Chapter Text
Lucy blamed those fucking Sensitives for her current predicament. If it hadn’t been for them, none of this would be happening. She would not be tucked out of sight on the tenth floor of the spiral staircase leading down to the basement, spying on her boss and landlord.
No. Not spying
Observing. Watching.
Drooling over. Thirsting after. Admiring at how his crisp white shirt hugged his broad shoulders (had he been working out more?) and how good he looked with his sleeves rolled up just to below his elbows. Since he was doing grunt work - sorting through their supplies - he wasn’t wearing a tie and the top few buttons of his shirt were open, revealing the hollow of his clavicle.
Lucy wanted to lick it. And then she wanted to tear his shirt open the rest of the way and leave bite marks down his torso so those goddamn Sensitives knew he belonged to
her
. Wait. Not that he
belonged
to her. That
she
belonged to
him
.
Wait
. Not that either. That he was her boss. That - oh, fucking forget it. She gave up. It was all their fault, anyway. She had passed the Sensitives on her way out of the cemetery the week before after a job, and she hadn’t
meant
to overhear their conversation. She hadn’t wanted to listen to it. Who the fuck wanted to eavesdrop on a conversation between Sensitives? But she had caught wind of them dropping Lockwood’s name, and she hadn’t been able to keep herself from doing a double take.
“Have you noticed his fingers?” one of those bitch Sensitives had cooed to another. “They’re so long and thick. Perfect for fingering.”
Lucy had blinked. Lockwood? They were talking about
Lockwood’s
fingers? Sure, they were long and very nice looking - he had piano hands, which she had gotten to witness in person, when he had decided to serenade her and George one Sunday morning - but she had no reason to actually consider what those fingers could do. But suddenly she had experienced a flash of him rolling his sleeves up with a wolfish grin as he knelt down between her legs. Her cheeks had immediately flushed, and she had had to clap her hand over her mouth to keep from gasping out loud.
“Okay, but let’s talk about those fucking forearms,” the other Sensitive had gushed to the other
“Those cheekbones!”
They had collapsed together, giggling hysterically, and Lucy had hurried past them in the shadows, out to the gate where Lockwood and George had been waiting for her.
“What kept you?” Lockwood had asked. “Was there a line outside the bathroom?”
Lucy’s gaze had unwittingly darted down to his hands and her cheeks had heated up. In the soft greenish glow of the Ghost Lamps flooding the cemetery, his hands were thrown into relief; his fingers did in fact appear very long and graceful, and he wore a ring on his right forefinger. She had gulped as she suddenly got slapped with another vision of him pushing his three main fingers into her, his ring nudging tightly against her walls.
Oh
god
.
“I - yeah - there was a line,” she had mumbled out, shoving past the boys. “Is there a cab? It’s late and I’m really tired. Can we - can we go?”
And then of course she had been forced to sit between Lockwood and George. George hadn’t been a problem - if anyone was like the brother she had never had, it was him. But Lockwood - she had been so goddamn aware of every inch of him, from the way his hard thigh pressed into her softer one, to the line of his arm bumping into hers. He hadn’t been wearing his coat that night, as it had been a warm evening, and at some point during the job while they’d been digging he had rolled his sleeves up and loosened his tie. And somehow, even though he had been covered in dirt and sweat, he had looked like walking sex.
Lucy had clamped her thighs firmly together. She had worn her jumpsuit with the shorts so she hadn’t needed to wear tights or leggings, and she had been absolutely terrified that he might get a whiff of her sudden arousal.
She had never been so relieved to climb over Lockwood - who had yelped and grabbed her hips as she had stumbled over him (he had been no help. His fingers on her hips had felt like heaven) - and hurry up to the front door. She had been up the stairs to her loft before the boys had even made it inside. Once inside, she had covered the skull’s jar with a towel, shucked her jumpsuit, and collapsed on her bed. She hadn’t even bothered to reach for one of her vibrators. Her fingers had lodged themselves between her legs and her eyes had closed, and she had found herself enveloped in visions of Lockwood tracing the patterns over her clit that she was drawing now, his dark gaze intense as it rested on her face.
She had brought herself to orgasm embarrassingly fast, her thighs shaking furiously as the waves of pleasure had rolled over her.
And all because of Lockwood.
Of course she was aware that Lockwood was handsome. Of course she knew that. She had eyes after all. Anyone would think he was good looking, with his pretty eyes and perfect cheekbones and stupid cherry-bitten lips. But she had never let herself think about him like that. He was her boss and her landlord. She couldn’t afford to look at him as a guy she might want to date or fuck. She couldn’t consider him sexually or romantically.
And now she had.
And she had ruined everything she had fought against.
Which was why one week later she was hiding out part way up the stairs as he cleaned out their supplies.
She had had to replace the batteries in her vibrators three times already. And before she had overheard the Sensitives, she had had to change out the batteries maybe twice a month, three times if ovulation was particularly interesting that cycle.
She had had to buy a giant package of batteries two days ago. Most embarrassing purchase of her life, and she had been sure the cashier was eyeing her, even though batteries could be used for
anything
. Right?
She really needed to invest in some chargeable vibrators. Maybe she would do that with her next paycheck.
The money that Lockwood was paying her.
She was going to use it to buy vibrators so that she could get herself off while fantasizing about him.
It had started with his fingers, but before long she had graduated to his mouth, and then to his dick, and now - she was going to hell. She needed to shower in holy water and repent her sins, and she wasn’t even Catholic. The stuff she had been thinking about in regards to Lockwood would put an erotic author to shame. She had fantasized about Lockwood just taking her anywhere he pleased - over the kitchen table, against the counter, on top of the washer, while training with rapiers, in the hall, in the library…essentially all over the house. And those had been some of her more
tame
fantasies. There were those that were so incredibly filthy that she couldn’t look Lockwood in the face the next morning.
She clutched the railing, resting her chin against it as she stared down at him. He was moving crates now, his shoulders and biceps bulging under his shirt, and she gulped. She had definitely made a huge mistake - she had opted to wear a skirt, and that had been a bad idea. She could
smell
her arousal. Her knickers were soaked, and she had only been watching him for a few minutes.
It would be wrong of course to touch herself to him right now. So wrong. And she wouldn’t ever do that, but - but fuck, did she want to.
She really needed to get upstairs before she did something stupid. Before she sexually harassed her boss.
Lockwood set the crate down with a soft grunt - she winced, her mind immediately jumping to a completely different situation where he might be grunting - and she seized the opportunity. She jumped to her feet and was just about to spin around on the step when -
He straightened up and caught her out of the corner of his eye. “Oh, Luce. I didn’t know you were there.”
“Oh, yeah, just checking on how the supplies are looking,” she said, clearing her throat awkwardly. Fuck, he looked good without a tie. She could see the upper part of his chest peeking out from beneath his open collar, and she wondered how his skin would taste. Salty for sure. She could press her nose into his chest and inhale his cologne. He always smelled so good, even after a job. His cologne managed to cover up the worst of the sweat and dirt, and she desperately wanted to just sniff it.
“We could use more salt bombs and flares,” Lockwood told her. “But I’m keeping track. I’ll send an order slip off to Satchell’s tomorrow.” He smiled brightly at her and reached up to scratch the back of his neck. The dim light in the basement caught his watch and Lucy stared, mesmerized.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Forearms.
Watch.
Wrists.
Hands.
Fingers.
They had all come together in a delicious package to torture Lucy Carlyle. His watch looked so good circling his wrist, drawing attention to how strong and thick his forearm was. And that drew her to another question. A much more pressing question. A very important question.
Did Anthony Lockwood keep his watch on during sex, or did he take it off? Or did he keep it on while jerking off?
And she was slammed with yet another mental image, one she somehow hadn’t even considered - Anthony Lockwood, naked, hard cock in his hand as he stroked himself roughly to - to
what
? A pretty sensitive? An ex-girlfriend?
Lucy
? Oh god, please let it be Lucy.
“Luce? Are you okay?”
She pasted the cheeriest smile she could on her face. No, she wasn’t fucking okay. He stood there in his fucking shirt without his fucking tie with his fucking sleeves rolled up and his fucking watch, looking like a walking orgasm, and he had the
goddamn nerve
to ask her if she was
okay
? No, she wasn’t bloody okay! How could she be?
“Yeah, I’m great,” she forced out.
“Are you sure? You look a little out of it.”
It’s because I’m picturing you naked, you fucking arsehole
.
“I’m fine. Maybe I didn’t eat enough at lunch.”
“Oh. You should have a snack.”
“In a bit.”
“Before you go upstairs, come here for a sec.” He crooked his fingers at her and her soul flew out of her body. Lucy had to take a second to double check to make sure that she hadn’t just cum untouched. Her reaction had been so visceral, so real, and she wasn’t completely sure she wasn’t dripping down her thighs.
Fuck, she hoped he didn’t want her to bend over.
Actually, yes. Yes she did. She did very much.
She had never been so down bad for anyone before. Not Paul, not the older boy she had liked when she was 10, not
anyone
. But Lockwood was different. Her need for him felt so palpable, it seemed to burn in her blood, thrum in her bones, burrow itself deep in her veins. She craved him the way a starving man needed food or the way a person stranded in the desert pleaded for water. She thought she might die if she couldn’t have him.
Fuck
. What the fuck was wrong with her?
She made her careful way down the stairs. “What’s up?” she asked hesitantly. Oh god. What if he knew? What if he’d been able to smell her? Would he scold her? Yank her down over his knees and spank her? Ooh, that sounded pretty good. Yeah, he could do that.
“Do you remember where this box of flares came from?” He held it up.
“Oh, er, I think that was a trial box Satchell’s gave us,” she said. She stared up at him. It wasn’t fair how lovely his cheekbones were or how soft his mouth looked. Her gaze rested on his mouth. She desperately wanted to kiss him.
His eyes met hers and she swallowed. He had absolutely caught her staring at his lips. He had definitely figured out what she was looking at.
And then he stepped closer, one step, maybe two. Her breath caught. “That is a very lovely perfume you’re wearing,” he murmured, his lips brushing just barely along the shell of her ear. Her thighs shook. “Have I smelled it before?”
“N-no,” she stuttered out. “It’s new. I bought it last week. You like it?”
“Very much.” His hand rested on the small of her back, pulling her in closer. She thought she might pass out. His lips brushed down her jaw, along her neck. He pressed a kiss to her pulse point before backing up. “Next time you decide to watch me, try to be more sneaky. I heard you coming down the stairs.”
“You - what?”
His hands cradled her hips so she couldn’t move. As if she was going anywhere. Her feet were stuck to the floor and she could feel herself melting into a puddle of goo.
“I heard the basement door open and you come down the stairs, only to stop halfway. Combat boots, Luce.” He winked at her and her stomach dropped.
Fuck . Of course he had heard her. Of course he had. Everything down here echoed. She had been caught.
But she could still feel the scratch of his stubble against her neck and her face burned. She gripped the front of his shirt, trying to find her balance. He was trying to kill her. She needed to turn the tables on him but her mind was whirring away. He was such a little shit. Knowing him, he’d probably noticed her body language and formed a theory, only to wait for the perfect moment to call her out.
Arsehole.
“You think very highly of yourself,” she said huffily. “I might have just been coming down here to escape one of George’s experiments.”
Lockwood raised an eyebrow at her. “Were you?”
“No, but I could have been.” She fiddled with his collar, straightening it out. Her fingertips brushed against his neck and his gaze flicked down to hers. Hah! Two could play at this game. “Maybe watching you was just more interesting than hanging out with George.”
“Isn’t George conducting experiments on the skull?”
Lucy let her nails softly scratch down his neck. His breath hitched. “Yeah, in the bathtub, so you can see why I don’t want to be a part of that.”
“Who’s in the bathtub? George or the skull?”
“Both.”
His hands fastened on her waist. “Yes, I definitely understand why you wouldn’t want to spend time upstairs right now.” His eyes drifted down to her lips. His tongue flicked out to wet his.
“I’m glad you see my side of things.”
He bent down, his lips skimming her jaw. “You were still spying on me.”
She bit back a whine but she wasn’t entirely successful. “You shouldn’t be moving around like that with no tie and your sleeves rolled up. It was rude .”
“My apologies, I’ll try harder to be more considerate.”
“You don’t have to. It’s not necessary.”
“I’d hate to distract you.”
Lucy opened her mouth to tell him he could distract her all he liked - and the house shook. They jerked back, stared at each other in shock, and made a dash towards the stairs.
They found George in the bathroom with Skull, the shower head completely unattached from the wall. They couldn’t get a straight answer out of the babbling George, but Lockwood examined the shower head and announced that it looked as if it had been blown up. Part of the caulking on the tub had also peeled back, and when Lockwood went to check the tap, it came off right in his hand.
The skull sat on the sink in his jar, cackling at them. Lucy tried to get what had happened out of the skull, but the skull either couldn’t or wouldn’t tell her. Either way the boys needed a new shower, and Lockwood seemed to be contemplating George’s murder.
To make matters worse, Lucy was now condemned to sharing her shower with the boys. It might not have been so bad, but she’d stumbled across George in nothing but a towel twice, and she had yet to see Lockwood partially naked.
Just her luck.
It had been two days since the incident in the basement, and neither of them had brought it up. It had not been acknowledged in the aftermath of the bathtub blowing up, and then Lockwood had been so busy trying to get an installer out to the house and a new tap and shower head ordered that it seemed to have slipped his mind entirely.
“Oh my god , not again!” Lucy shrieked as she walked into her attic room only to find herself assaulted with the sight of George in a towel for a third time in as many days. “Do you mind ?”
“I just got out of the shower! What do you want me to do, get dressed while I’m still wet?”
“You can dry off in the bathroom,” Lucy growled, as footsteps echoed on the stairs. She turned to find Lockwood stepping into the attic. He wore a tie today but his sleeves were still rolled up, so Lucy enjoyed the view. Her gaze landed on his watch once more and she once more wondered if he took it off for sex or left it on. She’d reached the conclusion that he most likely left it on when he jacked off in the middle of the day, but took it off if he was getting down to business before going to sleep.
“George, why are you in a towel in Lucy’s room?” Lockwood asked, arching an eyebrow at the other boy.
“I just took a shower!”
“Why do I always walk back in when you’re half naked?” Lucy yelped.
“You could knock.”
“It’s my room!”
“You need a do not disturb sign.”
“I don’t even have a fucking door!”
“Lockwood should get on that.”
“The attic has never had a door!” Lockwood cried. “Lucy has a curtain. And it’s very proficient when people aren’t hanging out half-naked in her bedroom.”
“Okay, but she should really have a door. Sometimes when I get up to use the loo in the middle of the night, I can hear buzzing .”
“Electro-shock therapy on the skull,” Lucy retorted quickly. Goddammit, she really did need new vibrators.
“You wouldn’t know how,” George challenged.
“You need to stop eavesdropping on me!”
“I can’t help it if your vibrator sounds like a massage chair!”
“You’re not using my shower anymore,” Lucy snarled.
“Fine by me, I’ll just shower at Flo’s.”
Lucy and Lockwood both stopped and gaped at him. “Flo showers?”
George rolled his eyes, huffed a bit, and stomped self-righteously out of the attic and down the stairs.
“I don’t think you’ll have to worry about him walking around here in just a towel anymore,” Lockwood proclaimed.
“It’s too late. The damage is already done.”
Lockwood grinned. “I think you’ll bounce back.”
“Will I, though? Will I really?”
“I think you’ll be just fine, Luce.” His gaze met hers and she didn’t look away. He grinned and leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. “And I won't mention the vibrator at all, or what we both know you use it for." His teeth bit down on her earlobe and tugged lightly before he pulled back just a breath. "Sorry I had to wear a tie today. I know how much you like it when I don't.” And then he took off down the stairs before Lucy could either shove him or jump him.
What a little shit.
Lucy sat cross legged on her bed later that evening, flipping through a new novel she’d picked up a few days before. She felt restless; she couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t sit still. She kept flashing back to that moment earlier in the day when Lockwood had teased her about the tie.
She wished she’d grabbed it and yanked his face down to meet hers. But instead he had dashed off before she could get the chance, and she was left flustered and a little disappointed.
But then she heard footsteps in her stairs and she looked up to find Lockwood walking in, holding a towel and his toiletries for the shower. “I’m about to pull a George,” he told her. “If you don’t mind.”
She shook her head. “No. Not - not at all.” Her voice cracked. Oh fuck . She was so fucked .
He grinned. “I’ll try not to linger.”
“You can linger if you want to.”
“Where’s that perfume you were wearing the other day?”
“Why? You want to try it on?”
He stuck his tongue out at her and she grinned.
“I mean, you can do that too. I don’t mind.”
“Mmm. Don’t tempt me, Luce.”
Her name rolled off his tongue like a filthy word, like the gasp before an orgasm, like the oncoming rush of desire. The arousal that sparked through her felt like a firework crackling, an ember smoldering, a fire lighting. She gripped her thighs; they shook under her fingertips.
“My perfume is over there.” She nodded to the chipped dresser which she used as a makeshift vanity. “It’s the Forbidden Desires bottle.”
“Forbidden Desires…accurate name for it,” he murmured as he scooped it up. The bottle was large enough that Lucy couldn’t wrap her fingers all the way around it, but it sat in Lockwood’s hand like a baby bottle. Fuck.
He held the bottle out to Lucy. “Give me your wrist.”
She did so, and he rolled the sleeve of her sweater up, his thumb lightly tracing over the underside of her wrist. She shivered at the delicate touch.
He spritzed the perfume onto her wrist and set the bottle aside. He lifted her wrist up. “Very, very pretty.”
“You’re actually checking out my veins, aren’t you? You’re really a vampire, come to suck me dry.”
“Believe me, it wouldn’t be your blood I’d be sucking.” He stroked his thumb down over her palm, tracing her life line, before dropping her hand. He reached up, undoing his tie. “You don’t mind if I leave my clothes here, do you?”
She shook her head furiously. “I can’t promise you’ll be getting them back, though,” she added wickedly.
He pulled his tie free and dropped it on the edge of the bed. She grabbed it, winding it around the wrist he had sprayed perfume on. “Or maybe all your clothes will just smell like my perfume,” she said thoughtfully. “Something to keep you company tonight.”
Lockwood held her gaze as he reached up to take off his watch. Her eyes fixed on his wrist and fingers as he loosened his watch. “I don’t want it getting wet.”
“I’ll keep it safe.” She took it from him and slid it on her own wrist. It was much too big and bulky, but she rather liked it. It was like having a piece of Lockwood with her.
His fingers popped the button open on his collar, and then the next button, and the next. Lucy watched, enraptured, as he opened his shirt, revealing his chest and torso. He was nicely muscled, though this was of no surprise to her, and her gaze slid down to the little trail of soft hair that dipped into his waistband - and then beyond.
She bit her lip.
Lockwood shrugged out of his shirt and passed it to her. “For your collection, Luce.”
She got to her feet and tugged her sweater over her head. He stared at her as she tossed it aside and slid her arms into his shirt. She rolled the sleeves up over her hands before buttoning the middle buttons. “You’re definitely not getting this back.”
“And I bet it’ll smell just like your perfume.”
“It’s my new nightshirt.”
He bit down hard on his bottom lip. For a second she thought he might admit defeat, but then he grinned. “In that case, I’m keeping your sweater.”
“What for? It won’t fit you.”
“Oh yes, and my shirt is tailor-made to fit you.” He reached over to tug the shirt straight on her, his knuckles lightly brushing against her upper chest. “It’s a little big, but goddamn is it a nice view.”
She reached out for him, her hands bracing against his chest. She could see the fading red and white spider veins from where he’d been Ghost Touched. She allowed her fingers to trail over the webbing. Here his skin felt cooler to the touch.
Lockwood shivered beneath her fingers.
“Does it hurt?” she whispered.
He shook his head. “The temperature difference is…very palpable.”
She swept her other hand down his torso, her fingers drifting through his treasure trail before curling into the waistband of his trousers. She brushed her lips over the fading Ghost Touch. “You’re still wearing your belt.”
She felt, rather than saw, him reach down to unbuckle his belt. “Do you want this for your collection?” he asked, his voice rough with desire.
“Only if you think I can put it to good use.”
“I’m sure you can.” He slipped his belt free and dropped it to the ground. His hands gripped her hips, bracing her in place.
More footsteps on the stairs.
No.
No.
No.
Lucy refused to believe that this was happening. She absolutely refused to believe this. There was no fucking way she could be this unlucky.
And then George alighted. “Wow, and she got mad at me for wearing a towel . I see how it is.”
“What do you want?” Lucy gritted out.
“Oh, nothing much. Just thought you two might be interested to know that Barnes has paid us a house call. But I’ll go down and tell him that you’re helping Lockwood undress up here, I’d hate to interrupt.”
“I was about to take a shower,” Lockwood growled.
“Shouldn’t you do that after you finish?”
“I’ll come downstairs,” Lucy said hurriedly. “It’s fine. I’ll just - er - I’ll grab a different shirt.”
“Please. Barnes might be questioning why you’re wearing Lockwood’s shirt, though maybe if you're lucky he’ll be too preoccupied to notice. But somehow, I don't think getting lucky is in the cards for either of you tonight.”
“I’ll go shower,” Lockwood said quickly. “I’ll just - yeah - “
“I’ll go stall. Try not to accidentally fuck while Inspector Barnes is in our living room.” And George left.
Lucy looked up at Lockwood. “I’m keeping your shirt.”
“Go for it. And I’m keeping your sweater. We’ll continue this later .” And with that he disappeared into the bathroom, and a moment later Lucy heard the shower running.
She groaned and began unbuttoning his shirt.
Just for the time being.
Until later.