Person of Interest: Birthday

"I presume, from the silence on your end, that Joss's case is now solved." Finch's dry voice cut through Reese's red haze.

"You assume right," John bit out, gritting his teeth against the urge to snap at Harold. It wasn't the other man's fault, really; after what had happened to Jessica, and what John knew Paul Carter had done to Joss, he had little patience or tolerance for those who abused their wives or battered their children, and this man had done both. It had been a couple months since John had been this angry at a number, and Reese had hit the man harder than was necessary, more times than was necessary. Anger-fueled adrenaline was coursing through him, testosterone-laced aggression fueling the fire in him, the predator looking for more prey.

And Harold, with his ill-timed comment, had unfortunately been on the receiving end.

Reese didn't care, though John did. He promised himself he'd apologize to Harold later. In the meantime, however… "Left the bastard tied to an electric pole in front of the precinct. I thought about killing him, but I decided life behind bars with people who hate child molesters was a better justice. He won't be hitting anyone again." John Reese had taken exquisite pleasure in breaking the man's fingers; some of the bones would never heal straight, and he would never touch his wife and son again with those crippled hands.

And he wouldn't be able to defend himself against those in prison who detested wife beaters and child molesters. And cops.

Officer Gregory Marsh had been one of those; molested his son, and when his wife had found out and tried to leave with her boy and report him to the police, he'd pulled his gun—he'd been coming home, off duty from Manhattan Vice, and run into his wife coming out of their house with her suitcase and their son's. He'd gotten angry, shoved her back up the front walk and back into the house, then shot her; as he was wondering what to do with his wife's body, his son, panicked and terrified, had grabbed the gun and shot Marsh, then ran out of the house to a neighbor's. By the time police had arrived, Marsh was gone, fled the scene. Joss had caught the case, and John remembered her coming home that evening, despondent, depressed. "He's so young, John. He's only eight. He's been molested by his Dad, watched his Dad murder his Mom, and he had to shoot his father to save his own life. I hate my job sometimes." John had held her, comforted her, distracted her by cooking her favorite dinner, but he too had been furious at Marsh's escape and had made a promise to himself to find the man.

And he'd kept that promise.

"Joss will be pleased that she can close that case. I'll let you know if there are any further developments you need to be aware of, but in the meantime, feel free to head home and tell Joss she no longer needs to worry about Officer Marsh."

"I will." John didn't look back at the unconscious man tied to the electric pole as he got into the GTO and headed out. There was too much adrenaline racing through him to settle down properly, but he did want to tell Joss that Marsh was no longer an issue and she was going to close that case tomorrow. As he drove the darkened streets he decided that after he broke the news to her, he'd head out to the gym to burn off the rest of the aggression-fueled adrenaline. In years past, he'd seek Zoe Morgan out when he was still wired like this—she welcomed the rough sex—but he knew Joss had been on the receiving end of Paul Carter's idea of 'rough sex' before and didn't want to remind her of that, in any way. She'd been traumatized enough already in her life, he wasn't going to add to it. So he'd go to the gym and burn it off.

The street outside her house was quiet when he pulled up, and the windows were dark; he frowned a little as he let himself in the front door and turned to close it. Maybe Lionel had called her from work and told her that Marsh had been arrested and she'd gone out to close the case tonight? Then, as he turned around, he caught his breath in a gasp of surprise.

There was a cluster of candles sitting in the center of the coffee table, and sprawled out in the chair next to it was Joss. On the floor beside the chair was a bright pink shopping bag he'd seen her whisking into the house a couple days previous, ignoring his curious look, and he'd decided he wasn't going to pry. Now he could do nothing but stare as Joss rose out of the easy chair, clad in a short lacy teddy that barely came to mid-thigh and was so sheer he could see her body through the filmy stuff.

His angry aggression turned into a different kind of aggression, a different kind of hunger, and he stared at her, eyes devouring her body even as a small, distant part of his mind wondered at himself. He'd never before been in a relationship where just seeing a woman naked made him instantly hard—not even Jessica. Joss was the first woman to ever do that to him, and, he suspected, she was the only woman who would ever get this reaction from him. He stood, frozen, as she strolled over the carpet toward him, every step with a calculated sway of her hips that was doing bad things to his libido. "Good evening, John," she purred, as she wrapped her arms around him and stood up on tiptoe for him to give her a kiss.

He had to force himself not to give into that temptation. If he did he was never going to let her go. "Joss…can't," he managed to get out through gritted teeth. "Have to go. Don't…want you to…see me like this."

"John." Her voice sharpened, and the edge made her focus on him even as she cupped his face in her hands, making him look at her. Her eyes were soft, full of love and understanding. "I've seen you like this before. The night Aleksa drugged you. And that night was the night I decided I wasn't happy with just John. I wanted all of you, John Reese. It's taken a long time to happen, but I finally have all of you…but you still hold back. Like now." She ran a hand through his hair. "I never want you to hold back. I want you to be yourself with me. Good and bad, John. I love you."

"But…I…" Blood was roaring through him, his pulse pounding in his ears. The perfume she was wearing was singing a siren song of desire and want, an invitation to enjoy the warm, sexy, desirable female body in front of him—but he still felt like he needed to hold back. She couldn't be prepared for this side of him. "You…don't understand what I'm capable of…when I'm like this," he forced out through gritted teeth.

"Yes. I do. The night in the gym, when Aleksa drugged you—that was the hottest night of my life, John. I know you don't remember what happened, but I do. I don't want that to be the last time I—we—have sex like that. I want you to be able to enjoy it, and remember it, too. So." She leaned forward, dropped a light, feathery kiss on his collarbone, and then bit his shoulder.

He lost all the breath in his body in a harsh gasp of desire. "Joss…"

She leaned in, purred into his ear. "Do you remember today's your birthday?"

His mind stumbled to a halt. "Um…no."

"I got this lace teddy…just…for…you." she stepped back, and started unbuttoning his shirt. "Harold called me. Told me you were on the way after dropping Marsh off at the precinct. I made him promise not to call you for the rest of the night. And Taylor's on an overnight trip with his basketball team. So." That wicked smile again, the one that made his cock get hard every time he saw it. "You're all mine. And I'm all yours."

And then he heard a click.

He stared at the silver handcuffs that had just appeared…on Joss's wrists, which were now working on the button of his pants, dropping the slacks, then following with his boxers until there was nothing between his desire and her except air. He tried to speak; had to hunt for his voice because he seemed to have lost it completely. "Handcuffs?"

"Your birthday present." That wicked smile again. "I've hidden the keys somewhere in the apartment. You have to find them…or you have to interrogate me and get me to tell you where they are."

"Jesus, Joss…" he stopped speaking, stopped thinking, as she went to her knees in front of him, and for a short time, nothing existed for him except the feel of her hands, her mouth, around the most sensitive part of his body. "Tell me where those keys are."

"Wouldn't you like to know." She stood, giving him another of those sexily wicked smiles, then minced across the living room toward the hallway that led to the bedroom. For the first time he noticed she was wearing a pair of very high stiletto heels under that lace teddy, and at the sight of what that did to her cute little butt, and the way it made her legs seem endless, he groaned and headed for the chair she'd been sitting in, hoping to find the key in the chair cushions. When he couldn't find it there, he tossed the couch, then the drawer in the small hall table by the door that Joss typically dropped her keys on when she came in.

Frustrated at finding nothing, he moved to the kitchen, hunting through each drawer, checking to see if they were taped to the undersides of any of the drawers. Still nothing. Thoroughly frustrated now, his arousal growing with predatory lust, he headed down the hallway to confront her in the bedroom and get her to tell him where the damn keys were.

And froze in the doorway.

Joss was stretched out on the bed. Fully stretched out. And now he definitely had to find those damn keys. Because she'd shucked the heels, lain down on the bed, and wrapped a Velcro cuff around each ankle—cuffs that were, in turn, tethered to the posts at the foot of the bed. And there was another pair of handcuffs at the head of the bed, one locked around the headboard rail, the other end now securely closed around the short length of chain between the handcuffs she was wearing, preventing her from freeing herself. She'd tethered herself to the bed, legs spread, completely open and helpless, waiting for him to do whatever he wanted to her.

The tremendous amount of trust that represented floored him for a moment, and he could only stare. She was so goddamn beautiful, stretched out there, waiting for him, having deliberately made herself helpless to whatever he wanted to do to her; and he felt instinctively that she would never, ever have done this for her ex-husband. Only him. Because she trusted him, wasn't afraid of him.

Because she was in love with him.

"Tell me where the keys are." His voice was hoarse, his muscles locked as he tried to keep himself from dropping on her where she lay and taking full and complete advantage of everything her body had to offer. He wanted her so badly right now he thought he was going to explode—but he wanted to give the little tease one last chance to get out of the situation she'd just put herself in, before he gave in to her urgings—and the urgings of his own body—and let go of his baser instincts. Every fiber of his being wanted to fall on her, right there, and take her, totally, completely; make her his. The depth of that sheer male aggressive possessiveness stunned him, a little; he'd never felt like this with Jessica, and despite the long adrenaline-fueled nights he'd spent with Zoe Morgan, he'd never felt even a tenth of the desire he was now feeling for Joss.

"Make me." Her voice was a husky purr, and when he looked in her eyes he saw the challenge in them. She wasn't afraid of him, standing over her as she lay helpless and handcuffed to her own bed, his cock erect and aching with need and desire and sheer animalistic male lust. And the wild side of John, the wild stranger named Reese, took over in response to that feminine challenge.

John only just managed to stop himself from tearing that teddy off her; he wanted to see her in it later—really see her in it. Right now, though, it was just a barrier between himself and her body; he pushed it up, uncovering the vee of her thighs, shaved neatly. He could smell the delicate flowery scent of her perfume, but when he dipped his head and tasted her, there was no bitterness of chemicals, just the salty-sweet taste of Joss herself. She was already wet, confirming for him that she wanted this as much as he did, and as his tongue found the sensitive nub of nerves at the core of her body, she gasped, her back arching involuntarily, her knees opening wider to give him better access.

He settled between her open thighs, holding her knees open so he could play with her. She was hot, wet, her sex making obscenely erotic sounds as he worked his fingers into her, stimulating her insides into producing more wet heat to ease his entry. She was tight, and he worked his fingers into her, first one, then two, stretching her and widening her, then he took his hands and fingers out of her and growled, "Tell me where those keys are."

"No." She gasped breathlessly.

He introduced a third finger, thrusting them into her, withdrawing, thrusting in again. She cried out, her hips rising involuntarily as she pumped her sex on his fingers; just before she came he took his hands off her, climbed further up the bed, pinned her hips down with his own, his aching cock barely inches away from her sex, and said, "Tell me where those keys are."

"No."

He hissed out a breath in frustrated anguish. Jesus, but he wasn't going to be able to keep from coming himself if he entered her body now…he pressed his fingers against her lips, and his cock jumped as she opened her mouth and sucked his fingers in, licking her own fluids off his fingers. The sight was erotic. Jesus God…he reached down with his hands, found the nubs of her nipples through the lace, and rolled the little nubs in his fingers. "Now will you tell me where the keys are?"

"No." A smile, this time—that wicked smile that heated his blood. "Remember I'm a military interrogator, John. I can withstand whatever you do to me."

"Whatever?" Reese growled into her ear.

"Anything."

John stopped holding back.

His mouth closed over her nipple, sucking through the lace, biting, then licking to soothe the little hurt. She moaned, eyes closing; he bit the other one, a little harder this time, then, from a flash of memory remaining from the night at the gym after Aleksa had drugged him, he fastened his mouth on the curve of her breast and bit. A little harder this time. She gasped, her back arching, pressing more of her breast into his mouth; he took advantage by biting down on her nipple. Not hard enough to break skin, but definitely harder than he'd bitten her before.

"John….oh…" not a sound of pain, but of desire; and on either side of his legs, he felt her knees trying to close, trying to rub her thighs together to stimulate her clit. He grinned, then, and slid back down off her upper body, settling between her thighs, holding her knees open as he dipped his head again.

He licked, nibbled, and suckled on that bundle of nerves at the core of her body, teasing it out from under its hood. He loved playing with it, watching her reactions at the attention he gave it.

"John…" a hiss of anguished ecstasy.

"Mmm. Like this, don't we, Miz Carter?" he hummed against her clit, and she went wild, her hips bucking under his hands. He had to put his hands on her hips and hold her down. "Never had your clit played like this, hmm?"

"I do it…myself…I can come just playing with myself…Paul hated that…had to be in me…when he came, or I did." Yes, that fit in with John's assessment of her ex-husband's insecurities. He would have wanted to feel like the cause of Joss's pleasure, was uncomfortable with Joss having fun by herself.

But that confession also got John thinking. He was going to tease and torture her clit until she told him where the keys were. With it so supremely sensitive, overstimulation would be the fastest way to get her to tell him where the damn keys were. So he started in again, teasing, tonguing, licking, sucking, until the little nub came out from under its hood, begging for attention.

Then he bit it.

Not too hard, not hard enough to really hurt; but enough to hurt a tiny bit, a hint of intense sensation. She almost screamed, then; her hips bucked frantically under his hands. He soothed it with small hot licks, quick swipes of his tongue, but her body seemed to have taken that bit of intense sensation and turned it into pleasure, because moments later he felt the pulsing flutter of the muscles of her pelvic floor as she came, gasping.

"Ready to tell me where those keys are now?" he asked her, though his hands never stopped moving.

"No…" she breathed, and he smiled. Good. The fun wouldn't be over too soon then.

He did this twice more, teasing her clit into an orgasm, and each one seemed to be getting more and more intense. The fourth time, he couldn't hold himself back anymore and entered her, and she bit his shoulder as she screamed his name, and they came explosively together.

But she still wouldn't tell him where the damn keys were.

With his own desire sated—sort of—he could concentrate on her, now. And he did. He moved up her body to her chest, and this time he noticed the ribbon that tied the top of the teddy closed. He untied it and finally laid her breasts bare to his hungry mouth, his eager touch.

By now he was getting a little more frustrated, and he was rougher on her breasts than he'd initially intended to be; his bites were harder, he sucked harder. But everything he did just seemed to make her hotter, and she had a small climax as he pinched her nipples. "More," she hissed, and he deliberately reached for both her nipples at once, pinched hard, and then twisted.

She cried out, back arching, and for a moment he thought he'd really hurt her, but a rush of warmth between her thighs told him she'd come again. "John…"

He leaned over her, her nipples still held in his unyielding grip. "Keys?"

"No…." she breathed.

He twisted. "Keys, Joss."

"N-n-no-o-o," but she sounded like she was wavering.

He twisted again, then slid down her body, still gripping her nipples, and closed his teeth on her clit. "Keys, Joss."

"No."

He bit her clit and twisted her nipples at the same time.

She screamed, her hips rising off the bed, pumping air frantically. "John…please…need you…please…"

"You can stop this by telling me where the keys are."

"No," she moaned.

All right. Time to try something else. He let go of her, taking his hands, mouth, everything, off her, letting her fall back onto the bed gasping with relief. And then he got up off the bed, went to her dresser and found a scarf, then went to the bed. "I'm going to blindfold you." And she nodded and let him tie the scarf over her eyes.

He took another quick rummage in the kitchen for the keys, but it was a half-hearted look, at best; he was thoroughly engrossed right now in breaking Joss Carter. A quick foray into the freezer produced ice cubes; he put them in a glass and ran a little water into it, sipped as he went back out to the living room, blew out all the candles on the coffee table except one, one that sat in a glass holder and had accumulated a pool of hot wax around its base. He returned to the bedroom with both candle and ice, then went to the bathroom and came back with a towel. "I'm going to put a towel under your hips. Lift a little." She obeyed—there was enough give in the ankle cuffs that this was easy—and with that done, he settled back down at the end of the bed.

The first touch of the ice cube against her outer lips wrung a gasp from her. He held it there for a couple of seconds, then rose up on his knees, held the candle over his head, and tilted the candle holder just a tiny bit, letting a couple drops of wax fall onto the rounded, shaved mound over her sex. She jerked against her handcuffs, hips rising involuntarily, and gasped as her body tried to make sense of the two conflicting sensations right after each other. "Ahhhh…."

He loved that sound. So he did it again. Ice, then hot wax. By holding it above his head, the wax had a chance to cool on its way down so she would feel the heat but it wouldn't burn her skin; he didn't want to really hurt her. He never wanted to hurt her in any way she didn't want.

He did this to the rounded mound over her sex; then he took himself higher, and teased her breasts; ice, then wax. Then ice again. After one application of the ice, he replaced the cold with heat not from the wax, but from his own mouth, and watched in smug male satisfaction as she had another orgasm just from his mouth on her breasts. But when he asked her for the keys again, she again denied him.

This was going to be a delicate operation. He settled down at the end of the bed, using his knees to prop her knees open. She was hyperstimulated, her lower lips swollen from the attention he'd been giving them; now he carefully spread those lips to expose her clit, and then laid the ice cube right over the eager little bud.

"Johnnn!" her legs pulled at the Velcro cuffs, trying to close; but they were held open not only by the cuffs but also by John himself, his knees bracing her open. "Hang on, Joss, here we go…" and he carefully let fall a few drops of wax directly on her clit.

She screamed, twisted; her hips writhed on the bed, and he watched as the lips of her sex and the muscles in her lower belly rippled with the force of her climax. It seemed to last longer than the others, and when her hips finally dropped back onto the bed, she was panting as if she'd run a mile, her skin slick with sweat, and as he untied the scarf, he knew he'd won. "All right. All right. The keys are in the living room, under the plate that held the candles."

So obvious. Why hadn't he thought about that? He left the bedroom, came back with the keys.

But he didn't let her up. Instead, he sat at the end of the bed. "You've been the one in control all evening. Now it's my turn."

"What?" she blinked.

"You're going to give up that control to me. I'm going to tease you, but you can't come until I say you can."

"John…" she moaned, and that was sexy as hell.

He didn't bother talking to her further; he'd outlined the parameters of the game he was now playing, and it would be up to her to follow the rules. "If you come before I say you can you earn yourself more time in the handcuffs. You put yourself in this position, remember."

And he set to work. She was hypersensitive now from their extended play, and in no time at all he had her on the edge. "Can't come until I say, Joss," he warned.

"John…please…" she begged.

"No," he said firmly. She gave a moan of disappointment but tried to fight the climax; he could see her trying to fight it, and took his hands off her just before she would have come. She gasped for breath as she fought her body's need.

The second time she wasn't as successful. She came as John took his hands off her, the lips of her sex fluttering as her muscles pulsed around her empty sex. She cried out in involuntary frustration as John took his hands off her, climbed off the bed, and left her lying there shuddering as he went to the kitchen to dispose of the glass of ice water and blow out the candle.

When he came back he stimulated her again, and this time, when he felt her close, he slid into her. "Can't come, Joss," he told her, and he felt her struggle to comply, fighting her own climax even as he rode her to his; only after he'd come did he reach over to her night table for the key, release the handcuffs on her wrists, open the drawer and take out one of her toys, the one she'd said reminded her of him, and hand it to her. "You can come now." And he slid himself out of her and watched her bring herself to one last shuddering orgasm, her hands busy between her legs.

He released her ankles, then, and then lay back next to her, completely satiated. She stretched herself out next to him, and he sat up, massaging the kinks out of her leg muscles. "That was a hell of a birthday present, Joss," he said when he was finally capable of speaking again.

"I'm not sure if that was present for you or for me," she groaned as she flopped back on her pillows. "Wow."

He curled up next to her. "I agree. Wow. That has to be the hottest sex I've ever had."

"I agree. I agreed the night Aleksa drugged you. I know you don't remember but I do and I swore to myself then that it absolutely was not going to be the last time that happened. Although the stuff with Walker kind of interfered for a little while, I'm glad I finally got to have you just the way I wanted you. No inhibitions, no restrictions." She rolled on her side. "You were 'Reese' when you walked in, John. I could see that. And it was so damn hot. But John was in there too, and even after I'd made myself helpless and you could do whatever you want, you still didn't hurt me."

He was silent as he digested this. It was true, after all, and he was surprised at himself.

"Don't be surprised," she said as if she'd just read his mind, propping herself up on one elbow. "You're not just 'Reese' and you're not just 'John'. You're a whole person, even if you don't see yourself that way, even if you think you've compartmentalized, and John Reese will never hurt the people he loves."

"You're sure about that?' he asked her, feeling peculiarly vulnerable as he looked into those soft brown eyes.

"John, if I hadn't been sure I wouldn't have pulled this stunt with the handcuffs. Yes, I'm sure." She lay down next to him, cuddling close.

"Even when I brought the candle and the ice?"

She moaned at the memory. "I'll never look at a candle the same way again. I wasn't expecting it but it was…hot as hell."

"In more ways than one," he joked at her pun.

She swatted at him, but smiled. "In every way that counted. When I set this up, when I bought the teddy at the store, I thought about what you could do to me. Thought about everything you might think of. Fantasized about it when I got ready this evening. You still surpassed all of my fantasies." She leaned over, kissed him. "I love you, John Reese."

He kissed her back. "I love you, Joss."

"Happy birthday, John."