- Text Size +
Author's Chapter Notes:
Been a while since I wrote anything, so it is nice to go back to my favourite pairing and write about them.

This is in response to the challenge posted at pbhiatus_fic at Live Journal - 'Let's get it on'.

Much appreciation goes to my dear friend chicago21 who gave it a read through before I posted. Thanks, hon!
~ * ~


I speak two languages, Body and English.
Mae West




Aviator shades hide the searing heat in Lincoln's eyes as he watches her, luxuriating in the vision she creates in his mind by walking toward him across the sand. She is a striking woman but far removed from the typical blonde stereotype than some might expect. Her body is feminine and soft, never failing to excite him, yet he suspects she possesses more than enough skill to kick his ass if required, should he ever step out of line.


Despite the fact he is sorely tempted to test out that little theory - purely for research purposes, of course - Lincoln has the good sense to simply respect that particular line of reasoning about Jane Phillips.


He continues to watch as the late afternoon light bathes her slender but muscled limbs with its honeyed glow, and admires not for the first time, her choice of attire for the afternoon. It may as well be the skimpiest red bikini known to man, teamed with a gauzy sarong tied low on her hips. It barely covers what he's been obsessing over all morning: her toned and velvet flesh, all warm, willing and creamy under his lips.


She is literally poetry in motion. Or more like porn in motion, he mentally corrects, if his libido's reaction is anything to go by. Watching those pert breasts gently sway, barely restrained by the halter-neck, only serves to contribute to the growing rod of steel in his pants and the sudden desert-dry inside his mouth.


He shifts his weight on the blanket, fighting the urge to lick his lips in anticipation. God, if it isn't getting hot out here. Not that he is complaining, mind you. Hell, no. That would mean thinking, and right now, all he can do is look and wait for the moment when he can touch.


"Thought you might like a beer," she observes sagely, holding out one of the two bottles in her hand. "We've got an hour or so to kill before we need to leave for dinner with Michael and Sara."


As much as he is looking forward to seeing his brother and Sara, his now-wife, dinner is a long way from his mind at present. "Thanks," Lincoln replies, clearing his throat and taking the proffered beer with a nod. "Cheers."


He drinks a large mouthful of the cold liquid, grateful for some momentary relief from his sudden thirst. How he managed to end up with a woman like Jane still surprises the hell out of him, most of the time. Ever since the hell of Sona, Michael's escape and subsequent exoneration, he's never made much of a habit of thinking much past today.


But that was until her. His unaccustomed good fortune still takes the Linc of today a bit of getting used to.


He lets go a satisfied sigh. "Man, I could get used to this, you know. Life, like this."


Jane laughs throatily as she sinks down on the blanket beside him, her long, shapely legs stretching out in front of her. "You wish. Sorry to burst your bubble, Linc, but I'm into sexual equality. You're doing the next beer run, buddy."


He grins back at her, powerless to drag his eyes away from this stunning woman next to him, her athleticism and sass filling him with something he's recognised as being more meaningful than just typical male lust. He's been alone for a long time, but he still remembers the magic of that rare moment when a shared connection changes your life; miraculously finding it again is like a second chance.


"Maybe," he suggests, removing his sunglasses, "I wasn't just talking about the alcohol service." He is a simple man and one of few words. His intense blue eyes blazing with emotion say the rest.


"Well, maybe," she murmurs, "I knew that already." She holds his gaze for a long moment before stretching out to cup his whiskered jaw with her hand. A finger softly drags along his jaw line and over the ebb and flow of his lips. "But I might be tempted to play barmaid, anyway," she breathes with the hint of a smile, "as long as you behaved."


Barely seconds after she speaks, his mouth swoops down over hers in the only answer he knows he needs to give, the lush pout he's been fantasizing about all day opening willingly under the onslaught, her body following over his. She tastes so good and her lips return his kiss with a raw need of her own he so fiercely wants to fill.


Their end of the beach is deserted, a fact that is fortunate but yet doesn't matter in the end - his senses are too overwhelmed by her to stop and think; the silk of her hair is in his hands, the delicate perfume of the homemade local soap teases his nostrils, the tantalising weight of her lies full length on top of his, fitting easily into the expanse of his frame.


His broad hand slides down her back to grasp the curve of her ass, pulling her hips closer to his swollen groin and her pelvis answers the unspoken challenge with a strong rocking motion of her own. In one smooth movement he rolls her onto her back, his lips leaving her mouth to blaze a twisting trail of sultry, wet heat with his tongue, starting from the velvet of her jaw and ending at the soft silk at the juncture of her throat and collarbone.


He feels her hands slide up over his head, lifting his eyes to hers, a raw need burning in those cerulean depths he feels just as acutely. Her bruised lips arc in a seductive pout. "I'd say this is definitely on the road to good behaviour, you know," she breathes, arching her back and pushing her pelvis wantonly into his.


Jesus. His immediate reaction is to slowly trace the curve of a breast through her halter. Her eyes darken before they softly flutter and close, her mouth sucking in a small breath as his thumb finds and circles the nub of her increasingly hard nipple. He watches transfixed, as she snakes up a hand to untie the string of the halter, allowing her bosom to finally spill free and lie open to the heat of his gaze and the touch of his hands.


Her skin is warm and velvety smooth in his palms as his mouth captures what his eyes have imagined only seconds earlier. All he can think of is how badly he wants her, and how he needs to feel her naked skin writhing under him; every time his tongue laves those rock-hard peaks her whimpering moans send an electric pulse directly to the head of his now throbbing cock. He is painfully aware his ability to contain himself won't last for much longer.


She smiles and tugs at his shorts in a manner that leaves no doubt; she already knows. He quickly stands to rid himself of clothes, watching hungrily while Jane's hands dispense with hers, revealing the small dark triangle between her long legs. He is totally silent, leaving his eyes to speak volumes. She reclines back on the blanket and her gaze locks onto his; from his mind to her actions, her creamy thighs spread before him in silent invitation.


He falls to his knees with a groan, drawn by the hypnotic centre of her and frames the moist heat at the junction of her legs with his hands. He is lost in the moment, his mouth and tongue slave to the tease and taunt of her slick heat as he breathes in her musky sweetness. She is carried away beneath him, straining against the plunder of his mouth; yet he knows freedom is the last thing she wants. Her staccato moans punctuate the air around them as he slides two digits inside her, the feel of her tight sheath molten and wet around his fingers.


Seconds later, he feels her body shudder and keen as he draws her closer to the edge, the rush pounding through his veins and setting his own blood afire. He feels the sweat trickle down his spine as her hands hold his head close, before she releases a low guttural moan as the wave of orgasm finally washes over her.


Her eyes are still closed when he slides his body along the length of hers. She is undone and replete, her lips parted, her breathing slow and languid; at that moment, he knows he has never wanted her more.


A smile begins to play at the corners of her mouth. "Remind me to bring you a beer on the beach more often," she says softly, kissing his shoulder. His hips brush over hers with loaded intent, the wait almost more than he bear. "Oh, baby," she whispers, her hands reaching for him. "Come here."


The waves crash on the sand behind them but he is too focussed on the cool touch of her hand to notice. His hips lower down as she guides his rock hard shaft to where he craves between her thighs. She is more than ready for him, her wet heat instantly swallowing and enclosing his cock and propelling him toward his own orgasm at light speed.


She is better than any drug he has ever taken, the sheer intensity driving Lincoln to quicken his pace while her legs wrap around his waist and meet his every thrust with one of her own. He loses himself in her passionate embrace, her mouth nibbling on his ear in a blatant tease, fanning the flames roaring higher inside his gut.


"Fuck me, Linc, just fuck me." Her voice is husky and breathy in his ear and then – oh God, yes - his torso shakes with a shuddering release, echoing the crash of the surf behind. He sinks to the ground beside her with a satisfied grunt.


"Jane Phillips, you bad girl," he says moments later with a wry grin. "Talking dirty? That’s hardly fair on a man, gives you an unfair advantage. I demand a do-over."


"Hey, all's fair in love and war," she replies, laughing. "And also on the beach when we're going to be late. I need a shower... and there’s just enough time for one of those… if you're quick," she finishes, glancing up at him with a lingering look.


Lincoln throws his head back and laughs. “Now that kind of behaviour is my idea of good. I’ll race you back to the house.”


She is already running before he’s finished talking.



~ * ~