Sammy

Jack tilts his head to meet your gaze and smiles softly. His eyes drift over your face like he’s memorizing every inch. He’s close enough that he could count each individual lash if he wanted to. 

When he lifts his hands to cup your face between his palms, you melt into his touch. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers. 

Your skin heats under his hands, blood rushing to your face. The timid smile on your face tugs at Jack’s heartstrings.

“So beautiful,” he repeats tenderly. 

He means it. 

You misinterpret it. 

When you stand on your tiptoes to kiss him again, there’s more heat to it—the kind that leads to places you haven’t been to with him yet.  He keeps you steady, your face still held by him.  His lips fit against yours like two puzzle pieces.

The weight of him leads you towards the couch naturally. He doesn’t guide or force but simply leans in until you sink onto the cushions, him braced above you. 

Your hand drifts down from his chest to his stomach. Through his shirt, you still feel the way his muscles flex under your touch.  He breaks the kiss to look at you, an almost dopey curve to his mouth. 

“You’re ticklin’ me,” he mumbles. 

“That’s on purpose,” you reply. 

He grins, then catches your hands in his own.  “Is that so?” he whispers. “Anything else you want to confess?”

You let a few seconds pass, just for dramatic effect, before you nod.  “Yeah,” you mumble, “I’m also trying to take your shirt off right now.”

Jack chuckles softly.  “You don’t say,” he teases. “Any reason for that?”

You roll your eyes fondly.  “Take a guess.”

A gentle laugh spills from him, originating deep from his chest. You feel the vibration travel through him until it reaches your hand, too. 

“I think I can help out with that.”

He grabs the hem of his shirt and pulls it up, then over his head. Your eyes are glued to every inch of sun-kissed skin that’s slowly exposed. For a moment, you hesitate before you reach out to rest your hand on his chest, feeling the heat radiating from him. 

When you’ve had your fill of touching him—though you’re not sure you’ll ever get enough of him—you take off your own shirt. You had planned in advance and worn a black lace bralette, but you hadn’t told Jack, so you could trick him into thinking that you’re always this put together.  The matching panties waited for him under the skirt, which you were eager for him to pull off of you. 

Jack can’t look away—and doesn’t want to. You’re surprised that for once, it doesn’t feel like you’re being ogled. 

No, Jack admires. 

His fingers drift over your breasts up to your neck, then rest on your face. 

“Like I said,” he whispers. “Beautiful.”

Instead of answering, you lean in to kiss him again. As your lips press against his, you reach for his belt buckle and open it. Jack hums into your mouth, a small roll of his hips encouraging you. 

He helps you take off his jeans. Jack talked to you about not wearing his prosthetic at home around you a few days ago, but right now, he still has it on. He seems a little nervous as his pants fall away, and you get a full glance at it for the first time.

You don’t mind at all. 

The next barrier that falls is your skirt. Jack undoes the zipper at the side carefully, then slides the fabric down your legs. He makes a sound you can’t quite categorize when he sees the thin lace panties you picked out for tonight.

“Fuck,” he whispers, “How are you this perfect?”

Again, you forgo an answer with another kiss. 

Jack notices. He cups your face, then pulls away a little just to look at you. His brows knit together slightly. 

“Hey,” he mumbles.

You haven’t been together that long yet, but he knows you well enough to see that you don’t feel like talking about this right now.  Still, for a moment, he chews on his bottom lip in contemplation before he asks, “Wouldn’t you rather take this to the bedroom?”

You shrug softly. “I don’t mind the couch. Whatever you want.”

The divot between his brows deepens.  “But I’m asking you what you want,” he counters. “If… if we’re doing this right now, I want you to be comfortable.”

“I am comfortable,” you reply. 

He nods reluctantly.  “Alright,” he mumbles.

The next kiss feels a little different—not in a bad way, just more careful. Jack waits, lets you chase him instead of taking the lead. So you do. 

You reach behind you to unfasten the clasps of your bra. As the lace falls away, Jack watches with amazement. He almost manages to throw in another compliment for you, but you don’t give him the chance. You stand up from the couch and hook your fingers into your panties, then slowly slip them off.  Jack’s breath hitches. He leans into the back of the couch to watch as you step out of the fabric that fell to your ankles. This time, he truly stares. 

When you step closer, he pulls you in by your hips until you’re seated on his lap. Your bare cunt brushes over the bulge in his boxers, causing both of you to moan. 

You roll against him once, then twice, then kiss him again. The heat between the two of you is unbearable. You don’t understand why he hasn’t taken off his underpants yet and wonder if he maybe just needs a little bit more encouragement, so you grind down against him again. 

Jack hisses at the contact, his fingers tightening on your sides. 

“Fuck, baby,” he mutters. “You’re gonna give me a heart attack.”

“Then let me help you,” you chuckle and reach for the waistband of his boxers. He lifts his hips to help you slip them off—and you swallow hard when you see what you’re working with. The grey happy trail you’ve been eyeing since his shirt came off leads down to his thick cock. The size of the bulge makes more sense now. He’s veiny and flushed a dark red, almost a little purple at the tip. 

“Jesus,” you whisper.

Jack chuckles, maybe even a little self-consciously so. 

“Yeah, it’s um… it’s been a while for me,” he admits. 

Your mouth falls open—you hadn’t expected that. A man with his looks, a doctor at that, too?

“Really?” you ask. “I mean… that’s okay. I don’t mind. Just… tell me what you like.”

He shrugs softly. 

“I like you.” 

His answer is so sappy that it makes you grin. 

“Shut up. No, really, tell me what you like.”

Jack looks at you and pulls you closer again. 

“I’m serious,” he mumbles. “I just want you, however you want. Why? What kinda stuff do the kids like these days?”

Your face warms a little.

“I don’t know,” you mumble. A total lie.  “We can try some stuff, you know?”

“Like what?” he asks. “You want me to tie you up?”  He chuckles like the idea is absurd to him. 

“Would you want to tie me up?” you counter. 

Jack’s brows furrow again. 

“I don’t think that’s my thing,” he says quietly. 

You nod slowly.  “What about…”

Saying it out loud feels, for lack of a better word, cringe, so you take his hand and place it on the base of your throat. 

Jack doesn’t pull away immediately, but his fingers don’t wrap around your neck either. He looks up at you, his jaw set tightly.  Then he shakes his head and cups your face instead. 

“I don’t think so,” he says softly. “How about… we just take things slow and figure it out as we go?”

When you nod, Jack kisses you, and it tastes like relief.  He surprises you when he switches positions with you—you’d have thought he would want you to stay on top.  

Jack braces his weight on his forearms as he hovers above you, his face just inches away from you. Then he lowers his head, but his lips don’t meet yours—they trail down over your chest. His tongue swirls around your nipple, making you gasp as the sensation tingles through you. 

He cups your other breast, squeezing and kneading the flesh gently, then places a kiss on the valley between your breasts before he descends further.  To your ribs… then your navel… then your hipbone. 

Your breath stills completely when his fingers come to rest on your thighs. He doesn’t push them open yet.

“May I?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” you whisper. 

He parts your legs gently, his eyes still focused on you until he lowers his head and—

Your world tilts a little. 

When his tongue drags through your drenched slit, and Jack moans out loud, you arch towards him. He holds your hips in place, fingers digging into the flesh—not hard enough to bruise, but enough to make you feel him. 

“Fuck,” he gasps, “You taste so fucking good, baby.”

He flattens his tongue against your clit, licking upwards until you see stars.

“Jack-“ you moan, trying… you don’t know what you’re trying to say. Your fingers find purchase in his hair, tugging slightly at the grey curls.  He sucks your clit into his mouth, causing you to cry out in pleasure. 

He laps at your cunt like a starved dog, and you can’t believe that “it’s been a while” for him, not when he’s eating you out like that.

“I—oh God,” you sigh dreamily.

Your legs quiver, your hips twitch—your entire body is shaking with pleasure. 

“That’s it, baby,” Jack murmurs, his words muffled. “Fuck—please, just let me make you feel good.”

The sounds of your arousal mixing with his saliva are unholy—a wet overflow of moisture between your thighs. Jack seems to be right where he wants to be. He moans into your flesh, his hips bucking and pressing into the couch below like he is trying to alleviate the ache, the buildup of his own need. 

When you come apart, he guides you through it, not stopping until your brain is overflowing with oxytocin and your thighs won’t stop shaking. 

Both of you are panting when he comes up.  He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and smiles devilishly. 

“God… we’re so doing this again,” he declares softly. 

You’re at a loss for words. You haven’t come like that ever. All you can do is nod and reach for him. 

Jack plants his arms on either side of your head and kisses you deeply. You taste yourself on his tongue, the sweet, tangy flavor erupting in your mouth. 

His leaking cock presses against your tummy as his lips graze yours.

You reach between you and stroke him, making him groan into your mouth. 

“Jesus,” he mutters when he pulls away to look at you. “You—”

He thrusts into your hand instinctively, and you realize just how pent up he is. 

“Your turn,” you whisper. 

Jack tsks softly, half amused, half… something else.  He cups your face and kisses your jaw tenderly. 

“Believe me, that was my turn,” he says lowly. “But if you want to keep going, I’m sure as hell not saying no.”

--

The bliss afterwards is indescribable. But it’s also foreign.

You still sense every press of his hands on your body without feeling tender, every brush of his lips without a single mark on your skin, and every thrust of his hips without that residual feeling of having been used. 

Jack was nothing but gentle. 

And god, it was incredible. 

The sheets underneath you are crumpled and slightly damp with sweat and sex, but you don’t mind. Not when Jack’s arm is wrapped around you, your back pressing against his chest. He kisses the side of your neck where your pulse still flutters with excitement. 

“You were incredible,” he whispers.

It must be so obvious that his words fluster you because he smirks when you hide your face in the sheets. 

“Barely even did anything,” you mumble. 

Jack makes a sound you can’t quite discern. 

“Right,” he chuckles. “Except that thing where you got really tight when you were about to come again or—”

You whip around and press your hand over his mouth, your eyes wide and embarrassed.

“Jack,” you complain, half-serious, half-playful. 

He kisses your palm and smiles. 

“Hey, I’m just teasin’,” he retorts. “But I really meant it. It was really great for me.”

“Yeah, for me, too,” you mumble. 

You’re not used to any kind of pillow talk, so the words feel thick, like they don’t quite want to leave your mouth. 

Jack doesn’t seem to mind. He just pulls you closer against his chest and rests his chin on the top of your head. 

As the minutes pass, he tells you to go pee and promises more cuddles later on. 

In the bathroom, you look at yourself in the mirror. The haphazardly buttoned-up shirt you’re wearing belongs to Jack and falls to your mid-thigh. Your hair is a mess from how often he ran his hands through it. A few hickeys begin to gain color and paint your neck a soft purple.

You can’t help but smile. 

“Hey, sweetheart?” Jack calls out. “Your phone keeps vibrating. I think someone really wants to talk to you!”

“Yeah, just a sec,” you reply. 

When you return to his bedroom, Jack is sitting up, his brows drawn together slightly. Your phone is in his hand, the screen facing up. 

“Sorry,” he says as he passes it to you. “I didn’t mean to spy on you or anything, just wanted to bring it to you.”

You take your phone and glance at the messages—and feel your face heat up.

“Oh.” Your laugh comes out stiff as you quickly shut off your phone. “Sorry, um—they’re joking, of course. Like, uh…”

Jack looks at you quietly, watching as you fumble nervously with the edge of your phone case. There was a light flush to his cheeks now, too. 

“No, no, don’t worry, I shouldn’t have read it anyway, I just looked at it ‘cause it kept… vibrating,” he explains. 

The awkward silence that follows feels detrimental. 

You wonder if you should explain more, or if maybe stammering another apology would make it worse, but then Jack breaks the quiet first. 

“Not to sound my age, but… I assume cracking means… uh… hooking up?”

You press your lips together uncomfortably.

“Yeah,” you mumble. “Like, um… yes.”

He nods once. Then he tilts his head to catch your eyes. 

“It’s not the… nicest word, is it?” he asks. 

“It’s just, like, a TikTok thing,” you answer. 

“Hm,” is all he replies. 

Then he takes your hand and guides you back onto the mattress. You meet his gaze hesitantly. The lines around his eyes are a little deeper, just like the furrow between his brows. He doesn’t seem angry, just serious.

“I… I kind of would prefer it if you didn’t think of what we just did as… “cracking”. It’s not the word I would use,” he says slowly.

“It’s just a word,” you mutter. 

“Not to me,” he argues softly. “It’s… words have meanings. And cracking sounds like… like I’m doing something to you, not with you. I don’t mean to be… all old man and, like, police your language. But… I don’t want you to think of sex with me that way. Or… with anyone else for that matter, even though, ideally, I would like this to be a long-term thing.”

His hazel eyes don’t leave your face for even a single moment, and it’s almost overwhelming—if it weren’t for the sincerity in them. 

“I’m sorry—" you begin, but Jack shushes you.

“No, sweetheart, I don’t- I don’t want you to apologize. I just want you to be comfortable with me. I wanna make sure you… you feel respected by me,” he explains. 

“I do,” you reply quickly. “Really. Like, no one else has ever… been this kind to me.”

Jack’s face falls. 

“Oh, no, I mean, like… you’re a gentleman,” you elaborate.

He shakes his head softly. 

“No, baby, I’m… this is… this is the bare minimum. Christ.”

Jack’s hands find yours, and he leans in to kiss your forehead. Then he wraps his arms around you. 

“At the risk of sounding like your father, I think you kids need to put down your phones and go out in the real world.”

Tells her to hurry in the morning with a slap on her ass, they’ve got places to go, beer to drink, games to watch. The lads are waiting to meet her.

Of course he makes her watch all the games with him and the boys. Makes her wear a skirt that somewhat matches his kilt, he wants everyone to know that she’s his girl just by the pattern on her clothes. It doesn’t hurt that it gives him easy access to run his fingers over her panties whenever he wants. Doesn’t hurt that he can lift her skirt up as they walk down the street, get a nice look at her. Doesn’t hurt that he can slip a finger inside her while they wait for beers at the bar. Doesn’t hurt that when his friends are turned away, he can put his hand up her skirt and quickly press his thumb against her asshole, tell her how he’s gonna fuck that pretty hole later, laugh at the shriek she lets out. It’s humiliating. It’s the hottest thing that’s ever happen to her. She feels like everyone can see her dripping down her thighs.

When they get to the pub, he pulls her down next to him, pulls her so close she feels like she might start getting claustrophobic. He makes sure she never takes her hand off his upper thigh, even when his friends laugh or complain he’s gonna flash everyone with how high he’s dragging his kilt up. Keeps her hand locked under his, moving her hand around as he sees fit, as the night goes on he pulls her hand closer and closer to his cock.

He turns and pushes his mouth against her ear to tell her what a tease she is. Like he’s not dragging her hand along his cock himself! Tells her she’s gonna make all the boys jealous. Tells her that his team is very important to him, that this game is serious, and if she doesn’t stop he’s gonna have to drag her to the ally and fuck her, he’s gonna teach her pussy a lesson for making him miss the game. He coos at how red her face is.

She’s confused by him and slightly (more than slightly) creeped out by some of the things he says and does. But fuck it. She’s young, he’s actually very good with his tongue, he doesn’t live here, he’s gotta go home eventually, and it all reminds her of some of those cheesy smutty romance books she finds herself reading. She thinks it’s just a fun, weird World Cup hook up….Scotland can’t possibly go that far into the tournament right???

Soon he’ll be gone and she’ll have just a funny but strange story to maybe post on tiktok someday or tell her daughter years from now. But no. He buys a plane ticket for himself AND her, has her stuff packed and ready to go the night before. Tells her she’s coming with him. He can’t just let her go now, she’s his girl! He’s ready to settle her down with a baby back in Scotland. She’s the one.