Shut Up and Drive

She was pretty sure there was a special level of hell reserved just for her. Probably with a placard stenciled with her name in blood red glitter assuring her reservation and pink hued barb wire to hold her in her display case. And over her head, in calligraphic script in that annoyingly chipper Psych logo green, “Dreams of hand jobs from Andy Taylor.”

Not the drummer from Duran Duran, no, Juliet O’Hara had to sink to a level to defile Opie’s daddy. Breath tight in her chest, thighs getting ever and ever tighter, Juliet felt a wickedly delightful thumb nail brush against just the right spot in her center to set her nether regions afire and tripped back from la-la land into reality.

Juliet fell back into her body, squeaking as reality gelled within her brain and she realized the hands down her pajama bottoms weren’t just in the realm of odd and hell-inducing nighttime fantasies. Her back bowed, head arching into a form smelling of Ivory soap and gun oil while her lower half curved closer to the maddening delight threatening insanity or bliss. The jury was still out on that one.

Finger number three joined its brethren, and Juliet wholeheartedly came down on the side of bliss. Memory skirted through her quickly disintegrating mind, brain telling her exactly who was currently tickling the ivories down there with all the skill of Chopin or Mozart, but the very notion was so far from the realm of their daily interactions she simply couldn’t accept what was very likely true.

Long digits once more delving in a manner she was sure would tickle her throat by the end of this encounter, she risked opening her eyes and craning her neck for just a peek.

What she saw confirmed her suspicions and renewed that whole expressway ticket past purgatory and toward the hot and heavy place.

Pleasure skittered through her again in a sharp spike, and Juliet did her best not to visualize anything remotely hot or heavy as her nerve endings translated exactly what was going on underneath that throw and beneath her bottom. Where ever he was, whoever his brain thought he was with, Juliet knew waking him at this point to be a double edged sword.

One, the awkward factor. His hands were down her pants, his fingers were in her, oh boy were they burrowed in and hunkered down down there. Two, whatever problems the ex Mrs. Lassiter might’ve had with her ex hubby, this undoubtedly wasn’t one of them. Carlton Lassiter certainly knew his way around a woman. And Juliet O’Hara hadn’t felt anything betwixt her legs that hadn’t come out of discreet packaging in such a long time she’d nearly forgotten the heady feel of flesh playing within her.

Teeth clenched, muscles tight, noises emerging from her throat to make Jena Jamison blush, the blond detective tried not to imagine this scenario taking place in another locale, skirt hiked, high heel planted firmly on a metal chair while splayed across an interrogation table. Certainly didn’t conjure up a blushing and hunkish Buzz McNabb getting an eyeful from behind that two way mirror…..

What she wouldn’t give for a skirt’s clearance about now. Considering those tight quarters Carlton was managing spectacularly, but the thought of nothing over her heated flesh except cool air and equally warm skin…. Propriety had gone out the window the second Juliet had opened her eyes and widened her legs, but she let autopilot steer this impending shipwreck closer to the reefs as one hand frantically shoved fabric over her hips and steadily southward.

Jackpot. Juliet had bet on a risky hand and came up with a royal flush. Burying her lips against the flexed bicep steadily tightening and releasing beneath her, Juliet did her best to swallow the breathy moans and rapidly escalating gasps pinking cheeks both north and south. All that time handling his weapon, dexterous fingers manipulating the heavy and deadly device with awe and skill. How could she have not had these thoughts skittering throughout her brain, setting her nerves to sparking…? One minute, two, and it ignited within, the flash fire of gratification surging throughout her body in a torrent of sensation, scream of delight smothered against a crinkled shirt sleeve and the skin below.

Muscles within and without spasming, Juliet felt the form beneath her jerk with a start, protest of pain blowing past her ear in a breathy rush, and she had just barely enough residual energy coursing through her central nervous system to remove her teeth from her partner’s arm.

“O---” as far as her partner got on that first try, the trembles racking his form awaking interest in that place he was still intimately attached to. “O’Hara?” The oh my God, I am going to prison and about to become the bitch of Cell Block Fourteen’s biggest mofo went unsaid but considering the speed from which he pulled from that well trod passage Juliet didn’t need to see his face to know where his mind had gone. Hiss of protest arising from her lips, the junior detective wondered how best to reassure she was perfectly a-ok with this morning’s --- evening’s --- night’s proceedings while trying her best to spin that she totally didn’t let just anybody hit her while they were unconscious. She wasn’t a skank, and she had standards.

Which now apparently included lanky guys who could reach up from between her thighs and fondle her tonsils….

Though sitting up at light speed and knocking her still bare ass down to scratchy carpet had significantly diminished his chances for a repeat performance. Displaying her goodies for the first time between splayed knees while trying her best to right pajama bottoms hadn’t been the way she thought about taking this encounter, but good intentions and all, she thought it hadn’t devolved into something unsalvageable. Yet.

Carlton wasn’t looking though, couldn’t seem to be able to bring that gaze up past his glistening hands, horror and disgust plain on his features in a manner that made all thoughts of afterglow quips shrivel and die within her chest. “Oh God, O’H--- Juliet, I just ra---”

Quicker than Shawn Spencer saving a pineapple from sacrificial flames, Juliet vaulted up, knees on either side of his thighs and palm firmly planted over lips. “We were both asleep, Carlton, but…. You’re far too talented for a girl to snooze through there, partner. I was awake for most of it and,” blush flooding her and unable to maintain that glazed blue gaze, Juliet zeroed in on the peek of darkness flirting with the edge of his collar, “believe me, you had my consent wholeheartedly. Multiple consents, if you catch my drift.”

Hand drifting from its perch, the junior detective did her best to ease the tension in the frame beneath her, hungry fingers skirting over his shoulders and down his sides, coming to rest just below where his holster usually stopped. Feeling that ribcage beneath her steadily expanding more and more, picking up speed, she watched clenched knuckles abandon her faux fur throw. Not her form taken in his grasp but rather one hand raked through his hair while another rubbed down from his nose, over mouth and chin as a massive sigh rattled up from his diaphragm.

“So, where does this leave us?”

Not what she’d been expecting, serious talk after such enchanting play. Juliet watched entranced as a pink tongue ran slowly over his lips, eyes glazing as the action was repeated. She knew that look, the same expression Carlton got when diving into a scrumptious meal and the thought of her partner tasting her…. Something tripped within, deep down and primal, and she followed the path of that retreating appendage, lips attacking his with vigor and a protesting growl as he tried to put space between them once again.

Competition made their professional partnership fun, refreshing, and entirely thrilling. All it took was a little aggression and she found herself on the receiving end of near devourment. Teeth clashing, tongues parried in a steady round of attack and retreat, only to come back with reinforcements; Juliet felt the once deflated evidence of her partner’s enthusiasm return with a vengeance, belt giving way beneath her sure fingers within seconds. Zipper rasp a heavenly sound to her ears, Juliet delved inside to wrap him within her grasp, pretty as a picture and just missing a bow, the best present she’d ever gotten from the fellow, if she did say so herself.

Seconded only by the throaty moan hitching his adam’s apple up and down as that head fell back against the top of her sofa. Teeth nipping the steadily gesticulating knob of his throat, Juliet swallowed a giggle of maniacal glee at the thought she might actually get to drive for once. And would definitely take the pot on a certain pool dithered about in the ladies’ locker room. Lassiter’s biggest gun definitely wasn’t kept in a shoulder holster, that was certain.

Entranced and all too ready to go exploring, Juliet let out a harsh grunt of protest and pushed away the hands attempting to bring her adventure to an all too soon end. Undeterred by her objections, Juliet suddenly felt her center of gravity shift and tumble, arms flailing and fingers abandoning their post as Lassiter bodily lifted her from her perch and settled her atop a swiftly cleared coffee table. If he’d torn this month’s Cosmo cover….

Thoughts of retribution and punishment vacated her brain as weight settled atop her form, heavy and sinful between her thighs. Teeth sinking into and sliding down one ear lobe, short work was made of the buttons keeping her Pepe Le Pue pajama top --- and thrown to the winds modesty --- intact. A palm, large and roughly calloused, slid a steady path down sternum to belly button before commencing a detour north to roll over one breast.

Juliet gasped out a moan, silently thanking every deity she could recall for inciting her partner’s gun fetish that’d made the man undeniably good with those hands. Dark head descending, Juliet felt a teeny peck at the underside of the other breast, tongue soothing the reddened spot before abandoning that post and setting up duty atop her nipple. Tremulous whimper just barely drowning out the sounds of his own appreciative satisfaction, she lashed out, looking for an anchor in these steadily rising waters of sensation and overload.

Fingers wrapping around his forearms, delving beneath those rolled up sleeves, she took note of the shudder and renewed vigor of his oral supplications as nails dug into his flesh. Other orb lonely and left out, despite the vigorous attention from fingers whose talent she’d already gauged and leveled as grand master, she couldn’t help but bite her lower lip on a grin as stubble rasped a clear path over her flesh and settled atop another heaving peak.

She tried her best to quell the protest as its twin was left desolate, Carlton’s knuckles skimming over her hip to come to a stop atop the still bunched elastic of her pajama bottoms. Just as he hooked into the fabric, it skittered across a non-fried brain cell in her head exactly where this was going.

No, oh hell no. She wasn’t about to be put on display like a side of meat while her partner had yet to get out of his ridiculously still buttoned dress shirt. Not if she had anything to say about it. All she’d gotten was a few seconds pawing his goods and he thought they were even here? Juliet tensed her thighs and performed a perfectly regulation sit-up, a feat she was fully capable of but hated every time physical qualifications and that blasted stop watch showed. Lassiter had no choice but to go along, unless he wanted to find himself choking on more than a mouthful of tit, that was. Back against her sofa, knees bent and splayed beneath her weight, he was trapped and at her mercy.

Let the games begin.

Forlornly missing the feel of leather under her hands, she ran smoothing palms over his chest, laying bunched fabric flush to his skin before making a beeline for his for once mismatched buttons. Starch his friend apparently, she attempted to wrestle one unyielding and unquestionably mocking button from its hole for a good thirty seconds before deciding her credit card could take this hit. Shirt tails bunched and grasped in her hands, Juliet did away with the encumbrance with one sharp tug on either side, plastic orbs popping and ricocheting like rookie misfires on training day.

Her partner’s protest was quickly waylaid by an invading force delving into his mouth as she slid fabric from broad shoulders. On to shirt number two. They really needed to talk about ready to wear for all occasions. She’d at least had the foresight to do away with her bra. Okay, so he’d caught her in bed and pjs, but something should have told him at some point today to shed this ridiculously infuriating undershirt. She was new at this. Partner banging and Carlton Lassiter were dear old friends; at that thought something flared within her chest and Juliet renewed her attack on his prudish attachment to clothing.

Unlike another certain blond hussy who’d hightailed it as soon as everything came to light, Juliet O’Hara wasn’t a quitter. And it’d take more than a few silly regulations to put an end to this partnership, private or professional.

No ghosts of partners past rattling in his brain, Juliet was going to do everything in her power to make certain Carlton forgot Lucinda Barry’s very existence, much less their whole body sharing history. White cotton twisted up in her left hand, Juliet watched those blue eyes widen and rapidly close as a single nail ran the gauntlet down the line of hair leading south from Lassiter’s navel. Skittering over his length once again, she couldn’t help the haughty smirk alighting her face as a low, drawn out, “Juliet,” rattled up from his chest.

Tongue between her teeth, O’Hara temporarily sacrificed her current plan of attack to get a little equity going here. If Carlton had any clue how she’d really achieved the department’s underwater breath holding record, his heart would explode at the mere thought. Much like her ex Mark’s had when she’d finally broken her three minute best. Swiftly going on four if he’d only shown a hint more stamina….

Simple, practical manicure proving just as effective as her still mourned last assignment’s half inch long hooker nails, the junior detective skimmed along Carlton’s sides, cotton bunching over her knuckles as a shiver cascaded along his frame and goose bumps arose beneath her touch. Up and over, eager beaver that he was as soon as his rumpled head cleared the tee, Juliet did her best to ignore the crash and subsequent shattering of what was probably a vase across the room.

Grandma Millie was a horny broad too, so she was sure super gluing a family heirloom back into a semblance of order would be understood once the youngest O’Hara girl admitted vase death by sexual misadventure to the family matriarch.

All thoughts of interior design evaporated as large warm palms cupped her best assets and pulled their chests and all points south flush with a harsh tug. Lungs hitching, chest rising, it was her turn to suppress a name exhaled in supplication as sparks kindled along her breasts. Screw metrosexualism. Damn, friction was proving so fucking good right now. Go chest hair. Throw in a couple more knowing grinds and she’d become au natural’s head cheerleader.

Eyes crossing, Juliet let out a surprised squeak as Carlton bounced her weight up for a moment, wicked gleam in his gaze nearly as arousing as the resulting evidence of his response against that just right spot of her center…. Knees giving way, thighs widening to accept more body contact, a gulp freed the moan hovering just north of the beguiling hollow of her throat her partner was currently bathing with his tongue. Long swath of warm wet heat up along her jugular to swirl over the shell of her ear, something inside her fluttered and spasmed as a voice deepened by want uttered moistly, “You taste so fucking sweet, O’Hara.” Gaze direct and piercing she observed her partner sweep that devilishly talented tongue across the pad of his thumb. “Inside and out.”

Frigid bitch. Oh motherfucking hell Victoria Lassiter must have been brain damaged to give up steady access to this.

Everything short circuited inside her head except three discombobulated words --- pants … now … bye-bye --- and she still didn’t know how she’d achieved the muscle control to go from splayed like a soon to be stuffed turkey to upright in one fluid movement, but those pajama bottoms were making swift advances floor ward; the second her right foot gained clearance the world around her exploded in a staccato burst of pleasure.

“Finally.” Impatience the linchpin of those syllables, she didn’t have the time or the mental faculties to offer snotty commentary as a shoulder hitched under her right thigh and her partner delved in for round tw --- thr --- whatever the hell round this was. Nose, lips, teeth, tongue, all she could currently manage was twining fingers into his hair, holding on for dear life. And keen.

Juliet became vaguely aware of her cat hissing from its voyeuristic vantage point along the sofa back before booking it to settings more conducive for naps. Jealous another tom was getting some puss--- twirl, nibble, suction, repeat, the catty thought skittered from her mind along with everything else beyond one ardent syllable. “Yes.” Stringently and vigorously reiterated, legs shuddering, stubble burn to ensure no skirts for the foreseeable future, reality veered away in a white haze, and her first coherent reflection was relief Lassiter’s upper body strength had held when her legs gave up the ghost.

Two hundred forty two staccato heartbeats later, she felt her leg being slid off a broad back; gravity taking hold, two strong, steadying hands tightened atop her waist until she regained equilibrium. Brushing sweaty hair out of her eyes, gaze skimming over heaving breasts, Juliet took note of her partner’s grin, equal parts enjoying the view and pure pride. Last time he’d worn that smirk, he’d single handedly brought down a major crime family. At least to hear him tell it….

Sympathetic wince sharp on her features, crack of Lassiter’s knees loud as a gunshot as he came upright, his mouth and hands took a leisurely detour along her frame before finally settling over her lips again. Usually a grumbly grouch there was currently one awfully perky portion of Carlton pressing insistently against her heated skin. “Still good here, O’Hara?” Quiet and sure, despite the brisk puffs of breath against her temple, carding through flyaway hair. Not Juliet, O’Hara. This wasn’t Carlton the horndog asking but Lassiter the partner. Trust, what it all came down to. Despite all the stupid, moronic, annoyingly asinine things this man might do or put her through, she knew he’d always have her back.

Sending those stupid slacks on a one way journey south, Juliet took several long moments to skim her gaze over his entire length before returning to his face. “No assume the position jokes when I say yes, and we’ll be fine, Carlton. Unless I get to play with my cuffs.” Sparks flaring in those darkened blue eyes, she wrapped a sure palm behind his nape and pulled him down back into a kiss. Talk was overrated anyway. Time to get this show on the road.

Takedown quick, skillful, and displaying entirely too much grace for her to imagine her partner achieving, she let out a small squeak of surprise and pried herself from his devouring mouth. “The coffee table? Really?”

Her suggestions of more comfy environs got nixed with one low utterance. “Every time I lay a beer down, get wound up by a case file splayed over it, sit through your romantic comedy torture, I want to remember.”

She’d never plop a bag of takeout burritos down atop this puppy either without vividly specific mental pictures popping up, that was certain. Settled beneath him again, solid chest looming above and hard planks against her back, she recalled --- really noted at their first partner trust exercise where she’d caved beneath his weight --- exactly how much a disparity there was in sizes here. Juliet put a hand against his clavicle, pushing him back from her mouth to meet his gaze. “Just … be careful. Been a while.”

Smile warm, tiny, and entirely fleeting, his “Me too,” barely made it to her ears before she felt fingers nudging her below again. Groan loud and frustrated, brain still on thoughts of the patrolmen finding her smushed corpse beneath her wood skewered partner, she was about to ask what the hell did he find wrong down there when it hit her seconds before he gave voice to the dilemma. “Condoms?”

“You don’t have one in your wallet or something?”

There it was, the look she’d not seen in ages, the stupid newbie trainee expression he’d leveled on her numerous times during their first year. “Do I seem like the type of guy to squirrel away just in case prophylactics, O’Hara?”

For the love of…. “You carry your service weapon, a knife, and three extra just in case clips, Carlton. To church with your mother!”

“People trying to kill me are far more likely than some woman asking me to ravish her. And can we not bring my mother into this conversation?” A sigh, then, “You don’t have anything in your Girl Scout Go Pack?”

“Was never a Girl Scout, and I don’t think three boxes of frozen Thin Mints are going to cut it, Carlton.” Ready to squeeze a portion of his anatomy far north of the Mason Dixon line, she resisted the urge to throttle him. “Look, I’m clean; you’re clean.” Medical power of attorney, not how she’d envisioned using her knowledge but whatever dragged this swiftly listing nag across the finish line. “Just go for it.”

Most guys would have to uncross their rapidly glazing eyes at that and dived on in, but not her partner, not Mr Always Be Prepared. He never had problems barging in like a one man SEAL team on busts, so why couldn’t he just take this green light and floor it? Fingers trapping her chin, gaze probing and laser beam direct, he inquired, “Still on the pill?”

Redder than the Christmas tie she’d forced him to endure after a muttered, “Never pulling pick-up duty again at the pharmacy,” it’d taken her twenty minutes to regain her breath and composure after the technician had explained the situation. Friendly and efficient Brenda had simply been making her partner aware to pass along the urgency they utilize a second method of birth control while she was taking antibiotics. Going so far as to throw in a pack of Magnum sized condoms on the house to her no doubt stammering partner had simply robbed her of any hope of self-control, and she’d chortled a quiet thank you before descending into a hysterical laughing jag.

That knuckle sized bruise between her shoulder blades had a taken a month to fade, but curbing his Dirty Harry quips after her own sly “Do you feel lucky?” had so been worth it. Even if he had nearly burrowed through her spine in an effort to kill the maniacal cackles.

Throat dry at the notion of him attempting to burrow through her in an entirely different light, Juliet dredged up a nod. Brow furrowed, indecision playing behind his dilated pupils, she put the debate to rest with a small hand enclosing his length, depositing him into just the right position. “Carlton, please.”

Shudder playing along the muscles beneath her fingertips, Juliet couldn’t stop the breathless cry exploding from her lips at that first short thrust if she’d tried. Slow and shallow, maddeningly patient despite the tell tale tremble of the arms braced on either side, she felt a tenderness swell within her at the notion her partner was holding back to give her time to adjust, time to reacquaint her rusty body with this lovely dance.

Kisses open mouthed and messy, technique vanishing as nerve cells sent far more frantic messages up his spine, she felt more of his weight settle atop as one hand took a meandering path down her belly, fingers settling into the liquid warmth just above their joining. Mouths parting with a wet pop, a steady litany of moist, breathy ramblings descended upon her right ear, praises and encouragements from the endearing to the vulgar. Body opening beneath him, tightening around him, Juliet offered up a simple directive that ended their thus far cautious tango. “Let go.”

Shoulders sagged for a moment, that delightful touch vanishing as forearms planted flat on either side of her head. Juliet grabbed the edges of her coffee table, praying for good craftsmanship, and settled in for a hard ride. Air hammered from her lungs, coherency became vague and fluid. Reality blurred, a blend of sharp commands, earnest affirmatives, and the sound of flesh on flesh; senior partner or not, Lassiter apparently had no problems acquiescing to the progressively more urgent, “Harder. More. Faster,” arising from his junior half.

Back bowing, hard nipples flush against a bellowing chest, like a hammer against a shell casing, Carlton plunged into her, hitting just right, and Juliet exploded.

Fire crackling along her nerves, she had a hazy awareness of the steady piston between her thighs faltering, quick rhythm turning messy and frantic before stilling above her.

Pants abrading her sensitive nipples, moistening the skin of her throat, Juliet O’Hara returned to reality. Sore bum, screaming thighs, and a somewhat pleasant if quickly crushing weight cemented the last half hour or so in her brain.

She’d broken her cardinal rule. For not believing in interoffice romance, Juliet sure had dove head first into this encounter and debauched her partner in a romp worthy of a porno flick. Restraint not remotely in her mind, aside from a fleeting wish to lay hands on her cuffs during the melee, it’d been Carlton who’d fronted the importance of protection, who’d done his best to make certain nothing more than a pleasant set of recollections arose from this encounter.

Oh dear God, she’d had sex with her partner.

She wasn’t this woman. Juliet O’Hara didn’t do cheap one night stands. Despite her snarky, possessive leanings some point during this encounter, she realized she was only one dropped hint away from becoming Lucinda Barry. Though this time, even if she did fall on a proverbial sword --- that image entirely wrong and setting off a round of near hysterical twitters in her gut --- Carlton was probably looking at demotion at best if news of this little tete a tete saw the light of day.

“Hey!” Incensed, grumpy Lassiter was back, and it was at that point Juliet realized most men would take laughter as an affront right after they’d plowed a woman like a prize winning field hand.

A delicate hand smoothed over his shoulder, then gave a subtle, hinting push. Carlton moved his weight off her, back to his knees, shift of position shoving home the reality of this whole scenario as Juliet realized they were both still semi-attached down there. Under her scrutiny she watched the once open features cloud first in hurt then descend into a trade mark scowl. Propping up with an elbow, groan and poorly executed movement setting her breasts wobbling, --- which erased a smidge of Lassiter’s ill humor, she noted --- only a large palm sliding against her lower back and guiding the transition got her anywhere near vertical without some sort of pain reliever cocktail coming into the mix.

Palm drifting over the stubble dotting his cheek, O’Hara pulled this impossible, unbearably annoying man who meant so damn much to her into a hug. Given the stiff body language, this action proved entirely bewildering to him. Inhaling the proverbial scent that was Carlton Lassiter, Juliet smoothed sweat slicked hair beneath her palm and muttered, “I don’t want to lose you.”

Stock still. Not so much as a breath for a good fifteen seconds. And she began to wonder if maybe he was taking her desire to keep their professional relationship intact after this encounter in an entirely different direction. “One time and you’re talking about lo-jacking me already, O’Hara? No wonder your dates run screaming from the scene.”

Mirthful bark making the play of flesh against flesh a little too real again, Juliet decided to disembark this train before she found herself willingly tied to the tracks and rolled over twice in as many minutes. Pulling back, quick peck against those still sourly pursed lips, she muttered, “I need to go, uh, you know,” before SBPD’s head detective pulled away and upright, proudly displaying one of the reasons why he’d made youngest head dick ever before offering her a hand up.

Her quiet thank you was met with “Just don’t get used to it,” and if she’d not known all his quirks and wobbles bouncing about inside that titanium skull she might get a tad offended. Snagging the waylaid dress shirt she’d massacred only minutes earlier, she’d have to be a blind, deaf mute not to feel boring eyes upon her every step of the way until her disappearance into her bedroom.

Pee break, clean-up, and fresh panty retrieval complete, she mentally vacillated back and forth the merits of simply sliding beneath cool sheets and letting the released tension and endorphins lull her back toward la-la land again, any sort of awkwardness forgotten in the light of morning. But she knew better. Besides, sometime during this evening she’d clued Carlton and his massive sweet tooth in on her hoarded Girl Scout cookie stash, and while her Thin Mints should come out unscathed the same wouldn’t be said of her Tagalongs if he found them.

Feeling six ways to Sunday in the exposure department, Juliet did not reach for more coverage, hoping to hell she wasn’t about to walk in on a fully buttoned down and holstered Lassiter, fresh dress shirt appearing magically from the trunk of his car. Casual and breezy, boning her partner and sashaying in his debauched clothes an everyday occurrence, Juliet commenced a search of every coffee table, sofa, armchair, proverbial outhouse, henhouse, and doghouse before locating him via the halo of her refrigerator’s interior light.

Juice bottle firmly against his lips, guzzling like a man thirty hours in the Sahara, Juliet’s narrow eyed, hand on hip stance evaporated as she recalled exactly how many bodily fluids they’d shared minutes ago. Bit of backwash saliva wasn’t likely to kill her, now was it? Nor was it the first time in their partnership they’d shared beverages. She just had rules about her fridge, her juice, all manner of products and produce lining those shelves which Carlton had semi-grudgingly followed.

Before.

Welcome into my pants apparently translated into welcome to do your worst with my possessions.

Finally breaking that rabid suction for air, hand haphazardly swiping away a couple of stray drops escaping his tongue, Carlton panted, “Sorry. Was thirsty,” before making his way across the kitchen, now empty husk deposited in her garbage can. Moderate training displayed, even if he did leave the fridge open to cool the entire house. Men.

Meager light from the stove top the only source of illumination currently, Juliet watched her partner scuttle toward her pantry, black boxers in stark contrast to the long pale swath of bared flesh. “You hungry?”

Okay, so this was a food raid instead of a panty raid now. Just another endless evening blending into never ending night over an infuriating case. Forget her naked strip of flesh and the now and again peek of nipple amply displayed in his way too large shirt. Disregard the fact, despite her brief pit stop, Juliet O’Hara could still smell him on her.

Dissociative personalities, her partner had that malady down cold. What’d happened to the knowing, sure, practiced, playful lover from minutes ago? Had the whole episode been brought on by some sort of head trauma? Was she currently ensconced in a hospital ward muttering arcane and vulgar demands to with some hapless orderly trying to secure his horny and grabby patient?

Orville providing sustenance after a small detour to her microwave, Juliet observed her partner’s intense focus on the spinning tray nestled within the device, his pinpoint concentration on any bit of her kitchen not currently dominated by a mostly naked woman. Love’em and leave’em; slam, bam, go away, ma’am, not how she’d envisioned Carlton Lassiter, not after his rabid devotion to that uber bitch who’d used him for a chew toy.

“Carlton?” Heinous, heated, and entirely take no prisoners. How she’d planned to approach this sudden nonchalant brush off. Unfortunately, the tremulous warble in her throat and heat in her eyes eighty-sixed that strategy.

The here to fore tension that’d been missing from his stance, the easy movement of muscle beneath skin, became a thing of memory as a low groan rattled within his ribcage and his gaze dropped to whitened knuckles gripping her countertop. Low, mumbled, and nearly unintelligible, Juliet still managed to decipher, “Please don’t let me cock this up,” thanks to her years translating muttered vulgarities into something a bit more kosher for the exceptionally trying case reports. Pivoting, distance closed between them with two long strides, she watched Lassiter reach out, hands nearly wrapping around her arms before suddenly thinking better and letting them drop dumbly by his sides. “O’Hara,” throat clearing, then another round, “Juliet, I love you, but I’m not in love with you, do you understand?”

Oh thank goodness, no unrelenting declarations of love and devotion, no multiple attempts to woo with chocolates and flowers and assault rifles. Smile beaming brighter than a toothpaste commercial, she took note of his sudden frown. “Hey, you don’t have to be this annoyingly chipper with the news, ya know? Like being saddled with me to be one step above the plague.”

Quick jerk of her head in a negative, Juliet simpered, “Just glad we understand each other.” Smell of popcorn tantalizing, she craned her neck and tried to see when the hell that timer was gonna give the all clear for buttery goodness.

“We have to be careful. Not act different after this, not act …”

“Like we spent the evening practicing cavity searches on each other?” she offered when he seemed to come to a rut in that train of thought.

“With Luci---,” glare hot and molten despite their new good cheer and harmony, Carlton swallowed down that name if not the notions he felt must be conveyed. “I slipped, we slipped last time, little touches here and there that seemed entirely circumspect at the time, but truthfully, I’m surprised we weren’t called on the carpet months before it all finally blew open.” She’d broached the subject one time, early in their partnership, but she’d still never really reached the point she felt prepared to wade into these mine filled waters and get Carlton’s perspective of the entire Lucinda Barry Debacle, or as it was once dubbed around the station, Head Dick Magically Melting the Ice Princess.

“I was so pissed at the time. This interloping interim Chief was just setting me up for failure by attaching this new perky bit of blond fluff to my side, banishing my partner across the country and shoving this replacement down my throat. Remind me to buy Vick a muffin Monday for that. I was pissed but once I pried my head out of my ass I found this understudy to be a better partner, a better friend than Lucinda ever could. Bottom line, I don’t think there’s any replacement who can stack up to you, Juliet O’Hara.” No declarations of unending love but the confession nearly had her battling the misty-eyed beast a second time in as many minutes. “Even if you do stomach psychic fakers far too easily on our cases,” he muttered, shot of vinegar giving that spoonful of honey the patented Carlton Lassiter twist.

Ding signaling sustenance, Lassiter retrieved their snack while she ferreted a bowl from the cabinet under her stove. Back up, she just made out his form in the reflective surface before arms came around her, steam a heady rush to her senses before becoming swiftly overshadowed by the feel of lips against her nape. “Then again, Lucinda went in for that whole dog and pony show too. Must be some sort of defect on the X chromosome that blinds women’s bullshit detectors in regards to Spencer.”

So not what she wanted to ponder on while getting a quickly reigniting nibble along the back of her neck. “What happened to being careful, being circum---” Suction, boy he really had that whole method down thanks to the whole lemon mouthed purse. “Being unnoti----” Fingers tweaking a nipple, she nearly sent their food downward in a yellowy puff shower. Mouth going to town on her skin, no doubt in a manner leaving a mark to force a whole week minus pony tails, up-dos, or any hairstyle not offering maximum coverage, she found it hard to form her thoughts into anything resembling coherency. “Thought this was a one-off, Carlton?”

“Night’s not over, Juliet. And being careful doesn’t have to equate being celibate. We’re still partners, same as before, just maybe with a few more benefits every now and then. Sound like a plan to you, O’Hara?”

Abandoning her hold on the steadily emptying bowl anyway, she turned, wrapping eager arms around him and pulling him ever closer. “The best kind, Lassiter. This time though, you’re letting me drive.” Lassiter’s acquiescing grin disappeared beneath her already kiss swollen lips. Juliet would get those keys to that car one day. Showing him how well she handled a stick, she figured eventually he’d give in and suffer the indignities of being chauffeured by his partner. And if not, the intervening rides awaiting that event would sure as hell be worth it….