Page 50 of Locke

“You’re buzzed.”I offer the excuse to see if she’ll latch onto it.

“But in control of my decisions,” she laments, looking down at her hands clasped in her lap.But then she looks up at me.“I get to hear all about your family?”

I almost feel bad for her.She looks lost, wrestling with professionalism and pure female desire.“If it makes you feel better to trade it, sure.”

I said it to shame her, make her realize that I’m still going to give up information somewhat under duress.She takes it as a challenge instead, and quips, “It’s for the greater good, I suppose.You can kiss me now.”

This is different from the impulsivity of the kiss we shared in the bar.There’s no crowd on the other side of a wall, no reason to be quiet, no professional framework within a hundred yards of either of us.

I softly cup her nape again and bring her to my mouth.She leans across the console, making a sound that thickens my dick.Her hands find my jaw and I get my hand in her hair and the whole thing escalates faster than either of us imagined.

I find her thigh, give it a squeeze, and she shifts in the seat toward me.I move my hand higher and she breaks the kiss to breathe and her forehead drops to mine.

“Locke—”

“Yeah…” I know what she’s saying and she doesn’t have to finish it.

My hand moves and she grabs my wrist—not to stop me, I feel the difference—just to anchor herself, and then I find what I’m looking for through the denim.Livia gasps as I pop the button on her jeans.Before she can think about stopping me, I slide my hand inside and she lifts her hips to accommodate.I move past the waistband of her underwear and find her wet and warm and so ready that an unplanned sound comes out of me.

“Oh God,” she moans, and a bolt of pure lust drives through me.

“So wet,” I murmur as I find her clit with two fingers.Livia’s head falls back against the headrest and she grabs my wrist with both hands, holding on.I work her slowly, feeling exactly what she responds to, cataloging it the way I catalog everything that matters, and she’s making small sounds into my shoulder that are going to be burned into my memory.

“This is—” she starts.

“Yeah,” I say.

She stops trying to talk.

I slide one finger inside her, keep my thumb on her clit, and feel her clench around me tightly.Her hips roll forward, chasing the friction, and whatever composure she had left when she got in this car is completely and entirely gone.I work her steadily, pressure and rhythm, until her breathing comes apart and her fingers dig into my wrist.She says my name—this time a groan of pure pleasure before she goes rigid and shudders and clenches hard around my finger as an orgasm moves through her.

I don’t stop until she stills.

I lift my head and look at her.

Her eyes are closed.Her chest is rising and falling in uneven intervals.The silk blouse is slightly twisted.Every careful, composed, professional thing about her has been dismantled and I wasn’t prepared for how badly I want what’s underneath.

She opens her eyes.

I hold her gaze while I slowly withdraw my hand, and the look on her face is to stay with me forever.

“I’m taking you home,” I say.

She nods, which is the most acquiescence I’ve ever seen from her.

It’s utter silence as I drive her home.The only words she gives me are her address, which I put into the navigation.She keeps her eyes out the passenger window and I wonder if she’s swallowed in guilt.

I know I’m not.

The city moves past, Portland at midnight with wet streets and neon reflections on the pavement.

“That shouldn’t have happened,” she says finally.

“Which part?”

“Any of it.”

“And yet.”