Author's Note: This follows my story "Eyewitness Testimony," but it's not necessary to read that to understand this story. I have the intention of turning this into a continuing series following Nick and Elizabeth, and I am more than happy to honor requests. If there's something you would like to see with these two - a fetish, threesome, on-the-job teasing - drop me a line and I'll see what I can do for you. I'm always happy to write-to-order. Consider this a "choose-your-own-smut-adventure" story. ;-) Now, on to the story!
My partner, ladies and gentlemen. My partner is a straight-laced, by-the-book cop. He wears a suit and tie to work, he believes in the rule of law. He doesn't take shit from suspects, or from me. When I was first assigned to him, I'm pretty sure he had only glanced at my record due to the look on his face when he realized I was a woman. Most guys on the force referred to me as Dylan, my surname. But walking into the squad room, there was no doubt that I was an Elizabeth.
He started out doing the typical, macho thing; trying to protect me, refused to let me do any heavy lifting. All it took for him to take me seriously was a smoky bar, a handsy biker and my gun pressed into said biker's crotch until he backed off. After that, he treated me as an equal. The night we finally got Steven Jacobson on the murder of his wife and daughter, the captain took us out to celebrate. A few beers at the bar, a highly illegal drunk drive home, one more six pack killed in the kitchen, and then we were fucking against the counter.
I barely remembered taking his cock out, but I remember it better than our first kiss. He pushed my shirt up and rubbed the small of my back, good Lord, how I loved that, and pushed inside of me. Hard, fast, certain of himself. When he came, I was certain of just one thing: we were going to do that again.
So far, it had been three years and going strong. We shared fantasies, did whatever our partner asked. If I wanted to be handcuffed to the bed, Nick did it. If Nick wanted to be blindfolded and teased, well, hell, that was basically one of my fantasies, too. The only thing we hadn't done, so far, was pegging. I longed to put on a strap-on, fuck his tight ass. But he was a little wary. It was okay, I was patient.
We are always a hundred percent professional on the job. Usually. We weren't above the rare quickie in an interrogation room. One late night we had played Naughty Cop, Arrested Madame in the empty holding cells. That's what I loved; the risk. The chance of being caught, of being seen. Most of the people on the force didn't know about us, but I liked to test the limits of revealing everything to them.
There were times, though, when it was hard to focus. Watching him press a suspect against a wall and growl the Miranda rights into his ear... all I could think about was how much I wished it was me. I had to learn control. This morning, Nick has a court-date and I had a rare day off. Unless, of course, there was a call that required my attention. So I kept my cell phone with me, cooked breakfast wearing only my robe, and kissed Nick good-bye at the door.
I cupped his crotch through his suit pants and murmured, "Knock 'em dead, killer," against his lips.
He groaned and made his escape while he could still stand upright. I snickered as I watched him drive out of the garage, then went back into the house. My little pink robe had a lace trim, and if any of the guys at the station spotted me in it, I would never live it down. It ended mid-thigh and left my long, lithe legs bare. Nicky loved my body, but he had a special thing for my legs. Naked but for high heels and stockings was better for him that completely naked. Today was for me, though, not him, and I was barefoot as I returned to the living room.
I sat on the couch and curled one leg up under my body. I had set up the homemade DVD before Nick even got up, and I spent the entire morning itching to start it. I picked up the remote control and slid down on the cushions a bit. The DVD player clicked, whirred, and finally began to play.
It was a film I had recorded the first week of our affair. Nick was in bed, and I had finally exhausted him to the point where he didn't wake up when I got out of bed. My plan was to shower, maybe get something to eat, but I couldn't tear my eyes off of him. So I picked up the camera and started filming him.
My hand slid up my thigh as I watched my hand on-screen, reaching out and running down Nick's hairy chest. I curled my fingernails in the hairs, pinched his nipples and then slid down. He stirred as I whipped the blanket away, and I hesitated, but he didn't wake. The camera focused on his cock, limp and dead against his thigh, and I bit my lip in real life as I watched the digital version of me gently cup him in her hand.
I parted my robe and moved my hand between my legs as I watched Nick start to grow hard. I stroked him on-screen, and stroked myself in real life, remembering the sight of his cock sliding between my fingers so easily. I had never watched a guy get hard before; it was always ready to go by the time I got his pants off. And after that, well, it was usually groping in the dark for Round Two. It was marvelous and mesmerizing.
"What are you doing?" he murmured half-asleep.
I withdrew my hand and backed up, sitting cross-legged on the other side of the bed. "Do it," I whispered.
"You know." My voice was shaking with excitement. My clit was hard and I rubbed it between two fingers.
He started to stroke, the first example I had of what a good boy he was. "What should I think about?" he asked.
"You have a beautiful, naked woman crouched on your bed watching you jack off, and you have to fantasize?"
"Well... I do usually fantasize about you."
"That dark red blouse? That's a favorite. And the black skirt..."
I remembered forgetting all about the camera, but the lens stayed fixed on Nick's cock. God, it was gorgeous... My only thoughts were to drop the camera, pounce on him, take it into my mouth... but I had set the rules of this game. I wouldn't be the one to break them. But how I wished I had now.
I had two fingers inside myself now, watching my steady camerawork from all those years ago. The number of times I had seen his cock, stroked and sucked it, had it in every hole possible, and I was still turned on just from the sight of it. His heavy balls hanging down underneath, his powerful thighs framing the shot... oh, God, I was going to lose it already. I arched my back and lifted my ass off the couch cushions, the sound of my voice and Nick's still coming from the TV sounding tinny and faraway as I came. I dropped the remote and pushed my robe out of the way, squeezing my left breast until my body relaxed and I melted into the couch.
I was spent, sleepy, and reluctant to move, but I kept watching the movie. I whimpered when Nick came, and I watched my fingers sweep over his thigh and cock to gather the spilled come. Then I bent down, sucked his fingers and his cock and aimed the camera up at his face. The movie ended with a close-up of him, grabbing the camera and shutting it off. The off-camera sequel was doggy-style, and he pulled my hair. I trembled at the thought and rubbed my thighs together.
I knew I would have to take a shower before Nicky got home. But if I timed it right... I looked at the clock. He was due in court at noon, figure a half hour for giving testimony and then an hour drive home. He would want to bring me lunch, such a good boy, and so he would call on his way. I would just use that phone call as a warning to run to the bathroom and hop in the shower. He would come home, find me, strip down, and then we would find new and interesting ways to use the soap.
And maybe... oh, maybe, if I was a very good girl, he would let me use the strap-on tonight.