A/N: FYI—this story is not about depth…emotional, anyway! ;) The plan is for this to be a two shot, but you know me. Don't rule out a three shot! LOL I took it's title from one of my all time favorite reads: Bet Me.

Enjoy this first installment!

~ Angie

Penelope Garcia looked around the club hopping with people as she felt the music hammering through her veins. She wasn't quite sure how it had happened, but she'd ended up alone at the bar with Derek Morgan—no Prentiss and Reid for a buffer. It was a position she never put herself in.

From the moment she'd started her job as Technical Analyst for the BAU in Quantico, Virginia, Derek had made no bones about his intentions to get her into bed, but she'd always brushed him off. She'd met men like him before, and escapades with them never ended well. She certainly wasn't going to engage in a tryst with someone she worked with…no matter how sexy or suave he was. Derek was both.

"You in?" Derek asked, reaching for his pool stick.

Penelope shook her head. "I need to get going," she told him. Besides, he wasn't a very formidable opponent at the pool table. He was good, but she was better. She'd grown up with four brothers, and a pool table in the basement. They'd wheedled her into playing more games than she could count. She'd paid attention; she'd learned from them, and when they didn't have anything left to teach her, she'd read everything she could find about the subject. When she'd started winning, they'd stopped asking her to play.

Derek smirked at her, that goading smirk that always got her damn heart racing. There really ought to be a vaccine to make her immune to him.

"Afraid I'll win?" he taunted.

Penelope laughed incredulously. "Not even a little bit," she informed him.

"Prove it," he said.

Oh, he really was trying to get her going, but she wasn't about to rise to the occasion. "I don't have to prove myself to you," she said with forced calm.

"Of course you don't."

The way he said it reminded her of the way a parent would speak to a petulant child, and she didn't like it one bit. "Fine," she said, giving in. "Loser picks up the other's tab."

Derek shook his head at her.

"Oh, so this is for fun?" she asked.

He shook his head again, and Penelope had the feeling she'd just agreed to something she shouldn't have. "I win…you come home with me."

"What?" she asked in disbelief.

"And I get to do whatever I want to you," he said in a low voice that made her shiver. It was amazing she could even hear him over the loud music…but hear him she did.

She'd had fantasies about him doing lots of things to her, but they were all things she'd agree to. Now she had no idea what he was putting on the table! "Whatever you want," she repeated, hoping her voice sounded more amused than nervous.

"Whatever I want," he confirmed with a nod.

She shook her head. "I can't agree to that. For all I know…you have all these fetishes, and—"

"Just one."

"See!" she said, pointing a finger at him. "I knew you did! What are they?" she demanded.

"What is it," he corrected.

Penelope frowned. "I don't know. You tell me."

Derek chuckled. "No," he said. "You asked 'what are they?' That's not accurate. I only have one fetish." He studied her face for a moment, waiting for her to ask, but she was too damn stubborn even though curiosity was written all over her face. He could wait her out.

"Fine. What is it?" she practically snapped.

Derek bit back a grin. "You," he said simply.

He watched as she blinked a few times, the pink on her cheeks deepening. Any darker and they'd match the red dress she was wearing. The emotions played across her face, and for once, he could read her like a book: should she, or shouldn't she?

"And if I win?" she asked.

The grin he'd been holding back spread across his face. He was going to make damn sure that didn't happen. "You get to do whatever you want to me," he suggested hopefully, knowing she wouldn't go for it.

She shook her head. "No," she said. "That's not good enough. If I win…you don't get to flirt with me…or send me those…lusty little looks…none of it for an entire month!" She'd miss it, but he wouldn't know that. And what's more, he didn't need to know that.

If she won, it would certainly be hard to hold up his end of the bargain, but at the chance of getting her into bed, he was willing to wager.

"Deal," he said, stepping forward and holding his hand out toward her.

Penelope lifted her own hand and as soon as he clasped it in his, she knew she was in trouble. Lots and lots of trouble.

"Eight ball, corner pocket," Derek said forty minutes later, pointing his stick at the upper left hand corner of the table.

He still couldn't believe he'd talked her into this. Or that he was so close to winning. He'd played pool against her before. Doubles, anyway—her and Emily against him and Reid. He and Reid had only ever won once. He'd thought it was because Penelope and Emily were so good at pool, but now he was thinking that maybe it was because Reid was so bad.

Derek knew this was the only opportunity he'd ever have to get her into bed; she'd been meticulous in making sure she was never alone with him. And with good reason. He had tried to charm the pants off her a time or two. And if that's what she thought this was about—a purely physical reaction on his part, then he'd let her go on thinking that way. But the truth was Derek Morgan had been carrying a torch for Penelope Garcia for a long time.

With impeccable concentration, Derek used just the right amount of force and hit the 8 ball with the tip of the stick, watching as it soared into the corner pocket. He straightened, lifting his gaze to Penelope's face. Her eyes were as wide as saucers, her lips forming an 'oh' shape.

And all he could think was that he knew just what he wanted to do with that mouth.