Disclaimer: The characters of the Stephanie Plum Series belong to Janet Evanovich and are used here without permission.
Note: 1) I’ve decided not to name the “he” in this story so the reader can make it whoever they want – Joe, Ranger or a Merry Man. 2) Just to get you into the setting – Stephanie has taken her nieces to the park on a sunny summer day. “He” is doing surveillance. Stephanie never sees “him”. 3) As before with the other “not-smut” piece, this one was written several years ago in another fandom and just re-written slightly for the Plumverse.
Rating: Suitable for people over 15 (suggestive, adult situations)
Butterfly
By TT
He sat on the park bench supposedly reading the paper in his hands, but in reality watching the suspect. He sighed quietly to himself. At least this time he was outside for surveillance. He thought back to the long night he’d spent in the van listening and watching and shuddered.
Shaking himself mentally, he re-focused on his suspect. The man had just met up with someone and the duo started walking. Prepared to stand and follow them, he was glad when they just moved to a different bench.
As he focused his attention on the new area, he felt his breath catch. Stephanie was there, sitting near the pond on a blanket. The arrangement of his target allowed him to focus on her and still keep them in his sight. He felt his heartbeat quicken as he watched her turn her face upward to the sun. He watched the peaceful smile curve her lips and allowed his eyes to trail down her exposed neck and lower.
His eyes, drinking in the sight of her, memorizing every detail, flicked back up to her face as her head shifted and her eyes opened. He loved her eyes. You could read her soul in those eyes and what he read made him long for more. He felt a slight frown form on his face as she looked down suddenly. Moving his eyes downward, he saw a butterfly had landed on her hand.
He watched, fascinated, as Stephanie sat perfectly still, intent upon the beautiful insect on her hand. Reading the wonder, admiration and awe in her eyes, he swallowed back his desire. How much did he want that same look to fall upon him? Moving his gaze away from her eyes, he focused on the colorful visitor on her beautiful hand.
He watched intently as the small creature stood still, wings at rest upon her hand. How gentle and comforting must that hand be for a delicate creature to rest on it, how strong for the butterfly to find refuge on it? He envied the butterfly the feel of her skin, the gentle touch of her fingers, the smoothness of her palm.
He saw the butterfly begin to move across her hand and longed to feel that same hand within his own. His hand unconsciously clenched as he could almost feel the smooth texture of her skin beneath his as he traced his fingers across the delicate structure of her hand, as he cradled her palm within his own and drew it to his lips to imprint upon it the searing fire of his passion and desire.
He allowed his imagination to continue with the fantasy.
He caressed her hand and could hear her gasp of surprise and the quickening of her breath as her own desire ignited. As he allowed his other hand to trail up her arm, he nearly shivered from the feel and scent of her. Taking a finger from the hand he had captured, he slowly traced it with his tongue before sucking it into his mouth to begin a gentle torment. He smiled slightly at Stephanie’s gasp and could feel her shifting so that she knelt before him. He sighed as she took his hand and returned the favor.
Releasing her finger as she released his, they leaned toward each other, their mouths meeting and sealing, increasing the heat of the moment, the heat of their passion. He felt his own body respond and, reaching to draw her up against him, he could feel her arousal as denoted by her taut peaks.
He could feel her hands, her remarkable hands - the hands strong enough to offer comfort, soft enough to bring a sigh, delicate enough to inspire poetry and sensitive enough to communicate everything to him - as they slid down to his waist and began to open his shirt. He felt the electric thrill of sensation, desire, need and ecstasy course through him at her touch.
He allowed his own hands their freedom. One slipped under Stephanie’s blouse as the other found the edge of her skirt where it rested against her silken leg. As his hands progressed along her, reveling in the sensation, the feel of her, he heard a sound and saw his suspect stand as if to leave.
His fantasy shattered, he stood and tried to look casual as he stretched and made to follow the suspect. As he began moving, he spared a glance for Stephanie. He watched her lift her hand and release the butterfly on its way.
End