Sherlock One shots and Imagines

The wrong one - Part 17 - Jim x Reader

(Y/n) pushed around the salad leaves on her plate. Jim placing his fork down and watching her; it obvious that she was thinking about something. The younger Lestrade so lost in her thoughts, that she didn't notice that his eyes were focused solely on her.

There was something so interesting about the woman across from him. Something more than he could ever have imagined. Something more than he had thought previously. If anyone else spoke to him as she did, they would not be alive. But from her, he found it strangely erotic. She put him in his place; told him that she was wrong. Reprimanded him. It like he was being punished every time she opened her mouth; and he couldn't help but come back for more. His mind going to places, to images; thoughts of her wearing leather and physically chastising him. Making him suffer for not being a good boy.

It was rare for Jim to not be the one in charge; to surrender his power. But he would do it for her; oh, would he do it for her. He would let her dominate him, control him; anything for even the promise of just a little of what he still believed that Sherlock had been given. The thought of what (Y/n) and his nemesis might have done together, still secretly eating away at him. And though other men might be put off by the way that she continued to rebuke and goad him; for Jim, it just meant that he had to try a little harder to show her the charm that lay beneath the Westwood suits.

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She was at it again. Thinking. Thinking things that weren't going to do her any good at all. When Moriarty had whispered in her ear earlier, that she could never be a waste of any man's time; that she far from a waste of his time. His warm breath fanning across her skin, causing her eyes to flutter closed for a moment; her thoughts had drifted to her personal affairs. Or, should that be, lack of them.

It was true that she had had a couple of relationships; but after becoming a police officer, well, that all seemed to have ended. It was her own fault, not anyone else's. She loved her job and worked far too much; especially when she started working for the Specialist Firearms Command, and then becoming a detective at New Scotland Yard, with her brother. The long hours and hard work that it had taken to prove herself, not really allowing for any extra curricula activities. Well, other than that one time at a conference four years ago; when she, or should that be more than a couple of glasses of wine, had made her fall for the charms of a tall dark, and really very handsome American, that had come over as a guest speaker. But apart from that, Sherlock's kiss, had been the closet thing that she had gotten to any kind of affection in years; other than a hug from her brother after a long day at work. Though of course, that most definitely wasn't the same. (Y/n) always enjoying those shows of affection from her brother; but much preferring the notion of a hug that might become something more. Something that would result in her balling up the sheets of her bed in her hands, while she was covered in a sheen of sweat, and screaming out a man's name. The closest thing that she had got to that, was when the crazy psycho across from her, had held her tight during their dance. When he had grabbed her around the throat and looked at her with those dark eyes. When he had walked into the room, and she had been more or less naked, except for the sheet that covered her. The younger Lestrade already having chastised herself for thoughts about the consulting criminal more than once, since being his "guest"; yet here she was again, wondering if she were to say something, he would bend her over the table and fulfill all her darkest needs. An internal battle raging inside her; on one side, waiting to see if Sherlock would make the move that she hoped for. And on the other, James Moriarty, and the promise of the promise if unbridled lust.

"What are you thinking about..........?" Jim suddenly asked. (Y/n) still playing with the fancy lettuce on the white plate, that was covered in a thin film of dressing.

"I am thinking about you fucking me, if you want the honest answer." The female detective confessed, as she finally put down her fork, and looked to James. His look of astonishment, becoming a broad smile, as she sat back in her chair.

"Is that right..........?"

"Yes. I know it is something I will regret. Something that will hang over my head like a dark cloud; but yes, the thought of being in that bed with you, is becoming more and more appealing. I suppose that there is just a little part of me that is bad; a part that would like to see what a man like you can do. If you can give me all those things that you said you could." (Y/n) explained, as she slowly got to her feet. Her hands grabbing the bottom of the sweatshirt, before pulling it up over her head and letting it drop to the floor. James getting to his own feet, as she now stood before him, half naked.

"Well, are you going to join me, or are you going to stand there? I really wouldn't give me a chance to change my mind, if I were you." The younger Lestrade added, before turning and making her way over to the bed. The pants that she was wearing, being pushed down, before she crawled up onto the bed and waited for him. The breath catching in her throat, as he slowly removed his t-shirt and walked over to join her.