by Rie Warren
****
It was only two days later when I received The Call.
I stared at my phone that pulsated with the “I Shot The Sheriff” ringtone I’d programmed for Ashe. Oh, helllooo. She’d never called me before. Pulled me over? Yes. Fucked me ten ways to Sunday. Yes. Called me? Nada.
I answered after the fourth ring. “Yo.”
“I’m running late. You said to call. Can you pick Cara up from soccer?” A harried-sounding Ashe rushed her words.
“So now you need me?” I yawned loudly enough for her to hear me, but I was already heading for the door with my keys in hand.
“Brodie, please. I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t in a tight spot.”
I chuckled as I unlocked my truck. “You. Tight spot. And please. Just a few of my favorite words. By the way, you never have to beg unless we’re in the sack. I’m already in my truck. Text me the directions.”
“You’re a godsend.”
“Never heard that one before.”
That Monday afternoon in late June I rolled up to the soccer fields at Patriot’s Point with Tucker and Tail cruising right behind me on their roaring motorcycles. Hey, I brought the badass cheerleaders with me.
All the blonde-highlighted PTA heads swung in our direction as we swaggered to the chain-link fence.
I nodded at the ladies. “It’s cool. Cara Kingston is with us.”
Tuck elbowed me in the ribs. “Which one is she now?”
I pointed Cara out. Her legs pumped like pistons as she zigzagged down the field. “Number seventeen. Blonde ponytail.”
“GO GIRL!” Tuck belted out as Cara raced toward the goalie, pulling Brazilian-style soccer moves left and right.
She shoots and scores!!!
My guys banged on the fence and probably made obscene gestures.
So I wasn’t PTA material, but that didn’t stop the hot little MILF numbers from taking second and third looks.
Gotcha, don’t want ya. There’s only one MILF I’m after.
Cara cleaned the motherfucking turf like Ronaldo—forget about bend-it-like-Beckham. She had skills, thrills, and some serious talent.
Boosh!
Another Cara Kingston goal and her team went hog wild while we practically bent the fence in two and whoop-hollered.
Cara’s team won by a mile, and no shit about that. She met me off to the side, kicking one heel of her muddy cleats against the toe of the other. “You came to watch me?”
“I’d buy a season ticket if I could.” I shouldered her gym bag.
Tuck waddled over, Tail grinning beside him.
“You brought motorcycle dudes too?”
“You think your mom will care?”
“Nah. She likes you, Brodie.”
And Cara gets another gold star.
Tail shoved his long black hair back. “Pro moves you got there.”
“My mom says women can do anything men can do.” She proudly grinned.
Sounds like Ashe.
I led the way to the parking lot as Tuck said, “Does that mean NFL next?”
“No. They’re wussies. They wear too many pads.”
That got a laugh out of all of us.
Cara kept talking and only stopped when she got a gander at Tuck and Tail’s Harleys.
Her eyes wide, she gushed, “So cool! Can I get a ride home on one of those?”
“Absolutely . . . not.” I held her elbow, guiding her away as my guys gunned out of the parking lot, leaving a dust cloud in their wake. “I’m pretty sure your mom would shoot me in the butt with her Glock if I took you out on my bike, or any bike, without her permission.”
“Bummer.”
“Your truck awaits.” I led her over to my ’83 Chevy low-rider, shiny black in the midday sun.
“Oh my God! It’s freakin’ cool!”
“I do a lot of tinkering on it.”
“Wicked awesome.”
She climbed inside, I started the ignition, and my Chevy was louder than Tuck and Tail’s bikes combined.
A couple miles down the road, Cara asked, “So, are you with my mom or what?”
“‘Or what’ and you’ll have to ask your mom about that.”
She snorted and did the eye roll combo with it. “Right.”
My thoughts exactly.
Cara looked at me. “I think it’s cool if you are. She’s always soooo super paranoid about being there for everything for me. First time she’s chilled out is with you. She needs someone else.”
“How old are you again?”
Just then Cara tuned the radio to the local pop-rock station. Oh yeah, she’s eight.
Ashe pulled into her drive—in the Volvo wagon—right after we arrived. I helped Cara out of my truck and then her mom from the mommy wagon. I couldn’t help but smirk. Just a little.
Ashe stared at me as she leaned against the closed door of her soccer mom car. Perfect. I moved in closer.
“Hey, Mom! Thanks for the ride, Brodie. Yup. I’ll be inside.” Cara cleared out quick.
Good kid.
Ashe’s head notched back when I bent over to kiss her. Her lips softened, her mouth parted, she moaned when our tongues touched. Her hands wandered way south to settle on my ass.
I grinded my cock against her for a moment before releasing her.
Her eyes had turned a warm, hazy gray color. I drew my thumb along her jaw and settled my hand on the nape of her neck.
“Thank you for getting Cara for me.”
I shrugged. “No big. I brought some of the guys too. I think they placed bets on her team.”
She let her head fall to my shoulder as she giggled. “You’re impossible.”
“I tell the truth.” Wrapping my arms around her waist, I rocked into her. “Mmm. You feel good.”
“You too.” Ashe wiggled closer.
“You usually late? ’Cause I can help out. Not like I need to punch a clock at Chrome and Steele if I don’t want to.”
“I’m usually on time, but . . .” She looked up with a blush and a smile. “I got a promotion today, had to take care of the paperwork and stuff.”
“A promotion?”
“I made detective.”
I let out a loud shout and spun her around. “Damn right. This calls for a celebration. You got a babysitter on tab?”
“I might-could arrange something. What do you have in mind?” She looped her arms around my neck as I set her on the ground.
“You. Me. And a hot date.”
****
A few nights later, I spiffed up. I shaved until my cheeks were scraped clean and my goatee cropped close. I wore a dress shirt, a loose tie, black pants, biker boots. Hell, I’d even used cologne. Boomer sat straight up on the sofa as I strode through the hallway, sending a whistle after me.
Lucky getaway, I thought when I made it out the front door, Boomer none the wiser.
Then he hung his head out after me. “Where you going all dressed up stinking of cologne? I didn’t even know you owned any.”
“Got a date.”
“With who?” He dogged my heels.
“A person of interest.”
His dark chuckle was pure threat. “Yeah. You keep your little secret for now. I’ll get it out of you if I have to thrash you to do it.”
“Only thing you’ll be thrashing tonight is your dick in your hand, braw.”
Laughing, I ducked away from his big swing and made it into the safety of my truck. I’d washed it earlier in the day, and made sure there wasn’t any crap floating around on the floorboards. I wanted my ride pristine for my woman.
I was glad I’d gone to the extra effort when Ashe opened her door. I just about fell over on the porch. My breath whooshed from me, and I backed up to take in the full effect.
“You’re wearing a dress.” Understatement of the year. Holy fuck me. The dress was classy insofar as it must’ve cost a mint. The shimmery blue sheath hugged Ashe’s amazing body and allowed for maximum cleavage, plus a whole lotta tan leg on show. Deep V
neckline, tight short sleeves, and million mile high heels. In other words, she spelled S-E-X on L-E-G-S.
“I am.” Ashe shut the door and stepped out onto the porch.
I tried to unstick my gaze from her body, but that shit was just criminal.
“So this is one of those times you’ll wear one for me?” I ogled her until I thought my eyes would fall out of my head.
“You like?”
“Love.”
Ashe spun around in a twirl. “I’m making an exception. Don’t get used to it.”
Eyes falling outta my head? My cock was going to punch out of my pants. Her ass was gloved in the dress, and her back was pretty much bare down to the deep low dip of her spine.
“Christ.” I fingered the blond waves of her hair when she faced me again and focused on her lips—light pink. “Did you curl your hair for me?”
“Did you put on cologne for me.”
“Yeah,” I answered in a daze.
“Yeah,” she mimicked.
We’d be lucky if we made it into my truck without a fuck happening.
But we were doing the date thing, and I was determined to do it right. “Promise not to get used to it, but don’t mind me staring at you every chance I get.”
Ashe looked bad-fucking-ass in uniform. She worked my balls when she did the biker chick thing. But this Ashe—in a dress? Goddamn dream come true.
I got her seated in my truck with minimal manhandling in between. That was a damn miracle right there. The night was hot and sultry, Ashe hotter and more sultry. I blasted the A/C, but she rolled down her window, not giving a shit if her hair got messed up.
My kind of woman.
I’d made reservations downtown. Big time. The works.
And didn’t I feel like a king as I escorted her into the restaurant? Great service, cozy table in a quiet corner, excellent food, and the banter I’d come to know and love.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in long sleeves before.” Ashe tapped my wrist where the ink trailed onto the back of my hand from beneath my shirt cuff.
“Bad thing?”
“Good thing.” She finished the last bite of her appetizer and pushed the plate to the side.
“Why’s that?”
“You clean up good. Not that you don’t do rough and a little dirty around the edges good too. But you’re seriously gorgeous, Brodie, and then there’s that hint of the bad boy underneath.” She let her tongue touch the rim of her wineglass before she took a sip.
Under the table my bad boy kicked up in my pants.
Leaning into her, I curled my palm around her neck. I licked the last drop of white wine from her luscious pink lips. “You’re makin’ me a little crazy here, Ashe.”
“Am I?” Her hand moved to my thigh, and another kickstart from my cock jolted me.
“We have at least two more courses to go.”
“And I bet you love eating . . . dinner,” she whispered against my mouth.
Seriously in danger of goddamn purring like Twatson, I imagined eating what I wanted most. Ashe’s pussy.
The waiter interrupted us before I gave voice to my real wishes. Good thing because Ashe could arrest me for getting her naked on a table in the middle of a downtown Charleston restaurant.
“Cara’s a cool kid,” I mentioned as I tucked into my meal.
“It hasn’t been easy, but she’s very good. Like I said, she hasn’t gotten to the boyfriend stage yet.”
“Neither have you.”
She slowly ate another bite of her scallop dish. “This is pretty close, don’t you think?” Her voice dropped.
Yeah, close, but not good enough.
I switched subjects, taking a minute to enjoy Ashe in her dress—the low cleavage and plump tits along with the high hem and long thighs. “So the detective thing means you won’t be beating the streets anymore, right?” Color me fucking ecstatic about that.
“It means I’ll be assigned to Vice.”
I set my knife and fork down. “And busting dealers?”
“Among other things.”
Not goddamn happy.
“But you’ll be careful and wear a bulletproof vest and handcuff snakey motherfuckers,” I rasped out.
“That’s not really how it works all the time.” And just like that she took the last bite of her seafood as if la-di-da . . . I have a life-threatening job, no biggie.
I groaned into my hands. “Why can’t you be a paper-pusher or ticket-writer or something that isn’t gonna get you shot again?”
“Maybe I like a little danger in my life. Maybe that’s why I’m with you.”
Looking up, I saw the glimmer of her smile. “Are you with me?”
Ashe patted her belly. “Depends. What’s for dessert?”
“Killing me.”
“Might as well have dessert first then.”
We had dessert. It was something sinfully decadent and chocolate, and we shared it. The entire meal was five-star all the way, but Ashe was the biggest star. Beautiful, breathtaking even. It wasn’t the dress or the curled hair or her lip gloss she reapplied after she finished her after-dinner brandy. It was the warmth she ignited in my chest and the heat she flamed in my cock. It was her absolute no-holds-barred realness, and her still-hidden heart.
After I paid the bill and drove her home, I walked her up the porch with my arm draped around her shoulders.
Cara peeked out behind the blinds.
Snoop.
At the door, I turned Ashe to me. “Next time we’re going for fried chicken and some good ol’ coleslaw.”
“Next time?”
“Yeah. These are my terms: dates with you, dinners with Cara, sex whenever and wherever we can, monogamy, a relationship. There”—I shrugged—“I said the R word. That’s what I’m offerin’. That’s what I want with you. Take it or leave it.”
Ashe gave me a wicked grin. And my cock was hard, harder, hardest with no hope for reprieve tonight.
“I’ll consider your offer, Mr. Steele.” She reached up, pulled me down, and slanted her silky mouth to mine.
Breaking the kiss, I cupped her ass inside the sexy dress. “I have no doubt, Detective Kingston.”
“I’ll call you.”
“Do that.”
When she turned away, I twirled her back. I didn’t leave her with a little goodnight sample. Hell no. I bent her over my arm and ran one palm up her leg and under her dress to her upper thigh. I laid a kiss on Ashe that drove all thought from my head and all heat to my groin. When I pulled away, I sucked the tip of her tongue with me, fucking it with swirling motions.
Depositing Ashe in an upright position—chuckling when she braced herself against the door—I squeezed her hip. As I backed down the steps, she didn’t move. I really wanted to pick her up, drag my pants down, her skirt up, and fuck fast and deep and hard.
Marshaling all my restraint, I forced myself to keep moving away. “G’night, babe.”
“’Night, Brodie.”
Chapter Eight
Tilt
IN THE BATTLE BETWEEN the newly minted police detective versus the big bad biker guy, I racked up points. Ashe called me the very next day, oh yes she did. She agreed to see me again. We were “going out”. Definitely monogamous, except it was more like monastic because there was no staying over, no nookie, no orgasms, and no NC-17 nudity due to Ashe’s single mom status. But I kicked some serious awesome ass in the boyfriend department.
In my favor, I had a few things working for me: 1. I wasn’t a loser. 2. Chicks dug me. 3. Cara was my freaking cheerleader. 4. The piercings on my cock made Ashe see fucking stars and come like she’d never come before. Even if she wouldn’t let me make her come now.
We talked on the phone. We texted. We went on dates. The dates ended with kisses—burning down the house kisses. Make out sessions that were hot and sexy and went no further. I hoped we were building a relationship not a weeklong fling, so I was cool with that.
I went home to jack off. She better
use only her fingers and/or vibrators to get off. We were exclusive. I had expectations about who or what she could do. The who? Me. The what? Things that came with batteries. Better if I was the one using them on her.
Aaaaand next I’d find myself sitting in the OB/GYN waiting room next to Leelee Stone doing goddamn Cosmo quizzes about the best sexual positions.
What the fuck?
****
Boomer busted into my office a couple weeks after the promotion dinner date. I slapped my laptop shut. He aimed his serial killer grin at me as he kicked the door shut.
“I’m not cruisin’ porn.”
“No shit?” He pulled me out of my chair and into a skull rub. “Maybe just cyber-stalkin’ one Officer Ashe Kingston? Heard she was your Bike Week fling. Leta let it drop.”
I wrestled free from his lockhold. “Not a fling. Not talkin’ about it. And Ashe is detective now.” I winced. Dealers, gamblers, pimps, and gangbangers instead of the easy shit like speeding tickets, traffic violations, and shoplifters.
“That’s probably the smartest thing you ever said, Brodie. So. That means you really like her.”
Heat burned my cheeks as I blushed, of all the goddamn things. “She’s incredible. Career driven and has a kid. A fucking police detective. Definitely not my type.”
Boomer plunked down into a chair. “This is more serious than I thought. You been whipped, braw.”
“You even start about her billy club, and I’ll whip you, braw.”
“I’m just saying it’s cool.”
“It is not cool. Not at all. Fuck’s sake. She’s making me crazy.”
“Slow ride?”
“Anything but. Ashe had me in bed three hours into Bike Week, but now I find out she’s got a kid, a girl, Cara.” I stalked around the corner of my desk, which was messy at best, a tornado at worst—paperwork sucked. “She’ll date me for now, but I’m not sure how into the relationship thing she is. I’m screwed, blued, and tattooed. She started out giving me this asinine no strings nonsense.”
“Huh. That sounds familiar.” He winked at me.
“Fuck off with you.” I pointed to the door, but he just made himself more comfortable in the chair. I did not need him reminding me my free-balling days were coming home to roost.