Now for the real reason this is rated M. Well part of the reason. Chapter 4 should give you even more of a reason to blush.
Disclaimer: I still don't own them. Dick Wolf does. And NBC. Warren Leight might have a share in there too.
Breathe. Just breathe.
She couldn't breathe. And she couldn't stop to think because every time she did, she swore she could feel Elliot's lips on hers, his fingers moving up her leg, making contact with her thong, starting to slip underneath. His fingers were so close to right where she wanted them. Right where she ached for him.
The club music was too loud. Her ears were pounding, her head was swimming. And she cursed the fact that she could feel the effects of the little bit of alcohol she consumed. And she was going to pass out.
She continued to run until she rounded a corner of the bar to assure Elliot could no longer see her. She stumbled and pushed her way past the other club patrons until she found a dark, empty hallway and sunk her back into the carpeted wall. Forcing long, deep breaths with her hands cradling her face; she felt them trembling over her cheeks. It was a stupid, dumb, idiotic, and did she mention stupid, decision to come here. They hadn't really accomplished anything they couldn't have teased out of a witness in an interview. And now what? Go back to the precinct and pretend nothing happened? Pretend his fingers hadn't been millimeters from her core, where it would have given away just how much she wanted him?
Out of nowhere a hand came to rest on her shoulder and she jumped against the sudden intrusion.
"Elliot, leave me the fuck alone," she growled without looking up. It was him, she didn't need to see him to confirm, she could feel his presence next to her. It had always been like that. She could sense him from across the room. When he moved, she moved, even subconsciously, like magnets constantly attracting and repelling each other.
He was so close to her, too close. He practically cast a shadow over her. His cologne invaded her nostrils; it made her dizzy with the thought of him. She was resisting. She was damn good at resisting him. Resisting the thoughts of him naked. Against her. Inside of her. She'd done it for 12 years. What was one more night? Give it a few more hours and she would be home. In her bed, in her shower. Anywhere alone where her affectionately named pink vibrator could erase any memory of his hands skimming the edges of her underwear.
"Liv?" His voice slight shaky. "Olivia, look at me." His thumb and forefinger nudged at her chin, trying to draw her eyes up. She refused. If she knew anything of Elliot Stabler, she knew his eyes would give away his regret. His apology for taking this too far would shine straight through those deep blue pools. The problem was, her eyes didn't say the same. If she glanced up at him, he would see the want, the need; the arousal she was still trying to push down.
But when she forced her eyes up, that wasn't what she saw at all. His look was dark, feral, pure sin. It made her stomach contract, her toes curl and dammit, but that look made her instantly wet for him again.
"El…" It was meant to be a warning, a protest. But her voice strained, gave her away when his name came like a whimper on her lips.
"Oh Liv," His voice was thick with his own arousal. In one move, he slid closer to her, trapping her between his body and the wall. His legs moved to either side of her hips. Her breasts were smashed against his chest and he swore even now he could feel her peaked nipples cutting through the material.
He leaned in close, slowly, aligning his lips with hers, but not touching her, not yet. This time, he wasn't rushing this kiss. He needed to feel her lips, commit them to memory because if he didn't have more than tonight, he needed to remember this moment...Remember the way her tongue unexpectedly darts out to meet his lips. Remember how she angled her head as he takes in her bottom lip or how she sighed softly into his mouth when his hand weaves into her hair.
His lips dragged down to her neck and he sucked hard, knowing the skin will redden and purple under his touch. HANDS
"Tell you haven't thought about it. Tell me to stop," He challenged. His fingers eagerly squeezed her nipple.
"I want you, Elliot," she purred against his lips. The words feverishly swallowed by another kiss.
"How? I need you to tell me." He stressed. He needed to know this was real. This wasn't an act, their covers talking. He needed to know this was Elliot and Olivia, devoted, yet slightly co-dependent partners.
"Here. Now. I, I need you inside of me."
"Jesus, Olivia, you don't know what you do to me. Every fucking day, Olivia. I've wanted you everyday since I met you."
And her restraint was gone.
She arched into him, her hips slammed into his hard cock. She was biting at his lips, then soothing with her tongue. Clawing at his jacket, his back, desperate fingernails digging into flesh, leaving red half moon scars in their wake.
She was wild, untamed. An Olivia he'd never seen before but in his fantasies. Beneath her badge and leather jackets and chasing perps down dirty New York streets, she was this gorgeous, primal sex kitten. How did he survive 12 years of a partnership not knowing what her lips felt like sliding along the stubble of his jaw? Or when she sucked the skin beneath his ear and made him pulse with need?
"Dammit Olivia," his grating voice in her ear driving her forward even more.
He couldn't come yet. He wasn't a pre-pubescent boy in the back on a movie theater, but God she made him feel like one. Grinding against him, she was fiercely trying to get some release before he could touch her. But one more thrust against him and he was going to explode.
He had to take back control. "Liv, you have to stop moving." Rough fingers dug into the soft flesh of her hips, urging her to still against him.
His lips trailed down her neck. God, her skin was soft. And he could smell that same coconut scent that floated by him every morning as she made her way past him to her desk. He couldn't help breathing her in. Jesus, now he was throbbing even more against her, hard against her abdomen.
His hands were wound around her hair, tugging gently, tilting her head back to give him uninhibited access to her shoulders. He exhaled against her pulse point and the warm air sent another surge of wetness between her legs.
"Ohhh. Ohhh God." She was whimpering now. Badass Benson was actually whimpering and it was all because of him; for him. Because now his tongue was running along her collarbone and moving down to the edge of her dress.
Those breasts that had taunted him, had peaked out from v-neck tshirts, and stared at him when she leaned over a desk, were now his for the taking. He lowered her dress just enough to free her nipple. His mouth is there then, hot and wet against her. She practically whined beneath him as the sensation shot straight to her belly and lower, lower until she was squeezing her thighs to increase the pressure, the sensation. His left handed kneaded her breast, while his mouth worked on the other one, circling, sucking, hardening under his touch while she moaned above him. Without warning he gently bit down.
"You SonOfaBitch," she cursed. He smiled against her tanned skin.
"You liked it." Another graze of his teeth, another jolt to her groin.
"Fuck you." But her words held no real malice behind them.
His hands found their way to her thighs, fervently caressing the skin there until he made his way up to that tiny scrap of lace that had taunted him all night. He cupped her then and he tried to hide his surprise at how she had soaked through the material in anticipation.
When he finally pushed the perfect lace to the side, she was bare and soaking wet against his fingers. He parted her folds with his fingers, rubbing softly back and forth, purposely avoiding contact with her clit. She thrashed against him, lifting her hips in attempts to get his fingers inside of her.
"Just do it. Please El. Just fuck me. Please." How did she get to the point of begging? She was so turned on; it was almost embarrassing the way she was dripping for him. She arched her back again, a deep sigh escaping as the motion drove the tip of his fingers inside of her. She needed more of him. The pressure was overwhelming, her legs were shaking, her dress piled high on her thighs, her skin burned with every touch. It was unbearably hot in this hallway and his fingers were lighting fire with every inch of skin they ran over. He was branding her. She would be his from this moment on.
"Pleaseeee" she couldn't bear it anymore. It had reached the point of physical pain, over sensitized to his touch. Her eyes squeezed shut.
He swiped his thumb over her clit and she fought the urge to jump, a fucking jolt of electricity shot through her and she was on the edge. With one hand, he yanked both her wrists above her head, his body still pinning her to the wall. She raised one leg around his hip, opening herself more to him. And with one, two strokes, his fingers were inside of her. He filled her, stretched her in that delicious way that immediately pushed her closer to the edge. The burn climbed up her belly and she soaked his fingers. He wasn't letting up; he wasn't pausing as he continued to fuck her like this. His fingers were so deep, and so good and the thought flashed in her mind of how he knew exactly how to curl and twist his fingers inside of her. That it felt like he knew her body so well as he hit another spot that sent another surge of pleasure through her.
He grunted as he put pressure right on her clit with his thumb and she clamped around him. She was tumbling into bliss and the intensity of her orgasm was overwhelming. The fire tore through her and she threw her head back on the wall, squeezed her eyes shut. Her knees were growing weaker and she slumped against the wall as she spasmed around his fingers.
"I got you Liv, I got you." His words were distant but she could feel his arms there, holding her up as the orgasm overtook her.
She tried to calm down as the blissful sensations drifted, but her breathing remained rapid. And it was still too hot in this club and she was starting to overthink again because Jesus Christ that orgasm was beyond anything she had experienced before and he wasn't even inside of her yet.
He curled his fingers into the lace thong at her hip, gave a sharp tug and ripped the lace off her in one swift motion. He threw the useless material to the floor.
"Look at me" he demanded of her. Her head lolled to the side against the wall and her lids were heavy as she opened her eyes just in time to see him bring his two fingers, the fingers that were just inside of her, to his lips. Before tonight she didn't think it was possible to be immediately turned on following a mind-blowing orgasm. But as she watched his fingers disappear into his mouth, tasting her, she realized how wrong she was.
"You want a taste?" Before she could respond, his fingers were running along her folds again, the remnants of her juices still present and the beginnings of another surge wetness taking hold. When he slid the tip of his finger into her again, her breathing caught. He brought it up to her mouth and she opened slowly to allow him in. Her tongue ran along the underside of his finger, sucking the flavor of herself off. "Uhh, shit Liv, so good" he muttered, his finger sliding out of her mouth with a slight pop.
He stared at her with burning intensity, her leg still wrapped around his torso, the dress piled up on her hips, her core up against him. A small, satisfied smile played across her lips.
"Take me home, El." She purred and he obliged.
TBC.