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Connor doesn’t hesitate when he enters the interrogation room.
The door shuts behind him with a loud bang, and the sound alone makes the suspect flinch. Connor doesn’t sit right away. He stays standing, tall and imposing, hands clasped behind his back as he studies the man across the table like a problem already halfway solved.
From behind the one-way glass, you feel your attention lock onto him instantly.
Gone is the soft-spoken, thoughtful Connor you know so well. This one moves with confidence bordering on menace. His shoulders are squared, jaw tight, eyes cold and unblinking. There’s no warmth in him and you can't take your eyes off him.
The way his voice drops—low, controlled, sharp at the edges—sends a shiver straight down your spine.
“Let’s skip the pleasantries,” Connor says coolly. His voice is lower than usual, stripped of warmth. “You’re not as smart as you think you are, and I’m not in the mood to pretend otherwise.”
The suspect scoffs, but it’s weak. Connor’s eyes lock onto him—sharp, unblinking, predatory.
“You broke into the victim’s apartment at 21:14,” Connor continues. “You stayed exactly seven minutes and twelve seconds. You left behind trace fibers from your jacket and DNA under the victim’s fingernails.” He straightens slightly, tilting his head. “Would you like me to continue, or would you prefer to stop embarrassing yourself now?”
Your breath catches.
God.
Hank glances at you then back to Connor. "He's reeally leaning into the mean cop roll today.”
Your eyes are glued to the glass, mesmerised by the new person you're seeing in the interrogation room.
Connor doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t need to. His fake anger is controlled, coiled tight beneath his words, and it makes every sentence hit harder.
Connor straightens abruptly, slamming his palm against the table, to get the suspects attention.
The sound echoes.
The suspect jolts.
Minutes pass. Connor dismantles the suspect piece by piece—calling out lies before they’re finished, correcting timelines, pushing and pushing until the man is sweating, shaking.
Finally—
“I didn’t mean to kill him—”
Connor straightens immediately.
The room goes silent.
After a few minutes of poking and prodding the suspect gives up the additional information needed.
After piecing together a possible but definite motive, Connor steps back, calmly saying “We’re done.”
He turns and walks out without another word.
The door opens into the observation room. Like a switch his demeanor changes, warm, soft brown eyes lock immediately onto you and he gives you a small gentle smile.
Hank exhales loudly beside you. “Christ,” he mutters, as he walks out the observation room, patting Connor on his shoulder as he leaves.
Connor’s attention never leaves you.
He steps closer, voice dropping into that familiar gentle register. “Are you alright?” he asks quietly. “Your heart rate spiked…”
You swallow, eyes flicking briefly to the glass before returning to him. “I’m fine,” you say. “Just… uh– uhm–”
A flicker of something unreadable crosses his face. “I may have pushed harder than necessary,” he admits, almost sheepish. “But the confession was imminent. Efficiency dictated—”
“That’s not what I mean,” you interrupt.
He pauses.
Connor’s eyebrows lift slightly as realization dawns. His LED flickers a playful blue.
“…You enjoyed it.” he says, not accusing. Observing.
You don’t deny it.
For the first time in your relationship, you awkwardly shift on your feet, “it was… different.” You're trying your best to avoid eye contact.
And of course Connor thinks it's cute, but he doesn't mention it.
A sudden ‘thought’ if you will— comes to Connor and after two seconds of reading through a couple articles he nods at you flashing his reserved smile.
“I am going to go compile my report,” Connor informs
“Okay,” you sigh wistfully, "I'm going to head home,”
He tilts his head to the side curiously, “so soon?”
You nod, “yeah, I can finish up my work at home,”
“Alright, I’ll call a taxi for you,”
“I’ll take the car,” you flash the keys in your palm and he wondered how or when you retrieved them from his pocket.
There's no one left in the observation room so Connor quickly places a kiss on your cheek, “drive safe.”
You’re half-curled on the couch when the front door finally opens, the soft click of the lock pulling your attention from the TV. Connor steps inside, pausing when he sees you — relaxed, comfortable, clearly settled in.
His jacket is slung over one arm, tie loosened just enough to make him look far too good.
“Hey,” you say easily.
He offers the smallest upturn of his lip as a greeting, “did you manage to get your work done?” Connor asks, setting his jacket aside. His eyes flick to the TV, then back to you.
“Mhm,” you hum.
Connor nods slowly, unhurried. He moves closer, posture calm, controlled.
“And you came straight home?” he asks casually, already knowing the answer.
“Yeah.” you arch a quizzical brow.
Connor’s head tilts.
Not accusing.
Not surprised.
Just… interested.
He remembered the articles he read earlier today, he weighed his options and decided to go for it.
“That’s curious,” he murmurs.
You sit up a little. “What is?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he studies you — your posture, your tone, the way you won’t quite meet his eyes. It’s subtle, but Connor notices everything.
Slowly he stalks from the foyer, around the back of the couch to stand in front of you as he slowly loosens his tie, pulling it away from his neck.
“You know,” he says quietly, “people make it too easy to detect lies.”
Your stomach flips.
“…I’m not— lying..”
Connor takes another step closer. “Stand up.”
Your pulse jumps — but you do it without thinking, setting the blanket aside.
He circles you slowly, gaze sharp and deliberate — the same presence he carried into the interrogation room earlier.
“You told me you went home,” he says evenly. “But you didn’t.”
Your breath catches.
“I said I'm not—”
“Stop talking.”
You obey, fingers lacing together.
Connor stops in front of you again, eyes dark, unreadable.
“Go sit at the dining table.”
Your mouth goes dry.
You walk over, every step heavy as your heart pounds in your chest, and sit as instructed. The chair scrapes softly against the floor. Connor leans forward, palms braced on the table, invading your space just enough to make your heart pound.
“I’m going to ask you a question,” he says calmly. “And you’re going to answer honestly.”
You nod. “Okay.”
Connor circles the table, footsteps slow and deliberate. You track him with your eyes, heat pooling low in your stomach.
“Where did you go…” Connor asks slowly, “after you left the precinct?”
You hesitate.
“Home.”
Connor straightens as he looks down at you in disappointment, which sends an immediate shot of arousal between your thighs.
“Wrong answer,” he says coolly, “Because you left the station at exactly 17:34. It is a five minute drive to our apartment. The security system timed your arrival at 17:58.”
Your lips part. “Connor—”
He stops behind your chair. “You didn’t go home,” he repeats. Connor leans down, voice right by your ear — colder now. “So I’ll say it again. Tell me where you went.”
Your fingers curl against your thighs.
He lets the silence stretch — thick, heavy— watching you the way he watches a suspect when he already knows the truth and is deciding what to do with it.
Then he steps closer.
Connor paused for a brief moment, he took a few seconds to analyse you. Despite this scene being a Roleplay, he still wanted to make sure that you were okay and safe.
But all he saw in you was need, pure arousal. Your skin prickled with goosebumps, your eyes were hazy and you were trembling slightly.
So he continued.
“Get up.” he orders and of course you follow.
The chair scrapes unnervingly against the floor as Connor takes it from you. You turn around watching as he sits back in the chair, legs spread, one hand in his lap, the other arm draped over the back of the chair.
You gripped the edge of the table you now leaned against.
Connor tilted his head to the side where he sat in front of you, his eyes drilling into you building even more pressure, that you had to look away from his stare. The silence was deafening and it was greatly unnerving.
You didn't realise what he was doing, despite the fact that you’d used this technique during interrogations countless times before.
It's called The Pause Technique.
Connor remained silent while maintaining eye contact with you till the psychological pressure became too much that you're desperate to fill the void with further information.
The silence stretches.
You try to hold out, you really do—but the longer Connor watches you, calm and unblinking, the tighter your chest feels. It’s unbearable, that quiet expectation.
Your breath stutters. “I—”
Connor’s eyebrow lifts just a fraction.
You cave.
You swallow. “I just… I stopped somewhere first.”
Instead of his taut tone Connor asks “Where?” in a soft gentle voice. Which acts as a psychological praise.
You hesitate again, fingers gripping the edge of the table like a lifeline. “It was nothing,”
His head tilts. “Nothing does not cause a twenty-four minute delay. Where did you go?”
Your lips part. The pressure is back, heavier now because you’re so close to the truth.
Instead you step forward and straddle his lap, curling into him because you crave his comfort so desperately. But you're not rewarded with his touch. His hands stay away from touching you, comforting, embracing, no matter how hard he wants to.
“Somewhere,” you nuzzle your forehead against his neck.
“Somewhere,” he echoes. “Be specific.”
Your breath stutters. Your skin is on fire.
“I went to Berry N Crumble,” you confess finally, straightening up, eyes flicking up to him.
It was your favourite dessert place which Connor had warned you before they used an exceeding amount of sugar in their sweet treats.
Connor hums low, unsurprised, he knew of course where you went.
Finally you're rewarded with his hand rubbing down your back, calm and soothingly.
“You did very well,” he says softly.
Your breath stutters. “Connor…”
His eyes flick down to your lips, then back up, something satisfied and dangerous curling in his gaze.
A corner of his mouth lifts — not the sharp, interrogator’s smirk, but something warmer. Proud.
“Good girl,” he murmurs.
The words send a shock straight through you. He’d never used that term before. Connor is always so sweet and warm. This change had been so different and so agonisingly hot that your mind was a scramble.
Connor seems to notice immediately. His eyes darken, satisfied, as if cataloging the reaction the same way he catalogs evidence.
Connors hands glide down your curves committing everything to memory till his hands rest at your hips. Firm, tight and commanding till he slowly starts to shift you back and forth.
A silent command.
Your breath hitches as you start to grind against his lap.
A moan hums from your chest as you feel Connor's erection against your clothed pussy, you rock yourself against him, chasing any form of friction.
“Connor,” you sigh, throwing your head back.
His hand moves from your hip, skating up your back, cupping your neck and threading his fingers into your hair.
“Just like that,” Connor whispers against your ear, “you did such a good job for me,” you whimper, “but…” you freeze when Connor grips your hips in a bruising hold, "don't think about lying to me again, alright my Love?”
Your head bobs up and down.
“Good,” He says slowly, his hand tangled in your hair guiding you to his lips.
There were many things you loved about Connor, his kindness and consideration, how gentle he was with you, and you loved this new side of him.
Connor was a selfless lover, he found great pleasure spending time either with his head between your thighs or watching you fall apart on his fingers.
This felt different like he was the one chasing his own pleasure and god you loved it.
Connor doesn't breathe so you know his systems are worked up when he slowly starts panting as he kisses you.
Slowly you start rocking against his clothed cock again, you could feel your orgasm somewhere on the horizon if you kept going.
You can’t take it anymore, “please,” your voice is muffled against his lips, “Connor, I can't take it anymore.”
He straightens, composure returning just enough to be dangerous. “Stand up.”
You do.
A quiet shriek comes from you as Connor spins you around and pushes you over the dining room table.
You hear a sound you never heard before, an impatient growl as Connor tugs at your slacks, pulling them down along with your underwear.
Not even a breath later and Connor is gripping your hips and slamming his cock deep into your wet cunt.
You cry out in pleasure at finally feeling so wonderfully full. You try to reposition yourself but Connor holds you down by the back of the neck and slams his hips against your ass.
He wastes no time fucking you over the dining room table, rough and hard. The sound of your cries and skin slapping against skin and Connor's deep groans echo around the apartment. You sent off a silent apology to the neighbours but you didn't care.
Not when you felt this good.
You were a shaking wet mess and that awoke something in Connor. He was hesitant starting this game when he first walked into the apartment. Maybe he'd be too shy for it, or his fear of hurting you would get in the way.
But it awoke a part of him he thought he didn't have, he was enjoying this too much.
“Oh ffuck,” he cried out, his hands leaving marks on your hips with his rough grip, “you feel so good wrapped around my cock.”
Your teeth dug into your bottom lip. With Connor's consistent pace, hitting your sweet spot so perfectly it wouldn't be long till you came.
“Already?” he teased, “we only just started,”
With that Connor pulls out causing you to whine at the loss. You're able to orientate yourself but only for a moment when Connor plunges his hot tongue into your cunt.
“Connor!” you cry.
He licks a stripe up through your folds, paying close attention to your clit till you're squirming in his grip. He licks, sucks, bites the over worked bundle of nerves. It's all too much but feels too good.
“Please… Connor… if you—” a moan cuts you off “if you…if—” your panting and your back arches as your orgasm ripples through your body.
You're trembling by the time Connor stands back up and bullies his cock into your pussy again. He holds both your wrists, pulling you back against himself so he can fuck you even deeper.
“I warned you about the amount of sugar in those desserts,” he grunts “and you lied to me,” he deals each harsh thrust as emphasis, “you thought—” Connor says through gritted teeth, “you could lie, to me.”
Connors growl and his unforgiving hips push you over the edge, your orgasm trembles through your body to your toes.
You clench and throb around him causing Connor to push you harder onto the table so he can bury himself impossibly deeper.
It is pure bliss feeling him come inside you.
The apartment quietens except for your shared panting. Slowly Connor pulls out of you and rubs a soothing hand up and down your back, trailing kisses along your spine.
“So good, so good for me, Are you okay, my love?” he asks, ever so earnestly. Connor picks you up but you don't really follow what's happening after the post orgasm bliss.
You can only offer him an affirming hum, as he carries you to the bedroom. You're placed on the soft bedding and you're ready to drift off till you feel a warm cloth begin to clean you up.
Afterwards, Connor disappears for a moment then he finally joins you on the bed. You hum contently when he pulls you into his side.
“I love you,” he says
A small smile breaks onto your face, “I love you too Con,” you sigh.
“Are you alright? Not sore? Was that too intense?”
You lazily shake your head, “I'm good Connor, that was a lot of fun, you were so perfect. Are you alright? Did you like it?”
Aftercare goes both ways.
Connor nods, a small smile tugging at his lip “Yes. That was… fun. I didn't know how fun it could be.”
You tip your head up to look at him and he places a kiss on your forehead, “I read online that after these ‘scenes’ that you should consume something with sugar, thankfully I made a stop on the way home from the station.”
You frown quizzically as you watch
Connor reach for something on the nightstand. He places down a pastel yellow paper box you recognise far too well with a large logo on the top reading ‘Berry N Crumble.’