“Pete.” It’s a whisper, a plea. I’m so close I’m trembling.
“Say it.” He has me trained.
“I love you, Pete.” He thrusts into me once, deep and hard, and gives my cock a stroke at the same time. “I love you.” Another thrust and stroke are my reward. “I love you.” Again.
It’s pouring out of me like a mantra. “I love you. I love you.” Every time I say love, another tight stroke and a matching thrust. The faster I say it, the faster he moves, until it’s pouring out of me like one long word, “IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou.” With each garbled moan as his cock pushes past my spot, in seconds I’m yelling his name.
“That’s it, Lachie, come for me.” I’m vaguely aware that his voice is intense but collected while I’m melting down, sobbing that I love him again and again. He’s holding me close, every possible inch of my bare skin held tight against his uniformed body. “That’s it, babe. Lachie, sweetheart, come for me. Let it happen.”
I tangle my hand in his hair, trying to twist and arch back enough to get my mouth to his when I lose control. I’m shaking in his hold, coming and moaning and kissing while he keeps moving over my prostate.
Coming with him buried deep inside me bent over the trunk of his patrol car is the most pleasurable thing I have ever experienced, bar none.
“I’m going to fill you up. You’re going to take all of me, babe.” There’s a flicker of lights in the distance, and he must see them too, because playtime is over and he’s railing me. Hard, deep, and fast. A man with a mission.
He’s pumping into me, steady, his rhythm never faltering as he seeks his pleasure. Then I hear it, a moan on an exhaled breath, and I know he’s close to the edge. He’s pushing into me, hot exhales over my sweat-chilled skin, and saying, “Let me love you, Lachie.” He moans. “Let me love you, only you. Only you.”
“I fucking love you, Pete.” It’s a whisper.
I’m not saying it to beg for relief in a blissed-out haze of pleasure this time. I’m saying it because I mean it. He tumbles into ecstasy the second the words leave my mouth, and I quiver from the throb deep inside me. He’s pulsing as he comes, as heshakes and cries out. We stay like that, locked together, until the headlights get larger, and he pulls away.
Fuck, I want him back, I need him in my body. There is a second of undignified irritation that he’s leaving me here, debauched like this, jeans around my ankles, shirt rucked up high from him targeting my nipples, and dripping his load. If you’re getting railed roadside there shouldn’t be an expectation of TLC after, but that doesn’t keep me from wanting it anyway.
I bury my face in my hands, leaning on the car naked, soft now and slick. I balance with one hand on the car, tug my pants up and shirt down, and manage to get myself together enough to affect a leisurely lean back against the car as the headlights turn into a car that slows to pass us in the blue light. The car goes by too fast to see that I’m shaking and out of breath, with freshly fucked hair going in every direction.
Sheriff Peter returns, looking like he just stepped out of a police academy recruiting advertisement while I must be the poster child for rode hard and put away wet. He holds a familiar package of wet wipes he must have retrieved from my glove box, stashed there for this scenario.
“I’m a fucking mess, Pete.” A rivulet runs down my leg. He snorts and his satisfied expression screams that he’s pleased with himself. He grabs my ass, helps me perform a quick and dirty clean up, and I pull up my jeans.
“You’re fine.”
I’m not fine. I’m trembling, shaken to my core by the intensity of us and the wild blend of emotions and sensations whirling through me.
“You’re not the one dripping. I have to go home like this.”
“Poor Lachlan. Poor, poor Lachlan who just got himself a good—no, great—fucking.” I give him the finger and start to walk back to my Jeep.
He calls after me, “I think it’s hot. You filled with my cum, I mean, I can’t imagine anything hotter—other than putting it there, obviously.”
I get in, buckle up, and I’m resting my forehead on the steering wheel when he walks up to my side, reaches in and runs his fingers through my hair and teases my hairline at the nape. I lean into his hand. I want so much more, but I need to go or he’ll get hard again and things will happen.
“I need you. Again. Soon. Soon like tomorrow.” His words make my shivering worse as I come down, sweaty, in the chilly night air.
I smile and give a little head shake, but the blood is moving south just thinking about it. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible, we’re leaving for the airport for our honeymoon at six in the morning.” I give him a little, tired smile. I want my bed. “Am I free to go, Sheriff?”
He glances at my hands, shaking, where I am holding on to the steering wheel. “That was intense, have that Reese’s cup before you drive home. Start the vehicle so you can turn the heat on. Let’s get you warm. You can stay a minute and get your bearings.”
I give him the chocolate. “I saved that one for you, I got it at the rest stop.”
“Ahhh, the rest stop. Can I tell you how hot it was to find you prepped and ready? So fucking eager. Did you pregame for me at the rest stop?” He unwraps the peanut butter cup and holds it out in front of me, “Here, one bite.” I take a nibble, then he finishes the rest.
“I was at the rest stop when I saw Rufflestilskin Wells-Sterling’s AirTag. I was picking up my trash and wrappers to throw away when I spotted it. I made a longer stop, hoping you were tracking me, and took care of some business.”
“Having you rolling back into town lubed up and ready for me is one of the hottest things that has ever happened to me. Commando. So fucking hot.” He leans in and slides his hand up the inside of my thigh. My cock twitches. He’s an inch from cupping my balls and I want it all over again.
My cheeks flame, surely pinking up and giving away my need. “We haven’t done this… I mean, now that you’re the sheriff…”
We can’t get caught.
