Due South (The Compass series Book 5) Page 11

  “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

  ‡

  December 22nd

  Lucy

  My eyes are blurry with exhaustion. So blurry I can’t even see the numbers on the clock to tell what time it is. I don’t think I’ve ever been so tired in my whole life.

  I blink to clear the sleep coating my eyes, and after a few seconds it works well enough that I can see the red numbers glaring back at me, almost accusingly. Three forty-five. Three forty-five in the morning, and if I want to finish this up for when India needs it, I’m going to have to be back here at seven. That’s not even enough time to bother going home.

  India went home after the party to work. From the way she and Cris were making googly eyes at each other, she’ll probably get laid first. And I can’t begrudge her, especially after I got fucked in a bathroom. Since she’s at home and won’t be back until later this morning, I could grab a couple of hours on the couch in her office. That would mean more sleep, but it would also mean not leaving the fluorescent-lit office. I got out for the party, but I slept here the night before last, and today is shaping up to be the same. At least I brought a change of clothes with me.

  Stress has made my muscles so tight they’ve gotten sore, even though I’ve barely moved from this desk in the past four hours, and the tiredness is so overwhelming I might cry. But I’ll do it. I’ll finish this project, we’ll keep this contract, and India will be…if not happy, relieved. How is she even managing to shoulder this responsibility on her own? Though I suppose she’s not because Cris has got her back and he’ll take care of her the best way he knows how.

  But he can’t help with the actual work. He must be smart like whoa if he can keep up with India, but writing political comics isn’t the same as being able to put something like this together. Only Evans and I can help her with this.

  That dizzying pride swirls in my head along with the exhaustion and I have to plunk my head on my desk to keep from falling out of my chair. Eating. That would also be a good idea. And drinking something that isn’t coffee.

  I’m this close to sleep when I’m roused by someone clearing their throat. When I lift my head, so heavy I feel as though it might fall off, it’s to see Evans in front of me looking as frazzled as I feel. He’s still in the shirt and tie he put on for the holiday party, but it doesn’t look fresh anymore. I guess banging in the bathroom and then hunching over his desk for the past four hours like I’ve been doing will do that to a person’s outfit.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey.”

  And then we laugh, because there’s nothing else for it.

  He digs a toe into the carpet and shoves his hands in his pockets. “I finished up the section on projected income. Thought I’d check in and see how you’re doing.”

  “About to fall over dead. Other than that, good.”

  The corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiles at me, not showing his teeth, probably because it would take too much energy to move his mouth that much.

  I brace my hands on my desk to push myself into an approximation of upright. “I was going to grab a couple of hours of sleep on India’s couch and then, you know, lather, rinse, repeat.”

  He nods thoughtfully, and I wonder if he’s thinking about whether or not there’d be enough room for two. I’m so tired it’s not going to take me long to fall asleep, but I can’t deny that the idea of Evans holding me while I do is far more appealing than clutching one of the decorative pillows instead. Not that I could ask for that. Actually sleeping together is definitely crossing the boundaries of what we’ve agreed to, and besides I hate asking for things. Even from Evans, who hands me things like gifts, acting as if I shouldn’t need to ask, as though he should’ve thought of it, because it’s my birthday and Christmas all wrapped into one.

  “It’s not a bad couch,” he says, and I remember finding him in there on more than one occasion before he got his own office. He’d looked so adorably sleep-rumpled and crazy-haired, and it hadn’t helped that he’d apologized profusely, as though he’d somehow violated the rules of basic human decency by subjecting me to him in an undershirt, his lower half covered by the pretty but scratchy blanket that usually graces the back of India’s sofa. I’d wondered briefly what might be under that blanket because it hadn’t been pants—they’d been draped neatly over the back of one of the nearby chairs. And now I know—boxer briefs. Most likely black. Maybe a dark grey or navy. And they’d match his suit because that’s how Evans does.

  “For a couch,” I agree.

  “Then I’ll let you get some rest. Unless—”

  “Unless what?”

  His brows draw together, making a line in between them. “Unless you want to come with me?”

  My heart that’s been beating oh-so-sluggishly suddenly pulses to life, sending blood and maybe some other things coursing through me. Does he mean to his apartment? Does he live close by? I’d wager on a modest but comfortable place, much like Evans himself. I’d probably feel very much at home there. “To your place?”

  He shakes his head, his cheeks reddening, and the quick, reflexive flick of his head tells me no, that was absolutely not what he was thinking. Because obviously. If sleeping together on a couch at the office isn’t allowed, no way in hell would crashing in his apartment be either. Embarrassment at how ballsy that was starts to creep over me. Another reason not to ask for things. Because when you get turned down, it feels so very awful.

  “Not to my place, no. Trust me, you wouldn’t want to—” His mouth snaps shut. What was he about to say? But he shakes his head again, slower this time, as though maybe he’s trying to dismiss his own embarrassment, and when he looks at me again, his expression is intent and a little mischievous. “Will you let me surprise you, Luce?”

  Surprise me? When’s the last time anyone ever went to the trouble of surprising me?

  “Uh, yeah, sure.”

  “Cool.” He nods, decisive, and smiles, this
time showing his teeth. “Can you make a pot of coffee while I grab some stuff from my office?”

  “Of course.” If there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s make coffee. And I still haven’t taught him how to use the machine. We’ve been getting…distracted.

  He drops one last nod before turning on his heel and heading down the hall.

  *

  Evans

  She said yes. She didn’t even ask where we were going. She didn’t even ask if she’d get to sleep. I’m not going to make her regret it.

  I shove a few things in a backpack, grab the thermos that’s been sitting on my desk for I don’t want to think about how long, and head to the kitchen where Lucy’s bent over, rummaging in the bottom drawers of the fridge.

  When she hears me, she stands up, slides the drawers closed with a bare foot, and bumps the door closed with a hip. As if she needed to draw any more attention to her curves. If you’d have asked me ten minutes ago if I could get it up, I would’ve said no because of the earlier bathroom shenanigans and then more work and I’m beat, but Lucy…she just does something to me.

  But she’s tired. I can see it in the dark circles under her eyes, the way she looks as if she only half-sees things, the woozy way she pushed herself up from her desk. An attempt at a flirty smile spreads across her face as she clutches fruit in both hands. “How about them apples?”

  I laugh at her silliness and she giggles back. “I think your apples are pretty great.”

  She flushes at my clumsy attempt at flirtatious flattery and ducks her head. I turn to the sink and occupy myself by scrubbing the hell out of the thermos with scalding hot water and probably more dish soap than is necessary because I can’t believe I said that.

  When it’s sparkling clean, I dry it out and tip the pot of coffee inside. I don’t know exactly what Lucy does to coffee to make it taste so damn good, but at the moment I don’t care. It takes everything I have to twist the lid on instead of taking a swig of the brew.

  We head silently out to the parking garage, and she doesn’t question me when I head to my car, just walks around to the passenger side and settles into the cheaply upholstered seat when I unlock the door. After she clicks in her seatbelt, she leans back and closes her eyes, and I pull out of the garage in silence, not wanting to interrupt whatever rest she can grab.

  It takes about twenty minutes to get where I’m headed. At every stoplight, I glance over at her. Translucent lids resting over those big brown eyes. She hasn’t been bothering with much of her normal makeup for the past few days, but I can tell she can’t quite bring herself to wear none at all because her eyeliner and mascara is smudged around her lashes. She’s still pretty. And there’s something about her trusting me so much that she climbs into my car with no questions and closes her eyes because she believes I’m not going to hurt her or do something to make her uncomfortable.

  Women take a lot of shit every day, some more than others, and I know for a fact Lucy gets more than her fair share of catcalls and guys saying things to her they probably think are flattering. It’s honestly a wonder to me women haven’t set up a commune where they only let penises in for procreation.

  But here she is, eyes closed, mouth slack, curled up in my crappy car’s front seat. And she didn’t blink an eye at my piece-of-shit, sorry-excuse for a vehicle. Just climbed right in and made herself comfortable.

  Her eyes open when I pull into a space and stop the car, and she rubs at them sleepily. She blinks a few times before the corner of her mouth turns up. “You brought me to the beach.”

  “Yeah. I like it here.” Sometimes after a long day, I come here, take off my shoes, and stick my toes in the sand. Even if it’s only fifteen minutes, somehow the sound of the waves and the distinctly outside smell of the air make me feel alive, as though I’m not waiting for my life to start.

  I take up my backpack and Lucy grabs the thermos. She walks out to the path that separates the concrete from the sand and takes off her shoes under a streetlight while I grab a blanket out of my trunk. When I catch up with her, she takes the blanket wordlessly so I can strip off my shoes and socks too. We walk out on the empty sand. It’s still dark, no indication morning’s only a few hours away.

  No one else is at the beach at this time of night, because why would they be at four-thirty a.m. on a Thursday? No, wait, I guess it’s technically Friday by now. We walk out far enough that we’re well onto the beach but still far enough from the water line that we won’t get wet if the tide comes in over the next few hours.

  Lucy spreads out the blanket on the sand and sets her shoes on a couple of corners so it won’t blow up in the gentle breeze and I do the same. I took my tie off at some point while I was working in the office in the wee hours, and I take the time now to unbutton my shirt and roll up my sleeves and my pants because, dammit, I’m not in the office and I want my skin to feel something other than business casual and canned office air.

  Lucy’s sitting at the edge of the blanket, digging her toes into the sand. Some guys would probably be annoyed she wasn’t paying attention to them, but I like it. I made her happy and she’s enjoying it. I set an alarm on my phone in case we fall asleep and tuck it back in my pocket because that’s the last thought I’m going to have about work for the next couple of hours. My brain deserves that much of a break.

  I take a chance and sit behind Lucy, my feet resting on either side of her hips. “You can move back if you want. Lean on me,” I offer because I can’t think of anything better than having Lucy lean back against my chest and being able to smell her hair. Have her heartbeat echo against me and feel her breathing. She’s very calming, Lucy is, and sometimes I like to talk myself into believing I deserve some serenity.

  Her red hair shifts in what used to be a neat bun but is now a vague approximation of a cinnamon roll on the top of her head as she turns around. She’s going to say no. I asked too much, pushed too far and dammit, Evans, this is not a date. We’re not anything to each other except polite colleagues and a quick stress-relieving, mind-blowing fuck. That’s all. Cuddling not included. I brace myself for disappointment, ready myself to crawl to the other side of the blanket where I can keep my hands to my damn self, but she surprises me.

  “Could you move up instead? So I can keep my toes in the sand?”

  Her hopeful request makes my heart lighter, and I don’t even have to think about it before I’m scooting over the blanket to be closer to her. If we sit like this, I can dig my toes into the sand too. I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather be. I could stay like this all day with Lucy’s butt snugged up between my legs and her leaning with no hesitation against me.

  I brace a hand behind me to keep us upright, and she turns her head to rest her cheek against my chest.

  “Thanks for bringing me here,” she says softly, and I smile.

  “Thanks for the company.”

  With Lucy leaning against me, my front’s not cold, but my back is chilly and I’ve got far more clothes on than Lucy. I drag another, smaller blanket out of my bag and offer it to her. She shakes it out and drapes it over herself, tucking it around her chin and wiggling against me.

  Can’t deny the movement makes me conscious of her body against mine in a not-entirely-innocent way. But I’m not going to do jack about it because we’re at a beach in the middle of the night to take an honest-to-god breather, not for kinky sex hijinks.

  We sit in silence for a few more minutes, and Lucy shifts against me again.

  Dammit, Evans, do not get hard. Just don’t. Don’t do it. Don’t be that guy.

  I should think about basically anything other than her rounded ass rubbing up against me and how freaking good that feels. Anything. But she does it again and again and now I’m starting to wonder if she’s doing it on purpose.

  “Are you uncomfortable?”

  Maybe she’s changed her mind about the snuggling. But all she’d have to do would be to sit up and move away. I’d be sad, but I wouldn’t argue, wouldn’t make he
r feel as if she owed me anything as valuable as affection.

  “Yes.”

  Oh, crap. I put my other hand to the ground and start to shift back, but she grabs my thigh, digging fingers into my flesh, which does absolutely nothing to deflate my burgeoning hard-on.

  “Only because I’m getting a little—a little…horny.”

  I can barely hear the last word, but barely is enough. She’s getting turned on too?

  “Oh. I, uh—” Fucking man up, Evans. You’ve got a knock-out redhead squirming against you and telling you she’s ready to go. Now is not the time for mumbling. Step up and give the girl what she wants. And if it happens to be what I want? So much the better. So I snug back up behind her, rubbing what is now a full-on erection against her butt and slipping my hands under the blanket to grip her thighs. I gather up that forceful persona she seems to like and I say, “I bet I could help you with that.”

  She whimpers and squirms again, pressing against me and forcing a gasp because the pressure is a bit much but I don’t want her to stop. “Please,” she begs, her voice small and desperate. “Please, Evans?”

  As if I’d be doing her some fucking favor by getting her off.

  “Then spread your legs.”

  She does as I ask, hooking her knees over mine until she’s spread out in front of me. The ocean and some distant seagulls are our only witnesses, but it still feels dangerous somehow. I know Lucy’s got a bit of exhibitionist in her, and since we’re actually in public, I might be able to take advantage of that.

  I reach down between her legs and stroke the soft insides of her thighs. She sighs against me and turns to jelly in my arms. Working my way with teasing fingers up toward her panties, I lean down. “Close your eyes.”

  From this angle, I can’t tell if she does, but I trust her to.

  Letting my fingers slip closer, I allow myself a deep breath of her hair. It’s not as sweet as usual, dulled by the indoor air of the office and it’s probably been a day since she put whatever it is that makes her hair smell like that in, but it’s still better than almost anything I can imagine. It brushes my face as I kiss her neck, taking gentle bites at the side of her throat, and I skate my fingers along the lace between her legs.