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Captain Olivia Benson sighed as she reviewed the newest in a string of DD5s her detectives had placed on her desk—Valentine’s Day, and the days surrounding it, usually brought in more than its fair share of domestic violence, assault, and rape cases. Something about a day that was supposed to be set aside for romance brought out the worst in a certain subset of people, namely those whose relationships were already rocky, unfaithful, or one-sided.
She had just reviewed the case notes of a nasty date-rape that had taken place in the middle of the day, rather than in the evening when more people would venture out. It was open-and-shut, and she suspected the perp would plead out to avoid a trial. She sighed again, and there was a note of sadness in it. In general, people had seemed excited that the holiday fell on a Saturday this year, and she could see why. But from the vantage point of her office in Manhattan SVU, all the weekend freedom had meant was an earlier start to the violence.
She signed off on the report and put it aside; it was the last one for now. Before too long Curry would take over the on-call administrative duties from her, and she’d have the rest of the weekend to spend with her favorite person in the world unless something truly catastrophic came up. Though she had initially been suspicious of Renee Curry’s motivations in joining her squad when the captain’s post was already occupied, she had long since realized that Curry’s intentions were pure, and she was a damned fine investigator and leader. And with Fin still out after his attack, Olivia truly appreciated the administrative help Curry was willing to offer.
She smiled at the photograph on her desk, one of her standing next to a fully costumed, sweaty Noah after one of his dance performances. She had a real treat planned for her Valentine’s Day "date” with her son that night. Noah, though he definitely had teenage moments that made her want to tear her hair out in frustration, had been disarmingly sweet when he suggested they spend the holiday together. “It’s not always about romantic love, Mom,” he had said earnestly, and though Olivia had wondered if his sudden desire for a “date” with his mom had more to do with his lack of a romantic interest than anything else, she was very much looking forward to the evening.
She was taking Noah to a show, a new Broadway musical called & Juliet that he had been begging to see ever since it had opened. The tickets were a surprise; Noah believed they were going out for Italian together before settling in for a movie night with his favorite cheesecake for dessert and the rare treat of the French press coffee he loved but wasn’t often allowed to drink.
Her phone rang, and she smiled as Noah’s name and picture flashed on her screen. He probably wanted to make sure (for the third time, which was odd for him) that she was going to leave work on time. “Hi, sweetheart,” she greeted him.
“Mom?”
Olivia’s senses went into immediate high alert. His tone wasn’t what she had expected; he sounded nervous, maybe even scared. Without thinking, she reflexively stood from her office chair and began gathering her things to leave, her movements quick and practiced. “What is it, baby? What’s wrong?”
“It’s nothing like that, Mom. I’m okay,” Noah quickly reassured her. After a lifetime of being a cop’s kid, he knew the kinds of scenarios she feared the most.
Olivia took a deep breath and counted to three before she responded much more calmly, “Okay, that’s good to know. But you’ve obviously got something on your mind, kiddo, so spill it.” She didn’t sit down; it was almost time for her to leave, anyway, and she had a vague sense that Noah might still need her even if he wasn’t in any kind of danger.
“I’m sorry, Mom, but…” he trailed off.
He’s gotten into some kind of trouble, and he’s worried I’m going to be angry with him. Her heart finally slowed to its normal pace. Though Noah was a good kid, there had been times when he’d had to tell her something he had done that he knew she wouldn’t be proud of, and though Olivia loved him more than anything in the world, she was also unfailingly strict in those situations.
“Okay,” she finally said. “Noah, you know you can tell me anything. Whatever it is, we’ll work it out together. I won’t get mad if you just tell me the truth.” She fervently hoped she could keep that promise.
“It’s not that either, Mom. It’s just…” Another pause before the words rushed out of him like he thought if he blurted it out, it would be easier for her to hear. “I’ve been invited to a Valentine’s Day party, Mom, and it’ll be overnight, and I really want to go. Really. Can we do Italian and movies some other night, like a special Valentine’s Day just for us? It’s not that I don’t want to be with you, it’s not that at all, it’s just that this is like everyone who’s anyone at my dance company, you know, Mom? And it was last minute, and they don’t usually invite me, and—”
Olivia couldn’t help but sigh in exasperation and roll her eyes as she plopped onto her sofa. She had paid good money for those tickets, and she knew Noah didn’t know she had done that, but what was she supposed to do now? Deny him permission, and she’d spend the evening with a sulky, resentful fifteen-year-old who felt he was missing the social opportunity of a lifetime. Give it to him, and she’d either be out the money or going to the theater alone.
She tried to remember how big things like this were to kids his age; how, even though to her it was just another party, to him it represented something much more important.
“Who all’s going to be there?” she asked, her voice resigned. “And who’s supervising?”
Noah’s voice became bubbly once again as he named the familiar names of the other teenage students in his dance classes. He listed almost all of them, and then he told her it would be held at the home of a family she had known through these classes since Noah was only five years old. They lived in a nice brownstone in a quiet neighborhood, and he had slept over there before. The bottom line was that she had no reason at all to refuse to allow him to go, and she knew it. This was not the hill to die on.
She tried not to let her disappointment show as she told Noah he could go, but only if Trevor’s mom or dad called her to give her more details. This was standard procedure in the Benson family, and Noah quickly agreed before saying, “I love you” and ending the call.
After speaking to Mrs. Wilford, Olivia called Amanda and Sonny and offered them the tickets, throwing in an offer to babysit for them so they could have a night out. Amanda was overjoyed, having wanted to see the musical as well, but she told Liv that Sonny’s mother had already been enlisted to watch their kids while they went out for a quiet dinner.
After transferring her tickets to Amanda’s phone, Olivia finished gathering her things, her movements now much slower, the prospect of a night alone not an inviting one after what she had planned. Not that she ever really celebrated Valentine’s Day; it was just that she had been looking forward to this one.
Still, quiet evenings were few and far between, considering her job and Noah’s busy schedule. As she headed home, she stopped by the bakery to pick up the cheesecake she had promised Noah, even though he wouldn’t be there to eat it. She’d surprise him with it for dessert tomorrow night, she thought, and would have a piece of it herself that night. She had a decent bottle of red to go with it, and she knew there'd be no shortage of old movies on TV. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.
***
Olivia frowned as she reached the door to her apartment. She could clearly hear music coming from the other side of the door, and not the music either she or Noah usually listened to. Italian opera? She couldn’t be sure through the door, but she thought maybe Noah had been preparing for a new dance routine and had forgotten to turn it off before he left. She knew he wasn’t there; she had checked her tracking app as she had gotten home, and Noah was already at the party, right where he was supposed to be.
She was hardly going to walk into her apartment unprepared when the situation wasn’t what she expected. Olivia balanced the heavy cheesecake box in one hand, fully prepared to drop it in an instant if she had to, quietly unlocked the door, then rested her other hand on her service weapon. She nudged it open with her foot, glancing inside before she made another move.
What she saw made her face contort in a combination of shock and exasperation as she removed her hand from her weapon. For a few moments, she just stood and stared.
Her apartment, usually dark in the evenings but for the one lamp she kept on a timer, was softly lit by what must have been dozens of candles arranged strategically on pretty much every surface that would hold them. Most of them were tapers of various colors; she saw the traditional reds, pinks, and whites scattered about — where had all those candlesticks come from? — but she also spied some dark blues and teals, as well as some votives in various colored glasses. The overall effect was lovely and sensual, and the flowing, gorgeous music only added to that.
But the man in her kitchen…the man who had supposedly not even noticed her entering the apartment even though she knew it was impossible he hadn’t…the man wearing a white chef’s apron over a crisp three-piece suit, standing in profile view, stirring a pot of something simmering on her stove…
She wasn’t sure if he was the most beautiful part of the entire setting, or the part that would make her tear it all down.
“Elliot,” she finally said. She wasn’t exactly sure what she had intended to sound like, but her own voice sounded foreign to her.
He turned to look at her and smiled slowly…and in the candlelight, she could have sworn she saw those ice-blue eyes, as familiar to her as her own, glinting with something she couldn’t identify, at least not from across the room.
He needs to go. Now.
Olivia opened her mouth to say something, anything, to stop the whole scene from going any further. She wasn’t ready for this; she just wasn’t. Just as soon as she’d thought of how to start, Elliot cocked his head at her and shook it slowly.
Her mouth closed, and she peered at him. Something was different about him tonight; something about his bearing, about the smirking headshake instead of the fervent plea she sometimes saw in his eyes.
“Liv, come in and put that cheesecake in the refrigerator,” he invited. And again, something was different. The voice was the one she still turned towards every time she heard it, but something about the tone was as unfamiliar as if he'd been a stranger.
“Elliot, you need—” she began, still determined to end this before it got out of control.
“Uh-uh,” Elliot said, smirking before turning back to the pot on the stove, stirring it, and setting a gleaming frying pan that was certainly not hers on the burner next to it. “Cheesecake first, then we’ll talk.”
She shook her head. Maybe she’d just punch him after she put the damned cheesecake in the fridge, if she could even find space for it in the clutter of Noah’s snacks and Vitamin Waters. Maybe she’d just punch him and then make him leave her apartment, make him stop this before—
Before what?
Olivia refused to look at him as she pushed the door closed behind her, locking the deadbolts and engaging the chain as she always did. She shrugged her bag off her shoulder and and leaned it against the low bookshelf that doubled as her entry table. She dropped her keys in their little metal tray, and when she walked across the floor to put the cheesecake away, she pretended that examining its box was more important than navigating her apartment.
The fridge was neater than usual, a spot cleared out on the middle shelf just big enough for her to slide the bakery box into. She finally rose and turned to face him. He stood with his back to the far counter now, his hands braced behind him. He was still smirking at her.
Something occurred to her that she should have realized immediately. “How did you know that was a cheesecake?” she asked.
“Who do you think let me in here?” he asked her. “Who do you think helped me do all of this?”
Noah.
Liv groaned as the entire setup came to her in a flash. Her son had probably known about the Valentine’s Day party for weeks, if not longer; she should never have believed Tony and Lonnie Wilford, Trevor’s parents, had thrown together such a party at the last minute. And either he or Elliot had come up with the idea for this…this invasion of her home.
“Uh-uh,” Elliot said again, seeming to read the new protest in her eyes. He pushed off the counter and strode the few steps toward her, stopping just short of invading the entirety of her personal space. “Go to your room, Liv, and change. Everything’s ready for you. And then you’ll come back, we’ll have the best meal you’ve probably had in months, and we’ll…talk.”
Olivia cocked her head, peering at him, wondering what had changed. Elliot had been so careful with her before, so hesitant to do anything that might make her back away from him. Now, that look in his eyes…
“Go on,” Elliot encouraged, pointing in the direction of her bedroom door. “Get going so I can finish up in here.”
For the rest of her life, Olivia would never understand what had made her do what he said at that moment. She would never understand why her only response was to raise an eyebrow at him before doing exactly what he asked…no, demanded.
At least I can get a few minutes to myself.
When Olivia opened the door to her room, she couldn’t help the gasp that escaped her. Her bedroom, like the living room and kitchen, was entirely bedecked in candles, the flickering lights numerous enough that she didn’t need to turn on her floor lamp.
“Close the door, Liv,” Elliot called, and she heard something sizzling in the kitchen. “Take as long as you need. I’m not going anywhere.”
Olivia, still at a loss for words, took his suggestion and closed her door behind her. After a moment, she engaged the lock as well, and she could have sworn she heard a dark chuckle from her kitchen as it clicked into place.
Something was shifting in her; somehow, she wasn’t at all certain she wanted to kick him out. She wasn’t at all certain she wanted him to leave at all.
She glanced around the room, her gaze settling almost immediately on her neatly made bed.
Did I make the bed this morning?
Atop the duvet lay a stunning dress she had never seen before, something she might have picked out herself for a fancy dinner date. She frowned. She had no basis for comparison with what was happening here. Was Elliot, of all people, being the type of controlling asshole she'd never suspected him of being? Or was it simply a gift, a gesture to show her how much he cared?
She suddenly chuckled, amusement finding its way into this ridiculous situation. Of course, Elliot hadn’t picked out this dress himself; he would have no idea where to even start. She almost laughed aloud as she thought of his massive frame fumbling through the women’s section of Saks to find this dress. Someone had gone with him, maybe one of his daughters…maybe even Noah, who had a sharp eye for fashion even for someone as old as he thought she was.
No, she decided, she didn’t want Elliot Stabler to leave.
Just as she decided to humor him and dress for dinner—which was what he clearly wanted, and what she was coming to want, too—any lingering thought about sending him away, about continuing to avoid him, vanished.
Next to the dress was a small glass bottle shaped like a star, full of light blue liquid that seemed flame-like in the candlelight. A note sat under it.
As she had immediately realized, the bottle contained an old perfume: Angel by Thierry Mugler. She had worn that almost daily for so many years she had lost count, having purchased her first bottle of it just before she had transferred to SVU.
How did he even know that? No one in her life could have told him that…she had let her last bottle run out just after Elliot had left the force…left her.
Her hands shook as she retrieved the note from under the bottle. The handwriting was achingly familiar.
Liv,
No one else should ever be allowed to wear this scent; to me, it is yours and yours alone.
Wear it for me tonight.
El
Olivia, heart pounding, decided that whatever his motivation for setting this dress and the perfume out for her was irrelevant; it might have been the most thoughtful thing anyone had ever done for her. Hands shaking, she put on the dress. It fit her perfectly, hugging her curves in the right places and flattering her shape. She had to turn on the light in the ensuite before she chose her shoes; in the candlelight, it was difficult to tell if it was a traditional black or a navy blue.
Confirming that it was, in fact, a blue similar to her dress uniform, she picked out a pair of creamy white stilettos from her closet and slipped them on. She touched up her makeup, brushed her teeth, and used her hot air brush to freshen and shape her hair.
Finally, she considered the bottle of perfume she had placed on her bathroom counter. Would she take this final step…could she truly give him everything he had asked for? The question was heavier than the perfume as she sprayed it lightly on her wrists and just above her cleavage, the scent bringing her back to the days when she had been much younger…when he had been everything to her, even while they both convinced themselves it was nothing more than a strong partnership.
Olivia’s heart pounded as she unlocked and opened the bedroom door, her senses immediately filling with smells so appetizing she couldn’t believe they were coming from her kitchen. Her heels tapped on the wooden floor as she approached him, his back turned to her as he took something from the oven.
He stood, placed a baking sheet layered with yeasty bread rolls on a trivet on the counter, and then turned toward her slowly, clearly making a point of taking his time.
He assessed her, his expression darkly appraising as he unabashedly slid his eyes over her from head to toe. “Beautiful,” he said, his voice low. “You’re beautiful.”
He finally locked eyes with her again, and she finally recognized the look in his eyes for what it was.
Lust.
He cocked his head toward the small table, now covered in a white tablecloth and set with dishes she didn’t recognize. “Sit,” he instructed her.
“Elliot, what—”
“Shh,” he hushed her. “Let’s get dinner on the table before we talk.”
Feeling decidedly out of her element but also as turned on as she might ever have been, Liv sat at the table.
***
The meal was fresh and delicious—it turned out Elliot had taken some cooking lessons in Rome, of all things—and the conversation had been surreal. Elliot had led her on a trip through their time together, both past and present, recalling some of their more meaningful cases, some of their encounters with IAB and mandatory counseling, the way Cragen had tried to manage them and sometimes succeeded. More than that, he talked about her—and she had never known how much he actually noticed in those long-ago days. He referenced the songs she had played when they were driving and she didn’t want to talk…he named the favorite books he had seen in the drawer of her desk, in the passenger seat of her car, on the little table beside her sofa in her old apartment. He told her how much it had meant to him when she had taken his hand as they drove south to try to save his son. The conversation was comfortable, but still somehow fraught.
As Olivia swallowed the last bite of the perfectly seared fish and took the last sip of the crisp white wine Elliot had paired with his culinary masterpiece, he stood and came around the table. Extending his large hand to her, he simply said, “Come.”
Bemused but disarmed by the dinner and the wine, Olivia placed her hand in his as naturally as though she did it every day. He pulled her up with a mixture of gentleness and insistence that sent her heart rate skyrocketing and led her to the sofa, where she noticed another bottle, this one a red with an unfamiliar label, and two clean glasses.
After he guided her to seat herself on the sofa, really too soft and pliant for this kind of dress, Elliot knelt before her.
“I want to touch you, Liv. Will you let me touch you?”
She wanted his touch more than she had ever wanted anything, and as soon as she had nodded her consent, he brought one hand gently to her cheek and gripped her waist with the other, the pressure of his strong fingers digging into her skin in a way that suggested the moment wasn't to be entirely tender.
“Liv, enough of this,” he said, his voice almost a growl. “Enough of keeping apart from one another, of making boundaries that don’t need to be there, enough of you pulling away from me. I don’t want that anymore. Do you?”
Completely under his spell, she shook her head, feeling a tear break free as she looked at him, really allowed herself to look at him, kneeling before her in the candlelight. He brushed the moisture away with the pad of his thumb, then traced the droplet along her lips.
“Will you let me love you?” he asked in a whisper, the still-present glaze in his eyes betraying that he meant to love her in every sense, and he meant to do it tonight.
She knew she could say no; she knew that, no matter how Elliot had taken command of the entire evening so far, he would back away immediately if she said no.
She didn’t want to.
So, not even stopping to consider the gravity of the word he had chosen, she nodded her head and murmured, “Yes.” Just the simple utterance of the word was a relief.
He leaned forward slowly, excruciatingly slowly, until his lips brushed hers, until they became firmer against hers, until they moved against hers, and she kissed him back.
It was the end, and it was the beginning. It was the world, and the stars, and the moon, and the sun all in one. It was the alignment of everything she had ever been, the homecoming she had always longed for.
His tongue swept across her lips, and she opened for him, feeling him taste her, gently at first, but with increasing fervor. But it was more than that; as he threaded a hand in her hair and drew her impossibly closer, she knew exactly what this was: a claiming.
The expensive bottle of wine forgotten, Elliot didn’t break the kiss as he lifted her, holding her to his chest with strong, muscled arms that intended to keep her right where he wanted her.
How many times had she dreamt of being in his arms like this?
He carried her into her bedroom, kicking the door closed behind them, and backed her into a wall, using the stability to claim her all the more thoroughly, his mouth bruising against hers, fierce and protective, loving and insistent all at once.
He brought his hands to her waist, pushing her back even more, pinning his body flush against hers, hard muscle against soft breasts, powerful hands finding purchase just above the swell of feminine hips, everything separated by the luxurious dinner clothes they hadn’t even worn out of the apartment.
She felt him harden against her, and she let out a mewling sound into his mouth. He smiled against her lips even as he continued kissing her mercilessly, as though he was packing two decades of desire into a single act. “You want that, Liv?” he growled into her mouth, only separating from her enough that she could understand his words. He rocked into her, pressing himself firmly against her, letting her feel what she did to him…feel how much he wanted her.
“Yes,” she said, a hint of a plea in her tone.
“You want me? You want us?”
“Yes,” she breathed, trying not to grind into him too obviously…but she wanted, she needed, some friction against her aching center.
He broke from her then, keeping his hands on her even as he took a step back, looking at her seriously. “You mean that?” he asked huskily and just for a moment, some of the unbridled lust in his eyes faded just enough for her to see other emotions behind it: love, and hope, and a fierce devotion that might have scared her had she seen it only half an hour before.
She knew her own eyes were shining as she told him, “I mean it, El.” And God help her, she did.
He pulled her from the wall then, bringing her against him and crushing her to his chest in a way he had only done once before. He didn’t resume their kiss but instead leaned down to speak directly into her ear.
“If you want me to stop, all you have to do is tell me, Liv. Understand?”
She gave a barely perceptible nod of her head. She knew that; of course, she knew that.
“But other than that…” He paused, wanting to increase the impact of his next words. “You’re mine.”
Her breathing hitched, and Elliot waited just another moment to make sure she didn’t want to stop him, his instincts as a former SVU detective pausing him for that last second before he acted. He knew what he wanted, knew what he was going to do, but only if she wanted it…only ever if she wanted it.
Olivia pressed her thighs together as she stayed in his arms, her breathing slightly ragged but still soft, and he knew she was already aching for him, dripping for him. It was all the consent he needed. He loosened his grip on her, pushing her gently away so he could grasp her shoulders, exerting firm but not painful pressure. “Turn around, dear heart,” he ordered.
She did, nearly breathless with anticipation. She had always imagined Elliot like this; somehow, he had always been commanding like this when she imagined them together. And though she would fight him like hell if he treated her like this anywhere but here, she wanted to surrender to him now. Maybe she always had.
She waited, listening to him undress rather meticulously behind her, placing his clothes over the back of her chair with care. He didn’t rush, and the ache in her only grew as she imagined his skin against hers, his beautiful body against hers…
A kiss and a suckle to the nape of her neck before dexterous hands lowered the zipper of the dress he had given her, gently swept it off her shoulders until it puddled on the floor beneath her.
“Beautiful,” he breathed from behind her. He ran his fingers down her back, the touch feather-soft, not stopping as he reached her waist and coming to rest only when he had cupped both globes of her ass in his firm hands. He squeezed hard, and she jumped.
“Nice,” he said approvingly. “You always did take such wonderful care of your body, dear heart.”
He hooked his thumbs into the waist of her underpants, thankfully pretty ones, if not exactly what she would have worn had she known this was coming. She shivered as he drew them down to join her dress on the floor.
“Step out,” he instructed. “Wouldn’t do to ruin this dress, would it? We’ll think of this every time you wear it…and you will wear it again for me.”
“El, please,” she breathed. Now that they had crossed this final, uncrossable line…now that they had shattered every boundary they had ever had between them…she wanted him so badly she was ready to beg him if that was what it took.
He chuckled darkly, leaving her cold as he took his hands off her to gather her dress and panties, adding them to his own clothing over the back of the chair.
“I think we’ll leave the shoes on,” he mused, and then his hands were on her again, this time spread over her lower belly, applying pressure and pulling her back against him, her back to his front, his erection, now free of all constraints, coming to rest between the cheeks of her backside.
She threw her head back against his chest as his fingers crept lower, brushing against the firm bundle of nerves, stopping to caress it until small jolts of pleasure flashed through her body, setting her on fire.
Without warning, he plunged not one but two thick fingers all the way inside her, the movement fast and harsh…and just what she wanted. God, how many times had she wished for this?
“You’re going to come for me, Liv,” he growled in her ear. “You’re going to come apart just like this, standing against me, exposed to me, surrendered to me.” He lowered his voice to a whisper as he increased the pressure against her clit, working her as though he already knew every place to touch and just how to touch it. “Don’t worry, baby, I’ll never let you fall.”
He added another finger, filling her and pumping mercilessly as he continued to tease her, stroking and pushing and lightly pinching her as her breaths grew increasingly frenzied and her body, glazing with sweat, began to tremble.
“Let me hear you,” he ordered, slamming his fingers in as deep as he could just as he increased the pressure on her center.
Olivia cried out as the orgasm overtook her completely, as she tightened around him and the waves of pleasure rolled over her, Elliot’s fingers drawing every bit of it out until she all but collapsed against him.
His arms immediately encircled her, holding her up as her strength gave out, pressing her against him as she came down from her climax. There was something so incredibly intimate about their skin pressed together, her neck exposed to him as she leaned her head against his chest, her breathing slowing into the sated kind of exhaustion that always followed a powerful orgasm.
“I got you,” he whispered before scooping her into his arms, turning, and laying her on her back atop the bed with agonizing gentleness, resting her head against a pillowcase she realized was not hers at all, settling her naked skin against similarly unfamiliar sheets.
Silk, she marveled. He had changed her sheets while he waited for her to come home; he had pulled down the duvet when her back was turned. She realized just how minutely he had planned every moment of this night…and she couldn’t believe she had considered throwing him out.
“Don’t think,” he whispered as he placed his body alongside hers, resting on his elbow so he could look his fill. “Just feel.” He ran his hand idly up and down her torso, the movement soothing and sensual all at once. “Keep your eyes closed, and just be, Liv. Just be.”
She looked so beautiful in the candlelight that it took his breath away, but he paused for the barest fraction of an instant when he felt a scar, an old one by the smoothness of it, snaking around her torso just under her breast. He immediately resumed running his hand up and down the length of her, not wanting her to notice, not wanting her to give a single thought to whatever had caused that scar. A moment later, when he felt what could only have been a cigarette burn on her lower abdomen, he used every bit of control he had over himself not to stop again, not to let his breathing or his posture change even as unmistakable rage clouded his mind. Someone had hurt her.
He willed it out of his mind; now was not the time. "Just be, dear heart," he repeated, keeping her entirely in his thrall as he continued to stroke her.
She was nearly limp under his touch, and she felt when the soothing caress turned into one intended to arouse. Elliot wasn’t done yet; they weren’t done yet, and even through her post-orgasm haze, she ached for more. She wanted him inside her, wanted all of him.
His hand circled her full breast, his fingers coming to rest against her pebbled nipple. He circled lazily for a moment before flicking it, eliciting a quiet yelp from Olivia.
Good girl, he thought, and he moved quickly then, smoothly maneuvering his body until it covered hers, his engorged cock resting right against her entrance, dripping wet, so ready for him.
He braced himself on his hands, looking down at her. She had opened her eyes, now glazed with pleasure and wanton lust, and gazed straight up at him. Even though he had never seen her in this position before, the gaze was still so wholly her that his heart began to pound in his chest.
“Tell me how much you want me. Tell me how much you want this.” He moved against her for emphasis. He lowered his voice. “Tell me how much you want us.” Suddenly, he needed to hear it…needed to know that she felt what he felt…needed to know that this was not to be the beginning and the end of the true, complete partnership he had longed for almost since he had met her.
“I’ve wanted you for so long,” she breathed. “I’ve wanted you since long before I had a right to. I’ve wanted you while you were gone; I’ve wanted you even when I hated you, even when you weren’t there when I needed you. I want you now; I want you…forever.” It was the longest string of words she had said since she had walked into her apartment with that cheesecake in her hands, and her blatant honesty stunned both of them.
His voice sounded choked when he replied, “And I’m here, dear heart. And this is it for me…you are what I want. Forever.”
He lowered one of his hands to guide himself into her waiting folds, pushing in slowly, inch by inch, letting himself truly feel her surrounding him.
Olivia had never felt anything like what she felt as he entered her. A binding so deep she couldn’t understand it even though she had always assumed it would be there…a connection of body to body, but also the final string of the connection that had always pulled at both of their souls.
He stilled once he was fully inside her, feeling her body adjust around him as though it had been made just for him.
“Move. Please, Elliot, move…”
Satisfied that she was no longer overthinking anything at all, he pulled almost all the way out and slammed back into her, burying himself to the hilt. They cried out together at the power of their joining, and his mouth claimed hers as he thrust into her over and over, his speed increasing as their need for each other eclipsed any further attempt at accomplishing anything but being in rhythm, their skin slapping against one another’s, at being as close as two people could ever physically be.
Her legs went up around him, and he couldn’t help the pleasant vision of what those long legs must look like around his back, the sexy stilettos still on her feet. He supported her back, raising her closer to him as he kept up the punishing pace, well pleased by how her hips rocked in exact cadence with his thrusts.
He broke off the kiss and issued what he knew would be his last command to her that night. “Touch yourself, baby. Touch yourself while I take you, and we’ll go together…always together, for the rest of our lives.”
Somewhere within her, Olivia knew how serious those words were, how El’s shattering of their boundaries had changed both their lives irrevocably. But the thought left her mind as she did what he wanted her to do, lowering her own hand between her legs, feeling him filling her, hitting the spot inside of her while she teased the other with practiced but increasingly frenzied movements.
Her climax rose, crashing over her so hard that she screamed when it overtook her, a full-throated scream as she gave herself completely to him, as she rode the waves of a pleasure more intense than she had ever felt. Somewhere within it, she heard Elliot roar with his own release, felt him still for a moment as his seed spilled into her, then move more slowly as they both came down.
He didn’t pull out for several long moments, even as he felt himself softening. Their bodies slick, the musky scent of sex and sweat and the rich, lingering aroma of her perfume filling the room, he pressed his forehead to hers.
“You’re mine,” he said, his voice no longer an insistent growl, but low and intense, as though he were speaking the most important words he had spoken in his life.
Olivia, his Liv, stared up at him, her eyes wide as she looked into his very soul. “Yes,” she agreed. “Yours.”