A/N: Okay, first time in about a decade I've written this sort of chapter, but here we go. This one is for Jenna, happy birthday love. It was my absolute MISSION to get this done tonight for you. Big thanks to both Kez and Brynn, thank you for holding my hand through the big scary chapter and making it better with all of your suggestions. To the AfterParty - Jesus, y'all. I love ya, but by God you make me a bigger perv. I'm going to hell.

The rain has soaked her all the way through.

The sky doesn't stop with the deluge. It's the kind of rain that sweeps across the street in waves. Somewhere above the city, the thunder rumbles. The sky flashes with light, the pressurized air cracks.

Or maybe it's cracking with the sound of her open palm smacking against his door to the point where her skin is sore.

She'd pulled his address this afternoon, because she probably knew even then that she would end up here. Like this. It hadn't taken her ten minutes of sitting in that bar alone again for her to give in to the fire and heat and the sheer rage in her.

Elliot isn't walking away from her again. Even for the night. Fuck him, fuck him.

Fuck him.

God, that is exactly what she wants.

Olivia wants his irritatingly tailored clothes off, she wants to sink her nails into his skin and she wants to yell at him, taste him, crawl into him. She wants him untamed and unrestricted, and she wants Elliot to come at her with every damned long night and brutal case and anguished absence. Every lie. Every fucking thing.

She wants to mark him. Twenty years of this dance and it's time to settle up. "Open this door, you asshole! I know you're in there!"

She's infinitely tired of waiting, rationalizing, pretending. She's tired of the impostors - one after another - that she has filled her life with since the day she met him. In some sick way, even her son has at times emotionally filled in for the gaping cavern of loss Elliot left behind, and a part of her wants to make him pay for the absurdity of that.

It's time. Right now.

Olivia is shuddering, but it's not from the anger in the skies, it's from the consuming, violent need in her bones.

The sound of the rain around her is making her dark promises, as if it can erase the evidence of what is about to happen here. Her breath is labored, and her hair is dripping onto her face. Her raincoat is sticking to her and it hasn't protected her at all.

Something in her has detonated, and this isn't going to end quietly. Not with her fingers flexing like this, not with the cacophony of thoughts that are crowding her head and making her temples throb. Her eyelashes are wet from the rain, her throat will not open.

Now.

Olivia slams her hand into his door again. "Open this door, Elliot!" It's a curse and a demand and she will use her whole body if she needs to. Her fury right now is blinding, yet it's nothing compared to the sheer want.

And that's the brutal reality. She wants him. The only way this pain is going to dull is if he is inside of her. He wants it, she wants it, and the fallout can rain down around them afterwards for all she cares.

Tonight, he is hers.

And she will be his.

She takes a deep breath and steps back, trying to get herself under control. Olivia closes her eyes and looks up at the sky, letting the downpour hit her cheeks.

It does nothing to cool her fiery skin.

Her thighs shake with the need to wrap around him. Elliot is probably hard still right now and it's for her. Fuck him for giving it to anyone else. It's hers. There is no ex-wife tonight. No one-night-stand. No Dani Beck. No god forsaken stranger.

Somehow she still trusts him with every physical inch of her, and by God she will make him know that. Whatever he's holding back, she wants the chains undone. She hasn't held onto him in her head and her stupid heart for twenty years only for him to walk away because he's worried about hurting her.

If he was so worried about her, he should have never left her in the first place. Because that – that has been the greatest agony in her life.

Olivia is tired of being the strong one, the tough one, the one in control. She wants to be under his control tonight. A small sound breaks from her. A moan, a plea he can't hear.

He's in there. She knows it. She can feel it. She launches at the door again. "You sonofabitch, open this door!"

The sky above her churns, rolls, rumbles. Illuminates. Then quiets. Another sheet of water falls.

She can't hear any movement on the other side of the door.

God damn him to hell, she's done letting him run this thing. For twenty years this has been on his timetable. His marriage, his separation, his baby, his move home.

His disappearance.

She's blinded by need, and anger and something visceral. Cellular. Infinite.

Maybe this is a breakdown. Olivia doesn't even realize she's doing it, but her leg comes up and then she has kicked his door hard and angrily as if she can break it down, and the force of the impact ricochets up into her thigh.

It's not enough to jar her out of this single-minded, nearly incapacitating focus. She wants him to come apart at the seams, just like she has.

Fuck Elliot goddamned Stabler for playing with her life like this. He ruined her for all else and then walked away. Bastard.

Rain falls off the tip of her nose and she licks her lips to catch it. Her hands fall to her side and she does her best to maintain her balance.

Olivia steps back then, and her chest is heaving as she watches the door.

Without warning, it suddenly whips open.

Elliot stands there, dark and intense, his right hand braced on the door and his eyes flickering with unmistakable, deadly warning.

"You shouldn't be here," he says evenly. He's eerily, infuriatingly calm.

She can't deal with his admonition yet, because he's right in front of her and her body's reaction to him is instantly debilitating. She has craved him for too many years, and now she's out of control with it. Her own gaze falls to his bare feet, then trails upwards, His suit slacks, the already unbuckled belt that taunts her as it hangs open, his white dress shirt invitingly open. She takes in Elliot's broad chest and the light dusting of hair that leads downwards into his pants…

Olivia can't even look at his face. Her lungs are on fire. Elliot is ridiculously carved, more so than he's ever been. Every muscle on him is defined, and he's not breathing easily either.

Her eyes drag further upwards, towards the corded, thick column of his neck. The hard line of his jaw, the tempting flat plane of his lips.

Then his eyes.

They are now cobalt. Narrowed. Intently focused.

She parts her lips. They are so dry, despite the rain that pummels her. Her body floods with heat, with need. She's too warm, even in the storm. She wants all of that power in him on her. She wants him to deconstruct her in a thousand ways.

"Let me in," she breathes.

"Olivia," he grates.

No. Elliot won't push her away. Not again. She wants to be held, she wants to feel him crush the air around her until there isn't anything left but him. He is the only one who can make the ache disappear. Nine years apart and nothing matters right now but this.

Wordlessly, her fingers reach for the knot at her waist, undoing the belt on her coat. She gets it open and she starts to pull the coat off her of her. "I want it," she whispers.

It's a vibrating, dangerous invitation.

Elliot's eyelashes barely move, despite the fact that his body visibly tremors once. Then he is rigid again, in ruthless control. "No. Go home."

She's shaking too, but she can't stop staring at his mouth. He can just shut up. There's nothing left to say. Talking has never, ever worked for them.

This is all that is left.

It's time.

Her lips ache for contact with his skin. Olivia lets her coat fall off her arms and all the way to the wet ground. She doesn't care. "Do it," she taunts.

She watches the muscle in his jaw jump. Elliot's fingers flex on the door. He's coiled and she can feel the tension rolling off of him in waves. Their innate connection is intact, they still know each other far better than the gods above and below should have ever allowed.

Elliot refuses to move. "Olivia, I said go home."

He can go to hell.

She's already there and she's going to welcome him in.

Mind-numbing need spurs her. There's nothing left to salvage and only one direction to go. Olivia crosses her arms over her stomach and reaches for the bottom of her black shirt. In one smooth movement, she lifts it up and over her wet hair, tugging it fast over her arms, so that it too falls at her feet.

She's standing just off the dark street in her bra and black jeans and she doesn't care. She's lost her mind. "Come and get it," she dares him, her voice breaking. And then again, "Do it!"

It's begging. It's breaking.

He blinks slowly. She can hear every single raindrop hit the pavement around her.

The seconds tick on.

She's shaking. Shivering from the exposure to him, from the way that this is so pathetic, because he isn't moving. He's going to send her away or close the door and there will be no recovery. She can't let that happen.

"Do it, Elliot!" she finally yells. "Just do it, you sonofabitch!"

Rain hits her bare skin then. She feels the drops hit her shoulders, then slip down her spine. She feels the water hit her chest and slip between her breasts; it wets her black lace bra.

That's when a frisson of fear sweeps over her. In all of this, she hadn't considered that he might reject her. She'd taken him at his word that he'd stayed away due to the intensity of his physical need, but maybe that was a cover. Maybe he simply had been done with her.

Olivia squeezes her eyes shut because she can't bear to look at him and see rejection in his expression. He's going to leave her in a million piece this time. She still loves him, and she will leave it all on the table tonight because one way or another, she has to know.

The agony of his non-response combined with her thrumming desire are an ache on her skin.

Maybe his repeated diligence in sending her away is his answer.

There's a chance he was lying about his desire back at the bar. If that's the case, she's made a horrific fool of herself tonight and this, this will be what he is left with if he ever thinks of her again.

Sharp, debilitating pain wars with arousal. Humiliation is a darkness that crowds in at the edges of her vision.

He still makes no move. He says nothing.

She wishes Elliot had never come back into her life. She needs to leave, to lick her wounds, to somehow find solid ground because she is a grown woman standing half-naked on a city street, begging a man she has loved for two decades to take her. Her chest collapses, and she lets her head fall forward.

She prays it's the rain that is making her face wet, but there is salt in her eyes. She will never be able to forget what she's done tonight. Her dignity is somewhere at her ankles, wrapped up in her discarded clothes. She doesn't know if it's frustration or just the blossoming kernels of hatred that are stabbing at her, soaking her face.

This was an unimaginable mistake.

Olivia lifts her hand to shield her face, because Elliot can't see her like this. Seeing her bared body is one thing, but he can't watch her cry. Not in the way that she is going to. Not in the infinite way she is going to shatter. Nine years of slicing anguish are going to crash onto the wet pavement around her right now.

She drops her head, curling over herself. Her shoulders shake with the force of her pain, and she's got to bend down and get her shirt, and if the motherfucker could just close the door and leave her to pick up the pieces again then it would be the one thing that might possibly help her –

"Jesus Christ," he growls.

Then mercifully she feels the warm grip of his hand wrap around her forearm, and he tugs her so quickly into the apartment that she nearly falls off balance.

She runs into the solid wall of Elliot's chest, her cheek bumping against his jaw. She tries to grab ahold of his open shirt to regain her footing, but he's already slamming the door shut and using the momentum of his body to drive her backwards to her left, towards the closest wall.

Elliot is maneuvering them so fast that she's sure her head is going to hit the wall hard, but at the last second his left hand darts out and cups the back of her skull, so it's his knuckles that crash into the drywall instead.

His fingers immediately close in her hair, and Elliot presses his whole, ridiculously sculpted body flush up against hers.

Heat.

Olivia's gaze flies to his and his blatant hunger is evident in the desperate look in his eyes. She wants to moan when she also sees the mirror of torment there. He is as out of control as she is, and for some reason that is what gives her confidence.

It's a punch in the gut how long she's imagined, fantasized. Her fingers itch to touch the taunting flat of Elliot's chest, to feel the ridges and valley's of his abs. She wants to feel the heat of his skin, even as she curses his impossible build. He's bigger than he'd been when he left, he's bulked up in his shoulders and his muscles are defined in a way that makes him give off an unmistakable thrum of danger.

Elliot shakes his head fast, even as he holds hers in place. He chews hard on his lower lip. His right hand rubs over his face. He curses under his breath, as if he is imploding from within.

His eyes search hers then, and his hand trails down the side of her face almost reverently. His eyes water, and the way he focuses on her, she can read the apologies in his expression. They sink beneath her skin until she can feel it again, the way that he is her home.

"If I hurt you, tell me. Promise me." It's a sandpaper, accented plea from his throat. "N'more hurting you, Olivia. I can't take it."

It crumbles every last ounce of preservation she has within her. The fire from his body is seeping into her skin and every pore on her is alive. Ready. Her physical trust is infinite, her need is paralyzing.

"I promise," she manages, even as his mouth is lowering towards hers.

And then the world falls away as he grips her jaw, swears softly and covers her mouth possessively with his.

-o0o-

It's blinding.

The taste of her makes everything else he's ever known fall away. Olivia's hot mouth is soft, pliant, and wholly willing, even as he grips her tightly and kisses her hard. She tastes like an intoxicating mix of honey and whiskey and salted rain, and he can't get enough. He desperately wants to care about what she wants, or what will feel good for her, but it's beyond him now.

He prays to God that she will forgive him after the first time, because he doesn't have it in him to ease her into this. He's rock hard and his body is screaming at him for relief. His tongue pushes deeper into her mouth and she moans throatily in response, her fists gripping his shirt at his waist.

Permission.

He's been goddamned starving for Olivia for too long. She's exotic and dangerous and fierce as fuck and he's never seen anyone so beautiful in his goddamned life. He needs every inch of her, he wants to coax every response, to learn her every sound.

His mouth goes in again, and he's probably too rough, but it is impossible to slow down. He wants to consume her, to get inside of her any damned way he can.

So this is what Olivia tastes like.

Jesus, after an endless lifetime spent next to her wondering, he finally, finally has his mouth on hers. He can't wrap his head around the concept that she is coming at him with her own tongue and hands, that Olivia is the one making the agonizing small sounds in the back of her throat. The spiraling need in him is instantly enough to make his pulse pound viciously beneath his skin, despite the fact that he is fighting frantically for some semblance of control.

Elliot drives his tongue into her mouth again, and Olivia nearly sinks against the wall as she feverishly tries to grip his waist for balance. He wraps his left arm around hers and hauls her up, spreading her legs with his own until she is practically cradling his hips between her thighs.

He slams forward, locking her body in place with his, then wrenches his mouth off of her and leans into her ear. She has to know. She has to have some warning.

"First time I'm gonna have to fuck you," he apologizes. "I'll try to do better after. Tell me you understand that."

Olivia eagerly throws her head back against the wall in response, exposing her neck to him. All he sees out of the periphery of his vision is golden bare skin and her black lace bra, and he doesn't give a shit that her coat and shirt are still somewhere outside.

Elliot cups her breast, filling his right hand with the impossible, lush weight of it. He's rough as he palms it, learning the exact shape of her, and Olivia sinks her nails into his lower back in appreciation. "Fuck, yes."

Christ.

She's so damned responsive. Her short nails bite into him so deeply that they could easily draw blood. He understands the need to mark, to claim a right.

Elliot groans, jerking forward as he feels the hard tip of her nipple stab through to his palm. This is going too fucking fast, but he knows this first time will be beyond his control. Olivia is thrashing against him as he captures her nipple between his thumb and forefinger above the lace. He rolls it, harder than he wanted to, but she arches, encouraging his lack of restraint.

"Please Elliot, I need-"

His mouth lands on hers again to shut her up and then he's got her pinned against the wall while both of her breasts are in his hands. His thumbs swipe beneath the lace, but he can't get to her skin. He has no ability to wait anymore. He wants to kiss her for hours, but it won't be this time. Elliot reaches behind her as she angles off the wall to give him some room.

He unsnaps the two small hooks and then steps back abruptly, as if he's been sucker punched.

He needs a goddamned second to breathe. His dick is so hard it's killing him. He wants to rage at the heavens, because he knows he's about to lose what is left of his mind.

But this is Olivia, and she doesn't sit still. The layers of her damp, curling hair fall forward as she proves she is braver than he is, peeling the straps off her shoulders and letting the bra fall to the floor.

Then she looks up at him, her onyx eyes fixed seductively on him. Her lips are swollen from where he'd mistreated her.

Elliot's dick isn't the only thing throbbing. His head aches, his mouth is dry. His own lips are on fire from where she has probably bitten him.

Her breasts are perfect. Round and heavy and tipped with darkened, puckered nipples. They are begging for his mouth, for his hands. He wants to push them together and slide his cock between them. He wants his tongue to swipe across them, he wants to hear her whimper when they are too sensitive for his touch any longer.

Christ.

Olivia leans back against the wall, thrusting her hips out towards him in offering. She unsnaps the button on her jeans and starts to pull them down off her hips, taking the edges of her panties with them.

"Stop," he growls, nearly sounding angry.

She freezes, and he can see her throat working as she tries to swallow. "Touch me," she pleads hoarsely.

He can't take his eyes off of her mouth, her breasts. He's afraid this is going to end before it starts. He is going to take control back, and he prays to God she accepts how this has to be.

"Turn around," he orders.

She blinks slowly, as if absorbing what he is telling her. Olivia meets his gaze and goddamn if she won't kill him with this shit. Her dark eyes are hooded, but she's ruthlessly staring at right at him, full of desire and want and need. She looks exactly like every wet damned dream he's held onto for nearly the last decade. She's stunning and sexy as hell and so shatteringly vulnerable all at the same time that it makes him want to shake her and tell her to run from him.

His need for her is primal. Infinite. Olivia makes him feel viciously protective and she decimates his boundaries. He's a danger to himself and to others around her, because the idea of anyone else touching her makes him feral.

She is a gravity that could suck him in and spit him out into nothingness. She owns him, yet one word repeats over and over and over again in his head.

Mine.

He can't look at her naked like this just yet. He's got to get the first time done, and then maybe they can do this right.

"Now, Olivia," he demands.

He can see the moment she decides to acquiesce. Slowly Olivia starts to move, sliding herself along the wall as she turns to face it.

He doesn't know if this view is any better. The smooth length of her back and the sight of her hands flattening on the wall next to her in submission nearly makes him black out.

Her forehead rolls against the wall in anticipation. Every one of Olivia's heavy breaths is evident by the rise and fall of her shoulders. Elliot takes a slow step forward until he's less than a foot behind her.

Her wet hair smells like the rain and vanilla, and he thinks he could cum from just this.

But she is waiting, and he's grinding his teeth into dust trying to restrain himself. Of course this is how it would go tonight. It had been impossible to expect anything less than combustion.

Without warning he cups Olivia's bare breasts in his hands, not touching her anywhere else.

"God," she cries out, shuddering as she tries to push back against him for more contact. Her head falls back in supplication.

His cock is hurling obscenities at him as he palms her, pinching Olivia's nipples hard as his mouth falls to her shoulder, trailing up her neck, up towards her ear. "Don't move," he whispers. "Stay still."

He thinks she nods. He prays she is listening to him.

Elliot's fingers make their way to the edges of the opening on her jeans, and he slowly starts to lower them even as he hears her gasping. He does his damnedest to ignore the gleaming Captain's badge that is still clipped to them and the strap of matching black lace that encircles her hips, and he prays he is able to leave her intact. When Olivia's jeans fall and pool around her calves of their own accord, he lifts the hem around her right ankle. He crouches and methodically undoes the strap on her ankle holster, unclipping her baby Glock with precision. He straightens, padding slowly towards the kitchen counter to set both pieces down.

By the time he turns around, she's toeing off her boots and the remnants of her pants, while her hands remain open and flat on the wall she is braced on.

Elliot's hungry eyes take her in. She is naked except for a scrap of lace that barely covers her lush ass.

Captain Olivia Benson, sears through his brain. It's mind-numbing. She is a fucking invitation into heaven or hell and he doesn't care where he is headed so long as he can have her. She's tortured him for years and years, and he's ready to find some relief deep inside of her.

His.

It's his last coherent thought before he stalks forward and wraps his arm around her waist. He spins her, propelling both of them eight feet to the left until her stomach hits the back of his couch.

Elliot's hands grip her ass hard. "Last chance to stop this, Olivia," he warns gutturally.

Her hands curl around the back of the couch and she lets herself fall forward. "I said…do it," she hisses.

His control snaps.

Elliot roughly pushes his body forwards, until his raging hard-on thrusts against her ass, exactly where it belongs. He grinds against her hard because this will neither be slow nor gentle. He's done this every blasted night in his head for nine years, and now that she's finally in his hands, he will be lucky to last a few minutes.

Fuck, yes. Right there.

His hand moves downwards, across her stomach, up over her rib cage, until he can cup her breast again. She flinches as he grasps her. His erection is straining in his pants as need explodes inside of him.

He lets go of her then, grabbing at the sides of her panties and yanking them down over her hips.

"Fuck me," Olivia urges him. "Do it, Elliot. Just…please…"

Blood rushes into his already engorged dick as her panties fall to the floor. He quickly undoes his pants and pulls down his boxers, wholly unaware he hasn't fully stripped his shirt or pants off.

Nothing fucking matters, he's tumbling towards hell. He's single-minded, his narrowing tunnel vision obscuring every rational thought.

He's acutely aware of Olivia's every breath, of every pound of his pulse. She is bent over his couch now and he cups her ass, squeezing it in his palms as he loses every ounce of self-preservation. He's never going to be the same after this.

He cups her pussy from behind, and that's when he realizes how stunningly wet she is.

A groan tears from him, and it drowns out the agonizing sound she makes and the way her body suddenly jerks forward, leaving her even more open to him.

He doesn't know who is in control and who is submitting.

His fingers stroke through her slick folds, once, twice. An overwhelming urge to drop to his knees and taste her like this nearly makes him succumb, but his cock is granite right now.

Olivia is shaking. He can feel every contraction of her body as he pushes a finger deep inside of her.

Christ in heaven, forgive him.

He strokes her once, then adds a second finger. Her inner walls grip him tightly, and he starts to thrust them in and out, shoving his lower half against her so she can't move.

His cock hits the naked curve of her ass. He nearly feels himself lose control. Another few seconds and he's going to cum wildly all over her.

"You sonofabitch," she nearly spits out. "I said fuck me."

He pulls his fingers out of her, realizing she's as ready to go over the edge as he is. He grips the hard length of his cock and strokes her pussy with it, coating it with her slickness.

She's spread open beneath him, and the insanely intimate sight of her smooth folds rubbing along his cock makes him struggle with his sanity. She's swollen with need, her pussy wet and shiny with how impossibly ready she is for him.

A needy, desperate sob breaks from her. "Elliot, please."

Fuck.

He closes his eyes, lines his cock up and surges forward, until he is buried all the way deep inside of her in one fluid motion. A growl tears from his throat as she cries out in pleasure, and then he's sheathed tightly within her, feeling Olivia's body start to accommodate his size.

He's terrified that the shaking he feels coming from her is crying, but then Olivia tries to reach around to grasp his thighs, to pull him further into her. She is clawing at him frenetically, doing anything she can to get him deeper.

She's going to destroy him, because she is who she is.

Heat and fire and unapologetic temptation.

Relief.

He bucks forward, pushing deeper and using his grip on her hips and ass to send the couch forward a few inches on a singular, warning thrust that tells her to brace herself for his onslaught.

Olivia widens her legs just a little bit, and that's when he grabs both of her hands, pulling them behind her and gripping her wrists in his palms with authority as if restraining her.

He is going to fuck her within an inch of both of their lives tonight.

"God, yes," she exhales, her body relaxing as control is taken from her. He can't comprehend why she'd relinquish control to him or even feel safe with him right now. That's something incomprehensible that he will examine some other time.

For now, he takes what she is willingly offering.

His dick throbs impossibly deep inside of Olivia, begging for release. "You're so fucking wet," he rasps. "Gonna be the death of me."

She makes a keening sound of approval, and he starts fucking into her then. He's hard and relentless, brutally unrepentant. He impales her so forcefully that he hears himself grunting, hears her tearing cries as his cock spears into her again and again and again.

It's animalistic and he makes no more apologies. She is taking him beautifully, rearing up and encouraging him to take what he wants, give her what she wants.

Elliot clenches his teeth, jerking her backwards as he fucks. He reaches his hand around and cups her pussy from the front, feeling his cock thrusting in while he finds her clit and rubs his finger against it hard. Her pussy is so smooth and slick that he can hear every goddamned thrust into her. He pulls himself nearly all the way out and then slams back into her, rocking both of them. Again.

Again.

The muscles in his thighs are burning, but his cock is harder than it's ever been, and she's shuddering beneath him, as ready as he is. He rams into her hard, once. Twice. It's ferocious. She takes him deeper.

He's going to cum. Fuck, he's going to goddamned explode into her.

He lets go of her wrists then and straightens, and Olivia immediately grips the couch again. He looks down and watches his wet cock disappear into her.

Olivia makes a godforsaken sound, and then she collapses forward onto the couch. He closes his eyes and feels the intense spasms of her orgasm clench around him, suffocating his cock and blowing his mind.

Elliot willingly loses control then, his fingers digging into her ass as he hauls her backwards onto him. The walls close in on him – hers, his – this. His thrusts are nearly violent as he starts to cum, and he's on the edge of blacking out from the sheer violence of his orgasm. His pulse is a jackhammer, and he can barely see her he's so consumed by the pleasure. He cums hard, seemingly endlessly, emptying himself into the only woman who could ever strip him of every civility with just the blink of her eyes.

His orgasm destroys every misconception he's ever had about the depths of physical pleasure. He knew absolutely nothing before now.

He can't fucking breathe. He's coated in sweat.

Olivia is struggling for air as well so he manages to pull her up until she's nearly in a standing position, his cock still buried within her and twitching with the last tremors of his orgasm.

His mouth lands on her temple. She's damp with sweat too and he falls out of her as she leans back on him, still shaking and pressing her eyes closed. She's gasping, her lips are moving but no sound is coming out.

Elliot wraps his arms protectively around her, realizing only now that his clothes are still mostly on while she is completely, perfectly naked. He thumbs her nipple and Olivia jerks in his hold, still coming down from her orgasm and half-out of it.

Mine.

He is hardly done. Her willing, naked body in his arms spurs him again, and he knows the night is far from over. He'll be done when he makes her lose her voice from saying his name.

"Now," he murmurs authoritatively, listening to the slam of both of their pulses. He turns them until she can see the room at the end of the hallway. "Go wait for me in my bed."

-o0o-