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Domesticity

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“Are you done with that?”

Domesticity was a strange thing to get used to, he realized. Oh, he hadn’t been a bachelor for so long that he didn’t appreciate there being a female presence around, but there was something...different…about it being Molly Hooper. Jim had said she was special, different, and he hadn’t realized it until he’d spent time with her on his own, since Jim had…

Not a good idea to think about it. Always put him in a bad mood.

He nodded in response to her question and she pulled the decanter of coffee closer. When most people looked at her, with her cutesy clothes and girly hairstyles and infectiously bright smile, they expected her to be...immature. But there was more to her than that But her home was so sophisticated, her demeanor so sharp, he could see what Jim had meant.

She certainly was interesting.

And she had an interesting effect on him.

He watched her prepare her coffee: three-quarters of the cup filled with the Brazilian dark roast she spent good money on, the rest of the cup topped off with cream and then a dash of one of the bottled syrups she kept in her cupboards. Normally she went with hazelnut but apparently today she’d decided to add spice to her routine, literally, with some cinnamon syrup. Sweet and spicy.

Like her.

Oh, hell, he was falling for her.

He sipped his own coffee, black as most people would say his soul was, and contemplated what to do. He was only watching over her because he owed it to Jim. he’d liked her. He’d said not to include her in the plan, not to harm her. If Sherlock didn’t play along, keep an eye on her.

He’d said nothing about shagging her and yet here he was, leaning against her counter, watching her swan around her kitchen in lace knickers and a silky dressing gown and, he hoped, nothing else underneath. Jim would probably have killed him if he was still alive, but there was nothing as good as the feeling of his lips pressed against her skin, her body writing under his, his cock buried deep inside her heat, her nails digging into his back. Jim never said whether he’d experienced sex with Molly, though knowing his boss, he bet he had, but he didn’t care.

He set his coffee down while Molly’s back was to him, knowing he was half hard already, and he moved behind her, pressing his hips into the small of her back and letting his hands find the opening of her robe. His fingers knew her body well, making their way to the top edging of her knickers, slipping underneath and tangling in the curly hair there until he could slide his fingers in her folds, slipping his finger in and out as he sucked a bright spot on her neck. She bucked her hips against him, grinding her small, firm buttocks against his shaft, and he knew he’d be taking her against the counter soon enough, same as most mornings. His new morning routine.

Domesticity really did suit him, he realized.