Holt returns early

You and Amy have barely made it back to your desks, still flushed and buzzing from what you just did in Holt’s office, when the bullpen doors swing open.

Captain Raymond Holt walks in, earlier than expected, looking as impeccably composed as ever in his sharp suit, carrying a slim leather folder.

Amy’s eyes widen. Your stomach drops.

Holt heads straight for his office without breaking stride. You both watch in frozen horror and twisted arousal as he opens the door, steps inside, and closes it behind him.

For thirty agonizing seconds, nothing happens.

Then the intercom on Amy’s desk buzzes.

“Detective Santiago,” Holt’s calm, measured voice comes through. “Please come to my office. Bring Peralta as well.”

Amy looks at you, equal parts terrified and ridiculously turned on. Her thighs squeeze together under her desk.

You both walk into Holt’s office like you’re heading to your own execution.

Holt is sitting behind his desk, hands folded neatly. His expression is unreadable.

“Close the door,” he says.

Amy does. The click of the lock sounds deafening.

Holt leans back slightly in his chair and studies both of you for a long moment.

“I see,” he finally says, voice completely even. “It appears someone has been… redecorating my desk drawer handle. And my Montblanc appears to have received an unusual new coating.”

Your face burns. Amy’s breathing has grown shallow.

Holt reaches into the drawer, pulls out the cum-coated fountain pen, and sets it on the desk in front of him. The dried streaks of your load are clearly visible on the black barrel.

He then picks up his bottle of expensive Japanese whiskey, unscrews the cap, and takes a slow, deliberate sip.

A faint sheen of Amy’s pussy cream still coats the rim.

Holt sets the bottle down and looks directly at both of you, completely calm.

“Detective Santiago,” he says, addressing her first. “I can taste you. Quite distinctly.”

Amy’s knees actually buckle slightly. A visible shiver runs through her.

Holt then turns his gaze to you.

“And you, Peralta… your contribution is unmistakable. Thick. Slightly salty. With a lingering aftertaste.”

He takes another slow sip of the spiked whiskey, as if savoring it.

The silence is suffocating.

Then Holt speaks again, voice low and authoritative:

“Since the two of you have taken such… enthusiastic liberties with my personal items, I believe it’s only fair that I now take some liberties of my own.”

He leans forward, eyes sharp.

“Lock the door again, Santiago. Then bend over my desk. Both of you.”

Amy lets out a soft, needy sound.

Holt’s lips twitch — the closest thing he ever gets to a smirk.

“And Peralta… you will watch while I inspect exactly how much of your cum is still inside my detective. Then you will add more. Directly.”

He loosens his tie with one hand, eyes dark with controlled hunger.

“The game has changed. I’m playing now.”