How to Play a Game Called Murder

Chapter 40: Crime and Punishment

Sherlock sat back and blew out a breath, looking over to Molly, who was gazing at him with undisguised admiration. With a start, he realized she was still in a towel and remembered that he had planned to punish her for being such a distraction. He set aside his laptop slowly, his eyes taking on a feral gleam. All the manic energy leftover from the puzzle before was now driven in a new channel, into his Molly.

The small woman gasped at the look on her lover's face, standing very still as he sprang up from his chair and began circling her, much like a predator stalking its prey.

He reached out and pulled the towel from her body, flinging it aside, not caring where it landed. Her sharp gasp was cut off when she bit down on her lip. Sherlock watched appreciatively as Molly's eyes dilated and her skin took on a delicate pink flush while her nipples hardened with the contact of the cool air against her exposed skin.

"Sherlock?" she questioned, tentatively, obviously fighting the urge to cover herself. "Sherlock, what's wrong?" Her brow furrowed at his narrowed eyes.

"Doctor Hooper, I think you need to be taught a lesson," he growled at her, still circling her still form, but now his fingers were lightly grazing the skin of her waist as he moved.

She swallowed thickly. "What for?" she asked, her voice hoarse with desire, and Sherlock noticed goose bumps rising on her skin.

"For allowing Lestrade to flirt with you. For wearing those delicious yoga pants without knickers. Don't think that I didn't notice." He stopped in front of her. "And you still need some punished for lying to me about having 'quite a lot of sex' with Tom." He purposefully didn't mention that she had been distracting him all day. He couldn't bring himself to tell her that he was so far gone just yet. He didn't think he could deal with how vulnerable that would leave him, even knowing that Molly would never hurt him.

His eyes flashed dangerously and he heard Molly's breath catch.

Suddenly, he lunged forward, catching her off balance, and caught her around her waist. He dug his hands into her soft arse, urging her with his actions to jump into his arms, and she complied, locking her legs around his hips with a moan. Their lips met in a heated kiss, all thoughts being driven from their minds with the bliss of being lost in one another.

Sherlock walked the few steps to the (thankfully clean) kitchen table and sat the petite woman on top of it. He pulled her in for another kiss, swiping his tongue across her bottom lip and groaning when she opened for him, allowing him to explore her mouth thoroughly. She moaned lightly, rhythmically moving against him, rubbing her core against his erection, desperate for some friction to relieve the ache building in her.

He pulled back, his gaze sweeping lustfully over her kiss swollen lips and heavy lidded eyes. He grinned wickedly at her before pushing her back to lay across the table. Sherlock knelt between her legs, pressing kisses to her legs, starting on the inside of her ankles and moving up, purposefully avoiding her already wet cunt. Her breath came in pants and Sherlock felt his cock strain against his trousers almost to the point of pain.

"Oh Sherlock, please. Please touch me," Molly moaned, breathlessly.

He raised a brow at her from between her legs. "Oh, no. Not yet, sweetheart." The detective took her by the backs of her thighs, just above her knees, and effortlessly flipped her so that she was face down with her legs dangling off the table and her arse at the edge, eliciting a surprised 'oh' from the pathologist. He brought his hand down without warning, the sharp crack of his hand contacting the bare skin of her bum resounding through the flat, punctuated by her loud moan.

"You were so very naughty Molly. Such a bad girl." She didn't answer but her back arched, pushing herself into his hand. He smiled. "So eager, I didn't know this was one of your kinks." He brought his hand back again, bringing it down with a satisfying pop on her reddening arse. "Count," he commanded.

"Two." Molly whispered the word, hardly enough breath to make it loud enough for Sherlock to hear.

"Louder." Another slap.

"Three." Molly's voice was more firm this time, though still with the slight edge to it.

Another. "Four!" This time it was a scream.

One hit for each transgression. Sherlock ran two fingers lightly down her crack, playing with the tight ring of her arsehole and suppressing a laugh at the sharp gasp that it pulled from her, before slipping down between the folds of her pussy. "Oh, so wet, Molly. I think you rather enjoy that, don't you?" he questioned, amused, meaning both the spanking and his light brush against her arsehole. She nodded as enthusiastically as she could with her head pressed against the table. He grinned, pleased with himself.

Molly's pants could be heard throughout the flat along with barely audible whispers of 'please' and 'oh God, Sherlock, fuck me' coming from the wiggling woman. Sherlock weighed his options, he could tease her more, make her beg for him, or he could take her now. Molly was more than ready for him and he was aching to be inside her. Decision made, his hands went to his belt, deftly undoing it, along with the button and zip. He pushed his trousers and pants down just far enough to free his throbbing prick.

Taking himself in hand, he lined up and thrust into her with one easy movement, groaning his appreciation as her juices slicked the way for him. Sherlock stilled inside her, relishing the way her wet sex clenched around his cock, until she moved against him impatiently, using the table as leverage to push her arse into his groin. His hands went to grasp her hips firmly and he began thrusting into her, the pace fast and unrelenting. Molly held onto the far side of the table for dear life and the sight of her stretched out for him lit a primal fire in Sherlock. He slammed into her ruthlessly, one hand moving down to rub the sensitive bundle of nerves that was her clit. Within minutes, she was screaming, begging him to fuck her harder, as her orgasm ripped through her tiny body, with Sherlock growling as her cunt grew even wetter. He fucked her through her orgasm before coming hard, emptying himself inside of her.

He collapsed on top of her, pressing lazy kisses to every inch of her skin he could reach. After getting his breath under control, Sherlock picked up the limp body of his girlfriend and carried her into the bedroom, slamming the door shut with his foot. It was only eight in the evening, but they both passed out immediately, only to wake in the middle of the night and find each other again.