Secret Santa for silverwolf!

Title: Surrender, Part 2
Pairing: Jack/Sam
Rating: R for sexual references
Summary: Sam knows Jack wants to pay her a visit, and she wants to see him as well....
A/N: This is the sequel to "Surrender," the Secret Santa I wrote for melanie_anne two years ago. :)


Sam snuggled close to Chloe as they watched the DVD she had picked out for the evening, "Labyrinth." It had been two weeks since Jack's visit in Rayle. Written on the back of Chloe's photo was an address just outside of town. When the VCTF investigated, they found Fielder's body – minus his head – in the basement, along with more polaroids of his victims. One of the missing girls was locked in a closet – hungry, thirsty, scared, but alive. Sam didn't delude herself to think that Jack had spared the girl's life on purpose. She could have easily starved to death before the VCTF arrived. But Jack had saved Chloe.

Bailey was skeptical of Fielder targeting Chloe and thought Jack had planted the photo to make Sam think he was protecting her daughter. But there were more polaroids of Chloe in the house with Fielder's prints all over them, and Grace said they came from the same camera. Most were of Chloe at school, outside on the playground with her friends. If Fielder had tried to kidnap her, chances were the agents watching Chloe would've caught him then. But if he had succeeded – no, no sense in dwelling on it. He would never hurt Chloe. Thanks to Jack.

Sam hugged Chloe closer, trying to shake the disturbing thoughts. The night in the hotel room kept invading her dreams. More often than not Bailey's knock did not chase Jack away, and she awoke feeling confused, frightened, disgusted...and even aroused at what she let Jack do to her. She felt like she was losing her mind. She had once asked Angel what she thought chasing sick, twisted killers did to a person, and now she was getting her answer. She'd crawled into Jack's head so many times that she felt at home there now. Had in trying to hard to determine his wants and needs made them her needs? That was the only explanation. Nothing else could explain why she let him touch her – kiss her. She hated him. He was a psychotic murderer. He'd killed her husband. He terrorized her friends. And yet she still dreamed of him.

"If I had a little brother," Chloe said disdainfully, pulling Sam from her thoughts, "I would give him to the Goblin King."

Sam laughed and kissed the top of her daughter's head. "No, you wouldn't, honey," she said.

"For those pretty dresses I would," Chloe said with a mischievous grin.

On the TV screen, said Goblin King was romancing the heroine. "I ask for so little," he said to her. "Just fear me, love me, do as I say and I will be your slave."

Sam couldn't help but shudder a little. That was what Jack wanted, wasn't it? He would do whatever she wanted, give her anything she wished – if only she belonged to him. And she found herself wondering if that was the answer to stopping him.

* * *

Five days later

This was the first time staying in a hotel since Jack's intrusion. Usually they would take a helicopter or jet back to Atlanta, but if distance was too great and an investigation was continuing, they would stay. FBI facilities were always preferable, though not always possible, and in those cases they would stay at a local hotel. An agent now stood outside Sam's door in that case. If Bailey had his way, an agent would be at the foot of her bed.

They had been in California for three nights with no Jack incidents. The police had picked up a suspect that matched Sam's profiler of the serial arsonist, and the VCTF had wrapped their involvement. The flight to Atlanta was early the next morning, and Sam was eager to get home. She hated leaving Chloe, even for a few days.

* * *

Bailey checked the windows and stepped into the bathroom, pulling back the shower curtain to assure himself no one was lurking there. Finding nothing unusual, he turned to Sam. "If you need anything, I'm right next door," he said.

Sam nodded. "I'll be fine. I'm going to order some room service and go to sleep. You should do the same."

"Lock the door behind me," Bailey said as left the room. Sam watched him through the peephole, seeing how he waited until he heard the click of the deadbolt. Then she returned to the bathroom, having seen there what Bailey did not. Jack had been in her room, somehow. The shampoo she normally used was gone, replaced by an expensive custom-made blend – scented with rose oil, of course. Rose milk for her bath and lotion and a bar of rose-scented soap sat on the counter as well. Jack knew where she was, and he intended to come to her tonight. And she would be waiting for him.

She drew a bath, settling down in the hot milky-white water. She used Jack's gifts to wash her hair and body, and rubbed the lotion in when she had finished her bath. Wrapping one of the fluffy white hotel robes around herself, she sat down on the bed. Jack was coming. She could so easily tell Bailey, John, the agent outside her door. He must know how she could set a trap for him – so he had to be certain she would not. Or if he did anticipate a trap, he would have a contingency planned, one that could prove fatal. Jack hated John and Bailey, and a trap they set for Jack could be a trap for them instead. She couldn't risk their lives. Wouldn't.

She turned off the lamp so that the room fell dark, illuminated only by the crack of light under the door, and sat on the edge, waiting. It wasn't long before she smelled the sweet scent of roses and tobacco. She didn't know how Jack had gotten in to the room, and she didn't care. He folded his arms around her from behind, burying his face against her hair. "You smell so good, Samantha," he said.

She tensed. "I...I wanted to thank you. For protecting Chloe."

"You know I won't let anyone hurt our Chloe," he said, stroking her hair. "But that's not all you wanted."

"That's all," she lied, hoping he did not feel her trembling. "It doesn't change anything."

"Then why," he chuckled, "are you wearing nothing but a bathrobe? Why do you smell of my roses?"

She pulled away from him. "How did you get in here?"

"There's nowhere you can go where I will not follow."

"I told you you will never have me."

"And I told you you know that isn't true. You belong to me, Samantha. You were born to be mine. You know it's true. You need me as much as I need you."

"I spent three years without you."

"And you came back to me."

"I hate you!"

"The fires of our love would shame the flames of hell, Samantha." He bit down on her neck, and she cried out softly, arching back against him despite her words of protest. His hand reached for the sash of her robe, and in one swift movement he had pulled it free and pulled her down on the bed at the same time. He seized her wrists, binding them together and lashing them to the headboard.

She could scream and alert the guard at the door, but her voice would not obey. She could use her feet and knees to try to fend Jack off, but her body would not respond to the commands either. Instead, she lay there, waiting. Wanting.

Jack slid down her body, kissing her throat, her breasts, her stomach. She bit her lip to stifle her cries as his head dipped between her legs. Arching her back as he kissed the inside of her thighs, she spread her legs wider to allow him easier access. "Oh, god," she moaned. Jack was masterful. Of course he was. He never did anything less than perfect.

Then abruptly he stopped, and she whimpered in frustration. He moved back up her body, pressing himself against her, his lips brushing hers.

"Please," she begged.

"Please, what?" he asked, nibbling at her neck.

"Please, Jack," she pleaded. She knew he wanted her to say the words, but she couldn't bring herself to do it.

He lifted his body, putting his hands over her own. She entwined her fingers with his. "Tell me what you want, Samantha," he whispered.

She shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut to try to stop the tears. He pulled one hand from hers and seized her jaw. "Tell me, Samantha!" he demanded harshly. He wanted the control, and she could not give it to him. She made a soft sound of frustration, but did not say the words he wanted to hear. With a sigh, he drew away from her. "You're not ready yet, Samantha," he said. And then he was gone.

After a few moments, Sam was able to wriggle her hands free of her bonds. Jack had deliberately tied them loosely; if he didn't want her to escape, she knew he would have done a better job.

She lay quietly for several minutes, then let her hand slip down between her legs as she closed her eyes and pretended Jack was still there. She brought her free hand to her mouth, biting her finger to keep from crying out as she stroked herself, wishing it was Jack's hand and not her own. When she'd finished, she lay trembling for a long moment, then rose and stumbled to the shower, stepping under jets of scalding water. She scrubbed herself with the cheap hotel soap, then sank down in the tub, hugging her knees to her chest and burying her face in her arms, huddling there until the water turned cold.

She'd come so close to giving him what he wanted -- her submission. But she couldn't surrender to him. Not ever.