by Ava Frost
But there was just something about Preston, reassuring me and making me feel safe even though I'd just been witness to a murder, and was now a primary target for the killer.
When at last the song ended, the two of us bust out laughing, totally amused at ourselves and the absurdity of the situation. Then we exchanged a long, intense look, the two of us still grinning, and peering so deeply into one another's eyes that it seemed we might get lost.
Eventually we had to turn away from one another, as songs we knew and loved continued to play on the radio- but we couldn't force ourselves just then to continue singing along.
At last, we pulled up in front of my house, and I felt myself tense up inside. It was the moment of truth, now or never, I thought. I didn't want to be alone tonight, nor did I imagine I would have the future opportunity to be with a man so perfect as Preston.
I was long sober by this point, but there was a strong chance my judgment may have been affected by the intoxication of the evening behind me.
“Well, there you are, safe and sound” he said, trying to sound neutral, but I could tell from his unwillingness to look at me that he was thinking and feeling about the exact same things that I was.
Even as he looked away, I couldn't help myself from staring up at him, wide eyed and innocent, trying my damnedest to get him to look over. When he wouldn't look over at me, I gently placed a hand on his knee. His eyes immediately fell to the spot, and slowly he looked over at me- I could tell he was trying to stop himself from getting hard for me, but he nonetheless couldn't help it.
And I knew it was bold, risky- completely out of my character, in fact- but I simply couldn't help it any longer.
“Thank you... For everything you've done for me...” I said. His mouth fell slightly open, as though he wanted to say something, but when no words came out, I knew there was only one good remedy for his speechlessness.
Slowly, slowly, before I even knew what I was doing, and certainly before I could stop myself, I found myself leaning into him.
Our lips met, and it was like sparks suddenly flashed around the cop car, intense and electrifying, setting us both on fire with lust. We kissed, long, passionate, intense, putting our tongues into one another, and surprising ourselves, I think, with just how readily we were able to debase ourselves, to give into our wildest, seediest temptations.
He was exactly what I needed, and what I'd needed for years on end at this point.
At last we pulled apart, wheezing. My nostrils flared at him, like I might have been about to devour him, and he looked at me with fear in his eyes, more of himself than of me.
“We shouldn't,” he pleaded, like he was trying to talk himself out of it still, but I would hear none of it.
“We should,” I wheezed desperately.
“You're drunk...” he gambled.
“I'm as sober as can be...” I countered.
“It's wrong,” he said, his last means of defense.
“I don't give a damn,” I said, and leaned in to kiss him again.
He didn't put up any resistance at all after that...
Before either of us knew it, we were hitting the surface of my bed hard, our bodies on fire and our heads spinning, the ultimate release after the tremendous stress and danger of the evening. We simply didn't care anymore, as our hands slid all over one another, clutching wildly, pawing and groping, squeezing, tearing one another to pieces. He put his tongue so deep down my throat that I thought I might have choked on it, and swirled it around my cheeks, making me wetter and wetter for him and his hard cock as the moments slipped by.
I felt his erection push up against me through the fabric of his uniform, and I unzipped the fly of his pants, reaching down inside. He gasped with delight as I began to stroke him, playing with his dick, letting the streams of jizz drip along the palm of my hands, getting me all wet and sticky as I pumped and pumped and pumped.
He kissed me harder, then peeled out of his shirt, revealing to me his powerful, rippling body. The broad pecs, the six-pack abdominals, the agonizing V-lines of his Adonis muscles. Then he kicked his way out of his pants, so that he was lying on top of me in nothing but his underwear, which were stretched down halfway along his ass, his hot cock sticking out in the open, pressing so hard and so hot against my thighs that I thought he might sear my tender pink flesh.
Then he began to undress me, slipping his hands beneath the fabric of my blouse, peeling me out of it after such a long weary day trapped within its confines. He pulled my skirt clean off, so that I was left in nothing but my underwear, and he slid his hands behind my back, desperately unhooking the clasp of my bra from behind. He slid the straps off of my shoulders, and peeled the cups away from my tits, then threw the thing to the floor beside the bed.
Almost instantly his hands were upon me, squeezing my breasts viciously. Cupping the masses of flesh, kneading them up like dough... He pinched on my nipples with his fingers, and I moaned with the sensitization, feeling them grow hard and erect, burning with arousal. He brought his mouth down onto me, then, and proceeded to suckle on each one. Letting his lips melt down onto them, rolling his tongue around their perimeters. Then sinking his teeth lightly into me, just enough to cause pain, but in a pleasant sort of way. Sinking in harder, deeper, stretching me out, making me moan with pleasure, and then continuing to play with whichever breast he wasn't currently swallowing in his hand.
With his free hand, he slipped down, along my curves, and slid his fingers into my panties. I shivered at the sliding of his warm hand up between my legs, and slowly he began to caress my wet vagina. He traced out shapes in the moist, floral folds of my pussy, pushing them around, and further setting them on fire with arousal. He pushed them gently apart, sifting them around and around, and then he pushed his fingers into me, making my eyes go wide. First two fingers, then three, then four...
I moaned with pleasure, the sweet agony coming from too many sources at this point, making my heart beat faster and faster, causing my pulse to thud in my ears like the beat of a drum.
Before I knew it, his kisses were dripping down, down, down along my body, ravishing my curves. He peeled me out of the lace of my panties, and pushed my thighs wide open. He blew air into my cunt, and then let his face dip forward. I whimpered with delight as I felt his lips dissolve against those of my pussy. His tongue slipped into me, and spaded repeatedly inside my pink femininity.
My head spun wildly, as his began to bob between my quivering thighs, licking, lapping, eating me like a pro, his finger on my clitoris all the while, playing with it and making it burn with sensitization, his every splendid effort only serving to add to the brilliant torture I found myself presently experiencing.
And before long, my legs were beginning to seize up around his beautiful skull, closing in like a vice. I was moaning my lungs out, orgasm pulsing through my system, making everything okay. My position in life, the events of that day, the wrongness and problematic nature of what we were doing... All of that was gone, and we were left swimming through the perfect currents of our love.
At last, when the last wave of climax had subsided, he pulled his mouth away from me, gently letting the lips of my pussy dissolve from between his teeth. He leaned up over me, then, and kissed me, letting me taste my own fluids on his mouth, and getting me ready for what was to come next.
The two of us were coated with sweat by the time he mounted me from behind. He had me on all fours, like an animal, and his moist flesh felt wonderful as it draped over me like a blanket. His tip pushed apart the opening of my vagina, stretching me out, and inch by inch by veiny, agonizing inch of his thick, veiny shaft came sinking into my body.
I gasped, as at last he touched down inside me, holding steady, steady, steady, building up the anticipation. Then, slowly, he began to move around inside me. He pulled nearly all the way out, and then pushed back inside, causing me to moan instantly with delight. He pulled in and out with such agonizing slowness that he drove me wild, gradually increas
ing his speed, pushing harder, harder, harder...
Finally, he began to genuinely tear into me. To take me, as I needed so desperately to be taken in my current state of want and depravity. He hurled the great mass of his cock so deep into my body that I could scarcely contain him, pushing, pushing, slamming, pounding my cunt like wild. I shrieked with pleasure, fists curling up handfuls of the bedspread as I struggled to contain him. He pounded like there was no tomorrow, his perfect buttocks clenching and unclenching as he drilled repeatedly forward, the friction building, our wet, throbbing genitals smashing wildly together, KLAP KLAP KLAP KLAP KLAP KLAP!
“Oh God... Oh Jesus... Fuck... Fuck... FUCK!”
And, WHAM!
With a last, devastating blow he hurled himself inside me, holding steadily in place. We trembled, letting ourselves be thrown wildly past our own limits, and he began to ejaculate inside me, roaring as he filled me with pulse after pulse of his hot, molten cum, filling me to the brim, and setting me over the edge.
I came, hard, orgasm ripping through my body like wildfire. I clenched up around him, my toes curled, and my spine arched, as I shivered and shook as though on the brink of collapse.
And at last, at long, long last, I released, and the sensations subsided. He pulled his hot, sticky cock out of me, and we collapsed into one another's arms. Our sweaty bodies quickly pulled into one another, desperate for the continuation of our love past the point of its apex. We kissed, and caressed one another in the afterglow, still dizzy with ecstasy, as the many cares and concerns of the day behind us went dissolving into black, sleep taking over at last.
Chapter 4
***Preston***
Mother of God... What had I just done?
I awoke the next morning, filled with a mix of want and dread, a feeling that I couldn't wholly explain. I was in her bed, and she was lying there, naked beside me, her beautiful flesh covered up in the twisted blankets. She looked so beautiful, so peaceful, and for a moment I think I forgot the severity of the situation, on more levels than one.
I was more or less transfixed for a moment, putting a hand to her back and caressing her spine gently, wishing I could stay in this moment forever.
But then, a fraction of a moment later, I remembered the scattered remains of my police uniform lying around the room, and it sank in how greatly I'd just transgressed against my own better judgments, not to mention God only knew how many moral and ethical codes.
I'd just slept with, and quite possibly fallen head over heels in love with, a murder suspect...
As quietly as I could, I slipped back into my uniform, shed across the floor like a snake's skin, and I hurried out the door without waking her, feeling like death itself as I slipped into my cruiser, and wishing, for the love of God, that I hadn't been so goddamn stupid.
The animal in me peered back at me from the glass of my rearview mirror. The secret beast that I hid deep inside myself, the creature that nobody knew about. He'd taken control of me, made me a slave to my urges and impulses. The need to procreate and to thrust, to overpower and to dominate- in short, to be the all-conquering alpha that I was.
Yet I knew what a terrible mistake that had been... A fertile, beautiful female was no substitute for the life of secrecy I'd built up for myself over the years, very carefully, doing my damnedest to stay safe and elude the detection of others. It was hard to say just how compromised I was at this point, how royally I'd fucked up, and whether or not I could have a hope in hell of bouncing back from it.
I just needed to focus... To pretend it never happened, and hope that she didn't run her mouth about it all after the fact.
As much as I burned for her inside, I couldn't allow her to topple over the life that I'd so carefully built up for myself.
My shift started before I even had the chance to go home and change, and so I grabbed a cup of coffee and began my day feeling absolutely miserable.
And it only got worse from there...
Throughout the course of the week, the case against my beloved and loathed Erica only seemed to mount higher and higher, rather than her innocence being proven as I wished so desperately it would be. I kept my distance from her as best I could- I would be conspicuously absent whenever she was brought into the precinct for questioning, for instance...
But I could tell that the general sentiment among my peers was that she was guilty, almost without a doubt.
The facts were as followed... She had been the only person spotted at the scene of the crime. She'd phoned it in, and had been discovered covered in the blood of the victim. There were no fingerprints besides her own on the handle of the knife, despite her claim that someone else had been the killer and she'd only been trying to pull the blade free. It was true, if the killer was someone else, they could easily have been wearing gloves to keep from leaving prints on the handle, but still... At this point, things weren't looking good at all for Erica.
What was more, they'd called in several of her co-workers, who gave testimony to the fact that she'd done a hell of a lot of complaining about their former boss in the past when he was around. Nothing that, at the time, seemed to indicate it could come close to turning to violence, but then again, hindsight was always a lot clearer. It was all just speculation, but it didn't improve her situation much, and with a lack of evidence pointing toward any other suspect, the likelihood of her being charged just seemed to beg getting greater and greater.
I didn't want to let myself believe it... Whenever I had the chance, I found myself combing through the evidence, hoping against hope for some sign of another explanation... Some missing piece that would fall into place and explain away everything, put my mind at ease and exonerate the woman I'd fallen so head over heels in love with.
If this was love...
I felt so conflicted about the whole ordeal. Why the hell should I find myself falling in love with a murderer? And then, conversely, I thought shamefully, why the hell was I letting myself believe that the woman I loved could be guilty at all, when deep down I felt like I knew her better than that? If indeed that one night in her bed with her constituted genuinely knowing her... Which I felt fairly certain that it didn't, when I was being realistic with myself.
The worst part came, I think, when they brought in the victim's widowed wife to see if maybe she knew anything, had any clue at all who could be responsible for the tragic events that had befallen her husband. She'd been all tears and sobbing, and was genuinely a pitiable sight to behold. She seemed iron clad in her conviction that Erica had been wholly and completely responsible, saying that “the slut” must have been having an affair with her husband after hours, and that “that bitch” needed to be locked away for life, before she got around to destroying someone else's existence like she had her own and her husband's.
There was no real evidence to support the bit about the affair, as far as anyone on the police staff could tell... It was all just baseless accusation, the struggle to make sense of something so senseless and unfair. But it continued to hurt Erica's case, or what little she had of one, and I felt for certain that she would find herself locked up any day now.
No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't stop myself from thinking about her in a romantic context. I spent my days, combing over her files, looking for the clue that would crack this whole case, and at nights I lay awake thinking about her, or I dreamed about her. There was simply no escaping the hold she had over me. That primal, animalistic side of myself kept welling up, pinning me down, and it drew me to her like a magnet, making me wish so badly that the circumstances of our meeting could have been different. That our paths could have crossed in nearly any other way, and that our futures could somehow find their way in line with one another.
But I knew it was only a matter of time now... Sooner or later, a move would be made to have her put behind bars and charged with the murder. There was simply no way around it.
I hadn't seen her since that first splendid, but conflicting night together, and now it felt imper
ative that the two of us meet again. I felt that, no matter what the truth was, I needed to spend as much time with her as I could before that inevitable moment, and no matter how badly it pained me, I needed to let her know that I cared.
One evening when I was off duty, I drove up to her house, ready to confront her, when I saw that there was already a vehicle parked outside of her house. I took pause, and then quietly got out of my car. I passed beneath the streetlight, and walked slowly up to her door. I stood on the landing for what felt like several long moments, and I was about to knock, when I heard voices coming from inside the house.
And that was when an already terrible situation got even worse.
Chapter 5
***Erica***
“Please... Don't hurt me,” I begged, my hands lifted above my head, and it took me a moment to realize just what was happening. I was about to offer her all the money I had, which wasn't much, but it dawned on me that this wasn't about money at all. That would be too much of a coincidence... Although I hadn't been able to make out her face clearly the night of the killing, it was clear that it was her figure, thin and attractive, that I'd seen on the night of Mr. Simmons' murder. “Oh my God...” I mouthed, staring a the gun in my face.
“It's a pleasure to meet you, Erica... I've been thinking about you a lot this past week... My name is Olivia Jones- Mr. Simmons' mistress... I believe we may have met before...”
“No, I- God, I didn't even see your face... I told almost nothing to the police, because I didn't know anything. Please, you've got to believe me...”
