I was taking an afternoon nap when my Muse burst into my room and said: “I’m horny!” She then made me write this. I have no idea where this came from. Or why. Actually, I think I may know why. It’s this Women’s Murder Club rabies that’s been going around the femslash comms. It’s not like I can blame anyone for it. Angie Harmon’s fracking hawt! See, I even made an icon. Also, I believe Benson would have had much richer
sex love life if TPTB allowed themselves to think outside the box.
Title: Weekly arrangement
Summary: An unprecedented meeting at the ADA’s office
Disclaimer: The story is mine, characters are not
Abbie Carmichael was the type of woman who didn't have to say much to leave an impression on someone. Seeing how her job as an ADA required her to be quite articulate and persuasive, she liked to take a break from oratory gymnastic in her personal time and just become raw.
“The jacket, Olivia,” Abbie rasped in a low voice. “Take it off.”
The detective’s eyes dropped a little as a small smile crept up her face and – after hesitating for a short moment – she shrugged her shoulders, letting the jacket slip from her back and land into the palms of her hands. She brought it forward, letting it hang on her index finger looped through the collar string. She waited until Abbie nodded for her to drop it on the chair in the corner.
This wasn’t the first time Olivia had an encounter with the Texan ADA in her office after hours, but it certainly was unprecedented so far with the lights off, except for the warm glow of the desk lamp, mostly obscured by the stacked up case files, and the ADA herself comfortably perched up atop that desk with her blouse generously unbuttoned and her skirt hiked up her thighs a bit more than it would be allowed by the professional ethic of one ADA.
Like two rams about to butt heads, the women locked eyes, silent and expectant for the other one to flinch and disclose some kind of weakness or reveal their eagerness to be near the other.
Abbie might have been raw, but Olivia was unyielding. The ADA loved that about the detective.
“The shirt,” Abbie commanded leaning back on the desk against her arms, and when Olivia’s hands rose up to the buttons, she narrowed her eyes and hissed, “Slowly.”
Olivia complied, her fingers opening one button at a time at an excruciatingly slow pace, her eyes locked on the other pair of dark, smoldering ones. She couldn’t help the smirk at the sight of Abbie’s eyes then dropping to follow her fingers and her tongue slowly peeking out, moistening her lips as if she was looking at the most delicious dish ready to be consumed by her starving self.
Last button gave in and Olivia let the shirt hang open for a moment before she pulled on it, untucking it from her pants. She then did the same thing like with the jacket; only the shirt got dumped at her feet instead on the chair in the corner.
She would have never admitted it, but Abbie’s heart rate sped up tenfold at the sight of the exposed skin and the toned muscles under it. The whiteness of Olivia’s bra seemed to glow in the dimness of the office and cast a wonderful contrast to the detective’s olive skin. The slacks she wore and the wide, silver-buckled leather belt hugged her hips so perfectly. The badge and the holster that still stood attached gave Olivia an air of power, even in that half undressed and already acquiescent state.
“Come,” Abbie breathed out and then braced herself against the desk when Olivia slowly approached and, pushing the way with her knee, comfortably slipped between the ADA’s thighs. Abbie’s discrete toss of hair and another cheeky peek of her tongue against full lips provoked one more smirk on the detective’s face. “You are so sure of yourself,” Abbie taunted with narrowing eyes. “So cool and smooth and self-sufficient.” Olivia’s hands landed on her thighs and then slipped quickly to Abbie’s behind. Her fingers flexed against the firmness and then pulled the ADA closer to the edge of the desk and snug against her lap. “Like a wild mustang,” she drawled huskily, “I’m gonna enjoy breaking you in.”
At least a year worth of heated looks she exchanged with the woman prosecuting special victim cases brimmed on the edge of Olivia’s patience to simply rip up the other woman’s clothes and devour her in one burly and eruptive bout. Pulling her in a fierce kiss did the trick, when the ADA growled into the detective’s mouth at the delicious furiousness of the contact.
The kiss broke with a mutual gasp. Abbie wrapped one arm around Olivia’s shoulders, keeping the other propped against the desk for balance. Olivia’s hands slipped to Abbie’s thighs once again, this time to hike the tight skirt all the way up, the whole time keeping a close eye contact with the woman. It was clearly irresolute who wore a more smug smile on their lips; the detective, whose pelvis pressed firmly against the ADA’s making her throw her head back in pleasure, or the ADA herself when she heard the detective’s low moan after she pulled Olivia’s head down, made a slow lick at the side of her neck, and then gently nipped on the skin just under her ear.
“I need you inside me,” Abbie breathed out, linking her ankles at Olivia’s back, bidding her even closer.
It took Olivia only a moment to comply with the request and when she did, both women closed their eyes and exhaled loudly at the sensation of Olivia’s fingers slipping deeply inside Abbie’s wet core.
The words stopped, only motions continued; severe, desperate motions of two bodies straining against each other for release. And when it came, Abbie’s fingers dug into Olivia’s hair, grabbing onto a fistful of it and then pulling until the wave that crashed upon her subsided.
“Same time next week?” Olivia smiled down at the haze-eyed attorney.
“Sure,” Abbie nodded shortly, between two breaths, “But only if you promise you won’t talk as much.”