(no subject)
Title: Three Weeks
Rating: M
Disclaimer: Still not mine...
A/N: Hope you enjoy this... if you do, let me know...
For the past three weeks, we’ve been sleeping together. Every night. She stays with me or I stay with her, or once, when I had to stay at the precinct, we broke in an interrogation room… then broke it in again… Not that we get much sleep when we “sleep together”… but that’s the term we have both been using…
To say that the sex is amazing would make you gifted in the art of understatement. It’s out of this world. It’s passionate, it’s satisfying, and it is, without a doubt, the absolute best sex I have ever had…
We have both agreed that, for now, it’s best that we keep our relationship quiet. No one, not even my partner, knows that we are a couple. We don’t want to hear the jokes about how great the sex must be, and we don’t want the smiles, smirks, and the “way to go” slaps on the back that the guys would be tossing out like candy at the Macy’s Thanksgiving parade.
For the past three months, we’ve been dating…
But the past three weeks?
We’ve been going at it every chance we get.
The precinct, her office, my apartment, her apartment, and once in a stall at Starbuck’s…
I can’t help but smile, remembering what she said as we left… You have officially replaced caffeine. You are my new addiction…
And, God, was she telling the truth…
We can’t keep our hands off of each other.
Right now, she is sitting on the edge of my desk, acting as if nothing has changed between us. Every now and then, I reach out and run my index finger from the side of her thigh to behind her knee. If she has noticed, you could have fooled me.
Calm, cool, collected…
She is sitting there as if me stroking her thigh has absolutely no effect on her.
Time to get her attention…
Making sure that no one is watching, which, no one ever is, I stealthily slip my hand up her skirt, my fingertips coming in contact with warm, wet silk. I ignore the fact that she has squeezed her legs together in an attempt to stop my actions, and slowly, I dip my thumb behind the fabric. When I come in contact with wet curls, I slowly rub my thumb up then down the outside of her, which causes her to draw in a quick breath.
She leans closer to me, narrowing her eyes, but I have no intention of stopping what I’m doing. I’m on a mission, and nothing is going to stop me from getting her to say my name the way she was saying it just a few hours ago.
“Keep doing that and I’ll haul your ass into my office and do you like a deposition…” She hisses, and I just smile.
Is that hot, or what?
“Is that a promise?”
My question causes her to raise an eyebrow, and I continue to slowly stroke her with my thumb, applying a little more pressure and entering her just a little, as she squirms, trying to get away from my touch and what it is doing to her.
“Keep it up, Benson, and I swear on a stack of Bibles, I’ll…” She stops short, lets out a breath that she was probably not even aware that she was holding.
And there it is… that look that tells me I’ve started something that she wants to finish.
“You’ll what?”
I can’t help but tease her, can’t help but want her as bad as a kid wants it to be Christmas already on December 23rd…
“My office.” That’s all she says as she pulls away from me and slides off of my desk.
As she walks away, I smile to myself.
So that it doesn’t look too obvious, I give myself fifteen minutes before deciding that I have waited long enough.
It’s been slow today. Thank God. We’ve been doing nothing but paperwork, so when I stand and make some lame excuse about needing to rest my eyes, no one has anything to say about it.
I’m on auto-pilot all the way to her office.
If anyone has spoken to me or nodded an acknowledgement my way, it has gone unnoticed by me. My mind is on one thing and one thing only…
I don’t bother to knock, instead I slip the spare key she gave me last week into the lock and let myself in.
I lock the door behind me and as soon as we make eye contact, we both start stripping.
My belt, gun, badge, and handcuffs hit the floor with a loud thud as she kicks off her heels and starts unbuttoning her shirt.
“I have court in an hour.” Her fingers fly through button after button, and for a moment, all I can do is stare.
This is one of my favorite parts…
She shrugs her shirt off of her shoulders, then slips out of her skirt, and while she is now standing before me in nothing but pantyhose, panties, and a bra, I have somehow managed to remain fully clothed.
Feeling foolish, I make an attempt to catch up, ridding myself of my shoes and socks.
“I keep thinking that it’s going to stop…”
My confession probably makes no sense to her, and in all honesty, it doesn’t make much sense to me either.
“What’s going to stop?” Her question washes over me and I feel myself grow warm as she closes the space between us so that she can pull my shirt over my head.
Nimble fingers unbutton then unzip my pants, and when she has tugged them down, I step out of them and take her by the hand.
“This need, this desire…”
I can’t explain it. I can’t put it into words. All I know is the more I get of her the more I want and need of her.
It’s physical. How the hell could it not be? The woman is gorgeous…
But it’s also emotional… With her, I feel a connection I have never felt before. She gets to me in ways no one has ever gotten to me…
If I had anything else that I wanted to say, she’s not giving me the chance.
Her lips against mine, her hands caressing my body… and once again, I am lost in something I cannot understand.
All I can do is feel…
Feel her tongue glide along my bottom lip… feel her fingers unclasp then remove my bra… feel her hands cup both of my breasts as I allow her tongue to slip past my lips… feel as our tongues dance a dance that is as old as time…
“OLIVIA!”
What the…?
My eyes flutter open and I sit up, looking around the precinct, my eyes adjusting to the light.
“DB in Central Park, signs of sexual assault… Grab your jacket and lets go..” Elliot ways, and I let out a groan.
Grabbing my jacket off the back of my chair, I shrug it on and fall into step behind my partner.
I shake my head a few times, still not fully awake, and shove my hands deep into my pockets.
What the…?
My fingertips come into contact with lace and silk, and my eyes go wide.
So it wasn’t a dream…
I can’t help but laugh, which causes Elliot to cut his eyes at me, one eyebrow raised in question.
“First, you disappear for two hours and come back looking like you ran a marathon… then, you fall asleep at your desk? And you’re laughing about it? Damn… You’re slipping, Benson…” He says, patting me on the back as we exit the precinct.
I just smile.
I don’t know about slipping… but I certainly am falling…