Code 11- KPD SWAT Box Set

by Lani Lynn Vale

  My father looked pissed, and my grandfather looked tired.

  “So…” I said, catching their attention. “Are we ordering pizza?”

  I couldn’t say that I was upset about my mother leaving.

  We’d never really gotten along.

  She continued, to this day, to try to mold me into the perfect housewife. Something that I really, really didn’t want to be.

  She hated that I did pottery.

  She hated that I left David.

  She hated that I didn’t wear my hair down, or put on dresses that ‘flattered my figure.’

  Personally, I couldn’t give a fuck about all of that. What I wanted to do was what I loved, and being the ‘perfect housewife’, like she was, wasn’t one of them.

  And color me surprised when she’d made that ultimatum to my father.

  That was something I’d never thought to hear uttered from her lips.

  “You can go finish making the dinner that your mother left cooking on the stove,” Grandpa said, eyes never leaving the TV.

  It was on a fishing show.

  He loved fishing shows.

  I loved them, too, which was why I made a note of the channel before I went into the kitchen.

  Then I turned it on and finished making dinner.

  My mom had chosen fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and fresh-baked rolls.

  I was okay with the first two, but the last never turned out how I wanted it to.

  It never failed. My bread was always too thick. On the verge of being brick-like thick.

  Bread machine. By hand and baking in the oven. Old recipe, tried-and-true recipe, new recipe. Nada. They always turned out the same no matter how hard I tried.

  Luckily, she’d already made them, and now all I had to do was take them out of the oven when they were done cooking.

  Score one for me.

  So as I busied myself with cooking the fried chicken and mashing potatoes, I thought about all that had happened today.

  My beautiful house was no more. In its place was a shell of its former self.

  But then I managed to smile as I remembered that Foster already had that part handled.

  It’d be back to its old self in no time.

  Chapter 14

  I’m sorry for the things I said when you woke me up. Next time just bring me coffee and run. Fast.

  -Sincerely, not a morning person

  Blake

  “Well, that was the most awkward dinner of all time. Do you think your friends noticed anything wrong?” I asked Foster, falling forward onto his bed and slamming my face into a pillow.

  Foster followed me into the bedroom, stopping at the bottom of the bed and said, “Nope.”

  His fingers started to work at my tennis shoes, unlacing them when I would’ve just kicked them off, and then placing them nicely on the floor.

  My shorts were the next thing to go, and suddenly all of the sleep that’d been on my mind was gone in a flash. In its place was hot, sexy thoughts of the man currently pulling my panties over my ass.

  He stopped once they were midway down my thighs and kissed each ass cheek before biting lightly.

  I jumped, pushing my hips into the bed as I looked at him over my shoulder.

  “What,” I said, turning over.

  Then his eyes, which had been on my face, found my mound.

  I blushed.

  My face was on fire.

  Luckily, I’d gotten into the habit of being totally shaved down there since I’d left David.

  I don’t know why. It’d just been something that he’d hated me doing, and now I kept it shaved out of spite.

  Foster swallowed thickly, finally pulling his eyes away from my pussy to catch my eyes.

  “I haven’t had sex since my accident,” he admitted, licking his lips nervously. “In fact, it was nearly four months before my accident. So it’s been… a while.”

  I smiled, sitting up.

  My hands found their way to his belt, hooking my fingers into the waistband of his jeans and pulling him closer to me.

  “Take your shirt off,” I ordered. “Now.”

  “Yes ma’am,” he complied, ripping the shirt from his jeans where he’d tucked it in, and pulled it roughly over his head with a hand at the back of his collar.

  He tossed it across the room, aiming for the dresser but not quite making it.

  He did manage to knock over our drinks we’d gotten on the way home, though.

  Neither one of us moved to clean it up. It didn’t matter.

  We’d deal with the mess. Later.

  I worked the belt loose from his pants, dropping it on the bed beside my hips, before I started working on the button of his pants.

  His eyes watched my movements, taking it all in with sharp, quick senses.

  He allowed me to do what I wanted to do, and I was grateful.

  I wanted this so bad I hurt.

  I’d wanted Foster since the moment I saw him in the police headquarters’ lobby.

  I licked my lips once I worked the zipper down over his bulging erection, stopping before I went too far.

  “Condoms,” I said. “I think we need some.”

  He snorted, but turned and went into the bathroom, tossing me a look over his shoulder.

  I licked my lips at seeing his pants hanging so low on his hips that I could see the top swells of his well-defined ass.

  He came back moments later with a handful of condoms in his hand, tossing them down onto the bed beside his belt.

  One knee planted in the bed at my feet, and he stopped, waiting for the next move.

  I liked that he was deferring to me.

  At least this time.

  I suspected he wouldn’t be so accommodating in the future.

  My shaking and sweating hands went to the waistband of his black boxer briefs and lowered it.

  The first thing I saw was that he had a tattoo.

  It made me freeze as I read the words.

  “Does that… does that say what I think it says?” I asked, laughter gathering in my throat.

  Looking up at him for confirmation, I couldn’t help the laugh that burst free of my lips at the sheepish grin on his face.

  “My brothers are dicks,” he said. “I got drunk and then they proceeded to take me to the nearest tattoo shop where I got this.”

  I have a small wiener was tattooed in black bold letters just above the base of his cock.

  And the saying couldn’t be further from the truth.

  Which I let him know the moment I saw his cock up close and personal.

  It was massive.

  Bigger than any I’d ever seen, which, granted, wasn’t a lot, but he was also bigger than my purple eight-inch dildo I’d bought after my divorce.

  Easily.

  “Oh, my,” I said, placing my small hand onto his hard cock.

  It was thick. So thick my hands could barely fit around it.

  It was also soft. The skin felt like silk wrapped around a steel pole of muscle.

  His cock was beautiful.

  I’d never thought of cocks being much of anything before, but Foster’s was just that.

  Long, thick, with a darker mushroomed shaped head.

  Veins popped out along his shaft, and one long, thick vein ran along the underside.

  It even pulsed with the beat of his heart.

  “Jesus,” he hissed as my hands squeezed him tightly.

  I smiled at him as I leaned forward, squeezing the head to milk out a pearl white droplet of pre-cum.

  He growled, and his fingers burrowed into my hair, not directing my movements. Rather, more so he could have something to hold on to.

  I worked the tip of my tongue around the tip, circling the bulbous head with the front and back of my tongue before working my way down his shaft.

  “I’m gonna come in your mouth,” he said suddenly, yanking himself away from me.


  I pouted at him.

  “I hadn’t even gotten a good taste,” I teased.

  He wrinkled his nose at me.

  “That’s okay,” he murmured, stalking forward once again. “It’s your turn now.”

  He stalked me.

  As he moved forward, I moved backward, putting more room in between us.

  I did it with a smile on my face, though, which let him know that I was playing, and not scared.

  “You’re sure you want to play that way?” he asked carefully.

  I blinked and then lifted up onto my knees before turning my back to him.

  Then, slowly, I lifted my shirt off my body, revealing my bare back to his gaze.

  Then I slowly bent at the hips, waggling my butt at him.

  “Well, big boy. You told me you had all the grand plans, yet I don’t see you putting them into action,” I teased.

  Then he leaned forward, grasped my hips, and yanked me back until I was on the edge of the bed.

  “This time,” he rasped against the skin of my back. “I let you play your games. You’ve pretty much ruined my control, though.”

  Then I heard the foil of the condom ripping and looked over my shoulder in time to see him work the latex over his impressive cock.

  I licked my lips before dropping down to let all my weight rest on my shoulders.

  My hands were stretched out in front of me, grasping the pillow at the top of the bed.

  His rough palm smoothed down my back, starting at the top of my spine, and running it down until it came to a rest just above the top of my ass.

  And as if in a dream, he lifted his hand and slapped my ass.

  I gasped, moving away from him slightly, but his hands were quick.

  They grasped my waist and pulled me back into position.

  “Whoops,” he teased.

  I bit my lip to keep my moan of anticipation from bursting free.

  Then he lined the head of his sheathed cock up with my entrance and slowly started to sink his fat dick inside of me.

  I felt full.

  In fact, I’d felt full before he’d even gotten halfway in.

  Then, by the time he got to three-quarters of the way, I was already coming.

  He froze, letting the pulsing spasm of my pussy clench and unclench around him for long moments before he started to sink slowly inside the rest of the way.

  I was panting once he got his entire length inside of me. So full that I could barely draw a complete breath.

  I swear I could feel him up by my navel.

  But that had to be impossible… right?

  He didn’t give me much more time to think about it, though.

  He made sure of it as he started to pull out all the way before he sank slowly back inside.

  “You feel like heaven right now, and I’m not even bare inside of you. Jesus, this condom is the only thing keeping me from blowing my load way too early,” he gritted out through clenched teeth.

  I couldn’t answer him. I was too busy focusing on me and how good I felt.

  “Yes! God, yes Foster,” I yelled, head thrown back in delight.

  “Yes, Foster. Yes!” Boris echoed from the living room, causing us both to freeze.

  Me with my head thrown back, and Foster with his cock half in, half out, of my pussy.

  “Don’t stop,” I pleaded with him.

  He slowly started forward again, pushing into me slowly at first before he picked the speed back up.

  Soon my moans were back up to par, and Foster was back into his rhythm.

  My eyes were closed, and I was too busy focusing on the way his fat cock head rubbed that spot inside of me that made me want to scream in ecstasy to think about anything else.

  His hands took hold of my hips as he started to thrust faster. Harder.

  His balls started to smack against me, hitting my clit with each thrust of his hips, causing that orgasm that I thought wasn’t going to get there in time to start barreling toward me at breakneck speed.

  I licked my lips as I started to push back at him, reaching between my legs to press my clit with my fingers, working it in slow, circular motions.

  Then his fingers started to rub my perineum, and I exploded.

  Literally exploded.

  I saw stars as my pussy clamped down hard on the intruder inside of me.

  He groaned as he, too, started to come.

  “Go, Foster! Harder, Foster!” Boris sang.

  His cock jerking inside of me as he worked me in slow, short thrusts.

  My pussy was still pulsing as he rode me expertly with his cock, hitting just the right place that prolonged my orgasm into something more.

  But just as suddenly as it came, it left me.

  Panting and sweating.

  “That bird…” Foster said from his collapsed state beside me.

  His cock was pointed at the ceiling, and his spent release was gathered in the tip of the condom.

  He didn’t seem concerned, though.

  So I didn’t say anything either.

  “The bird is weird,” I said finally.

  He snorted. “You can say that again.”

  “Boom goes the dynamite!” Boris sang.

  Fucker.

  Chapter 15

  A real best friend makes your family question your sexuality.

  -Fact of life

  Foster

  “At least you didn’t lose your penis in the accident, too,” Blake said helpfully.

  I looked over at her and glared.

  She giggled and sat up before she started to work my pants loose.

  “It’s easier if you take the blade off,” I told her.

  So she did.

  She’d really been paying attention the other day at the fitting. She’d watched, learned, and comprehended everything that was said and done.

  “How do you take a shower?” she asked. “With it on or off?”

  I pointed to a pair of crutches in the corner. “Off. And I use the crutches.”

  She started removing my prosthesis, and before I knew it, I was laid bare before her.

  “You know,” she said, tracing the scar along my lower leg. “This isn’t as small as I thought it’d be. Do you work it out as you would your other leg?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. If you don’t use it, you lose it, as my therapist says.”

  She nodded and stood up from the bed. “So… how about a sandwich? Then I want to throw a pot.”

  I blinked. “Why would you want to throw a pot? Is that something you normally do after making a sandwich?”

  She grinned. “No. It’s not even remotely close to what you’re thinking.”

  Twenty minutes later, I watched in rapture as Blake ‘threw a pot’ as I slipped my leg back into the prosthesis.

  However, it wasn’t ‘throwing’ an actual pot. It was making one.

  “This is all in the hands.” She demonstrated, putting her whole upper body into shaping the square of clay.

  She dipped her hands into the water and came back to it, smoothing out more and more until she had the square of clay shaped into an actual round… thing.

  My eyes were glued to the wheel and the clay as it spun.

  It was about the size of a large coffee can, and as I watched, she dipped her thumb into the top of it, burrowing out a hole.

  “Alright,” she said. “Pull up a chair and come sit down behind me. You can make it from here.”

  I did as she asked, placing the kitchen chair directly behind her stool and leaned forward.

  “Dip your hands into the water and then place them directly on top of mine,” she explained.

  I did.

  The clay was surprisingly cold under my hands.

  It also felt incredibly weird, but at the same time extraordinarily cool.

  “It’s exactly like that scene in Ghost,” I said laughingly.

  She snorted. “Except we’re a
lot messier, and there’s no way I’ll have sex with you with all this mud all over me.”

  I leaned forward and bit her neck, causing her to jump and make the bowl go lopsided.

  “Damn, that was looking pretty good, too,” I frowned.

  She did something with her fingers, pulling the pot slightly out, and fixed the wobble almost immediately. “There. Fixed.”

  I let my hands drop from hers as she got more in-depth with the pot, amazed at how she made the pot so tall.

  “I never would’ve thought you could make something like that with your hands,” I said thoughtfully, letting my beard rasp against the soft skin of her shoulder.

  She shivered.

  “It takes practice,” she said breathlessly. “Trust me, I didn’t get this good overnight.”

  “No, I didn’t think you did. You’ve got some real talent, though. I didn’t see this stuff at your house at all. What did you do with the pottery that’s finished?” I asked her, drawing a pattern in the mud covering her arm.

  She snickered. “My parents’ house. Well, their garage in particular. I have a whole shelf in there filled to the brim with my pottery. I moved it there after I broke up with David and never moved it to my house.”

  “Tell me about him,” I said softly.

  She shrugged, body going tense.

  “He ruined my life. Gave me hope and then took it all away,” she whispered, taking her hands off the pot and standing up.

  Which put her ass in my face.

  Not that I was complaining.

  She was wearing a t-shirt and panties.

  Which meant there wasn’t anything hindering my view because the t-shirt stopped just above her ass.

  Her panties were cute, too.

  Little pink bows decorated the sides, and lace lined the edges.

  They were those cheeky ones that left half of the ass cheeks exposed, which inevitably drew my attention.

  My hands met her ass, completely ignoring the fact that I was smearing clay all over her legs and butt cheeks.

  “Hey!” she snapped. “Stop that.”

  I couldn’t help myself.

  I really couldn’t.

  “How much longer are you going to play with that pot?” I asked, my dick suddenly impressively hard.

  She snickered.

  “Couple more minutes, you filthy boy… then you can have me,” she tittered, bending over so that she could reach all the way inside of the pot. “Just don’t move and startle me. This is the hard part.”