five things that never happened to Nikki Heat...
2) DON'T STOP TILL YOU GET ENOUGH
Whatever need the bomb has set loose in her, this is one of those times when it won't be sated. She was like this after her mother died, too, but then it was anybody. Rook is right, this is better than that. This is someone who knows her body, and somehow the fact that this is not a relationship has made it easier to say what she wants, to do things she might have worried about if she was trying to impress him into sticking around. This isn't her one, this is only skin and heat and friction. This is both of them with their clothes only half off; this is Rook thrusting into her from behind and Nikki with her forearm braced against the wall and her other hand between her legs, helping herself along.
She comes with her mouth pressed against her arm, so hard there's teeth marks when she's done. Rook doesn't last much longer, which is good because her legs really don't want to hold her up anymore.
For a few moments they just lie slumped at the base of the wall. She's managed to get her clothing back together, but the blood is still pounding everywhere he touched. Rook is sprawled beside her, his pants pulled up but still undone, as if the zipper is just too much effort right now. Considering the way he's breathing and the sweat shining on his forehead, maybe it is.
He rolls his head and looks at her hazily. 'Better?' he asks.
'Yeah.' That it is, though she won't admit how much. This keeps the parts of her locked away that need to stay locked away, but reminds her that she's still alive, still young enough, attractive enough, to do what career girls do in Manhattan when they don't have the energy for anything real but don't want to spend their thirties gathering dust. Anything more is not going to work for her. Not with Jameson Rook, journalist to the stars. Probably not with anyone.
She pats the hand Rook has let fall onto her thigh and makes herself get up. In his bathroom, she runs cold water over her face and damp fingers through her hair and decides she looks together enough. She'll shower when she gets home. Or maybe go for a run. Or maybe shower and go back to the precinct, have another look at the board. Her head feels clearer now, maybe she'll see something she didn't before.
Rook's on his feet when she returns, jeans properly zipped up. He's holding his shirt in one hand, looking around like he's lost something, and she's pretty sure he's looking for buttons. She looks at the muscles in his arms and stomach and considers a second round, but to be honest the first one's left her a little sore.
'Wear a t-shirt next time, it'll be easier,' she says, gathering up her bag and coat.
'Next time we could try the bed,' he answers.
'No.' It's out of her mouth so fast there's no time for her brain to kick in and stop it. Bed is where you do things when you're becoming a couple. This is not that. This is not even pretending to be that.
'No,' he agrees, though she can't quite read his face when he raises it to look at her. 'Couch at least? Padded stool?'
She feels a smile flicker at the edge of her mouth. 'I'm the one who has to do it in heels, what are you complaining about?'