This is my first M-rated fanfic, please be gentle lol. I don't own any of the characters.
Olivia shifts uncomfortably before tearing her eyes away from the tile floor to meet her partner's gaze. His eyes are already awaiting hers when she lifts her head up to find them. They each take a moment to read the other's subtle expressions, then Elliot nods his head once, ever so slightly. She understands his motion and turns away, heading towards the doorway. She pauses momentarily, to glance once more at the scene in front of them—Emma's face is still puffy from the tears. She is now holding the bouquet of flowers from her lover who is crouched down beside her. Olivia lets out a sigh of relief, picking up her pace and exiting the room with Elliot directly behind her.
The two stay silent as they wind through the endless hallways, absentmindedly matching each other's long strides. The chaos around them is thankfully limited; they only pass a few nurses, and the background noise is easy to ignore. Olivia's mind is everywhere and nowhere alike. She has too many thoughts racing through her head that nothing is coherent, almost as if tv static has overtaken her brain. Elliot interrupts her internal jigsaw puzzle. "So, what do you think of that?" he asks her.
"Of what, exactly? That was one of the strangest cases in a long time," she responds.
He furrows his brows, not entirely sure what he was directly addressing to begin with. "Uh, well all of it, I guess," he turns his lips downward with a shrug.
Olivia shoots him a side-eye as she releases a nasally chuckle. "That really narrows it down." Alas, they reach the exit and push through to the outside. If he doesn't specify a starting point in the conversation, her mind will not gather her thoughts well enough to address anything. Elliot retrieves the car keys and unlocks the doors, slipping into the driver's seat and Olivia into the passenger's.
"The grandma," he finally states. "Do you agree with her?" He watches her face contort in contemplation once the question processes.
"I, I don't know," she begins. "I have to appreciate her disgust towards her granddaughter. Wouldn't anyone disown a family member for murder?" Elliot raises his eyebrows in an agreeable manner while putting the key into the ignition and bringing the engine to life. "But to rub her mother's death in Emma's face..." she trails off, her eyes falling down to her lap as her fingers awkwardly dance with each other. "That was cold."
Elliot backs out of the parking space and heads towards the street exit. He senses that Olivia is planning to continue, so he stays quiet, determined not to interrupt her train of thoughts.
"Because I understand," she says softly. Despite having an opening in one of the lanes, Elliot stays in place at the exit, giving himself a moment to look over at Olivia's face. He didn't expect the conversation to turn personal. "All I ever wanted was a mother," she whispers turning her head to stare out the passenger window. When Elliot neither responds nor moves the car, she shifts her focus to him. As she expected, he was already studying her expression intently. "El, drive," she mumbles before turning back to the window.
He obliges, throwing the turn signal back on then taking the next availability in the right lane. After a moment of silence, he concludes that she's done talking. Knowing better than to push the subject, he moves on. "Want a drink?" he asks her.
She opens her mouth to protest, but quickly changes her mind. A drink, or two or three, actually sounds quite perfect. "Uh, yeah actually. A drink would be great." Her lips twist up into a slight smile. After already saying more than she expected herself to, she enjoys the idea of slowing down her cluttered thoughts. She would like to have a lighter mood for the rest of the evening, and not discuss her depressing upbringing any further.
"Let's go to the one by your place," Elliot decides. "Make for an easy trip home."
Olivia raises an eyebrow at his statement. "Are you suggesting something?" she questions, wondering if he's expecting her to drink too much. She would be lying to herself if she said she didn't want to get tipsy tonight. She'd take alcohol over those mushrooms from hell any day.
Elliot jumps to his defense, "No, I uh," he sputters out quickly, then softens his voice. "I just know this case was hard on you especially with the ER visit, and if you do want a few drinks, I just rather you be close to home. That's all."
Her lifted eyebrow stays in place until she lets out a chuckle. "So you are expecting me to get drunk," she states. He peels his eyes away from the road to shoot her a sarcastic expression. "No, I catch your drift," she teases, a small smirk emerging. "Good thing you're driving."
A glass of Merlot in, and Olivia finally feels relaxation emerge throughout her body. Her thoughts slow down, no longer a jumble of recent events fighting to be at the forefront of her mind. She relaxes her posture, releasing the tension in her shoulders and neck.
"You ready for another?" Elliot asks, and she nods with a soft smile. He flags the bartender down to request another glass for her. He shifts his body on the stool to face her again. Her demeanor has visibly relaxed, and he's glad. "How are you feeling?"
"Better," she responds instantly. "Thank you for suggesting this." The bartender retrieves her empty glass and replaces it with a full one. She thanks him, then focuses her attention back to her partner. "I'll stop after this one," she tells him, picking up her glass for a sip. Upon setting it back down on the bar, she closes her eyes for a beat longer than usual, and adds, "Maybe," with a smirk.
Elliot smiles warmly back at her. "Whatever you want to do. I have nowhere else to be," he tells her before taking a swig of his beer.
Despite it being close to a year already, she often forgets that he has no curfew, no wife to get home to. The intrusive thought she's been wrestling with lately creeps back in. Invite him back to her place. She attempts to shake the impossible idea, but it lingers longer this time. She's relaxed, and he's unwinding at her side as well. A couple drinks in. A day off tomorrow. If it wasn't completely ludicrous, the scene would be basically writing itself.
The majority of the case has made its escape from her thoughts, but one thing is still sticking with her. Especially now that she's allowed her mind to drift to inappropriate thoughts. Her partner staring directly into her eyes from across the desk, rasping out the words, "I'm hot. I'm wet." A pang of desire strikes her groin, and she shifts uncomfortably, crossing her legs in attempt to relieve the sensation.
"You okay?" he asks, noticing her movements. He obliviously drops his eyes down to drink in her body. She notices his wandering eyes, but doesn't react. It was only because of her sudden change of position, she figures.
"Oh, yeah, uh," she stammers, feeling a rush of blood in her cheeks. If the alcohol hadn't already reddened her cheeks, her being flustered definitely has. "I just...have to use the restroom," she lies, taking a large gulp of the wine. "But I'm actually ready to head out if you are?" She decides to call it a night to avoid anymore awkwardness caused by her invasive thoughts.
She reaches down to pull out her wallet, but his hand swoops in and stops her. Her breath catches in her throat and she swallows hard. "My treat," he says. She glances down at their hands, then back to his face. His piercing blue eyes appear to have darkened a shade. Must be the light.
She clears her throat, but is unable to muster more than a whispered "okay." His hand is still gripping hers, and it's definitely been seconds too long. His voice is echoing in her mind. I'm hot. I'm wet. She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth upon the realization that those words describe her perfectly right now. He gives her hand a quick squeeze before releasing his grasp, then pulls out his wallet to toss a few $10s on the counter.
"Shall we?" he asks, his lips turning upward into a gentle smile. She's still recovering from his touch, but he's already reaching his hand back out to offer some extra stability as she hops off the stool. She accepts it graciously. Truthfully, she was longing to have contact with his skin again. He motions for her to lead the way, dropping her hand once more, but only to find her lower back. She licks her lips and sighs heavily when his fingertips make the connection. The heat rushes straight between her legs, and she tries not to visibly react this time. But Elliot is attentive, he notices all of her slight movements.
He tries to restrain himself as she exits the bar ahead of him, but his eyes fall down to her backside anyway. He knows he has no longer has a reason to feel guilty for admiring another woman, but Olivia wasn't just any woman. He should know better than to lust after his partner, but after twelve long years of repressing that desire, he's losing his willpower.
Once the car is in park, Elliot leans back in the seat and glances over at Olivia, who stayed silent for the five minute drive. She's staring down at her hands in her lap, softly biting her bottom lip. She can sense his eyes on her, and she peeks up through a curtain of hair to meet them. "Thanks for tonight," she says softly, a smile forming. The voice in the back of her mind is still yelling at her to invite him inside.
He returns the smile, a kindness fluttering in his eyes. "Anytime, Liv. Should I walk you up?" he asks.
She's about to protest, offer a teasing jab that she didn't have that much to drink, but he's already stepping out of the car. So, he wasn't asking permission. She shakes off the perplexed expression and opens the passenger door to meet him.
"You know I only had a couple drinks," she exclaims upon reaching him in the parking lot. He responds merely with a breathy chuckle. He's extending his arm towards her, and she pauses. It's not unusual for them to share slight contact here and there, but this is more than she would expect in one evening. But she accepts with minimal hesitation, locking her arm around his as they venture up to her apartment.
As she's unlocking the door, she's insisting that he really didn't need to walk her up, but she knows her tone is giving herself away. She really didn't need him to walk her up, but she can't deny she wanted him to. While turning the doorknob, his fingers find her lower back once more, causing her to shudder.
After stepping inside, she twists around to face Elliot. "So," she whispers, leaning against the doorframe. Do it, you coward. She clears her throat, much too noticeably. "Since we only had a couple drinks, would you..." she sucks in her lips, her tongue tracing them a couple times as she musters up the courage to finish her question. "Would you care to join me for another?"
He accepts wordlessly, just a simple nod and quick smile. Her teeth tug at her bottom lip while she steps to the side to let him enter. His arm brushes against hers swiftly, and she curses herself for letting such a minuscule touch have this effect on her body.
She follows through on her earlier white lie, excusing herself to the restroom as he begins shrugging off his jacket. She instructs him to help himself to the fridge as she turns the corner and goes out of sight.
A couple minutes later, she re-emerges to find Elliot on her couch, a bottle of beer in hand and a fresh glass of wine for her on the coffee table. "Thank you," she murmurs, taking a seat next to him. She knows she sat too close, but she refuses to correct herself.
"So, Liv, do you—" he begins to say while she retrieves her glass. His expression changes slightly, his eyes dipping down quickly then back to her face. "Is that mine?"
"Oh! Uh," she stammers, feeling a rush of heat flood to her cheeks. "You lent it to me a while back. Guess I've held it hostage," she chuckles, gesturing down to the grey hoodie she switched her work shirt out for. "You can have it ba-"
"Keep it," he interrupts. "Looks better on you anyway."
Their eyes stay locked together for a moment, then Olivia—for fear of her voice cracking—whispers, "I have to disagree." His eyes haven't left hers, and there's an intensity dancing between them. It's making her heart race uncontrollably. She wants to believe that she's reading the same expression on his face that she is displaying on hers.
Lust.
Once again, she hears his husky voice replay in her mind. A surge of confidence overtakes her body, and she begins to lift her hand slowly. "So I should return it." He's watching her intently, his eyes burning with curiosity of her next move. Her fingers land on the zipper. She's being risky as hell with this, but she neglects to care in the moment. Her index finger curls around the back of the zipper, and she tugs downward in slow motion.
No going back, she decides. After a few seconds of tortuous speed, a hint of cleavage peeks out. Elliot's throat runs dry when he realizes the direction she is taking this. He can't breathe, and she's only unzipped a few inches. He could pass out when the black lace reveals itself, and she's still going. His hand is itching to slap hers away and rip off the rest of the sweatshirt, but he knows to let her control this. He rests his palm on his thigh and grips his knee to subdue the impulse.
The entirety of her bra has surfaced, her hand shaking as she continues down, inch by inch. "Fuck," he mutters, accidentally loud enough for her to hear. Heat is flooding across every damn cell in her body. He's seen her once like this before, but only as a split decision to save their asses. Never in this position, of her sensually undressing herself in front of him as he watches with wide, fervent eyes, cursing under his breath.
She vowed to keep her own eyes fastened to his, but she dares to plunge them towards his lap, and she can't help but notice his pants have grown tighter. Her eyes trace his upper body, lingering on his lips for a few seconds. She reaches those sapphires once more as her toned, olive stomach emerges into view. With only a couple more inches, the sweatshirt falls to either side of her body.
It takes a moment for Elliot to fully register the sight in front of him. He blinks a few times to ensure that he is not imagining this: Olivia leaning back to the arm of the couch in his grey sweatshirt, biting her lip, and her goddamn breasts staring him in the face. He nearly groans, feeling the confinement of his trousers strengthen.
"Liv," he mumbles.
"Don't," she whispers. "Don't say anything. Just," her head falls back to the arm of the couch and she closes her eyes with a sigh. "Just come here," she pleads.
He hesitates for a moment, then gradually progresses closer towards her. It's his turn to move at an agonizingly slow pace. When she feels a shift in the cushions, she lifts her head back up. Her heart is still thumping in her chest, and she feels her breathing begin to accelerate. Elliot's presence is starting to tower over her as he rests his knee up against her thigh. Her heart is no longer the only organ throbbing. One of his hands presses against the arm, right beside her head while the other settles on the back of the couch. He stops then, a gap of only a few inches separating their bodies as he hovers over her.
"Liv," he whispers once more. She reaches her right hand up to rest on his cheek, stroking it once with her thumb, and he exhales in appreciation of the gentle touch. Their eyes are both flickering from their shared gaze to the other's lips. Her hand trails down his jaw and around to the back of his neck. She applies slight pressure, encouraging his head to move closer to hers. Her eyes drop down to his lips once more, then flutter shut. His lips find hers, gently brushing across them to test the waters. A touch so delicate, yet electrifying. His breath is hot against her skin as he lowers his face to plant a light peck on her jaw before dragging his lips back up to capture hers once more, with a stronger urgency this time.
As he fully crashes his lips against hers, an electrifying sensation courses across her entire body, raising goosebumps along the skin of her arms and thighs. She's concerned her heart will jump right out of her chest. He drops his body against hers, the buttons of his shirt scraping across her exposed belly. The hand once holding the back of his neck is sliding around to grasp his cheek as she deepens the kiss, tracing his lower lip with her tongue. She can feel his erection pressing through his pants against her thigh, and it is driving her wild. She desperately needs to breathe.
Unwillingly, she pulls her head back to inhale sharply. He drops his forehead against hers and captures a much-needed breath as well. Her pupils are heavily dilated when her eyes reopen to locate his. The striking shade of blue never fails to amaze her.
"El," she whispers breathlessly, as his hand brushes away a few loose strands of hair that had fallen across her face, his eyes descending momentarily to her exposed upper body. "I want..." she sighs, and chews at her bottom lip.
"Me too," he responds in a husky tone, leaning back down to pepper her jawline with light kisses, searing her skin with every touch. A soft moan escapes from her throat when his lips reach her ear, and he whispers, "Bedroom."
Upon entering her room, Elliot twirls her back around and grasps both of her cheeks to draw her mouth against his. Their lips crash together fiercely, their need for each other rapidly growing stronger. Olivia reaches up and with trembling hands, begins to undo the top button of his shirt, all while assuring her mouth never abandons his. Her heart is hammering, but the insatiable ache between her legs overrules any nervousness she's feeling. Elliot breaks the kiss momentarily and slides his hands from her flush cheeks down her neck, tracing his fingertips along her collarbone until he slips his hands under the sweatshirt and onto her shoulders. Olivia allows her arms to drop back to her side, focusing on his hands against her skin.
"This is what you want?" he asks. The animal inside of him wants to rip off the rest of her clothes and throw her onto the bed, making up for all of the years of shared tension between them. But the other part of him wants to cherish this moment, to take the time to learn her and feel every inch of her skin beneath his hands. To familiarize himself with the taste of her lips, her aroma, discover her weaknesses and what will cause his name to fall off her lips. The fucking can wait.
"Yes," she breathes, "more than anything."
He slips the sweatshirt off of her shoulders, and she removes her arms to let it fall to the ground. Her hands fly back up to those pesky buttons with determination. Her fingers have steadied themselves, and she's able to work her way down in a matter of seconds. She brushes her fingertips along her chest while pushing the shirt off to meet the sweatshirt on the carpet. She pauses with the urgency and glides her hands up his forearms, biceps, shoulders, neck. She's always admired his physique from a distance. But to touch it, to trace her fingers down his firm chest... "Dear god," she mumbles, and his lips twitch with a smirk.
His arms snake around her body, drifting from her lower back up to her bra, his thumb toying with the clasp. He watches her expression, waiting for a reaction, and she nods her head approvingly. His fingers unhook her bra, slipping the straps down her shoulders gradually until it falls from her arms entirely. His eyes are everywhere, drinking in his partner's half-naked form in front of him. He wants this image burned in his memory until the end of time—her golden breasts, hardened nipples, and the seductive gleam in her brown eyes. A more beautiful sight can't possibly exist in this world.
He pulls her body flush against his to secure her lips to his once more. She whines into his mouth at the skin-on-skin contact, her nipples scraping along the planes of his chest. This kiss is hungry—their tongues dancing with each other, their teeth nipping at the other's lips. The desire is overwhelming, their arousals throbbing almost painfully now. He's backing her towards the bed, and she falls against the mattress when her legs hit the edge.
He hovers over her body, slipping a hand up to cup her left breast, the pad of his thumb swiping across her nipple a couple times. He's dragging his lips down her jawline and her neck, the tip of his tongue tracing her skin until he reaches her other breast. His tongue circles around the nipple while he rolls the other bud between his fingertips. "El," she whines, her skin erupting with chills as his mouth closes over her, sucking softly. He releases the sensitive nub with a light pop, swirling his tongue around again before traveling to the other side to provide the same treatment. His hot breath tickles her flesh, and he glances up to meet her eyes in the moment he captures the fullness of her breast in his mouth. She's panting heavily from his deeds, and it's music to his ears. He pinches the bead that's still slick with the residue of his saliva, and her hips lift involuntarily from the mattress. She needs more.
His hands fly down to the button on her pants while his teeth tug at her bottom lip. She feels dizzy. All she can taste, feel, smell is Elliot, and it's overwhelming. He's tugging her pants down, and of course she matched the black lace of her since-discarded bra. This woman will be the death of him.
She rises from the bed now to do the honor of undressing his lower half. Her fingertips dance along his abdomen then work at his belt. One hand slides over his bulge, eliciting a deep groan from his throat. She squeezes gently, and he twitches under her hold. Her mouth is agape, breathing heavily in anticipation. She slides the zipper down, then leans forward to place a delicate kiss on his skin just above the waistband. She's never shared such an erotic moment like this with another man, but Elliot is different. His motive isn't to use her body to get himself off and leave. The way his tongue traced her skin, the tenderness of his fingers on her nipples, how he takes his time. He's learning her, worshipping her. And she desires to do the same.
Once his pants are kicked off, he leans over and grasps her lacy backside to lift up her body and reposition her on the center of the bed. He runs a hand through her brunette waves, his fingernails skimming her scalp. She smiles up at him softly, sharing an expression of pure adoration. His body dips down into hers, their upper bodies colliding and inciting a shock in her nerves from her breasts down to her core. His erection presses into her inner thigh, only the thin material of his underwear acting as a blockage.
They're both releasing accelerated breaths as Elliot's hand grazes between her breasts, down her stomach, and to the black lace. The heat of her arousal is pouring out as he gently cups her mound, his thumb finding her clit through the fabric. She whimpers and raises her hips into his touch, craving more. "El, please," she whispers, "touch me." She's never been one to beg, but this pace is torturous, especially after the foreplay of light touches and lustful glances that lasted twelve years.
His index finger curls under her waistband and drags her panties down her smooth legs. He frees her ankles and tosses the scrap of lace onto the carpet. "Jesus, Liv," he damn-near growls. "So fucking beautiful." His hands run up both of her legs, from her muscular calves to the soft skin of her inner thighs. He's imagined this moment far too often to be considered acceptable.
One hand is moving between her legs, and she's practically writhing under him and he hasn't even—
She gasps when two fingers land on her clit, slowly rubbing in small circles. All of her nerve endings are on fire. How long she's craved her partner's hand to be down there. How many nights she touched herself to the thought of him. And here he is, his thumb now toying with her clit as his fingers slide through her warm, damp folds. Up and down, teasing her entrance. His middle finger finally dips inside of her, pumping in and out.
Tiny noises are escaping her throat from his ministrations, and he adds a second finger. "God, yes," she breathes. Elliot shifts his weight to his elbow, allowing him to brush away some hair that had fallen across her mouth, and he seizes her lips. She drops her jaw to allow his entry, and he glides his tongue along hers with the same pace of his fingers thrusting inside. He's catching every noise she releases, a few groans falling into her mouth as well. The vibrations are making his cock twitch.
She breaks apart from the kiss—gasping—and reaches down to push his hand away. "Need you," she whines. Her foot slithers up his leg, curling her toes in the waistband of his underwear in attempt to yank them down. "Off," she demands. He obeys, shoving them down and freeing his hard member. He slides back against her body to nip at her neck. His tip is poking at her abdomen and she could cry for how badly she needs him. She feels his lips place a feather-light kiss on her scar, and she can't help it. Tears pool in her eyes at how tender this moment is, how passionate, and dare she say...loving.
He lifts his head back up, brushing their cheeks together, and that's when he feels the runaway tear. "Olivia?" he asks, the concern apparent in his tone.
She smiles at him, using her hand to caress his cheek. "This is good," she replies softly, pulling his face down to hers. "Good," she repeats against his lips. She gives a quick peck and whispers, "now please get inside of me."
He kisses her in response, on her lips, her cheek, forehead, nose, and lips again, earning a giggle. Truly, music to his ears. He shifts upward onto his knees to get in position. "Do you have a condom?" he asks.
She whines at the delay. "Yes, but I take the pill." She knows he's never been with anyone other than his ex-wife, and he knows she's had multiple partners, so she adds quietly, "and I'm clean." She rises from the mattress slightly, so she can reach forward and grasp his length and begin to pump him slowly. "And god, Elliot," she purrs, drawing out his name, "I need to feel all of you. No barriers." He groans as she swipes along his tip, circling her thumb in the precum that has spilled out.
He grips her wrist and pushes her body back down, her head flopping to the pillow and her hair sprawling out in every direction. She's a fucking goddess. He kisses her fiercely and grips his cock to guide it to her entrance. His glides himself along her slit, her wetness soaking his tip. She grasps his shoulders, digging her fingertips into his flesh awaiting him to push himself inside her.
"Liv," he rasps, his breath ragged. "Before we do this, I just," he licks his lips, "I need you to know...that I love you." The words send a shiver down her spine, and she squeezes her eyes shut to fight back the saltwater threatening to return.
"I know," she whispers, blinking away the droplets. Her hands travel down, and she grips at his back. She's holding her breath. His tip is still against her opening, and she can't take it any longer. She lifts up her foot to dig her heel into the curvature of his ass and force him forward. Within seconds, he's sliding inside of her. She finally exhales with a soft cry. Her velvet walls are already clenching around him, trying to adjust to his thickness. He groans at the sensation, of her warmth and of her tightness.
"Fuck, Liv," he grunts, slowly pulling away to plunge deeper this time. "You're so... so hot," he leans forward and nips at her lips, "so wet," he continues, his lips falling against her ear, "dripping." His hips are rocking at a steady pace now, and he's breathing heavily in her ear.
Her hips are rising up to meet every thrust. Like walking the streets of New York, like sitting with a suspect in an interrogation room—they've established a rhythm so easily.
She truly is dripping; she can feel her own juices pouring out when he retracts his cock to shove it back inside. No one has ever had this effect on her body. A warmness is pooling below her belly, and her toes start to involuntarily curl. "Faster El, please," she begs, gripping the back of his neck, doing everything in her power to draw his body closer to hers.
He follows her command, increasing the speed of his thrusts. The moans falling off her lips have risen an octave, the pleasure soaring through every nerve in her body. She draws her mouth back to his, yearning for the taste of him on her tongue again. She wants this forever, she decides, and she's never going to grow tired of this sensation.
Their lips are tracing the other's carefully. Both of them are panting too heavily to continue such a deep kiss, or else their lungs will start screaming. Elliot's hands dips down between their clammy, swaying bodies to find her sensitive clit. Her walls thrash around his cock when he circles his index finger over the nub.
Her hips buck violently up to his, and she cries out. "I-" she pants, trying to find strength in her vocal chords.
"That's it, baby," he encourages, moaning at the way she grips onto his length. He's nearing the edge of his release, but he holds onto what little control he has left because he refuses to reach his high without her right there with him.
"No, I-" she whimpers, digging her nails into the flesh behind his neck. "I love you too," she manages, as his continues swirling his finger around her clit, applying a slight increase of pressure. She feels his cock convulse against her contracting muscles, and it nearly sends her over the edge. The throbbing deep within her core is agonizing, and she's silently praying for the relief to wash over her.
He knows she's close; he can feel the way she's tightening around him and her moans are now higher-pitched, echoing throughout her bedroom. He crashes his lips back to hers, oxygen be damned. His other grasps at one of her breasts, circling his thumb around her nipple at the same pace as the one trifling with her clit.
That does her in. She arches her back off the bed, digging the balls of her feet into the mattress, as his name rips out of her throat. Every cell in her body is on fire as waves of pleasure ripple through her core. She's gripping his cock so tightly that he's locked in place. He loses it then, his own orgasm rushing through his body, his seed spilling out as he's buried inside of her warmth. "Fuck, Liv," he grunts. Her body is shuddering beneath him, and another wave of pleasure surges through her from the sensation of him pulsating deep within her.
She's desperately trying to catch her breath as she comes down from her high. Her chest is rising and falling powerfully, and she lifts up her hand to wipe away the beads of sweat that formed across her forehead. Elliot is also regaining his strength atop her. He slowly removes himself from between her legs, and she whimpers at the loss of contact. He rolls off her and drops backward on the bed, his chest still huffing. She leans over and softly presses her lips to his flush cheek. "I meant it, El," she whispers.
He grabs one of her hands and holds it down over her heart, turning his head to gaze into her eyes. "I know, Liv," and he brings her hand up to kiss her knuckles. She doesn't know how to respond other than to smile at him.
"I hate to end this moment," she sighs, "but I have to excuse myself to the bathroom." She rolls to the side of her bed, and she stumbles slightly trying to get her legs to work again. She can sense the cocky expression on his face watching her struggle to walk straight. She enters the bathroom, flicks on the light and finds a towel.
"Here," she calls and tosses the towel on the bed before closing the door. She plops to the toilet seat, resting her head in the palms of her hands. Her legs are still shuddering from the most powerful orgasm she's ever experienced. This really happened. She had sex with Elliot. She told him she loves him. The only regret she has is how many years it took to reach this point.
After a few minutes, she ventures back into her bedroom to find Elliot under the covers. He pulls back the blankets for her to slip in next to him. She snuggles tightly against him, nuzzling her head in the crook of his neck.
Yeah, she could get used to this.
His voice interrupts the silence. "I have to ask, Liv. What sparked this? Not that I'd ever complain."
She laughs lightly against his shoulder. "It's silly," she begins, "but you said something when we were working on that case." She props herself up on her elbow to find his eyes. "And it drove me... fucking... insane," she admits. He raises an eyebrow, requesting more info. "I'm hot, I'm wet," she recalls, falling back to his chest. "You said it with such a rasp in your voice, and I couldn't get it out of my damn head."
He chuckles softly at her explanation and interlocks his fingers with the hand she has splayed across his chest. "Whatever it takes," he responds with amusement, tracing his thumb over hers. "Took us long enough," he smirks.
"Mmm," she responds, "we have a lot of lost time to make up for."
His lips find her temple. "Can't wait," he replies.
Olivia shifts onto her side, and he drapes an arm over her waist, pulling her body close to his. She relaxes against him, her body molding perfectly into his. He traces his fingers on her warm skin, across her ribcage, over the curve of her hips, down to her thigh and back up. She lets out a quick sigh, and her heart starts to race again.
"Sorry, Liv," he mumbles when he notices her body shift. He kisses her hair and drops his arm back over her, stopping his motions. "I'm never going to get used to this," he admits.
She takes ahold of his hand, dragging it higher. She intentionally brushes it over her nipple, a tease for both him and herself. When their hands reach her face, she leans into his palm. "We may have a lot of time to make up for, but we have even more time left." Her lips place a light kiss against his palm. She's never behaved with such sentiment, but it feels so right. Her walls tumbled down the second his lips found hers for the first time on her couch, and she never plans to reconstruct them.
This is good, she thinks, so damn good.
Thank you for reading! I can't believe I actually posted on here after 6 years, wow.