Sorry...Richard and Camille made me do it!

I am going back to writing moments but this sort of demanded to be written. Please don't read if it's not your thing etc etc. There aint much plot - just smut.

Disclaimer: Characters and TV series not mine.

Heat

She was trying to kill him; was absolutely going to be the death of him.

As if the heat and humidity were not making him hot enough, Camille was raising his temperature in an undeniably different, but equally uncomfortable way.

It was unbearable and it was wearing him down. His resistance was weakening.

Trying to distract himself, he wondered what a coroner would make of it.

A white middle-aged male, slightly - no definitely - thinning on top and nicely cultivating a small paunch around his middle. Dressed formally, oddly so in this relaxed Caribbean environment, in white shirt with a blue tie and dark suit. Sat at his, the detective inspectors, desk in Honore Police Station, mouth open, staring sightlessly ahead of him.

Richard supposed that it was not uncommon for men only a few years older than he to die at their desks; victims of a heart attack or a stroke from the pressure of work, so to an outsider it might not look unusual. They would never know that the constant taunting and teasing of his DS; the months of long naked limbs (clad in oh so short shorts) stretched out atop the desk which lay only a few yards across from his, had finally increased his heart rate and blood pressure to such an extent that his body had given up on him.

How would she feel to know she had done him in?

Would she follow the clues to work out why he had died? Would there be any clues to follow? He frowned briefly, wondering whether she knew how he felt, what she did to him.

Would she arrest herself for involuntary manslaughter? Were her actions involuntary? Sometimes he doubted it very much.

Richard allowed himself a small chuckle, lost in his brains meanderings.

"Sir… Richard?"

He refocused as Camille clicked her fingers in his general direction to garner his attention, swinging her legs down from the desk to lean forwards on her elbows.

Well that certainly wasn't going to help he thought frustratedly, looking at her mildly concerned face so that his eyes would not drift downwards.

Today's choice of clothes was a navy blouse with short-capped sleeves, which fit her like a glove. The top button or two had been left undone. Not enough to be revealing; too much to stop his mind wandering.

She had matched the blouse with an almost knee length skirt in a light tan colour. He had almost sighed with relief that morning when she walked in dressed in a skirt, believing it would give him some respite; would mean she had to keep her legs underneath her desk in a more ladylike conventional fashion.

But no.

She appeared to have the gymnastic ability to swing both legs gracefully around together into their preferred position, neatly crossed on the edge of her desk.

It seemed he could not avoid her, or some part of her, whichever direction he looked in.

"Sir, are you well?"

Oh God, and now she was coming his way.

Richard watched as Camille manoeuvred effortlessly around the desks, his gaze drawn to the graceful line of her throat as she flicked errant curls back over her shoulder. She perched on the table directly in front of him and leant forward to lay a soft hand upon his brow.

"You feel warm, but I don't think you have a fever." Richard knew it was a rhetorical question and she wasn't expecting an answer, which was a reprieve for him. Mouth dry, he felt totally incapable of speech.

She slipped her hand around and beneath his collar to check the heat at the base of his neck, sending a jolt of electricity through him. He had become more comfortable with her invading his space recently; had allowed her small touches and caresses and even begun to enjoy them. But this was taking it to a whole new level.

She was still talking he realised, something about them being the only two in the office that day so it would be acceptable in anyone's book for him to remove his jacket and tie. He decided on balance, it was better to remain still and acquiesce. He had been lost in a haze of desire for too long that day, and temptation was too close.

If Camille was confused or concerned by his lack of communication or argument, she didn't let it show. With cool efficiency she slid her other hand up to grasp the lapel of his jacket and gently slithered it down his arms, tugging gently to pull it out from behind him. Richard lent forward to assist then regretted the movement as it brought him inches from the opening of her blouse. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut and took a gulp of air to clear his spinning head. It didn't help at all. Camille's perfume enveloped him and flowering red and burgundy shades decorated the inside of his eyelids accompanied by shimmering silver stars.

Arousal swirled through him.

Warming to her task now, Camille was pulling at his tie, trying to loosen the knot whilst muttering to herself.

Feeling her move and then pull back, dropping her fingers, Richard felt a panic grip him; panic that she would stop, anxiety that she wouldn't. Warring with the craving it was making him feel slightly sick. He opened his eyes carefully, then widely….and forgot how to breathe.

Stood tall in front of him, she was hitching her skirt up her smooth legs, just high enough so that she could stand astride his thighs and attack the tight knot from a new angle. Small puffs of her breath fanned his face. He didn't know where to look. A different man, any other man would read the signals she was surely sending, and crush his lips to hers. But how could he, when he was who he was and she….. well she was simply out of his league. So he busied himself staring at the ceiling.

Camille growled, low in her throat; frustrated by the uncooperative knot he assumed. It sounded very French, suggestive and shot burning arrows at the heat pooling in his loins. He shifted uncomfortably; trying to ease the tightness in his trousers but merely succeeded in frictioning his thighs against the inside of Camille's. It was a delightful sensation and one he wanted to repeat, if only to test whether her hiccupped intake of breath was linked to his movement.

Suddenly the knot was free. Camille flicked his top two buttons open with her thumb and finger, then stopped and straightened. Without conscious thought, Richard lifted his hands to her skirt clad hips as if to prevent her moving away. She studied his face intently then leant forward whisper in his ear.

"There will be no-one but us in the office for hours."

It wasn't an overtly suggestive remark. It could have been made entirely innocently, and he could use that to back down. Get out of the situation. If he wanted to. Did he want to?

His heart thudded in his chest. He had to be dreaming. This kind of thing didn't happen in real life. Especially not to him.

"Richard?"

His eyes drifted from the deep brown of her eyes, to her lips and back. She was biting her lip gently; seemed almost as unsure as he of giving into the temptation that was overwhelming them.

The ostensible lack of her customary assurance was his undoing. Heart thudding, he gripped her hips more firmly and pulled her into him, the pressure of his lips against hers drowning out the almost inarticulate cry she made. One of assent and triumph and arousal all rolled into one. He was not so lacking in life skills that he couldn't recognise THAT sound and it sent wave upon wave of elation running through his body.

Greedily he kissed her, her mouth opening under his assault and her tongue probing his. He felt her hands twine themselves up and around into his hair, urging his head up, holding it prisoner and vying for dominance whilst simultaneously lowering her body to sit astride him on the wheelie chair.

It wasn't enough. He needed to feel more of her.

Releasing his grip on her hips, he slid his hands around behind her, caressing and searching impatiently for bare skin at her waistband then restlessly stroking up and down the graceful lines of her legs. Her gentle moan emboldened him and he slipped his fingers beneath the rucked skirt, smoothing across the delicate sensitive skin of her inner thigh.

"Oh God, don't stop," Camille dragged her mouth from his to gulp in air urgently, tugging at his shirt to find bare skin of her own to discover.

Richard couldn't think, didn't want to think. He ought to think he registered dimly but his head was whirling. Camille surrounded him. The scent and sound and feel and taste of her was too much. It was all and everything, and he could do no more than focus on dipping his tongue into the hollow of her neck and feel her sigh in response and arch her head back to encourage him.

As her hands moved purposefully downward to unfasten his belt, the circular caresses of his fingers reached the lacy edge of her underwear. He toyed with the edge then dipped beneath.

For a few moments, the world ground to a halt. Camille shuffled to allow Richard space to explore then became still. All that could be heard in the quiet office were small gasps and exhaled pants until she hastily batted his hands away to reach again for his belt.

Fumbling and grasping, and shifting, only removing as much clothing as was strictly necessary, Richard risked glance upward to look at Camille's face. She was beautiful and vivacious and fantastic and…..she looked up, and melted his heart.

Her expression was one of frustration that his actions had paused, combined with a mild anxiety that he might be about to reign in his lust. There was a hint of shyness to start her growing smile but with a definite predatory gleam in there too when he made no move to draw a halt to the situation.

Slowly, holding his gaze, Camille rose, and then lowered herself onto the full, engorged length of him. She lifted her hands to his shoulders to give herself extra purchase and repeated the motion again.

And again.

The unhurried, deliberate action couldn't last. Brown eyes refused to release green as their speed amplified. Richard returned his hands to Camille's hips and pulled her down hard onto him, her delighted squeal almost tipping him over the edge.

Their movement became sloppy and unfocused, her rocking, him jerkily thrusting. The chair groaned in protest.

Richard was close, didn't think he could hang on, couldn't…. and then they were there. He tumbled after Camille as she tightened reflexively around him, his toes curling and his eyes rolling back as he sighed out her name.

...

The haze slowly cleared, leaving them with a growing awareness of sticky warmth, tired quadriceps and a chair that now seemed in danger of collapse. Richard didn't want to move and break the spell, but it was going to be necessary. He stroked Camille's arm absently, wondering what came next. He knew he ought to feel it was a mistake, but was unable to bring himself around to actually practice that feeling.

Nor was he quite able to put into words the myriad of emotions swirling around his body.

"Is that what always happens?" Camille broke the silence.

"What?"

"When you remove an Englishman's tie. Is that what always happens?" There was a trace of devilment in her tone.

"Cami….." he broke off as she continued.

"…..because if I'd known that THAT was how you'd react, I might have tried it a long long time ago." She giggled. A joyous sound that rippled through him.

The chair creaked and shifted slightly.

"We need to…."

"I know."

"So can you. Err, would you….?" He might have altered his relationship with her irrevocably; might have shown her a whole new side to him. But he felt he would forever feel slightly tongue-tied when discussing anything that was not work with her.

"In a minute." Camille smilingly replied, kissing him full on the lips.

"Camille," he growled. "Someone could walk in. This doesn't look good."

"Oh I don't know," she countered teasingly, hushing his reaction with more kisses.

She was trying to kill him; was absolutely going to be the death of him.

Please Review, even if only to tell me (nicely) not to do this again!