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My mouth waters as I imagine her nipples—just a shade lighter than ripe strawberries—between my lips. How they’ll feel hard in my mouth, how sweet and satisfying they’ll taste. The thought makes my cock hard.
She hangs her cap on its hook, and my gaze lingers on her slender waist, the lacy panties she just slipped into accentuating her hourglass figure. It’s a huge contrast to the conservative suits she wears while chasing killers like me. But not this time.
This time, I’m the one watching her, savoring every detail she usually hides from the world. I wonder what fantasies dance in her mind, what secrets she guards beneath that tough exterior. I crave to uncover them all, especially the ones she keeps hidden even from herself.
The lace hugs her hips, teasing me with glimpses of her plump, round ass cheeks when she bends over to retrieve the matching bra.
This is no ordinary undergarment. No, it seems special. A small smile tugs at my lips as I lean forward, completely entranced.
“What’s on your agenda for tonight, Francesca? Got a date lined up?” And more importantly, who’s the lucky guy? Do I have a rival? The idea should make me hesitate, but I grin, considering all the ways I can end the competition if necessary.
Her phone rings, and my heart rate picks up. Is this the mystery man who gets to spend the evening with her? I make a mental note to clone her phone so I can listen in on her conversations and learn more about her. The ringing stops.
“Shit,” she mutters as she settles one thigh-high stocking in place before reaching for her phone. “Jay?”
She slides the other stocking up her toned leg while he speaks, nodding as if he can see her. “Yeah, I’ll be ready by six o’clock. That’s an hour from now,” she replies with a scoff. “How long do you think it’ll take to put on a dress and do my makeup?”
Whatever Jay says makes her laugh and it’s loud and full of life, echoing against her bedroom walls.
“I’ll be ready at six, smartass.”
I check the time on my screen and see it’s five. In sixty minutes, her partner will arrive to take her somewhere, and I’m dying to find out where.
Her hair, swept up in an old Hollywood glamor style, makes my fingers twitch. I can almost feel the strands slipping through my hands, tangling and loosening as I wreck that perfect updo while I push my hard cock into her.
Her makeup, more extravagant than usual, catches my attention next. Dark eyeliner, bold shadow, those full, blood-red lips. For a fleeting moment, doubt creeps in. Are she and Jay more than just colleagues? The thought sends a surge of possessive rage through me. I clench my fists, nails digging into my palms until the pain clears my mind.
Francesca steps into a floor-length red gown. It hugs every curve, igniting every twisted thought in my mind. I’m instantly hard. And endlessly curious. My imagination runs wild with possibilities. What event could warrant such a dress? I need to know. I need to be there.
Without hesitation, I head to my bedroom and pull on my best black-tie attire. Wherever she’s going, I’ll find my way in. I’m Damien Wolfe. This city bends to my will.
And Francesca's salary is conveniently funded by my tax dollars.
Kind of ironic, don’t you think?
I sit in the car outside down the street from her home and watch Jay’s classic muscle car pull up. She must’ve been peering through the blinds waiting for him because she’s outside, locking up and dashing to the curb before he can do the gentlemanly thing and open the passenger door for her.
Once she settles herself in the car, they share a laugh as she pulls down the seatbelt and straps herself in before Jay drives away from the curb. I trail them, just one car behind, my heart racing as they pull into the convention center.
The parking lot is full of patrol vehicles and black SUVs with government plates mixed in with high-end luxury cars. Aha, I realize. It must be a charity event. Perfect.
I drive past the parking lot and head to my penthouse for a more fitting ride. Something that will turn heads. Something worthy of the occasion.
Tonight is the night, kitten.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Frankie
When Jay and I first step into the ballroom, I feel out of place in this elegant red dress. It’s gorgeous and didn’t break the bank, which makes it even more beautiful. It’s not me, then again, it’s not like there’s a huge call for me to wear an evening gown to a crime scene, so maybe it is me.
With that thought in mind, I straighten my posture and decide to embrace the look. It’s not every day I get to feel this glamorous and showcase my feminine side, so even though the Police Union Ball is the last place I want to be tonight, I’m going to have fun and enjoy feeling beautiful.
I take my time at the entrance of the ballroom to scan the crowd, a mix of police officers and detectives mingling with the brass, local and state politicians, wealthy individuals, and even a few celebrities who proudly support law enforcement.
There are coworkers I know in their best but ill-fitting suits, their wives and fellow female officers in beautiful gowns, smiling and chatting with donors. No police event is complete without affluent badge bunnies with deep pockets.
I just have to get through a few hours before I can leave without catching shit from my captain tomorrow. I take a deep breath and take several steps forward, exhaling as I spot a waiter with a tray of champagne flutes.
