Page 35 of Due South

Panic grips me briefly as I think about India coming into the office, but checking my watch, I don’t think she’ll be in for a while yet. She has a ton on her plate, but Cris is still in town and she tends to do her early morning and late night work at home when he’s here. We’ve probably got a couple of hours before Hurricane India makes landfall.

Once in the bathroom, I shut the door and flip the lock, pushing Evans up against the wood as I do. I’m so tired I can’t believe I have the energy to get turned on, but here I am, tearing at his clothes and going up on tiptoes to kiss him. We must be in the same boat because there’s only a beat of resistance and then he’s stripping me just as surely. His tongue demands entrance to my mouth, and I give it to him. And when skin meets skin and our mouths are crushed against each other, the tiredness falls away and my body buzzes with arousal.

Evans is already hard, his erection pressing against my belly. I don’t want it against me; I want itinme. I’m hungry for him. Ravenous, in fact. I don’t want to break apart from our aggressive kiss, but what’s waiting for me on the other side is worth it so I drag myself away, panting. “Shower.”

He drops a brief nod, and when I turn to the glass-enclosed stall, there’s a hard smack on my butt. “In you get.”

I squeak because it’s unexpected and then Evans is spluttering behind me.

“I’m sorry, Luce. You said you didn’t want to be hit and I did and that’s so not okay. It’s just…your ass…”

He sounds so helplessly enamored, his eyes darting to my butt as if there was some kind of magnetic attraction between them, only to have him drag them back up to my face. I can practically hear him chastising himself in his head:Look at her face, Evans, jeez. You animal.

I laugh because his expression is so forlorn and he doesn’t need to beat himself up. “It’s okay. When I said that, I meant I didn’t want to be—” The words catch in my throat because I don’t want to say them out loud.I didn’t want to be whipped with a belt.Who needs tosaythat? But I don’t think I do with him because he knows what I mean. He was my partner in voyeuristic crime, watching our boss getting dominated and fucked. My blanch should be enough. “But a love tap, that’s fine. You…took me by surprise.”

Judging by the change of temperature in my face, I’m guessing my blanch has changed to a flush. Love? I said love? Love has nothing to do with this. We’re fuck buddies, a way to blow off steam and keep ourselves from going insane while we get this project done. And at the end of it…well, it’ll be the end. Because neither of us can risk losing our jobs. I don’t totally understand Evans’s story about why not—certainly he lives frugally enough he’s got some money put away that could hold him over if he got fired?—but it’s not as though I’ve confided in him my reasons either. I don’t want to prove to everyone back home that they were right, that I’m not smart enough to have a real job, that my only worth is my body, which according to them, I shouldn’t leverage anyway if I’m sincere in my love for Jesus.

It’s better this way. Easier. We’ll enjoy this for what it is and then we’ll stop. And I won’t say love anymore. In any context.

Relief washes over his features, and then his hands are on my hips, steering me toward the waiting shower. “Okay, cool.”

We kiss and fumble at each other while we wait for the water to heat up enough to duck under the spray, and once we’re in, everything gets all slick and heated. Wet skin against wet skin, we stick and slide and I can’t handle it any more. I want him.

I push him away, back against the tile wall, and drop to my knees. The tiles are rough under them, but I don’t mind the momentary discomfort because I’ll forget as soon as…

Closing my hand around the base of his hardness, I lean forward and take the tip into my mouth, licking and trying to figure out exactly how I’m going to do this. Evans is big, which is wonderful when he’s pressing inside me, making me feel full and sated, but this is tricky.

And Evans…well, he doesn’t seem to be aware of my difficulty. Not at all. He’s leaning against the tiles, his head tipped back and his expression is one of pure bliss. And the sounds he’s making—they make desire pool in my stomach, trickling lower. I love those bone-deep moans.Heh. Bone. My delirious thoughts bubble up in a giggle and his eyes pop open.

“Luce?”

“Sorry. I’m not laughing at you, I’m…” God, I’m practically drooling over him is what I’m doing. And because I can’t think of anything to say and I don’t want to confess my childish thoughts, I open my jaw wide and take him inside, filling my mouth with the taste and feel of him. He’s hard underneath, but silky without, and I explore the texture of him with my tongue. So smooth, except farther down where a vein ridges against my tongue. I stroke it upward until it meets the underside of the head. When I do, he groans again.

“That is…ah! Lucy…” He threads his fingers through my hair and then his grip tightens. He doesn’t pull me toward him, which I’m glad for, because I’m still trying to figure out how to manage pleasing him when he fills me so completely, but I like them there anyway. Like the way he’s gripping me. Claiming me. “You’re so…unh…holy sweet…ngh.”

The fact that he can’t get through a complete sentence delights me. I use it to tease him—backing off to let him gain his composure enough to start a sentence, to tell me how good it feels, how much he wants me, all those things men are liable to say while you’re sucking them—but with a flick of my tongue or a hollow of my cheeks, I can render him a babbling mess of incoherent sounds. Unintelligible Evans may be my favorite Evans, though I like it when he fucks me silly too.

“Luce, could you…oh…you can’t…I’m gonna…” His grip tightens near my scalp, and I can tell he’s close. My hand that’s not stroking him has found his hip, and I can feel his muscles tense under my touch. He’s going to come. And though I’ve always been reluctant to do this because I’ve felt as though it was another way to be used and I already felt like dirty laundry with most of the other guys I’ve been with, I don’t feel that way with Evans. He makes me feel precious and pretty, and I know he doesn’t think I’m just another dumb actress. He doesn’t even know about that particular failure.

He’s never made me feel ashamed for being a sexual creature. If anything, he’s seemed excited to have a partner in crime, someone as secretly filthy as he is. A partner to play with, an accomplice in carnal joy.

So I want him to. I want him to spill his pleasure in my mouth. I want to swallow it down and have him inside me. Make him believe he’s worth it. That he’s allowed to want this and I’d honestly like to give it to him.

He protests weakly and inarticulately, but I don’t let up. Instead, I work harder, taking him as deep as I dare without fear of gagging because then I know he’d stop. He’d be horrified. And this is supposed to make him feel good.

A few seconds later, I’m pulling against the fists he’s made in my hair, increasing the tension on my own scalp, and it feels so good I drop my hold on his hip and slide my fingers down my stomach until I hit my clit and then I stroke. Just in time too, because with one last choked warning—“Lucy, I’m going to come”—there’s a spurt of hot, salty thickness toward the back of my throat. I swallow around him and work my tongue over him to get the last of it. He tastes—human. So human, like skin and flesh and real things, and his pleasure is earnest and intense. It floods me with an aroused glee and I find my own climax with a few more strokes of my fingers over my clit.

I’m backing off when it hits me and I have to put my forehead to his hip and hold onto him while I shudder.

“Oh, fuck, Evans. Fuck. A million times, fuck.”

I don’t know what it is, because I try not to swear too much—god knows India does it enough for the whole office, never mind the two of us—but there’s something about the strength of my orgasms when I’m with Evans that knock the curse words loose from the vault where I keep them locked up tight.

Gripping the sinewed cut of his hip and burying my face where thigh meets torso, the bristly hair wet under my cheek, I clutch at him until I can breathe well enough to stand.

He offers me a hand, because of course he does, and then he kisses me.

Kissesme. Sweet and lovely and it makes me ache.

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