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Robin hugs him tight, her hands locked together behind his shoulders, her cheek pressed to his, her heart overflowing with fondness. She’s tried all this time not to break down in front of him, and now she’s wondering why. Like always, he hasn’t judged, he hasn’t told her what to do, he hasn’t looked at her like she’s somehow less, and in insisting the business pay for some therapy and offering her the Herberts’ spare room, he’s solved her two largest-looming problems in one fell swoop. If she’s got a safe place to live and a good therapist, and her partner at her back supporting her, she can even deal with Matthew’s surely inevitable twattery over their imminent divorce.
Strike squeezes her back, and the memory of the hug at her wedding looms large. In the space of a few minutes he’s had his arm around her shoulders and now this. The hug just now was one of friendship, of moral support, but this one is different, evoking memories and feelings he’s spent a year trying to bury, apparently with little success. Despite their many layers of clothing, he’s suddenly very aware of her whole body pressed to his, and this is dangerous, sending his thoughts spinning off in inappropriate directions.
He pulls back, and plants a firm kiss on her cheek, a full stop to punctuate their sudden closeness and put them back on a friendship footing. At least, that’s what he means to do, but somehow she’s either tried to say something or tried to kiss his cheek too, and he misses “safe and friendly” entirely and kisses her almost on the mouth. For a blissful half a second he can feel her soft lips against his, smell her hair where it’s somehow tangled between them, and then he pulls back, stammering an explanation.
“Shit. Sorry.” It’s hardly the most graceful apology he’s ever mustered. “I meant to—” He gestures vaguely at her cheek.
“I know.” She’s blushing, and he fears he is too, his heart skipping several beats and making him feel slightly giddy.
Robin, heart in her mouth, stares at him. For one wild moment she thought he’d tried to kiss her for real, and the way her heart had soared at the thought—
I want this, she suddenly thinks. It’s wrong and crazy and she’s only just left Matthew two nights ago and she’d seen Strike walk away arm in arm with Charlotte yesterday, and they’re colleagues and friends and... But still, she wants this.
“And I meant to do this,” she says, and steps forward and kisses him again, full on the mouth, properly this time. She feels him start, freeze in shock at her unexpected boldness, and wonders if she’s just ruined everything. His lips are soft against hers, softer than she’d expected. The kiss is almost chaste, closed-mouthed, yet she lingers on him, breathing him, feeling him against her.
Before Strike can recover from the surprise, Robin gently pulls back, and he’s missing her before their lips have parted. She gazes up at him, bold, defiant, unsure, afraid, and he stares at her. There are so many reasons this is a bad idea, and right now he can’t think of a single one of them.
“Robin—” his voice is hoarse.
“Cormoran.” Hers is breathless.
He wants this, more than he’s ever wanted anything, even Charlotte, and at that realisation he leans down and kisses her again, and this time she opens her mouth to him and suddenly her arms are around his neck again and his tongue is in her mouth and it’s as though a fire has been lit, burning him up. He groans and pulls her closer, kissing her fiercely, and she whimpers into his mouth and there’s no stopping.
His tongue sweeps over hers and her fingers are twining into his curly hair. He’s dimly aware of cars passing them on the A road they’ve parked next to, and he stumbles back a little, pulling Robin with him, behind the bulk of the Land Rover. It’s a big, solid vehicle and they’re largely shielded from the road. He turns her gently, still kissing her, and backs her into the side of the truck to give her the privacy, and her hands slide down to his lapels, pulling at his coat, at him. Her tongue thrusts into his mouth and desire has overtaken any common sense he might have had left when it comes to this, to her. He’s losing control of his body already and they’re only kissing, but he can’t help it. He rocks into her, pressing his rapidly hardening cock against her thigh, and she makes a tiny growling noise in her throat and slides her hands round to his backside, dragging him harder against her, and he’s utterly lost.
Robin breaks free of the kiss and gasps, her mouth moving hungrily along his jaw, and Strike realises he’s rocking against her, pressing her into the side of the vehicle with his hips. He tries to draw back a little, but she makes a little sound of protest, tugging him closer, her teeth grazing his neck, sending bolts of lust through him.
“Fuck...” he groans as she wriggles against him, rubbing herself against his aching length, and then her hands are sliding round between them and fumbling with his belt.
“Robin—” he gasps, shocked and delighted in equal measure. Can this really be happening? Then suddenly her hand is dipping into his trousers, closing around him, and all rational thought is gone in a rush of pure pleasure as she strokes his rigid cock, her hand circling, sliding, and he’s groaning and rocking into her.
His hand is on her breast over her shirt and jumper, cupping her, and even through her clothes he can feel the hardness of her nipple as he rasps his thumb across it and she moans and squeezes him a little tighter. He tugs at her shirt, pulling it from her waistband, sliding his hands up under to caress her breasts through her bra, and she shudders and groans and slides down the side of the Land Rover a little as though her knees have given way.
Fierce pride rocks him and he slides his hands to her arse and boosts her up. He only means to support her, but she wraps her legs around his waist and one arm around his back, her busy fingers still working on his cock, and then he’s grinding against her, pushing her against the side of the vehicle while her hand works his cock between them and this is all going to be over right now if she doesn’t stop that.
“Robin, fuck, stop, please...” he begs even as he’s groaning with the pleasure, and she understands and draws her hand away.
“Put me down,” she whispers, and he complies at once even as disappointment surges through him. Of course they can’t—
But Robin is undoing her jeans, pushing them down, dragging one leg out, her shoe kicked off on the leafy floor next to the wheel of the truck.
“Robin, fuck—” Strike looks around wildly. The road isn’t hugely busy, but cars are still rolling past them at steady intervals.
“Your coat,” she replies, her hands finding his waist, drawing him close, and he steps forward against her, pulling the fabric sides around them both. His hands find her backside again, naked now, filling his big hands and feeling just incredible. She’s trying to almost climb up him, panting, and he lifts her again— and suddenly he can feel the heat of her, the wetness, against his cock and a tidal wave of pure need overtakes him.
He jerks against her before he can stop himself, and she flexes her hips, rubbing her heat and juices along his aching erection, and there’s nothing in the world but Robin, her arse in his hands and her breath hot in his ear, her breasts against his chest. He’s straining up towards her, trembling with effort and need, and she’s rocking against him, driving him wild with lust. Sweat has broken out between his shoulder blades, from the pleasure or the effort or both.
“I want you,” she gasps into his ear. “Cormoran, please—”
He lowers her just a little, canting his hips, and she’s sliding down onto him. The pure pleasure of it is incredible. She moans as he fills her, jerking against him, every movement threatening to make him lose control completely. He rocks his hips, withdrawing as best he can and surging back into her.
He braces himself; his foot slips a little on the leaves and they both moan at the jolt. This is a terrible idea with his knee, and he doesn’t care, can’t even feel it in the rush of endorphins. He plants his feet more firmly and thrusts her against the side of the Land Rover. Her backside bangs against the side panel and she grunts and tugs at him.
“Harder,” Robin mutters, and he draws back and thrusts again.
“More,” she gasps, and then, desperately, “Cormoran—”
Her muscles are squeezing him and he’s losing control; all he can do is hope he’s taking her with him. He jerks up into her again and again, buried deep inside her, feeling the way she tenses around him. Her voice has broken into soft whimpers in his ear that make his head swim with lust. His release is barrelling towards him fast and he’s helpless to stop it as she clutches at him, her hands gripping his shoulders and her hips pistoning against him.
Suddenly her hands are on his face and she drags his mouth to hers, kissing him fiercely, and he could swear he feels in her kiss the exact moment she breaks, her tongue stuttering against his as her hips cant into him. Her long, low moan of pleasure into his mouth as she comes undoes him completely; with a groan he follows her, fierce pulses of pleasure rocking him as he empties himself into her, prolonging their ecstasy as long as he can until he’s spent and shaking, his hips jerking against her as aftershocks ripple through them.
Her arms are wrapped around him and still she kisses him, softer now, gentle, and slowly the wrap of her legs around his waist relaxes. He lowers her down to the ground, sliding out of her, and then she’s leaning, trembling, against the Land Rover, half-dressed and wild-haired and pink-cheeked and debauched, looking incredible.
They gaze at one another, panting, shocked.
He should say something. “That was—”
“Fast,” she says, grinning, but there’s a tremulousness, an uncertainty, to her.
“I was going to say incredible.”
She peeps up at him, and her eyes are unnaturally bright, making him wonder if she’s holding back tears. “Really?”
He scoops her close, hugging her against him. “Really.” His voice is a deep rumble in his chest.
She hums her agreement against the front of his jumper and snuggles close, seeking his warmth, his comfort, and a fierce surge of protectiveness runs through him.
“I should get dressed,” she mutters into his chest with a giggle, and he wraps his big coat tighter around her.
“Yeah,” he replies. “And then...” What?
She turns her face up to his. “And then we go and interview Tegan and Kinvara.”
He stares at her. How can she be thinking about the case now? “Or we could go somewhere for lunch, talk—”
She smiles softly. “Plenty of time for that later. Dinner and talk, maybe?” she murmurs. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Neither am I,” he says at once, his heart full of hope. Hope is something he’s almost forgotten how to feel.
She grins. “There we go, then,” she says. “Let me get my jeans back on, and we’ll do what we actually came here to do.”
“And then I’ll buy you dinner,” he says decidedly.
“And maybe we can leave ringing Nick and Ilsa until tomorrow?”
A broad grin spreads across his face. “Good plan.”
Robin kisses him, softly, sweetly, full of promise, and then giggles and fishes for her jeans while he protects her modesty with his coat.