Merry Christmas Eve-Eve.
Not for the kiddies.
:::::
Hold her.
As Charlie's words pound incessantly in the depth of her chest she waits for her instincts to kick into overdrive. To conjure up the words, the means to stop this. She waits for the internal kill switch. For some common-fucking-sense to materialize.
But all she feels is the hardness of her partners cock, wedged so deeply between her ass cheeks, with only damp swimsuit material trapping his intent. Charlie's thigh is still pressed between her legs, and the only movement is coming from the ripples of water that tease her waist.
The silence, the stillness – all chances, all windows of opportunities to stop this, to end this. All possibilities for her to speak now or forever hold her peace.
She swallows, and that's when she feels it, Elliot's soft, tentative fingertips, scraping her hipbone before pressing in more firmly. His hand is submerged, hidden from Charlie's view and she knows what he's doing, it's a question. A chance for her to pull the plug but all it creates is an unrelenting pang in her lower belly, as she desperately aches for his hand to move lower.
He's waiting for an answer but it's the cool night air that scrapes across her chest, twisting her nipples into hard nubs that answers it for her. She rocks her ass back against him, and it's one languid movement that causes the tip of his cock to press further between her ass cheeks, knocking her entrance from behind. Christ. She bites down on her lip, stifling the appreciation she's so desperate to give him, but he isn't so restrained, groaning openly into the back of her neck. His fingers curl, bunching around the damp material at her hips and she can almost hear him cursing her out. What the fuck Olivia?
What the fuck.
His fingers release her bikini bottoms and she feels the shift into compliance. His hand comes up, latching onto her other wrist, holding it parallel to the other. She expects to feel constrained, detained. She expects fear, domination, anxiety to flood through her chest, but all she feels is an aching desire to be touched.
Taken.
She's wet. She knows this, and she feels Charlie starting up again, the firm muscles of her thigh pressing against her core, her juices seeping into her damp bikini and she's practically throbbing in response. She hears Elliot's tapered breaths in her ear as she tries to shift closer to him, but his grip is an iron vice, as if he's petrified of this escalating.
She closes her eyes, and lets the back of her head sink further into his collarbone. She feels Charlie's hands dragging the fabric of her bikini top across until her bare damp, nipple slips into her wet, open, mouth. Fuck.
Olivia hums in response as she feels her tongue circle the nub, her hips bucking in response. This isn't her. She enjoys the company of women, but never like this. Her body shouldn't be responding to the way Charlie's soft, plump lips are smoothing across her peaked nipple, but as the tip of her tongue traces - flicks across the nub, it arouses all kinds of untapped pleasure. God she wants Elliot's hands between her legs - and now. But they're locked against her wrists so she pushes her ass backwards, his cock knocking her entrance once more and she groans as Charlie's teeth scrape across her nipple in response.
Elliot's thumbs sink into the softness of her wrists before he rocks firmly forward into the space between her legs. She wants to moan. Her fingers curl over with the need to touch, to tease, to grasp him. Want is spreading across her lower belly like wildfire and she has to focus on her breathing or she'll get lightheaded.
Charlie's hand moves down her stomach, before it flips part way down, her knuckles brushing across her lower abdomen. She closes her eyes because, yes. This is what she needs. Relief, south of the boarder and it no longer seems strange that a woman is going to give it to her.
Charlie's fingers submerge beneath the water and skim lightly across the seam of her bikini. Olivia holds her breath in anticipation as Charlie's fingers move lower and her heart thuds so violently she's sure Elliot can feel it pounding against his back.
As Charlie's fingers brush softly over her bikini-clad mound, Olivia's mouth parts and the breath she was holding expels sharply. Charlie's knee pushes it's way between her legs, openly her further, granting herself access to trail her fingers down her centre, over her covered clit and back down again. She bucks in approval but it's just a taste, a touch - a tease before her fingers are latching onto the seam of her bikini again and she has to stop herself from writhing in frustration.
Fuck she wants. That's all. Just want. She tugs at her wrists and feels Elliot expel a restrained breath into the back of her head as he clamps his fingers around her in response. The restraint only eggs her on, and her head lolls back against him when she feels Charlie's hand sink beneath the seam. A wave of liquid heat rushes from her core when she feels her fingers slide across her unrestricted mound until she's cupping her. Fuck.
Her index finger starts to move then, drawing slow, smooth movements between her slit pressing in further, coating them with liquid heat. She feels the granite of Elliot's cock coupled with two of Charlie's fingers that are pressed welcomely at her entrance and she wants to moan. Charlie drags her fingers back and forth, pressing her knee further between Olivia's legs, opening them wider. Olivia eyes clamp shut in response as she fails to stifle a moan. She feels Charlie hovering at her entrance, and all she wants is relief. Now.
"She's dripping," the velvet words seep into her ears and Olivia opens her eyes to find Charlie's swollen lips and glistening irises gazing up at Elliot. She feels his response immediately, his fingernails digging into her wrists, his chest rising and falling in shock at how quickly this has escalated. Her heart beat is a heavy thud in her chest, she should be embarrassed at her bodily response to this but the way his hot, jagged breath is hitting the crown of her head makes her want to moan. She's getting off on his reaction to this. His short, sharp, audible breaths a stark reminder that his hips haven't moved since Charlie's hand dipped south.
Her eyes close again, and she feels Charlie's mouth on hers, prying her lips apart and she gasps as her tongue plunges into the depths of her mouth. The two fingers pressing at her entrance drive forward then, and Olivia gasps against her lips when she feels her push them to the brink. The base of her palm stops flush against her clit and she tightens her legs in response, groaning into Charlie's mouth.
Fuck she hadn't expected that - Charlie filling her, stretching her. She widens her legs to accommodate her fingers and Charlie moans in response as her walls contract around her. "So tight," she murmurs against Olivia's mouth and her heart thuds violently when she hears the low, guttural curse from Elliot. His lips graze her ear in the process and just incase he'd forgotten he's a part of this she rocks her ass back into him in response.
Charlie must have caught on then because she's dragging her fingers out of her wet centre and grasping her hips, using her petite frame and the leverage from Elliot's iron grip to spread her legs wider.
She doesn't feel Elliot's cock between her ass cheeks anymore, instead it's ridged as fuck between her centre, and without an ounce of restraint she grinds herself against him, feeling him buck forward in response. Jesus Christ, she wants her bikini bottoms gone, and now. He'd be sliding across her slick folds right now. She wants him inside her, and it's all kinds of fucked up. The nature of their arrangement, the public arena, Charlie.
She can't think about it, and thankfully she doesn't have to because Charlie's hand is back in motion, moving between her legs. She feels the ridge of her wrist press against her mound but she's moving in further, and then it hits. She's dragging Elliot's speedos down and the groan that erupts from his mouth when she encircles him causes a surge of possession to skyrocket within Olivia. Charlie starts up her slow, steady movements on him and Olivia reacts immediately, resisting the hold on her wrists but it's a pained gasp that leaves her chest when she realizes Elliot isn't letting up. Well fuck him. She thinks. Fuck - him. Charlie's already one step ahead however, angling her wrist so it rubs firmly, purposefully against her clit with each tug of Elliot's penis and it isn't long until the pace begins to increase. She feels Elliot start to buck, gasp – the base of Charlie's wrist causing her own hips to succumb to the motion, rolling forward in response. He's going to come, she can hear it. His short sharp breaths are getting away from him and the way he's slamming his hips into her ass, makes her anger momentarily subside. She's close too. The friction of Charlie's wrist, the thrust of Elliot's wide hips, the sharp rasps in her neck, all pushing her closer, and closer towards the brink.
Elliot's thumbs swipe softly against her wrists, back and forth and her eyes slip open when his hot, open mouth slides down the nape of her neck. She whimpers as he rocks eagerly against her giving her a hint of what it would be like to take her from behind – and dammnit, that's all she wants. His tongue dips into the dip in her neck then and she bucks against him, a rush of liquid heat pooling between her legs.
Fuck Elliot. Just Fuck.
Charlie is driving this entire thing, but he's using limited means to let her know she isn't forgotten. His teeth dig into the ridge of her shoulder and she whimpers in response. He is telling her what he wants. And what he wants is her. Damn it, she needs him. In her. On her. She wants him to spin her around, drag down her bikini bottoms, press her up against this pool wall and plunge himself into her.
Or better yet, drag her back to their hotel room so they can take whatever the fuck this is – out on each other.
She hears a strained moan, she knows he's on the cusp now, a few more strokes, a few more thrusts and he is going to come. Again. This time achingly against her ass. The thought alone causes her eyes to clamp shut and her fingers curl over because she is moments from joining him.
But it's a thumping sound, followed by a frozen spray that causes Olivia eyes to snap open. A volleyball, pegged firmly - landing inches from Charlie's arm that ignites a gasp from the party of three.
She feels Charlie's hand move off them and watches as she spins in the water to determine the offender. Rodney - standing on the edge of the spa, now diving through the depths of the water heading straight towards them. Olivia's heart is still throbbing in her chest. What the hell? Elliot's hands are still clinging to her wrists like a death grip and there is blind panic swarming through her chest at their impending guest.
Rodney's head appears through the ripples, coming up behind Charlie and Olivia watches as he grasps her around her waist, hoisting her back into his chest. His mouth finds her neck and he bites into the skin, igniting a quiet yelp before his lips appear to sooth the irritated area.
"Making friends," he rasps loud enough for everyone to hear, his voice chockfull of sexual drive. A hand slides up out of the water as he grasps Charlie's breast, his thumb and forefinger seizing her nipple igniting a harsh moan from the blonde. "What'd I tell you 'bout sharing the love?" he whispers into her neck before he tilts her head backwards, capturing her wet lips, sucking them firmly before releasing them with a slick pop.
"You'll have to excuse my wife," Rodney says, turning his attention towards his guests, but all Olivia sees is the hand that continues to tighten around Charlie's waist. "She has a party to host."
Olivia's eyes flit towards the crowded spa and she's trying to focus. On the case, on the situation, on the controlling, alpha way in which Rodney seems to be commanding this, but all she can feel Elliot's erection still hard against her ass.
She closes her eyes for just a second, to gain some clarity - some semblance of control but opens them to find Charlie wrapping her arms around Rodney's neck, her damp breasts pressing firmly against his chest.
"Sorry baby, you know I get carried away," she whispers quietly, her voice taking on a passive edge Olivia hasn't heard before. She sees the ripples beneath the water and when Rodney's eyes draw to a close, it's clear Charlie's straddling his waist, rocking her hips against his, calming the fight – taming his anger.
Olivia swallows, still turned on as hell. Still fighting the urge to rock her own hips back into Elliot's hard-on in unison but it isn't long before Charlie's lips slip seductively from Rodney's mouth, moving to his ear to whisper something.
A few beats of silence pass between the two before he reluctantly releases her and it's seconds before Charlie slowly begins to breast-stroke back towards the spa without another word.
Olivia swallows, watching Rodney's gaze follow Charlie's every move before he turns his attention back to them. A dark look flits across his features before he flashes them the briefest, knowing smile. Then it's a matter of moments before he is off too, eagerly following Charlie's trail towards the spa.
Olivia's heart thuds even more now that they're alone. What the hell? She's confused about the scene that just played out but she's more concerned about the body behind her. The hardness between her legs, the fingers still curled tightly around her wrists.
When Rodney's practically out of sight she feels his grip start to soften. He is tentative at first, as if he's testing the waters and when she doesn't react he releases them completely. Her body slides downward, her feet finding the floor of the pool as she dips her tingling wrists into the coolness of the water. She feels his erection teasing her tailbone as the water ripples around them and she closes her eyes.
She can't turn around. She can't face him. This. Whatever the fuck just happened between them. She is still dripping, still turned on as hell, still unbelievably frustrated. She doesn't want to think, she just wants to sink back into his cock. Touch him. Tease him. She wants to grasp one of his large hands that now float on the surface of the water and slide it between her legs. No one has to see, no one has to know. They're all distracted. She wants him to feel what he started, what Charlie continued and what she is desperate for him to finish. But it's the way he's just taken a step back, the tip of his penis no longer teasing her back, that makes her think he's no longer on the same page.
The disappointment swarms. He has questions for her. She knows this. This was all her. She tried to warn him, but at the end of the day she is to blame for this. She flexes her hands beneath the water, her wrists still tingling from his grip. She wants. She just wants. That's all, but she can already feel him straightening behind her. His breathing steadying, when hers is still as erratic as ever.
The reality of the situation hits then and it's three breaths she counts before she pushes off him. She doesn't know where she's going but she needs to get away. Away from Elliot's dripping body, away from his probing questions. She just needs ten minutes behind closed doors to take this ache away. Then she can focus, apologize – rectify this situation.
She doesn't say a word to him. She knows she should. She knows he deserves at least some eye contact or an explanation but if she so much as looks at him, he will see it. The truth, the desire, the sheer lack of restraint she's struggling with. So she doesn't look back, she just swims the few lengths towards the stepladder before she starts climbing out.
Her hands grip the cool metal for dear life, her legs shake with each step as water cascades down her body and she knows how this looks. To Elliot, to their new friends, but if she doesn't get through those hotel doors she is going to internally combust.
Her feet hit cement and she's practically trembling as she pads the few steps towards her hotel towel and key card. She grasps the card and presses her face against the white cotton before she wraps it hastily around her body.
She gets all of a few feet towards the spa when she hears movement. He's wading through the water and it isn't long before he is climbing swiftly up the ladder. Her heart thuds in anticipation as she hears his feet hit the cement with intent and a flood of anxiety swarms through her at his haste. It's irrational, it's misplaced but she is suddenly petrified of the man behind her and what he might do. She's gone about this entirely the wrong way - she knows it, but the right way was lost to her the moment his mouth crashed over hers.
When her eyes lock with Charlie, she manages the briefest of smiles before she passes the spa, making a beeline for the entrance of the hotel. She should explain where she's going. If she's coming back. She should lie. She's a guest at their gathering, and it's rude just to walk out, but she is struggling to breathe right now let alone conjure up an excuse.
She hears the padding of feet behind her getting closer and she tries not to rush, to race - to flee in front of their company. She just walks at a steady pace, knowing full well she has a few good lengths on him, but the moment she passes through the hotel doors she spills openly through the lobby.
Her feet are driving into action now and she's practically running. She tightens the towel around her body, suddenly aware that the dress she'd worn remains strewn on a lounge chair somewhere, but it doesn't matter. She has their key card and better yet - it's their only one. All she needs to do is get there before him and she can give herself as much time as she needs to eradicate the arousal that continues to pound between her legs.
She spots the elevator and there's a pool of people circling, just watching the light flick slowly from floor to floor. She hears the footsteps behind her so she wastes no time, heading straight for the stairs. She pushes the stairwell door open and the moment she's out of sight she floors it.
She's racing now, two stairs at a time, practically slipping in the process, knowing she has eleven more floors until she reaches her salvation. Why the hell she's running from him she doesn't know, but whatever it is, it's terrifying her.
She hears the deafening sound of the door from two floors below and her heartbeat thuds in response. She is shaking as she runs now, because she can hear him, padding determinedly up the cement stairs after her.
He's not going to hurt her. She knows this, but she can't help but succumb to this irrational fear that he's hunting her down. She feels him gaining on her. He's faster, he's stronger and he doesn't have a towel wrapped around his body, restricting movement, confining his legs. He has nothing but sheer irate anger that she just fled, and she knows she's in for it.
When she feels him just a floor away the adrenaline kicks in, her eyes latching onto the number eight, knowing she isn't far off. She can do this. Her heart is pounding, her lungs are chafing. One hand clutches the room key for dear life, the other grasping the loose knot bunched between her breasts. But he's going to catch up to her. She knows it. He has too many advantages, the absence of a towel being only one of them.
The sound of his bare feet against cement pounds in rhythm with her heartbeat and just as she reaches the door to their floor she feels it. His fingers sinking into her upper arm and the contact causes her breath to lodge in the back of her throat. She's still fighting a war with rationality so she yanks her arm away, the dampness of her skin causing his grip to slip right off. She pushes down on the grey bar but he is on her already, grasping the only thing he can seem to secure – her towel. She tries to move forward but he has her tight and without thinking she lets the loose knot between her breasts go. He falls back in response, the material ripping clean off her body and it's bought her enough time to flee.
She sprints through the door and towards their room, counting down the numbers until she reaches the familiar alcove. She slips the card in once, red light. Twice, red light. Fuck. Then she remembers his words. Slow. She dips it in slowly, just as she hears him round the corner. Green light. She pushes forward, racing through the gap before she turns around in attempt to slam it closed.
His hand slaps against the other side and her arms flex against the force, her feet burrowing into the carpet trying to stop the intrusion but it's redundant, she's practically sliding backwards against his strength. She cuts her losses, letting up on the door abruptly and he practically falls into the room. She wastes no time racing towards the bedroom door, knowing there is a lock on the inside of the bathroom.
She is frantic, her heart pounding with a constant need to reclaim the space he seems intent on taking from her. She makes it through the door but there is no time to slam it closed, instead all her focus is on the bathroom. But he's in the room already and she misjudged his agility because he's sprinting now. Her hand reaches out, encircling the knob but it's slips off before she can get a hold. His large arm encircles her waist and her breath lodges in the back of her throat as he slams her back into the plains of his bare chest.
"Stop," he rasps in her ear, a flood of arousal spurring through her lower belly at his tone, at his sheer audacity. His hand on her sears her, burns her. His other hand moves to her bare abdomen and his fingers bite into the area where the heat continues to pool. She feels his erection, still hard, still pulsating. She isn't strong enough for this. He buries his mouth in the back of her hair, and her heart pounds because she knows he's about to say something that will knock her off kilter.
"No more running," he rasps, his voice practically gravel and her knees are buckling beneath her. She doesn't want to run. Dammnit. Her body wants him, she wants this. She can feel his erection square her ass. This isn't her, she isn't usually this unbridled, weakened, and downright submissive but she wants to be pummelled. Hard. Her chest is rising and falling, desperately trying to fill her lungs with much needed oxygen. She needs his hand to move lower. And now.
"Start talking," he rasps and she swallows. No Elliot. No words. No explanations. Just hands, mouths, skin, heat - now. She focuses on his pinky that rests dangerously close to the seam of her bikini. She doesn't want talk. She doesn't have words for him. Just want.
She takes a step backward, expecting his solid mass to remain ridged against her but she must have caught him off guard because he steps back with her. She does it again, backing him away from the bathroom door with each step, not sure what her end goal is but feeling their steps move faster and faster. Her foot catches with his, their ankles locking and before she knows it their falling. He grasps onto her for stability but it's too late. She feels the thud as he hits carpet, her back slams into his chest and a noise erupts from his throat like he's been winded. His erection digs into the back of her thigh but his hold has fallen completely from her stomach.
She has the perfect opportunity to run now – to flee, she could slide off his body and bolt to the bathroom and easily lock the door behind her. But she doesn't. Fuck, she can't. She wants him damnnit, it's the accountability she doesn't want to accept. She started this, she knows that, but she wants him to give her no option but to finish it.
She turns around on his body, her hip digging into his crotch, her breasts pressing into his chest and it's enough to ignite a response from him. He is still breathing heavily when he clutches her head, brining her face down towards his. She realizes her move was to her detriment now because he's just aligned their faces. His blue eyes probe hers and she knows he can see it all now - the desire the unbridled need within. It erases any doubt he might have had about this and when her eyes slide down to his lips it's seconds before they slam against hers.
She feels his tongue penetrate her mouth immediately and she moans, the sound vibrating against his lips. Fuck Elliot. She rocks her thigh into his cock and he pushes his legs forcibly between hers. He's moving upward then, shifting her upper body backward, giving her thighs no option but to slide either side of his hips. She groans when she feels her centre land squarely against his cock and he moans in response, grasping her hips as she practically straddles him now.
Her fingers bite into his shoulders when she feels his hands slide up her sides until they capture the gold clasp between her breasts. He tugs, practically ripping at the clasp before he gives in, his hands instead moving to the string tied behind her neck, pulling the knot quickly out. His tongue traces her lower lip as she rocks herself against the tip of his cock, fueling her need for this.
The material covering her breasts falls down her chest and onto the floor and he's cupping her, squeezing her, letting the rough pad of his thumbs scrape across her bare nipples. She groans into his mouth as he continues his assault on her lips. He moves her then, tipping her backward until her back hits carpet and his body follows suit. She feels his hips wedge between her open legs and a deep exhale expels across her forehead as his hips sink against hers.
She moans openly, pressing herself against him, she feels his hand sliding down her torso until it reaches her hip. He slides it between their bodies until he is cupping her mound and she moans at the contact. She spreads her legs a little wider and he wastes no time slipping his fingers into the side of her bikini. Her mouth runs dry as two fingers slide into the wet heat. He groans into her neck at the touch, sliding them further down her slit, breathing heavily against her as he slips his damp fingers across her clit, once, twice.
"El please," she whimpers openly and dammnit she just gave in completely, no longer concerned with accountability or blame. She will take it, take it all if it means he will slip inside her. She will deal with the consequences with the aftermath, she will deal with it all as long as he takes away the need between her legs.
"Jesus Liv-" he rasps into her neck, his voice catching part way through her name and Charlie's words slam into her then. She's dripping.
His hand is restricted by material and crushed between their bodies but he is rubbing running his damp fingers up and down her folds and she's not waiting to remove material. His mouth sinks against the skin of her neck as he pushes at her entrance. Christ she wants this, wants him. His hips have spread her legs wide enough to slide a finger between her folds, and her head falls back against the carpet as it fills her. She feels the difference immediately from Charlie. Thick, rough and masculine.
His hips push her knees open even further before he slides a second in. She cries into his neck, the pressure against her walls achingly welcome. "Fuck," she whispers, her core throbbing, her body practically expelling the thickness. He slides them in until the pad of his thumb reaches her clit and she whimpers as he swipes aching across the sensitive bundle of nerves.
She writhes beneath him before her hands slipping messily between their bodies and grasping the front of his speedos. Her wrist becomes trapped between their bodies as he continues to slide inside her. Her fingers bunch around the material and he's still fingering her when she slides her hand down the front of his speedos. He moans, halting mid thrust when she wraps her hand around his cock and she closes her eyes at his sheer mass, his length, his width. Her mouth runs dry at the prospect of it replacing his fingers.
Her fingers curl around him, sliding downward, before she feels the damp layer of precum lining her hand. She fists him again, this time easily, the slickness causing him to rock forward eagerly in her hand. "Fuck Liv," he breathes out, his fingers still thrusting inside her. Their moans collide in unison, her sensitive nipples scraping against the plains of his chest with each thrust.
"Off," she rasps between breaths, "take them off," she demands, because she's done with the relentless foreplay. His fingers encircle her wrist, pulling her hand off his cock and it's moments before he's grasping the material at her hip. Her mouth runs dry because he is tugging, yanking more like it and the material is moving down her hips. She feels the night air hit her damp centre as he tugs them down to her knees and she wants to moan. Fuck yes.
He uses his bent knee to push them down further until she kicks them completely off her feet. His mouth skims her temple before she feels him tugging his own speedos downward and her heart pounds at the realization that this is actually going to happen. He isn't just going to just touch her, tease her, rub her and make her come. He's going to fuck her.
Hard.
Her heart is thumping against her chest as he gets his speedos down to his knees, she moves her legs intent on helping him slide the whole way when she feels it. His wide hips pushing firmly between her thighs, his bare cock knocking her centre. She holds her breath, feels him raise a thigh high enough before he pushes forward and filling her completely with one, hard thrust. He groans in her ear and she whimpers in satisfaction that he could barely remove his speedos before driving inside her.
He grunts in her ear and she widens her stance, opening herself up to him, allowing her walls to adjust to the sudden intrusion. He is thrusting then, rocking hard, fast, filling her, and it's raw, animalistic. She takes a moment to find her bearings before she starts to match him blow for blow, thrust for thrust. He feels her hips rocking eagerly against his, slamming against each thrust, taking everything he's giving her and giving it right back.
His moans are jagged in her ear and she's breathing heavily, moaning into his neck, encouraging each stroke. It's building within her, and she can't help but become overwhelmed at the way he's taking her. She feels his strength, their words, the fights, the frustration, a decade of abstinence all slamming into her with each mind blowing thrust. He has her at his complete mercy and her need to control is still dormant, but his possessive dominance has her weakened, submissive, willing - only to him. He's practically whimpering into her neck and she knows she's driven him to a point of no return tonight. It wasn't her intention. She never expected it would come to this but she'd reached a point where she couldn't withhold anymore.
His hips continue to slam against hers, and he isn't gentle but it's exactly what she needs. Brute force between her legs, counteracting Charlie's feminine touch. She feels his restraint dwindling and wonders if it will end with him coming between her legs and sinking down onto her body in a sated slum. But he surprises her, his fingers digging into her waist and he is pulling her upward. She tightens the hold she has around his neck as he lifts them into a sitting position and she sinks down into his lap.
His cock slides deep within her in this newfound position and she groans at the depth in which he fills her. She tightens her arms around his neck like she's holding on for dear life before he lifts her part way off his length before slamming her hips back down again. She yells against his neck, her knees digging into the carpet before she lets herself rise up and sink back down on her own accord. He groans against her throat as she continues the motion, increasing the rate until she's slamming her ass into his lap.
"Ugh," she gasps between thrusts because the motion is knocking her clit now and her stomach is tingling with the need for release. He still has a hold of her hips but he's no longer guiding her, just holding as she continues to slam herself back down. She hears his breathing heighten and feels a hand move up the side of her torso grasping a breast, the other raking into the back of her hair. Her eyes are pinched closed when she feels him tug her head forward his mouth prying hers apart, his tongue pushing between her lips. She kisses him back with a weak moan as her hips continue lift up and down, but she's weaker, slower now, focusing on the way that his tongue is teasing hers and how relentless his mouth is against hers. Christ. She wants the dampness of his mouth between her legs, she wants the tongue that's trailing her lower lip between her folds. She wants his mouth to clamp over her clit, sucking, licking, flicking. Fuck. She just wants everything about this man, on her, in her, over and over.
As her teeth clamp down on his lower lip she must have lost her train of thought because she's lifted so high he's slipped out of her. She tries to sink back down without breaking the kiss, but without her hands, she can't seem to position herself. She slips a hand off his shoulder and between their legs, grasping his slickness, letting her hand slide down his length a couple of times before she tries to reposition him. But she feels his mouth knock into her neck before she has the chance and he is moving her backwards again. It's clear he's trying to get her on her back but she falls into her side in his haste and ends up twisting onto her stomach. He coats her back in a second, his fingers digging into her hips, trying to flip her over but all she feels is the muscles of his chest and the prod of his erection against her ass.
"Turn over," he rasps into her ear, desperate to get himself between her legs again but she doesn't comply, instead she knocks her ass back against his cock. His groan fills her ears and she rocks a couple more times hoping he will get the hint, when she hears him hiss in response. "Christ Olivia," he rasps, moving a hand between her legs cupping her from behind, running two fingers between her folds, locating her clit. She moans against the carpet, her breath catching in response and it isn't long before he moves her legs apart with his knee and guides him into her entrance.
She feels him fill her from behind, slowly - achingly and she concentrates on how every inch of her skin just became coated by his. His lips scrape across her sweat glistened neck as her pushes completely inside her and his groan fills her ears. She expects to feel his grip on her hips but his hands are moving down her upper arms, over her bent elbows, up her forearms until his fingers interlace with hers. He exhales into neck and she closes her eyes because of course Elliot Stabler would find a way to make their position far more intimate than most.
"El please," she whispers, her fingernails digging into the carpet trying to rock herself back into him but hindered by his body. His tongue traces the dip in the back of her neck and she exhales in response, feeling her arms buckling under the pressure of his weight. Her walls involuntarily clench around him in response and he groans in her ear before lifting a hand to grasp hip.
"Fuck Liv you feel so.." his words drift off as he pushes deeper inside her and uses the little leverage she has to push back against him. He groans, but continues to rock languorously against her ass in slow, sensual movements.
She feels the pressure between her legs start to build and she needs his strength, his vigor, his haste from before. She can't deal with his slow torturous torment but without the ability to control her body she does the next best thing.
"Harder," she breathes out, her voice a deep rasp, her chest pounding at being so blunt, but she needs release. He had his a long time ago but this whole night has been one long, excruciating tease for her.
His fingers sink into the flesh at her hips and he groans into her hair, more than satisfied with her brash request. He pulls out slightly before he rocks firmly into her, filling her completely and she breathes out her response. He moves out of her again, this time thrusting himself more forcefully between her legs, his hips connecting with her ass. She moans in response. She knew he was strong, she knew he was capable but feeling completely consumed by him makes her heart pound in response. He is granite inside her, and the rate at which he is pulling in and out, rocking harder inside her makes her mind spin.
She holds her breath, concentrating solely on taking him. She's moving her hips in rhythm with his but is restricted by his pace, his thrusts, his hands. Her elbows scrape against the carpet and it's a burning chafe, so she moves up onto her hands, her shoulder blades bumping his cheek in the process. He's still moving inside her but he lets her rise long enough to plant her palms face down before he thrusts back into her.
She moans because he's just filled her completely from this angle, no longer coating her back, just pulling her hips back into his erection. Over. And over. And over. Fuck El. Her mouth is completely dry now and the orgasm she is so desperate to release builds intently. Her arms are trembling in response, her lungs struggling to retain oxygen. She never imagined she'd be this uninhibited but he's incited this need inside her. To be taken. So she lets him. Over. And over. And over.
As his hips continue to collide with her backside, she concentrates on the shortness of his breath, the high pitch moans that escape him now and the curses falling from his mouth in conjunction with her name. She focuses on it all as she slams her hips further and further backwards until her own moans start to expel, tripping over each other with each breath. Her fingers start to dig into carpet when she feels her walls begin to contract around him and it's his hand that slips between her legs, smoothing across her clit that seals it for her.
She buckles instantly, the orgasm ripping from her throat as she clenches around him, completely succumbing to the pleasure that shatters through her core. It triggers his orgasm immediately, his yell colliding with hers as her body clamps around his cock. He tenses against her before his warmth spills between her legs and his entire weight collapses heavily onto her back.
Her hands slip from the force and they crash into a sweaty heap, the aftermath her orgasm still pulsating around him. She's wedged against carpet but has no desire to detach herself, instead she lets her self succumb completely to the feel of his chest, his hands, his mouth – all welcomely pressing against her skin. She still hasn't caught her breath, the one that was lost to her the moment she started running, but none of it matters. None of it except the sheer relief that's circling through her chest and her body right now. Their mutual surrender, their inability to control themselves – the inevitable weakness they had against this ever-growing need between them.
She swallows when she feels his hips shift against her and she thinks for a moment he's going to move off her he doesn't. Her heart rate slowly starts to drift into a steady thrum against carpet and her body tingles all over when she feels his rough lips scrape the bare column of her neck.
"Jesus-fucking-Christ-Liv," he whispers in rapid-fire motion, a warm breath expelling into her hair and she couldn't have said it better herself.
She closes her eyes as his hand smoothes up the side of her torso and a flood of goosebumps erupts across her flesh in response. She feels his hand move over her shoulder, down her upper arm, across her forearm until his fingers slowly interlace with hers, and it's not until that very moment that she manages to release the first steady breath she has in a long time.
TBC