Pr*ck Charming

by Madison Faye

  “I know, okay?” I snapped, clenching my hand into a fist around the door hand-hold and narrowing my eyes at the road ahead. I knew, and I knew that Blake was right — pulling the “step out of the car and spread ‘em” routine with some hot young college girl on vacation was one thing. Flashing that “bad cop” grin and maybe flexing a little bit of muscled to some blushing housewife who’d just blown a stop-sign? Yeah, maybe boundary-pushing in terms of the badge, but that’d never stopped either of us before.

  Except Samantha Caraway was different.

  And how did we know that?

  Well, because this wasn’t the first time either of us were meeting her.

  Okay, it was the first face-to-face, and the first time we’d spoken to her, but Blake and I had been watching Samantha for the better part of a month now, as part of our ongoing investigation. See, we aren’t just beat-cops and ticket writers. My buddy and I were also detectives — first class. Yeah, it was basically like working two jobs, but you couldn’t complain about the money, and besides, neither of us were tied down or anything, and truth be told, we fuckin’ loved being cops.

  The ongoing investigation wasn’t about Samantha, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t gotten caught up in the surveillance net we’d set up in conjunction with the FBI on this case.

  Technically, it was that deadbeat of a fiancé of hers that the investigation was concerned with — him and the little side piece he’d picked up. And by “side piece,” I mean “Maria Santiago, niece to Miguel Santiago.” The very same Miguel Santiago who was currently one of the biggest importers of cocaine into southern California.

  Through some bad card games, and maybe the wrong kind of friends, Tim Plimpton, Samantha’s fiancé, had found himself hooked in with some bad fucking people. Thing is though, he might have been a shitbag, but he was apparently no slouch of a lawyer. He was so good, in fact, that he’d quickly found work with Miguel as a personal attorney — something that came in handy when you’re smuggling literal tons of an illegal substance across international borders.

  The investigation was ongoing — we still needed solid evidence to be sure of a conviction, but Blake and I had been helping out for about a month now.

  And our job?

  Surveillance. Specifically, Tim’s house.

  Even more specifically, since he was pretty much never home these days, our surveillance had basically been entirely of Samantha.

  Fuck.

  And in a month, there were two damn sure things Blake and I knew about her. One, she had nothing to do with Tim’s bullshit. And two, Samantha Caraway was a fucking goddess.

  Dark hair, stunning blue eyes, tanned skin, and curves for days. Sweet, bee-stung lips, perfect, full tits, an ass I wanted to sink my teeth into, and a body I wanted to dominate while she begged for more.

  Watching her had been both heaven and hell. On the one side, we’d basically spent twelve hours a day for the past month sitting in a van watching and listening to her on the FBI-sanctioned cameras and microphones installed all over their house. Twelve hours a day watching Samantha Caraway sleep, undress, shower, and work out.

  Holy fuck. Neither of us had the slightest clue how a boring paper-pushing, slightly pudgy dude like Tim Plimpton had a girl like that — moreover, the fact that he was stepping out on her was actually mind-blowing.

  We knew from watching that Tim hadn’t so much as touched his knockout of a fiancé in a month — body language and knowing how long things had been going on with Maria told us it’d been way longer than that.

  And so had watching Samantha.

  Because besides sleeping, and eating, and doing yoga on her back deck, and generally going about her day-to-day routine, there was one other thing about watching her that was by far and away the best part of our fuckin’ job.

  It was the times when being ignored by her fiancé for so long caught up with her. It was the times when we’d watch Samantha Caraway lay back on her big empty bed and let her own fingers do what ours were dying to do.

  It was watching Samantha spread those long, tan legs, pinch a perfect dusky nipple between her fingers, and slip her other hand over her slick, pink pussy until she arched her back and screamed into a pillow.

  Yeah, that was the heaven part of the job we’d been doing.

  The hell part had been slowly realizing both of us were fucking addicted to her and knowing she was the single most off-limits girl in the world.

  Running into her today on our beat duty had been a complete fluke. We’d seen the car speed past us, we’d seen the numbers pop up on our radar, and we’d started the siren — all by the book.

  And then we’d realized who the fuck we were about to pull over, and I know both of our cocks swelled a little at the thought.

  After a month of watching Sam, we were about to get her face-to-face.

  Apparently, I’d failed that test. Hard. Apparently, getting face-to-face with Samantha had sent my reason and sense flying out the fucking window. Maybe it was the goddamn bikini she’d been wearing. Maybe it was those sweet sinful curves on display like that. Maybe it was getting a whiff of jasmine — her shampoo or something — when I’d stepped up to that car.

  Whatever it was, it’d snapped something in me, and I’d been powerless to stop it. I’d been powerless to stop myself from putting my hands on her, the blood roaring in my ears and my cock ready to tear a damn hole in my pants as she’d bent over the hood of that car in front of me. The way her breath had caught when my fingers touched her skin, the way she’d gasped so sweetly when I’d skimmed them up her thighs.

  And then reason had taken over, and I’d snapped out it somehow.

  Somehow, I’d walked away without tearing off that bikini, burying my tongue in that sweet pussy, and then filling her up with every fucking inch of my big cock.

  “You asshole.”

  I glanced at Blake, his brow furrowed as he glared at the road.

  “Look, I’m sorry, man. Trust me, I know procedure, and I know that was endangering the damn operation—”

  “I’m not talking about the fucking job, you dick.” Blake turned and grinned at me.

  “I’m talking about you getting to put your hands on that sweet little body, prick.”

  I grinned back. “I swear, it won’t happen again.”

  “Yeah well if it does, I’m doing the bikini pat-down, got it?”

  I laughed, my cock still rock hard. “Got it.”

  I knew the job was just to watch her. I knew the job was to observe, report, and stay the fuck away from her.

  But I also knew one more thing: I knew that after putting my hands on Samantha Caraway once, there wasn’t a chance in hell I wasn’t going to do everything I could to make it happen again.

  I would get my hands on her again, and next time?

  Next time I wasn’t just going to use my hands.

  Chapter 4

  Samanatha

  With a deep groan, I sank back into the canvas of the chair, pushing my toes out through the sand as I stretched back and relaxed. The warmth of the summer sun radiated down on my bare skin, making my body tingle and glow under the mid-day heat. I closed my eyes behind my shades as I let myself totally relax out here in my element.

  I loved the beach in the summertime; loved the way my bikini-clad body soaked up the sun and the way I could just relax out here.

  Of course, I was hardly relaxing at the moment. My entire head was still back there on the side of the road; my whole body still bent over, spread, thrilling at the feel of the cop’s hands on my skin. I tried to let it all go, tried to clear my head and just let myself stare out at the ocean and relax. But try as I might, I couldn’t get out of my own head.

  First, it was feeling the betrayal in my kitchen that morning, looking at the graphic pictures of the girl my fiancé was cheating on me with. But then being made to submit like that on the side of the road by those two hunky, commanding cops had added an entirely new element to the already confused emotions co
ursing through my head.

  I squirmed in my beach chair, squeezing my thighs together and blushing behind my sunglasses as I felt the lips of my pussy rub deliciously together, still slippery with the heat of that moment on the side of the road.

  Clearing my head be damned, the fantasy came rushing back full-force. In my head, I pictured the two cops walking up to me right there on the beach.

  “Miss, that bikini is a bit too small for a place like this. We’re going to have to issue you a ticket. That is, unless you DO something for us…”

  I could feel my cheeks go bright pink, from much more than the hot California sun as I let the fantasy play out in my head. I pictured the already sexually-charged pat-down from earlier getting even more physical. In my head, both of them were running their hands over me, pulling my bikini from my body and bending me over the car right there on the side of the road, the two of them taking turns and…and…

  Yikes, get a grip lady!

  Biting my lip, I looked around the empty beach. It was nine in the morning on a Tuesday — hardly prime beach time, especially at the more private, residents-only one off the beaten path here in our town. I could see one solitary other figure in a beach chair way down the shore, and much closer to the parking lot, but that was it.

  Realizing I was basically alone with my fantasies lit a sort of a fire in me, and I suddenly felt myself thinking bolder and naughtier thoughts than I’d ever usually dream of. It felt so forbiddingly taboo to indulge the fantasy, to let my nipples tingle to hard buds beneath my bikini top, my aching pussy slowly getting wetter and wetter under my bottoms. I found myself moaning softly as I gently squeezed my thighs together, feeling the heat of my desire throbbing there as my aching clit begged for attention. I brought myself right back to the fantasy, there on the side of the road with the two muscled men in uniform.

  I let my hand trail down to my waist, and then down over my hips to trail my fingertip up the edge of my suit by my thigh. I pictured the two cops tearing my suit from my body, making me gasp as my body was exposed to them.

  I glanced around the empty beach once more, before I slowly pushed my fingertip beneath the suit and moaned as it slid over my lips. I slipped the finger up higher, feeling the sticky wetness of my opening and dragging it up to my throbbing clit as I slowly moved my fingers over myself beneath my bikini bottoms.

  Yeah, it had been entirely too long since I’d been touched. So much so that a pat-down on the side of the road had my body needing release.

  I tried to imagine what sort of cocks the two of them had underneath those tight, crisp uniforms. I pictured them coming up on both sides of me, kissing my lips and my neck as two sets of hands roamed my body and two big hard cocks pressed into me.

  Spreading my legs as wide as I dared, I eased a finger into my tight slit as I brought my other hand down to slip beneath my bottoms and rubbed my needy, aching clit. I began to fuck myself slowly, easing a finger in and out of my tight opening as I moved my other fingertips in small deliberate circles around my clit.

  Thinking of two big men taking me hard on the side of the road, and thrilling at how brazen I was being despite the beach being obviously empty had me gasping in no time. My fingers rolled over my clit, the heat came rushing through my body, and I came — hard. Biting my lip to be as quiet as possible, I felt my whole body seize up and release as my subtle, desperate climax ripped through me there in my beach chair, while I thought of the two hunky cops.

  There was a scrawled note on the kitchen counter from Tim when I got home late in the afternoon.

  “Went out for a while with a potential job prospect. Please ask before you take the convertible, Sam.”

  That was it.

  “Please ask before you—”

  Oh, fuck off, Tim.

  I wasn’t sure what I was even going to say to him when I came home, or even if I was going to say anything at all. But finding him gone took the wind out of my sails right there. And that whole bullshit about a “job prospect”? Please.

  I ignored the storm raging through my head as I poured myself a healthy glass of chardonnay.

  Suddenly, I froze. Jesus, I knew exactly what he was doing. I could picture him, groggily waking up from his bender the night before, coming downstairs for coffee, seeing his phone where he’d assumed he’d probably left it the night before. He’d probably felt relieved that I hadn’t seen it, especially when he’d opened it up to see the messages from her.

  Her.

  That’s where he was right then. Suddenly, I felt like even more of an idiot. Just earlier, I’d actually admonished myself for having even a fantasy about another man — or men — while my cheating, scumbag fiancé was on his way to actually see another girl!

  I gritted my teeth and started to storm out of the house, when I stopped. There, over on the side table was his phone, just sitting there.

  I walked over to it, and slowly found myself picking it up and opening it up. There, right there, was the same text message conversation with the same little slut from before. Only now, instead of a picture on the screen, there was an address.

  I bit my lip, staring at the address. I knew this was a terrible idea. And maybe the glass of wine I’d already half-slugged down had gone to my head more than I’d realized, but I didn’t even stop to consider turning around until I was past that point anyways, speeding off in the convertible.

  Chapter 5

  Blake

  The squad car jerked as I swung sharply into the parking lot, Dustin swearing next to me as I took the corner hard.

  “Fuck, man.”

  I shot him a glance. “Sorry,” I muttered, feeling the clawing feeling digging inside of me as I braked hard into the parking space out front of the coffee shop. I could feel the all-too-familiar need raging inside — the demon of addiction that I kept locked up tight in there with an iron chain.

  But locked up didn’t mean he wasn’t loud as fuck sometimes.

  I’d been sober for four years now, and I loved it. I was sharper, and healthier, and just better in every aspect of my life without the guy I used to be fucking shit up anymore. But that didn’t mean I didn’t still have days where I felt like I could murder for a sip of whiskey.

  And on those days? Well on those days, I drowned that screaming craving down with my new addiction.

  Caffeine.

  “Got it bad, huh?”

  I glanced at Dustin as I shut the car off, my jaw clenching, my teeth grinding, the roaring of my addiction threatening to explode out of me.

  I nodded, and his face went grim.

  “You want to call anyone?”

  I shook my head. “I’m good. Just…”

  “Black, one sugar?”

  I nodded again, breathing heavily.

  “I got you, man. Sit tight.”

  My friend was out of the car in a second, jogging to the door of the coffee shop.

  Dustin had seen me through the worst of it, back then. We’d been best friends since, well, shit, I don’t even know since when. Before I could remember, that’s for sure. We’d done it all together, growing up across the street from each other — playing with GI Joe’s, taking on bullies on the playground, playing football, chasing girls.

  Hell, we’d lost our virginities on the same night, to the same damn girl, at the same time.

  Well, technically speaking, Dustin had lost his first — something he’d never gotten tired of jokingly reminding me of over the years.

  After school, we’d gone to the same college to play ball, signed up on the same day for the Marines, and done two tours together in Afghanistan. We’d come back home to SoCal, breezed the policeman’s exam, aced our detective’s tests, and now here we were.

  But the short of it was, my friend was the closest thing to a brother I’d ever had, and vice versa.

  We’d both found beer young, I guess. And we’d both enjoyed partying over the years, but there was always something about me and booze that never clicked right. Something in m
y genetics or something. Long story short though, four years ago, Dustin had saved my damn life when he’d shoved me against the wall one particularly rough morning and screamed at me that he wasn’t going to watch me slowly kill myself anymore. He’d put his service gun in my hands, jabbed a finger in my chest, and told me if I was that set on meeting my maker, I could take the fast lane right then and there.

  I went to my first meeting that morning, and I’ve been sober ever since.

  But again, sober doesn’t mean you never think about it. Stress and emotion bring it out, of course, but I’d spent the last four years mastering self-control and keeping myself in check.

  She wrecked that.

  She took that control and shattered it from me. Watching Samantha this last month had shaken me to my core. Watching this girl and slowly realizing how goddamn incredible she was in that almost unbelievable way had tested that self-control.

  Coming face-to-face with her today, in that fucking bikini, and watching Dustin spread her across the hood of her car and let his hands wander over those curves?

  Yeah, self-control gone. I was shaking with the need for something — clawing out of my own skin with the need to give in, to throw the rest of my self-control away.

  My blood boiled, my head swam, and my cock was throbbing hard in my uniform, just thinking about her.

  The passenger door slammed shut, and I blinked, my head clearing slightly.

  “Here. Drink up.”

  I shot my friend a look as I gratefully took the steaming cup of coffee. “Poor choice of words, pal.”

  He snorted. “Sorry, dude.”

  I shook my head, laughing quietly before gratefully sucking down the scalding hot brew. “Thanks for this.”

  “Anytime.” Dustin looked at me carefully. “This about—”

  “Her? Yeah. Obviously.”

  He swore under his breath. “Look, I know I shouldn’t have, I just…” he trailed off, shaking his head. “I just—”