Page 43 of Due South

“Ah!”

My entirely undignified outburst sets him to nibbling, soft bites on that hard little bud of pleasure. When he’s worked me more with his fingers, my pleasure blossoms, starting from that tiny spot and blooming through my pelvis, up to my breasts that are aching to be touched and down to my curling toes.

I’m trying to be quiet, because despite being so turned on by his vision of some of the strip club patrons coming out here to find us and watching what he’s doing to me that I was worried the car was going to combust, the real thing might make me shrivel up and die with embarrassment.

I bite my lip hard in an effort to smother the noises, but there’s only so much teeth can do, and I’m grateful when his hand that’s not still moving inside me slips over my mouth and he says, “Shh, Luce. I’m right here, I’m not going to let you go.”

That wrings a last pulse of climax from me and brings tears to the corners of my eyes because he’s wrong. He will let me go. In a couple of days, even, and the thought swallows some of my bliss. But while I’ve got him here…

I lick his palm because I can’t think of another way to tell him to let go. He laughs as he releases my mouth, quiet now, and says, “Don’t worry. There’s no one here. A few cars drove by, but none of them even slowed down.”

Because why would they? How many people fuck in the parking lot of a strip club? I’m sure even the dancers who add a little extra to their routines after hours are more subtle than doing it in the parking lot.

“We can be done now if you want. I don’t want you to worry. You’re so…”

He leans down, and he might kiss me, but then he doesn’t. I almost tell him to, but that will make the goodbye that’s coming even harder. “I’m so ready for you to fuck me is what I am. I want your cock, Evans. Please. Don’t stop. I want to come again, and I want to do it while you’re in me.”

His eyes go pleasingly wide as he makes a strangled sound deep in his throat. Then he withdraws his fingers and eyes them, slick with my wetness, leans forward, and then licks them. I stare, spellbound, as he leisurely tongues and sucks his own fingers. He does it until there must be no taste of me left and then studies the spit-damp digits.

“I’ve always wanted to do that.” I make what can only be described as a squeaking noise, and he drags his gaze up to mine, his face wondrous. “You taste different on my fingers than right from your skin.”

It is going to be awkward for Evans to explain to SDPD why there’s a dead woman sprawled out in the backseat of his car in a strip club parking lot, especially because I’ve perished from his ridiculously worshipful and earnest dirty talk. This man…

“But right, sorry.” He shakes his head as if to clear it and then starts to fumble with his buckle. “You wanted fucking, and fucking you shall have.”

There’s a peek at the dorky-sweet Evans I like to exchange eye rolls with in the office, but when he’s unzipped his fly and pushed his boxer briefs down to free himself, the look he turns back on me is filthy. And lucky for me, Evans has been rolling prepared since that bare-assed sprint down the hall, and it only takes him a few seconds to score a condom from his pocket, rip the foil that he discards carefully on the seat of the car—because goodness knows, even in the heat of the moment, he wouldn’t want to be a litterbug—and rolls the latex over himself.

He’s so unbelievably big and beautiful, in a way I’d never thought about penises being. Beautiful in a put-that-in-me-right-now kind of way. So I grab his spread-open fly, a hand on each side, and drag him toward me until he almost hits his head on the doorframe. Luckily he ducks in time and settles awkwardly over me.

This is not comfortable, but judging by the way he squeezes his eyes shut, it’s not going to take long either. He levers up, bracketing my head with his forearms as he rests on them, and slowly sinks into me, keeping an eye on me as he does. I so appreciate his caution, and I cant my hips to help. Between the two of us and the slickness of the orgasm I’ve already had, he’s inside me reasonably quickly and starts to thrust, his hips snapping forward and driving me into the seat.

The scenario is hot, but for a second I can’t help thinking of what it might be like to have sex with Evans in a bed. Probably a lot like this but with a higher thread count. Or would he be tamer? More like his everyday Evans-self? Is it this game we play that lets him be wild and dirty?

I’m distracted from my meanderings by Evans’s forehead coming to rest on mine and the way he then turns his head and his stubble scratches against my cheek. He moans in my ear and with whatever breath he can spare from this energetic fuck he’s giving me, says my name. Says it over and over, and I know whenever he says it again in the office, this is what I’m going to hear and I’ll turn bright red. A piece of secret exhibitionism I’ll get to hold onto after this week is over.

He grabs my hip and uses the leverage to push even deeper inside me, and when he comes, I’m ready. The way he says my name as he jerks inside of me, so overcome that he’s lost his rhythm, is enough to drive another climax from my sore and contorted body.

I shouldn’t, but I can’t help how my hands come up to stroke him, run my fingers through his hair and hold him to me until we both stop shaking.

Chapter Sixteen

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December 23rd

Evans

After I dropoff Lucy at BCG, I go home for a few hours of much-needed shut-eye, a quick shower, and dammit, a shave, because I’ve started to look like a lumberjack. And not one of those hunky, hipster ones women seem to like. One of those old, scraggly ones that have seen less than their fair share of bathing and a razor blade. One of those crazy ones who goes and tries to live with bears and gets eaten for his trouble. I can tell my state of mind is not all that much better because living with bears doesn’t sound like the worst idea in the world right now. Maybe preferable to having to live out the rest of my days in my office.

As I drive over, all I can think is that I’m so sick of this place. The only reason that even seemed worth getting out of bed for was Lucy. Not India, not this job even, but knowing I’d disappoint and hurt Lucy if I didn’t show up this morning. She’s good, but she can’t handle the rest of the project alone. And I don’t want her to have to. She already stayed later than I did last night.

I would’ve gone in with her, but she waved me off. “I just have this one tiny thing I want to finish, and I need your best tomorrow. Go home and get some rest. I’ll head out in a few minutes.”

I’d wanted to argue with her, but I was drop-dead tired and she was right. Chivalry wasn’t going to make me any less exhausted, but catching some sleep might.

When I walk in the door, the lights over her cube are out, which means she’s still at home. Though my heart sinks because I’d been counting on seeing her face, it’s probably for the best. I can go straight to work and she’ll get some much needed shut-eye.

The walk down the hall to my office is dismal. I leave the lights off because there’s not any need to turn them on since I know exactly where I’m going. When I get there, though, to my windowless box that still makes me proud, I flick on the overheads and crank the AC. I’m going to need all the help I can get staying awake today, and Lucy still hasn’t taught me to use the coffeemaker.

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