Kristin: WARNING! This chapter contains sexual content. Nothing too bad, but it definitely falls under the category of 'Things I've Written That I Hope My Mother Never Stumbles Across'.

66. Traps

Carlton's been doing less and less undercover work the last few years, and while he'd normally be excited for the chance to get back into the thick of things, this time he really wishes the chief had assigned the case to someone else. He feels ridiculously out of place in this loud, trendy, strobe filled club. He's leaning against the bar, an elbow propped against the shiny metal top for stability, with a glass of overpriced scotch dangling from his fingertips. And hadn't the slip of a bartender rolled her eyes when he'd ordered that? If he could refrain from mocking her striped, neon pink and green mohawk and glittery pixie wings, you would think she could have been a little more decent when he hadn't ordered something with a name like 'Sex on a Crocodile'. Or whatever the hell it is that the twentysomethings are drinking nowadays.

He fiddles with his loose collar, lifts his glass to his lips and tips it back, but doesn't actually drink. His eyes are fixed on the other side of the room. More specifically, he's watching the door to the private VIP room where Lou Garnor-a drug kingpin who's squeaky clean on paper, but responsible for at least five of the bodies in the morgue this week alone-is holed up.

It's nearly an hour after he first settled at the bar when a potential ticket in finally steps out of the carefully guarded room. She is at least ten years younger than Carlton and he recognizes her face from a few billboards around town. She's the sort of girl who's used to being fawned over, being wanted. Given the right circumstances, they can be the easiest sort of girl to pull.

He waits until she notices him looking at her before letting his eyes wander. He takes in her tight little body, wrapped in a tight little dress, and valiantly fights back the growing urge to take a tight little step toward the exit. Instead, he reminds himself that he has a job to do and locks gazes with her. He can see his reflection in the mirror behind her, his expression hot, carnal, and he holds the look for one, two, three beats, before turning away dismissively.

There's another mirror behind the bar and he sees when her eyes widen and her soft, full lips part in surprise.

He gives her five minutes.

She's sidling up beside him in three.

He ignores her and she offers to buy him a drink. He arches an eyebrow and nods toward his full glass and she pouts and bats her eyelashes. Her hand is on his bicep and he forces himself to stay relaxed. Carlton makes a show of lifting her hand off of him, his fingers light and teasing as they ghost over the pulse at her wrist, her palm, the undersides of each tapered digit. Her cheeks are flushed and her breath comes a little faster. He lets go of her and turns away again. She presses the full length of her long, lithe body against his side, her eyes dark with promises.

He glances down at her, stands and heads out onto the dance floor, knowing that she'll be tottering right behind him on her impossibly high heels, and then they're just two more bodies writhing in the pulsating, crushing crowd. Her back is against his chest and his hand settles at her hip, his thumb tracing small patterns over her hipbone. One of her arms comes up and back to drape around his neck and he takes his cue to drop his head to her shoulder. He can feel her sigh as his breath hits her neck, and he lightly brushes his lips over her sensitive skin.

She's flush against him now, her ass grinding against his groin, her movements a sensual parody of dancing, and she slides his hand up from her hip, over slippery silk and a concave stomach to cup her breast. He gently bites under her jaw, his teeth more suggestion than anything, and she shudders and tugs at the hair at the base of his skull, pulling him tighter against her.

Carlton steers her through the the other dancers toward an empty stretch of wall-And would you just look at that? It's right next to the private room and everything.-and grabs her arm, easily flipping her around to face him. He looms over her, takes a step forward, and she's breathing hard, pinned to the wall by just his eyes and the single hand at her wrist. He smiles then, slow and almost mocking, and she moans, arching toward him. And then his other hand's at her neck and he's almost attacking her mouth with a rough, biting kiss. His leg slides between hers and her free hand is scrambling everywhere.

Which, fuck, is bringing it way too close to the microphone taped at the small of his back, so he takes both her wrists in one hand and presses them against the wall over her head, stretching her body up against his.

She moans again, wraps one of her legs around his-fuck, pointy stiletto jabbing into his calf-and leans forward to playfully bite at his chin. He ducks back down, licks into her mouth, sweeps a thumb over a hard nipple, sucks a bruise into the creamy skin under her ear, pushes until she's quivering and whimpering and rolling her hips against his. When he pulls away, she's panting and looking more than a little debauched. A few murmured suggestions in her ear and she's twisting her wrists out of his grasp with a wicked smile and hooking a slender finger in his belt loop and leading him past the guards and into the private room.

And there, with a brunette on his left, a redhead on his right, and a blond in his lap, is Garnor, looking so bloated and shiny and smug and polished that Carlton feels sick. Well, okay, sicker.

Garnor eyes him and Carlton knows his eyes look glazed and unfocused and he fakes a stumble. Nothing to see, just a drunk man looking to get laid. Barely here now and definitely won't remember in the morning. And then Garnor's back to laughing and bragging with a tattooed man whose neck is about as thick around as Carlton's waist.

He lets the girl push him down onto a couch near Garnor's and straddle his lap. Her thick hair falls like a shiny curtain around their faces before she bends lower, pressing wet, sucking kisses across his jaw and down his throat, while her fingers are slipping between his buttons to get at more skin. He slides his hands up her thighs, under her short skirt, over the swell of her ass-Do none of these club girls wear underwear?-and by the time the girl is begging and jerking desperately against his fingers, the mic has recorded enough to put Garnor away for at least twenty-five to thirty years.

It's nearly dawn when he finally collapses into bed. Victoria's awake, staring at the ceiling, and she rolls up onto her elbow, her mouth open on a half formed word, when she sees his swollen lips and the marks on his neck and collarbone. Her mouth snaps closed and she looks at him. She doesn't yell or ask questions or demand explanations. She just looks at him for a long, quiet moment before curling up against his side.

Carlton reminds himself that she knows, that she understands that what he does, he does because he has to. It's important work. He helps save lives, keeps the filth off the streets. Keeps the streets safe for her. He tells himself that and kisses the top of her head, and when the alarm on Victoria's cell phone goes off a few hours later, they both pretend that it woke them up and that they haven't been tense and faking sleep and clinging to each other since he laid down.

That evening, when he comes home from turning in his report on Garnor, there's a note on the table in the entryway and Victoria and her things are gone.

Kristin: I don't like Victoria, but most days I think I can understand her. Carlton's a committed workaholic who has Issues when it comes to failing and would probably do pretty much anything-that's not illegal-to get the job done. And what else can you do when anything becomes too much?

Also, I have next to no experience writing anything 'sexy'. So...um, yeah...Short poll. Was it too painfully bad/awkward? Y/N?

tumblingxdown-Thanks! It both was and wasn't intentional. The thing I probably like most about Shassie is how Lassie grounds Shawn and Shawn pushes Lassie out of his comfort zone, so I wanted that dynamic in their relationship, but other than that she wasn't meant to be based on him. Adorkable is quite possibly one of the best words ever and I can't remember the last time I saw/heard someone use it. :D It's so easy to write Juliet so that she's all sweetness and light, and it kind of pisses me off sometimes that that aspect is what so many people focus on because there's so much more to explore in her character, which I wanted to try to do a little. I'm just glad it worked! Also, I need to stop saying 'so' so much.

43/100