Hot Cop Boxed Set

by Paige, Laurelin

  Her lips are parted ever so slightly, and they tremble now as she searches for a response, and oh my God, I am going to devour her mouth if I watch it any longer. With a quick glance around us, I grab her hand and pull her in between two of the zodiac canvases, and suddenly the noise dims a little and we are by ourselves, sandwiched between canvas and exposed brick. I lead her a little farther around the outer edge of the exhibit, until we’re near the back of the gallery space. Here, the narrow gaps between the canvases are covered with a cluster of gauzy fabric panels and the comparative dearth of lights in this corner gives an extra shroud of shadows. In other words, though only a few inches of fabric, canvas and paint separate us from the other people in the gallery, it won’t be easy to be seen, unless somebody took the trouble to look at the six-inch gap between the floor and the bottom of the canvas, but I honestly doubt that will happen.

  Once we’re sufficiently hidden, I take her cup of wine and set it down a nearby ledge with mine, and drop my bag to the floor. Devi looks like she’s used this interval to compose herself somewhat.

  “It can’t be a real date if we’re filming it,” she says, her chin rising slightly. “This is amazing, Logan, don’t get me wrong. No man has ever done anything like this with me. But once we turn on the camera, it’s different. You have to see that. Even if it’s not solely performative, it can’t be completely genuine.”

  I’m already shaking my head. “I don’t think there has to be barrier between art and life. I don’t think capturing a moment makes it any less authentic.”

  She gives me a sad smile. “But when that moment’s being captured to make money? When that moment is being made for sale? How can that not retroactively affect the moment itself?”

  A tiny voice inside of me wonders if she has a point, but I push it aside. I want to prove to her that we can have it all—the realness and the camera—and that all it takes is a shift in perspective. After all, wasn’t that what she was trying to explain to me about The Hanged Man? Perspective?

  I step closer to her. “Will you let me try to convince you?”

  “Convince me of what?”

  I lean forward and brace myself against the wall with my forearms, caging her between the wall and me. “Let me turn on the camera,” I say, using the tip of my nose to trace the line of her jaw. She shudders and goose bumps erupt everywhere on her skin. “Let me film us doing our thing tonight and show you how real it can be.”

  “I’m not saying I don’t want to film,” she says. I take her earlobe between my teeth and she lets out a soft groan. “I just…”

  “I know what you’re saying,” I breathe into her ear. “And what I’m saying is I want you to be open to the idea of it feeling real. I want you to forget about the camera while I’m touching you.”

  “I can’t,” she protests faintly.

  “I think you can. At least let me try to help you?”

  She sighs, half resignation, half pleasure because my mouth is now on her neck. “Okay,” she relents. “I’ll try to forget about the camera tonight.”

  I give her neck one last nip and then straighten up, reaching for my bag.

  “Wait, now?” she asks, sounding horrified. “While there’re still people here?”

  I give her an evil grin. “Are you being modest, Devi Dare?”

  “There’s a difference between modest and law-abiding,” she shoots back.

  Undeterred, I dig out the camera and turn it on, setting it on the ledge so it’s aimed at our corner. While I adjust the settings to compensate for the dim light, Devi lists off all the reasons it’s a bad idea to film right now.

  “We could get caught. We could get thrown out. We could get arrested. They’ll find you didn’t have the right permits and you could get fined. Even Vida could get in trouble.”

  Satisfied that the camera is set up well, I walk towards her and slowly back her into the wall. Her voice falters and her words trail off as my stomach touches hers, and then she gasps as my hips move forward and I press my growing erection into her.

  “I’m not ignoring your concerns,” I tell her, sliding one hand around her waist and the other up her neck to hold the side of her face. “But I want you to trust me. Let me take on your concerns, and I promise to take care of you. I’ll be responsible for you—for us—and I’ll make sure we don’t get caught.”

  I feel her hesitate, and even though I want nothing more than to seal my lips over hers and kiss the resistance right out of her, I have to know whether or not this is an actual limit for her.

  I use my hand to guide her face so that she’s looking at me. “Devi, it’s okay if this is a boundary. Being in public. All you have to do is tell me.”

  She worries at her bottom lip with her teeth, and then she finally shakes her head. “As long as you listen for anyone…”

  “I give you my solemn vow.”

  “...then I guess it’s okay.”

  “You guess? I need more than that, Cass.”

  She takes a breath. “I’m sure it’s okay.”

  “I don’t know how much better that is.” I’m full hard now, and all I want is to start, but I have to know that she feels safe and comfortable. Otherwise, no dice. “It seems like you’re uncertain...do you want to try it and then if you need to stop, we can stop?”

  Her forehead wrinkles. “Like with using a safe word?”

  “Right, but you can just snap your fingers if you’d like.” I’ve found that many girls struggle to vocalize their limits, even with permission, and sometimes things like snapping fingers are easier.

  “Okay. I’ll snap my fingers if I want to stop. But I don’t think I’ll need to.” She gives me a small smile. “I trust you.”

  “Thank God,” I exhale. “I didn’t know how much longer I could keep from kissing you.”

  “Then don’t wait any longer,” she says, and I don’t. I do have something to prove, after all.

  I lower my face, brushing across her mouth once, twice, three times before I firmly settle my lips against hers. For a minute, everything seems singularly slow and distinct, her small inhalations and exhalations tickling the skin above my upper lip, the way her hand finds the back of my neck to pull me even closer to her, the way my heart pounds in my chest as I cradle her face against mine. And then time catches up with us all in a rush, Devi’s fingers finding my hair and pulling, my hand dropping down to her ass. I ruck up her skirt until my hand finds the bare skin of her ass and then I’m grabbing and squeezing the delicious curve of firm flesh, my cock leaping every time my fingers dig into her skin.

  She’s just as busy, her other hand finding the bottom of my shirt and then sliding up my stomach to trail lines of light scratches down my abs. I hiss as she finds a flat nipple and pinches it, the sensation traveling straight to my dick.

  I deepen the kiss, parting her lips with mine and licking inside her mouth. It’s sweet, like the cotton candy she ate earlier, and warm—and like a lightning strike, I remember that she’s going to suck me off with that sweet, warm mouth, and I have to pull back for a second to clear my head.

  “What?” she murmurs, using the break in the kiss to move her mouth to my neck, sucking and biting hard enough to bruise, and I have to wrap my hands around the brick ledge to keep from shoving her to her knees right then and there.

  Keep control, you asshat.

  After all, I am supposed to be proving something to her, right? Not simply proving how much I want her to go down on me. I’m going to prove to her how real, how organic, we can be, even with the camera.

  Resolve renewed, I take a step back. “Turn around,” I say, keeping my voice quiet to account for the people enjoying the art mere feet away.

  Biting her lower lip, she pivots so that she’s facing the wall. I lean forward enough that my mouth comes close to her ear. “Brace your hands against the wall,” I whisper.

  She shivers and more of those delightful goose bumps appear, and she obeys, her slender hands spread wide and flat against th
e brick. The thin dress she’s wearing has ridden up slightly in back, and I place a hand in the middle of her shoulder blades and push her forward even more, so that the hem of the dress barely clears her ass.

  And then I drop down to my knees, my palms sliding up the back of her thighs to her rump. I inch the hem of her skirt up until she’s mostly uncovered and then I spread her cheeks to see a thin strip of lace covering her pussy. She’s wearing a lace thong, as white as fresh snow, and I get the most maddening glimpses of what that lace is hiding—tiny curlicues of glistening pink, small semi-circles of smooth bronze.

  Without hesitation, I bury my face there, the flat of my tongue running over the lace to press against her clit. She gasps above me, her legs widening to grant me better access, and I oblige her unspoken request, repeating the motion over her clit and then moving my tongue to her entrance, she and I together thoroughly soaking the lace all the way through. I can taste her through the fabric, and the taste is a perfect balance of sweet and female, a taste that triggers all of my most primal, male impulses.

  I hook a finger in her thong and pull it aside, and the moment my tongue makes unfettered contact with her cunt, she sucks in a breath and raises up on her tiptoes. Finger still holding the thong aside, I lick from her clit to the small button of firm flesh in between her cheeks, and I repeat the process several times, until I can sense her breathing speeding up. Then I add a finger, then two, curling them against the sensitive front wall of her pussy as I bite and suck on her ass.

  She’s breathing hard now, her thighs tense, and I abandon her entrance and start rubbing her clit fast and hard. She throws her head back, her fingers turning into claws against the brick, and then I withdraw. Completely.

  She spins around, dazed and angry. “Don’t stop,” she pants, and I shrug with one shoulder. I bring my fingers to my mouth to suck her taste off them, and her eyes narrow. I do a little internal victory dance when she doesn’t glance at the camera once as she steps forward. I knew that to distract her from the filming would mean making her focus only on me, and making her angry and needy seemed like the best way to do that. Looks like I’ve succeeded.

  “Finish me off,” she says in a furious plea.

  “But you’re so cute when you’re angry.”

  “Don’t fuck with me—finish fucking me.”

  “What about,” I offer mischievously, “you give me head, and then I’ll think about finishing you off.”

  “You bastard. I can finish myself off.” She pulls up her dress and then moves her hand underneath her thong, slumping against the wall when she finds her clit with her fingers. God, I’m so fucking glad I’m filming this, even if she’s forgotten.

  I stare at her hungrily, watching her fingers move under the lace and her nipples bead and strain against her dress. I don’t have to look down to see that my dick is practically sobbing at me to do something; I can feel the wet spot growing on the inside of my jeans.

  But still I wait, wait until her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are closed, when her orgasm is imminent, and then I grab her wrist and pull her hand away from her pussy. Her eyes snap open and an expression of beautiful, incandescent rage lights her face. Behind us, I hear the gallery music change into a soft melody, which makes the footsteps on the gallery hardwoods and the animated chatter seem even closer, like any minute people could push through the fabric and find us.

  I fucking love that.

  Devi, however, looks like love is nowhere near what she’s feeling, and she tries to wrench her wrist away from me. When I don’t let her, she tries to push her other hand down to her cunt, and I don’t let her do that either, sandwiching her body between mine and the wall and leaving no room for her to touch herself.

  “Fuck,” she groans, trying to squirm against me, and I grin.

  “You seem like you want something,” I say cheerfully.

  “Fuck you.”

  “Hmm,” I respond, slowly guiding her hand to her mouth. She doesn’t resist, letting me push her fingers past her lips to touch her tongue. She licks her own taste off her fingertips in curling, deliberate licks, like a cat, and I watch her tongue obsessively. Fuck, I can’t wait until it’s on my cock.

  “I think that you might want something,” I repeat, my eyes still on her mouth. “And you know what else I think?”

  She raises an eyebrow at me but not very high. Her eyes are glazed with lust and her pulse pounds hard in her throat, and I think she’s barely at the edge of coherent thought right now.

  “I think that thing you want would feel even better with my mouth than with your fingers.” Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, and to demonstrate my point, I carefully suck one of her fingers into my mouth, nibbling and licking.

  She moans quietly.

  “Don’t you want me to use my mouth? Put my mouth on your pretty pussy?”

  She nods.

  “I want to do that too. At least, I think I do. Maybe you should convince me.”

  As soon as I say it, I have a quick moment of clear-headed panic. Even though we planned tonight’s scene to be a blowjob, I think I’ve done a pretty effective job of disorienting her and pulling her out of the typical scene mentality. Which was what I wanted, obviously, but I also need to make sure she isn’t so dazed that I’m coercing her into anything.

  I lean forward, my lips moving against her ear. “Remember, you can snap your fingers at any time, okay?”

  “I know,” she murmurs back and when I move my head to look at her, her eyes are clear and lucid.

  Perfect.

  Keeping my fingers curled around her wrist, I reach down with my other hand and work my belt buckle open. She keeps her eyes on mine as I unbutton my pants, as I tug my zipper down with a faint purr.

  “God, I’ve been wanting this,” I mutter. “So fucking much.” My dick is finally free, and Devi gives me a naughty little nip on my jaw before she moves down to her knees. Jesus fuck, even just that is almost too much, with the way the bite sends a small zing of pain straight down my spine, with the look on her face as she kneels, as if she’s about to give me the fiercest blowjob in history.

  Yes, please.

  She tugs my pants down more so that my whole shaft is exposed, and she takes me in her hand. Normally at this point, a porn actress would pump my dick a few times, maybe even smack her lips with it, and I always like it fine whenever actresses do that, because hey, a woman playing with your dick is a woman playing with your dick. Don’t look the gift-horse in the mouth and all that.

  But Devi does something different, and it does something to me, drives me crazy. She holds my cock and looks at it, her lips parted and her eyes wide, as if she can’t believe that she’s actually holding me. She slides her fingers up and down slowly, not to stimulate me, but to feel me and touch me, measure me and weigh me. Learn me and memorize me.

  Everything about her hands and her expression makes it seem like she’s stunned and eager and grateful, and goddammit, it’s so fucking sexy. And by the time she presses her lips to the underside of my dick, I’m ready to explode.

  More than ever, I’m aware of the people shuffling around near us, of the fact that if someone looks under the painting they’ll see the legs of my jeans sagging around my ankles, Devi’s knees on the floor. But as long as they stay on their side of the art, I don’t care. In fact, it makes it that much hotter, but never mind that now, because Devi is kissing my cock.

  Not sucking. Not licking.

  Kissing.

  Sweet little kisses, from my base to my tip, soft and warm. And then that she’s so fucking young feeling comes back, but I’m too far gone to care or feel about it now. Instead, I revel in it, revel in the small, innocent kisses and her wide, dark eyes, which have gone from angry to imploring.

  And like a flash, my mind is back to Raven’s Real Playdates, to the eighteen-year-old Devi worshipping my cock with her mouth. As soon as I saw her on that set, I was entranced. She was beautiful, fresh, soft and firm all at once, and after w
atching her go down on Raven, her thick ass in the air, I didn’t need any prep whatsoever when it was time for me to walk on. Watching her with my then-girlfriend had made me rock-hard, and then when she knelt in front of me, licking and kissing my cock with the kind of inexperienced and hesitant eagerness that told me she hadn’t given very many blowjobs before…

  Well, the director almost got one more pop shot than she’d paid me for.

  I used to justify my body’s response to Devi that day as a perverted reaction to her youth or maybe just a natural reaction to a new woman, but the truth is staring me in the face right now with dilated amber eyes: it’s none of those reasons. It’s Devi. She does this to me, brings me to the edge, and it won’t matter how many times she sucks me off, how many times she touches me or I touch her, it will always be like this.

  Hell, at this point, even I’ve almost completely forgotten about the camera, and I know I should make this blowjob last longer, should back off a little, because if I’m this far gone without her even taking me in her mouth yet, if I’m this close just with these kisses…

  But fuck it. I want this. I want it like this.

  I reach down and stroke her hair back from her face.

  “Lick it,” I instruct, and she does, starting with my base and licking up towards the tip. Over and over, teasingly, maddeningly, and I realize she’s mimicking how I tongue-fucked her earlier with the long, taunting licks.

  “Very cute,” I say. My thumb finds her lower lip, and I pull her mouth open. “But you know what I want.”

  She smiles, my thumb still on her lip. “Then why don’t you take it?” she teases.

  Well, then.

  I fist myself near my root and nudge my crown against her lips, tracing the heart-shaped pout once—and then once again—before I lazily push past that pout to the wet heat inside. For a moment, she does nothing but stare up at me, her tongue soft and still against my dick. And it’s not as if she’s being passive out of inexperience or reluctance or even naughtiness...once again, I get the feeling that she’s trying to commit this to memory, the way my face looks right now and maybe the way I feel against her tongue.