Cold Cases and Hot Nights

My ex had always needed a lot of foreplay before she was wet enough. Rochelle was already pretty slippery, and as I worked the finger in and out, she got more slippery. When I moved that fingertip out, up over her inner lips, and then to her clit, Rochelle lurched up again.

Her clit wasn't really big enough I could feel a bump, but it was there, and as I gently rubbed the little hood of skin over it, Rochelle's hips began to rock up and down. When I stopped and slipped my finger back inside her, Rochelle moaned and started trying to find my cock. Once she had it in her hand, she started slowly stroking my length.

For a while, that's all we did. I wanted to be sure Rochelle was ready for me. It didn't take long though, before she pulled gently on my cock and whispered, "I need you now."

I'd also forgotten how that first thrust feels, and once I'd slipped my cock head between Rochelle's soft, swollen lips, I remembered that it hadn't felt like this with my ex. My ex had never done much except lay there. As soon as Rochelle felt my cock head at her entrance, she pushed up. My cock slipped about half way inside her. She gasped and kept trying to push up more, but I slipped my cock back out.

My second stroke made it most of the way inside Rochelle, in large part because she kept lifting herself up and moving from side to side. As my cock slowly sank into her wet warmth, she stroked my back and then grabbed my hips. With one more lift of her hips, she had my cock in her enough I felt the base of my cock spread her lips out against her inner thighs.

After that, things were pretty normal, except that Rochelle was helping a lot. She was helping enough I was starting to feel the need to hold back. Some might say it was just because she was new and different, but that wasn't at all what it was. It was the way she gave herself to me and in return, gave me the feeling that she was special.

It was that mental feeling that was affecting me as much as the way her inner ripples massage my cock as I stroked in and out. It was the damndest feeling I'd ever experienced. My ex had been arousing when we made love. Rochelle was arousing, erotic, and a whole bunch of other feelings I still can't describe.

I was at the point of not maintaining control when Rochelle wrapped her legs around my waist and cried out softly, "Oh...Now."

On my next stroke, Rochelle used her legs to pull herself tight against me, then started to shudder. She dropped back down as I was pulling out, then groaned, "Oh God" and pulled herself back up over my cock. That by itself would have tipped me over the edge. The way she clenched my cock while her whole body shook just made it the most exquisite feeling I'd ever felt.

Rochelle didn't unwrap her legs until my cock slipped out of her. She sighed then.

"I thought this would be OK, but instead of OK, it was more than I dreamed."

I eased up and then rolled beside her.

"I know. I didn't expect this either."

Rochelle slipped her left thigh over me and pushed her breasts into my chest.

"If that's how you feel, what are you going to do about it?"

I chuckled as I stroked her hip.

"I don't know. Make a thorough investigation, I guess. That's what a detective does after all."

Rochelle kissed me and then snuggled her face against my shoulder.

"You can start by investigating me again tomorrow morning. I'll tell you anything you want to know."

Well, I never did get around to reading Rochelle's novel. I didn't have time. She was still living in Knoxville and it was about four hours from Nashville to her house, so if I wasn't working, I spent a lot of time driving on Friday and Sunday nights. Once in a while I'd end up working a case over the weekend, so Rochelle would drive down to Nashville and spend Saturday and Sunday making me remember how special she is.

We did that for six months before I decided something had to give. I wasn't ready to settle for just great weekends with Rochelle. I wanted to come home to her every night. I couldn't ask her to give up her place in the country because I loved it as much as she did. The only option I saw was to move to Knoxville.

I sent an email to the Chief of Police in Knoxville and asked if they had any openings for detectives. Apparently, solving the cold cases I'd solved had given me somewhat of a reputation, because Harry replied that they did have an opening and would be more than happy to give me an interview.

Rochelle and I are not married, but we've talked about it. We both got burned the first time and we've agreed to live together for a while before we make anything permanent. After a year, it's becoming obvious to us both that this time wouldn't be a mistake, so maybe this summer...

I'm still working on cold cases because that's the first thing Harry gave me to work on. Rochelle is helping on this one too. In January,1990, a uniform was making a wellness check on a young couple. They'd missed going to church two Sundays in a row and the pastor had asked the police to make sure everybody was all right.

When the uniform got there, the door was locked so he walked around the house and looked in the windows. In the ground floor bedroom, he saw a woman lying on a bed and though he pounded on the window frame she didn't move.

After the officer's backup got there, they broke in the door and searched the house. When they got to that ground floor bedroom, there was a woman on the bed and a man lying on the floor. Both had been shot and according to the coroner, he thought they'd been dead about two days, but he couldn't be sure. That was because the house furnace was off and the temperature inside was about the same as most refrigerators so it could have been up to two weeks earlier.

The coroner took the bodies for autopsy and the detective in charge started working the case. It looked to him like a robbery gone bad until he tried to identify the victims. They should have been Mister Thomas Blair and his wife Emma. The man was indeed Mister Blair. His face matched the driver's license in his wallet.

The woman was a different situation. Missus Blair's purse was on the kitchen table, but the driver's license picture wasn't the picture of the dead woman. The face was pretty close, but the dead woman had blonde hair instead of dark brown like the license photo. The weight didn't match up either. The driver's license said Missus Blair weighed one-ten. The coroner weighed the dead woman at one forty.

We work on that case together most nights, and Rochelle has started a novel about it as well. I like her help, but I like what happens when we close up the files and go to bed even more. Those cold cases turn into some really hot nights.