A/N: This story is not suitable for younger readers. It would not have been written without a lot of pushing and encouragement from marialisa and the support and help of sallyjetson, and elainhe. Thanks to all of them.
I choose in my stories to ignore certain facts of life, like the dangers of unprotected sex. Unless you are a fictional character, you can't afford to be so naive.
Disclaimer: No infringement of copyright is intended. All characters originated with CSI:NY.
Restraint
"You're a CSI, Stella. You're not supposed to go undercover." The worry was obvious; Stella just wished she could be sure it was personal."Look, they need a policewoman who speaks both Greek and Italian. It may surprise you to know there are not that many of us in the department. So I volunteered. Kids, Flack. They're using kids in this operation. I have to help stop them."
With a shrug and a sigh, he stepped away from her, leaving a cold space between them. "Got everything you need?"
She nodded tightly, "Got my wits and my tongue – that's about all I'll be able to take in with me." She spread her arms, almost daring him to look at her. "It's not like this thing has pockets."
She shivered a little at the cold blue fire in his eyes. He stepped forward again, so close she could hear his heart beat. His lips brushed her forehead. "Be careful. Come back. "
She wanted to throw her arms around him and hold on tight, but she knew she couldn't. She laid a hand against his cheek briefly, then turned and walked into the dark alley, her high-heeled boots clicking, the black leather coat swirling heavily around her ankles.
He sat in seeming patience in the stakeout van, waiting for the signal. Every beat of his heart seemed to last a century; every time another officer in the van moved or coughed, his heart rate spiked into overdrive. He had never fully appreciated Messer's anxiety when Lindsay had gone in with the jewelry and the flash grenade in the Ghedi case; now he could only marvel at how calm Danny had been.
When the signal came, he was out of the van like a predator pursuing dinner, pouncing on the first three guys who came flooding out the door before they were even aware there was something on the street more dangerous than the usual petty criminals and vicious thugs: a morally outraged and incandescent Detective Flack. He strode into the warehouse, handing men over to uniformed officers, gently comforting the young girls and boys who were standing naked, eyes dead, under the bright film lights.
"Don," the voice seemed to float out of the shadows and he turned to it with relief. Stella was standing in an open doorway, beckoning him, green eyes gleaming in the gloom. He barely got a glimpse of her – high-necked leather corset which left her shoulders bare, cut high on the hip to show long legs; leather boots which rose to taut thighs. He closed his eyes and breathed in deep, schooling himself to show no reaction before she slapped him with a sexual harassment suit.
Or just slapped him.
When she led him into the office, though, he couldn't resist one quick look, and the sight of Stella Bonasera walking away from him in 5 inch fuck-me heels and a leather thong was going to haunt his fevered dreams for years to come, he knew.
It took days to work through the aftermath of the porn ring raid, and Flack only saw Stella once in that time, when he reviewed her statement to make sure all the information was accurate and jived with the evidence they had taken at the scene. Stella had answered his questions in a dry, matter-of-fact voice, until it came to talking about the children, when her voice had gone so brittle he was afraid she would just crack in front of him.
"I couldn't stop them from filming, Don." She looked at him with drowned sea green eyes. "I couldn't stop it until everything was in place."
"But then you stopped it for good, Stella. These guys will never hurt or exploit kids again. You did good, Stel. You did right." Flack's voice roughened as he thought of the risk if she had been caught. "I'm proud of you."
She nodded and left, but that night, when he was lying on his bed, eyes closed, trying in vain to banish the erotic image of her from his mind, the phone rang, and he could hear her trembling voice on the other end of the line. "Don? Can you come? I need … I need to talk."
He was knocking at her door half an hour later.
"Come in," he heard, and he stepped into the darkened hall, about to admonish her for leaving her door unlocked. Before he could open his mouth, though, a blindfold was whipped over his eyes, and his hands were secured behind his back. He opened his mouth to cry out, tensed his body to fight back; then he felt soft hands on his face, smelled the intoxicating scent of leather and aroused woman surrounding him, felt a whisper across his ear, "Don't struggle. It will only stop if you do."
He stilled instantly.
He was led, stumbling a little, into another room. He could smell candles burning, and hear classical music playing, something quiet by Bach, he thought. His hands were untied, but only so that his clothes could be removed. He stood silent, acquiescent, in the middle of the room, waiting to be told what to do next. Whatever game she was playing, he was willing to participate in, up to a point at least.
Hands ran over his body from hips to shoulders, pushing him gently towards the bed, positioning him in the centre. He could feel soft ties around his wrists and ankles, spread-eagling him across cool silky sheets. He struggled for a moment, feeling panic welling up in him. A hand ran over his face; a soft voice whispered in his ear, "Hush now. Trust me." Her mouth, wet and hot, trailed from his temple to his lips, and she parted his mouth with a quick thrust of her tongue before following his jaw line to his exposed throat.
He moaned when her teeth caught him just under the ear, and could feel his body respond almost violently, struggling against the bonds, his toes curling with need. He wanted more – he wanted everything.
She took her time, her hands exploring him slowly, tendrils of hair trailing over him as she touched kisses or tongue or teeth unexpectedly on his quivering skin. He tensed his arms again, wanting to break out and hold her, force her to his will, but he knew that the game she was playing was deadly serious at the moment. For whatever reason, she needed to direct this little act.
"You want to see, don't you?" Her voice was deep with passion. He nodded, biting his lip. "I'll take the blindfold off, but you have to promise not to look until I tell you to. Do you promise?"
He nodded again, and sighed with relief when the cloth over his eyes was removed. He kept his promise though, struggling to keep his eyes closed.
He could feel the bed moving under him as Stella shifted her weight, could feel the cool sheets under his body heat up. He could hear the music pitched low enough to not be obtrusive, high enough to obscure most sounds they might make. He could smell the candles burning, with an underlying scent of something spicy and enticing that he fervently hoped was not Stella's usual perfume; he'd never been able to work with her again with that smell in his head.
"Open your eyes." The words were soft, but the air of command had not softened at all.
Don opened his eyes and lost his breath. His fantasies had been feeble in comparison to the vision standing over him on the bed. She balanced easily in the boots that he had drooled over, five inches of heel which thrust her hips forward and defined her ass; black leather which clung to her calves and ended half way up her thighs. The leather corset laced up tightly over her belly, but strained to contain shapely breasts, ending just at the hollow of her throat. Her shoulders and arms were bare, showing off the definition of well-toned muscles. The hair he longed to bury his face in was tied up in a coronet on top of her head, adding to her imposing height.
The thong that had figured heavily in his fantasies was missing this time, and he couldn't honestly say he was sorry.
He had seen this woman chase down hopped-up drug dealers, seen her strip down a machine gun, seen her cry at a chick flick, and go goo-goo eyed over a baby. He knew she was complex and intense and infinitely desirable. Now, however, she was a goddess, and he was prepared to fall at her leather-encased feet and worship her forever.
Something of that must have shown in his eyes, because Stella positively purred before placing one foot on his chest, considerately keeping her weight forward on the ball of her foot, cocking one hip and leaning forward slightly. "So, are you prepared to do as you are told?" Her eyes were glued to his, noticing and dismissing the gleam of frustration.
"Yes," he muttered.
"No matter what I tell you to do?" She pushed a little, putting a little more weight on him.
"Yes," he growled.
"Even if I tell you to leave? Now? Leave and never speak of this again?" Her eyes were clouded now, and Flack could hear the uncertainty under her bravado.
"If you told me to go, I would go." He said it softly, with as much sincerity as he could.
Something in her softened and broke. She moved her foot off his chest, and kneeled over him, hands on his upper arms with enough weight to make him grimace in pain, fitting her body intimately against him. He was so aroused he couldn't take in a deep breath, and when she sat back, he moaned. "Stella."
She shook her head, biting her lip in concentration. "Don't say anything."
He had to close his eyes and concentrate on just pulling air into his lungs. He could feel her, hot and wet, centred over his hips, pushing against his erection as he swelled painfully. She was completely motionless, and he groaned in agonized frustration, trying to arch against her, force her to move on him, take him into her inviting body and drown him in pleasure.
"Stop. Stay still." Her voice was cold and eerily calm. She bent forward again and blew out the candles near the bed, leaving them in near darkness. He groaned again when she settled back with a sigh and put her head back in defeat.
"I'm sorry." The words whispered out over laboured breath. "I can't do this."
Flack twisted first one hand, then the other, out of the ties, and sat up, taking her in his arms, smiling into her wide, surprised eyes as he covered her trembling mouth with his in a soft kiss. "Then we'll do this."
Stella resisted for a moment, but his mouth was warm and sweet and undemanding, and with a sigh that shook her body, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back, feeling the cold anger that had fueled her the past weeks begin to melt under his patient onslaught, until she relaxed into his embrace.
With a upsurging of elated pleasure, Flack sank deeper into her mouth, tasting her surrender and turning it into a sharing of passion. Stella reached back and released the fabric around his ankles, allowing him the freedom to move. He took the opportunity to stretch strained muscles while he pushed Stella away a few inches from his body. Ignoring her confused look, he began to unlace the leather that encased her body, frowning in concentration as he exposed the soft skin beneath now marked with angry welts from the tight garment.
Slowly, his lips trailed over the bruises, first laving them with his tongue, then kissing them gently as he persuaded her to lie back, until she was naked and writhing under his ministrations. He took his time, drugging her with kisses, lavishing her with attention; finally she was flushed and begging him to take her. He was braced over her, his arms shaking with the strain of trying to keep his weight off her, and looked deep into her eyes before abruptly shaking his head and rolling over to lie beside her.
She lay on her back, aroused, unsatisfied, and confused. "What are you doing?" She sat up to look down at his strained and serious face.
"Stella, you don't have to do this." He gestured at the bedroom. "You don't have to do anything. Don't you know you only have to be you for me to want you?'
Stella flushed again, and looked down, discomfited, at her linked fingers. "It wasn't for you," she confessed. "It was for me – I needed to feel in control, to feel powerful. I thought …" her voice faded in embarrassment, and she started to move off the bed.
Flack grabbed her arm, and pulled her over his body. "You don't need to tie me up to have me in knots, Stella." He cupped her face in his hands and pulled her close for another kiss, his hands running lovingly down her back, pressing her naked body closer to his.
She moaned into his mouth, and this time when she moved, it was to sheathe him inside her creamy core, taking him in with a gasp that shook through her body.
She raised her body up to drive him deeper, and he groaned as he felt her hunger swallow him whole. He reached between their bodies, and as soon as he touched her, he felt the passion surge through them, pushing them to heights he had never imagined. He arched into her, his release thrilling through his body as she convulsed around him.
They lay in the darkened room, bodies slick with sweat, lungs gasping to draw air back into bodies that had become so focused on satisfying the urge to give as well as take that they had nearly forgotten how to function normally. Stella was sprawled across his chest; his hand was entangled in the curls he had liberated.
"I'm sorry, Don." The words dragged out of her as she fought the exhaustion that was coaxing her towards sleep.
Flack sighed. "Go to sleep, Stel. We'll talk about it in the morning."
"I promised not to do this to you any more, though." Her voice was heavy with self-recrimination, blurred with fatigue.
He rubbed a hand comfortingly down her back, reaching for the duvet that had been pushed onto the floor beside the bed. "Don't worry, Stel."
Only when he was certain she was deeply asleep, did he kiss her on the temple. "I love you, Stella Bonasera." The words came out in a fierce whisper, and he felt his heart shred.