Can't Get Her Out Of My Mindbydeweycat©
Spoilers: Vague ones, up through “Need To Know”
Disclaimer: Not mine. I just borrowed them for a few minutes.
Feedback: Please, no flames
Archive: Fine, as long as you tell me where
Author’s Notes: A response to Paula’s “Write it in an hour” challenge. Maybe this will break me out of my writer’s block...
Not beta’d. All mistakes are my own.
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‘God, I’m tired.’
It had been a long, exceptionally boring week. Training session for new operatives... Boring... Regular Wednesday meeting with Director of the C.I.A.... Boring... Unscheduled meeting with the head of Homeland Security... Really, really boring...
‘God, this is stupid.’
He always hated it when he got into one of these moods and began to feel sorry for himself.
‘Really, Webb,’ he told himself, ‘Get a grip. Which would you prefer -- a long, boring week, or a crisis of really major proportions?’ He didn’t really even have to answer that question.
‘Okay, so think about the good things that happened this week.’ And there were *some* good things.
Had the brightest spot in the week been playing doubles tennis last Saturday afternoon at the Congressional Racquet Club? If not the brightest, it ranked a close second.
‘Well, not so much the tennis match, as whom you ended up playing tennis with,’ he had to admit to himself.
A phone call from a college friend, asking him to meet him at the club, and an unexpected mix-up over scheduled court times had led to a compromise with the other players, Bobbi Latham and, will wonders never cease, Sarah Mackenzie.
The blush she’d gotten on her face after she’d tripped and fallen down on the court had intrigued him. The lovely pink color suffusing her face had reminded him of strawberries whipped into cream, and had suddenly made him want to run his tongue over her body, to see if she tasted as good as she looked. Okay, this was a train of thought he needed to get off of, and fast, if he was going to get any sleep.
‘Damn, why did I drink all that coffee so late in the evening? I’ll never get to sleep now,’ he grumbled to himself, as he rolled over in bed and punched the pillow into a more comfortable shape.
He couldn’t sleep, and he had that stupid meeting at JAG Headquarters that his idiot secretary scheduled for seven o’clock tomorrow morning. That had been an incredibly idiotic idea on Denise’s part.
Oh, he knew that meetings couldn’t always be scheduled at convenient times, but seven o’clock in the morning? He’d have to be up by at least six, and, on top of it all, Chegwidden and the other JAG lawyers would already be irritated with him for insisting on having the meeting at all. And he knew he’d hear about it from one or more of them later... and undoubtedly at great length.
‘Oh, well, at least I won’t have to sit in my stupid office all day long, bored out of my skull,’ he told himself. Since his return from Suriname, he was still being given the scut assignments, and hadn’t seen anything worthy of his talents in weeks.
At least when he got to JAG, he could sit in Chegwidden’s plush office and have Tiner bring him a cup of coffee, then just sit back and enjoy the scenery. And the scenery around JAG was usually pretty nice in Chegwidden’s office, at least as long as Lieutenant Colonel Sarah Mackenzie was around.
Every now and then -- no more than once or twice a day -- he wondered what it would be like to shove everything on Chegwidden’s desk onto the floor, making love to her right there on that massive desk. But, of course, he wouldn’t, not if he wanted to preserve his nose or other, more sensitive, body parts.
He’d always had a soft spot for Sarah Mackenzie, but his feelings for her had gotten progressively worse -- or was that better? -- over time. He’d watched Mackenzie and Rabb dance around a relationship for years, leaving everyone, them included, highly confused. He’d been in agony during her engagement to Mic Brumby; in fact, he’d declined an invitation to the wedding.
‘I still can’t believe she almost married that Australian jackass.’
He mentally shook his head, trying to clear it.
Then there had been that White House dinner for the Sudanese president tonight. The three of them -- Mackenzie, Rabb, and himself -- had all been invited, a sort of unofficial recognition for their help with that hostage situation involving Professor Dubotu, several years ago. He silently congratulated himself on being able to maneuver things so that he’d picked Sarah up in the limo. Which meant, of course, that he’d been the one to take her home, too.
‘What was that she was wearing tonight, anyway?’
He didn’t remember having seen that dress before, and he’d really liked it. It had certainly been more interesting than anything his dinner partner, the wife of the Spanish Ambassador, had had to say to him.
‘Poor Senora Ramirez. Well, at least she tries to be pleasant.’
Dark red velvet the dress had been, and off one shoulder. ‘God, Sarah has gorgeous skin, all ivory and cream. She should wear warm colors more often.’ They were certainly more attractive on her than Marine green or khaki.
‘God, I’ve really got to get some sleep.’
‘I never noticed that little scar at the base of her neck before. I wonder how she got it? I wonder if her neck is sensitive? Or the tops of her shoulders? I wonder what she would have done, if I had reached over and run my tongue over that scar while we were going home?’
He had had to work damned hard at not spending the entire evening staring at that soft hollow, the one where her neck sloped into her shoulder. He’d had to exert incredible self-control during the one dance they’d had together, following the meal.
‘I would have loved to have kissed it a few times, maybe even giving it a nibble or two...’
And there had been a moment tonight, when he had dropped her off, when they were standing together, alone, in the hallway outside of her apartment, when the idea of just forgetting about all of his uncertainties, of forgetting all about her strange excuse of a relationship with Rabb, of just taking her into his arms, had briefly crossed his mind. But then his cell phone had rung, and she had said good night, turning away and walking into her apartment, his eyes following her longingly until the closing door removed her from his sight.
‘Oh, come on, stop this,’ he scolded himself. He’d never get to sleep at this rate. ‘So, what am I? Made of stone, for God’s sake? Hey, you! What do you think you’re doing?’ He directed his ire at that portion of his anatomy that suddenly seemed to have a mind of its own. ‘I’ll never get to sleep now that you’ve woken up.’
Of course, there was always that time-honored method of relaxation. If counting backwards from one hundred, reading the maintenance manual for the Mercedes in the original German, or breathing exercises didn’t work. But, of course, all of this was only because he “couldn’t sleep,” he tried to tell himself.
‘Webb, when will you ever learn that the one person you can’t lie to is yourself?’
Oh, God, those shoulders, they were so white, with just one or two small curls of that incredible hair falling across them. Like silk, her hair was. Sarah’s hair was the most beautiful color, the color of mahogany, with all those rich, red highlights, and so wonderfully soft to the touch. For some reason, the touch of her hair could arouse him in the most incredible way. And he’d wanted to trace that curl with his tongue, watching to see how she reacted. Maybe she’d shiver, or give a small gasp. He’d wanted to reach up and loosen the rest of her hair from its pins, bury his fingers in that soft, fragrant silk, and kiss her.
He’d kiss her slowly at first, feeling the texture of her lips beneath his, enjoying their softness, and her passionate response. Then he’d really kiss her, deep and hard, kisses that would make her sigh with delight.
He’d find the opening on that dress, slowly. He wouldn’t want to rush things; he’d want to make this last for both of them. After all, he’d wanted to do this for a long time, almost from the first time he’d met her. He’d undo the zipper...
‘Where is that damned zipper? Down the back? Probably.’
...brush that tangle of dark curls aside, and oh-so-gently kiss the back of her neck. He’d trail kisses down her neck, and around to that spot beneath her ear, making her tremble when he buried his mouth there. He’d bite down gently on her earlobe, his tongue slowly exploring the shell of her ear, his breath sending shivers down her spine. She’d turn around then, to kiss him again. And when she finally drew back -- not for a while, he hoped -- that dress would fall forward.
‘Thank God for the laws of gravity.’
“It’s not fair, Clay,” she’d say. “You still have all your clothes on.” Her hands would be on his clothes, tugging, pulling. And then she’d plant kisses across his chest and neck, running a hand through his hair. He loved that. “I’ve wanted to do that for the longest time,” she’d say, her fingers fluttering down his chest, her nails scratching gently, then harder. The bulge in his trousers would be growing more evident with each passing moment, and she would cup one slender hand over his groin and squeeze gently, teasingly, feeling him grow even harder, if that was possible. “I want you, too,” she’d say. By now, his knees would be getting weak.
But he was being selfish.
‘Of course I am,’ he told himself, ‘this is *my* fantasy, after all.’
So, he’d pull her hands away from his waistband, and bring them up to his mouth. She had lovely, slender hands, with delicate fingers. He’d trace a spiral across her palm with his tongue, and he’d hear her catch her breath. He’d move now, up past her wrist, to the inside of her elbow.
‘God, she smells good! I wonder what perfume she wears?’
There would be more kisses, they’d be even deeper and harder now, and then she’d be in his arms. He’d feel the velvet of her dress and her skin, and the warmth of her body against his. He’d slide that velvet down, off her shoulder, down past her hips, taking her hand as she stepped out of it, leading her to the bed.
As he sat down to pull his shoes off, her fingers would be busy on the closure of his trousers. She’d give him a short, teasing brush of her fingers across his groin. Then she’d push him back, to sprawl across the bed, pulling off both his pants and underwear. She’d take a step back, and slowly, letting him watch, take off her bra and underwear.
‘Oh, God, now she’s naked... and so beautiful.’
He’d reach up, grab her hand, and pull her down to land on top of him. Her dark hair would brush his face. He’d nibble on her lips as they rolled over, so she’d be on her back. He’d want this to last, to be good for both of them. He’d tease her a little, gently, very gently, his fingers and tongue light on her skin. He’d hear her sighs and gasps. He’d reach for her breasts, and the nipples would be hard and responsive. He’d give them a light touch, just a flick of the tongue. Then a little harder, careful nibbles, rolling one between his fingers and sucking on the other. As he caressed her body, he’d watch the changing expressions on her face, and it would be like watching a clear summer sky turn suddenly stormy.
He’d slowly move down her body, placing soft kisses all along her torso.
‘I wonder if she’s ticklish?’
He’d keep moving lower, gently pushing her legs apart. He’d kiss her thighs, running his tongue along the pulse points on each side. Then he’d open her slowly, careful not to touch her too much. She’d be wet, with such soft, silky skin, that he would just have to taste her. He’d go slowly, carefully tracing a teasing path around that hard little knot, already swollen and throbbing. He’d listen to her, discover what she liked, let the pressure build. Then he’d start flicking it with his tongue, speeding up the rhythm. She’d shudder deeply, silently urging him onward. He’d hold her then, his hands firm against that perfect ass.
‘God, Sarah has the most incredible ass.’
She’d push herself against his mouth. She’d be so wet, and taste so good. And with his tongue hard against her, she’d shudder a final time, crying out his name.
He’d pull away to look up at her, and Sarah’s face would be flushed with passion and so lovely. “You’ve been so patient, Clay, but it’s your turn now,” she’d say, her voice still husky with desire.
‘I love hearing her say my name.’ He could only remember her using it once or twice in the almost seven years they’d known each other.
Sarah would be sprawled on her back. He’d bring his hands up her thighs, up over her lovely curves, leaning down to nibble at one breast. As they kissed again, she’d be able to taste herself in his mouth, on his tongue. She would laugh that incredibly sexy laugh of hers, and spread her legs even wider for him.
She’d bring her legs up, wrapping them around him, and then she would reach out, grasping his erection in her two hands, and guiding him to her.
And so he would slide into her, slowly at first, sighing in relief, gaining almost as much pleasure from watching the ecstasy that transformed her face, as from the act of possession itself. Oh, God, she’d be warm and wet. He’d feel himself moving in and out of her, and she’d begin to match his thrusts with motions of her own. She’d find his rhythm, or he’d find hers, and then it would become faster, harder. It would be so good, so hot, to feel her body beneath him, surrounding him. She’d murmur softly as he moved within her, over and over again, meeting each thrust with enthusiasm. Her cries of ecstasy would fill him with delight, until he, too, could bear no more and finally cried out in sweet release.
“Oh, God... Sarah!... I love you!”
Where had he put that towel? It was nice to know, after all these years, that he could still hit the laundry basket from the bed.
‘You’re acting like a teenager again, Clay.’
He didn’t feel guilty about what he’d just done, but how long could he continue to go on like this? He knew he wanted more from Sarah than just sex, but he wondered just what it was he did want from her. He wondered if Sarah really knew what she wanted from him. Surely he hadn’t mistaken that look in her eyes in the hallway tonight?
‘Does she do this?’ he wondered. ‘Does she lie in bed at night and think of me, and do this? Will she be here with me in this bed some day, so I can find out what she tastes like, if she’s ticklish, what she likes...’
Maybe someday. Well, it was a new year, and maybe the next time the opportunity presented itself, he wouldn’t turn away from her.
‘Oh, well, at least now maybe I’ll be able to sleep.’
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