She will, of course, though he'll enjoy the moment now for what it is. He keeps a hand in her hair, letting it fall from where it had been up.
He thought there might be guilt with this, but there's none. There's no guilt, no worry, nothing but her until it's done and he can pull her back up. As if losing her might cause him to overthink again.
Tess moves up when he pulls her, looking pleased with herself and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand as she goes. She's happy to settle right back in his lap, perched his knee.
"Then get off my lap and let me get my boots off," he grumbles good naturedly. He reaches around her, just a little cocky, a little confident, and pours himself another drink from the table beside him.
That little glimmer of cockiness completely tickles her, and she's content to languish on him for a moment, if only to be a brat about it. She kisses up the side of his face while he pours.
"You need to get your boots off to fuck me?" she teases.
She can't remember the last time someone she slept with was so playful with her, and she lets out a gasp of laughter when he sweeps her up, clutching at him like she's afraid he might drop her.
He hauls her over his shoulder and walks the few steps over to his bed. This is a side that he doesn't show many. This side of Jake is only around when he lets himself be happy, even for just a few seconds.
Carefully, he places her back on the bed and kisses her again.
Much better, she agrees. The glass beads of her necklace are cool when the rest of her feels warm all over, and she gets a hand wound into the front of his shirt and pulls him in closer to her.
He doesn't mind being tugged and pulled by her at the moment and grins a bit when she does. Gone are the guilty thoughts, gone are the ghosts from port. Everything just seems a little simpler as he playfully tries to swipe her hand away to get them both bare.
Just like last time, though hopefully without the pesky interruptions.
The relief Tess feels after that all-body rush is immense –– three whole fucking months since the breach they'd first hooked up in, another two months after that since Butcher, altogether the longest dry spell in ages. It makes her feel crazy, even a little demandingly so, and she's sure she will feel spend the next day in a semi-exhausted bliss. Things are fine. She isn't going to be on her own for the rest of her fucking life, which hopefully isn't just the next week, but for the foreseeable future, she's covered.
Under that, there's a nagging feeling. She doesn't give it the time of day. He's handsome and takes her attitude and appreciates her and that's all that fucking matters.
Tess rolls against his side, boneless and laughing under her breath, and she grinds a wet thigh up against his.
"I hope you don't have any other plans for the week 'cause I don't think you're anywhere near empty, and I've got a lot of energy," she teases him.
He doesn't let nagging feelings stop him. He doesn't let guilt or memories or anything detract from the moment. Perhaps later, when his bed has cooled, he'll be clear headed enough to realize what a predicament he's in. Fortunately, he's gotten very good at forgetting those things, too.
As she moves close, he keeps an arm underneath her, brushing fingers through her hair.
"You know where to find me," he laughs. "Unless Trouble's got themselves in some shit, I'll be around."
He reaches down for his shirt, digging cigarettes out of the pocket.
Tess fits herself right to his side, head laid against his shoulder. So much bare skin on skin feels good, too, and she thinks she could just thrive off his body heat forever. For once, she doesn't even need to smoke. The edge is off.
"If that little shit chooses now to start drama, I'll wring their neck myself," she murmurs.
He narrows his eyes a bit. "Something black and lacy and better fitted on you," he admits, lighting the cigarette, using the rest of the match to light the candle on his nightstand.
Tess contemplates that and decides she’s not much of a fan either. Different strokes for different folks and all, but if the plan is to humiliate, then mission success, she’s turned off.
“Well, find me something like that to wear and we’ll put that image in your head instead.”
She grins, too. Could be fun, indulging like that. Wear something a little superficial, draw the eye away from the scars. That might be nice.
"You have fun asking the Admiral for that one," she tells him. But god, when was the last time she stayed the night? That's a memory worth covering up, and she nods. It's not like anyone's doing bed checks.
"Might go back to my cabin to grab some things, but I'll come back."
"Do what you have to," he assures her. He knows it's probably not a good idea because they could get caught but dammit, he hates feeling like he's doing something wrong. He's not. This isn't wrong.
He just has to repeat it more times to make it true.
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He thought there might be guilt with this, but there's none. There's no guilt, no worry, nothing but her until it's done and he can pull her back up. As if losing her might cause him to overthink again.
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She just laughs under her breath.
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"I don't have any other plans," she says, a little breathy.
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"You need to get your boots off to fuck me?" she teases.
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"Who says you're gettin' fucked?" he tells her softly, pulling away only so he can down the glass.
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Then, in a quick move, he laughs, trying to just pick her up and carry her.
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Carefully, he places her back on the bed and kisses her again.
Much better than the chair.
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Just like last time, though hopefully without the pesky interruptions.
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The relief Tess feels after that all-body rush is immense –– three whole fucking months since the breach they'd first hooked up in, another two months after that since Butcher, altogether the longest dry spell in ages. It makes her feel crazy, even a little demandingly so, and she's sure she will feel spend the next day in a semi-exhausted bliss. Things are fine. She isn't going to be on her own for the rest of her fucking life, which hopefully isn't just the next week, but for the foreseeable future, she's covered.
Under that, there's a nagging feeling. She doesn't give it the time of day. He's handsome and takes her attitude and appreciates her and that's all that fucking matters.
Tess rolls against his side, boneless and laughing under her breath, and she grinds a wet thigh up against his.
"I hope you don't have any other plans for the week 'cause I don't think you're anywhere near empty, and I've got a lot of energy," she teases him.
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As she moves close, he keeps an arm underneath her, brushing fingers through her hair.
"You know where to find me," he laughs. "Unless Trouble's got themselves in some shit, I'll be around."
He reaches down for his shirt, digging cigarettes out of the pocket.
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"If that little shit chooses now to start drama, I'll wring their neck myself," she murmurs.
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"She'd turn herself into me wearin' something ridiculous again."
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She tilts her head to look up at him, grinning just a lil.
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“Well, find me something like that to wear and we’ll put that image in your head instead.”
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He hesitates, glancing to the door. "You staying the night?" Despite it, he sounds hopeful.
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"You have fun asking the Admiral for that one," she tells him. But god, when was the last time she stayed the night? That's a memory worth covering up, and she nods. It's not like anyone's doing bed checks.
"Might go back to my cabin to grab some things, but I'll come back."
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He just has to repeat it more times to make it true.
"And I ain't askin' the Admiral for nothin'."
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