A/N: Yes, I'm a horrible writer who doesn't finish my stories. I really am sorry and I will finish them in a couple of months, things have just been chaotic. As a thank you for being patient, here is this story. It's actually finished. Yes, finished! I will post the rest of it when I have enough time to proof-read and spell-check it.

I don't know how I ended up here, chest flat against the top of a cold metal table, hands gripping onto the edge of it, metal digging uncomfortably into my hips as she pistons her hand between my legs. I can't lie and say that I've never thought of being here, bent over a table by her as she takes me any way she wants me…but being here was a whole different story. Not one I'm sure I could ever explain or would ever want to.

I wince internally as I notice my suit jacket crumpled up on the floor out of the corner of my eye. My white blouse is completely open, the last two buttons gone from where she had ripped it open in the first aggressive act of the evening. The blouse is still clinging limply against my arms, barely covering my shoulders and I can only imagine what a mess I look like from her perspective.

My hair is a mess, that much I know as I pant out roughly, blowing a strand of blonde hair away from my eyes and back to the table. The other frayed locks are clinging to the small beads of sweat that began to form across my neck and temple the moment her fingers pushed inside of me without reserve.

She wasted no time in pushing my skirt up my hips and hoisting me over the table, my bare ass left exposed to her after she pulled the tiny scrap of lace from between my legs. God, I must look like a mess from the outside. Speaking of the outside…

I flush red once more at the thought of being seen in this vulnerable position, completely exposed to anyone that might happen to walk past the interrogation room. Yes, we're in the interrogation room. In a fit of rage I had yelled at her and she had recommended we go somewhere private. It probably would've been a better idea to go elsewhere, hell, even the bathroom would probably be an improvement since there are hardly any women working in this building besides us.

But no, I had stomped off toward the interrogation room like a child and she had followed behind in silence. Did she have this planned all along? I glance over at the two-way mirror in shame. Were the other detectives watching from the opposite side, laughing at me?

Could they see me, spread out half-naked on their interrogation table while their coworker dominated me? Was this a joke? I laugh internally at the thought. What would they think of me if they could see me like this? In every aspect of my life, I was always dominate. They bent to my will. I didn't bend to theirs—well except Olivia now. It was almost humorous, the way I was bent over the table with her working her fingers deep inside of me, showing no sign of slowing down any time soon. I could feel my release building up within me, coming on full force like a freight train.

I want to resist. I don't want her to think that she can accomplish what few others have done to me with so little effort. She's hardly trying… There are no sweet words of love coming from her lips; I'd probably be disgusted if there were. But nonetheless, there is nothing. No sweet whispers, no degrading comments, no demands, just two fingers inside of me and her warm body pressed up against my rear end.

It's almost methodical the way she works me over and as the seconds tick by I find it even harder to keep from being embarrassed. I can hear her soft pants from behind me and my mind warps them into laughter. I could just imagine her behind me, laughing as she watches my body lurch forward from every powerful thrust of her wrist. Laughing at the way my body bends to her every will, my hips pushing back against her hand despite my brain telling my body no.

But oh, my body wanted it so much. I never realized how much my body craved her touch until she was on me, in me, touching me every way I never thought possible. Imagined? Yes… Thought? No…

I choke back the scream in my throat as I feel her thumb rub right where I need her to be and then everything goes black. White lights explode behind my closed eyelids and my body convulses against both the table and my will. I didn't want her to see me like this. I didn't want her to have yet another way to embarrass me but I couldn't help letting go with her holding me.

I can feel my arousal coat her fingers, no doubt covering the wrist holding them in place. I pant heavily, the cold table no longer feeling as cool as it was before against my overheated body. She stays in place for a few minutes which I don't mind; I don't have enough energy to move yet and I would be mortified to be left alone here.

Finally my breathing steadies and the warmth in my abdomen spreads down my legs and up my chest, returning blood flow to where I need it the most. I can't stop the sharp intake of air as she slides her fingers out of me, my body clenching in response as if to keep her there forever but it's futile.

Her other hand presses up against my lower back for a moment, steadying herself, and then her soiled hand presses up against my side, just underneath my torn blouse. Her fingers spread out across my skin briefly as she pulls away, leaving the proof of my arousal across my abdomen.

Her body pulls completely away from me and I feel filthy, lying there naked on the table. I can feel her eyes watching me as I hear her readjust her utility belt and slacks. I expect her to leave me there but instead she walks back over to me and tugs my skirt back down over my hips. The skirt doesn't make it far as my legs are still splayed open from where I tried to give her as much room to maneuver as possible, so she grabs onto my hips and pulls me up straighter.

I catch myself on the desk, finally supporting some more of my weight as she tugs my skirt down the rest of the way before her hands snake around my waist and starts buttoning up my blouse for me. Within a few seconds, my shirt is completely buttoned up, minus the last two that she had popped off at the bottom of my shirt. With one hand, she tucks my blouse back into my skirt, hiding the evidence of her destructive behavior.

Her warmth abandons me once more and I finally allow a sigh of relief to escape my lips. She hands me my jacket and I quickly slip it back on, intent on getting away from her as soon as possible. Before I can leave, however, she catches my wrist, pulling me back to her briefly.

I can't help but glance at her lips, wondering if she's going to kiss me. Instead, she runs one of her hands through my hair, combing my no doubt messy blonde locks into something a bit more presentable.

She drops her hand without saying a word and nods just enough to signal to me that I was ready to leave the interrogation room. I slip out of the room as quickly as I can, hoping that my flushed cheeks won't give me away. I'm in such a rush that I completely miss the blinking red light in the corner of the interrogation room.