Читать книгу With This Ring, I Thee Bed - Alison Tyler - Страница 11

I eyed the billboard as my foot mashed on the gas pedal. The thought cops hide behind big billboard signs like that flittered through my head, but I mashed it anyway. My speed crept from 68 to 74. I was late. I was so fucking late it wasn’t funny. I was racing to the altar. Hell-bent for matrimony.

Kelly and Tina and Tracy all awaited me at the church. No doubt pacing the small bridal room where they were to do my makeup and my hair. I could picture Kelly fretting as she ticked off the minutes in her head. How much time we had and what that would allow. Up-do with accent braids? Chignon? Traditional bun? She would kill me!

I shot past the sign advertising Rock Hard Gym and my stomach bottomed out when I saw the lights, my body tingling the way it does when I ride a roller coaster. The cherry lights atop the cruiser came on in a flash of crimson, and I gnawed my bottom lip.

Cop.

I pulled to the side of the road.

I didn’t have time for a ticket. There was hair to be done, makeup to be applied, panic to be embraced. I had to go over my vows and make sure the seating arrangements were perfect and check the church to ensure that Uncle Sal was not next to Great-aunt Dot (or they would kill each other). I had too much to do. And at the end of it all, hopefully I would be lawfully married and not insane. Then Jackson and I would run off to Nova Scotia, never to return!

Okay, so we were returning. The point was that we had to make it through this stressful, heart-pounding wedding and reception before we could escape. And all I really wanted was to be with him. Somewhere quiet. Just me and him and our lips pressed together, making out like horny teenagers the way we did when we weren’t tasting butter cream frosting or picking out dye to make shoes match dresses. I sighed, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel. In my head, I was already pleading my case. Figuring out what I would say to Officer Friendly to get off with only a warning.

“Do you know how fast you were going, miss?” he asked into my semi-open window. My heart shot up into my throat and my stomach dropped to my feet. I opened my mouth, but he cut me off. “I asked you a question, miss. Do you know how fast you were going?”

“Too fast?” It was all could think to say.

The good officer laughed. “Obviously, or I wouldn’t be here, would I?”

His eyes studied me and I studied him. He’d pulled his aviator sunglasses down to peer at me, his mouth twisted in a wry grin. Bright blue eyes like an autumn sky, lush lips, peppering of dark stubble along his jaw. I thought it would be fairly easy to cut paper with his cheekbones, and I was struck, sitting out here in the bright October sunshine, by how utterly gorgeous he was. Nearly beautiful, to be honest.

“This section of road is zoned for 55 miles per hour, ma’am. You were going over 70. Were you aware?”

“No,” I lied. He put his hand on the door and I rolled my window all the way down. My eyes went to his thickly muscled forearms, and my head felt swimmy. I’m a sucker for thick forearms. But I had a wedding to get to.

“I think you knew, and you were speeding anyway.” He leaned into the window, crowding my space. He had a teardrop-shaped birthmark above his left thumb. I inhaled deeply and tried to think.

“I’m sorry?”

“Are you sure? You don’t sound sure.”

This officer, this man, this amazing specimen was nearly leaning headfirst into my window. So close to me and my jangling nerves I swore I could feel the invisible particles of his energy mixing with mine. It was downright dirty, was what it was, because my pussy was responding to the heady mixture of fear and excitement and attraction. “Yes, I am absolutely sure that I am sorry,” I said, and any idiot could tell I was lying.

“I don’t believe you,” he said. He put his pad in his pocket and ran his finger along the seam of rubber that protected my lowered window. I watched that finger trace, and fought the urge to cross my legs. This was crazy. This was silly. I should ask for my ticket and leave. I should make him let me go right this instant. My bridesmaids and others would be foaming at the mouth by now. I. Did. Not. Have. Time. I didn’t have time for this insanity!

“I assure you, sir.”

“You’re lying.”

I felt a blush heat my cheeks. I blew out a sigh, trying not to think about church parking, place settings, snippy caterers and my betrothed’s mother’s insistence that we had some ridiculous disgusting red velvet groom’s cake.

“I don’t lie,” I lied.

“Could you pull around next to my cruiser and step out of the car please, ma’am?”

Real fear sizzled through me then. My eyes found my watch and I almost cried. I was already a half an hour late to the church. In two and a half hours I was supposed to be saying, “I do.” And then a party to rival all parties and then blissful, perfect alone time. Away from all the lunacy of a big wedding.

“Ma’am.”

“Look, Officer, I don’t have time for this. I truly don’t.” I smiled. He had to understand. He had to! I would make it all up, but right now I had to bolt. Hell, I pretty much needed a police escort.

“I don’t recall giving you an option, ma’am.” He smiled. That smile slid down my throat, snaked between my breasts, tickled over my belly button and stroked my clit like some living mystical thing.

“Urn … please?”

“Please drive around and park next to my vehicle, ma’am. Then I would like you to exit your vehicle and wait.”

I blew my bangs out of my face. Resistance was futile, as the saying goes. But I could just floor it. Mash my foot on the gas and take off like some bandit out of a seventies moonshine movie. God knows I’d seen enough of them. Even Jackson made me watch them! With a dad, three brothers and a car-crazed fiancé, I was pretty much a pro at car chases from the law.

He read my mind. “And, ma’am, if you try to run, you’ll be sorry. Way sorrier than you’ll be for lying to me now.” He smiled again, all tan skin, white teeth and twisted humor.

I harrumphed, started the car and slowly drove to park beside the cruiser. To be honest, what I did was pretty much drift my big SUV next to it. The cherry lights were still looping but the siren was off.

I put the car in Park, eyed the time again. “Oh, I’m screwed. I am so, so screwed.” But I knew from the set of that man’s face I was not getting out of this.

I could hear his big boots crunching and popping over the dirt shoulder of the road. I shivered, rubbing my arms. I was crosswired. Unbelievably turned on when I should be begging and pleading.

“Step out, ma’am!” he barked, and I yelped. I opened the door and lowered myself from the SUV. Shit, shit, shit. I had worn my yoga pants and a tee to the church. Flip-flops to let my pedicure dry. I hoped my toenails didn’t get dusty.

“Stand by the car, ma’am.”

“I am by the car!” I worried my fingers together. I was so wet between my legs it was insane. I studied the fretting image of myself in his mirrored shades. I wished he’d lower them and gaze at me again so I could try and get a read on those eyes.

“My car, ma’am.” He smiled and my nipples betrayed me by poking incessantly at the thin fabric of my ancient tee.

“Oh.”

I walked to his cruiser as if I were going to the gallows. When I got there, I wanted to cry. Now what? Should I face the cruiser? Face him? I had no idea, so I stood in a stupid, cockeyed stance kitty-corner to him and the car.

“Face the cruiser, ma’am.”

Damn. His voice was like hot caramel, melting chocolate, warm coffee on a cold day. It skittered down my spine and curled at the base of me. A steady wet echo sounded in my pussy. I was getting married in like … two hours!

“Hands on the trunk, please.”

“But—”

“Now, ma’am.” He walked closer to me and his energy pressed to me like an embrace. The breath shivered in my throat and a cool fall wind swung the loose legs of my yoga pants around my legs.

“But, in like two hours I’m—”

“Ma’am, if you disregard a direct order again, we’re going to have a problem. A very serious problem.”

I could tell by the set of his jaw and that stubborn-man look that this was it. I could obey or it would be ten times worse.

“Fine,” I said under my breath. I put my hands on the trunk and hung my head, fuming. But when his hands settled on my hips and started to slide I was hot all right, but not from anger.

“I’m just going to pat you down for weapons, ma’am. Routine. You just keep your hands there on the trunk.”

I couldn’t really make noise with his hands on me. They glided down my hips, skimming my buttocks, caressing the backs of my thighs so gently they could have been an hallucination. My eyes drifted closed, my body going loose. My heart filled my ears and wet heat filled my pussy. I sighed. His hands slid around my bare ankles, which were a bit chilled in the early fall air. Then those hands were scooping back up the front, dancing over my flanks, my hips, the fronts of my thighs. His fingertips brushed the V between my legs and his longest fingers came precariously close to my pussy. I sighed again. Mostly so I could get some air in my lungs.

“Now where were you rushing to, might I ask.” He said it right into my ear, his hot breath pouring into the shell, over the lobe, down my throat so goose bumps rose up like crocuses through snow.

“My wedding.” I gasped.

His hands played along the wide waist of my yoga pants. Hot fingers dipped under the thin fabric, each touch searing my skin like a burn. I was a kiss away from getting married, and this man was making me nuts.

“Lucky guy, if you don’t mind me saying.” One hand had slipped completely into my pants and plucked and snagged at my tiny yellow (old!) panties. The other hand smoothed along the swell of my ass as if he owned me.

“Sir … um, mister? Uh, Officer?” I tried them all, but it was damn near impossible for me to think. That rogue hand had slipped down to cover my mound. My neatly groomed for my honeymoon, new-bride pussy. His fingers slipped along the ridge of my lips and pressed to my clit so that I shivered in his half embrace.

“Officer J. S. Monroe,” he said.

“Yes, Officer Monroe. I’m going to be so very, very la—oh, God, right there.” He had slipped a finger deep into my wet, pulsing cunt and he was just barely thrusting it. Just enough to make all the blood that slept beneath my skin hum like a chorus.

“You know it’s dangerous to drive that fast,” he said, his lips sliding up and down the back of my neck so that I shook as if I would come apart.

“I’m sorry. Really. I am so, so sorry that I endangered—oh,” I said, because he’d slipped another finger into me and his free hand was yanking at my yoga pants.

I glanced around wildly. Someone would see us! Surely they would! Someone would notice us and this would end and … but no. Given how we had parked, how he had instructed me to park, we were blocked from sight on all sides. Barring an airplane, no one would see us. He had my ass bare to the wind, his dark blue dress pants pressed to my bareness. His erection pressed the crack of my bottom and his fingers continued to fuck in a slow, classic rhythm. Like a church organ or a hymn.

“Officer person Monroe,” I babbled. “We really shouldn’t be doing this. I’m going to miss—”

“You won’t miss a thing, ma’am. You have my word. Why, I’ll even give you an escort to your ceremony. Would you like that?”

His mouth slipped over my shoulder and even through my tee I could feel the humid heat of his breath. He cupped my breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers. I heard that other hand making busy with the belt and zipper of his blues. Was this really happening?

Then the warm, hard slide of his cock to my skin assured me it was.

“Yes, escort me. Hurry,” I said. God, that sounded dirty. “If you’d just bend forward a bit, ma’am, we can continue with the pat-down.”

I bent forward, hands splayed on the warm white metal of the trunk. I pushed my ass out and he took his big knee and knocked my stance wider. There were his fingers again, slipping between my legs, into me, testing me. Then the head of his cock, pressing deliberately to my wet, wet opening. “Yes, Officer,” I said.

My hair hung down and danced over the cruiser’s bright blue numbers as he anchored my hips and slipped home, sliding into me from behind as if he belonged there. I held on to nothing at all. Only the tips of my toes touched earth as he started to rock and sway against me, his cock thrusting in and out, in and out with sublime friction. Officer Monroe steadied himself, his broad chest, decorated with various commendations, pressed to the back of my worn tee. His other hand snaked around my waist, making my belly muscles flutter and adding a rush of heat wherever his fingers touched.

“Is that nice, ma’am?”

I could only nod. I watched his long tan fingers, nicked from hard work and dealing with God knows what or who, track and dance along my skin. Down the small swell of my belly, the dip of my mound. I watched that teardrop-shaped birthmark dance above his thumb, and then his fingers found my clit even as he started to thrust harder.

“Is that a yes, ma’am?”

“Yes, oh, I’m going to be so—”

“Shh, no more,” he ordered.

I bit my lip and gave in. Some vehicle whizzed passed us way too fast. Lucky for them, the law was otherwise engaged. And though I knew I shouldn’t be doing this right now—not at all—I sank back a little farther, opened myself a little more and let him in as deep as he could go. His fingers painted circles on my clit, shivering every nerve ending to life.

“Oh, Mr—”

“Officer.”

“Oh, Officer …”

“Yes?” His warm laughter filled my head as my toes and flip-flops struggled to find purchase, but he had me, swaying barely above earth. He had me, gripped in his huge safe hands, and I was coming. Coming apart, coming undone, coming as the early fall wind bit at my exposed skin. I was coming.

“That’s a good one, ma’am. Good job.” His hips started banging in earnest, the more gentle thrusts gone now, and excitement curled in my belly, bursts of excitement and the fear of being caught filling my chest, making my heart pound.

Another car whizzed by and he pushed me forward a little, so my belly, chest and head rested on the warm trunk, as if I was being arrested. Officer Monroe held my legs up and apart, driving into me hard so I would have scootched across the trunk if he didn’t have me in his grip. I was open, exposed, so very, very bad. And I was going to come again.

“Oh, you’re getting tight again. Do you have plans for another?” His voice had lost its silken texture. Now it was all grunting, panting, choppy words. I loved it.

“I might, if you, yeah, like that.”

And he did it like that. And then he did it like that harder until he froze like a robber under a spotlight. Then a final jerk and he emptied into me as my cunt gripped around him tight, taking every little slice of friction he might offer.

My hair was a mess.

I let my heart come down a beat, and looked at my watch. Then I was scrambling across the trunk like a madwoman, hair standing on end or hanging in clumps, yoga pants nearly tangling me so that I went down in the dirt. “Oh, God! Oh, God! I’ll never make it now!” I was damn near hysterical.

He took pity on me, bundled me up and put me in my car. Monroe pulled out into traffic, his cherry lights coming on and the siren screaming about as loudly as I wanted to right then. I could swear I saw him smiling in the rearview mirror as he escorted me to the church.

“Oh, my God! Where in the hell have you been! We are never going to—what happened to your hair, Fallon?”

“I, urn …” They all stood staring at me. Kelly’s toe was tapping the way it did when she was furious. “I had a flat and I had to change it and God! It was a mess.”

It must’ve worked because they all rolled their eyes, threw up their hands and flew into action.

How Kelly made my hair go from trailer trash struck by lightning to damn near royalty is beyond me. But I was going to roll with it. The hushed presence in the church had the charged intensity you can feel in a room packed full of people about to yell “surprise!” The anticipation was palpable.

I’d done a quick cleanup in the bride’s “facilities” and was powdered, perfumed, groomed and gowned. It was now or never.

Do or die.

No turning back.

The music cued and my stomach bottomed out. “Oh, God, I am going to pass out.”

“Clench your ass! Clench your ass!” Tracy kept hissing in my ear. “It’s what the fighter pilots do!”

But clenching my ass made me think of Officer Friendly and the frisking, and just as they threw open those big-ass doors to reveal the ivory-draped aisle, I got the giggles.

“Oh, no. She’s freaking out. Good thing Jackson will think it’s cute.” Tracy blew out a sigh. Tapped my cheeks with the tips of her fingers, her version of a snap-out-of-it smack.

“You guys are so gross, how icky and in love you are.” Kelly laughed. She nudged me and I stumbled forward a bit. Remembering the perfect feel of him. The feel of warm metal under my finger and—

“Go!” Tina said.

I went. I nodded and smiled and tried not to throw up. I kept my ass tense, no small feat when you are trying to walk gracefully to your betrothed.

He stood there, smiling. That perfect sexy-as-hell smile. In full-dress uniform, just for me.

In my mind, I was spread-eagle, facedown, being slipped and slid and used and—

“Fallon?” Reverend Scott said.

“Yes, here I am. Here I am,” I repeated, and turned to Jackson.

Nervous? he mouthed.

I nodded. He smiled, took my hand for a squeeze, and I ran my thumb over the dark brown teardrop-shaped birthmark above his thumb. I raised it to my lips and kissed it.

In a few moments we would be man and wife. And then Jackson couldn’t call me “miss” or “ma’am” when he played his game with me and made me damn near insane with want. Then he’d have to call me “missus.”

Or “wife.”