Cop Appeal

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Cop Appeal

Copyright © 2010 by Ava Meyers

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All rights reserved. Without limiting the
rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication
may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system,
or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic,
mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the
prior written permission of the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names,
characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the
product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

License Notes

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Many thanks to Tina Folsom, Susan H. and
Cyndi F. for their friendship, fabulous critiques, and continuing
encouragement with my “Cop” series! A shout out to Grace, who I’d
be bugging except I want so much for her to finish Hugh’s story—I
can’t wait!

First comes love then comes pleasure…

Since Sarah hadn’t been expecting Luke’s
visit and had gotten into the habit of eating cereal morning, noon,
and night, he insisted on walking her to the deli around the corner
and treating her to a gourmet sub. When she teasingly said she
wanted to keep feasting on her very own sub for a while longer, he
laughed and told her the special of the day was far larger than
six-inches. That spurred a rather intense make-out session that
started in the living room, traversed into the kitchen, and ended
on the dining room table. But somehow he still got her into the
shower and out to eat afterwards.

She wondered briefly at his insistence that
they leave the house, but got distracted when he offered to give
her a ride on his motorcycle. He didn’t have a helmet, so he
wouldn’t take her farther than the deli, but even that short ride
was exhilarating.

Pressed tight against him, she wrapped her
arms around his waist, squeezing him tight and loving the feel of
his muscular butt jammed between her thighs. She closed her eyes,
swaying with him when he turned the bike, their movements smooth.
In sync. Natural. The cool night air was a wonderful contrast to
the heat still pulsing through her, and when they got to the deli,
she had to force herself not to beg him to keep going. To take her
someplace far away. Someplace where they could be alone, with no
ex-husband to worry about, no responsibility to interrupt them, and
no insecurities to plague her.

They
were
plaguing her.

They taunted her with old fears that while
the sex was spectacular, sooner or later he’d realize he could do
far better than
Sure-Thing-Sarah
.

But this time, she refused to let her fears
control her. Get over it, she mentally snapped. Maybe he’d get
tired of her. Maybe he wouldn’t.

You finally stood up to Richard
.
Fight for what you want, damn it.

She wanted Luke.

Resolved to enjoy her time with him, she
forced herself to take some risks. When they got off the
motorcycle, she reached out and took his hand, basking in his
smile. At the deli, he plied her with wine and dessert in addition
to the sandwich, and she used the opportunity to feed him. When
they returned to her place, she was feeling mellow and lazy, and
she wanted nothing more than to explore his body from head to toe
at her leisure. To
show
him how much she loved him, even if
she wasn’t ready to say it.

She made her request.

“Sounds good to me,” he said.

Sarah Larson ended her day the same way she
always did—with Luke Anderson inside her. First he entered her
mouth. Then her pussy. Then finally her ass. Then he started all
over again.

She took his thick length in every possible
way imaginable, savoring every hot inch.

She gloried in the way he made not just her
body feel full, but her soul, too.

As if she’d never hunger, never despair,
never want for anything again.

As if she’d never feel more replete or
complete than when she was in his arms.

“Luke,” she whispered, then released a
prolonged moan as she gyrated her hips, moving his shaft in and out
of her so it dragged against the sensitive, clenching walls of her
core. Her lube made his thrust and retreat silky smooth, but even
so, the pleasure was intense enough that it carried a bite of
pain.

She matched the sensation by pinching one
nipple, then she dragged her nail across it. Her clit, plumped with
blood and demanding attention, throbbed as she rubbed the tip of
his dick against it, then throbbed some more when he abandoned the
sweet spot to shove himself fully inside her again.

“Yes, yes,” she chanted. “Fuck me, Luke.
Fuck me hard.”

Enflamed by her frenzied commands, he
powered in and out of her. His flesh slapped against hers in a
steady rhythm, harmonizing with the squishy sounds of moist arousal
and her jagged gasps of mounting pleasure.

Time and again, he rubbed against the area
of her body that made her fling back her head and throw out her
hands to clench at the sheets beneath her. The pressure inside her
grew and grew and grew…

She yearned for satisfaction. She reached
for it. She strained to find the release that would drain her of
all worry and thought, even if it would only be temporary.

But this time, just as it had for weeks now,
satisfaction eluded her.

Dragging her eyes open, Sarah blinked
rapidly until the drab décor of her cheap motel room came into
focus. Of course, Luke was nowhere to be seen. She was alone—alone
except for her useless vibrator.

Her fantasies of Luke, the ones that had
always brought her pleasure and a semblance of comfort in the past,
were now tainted.

Because of
him
.

Not Luke—whom she’d lived without for four
long years only to learn he’d recently returned home—but
him
. The one who’d been watching her. Threatening her.
Stalking her.

The one who’d gotten too close. Because
she’d
let
him get close.

Ironically, she’d met Richard because of
Luke; they’d been cops in the same precinct together. He’d seemed
nice; attractive and charming and far less overwhelming than Luke.
Blue-collar background. Just less…complicated overall. Less to live
up to.

Soon after their honeymoon, Richard had
shown his true colors. He had a violent temper. A filthy mouth. A
cruel streak. She’d rightfully been wary of him. On edge. Waiting
for him to blow and show her that Jekyll and Hyde personality of
his again. However, after the divorce, as if he hadn’t been psycho
enough, he’d clearly lost a few more screws. He’d proven himself to
be a serious threat two weeks ago when he’d pushed her down in the
parking lot of the supermarket. Of course, he’d made sure there
weren’t any witnesses, and he’d been upping the ante ever
since.

Richard had lost it.

A few days ago, Sarah had gotten so scared
that she’d actually fled her home for the sterility of this hotel
room in a strange city, hopeful that Richard would never find her.
She’d left everything behind but the basics, her memories, and the
toy buried between her legs. And for what? The fear hadn’t
subsided. Plus, she’d heard second-hand that Luke was back in Palm
Springs and, if his failure to mention her was anything to go by,
obviously over her.

With a frustrated cry, Sarah withdrew her
“Luke substitute,” a thick, blue latex dildo, from her body and
flung it across the room. “Damn you,” she shouted. “Damn you
both!”

Curling into a ball, she hugged her knees to
her chest and struggled to catch a breath. “Damn
me
,” she
murmured.

She shouldn’t have run. She should have
reported Richard to the police. Should have stood her ground. At
the very least, she should have confided in her friend Meredith
about Richard’s freaky behavior, but she’d been too embarrassed to
reveal exactly how foolish she’d been to marry him.

She’d just have to suck it up. In the
morning, she’d drive home, and her first stop would be the police
department.

Her decision had nothing to do with Luke’s
return, she assured herself. She didn’t even know how long he’d be
in town, after all. Plus, it wasn’t like he’d joined the Palm
Springs PD. Most importantly, the man was just as likely to throw
her to the wolves than protect her. Far more likely to do so,
actually.

But maybe, just maybe, she’d catch a brief
glimpse of the only man she’d ever loved. After all the heartache
she’d been through, she felt she deserved that much.

With a sigh, she closed her eyes and
pictured Luke as he’d been the last time they’d
really
made
love—he’d been twenty-six to her twenty-eight, with slightly long
sandy brown hair, pale blue eyes fringed with the thickest lashes
she’d ever seen on a man, his starched navy patrol officer’s
uniform parting to reveal rippling abs and bulging muscles. She’d
spent months loving her “younger” man, so she tried to muster some
indignation that he hadn’t even asked about her when he’d run into
her best friend, Meredith. Of course, Meredith had volunteered a
whole lot of information about Sarah anyway, mainly about her
modified marital status. Not that it had seemed to matter.

Her efforts at distraction—to feel pleasure
rather than fear—were useless.

With her body still thrumming with
unsatisfied arousal, she recalled the note she’d found underneath
her front door mat three days ago, its hand-scrawled message
ricocheting through her mind along with the music of a B-grade
horror movie:
I’m coming for you, Sarah. Soon
.
Nothing
you say or do, and no one you ask for help, can stop me. In fact,
they’ll just suffer for it. You’re mine, ‘til death do we
part.

Nothing, not her favorite toy, not even her
memories of Luke, could help her forget the danger she was in or
how big a fool she truly was.

Several days later…

Luke hadn’t been back to Palm Springs in
four years. Not since Sarah Larson had broken his heart. Not since
he’d begun volunteering for every dangerous undercover op he could.
Not since he’d decided life wasn’t worth playing it safe.

Now?

He’d heard Sarah had been divorced for
almost a year, and hadn’t had a man in her bed since.

That was about to change.

The look in her eyes told him she knew it.
So did the way she tried to shut her door in his face.

His hand shot out, slamming against the wood
to stop it from closing. Through the opening, her gaze flickered
over his shoulder, no doubt taking in the black leather seat and
gleaming curves of his favorite motorcycle. It was a far cry from
the shiny Mustang he used to drive before he’d left. Less show and
more muscle. Not exactly something the sole heir to his father’s
flourishing textile business was expected to be driving. That just
made him like it more.

Luke had returned to Palm Springs
despite
Sarah, not because of her. He’d been fresh off a
lengthy undercover assignment with the Demon Guardians, a notorious
biker gang that had been terrorizing Northern California, when his
socialite mother had called him, begging him to visit his father
before it was too late. She’d made it sound like his father’s
health had deteriorated in the six months since they’d all met in
London. As it turned out, his father had never been better. Luke
hadn’t confronted his mother about her deception but he hadn’t been
planning on sticking around either. Then he’d run into Meredith
Pierce. After an earful from her on Sarah’s single status, he’d
promptly gone home and given his aristocratic, proper mother a hug
that had lifted her off her feet. It was thanks to her, after all,
that he was paying Sarah a visit today.

Her pale green eyes, which never failed to
take his breath away, narrowed. “What do you want, Luke?”

“Want?” All kinds of visions popped in his
head. Sarah on her knees with his dick in her mouth. Sarah splayed
under him, her legs ratcheted up and wide by his arms, her neatly
trimmed, golden pubic curls glistening with her pussy juice as he
worked his thick length inside her. The lush, pale globes of her
ass jiggling as he thrust into her from behind—one hand in her hair
and tugging her head back while he sprinkled kisses along her
spine. She’d had several lovers by the time they’d met, but she’d
still been amazingly inexperienced in carnal matters. He’d put an
end to that really fast, and she’d been an eager pupil. The
memories of all their lessons caused his voice to deepen to a growl
when he spoke again. “What makes you think I want something?”