“Talk to me?”
Rhetorical, because she already knows he won’t. Not when he’s this quiet; perched on the edge of her bed, shoulders slack, eyes void of emotion. Hollow.
“Tired of talking.”
Case in point.
Elliot catches her smirk. “Something funny?”
“Not really.” Olivia crouches behind him, massages his neck. Kneads the space between his shoulder blades. “You’re just…predictable.”
“Predictable.” He echoes, brows raised. “Think that’d be a welcome change.”
A fair assumption to be made for someone who clings to the notion of consistency but thrives in uncertainty.
“Eh,” a half-hearted shrug. “Doesn’t suit you.”
It doesn’t, because he’s far too complex to be predictable. Deeply layered, though often caught wrestling a temper that steers him toward the familiar. Toward aggression. Confrontation. Toward violence, because of an innate coping mechanism to fight. To overpower.
But God, he’s trying. Progressing, with therapy, to adopt healthier strategies. To change, for himself. His family.
For Olivia, already well-acquainted with his every shade, both dark and light. She brings out his sense of humor and warmth; recognizes his possessive behavior as a means to protect, but keeps him in check. Balances him.
For her, because she opened her heart to him — the same heart he broke — without question, when he needed her most.
“Keep doing that.” He sinks into her touch.
“Elliot,” she tucks her chin into his shoulder. “Are you okay?” Cautious, but direct, because he’s given her very little. “Your kids?”
He can appreciate her concern. Struggles with it, too.
“Yeah, I’m—we’re good.” Releasing a deep sigh, he lazily combs his fingers through her hair. “Tough case. All it is.”
“Mm.” She hums an acknowledgement. “You need to slow down.”
“You’re—fuck.” He tightens when her thumb digs into an especially stubborn knot. “One to talk.”
“You’d tell me the same thing.” Olivia counters.
“Yeah, I would. And you’d ignore it.”
“Probably.” Definitely. “But you need to take care of yourself. You’re still,” grieving, processing, recovering. “You have a lot on your plate, alright? And I’m not—believe me, I’m not telling you how to live your life.” She’s leery of sounding patronizing. “But I need you to take care of yourself.”
“I hear you.” He tenderly scratches the back of her head, fingers tangled in her tresses. “I am.”
He…isn’t. Runs himself ragged instead, looking to drown out the voices that tell him his kids need their mom and Liv deserves better. That he isn’t half the man he was ten, twelve, twenty years ago. That he doesn’t deserve their loyalty or love.
That one day, maybe soon, they’ll figure that out for themselves.
“Yeah,” she quips, knuckles burrowed into his flesh. “I can tell.”
“Lighten up, will you?” He winces.
“Sorry.” She rises to her knees, arms looped around his neck. “But El, you’re very tight.” A whisper laced with temptation. “And I’m just trying…” her palms travel across his bare chest, settling a few inches above the waistline of his boxers. “To provide some relief.”
“I’m not,” his hips jerk when she traces the outline of his bulge. “Not really in the mood.”
“No?” Olivia retreats, drifting to his front. “Because from where I’m standing,” her eyes cast downward. “Seems you might be.” She kneels between his legs. “But if I’m wrong…”
“No, you don’t want it?” Teasing, she pinches the hem of his boxers, lowering them over his hips painfully, achingly, slow. “Or no,” her fingers wrap his shaft. “You do.”
“Sorry, what’s that?” She heard him.
“Jesus, Liv.” His patience is wearing thin. “I do .”
“Ah,” she delicately circles the head of his cock, knowing how absolutely sensitive he is right there. “I thought you might.” Using only her index finger, she traces his length, satisfied when the flush of his cheeks spreads to his chest.
“God,” his body responds to her tone. Her touch. To resist her is futile, so he gives in: hardening with every stroke until she nudges his knees apart; palms skimming his inner thighs as she takes him. Tastes him. Slow. Controlled. Cupping his balls because oh, it makes his muscles clench and breath hitch when she does.
So fucking predictable.
She follows a consistent rhythm: keeping him eager but hoping he’ll last because really, he’s already tense. Where’s the harm in delaying his relief just a little bit longer?
It’s only fair.
“Close?” She already knows he is. His tells are very…consistent.
“Keep doing that.” He leans back, propped up on his elbows. “Right there,” he groans when her tongue meets his tip. “Just like that.” His flush deepens, more, and more, and…
“You gonna come?”
“Mm.” Her breath feels warm on his cock but he misses her mouth, her tongue, her lips. “Soon.” He puts some pressure on the back of her head, surprised to be met with resistance.
“Something wrong?” She peels away from him.
“Huh?” He’s so genuinely confused it’s almost cute. “No?” A bit pitiful. “I don’t—what?” A touch desperate, too.
“I don’t know,” her palms lay flat on his thighs. “Seem a little on edge.”
There’s a flicker of recognition in his eyes. “Tonight, Liv?” The disappointment is palpable. “Give me a fucking break.”
“Frustrating, isn’t it?” She’s unapologetic. Merciless. “Shame I don’t take orders from you.”
“You pulling rank?”
Their power dynamic is a turn on, but he’s too damn proud to admit it. Too stubborn, because they were equals when he left. Partners, and her superiority serves as a reminder of how much time has passed. Of all the moments — the wins and losses — he’s missed.
“No,” she wanders to her dresser. “Though I appreciate the assumption.”
Payback, he assumes. It figures, because he was relentless with her. Uncompromising, like he had something to prove. Left her writhing in his lap: begging, pleading, nearly crying for release.
“Redemption.” Of course. “Oh—” she spins to face him. “You touch yourself?” Her eyes dip. “We’re done.”
“That right?” Elliot challenges.
“Try me.” She carelessly sifts through her drawer pulling out a small, egg shaped vibrator. “I’ll make sure the shower’s nice and cold for you.”
“Liv,” his demeanor shifts.
“What? I’ll be gentle.” Olivia clicks on the toy, keeping it at the lowest setting. “Promise.” She simpers, touching it lightly to his base.
“Too much.” He clutches her forearm.
“Shh.” She presses one finger to his lips. “Try to relax.” Carefully, she glides the vibrator up, up, up…
“Not there.” He likes using toys on her, in her, with her. Intimately aware of what the extra stimulation can do for her body. But his cock — his tip, specifically — is too fucking sensitive for vibration.
She listens; guides it back down. “Good? Or you want me to stop.”
“No, just. There.” He mutters, chewing his lip. “Stay there.”
“Okay.” She softens. Kisses his inner thigh. “Breathe, El.” Relieved when finally, he begins to loosen. To succumb. “There you go.”
“I need to—think I should,” he stammers.
“Need to lie down.” Elliot shifts; lays flat on his back because his head feels too goddamn heavy and the tension in his neck borders on unbearable.
And she doesn’t miss a beat. “Better?” She crawls between his legs and increases the speed just a notch.
He mumbles a few incoherent words. Groans a bit, but doesn’t complain outright.
“You close?” She asks tersely.
“You gonna stop?”
She turns the vibrator off, leaving him vulnerable in every sense.
“You know, normally? I wouldn’t.” She dabs his pre-cum with her middle finger. “But you made me beg, baby. I’m sure you remember? Left me in a very precarious…very delicate position.” She’s playing a role, acting coy, deliberately trying to provoke him. “So, you want to come? You’ll have to ask.”
“Enough.” He snarls, eyes narrowed. “You’re gonna let me fucking come.”
“I said, ask.” Now, she’ll pull rank. “Detective.”
Right away, she recognizes it: that spark of anger. The fury tangled in every breath because he’s stripped bare. Raw. Exposed. Livid, but displaying an impressive amount of restraint.
“Olivia.” A warning, but she isn’t intimidated. Not when she has him, literally, in the palm of her hand. “Please.” He manages through gritted teeth.
She tilts her head. “Hmm?”
“Please.” Elliot repeats, louder.
“Please, what?” She’s taunting him and God, it’s satisfying. Somewhat entertaining, to see him so helpless. So fucking needy.
Really, what it’s doing is making her very…very…very wet. So much so that she can’t help but touch herself. Simply won’t resist the urge to slide her palm beneath the waistband of her sweats and rub just a little bit.
“Fuck you.” He snaps, because how dare she?
“Don’t be so dramatic.” She doesn’t stop; keeps circling her clit, much to his dismay. “Tell me—” her lashes flutter. “What you want.”
“What I want?” Abruptly, he sits up; fingers catching her chin, forcing eye contact while his free hand grabs her wrist because no fucking way is she getting off. “I want you to make me come.” His tone is low. Threatening, almost. “Want you to suck my cock. Deep, until you can’t take anymore.” His grip tightens. “Until I hit the back of your throat.”
“That all?” She frees herself, quietly amused.
“Please.” A smile, however timid, breaks through his hardened facade.
“You know what I think?” Her fingertips, slick with her own desire, push his chest until he’s laying flat. “I think you watch a lot of porn.” She draws him in, lets her tongue do most of the work. He’s deep, though not quite as deep as he demanded because, well. Boundaries.
But she isn’t done.
Finding her vibrator, she switches it on and holds it flush to her cheek, allowing the vibration to pass through her, onto him, and now…now, of course he loves it. Can’t seem to get enough: lifting his hips, mumbling her name and singing her praises while she alternates between jerking and sucking. Between bringing him to the brink and easing up right before he tumbles over the edge.
Again, and again, and again, until…
“No more.” Finally, he’s begging. “Please.” His body, trembling. “ Please. ” His cock, throbbing.
And fuck, seeing him so absolutely powerless has her reaching between her legs every chance she gets. Dripping. Empowered, knowing what she can do to him. How far she can push because he trusts her with his body. With his vulnerability.
“Next time?” She placates. “I won’t stop you.”
Focused on the finish line, Olivia strokes him, tastes him, teases him, touches him. Faster, and faster. Over, and over, and over…
“Liv,” he chokes.
“Look at me?”
His eyes find hers, and it’s a curious thing: seeing him in his purest state. Stripped of armor and defenses. His soul, bared to hers.
The intimacy is overwhelming, but somehow, it feels right.
Elliot takes his cock; holds steady and spills onto his stomach. Chest heaving, heart pounding, eyes open. The denial strengthened his climax, but he stays anchored in her eyes. Grounded beneath her touch.
His back arches once, twice, before the waves ebb and he collapses; breathless. Spent. Sapped of energy, unaware that Olivia had even moved until she’s cleaning him up (admittedly the least sexy part of the evening).
“You mad at me?” She drops the compromised washcloth in her laundry basket.
He doesn’t answer because her question barely registers.
“Take that as a maybe.”
“Come here.” He languidly pulls her next to him, kissing her with a tenderness she wouldn’t have thought possible after the night they’ve had. “Not mad.” Another kiss. “Tired.” Another. “Still love you.” One more. “But you’re a fucking tease.”
Still, exhausted as he may be, he knows she’s wet. Noticed the way she touched herself when she thought he wasn’t looking even though of course, he was. Wordlessly, he dips into her sweatpants, under her panties, finding her clit.
She gasps, pleasantly surprised. Deepens their kiss and spreads her legs for easier access. “Inside.” She’s eager; needs to feel him and he obeys, effortlessly slipping two fingers inside of her, curling them just the way she likes it. “Harder.” She nips his collarbone, and he thrusts with one hand while the other snakes under her t-shirt, reaching into the cups of her bra and pinching her already erect nipples.
Barely a minute later he feels her familiar clench because, truth is, she was ready long before he touched her. “Come on.” He whispers into her throat.
“On my fingers, Liv. Come on.” A little dirty talk should do the trick.
And it does. Absolutely, it does.
“Fuck.” She moans, quietly unraveling against him. Gripping his wrist to still his movements while she rides out her own orgasm which, while not nearly as powerful as his, is plenty satisfying and much needed.
Soon, her breath evens out and he withdraws. His lips, still on her neck. “Better?”
“Mm.” She hums, content. “Not sure I deserved that.”
“Not sure you did, either.” He studies her; their faces inches apart. “So much for predictable.”