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Robin Ellacott, a perpetually punctual person, was running unusually late to work on the morning of Oct 10th. This particular morning followed her surprise evening with Cormoran to celebrate her birthday, and would end with another birthday celebration, complete with all of her colleagues and friends. The festivities for the upcoming evening were far from Robin’s mind as she sprinted towards the tube, obviously flustered. She and Strike were due to meet with a new client at 9:30, which on a normal Friday morning would be considered rather unexceptional. However, she had not woken in her flat that morning, but at the Ritz hotel in a spontaneously booked hotel room wrapped in the naked embrace of her business partner and best friend.
Between waking up in his arms, realizing the time, and having to rush off with only “I’m sorry I have to get back home before I go to Denmark street”, Robin really hadn’t had a second to process what had happened the previous evening, how she felt about it, or more importantly how she thought Strike had felt about it. While she had hastily pulled on her blue dress from the night before, Strike had sat up and openly watched her as she flurried around the room in a panic. With sleep still evident in his voice he had asked her why she was going to be late, and Robin had reminded him of the new client they were meeting that morning, after which she insisted that he get up because he would be late too. She had enough mental capacity to observe that he seemed unconcerned about the meeting they could very well miss if he didn’t crack on, but the panic had fully consumed her at this point, and she barely heard him say “I’ll see you at the office,” before the door had shut behind her.
Now that she was impeded by the schedule of the tube, she took the first deep breath she’d taken all morning, and shakily released it while she tightly grasped the pole on the full train towards Denmark street. The gravity of what happened last night was starting to sink in and Robin was suddenly worried her knees might go weak.
Oh my god, I had sex with Cormoran last night.
Her heart raced at the thought of what had transpired only hours before, but also at the thought of her hasty exit this morning. Was it really the thought of being late for a meeting that had caused her to quickly extricate herself from the room, or could she finally admit that her shock this morning was greater than she had anticipated? She was more than a little worried of what Strike would do upon waking and having to face what they had done. The emotional barriers in their relationship were more heavily weighted on his end, and she was unconvinced that he wouldn’t try to take back the things he had said.
…
When they arrived at the Ritz they were seated promptly after Strike told the hostess of his reservation, where a bottle of champagne was already chilling in an ice bucket at their table. Their server soon came and poured their glasses, only after Strike had tasted and approved the selection. This had made Robin smile broadly, as she knew Strike’s tastes were rooted more firmly in beer than a delicacy like champagne. Once alone their conversation had started benignly, discussing how thankful they both were that the press from the Bamborough case had died down, at least before they were due to be in court. This was the only bit of work that was discussed, before Strike asked about her family, and for the first time she told him about her childhood, what it was like growing up with three brothers, how she loved all of them but felt like she was growing apart from them after her divorce and her new life in London.
“But surely they didn’t want you to stay with him after what he did,” Strike asked, indignantly.
“No, of course not,” said Robin with a wave of her hand as she finished her first glass of champagne. Strike noticed and grabbed the bottle to refill her glass as she continued, “but I think, deep down, my mother believes he would never have cheated if I wasn’t so insistent on doing this job. That I would still be married, maybe close to giving her a second grandchild.” Robin shook her head in annoyance at the thought, then raised her glass to Strike in thanks for the refill.
“I’m pretty sure Linda blames me for some of that,” Strike said with uncharacteristic sheepishness. Robin laughed.
“She might,” shrugged Robin. ”But I think she’s more fascinated by my relationship with you than by anything else. It was why I responded to Morris’s texts last Christmas, because I thought it would get her to stop pestering me about you.”
“Is that when he sent you the dick pic,” Strike asked with barely concealed disgust.
“Yes,” Robin said, with a smirk in response to his emotional response. “I’ve never regretted texting someone so much in my life,” she laughed.
“Tosser,” Strike said, as silence ensued at the table. Against her will, Robin’s thoughts began to replay all the insinuations, the knowing glances, the outright accusations that she and Strike had had an affair. She thought of Tom Turvy calling her at Christmas last year, the indignant allegation he screamed at her, and a phone call that was over before she could even defend herself. Robin could feel the champagne pressuring her to say something, and she licked her lips before she spoke.
“Everyone thinks I slept with you too. That it wasn’t just Matthew that was the cheater. That I’m entirely to blame for the failure of my marriage.” She said this almost contemplatively, and Strike cleared his throat before saying, “well that’s a load of horseshit,” which caused Robin to snort ungraciously.
“Maybe. But I was a coward regardless. I should have left him much sooner than I did.” Robin smiled at him. The smile did something funny to Strike’s insides, which caused him to sloppily take a large gulp of his second glass of champagne. What did that mean? Strike wondered at her comment. Had he missed something with her? The phrase “blame seaborn bacteria” passed like a shadow through his mind, but before he could ask Robin was already speaking again.
“How’s Charlotte?” she asked, while mentally kicking herself and wondering what the hell had possessed her to ask that question.
Strike swirled the champagne in his glass, clearly trying to decide how much he wanted to tell Robin. He took a careful sip before responding.
“Dunno. I changed my number because of her. I decided that last lifeline of my relationship with her needed to go.” Robin’s eyes were wide as he finished, shocked at the honesty he displayed, and when he noticed the look on her face he chuckled.
“I thought we had agreed to try that talking thing, so I was testing it out,” he said.
“You’ll have to forgive me if it takes some time to get used to,” Robin teased him gently. Inwardly she was dancing a jig, because it seemed that Cormoran Strike was finally done with Charlotte Campbell Ross. Robin knew she had steered the conversation into dangerous territory, but this evening had so far exceeded her expectations that the feelings she usually kept buried deeply for Strike were rising to the surface faster than she could process, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to stop them.
“Are you over Matthew?” asked Strike mildly.
This question also caught Robin off guard, but afraid of making him feel impertinent she schooled her expression into something more neutral before responding.
“Yes, I definitely think so,” she said, and took another sip of champagne in an attempt to look more composed than she felt.
“I’m sure having him sleep with someone behind your back put paid to it,” said Strike. From someone else it would have sounded like an attempt to make light of her ex-husband’s affair, but from Strike it was genuine, because Robin understood that he knew all too well the lies that partners could tell, just how deeply they could hurt, and how unforgivable they could be.
“It woke me up,” said Robin seriously, and she could feel how this phrase spoken out loud unlocked a truth that she felt she needed to tell Strike.
“I had been pretending to be in a relationship that didn’t really exist for a long time. I stopped loving Matt when he no longer wanted me to be who I am. Or honestly, I buried who I was because of a man in a gorilla mask, and Matt never wanted me to find her again. Well, I have now, and that woman could never truly love someone like Matthew Cunliffe. No, he was the last thing keeping me from who I really want to be.”
Strike was staring at Robin in a way that she did not recognize immediately. As someone who had been on the receiving end of a lot of different looks from him, she was disconcerted that she could no longer tell what he was thinking. She sensed some level of pride, relief, and (dare she hope) affection? But this affection was not what she would have said was typical of a best friend. It was certainly friendly, but significantly more sensual. As Robin realized this, she saw Strike take in a deep breath to speak.
“And who do you really want to be?” he asked softly, in a voice that Robin had never heard him use before. It signified a shift in something between them that, to Robin, was just beginning to come into focus. A fleeting thought made her think that this voice was one she would have expected him to use with Charlotte, and the realization caused a jolt in her stomach, because he was now using it with her. It suddenly occurred to Robin that Cormoran Strike, who had planned this unexpectedly perfect evening, who always seemed scared of getting too close, seemed to be testing the waters and asking Robin if she wanted to jump in.
In a moment of fatalistic daring, she took the plunge.
“Yours.”
…
The tube suddenly came to a halt as Robin reached her stop, cheeks burning from the memory of what she had told him last night. As Robin exited into the sunlight and made the walk towards Denmark Street, the anxiety in her flared at the thought of seeing Strike in just a few short minutes. Checking her watch, she realized that she was early enough that they would be able to talk before their new client arrived and Robin couldn’t decide if she should walk faster or slower to reach the office.
Strike, on the other hand, had been blissfully at peace upon waking with Robin in his arms. When his eyes had blinked open as the morning sun swept gently in the room through the sheer curtains, it had taken him a moment to remember why his arm was partially asleep and why his nose was filled with the smell of bruised flowers. Realizing it was Robin that was triggering these sensory responses, he exhaled contentedly, and immediately took a purposeful breath in to better smell her. Along with her perfume, he could smell her sweat and the unmistakable scent of sex, which forced Strike to have to hold in a groan. He was trying to commit this moment to memory, as it was the happiest he could remember being in five years. This shocked Strike as much as it would have shocked anyone else, especially because he had firmly avoided and negated any pushing from others towards this particular outcome. Not necessarily because he didn’t want to, but because before last night, the cost had still seemed much too high.
However, the doubts that had plagued him about his feelings for Robin, ever since she had stepped foot in Denmark street, seemed to have vanished with the moment she said “yours”. It suddenly felt silly to think that they couldn’t run the agency and be together. They had both done extraordinary things, and he was confident they could figure this out. In fact, they had to, because now that he’d had her, Strike didn’t think he could deal with the heartbreak of losing her.
Which was why he was standing in his two and a half rooms above the office, having already smoked three cigarettes, trying to figure out why the fuck she’d left in a panic this morning. Her excuse for being late to get ready for work wasn’t completely invalid, and Strike knew her to be a decidedly on time person, but he still didn’t think the eccentricity of her departure was warranted when he himself felt so content with the situation. Had he miscalculated how she felt?
“No,” he said aloud to his empty apartment. The things she told him last night were not the confessions of someone who enjoyed toying with a person’s emotions, and against his better judgment, Strike knew implicitly that Robin would never have lied about what she said. He knew this because she was the only person on earth that he could trust with the things he’d said to her in return.
...
“Yours.”
Strike felt himself stop breathing. He had been looking at her face when he had asked her “who do you want to be,” but now felt almost scorched by her gaze. Could she really want him too? Strike had hoped that this evening could put them on new footing, with more space to grow their relationship into… something. Never did he imagine that tonight they would make confessions, that she would be able to read him so easily, open herself up to him in a way she hadn’t before, and allow him to do the same. Strike realized he was still staring at her in shock, and saw that Robin seemed to be waiting for his response to her declaration. Robin’s face had slowly turned redder in the time that had passed, and now all Strike could think was that he’d never seen a more beautiful woman than a blushing Robin Ellacott. He looked away to get more champagne, to bolster himself to say what he’d been fighting for a long time.
“Robin, I-,” he paused, still trying to find the words. He looked back at her face and saw her composure starting to crumble. The beautiful blush was being replaced with panic and before he could say anything she asked fearfully “Did I just make a terrible mistake?”
“Robin, no, I’m-“
“Because if so, I’m so sorry, we can completely forget this happened. I didn’t mean-“
“Please don’t say you didn’t mean it,” Strike interrupted, pleadingly. “Because if it’s true, it’s the last thing- I don’t want to forget it,” he finished, with an unusual strain of emotion that rarely encumbered him.
The silence resumed but it was heavier now, as though there was something for them to fall into, and they would land safely on the other side. Robin’s momentary panic had morphed into hopefulness, but Strike could sense her nervousness under the surface, and could see her mind attempting to approach the situation more cautiously.
“Cormoran, I love the agency and my job. I’m terrified of ruining our partnership and losing this. The last thing I want to do is jeopardize that.” Strike could see the moisture in Robin’s eyes. He realized that this was the moment where they both were trying to decide if something they both wanted was worth potentially damaging what they already had.
Strike nodded seriously, before saying “I’ve been trying not to put words to what I feel for you, because I’m already scared that it’s too much. And I’ve only held back because what we’ve built, with the agency, is the best thing in my life. And if I fuck this up then I lose it and you.” Strike felt the dam on his reserve finally crumble. Clearly the champagne and the ambience of The Ritz were tonics for secrets. “But there’s no one else I want to do this with. The truth is,” he braced himself for the most important words he knew he was ever going to say. “I want you in my life, Robin. I have you as a business partner and as my best mate. But if you ever told me you wanted... well... more. I want to talk about it.” he finished, making sure he looked her in the eye so she would understand how serious he was.
Robin didn’t speak for almost a full minute. As she sat and contemplated his words, she put the champagne flute to her lips, then changed her mind and put the glass back on the table. Strike was about to ask her if she was okay when she finally said “I think about that hug at my wedding all the time. If you had asked me to leave with you, I would have.”
Strike gaped momentarily before muttering “holy shit,” in an undertone that caused Robin to look up at him, startled. “I almost asked you to come with me. I wish I had now,” Strike finished, smirking at Robin across the table as her face now showed relief, excitement, and something else that made Strike’s breath catch.
“I tried to call you at your parents’ house before I realized you had left for your honeymoon,” Strike admitted.
The comment hit Robin like a punch in the gut, and she felt as though the wind had been knocked out of her. Strike noticed the shift in her countenance and frowned. Robin now understood with this confession that she and Strike had been asking the same questions, fighting the same urges.
Robin took a deep breath. “I called you too. The night before we left to come back to London. I had thought about you the whole week and I had decided to end it with Matthew. But when I called, a woman picked up the phone and I was… well, embarrassed I suppose. Then Matthew was sick and I...” Robin trailed off lamely because they both knew how that had ended. With Robin staying married to Matthew for an unnecessarily long year, and a continuation of the misunderstandings that seemed to plague them. Before Robin had even finished what she was saying, when he realized that she had heard the voice of Coco, his head had immediately fallen into his hands.
“Robin, I’m so fucking sorry. When I thought you’d gone on your honeymoon I was pissed, and I let Wardle introduce me to some tarty friend of his and... I just... I wished it were you the whole time.” Cormoran was looking at the floor, in an unusual show of shame, the regret in his face obvious.
Robin nodded understandingly. Maybe she should have been upset, but she wasn’t. If finding out she went on her honeymoon had felt anything like hearing Coco’s voice on the phone, then she and Strike were on level ground. With the warmth of his confession guiding her, and not wanting to lose the progress they had made, she caught his attention by gently nudging his foot under the table, which caused him to look back at her face.
“When you accidentally kissed me outside of the hospital, I almost asked you to do it again,” said Robin. Strike felt himself sink with relief, that she wasn’t upset by what happened, and still wanted to push this forward. He could feel her foot trailing up his calf, and the sensation made him dizzy with need.
“I’ve never seen anyone more beautiful than when you modeled that green dress for me.” replied Strike.
“I wanted you to carry me to your bedroom the night you broke my nose,” said Robin, who now sounded breathless with anticipation.
“I don’t know if I can carry you, but I’ll take you upstairs to a room right now, if you’ll have me.” Strike’s voice had shifted to something gravelly, dark with promises, and Robin met his gaze promising the same in return, while she flagged down a waiter.
“Check please.”
…
Strike was startled from his reverie by the sound of someone on the stairs, followed by the sound of the door below him. It was most likely Robin arriving, and the thought made his stomach twist with anxiety and excitement. He finished getting ready quickly and headed downstairs, ready to face her and whatever had changed between them after last night.
Robin was thankful she’d walked into a momentarily empty office, not ready to face Pat or any other subcontractors until she’d had a chance to breathe. She also knew Strike would be down any moment, and she didn’t want any other witnesses to the conversation they were about to have. As she put her things down in the inner office, she heard someone approaching on the stairs above and knew it had to be him. As she waited for the office door to open, she took a few deep breaths to calm herself, but simultaneously felt completely ridiculous, and frustratedly said “it’s Strike for Christ’s sake pull yourself together,” under her breath.
When the main office door opened and Strike walked in, Robin walked towards the outer office where they saw each other for the first time since she had left him that morning. Strike, who now fully appreciated what was under her clothes, couldn’t help the way his eyes immediately wandered over her in a way they weren’t allowed to before. Seeing the desire almost immediately in his eyes, Robin felt herself relax because this was exactly the indication she needed that he wasn’t going to try and ask her to forget what happened. Strike had stopped at Pat’s desk upon seeing her, and in the pause Robin could feel a laugh bubbling up inside of her, which she began to let out after Strike had finished appreciating her figure.
Strike now smirking asked “something funny this morning, Ellacott?”
Robin was still giggling as she said, “I just feel completely ridiculous.”
Strike was now walking towards her to put his stuff down at his desk in their shared office, so she moved aside to let him, but as he passed, he caught her off guard by bending to give her a warm kiss on the cheek. He lingered momentarily, allowing Robin to feel the scruff of his beard against her cheek, and smell the cigarettes he had already consumed that morning. Robin blushed as he walked inside the office, and she checked to make sure no one else was arriving at the office as she closed the door.
“So…” Strike began now that his stuff was put away. He was leaning on the front of his desk with his arms supporting him to the side. He looked relaxed and somewhat amused, and this put Robin further at ease. “Do you want to tell me what happened this morning?”
Robin took a breath, trying to organize her thoughts which had become jumbled from his vicinity and demeanor. Robin was feeling a sensation in her lower abdomen that she would have never allowed before last night, completely caused by the musculature of his forearms on display as he leaned against the desk, his broad chest with hair peaking from the collar of his shirt, and the smirk she wanted to kiss off of his face. More seriously, she was shocked that he seemed more comfortable with what had happened than she did. She finally said, “I don’t know really. When I woke up, I was fine; I could feel you next to me and everything honestly felt like a dream. I suppose I worried last night was too good to be true and I couldn’t believe after all this time that we had... you know... ended up in bed." She blushed furiously as she said this. "I noticed the time and I was genuinely worried about being late for the meeting because I can't think of a worse way to prove we can’t have a relationship than for it to affect our work. And maybe I thought you might regret what happened-”
“I’m going to stop you right there,” said Strike gently, holding up a hand. “Because the only thing that I can tell you that is unequivocally true is that I regret nothing about last night.” His voice was low and husky as he said this, and Robin had to stop herself from melting to the floor.
“So as long as you don’t regret-”
“I don’t,” interrupted Robin with a certainty that reassured Strike and herself. He smiled at her claim.
“Then we’ll just keep trying this talking thing and figure stuff out along the way. But don’t forget talking includes you too,” he said with gentle prodding.
Robin laughed but looked truly sheepish by the way she behaved.
“You scared me half to death. I thought I’d hurt you or made you really upset…,” he trailed off, the conversation taking a more serious turn. Robin heard the unspoken concern in his voice, and now truly understood how badly she may have miscalculated. The idea that he had wanted to make sure that she felt safe and comfortable with everything that happened made her heart flutter, and a warm, affectionate sensation spread through her.
“Cormoran, I’m so sorry,” she said genuinely, rubbing her face at how stupid she had been. “I can’t believe how little I thought that through this morning. I hope you know I’m usually a little more composed,” she said smiling at him. He nodded, grinning.
“Yeah, it’s disconcerting to watch a woman face danger without flinching and then have that same woman run away after sleeping with you.”
Robin started laughing, more loudly than the comment warranted, but the unexpected release now had them both laughing uproariously, disbelief and giddy excitement finally pervading them fully. With a better understanding of where they stood with each other, Robin moved closer to Strike, and he followed suit, meeting her in the middle of the room to embrace her warmly.
Subdued from her panic this morning and settled comfortably in his arms she looked up at him, feeling as though he deserved a glimpse of how last night had truly made her feel, particularly after the fears and concerns he had just revealed. Robin’s face held a coquettish look as she said,
“Last night was… incredible. I’m not sure I knew it could ever be like that,” she finished shyly.
Strike cocked an eyebrow at this, but looked more than pleased. He wondered how much of that statement stemmed from being a victim of sexual assault or being married to that dickhead. Regardless, he was eager to please and excite her, and if was he evoking new sexual feelings in Robin, they were probably a mirror of the new emotional feelings that she was evoking in him. Given their limited time, he didn’t want to discuss it just now.
“It was incredible for me too,” he said simply, stroking her hair as he kissed the top of her head.
Robin released a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. Still intimidated by his experience with women, she wanted very much to live up to the expectation of a sexual, worldly woman. While not sure she totally succeeded, his enjoyment of the encounter seemed genuine, so she smiled back, smirking slightly.
'We should probably get ready for this meeting,” she smiled a little sadly, not wanting to release the intimacy and companionship this moment had brokered.
Strike nodded in agreement, but before he let her go, he looked over her shoulder, listening for any activity in the annex. When he heard none, he moved his hand to caress her cheek and leaned down to place a soft, sensual kiss on her lips. Robin hummed in contentment, their mouths moving slowly and lazily in the kiss. Not wanting to push their luck further, they parted, but not before they were both slightly aroused.
“I promise I won’t make a habit of that at the office,” said Cormoran smiling.
Robin simply smirked at him in reply, blushing slightly, before sauntering over to her desk. Strike simply watched her for a moment, unable to believe that he now got to experience this Robin: a Robin who is unbelievably ignorant of how attractive he found her. He turned and sat at his desk as she did and both attempted to work for their upcoming meeting. Robin’s mind, however, was pondering how differently that kiss had been to the first one they had shared the night before.
…
As they had waited to pay their bill a thick silence had fallen over them both, one full of promise, anxiety, and sensuality. Robin was practically bouncing in her seat, waiting for their waiter to come back. Was Strike really going to take her upstairs to a room in the Ritz? Was the bravado of confession going to fade when push came to shove? Her answer came soon enough when he walked towards the reception desk, taking her hand and holding it in his as they left their table. Her heart fluttered in anticipation, feeling the calloused warmth of his hand against hers. Strike was relieved she allowed this first step of affection and couldn’t help but admire how perfectly her hand felt in his.
Strike and Robin approached the desk and caught the attention of a severe looking receptionist.
“Do you have any singles available tonight?”
The receptionist eyed him appraisingly but soon had them outfitted with a modest room that they could get to quickly. During the wait for the room, Robin had felt the nerves and the doubt creep in. It was probably good that they had committed to this hotel rendezvous, because she’s certain they would have both decided this was a mistake if they had tried to go to one of their flats.
“You’ll be on the 9th floor with a view of the city. Enjoy your evening,” said the receptionist professionally. She handed them their keys and Strike and Robin made their way toward the elevator.
Robin was walking slightly faster than Strike, which wasn’t typical considering she was very conscious of his leg, but the nervous energy coursing through her caused normal considerations to be put aside for the time being. She reached the elevator slightly ahead of Strike, just as an elderly woman was getting on, so Robin waited with the door to make sure Strike got on.
“What floor?” The woman asked politely.
“9th floor please, thank you,” replied Robin. Strike had stepped behind her slightly on the elevator and proceeded to put his hand on the small of her back. Robin sighed and leaned into him slightly.
“Honeymoon?” The lady asked boisterously. “You two look like you’re about to eat each other up.”
Robin jolted in surprise, her face turning crimson in embarrassment. She was trying to think of what to say when Strike said “nope, torrid affair. I want to leave my wife for her, but she just won’t leave her husband.” Robin felt her mouth open and quickly covered it with her hand to suppress the laugh that was about to burst from her. The woman stood dumbfounded, but thankfully the elevator had arrived at the 9th floor, and they were able to leave without further explanation.
“Strike,” Robin laughed. “You’re absolutely incorrigible.” Strike was grinning at her in return.
“Well, that’s what she gets for being a nosey old bint,” he said with a chuckle. They were approaching the room, and Strike was pulling the key card out to open the door.
“You weren’t too far off the mark, except I did leave my husband,” said Robin.
The sentence came out with a laugh, but Strike’s face turned serious upon hearing her words and Robin realized what she had just implied. They reached the door and Strike stopped to study her. Robin felt the weight of his scrutiny and fought the urge to shy away. She had nothing to be ashamed about. Strike wasn’t the complete reason she left Matthew certainly, as Matt had done an excellent job of destroying their relationship on his own. When she thinks back to her actual honeymoon and how she was battling her feelings for Strike, she would be lying if she said there wasn’t some truth to it.
“I think I’ve wanted you since the moment you stepped foot in Denmark Street,” said Strike.
He was fully looking at her, his gaze serious, as though he felt he owed her a confession in return for what she had just told him. He turned to open the hotel room, and as soon as he did Robin and Strike had collided together, both pushing and pulling to be in the room as their lips met with a passion that neither of them expected but should have known they carried.
Once they were inside, Strike used Robin’s body to push the door closed, his desperation to consume her making him forget composure. The breath left Robin’s lungs in a gasp as she felt her back make contact with the door, but it was quickly swallowed by Strike’s lips on hers, as he remedied their temporary separation. Their tongues had found each other almost instantly, their kiss deepening with every second. Robin’s hands twisted in Strike’s thick, curly hair as she tried to find purchase in the storm that was quickly sweeping her away. Strike’s hands momentarily settled on her hips, his grip tight with desire, but weren’t there for long as he started to explore her body. He quickly realized that his decision to ravish her against the door was limiting his ability to appreciate her fully, so he separated from her, but not before she let out a groan at the loss of contact. The noise made Strike’s cock twitch, and he started to kiss, lick, and nibble her neck reaching her ear and saying,
“I want to take you to bed.”
“Yes, please,” gasped Robin.
She couldn’t remember a time in her sexual history where she had been so aroused. It was already very difficult for her in the best of circumstances, but this was unprecedented. The superficial thoughts in her head blamed this state of hyperarousal on the forbidden nature of their encounter. She also knew, however, that there wasn’t a man on Earth who she trusted more than Cormoran, and perhaps that made all the difference.
They both found enough wits to stagger to the bed, attempting to maintain connection until the ridiculousness of trying to grope and cross the room caused them to grin ruefully and abandon the attempt, giving pause to their heated entrance. Neither felt their arousal cool in the slightest, but they did feel the tone of the encounter change, as though they realized that this didn’t need to be a stolen moment.
Strike made it to the end of the bed and sat down, reaching a hand out to Robin so he could gently pull her in between his legs. She stood in front of him, her stomach and breasts level with his face. He wrapped his arms around her waist and placed his stubbly cheek against her chest, simply embracing her, inhaling her scent, and appreciating that he could now touch her in intimate ways such as this one. Robin’s hands had instinctively moved to his hair as she embraced his head in return, sighing in contentment. They stayed there for a moment, their breathing synchronizing as Strike moved in time with the rise and fall of her chest. After a long moment, they both instinctively pulled back, Robin’s hands coming to his cheeks, tilting his face up to meet hers in a long, slow kiss.
When Strike pulled back, he took a moment to let his eyes wander over her body, the blue dress clinging to her in all the right places, and he thought about the first time he had seen her in this dress, and how he hadn’t been allowed to look at her. Inspired by his change in circumstances he looked into her eyes and said,
“You look so fucking sexy in this dress. I thought so the last time I saw you in it.”
Robin blushed but looked pleased at the admission that his admiration of her had extended beyond tonight. His hands had now started slowly moving down her hips over her thighs and she was biting her lip in anticipation.
“Are you saying you’d like me to keep it on?” she asked breathlessly. Strike gave her a heated look before responding,
“No. Not tonight.”
The sensation his words, his tone, and his eyes caused in her belly was reflected in the way her core now clenched, so ready for the pleasure he was promising he would deliver. She was so aroused she could feel her hands shaking, and as coolly as she could, turned around so he could reach the zipper at the back of her dress. Strike stood up behind her and slowly pulled the zipper down her back, exposing creamy, delectable skin underneath. As the zipper ended at the small of her back, Strike traced the line of the zipper back up to her shoulders, pushing the dress forward and off of Robin. The enticement of her neck was too much, and Strike was now trailing hot breathy kisses from behind her ear, down to her shoulder. Robin’s head had tilted to the side in response, and Strike felt her shiver as the trail of kisses caused an eruption of goosebumps down her arm. With the dress now pooled at Robin’s feet, Strike could see that she was wearing a matching black lace bra and panty set, which caused Strike to release a groan upon observation. He had always been mesmerized by Robin’s backside, something he had avoided paying too much attention to until this moment. Now he was permitted to fully appreciate this asset of hers, particularly while she was wearing lacy cheeksters, whose attempt to cover the curve of her ass was feeble, at best.
It was also occurring to Strike and Robin simultaneously that this was the pivotal moment of the evening; the point at which they could no longer comfortably return to what their relationship had consisted of only two hours previously. The physical manifestation of their emotional intimacy, finally touching each other in ways they’d be embarrassed to admit they’d imagined, would be the final sprint off the cliff that they were quickly tumbling towards. The decision had to be made, and Robin, who had felt the almost imperceptible shift in Strike upon the removal of her dress, turned in Strike’s arms and while gazing into his eyes, reached behind her, and resolutely pushed them both off the cliff.
Robin’s breasts were highly contributory to the entirety of her figure that Strike ached for. They were round, full, and perky with perfectly dusky pink nipples. Strike felt himself sit back on the bed, putting him back at eye level with her exposé, and admiring them momentarily before he slowly moved a hand towards her left breast, fingers skimming her stomach as they trailed higher. As his fingers reached his target, he softly cupped her breast in his large hand, appreciating its weight and the line he was crossing in doing so. He then moved his hand so that his thumb was perfectly positioned to caress her nipple, and the change in sensation caused Robin to gasp.
“Robin,” Strike growled, at the same time that she breathed out,
“God, Cormoran.”
His name leaving her lips in that breathless and husky way filled Strike with fresh passion and intensity, and without warning his mouth had latched on Robin’s other nipple, sucking softly, then soothing with heady strokes of his tongue. Robin was speechless until she felt his teeth graze her nipple while he sucked more intensely, feeling herself lose control completely as she moaned, “Jesus fucking Christ.”
Robin would have been astonished at how easily the vulgarity had fallen from her mouth if she weren’t so consumed with Cormoran and how he was bringing her embarrassingly close to orgasm with the attention he was giving her breasts. Instead, her immediate response was to snake her arms around his shoulders and run her hands through his hair, caging him against her chest to continue his ministrations. Cormoran was giving his full attention to her nipples, but her exclamation had shocked him and aroused him in equal measure, and his cock was incredibly hard. Robin was mewling and panting now, and he had to resist the urge to rut into the air, desperate for any sort of pressure to relieve his ache. Robin finally tugged him away, her eyes hooded, and her mouth slightly gaped as he popped off her nipple.
“You’re overdressed,” she said seriously, and straddled his lap to begin undoing the buttons of his shirt. Cormoran rested his hands on her hips as she worked on his shirt, finally pushing his suit jacket and shirt off together. When she had finished, Robin leaned in to kiss him slowly, achingly, her mouth opening widely to accept his tongue. They exchanged an incredibly sensual kiss that bordered on sloppy, their tongues making more contact than their lips. Robin had never kissed anyone like this before, and she was insanely aroused by the primality of it. She could feel her wetness beginning to drip from her, and in a moment of heady spontaneity she pressed her dripping cunt to his cloth covered erection.
They both released filthy moans, gyrating their hips to chase more of the feeling that they were barreling towards. Strike, who was still completely clothed from the waist down, was desperate to free his aching cock from its confinement but was also desperate to bring Robin pleasure. Before she could anticipate what was happening, Strike had flipped her off his lap and onto her back. He kissed her mouth softly, then proceeded to trail kisses down her body, giving her breasts brief attention before continuing towards his ultimate goal.
Robin’s brain had finally caught up with the situation, and for the first time that evening she felt genuine anxiety about the intimacy of what they were doing. Strike had reached her lace panties now, and his fingers had dipped beneath the waistband slightly, in preparation to remove them.
“Cormoran,” she gasped, and Strike could hear something besides arousal in her voice and glanced into her eyes. For the first time that evening he saw nervousness in Robin’s gaze. He took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down so he could make sure she was alright.
“Is this okay?” Strike asked, as his thumb rubbed soothing circles on her hip.
“Yes… I just- I’ve never-“ Robin stuttered, because she didn’t know how to tell him she’d never had an orgasm from oral sex. She wasn’t even sure if she liked it. Matt was always too much or too little. He could find it for a second, then lose it just as quickly, leaving Robin frustrated and out of sorts, trying to chase an orgasm she had no control over. She didn’t want Strike to think she was difficult or too frigid to enjoy herself, but now the anxiety of the position wasn’t doing her any favors.
“I don’t want to brag-“ Strike interrupted her mental pacing. “But my success rate for oral sex is rather high,” he said with a poorly contained smirk on his face. This unusual level of self-praise from Strike caused Robin to snort, and he was now genuinely grinning at her. The distraction tactic proved successful, and Robin was giving him a more grateful smile, as he relaxed back into his simmering lust.
“I want to taste you Robin,” he said succinctly, his gaze not leaving hers. Robin swallowed her nervousness and proceeded to lick her suddenly dry lips.
“Okay,” she said, in a voice that was much rougher than she expected.
He peeled her knickers down her legs, following their trail with hot, open mouth kisses all the way down until he had tossed the lace garment somewhere in the room behind him. It was the last piece of clothing to leave Robin’s person, and the vulnerability she felt was reflected in the way her eyes shut at the removal of the garment. When Strike had retraced his steps, he finally took her in, admiring all of her — from her slim neck, her ample chest, her pale, soft skin, to her neatly groomed mound. He glanced back up at Robin’s face and seeing her eyes closed he wanted to make sure that she knew there was nothing to worry about.
“You are magnificent. I can’t believe you’re here with me,” he said in a soft voice, his hands gently caressing her thighs.
Robin wouldn’t have even known it was Strike that had spoken if he wasn’t the only person in the room. The surprise had her opening her eyes, and when she looked upon Strike’s face, she could see the same insecurity she felt, but she could also see all of his affection, adoration, and lust. Robin’s heart clenched hard with feelings that she had tried to hide for years. Now isn’t the time to voice that, she thought, but gave Strike a meaningful look and he thought he knew what she had wanted to say. Before emotions overwhelmed him, he turned his attention back to his prize. In this way, at least, he could show her how he felt. Strike was kneeling on the bed, her legs over his thighs, opened perfectly for him. He traced his thumbs along her vulva, finding her swollen and damp to his touch. He took his middle finger and dragged it slowly and deliberately through her slit.
“Fuck… Robin, Jesus you’re so wet,” he groaned, while Robin gasped at the sensation of his touch. Strike’s cock, which had calmed during the emotional intensity, was painfully straining against his trousers again. He slowly inserted his finger, pumping her slowly, while he gently palmed her clit. To Robin it felt incredible, but she knew she would need more to get off.
He gently teased her for what Robin felt to be a period of time that was blissful and excruciating in equal measure. She was starting to squirm on the bed and Strike’s response was to decrease his pressure and speed, causing frustration and need to almost burst from her.
“Strike, stop teasing me, I can’t take it,” she moaned. Her calling him Strike instead of Cormoran caused a sexy smirk to appear on his face.
“Come on, Ellacott, I want to hear you say it,” he said, his voice equal teasing, seduction, and challenge.
Robin didn’t know she could blush more than she already was, but she felt heat flush her face and her core clench as she looked him in the eye and said,
“Lick my cunt. I want to come on your tongue.”
The words she said, and the way she said them (in that wonderful Yorkshire drawl) were better than Strike could have ever imagined. Vague, unformed thoughts of love drifted quickly through his mind as he removed his fingers from her core and gave a long, slow lick of her entire slit. The eroticism of seeing the face she found so familiar and comforting now intimately touching her had Robin on the verge of collapse. His focus was now entirely directed on Robin’s clit, gently suckling with his lips and tongue, building up the pressure and intensity slowly. Robin could already tell that this would probably be the best oral sex she would have for the rest of her life. His skillful manipulation of her arousal had her gripping the sheets, trying not to break the spell he was weaving over her. She could hear the sound of her wetness combined with the movement of tongue and saliva. His mouth was warm and wet, but she could feel the scrape of his stubble, making the experience an erotic sensory overload. His attention on her clit was becoming increasingly poignant, and the heat in her lower abdomen started to build, telling her that a powerful orgasm was about to overwhelm her.
“Christ… fuck… Cormoran don’t stop, I'm so close,” she gasped. She had noticed with Matthew that vocalizing when she was close to orgasm caused him to change what he was doing in a way that would leave her chasing the orgasm instead of sinking into it. It was a testament to Strike’s skill that upon hearing her plea, he continued pleasuring her cunt in a steadfast, confident way that had her screaming moments later. He felt the spasm of her vagina against his tongue, as Robin’s thighs tightened dangerously around his head, but he didn’t stop until he felt her grip relax.
Robin was astounded at the orgasm that she had just had. Her body felt shapeless, amorphous, as if all feeling seemed to have left her bones, her breathing heavy and ragged. Strike watched her, giving her a moment to recover, his hands gently stroking her knees as he sat in between her legs. Feeling smug at his success, and slightly mischievous at her condition, Strike said, “Either you’re the best faker I’ve encountered, or that was some fucking orgasm.”
Robin started to chuckle, but it soon turned into a hard laugh that had Strike joining her. He moved to lay beside her and pulled her into his arms as they continued to laugh, their nerves, insecurities, and doubts at bay for the moment. However, after a minute Strike heard, rather than saw, as he had buried his face in her hair, the shift in Robin’s merriment as she released a choked laugh that sounded wet with tears.
“Robin?” He asked, lifting his head to look in her eyes, which were brimmed with tears despite the joy that encompassed her face.
How could she possibly explain to him what that orgasm had meant, beyond just the obvious pleasure it had given her? It was the unlocking of years of insecurity, of sexual anxiety that often made her wonder if she really even liked sex. It was now understanding that she, Robin Ellacott, could enjoy and crave sex as much as a person without the complications of a checkered past. She could never have made this discovery with handsome, unimaginative Matthew, who only ever viewed sex as a pleasurable task, not a need, not this craving that was only beginning to show itself to Robin. As she looked into Cormoran’s face and realized that she owed another part of her self-discovery to this large, unassuming man in her arms, Robin knew she was helplessly, hopelessly doomed to want him for the rest of her life. It was fresh, raw, and too much for the delicate space they had built in this extravagant room at the Ritz. She shook her head, a single tear escaping down her cheek and into her mouth which was split into a smile that made Strike ache. She kissed him softly, lingeringly, before pulling away and simply saying, “I want you so much.”
Strike heard a depth of feeling in that statement much greater than the words implied. He didn’t know exactly what had brought Robin to tears, but if she was feeling anything close to the sense of rightness that was washing over Strike, then he thought he could understand. He kissed her again, hands cupping her cheeks and wiping the tears that spilled gently from her eyes. When he pulled away, he replied in the same manner.
“I want you too. So fucking much.”
He kissed the tears off of her cheeks, running his hands through her soft, golden strands of hair. Robin, who had less time to touch and appreciate Strike during their encounter, was now running her hands through his thick chest hair, over his shoulders, and down his back. He felt so different from Matthew. He was large and hairy, firm in some places and soft in others, and she reveled in his physicality. Her hands finally traveled down to his backside, which to her unwelcome surprise was still covered by his trousers.
“I’m still overdressed,” he said with a smirk and moved to take his shoes off, before standing to remove his remaining clothes. When left in only his boxer briefs, he sat back down to begin the process of removing his prosthesis. Robin, who had simply been watching from the bed, now pressed her bare chest to his back, kissing along his neck and shoulders while Strike worked to remove his replacement limb.
“This is a lot more difficult when I’m distracted,” he said with a laugh, trying not to look too hasty. He could feel Robin’s smile into his neck.
“Do you want me to stop?” She asked teasingly.
“Fuck no.”
She continued to kiss along his neck and shoulders, moving back up to gently bite and lick his ear as the prosthesis fell to the floor. Cormoran, who had found his ears to be a particularly erogenous zone, groaned loudly at her attention. Robin smirked, happy to have found one of his sensitive spots. While she felt she could have spent the entire evening looking for all of the places that made him tick, for now, she was desperate for him to be inside her, and moved back onto the bed so he would follow her.
Strike turned and crawled up the bed, which gave Robin her first full view of his naked body. All Robin could think was how manly and large he appeared and how she wanted to feel his weight on top of her. The sight of his erect cock caused her to shiver with anticipation and she felt her arousal grow even further. As Strike settled between her legs, she reached towards him and began stroking his erection to satiate the curiosity of how he would feel in her hand. The moment her hand wrapped around him, Strike jerked his hips in response.
“Before this gets out of hand, do I need a condom?” asked Strike in a strained voice, as he felt Robin rubbing his length in long, slow strokes. She paused to respond.
“I’ve got an IUD. And I haven’t been with anyone since Matthew,” Robin finished rather shyly, still internally worried her lack of experience would bother Strike.
“I haven’t been with anyone since Lorelai.”
Robin was mildly surprised at this information, but was too distracted by the idea of soon being fucked by Cormoran to give it much thought. With precautions taken, she resumed her languid strokes of him, her thumb rubbing over his slit and spreading his precum along the tip and shaft.
“Fuck,” he choked out. “Robin, I’m not gonna last if you keep doing that. And I want to finish inside you tonight.”
“Please,” gasped Robin, and let go to put her arms around his neck.
He grabbed himself, lined up with her opening, and began to push in. Noises of pleasure escaped them both as he continued to push, until he bottomed out and their hips met. The feeling of fullness Robin experienced was like a long-forgotten song, but time and distance had made the music sweeter. The press of his hairy abdomen against her stomach and breasts was creating an all-consuming sensation around her. He smelled of sweat, cigarette smoke, and the lavender aftershave he had put on earlier that evening. All Robin could think was that he smelled like Cormoran.
“Robin,” Strike exhaled in a breath, his face buried in her neck. Robin moved her hand from his back to his head, tangling her fingers in his soft, curly hair. He leaned up to look at her then, and Robin could see the restraint obvious on his face as he let her adjust. She was overwhelmed with affection in that moment, and leaned up to kiss him softly while moving her hips slowly to let him know she was ready.
Strike started thrusting into her slowly, his movements shallow, but gradually building to longer fuller thrusts. The sensation of being inside Robin unprotected, her slick walls gripping him without barrier, was keeping him precariously balanced on the ledge of his orgasm. But he wanted Robin to come again, to feel her pulse around his cock and wetness gush from her core.
She was moaning now, punctuated by every roll of his hips, which he did with a smoothness that allowed her to feel the full length of his cock inside her. It was delicious, and Robin was vaguely aware that she was being noisier than she typically was when she had previously been in similar scenarios. Strike, who’s breathing was becoming irregular, was looking down into her eyes with an intensity she was scared to hold. She leaned up slightly in an effort to kiss him, but only succeeded in placing their open mouths in proximity, breathing each other’s air and touching tongues in a way that Robin would have previously described as pornographic. Now, it felt like the most natural thing in the world, to find every way to become as physically entangled with each other as possible. Strike‘s loud breathing was now turning into full groans of pleasure, which shot straight to Robin’s core.
“Cormoran,” she gasped. “It’s so good, it’s so good.”
“I know, I know. Fuck, Robin, look at me.”
And compelled by whatever lustful power she heard in his voice, she was suddenly looking into his dark eyes, and it was as though the intensity of every sensation she was experiencing increased ten-fold. His movements caused the hair on his chest to drag pleasantly across her nipples, his pelvis pushing exactly where she needed the pressure on her clit. Robin, who was not at all expecting to come a second time tonight, gasped as she realized another orgasm was imminent.
“What do you need?” Strike begged, so desperate to feel her.
“Just this. Oh God, just this. Cormoran!”
And suddenly she was crying out, because her orgasm had surprised and overwhelmed her in equal measure. The detonation was sudden, but it stretched out for what seemed an impossible amount of time, Strike still punctuating the feeling with thrusts that fell pleasurably on her clit. He was just as surprised and gratified by her reaction, and it caused him to lose the careful control he was exerting over his movements. He began hammering powerfully into her, chasing the sensation of her throbbing core around his shaft, which also felt impossibly slicker.
Robin was beginning to come down from her high, but still clung to him strongly, completely lost in this moment she was experiencing with her partner. She moved her hips in time with him as she tried to pull his release from his body, craving this very last piece of intimacy he could give her in this moment: to fall apart in her arms, to come deep inside her. Strike felt the shift in Robin, from a woman who was afraid of the vulnerability of oral sex, to this uninhibited vixen that was staring fiercely into his eyes, making noises that would inhabit his brain long after tonight. It wasn’t long before this all pushed him over the edge, and he was coming strongly. Upon his climax he stopped his movements and held himself inside her as deeply as he physically could, remaining there while his orgasm overwhelmed him.
“Fuck. Oh, fuck,” Strike gasped, face buried in Robin’s neck, her legs wrapped around his backside as she held him to her. Robin could feel the throbbing of his ejaculating cock, and for a moment she thought she could come again, so aroused by this coupling that wasn’t even this satisfying in her own imaginings.
They both finally lay still, gasping for air, Strike’s bulk a pleasant weight on Robin, at least for the moment. She didn’t want to let go of this intimacy and neither did he, because nothing – not Matthew and not Charlotte – had ever succeeded in making either of them feel what had just been culminated in this ninth floor room of the Ritz. For Robin, it was feeling desired by a man, the only man, that has truly seen her for what she is and has never made her feel silly, naive, or less than. For Strike, it was feeling desired by a woman who’s feelings, he knew, would never destructively spiral to test and goad his devotion, because she was coming to him with pure intentions. As if to confirm they weren’t alone in these thoughts, they sought each other’s faces while clinging to one another in this post-orgasmic bliss, and kissed softly, delicately, like they were afraid something would break.
It was finally Robin, who smiled against his uneven lips and breathed, “need the loo,” unspooling the moment. Strike smiled back at her, kissed her softly once more for good measure, and rolled off of her. Strike lay with his arm beneath his head and stared at the ceiling, listening to the sounds of Robin, head swimming pleasantly after this monumental shift in their relationship. He was waiting for his innate pessimism to scream at him for what could only be a calamitous fuck up, as he would have previously described this scenario, but only felt a warm glow in his chest where he expected fear. He decided not to overthink it, happy and sexually sated for the first time in a long time.
When Robin reappeared it was with a warm washcloth for Strike, wanting to save him the effort of moving if he so needed. The shyness that had left her earlier was inconveniently starting to creep back into her psyche, but upon seeing Strike in full nude stretched upon the bed, right where she left him, she decided to embrace the sexual creature she had uncovered only minutes before, and sashayed confidently towards the bed as Strike stared openly. She wordlessly held out the cloth, which he used briefly and efficiently, handing it back to her with a grateful, “thank you.”
She climbed back into the bed and he immediately wrapped his arms around her. She reached for the covers, cocooning them both with the blanket. Robin and Strike were both waiting for words, from themselves and from each other, but both found it hard to break the moment, not necessarily out of fear, but because this kind of peace was so rarely experienced in the chaos that was their lives. They could not, however, stop the casual touching and kissing that felt as much a necessity as a release, because gone were the self-imposed restrictions, shattered in the wake of this moment, and they suddenly couldn’t remember why doing this was ever such a bad idea. Strike discovered that her hair was even softer than it looked, and that she made the most gratifying noise when he ran his fingers through her locks and down her spine, repeating this movement over and over as she lay against his chest. Robin couldn’t keep her hands from running up and down his chest, couldn’t stop nuzzling into his neck – feeling the stubble on his chin graze her cheek – and couldn’t keep her lips from pressing into his skin as they lay tangled together.
The only words that broke the stillness the rest of the evening came from Cormoran as he whispered, “Happy birthday, Robin,” into her hair, before sleep claimed him faster than either of them expected. Robin too could feel the exhaustion of emotional and physical exertion calling her to succumb, but not before she watched his face in sleep, knowing that this was just another new intimacy she was experiencing with Cormoran Strike. It occurred to her, at the moment she was being claimed by sleep, that she had bared the entirety of her soul to a man who had spent much of the last five years trying to prevent (what now seemed) this inevitable outcome. Before she could pry the thought from taking root, she felt a sudden stab of fear for what the morning held, but didn’t feel it for long as she succumbed to sleep in the warm embrace of the man she now knew without a doubt, that she loved.