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The First Touch

by @zippybutton

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12 chapters

~30 min read

After a brutal raid, Sam tends to Soap’s bullet wound, her clinical precision faltering when he calls out her inexperience. That raw admission shatters her control, and in the stark concrete bunker, his guiding hands turn careful first aid into a desperate, trusting exploration.

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MEET THE CHARACTERS

John 'Soap' MacTavish

A 32-year-old Scottish SAS operative with a broad, scarred torso currently marred by a fresh, grazed bullet wound. He moves with the contained, lethal grace of a predator at rest, his dark blond hair damp with sweat and his blue eyes holding a sharp, assessing intelligence that softens only when he looks at her. The adrenaline hasn't left his system, humming under his skin and making his touch both deliberate and electric.

Samantha 'Sam' Vance

A 29-year-old combat medic with a lean, wiry build currently sporting darkening bruises and a split lip. Her hands, now carefully cleaning Soap's wound, are precise and steady, but the focused line of her mouth and the nervous tension in her shoulders betray a deeper vulnerability. Her forest-green eyes, usually so clinical, hold a flicker of unguarded uncertainty when his teasing hits its mark.

EXPLORE CHAPTERS

The Honest Wound

Her fingers trembled slightly against the tape. Soap’s low brogue cut through the sterile smell of antiseptic, his blue eyes sharp on her face. The truth slipped out—a quiet, damning admission—and the

Chapter 2

Soap pushes inside her. He has to use some force because shes so tight despite his fingers opening her up. Soap stops with just the thick head inside her. Pain to sam. When shes ready he slowly pushes

Chapter 3

Soap waits till hes sure shes not hurting anymore. Or at least the worst pain is gone when he feels her breathing settles. He starts a slow trusting motion getting a pained whimper from sam. He freeze

Chapter 4

Soap pulls out and check her

Gentle Reclamation

Soap doesn't take her again. Not like before. He lowers his head between her thighs, his breath a warm wash over the ache. His apology isn't words; it's the slow, reverent stroke of his tongue over th

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