October 19, 2021

The edge of the vanity dug into her belly as she leaned over the sink, her nose pressed close to the face of the mirror. Carefully she dragged the edge of her thumb along the curve of her lip, wiping away a stray smear of lipstick; it was a foolish choice, applying lipstick when her hands were shaking so badly. The whole damn thing was pretty foolish, actually; that's how she felt, like a fool. A fool, for being so nervous, when it was only Elliot waiting for her in the living room. A fool, for touching up her makeup, for caring so much what any man - especially Elliot - thought of her appearance. A fool, for wanting him so badly, for thinking there was any chance at all that they could touch each other and come through unscathed. A fool, completely and utterly.

Still, though. She'd neatened up her hair and reapplied her lipstick and she gave herself a once over in the mirror. Not too bad, she thought, for a woman on the wrong side of fifty, a woman who was still recovering from a fucking bullet in her belly, a woman who had all but given up on the idea of romance. No, she didn't look too bad at all.

And it wasn't like there was anything she could do about it, even if she wanted to. She looked the way she looked, and Elliot knew her face as well as she knew his, and he'd come over anyway. With his hand on her ass and his lips on her neck and his cock slowly growing harder against her thigh he'd asked her to invite him over, and she had, and he'd been wonderful, had been sweet to her babies and looked at her across the table with smoldering eyes and was even now in the living room, looking after her children while she stole a moment for herself. He'd been a dream.

So why was she so nervous? He was Elliot, and she knew him, and she trusted him, and she'd wanted him for so long now she'd forgotten how it felt not to want him, and just that afternoon she'd had his tongue in her mouth and it seemed like maybe they were, finally, on the same page. They wanted the same things and they were both ready - or as ready as they'd ever be - and he had been so good to her, and she'd thought surely she'd feel some sense of peace, of certainty, of comfort when they finally decided to take this leap. But she didn't feel that way at all; she felt like she was about to come out of her skin, her heart fluttering unsteadily in her chest, her stomach tying itself in knots, and to top it all off she was wet, already, just from the thought of him, wet enough she could feel it when she moved, a slickness, an ache, that left her on edge. The human body, she thought, wasn't meant to carry this much tension; something was going to snap, and soon.

But she'd lingered too long in the bathroom already, so she marched out now, her bare feet silent on the carpet as she slipped out of her en suite, out of her bedroom, out into the main area of the apartment, pausing for a moment to stare in wonder at the sight that waited for her in the living room.

It was Elliot, stomping around, growling like a monster with Mia caught under one arm and Noah under the other, swinging them around while they giggled wildly. The kids were getting bigger, big enough now that she couldn't recall when last she'd picked either of them up - if she'd known it would be the last time she would've burned it in her mind, she thought, but the thing about moments like that, lasts like that, was that they didn't announce themselves, no matter how much a mother might wish they would - but Elliot carried them with ease, strong arms flexing under the soft material of his grey henley. Jesus, those muscles, his body; it made her tongue stick to the roof of her mouth, made her cross her feet where she was standing, pressing her thighs together, swaying on the spot. He was hard, and strong, and big, and after their clinch that afternoon she was beginning to suspect he was big everywhere, and she couldn't think about that, not now, when he was holding her children. Her two beautiful babies; she loved them with everything she had, loved everything about being a mother, and the thought crossed her mind then that she'd have another right now, if she could, if he'd ask her, and slow down, she told herself, alarmed by how quickly she'd lost control of her own thoughts. It terrified her, the way she wanted him, the way she wanted everything with him; wanting things was, in her experience, a sure fire way to lose them.

"Uncle Elliot!" she heard Mia shriek, delighted, and that snapped her out of her trance, just a little bit. She hadn't told the kids to call him Uncle, but they had Uncle Sonny and Uncle Rafa and Uncle Fin already, and maybe she shouldn't have been surprised that they chose to address Elliot the same way, but she was, still, surprised. Pleasantly surprised; relieved, really, to know that her children liked him, accepted him. Maybe they wouldn't mind if he started coming around more. But would he? After tonight, after whatever was about to happen happened, would he be in her home more, coming over for dinner, watching movies with the kids and falling asleep next to Olivia, taking them all out for pancakes in the morning? What if it went badly; what if they didn't want the same things in bed, what if she was too nervous, what if…what if the sex was no good? What if after all this time, all this longing, it proved to be too much for them? What if she got scared when he stripped her naked, what if she couldn't go through with it? What if -

"Uh oh," Elliot said, catching sight of her. "It's the mommy monster. Time to go."

In an impressive display of strength he bent his knees and set both children down on the ground gently, though they still clung to him, smiling wildly, pleased with him. Even thought Mia had been a little reticent at first a part of Olivia had always known, deep down, that they would love him; she had watched him interacting with children, his own and other people's, for over a decade, and she knew he'd win her kids over, and she'd always been a little afraid of it, somehow. What if they loved him and he didn't come back, like Tucker, like Peter, like Rafael? She didn't want to see them lose anyone else.

"Come on, you two," she said, a little hoarsely. "Go and brush your teeth and get ready for bed. I'll be there in a few minutes."

They scampered off to do as they were told; there was a little bathroom sandwiched between their rooms and hers, and they often brushed their teeth together. Olivia suspected they made a game of it, that there was some sort of obscure competition involved, but she let them keep it a secret; they were brother and sister, and some things should belong to them, and them alone. Like Captain Crunch and strawberry ice cream; those things always made her think of her own brother now, her brother who was lost to her.

Without the kids as a distraction she wasn't entirely sure what to do with herself; the bedtime routine would take five, maybe ten minutes, and then she'd go in their rooms and say good night to them both, and then she and Elliot would be free to do…whatever it was they were about to do, but what was supposed to happen in the meantime? She couldn't jump him while the kids were still moving around the apartment, and she was too scared to do that, anyway.

He was just standing there, in the center of the living room, tall and broad and strong, his sleeves rolled back to show off the ropey muscles of his forearms, the buttons at his neck undone and revealing a patch of bare, tan skinned that was so enticing it was almost obscene; she longed to press her lips there, but her feet would not seem to move, and instead she remained rooted to the spot, her feet still crossed and her hands twisting anxiously together. Across the room from her Elliot's mouth quirked up into a smile that was almost arrogant in its self-assured certainty, and he began to walk very slowly towards her, prowling, almost, confident and unafraid, and she wanted to hate him for his steadfastness when her own heart was collapsing under the weight of her nerves.

"Hey," he said, stepping up close, his blue eyes bright and open and fixed on her face, looking at her so intently she couldn't help but feel as if he were reading her very thoughts, as if he were looking through a window into the vault of her heart where all her doubts and all her fears were bouncing around like ping pong balls.

"Hey," she answered, hating the way her voice shook.

Elliot noticed it at once, and his eyes narrowed, and she thought maybe he'd be afraid of it, afraid of her fear, afraid she'd changed her mind, thought maybe he'd take a step back, but he didn't.

He didn't.

In the face of her uncertainty he remained undeterred, and instead of backing up, instead of giving her space, he stepped forward, caught her by the hips and tugged, and her feet got all tangled up and she stumbled, and from one breath to the next she went from standing alone to resting against the hard plane of his chest, looking up at him and feeling like the heroine on the cover of a Harlequin romance in the worst way. In the best way, too, though, maybe, because he'd caught her, and held her steady, and when she looked up at him she saw her favorite face in the whole world smiling down at her.

"Nervous?" he asked, smoothing one hand gently over her hair while the other remained anchored to her hip.

"Aren't you?" she asked, a little petulantly.

He just smiled.

"I'm scared out of my mind," he confessed. "But I know what I want, Liv. And I'm not walking away from it. Are you?"

Both his hands were on her hips again, smoothing slowly around to the small of her back, and her head was spinning, just a little, from the nearness of him, from the warm scent of his skin, and she found she couldn't look into his eyes, found the want, the yearning there so overwhelming it was damn near paralyzing, and so she buried her face in the crook of his neck, breathed in deep and somehow found the strength to speak.

"No," she said. "No, I'm not walking away."

Yes, she was afraid but no, she was not backing out now, because she'd never come this close to happiness before, and she desperately wanted to know what it tasted like.

"Good," he said, and she smiled against his skin because the way he said it now his voice was exactly as low and gravelly and pleased with himself as it had been that afternoon.

"Because I've been waiting a long, long time for this," he continued, and her knees shook as his hands slipped carefully beneath the line of her sweater, as his fingertips inched slowly, slowly, beneath the waistband of her leggings. She'd changed when she got home, changed because she didn't like wearing her work clothes around the apartment and because she knew her ass looked good in those leggings and she wanted to feel his hands on her ass again. She'd done it on purpose, hoping, hoping that he'd take the bait, hoping she'd like it when he did, and now she could feel the calloused pads of his fingers gentle on her skin, and she shivered all over from that simple touch alone.

"I want you," he whispered, his voice rough and demanding, and his hands delved further beneath her leggings, and when he discovered the secret that waited for him there she felt more than heard the appreciative growl that rumbled through his chest.

The leggings weren't the only thing she'd put on when they came home. The leggings were tight, and hugged her ass beautifully, but the lines of her usual style of plain briefs would've shown through the thin material, and she'd opted for a thong instead, opted for something that wouldn't be seen, something that would make her feel sexy, something that might make her feel a little bolder, something she only intended to wear for a little while, presumptuous as that thought may have been. Like the lipstick it had made her feel foolish, and over eager, but it made her feel good, too, and his reaction now only made her feel better.

He kept right on pushing until he was clutching her ass with both hands, her skin bare against her palm, and he spread her, just a little, and kneaded her flesh, hard, and she gasped, thrown off balance by the intensity of his appreciation, the intensity of her own answering desire. He hadn't even kissed her but he was holding her bare ass in his hands and she could feel his cock hardening against her belly and her face was still buried in his neck so she lifted her chin and kissed him there, soft, suckling kisses, thinking about the hickey he'd left on her neck, and the fire of her want burned through her so sharp and so hot she would've stripped out of her sweater right then, if it weren't for the kids.

"As soon as the kids are asleep…" he left it hanging, his words heavy with promise.

"What?" she goaded him, grinding her hips forward against him, wanting to hear him say it.

"I'm gonna make you scream," he said fiercely, and her cunt clenched at the very idea.

He couldn't, she thought, he wouldn't; the kids weren't that sound of sleepers, and he had children of his own, knew better than to make too much noise in a home where children were sleeping. But he could sure try, and the thought of coming with him inside her and her face pressed into a pillow made her thighs tremble with longing.

"Put your money where your mouth is, Detective," she told him, and then she slipped out of his embrace. She couldn't afford to get carried away right there in the living room, however much she might have wanted to push him down on the sofa and ride him that very instant. He had lit a blaze of lust in both of them, and it was going to have to keep smoldering a few minutes more. They'd already waited more than two decades, and she was eager to find out if it - if he - would live up to their many expectations.

She was starting to suspect that it would.

Slowly she walked away from him, heading for her children's rooms, and felt his gaze heavy on her back the whole way, and smiled. The nerves were still there, but for now her need was stronger than any fear. She could only hope it would stay that way.