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It started with the ease between us.
The way we moved and thought in sync, the magnetic field that was created when we were together. It was powerful, it was inevitable, it felt safe. At least from outside. One day, we’d simply been unable to hold it in any longer.
We had sought each other out, wordlessly, like something inside both of us had forged an alliance without our knowledge. It had felt natural from the very first, liberating touch. It still does. Whatever drives us toward each other is something we need to share. Nobody else would understand — I can hardly claim to.
But the ease had only been what had lured us in: after that first encounter, a layer of intensity that had been simmering just below the surface had been revealed. Even though I know that it is what ultimately keeps us coming back for more, what lies below is something I don’t dare name. I know it’s there, but I leave it untouched.
A kiss on the shoulder is what wakes me up this time.
I groan sleepily as I feel his body draping over mine, his mouth traveling slowly across my bare shoulders, his palm measuring me with precision. I envelope his leg with my own as they intertwine, having a conversation of their own.
“Liv,” he whispers into my ear, striking the right chords to bring me to life.
It rains quietly, the clouds delaying the sunrise that follows one of the rare nights we’d been too tired to push the limits beyond quick release, one of the rare nights we’d decided to go to my apartment instead of just finding an empty room at the precinct.
That’s our usual setting — we know to go to the crib when the urge comes. A look exchanged is all it takes for us to communicate what we need from each other. Those cots and walls have seen almost as much as we have; they’ve watched him drive into me relentlessly, his hand over my mouth to make sure no one hears me. They’ve witnessed me ride him senseless, my eyes closed to escape the very demons we’re exorcising.
He finds relief in the back of my throat in the squad car, his fingers nestled in my hair as my head bobs up and down; I swallow his seed before it can leave any trace. I find relief in the firm grip of his fingers around my neck as he takes me against the wall; the friction of his skin against mine cools my boiling blood.
The things we do make him belong to me like nothing has ever belonged to me, and each time we’re together we sink deeper into whatever this is while we pretend it’s nothing.
My body starts responding to him now, and we both know from that purely physical dialogue that this time we won’t make haste. I let my breath out slowly as I feel my muscles give in as though numbed by alcohol, the subtlest tingle prickling from under my skin as I deliver yet another small increment of my essence for him to use as he pleases.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I wonder if I would feel guiltier for playing the undignified role of the other woman if he didn’t feel so unmistakably mine .
But I leave this, too, untouched.
While his fingers continue to draw patterns on the far reaches of my skin, alternating between sinking down to mark their territory and feather-like strokes eliciting tickles and goosebumps alike, his other hand grazes my thigh in a lazy path to my core. When his touch dips into my heat, I hiss like I always do at the feel of him reaching inside of me like no one ever has to get what he needs.
My arousal is beyond obvious, and his middle finger coats the expanse of my most delicate skin with it, sliding sluggishly at first, then steadily increasing the pressure as I hum accordingly. His tongue surprises me: the wet heat rubs behind my ear before a soft blow of his warm breath erases his path and leaves behind a wake of raised hairs on the back of my neck.
“Don’t come yet,” he instructs, moving his ministrations away from my clit and letting two fingers slip inside of me at the end of their slippery trail while I grab a fistful of the cotton sheet underneath us.
His fingers curl inside of me, the knuckles scratching at my walls, the roughness contrasting his meticulous attention as his lips drag languidly across the skin over my spine in open-mouthed kisses. I blindly swing my arm behind my head to cup the back of his neck, but his other hand intercepts mine, leading it down to my lower back and keeping it there under an iron grasp.
It’s a noticeable change in the limited atmosphere of my bedroom, and my breath catches in my throat with excitement.
His fingertips leave my insides and swipe over my clit one last time before withdrawing completely, and his body also rises from mine when he moves to straddle me, making sure to lightly rub his erection over my ass. I feel it as he collects my other arm and pulls it until both of my hands are gathered against the small of my back, like a perp who’s about to be handcuffed. I offer no resistance as he wraps my wrists in the fabric of his tie.
That’s how I know he has a plan: with a strong pull, he ties the second knot, testing to make sure my limbs are secured together, sending a thrill coursing through me.
Restraints like this aren’t uncommon for us, and I feel strangely validated because I know he’s never tied up his wife. I know that Elliot’s sexuality has never been completely unleashed before, and I’m proud to be the one to receive it unfiltered. My body keeps daring his to take it a step further, and my wish is always granted.
Nothing is off the table — it’s our unspoken agreement. Like in the field, we sense each other’s movements and anticipate each other’s needs. We know when to retreat, when to move forward. We always know how to keep each other safe in the face of the unknown, and behind closed doors, we experience joy like we never have before in the exploration.
“Don’t move,” he rumbles, sending a shiver down my spine that ends in another stream of heat that leaks down from my depths.
“What are you gonna do?” I ask eagerly; rare as words are, it’s all part of the game.
“Anything I want,” he replies threateningly, and my stomach quivers, intoxicated.
It’s ironic, I think in this singular moment, for two sex crimes detectives to find it cathartic to defy the boundaries of consent with each other. Elliot is the only man I’ve ever trusted this much. More than trust, I want to be vulnerable to him, I like not knowing what he’s about to do to my body.
I’m thrilled to find out.
A click introduces a buzzing sound, and before I can speculate where it’s coming from, I feel the cold, lubricated silicone shuddering against my heat. I laugh quietly.
“What are you doing with that?” I ask. “I thought you hated it.”
I would never have expected the offensive object to be part of his plan when he’d decided to tie me up. He hadn’t said anything, but I knew he had been bothered when he’d found the vibrator I’d forgotten under my sheets.
I knew he’d felt replaced, and I’d thoroughly enjoyed making him jealous of what I did at home without him for once.
“I wanna see how much you like it,” he explains, nibbling at my shoulder. “If you like it more than me.”
While the buzzing against my clit starts sending electric shocks in every direction, Elliot reaches under my chest to cup one of my breasts in his free hand, twisting the nipple between his fingers, tugging it hard.
“Of course not,” I moan, letting my eyes flutter closed.
After a couple more swipes of the vibrator, Elliot moves it to my entrance, easing it into me slowly and ripping a deeper moan from my throat.
“Is this what you do when you’re lonely?” he teases, starting a steady back-and-forth rhythm with the buzzing plastic into and out of me. “Do you close your eyes and imagine it’s my cock inside you?”
“It could be worse,” I manage to tease between labored breaths. “It could be a husband.”
I can feel the silent rage he instills in his motions like I knew he would. His hand leaves my breast and comes down to coax me to lift my hips higher, bending me all the way over, and the new angle makes his thrusts start hitting a soft spot inside me.
“How many times do you make yourself come thinking of me?” he asks, hitting me with his possessiveness, his jealousy. I feel it seeping into me, I feel the waves rippling through my depths.
“You’re ridiculous,” I grin against the pillow feigning annoyance, fighting my restraints as he continues his punishing rhythm, until he suddenly stops. “Hey, I was kidding,” I laugh apologetically.
Unable to see much over my shoulder, I hear the sound of a tube opening, dispensing content, then closing again, and try to make sense of why he would need more lubricant between the amount he’d already slathered over the vibrator and my wetness.
I feel the whirring tip against my opening again, but it doesn’t enter me; instead, as he holds it there, I gasp as I feel the unexpected intrusion of Elliot’s flesh into my ass, his head fighting some resistance at first, then suddenly slipping in with the added slickness I now know he applied to himself. He pushes in slowly, tentatively, until he’s buried deep inside me.
He leans down to speak in my ear. “You like this, don’t you?”
I nod, barely able to inhale and exhale a few times before the vibrating silicone slides into my entrance, wearing me thin against his cock, stretching my skin like I never knew was possible.
I cry out when I’m doubly filled to the hilt.
Otherwise remaining still, Elliot unhurriedly peppers kisses all over my back, my neck, my shoulder, and I hum while I adjust, this newfound sensation of fullness steadily taking me over.
A second later, I feel him lift himself off my back again before he slowly starts moving, forcing himself and the vibrator out of me as much as he can while my body seems to suck at both lengths to keep them in place.
It’s an indescribable feeling.
“Oh my God, Elliot,” I cry out again, reeling as I toe the fine line between pleasure and pain.
“Now you can compare,” he smirks, and I hear the triumph and the cockiness in his voice as his fingers dig into my hip and he establishes a torturously slow pace.
I love the feeling of my flesh straining, the rough friction threatening to tear apart the skin between both intrusions as the pleasure builds up in the pit of my stomach in unbelievable speed with the overwhelming stimuli.
“You feel so fucking amazing, Olivia,” he pants. “I’ve always wanted to fuck you like this.”
Knowing Elliot has dreamt of shoving his cock into my every opening impossibly intensifies it all.
“Don’t stop,” is my only reply and request.
He lets go of the vibrator, simply leaving it buried inside of me, the shudders continuing to ripple through my entire body and his as he fully focuses on slamming vigorously into my ass.
As the pillow swallows my screams, I instinctively fight my restraints again, my body demanding the freedom to move and spasm as I lose control, but the fabric only bites into my wrists — I whimper with a mixture of bliss and frustration.
“Be good,” Elliot commands, pressing my body into the mattress and pounding even harder into me.
The combination of the low register of his voice, his pressure against my back and his punishing thrusts does me in, and I bite the pillow in a desperate need to hold onto something. After Elliot pushes into me a few more times, he collapses on top of me, moaning curses as he settles in the crook of my neck, surrendering yet another piece of his soul to me.
It’s a bittersweet reward.
I wiggle my hips, trying to escape the vibrator as it continues to buzz against my oversensitive walls, and he understands what I need: he carefully removes the device, turns it off, then frees my hands. I use one of them to reach behind me and grab at him, taking hold of his arm, seeking more connection besides his cock still buried in me.
With our fingers intertwined, both of us slowly catch our breaths, shifting to lie on our sides, bodies flush against one another like our lives depend on it.
The silence embraces me for a few peaceful moments before I start dreading the gloom that will surely follow, as it always does. I feel its heat into my neck when Elliot sighs.
“You’re all I think about,” he whispers, and I wish he would just keep his mouth shut.
“Don’t,” I reproach, and in my bones I feel the grey clouds moving in the sky, filling the air with misty weight and melancholy, forcing our nostrils open with the combined scent of our sweat as it fills the space.
“We’re not having sex,” he promises, and it takes me a moment to understand what he’s talking about. “I keep making excuses. But since the first time you and I… I just can’t.”
My eyelids grow heavy, and I let them fall closed for a second. “You don’t have to explain anything to me, Elliot.”
“I want you, Liv,” he insists. “Only you.”
I hold his fingers tighter in mine, wishing his skin didn’t feel like a part of me. But it does.
“You’re not gonna leave her,” I state, swallowing hard against the lump that’s formed in my throat.
He hesitates for almost a minute. “The kids…”
A stubborn tear jumps from my eye; I discreetly wipe it on the pillow, still wet with my saliva. “It’s okay, I knew this was just gonna be about sex from the beginning.”
Every time he speaks, his voice loses a little more conviction. I feel him softening and shrinking inside of me.
“It’s not…” he says.
In this moment, like never before, I wish I’d never let it happen. I pull my hips to signal I want him to pull out of me, and he reluctantly obliges. I had once believed that not being with him at all was the greatest pain of all.
It isn’t.
I also know that I will indulge myself again the next day. And the next day after that, the memory of this pain completely gone in the thrill of anticipation. I feel like an addict, always chasing after a higher dose, the next hit.
I squeeze my eyes shut again, willing the pain to soften, the air to dissipate, the sun to shine. I want to forget this pain right now — not tomorrow.
“You don’t have to say that,” I say, swallowing everything else. “You don’t have to say anything.” I turn to face him for the first time since waking up: I’m already recomposed, I’m smiling. “Just keep fucking me like that, it’s all I’m asking.”
There’s an eerie glow to his eye as he stares at me for a second; I can’t exactly pinpoint what it is. I want it to be sadness, like the sadness that burns my insides as I work so hard on keeping my body cool, but I don’t want to lie to myself any more than I already have. Any more than I’m still going to.
Like when I try to convince myself I can handle this. I widen my smile — I can handle this. I want him to believe that. Maybe then I will again.
A moment later, Elliot smiles, and that weird glint has disappeared into a sea of murky, blue water. He traces my jawline with his index finger very carefully, stalling for a moment before letting his eyes connect with mine again.
“Anything you want,” he says.