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She doesn’t usually do this. In fact, she has never done this.

She’s not even sure how they ended up like this.

She’d been stuck at the precinct, up to her eyeballs in paperwork as the squad room emptied out. There had been almost nobody left when Elliot had shown up with an easy smile and take-out containers from Golden Dragon.

It had felt like the old days, sitting together in the loft at the old precinct, swapping an egg roll for two dumplings and stealing sesame chicken from his carton while they talked about their case.

And then suddenly they weren’t talking anymore.

Suddenly it was his mouth on hers, and his hands in her hair, and she’d been worried someone might see them, but there’s nobody left. She could hear Nick and Amanda in interrogation—the speaker was off, but she could hear their muffled voices through the wall. They were close by, they could walk in at any moment, but they won’t, she would hear them, they won’t come in. And the blinds were closed, all the blinds were closed, nobody could see into her office. So if she wanted to kiss Elliot Stabler on her sofa, who was going to know? Who was going to get hurt?

The only one with potential to get hurt here is her, and if she’s going to get hurt, she might as well get her hands on him first.

That’s what she’d thought when she’d let him kiss her mouth, his tongue hot and eager against her own. She loves the way he kisses, can’t get enough of it (doesn’t have nearly enough chances to experience it, they need to make more time for each other…). So she’d let him kiss her mouth, and then she’d let him kiss her throat, and then Elliot’s mouth had been on that spot that makes her tremble, makes her wet, and she’d yanked the jacket of his stupid, sexy three-piece suit off his shoulders so that she could slide her hands over the muscles there unimpeded. Less impeded, anyway.

He was still wearing too many clothes.

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” she’d gasped, his teeth biting down against that spot behind her ear. She’d felt her skin go hot and her nipples go hard. She’d wanted him to touch her. To put his mouth on her, to fuck her. Right here, now, in her office at the precinct with her detectives on the other side of the wall.

But he was still wearing too many clothes.

She’d yanked at the buttons of his vest, shivering at the way his beard tickled against her throat as he murmured, “I want to see all of you, Liv. Want you so much.”

She’d nodded, and then, well.

Things had changed.

All of a sudden, he’d been naked to the waist, and so had she, their shirts and his vest, and her bra discarded God knows where. That hot mouth had been on her nipple, sucking and sucking and swirling his tongue, and she’d been moaning and gasping and cradling the back of his bald head in her palm.

She doesn’t usually do this, she has never done this, but she is about to do this. She knows she is, there’s no stopping it now.

She’s about to have sex with Elliot Stabler, in her office.

She is a professional, and she does not do things like this, but his tongue is on her other nipple now and his hand is down the front of her pants, and she is wet, and eager, and she wants him, and there’s no stopping it.

“El, please, I need…”

He looks up from her breast, one full mound cupped in his palm, the tip of his tongue flicking against the hard peak once before he asks, “What do you need, Liv? What can I do?”

She feels like she’s burning up, feels hot, everywhere he touches her. She doesn’t know how to answer his question, because she needs everything. Needs his fingers deep inside her to the knuckle, and his tongue licking her clit in tight little circles, and cock inside her, making her feel full and satisfied until she breaks for him.

He sucks her nipple again, slow and hot.

Olivia lets out a desperate little whine, then tells him, “On your knees.”

Elliot grins at her. Cocky and sure and eager.

And then her pants are gone.

She’s bareassed on the sofa in her office, naked as the day she was born, her legs spread wide. One foot on the coffee table, one foot planted in the sofa cushions and her head tilting back on a moan as Elliot does to her clit what he’d just been doing to her breasts. He sucks slow, and hard, and she quakes, feels it flash through her in a brilliant wave of heat and she’s not even coming yet, God, she’s not even close. He holds onto her thighs the way she likes, grips them firmly and holds her open for him, and she feels powerless to stop him but so safe she’d never want to.

She arches her hips toward him, moaning (his beard tickles there too; she likes it), but he shakes his head, his “Mm-mm,” muffled by her slick flesh in his mouth. One arm moves to hold her hips down, hold her still, his fingers tightening on her other thigh right before he switches to hard flicks of his tongue against her sensitive bud.

Olivia shrieks at the sudden onslaught of sharper pleasure, her hips trying to jerk but the iron bar of his arm across her hips keeps her restrained. God, he’s so fucking strong, it’s so fucking sexy, she feels like she’s going to overheat.

She gasps his name, “El!” and then, “Fingers!” and then they’re in her. Two fingers, deep and quick, his left arm still pinning her waist while his right hand finds her g-spot with expert precision and fucks her just the way she needs.

“I’m gonna come!” she gasps, because she feels it, feels close, feels pleasure radiating out from every hard thump of his fingers in just the right spot.

Elliot grins up at her from between her thighs and tells her, “I know, Liv. You feel so good. So close. Is this what you like?”

It’s three fingers then, thick and stretching her just enough, and Olivia shakes with the pleasure, nods quickly and sucks in a breath and lets it out on a moan, and tells him “Yesss, I like this.”

“I wanna learn everything you like,” Elliot tells her, his voice like gravel, low and rough, and aroused. He wants her just as much as she wants him, and it’s thrilling. “Tell me what else you like, Liv.”

“You in me,” she gasps. “Fucking me—please, El, I’m close.”

“How would you know you like that?” he asks her. “You’ve never had it.”

And that can’t be right (it’s right, it is, but it doesn’t feel right now, with his fingers taking her apart bit by bit).

She meets his gaze, brown on blue, both heated and a little too far gone as she challenges, “So show me.”

He’s inside her in seconds, his knee on the sofa between her spread thighs, his cock so hard and so thick, pressing into her slowly so she can feel every single inch of him as he buries himself to the hilt. He kisses her, hard and hot, all that tongue and the taste of them mingled together in her mouth. And then he’s moving, thrusting fast and deep and asking her if she loves it like she thought she would.

She can’t think, she’s so close, so fucking close, just a little more and she’ll come.

He’s bent over her, his arms wound beneath hers, hands curled around her shoulders, holding her steady as he pounds into her, and it’s divine, it’s so good, she gasps More! and Elliot! and Fuck, deeper, get deeper, and he does, Jesus, he does, she can feel him everywhere, can hear him grunting and panting in her ear. Her name, and how much he loves her and that he’s always wanted this and how good she feels and—

Her phone rings, the familiar trill of her ringtone echoing from the coffee table and she turns her head toward it, but Elliot grinds out a firm, “No, Olivia,” and ups his pace, tightens his grip on her shoulders. “Not til you come for me.”

It slaps heat right through the middle of her, makes her feel even closer, even hotter, God, she’s so close, and she tells him, hears herself tell him, “Close, oh God, El, I’m—”

“I know,” he gruffs into her ear. “Just come.”

Her phone rings again, is still ringing, and Olivia squeezes her eyes shut, focusing on the feel of him, on the pleasure sparking hot and shocking between her thighs, she’s so close.

She opens her eyes again, and everything is dark.

Her phone rings, loud and shrill, and she’s panting, and sweating, and—fuck, alone.

She’s in her bed, sheets twisted, heart pounding, and her fucking phone is ringing.

She rolls, groping for it, disoriented both by the sudden shift from dream to reality and by the way her body is very much still in that dream. She’s hot and slick between her thighs, throbbing, aching, clenching, she’d been so close to coming.

If the person on the other end of that ringing line isn’t Elliot Stabler, she’s going to commit a murder. (Even if it is, what’s she supposed to do about it? She can’t tell him, they’re supposed to be working on their friendship.)

She squints into the dark, sees Chief McGrath on her phone and scowls.

Murder is definitely sounding like a good option.

Olivia clears her throat, tries not to sound like she’s as breathless as she is, and answers, “Benson.”