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Friday, April 12, 2013
While Olivia had been spending nearly all of her waking hours at the precinct, or following one dead-end lead after another, Alex had been up to her chin in the two murder cases that threatened to drag on until her retirement, plus an art theft case and a healthy dose of wedding planning.
She and Jean had only had time for the one shopping trip in late March, which had ended with seven dresses considered and rejected at Mark Ingram Atelier, and a long lunch at Astra, so that Jean could see the venue and help Alex pick out some menu items. Olivia had hoped to join them, but no-one was surprised when that fell through at the last minute.
Alex wasn't worried about finding something—she'd know it when she saw it, she figured, and she had more than a month left. But Jean was growing a little frantic that the ADA's busy schedule would result in her wearing a pinstriped Theory suit at her own wedding, and had finally insisted that Alex make the trip to Connecticut for more shopping. While she didn't expect to come home with the perfect dress, it would be nice to see her aunt and uncle, and probably her last chance to get up there before the wedding.
They'd both worked late on Friday evening, and met for dinner at Dojo. Alex's only concession to being home had been removing her jacket before she began to pack. Olivia had managed to leave both her badge and service weapon in the kitchen, and was lying on her side on the bed, head resting on her left hand as she lazily observed Alex's frenetic activity. "Bridal gowns are a big thing in New Haven, huh?"
"Of course, darling," Alex had replied. "Harold's in New Haven is the place for the stylish Manhattan bride, or didn't you know?" She threw her pajamas into the brown leather Brahmin bag, and then slid an outfit into a garment bag hanging on her closet door.
Olivia laughed, and rolled onto her back, hands clasped behind her head. "No, I'll be honest, I didn't realize southern Connecticut was the center of the bridal universe, but if you say so, it must be true."
Alex came back to the bed, and moved the travel case onto the floor before climbing on the mattress and perching above the prone form lying there. She placed her hands flat on the comforter, on either side of Olivia's ribs, and leaned over until their lips were nearly touching. "Would I lie to you, Benson?"
Olivia smiled, and reached up with one hand to brush Alex's hair back from her face, tucking it gently behind her left ear. "No, ma'am," she answered. "You definitely wouldn't lie."
Alex kissed her, a slow, lingering kiss that was remarkably restrained, considering how little time they'd had together over the previous few weeks. Her current position, straddling Olivia and with her head bent so close that the detective could smell the Davines shampoo and just a hint of J'Adore perfume, certainly wasn't doing anything to help either woman maintain her self-control.
Despite being incredibly turned on, Olivia couldn't resist a chance to tease just a bit. "I saw that demure little sweater and skirt you're taking up there with you, babe. Someone might mistake you for a Yale co-ed."
"Heaven forbid," Alex laughed. "The sweater is crimson, though, just to be on the safe side."
Olivia captured her laughing mouth in another kiss before speaking again. "You can take the girl out of Harvard..."
"But you definitely can't take the Harvard out of the girl," Alex finished. "You know as well as I do, honey, that co-eds don't dress like that anymore. That sweater and skirt would be right at home in Aunt Jean's college days, I'd think."
"Or in modern-day New Haven, among the ladies who lunch," Olivia countered.
"There too," Alex agreed. "When in Rome." She cut off any further teasing with another kiss, this one deeper and hungrier than the previous two.
"Miss Cabot," Olivia whispered. "Is this acceptable behavior for a woman who's about to shop for a wedding dress?"
The answer came in the form of another hot, wet kiss that went on for a long moment, before Alex's lips slid across Olivia's cheek, and wrapped around her earlobe. Alex nibbled on the soft skin, while her warm breath sensitized Olivia's ear. "You tell me, is my behavior acceptable?"
"Yes," Olivia exhaled heavily. "More than acceptable."
Alex straightened her arms, and walked her hands back a foot or so toward Olivia's hips, until she was sitting up. "Let's see if we can find anything else that meets your approval, then." Her movements were slow, deliberate, and her gaze never wavered. She moved her hands to her own waist, and unhooked her belt, pulling it free with one practiced motion.
Olivia's breath caught—she never tired of watching Alex, never ceased to be amazed at her own visceral reactions. Alex pulled the tail of her blouse free of the waistband of her navy trousers. There were no broad strokes to paint Alex, no chance you could depict her with a wide brush. She was all singularity and specifics, from the words and gestures that defined her in the courtroom, to the half-inch monogram on the left cuff of every Brooks Brothers dress shirt in her closet. Two small brackets formed a diamond shape enclosing three sans serif letters: a C looming largest in the middle, balanced by a smaller A on the left, and an H on the right. Alexandra Harriman Cabot. The name, and the demeanor, were every bit as starched as the pink shirt she now wore, but Olivia could see that she was dying to let go of that pretense and artifice tonight.
The detective reached up and enveloped the delicate fingers, holding them briefly before pushing them down onto Alex's thighs. It was a movement Alex knew well. She didn't bustle or fidget, but her hands were usually moving, and Olivia had a way of calming Alex by stilling the restless fluttering. With her access now unimpeded, Liv traced her right index finger slowly up the placket of the shirt, hem to collar, feeling the soft cotton as she circled each button in turn. Royal Oxford, Alex had told her. It's softer than the Pinpoint Oxford. Details, so many things she'd learned, and still Olivia felt she had barely scratched the surface. She would willingly forgo oxygen to breathe in the minutiae of Alex.
When she reached the exposed triangle of flesh at the sternum, she lightly fingered the small sapphire necklace the blonde wore nearly every day, a gift on her birthday the previous May. Her birthstone was emerald, but with those blue eyes, only the sapphire would do. She reached up with her other hand, and began unbuttoning the pearly buttons, one at a time. Three buttons down, the shirt began to gape, exposing creamy skin and the lace of a pink bra, just half a shade darker than the blouse itself.
As she undid the sixth and final button, she pulled the fabric open and immediately placed her hand flat against the soft skin of Alex's stomach. She still hadn't looked away from those blue eyes. She knew them well, and had noticed the color darken just a bit as exhaustion was overtaken by anticipation.
"Everything about you meets my approval, Alex," she said. "Every. Single. Thing."
She moved her hands to pull Alex forward onto her, and rolled her onto the bed. They kissed for several long minutes, beginning as a slow and tender reacquaintance and progressing quickly to hard and hungry expressions of need. Clothes were shed piece by piece, replaced by desire as palpable as any garment they'd removed. They talked freely and often about sex, and neither woman held onto any vestige of modesty about asking for what she wanted. But sometimes, words were extraneous, and Olivia just knew what Alex needed.
She reached to the nightstand, opening the drawer but never losing contact with the body next to hers. She gathered up the harness, and the dildo, and brought them onto the bed. She'd learned to keep them close at hand, for nights like this when Alex was too aroused to wait, but couldn't bear to break their physical connection, even for a moment. And it is always nights, Olivia thought. This type of need never revealed itself if they made love in the morning, or afternoon. When the attorney was tired, and overworked, she was most likely to crave the uninterrupted closeness the harness afforded them.
Olivia was quickly cinching the black leather straps, and situating the silicone toy in the O-ring. She positioned herself between Alex's knees, leaning over the most beautiful face she'd ever seen. Alex was wet—they both were—and there was nothing to gain by keeping her waiting. She grasped the cock protruding from the harness, and placed the tip of at the blonde's entrance. Lowering her head, she pushed in slowly at the same time she took those beautiful lips in a deep kiss. Alex's moan was low, and quiet, but it spoke volumes: more, and please, and now.
Motionless for a moment, they continued to exchange endless kisses as Alex adjusted to the size and shape inside her. Finally, full but somehow needing more, she ended a kiss to whisper against her partner's lips.
"Liv," she begged. "Please make love to me."
The pace never quickened much, but leisurely had its benefits. Olivia's slow thrusts were driving both of them wild, and between kisses and a well-practiced communion of their hips, moving in sync, they were both able to come within a minute of one another.
They lay quietly in the bed afterward, having extinguished the bedside lamp and tossed the harness and toy onto the pile of clothes they'd long since kicked to the floor. Neither of them wanted to move, or to leave this dark sanctuary of cockeyed pillows and crumpled sheets. They fell asleep quickly, Alex on her stomach, Olivia on her side, with a hand resting lightly in the small of Alex's back, the fairer skin there contrasting sharply with the darker, olive-toned fingers in the faint light seeping in between the not-quite-closed curtain panels.
It was the first night in two weeks that Olivia didn't dream of the nameless, faceless perp whose crimes were consuming her waking life.
