Elliot lifts her onto the counter, slower this time and her knees fall open. When he steps between them he lets his hands coast down her thighs, stop at her knees where the material ends and he finds her bare skin.
Her hands rest on the counter and Olivia looks at him like she's waiting for him to decide what happens next. So he draws circles with his thumbs into her skin, slowly draws his hands up her thighs, the dress inching up with the movement.
They'd left the precinct in a silent agreement. He'd driven them to her place and she'd picked the fedora up off the dash and placed it on her head. When she glanced over at him, her eyes like melted chocolate in the dim light cast from the streetlights, his throat tightened with need. He'd followed her upstairs and once inside her place, she'd looked up, hat still tilted, lips pouting, like some 1940s pinup.
He kissed her gently, like he had earlier in the night, fingers lifting her chin and bringing her closer, and the hat tumbled off her head and landed at their feet. Elliot had pulled away, their eyes locked as he'd taken one measured step after another, directing her back towards her kitchen counter without touching her.
Now he stands here, hands half way up her thighs, and he pauses. He stares at the bright red material against her milky skin. He digs his fingertips into her flesh, feeling the realness of her in his hands. He wonders if he should stop, her expression unreadable and his eyes move down to where his hands rest on her. He wants to keep going, but he needs some sort of ok and he's afraid if he voices the question it'll put an end to this.
"El…" she whispers and it's enough. He exhales as his hands move higher and then the soft material of her dress is pooled at the tops of her thighs and she leans back on her hands and he glimpses the black lace between her legs.
His lips have parted and he takes a shallow breath as he skims the fingers of one hand across the flash of exposed lace. Olivia's hand closes over his arm, as if to keep him in place. So he presses more boldly, pushing his fingers against the heat between her legs and hears her inhale.
He looks up at her, eyes closed, head tilted back and he slides his fingers down, feels her squeeze her hand on his arm, watches her drag her teeth across her bottom lip.
He reaches for her, pulls her mouth to his with his hand on the back of her neck. Kisses her as his other hand slides down her core again. Hears her moan as her wetness soaks through the lace and onto his fingers.
His tongue slides against hers, her mouth melded to his. He increases the pace of his fingers over the lace, rubbing against her as she gets wetter and wetter. Rubs harder and is surprised when she shudders against him, pulls her mouth away from his with a soft cry.
Fuck, did she just…His fingers are still on her as she opens her eyes, pink tinging her cheeks.
And then her hands move to the back of his head and she kisses him hard and deep and he groans into her mouth.
But he has to taste her, has to have the liquid heat of her on his tongue. Has to make her come again, harder. Needs to make her scream.
This has been building between them for months now. Since the moment she knew he was a single man, untethered. Not that they've spoken of it since. Not that they've done anything about it. Instead every interaction filled with the tension of what might be possible, of what it might become. His own fear of losing her partnership, of putting everything on the line for the unknown of them causing him to tiptoe around her.
But now that damn dress has ripped all of it wide open and he can taste the want in her mouth. And now he needs to see the desire on her face as much as he needs to hear it in her moan, feel it in the heat between her legs.
And so he pulls his mouth from hers, hands under her dress so he can rid the lace from her. Slides her panties over her hips and down her thighs and pulls her to the edge of the counter, watches her sink back onto her hands. And then he's there between her legs, he tongues across her slit and she cries out, louder, as he tastes her for the first time.
He swirls his tongue against her, dips inside her, flicks across her clit and she bucks into his mouth greedily. He's waited for this for too wants to tell her how long he's wanted this, wanted her. But he can't find the words. The feeling is too big, so gargantuan that he feels himself dwarfed by her, by this. So he uses his tongue to make her push demandingly into his mouth, uses it to show her all the things he can't say.
He traces his tongue across her folds, places his fingers around her clit so that when his tongue slides up it brushes directly against the bundle of nerves and she gasps his name. He does it again and again and listens to how her voice takes on a pleading edge. And when she finally keens his name he lets his lips close around her clit and he sucks hard so that she screams the way he'd hoped she would.
She's still wearing the dress, hiked up around her waist. As he watches her come down, her breasts pressing against the front of her dress with each staggering inhale, it makes him think about tomorrow and the day after that and the day after that. When she's back in her regular armor, when she puts on her gun and her badge, where will it leave them? Will they leave this behind and never look back?
Olivia's head lifts and her eyes open and he presses his hand into her lower back until she's sitting upright on the counter. His hands find the bottom of the dress and he tugs it up and over her head. The black bra goes next and then she's naked before him, and he realizes that they'll never be able to go back and he smiles in relief.
She smiles back and now the words are there on his tongue, building like they need to be said. But she presses her thumb over his lips and he knows Olivia too well. Knows that she's not ready to hear those words. So he swallows them down and focuses on how much he wants her. His cock has been throbbing with need since she'd looked at him across the study during their undercover op and the urgency of it returns. Her hands move to cup his face and then she hovers her lips before his.
He groans even before his lips meet hers, already knowing how it'll feel when he has her mouth against his own. Already anticipating how she'll clutch him, how she'll moan. And now he knows how wet she is, how much she wants him and it won't be long now until he finally knows what it's like to be inside her.
He surges towards her, teeth grasping her lower lip, sucking it into his mouth. Her hands slide over his shoulders, her arms wrap around him and she presses her body into his.
His hand moves between them again, fingers sliding against her swollen flesh and he can't wait any longer to feel her, presses a finger inside her and she moans again.
He lifts her from the counter and her legs wrap around his hips and he stumbles into her bedroom as her hands fumble with the buttons on the trench coat still wrapped around him.
He's impatient now, dropping her onto the bed and ripping at the coat and his jacket and his shirt, her hands alongside his until she giggles at his haste and his own face breaks into a grin and then kissing her feels more vital than his next breath.
His mouth against hers once more and her hands are steadier than his were, pushing the coat and jacket from his shoulders, undoing the buckle of his belt. And with her help, they undress him, his lips on hers the whole time.
And then he's finally naked and her hand wraps around his cock and he has to close his eyes, overwhelmed that they've finally made it here after he's waited for so long.
"Olivia," He whispers, opening his eyes and meeting her tender gaze and he thinks he could fall apart, fall into her, bury himself inside her and never need anything else for the rest of his life.
She kisses him, soft, sweet. Slides her hand to the base of his cock and back up, caressing him.
He lays her down, joins her on the bed. He wants to take all night, wants to worship and taste and know every inch of her. But it'll have to wait until later, because it's already been too long.
Her thighs fall open once more, her hands smooth up the expanse of his chest. He aligns himself with her entrance and then slides inside her slowly, savoring the tightness of her, the look in her eyes. And once she's taken all of him, he stills and her hand wraps around the back of his head and he presses his lips to hers. When he pulls back, there's a tear sliding down her cheek and he's not sure if it's hers or his because the joy in his chest feels big enough to consume him.
She smiles again and then her heels are digging into the back of his thighs and he moves, withdraws, slides back in, watches her eyelids flutter closed. And he moves again, faster, a little harder, listens to her whimper, feels her hands clench into his shoulders.
"More," Her voice just above a whisper and he complies, pulls her leg tighter around his hip, thrusts into her. And then they're moving together, bodies falling into rhythm so readily, because this is his Olivia, and it was always meant to be like this.
She's fluttering around him now and he shudders at the way she feels surrounding his cock. Grits his teeth as he tries to hold back. Slides his hand between them and thumbs her clit.
"Come for me, Liv. Now, sweetheart." He urges, voice gravelly as his words brush across her lips. And then she does, her heat gripping him so he groans hotly and then he can't hold out. And he feels himself spill forward, his fingers digging into her flesh, pressing open, wet kisses to her skin because it's too much and not enough.
He trembles, one last time, barely manages to roll onto his back and bring her with him before every muscle in his body gives out. For a long while he's only really aware of their hot skin sticking together, her breath skimming his chest, her fingers laid over his heart. His own hand cradles her head and he lets his fingers dig into her tresses, glides the palm of his other hand down her spine as he slows his breathing.
"I love you, Liv," He finally whispers into the top of her head and he feels as much as hears the shaky breath she inhales. For minutes they lay there and he's sure she's awake but doesn't want to respond. And he can accept that. He can give her all the time in the world as long as he has her.
But she finally lifts her head, "I love you, El." And he thanks god for that little red dress.