I just wanted to take a moment to say THANK YOU for all the supportive reviews... If I'm really heading down a wrong path I hope you will tell me, but nevertheless THIS is the story in my head and so THIS is what's getting written.
Olivia glanced over her shoulder when Barba—that is, Rafael—laughed, but she couldn't see what had amused him so. And, quite frankly, she didn't care—she just wanted him to stop laughing, because the sound of it was twisting her insides up. Although at this point just about everything was ratcheting up her need. Coming here to his domain had probably been a colossal mistake. Her insides had been twisted up from the moment she stepped into his apartment and his scent surrounded her.
Actually, no. She'd been tied up in desperate knots of lust ever since he'd held the building door for her and she'd had to brush past him to enter.
The PT-141 was really doing a number on her brain. She felt like she might actually die if she didn't have some kind of sexual encounter soon; and yet, she was terrified to start, because she feared she'd never stop. Not until she was unconscious or Barba—Rafael—threw her out.
She stared out at the city, clenching and unclenching her fists at her sides. The bite of her nails had been helping to focus her thoughts, but anymore, the pain was its own sort of pleasure. And she wondered if Rafael ever liked to be rough when he—
"Is that coffee?" she demanded, digging her nails into her palms as hard as she could.
He stood quickly, tucking something into his pocket as he did so. "Yes. I thought maybe it may help, uh, sober you up."
Olivia gave him a look. "I was injected with the liquid form of a drug that is supposed to be sniffed, like a nasal mist. I don't think there's anything that will 'sober me up'." She immediately regretted her words when he looked like a kicked puppy. "But, might as well try, right?" she added in as bright a tone as she could muster. "It's not like I'll be sleeping—" She stopped talking before her brain could go to its logical conclusion of why she wouldn't be sleeping…and why he wouldn't, either.
She followed him into his kitchen, desperately trying not to stare at his ass as he walked. She wanted to put her hands on him, follow the curve of his bum, maybe press him up against his counter and—
"Aaugh!" She reached up and tugged sharply on a handful of her own hair. The pain brought her thoughts back in line temporarily. Except now Rafael was staring at her like he wasn't sure whether to fight or flee. "Maybe some bread, too?" she offered. If it helped soak up booze in the body's system, maybe it would help with this too. She accepted a mug of coffee from him and then tried—and failed—not to watch him stretch and bend as he searched for a suitable carbohydrate. She thought that she'd never before appreciated how well his dress slacks clung to his body. She also wondered if his thighs were furred in the same way his forearms were. She really wanted to lick his thigh, maybe bite him a little...
"You know what, forget it. I'm not very hungry for food." She clapped a hand over her mouth. "I mean, I'm not very hungry. At all. In any way. For anything."
She could tell he was fighting a grin. "Glad we have that sorted," he said mildly.
Olivia looked away and took a huge gulp of coffee. Then another, and another, until her mug was empty. Wordlessly she placed it in the sink and returned to her pacing spot.
It wasn't long before Rafael joined her, matching her strides. They walked in tandem for five circuits of his living room, and then Olivia stopped. "This is ridiculous. I just need..."
"Just tell me. Just let me help," he implored. "Whatever that looks like."
Olivia bit her lip, then regretted the action as it turned her thoughts to biting his lip. And him biting her lip. And him biting her in other places...
"I can see you're struggling, Liv. I may not be your partner, but we have each other's backs. I'm damn well in your corner, no matter what," he told her. "Please. Tell me what to do here, because I'm struggling too."
This was it. The moment where she either pushed him off, again, or the moment where everything changed. Irrevocably, unpredictably, frighteningly...changed.
She stared into his eyes, at his face. The face of one of her closest friends, the person who had worked tirelessly beside her on more cases than she could count. The person she turned to when she was stuck and didn't know what to do.
The person she herself had chosen to help her through situations just like this one.
She took a deep breath. The movement of her shirt against her chest was unbearably stimulating and she didn't know how much longer she could hold out. Another deep breath, and then, "You can take those suspenders off. They're making me angry."
His brows shot up in surprise. "Angry?"
"Yes, angry." She nodded. She reached out and gripped each one in her fingers, pulling them back and letting them go to snap against his chest. "They're making me angry, because they're driving me nuts." She snapped them again, aggressively. She wouldn't allow herself to break their eye contact.
"I see." He swallowed once, twice. "Then I guess I should remove them."
She nodded slowly. "You should." She watched through hooded eyes as he slipped the suspenders off his shoulders, letting them fall to dangle at his sides. He hadn't backed away from her, or moved closer—simply held her gaze and followed her instructions. Maybe this wouldn't be as terrifying as she thought.
"Better?" he asked, and it was nearly a whisper.
She nodded again. Her thoughts were a jumble—her brain was begging her to get on with it already, to simply take his hands and put them where she wanted them, but part of her still resisted. Not because she didn't want him, but because she didn't want him this way. She had hoped that maybe one day she'd build up the courage to accept one of his offers for drinks; that maybe one day those offers would turn into dinner invitations, and then more. One day.
But thanks to a thug named Mel, that day seemed to be today.
"I won't feel better unless you...touch me." There. She'd done it. The line was crossed, there was no going back, they would simply have to learn how to— "Oh, my god, Barba!"
He surged forward, pressing her back against the wall, not stopping until their bodies were pressed together from shoulder to knee. His hand stroked her neck, down her arm, came to rest on her hip. All innocuous places, really, but for the two of them? Those places were momentous.
"I thought we agreed you would call me Rafael," he murmured, his hand kneading her hip and sending joyful tingles radiating throughout her body. She shifted restlessly against him, her brain unable to focus now that it was finally getting the sort of stimulation it demanded.
"Rafael," she whispered, "please."
She trusted him to know what she meant, that she was asking him both for sexual satisfaction and also gentle handling of her emotions. She knew he was honorable, that he would take care of her with every fiber of his being—
And, good god, the man's hands were a miracle. He stroked both hands up her back, over her shoulders and back down her arms; circled her waist and then brought them to a stop just below her breasts. Her skin was on fire in the best way and she was beginning to regret the layers of clothes between them.
"Olivia." His tone was serious, and his hands had stopped their magical stroking, so she bit down on her tongue hard and did her best to keep the sexual haze at bay.
"I'm okay with this, Rafael. More than okay. I trust you." The next words came tumbling out without her conscious decision. "But I will murder you if you don't—start—touching—me."
It was as if she'd opened a dam. His hands were everywhere: caressing her breasts, squeezing her ass, pulling her leg up to hook her knee around his waist. He pressed against her even more and she moaned as she circled her hips against his. He leaned forward and the part of her that she'd hidden deep, deep, deep down rejoiced—he was going to kiss her.
But he had other plans. His hands came back up to cup her breasts, and his hot, wet mouth opened on the spot where her neck met her shoulder.
She cried out as she came.
