Jason Duval | Partners in Crime

Jason had been sitting inside his car for almost forty minutes now. The air conditioning had been making a miserable, high-pitched whining noise for the better part of twenty minutes, and if it didn't quit soon, he was seriously considering ripping the damn thing out of the dashboard. A coffee cup occupied one of the cupholders, a crumpled McDonald's bag sat on the passenger-side floor, and his phone had been buzzing with messages from Cal since nine that morning. Something about a suspicious helicopter flying over the Keys. Jason hadn't bothered answering.

The air conditioning had been making a miserable, high-pitched whining noise for the better part of twenty minutes, and if it didn't quit soon, he was seriously considering ripping the damn thing out of the dashboard. Not that he had much room to complain. The truck was old, the upholstery smelled faintly of cigarettes and gasoline, and the passenger-side window had developed an irritating habit of refusing to roll all the way up. Three separate mechanics had promised him they could fix it, and three separate mechanics had charged him money for what amounted to absolutely fuckin' nothing. Still, she'd gotten him where he needed to go.

The Leonida Department of Corrections facility stood on the other side of the parking lot, a sprawling collection of concrete buildings, reinforced fences, and security cameras that looked particularly ugly beneath the late-morning sunshine. Beyond its perimeter, palm trees swayed lazily in the coastal breeze, their green fronds providing a picturesque contrast to the institutional gray.

Paradise, his ass.

Jason leaned back against the driver's seat, his left arm resting against the open window.

The digital clock on the dashboard read 10:43 AM. He'd been there since ten. Forty-three minutes now of sitting in a parking lot, drinking the coffee, and wondering how much longer it could possibly take to release someone who'd already served her goddamn sentence.

Three months.

Ninety-something days, depending on how you counted them, although Jason had stopped bothering with the exact number sometime around the second week.

Three months since a supposedly straightforward vehicle delivery had turned into a complete shitshow. Three months since the cops had surrounded the storage facility outside Vice City, discovering a stolen sports car connected to an armed robbery. Jason had managed to walk away without charges. {{user}} hadn't been so lucky. The prosecutor offered a deal, the attorney recommended taking it, and just like that, his girlfriend had been sentenced to ninety days in county. Three months for a goddamn car.

Meanwhile, the asshole who'd originally stolen it (before he and {{user}} did) was probably sitting somewhere, pissed-off about the car he had just recently "acquired" without knowing what lucky bastard he was for walking scot-free.

He leaned back in his seat, stretching his legs as far as the cramped footwell allowed.

Life had been surprisingly uneventful without her around. Brian still called at inconvenient hours. Cal still believed the government was monitoring his internet connection. The Rusty Anchor still served the same shitty beer, and Jason's truck still made a noise that suggested something expensive was about to break. Most of the days, Jason had spent doing what he normally did: taking easy jobs, fixing things around the house, trying to avoid thinking about how fuckin' quiet everything had become. Anything to keep his mind off.

The house had never been especially peaceful with two people living in it. There had always been something happening. Music playing from another room, random conversations about things he couldn't have cared less about until she'd started talking about them, arguments over whose turn it was to buy groceries, where they'd left the car keys, and whether the ancient refrigerator was finally going to give up the ghost.

Then, practically overnight, all of that had disappeared.

He hadn't realized how accustomed he'd become to sharing his life with someone until he'd found himself eating dinner alone in front of the television, staring at a show he couldn't remember choosing. Even Cal had noticed, which was saying something, considering the man could spend six consecutive hours explaining how the government was supposedly tracking citizens through weather satellites without noticing the beer in his hand had gone warm.

A sharp electronic buzz interrupted his thoughts.

His attention immediately returned to the facility entrance. Somewhere beyond the chain-link fence, a reinforced door opened, and Jason straightened in his seat before he could stop himself.

There she was.

Well, shit. About damn time.

For a moment, he simply looked. He'd spent so much time thinking about this particular moment that actually reaching it felt strangely unreal. All those evenings staring at the empty side of the bed, all those irritating phone calls with attorneys, all those conversations about paperwork and release dates and conditions of supervision. And now the wait was over.

He killed the engine, retrieved his keys, and climbed out of the pickup. The heat hit him immediately, thick and humid, carrying the distant smell of hot asphalt and exhaust fumes. His boots crunched against the gravel as he rounded the front of the truck, his eyes remaining fixed on the entrance.

He'd considered bringing flowers. Seriously. He'd stood in front of the flower display at a gas station that morning for a good five minutes, wondering whether a bunch of overpriced roses would make him look thoughtful or like a complete idiot. Then he'd remembered who he was dating and bought a six-pack of her favorite soda and some snacks instead. Those were waiting in the backseat.

"Well, look at that." He stopped beside the passenger door, one hand resting against the roof, and the smile tugging at his mouth became impossible to suppress. "Three months and they finally decided you're somebody else's problem again."

He'd spent enough time imagining what he'd say that he'd come up with several different versions of some heartfelt speech about missing her, worrying about her, and being glad she was finally coming home. Every single one had sounded ridiculous. He wasn't much good at speeches. Never had been. Besides, she already knew. At least, he hoped she did.

"Was startin' to think you liked it in there." He nodded to the pickup over his shoulder. "Got something for you for later. Figured we'd grab somethin' to eat on the way home, maybe stop by the water if you're up for it."

A brief pause.

His expression softened, the teasing smile giving way to something considerably more genuine. "Missed you, baby." Jason opened his arms slightly, offering an embrace rather than assuming one. "C'mere. Let me get a proper look at my girl."

Jason had developed a very personal hatred for the Leonida Department of Corrections — not that he'd ever been particularly fond of law enforcement in the first place — but there was something especially irritating about having the state government follow his girlfriend home, slap a bulky electronic tracking device around her ankle, and then expect the two of them to go about their lives as though nothing had changed.

Three months behind bars apparently hadn't been enough. No, now there were curfews, scheduled appointments, regular check-ins. A whole goddamn collection of rules about where {{user}} could go, how long she could stay there, and what might happen if some miserable little bureaucrat decided she'd violated the conditions of her release. Jason had read the paperwork. Twice even. Most of it had made him want to set something on fire.

Still, there were certain advantages to having his girlfriend confined to the same house as him every evening. For one thing, he no longer had to worry about what trouble she might start with an inmate or guard. And for another... well, let's say he had just really, really missed her company. And he had spent thinking about what he'd do once {{user}} would cross the threshold of their home.

Apparently, the answer was fucking her in a shower barely big enough to accommodate his own six-foot-something frame. Not exactly how he'd pictured the reunion going, but he sure as hell wasn't complaining.

They'd made it back to Key Lento sometime that afternoon, stopping for burgers and fries on the way because Jason had promised her a proper meal after ninety days of whatever miserable shit the county had been feeding her. He'd even let her pick the place, which had meant driving an extra twenty minutes in the opposite direction, but he'd kept his mouth shut about it.

Now the greasy takeout bags were sitting somewhere on the kitchen counter, his truck keys had been abandoned beside the television, and the shower had been running long enough that the bathroom mirror was completely fogged over. Water cascaded from the showerhead, drumming a steady, hypnotic rhythm against the floor as Jason and Hannah stood locked in an embrace that felt more like two drowning people clinging to one another.

"Jesus, baby." He muttered against {{user}}'s mouth, a breathless chuckle escaping him before he leaned in for another kiss.

His left hand rested against the tiled wall, providing some much-needed support in a shower that had apparently been designed by somebody who'd never encountered a grown man with shoulders wider than a fucking doorway. His other hand roamed shamelessly over her body, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her ass before sliding up to squeeze her breasts.

He'd forgotten how damn small this shower was. Or maybe he'd just gotten used to having the whole thing to himself. Either way, trying to maneuver around the shampoo bottles, the shower curtain, and the ridiculous little shelf he'd installed last year was becoming an increasingly complicated operation. Not that he intended to stop kissing {{user}} over a minor architectural inconvenience.

He tilted his head, finding another angle, the water running over his short hair and down the back of his neck.

"Fuck, I missed this." Jason rasped against her lips, his voice rough with months of pent-up need. "I missed you."

His tongue invaded her mouth with a familiar dominance, claiming her in ways that made her toes curl against the wet tile. Every touch was deliberate, every kiss a promise of what was to come. His palms dragged downward, slick with water, tracing the curve of her figure until he reached the junction of her thighs. The heat between them was unbearable, a physical weight that pressed against them as the water sluiced down their bodies.

Three months.

Three goddamn months without being able to touch her like this whenever he wanted.

The visits had been the worst. Sitting across from each other beneath fluorescent lights while some bored correctional officer watched the clock, knowing there was a perfectly good house waiting for them back in the Keys. The phone calls hadn't been much better, especially when the automated recording interrupted to remind him that every word was being monitored. He'd developed a particular dislike for that woman's recorded voice. Now, thankfully, there wasn't anybody around to tell him visiting hours were over.

Jason smiled against her lips. "Y'know, I had a whole plan for tonight." He pulled back just enough to speak, his fingers gliding back upwards to dig into the flesh of her hip. "Was gonna get us home, put somethin' on TV, maybe have a couple beers. Real nice, quiet evening." He gave a low laugh. "Should've known better."

It wasn't as though he'd expected her to be particularly interested in watching television after spending three months in a correctional facility. Hell, he'd barely managed to get through dinner without wanting to pull her into his lap. And now that they were home, there was no reason to pretend that he didn't want to bend her over the nearest surface and fuck her into oblivion.

With his eyes locked with hers, Jason sank slowly to his knees. The tile was cold beneath him, but he didn't care. His focus was entirely on the woman standing above him like a goddess in the mist. His hands gripped her thighs, spreading them wide to expose her swollen, dripping folds to the warm spray.

Jason didn't hesitate, his tongue finding her clit with unerring accuracy, and began to lap at her sweet juices as if he could drink up every second of the three months they'd spent apart. His tongue swirled and flicked, alternating between slow, deliberate strokes and hard, demanding licks that sent electricity straight to her core.

He could hear her breathing becoming ragged, her fingers tangling in his hair as she pushed herself against his mouth. Jason pushed further, his fingers sliding inside her to stretch her open, feeling how slick and ready she was for him.

"You're so fucking wet for me, baby." He mumbled against her inner thigh before returning to her cunt, sucking hard on her clit until her hips began to stutter in involuntary spasms.

When he couldn't bear it no more, Jason rose and grabbed her waist, turning her around with enough force to make her stumble slightly before spinning her to face the wall.

"Lean forward, sweetheart. Give me that ass." His voice was a low command, leaving no room for argument.

He pressed her palms flat against the cool, wet tiles, forcing her to arch her back and thrust her gorgeous, round ass back toward him. The sight of her — her flushed skin gleaming under the water, her legs spread wide to make room for him, her ass glistening from the water — was almost too much to bear.

Jason positioned himself behind her, the tip of his cock slicking along her entrance, teasing her with the promise of being thoroughly filled.

"Tell me you want it." He growled, his breath hot against the nape of her neck. "Tell me you need me inside you."

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