Page 29 of Due South

“Are you sure about this, Lucy?”

It’s possible I’ve been chanting a steady stream of “please” under my breath, so yes, dammit, yes.

“I’m sure.”

“And what are you sure about?” The first had been an earnest question. Now that he’s got permission, he’s going to tease. Cunning and wonderful sex wizard he apparently is. Who would’ve thought? Since I’m a full participant in this game, I’ll give him my answer.

“I want you to fuck me.”

“You want me to fuck you? Right here?”

“Yes.”

“Let me get this straight,” he drawls, all the while kneading the flesh of my butt. “You want me to fuck you, in a bathroom, where any one of your coworkers could wander by and maybe catch one of those breathy sex noises you make? What would they think, Lucy? If they knew? If they knew your marvelous tits were pressed hard up against the door and your legs were spread apart so I could work my hard cock into all the tight wetness I know is waiting for me under here?”

His finger skims along the thin strip of fabric, the only barrier to his touch. And it might not be there much longer, because it might disintegrate. That’s how soaked I am.

“Big,” I mutter.

His finger stops its trip, and I want to scream. “What?”

“I said big. You forgot big. Your big, hard cock. Evans, please. Fuck me, please. Fuck me with your big, hard cock.”

He wrenches my underwear to the side, steps close behind me, and then curses. I squeeze my eyes shut tightly because I hate the absence of his hands for the minute it takes him to fumble his belt undone and unzip. There’s a rip of a packet, a pause, and then he’s back. His hands are back; his heat is back.

It occurs to me it’s convenient I’m wearing these heels because otherwise we’d have to do some pretty fancy tricks for our bodies to line up the way they need to. But with these shoes, I’m the perfect height and his knees bend only slightly alongside mine before he’s pressing into me.

I love the way he takes the first stroke slow. Each time he has to make space for, yes, his big, hard cock. But sometimes I want to scold my vagina because seriously? Don’t you remember him? Shouldn’t you hold the shape of him? Because as much as I love the consideration, the care and the strain he must be under not to rut into me, I truly do want to be fucked and I don’t have time for this shit.

I shove back against him and immediately regret it. Even though I’m beyond wet and he’s had me before, it burns and a sob makes my whole body go rigid. My fingers curl up against the door, and I turn my face to a cool part of the marble. Pain is so not an aphrodisiac for me. It hurts.

“Lucy.” His whisper is frantic, and his hands that have been digging into my flesh have gone soft, stroking instead. “Do you—”

“No.” I reach back for his hip to stop him from withdrawing from me. I don’t want him to stop, to leave me empty. The pain slowed but didn’t get rid of the torrent of lust that had been flooding me seconds ago. And all because I couldn’t wait.

He runs a hand back and over my hip, my flank, soothing me while his other finds a sweetly firm grip on my shoulder. Not impatient or demanding…letting me know he’s here. When he lays his cheek where my neck meets my shoulder, I’m almost certain it’s to better judge my breathing and my heartbeat. The tenderness is almost too much to bear.

A few minutes must go by with us standing here like this: me with my dress rucked up around my waist and him with his pants around his ankles. A lot of guys wouldn’t have the patience for this or might’ve gone soft. But he’s still hard, halfway inside me. I squeeze around him, and he groans quietly, rolling his head against my back.

“Lucy…”

“I’m okay,” I assure him. The slight sting doesn’t turn me on by any means, but I’m pretty sure I’ll forget about it soon. “Go ahead. Just… Slow, please.”

There’s another twist of his head, and I realize, not so distracted by pain anymore, that it’s wet. Moving my hand from my hip to his lower back, my fingers encounter moisture too. He trembles under my touch, breathing out a heavy sigh against my neck. He’s been trying so hard to hold himself back he’s broken out into a sweat. And in that moment, I kind of… I think maybe I might…

Love him.

Or it could be lust that’s been released by the slow, steady push of him inside me. By the time he’s fully seated, it’s definitely lust. I squeeze around him to see how it feels.

“Lucy,” he grinds out through gritted teeth. “Tell me this is okay. Tell me you’re all right. Tell me you still want me.”

My hand on his back feels suddenly too much like an embrace, too tender, so I place it back against the wall.I want you. I want you more than you know, more than I can have. You make me feel like a goddess.“I still want you.”

He starts a gentle rocking motion that gradually builds into what he promised: a good hard fuck up against the door. And through some act of a very benevolent god, I come. Even without any contact on my clit. I’m not entirely sure how it happens because it’s never happened before, but I have to bite my wrist to keep from crying out. The mushroom cloud of my orgasm billows up through my body, grounded where he’s still plowing into me. But after a minute, he shudders and I feel the pulse of his release inside me.

It comes in waves, tapering off but not dying entirely for longer than I would’ve thought possible. What would it be like to have him come inside me? I’ll never get to find out because people who are only planning to fuck for a week don’t do that sort of thing. At least, not the goody-two-shoes, eminently responsible, maybe kinda paranoid people we are. It occurs to me, though, that despite always using protection, this arrangement we have isn’t safe. At least for my heart.

Chapter Eleven

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