Hot Cop

by Laurelin Paige

  “Oh,” Livia whimpers. She slumps against my Audi. “Oh.”

  Panties pulled to the side, I press my lips against the top of her folds, my nose pushing into the firm skin of her mound. She smells like some kind of feminine body wash, the kind that has pictures of fruit and vanilla sticks on the label, and her panties smell like clean laundry. And under all that I can smell her, the smell of damp arousal. Vividly, the sense memory of her smell and taste from our first date hits me, the sharp, sweet taste of her on my fingers as I licked it off.

  Fuck, I’m hard. I’m so hard that I can feel my pulse in my dick. So hard that I can feel pearls of pre-cum beading at my tip. I didn’t wear boxers tonight, and I can feel the denim rubbing against my need.

  “Chase,” Livia protests weakly. “You can’t…”

  I look up at her, my lips still pressed to her panties.

  “We can’t,” she repeats.

  I pull away slightly with a grin. “This is part of the insemination, doll.”

  “Someone will see us.”

  “I already checked before you got here. There’re no cameras on this side of the lot, and we’re in the shadows. No one from the road or the hotel can see us. Plus, people are on their knees in this parking lot all the time.”

  “Oh,” she says, as if she feels like she should protest more, but can’t remember what she needs to protest about.

  “Do you want me to stop because you don’t want my tongue against your clit? Or is it because you’re worried about getting caught?”

  “I, um, I do want that. The first thing you said. I want it. The thing about your tongue—fuck.”

  The moment she concedes she wants it, I hook her panties farther to the side so I can access her clit, her folds. With her legs together like this, I can’t tongue her deep, I can’t lap up every bit of her taste like I want to, but I can stroke her clit. I can flick the tip of my tongue against it, I can take it between my teeth and suck, I can cover her in nibble-marks and beard-burn.

  And even as shallow and light as it is, I feel her begin to tense and thrash against the Audi. She makes that little noise again—half grunt, half whimper—and without thinking, my hand drops to my belt, working it open so I can give my cock a few rough yanks as I continue eating her. I love being on my knees like this for her, dirty and fast, my cock throbbing, her losing all that reserve and distance and sliding her hands against my head, not to make me work her harder or faster, but simply to feel the tickle of my hair against her palms.

  And right as she nears the edge, right as her thighs begin to tighten, I pull away and get to my feet, wiping my mouth and giving her my biggest grin as I loosely belt myself up. My dick whines at me.

  “What are you doing?” she asks dazedly. “Why are you doing it?”

  “I’m keeping it all about the insemination, like we agreed. Just getting you ready for…”

  “...don’t even say it…”

  “My syringe.”

  Livia lets out a groan and her head falls back. “I regret saying that now. I regret letting you unbutton my pants. I regret everything.”

  In response, I tug her pants back up her hips and button them, giving her pussy a gentle squeeze as I do. “I guarantee you won’t be saying that tomorrow morning. Now, are you ready for me to put a baby inside you?”

  “God, yes.”

  7

  Chase

  Ten minutes later¸ we’re standing in possibly the most disgusting room I’ve ever been in. And having been on multiple dead body calls and multiple elderly hoarder calls, that’s saying something.

  “I think,” Livia pronounces, bravely stepping deeper into the hotel room, “that it has a certain charm.”

  She hits the lights—only two bulbs buzz on and then one of them promptly buzzes back off. There’s a dusting of dead bugs inside the light dish and several fluttering alive insects right underneath it.

  “You can’t just say that shitty things have charm, and make it be so,” I tell her, exasperated. To prove my point, I flip back the covers on the bed. Something dark and beetle-like scuttles out of sight. I tug a miniature black light out of my back pocket (I lifted one from my duty bag after my talk with Taylor) and shine it on the sheets. In the dim light of the dying, bug-covered bulb, we can see well enough that the sheets are covered in stains. Stains that glow neon bright, like a sign flashing: DON’T SLEEP ON ME.

  “This is worse than I thought,” I mumble, backing away from the bed. Out of curiosity, I shine the black light on the walls.

  “Oh God,” Livia gasps in horror, both hands coming up to cover her mouth. “Was a pig slaughtered in here?”

  I step closer to the wall and squint at the stains, holding the black light up higher. “Either that or someone had a very good night.”

  I click the black light off and turn to face my soon-to-be baby mama.

  “Well,” she says, squaring her shoulders and starting to unbutton her blouse. “Babies have been conceived in worse.”

  “What?”

  She gives me a very librarian look. “I mean, historically and globally speaking. It’s only our modern, Western sense of sterile hygiene that makes this seem gross—”

  “Babe,” I cut her off. “If you get in that bed naked, I guarantee you’ll get pregnant. But it might not be mine.”

  She looks back at the bed, considering.

  “In fact, it definitely won’t be mine because I am not getting in that bed naked with you.”

  Her face seems to fall the slightest bit. “I just...I can’t really afford something nicer, and it didn’t feel right to suggest my place, and...” She trails off and shrugs, not making eye contact with me.

  I soften. Well, my heart softens. My dick is still raring to go, especially since I can still smell her on my skin.

  “Look, Liv. I’ll tell you what. There’s about—” I check my watch and instantly consult my mental baseball schedule “—forty minutes left in the Royals game. What do you say we go grab some wings and some beer, watch the game, and I’ll take care of the rest.”

  She sighs. “Dinner? Drinks? That’s not keeping it just about the insemination, Chase.”

  God I love it when she says my name. Even with a sigh.

  I walk over to her and pull her into me, and to my surprise, she lets me, folding perfectly against my chest and burying her face there.

  I find my sweetest, softest voice and say, “I really want wings right now.”

  She snorts against my chest.

  “And I want you to have your baby, kitten, I really do.”

  “But?” she says morosely, still pressed into my chest.

  I find her chin and tilt her face up to me. “But you deserve better than this room. So does your baby. I know you think that every part of this has to be hard, and maybe lots of it will be. But this—this room—this is something I can make easier, okay? Let me help.”

  She bites her lip and I smooth my thumb over it, loving how soft it is against my skin. “Why would you help me? I’m basically forcing you into this, anyway.”

  I’m a little confused by the question. “Because I like you? Too much for you to get bedbugs? Also I don’t want the bedbugs?”

  She squints at me a second, as if it can’t actually be that simple. It makes my chest squeeze and something in my blood heat, thinking about the men before me who’ve made her so suspicious of the most of basic of human kindnesses.

  “Okay,” she relents. “Take me to wings and beer.”

  I drop a kiss onto her forehead. And then I take her to wings and beer.

  “I never pictured you as an Audi guy,” Livia admits, reaching for my ranch dressing since she’s destroyed hers already. She’s so fucking cute covered in barbeque sauce that I don’t even smack her hand away, even though ranch theft is a crime that brought about many fights between Megan and me as teenagers. We’re at the wing place, the post-game analysis blaring in the background, two spent beer glasses between us, along with the empty wings baskets. Sa
d celery stalks languish, wilted and pale. Livia’s chewing on one now.

  I pretend to be offended. “What does that even mean? An Audi guy?”

  She shrugs with an embarrassed smile. “I guess I just figured since you were a macho cop, you’d have a macho car. A truck or a Mustang or something.”

  I narrow my macho eyes into very macho slits. “Are you saying an Audi isn’t macho?”

  She giggles at my mock-anger and then steals my napkin to wipe at her fingers. “It’s very masculine,” she says sweetly. “If you’re into that imported sort of thing.”

  Since our check is paid already, I stand up and offer her my arm, which she takes after only a short moment of hesitation. Slowly but surely, I’m drawing her out of the protective shell she’s built for herself.

  “If by ‘this sort of thing,’ you mean meticulous engineering and unbeatable reliability, then I guess you’re right. Give me your phone.”

  She chews on her lip for a second but hands it over. I plug in an address and hand it back to her. “Meet you there in fifteen minutes. And I’m taking care of it, okay?”

  “Okay,” she says slowly, looking down at her phone. I see the moment she realizes where the address is, what hotel it is. “Holy shit, Chase. No, you can’t do this.”

  “I look forward to arguing with you once we get there. But let’s do it while I’ve got my face buried in your cunt.”

  She flushes and mumbles something.

  I give her bottom a little swat. “Now, into your car, little kitten. I can’t leave until you’re safely on your way.”

  She shoots me a look that borders on indignant, but poutily so. And then she gets into her Prius, buckles up and drives away. I follow her in the macho Audi, the low burn of excitement that I’d banked earlier in the Nite’s Inn parking lot starting to flare back into a fire. It’s really going to happen, finally, having Livia underneath me as I sink into her. As I rut into her.

  Bare.

  The mere word sends a shiver through me as I pull into the parking garage of the Raphael Hotel. I haven’t fucked bare since I was in high school with my first girlfriend. There was a broken condom once in college and a round of just-the-tip with a woman in my academy class that ended in some ‘friendly fire’—the places in my life where I can’t entirely dismiss the possibility that I’ve contributed to the world’s population of Kellys. But other than that, I’ve basically been a saint. Chase Kelly, patron saint of responsible ejaculation.

  But not tonight. Tonight, I get to be selfish.

  Tonight, I get to be responsibly irresponsible.

  I’ve sent Liv my latest gamut of tests—all fresh from last month—and I’ve signed a “contract” and I’ve had my fingers and mouth on her enough times to be confident that she’s not going to back out when it comes to the real deal. I can already imagine how tight and hot the real deal is going to be squeezing my cock, can already imagine how delicious selfish is going to feel when I empty myself inside my girl.

  When I stroll into the lobby, Livia is already there and ready to argue some more. The hotel’s too nice, she protests, I’m too nice, nobody should be nice to her because it makes her feel guilty, and so on. I just keep nodding as I check in at the desk and as we take the elevator up to the room, injecting the occasional noise so that she thinks I’m listening.

  I’m not though. Instead, I’m watching her argue that I’m being too nice by insisting on fucking her in a place without bedbugs. (It also has HBO. And free breakfast. And an oversized bathtub. And a Keurig. I mean, I have a Keurig at the station, but for some reason it feels fancier in a hotel.) And I wonder how Livia got to the place where accepting any act of kindness—even if it also benefits the giver of said kindness too—pains her this much. Is it guilt? Is it fear of owing someone kindness in return? Is it some sort of rigid Jane Eyre-like independence that refuses to compromise for anything?

  And then I wonder if that’s one of the reasons she wants a child of her own so much, if a parent-child relationship is the only kind of connection where she can imagine being completely unconditional. Completely free of the fears that seem to bother her now.

  The elevator doors open and we’re walking down the hall, Liv still arguing, and finally, I just cage her against the wall right there in the hallway, and nuzzle my nose into her neck since she won’t let me kiss her.

  “I thought we were going to save this argument for when my face was between your legs,” I murmur, still nuzzling.

  She shivers, tilting her head to grant me access to more of her neck. “I just don’t like feeling like I owe you,” she mumbles, eyes fluttering closed as I ghost my nose and mouth over her earlobe.

  “You made me sign a contract saying that we don’t owe each other anything, right?”

  “Right.”

  “And I hope you don’t think I’m cruel enough to want something in return for a nicer hotel room.”

  She bites her lip. “No...I don’t think that. I mean, I don’t think it would be cruel for you to want something in return, but I also think you wouldn’t ask it because you’re already going to have sex with me anyway.”

  She’s pressing up against me, breathing fast, and I pull my head back to study her face with narrowed eyes. If I didn’t know better, I’d think this librarian wants to owe me something. Not with the better part of her brain, certainly, but all this talk of owing and cruelty has her awfully worked up.

  And that has me worked up.

  “I could be cruel though,” I say carefully, studying her face. “I could decide that you owed me.”

  “And how would you make me pay you back?” she whispers, pupils dilated wide and dark. Yeah, she’s into it.

  Good, ‘cause so am I.

  “You’ve already promised me your pussy,” I say. “But there are other ways…” I run the pads of two fingers along her lips and then slide the fingers into her mouth. She sucks without me telling her, and I almost come in my pants.

  “Come on,” I growl, removing my fingers and grabbing her hand. I practically yank her the rest of the way to our room, not letting go even as I dig for the keycard and tap it against the lock.

  Once we’re in the room, I don’t waste any time noticing how much nicer it is than the one at the Nite’s Inn, I only notice her, only pay attention to her. To the high spots of color in her cheeks and the pulse thudding in her throat.

  “I need to see you,” I say, shrugging off my leather jacket and pulling off my T-shirt. “Let me see you, kitten.”

  Her eyes flare at the sight of my naked chest and torso, and then, unexpectedly, she seems to falter, to grow shy.

  “I, um…” she moves her purse from her shoulder and opens it up. “I need to get dressed first.”

  My brow wrinkles. “Dressed? That’s moving in the wrong direction, sweetheart.” Then I have a thought. “Is this like a coy way of saying you need to go brush your teeth or something?”

  She swallows and shakes her head. “I need to change,” she elaborates.

  “Change into what?”

  She sets her shoulders back, lifting her chin with that proud look I adore so much. “If you must know, I bought a thing. A sexy thing. Lingerie.”

  Mmm, lingerie. Now that’s the L word every man wants to hear. I definitely will require her to wear that for me soon. Very soon.

  But not now. Now, I need to fuck her before my dick explodes.

  I’m trying to think of a non-caveman way to express this when she admits, in a voice that manages to be defiant and faltering all at once, “I wanted to make sure you were in the mood when the time came.”

  I have no response to this. Does she think me groping her in the parking lot and again in the hallway means I’m not in the mood?

  “Kitten. Livia. Come here for a second.”

  She hesitates, thinking, but then she takes a step toward me. And another. And I find her hand with mine and press it flat against my thick erection. “You don’t need to wear lingerie for me. You can if you want
to, but this is how you have me in slacks and a blouse that buttons up to your neck. You could be wearing one of those giant padded suits we use to train the police dogs, and I’d still want to take you to bed.”

  I let go of her hand but she doesn’t move it from my cock. Fuck, it feels good.

  “I just…” she swallows. “It’s been a little while for me, and I’m worried that I’ve forgotten how it all works. How to make it fun for both of us.”

  I lean forward, enough so that I can circle my nose around hers. She breathes in a jagged breath as I do, tilting her mouth up, but I’m careful not to kiss her. “How long has it been, kitten? How long is ‘a little while’?”

  “Um, just some time.”

  I give her jaw a little nip, not hard, just enough to send a shudder through her. “How long?” I repeat.

  “Two,” she whispers.

  “Two weeks?”

  “No.”

  I frown, pulling away. “Two months?”

  She draws herself up and meets my eyes with an expression I can’t read. “It’s been two years.”

  My mind goes blank; her words don’t make any sense to me, don’t compute. Two years without sex? Seven hundred and thirty days? Seven hundred and thirty and a half days, scientifically speaking?

  “How?” I ask. Her hand is still on my dick, and I am finding it impossible to actually process this information.

  “Well,” she explains, “the last time I had sex was two years ago. That’s how.”

  “You’re fucking gorgeous,” I say, still confused. “I wanted to tackle you and fuck you right there in that school parking lot the first day I met you. Surely even if you didn’t want a relationship, you would have had no trouble finding a man who would—”

  “It just never felt right,” she says. “After my last boyfriend dumped me, I tried hooking up with a guy I met at a bar, and it was fine, but it still felt like being vulnerable. It still felt like opening up to someone, even though it was supposed to be casual. I don’t want to open up, and I don’t need to. I can take care of those needs on my own. I have a fantastic vibrator.”