Chapter Twenty-One (With All Due Diligence…)
"Now," Harold Finch lifted his head enough to speak, his lips having just kissed the full pout of Samantha Grove's mouth into a swollen red plushness. He returned his lips for a brief but meaningful 'peck'. "Tell me, please." The man settled more comfortably over the prone figure, his weight distributed evenly, propped by a hand resting on the decorative coverlet of his bed. "What prompted this impertinent behavior on your part."
Root lifted impressed brows. "I thought you liked me that way."
The man picked up a strand of the lustrous hair, caressing the end of her pert nose with the tip of the silk strand. "In other circumstances." It was generously conceded. "But I find it hard to believe that you have any real 'need' for my attention..no matter how pleasant a thought." He trailed a slow path over the fragrant flesh of her throat with the end of the strand, his attention riveted to his pastime. "So..what's going on with you..truthfully."
He lifted a solemn stare.
"I live for your undivided attention these days, Harold." Her soft tone washed over him. "Didn't you know?" She held his gaze easily. "See how far I've fallen. Maybe it is what it seems."
She gently tugged pulling his mouth to hers, the kiss holding all sorts of sensual promises for the man. "You've taken a reasonably sane.." she crinkled her nose at that one. "Well, that's still up for debate I suppose." She quipped. "But, let us say, a rather self-sufficient, seemingly competent, half-way intelligent woman and turned her into a sniveling, needy, totally dependent heap of mush. I hope you are proud of yourself."
"I would be if I believed one word of such a deluded tale." Finch wasn't about to be deterred.
"You're one sexy guy, Harold." She feigned mystification, running her finger down his cheek, slowly tracing his mouth and the indenture above, the crooked lines fascinating her. "How can you not know?"
Finch glanced to her pastime for she had left his face, more interested in the front of his neatly starched shirt front.
He had forsaken his tie this morning, opting for a more casual look. The woman's fingers played with the second button of his shirt and in seconds, had the tap opened and gaping, as she moved..to the third.
Harold indulgently allowed her antics. "OR.." he emphasized in a rather chastising tone. "The Machine instructed you to 'occupy' me for a while..yet again?"
Root's fingers halted their pastime, the brown orbs flying to his waiting blue gaze.
"The program I'm running will either work." He shrugged. "Or it won't." he bit his bottom lip thoughtfully. "I have no real objections to.." his brows lifted fractionally, his eyes traveling her body with masculine appreciation. "This 'ploy', Miss Groves."
Root's mouth tightened, her eyes flashing annoyance. "You think you are so smart!" she grated the fact. "God, Harold! You can be so smug!"
Finch held his amusement well.
"I knew you knew!" she sniped. "You don't have to rub it in my face!"
"When I think of rubbing something in your exquisite face, My Lovely." The man was confidence in itself. "My so-called 'intelligence' is not what comes to mind, rest assure."
Root inhaled sharply, her small fist hitting the front of his chest area..hard. "I can't believe you just said that!"
"I chalk it up to the extended association with John Reese." Finch ruminated openly. "..Don't look so shocked, Miss Groves." His mouth quirked irrisistably. "I am a mere man, no better or worse than another of my kind. With the very same objectives and needs of that rather loathsome breed."
She pushed against his weight and chest, squirming about restlessly. "As If!" she disgusted. "Loathsome is the operative word there, Buddy! Let me..up!" she gritted her pretty white teeth, pushing hard on his shoulder.
"To what ends?" Finch's body blocked any avenue of escape. She could feel the strength in his arms which surrounded her, his hold unassuming yet secure. "We haven't finished our tete-a-tete..have we."
Samantha sighed, falling back into the softness of the pillow.
Harold refused her escape, his leg having settled between her opened thighs, which he used as a leverage. "I can feel your heat."
The woman shifted a shaken expression, acutely aware suddenly, of the material of his slacks against the vulnerable crevice of her opening.
"Very pleasant, Miss Groves, I must say." Which was an understatement, the man realized. "And rather distracting, for all that."
She tried to shift away, her cheeks flushing slightly. "Go fuck yourself, Harry!" she bit petulantly.
"That is in your job description these days, isn't it?" he bated. "Per the Machine's instructions?" he fixed her with a steady gaze. "Just how far would you go to please It?"
"What?" she grated. "You want an apology? A confession?" it was lamented sarcastically. "Recriminations? You won't get them from me!" she moved her middle strategically, rubbing up against his lower half provocatively. "I enjoyed blowing you, Harold. Does that shock your rather staid sensibilities?"
"I don't shock so easily." He dismissed. "Move just a tad..to the left, please." He had lifted his head, seemingly concentrating on the intricate design of his headboard but then, his gaze lowered, clicking with the woman's dazed one.
Root set her mind, masking the pain he was inflicting with her usual flippant asides, as was her way when cornered or desperate.
"There, Harry?" she moved forward enticingly, her middle rubbing against his hardness. "Is that the spot?"
The man closed his eyes, savoring her expertise, grunting gently, his stomach tightening with the most pleasant of sensations. "..Very nice." He managed..just, his tone held in tight check. "Miss Groves."
"I can do so much better than.. 'nice'." She proceeded to prove her claim, the long, slender legs slipping about his muscled thighs with impious intent, holding the man close to her warm, fragrant body, her arms intertwining about his neckline.
"You are the most licentious woman I know." He mentioned in passing.
"There's no need for flattery, Harold." The words burned her lips, but she had to keep the façade strong for to do less would allow the man to destroy her, she knew. "I'll give you anything you want without it..remember?"
Root bit the inside of her lip to keep it from quivering, the brown eyes unwittingly allowing a measure of the agony she was feeling.
"Do you seriously think I want any of this?" his tone and manner had altered completely, so affected by the momentary lapse on her part.
"You seemed to want it the other times." The words tasted bitter.
"Not..that!" it was angrily dismissed. "I don't want to hurt you. I've never felt that need!" he confessed readily. "But there must be truth between us! I can't live with anything less." That much he did know. "I won't, Samantha!"
Root's arms dropped slowly from his neckline, her face paling somewhat. He felt her body relax beneath his.
"I have to know.." he explained his reasoning. "That I can trust you. I want to be able to trust you. I want that."
Root lowered her eyes, the naturally dark lids closing for a long beat. "I…" she sought a compromise both could live with. "Would never…allow anyone to harm you, Harold. Haven't I proven that to.."
"That is not what I asked."
Her body was tense..coiled. "What do you want me to say?" she whispered hoarsely. "What can I do that I haven't…done?"
"Tell me the truth."
"You already kno.."
"Say the words." He snapped. "Look at me!" he lifted her chin with a stout finger, forcing contact. "Say the fucking words!"
"Why?" she hissed brokenly.
He merely stared at the pretty face, as if memorizing each and every facet.
"..It c-changed." She bit back bitter tears of remorse. "Somewhere along the line…it became..more." she swallowed the lump in her throat, her voice quivering slightly. "At least for m-me." She shook her head negatively, striving for a measure of control. "SHE told me to..but." she lifted a soft, loving stare, her hand gently curving to the rough scratchiness of his cheekline. "Even if SHE hadn't. I would have wanted to."
Her hand dropped away and her eyes shifted. "..If you've extracted your pound of flesh." She asked respectfully. "May I go now?"
The woman lay quietly, awaiting her sentencing.
Harold sighed heavily, his forehead dropping, melding with the cool flesh of her's for a very long beat. "You are driving me quite mad." His tone seemed more than resigned as his eyes when finally he sought her out. "Which in some peculiar way. I find oddly refreshing."
She looked at him as if he had suddenly gone quite insane.
"If I asked you to stay." The words came easier than he had thought. "Would you?"
"No." Root answered quickly, her manner concisely absolute.
"Why not?"
"I want to go."
Harold studied the lovely features. "I want you to stay..with me, Miss Groves."
"My name is Samantha!" she flared.
"When we are.." he conceded quietly, motioning according to their present situation. "As we are..yes."
"But not when your Helper Monkey or anyone else is around, right?"
Harold's mouth quirked. "Mr. Reese is a problem that I will address in due time. As for others?" he shrugged nonchalantly. "I would be honored to introduce you as my..friend..Miss Groves."
"..Friend?" her mood heightened despite her resolve. "You think of me as..that, Harold?"
"And more." He lifted noble brows.
She tried not to think beyond the present but she simply did not know how to limit her abilities. "..Are you saying this to..for me to.." she motioned slightly, flushing a bit. "..Because you want me to.."
"You would do that regardless." It was quietly stated but before she could object or misinterpret. "Not because of the reason you think. But because I will move Heaven and Earth to insure that it is something you want as much as I…Samantha."
He held her eyes confidently. "And because I think I am experienced enough to convince a sniveling little sprite such as yourself to my way of thinking if I truly put my mind to it.."
Root stared moodily at the man.
"Do you think I am up to the task, Miss Groves?" Harold questioned politely.
She looked him up and down, her look a rather seductive one. "Not..yet."
"And what do you plan to do about that rather sad development, one could wonder?"
"Me?" she took umbrage.
He smiled ever so slowly. "I must earn my reward then?"
She opened her legs slowly.
Harold glanced to the delectable valley only just hidden by the spread of her skirt hem. He crooked his head slightly, afforded a little more of the amazing view.
"Why is it you often neglect to wear panties?" his fingers slid up the silk of her inner thigh, the deft digits finding the wet lips of her vulva, one thick appendage sliding slowly up into the hot lava of her being.
Root gasped, stiffening slightly then..relaxed into the wondrous sensation.
Harold thrust ever so slowly, her scent affecting him instantly. "It's rather alarming just how quickly..you arouse my ardor, Miss Groves."
"Do you require a fucking graved invitation?" the young woman rasped her growing discontent. She squirmed about anxiously. "I n-need you inside me!"
"Yes, well we all have 'needs', Miss Groves." Harold continued his endeavors having positioned himself much more comfortably and ever so much..closer. He leaned, his tongue flicking the delicate nub of pleasure he had so meticulously located.
He enjoyed the melodious moan his efforts produced. His lips gently caressed the moist little crevice, his tongue exploring leisurely. "It's rather like a fine wine." He murmured soothingly smiling slightly at the rather piteous groan the woman emitted. "One acquires a taste for it."
To prove as much, the man continued to 'partake' of the nectar he had discovered to his heart's content.
Samantha Groves gripped the covers tightly, determined not to give the asshole the satisfaction he so obviously thought she would give but her traitorous body burned with ever growing desire fueled by Finch's skillful capabilities.
Every inch of her flesh cried out for his touch. Each small caress caused tremors to rack her overly ripe body.
It was agony to the tenth degree but one she gladly suffered.
Finch was not a silent lover. His words had the ability to inflame just as much as his hands or tongue.
Love making was an art with this man. And Samantha Groves had become his muse.
A part she gladly accepted with her entire being, reveling in the starring role.
For the moment, she knew, without doubt that an integral part of Harold Finch belonged to her. He was not thinking about Grace Hendricks.
His entire being was concentrated solely for her pleasure.
She knew unreservedly, that she would do everything in her power to see that the status quo remained intact.
When Samantha Groves put her mind to a problem, she was one determined, fanatical woman.
Only time would tell just which mentality would win this particular brand of 'war'.
At the moment, her defenses were crumbling true, but she hadn't had her turn at bat as yet. The future had not yet been written.
Root reached, taking hold of the man's 'pen', her warm grasp welcoming the rigidity with a gentle embrace.
She smiled happily at Harold Finch's sharp intake of breath and his long, drawn out grunt of dissention.
The war waged on….