Against the LawbyLucy1970Harker©
It had been a long day when she saw the flashing lights behind her and heard the siren go off.
Doesn't it just fucking figure, she thought. What could have made this shitty day any worse?
A speeding ticket. Of course.
She didn't think she'd been going all that fast. The meeting she'd been covering for the paper had gone late, though, and she was tired and wanted to get home to her empty bed — so it was definitely possible she'd leaned a little harder on the gas than she should have.
She pulled over on the dark road and the police car pulled in behind her. She wondered if she might know the cop. She'd never ask for special treatment, of course, but after covering news in a small town for nearly a decade, the odds are her name might ring a bell and she might get some leniency.
Or get an additional fine, depending on who it was.
She watched in her rear view mirror as the officer got out of the car and she did the unthinkable — she smiled. Of all the police officers, it would have to be him.
Only her favorite police officer on the whole force, for crying out loud. It hadn't occurred to her he might be in the car since he'd told her he was working a different schedule. But boy, his tall muscular frame and dreamy blue eyes were a sight for her sore ones. Ticket pad in hand, or not.
He walked over to her passenger side window as the street was quiet but a main thoroughfare.
He leaned on the window frame with both hands.
"Hello, ma'am," he said, trying desperately to appear serious despite the smile dancing around his lips.
"Good evening, Sergeant," she said, smiling back. It was impossible not to despite her vow about ten minutes earlier that she'd never smile again.
"Do you know why I pulled you over, ma'am?" he said.
"Hm," she said.
"Because you've been just looking for an excuse to put me in handcuffs for a while?" she said.
Now he laughed out loud.
"I can't confirm that for the record, ma'am. But the speed limit here is 40 mph. You were going 50," he said.
Cars suddenly whizzed past her on her driver's side.
"Do me a favor — pull in here. You're impeding traffic," he said, directing her to a vacant parking lot for a business closed for the evening on her right.
"Ok," she said. Was he really going to give her a ticket? Shit. Of all people. She didn't think he'd be the one to bust her. And it was only 10 fucking miles over.
She pulled into the lot and he followed, no sirens or lights this time, and pulled in next to her.
He got out of the car again. He was adorable any day but in his uniform, his waist heavily flanked by his symbols of authority — her heart thumped. He could give her a ticket — anytime.
"Please step out of the car, ma'am," he said.
She could hear his police radio crackle and hiss with insignificant crimes that often took up his time in this wealthy, white-collar neighborhood. If he wanted to stall her bust, no pun intended, that was all right with her. She got it.
She opened the car door and got out, closing it behind her. She looked up at him, always surprised by how much he towered over her when she stood next to him. She wasn't short but he made her feel tiny.
She looked at him with a face bordering on adolescent pout.
"You're not really going to give me a speeding ticket, are you?" she said.
Still, the smile danced around his mouth, trying so hard to maintain his law enforcement seriousness.
She always broke him with a laugh. Their sense of humor was one of the many places they felt connected.
"Listen, cop," she said, mocking the many local preppy teens and their attitude toward the cops she'd heard stories about for years.
She crossed her arms.
"My dad's a lawyer. You wait till he finds out you pulled me over. He'll have your job," she said.
He laughed out loud again.
"Is that so, princess?" he said.
"Turn around and put your hands on the hood of your truck," he said.
She blinked for a second.
"Huh?" she said.
"You heard me. The more you cooperate, the easier this will be for you," he said, once again failing to look entirely serious. She realized she'd never really seen him face to face without him being a few degrees into a smile when looking at her.
"Now turn around, and put your hands on the hood of your truck," he said.
Her heart, and her breathing level, increased their beats in simultaneous speeds.
She turned around and followed his instructions, hands on the hood. They were entirely alone in the parking lot. It seemed even the cars on the nearby road had stopped.
It was as if the whole world had stopped, breathing along with her, waiting to see what would happen next. No sound was available to mask her thumping heart.
"Now, spread your legs," he said.
Her eyes fluttered momentarily.
She moved her legs apart. She was wearing jeans, a fitted white T-shirt, and sneakers. Not exactly lust material.
Instinctively, feeling the flare of lust ignite through her, her fingers tried to dig into something like muscled forearms, but only found the unyielding metal of her truck hood.
"Wider," he said, this time his moved his leg between hers and gently nudged her right leg out further, opening her legs wider.
"Is there anything I should know about before I search you — anything you might be hiding," he said softly, from behind her.
Her eyes again closed.
There were a lot of things she was hiding at the moment. And not well, either.
"No," she whispered.
She felt him move behind her, felt him by instinct down her body from behind her.
His hands started at her left ankle.
Both hands cupped her ankle, massaging it in the guise of a search, and moved up, fingers probing her calf, she could feel the heat, the pressure of his shoulders behind her legs.
Now to the knee, his thumbs pressing into the back of her knee, fingers firmly but gently moving over it, and she began to tremble. She could feel it all over.
The rough material of her jeans made his movements all the more sensual, rubbing against her soft skin, and still, his search moved higher. His hands moved over her knee, now to the thigh.
She fought and failed to control a gasp in her throat as his fingers dug into the millions of nerve endings he discovered in her inner thigh, where he seemed to be most focused. His thumbs rotated and teased her inner left thigh until she lifted one hand from the hood of the car to bite her knuckle.
"Hands back on the car," he whispered, but his voice sounded different. She realized she wasn't the only one feeling it.
"I don't want to have to cuff you," he said.
Cuff me, she thought. Cuff me, please.
His hands moved up, further, reaching the top of her inner thigh, pushing his thumbs just below her ass and then pulled away.
Again, he started the same movements on her right ankle, massaging, teasing her leg with his fingers, finding that sensitive spot in inner knee, and easing up her inner thigh. His thumb circling, his grip strong. She couldn't breathe.
"Are you sure you aren't hiding anything?" he asked.
She nodded. She was suddenly at a loss for words.
She felt him against her back now, hands on her hips, tightly holding them.
Then his hands slowly moved up to her belly — through her T-shirt, up her ribs, under her arms, over her shoulders, stopping to squeeze them.
"You're moving your legs back together again," he said, putting his hands next to hers on the hood of the car so his mouth was by her ear. His body was pressed against her back.
"I told you to spread them. Now do it," he whispered.
She bit her lip and inched her feet further apart.
He moved back from her and moved his hands over hers, on the car, at her wrists, covering every inch with his fingers. His thumbs moved in a circle inside her elbows, stroking them, up to her forearms, digging into them harder.
She let out a small gasp involuntarily. The clash of so many sensations and emotions was beginning to overwhelm her brain activity. She was nervous and excited. She was embarrassed but eager.
She wanted desperately to run, while at the same time wanting him to throw her on the hood of the truck and screw her senseless just as badly.
His fingers reached her shoulders again, his fingers simulating an actual search poorly by then.
"I can't help but feel like I'm still missing something," he whispered.
With that, his hands inched their way down from her shoulders and slowly, slowly, ran his hands over her chest, holding her breasts in his hands, moving his hands over them in gentle circles.
Her nipples, already the first to respond when she was turned on, were already over-sensitive, after his hands all over her. With his hands moving over them — they were so nerve-charged under his touch — impossible to hide. Her eyes clenched shut in embarrassment and sensual agony.
Behind her, he bit his lip at feeling her pronounced nipples against his palms through her T-shirt. He was glad her back was to him so she couldn't see his face.
Was there any way for him not to find them with his fingers? Any way to not feel their hardness, make it worse? It wasn't the best idea, but neither one of them were thinking what would come next. It was all about the means — screw the end.
And so they both knew that his fingers would be drawn like magnets to those hardened nipples.
"I knew you were hiding something," he said.
"They weren't there before, Sergeant. I swear," she whispered.
Her hips had begun to move with his touch, moving back, urging him to press against her again.
He was initially stalling, because in doing so, he would be revealing some secrets of his own.
His fingers squeezed her nipples gently at first, tugging on them, and she sighed now, finally, impatiently reaching behind her to grab him by his heavy belt and pull him to her.
The hardness against her ass certainly wasn't his gun, and it wasn't helping her gather her thoughts at all.
She moved against him now, finally lifting her hands from the car, and reaching behind her to reach for his neck, pulling his mouth to her neck, and he moved them around to lean himself against the car, his hands moving up, under her shirt, her back to his front, moving and softly grinding together.
He moved down to lift her up against him because he was so much taller than she was, and it was hard to reach her neck with his mouth, but he managed. She felt his hot breath on her neck, and his hands found her naked nipples, working them harder, squeezing them over and over.
He could feel her heart, feel her sighs coming faster, turning more into "Oh....yeahs" than sighs.
He knew where this was headed.
She did too and there was nothing she could do to stop it. She reached orgasm through her nipples faster than any other way and that was under normal circumstances. This...this was extraordinary to say the least.
Still embarrassed, she tried to pull his hands away for a feeble moment.
"No, I...I can't. I...you don't understand. I can't do this in front of you," she whispered.
He turned her face to look up at his, over her shoulder.
Oh God, she thought. Not the blue eyes that I want to lose myself in, to swim away in, naked and never come back. But there they were. Those blue eyes.
"Yes you can," he whispered into her mouth.
"And you will. You have to do what I tell you? Remember?" and his blue eyes held that hint of smile, as delicious as honey.
She knew she was done for. She closed her eyes, and felt him lift her against his body again, their hips back to front, feeling him hard against her, and his mouth in her neck, whispering to her, urging her on, and on again, until she finally felt her aching nipples teased and tugged for the last time she could stand it.
As she came shuddering against his body, his arms wrapped around her ribs to hold her up and to feel the shocks go through her. She reached behind her, wanting to feel him, looking for his...
"No," he said, warmly but firmly.
And she was too tired to argue.
After a bit, he let her go and she was shyly finding it hard to meet his eyes. He smiled to himself and walked her to the driver's side door.
She stopped before getting in and looked him right in the eye.
"So," she said, smiling, "Do I get a ticket?"
He laughed softly.
"Not this time, ma'am — just a verbal warning," he said.
"But please be more aware of the speed limit, and slow down," he said.
She turned to get in the car, and turned back once more.
"You sure you don't want to threaten me with a ticket?" she said.
Her eyes, recovered from her momentary shyness, were hot. He could almost hear them crackle and burn. They reached through his, into his heart and took hold of his dick with both hands — which was coincidentally where her eyes were now focused.
"Because if you wanted to threaten me with a ticket, I've got all sorts of propositions to offer you to try to get out of it," she said, smiling at him wickedly.
God, was he tempted to write her a thousand tickets. But fuck. He knew couldn't.
He grabbed her by both elbows and pushed her against the passenger door of her car.
Her smile never left, her eyes locked with his — but she did let out a small, surprised and pleasurable gasp with his move.
He bent his shoulders to look directly into her eyes, his mouth almost touching hers.
"I was easy on you this time. Remember that," he whispered, using his full authoritative tone.
"Next time, you might not be so lucky," he said.
She watched his mouth form the words and realized the need to kiss him was almost a physical ache. She knew it would be in-fucking-credible.
Instead, she just smiled. She'd play his game. His way.
"All right, Sergeant," she said.
"Thank you," she said.
He backed away from her toward his car, their eyes still locked together.
"Have a good evening, ma'am. And please, drive carefully," he said, unable to mask the smile that lit up his blue eyes like moonlight on the ocean.
She smiled back, gave him a salute, and with shaking hands she put her key in the ignition and just sat in her car for a few minutes, pondering if turning to a life of crime would be worth it.
A few days later, he heard his phone buzz with a text message. They'd proceeded as usual since the 'speeding incident,' talking about work related topics. It was easier that they didn't have to see each other — usually just talking by phone or by text. Looking into each others' eyes might have been hard, especially if other people were around.
He was certain she'd blush. And he couldn't be so certain he wouldn't have also. He was glad it seemed that their little moment hadn't changed their relationship or affected it permanently. He truly did like her and liked giving her information that she needed, and generally enjoyed talking to her. They had the same sense of humor and laughed a lot.
However, he couldn't help but have his mind steal back to that night. He wanted to forget it, but he couldn't. He was having trouble sleeping sometimes, thinking of her body shivering in his hands. She seemed to have managed quite easily though.
At least he thought she had. Until the latest text. Telling him she'd heard of reported criminal activity that might take place that night. And an address.
That was all.
He didn't respond. He just looked at the phone for a while until his police radio cracked again. Then he put it out of his mind and didn't respond. After all, his shift didn't even end until the wee hours of the morning. What was he going to do? Drive all the way there at 2 a.m.?
But that's exactly what he did.
When he pulled up, the house was dark save one light somewhere upstairs. He told himself it was insane. But then he closed his eyes, as he'd done many times over the last week, and breathed in the scent of her neck. He heard her struggling sighs. He felt her body warm and tight against his, his arms holding her to him.
He shut the door of his police car. He had been in such a rush to drive there he hadn't even changed into his civilian clothes. Something told him if she was still awake, she wouldn't mind.
He quietly tapped the sliding glass door but the downstairs was dark. Still telling himself he was utterly insane, he slid the door open. Nothing like a cop breaking and entering, he thought.
His belt and all its equipment clinked and clanked his arrival.
Somewhere upstairs, she sighed in her sleep, sensing it — waking up.
He walked up the stairs, slowly. His nervous energy was more intense than he felt during any bust he made on a regular basis. Why? He couldn't figure it out.
He still had time to bail on this, he told himself as he walked down the hall to the lit doorway. He still had time to bail. But his body wasn't listening.
As he got to the doorway, she stirred and opened her eyes.
"You've got to be fucking kidding me," he said. If there was a white flag, he was waving it. He gave up fighting.
The room was dark other than a thick candle on the dresser. It lit the pale blue walls faintly.
She was sprawled on the bed in an ivory silk nightgown, clinging to her body down to her mid-thighs where it ended.
She lifted herself onto her elbows. Her nipples were outlined through the nightgown.
"Come on, officer," she said.
"I'm sure you've handled worse situations," she said.
"You shouldn't sleep with a candle lit," he said, defaulting to focusing on safety.
"You could start a fire," he said.
"I knew you were coming," she said, smiling at him.
"I never have to worry about being safe with you around to protect me," she said.
His fists clenched in his hands. He found himself counting to ten trying to control himself. It was simply too much. The sleepless nights. The aching in his heart. In his dick, remembering the other night. Thinking about all the possible outcomes. The darkness that hid him stroking himself hard and fast to take the edge off.
And now, she was there, hair a sleepy mess, naked under a layer of silk, on a bed. With that look in her eye.
Ready. So ready.
He counted to ten again.
She sat on the bed.
"Come here," she said.
He listened, but sat on the edge of the bed. She moved behind him. He felt her body against his back. Her hands on his shoulders.
"Is there anything you are hiding from me?" she said.
He smiled. Uh, yeah? He thought. But something told him she'd find it fast.
Her hands moved over his back, feeling it rippling with just enough muscle, borne of pain and sweat, of years of special police training.. She moved down his hard arms, pushing her chest against his back, reaching his waist — and finding it.
He grabbed her hands as they took hold of his gun.
"Wait," he said.
His skilled hands took it from her and carefully emptied it of ammunition. Then he handed it back to her. Her arms under his, holding his gun, stroking it.
"Show me hold to hold it," she said.
He took her hands in his with the gun in them and she was pleased to feel his trembling in hers. Together they took the gun in her hands, raised his arms, and aimed it, his finger over hers on the trigger. Her heart thundered in her chest.
She let go of the gun and he laid it on the side table. Her hands continued to search him while her mouth, her hot tongue, moved across the back of his neck and he leaned into it, his hands reaching behind him to find her thighs under her night gown.
"I want the handcuffs" she whispered.
He laughed quietly, and reached for them, but stood up and turned her on her back on the bed.
She watched him intently as he kneeled over her, holding his handcuffs over her.
"You know what? I should arrest you," he said.
"On what charge?" she whispered, smiling.
He pushed his hands down on her arms, and said, "distracting the hell out of a police officer."