Curvy for Him: The Librarian and the Cop

by Winters, Annabelle

  She stops and glares at me, her hands on her hips again. Fuck, those hips! “I don’t have time for that! I’m already going to be late! Can we just—”

  I square my jaw and center my shoulders. “Ma’am, I cannot leave this—”

  “OK, stop calling me Ma’am,” she says. “My name’s Bea.”

  “Bee?” he says. “What kind of a name is that?”

  “It’s short for Beatrice,” she says, squinting and stepping close to me so she can see my badge. I almost growl as I pick up her scent again, that hint of body spray, a splash of perfume, none of which can hide the aroma of the woman in her. Fuck, I want her. She makes me want to be a bad cop. So what if I get fired? I don’t need the money anyway. My parents didn’t do much in the way of raising me, but they left me a trust fund that makes it so I don’t actually need to work.

  “Brick?” she says, snorting and then covering her mouth. “You’re making fun of my name when your name is Brick? What’s that short for?”

  I feel the blood rise to my face. “Nothing,” I say. “Just Brick.”

  “You’re sure it’s not Brock that was misspelled?” she says.

  “Are you asking me if I know my own fucking name?” I snap, clenching my fists and taking a step toward her.

  Her breath catches, but she stands her ground. It surprises me. No one stands their ground when I step up on them. Isn’t she scared of me?

  “Never mind,” she says. “I don’t have time for this. Can we just go, please?”

  “You know what?” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. “I’ve changed my mind. I’ll call a tow truck for you, and then you’re on your own, Bee.”

  “It’s Bea,” she says.

  “That’s what I said.”

  “No, you didn’t. I can tell you’re saying Bee and not Bea.”

  I stare at her like she’s fucking insane. “Bee like bumble bee,” I say. “That’s your name.”

  “No, Bea like Beatrice,” she says. “And did you just imply that I look like a bumble bee? That’s body shaming, you know.”

  I rub my eyes and shake my head. I feel a headache coming on. This woman is scrambling my brain and my body at the same time. “Yes,” I mutter, rolling my eyes and sighing. “Clearly you’re a bumble bee. Those big antennas are a dead giveaway.”

  “Firstly the word is antennae,” she says, her lips twitching like she’s holding back a smile. “And secondly, bumble bees don’t really have big antennae.”

  I glance down at her big chest like I can’t help it, and I close my eyes and wince when I realize she’s clearly seen me checking out her tits. Fuck, what if she files a complaint for sexual harassment or some shit? In today’s world, just being accused of something like that is enough to get you suspended. And I need this job. Not for the money, but for the discipline it adds to my life.

  Another deep breath, and then I turn away and grab my radio. Time to get out of this situation. Would you still be here if you’d pulled over a greasy truck driver with a beard that’s got last week’s Burger King leftovers in it? Fuck no.

  “Dispatch,” I say in my stern, walkie-talkie voice. “I need a tow-truck at—”

  But I’m distracted by the sound of a door slam, and I realize Bea’s gotten into her car and is sitting there waiting. I smile as I cancel the call to Dispatch, and a warm glow of excitement rolls through my hard body as I realize what just happened.

  She obeyed.

  She took her own sweet time, but she obeyed. This woman is confident, but she’s also submissive, and that turns me the fuck on. Maybe it turns me on even more than her wonderfully large boobs and that ass that’s built for my big hands to hold onto. Actually, no, I think with a grin as I feel my cock throb like it disagrees with my assessment. That ass still rates as number one.

  Beep Beep Beep! I suddenly hear, and I snort with laughter when I realize Bea is honking her horn for me to get a move on. Who is this chick?! I thought librarians were all quiet and shy. Is she always like this?

  Only one way to find out, I think, my smile widening as I shake my head in disbelief at what I’m doing. Then with a shrug I stride up to her car, place my big hands on the rear, plant my strong legs firmly in the ground, and push.

  Beep, Beep, Beep, comes the sound of her horn again as the car moves as I grunt and push it towards the empty lot down the road.

  “OK, lay off the horn!” I shout as my muscles flex and release, the blood firing through my veins as I realize she’s playing with me, that she’s as excited as I am, that this could be something.

  It could Bea something, I think as I wonder how the hell she knew I was saying Bee and not Bea.

  “Bea, Bea, Bea,” I mutter, trying to figure out if I talk weird or if she just assumed I’m some dumb cop. “Bea, Bea, Bea.”

  3

  BEA

  Bea, Bea, Bea!

  “What the hell are you doing, Bea?” I whisper as I steer my Honda into the empty lot as Brick the cop pushes me and my car like we’re toys. I can feel his strength in the way the car is moving, and I know he could push harder, faster, stronger if he wanted.

  It takes me a moment to realize I’m trembling with excitement—excitement that I know is more than just the nervous energy that’s come from the stress of the shit going on in my life. Or maybe it is from the stress. Maybe I’ve snapped. I mean, this guy was clearly checking me out, and I’ve been flirting with him in return.

  My face goes flush as I realize my panties are damp beneath my skirt, and I tighten my grip on the steering wheel as I swallow hard. Images of Brick taking me face-down on the hood of my car float through my head like it’s a dream—a sick, twisted dream. Sex has been the last thing on my mind these past few months. Who gives a shit about sex when survival is at stake? When you’re close to being homeless and jobless and moneyless. I’ve been a librarian my entire life after dropping out of college, and the library industry (is that even a thing?) isn’t exactly a booming job market.

  “Stop honking!” I hear him yell, and I blink and giggle when I realize we’ve been playing like kids, me honking at him, teasing him for mispronouncing my name. I give him one more honk—a quick thank-you honk as we arrive at the empty lot and I steer my dead-ass car into a spot.

  I fling open the door and step out, not sure why I’m so excited. Then I turn to Brick, gasping when I see how his chest is heaving from pushing me and my car in the hot sun. Now I remember why I’m so excited, and I blink and look down, suddenly terrified that if he looks into my eyes he’ll see that my imagination is serving up filthy images of his chest heaving as he holds me down and pushes into me!

  “In the rear,” he says, his voice deep and commanding. “That’s the only way I’ll take you.”

  I flick my eyes up in shock, wondering if I’m hearing things. “Wait, what did you just say to me? Did you seriously just say you’re going to—” I begin to say before realizing he’s walking back towards his cruiser.

  “Sorry, what’d you say?” he says, turning his head and raising his voice as a very loud pickup truck drives past us. Now I understand that he meant I need to sit in the backseat of his cruiser, not up front next to him. Must be some rule, I guess.

  I frown as I wonder if he even realizes what he said, but one look at his face tells me he didn’t. I sigh and shake my head. Maybe Brick is a fitting name. Maybe he’s dumb as a brick. No way this is happening. I’ve always told myself that looks aren’t as important to me as what’s up there. After all, I know I’m not some supermodel, and I never will be. I know a lot of men will look past me just because of my weight, and so I always swore to myself that I wasn’t going to be that shallow when it comes to choosing a man. As long as he’s smart and intelligent, I don’t care if he’s got a pot-belly or a bald spot or a cock that isn’t ten inches long.

  But as I look at Brick from behind, the way he’s walking
tall, his shoulders out straight, thick legs and muscular butt moving in perfect rhythm like his body is a finely tuned machine, I feel my own body yearn for his. In that moment I wonder if everything I’ve believed about myself, about love, about choosing a man is wrong. My body’s never reacted to a man’s sheer physical presence like this. I’ve always believed that love and sex are two different things, that you can have wonderful, lasting love even without great sex, that sex is a lower form of pleasure, not on the same level as true love.

  But what if they’re the same, I wonder as I watch Brick get to his cruiser ahead of me and hold open the rear door like a gentleman. I blink and smile up at him, feeling his eyes on me as I duck down and get into his car. I don’t even know why I’m even thinking all this crap. There’s nothing happening here. Nothing’s going to happen here. He’s going to drop me off at work and then drive away. He’s not going to ask me out. I can already tell that would be crossing a line for him. He’s a good cop.

  I catch sight of his dark eyes looking at me in the rearview mirror, and I blink as I feel a chill go through me. I see something in those eyes. Something hidden. Something he’s making an effort to hide, trying hard to bury, a part of him that he’s trying to control. I don’t know how I know this, but I do.

  “Take a left up here,” I say softly, suddenly feeling nervous and self-conscious. I look down at my blouse, pulling at it as I hold my legs together and tug at the bottom of my skirt. That playful vibe is gone, and now I feel weird for kinda-sorta flirting with him. I feel dirty almost, like maybe I was leading this big dumb cop on just to get what I want.

  Brick is quiet as he drives, and I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing, if he hates me know, thinks I’m a bitch. I know I’m overthinking this whole thing (I am a librarian . . .) but I can’t help it.

  “Brick, listen,” I say, blinking three times as I feel a catch in my throat. I can be shy and quiet, but when I do start talking, I like to talk about everything. Brick isn’t a talker, I can tell. He isn’t a thinker either. He’s a doer. A man of action.

  But Brick doesn’t answer, and I lean forward so I can see through the bulletproof partition. Now I realize he’s on his police radio. I can’t hear much more than some undecipherable babble from a dispatcher, but clearly Brick understands.

  He turns and looks sideways at me. I feel the car slowing down, and I frown as I look into his eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” he says. “I need to let you out here. I have to respond to a call.”

  My eyes widen, my breath catches, and that sinking feeling in my gut returns with a vengeance. I’m not that far from the library. I can walk the rest of the way. I’ll be a couple of minutes late, but I can probably sneak in and get away with it.

  I nod, feeling the weirdest thought like this is all wrong, that I can’t get out of this car, that I can’t walk away from Brick. It feels like my whole life has been leading up to this moment, like every little mishap and screw-up has brought me to the point where I ran a red light today and then my car broke down. It’s like fate has brought me to this point, and now it wants me to make a choice. Do you want this, the universe is asking me. Do you want this, Bea?

  Want what? I think as I swallow hard and look into Brick’s eyes as he pulls over to the side of the road. But he doesn’t bring the car to a complete stop, as if he can’t stop, won’t stop, doesn’t want to let me out.

  “Unless . . .” he begins to say before blinking and looking away. He shakes his head and goes quiet, the car slowing down until it’s barely crawling.

  “Unless what?” I say, my heart pounding so loud it feels like a group of drummers have taken up residence behind my boobs.

  “Well,” he says. “It’s just a minor thing a few blocks from here. Security alarm went off for a few seconds before it was disarmed. Security company called us anyway, asked if we could swing by to make sure everything’s all right. Probably the owner forgetting to turn off the alarm when they woke up and then opening the door or something. If you want, I could just—”

  “OK,” I say, the word coming out fast, like I don’t want either of us to second guess this. “Let’s go.”

  “You serious?” he says, and the moment I see how his eyes light up, I know that I’m not crazy. Not in that way, at least. He feels it too—whatever this is. This weird pull, like today was meant to be, like we’ve both been presented with choices that will determine how the rest of our lives will proceed, like we’re both making those choices even though it seems insane.

  I don’t reply, not sure what I’ll say. And then Brick grunts, like he’s not going to ask again, like he’s taking control, making the choice for both of us.

  A moment later Brick flicks on his siren and turns on his lights, and then with a roar the police cruiser blasts its way down the street, towards whatever comes next.

  4

  BRICK

  “What next, you dumbass?” I mutter as I turn off my lights and siren, take a hard left, and pull my cruiser to a silent halt a block away from the house. “You gonna give her a gun and tell her to come inside with you? How stupid can you get?!”

  I don’t understand why I did what I did, asked her what I asked, slammed on the accelerator when I should have stopped the car and kicked her out. I don’t understand it, but hey, there’s a lot of things I don’t understand. They say your name defines who you are, and I’ve never been the sharpest tool in the shed. I just do things that feel right. No overthinking. Barely any thinking either. I just . . . do. That’s who I am. That’s what I am.

  And it’s led me here.

  I glance back at Bea through the thick bulletproof partition between the seats. Even through the thick glass I can see her clearly. Hell, she’s pretty. So damned pretty. She does something to me. She owns something in me. And I want her. I want her now. I want her forever.

  “Stay here,” I say, frowning as I force myself to focus on the job. I’m an on-duty police officer, dammit. This isn’t a date. Yeah, this call is gonna turn out to be nothing—in fact, I’ll probably get some rude homeowner who yells at me for interrupting his breakfast or something. But still. This is my job. My duty. I can’t be distracted by—

  “I’ll be here,” says Bea from the backseat. “Go on. Do your job, and then take me to work so I can do mine.”

  I smile, feeling a strange familiarity in the way we’re interacting. For a moment it feels like we’re a couple on our way to work, with Daddy stopping at the gas station while Mommy waits in the car. I look past her, my eyes misting over as I imagine two baby car seats, one on each side of Bea, one blue, the other pink, with cherub-like babies staring up at their parents. I blink and shake my head, wondering if I’m going insane. Since when did I start fantasizing about having goddamn babies? I’d always told myself I wasn’t gonna have kids, that I wasn’t fit to be a dad, didn’t want to risk turning into my dad. But an hour with this woman and I’m imagining knocking her up? Fuck, I really am dumb as a brick, aren’t I. All balls and no brain.

  “Stay here,” I say again, exhaling hard when I realize I’ve been holding my breath.

  “Um, you already said that, Officer,” Bea teases from the backseat. But then her expression turns serious. “And Brick?”

  “Yes?” I say.

  “Be careful.”

  I grin, feeling a warmth go through me. It really felt like she meant it, like she gives a damn, like she cares. About me. Fuck, even my parents didn’t give a rat’s ass about me. And this woman I’ve know for an hour looks at me like that and makes me feel like this? I can’t walk away from this. I won’t walk away from this. I’ll drop her off at work, and then I’ll pick her up in the evening. I’ll ask her out. A real date. Dinner and wine and all that shit. Flowers, maybe. Nah, might be too soon for flowers.

  I’m walking up to the house, a big goofy grin on my face as I imagine that date with Bea the librarian. Then suddenly I�
��m nervous, wondering if I’m too dumb for her. She probably reads more in a week than I’ve read in my entire life.

  By the time I get to the front door of the house, I’ve cycled through a hundred different emotions already, that big dumb grin still plastered all over my face. I’ve already decided this woman is mine, whether she knows it or not. Now it’s just the paperwork. I’ll do this right, take it slow. She seems like a nice girl. I don’t wanna her to see the real me quite yet. Don’t wanna scare her off. After all, your name defines you, and although I might be dumb as brick, I’m also thick as a brick.

  I shake my head as I think back to the last chick that saw me naked. All that crap about women loving big cocks? Yeah, maybe in some cheesy romance novel they do. That insta-love shit that one of the female officers was talking about at the precinct the other day, where the woman swoons and sighs for the hero’s massive, throbbing, beast of a cock. That shit doesn’t happen in real life. In real life they imagine something that big pushing its way into them and they turn and run away screaming.

  My massive beast of a cock throbs inside my pants as if it’s listening to every word I say and replying.

  “What?” I say, putting my hands on my hips and glancing down at my peaked uniform. I’ve been hard since the moment I saw Bea, took in the sight of her curves, that amazing cleavage, those thick thighs, strong calves, nice big ass that I can really sink my paws into. “You’re saying she can take us?” I grunt and shrug, even though I’m having a conversation with my cock. “Well, she’ll have to take us. Because I’m not turning away from this. This is fate, buddy. And you don’t turn your back on fate.”

  I’m shaking my head as my grin breaks wide again. Yeah, I’ve lost it. Talking to my own cock while standing on someone’s doorstep. Without thinking I reach for the doorbell and ring it, and I’m still grinning when the door opens and I’m staring right down the barrel of a Glock .17 handgun, cocked and loaded.