Chapter Two

Her breathing was fast, shallow and hard. Her pupils were dilated, what he could see of them beneath her half-closed eyelids. Her arms immediately folded across her chest to hide what the shiny fabric had only served to accentuate.

"What the fuck do you want?" Her tone would have been forbidding had her voice not been so low and sultry.

Her choice of words was exactly right and he almost told her so. Elliot tried not to smile because, for the time being at least, his motive for being there seemed terribly cruel. Still, as he felt the smile spreading anyway, he fully intended to tease the shit out of her.

Since he'd decided only a moment earlier that he was going to make it up to her.

"You dropped your phone. I thought you might need it." Normally he would have held it out to her, perhaps even dropped it right on the table next to the door where he knew she normally left it. But he thought better of it, waiting for her to sigh angrily and hold out her hand for it. He really, really tried to fight back the grin as he placed the device in her hand, using the motion as the perfect excuse to brush his fingers against the tender skin of her wrist.

She nearly yelped as she snatched her wrist away.

He felt he deserved some sort of acting award as he looked at her, fake concern furrowing his brow. "What's wrong?" He stepped forward, inviting himself in and invading her personal space at the same time.

She twisted away when he went to touch her shoulder. It was too bad, he thought, because he would have been able to feel heat of her skin through her robe. She took a step backwards too. "I'm fine. Good night."

"Are you sure?" Even though he knew better, part of him wished she'd give voice to what they already both knew. He would have loved for her to ask him to do what he already had every intention of doing.

She nodded, turning away. "Yeah, thanks." She started to walk toward the hallway, obviously expecting Elliot would shut the door behind him, obviously expecting that he would leave, obviously expecting that his intention was absolutely not what it actually was.

Just to add to the torture, which he expected would be worth it, he waited until she'd disappeared from sight. "Hey, Liv?" It was a very unhappy Olivia who reappeared around the corner, sharp daggers in her eyes. "Could I get some coffee? I don't want to fall asleep on the road."

She chewed on her bottom lip as she stared at him. Nodding, she crossed in front of him to go to the kitchen. It seemed like she was almost about to cry as she reached for the coffee pot and Elliot decided that enough was enough. He would have loved to make her wait even longer, feeling no guilt at all, but she'd been waiting much longer than he'd been playing and she was at the end of her rope.

She was filling the pot with water when he quietly stepped up behind her. His left hand reached out, covering hers and guiding the pot down to rest in the sink. With his right, he shut off the water, trapping her body flush against his.

He leaned down so that his husky whisper fell right against her ear. "I don't really want any coffee."

She didn't answer, but he felt the tremor that ran through her from head to toe.

Her entire body was shaking when he pressed closer, pushing himself fully against her. There was nothing else to say because his actions were saying enough. His hands moved slowly, starting on hers and only barely making contact with her skin as they skimmed up her arms. Elliot forced his eager hands to take their time, expecting that she would issue a protest. As far as he'd ever been able to tell, their relationship had been ruled by inertia – it just kept going along at its own rate unchanged by pretty much anything that had happened over the years. But there was something in that steady pace, something so strong and reliable, that both were loathe to change. Whether good or bad at any given time, their partnership was unchanging; a static, unwavering, absolute standard.

Which made it a little frightening for him to be in the driver's seat to make such a change.

He knew he could walk away. He could leave things the way they were and apologize for touching her. It hadn't gotten so far that they couldn't forget about it. Things could immediately return to the familiar level of comfort they'd known for years and that sounded rather inviting. But at the same time, he knew he couldn't, wouldn't, leave her. She was perfectly able to take care of things herself, he knew that, but she deserved to have someone take care of it for her.

And for some reason that had never before possessed him, Elliot Stabler desperately wanted to be the man that did it.

As soon as his hands reached her elbows, they moved in, abandoning her arms in favor of her waist. They danced along the tie of her robe, partly waiting for her demand that they freeze, partly disbelieving that such a demand had not yet been made. Certainly if she was able to seize his consciousness completely, she was able to hold the attention of a better, unmarried man. Amazed that he was being permitted to touch her, even if she was as desperate as anyone ever had been, he savored every minute of being close to her. He tried to memorize the feeling of her body, the way it molded to his, the heavier scent of her perfume when his face pressed so close to hers. Her hair was soft against his ear, her skin even more so.

He stopped when he found the knot. If she was going to protest, he figured it would most likely be then. Untying her robe was the first step beyond forget it and walk away territory. He could still walk away, she could still say to stop, but it would have changed. The action would stand as rejected, not erased. She said nothing, made no attempt to pull away.

What she did, in fact, was practically the opposite. Her head dropped back as her face shifted to the right, letting her forehead settle against his neck. She sighed silently, only the rush of her hot breath on his throat clued him in to her acceptance, her acknowledgement, her permission.

Sensing that was pretty much all the answer he was going to get, he went back to work loosening the knot. He barely felt the light fabric as it slipped through his hands. The robe fell open, giving him freedom to touch her anywhere. He paused again, slightly overwhelmed by it all. He'd been the one to start it, he'd been the one to reach for her, he'd been the one to decide it was going to happen, but it was still too much, too fast. Somewhere deep down, he truly had expected to be rebuffed. He had reached for her, knowing there was at least a fifty-fifty chance that she would turn him away. And the way he'd gone about it even, baring her body, touching her from behind, while he remained fully clothed and out of her reach, had increased the odds that she would refuse him. He would have expected her to want to be in control, to be on top.

He smiled as he turned his mouth toward her, skimming his lips lightly over her temple. She was letting him have the upper hand, something he intuitively knew she rarely, if ever, did in any situation, let alone an intimate one that left her vulnerable. He was going to pay her back for that trust.

And he would pay her well.

He moved slowly, carefully, respectfully as his fingertips just barely skimmed along the taut skin of her stomach. He didn't know what to say. There were no words to describe how he felt. Nothing would convey exactly what he wanted her to know. He wasn't even sure he knew what he wanted to tell her. His hands seemed to know a language all their own, one he was confident would translate to her understanding. His fingers could communicate with her better than his voice could.

They moved reverently across her body, learning the texture of her skin, exploring the newly discovered territory that had always remained hidden, forbidden. The situation was so new, so unexpected. There was nothing for him to rely on, nothing remotely familiar, nothing even in the same realm for him to compare. It wasn't as though there had been a series of dates, each one growing in both confidence and closeness, until they'd reached a point where such complete openness was merely a small turn on the dial. There hadn't even been a flirtatious period, where he could at least acclimate to the possibility of an impending change.

He could only use his instincts to decide how to touch her, where to move next. And he could only determine that his instincts were right by gauging her reaction. He questioned the measurement when he realized that he hadn't interpreted any touch as being less pleasurable than the one before it, until he recalled how she'd been acting all night. In her heated state, he understood that everything felt wonderful. Another man might have used that to his own advantage, let it be an excuse to be less careful than he might normally would have been. Not Elliot. He felt it was a reason to be more cautious, more delicate, more vigilant. Because he didn't ever want her to think back on it and regret her decision to trust him. Left up to him, and it did appear to be, she would only remember feeling worshiped and honored and special and adored. He wanted her to know, in retrospect, that she'd made the right decision to entrust herself, her body, to him.

The first noise came from her, sounding almost stolen from her throat. A moan, soft and pained, filled the heated air between them when he found her breasts. He didn't like it. It wasn't a happy sound. It was nervous, unsure, as though she wasn't quite convinced of her decision yet. Perhaps a fear that his actions were part of deliberate teasing, a continuation of his earlier game. Perhaps an expectation that he would suddenly revert to their normal roles and leave her even more wound up that she had been. He hated that her trust in him faltered, but he understood it. He recognized how exposed, how defenseless, he would feel if their positions were reversed. She wanted, needed, to be reassured.

Once again he turned his face toward her, his lips pressing a bit harder into the delicate skin of her forehead. "Shhh, I've got you."

As if to illustrate his point, he let his fingers run over her nipples, using a bit more pressure than he'd previously dared, allowing her to feel that his intent was not as hesitant as his delicate touch had lead her to believe. His hands lifted her breasts, feeling their weight, rubbing his thumbs over their erect peaks. Her body shifted, twisted against him, as though she was still considering running away from him. Surely she could work out her frustration in a much quicker manner; it was her body and she would know exactly where and how and when to touch it. But the payoff would be so much better if she simply let him, if she could trust him enough to let go.

His stretched his chin over her forehead to rest on her hair, comforting her, shielding her. "Relax, I'll take care of you, Liv."

He felt her make the decision. He felt her body pause, even the trembling that hadn't stopped since he'd first reached for her. And then she relaxed. She gave in and decided to trust him. Her arms lifted from where she'd rested them on the counter, her hands coming to land on his forearms. Not guiding, not pushing. Just resting. Waiting. Trusting.

He smiled at the cabinets in front of him, reveling not only in the contact that he'd never truly imagined his partner would allow him to have, but in the complete trust she'd offered him. His hands continued to fondle her breasts, rubbing and massaging and pinching, ever so lightly. Her body squirmed, wiggling against his, but it was different than it had been. It was impatience, enthusiasm, encouragement. She wanted more. His left hand slowly moved down, tracing over her stomach and hip and down the outside of her thigh. It moved slowly, probably painfully so to her, toward her inner thigh, just barely brushing his fingers against her right thigh before retreating to the outside. He felt her shift again, asking him without a word to stop teasing her.

Rather than moving all the way back up, his left hand stopped at her waist. His arm stretched around her, his left hand settling snugly in the curve of her right hip. He bent his right leg, lifting hers in the process, using the leverage to shift her to the left side. He knew his left arm could easily support her. And he needed his right hand free.

He'd teased her enough accidentally. He'd only added insult to injury with the bullshit about the coffee, short-lived as that had been. It seemed that even caressing her breasts was too much teasing for her liking. He wanted to take his time, exploring her and learning her and possessing her. But she was too keyed up, too uncomfortable to enjoy it and he wasn't about to take any pleasure from touching her body when she wasn't finding pleasure in it as well. His right hand moved purposefully, barely lingering long enough to identify where it was as it moved toward the junctureof her thighs. Her legs parted to allow him entrance as her whimper reached his ears. He wasn't about to make her wait another minute.

At first, only one finger dusted through the dark hair, sliding easily along her body. Had the situation been less intense or maybe simply not their first time, he would have laughed or at least mentioned the moisture he found there. He'd been exactly right about why she'd been so uncomfortable in the car; he would have been miserable himself if he'd had to work feeling like he'd had an accident. He could easily envision the panties she'd stripped from her body, soaked with her fluids. But he said nothing, understanding that she was already too insecure about her physical state, that her trust on this level was simply too new, too fragile to sustain even good natured joking.

And feeling that wetness between her legs, knowing that much had accumulated since he'd knocked on the door, he knew why she'd been hesitant to trust him – because she was beyond desperate, because she needed the release that badly, because she would beg him if he were to stop. He knew she'd die before she'd beg anyone for anything.

But she would beg him.

It was a power that scared him.

But it also encouraged him to make sure he didn't disappoint her. He wished he had the words to explain. She didn't have to beg him; she only needed to let him.

One finger slipped deeper, separating, searching. He hadn't even had time to realize he'd found the swollen bundle of nerves when her body tightened. Her shoulders pressed back against his chest as her pelvis pushed forward against his hand. The move was entirely unconscious, he knew, because it threw her body completely off balance, shifting her center of gravity to somewhere under the middle of her back where she had no means of supporting it. Luckily, he'd been prepared for her to react, and his left arm, which was still tight around her waist, easily absorbed her weight, bracing her lithe body with his chest.

He wanted to take it slow, to prove in a sadistic, chauvinistic way that he could drag out her pleasure for an unbelievable length of time. But he knew that, in her current state, to do so would only be mean, and would likely result in her despising him and never, ever letting him lay his hands on her ever again. It wasn't a trade-off he was willing to make.

Not with the nearly painful need he felt for her. His own body was almost as wound up as hers. He was fighting back the tremors that threatened to run through him at every tiny movement of her body. His erection had reached beyond uncomfortable, straining against his pants. He appeased his own need as best he could by pressing himself against her ass, allowing each of her movements to translate into exquisitely agonized pleasure for him. But that was all the thought he gave to himself; he wasn't there for his own needs. He was there for her.

And he was going to prove that.