WOW, I'm exhausted- this got much longer than I anticipated. Funny thing is: it started on a lighter note and ended as something completely different- that happens sometimes with my stories, I start all funny and humorous, and when it comes to the…well, main act, there's nothing amusing left. Sex always is a culmination of extremely strong emotions for me, and as that- serious business. I hope you don't mind.
And yes, it could be OOC, just some fun, so don't be too stern with me, yes? Thank you! Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I don't own The Mentalist, and I don't make money from my fan fiction.
„Come on, Lisbon," he said, his voice almost a whisper, „you're only human after all, not a miniature wonder woman. I know you want it. So why are you resisting so hard?"
Lisbon looked at him and groaned involuntarily.
Nobody had the right to be so damn charming, so utterly irresistible, so…
She stopped her thoughts and forced herself to glare at him. Despite the fact that he was right. Despite the fact that her vision was blurry from too much paperwork over the last few hours, her back ached, her hands were slightly shaky. She needed to get out of here.
But she wouldn't grant him the satisfaction. Especially not after the stunt he had pulled today.
"If a certain someone wouldn't constantly make the DA complain about him, I wouldn't have as much paperwork, Jane. Sorry, but I'm stuck here until this is sorted out."
He leaned back on her couch, a smug smile appearing on his face.
"We both know that my tricks make your job that much more amusing." He said. "Please, Lisbon. One drink. I just want to have a drink with you. We're colleagues."
She shuddered. He knew they were more than just colleagues. Las Vegas had changed so much, she was still struggling to understand all the implications. His "love you" before he had shot her. Her pang of jealousy when she had learned that he had slept with Loralei. Jane's sudden tenderness and touchy-feeliness, his urge to take her hand even when they went to interview suspects.
When they drove in the car, his hand always found its way onto her thigh these days.
It was a large, delicate, but very manly hand, and she remembered exactly how it looked against the rough denim of her jeans. She swallowed.
"Jane," she croaked, flinching when she hardly recognized her own voice, "these forms…"
"…will still be right here tomorrow." He interrupted, already jumping up from his relaxed position on the couch. "Come on, woman, we'll have a fast taste of something especially strong to end this evening the proper way. I don't want to hear anymore protesting from you, young lady!"
She smiled despite herself. Resisting Patrick Jane was definitely one of the disciplines she sucked at.
He held her leather jacket for her, and she slipped her arms into the sleeves with a frustrated sigh, finally giving in. She would have a drink with him, and that was that. Nothing strange about it.
But her fingers trembled when he grabbed her hand, the touch a forbidden stream of electricity between them.
Everything had changed. Their tacit agreement was in dire jeopardy, and the fact that both of them refused to acknowledge it made it even worse.
Had he opened three buttons of his shirt today instead of the usual two?
He had. He was damn sexy, his chest smooth and toned. Even his collarbones had an entirely erotic effect upon her. She felt the trickle of moisture between her legs, wetting her panties.
Oh god.
She wouldn't flirt with him tonight, no way. She wouldn't. Wouldn't.
Even her own mind laughed at her.
The pub he led her to was gloomy, small, intimate. She'd never been here before, it had a secret, conspiratorial atmosphere that slightly unnerved her. This was a place where collaborators would meet, not colleagues.
Jane showed her to a table close to the wall, but in plain view of every other customer. She took a deep breath of relief, but quickly felt the unease return when she looked around. The pub was completely empty, Jane and herself the only guests it had attracted tonight.
The bar tender winked at her, obviously thinking she was here to poach the pretty blond guy in the three-piece-suit. She swallowed her groan when he sauntered over, clearly exuding the classical "Well, you two lovebirds"-vibe.
Great.
"Good evening," he drawled, "you two want to try our Cherry Hammer?"
Oh NO, Lisbon certainly didn't want to try the…
"What's a Cherry Hammer?" Jane asked cheerfully.
"It's our excellent, home-made cherry schnapps," the bartender said, "hot, strong and sweet- like the love of a beautiful woman."
He winked at her again, and Lisbon felt her face turn the color of an overripe tomato.
Jane grinned.
"That sounds like the drink of the evening. We take two of those."
"Double?"
"You bet, my friend."
The bar tender walked off to get the drinks, and Lisbon stared at Jane as if he were an especially venomous insect.
"Jane, if you think I'm gonna sit here with you drinking high-proof spirits, you…"
"…would have quite the brilliant grasp on the situation. Come on, Lisbon. Let loose. Have some fun. Let's go back to the basics, don't pull that underling-superior routine. You Tarzan, me Jane. That's all we need to know for tonight."
Oh no, she WOULDN'T smile. But of course, her lips were curling upwards. Traitors.
She relented with another sigh. With a little luck, the Cherry Hammer would knock her out fast, and tomorrow she wouldn't remember a thing. Okay- thinking about it, that didn't sound reassuring at all.
Their drinks arrived, and Lisbon eyed the concoction suspiciously. It was a syrupy, dark red liquid, like a vampire's snack. A single cherry was submerged in it, stem and all.
She grabbed it and plucked the bright red fruit off with her teeth. Only to find Jane staring at her, his eyes wide and fascinated.
He took his own cherry and lapped at it with his tongue before he sucked it into his mouth. A trickle of cherry red liquid escaped his lips and ran down his chin, he caught the rivulet with his finger and licked it off. His eyes never leaving hers.
The drink's flavor exploded on Lisbon's tongue, sharp, blazing, sinfully sweet. She almost groaned with a mixture of fear and delight.
"Come on, Lisbon," Jane crooned sweetly, "don't be a chicken- let's do it."
For a moment it sounded as if he was talking about something very naughty, but he just grabbed the small glass in front of him and winked at her.
Lisbon groaned, lifted her own drink to her lips and swallowed the whole thing in one swig. She gasped slightly, but had to admit the stuff was good- potent, sugary, delicious. It burned pleasantly in her throat.
"Whooooaaa," Jane exclaimed and shouted to the bar tender, "we take two more of these, my friend!"
This time, Lisbon was a lot more careful- getting drunk with master manipulator Patrick Jane? Sure as hell not!
She frowned slightly when he emptied the second glass without even waiting for her and signaled for another one. Wasn't like him to give up his precious control. When he wasn't looking, she exchanged his empty glass with her full one.
Jane downed the whole thing without batting an eye.
The evening passed in a flurry of pleasant conversation, getting more and more lively with every Cherry Hammer Jane consumed.
Lisbon managed to stay stone-cold sober, generously watering the potted palm tree next to her with one shot after the other, the plant possibly wouldn't be among them long after this night. She felt a bout of bad conscience, but it couldn't be helped. She couldn't get drunk with Jane, no way.
Jane on the other hand happily emptied glass after glass and got more and more… exuberant.
But damn- he was adorable when he was tipsy.
Carefree, charming, sweet. He giggled like a little boy, and his smile was even brighter than usual, and that meant a lot. She couldn't stop looking at him, craving this lighter, softer Jane, inhibitions and restraint gone, the gentle, fascinating man remaining. He told her countless stories from his glittering past, and she found herself laughing along with him, feeling completely smitten.
"What are you doing to this poor cherry, Teresa?" Jane slurred, and she looked down, noticing that she played with a pretty sticky cherry.
She popped the fruit into her mouth, twirling the stem between her fingers.
"Do you know, my dear," Jane drawled, "that there are certain people who can knot a cherry stem with their tongues?"
She smiled.
He looked hot, wild, sexy. His curls tousled, lips reddened from the strong spirit he had been consuming. Eyes as deep as clear green lakes.
He was more intoxicating than the stuff they'd been drinking. Lisbon felt herself catching fire, like sinking to the bottom of the sea, getting light-headed from the lack of oxygen. Reckless. Wanton.
"Can you do it, Jane?" she whispered.
That adorable giggle again.
"Nah. I'm good with my tongue, but not that good."
Another Hammer went down his throat.
She watched the movements of his Adam's apple while he swallowed, the movement so sexy she wet her panties even more. Dammit.
"I can do it." She said softly and rejoiced when he stared at her wide eyed. Gotcha.
Her statement was dangerously exaggerated, of course- she had practiced knotting the cherry stem in college, like almost everybody had in the glorious days, and succeeded pretty fast. Had been a popular party trick, but she hadn't done it in years.
Not that seriously wasted Mr. Jane would remember anything about this tomorrow, so…
"I don't believe you," he chuckled, narrowing his eyes at her.
"You don't have to believe me for it to be true, Jane," she answered with a smile, "I tell you I can do it."
He looked at her for a moment, pursing his lips. Sexy, sexy, sexy, it was far too hot in here. She took a deep breath. Another one.
"Let's make a bet, my sweet." He breathed.
Her eyes snapped to his face.
"What?"
He leaned forward.
"If you can knot that cherry stem you hold in your hand with your tongue, you can call the shots tomorrow night. I'll do whatever you want. Even fill out your forms. Or de-clutter your garage. If you can't do it- I'm your master for twelve hours."
Hmmm. Master. She shook her head vigorously.
"No way, Jane," she said, crossing her arms over her chest, "I'm not betting with you. NEVER. EVER."
He came even closer, leaning over the table until their faces were inches from each other. She could smell his breath, sweet from the liquor, clean and fresh from the man himself.
"Chicken." He cooed.
He sat back and made cackling noises. Lisbon felt the heat level rising in her brain. This obnoxious little…
"Okay," she pressed out between gritted teeth, "deal."
She closed her eyes and put the stem into her mouth. Felt its structure with her tongue. She could do this, no problem. Just move it here and there, and then the tricky part, putting one ending through the loop- done. She was surprised when she pulled the stem from her mouth, knotted. She had done it. She grinned at him, allowing herself to feel smug for a change. She had bet with Patrick Jane and WON.
Jane applauded her with roaring laughter, the sound addictive, invigorating, and Lisbon felt as if she were the one completely drunk.
"Well done, Lisbon," he giggled, "I'm yours tomorrow night, to do with me as you please."
He bowed slightly and she swallowed when sinful images crashed through her mind. They wouldn't get that far. Jane wouldn't remember a thing about this tomorrow, would he?
She looked at the row of empty shot-glasses in front of him and exhaled with relief. Certainly nothing but blurry shapes would remain in the morning.
Her innocence was safe for now, but she felt slightly shaky.
"I should call it a night now, Jane," she said, getting up on wobbly legs, "will you get… manage on your own?"
"Sure," he said with a gentle smile, "I'm gonna take a cab and crash in a hotel, officer. Don't worry about me."
He was slurring the words so much she could hardly understand him. Yes, this would make a nice case of retrograde amnesia tomorrow morning.
"Fine," she said cheerfully, "see you- at the office."
She almost stumbled when she stormed out of the pub, the first gulp of fresh air feeling like balm in her sore lungs.
Xxxxxxxxxx
Patrick Jane watched Lisbon all but race away from him. Fleeing him. Adorable little chicken. As if she could ever escape.
He eyed the palm tree behind him. He had most possibly killed it, but at least it was considerably more shit-faced than he was.
Damn, he was hard. He wouldn't get the image of her plump, pouty lips out of his mind all night. But on the other hand- why should he? Fantasizing about her had been his favorite pastime since he'd left for Las Vegas. It had kept him alive while he'd been all alone in his impersonal, lonely motel-room.
He sighed. All the hurt he had objected her to still pained him, he had read every single pang on her beautiful, expressive face. Loneliness, jealousy, worry. He wanted to sink down on his knees and pledge his life to her, promise her his future, tell her that he had never wanted anything but her- he needed her. Needed to see her smile, needed her perfect light in his suffocating darkness. He wouldn't survive without her, he had finally realized that when he'd held her hand in that lonely desert, watching the cars pass them by. He wanted more.
He loved her.
Had never thought he would love like that again. And in the middle of all this mess, vengeance, despair, endless suffering, he suddenly felt blessed.
Yes, he was scared that he might not be able to protect her. But selfish bastard that he was, he just couldn't stay away from her. Red John wouldn't get them. The monster wouldn't take this from him- not Lisbon. She was his to treasure and cherish.
His stubborn, angry little princess, he would trick her into seeing that they were meant to be, Patrick-Jane-style.
He plopped another cherry into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully, watching the stem in his hand.
He finally took it into his mouth and worked shortly and swiftly with his tongue, before he pulled it out in a perfect knot.
He smiled.
Oh yes, she would be his. And his life would be worth living again.
Xxxxxxxxxx
She looked at the clock out of bleary eyes- she'd had one little innocent cherry schnapps, so why in hell did SHE feel hung over today?
Lisbon groaned and lowered her heavy head to the desktop. She would just close her eyes for a…
"Good morning, Lisbon dear!"
Oh no. His voice sounded entirely too cheerful and well-rested.
She lifted her head and blinked at him. Shiny blond curls, a mischievous twinkle in his sea green eyes, immaculate light grey three-piece-suit minus the jacket… damn, she was too stupid for words. Had she truly believed Patrick Jane would get DRUNK with her? Served her right- she knew not to bet him for anything, dammit.
At least she had won the stupid bet- or had he let her win? Damn, she was thoroughly confused now.
He sat down on her couch, a smug grin firmly plastered on his face. He crossed his legs.
Lisbon swallowed. Damn, she was a sucker for him sitting cross-legged, it perfected his dandyish attire and made her want to peel that crisp suit off his…
He stretched his arms along the backrest, making his shirt gape. He had opened three buttons again, the bastard. Lisbon started to feel a little uncomfortable.
"So, Mistress," he cooed, "what will you make me suffer tonight?"
His voice was deep and melodious , and she didn't doubt for a second that he had lots and lots of fun making her squirm. She gritted her teeth.
She didn't need to do anything, did she? She had won, so she called the shots. She could keep the whole thing entirely innocent, couldn't she?
She looked at him and the lingering plans for revenge evaporated. She couldn't let him clean her kitchen or wash her car. He was so sweet, so beautiful, picture perfect. And she loved him so much.
Her throat felt tight all of a sudden. Yes, she loved him, had never doubted her own feelings. She'd keep their tacit agreement- love was out of the question until Jane was ready to move on. He flirted with her, used her touch to ground him, turned to her when he felt lonely and desperate (at least on his better days), but in the end, this was entirely his call. She had no right to expect anything from him.
Her gaze touched him like a caress. Nothing could change those feelings. But for him, she had to stay strong and resist the temptation to jump him.
But- no cleaning her toilet with a toothbrush for him.
"I'll take you to dinner in my favorite restaurant," she said with a smile, "and force you to listen to my boring old cop-stories."
His smile was so bright it could have illuminated the whole of Sacramento on a cold winter night.
"That sounds like a real torture." He chuckled.
Her smile deepened. She would bathe in his presence, just for some precious moments. She just hoped she could play it cool, could stop the naughty girl inside her from taking over. No seducing Patrick Jane tonight, you wicked brat. A part of her sighed with regret.
How she would have loved to claim the right to touch him whenever she wanted. Would have loved him to be hers, without any reservations. Fuck Red John. Why did they let him destroy their lives? She wanted to be happy now, dammit. For the rest of their lives, no matter how long that turned out to be. She didn't care.
She shook her head to clear her mind.
It was his decision. The ball was in his court.
Xxxxxxxxxx
The day turned out to be one of the longest in Teresa Lisbon's life, and that was due to a certain annoying, obnoxious, downright cute consultant who seemed to be intent on taking the last of her sanity.
Wherever she looked- he was there. Smiling. Touching, smoothing his hands over his pants, directly next to his…
By noon she was so hot she couldn't even remember this state of horniness from her rather boring past. Her clothes itched on her skin, and she glared at Jane, shooting daggers at the guy who even now sat on her couch and spread the lapels of his shirt even wider, examining the skin of his chest. Smooth, golden, toned chest.
Her mouth was so dry it seemed beyond saving, and her constant swallowing didn't make it any better.
"Lisbon," Jane muttered, "is that a tick here?"
A tick? Oh my god. She rolled her eyes, but found her brain commanding her body to get up from the safe chair behind her desk immediately, without asking better judgment for its opinion first.
She stopped in front of him and leaned over to take a closer look. He held his shirt apart, presenting even more attributes she desperately wanted to get her hands on, and she felt her knees getting soft and instable.
"There's absolutely nothing, Jane," she growled impatiently.
"It hurts," he crooned, giving his eyes this little-boy-hue that turned her willpower to mush, "kiss it and make it better?"
She stared at him. His gaze was deep and needy, and for a second she wondered if he was hypnotizing her, she felt dizzy and raw, but she knew her own feelings for him too well by now to mistake them for anything else. She wanted him. Oh how much.
She bowed down and pressed her lips to his golden skin, almost whimpering when he tensed beneath her lips, his body arching to get closer. She licked the spot he had indicated earlier, pressing warm, wet, open-mouthed kisses on every inch she could reach.
Temptation was sparking in the air, and Lisbon sighed, resistance gone, need winning out big time.
She pushed her fingers beneath his shirt and touched his nipples, making him gasp and moan, the sounds of lust spurring her on. He rubbed his cheek against her hair, the gesture sweet and intimate, and she looked up, her face so close to his she could feel his clean breath on her skin.
His eyes were soft, begging, his lips trembling slightly.
He shuddered every time her finger touched his nipples, puckering under her ministrations. Damn, he was responsive, what if he were like this everywhere on his magnificent body?
"Suck them," he whispered, "PLEASE."
The door crashed open, and Lisbon had barely enough time to pull her hand from her consultant's gaping shirt and cover his exposed chest.
Cho stood in the middle of the room, looking quizzically at them.
Lisbon tried desperately to think of something harmless to say, but nothing would come to mind. Cho coughed into his hand.
"Uhm, boss," he said, "the DA asked me to give you this form and tell you to fill it out for him…"
Lisbon groaned.
"It's okay, Cho," she said, "I'll get to it immediately."
Jane got up with an invigorated spring in his movements, smiling brightly.
"I'll leave you to the tedious police work, my friends," he exclaimed, "and get myself a cup of tea."
He took care to brush her body with his when he passed her by, and Lisbon flinched slightly. Her skin was burning with unfulfilled desire. No matter what- this was starting to affect her working capability, and she couldn't have that.
Patrick Jane was due tonight. After all, this was her night, wasn't it?
Xxxxxxxxxx
Okay, the ball was in her court now, and he hoped to a level that bordered on desperation that she would play it.
He couldn't take much more of this, and when she didn't give in soon, he would start to spend interviews with witnesses holding hands with agent Lisbon.
He felt the constant need to touch her. He had frequent dreams of snuggling up to her after hours of sweaty sex. He felt lonely when he couldn't see her. Patrick Jane needed his control back. Needed to regain his cool. Only she could help him.
He sighed and watched her leaving her office, walking over to Grace's desk. The two women talked briefly, and Grace mentioned another interview.
He waited until Lisbon passed his couch before he leaned forward and snatched her hand, lacing his fingers with hers.
"Hey," he said, "take me with you?"
She looked at their joined hands, then at his eyes, and he knew she was his. Excitement boiled up in his veins, his breath felt hot in his lungs.
"Of course," she answered, her voice slightly higher than he knew it.
He smiled and got up, never releasing her small, warm hand.
Xxxxxxxxxx
Teresa Lisbon felt surprisingly cheerful strolling through the supermarket in her neighborhood that afternoon.
She was no seductress, but for tonight, she would muster every ounce of "sexy" she could find inside her. Without going over the top, she hoped. Her love was a constant throb inside her, paired with the pang of bad conscience- she just hoped she wouldn't take advantage of him, heighten his confusion, hurt him even more.
But hey- he had asked her to suck his nipples! If that wasn't a clear indication of his intentions, she should better never date again.
She spent the early evening contemplating her underwear. Was black lace too much? Should she choose a more flashy color? She finally decided to go with what she felt most comfortable in: emerald green silk, complimenting the color of her eyes, smooth to the touch.
The thought that he would touch her made her shaky.
She pulled her simple, short green dress over her head and slipped into her black high heels (moderately high, she didn't want to look like a woman with naughty intentions), shaking her head to fluff her wavy hair. Good enough, she hoped.
Keys and purse, and she was on her way to the car.
She smiled secretly when she pulled up in front of the motel he was staying in from time to time. Picking up the guy for a date instead of vice versa was more to her liking, pretty much her style. She felt sexy and confident when she strolled up to his door, reveling in the entranced stare of a man who seemed to have forgotten how to use a key as soon as he saw her. She grinned and gave her hips an enticing little sway.
Yes, she looked good tonight- her smugness lasted until Jane opened his door and stepped outside. Her mouth went dry in an instant.
He wore an immaculate tuxedo, complete with matching black bow tie. His blond hair was shining in the soft glow of the streetlights, his lips curled into the sweetest of smiles.
He looked at her and the smile died down fast, replaced by a look of unmistakable desire. It took him quite a while to regain his composure, but she was even worse: she seemed to be unable to close her mouth, dammit.
"Lisbon," he finally said, his renewed smile entirely predatory now, "I would ask you inside, but I'm afraid we'd never get dinner if I did. You look… breathtakingly beautiful."
His eyes told her that he couldn't get her out of this dress fast enough.
"So do you," she stammered, "but Jane… we're just going to a small, intimate Italian restaurant, nothing fancy… don't you think you're overdressed?"
He blinked at her as if he had no idea what she was talking about.
"Oh!" he exclaimed eventually, "I didn't dress like that for the RESTAURANT, Lisbon. I dressed up solely for you. Do you like what you see?"
Did she like what she saw? She would devour him like an oversized piece of chocolate!
"Absolutely." She croaked.
He smiled gently at her.
"Then, I'm absolutely fine with my attire."
He closed his door and offered her his arm. It felt almost sinfully good to let her hand slide over the smooth fabric of his jacket. She could feel his warmth through the layers of clothes between them and wanted nothing more than to sink into bed with him, right now, submerge herself in touches and pleasure. Forget the whole world for a while.
The restaurant she had chosen was her favorite, and she had known the owner for years. Seeing her in a dress in the company of a handsome guy in a tuxedo told Antonio clearly that this was a special night and he acted accordingly: they got his best table, secluded from the other guests, and discrete, romantic music.
Lisbon almost smiled. If Antonio knew how correct his assumptions really were.
Jane stopped every thought inside her mind when he gently took her hand in both of his and lifted it to his face, pressing a soft kiss on her knuckles.
"Am I allowed to order for myself, or is my Mistress insisting on doing it for me?"
She liked the way he said "mistress", she liked it far too much.
"Proceed." She smiled magnanimously.
It didn't even come as a surprise that Patrick Jane spoke perfect Italian. Neither had it been unexpected that Antonio developed a strong liking for her consultant after exchanging the first few words with him.
The tall, bulky Italian cook winked encouragingly at her, giving her his best "Marry him, girl"-smile.
She sighed.
"For me the usual, Antonio."
As soon as the cook had left them, Jane leaned over the table, diminishing the distance between them with flawless grace.
"You are coming here regularly, yes? All on your own?"
Was he jealous? She entertained the thought for a second, savoring how his hands played with her fingers. Damn, she was hot. Couldn't wait to get out of her clothes.
"Yes," she said, "I come here after work sometimes, when I'm just too tired to cook and too hyped up to be all alone in my apartment. Antonio is a good friend. And the food is delicious."
Jane smiled his killer smile, and she felt lured into the depths of his eyes, as if she were under his spell. In a way, she was.
"You're too far away." He whispered.
"We're supposed to eat here, remember?" She came closer, as if on instinct, her lips only inches from his.
His voice was hoarse and sexy.
"What if I don't want food?"
"This is MY night, Patrick Jane."
"What if I have a strong hunch that you don't want food either?"
He came closer, closer. She could taste his breath, and was addicted to it immediately. His lips were almost there now, so hot, she craved his skin more than her next gulp of air…
"Lasagna and the Fettucine Alfredo for my little lovebirds," Antonio exclaimed.
Jane and Lisbon both straightened, her blushing so fiercely it felt as if her face would burn off.
Jane just chuckled good-naturedly and unfolded his napkin, tenderly winking at her.
Lisbon had some serious doubts that she would be able to eat anything that night. Her favorite lasagna smelled deliciously, but her whole body was aflame, her exquisite silk panties wet with her arousal. She could only stare at him, her desire for him so strong it scared her.
She had never, ever felt this way before.
The urge to touch him was so strong she had to fold her hands in her lap to stop herself from reaching out.
Jane picked up his fork and scooped up a bite of Fettucine, swallowing carefully. His face contorted in bliss.
"Hmmmm, Lisbon, this is WONDERFUL. Want a bite?"
And something inside her just gave way, opening a world of new possibilities.
She was done with being polite and reasonable here. If she was going too far, if he simply wasn't ready for this- he would stop her, wouldn't he? She would suck up the shame and embarrassment and soldier on, like she always did.
She would.
She leaned closer and licked the bite he was offering her from the fork. His pupils dilated visibly, and her heart skipped a beat when sheer lust pervaded his features.
Okay, so he possibly wouldn't stop her. She had a myriad of cravings he had to fulfill tonight.
"How comes you get to kiss my hands all the time when I can never kiss yours?" she asked.
He chuckled, taking another bite of his food. He chewed thoughtfully before he answered.
"Usually, it's the man who kisses his lady's hand. But since this is the 21st century…" he put his fingers beneath her chin, caressing her gently, his voice getting soft and intimate, "…please, be my guest."
She grabbed his wrist and kissed his fingertips, one by one. He shuddered slightly, and his skin was so warm and soft she couldn't stop herself. She let her lips wander over the back of his hand, smiling when the silky blond hairs tickled her nose. She slid her tongue back to his fingers and took his index into her mouth, sucking intently until she felt his whole body shake.
"You know, love," he whispered, "I just remembered another reason why I don't usually let you kiss my hand in public- it will be a while before I can get up from this chair now, believe me."
She chuckled and reluctantly released his hand. The whole world seemed to evaporate into her dark fantasy, the past momentarily forgotten, the hurt feelings from Las Vegas and the weeks afterwards gone. Indescribable relief, and she closed her eyes in gratitude while she slipped her left shoe from her foot.
She heard the clock on the wall ticking loudly, the soft music from several loudspeakers swelling into a demanding rhythm. Like a throbbing heartbeat.
She saw his eyes widen when her foot started to wander up his calf, the fabric of his pants was soft, she heightened the pressure, sliding over the inside of his thigh, her toes probing, massaging.
He clutched the edge of the table with both hands, his grip so hard his knuckles turned white. His Adam's apple bopped when he swallowed, and she smiled gently.
"Just let me see for myself," she crooned, knowing she had his full attention.
Her toes found his erection, and it took a clearly visible effort from him not to moan. She measured his dimensions carefully, hard and hot behind his fly, almost bursting the confines of his waistband- he had rearranged the corpus delicti a little so that it wouldn't grow out of places it better stayed in, but it didn't do anything to hide his size.
She felt her own eyes widen.
Sweat was forming on Jane's forehead, his pale lips trembled slightly, but he forced one of his trademark grins.
"Don't worry, little witch. We'll make it fit."
She couldn't help it and smiled back, putting her whole foot against his erection, using enough pressure to make him gasp.
"This will never fit." She challenged him softly.
He chuckled.
"Wanna bet?"
He pushed his hips against her foot, using his hand to press it tighter against his bulge. Damn, he was big, not only long, but incredibly wide, too. Her throat was dry, her heartbeat so fast it vibrated through her ribcage. She had never, ever wanted a man as much as she wanted him right now. Food was completely forgotten, it was all she could do not to jump him here and now, destroying his elegant clothes in her urge to touch naked skin.
She didn't know what to say, her honorable "knight in shining armor"-side was still afraid of pushing him too far, of using a weakness to her advantage.
Jane gently shoved her foot from his lap and leaned over the table, carefully avoiding the half-eaten food. He wrapped a strand of her long dark hair around his hand, pulling a little until she had to come closer, their lips almost touching, breath mingling between them in a heady concoction of lust and need.
"Your place or mine?" He whispered, pressing the lightest of kisses onto her lips.
"Mine." She answered hoarsely and closed her eyes before she deepened the kiss, groping with her mouth to feel more of him, his taste so sweet and delicious she felt like crying all of a sudden. She didn't dare to use her tongue yet, and finally he broke the kiss, taking her hand in his, pulling her with him into the night after leaving some bigger banknotes on the table for Antonio.
The drive to her apartment was hell. Both of them were so aroused they could smell it, talking was absolutely futile, so they stayed silent. Jane concentrated on driving her car… she had relented almost without resistance this time, feeling much too excited to drive safely. Jane's hands trembled on the steering wheel, but he had much better self-control than she did and managed to function even in a situation like this.
It was almost funny how much both tried to restrain themselves when they finally entered her apartment. It was eerily silent for a few seconds, both of them staring, the tension between them palpable, how had she resisted so long?
For a moment she allowed her thoughts to run amok, this was Patrick Jane, the man she had wanted for so long, and tonight she would have him, would finally have the precious right to touch him- it was all she had ever wanted, just the right to touch him whenever she wished to, take his hand, stroke his cheek, let her fingers slide over his lips, through his hair. Put her arm around his waist. Lay her head on his chest. She swallowed.
In the gloomy twilight he was as breathtakingly beautiful as always, his blond curls slightly disheveled, his face flushed with desire. His hard-on was clearly growing out of his waistband now. He needed to get out of these clothes, it had to hurt him.
"Nice," he said hoarsely, "have you re-decorated lately?"
She smiled and got closer, putting both hands on his chest. She felt his heartbeat flutter beneath her fingers, and it instantly made her self-conscious. She looked into his eyes, pools of green light, and they were deep, so deep, Patrick Jane had the deepest eyes she had ever seen. She saw the sadness swirl inside them, the sadness that never really left him, and so much love she could hardly breathe all of a sudden. He was a good man. No, he was more than that. He was a fighter, a warrior, and she admired him to no end. His mischief, his obsession, his ability to lie and deceive would never be able to hide his honorable core. She adored him. Loved him so much she would never get over it in a lifetime. He was the final deal, the final station for her heart, and she would rather chew off both her arms than hurt him more.
"Jane," she whispered softly, framing his face just in case, needing at least this moment of touch if he backed out now, decided that he wasn't ready at all, "Patrick, you know you…"
He came even closer, gently kissing her cheek, her temple, and it felt so wonderful she slipped her arms around his waist, pulling him into a full-fledged embrace, his erection hard and hot against her abdomen.
"Please, play with me, Teresa," he whispered urgently, "don't make this serious business. I love you, you know I do. I know that's foolish, dangerous, very, very serious. But I don't want to be afraid now. I want to PLAY, Teresa. Play with me, please?"
She pulled him closer and kissed him, tasted his lips deeply and thoroughly, and this time she allowed his tongue to invade her mouth, spread his delicious taste everywhere, make her his until her whole body seemed to burn.
She opened his fly and freed his erection, and he gasped his relief into her mouth, shaking and shivering when she gently caressed his length. Damn, he was big. She couldn't span his erection with her hand, his skin was hot and satiny, she wanted to feel him inside her so much, but for him, she would play. She would do anything for him.
She untied his bow tie and slipped the jacket from his shoulders, his kisses warm and wet, fueling her lust until she could hardly breathe through it. She forced herself to be careful with his clothes when all she wanted was to get him naked, fast, preferably right now. She took a deep breath when finally she felt nothing but smooth, naked skin against her fingers. He toed off shoes and socks and stepped out of the puddle his pants and boxers made on the floor.
She was a lot less careful with her own stuff, discarding her dress and underwear in record time.
"We didn't get any dessert, did we?" she said softly and saw the brief flicker of gratitude on his face before she turned and sauntered into the kitchen. She felt his gaze on her naked body, felt the heat, the want, and savored every second. She wasn't self-conscious, she was in excellent shape, but his desire made her proud nonetheless. She had always thought herself a bit plain, too busy to be truly sexy. She opened a cupboard and retrieved two bottles, carefully hiding them behind her back.
He grinned at her, but the heat in his eyes was unmistakable, and damn- was he hard! Her mouth watered, her skin prickled until she could hardly feel anything but this darn heat.
"Do you know the way to my bedroom?" she breathed.
"I can take an educated guess." He answered and turned, leading the way, slowly ascending the stairs while granting her an excellent view of his toned backside. She put her free hand against his skin, unable to resist, and felt him shudder violently.
He chose the right door, of course, and immediately grabbed her, throwing her onto her bed.
"Hey," she giggled, "that's my night, remember?"
He looked at the can of whipped cream she held in her hand and smiled evilly.
"I'm sorry," he growled, slowly crawling over her body until she was directly beneath him, "I momentarily forgot."
He lowered himself for a short kiss, his erection throbbing against her abdomen until her whole system was screaming with need, before he rolled to his side and hit the mattress next to her.
"Do with me whatever you want, Mistress."
She shook the can slowly and went straight for his nipples, spraying them with a generous layer of cream before she moved to lick it off. His whole body went rigid, a deep groan tore from his throat. He was so responsive there she couldn't resist and used some teeth, gently biting down on the hard little bud between her lips.
Jane cried out, his body forming a perfect arch, his face contorting in ecstasy.
Lisbon moved to the other nipple and lapped at the sugary treat, rubbing her tongue over his skin until he was writhing with lust. She didn't stop until she had cleaned him completely, he was whimpering when she pulled his skin between her teeth.
"Teresa," he gasped, "I warn you, I can very easily come from that alone!"
Oh, she'd like to see that. Would love to make him spill his load just by playing with his nipples. But- not tonight.
She smiled at him and moved lower, kissing his flat abdomen, following the line of dark blond hair leading to his groin. She was careful to avoid his erection, because – whoa, it covered a big part of his stomach.
He almost screamed when she pressed a little kiss on his shaft.
"Lisbon," he cried out, "please, I will NEVER last if you…"
"Don't last then," she interrupted, "you're dessert, remember? And I need something more substantial to go with my whipped cream…"
He groaned.
"Do you plan on milking me like a breeding bull, woman?"
She kissed his cock again, feeling the silky skin stretch even tauter.
"You know," she breathed against his swollen flesh, "that sounds very appealing to me."
She sprayed more whipped cream on his towering erection and reveled in the lustful heaves of his body. He was shaking with ecstasy, and it felt so good to make him lose control, to wipe his smug arrogance off his face just once, destroy his act and reveal the man underneath.
She leaned over and slid her tongue over his quivering cock, the sweetness of the cream mingling with the heady taste of his skin. She moaned with delight and moved to straddle his thighs, bowing down to explore in earnest.
xxxxxxxxxx
He screamed when she sucked on his glans as if it were a piece of candy, making wet, slurping noises that almost drove him insane. She hit his most sensitive spots with ruthless vigor, the tiny slit in the middle, the utterly sensitive rim, he screamed until his throat was sore, so close it was a miracle he hadn't spilled his seed already. She took her sweet time cleaning him from the whipped cream, her tongue an instrument of torture.
But he knew he was lost when she finally swallowed him, taking his length into her mouth until the tip hit the back of her throat. She managed to angle her head and take him even deeper, and he had never, ever felt something like that before, his cock pushing down her throat, so much heat it infused his whole system, blazing into his veins. She couldn't even get half of his erection into her mouth, but a simple rise of sensation was enough to make him explode like a rocket- she swallowed, and the movement of her throat against his length made him shoot his load like a madman.
She did as she had promised, milking him with deep, sucking motions, and he gave everything he had, desperate, helpless, spilling so much seed it felt as if he spend every drop of fluid he contained inside her thirsty throat.
He made a strangled, high-pitched noise he hardly recognized as his own and all but collapsed when she finally released him.
She smiled at him, content and smug, and he felt himself harden again when a thin rivulet of his seed ran from her lips over her chin. She caught the trickle of liquid with her fingers and licked it off, closing her eyes in pleasure. He couldn't believe it, but he went from satisfied limpness to rock-hardness in seconds. Damn, this would be a long night for both of them.
"My turn," he groaned and grabbed the second treat she had brought from the kitchen- a bottle of chocolate sauce.
When she moved onto her back, spread out for him, so sexy it brought tears to his eyes and made his hard-on throb with renewed want, he decided not to be reasonable and considerate right now.
He simply took the chocolate sauce and practically covered her with the sticky stuff, her chest, her stomach, her thighs, spilling the sweet syrup so generously it even splattered her face.
She gasped and stared at him wide-eyed.
"What shall I say," he shrugged, "I'm hungry."
And he descended on her like a predator, catching her mouth with his own, thrusting his tongue between her lips until she groaned and kissed him back as if she'd be starving without him. Her perfect taste mingled with the chocolate and he was so, so hard, rubbing her body against hers, so tiny, so petite, he got chocolate all over him and it made him even hotter, damn, how he loved to make a mess.
Her hands were all over his body, it felt so good, she spread her legs for him and he wanted nothing more than to fulfill his promise, make her fit, stretch her with his erection, force it in if he had to, but there were things he had to do first, he needed to taste her, suck her into his soul.
She tore free from her breathless kisses and let his lips wander lower, getting chocolate everywhere, even in his hair, he licked her chocolate-covered nipples much as she had his own and savored every shudder he could draw from her. She was so responsive, so open to him, reacting strongly to every kiss, every lap of his tongue, and he pulled her nipple into his mouth and sucked until she screamed.
He slid lower still, his face sticky from all the chocolate, his tongue licking a straight path to the center of her deliciousness. He smiled at her, licking over his lips in anticipation and delved right in, kissing the entrance to her core, thoroughly coated in chocolate that wasn't half as sweet as she was. For a moment, he thought he'd lose it, spill his seed on the sheets like an untried boy, but he managed to get himself under control at the last second. Damn, she was exquisite, her taste so perfect and addictive he knew he would never be able to go without it.
She cried out with every lap of his tongue, whimpering when he rubbed it against her straining clit, grazing the tiny nub with his teeth again and again. Her body jerked and she came like mad, her strong contractions clearly palpable in the sudden tautness of her stomach muscles.
Jane groaned and pushed his tongue inside her as deep as it would go, drinking her delicious juices with blatant greed, her walls clenching around him. He didn't stop before he had sampled the last drop of her, but his hunger wasn't even close to appeased, his erection pulsating insistently against his stomach.
He pushed up on his arms and stared at her out of wild, needy eyes.
"Shower." He croaked.
"No, Jane, please," she begged, "take me now, please, I need…"
But he didn't listen and simply picked her up, carrying her all the way to the bathroom, silencing her with more hungry kisses, their tongues sliding against each other in a wetly erotic dance.
He put her down under the shower and started the water, taking care to choose the perfect temperature before protecting her from the stream's initial coldness with his own body.
He kissed her more, more, his lips swollen from their passionate love bites, his fingers finding the sweet spot between her legs, she was wet for him, so wet, ready to finally take him. His mind soared with joy and excitement, she was his, she would accept him. He would never let her go, he would protect her, he could do it, dammit.
"Turn." he whispered into her ear, and she did.
He knew the position wasn't ideal for their first time, but he needed to have her now or he would lose his mind, dissolve into a wet puddle of lust.
The water cascaded down their bodies, he used his hands to spread her legs, moaning when she instinctively bent forward, her hands flat against the milky glass of the shower wall. He covered them with his own, linking his fingers with hers.
"Hard or soft, Teresa?" he whispered into her ear. "How do you want this first thrust, Mistress?"
"Hard." She breathed, "Force it in, please."
He groaned, she had voiced his earlier thoughts, and the feeling of utter perfection made him lose all sense of time and space, made him forget everything, and he was so grateful he sobbed. She was his soul-mate, the culmination of his needs and desires, and he felt relieved beyond words that he had found this kind of connection again when he'd always thought it lost, gone. He'd felt so abandoned, but she had found him. Saved him.
He bent his knees and brought his cock, demanding now like a starving beast, to the alluring entrance of her core. Her wet flesh caressed his glans, her desperate moans showing him how much she wanted this, and he took a deep breath and simply pushed in all the way.
She was much too small. His eyes widened in shock, her sheath so tight it would never fit him, clutching him like a second skin. He felt her stretch for him, impossibly so, while the sensations were so strong he thought he had to be tearing into her, ripping through delicate tissue without taking care. He wanted to stop but he couldn't, her slick walls pulling him in, deeper, deeper, until he hit a spot where he simply could go no further.
"Oh god," he groaned, panting, "Teresa- did I hurt you?"
She was so tight, every tiny movement of her body translated into nameless sexual agony for him.
"If that's hurting," she moaned, "hurt me more, Jane! Go deeper, please!"
And he did what she demanded and forced the last few inches in against the resistance of her body, until he thrust so deep her feet came clear of the floor. She cried out when his hips slammed against her buttocks, he was completely engulfed in her hot, wet, unbelievable tightness, clutching him like a vise.
The urgency of his arousal made him restless, his hands were grabbing at her, she felt so tiny, much too small to take him, almost too small for any sex at all. She straightened, her slim back leaning against his chest, and the movement of her sheath against his cock almost made him come on the spot.
His arms pulled her closer, and when she turned her head, her eyes wide, wet hair running over her shoulders like a flood of dark silk, her lips swollen and pouty, he claimed her mouth in a passionate kiss, kneading her breasts firmly while his tongue thrust almost as deep as his cock, transporting his feelings clearer than words ever could. He wanted her to feel that this was more for him than just sex, the most important thing in his world, that he made a promise he would die to keep, committed whole-heartedly. There was nothing casual about this. She burned her name into his soul, a brand he would wear to the end of his life, much as he wore Angela's.
He was so afraid he would hurt the delicate woman in his arms.
"You can't hurt me, Jane," she whispered into his mouth, "but you're welcome to try. Fuck me as hard as you can and you will only hear me scream for more."
That undid him.
He pulled out of her, gasping when it felt almost as mind-blowing as pushing in, and turned off the water.
"I swear, you will regret this," he pressed out between gritted teeth.
Her smile was completely evil, and he groaned, picking her up again. He carried her back into the bedroom and dropped her on the bed, immediately covering her body with his, spreading her legs around his waist.
"So, my little minx wants to be hurt, huh?" he growled, "Given your excruciating tightness that shouldn't be a problem at all."
He put his hands against her thighs, spreading her even wider, he felt her impatience, the urgency in her eyes whipping him into a sexual frenzy he had never known. He pushed into her full force, ramming those last inches into her in short, hammering thrusts, making her scream every time he hit a new limit. She writhed beneath him and started to come immediately, her contracting muscles tightening her blazing core even more around him, he cried out in sheer agony, his mind struggling to control his body, so close now it hurt.
He screamed her name and started to fuck her, his thrusts hard, fast, relentless, filling her so deep it seemed as if he would surely break her. But her lustful cries spurred him on, her body pressing closer, matching every rough, fevered stroke he delivered, and he simply gave in, mustering every ounce of power he had in his body, giving it to her like he meant it.
Her orgasm turned multiple, aftershocks growing into more heavy climaxing, and Jane pounded her into the mattress, thrusting so hard the bed banged against the wall every time he drove into her to the hilt.
His arousal was growing, growing, until he was a mass of ecstasy and hurt, his need to come burning a smoking path through his body, she was so, so, so tight, he needed so much power to get inside her, her clenching muscles massaging his cock, so close, close, sweat pouring down his body, dripping from his nose onto her face, her head thrown back, lips pursed in ecstasy, he picked up speed, not knowing where he took the energy.
His hips were jackhammering with bruising force, the sounds of the bed banging and creaking louder and louder, her passionate cries drowning every other noise until with a deafening crash he tumbled over the edge, his seed jetting out of him in spurts so large and long they felt like waves, flooding her body until his juices flowed over, running over her thighs and buttocks, wetting his own stomach. He spilled copiously, his stomach muscles contracting sharply while he expelled more warm, balmy liquid, stuffing her to the brim.
He panted and released her thighs, but she wrapped her legs around him tightly, stopping him from pulling out. He groaned, the last jets of semen shooting into her before he gathered her in his arms, both their bodies so hot he almost expected them to melt into one single being.
"Teresa." He whispered, a plea, a benediction, born of his undying wish that she would accept him, wouldn't push him out into the darkness of his lonely, bleak existence again.
He could protect her, he knew it. No matter what Red John had taken from him- he wouldn't get this. It was his ultimate fight, and he would win, because he just couldn't lose. There was too much at stake here- Teresa, his life, his future, the only sunshine that could permeate his dusky soul.
"I love you." She said, her voice was hoarse, strained, but her words were so clear, almost matter-of-factly. He wanted to reciprocate, reassure her, tell her that he felt the same, felt so much it suffocated him sometimes, so deep, just for her, but the words wouldn't come, instead tears started to mix with his sweat, running down his face in hot rivulets.
Her eyes were so warm and gentle, and she softly framed his face with her hands, her touch sweet and soothing, reaching down into the essence of his being.
"I know." She whispered, and he kissed her, letting his lips say what his voice just couldn't at the moment.
He spoke silent vows of endless devotion in his mind, promising her not to let her down, to cherish her for a lifetime. He knew he couldn't help being what he was, tainted, broken, damaged goods. It was selfish of him to subject her to a life with him, but there was nothing that could heal him the way she could, nothing that could make things better for him but her. After his revenge would inevitably fail to make him whole again, she would still be there, at his side, grounding him with her love, her touch.
He sobbed quietly and moved to pull out of her, wanting to relieve her of his weight on her small frame. But she wouldn't let him, tightening the hold of her strong thighs on his body.
"No," she whispered, "stay inside me, please. Let us sleep, Patrick. We'll take another shower later. Just sleep for a while, my love."
He pulled her into his arms and turned over, taking her with him so that she came to lie on top of him, their bodies still joined, his hardening shaft pulsing deep inside her.
They closed their eyes and slept for a little while amid the chocolate-soiled sheets, their hearts beating in perfect sync.
The End
Uhm, yes, that wasn't sweet and gentle love-making, I know, but I'm not to blame for this! It is ENTIRELY little-firestar's fault who made my mind all woozy with her EXCELLENT and UBER-HOT story "Put Your Hands All over Me"! After reading that, every incentive to write soft, respectful sex had fled my mind. So, don't yell at ME! What do you mean, I'm not exactly known for my slow, softish sex-scenes? That's not true! Usually, I'm as sweet and innocent as Barbie ;D!
See you for my next story, folks. I'm afraid I have to leave the soft sex to the authors who can actually write it- I always seem to get carried away, I'm sorry.
A last word: I promised a friend thatI would make them break the bed in this one, but they would have to address this afterwards, and it just didn't fit the story. I try to include it next time, really! My fics pretty much lead me where they want, and I can only follow them where they take me- it's ridiculous what small amounts of actual thinking are involved in my writing! Sorry!