They lay there, breathing heavily. They were largely still dressed, both of them. Felicity had her sweatshirt on and Oliver's hoodie remained over one shoulder. She was even still wearing her glasses. Only their pants were missing. Hers had ended up somewhere near the foot of the bed and his had fallen to the floor.

Felicity stared at the ceiling. She felt his body, solid and a little heavy on top of hers. He was still inside her.

What did I just do?

I slept with a suspect, that's what I did. I fucking slept with a suspect. I fucked a suspect! Okay, maybe not a suspect any longer, but someone involved in my investigation. If holding hands at a hockey game was bad, then this...well, there isn't a word to describe what this is.

What the hell was wrong with her? She was never this impulsive, especially when it came to sex. Sure, she liked sex as much as the next woman, but she didn't rush into it. She took time to get to know the guy - a few dates, a background check and review of his credit report, maybe a search through the FBI's databases if anything seemed questionable...the usual girl stuff. Then she proceeded with caution. But now? Now, she'd thrown caution and common sense to the wind and pulled her panties down for a man she barely knew. And not just any man, but Oliver Queen. The situation should have sent her internal warning system into overload, but for some reason, when his hands and mouth had been on her, those alarms had been silent.

Why? Because holy freaking cow, it felt good. Really good. He felt good. Sincere. Real. And sexy as hell. If I had an ounce of poetic ability, I'd write a sonnet to that orgasm.

She turned her gaze to Oliver, watching his face as he withdrew and propped himself up on his right elbow. He met her eyes briefly, then lowered his head to bury his nose in the crook of her neck. She was surprised to see his expression showed some of the same confusion that she was feeling. She'd figured the man would be confident, maybe even a little cocky. After all, moments earlier she'd been panting for him. But he seemed a little...unsure.

She found herself aroused by the feel of his face against her neck, even without kissing - which made no sense at all. She'd just had the mother-of-all orgasms. She should be satisfied. But she realized that with a little encouragement, she'd be ready for him all over again. She wanted to feel that intense need and pleasure once more, and she wanted to hear him breathing heavily with his need for her. It was an incredible turn-on.

Shit. She closed her eyes.

Oliver lifted his head and gazed at Felicity. She had her eyes shut, but he could see a variety of emotions flitting across her face. She looked pleased...but also confused and more than a little worried. He wondered what she was thinking. In the heat of the moment he'd been certain she wanted him as much as he wanted her, but now he was beginning to have doubts. Things had happened quickly, without finesse, and he'd been so swept up by his feelings that he could have missed the warning signs. He stretched out on his side, pulling her into him to spoon. It was a pleasant position, with her silky thighs and firm butt pressed against him. It also meant he could avoid looking into her eyes. He was afraid he would see regret in them.

After a minute, he found the courage to ask, "Are you okay?" His voice was a little hoarse.

She wriggled experimentally and nodded. "I feel like a towel that's been wrung out to dry. You know, kind of limp. But in a good way."

Well at least she wasn't yelling. He rested his chin on her hair.

"How's your shoulder?" she asked.

"What shoulder?"

She gave a tiny chuckle. "You're not bleeding, so that has to be a good sign."

"I suppose." He cleared his throat. He had to get it out there. "Felicity, I'm not sure what to say. I don't want you thinking that I came here intending to...to…"

"To what? Seduce me? Take advantage of me?" She shifted in his arms and turned to face him. Taking his chin in her hand, she tugged so that he had no choice but to meet her gaze. "Believe me, Oliver, whatever just happened here, I was a willing participant. I know I'm not your usual type, but I am an adult and I'm perfectly capable of saying no. Besides, that would have been a pretty elaborate scheme on your part, taking an arrow in the back just to get into my bedroom."

He frowned. She wasn't angry with him, which was good, but she wasn't exactly celebrating either. He zeroed in on what was probably the least relevant part of her statement. "What do you mean, 'not my usual type?'"

"You know, not like the woman you usually sleep with. Glamorous, tall, legs a mile long."

Her words were reminiscent of Laurel's — tall, leggy, big hair, big boobs. It bothered him a great deal more to hear Felicity say them. "Felicity, I don't have a type."

She chuckled. "I researched you for my investigation, remember? Isabel Rochev, Laurel Lance, Helena Bertinelli, McKenna Hall, Susan Willams." She paused. "You have a type, Oliver, believe me. And it isn't short, brainy cops."

"I…" He fell silent.

Felicity was surprised to see that he appeared nonplussed. The man had a reputation for coming out on top of every business deal he negotiated, but he was at a loss when she pointed out something very obvious. She found that genuinely amusing...and a little comforting. The cool, capable businessman wasn't taking this in his stride either. Plus - regardless of the size of her breasts or the length of her legs - she had no doubt that he found her attractive. His body had just about vibrated with desire when they'd been kissing.

"So," she continued in a lighter tone, "even though I'm not your type, does what we did just now fit your definition of 'good casual sex?' You told me, after all, that you're a fan of it."

"What?" Hearing her use his own words from the interview was like a trickle of cold water down his back. "No!"

"No?" She looked a little hurt.

"I mean, yes — it was good. It was very good - completely awesome, actually. But no - it wasn't casual. At least not for me - not at all."

Her grin disappeared, replaced by a perplexed frown. "Wasn't it? You put Isabel into the casual category and you knew her for a lot longer than you've known me. It's not like we're in a relationship, Oliver."

Oliver recalled what he'd said about Isabel and wanted to kick himself. He'd almost made it a point of pride to say that he'd slept with the dancer without having an emotional attachment. No wonder the detective questioned his feelings toward her now.

He shook his head. "Felicity...what I said that day -"

"It's not only that day, Oliver. It's your theme song. That's why I'm bringing it up. I want you to know that when you leave here, there are no obligations on either of our parts." She sounded as if she were trying to convince herself.

What if I want there to be obligations? Aloud, he said, "My 'theme song?'"

"Yeah. You don't do relationships. That's what I heard when I was interviewing people. Hell, Christina Hall even quoted her sister saying the words: Oliver Queen doesn't do relationships."

McKenna had said that? Oliver let go of Felicity and sat up in the bed. "God, that makes me sound like a jerk."

"I don't know. If it's any consolation, they all say that you're honest about it. It's not like you pretend there's a commitment to get a woman into bed."

As a matter of fact, he found little consolation in that statement. "So what does that say about the women who sleep with me? They're just looking for an orgasm?" Is that all this was for you?

She shrugged. "Well, to quote you once again, we all have 'normal adult needs'. And I can now attest personally that you're effective at addressing them. Although, I think I already knew where my G-spot was."

"What?"

"Never mind."

He hunched forward. He was beginning to think he'd prefer to have her yelling at him. "Shit."

She sat up beside him and rested her hand on his arm, still marveling that she'd managed to throw him off balance. For some reason, it was comforting to have both of them navigating unfamiliar territory. "I'm sorry," she said honestly. "I didn't mean to bring you down with this conversation. I thought I'd make things easier for you by telling you that I'm not expecting more from you. But I seem to have made it worse."

He didn't reply, hoping that this was a case of her protesting too much. The truth was he wanted her to expect something from him. She didn't strike him as the kind of woman who would tumble into bed with every man who came her way, and he wanted to believe that her response to him meant that she felt something special. But the truth was he had no idea how she was with men. Susan had assumed that Felicity had gone to the hockey game with a professional escort, after all. So maybe the detective really did have no expectations.

He rested his forehead in his hand. "I guess I can't disagree with what you're saying about me and women - at least not completely, given my history. But you and me, Felicity…it's different. It's been different from the moment we met. I felt like we connected and I thought you felt it too. But you're saying you didn't...you don't…"

"Feel that connection, Oliver?" She patted his knee. "Yes, I feel it, even though you sometimes make me crazy. But I'd be kidding myself if I said I really know you. You're a secretive man. How much of yourself have you shared with me?"

She had a point. It wasn't as if he'd broadcast his feelings for her. Even back at Nuddy's, he'd been too cautious to do more than hint at them. "Okay," he said softly, "I'll share something now." He put his hand over hers and drew it to rest on his chest. "I told you that you have been on my mind ever since you came to my house. The truth is that it's a lot stronger than that. You're messing with my appetite, my sleep, my ability to work. I think of you and my head goes everywhere. I imagine coming home to you in the evenings, laughing about something funny that happened during the day. I imagine waking up the next morning, showering together as we get ready for work. I see you with me, years into the future. I don't know what to make of it any more than you do, but it's the truth."

Holy shit. She'd be lying if she didn't admit that her heart gave a little leap. She'd never had a man say anything like that to her before. Still...

She pressed her fingers against the hard plane of his pectorals. "That's...nice to hear, Oliver - really - but when I said you don't share, I was talking about something other than your feelings for me. I was talking about your life. You're hardly an open book. For example, how do you know so damn much about the Bratva? Most people outside of law enforcement have never heard of them. You even knew that Anatoly is a captain. And you were pretty damn brave this afternoon when we ran into the archer. A normal guy would have hightailed it out of there the first chance he got. You didn't."

"I couldn't leave you to deal with him by yourself."

"I know. I really believe you mean that."

"Which should tell you something about what I feel for you. So where does that leave us?"

"I'm not sure. This," she held up their joined hands, "is unexpected and...amazing, but I've broken about a dozen department rules by sleeping with you. It's taken me a lot of work to earn respect from my fellow officers. There are some who continue to resent me because of my age or my history with the commander, and they would love to find a reason to discredit me. I don't want to give them that reason. You and me trying for a relationship - it's a hell of a risk." She heard the tremor in her voice and hated it.

His face paled a little. "Too big a risk?"

"I don't know. Maybe." Then she said the thing that worried her the most. "I don't want to give my heart to someone who isn't accustomed to dealing with hearts."

He squeezed her hand as his color returned. "Is that what's really bothering you? I have a heart too, Felicity, as difficult as that might be for you to believe. I'm just good at not letting people see it." He swallowed. "You think this is a passing phase - you're worried my feelings won't last? How do you think it is for me, wondering what a woman is really interested in when she's with me? Does she like me personally? Or is it about money, or power, or prestige? If I open up to her, am I going to see my secrets splashed across the gossip websites?" He shook his head. "There are a lot of reasons for me to be cautious too - to not to give my heart away. But with you, I'm willing to take the risk. I think it's worth it."

He caught her off guard with that admission. Felicity had assumed most of the power rested with him; that between the two of them, she was the only one with something to lose. It hadn't occurred to her that he had reasons to be wary too.

She studied his face, those crazy blue eyes that were regarding her uncertainly. Pulling her hand out of his, she crossed both arms protectively over her chest. "So - just to be clear on this - you're saying that you want there to be something between us - something more than you've had with women in the past. Something more than this." She gestured at the bed. "That you actually might want to, to..." She paused. The words date and go steady popped into her head, but both sounded sophomoric.

He finished her sentence for her. "Have a relationship," he suggested, "even though Oliver Queen doesn't do relationships? Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying. At least I'd like to try."

She shook her head, unable to erase her doubts. "With you, I'm not even sure what that means."

"It means I want us to spend time together - a lot of time - not just dinner once a week or a hockey game. And to be exclusive. It means I want us to be more than the occasional tumble in bed." He cringed at the words, but she didn't seem upset by them.

Exclusive? Felicity felt a small ripple of excitement at the same time that her nerves kicked in. "I don't know, Oliver. Our worlds are so different. I'm not sure I can see myself being a part of yours. I have no money. I'm smart, but I'm not particularly polished. I put my foot in my mouth from time to time. And you run in some pretty posh circles."

He waved an arm. "You're intelligent enough to keep up with anyone, anywhere, Felicity. People who value intelligence and honesty - and there are people who do - will value you. I'm surprised to hear you doubt yourself."

"I'm not doubting myself. In fact, I think quite highly of myself. I'm just remembering the women I saw you with when I researched you. I'm nothing like them."

"Maybe that's the point. Maybe those were the wrong women."

He was wearing her down. She felt her excuses evaporating like steam out of a boiling pot. And it was hard to keep saying no to something that you secretly wanted. Nevertheless, she tried again. "I just can't see myself on your arm at some fancy do, wearing a gown and jewels. I don't even own a gown, and all my jewelry is costume."

He laughed. "I'll buy a gown if and when the time comes for us to mingle at one of those fancy dos."

It was the wrong thing to say. He knew it even before he saw her stiffen.

"I don't want you buying me things, Oliver. I've taken care of myself since I was nine. I don't need a sugar daddy."

He shook his head. "I've got a few years on you, Felicity, but I think I'd need to be a lot older to qualify as a sugar daddy." When she didn't laugh, he continued, "Look, you can skip the events if you want, and I'll go to them alone. They're not important. I just want to spend time with you. You've already admitted that you like me. I'm nuts about you. What's wrong with finding out where that takes us? Please don't dismiss this out of hand because you're afraid."

She closed her mouth and was silent for so long that he thought she wouldn't answer. She was conflicted, that much was clear. He tried to take that as a positive sign. If her mind was set against him, she would have told him by now.

Finally, she said, "If we're going to give this a try, then I need something from you, Oliver."

"Anything."

She shook her head. "Listen to what I have to say before you agree so quickly. You may not like it." She paused, then took his hand. "I need you to be honest with me if this is going to go anywhere. One-hundred-percent honest. You're a smooth businessman and you've got a number of faces that you show to the public. I don't want you using them with me. I need to know who you really are. So the first lie, the first evasion or omission, and I'm going to think twice about all of it. I can't be with someone I don't trust."

He hesitated for only a fraction of a second. "Fair enough."

She studied his face as if looking to see truth written across his forehead.

"So where does that leave us?" he asked again.

"I guess," she squeezed his hand, "I guess I want to take things slowly. I'd like to get to know you before we rush into anything. Neither one of us appears to be an expert at relationships."

The relief was overwhelming for Oliver, almost as physical as a caress. She was agreeing to see him. "I can do that," he said. "We could date."

She nearly laughed. He'd used the word she had deliberately avoided. "You mean, like go out to dinner or the movies?"

"Yeah."

She pressed her lips together.

"Is there a problem with that?" he asked.

"No. It will be fun. You, me, and about twenty paparazzi."

"Okay. So we could have dinner and a movie at my place. I have my own theater."

"I'll bet you do."

"I'm trying here, Felicity."

"I know." She surprised him by tilting her face upward and kissing him below the ear.

It was like flicking a light switch. One kiss and he immediately felt his desire come to life.

She glanced down at his lap. "Wow. That was quick."

He blushed. "I'm sorry. You just...well, you do that to me. It's a little embarrassing - I'm like a kid in puberty or something."

She looked pleased. "Even though I'm not tall and leggy?"

"Just because you're you."

She smiled, finally a genuine, happy smile. She turned toward him and touched his cheek again, then raised her glorious mouth to his. He kissed her, not believing his luck.

After a moment she stopped the kiss, but left her mouth close to his. "You've been honest about your feelings," she said, "so it's only fair that I be honest with mine. I want you again. Maybe we could be so bold as to try it with our clothes all the way off this time."

He felt his passion intensify. "Works for me. But what happened to taking things slowly?"

She shrugged. "We've already broken the sex barrier, Oliver. It's okay to do it again. We'll take other things slowly."

He grinned. "Works for me," he repeated.

He raised his hand and removed her glasses, placing them on the table by the bed. Then he grasped the hem of her sweatshirt and pulled it over her head, revealing a utilitarian, yet somehow very sexy, black bra.

Before he could reach for the clasp of her bra, she slid his hoodie off his right shoulder, baring his torso and leaving him completely naked. She gave him an admiring look as she ran her hands over his abdominal muscles, around to his back, up to his shoulders...

And then froze.

"What?" he asked. "What is it?"

"This tattoo." She pointed at the black star inked on his right pec.

Crap. Everyone else assumed that it was an ordinary tattoo. But with her job, there was a chance she understood its meaning. "You don't like tattoos?" he said lightly.

She flushed, her cheeks an angry red this time and not a soft pink. "I do my research, Oliver. This is a Bratva symbol." She stared at him, struggling for words. "You're Bratva?"

So she did understand. He shook his head. "Not any more, and never by choice."

"That's not an answer."

"Felicity..."

She pushed away from him. Without her glasses, he could see that tears were forming. He couldn't tell whether they were from anger, frustration or disappointment.

"We agreed, Oliver, that you would be honest. Five minutes ago, we agreed to that."

"I know." His brain was working quickly, thinking about what he could say, wondering where he should draw the line.

"Well, now's your chance," she continued, her voice shaky. "You tell me why you have that tattoo or you leave now and this thing between us, whatever it is, dies here."

She was already pulling away from him; he could feel it. The fragile trust they had built up was going to collapse before their nascent relationship could go anywhere. But what would she think if he told her the truth? Would she appreciate the risk he was taking? Or would she recoil? And what about her obligations as a cop?

He thought about Tommy's words that morning. If you like her as much as you say you do, if she's as smart and honest as you say she is, how long is she going to put up with you keeping things from her?

He hadn't known her long, but he felt like he knew her well - at least the essence of her. She was smart, she was brave and she was unselfish. And she might be a cop, but she believed in fairness and her own sense of justice as well as the written law. How else did she justify hacking?

He thought about his future; about repeating the pattern he'd gone through so many times of choosing women with whom he could remain a stranger. He thought about a lifetime of never letting anyone in, of always being alone. It felt godawful bleak. At some point, he wanted to share his life with someone. He needed to. He believed she could be that someone.

And so he told her. He told her everything.