Dirty Cops Next Door

by Summer Cooper

  “Do you miss him?” Daryl asked slowly. She barked out a harsh laugh.

  “No, I don't miss him. But,” her face softened as her tears dried. “I miss not feeling lonely. But it's better than being burned again,” she happened to catch a glance at his watch from where his hand still rested over hers, and blinked in surprise at the time. She hadn't realized they had been talking there for almost two hours until she read out where the hands of his watch's face now rested. “Wow, it's late,” she said quietly, but they were standing so close now that he still heard it, prompting him to steal a glance at his watch as well.

  “Huh, would you look at that,” he said, before winking at her. “Time flies when you're having fun,” she blushed but grinned back.

  “Wanna get out of here? To your place, or mine?” She whispered in his ear salaciously. She watched his Adam's apple bob from how heavy his swallow was.

  "I'm, ah,” she pressed a kiss to the exposed skin on his neck. “Not opposed, per se, but,” he cleared his throat. “Haven't you had quite a bit to drink? I don't want to take advantage,” her heart swelled at his thoughtfulness.

  “That's incredibly kind of you, but no, I'm not drunk,” and it was true- she couldn't even feel the pleasant haze that alcohol gave her anymore. “It's been long enough that most of it is out of my system,” she grinned at him and took his hand in hers. “But it's more that I just want to get out of here. Come on,” she tugged him gently away from the balcony. “I've got a penthouse at the top of the building, and it's nice and quiet,” she laughed. “And I have more to drink than champagne!”

  “An offer that I can hardly turn down!” He laughed. “But where did Charles wind up?”

  “Probably flirting with one of the Bosinger twins – I think they've had a thing going for a while now.”

  “I can't say that surprises me,” he said over the hushed din of the dance floor. “He always did gush over how lovely they were.” She caught one of the normal attendants on the way to the elevators, one that was attached to the building, and not the ball on their way down the hall, and requested some fruit and tea be sent up to her loft. “Ohh, tea sounds brilliant,” he said as she called the elevator forth. “You're positively brilliant. Have I mentioned that?”

  8

  “I think it was brought up once,” she said with a laugh. “When you tried to get me by complimenting my work.”

  “I did mean what I said that time,” he said earnestly as they stepped into the elevator, easing up to her until their sides were flush. She pressed the button for her loft, and the doors swished shut. “I admire what you're doing, and how much brilliance and creativity that takes.” She swallowed audibly when he brushed his knuckles across her cheekbone. “I think all of you is lovely.” She felt her face flush.

  “Daryl,” she murmured as he lowered his face close enough to hers that she felt his breath fan over her face lightly. He was so close, all she would have to do was tilt her head just slightly, and she would feel his lips upon hers. Suddenly, he pulled back at the soft ding of the elevator informing them that they had arrived at the loft. She sucked in a shuddering breath to regain her bearings as she took her hand in his, and led him into the space.

  It was something of a gift to her for her twenty-first birthday, from her mother, something that had started with Charles; he had a loft in one of the other skyscrapers their family owned, and she chose this one, for purely poetic reasons; this was the far more artistic building, set at the heart of the city, with windows wrapping all around to give her the best view of the city, in the city. The space was decorated well, and painted with cool colors of gray and blue, with soundproofing all around the space, allowing no sound to leave, though they could still faintly hear the strings from the ballroom wailing out a classical tune.

  “I can appreciate the decorating,” he said softly, noting the wall hangings she had framed of classic games she grew up on that were tastefully placed in the living area of the open concept loft.

  “Thank you,” she smiled. “I've worked to make the space my own – somewhere I can go to if I just want to...get away,” she turned to face him. “I want you to feel welcome here as well, when you're here.”

  “That's rather sweet,” he smiled affectionately down at her. “Is there a restroom? I'd like to freshen up a bit.” She nodded.

  “Just around the corner, through the door,” she said. “Would you like some of the tea that's on its way?”

  “Oh, that'd be brilliant,” he said over his shoulder as he walked into the bathroom, shutting the door. While he was gone, she let her mind wander to how the night took an unexpected turn, and where that left her, and her options for how things ended from here.

  Her reverie was cut short with a sharp knock at the door to her loft. One of the wait staff was calling to her that the refreshments she requested were here. With a shaky sigh, she opened the door to let the young woman in. One of the wait staff, a woman about Clara's age, came in with a tray of a veritable amount of different types of fruits, and a kettle filled to the brim with fresh hot English breakfast tea, one of her favorite blends. She took the tray from the employee, thanking the woman and giving her a generous tip for her trouble. If the woman noticed that Clara seemed off, she didn't comment on it, opting to rather thank her for the tip Clara gave her for her extra work, and told her to rest for the remainder of the night. The girl had wished her a good night, and promptly left. She had shut the door and set the tray on the kitchen area's marble counter top when Daryl came back out from the bathroom.

  “Ah, English breakfast tea! Can't go wrong with that blend,” she pulled out two mugs for them, and he poured them both steaming cups of the brew. She thanked him and guided him over to her plush chaise lounge, where they sat and began to munch on some of the fresh fruit.

  9

  “What happens now?” She breathed, still intoxicated from the romantic tension between them, and how badly she wanted him to kiss her. Or for her to kiss him. Whichever was going to happen first.

  “We talk,” he said, as if this were a perfectly normal setting, and she hadn't dragged him up to her private quarters in the middle of a charity ball. She made a mental note to donate more than she usually did to this particular charity. “And you decide how far this is to go tonight; you've let me into your private space, so you set the limits. I'll not do a single thing you're uncomfortable with.” Although this was all new to both of them, his words were reassuring to her; this was only going to go as far as they were both comfortable with taking things, and that was the most important part to her, that they made these choices together.

  “Very well,” she nodded. She heard more than seen him shift to take a seat beside her, so distracting were her thoughts. His leg was warm against hers, and the fabric of his dress pants was clearly more expensive than what she was used to on her personal budget.

  “Tell me of your thoughts. Your troubles.” She frowned.

  “I don't-” what could he possibly be after?

  “You're lonely. I can certainly sympathize with that; I have no siblings, and my parents are gone.” She flinched, not realizing that he had no parents left to speak of. “I also know how it's like when you're silently suffering through something. No one bothers coming to you to see if you're alright, so you bottle it all away: your stress, your worry, your pain...” she shivered when gloved hands lightly brush her thigh. “...Your desires. They all stay in here, locked away in your head,” the hand left her thigh to brush away some of her stray hair. “So tell them to me, darling.” So she did. In hushed tones, they talked of her deepest regrets, her frustrations with her mother and her expectations, her games that she's been developing, herself. They talked of her loneliness, what drove her to even entertain the notion of this dalliance.

  All the while, his touches are feather light, and non-committal; she feels his leg press against hers. He caresses her shoulder, her arm, her leg, all are meant to soothe and entice her all at once, and she's loathe to admit t
hat it's successful, but the ache in between her legs was steadily turning into a physical hurt. Finally, a brush of fingers on her thigh traveled just high enough that she couldn't swallow the moan it drew out of her.

  “It seems talking isn't all you want tonight,” His chuckle was hot against her ear. She shivered when tender fingers coaxed her robe to tumble off of her shoulders and leave her in her sheer finery. She pulled her hands free of the sleeves that had pooled around her wrists, but he caught them before they could wander too far. “But I'll still not touch any further without your word. This starts and stops with you, my dear.” She nodded, not trusting her throat to not clog with want of it all.

  “I...ah...” she said softly. What was she going to say, and how on earth was she going to say it without scaring this wonderful man away?

  “It seems I've overwhelmed you,” he said regretfully. “Why don't I step outside, check in with my assistant, and give you some time? I don't want to push you into anything at all.” He rose before she could get her thoughts together, and made a swift exit, phone pulled out of his pocket to call his assistant.

  10

  Alone once more, she perched herself on her chaise lounge and sipped her tea while she mulled her thoughts over. On one hand, she could easily laugh it all off and they could part as friends. Whatever it was that was clearly between them would, however, likely end there, and any chance at seeing whatever this could become would end with it. She plucked a strawberry from the tray and chewed on its sweet flesh thoughtfully.

  On the other hand, she could articulate her feelings and wants on the subject of them becoming more, and see what happened. Worst case scenario, she simply sits there until he comes out, laughs at her until he leaves, and she feels like a fool for the rest of her life. 'Or,' an insidiously bold voice whispered in the back of her mind. 'You get to feel the touch of a man like you haven't had in years.' She chose a blackberry next, and popped it into her mouth. A Marion blackberry, she realized at its sudden tartness assaulted her tongue. She promptly chased it with a cherry.

  She wasn't sure if she was feeling adventurous, or if she was lonely enough to feel like she was feeling adventurous, but she rose from her place on the chaise lounge, her mind made up. Unzipping the back of her dress, she stepped out of the lovely thing, scooping it up and discarding it off to the hamper to wash later. She stepped out of her shoes, gasping in surprise at how cold the hard wood floor was in the area just outside where the rugs touched. All that remained was her breast band and undergarments now. After only a moment's hesitation, she stepped out of her underwear and unlaced her band, toeing them near the hamper.

  Now laid bare to bathe in the pale moonlight, she walked over to her armoire, and began to shuffle through it. After a few moments of fumbling, she lifted a thin chemise out of the drawer for inspection. The fabric was a heather gray thing made of gossamer and lined with Persian blue lace and ribbons. She lifted the chemise and let it fall over her naked body, the sensation of the fabric sliding against her skin making her nipples harden. The stimulation was enough to make her hiss with want, fingers already dancing up her ribcage to touch and tease the pert peaks.

  She allowed herself a few moments of simply standing there, fingertips pinching and tweaking her oversensitive nipples and sighing in bliss. She caught herself before one of her hands began to wander lower, and reluctantly forced her hands away; she still had work to do, after all. Finally, she pulled on an open black silk robe before draping herself over her chaise lounge, waiting for him to finish in the outside hallway.

  11

  “You've decided then,” she looked up from her day dreaming to see him standing there, eyes gaping openly at her and her change in attire. She swallowed around her nervousness and straightened her back as he came to sit beside her again.

  “I have,” she said. “I want to see where this goes with you. I feel...something, something more than just friendship, and something more than attraction for you, and I want to understand what it is.”

  “May I...?” He tilted his head toward her again, and she felt her heart flutter in her chest once more at the implication.

  “Oh, please,” was all she managed to get out of her before he crashed his lips into hers, a hand coming up to tangle in her pinned locks of hair, the other wrapping around her waist to tug her closer. She moaned at the sensation of feeling wanted, feeling him, all of him, encompassing him.

  “Please,” the air in her lungs rushed out of her after a few moments of feeling her body quiver with need. “It's been so long...” she arched her spine just enough to feel her womanly pearl press against the velvet of the chaise cushion. She bit her lip and keened at the way that alone was enough to begin stoking the fire coiling in her belly. In a breath's span of a moment, she felt his hands lift her off of the lounge like a groom sweeping his bride off her feet, and she scarcely had time to yelp in surprise.

  “None of that, my dove,” he spun and made his way over to where there was a soft bed in the corner of the room, setting her softly on the mattress. “If we had the time, I would quote sonnets and paragraphs of literature to you about beauty and affection,” She felt the bed dip with his added weight, and her flesh tingled in anticipation. She couldn't feel him, as he was clearly taking precautions not to touch her unless he wanted to, and it left her in this exhilarating limbo of knowing he was really there, and that this was really happening. Fearful of being woken from such a wonderful dream, she lay still upon the bed, and waited for him to drape himself over her like a curtain. “But we don't have long before I'm expected to leave. This time, we'll have to be quick, so,” he lowered himself, pressing a kiss tenderly into her neck. “I want this to be all about you.”

  “Touch me, I'm begging you,” she only just refrained from rubbing her legs together for friction, knowing she would only be punished for it with further deprivation. Her words seemed to tug at the chord of restraint he had, as he finally, finally, pressed his body against hers, fingers inquisitively mapping out the canvas of skin stretched along her collarbone and tracing the curve of her thigh. She became cocooned in his musk, a heady mix of cologne and the masculine scent of his arousal that left her reeling. Gently, always gently, he traced out the outlines of her body like a cartographer would test the lines of a map.

  In the darkness the blindfold wrapped her in, the rest of her senses were alight with heightened stimulation; the soft jersey sheets on her bed felt cool against the smooth flesh of her legs as she writhed against the fingertips that were mapping a path along them toward her hips. She arched her back with a gasp when those large hands hitched her gossamer chemise higher to allow his lips to leave open mouthed kisses along her middle on his way up. Her wriggling allowed the sheer fabric to brush her body with feather light caresses. When his hands had bunched the thin night wear up against the underside of her ample breasts, she felt him lean closer to her; his breath brushed against the valley of her bosom, her nipples pebbling from the attention, and she sucked in a breath in anticipation of what he might do to her next.

  “Tell me where,” his voice was breathy, and a delicious press of his hips against hers gave away his arousal, straining against the fine fabric of his dress pants, long and hot against her thigh. She felt his breath stutter against her when she moved her thigh to stroke it. Flames licked her insides as her mind tried to sculpt his manhood with what she could feel. “Guide my hands, my dove.”

  “Clara,” she's panting now, but she's too far gone to care. “If we're going to do this, then it's Clara, ah, please, please-!” She trailed off into a whimper when she felt his touch slide down her middle, and she lost track of what she was pleading for.

  “Clara,” he whispered her name like he was tasting it, like the word was the most savory secret he could hope to treasure on his pallet. “My Clara, where do I touch you?”

  “Here,” she fumbled for his hand, groping blindly with her head tossed back before finding his arm and sliding down to guide his hand lower. With h
er coaxing, he cupped her womanly rose, its petals fluttering from the teasing touch. “Need to feel your fingers more...” through the pleasant haze of her mind, she hoped he understood what she was asking for. She felt his lips part against her neck in a shaky exhale, and it was only then that she realized that she forgot to breathe.

  Which was remedied when she sucked in a gasp of air when she felt his finger enter her. Her mouth hung open as he inserted a second finger to slip deeper in while the first stayed occupied at her bundle of nerves, and she keened at the sensation of being filled with something hot and thick and real and definitely not hers as he worked her swollen bud in slow circles. She bit her lip in concentration at the colossal effort it took not to rock her hips on his fingers. Sensing her need for friction, he began to piston his finger inside her at an agonizingly slow pace. It wasn't long before she felt like she needed more, and he must have sensed this, if his adding a second finger, and then a third, were any indication.

  His other hand trailed up to cup her breast, squeezing the flesh and using his thumb to flick her pert nipple. Her molten core was tightening like a spring, and she could feel the evidence of her arousal begin to leak past her folds and onto his fingers. From above her, his moan tumbled from lips that she couldn't help but swallow in another deep kiss.

  “Ah,” she was struggling to keep her cries of pleasure quiet now; she was slipping closer to her climax, and she knew he could feel it the moment he began to pump his finger faster into her. Some small part of her sent a silent thanks to the fact that she had gotten sound proofing installed when the loft was made hers. “Close, close, Daryl, I'm so close-!” The small of her back lifted off of the soft jersey sheets from the sheer amount of pressure that needed release, demanded it. It's shameful, really, how quickly she was brought to this state; she has had lovers, even attentive ones, but it had been such a long time, and she just wanted to feel her release. She wriggled her hips against his fingers working her insides in an attempt to help him find the stoke that would make the coil in her belly snap.