Biting her lip, Olivia peers at her reflection in the mirror, deciding this is not too bad. Silk flatters her body, her curves. The material is soft, lace-trimmed at the cups (they hug her breasts in a perfect fit) and the hem, and she blows out a long, conscious breath. She has several nightshirts, cami and pajama sets, but nothing close to this. She hasn't put on something sexy to bed in years, not since before Lewis, never quite comfortable enough to present herself like this–mostly because she didn't feel it. She always told herself there was no reason to wrap damaged goods nicely. Of course she recognizes how utterly destructive this way of thinking is, that she needs to get out of her own head and not overthink what her scars look or feel like to a lover, so here she is, doing something to actively change and overcome it.

This suits her. The nightgown accentuates her breasts, compliments her hips, her olive complexion. She almost opted for something black, figuring it would help conceal that lower belly pooch better until the sales woman brought out the ruby-colored piece, asking her to try it on, and when Olivia did, she was complimented on her curves that were, apparently, 'to die for'. The black nightie was no less expensive than the ruby, so she took the other woman's advice. So far she doesn't regret it.

To hell with all the nagging insecurities. Scars and trauma be damned, she's going to do this, and she looks good (really, she looks great ), she feels good and confident and ready–well almost.

Some tinted lip balm goes on her lips, just to soften them up and give them a little bit of a shimmer, also some mascara to accentuate those lashes. Olivia thinks she should have brought a more proper selection of beauty products for this rather special occasion (if only for that little extra boost of confidence) but at least her face looks fresh after her evening skin care routine.

The scent of monoi oil has soaked into her skin. It lingers in the bathroom and bedroom, so Olivia decides not to layer it with perfume. Taking a deep breath she rakes her fingers through her hair, fluffing it up in places until she's happy with what she sees. Almost done now, she takes care of one more thing and grabs the bottle of lubricant, making sure she'll be ready to go without unnecessary interruptions–at least for the start. Truth be told, she'd be disappointed if they don't extend their activities late into the night.

There's a flutter of excitement that makes her feel almost bouncy, flushes her skin in a heat that's different from that nervous energy she felt when they were together for the first time. She's a lot more self-assured, a lot more confident about this. It's been a good while since she's come up here, and if she doesn't want to risk Elliot thinking that she's fallen asleep and follow her upstairs she should really get back to him. She washes her hands, taking off the remnants of lube, and then, with a big breath she nods at her reflection, encouraging herself around the hint of a smile: "Let's do this."

When she descends the stairs, barefooted, her steps light. If anything gives her return from upstairs away it's the creaking of the wood, but Elliot doesn't seem to notice. He's focused on his phone, finger swiftly swiping across the screen. The last step gives a howl of protest, and Olivia almost holds her breath and pauses, her heart thumping with anticipation, but Elliot doesn't turn his head, never lifting his eyes off whatever he's looking at.

"You changed your mind about going to bed?" he asks distractedly.

Now her nerves flare up, burning a hole in her brain making her forget the words that sat on her tongue, something daring and unequivocally sexual. She just stands there, drawing a blank, a jumble of what she should say causing chaos in her head.

She steps closer, slow and deliberate, close enough to tell that the app that's open on his phone is 'Signal', that someone, most likely Kathleen or Maureen, sent him pictures, and he raises his head just slightly, his eyes widening, and it feels good, the way he looks at her. Empowering.

The phone is still in his hand, but he seems to have all but forgotten about it as he's staring, taking her in slack-jawed. Her nerves settle, and the fog in her head clears. Now Elliot is the one out of words.

"Sorry I made you wait," she says, innocent. "But those jeans were so tight, and I wanted something more…comfortable."

Elliot drops the phone, looks at her like he can't quite believe her tone and the outfit, like he doesn't believe any of this is happening for real.

Biting her lip Olivia straddles him, and he holds his breath, red from ears to neck as she takes his hand and guides it between her legs, exhaling an unsteady breath as she makes him touch her.

"Jesus, Liv," he croaks, and she sees the effect this has on him. She's bare and aching, and he chuckles helplessly as she moves against him, cheeks flushed.

"Let's not drag Jesus into this," she purrs, her fingers finding the button of his denim. "I'd rather we keep this between you and me."

His brain seems to catch up as he's seeking her clitoris out, tucking it between two fingers and she moans softly, glad for the slip of excess lubricant. Riding that wave, Olivia tilts her head back. It's only a moment until she refocuses, because she wants this to be about him–for now. She wants to blow Elliot's mind (and then some) make him feel good. Show him how much she adores and wants him.

"What...what is this?" he asks above the sound of his zipper being unzipped, and he still holds that look of surprise and confusion and obviously a hell of a lot of arousal, that makes her think she might have made his brain short-circuit. He touches her above the nightgown with the other hand, fondles her breast, mesmerized.

"You don't like it?" she asks sweetly, arching one eyebrow.

"I do like it. I like it a lot," he almost stumbles with how quickly he reassures her. "Just surprised."

"Good."

Whenever Olivia thought about this lately, she thought it would be awkward–that she would be awkward, that maybe she'd have second thoughts about this and chicken out, or that Elliot would look at her like this is crazy (or like she is)–which he does, but in a good way that tells her that he wants her, that this version of her turns him on, too, possibly more than anything–but it's not. She doesn't feel awkward or uncomfortable, and she doesn't feel like stopping this.

It's not embarrassing after all this time. It's good. It's good, she feels good and her confidence keeps building as Elliot's hand descends on her body, cups the slope of her ass, his calloused fingers scraping against silk, now, and God, how sad it is to think that she missed out on this until now. She digs deep into her desires as she feels Elliot hard in his pants, the waistband of his jeans opened and inviting. Olivia breathes out and then her mouth is on his in a sudden, bruising kiss, and she's so fucking turned on, she can feel the heat all over her body and her heartbeat pounding in her ears, fully consumed by the spark Elliot's searching, pressing hands ignite. He's slipping one hand fully around the curve of her ass, lifting her up, under the gown with the other, and she's done thinking straight when he pinches her clit that's still between the V of two fingers–it's not painful, but new and definitely not cautious. And she cries out.

Next thing she knows Elliot's teeth are scraping against her throat, so she angles her head, gives him access as she presses her throbbing sex against his hand. She moans and swallows hard, sucking in a breath. Elliot's mouth works across her throat, up her chin, and when he covers her mouth it feels like he's going to devour her. The control she had slips away, and maybe she should just go with it, she thinks, but she also isn't entirely ready to let it go, not yet, so she pulls back, albeit reluctantly, her breath a harsh thing on his face.

"Take your pants off."

She lifts her ass and gets up on her feet, finding her legs wobbly. Elliot's eager, already pushing jeans and boxers down his hips. There's not a moment that he looks at anything other than her. His eyes and breathing are like a storm as his gaze rakes over her chest and hips while his clothes pool at his ankles. She licks her lips as his arousal greets her, his cock straining. It's pink with anticipation and need, calling to her. She waits a beat, two. Lets him discard his pants and underwear as her own arousal causes havoc in her belly, and her sex clenches as she grabs a pillow and gets on her knees in front of him, her intention clear to both of them. Then he shakes his head.

"Liv, that's not–you don't have to do this. I mean, clearly you don't do this, and you shouldn't on my account."

It gives her pause. So now she's a woman who doesn't do this (she's definitely not going to admit that he's kind of right, because she didn't with Cassidy or Ed after) , and of course Elliot would think that, because what else was he supposed to conclude when she never… with him . She takes a breath, collects herself, wants to correct his mistake or hers, because it's not what he thinks. There's just been a hell of a lot to process for her, but she's ready and willing. She wants this. What she doesn't want is to have a conversation about why she hasn't gone down on him before.

"Now you're making assumptions," she smirks, trying to find her balance by wrapping her hand around him, stroking while she holds his gaze, daring Elliot to repeat what he just said. She is going to show him what she does and doesn't do, set the record straight in the only way she can without offering a proper explanation for the lack of…things. "Hands off."

Hands off, because she's not fully convinced that she's not going to panic if there's pressure on her head, when she's made . This is the only one thing she needs, to be in the driver's seat. She needs for this to end in a boost in confidence, not disaster, and she sees Elliot's eyes narrow, but he nods in understanding, silently communicating that he gets how important this part is.

He swallows hard, puts both his hands at either side of his legs. "Hands off," he agrees.

She licks her lips, and she's not at all nervous, because everything about this feels right, and so she goes for it without hesitation, lowering herself until she's level with his penis, giving it a playful nudge with her nose before her tongue connects to the tip of it. It makes Elliot shudder and breathe out, and it pleases her when she steals his breath by kissing her way down the underside of his shaft and dragging her flat wetted tongue all the way back up before taking him in her mouth. She could swear she gets a little wet besides the lube, arousal swirling in her stomach and pulsing between her legs, distracting.

He's hard and leaks drops of salty from pre-cum that she sucks off and swallows down with a pleasurable hum. It surprises her to find she likes his taste spreading on her tongue. Her fingers spill on his thighs, massaging them as she hooks her thumb around the base of Elliot's length and slides him a little further into her mouth.

She fixes him with her gaze, long lashes fluttering open as she brings in her tongue, plays with him, and fuck, she can hardly take the way his quickening breath and swelling cock in her mouth makes her feel–powerful and salacious.

She takes him slowly, takes her time to get to know him like this, paying attention to the tells of his body, the way he reacts to her as she indulges him. He stiffens and moans as she sets a rhythm, slow movement, moderate suction. For a while she solely focuses on the tip. Elliot balls his hands to fist when Olivia gradually slides him deeper into her mouth, bobbing up and down his shaft, until he's at the apex of in her throat. It makes her enthusiastic, the blowjob a little more sloppy, now, and when she pushes past that point and almost gags, she releases him to catch her breath, looking at him misty eyed but smiling, her cheeks flushed, thinking how she's definitely out of practice. She also prefers a different angle when it comes to deep oral, realizing this position never really worked for her in terms of tolerating more.

Elliot's eyes are hooded and the look on his face is so soft, she can only see it as pure love. He relaxes slightly, watches as she uses her hand again, his mouth falling open. Then he reaches for her, cups her neck and part of her jaw, and his thumb swipes across her bottom lip where she catches it with her teeth, nudging her tongue against the pad.

"God, I love you, you know that?"

"Uh-huh," she manages around his thumb before releasing it, her hand keeping up with its slow firm strokes. "Want me to keep going? Because I like the way you taste. Like the way you feel in my mouth." There's a hint of shyness in her words, and she bites her lip as heat rises to her head.

At that he sucks in a breath, blows it back out slowly.

"Liv, Jesus…" And then: "Come back up here."

She pouts at that, but her joints welcome the change in position as she does as he says and pushes up to her feet before she's back in his lap, his erection wedged in between their bodies.

"You're incredible," he whispers. "I'm not quite sure what's going on, but…"

"Nothing's going on," she assures, brushing her fingers across the back of his neck, nudging her nose against Elliot's, her lips hovering right in front of his.

"Feels different."

She wraps her arms around his neck, pushing their upper bodies closer together.

"This is all me. And I want it to be all you."

"I don't think I understand," he says as she starts to rock herself against him.

"Don't hold back."

"I'm not hol-"

"You know what I want, Elliot?" Her voice is thick and sultry, done with talking about who's been holding back, she just wants to change it. She pulls back just enough to see his face, the way his brows arch curiously.

"What?" he prods.

"I want you to fuck me. Really fuck me."

His breath catches and his eyes narrow, and he looks at her like he's not quite sure if she means it, like this can't possibly be her , but then he swallows and nods and looks between them, and he's so fucking close when he says, deadpans really: "Fuck you."

"Yeah, fuck me," she breathes, and the air is suddenly thick with tension around them. She seeks his mouth, licks the seal of his lips as she cups his face in her hands. "Been wanting that for a while now." One, two, three seconds pass. She pulses with need and she thinks she's going to go sheer crazy if he's going to make her beg for this. "Hard. And deep. And without restraint."

Elliot's hands are on her thighs, rubbing, and then, as if trying something out, he squeezes, presses his open palm, his fingers into her flesh, kneading it until it heats and reddens slightly underneath. He's neither gentle nor bruising, and she breathes out a moan at the intensity of his touch seeping into her skin.

"That's it," she encourages. "Make me feel it, baby."

She never talks that way ever, using pet names (to be truthful, she finds it ridiculous), but it drives her point home, and she's not above doing this for him when she knows he likes it. She'll gladly play the part. It's like she's flipped a switch, because now he's on her, a hand flying up to capture her jaw, his mouth all over hers, prying her lips apart with his tongue and searing kisses.

Her mouth is suddenly full of him and she pants as he yanks her up, and air meets her heat, and when she wants to lower herself back down, wants to feel his cock prodding where she needs him, he holds her in place, not allowing her to get the 'just before' that she confessed to loving this morning, and she growls with frustration.

Then his hand is right there, palming her, and it's too much and too little all at once, making her legs quiver as he swipes his tongue against the roof of her mouth, breaking apart to talk as he slides his hand up and down.

"You're all lubed up."

"Didn't wanna waste any time."

Elliot dips a finger into her, just past the knuckle, watching her bite her lip, bite it hard. He adds another, focused on her reaction, teases her, and then pushes them up to the hilt.

It's everything , and she wishes he'd not wait her out, that he'd just keep going, pull out and plunge back in until her head spins.

"Elliot," she pleads, and as if he knows what she's about to say he presses deeper, does the things he knows she likes, the things that are familiar to him.

"I know," he pushes past clenched teeth. "But Jesus, Liv, let my brain catch up. I need a fucking minute here."

And for a second insecurity rears its ugly head, making her reconsider all of this.

"El, if this… I don't wanna-"

"S'fine, I just need a sec, and then you tell me what you need," he says, his voice gravel, allowing her to settle against his hand. Olivia's face softens, and she couldn't love him more. Everything changes, not just for her, but for him, too. He may love every second of this, but that doesn't mean he doesn't need to find his footing in this new role. It's not like they talked about it, after all. She figured it would be easier to just… jump right in, talk later.

"Okay," she agrees on a breath, cradling his head to her chest. "I've got you."

"Okay. I've got you."

With his face nudged into those glorious breasts of hers he wonders what kind of parallel universe they have entered when Olivia, his Olivia, came back downstairs, wearing that maddening little number. This Olivia who speaks in a sultry voice, teasing him only to sink her head between his legs and suck him off just the way he likes it. Olivia who told him to fuck her hard and deep? Was that what she asked for? Either way, he's not sure what the hell is going on. He's not complaining. He's really not, because that would be stupid, and he's not a stupid man. Well, not that stupid, at least. It's just that he needs to think , to get behind all of this, ahead of it, really, understand where she's coming from all of a sudden.

Everything he thought he knew about her, the things that she likes? He's certain she still likes them, but clearly there are things she didn't yet tell him, things she's been holding back. Of course he's not opposed to the idea of fucking her. Of not showing restraint. He loves her, and there's not a single thing he wouldn't do for her if she asked him to, but it's a lot of change all at once, and his head is spinning with this Olivia, who knows exactly what she wants and doesn't shy away from being quite direct about naming them.

His fingers are sunken deep in her and she's warm and slippery, and God, she's planned this and perched herself onto his lap just waiting to be touched. She threw herself into this sinfully sexy thing made of lace and lubed up, sauntering back into this room with the intention of seducing him. Kind of surprising when she damn near brushed him off earlier, but again: he's not complaining, he's just trying to keep… breathing.

She smells warm and musky, that amazing scent that's sweet and flowery, yet rich and earthy at the same time, and everything about her is so goddamn soft and intoxicating.

Again her words penetrate his ear, a promise muttered, and he needs it, needs to hear it again, that she's got him, because he feels like falling into a place he doesn't yet know, and it's a little scary to think that he could somehow get this wrong, that he could misunderstand her. It's hard to let himself fall into an unknown with her, not when she's always been so… reserved? Three, four weeks ago she could hardly stand when he was looking at her, and now here she is, and it seems all she wants him to do is look and revel in her beauty, her luscious curves.

He thought he knew what her encouragement looked like, but this is different, everything is different. Olivia's newfound confidence, the sexy nightgown, the way that she talks. He needs to know that she really wants this, that he's not going to push her boundaries and do something she's not okay with, so he's more than happy for a little guidance.

God, he wishes they would have talked about this before, since apparently she's been thinking about this for longer.

He has no problem with more enthusiastic sex, with fucking , if that's what she wants to call it. But he also enjoys sex on the slower side, feeling that deep connection, and it's defintely there with Liv. Going at her pace, taking her cue, it worked for him, and with all the trauma, especially lately, this was the last thing he expected.

How was he supposed to foresee that a passionate 'Fuck!' would turn into 'Fuck me." or that they'd go from handjobs to fellatio and 'I love how you feel in my mouth'. Long story short: if Olivia plans on putting him in an early grave, she damn near succeeded.

Elliot thinks of the conversation they had after their late breakfast, when Olivia spoke about conquering her trauma, or something to that effect, that he helped her find the woman she used to be, that she feels like herself again. This morning when they made love she talked about feeling wanted and sexy. Clearly something has changed, something big. He loves that she seems to have found more confidence, in her body, in herself. Loves even more that she's not shying away from showing him her true colors, that she's comfortable asking him for things–not that it has ever been a problem. When she liked something, she'd always let him know one way or another, just like she told him when she didn't.

That should be his focus, he thinks. What she wants. The things she needs, things that are going to make her feel good and womanly, so if she wants him to fuck her, he's damn well going to. He'd cater to her, find new ways to move against her, in her, showing her how desperately, how completely he loves her.

Olivia.

Eventually he manages to draw a full breath, fill his lungs with oxygen and the essence of her. The arm that's still wrapped around her waist tightens, pulls her closer, and then he moves, starts to fuck into her with those leisurely strokes she always used to enjoy, his fingers tilted the way she likes because he hits that spot. Her head drops forward and her breathing changes, quickens that little bit more as her thumb strokes the back of his head, so he quickens, too, pulls back further, plunges back in.

"Tell me." Because now he's ready, now he'll hear her, follow her lead.

"Hard. And fast."