Chapter Text
It’s all shiny and new, that first time.
She’s sitting on top of him, her thighs bracketing his body, and his fingers trail an absentminded path up and down them. He slips them under the hem of the white dress shirt she’s wearing—his shirt—and sends her a lopsided grin. He finds her warm and wet and ready for him, and her eyelids flutter at the contact.
“You haven’t answered my question,” she tries to stay on topic, her stomach rumbling as though to emphasise her point, but her hips still lean into his touch, canting towards him.
“I have.”
What do you desire? she had asked.
I want to have sex with you another four times, six actually, he had replied.
Of course it had rattled him, her sudden ability to use his mojo, but he can’t particularly dwell on it while she’s on top of him. He can’t exactly think straight with the object of his many, many fantasies wet and willing and right there.
And really, if he’s honest with himself, it’s not so shocking. He reflects people’s desires onto them and the Detective? Well, she is his desire. No-one has ever desired anything as much as he desires her. It’s disarming, unsettling certainly, but it’s also very, very predictable. Depressingly so.
His fingers are still playing with her, two rubbing teasingly up and down her slit, and she rolls her bottom lip between her teeth as she lifts her hips to give him better access. It’s a lazy, rolling, Sunday morning sort of fuck; the sort of domestic bliss he could only dream about. And he has dreamed about it, every which way.
“Breakfast,” the word hitches on a gasp as his thumb finds her clit and he rubs it in tight circles, “what do you want for breakfast?”
His grin is positively sinful as his dark eyes, pupils blown to black, drop to between her thighs.
She blinks once, twice, before she must realise what he means and her eyes widen. Perhaps she has her reservations but her body certainly doesn’t, because the sudden slick of wetness that slides from her has him biting back a groan.
He tips his chin and pats his chest with his free hand.
“Come here.”
He practically feels the shudder that races through her. She's so responsive, his Detective. He had enjoyed taking her apart last night, and he'll enjoy doing the same now.
She hesitates for a moment, the intimacy between them still very new, but then shuffles her thighs up. As she does so, he slides his hand out from between her legs and slips his fingers in his mouth. Her taste, tangy and sweet, explodes on his tongue, shooting straight to his cock. His mouth practically waters at the promise of what’s to come.
His hands go to the shirt as he unbuttons it with quick, clever fingers and uncaringly tosses it to the side.
He can’t resist rearing up and capturing a dusty rose nipple between his teeth. She gasps and arches her back, one of her hands flying to the back of his head to card her fingers through his hair. He grunts when she tugs, orders her to do it again, and she holds him to her breasts, the same ones he’s obsessively wanked over like some bloody teenager more than once. He’s not too proud to admit it.
Once he’s brought her halfway to orgasm with simple nipple-play, her trembling body pulled taut like the string of a bow, he lets go and lays back. He wraps his hands around the backs of her thighs, effortlessly tugging her up as she yelps in surprise and he settles his head on the pillow.
She’s still trembling as he takes her hips and brings her down to his face.
He hears her shaky inhale when his lips touch her clit, registers the way she tips her head back and arches her back. She must look stunning, bathed in the glow of morning light, and he makes a note in the back of his mind that he must get a mirror installed on the ceiling.
He removes his hands from her waist and curls them around her thighs, bringing her closer to his mouth. She gasps and bends backwards, grabbing onto her own ankles and tilting her hips up and towards him. He growls thickly as a fresh flood of wetness gushes from her, exploding onto his tongue and coating his beard.
He knows she’s responsive from last night, and he certainly knows his own skill, but even he’s surprised at how quickly she cums. He barely licks at her for a minute, not even time to get his teeth on her clit or his tongue inside her, when her thighs start to shake and her orgasm rockets through her. She lets out a choked cry, a mangled attempt at his name, and grabs the hands he has curled around her thighs, fingers gripping his wrists in tight cuffs.
A groan of his own rolls from his chest, his tongue lapping at her slowly, riding her through it. His cock is hard against his stomach, twitching with every beautiful gasp she makes, and he brings one hand down to pump it lazily.
She’s still shaking as she climbs off him, collapsing onto the sheets next to him.
He kisses her, smirking at the blush that explodes across her cheeks as she tastes herself on his lips.
“I really liked that,” she murmurs against his mouth, a little shy. Given how unsure she is and how quickly she came, he imagines Detective Douche was rather lacking in the department. Just when he thought he couldn’t disappoint him more. Such a useless partner, he thinks scornfully.
“Mmm, I’m sorry we didn’t get round to it last night,” he purrs, “a terrible oversight on my part.”
She rolls her eyes but there’s still a smile pulling at her lips.
“Will you do it again?” she asks eagerly.
He arches a brow, amused, and thinks he’s created a monster.
“Every day for the rest of eternity, darling, if you’ll let me.”