Scheherazade

"What we find in a soulmate is not something wild to tame, but something wild to run with." ~Robert Brault

May 2013. Rural Virginia.

Erin had cried more in the past few hours than she had in the last six months. She'd cried in relief at his arrival, had cried in fear of losing him again, had cried in remorse of past actions, had cried in joy at reconnection, had cried in happiness whenever he was finally inside her again (where he belonged, where he always belonged), and now, as she lay curled up in his arms, she felt tears appearing again for all that could have been but never was.

"Cosac'è?" He asked gently. What's wrong?

"Niente." She replied softly. Nothing. By now, she'd learned just enough Italian to hold short, semi-fluent exchanges.

"Liar," he kissed the top of her head.

"You...you asked me, earlier, if I would have chosen to stay with Paul," she pushed forward in a quiet tone. He gave a small hum of remembrance, which prompted her to continue. "I said I didn't know. And I still don't. But...but I don't regret staying. If I hadn't stayed, I wouldn't have Anna. I don't regret any of my children. And I'm not sure what that means, exactly, because I do think about how my life would have been different, if I had been brave enough to say no whenever Paul asked me to marry him. I would have been single when I met you, and you would have been single at that time, too, and maybe things would have been different. But I can't—I can't help but be glad that it wasn't that way, because there are parts that I wouldn't trade for anything."

"I understand," he held her tighter. With a wry grin, he added, "It's probably for the best, the way things worked out."

"You think so?" She sat up, turning her face to his.

"Think of who we were twenty years ago. Imagine those two people trying to live together. We probably would have killed each other, bella."

She grinned in agreement, "Yeah, but the sex would've been off the charts."

"Excuse me," he sat up, too, in an air of mock outrage. "Are you implying that it isn't off the charts now?"

She played along, giving a slight shrug of her shoulder in feigned nonchalance.

"You have wounded my pride, madame," he informed her in a serious tone.

"Certainly not my intention," she purred, her amusement belying her words as she leaned over to recapture the mouth that was trying so hard to look serious. Between kisses, she sweetly asked, "Is there anything I can do to soothe your wounded pride, my love?"

"I think the only solution would be for me to prove you wrong," he answered, his hand cupping the back of her blonde head and pulling her deeper into his mouth.

She gave a small hum of approval, pulling away to cast a doubtful eye at the dusky late-afternoon light that was drifting through the bedroom windows. "Well, I'd say you've got a little over thirteen hours to prove your point, so I'd get started if I were you."

"Do you honestly think it'll take me that long?"

"Sometimes I can be very hard to convince," she returned easily, and he chuckled in agreement as his mind went back to so many stand-offs and freeze-outs and battles before.

"Trust me, kitten, I know."

There was a warm flutter of happiness deep inside her chest at the truth behind those words—he did know, he knew better than anyone, more than anyone, deeper than anyone. She had once feared that no one would ever truly know every side of her, because of all the secrets she'd kept, all the pieces that had remained in shadow, but now she knew that one man (a man of fire and steel and softness and kindness and infuriating stubbornness and skin-scorching passion) did know every side of her, had lovingly (though sometimes unwillingly) witnessed every aspect of her character, had seen and heard and known and still loved her, through it all.

Perhaps for the first time in her life, someone saw her as a whole.

At this particular moment, that certain someone was at her throat, his lovely mouth caressing her skin in a firm-but-gentle way that was already re-igniting the fire deep in the cavern of her hips. She suppressed a grin as she willed herself to remain absolutely still, pretending to be unimpressed and unaffected by his ministrations. Try harder, darling.

He laughed at her control, at how well she kept her hands at her sides, at how well she fought the urge to respond, even though he could feel the pulse point on her neck quicken and hum at his touch, even though he could feel the heat radiating off her skin, could see the way her freckled chest flushed and her pert little nipples hardened. Her skin had the light salty taste of sweat, and his grin deepened and his own pulse quickened as he thought of how he'd had her sheening and panting and crying for him earlier that afternoon—he'd push her even farther this time.

Still, she was putting up a noble front, not even flinching when his hands cupped and caressed her breasts, or when one hand slipped around to the curve of her ass, pulling her closer to him. She obviously was willing to play this one to the teeth, and the thought only incited David further.

Challenge accepted. He wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her forward and tossing her back onto the mattress in one fluid motion, with just enough force to elicit a small, breathless gasp of surprise from his blonde companion. Planting his hands on either side of her shoulders, he hovered over her prone form, taking a moment to stare into those eyes that changed and muted like the sea, those eyes that could drown him with a single glance.

She'd reigned her surprise back in check, because the corner of her mouth merely quirked into a slight smile as she coolly asked, "Is that all you've got, Dave-O?"

She was using his old nickname, the one she'd given him in response to the formerly-hated moniker of kitten, using it in the same way he used her epithet (as a pin-prick, a prod, a provocation), smiling so sweetly at him, so wickedly innocent and coy, so fully aware of the effect her words and actions had on him. God, he'd forgotten how magnificent she could be, when she put her mind to it. It was such a stark contrast to the wan and tearful woman who'd been there just hours before, and he silently swore he'd do anything to ensure that she'd never become that sad and fearful creature ever again.

"Are you saying that I haven't had any effect on you whatsoever?" He asked warmly, his tone still holding the hint of a challenge.

"Not that I can tell," she answered in her best bureaucratic tone.

"Well, I happen to be trained in nonverbal cues," he reminded her, leaning in until their noses almost touched.

"Are you, now?" Her voice dipped lower to match his, but it was tinged with amusement. She was biting her bottom lip to keep from grinning, but it wasn't working, because her eyes still smiled. He was hovering over her, his body so close that she could feel the heat and pressure of it, even though it wasn't touching hers, and she could feel the thrill of anticipation bubbling up her spine—oh, this, this was why she loved to push him so, when he became all dark eyes and knowing smiles and smooth voice and self-assured movements. So, of course, she goaded him a little further, "And what cues do you see, oh master profiler?"

The taunt in her voice was unmistakable, and it only increased the fire moving beneath his veins. And so, of course, he had to prove his point.

"Exhibit A: your pupils are dilated. A sign of desire," he breathed the word on her lips, though he didn't kiss her, didn't give her the satisfaction of tasting him again.

"They're just trying to adjust to the low lighting," she countered smoothly. He gave a slight shrug—he'd give her that one. He moved further down, gently suckling the pulse point just below her jaw line before continuing.

"Exhibit B: your pulse has quickened."

"Perhaps I have a medical condition."

He chuckled softly, because really, he hadn't expected anything less. He shifted further down the mattress, giving himself better access to her breasts, "And the oh-so-aptly labeled Exhibit C—"

This earned him a light laugh, which was cut short by a sudden intake of breath as his mouth landed on a taunt nipple. Still, her hands stayed calmly at her sides (normally they would already be caressing his dark head, encouraging him and pushing her flesh further into his mouth), and he couldn't help but grin at her willpower. He made slow, luxurious circles with his tongue, his dark eyes twinkling as they flicked upwards to catch her expression, her fluttering eyelids and her lips pressed tightly together to suppress the moan that he knew was building in her lungs.

Then, just as quickly as he'd alighted on her flesh, his lips withdrew, and he felt her sinking back into the mattress in frustration. Taking the other nipple between his fingers, he gave it a slight tweak, "Another sign of arousal—"

"Or it could be cold in here," she replied, fighting the breathy tone that clawed its way up her throat as her breasts ached for his touch.

He leaned forward again, giving himself a better angle of her face as his hand moved in the opposite direction. She knew what was coming and he watched as she tried to brace herself when his hand slid to the warmth between her thighs.

"And finally, I give you," he paused for dramatic effect (he was nothing if not a dramatic bastard, her tantalizing and infuriating lover) before pressing his finger between her already-wet folds, easily finding the pulsing bundle of nerves, smiling triumphantly at how she gave a slight gasp at the pressure. "Exhibit D."

That finger slid further down, into her hot, silky channel, quickly followed by two more, as his thumb resumed the pressure and friction against her clit. His fingers gently pushed outward, filling her even more as he slipped another layer of patronizing indulgence into his tone, "Are you still denying my effect on you, bella?"

And though she looked as if she wanted to simply fall apart then and there, damned if she didn't reply in her most bored and unaffected tone, "Beginner's luck."

God above, if he wasn't already in love with this woman, he'd fall for her then and there, with her killer poker face and her knowledge of just how to make him want to laugh and scream at the same time. She didn't fold easily, even when she knew she had a losing hand (it was a point of pride, a kind of stubborn willfulness that he understood and respected, the endearing flaw that made his own chest fill with pride to know that she'd chosen him, above all others).

"I will have you know that I am far from a beginner," he retorted smoothly, and the grin she gave in response informed him that she was well aware of this fact as she arched her hips, silently asking his hand to continue its movements, which he obliged.

"One would hope so, for a man of your age," she replied dryly, closing her eyes as she concentrated on the feeling of fullness that his fingers created for her and trying not to look too pleased with herself for somehow retaining composure throughout this delicious exercise.

"Hey, you're not exactly a spring chicken either, kitten."

"If that's part of your attempt to seduce me, your method leaves something to be desired," she pointed out in a droll tone, and he laughed in response.

"I love you just the way you are," he assured her warmly, his thumb changing pace and pressure as his fingers curled to find the web of nerves that would send shots of heat through her entire body.

"Your method is improving," she gave a contented feline smile, suddenly closing her eyes once more as her body began to react to his ministrations. Now her hands moved from their posts at her side, reaching up to trace the outlines of his chest and shoulders. He was leaning forward again, his face so close to hers, and she opened her eyes, peering into his dark ones as her hands gently cupped his face.

"You know, there are three words that you can say that will topple me every time," she admitted in a husky voice, no longer trying to fight the heat building and seeping through every pore of her body.

He feigned confusion as he guessed, "'You were right'?"

She gave him a light spat on the shoulder, her expression reprimanding, though her tone was still filled with adoring amusement, "You ass."

"I'm an ass who loves you," he replied tenderly, grinning at her reaction to his words. He lowered his head, reclaiming the supple skin on her neck as he innocently asked, "Are those the words you're looking for, bella?"

His voice dipped into a velvety purr as he continued his little guessing game (though he already knew the answer), finishing each question with another caress of his mouth, another push of his fingers inside her tightening core, "Ti amo? Ti voglio bene? Je t'aime? J'ai envie de toi?"

"Yes," she breathed. "C'est ça—c'est exactement ça."

Her hands were moving downward as well, her fingers moving around his to gather her own wetness as she reached for his cock, which was already hard and pulsing in her hand, slowly stroking it as her other hand wrapped around his neck, pressing his moaning mouth against her flesh.

Now, she'd been a very good student during her Italian lessons, and she had learned that certain things only added to her lover's flames, and so she brushed her lips across the shell of his ear, letting her hot breath add to the fervor behind her words, "Voglio che mi ami."

"Appassionatamente?" He asked, his own lips moving to her ear, nipping the lobe.

That word wasn't in her vocabulary (yet), but his tone was enough of a context clue for her to simply reply, "Sì."

He growled in pleasure at her answer, his mouth suddenly clashing into her own. She eagerly granted him access, her tongue welcoming him back before overtaking him. The simple taste of him on her lips again shot sparks through her skin, and he felt the first hint of her orgasm trembling against his fingers.

"I love you, bella," he whispered fiercely, knowing that his words would push her further to the edge.

"I love you, too, but please stop talking," she replied, her breath catching as another wave rumbled through her body.

He merely chuckled at her response, understanding the unspoken half of her request (please stop talking and just fuck me). She pulled her hand away, pushing David's fingers from their task—she couldn't be content with a simple hand job when all her body wanted was the unique euphoria that only came when he was truly inside of her. He seemed to understand, because he sat back, raw and red and wanting and waiting for her next move.

She rolled on to her stomach, lifting her hips invitingly, and he easily moved behind her, his hands fitting so perfectly around the curve of her hips that he was fairly certain that God (or perhaps the devil, he wasn't sure) had truly designed this woman as his perfect match.

He loved this woman. He also loved infuriating her and occasionally getting her to admit defeat. So instead of immediately plunging into the welcoming silken heat between her thighs, he waited, taking the time to ask, "So, are you now willing to admit that I do have some effect on you?"

She made a sound that was somewhere between a huff and a growl. "David Rossi, you are an insufferable bastard."

"So...that's a yes?"

He saw her shoulders shaking with unvoiced laughter at his persistence, as she gave an aggravated groan, "David—"

"Is that a yes?" He queried again, his finger returning to her swollen bud, causing her to jump as the pressure shot another hot dart of longing and need straight through her.

"Oh! Yes," she replied quickly, so willing to say anything that would convince him to relieve the heaviness building and coiling around her pelvic bones. Still, she was laughing, in a breathless way as she teetered along the edge of release.

He continued the circular motion of his finger, watching as her muscles contracted and reacted to his movements, her fingers clutching the bed sheets with the primal fervor of a drowning person.

"David," her voice held a warning tone, a pleading insistency that made his cock twitch in anticipation. Still, he had a point of pride to prove (off the charts, remember, bella?) so he waited just a little bit longer, taking a certain delight in the small pants and huffs coming from the blonde form beneath him.

He sensed it before he actually saw the shiver and tightening of her muscles, and that was when he acted, easily moving forward and pushing in as deeply as he could, his own moan of pleasure matching Erin's as he felt her first orgasm ripple through her entire body and tighten against him. He simply waited for the tremors to subside before he actually started moving, pulling her hips up further and bringing her onto her knees, not even trying to fight back the grin that spread across his face at her breathless mews that accompanied each thrust of his hips. She was recovering, her back arching into his grasp again as she transferred her weight to her left hand, reaching back with her right to simply place her hand over his own, her fingers intertwining with his.

That simple gesture spoke volumes, and it brought forth a flood of memories (she'd held his hand just like that, the night in Seattle, the night they created Christopher, the night their lives changed forever) and David felt his own orgasm slamming into him like a tidal wave as strange and mixed emotions tumbled in his chest. Her fingers tightened their grip, silently encouraging him to continue, to let go, and he felt the glorious release at last, as she quickly followed with a cry that reached a decibel level he'd never heard from her.

He collapsed onto the mattress next to her, and she rolled to her side, pulling herself back to him with a deep sigh of approval.

"I'm still not fully convinced," she murmured, though her lust-saturated tone belied her words.

He began to laugh at her obvious lie as she pushed herself up again, pressing her breasts against his abdomen as she left languorous kisses across his chest and shoulders.

"Could've fooled me," he retorted.

"I'm not saying that you didn't make a good argument," she corrected. "I'm just saying that I'll need a little more persuading."

He chuckled again, "You always were a stubborn woman."

"And you love it," she purred in return. He hummed in agreement, reaching to take her head in his hands and draw that smart mouth to his own. Their bodies were both still shimmering and singing, and the mere sensation of their skin brushing against each other elicited more shivers and sighs.

"I am convinced of one thing," she admitted, pulling back so that she could look into those dark brown eyes. "I'm certain that I love you."

He smiled as she kissed him again, her tongue pushing back into his mouth with such sweet ardor that he felt his heart melt all over again and his fingertips traced the outline of her face, down the column of her throat and across the soft slope of her shoulder. When they drew apart for air again, his fingers delved back into the completely disheveled curls, gently guiding her head to his chest again as he whispered, "Rest, bella. You're gonna need it."

She happily obeyed, pushing back her own giddy rush of anticipation and schooling her voice into a more unaffected tone as she pronounced, "I plan to hold you to that, Mr. Rossi."

He grinned at her challenge. "I wouldn't have it any other way, Miss Strauss."

By the time they awoke, the sun was setting, sending the last fiery rays through the large bedroom windows and warming their skin.

"Let's go for a walk," she suggested suddenly, raising onto her elbows so that she could look down into her lover's face. "I don't get much nature in the suburbs."

He smiled softly, remembering so many times from past cases, when she would go off in search of some connection to the natural world, because it somehow calmed her, somehow spoke to the earth child within.

He sat up, planting one last kiss on the small of her back before getting out of the bed, and she rolled out after him. They merely slipped back into the clothes they'd shed on his bedroom floor and she didn't even bother trying to fix her hair. Her skin was glowing and she still smelled of sex and David knew that this was the Erin he'd waited his lifetime to know, the variation he'd hoped to someday experience along the tumbling path of their life together.

She smiled over her shoulder at him, taking his hand in her own as they went down the stairs, and they both felt another little piece of their hearts simply click together.

Mudgie yipped and danced around their feet as they began walking across the vast lawn, heading towards the darkened tree-line (they'd snuck out the back door to avoid being seen by his security detail, though David didn't miss the opportunity to remind Erin of how angry she'd been at him previously for ditching his assignment).

Once they were under the cloak of the foliage, they began to see short bursts of light flickering around them.

"Oh, fireflies," Erin breathed, almost reverently, her eyes widening. "That was one of the things I missed the most about moving from Somerset to D.C.—we couldn't go out into the backyard and catch fireflies during the summer."

"You want me to catch you one?" He asked, only half-joking. Walking into the twilight woods was like entering some strange little world for just the two of them (with Mudgie, of course), and he liked the idea of watching her face light up at such a simple and heartwarming offering.

"They look a little too fast for you," she replied, knowing it would only goad him into trying.

"We'll see about that," he countered, and she grinned in response. He let go of her hand, heading off in search of his prey, and she felt another wave of joy wash over her at the simplicity of this moment, of the almost childish nature that they brought out in each other.

Soon, she found herself laughing at his attempts to catch one, and then she was joining him, biting her lip in concentration as they tried to corral the flying bits of light.

He was so proud of himself when he finally caught one between his hands, cupping them to form a tender cage. She stood next to him, slightly breathless and elated at his triumph.

"Here," he gestured for her to cup her hands as well, which she did. He quickly deposited the bug into her palms, and she gave a slight yip at the feeling of the creature beating against her fingers as it tried to escape. He laughed at her, and she laughed with him.

"I'm not used to holding them like this—we just caught them in jars," she cringed, opening her hands and shaking them so that the insect would fly off. "I suddenly remember why I don't like bugs."

He chuckled again, kissing her forehead as he wrapped his arm around her shoulder. They continued their trek through the woods.

"Christopher went through a big bug phase," she supplied, glancing up to gauge his reaction. He was still smiling, so she continued. "He used to go outside very early on Saturday mornings and go bug hunting. If he found something particularly interesting, he'd bring it inside and leave it on the pillow next to me."

"What a lovely wake up call," David mused, and she laughed in agreement. Another beat passed before David prompted, "Tell me when you knew that he was mine."

"The moment I got back from Seattle and remembered the antibiotics," she answered. "I know, it sounds crazy, but I knew then. And a few weeks later, I took the pregnancy test, and I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt. But I kept telling myself that I couldn't know for sure. So…so when he was born, he had this head full of thick black hair—"

"I know," David gave a small smile. "I have pictures."

"You do," she returned softly. She gave a nervous smile, "I hoped you would understand why I gave them to you. I wanted you to have something…to have some kind of image to attach to all the stories I wanted to tell you."

He nodded in understanding.

"The moment they placed him in my arms, I knew I couldn't lie to myself anymore," she continued. "And I just…I loved him, so completely, because of it. I love my daughters; I love all of my children, but I'd been so afraid for Christopher, before he was born, and after—after, I was so relieved, it just….I don't know how to describe it."

She stopped walking, and David stopped as well, turning to look at her.

"That was when I knew I loved you, too," she admitted, her green eyes finding his brown ones in the waning light. Then her lips quirked into a wry smile, "Or at least that was the first time that I acknowledged it."

He grinned, knowing that twenty years ago, admitting something like that would have been tantamount to insanity. He leaned forward to kiss her smiling mouth, and she eagerly rose to the balls of her feet, meeting him halfway.

"What else do you want to know?" She asked softly, once their lips parted.

"Little doses, bella," he replied. "That's enough for now."

She simply nodded, understanding that the sadness of missing all of these moments with their son would still be something he had to deal with every time she gave him a new piece of their untold common history. So she decided to distract him.

With a slight bump against his side, she moved away from him, casting a teasing glance over her shoulder, playfully swishing the hem of her dress around her thighs. He grinned, understanding her challenge as he advanced and she retreated, turning to face him, leaning forward so that he could see down the front of her dress, taunting him again. He moved again and she found herself against a tree, grinning madly at the man before her, whose hands rested easily on her hips as his mouth returned to her neck.

She sighed happily, turning her face to the sky. Through the trees, she could see the navy hue of the night sky appearing, and the burning stars that always shined so much brighter in the country.

Oh, for a thousand nights just like this.

*Author's Note: Consider this chapter my gift to everyone for so patiently waiting for the inevitable reunion. As always, thank you so much for all the reviews left so far.*