so small and tight, he didn't want to hurt her nor did he want her hurting herself.  He held her tighter.  The movement jostled his wrist.  A soft sound broke from her throat as her head fell back and her eyes fluttered shut. 

He curled his fingers.  Not rubbing.  Pressing.  Hard.  She gasped.  

"No more hiding, Sammy.  Take a risk.  Open your eyes."  Sam struggled to comply and when her eyes opened, they were glassy and unfocused.  She clung to him weakly.   

He pressed again and this time she moaned softly.  

"Christ, you feel so good."  He pushed in deeper, stretching the delicate tissue and reveling in the soft sounds she made.  "I dreamed of this... all those times I heard you come and couldn't touch... or taste... or see."  Sam whimpered and he moved closer, as if he wanted to breathe in the soft sound, to take her inside of him.  He wondered if maybe he should take this to the bed.  He was ready to lay down somewhere soft with her.  He had no need to prove to himself or to her that he could make her come here, like this.

He started to withdraw his fingers but her hand slipped down his forearm to grip his wrist hard.  "No...."

The soft breathy plea was enough.  He was more than ready to give her what she wanted.  He was confident and experienced, not a mind reader.... but once he had a bit of direction, he was away.  He curled his fingers and rubbed.  She shuddered.  "That's it, love...."  He didn't want her to talk.  He didn't want her to think.  He just wanted her to feel.  He increased the pressure.  "I want to make you feel as good as you made me feel.  Then I'm going to do it again, like you did to me.... Gonna put my mouth right here..."  His hand surged upwards.  "Put my tongue inside you... that's it... that's it... squeeze down hard... I feel you....Christ, I feel you!" 

A cry broke from her, throaty and unrestrained.  The hand she had on his shoulder tightened reflexively as she rode the fleshy part of his palm and contracted hard around his invading fingers.  She trembled and he felt like a God.  She whispered his name and he felt humbled.  She clung to him and he felt like the luckiest man alive.

He kissed her then, while she was still weak and shaky.  The world spun and seemed to intrude at odd moments into her dreamy euphoria.  Russell licking his fingers.  The cessation of the warm flow of water.  The press of a damp hairy groin against her own.  The comfort of a warm towel gently drying her.  The weightless feel as he swept her up into his arms.  The cool softness of plump bedding.  The warm press of a masculine, hair-roughened body.  The steady feel of his heartbeat.  The rhythmic sound of his breathing. 

Sam opened her eyes.  His were warm and glittering.  Hers were wet and soft.

And then she became aware he was humming quietly as he moved over her.  It was yet another glimpse into his soft romantic heart.  She smiled up at him and felt her heart turn over the unspoken words echoed in her ears.      

And if I drink of her it will be all my days...    

"For all my days too, Crowe."  He smiled back at her, a soft lopsided grin that was charmingly boyish.  She touched his strong jaw as he settled over her and whispered, "Straight through the loops...."

"Hang on tight then, love..."  He reached for her with a cocky smile.  "Cos here we go again...."