Day 45: Open journal

[fucktonofcoffee]

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.

Comments

[fucktonofcoffee]

When she heard the door lock behind her, Deb kissed him back just as quickly and ardently. She knew that she was probably being her god damn fucking idiot self and fucking things up again, but she didn't want to think about that. No, the only thing she wanted to think about was the heat that was ignited between them by touches of two-on-two.

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

[derek_morgan]

They were probably tempting fate but neither of them appeared to have the ability to think clearly in the moment. Derek had no idea what was going through the mind of Debra Morgan. He didn't feel that he had any right to dictate who she thought about. If it was her ex that came to mind when she was kissed him, Derek considered him one lucky son of a bitch.

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.