We ain't for everybody
Toes hanging off a ledge
Like we got nothing, we got nothing to lose
Ain't always heaven, baby
This living on the edge
You holding me holding you
It's a hell of a view
-Hell of a View/Eric Church
His heart hammered in his chest as he raced up the stairs. It was quite possibly the stupidest thing he'd ever done, turning up at her door in the middle of the night after the day they'd had, but when he'd buzzed her from the stoop she'd answered at once, and when he'd asked to come up she'd unlocked the door, hadn't told him to turn around, go home, get some rest. He'd chosen to come to her, but she'd chosen to let him in, and it seemed like a sign somehow, like the universe was telling him he was on the right path.
An hour before he'd been standing in his family's home, had peeked through his children's doorways and seen for himself that they were sleeping, and well, and safe, and when Kathy invited him to stay he'd told her no. You left me for a reason, he'd told her, a lot of reasons. And all those reasons will still be there tomorrow. It wasn't until those words passed his lips that he'd realized how true they were; after two years, something had finally clicked in his heart tonight, and he'd finally, after everything, found a way to let go. Malcolm Royce had clung to a marriage that wasn't worth saving, and now his wife and his children were dead and he was in the hospital after having been shot in the head. Lesson learned, Elliot thought; Kathy had chosen to walk away, and he'd chosen to let her, and they'd all be better off for it. They'd all be alive, if nothing else, unlike Royce's family.
He'd realized something else, standing in that bedroom with Kathy. It hadn't felt like freedom when she first left him, hadn't felt like a fresh start or a chance to make a change. When she left it felt like failure, tasted like defeat, felt like his whole life was crumbling down around his ears. What he'd realized tonight, when he'd seen her wry smile, seen her accept that he wasn't going to stay with her and she didn't really want him to anyway, was that he had been given a second chance. A second chance to be a support to Kathy, without all the guilt, a second chance to get to know his kids, to make time for them on purpose and not just drift through the same house on the weekends. A second chance to choose what he wanted for his life, for himself, for his future.
And what he wanted, more than anything else, was Liv.
That was the thought that had left him reeling as he walked out of his family's home, as he collapsed behind the wheel of his car. He didn't want to be alone tonight, not with the visions of the butchered Royce family splashed across the backs of his eyelids every time he blinked, but he didn't want to be with Kathy, either. He wanted...he wanted to be with someone who understood. He wanted to be with someone who wouldn't ask him for explanations, or blanch when he gave them. He'd always thought his wife was supposed to be his soulmate, the one person who understood him better than anyone else in the world, the other half of his heart, but then he'd met Liv, and he'd realized just how wrong he'd been. If there was one person who was made for him, one person who was the missing piece of himself, it was her. Liv was as much a part of him as the tattoo on his forearm, and right now, in this moment, it was Liv he wanted.
It was want that left his hands shaking, his heart racing, his mind spinning. It was a want he had tried to deny for so many years, a want that had come crashing over him like waves on the shore, and sent him tumbling. He wanted- had wanted for years - to touch her, to kiss her, to feel the warmth of her body arching underneath his own. He wanted to snap the bonds of regulation and procedure and pride that had kept him separate from her for so long, wanted her to crawl inside his chest and never, ever leave. He didn't want to be alone, and he didn't want to watch her walking away from him even one more time. How many years did he have left in the job, anyway? Malcolm Royce had shattered something in him, and it was getting harder by the day for him to toe the line, to do the job the way he was meant to. One day soon he was gonna crack, and then what would he have left? If he lost the job he'd lose Liv, but it felt like he'd been given a chance, now, a chance to choose, to save one of them, and in that moment he knew that if he was given a choice between the two it would be her. They'd been dancing around this connection between them for nine years now, and the shitshow with Gitano had proven, if nothing else, that he wasn't the only one who'd choose a partner over the job. She'd made her choice, too, and chosen him. Whatever he felt for her, she felt the same.
And he had to know. He had to know if this want, this care, this connection between them could survive until morning, wanted to know if it could grow into something more, something that would last. He wanted to know how they would be together, how it would feel to let down the last of his defenses and allow her to slide under his skin and tear him apart from the inside out. He was risking everything, but he wanted to know if it was worth it, if she was worth it. If he never touched her he could carry on, but he would always wonder what could have been, what should have been, and he didn't want to add to his already growing list of regrets. It was a risk, and he knew it, but surely, he thought, it would be better to know.
The way he felt now, the adrenaline and the certainty and the reckless, wild danger that filled him, reminded him forcefully of the days he'd spent overseas during Desert Storm. It reminded him of bullets and IEDs, reminded him of how it felt when every breath he drew could be his last. Tonight he was safe, could just as easily have gone home and tucked himself into bed and woken up tomorrow and gone to work and done his job just like he did every goddamn day but something had broken in him, something he didn't think he was ever gonna be able to repair. Standing in his family's house, realizing he didn't want to cling to a life that didn't belong to him anymore, realizing that he had a chance to reach for something he did want, had set him on fire. By the time he reached her front door he was burning to ashes on the carpet.
He knocked on it twice, sharply, and then shoved his hands in his pockets; he'd been tempted to hammer the fucking door down, and only just managed to hold himself back. She was on the other side of that door, Liv, gorgeous, stubborn, impossible Liv, and he would have walked through hell itself to get to her. The door wouldn't have stood a chance.
He drew in a breath, impatient, geared himself up to shout, but there was no need; in the next heartbeat Liv had opened the door, and when he saw her he had to choke back a wild, hysterical laugh.
She must have been sleeping when he pressed the buzzer downstairs, or must have been in bed at least. There was no makeup on her face, and her hair hung soft and loose and messy, and what he wanted, right then, was to reach out, thread his fingers through that soft hair and pull her in hard and kiss her until she felt it, too, until she ignited from the same spontaneous combustion that had completely imploded his entire life. He didn't though; he'd been in SVU too long to just kiss a woman without any preamble. If he was gonna kiss Liv, he was gonna make damn sure she wanted it first.
But she wasn't helping, because in place of her usual professional attire she wore only an oversized Rangers t-shirt. Just that, just that fucking shirt, falling off one shoulder, those long legs bare and mocking him, and it crossed his mind that maybe that shirt belonged to a man, another man, a man she had taken to bed, a man who cared enough about her to leave something of himself behind, a man she cared about enough to let him, and jealousy warred with desire in his chest. He wanted to stare at her forever, half-dressed and beautiful, and he wanted to rip that shirt off her and give her the one on his back instead.
That fucking shirt; he swallowed hard, and let his gaze settle on her face, and not her chest, not her tits soft and unbound beneath it. She'd known he was coming; she'd had enough time while he was racing up the stairs to put on some pants or a robe or something, but she hadn't. Maybe he wasn't the only one who was losing his mind. Maybe he wasn't the only one making choices tonight.
"Liv," he croaked, and she stepped back, swung the door open and motioned for him to come inside. This was the third apartment she'd had during their tenure as partners; assholes kept turning up at the others. But this one was nice - they had all been nice - clean and modern but warm, too. Homey. There were pictures in frames on the side tables and a mountain of blankets and pillows on the couch. The TV was still on, one of the late night talk shows with the volume down low. She hadn't been in bed at all, he realized; she had a bad habit of sleeping on the couch instead of in her bed and she'd never told him why and he'd never asked. He wanted to ask, now. He wanted to know.
"You all right?" she asked him softly. She crossed her arms over her chest and that shirt slid a little higher up her thighs and he almost choked. They'd been friends a long time; maybe she didn't realize what she was doing to him. Maybe she just felt safe with him, thought he'd never look at her that way, and he felt like an asshole because all he could think about was running his hands over her skin.
"Yeah," he said. The word came out strangled, and he cleared his throat, and tried again. "Yeah. I went to see the kids."
"Did it help?"
Kathy had asked him the same thing. They both knew how he got when he caught a case involving kids. His wife and his partner, the two most important women in his life, they'd asked him the same thing because they both knew.
"Kathy asked me to stay."
Liv raised an eyebrow at him, silently asking for an explanation. It hadn't sounded like an answer to her question but he needed her to know that it was. She'd asked if it had helped, seeing his family, and the truth was that it had, in more ways than one. Seeing the kids had helped put his mind to rest, helped him believe that they were safe, but standing there with Kathy, hearing her ask him to stay and telling her no, that had helped, too, in a way he had never anticipated. It had helped him see clearly, shown him the right path at the most unexpected time.
"I told her no. I...I didn't want to, Liv."
It had never come easy to him, talking about his feelings. His father believed men didn't have feelings, and his mother felt too much, and he'd gotten so bottled up inside trying not to be like either one of them that he was suffocating under his own feelings. There was no denying what his heart was telling him, what he wanted, but finding the words to explain all this to Liv was proving impossible. He groaned in frustration and ran a weary hand over his face.
"Hey," she said, taking a step towards him, hand outstretched, that look on her face she always got when he was coming unglued and she knew it. "You want a beer, or something?" That had always been her job, pulling him back. He was a rabid dog, some days, and Liv was the one holding the leash. Christ, he'd be lost without her.
"No," he said, shaking his head. "I…"
Now that it came down to it, when the moment had come for him to make his confession and accept his penance, whatever it might have been, he faltered. His heart was pounding so loud he was sure she could hear it, and he kept his hands in his pockets, not wanting her to see them trembling. If he told her now, if he breathed life into those words, if he laid his wants bare before her and gave her the choice, he might very well lose everything. If she didn't feel the same way, if she wasn't ready to jump off the cliff, if this was one infraction too many for her to bear, he knew he'd come into the office tomorrow to find her desk empty and Liv long gone. She'd run from him once before, and he knew her too well to think she wouldn't do it again.
But she'd come back, too, and surely, he thought, surely that meant something. There would never be a better moment than this one, he knew; he'd found his balls and come all this way and she was standing there half-dressed and gorgeous and watching him and if he didn't say something now he never would, and if he never did he was certain he'd regret it for the rest of his life. Liv would say he was being fatalistic, that it wasn't destiny or divine intervention that had brought him here but his own reckless heart, that there was nothing that made tonight any different from the hundreds of shitty nights they'd had in the past. Elliot knew better, though. Some things were meant to be.
"I'm ready," he managed finally. "I'm ready to move on. I've had time to get used to it and I think the divorce was the right choice for all of us."
She relaxed, slightly. Maybe she thought that was a good thing, maybe she was relieved to discover that was all that was on his mind, the realization that his marriage was over and he was happy about it. Maybe she'd thought something was wrong when he turned up, and she was glad to know that he was ok. But she hadn't heard the worst of it yet, and he felt more than a little guilty, knowing what he had to tell her next, knowing where his heart had taken him.
"It was the right choice," he said. "And it got me thinking about other choices I've made, or - or - or didn't make."
Doubt swirled in the depths of her dark eyes, and he could have kicked himself; he was fucking it up. The most important conversation he'd had in years, and he was stumbling over his words and breathing like he'd just run a marathon. He must have looked insane. He certainly felt it.
"Gitano," he sputtered, and Liv blanched like he'd struck her, and he knew then that she knew where this was leading. She took a step back from him, and he took a step forward, and her chin jutted out pugnaciously, daring him to cross her. Frustration simmered low in his belly, just this side of anger; Christ, why did everything with her have to be so complicated? Why did she have to be so damn stubborn? She'd fucked Cassidy, for God's sake - he was never gonna forget that, even if she had - and she hadn't cared about Brian half as much as she cared about Elliot. Had she?
"I keep thinking about you lying there on the floor and the blood on your hands and how it felt-"
"Elliot-"
He was on a roll, he wasn't gonna let her stop him now.
"I keep thinking that I could lose you at any second, any moment, on any day, and it's tearing me up inside because I can't lose you, Liv. I can't let you go without...without ever...Jesus, Liv, I can't-"
"El."
That time he did stop. It wasn't her voice that cut him off; it was the pain in her eyes, and the way her hand reached for him, curling around his bicep. Just that touch, and he wanted to break, want to haul her hard against him, wanted to go tumbling back onto that couch that was as good as her bed and lose himself inside the beauty and the rapturous heat of her, wanted her to soak him through and put out the fire that was consuming him from the inside out. He'd never felt like this, never, so close to the edge, needing someone so bad he felt like he'd die if he couldn't have her. Now that he'd opened the floodgates that surrounded his heart it all came washing over him in waves, the way he wanted her, needed her, couldn't live without her. He couldn't hold it back any more.
"I can't do this, Elliot," she said, and he knew then that she had understood the meaning behind the words that had come pouring out of his mouth. Garbled phrases and half-finished thoughts, she had heard him, and found the meaning he couldn't articulate, because she knew him better than he knew himself. But he knew her, too, knew she was afraid, knew why, knew in that moment that it wasn't a lack of desire that held her back, but instead a great, towering terror he meant to disassemble with his own two hands.
"We can't do the job forever," he said, and he saw the hurt and the shock flicker in her eyes. Sometimes she acted like she was invincible, stubborn and proud and refusing to accept, even for a moment, that there was something she couldn't do. Elliot knew better; he knew his own limits. He'd found them already.
"One day," he bore in relentlessly, "one day, a year from now, five years from now, ten, we won't have the job any more. We'll leave with a pension or a tombstone. That's the choice. And either way, however it ends, I want you with me, Liv. The job won't last forever. But…"
But we just might, he thought. He wasn't stupid enough to say that out loud. The thought of forever with any man - let alone him - would have Liv reaching for her gun. There was nothing that scared her worse. But when he thought about it, thought about himself years down the track without the job to go to every day, he thought about her, and how life wouldn't make sense for him without her in it.
With her arms wrapped around her chest, no holster at her hip, no badge, just that soft white t-shirt and her long bare legs, she looked vulnerable, somehow, in a way he almost never saw her. She shifted uncomfortably on her feet, wouldn't look him in the eye, and he could feel it, the tension rocketing up inside her, the war she was fighting between what she wanted and what she thought she could have, the same war they'd both been fighting for nine years now. Elliot had lost that battle; he couldn't say yet where Liv would land.
"I can't just keeping going on like this forever, not knowing-"
"Elliot," she sighed. Christ, this was the stupidest thing he'd ever done, and he knew it. He'd never heard her quite like this, soft, and uncertain, and it was tearing him up inside to think that he was the cause of it, the pain in her voice, the hesitation in her words. Maybe she thought he was offering her something she couldn't have, something she didn't deserve. He wanted to prove her wrong, but this was one fight he wasn't sure they'd both survive. "We can't."
Maybe it was a fight he'd lose, in the end, but it was one he couldn't back down from. She meant too much to him, and he couldn't just let her go now, not without telling her everything, telling her exactly how he felt, not without giving them both a chance.
We can't. Why couldn't they? He asked himself. He was divorced, she was single, he wanted her, she wanted him, and no one else had ever known him, understood him, supported him the way she did, and he would burn the whole world down for her sake, gladly sacrifice himself, his pride, anything she asked of him, just to have her. Why couldn't they? Because they worked together? Because the brass didn't approve? Fuck the brass, he thought. He was already in love with her - had been for years, if he was being honest - and somehow he didn't think sex would make him love her more. He didn't think loving her more was possible. He'd already let a suspect kill a child because he couldn't leave Liv behind; he couldn't get more tangled up in her than he already was. So why couldn't, why shouldn't he touch her? Why couldn't they put an end to this miserable detente, and reach for a piece of happiness?
"Just for right now," he said, and his voice was hardly more than a growl, hardly recognizable to his own ears, "just for tonight, I don't wanna be a cop. I don't wanna worry about regulations or the brass or where I gotta be tomorrow. Right now, right this minute, I am exactly where I want to be, and I am with the person I want to be with. What do you want, Olivia?"
He'd always liked the sound of her full name. It was soft, pretty. It suited her.
"We are cops," she told him, and funny, he thought, but she sounded miserable when she said it, almost like she wished it wasn't true. "You're my best friend and I can't...I can't risk losing you and the job. We can't just stop being cops when it's inconvenient."
This conversation felt an awful lot like a falling apart, he thought, like reality itself was shattering into glittering fragments sharp as glass, every heartbeat slicing him to pieces. He just wanted to help her see that they didn't have to hold back, that they didn't have to be ashamed of the care they felt for one another, that maybe, maybe one day they could be happy. It was reckless, and he knew it, but he reached for her then, let one hand settle heavy and warm at her hip. He gave her the chance to pull away but she didn't; she swayed towards him, just a little, and his fingertips curled against the soft fabric of her t-shirt.
"You don't look like a cop to me," he answered, and though she was still refusing to look at him he saw the wry grin tugging at the corners of her soft lips. They both knew it, that she was standing there half-naked, no suit, no gun, no badge, just her, and a faded shirt, and all that skin he wanted to trace with his tongue. "You're the most...Liv, you're the most beautiful, smartest, strongest, bravest woman I have ever known. I just can't...I can't keep pretending like you're not the most important person in my world. You're not gonna lose me, Liv. Look at me," he said, and she did, and he saw anger and want and fear in her eyes, her body tense like she was getting ready to run, even though she hadn't shaken his hand off her hip yet.
"Look at us," he said. "There is nothing you could say that's ever gonna change this," he gestured between them with his free hand, stepped a little closer until they were almost touching, until he could have pulled her hard against him, if only she'd let him. "Christ, after everything, all these years, I...it's you and me, Liv. Tell me you don't feel the same and I'll leave. And tomorrow I'll still feel the same way about you that I do right now."
Maybe that wasn't a reassurance. Maybe that was the last thing she wanted to hear, that he'd always felt this way about her, that he always would, that even if they were no more than partners to one another he would still love her, want her, always. Maybe it was the wrong thing to say, but it was the truth, and he had left any last vestige of pretense at the door.
"I can't do this, Elliot," she said again, and those dark eyes were full of anger, full of fight. Stubborn, God but she was stubborn, and even when he was standing there offering her all of himself she was still searching for some way out. Some days it felt like everything was a fight with Liv, but he'd rather fight with her than laugh with anyone else. "I can't let you do this now, and wake up tomorrow and find out you've changed your mind."
A slow, smug smile spread across his face. He couldn't help it; whether she realized it or not, she'd just told him that he'd won. It wasn't that she didn't want to go to bed with him, that wasn't what was stopping her. She wanted to, and she wanted it to mean something, and she worried that it wouldn't mean as much to him as it would to her. That was a challenge he could overcome, and easily; it was always going to mean something, the first time he touched her. It was always going to mean everything, and he wasn't going to let her run away from him just because she was scared. The two of them together, they could take down any demon, including their own.
"Who said I would?" he asked her softly, daring to take another step forward. She had touched him first, when this madness started, and Christ, he wanted to touch her now, but he kept his hands right where they were, not giving in to temptation. Whatever he wanted they weren't quite there yet, but they were inching closer by the second, and he wanted to be ready when the moment finally came.
"If you do this now…" she drew in a ragged breath, and he wished like hell he could read her mind. Had she ever imagined this before? he wondered. Was this what she'd always wanted, somewhere deep in her heart? He remembered clearly the jealousy that had filled him every time he'd watched her walking out of the station in some slinky black dress, off to fuck some other man while Elliot was left alone with his head full of thoughts of her. Had she felt the same thing every time she sent him home to Kathy? What had she thought, when he told her about the separation, and then the divorce? There had been a moment, sitting on the stoop in front of his building before sunrise, the city open at their feet and their hearts finding their way back to one another, when her shoulder had brushed his and he'd thought maybe. Had the same thought occurred to her? These two years, him finding his own feet, him going home to an empty apartment, had she been watching him, wondering when he'd reach for her?
"If you touch me now," she said, and her voice was shaking. "I'm never gonna want you to stop and that scares the shit out of me."
That was it, he knew. The moment when it all came tumbling down. He knew every thought, every dream, every heartbeat that had led him here, and when she spoke those words he knew she'd traveled the same path. On the drive over every wall that protected his heart had been shattered until all that was left was him, raw and vulnerable and needing her, and now she was just the same, as bare as he.
"Maybe I don't wanna stop either, Liv," he breathed. "You ever think about that? Maybe I don't want us to stop."
He leaned in close, let his forehead drop to rest against hers. His hand was still heavy at her hip, and her own reached for him, fisted in his jacket, though whether she meant to pull him closer or push him away he couldn't tell.
"We've been trying to stop for so long," she breathed. "I'm afraid we don't know how to start."
"Oh, I know how we start," he said, grinning, and he reached for her with his free hand, caught her chin and raised her face just enough for him to look into her eyes. This was it, he knew, the moment when everything would change, and if she didn't want him to touch her she'd have pushed him across the room by now. She was hard as nails, his Liv, scrappy and fierce in a fight, and she knew how to protect herself if someone got too close. He might have pushed her, but she'd slid right into place, and when he looked at her now he saw it, saw the way her lips parted, saw the darkness in her eyes, saw the way her breathing had grown shallow and heavy with want.
"Is this really what you want?" she asked him breathlessly.
He nodded, their faces brushing together, his hands still holding on to her. This - she - was what he wanted; he didn't think he'd ever wanted anything more.
"What do you want, Liv?"
She'd gotten so good at hiding it, the desires of her heart, had grown so used to disappointment that she kept her secrets, and never let those quiet dreams see the light of day, except, sometimes, with him. When was the last time she'd been given the choice? When was the last time anyone had asked her what she really wanted? When was the last time anyone had ever been able to give it to her? He wanted to do that for her now, to give her everything she'd ever wanted, ever dreamed of. He wanted to make her happy.
"This," she whispered, and then she tilted her head just a little, and let her lips brush against his once, softly.
It was enough for him. Holding her close, both of them teetering on the brink, hearts racing, and she'd kissed him first, had made the choice herself. It was Liv who'd kissed him, Liv who'd finally crossed that line and joined him in this madness, and just knowing that she felt it, the push and pull between them, the riptide swell of desire that had sent him racing over to her door tonight, meant everything to him. He wanted to kiss her and now there was no reason not to, and so he leaned back in as she pulled away, and captured her lips with his own, swallowing the soft sound of her gasp as she finally melted against him, one hand fisted in his jacket while the other reached to clutch at his hair, holding him close against her.
If he'd thought he was burning alive before it was nothing compared to the way he felt now. The grip of his hand tightened against her hip, pulling her body flush to his, and he let his other hand slide gently against her neck, and his cock twitched when she shivered but didn't pull away. He could feel her sigh against his lips and he took the opportunity at once to press his luck, his tongue surging forward, and she let him, pressed herself that much closer to him and let him take her over.
All the years that had come before, all the long nights and hard days and quiet conversations had shown him the depth of passion that lurked within her heart, but still nothing could have prepared him for this, for the way she wrapped her arms around him and drew him in close, for the softness of her pressed against him, for the fire in her kiss, and he returned that fire with one of his own, tongue searching, teeth catching, hardly breathing for he was too consumed with her. He could go without air for a minute or two; he could not be without Liv. Not now, not after this. Not after all the words they'd spoken to one another, not after they'd both confessed their wants and their fears. Now that he was finally touching her, he never wanted to stop, wanted instead to see how far they might go, together.
But he couldn't just let them stand there kissing by the front door forever. He needed something to ground himself against while he finally, finally got the chance to explore her the way he'd always dreamed, and so as he kissed her he took one step, and then another, and she reached for his face, held his lips locked against hers while they went tumbling back against the sink. With his hands gripping her hips tight he shifted, slightly, let his thigh press between her legs, and she widened her stance and let him, let him push them both that much harder against the counter, let her feel him, all of him, hard and desperate for her. She was leaning back, now, and he followed her, followed the graceful arch of her body even as she caught his bottom lip between her teeth, pulling him down with her. There could be no doubt, now, regarding her wants, her needs; she was grinding herself against his thigh and teasing him with that beautiful mouth of hers, and he would have laughed if he had not been on fire with need himself.
In the heated moments before this kiss had begun she'd asked him if he really wanted her, wanted this, and there could be no doubt, now, but he wanted to make damn sure she knew exactly how much he wanted this. Deftly he caught hold of her thigh where it rested against his body, encouraged her to lift that leg and wrap it tight around his waist, and he curled his hand hard around her soft, overheated flesh and held her hard against him, pushing himself forward.
"Can you feel it?" he asked her, breathless and a bit smug. "Can you feel how much I want you?"
She was panting against his lips, and he didn't really expect her to answer, but she did, anyway. Surprising him - and really, he'd think later, it shouldn't have been a surprise, he'd always known she was bold as brass - she caught hold of his hand, and dragged it tight between them, underneath her soft t-shirt and up to feel the slide of sodden silk against his fingers.
"Can you feel how much I want you?" she fired back.
This woman was going to be the death of him, but Christ, what a way to go. Elliot leaned in close, let his lips land on the smoothness of her neck while he stroked her softness and tried to bring himself back under control. Against his hand she was hot, and wet, and he was aching for her already, but he wanted to make this good for her, for both of them, wanted to make this experience one worth remembering. He was itching to see her, to feel her skin beneath his hands, and not that t-shirt, as sexy as it looked on her. Still kissing her neck, he reached between them, and caught the hem of that shirt in his hands, tugging it gently up and off her. Liv did not protest, did not reach out to stop him, only lifted her arms and let him peel it away. Eager as he was to see her he pulled back from her neck, rested his forehead against hers and opened his eyes, and couldn't help but swear as he drank in the sight of her.
It was a vision that would stay with him for the rest of his life; for all the rest of his days he would think of her like this, leaning back against the counter without an ounce of shame, her hair loose around her face, her eyes smoldering at him, challenging him. Her breasts were bare and soft, her nipples sweetly pebbled from the sudden exposure to the air, her belly flat and warm, the span of her hips enchanting, and she was doing nothing at all to hide herself from him. Most of all, though, what shook him to his core was the scrap of black silk between her legs, barely there and taunting him; Christ, had she been wearing that all day? Did she always come to work like this, fancy, heart-stopping lingerie hidden beneath her slacks, or was it just his lucky day?
She was going to kill him.
"Well?" she asked him a bit breathlessly.
"You are the most gorgeous thing I've ever seen," he growled, her teasing voice reminding him of the purpose at hand. Once more he ducked his head, sucked her lip between his teeth while his hands reached for her at once, tracing the shape of her body, learning how it felt, the softness of her sending shocks through him, because this was Liv, Liv's body he was touching, Liv's mouth he was kissing, Liv's panting breaths washing over his cheek, Liv's leg still curled around his hip. His hands captured her breasts, felt the warm weight of them filling his palms, and he couldn't stop himself, couldn't find it in him to be gentle, but maybe gentle wasn't what she wanted, because that leg flexed tighter at his hip and she whimpered into his kiss. She liked it when he touched her, and the thought alone was nearly enough to make him explode on the spot. If he'd opened his eyes he could have seen it, the way she rocked herself closer to him, her belly rippling as she sought some relief for herself, taking from him whatever she could get, whatever he was willing to give, and it occurred to him then that he simply did not have the patience to carry her off to bed. Maybe he should have, maybe she deserved that, maybe he should have been more of a gentleman, but he told himself there would be time enough for all that later; right now all he wanted was this, her, right here, in the kitchen.
And it seemed to him that Liv's thoughts must have run much the same course, for while his hands were busy with her breasts her own reached for him, caught hold of his jacket and slid it quickly from his shoulders, reaching next for his tie. With her hand on the tie she tugged at him, and he lifted his head, watched her, panting and hungry.
"This is insane," she said, but her fingers were working at the knot of his tie, and he knew she wouldn't stop then, not for anything.
"We should have done this years ago," he growled. While she finished her work on his tie he began unfastening his shirt buttons, and the second she slid the tie free he wrenched the shirt from his back. Her eyes raked over him, same as his had done to her, and he grinned, feeling more than a bit smug when he saw her lick her lips. It was nice to be wanted, and he knew he kept himself fit, and he couldn't help but tease her now.
"Like what you see?" he asked.
"Asshole," she answered, but her voice was dripping with fondness and her hands reached for him, traced the outline of his shoulders, one of them drifting down to caress the crucifix on his bicep.
"Yeah, but I'm your asshole."
They both laughed; it came out wrong but she knew what he meant, and she wasn't disagreeing with him, and he would do anything to keep her hands on his body. Slowly, teasingly, he bowed his head; she thought he meant to kiss her, and tried to meet him, but he bypassed her lips entirely, choosing instead to plant his kisses on the curve of her neck. This was something he was glad to learn about her, the way she whined and threw her head back when he kissed her there, and it occurred to him to wonder then what other sounds she might make, given the opportunity. It was in his mind to mark her, to claim her as his own the way he'd wanted to do almost from the moment he first met her, to leave her with a memory she could see and touch in the coming days, but he knew she'd hate him for it, and chose instead to trace the thin vein leaping along the side of her throat with his tongue.
"Elliot," she gasped, her voice high and needy, and he grinned against her skin, reveling in her abandon. It was everything he'd ever wanted, her soft and willing in his arms, but it was better than any fantasy, and he couldn't get enough of her. One hand drifted back to her thigh, running along her soft skin, the other plucked at her nipple, and her hands settled on his back, pulling him in close, impossibly close.
"I want you," she told him, and there was no doubt in his mind that she did, for he could feel her want where she was wrapped around him, could see it in her eyes, could feel it building within his own heart and other places as well, his pants unbearably tight now as his cock began to swell with need.
"Now?" he asked her. "Like this?"
He had to know for sure. He knew what he thought, he knew what it looked like, knew what he wanted, knew they'd probably gone too far already, but he had to hear it from her lips to know that it was true.
"Right now," she gasped at him.
Elliot needed no further instruction; he caught her hips once more in his hands, and lifted her bodily from the floor, flinging her back on top of the counter, and she parted her legs, let him step in close and then her thighs were gripping at his hips, and he was perishing from need. With those long legs locked tight around him, drawing him into her, her hands on his shoulders to keep herself balanced, she took a moment to breathe, threw her hair back from her face, and he took a moment just to look at her, the curve of her shoulders, the swell of her breasts, the notch of her collarbone, the shine of her dark eyes. Slowly he dragged his palms from the flare of her hips up along her sides, his thumbs brushing against the swell of her breasts, his fingertips dancing across her delicate collarbones until he held her neck in both hands, gently, keeping her in place while he leaned in and once more kissed her desperately, and she kissed him back, and his cock, now hard as marble beneath his pants, ground against the place where she was hot and wet and ready for him. The tips of his fingers pressed against the line of her jaw, tilted her head back to get a better angle, and even as he sought to devour her Liv's hands slipped between them, dragging his belt out of his trousers before popping the button and tugging the zip down. In the process though her hands brushed against the swell of his cock and Elliot's whole body shuddered with need, and she laughed against his lips.
"Get these off," she told him, tearing herself from their kiss with a gasp while she tugged ineffectually at his trousers.
"These, too," he answered, letting his fingers slide beneath the scrap of silk beneath her legs.
"God, yes," she gasped, and they went to work, each of them taking their own garments in hand. As quickly as he could Elliot shucked his trousers and his trunks, and Liv did a shimmying little dance on the countertop, sliding that scrap of silk out from between her thighs and tossing it carelessly across the kitchen. The sight of her like that, beautiful and naked sitting on the counter, eager for him, the crisp curls between her legs wet with want of him, tore a strangled groan from his lips, but Liv just smiled, and held her arms out to him.
Elliot stepped up to her at once, and slid his hand between her legs, intent on searching out all her secrets, learning them all for himself. When he touched her she gasped, and tensed, and he wondered if maybe she'd pull back, then, if the slide of his fingertips against her folds would bring her back to her senses, but he should have known better. In the next breath she reached for him, and covered his hand with her own, directing him where to go.
"God, yeah, show me," he panted, leaning forward to rest his forehead against hers while he stared down her body, and watched their hands working hard against her.
"There," she said, pressing his thumb against her clit, her thumb on top of his showing him the way. "There," she said again, and with her encouragement he slid one of his fingers easily inside her and they both groaned at the sensation. He had never, in his life, experienced anything quite as erotic as this, as Olivia naked and showing him how to fuck her, Olivia wet against his hand, Olivia panting while he touched her. And she'd been worried he would want to forget about this; he never wanted this moment to end. Slowly he added a second finger, curled them both against her and watched her body shudder, and she must have thought he was doing just fine because she released her grip on him, threw her hands out behind her and planted them firmly on the counter so she could rock her hips in time to the gentle thrusting of his hand, the swirling of his thumb over her clit. It would not do to move too fast right now, no matter how badly he might want to, and so he tried to take his time, tried to take his cue from her panting breaths, and when she started to whine he just carried right on, holding his breath, as eager as she - more eager maybe - for her release to come.
"You gonna come for me, baby?" he asked her. It was a bad habit of his; whenever he had a woman in bad - which admittedly was not very often - he always called her baby, and he'd damn near called Liv that more than once before, but now he could, and she let him, didn't tell him he was being dick but keened instead, grinding herself against him.
"As long as you don't stop," she gasped, so he didn't, just carried on, until at last she began to fall apart around him. He felt it, felt her clutch him deep, felt her shudder, heard the moan that slid from her lips and made his knees buckle at the sound of it. Through it all he kept his hand right there, moving with her, drunk on the sound of her, and when she'd had enough she reached between them, caught his wrist and stilled his movements.
"That's my girl," he said fondly, and when he pressed his lips against her temple she leaned into the touch.
"You're a possessive bastard, you know that?" she panted at him, but there was no anger in her, and so he just laughed, and kissed her again, slid his free hand soothingly up the satin-soft skin of her back. For a moment she rested, trying to catch her breath, and he let her; his mind was spinning, reeling at the thought of what he'd just done, what more he'd like to do if she let him. And he got the feeling she'd let him do just about anything at all, because after a minute or so she leaned forward and kissed his shoulder, and then slipped her hand between them to curl around his aching cock. With her face buried in the crook of his neck she took her time with him, learned the shape of him while he tried not to collapse in her arms, the heat of her hand overwhelming him. Her confidence grew as they breathed there together, and then she was pumping his cock slowly, slowly, while a stream of curses left his lips and he had to get his own back, so he let his fingers trace the shape of her swollen folds. The touch made her shudder, her grip on his cock tightening as pleasure coursed through her.
"God, Elliot," she whined, and he grinned, relieved to know that he could touch her in a way that left her breathless. It was in his mind to ask her what she wanted, to tease her, to see if she would tell him in explicit detail exactly what it was she needed, but he never got the chance; a few short thrusts of his fingers was all it took to have her reaching for his wrist, stilling his movements at once.
"Enough," she gasped when he looked at her curiously, wondering what she was thinking. "I don't want your hand, Elliot."
As if to emphasize her point she squeezed his cock once, and Elliot got the message, loud and clear.
"I don't want yours, either," he told her, grinning.
They moved together; Elliot caught her lean thighs in his hands, lifted her legs to once more lock around his hips, and Liv took hold of his cock with both hands, guiding him into her as slowly, slowly, he moved forward. The first brush of her wetness against the head of his cock left him reeling, aching and desperate for her, and she must have felt the same for she did not make them wait. With her heels digging into the firm muscle of his ass Liv drew him into her, and they both groaned together, their voices echoing off the kitchen tiles, their pleasure mingling as slowly, slowly he breached her, and drowned in the molten heat of her.
This was what he'd wanted, what he'd dreamed of for so long now. Sweat-slicked skin sliding, hands reaching, the heat of her enveloping him, her breath sliding over his lips, he was so close to her it felt to him as if they had merged into a single body. For years they had been united in a way, knowing one another's thoughts, anticipating one another's intentions, always moving in lock-step, but now they were joined in a way that felt so complete, so right, that it felt like...it felt like coming home.
To ground himself, give himself something to hold onto and avoid hurting her, Elliot planted his hands flat on the countertop either side of her hips, let his panting breaths paint the tender skin of her shoulder while his hips rocked into her. Liv moaned, low and sweet, and flung her arms around him, clung to him while they ground into one another, his cock sliding deeper and deeper into her with each pass until at last he was fully seated and he paused for a moment to soak in the delicious feeling of her fluttering around his length, clutching at him, her body soft and warm and welcoming.
"God, Elliot," Liv gasped, burying her face in the crook of his neck while she shuddered in his arms. "You feel good. You feel so good."
"Fuck, so do you," he panted in response. It had never felt quite like this for him before. Like something right, like two pieces of a puzzle slotting into place, like she was made to hold him. Gently he moved, felt her sex clutching at him, felt the hot wet slide of his cock driving back into her, felt his tenuous hold on his self control slipping. There was a part of him that wanted to make this slow, to make it last, to rock her to her very core and keep going, but he had been waiting for her for so long, and she was perfect, and he wasn't sure if-
"Don't be slow," she gasped at him, turning her nails into the skin of his back. "We can do slow later. I want you to fuck me now."
"Yes, ma'am." He'd never been good at taking orders, but he would give her anything she asked of him.
He nipped at her shoulder, once, caught her skin between his teeth for just a moment, and then he moved, slipped his hands under her ass, holding her tightly, as tightly as he dared, holding her in place as once more he drew his hips back, and then rushed forward, hard and deep, and she mewled, and shivered, and begged him to do it again. Lost in the thrall of her Elliot held her close and rocked his hips against her, harder, and faster, felt the heat and the friction building up between them, the wet slap of their bodies meeting echoing around the kitchen, Liv's ragged cries rising higher and higher in time to the surge of his hips. With his hands clenched tight around her ass he lifted her ever so slightly, so that each time he slammed into her he brought her down hard against him, increased the pace and the frenzy of their coupling while she clawed at him and gasped and fell to pieces in his arms. He couldn't stop the groans that tumbled from his lips, couldn't stop himself from staring down her lithe body to the place where he was driving inside her, watching his cock wet with her own need disappearing into her again, and again, and he felt his own release rushing towards him, inexorable, undeniable. It was all moving too fast, and somewhere in the back of his mind he wondered if he should slow down, even while his body begged him to go harder. Perhaps the movement of his hips stuttered as the worry occurred to him, for Liv bit him none too gently on the shoulder and his hips shot forward once more in response.
"Don't fucking stop," she gasped, and he grinned, relieved, and redoubled his efforts at once. Even now, even like this, it felt to him as if she could read his mind.
Once more the longing between them built to a fever pitch, and this time he let it; there was no reason to stop, now, and she'd told him not to, and he never could tell her no. Again and again he surged within her, felt her clutching at him, felt the tension coiling tighter and tighter at the base of his spine, but what he wanted, more than anything, was to feel her fall apart while he was inside her, to feel the rush of her desire washing over him. He leaned forward, dropped her back against countertop and ground his hips against her with every powerful thrust of his cock and she flung her arms out behind her, let him watch the way her breasts bounced with the movement of their bodies, the muscles of her belly clenching with need, her thighs locked so tight around his hips he could hardly move. There was only her, the glorious blush that painted her skin, the heart-stopping beauty of her body, and he ducked his head, wrapped his lips around one of her dark nipples and sucked it hard into his mouth while he filled her with his cock and ground against her clit and finally, finally she snapped.
Liv whined, high and needy, and her inner walls clutched at him, held him, refused to let him go, and he could feel the glorious wet rush of her release, could taste her skin beneath his lips, and he thrust into that bliss as hard as he could despite his limited range of motion. She reached for him with one hand, scraped her nails against his scalp and held his face against her breast while still he rutted against her, hungry and desperate and mindless with need.
"Come on," she gasped at him, her hips rocking beneath him. "Come on, baby."
A strangled groan left him, and with a few last sputtering thrusts he spilled himself inside her, went slack and boneless in her arms with the kitchen counter beneath them holding them both steady while his need pulsed through him, burned through him with a righteous, white-hot fire and left behind it only his love of her.
Her touch was gentle, soothing, while he tried to catch his breath, his cock still nestled tight within her. Tenderly she ran her hand over his sweat-slicked hair, cradled him close to her while he panted against her breast. In all his life Elliot had never known anything as sweet, as beautiful as this, as them, together, as her, holding him, but even this moment of beauty could not last indefinitely. They'd made a mess of each other, sweaty and bearing the marks of one another across their skin, and when he finally slipped out of her he could see his release smeared across her thighs. It shouldn't have turned him on, but he was certain the sight alone would have him hard for her again in a minute.
They'd done it, somehow. It was everything he'd ever wanted, and everything that never should have happened, and they'd never be able to ignore it, and he had no fucking idea what came next.
She knew, though. She always knew.
"Take me to bed, Elliot," Liv whispered into the stillness between them.
And so he did.