by P. F. Kozak
She could hear him breathing hard and his stiff cock bumped against the back of her legs now and then. He stopped when the stretchy panties were rolled down to just below her ass cheeks and her behind was bared.
He touched the lace in between her legs. “Nice and slow gets you hot. Your panties are wet. Good girl. Now get your legs farther apart but keep your ass up.”
She moved her knees and did exactly what he said. Steve pulled her panties down to the middle of her thighs. The stretchy lace was taut and she got her knees even farther apart, until the elastic strained to the snapping point. She could imagine how the sight turned him on. Dress up, panties down, her round ass, big and bare, and a very, very hot pussy completely available to his fingers, his tongue, and his huge cock.
She’d had the first two…she craved the last.
“I think you need your pussy pounded,” he said. His voice was harder now. “No more foreplay. Time for rock-solid fucking.”
“Yes,” she breathed. She felt him behind her, heard the rip of a condom packet and the slight sound of him rolling it on. Then he kneeled behind her, placing the head of his sheathed cock directly against her labia.
Nancy wriggled, wanting to thrust backward. But she reminded herself, dazed with lust though she was, that he was in charge.
He reminded her too…by bringing both of his hands down on her buttocks for a double smack. Nancy moaned with pleasure. “Uh-huh. You like to bare your ass and be disciplined a little, don’t you?”
“Yes,” she whispered. The feeling of being just barely penetrated by the tip of his huge cock made her want to cry out for more. Allowing him to spank her while he maintained his strong self-control was unbelievably exciting.
“Reach around,” he told her. “I want you to keep your panties pulled down and your face in the pillows.”
Again Nancy did as he said, going deeper into the sensual excitement of the moment, aware that her half-dressed, half-naked show was making him crazy with desire. She grabbed the rolled-down elastic that kept the panties stretched between her thighs and held it with her thumbs, knowing that he was going to spank her some more.
He did. She moaned and shoved her ass up, wanting still more. He gave her that too, then rested his big hands on her tingling behind, gasping for breath, pushing his cock tip in just a little further.
“Fuck me now,” she begged. She was imagining sucking Jack Ginnis’s big rod while Steve did her pussy. Oh yeah.
With a ragged breath, he rammed his big rod all the way up her pussy and grabbed her around her hips, pulling her back to him. His balls brushed her pulled-down panties, which she pulled up tight around the bottom of her ass before letting go, freeing her hands so she could brace herself against Steve’s vigorous thrusts.
He slammed into her, crying out softly. “Feels so good—so good. Deep inside you—so hot. Make me come with your tight pussy, Nancy—oh—yeah! Make me come!”
They rocked together on the bed, aware of nothing more than the heat of each other’s bodies and an excitement that went so deep they truly did become one. He curved his powerful body over hers, keeping himself up on one arm and reaching between her legs to do her clit. She screamed with pleasure, writhing uncontrollably at the moment of climax as his body shook and he came, too, shouting out her name.
2
N ancy awoke naked, feeling a very gentle breeze move over her skin. She vaguely remembered Steve unzipping the dress and easing her out of it, letting the folds of black velvet fall into a puddle on the floor. Where was it now?
She looked around drowsily and saw it on the back of her bedroom door, on a hanger. The rich material caught the golden light of early afternoon coming through the blinds and the dress almost glowed, even though it was black and every other color in the room was on the bland side. Steve had been right about her needing some excitement and he had sure as hell provided it.
But never mind the dress. Where was he?
She listened and heard him moving around in the bathroom down the hall, and also heard the plaintive meow of Lump, hoping to be let out of the living room so he could get a snack and go back to sleep in the banana bowl.
Steve must have heard him, too. She heard him walk softly down the hall barefoot and turn the creaky knob of the living room door. The Lump shot out, stopped, and wound himself around Steve’s ankles, judging by the nice-kitty murmurs Steve was making. Very faintly, she heard the cat purr and then Steve headed back to her. He came through the bedroom door, a towel knotted around his lean hips, freshly showered, his hair wet and spiky. Nancy felt a rush of affection for him and reached out a hand to draw him down to her.
“And how are you?” Steve grinned and sat on the edge of the bed, the towel coming apart to show his cock and balls, nice and clean and damp, and smelling like her soap. She cupped it all, liking the resting softness of male flesh, and looked up at him, still a little sleepy.
“Just fine, thank you. That was fun. Sure beat looking at Photo-shopped head shots. I have to let you interrupt me more often.”
He rose for a second to pull off the towel, and sat back down next to her. Nancy looked him over, feeling awfully lucky. Bare-assed and gorgeous, Steve Karan was just all-around amazing. He scruffed the towel over his wet hair. “I had a good excuse, remember?” He pointed to the dress hanging on the back of the door. “Or maybe I should call it a bribe.”
Nancy sat up too, feeling very comfortable being naked with him. “Steve, you didn’t buy that dress, did you? Racks is a really expensive store.”
“Um, no. I tried to explain that, but your mind was on other things. I sorta borrowed it. On a trial basis. To see if you would like it.”
She patted his cheek, feeling a slight scratch of stubble and liking that too. No way would any man in his right mind use a razor a woman had used on her legs. “I did like it. But I’d guess it cost, what, five thousand?”
He shrugged and let the damp towel fall into his lap. “In that neighborhood, yeah.”
Nancy planted a big smooch on his cheek. “You’re totally sweet. But you have to return it.” She looked at the black dress again, feeling a flash of guilt that she hadn’t asked that question before she’d let him make love to her while she was wearing it.
She bounded up from the bed and went to the bedroom door, carefully inspecting the dress for any signs of wild sex.
“What are you doing?”
Nancy raised the skirt, looking inside for stains and finding none. “A Monica Lewinsky check.”
“I already did. The dress is like new. I was careful. I mean, we could have it dry-cleaned but then I’d have to take the tag off.”
She looked for the discreet little tag that she’d tucked down the side before she’d strutted her stuff. There it was. The price wasn’t on it but they couldn’t return it without that.
“You could keep it,” he offered. “I’ll find a way to pay for it.”
“Nothing doing,” she said. “That’s, what, two month’s salary for you? We could get something like it at a discount store and do whatever we wanted in it.”
“I liked the idea of giving you the real thing,” he said, a stubborn set to his chin.
She shook her head and let the dress fall from her hands into voluptuous folds. “You’re my friend. Friends don’t give friends designer dresses.” She stroked the material almost lovingly, though, noticing that the June humidity had taken care of every possible wrinkle. It did indeed look like new.
“You’re way too practical. And I think we just graduated from friendship to lustship.”
Nancy took the few steps between her and the bed and pushed her great, big, naked, gorgeous pal flat on his back. “Yeah.” She straddled him, then caught a whiff of her unwashed body, waving it away with one hand. “Whew! I have to shower. You’re too clean to mess up.”
Steve grabbed her ass. “I like that smell. You and me. Male and female. Hot and juicy.”
She laughed. “A little too juicy at the moment.” She go
t off him awkwardly and swabbed his belly with the damp towel. “You don’t want to go around smelling like a happy pussy the rest of the day, do you? Don’t you have to show up at the precinct?” Another thought occurred to her. “Oh, Jesus—your car. The rookie might get mad and have you towed. What about the meter?”
“Took care of it. I didn’t sleep very long. You were out cold, though.”
She put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “Were you watching me sleep? Did I drool on the pillow?”
Steve grinned in a lopsided way. “Yes and no.”
“I know I drooled.”
“Not on me.”
She picked up a pillow and looked at it. Nothing on that either. “Hmm. Guess you’re telling the truth. I won’t have to hit you with this.” She did anyway, connecting with a soft whomp. Steve grabbed the pillow, pulling it out of her hand as he rose to enfold her in a hug.
“Not going to say uncle. And I do have to show up but not at the precinct. I have another shoplifting case I’m working on with Jack. Wanna ride along?”
Nancy pondered that. Whatever she had been doing before he showed up with the dress in a box, she couldn’t remember. So it could wait. But her practical side reasserted itself. “Isn’t that against police rules or something? I don’t want to get you in trouble.”
He hugged her again. “I won’t tell if you won’t. Not like I’m going to strap you down in the back like a perp. Sit up front and wear your seatbelt, that’s good enough for me.” With his hands on her shoulders, he set her back from him. “Hey, you know what? I have a uniform in the back somewhere. Wanna dress up again? That way, if another undercover guy sees me, he’ll think you’re just out of the academy or something.”
“Nancy Roman, rookie cop?” She thought it over for a few seconds, then nodded. “Sure. Why not.”
He slapped her bare butt. “Into the shower. Let’s get going.”
Two hours later, the day was winding down. The sticky weather made her sweat but the uniform, which was way too small for Steve, was loose on her and that helped. Nancy leaned forward a little in the seat to turn up the air-conditioning, for what it was worth. Steve had to get in and out of the car now and then to talk to his fellow officers. She was getting good at spotting them.
Fred in the homeless-dude overcoat. Marie in the hooker shoes and matching handbag, her gun under the candy-colored condoms. Hank in tourist garb: argyle sweater and plaid pants.
She got to be in charge of the clipboard, making neat notations on crime fighters all over town, doing a fair job of faking his handwriting. He made a left turn into a service road, letting the wheel spin back between his big hands, then wrestling the freaky automatic transmission to get up to speed again.
Nancy didn’t have much to do but look at him, and think about…well, wow. He’d gone from friendly cop to lover man in the space of a few short hours. She wasn’t quite sure how the hell that had happened, but she was more than happy to stay on the ride, however long it lasted.
Just looking at him turned her on—and made her heart beat faster too. As in r-o-ma-n-c-e fast. Steve Karan seemed to be pretty much everything she’d ever wanted in a man, she thought uneasily.
So either he would screw up or she would, sooner or later, she told herself. Nancy didn’t trust the word romance, something she felt compelled to spell just to take the emotional charge out of it, let alone the experience of romance.
Love didn’t add up. It was an illusion, like other dangerous illusions, such as the pursuit of celebrity. She decided to do elementary math in her head to distract herself from dangerous thought processes that led to overindulgence in premium ice cream and fantasies of happily-ever-afters. Just watching his muscular thighs as he braked, one big hand on the gearshift like he was driving a sportscar instead of a Nondescript, was enough to make her want to watch forever.
An unsecured box of stale doughnuts—was that standard issue, even in an undercover cop car?—shot forward into the well between the front seats. “I’ll get ’em when you stop,” she said. Steve went through a green light and pulled over, patting her butt as she bent over toward the back. A nice old grandpa shuffling by saw him do it and gave Steve a bespectacled wink and a thumbs-up. Steve grinned back, looking a little sheepish.
“Straighten up, Nancy,” he said out of the side of his mouth. “Don’t get the senior citizens too excited.”
“Then get your hand off my ass.” Nancy stuck the spilled doughnuts back in the box with care and fastened a webbed strap around them. “How am I doing?”
“You’re doing great. We can give those to the birds, give a few pigeons indigestion, maybe. Want a new job?”
“Nothing gives pigeons indigestion. And I actually like working at home. But I’m having fun today. Thanks for bringing me along.”
Steve was preoccupied, having declared his intention to check in with all of his colleagues in the neighborhood before the end of his run. He hummed along to a heavy-metal CD—Nancy didn’t know it was possible to hum to heavy metal but he seemed to be doing it—and he looked at her now and then with a smile that got to her emotions in a big, big way.
She smiled back—her best businesslike one—and tucked a fresh sheet of paper under the metal clip, about to mentally list the good things about him and assign each a percent value to write down. Steve didn’t have to know what she was doing.
First and foremost he was a nice guy, she thought. A really, really nice guy. She wrote down 50 percent at the top of the page. Hot in bed. Another 50 percent. Nancy sighed. He was already up to 100 percent on her improvised man-o-meter ranking and she had barely begun.
Okay. She would bend the math.
He liked animals, was kind to the Lump. 25 percent. Looked out for his coworkers and buddies even when he was bending the rules a little. 50 percent. Looked good wet, 30 percent. Nancy couldn’t say why that was important to her, but it was. She tapped the point of her pencil on the paper, absorbed in what she was doing.
She thought some more. Able to unzip a sleepy woman and get an expensive dress off her without ripping it. 25 percent. Then it occurred to her that he might have practiced that smooth move on someone else, maybe more than one someone else, and she downgraded that rank to 5 percent.
Funny. Smart. Sweet. 35 percent. 35 percent. 35 percent. Healthy. Athletic. 25 percent. 25 percent. Took stairs two at a time. 15 percent. Tall. Nancy hesitated. That was genetic and not something he’d done. But even so. 10 percent. Majorly hung. She smiled inwardly and gave him a solid 25 percent on that.
Sexy. Outrageously sexy. 50 percent.
“What are you doing?”
“Um, crunching numbers.”
He patted her thigh and slid his hand higher, giving her an affectionate crotch squeeze. “Crunch on. We’re almost there.”
“Where?”
“Racks. Want another dress?”
“Now wait a minute—”
Nancy looked around. The tall buildings radiated the heat of the long summer day and shafts of sunlight thrust between them. She could see the converted loft with the Racks sign and got a look at the new window displays. Racks set trends and their bizarre windows usually got reviewed on the arts page.
Blue mannequins, unclothed except for fetish underwear, were doing unspeakable things to each other. A group of fanny-packed, chino-pantsed suburbanites, refugees from a double-decker bus tour of the city, were giggling and taking pictures of each other in front of the windows.
Steve laughed at the sight and turned in to the alley behind the loft. Nancy looked into the back of the car for the long white box. She’d rewrapped the dress in the tissue before they’d left her apartment, checking it carefully for stains one last time. None. More magic? She couldn’t say, but the dress was pristine, as if she had never worn it.
When he parked, she reached for the box, waiting until he got down to hand it to him. “What are you going to say?”
He grinned wolfishly. “That I fucked you silly in it.”
“That it didn’t fit. No biggie. I think it was a sample, actually. They’re not going to sell it if it was.”
“Oh. Well, then, I don’t feel guilty.”
He slid the driver’s side door open and got out, turning to put his foot up on the running board and take the box from her. He balanced it on his knee. “Nothing to feel guilty about. You in this dress, being as wicked as you wanted to be—I’ll never forget it. Although you look just as good in that uniform.”
“Aw, shucks. Thanks.”
He gave her a serious look. “I mean it. The dress made you look like a goddess, but that’s because you are a goddess.”
“Not in sweatpants, I’m not. You’re totally sweet, but get real.” She pointed a pencil at the box. “Bring it back.”
He picked the box up again in one swing, and disappeared into the loading-dock area, leaving her alone in the car. Nancy leaned back and looked down at the column of meaningless numbers. So far, Steve Karan had captured about—um—465% of something. The popular vote. As in the instant attention of every woman who walked by him and appreciated the easy way he hoisted heavy boxes and his long strides and—lots of things. She’d seen him getting not-so-subtle once-overs all day long. What else had he captured? Your heart, a little voice said.
Uh-oh. She started a separate column for his bad qualities but couldn’t think of any. Of course, their relationship until now had been casually friendly, everybody on their best behavior and so forth. Cops didn’t have to be friendly, it wasn’t part of their job. Whatever. She bet Steve got hit on all the time. Nancy chewed absently on the eraser end of the pencil, not caring that it tasted terrible.
He came back, hopped into his seat, and slammed the sliding door shut. “Nice girl. All she said was no problem, happy to help, blah blah. It’s back on the sample rack and no one even knows it was gone.”