Lara

⊹ ࣪ ˖𓂇⊹ ࣪ ˖

Marcus’ house is completely different in the daytime, the sun beating down through the floor to ceiling windows shedding light on the previous nights’ debauchery — used whiskey glasses are scattered across the floor, rolled up bills left to the side of an empty tray, not a speck of white dust left on it. Most of the people from last night are gone somehow, despite their deeply intoxicated state and the lack of cabs in Lehigh. 

You stumble down the porcelain tile of the atrium, squinting your eyes at the yellow light being let in. It’s not the type of place you’d think typical of a drug dealer —wooden walls and an open floor plan where each room feeds into the next through archways, doors or secret passages. Yes, this place has secret passages like a damn Clue game. You’ve noticed them sometimes when you’re zoning out of sex; how a panel is slightly sticking out from the rest or the bookshelf isn’t quite pushed against the wall. 

There’s only one room that stands alone. The one you are walking past now, where you hear low whispers, Marcus’ office. The front door is two steps away. You should just get out of here, take a nice, long shower and hope that no one wants to see you during the day. Instead, you pad your bare feet towards the door, your heels pressed to your side and push your ear to the bright yellow wood. 

“You think it’s working?” Marcus asks, his voice deep enough to let you know this is one of those serious conversations where he’s trying to present bigger than he is. 

“Nobody’s got anythin’ solid yet.” You hear another voice. One you heard last night but can’t quite place. Peter, maybe? “But it’s not gonna be over for a while still.” Peter! Strange, you think. You expected him to be a small player, considering this was the first time you met him, but here he is, sticking around for hushed one on ones with the big boss.

You realize that the room’s gone quiet. 

Somehow, you hear Marcus looking towards the door. A chair scrapes. Footsteps. You quickly turn an rush to the front door, not daring to look back. Just as you fingers close around the doorknob…

“Going home?” Marcus asks, looking you up and down slowly. He has never done anything wrong to you, but he’s got this uncanny ability to give you chills with just his eyes. 

“Yeah,” is all you respond, because you don’t ever talk with him in the light of day. He nods, turns back and shuts the door. The click of a lock hits your ears like a final note. You don’t waste a moment getting out of there.

Goodbyes are never a thing between you two. You don’t even know why he pays you to stay the night, considering he spends no time trying to hold you and rarely goes for another round. Maybe he just likes the idea of you being there at his disposal, or just that you’ll do what he asks for the right price. You think what he gets off on the most, though, is the idea of this —you dragging your tired body down the suburban streets of Lehigh, heels in one hand, what’s left of your dignity in the other. The sun shining down over the mess of hair on your head as mascara bleeds from your lashes. Your walk of shame. 

He’s wrong about all of it. 

You walk from there with your head held high, knowing there would be no way to please this archaic town with “dignity” anyway and you just made more than well, any woman in this town. Your bare feet land comfortably on the gravel road that sizzles under your sin despite the oncoming winter. As you walk, you are only focused on the way the sun illuminates that leaf floating gracefully off a tree, and not the looks people may just give you. This isn’t a walk of shame. It’s a walk of complete and utter satisfaction. Well, almost. Maybe if last night you could have also been satisfied. You snicker to yourself as you continue down the roads with no sidewalks paved out because no cars come around. You walk right in the middle of the road. Miles and miles until you finally get to your house. Well, your daily exercise is sorted, you think, laughing to yourself as you turn the key and step back into heaven. 

You aren’t ashamed of your job, far from it, but returning here feels like a ritual cleansing that lifts a weight of your shoulders. 

Like you can finally be yourself. Completely. 

⊹ ࣪ ˖𓂇⊹ ࣪ ˖

A week after your first job, Gator finally completes his mission. He gets you in the sack. 

He barely wastes his time with pleasantries or anything, stuffs the cash in your purse hastily, and then his hands are on you. Up your back, on your chest, on your ass. Anywhere he can as he devours your lips with his own, no pace just pure desire. You’re not complaining. Because you can feel how excited he is, and it makes your stomach flip, knowing he just got off a shift. You love that he was thinking about you during work. That means you’re winning, no matter what he says. 

Somehow, all of your clothes come off within the breath you take before pressing your lips back onto his and you’re pinned underneath his hips on the bed, rattling with the sheer force of his kisses. Your hands come to wrap around his shoulders, and immediately, you can feel that they are stiff as a rock. And you notice that something else isn’t stiff. Your palms almost instinctively starts running along his shoulder blades in slow, gentle movements. It’s never fun when they’re like this. For either of you. 

His fingers come to your wrist, pinning one hand above your head but letting your other still move. It’s overwhelming you now, and what felt hot five seconds ago is starting to get a little less when you see a focused look in his eyes. This isn’t sex to him. It isn’t business either. It’s how he’s going to prove it to himself. That he is a man. He keeps making a meal out of the side of your neck, licking and sucking as his free hand moves to fix his little downstairs problem. His knuckles graze against your front, teeth nipping at your neck like that’ll distract you from the back and forth movement of his fist. His grip on your wrist gets looser with each unsuccessful stroke, grunts of frustration dissolving under your skin.

“Gator.” You try, wriggling your free hand up to wrap in his locks.

“Thought I told you to call me deputy.” His teeth keep nipping at your neck between words and you swear he’s trying to give himself contact burn at this point. 

“Gator.” You repeat, actually tugging his head up this time. He gasps, short and sharp as you direct his face towards your gaze. “You’re gonna hurt yourself. And me.” Your eyes float up to where he had your wrist pinned, and the mark that you’re sure is visible now that his hand is looser. He exhales as he looks, a strange flicker of shock overcoming his face. It isn’t like before. He seems scared of himself. That look vanishes as he rolls off you with a frustrated grunt.

“This is your fuckin’ fault, y’know?”

“My fault?” You sit up so you’re rested against the headboard next to him. Because you dared to suggest that he let go of this idiotic tough guy persona? 

“You do some voodoo to me and bring up that bullshit about me ‘letting go’ or whatever, of course I’m gonna be all in my head ‘bout making sure you know the truth. And I’m never in my head.” 

“Think I picked up on that, sweetheart.” He doesn’t even look at you, eyes suddenly focused on his fingernails and he sucks his teeth with his tongue. Something about him is so pitiable. It really turns you on. “So why do you care?” His eyebrows furrow together, trying to comprehend your words. “I’m a…‘professional whore’ as you put it.” You’ve learned not be offended by shit like that.

“Why should you, Mr Tillman, give a fuck what I have to think?” It’s like some invisible wire is cut loose on his marionette strings, and his shoulders relax. He turns to you, mouth wide. “Chances are, I forget about you tomorrow.” You lie, shifting so you’re straddling his lap. “And you still have a mission to fulfill…” His hand comes around your waist, pulling you a little closer, eyes going all soft again in an instant. “You should be caring about what those big, bad FBI agents think.” You press your lips to his neck, a lot softer than he did to yours. “What are they gonna say when you come back with nothing. Again.” You sigh behind his ear, your hand running down his chest with featherlight touch. 

“Mm.” He lets out sound — part exhale, part moan. 

“Tell me what you actually want.” You whisper. His fingers flex lightly on your hips, and quickly he pulls you back into a kiss. A lot slower this time, tongue sliding against yours, and when you begin to take the lead, he doesn’t protest, he encourages it. He pulls away from your lips, mouth dragging hot against your jaw now. “Wanna do what you said.” He murmurs there.

“And what’s that, Gator?” Your eyes can’t help but fall shut at the way he seems to find the perfect spot on your neck. 

“Wanna let go.” And you can feel how immediately some of that tension in his body releases at the admission. 

You tilt your neck, so it’s just out of his reach, causing him to look up again. “Will you let me help you?” 

He blinks back at you, eyes wide. “Yes.” There’s a moment where he looks to the side like someone will show up out of nowhere and catch him in his admission. But they don’t. So he nods again, more confident this time. “Yes, please.” 

You start slow with him. Just kissing, letting his tongue slowly explore the expanse of your neck and chest. He’s a lot softer than he was moments before, laving over the marks he just made like an apology, eyes flicking up to you when you let out a soft sigh at the feeling. He’s stiffening beneath you, but you know this isn’t going to be enough. You ease one of the hands wrapped around you off, guiding it to your inner thigh and Gator immediately gets the hint. Two fingers slide into you without care and he begins pumping at a rapid speed. You gasp at the sudden sensation before you can stop it. He locks up at the same time you do, like he understood that wasn’t a noise of pleasure. Instantly, his hand and face are pulled away from you. Shit. 

“Knew this was stupid. So fucking stu-“ You cut him off by pressing your lips against his again. 

“It’s not stupid.” You sigh. “I’m- I’m surprised you noticed.” His eyebrows push together again, waiting for elaboration. You don’t give it to him. This is about what’s happening now. “You’re fucking me, not mining for gold. And you’ve heard of this thing called a clit right?” He almost chokes on your forwardness. “Just go slower, and be a bit of a tease.”

“You’re the expert at that.” He snorts, but doesn’t hesitate to lock his lips back on your chest as his finger experimentally runs through you. He circles your clit slowly, and you let out an airy moan near his ear. He lets out a low noise in response, like that brings him more satisfaction that anything. “Yeah, Gator. Just like that.” 

He tilts his head up again, eyes glimmering at the smallest praise. “Feels good, mama?” Your hips respond to him before you do, searching for friction as you grind against his thigh, feeling your stomach coil up. His free hand rests at your waist, not guiding you, but flexing there every time he hears your satisfied sounds. He’s hard as a rock now, but he doesn’t make move to stop. In fact he slides two fingers down and blinks up to you for permission. “Can I…” The moment you nod he eases them in, slowly stretching you out and you almost choke. “Shit, you’re like…actually wet.” You don’t ask him about that right now, too lost in the feeling. He retracts, pushing them back in even slower this time, circling your clit with his thumb. He prolongs the feeling, savoring all the filthy sounds coming out of your mouth, swallowing them with his own until you are driven insane.

“Faster.” He listens, speeding his fingers up, still a lot more careful than before. “C-curl them.” You explain, and he does, hitting that spot that makes you see actual stars. You experience the crescendo for real this time. When you are right at the edge, you feel him buzzing underneath you. “Yes. So. Good. I-“ Then you spill over, collapsing into his shoulder as he works you through it, him breathing heavily too. 

When you feel stable, you lean back, trying to assess the look in his eyes. He is blinking up at you like he can’t believe it, some deep realization striking through his body. “You okay?” You try softly, squirming your hips so that he will pull his fingers out of you. 

“I-” His jaw tenses. “I don’t think I’ve ever done that before.” “Fingered someone?” You cock your head to the side, truly shocked. He shakes his head, looks down at his fingers, covered in you. And it hits you harder than the orgasm itself. He’s never made a girl finish before. You’re not sure why you do the next thing that you do. He wanted to let go right? You grab his hand guiding it slowly up to your mouth. He watches with wide eyes as your lips wrap around his fingers, sucking softly. The hum that you let out around his fingers makes him shiver. You reach for his chin and he parts his lips without hesitation, letting you kiss him senseless. He groans as he tastes you on your tongue, sucking on it like he wants more, until you’re both breathless. 

You pull back, trying to get some air in your lungs. “Peter Wagner.” 

“What?” He asks absentmindedly, eyes raking over your body like he’s still trying to process everything.

“Works with Marcus.”

That grabs his attention, and he scans you up and down. “Who is he? What does he do?”

You shrug. “You’re the deputy. You figure it out.” He sighs, removing his hands from your body like he’s already done with the whole situation. You glance to the clock. “But we still have time for you to get some more information out of me.” 

And immediately, he straightens again, a slow smile creeping across his face. 

He leans up, capturing your lips with his. This time, his tongue guides yours not in a show of power, but eagerness. He doesn’t waste another moment reaching for the condom that has been waiting on the nightstand like Chekov’s gun, and tears it open. With the way his hands shake, it takes him a few tries to open it and even as he does, you can tell he can barely keep it together. 

Slowly, you place your palms on his chest, and at your light push, he leans back. “Let me.” You see the hunger in his eyes at the action, nodding furiously. He watches as you carefully slide the condom on, and position yourself over him, already knowing this is going to be a challenge. Seriously, he has all that to work with and he’s never made a woman orgasm? Taking a deep breath, you lower yourself down onto him, gasping at the feeling. You can’t hear yourself over Gator, though, who’s cursing like a child that just learned those word before. 

“Fuck, shit, damn, mama, you’re tight.” He sounds completely in disbelief on the last word. “Thought-“ 

You press a finger to his lips so he’ll shut up. “Being loose cause you fuck a lot is a myth made up by pricks that can’t make a girl come. You wanna be like them?” He doesn’t respond with words, a half-moan as he tries to shake his head. His eyes eagerly follow your finger as you retract him from his mouth, placing your hand at his hip so you don’t fall. You close your eyes, as you pull yourself almost all the way off, and then sink down again, both of you singing out matching groans at the feeling. When you do it once more, his hands shoot up from where they were lying dormant at his sides and find your hips. “You gonna be good?” 

“Yes, yes. I’ll be good.” He chokes on his last words, embarrassed to admit it but needing it. 

So you start grinding on him in earnest, entirely at your own pace. And Gator, to his credit, doesn’t once rush you. In fact, his eyes all big just stare at you, completely and utterly mesmerized. And you don’t even feel like you have to perform properly. You can genuinely enjoy it. The noise you let out aren’t fake as the pressure builds, and you get the feeling his aren’t either. They can’t be, because you can see the fight in his eyes, trying to suppress the tiny whimpers falling from his lips as you reached down to circle your clit as you inch closer to the edge. He sees you smile at the sound, cheeks flushing red as he turns away. Even here, when you can see how much he enjoys it — feel it, with the way his hips buck up in your rhythm, barely holding it together— he can barely let a woman see him like this. You lean down slightly, so you can take his face in your hand and turn it towards you. To show him that you are enjoying it. That it’s ok to be vulnerable. You speed up even more, so close that you’re practically shaking now. “Let go for me, baby.” You remind him. He nods once, before turning his head just slightly in your loose grip. And then his mouth wraps around your fingers, keeping his eyes to yours just like you did as he sucks on them with a soft hum. That’s what makes you break, your high slamming into you like a landslide and he follows right after. The two of you are practically harmonizing with each other as you ride out the feeling, still moving so you can squeeze every last bit out of him. You collapse onto his chest, breathing heavy as you try to calm your spinning head. Holy shit. When you feel stable again, you straighten up, dismounting from his lap with a wince that he matches. 

“How was that?” You ask you move.

“Holy shit.” He breathes, matching your thoughts. He doesn’t say another word, staring at the wall again. But you notice a difference  in his eyes this time. Not shame. Surprise. And a good one at that. Like he didn’t know that it could feel like that. You take satisfaction in that look because it means you’ve done your job right. You wait for a beat, wondering if he will be more honest this time about anything else he wants. Still, he doesn’t make a move to reach for you or ask to clean up. You pretend it doesn’t bother you. Your time is almost up anyway. 

“Can I-“ You indicate towards the ensuite and he just nods in response. Gently, you slide off the bed, holding onto to it as you descend. Your legs feel slightly like jelly as you stumble to the bathroom with your clothes in hand. You already know you’re going to need a while to get used to that. And somehow, you know you’re gonna get it. You quickly clean yourself up and slip on your clothes, adjusting the fabric so it sits right. Usually, you wouldn’t mind too much about your appearance, but this hotel is nice. And as shitty as it is, walking out of this bedroom, you may very well find your next client in the lobby as you’re leaving so you unfortunately have to look your best. Men are creatures of contradiction like that — they will fuck anything that moves, but you still have to be the epitome of beauty when they pretend to have standards. You run your hands through your hair to detangle as best as possible, examining yourself in the mirror. Almost put back together, just missing one piece. 

You spin back into the room, walking to your purse with one clear mission. But as you dig through it, your one prized possession, which always sits right at the top of the pile of clutter, isn’t there. You had it yesterday, you had it before you came here, the only time you could have lost it is… You turn to Gator, boxes now pulled on, watching you with his head propped against his forearm and a totally satisfied smile on his face. You should’ve guessed. Without a word, you walk over to the pile of his clothes bundled at the foot of the bed and begin rifling through the pockets. You start with his cargos, which already have four pockets. God, you don’t have to go through the tactical vest too. 

“The fuck are you doin’?” He jumps up, all the sweetness from minutes ago dissipating. 

“Did you take my lipstick?” He wouldn’t be the first to want a little trophy of their time with you while also never wanting anyone to know of your interaction. Creatures of contradiction. “Know you said your stepmom uses it, but ‘m not a charity case and that is expensive.” You don’t find anything in the pants so you drop them and reach for his vest. 

He snatches it out of your hands before you can search through it. “I was lyin’ about my stepmom using something like that are you crazy?” He leans down to scoop up his clothes, turning before you can reach for them again. 

“Oh.” You straighten up. “Good. I was lying about having a stepdad. And to think I felt bad for fooling your gullible ass.” He shakes his head, but you see the way his lips turn up slightly as he steps back into his pants. 

He doesn’t miss a beat before shooting back though. “Don’t worry, I knew you didn’t have a dad ‘f you ended up here.” 

“I’ll have you know my mom and dad love each other and me very much. There isn’t some sob story that made me choose this career.” 

“Sure, yeah.” He snorts, adjusting his shirt before reaching up to push back his messed up hair and straightening up his posture. You watch the change in real time. The persona locking back into place. You really aren’t sure who he’s doing all this for. “You don’t end up doin’ this unless you got something real messed up in your life.”

You roll your eyes. Of course he thinks that’s some original own that will make the imaginary crowd he’s always performing laugh. “You know from what I heard, you’re the one with the daddy issues, doll.” 

And just like that, all the playful energy in the room is sucked out. Gator drops his hand from his head, all the stubborn hairs flying back into his face. His jaw hardens, eyes flickering with hurt for just a moment before lighting into full on anger. “What? You can dish it out but you can’t take it?” You mock, a stubborn hand placed on your hip for emphasis. 

“Fuckin’ whatever.” He slinks to the front door, and you do feel something thick in your throat at the way his shoulders have dropped. You are here to take that weight off them. Not add more.

“Gator.” You exit the room right behind him. You can’t quite look at him so you quickly focus on your nails, which definitely need a fresh coat of polish. “Peter’s lonely. He shouldn’t be hard to turn if you just…bribe him with some recognition or somethin’.”  His eyebrows furrow as you look back up. “How do you know that?” You stare at him for a long moment, and he immediately gets it. Peter called you up the other day, and has seen you almost every day since. He is good at sex like his face promised but he’s also more desperate for the connection, taking you out to dinners, and talking for a long time before he even gets you into bed. You’re surprised, truly, that he would dare to bring you out in public but you’re not complaining. “You psychoanalyze all o’ us like that?” Gator can’t stop himself from biting his lip, the real question all too obvious. What do you think of me? 

You know he won’t like the answer so you fake a gasp, one hand lingering on his chest as you move in front of him. “Big word for a policeman.” He snorts through his nose, this time amused by your joke and you can’t help but smile. “Look, he’s only just gotta town so, maybe, become his friend, get him to open up.” You don’t notice that Gator has completely frozen as you lean in and press a small peck to his cheek before vanishing down the hallway. 

His gaze stays fixed on you as you walk, shoulders back like nothing in the world could ever shake you as you type something out on your phone. He believes it. You’ve let go of every shitty thing this town expects. And he wants to be able to walk like that too. 

In the blink of an eye, you’re gone. It still shocks Gator how quickly you can vanish like that. But the bigger shock is your words. He’s sworn that he knows this county inside out, down to who comes here and when. So how did this guy slip in without anyone noticing? Shit. Marcus is a lot more powerful than Gator had realized if he can pull one over Roy, and taking him down for good was going to be a real challenge. If he wants to prove himself to his father and get the FBI out of here, he’s going to need all the help he can get. 

He pulls out his phone, opening his messages with you. 

Gator 10:07pm - Meet me tomorrow. 

He wants to say the case is the only reason he’s asking. 

The lipstick tube sitting in his tactical vest would suggest otherwise. 

⊹ ࣪ ˖𓂇⊹ ࣪ ˖