SUPPLY AND DEMAND
RATED M
CHAPTER EIGHT
Early in her career, when she spent every spare moment trying to solve her mother's case and had almost no work-life balance, she often found herself in the precinct records room until all hours of the night. She'd forget to eat or sleep, crashing face-first on her couch so often she wonders now why she even bothered owning a bed.
But when Rick came into her life, that started to change. She can't pinpoint exactly when, or why, but he started subtly forcing her to set boundaries to avoid getting burned out. It started with him bringing food to the precinct so she could eat while working, slowly graduated to their frequent meals at Remy's, where no topic is off the table. And those boundaries have made her a better detective and partner, both romantically and not.
Still, she occasionally slips back into old habits, as she discovers on her fourth day as the precinct captain.
She'd spent the morning at 1PP, discussing budget issues and promotion requests, and she scarfs down a granola bar as she spends the first part of the afternoon reviewing the schedule for the coming weeks.
She has to ask LT to cut his vacation short, she realizes with a defeated sigh, but she has no choice. They're dangerously short on staff as it is, even though she'll put herself on shift rotation to help cover. And she might need to cancel more leave requests if she doesn't figure out something else.
Her door is shut and blinds are partially closed to minimize distractions as she turns her attention to the ever-growing pile of closed cases to sign off on, so she doesn't notice the bullpen go dark, or hear the familiar ding of the elevator when it arrives on the floor.
She does, however, hear the quick raps on her door, and she glances up from a report to see her husband's face appear. He looks concerned, and when she registers the silence from the room behind him before he shuts the door, she glances at the clock and swears.
"I'm sorry," she sighs, pushing back from her desk and standing as he steps into the room, revealing a grocery bag full of several takeout containers. "I lost track of time."
Rick shrugs and presses his lips to her forehead when she wraps her arms around his waist. "I figured that when you didn't answer any of my texts."
She swears again and leans back to furrow her brows at him. "You should have called my desk," she insists, walking them towards the couch on the other side of the room.
"It's fine, Kate." When she opens her mouth to apologize again, he sets the takeout bag on the couch and cradles her face in his hands. "I promise."
She closes her eyes at the warmth of his hands, and she allows his touch to ground her, to center her, remind her that she has a reason to leave work every night. She lifts the corner of her mouth when his thumbs brush across her cheeks, a soothing gesture that always helps some of her stress melt away. "What did you bring?" she murmurs, suddenly aware of the hollow feeling in her stomach, trying and failing to remember when she last ate.
He chuckles, and it reverberates through her entire body, waking further the nerves between her legs that had already started to tingle when he'd stepped into the room. She leans into his touch, and he seems to notice the desperation, because instead of an answer, his mouth slants over hers.
She breathes a sigh, and he takes advantage, his tongue sweeping inside her mouth, as if he's trying to memorize the taste and feel of her. Her fingers grip the front of his shirt and she uses the leverage to pull herself closer, to press the length of her body against his.
He's hardening already, and as usual, she's impressed by the speed at which his cock responds. Her own body warms, almost a Pavlovian reaction to his arousal, but before she can even decide what she wants to do - drop to her knees, lie on her desk, or straddle him on the couch - her stomach lets out a loud growl.
He pulls his mouth from hers with an amused huff, and he drops his forehead to hers for a brief moment before he laces their fingers together and guides her to her desk. She sits in one of the chairs in front of her desk, and Rick sits in the other, drops the takeout bag on top of a file.
"How was your day?" he asks, opening the bag, glancing down at the file as he does. "Did you get justice for - is this real? You had a victim named April O'Neil?"
Kate glances up at him and smirks. "Yep. And before you ask, no, I didn't get help from the Ninja Turtles." She grabs a pair of chopsticks and a container, opens it to find kung pao chicken, and digs in.
They fall silent as they eat, and within minutes, Kate starts to feel her energy return. She hadn't realized how hungry she was, and she hooks her ankle around his as a silent gesture of thanks.
As the hunger for food abates, her hunger for him only increases, and she puts her chopsticks down, pushes her food aside, and stands. He glances up when she holds her hand out, and as soon as their eyes meet, he lunges up, crashing his mouth against hers.
She fists her fingers in the back of his shirt as she starts to walk him back to the couch. She can see the surprise on his face when she pushes him down and kneels over him, and she's not surprised. They've been having sex for years, but when they give into their desires at work, they never stray from the supply closet. And once they admitted their feelings out loud and began their relationship, she'd made it very clear that they never would.
Her legs bracket his and she cups his face in her hands, and she lowers herself onto his lap, grinds against the bulge in his jeans. She muffles his loud groan with her mouth, capturing his tongue with hers, and, God, she didn't realize how much she missed him until right now.
The fifth floor is under construction, so it's off-limits, but even if it wasn't, she couldn't wait until they were upstairs. She's too turned on, too desperate, almost comes when he thrusts against her.
He murmurs something against her mouth, but she can't make out the words, every ounce of her self-control being used to stop herself from ripping their clothes off and riding him until they both pass out.
Before she can act on that desire, his hand is buried in her hair and he's tugging her mouth from his. Somehow she manages to open her eyes, and she's sure her gaze must mirror his, pupils dark and lids barely open.
"The door," he husks, and she shakes her head.
"It's shut."
"Lock it."
Oh fuck.
She can feel her underwear soak through at his rough command. Limbs heavy with arousal, she extracts herself from his lap and almost wobbles to the door. She flips the deadbolt and, even though she notices the bullpen is dark and empty, closes the blinds.
There's a sharp sound of a zipper, a quiet rustle of clothing, and when she turns back to face her husband, his pants are around his ankles and his cock is in his hand.
His fist slides up and down his hardened length, the slow movement torturing him if the muscle twitching in his jaw is any indication. He just raises his brows and glances at his lap with purpose, and she lets out a shaky exhale, undoes her own slacks on her way back. She drops her slacks and underwear to the floor, kicking them to the side before straddling his legs and sliding her center over his cock.
He groans, the fist around his cock brushing against her as he thrusts his hips, a slow, measured movement that has her trembling with anticipation. She reaches down, covering his hand with her own, and raises up on her knees. Before she can guide him to her, he curls his free hand around the back of her thigh and lowers his head.
"You're going to want to hang on," he says before his mouth is on her.
She falls forward with a gasp, her fingers curling around the back of the couch as his tongue slides through her folds. Her hips roll against his face, silently begging him for the friction she so desperately needs, for the rough pressure on her clit that will give her relief.
His other hand grips her ass and holds her to him as his tongue laps at her, his satisfied groan sending shockwaves through her. She's close, so, so close, cries out in pleasure when he flattens his tongue against her clit, then flicks it. But before he can bring her over the edge, his mouth is gone and he's lowering her back down to his cock.
They both moan when he slides into her, and she has to pause for a long moment, letting her body adjust to him.
He slides his hands under her shirt and unhooks her bra, and he spreads his palms over her, brushes his thumbs across her nipples. She quickly drags her shirt and bra over her head, gasping when he takes the silent invitation and swipes his tongue around a nipple. His arms circle her waist and she buries her fingers in his hair, holding him to her as she rocks her hips.
His hands fall to her ass, fingers digging into her skin, helping guide her frantic movements, even as his tongue continues to wreak havoc on her sensitive nipples. "Kate-" he gasps, pressing his thumb to her clit, "are you-"
She opens her mouth to answer, to say yes, she's almost there. But instead, she cries out, the pressure against her clit too much, the sharp bite of his teeth on her nipple sending her over the edge. She clenches around him, her thighs trembling as her orgasm rips through her.
He thrusts up with a muffled shout, his mouth open on her breast, panting as he pulses inside her with his own release. "Fuck," he swears on an exhale, his thumb finally leaving her clit.
She chuckles, a low, throaty sound that she almost doesn't recognize. "Fuck is right," she agrees. She trails her fingers through his hair, then leans back so she can look at him, meets his dark, satisfied gaze with one of her own.
His lips curl in a smirk. "You said your office wasn't an option," he teases, pinching her side.
She narrows her eyes and tugs on his ear. "Don't get used to it."
They stand and quickly dress, and once he finishes buttoning his shirt she steps into him, wraps her arms around his waist. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath when he drops his chin to the top of her head.
"Thank you," she murmurs into his shirt. "I needed this." When he chuckles, she huffs. "Shut up."
"I knew my dick was great, but…" he teases, letting the rest of the sentence linger between them, unsaid. He steps back and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, his eyes soft as he gazes at her. "Think you'll be able to come home soon?"
Kate groans and looks at her desk, at the stack of files that she's barely touched. "I don't know."
"Do you want me to stay and help?"
She sighs. The last thing she wants to do is watch her husband leave while she's here for however long it takes to finish. He'd be more than willing to stay, she knows that, but he can't exactly help with paperwork. "Do you mind if I bring it home?" she counters, almost pleading.
He grins and drapes his arm around her shoulders. "I'll make the coffee."
-FIN-
