Day 45: Open journal
Has anyone seen a fucking older guy, white hair, wears a fucking suit and a panama hat? His name is Frank fucking Lundy.
It's kinda god damn important.
[Private to Derek.]
You. Me. Talking. Now.
It's kinda god damn important.
[Private to Derek.]
You. Me. Talking. Now.
She was doing so much wrong, she knew. It was probably pretty fucking unfair that she was here with him right now, that she was laying this heavy fucking shit all of his plate. Once upon a time Debra Morgan would have simply sought out her brother, but for the moment all she could do was find him. Deb trusted Derek, and it probably wasn't fair for her to do so. But the two of them had made a connection; it was simple and it was basic but it was a motherfucking connection. On the outside maybe circumstances might have made it so that the two of them ended up not having fuck all to do with one another, but here? Here there was nothing worth while but the connection.
When Derek nudged her face upwards and back, Deb moved easily with it. He'd telegraphed his intention before his lips had been pressed to hers, and she didn't fight it. No, for Deb emotion had always responded in a third option in addition to fight or flight, and this one? This on was definitely fuck. When he kissed her for an escape and a way to forget, Debra eagerly kissed him back. His kiss was differently than the ones she'd shared with Lundy all odd and twinged with sadness and memory and concern. Those kisses with the Lundy that may or may not have been dead had been sharp and sweet and reminders of what could have been and what was lost.
This kiss was sharp and hot and definitely for the here and now, and Deb put her hands on his abdomen, pushing his shirt up a bit.
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It was her moment, not his but Derek couldn't ignore how alive he felt in the godforsaken place every time they ended up like this. He never consciously entertained the thought or he would have had to face the fact that he was using Deb. Though she had just told him that he was the one thing that made being trapped in the nightmare bearable.
His head never ceased pounding but he fought the pain and lethargy while shedding the rest of their clothing before lowering her onto his bed. Deb didn't have much of an opportunity to utter a word. He never left her lips for long until his body forced him a deeper intake of oxygen than he had been allowing himself.
Neither of them were small in stature for their gender though Deb was slender. Derek was broad shouldered, and nearly doubled her weight. She never would have known with how carefully he carried his frame over her. Not even the small size of the bed impeded his efforts.
He looped an arm around her lower back and tilted her hips up for a better angle while his upper body rested on one forearm. They fell into place so easily that it should have made him nervous. Derek watched her with the same intensity he had the very first time they had this dance but something more remained in his gaze.
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She forgot the burning sensation of her muscles as they stretched when her arms moved above her head in order to assist with the removal of the shirt that she was wearing. Her hands swept over the well fucking built muscles on his chest, savoring the feeling of his heart as his pulse moved through his veins. Debra Morgan had a thing for people who had bodies like this; it was only Frank Lundy who had been a break from this pattern and she really wasn't thinking about this now.
He wouldn't let her speak, but that didn't mean that Deb couldn't do other things with her tongue. It curled around his, sweeping over it and falling around it in a sort of dance. She liked the taste of his mouth, the warmth of it even when he'd been feeling pretty fucking shitty all damned day.
When he removed their clothing, Deb was glad that she hadn't had more than a pair of shorts, and was even more glad when they were added to the pile on Derek's floor. She gasped softly, the sensation of moving muscles more pronounced when her back hit the sheets of his bed, but it wasn't a deterrent to that. Groaning, she arched her back up to him, thrusting her hips towards him
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She ignited fires that he hadn't felt in a long time. Deb might have lacked in curves but more than made up for the shortage in her sexual prowess. There was nothing worse than to get a fine woman in bed who couldn't kiss worth shit and laid like a log, making him do all the work. Derek had a better chance of being the one to lay on his back than the Miami detective.
The fervent manner they kissed was all the foreplay he needed. With how Deb thrust her center at him, Derek didn't think she needed more. Yet she was still made to wait. He refused to fuck her until a majority of his cock had been moistened with her excitement. Every muscle, to include his hardened length, flexed with anticipation before diving in and finally filling her.
Everything was moving too fast if he truly wanted Deb to forget for a while. Derek couldn't make up his mind and it was evident in his thrusts. They were fluid and controlled but sped up only to slow down for a grind or two before starting all over again. Sweat formed and slicked all the friction between them. Each thrust quickly became more urgent.
The boarding house was no different from the hotel room they had been exiled to. If there were rules against what they were doing, the Morgans may have received a reprieve with the wedding rings they wore. Not that Derek thought of any of that shit. He moaned breathlessly about how good she felt and sandwiched her against the mattress dangerously hard.
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