ARRESTED: A Stepbrother Cop Romance (3 page)

He grunts behind me as his hands find my waist to hold me
in place while he thrusts.

"You like that, Allyson? You like it when I fuck you
like this.
 
You want me to fuck you
harder?"

I mumble something noncommittal and rest my head on the
car. It's fantasy so I don't even care that we're on the side of the road and
can be seen by anyone driving by. If I’m honest, the idea that someone might be
watching just makes me hotter. I lean over even more so he can go deeper. I'm
not supposed to be liking it but I feel so wet on the insides of my thighs. My
body is betraying me and Officer Carlisle can tell. It’s as if he can read all
my dirty thoughts.

"You want me to fuck you faster?" He reaches up
to squeeze my breast again sending another jolt of awareness to my pussy.

His hands return to my waist, guiding me along his dick
in a rhythm that drives me crazy. It keeps me hovering close to the edge of
orgasm, but not quite pushing me over the edge. I feel it simmering just below
the surface and I whimper and moan, taking all the pleasure I can from his
thrusts.
 

He pounds into me harder until I feel my orgasm rising.
My clit pulses. My pussy throbs. After all the protests he's going to make me
come and I can’t even feel bad about it. He slips a hand between my legs,
spreading my lips roughly and exposing my swollen and vulnerable clit.
 
I imagine him pinching it hard and I do it to
myself, bucking my hips with the sensation.
 
I slip a finger inside to coat it, and imagine the rough tip of my
naughty cop’s finger rubbing roughly against the most sensitive part of my
body. Oh, it feels so damn good I can hardly stand it.

All pretense is gone now because I’m so desperate for
release. I rock back into him and he pumps harder and faster, cock hammering
and finger rubbing, harder, harder, harder until his beautiful big cock sends
an orgasm crashing through my body. The release is so sweet and seems to go on
forever.

My pussy clenches around Officer Carlisle’s imaginary
cock that is really three of my fingers. Spasms rack my body as I plunge them
in and out to mimic what he was doing in my fantasy. I gasp in breaths of air,
eyes closed to maintain the illusion I’ve created. My heart races so fast I
feel woozy, drunk on pleasure and hormones.

It was the release I needed to keep my worries locked up
in the box. I stretch out on the bed, content, sleepy. The image of Officer
Carlisle's face hovers in my mind. His full lips almost grinning, his eyes
twinkling. What I would do to have his hands on my body again in reality, not
just in my silly fantasies. But for now, the fantasies will have to do because
I’m definitely not planning on breaking the law anytime soon, and I’ll probably
never see him again.

3

CORY

I’ve
got less than an hour until the end of my shift when the call comes in. A
domestic dispute, half way across town and called in by a kid.

I hate this shit.

Men using their fists to control their women, taking out
their anger and frustrations on the people they should care for the most. Men
using vile words to reduce the people that love them to nothing. And worst of
all, doing this in front of innocent kids who grow up thinking that it’s normal
to beat on their family or it’s normal to expect a beating.

I can deal with the bullshit bar fights and the driver
disputes. I can deal with chasing down thieves and arresting shoplifters. But
seeing the terrified eyes and bloody faces in crimes like this sets my fists
clenching and my belly filling with anger.

I’m in my car, blue-lighting all the way. Most of the
time with cases like this it’s all died down by the time we arrive, but
sometimes it has escalated into worse that angry fists.
 

Sometimes it ends up in tragedy.

Another unit is also on its way so I know that I’ll have
back-up. It’s not so much that I worry about my own safety, more that my anger
might lead me to do something unprofessional. It takes a lot of restraint to
stick within the letter of the law sometimes.

The property is nice, the lawn neat and flowers in boxes
by the door. Domestic abuse isn’t just an issue of poverty. The front door is
closed and I knock loudly, my hand on my weapon as I wait for it to open.

A boy of about ten peeks around the door and his eyes
fill with relief when he sees me.

“Alright, son. I’m Officer Carlisle. Can I come in?”

He pulls the door open wide enough for me to enter the
property. It all seems quiet so I focus on him for a second, scanning him for
injuries.
 
Thankfully he looks fine.

“Did you dial 911?” I ask and he nods.

“Can you show me where your mom is?”

He pushes the front door until it clicks into place and
then looks at the sliding chain as though he wants to secure the premises.

“It’s okay. Nothing's gonna happen while I’m here. What’s
your name?”

“Jackson,” he answers and starts down the hall.

I look into every room we pass.
 
There’s a table overturned in the den, and a
couple of pictures have been knocked off the wall. We pass what I assume is his
room; painted blue with a racing car bed. At the end of the hallway, I hear
whimpers.

“Is this where your mom is?” I ask Jackson, putting my
hand on his shoulder before we enter the room.

“Yes.” I can feel his body trembling and I have an urge
to pick up this boy who is on the verge of becoming a man and hold him close.
My father isn’t a massively emotional person but I always felt his love when I
was growing up. He showed me what it means to be a good man and I hope that I
reflect him in everything I do. I don’t want this kid to hear any of what comes
next. He’s been through more than any kid ever should.

“Jackson, will you go to your room and wait for me
there?” I ask, making sure I’m looking him right in the eye when I do. He
blinks and stares back as though he’s trying to decide whether he can trust me.
He must see enough to reassure him because he turns and heads back to his room.

At the doorway to the master suite I call out. “Ma’am, my
name is Officer Carlisle. I’m coming in?”

I hear a whimper from deep in the darkened room.

Jackson’s mom is curled on her side on the bed. Her arms
are clutched around her middle and she’s weeping.

“Ma’am, do you need an ambulance?”

“No,” she whispers. “I don’t think so.”

I kneel at the side of the bed, getting a look at her
swollen face that is cut in places and horribly bruised. There is blood in her
blonde hair and on her hands. There are bruises on her upper arms and wrists.
She’s really been worked over.

“You look like you do,” I say softly. “Better to be safe
than sorry.”

Her eyes are just like Jackson’s but wet with tears. She
nods once and I call it in. “Your son doesn’t have to go with you. There’s
another unit on the way.”

I glance around the room and catch sight of a wedding
picture on the nightstand. The man I assume is Jackson’s dad is huge; at least
a foot taller than his wife. What kind of satisfaction can a man get from
beating on someone weak and helpless? I just don’t get it.

“Can you get up?”

“I think so.” She slides her jean-clad legs over the edge
of the bed and rests her bare feet on the hardwood. I can tell she’s
embarrassed by the way she smooths her hair, attempting to make herself
presentable. She doesn’t want to look bad in front of me and it breaks my
heart.

“Where did your husband go?” I know I’m going to get some
serious satisfaction if I can hunt the fucker down.

“Probably back to Hudson’s, over on Fourth,” she sighs.
“He always comes back from there full of alcohol and anger.”

“You need to press charges against him,” I say. “It’s not
going to stop, no matter how much you wish it would.”

She nods but I get the feeling I’m not the first person
to tell her that. In a lot of cases like this the women are too scared to move
on; fearful of the man or of life without them. I can’t pretend to know what
that’s like, and I won’t judge if I haven’t walked a person’s path. Until
you’ve been in their position you can’t know what you would do.

There’s a knock at the front door and I stand, helping
this fragile woman to her feet. We walk towards the front door just as Jackson
is opening it. The second unit comprises a huge African American officer called
Marley, and a tiny female officer called Angelique.
 
They make an odd pair but I know how well
they work together.

It’s Marley who takes over with Jackson’s mom and leads
her into the kitchen to get her some water while we wait for the ambulance.
He’s so gentle that I can see her relaxing immediately. Angelique is talking to
Jackson and follows him into his room.
 
I
hear them discussing Marvel comics, debating who would beat who in a straight
fight.

I open the front door, looking around in case the man of
the house happens to be lurking outside. Sometimes the perps in domestic cases
wait until the police have left and then go back in and finish the job, blaming
their partners for getting them into trouble.

There’s no one out there as far as I can see but I wait
in the doorway, enjoying the cool night air. It’s been a long shift. Pretty
crappy stuff except the traffic stop I did. That girl was something else. It
took all my willpower to hold a straight face when she was trying to sass me.
All her attempts to flaunt her assets in the hope I’d let her off without a
ticket were very amusing.

I have a thing for girls with long dark hair. It looks so
good tangled around my fingers. And her legs were so fucking long. They’d feel
fantastic clutched around my waist. My cock kicks under my uniform and I take a
deep breath. I need to keep my mind on the job but it’s hard when you’ve been
faced with a devil in an angel’s body. The way she looked at me, with one-part
innocence and ten-parts sin has got me intrigued. I’ve got her license plate. I
could look her up on the database back at the station. I shake my head at that
ridiculous thought. I’m a cop, not a fucking stalker.

The thing is, I know I could break her off. She had that
look in her eyes that’s begging for someone to lay down the law. She’s a bad
girl and she needs a good cop to put her on the straight and narrow. Except,
I’m probably never going to see her again. Tempting or not, it looks like
Allyson has become a stranger in the night.

The ambulance pulls up and I call for Marley to bring
Jackson’s mom outside. Once everything is settled, I get into my squad car and
head back to the station. It’s not until I’m home, that I realize I can smell
Allyson on my palm.

Once I’m undressed and settle in bed, I come into my own
hand, with angel-Allyson’s scent in my nose, and her pussy on my mind.

4

ALLYSON

I walk through the mall in search of caffeine and my mom,
in that order. After my orgasm last night, I slept great but I woke up early to
get things done around the house. Mom spends a lot of her time with her new
boyfriend so if I want clean clothes it's up to me. Not that it's a bad thing
to have the house to myself sometimes.
 
Now that I’m at college, I miss the comforts of home. Up until now, I’ve
appreciated mom keeping her social life to herself, too.
 
I’m glad I haven’t had to put up with finding
Jeff at the house all the time.

I spot my mom, already sipping what looks like a latte,
at our favorite java place. I hurry through the mall ignoring the shops calling
my name. Yes, I do need a new skirt. I want those new shoes, but there will be
time for shopping later. Mom wanted to meet for a reason. As I approach she
smiles but I can tell something is wrong. Her smile is too wide, her eyes too
bright.

"Sweetie, you look great."

"Thanks, mom. So do you. I didn’t see you this
morning,” I say. She brushes invisible dust off the table. "Were you
home?”

“Yeah,” I say.
 
I
don’t want to tell her the reason. “I was out of underwear.”

She nods. "I didn't know what you wanted." She
gestures towards the empty spot on the table where my usual skinny latte should
be sitting.

I frown because she's not usually forgetful. Nine times
out of ten I get the skinny latte, mixing it up once in a while with an
Americano or a tea. Odds were in her favor if she went with the latte. Something's
going on. I study her face but the smile stays plastered there. Her hands are
folded over each other and resting on the table in a way that looks nervous.

"That's okay. I need something a little stronger
today. Want another?" I point to her cup. She shakes her head, wrapping
her hands around her mug as if to warm them. On this sunny July day.

With a glance over my shoulder, I hurry to wait in line.
From this distance, I can still see her. She pulls out her cell phone, flicks
her finger over the screen and smiles. The first genuine smile I've seen on her
face since I arrived. She taps a couple of times and puts the phone face down
on the table. What is she hiding?

The java joint is packed and it takes forever to reach
the barista. More time to worry about what's up with my mom. She looks up and
smiles at me, the huge fake smile from before. I smile back, wondering what
could be going on with her. I order a large Americano and do my best not to tap
my fingers on the counter while the barista makes it for me. It's not her fault
that everything in my world feels so shaky right now. Feeling like I need some
good karma, I drop a dollar in the tip bowl and walk back to the table, teasing
myself with the scent of coffee as I go.

Once I settle in and take a sip my eyes close in ecstasy.
I need this caffeine to perk me up so I can be understanding when my mom tells
me whatever her bad news is. I’m assuming bad news because she seems so
flustered. She has all the telltale signs of something eating her up inside.
The napkin that came with her latte lays on the table in a shredded mess.
Though her phone is face down her eyes dart to it every few seconds as if she's
waiting for a call or a text message.

"How's Jeff?"

She jerks her head up and her eyes go wide. "He's
fine. How are you? How was the party?"

I gasp, forgetting for a minute that I told her about it
on the phone yesterday. Instantly images of Drew’s snarling face flood my mind
and tears prick behind my eyes. I can’t cry here, not in front of Mom when she
obviously has her own stuff going on. I know she’ll want to know all the
details and I can’t tell her and see the disappointment on her face. I blink
and force a smile, conjuring a much nicer face into my mind; Officer Carlisle
in all his stern glory. It settles my racing heart, as though he’s reached out
and pulled me against his solid chest and told me everything’s going to be
alright.

"It was okay," I mumble.

I take another sip of my coffee and study her with
intense curiosity. She's never kept anything from me before and while I can
tell she wants to get something off her chest, she can't seem to bring herself
to. She fidgets in her chair, her hand moving to the phone but stopping before
picking it up.

"Mom, is everything okay? What did you want to tell
me?"

She picks up her mug to take a sip but realizes it's
empty. She puts it back on the table. Her phone buzzes and she jumps, knocking
over the sugar.

"I'm such a klutz sometimes." She rights the
sugar and wipes the fine white particles into her mug then smiles up at me.

My mom is a lot of things but she's never in her life
been a klutz. "Mom, spill it."

Her shoulders slump forward, she grabs my hands, her eyes
are earnest. "I want you to know it won't change anything."

Panic races through my body. Is she sick? Has something
happened to someone in the family? "What won't change anything?"

"Jeff proposed!"

Joy shines through her eyes. A huge smile turns up the
corners of her mouth revealing perfect, straight white teeth that she never
tires of thanking her braces for. Torn, I plaster a smile on my face as I lean
over and hug her above the table.

"That's great, Mom."

What else do you say when your mother tells you she's
getting married? Stomp your feet and demand all of her attention? Remind her
that Jeff is the first real relationship she's had in years? It seems quick.
Can she really be sure about him?

It will no longer be just me and my mom. Jeff will be her
husband, not just a boyfriend. I liked it when he was a boyfriend. Boyfriends
are temporary. Husbands seem so much more permanent.

"You really think so, sweetie?"

"Of course, I do. I guess I’m just a bit flustered
because I’ve never met Jeff. I feel like I should know something about him, now
that he’s going to be my stepfather?”

Another wave of panic settles in my stomach. Would he
move in with mom, into my home? Would we have to move in with him? I try not to
think about the details yet and concentrate on my mom. Her eyes light up as she
talks about him.

"You'll love him. He's in law enforcement. A captain
actually."

So my new stepfather is a cop. Great. Not the best
profession for a long term commitment. The worry, and the long hours. So many
law enforcement marriages end in divorce. It’s one of the main themes in cop
dramas on TV. I wonder if my mother has thought through all of these things.
Don't cops have baggage? Lots of baggage. I'm not thinking about trysts during
stakeouts, though that crosses my mind too. But what about the other stuff? The
drinking problems, abuse, deep-seated emotional baggage. Scary stuff that my
mom doesn't deserve, because she’s been through it all before.

I wonder how much my mom really knows about Jeff. Her
words tumble out of her mouth like she's a recording on high speed. She finally
stops and takes a breath.

"I can't wait for you to meet him. There's a lot we
have to talk about. Living arrangements and stuff, but don't worry about that
right now. It’ll be a few months before we get to that."

She flicks her hand out to show me her ring. I was so
engrossed in the events of the night before and worry that she was hiding
something that I hadn't even seen the ring on her finger. I take her hand and
examine it. Not a bad cut, sparkly enough, not too big but not small either.
Jeff has decent taste in rings.

I look up at my mom's bright eyes and grin. Great taste
in women too.

"Nice ring."

She holds out her hand in front of herself to admire it.
"It is, isn't it?"

"Have you talked about a date yet?"

"No date yet. We wanted to talk it over with you and
Cory first. It's the second marriage for both of us so we don't want to go too
big."

Of course. Me and Cory. Who the hell is Cory?

"Cory?" I ask.

"Did I forget to mention Jeff has a son!"

I take a deep breath and another hit of my coffee. A new
stepfather and a stepbrother. It seems as though I’ll be going from being an
only child, to part of a family of four. I can handle that, can't I?

The idea of being a normal family grows on me the more I
think about it. For so long it's just been the two of us and while I love my
mom to pieces, I always wanted more. I wanted what my friends had; two parents
that were looking out for them, siblings to confide in. I’ve always thought
those things were out of reach.

I wonder what Cory will be like. When I was younger I
used to think about having a brother or sister. I thought if I had a sibling I
would always have someone to play with. Not that I minded growing up an only
child. Being the only kid in the house had its advantages.

"Tell me about my new stepbrother."

"He's following in his father's footsteps. He's also
a police officer."

Two police officers in the soon-to-be family.

"Interesting. Does he like being a cop?"

"They both love it. You can ask them all about it
tomorrow at dinner."

"Tomorrow?"

"Yes, if you can make it. Jeff wants to meet you and
make it all official and I really want you meet his son too. Can you make
it?"

Fresh panic sets in. I’ve got enough on my plate right
now without having to play happy families. What if I don't like them? What if they
don't like me? This could be a disaster.

I take another sip of my Americano, draining the rest of
it. Suddenly I need more caffeine and maybe a little sugar now. All I want is
for my mom to be happy. At least one of us should have that luxury. She's been
through a lot in her life and deserves something good for a change. Silently I
vow to be on my best behavior tomorrow. If my mom loves him, he can't be
horrible.

She reaches over and pats my hand. "Relax, sweetie.
It's just dinner. A chance for us all to get to know each other better. Jeff
will love you. And you'll love him."

I hope she's right. At least his son will be there,
someone closer to my own age who I can commiserate with while our parents make
goo-goo eyes at each other. The more I think about the two-parents-two
kids-dynamic, the more I like the idea. I'm looking forward to meeting Cory.
Having a stepbrother might be fun. Having someone else to trust, someone to
talk to might be good for me.

"Okay, sure. Dinner tomorrow sounds great."

"Wonderful!"

She snatches the phone from the table and her fingers fly
over the screen as she types a message. A few seconds later it buzzes with a
response.

"Jeff can't wait to meet you," she says
beaming.

"Tell him I can't wait to meet him either."

She types in the message and her posture relaxes. She's
no longer fidgeting. A glow takes over her face and I smile despite the nerves
knotting my stomach.

I'm always looking for an excuse to go shopping and a new
insta-family is a perfect reason. As soon as we’re done with coffee I'll stop
by those shops and get those shoes and that skirt. Anything to help make a good
first impression.

Somehow it will all work out. And I get a stepbrother.
What could be wrong with that?