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It’s been ages since Ellie’s slept with a man. Near going on four years now. She can’t even remember his name—that bloke from the bar—just the way he’d smelled: beer and chips and cheap cologne.
That and the way his beard had whispered against her skin as he’d moved on top of her with not a thought for anything but getting his. She doesn’t hold it against him, that nameless, faceless shag. Not really. Strike the obvious, how different was he than most every man she’s known? And he hadn’t been privy to the ugly hollowness she’d been carrying at the time. Couldn’t have known how tired she felt getting up each morning to move through days where every waking moment had been treading water in winter, soul numbing and awful.
She’s learned to let go of disappointments. Mostly. And remembering the beard is the best part anyway. It carries her through nights like this—where she’s rather inexplicably randy and it’s her and her vibrator and the naughty thoughts that she tucks away come morning because it won’t do to have Alec look at her and ask, “What’s the matter, Miller?” short hours after she’s got off picturing his freckled, crook-nosed face smothered between her legs.
It feels a bit wrong to be craving sex when all the terrible things men do fill her days. But likely, isn’t it, that she’s seeking out a bit of reassurance? A desire to believe Alec’s notion that rapists are aberrations. That men in general are just selfish and stupid and not fundamentally broken.
She sinks into her bed thinking about being touched by strong, sure hands. Of being cradled in slender arms and being kissed slowly and thoroughly—the tickle of Alec’s short beard brushing her cheek and her lips. Alec would be the type to get a woman off first, she’s certain of it. Not that he’s perfect, far from it. Lord knows his personality’s built with the same sharp edges and awkward, unlikely angles as his body. But while he’s not often kind he’s never outright cruel and she knows now when he needs a minder because his tongue’s a touch too quick.
Ooh, that sharp, smart tongue. There are times in the middle of the day when she can’t look at him because he’s sat there pressing his tongue to his teeth as he’s having a think. Worse when he does it whilst twirling a pen around his fingers—clever, like the sum of him. What she’d give for a bit of that cleverness right now, those fingers pressed as far as they can up in her and his tongue passing hot over the tight yearning in her nipples. Ellie’s legs close tight around the hum of her vibrator. She’s getting there. Just a bit more and it’ll be—
There comes a louder buzz, a rattle, and it takes Ellie a moment to clue in on her mobile clattering on the nightstand. She curses as she fumbles for it and her brain goes to static at the name bright on the screen. Shit. Shitshitshit. Heart pounding, she turns the vibrator off and shoves it under her pillow. She pushes the hair out of her face before answering as if somehow that’ll contain the embarrassment blazing into her cheeks.
Alec’s not trying to Facetime her, but logic doesn’t keep her from praying he won’t somehow recognize the state she’s in or intuit why her breath is a touch short, and as she answers she firmly clamps a lid down on the churning worry that some new awful thing has happened.
“Miller, are you—” Alec starts then stops as if he hadn’t quite known where the sentence was bound for. “You still at the pub?”
“What? No. Is something wrong?”
“No. Nothing. Nothing’s wrong. Nevermind. I’ll uh—”
If they’d been in the same room, he’d have broken eye contact to cast his gaze elsewhere with his brow furrowed and his thin lips pressing together.
For fuck’s sake. She’d asked him for a pint and this was him looking to see if the offer was still good. This was him reaching out.
“Oh God, stop it,” she says. “Where are you?”
He hems and haws a bit. “At the moment? Outside your house.”
Not an answer she was expecting, and the panic comes slamming back as if somehow in the last few hours Alec’s developed x-ray vision and can see right into her bedroom. “What?”
“Not right outside…down a ways,” he says, and she can picture his vague gesturing. “Across the field.”
She hits the button to put him on speaker. “Couldn’t sleep?” she asks, kicking off the covers to get dressed.
“Neither could you from the sound of it."
She freezes with her knickers slid halfway up her thighs. “Pardon?”
“The sound of your voice. I didn’t wake you,” Alec says, hesitant like he’s not sure how he misstepped. “Did I?”
“No, of course you didn’t. I was just… reading." She winces and throws a look heavenward. She’s always been terrible at lying.
“So…you’ll join me for a walk then. Over to the pub?”
“Be down in just a second.”
“I’ll um— Yeah. Good.... Bye then.”
Ellie can’t help but laugh as the call drops. How the man can be so hopeless and still light something up inside her she’ll never know.
*
They don’t really talk when she gets outside and meets him at the lane. Or even as they wander through the streets. It’s quiet and companionable until they draw nearer to the pub, when Alec slows and surveys the stretch of cars, mumbling something about drink-drive limits. Ellie marches ahead, certain he’ll find an excuse to turn about and leave if she doesn’t.
“C’mon,” she says, holding the door and ushering him inside where it’s cozy warm and lively. She waves at a few familiar faces, and ignores the eyebrow that her mate Jenny raises at the sight of Alec at her side. Ellie’s never said a word about him to her outside of complaining that he’d never make friends in this town if he always kept to himself. Jenny on the other hand has commented plenty. Oh, he’s easy on the eyes, isn’t he, she’d said, the first time she’d seen him on the telly and I’d do him in a heartbeat, several times after.
Ellie heads straight for an open booth in a corner that's out of the way enough it'll be less likely folks—chiefly Jenny—will come by for a chat and make Alec regret he’d come in. A few napkins to wipe up the condensation rings before the server comes around, and then they're settled. She sits tight until the server returns with a pair of lagers, waiting to see if Alec will make conversation. He does eventually, starting off in familiar waters by talking about the quality of the beer and then to how things are going with Daisy. Ellie doesn’t mind chatting about their kids, in fact she’s still a bit chuffed her advice did the trick, but what she really wants to know is more about Alec’s date. What if it’s somebody she knows?
“Sounds like Daisy isn’t too broken up about staying.” Ellie sips at her pint, trying very hard not to seem nosy as she nudges the topic towards more interesting waters. “So will you be seeing your lady friend again?”
“Who?”
“The woman you went on a date with!” Ellie cries, then clicks her mouth shut wondering if she’s being presumptive. She doesn’t entirely know why things went sideways with his ex-wife. “Or was it a man you were seeing? I shouldn’t assume.”
He doesn’t look at her as if she’s said something foolish, but his expression feels a touch strained. “It was a woman, and no, I don’t think so.”
Ellie can’t entirely tell if he’s disappointed or relieved. If the present is any indication she’ll wager it hadn’t been exactly the smoothest date. “Well, her loss,” Ellie says decisively, and raises her glass. “First time back never goes as you’d like.”
She thinks of his ex-wife and wonders what it was that made her stray. Couldn’t shake off the work to make time for family, maybe. Wouldn't be the first copper…. It’s none of Ellie’s business, of course, but Alec’s ex is the sort of beautiful that she’s never felt and maybe this woman is too.
Ellie takes another drink, deep enough that it leaves her with a foam on her lip to wipe away. She's never thought of herself as plain, really, but it’s always been the force of her smile that turned heads not the shape of her face, and she’s never been able to tell what Alec thinks of her outside of the way they work together. She doesn’t know him nearly so well as to get a read on his type, she realizes, disconcerted by both the fresh distance between them and the knotty feeling in her breast that she’s suddenly so concerned if she fits his mold.
Then, unexpectedly the story of the date pours out of him: How Daisy hadn’t mentioned he was a parent when she’d written his profile, and how the night had never quite recovered from there. Once he's done, Ellie asks if he hadn’t thought to explain that his daughter was in secondary school not nappies, but Alec waves it away and says he hadn’t wanted to waste time with qualifying statements. She's not sure she managed to properly hide the laugh startled out of her, so she asks, “Can I read it? Your profile.”
“Fuck off, Miller." Alec scoots out of the booth, and she thinks for a moment that she’s crossed a line, only he goes to fetch them another round and after that, something eases between them.
She’ll ask him about his profile again later.
*
It’s just after midnight when they arrive back at her door—politeness maybe, him giving her an escort, or he’s still working off the last bits of restless energy before trying to catch a bit of sleep.
Ellie’s got her own restless energy simmering under her skin, endless wondering and countless questions piling up like the empty glasses they’d left in the booth. A teetering stack of things she aches to know about him and have him know about her. She’s always holding back, a voice that sounds a lot like Claire Ripley chides in her head. Always waiting and reacting when it comes to men and never going for it. Of all people, Claire’s isn’t exactly a voice she ought to listen to, but that’s not to say she hadn’t been right about a few things.
“Shall I invite you in?” Ellie asks, as if someone else entirely has made the words come out of her—thumped her on the back to keep them from staying stuck in her throat.
“Why would you do that?” he sputters, but it doesn’t sting. It’s not a no or a blunt rebuke, it’s the pure shock of her asking the question. His walls are down enough that she’s not treated with a blank processing stare as when she’d suggested they go off to the pub. No, this is the first thing his brain’s blurted out without a filter. He glances back the way they’d come with a deep furrow creasing his brow.
Maybe it’s the pints, but she’s on to him now.
The scuffle of his shoes on the path as his weight shifts because his body and brain are at odds about what to do. The tight-lipped frown that pinches his face is an attempt at caution, a reminder to himself that they’re colleagues.
“Pub was enough, wasn’t it?” He gestures between them, squinting as he swallows twice in rapid succession. “For this.”
“So you’ll stick to swiping then.”
“Did you think this— This wasn’t a date, Miller.” He stumbles a bit over his words, a mousy squeak in his tone, as he asks, “I didn’t mislead you into thinking it was, did I?”
She could smack him. “No, you twat,” she hisses, trying not to raise her voice where the neighbors will hear. “But I’m saying I wouldn’t mind if you were to ask me on one. More importantly right now you need to decide if you’d like to come inside for a shag or be on your way so I can go inside and have a proper end to the night. It’s late and I’m too tired to be dealing with your bullshit.”
His spine’s gone stiff, but his gaze jumps around and his mouth works as he fumbles for the right thing to say. “Well...” He squints, and Ellie rightly gauges that this will take a good five minutes if she leaves it up to him.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, you’re coming upstairs.” Her keys jingle as she fishes them out. She’s not entirely certain he’ll follow, but he does; a long slim shadow behind her and past the flickering light of late night telly as her dad snores on the sofa. Alec takes up entirely too much space in the hallway outside her bedroom and even more space once he’s inside.
He immediately spots the vibrator half-hidden under the pillow. “I, ah, interrupted you, didn’t I?” His ears turn salmon pink. “Earlier.”
“Just shut up and take off your coat.”
It’s a bit shocking to her that he listens when he’s so frustratingly stubborn half the time.
He undoes his tie, his cuffs and collar, and she does little else but watch until she realizes she’s gone back to waiting again. She chucks her purse and coat into the corner, kicks off her shoes, and doesn’t give herself time to feel awkward when she pulls him in to kiss her.
There’s still the worry that maybe he’ll disappoint her when she’s a jumble of feelings about cases that weigh heavily and how this might change things between them. And yet, a layer of calm settles above all of that, pushes it down and smothers the clamoring worry. This kiss can’t be undone, nor can the stumble towards the bed, and she welcomes the way he tugs at the hem of her blouse and makes a sound into her mouth when the heel of his hand bumps into the swell of her breast.
She looks at him as he peels her shirt up and off her, likes the way his gaze doesn’t immediately flick down to her tits but lingers first on the shape of her mouth. She reaches behind to unhook her bra, and as he slips it off her shoulders his gaze travels down to eagerly watch the cups peel away to leave her half-naked in front of him.
All her dirty fantasies about him cling to her like ink smudges. It’s a wonder he can’t see the evidence of it on her skin.
“C’mon,” she says, and pulls him onto the bed with her. His knee crushes into the mattress and it bows under their weight to tip her towards him. Kisses flutter along her neck before he gathers her breast in his hand to bring his tongue warm and wet to her nipple. Her belly seizes, a jolt of giddy bliss catapulting through her entire body. She sucks a breath in through her teeth and palms aimlessly at his shoulders to gasp out a tremulous, “More of that, please.”
He obliges, hands and tongue working miracles until she’s floating on the dual gratification of being pleasured by a man who knows what he’s doing and being right about thinking it. She’s loose-limbed and flush-faced when she finally learns what it feels like to have his cock in her. He still calls her Miller when she’s astride him and easing back to take the length of him.
She knows she’s not going to break him, but he’s rail thin beneath her, so skinny he seems as big around as one of her thighs. The fullness of him pressing deep inside her is good in ways she hasn’t anticipated, and for a second she feels as if she might start to cry. It’ll confuse him, worry him, and she’s not sure she can explain what it means so she curls forward and kisses him until the knot in her chest unravels and the upward grind of his hips turns needy.
She tells Alec he can go hard as he likes, her breath hot against his ear, her thighs squeezing; she’ll not come again, or if she does it’ll be a weak little thing not worth the effort. He doesn’t speed his pace, he just strokes his hands down her back until she’s moving against him in rhythm again, until she’s picking herself up and riding him.
He likes the sway of her tits, of course he does, gaze stuck there until he comes, and he’s so quiet about it she’d hardly have known but for the way his brows pull in and the way his eyes lift to meet hers. They stare at one another for a long moment until a giggle bubbles out of her.
Before she can swallow it down, the mortification comes crashing back in. She’ll never have to wonder if he’s good in bed again, not when she’s flush with a glow and the trickle of his come leaks out around his softening prick.
Ellie reaches for the sheet as she climbs off of him. “Jesus Christ, how am I going to look you in the face tomorrow?”
“How are you—?” He stammers a bit and sits up, turning his back to her. She can count the notches of his spine as he bends forward to rescue his pants from the floor, the pale expanse of his skin dotted with freckles begging to be mapped. He keeps his voice low as he tugs his pants on, hardly more than a whisper, but it seems loud in the silence when he hisses, “This was your idea, Miller!”
“I didn’t say it wasn’t. I don’t mean to say you weren’t any good! The opposite really.”
“Oh,” he says softly, recognizing now what she’s implying. “Do you want me to call out sick?” He’s got one leg in his trousers when he frowns and looks to her. “Would you rather?”
She throws a pillow at him, the one that’d been poorly hiding her vibrator. She snatches up the toy and aims it at him like a wobbly fuschia threat before the tart reply on her tongue dissolves into another helpless giggle at the poleaxed look on his face.
“How about we wait and see how it goes before making any plans avoiding one another. Who knows. Might be right as rain.” She bundles the sheet in her lap, determined not to feel like she ought to hide her body when he knows it so intimately now. “Might be better than.”
He abandons his trousers to rescue the pillow, tossing it back to the bed to land beside her. “Could be.”
“Fuck it. Forget heading home and come back to bed,” she says, the decision made and leaving her lips before she can think better of it.
“You’re sure?”
“Not in the slightest, but we’ll sort it in the morning.”
He very nearly takes her up on the offer, she's sure of it, but there's a farewell hanging unspoken on his tongue. She can practically see the gears turning inside him, the desire to revisit this much, much later than six hours from now over toast and tea. But that's the problem, isn't it? The both of them holding back, even if their reasons for it aren't so neatly twinned.
She moves to the edge of the bed and gathers his wrist in her hand before that farewell slips out. "Stay," she says, willing him with all her might to not tell her he couldn't possibly.
A quiver echoes down the muscles of his arm. His fingers twitch.
"Miller…"
She doesn't want to, but she can let go of him. And if he chooses to leave, she'll be able to let go of the disappointment that follows, too. It'll sting for a few days or weeks, maybe longer, but in the end things will settle. She'll have a few memories to look back on. A sting that fades into little more than the ghost of his beard on her face.
That inevitability is freeing, somehow, and it gives Ellie the strength to thread her fingers with his.
"We'll sort it in the morning," she repeats, and draws him back to her like a reluctant wave to shore.