I still, tragically (or not so tragically?), don't own anything to do with Criminal Minds.


Part four: Sweet Dreams are Made of This


She was kissing him with an erotic cocktail of desperation and desire as if she sensed how fleeting their moments together were. He could barely keep it together; every time he tried to slow things down, she drove him closer to the edge of madness with just that coyly sad cocking of an eyebrow, as if pointing out just how futile his attempts to push her away for a moment to regain his footing was.

Penelope had always kept him off-balance, and in love, it was no different. As if from deep inside, a rumble of need escaped his lips when her nails raked his chest, leaving tiny welts in their wake. "Mine," she whispered, using one perfectly-manicured yellow nail to etch a 'P' over his heart. The rumble became a growl and he pounced, devouring her with kisses as if he were starving for her. And he was.

Derek Morgan would defy heaven and earth to bring his goddess to her knees – so she could grant him his one wish. To be happy, to be loved, to be with her again.

Somewhere deep inside, he knew this was all a dream and when he opened his eyes, he'd still be alone, but dreams were distracting and could hold more truth than he cared to acknowledge. He dreamt about his goddess every night, about ravishing her until she couldn't breathe without his name on her lips; and every morning, he woke up feeling empty.

He could feel her in his bones, in his blood, and until he had her again, this was all he could do – dream.

He fumbled with her dress, drinking in her lush curves as they came into view, loving the feel of her soft skin beneath his fingers. He delighted in the shivers that overtook her when he barely brushed her skin, smiling at the gooseflesh that raised in response to her moan and his touch. Her eyes darkened with lust tempered with devotion and love and she murmured, "You gonna just stand there, Hot Stuff, or are you gonna make Mama a happy girl?"

If he had his choice, he'd make her pinup curves his next tattoo – but that wasn't exactly work appropriate. Not to mention, no artist could capture the woman's 'come hither' eyes.

She was perfect in his eyes; every kiss was delicious, every brush of her fingers against his skin was new and exciting, sending thrills up and down his spine, making him harder by the second. All he wanted was to be inside her and hold on tight for the ride. They were like arsonists, setting fire to the world to watch it burn down with the power of their love.

And it was so good.

She trailed kisses down his body, working his jeans and trunks down his legs, smiling impishly up at him with those delightful raspberry-colored lips that tasted as sweet as they looked. She licked along the length of his cock, making him stumble back the few steps to the wall to steady himself. She followed with single-minded devotion, chuckling at the look on his face, before she moved in for the kill.

She kneaded his ass as she licked and sucked, bringing him deeper into her willing, able mouth. His breathing was ragged, hitching in his throat as he closed his eyes and focused on feeling everything she made him feel. She pulled away teasingly and he looked down in alarm, but she licked across the slit of his cock with a small slurp that sent a shot of lust spearing through him. And then she was sucking on him with the focused determination of a woman who intended on making it damn good for him.

His orgasm was white-hot, pulses of insane pleasure breaking him like lightning striking an ancient tree, shattering him to the very core.

Derek Morgan woke up seeing stars and covered in cum like a fucking teenager with a wet dream.

But such a wet dream it had been.

His heart wouldn't stop thundering in his chest and he was already reaching for his limp cock, needing to feel the bliss she'd brought him to again. But no matter how much he fucking touched himself, it just wasn't enough.

He needed Penelope.


Her sweaty fingers slipped from the bars on the metal headboard again and when she fumbled for her grasp again, she white-knuckled the bars with a low cry of pleasure as his tongue swirled around her clit, distracting her. Her heartbeat had settled into her pelvis, each beat matching his movements in an erratic, erotic dance that rivaled anything they could have brought to the dance floor.

She knew words were pouring from her lips, but when pressed to think of what they were, she couldn't think enough to know anything but that she was sopping wet and desperate for him. All she wanted was for him to be inside her – the rest of the world be damned. She fucking wanted him to love her in all the ways she couldn't possibly love herself; and she knew he did.

She went limp like a dishrag when her climax passed again, her fingers clinging loosely to the headboard. Every time he made her come, it pulled on her heartstrings, making her wish it wasn't just a fucking dream – and she knew it was a dream because it was too good to be true.

But she didn't protest when he crawled up her body, leaving scorching hot kisses in his wake. By the time he reached her lips, she was squirming and shaking with a kind of wanton need and lust that nothing could quench but him.

"Derek," she croaked, her fingers moving to his shoulders, "fuck me. Please stop teasing and just fuck me."

His smile was devastating as he whispered, "Your wish is my command, princess."

He was so hot, so virile, so – so – so very him. Derek Morgan was her perfect match. Her voice died in her throat as he slid home in one stroke, filling her to the brim. Her hands found the bars again, holding for dear life as he settled in a fast, hard rhythm that had her exploding around him in seconds. Fuck, she was going to die from bliss – but she wrapped her legs around his hips and bucked against him in counter-rhythm anyway.

Their kisses mimicked the insanity that was rocking their bodies, hard, hot, thrusting tongues and desperate begging for more, anything that made this that much more intense.

She was on fire, her body getting hotter and hotter with the impending orgasm that would undo her completely. She fought against it, but that just made the tingling stronger. She felt it start, her toes curling, her knees locking, her hips jerking into rigidity as the pleasure snapped her higher functions.

Penelope awoke mid-orgasm, her heart slamming painfully in her chest, her inner walls clenching hard around nothing, her vision burned out by painful stars from holding her breath in her sleep. When she could breathe again, she lay still, trying to will her blood to stop thrumming in her ears. She quaked with smaller aftershock orgasms for almost half an hour; and that's when the tears began.

It wasn't fair – she needed him and she couldn't have him. The ring wasn't enough – it had been a year since he'd kissed her forehead and told her that everything would be okay. A year since she'd been stolen away from him.

A year was forever.