Page 17 of Due South

So I shove aside all of my awkwardness and insecurities to let a few words out, words I hope will help me drag that guy out to play. I clear my throat, hoping to take the awkwardness with it. “Yes, Lucy. I’d like to have sex with you again. I’d like to have sex with you right now, in fact. So save your files, neaten up your desk, and I’ll meet you in the copy room in ten minutes.”

I turn back to head down the hall to my office. I never thought I’d get to open the box of condoms I keep in my desk. But I did get to. And not only did I get to use one condom, I’m going to use another one shortly.Evans, you’re the man.

And because I’m the man, the man Lucy wants to have sex with, I face her again. “And one more thing. Take off your dress when you get there.”

I don’t miss the part of her lips or the way her already big eyes get wider. But I can’t stare because that would ruin the whole super-cool smooth guy thing I’ve got going on over here. I spin around again and do my best not to break out into a run or a touchdown dance as I make my way to my office. I grab the condoms out of my desk and then curse myself. Why the hell did I tell her ten minutes? I don’t want to wait here for ten minutes thinking about her getting all undressed in the copy room.

That was completely idiotic. How do people do this? I should’ve thought this through. I have to keep thoughts of Lucy in her underwear at bay or I’m totally going to blow my load before I can even get back to the copy room. I can’t concentrate on work because of this raging hard-on, but I need a distraction. So I drag my phone out of my pocket, the condoms I’d stuffed in there tumbling out, and then almost clock myself in the face with the corner of the desk when I bend down to get them.

The smoothness giveth and the smoothness taketh away.

After I’ve stuffed the condoms back into my pocket—the whole strip because I’m so nervous and excited I’m shaking and I don’t trust myself to tear one off without ripping another one and I probably won’t need another one of these ever again, but I’d like to—I fish out my phone and start playingSheep Leap. It’s this totally addictive online game with these fluffy little sheep who turn into demons, and anyway, it’s a decent enough distraction that it keeps me from jerking off right at my desk when I know there’s a super hot girl waiting down the hall. And if she listened to me—did she listen to me?—she’s in the copy room without a dress on. It’s time for me to go do something about that.

Chapter Six

‡

December 19th

Evans

Iwalk downthe hall, trying to convince myself I won’t, in fact, be ridiculously disappointed if I get to the copy room and there’s a note scrawled on a Post-It that says “Suck it, loser,” instead of a curvy redhead in her underwear.Bullshit.

But I have to prepare myself because there’s no light on in the copy room. I push on the handle and ease the door open. “Lucy?”

There’s a giggle that makes my dick get hard all over again. That’s all it takes. A giggle. I’m such a goner.

“I’m in here. Shut the door, don’t turn on the lights.” Her response is half-whisper, half-giggle.

I do as she asks and then put my hands out because it’s pitch black in here and I can’t see anything. “There’s no one here.”

“There’s no one herenow. But you don’t know, someone could come back and then they’d see us.”

Yup, that’d be terrible. I mean, humiliating, but for some reason the possibility of getting caught turns me on. Adds some danger—like spy sex. Yeah, spy sex would be awesome. My visions of pulling up Lucy’s evening gown to fuck her up against a plate glass window in a fancy hotel after we’ve completed our mission are interrupted by my fingers finding some satiny fabric in the dark. It’s smooth and warm. I follow where it leads and it leads to curves, god, so many of them. Down and it’s the rounded slope of her hip and doesn’t stop until I hit skin at mid-thigh, and when I go up, there’s the swell of her breast under my palm I can’t help but squeeze.

Is this what Lucy wears all the time under her clothes? I thought the matching lacy pink bra and panties she had on last night were ridiculously sexy, but whatever this thing is might literally kill me with sexy. It’s probably a good thing the lights aren’t on because I’d drop dead if I saw what my hands are feeling.

I touch her more, skate the pads of my fingers farther than the confines of whatever black-magic lingerie she’s wearing, and find her shoulder and then her neck. I want to kiss her, but if I want to kiss her, I need to know where her face is so I don’t press my lips against a stack of photocopy paper or a box of binder clips.

Finally my hand hits her hair and I slip my fingers between the silky locks before closing my hand into a fist and pulling her forward. Just far enough to bend down and put my lips on hers. My first attempt is clumsy, my mouth landing half on and half off of hers, but we quickly correct and then I’m tasting her again.

She must’ve chewed a breath mint right before I got here because her mouth is that minty cool, but hot at the same time. It makes me self-conscious because I definitely didn’t think—in the ten minutes I had that seemed like an eternity—to pop one of the eight different kinds of mints I have sitting in my desk drawer.Not suave, Evans. Not. Suave.

Lucky for me, she doesn’t seem to care. She kisses me, her tongue licking sweetly at my lower lip, and I can’t even stand it. My hands twist in her hair, and she gasps into my mouth at the pull. I want to taste more of her, not just her mouth, but her skin, and, if she’ll let me, I’d like to taste the very center of her.

I hold her fast while I pull back and lean down to kiss her shoulder. I lick her there, knowing under my tongue there are freckles. I’ve seen them when she wears sundresses and the cardigans she puts over them slip down her shoulder. I’ve caught glimpses before she can tug the unruly cotton back over her dappled skin and thanked the universe for letting me see that. And, yeah, she tastes good. Like vanilla smells—that’s how good she tastes.

I kiss toward her cleavage and tug down the cups containing her breasts because I want to taste them too. The fabric of the cups is stubborn, tight against her, but when I’ve worked them down, they push up her breasts like a shelf and I wish so hard I could turn the light on. But if Lucy says no lights, I’m not turning on any lights.

Cupping her in my palm, I lick and suck, finding her nipple and taking it into my mouth, nibbling at it because she liked that last time. It made her squirm and make these absolutely incredible noises. This time is no different. I work my mouth on her, switching from side to side, until she’s panting. Then I tug up the top of this slip thing she’s got on and find this flimsy scrap of fabric between her legs that’s damp. No,soakedis a better word for it. I honestly didn’t know girls could get this wet. Now I’m even more curious.

I stop what my mouth is doing long enough to instruct her to lie down on the floor. We fumble some getting down to the rough carpet. Maybe I should start leaving some kind of mat or cushions in my office? Because if this is going to be a regular occurrence—and holy heck, I hope it will be—I’m going to need to put something under her. Because if the ground is hard on my knees, it must be even harder on her back. Especially after last night. Did I give her rug burn? Or, more technically, linoleum burn?

But maybe I can make her forget. When we’ve stretched out next to each other on the ground, managing to navigate the big copier and the table the printers sit on and the shelves and shelves of supplies, I kneel up beside her and crawl my way toward her feet.

“Knees up and spread your legs.”

She squeaks, but does as she was told and my dick gets harder. I don’t think I’d like to control her the same way we watched Cris control India, that seems a bit much for me—too much responsibility I don’t have to spare—but it does send a surge of blood into my cock to hear the scratch of her feet over the thin, rough carpet.

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