4 comments/ 50864 views/ 19 favorites Love in an Elevator By: JukeboxEMCSA It was the sort of thing that you always figured only happened to other people. But Dan Brooks was taking the elevator up to Toxicology on 11 when the car gave a sudden, grinding jerk, and then came to a complete and total stop. Naomi Prentiss, the car's only other passenger, gave a tiny scream when she heard the 'crr-unk!' noise and the car shuddered, then grabbed the passenger rails with white-knuckle intensity and looked over at Dan. "What do we do now?" she asked, without preamble. Dan gave a tiny shrug. "Not sure," he said. He pressed the 'Open Door' button, but nothing happened. He looked at the panel for a moment, but before he could try any other buttons, the lights went out in the car. Dan gave a heavy sigh. There were definitely a lot of situations he'd want to be in a small dark room with Naomi Prentiss, but this didn't qualify as one of them. He'd noticed her many times in the first few months of his internship, a lithe, pretty young Vietnamese woman with a ready smile and an agile mind. But between the demands of medicine and his own innate shyness, he'd never quite been able to work up the nerve to do more than say hello to her in the corridors in passing. Well, he thought, they had nothing but time now...and who knew, maybe he could impress her with his level-headedness in a crisis. "Got a penlight?" he asked. "I thought I saw a 'Call Operator' button before the lights went out, but I'm not sure where it was." Naomi took a long time to respond. When she did, her voice sounded strained in an unpleasant way. "I, um...I'm not real good with small, dark places." Dan could hear her breathing as she willed herself to remain calm. "My mom said they adopted me after my parents died in an earthquake, back in Vietnam; I don't really remember it, but I have nightmares sometimes about being trapped someplace cramped and dark..." "OK," Dan said, a chill growing in his gut, "just try to stay calm. This isn't an earthquake--" "I know this isn't an earthquake!" Naomi snapped. "Sorry, I shouldn't yell, I'm just..." Dan heard a strangled sob in the darkness. "Can you keep a secret?" Her voice was tight, tense, and on the edge of terror. Dan nodded, then realized that didn't do much good. "Yes," he said, trying to sound soothing. "Can I trust you? I mean, can I trust you not to...take advantage of me?" "Yes!" Dan said, almost offended. What did she think he was going to do, rape her in the dark? "OK." She took a deep breath. "Say the following words to me: 'sour apple ice cream'." "What?" Dan wondered if Naomi was starting to lose it. "Just say it, OK? It doesn't work if I say it!" Naomi sounded desperate now. "Please, I don't want to freak out in here..." "Alright, OK. Sour apple ice cream." Dan waited for Naomi to say something in response, but all he heard was the sound of her breathing slowly relaxing, getting steadier and more even. "Naomi?" he asked tentatively. "yes," she said. That was it, just that one word. "Yes." But her voice sounded...totally different all of a sudden. All of the jangling stress and panic was totally gone, and she sounded placid, almost sedated. "Naomi, are you there?" Dan felt around in the darkness, trying to reach out for her and hoping his hand didn't find an embarrassing body part. The last thing he needed was for her to tell everyone that he used this as an excuse to feel her up. He realized on some level that he was just assuming that they were going to get out of this, that deep down, he didn't feel any of Naomi's panic, but he set that aside for now as his hand found Naomi's arm. After all, just because he felt optimistic and she was panicking didn't mean he was right and she was wrong. "i am here," Naomi responded. OK, so perhaps 'panicking' was the wrong word. But she had been, a second or two ago. She'd been on the verge of clawing at the walls, he could hear it in her voice. And now, she just...wasn't. When he'd said those words, she just...oh, no. No way. They'd mentioned it in psych class, but..no. Then again..."Naomi, are you hypnotized?" "yes," Naomi said, still in that same calm voice. Dan noticed that her arm felt boneless in his hand, completely limp and relaxed. He wondered how she was still standing up if she was that relaxed. "Naomi," he said, having a little difficulty finding his voice all of a sudden, "why don't you sit down?" "i will sit down," she said tonelessly, slumping to the floor of the elevator with a heavy sigh. Dan sat down next to her. At least now he understood why she'd asked if she could trust him. She sounded really out of it. He could probably...Dan dug his fingernails into his hand. There are two kinds of people in life, he told himself. The kind of people who would take advantage of a helpless girl in a desperate situation, and the kind of people who knew better. Boy, thought Dan, leaning his head back against the wall, right now I wish I was one of the other kind of people. After a while, the silence grew unbearable, and Dan had to say something, just to hear himself talk. "So, Naomi," he said, "how'd you wind up getting hypnotized any time someone said 'sour apple ice cream'?" "my last boyfriend," she said. "he was a hypnotherapist, and he hypnotized me many times. he said i was a very good hypnotic subject." "Oh," Dan said, not sure exactly how to respond to all this. "So he was, sort of, practicing on you?" "no," Naomi said, "it was a part of our sexual relationship. hypnosis is a sexual turn-on for me. he would hypnotize me before sex, and then guide my mind while we made love." Dan's eyes widened. "Well," he muttered, "it's a good thing I said I could keep a secret..." Mental note, he thought. Naomi didn't seem to have any conversational filters in this state, either. Which meant... "Um," he said, and for a moment, he tried to stop himself from asking, but he knew she'd answer honestly when she was like this, and he really had to know... "What do you think of me, Naomi?" "i don't really think anything of you," she said, not even meaning it to be cruel. "i noticed you once or twice around the hospital, but i didn't pay any attention to you until today. i don't even remember your name." "Oh," Dan said. "It's Dan Brooks." Serves me right for asking, he thought. He sat there for a long moment. Then something occurred to him. "Naomi," he said, "if hypnosis is, um, a turn-on for you...does that mean you're turned on right now?" "yes," she said, letting out a sigh that was almost a moan. "going into trance is a deeply erotic experience for me. i've wanted to go into trance for so long, ever since Michael and i broke up, but i hadn't found anyone i could trust." "Oh, that's OK," Dan said, trying to reassure her, "you can trust me." "i can trust you," Naomi repeated robotically. "Oh, crap!" Dan said. "That wasn't a command!" he said immediately afterwards. Shit! he thought. Shit shit shit! She's really suggestible, he reminded herself. Gotta watch what I say. Dan sighed. She's really suggestible, she'll tell me anything I ask, and she's already admitted that she's really turned on. And I'm alone with her in the dark, and I've been crushing on her for months. He looked up at the ceiling. Give me strength, he prayed silently...because if he'd said it out loud, Naomi would have tried to do it. "How can I wake you up?" he asked at last. "just say, 'wake up, naomi'," she responded. "i will obey." Dan's cock twitched at the use of the word 'obey', but he tried not to think about it. Think something unsexy, he told himself. Angela Lansbury, the end of 'Slither', the fact that you're stuck in an elevator somewhere between the ninth and tenth floor and there's no power... None of it was working. "Wake up, Naomi," he said. He heard her breathing ratchet up into panic levels almost immediately. "Why did you wake me?" she said, grabbing his arm tightly in the darkness. "I don't want to be awake right now, you've got to put me back under, please, just...please!" "Naomi," he said, "just calm down for a second, we need to talk. I'm having a little...trouble...dealing with you the way you are in trance. I think I already put a suggestion in your head. By accident!" he stressed. "Totally by accident. But I'm worried I might wind up taking advantage of you somehow." Like, for example, commanding you to strip naked and fuck me, he added mentally. "Look," Naomi said, her voice tight and brittle, "I'm not worried about that. I trust you." "Yes," he shouted, "that's because I told you to!" "I. Don't. Care!" She was gripping his arm hard enough to leave bruises. "I know that I'm all horny when I go under, if I wasn't so passive when I was in trance I'd probably have jumped your bones already, but if it's a choice between fucking you and having a goddamned panic attack in the elevator, I'm choosing 'fucking', so fucking trance me already!" Dan was shouting now too. "And what if I don't like the fact that you see sex with me as a barely acceptable alternative to a panic attack? I want you to like me, dammit, not just be in a state of mind where you'd fuck any guy who asked for it!" Naomi practically screamed in frustration. "If you want me to like you, just tell me to once I'm under and I will!" "That's--that's just wrong!" Dan really hated himself for being so ethical. "I can't do that to you!" Naomi took a long, deep, shuddery breath. Slowly, with deliberate and forced calm, she said, "Look, Dan. Hypnosis isn't magic. If it was, I would never have dumped Michael. You can tell me to trust you, you can tell me to like you, and I will. But it won't stick unless you're really trustworthy and likeable. And it kind of sounds like you are, and if we get out of this, I think I'd like to find out, but I promise, if I wind up really liking you, it won't be because you brainwashed me. So go ahead and tell me what to do. It'll be alright." "You're sure?" he asked. "Please." He could hear the urgency in her voice. Dan took a deep breath. "Sour apple ice cream," he said. Naomi slumped up against him. He could feel the warmth of her body, pressing against his own, and his cock came to attention almost within seconds. He reached up and gently stroked Naomi's breasts through her clothes, hearing her mew softly in pleasure as a result. "Naomi," he said, giving his decent side one last chance, "when you said all that, were you just telling me what I wanted to hear so I'd put you under again?" He knew she couldn't lie, not when she was like this. "no," she said. "Good enough for me," he said, unzipping his pants. His cock sprang out, feeling harder than it had ever felt in his life, and he didn't even tell Naomi to strip naked, he just felt under her skirt and pulled her panties off. "Get on top of me," he husked out. "i will get on top of you," Naomi said, and he heard the arousal in her voice and felt her warmth pressing against his body as she straddled him. He guided himself into her, and they quickly found a rhythm as she rode him, slowly at first, then with increasing vigor as her breathing speeded up. "Yes," he said, "that's it, Naomi, you like this, oh, you like sex with me, you like the way it feels, you're..." He gasped. "You're so happy you trusted me, so happy you told me that trigger, it feels so good, you know you'll want to do this again, ohhh..." He reached up, slid his hands under her shirt, and fondled her breasts. Her nipples were stiff as they rubbed against the fabric, against his fingers, and she let out a low, animalistic moan, and he felt her pussy clench against his, and he was sure she'd just come, and he was so close to the edge, but he wanted to hold it in just a little bit longer... Then the lights flickered back on, and he saw the dreamy, peaceful expression on her face as she rode his cock, and that was all it took. He came with an explosive gasp, and the med student part of him really hoped Naomi was on the pill, because it felt like he'd just had the hardest orgasm of his life. Then it hit him. The lights were back on! Which meant that..."Wake up, Naomi!" he shouted frantically, pulling her off of him and trying to get his pants back on. "Huhwha?" she said, the combination of trance and orgasm leaving her just a little sluggish. She looked up, blinking against the sudden brightness. "The lights are back," she said. Dan finished zipping himself up just as the elevator started to move again, and helped Naomi to her feet. "Yikes," he said. "Can you imagine if that had happened just a few minutes earlier?" The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open to reveal several med students. "That would have been a little..." His gaze traveled down to the floor at the same time as Naomi's, and several of the small crowd of onlookers. They all saw Naomi's panties, still lying where he'd discarded them. "...embarrassing." Naomi scooped up her panties and gave Dan a kiss on the lips. "Not to me," she said, winking. "Meet you in the lobby after work!" She stepped out of the elevator, rounded the corner, and was gone. Dan looked at the other students. They looked at him. Dan was distinctly aware that he couldn't get the big, goofy grin off of his face. "Um...going up?" he said. THE END Love In An Elevator Getting old doesn't happen overnight. It creeps up on you. For me, the memory is the thing. I can look for my glasses forever until I bend over and - plop - there they are, dropping onto the bridge of my nose from the top of my head, where I'd put them. And if I had a penny for every time I've walked into the kitchen and wondered just what I'd gone in there for, well, I wouldn't be rich, but I'd have a chunk of change to take to the bar. But there are memories and there are memories. And I'll never forget one day when I was a young man in 1954, two years after J.W. Stiles came to town. You probably don't know the name now. But in its heyday, Stiles was the department store of department stores. If they didn't stock it, you didn't need it. And as well as the merchandise, its stock in trade was opulence. If ever there was a store that deserved to be called an emporium, almost certainly with a capital E, Stiles was it. And -- now I think of it and another memory comes bubbling back -- there was a girl on one of the perfume counters who stole my heart with her breathtaking looks. Jenny with the flowing red hair... the legs that went all the way up to 11... and a sweet mouth that I was lucky enough to find wrapped around my cock a few times. But this story isn't about Jenny. Not that I couldn't tell you more. There was the time, after all, when I nearly experienced the business end of her father's shotgun when he came home unexpectedly to find me taking his daughter from behind, bent over the corner of their expensive leather couch. We were making so much noise -- or Jenny was, she made the most exquisite sounds when she came -- that we didn't hear him come in... but I've never moved so fast in my life. I digress. I do that, it's a prerogative of the old. But this story is more about Stiles itself, when I think about it. It had that feel of a truly magical store, the kind you always find a new area in each time you visit, with tricksy little staircases and corridors that ended in swing doors opening on to new halls of delights. And in particular, this story is about the elevators at Stiles. Or one of them at least. Elevator No. 3. Not for Stiles the steel boxes that other stores use to ferry their customers from floor to floor. No, at Stiles the elevators were palatial. Marble flooring, rich wood panelling, polished brass control plates where there was never a blown light bulb hiding behind a button. And chandeliers. Yes, chandeliers. One in each elevator. 
I told you they were opulent. So, you see, Stiles was the kind of place that every time you went in, you would take a trip to another floor just to experience the elevator. And so I did. And it was on one day in February, 1954 that the events I am writing about transpired. For once, the store was quiet. Christmas had come and gone, the festive shopping replaced by the day-to-day purchasing of harried consumers, with too much work to do and not enough money to indulge in luxuries. I walked in off the street, turned down my coat collar that had been protecting me against the whistling wind and wandered towards the elevators, intending to go up to the fifth floor, where a wealth of sporting goods awaited. I pressed the button to call the elevator and -- almost instantly -- with a ping and a rumbling of mechanics, elevator No. 3 was there. Empty. I stepped inside and pressed the fifth-floor button, and the doors closed. With a renewed rumble, the cabin started its ascent. You'll have to forgive me if things get a little hazy here. The memories are very clear, in fact, but the nature of what happened makes explaining them a little difficult. Somewhere between the second and third floors -- or possibly between the third and fourth floors -- I experienced an extraordinary sensation. Time seemed to slow down, taking on an oily flow that slowed to a glacial pace. My vision blurred a little. That movement of the lift that causes you to feel as if your stomach has dropped a couple of inches ceased. And the chandelier above my head slowly dimmed, the glimmer in each glass facet fading to a spark ... and dying. Darkness. Complete and utter darkness. I held my hand in front of my face -- nothing. I closed my eyes and opened them again -- no difference. And then I heard a noise. A laugh. Now I suspect you are thinking that I was freaking out at this point. But that laugh, oh that laugh. It was a woman's laugh. Musical, throaty, full of joy and yet at the same time, if I am frank, dirty. Very, very dirty indeed. Words next. "Don't be afraid." In a voice that was coated with summer and honey and was laced with come-hither smiles and very nearly had me cumming in my pants. "I'm not," I said. And curiously, that was true. Despite having lost all visual points of reference, I was calm. My breathing was normal. But I will admit my mind was racing. And one thing my subconscious now brought to my attention was that the acoustics around our voices -- yes, I was already thinking of her as being there, totally, utterly -- had changed. We were in some much larger space. "Good," she said. "I like that." I could hear the smile in her voice, the kind that shows a hint of white teeth but which promises more. "Don't ask any questions," she continued. "We don't have much time. Just know that I know your every desire ... and I like all of them." "Come here," I said. My breathing was growing more rapid, my heart pounding. But this was arousal, not fear. My cock had gone from soft to hard in seconds. I wanted her with a lust that came from somewhere deep within. I felt more than heard her approach me, and suddenly she was in my arms. The perfect height for me, her face at the level where I just have to dip my head slightly towards her upturned, welcoming lips. The height where afterwards, she can lay her head just below my chin as we hold each other. The darkness was still total. But my senses were telling me all about her. She was full-figured, her breasts pressing against my chest in a wonderful way and my hands now descending to her hips, the curve there almost enough to make me gasp. Her hair smelled of vanilla and sandalwood, a blend I couldn't place but somehow electrifying and intensifying my desire. We kissed, our tongues meeting, her lips welcoming and our embrace becoming tighter, hands roaming over each other, discovering the contours of each other's bodies in the dark. Her breasts were full and heavy, one filling my hand completely. We kissed again, deeper and harder, small noises coming from the back of the throat as we felt our need build. I say build -- it was already at stratospheric levels in my case, but this was something utterly unlike what I'd felt before. "Take me," she whispered in my ear. "I need you." Clothes suddenly faded away and there she was, warm and vital in my arms, hot and wet between her legs, her hand stroking my cock and guiding it into her. The sense of space around us and the darkness made everything so much more intense than normal. I felt her cunt lips part as I pushed into her, the heat around my cock head quite exquisite, and I thrust eagerly, sliding fully into her. Somehow we moved together perfectly. There was none of that awkwardness there sometimes is, the sense that one of you isn't positioned comfortably, that one of you is straining to keep their balance and therefore not quite focused on pleasure. This motion was smooth and assured as if we'd known each other for years, knew just what to do, which buttons to press, when to draw back, when to push that little bit deeper, when to move fast and when slow. We fucked. We fucked long and hard, slow and gentle, deep and soulful, vicious and animal. We fucked toward extremes of emotion, not knowing if they were tears or laughter. She moved with the same need I did, pulling my cock deep into her cunt and squeezing on it, her arms gripping me tight and her nails in my skin. And then she was cumming, her breath in short gasps and liquid moans escaping her throat, her nails digging that little bit deeper and her legs clamping around me. "Don't stop. Fuck me. Please, fuck me," she breathed in my ear. And I did, pounding in and out of her cunt as I felt her pleasure ripple around me, somehow filling the space around us in a warm, enveloping wave. "Cum for me," she whispered. And even if I'd wanted not to, that voice was irresistible. With one last thrust I felt the throb through me, and I came deep inside her, an orgasm that moved through every part of me and left me feeling lightheaded. We curled up together -- somehow the floor was soft now, not the hard marble that I knew should be underneath us. I felt her hand move between her legs and then move up to my lips and I sucked hungrily on our juices, a little surprised but savouring my cum and hers before she moved to kiss me deeply. "How..." I started to say. "I said. I know all your every desire ... and I love all of them." I wondered. Every desire? Even the ones that go almost unspoken to ourselves, the ones that we think will never happen? "Especially those ones," she said. "And especially *that* one. Reach down now." I obeyed, my hand moving down her body. At first I couldn't understand what I discovered. Strips of fabric criss-crossed her hips, and now sprouting from her silky hair there was ... a cock. A hard, large cock made of some synthetic material, with some give to it but... "Even *that* one," I said in a voice that trembled with lust. "Mm-hmm," she murmured. "Come on my lovely man, on your hands and knees." I don't know when or where this desire had come from, but I know it had kept me entertained many a night alone in bed. To experience being fucked, lovingly, deeply, by a woman with a strap-on. Not to be dominated -- just to be fucked. To give myself up to pleasure -- mine and hers. I knelt, eager, like a bitch on heat, wanting nothing more than the fucking of my life. I felt her settle between my legs, felt the tip of her questing cock, now coated with something deliciously warm and wet -- "It's my cunt juice, darling, I get very wet" -- and I gave myself to her. She moved slowly, gently, but with purpose, filling and stretching me and I groaned from somewhere deep inside as she started to move. I felt her hips against mine, and she leaned forward when she was buried in me to kiss my back, her heavy breasts against my spine, and I was in heaven. Now it was my turn to ask. "Don't stop. Fuck me. Please, fuck me," I begged. And she did. My cock was rock hard again as her hands held my hips, pulling her back onto the dildo and driving into me. I rode her, rode the waves she sent through me as her cock filled me. She pushed the entire length into me and lent forward, her hand snaking round to grasp my cock. "I want you to cum," she said in my ear. And went back to fucking me, but now her hand was moving in time with thrusts, her hand also soaking wet with juice and finding the exact rhythm that sends shudders through me. "Cum for me." I held out only moments, but long enough for her to be inside me completely, our bodies together as I shuddered and shot, a wave rolling through me that pulled me under and spun me every which way. Again we lay together, listening in the dark to our hearts beating, slowly coming down, her head nestled on my chest in exactly the way that feels right. "I'm sorry. I have to go now," she said. "But remember me." Before I could protest, before I could even draw breath to argue, the world shifted again. Like a radio being tuned in, a thin layer of sound filtered through, the lights started to glow dimly again. I was back in elevator No. 3 -- wood panelling, marble floor, brass control panel and chandelier -- and fully clothed. And alone. A hammering on the doors and shouts from outside arrived at my ears. 
"Don't panic, sir. We're going to get you out of there." ... Like I say, getting old doesn't happen overnight. I've mentioned the memory thing. I find it's a good thing with memories not to probe too hard, not to seek explanations. But just to remember them, and treasure them. Another thing is music. I don't have much time for the stuff young folk listen to today. But I make one exception. There's a song by Aerosmith that never fails to take me back to that February day in 1954. You may know it. Love in an Elevator Olivia tapped her foot as she glanced at her watch again. She was already late for her meeting and the elevator was taking forever to reach the lobby, but hiking up to the fourteenth floor in her high heels was out of the question. Finally the door to the elevator slid open and she stepped on, pressing the button of the floor she needed. Turning to face the mirrored back wall, she dug her lipstick out of her small purse and applied the red shade to her perfectly pouty lips. As she was fixing a curl of her soft black hair, the elevator stopped, and behind her the door parted. On stepped two men in suits, one her own height with blonde hair and bright eyes, the other was the classic tall, dark, and handsome . "Hey Olivia," the man with the dark hair said as he smiled. Olivia recognized him as one of the paralegals from her office, but couldn't remember his name. She returned the smile, and they started chatting about an important case the firm was working on. As they talked, Olivia couldn't help but notice the other man's eyes lingering on her full breasts. Pervert, she thought, but the attention his gaze was giving her body was turning her on in spite of herself. All of a sudden the the lights went out and the elevator jerked to a stop, causing Olivia to stumble against the dark haired man, catching him off guard. He caught her by wrapping his arms around her, pulling her to him close. The emergency light flicked on and they were left standing in a dim light. "Sorry," Olivia said sheepishly as she tried to pull away from the tall man. He didn't let her go so easily, however. The man leaned over, breath hot against her skin as he whispered, "No need to be sorry, I've wanted to hold you like this since the first day I saw you." Behind her, the blonde man had stepped closer and rested his hands on her hips, rubbing his thumbs against her skirt. She sighed softly. Being between two men like this was arousing, and without realizing what she was doing she pressed her breasts against the man in front of her, while pressing her ass into the groin of the man behind her. Both men let out small groans, and she could feel how excited the blonde man was, his hardness nestling between her cheeks. The man in front of her leaned over and kissed her. She returned the kiss, and he nibbled on her bottom lip, then kissed down her neck to her collarbone, gently biting. The man behind her slid one hand up the front of her to grab one of her firm, round breasts and gave it a squeeze. Olivia could feel her own excitement dampening her between her legs, and she longed to be touched down there. As if he could read her thoughts, the man in front slipped a hand under her skirt, softly running his fingers over the lace panties she was wearing. She shuddered with anticipation. He moved the lace aside and slid a finger along her slit. She was soaking wet. He found her clit and rubbed it in gentle circular motions as she writhed against him. Behind her, the other man lifted her skirt up and slipped two fingers inside of her, fingering her g-spot. Olivia cried out in ecstasy, her knees trembling as they both brought her to an orgasm. They removed their hands, and took turns letting Olivia lick their fingers clean. Without saying a word, Olivia dropped to her knees and the two men unzipped the flys of their pants, letting them fall to the floor. She grasped one stiff prick in her right hand, and the other hard rod in her left hand. She licked along the length of one, and then the other. She pumped her hands up and down the shafts of both. The dark haired man grabbed a handful of her hair, and pulled her face towards his cock. She licked the head, and then took it into her mouth, sucking. The blonde man pulled away from her grasp, and fell to his knees behind her. He lifted her skirt and plunged his cock deep inside her. Her sounds were muffled through a mouthful of dick, and she continued greedily sucking on it as the other man thrust in and out of her from behind. The sounds of wet suction and moans filled the small elevator. Both men had started to breathe heavier and heavier. "Fuck, I'm going to cum" groaned the man whose dick was being pumped in and out of Olivia's hot, wet pussy. "Me, too" replied the dark haired man, and he let his warm load burst from inside of him, pouring down the back of Olivia's throat. The man behind her thrusted one more time, hard and deep, cum spilling out of him and into her pussy. The sensation of both men cumming at the same time sent Olivia over the edge as well, her body shuddering. Just then, the elevator shook and the lights brightened. Olivia and the blonde man stood. She smoothed her skirt as both men dressed themselves in their pants again. Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror as the elevator began to move again, she attempted to fix her now sex-tousled hair. "Fourteenth floor" said the blonde man, as the door slid open. Winking slyly at the two men, Olivia stepped off of the elevator and made her way down the hallway to her office. She'd missed the meeting, but it had been well worth it. Love in an Elevator Characters are borrowed from The Blacklist; I do not own them, only my ideas. :) ***** The elevator ground to a halt three floors from their destination. Not again, she thought. Just last week she had been trapped in the same elevator with the same man under very nearly the same circumstances. "They really need to hire some new maintenance people," Raymond Reddington declared from his position behind her where he was leaning against the rear wall of the elevator. "I'm sure they're doing their best!" Lizzie spat over her shoulder acidly. Sure, she was annoyed, too, but she was going to take the high road and not complain. "I can't believe this is happening to us, AGAIN," she grumbled. "Oh, I don't know," he reflected optimistically, "I kind of enjoyed the last time." She whirled on him, "Are you kidding me?! We were stuck in here for an hour arguing; it was torture!" "Oh, I quite enjoyed our verbal...sparring." he pushed himself off the handrail, closing the distance between them with a step. "Really?" she countered, sarcastically. "because I distinctly recall you using the words 'incessant', 'volatile', and incompetent' during our last incarceration here." She spun around to face the elevator doors, punching the buttons for good measure. "I don't think you have any idea how...arousing I find our quarrels." He had stepped even closer, leaning into her ear as he spoke. She froze, her back stiffening as she sucked in her breath at his words. The timbre of his voice had dropped an octave and he was oh, so close to her now. She shouldn't be feeling this way. This man infuriated her at every turn and had since his first day at the Post Office two months ago. He was the bane of her existence, infuriating and intractable. He was impossible to work with, withheld information until he deemed it relevant, and was constantly criticizing her wardrobe, her hairstyle, and her ability as an FBI agent. So, why was she standing here, fighting to remember to breathe with every syllable that he uttered? Why was his voice making things dark and primitive curl low in her stomach? Why was she struggling not to turn around and face him? "There is something rather...heated about the way you look when you're trying to hand me my balls on a platter." he continued softly, "Though I'm sure there are other, more enjoyable, things you could do with them." He lowered his head and, with the barest of touches, nipped at her ear. Unable to control herself any longer, she whirled around and launched herself at him, forcing him to take a step back to catch her weight as she pinned him to the wall with her lovely body. Her hands were everywhere, clawing at his clothes. His lips imprisoned hers, his hands on her face as he released months of pent-up sexual tension. Had she really not feel it all this time? They had chemistry, a burning captivation towards each other and he was singing the praises of the incompetent maintenance crew in his head that he finally had the opportunity to show her just how good they could be together. She pulled at his tie, loosening it enough to pull it from his neck and then tore open his shirt and vest, sending buttons flying. His mouth was on her neck, biting above her pulse point, as she ran her hands over his chest. He grabbed her hips, lifting her up around his waist, turning to slam her back against the wall. He hooked his hands under her thighs and she wrapped her legs around him, finding his mouth again and charting him with her tongue. He slipped a hand under her shirt and unsnapped her front-clasp bra with his fingertips, balancing her against the wall, rocking his hips against hers and making her squirm as he filled his hand with her creamy flesh. She moaned against his mouth when flicked his fingertips against her nipple, causing it to pebble against his palm. Wasting no time, he reached between them, hiking her skirt up around her waist only to find that she was not wearing any panties. "Oh, baby," he moaned into her mouth, "This is gonna be sooo good." Finding her already wet and ready, he slipped his cock out of his slacks and plunged into her. Her screams vibrated off the tiny enclosure as he thrust into her, setting a punishing rhythm, which she matched, thrust for thrust. Wanting to bring her, her lowered his hand between them, rubbing her clit vigorously until he felt her tighten around him, crying out his name. he continued to pump into her until he exploded inside her body, crushing her to him, his mouth drinking her cries of fulfillment. They stayed like that for long minutes, his forehead resting against hers, the sweat cooling on their skin. When their breathing had finally begun to slow, he loosened his grip on her just enough so that she could lower her legs and then he slid them both to the floor, cradling her against him. Still panting slightly, he pressed a kiss into her temple and leaned his head back against the wall. He noted the satisfaction in her voice when he heard her mumble, "We should have done that months ago."