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Lucy had been awake for twenty-three minutes.
She knew because she’d checked her phone at 5:07, then again at 5:12, and now the pale blue light read 5:30 and she was still wide awake and she was absolutely going to lose her actual damn mind.
Seven days. Seven full days since Tim's mother had arrived with her suitcases and her warm smile and her apparent plan to never, ever leave. And look, Lucy liked the woman. She did. Joy Bradford was kind and funny and not at all what Lucy might have expected from the tight, guarded way Tim treated his past. She made incredible French toast. She asked Lucy about her day and genuinely listened to the answer. She was a lovely houseguest.
She was also the reason Lucy hadn't been touched in a week and it was becoming a medical emergency.
Lucy turned her head on the pillow.
Tim was on his back beside her. One arm bent above his head, the other resting across his stomach, rising and falling with the deep, even rhythm of sleep. His lips were parted just slightly. His jaw was stubbled and sharp in the low light creeping through the blinds. He was wearing those grey sweatpants, the ones that sat low on his hips, the ones that didn't leave a whole lot to the imagination even on an average Tuesday, and right now with the sheet pushed down to his thighs and his t-shirt ridden up to expose a strip of his lower abdomen...
Lucy pressed her thighs together under the covers and exhaled slowly through her nose.
This was ridiculous. She was a grown woman. A police officer. She had survived undercover operations, hostage situations, a serial killer. She could survive a week without sex.
Except she couldn't. She really, genuinely could not.
It wasn't just the sex, either. It was the complete absence of anything. Tim had become a monk the moment his mother crossed the threshold. No lingering hands in the kitchen, no pulling her into his chest while they watched TV, no shower invitations, nothing. The most intimate thing he'd done was squeeze her knee under the dinner table and even that had made him glance toward the hallway like Joy might materialise with a disappointed look on her face. He was a middle-aged man acting like a teenager who'd snuck a girl past his parents.
Lucy rolled onto her side, facing him fully now. Her eyes traced down the column of his neck to his collarbone, across the broad plane of his chest, down.
She shifted closer. Just an inch. Then another. Close enough to feel the warmth radiating off his skin, to smell the cedar and soap scent that clung to him even in sleep. Her hand found his chest, palm flat against his sternum, feeling his heartbeat slow and steady under her fingers.
Tim didn't stir.
Lucy bit the inside of her cheek. She let her hand drift lower. Over the ridges of his ribs, the firm plane of his stomach, the trail of coarse hair below his navel. Her fingertips traced along the waistband of his sweatpants, feather-light, barely there.
Tim's breathing changed. Just a fraction. A slight hitch, a longer exhale.
Lucy smiled.
She let her fingers dip just beneath the elastic, dragging slowly across the warm skin of his lower belly, and Tim's hand came down over hers. His grip was firm, decisive, and without a word he pulled her hand free from his waistband and set it flat against his stomach above the fabric. He held it there, his palm warm and heavy over her knuckles, like he was pinning evidence to a table.
"Lucy." His voice was rough with sleep, barely above a murmur. His eyes were still closed.
"Hmm?"
"What are you doing?"
"Nothing." She flexed her fingers beneath his palm, not pulling away, just enough to let her thumb trace a slow circle against the warm strip of skin where his shirt had ridden up. "Go back to sleep."
He cracked one eye open. Even half-asleep and squinting in the dim room, the look he gave her was so thoroughly Tim that it made her stomach flip.
"It's five-thirty in the morning."
"I'm aware."
"My mom is down the hall."
"Also aware."
"Lucy."
"Tim." She matched his tone exactly. Flat, measured, like they were discussing a case. Then she leaned in and pressed her lips to the hinge of his jaw, just below his ear, and felt his fingers tighten around her wrist.
"We can't," he said, but his thumb had started moving in slow circles against her pulse point and his body was already responding to her proximity in ways his words were trying to deny.
"We absolutely can. We just have to be quiet." She kissed down the side of his neck, open-mouthed and slow, tasting salt. "I can be quiet."
"You have literally never been quiet in your life."
"That's rude." She nipped at his collarbone and he sucked in a breath through his teeth. "And inaccurate. I was very quiet that time in your office."
Tim let out a sound that was halfway between a laugh and a groan, and his grip on her wrist loosened. Lucy took the opening. She slid her hand the rest of the way down, palm pressing flat against him through the thin cotton, and found him already half-hard, thickening rapidly under her touch.
"Oh," she whispered against his throat. "See? Part of you agrees with me."
"That part doesn't have great judgment at five-thirty in the morning."
"That part has excellent judgment." She wrapped her fingers around his length through the fabric, feeling the heat of him, the weight. She squeezed gently and Tim's hips rolled up into her hand, involuntary, his stomach muscles clenching.
"Lucy." Different now. Lower. The resistance was crumbling and they both knew it.
She lifted her head to look at him properly. His eyes were open, dark and heavy-lidded, fixed on her face. His lips were parted. Even in the dim light she could see the flush creeping up his neck.
"Seven days, Tim." She held his gaze and stroked him again, slow and deliberate, base to tip through the cotton.
"I know."
"Do you? Because I've been losing my mind. I've been lying next to you every single night and you won't even..." She squeezed again and his breath caught. "I am asking you, as someone who cares about me and my wellbeing, to please, please just..."
Tim stared up at her in the dim light, his chest rising and falling in sharp, shallow pulls. The last of his ironclad discipline fractured right there. A ragged, defeated sound scraped up his throat. The hand he had clamped over her wrist shifted, but instead of pulling her away, his fingers slid down to cover the back of her hand. He pressed her palm hard against his length through the grey cotton for one agonising second, letting her feel exactly how much he had been holding back. Then, his grip tightened. He deliberately dragged her hand upward to the edge of the fabric, his thumb pulling the sweatpants loose to clear the path for her.
This time she didn’t linger at his lower belly; she pushed deeper, her knuckles brushing the rougher grain of hair at his root before her palm finally molded to the heavy, pulsing weight of him. He was already straining against her touch, and as she closed her grip to give one slow, grounding stroke, she felt him swell, growing even thicker against the centre of her hand.
Tim's jaw clenched. She could see the muscles working beneath the stubble, his eyes still fixed on the ceiling, his breathing deliberately measured. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. Like he was running a drill. Like he could discipline his way through this.
Lucy stroked him again. Slower. Tighter. Twisting her wrist just slightly at the head where she knew he was most sensitive, and his nostrils flared.
His eyes slid shut and a heavy, unguarded groan rumbled up from his chest, entirely too loud for the quiet room.
Her free hand left the mattress and clamped hard over his mouth to muffle the sound. She felt his lips part against her palm, the warmth of his surprised exhale, and she looked down at him with her eyebrows raised.
She felt his jaw work against her palm, felt the vibration of whatever muffled protest he was trying to make, and she squeezed him in response, a slow, firm stroke that made his eyelids flutter.
She held his gaze for another second, then lifted her hand from his mouth just enough to hover.
"Are you done?"
He breathed out hard through his nose and said nothing.
"Good." She breathed the words directly against his mouth as she leaned down to kiss him, swallowing the jagged sigh he let out in response.
"You are..." He lost the sentence when she squeezed at the base and dragged up slow.
Lucy bit her lip and kept going. She found a rhythm that made his breathing fracture, long steady strokes with a twist near the head, her thumb spreading the slickness that was gathering there. His cock pulsed hot in her grip, heavy and rigid, and she could feel the vein along the underside throbbing against her fingers.
Tim's hand found her thigh and gripped hard, fingers denting the muscle. A low sound leaked through his clenched teeth, almost pained, and his hips bucked up into her fist once, twice, chasing the friction.
"Lucy..." His voice had dropped to something wrecked and thin. "You gotta stop."
She twisted her wrist on the upstroke and his whole body jerked.
"I mean it." His hand shot down and caught her wrist, firm this time, pulling her off him. His chest heaved. He held her hand away from him, still achingly hard beneath the thin cotton, a wet spot darkening the grey fabric where her thumb had been working him over. He looked up at her through heavy lids, jaw tight, breathing through it. “Lucy… if you want more, you need to stop.”
The raw urgency in his voice sent a pulse of heat straight through her belly.
Tim's hand left the mattress and found the hem of her tank top. His fingers curled into the fabric, knuckles brushing the bare skin of her stomach, and he tugged. Just once. A silent, desperate request that said more than the past seven days of restraint ever could.
Lucy smiled down at him. "Ask nicely."
"Please." No hesitation. No fight left in him.
Stripping her tank top over her head in one fluid motion, Lucy tossed the fabric off the side of the bed. She watched Tim’s throat work as his eyes dropped to her bare chest. With a slow, deliberate hook of her thumbs, she snagged the waistband of her sleep shorts and underwear together, kicking them free into the sheets. Tim's gaze tracked every movement, his hand resting on her bare knee now, thumb dragging absently against her skin like he couldn't help himself.
"You too," she whispered, tugging at the waistband of his sweatpants.
Tim lifted his hips off the mattress and Lucy pulled them down past his thighs. His cock sprang free, flushed and thick. She left the sweatpants bunched around his knees and that was good enough, that was close enough to naked, because she was done waiting.
She swung her leg over him and straddled his hips, her knees sinking into the mattress on either side of him.
She leaned down and her hair fell around them both, dark strands brushing his cheeks, and Tim reached up before she could close the distance. His fingers gathered her hair, all of it, swept it to one side and tucked it behind her ear.
His eyes moved over her face like he was seeing it for the first time in a week, and maybe he was, maybe he'd been avoiding looking too closely because he knew it would break him.
She took his face between her hands, thumbs against his cheekbones, fingers curling behind his ears, and kissed him. Soft at first. Her lips moving against his like she was memorising the shape of them after a week of nothing.
Tim made a sound low in his throat, something between relief and surrender, and his hands found her thighs. Palms flat, fingers spread wide, resting just above her knees. Then moving. Sliding upward over bare skin in a slow drag, like he was relearning the feel of her, cataloging every inch he'd denied himself. His thumbs traced the inner line of her thighs and Lucy's breath hitched against his mouth.
She sat back, straightening above him, and looked down at his chest. The t-shirt was rucked up nearly to his ribs already. She pressed both palms flat against his stomach and pushed the fabric higher, bunching it up over the broad planes of his chest, baring the skin she'd been sleeping next to for a week without being allowed to touch.
"Off."
Tim pushed himself up on one arm, abs flexing with the movement, and Lucy grabbed the hem and pulled the shirt over his head. She splayed her hands across his bare chest, fingers tracing hard muscle, and felt his breathing change under her palms.
His arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her close.
Skin on skin, nothing between them now from the waist up. The warmth of his chest against hers made something unclench behind her ribs that had been wound tight for days.
Lucy looked at him from inches away. Bare and solid and finally hers again.
She reached between them, lifting her hips just enough to make room. Her hand found his cock, hard and hot against her palm, and she guided him back, positioning the blunt head against her entrance. They both felt it at the same time, how wet she was, how ready, the slick heat of her pressed against the tip of him.
Lucy sank down, slow and careful, feeling the stretch of him as he slid inside. It had only been a week, but her body reacted like it had been months. Her lips parted and a thin sound escaped before she could stop it.
Tim's head dropped forward against her collarbone. She could feel his breath coming fast and ragged against her skin, feel the tremor in the arm holding him up behind them. He was deep. So deep i t almost ached, and she stayed there for a moment, fully seated, adjusting, savouring.
"You okay?" His voice vibrated against her chest.
"So much better than okay." She clenched around him deliberately and felt his fingers dig into her lower back.
She started to move. Slow, rolling rises and falls, using her thighs to control the rhythm. His cock dragged against her with every stroke and her toes curled against the sheets. She kept one hand on his shoulder and the other braced on his chest, fingertips pressing into the hard muscle.
Tim watched her from below, his jaw tight, his eyes dark and focused.
"You look..." He shook his head slightly, his eyes tracking the way the moonlight caught the curve of her shoulders. The words seemed to catch in his throat, lost to the friction between them.
His hand tightened at her waist.
“I’ve missed you,” he said quietly. “I’ve missed this.”
She kissed him. Softer this time, slower, a contrast to the increasing urgency of her hips. She sucked his bottom lip between her teeth and he groaned into her mouth, and the vibration of it against her lips made her hips stutter once before rolling harder.
Lucy planted her knees wider and rode him with purpose now, each drop of her hips pulling an obscene, tacky friction from where they were joined. Tim's breathing went ragged and his hand slid down to grip the curve of her ass, guiding her, matching her rhythm with shallow thrusts upward.
"Tim... right there, don't stop, just like..."
"I know. I got you."
Lucy's hands moved to grip his broad shoulders. She arched her back, exposing the long line of her throat.
Tim took immediate advantage.
His hand slid from her lower back, rougher now, fingers digging in as they dragged up her waist and over her ribs before closing firmly around her breast. His thumb brushed once, deliberately, before he leaned in, mouth finding her pulse point and sucking hard enough to make her gasp.
His mouth moved lower, slower, teeth grazing her skin before his lips closed around her nipple, pulling it deep, tongue working in hot, deliberate strokes.
Her fingers dug into his shoulders as her hips faltered, the drag of him inside her suddenly sharper, dirtier, every thrust landing with a slick, obscene insistence. The combination of his mouth claiming her, his body driving up into her, tightened something low in her belly until it felt ready to snap.
Then they heard it.
A door opening. Down the hall. The soft padding of footsteps on hardwood.
The sound hit them like a physical blow.
Lucy's gaze snapped over her shoulder toward the closed door, her movements faltering as the reality of the thin wall threatened to break the spell. Tim stopped breathing entirely, pulling back just enough that his mouth slipped off her nipple with a soft, wet pop that sounded deafening in the sudden quiet.
They waited in agonising silence until the bathroom door clicked shut. The hiss of the tap filtered through the wall a second later, but the mundane noise only made the fullness of him inside her feel sharper.
Footsteps again, past their bedroom an toward the kitchen this time. The distant sound of a cupboard opening, a mug being set on the counter.
Tim felt it immediately, the shift in her, the way her focus pulled away from him and toward the noise down the hall.
His warm fingers found her chin, gently but firmly turning her face back around. He held her jaw, waiting until her eyes met his.
"Hey," he whispered, the sound barely a breath in the dark. "Stay with me. “
To emphasise the point, he rolled his hips upward, a shallow, deliberate thrust that seated him impossibly deep and sent a sharp jolt of heat straight up her spine. Lucy's breath fractured. For half a second she was still listening for footsteps. Then she picked up the rhythm again.
It was a slow, punishing grind, guided by his hand on her hip and fuelled by the absolute necessity of keeping the mattress silent. Every clink of porcelain from the kitchen only magnified the intense, aching pressure of him stretching her, pulling the tension so tight in her lower belly that her vision started to blur.
"Tim... I'm close, I'm really close..."
"Yeah?" His voice was a low, rough murmur in the dark.
The sound that escaped her mouth was something between a gasp and a sob, bitten off and swallowed as the edge finally broke. She was falling, her whole body clenching around him in a blinding rush of heat. The need to stay quiet was almost unbearable, trapping the intensity of the moment right beneath her skin. She shook helplessly, her fingers digging hard into his shoulders, her mouth open in a completely silent cry.
Tim held her steady through the crash, a solid weight as wave after wave stole the air from her lungs.
Before the tremors had even started to fade, Tim moved. He rolled them in one smooth, controlled surge of muscle. Lucy gasped as the world tilted and she found herself on her back, Tim's weight settling heavy between her thighs, his cock still buried deep inside her.
"Tim…"
He didn't let her finish. He hooked her legs higher over his hips, opening her up, and started moving. Hard, focused thrusts that pinned her to the mattress, each one dragging a broken sound from her throat. His mouth found hers and he swallowed the sound, kissing her like he was starving for it, tongue deep and demanding.
Lucy arched up into him, nails scraping down his back, and he groaned into her mouth. His rhythm turned relentless, chasing the edge she'd dragged him to. She felt it in the tight coil of his shoulders, the shortening snap of his thrusts. His forehead pressed to hers, breath harsh against her lips.
His body locked and he drove deep one last time. A choked groan tore from his chest as he came, hips jerking through it. She wrapped her legs tighter around him and held on, feeling every shudder, every aftershock as he rode it out above her.
When his breathing slowed from ragged gasps to deep pulls, she brought her hands up his back. His skin was slick with sweat, muscles still trembling under her palms. She slid them up over the broad span of his shoulders, along the column of his neck, and finally cradled his face in her hands, lifting his head so she could see him.
His cheeks were flushed a deep pink, his hair damp, his eyes dark and unfocused. He blinked at her, dazed, like he was surfacing from somewhere very deep. A slow, triumphant smile spread across Lucy’s face.
His own lips twitched, a huff of breath that wasn’t quite a laugh escaping him, and then he did something she rarely saw: he looked away, a flicker of something almost shy crossing his expression before he ducked his head, burying his face in the crook of her neck with a low, embarrassed groan.
She ran her fingers through his damp hair, scratching lightly at his scalp, and felt him sigh against her throat. His weight was a warm, solid comfort, pinning her to the mattress in the best possible way.
His breathing had slowed to match hers. She felt it, the rise and fall of his chest syncing with her own, unconscious and automatic. Like his body defaulted to hers when he stopped trying to control everything.She wondered if he knew he did that. Probably not. Tim Bradford, for all his self-awareness on the job, was remarkably oblivious to the ways he loved her when he wasn't thinking about it. The way he always poured her coffee first. The way his hand found the small of her back in crowded rooms without him ever looking down. The way his breathing found hers in the quiet moments after.
"Sorry about this week." The words were so quiet she almost missed them. Murmured into her skin, half-swallowed, like he'd been carrying them around for days and they'd finally slipped out while his defences were down.
Lucy's fingers stilled in his hair. She didn’t make a thing of it. She knew better than to press when he was still soft around the edges. Instead she pressed her lips to his temple and let them linger there, breathing him in.
"You're here now," she said softly.