Flirting With the Law, Page 3

  There was a scrawled note on the kitchen counter from Tim when I got home late in the afternoon.

  “Went out for a while with a potential job prospect. Please ask before you take the convertible, Sam.”

  That was it.

  “Please ask before you—”

  Oh, fuck off, Tim.

  I wasn’t sure what I was even going to say to him when I came home, or even if I was going to say anything at all. But finding him gone took the wind out of my sails right there. And that whole bullshit about a “job prospect”? Please.

  I ignored the storm raging through my head as I poured myself a healthy glass of chardonnay.

  Suddenly, I froze. Jesus, I knew exactly what he was doing. I could picture him, groggily waking up from his bender the night before, coming downstairs for coffee, seeing his phone where he’d assumed he’d probably left it the night before. He’d probably felt relieved that I hadn’t seen it, especially when he’d opened it up to see the messages from her.

  Her.

  That’s where he was right then. Suddenly, I felt like even more of an idiot. Just earlier, I’d actually admonished myself for having even a fantasy about another man — or men — while my cheating, scumbag fiancé was on his way to actually see another girl!

  I gritted my teeth and started to storm out of the house, when I stopped. There, over on the side table was his phone, just sitting there.

  I walked over to it, and slowly found myself picking it up and opening it up. There, right there, was the same text message conversation with the same little slut from before. Only now, instead of a picture on the screen, there was an address.

  I bit my lip, staring at the address. I knew this was a terrible idea. And maybe the glass of wine I’d already half-slugged down had gone to my head more than I’d realized, but I didn’t even stop to consider turning around until I was past that point anyways, speeding off in the convertible.

  5

  Blake

  The squad car jerked as I swung sharply into the parking lot, Dustin swearing next to me as I took the corner hard.

  “Fuck, man.”

  I shot him a glance. “Sorry,” I muttered, feeling the clawing feeling digging inside of me as I braked hard into the parking space out front of the coffee shop. I could feel the all-too-familiar need raging inside — the demon of addiction that I kept locked up tight in there with an iron chain.

  But locked up didn’t mean he wasn’t loud as fuck sometimes.

  I’d been sober for four years now, and I loved it. I was sharper, and healthier, and just better in every aspect of my life without the guy I used to be fucking shit up anymore. But that didn’t mean I didn’t still have days where I felt like I could murder for a sip of whiskey.

  And on those days? Well on those days, I drowned that screaming craving down with my new addiction.

  Caffeine.

  “Got it bad, huh?”

  I glanced at Dustin as I shut the car off, my jaw clenching, my teeth grinding, the roaring of my addiction threatening to explode out of me.

  I nodded, and his face went grim.

  “You want to call anyone?”

  I shook my head. “I’m good. Just…”

  “Black, one sugar?”

  I nodded again, breathing heavily.

  “I got you, man. Sit tight.”

  My friend was out of the car in a second, jogging to the door of the coffee shop.

  Dustin had seen me through the worst of it, back then. We’d been best friends since, well, shit, I don’t even know since when. Before I could remember, that’s for sure. We’d done it all together, growing up across the street from each other — playing with GI Joe’s, taking on bullies on the playground, playing football, chasing girls.

  Hell, we’d lost our virginities on the same night, to the same damn girl, at the same time.

  Well, technically speaking, Dustin had lost his first — something he’d never gotten tired of jokingly reminding me of over the years.

  After school, we’d gone to the same college to play ball, signed up on the same day for the Marines, and done two tours together in Afghanistan. We’d come back home to SoCal, breezed the policeman’s exam, aced our detective’s tests, and now here we were.

  But the short of it was, my friend was the closest thing to a brother I’d ever had, and vice versa.

  We’d both found beer young, I guess. And we’d both enjoyed partying over the years, but there was always something about me and booze that never clicked right. Something in my genetics or something. Long story short though, four years ago, Dustin had saved my damn life when he’d shoved me against the wall one particularly rough morning and screamed at me that he wasn’t going to watch me slowly kill myself anymore. He’d put his service gun in my hands, jabbed a finger in my chest, and told me if I was that set on meeting my maker, I could take the fast lane right then and there.

  I went to my first meeting that morning, and I’ve been sober ever since.

  But again, sober doesn’t mean you never think about it. Stress and emotion bring it out, of course, but I’d spent the last four years mastering self-control and keeping myself in check.

  She wrecked that.

  She took that control and shattered it from me. Watching Samantha this last month had shaken me to my core. Watching this girl and slowly realizing how goddamn incredible she was in that almost unbelievable way had tested that self-control.

  Coming face-to-face with her today, in that fucking bikini, and watching Dustin spread her across the hood of her car and let his hands wander over those curves?

  Yeah, self-control gone. I was shaking with the need for something — clawing out of my own skin with the need to give in, to throw the rest of my self-control away.

  My blood boiled, my head swam, and my cock was throbbing hard in my uniform, just thinking about her.

  The passenger door slammed shut, and I blinked, my head clearing slightly.

  “Here. Drink up.”

  I shot my friend a look as I gratefully took the steaming cup of coffee. “Poor choice of words, pal.”

  He snorted. “Sorry, dude.”

  I shook my head, laughing quietly before gratefully sucking down the scalding hot brew. “Thanks for this.”

  “Anytime.” Dustin looked at me carefully. “This about—”

  “Her? Yeah. Obviously.”

  He swore under his breath. “Look, I know I shouldn’t have, I just…” he trailed off, shaking his head. “I just—”

  “Can’t help it?” I swore myself, taking another sip from the styrofoam cup. “Believe me, I know the feeling.”

  “What’s going to happen to her? I mean, after the FBI moves in on this whole thing and ol’ Tim gets locked up for helping drug dealers falsify shipping reports and legal docs?”

  “Well, she’ll be done with him, so there’s that. And she’s got nothing to do with this — that you and I can attest to. So, she’s not in trouble or anything.”

  Dustin’s jaw tightened. “They’ll be after her, you know. The Mexicans. When Tim gets nabbed with the rest of them and she walks, they’ll have questions.”

  I felt my hand tighten on the cup, my jaw clenching. “Not on our watch.”

  “Out watch will be over when they move on this thing, dude. And you know that. When this case is wrapped up, it’s not like we’re still going to be watching Samantha.”

  I hissed out a swear, growling lowly. “When this thing is over, we’re still watching her, because I’ll be damned if I let anything happen to that girl.”

  “Amen to that, brother,” Dustin said quietly.

  We sat in silence another minute as I drank my coffee, the addiction slowly receding back into its cave. Slowly, I turned and grinned at my friend.

  “I can’t believe you frisked her, you fucking dick.”

  He grinned back, arching his brows. “I can’t believe you didn’t help. All that smooth, creamy skin, those long perfect legs, and oh man, that ass was just—�
��

  “Alright! Alright!” I laughed as I flipped off my best friend. I jammed the keys into the ignition and cranked on the engine. “Rub it in, douchebag.”

  “Oh, I’ll rub it into Samantha Caraway any day of the week, buddy.”

  “Prick.”

  We laughed as I pulled the car out of the parking lot.

  “Alright, what’s the job tonight?”

  Dustin frowned. “We’ve got stake-out duty with the niece tonight.”

  “Goddammit.”

  We’d pulled this job before — watching Miguel’s niece’s lavish mansion when we weren’t lucky enough to be on our usual Samantha duty. The worst part — aside from not being able to watch our Sam — was that Maria Santiago had a thing for leaving her damn blinds open. This wouldn’t have been that much of a problem, I mean, she wasn’t a bad looking girl, for sure.

  The problem was, she’d leave ‘em open when douchebag Tim Plimpton came over to get his tiny cock sucked. And we’d have to sit there watching that shit.

  Believe me, police work is not all glitz and glamour.

  “I know, it’s bullshit. Like we need to watch that pudgy fuck get his limp dick wet again.”

  I rolled my eyes as I drained the last of my coffee. “It still makes zero sense that a dude like that somehow has a girl like Samantha.”

  Dustin growled angrily. “Zero fucking sense.”

  I shrugged. “People do dumb shit sometimes. Hell, you were with that Christy chick for way too long.”

  “You’re just pissed she wasn’t into dating both of us, like Jen was.”

  “Dude, Christy is and was insane. If she comes knocking again, believe me, she’s all yours.”

  Dustin laughed. “Asshole.”

  “Dick.”

  “Speaking of which, it is Tuesday. We need to get going to Maria’s place so we can watch ‘shitty, small-dicked blowjob night’ at the Santiago house.”

  “Hope you brought popcorn,” I muttered as I took us onto the freeway and headed for the beach.

  6

  Samantha

  I drove slowly through the neighborhood the directions had led to, looking for the house number.

  It was starting to get dark outside, the sun dipping down over the Pacific out there on the horizon, and I was starting to really realize what a shit idea this was. I wasn’t even sure what that hell I was going to do when I did find it. What was I thinking? That I’d just march up, knock on the door and say hello?

  I suppose I just wanted to see, to know for sure that I wasn’t crazy.

  But the other thing was, part of me was actually glad this had come to light. There was a sense of relief, of being let go from my time with Tim. It’s not like I’d been actively looking to leave or anything, but it was finding that text message that had made me realize just how complacent I’d been in going along with this whole thing. I’d found the boring lawyer type. I’d given up my career like a good little fiancé, and I’d left everything I had back east to follow him out here, ready to just be a boring old housewife while hubby went to work all day.

  What I knew now changed all that, and for the first time in a long time, I felt like I was breathing clean air.

  I felt free of something I hadn’t even realized was keeping me chained up.

  I was about to just give up, about to decide enough was enough and that a bottle of wine and my own wandering fingers would be a fine way to sulk through the rest of the evening before I figured out what to do next, when I saw it:

  My car.

  My slightly beat up old Jeep that’d I’d insisted on bringing out to California with us was parked outside a huge house down at the very end of the cul-de-sac. My eyes narrowed, and I felt my jaw tighten as I slowly drove forward towards whatever awaited me there.

  The house was honestly gigantic. I mean, we lived well with the house Tim’s new and short-lived job had provided, but this thing was enormous, not to mention perched right on the beach. Of course, it was making more and more sense now that I saw the house — young girl, rich with what was probably Daddy’s money. Pretty much a dream lay for Tim.

  I parked back on the street at the bottom of small rise that led up to the huge house. It was off on its own, sitting pretty far away from any of its neighbors. My eyes went wide as I really took in just how freaking big the place was

  I turned off the engine and sat there in the semi darkness, staring at the house. What the hell was I even doing here? I mean, right then is when I should have turned around and gone home, except right then is when I heard it.

  A high, lilting moan, drifting in the stillness of the evening.

  I froze, squinting up at the house. Upstairs on the second floor, a big floor-to-ceiling window lit up to reveal the ultra-modern interior bedroom, and I heard that giggling female moan again. And then, I saw them.

  The very same little slut from the text message pictures came giggling into the room, being chased by none other than my fiancé. Well, very decidedly ex-fiancé at this point, I can promise you that.

  But I felt my blood boil nevertheless as I watch Tim grab her and toss her onto the bed up there, jumping on top of her and making her squeal. I just sat there and watched as piece after piece of clothing came stripping off and flying across the room, just staring as my asshole ex undressed this tramp of a girl.

  I knew I should have driven off right then, or hell, lit that bitch’s house on fire. But something stopped me.

  I watched, almost frozen as this sexy little home wrecker climbed on top of Tim, pushing him down on the bed, straddling him as she flung her bra off. I could see her working at his belt and then his zipper, and I squinted to see her take his extremely average-sized cock out and start stroking it.

  Okay, enough was enough; it was time to get the hell out of here.

  I reached down to turn on the engine, when I saw it. There, sitting in the middle compartment of the car dashboard, was a small pair of birding binoculars.

  I went stone solid and just stared at them. There’s no way they were Tim’s, and I had a hard time believing she was much of a bird-watcher. But whosever they were, my eyes bounced immediately from them to the lit window I’d been squinting to peer at.

  And that is how I came to be sitting in a dark car that wasn’t mine, feeling my pulse jump higher and higher, my cheeks getting redder and redder as I looked through binoculars at my asshole ex getting his cock sucked by another girl.

  I wanted to look away, and part of me wanted to scream. And yet somehow, part of me felt something else. Disturbingly, and annoyingly, part of me was actually getting turned on watching this.

  Maybe it was the lingering heat from my fantasy easier, or even from before that, when the gorgeous cop had put his hands on me. And maybe it was that Tim and I had lost that spark long before I’d seen the text messages.

  Whatever it was though, somehow, I was able to look at the scene in front of me and feel the raw desire pulse between my legs.

  With the binoculars, I had a full, close-up view of them, and as much as I wanted to pretend it wasn’t, my own pussy was getting wetter and wetter by the second. I could feel my own slippery heat soaking the thin thong panties I’d tossed on under a little summer skirt as I’d dashed out the door back home. I was still wearing my bikini top, and as I parted my legs slightly in the front seat of the convertible, I felt deliciously naughty — almost as if I was sitting there practically naked.

  The aching need in my pussy demanded my attention more and more, and as I watched the trampy girl upstairs move down and sink her pussy over Tim’s wildly unsatisfying cock, I found myself moaning and letting my own hand trail up under my skirt. I pushed the short material higher to my hips, giving my fingers access to my aching pussy and the soaking wet thong clinging hotly to it. I moaned quietly as I pushed my fingertips beneath the fabric, teasing them over the slippery lips there as I stared through the binoculars, mouth hanging open.

  I was so wrapped up in watching, in fact, that I never
even heard the car pull up behind me, never heard the two doors opening and quietly closing, or the footsteps walking towards my side of the car.

  "Well, well, twice in one day, miss?”

  I about jumped out of my skin as I yanked my hand from my pussy and jerked my head around to my side window.

  It was both of them, the blond and the dark-haired cops.

  And they looked pissed.

  "Out of the car, miss. Now."

  7

  Dustin

  "Officer! I—”

  “I said OUT. Now,” I growled, reaching out, unlatching her door, and swinging it open.

  I froze.

  When we’d spotted Samantha’s car — well Maria’s car, I guess — parked out front of the house we were surveilling, the plan was—

  Well, in truth, there was no plan, we’d just acted like a single mind when we’d seen her. I wasn’t sure what we’d been thinking we’d do, but I know I spoke on impulse when I’d stepped up to the car to see her peering through binoculars at the house. It was the same “gruff bad cop” voice I’d used before when we pulled her over.

  Maybe I was expecting that wide-eyed blush again, or maybe a smile. Maybe I wanted to see if she remembered us, or if her eyes would light up again like when I’d had her bent over the front of her car.

  What neither of us were expecting was that when we stepped up to that car, we’d see Samantha Caraway with her hand buried between her thighs and a low moan on her lips.

  Yeah, not expecting that by a fucking mile.

  And so, when I yanked her door open, we both froze, our bodies going rigid as we stared at her staring up at us, those big blue eyes like deer in headlights and that guilty blush across her face.

  "Well, well, well…” I whistled lowly, my pulse jumping inside of my chest, my cock thickening to steel in my pants as Samantha quickly jerked her hand away from her panties. I dragged my fingers across my stubble, my eyes hungrily drinking it all in.