I don't answer because I don't have an answer. I haven't thought past the overwhelming need to touch her, taste her, claim her. Haven't considered what comes after.
"Just be careful," Beast says quietly. "Jenny thought I didn’t care about her at first too. Took us a while to figure out the line between not caring and want is thinner than you think."
He leaves, taking his beer with him. I stare at the whiskey in my glass, Beast's words repeating in my head. The line between hate and want. That's exactly where I'm standing with Amanda—hating everything her badge represents while wanting everything her body offers.
My cock throbs again, demanding attention. I down the whiskey and head for the bathroom, locking the door behind me. My reflection in the mirror shows someone wild-eyed, desperate, on the edge of something that feels like falling.
I unzip my jeans and pull out my cock, already leaking precum. I wrap my hand around it, squeezing hard, and close my eyes.
Immediately I see her. Amanda on all fours, that ass in the air, looking back at me with those green eyes. Her black hair spread across my pillow. Those thick thighs spread wide. That virgin pussy pink and wet and begging for my cock.
"Fuck," I groan, stroking faster.
I imagine grabbing her hips, positioning my cock at her entrance, hearing her whimper as I push inside. She'd be so tight. So fucking tight around my dick, her walls clenching, her body stretching to accommodate me.
I'd make her take every inch. Make her feel how deep I could go. Make her scream my name while I fucked her so hard she'd forget she ever wore a badge.
My hand moves faster, rougher. I imagine flipping her over, spreading those thick thighs, burying my face in her pussy. She'd taste sweet. I know she would. And I'd lick every drop of her arousal, tongue-fuck that virgin cunt until she came on my face.
Then I'd slide my cock inside while she was still trembling, still sensitive, and fuck her through another orgasm. And another. Until she was limp and satisfied and completely mine.
"Fuck, Amanda," I groan, my orgasm building. I imagine her tits bouncing while I pound into her, her hands clawing at my back, her pussy clenching around my cock as she comes.
My release hits hard, cum spurting over my hand and into the sink. I stroke through it, milking every drop, her name on my lips.
When I finally catch my breath, reality crashes back. I just jerked off thinking about a cop. A virgin cop who I promised to helptomorrow. A woman who represents everything I've spent two years hating.
And I can't fucking wait to see her again.
Next Day
Nine AM the next morning finds me outside the Blackwater Falls Police Station, sitting on my bike in the parking lot. My heart pounds against my ribs, part anticipation, part dread.
I told King I'd do this. Told Amanda I'd be here. But walking into a police station voluntarily goes against every instinct I've developed since my brother's death.
Fuck the police. That's been my mantra for years. And now I'm about to walk inside and help one.
A car pulls into the lot, Amanda's modest sedan. My cock immediately hardens as she gets out, and Jesus fucking Christ, she actually wore a skirt.
It's modest. It falls to just above her knees, black and professional, but on her curves it looks sinful. The fabric hugs her hips, emphasizes that ass, shows off those thick thighs that I want wrapped around my head. She's paired it with a white blouse that strains slightly across her tits, and her black hair is pulled back in a ponytail.
She looks like every dirty secretary fantasy I've ever had, and it takes everything in me not to march over there, bend her over the hood of her car, yank that skirt up, and bury my face in her pussy.
I adjust myself in my jeans and get off the bike, heading toward her. She sees me and stops, her green eyes widening slightly. Good. She remembers what I said. Remembers that I told her to wear a skirt.
"Officer Collins." I let my eyes travel slowly down her body, making sure she sees me looking. "You followed orders."
"It's not—I just—" She stammers, her face flushing. "I was going to wear a skirt anyway."
"Sure you were." I move closer, crowding her against her car just like yesterday. "You wore it because I told you to. Because part of you wants to please me, even though you hate that you do."
"That's not—"
"Your nipples are hard." I glance down at her chest, where the evidence is clear through the thin blouse. "And I bet if I slid my hand up that skirt right now, I'd find those panties soaked. Wouldn't I?"
She opens her mouth, closes it, then opens it again. "We're in a police parking lot."
"I know where we are." My hand finds her hip, fingers digging into the soft flesh. "Doesn't change the fact that you're wet for me. That you've been thinking about what I said yesterday. About me bending you over and making you scream."
