Backseat Heat - A Saint Lucius Story
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Backseat Heat - A Saint Lucius Story
St. Louis, 11:42 PM. Rain taps the windshield in soft Morse code. The city glows wet under streetlights, and Saint Lucius cruises through downtown in a sleek black Genesis. His music — low, smooth jazz — pulses like a heartbeat behind the hum of the engine. He drives with one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on his thigh, sharp suit unbuttoned just enough to hint at the warm skin beneath. He wasn’t wearing underwear tonight. It wasn’t a mistake. It was a mood. His next ping lights up the screen: Kia, Downtown West. 5 stars. Female. Confident rider profile. She slides in like she owns the night — all curves, leather jacket, and eyes that don’t flinch. The scent of vanilla and something darker trails in with her. “You Saint Lucius?” she asks, voice wrapped in velvet. He smiles without turning. “Depends. You looking for a sinner or a savior tonight?” Her laugh dances through the cabin. “Guess I’ll find out.” As they glide toward the Arch District, the air thickens. She crosses her legs slowly, the hem of her dress rising like a dare. Her eyes flick toward his lap, then to the road, then back again. “You always this quiet?” she teases. “Or are you just distracted?” Lucius’s voice stays low and steady. “I don’t talk much when I’m focused… but I notice everything.” She leans forward, her hand brushing the back of his seat. “Then I’m guessing you noticed I didn’t buckle in.” “I noticed,” he murmurs, glancing at her in the mirror. Their eyes meet — a moment suspended between risk and certainty. The ride stretches, tension winding tighter with every turn. Rain trickles down the windows, city lights blurring into gold streaks. She shifts closer. “Tell me something, Lucius,” she purrs, her voice warm in his ear. “You always drive like this… or is tonight special?” He doesn’t answer right away. Just a sly smile, his fingers flexing on the wheel, his other hand resting lower now. He can feel the heat of her gaze, hungry and daring. Then she says, “I bet you’re not even wearing anything under that suit.” The car slows at a red light. Lucius finally turns to her — just a glance — his voice like silk dipped in smoke. “Do you want to find out?” She leans in… and everything after that fades to black.Comments for Backseat Heat - A Saint Lucius Story
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