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"Fuck," she gasps, burying her face in the crook of his neck, as his fingers knead into her back to keep her slick body melded against his. His breath is warm and jagged in her ear, with low grunts escaping every few exhales. Her tongue darts out to trace the salt of his skin before sinking her teeth into his shoulder with a sharp cry, only encouraging him to grip her tighter and thrust up harder.
Their first time in bed together was carnal, barbaric even. What was meant to be an evening of unwinding from a particularly difficult case turned into a night of their bodies unraveling together in Olivia's bed. The liquor on their lips was flirting with impurity, and in sharing a knowing glance, the rest of the night remained wordless - their eyes and hands speaking the only language they needed. A silent agreement between the two of them was to remain impersonal, to simply give and take what they were both desperate for. Release. Elliot's fingertips were bruising against her hips as he pounded into her unapologetically, all of her cries were muffled into a pillow. She rolled onto her back as soon as their bodies recovered from their highs, wrapping herself in her comforter while he collected his clothes. She watched as he simply smiled at her, fixed his jeans, and walked out of the room.
But not before their eyes agreed that the mess they just made was imperishable.
Each time to follow they pushed the unspoken boundary a little more. Kisses, words, interlocked fingers, eye contact. All leading up to this moment: of Olivia's arms wrapped under his neck as she grinds her hips with his. His teeth on her earlobe, and her lips on his skin. Words spoken and unabashed. "El, I'm right there. Don't stop," she whines, lifting her head and pressing her flushed cheek to his. She squeezes her eyes shut with the force to create a kaleidoscope of colors in her darkened vision. With the final descent of her hips and rise of his, they plunge into ecstasy in unison - their names slipping off the other's tongue.
“God, Liv,” he grumbles as she settles back on the bed, curling up to his side. She releases nothing more than a light, blissful laugh as she snuggles her head on his shoulder. His fingers dance in circles and squiggles along her arm while she grazes her nails along his chest, sweeping through the sparse hair. He kisses the top of her head and mumbles against her hair, “I love you, Olivia.”
Her hand stills. “Don’t say that,” she responds quietly.
“Why?”
“‘Cause you don’t mean it,” she insists. As she starts to shift away from him, Elliot locks her fingers with his and holds their hands against his chest, keeping her in place.
”And what makes you so sure of that?” he asks. He resumes the invisible sketches on her skin, but she squirms against him and breaks out of his grasp. His arm flops in defeat as she sits up and wraps the sheet over her body, dangling her legs over the edge of the bed. "Liv? Talk to me, what's going on?" he asks, the concern evident in his tone as he sits up behind her.
"How do I know," she says quietly, staring at her feet, "that you're not going to get bored of me next? When the thrill of being with someone new dies out, and..." Tears are starting to emerge in her eyes, and she swallows hard against the constraint of her narrowing throat.
"Liv-"
"And you don't want me anymore," she mumbles. She's convinced herself it's inevitable - that one day, he'll realize his interest in her has vanished, and he'll move on to another woman. Just as he moved onto her during his separation.
"Olivia," he sighs, reaching for her shoulder. "Baby-"
"Don't call me baby," she interjects, standing up. To prevent her voice from cracking, she merely whispers, "Please go." She refuses to look at him. If he sees her eyes, he'll see the regret. Of letting this go on for too long and of sending him away.
Of falling in love with him.
She closes herself behind the bathroom door and lets the bedding fall to her feet, watching as her exposed body appears in the mirror. She ignores the saltwater glistening on her lashes and lets her eyesight trace the memories of moments ago. Swollen lips, crescents across her back where his fingernails dug into her flesh, then trailed down. She runs her index finger along her collarbone, across the crimson mark he inscribed with his teeth. This man has made her into a godforsaken mess.
And knowing she gave him up causes the tears to finally overflow and plunge onto the countertop. Her bottom lip quivers as she eyes the bottle of perfume on her shelf — the scent he once said intoxicated him, as his tongue traced down the side of her neck. She dresses in her silk robe and sinks to the floor, listening to the rustling on the other side of the door. Footsteps. Clothes. Leaving.
As she tugs her knees towards her chest to bury her face, the door handle starts turning. "Thought I told you to leave," she mumbles as he reveals himself in the doorway. Apparently, he had no intention of doing so as he stands before her in only his boxers.
"I'm not leaving like that," he informs her, stepping into the bathroom. She looks up at him with damp eyes as he lowers himself to his knees, reaching out to cup her face with both of his hands. "I'm not leaving you ," he insists, thumbs stroking the droplets on her cheeks. "Listen to me." She bites her lip and fixates her eyes on his intently. "I've wanted you for a long time. Years, Liv. Years ," he emphasizes. "There's no way in hell I'm letting you go now." Her lips curl up subtly.
"I'm sorry," she murmurs, pulling his hands away from her face to hold them in her own.
"Don't be sorry."
"I'm just terrified," she whispers, her voice trembling slightly. "Because I've never felt so strongly for anyone else. Never opened myself up like I have to you. I can't lose this... Lose you." Elliot shifts from his knees and tugs on her arms to draw her into his lap. When their faces are inches apart, she closes her eyes. "You're too important."
"Olivia," he breathes, leaning in to capture her lips briefly. "I'm not going anywhere." His hands caress her back over her robe, and she locks her arms around his neck. "I promise." With more urgency, he initiates another kiss, and she matches his fervor with an open mouth. He tips his head back to give her the control, groaning as she glides her tongue along his. But she sharply jerks away.
"Fuck," she sputters and drops her forehead to his shoulder, taking two deep breaths. "I love you, too," she confesses. He twists his fingers through her hair and encourages her to lift her head back up. His eyes are calming against the storm brewing in hers.
"I know," he responds softly, and he watches the clouds disintegrate in her irises. The vapor spills over the crest of her eyes, but with clarity. His mouth finds hers again, and it's an entirely new sensation. Nothing hidden, nothing held back. An honesty of outpouring passion exchanged between their lips. Olivia fumbles with the tie of her robe, but eventually gets it pushed off her body. He chuckles at her hastiness. "Liv, the bed is right over there," he nods towards her bedroom with amusement plastered on his face.
"I don't fucking care," she responds briskly, reaching inside his boxers to grasp his erection, and he curses as her hand wraps around him. "I need you right now." She swipes his tip through her arousal and lines him up at her entrance. "Please," she whispers. He nods, and she instantly lowers herself down on him with a satisfied groan. When he's buried inside of her, she wraps him up in her embrace and grinds her hips in his lap. "I'm sorry," she repeats.
"Olivia," he says sternly, gripping her hips to slow her movements. "Stop apologizing. It’s you and me . We can handle anything. This too.” He shifts her body back and forth, eliciting a taut whine. “Okay?” he whispers.
She nods with creased eyebrows and leans down to crush her lips to his - always expressing herself better in their silent language - as she resumes the dance of her hips. She may be a mess, but there is no purity without dirt. No beauty in rebuilding without first falling apart.
Their bodies synchronize together - desperately, passionately. She grips his jaw and again mumbles, "I love you."
Learning. Practicing.
Learning how the words feel as they rise in her throat. How they sound in her mind and how they sound in her own ears. His reaction. Her reaction.
And practicing - until the pit in her stomach diminishes. Until the anxious tingling in her fingertips subsides. Until all that matters is the warmth that spreads across her chest, and the way his lips stretch into a smile against hers. I love you. Until she can say it to his awaiting eyes, confidently. Without hesitation.
For now, she'll practice with closed eyes and a shaky voice, however many times it takes to get there.
Ten times.
A hundred times.
Even a million little times.