Love and Law (2 page)

Seventeen years later

“SIMPSON! LOPEZ! MY OFFICE, NOW!” Captain Sommerhaul booms from within his office.

Miguel, my partner, smirks at me as he stands from his desk. We’re always in some shit with the captain. He’s the typical police captain—short, balding, overweight, and pissy.

“Tell him I’ll be there in a second,” I laugh as I continue thumbing through my file. Captain Sommerhaul can hold his fucking horses.

“Maya, get your ass up and stop provoking him,” Miguel orders, tugging my hair on his way past me. Miguel is as good-looking as they come. Tall, with an olive complexion, light-brown eyes, dark hair—but he’s my best friend. You don’t look at your best friend that way—it just isn’t natural. He’s never been more than a brother to me.

“Fine, asshole,” I grumble and slam the file down on the desk.

Standing from my desk, I avoid the stares of all the seasoned detectives in our department. Most of these idiots are jealous that Miguel and I, the youngest detectives in the precinct, are the ones grabbing up all the accolades. We’re bold and fearless. Some would say reckless. Even though Sommerhaul rides our asses pretty much daily, we’re the ones kicking ass around here. He’ll never admit it, but we’re his favorites.

I stroll past Detectives Jim Hominy and Jake Lester. Jake isn’t much older than I am, and he is always fucking hitting on me. Unfortunately for him, I cannot stand one single thing about him. He’s got greasy hair and a cocky attitude, and he smells like Old Spice. Gross. But, unfortunately for me, I’ve fucked him on several occasions after getting shitfaced. He seems cuter and funnier when I’m not sober. Thankfully, now I just avoid alcohol altogether. Problem solved.

“Looking good, Milky Way,” he mutters under his breath as I walk by.

I flip him the bird as I walk past. His stupid nickname gets under my skin. That white boy is going to get his ass kicked by a black girl very soon—my patience is wearing thin.

“Fuck off,” I snap over my shoulder before walking into Sommerhaul’s office.

Sommerhaul’s already glaring at me as I walk in. What the hell did we do today? Miguel shoots me a look of warning, but I ignore it as I plop down in the chair.

“What’s up, boss?” I ask cockily. I know Sommerhaul hates when I act like this, but I just like watching his face turn red.

“Simpson, cut the shit,” he growls, tossing a file across the desk my way.

Miguel is already thumbing through his own file as I open mine. Profiles of sought-after drug dealers are stapled inside.

“What’s this?” I question, looking up.

Sommerhaul gets a smug grin on his face. I have the urge to throw my file in his fat face. Shit, I am being such a bitch today. It’s been too long since I got laid—it’s making me way too crabby.

“That, Simpson, is your next job.”

I glance over at Miguel, and he just shrugs his shoulders. “So Miguel and I are going to go after some well-known drug dealers?” I ask, flicking my gaze back to Sommerhaul.

He chuckles, and I get a sick feeling in my belly. I don’t like where this is going.

“Not Miguel. Just you,” he says matter-of-factly.

I snap my attention back to him. Miguel is my partner and best friend. We do everything together.

“I don’t understand,” I mutter under my breath.

“Female drug dealers are hot right now. The big players in the game are always evolving, and the newest development is they’re using women to push their drugs,” he explains.

Miguel shoots me a sympathetic look as I quickly put it all together.

“Ahhh, so I am going undercover,” I say, finally grasping the concept.

Sommerhaul smiles broadly, exposing his teeth, which are yellow from God only knows how many years of smoking.

“So, clearly, it’s just me. How am I supposed to go undercover without my partner? Seems dangerous,” I tell him. Honestly, I am nervous as hell. I haven’t done undercover work yet, and the idea of doing this makes my stomach roil—especially without Miguel. We’re a team.

“He’ll always be close by. He can be your ‘boyfriend’ or some shit. Hell if I care, but he’ll be close. You won’t have to worry. But we need to get to the center of this drug cell. Detroit is at its absolute worst, and I’m ready to annihilate these fuckers,” he grumbles.

I try to still my pounding heart, but of course, it doesn’t slow at all.

“When do I start?” I ask with false bravado.

Sommerhaul seems pleased with my answer, but I can tell from Miguel’s huff from beside me that he’s not happy. What the fuck am I supposed to do?

“Tomorrow, Maya. I want you to go get your ‘hair did’ and get some clothes to fit the part. And, Miguel, I want you to keep an eye on things. Maya, please don’t go in there guns blazing like you always do. I need you to keep your nose to the ground and ears open. We’re looking to take down the entire operation. We’re going to need all the evidence we can get. Can you handle it?” he asks.

I lift my chin. Of course I can handle it. I’m Maya Simpson.

“Are you scared?” Miguel asks as I hand him a beer.

We’re hanging out in my small apartment, drinking a beer after eating takeout. Typically a few nights a week, this is our ritual.

I roll my eyes and plop down on the couch beside him. “Fuck you, Lopez.”

He laughs and holds his beer out to me. I clang mine against his and take a long pull. Truth be told, I’m fucking scared out of my mind. I’ll never admit that to anyone but myself though.

“Paula is so excited to cornrow my hair,” I laugh.

Earlier, when I called her to see if she could assist me for a ‘job’ at work, she knowingly agreed. I’ve been going to her since high school, and she’s a great hairdresser. We’ve become pretty close, and I would consider her my best girlfriend. Since I’ve known her, I’ve kept my hair the same. Long, straight, one length. It typically falls just past my shoulders, but I’ve usually got it pulled up in a ponytail, so it’s hard to determine the true length. Paula always wants to try different things with my hair, but I usually kill her dreams by telling her to leave it alone. When I called her earlier, you’d have thought I’d announced that I was getting married and she was my maid of honor or something.

Miguel chuckles at the thought of Paula getting excited to fix my hair. “This is going to be some funny shit. I can only imagine what that girl is going to do to you. Doesn’t she change her hair every week?” he asks and sips on his beer some more. He’s never actually met her, just heard many of my funny stories about her. Paula is actually quite entertaining.

I burst into a fit of giggles as I think about her hairdo last week. Poor Paula has messed with her hair so much that she’s only got about two inches of it. But according to her, that’s okay because she can still get a weave in. The girl spends more on extensions than she does anything else. Paula may drive an old, beat-up Honda, but she’s always rocking some stylin’ hair. Last week, she put in a blond weave. After getting called Nicki Minaj by everyone who came in that day, she finally changed it, but not before saying that she “wore it better than that hussy.”

“Yeah, and now I’m scared,” I laugh.

He sets his beer down on the coffee table and pulls out his phone to aim it at me. “Say ‘cheese,’ Maya.”

After grabbing a pillow from behind me, I use it to cover my face. “No! Don’t take fucking pictures of me, asshole!”

He tries to pull the pillow away, but I’m too strong and stubborn. I hate having my picture taken.

“Dammit, woman. I need a before shot,” he huffs as he tries to wrestle the pillow away.

I manage to set my beer down on the table so I can have both hands free. He rips the pillow from my grasp and tosses it over the couch. When he goes to take another picture, I swat his phone and send it flying to the floor beside us.

“Maya,” he grumbles and pins me down on the couch.

Miguel has been my best friend ever since we were assigned partners. We’ve had each other’s backs from the get-go. But I don’t miss the look in his eyes sometimes—the look that says that he wants more. And tonight isn’t any different. I see the way he flicks his gaze down to my lips. For once, I let my guard down and close my eyes. I know that he wants to kiss me, and for some reason, I want to give him that kiss. Yes, Miguel is probably one of the hottest men I’ve ever met, but he usually feels more like a brother than a potential lover.

Hot breath against my lips makes my heart quicken. Maybe I’ve been fighting the inevitable too long. Maybe Miguel is ‘the one.’

For a man as big and muscular as he is, his lips are soft as they gently brush my own. He presses them a little firmly to mine and we kiss slowly. It feels nice—comfortable.

When I feel his rather large cock harden between us, I ache at the thought of having sex. It’s been so long, and I need to be satisfied. But is Miguel the right person for that? Will things get weird afterwards? The last person I had sex with was Jake, and three minutes of awkward groping followed by a groan as he passes out on top of me hardly counts as anything memorable.

I ease my legs apart and Miguel’s body instantly grinds against mine as he deepens his kiss. The moan that climbs out of my throat is one of pure womanly need. I’m not kissing my best friend in this moment—a man is touching and kissing this woman. It feels primal.

My moan urges him on, and his tongue dances with mine as he digs his hard cock against my clit through my jeans. It feels so good, but it is Miguel.
My best friend.

I begin to pull away, but he whispers, “Not yet,” against my lips and I comply. After this kiss, we’ll probably feel weird, so we might as well enjoy the moment. When his large hand slides up along my shirt and cups my breast through the fabric, I reward him with another moan.

“God, Maya, you’re sweeter than I imagined,” he admits between kisses.

I whimper in response, and he pushes his hardness once again against my sensitive spot. “Oh!” I cry out as I begin to feel the tease of an orgasm coming on.

He breaks his lips from mine and begins quickly kissing my neck as he continues his unrelenting grind against me. I try not to think that it’s Miguel, my best friend, pressed against me, bringing me closer to orgasm.

As he kisses my neck, he efficiently unbuttons my top and my chest heaves in anticipation. Anticipation of sex? With Miguel? When he gets my shirt undone and pulled apart, I suddenly feel embarrassed.

“Shit, Miguel. What are we doing?” I ask, out of breath as he continues to kiss along my chest to the swells of my breasts. It feels good, but I know this will make things different for us.

“Shhh. Just let it be,” he groans as he nips at my tit through my bra.

My pussy clenches in delight. Instead of answering him, I run my fingers through his hair and pull him closer to me. If I don’t think that my best friend is pulling my bra down, exposing my nipple, and now sucking on it, I will be fine. Shit—my best friend and partner.

“Miguel,” I whine as he expertly teases my tender flesh with his tongue. I moan again and pull at his hair, so he chooses to ignore me. “What are we doing?” I pant as he continues his delicious assault with his tongue.

“I’m doing what I’ve wanted to do since day one,” he replies simply and goes back to tasting me.

I want to argue, but when his hands begin to easily undo my jeans, I lose any thread of sanity. His large hand slides down into my panties and instantly connects with my needy pussy.

“Shit!” I cry out as he fingers find my clit, testing out the unchartered territory. I go to say more to him, but he’s already circling the area with his longest finger and causing me to buck underneath him.

“Does that feel good?” he asks as he sucks on the underside of my breast.

“Mmmm.”

I thrust my hips farther toward the magical finger that’s sending delicious shots of electricity throughout my body. I’ve spent a little too much time with my vibrator and not enough with the male species. Shit, this is Miguel.
My partner.

“Miguel,” I try again, but I am stopped short as he quickens the pace against my clit with his finger. I’ve longed for the touch of a man. It’s been way too long.

“Maya, let me make you feel good,” he says huskily as his lips trail their way down my belly. Again, my pussy shudders in anticipation.

“We’re going to regret this tomorrow,” I groan as he slides his thumb into the top of my jeans and urges them down over my hips.

“Let’s worry about tonight,” he suggests as he slides down my pants to my knees in one swift movement. “God, you’re so fucking beautiful,” he barely manages to get out before he attacks my thighs with kisses. My eyes are still pressed shut and my heart is pounding wildly out of my chest.

When I feel hot breath between my legs, I nearly lose all self-control. I’m getting lost in the sensations and not the reality of it all. Just when I feel like I might have the courage to tell him to stop, he tongues my pussy through my wet panties, causing me to nearly buck off the sofa.

My hips involuntarily meet his tongue thrust for thrust, and within seconds, he’s shimmied my panties off my hips and down my thighs. When his searing tongue connects with my sweet spot, skin on skin, I cry out loudly. He begins his unrelenting assault on my most sensitive area, and all I can do is clutch his hair and enjoy the ride.