I hadn't intended this story to be anything other but a smutty one shot, but I'm happy with the feedback I've received so I decided to write the first chapter from Jane's perspective. Would any of you be interested if I decided to continue this fic? Let me know your thoughts.


I traced my middle finger over the delicate filigree of the blanket repeatedly, following the same pattern each time. I count ten times, then twelve, and am halfway through thirteen before being interrupted by an unusually-gentle voice.

"What are you doing?"

I glance up at the hovering face of my mother; concern evident in her narrowed eyes.

I clench the blanket nervously before releasing it, smoothing out the heavy embroidery until it lies flat once again across my lap.

Sighing, I avert my eyes; annoyed.

"What's upsetting you?"

My jaw clenched, the image of Jack splayed comfortably against Maura's couch as I arrived unannounced for breakfast this morning torments me. Why did he have to be so perfect? Why did she always flutter her eyelashes at him whenever he said something charming? Frowning, I push the blanket away, the smell of Maura's perfume evident. Why did the blanket have to smell like her? The sweet and spicy scent is cloying, much like my thoughts of its owner.

"Jane, you can talk to me," my mother prods and I resist the urge to snap at her. I can practically hear Maura chastising me to 'be nice' and that she's 'just trying to help' and I scowl in response to her imaginary reprimand.

"Ma, it's nothing, but thanks for asking. I'm just tired."

Her face falls. Subdued, she sits down next to me and folds the blanket into a perfect square before returning it to its spot on the arm of the couch. Maura is rubbing off on her; hell, on all of us.

I watch as my mother turns her attention to the television, watching it lifelessly. My gaze travels from her furrowed forehead, down her strong nose, to her clamped jaw. Several minutes pass as I try to figure out how to apologize for my lousy attitude.

Feeling guilty, I ask, "Do you mind if I stay on the couch here tonight? I'm sorry for being an ass; I'm just feeling sorry for myself I guess."

Her face lights up and I know I've said the right thing. She nods excitedly, springing up from the couch.

I watch her happily puttering around, now ignoring the television playing the same old recycled Christmas programming in the background. Smiling as she puts a glass of water down on the side table, I'm touched she remembers how I always got up in the middle of the night for a drink as a little girl.

The tiny little lit tree on the small side table is a far cry from the stately pine my father had insisted on putting up in the living room every Christmas. I close my eyes, embarrassed at the tears that have started to form. Everything seemed so carefree then; the delicious smells coming from the kitchen intermingled with my father's strong cologne and the woodsy scent of the tree. We'd have Christmas carols on as we decorated, tinsel wars, and arguments over how to set up the Nativity Scene while annoyed muttered Italian curses from my father filtered toward our reddened ears as he tried to untangle the lights. Once we were finished, Ma would bring hot chocolate out from the kitchen for all of us before bed; two marshmallows in everyone's cup except for Tommy, who always asked for three. After being put to bed, sometimes I'd sneak down to the top of the stairs to watch my mother and father curled up on the couch together, murmuring words only they could hear. I'd watch the snow fall, listen to the carols, and revel in the simple beauty of the season. I'd feel loved, safe, and content.

Everything is so different now. Longing for a less confusing time, I angrily wipe my tears away with the back of my hand.

This year's tiny tree is overwhelmed with our childhood ornaments, made mostly of faded construction paper and missing cotton balls. Tommy's tiny handmade star, consisting of five glitter-covered Popsicle sticks tops the tree. Painstakingly mended each year by my mother, she refused to throw any of them away. I'm surprised at the sudden flare of fiery anger that tickles my stomach. Did my father even want any of our old memories? Is he even thinking of any of us this Christmas? Who overhears his cursing now as he puts up the lights? Does she know how he takes his hot chocolate? Or is he alone this year, like I would be if I were at home?

The thought of my empty apartment, free from any holiday cheer, dissipates my anger and returns me to a melancholy state. A part of me wants to stay here tonight, not just for my mother's sake but for my own. Perhaps the two of us can avoid our loneliness together. Besides, Jo's already settled; curled up in the small dog bed Maura keeps here for her. With my long hours at work lately, she's been spending almost all of her time here with my mother. She seems to prefer Maura's sprawling back yard for her doggie duties rather than the leashed walks I have to give her when we're at home; and who can blame her? Everything seems better here. And, if I stay here tonight I can see Maura before work tomorrow and maybe even convince her to go out with me for breakfast; just the two of us this time. She's always at her most radiant first thing in the morning when the infinite possibilities of the day still await; before the realization of our depressing jobs fully sinks in. Maybe she'll wear her hair pulled to the side so her long neck is exposed; the tantalizing soft skin that begs to be nuzzled.

The beaming smile my mother rewards me with as she hands me an extra pillow and blanket causes me to give her a slight grin in reflex as I gratefully am distracted from my thoughts about nuzzling Maura from going any further.

"I'm glad you're gonna stay, Janie," she says as she bustles into the kitchenette to open the small fridge. "In fact, let's have a celebratory drink."

"What are we celebrating?"

"The end of a really shitty year," she responds as she opens two bottles of beer. Returning to the couch, I quirk an eyebrow at her.

"I call it as I see it, daughter of mine. This year has been the pits. There's been too much sadness and loss, for all of us. It can only get better from here, and I just know this year is gonna be different."

I sip my beer quietly, nodding in agreement. "I hope you're right, Ma." My voice is low, even more than usual.

"I am," she tells me confidently before taking a generous sip of her drink. I bite back a bark of laughter as she grimaces from the taste. I can count on one hand the number of times I've seen her drink anything other than wine. Suddenly appreciative of her, I reach over and clench her hand tightly. She squeezes mine back and for a brief second I'm convinced that all is right with the world.

Reality quickly returns; images of Frost with his dazzling smile that I'll never see again leaving me with a painful hollowness in my heart.

We sit in silence together, each lost in our own thoughts. How much loss and longing should any of us have to suffer? Haven't we all paid our dues to death and destruction over the past year?

I could have had it all with Casey; a perfect husband and perfect child. Why did I push away from him so strongly? Why did I refuse to quit my job in order to protect my child? And Frost, why was he taken from us so suddenly? How is any of this fair?

"Hey," she releases my hand and pats my leg, "stop being so down in the dumps. We're celebrating, remember? Let's talk about what we're thankful for."

I roll my eyes as I sip my beer. "Really, Ma?"

Glaring at me, she nudges my leg again. "Yeah, really. I heard about it on Dr. Phil. He says that for every sixty seconds you spend unhappy, you lose a minute of happiness. You've been moping now for the entire time you've been here. That's been almost 45 minutes of happiness you've denied yourself!"

"Now you're taking life advice from Dr. Phil?"

"Well, I don't see you trying to figure out how to make yourself happy, do I? Jane, life is too short to be miserable all the time. Take it from me, I spent a long time trying to fix something that was broken beyond repair and I was too blind and too proud to admit it to myself. Don't make the same mistake I did." She takes a long and slow drink from the bottle, her expression unreadable.

I allow her words to sink in, absorbing them fully. Maybe I should have tried harder with Casey, swallowed my pride and left my job to be with him.

Shaking my head, I bite back a chuckle. It never would've worked, and I know it. Perhaps I could have had it all, relished in 'playing house' with him for a while, but in the long run I would have been miserable giving up my career.

"Ma, I don't know what you're getting at. I made the best decision for me regarding Casey. It was never going to work between us, I never would have been happy living the life he wanted me to live. Breaking it off with him was the right decision." My hands nervously fiddle with the label on my beer bottle as I continue, "But you're right about something else. I was too proud to admit that I wasn't able to do my job while pregnant. I'll live with the regret of my mistake every day for the rest of my life." As tears prickle my eyes again, I stare down at the liquid gently swishing around in the bottle; amazed at the way the amber color reminds me of the highlights in Maura's hair. "I really wanted the baby, Ma. I think I would've loved being a mother." The imaginary image of coming home to find Maura tucked in on the couch with the baby is a painful one that I've thought about one too many times.

She puts her arm around me, drawing me in close. "You both would have been amazing mothers. Maura was so excited to take the journey with you. She spent most of her evenings researching the safest cribs, highchairs, you name it."

The daydream returns, stronger this time. I open the door, Jo's pattering little feet dancing all around as she greets me. A flash of dark blonde hair burns brightly in the dim lighting as Maura turns from her seat on the couch to smile at me before shushing the excited dog. I reach down to tangle my fingers in the terrier's perfectly groomed coat and grin as she flops over to show me her belly. Rubbing it, I'm overwhelmed by the peace and sanctity my home and those who inhabit it bring me.

"I just got her to sleep," Maura whispers as I creep over, shedding my jacket and shoes on the way.

"Hi," I whisper back as I lower myself to kiss her full mouth, my hand tangled in her flowing hair. She looks so small here; so comfortable stripped out of her fancy clothes. Dressed in a loose sweater and leggings, sans makeup, she looks younger and carefree. I regretfully release her mouth, pausing to place a kiss on the freckles that dance across her exposed shoulder.

"Hello yourself," she responds with a groan. She smells like peaches and cream; cinnamon and honey, baby powder and wine. She is perfect.

Speaking of perfection, I gently trace a finger down the face of our slumbering little girl. "Hey Angelina, how was your day? I have to tell you how jealous I am; I'd love to stay nestled against mommy's big boobies all day." I run my hands over the mentioned appendages, my fingers expertly tickling her nipples until they harden against my palms.

"Jane!" Maura laughs, her perfect white teeth exposed.

"Shh," I shush her as my heart races at the sound of her laughter. "You'll wake the baby."

She pulls me in for another kiss, this one deeper. She clutches to me as if I am her lifeline. "Let's put her to bed; I missed you today."

Taking a gasp of much-needed oxygen, I return my thoughts to the present.

"Yeah, well she can go have her own baby now with Jack. I'm sure Mr. Perfect would love to knock her up," I mutter, the bitterly-spoken words escaping from my mouth before I have the chance to filter myself.

My mother's body grows stiff against mine. Slowly, she releases her hold on me, carefully sets her bottle down on the coffee table (on a coaster, of course), and turns to face me; her face stoic and unreadable.

Leaning back on the couch I square my shoulders and cross my arms, careful not to upset my beer. Preparing for a lecture of some sort, I quirk my eyebrow at my mother and wait for the yelling to start.

"Janie, I know you're hurting. We all are." Her voice is softer than I expected but I refuse to let my guard down. "I wish you could have seen how Maura reacted when you were in the hospital; how she reacted when we found out you lost the baby."

My brows furrow, remembering Maura by my bedside as I awoke, remembering asking her about Tasha, and asking her about the baby. I saw the pain in her eyes, clearly. Her hands were trembling. How could I have been so blind? So selfish? I've never even asked her how she was doing. I'm such an asshole.

"I think it's been easier for the two of you to walk a separate path side by side than a single path together," my mother continues, "but the two paths are now at an intersection. Which way do you want to go?"

"Wait, what?"

"You heard me, Janie." I meet my mother's gaze; her eyes fixed on mine, her expression resolute. "Think about it, would ya? You're a detective; it's your job to figure things like this out, not Maura's. That woman needs something printed up in three different peer-reviewed journals before she would even start to consider it a fact."

Seeing that I'm completely confused, my mother decides to make an exit. "Do some thinking and find some happiness. It's all within your grasp. You know, I've never seen you be afraid of going after something you wanted until now." Standing up, she leans down to kiss my forehead. "Get some rest."

I sigh at her retreating form. "Really? If this is how you get when you drink beer, please don't. And stop watching Dr. Phil."

She flutters a hand over her shoulder as she tidies up a bit. "Good night. I hope you figure it out and get over whatever is holding you back from telling Maura how you feel. You're bold by nature, and as much as it's always driven me crazy, it's one of the things I admire most about you. This lollygagging you've been doing for years doesn't flatter you. Make a decision already¸ would ya?" She turns around to face me once more. "You know why I always get up extra early on Black Friday, right?"

I'm so taken aback by her sudden subject matter change I can't think fast enough to answer. She rolls her eyes at me and I suddenly realize how similar we really are. It's terrifying.

"I go shopping early because that's when the best deals are. Every time I've waited, there's been too much competition for the one thing that I really want. Maura's in a league all of her own, and competition is fierce. Anyway, you know me, I hate to intrude. I won't worry if you're not here in the morning." She shoots me a sly smile before heading off to her bedroom.

Sighing, I flop dramatically back onto Maura's couch and pull the bedding over me. Jo regards me warily from her bed, a stern look on her face.

"What, do you have some insight on my personal life as well?"

Understandably, the terrier doesn't answer. Instead, she stands up, turns around three times, and lies back down in the bed, now with her back facing me.

I snort, "Figures. You're no help either."

Switching off the table lamp, I check my phone to make sure I have my sounds on in case Maura calls. She's called me every night this week, usually in the middle of the night. I don't know if I should be thrilled that she's calling me instead of Jack, or concerned she's not sleeping well.

I close my eyes, determined to get some sleep. Truthfully, I don't want to think about any of the things my mother just brought up. I know what I want; what I've always wanted. I've loved Maura as long as I've known her, as stupid as it sounds. I've just never been able to tell her.

My eyes snapping open, I roll them at myself. I'll risk my life countless times, go toe to toe with known criminals, but am too much of a chicken to share my true feelings with anyone? Pathetic. I close my eyes just for a second, determined to figure this out tonight. As much as I hate to admit it, my mother is right. There's no more time left for me to be miserable.

The next sound I hear is my phone ringing. My hand grasping out, I answer it without checking to see who it is. I know it's her.

"Maur, whassa matter?"

"I can't sleep," she responds. She sounds drawn tight and exhausted. I won't lie, part of me is overjoyed that she's not in Jack's arms, snoring peacefully after being fucked senseless by his perfect self. I shudder in disgust, sighing in despair at the thought of her with anyone other than me.

"Oh God," she chokes back a cry and I immediately feel guilty for wishing her unhappiness with Jack. She deserves so much better.

"God is sleeping. Just Jane," my attempt at humor is lost on both of us as I stretch out on her long couch. She doesn't respond and after a few seconds of silence, I notice her breathing change to a heavier, shorter pant.

I scrunch my face in confusion. "Maur?"

"I'm here, Jane," she answers quickly, almost frantically. Something is wrong, I know it.

"Do you want me to come over?" My question is purely rhetorical; I'm going over there regardless of her answer. Getting up from the couch I straighten my clothes and pull my hair back quickly. Shoving my feet into my running shoes, I don't even bother with the laces, determined to get there right away.

She finally responds. "Yes, Jane. If you wouldn't mind, I think having you here would be good for me."

I grab my small leather bag with my wallet and firearm off of the floor and sling it over my shoulder, "No problem. Be there in a minute."

My keys in hand, I lock the door to the guest house behind me; gasping as the cold almost takes my breath away. Quickly, I unlock the door to Maura's darkened house and disarm the alarm before it even has a chance to chime. I hurriedly make my way to her bedroom, determined to make sure she's okay.

A moan stops me in my tracks. Reaching for my firearm in my bag, my hand clenches around the handle and I'm about to draw it when I hear the moan again; more ragged this time. It sounds like sex; pure unadulterated sex and my stomach clenches in response. Is she having sex right now? The sound of her has an immediate effect on me and suddenly I feel dizzy, nauseous at the thought of finding her with someone else, and completely aroused by the noises she's making.

My eyes practically bug out of my head as I realize what else could be causing that sound. Is Maura really doing that? To herself? Just after getting off the phone with me? My cheeks flush and I struggle to control my breathing.

"Jane," I've never heard my name said like this; part gasp, part cry, and clearly laden with desire. I take the final ten feet to her bedroom practically in a single leap; landing in the center of her doorway. I close my eyes briefly, hoping I'm not going to see something upsetting. Instead, I'm rewarded with an image that will forever remain seared in my memory. Maura, in bed with her head thrown back and eyes closed, one hand moving steadily between her legs.

My mouth feels like I've swallowed cotton and I'm fully aware of my jaw hanging open. Catching flies, as my mother would say. I shake my head slightly and rub my eyes to ascertain I'm actually witnessing this. My hands twitch with envy as I imagine how silky she must feel; how wet. I can imagine how she would feel clenching around me and the thought of sliding my fingers inside of her makes my breathing becomes erratic. Maura's pale skin is visible in the darkened room thanks to the bright moonlight streaming in through the windows, and I've never loved the moon more. Her nightgown is pushed up around her muscular thighs and delicate toes clench the sheets. With her back arched, her breasts strain against the flimsy lace of the silver silk and I lick my lips in response. Seeing the tight tips of her nipples anxious to escape their confines sends a jolt down my stomach and I clench my thighs in response.

I have to have her; and as I take a step forward I fully intend on show her just how much I am consumed by her, how much I love her, and how much she means to me; but I stop myself. My hands trembling, I remain immobile and completely aware of what an utter fool I am. As she screams my name over and over I am overcome with arousal, guilt, and self-loathing. I can't tear my eyes away from her; I know I should leave before she sees me. It would be so easy to retreat unseen and re-arrive in a few minutes until the guise of not have witnessing a thing, but I can't. I'm powerless to do anything but watch the woman I'm in love with climax in front of me while screaming my name.

The voyeur in me cannot look away as she stands up, her gossamer nightgown sliding off to reveal all of her glorious skin underneath. Turning on the bedside lamp, she is bathed in golden light. Unable to stop myself, I let out a gasp. I've never seen anything like her; no one could be as perfect.

The beauty of her is insurmountable; silver and gold in the mixture of moonlight and lamplight, she appears as if the moon herself has taken a human form. The long strands of her hair are comets that shriek out in every direction, her glittering eyes are every star in every galaxy. My eyes trace every part of her over and over, willing myself to memorize each glorious inch of her perfection.

"How did you," her voice weakens.

"I, uh, I was at Ma's still," I respond quickly, my throat dry. I force myself to look away from her; she must already think I'm a pervert for standing here staring at her. I nervously continue talking, even though I know my next words are not completely truthful. "I must've fallen asleep on the couch. I woke up when you called with a blanket over me. That's why I said I'd only be a minute."

I hate lying to her. Why can't I just admit that I stayed over because I was so lonely? Tell her how I was hopeful to spend extra time with her in the morning? Confess to her that I couldn't walk away just now because I'm completely in love with her and have fantasized about seeing her like this countless times? My hands clench angrily at my sides and I open and close my mouth over and over, but the words won't come out.

"I thought it was merely a figure of speech," Maura responds and I notice her shudder slightly. Her flawless skin is covered in goose pimples, and she is either nervous or cold. Or both.

"Um, I'll let you get dressed," I am finally able to retreat and I do so, taking in wide gulps of air as I walk with purpose to her front door, fully intent on leaving in order to avoid dealing with this situation.

My hand trembles as I touch the doorknob. My soul feels as if it's torn in two; I so badly want to stay but I'm so afraid. I've been down this road before; I've gotten involved with someone I work with and it's never ended well. My dating history has proven to me that I'm incapable of being in a relationship, and Maura is worth so much more than a quick fuck, regardless of how desperately I want her. My entire body feels warm and is tingling. The thought of her spread out underneath me stops me in my tracks and I realize I could never leave her like this.

Suddenly, all of my fears seem foolish. I've been such a coward, and as much as I hate to admit it, my mother is right. I've spent my entire life actively pursuing what I want, why should I stop now? I've always leapt first and looked later, and I can't think of anywhere better I'd like to leap than into Maura's arms.

I've always told myself over and over again that I'm not good enough for Maura, yet she seems to think I am. Just as I would use all the pieces to put together a case, I start to analyze all of the pieces of the relationship between Maura and myself. It's me she calls in the middle of the night when she can't sleep, me who she chooses to unwind with at the Robber after work. When she's upset, she calls me first, when she's hurt or afraid it's my arms she falls into. My shoulder she leans on to find solace, my hands she grasps when she needs to make contact with another human. Me. Maura is the smartest person I know; will ever know. If she reaches out to me and only me, who am I to argue? Perhaps the only reason she's dated others is because I've made myself unavailable to her.

But there's a but, and a big one. She told me once that I'm not her type; and it's always bothered me. Yet her type consistently lets her down; I can't even begin to wrap my head around all of the losers she's dated. And I didn't just watch her pleasure herself while thinking about any of them, right? A sly grin appears where despair once was. I may have to do some convincing to reassure her that she needs to change her type, but if the amount of desire she has for me when she's alone is at all indicative of the amount she will have when my fingers are buried inside of her, I don't think it will take much convincing.

I don't have to change myself to make her happy; I already do. She only truly smiles for me; regardless of what kind of mood she's in I can make her laugh. If I go back in that room right now, the only thing that will change is now I will make her happy both dressed and undressed. And nothing has to change at work because I'm not stupid enough to ever want to break up with her; I'd die before I would let her out of my life. There will be no awkwardness, because I won't want to hide our relationship from anyone. All I need to do is continue being myself.

Standing fully upright, I square my shoulders and smile as years of insecurities seem to dissipate. My decision made, I turn back toward her bedroom, eager to show her how I really feel.

My elation turns to despair and my heart drops when I see her, still standing in the exact same position. She's crying. My chest clenches as I step to her and lightly touch the smooth line of skin from her thigh to her hip.

She trembles under my touch as I grasp her wrists; desperate to see her face. I don't release the pressure until she finally reveals herself; her tormented eyes jaded and uncertain. Releasing her hands, I make my touch as gentle as possible as I trace the edge of her cheek.

"Hi," she says; her voice hoarse and unsure.

I smile at her, feeling like a heel as I can't help but look down at her breasts. I can't help it; they're just perfect, and they are right there practically staring at me and just daring me to cup them and test their weight. Once I meet her eyes again, I am cowed by the amount of love and acceptance I find.

Surrendering completely, I kiss her. It's everything I thought it would be and more and the love I already carried for her seems to blossom into something even stronger. I make a point to touch as much of her naked body as possible, my hands unable to get enough of her skin.

She tickles my stomach beneath my clothes and moans in approval as she traces the taut muscles of my abdomen. I jump away in reflex, not having had the chance to shower after our workout earlier. Self-conscious, I move away from her and avert my eyes.

"Jane, I know we need to talk. I'm so sorry, I should have told you sooner; should have been honest with you, I should have…"

Ashamed, I realize she interpreted me moving away from her with rejection. I never want her to feel this way.

"Why haven't I ever told you how incredibly beautiful you are?" I attempt to put as much emotion into my voice as possible, my eyes boring into hers. "I want this Maur, more than you'll ever know, I just need some time." I should have added 'long enough for me to shower' but I thought she understood what I meant.

I thought wrong. Her face falls and her voice is softer than I've ever heard it, "Okay."

What's a little dried sweat between friends, anyway? It's not like I stink or anything, and the way she's looking at me now makes all thoughts about anything other than touching her vanish from my mind, except one.

"Fuck it," I growl as I take her in my arms and kiss her, this time like I've always wanted. She grasps at my back as I stroke her all over, her hand finally resting on my muscled forearm.

"I need more of you," she cries as I nip at her full lips. Capturing me in an intense kiss she pushes my arm down toward her sex. Giving her what we both want, I enter her forcefully without preamble and my knees tremble. She's hot and wet everything I ever imagined. I can't get enough of her and it seems as if the feeling is mutual as she starts to make sounds I've not even thought possible.

When she throws her head back, it brings her magnificent breasts close enough for me to finally worship them and I do. Nuzzling, sucking, and teasing her pink nipples while working my hand in and out of her has to be the most amazing thing that's ever happened to me. Before I know it, I'm backing her up to her bed and using one of my thighs to push her legs open more. I love the little gasps she makes as I reach inside her further, starting a slow rhythm that is clearly driving her crazy. She writhes and rolls her hips down to make more contact, groaning in response.

It's as if I'm consumed by her and unable to get enough. I kiss and lick and pinch every inch of her as I thrust into her, wanting to make her feel better than she ever has before.

When she begs me to fuck her harder, a tiny sliver of fear works its way down my spine.

"Don't want to hurt you," I tell her honestly, nothing but the truth for her from now on.

"You won't. Jane, I won't break. Please."

I pause and my eyes find hers. I've never been rewarded with such an expression of trust and acceptance. My hand stilled inside of her, I take a moment to memorize the feel of her sex clenched around my fingers; her delectable wetness coating my palm. Perfection. I fuck her harder than I ever thought I could; giving her everything I have. My fingers slide easily in and out of her and I can't help but notice how she flutters beautifully every time I reach for a certain spot inside of her. Making it a point to let my fingertips caress it each time I thrust in, I add an extra grind as I thrust out and am rewarded with a guttural moan each time. She's so close, I can feel it. The thought that I'm finally going to be the once to bring her to orgasm both in body and mind is too much. Over aroused, I find her nipple again and bite it roughly, knowing she will love it. I'm not wrong and as I feel her come undone around my fingers I flick my tongue over the tip, a precursor of what I will do to her down below, soon enough.

When she pulls my hair, I growl with renewed strength as I feel her fall over the edge. She shakes and trembles against me, crying out my name. Mine. Giving her no respite, I push her on again, relentless in my pace and am rewarded by feeling her climax again; even stronger this time.

"C'mon baby, come again for me," I coax her as I add an extra wrist flick each time I thrust into her. She obeys, and I realize I'm still not done with her. Pushing her over, I claim her like I've never claimed another, thrusting back inside of her. I can't get in enough of her as I reach inside deeper, adding another two fingers inside of her. She practically collapses as she struggles to stay on her knees and I wrap my free arm around her for support. Gratefully, she leans back onto me taking my hand impossibly further inside. Mine. Wantonly, she allows me to completely consume her as I bite her all over, marking her as my own. Mine. I'm so focused on her hot wet heat that I flinch in surprise as she reaches an impossibly strong orgasm, screaming my name over and over; chanting it as if it were her mantra. Mine.

With one final lurch she collapses against me; boneless and utterly exhausted. I make no effort to hide my delighted smile as I wrap my arms around her and softly kiss her dewy neck; her pulse point rapid and strong against my lips. Tenderly, I brush her hair back and nibble her perfect earlobe, before murmuring into her ear how much I love her, how beautiful she is, how wonderful she felt, and countless other little declarations of adoration.

She murmurs a request for me to repeat everything I'm saying and I smile against her hair. I can't get enough of her; my hands relentless in the attempt to memorize every freckle and curve.

When I feel her breathing start to regulate, I help her turn over; determined to see her eyes. The expression I see there is everything I hoped for, shining with love and adoration and no signs of regret. When her gaze drops to stare at my mouth, I lean over to kiss her; gently and patient, completely different from before.

She has a mouth that begs to be worshipped, her full and soft lips part just enough for my tongue to slide through and I feel as if I could kiss her forever. It would be so easy to allow myself to become entangled in her again; enamored by the smell of her perfume and silky hair, and ignore everything else.

Still, I can't help but feel anxious about what this means and where this is going and reluctantly, I break away from her. Cursing my innate need for information even at the most inopportune time, I know I need a few answers from her.

"Sooooooooo," I start nervously, "um, that was fun." I smile to try and lessen my concerns, raising my eyebrows at her in an attempt to make us both laugh. Her answering chuckle is a delightful melody to my ears and I join in for a few seconds.

"Fun? That's the best you can come up with? I could think of several more suitable words to describe what just happened if you hadn't given me several amazing orgasms." Maura's smile grows wider and I feel a little puff of pride which causes me to feel incredibly smug.

"Three," I answer, my bravado showing through, "I'm pretty sure it was three orgasms." Four, if you count my imaginary self, who was obviously responsible for your solo act. The thought goes through my head quickly and I decide not to say it aloud in case it embarrasses her.

"I'm very sure it was," she agrees, nestling into my embrace. I barely manage to contain my gasp of surprise as her hand deftly works its way under my pants. So much for my self-controlled bravado. "Jane, I know there's a lot to talk about but all I can focus on at the moment is getting you out of these clothes."

I can't help myself. "Jack?"

"He has been very kind and sweet to me, and I do care for him. Jane, he's been a distraction; something to keep me preoccupied while I gathered the courage to tell you how I really felt. There's never been anyone like you for me. You must know that."

Her words come out in a rush, as if she's been practicing them and there really isn't the correct word for the relief I feel. Well, I'm sure Maura would know it if I asked her, but all I can think about is her wandering hand that is now teasing the outline of my underwear. Hiding the tremor in my voice, I struggle to maintain a little of the control I just held over her.

"I, uh, think you made that pretty clear tonight when I walked in on you screaming my name. Oh Jane, Jaaaaannnneeeeeeeeeee, Jaaaaaaaannnnnnnnnnnnnnnneeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!"

I love the sound of our combined laughs, using the opportunity to fondle her breasts again when she throws her head back. Much to my surprise, a feral growl escapes Maura's throat as she pushes me back on the bed and climbs on top of me. I forget to breathe as I take in the sight of her naked body pinning mine.

It would take less than a second for me to remove myself from her grasp and regain control, but when she opens her mouth to tell me she wants to hear me scream out her name, I gladly give myself to her.. As Maura grinds her hips into mine, her breasts bobbing delightfully in the dim lighting, I reach up to palm them and enjoy the way her eyes darken with arousal. Grinning, I lie back and enjoy the ride, there's plenty of time for me to reassert myself here in the bedroom if needed; gratefully, it seems as if we will have all the time in the world.