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Samira watches as her husband stands patiently in front of a resort employee in a chef’s hat, his mouth moving as he makes casual conversation while the employee meticulously pours waffle batter into an iron. The employee laughs at something Jack says, nodding along. The breakfast area at the resort is a stunning covered outdoor area, tables tucked around lush greenery, giving some semblance of privacy to guests even during the morning rush. Jack had insisted that they physically come to breakfast this morning so he could try one of the waffles the employees had told him all about.
The problem is that Samira’s husband is a little too nice. She watches as, for the fourth or fifth time since he got up to finally get his waffle, a small child bounds up to the waffle station, eyes huge as the chef flips the iron. After a moment of wonder, the child looks to Jack shyly. And her wonderful, kind husband passes his clean plate to the child, gesturing him forward as the chef opens the waffle iron, revealing a perfectly golden brown waffle.
She loves him so, so much. He is also going to make them late for their reserved spa appointment. Taking the last sip of her oat milk latte, Samira gets up from the table and walks over to Jack, taking his hand as she sidles up to him.
“Jack, our appointment is in ten minutes.”
“Is it really—” He lifts his wrist, checking his watch to confirm with his own eyes that he has spent twenty minutes letting children divert his quest for the perfect waffle. “Damn.”
“We have twelve more days for you to try the waffle.”
Jack looks mournfully at the waffle iron one more time, but lets Samira tug him into motion to make their way towards the resort spa. “I know, sweetheart. You’re the only sweet thing I need, anyways.”
“Take as much time as you need. And as a reminder, we recommend that you drink plenty of water for the next 24 hours and avoid strenuous activity as your muscles heal.”
The door to the spa treatment room opens with a soft click, and there is the slight rustling of fabric as the two masseuses exit the room, and then another soft click as the door shuts behind them.
Samira cracks open one drowsy eye, blinking in the dim light of the room. Jack is a few feet away, also prone on a massage table, blanket draped over his lower body. His eyes are still closed, breaths slower and deeper than Samira thinks she’s ever seen them.
It’s not that she never gets to see Jack at ease. He’s at ease in their house, even around PTMC when they’re not in the middle of triaging a trauma. It’s just that, normally, Samira is not at ease. Normally, she finds it hard to be at ease enough to appreciate the handsome lines of her husband’s face, the way the sun brings out the copper in his greying hair.
Under her gaze, Jack’s mouth curves into a smile as he says, “Pretty sure your eyes are supposed to be shut, sweetheart.”
”How did you even know I was watching you?”
“Think I wouldn't notice when the prettiest woman in the world is looking at me?”
Samira flushes, despite the cool air blowing over them. Before she has a chance to respond, he asks, “What did you think?”
Shifting, Samira surveys the sensations in her body, finding a bonelessness she so rarely experiences outside of the brief glow post-orgasm or the few seconds as she wakes from a nap. The masseuse had worked at a knot on her shoulder that Samira was pretty sure she had been carrying with her since her first year of medical school – now, she couldn't feel it at all.
“I feel like a new person. I've never gotten a real massage before.”
“Really?”
“Nope,” she replies. “Although, I did take this massage seminar when I was an intern.”
Finally, Jack cracks open an eye. He blinks in the dim light, still looking so soft that Samira feels her pulse accelerate. She loves him so much it feels like there is not enough room in her body to contain it. There are not enough sensations to feel all of it.
“Massage seminar?” he prompts her when she doesn't continue.
“Oh, yeah. My intern year was… difficult. At one point, I wasn't sure if I wanted to continue with emergency medicine, so I was exploring other options. I thought maybe something orthopedic related, and I know massage can have incredible effects on improving outcomes of orthopedic interventions. So, I saw a massage seminar and signed up for it.”
“Of course you did,” Jack says, with so much fondness in his rough voice Samira again feels a little overwhelmed by him, even though he's more than an arm’s length away. “Smartest one everywhere you go.”
“No, I’m not,” Samira counters, for what must be the thousandth time since Jack Abbot became a fixture in her life.
“Mmm, I’ll make you believe me soon enough.” Jack shifts, and Samira watches the blanket slip lower down his waist, revealing the strong lines of his lower back. “Did you learn anything?”
“Hm?”
Jack lets out a soft laugh, tracking the direction of her gaze, before clarifying, “At your massage seminar. Did you learn anything?”
“Oh, well.” Samira flushes again, recalling the events of that day. “It was not the type of massage I thought it was.”
“What does that mean?”
“It was… Well. It was an erotic massage seminar.”
Jack twitches, turning his whole head to look at her properly for the first time since they laid down on the massage tables two hours ago. “Erotic massage? Like–”
“Sexually stimulating massage, yeah. I didn't know, and by the time I realized, it just felt a little rude to leave. Plus, you know I never like to discount a treatment just because it's non-traditional. I thought I might learn something.”
Jack stares at her for a beat. Even in the dim light, Samira can see a flush creeping up from his chest to his neck. He doesn't say anything, still. “What?”
“You are…” He trails off to clear his throat. “I'm just thinking that it is the honor of my life to spend the rest of it being surprised by your brilliance.”
“Jack.”
“Did you learn anything?”
“At the… Well, I stayed for the whole thing. Never got to actually… test any of the techniques they talked about. But…” Samira pauses, an idea suddenly occurring to her. Jack tips his head.
“What, sweetheart?”
“We could… put them to the test. If you want.”
Before the last word is out of her mouth, Jack is rolling off the table, far faster than their masseuses advised, catching himself in standing with his left leg, arms bulging as his hands brace on the table. He sways a little, clearly fighting the gravitational redistribution of blood in his body. Laughing, Samira admires the view of his ass as she says, “I’ll take that as a yes?”
Jack looks over his shoulder, looking down at where she still lays. “If I knew, I would have vowed to be your first and last erotic massage patient for as long as we both shall live, too.”
The loud click of the lock on their villa door is at odds with the gentle, quiet sounds of tropical life that filter in through the open doors that lead out to the beach. The sheer curtains billow in the sea breeze, and Samira is again taken aback by how beautiful this place is. It seems to draw every urgency from her body, until her thoughts pass through her mind without any real impression. It's just her and Jack and all the time in the world.
Turning to Jack, Samira straightens her posture and puts on her best professional voice, something she hopes is throaty and sexy and does not at all remind him of working a shift. (Although, on more than one occasion, he has admitted to getting turned on by watching her work a trauma, so maybe it wouldn't be the worst thing).
“Please undress to your comfort level and make yourself comfortable on the…” Samira glances around, looking for the best possible surface. “On the settee.”
Jack smirks at her, dimple flashing on his stubbled cheek, eyes so fond it nearly hurts to look at. “I love you.”
“Sir, please try to keep it professional.”
He snorts at her, leaning in to steal a kiss before he trails off towards the bedroom, shrugging out of his shirt as goes, revealing the muscled expanse of his back. Samira follows behind him, admiring the view, cataloguing new freckles that have sprouted up already in their short time on the island. Maybe later tonight he’ll be patient enough to let her kiss each one.
Jack sits on the bed, reaching down to remove his prosthetic, and Samira takes it from him. “Full service kind of place, huh?” he teases as she moves to set it beside the armoire.
“The best, I've been told,” Samira teases back. Because if there was one thing Jack never let her forget, it was that he thought the world of her. She had lost count of the number of times he had called her the smartest person he knew, the future of medicine. His future. He would follow her anywhere, to Jupiter, even, he had told her once.
When she turns back around, Jack has shucked his shorts and briefs off and tosses them off towards the bed, leaving him nude. “Ok?” he asks.
Samira smiles softly as she approaches. “This is about you, not me.”
Jack makes a soft sound, something between disbelief and relief. He shifts, scooting backwards to lie flat on his back. When he starts to roll, like he might lie on his stomach, Samira clicks her tongue at him.
“Uh uh. On your back, please.”
A flush blooms on Jack’s chest as he pauses, eyes flicking up to her. “You're a menace.”
Samira just smiles, stepping forward as Jack settles on his back, not not noticing the way his cock twitches against his thigh as she approaches. She sets her hand on his left ankle, dragging her nails lightly through the coarse hair as she trails her hand up his leg, humming when Jack shudders beneath her.
“Samira.”
She doesn't respond until her hand slides over the hills and valleys of his thigh, hip, and torso, settling on his pectoral, which twitches when she accidentally nudges his nipple with her pinky. Beneath her palm, she feels the steady thud thud thud of Jack’s heart. It grounds her, the way it always does, proof that Jack is real and the love she feels for him and he for her is a living thing.
In all honesty, Samira doesn't remember that much from the massage seminar. She remembers more the way it made her feel, the warm flush that settled beneath her skin as she watched in rapt fascination how a simple touch, with the right location and pressure and release, could have such an effect on the person being touched. At the time, she couldn't imagine a world where, even in the midst of sex, not being at least a little bit distracted by something, some part of her brain always on. Even when she was alone in her bed, hand between her legs, she would catch herself drifting from her fantasies to her study schedule, or a new topic she was trying to memorize, or a patient she had seen earlier in the day. It took concentration to keep the thoughts at bay, to keep her mind aware of the sensations of her body.
Now, though, as she scratches at Jack’s chest hair, watching as his eyes flutter against the sensation, body completely lax in trust, she understands. Here, away from nearly everything, the simple feel of Jack’s heart beneath her hand, her wedding band winking in the sunlight streaming into the villa, is enough to stir something behind her navel, a warm pool of want that seems to get deeper and deeper every moment they spend here.
“The first thing they taught at the seminar was the connection between the giver and the receiver. Do you think we have a good connection?”
Jack cracks open one eye, hazel nearly swallowed by the black of his pupil as he squints at her. “Sweetheart. You're killing me.”
Samira shifts her weight, so she can press into his pec with the heel of her palm, massaging a long line from his sternum to his shoulder. “Your heartbeat feels fine. A little fast, but strong.” Another long sweep of her hand, and she leans over his body as she tracks from one collarbone to the other, letting her chest brush against his. Even through the thin material of her shirt, Jack’s skin is hot against her nipples.
He moans softly when Samira digs her thumb into the meaty space between his chest and shoulder, hips twitching.
“Hm,” she hums again, shifting back momentarily to look down at him. Jack manages to blink his eyes open again, looking up at her. “I think this will just get in the way, actually.” Without ceremony, Samira reaches for the hem of her shirt, pulling it over her head, leaving her upper body bare.
Jack makes an indecipherable sound, shutting his eyes again. Samira takes that as an indication she should continue, so she sets her hand back on his chest, rubbing large, gentle circles that gradually get smaller and harder until she’s circling the heavy muscle around his nipple.
“Good?”
“It’s always good. Everything with you is good.”
Pride blooms behind Samira’s sternum, warming her further. Bringing her other hand to mirror the one on his chest, she makes a long sweeping motion down his torso, fingers pressing into his abdominals, enjoying the strength beneath his skin. Samira watches in mild fascination as his cock jumps, bobbing to rest at the top of his right thigh, now fully hard.
“I guess their methods weren't complete nonsense, hmm?”
“They did this–” his voice cuts off as she smooths her thumbs into the crease between his legs and his torso, carefully avoiding the jut of his cock. “Fuck. They did this in front of a room?”
Samira trails her hands back up, wishing she had had the foresight to borrow some oil from the spa. “Yeah. There were volunteers.”
It’s a small white lie. There were volunteers, but they had been fully clothed and the demonstration had been purely through gestures, no actual touch. But there had been videos with nude bodies and strong hands, so she figures it's close enough to the truth. And it's definitely worth it when Jack groans, “Jesus Christ, Samira.”
She can't help giggling a little, feeling particularly smug as his cock twitches again, this time leaking a little onto the tensed muscles of his abdomen. They rarely do this – Jack prone and pliant and willing to just accept whatever Samira wants to give him. Jack doesn't mind when Samira is the one simply receiving, but she can rarely convince him that he also deserves her undivided attention solely for his own sake. It feels good. It feels so… married, to be half-joking while she is trying to make her husband come.
“You're so tense,” she coos at him, smoothing over his abdominals again, just to tease at the dip of his waist.
Jack’s voice is rough and delicious when he croaks back, “Yeah, baby, because I’m trying not to come.”
Surprised by this statement, Samira pauses, looking back up to Jack’s face. His head is tipped back, his throat bared to her. The flush has spread to his cheeks, two spots of pink high in his cheeks. His eyes are closed against some invisible onslaught.
“Really?”
“I think… I think it’s definitely working, sweetheart,” Jack says, sounding a little bit like he might actually be dying, all breathy and hoarse.
“I’m just following their instructions,” she replies mildly, resuming the motion of her hands, this time intentionally brushing against his cock.
“Fuck, Samira.”
She does it again, drawing a choke from Jack. His muscles flex where he lays, restraining himself against an instinct she is sure involves hauling her on top of him and kissing her breathless. Samira really, really likes that he’s doing this for her. She likes it enough that she decides to reward him by ducking down and licking a long, wet stripe from the base of his cock to the tip, finishing with a wet, smacking kiss against the slit.
“There is no way they taught you that at this seminar.”
Relenting, Samira finally takes him into her hand, gathering her saliva and the precum in her palm to ease the friction as she slides her hand up and down. Beneath her, Jack’s body somehow relaxes and tenses at the same time, his leg muscles slackening as his abs flex with the movement of her hand.
“They encourage lubrication to reduce friction.”
“With your mouth?”
Samira smiles, but knows Jack can’t see it with his head thrown back. “No, they didn’t. This part is all me.”
In her periphery, she sees Jack lift his head and turns to look back at him. He looks a little dazed and a lot flushed, the silver of his stubble standing out against the pink of his cheeks. “I love you.”
“I love you, too. Now, let me make my husband feel good.”
Jack groans again, letting his head fall back to the settee with a thud, like Samira just said the filthiest thing in the world. Ducking back down, she licks a little at the head of his cock before taking him fully into her mouth.
“Jesus, sweetheart.”
She hums in encouragement around him, bobbing her head, using one hand to grip where she can’t reach and the other to cup his balls. His hips jerk lightly, like he’s holding himself back, gently fucking up into her mouth.
“Not gonna… Fuck. Not gonna last.”
Samira smiles around a mouthful, letting one hand fall away so she can get more of him into her mouth, breathing through her nose as she works him into her throat. Reaching up, she feels for Jack’s hand, tangling their fingers together as his breathing accelerates.
“Samira,” he says, half prayer, half warning.
She hums one more time in encouragement before swallowing him down. Jack swears as his cock bumps against the back of her throat, hips jerking once, twice, before he comes in her mouth. He groans long and low, fingers of the hand not held in hers coming up to tangle in her curls, petting gently at her head as she swallows and pulls away. Samira licks one more time at his softening cock, quietly enjoying the way he shudders against the overstimulation, but doesn’t complain.
“Sweetheart,” Jack murmurs above her, tugging once on her hair to draw her gaze up to his. He’s looking at her like… well, like he always does, which is to say somewhere between cartoon heart eyes and total, devoted admiration. Here, Samira is known and safe and loved and she still cannot believe that he is hers.
“Hi,” she smiles back at him. “So, what’s the verdict? I think I still have the survey from that seminar somewhere in my email inbox.”
Jack’s laugh echoes off the high ceilings of the villa as he hauls her up his body and kisses her senseless.