rolling the nipple between his fingers. I heard that other hand making busy with the belt and zipper of his blues. Was this really happening?
Then the warm, hard slide of his cock to my skin assured me it was.
“Yes, escort me. Hurry,” I said. God, that sounded dirty. “If you’d just bend forward a bit, ma’am, we can continue with the pat-down.”
I bent forward, hands splayed on the warm white metal of the trunk. I pushed my ass out and he took his big knee and knocked my stance wider. There were his fingers again, slipping between my legs, into me, testing me. Then the head of his cock, pressing deliberately to my wet, wet opening. “Yes, Officer,” I said.
My hair hung down and danced over the cruiser’s bright blue numbers as he anchored my hips and slipped home, sliding into me from behind as if he belonged there. I held on to nothing at all. Only the tips of my toes touched earth as he started to rock and sway against me, his cock thrusting in and out, in and out with sublime friction. Officer Monroe steadied himself, his broad chest, decorated with various commendations, pressed to the back of my worn tee. His other hand snaked around my waist, making my belly muscles flutter and adding a rush of heat wherever his fingers touched.
“Is that nice, ma’am?”
I could only nod. I watched his long tan fingers, nicked from hard work and dealing with God knows what or who, track and dance along my skin. Down the small swell of my belly, the dip of my mound. I watched that teardrop-shaped birthmark dance above his thumb, and then his fingers found my clit even as he started to thrust harder.
“Is that a yes, ma’am?”
“Yes, oh, I’m going to be so—”
“Shh, no more,” he ordered.
I bit my lip and gave in. Some vehicle whizzed passed us way too fast. Lucky for them, the law was otherwise engaged. And though I knew I shouldn’t be doing this right now—not at all—I sank back a little farther, opened myself a little more and let him in as deep as he could go. His fingers painted circles on my clit, shivering every nerve ending to life.
“Oh, Mr—”
“Officer.”
“Oh, Officer …”
“Yes?” His warm laughter filled my head as my toes and flip-flops struggled to find purchase, but he had me, swaying barely above earth. He had me, gripped in his huge safe hands, and I was coming. Coming apart, coming undone, coming as the early fall wind bit at my exposed skin. I was coming.
“That’s a good one, ma’am. Good job.” His hips started banging in earnest, the more gentle thrusts gone now, and excitement curled in my belly, bursts of excitement and the fear of being caught filling my chest, making my heart pound.
Another car whizzed by and he pushed me forward a little, so my belly, chest and head rested on the warm trunk, as if I was being arrested. Officer Monroe held my legs up and apart, driving into me hard so I would have scootched across the trunk if he didn’t have me in his grip. I was open, exposed, so very, very bad. And I was going to come again.
“Oh, you’re getting tight again. Do you have plans for another?” His voice had lost its silken texture. Now it was all grunting, panting, choppy words. I loved it.
“I might, if you, yeah, like that.”
And he did it like that. And then he did it like that harder until he froze like a robber under a spotlight. Then a final jerk and he emptied into me as my cunt gripped around him tight, taking every little slice of friction he might offer.
My hair was a mess.
I let my heart come down a beat, and looked at my watch. Then I was scrambling across the trunk like a madwoman, hair standing on end or hanging in clumps, yoga pants nearly tangling me so that I went down in the dirt. “Oh, God! Oh, God! I’ll never make it now!” I was damn near hysterical.
He took pity on me, bundled me up and put me in my car. Monroe pulled out into traffic, his cherry lights coming on and the siren screaming about as loudly as I wanted to right then. I could swear I saw him smiling in the rearview mirror as he escorted me to the church.
“Oh, my God! Where in the hell have you been! We are never going to—what happened to your hair, Fallon?”
“I, urn …” They all stood staring at me. Kelly’s toe was tapping the way it did when she was furious. “I had a flat and I had to change it and God! It was a mess.”
It must’ve worked because they all rolled their eyes, threw up their hands and flew into action.
How Kelly made my hair go from trailer trash struck by lightning to damn near royalty is beyond me. But I was going to roll with it. The hushed presence in the church had the charged intensity you can feel in a room packed full of people about to yell “surprise!” The anticipation was palpable.
I’d done a quick cleanup in the bride’s “facilities” and was powdered, perfumed, groomed and gowned. It was now or never.
Do or die.
No turning back.
The music cued and my stomach bottomed out. “Oh, God, I am going to pass out.”
“Clench your ass! Clench your ass!” Tracy kept hissing in my ear. “It’s what the fighter pilots do!”
But clenching my ass made me think of Officer Friendly and the frisking, and just as they threw open those big-ass doors to reveal the ivory-draped aisle, I got the giggles.
“Oh, no. She’s freaking out. Good thing Jackson will think it’s cute.” Tracy blew out a sigh. Tapped my cheeks with the tips of her fingers, her version of a snap-out-of-it smack.
“You guys are so gross, how icky and in love you are.” Kelly laughed. She nudged me and I stumbled forward a bit. Remembering the perfect feel of him. The feel of warm metal under my finger and—
“Go!” Tina said.
I went. I nodded and smiled and tried not to throw up. I kept my ass tense, no small feat when you are trying to walk gracefully to your betrothed.
He stood there, smiling. That perfect sexy-as-hell smile. In full-dress uniform, just for me.
In my mind, I was spread-eagle, facedown, being slipped and slid and used and—
“Fallon?” Reverend Scott said.
“Yes, here I am. Here I am,” I repeated, and turned to Jackson.
Nervous? he mouthed.
I nodded. He smiled, took my hand for a squeeze, and I ran my thumb over the dark brown teardrop-shaped birthmark above his thumb. I raised it to my lips and kissed it.
In a few moments we would be man and wife. And then Jackson couldn’t call me “miss” or “ma’am” when he played his game with me and made me damn near insane with want. Then he’d have to call me “missus.”
Or “wife.”
Forever
