A/N: I'm so sorry I took so long with this update. I have no excuses LOL. Thank you to all the ladies I sent (and re-sent) this chapter to with a million questions. Also thank you to everyone who has reviewed, I cherish every single one even when it's just yelling LMAO. Enjoy!
"She's gonna want you again."
It wasn't a threat – it was a promise of what's to come.
She just hadn't expected it to be quite so soon.
Brooke stands at the foot of the bed, pulling the straps of her bra off her shoulders. Her dark skin shines with the neon sign outside of their room and the only noise that comes from either of them is Olivia's gasp when she unclasps the bra behind her back and lets it fall to the floor. The perfect, brown-tipped breasts in front of her make her mouth water, and she leans forward, taking the right one in her mouth.
Lust permeates her senses. She holds the younger woman close, her hands roaming all over her body. Yes, she thinks. This is what she wanted. She just didn't realize it last night.
"Lay down," Olivia finds herself whispering. She does as she's told and lays back in the motel bed, now clad in just a pair of white lace panties. A smile graces her face, dark eyes smoldering up at her.
She hooks her fingers into the lace and pulls them down her beautiful body. When they're off, she's stunned at the woman beneath her. She's beautiful and sinful and wicked – there's something in her that tempts the detective and drives her forward. Brooke is soft and feminine, so different from how she typically presents herself, and so different from Elliot. Her senses are alight with want, with need. Her mouth ghosts over her umber skin, down the valley between her breasts. She's got her priorities and an opportunity. She won't pass it up.
Not now.
She briefly feels that there's someone watching her but puts it out of her mind. It's not important. She has to taste, she has to feel. She has to know.
"Please," Brooke whimpers, her back arching as her body seeks more contact. She dips her tongue, gliding it along the younger woman's inner thigh. "You teased me all night. Are you gon-"
Her speech is cut off.
Olivia's tongue makes intimate contact with her skin. She can hear the cries coming from Brooke, but she's caught in the sensation, the taste of another woman. The heat in the room is suffocating her, it's threatening to cut off her air supply and it has everything to do with the pounding, almost painful arousal between her legs.
Her tongue flattens, strokes upward, and gathers Brooke's wetness. It's good, it's so fucking good – and soon enough she is flicking and swirling her tongue, learning Brooke's reactions to her. Olivia slips her index finger into her, through the swollen, soaked skin. It's a chain reaction then; Olivia groans at the tight warmth surrounding her digit, Brooke rocks into the touch.
And Olivia feels a hand trailing up her back. The angle isn't right, she knows it's someone else. She opens her eyes and sees Elliot on the bed beside them, his eyes bright and burning into hers. He's naked – no signs of the scars from his fighting during his time undercover, his hair is short like she had remembered him in Manhattan. Brooke doesn't seem to mind at all, only protesting when Olivia's mouth departs from her core.
"Don't stop on my accord," he throatily whispers to her. Elliot's hand migrates to his hard cock and she watches him stroke himself for a moment before pressing her mouth back between Brooke's legs.
Olivia flexes her hips into the mattress, but there is no relief for her. She swipes her tongue over Brooke's clit and sucks it into her mouth. The suction sends Brooke's body into an upward spiral and Olivia switches between watching her come undone and Elliot observing both of them.
"Liv," he alerts her. "She's gonna come."
If she hadn't been told she still would have felt the changes in Brooke. She feels her pulsating around her finger, feels the hands in her hair, urging her to continue. Olivia looks to Elliot one last time, humming in appreciation as he strokes himself and watches her. It's a brief moment until Brooke's breath catches, and she's crashing over the edge.
She works her center with her tongue, observing the younger woman's climax with carnal interest. "Olivia," Brooke cries out, her body trembling with wave after wave of her orgasm hitting her.
"Olivia," she hears again, but this time it's from Elliot. "Olivia."
She wakes with a start.
For a split second, she debates opening her eyes at all. Perhaps she could just go back to sleep and pretend this all never happened. But there is a nagging, simmering need growing, so she allows her mind to fully wake in order to align with the feeling inside of her.
Her back is to Elliot as she slowly untangles herself from the sheets. Sweat has accumulated on her forehead and down the valley between her breasts, and she wonders how much thrashing she did in her sleep.
When her feet touch the floor, she hears the low rumble of his voice behind her. "Liv."
Her hands are braced on the bed as she draws in a deep, cleansing breath. It does nothing to quell the ache or erase the slick arousal between her thighs. Slowly she turns her head, perching her chin on her shoulder to look back at him.
For once she has nothing to say.
"I'm gonna shower," she rasps.
The edges of her vision are hazy. She's a little hungover, tired, and sore. Her mouth is dry - too dry, and it drives her to stand from the bed and make her way into the motel bathroom. She ignores the way he calls after her, she just needs to be alone for a minute.
It all starts to hit her as she turns the tap on.
She's barely been here for three days. Within an hour of seeing Elliot, she had wound up with his mouth bruising her skin, his fingers touching the most intimate parts of her. Even now as she leans over the sink she can see the pink marks his lips had left that first night.
Olivia uses her hands to cup as much water as she can take in. It's not just the tequila that's done this to her. It was the angry, brutal way they had taken each other last night. Round after round - they barely let each other sleep.
There wasn't any point that either of them even danced around the elephant in the room. She wasn't going to go there. Now it seems her mind wouldn't focus on anything else.
She drinks until her stomach feels sloshy. When she catches a glimpse of her naked body in the mirror as she moves towards the shower, she quickly averts her gaze. The signs of Elliot are everywhere on her, and in turn, her signs are everywhere on him.
If she closes her eyes, she can see the small crescent marks on his forearms as she clung to his body above her. She can almost hear the low growl of his voice saying her name and the provocative way he speaks to her when he's between her legs.
Under the spray of the shower, she breathes. A thousand nerve endings on her body are alight, even after hours, days with him. Maybe the need will never let up. They'll go back to work and she will crumble beneath the pressure between her legs. She will switch units, or maybe he will - and people will whisper about what happened here in this motel room.
They went too far.
She got caught up in the moment.
The judgemental voices permeate around the room just as the steam does. She doesn't think she deserves a cold shower. It will dissolve the arousal in her, it will erase all the reasons she is punishing herself right now.
She deserves the heat.
"Liv?"
Suddenly she's acutely aware of how many times she's heard her own name in the past twelve hours, real or not.
The steam is so thick he can barely see in front of him.
From outside the door, he could hear the steady sound of water going down the drain and not much else. Whatever she was doing, she wasn't moving behind that door.
He sensed her change in demeanor when she woke up. Something had shaken her back to reality. He was more than happy to stay in their cocoon of half-truths and a complete lack of conversation.
His stirring body had woken him just moments before she had. Over the past couple of days, he had taken her countless times. Nearly every fantasy that had passed the long hours undercover had manifested.
They were never good at talking. The only reason why they were both here in the first place was due to their inability to communicate. He's not sure why he could never muster the courage to say what he needed to say.
Perhaps it's because he's never really been able to put into words how he feels about Olivia.
He pulls back the curtain and just the sight of her has his naked body hardening again. Her tanned skin is slick from the shower and he immediately reaches for her, steadying her as she leans on the wall.
"You okay?"
Olivia turns around to face him, though she keeps her gaze on their feet. It's a slight nod of her head that tells him she's trying to lie but failing.
"Just a lot to take in," she says quietly.
He nods into the steam. His body instinctively crowds hers. He's backing her up until her back is flush with the tiles and his hands are on either side of her head, caging her in. They're nearly out of the direct spray - it only hits the backs of his calves and his feet. The water is scalding but he ignores it in order to watch her.
Olivia's fingertips brush over the plains of his chest. She's focused, and her hand stops over the puckered skin around the jagged, uneven line of a scar. Her eyebrows knit together in concentration as if she's filtering through her memories of him in order to place how he got the scar.
"It's from my initiation," Elliot confesses to her. "Damon wanted to make sure I would always have something to remember him by." He scoffs then as if he could ever forget the nights spent fighting for half-reasons or just for fun in order to prove himself worthy with the club. Six months have passed and every moment of it he has felt like he's been fighting.
If not for the club, for his own life.
"I'm sorry," her voice wavers slightly. "I should've been there."
Elliot huffs out a laugh without smiling. Undoubtedly those moments would have proved they were cops - Olivia would have never stood for him being beaten the way he was. When there is a will there's a way seems to be her motto through life.
She always manages to save him from himself.
"We're gonna make it out of this, Liv," his mouth drops, dragging along her temple, down to the shell of her ear. "Just gotta have each other's backs."
He hears the way she swallows and lets out a small, relieved breath. Olivia's hands curve over his hips and pull him closer to her.
Elliot doesn't hesitate to kiss her this time. His right hand wanders from the tiles over her waist, down to the crux of her hips. He focuses on how he kisses her, sucking at her lower lip and dipping his tongue into her mouth before pulling back.
Against her lips, he lets go of the persona he'd created for himself in order to stay alive these past months. He covers her possessively as if the entire world is watching and he is guarding her.
His. His.
The water sloshes at their feet and swirls into the drain. He's entirely too happy to stay right here instead of beneath the onslaught of the shower. Two of his fingers are flush with her clit, rubbing in slow circles. He isn't worried about time. This moment is entirely theirs.
When she comes, her forehead is firmly against his and she gasps into his mouth. It doesn't take her long, and the wetness between her legs has nothing to do with the shower. He wants to tease her about the slick want, but he will find time for it later.
Elliot lets out a grunt as he lifts her legs and his cock easily slides into her, surrounding him with her tight heat. Her arms are wrapped around his neck, clinging to him, to this.
Just as he starts to move, he hears a loud bang. Once, twice. There's movement in the hotel room that belongs to neither of them. Footsteps come towards the bathroom and Elliot hurriedly covers Olivia's mouth, pleading silently that whoever is on the other side of the door isn't there for the reason he thinks they are.
He curses against her when he remembers he'd never bothered to lock the door. Though he doubts it would have kept whoever is out there from coming inside.
A blast of cold air hits them then. With his free hand, he pulls the shower curtain back just enough to look at their intruder. Olivia's feet drop to the floor as he lays eyes on Brooke. Her dark features are starkly contrasted by the blood that is spattered across her face and neck.
"I've been made," Brooke says in a rush, utterly unphased by the implication of seeing them in the shower together. She grabs two towels off of the rack on the wall, tossing them to Elliot. "You two only have about twenty minutes before this dump is swarming with FBI agents. Get dressed."
He looks back to Olivia, whose shocked expression equally matches his own.
"Shit."
A/N: *waiting to be yelled at*