by Sacchi Green
I struggled to find the officious words I needed to put her in her place. Stern words that would put distance between us and wrap my uniform around me once more in an impenetrable shield. I managed a step back, but the hum between my legs wouldn’t be ignored.
Eve obviously knew it. Her off-kilter smile was knowing. “Cat got your tongue?”
“We had a tip-off,” I began, but she interrupted me.
“I suppose I’m growing dope among my tomato plants? Last week it was the barking dog, this week I’m growing dope. What will it be next week, Senior Constable? Terrorists in my attic? You know, a woman might wonder if you keep coming here for another reason.”
“The police have got better things to do than waste time,” I snapped. “What reason could I possibly have for coming here other than police business?”
“This,” she said, and once again closed the gap between us and stretched up to fit her lips firmly on mine.
This time I was ready for her. I can read the signs as well as the next person, and her interest had shone like sunlight off a tin roof. But while it wasn’t a surprise it didn’t mean I was going to melt like lemon drops and fall into her arms and heart. There was also the very real possibility that she was distracting me, seducing me away from the dope plants hidden goddess knows where.
I stiffened, grasped her shoulders and pushed her firmly away from me. My lips were warm and damp where she’d touched them. My hands slid away from her shoulders. She had freckles on her shoulders, I noted absently, tiny sun-kisses on her golden skin.
“Don’t tell me you don’t like women, Kaye?”
“It’s not that.” She must have remembered my name from my badge. It sounded warm, the way she said it, a long, low syllable.
“So it must be because you’re on duty? Unless I’m not your type? Do you like shaven, buffed, prettied women with fake nails and tans? Or gym rats, all ripped abs and singlets? I have the ripped singlet.” Her fingers toyed with the tear in her shirt, a small rent, just above one breast.
“Well, Kaye? If you don’t want me, you only need say so. Maybe the boys down the station have another dyke they can send down to investigate me.”
“Are you always this talkative?”
“Only when I sense the opposition is weakening.”
“What about when they’ve capitulated?”
“Then there’s no need for talk.”
I vacillated, torn between the desire to slap her down, find some pretext to wipe that smile from her face, and simply giving in. Simply walking over to her, pulling down that loose singlet top and nuzzling my face into her breasts. Finding out what her hair felt like freed from its thick plait, seeing how it would fall over her shoulders, how long it was when loose. I was a breath away from ignoring duty, the reason I was here, the possibility Eve was a criminal—albeit a very minor one.
I just couldn’t do it. If she were hiding dope plants, if she were distracting me and I fell for it, my career would be on the line. I’d been a cop for eight years; it was my life, what I loved best. I couldn’t throw that away for a quick fuck, albeit a good one.
I rested my hands on her shoulders, stared into her face. She had tiny laugh lines from the sun, a smattering of freckles over the bridge of her nose. Her eyes were golden, warm and glowing. Tiger’s eyes.
“One question. Are you growing dope?”
I concentrated on her eyes. Cops are good at reading body language. Any hesitation, a flicker of her eyes to the left, and chances were good she was lying. But her gaze was direct and steady, no infinitesimal shift away.
“No.”
I did what I’d fantasized about; my hands slid from her shoulders along her arms, easing down the straps of her top. She wasn’t wearing a bra. Her breasts curved gently from her chest, sun-kissed like the rest of her. Her nipples were dark, and there were a few long, golden hairs ringing each one. I palmed them in my hands, feeling how instantly her nipples hardened, pressing against my palms.
Eve shed the singlet and stood before me. Her baggy shorts had a tie at the waist. My fingers moved purposefully down her taut stomach to tug lightly on the string. It gave, and the shorts pooled around her feet.
It seemed she disdained underwear. I’d guessed she’d be au natural from the golden fuzz that covered her shins, and I was right. Her bush was luxuriant and dense, wiry brown curls that hid her pussy completely.
I’ve never been one for the natural look—I like to see what I’m about to get—but with Eve it was different. I wanted to part those curls, probe with fingers and tongue and find her pussy, expose her pink slit, find out how wet she was, what she tasted like on my tongue.
She took my hand, threading her fingers firmly through mine. I expected her to lead me into the cool of her house, away from the bright sunlight, but instead she tugged me down the garden, toward her veggie patch. Her bare feet padded softly over the dusty earth, through the profusion of growth, down to the end of the row, where the raspberry canes tilted in haphazard disarray. The sun burned hot on my shoulders through my uniform shirt, and my face felt flushed underneath my broad-brimmed hat.
Eve turned and small hands reached up to flick my hat from my head. It spun away, landing neatly on a stake where tomatoes hung ripe and heavy. Her fingers were busy working down the buttons of my blue uniform shirt, efficiently flicking them open, then pulling my shirt from my shorts.
My sports bra was functional, designed for comfort rather than excitement, but Eve didn’t seem to mind. She groped around the back, finding the closure with an ease that told me this certainly wasn’t the first time she’d undressed a woman.
She leaned forward and kissed each nipple lightly, sucking briefly with moist lips. When she moved away, my nipples were warm and damp with the absence of her mouth.
I found my belt fastening and removed the belt with fingers that were less than steady. Even through the thrum of arousal, I took the time to lay it carefully on the ground. The sun gleamed on the handle of my Glock and the metal handcuffs.
Taking Eve by the shoulders, I led her a pace away, over to where the sunshine dappled through the raspberry canes, and there was enough grass to provide an illusion of softness. With my belt gone, Eve made swift work of my shorts, dragging my panties down with them. I kicked them away and we were both naked.
My breath sucked in at the contrast we made: Eve, petite and golden, compact and lithe with messy hair, and me, tall and gangling with full breasts that made me look stately rather than voluptuous. We sank to the ground together, hands mapping the lines of each other’s body.
I love the first time with someone new. As well as the sexual thrill, there’s the joy of discovery. Does she like what I’m doing? Is she ticklish? Is she passive or aggressive? Eve, it seemed, was the assertive type. We grappled together on the grass, our lips melded together in a hot, wet kiss that was all teeth and tongues, thrust and parry, advance and retreat as we explored each other. For one so lightly built, she was wiry and strong.
I rolled onto my back, taking her over with me so that she straddled my body. Her thighs gripped my hips, and her lush pubes ticked my skin. She leaned down so that her heavy braid fell forward, tickling my cheek, and pressed down with her weight. She was wet already; I could feel her moisture spreading on my skin as she shifted. I wanted to push my fingers into her pussy and feel her clasping heat, piston my hand inside her, let her feel that delicious sensation of being engorged and full, the sweet ache of excitement. And I wanted to taste her, see if she tasted of sunshine and raspberries and the sharp scents of the Aussie bush.
She moved down my body, and her mouth closed around my nipple. Her hands shaped my breast, brought it up toward her mouth. I closed my eyes, and the bright sunlight shot sparks behind my eyelids. It was all sensation: Eve’s mouth on my breast, her pussy sliding damply across my skin, sunlight warming my skin, and the tickle of something small—an ant maybe—running across my leg.
Eve moved lower, shuffling down my body, letting her lips trail a p
ath from my breast down to my bare pussy. I hadn’t waxed for a while so there was a fine regrowth, and her lips pressed a gentle kiss on my mound. Then she shifted quickly so that she was between my thighs. She parted me carefully with her fingers; I felt her lips enclose my clit. She sucked gently, and her fingers pushed their way inside me as I’d wanted to do to her.
I needed to touch her, too. Reaching down, I grasped her plait, winding its thick length around my fist, holding her lips where I wanted them. Oh, she was good at this. Not too much pressure, just as I like, a soft, wet suction. With a silent “oh” of pleasure, I started to come, pushing myself into her face, my back arching in a taut bowstring of need. Silent spasms around her fingers, the sweet feeling of fullness.
When I opened my eyes, Eve was still between my thighs. Her lips and chin were wet and shining. I tightened my grip on her hair, tugging until she moved back up along my body.
She realized what I wanted and shuffled forward, poised on strong thighs until her pussy hovered above my face. A sigh, and she settled within my reach. My tongue reached out and I lapped, feeling rough, crinkly hair, and tasting the pungent taste of her pussy juices. I used my fingers to part her lips, delve between. Her hair tickled my chin, even caught in my teeth as I moved closer, but I persevered. I grasped her ass and held her to my mouth.
She kept very still, and it was only the tiny grunts and sighs she made that let me know she enjoyed what I was doing. My tongue ached, and her hairs tickled my nose, but I kept going. Her scent surrounded me, and the ground was hard underneath my back. Somewhere overhead a magpie gargled its liquid song, and cicadas shrilled in chorus before falling silent.
“Harder,” gasped Eve, the first word she’d said since I went down on her.
I increased the pressure, scraping lightly with my teeth, some suction, some friction, and then the glorious feeling of a woman flying apart underneath my mouth. Hot and wet, sunlight and sound. The tension drained from my body, leaving me limp and sated underneath her.
She smiled down at me, touching my cheek with a damp finger.
“Hey, you still with me?”
I nodded, savoring the moment.
“Going to book me for obstructing police business?”
“Not yet.”
“Good.” She moved off me and rose to her feet. Holding a hand out, she pulled me up with surprising strength. “What now?”
I wrapped an arm around her shoulders, feeling the play of her muscles as she leaned into my body. “I need to check the house, ma’am. I have a tip-off something may be hidden in your bed. Do I need a search warrant?”
She leaned her weight against me. “No. You can stay there until you find what you want.”
That sounded good to me.
The next day I sauntered into the station with a great sated grin still on my face. Turning the corner with a coffee in my hand, I ran straight into Fred. My coffee splashed, leaving a big stain on my pale blue shirt.
“Kaye, just the person I was hoping to see. How’d you do at the Jarmyn place yesterday? Anything of interest?”
I covered my laugh with a cough. “You could say that. It was definitely very interesting indeed.”
And I walked off before he could ask me what I meant.
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
JOVE BELLE (jovebelle.wordpress.com) lives in Portland, Oregon, with her partner of fifteen years and their three children. Her novels include Indelible, Chaps, Split the Aces and Edge of Darkness, all from Bold Strokes Books.
CHEYENNE BLUE’s (www.cheyenneblue.com) erotica has appeared in more than 60 anthologies including Best Women’s Erotica, Mammoth Best New Erotica, Best Lesbian Erotica, Best Lesbian Romance, Girl Crazy, Girl Crush and Lesbian Lust. She was once “taken in for questioning” about an incident involving a mysterious bag of green tea and an unregistered Holden.
ELIZABETH COLDWELL lives and writes in London. Her stories have been published in a number of anthologies including Best of Best Women’s Erotica, A Kiss in the Dark and Lesbian Love 1, 2 and 3. ”Torn Off a Strip” is dedicated to Becky, who’s always a force to be reckoned with.
ANDREA DALE’s (www.cyvarwydd.com) stories have appeared in Lesbian Lust, Best Lesbian Romance 2011, Lesbian Cowboys and many others. Parts of “Charity and Splendor” are mostly true, but she’s being coy and not going to tell you which ones.
DELILAH DEVLIN (www.DelilahDevlin.com) is an awardwinning author with a rapidly expanding reputation for writing deliciously edgy stories with complex characters—whether from dark, erotically-charged paranormal worlds or richly descriptive westerns that ring with authenticity.
R. G. EMANUELLE is a writer and editor living in New York City. She co-edited Skulls and Crossbones, an anthology of female pirate stories, and her short stories can be found in Best Lesbian Erotica 2010, Khimairal Ink, Women in Uniform, Read These Lips 4Play, Lesbian Lust and the online collection Oysters & Chocolate.
J. N. GALLAGHER is currently working on a short story collection of erotic fiction, a full-length erotic novel, and a bunch of other stuff that J. N.’s midwestern parents can never, ever be allowed to read.
ILY GOYANES is a Latina lesbian who lives to learn. She writes about food and culture for the Miami New Times. Feel free to email her at [email protected].
ANNABETH LEONG’s (annabethleong.blogspot.com) lesbian erotica has appeared on Oysters and Chocolate and in Girl Crush. Other erotic adventures include technological erotica in Ravenous Romance’s Experimental anthology and an erotic retelling of “The Six Swans” forthcoming in Coming Together: Neat.
KENZIE MATHEWS works in a small library in rural Alaska. When not writing, she paints landscapes and seascapes and walks her dogs. Her work can also be found in Lesbian Lust from Cleis Press.
J. L. MERROW (www.jlmerrow.com) read Natural Sciences at Cambridge, where she learned many things, chief amongst which was that she never wanted to see the inside of a lab ever again. She has had more than twenty short stories and novellas published, including her latest novella, Pricks and Pragmatism.
LYNN MIXON (lynnmixon.com) lives in Texas with a loving spouse and a herd of cats.
EVAN MORA is a recovering corporate banker living in Toronto who’s thrilled to put pen to paper after years of daydreaming in boardrooms. Her works can be found in Best Lesbian Erotica ’09, Best Lesbian Romance ’09 and ’10, Where the Girls Are, The Sweetest Kiss: Ravishing Vampire Erotica, Girl Crush, Please, Sir: Erotic Stories of Female Submission, Spank! and Best Bondage Erotica ’11.
R. V. RAIMENT is a writer, novelist and philosopher, born in the north of England, now happily established in London and often found feeding squirrels in St. James’s Park. R V’s stories can be found at Clean Sheets, at ERWA, in The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica 5 and Cream. R. V. is also the author of the erotic novel Aphrodite Overboard.
TERESA NOELLE ROBERTS enjoys writing about women who love hot women, as evidenced by her publication in such anthologies as Lesbian Lust, Best Lesbian Romance 2009, Best Lesbian Erotica 2009 and Lipstick on Her Collar. She’s married to someone in law enforcement and has washed far too many uniforms to find them sexy. The courageous people in them are another story.
ABOUT THE EDITOR
SACCHI GREEN is a Lambda Award winner who writes and edits in western Massachusetts. Her stories have appeared in numerous books, including seven volumes of Best Lesbian Erotica, four of Best Women’s Erotica, three of Best Lesbian Romance and Penthouse magazine. She has edited or co-edited five previous lesbian erotica anthologies: Rode Hard, Put Away Wet; Hard Road, Easy Riding; Lipstick on Her Collar and the Cleis Press anthologies Lesbian Cowboys, Girl Crazy and Lesbian Lust.
Copyright © 2014 by Sacchi Green.
All rights reserved. Except for brief passages quoted in newspaper, magazine, radio, television, or online reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying or recording, or by information storage or retrieval system, without permiss
ion in writing from the publisher.
Published in the United States by Cleis Press, Inc.,
2246 Sixth Street, Berkeley, California 94710.
Printed in the United States.
Cover design: Scott Idleman/Blink
Cover photograph: Damir Spanic/Getty Images
Text design: Frank Wiedemann
First Edition.
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Trade paper ISBN: 978-1-62778-038-4
E-book ISBN: 978-1-62778-055-1
