Chapter One: Bad Girls, Bad Girls, Whatcha Gonna Do?
I'd known from an early age that I was adopted—how could you not in this day and age, what with the impressive technology people had successfully founded in the recent years? My mother told me that short version at five, right when I started school. She explained that some of the kids would talk about themselves coming from their mommy's tummies, blah, blah, blah. She told me that I was adopted and while I was not her or my father's biological child, I was just as loved.
When I entered high school at fourteen, she told me that my biological mother had just graduated high school herself after becoming pregnant with me, and, as an eighteen-year-old girl, didn't feel she was best suited for the job of motherhood at that time. I felt a significant amount of pain at this information, but took it all in my stride. As my high school career went on, I learned in health class that the percentage for girls becoming pregnant as a teenager went up if you were born to a teenager. I was a strong advocate for birth control from day one, and knew that, no matter what, I would never follow in my mother's footsteps.
When I graduated just months before my eighteenth birthday, my mother took me on a coveted trip to New York. I had aspirations of acting and Mom figured that I should see a real Broadway show. While I couldn't dance to save my life, I had proven to be good at acting and singing, and even got a few calls from my father's older brother's connections while we were out there. While I had been born in New York, my family had moved to Seattle when I was very young after my father's law firm wanted him to move out West to establish themselves out there. It had been 1989 when we moved out, so I was barely four years old at the time, so the adjustment period had been simple.
We saw a Broadway show and, afterwards, decided to make a trip to Manhattan to FAO Schwartz, because, seriously, we had to. Our plan was to browse and maybe pick out a few things before taking a cab to NYC and dining at Carbone. However, when we arrived at FAO Schwartz, my mother and I were not anticipating what would ultimately end up happening. I had settled upon a lovely teddy bear and my mother agreed to hold onto it for me as I was taken back towards the bathrooms, as the lines at the show had been far too long. As my mother waited for me, I could not, in a million years, comprehend what would happen to me.
I was seventeen years old, weeks from my own eighteenth birthday, when that day happened—when it happened. He must've seen me through the crowd of other kids—I don't know. I remember using the facilities but then he charged into the bathroom as I was washing my hands. I found out later that the sick bastard had put an "OUT OF ORDER" sign on the door so nobody could come in—clever son of a bitch, let me tell ya. He managed to throw my purse across the room—this was 2003, so I guess he didn't feel the need to check if I had a cell phone on me—and pin my hands behind my back, before I had a chance to break away. He held me there, tearing through my sweater tights and pulling up the above-the-knee-length skirt of my new dress and pinned me to the counter. Grunting like a dog in heat into my ear, I felt him shove himself inside me.
Naturally, I tried to scream; I'd only dated three boys in high school—Bobby Thompson, Derrick Howard, and Lewis Monroe—and I hadn't slept with any of them, or anyone, for that matter. Writhing against him in an attempt to get away from him, he chuckled—maybe he thought I wanted him. Having no experience in this field, all I could do was do my best to look away from my pathetic expression in the mirror in front of me, however, he thought of that, too. Gripping me tightly and angling my neck the way he wanted, he forced me to witness my attack; he also manages to choke me every few seconds as well. Then after maybe three or four minutes, which seemed like hours, he pulled away from me and cleaned himself off—my blood had gotten on him—and left the bathroom quickly and quietly.
Shaking and nearly blinded by my tears, I managed to pull my skirt down and dash over to my phone. I'd read somewhere that your first instinct if you're assaulted is to take a shower—that is probably the worst thing you can do. Fumbling with my purse, I quickly lock the bathroom door to prevent him coming back if he changed his mind at letting me live. Then, I open my bag and get my slim, silver cell phone out and open it quickly, the numbers 9-1-1 appearing on my screen as soon as I've entered them onto the keypad.
"9-1-1, what is your emergency?" asks the woman on the other end.
"I've just been raped," I whisper, managing to form the words. "I was raped... I need help, please..."
"Okay, we can help you. Where are you?"
"FAO Schwartz in the ladies' room," I reply quickly.
"What's your name, honey?" the woman asks.
"Maggie," I reply. "Maggie Isabelle Holbrook..."
"All right, Maggie, I'm setting up your exact location into the database and dispatching an ambulance out to you now," she replies efficiently. "Can you tell me how old you are?"
"Seventeen," I reply. "I'm seventeen. I just graduated high school a week ago," I manage to get out, sobs choking my words.
"Shit," the woman says quietly. "You from New York, Maggie?"
"No," I reply. "I'm on vacation here with my mom. It was a graduation present," I manage to keep talking. "We're from Seattle."
"Dammit," the woman says in that same quiet voice. "Okay. Where are you? Are you out in the open?"
"No," I reply. "I've locked myself in the ladies' room... I'm scared that he's going to come back..."
"Okay, Maggie, everything's going to be fine. They're going to be there very soon; I promise you..."
"Can I speak to a woman?" I ask. "Please, ma'am..."
"I'll let them know about your request," she replies.
"Them?" I want to know.
"Manhattan Special Victims' Unit," she says promptly.
Officers arrived just after an ambulance arrives; they see the blood loss and deduce that I am—or, rather, was—a virgin and quickly haul me onto a stretcher. I hear my mom screaming that she'll kill whoever did this to me, and one of the EMT's decides that she should be put into a cab. A woman with short, brown hair, similar to mine, states to a man of tall height and pale eyes that she'll ride along with me and climbs in beside me in the ambulance. I hear the squeak of the doors shutting behind her and then a light slap-slap as someone—presumably the man she spoke to—urges the ambulance to get to the hospital.
"Maggie?" says the woman, and I turn to look at her. "My name is Olivia, I'm a police detective with the Special Victims' Unit. Can you tell me what happened to you?"
I sigh, nodding, the tears escaping. "The son of a bitch raped me," I reply.
She nods, her eyes understanding. "I know you're angry, Maggie, but the sooner you tell me everything, the sooner I can get out of your hair." She takes a moment for her words to sink in before continuing. "Some of the officers noticed that there was an "OUT OF ORDER" sign on the bathroom door. Do you know anything about that?"
I shake my head vehemently. "No!" I cry. "There wasn't when I went back there, I swear! An employee showed me the restroom and assured me that everything back there was working fine..."
She nods again. "Okay. So you went in there to use the bathroom. You said an employee showed you. Did you get his name?"
I nod. "Yeah. Karl, with a 'K'. He wore a nametag."
"Wow. Quick remembering..."
"I want to be an actress," I reply. "I did a few commercials as a child and had to learn how to memorize things quickly. I was doing lead roles by middle school and got to play Annie." I shrug. "Memorization comes easily to me." "Well, that could be helpful to us," Olivia encourages. "Then what happened next, after Karl showed you to the bathroom? Did you end up using the bathroom or did the man follow you in there quickly?" She senses my anxiety before she reaches out to take my hand. "I know it's not easy, and I can't begin to imagine what's going through your mind, but please, tell me."
I lower my eyes then, and feel my hands shaking. "He pinned me to the bathroom counter after I washed my hands," I say quietly. "He got my hands wrapped around my waist and pinned them at the base of my waist. He... He ripped my tights," I say, pulling up my skirt ever so slightly to show her the damage done by the perfect stranger. I let go of the skirt at the sight of blood, shivering as I feel a new set of tears coming.
"Take your time," Olivia says, jotting a few things down on one of those miniature notepads you can find at any drug store check-out.
"He forced himself inside me, and then he managed to wrap his other hand up around my body and managed to clamp my mouth shut while holding my neck in place..." More tears form as I force myself to get the words out. "He wanted me to watch him rape me," I whisper.
"Very good," Olivia says, shaking her head at my plight. "Did he do anything else after that?"
"He laughed when I started crying," I confess. "He slapped my ass a few times and that's when..." My eyes widen then, recalling something.
"What, Maggie?" Olivia asked. "What happened?"
"He spoke to me," I whisper. "I'm just remembering it now...I'm sorry."
"That's okay," Olivia assures me. "People who are raped will frequently remember key details later. Do you remember what he said?"
"He said, 'Every first time's gotta be special. Bet you're happy it was me, huh? I wanna thank you for being so sweet to me'. Then he said, 'Hit me up sometime', and put his number in my hand... I think I dropped it into my purse..."
Olivia's eyes widen then as she immediately pulls a pair of disposable gloves onto her hands and grabs an evidence bag. She searches my purse, finding the scrap of paper with a number written in Sharpie. "Great," she says, putting it into the evidence bag. "We'll call the number, see what we can get, if we can manage to dust it for fingerprints."
I nod. "Thanks, Olivia," I reply.
She returns my nod. "Don't mention it. Just doing my job."
The doctors were very gentle and understanding with me that day, and were able to give me some drugs not only to calm me down, but also to prevent pregnancy and STD's. Part of me was reluctant to take the anti-pregnancy pill, as I called it, but I ultimately decided against it. I didn't want to be world-famous for getting raped and then keeping my rapists' baby. I'd known of people who had done that, and I am sure the mental complications that ensued were lifelong. I was extremely grateful to Det. Olivia Benson, who took me and my mother out for dinner at this wonderful French restaurant called Le Bernardin, where she was an old friend of Chef Éric Ripert. I told her of my dream of becoming an actress and she was very interested in my theatrical productions throughout high school, but I felt as if I was no longer passionate about it on the whole.
I was told that the rapist had been caught and, since I was still a minor, I was permitted—after picking him out from a line-up—to give a video-taped statement to the district attorney so as I wouldn't have to testify in court. As soon as that was signed and sealed, I said goodbye to Det. Benson and flew back to Seattle from New York, anxious to complete the rest of my summer vacation in peace. Upon my return home, I officially wrote a letter to The Julliard School of Drama, where I'd been accepted, and wrote them that I would not be attending, apologizing most profusely, but decided, ultimately, that acting wasn't my true path.
Naturally, my lawyer father and my plastic surgeon mother didn't take too kindly to me shirking my supposed life-long dream. I managed to stay out of their hair for about a week, due to their heavy summer workload, and when the whole topic of a family meeting loomed large, I was ready. I'd done the necessary research, and suffice it to say when Jay-Jay and Stella joined us as well—Jay-Jay having just completed his Master's Degree in Medicine, and Stella, her Bachelor's Degree in Law—none of them were expecting what I was going to say. Just as my parents were about to launch into a tirade, I began to speak.
"Yes, I said no to Julliard, there's no hiding that," I said calmly. "However, I do have a plan. I've done the necessary research and I've been officially accepted into the Law Enforcement Academy of Seattle. I'm going to be a cop."
My father's jaw dropped. "What?"
"You can't be serious!" my mother twittered.
"It's dangerous work, Maggie," Stella put in.
"Cool," Jay-Jay had to say.
"Before you say anything else, I spent the last week preparing for the LSAT, just to see how well I could do. I scored a 180," I say softly.
Stella gasped. "I scrapped by with a 165, and I crammed for weeks. You only studied for a week and got a 180?!" she cried, jealous.
I shrugged. "Memorization always came easily to me," I reply. "I'm planning on getting a Bachelor's, at the very least, in Criminal Law. I want to be a police detective, ultimately, and plan to rise through the ranks as my superiors see fit. I know it's crazy, but since my attack, I want to help people. I don't just want to make people laugh and cry—that's not my goal. But this, combined with my private French lessons and Spanish courses at school, I'm a worthy candidate. I faxed over my transcript the other day, and they're very impressed with me. They are more than willing to accommodate me taking Criminal Law courses while getting my police license, and it'll shave off one year of education. I'll be done and on patrol within two years."
"Criminal Law doesn't take only two years," Stella says, rather smugly, crossing her arms and looking rather pleased with herself.
I fix a smile upon my face. "I know. But I'm going to take on double the work load and get the degree in two years instead of three."
"Honey, you don't need to convince us," Dad says with a smile. "It seems as if you've put a lot of thought into this, and we can afford it. Hell, it'll be a lot cheaper than Julliard. You're going in-state."
"Hey!" Jay-Jay says, mock-hurt. "I thought you were happy I got into Columbia and Stella was doing Yale..."
"Of course we are," Mom says quickly. "I guess..."
"Mom?" I ask, peering closer at her. "Do you think being a cop is a man's job? I mean, I know some people would consider at doctor to be one as well..."
She sighs, shaking her head. "No, honey. I just always thought the spotlight is where you wanted to be..."
I shrug. "Fact is, things change, Mom. Sorry."
The two years flew by, and within weeks of each other, I was given a degree in Criminal Law, as well as my official title of Officer Maggie Holbrook. After I was working in Seattle for about six weeks, I decided I would go to the superior officer to request a transfer. I set up a meeting to be held in late June, and knew full well it could be met with controversy. However, my grades in the academy, as well as my Criminal Law courses, we enough to turn the officer's head. Although he was a hard man, he seemed to sense something within me, and I was allowed to transfer to New York after the summer.
I had been asked a year and a half ago to be Maid of Honor in Stella's wedding; I knew I had to at least stay in Seattle for that. Stella's husband, Baxter, was a lovely, albeit safe, man for Stella to marry. Baxter had known the family for years and was Jay-Jay's best friend growing up. He had just completed his residency at a local hospital, and had elected to be a pediatrician. Baxter and Stella were formally married in mid-July, just weeks before I was due—at last—to finally make my move to New York.
Stella wore an organza dress with a tulle skirt and thin little spaghetti straps, her blonde curls cascading down her back. A small tiara made of pearls, to go with her wedding ring, rested in the dead-center of her head, a thin veil encrusted with pearls as well resting behind it. Her pale pink lips contrasted to the lovely dress and, of course, her fancy church shoes went along for the ride as well. Her fingers and toes matched her lips, and her eyes were given the smoky affect that all the supermodels seemed to want.
Baxter was done up in a traditional suit, and stood beside his Best Man, Jay-Jay, as well as my ex-boyfriend, Jasper, who I had seen for a few months in my first year of college and the academy. Jasper was now a fire-fighter and had spurned my dream of joining the force, more of the mind that women belonged in the kitchen than wielding the barrel of a gun. He was now dating, coincidentally enough, a bridesmaid of Stella's called Courtney, who just so happened to be a member of Stella's college sorority.
The ceremony was lavish and wonderful, even to a rather cynical nineteen-year-old like me. We said our goodbyes as Stella and Baxter drove off to the cruise ship Downtown which would take them to Hawaii and then to the Caribbean for two months. I found I was not jealous as Jay-Jay went off with Jasper and Courtney, all of whom shared a condo up north when Jay-Jay was in town. I waved them off before climbing in my own car, prepared to follow my parents' home. I knew they would keep my car safe for me until I made detective, because, as I'm sure you all know, nobody drives in New York.
The day had finally arrived and as I boarded the plane a little after 6:00 a.m., I wished that I could've said a better goodbye to my mother. The night before, they had held a going-away party in my honor, with the all-new program of Skype assisting Stella and Baxter in being there. Jay-Jay, Jasper, Courtney, my parents, both sets of grandparents—Mom's parents, Josephine and Robert, also known as Grandma and Grandpa were there, along with Dad's parents, Marie and Frank, also known as Grand'Mere and Pop-Pop—as well as other miscellaneous friends over the years came to party as well.
I found myself sitting alone, reflecting on all that had happened after graduating from high school. I'd been to New York; been assaulted; turned down Julliard; gone to police academy; graduated from police academy; gotten a degree in Criminal Law; been a police officer; and now I was going to New York to live out my dream of becoming a detective. Things had come full circle; I'd been born in New York, after all, so it seemed fitting that I was moving back, right?
"This is your pilot speaking; we are now landing in New York. Please put your tray tables into their upright positions as we make our decent into LaGuardia Airport. It is a lovely seventy-five degrees here in New York this afternoon; the local time is approximately 1:37 p.m.; we'll be landing in about ten or fifteen minutes. We thank you for flying with Delta Airlines today, and we hope you'll choose us the next time you fly."
I stretched my legs out in front of me; I'd gotten a first-class ticket and was glad I'd splurged ever so slightly; taking a nap in a coach seat was brutal! When the seatbelt sign flickered off, and once we'd landed properly on the runway, and we were given permission to do so, I hopped to my feet. Slipping my carry-on bag over my shoulder, I popped open the overhead compartment and retrieved my duffel bag from up top. Slipping in line with the rest of the first-class passengers, I waited until the okay was given and slipped out with them and made my way in the direction of baggage claim.
I got one of those cart-like contraptions and put my duffel onto it, pushing it along until we arrived at baggage claim. I soon found my luggage set and slipped the small, medium, and large bags onto it before tying my sweater around my waist and going outside to the pickup area. A taxi was waiting and the driver helped me with my bags before I got in and gave him the address to my new penthouse apartment near Central Park. The whole ride was no more than twenty minutes and the ride was less than thirty dollars; I gave the cabbie a fifty and told him to keep the change; he seemed shocked and delighted.
"What do you do?" he asked as we exited the cab together and as the doorman summoned some bellboys to step forward and help with my bags.
I grin at him. "I'm a cop," I reply, sticking out my hand at him. "Officer Maggie Holbrook. Nice to meet you."
"Danny Catalini," he replies. "Good to meet you."
I wave goodbye to Danny and slip inside with the bellboys, nodding at the doorman in thanks for letting me in. We walk towards the elevator and I tell them that my address is 220 Central Park, the Penthouse Suite, and they look at each other in shock. I manage to suppress a giggle as we step inside and ride up to the seventeenth floor. I have my key already and quickly unlock the door, telling them to just place the bags in the living room; I had them each a twenty before they leave and they look very pleased with themselves.
I decide to unpack then, and—after three hours—my new home looks wonderful. I then decide to take a much-needed shower, and then decide since that it is only Friday night and I don't work until Monday, I'll treat myself to dinner out. After hooking up my computer, my hair meanwhile drying in a towel atop my head, I look up local restaurant (as Yelp would not be invented for another year). I find one called The Carlyle Restaurant, located in The Rosewood Hotel, and decide to give that a try. I pull on a black strapless dress that I own, along with a pair of heels and a wrap, before putting a coordinated purse over my arm. Liking what I see, I pull a brush through my mostly-dry hair, tossing it a little for good measure before putting on some makeup and heading out.
I hail a cab to take me down to the restaurant and slip inside, to a mad house. I bite my lip, wondering what I'm going to do; not only am I starving, but there seem to be no tables open. I'm just about to leave when a gentleman in his forties comes forward from a table in the center of the dining room and pats the maître d on the shoulder. He nods towards me and I step forward; there is something about this man, and something tells me that I know him.
"Maggie?" the man asks, stepping forward.
I nod. "Yeah, that's me. I know you..."
He grins. "It's Det. Stabler," he says, putting out his hand. "Call me Elliot. What are you doing back in New York?"
"I live here," I reply. "I just moved back today."
"School?" he asks. "Liv, my partner, told me that you were really into acting and that's how you remembered all of the details of your case."
I shake my head. "No, that dream died long ago." I raise my hand upwards and salute him. "Officer Maggie Holbrook at your service, Elliot."
Elliot claps a hand on my shoulder. "Good for you!" he says. "Hey, the department and I are having some dinner. Liv's here, the captain, plus detectives Finn and Munch and our psychiatrist, Dr. George Huang and Casey Novak, our ADA. Why don't you come over? We're just having drinks now. Come join us."
"Oh, I don't know... I couldn't..."
"Come on... You want to raise ranks, don't you?"
I nod. "Yes. I want to make detective."
He grins. "Well, come and schmooze then. It'll look good, I promise."
I sigh. "All right," I say, taking his offered arm. "I mean, if you really insist that I do."
"Come on," Elliot says, pulling me over. "You're one of us now." He takes me to the table, where I'm shocked to see a place has already been provided for me. "Liv, look who I found," Elliot says to Det. Benson.
"Maggie!" Det. Benson cries, getting to her feet and standing awkwardly. "I'd give you a hug, but..."
I shrug, grinning then. "I love hugs, really."
"Great," Det. Benson says, pulling me into a hug. She's let her hair grow out some, complete with pale brown highlights; she looks amazing. She pulls back and looks me up and down. "You look good," she proclaims.
"Thanks," I reply. "I'm an officer now."
"No acting?" she asks, putting me into a middle seat, between her and Elliot. "I thought that was your dream..."
"You're sweet to remember, detective," I reply.
"Olivia, please," she says.
"Oliva, you're sweet to remember. But I decided to become a cop within weeks of going to Seattle. So I got that, plus a Criminal Law degree, and graduated the academy in two years. I want to make detective in a couple of years, and I thought I'd joint New York's Finest in the meantime. So here I am. I just told Elliot that I moved here today—this afternoon, in fact." I turn to the table then. "It's so nice to meet more individuals involved with the Special Victims' Unit."
A balding man who could easily be six-feet fall, smiles; he has kind, dark brown eyes and wears an elegant and stylish suit. "Capt. Donald Cragen, call me Don," he says, nodding at me. "From the way Elliot and Olivia talk about you, you have an amazing memory, Maggie."
"Thank you, Don," I say. "That's so nice of you to say."
"John Munch," says the man next to him; he has salt and pepper hair, glasses, and a leather-like face, though he smiles, making his brown eyes look kind. While his suit is not as stylish as Don's, he still dresses well. "I worked Homicide before SVU, so let me know if you want any pointers."
"Thank you, John," I say, smiling.
"Odafin Tutuola," says the African American to John's left.
I raise my eyebrows. "Wow, that's certainly not a name you hear every day, now is it?" I ask, much to the amusement of everyone at the table.
"Call me Finn," he replies, in order to keep from laughing. His hair has been slicked back and hangs in a short, braided ponytail resting just above his dress shirts' collar. He wears no tie, just a dinner jacket and a dress shirt with, I'm assuming, matching pants.
"Casey Novak," says the woman beside Olivia. She has strawberry blonde hair and dark blue eyes; although she smiles and appears friendly, she also seems to possess a no-nonsense attitude. "Great to meet you, Maggie."
"Nice to meet you, too, Casey," I reply, turning to George Huang. "And you must be the esteemed Dr. Huang. We were reading your dissertations of your argument of a heterosexual couple raising children versus a homosexual couple in the Criminal Law class. Fascinating work, sir; I applaud you."
He seems touched; he is of Asian descent and has black eyes, a straight nose, and thin lips. "Call me George, please, Maggie," he replies. "I'll probably want to pick your brain at some point, but tell me this: Are there any other lawyers in your family?"
"Yes, I wondered that, too," Casey puts in.
"Yes, two," I reply. "My father is a lawyer and my older sister is a lawyer. Both Yale Law alumni," I say, blushing. "My sister wasn't too happy with my LSAT score, I'll be honest," I say, letting out a nervous giggle.
"I did fine, above average," Casey says. "I got a 175, which is ten points above what most law schools look for..."
"Stella got 165," I reply. "She was very upset about my 180 score, probably due to the fact that she crammed for months and I did the studying in one weekend." I shrug. "But, what can you do? I'm adopted."
"Adopted?" Olivia asks, her brows knitting together.
I nod. "Yes. I don't know anything about my birth family, other than my mother was eighteen and I was born in New York." I shrug. "Doesn't matter; I'm happy. I also want to know some detective secrets," I say. "Tell me all."
Elliot asked to walk me back to my place after dinner and I accepted. As we walked he told me some more about the department and when he got to my door, I invited him in. He accepted and came up with me, and I showed him to my living room and we sat on the same couch.
"Can I ask something personal?" I ask him.
He nods. "Sure."
"I remember that you wore a wedding ring..."
He sighs and nods. "Yeah. My wife and I separated in January. She took the kids, we've got four. It's a long story."
I find myself taking his hand. "I'm so sorry... What are your kids like?"
He smiles a little at that. "Well, first there was Maureen—we accidentally got pregnant with her in high school. I married Kathy and joined the Marines before joining the force. Then there was Kathleen, then our twins, Richard and Elizabeth who are just the most rambunctious little monsters..."
"I notice you didn't say 'devils'," I say softly. "You're Catholic?"
He nods. "I am."
I nod. "Me, too."
He lowers his eyes, taking his thumb and tracing my knuckles with his finger. "I'm sure you left a brokenhearted guy back in Seattle..."
I shake my head. "No. The last guy I dated has already moved on; it was almost a year ago now." I shrug. "I don't date much."
"Huh," Elliot says, processing that information. His eyes lock with mine, and I sense something pass between us then. He leans in and kisses me, and I find myself kissing him back. He reaches out and brings my arms up around his neck, and I find the charge that passes between us to be electric. He leans me back down onto the couch and I lock my legs around his waist, not caring how this makes me look in the slightest. "Where's your...?"
"Down the hall to the left," I reply.
Effortlessly, Elliot lifts me to him and carries me to my bedroom, putting me down upon my bed and proceeding to take off my clothes. I sit up then and untie his tie and help him in throwing off his dinner jacket. He gets out of his pants and soon is standing there in nothing but an undershirt and a pair of boxers; and I felt my desire ebb within me. I'd quickly done the math, and it didn't matter that I was five years younger than his daughter; we both wanted this. I dug in my nightstand drawer and got him out a condom (I'd been on the pill since I was sixteen and never skipped one) and lay back, naked, waiting for him. He undressed fully and climbed on top of me, adjusting himself and putting the rubber onto his appendage, a devilish smile framing his lips.
I return the smile as he angles himself appropriately, and then he is suddenly inside me, and I let out a yelp at how good and satisfying it feels. "Elliot," I whisper over and over again.
After two hours of heady lovemaking, I slip on a pair of underwear and a T-shirt as Elliot dresses himself. I walk him to the door, pulling on a sweater as I go, and open it up for him. He turns around then, the same look in his eyes. "We'll have to do this again sometime," he tells me.
I nod. "I'd like that." I stand on my toes and kiss him; I feel delicious inside as he pulls me firmly by my waist to taste every bit of me. When he lets me go, I let out a sad little sigh of yearning, but he tilts my chin up.
"I got your number, don't worry," he says with a smile. "I'll call you soon. Okay? I promise, Maggie."
I smile back. "I know."
"Goodnight, Maggie." He leans down to kiss me again.
I keep ahold of his hand as he walks away from me, waving to him. "Goodnight, Elliot," I reply.