by Madison Faye
I gripped the wheel tightly and slammed on the gas, letting the wind rip through my hair and over my bare skin, classic rock blaring out of the car speakers as I raced towards the beach.
I was so tied up in my own thoughts, so preoccupied with wondering what the hell I was supposed to do now, that I never even saw the flashing lights until the damn cop was right on top of me, his siren wailing.
Fuck. Just what I needed right now.
The beach road was entirely devoid of traffic this early, as I pulled to the side of the road. The cop car squawked again as it pulled up behind me, blipping at me until I remembered to turn off my engine.
I groaned as I sank back in the bucket seat of the convertible. Honestly, could this day get any worse? Tim cheating, us running out of money, and now Bubba the fat cop was going to give me a fucking speeding ticket.
And it wasn’t even eight in the morning yet.
I glanced in my side mirror as the squad car door kicked open. I scowled, fuming and waiting for the donut-chasing good ol’ boy who was about to put the icing on my shit sundae of a day, when—
When, whoa.
Because what stepped out of that car was everything but the image of the tubby cop I’d conjured up in my head.
Yeah, I’d been way wrong.
Because what stepped out was six-feet-hello-inches of blond, tanned, gorgeous man. My jaw actually dropped as I stared at him through the side mirror, watching as he stood tall and cracked his knuckles before he set his sights on my car.
No, not my car, me — as in he looked right at me in the side-view mirror.
And he grinned.
I gasped as I quickly looked away, hands tightening at ten and two on the steering wheel.
I heard the click of his boots approaching, and felt my pulse skip a little bit as I swallowed thickly and looked right ahead, not trusting myself to not glance in that mirror and get caught staring at him all over again.
"License and registration."
His voice — holy hell. The leather and slight southern drawl of that baritone snapped me right out of it, and I quickly turned to him.
I swallowed again, and I shivered.
The blond cop was built — big, broad shoulders, thick arms under the short, rolled-up sleeves of his tan uniform that stretched tight across a muscled chest. He looked clean cut, but in that slightly ruffled surfer way that only a southern California cop could pull off. Smirking a little, he looked down at me through the classic "cop" shades that he must have slipped on after he’d caught me checking him out. I blushed, realizing he was probably grinning at the fact that he’d just pulled over a girl wearing just a skimpy white bikini.
"Listen, officer, I'm so sorry about that! I think I thought I saw something dart out onto the road, so I sped up to—”
"For half a mile?"
My heart jumped into my throat as I whipped my head around to the passenger side.
A second cop, who I’d never even seen, being so preoccupied with the first.
Oh, but I was seeing him then. Every stupidly gorgeous inch of him. The second man was just as mouthwateringly built as the blond one — this guy with short cropped dark hair, piercing blue eyes, and a dark scruff of stubble across his chiseled, square jaw.
Lines and swirls of tattoo ink came down one arm from the rolled-up sleeve of his uniform in this decidedly un-cop way. My eyes darted over that muscled arm, up to that stern but slightly amused face, and then up to those icy blue eyes.
"I— uh—"
"I'm gonna ask you again, miss. License and registration, right now." The first cop frowned at me as I whirled back to him, and I nodded thickly as I reached for the glove compartment.
There were two of them.
I wondered for one ridiculous second if that meant twice as heavy a toll.
The blond cop glanced at my license and papers and then walked back to the squad car with them, leaving me sitting there in my bikini feeling more and more foolish and wishing more and more that I could hit the reset button on this entire day.
"You look nervous." I turned to see the dark-haired second cop grinning at me, leaning on the passenger side window frame.
I shook my head, trying to force a smile through the glumness on my face. “Just one of those days, actually.”
“Sounds like getting pulled over is the icing on the cake, huh?”
As absolutely shitty as this day was shaping up to be, I couldn’t not notice how gorgeous he was as he leaned on the passenger side of the car. He was probably a little older than me, and I felt myself blush as he grinned at me — his look both totally charming and chillingly dark at the same time.
“Well this is just not your day, Samantha.” The blond cop was shaking his head and waving my ID papers as he walked back to my side, and I felt any possible hope I had for maybe not getting a speeding ticket on top of my already shitty day go right out the window.
“Officer?”
The blond cop stood right next to my side of the car, one strong-looking hand on the door as he passed my papers back to me and nodded seriously at his partner. “It’s not her car.”
The cop with the dark hair who’d looked so flirtatiously at me before suddenly gave me a much cooler look as he clapped his hand down on the side of the car.
“Well, seems like this really isn’t your day, miss.”
“Operating a stolen vehicle and speeding?” I turned quickly back to the blond guy, feeling my pulse start to jump
"Hey it's not stolen! It’s my fiancé’s—”
“Says here it’s registered to a Miss Amy Alden.”
Amy Alden?
Suddenly, my mind whirled to the girl on Tim’s phone, and my stomach dropped.
Holy. Shit.
Was the convertible that’d been parked in our driveway the last week and a half HER fucking car?! My head spun as I tried to begin to put together the utter gall of Tim to try and pull something like this.
“I need you to step out of the car, miss.”
I felt like I was in a fog as the cop opened the door and motioned for me to step out. In a daze, I unbuckled my seatbelt and stepped out on the side of the road in my bikini, feeling foolish and awful, and like I wanted to cry. The blond cop beckoned me around to the front of the convertible.
"Hands on the hood, legs spread." I gasped as the cop suddenly pushed me down across the hood of the car, metal warm against my barely clothed body. I gasped — was he actually going to give me a pat down? I was wearing a bikini, for crying out loud!
“Hey, watch where you put your—”
“I said hands on the fucking car, miss.” I froze at the dark-haired cop’s gruff voice in my ear — powerful and demanding.
"Y-yes sir." My pulse raced in my chest, pounding in my ears.
"Better."
Sure enough, I suddenly felt his strong hands on my calves, the big fingers lightly squeezing my bare skin as he worked his way up my legs all the way to my thighs. For a moment, I knew I should be terrified, not to mention incensed at what I knew was a totally unorthodox police stop. But there just something about the way his hands felt on me, and the gruff way his voice had demanded this of me. Suddenly, I felt the throbbing ache as a jolt of desire shot through me.
I felt my breath catch as his hand drifted up the back of my thigh while I stood there bent over with my hands on the hood of my fiancé’s mistress’s car. The lack of physical contact with Tim over the last few months suddenly came roaring to the forefront, as I realized this was the first time a man had touched me like this!
The cop’s big hands slipped further up my thigh, and before I could even stop myself, I realized I was pressing myself back into him as his hand slipped over my bikini-clad ass. Jesus, what was wrong with me? I mean I may have just found out my fiancé was a compete scumbag, but I was engaged to him after all! And here I was on the side of the road acting like some sort of starlet in her first porn shoot. But God, between the dark-haired cop’s hands on me, and the blond guy
just standing there watching me, I suddenly felt that whatever happened then, I would be at their mercy.
Both of them. It wasn’t a fantasy I’d ever even entertained, but there on the side of the road, bent over and totally submitting to both of them like that, it came out of nowhere.
Two men.
I shivered at the naughty fantasy, made even more inappropriate by the fact that I still wondered if I was literally being arrested.
Yikes, what’s wrong with you?
I could feel him move higher behind me, his hands slipping up my bare hips and making me shiver as he slowly made his way around to my front and moved higher, higher, higher…
Suddenly, he stood, his hands abruptly dropping from me — the fantasy falling along with them.
“Alright miss, I think we can let you go with a warning this time.”
I shivered, the lingering naughty thoughts of my daydream tingling through my head, and my body still buzzing from it.
“I— really?”
The dark-haired cop grinned wickedly at me, his eyes very unashamedly wandering up and down my barely concealed body and making me blush. “Don’t let us catch you speeding again though, miss.”
The blond copped stepped closer — so close that I actually took a step back, my calves against the front grill of the car. “How about you get to the beach in one piece, hmm?”
I nodded, my heart still pounding in my chest and my skin actually missing the feel of his partner’s hands on me.
"Yes, sir.” I nodded at him, feeling bashful at how turned on I still was standing between them like this.
The blond cop took his glasses off, showing another pair of piercing blue eyes as they drifted easily over me. “I’m serious, ma’am. Things are going to get interesting if we spot you again like this, understand?”
I nodded as they turned abruptly and walked back towards their car, leaving me panting, blinking in shock, and totally confused.
And very wet.
I remember them driving away and my stomach just dropping through the floor. I couldn’t believe what had just happened! And not just the not getting a ticket part, but the part where the cop had basically felt me up on the side of the road while his partner watched.
And of course, the part where I’d loved it.
Now, if only I'd listened to them...
3
Dustin
The rules were, you were always supposed to let the car you pulled over drive off before you did, but she was still sitting in the car as we’d driven away.
Add to the list of rules we were definitely not following that day.
Samantha Caraway — all dark hair, blue eyes, sun-kissed skin and sinful curves was still sitting there in that white BMW convertible, hands on the wheel and a flush on her face.
Good.
My cock was still rock hard from putting my hands on her, my pulse roaring in my ears at the memory of the smoothness of her skin — the way her breath had caught as I’d slid my fingers over her hips.
That had not been smart.
“That was a stupid fucking move, by the way.”
I glanced at Blake, my partner, and best friend since before I could even remember, and frowned before looking away.
I didn’t need to be told that what’d just gone down back there was against the rules, not to mention dangerous. Believe me, I knew it.
“Jesus Christ, c’mon, man,” Blake swore, gripping the wheel of the squad car tighter, his jaw clenching when I glanced back at him. “Her? Of all the fucking women in the world you’ve gotta pull insane shit like that with, it’s her? You know—”
“I know, okay?” I snapped, clenching my hand into a fist around the door hand-hold and narrowing my eyes at the road ahead. I knew, and I knew that Blake was right — pulling the “step out of the car and spread ‘em” routine with some hot young college girl on vacation was one thing. Flashing that “bad cop” grin and maybe flexing a little bit of muscled to some blushing housewife who’d just blown a stop-sign? Yeah, maybe boundary-pushing in terms of the badge, but that’d never stopped either of us before.
Except Samantha Caraway was different.
And how did we know that?
Well, because this wasn’t the first time either of us were meeting her.
Okay, it was the first face-to-face, and the first time we’d spoken to her, but Blake and I had been watching Samantha for the better part of a month now, as part of our ongoing investigation. See, we aren’t just beat-cops and ticket writers. My buddy and I were also detectives — first class. Yeah, it was basically like working two jobs, but you couldn’t complain about the money, and besides, neither of us were tied down or anything, and truth be told, we fuckin’ loved being cops.
The ongoing investigation wasn’t about Samantha, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t gotten caught up in the surveillance net we’d set up in conjunction with the FBI on this case.
Technically, it was that deadbeat of a fiancé of hers that the investigation was concerned with — him and the little side piece he’d picked up. And by “side piece,” I mean “Maria Santiago, niece to Miguel Santiago.” The very same Miguel Santiago who was currently one of the biggest importers of cocaine into southern California.
Through some bad card games, and maybe the wrong kind of friends, Tim Plimpton, Samantha’s fiancé, had found himself hooked in with some bad fucking people. Thing is though, he might have been a shitbag, but he was apparently no slouch of a lawyer. He was so good, in fact, that he’d quickly found work with Miguel as a personal attorney — something that came in handy when you’re smuggling literal tons of an illegal substance across international borders.
The investigation was ongoing — we still needed solid evidence to be sure of a conviction, but Blake and I had been helping out for about a month now.
And our job?
Surveillance. Specifically, Tim’s house.
Even more specifically, since he was pretty much never home these days, our surveillance had basically been entirely of Samantha.
Fuck.
And in a month, there were two damn sure things Blake and I knew about her. One, she had nothing to do with Tim’s bullshit. And two, Samantha Caraway was a fucking goddess.
Dark hair, stunning blue eyes, tanned skin, and curves for days. Sweet, bee-stung lips, perfect, full tits, an ass I wanted to sink my teeth into, and a body I wanted to dominate while she begged for more.
Watching her had been both heaven and hell. On the one side, we’d basically spent twelve hours a day for the past month sitting in a van watching and listening to her on the FBI-sanctioned cameras and microphones installed all over their house. Twelve hours a day watching Samantha Caraway sleep, undress, shower, and work out.
Holy fuck. Neither of us had the slightest clue how a boring paper-pushing, slightly pudgy dude like Tim Plimpton had a girl like that — moreover, the fact that he was stepping out on her was actually mind-blowing.
We knew from watching that Tim hadn’t so much as touched his knockout of a fiancé in a month — body language and knowing how long things had been going on with Maria told us it’d been way longer than that.
And so had watching Samantha.
Because besides sleeping, and eating, and doing yoga on her back deck, and generally going about her day-to-day routine, there was one other thing about watching her that was by far and away the best part of our fuckin’ job.
It was the times when being ignored by her fiancé for so long caught up with her. It was the times when we’d watch Samantha Caraway lay back on her big empty bed and let her own fingers do what ours were dying to do.
It was watching Samantha spread those long, tan legs, pinch a perfect dusky nipple between her fingers, and slip her other hand over her slick, pink pussy until she arched her back and screamed into a pillow.
Yeah, that was the heaven part of the job we’d been doing.
The hell part had been slowly realizing both of us were fucking addicted to her a
nd knowing she was the single most off-limits girl in the world.
Running into her today on our beat duty had been a complete fluke. We’d seen the car speed past us, we’d seen the numbers pop up on our radar, and we’d started the siren — all by the book.
And then we’d realized who the fuck we were about to pull over, and I know both of our cocks swelled a little at the thought.
After a month of watching Sam, we were about to get her face-to-face.
Apparently, I’d failed that test. Hard. Apparently, getting face-to-face with Samantha had sent my reason and sense flying out the fucking window. Maybe it was the goddamn bikini she’d been wearing. Maybe it was those sweet sinful curves on display like that. Maybe it was getting a whiff of jasmine — her shampoo or something — when I’d stepped up to that car.
Whatever it was, it’d snapped something in me, and I’d been powerless to stop it. I’d been powerless to stop myself from putting my hands on her, the blood roaring in my ears and my cock ready to tear a damn hole in my pants as she’d bent over the hood of that car in front of me. The way her breath had caught when my fingers touched her skin, the way she’d gasped so sweetly when I’d skimmed them up her thighs.
And then reason had taken over, and I’d snapped out it somehow.
Somehow, I’d walked away without tearing off that bikini, burying my tongue in that sweet pussy, and then filling her up with every fucking inch of my big cock.
“You asshole.”
I glanced at Blake, his brow furrowed as he glared at the road.
“Look, I’m sorry, man. Trust me, I know procedure, and I know that was endangering the damn operation—”
“I’m not talking about the fucking job, you dick.” Blake turned and grinned at me.
“I’m talking about you getting to put your hands on that sweet little body, prick.”
I grinned back. “I swear, it won’t happen again.”
“Yeah well if it does, I’m doing the bikini pat-down, got it?”
