Page 22 of Due South

Yes. The idea of her flooding my mouth is… I need to be careful, lest I totally fucking lose it and come in my pants. I might not be any kind of Casanova, but dammit, I will not disgrace myself by blowing my perfectly good load into these pants. Besides, my drycleaner is this adorable seventy-eight-year-old Korean woman who gives me jars of kimchi because she says I’m too skinny, and I can’t imagine exchanging her thoughtfulness with ejaculate-soaked trousers. But the thought of elderly Mrs. Kim is at least a good deterrent to humiliating myself.

Long enough anyway to focus on how best to get Lucy off. I suck her clit again because she seemed to like that—a lot—and then curve my fingers inside her until I find the—

“Ah!”

Yep, that’s the spot. And after a few more thrusts, I get what I was after. A pulse of moisture surging into my mouth, and it’s as good as I thought it would be. She tastes so goddamn good. Cherries and vanilla and the musk of intimate flesh…

“Evans, god, fuck. You’re so fucking good.”

And then there’s a barely human noise, one that sends my dick jerking because it’s so freaking sexy. Her interior muscles are squeezing around my fingers, and the rhythmic pulse is incredible. Makes me want to get inside her and feel that around something other than fingers.

She pushes against me a few more times, rocking out the rest of her orgasm, and then runs a hand through my hair. “So good.”

Her thighs are spread lazily, and she’s collapsed against her chair, getting her breath back. I unlock the wheel and push the chair away enough to see her face. Her hair is in disarray, the pencils having come loose at some point. She looks delightfully spent, and pride surges through me along with desire, twin pleasure and frustration coursing through my veins. I made Lucy look this way, feel this way. Me.

Stroking my hair more, her eyes are closed, and she doesn’t bother to close her legs. Tenderness overwhelms me that she trusts me so much, to let me see her anything but put-together and prim.

It’s not the most comfortable, here on the floor, but I’m happy to have my knees ache for a while to let Lucy have some peace. She’s been working so hard and it’s only going to get worse over the next few days. I almost hope she falls asleep like this. I’d grab the blanket from India’s office and cover her, wake her up in a couple of hours so she wouldn’t freak about missing too much time.

While I’m listening for her breath to even out into the sounds of sleep, she stirs and gently scratches her fingernails against my scalp, which feels amazing.

“Evans?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you for something and you won’t think I’m a total glutton?”

“Whatever you want, Luce.”

“Would you fuck me over the desk?”

I almost choke on nothing, because, holy smokes, that makes her gluttonous how? I suppose some guys might call her insatiable, but if I did, it would be in tones of admiration, not shaming. I smile against the inside of her knee and then kiss and nip.

“If I have to.”

She tugs at my hair and giggles, hearing the teasing in my voice. “You do. It’s required.”

“Do you need another minute or…”

“No. I want it now.”

There’s another yank at my scalp, and while I could imagine how that could feel good to other people, it doesn’t particularly to me. I like that Lucy’s asking for what she wants, though, and it doesn’t hurt. Pushing off the floor, I survey her desk, moving piles of papers to one side and her shiny pink stapler to a shelf. That should give us enough room.

I offer her a hand and she places her soft one in mine, giving me an easy, dazed smile at the same time. Pulling her up and drawing her into me not gently, she gasps. The sound makes my dick throb. I playfully push her over the desk and love the way she spreads her fingers across the surface. When she’s steady, I use my knee to spread her legs, her skirt already hiked over her hips.

Waiting to get inside her isn’t what I want to do, but I think of Mrs. Kim again and back off to shuck my pants so I won’t have Lucy’s wetness marking the fly. Shoes have to come off too, but I don’t bother taking my shirt off because I don’t havethatmuch patience. And then I realize—

“Shit. Condom.”

Lucy squeaks and pounds a fist on her desk. “Dammit, Evans!”

“I didn’t think I’d get to do this again. I didn’t want to be presumptuous,” I hiss.

“Well, go get one. You still have them in your desk, right?”

Yes. Yes, I do. Did she think I would’ve used them all up in the less-than-twenty-four-hours since the last time we’ve done this? That is the precise opposite of what’s happened. So yes, they’re there, safely tucked into a desk drawer but going to get them is going to be interesting. Put my clothes back on or no? Running through the office with no pants on has a high potential for embarrassment, but the potential for ridiculous levels of hedonism inside Lucy if I do it outweighs that.

“I do. You stay there, spread out on your desk and waiting for me, and I’ll be right back. Don’t move.”

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