A/N: Ok so I wasn't going to do more but I got such great reviews I decided to let my mind wander. Well here's chapter two. I know it's scattered and a little weird and wired but I promise the next chapter will be better and infinitely smuttier. I'm going on the line of thinking that Red is possessive. And I think to an extent he is. I also think he's the kind of man that once he's gotten something, gotten a taste, especially of a long awaited item, he'd be like a dog with a bone. He'd want it, when he wants it, how he wants. And he knows Lizzie does too. So this chapter is kinda the lead up to what's going to be make up/you're mine/never so long between sexy fun times again kind of thing. Just…bear with me, its' going somewhere not sure where it's still kind PWP but…kinda not. I don't know. Don't own anything!

The sun streamed into the room, sparkling and beautiful through the glass panes of the balcony doors. Birds chirped happily, cars honked horns busy on the way to work and a soft breeze brought the early morning smell of dew and fresh bakeries.

Fuck, my head, it's pounding, Lizzie thought to herself. Her dreamscape world shattered with a screech as she came fully awake. Jackhammers replaced the chirping birds and the sun felt like it was gleefully stabbing her eyes with dull, rusty knives. She rolled over, grumbling into her pillow.

Only it wasn't her pillow.

She bolted upward, increasing the ache in her head, as memories, tastes and touches flooded her brain from the night before. Oh my. The smell of sex still hung heavily in the air. It was as if their scents had wound around each other, suffused with their passion. She began to panic. Her coworkers couldn't know, Director Cooer definitely could not know.

But she'd meant what she'd said.

Ok Lizzie, take a deep breath, don't freak out now, what's done is done, she took deep calming breaths, coaching herself through her mild panic until it subsided completely. Squinting to keep as little light from entering her corneas as possible, she looked around the suite room. The balcony off to her right was open, the beautifully paned sliding glass doors as wide as they'd go. An armchair sat diagonally from her in the corner and, thank god, her clothing was there, laundered and clean. Directly beside her sat a nightstand, a bottle of blue Gatorade and some aspirin. She quickly downed the pills and half the bottle, directing her attention to the other side of the room. She could hear a shower running. Hoping Dembe was out, she got up quickly and dressed.

She'd meant what she'd said, she didn't want to come back from that. But things were different in the harsh light of the morning and reality. He was the FBI's fourth most wanted fugitive, and though he was working with them, many of her coworkers wouldn't care if he ended up thrown in the darkest pit for his treasonous crimes.

However if she was honest with herself, the way they'd felt together…the way he'd felt against her.

Red was intense. She was intense.

They were intense together in every sense of the word.

Shame and wanton lust colored her cheeks. Shame for leaving, knowing it would bother him. Shame for wanting more. Wanting him. Wanting them. Shame that she knew in her heart of hearts she didn't care about his title or hers, and finally shame that she knew she would avoid him because she knew she wouldn't, or rather was afraid she couldn't, control herself and her reactions to him at the Post Office.

Not after a night like that. Of feeling so alive, so beautiful and reckless and….and loved.

*Three Weeks Later*

Weeks since that night. Weeks of grueling work and paranoia and her mind spiraling back downward again. she couldn't keep Red from her mind, couldn't stop him from infiltrating her dreams. It would always be dark, either in her office or in the parking garage or somewhere else, and always let at night. He would catch up to her, he would demand to know why she was avoiding him, why she went through with having sex with him, if only to turn around and seemingly try to boot him from her life.

Lizzie would always stutter, heat coloring her cheeks. Pain that she'd hurt him with her actions and desire always slipping up and down her spine in languid tendrils of electricity. He always had his jacket off too. his hat gone and his glasses in the v of his expensive and soft button up shirt. she would try to make excuses, work and taking care of Hudson and trying to realign her wrecked life but his angry green eyes always saw right through her.

He would back her up against her car, his anger melting to more primal desires. Heat would suffuse his face and being, emanating from him like a furnace and her body always reacted but always right before he would reach for her, right before his hands would greedily grab her to his body, always right before his lips reached hers in a scorching kiss to tempt Aphrodite herself, she would wake.

Elizabeth was almost at the end of her own game.

Red had tried, futily, to contact her. to see her in person, whether at work or dropping by her motel room of the week or month, always reaching out. and then he'd stopped. Red was a smart man, he knew she'd tire herself. She wasn't one to beat around and she wasn't one to play long, if at all. At least in matters like these. She would come to him. or she would go out again. or maybe she'd do both, but his Lizzie would find her way back to him. And when she did…

Lizzie stared at the wall of her motel, idly flipping channels on the old tv though she didn't pay the shows or infomercials any mind. The day had been rough, several close calls out in the field, several close calls of being cornered by Reddington. He was hurt and he was annoyed, and she could see easily through his bravado.

But she'd meant what she said, all those weeks ago, and it seemed like it'd been an eternity.

She was wired and falling again. she didn't really remember getting up or getting dressed, or the fact her outfit was almost exactly the same as the last time she'd gone to that club. She didn't remember leaving her room, locking the door or walking through the city.

She guessed she did, she wouldn't have done it without her mind obviously leading her somewhere. But it was as if it was in her dreams. The dark night and darker still clouds with the drizzling cool rain an added bonus to her surreal life. But there she was.

The neon sign flashed at her, music booming from beneath where she knew the floor was packed, the bar well stocked and where she knew she could rid herself of her riduclous thoughts.

And Red.

Yes, Red.

She flashed her ID at the bouncer and quickly descended into the club again. back through the throngs of people, past the bar and the DJ and the various couples grinding and moaning and kissing against the back wall to that back cubby where the only thing that had ever made sense to her in the last few months had taken place.

Red.

Yes, Red.

She was clearly thinking now, clearer than she'd been a few weeks ago. She didn't want an excuse to run and if she were honest with herself, that was part of the reason she'd bolted. That and fear.

"Ah, Elizabeth, I was wondering when you might grace this place with your lovely presence," his deep baritone voice bringing her back from her thoughts. He reclined, his leg crossed over his knee and his arms back against the top edge of that couch. her blue eyes, almost neon themselves in the mute strobing darkness danced between his. Mossy and green and oh so deliciously fraught with emotion and want. he smiled tightly, chewing the inside of his cheek.

Red swept his hand out before placing it back against the edge of the couch. "Please, join me."

She strode toward him, more purpose to her step now. He wanted her here, wanted her with him. she wanted him. a moment before she would have sat across his lap, his hand darted out, grabbing her wrist and pulling lightly, causing her to tumble to the couch next to him rather than on him. his grip wasn't painful, but it was tight and her eyes were locked on his tan skin, striking against her paler complexion.

"Red…" she murmured, looking at him in bewilderment. This wasn't what she wanted and she knew, judging by the fit of his expensive suit pants, it wasn't what he'd necessarily had in mind either.

"We need to talk, Lizzie," he rumbled back at her, his voice deep in his chest and his eyes locked more insistently on hers. "We need to talk, because I told you I couldn't come back from that moment, sweetheart, I told you I couldn't."

Lizzie gasped slightly, the emotion in that thick statement rolled over her in waves. He was hurt worse than she thought and his patience wore thinner than she'd imagined. She swallowed hard in mild anticipation. He was aggravated yes, and he may very well want to talk to her. However she knew him better than he thought. The muscle under his eye twitched, his lips pursed and his pulse jumped at the base of her throat.

Talking wasn't on his mind either. No this was something more, this was something deep inside him, the part of him called man, lover, the part of him that was possessive.

Raymond Reddinton was not a man accustomed to waiting. He was not a man accustomed to excessive need. He'd had lovers, many and vast. He'd tasted a need and want for a woman as much as the next gentleman. But this…this was different. This was voracious and immediate and after he'd had her, after he'd tasted her…

Raymond Reddington was not a man that denied himself either. And Elizabeth was going to learn that lesson tonight. Her eyes held his and the tension and heat grew between them, their scents and bodies responding to and off one another. The want she'd felt accumulating in the back of her mind for him burst from its designated cell, consuming her body in a flash of white hot heat. It filled her body and mind until she could only think one thing, could only want one thing. Red knew the moment it spilled forth, felt his own body reacting.

Raymond Reddinton intended to make her understand tonight that she was his and he was hers and there wasn't anything he wanted to do about it. He would make her understand the absolute all-consuming love he had for her and he would make her understand he'd wait for the world to end for her.

Elizabeth swallowed hard, feeling sparks where his fingers were still wrapped around her wrist. Somehow she knew the conversation he wanted to have wouldn't be happening here. It wouldn't' happen this evening at all, not in depth. She did know he was going to make her suffer.

And oh it would be a delicious tortuous suffering she'd gladly take. Because just like that, the wind was gone from her sails and she was done fighting them. Three weeks had been torture enough.

"Red, please," she murmured again, a might bit more strained and he relished the tightness of her voice, he relished the pulsating beat of music and lights around them, relished that he could see the color in her face and feel the thrumming of her want and body in her pulse at her wrist.

"What do you want, Elizabeth?" he stood, taking her with him and they were leaving through a serious of back hallways. His fingers still tight around her wrist.

"You," she answered simply, without hesitation. What was he getting at? Why else would she go to the one place she knew he might be after her disappearing act?

"Mm, music to my ears," he murmured with a smile and they were in his car, Dembe speeding off to whatever flavor of safe house or accommodations he was currently residing in.