Counterfeit Love

Finally, when her breathing sounded fast and uneven, I moved inward, sealing my lips around her clit, sucking hard.

Her body bucked, her thighs clamping around my ears as her hand slapped down on the back of my neck, holding me there. As if I had any intention of stopping before she was screaming out my name.

My lips released her, my tongue tracing up and down her cleft, refusing to go near her clit, knowing she came too easily if I focused there, and wanting to draw this out, feel it build until it was at the point where it would completely overwhelm her, leave her racked with aftershocks, all soft and sweet and too exhausted to move at all.

"Finch," she whimpered, fingernails digging crescents into the back of my neck, desperate for release.

But I wasn't quite ready to give it to her yet.

I slid my tongue slid downward, inside of her, feeling her thighs shake, hearing her breath hiss inward.

I fucked her with my tongue for a moment before moving back upward, finally teasing over her clit. Circles, back and forth, up and down, never sticking with any motion for long enough for her orgasm to crest.

My hand moved between us, fingers thrusting into her pussy, feeling the greedy muscles tighten around me instinctively, her hips rocking up into the motion.

Another finger slipped inside her, stretching her a bit more, filling her better, thrusting lazily, refusing to give her the contact with her top wall I knew she was craving.

Just as quickly as I moved it into her pussy, I slid it back out, shifting, pressing it into her ass, the sound of her moan filling my ears, urging me on.

Thrusting a little harder, my tongue finally found the rhythm I knew she liked best, driving her toward the edge of her orgasm, then ruthlessly throwing her over.

If we had neighbors, they'd be knocking on the walls and ceilings, pissed off at that racket.

Luckily, it was just me.

And I fucking loved the sound of her losing her mind, giving in entirely to her body, giving her everything to me.

"Oh, my God," she hissed after the waves finally stopped crashing, leaving her body quaking and weak.

"Yeah, that about covers it," I agreed, nipping her inner thigh before moving to stand, smiling down at her. "Thanks for dinner, angel. And dessert," I added, licking the corner of my lips, watching as her eyes went molten.

She'd want me inside her.

One round was never enough.

And no matter how powerful the orgasm, she always wanted me inside her before she was fully content.

"I'm going to do the clean-up," I told her. You go settle in."

With that, I turned to get to work scrubbing dishes.

She brought me the dishes off the table, then grabbed a couple of the bleach wipes from under the counter.

I felt my lips curve upward, knowing she was going over there to scrub the table, not able to go relax when she knew she'd been bare-assed on it just moments before.

She came back, tossing the wipes, digging around in her purse.

I figured it was for her phone.

I didn't know I was wrong until I was done.

When I turned back around to see something on top of the otherwise empty table, positioned in front of my seat.

Curious, I moved across the space, stopping next to the table, seeing what she'd left for me.

My lips curved upward until my fucking cheeks hurt.

Because I knew what she was saying without her having to say it.

Because there on the table was a single heart-shaped red lollipop.

She was giving me her heart.

And it was right in that moment that I realized she already had mine.EpilogueChris - 4 Weeks"So, you're Finch." Dr. Clark, a woman in her early fifties with gorgeous long gray hair that made her dark green eyes pop, was sitting across from the two of us in a room that was as familiar to me as my own bedroom.

I noticed every small change.

A pothos plant in the corner, easy, low-maintenance, replaced the finicky pure white orchid she'd valiantly been trying to keep alive for years. It had been gorgeous the first season, then pitifully dropped its flowers, refused to re-bloom, then steadily started drooping, turning brown.

I felt it said a lot about her as a person that she hadn't just tossed it in the trash when it showed its first signs of distress. She wasn't someone who gave up on lost causes. I couldn't help but wonder if, at times, she had figured I was one of those. A lost cause.

While she was always purely professional, keeping her personal opinions to herself, I noticed a shift in her when I had started opening up to her about my relationship with Finch.

There was interest there. And a professional concern. But more so than that, excitement, pleasure, hope.