Hot Cop Boxed Set

by Paige, Laurelin

  She’s still giggling a little. “Okay, I have one for you. What’s the difference between jam and jelly?”

  I play along. “What?”

  “I can’t jelly my cock up your ass.”

  I burst out laughing. “Why, Devi Dare, you dirty woman.”

  “You have no idea.”

  She grabs for my ass, and we start wrestling and laughing, both of us naked and still a little emotional, and then the wrestling turns to grinding and the laughing turns to kissing, and you know what?

  Suddenly my cock isn’t so drowsy anymore.

  Seventeen

  I wake to sunlight streaming through the curtains, a rough thumb brushing across my nipple, and soft kisses on my shoulder. I’m immediately wet—or I’m still wet from all the sex we had the night before—and I could easily part my legs and make room for his already hard cock to slip inside me. But I don’t.

  Instead, I pretend I’m still asleep. Because even though I’m the type of person to usually roll out of bed with a smile on my face, today I need a few minutes. I need to wake up enough to be sure none of this was a dream. I need a moment to process what we did, what we said. How we feel.

  He loves me.

  He told me he loved me, and I don’t even question it. I know he does. I felt it in the way he ravaged me. I felt it in his lips and with his tongue and in the orgasms he drew from the deepest parts of my body, orgasms that ripped and tore through every muscle, every cell, every bit of energy that makes up my soul.

  He loves me. And though that love can’t undo or erase the incident that occurred on Hagen’s set, it does make surviving it better. Easier.

  Logan moves his mouth up my neck to my ear. He nips my lobe—hard—and I squeal.

  His arms fold around me, and he pulls my backside into his body. “I knew you were awake. Were you faking because you’re too tired for me?”

  “Never,” I mumble, turning into him to press my mouth along the curve of his jaw. “I was just thinking.”

  “About how much I love you?” He buries his face in my bosom and does something with his tongue along the skin between my breasts and oh my God I had no idea that was such an erogenous zone for me.

  “Actually…” I gasp as he pinches a nipple between his fingers. “Yeah, I was.”

  He lifts his gaze back to mine, and it’s serious now. “I do, you know. Love you.”

  I nod. “I know.”

  “And you really do love me. Don’t you? So much.” He’s teasing, pulling the words from me for fun, but I catch a glimpse of something in his eyes that says he really wants to hear it too. Like, maybe he’s as much in awe of the newly discovered shared emotion as I am.

  So I’m serious when I answer him. “So much.”

  And then, when the way he looks at me becomes so hot I begin to melt underneath him, I tease him back. “Do I need to prove it?” I wiggle my hips, rubbing against his hard-on, working us both up.

  “Yeah, I think that’s what you’re going to have to do.” There’s a hint of mischief in his tone that disappears when he adds, “Hold on just a sec.” He stretches past me, reaching for something, so I peer over my shoulder to see what it is and spot his camera on the nightstand.

  I sigh audibly with disappointment. I’d hoped last night would linger into this morning, that we’d still be “Logan and Devi” instead of “the show.”

  But instead of grabbing the handheld, Logan hits a button on his bedside clock.

  I’m relieved, and I quickly school my features to hide my initial reaction. Unfortunately, I’m too late.

  “I’d set my alarm,” he explains. “What did you think…?” He looks from me to the nightstand, trying to determine what had upset me. His eyes land on the only other item on the table. “You thought I was going for my camera.”

  My silence is his answer.

  “Ah, I see.” He pulls away, suddenly distant.

  “I just…I haven’t showered. Or anything.” I know I sound like I’m making excuses, because I am, and I’m one of those people that’s too transparent to lie. So I shake off the pretext and admit the truth. “I wanted it to be just us.”

  He tenses, and I know I’ve upset him. He sits up to lean against the headboard before running a hand through his hair, struggling with some battle he’s not ready to share.

  Finally, he speaks. “I can want to be with you genuinely, and still want to capture it. You get that, right? I told you this before, and I thought you understood.”

  I sit up too, ignoring the impulse to pull the sheet up over my breasts. That would be hiding, and I want desperately to be open with him, which is part of the reason I was so eager to not have an audience this morning. “I do understand, Logan. I really do. It means so much to me that you are so into us that you want to share it with the whole world. I’m flattered, and I support it.

  “But sometimes I want to be completely unguarded with you. I want to be able to bring down all my walls and let you into all the secret parts of me—granted, I don’t have many because I’m an open book—but there are things I’d prefer to share only with you.” I lower my voice and my eyes. “There are parts of you I wish you’d only share with me.”

  “There are parts of me I only share with you. I talk to you about movies and art. I slept with you in a sleeping bag. I’ve never done that with another person. I share things with only you. Things not related to sex.”

  “Sometimes I need them to be sex too.” I swallow then raise my gaze to his, tentatively. “Can you understand that?”

  He holds my stare for several seconds. Then he scratches the back of his neck. “I wasn’t reaching for the camera.” He says it in a way that says he does understand, says he feels exactly the same.

  “I know that. Now. I’m sorry I assumed otherwise.” I’m especially sorry that I’ve ruined the good mood he was in. And that he’s no longer touching me. I crawl toward him. “Are you mad?”

  He raises his brow and starts to say something, but, after catching the view of me on all fours, seems to change his mind. His eyes narrow. “Yes. Very mad.” He uses a tone I’ve only heard him use in his movies—his dominant tone—and I know he’s playing with me in a different way. “Maybe I need to punish you.”

  I sit back on my knees and bite my lip coyly. “Do you? I’m not sure if I’d like that.”

  In a flash, he has me on my back, pinned underneath him. “You aren’t supposed to like it. I’m supposed to like it.”

  His eyes are dark, his lids hooded, but he’s thinking. Assessing.

  I’m certain I know what he’s trying to figure out. We haven’t ventured into kink on or off camera. While I’d marked a willingness to try some kinkier things on the limits section of my contract for Star-Crossed, I’d also specified that I preferred not to until later in the show’s timeline. It was a comfort issue for me. I’m not new to the more base forms of kink—bondage and spanking and the like—but I’ve certainly never done anything like that with an expert.

  And Logan’s an expert. I’ve seen all of his work—trust me, I know.

  So it makes sense that he’s cautious now. Because the list of things I’d do for the show doesn’t necessarily match the list of things I’d do for Logan. He just doesn’t know that.

  “You can do it for real,” I tell him, giving him permission to play how I think he wants to. “You can punish me.”

  He raises one brow. “Oh, can I?” but I can see he’s finally taking me seriously. He’s no longer just deciding if but how.

  The anticipation makes me twitchy and eager and my head bobs when I mean for it to simply nod. I want him so fiercely, want him to take me, to unleash on me, unbridled and tumultuous.

  He rocks over me, his expression on fire with lust and I re-utter my consent, giving it even more surely. “You can. I want you to. My safe word is Donald Trump.”

  Logan freezes. “What?”

  I smile, trying not to giggle. “It’s a really good safe word, isn’t it? I’m proud of it.
”

  “It definitely puts a damper on any thoughts of sex.”

  And I can see how it’s put a damper on his thoughts because the mask of pure desire he’d worn a moment ago is now laced with horror.

  I wiggle beneath him, purposefully rubbing against his pelvis in an attempt to raise his cock from half-mast to full-mast. “Did I kill your mojo? Bad, Devi. Bad. Maybe I need to be punished for that too.”

  “Are you taunting me?” Once more, he’s asking if I’m sure. And I am. This is one of the things I’d like to explore with him, but I couldn’t do it if the camera were on. I’m too new to it. I need the freedom to make mistakes without an audience. And I need to be taken care of as we go. I need to know I’ve got all of Logan’s focus.

  I meet his eyes and think he understands me when I say, “I’m not taunting. I’m being very serious.”

  Then he’s decided, and he’s climbing off of me, pulling my torso up by my wrists. “You were taunting. You’ve been taunting me all fucking morning. You’ve been fucking taunting me since we met, and you definitely need to be punished.” He’s rowdy and rough as he drags me to the edge of the bed. Shifting to hold my hands with one of his, he bends to open the bottom drawer of his nightstand with the other. There, he retrieves a red silk scarf, which he uses to tie my wrists together—securely, but not so securely that it will cut off blood flow.

  I love the way the red looks against my olive skin.

  I love that my boyfriend is the type of guy who has sex paraphernalia in his nightstand.

  Most of all, I love that Logan is my boyfriend.

  After I’m bound, he flips me over and pulls me to the side so I’m bent over the bed and my hands are tied underneath me. It’s a position meant to make me feel vulnerable, and I do. I feel him behind me, standing, scanning my naked backside, and though I could easily turn and peek at him, I don’t. Imagining what he’s doing makes the tension thicker, and I like that. I like that a lot.

  Since I don’t look, and since he doesn’t give any preamble, the first smack comes as a surprise. As does the second, following so quickly after the first that I barely have time to yelp. “How. Does. It. Feel?” he asks, spanking one cheek then the other in between each word. “To. Be. Taunted. Cass? Do you like that? Do you want more?”

  My ass is fire. My eyes are burning, tears forming at the corners. “Yes,” I squeak, and it’s barely even a word.

  He doesn’t accept it as an answer. “Say it again.”

  “Yes,” I hiss. “Yes!”

  Logan doesn’t just play the kink—he makes it real. I believe he’s mad in a way that I’ve never felt with a partner who’s “punished” me before. Each strike against my ass is firm and sharp and, though I’m sure he’s holding back, that he could hit me harder if he wanted to, it also feels like he’s not. Like he’s letting everything he has spill out into each stinging smack.

  It arouses me to levels I’ve never been to before.

  I’m soaked by the time he breaks from striking to rub the burn out of my cheeks. So soaked I’m dripping and embarrassed because, of course, he knows.

  “Christ, Devi,” he groans when he slips his hand between my legs. Then he digs his fingers into my thighs and lifts the back half of my body so that my knees are on the bed. “I have to taste you.”

  A bolt of anticipation strikes through me as I wait for his tongue to find the source of my wetness, for it to ease the ache in my center. I moan when he finally does, and my entire body trembles from the feel of him as he licks around the edge of my hole.

  But I want him deeper, want to feel the full length of his strong tongue inside me, and he doesn’t give me that.

  Instead, he swipes upward, following the line from my cunt to the hole behind it—the one I know he wants to fuck someday, the one I’m desperate for him to inhabit, and nervous too because I know he’ll be good there. So good. Too good—it will completely undo any control I have left where he’s concerned, and I’m not quite ready for that.

  But I’m ready to play there. And so is he.

  With no hesitation, with a need that’s as greedy as mine, he circles my rim with his tongue then plunges inside.

  I’m immediately squirming, immediately on the verge of climax, immediately ready to shout I love you’s at the top of my lungs, and I have to bury my face into the sheets to stifle my cries.

  “You like that, don’t you?” he asks, pausing his assault to chide me. “You like that and you want to come, but if you fucking come before I tell you, then I’m going to have to start all of this again. Because after I fuck you with my tongue and my fingers, I’m going to fuck you with my cock, and I want you tight and pulsing when I go in there—not recovering from an orgasm. You got that?”

  “Then take me now,” I plead, certain I can’t hold out. “Just fuck me now.”

  He smacks my ass—hard. “I decide when I fuck you. Ask again, I’ll make you wait longer.”

  He dips a finger inside my pussy and drags my wetness up to that back hole, probing even deeper than he did with his tongue. His other hand strokes up to play with my clit, and then his mouth is on me again, this time at my cunt, stroking inside, igniting the sensitive spot within, and I know that he’s set me up because it’s impossible not to come, impossible not to be swept into this supernova of pleasure. And now I’m even maybe convinced of the existence of white holes because what I’m experiencing is completely that—an eruption of energy that is impossible to escape, or get inside or hold on to, and it’s amazing and bright and everything, everything, everything.

  And while I’m spinning in ecstasy, I’m also drenched in agony. He’ll be mad, I know. Because I came. Without his permission. He’ll start from the beginning, and there’s no way I can bear this euphoria again. It’s too much, and any more will kill me. I know this, even as I burn in this bliss.

  But to my surprise, Logan twists me to my back and spreads my legs. My ass screams as he drags me across the sheets the couple of inches to the edge of the bed and poises himself at my entrance.

  My speech is broken and raspy, my breathing still uneven. “I thought you were going to start over again.” I have no idea why I’m provoking him. As glorious as his punishment was, I don’t want him to repeat it. I want the punishment he’s promising now, the one where he pounds me and assaults me another way instead—inside me.

  “I changed my mind when I realized you couldn’t take it.” He’s cocky as he says it. Cocky as he slaps a smarting thwack across my inner thigh. Cocky as he impales me with grunt and a sharp thrust of his cock inside my cunt.

  God, his confidence is a massive turn-on. How right he is about me. How well he can read my body’s cues. He has a gift to be able to do this as well as he does. I know this. I mean, I truly, truly know it in my head and every part of my rational being, and yet…

  And yet.

  In my bones, in my skin, in the particles of energy that make up my “soul,” I feel like this connection has nothing to do with his skills and everything to do with Him and Me and no one else. As though I were special. As though we were bound by a gravitational pull. As though I were the Earth and he, the moon, and with his orbit he commanded the tidal waves of emotions and arousal within me.

  It’s not reasonable to feel this way, or even realistic. He’s a professional pornographic performer. And yet, I’m a girl who believes she might be something more.

  No, not believes—hopes.

  He takes me while I’m lost in this yearning, drives into me with a bold, frenetic passion that’s determined to grind and thrust and fuck, wildly. Mindlessly.

  Damn, Logan O’Toole can shatter a girl. I wrap my thighs higher around him, perfecting the way he fits inside me. “Yes. Right there. Right there.”

  “Squeeze me, Devi. Make your cunt tight and grip my cock.”

  I clamp around him, clenching as hard as I can then relaxing for just a second before repeating the motion. He groans, his thrusts growing even more frantic. “Jesus, just lik
e that. Do it again. Fuuuck.”

  He’s about to lose himself when he grabs onto the scarf at my wrists and tugs me toward him, bending me in half. He seizes my mouth with his as I cry out, the new position causing him to strike me in the most amazing spot. My vision goes blinding white with the pleasure, and I’m gasping when he breaks the kiss, clawing at consciousness, trying to find something to hold on to so I don’t get lost in oblivion. I focus on his face, on his lips, on his eyes, on the crease of his forehead, on the sharp contortion of his features.

  I recognize this expression from his movies. It’s this crazed, hungry, primal expression that, whenever I’ve seen it, I’ve nearly gone mad wishing it were a look I could see in real life.

  And now I am seeing it in real life, and while it’s thrilling and hot beyond belief, I’m keenly aware of how many other people have seen this look on his face. Aware that it’s not a look that’s special or private or reserved just for me.

  That realization pricks at some place inside my chest, pinches and twists it, and when I come this time, my orgasm is accompanied by tears that I’m pretty sure aren’t just a component of release.

  Oh, God.

  I’m so in love with Logan. In deep, deep love.

  We lock eyes, and even though I haven’t said it out loud, I think he can tell I’m thinking it because his face suddenly turns warm and intense, and then it’s not only me falling apart, but both of us. Crashing together like two stars exploding in a blaze of heat and fire and pure light.

  The way he looks at me, with eyes that seem to see something heavenly in my appearance, I know—I know—he meant it when he said he loved me, and I know he’s just as surprised and awed by it as I am.

  And I can’t help but wonder if he’s scared too. Can’t help but wonder if the violent way he shudders into me with his release, sputtering and rutting almost like he’s angry, is an indication that he senses the same undercurrent of terrible within that love that I do.

  * * *

  “I have to work today.” Logan traces a finger along my jaw. “I wish I didn’t, but I’ll have to get ready soon.”