Page 18 of Due South

Shifting to between her thighs, I find her feet with my hands and run my fingers up the insides of her thighs until I reach the juncture of her legs and that soaking wet strip of fabric running between them. I want to rip it off her, but that seems rude somehow. I hook my finger through the fabric, enjoying the slick of flesh it travels through before coming out the other side, and I tug.

“Would you be upset if I ripped these off of you? If they’re expensive, I won’t but—”

“Yes, do it please. I don’t have the patience to wait for whatever you’re going to do. Rip them, please.”

Her voice is tight and throaty at the same time, and it makes the urge I had to do violence to her clothing even stronger. Ripping her panties doesn’t happen quite as easily as I had hoped, the fabric more stubborn than I was expecting, even under the vicious force I exert. It takes me a few times and both hands to do them in, but when they’re gone, I’m even more eager for my prize. I drop to my elbows and work the snug slip high enough to uncover what I’m after.

Grabbing the flesh of her hips, I drag her even closer. The smell of her from here is intoxicating, and I can’t help but say her name before I find a more productive use of my mouth. The feel of her under my lips and my tongue is flat out extraordinary. She tastes earthy and human, but with a sweetness that echoes the clearer taste of her shoulders. I lick her and lick again because I can’t get enough.

A shift of her hips and a whimper gets my attention though and I tear myself away.

“Are you okay?”

I can’t break the habit of sight, even though there’s nothing to see. I let go of her hips to search for her hands, threading my fingers through hers when I find them.

“No, I’m not okay!”

No, no, no, what have I done?

“Lucy, I’m so sorry, I—”

“I was perfectly well until you stopped doing that. Now shut up and either go down on me again or fuck me. But I swear, Evans, if you leave me like this, I will never, ever teach you how to use the coffee machine. Ever.”

Her threat makes me laugh. I must have addled her brain something good if that’s the worst she can come up with, but it does the trick. I go back about my business, paying more careful attention to the sounds she’s making, trying to match them to the ones she was making last night, and when she’s making the short, hiccupping gasps like she was right before she came, I stop.

She practically shrieks her protest and maybe swears at me, but if she does, it’s indecipherable, masked by the desperate noises. I interrupt before she can make any more. “You said fucking would also be an acceptable means of making you come. Did you mean it?”

“Yes, Evans, hell yes. Fuck me. Fuck me, please.”

Mild-mannered Lucy swearing up a blue streak probably shouldn’t delight me as much as it does, but it totally charms me. I reach for the condoms in my pocket, but there’s no way I’m going to be able to open one and get it on without any light to see by. I might be able to do it eventually by feel, but I’m not risking the minutes of fumbling for Lucy to realize what a hopeless disaster I am or the possibility I’d rip the thin latex. I can’t afford to have anyone else depending on me right now.

I grasp her leg before I scramble for the door, telling her I’ll be back in a second.

“Evans!” My name is an angry hiss, and I choke back a laugh.

“Condom.”

“Oh.”

My logic is apparently an acceptable reason not to be inside her at this very second because she waits quietly for me to crack open the door, strip down by the dim light, and roll the condom on. I catch a glimpse of her, still lying on the floor, her burnished hair spread over the dingy carpet. She stayed. I didn’t even have to ask her to, and she’s still there, fists clenched in frustration because she wants me so badly. What awesome version of an alternate universe have I fallen into and can I stay here forever? How can I make that happen?

The second I’m finished, I slam the door shut and she laughs as I clamber back over to her. Finding her, I follow her limbs until I position myself between her legs. I kneel and grasp her hips, dragging them up into my lap, and then I’m inside of her. She’s hot, so hot, and I have to hold myself back because I don’t want to hurt her. In this position, she doesn’t have any control so it’s all on me, and I won’t hurt her. I won’t.

I work my way slowly, gently, but steadily into her tight heat, gritting my teeth hard because I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything quite so good. When I’m fully inside her, she wraps her legs around my waist, and I almost die from the pleasure. She wants me. But I want to hear her say it—I want her to say my name. While it would be the best thing ever to hear her gasp “Chanoch,” I don’t get my hopes up. And in fact, I told her to keep calling me Evans, which will do. Yeah, it’ll do.

“Wait, what is it I’m supposed to be doing right now?”

Her nails dig into my knees. “Fuck me, Evans, please. Now. I can’t stand it anymore.”

So there in the dark, on the floor of the copy room, I do. And while I’ve got her legs spread in front of me, I find her clit and stroke it with my thumb. She rocks up as much as she can, which isn’t much, seeking my fingers. And it’s not so long before she’s bucking on top of my thighs and making those same short noises. She’s going to come soon, I know it.

And she does, crying out my name and all kinds of blasphemies. At least I think they’re blasphemies. With her pulsing orgasm clamping around my dick, there’s no way I can hold out any longer. I come, and my climax is like almost nothing I’ve ever felt before. Since last night. This is pretty much tied as the best sex I’ve ever had. I don’t want this to ever end, but I am starting to wonder how many earth-shaking orgasms a single person can be allotted in one lifetime. Maybe I get one more. Maybe. But if this is it, if this is all I get, I’ll die happy.

I grab her hips, clutching and stroking in time with this incredible feeling still pulsing through me. I’d like to collapse on top of her, bury my face in her hair that smells faintly of vanilla, but in this position I can’t. My knees are starting to smart from being pushed into the hard floor, so I have to ease back. And it’s awkward, so horribly awkward to scoot away from her while she lifts her hips and I want to grab her back.

One terrible thing about sex in the office is you can’t cuddle afterward, and I’d like to snuggle her. Because I bet she’s soft and warm and it would be the absolute best to have her lay her head on my chest and wrap my arm around her curvy waist and breathe together. Because I get the feeling Lucy and I are the same in some ways. Like we’re both nervous and shy and it’s hard to find a place in the world where that’s okay. But I feel as though it would be okay with each other.

And I bet if I’d had a hard day because India was being psychotic or if things had yet again gone to shit with my brother, she’d offer me comfort too. She’d press my head to where I could hear her heartbeat and she’d run her always perfectly done nails through my hair and say nice things to me. I’d like someone who would say nice things to me every day. And I’d say them back.

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