The first time we had sex, she jumped me. There's no polite way to say it. She jumped me and we fucked. I suppose the gentlemanly thing to do would have been to recognize she was in a state and carefully refused her, but there are times even I can't be a gentleman. Particularly when the latest object of my desire, the newest star of my fantasies, was mashing her mouth against mine and muttering, "Fuck me, Doggett," as her perfect hand unzipped my trousers.

No, all I said was, "Call me John," as I pushed her back against the bed. She had been predatory ever since she came into my hotel room, glimmering with frustration that I quickly recognized had as much to do with sex as it did the lead we'd come to follow. Her hopes had been high on the way out to this middle of nowhere. Dashed, instead of sulking in her room or pushing her worries aside, she stalked me until I was ready to surrender.

And I was ready. Three months of ready.

Mindful of her pregnancy - her untucked shirts and loose jackets weren't fooling anybody, least of all me - I kept my weight off her belly as I kissed her. She opened her sweet mouth to my tongue, letting me explore her from teeth to throat. Her tongue stroked along mine. Her hands clutched my shoulders. "Call me John," I said again, and her eyes met mine, bright with challenge.

"John," she growled. She arched her hips towards me, making low sounds of frustration at the unaccustomed clumsiness of her body. I put my hand on her hip, ground against her as heavily as I dared. She moaned between clenched teeth and pulled my head down to kiss me hard and deep, her arms around my neck. "Fuck me," she said, and I had to wonder where this urgency was coming from. "Fuck me!"

For almost as long as I'd known her she'd been making me hard with just a whiff of her scent - no perfume for this pregnant lady, instead a mix of soap and baby powder and the underlying honey of her skin - and now this. The musk of arousal, the look in her eyes and the sound of her voice demanding that I give her exactly what she wanted. Fuck yeah, I was ready.

But at the time I thought this would be my one chance and I wasn't about to blow it. If she wanted a hard fast fuck I'd give it to her, but not before I took a few things I wanted first. Those pretty breasts had been tempting me beneath ill-fitting shirts for weeks, and I wasn't about to have sex with her without getting a good look at them. I tore open her blouse and her back arched. She cried out and then clamped down her lips and threw back her shoulders as if presenting her breasts as an offering. Her bra was satin, plain, an icy blue like her eyes. Her breasts were full, flushed pink, the nipples pointed. I spread my hands over her breasts and she gasped - too hard, I thought, and eased up a little, squeezing her breasts lightly and rubbing her nipples with my palms. Her head tilted back, exposing her neck. It was awkward but I managed to keep squeezing and kneading her breasts as I kissed her neck, sinking my teeth into a throbbing artery. Her nails scraped my scalp. She directed my head to her breasts and I kissed them too, the round tops framed by blue satin, the hard tips that seemed to beg to be sucked into softness. I kissed her warm smooth belly, which had figured in my daydreams since the moment I touched it helping her up from a bed in Utah. That particular scene had figured in a few dark fantasies too, much to my embarrassment. Tied down, her tight ass bobbing as her body writhed - I've never been one for bondage games but after the initial shock of seeing her like that, after the blood and shouting was over, I thought more than once I wouldn't mind having her like that myself a time or two.

What can I say. She brought out the beast in me. There were times I wanted to control, dominate, master her. And then there was the rest of the time, when all I wanted was to surrender.

And now here she was, beneath me on a bed, her tongue in my mouth and her hand stroking my cock until we both were feeling quite friendly.

Apart from her torn blouse we both were fully clothed. She was even still wearing her shoes, and the heels clunked together when she crossed her legs over my back. At some point she'd figured out a skirt hides a swollen belly better than pants, and her skirt slid up her thighs as she arched towards me again and again. I rucked it up to her waist, exposing ice-blue satin panties and black garters attached to black stockings. I twisted my fingers into the ribbons but left the snaps alone. I cupped her mound in my hand. Shit, she was hot. The front panel of her panties was drenched. I slipped my fingers into her panties and stroked her crisp, damp curls and swollen lower lips. Her moans were low and insistent, and she stopped kissing me only long enough to say, "Fuck me," as if she thought I didn't want to.

I moved the front of her panties aside and got onto my knees. Her curls were dark auburn, her labia pink and glistening as her wet lips. There was still challenge in her eyes when our gazes met, and I thought I knew what she was thinking: Are you man enough for me, Doggett?

I grasped my cock in my hand and pressed the head against her entrance. Her eyes got wide and her mouth opened. "Oo," she whispered. "Ohhh." She raised her knees and her shoes dug into my back, and I pushed into her.

The heat of her made my eyes roll back into my head. So wet. So fucking tight. Nothing feels as good as this. When I was first divorced I went a little nuts - after fifteen years with the same woman suddenly I had the pick of anyone I wanted, and I took full advantage of it. For six months or so I got laid almost nightly. But that was years ago. I came to my senses eventually, and there hasn't been anyone serious since I moved to Washington.

But this . . . God, this. Dana Scully, cool Dana Scully, beautiful Dana Scully, sexy Dana Scully, brilliant Dana Scully - she was beneath me, her smooth flesh surrounding me, her hands were in my hair and her legs were pulling on my hips, and I felt like the king of the world.

I fucked her slow and hard. She pushed back against me, taking me deeper, her eyes locked onto mine. She kept them open while we kissed. Her breasts crushed against my chest. "Don't stop," she said, "oh yes, harder," she said, "oh, God," she said and she closed her eyes.

I grabbed her chin and her eyes snapped open. "Don't," I growled. "Don't - you - dare."

"Don't - I - dare - what?" she panted.

"Pretend I'm someone else." I even managed to stop thrusting. "I don't care who you wish I was. Just remember it's me."

Something softened around her mouth, and I took this moment to admire her the way I hadn't allowed myself to yet: her bright mane spread out over the bedspread, her ocean-colored eyes. Her plump pink lips. The blush that stained her tawny body. Her perfect hourglass figure and the faint swell of her child. I even loved the dimples in her thighs.

She cupped her hand around my face and said, "John," like she meant it. "Kiss me," she said, kissing me. Her hand slid under my shirt to stroke the base of my spine, and I shuddered.

Oh, hell, I thought. I held the back of her head in my hand and kissed her back, and started fucking her again. She could be fantasizing about Mel Gibson if that's what she wanted - the fact remained that it was me, all me, my cock, my body, my mouth.

She moaned more loudly, her hands sliding up and down my chest. She said, "John," drawing it out, and her eyes met mine, sultry and warm. Her neck arched, seeming to beg from my tongue. I tasted her slender white throat, losing myself in her golden sweetness.

"Oh, baby," I whispered, stretching out my arms. I couldn't stop shuddering. I was going to come and it was too soon, too fast. I was sure she'd never let me touch her again and God! I wanted it to be good for her, I wanted it to be incredible. "Oh God," I said, and then, "Oh, fuck!" and I threw back my head and came with a roar, feeling her pulse and shiver all around me.

I expected her to push me away. She didn't. She held me close and pushed her hand through my hair. I took deep breaths, gasping for air. With my head on her heaving breasts I could hear a low rumble through her that sounded almost like a purr.