Size Matters (Handcuffs and Happily Ever Afters)

by Robyn Peterman

  “Thank you,” I said, feeling the heat crawl up my neck. “You do too. I mean, you look handsome, not pretty . . . or, um, beautiful.” God, this was probably going to end up being a first and last date. When in doubt, ask a man about himself . . . and I was in doubt.

  “So, have you ever been married?” Appalled at the first thing that flew out, I shoved a spring roll into my mouth before I could ask him if I could touch his butt, if he had commitment issues, or if he wanted to marry me.

  “Married?” He grinned. “Nope. You?”

  He observed me closely, probably hoping I wouldn’t choke on the huge wad of spring roll I’d consumed. “No,” I said with my hand over my very full mouth.

  “Kristy,” he said in a low voice that twisted my panties into a wad.

  “Yes?” I said as I force swallowed the spring roll.

  “You need to relax. I wanted to be with you in public because it’s too hard to keep my hands off you in private.”

  Oh. My. God. I nodded in agreement, unable to speak.

  “This might sound crazy, but I haven’t been this attracted to anyone in a long time.”

  A green frisson of jealousy ripped through me as I wondered how long ago and who he’d been attracted to. I quickly snatched another spring roll off my plate to cork my mouth before I said something mortifying.

  “So”—he grinned and I felt my nipples tighten—“have I scared you to death?”

  I looked at the intense and sexy man sitting across from me. My body was on fire and my mind was a jumbled mess. Did he scare me? Hell yes. He scared me in the best way possible. My brain was screaming Danger!, but my body wanted to crawl across the table through the lo mein and tackle him.

  “Kind of,” I murmured. “I thought I might have scared you too, or possibly scared you off.”

  “You terrify me.” He gave me a lopsided grin and my tummy flipped. “So how about this: you tell me everything I need to know about you and I’ll do the same. It’ll be like we’ve been dating for three months, and then we can go out to my car and make out like horny teenagers.”

  My heart and my girlie parts sang with delight. “I think I like that idea.”

  “You first,” he said, taking my hand. A little zing flew up my arm in response to his touch.

  “Okay,” I said, running my free hand through my hair and taking a deep breath. My heart was pounding so hard in my chest, I was sure he could hear it. “I’m an only child. My mom is retired and lives in Arizona. My grandma, who I worshipped, died a month ago and left me her sewing shop. I can’t stand abuse of any kind, which is why I opened the women’s shelter. Graduated from the U with a degree in social work and did my grad work in psychology. I live and die by the Vikings, winning season or no. I’d sell my soul to protect the people I love and for black raspberry chip ice cream. I think women deserve the same pay as men and I’m a very loyal friend. I’m trying to quit swearing, but my favorite word is still fucktard. Also, I think you have the most amazing butt I’ve ever seen.” I slapped my hand over my mouth. “Sorry,” I muttered. “That last part probably should have gone in a different conversation.”

  He couldn’t control his burst of laughter. Damnity damn, he was hot when he laughed. Gorgeous blue eyes that matched the shirt he’d chosen sparkled. Instead of feeling silly, I was bizarrely happy that I made him laugh. What was that about?

  “My turn?” he asked.

  “Your turn,” I said, gripping the table so I wouldn’t lunge across it. My body had detached itself from my brain and was being ruled by my inner horny-monster.

  “I was born in Appleton, Minnesota. My parents still live there. Went to Marquette and majored in computer science and Spanish. It’s also where I met Jack. My blood is purple and gold, no matter where I live. Favorite colors are your eyes and your hair. I’ll never say no to pizza and my shameful secret is that I TiVo American Idol. I’m tone deaf and I love to sing. I’ve been all over the country and trained at the FBI Academy in Quantico, Virginia.” He paused for a moment; his eyes lost their glow and hardened. “I have four sisters, but one died when I was in tenth grade.”

  “God, I’m so sorry,” I said, reaching for his hand.

  “It was a long time ago.” He shrugged and gave me a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Some asshole was dealing drugs to high school kids and my sister got hooked.” He blew out a long breath and ran his thumb over my knuckles. “I’m sorry. That was probably a little much for a first date.”

  I smiled and squeezed his hand. “I’d say we’re at least two months in. Maybe even two and a half since I mentioned fucktard.”

  He chuckled and I felt better. I’d always wanted to absorb everyone else’s pain; it’s what put me in therapy . . . But his? I wanted to erase it. I was in big trouble here. In a matter of days, I’d gone from wanting to avoid him till hell froze over, to wanting to grab his ass and choke him with my tongue, to wanting to take care of him forever . . . Crapmonkeys.

  “That’s why I became a DEA agent,” he said quietly, watching me with those beautiful icy blue eyes.

  “If we’re going really deep,” I said hesitantly . . . Was I really going to tell him this? Yes, I was . . . “I wasn’t completely straight with you about why I opened the shelter . . . My real reason for opening the shelter was because of my mom. I didn’t mention my dad, because as far as I’m concerned . . . I don’t have one. He wasn’t a nice man. If it wasn’t for my grandma taking us in, my mom and I would have needed a place like my shelter.”

  “I think you’re amazing,” he said.

  “Back at ya, big guy,” I giggled. “That kind of wore me out. Should we drive the car back onto the road so we have something to make out in later?”

  “Yes, we should,” he said with a sexy evil glint in his eye. “I would hate to crash and burn before we even got started.”

  We went back to our meal. Mrs. Wang surprised us with a complimentary cheesy mushroom sweet and sour pork. My gag reflex kicked in over the aroma alone, but Mitch bravely took several bites while Mrs. Wang looked on in delight. He gave her a kiss on the cheek and pronounced the vomitous dish life changing. Mrs. Wang waddled off on cloud nine and I fell just a little bit more for the guy sitting across from me.

  “Holy God Almighty,” Mitch gasped. “I can’t even explain that. It tasted like . . .” He searched for the right word.

  “Butt?” I asked, feeling his pain.

  “I can’t say I’ve ever had butt before,” he laughed, “but, no pun intended, I would guess butt might adequately describe that.”

  “I don’t think I can eat any more with the butt still on the table,” I said, holding my breath.

  Mitch raised his hand for the check. Mrs. Wang came back over with the check and a large to-go box. She put our dinners and the butt all in the same gigantic box. Our eyes grew as huge when we realized we had to leave the premises carrying the butt.

  “I’m not touching that.” I shuddered.

  “You have to,” Mitch moaned. “I actually took a bite.”

  “Shit,” I muttered and grabbed the odiferous box of lo mein and butt. “There better be a trash can outside.”

  Turns out there was, but it also turned out that Mrs. Wang walked us to our car. She was so excited that someone liked her cooking, she just didn’t want to let us go. We got in the car with the butt between us and listened for fifteen minutes to how that son of a bitch Mr. Wang didn’t want her in his kitchen. We nodded and made the appropriate ohs and ahs. I understood Mr. Wang perfectly . . . and sympathized. I just wanted to go. Get the butt out of the car and jump on top of the sexiest, sweetest, hottest man I’d ever met.

  “Thanks again, Mrs. Wang,” Mitch said, starting the car and slowly pulling away. She looked a little crushed at our departure, but promised to make another special dish next time we were in.

  “I feel kind of sad,” I said, pinching my nose closed.

  “Sad? Why are you sad? We’re on our way to the make-out session of the century.�
��

  I giggled, which sounded kind of funny with my nose plugged. “I’m sad because I can never go to Asian Wind again. I now live in fear of what special cheesy creamy dish Mrs. Wang will bring us.”

  Mitch pulled over and stopped the car. “Is that really the name of the restaurant?” he asked, shocked.

  “Yeah, Rena and I call it Chinese Farts.”

  He threw back his head and let out a huge laugh. “God, you make me happy.”

  Mitch jumped out of the car and disposed of the stinky bag, but the damage was done.

  “Um, I don’t think I can suck face in your car,” I said apologetically, leaning toward my open window.

  “It still smells like butt, doesn’t it?” He shook his head in disgust.

  “Yeah, it does.”

  “Fine.” He grinned and my stomach flipped over. “I have a better idea.”

  Chapter 12

  We split up in the lobby of our building. Mitch insisted on brushing the butt off his teeth and said he needed to get a few things from his apartment. I took the stairs two at a time to my own apartment. My stomach was in knots and I felt as if I was in high school. My heart was bouncing around in my chest like a Ping-Pong ball and my hands were shaky. I quickly freshened up and waited . . .

  He was a cop. Kind of . . . But he wasn’t like the others. He was smart and funny and kind and so very hot. He was a Vikings fan and I was quite sure he wasn’t married. I’d never wanted to tackle any of the other guys I dated. I’d never lost the power of speech or felt like my entire body was a live wire either. Hell, I’d never slept with a guy, cop or no, this fast in my life. Crap . . . Was I going to know him in the biblical sense tonight? I really shouldn’t, but we did cover a lot of territory at Chinese Farts. The bonding over the butt alone, not to mention I told him stuff only Rena and my therapist know, put us well into a relationship . . . Who was I kidding? I was in heat. I wanted to knock boots with him more than I wanted to breathe. Did that make me a ho-bag? Would he think I was easy? Monkeyballs, maybe we should just swap spit and roll around on the floor with our clothes on.

  That was what we’d do. We’d talk some more and kiss a little bit . . . but I’d make him leave before it got too out of control and then I’d spend an hour or so with Vinnie the Vibrator. I wouldn’t be a hooker. He’d respect me and I could screw his brains out tomorrow . . . I was a modern woman. That’s how a modern woman should handle it. Right? Of course that’s right. If I peeled his clothes off with my teeth and rode him like a cowboy, he might think I was loose.

  I’d ask him out on a second date. That way it would be like we’d been dating three and a half to four months . . . I could totally poke a guy after dating that long. Fucktard, I was leaving tomorrow to ferret out Bigfoot from the boonies of Duluth. I forgot to tell him about that. If we didn’t bump uglies tonight, I’d have to wait two weeks . . . But that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. We could have phone sex and then when I got back . . .

  I was jerked out of my shaboinkie plans by a harsh clipped banging on the door. WTF? I was sure we’d paid our rent this month. If it was the weirdo from down the hall selling vacuums again, I’d rip him a new one. I know everybody has to make a living, but not at nine thirty at night when I need to suck face with my new boyfriend.

  “Who’s there?” I asked as I peeked through the peephole.

  “It’s Officer Sanderson, ma’am. I need you to open the door. Now.”

  Oh. My. God.

  I grabbed the doorknob to keep me from falling into a mush pile on the floor. Mitch, in full-on cop mode, was standing on the other side. My breathing was erratic and my live wire hooker body was ready to pass out.

  “Mitch?” I choked out.

  “It’s Officer Sanderson, ma’am. You need to open the door now or I’ll have to use force.”

  Every bell in my hooha and elsewhere went off. The alpha man standing outside my door was turning my crank like it’d never been turned. With trembling hands I unlocked the door and let in the man who didn’t realize he was my future husband.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I’m going to have to ask you to step over to the counter and turn around,” he informed me in a no-nonsense tone. He locked the door behind him and watched me with hooded eyes.

  God, he looked hot. He’d changed into a fitted black T-shirt, fatigues, and black boots. He was every fantasy I’d ever had all rolled into one . . . and then some.

  “I’m sorry, what?” I giggled.

  “This is not a laughing matter, ma’am. You’re in a lot of trouble. I don’t think you want to go down to the station. Do you?”

  “Um, no.” I bit my lip and tried to suppress the huge grin that was threatening to split my face. “Like this?” I asked as I slowly turned around and walked to the kitchen counter. I let my hips sway just a little more than normal and was rewarded with his quick intake of breath. I took my sweet time bending forward and placing my hands on the counter. Thank the Lutheran God above I hadn’t listened to Rena about the granny panties and hairy legs. I was wearing a hot pink thong and matching push-up strapless bra under my jeans and overpriced shirt, and my legs were as smooth as a baby’s bottom.

  He came up behind me. The heat of his body made me glad I had the counter to hold me up. Something clicked and I gasped as the cool metal of his handcuffs made goose bumps erupt on my arms. I shivered as he snapped them shut over my wrists and attached me to the silverware drawer.

  “Is this normal police procedure?” I whispered as excitement took the express shuttle through my body.

  “Yes, it is,” he replied silkily. “Especially in cases as egregious as this one.”

  “Can I ask what the charges are, Officer?”

  “Yes, you can,” he answered in a clipped tone.

  “Well?” I laughed.

  “Well what?”

  “I asked you what the charges are.”

  “No, ma’am, you didn’t. You asked me if you could ask me, and I said yes.”

  “Oh my God,” I groaned. “You are such a dork.”

  “I’m not sure I like the tone of your voice or your choice of words,” he whispered in my ear. His hot breath on my neck and his hard body pressed against mine sent everything south of my belly button into a tizzy.

  “I’m sorry, Officer,” I said as contritely as I could manage, considering his voice alone was making my knees buckle.

  “Not good enough. Someone with your attitude is likely carrying concealed weapons. I’m afraid I’m going to have to do a strip search.”

  “Really?” I squealed. This was the best night of my life. Ever. This was exactly what I’d wanted even if I’d tried to convince myself it was better to wait. Of course, I didn’t envision it happening in my kitchen with me handcuffed to the silverware drawer . . . but what the hell.

  His large beautiful hands slowly slid under my shirt, feeling around for weapons. There was definitely something hard in my bra, but it wasn’t metal. My nipples were aching to be touched.

  “Are you all right, ma’am? You seem to be shaking. Am I hurting you?” His voice was gruff and his breathing belied his calm demeanor.

  “I’m good,” I gasped, biting down on my lip so I wouldn’t cry out as his fingers lightly brushed my nipples. “Did you find anything?”

  “I think I did,” he said as he pushed up my shirt and ran his tongue along my spine.

  My brain skitzed out and I would have dropped to the floor if his arm hadn’t been wrapped around me. With deft fingers, he unhooked my bra and cupped my breasts in his hands.

  “God, you are so fucking hot,” he hissed as he pinched my nipples and sent shock waves through my body and straight to my panties. I moaned when he slid his hands to my hips and ground the most frighteningly impressive package I’d ever felt into me. “Do you have any other weapons on you, ma’am?”

  “Um, I think I might have accidentally tucked something into my jeans,” I giggled, shocked with my boldness.

  “I’m sorry, but I’m go
ing to have to remove your pants,” he said tightly. “Will that upset you, ma’am?”

  “Upset’s not really the word that comes to mind,” I gasped as his fingers undid the button to my jeans. He unzipped me with excruciating slowness and eased my jeans down with sure hands.

  “Your ass is perfect,” he said as he ran his hands possessively over me.

  After a quick sharp slap on my bottom, which practically threw me into a massive orgasm, he went to work. I was completely helpless; he could do whatever he wanted to do to me . . . the feeling of being controlled by him was a turn-on like I’d never known. Breathing became something I had to concentrate on. Passing out wasn’t an option. I refused to miss a minute of the most intense, hot, and scary sex in the world.

  He put one hand in front of me and one behind. Brain cells floated out of my body. He pressed down on my clit with the heel of one hand and inserted two thick fingers of the other inside me. Everything inside my head went fuzzy and someone was making all sorts of noise . . . Who in the hell? Wait, oh my God . . . that was me.

  “Your entire body is a weapon,” he whispered as he buried his face in my neck.

  “Mitch,” I whimpered as I bucked against his hand, bringing me closer to Lutheran God than I’d ever been. I felt faint, and colors exploded behind my eyes as the most mind-blowing orgasm known to man ripped through me. I screamed and collapsed limply on the counter. The blood was still roaring in my ears, but I vaguely heard him kick off his shoes and unzip his pants.

  “Please tell me you have a condom,” I said, trying to keep my noodly legs from giving out.

  “The police always come prepared, Kristy,” he told me in a voice that was pure sex.

  I glanced back over my shoulder at the mention of my name and my libido shot through the roof. All the air whooshed out of my lungs . . . behind me stood a naked freakin’ Greek god with a package that made a Fourth of July display zing through my girlie parts.