Page 33 of Due South

“Ten, Luce. They’re practically on top of us and they’re staring. Both of them, because you’re so fucking beautiful and shameless.”

She rocks up again, and that’s when I hear it, the sound of pleasure forced between her teeth because she’s trying so hard to not make a peep. It escapes anyway because it’s too big for her to hold in. And hell, maybe I’m a mess, but I can get Lucy off. I can make her happy for a few precious minutes, force her to make those sounds that nearly drag my own orgasm out of me. It’s only through sheer strength of will that I’m not blowing my load where my zipper is rubbing uncomfortably between my dick and Lucy’s behind.

Her back’s arched, but she grinds her hips against me, taking the pleasure she wants from our hands. She rocks out the last beats of her climax, and I can feel her muscles clutching my fingers in time. The only thing better would be feeling her clamp down around my dick. Maybe some other time because this isn’t about me.

She’s basically collapsed against my chest, and I’d like to hold her there, pet her hair, stroke her neck, lay kisses on her freckled skin, but I can’t because she sits bolt upright, dislodging our hands.

“What’s the matter?”

“Did they—I thought—”

The panic in her voice slays me. She might play it cool, but I know she worries. It’s fun to play, but the fear of getting caught is too much.

“Oh, Lucy.” I reach for her, pull her against me, and hold her tight, hoping she can’t hear my heart pounding. “There’s no one here. Just us. I made it up. A story.”

She’s breathing hard and not the hot panting of a post-orgasmic woman, but an anxious sucking of breath into her lungs.

“Are you just saying that?” Her head twists in either direction, scouring the beach for phantom surfers she’s not going to find.

“No. I promise. I thought—I thought you’d like it. I thought it would get you off. I’m sorry if—”

She stops flailing, and her shoulders drop. Her fingers find my forearms and curl around them.

“It did. Get me off, I mean, but then when I thought…”

“No, I know. I wouldn’t do that. Unless we’d talked about it before. That—it wouldn’t be cool. Hot, maybe, but not cool.” Jeez, panic makes me sound stupid.

“Yeah, okay.”

I want to see her face, double-check to make sure she’s okay because, dammit, if I only have a week with her, I don’t want to fuck it up. When she looks at me in the office after this, I want it to be with longing, with memories of how hot we burned, not of how badly I fucked up and made her uncomfortable. But she doesn’t turn around. I have to be satisfied with the way she slumps against me and how her breath evens out. In less than a minute, she’s making soft kitten-sleepy noises and her hands loosen on my forearms.

She’s asleep.

I smile, because even though I’m sure the whole being awake and busting her ass getting that report done for twenty-four hours is likely the better part of it, it still makes me feel damn good that she’s basically passed out after I got her off. Mission accomplished.

Chapter Twelve

‡

December 22nd

Lucy

Something is chirping.

Something is chirping, I’m weirdly comfortable, and there’s sunlight hitting my face. Which is downright bizarre, because I’m at the office. Or I should be except…

Everything that happened last night comes flooding back to me. Evans asking if I’d let him surprise me and then…then the beach. And the surfers. And the earth-shattering orgasm. That’s pretty much the last thing I remember. Which is fine. So fine. I smile thinking about it.

And then realize I don’t remember going anywhere afterward. Which means… I shift, and yes, there’s a body pressed against my back and an arm slung over my waist and the soft snuffling of someone still asleep. Evans.

That’s when it occurs to me that the chirping sounds somewhat…unnatural. Not birds exactly, but a soundtrack of birds on loop. I start pawing around the blankets, realizing we must look homeless, sleeping out here on the beach like this. It’s a good thing no cops have come by and roused us. Or is it? Because now I’m starting to panic a bit about what time it is, exactly.

Given the sun, it can’t be too late, but I don’t have any time to spare. Finally I locate my phone and click it on to see it’s almost seven. Shit. Not terrible, but not great given we have to drive back to the office from the beach.

I scooch out from under Evans’s sleep-heavy arm and roll over to look at him. If I was allowed, I’d brush the reddish-brown hair off his forehead and kiss him, because even though I’m on edge now, that was a nice thing he did and I’d like to say thank you. I will, just not in a sweet, boyfriend-girlfriend way, because we’re not. Can’t be.

Which is too bad because aside from all the stress and worry and insanity, this might be the happiest I’ve been…ever. And yes, the sex has had some—okay, a lot—to do with that. Who would’ve thought Evans of all people would turn out to be a master of sex? But it’s been more than that. I like how he looks at me. Also the way he doesn’t talk down to me and instead talkstome because he has no doubt I can do my job. Because I do it.

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