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He hadn't wanted to go for two very simple, very valid reasons.
One - spending time with Florence means he falls for her more and more and that is DANGEROUS, and two - seeing Florence in a bikini will no doubt cause a certain physical reaction which will be difficult to hide in just swim shorts.
But she'd won, as she so often did, and now they are walking down the beach and into the sea, and Neville's heart is pounding in his chest but it isn't out of fear of the water (or maybe it is, just a bit. The ocean is dangerous, after all).
For a while he manages not to look at her but eventually he has to. At her face, her delighted grin and sparkling eyes, her shiny hair glinting in the late afternoon sun, illuminating her head like a halo. And while social convention does not dictate that he has to look further down, under her face, and workplace protocol practically condemns it, he does. Neville Parker is a good man, but he's only human. And she's a bloody goddess.
Good god does Neville regret looking at her body because he doesn't think he can stop. He can't go back to sometimes being distracted just by her legs in those deliciously short shorts when he's seen so much more today than he'd ever imagined even in his most unprofessional and fleeting fantasies. How he'll ever be able to look at her with professional detachment again when all he thinks he can manage is thinly veiled lust is an issue he'll have to deal with after he's worked out how he can navigate the current situation he finds himself in.
He's trying so hard not to stare, and he supposes it gets easier the deeper into the sea they get - there's less to see, just her beautiful face and elegant neck, her smooth shoulders and strong arms and delicate hands splayed across the surface of the water, and just a teasing hint of cleavage if he allows his gaze to follow the lines of that bikini, sinful, sexy, revealing.
He feels self-conscious for a few moments - he's as exposed as he's ever been with a colleague, even with a friend. He knows he's lanky and pale and he's probably got greasy streaks of sunscreen over his back where he's not been able to properly rub it in. But he's fairly fit, he even has the hint of a six pack if he holds his breath (he had seen "swim in the ocean" on the bucket list over 2 months ago and he'd been preparing for it, sticking his toes under his bed and doing sit ups every day before and after work). But the discomfort leaves him without him really noticing, and eventually he realises he's comfortable, happy. And it's because of Florence. It’s all because of her.
They frolic in the shallows for a while, giggling and grinning. Florence smiling so widely and laughing so freely, throwing her head back as he blunders through the waves, makes Neville worry that he'll need his inhaler (although he supposes some of his breathlessness could be thanks to the strength of the waves). It's all very wholesome and Neville finds himself fully letting go, the tension leaving his shoulders and flowing away with the gentle current.
And then he tenses again. Because, and he could definitely be imagining things or going deaf here, but he could have sworn he just heard Florence ask him to go deeper in an unfairly provocative manner. And Neville could certainly be seeing things or dreaming, but he could have sworn that she quirked her eyebrow and winked at him as she said it.
And now he is sure that his lack of breath has nothing to do with his asthma or over-exertion, and everything to do with the fact that his detective sergeant, for whom he has had feelings for longer than he'd care to admit, is flirting with him, wearing a tiny red bikini, in a secluded part of the Caribbean Sea. While his detective inspector brain tells him that the cheeky twinkle in Florence's eye is clearly down to the angle of the sun, his heterosexual male body is betraying him and ignoring every alarm bell ringing in his head, sending what feels like all his blood southwards.
Taking Neville's lack of response as nerves, Florence approaches him in what she hopes is a manner both alluring and reassuring. DI Parker only detects the first of DS Cassell's intentions. She remembers deducing her boss's fear of swimming and decides to try to help him. She suggests they move further into the water, bringing one of her hands to his (pleasingly muscled) bicep as she gently guides him forwards. The physical contact feels like a bolt of lightning, sending pins and needles up and down Neville's body. More blood leaves his upper extremities in favour of lower climbs.
Florence has him effectively lie on his back, supported by the water, and brings his arms out to the side of his body moving him to bring his legs up so he can float and get used to the movement of the waves. And she has an idea. A brilliant idea to finally get this quick, funny, surprisingly sexy man, whom she’s lusted after for months, to kiss her. In fact, if she manages to pull this off, he won't just be kissing her. He'll be dragging her back up the beach to his shack, shoving her against walls as he explores her mouth, her neck, her skin, peeling her bikini off before pushing her down onto his bed and...
Florence shakes herself out of her lusty haze and smirks at her unsuspecting boss, his face finally at ease, eyes closed and mouth gently smiling. He trusts her, she realises with a swell of her heart. But this endeavour isn't about sappy romance and sweet chaste kisses. She wants him and she is resolved to have him.
She reaches out until her hand meets hair-covered calf. This is lightly muscled too, Florence realises with a tingle of arousal. God, this man is a temptation she is not going to pass up. She trails her fingernails up his calf to his knee, half circling the joint. She places one hand below the small of his back, to let him know she has a hold of him, reassuring him he won't float away. She then allows her other fingers to glide torturously slowly up her boss's thigh, stopping at the hem of his trunks. One finger makes its way under the hem, half an inch of testing the waters. Neville's eyes snap open and he jerks, splashing her. He apologises and tries to right himself, losing the delicious contact of her skin on his. He doesn't have too long to mourn this loss, however, as Florence places her hands on him again as soon as he stops floundering. Which makes him flounder again. He splutters a bit, but Florence just grins.
"Will you stop moving and relax? You'll only float if you relax, you know", Florence teases him.
"Florence," he warns, his voice low and gravelly, sending shivers down her spine, "you've known me for long enough now to know relaxing is not my strong suit. Especially not when you're-"
He breaks off with a strangled sort of gasp as Florence's cruel, wandering fingers trace up his abs. She smirks, and he is so in love with her. She is sneaky and flirty and free. And, god, he is too far gone to care about how easily she's affecting him. Her fingers are barely skimming his stomach and he's practically bursting through his shorts.
Shit, surely she's noticed. Oh god, now she's going to be disgusted by him, she's going to stumble away from him, horrified. He's going to be one of those awful, dirty old bosses who get hung up on their young, attractive female subordinates and take it too far and make them uncomfortable.
And yet... she's still smirking. Her fingers haven't left his abdomen. Her eyebrow is quirked and she's asking him what it is that she's doing that's so distracting, just with her eyes. And it clicks.
Oh.
Holy shit.
She likes him. She's actually flirting with him. Florence Cassell, the strongest person he knows, the most beautiful woman he's ever seen, is flirting with him. With a lurch of his heart, he realises that if this is going to progress to something which leaves them more than just friends and colleagues, he's going to have to make a move. And he doesn't have a clue where to start.
Of course, he could tease her back, all suggestive looks and innuendo until she breaks and kisses him first. Or he could tell her how he feels, try to articulate to her how much her cares about her, how much he wants her, to be with her, how beautiful and kind she is. There are a hundred different ways he could react, some of them sure to produce the desired effect. If he can pull it off. But he's not sure he's ever been smooth enough to pull off any of the moves he's seen in films, and right now Florence is drawing tiny teasing circles just above the waistband of his trunks and it’s all Neville can do to keep breathing and stay afloat.
But Catherine's words echo in his head, much as he doesn't really want to think about her in his current situation.
...Be bold...
"Florence. If you carry on doing that, I will have no choice but to kiss you. Repeatedly."
Oh god, that sounded way better in his head. It was going to be all smooth and sexy and Hugh Grant-esque but never has Neville been more aware of the fact that he is not, in fact, Hugh Grant. He’s sure that he hasn't delivered that line as well as he could have, but then Florence swears under her breath in French and the sound causes another almost painful surge of blood to his member. Before he can move, she says one word which breaks down any semblance of professionalism left and sets off something primal in him.
"Finally!"
He almost growls with the force of his desire. His arm, which had been floating at a right angle from his side, winds its way around her waist as he put his feet back on the seabed. He pulls her close enough that she can feel him pressing into her stomach. His eyes met hers and somehow, amazingly, she looks as wrecked as he feels. God this is brilliant, looking so deep into her eyes, high on the knowledge that she likes him. Somehow, though, he’s unable to move any closer, to kiss her and claim her mouth. He needs a push, Florence realises, as she practically pants up at him.
"Please."
That does it. His eyes darken and he groans quietly as his lips find hers. And it’s amazing. Her lips are so soft and they move against his with such measured gentleness it’s like she’s still teasing him. Then he traces his tongue over her bottom lip and she gasps. He takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, letting his tongue tangle with hers as her hands trail over his biceps and down his chest. In the back of his mind, he’s dimly aware that his grip on her hips might well leave bruises but that thought only turns him on more. She moans softly at his tongue’s ministrations and he forgets his own name. All he knows is her, the smell of her shampoo, the feel of her skin, the taste of her lips. His heart is pounding in his chest and he is sure she’d be able to feel it if her hands would stop roaming over his torso for a second.
The sensory onslaught of the kiss eventually forces them to break apart for much-needed breath. As he gasps in air like a drowning man, Neville is jolted back into reality. He realises that they are stood in the sea, that they’re in public and they’re snogging like horny teenagers. As much as he doesn’t want to leave their little bubble, he takes a step back and releases her. She frowns and suddenly Neville can see doubt on Florence’s face, hurt and rejection, and if he weren’t dead set on getting her somewhere more private as soon as he possibly can, he’d almost have found her insecurity laughable. Does she not know how irresistible she is? How gorgeous? How perfect? Rushing to reassure her, he brings his hands out in front of him and looks her earnestly in the eyes.
“Oh, no, no I want to keep going – that is, if that’s ok with you, of course, I just, well, see, we’re in the sea, and um, I don’t really wanna, you know, in the ocean, so do you maybe want to -”
He had been planning on finishing his sentence with ‘go somewhere more comfortable and perhaps a bit more private’, but she just grabs his hand and practically drags him towards the shore, grinning at his nervous explanation. He laughs as she pulled him along, still not quite believing she wants this too.
As they stumble onto the beach Neville takes her other hand and spins her around to face him. For a moment he is taken aback by her open expression, her easy smile and fond eyes. He takes a deep breath to steady himself and he tries to be more articulate this time.
“Florence, I- I really want this but I need to be completely sure you do too. This… it could make things messy at work, it could be awkward and I don’t want you to be uncomfortable. Also, you’re my friend and … I just want you to know that I – well, I really like you and I don’t want this to be, you know…”
“A one-time thing?” She supplies, gently squeezing his hand. He nods and she sighs and rolls her eyes. “I really want this too! How can you not see that Neville? You solve impossible crimes and yet you have no idea how I feel, do you?” She takes a step closer and he almost stumbles back at her proximity and the sheer heat coming from her body and her gaze. She looks deep into his eyes and says, “I want you. I want this. I don’t care about making it weird at work. It won’t be if we’re on the same page about what we want.”
He has to admit, even in his lust-dazed brain, that makes sense. If they’re careful and professional, and they communicate properly, why can’t this work? If they both want the same thing, and they’re willing to try, why can’t they have it?
So he grins at her, nodding, and lowers his head once more, kissing her gently this time, trying to communicate his affection for her through the slow caresses of his lips on hers. She seems to understand, because for a while she reciprocates in kind, cupping his face as he cups hers, both smiling against each other’s mouths. Then a breeze blows across their wet skin and they shiver as one, pulling apart. He swallows thickly.
“Do you, uh, want to take this inside?” Neville asks, inclining his head towards his shack. Florence nods and his knees almost give out. This is actually happening.
They hold hands as the walk up the rest of the beach and onto the veranda, which is such a silly little detail to get hung up on, but get hung up on it Neville does. He’s holding her hand, and despite having virtually dry humped her in the ocean just minutes ago, it’s making him grin from ear to ear and causing his heart to skip like he’s a love-struck teenager. At the door to the shack, Florence squeezes his hand and a thrill goes through him – oh god, she’s excited. How he’s going to keep it together and make this last more than 30 seconds he has no idea.
They step inside and before he’s fully made up his mind about how he’s going to approach this, she’s kissing him again, hands at the nape of his neck, fingernails scratching slightly at the skin. Shivers run down his spine and he emits a low groan, and suddenly she’s nipping at his bottom lip. He can’t take this anymore, it’s far too much and yet it’s just not nearly enough. He growls in frustration and she clenches her thighs together at the sound. Neville notices and any remaining blood leaves his brain and fills his aching cock. He forgets politeness, forgets that she’s his subordinate, forgets everything that isn’t her, here, now. He grinds up against her as his fingers find the fastenings of her bikini top. He unties the strings, beyond relieved he didn’t fumble and ruin the moment. He pulls the top over her head, regretfully breaking the kiss, and then his brain short circuits.
“Oh my god, you’re… so beautiful.”
He lowers his mouth to her neck and kisses a trail down to one of her breasts, nipping the skin and making her let out breathy moans that he desperately wants to never stop hearing. He moves to the other and takes her nipple into his mouth, licking it gently, teasing it to a peak. Her fingers are twining in his hair and as he kisses down her toned abdomen she pulls and he almost comes undone right then and there. He puts his hands on her hips and looks up at her, one last check to see if he can continue before he loses his mind to his primitive need to feel her, to taste her, to be inside her.
His heated stare causes more heat to pool between Florence’s legs and she has to take a steadying breath to keep herself upright. She nods down at him, begging him to carry on with her eyes. He does, thank god. On his knees in front of her, Neville pulls down her bottoms and pushes her onto his bed. He grabs hold of her ankle and kisses his way up her leg, teasing her as she did to him earlier in the sea. At her knee, he swaps legs and she swears in French in frustration. Neville smirks against her calf. He looks up at her, holding herself up on her elbows to watch his slow, torturous approach to where she needs him. He’s smiling so much his cheeks will start to ache soon, but he really couldn’t care less if he tried. Florence Cassell is in his bed. The bed in which he’s had numerous explicit dreams about her, the bed in which he’s touched himself thinking of her too many times to count. And now she’s gripping the sheets he himself has gripped on many occasions as he’s sighed and gasped her name. He can hardly believe his luck.
She throws her head back in arousal and frustration as he nips and kisses up her thigh, and now he can feel the heat radiating from her core. Jesus, that’s hot. His desire is pulsing through him and he feels like if he doesn’t get relief soon he might die, but he needs her to come first, he needs to make her cry out his name before he can even think about himself. So he licks up to the apex of her thighs and then trails his tongue up the length of her slit, making her gasp and moan. He grins, and then finds her clit, kissing it lightly as she falls onto her back and grabs his hair. His tongue delves inside her, tasting her arousal, and he groans at the delectable feast before him. He licks and sucks until she’s a quivering mess under his talented mouth and she’s begging him, for god’s sake. He presses a finger inside her and she sighs contentedly, rocking herself back and forth on his digit. He adds another and crooks them, and she stills, toes curling and breaths shortening. Thrilled with himself, Neville leans away and slows his fingers, licking his lips and asking,
“You like that?”
If looks could kill, the shack would be a crime scene. She groans and pulls his hair as punishment for stopping, and his eyes momentarily roll back into his head. So not such a punishment after all, she thinks, as she logs that information for later use.
“Why would you ask such an obvious question? I thought you were meant to be good at figuring things out, Monsieur Inspecteur, non?”
Her slip back into her native tongue does nothing to ease the dull pulse he can feel between his own legs, and he is amazed at the revelation that hearing her speak French is such a turn-on. That’s going to be hell to deal with at work. He grins cheekily at her, and she is pleasantly surprised at how confident and comfortable he is in this situation. She doesn’t have long to contemplate where his newfound confidence comes from though, as he’s returned to his earlier work of ruining her for any other sexual partner ever and she is fast approaching a mind-blowing orgasm. As she comes undone on his fingers and under his mouth, she chokes out his name along with a torrent of French filth which Neville hopes he remembers for the rest of his life. He’d very much like to hear that sound again, preferably as soon as physically possible.
As Florence recovers, she pulls him up to lie on top of her, bracing his weight on his forearms. She pulls him down for a languid kiss, and tasting herself on his tongue reignites the fire he had only moments ago quelled. She reaches down between them to pull off his swim shorts and he shifts his weight to help her. Once he is free, she looks down at him, impressed. He smirks, smug and hugely relieved that she seems to like what she sees.
Neville loses all cognitive ability when her fingers close around him and she starts to stroke slowly, teasingly. His head falls to the crook of her neck and he puffs hot air onto her skin as he thrusts into her grip. He can feel himself losing control so with the greatest display of strength and willpower he’s ever produced, Neville grasps her wrist and stops her movements.
“I’m not going to… this isn’t going to last very long if you… I- I need to be inside you,” he confesses into her neck. She moans at his words and presses a hot kiss to his shoulder before whispering into his ear.
“Then do it.”
Neville makes the noise of a broken man and all but cries with frustration.
“I can’t – I don’t have any… condoms.”
Florence makes a sound of realisation, then gently moves him off of her so she can slip off the bed and get her purse from her bag resting against his desk. As she bends down to open the beach bag, Neville is momentarily distracted by admiring her arse and almost doesn’t notice that she’s brought condoms with her. As she returns to the bed clutching the packet triumphantly, Neville can’t help but chuckle.
“What?” She enquires with a small smile, loving the sound of his laughter and almost blinded by the brightness of his smile.
“Why do you have those in your bag? I mean, we agree to go swimming, you go home and pack a beach bag. I can imagine you at home checking off all the essentials: bikini, towel, sunglasses, sunscreen… at what point did you think ‘Oh, I know what I need to go swimming in the sea with my friend - and boss - condoms’?!” He’s sniggering, and she has the good grace to blush.
“If I’m being honest, I had a bit of a plan…” she trails off, embarrassed at being caught out.
“A plan?” Neville fake-gasps, “You mean you planned to seduce me and get me into bed? You used me? Florence, I’m hurt!” He clutches his chest dramatically, and she giggles and throws the condom at him. He grins as he picks it up off the sheets, then his eyes darken once more and he swallows before saying, “Join me?”
He doesn’t have to ask her twice, and she launches herself onto the bed, knocking the air out of him as she pushes him onto his back and kisses him hard while straddling his thighs. She takes the condom from him and puts it on before readying herself to sink down onto his length, but his hands on her hips stop her. With surprising (and thrilling) strength, he flips them over so he is on top of her once more, and he hooks her legs over his hips as he slowly thrusts into her heat. They both groan as he enters her, and they lay there for a moment, basking in the feeling, before Neville absolutely has to start moving.
Dimly, he thinks this is the closest he’ll ever be to heaven. This is perfection itself. She feels amazing and she’s actually enjoying it, writhing beneath him and moaning his name between gasps. Neville can’t help but be proud of how receptive she is to his every movement – it’s not like he’s got complaints from former partners in the past, but this… it’s the best reaction he’s ever had. Maybe because this is the best sex he’s ever had. Because he’s never been this in love with someone before, he’s never felt need and desire quite like what he feels every second he’s with Florence.
Every accomplishment in his life up till now dwindles in comparison to the sheer ego-boosting cries Florence is letting out as she climaxes, setting him off too. They cry out each other’s names as they reach their peaks, and he rolls onto his back beside her, breathing like a man reborn. He looks over at his sergeant, breathing just as heavily and looking gloriously dishevelled. He can’t help the lopsided grin that is almost splitting his face, and is unspeakably gratified that she wears a mirroring expression.
“That was… wow.” She sighs as she stretches out like a cat in the sun. He furrows his brow slightly.
“You sound surprised,” he teases.
“No! No, I just… I mean, it was better than I’d imagined, and I suppose I just didn’t expect quite that level of… enthusiasm, or maybe… force…” She giggles as she trails off, and Neville might have taken more issue with the fact that she just admitted to him she thought he’d be worse in bed, if it weren’t for the fact that she’d just admitted to him that she had THOUGHT ABOUT HOW HE WOULD BE IN BED.
“So you… you - thought about this? About us, about me? In bed…?”
She blushes, she actually blushes (how is he supposed to keep his heart beating when she’s looking at him like that?!), and she looks away from his heated gaze bashfully.
“I suppose now would probably be a good time to mention that… I really… like you? And I want… well, I mean, if it’s what you want to, no pressure at all or anything, but I would like to…”
Neville stops listening as he looks at her, stumbling over her words, shy in front of him despite what they’ve just done. He smiles softly and places a hand on her arm.
“It would be the perfect time to tell me you like me, Florence. Then, you see, I could tell you that I really like you too, and ask you out for dinner or something?”
She grins and lets out a breath she didn’t realise she was holding. As she accepts his offer, they lean in to kiss again, both hardly believing that they get to do this whenever they want now. Perhaps celebrations are in order, Neville thinks, and he rolls back on top of Florence to give a her a very...thorough congratulations.