There are times when Olivia needs Elliot to be his most…Elliot and take control in the bedroom, lay her down and lead the charge, giving her no room to breathe, much less to think. But there are times, like now, when the day has been too long, the perps too grotesque, Noah in too bad of a mood about his homework, and all she needs is for Elliot to simply…
She pushes him down until he's sitting on the mattress, shoving her pants and underwear down her legs before straddling his stomach. What she needs, all she needs, is his skin against hers, heated and slick, and he reads her like a book, pulling his shirt off and then hers before wrapping his arms around her and bringing their bare chests together. Burying her face in his neck, she takes a deep breath, savoring the waning scent of the cologne he applied that morning and the rising smell of just him that seems to grow ever stronger the harder his blood pumps through his veins.
"Liv?" he questions her, his voice no more than a whisper in her hair.
She lifts her head and looks at him, bringing her hands up to frame his face, thumbs tracing the lines of concern that furrow deeper beside his lips. Moving in, she places a gentle kiss against his lips. "I'm okay," she says. "Just a long day, I swear."
He kisses her back, a little more fiercely, his tongue tracing the seam of her lips until she opens her mouth to him. They fall into each other, seeking hands, and grinding hips, until she's pressing him back into the mattress, waiting for him to shuck his boxer-briefs and move to the center so she can crawl over him, resting over his taut abdomen. She sinks down onto his hard muscles, leaning forward to kiss him deeply once more, tangling their fingers together and pinning his hands to the bed.
Elliot arches his back, pressing his stomach more firmly against the juncture of her thighs, where she's already slick with want of him. She rolls her hips, dragging her clit over him, gasping and throwing her head back at the riot of sensation that fizzles in her veins like champagne.
There's one thing she really craves tonight, though, and it's not even her own release; it's the power that comes with bringing Elliot to his knees, holding him in the palm of her hands and controlling his pleasure, controlling him. She pulls away from his kiss to trail her mouth over his jaw and down his neck and chest, sucking red marks as she goes. She licks the taste of herself from his stomach, unable to stop the smile from forming at the way his abs tighten and twitch beneath her lips. He groans, shifting against the bed, but not quite thrusting upward as she continues down his body, settling between his legs.
It took awhile with lots of starts and stops and negotiation for her to get completely comfortable with this. She had always loved it before, and she had been good at it, confident in her ability to blow any man's mind. Sealview, though, had taken something from her, had made this act about losing power instead of gaining it, and it took her a long time to find her way back to feeling like she was giving rather than being taken from. Brian had just been happy to get whatever she gave, and Ed wasn't exactly the type to push for anything, all too aware of what she'd been through. She hadn't even tried more than a handful of times before Elliot.
She loves it, though, when she's on top of him, holding him firmly, her thumbs pressed into the divots of his hips, reveling in the shuddering breaths and hoarse curses that tear from his throat as she works him deeper into her mouth, relaxing her jaw and throat until she hits her limit. Her name is a litany on his tongue, spoken in tones that move increasingly toward transcendent when she cups his balls in her palm, pressing her thumb to the crease and rolling them gently between her fingers. He shouts, then, his pleasure turning her mattress into hallowed ground.
Elliot has kept his hands fisted in the comforter, conscious even as he loses his equilibrium of her comfort; he never loses sight of that. But she wants to feel him, wants his hands on her, so she takes one of his and laces their fingers together before tugging it to her head. She can feel it shake, with hesitation and pleasure, so she flattens her tongue against the underside of his cock and licks her way to and over the head, pulling away completely to look up at him.
"Touch me," she says, voice rough from having her throat stretched around him. "Don't push or hold me in place, just -- just touch me."
"Whatever you want," he says a little desperately, and she almost laughs at him, at how much she could ask him for anything and he would agree just to get her mouth back on him. He brushes his thumbs along her cheekbones before lightly carding his fingers through her hair, smiling at her with a warmth in his eyes that blooms in her belly.
She keeps her eyes on his as she takes him in her mouth once again, moaning at the heat that flares in his gaze, the feel of his fingertips flexing against her scalp. When she starts bobbing up and down, his eyes roll back in his head, and it's no time at all before he's babbling incoherently, calling her pet names that she would normally find grating but just make her even wetter when he's so fucking gone.
Elliot just keeps stroking her hair and her face, his thumb tracing where her lips are stretched around his dick with a reverence that should feel out of place, would feel out of place, if not for the glow of devotion on his face. She closes her eyes against it and dedicates herself to pulling him over the edge.
"Liv," he groans, then taps her cheek lightly. "Liv, I'm --"
She just hums though and sucks harder, uses one of her hands on his balls and one to stroke the length of his cock as she bobs faster, and then he's coming in her mouth, hot and bitter-salty-musk on her tongue and down her throat. Moaning, she swallows, waiting until he's trembling beneath her and making desperate noises, but no longer coming to pull back and rest her forehead against his thigh.
He reaches for her when she finally lifts herself onto her hands and knees, but she brushes him off, crawling over his body and straddling his waist once again. She's so much wetter now, practically dripping when she dips her fingers between her thighs, sliding them between her folds to find her clit. Once again, he reaches for her, tries to replace her fingers with his own, but she shakes her head briskly.
"No." She gasps as she circles her fingers quickly. "Not tonight. I need to do it."
He grunts, his hands coming to rest on her thighs, firm but not tight. She can feel his eyes on her, knows exactly what he must look like as he watches her, knows exactly how hungry his gaze is. He wants to taste her, wants to feel her, wants to be inside her with his fingers or his cock or his tongue, wants to yank her over the cliff with him, but this is part of it and he knows that by now. This is part of the power she needs, part of the control she craves, making him be patient with her while she chases her own pleasure, proves to herself that she wants him instead of needing him, even if it's his body she's leaving traces of arousal on as she rotates her hips against her own hand.
Olivia doesn't drag it out, doesn't tease herself, she shoves herself to orgasm as quickly as possibly, crying out and groaning as she comes.
She doesn't need Elliot, but it's still his body she collapses onto, and his arms that come around her to hold her as she trembles, as she pretends she's not on the verge of tears from the overwhelming tidal wave of hormones at the tail end of another overly long, grueling day. It's Elliot that holds her, trailing his hands up and down her sweat-slick back until her breathing evens out. It's Elliot that brushes the hair back from her face and tilts her chin up to kiss her, licking into her mouth with no concern for the trace of his taste that still lingers on her tongue.
It's Elliot that rolls them onto their sides and pulls the covers over them both, pulling her into his body and tangling their legs, holding her loosely enough for her to pull away easily if she needs to, but tightly enough that she can feel his strength.
Olivia loves Elliot.
She probably doesn't tell him enough in so many words. He says it a lot more easily, and when she thinks it through, she knows it must be because he was married for almost forty years, because he was used to telling his wife and his children that he loved them. He still says it to Eli every night before bed, pulls him in for a quick, hard hug, and murmurs an I love you into his thick, dark hair. There are countless, casual ways the words fall from his lips easily: ending a phone call, coming home from work, leaving for work, after thanking her for something innocuous, in bed every night after he turns off his tablet and bedside lamp.
They don't come that easily to Liv, but he doesn't seem to expect them to. He never blinks if all she says is you too, or if she doesn't say anything at all in response. She never had someone to say it to every day, not even her mother had said it, maybe hadn't felt it, and certainly not felt it every day, not on those days when her eyes were glazed and pupils dilated from the amount of vodka in her stomach.
She manages them now though, whispered into the warm skin of his neck. "I love you," she says, her voice choked with the tears she refuses to give into.
"I know." He squeezes her briefly and tugs her closer. "I love you, too."