Hot Cop Boxed Set

by Paige, Laurelin

  “This isn’t about enjoyment,” I moan. With enjoyment. “This is about making a baby.”

  He rubs his palm over my ass as he gently bucks his tip inside my hole. “For you, it’s about a baby.” He pulls out and immediately pushes just the tip in again. “For me it’s about getting to be inside your tight little cunt for as long as possible. But if you want me to stop—”

  He withdraws again, and this time he doesn’t press in again right away.

  “No, no!” I protest, thrusting my hips back toward him in an attempt to capture the prize. I sound desperate and needy, and I am, even though I know he’s only teasing me, because he’s going to go until he comes no matter what.

  He chuckles behind me, amused by my obvious anguish.

  It’s too late, but I try to cover. I throw my head over my shoulder to look at him. “I mean. You’re right. My reward is a baby. Your reward is the sex. So. Take your time.”

  “I plan to.” There’s that cocky grin again. The one that disintegrates my panties every time I see it.

  Guess it’s a good thing I’m not wearing panties.

  Oddly, I find myself giving him a grin of my own.

  But then, without warning, he shoves all the way inside me and my smile’s wiped off my face with a pleasure-filled grunt.

  “Fuckkkkk, Liv.” He grinds into me, slow enough that I know he’s paying attention to every sensation, just like I am. Consciously noting every point of contact. Taking the time to feel how his cock rubs me here and then here and, holy mother of holies, here.

  I wriggle and twist, both trying to get away and feel more of him at once. Sounds come out of my mouth. Phrases that don’t make sense. Words I barely recognize. Please enough more. Yes. Ung. So good so good so good it’s good I can’t so good.

  I want him to go faster, want him to drive the ache from my body. I reach down between my legs and rub at my clit, needing some sort of relief, but my touch is like fire. I’m nearly ready to explode just at the graze of my fingertips, and as much as I want it, I don’t think I can take it. So I drop my hand and curl my fists around the bedspread, pressing my forehead into the pillows.

  “Can’t. Wait,” Chase pants, and, finally, he abandons his sweet agonizing torture, and picks up the tempo, pounding into me with a fervent frenzy. My belly tightens and the tightness spreads outward, through my hips. Down my thighs. My vision blurs. My body tingles, everywhere.

  I’m going to come, and Chase, I can tell, is right there with me. And as much as I’d wanted to watch him when he does, I’m glad that my face is turned away from him now. Because in the beautiful chaos of this heightened state of sensations, I remember more than just what it’s like to feel beautiful. More than what it’s like to watch a man come. I also remember that, once upon a time, I wanted all of this, all the time. Once upon a time I wasn’t done with men. Once upon a time I believed that being with someone like this could be something that lasts.

  I know the memory is etched on my face when the wave of pleasure washes over me and pulls me under. I’m glad Chase can’t see this because then he’d know I have doubts. And no one can know I have doubts. That’s a secret I keep even from myself.

  I’m still navigating my way through my own orgasm when Chase stills behind me. With his fingernails gripping my hips, he lets out a long, low grunt and presses his pelvis tight against my hips as he comes inside me. Then he collapses on the bed next to me with a contented sigh.

  I turn my head to the side so that I can’t see him and give myself a few minutes to catch my breath and gather my strength. My limbs feel loose and weak, and I’m exhausted. My brain feels like mush, but I force myself to think clearly. This was good—

  this was amazing—I’ll give myself that.

  But now it’s over. I can’t let myself get comfortable.

  I’m about to get up when he stirs. “You’re fun,” he says, nudging my back with his elbow.

  I half laugh, half choke. “I’m fairly certain that any fun that was had was because of you.”

  “And you.”

  I glance back at him and find he’s grinning with as much lust in his gaze as ever. “I assure you,” I tell him in my very serious, very librarian voice, “I am not fun.”

  He laughs. “Whatever you say, kitten.”

  Then I laugh too because this has been fun. Which means maybe I am fun. When I’m with him, anyway.

  Which is very temporary.

  In fact, we aren’t even with each other. Not really. Which is exactly the reason I need to get out of here.

  I start to roll out of the bed when Chase stops me.

  “Where are you going?” he asks with a note of alarm.

  His reaction startles me, and I’m suddenly unsure. “To...clean up?”

  “No, no, no,” he admonishes. He’s up now and coming around to my side of the bed with a pillow in his hands. “You’re not supposed to get up right away. On your back. Put this under your hips.” He guides me back down and slips the pillow underneath me. “You should sit like that for at least fifteen minutes. We should say twenty to be sure. I’ll set a timer.” He rustles through our discarded clothes, presumably looking for his phone.

  “Uh. Okay. Thank you.” I’m not sure how else to respond. I’d been in such haste to get out of the room before things started to feel too intimate, I’d completely forgotten one of the best practices for conceiving is keeping the hips elevated after sex.

  More stunning is that this is something Chase knows. I’m impressed.

  And touched that he cares enough to remind me.

  He’s probably just concerned about his obligation to knock me up. He signed a contract and all. The sooner it happens, the sooner he’s back to banging a different woman every night.

  I dismiss the jealous jolt that thought sends through me. I only feel that way right now because this was the first time we’ve been together, and the sex was so good. By the time I’m pregnant, I’ll surely be over it.

  But while I’m still not over it…

  I shamelessly ogle Chase’s bare ass while he bends to grab a beer out of the mini-fridge.

  “You want something?” he asks when he catches me looking.

  Despite everything we’ve just done together, I feel my face flush. “Water, I guess. Thanks.”

  He brings me a bottle of water and tosses his phone on the nightstand, facing it so I can see the timer. Next he picks up the television remote, and after flipping through most of the channels too fast to see what’s on, he finally settles on ESPN. Then he stretches out on the bed by me, one hand cradling his head, the other holding his beer.

  He’s still naked.

  And he seems to have no intention of changing that anytime soon.

  I gape, but he doesn’t notice.

  I mean, what the actual fuck is he doing? I’m obviously stuck in my position for the next twenty minutes, but he’s not. He should be getting ready to leave or, at the very least, getting dressed. Anything to get this situation back to some normalcy.

  I rub my eyes and take a deep breath. Maybe I’m being too rigid. It’s twenty minutes. He should be allowed that time to enjoy his beer.

  I look over at him again. He’s animated as he watches the recap of tonight’s major games. It’s so stereotypically male and surprisingly sexy. He’s so relaxed, and I can’t help but wonder if he needs this in his life. I have no idea what kinds of things he sees on a daily basis as a cop, but I once witnessed a terrible accident involving a semi truck and a biker. The images of the mangled aluminum frame of the bike wrapped around the rider’s body will never leave my mind.

  I’m sure Chase sees far worse. Watching sports and chasing skirts are maybe necessary distractions to keep the bad stuff from getting the best of him.

  My insides feel gooey at the thought. I force myself to ignore it and concentrate instead on the quarter-sleeve tattoo that occupies the landscape of his bicep. I haven’t had a chance to really look at it, so I study it now. At his shoulder, ther
e’s a series of numbers on top of a shield made of concentric circles. To the side are a couple of Minions, characters from a popular animated movie. Then, at the base, is a ram’s head. The design puts all the pieces together as if they belong, but I can’t figure out the rhyme or reason.

  I twist my torso to look at it closer. “What does your tattoo mean?”

  He glances at me. “Which part?”

  “Any of it. What is it?”

  “Well…” He hits mute on the TV remote. Then he turns his bicep so he can see his ink, and with his left hand, he points at the base of his tat. “This is a ram. And this is the shield from—”

  Laughing, I grab his finger and cut him off. “I know that’s a ram. I can tell what each of the individual parts are. But what is it all together? Why did you get it?”

  His lip lifts in a slight smile, and his eyes drift down to where I’m still holding his finger. I blink awkwardly and let it go. Then I fold my arms over my chest, tucking my hands away in case I’m tempted to touch him again. There’s no reason for touching now. There isn’t any reason for getting personal at all, but I’m stuck here for the moment so I decide this probably falls under the category of polite conversation.

  Chase makes a hmm sound, as though trying to decide where to start. “I got the individual parts little by little, because they each meant something different. All together, it’s me, I guess.” He moves his arm closer so that I don’t have to crane my neck or disturb the elevation of my hips. “The ram is for my mother. She died when I was fifteen, and I wanted something to remember her by. Something that wasn’t one of those tacky Mom tattoos with the roses. That wouldn’t have fit her at all.”

  I wrinkle my face in polite confusion. “And a ram...does?”

  He chuckles lightly, making the bed shake and this arm graze against mine. “It’s her astrology symbol. April third.”

  “Aries.” I’m not huge into astrology, but I know a little bit about everything. I’m a librarian, after all.

  “Yeah. She was a true Aries too. Not that I believe in that stuff. But if I did.” His brow furrows as if he’s trying to figure out what he wants to say before he says it. “She seemed to fit all the character traits associated with the sign. She was energetic and courageous. Impatient. Spontaneous. Generous. A leader. Optimistic to a fault. Even after she got sick.”

  His voice is softer when he talks about his mother. It’s tender. Reverent, almost, and it makes me want to know more, even when I shouldn’t care.

  “What did she have?” I ask, against my better judgment.

  “Ovarian cancer. It had already spread through her pelvis before we caught it. She never had a shot. But she fought anyway. Just like a stubborn ram.”

  I trace my fingers along his inked skin. “That had to be hard.”

  “It was. Megan had to get through puberty with Gran as her guide.”

  I catch his eye. “It had to be hard for you too.”

  He shrugs, and I can tell that saying any more will threaten his manliness, so I change the subject and point to the numbers at the top of the shield. “Eight-nine-eight. What’s that? Some superhero code I’m not nerdy enough to know?”

  “It’s my badge number,” he says proudly.

  “Ah. It is a superhero code.” I am nerdy enough to recognize the concentric circles underneath. The star in the middle gives it away. “Obviously that’s why you got the Captain America shield. Because you think of yourself as a cop superhero and all. Then what are the Minions supposed to—”

  “Hold on.” He sits up and shifts so he’s facing me. “No. It’s not like that.”

  “What?”

  “I do not think of myself as a superhero,” he says emphatically.

  I stare at him, skeptical. “Really? You don’t?”

  “No!”

  “Not even a little? With your superhero badge and your superhero gun and your superhero nightstick.”

  He waggles his brows. “Well, yes with the superhero nightstick.” Then he immediately returns to defensive mode. “But no! What kind of a douchecanoe do you think I am?”

  “With your Captain America tattoo. And your choice in careers.” I’m teasing him now. It’s too easy. And too fun.

  “I’m a cop because I want to stand up to injustice. Fight for the good guys. Like Captain America. That’s all.” He scowls, and it’s sexy and adorable and funny all at once.

  I bite back a giggle. “Superhero Kelly,” I taunt. He’s so childlike in his honesty. I can easily imagine him as a little boy, running around in a makeshift cape, pretending to defeat the villains. “What about the Minions? Do you want to fight injustice like cute single-celled yellow organisms too?”

  “Stop it,” he warns, but it’s the kind of warning that makes my skin tingle. The kind of warning I’m tempted to push against. “The Minions are for my nephews.”

  I hadn’t been expecting that. “That’s really sweet. That you’re so close to them.”

  He jerks his head slightly like it’s no big deal. “They’re like my kids. I probably won’t have any of my own. I’m already thirty-three. It’s not like I’m settling down anytime soon. Or ever. So they’re the closest thing I’ve got. That means something to me.”

  Our gazes lock.

  “Or, you know,” he says carefully. “I probably won’t have any besides yours. And that one won’t actually be mine. So.”

  The air suddenly feels heavy. Tense.

  What if my baby-to-be is Chase’s only kid? What if he never has any others? This man who would obviously make such a good father... Does that change things? Does that mean something to me?

  “Liv…” he begins, but whatever he’s going to say is cut off by the buzz of the timer sounding from his phone.

  “I need to go,” I say, bolting up from the bed. I have to get out of here. I have to be somewhere that he’s not. Somewhere where his presence and his life story won’t tempt me to care about him or his future or whether or not he’ll ever be a dad. It’s not my place to care. I refuse to let myself.

  “Go where? It’s late. We have the room all night.” He seems truly surprised by my sudden desire to leave.

  I pause while gathering my clothes and stare at him incredulously. “We can’t stay here together, Chase.”

  “Sure we can.”

  “No. We can’t.” How did he not think that spending the night together would cross the line from baby insemination to way too intimate? This was supposed to be detached. Sex and nothing more. I should never have allowed the wings or the fancy hotel or so many orgasms. Somewhere I lost control, and I have to get hold of the reins and not let things happen like this again.

  Okay, maybe the orgasms can stay. But the rest has to go.

  A beat passes, and for a second I’m afraid he’s going to continue to argue.

  But then he says, “Okay. Right. Of course.” Though he doesn’t appear happy with my proclamation, he seems to get why I’m proclaiming it. “But you should stay. I’ll go.” He stands and grabs his jeans from the floor.

  “No, I couldn’t do that.”

  “Yes, you can.” He’s already got his pants half on.

  And now I feel like scum. “That’s not fair. You paid for the room, a room you shouldn’t have paid for in the first place.” I run a hand through my hair, considering what to do. “Maybe if we check out now they’ll give you your money back. We haven’t been here that long.”

  “This isn’t the kind of place they rent by the hour, sweetheart. One of us is staying, and it should be you.” I start to protest again, but he cuts me off. “I have to be at work at six a.m. tomorrow, which means I’ll miss out on the courtesy breakfast, which is the best part of staying here.”

  “But—”

  He puts his hands on my upper arms and bends to meet my eyes. “They have crème brûlée French toast, Liv.”

  “That’s—”

  “Crème brûlée. French toast.” He says the words slowly. Prayerfully. “Someone has to eat tha
t, kitten. We can’t both miss out.”

  A thousand arguments flash through my mind in the space of a mere second, and I know in my gut that he has a comeback for every single one.

  I don’t have the will to fight him. He’s too sexy standing there with his jeans still unbuttoned and his shirt still off. And crème brûlée French toast does sound pretty amazing.

  “Fine,” I harrumph.

  “Fine,” I say again though I’m feeling anything but fine about it. It’s another thing I’ll owe him, and I hate owing people anything. I especially don’t want to owe him. Once I get pregnant, I’m already going to owe him so much.

  “But I don’t have to be happy about it,” I huff dramatically, dropping my clothes to the floor in a dramatic flourish. Now I’m naked and have nothing to hide behind, which is kind of awkward when just the sight of Chase moving around half undressed makes my nipples hard. I slip off to the closet and find a courtesy robe inside. I wrap it around myself and when I turn back to him, he’s nearly fully clothed.

  I tell myself I’m not disappointed. We’re going to have to do this whole banging thing again. I’ll still have more naked Chase time. Just not tonight. And not so personal next time.

  He looks at me gravely as he threads his belt through his pant loops. “Turn the deadbolt after I leave, okay?”

  “Okay,” I say half-heartedly.

  “This hotel has a good reputation, but I won’t be able to sleep if I don’t know you’re safe.”

  “I’ll lock it.”

  “I’m serious,” he says, fastening his buckle. He starts for the door. “I won’t leave until I hear it latch.”

  He’s making me feel worse. He’s too sweet. Too good.

  “I’m right behind you. You’ll hear it lock.” I follow after him, wishing I didn’t want to invite him to stay. Wishing it were easier to watch him go.

  He opens the door and pauses. “Text me.”

  “With the next meet-up? Or to let you know I locked the deadbolt?”

  He narrows his eyes at me with the same warning that made my skin tingle earlier. Now it makes my thighs tremble. I know if he stayed there’d be another round of fucking, and I almost convince myself that it’s a good idea, for conception prospects, of course.