Before I’ve made up my mind about whether I want to use—and possibly waste—another pregnancy test, the phone rings.
“Who the hell calls!” I shout to the empty room. But my annoyance dissipates when I see Chase’s name on my screen. Well, not his name, exactly. He’s listed as “Hot Cop” in my phone. Naturally.
“I was just thinking about you,” I say, in lieu of hello.
It hasn’t slipped my attention that Chase is the only person in my life that I don’t harass about calling me. He doesn’t do it that often. Most of our communication is via text, as all communication with decent people should be. But sometimes, when he’s driving or working out or he needs a quick answer to something, he rings me up instead.
And I’ve decided that’s fine. It’s a temporary relationship, anyway, and the calling thing has been...useful.
“No wonder you sound so happy.” His voice alone gets my body reacting. My heart races and the blood starts flowing to my lower regions.
Not that I’d ever admit it.
I curl my feet underneath me and shrug even though he can’t see me. “Actually, I’m moody today. And my breasts are tender to the touch. It’s either PMS or I’m pregnant. No period yet, but the symptoms, it turns out, are pretty much the same as being knocked up. How the hell am I supposed to know the difference? How did anyone ever stand the waiting in the old days?”
“I’m sorry. You said something about touching your breasts, and I missed everything you said after that. Did you say you’re not having your period?”
Normally this would elicit a laugh, but like I said, I’m moody. “No. I’m not. Jerk.”
“Good. I need you.”
“You need me?” I know what he means. I just can’t believe he needs me again so soon.
“I’m outside your door in three, two…”
My doorbell rings. Shaking my head, I click END on the phone call and jump up to let him in. After a couple of steps, I turn back to shut my laptop. Chase doesn’t need to see my tracking notes. Then I run to answer the door.
“You need me again already?” I say, when I see him face to face. Looking him over, it appears he’s just come from the gym. He’s carrying a duffle bag, dressed in sweatpants and a poly-blend shirt that appears to be the type designed to stay dry. His body’s drenched from his workout, and it reminds me so much of the times I’m lying underneath him that my stomach clenches in automatic response.
I stand back to let him past me.
“Hello to you too, sexypants.”
He waggles his brows as his eyes wander to my chest, and after I shut the door I confront him. “You’re checking out my boobs, aren’t you?” It comes out irritated, and maybe I am. I don’t know. I’m not irritated with him, exactly. Just irritated in general.
Chase shrugs. “You said they were tender. I was just trying to decide if they looked bigger.”
Bigger could mean pregnant. My enthusiasm kindled, I thrust my bosom out for his inspection. “Well?”
He studies me more overtly, hovering his hands above my tits as though trying to compare size. “I think I need more input,” he says. “I need to feel them a bit. Caress them. Maybe see how they fit in my mouth.”
I press my back against the closed door and heave out a dramatic sigh. “We just banged yesterday.”
I don’t know why I’m whining about it. I liked the banging yesterday. Loved it, even. I’ll love the banging today, too. Like I always do.
Chase closes in on me, resting his hands on my hips. “We totally did. When your boss walked out, and I had to put my hand over your mouth and pull you behind the stairs so she wouldn’t catch us?”
“Yeah?” I ask, slightly breathy from the memory.
“That was really hot.”
“It was.” So hot. I’m wet now, thinking about it. “I thought it would hold you over for a while. You are quite insatiable.”
“Are you complaining?”
“I’m simply stating an observation.” But my tone sounds a little like I’m complaining, even to my own ears.
Chase pulls back as though he might leave. “I can go find someone else to take care of me if you’re willing to amend the arrangement.”
My chest twists unexpectedly.
“Really?” I can’t tell if he’s serious or teasing.
He shrugs non-committedly. “If that’s what you want.”
I frown. “It’s not.” It’s not what I want at all. That’s why I told him upfront that he had to remain monogamous. That’s why it’s in the contract. “I’m not amending the arrangement. And I’m not complaining.”
“That’s what I thought.” He grins and moves in again.
Until I halt him with my palms. “But you’re all sweaty and gross. Take a shower first.”
I say this last part at the same time as he says, “I’ll hit the shower first.”
“Yeah, good idea.”
He picks up the duffle he brought in and slips off to my bedroom to use the en suite shower. I watch him leave because he has a nice backside. Even nicer in those sweats.
Once he’s out of sight, I throw my head back and knock it three times against the door. Then, rubbing my head, I move to my kitchen island. I lean my elbows on the faux granite counter and let out a frustrated groan.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I’m glad Chase is here. I really, really am. I was excited the minute I saw his name on my caller display, and despite my fussing, I’m horny for him too. I actually always get hornier when I’m premenstrual, so maybe I am about to bleed.
Of course I’ve read that can be a symptom of pregnancy too.
But as happy as I am that he’s here, the anxiety I was feeling before his arrival has tightened into a thick knot in my chest. First, there’s his needs. While I agreed willingly to be there for him, even outside of my fertility window, there is a part of me that is bothered by the amount of sex we’ve had that hasn’t been for the explicit goal of procreating. Or, more accurately, it bothers me how much it doesn’t actually bother me.
What does it mean that I want to jump him as much as I do, simply for the sake of jumping him?
I don’t have an answer, but it feels complicated. It feels like I’m connecting with Chase on levels I never meant to. Like he’s connecting with me.
Except now he’s mentioned finding another woman.
This isn’t the first time we’ve had sex outside my fertile period, but it’s the first time he’s mentioned going elsewhere for release. Does he want someone else?
Of course he doesn’t. I was giving him a hard time so he responded in kind.
Except, maybe that’s not true. Maybe I’m just telling myself that so I’ll feel better. But I don’t feel better, because I’m not sure what’s true anymore.
I’m not worried that he’ll cheat on me. Is cheating the right term? I’m not worried that he’ll cheat on our arrangement. I know he’s dedicated to the terms. But I hadn’t considered that he might be thinking of other women. That he might be wanting other women. Other women that he could get into his bed at the drop of his badge.
And that sucks balls if he does because I want him to only want me.
The revelation hits me like a ton of bricks. It isn’t a good one. In fact, it’s a terrible one. It’s selfish. I know it is. He’s already giving me more than I’m giving him. I shouldn’t covet all of his desire on top of that. It’s not fair and it’s exactly what we’re not supposed to be about.
But I want it all the same. I want it, and it means bad things. The worst things. It means I like him. It means I care. It means I want to feel like, in some way, he cares about me.
Even if it’s only sexually.
Especially if it’s only sexually, because that’s the only way it will ever be okay to care about him. And it’s the only way it will ever be okay to let him care about me.
With that realization, I’m suddenly desperate to be with him.
I run to the bathroom where he’s s
till showering. He’s left the door open so the steam hasn’t fogged up the room, and I can see him distinctly through the clear glass wall of my walk-in shower. He must hear me because he turns toward me when I come in.
“Almost done here, babe,” he says, soap lathered on his chest and torso.
But I didn’t come in to rush him. I came to join him.
His eyes are still watching me as I pull my When in Doubt, Go to the Library T-shirt over my head and let it fall to the ground. I took off my bra when I got home from work and changed into loungewear so my breasts are now exposed and Chase’s eyes widen greedily at the sight. His hand moves down to tug on his cock, which is quickly hardening in front of me.
I consider making the rest of my strip routine more of a tease, but I’m too eager to be with him. Too eager to touch him. Hurriedly, I pull down my leggings and panties together and kick them aside. Then I walk around the wall and into the shower to join him.
“Liv, you’ve just made me a very happy man,” he says, turning his back to the spray so he can face me. He pulls again on his erection, which is now rock hard, and my mouth waters. I plan to take care of that. Soon.
But first…
Besides the texts setting up locations and meet-up times, I haven’t ever been the one to initiate sex, and honestly, I’m not sure what I’m doing. I’ve let Chase do all the guiding.
Fortunately, my confidence doesn’t let me down. I know what I want, and that’s what I go after.
I walk to him, throw my arms around his neck, and kiss him.
For half a second, Chase seems stunned. I move my mouth against his, and he’s frozen, his body still as though he’s afraid if he moves, the moment will be broken.
Then suddenly he wakes up. He enfolds me in his arms, pulling me against his slick body. Our lips tangle and our tongues explore, and it’s not unlike our first kiss where we were frenzied and urgent.
But this is also entirely new. It’s bold and brave and sure.
It’s familiar, too. And personal. And exactly all the things I’d feared kissing could be with him, and why I hadn’t wanted to ever kiss him again. My chest tingles and expands. I feel dizzy, and closer to Chase than I’ve ever felt before.
And that terrifies me. In all the best and worst ways.
But it doesn’t matter anymore that kissing feels too intimate or too scary. The fear of intimacy was that it would lead to growing attached. And dammit, I’m already attached. I realize that now. This is already going to sting when it’s over. There’s no stopping that. So I might as well enjoy it while it lasts.
I might as well enjoy him while it lasts.
The water continues to fall down his backside. Rivulets escape down his front, and I leave his mouth to follow one with my tongue as it weaves down his torso. The journey brings me to my knees, face-to-face with the “other Officer Kelly.” We’ve become good friends the last two weeks, his cock and I.
Furtively, I peek up at Chase. He’d been reluctant to let me break our kiss, but now his eyes are dark as he watches my lips hover above his crown.
“I want to see you put it in your mouth, like a good girl,” he tells me. “Can you do that for me, kitten?”
I nod, but all I do is lick the waterdrops off the circumference of his head, like it’s an ice cream cone that I don’t want to drip. I glance back up at him.
“That’s not going to cut it, babe,” he tells me, bucking his hips toward me.
Giggling, I suck the tiniest bit of the tip into my mouth, enjoying the way his legs shake and his belly trembles with his groan.
“Fuck. Liv.” His hands tangle in my hair, and I can tell he’s trying to resist directing me, and maybe I should be glad about that, but the thing is, as much as I wanted to put my mouth on him—as much as this was my idea—I don’t know what I’m doing. Not only has it been several years since I’ve given a blow job, but I’ve maybe never given a fabulous blow job. And just like teenage Chase who didn’t know how to touch a woman, I don’t know how to suck this grown man.
I want him to show me what to do, but I don't want to ask outright. I wrap my hands around his thighs, take his head into my mouth then let it fall out again before I stare up at him coyly. “Like this?”
“Take it all the way, honey. You can do it.” He’s encouraging me, but I hear the impatience under his words.
I want him impatient. I want him restless and eager so that he’ll abandon his manners and let his instincts lead the way.
So I take him in as instructed, but it’s a half-hearted attempt to please him. I draw my lips over him too slowly. I don’t take him deep enough.
Again, he bucks, driving his cock in farther.
“Mmm.” My lips vibrate over his length, and he groans in response.
“More of that, Livvy.” He threads his fingers tighter against my scalp and I relax my neck muscles, hoping he’ll take over. My stomach twists in anticipation. “More,” he says again, rocking his pelvis back and forth in a gentle rhythm. “Flatten your tongue.”
I flatten my tongue, looking up to find his eyes are closed and, from his expression, I’d guess his restraint is threadbare. I pull my head back and take him in, once more too slowly.
He pushes my head this time, forcing me to take more of him. I press my lips tighter around him, rewarding his dominant behavior. It seems to work, because he grunts and pulls my head back before pushing me down on him again.
I dig my nails into his thighs. We’re working at his tempo now, Chase fucking my mouth at the depth and speed he likes best. I’m taking notes. Remembering exactly how far he likes to be sucked in and how he likes my tongue and how he likes it when I moan against him. It’s so fucking hot. If I weren’t so mesmerized by watching him, I’d reach down and rub myself, but this is about him. I want it to be about him. Because I don’t know how much longer I’ll have him.
Chase’s leg muscles harden and his balls start to draw up. He’s close, and I ready myself to take all he has to give. All the times he’s emptied himself into me for my benefit, I’m happy to swallow it all now for him.
But just as I think he’s going to come, he pushes me off of him and pulls me to my feet.
“What are you doing? I would have—”
He doesn’t let me finish telling me what I would have done because he captures my mouth with his in a deep searing kiss. He turns me and presses my back against the wall. “I don’t want to come in your mouth,” he says. “I’d rather have my tongue in your mouth while I’m coming in your cunt.”
I don’t argue because that does sound nice. Besides, he’s kissing me again and my mouth is preoccupied with better things than talking. He lifts me up so I’m at the right height and I wrap my legs around him, inviting him in.
He buries himself inside me, with one plunging thrust. Then he doesn’t move, he just stays nestled in my pussy, as though he’s anchored himself to shore, while he kisses me and kisses me. In all the ways I imagine that he’s always wanted to kiss me. In all the ways I’ve always wanted to be kissed by him.
When he starts to stir, he moves leisurely at first, until neither of us can take it and we’re both arching and bucking, trying to get deeper and deeper, trying to get “there” and everywhere and then we’re coming, both of us together. Quaking like we’re two rocks compressing against each other on a fault line under the surface of the earth.
We make small talk while we dry off. Decide what we’ll have for dinner. Talk about the size of my breasts, which we decide are probably about the same size as always. We don’t talk about the rest. About the kissing or that I initiated, or that this time, more than any other time, was less about contracts or babies or getting off than ever before, because I don’t know if there are words for what it really was. It was more than just sex, and I can’t pretend it was only for Chase.
The truth is, I don’t know what this was. But I do know that things are different now. Because now I know that I actually care. About him.
I also know
that the longer this goes on, the more it’s going to hurt when he’s met his contractual obligation and moves on.
But I’ll have a baby on the way then to soften the blow. I can focus on attaching to my child instead. Hopefully, that will happen sooner rather than later.
And yes, I’ll miss this. I’ll miss the touching and the teasing and the orgasms.
God...the orgasms...
My libido wouldn’t mind if this month ends up with no viable bun in the oven. Denying it is pointless.
But I’m praying that the kisses we shared tonight were the last. I’m not sure my heart can take much more time together than it already has.
12
Chase
“If you don’t stop checking that thing, I’m going to throw it out the window,” Sergeant Gutierrez threatens.
I put the phone away with an exaggerated sigh and then turn to smile at her, my big dimpled smile that sometimes gets me out of trouble. We’re driving in her car, and she doesn’t take her eyes off the road to scowl at me, so she just scowls at the highway instead, but it looks like she’s fighting off a smile too.
“Can’t you conduct your one-man dating service when you’re off duty?”
I watch the concrete walls flit by on the highway as she pulls into the right lane. “I feel like ‘duty’ is a strong word for this afternoon, Sarge.”
Now she’s really grinning. “Well, yeah.”
With our captain’s permission, we are heading down to the regional police academy for an hour or two, both to watch a wet lab in progress and to talk to the administrators to hammer out the logistics for hosting one. Even though our city is fairly quiet and mostly residential, a few trendy new restaurants in the heart of town have meant an uptick in drunk driving, and our captain thinks most of the officers could use a refresher course in sobriety testing.
So we’re looking into the possibility of hosting a wet lab of our own, yes, but also it means an afternoon of watching rookie cops and drunk people—two of the funniest groups to watch on the planet. It’ll be a nice break from the calls about nursing home escapes and rich teens shoplifting.
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