Spice & Raspberry Wine
Part Thirteen
by sarAdora


Eric had to touch her - kiss her - his hands and lips memorizing the sweetness of her body. Where he was hard, she was soft, his mouth eagerly following his hands as his lips confirmed every silky inch of her. He stroked her thighs and calves, tormented her by licking the backs of her knees, and sucked one toe after another between his lips. He leaned against the headboard, holding her foot to his mouth, the other pressing against his chest. Her breasts were magnificent, soft and round and full, overflowing his palms when he cupped them. He watched her nipples harden when his tongue licked the arch in her foot and knew she was the most sensuous creature that had ever graced his bed. Her legs were splayed, the lips of her sex open and glistening and unable to resist her sweet wine, he lifted her thighs to his shoulders and indulged his tongue.

He didn't question his need to touch her - to taste her - to bury his cock between her thighs. He had been empty when she came into his life. She filled that emptiness as surely as he filled her body. She was his to love - he knew it, accepted it, and swore to keep it.


"Tell me how you became a profiler," he said when they relaxed on his couch after dinner. "What did you do that made the FBI recruit you?"

"Studied psychology and sociology and criminology in college," she answered, turning in his arms to kiss his neck, her hand moving to his groin.

"Why?" he asked, and covering her hand with his, he brought it to his lips. "Tell me, Morgan. I want to know."

"Make love to me, Eric."

"Later, Puss," he said softly, pulling her onto his lap. "Tell me what happened to you before you studied criminology."

"It was a long time ago," she murmured, burying her face in his chest.

"I want to know," he said simply. "Tell me."

"Are you going to pester me until I do?" she said with some exasperation.


She reached up and cupping his face, she sucked his lower lip into her mouth and bit him.

Eric's glare went right over her head, but the hand suddenly cupping her ass and squeezing her did not.

"Tell me."


The Thanksgiving holiday was too short to travel back to France from her boarding school in Connecticut so Morgan's mother gave her permission to spend it with her roommate. Morgan was excited about going to Pennsylvania for the long holiday weekend. The girls had their heads together, giggling when the boys on the train had ogled them. At fourteen, both were lovely specimens of femininity on the verge of womanhood.

Martin Bouvier was waiting for them when the train arrived. He greeted his niece, Clara, first and shook Morgan's hand, welcoming her to the great state of Pennsylvania. Morgan thought he was incredibly handsome, and gave him a shy smile. Clara giggled when she saw her uncle - the youngest of her father's brothers and her favorite except for that time when... She pushed the memory away.

"You've turned into a woman," Uncle Martin told his niece. "A beautiful woman," he smiled. "And you," he addressed Morgan, "are a beauty. We'll have to keep you two locked up and away from all the boys who will want to kiss you while you're here."

The girls giggled again. Uncle Martin was a charming rogue - his flattery making them blush.

It was after midnight when Morgan heard Clara cry out. She tip-toed to the door that separated their bedrooms, quietly easing it open and froze when she heard the man's voice.

"You know you love your Uncle Martin," his deep silky voice whispered. "Show me how much you love me, Clara. Let me kiss you... right here," he murmured to the frightened girl. "I won't hurt you - just want to kiss your sweet bottom and fuck your ass. You'll still be a virgin, I promise."

"No," Clara cried. "Not again. You promised last time that you wouldn't do that again."

"Have to kiss you, Clara," he coaxed her softly. "Love your little bottom, want to bury my cock in your sweet ass. Won't hurt this time, I promise."

"Please... no," she said and tried to move away from him.

"Get away from her," Morgan hissed, charging into the room and pulling him away from her friend. "Get out! How could you? She's your niece!"

"I'll be happy to have your sweet ass, instead," he snarled, grabbing Morgan's nightgown and ripping it, leaving her nude and enflaming his lust.

He was stunned at the beauty of her youthful body and pulled her close to him - his hands squeezing her ass so hard, he bruised her skin. The pain was intense and she almost blacked out, but her mother's lessons had been learned.

"A man's balls are his most vulnerable part, Morgan," the beautiful and talented courtesan had told her daughter. "When a man sees the beauty that you are, he will want you for his own. Most will be gentlemen and treat you well. Some will not. Those are the ones whose brains are in their cock and balls. Love a man there and he is yours; hurt him there and he can't hurt you." She was adamant that Morgan understood her words and lectured her repeatedly to defend herself, if necessary. "Don't be shy, child. If you are threatened, maim the man. He will be powerless if you do."

Morgan raised her knee - again and again and Martin Bouvier went down. She didn't utter a sound when she pounded into his groin - and except for his first harsh groan, neither did the man. He was emasculated and passed out from the intense pain.

Clara's uncle plotted his revenge and shortly after the girls had returned to school, they received a package of photos from him. Clara was shattered when she saw them and sobbed; Morgan remained stoic and resolved to put men like Martin Bouvier away for life.


The pictures of the three young girls were fresh in Morgan's mind. "A young girl, maybe twelve or thirteen," she told Eric in a monotone. "A nine-year old and a baby, not more than four. The twelve-year old had bruises all over her body - there was blood on her thighs and black and blue marks where her breasts should be. There was a view of her back as well - red lines crossing each other - blood between her butt cheeks. The little girl had two black eyes, her mouth was red - there was blood on her little butt. The baby's vagina looked like it had been penetrated - she was dead. They were all dead," she said so softly he almost didn't hear her. "Dead, Eric, all dead because of what I did."

He rocked her, held her against his chest and rocked her. "It's all right to cry, little one," he told her.

"No more tears," she said when she finally focused on the man cradling her, leaving the past behind.

"What happened to Clara and her uncle?"

"Clara married a wonderful man, has two great kids and lives in Milan. Martin Bouvier hanged himself before he could be tried for murder. I don't know how they knew he killed those children. I just know he's dead."

"And Morgan Woodehouse?" he asked. "What happened to her?"

"She went on to college and in graduate school, spent summers interning with the New Orleans Police Department."

"Why New Orleans?" he asked, knowing she had graduated from Western Michigan University, in Kalamazoo.

"I'm fond of gumbo and crawfish Etoufe," she said softly. "There's a large Arcadian community there - made me feel good to be around my mother's roots."

"What happened in New Orleans, Puss? Tell me the rest."

"Kiss me first."

He kissed her deeply, pouring his love into her, holding her next to his heart. She kissed him back, giving him more of herself than she had since they met, responding to his care of her.

"There had been a series of child abductions near Jackson Square, a few rapes, other abuses perpetrated on children. The police rounded up a number of suspected drug addicts on a different raid and I was at the station when they were brought in for processing. I couldn't help looking at them, they were so strung out, acting strange. I... I was really freaked out." "I interned with two detectives," she continued, burrowing back into his chest and stroking the arm he had around her chest. "One of them recognized one of the addicts as an informant and we took him into an interrogation room. He was questioned about one of the child abductions and while he was talking, I had this eerie feeling that he knew where the child was, that maybe, he'd been involved somehow. I had been taught that some crimes were so heinous that if I had a really strong feeling about a possible suspect, I should go with my gut and gather evidence later."

Eric arched a brow. "What did you do, Puss?" he asked quietly, second guessing her.

"He was pretty strung out and the detective handcuffed him to the front of one of those cages they use as holding cells. I came up behind him and without thinking, grabbed his balls and demanded to know where the child was. He... he gave us the exact location, his partner's name and where two other kids were. One kid was dead, the other two barely alive."

"You didn't grab a perp's balls every time you wanted information, did you?" he snorted, wondering if he needed to make a visit to the New Orleans field office and see if her technique had spread to the FBI.

"No," she laughed softly, "but after that, I went with my gut every time. I majored in psychology in grad school, worked with a few profilers, decided that's what I wanted to do. When I finished at Western Michigan, I went back to New Orleans to work for the NOPD. Helped solve a few cases, catch a few bad guys and the FBI recruited me."

"You could have gone on to Quantico," he told her.

"Didn't want to. They said I had to if I wanted to stay with the Bureau. I turned in my resignation and before I cleaned out my desk, I got a phone call from the Director asking me to move to DC and work here. The rest is history."

"I've read your file, Pumpkin Puss. You've been very successful," he told her, cupping her chin and kissing her softly. "I'm proud of you."

"Enough talk for one night, AD Cleveland?"

He nodded. "Enough talk, little one. What do you suggest we do now?" he smiled at the beautiful woman in his arms. "Any ideas?"

"I profiled you a long time ago," Morgan laughed softly. "You're a sexual deviant - all you want to do is get into my pants."

"Guilty as charged," he laughed, slipping his hands under the long T-shirt he had covered her with earlier, "but you're not wearing any."

"Eric," she said quietly. "I have to be my own person. You can't have every part of me."

"I want every part of you," he said softly. "I have to have it all. Give it to me, Puss."

"I won't give it."

"I think you will."

~ End Part Thirteen ~

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