Under A Rest Pt. 06

"Yeah? Knew you'd get your toady Marcus to prod me awake, worm your way out of whatever we had? God knows what you'd call it."

"Oh, Marcus is good, isn't he? He's a very old friend of mine, very gifted hypnotist, a total natural. We actually met in med school, he even taught me some of what I know. It was too stressful for him, he couldn't hack all the memorization, so he went to--go figure--law school, right--"

"Get to the point," he insisted quietly.

"The point is...I can't believe I have to spell this out for you," she murmured, "but I guess in matters of our own love even the sharpest of us can be blind. I purposefully set this trial in motion for two reasons. One reason was because I felt I could win. The other was so that we could be together."

His eyes widened, throat and stomach tightening.

"The hell makes you think I'd want to be with you after what you did?"

"Because you love me."

"I never said that."

"You didn't have to."

Her calf once again met his arm. This time, he did not shy away. She continued.

"For the record, I felt no good about having done it."

"What, using me?"

"The murder. But yes, that too. I really didn't intend on you being my stepping stone. I do everything with intention, Michael, you just threw me for a loop. You know as well as I do how awful a misstep that is. Who falls in love with a stepping stone?"

"Yeah. Exactly."

"Well, this lady, apparently. I know I can't just flounce back into your arms and expect someone so much better than I to forgive me, but..." she trailed off. He sighed, his voice calmer.

"It's just despicable, Maria. It is. The whole thing."

"Ultimately. But I did have my reasons."

"Can't you just admit to something without drowning it in justifications?"

She hesitated.

"...Of course," she said, voice small and sheepish. The man seated in front of her was the only judge in front of whom she felt any measure of compunction. "Of course what I did was horrible."

"Heinous."

"But it is kind of hard to be sorry about it, because the truth is that it led me to you. And I want you. More than I think I've wanted anything, really. Free and clear. Plain and simple."

He looked away.

"Bull," he croaked, his lips falling into a tired pout. "Nothing but a stepping stone. And after everything...I'm not that desperate, you know."

"Come on. Don't you get it?" she said softly, now rubbing his shoulder. He hated that it felt so good. "I want to be better for you. I never even knew what that was like until you dropped that anvil on my head. You've made me realize what that means, why it's important. Seeing you, the way you are. I suppose you inspire me. I suppose I need that."

Despite himself, a flush rose to his face. His heart began to race. Her hand, soft and pale, took his cheek again, carressing it gently. His eyes remained glued to the cube as it spun. A shiver of pleasure went down his spine. He shook his head at his own weakness.

She was still talking, her voice flowing through him, his body loosening, slowly leaning forward again, just like earlier that day during her testimony. That familiar warmth had already begun coursing through him, and really, it was hardly any easier to fight. Despite himself, he welcomed that gentle, lilting voice, secretly eager to let it coax him once more; his eyes, exhausted by such a taxing day, so grateful to let go and flutter closed. She continued talking, which he knew, really knew was so dangerous.

"My head hurts," he said quietly, voice smaller than intended.

"I know, baby. Come here. Poor thing."

His heavy eyes cracked open again, still affixed to the spinning cube. It felt sublime to allow his eyes to just blurrily behold it, to allow his mind to switch off and simply embrace her words. This was familiar territory to him, of course, but its familiarity only served to draw him down even further. Her hands kept running through his hair, and he felt so leaden, so relaxed, so comforted by her presence, that the sheer ecstasy of letting go kept him from doing much else. He felt his lax lips move, his throat vibrating.

"...Don't..." he protested weakly.

"Don't what?" she asked, amused.

A darkness enrobed him from which he knew he'd find it impossible to emerge, and it wasn't long before he found himself with his head led firmly into her lap. Her words and touch coaxed his mind further, blanker and softer with each moment that passed.

"Don't..." he repeated. She shushed him gently and placed a single red-painted fingertip over his lips. Feeling his faculties slipping, he fought the urge to kiss it, or wrap his lips around it, or something. Before his mouth could decide, she withdrew it and began shifting about, shaking off that lustrous coat.

With effort, he lifted his heavy head to see the body he'd so sorely missed underneath, naked and shimmering with an emerging sheen of sweat. His pleading eyes drank her in once more, reminding him acutely of her ability to tap into whatever it was that laid deep inside of him, the thing he'd been fighting since the day they met. Like a moth to flame, the aura of control that radiated from her lured him in every time without fail, every rational thought in his mind overwhelmed, buried by her sheer force of will.

"I'm good. Allow me to prove it to you."

Stunned and perplexed, his mouth hung open, unable to take his eyes off her. It was late spring, after all, and a warm evening it had been. No wonder she'd slithered into his office naked underneath that coat.

"Weren't you hot?"

"Oh, yes. Veerry hot..." she said coyly, toying with her supple breasts.

"Very hot..." he breathed, fully captivated by her palms sinking into her own soft flesh, fingers grasping her nipples, a strained sound escaping from his throat upon hearing her moan. She carefully eased herself off of his desk and into his lap; once again betrayed by his own body, the detective held her as she steadied herself.

It felt wonderful just to hold her again. Their eyes met, and though he could remember that he was so hesitant, so distrusting, so hostile toward her not too long ago, it now all seemed of questionable importance. And when those shining green eyes slowly moved closer, her soft lips meeting his for the first time in so long, his rigid, nervous body finally relaxing and melting into her embrace, he realized where the matters of true import laid.

Of course, things that are important tend to move with urgency. Their reunifying kisses began as little hellos, gentle and chaste, but as the pair returned to their regularly scheduled programming, the heat intensified exponentially. Their breaths quickened, hands running through hair, sweat accumulating on bare skin. The detective felt a sharp tug on his already-unbuttoned shirt collar, imploring him to sink to the floor with her. Acquiescing without hesitation, the two animals launched onto the rug underneath his desk, their exchanges growing hotter, wetter, more frantic.

On top of him, she trailed kisses along his jawline. Her lips met his earlobe, eliciting a low moan from him as his teeth, of a mind possessed, dove into her neck, nipping her skin and eliciting a soft yelp. He continued his journey southward down her chest to those luscious breasts, wrapping his lips around her nipple. She yelped louder. Quickly, his lips crashed onto hers with abandon, tongues brushing up eagerly against the other.

He pulled back just an inch.

"Quiet, gotta be quiet," he whispered into her, short of breath. "People downstairs."

Hungrily, she nodded, fully undoing his shirt as she ground against him, desperate. She always considered such helplessness highly attractive in her subjects, but hideous on her. Yet to her shock, she found herself growing increasingly unqualified to make such judgements as her own mind faded, growing blanker with a fresh, overpowering sort of arousal never before felt.

Fueled by her clear desperation, he undid his pants with a speed typically reserved for a precariously full bladder and unsheathed a cock nearly purple. Protection occurred to neither of them. She leaned down and teased his head, already glistening wet, with her breasts, also glistening wet. He released a shuddery gasp.

"Oh my God," he mouthed, unable to say much else as her soft, plush breasts melded against his hot, pulsing hardness. He grabbed her shoulders roughly and they met lips once more, his hand fondling her thigh and making its way to her already-sopping lips. He slipped a single digit inside and elicited a moan, her face nuzzled into the crook of his neck.

"Michael..."

That was it. That was what did it. He couldn't quite tell what or when or how--perhaps the breathy neediness in her voice, or her trembling body, or how small she felt in his arms, somehow smaller than he remembered--but something inside of his brain snapped, or activated, or whatever, because the next time their eyes met, for some reason hers were filled with terror.

He licked his lips.

With gusto, Detective Berman wrapped his arms around Doctor Angelos' waist and flipped them both over, pinning her underneath him. She gasped. This had never happened before.

"What are you doing?"

The man merely grunted, the complex, intelligent human in his brain bound and gagged for the time being. He yanked her wrists and pinned them down on either side of her; with his knee, he forced her legs open. He leaned down and kissed her, his always-gentle lips now forceful, relentless, and possessive. They moved downwards towards the spot where her neck met her collarbone, a spot he knew well she found particularly sensitive, and he went to work. Her cries grew louder.

"Quiet!" he barked, slapping a meaty hand over her mouth. Her eyes widened again, mouth now unable to respond. Feeling his solid cock pressing against her inner thigh, looming before making its entrance, she felt herself grow helplessly and embarrassingly wet.

"You only came here because you can't resist me," he uttered, partially removing his gagging hand from her mouth. "Isn't that right?"

A bit thrown for a loop, she looked at him. And rather unlike her, before she could choose the words, they came out of her.

"Can't...resist you..."

"You want me."

"Want you."

"Need me," he growled, only inches away from her, eyes wild.

"Need you," she whimpered.

"That's right," he grunted. He grabbed her by the hips and plunged into her roughly, her legs instinctively wrapping around his back. The suddenness of it elicited a cry from her and a guttural noise of satisfaction from him. Her head jerked back, only driving his lips to latch onto hers harder, hungrier. He thrust, slowly at first, then gaining speed, filling her relentlessly, pushing deeper and faster with each successive motion until she writhed beneath him, panting from exertion and pleasure alike. She laid there, pinned underneath the man she thought under her influence, unable to help but let those cries grow louder as she neared the precipice.

Suddenly, while she shook in his grip, he removed himself with a sigh of what sounded like frustration. A brief moment of confusion befell her before her open, panting mouth was forcefully filled with his dripping cock.

Someone had to keep this woman quiet.

Stunned by this turn of events, she froze as he thrust into her mouth for what felt like an eternity, at some points gagging her. He grinned reflexively, somewhere in his deep hindbrain deriving intense pleasure from seeing her in such a position, choking on him after putting him through such hell.

"You've been bad," he grunted breathlessly. "Very, very bad."

Mouth a bit full at the moment, she could only hum affirmatively in response.

"That makes me sad. Don't you wanna be a good girl for me?"

She hummed an enthusiastic yes.

"You do want to atone, don't you?"

Another hum yes.

"Beautiful. Beautiful, wonderful, brainless girl. Atone for me. Drop."

Abruptly, utterly out of her control, stolen from her, she came, muscles tensing, waves of orgasms firing through her core. She dropped, hard. The floor opened from underneath her, her eyes rolling, head lolling against his thigh as she sucked lazily on his swollen shaft. She had been floating in those rapturous bounds of pleasure for so long, her mouth filled with his cock, that she hardly registered her own body, let alone where she was or what she was doing. She was merely adrift, their juices commingling in her mouth with each thrust. She was exactly where she needed to be.

Normally, he would've finished ages ago, but some odd, superhuman force had kept him pumping mechanically. Moaning, she seemed to understand, the vibrations of which drove him further towards the edge. He groaned loudly, unable to restrain himself, and shotgunned his seed straight down her throat. She swallowed dutifully.

Swooning and out of breath, the man fell down next to her, both of them panting, brains soup as they laid on the floor in his office. The air stank of sweat, sex, and her perfume. Outside, the sky was no longer black but indigo. Birds chirped. Everything felt heavy. Everything felt right.

Her vacant eyes cracked open, drinking in the man next to her, head propped up by his elbow and staring at her. His free hand moved to her cheek, cupping it gently in a tender gesture. He pushed a few strands of tangled hair behind her ear and stroked her neck lightly. Hardly able to string a thought together, a slight smile found its way to her lips. He mirrored it.

"I kinda wanna just take you home like this, but the guys at the front desk'll prob'ly gimme a hard time. We'll go on out the back. You wanna come with me, don't you?"

She nodded.

"Good girl. Then we'll go. In a bit, though. For now, it's time to drop."

Everything went dark.

***

Some Months Later

The afternoon was sunny and warm. A lawn mower sounded in the distance. Cardboard boxes, though not terribly many of them, littered the dusty living room.

"Last one, coming in."

"You really don't have much, do you."

"You know me, I'm not big on things," Michael said, setting the final box down from the moving truck outside. "But I think what few tchotchkes I do have will fit right in."

"Oh yeah?" Maria said with a grin, arms crossed. "Let's see 'em."

Michael lifted a box of his objet d'arts and carefully rifled around inside, newsprint and glass rustling and clinking together. He retrieved a small, handblown glass vase, its opening artfully uneven, stained blood orange and veined with ribbons of warm yellow. Her brows raised.

"Chihuly?"

He grinned.

"Chihuahua, more like. Courtesy of the Iron District Mexican flea market. Open every weekend, rain or shine."

"Hey. Almost as good."

He placed it atop the dining room sideboard, right alongside a lurid impressionist painting, and right below a large window streaming in sunlight. He retrieved another two objects and placed them next to each other. One was the spinning cube, the other a new item made of crystal.

"I don't think I've seen that one before."

"You have not. That, my dear, is a gift. To you."

"Ah!" she said, delighted. "Thank you. But you're the one moving in with me. I should be getting you a gift."

"Trust me, you will. For now, I just want you to admire it."

She gave him a quizzical look but obliged and more closely observed the crystal sculpture. It was a dolphin; cute, bright turquoise, small enough to fit in her hand, perched atop a navy blue wave.

"From Garnier's, hand-carved. Have you ever been?" he asked.

Maria only stared. The longer she stared, the more she noticed. The more she noticed, the longer she stared. The crystal was highly faceted, beneath it a small light that scattered and refracted with prismatic brilliance. Dolphins were her favorite animal, and this creature had a special quality to it, seemed to almost breathe, audibly splashing in its wave, glittering with droplets of shining water. Her hand reached out automatically and allowed her fingers to run along it, from its dorsal fin to the gentle curvature of its tail.

"...said it would be good for that." He stopped his spiel, himself admiring her adorable, entranced expression-- her half-lidded eyes sparkled as much as her gift did, her lips slightly parted.

As he came to discover, the master hypnotist was, too, a master subject.

"You seem to really like it, huh?"

"Huh?" she startled. "Sorry."

"I said, you seem to really like it," Michael said with an endeared grin.

"Oh, I love it," she said, voice somewhat faraway but nonetheless content. "Very high quality crystal. Beautiful thing. How'd you know dolphins are my favorite?"

"Just went on a hunch. They pay me to do that, you know. By they, I mean everyone. Including you. Tax dollars and such..."

Michael spoke and Maria nodded, at the moment less interested in talking and more interested in staring and listening. She'd come to enjoy those things as of late. Sure, her partner still did his fair share, but she'd gone from doing it never to doing it quite a lot, and she'd come to enjoy it. With him, something about it felt good. Safe. Right.

Maria felt her eyelids grow heavy. Her gift became a sparkly blue blur. The deep voice next to her spoke softly in its familiar, soothing tones. A strong arm encircled her waist.

And she allowed herself to drop.