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Memories of being beaten in the street after being greenlit by BX9 flashed through Olivia’s mind as she sat on the sofa in her office, trying to recover her composure after the interrogation. More than the pain of the beating or even the fear of being killed, however, she remembered how Noah had seen it all; how she had ordered him inside the building, praying he obeyed, praying the young men with the machetes would ignore him.
Though she had been careful not to let a single crack show in her stern captain’s façade in front of the suspect, much less her detectives, Olivia had been unnerved by the man’s eyes. Dead eyes, she had always called them: the kind of eyes that had either lost or never had any empathy at all. The kind of eyes that told her that person would never be rehabilitated, could never be helped…those eyes were so much more dangerous than the ones that projected menace or forced merriment in the interview room.
The worst part about the suspect hadn’t even been the crime that had brought him into the SVU interrogation room, though it was horrific…a violent rape/murder that was as open-and-shut as any case she’d ever had. The man would go away for it for the rest of his life if she and Sonny Carisi had anything to say about it. No, the worst part is that it was clear the suspect was a part of a larger group of people—a much larger one, if the veiled threats from the suspect and the number of anonymous threats they had received at the precinct since he had been arrested were any indication.
And they had no idea who the group was.
She had called Ayanna Bell at Organized Crime. She had run his picture and information through every database she had access to and had Dr. Vargas run him through even more from the OC office, and they had gotten almost no information other than what they could have gotten from the average citizen.
Hàoyú Chen had a New York driver’s license, a Social Security number that showed he was a naturalized United States citizen, and owned an ordinary apartment in Chinatown. But other than mortgage and utility payments, his financials had revealed nothing—not so much as an Amazon order or a charge to a local bodega, nor any suspicious cash withdrawals. He had no documented employment records, and the modest sum deposited into his simple checking account each month had been traced back to his parents in China, who had no discernible criminal connections.
Olivia sighed and rubbed the spot between her eyes. It wasn’t as though threats, veiled or otherwise, from suspects were unusual. People would say anything to keep themselves out of prison. Anonymous threats to the precinct were hardly new, either, though the volume of them regarding Chen was certainly greater than usual. Fin was running down the captured phone numbers, but so far, they had all come from burner cells.
But the attack by BX9 kept returning to her mind, and if she had learned anything from so many years on the job, it had been not to ignore connections even if they didn’t seem to make sense.
She checked the tracking app on her phone for the third time in the last hour. Noah was spending the long weekend in Woodstock with his half-brother, and his location had not varied from where it was supposed to be: at the McCann’s suburban home, a two-hour drive from the city.
Her phone buzzed, and Olivia did her best to shake off her unease as she rose to check it and start gathering her things. She hoped it was nothing requiring her attention that evening—Fin was taking over for her at five, and she had hoped to pick up a Margherita pizza and a bottle of red, then spend a quiet evening reading on her sofa. Kristin Hannah’s latest novel had just come out, and she had picked up the hardcover a week ago and hadn’t had a chance to so much as open it.
She was pleasantly surprised to see a text message from Elliot. He’d been out of town on a case for the past two weeks and, though he hadn’t been out of contact completely, they hadn’t had much of a chance to talk. Despite the tension radiating through her shoulders and neck, she mentally set aside time that evening for a nice, long conversation with her partner.
Ever since he had conspired with Noah to invade her apartment on Valentine’s Day, she and Elliot had eased into the kind of relationship both had always wanted; the kind where they spent much of their off-duty time together, where they talked and texted throughout the day, the kind where he never failed to greet her with a kiss, whether they met for a quick diner breakfast or spent the night at one another’s apartments. The kind where their partnership lessened the heavy weight of each of their responsibilities, rather than adding to it.
She clicked open the text, and something stirred in her gut.
Elliot: Come to me.
A tiny map with a pinned location at its center followed the message, and she knew what it meant: this was one of the nights he planned out to its tiniest details, one of those nights when she was expected to (and secretly loved to) cede all control to him. Though she enjoyed his gently commanding presence in the bedroom every time they were together, these evenings—these evenings that started with a texted command and a pinned map—were different.
She just wasn’t in the mood tonight, though she vaguely thought that if he was back in town, she might be willing to put off her evening of Kristin Hannah and red wine for a casual dinner with him after work. It’d be good to see him, and usually he was perfectly willing to have a quiet evening with her before they went to bed.
But then she thought of the monster she had just interviewed and how Elliot’s protective instincts would kick into full gear as soon as he had read the unease in her eyes and demanded to know the source of it…
Olivia: Not tonight, El. Long day. Raincheck?
She saw the three dots moving across the bottom of her screen as he replied, but before he finished, a knock sounded at her office door, and Fin Tutuola came in before she had a chance to say a word.
“I’ve got a uniform waiting to take you home,” he announced. “I'll take it from here, Captain.”
She rolled her eyes. “I have my car, Fin,” she told him.
The sergeant shook his head. “Not a chance, Liv,” he said. He held her gaze, and Olivia saw a note in his eyes she had only seen a few times over their years working together, and she knew it meant that he hadn’t missed the way Chen’s eyes had lingered on her, the way he had directed most of his responses at her, even when Fin had asked the questions. Fin was remembering another time, over a decade ago, when Cragen had sent her home alone and no one had checked on her for two days.
Her phone buzzed with Elliot’s response as Liv was deciding whether to fight Fin on the issue. To give herself a moment to decide, she picked her phone back up.
Elliot: That was not a request.
Three dots danced across the bottom of her screen again, then the little map appeared below his message, the red pin now seeming a bit more ominous.
Elliot: Come. Now.
Olivia sighed in exasperation but decided not to continue the argument via text. At least this would be a way to get Fin off her back. She’d meet Elliot, tell him exactly what she thought about his commands, give him a kiss, and then go home for her quiet evening.
“I’m not going home, anyway,” she told Fin, putting her phone in her bag and adding the Chen file to the neat pile on one side of her desk. “I’m meeting Elliot.”
They had officially disclosed their relationship just before Thanksgiving, almost two months before, so it was hardly a secret that they were seeing each other…and Fin himself had figured it out almost before she had herself.
Fin narrowed his eyes. “And let me guess. You don’t wanna pull up with a uni because Stabler’ll immediately know something’s up.”
“Something like that. And there’s nothing up, Fin. The guy’s in the tombs and will be moved to Rikers in the morning. It’s over. We got him.” The evidence was strong enough that Carisi would have no trouble getting the conviction, and Fin knew that as well as she did.
Fin considered a moment before finally giving in. “Stabler’ll already be there, right? Wherever you’re going tonight?”
“Yeah.”
“All right,” he relented. “But keep your eyes open. I don’t like the smell of this guy, and some of those calls we got ain’t the garden variety.”
Olivia didn’t much like the state of things either, so it was no problem promising Fin she would stay alert. She didn’t bother freshening her hair and makeup on the way out; they would be fine for the quick interaction with Elliot before she went home. She put on her winter coat and gloves and strode out of her office with her usual confidence, despite Fin’s worried gaze boring a hole in her back.
***
Olivia frowned as she clicked the tiny map to send Elliot’s pin to her navigation app. The street was in a residential neighborhood; as far as she knew, there was nothing there that would be a place Elliot might have picked for a date, and Google Maps didn’t name the address as any particular location. She texted Elliot.
Olivia: You sure this is the right address?
The response was almost immediate.
Elliot: Not another word. Come.
Despite the fact that she usually found Elliot irresistible when he was in this kind of mood, she felt a flare of anger at the response. How dare he talk to her like that? As she followed the directions through the familiar streets of the city, she planned what she would say to him, how she would make it clear to him that he had crossed a line. Playing these games was all well and good until he started ignoring her consent in the matter.
She had never denied one of his “come to me” texts before…she had always arrived already slightly turned on by whatever delicious plans he might have for her, slightly turned on by the way she knew she would surrender to him that evening, slightly turned on by the release of it all. He only ever sent those texts on free evenings, though he had never revealed how he knew she was free…she suspected Noah might be a co-conspirator, though for all the kid knew, Elliot was simply planning dates.
As she signaled a left turn, she suddenly wondered if Elliot was upset about something. The more she thought about it, the more his last message seemed less like the game they played together and more like Elliot when he was trying to contain his anger. She relaxed a little at the thought. She could certainly handle it if the curt, final message was a result of a flare of temper rather than going overboard with the control he loved to exert on these evenings, the control she secretly craved—to a point. A point his most recent message had crossed. Yes...she could handle his familiar brand of anger much better than the idea that he would so blatantly overstep her boundaries.
She pulled to the curb in front of the address he had given her. It was the address of what appeared to be a normal apartment building with no restaurants, bars, or even coffee shops in view. Elliot’s SUV idled right in front of hers, though, so whatever this was…she had come to the right place.
Her phone buzzed.
Elliot: Come to me.
Shrugging, she cut the ignition, grabbed her bag, and locked the car behind her. He had brought her to a safe enough neighborhood, and it was lined with parked cars. Whatever his game was, she could play it for a few minutes before she went home.
Climbing into the passenger seat of Elliot’s SUV, she didn’t speak as she closed the door behind her and turned to him.
“Elliot—” she began.
His lips formed a thin line as he stared straight ahead. “Want to tell me what that call from Fin was about? Why he wanted to make sure I walked you up to your apartment tonight?”
“It’s nothing, it’s just a perp—”
“Want to tell me why I heard about this perp from Fin and not you?”
“It’s nothing, El. The guy’s locked up.”
He finally turned to her. “Enough!” he snapped, and there was nothing of the sexy, commanding tone he usually used on these evenings. No, Elliot was pissed. “You’re mine, and I’m yours, and I’m not playing this fucking game with you, Olivia! I don’t give one fuck if this guy’s been sent to Guantanamo. If he set off so many alarm bells that Fin is worried about your safety, then you should have fucking called me!”
Olivia felt her own temper flare. “You are not my keeper, Elliot! We may be dating—”
“We’re doing a damn sight more than that, and you know it.”
“I’m not doing this with you tonight,” Olivia said, her voice low and furious, again rubbing the spot between her eyes. “I’m not fighting with you about this. I’m going home, and when you’ve decided to stop acting like my fucking bodyguard and start acting like my partner, call me.” She reached for the door handle, mentally adding a bubble bath to her evening plans.
“Liv, wait.” His voice had lost most of its anger as he reached out and grabbed her arm, his grip firm but far from painful.
She looked at him, that familiar fire dancing in her brown eyes, but underneath that, he read the uncertainty and anxiety that had been there ever since she had finished Chen’s interrogation. Whether or not she wanted to admit it, the guy had unnerved her, had upset her. And that in itself was unusual enough that he immediately backpedaled on the anger that had bloomed in his chest after Fin's call.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and she could tell he was sincere, even if he was still on edge. “Look…I don’t want to leave you alone tonight.” He held up a hand to stop her protest. “I’m always going to want to protect you, Liv. I can’t imagine something happening to you, can’t imagine a world without you in it.”
She looked at him, her own anger dissipating as she read the sincerity, the devastation in his eyes...the devastation of a man who had lost far too much, and had almost lost even more. But after a few moments of silence, Elliot’s gaze shifted into something else entirely…the thing she had first seen on Valentine’s Day, the thing she sometimes saw in the confines of one of their bedrooms and always saw on “come to me” nights. She couldn’t help but smile, anticipation replacing the tension in her belly. Maybe she didn’t really need a quiet night…maybe neither of them did.
“I had no intention of leaving you alone tonight, anyway,” he said, his voice now low, a familiar hint of a growl in it. He let go of her arm and raised his hand to her face, cupping her cheek under his large palm. “Where do you belong, dear heart?”
It was his favorite way of asking for consent for him to take control, and her favorite way to grant it. And she knew that once she did, though she knew she could ask him to stop at any time and he would, she belonged to him wholly and completely.
“With you. Always with you.”
His answering smile, intentional and sensuous, sent shivers down her spine as he put the SUV in drive and pulled away from the curb.
***
Olivia was a little surprised when Elliot pulled into a pay parking lot in the Upper West Side; it wasn’t as though he had never taken her to dinner on one of these evenings, but his usual habit was to give her something he wanted her to wear—or, at least, choose among his favorites from her existing wardrobe. This evening, however, he came around and opened her door for her, offering his hand in an old-fashioned gesture she secretly loved.
After she had stepped out and he had closed the door behind her, he said, “Your handbag, please.”
She looked at him questioningly, but he clicked his tongue at her. “Your handbag, dear heart.”
She handed it over and watched curiously as he opened it and placed an object inside, something small enough that his large hand concealed it completely from her sight. He snapped the magnetic closure back into place and handed it back to her.
She had learned not to ask.
He offered her his arm, and she took it. They set off down the sidewalk and around the corner to what she had hoped was their destination ever since he had pulled into the neighborhood: Pappardella, one of her favorite Italian restaurants. As they came closer, the smell of garlic bread and spicy sauces tickled her nose.
Elliot spoke to the hostess about their reservation, and the hostess immediately led them to a small table near the back. It was early for dinner, but the space was already full. When their server came, he ordered smoothly and immediately. “We’d each like the Four Roses Small Batch, neat. Doubles, please.”
The young woman made a note and left the table, and Elliot smiled across the table at Olivia, noting the tension in her shoulders and in the way she kept glancing around the restaurant instead of keeping her eyes on him, where they belonged.
“Give me your hands,” he said, reaching both of his own across the table.
She immediately put her hands in his, and he grasped them firmly, reassuringly. “I've got you, dear heart. You just focus on me, on us, and let me handle the rest.” He raised his eyebrows at her.
“All right,” she said softly. He saw some of the tension leave her body, but not nearly all of it.
“Good girl,” he whispered. “Now, take your handbag and visit the ladies’ room while I wait for our drinks. There’s a gift for you in your purse; I would like you to wear it.” He squeezed her hands and let them go.
She smiled at him as she rose from the table and did what he had asked while he admired the sway of her hips and her magnificent ass, even in the tailored pants she’d worn to work.
Olivia slipped into a stall in the tiny bathroom and opened her bag. She thought Elliot had probably slipped a pair of scandalously tiny panties into her bag, and she looked forward to wearing them under her more practical work clothes. But when she opened the small velvet bag she found among her everyday items, she barely stopped herself from gasping and momentarily wondered if she could actually make herself wear it in public.
It was a small, u-shaped device, obviously meant to stimulate her inside and outside at the same time. Under her work pants, it would be invisible to onlookers, but Olivia knew this toy well enough to know that, somewhere in the pockets of Elliot’s three-piece suit, was a remote.
Oh, no. I can’t.
Except, after a moment, she decided she would. Maybe a little bit of this kind of fun would relax her even more than a novel and a glass of wine.
Her phone buzzed.
Elliot: The drinks are here. Come back to me.
Taking a deep breath, she quickly inserted the small vibrator, adjusting it with practiced hands—Elliot had introduced it several months before, and she knew how it worked. But it had always been reserved for the bedroom…a delicious heat spread through her at the thought of wearing it through dinner.
She had a hard time keeping her face neutral as she washed and dried her hands next to another diner, but she was satisfied that the woman next to her noticed nothing. It vibrated for the first time as she made her way back to their table, a low-level, insistent hum against her most sensitive parts. She paused for a moment before determinedly continuing to her place.
Elliot smirked at her as she sat down with forced nonchalance, placing her napkin carefully back in her lap. “Just making sure you followed instructions, dear heart.”
She gave him a small, private smile back as he raised his glass and she followed suit. “To the most beautiful woman in the city,” he said. “I never stop thanking God that you’re mine.” He put a slight emphasis on the final word, underscoring promises made months before.
Dinner was excellent, the dish Elliot selected and ordered for her delicious and fresh, the crisp wine he paired with it perfect. He made judicious use of the vibrator, leaving it on just long enough each time that her eyes told him she was about to be unable to control her facial expressions. As it was, he could feel her pressing her thighs together under the table, and he loved it almost as much as the playful scolding he was going to give her later for her lack of self-control.
After dinner, they returned to the car. He had never sent her back to the ladies’ room to relieve herself of the device, and as they walked, he tested the limits of her control with stronger, and longer, bursts of vibration. She looked at him with pleading eyes as they reached the car, and as he helped her into it, he whispered, “Good things come to those who wait, dear heart.”
He didn’t activate the device again as he drove them to his apartment, but after the prolonged stimulation, Olivia remained wet and aching the entire way.
“Go into the bedroom and change,” he told her. “You can take the vibrator off…but you are not to touch yourself. Do you understand?”
She nodded, nearly delirious with desire, and he chuckled darkly as he pressed the remote one last time.
When she walked into Elliot’s familiar bedroom, she smiled as she saw the lingerie on the bed and the red rose petals surrounding it. The black chemise, black silk with lace trim, was just the kind of thing she liked: sexy without being tasteless, though she had to admit the slip of lace next to it might not have fit that latter requirement.
She undressed quickly, folding her work clothes and placing them on the chair and sliding into the chemise and the almost-not-there panties, almost groaning when they brushed against her pulsing sex. Though she’d removed the vibrator, she knew the new panties would be drenched by the time Elliot made his way into the room.
Olivia had to exert a fair amount of discipline not to let her fingers stray downward as she pulled back the duvet and lay down on her side, facing the door, propped up on one elbow. She knew if she called out that she was ready, Elliot would take even more time to come to the bedroom, so she bit her lip and waited for him, hoping he wouldn’t leave her alone for long.
He didn’t. Less than two minutes after she had positioned herself on the bed, the door opened and Elliot came in, an open bottle of red and two glasses in his hands. He looked her over from head to toe, his frank appraisal turning her on even more.
“So beautiful,” he growled.
He placed the bottle and the glasses on the bedside table but didn’t pour the wine. She knew it was for after. It had become a ritual of theirs.
“Lay on your stomach, dear heart,” he commanded.
After she flipped over, she felt him run a single finger down her spine, over the thin silk of the chemise. When he reached her backside, he splayed his hand, running fingers over both cheeks near their center. Olivia shivered.
“Let’s have a small discussion,” he suggested, his hand lingering on one cheek of her ass, lightly kneading.
His hand left her backside and then smacked back down on it firmly, the sharp sting of pain fading quickly into pleasant warmth as he resumed the light kneading. Olivia squirmed under his hand and the new stimulation.
“Be still, dear heart,” he whispered softly.
His hand left her backside and smacked down again, just a little harder, before he once again resumed the kneading.
“You said something before that was sadly mistaken,” he said softly.
Olivia was beyond thought…Elliot had never done this before, though she was no stranger to the fact that he liked to inflict small hurts and then soothe them. She had always liked that kind of thing, and when Elliot did it, it always sent her ever closer to the edge.
His hand rose and fell in another sharp smack, and she moaned.
“Shhhh,” he soothed. “You wanted me to stop being your bodyguard and be your partner,” he whispered.
“Yes,” Olivia whimpered, not from pain but from need. She needed him…the constant stimulation from earlier coupled with his current attentions was driving her wild.
“The problem with that, dear heart,” he purred, “is that you can’t have one without the other.” He trailed his finger up her back again. “I am your bodyguard and your partner, as you are mine. I will always protect you, and you will stop trying to prevent me from doing so.”
Olivia lay silently, not wanting to argue, shivering as he lightly scratched her back.
“You are mine, Olivia Benson,” he murmured. “I will always protect what’s mine.”
He brought his hand down once more, and the sharp sound emphasized his words better than any anger ever would, and Olivia moaned again, her need almost unbearable.
He increased the pressure on her lower back, his hand now splayed as he leaned over to speak in your ear. “You are mine, and you are my entire world, baby. Our jobs are dangerous, have always been dangerous, and you are the strongest person I have ever known…just, please, let me take care of you, dear heart. It’s the greatest gift you can ever give…your love, your honesty, your vulnerability. I want your strength, but I want everything else, too. Everything.”
Olivia felt as though her heart were going to split open with the weight and love in his words...and that paired with the raw, physical desperation of her body made her want to promise him the world. “Everything, El…everything. I'll give you everything.”
Elliot was glad she couldn’t see the tears that pricked his eyes as he stood. After that first, fateful Valentine’s Day when he had seen her scars, he had found out what happened to her two years after he left, while he had been on assignment halfway around the world. He remembered how hard it had been to keep his composure as she had told him about William Lewis, how he hadn’t been able to stop some of his tears, but had held strong for her as she relived it, some of the wounds seeming almost as fresh as if the monster himself had been in the room with them.
But when he had gotten home, away from where he could hurt her with his guilt, his grief, his rage…he had felt almost as though he were living through her abduction and torture in real time. For hours, it had overwhelmed him—for months, it had haunted his dreams. He had almost lost her, and he hadn’t even known it…and he was never going to risk her like that ever again.
“Stand up, dear heart,” he said, returning his tone to the low, commanding one he knew excited her the most.
She unfolded herself from the bed and stood before him, looking at him with so much love and trust and need that he almost unraveled right in front of her…almost ditched his plans and ripped off her clothes to take her fast and heavy, on the bed, on the floor...wherever they ended up.
Instead, he reached down and grasped the chemise and slowly pulled it over her head, letting her relish in the feel of the expensive silk trailing along her smooth, toned skin. After he had tossed it and the drenched, skimpy panties aside, he quickly undressed himself, letting her watch as he removed his jacket, his vest, his shirt…and finally, his pants and boxers, letting his erection spring free.
He drew her into his arms, pressing her flush against him, and swept her hair aside to nibble her neck, biting, sucking, and licking his claim right into her skin, trailing his hands up and down her bare back, along her sides, finally coming to rest in the swell of her hips. He thrust his hips forward as he pulled her even closer, letting his length rub her center and lower stomach. She moaned, her breath coming faster…and he knew that his mission since the beginning of their evening, ever since he had sent her that first text, had succeeded. The hours-long buildup, even with the small discipline he had administered…or perhaps because of it…had her dripping for him, needing him, ready to come apart for him at the slightest touch.
He put his hands under the cheeks of her ass and lifted her. “Put your legs around me,” he said, and she immediately did so, clinging to him as he pressed his lips to hers with the urgency born of their slow buildup.
They devoured each other as he backed her up against the wall, each giving as much as they were receiving, the kind of kiss that always felt new, no matter how many times they had done it in the months since their relationship had begun. Lips and teeth and tongue clashed, and he held her up with one arm as the other ran roughly through her hair. He sucked hard on her bottom lip for a moment; he loved making it slightly swollen.
He took his hand out of her hair and his lips from hers as he growled in her ear, “You’re going to come for me, Olivia. Right here, right now.”
And with little warning, he pressed a thumb right where she needed it most and thrust his full length into her in one powerful stroke.
Olivia screamed with the earth-shattering power of her release as he held her securely, pumping into her with hard, punishing thrusts, the pace ruthless and designed to draw out her climax to the limits of her endurance.
As she finally started to go limp in his arms as the waves ebbed, he pulled out of her, still hard as a rock and pulsing with his own need. He carried her to the bed—he wasn’t done with her, and he was determined he wouldn’t come until he’d brought her to a second climax.
He let her slide down his chest, supporting her as she found her footing, and kissed her softly before grasping her shoulders and gently turning her, bending her over the bed so that glorious ass was on display for him.
“You’re so fucking sexy,” he growled. “God, I can never get enough of you.”
He leaned over her, his front flush with her back as he reached between her legs, teasing her clit lightly at first, allowing her spent desire to rekindle under his skillful, practiced touch as he slid his hand between her chest and the bed, squeezing and fondling her breast, lightly pinching one nipple. She pushed up a little on her arms, giving him better access, and he took full advantage as he worked her over, her breathing once again becoming erratic, both of their bodies covered in sweat.
He stood, towering behind her, his manhood already shiny with her arousal. “Give me your hands,” he said for the second time that night.
She immediately put her hands behind her back, palms up, and he entwined his fingers with hers as he entered her again, this time much more slowly, relishing in the feel of her around him, the quivering tightness telling him she was nearly ready to come apart again.
“I love you,” he said as he set a slow but thorough rhythm behind her. “God, I love you more than life itself.”
“I love you, too,” she replied, her voice breathy with exertion and renewed need. “El, please…”
He knew what she wanted, and he gave it to her, thrusting in harder, hitting the spot inside her that would send her over the edge again.
He kept himself in control as his release built up along his spine, waiting for her…always waiting for her. He loved nothing better than finding his release while she was tight and quivering around him, crying out her pleasure alongside him.
And she gave that to him, they gave that to each other, calling out each other’s names as he spilled into her and slowed his thrusts until he softened inside her.
He pulled her up and into his arms as their breathing slowed, kissing her forehead with reverent slowness, no urgency left in either of them.
“Next time I tell you to come to me, dear heart,” he said into her hair, “don’t fucking argue with me.”
Olivia smiled against his chest. She wouldn’t…God, no, she wouldn’t.