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She's looking out the window when he finally makes an appearance. She had barely slept the night before because her mind had still been trying to process whatever the hell had happened. Had he heard? She had scrambled for the phone as soon as she had been able to function, but she could only hear the dial tone. Was that because he had hung up before she got to the phone, or had she managed to hit the button and cut him off?

Michael had left almost immediately, shouting at her for an explanation as to why she had called out another man's name at her climax. She had tried to tell him what had happened, that she only noticed the phone was off the hook when she was right there, but he wasn't having it. He had grabbed his clothes, told her that she had issues to work out and that it was over, and left.

The next day's schedule had meant that she was barely in the office because of various meetings on the Hill and interviews with suspects and clients.Thankfully, she'd thought. Even after ruminating on the subject all night, she was not ready to confront Cal... but she'd had the full day, and now, the daylight seemed to make the massive problems of the night appear so inconsequential.

She has concluded that she isn't going to be embarrassed. She is a grown-up, she is divorced and she is having fun. She's actually doing exactly what he had told her to do! She is having fun, she is having sex and sometimes, well sometimes these things happen. Sometimes you see or hear two grown, consenting adults having sex. Not that it seems she will be having sex again any time soon...

"Comfortable?" Cal asks her, swallowing down a dry throat at the sight of her sitting in his chair with her legs propped up on the desk. She's wearing that red dress and those sling-backs that make him want to fluff that bloody line she is so fond of.

"Yes," she smirks, mentally reminding herself that she has nothing to be embarrassed about and that she should just embrace whatever is to come. If anything is to come, of course. "I know," she calls to him when he disappears out of sight and into the library.

"Know what?" comes his distracted reply.

She stands up, smoothes down her dress, and walks over to lean against the doorframe. "That you heard."

"Heard what?"

"Cal..."

He snaps the reference book closed and whips off his glasses to look at her. "What on earth are you talking about? Why are you being so cryptic?"

She feels her cheeks reddening, "You... you didn't...?" She licks her lips. He really doesn't know? "Oh, well, good. Erm... never mind. Ignore me," she's picking at her cuticles. "I'll see you tomorrow." She brushes her hand over his arm as she moves for the door.

"Oh, Foster? Glad I could be of service last night."

She stops mid-step, her face burning red in an instant. "Oh God, you did hear!" She spins on her heel, seeing his smirking face as he leans against the counter. "I'm mortified."

"No you're not," he laughs, pushing off from the table and stepping towards her.

"No, believe me, I am," she's hiding her face behind her fingers, her posture shrunken and slouched.

"Believe me, you're not." He steps towards her with each word, and she absently moves back, "Maybe somewhere deep, deep down you're a little bit embarrassed, but you're not mortified."

"Really? Then tell me what I'm feeling knowing that my friend heard me having sex."

"Incredibly, incredibly turned on." He smirks. "I mean, let's face it, it's the most exciting thing to have happened in bed with him yet, right? Am I right?" He points to the flicker of emotion on her face. "I'm right."

"Cal..." She's stepping back, and he steps towards her.

"You're a bit kinky really, aren't you? I knew you weren't a good girl. Bit of a voyeur."

Her back hits the wall, and she's trapped. "Cal-"

"You liked that I was listening, didn't you? You liked that I could hear everything. Every sigh, every whimper, every demand. 'Faster, harder, lower, oh God, there...'"

She closes her eyes, every inch of her skin feeling red hot.

"Just thinking about it now is getting you going, isn't it? Tell me. Gillian, tell me."

"Cal!" She holds her hands up in front of her, her breathing quick, her skin burning. He just stands there watching the flush rise on her cheeks, her chest; her pulse beating in her neck. She's silent, her head screaming one thing at her, every fiber and nerve of her body screaming something else. "Shut up," she says as she grabs a fistful of his shirt and pulls him towards her.

Their mouths crush together as he instantly lifts her leg to his hip, his fingers smoothing up her thigh, his nails dragging over the skin as he pulls her underwear down.

She's hitching his shirt from the waistband of his trousers, undoing his belt, his button, his fly.

He lets go of her leg and steps back, whispering "Jesus..." as she wiggles out of her panties, letting them fall to the ground.

She gives him a coy smirk, and that look and that dress and those shoes make his stomach tighten in god damn arousal. He wraps his arm around her waist and pulls her into him, his eyes darker than she has ever seen them. She swallows, a long moan escaping when he kisses her again, his tongue dancing across hers.

He's walking them backwards, and suddenly she's lowered onto the cold steps of the staircase, his mouth never leaving hers. He looms over her, that smirk on his face as he kneels between her legs.

Oh God, she thinks as he pushes her skirt up to her hips.

Oh God, he's pushing her legs apart.

Oh God, he's leaving wet kisses up her thighs, then she feels his thumbs pushing her lips apart and then his tongue is on her, in her, licking and sucking and biting on her clit. Her head falls backwards, her eyes tightly shut, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

He murmurs something against her, and the vibrations set a long moan rumbling from her mouth, his name on her breath. His hands are still on her thighs, his fingers stroking shapes against the quivering skin. His thumbs begin to lightly rub up and down her folds and he has to smile; she's squirming. He's making her squirm and whimper. He, Cal Lightman, is making her, Gillian Foster, squirm and whimper with his tongue.

He pulls the bud between his teeth and her back arches off the staircase; he can tell that she's close. He moves so that his stubble scrapes across her sensitized skin and she gives a half-sigh, tingles rushing over body.

She hisses when he enters one finger, two fingers. In, out, bending, twisting. Her muscles are twitching, quivering. Her breath is short and shallow, and then she's gasping. Gasping and moaning and breathing his name and fuck if it isn't the hottest thing he's heard in his entire life.

And then she's gone. She's crying out as her orgasm washes over her, her walls clenching onto his fingers as he continues to pump in and out of her, his tongue circling over her clit quickly.

She collapses down onto the steps, her breath hitching in her throat, her chest heaving.

He smirks as he crawls up her body, kisses over the fabric of her dress and wonders why the hell she's still wearing it. Her eyes are still closed when he kisses her and it takes her a beat to respond, her mind still cloudy from the ecstasy.

He settles on top of her, his erection pressing right where his tongue was just seconds ago.

The kiss quickly evolves, tongues swirling against each other and she reaches down and grabs him through his boxers. It's his turn to hiss as he feels her fingers wrap around him, warm and tight. She loosens her grip as she moves up his length and then lays her hand flat against his stomach as she ventures under the waistband.

His head drops to her shoulder.

She gently scrapes a nail from the base to the head and can feel him hold his breath; he's hers for the taking.

She pushes up with her body and he stands before her, hands gripping the railings until his knuckles are white. His eyes are tightly shut and he can't see her grinning as she pulls the underwear down his legs.

She lets the tip of her tongue follow the same path as her nail before, blowing cool air from pursed lips onto the wet trail and God if he doesn't blow right then. He breathes Fuck, and his head rolls backwards as she takes him in her mouth.

She feeds her hands around to his clenched ass as she moves up his cock, her teeth ever so lightly grazing across the skin. She moves slowly at first, building up a speed and a rhythm.

His hips start to move against her with each bob of her head down his shaft. Her mouth is warm and wet and he fights to open his eyes, groaning loudly as he watches her hair bounce on her shoulder. Ohholyfuck.

She can feel him tensing; he's so near, and a part of her wants to keep going and bring him to orgasm as he did her. She wants to know that she can make Cal Lightman come with the same mouth that's continually told him to back off.

She knows that she can, but she doesn't. She flicks her tongue against the head of his penis and stands up, hearing him grunt at the loss of contact.

He opens his eyes again to see her grinning in front of him, a finger wiping away the saliva in the corner of her mouth. She winds one hand over her shoulder and the other up her back and he can hear her zipper being pulled, the dress falling from her figure.

He practically growls, stamping at the jeans pooled around his ankles and kicking his shoes off. He wraps his arms around her, his face buried in the black lace of her bra as she winds her legs around his waist, the tip of his penis right there.

He spins them around and then she feels the wall against her back. She slides down him so that her mouth can meet his and the head of his cock enters her and she wants to scream.

She bears down and takes him in fully as he grunts her name on to her lips. "Yes?" she smiles.

He mumbles something that she can't hear and then he's lifting her hips and crushing her down onto him again. He wants to do it again – God, does he want to do it again - but his back begins to scream at him that he's not as young as he used to be.

Without a word, she drops her legs down and spins him around so his back is against the wall. Her tongue is dancing against his as she puts her hands on his shoulder and guides them to the floor so that she can straddle his hips.

She lifts up and guides him back into her, his hands on her hips as his mouth finds a nipple through her bra.

They find a rhythm, her bearing down and him thrusting up, his teeth pulling and biting at her breasts as she cries out. She can feel the tension building, the ache settling in her pelvis, the clenching of her walls around him as he thrusts into her. She can hear herself gasping, moaning, sighing; her hands gripping his shoulders as they speed up.

She entwines her fingers with his and holds them against the wall and he fights her, wants to touch her, wants to feel her. She leans into him, the friction from the lace rubbing against his chest and sending tendrils of pleasure coursing through her and the new position means he hits just there.

He notices and does it again; harder, faster and then she's gone. She's moaning his name as the pleasure explodes within her, her body shuddering, her nails pressing crescent shapes into the backs of his hands. He increases the tempo, crushing into her with force as she whimpers through the white heat of her orgasm and he can't stand it anymore. His body stiffens and he comes inside her, his head resting on her shoulder as she grinds down onto him.

They sit there, their chests heaving as they try to regain control over their bodies. He kisses her shoulder, shaking off her limp grip over his hands as he cups her face to kiss her mouth.

He smiles against her lips. "Told you I was right."