by Avery Aster
The Abercrombie wannabe, Senator’s son, peace of Lhaso Apso crap-on-a-stick, pussy car driving, voluptuous-woman hating, coke-sniffing, MILF’s lover boy, otherwise known as Kelle Sterling Dolley, who’d probably just gotten himself an incurable STD gaped.
“Buh-bye now!” I waved, getting all Posh Spice.
The doors closed and so did this chapter of my life.
Or so I’d hoped….
PS, Don’t wanna talk about the flammability of StrawberryNet’s Ultra Mega Super-duper Hold Extreme Hairspray when burned with a poly-blend fabric and photo paper.
Two words: Ka Boom!
Oh My Friggin’ Gawd
Franklin D. Roosevelt East River Drive
“Pull over!”
I could’ve sworn I heard that come from somewhere behind me while riding Vamp north on the FDR Drive. When I looked back, I didn’t see anything except a taupe-colored Mercedes.
My BFF and VBF had helped me load my luggage into the trunk of the limo. We’d made one stop for Vive to pick up some liquor to make her cosmos. Vive’s driver had bought the booze for her. I know!
We were on our way uptown. New location, new life—here I come. No more Kelle, that was for sure. Having my ex call me a fat dumb “c” motivated me to move on in ways I hadn’t anticipated, even more so than him sleeping with Mom. Like uber grossness.
In regards to getting revenge on Kelle, it all seemed overrated. Why put good energy into a bad situation? He wasn’t worth it. I was free to get my adult life started, and I wanted to, right now. Possibly faster than Vamp could even take me. From this moment forward I’d live every day as if it was my birthday. Because this weekend, it was. Hello.
Blue and red lights flashed.
Had the candied dots and spots returned? Or was I hallucinating? I eased my grip on the throttle and glanced in the rearview mirror.
On a Harley Davidson, riding my purple bum, wasn’t the luxury car I saw earlier but a brick-house of a man. I looked closer and realized he was from the New York Police Department.
I checked the odometer.
43 mph.
He changed lanes. The cop wasn’t for me. So I adjusted my Chanel sunglasses over the bridge of my nose, refocused my attention on Vive’s stretch Bentley ahead, and throttled on.
Vive’s rear bumper read: Party with Our Girl Vive! The Farnworth Firewater liquor company, founded by her great grandfather had a logo of two inverted F’s bookending the slogan. It had been Vive’s mantra for as long as I’d known her. She’d been born with glitter and glamour in her veins.
The girls waved at me from the rear window toasting their cocktails. Taddy’s lips moved faster than the wheels on the Bentley.
On my left, the Harley came up beside me. To get a better look at him, I dropped my chin and peered out over my shades.
All I could make out other than his shiny blue helmet and black aviators were his biceps. With python arms wider than my thighs, his body reminded me of The Hulk right before his clothes would shred and he’d turn green.
Hot.
Smothered in ink he sported a tattoo sleeve up and down his right arm.
So hot!
Staring ahead, he held what must be his radio and talked on it.
He couldn’t see my eyes under these shades. Right? I pushed the frames back toward my sockets and winked flirtatiously.
Taddy had mentioned earlier while we loaded up the limo, “Girlie, the sooner you start thinking about other men, the faster that’ll put Kelle out of your horny mind,”
Taking Taddy’s advice, I tried to imagine this cop naked. I could easily gaze at him for hours. When he didn’t look over, I licked my lips and blew him a kiss.
I’d only closed my eyes for a second, and sure enough, when I opened them he stared at me and frowned.
“Ahem.” I cleared my throat. All I needed to do next was crash Vamp into the dog park over there, shouldering the highway because I was too busy cruising the NYPD. Not! I returned my attention to the road.
Sirens sounded.
Eh? I glanced back to Hulk on the Harley.
Those delicious guns, which could easily pin my body down while he teased my Lady V, punched the summer skies. The cop pointed at me and shouted, “Scooter! Pull over.”
“Me?” I shouted back at him, poking my finger at my chest. Come on, dude. I was only teasing. He couldn’t possibly be giving me a ticket for blowing him an air-kiss could he?
He nodded.
Ugh. I slowed down.
Hulk on a Harley sped up next to the limo, motioning for them to do the same.
The Bentley’s brake lights flashed.
The girls got up on their knees and peered out.
Vive sat on the left. She stuck her head out the window and shouted, “What’s the matter, Officer? We weren’t speeding!” I thought she’d lost her mind to address a cop like that.
Ohhh. Then I realized it was a distraction technique.
As Vive drew attention to herself, Taddy cracked the door on the opposite side and dumped out the liquor. Smart girl.
Today couldn’t get any worse. I knew God had a funny sense of humor. However she wouldn’t give me some bogus ticket on the very day in which my boyfriend had been caught banging Mom. Would she?
Knock, knock. Hello God, are you listening up there?
Once everyone’s wheels came to a complete stop on the side of the highway—by the distance of the Queensborough Bridge to our right, I estimated we were near East Seventieth Street—the cop got off his Harley and approached.
“Stay on your bike,” he ordered in a thick Bronx, maybe Brooklyn accent. Striding past me, he went straight for the limo.
I got an eye full of him. Woof!
His ass was stacked like a baseball player’s juicy man-booty. He spoke to Vive’s driver for a minute, and then he talked to Vive.
With her diamond Rolex on her wrist and a ring on every finger, Vive’s hand waved in the air as she talked. Then suddenly her hand balled into a fist, and Vive’s thumb pointed back at me.
He looked at me directly and approached.
Why was I getting nervous? I wasn’t the one in a car drinking underage. As he came closer, I sized him up, literally.
No slouch in sight. Standing at about six-four, he gave new meaning to the word swagger. His broad shoulders moved with a confident stride.
“Afternoon,” he said, his voice deep.
“Hi!” A slight chew of my bottom lip, then I licked my upper. I gave him my most innocent smile.
“License and registration.”
“Um, I, okay, Officer…” I handed him the papers, glancing down at his badge, and read out loud, “God.” What an odd last name.
He lifted his aviators, resting them on his forehead.
Wow. Eyes black as onyx. Making me feel dainty, he stared through me and demanded, “Remove your helmet.”
“Promise not to laugh at my static hair?”
“Now.”
“Sorry, I was kidding. This pulling me over thing is, like, making me nervous.”
“Why’s that?”
“It’s been a rough day. Actually I’d say one of the worst days of my life.” I loosened the strap around my chin and realized he didn’t want to hear my pity party. I sure as fudge felt like crying again though. If I allowed my mind to revisit standing in Birdie’s bedroom doorway earlier today, I would sob up a storm. But why bother?
Officer God flashed his perfectly straight, white teeth, almost as if he was about to curl the edges of his full lips into a smile. He didn’t. Instead he inhaled deeply through his mouth. His broad chest rose up a bit as he held it for a few seconds.
You are one scary, sexy man. I couldn’t help but take in his masculine energy. I smoothed my hair the second I took off my helmet and held it up against my suddenly hard nipples. My headlights were on high. For whatever reason, when aroused they became erect and somewhat pointy.
There was no bra on the market which covered them. Trust me, I’
d tried them all.
A while back, Birdie had suggested a flower-shaped silicone adhesive to contour over them. That’s what she’d used for years on photo shoots. When I’d taped them on, they’d flattened my mounds right out. I thought I’d found my pointy nipple solution.
Ohhh, the sheer torture when I’d peeled those buggers off at the end of the day. Take a band-aid and stick it on a sore spot. Then wait a few hours and rip it off. That hellaciousness is what happened to my nipples.
Calculating in my head 365 days a year multiplied by the fifty more years I’d be taping these puppies down till I hit menopause, it was close to eighteen thousand times. For sure my nipples would only stretch and sag with every application and removal of the contour. So I stuck to no tape.
Regardless, in situations such as this one right here, staring at Officer God who’d descended upon me from the Harley Davidson heavens causing an intense stir in my pussy which in return shot arousing tingles all through me. I wished I’d worn them.
Why? Because it was me on my bike, the cop standing next to me, and my nipples between us screaming for attention.
“Sunglasses too?” I asked, hoping he’d look at my face and not my breasts.
He nodded. “Regardless, I can see your eyes. It’s bright out.” He chuckled causing me to lean forward in curiosity.
“What’s so funny?”
“I could’ve sworn you winked at me when I rode up next to you.”
So friggin’ busted.
“That’s hysterical.” I tried to add a giggle of amusement. However, my tone flattened. I was the world’s worst liar. “As you said, it’s bright out. I, uhhh, must’ve squinted.”
Tugging at the front of his pants, Officer God shifted his weight to one foot. I tried not to stare but I had to look down. I cocked my chin up a bit to make it appear like I wasn’t lowering my focus on his jewels.
OMFG! Down there, he was as hard as a rock. I was afraid it was gonna get loose and slap me across my face. I swallowed the lump in my throat.
“What ‘bout when you blew me a kiss?”
Dang. Clearly Officer God had eyes on the side of his head while he talked on the radio. Quick, I had to come up with a good reason. “Earlier today, I chewed some nappy gum. I spit it out in the trash. So my lips have been involuntarily puckering at everything including cops.” I’d become convinced that all of my earlier symptoms experienced at the penthouse—such as the fever, white spots, and anxiety—had been intensified by that darn gum. From here on out, it was Dylan’s Candy Bar and me together forever, no more weight-loss scams.
The longer he stared at me the more I felt the afternoon’s heat magnifying off the highway’s pavement. The sun shined stronger than before.
Why did I feel as if I’d just been placed in some industrial-strength-professional microwave, set on high, ready to defrost and then bake a turkey, all in a mere sixty seconds? If I was ever going to pass out, I hoped it’d be right now. Otherwise I’ll just drop dead of mortification.
“Mmm.” Officer God didn’t buy my winking and air-kissing excuses. “No static.”
“Huh?”
“Your hair.”
“Oh, right.” I flipped it to the side, letting blonde strands fall over my shoulder. I reeked of the StrawberryNet’s Ultra Mega Super-duper Hold Extreme Hairspray I’d used. Lord, that stuff smelled cheap because it was.
Over the years, I’d learned the more inexpensive the hair product was the better it worked. That can be said for shampoo and conditioner too, hence no static from my helmet, a biker girl’s beauty tip.
“Alexandra Easton.” He said my name and studied my driver’s license.
“That’s me. Everyone calls me Lex.”
Ever since those “Alexandra the Great” articles had appeared in the papers during my childhood I’d requested to shorten my name.
Hearing Officer God say it almost made my name sound sexy. There was no raised influx in his voice, which usually meant he’d identified me as being the daughter of the world’s most famous couple.
I sorta loved that. I can’t remember the last time someone didn’t know of my folks. Like ever.
“Tomorrow is your birthday.” He smiled. “A big one.”
OMFG! Officer God’s grin was utterly heart-melting.
“Eighteen. Can’t wait. My BFF, VBF, and GBF are going to Paris with me tonight. We’re all on the red-eye.” Note, I didn’t say my BF. That’s because I sure as fudge didn’t have one anymore. And Kelle wasn’t going to Paris with us. He could use the first class ticket I’d bought him for a one-way trip to hell.
“Eh?”
“My friends. Two of them are in the limo.”
“Gotcha. I turned twenty-one a few weeks ago. Milestone birthdays spent with close friends are cool.”
“Happy Birthday. Did you do anything fun?”
“Started this new job.” He said proudly and padded his name badge.
“Is your last name really God?”
From the deepest part of him came a chuckle. Baritone, his laughter sent a warm fuzzy to the center of my stomach as if I’d eaten a cinnamon red hot candy.
He scratched his chin for a second then replied, “No. Ford is my first name. Alessandro-Vollero-Gotti is my last. God is short for Gotti. The NYPD didn’t have enough room on my badge. They cut it short.”
It was as if Officer Gotti and I weren’t on the side of the highway. No siree. We were on a date. At least in my head, having a romantic dinner, sharing a plate of spaghetti bolognese and getting to know one another better. Humor me here, people. It’s my birthday weekend, okay?
I studied his uniform. No pins or ribbons decorating him with accomplishment. He was as he said, new to the force. Wrinkled with deep squares as if it had come out of the wrapper, his uniform probably hadn’t even been washed yet, let alone ironed.
Whoever had ordered his uniform should’ve put in for a bigger size. It appeared almost uncomfortable. I wanted to rip it off him. He was gonna get his Hulk on any second now.
I don’t know if was the sun, or the fact that he was the hottest cop I’d ever seen, but for a second as he talked, I couldn’t hear him. It was as if someone had stuffed cotton in my ears. My mind was in another place. I sat back on my bike, letting Vamp’s engine hum between my legs. Nipples hard, the little hairs on the back of my neck saluted.
For a few seconds I fantasized…
Officer Gotti pressed his hard body up against me as I unbuttoned his shirt and ran my fingers over his defined chest.“Lex,” he said to me in a flirtatious voice. “You are one sexy woman.”
“I know.” I replied more confidently than I am in real life because this was my hot-cop daydream. Hello! In my head I’m a drop dead gorgeous diva with the hips of Shakira and the face of Charlize Theron. Besides, regardless of what a woman looks like, if she’s confident in what she has to offer, she’s attractive. At least that’s what Mrs. Pringle, my gym teacher, used to say at Avon Porter.
My right leg came up, sitting sidesaddle on the bike in a Roberto Cavalli leather mini-skirt. I’d had a wardrobe change, fresh application of lip gloss and a spritz of my Diorama perfume too.
He stood in front of me. My knees touched.
“Spread ‘em.” Officer Gotti demanded.
Sweet and innocent, I bit down on my pointer finger and shook my head. “I don’t know what I did wrong to be pulled over.”
Inside I hungered for him to violate me. Take my Lady V.
“Do as you’re told.”
“And if I don’t, Officer?”
“I’ll be forced to restrain you.”
“Restrain away. I’m not spreading.” Glancing down at the bulge swelling in his pants, he seemed turned on by me not giving in so easily.”
Before I knew it, the handcuffs came out. His strapping arms came wide, and he hugged me. Reaching for my hands, Ford cuffed my wrists behind my back.
Clink! Clink! They pinched my skin. He had me under lock and key now.
&nb
sp; There I sat on Vamp, facing him. Merciless! I friggin’ loved it.
“You know damn well what you did and why I had to pull you over. Now you must pay for your crime.” Officer Gotti grabbed my knees and exposed my panties. His erection rubbed against my thighs, sending a pulsing urge to jump on top of him. But I didn’t. I played cool as if I’d done this a million times before.
His huge, square hands framed my face as he kissed me. His touch was rough and callous. But he was trying to be easy on me. I could take it. A thick, wet tongue danced in and out of my mouth as he unbuttoned my blouse.
Caressing my breasts, he kissed my neck and complimented me.
Floating into the summer’s white fluffy clouds, I wanted to hold onto his python arms and balance myself. Simply euphoric, that’s how I’d describe this feeling. With my hands cuffed behind my back, it caused my nipples to distend. I couldn’t take my eyes off of them.
Neither could he.
“Miss Easton, you know what happens to erect nipples, don’tcha?”
“You put tape over ‘em?” I said coyly.
“Never!”
“Then what?” I asked, as he tugged on one.
“I tease. I play. I—” He pinched my nipple.
My spine straightened.
In a unique way Ford exerted control while remaining gentle all the same.
So aroused, I was flying high on the FDR.
“I torture them until you so much as cannot stand even the slightest drag of my tongue over your hot flesh. You’ll whimper for me to stop.”
“Never!” I teased right back.
“I wanna hear you beg.”
“What else do you do to them Officer?”
“They get eaten.” In a flash, he dropped his head to my left breast and licked. “Birthday girl, you taste—” Nipping at my sensitive flesh, his teeth grazed over them sending arousing chills all through my body. Then gently he clamped down, giving a slight tug.
Ohhh my gummy bears.
He released and said, “Your nipple tastes like sugar.”
“That feels…good. Don’t stop. Please, Officer. I’m begging just as you wanted. Go on. Keep licking my sugar.”
