I still don't own anything but my sanity and with the Thanksgiving holiday, even that's wearing thin: so have some pr0n instead. :D (This is my stress relief. God help us all.)

Part fourteen:

January 13, 2012
11:27 PM EDT

"You still awake, Baby Girl?" Derek whispered, his hand gently resting on her hip.

"Yeah," she sighed. "Not going to sleep any time soon."

"Why not?"

"I'm an insomniac by habit," she muttered. "And I'm off my meds because of the baby and everything is topsy-turvy and wrong." Penelope closed her eyes. She didn't like what she saw behind her eyelids, so she opened them again. "I had a terrible thought tonight. I started wondering if this was how my mother felt when she had episodes."

His hand moved, protectively resting on her belly now. She didn't mind, for once, because his hand was warm and strong and held her so very gently. "Mama," he whispered, "you can't think like that. But if you're having dark thoughts, you should tell someone."

"I have an appointment on Thursday with my psychiatrist," she sighed. "I'm way ahead of you, Hot Stuff. She knows more about my feelings than I do. It's okay. I just – I'm scared. And overwhelmed. And I want to stop worrying, but I can't."

"What are you worrying about right now?" he asked, shifting behind her and pulling her closer.

"What I'm going to wear tomorrow when we go shopping," she admitted.

"And that's keeping you awake?"

She huffed and smacked his arm. "Don't make fun of me. It's not rational, I get that, but I can't help it. And I'm worrying about you and Declan getting along."

"We'll get along fine," Derek assured her.

"And I'm worried about –"

"Should you be worrying so much?" he asked softly.

She sighed again. "Hot Stuff, I swear I can't help it."

He kissed her shoulder. "Maybe I should distract you," he commented. "Keep you from thinking too much."

"But then I'm thinking about you and worrying about you going out on a case and being a hero and not coming home," she admitted very quietly.

"Mama," Derek groaned, "you worry too damn much."

"I know," she said in her smallest voice. "Is your Mom mad about sleeping on the futon?"

"Why would she be?" Derek asked. "It's what you have at the moment."

"Yeah," Penelope said.

"Let me guess: you're worried about how she's sleeping, too?"

"Oh, shut up," she muttered, elbowing him. "Don't make fun of me."

"But you are, aren't you?"

"Yes, but –"

He pulled her top up a little and rested his warm hand on her belly, gently rubbing in small circles. "Stop it," he said firmly. "Enough is enough. Just stop thinking about anything that might upset you. Think about rainbows and kittens and how beautiful Peanut is going to be."

"I hope she has your smile," Penelope murmured, resting her hand atop his.

"Nah," he said, kissing the back of her neck. "She should have your smile and your gorgeous eyes, Baby Girl. And those little dimples –"

"I don't have dimples," Penelope protested, chuckling.

"Uh-huh," he muttered, pulling her tighter against him. "I missed cuddling with you."

"Oh really?" she teased. "You just want a pillow."

"If I wanted a pillow, I'd go to Target," he grumbled.

She giggled. "I thought men don't like to cuddle," she commented.

"I cuddle," he protested.

"Ah, but my exes didn't," Penelope said. "They were very wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am…"

"Ian Doyle doesn't count as an ex," Derek growled. "I should have shot him myself, but he was right in front of you and if I'd've –"

"Now who's worrying?" Penelope murmured. "If it makes you feel any better, Sugar, if I'd have met you before I went undercover, I wouldn't have slept with him. Not even for duty and honor and country."

"If we'd met in 2001, you'd just be another notch on my bedpost," he whispered.

She laughed. "Oh, but I'd be the one you'd be missing the rest of your life," she reminded him with a smile on her lips.

"Hell yeah," he agreed. "I almost lost you. I'm not letting go again."

"I probably wouldn't have had a boyfriend when you finally came to your senses," she said wryly. "Not too many men are okay with a woman with kids. Or they want the kids more than the mother. And, if by chance, you find a good one – they're usually gay." She sighed. "I didn't exactly ever have men beating down my door. Two boyfriends, then Ian Doyle, and a very, very, incredibly long dry spell. And you. I would've waited forever for you," she whispered. "And I probably would have hated myself the whole time because I let myself get spoiled for anyone else." She paused. "You aren't gay, are you?"

"Hell no!" he exclaimed forcefully. "I love women, Mama – and most especially you. You get under my skin like no one else and I swear to god, you're the most perfect woman I've ever met."

"Liar," she murmured. "I'm not perfect."

"To me you are," he whispered, letting his hand slide below the waistband of her lounge pants. Her breath hitched when he stilled, then continued lower. She bit back a moan when he found his target and began slowly tormenting her with the gentlest of touches. She rocked against his hand, desperate for more, arching her back, parting her legs just a little more, giving him more access to everything they both wanted. "Fuck, Baby Girl, you're so hot," he breathed against her shoulder. "And so very wet."

"Can't help it," she panted, grinding her teeth, trying to keep her moaning quiet.

"Are you fighting me?" he whispered teasingly, slipping a fingertip inside her.

"God," she exhaled, squirming, bucking against his hand in an effort to get more. "Fuck, Derek – fuck – son of a bitch, you asshole, fuck me – don't fucking tease me!"

He chuckled. "Really, Mama? Can't you stop being impatient for one minute –"

"I'm horny as hell," she whined, biting her lip and whimpering as he teased her even more.

"Yeah, which just means I should take my time."

Her eyes narrowed to slits. "Don't you dare."

"Every time we fuck, it's fast and I'd like to take it slowly for once –"

She huffed. "Yes, well –"

"Mama, do you think you're in competition with somebody?" he asked, abruptly pulling his hand out of her clothes. "You don't have to be better than anyone else. You just have to be you. That's the appeal, baby. You're all curves and scream sex kitten in every language on the planet."

"You've had all kinds of women," she accused, rolling over and poking him in the chest. "And I'm probably the only one that wasn't stick thin and drop dead gorgeous."

"Penelope –"

"So if I want to use sex as a weapon to hold you hostage with, you'd better believe I'm going to fuck you till you can't forget what it's like to be balls deep in a real woman," she hissed, poking him again.

"You have a filthy mouth," he accused, laughing.

"I give damn good phone," she retorted, reaching into his boxers and stroking him. "And even better hand jobs."

"Mama," he growled, "your dirty mouth got us into bed in the first place."

She paused and racked her brain, vaguely remembering the first time they'd been together. It was still hazy from the alcohol she'd consumed, but, yeah, she remembered saying something incredibly unrepeatable. And they'd barely made it inside before they all but jumped each other.

He just fucking sizzled. She… fizzled.

Damn it. She just wanted to feel him inside her, not debate whether or not they should have fast, explosive sex or slow, lazy sex. She didn't want intimacy at the moment: her need was physical and physiological. Not emotional.

But everything involving him was emotional – she was just deluding herself if she thought for a second that it wasn't. He made her heart ache and yearn and wish for all the things she'd told herself she couldn't ever have.

"Hey, baby, you still with me?" Derek whispered, bringing her back to earth. "Your mind wandered about a million miles away."

"Only half a million," she murmured, kissing him very softly, sensually on the lips. When he responded, she deepened the kiss, leading him onto a path of destruction and mayhem. Their kisses were dangerous: every kiss led to another, a deeper want, a need that neither could fight.

They lay like that, just kissing, for the longest time. How long, neither knew and neither cared: all they cared about was being allowed to explore this softer side of things. Penelope was tingling from head to toe; sparks of desire were settling all over her, igniting a beautiful, slow-burning fire of want that left her purring when his hand ran down her back and cupped her ass, bringing her as flush to him as she could be.

How did she get so lucky? Karma must be paying out her checks in one lump sum.

Derek's wandering hand slipped back into her pajama bottoms, and she chuckled against his lips. "Sugar," she purred, "this time, I hope you mean business."

"Absolutely. And your hand's been in my pants for god knows how long," he grumbled. "I'm thinking of the Ice Queen spitting nails when she gets wind that we're getting married."

"Whatever," Penelope muttered, kissing him into silence again. "I just want you. And I want to show you why you should keep me." Her hand slipped into his boxers again, teasing him as much as he was teasing her – one thing she knew was that he was easily distracted.

He growled and nipped at her neck where it met her shoulder. "Damn it, woman, I'm not taking you back to the fucking store – I lost the damn receipt," he hissed, involuntarily thrusting into her hand.

She laughed and said, "No refunds or exchanges, Hot Stuff – especially once you've branded me." Her smile abruptly faded, remembering the celtic knot scarred into the back of her hip. "You know, nevermind," she whispered. "You can exchange me for a newer model, but only after you've taken me around the track till my engine explodes."

"Never gonna happen," he groaned, working her pajama pants and underwear down her hips. "You're mine forever."

"I love you," she whispered.

"I love you, too," he intoned, staring deeply into her eyes. She saw everything she'd wanted to hide reflected back at her; it wasn't till that moment that she realized how fully he was committed to this, them, their future. It was a game-changing look.

"Then get your sexy ass out of those boxers," Penelope insisted with a chuckle, "and make me happy. Mama's in need of a little TLC."

He rolled his eyes and smiled, complying with her demand. "One of these days, Penelope, we're actually going to take our time –"

"I think we've taken enough time for one night," she replied, letting him tug her pajama top off over her head, exposing her completely to his hungry gaze. His hands caressed her breasts, stroked her abdomen, came to rest on her thighs. She loved the way he touched her; his touch was so full of tenderness and lust that it made her heart soar.

It also made her horny as hell, which, in her current hormone-addled condition was a lethal weapon in waiting. She went on the attack, all but pouncing on him, knocking him back to the bed with a thump of the springs and a squeak from the headboard. He looked up at her in surprise, but she was already straddling him and ready to ride. About all he could do was settle in for the trip: she was already off to the races and doing her damnedest to drag him along, kicking and screaming. Well, okay, screaming. She wanted to hear him make some NOISE, not just talk dirty.

She took him all in one stroke, feeling him swell even more inside her. Her nails dragged over his chest, his hands came up to grip her waist – or what was left of her waist – and he hissed in approval as she rocked her hips in a circle. "Fuck, Mama –"

"You like that, dirty boy?" Penelope growled, her nails raking down his perfect abs. She envied him his dedication to looking good and staying healthy. She just didn't care enough to stop her own self-indulgence: the world was too hard to make yourself hard to it. And he was her favorite indulgence. All six-foot-one-inch, hard-as-a-rock, goddamn-hot-as-hell, chocolatey goodness of Derek Morgan: her indulgence and hers alone.

She didn't wait for his answer, just started moving. His hands left her waist, one traveling to her breast, the other going between them on a hard stroke, roughly fingering her clit on the downward motion. She hissed and jerked like she'd been burned, but stopped to grind against his fingers. God, he played like a dirty, lecherous old man –

But she wouldn't have it any other way.

Her climax rose hard and fast, startling her as her eyes rolled back into her head and her back arched. The rippling spasms rolled over her and didn't do a damn thing toward assuaging that deep-seated need in her belly. "Goddamn it," she growled, leaning in to kiss him, keeping that firm connection between them. "Fuck me, Derek," she insisted. "I need you to just – lay me out and wear me down."

He didn't need to hear any more. He flipped them so he was on top and driving into her with vigor and strength. The bed creaked and groaned under the pressure, and she did her damnedest to keep up with his possessive thrusting. He was going to leave her in the dust at this rate – but he knew just how to get her off.

She was the one screaming – deep into the recesses of his kisses. Six, seven, eight – she was still clenching around him, the hardest string of orgasms she'd ever managed, each one so intense all she wanted to do was have another. She was on the verge of blacking out when she felt him shout into her mouth and drag her down into the depths of another deep, hot, aching climax. This one… this one was the one to remember. All the others were just foreplay: this one was simultaneous, overwhelming, and a bond that was going to keep them together forever. It was a promise of things to come.

Their kisses went back to being tender and loving, not possessive and full of need. The desire was sated, finally, though he was still fully sheathed in her, and her inner muscles were still rippling around him. They were hot and sweaty, but blissfully, happily high on endorphins and the knowledge that no one else on the planet could make them this fucking happy.

"Get off me," Penelope finally exhaled when they broke the kiss. "Your kid is sitting on my bladder: I've got to pee."

He chuckled and rolled away, leaving her feeling rather bereft at the sudden emptiness where he'd been. She went to the bathroom and came back in a hurry, rushing across the room and all but launching into bed under the covers with him.

"You've got icicles for feet, Mama," he teased, pulling her as close as possible once again. "You gonna get some rest?"

She mumbled something to the affirmative, not wanting to tell him she was already well on the way to sleep. He could probably tell, though, when she closed her eyes and cuddled up, her head resting on his chest, her hand splayed possessively across his abs.