Chapter 5

AN: Thank you for the reviews, folks. The FF site is kind of wonky today, isn't it? About this chapter... this is pretty strong... I was really in a mood when I wrote this one!...

"Morning, princess."

Penelope lifted her head from where it was buried in the pillow. Her hair was draped over her face, but from what she could see through, Derek was giving her a warm, somewhat sexy smirk.

Groaning, she put her head back down. "You said that at three am, remember?"

"Mmm hmm," he said, kissing between her shoulder blades. "I can wish a beautiful princess good morning more than once, right? Especially when she shows me such a good morning."

"This princess wants to be sleeping beauty, angel fish."

"Nope," he responded, pulling the blankets off of her, then slapping her bare butt. "Up and at 'em."

She rolled over, raised herself on her elbows, and growled at him. "You are a dead man, Derek Morgan."

He grinned, tugging on his black boxers and a t-shirt. "I'm hungry. That much physical activity always makes me hungry."

As much as she wanted to deny it, her stomach was empty, too, and she was starving. "You start the coffee, and I'll be in to make the waffles."

"Can do," he said, all chipper, walking out of the room, whistling.

She lay back down for a moment, clapping her arm over her eyes, but smiling. God, he was a disgusting morning person. It was hard not to think he was cute, though, all beautiful brown skin and sparkling white teeth.

A part of her was a little nervous. He didn't kiss her more than just a teasing nip between her shoulders. What he was doing now wasn't anything different from what he did when she used to spend the night as his friend. She didn't think he'd want to forget about two really fantastic, multiply orgasmic rounds of sex, but this was kind of throwing her.

Sighing, she sat up, and started searching through his stuff for something to wear.

Derek was grinding the beans. He was a strong believer in good coffee, starting with the organic, free trade beans, to the pure spring water, to the French press coffee pot. He never used to be a coffee snob; it used to be Folgers or even Sanka if he had to. He had been a cop; he'd been used to coffee that tasted like it was made from ground cigarette butts and filtered through a dirty sock.

Penelope changed that years ago. It was tradition with him and Penelope to have great coffee. The first time she'd spent the night, she took one sip of his morning brew and turned horribly green.

"No human should consume that," she'd said, throwing the rest in the sink.

"What? It's a good cup of Joe."

Shaking her head sadly, she'd put her hand on his cheeks and said, "Morgan, my lovely lump of luscious chocolate, you deserve better."

Then she'd dragged him to the store and bought all the proper items for him to have a truly good cup of Joe.

He'd been almost ashamed of how much better her coffee was than his. Out of stubbornness and stupidity, he'd drunk the other stuff for awhile, but found himself making the French press more and more often... partially because it reminded him of her, too.

He was pouring the water into the carafe when he heard her behind him.

"Spring water?"

"Of course," he said, turning, and he had to fight his jaw dropping.

Penelope was wearing a pair of his black boxer shorts, a white tank shirt, and tube socks she must've found in his drawers. He could see the dusky pink of her nipples through the thin fabric; he wanted to wet the fabric down immediately and yank aside the little flap in the front of the shorts. She had her hair pulled up into a ponytail with a rubber band, rounding out the look.

She smiled sheepishly. "I hope you don't mind..."

"Oh, hell, no," he answered quickly. This time he didn't stop himself from making her pirouette so he could see her backside. He raised his finger in the air, making a small circling gesture. "Turn around."

She did as he bid her to, and he bit back a groan. Damn, her curves filled out his shorts far better than he ever could. Her ass was a thing of beauty. Not too big, like he could rest a drink on it, and not too small, where it was flat. Hers...

"Mmmm, woman," he growled, interrupting his own thoughts because he needed to touch her. He pulled her into his arms, her back to his front.

"Coffee, D," she said, although her voice was husky. He was running his hand over her belly, up to cup a breast. He began to kiss the expanse of neck that was bared. He nipped gently, laving with his tongue, then sucking.

She turned out of his one-armed grasp. "No, no, sweetheart. You're hungry."

"Hungry for you," he said, lunging for her and missing, cursing his injury.

"No," she responded primly, walking to the counter. "You were so hungry, you made me get up..."

He closed his eyes, shook his head and sighed heavily. Dang. "I'll make the coffee."

One delicious pot of coffee and three waffles later, Derek was still staring at her like he wanted to eat her alive. She was completely wrong if she thought he wanted to go back to the way things were. No man alive could pretend the amount of lust he was showing her. He stared so avidly at her breasts her nipples rose, and she had to fight the urge to cross her arms over them.

He reached over the table for her hand, his voice a low timbre that caused more goose pimples to raise on her skin. "Time for dessert."

"Be careful; my fingers are sticky," she warned, as she moved to her feet.

He pulled her forward so she was standing between his legs. Slowly, he raised her hand to his mouth and licked her first fingertip, then sucked it into his mouth.

"Mmmmm," he moaned, beginning to lick the next finger, then nipping the pad with his teeth.

They made love.

They half-lay, half-sat between the table and against the cupboards with ridiculous grins on their faces. She realized then she was laying on his injured shoulder.

"Derek! Your shoulder," she murmured, leaning back and touching him with concern.

He kissed the tip of her nose. "You have a way of making me forget all about my shoulder."

She looked at the stitches and blushed. "I don't know if that is a good thing."

He smiled, and said softly, "Believe me, baby... it's a very good thing."

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