Confessions of a Bad Boy Cop

by Cathryn Fox

His body is rigid, his back hard, and I wish I could wrap my arms around him, hold him tight and help loosen him up a bit. “I’m right about a lot of things,” he murmurs.

  “I know,” I say in total agreement. I trust Jack, trust and take everything he says to heart.

  “I don’t think he’ll be bothering you again.”

  I grab a towel off the hook and wrap myself in it. “You can turn around. I’m covered.”

  He turns, and takes in the big fluffy towel as I knot it over my breasts. I draw in a slow breath, everything about this man seducing my senses.

  “Where’s your phone?” He scrubs his face like he’s in total agony. I gesture to the bathroom counter. He picks it up and swipes a big finger over the screen. God, how I want those fingers on my body, deep between my legs. My clit throbs and I squeeze my thighs together, desperate for an orgasm.

  “I’m punching my number in.” Rich, intense eyes lock on mine as he breathes in, the scent of my vanilla soap strong in the room. “If you ever find yourself in trouble and need anything, don’t hesitate to call. If you’re in a situation where you can’t call, text with the word ‘vanilla.’ It will be inconspicuous to others, but I’ll know you need me.”

  My heart thumps at how sweet he is. “You’re giving me a safe word?”

  He angles his head, gives me a dark, warning look that I totally recognize. He hates the thought of me with anyone else, as much as I hate the thought of him with some other woman.

  “What do you know about safe words, Layla?”

  I grin. “Oh, not much. Just what I’ve read. But when I’m with you, you can bet you’ll never hear the word vanilla come out of my mouth,” I say. His turbulent gaze alerts me to the fact that he gets the meaning behind my words—when it comes to him, vanilla is the last thing I want. I look him over; the need to hand myself to him, let him take charge of my body is so intense it’s almost painful. I put my palm on his bare chest, feel the strength of his heartbeat beneath my fingers.

  “You don’t need to say it, just text it when you need something,” he says.

  “There is something I need, Jack.”

  “What…what do you need?” he asks, his eyes half closed, like he’s in total agony. God, he’s so intense, so unlike the boring guys from my school.

  “I need you.” His lids flash open and I give him a small smile as I shake my wet hair out. It falls over my back, and my breath comes out in a low hush when I say, “But you already know that.”

  Desire clouds his eyes. “You can’t have me.”

  “Not yet, but soon,” I say, playing by society’s rules for a little bit longer. “While I’m waiting, I just need something to help me get through the next few weeks.” I drop my towel and expose my naked, quivering body.

  His gaze rakes over me. Hungry. Ravenous. Dangerous. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs.

  “And I’m all yours.”

  His eyes glaze, like he’s forgotten all rational thought, but then a laugh sounds outside my window. A splash follows the sound as some other drunken cop lands in the pool. “Layla, fuck…” The sound pulls him back and he inches away.

  I step up to him again, push against his thigh and he holds his hands up, palms out. “I can’t touch you. I won’t.”

  He’s such a good man and that’s one of the reasons I love him. “Then don’t,” I say, never wanting to get him into any kind of trouble. “Don’t touch me, Jack. Just stand here, hands behind your back.”

  I shove his hands around his body, and as I do, I straddle his leg, and push down until my hot sex is wide open on his bare thigh.

  He sucks in a quick breath. “Holy fuck.”

  I move against him, rub my clit, and let loose a low, needy moan. I know he’s currently off limits—sex with him taboo—but everything about this feels so good, so right. As heat zings through my body, I cup my breasts, needing something to do with my hands before I run them all over his hard muscles.

  “You’re so wet,” he murmurs going as still as a stealth soldier as I continue to rock against him. I move restlessly and my clit swells, still so achy and needy from not being able to finish myself off in the shower.

  His gaze slides over me, then he pinches his eyes tight shut. “This is so wrong.”

  “You’re not doing anything wrong, Jack. And for me, it feels so right.” I press down harder, and heat sparks through me as I ride his leg, taking what I need from him, for the time being.

  “I’m going to come all over your legs,” I say.

  “You’re going to be the death of me,” he growls and links his hands behind his neck.

  I chuckle. “Just think, in a couple of weeks, you’re going to be able to do anything you want to me. Anything at all. I won’t say no to you, Jack. I won’t say no to anything.”

  “Jesus, fuck,” he growls, as I pick up speed.

  “Then after college, we can move away, finally get out of Texas like we both want. You have that job in New York you’re always talking about, and once I have my law degree, there will be plenty of firms where I can work.”

  As I think about the life we can have together, I rub myself hard, creating friction as I massage my breasts. I throw my head back and punch my nipples until they’re swollen and begging for this man’s hot mouth.

  “In a few weeks, when I’m finally allowed, I’m going to take your cock into my mouth. I want to swallow every inch of you. You’ll let me do that won’t you, Jack? You’ll let me take your cock so deep into my throat that I won’t be able to breathe.”

  He grunts in response, the sound so loaded with promise it makes me a little hotter and a whole lot wetter. My lids flutter, and I angle my head to see the agony he’s in as his cock throbs, but I won’t touch him. I’m not allowed.

  “I’m going to want you to own me, everywhere. Nothing is off limits. You can own my mouth, my pussy, and my ass.”

  “I’m going to fucking own you, Layla.”

  A hard quiver moves through me at the deepness of his voice. I hate that I can’t help him take the edge off. But I’m not going to break his no touching rule. Than again, I guess I sort of am by rubbing my pussy on his leg. At least our hands aren’t involved, which is his hard rule. I gyrate, and slide over his muscular thigh, taking what I need. Each movement builds heat and friction, and in no time at all an explosion tears through me. My body soars, each clench taking me higher and higher until I’m free-falling without a net.

  “Jesus Christ,” he groans as I soak his leg, my juices dripping down his thigh.

  God, if this is what can happen when he doesn’t even touch me, I can’t imagine what will happen to me when he finally does. I take deep gulping breaths, and Jack stays still, his eyes holding my gaze as my heartbeat regulates and I come back down to earth.

  “I have to go,” he murmurs, once my body has settled again.

  “I know.” He inches back, and a burst of cool air brushes over my body with his absence. My pussy aches for him as he grabs my towel off the floor and wraps me in it. His hands are big and rough, but so gentle on my body. “I’ll see you soon, Jack,” I say, my voice full of promise.

  “Don’t forget your safe word, Layla,” he responds.

  “Will you come running to me like a knight in shining armor?” I ask.

  He grins, and turns his back on me. I watch him go, and my body quivers as I mentally count down the days until the time is right, and he can finally be mine.

  2

  Jack

  Present Day.

  It’s been close to six long years since I’d last spoken to Layla.

  After that crazy night in her bathroom, I left the party, and drove straight home so I could whack off in the shower. A few nights later her father died in my arms, and life as I knew it had changed in a heartbeat—literally.

  Layla once asked me if I’d run to her and be her knight in shining armor. A strange strangled noise catches in my throat. I’m no one’s hero. Fuck, I couldn’t even save my partner and bes
t friend.

  I take in a sharp breath, suck air into the pit of my stomach where the pain of loss sits like a lodged bullet. I don’t want to think about that night we lost Phil. I’ve tried forever to block it from my mind, but it’s times like these, when I’m sitting all alone in my kitchen and nursing a bourbon, that my mind likes to take a journey back in time.

  A fucking robbery gone wrong.

  I never knew how I would tell Phil about Layla, and sometimes I think this is karma kicking my ass. I was doing something I shouldn’t have been doing, and paid a steep price. Phil was my partner and best friend and this is his daughter we’re talking about. While I thought Phil was a shitty father, it still didn’t change the fact that he was Layla’s father. But after his death, everything had changed. As I held him, applied pressure to his chest wound, he reached out and gripped my arm. With blood oozing from his mouth, he said only four little words that day, four little words that changed everything for me.

  Take care of Layla.

  Our idea on how she needed to be cared for differed drastically—of that I have no doubt. I wanted Layla in my arms and in my bed. No way did I ever want to become a father figure to her. But my best friend’s dying words asked me to do just that. How the fuck could I say no? He was dying, for Christ’s sake.

  I pick my drink up and wander through my sparse house. I’ve thought about leaving over the years, taking that job in New York, but I don’t want to be too far from the woman I love. I’ve watched her grow, change, all without her ever knowing I was in the shadows. I watched her finish college, blossom into a beautiful woman, full of confidence and poise. She’s two years into her law degree now, working for Taylor and Grant in the city. I’m proud of the woman she’s become, proud that despite not really being wanted, she overcame obstacles and made something of herself.

  Tired of my trip down memory lane, I grab my keys and head to the bar, one frequented by my colleagues. I push open the heavy door, scan the room and make my way to the pool tables. From my peripheral vision I catch a glimpse of Karen—Layla’s mother.

  She’s had one too many drinks again, and a knot of responsibility coils through me. Sure Phil asked me to take care of Layla, and if he hadn’t died seconds after those words left his mouth, I’m sure he would have asked me to take care of Karen, too. It kind of goes without saying. I cut across the room, and grab a pool stick. I slam the handle on the floor, and chalk the end as I check out the game in progress.

  The second Karen sees me, she jumps from her chair, but wobbles a bit when she reaches me. “Whoa,” I say and pull her into my arms. She goes soft, pliable, and presses her breasts into my chest. “You okay?” I ask.

  “I am now,” she says and runs her hand through my hair. The guys all look at me. I’m sure many of them think I’m fucking Karen, but I’m not. Jesus, I’m pretty sure I’m the only single guy in the bar who hasn’t had her. Not that being single has anything to do with it. I know a few of the married men who’ve gone home with her, too. The sour smell of lemon gin and sadness wafts over my face as she laughs again. I wince. Karen had always loved to drink, but since Phil’s death, things have gotten a little out of control.

  “Why don’t we get out of here?” I say.

  “Aren’t you at least going to buy me a drink first,” she says and then starts laughing.

  “I think you’ve had enough,” I respond, unable to stop myself, even though I know it will put her on the defense.

  She pushes off me, her mood darkening. “So now you’re my father?” she asks.

  “Come on, Karen,” I say, switching tactics. “Let me take you home.”

  She blinks, her head bobbing a little as she works to absorb my words. For the last few years she’s been trying to get me in her bed. Maybe if she thinks I’m finally caving, she’ll go with me without causing a scene.

  “We’ll have drinks at your place,” I say to seal the deal.

  She walks away on too-high heels, and wobbles again as she grabs her purse. I glare at every guy in the room, daring them to say a fucking word. They all avert their gazes. Good-fucking-thing. Truthfully, if they knew me, they’d know I was nothing like them, and was not about to fuck my dead best friend’s wife. But none of these guys know me, and other than my partner, Garrett, who is watching me with astute eyes, I don’t really give a shit what they think.

  Garrett unfolds his arms, and crosses the room. He’s a big guy, as big as me, and everyone steps out of his way.

  “Need anything?” he asks.

  “No, I got this.”

  He nods and doesn’t push. We’ve grown close over the years, and he knows where I stand when it comes to Karen. Other than me, Garrett might be the only guy in the room who hasn’t fucked her.

  Karen clings to me like dryer lint as I lead her outside. The warm summer air washes over us, and I guide her to my truck, thankful I didn’t bring my motorcycle. I help her in, buckle her up, and circle the front. I feel her eyes on me, and she’s trying to play sexy when I slip into the driver’s seat.

  “I don’t see much of you anymore, Jack,” she slurs. “You used to come around all the time after Phil died.”

  “Been busy,” I say. It’s not a lie. Work has been busy, not to mention stalking Layla. I can’t help it if I like to keep an eye on her. I care about her a great deal, plus I made a vow to her father to watch over her. My gut tightens. I hate the way we left things. I said good-bye to her after her father’s funeral. Little did she know at the time it meant forever. I can imagine how much she hates me now. But maybe it’s better that way. If she hates me, she’ll be able to move on.

  Karen’s arm snakes out and her palm squeezes the gearshift. Still reeking of gin and sadness, she runs her fingers along the length of it, mimicking a hand job. My heart sinks, and I suck in a breath. It kills me to see her like this, but I’m glad I’m the one taking her home. On nights like this, if she’s not leaving with one of the guys, she’s calling Layla to come care for her. I hate the thoughts of Layla seeing her mother like this, always feeling responsible for her health and safety, always feeling guilty over being born. Sadly, the roles in that family have always been reversed, and it pisses me the hell off.

  I pull up to her house, and help her out. She’s giggling, and touching me all over as I use the key she’d given me a long time ago to let us both in.

  I guide her to the sofa, and she says, “About that drink.”

  “Coming right up,” I say. I drop my keys onto her coffee table, wanting her to think I’m staying for a while as I walk to the bar, and pour a stiff one. With any luck this will knock her out and put her to sleep. Come morning, she won’t know whether I’ve slept with her or not. Let her think I have, then maybe that will scratch the itch and she’ll let it go. I pour myself a drink, but make it weak.

  She smiles as I hand the glass to her, and I hold mine out for a cheer. “Bottoms up,” I say, and hope she puts it back in one gulp the way I’m doing. She does, and then I excuse myself. I make my way to the bathroom and hope like hell she’s passed out by the time I come back.

  I take my time, splash some water on my face and give it an extra minute before quietly cracking the door. I head back to the living room, but Karen is not where to be found. Walking quietly, I pad to the bedroom and find her on the bed, half dressed. I shake my head at the sad sight. She really needs some help. I’ve tried over the years and I know Layla has too, but the final decision to get better has to come from Karen.

  I step up to the bed, pull off her shoes, and pants, leaving her in her unbuttoned shirt and panties. I tuck her in, and I’m about to leave when she moans something in her sleep, then sits up. I go still as she stares at me, her look completely blank, and when her lids fall shut again, and she collapses back onto her pillow, I tiptoe from her room, shut the door behind me and make my way down the hall.

  Layla’s college graduation picture is hung crooked on the wall and I touch it, shifting it slightly to straighten it. As I look at the beau
tiful college graduate, it brings back heated memories of that night she rubbed herself over my leg until she climaxed. Jesus, that image is permanently etched in my mind—an image I call on whenever I take my cock into my hands.

  I grab my truck keys from the coffee table, and make my way to the front door. As I approach, I pull my phone from my back pocket and turn it over in my hand. I stare at it, like I’ve done a million times over the last six year. Bone deep loneliness grips me hard. I want to call her, but can’t. How can I ever be in her presence, and pretend to be her guardian when all I want is to bury myself in the heat between her legs?

  My phone pings and I jump, hitting the wall behind me with a thud. Fuck, the unexpected sound scared the shit out of me. I slide my finger across the screen, and when I see the number flash on the glass panel, I go still, too shocked to even breathe.

  3

  Layla

  “Same guy, different night. I am so bored,” I say to Luanne.

  “I don’t know about that. I see plenty of guys I’d like to climb between the sheets with,” my best friend says, as her gaze darts around the room, stopping to linger on a few guys looking our way, tongues wagging. Eww…

  I laugh despite myself. Some things never change…then again, some things do. I glance around the bar, take in the bevy of hot guys. Our usual hangout is teeming with men tonight—none of whom I want anything to do with. I put my hands over my head and give a big, ready-for-bed, stretch. Yeah, I want to climb between the sheets too, but there is only one man I want to climb between them with, and Lu knows that. If I can’t have him, I might as well get a good night’s sleep.

  “Christ, it’s ten o’clock on a Friday night, and you’re ready for bed. You’re seriously way too young to start collecting cats.”

  I laugh, but it holds no humor because I fear that’s exactly the direction I’m heading. Crazy cat lady at twenty-four. Now that’s something to look forward to. I play with my straw, swirling it around my strawberry daiquiri. “I really need to get out of this town, make a fresh start.”