by Kitt, Selena
He grabbed both of her hands in his, the look on his face serious, encircling her wrists. “Arrest you.”
“Would you handcuff me?” She teased, twisting her hands, but he held her fast, an exciting prospect.
“Yes.” His eyes narrowed as she struggled.
Ivy leaned in closer, close enough to feel the heat of his body, smell his distinctly masculine scent. Then she got closer still, putting her lips to the shell of his ear, whispering, “Would you bend me over the hood? Rough me up a little?”
His response was a very hoarse, “Yes.”
“Officer Paxton, is that a gun in your pocket or…”
He kissed her with surprising, sudden force, his mouth opening hers, not asking, demanding, forcing her to give him her tongue, his grip on her wrists tightening as the kiss grew deeper. Ivy couldn’t help herself. She melted into him, let him grab her and pull her over the gearshift like a rag doll, trapping her between him and the steering wheel, two impossibly hard, unforgiving, unrelenting objects.
“Patrick,” she gasped, finding herself unable to breathe. “I… wait…”
Cool summer air flowed over her as he shoved open the driver’s side door, dragging her with him, carrying her like an afterthought, and before she knew it they were on the hood of the cruiser with all the room in the world, Ivy sitting on the edge, Patrick leaning into their desperate kiss, his big hands all over her, everywhere at once.
There was no question about what either of them wanted, what was going to happen out there on that dark, dirt road. Ivy wrapped her legs around his waist like she always had, her hand slipping behind his neck, forcing him to slant his mouth across hers, tongues probing deeply. But Patrick wasn’t about to let her have the upper hand. He grabbed her ass in his hands, pulling her in tight between his thighs, teasing her with a preview of the thick length of his cock, hard as steel in his uniform trousers, before turning her over on the hood.
“Patrick!” she protested, but he either didn’t hear her or ignored her plea. She had regretted her fashion choice earlier in the evening, but she was grateful for it now as he lifted her skirt up and yanked her panties down, giving him easy access.
“You like cops now, huh?” he asked, grabbing both her arms and twisting them behind her back. She yelped in surprise, although it didn’t really hurt. “You got a little fantasy about getting fucked by a cop?”
She whimpered, looking over her shoulder, trying to see what he was doing, but it was too dark to tell. Then she felt the cold circle of steel on her wrists as he handcuffed her hands behind her back. A shiver of fear went through her, but then he was spreading her with his palms, lifting her ass up so high her belly wasn’t even touching the hood of the car as he buried his face in her pussy.
“Ohhh fuck, it’s so smooth,” he moaned against her flesh and she smiled at his reaction. That was something new since they’d been together last, before she’d gone off to college and he joined the force. “Oh god, Ivy, your pussy tastes so fucking good!”
She was putty in his hands, her body his, completely his, and she knew the ache between her thighs would be alleviated only by the soft, relentless pressure of her old lover’s skillful tongue. Patrick knew her buttons, all of them, sliding his hands up her waist, shoving her shirt up so he could cup her breasts through her bra, thumb each nipple, while his tongue drove her mad, sliding up and down her wet slit, teasing, exploring, ignoring the throbbing nub of her clit.
“Oh please,” she begged him, rolling her hips side to side, trying to zero in, but he wasn’t having any of it. He slipped his tongue into her instead, sucking at her juices—she heard him swallowing, moaning softly—more focused on his own pleasure than hers, taking his time, exploring her anew. And she couldn’t do anything but let him. But, of course, that was the point.
She cried out whenever his tongue touched her clit, teasing long enough to take her up just a notch, then he was off exploring the soft, smoothness of her flesh again, over the swell of her pussy lips, into the bend of her thigh, even up to the crack of her ass.
“No!” she gasped when he licked her there.
“You never would let me do that…” Patrick chuckled and she felt the prickly stubble on his cheek against her thighs, making her shiver. “Did anyone else ever get to fuck your ass, Ivy?”
She moaned softly against the hood, shaking her head, knowing he couldn’t see her in the darkness. “Noooo.”
“Good.” Patrick stood and she heard the distinct sound of his belt being unbuckled. Oh god, no, she thought, her ass clenching. He wouldn’t… he wouldn’t dare…
“No!” she cried, feeling the head of his cock sliding against her wet cleft, searching in the dark. “Oh please, not my ass…”
“I should.” Patrick slapped the head of his cock against her asshole and she cried out when she felt him press it there, opening her just a little, just enough to hurt. She whimpered, squirming on the hood, unable to get away, and she sighed in momentary relief as his cock slipped south, finding a softer, more pliable hole to penetrate. She heard him gasp when he was buried in her pussy and he grabbed her wrists, using the handcuff chain for leverage, getting himself another centimeter, maybe two, inside of her.
“Oh! God! Oh ! God!” She cried out as he started to fuck her, pounding into her, the sound of his thighs, forcing hers wide, slamming against the rocker panel of the cruiser. Ivy’s pussy ached for release, her clit throbbing, and the feel of him taking her, fucking her, driving deep into her again and again, made her crazy with lust.
Patrick let go of the handcuffs and grabbed onto her hips, shifting his weight into her more fully, forcing himself even deeper, so deep it almost hurt. He slammed into her with brute force, grunting with every thrust. He was punishing her, she knew, and maybe she deserved it. She was certainly willing to take it—that was clear to both of them. Ivy squirmed and whimpered and begged him for mercy, but her pussy accepted every bit of the abuse and asked for more.
“How do you like being fucked by a cop, huh?” Patrick slapped her ass for good measure, making her yelp. “Tell me, Ivy. Tell me!”
“Ooooohhh fuck!” She moaned, spreading wider for his thrusts. “Yes! Yes! Patrick, yes!”
“Tell me!” he insisted, using her hips to roll her. He grabbed her shoulders, knowing she couldn’t do anything, with her hands still behind her back, pulling her up, trapping his cock, still wet and hot from fucking her, between them. “Tell me, Ivy.”
“I want it,” she whispered into his ear, feeling his heart beating hard in his chest, pressed against hers, his uniform buttons biting at her belly and breasts. Her shirt was up, bra undone, skirt shoved up to her waist. “I want you.”
“Oh Ivy.” He held onto her tight, his face buried in her hair, breathing deeply, finally confessing, “God. I missed you.”
“I missed you too,” she panted, wishing she could reach down and touch his cock, put him back inside of her. She wanted him so much she was shaking. Instead, she rocked her hips, forcing his cock between her swollen pussy lips, making them both moan with pleasure, trying to show him just how much she’d missed him. “Please, Patrick. Put it in me. Fuck me. I want you!”
“Oh god, sweetheart,” he murmured, his arms tightening around her. She felt him fumbling behind her back, heard a click, and then she was free, the handcuffs falling to the hood with a clink. “Show me.”
She didn’t even take the time to rub her aching, chaffed wrists before she had him in her hand, stroking him between her legs, making him groan and thrust. And then she was on her knees in the dirt, gravel biting her kneecaps, and she didn’t care about that either. She eagerly licked and sucked her juices off the spongy, swollen head of his cock, so hungry for him, and Patrick grabbed her hair to keep her greediness from spoiling their fun too soon.
“Come here.” He lifted her back onto the hood, this time putting her on her back and spreading her legs wide, his glorious tongue finding just the right spot. Ivy arched against him, hand buri
ed in his dark hair, guiding him home. Patrick drank her in, his expert mouth knowing just the right pressure and pace to apply to take her to her destination.
Ivy was flying.
“Oh baby,” she whispered, closing her eyes and pressing her hips toward his eager mouth. “Oh baby, sweet baby, make me come! Make me come in your mouth!”
He was, his tongue making perfect, delicious circles against her quivering clit, and she gave herself to him completely, gave into her orgasm, letting it shake them both. She cried out, her pleasure a near-scream, piercing the night, her thighs trembling, her whole body quivering with her climax as Patrick gathered her to him. And still it wasn’t enough.
“Take me,” she whispered, reaching down to find him, guide him. “Fuck me. Oh Patrick, please, please, I have to have you inside of me.”
He groaned at her words, at her urgency, meeting it with his own. Patrick kissed her, the taste of her juices in his mouth so heady, she thought she might pass out, but he was holding her, sliding himself inside of her with a slow, almost painful, piercing heat.
“Oh Jesus, baby,” Patrick whispered and she felt him shaking between her thighs. Ivy wrapped her arms and legs around him, clinging tight. “You feel so good.”
“Yes,” she urged, meeting his thrust with her own. “Yes, yes. Do it. Fuck me!”
He gave in, taking her right there on the hood of his cruiser in the middle of the night, both of them giving in to their animal lust. And still, he remembered, reaching down and rubbing her still-aching clit with his thumb as they rocked together, driving her toward another climax with every thrust. She gave into him, to her overwhelming feelings for him, to her own body’s betrayal—how could she deny it?
“Ivy, oh! Fuck! I’m gonna come!” His pelvis slammed into hers, shaking the whole car, and Ivy whimpered into his ear, loving that his thumb never stopped moving on her clit, urging her toward another orgasm, always giving her more.
“Do it!” she begged, burying her face in his neck, feeling the bite of his gun belt against her thighs and he groaned and shuddered and arched against her. “Oh yes! Patrick, yes! I’m gonna come all over your cock!”
And she did, her pussy milking him with every quivering spasm. Patrick emptied himself into her with long, shuddering thrusts, his hands moving to her ass, pulling her into the saddle of his hips until their flesh moved as one. Ivy wouldn’t let him go. She kissed his neck, his jaw line, his ear, his cheek, finally finding his mouth, drawing his tongue in with hers like a bee seeking honey.
“Oh Patrick, I missed you so much,” she whispered, squeezing him between her thighs. “So very much.”
“Fuck!” He swore, slowly withdrawing, and she whimpered, watching him tuck and zip. “Someone’s coming.”
Ivy had forgotten where they were. She’d forgotten everything but him. Sliding off the hood of the car, she glanced down the road, seeing the twin pinpricks of an approaching vehicle. She started straightening and tucking too, giggling when Patrick grabbed his handcuffs off the hood.
“Good thing the dash cam wasn’t on, huh?” she teased.
He grinned, putting his handcuffs back on his belt. “How do you know it wasn’t?”
The tow truck’s tires crunched the gravel as it pulled up, situating itself in front of her car. Patrick went to talk to the driver, and she was glad, because she was still too flushed and breathless to try to have a normal conversation. By the time the tow truck driver—he was about her age, wearing a backwards baseball cap, but she didn’t know him—came over to check her road service card, she was recovered enough to fetch it out of her purse.
“Do you need a ride home?” the guy in the baseball cap asked after he’d hooked up her car, giving Ivy an appreciative look in the light of the headlights.
“I got it.” Patrick stepped between them, waving the tow truck driver toward his vehicle. “I’m taking her home.”
She smiled to herself as she got back into the front seat of the cruiser, buckling up at Patrick’s insistence.
“Do you remember the way?” she asked, wondering what they were going to do now. Could they go back, turn back the clock? Was that possible?
He snorted. “I could get there with my eyes closed.”
They drove in silence, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable one. Things had settled easily into a familiar thing between them, as if no time had lapsed. She was the same Ivy, unable to keep her hands off pushing buttons, whether it was the radio in his Dodge Shadow in high school or his cruiser now, and he was the same Patrick, chastising her and swatting her hands away, both of them laughing.
“What does this button do?” she inquired, leaning over the gearshift toward him. Patrick rolled his eyes.
“That rolls the lights and siren. I really don’t think you want to show up at home with those running.”
Ivy sighed, anticipating the lecture she was going to get. “True dat.”
“Hey girl…” He turned toward her when he cut the engine in her driveway. She saw someone peek out the window, probably her father. What would they think, seeing a police car in the driveway, even if it didn’t have the lights and sirens blaring? Nothing good, that was for sure.
“Patrick.” She shook her head, hating herself for what she was about to say, but what else could she do? In spite of what they had together, what they’d always had, it wasn’t going to work. One night didn’t change that. It couldn’t possibly. “No.”
“No?” The hurt on his face was unbearable. Ivy looked away, closing her eyes, but his words washed over her anyway. “I thought you’d changed your mind about… about… my being a cop…”
“Fantasy, remember?” she reminded him softly. He made a sound, like she’d punched him. Well, she kind of had, hadn’t she? Still, his hand fell over hers, squeezing gently.
“Don’t do this.” It was as close as Patrick ever came to begging her. She’d heard him use the tone one other time—when she’d broken it off with him two years ago. “Just… let’s see each other in the light of day tomorrow. Have coffee. Talk.”
“I can’t,” she whispered, the words reflexive, in spite of her feelings. The truth was she wanted him, had always wanted him, but she couldn’t bear the thought of losing him. She’d rather make the choice to let him go than get a call in the middle of the night telling her that her husband was dead.
He reached for her, pulling her close, and she let him kiss her. One last time, she told herself. His mouth was soft, pleading, urgent, even desperate, and she clung to him, wanting what he did too, but the gap between reality and fantasy was, for her, an unbridgeable one.
“Please,” he whispered into her hair, but he let her go when she shook her head, her throat too thick with tears to speak. Grabbing her purse from the floor, she opened the door, preparing to flee.
“Ivy.” He touched her arm and she stopped, but didn’t look back at him. “Let me call you. Tomorrow.”
“No,” she whispered, willing her tears not to fall, not yet. “No, please, don’t. I can’t. I can’t.”
She stumbled up the driveway toward the house, feeling as if she had just ripped out her own heart and left it behind. Inside, her father was waiting, ready with a lecture—the tow truck driver had called to ask which mechanic they wanted him to drop it off to—but she was barely listening. Instead, she watched out the window, waiting, and when Patrick pulled out a few moments later, she wondered if he knew that he’d just driven away with her heart.
* * * *
“Don’t forget to feed the horses!” That was the last thing her father said before he left, like she hadn’t heard it a hundred times already. Her parents were going to some sort of college reunion thing down in Detroit and would spend the night in a hotel. She’d gotten the rundown a dozen times on fire escape routes, where the flashlights, batteries, candles and matches were in case the power went out—never mind the clear, cloudless skies—and even had to endure a lecture about how to call 911.
“Dad, I think I know how to work
a phone!” Ivy had protested with much eye-rolling and sighing, but he’d gone on to remind her about the escaped prisoner—his picture had been all over the local news—who had yet to be located. Long gone, Patrick had said, and he was probably right. Who in their right mind would hang around this tiny little town?
A thousand reminders, and of course, she forgot to feed the horses.
It wasn’t her fault, she reasoned as she glared, bleary-eyed, at the clock over the mantle. It was after midnight! The TV was still on, Letterman interviewing someone Ivy didn’t recognize with his unmistakable nod and gap-toothed grin. She blinked in disbelief at the remains of her comfort-food feast strewn on the coffee table in front of the sofa she was sprawled across. It was PMS. That’s what she’d told herself while she mixed up a batch of chocolate chip cookies to go with her mother’s macaroni and cheese. So it was comfort food—but what did she need comfort for?
It wasn’t like she’d been moping around the house for days since Patrick dropped her off at home that night. It was just that she didn’t have a car. Patrick, of course, had been right. It was the alternator. Not that it mattered to her father, who lectured her about the Honda’s low oil level anyway. No, she wasn’t moping or depressed. So she had spent the entire day in her pajamas and had finished off her carb-fest with popcorn and Mountain Dew and a Buffy marathon. That didn’t mean anything.
It had to be PMS.
It was most definitely not Patrick. Thinking about Patrick. Remembering the way he touched her, the way he kissed her, the feel of his hands on her. Oh god. Oh no, definitely not that.
“Horses,” she muttered, shivering in the transition from sleep to awake, looking at the blackness of the night. No moon. Her parents owned half a dozen horses, all of them show-quality, most of them winners at some point or another, and she was going to be accused of starving them to death if she didn’t trudge out to the barn at midnight to feed them.
“Okay, okay.” She gave in to her guilty conscience, which sounded suspiciously like a cross between her father and Patrick, one on each shoulder, lecturing her about the right thing to do. She slipped on a pair of her mother’s gardening Crocs—pink with white fur—and her father’s big Carhartt coat, stopping at the junk drawer to get a flashlight. Her father had, of course, put all new batteries in before they left.
