I want to share with my readers...my original novel, September Blue, is now available on Amazon and Kindle. The link is available on my profile page or by searching for "September Blue" by Cat Whitney on Amazon. :-)

7-9-12…This was inspired by eating yogurt today at the pool, and by a snippet in Fi's letter a couple episodes ago. Granted, my yogurt was Trix yogurt for kids and I'm way too pregnant to be sexy, but I found inspiration nonetheless. Enjoy and review if you can. ;-)


Fiona slowly became aware that she was lying in a bed. It wasn't her bed, she sensed, but it was soft and well outfitted. As the corners of her mind hazily found their way into consciousness, she thought she remembered pieces of what had brought her here.

Michael had freed her. Tired of working the system and watching her fade into a shadow of herself, he'd staged an all-out war. The details were fuzzy, but seemed of little importance. All she knew is Michael had come for her. He was her knight, her prince, clad in black rather than armor, wielding a semi-automatic weapon instead of a sword. She would gladly be the fair maiden this time. Or perhaps the phoenix was a better metaphor for her escape, as she'd exploded from the fiery assault that laid waste her prison. It was a very romantic way of looking at it, but Fiona found herself in an unusually poetic mood.

With her eyes still closed, she smiled to herself. Languidly she stretched her body and felt the soft, silkiness of expensive sheets beneath her. The bed was such a blissful deviation from the over-starched prison linens she'd left behind, that she considered staying in the bed until starvation forced her from it. So she lay still, but let her eyes wander, taking in the small but exquisite room. Upon closer examination, it seemed to be free-standing, more cabana or yurt than hotel. She could smell the ocean and glimpsed palm fronds out the one window.

She vaguely remembered Michael saying, They'll never find us, where we're going. I promise you, Fi…

She smiled again, somehow trusting that such an optimistic dream could come true. Her eyes continued around the room, taking in a partially opened door that must lead to a bathroom. How it could exist in a place she sensed was so separate from humanity, Fiona did not question. Then, her eyes found the French doors. Yet it was not the sight of the lapping, turquoise water that took her breath. It was not the strip of pure white sand or the sky that seemed to merge with the sea. It was the figure silhouetted by the light streaming inside.


Fiona guessed that he'd come from the shower, as he had a towel draped over his shoulders that he must've used to tousle his still-damp hair. It was dark and deliciously uncombed. With his back to her, he stood very still, studying the view of paradise. He was also entirely naked.

Fiona held her breath, not wanting to break the spell. She took him in, like a delicious prize, like a long sought-after treasure. She studied the line of his back, the way the muscles defined his strength, the way the scars described his humanity. Her eyes devoured the lithe, leanness of his arms, and then flicked over the dimples at the base of his spine. She bit her lip a little as she relished the sight of his bare buttocks, of his long legs. He looked no different, and yet that sent a rush of homesick longing through her.

Very slowly, Fiona sat up in the bed. She let her legs fall over the side, realizing she was only wearing a soft tank top that fell to her hips. The movement made Michael finally turn around, and the two stared at each other for a long moment. There was a time when the mere sight of him would've drawn out the feral lover in Fiona. There was a time when their relationship was that simple. Now, however, her ache for him was more than physical.

She knew his body. She knew every line, every scar. Without looking she could see the way the toned plane of his stomach lead to the manhood between his legs. He didn't have to be aroused to make her want him. She didn't have to look to see him. But look she did. Her eyes drank him in. If only to make sure he was real, she stared.

Giving her a little smile, Michael dropped the towel on a chair and asked, "Care to join me for breakfast?"

Fiona gave a little nod, and he started to pull on a pair of shorts.

Standing up, Fiona crossed the room and stopped him. Looking in his eyes, she took the shorts and dropped them to the floor. Then, she pulled her tank top over her head and dropped it with the shorts.

"Where's breakfast?" she whispered.

Michael nodded toward the beach outside.

"Are we alone?" Fiona asked softly.

He nodded.

Giving a sly smile, she took his hand and led him out the French doors. The sand was soft between their toes as she led him through the shade of the trees to the patch of beach. There, she found he'd laid out a blanket. Next to it there was a basket of glistening fruit and a basket of yogurt.

Fiona chuckled and asked, "Your choice for food in paradise is still yogurt?"

Michael shrugged and smiled.

Fiona didn't object. She dropped down onto the blanket and perused the selections. Noting that he'd managed to bring the best of the best, at least as far as yogurt could be categorized, she decided to be adventurous. Handing Michael blueberry, after he'd sat down next to her, she selected raspberry for herself. Pulling two spoons from the basket, she passed one over and tore into the treat.

Fiona closed her eyes as she relished the simple pleasure of good food. She'd been surviving on grey and bland for so long now that everything in this moment, the warmth of the sun, the coolness of the yogurt, seemed magnified into a sensory explosion. She leaned back, relishing the feel of the undulating sand beneath the blanket, and savored the rich, tart, sweetness of raspberry. Then, she felt it. Her eyes flew open at the sensation of cold working its way down her abdomen.

Michael was trailing yogurt down her stomach, letting it flow from the spoon onto her sun-kissed skin. Fiona gasped, and Michael gave her a doe-eyed look.

With a smirk, she asked, "Are you actually wasting perfectly good yogurt?"

His eyes became mischievous as Michael answered, "I don't plan on wasting it."

With that, he leaned down and very slowly began to lick the sweet treat from her body. Fiona let her head fall back, unable to form any words. It was such a simple thing, but his mouth was warm and familiar and, god how she'd missed him. Michael continued his game, trailing yogurt down to her hips and slowly lapping it up. He let it drip sensually onto her breasts before tenderly devouring them. Her breath hitched when he let the treat drip onto the insides of her thighs. Then he shifted and very carefully licked it away, letting his mouth venture so close and yet so far from her center.

Fiona sat up then, passive no more. Pressing him back onto the blanket, she tortured him in turn. Taking her time, she swirled ribbons of raspberry cream over his chest, licking her way up to his collarbone. She let just a few drops fall onto his left shoulder, and stopped to tenderly savor the place where an old bullet wound scarred his skin. This is what made it personal, she realized. These were the things that made this sensual, erotic exploration so precious. He wasn't just a man with a nice body and the right moves. He was more than a charming smile and good technique. He was scars that told stories and blue eyes that held haunted secrets. He was words that had hurt her and arms that had held her. Anyone could eat off of her. But only Michael would choose yogurt. So Fiona relished the moment, sacrificing a hearty breakfast for the chance to make Michael's entire body taste like raspberry.

When they were both sufficiently sticky and consequently out of yogurt. Michael pulled her to her feet and led her towards the ocean. Walking out into the lapping waves, Fiona noted how the warm water caressed her skin. It was impossibly blue and perfectly clear, and the soft sand continued into the depths. Michael stopped when the water reached Fiona's chest. Pulling back a little, he went under and then resurfaced, wet and glistening. Fiona did the same, letting her hair run in wet streams down her back.

"What a perfect way to clean up after breakfast," she said lightly, giving him a sly smile.

Michael nodded, but his eyes were more intense now. Pulling her to him, he wrapped his arms around her body and held her close.

"Fi…I missed you. I…" he started.

Hearing the catch in his voice, she stopped him. Winding her arms around his shoulders, she met his eyes and said, "Don't, Michael."

He kissed her then, and she melted into him. The water made their bodies slick and alert, and Fiona could feel his skin from her lips to her toes. Their kiss was hungry and urgent, and yet neither made a move to go further just yet. There was time for that. They weren't spurred by the newness of each other anymore, or by the rush of being caught. Fiona still wanted him. He drove her mad, but she could take her time because she'd learned to relish just the taste of his mouth on hers.

After some time, she pulled back. Seeing the depth of feeling in his eyes, Fiona placed soft kisses along his jaw and then down his neck. She let her lips trail down along his shoulders and down his chest. Pressing herself even closer into him, she laid her cheek against his chest for a minute and simply listened to his heartbeat. The moment seemed to transcend time. Their bodies were warm and wet, their hearts beating together. Every sinewy angle of him fit perfectly into the curves of her body. Fiona could feel his manhood pressed against her naked flesh, but the rush in her belly was more than sexual. As she ran her hands over his lower back to cup his buttocks, she understood something significant.

She was content. And he was not pulling from her. Wild, violent Fiona was satisfied. She had her arms around everything she needed, and she allowed herself to think that Michael felt the same. He made no move to pull away. He wasn't twitching for some wrong to right. He just held her, naked, exposed, accepted, and still.

After some time, Michael reached down and lifted Fiona into his arms. Carrying her back to the blanket, he laid her out in the butterscotch sunlight and pushed her hair back from her face. Laying himself across her, he tangled their legs together and kissed her mouth again. Fiona responded, dragging her fingers from his damp hair across his shoulders. He kissed her cheeks and then her neck, and the sun made him a silhouette as he worked his mouth over her breasts. She made soft, pleased noises as he worked his mouth down her abdomen. He placed kisses on the outcroppings of her hip bones before sliding back up to meet her mouth again.

Fiona could feel his arousal now and she smiled, because it filled her with a delicious yearning. Rolling him to his back, she took her time. As the sun dried their skin and the breeze ruffled her hair, Fiona allowed her fingers to follow her mouth over him. He tasted salty and sun-soaked and he was impossibly warm. Working her way down, she kissed his thighs, and then slowly took him into her mouth. She loved the way he tensed, the way he tried so hard to stay in control, and the way he never took his eyes off of her.

Finally, she pulled away, and he shifted his weight back onto her. Michael kissed her moistened lips and then very slowly slid inside of her. Fiona took him in deeply, until their hips were flush against each other. They were very still, holding each other, feeling each other as one. Fiona held him against her, chest against chest, breath on each other's cheeks. She scratched her nails down his spine and over his buttocks again. Then she kissed him roughly, and he moved against her.

Michael took his time, and the world seemed to slip away. Fiona was lost in sunlight, bathed in warmth, and intoxicated by lovemaking. Michael was inside and around her, taking her and filling her. The soft hairs on his stomach brushed her pelvis, thrilling her, urging her raw want for him. His arms held his weight and encircled her, showing his strength and yet he trembled, because she was his weakness.

The scent of sunbathed skin and sweat began to form and mingle with the perfume of salty sea and sweet tropical flowers. Fiona caught the essence of fresh fruit and raspberry yogurt. Every one of her senses was hyper alert and was being accosted by the delicious beauty around her and the man within her.

Suddenly, she pushed him upward slightly. Michael stilled and met her eyes. She kissed him and pulled away just enough to force him to sit up on the soft blanket. Straddling his lap, she slid their bodies back together and wrapped her legs around his waist. She gripped his shoulders again and kissed him, long and hard and deep. Then she moved against him, sex against sex, skin warming skin. She brushed the soft hairs at the base of his neck and felt her breath quicken. She could feel him tensing. She could feel his arms clutch her tighter. He nipped at her shoulders and buried his face in his neck. Fiona moved faster, wanting not just release but to feel him surrender in her arms.

Sooner than she expected, Michael lost control. Holding onto her like he might drown, she felt his body swell and release within her. The world seemed impossibly still around them as Fiona's body gave in as well. There was gasping and clutching and moans muffled in each other's hair. There was throbbing and wet warmth and waves of pleasure that almost seemed too strong to ride out. Finally, they came down, collapsing onto the blanket in a tangle of limbs.

Fiona still held to him, satiated but still wanting him. She nuzzled his chest and felt her eyes grow heavy. She fought sleep, wanting to say something to him and yet not sure what it was. Still, the sun seemed to rock her and push into darkness. She felt heavy and Michael grew more distant. The perfect setting faded and she vowed not to sleep long.

Still, her limbs grew heavier and the air grew cooler. The blissful content dissolved and slowly, very slowly, Fiona realized she was not falling asleep. She was waking up. Her body was still clothed in an ill-fitting jumpsuit and her mattress had the same hard lump it had had for weeks. Her blanket was scratching her face, causing her to open her eyes to the darkness of her cell. She looked around, and then quickly squeezed her eyes shut.

Oh please…I don't care if it was a dream…take me back to him…

But she couldn't go back. The dream was gone and reality was washing over her with cold finality. She was still a prisoner. Michael was still impossibly far away and, from the look on his face the day before, he was hurting terribly. And it broke her heart.

Fiona fought the tears, but they came anyway. She hurt so damn bad she wanted to scream. She hurt because just when Michael was showing how very deeply he loved her, she couldn't even touch his hand to let him know she felt the same. He was breaking down and revealing his absolute humanity. The strength of how he felt about her was surprising even to Fiona. And yet she couldn't even say thank you. She felt like a caged animal, slowly dying inside, losing the wild instinct to survive. All she had were the dreams, so much like when he'd left her before, but this time she didn't have the benefit of hating him. She wanted him. She wanted him so badly her chest ached with a raw, terrible loneliness.


She sobbed quietly.

Then she squeezed her eyes tightly shut, trying to go back to her paradise, trying to make the visions of yogurt on sunbathed skin get her through another day in hell.