by Emily Bishop
Ben thinks I’m a suspect, but he’s the only person around, and he was willing to help.
My mind flushes with memory of that moment. It’s already fuzzy. I can’t remember the color of the man’s eyes, his figure. I wish I could. Then I could at least try and help Ben catch that asshole and bring him to justice.
My camera still dangles from my neck, soaked and ruined. I lift it up and a sprinkle of water drips out of the bottom.
Great.
I may have started a business in town, but I’m not exactly raking in the riches yet. I’m already in a position where I’ll have to survive until the next tourist season with a bunch of locals who stick to their own. Until I can bring in some more cash, I’ll have to express my creative energy some other way. I already miss my camera.
“Where do I turn?” Ben asks, bringing me out of my reverie.
I give him directions toward the oceanfront, not far from where I was when he found me. It would have been such a nice, fast walk home.
Ah, well. Apparently, Ben felt the need to flex the muscular arms of justice. The sexy, thick, strong arms of justice. Arms I’d like to have wrapped around me, lifting me against a wall, holding me while he…
I clear my throat.
My feet have dried, and they feel better by the time he pulls onto my street, which winds along the rock-strewn coast. I point him in the direction of my little seaside cottage, and he pulls into the small parking lot along the side.
“This is a restaurant,” he says, staring up at the wooden lobster sign.
“Wow. Not only are you a cop, but your powers of deduction are top-notch. Did you land that job because of how observant you are?”
“Are you always this sassy?”
“Are you always arresting innocent women?”
“No. You would be the first. And there’s no guarantee that you’re innocent.”
“Back to that old chestnut, are we? Well, I’d like to say it’s been a pleasure knowing you, but I don’t want to lie.”
I’m pushing him away on purpose. I don’t want to like him. I don’t want to want him as much as I do. I can’t help myself. My body reacts to his scent, to his face. He is everything I’m attracted to in a man, and I can’t stand that. I need to get away. I need space.
I open the passenger side door, and to my dismay, he opens his door as well.
“What are you doing?”
“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m walking you to your door.”
“Don’t you think you’ve done enough tonight?” I ask.
“Humor me. It’s my job to keep this town safe.”
“So, are you keeping me safe, or are you keeping the town safe from me by making sure I lock myself in an enclosed space?”
He lets out a low laugh. “We’ll find out, I guess, won’t we? Why do you live in a restaurant?”
“I own the joint.”
He lifts a perfect eyebrow at me, and my heart flutters. We fall in step as we walk up the stone path to the side door that is my apartment, directly next to my little seafood joint.
“I’ve never heard of this place,” he says.
It’s my turn to lift a critical brow. “For the sheriff, you’re pretty ignorant about what goes on in your own town.”
“I’ve only been in this position for a short time. Before that, well. It wasn’t necessarily my job to keep tabs on every little thing that happens here and I didn’t go out much. Or anywhere.”
I shrug and hold back a smile—I love how strong he is, how confident. Ugh, kryptonite! “Whatever. Can you admit you suck at your job?”
“Why don’t you let me taste some of your food, and then I can tell you that you suck at yours.” He shoots a grin right back at me.
“Mm, that’s impossible, because anything I make you’d slurp up and love it.”
We’re at my door now, and I turn to look up at him in the dark.
My body is on fire, being this close to him. I want to hate him. I want to slam the door in his stupid face and never see that dumb handsome expression ever again. Instead, I’m rooted to the spot, barely able to breathe.
This man accused me of being a thief. He shoved me into the back of a cop car and questioned me, even when I told him I was innocent. None of that seems to matter, because standing near him has my whole body tingling with desire.
Fuck.
“Well, it’s been real,” I say, and I reach for my keys, which are attached to my camera. My arm brushes against him. I tilt my head up, and his eyes are hooded and heavy. Is this really happening?
I should stop it. I should walk away.
He dips his head, his fingers gripping my chin as he presses his lips against mine, and all rational thought dissolves.
My arms wrap around his broad shoulders. I press my body against him, craving his warmth through my damp clothing. I carried my boots in my hand, and I notice absently that they have dropped to the ground. My toes curl against the pavement.
He deepens his kiss, delving his tongue into my mouth. He explores me.
I meet him there, crash my tongue against his.
He wraps his arms around my lower back and grabs my ass, pressing me against the wall. We’re perfectly enclosed in my front entryway, given the perfect amount of privacy as he massages my ass with his hands, his fingers inching closer to my slit. My dress slides up my thighs, exposing my soaked thong. His fingers pull the string from my ass, and he moves the tiny piece of fabric aside.
My pussy is dripping wet.
His hard cock presses against my opening, enters, fills me. How did he get his pants off so fast? We’re not even in my house yet, and he’s fucking me against the porch wall. It’s the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever done in my life.
“Oh, god, yes,” I moan.
“You like that?” he whispers, his breath hot against my ear.
I nod, unable to speak. His dick slides along the slick walls of my cunt.
“Then get ready. Because I’m going to fuck you harder than you’ve ever been fucked in your life.”
4
Ben
Her pussy is nice and hot, and I glide in and out of her, relishing the sensation of the cool air against my ass and the warmth against my dick.
I pull her legs farther apart and wrap them around my waist, so I can get in deeper. She complies. She arches her back against the wall and lowers her head, watching me fuck her.
That view alone has me on the brink. Makes me wanna bust my load inside that sweet pussy.
I’m not going to though. I’m going to draw this out, and I’m going to make it good.
A little voice in my mind reminds me that we’re out in the open, that anyone could come upon us at any time, and that isn’t a position I want to be caught in. There are other cars in the lot—people are clearly eating at the restaurant directly next to us.
Her front door keys are still in her hand, her knuckles white as she squeezes them while I fuck her. I want to keep screwing her here.
There’s something about the thrill of possibly being caught that makes this so much hotter, but there is a responsible part of my brain that still exists even when my cock is in the driver’s seat. I pull the keys from her hand.
“Which one opens the door?” I ask. I don’t stop fucking her, sliding in and out even as I make her find the key to the front door. She hands it to me, and I reward her, bringing my hand to her clit and pinching it between my index finger and thumb. She cries out then clasps her hand over her mouth.
Clearly, I’m not the only one concerned about being caught.
I take her key and shove it in the lock, twisting it until the door gives way. I press it in, and I wrap my hands around her ass, my dick buried deep inside her as I walk us inside. I close the door and turn the lock, an old habit, and then I press her back against a new wall and slam into her, hard.
She gasps and moans, watches me, her eyes glued to my cock as it slides in and out of her pussy.
“You like to watch
?”
When she looks up at me, her eyes are glassy with lust.
“Yes,” she says. She looks back down, and I want her to see more. She likes to watch?
Let’s find a mirror and get a real show.
I stop pumping into her, and she looks up at me, confused.
I don’t give her an answer as I make my way down the hall, shuffling with my pants around my thighs. It’s a long, narrow passageway that opens up to a living room on the right and another hallway with a bathroom and a bedroom on the left.
I turn left, my dick still crammed inside her. She’s curious as to what I’m doing—the answer will come soon enough.
I turn on the bathroom light and grin—there’s a large mirror above the sink. Across from the mirror is a small amount of wall and then her shower. I lean her back against the wall, then glance back.
“Now how’s that for a view?” I ask, pressing my lips against her neck. She shivers, and I bring my finger and thumb back to her clit, twirling it around between them as I pick up my rhythm again, starting out slow before I pound into her.
I study her face as she watches me fuck her in the bathroom mirror.
“You’re going to come for me,” I command. “What does it take for you to come?”
“Spread my legs. Stay on my clit.”
I grin at her.
I like a woman who knows what she wants. I shift my legs apart to get a better position, and then I spread her wide, her pussy gaping open as I fuck it, pressing her back against the wall.
I take my thumb and press it against her clit, my other fingers spreading her lips apart as far as they’ll go.
She throws her head back and closes her eyes, crying out with each thrust.
Her legs shake, and I increase the pressure on her clit, circling it, flicking it, pressing against it.
She tries to buck against me, but I have her pinned. I can have my way with her, however I want.
Her body is mine to fuck as I please, and I do, pounding into her. I relish the sensation of my balls slapping her ass, and her moans grow louder as she nears her orgasm. I consider pulling out, dragging it out, but I don’t. I don’t want her to come only once.
I want to see her face like this again, enmeshed in passion, her lips curled in a perfect, succulent O.
I remove my hand and, instead of spreading her wide, I press my pinky finger against her puckered little asshole.
It does the trick. She pulses wildly against me. Her walls clench against my dick, which is still rock hard inside her.
I want to come, but I hold back. I slide out of her. Her cunt gapes as she melts against me.
“Ben…” she breathes, and I carry her out of the bathroom.
The bedroom is the next room over, and I lay her on a queen-sized bed, my hands pulling her dress up and over her head. She still has that white little thong on, and I tug it down, pull it off.
I toss it to the floor and stare at her fully naked body. She has perfect curves, her breasts exactly how I pictured them. Of course, it wasn’t hard to. They’ve been beckoning to me since the moment I saw her, through that transparent dress.
I pounce next to her on the bed, hovering over her body. I want to taste her. I want to know what her cum tastes like.
I run my tongue along her collarbone, circling around the full tissue of her breast, purposefully avoiding the nipple area.
“Play with yourself,” I command.
Her hands dart to her breasts, and she squeezes her little nipples as I lick. I don’t suck on the tender nubs, letting her handle them as my tongue makes a winding path farther down, over her belly to the top of her hip.
I spread her legs again, and a tiny trickle of cum drips down her slit. I’m quite parched. I want a taste. I dip my head and lick that juice up, swallowing it with gusto. Her body lurches at the touch, and I hold her down.
“Keep playing with yourself,” I say, and she doesn’t respond. I look up to make sure she’s listening, and I’m pleased to see her pinching at her nipples. Good. I tilt my head back down and stick out my tongue. I’ve always been blessed with a long, pointed tongue.
I delve it into her pussy, tasting her fully as I set a new pace, fucking her with my slick, wet mouth. I remember her earlier instruction, and I spread her legs wide as I slide my tongue up and down her slit before stroking it in and out of her cunt. I pull away.
“Now play with your clit while I fuck you with my tongue.”
Again, she obeys me, her hand darting to her glistening bean. She moans as she rolls it around in a circle, and I bring my tongue back to her pussy, where I curl it up inside her as I lick and lick her boxlike a lollipop.
She tastes just as sweet.
She moans again.
I increase my pace, lapping her juices as they come out, her arousal driving me on. I pull away and blow on her clit while she strokes it. The cool air on her sensitive skin drives her wild.
I’m ready for a turn again. I slam her legs together and lift them directly into the air. Her lips press together, and I slide her to the end of the bed so I can stand. I poke my dick’s head into her opening. I hold her legs tightly, her cunt tighter for the angle as I press myself in an inch at a time.
Her hands claw at the mattress. I pick up the pace again, turning her to the side while keeping her legs together. She thinks she likes to be spread wide? Try this. My orgasm builds as I pump into her, her cunt slick with cum and spit.
“Play with yourself, now,” I command again. Her palms shoot to her breasts, and I watch her play while I fuck her, enjoying the view. She pulls and tugs at her nipples. She gasps in pleasure. Another orgasm builds up in her, and I thrust harder. She screams out in ecstasy, and I push even harder.
“Ben,” she pants. “Harder. Oh, god!”
I do as she asks, increasing my pace until I’m fucking her as hard as I can, my dick slamming in and out of her as I hold her legs still and completely upright.
She screams again, and her second orgasm pulses against my raging hard dick. I can’t hold back anymore. Two more pumps and I’m squirting. My dick survives a few more pumps before I slide out, sated. I crash onto the bed next to her, breathing hard as we lie side by side.
Slowly, reality sets in. She tenses and scoots away, her naked body shimmering even in the dark.
“I better go,” I say. She doesn’t need to be the one to say it. I can already tell where this is going.
She nods. “That was… great, Ben. Thanks.”
It feels like we should be shaking hands or something. I stand and pull up my pants from my ankles. By the time I look up, Naomi is wearing a white fluffy robe.
“Let me know if you need any more information about the case. I am happy to help,” she says.
She’s tantalizing in her robe. I’m tempted to strip it from her shoulders and give her one more orgasm before I leave, but I can tell she’s ready for me to go. In and out, I guess. There are worse ways to spend one’s time.
“I appreciate that. Until we meet again, then,” I say. I bend and grab my discarded jacket off the floor before making an exit, not bothering to look back. If she doesn’t want to make this personal, that’s fine by me.
Truth is, I shouldn’t have fucked a potential convict in the first place.
5
Naomi
I’m an asshole.
The door closes behind Ben, and my stomach twists. My body feels relaxed and tingly after that session, and man, was it a good one, but it was a mistake. I’m happy that he read the signs and made a quick exit.
That won’t be happening again.
I walk on bare feet to my bathroom.
I look in the mirror, and see an image of myself being fucked in my mind’s eye.
He noticed that I like to see it in action and made it happen for me. The thought has my pussy tingling again as I strip my robe off and turn on the shower. I hold my hand beneath the stream until the water’s hot enough and step beneath it.
I savor
the feel of the hot pressure against my skin, and I lather up some soap then run it along my arms, legs, breasts.
I reach my breasts, and the memory of our fuck returns. My nipples grow hard beneath my slick fingertips. I start massaging them, the steamy air a warm, safe haven for one last hurrah. I rinse my hand in the water before it glides of its own volition down my belly to the crest of my pussy lips, and I spread myself, flicking my bean. I reach for the shower head and pull it from its sheath.
I hold it against my clit, which is still sensitive from Ben’s work on it.
I press my back against the wall, images of him towering over me flickering in my mind. His muscled, tatted arms holding me still while his dick sank in, filling me with each thrust. My middle finger slides into my pussy, and I ride it, curling it up as I beckon another orgasm forth.
I know how I like it, so it doesn’t take long, especially after already having come twice today.
I pulse around my finger as I release a small moan, and then I replace the shower head and finish washing up.
I’m wasting time. I should’ve been at the restaurant ages ago, doing prep work, but it’s not like Ben offered me the chance to make a phone call. I do my best to dry my long, thick hair, and I end up braiding it to save time. I slide into another gray cotton dress and matching pair of thick soled boots, then step outside the door.
When I walk in next door, my head waitress—OK, my only waitress—looks up at me with accusation in her eyes.
“Seriously, Naomi? Where have you been? Paul is going berserk back there all by himself.”
I glance around. The place looks pristine, even during my absence. Well, pristine might be generous. It’s still a dive.
When I opened a few weeks ago after months of planning, I didn’t have the money to spruce the place up. A few tables, draped with red and white checkered table cloths, are scattered about a dinged-up wooden floor. I managed to find a few large paintings of coastal shores, and they add some character to the place. The air smells like hot butter and cooked seafood, and even if it isn’t the classiest place in the world, the food is outstanding.
