“Cappuccino. A double.”
He nodded and turned toward the counter. As he walked away, I studied his butt and wondered how many hours a day he devoted to making it so…
Perfect.
I really had very little respect for cops, but considering that he shot my neighbor and stole his money, it was obvious he wasn’t a normal cop.
He was a dirty cop.
As far as I was concerned, the dirtier the better.
He returned with the coffee, and I admired his walk the entire way. It sent anyone who took the time to notice it a clear message. Don’t fuck with me. My guess was that everyone noticed. Personally, I planned on playing it over and over in my mind while I touched myself in the shower, but I wasn’t about to tell him that.
He handed me one of the cups. “Cappuccino. Double.”
“Thanks.”
He sat and took a sip of his coffee. “So, tell me a little about you.”
I coughed out a laugh. “You’re a cop. I’m sure you know everything about me already.”
He shook his head and grinned. “It’s against protocol.”
“Oh.” I chuckled. “And you’re by the fucking book, right?”
His eyes widened. “Wow.”
I cocked an eyebrow. “Wow what?”
“I was just wanting to know more about you.”
“Why?”
I found him attractive. Very attractive. My shitty attitude and smart mouth were typical for me, and I used them as a means of protecting myself from the masses of men who liked to prey on women. I was far from weak, and felt it best to make it understood from the start. I often wished I could tone it down slightly. While studying the look of surprise on his face, I realized it was one of those times.
“The truth or a lie?” he asked.
“Don’t ever lie to me.” I snapped back. “I hate liars.”
His eyes fell to my boobs, then slowly raised to meet mine. “I’m attracted to you.”
It wasn’t the answer I was expecting. My face went hot and the tingling became terribly uncomfortable. I uncrossed my legs, and quickly crossed them back. “Long version or short?”
He took a sip of coffee and grinned. “Somewhere in between.”
“I was raised in Colorado as a kid, the daughter of a bible thumping mother and an ex-con father. I despised my mother and adored my father. When I was fifteen, my parents were killed by a burglar. And no, I don’t want to talk about it. My brother’s nine years older than me and raised me until I was seventeen, at which time I moved with my thirty-year-old boyfriend to San Diego. Eventually we got married, and I stayed with him until I got sick of the mental, physical and psychological abuse. We divorced six months ago, and I moved here to get away from him. That’s pretty much it.”
“Have any felony convictions?” he asked flatly.
It seemed like an odd comeback. I responded nonetheless. “Not yet.”
He nodded and took a slow drink of coffee. “There’s no denying you’re an attractive woman. When you testified in front of the OIG, I found you to be even more so. I like your attitude. A lot. Which night of the week works best for you?”
“For what?”
“I’m going to take you to dinner.”
Most women would have seen the statement as pretentious, arrogant, or something of the like. Me? My pussy went from tingling to dripping. I did my best to disguise my excitement and took a drink of coffee.
I lowered my cup and pushed it aside. “Saturday.”
“It’s Friday now. So, tomorrow?”
I nodded. “Sounds good to me.”
“You bring the money?”
“Just like you told me to.”
“Do you always do just what you’re told?”
“Depends on who’s doing the telling.”
He tilted his head in my direction. “Stand up.”
I probably shouldn’t have, but I complied with his demand and stood. He did the same. I stood on shaking legs and waited for what was next. At least I knew he wasn’t going to shoot me in the coffee shop in front of fifty people.
At least I didn’t think he would.
“Leave the coffee here. Follow me,” he said.
I followed him to the how-to section, a display of books all the way to the ceiling that it appeared no one wanted to read. I glanced in each direction, made note of the empty aisle, and turned to face him.
“Turn around, and place your hands on the books,” he said in a soft, yet demanding tone.
For the sheer sake of entertainment, I did as he asked.
He positioned himself behind me, pressed his chest against my back, and rested his hands on my waist. Goosebumps rose along my upper arms. I felt exposed and vulnerable but I didn’t want it to end. I closed my eyes.
His warm breath against my ear made my knees buckle.
Dear God. What are you doing to me?
He pressed himself into me until I was flat against the display of books. “I’ve probably searched a thousand women, Lex,” he whispered into my ear. “But, when I frisked you the other night, it was totally unprofessional. I liked having your tits in my hands.”
Oh fuck.
“I uhhm…I did…So did I.”
His hands quickly found my hip bones. He pressed the tips of his fingers against the sensitive area, causing me to arch my back and writhe in sexual frustration. After a few agonizing seconds, my butt was pressed hard against his crotch.
He may not have planned it, but I saw it as nothing short of an opportunity. I grinded my hips, forcing myself against him. I hoped it was what he wanted and I knew it was what I wanted. I clenched my eyes tight and imagined him handcuffing me to the posts of my bed, fully realizing at any moment I was sure to collapse into a puddle of lustful desire right there on the floor of the bookstore
His slight growth of beard ground against my cheek. His breath on my ear reminded me he wasn’t done torturing me. “On Saturday…” he whispered. “I need you to do something for me.”
I swallowed heavily. “Whaaa...Uhhm. What’s that?”
“Wear that dress you wore in court, or one like it,” he breathed.
“Okay,” I squeaked.
His mouth encompassed my ear. “One other thing.”
My sweaty palms slid along the slick surface of the book’s spines. I fought to remain standing. “I’m listening...”
“Don’t bother wearing panties,” he whispered. “They’ll only get in the way.”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity fuck.
“Black dress, no panties,” I murmured.
He pushed himself against me, flattening my chest against the bookshelf. “Normally, Lex, I’m a man with tremendous control. For some reason, with you, I have very little. Give me your right hand,” he demanded.
I lowered my right arm until I felt him grip my wrist firmly. He guided my hand behind my back, pressing it between my butt and his hips.
“Grab my cock.”
Oh my fucking God.
I felt faint. About the time I realized I hadn’t done as he asked, he growled into my ear.
“It shouldn’t be tough to find,” he said. “It’s that thick throbbing fucker that’s pressing against your cute little ass.”
I fumbled around for a second, and found exactly what he described. It was thick, hard as a rock, and insanely long.
I stroked it through his jeans eagerly.
“You know what that is, Lex?”
I couldn’t respond. It was all I could do to keep from collapsing.
“Lack. Of. Fucking. Control,” he breathed.
I was way past tingling. Beyond wet. My juices were running down my leg. I had no idea if what he was doing was some psychological cop bullshit, or if it was heartfelt. To be honest, I really didn’t care. I knew one thing, and I knew it for certain.
He was a bad cop.
And a bad cop was the only kind of cop I liked.
Scott Hildreth, DIRTY READS
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