YOU HAVE THE RIGHT TO REMAIN NAKED

Samantha Luce

Son of a bitch, I grumble in my head. I’d missed my moment yet again. Jaz was already home. On her way to the shower, she’d removed the heavy gun belt. It hangs from the hook near the door. I reach to touch the slightly worn leather. It’s still warm and just a tad moist. I can still hear the shower running. Nevertheless I steal a quick glance around the compact home to make sure she’s nowhere in sight before I give completely in to temptation and bring my face close enough to rub the leather against my cheek. A soft moan escapes my lips.

Not long ago this leather strap had been wrapped around her waist. How many times had she grasped this belt during the day to hoist it higher on her hips? No matter how snug she cinched it, the damn thing was always sliding lower. Sure, I know it’s the pull of gravity making it drop lower on her hips. It dips without the same lusty urgency that makes me slide down her sculpted body whenever we’re together. Doesn’t mean I don’t envy that it gets to spend the day wrapped snugly around her.

There’s a sweet spot just below where the belt normally rests on her hips. That apex between her thighs is my new safe place. It keeps me warm and blocks out all of life’s insanity. I’d discovered this safe haven only three short months ago.

A fender bender in rush-hour traffic had brought us together. I was fuming. I had the right of way. I was on my way home after a long day. All I wanted was a glass of wine and some mindless reality TV to make me forget the mountains of paper threatening to bury me at the office. Instead I was stuck on the side of the road, my tire flat, the driver’s side rear door sunken in about a foot, and a man in his eighties, who drove a tank disguised as a Buick, sitting across from me, looking sad and apologetic. The bumper of his car had only a minor dent. Luckily, we were both traveling solo and neither one of us was injured.

I saw the flashing blue light in my rearview mirror and was grateful and stressed at the same time. I knew I wasn’t at fault, but cops always make me nervous. Any chance encounter I’d had with them normally ended with me getting a ticket or dragged back to school and told never to skip again.

The cop who dismounted the black-and-white motorcycle that day made me nervous for a whole new slew of reasons. She was tall, athletic and wore the tight black-and-white uniform the way Danica Patrick wears her racing suit, confidently and sexily. When she removed her helmet, her long blonde hair tied back in a ponytail fell loose and grazed the collar of her crisp white shirt. After determining neither one of us needed medical attention, she spoke to the older man first.

I tried not to stare at her as she spoke in hushed tones. I grabbed my cell phone and clicked on various apps just to have something else to look at. Every thirty seconds or so, my eyes were drawn back to the beautiful officer with the soft, throaty voice. I couldn’t hear her when she was at the other driver’s car, but that didn’t stop me from watching her perfect Cupid’s bow lips. They weren’t painted. It actually didn’t look like she had on any makeup at all. Perhaps a small amount of lip gloss or ChapStick to help combat the moist Florida heat, but that was all. She didn’t need anything else.

About twenty minutes later, another Buick pulled up beside the other driver’s vehicle. An elderly female got out and rushed to the man’s side. The flaxen-haired cop made her way over to me. “You sure you’re okay, Emma?” she asked me. There was a small bead of sweat near her temple. It had gathered just enough moisture to slowly trickle down her cheek and jaw.

The trajectory of the moisture held me captivated. The urge to follow its salty trail with my tongue was overwhelming. My lips parted, tongue darting out, but I held back and licked my lips instead.

“Emma?” She’d removed her dark sunglasses. A look of concern caused her bright green eyes to narrow.

“I’m fine.” I flashed her the smile I keep on reserve when I’m courting a new client for business. “Just daydreaming. Is Harry all right?”

“Yes, just a bit shaken. His wife just arrived. She’ll drive him home. One of their sons is going to pick up his car later.” She paused, pulled a few sheets from her pad and handed them to me. “He admitted he was at fault. I’ve collected all his information and issued him a citation for causing an accident. You’ll just need to file the claim and his insurance will cover your repairs. The official accident report will be available at the precinct in three days if you need a copy. Do you have any questions?”

A few questions drifted through my mind. Are you single? Do you like girls? What’s your favorite position? Can I take you home and lick you until you come a hundred times on my tongue?

I shook my head and smiled. I didn’t think it’d be a good idea for me to verbalize a response. The vision in front of me was making me want to lose all my inhibitions. I figured it must have been a combination of the heat, her beauty and the damn uniform. The knee-high leather boots and shiny silver badge certainly didn’t hurt either.

She gently kicked the flat tire with the toe of her boot, and then knelt down to get a closer look. “It’s a shame about the tire. It doesn’t look like the wheel well has been compromised. The axle looks fine too. Do you have a spare?”

Is it my imagination? I wondered. Or is her gaze lingering just a second or two longer than necessary on my legs? The stockings I wore suddenly felt tighter under her stare. “I do have a spare, but I’ve never changed a tire before,” I answered. My eyes never wavered, but hers did. They flitted lower to watch my mouth as I spoke. She coupled the flirtatious glances with smiles that somehow balanced between shy, confident and sexy.

When she told me to cancel the tow truck because she would change the tire, it seemed only natural for me to thank her by offering to buy her dinner. She accepted, and the rest, as they say, is history, or in our case, herstory.

“Hey, babe,” Jaz’s voice brings me out of my reverie. Her long hair is wet and freshly combed back from her sculpted cheeks and dimpled chin. Big green eyes twinkle when she smiles. She’s wrapped in only a towel. “You look good enough to eat.” She winks. “It sucks I’ve got this stupid headache. Any chance I could talk you into going to the store to get me some BC?”

I try to stifle the cringe. Whenever I think of BC, it brings back the bitter taste of the powder my mother used to make me drink when I had a fever. I look at my beautiful young lover and wonder again why she chooses such an old-fashioned pain remedy. I can’t deny her anything though, so I give her a quick peck on the cheek and head back out into the heat.

In under a half hour I’m back at the house, once again parking in the garage. The sun has gone down and the temperature has dropped to a tolerable degree. I turn off the ignition as the garage door slides closed and I’m surprised to see the flash of blue lights. Before I can turn around I hear a firm, authoritative voice. “Step out of the car and place your hands on the roof of the vehicle.”

I get out and start to turn around, but the commanding voice stops me again. “Eyes forward. Hands on the roof.”

There’s something familiar in the voice. It sounds like Jaz, but it’s a different Jaz. This Jaz sounds like she belongs in an action movie where she’s the badass female hero. I don’t know where this is going, but I’m dying to find out, I think as I follow orders.

I hear the light thud of boots on the cement floor. A moment later she’s close behind me. Her boot taps the inside of my heel. “Spread.”

“Jaz, what are you—?”

“Do you want to add resisting arrest to your charges?” she barks, cutting me off.

“Charges?” I barely stifle the urge to chuckle while spreading my legs wider.

Her warm breath on the back of my neck and the feel of her gloved hands on my shoulders make me forget any other questions or protests. A shudder runs through me the moment her hands begin their exploration. I’m so wet, with my legs parted, I know she must smell my desire.

Her hands slide over my back and down past my ass to my thighs. My stockings and her leather gloves make it impossible for skin-to-skin contact, but I’m still so turned on my legs are weak. She presses against me from behind. Her tits are firm against my shoulder blades at the same time as her hands come forward and she cups my breasts.

I can’t stifle a groan. The urge to reach back and pull her to me is driving me mad. My hands move toward her, but she backs out of reach.

“Stay still or I’ll have to cuff you.”

There’s an idea with real potential.

She comes forward again. The warmth of her body adds to my heat and we aren’t even touching. Then, her full lips brush against my ear sending a chill racing the length of my spine. “Do you want me to cuff you?”

“It might be for the best, Jaz. I don’t know how much longer I can control myself. What happened to your headache?”

She gently takes my hands and brings them together behind my back as she explains. “In the course of an investigation it’s permissible for an officer of the law to use deception in order to procure a confession.”

I give in to the desire to laugh. “So, you lied to me?”

“I had to get you out of the house in order to set the scene.” She presses the full length of her heavenly body against me. I tilt my head back on her shoulder and nuzzle her vanilla-scented neck. “Five times,” she continues. “I personally have witnessed you either staring hungrily at my uniform, or touching it in what could be considered an inappropriate manner.”

Metal touches my wrists and soon they’re locked in place between us. When I try to pull them apart I feel something furry and padded. “Jaz, I don’t think these are regulation handcuffs.”

She laughs softly. The sound is so warm and inviting I can feel myself melting against her. Her hands come around and she’s squeezing my breasts. My nipples are erect for her, straining against the bra and my dress.

It isn’t easy with the cuffs, but I manage to cup my fingers and stroke her hips and crotch. Her breath quickens. “You first,” she says huskily.

Her left hand dips lower, never losing contact as it descends all the way to my thigh. She grasps the hem of my dress and hikes it up to my waist while her other hand is alternating its attention between my breasts. She kisses and sucks my neck. Her mouth is open and I feel her warm tongue glide along my skin until she reaches my dress’s zipper. With her hands busy driving me to a frenzy, it has to be her teeth she’s using to lower my zipper halfway to my ass.

“Please.” I gasp out the word when her fingers slip inside the band of my underwear. The warm leather of her glove feels so foreign and somehow intensely erotic. She explores me in slow, deliberate patterns. I buck against her and am rewarded with her own gasp when my ass rubs hard against her center.

The sweet pressure builds. My head feels lighter. I can think of only one thing as her fingers press and slide. I look back over my shoulder and her lips crash into mine.

She slips her thigh between mine. One hand is wrapped around my waist while her other plays me like a weeping guitar. I grasp her shirt and pull frantically, but with the cuffs I’m barely able to just pull it from her tight pants.

It feels like something is tearing inside me. Tearing and then mending itself so it’s even better than before. My insides quiver, just like my thighs.

She waits until I’ve caught my breath before she gently turns me around, so I’m finally facing her. She raises her gloved hand, the one that just gave me an incredible orgasm, and caresses her lips. She takes a deep breath, and then slowly slides a finger inside her mouth. She starts to withdraw the finger, but stops and bites the tip.

I inhale a shaky breath. My cheeks are flushed. Blood blazes through my veins. Every pulse point is hammering for attention. My clit still aches for her. I’ve come undone. I regret my playful agreement earlier about the handcuffs. I’m consumed with want.

She smiles around the glove tip still just barely in her mouth. Her hand slowly pulls free, revealing her manicured fingers. Wavy blonde hair frames her model’s face. Hooded eyes, darker from her need, meet mine. There’s a current running between us. Its steady thrum draws us closer.

I shake my hands behind me so the metal bracelets jangle. “Get these fucking things off me.”

“Wow,” she laughs. The delicious sound is low and throaty.

“Take it easy. There’s a quick-release button. Feel for it with your thumb.”

“I’ve got other things I want to feel with my thumb.”

Her smile is wicked and laced with promises I know she’ll have no trouble delivering. She backs up another step. Her fingertips are brushing over the buttons of her crisply starched shirt. She starts to undo one.

My heart races at the sight. I want to be the one to do that. For toy handcuffs, the damn things are unusually strong. No matter how much I pull and twist, they remain in place. I whimper in frustration until I finally remember what she said about the release button. I thumb it over and sigh in relief at my newfound freedom.

I lunge for her. She’s too fast. Agile. Soft laughter drifts on the heated air as she dodges my hands and goes inside the house.

I release my other hand from the cuff and finish removing my dress; I don’t want to fall and break my neck before I get to give her what we both want. I take off the heels, but leave the stockings on. I think they have the same effect on her that her uniform has on me.

She’s in the kitchen when I find her. Her back is to me as she pours red wine into a glass. “Thought you might have worked up a thirst,” she says with a grin when she turns to face me.

I take the offered glass and set it beside hers before I catch her silky blonde hair in my fist and tilt her head back. “I’m thirsty for something else,” I say against her lips and claim them in a kiss packed with heat and need.

Jaz moans into my mouth, her tongue battling mine as we deepen the kiss, her strong hands roaming freely over my body.

I blindly drag my hands from her hair, mapping my way across her shoulders and the swell of her breasts until I reach the buttons. As much as I love her in this uniform I’m dying to get it off. Her insistent tongue and my own urgency have my fingers fumbling, but I finally get the buttons undone.

With a great deal of effort, I back away from her. I have to see her. She arches under my touch when I trail my finger from her collarbone to her waist. The shirt falls open, revealing firm breasts and taut abs. The steady rise and fall of her gorgeous chest quickens under my gaze. She starts to shrug the rest of the way out of her shirt, but I shake my head. “Please, not yet.”

Her cocky grin falls back into place. “You’ve got it bad for this uniform, don’t you?”

I don’t answer with words. Instead, I drop to my knees in front of her. My hands are much more adept at unfastening her belt since I can actually see what I’m doing now. Turnabout is fair play, I reason. Once the snap on her pants is unfastened, I tug on the zipper with my teeth. My hands grasp the waistband of her pants. Quickly, I pull them, and her thong, to the tops of her boots.

Her fingers twist through my hair as she urges me closer. Sounds of want drift out on her shallow breaths.

There’s a bright pink-and-red tattoo of a rose on her left hip. Her pussy, when spread under my thumbs, matches the colors of the ink. I wonder if she or the artist chose the color. If it was the artist, then I think he or she must have chosen it to compliment her. The outer petals start off a light, creamy pink and gradually intensify to hot crimson.

She is wet and inviting. Her scent, an intoxicating blend of musk, vanilla and honey makes me want nothing more than to devour her. “So beautiful,” I whisper against her clit, and she trembles. I give her a long lick with the flat of my tongue. Her grip on my hair tightens, her thighs fidget and despite the boots and the pants still at her knees, she spreads wider.

I alternate between long, leisurely licks and fast, hard flicks. Each new moan and gasp from her beautiful mouth spurs me on. Her knees begin to bend. The counter at her back and the hand she now has on my shoulder are the only things keeping her upright.

She makes me so greedy. I want to drink every drop of her, my tongue pressing and sucking. I lick her from her entrance to her clit and back again, laving every inch of her folds until she’s bucking and out of control.

“Fingers, babe. Now,” she pants her command.

I obey quickly. She’s hot and wet enough that I’m sure I don’t need to, but I lick two fingers just to be sure. Her pink velvet walls are a perfect fit. She grinds her hips and meets me thrust for needy thrust, my lips back on her hard nub.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Each one she utters is louder than the last. “Yes, god, oh fuck, yes!” She’s screaming now.

I love that she doesn’t hold back. I suck and fuck her harder until I feel every one of her muscles tighten. Her back goes ramrod straight. For a moment, the only thing moving is her clit as it throbs against my tongue. I’m lost in her flood. I happily lap every bit until she is strong enough to stand on her own.

“Holy shit, babe. That was…” She trails off, her hand in my hair no longer on the verge of pulling out a handful. Her fingers are massaging me gently as she nudges me to stand and look at her. “Fuck, babe. That was amazing. I should arrest you more often.”

“Yes, please.” I grab the lapels of her shirt and pull her in for a slow, deep kiss. A long while later we drift apart, and I remember something important. “Hey, you didn’t even read me my rights.”

“Next time,” she smiles. “I can’t give it all up in one night. I want you to have something to look forward to.”

“I look forward to every minute with you,” I say truthfully. “But I still think I should know my rights.”

“Okay,” she says, spinning us in one swift move. Her hands grip my ass and she lifts me onto the counter. “You have the right to remain naked. Anything you say can and will be held against you.” She smirks. “So please say, ‘hot lesbian cop.’”