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Maybe continuing to work together hadn’t been a good idea at all. 


Olivia thought about it as they walked into Elliot’s bedroom, watching his body move with his newfound sense of entitlement to her. There was a tension in his demeanor that told her loud and clear just how dissatisfied he was with the way his woman had behaved herself, even as his words back at the precinct had complained of his partner.


Olivia approached him slowly from behind, resting her chin on his shoulder and surrounding his torso with her arms, each of her hands resting on one of his shoulders.


“Still mad at me?” she purred.


“Liv…” he muttered in protest. “Not now.”


She turned into his neck, her nose touching him slightly. “Timeout…” she whispered back before giving him a light kiss that made him flinch with what must have been a chill. 


“No!” he snapped, shrugging her off and walking to the window, the sunset painting him in orange hues as he stared back at her. “You don’t get to call a timeout when it’s convenient, you don’t get to come here and charm your way out of this.”


She crossed her arms, tasting her anger as it started gathering in the back of her throat. “Out of what exactly, El? What have I done? Apart from my job, in the same way I’ve been doing it all these years? Why are you so angry?”


“You know exactly what I'm angry about,” he smiled with rage.


“Okay,” Olivia nodded challengingly, taking a step in his direction. “I do know. I was giving you a chance to let this go, but you know what? Let’s set the record straight before anything like this happens again.” She paused. “You have no right to be angry about this.”


He frowned, squinted. “Come again?” he barked.


“What changed, El?” she asked, her chin up in the air, her hands on each side of her waist. “At work?” When he didn’t seem to find an answer, she answered it for him. “We’re having sex, that’s what changed.”


“That has nothing to do with anything,” he retorted, not much certainty etched in his voice. “I was never okay with you being reckless!”


“Is that my partner talking?” she tilted her head, watching him closely as she challenged him. “Cause it’s not him I’m looking at.”


“Damn it, Olivia!” His hand swung against the nearest lamp, knocking it over and making it shatter on the floor. He turned away, facing the window. 


Olivia stared at the broken pieces. She couldn’t believe he was trying the scary alpha male routine as a means to exert control. Maybe that had worked on Kathy, but not on her. Had he forgotten she’d been with him through thick and thin? Seen his worst? Been the one to hold him back and contain him as he’d threatened to kill perps in wild fits of rage? 


She could take this and more. From him and at work. She wasn’t going to break that easily, and she needed him to understand that.


Deep breath. She knew where he was coming from. Up until that moment, a relationship for him had meant someone who was tucked away in his house all day, safe and sound, just waiting for him. He needed to know this was different — they were equals. 


It was all very recent, their boundaries were still under construction. She got that, too. That was all the more reason why she needed to make that very clear to him, in a way that he really understood.


She wasn’t a damsel in distress. She was a knight in shining armor, just like him.


Still, she had weapons of her own. She wanted to scream at him, but she decided on a different method. She decided to make a point. She wanted him to know that she wasn’t afraid of his anger, that she wasn’t afraid of him. That she wasn’t going to let him control her. 


But even more than that, she wanted to show him that, if she wanted, she could control him .


She approached him again, softly imposing her touch, her coolness colliding with his fire. She slid her arms around his waist and draped her body over his, her chest flush against the plains of his back. 


“Cut it out, Olivia,” he said, trying to sound threatening, but physically, he didn’t refuse her.


Splayed together on his stomach, her fingers untangled, and she let her hands go their separate ways as they snaked up over his chest, her nails a bit rougher than necessary, especially when bumping into one of his nipples, then the other, and while he didn’t voice any reactions, she felt his breath responding and his muscles relaxing. 


It was as simple as that, and there would be no more throwing of lamps anywhere. 


Olivia let her hands slide back down across his chest as though she was going to soften the motions while she rubbed her nose against the nape of his neck, taking in his scent, but her hands continued their path downward and complicitly met around the buckle of his belt, expertly snatching it open in a second. This time, he groaned in response, reading into her intentions, making both of their bodies hum with the low register of his voice.


The sky was a morphing mixture of pink, orange, and blue as Elliot’s hands braced on the windowsill. She undid his pants, and in the next second, she was pulling him out, not yet fully hard, but twitching instantly at the touch. She wrapped the fingers of one of her hands around him, kneading, milking, while the other wrapped around the head, the thumb solely dedicated to gently swiping up, down and around it. She felt him throbbing and growing inside her grip.


“Fuck, Liv…” he murmured, helpless, and she smiled at her power, letting her lips brush his neck and peppering a kiss here and there.


She closed her eyes, continuing to push the right buttons in the right order like a skilled typist, the keyboard of him memorized. He hardened in her hands, and Olivia tightened her grip around him, quickening the pace of her fingers, sliding and swiping and gripping, and the thumb against the tip was suddenly sprinkled by a shot of pre-cum, helping fuel her motions with the added slickness. 


Elliot was now moaning quietly, and she could feel from his tense muscles that he was struggling to stand upright. She almost pitied him. She softened her ministrations, and as she did, she felt him starting to rock into her hands, seeking greater contact again. 


But she wouldn’t grant it. 


“You don’t scare me,” she murmured against his ear. “I’ve seen a lot worse from you than a broken lamp.”


“What?” was his confused protest as her hands continued to lose momentum around his throbbing length. 


She broke contact completely, then took a step back, putting some distance between them. “You can't control me,” she raised her voice to a normal tone. “That’s not how this relationship works. And if you want a power play… Well… I’ve got you wrapped around my finger, not the other way around.”


He was immobile, still facing the window, but she saw it as his hands closed into fists, and she bit her lip so she wouldn’t laugh at how frustrated he must be right now. 


“Good night,” she said as she collected her coat and started to move for the door. 


“Good night?” she heard him from his corner. 


She never made it out of the room.


She had barely registered the rapidly-moving shadow and accompanying surge of wind when she felt her arm being yanked so hard that she lost balance, which didn’t matter because next thing she knew, she was pinned against the wall, coat dropped somewhere in between.


“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” said a furious Elliot between clenched teeth, his incredulous eyes reading her, searching her. 


Before she could reply, his lips crashed onto hers, hard, rough, demanding entrance as his tongue quickly took control of the inside of her mouth, sucking all the oxygen she’d breathed in in its ragged, forceful motions, and as she had no choice but to let him steal the air from her lungs, she also let an involuntary whimper escape, because not only his tongue was moving sensuously, confidently, controlling hers, but his hands were ripping her shirt open, the popping buttons hitting the floor one by one.


After forcefully sliding the shirt off her shoulders and arms, Elliot didn’t even waste time with the clasp of her bra, scooping her breasts out of their lace-clad armor and squeezing hard, pinching one of her instantly taut nipples between his thumb and forefinger. He pulled, squeezed, turned and tugged harder and harder, on the verge between pain and absolute bliss. She was reeling, her head spinning, as he ripped an unintelligible cry from her throat.


Elliot got rid of his previously violated pants and was now wrenching hers down, thumbs expertly placed around the hem of both her pants and underwear, exposing her completely, and the moment both of her legs were free, he hoisted one of her thighs up and slid his erection intimately against her, rubbing earnestly.


“Good night?” he chuckled to himself, and Olivia was surprised at how calm his voice sounded in the middle of his complete loss of control. 


Or was it hers? 


He stood very still now, one of his hands wedged in the back of her knee, supporting her leg, the other still closed around her breast, kneading lightly, his thumb delicately swiping across and around her nipple as he made similar, torturously slow motions with the tip of his length against her clit. 


“El,” she moaned, before she could filter it, and it sounded like a desperate plea. But a plea for what?


“You think I can’t play this game, Liv?” he hissed into her ear, and her skin broke into a million goosebumps. “Come on. I just didn’t know low blows were allowed.”


Elliot started to kiss his way down her ear, her jaw, her shoulder, and as he went further down, the contact between their intimate parts was lost, and Olivia felt herself propping her pelvis forward, seeking contact just as pathetically as he had done when she’d started to remove her hands from around him.


“Please,” she mumbled, fully aware of her sudden, desperate need: for him to fuck her, for him to take her against that wall.


In its descent, his mouth and tongue left a trail of moisture, and his teeth occasionally left the quickly-fading trace of their nibs at her skin. When he reached her chest, the hand he had always kept around her breast started moving more vigorously again as his mouth closed around the other one, sucking lightly at first, then roughly, alternating tongue and teeth and collecting a few more unfiltered sounds from her as she felt the warm wetness dripping down her depths. 


She closed her eyes and gave up: she was completely at his mercy. 


He seemed to forget the fight as his mouth continued moving down, licking and kissing her stomach, the smooth skin around her belly button, until he finally settled on his knees, driving the leg he’d been holding up to rest on his shoulder as he unceremoniously took her in his mouth, his tongue sliding from her entrance to her clit and back a few times in thorough, vigorous strokes. He closed his lips around her tiny bud, the painfully sensitive tip of the iceberg, gently sucking it in then pushing it out with his tongue, the quick, light, focused moves quickly driving her close to the edge.


When she was painfully close, he stopped altogether, standing up on his feet again, bringing her leg back up as he pressed her harder against the wall with his body, his hardness throbbing against her entrance again.


He hadn’t forgotten about the fight at all.


“You’re right,” he said between open-mouthed kisses on her shoulder and neck. “You’ve got me wrapped around your finger.”


He kissed her mouth for a minute, carefully, lovingly, but never ceasing to tease her, his head earnestly rubbing against her clit now which, still sensitized from his mouth, started to vibrate in pre-orgasmic energy. When she was on the verge again, he stopped moving and placed himself at her entrance, touching lightly.


“Now, please,” she heard herself whimper. 


“But I,” he said unhurriedly, pulling away to face her with smugness lifting the corners of his mouth, “I've got you wrapped around my cock.” 


He slid the tip in, then quickly out again, her slickness helping him keep the contact feather-like. 


“Don’t I?” he insisted, stilling his movements, and Olivia knew that he was going to wait for her to say it.


“Yes, you do,” she admitted between shallow breaths, but she might as well have been crawling on her knees after him, pleading forgiveness. 


The son of a bitch also had a point to make, and it was a hell of a checkmate against hers.


Olivia was fine with losing this battle, as long as he was inside her yesterday, but instead, he pulled away from her completely, and for a moment she understood how enraged he’d been, because if he were to stop this now, she might kill him with her bare hands.


But he didn’t. She found out a moment later that he wasn’t done getting his revenge. 


“I’m gonna make you beg for it,” he said, still smiling, holding out his hand to her. 


When she took it, he yanked her towards the bed, throwing her against it and immediately flipping her and hoisting her hips up so she would stand on all fours. He proceeded to place himself at her entrance again. “ Tell me . Tell me you need it.”


“Fuck this, Elliot, come on,” she protested, hating the inevitable impatience imprinted on her voice. “You’ve made your point.”


Olivia had barely finished her sentence when she felt his head in again, and now he kept it there, moving slightly, just to tease her from a different spot. She tried moving her hips backwards, but he had an iron-clad grip around her hip bone and wouldn't let her. 


“Beg,” he said simply, then bent forward over her, grabbing a fistful of her hair and rubbing his nose against her neck in pretty much the same way she had done back when she was the one holding his dick and the power. “Say it.”


“Please,” she rasped. “Now, please, just do it, Elliot.”


She had barely finished saying his name when she felt him ram into her in a quick, forceful movement that had him instantly buried deep, making her cry out once again in the blissful brink between pleasure and pain. 


He slid out slowly and slammed in again, making her gasp, knocking the wind out of her, then released her hair and lifted his torso. He held her up at an angle, fingertips sunk into her hip, while he splayed his other palm on her back, lowering her, caressing the skin then curling around the clasp of the bra he had never removed, holding her down against the mattress, not giving her much of a chance to move.


He picked up the pace until he was moving impossibly faster and harder, and God , it felt so good. It was what she’d been asking of him all along: for him not to treat her like a breakable glass ballerina, for him not to hold back his strength, the sexual energy he exhaled through every pore on his body, for him to use it all on her, to overtake her, overpower her. 


And all at once, this was no longer a fight for control, but an invitation to lose it, relinquish it. To each other, to nobody.


She trusted him enough. She knew he would never intentionally hurt her, and she wanted him to stop cushioning the blow and protecting her from being with him. She wanted him to know she could take it, take his tantrums, take his cock slammed to the hilt into her on all fours, she could take all of him, mind, body and soul. 


And in that moment, when he was having his way with her in such a submissive position, pinned down on the bed, face down, just taking thrust after thrust, she contemplated how contradictory it was that by letting him have her like that was the ultimate physical barrier, for him to know that she could defend herself if she wanted to, could fight him for control, but still chose to let him fuck into her in any way he wanted, just lifting her hips and offering all of herself to him, that he could let that side of him out, all sides of him out. 


She wasn’t scared. 


His point and her point were one in the same. By pushing him over the edge, she had forced him to show her his power just so she could show him she could take it, she liked it, she loved it like she loved all parts of him. He didn’t have to spare her from any of him.


Even though she didn’t want to move or change anything about this moment, there was a certain joy in trying to prop herself up on her elbows only to have him hold her back more forcefully down and her ass further up and into him, showing her he was in charge, which only seemed to fuel him to pound harder and harder, faster and faster, his tip colliding hard against her cervix time and time again. 


Olivia wasn’t even trying to breathe in the same rhythm as he moved anymore; any air she got in at all was already good enough, because he gave it a final surge of energy to increase the speed even more, hitting her hard, the sound of their colliding hips competing with the headboard against the wall. The pleasure piled up in the pit of her stomach, her climax just around the corner, she thought, but instead it just kept building up more and more like she didn’t know it was possible, until she was whimpering nonsense words nonstop and holding her breath as she finally came undone. As he kept going, he made it last that much longer, making her think it would never end, and it was almost too much, her body was shuddering and jerking of its own accord as she spasmed around him. 


He delayed his rhythm to accompany her movements as he came, her name lost in the midst of his grunts, and she was now also mumbling his name in some kind of attempt to ask him to stop, because it was so good that it was almost too good ; she was too sensitive now, the pleasure too painful for her to bear anymore. 


He draped his body on top of hers now, trapping her as he still kept moving inside her, still forcefully but now slower and slower, like a pendulum that has been nudged into movement only once, but keeps moving, steadily decreasing in speed before reaching a full stop again. She was surprised by another orgasm, not an earth-shattering one now, a more soothing, relaxing one, and yet still overwhelming as she was still so sensitized. She heard her own voice coming out weak, but in high-pitched moans between ragged breaths, feeling his labored breaths teasing the coat of sweat that covered her neck, her back, her whole body.


“I don't want to control you,” he said when he finally settled, motionless. “I just want to protect you. You’re precious to me.”


“Okay,” she breathed.


“Okay?” he repeated, to which she only nodded sloppily, her body still not quite under her full control. 


They were both immobile now, his weight pressing her against the bed but she didn’t want him to move and undo their intimate connection. He circled her ear with his lips in some sort of kiss as he spoke. 


“You’re mine,” he rumbled. “Hear me? Mine.”


“Yours,” she repeated. 


“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he asked after a beat.


Olivia smiled. “You know I wouldn’t let you.”


“I was angry,” he replied guardedly.


“I know. But that’s a better way to relieve anger, don’t you think?” She laughed wholeheartedly as she pulled his hand closer and intertwined her fingers with his, remembering the fight that had initiated all this. “It’s better than breaking things.”


He grinned softly into her neck. “I guess.”


“You won’t break me,” she promised. “No one will. I’m not that fragile. Okay?”


It was his turn to concede, and after a moment’s hesitation and a deep sigh, he did. 


“Okay,” he whispered.