Cuffing Her: A Small Town Cop Romance

by Emily Bishop

  “The other one, too,” I plead. After that, I’m going to beg her to spread her legs for me. I want to eat her out forever, but I don’t think my dick can take it. I felt the way her pussy sucked at my two little fingers. I can only imagine how tightly it would squeeze my whole throbbing cock.

  Sabrina purses her lips, though her eyes shine. I did it. I got her to forget about Vince. I’m actually making her happy—and she’s making me happy, too. This isn’t just sexy; it’s fun.

  “I don’t know,” Sabrina teases. “I already gave you the first nipple for free.”

  “You’re a billionaire,” I remind her, exasperated.

  “Take off your shirt,” she commands, and I grin. My fingers go to the buttons and it breaks away piece by piece, revealing my firm pectorals, my chiseled abdomen, and my powerful biceps. I’d feel cheap and used if I didn’t desperately want to unlock Sabrina’s other nipple right now.

  “All right, you pimp,” I tell her, flinging my shirt to the floor. Now all I’ve got are the pants and boxers sagged around my knees. “Is that what you want?”

  “Oh, yeah, daddy,” Sabrina purrs, stripping down the next strap on her tank top. She presses both her luscious tits together and my teeth sink into my lower lip.

  “Now the legs,” I breathe, indicating the little bush snuggled between her thighs. I like it when she calls me Daddy. I feel like I’m the one in control again.

  “Yes, sir.” She spreads her thighs for me and my legs go weak. She must notice the nearly pained expression on my face, because she says, “What’s wrong?”

  “You’re too beautiful,” I tell her, abandoning my prick and pouncing onto the mattress. I whisk my tongue over her perfect pink slit again. I can’t stop. I want to burrow inside this woman, I’ve been keeping myself bottled up for so long. I want her to suck on my cock. I want to slam into her until she explodes. I love that she’s not scared anymore. I feel her flowering open in my face and I’m about to really plunge in, make her come NOW, but she reaches down and drags me upward, her eyes bright and wild.

  “I’m warmed up,” she says, almost hoarse, and I know what that means. She’s ready for me.

  I play my plush, broad head over her lips and her hole puckers up against my tip like they’re trying to French kiss. I have to close my eyes against how crushingly sweet this is. She’s so unbelievably slick and I flow into her. She stretches open and curls around me and I drive into her with one brutal roar of satisfaction. This was meant to be.

  My head spins as I thrust into her pussy again and again, losing myself. I forget where we even are and the threat of her psychotic ex is the last thing on my mind. She’s a goddess. I want to drive into her until the end of time… but then her pussy walls flutter and twitch in a pattern I’ve never felt before, and I see stars. Forever is going to come awfully quick if she keeps doing that.

  “What are you doing to me?” I ask her, thrusting with firm purpose. I try to keep myself in check and not hurt her perfect body. As I plunge into her, those intense new vibrations don’t stop. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m coming,” she cries out, and I lose my mind. I drive into her with total abandon and she doesn’t stop me. It’s not hurting her. She loves it. I can feel how much she loves it in this tight hum running through her pussy right now, like she’s electric.

  My eyes roll up in my head and I plunge and plunge and balloon inside her. Her pussy flexes responsively for me and I pop like a bottle of champagne, spilling into her so suddenly that the impulse to pull out doesn’t even occur to me. A wave of relief breaks over me and I stretch across Sabrina. We’re both pungent and slippery with sweat. My pants are still somehow around my ankles. The bed looks like wreckage.

  “God, that was hot.” I rake a thumb over her sensitive nipple and she giggles, grinding against the softening cock still buried deep inside her. “That was the best sex I’ve ever had, baby.”

  “Me too,” she murmurs, and my fingers trace around her side and up her sides. Gooseflesh prickles on her arms and she adds, “Not that you have too much competition.”

  Just as she says that, I feel the bottom of her scar, the extra inches I couldn’t see in the bikini, and my heart twinges for her. Poor, innocent Sabrina.

  “What is it?” she whispers, peering more deeply into my eyes. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” I tell her, even surprised at the tightness in my own throat. “I’ll never hurt you, you know,” I promise Sabrina instead.

  Her eyebrows raise slightly and she tilts her head, curious. “Okay,” she says, and then her face changes. She realizes where my hands are. “Oh.” Her eyes slant away. “My scars.”

  “You’re too beautiful,” I tell her again, even though I’m no longer talking about her naked body, spread on my bed. I’m talking about those scars, too. “And I’ll never let anything like that happen to you again, Sabrina. You have my word.”

  Sabrina sighs. “We’ll see.”

  I curse myself for souring our moment, which had been light-hearted and experimental, wild and gripping, but now darkened with remorse and painful memories. It must have taken such extraordinary bravery for her to be with any man again.

  Though she twists to turn her back on me, I sling my arms around her, holding her safely encased between my muscles, like these impressive arms are all it will take to keep her safe.

  And they are, I promise myself. I’ll keep Sabrina Brewster safe with my bare hands…

  And we lapse off to sleep like that, with her encased, my front pressed to her back. I would be her second skin if I could. I would take away these scars.

  Guts

  Sabrina

  For the past months, I’ve lived in fear. I’ve been running away, hiding from a monster who should never exist.

  No. All my life, I’ve lived in fear – fear of letting my aunt and uncle down—which I eventually did—fear of not being good enough, fear of not being able to make my dream come true or accomplishing anything, for that matter.

  I’m done with it.

  As I run on the treadmill, feeling the blood rush through my veins, feeling the air fill my lungs, I can feel the seed of courage inside me growing.

  Contrary to what Randall said, I still have a lot to fear. Even with him beside me, I’m still afraid. But I’ve decided not to live in fear any longer. I’m not going to cringe in the shadows, punish myself for something that was not my fault, wallow in regret about something that I can’t change, or hold myself back from living.

  From now on, I am going to live.

  I can’t get rid of the fear, but I’m not going to let the fear of the consequences of my actions keep me from acting. I’m not going to let fear cripple me anymore or hold me back from experiencing new things that could make me happy.

  That’s why I gave in to Randall last night. That’s why I had sex with him.

  At first, I just wanted to forget the pain. But as he kissed me, as he touched me, as he made me feel beautiful and amazing, I realized I wanted to forget the fear. I wanted to be brave.

  I’ve been wanting to have sex with him. Heck, I know that somewhere along the way, I’ve fallen for him. That’s why I wanted to stay. That’s why I let him stop me. I’ve just been denying it, denying myself because of fear. But as the words that he’d been trying to tell me sunk in, as I felt his body against mine, as I saw myself through his eyes, I decided I was done with fear.

  I gave in.

  And it was worth it. Even now, the memories of his lips pressed to mine, his muscles beneath my palms, of his cock inside me are all still fresh. Just remembering them, I feel a different rush, a surge of excitement, of joy.

  I feel alive.

  I smile as I turn off the treadmill and grab my towel. I wasn’t really planning on coming here to the gym but as I passed by with my new disposition, I thought, why not? I’m trying to be stronger so becoming fit seems only natural. Also, maybe if I exercise, I won’t be panting so much after sex next time.

&n
bsp; As I wipe the sweat off my skin, I already feel stronger. I grab my bottle of water, drinking as I leave the gym. Beside a window, I pause, looking out.

  It’s another beautiful day.

  The question is: What am I going to do today?

  David is in school, and I’ve already decided that I’ll talk to him later when he gets home. Until then, I don’t really have anything in mind.

  There are a few possibilities. Read a book. Learn a new recipe from Mrs. Wilson. Play a video game. None of those interest me too much, though. Besides, I feel like I should be doing something more productive.

  Just then, I see Zombie walking across the lawn and I remember something I was telling myself I’d do – give him a bath.

  ***

  “This feels good, doesn’t it?” I rub Zombie’s fur as I wash out the suds with the hose.

  Just like before, he didn’t like the bath at first, trying to splash me and run away. Finally, though, he’s stopped fighting me, standing still and letting me rinse him.

  “I told you a bath’s good for you, especially after yesterday’s adventure. It gets rid of all that dirt from the streets and makes you feel clean, which must feel good. It makes you feel cool, which you must need since you have black fur. Plus, look at all this attention I’m giving you.”

  He does seem to like the attention now, basking in it.

  I pet him behind his ears. “Well, you do deserve something for taking care of David yesterday. Thanks for not leaving his side and not letting him get into trouble.”

  He turns to me, giving me a lick.

  I chuckle. “You’re just like your master, aren’t you? You may have a streak of mischief but you do have a good heart.”

  As I continue rinsing him, I remember the dogs I used to have. We always had dogs on the farm. Some of them stayed around for a long time and I’d be the one bathing and feeding them, sometimes even getting fleas off them.

  I sigh. I may have run away from the farm, but I do miss it sometimes. I miss Uncle Ed, even though he always wished I was a boy and thought I was weaker than his sons, even when I could ride a horse better. I miss Aunt Nora, too, even though she loved to order me around and clearly loves her boys more than me. Of course she would. They’re her own blood, after all. And I miss George and Scott. They may have caused me a lot of trouble and played a lot of pranks on me but if not for them, I wouldn’t have trusted myself to be a nanny or know how to deal with David.

  I miss them. Actually, at one point during my wedding, I wished they were there. Maybe one day I can see them again and ask them to forgive me, someday when my life isn’t so much a mess. I want to repay them for giving me a family and hopefully, I’ll make something of myself that they can be even remotely proud of.

  I finish rinsing Zombie then turn the hose off and step back so he can shake all that water before running off. Of course, most of it lands on me but it’s fine. I’m still in my exercise clothes, and I haven’t showered yet anyway.

  So now, I smell like sweat and dog. Great.

  Then again, I’ve smelled worse.

  Wiping myself again with my towel, I head back inside the house so I can take a shower. Just as I approach the fountain, though, I hear chatter.

  Guests? Randall didn’t inform me about any guests.

  I stop, waiting for the people to come into view.

  There are three women, all looking elegant and sophisticated. One of them is in her sixties, wearing a feathered hat and a peach-colored dress with long sleeves and a string of pearls around her neck. She reminds me of one of those women who I see on TV attending royal weddings or funerals. The other looks like she’s in her forties – or is it thirties? – wearing oversized sunglasses and a navy-blue jumpsuit with a plunging neckline, diamonds hanging from her neck and ears. The third is the youngest, her blonde hair in a single braid flowing down her white blouse, which is paired with gray slacks. No jewelry except for her gold watch but she does have two expensive-looking handbags hanging from her arm, a bottle of Evian in one hand.

  At first glance, she looks just as sophisticated as the other two but a second look tells me she’s not quite on the same footing, especially since she’s behind them and isn’t talking, her head bowed slightly. I bet one of those handbags isn’t hers. Maybe both. Maybe not even the bottle.

  An assistant? A secretary? Something tells me she isn’t important. It’s the two other women I should pay attention to.

  Who are they?

  The woman in the jumpsuit notices me first, moving her sunglasses to the top of her head.

  “Well, what do we have here?” She looks at me from my head to my toes and back to my head again.

  I suddenly wish I had showered first and put on better clothes. I feel underdressed.

  “A maid in workout clothes? A trainer in training?” She sniffs me. “A dog handler? Though it looks like the dog handled you instead.”

  I frown. Who does this woman think she is?

  “My name is Sabrina Ja– Brewster,” I introduce myself, removing the towel from around my neck and straightening my shoulders.

  I still am not used to my new name.

  “Brewster?” The woman in front of me raises her trimmed and penciled eyebrows, her eyes wide. “You’re Sabrina Brewster?”

  “Yes.”

  She laughs then turns to the older woman. “Mother, look. It seems we’ve found Randall’s wife.”

  “What?” The older woman steps forward to look at me from head to toe just like her daughter. She pouts. “What the devil has gotten into him? Is he really trying to ruin us all?”

  “I think he’s just cursed with bad taste in women,” the younger says, studying me again. “My poor brother.”

  Brother? Which means…

  “I’m sorry. Where are my manners? I’m Helena Brewster-Vasilievko. I’m Randall’s sister.” The younger one looks at my hand and frowns. “I’d shake your hand but um, it doesn’t look fit to shake.”

  “You are Randall’s older sister?”

  I think Randall mentioned it once.

  “How dare you emphasize my age? Don’t you know how rude that is?”

  “S-sorry,” I mumble. I was only asking a question!

  She puts her arm in that of the older woman. “This is our mother, Jacqueline. Jackie Brewster.”

  I bow my head. Now, I’m really embarrassed about how I look.

  “I’m pleased to meet you, Mrs. Brewster.”

  Mrs. Brewster? Is that what I should call her?

  Randall’s mother snorts. “I’m definitely not happy to see you.”

  I look at her in surprise.

  “I’m old. Unlike my daughter, I can’t waste time playing around or beating around the bush. When I see bullshit, I call it. When I see a piece of trash, I call it. I don’t know who you are or what you did to my son but you do not deserve him.”

  The words set me back, a lump forming in my throat.

  “Now, now, Mother. Mind your blood pressure,” Helena says. “I’m sure Randall has a good reason.” She looks at me. “Are you pregnant?”

  My eyebrows crease. “No.”

  I don’t think so.

  “Really? That’s weird.”

  I’m starting to be annoyed by her rudeness. I know she’s older than me and richer but I still deserve some respect.

  “And where did he pick you up, huh?” Helena touches her chin.

  I don’t answer, still thinking of how to say it.

  “What? Is it a secret? Or is it too embarrassing?”

  “I don’t care how they met,” Mrs. Brewster, the original Mrs. Brewster, says as she looks at me. “Have you any idea how mortified I was when I found out about my son’s marriage in the newspaper?”

  Newspaper?

  “At least, the last time, he invited me. Now, he doesn’t say anything and I just find out like everyone else?”

  “Mother almost had a heart attack,” Helena says.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell her, knowing
I have no excuse for that.

  I was wondering about that, actually. I thought Randall’s family should be at his wedding but I didn’t bring it up because I thought our wedding wasn’t real anyway.

  But after last night, is it still not real?

  “Apologies,” she scoffs. “I hate apologies just as much as I hate excuses. Emily, bring me back inside. I came out for fresh air but the air feels stale here.”

  Ouch.

  The woman in white obeys, taking the older woman’s arm and leading her back inside after casting an apologetic glance in my direction.

  “Now, I don’t know what you’re thinking.” Helena steps forward, one hand on her hip and the other holding her sunglasses, biting one of the tips. “But my mother is right. You don’t deserve Randall. Frankly, I don’t know what he sees in you.”

  Frankly, I don’t see how she can be Randall’s sister, either. It’s almost like they’re from different planets. Maybe Randall’s adopted?

  “Well, it doesn’t matter,” she continues. “The last one conveniently got rid of herself before we could but we’ll get rid of you. We Brewsters always get our way.”

  “You’re forgetting I’m a Brewster now, too.”

  She laughs. “My, my, you are delusional. Pretty but delusional. You think you can hang on to Randall, can’t you? Think he’s your ticket to paradise?”

  I’d like to tell her that I’m not after Randall’s money, but I can’t since that’s partly why I did marry him.

  “Dream on, little girl. You may look strong but I can see your weakness, your fear. You don’t stand a chance against us. We’ll find your flaws. We’ll expose all your dirty secrets.”

  I tense.

  Helena gives a mischievous grin. “Do you really want us to do that?”

  I don’t answer, still shocked by her words. She wouldn’t hand me over to Vince, would she?

  Just then, Zombie barks and the next thing I know, he’s jumping on Helena. Helena takes a few steps back, dropping her sunglasses, which Zombie steps on.

  “Why, you–” She looks at her sunglasses and her outfit in horror then stares at me. “Randall will hear of this. And you haven’t seen the last of me yet.”