Chapter Nine

I had invited him in and offered him a beer, not wanting to have this conversation out in the street where all of my neighbours could hear. Feeling uncomfortable with the tell-tale heart of the folder on his crimes sitting in my handbag between us as we talked about our relationship, I subtly put my handbag – and a few of my other things from work – into my bedroom where they would still be safe, but where I wouldn’t have to look at them, or think about that folder.

My heart was beating fast as I put the bag down. I had to reassure myself that it wasn’t a problem, that I was completely fine. That this was all in my head, it wasn’t like he could see through my handbag. It wasn’t like he even knew I had a folder filled with information about him anyway.

After dumping the handbag, I headed back into the kitchen and picked up my beer bottle from the counter, opening it. Jack had already opened his and taken a sip. I ignored that and offered to clink glasses anyway.

The conversation was a bit stiffer than we were used to, however, underneath the stiffness the familiarity was still there.

It’s amazing how with your lover, you have to explain yourself that much less than when you’re with your friends. Whereas a friend would want to know exactly what I was thinking and why I ran, he didn’t want to know anything. He just wanted my assurance that this wouldn’t keep happening.

Jack wanted to feel secure. I could see his vulnerabilities now. Seeing him that naked and raw made me want to reach out, to hold him. It made me feel even guiltier for the file I carried around on him in my handbag every single day. I briefly considered telling him about it before I reminded myself that I shouldn’t. It wouldn’t be just myself who would be thrown under the bus then, but my ex-colleagues, too. That wasn’t’ fair, or ethical.

I resolved to destroy the file after he left. I didn’t need it anymore. I didn’t need to know about the bad guy he had been, I was happy with the man he was now.

They say that if cops weren’t out chasing criminals and solving crime, we would be out committing them. And as I spoke so easily with this criminal in my kitchen, I reflected on just how true that was. How much did we have in common really? I would say we had more in common in how we chose to live our lives – and the things we got ourselves involved in – than either of us would have with a civilian who had never come into contact with police.

Perhaps he was a good match for me after all, provided he was out of that life and keeping himself clean.

As we talked though, inside my own mind I agonised against what I wanted to believe of him. I wanted to believe that sure, he’d been a naughty boy but he was going to get better. That he had done some bad things, but he wasn’t a bad person. He was on the mend. He wasn’t in that life anymore.

But then the other voice inside my head was piping up. The other voice was telling me that people don’t change, not that much. As much as he was still a criminal, I would always be a cop in the way I thought and how I saw the world.

But hadn’t I lost that through dating him? Hadn’t I let him get away with things I shouldn’t have? With things I would never let someone get away with normally? Hadn’t I been concerned with what cop me would think about the way I was now behaving?

I was cracking up, I was sure of that.

These two sides of the same coin: was he bad/was he reformed were driving me mad.

I was still able to hold a normal conversation with him as we cracked open our second beers though. He wanted to know how I was going at work now. The conversation had moved on from our problems. But my mind hadn’t.

My mind was still there: simultaneously telling me that he was bad, that I should stay away. That he was dangerous. I knew in my bones that he was dangerous. At the same time that I adored him and wanted him close, I didn’t totally trust him. I couldn’t let that part of my brain go that worried about him. I couldn’t let that part of my brain go that told me to stay away, or at least to not trust him with my handbag which sat in the next room.

Then the other part of my brain spoke up, reminding me that he’d never gone through my stuff, why would he start now? Why with my handbag when he was in my home which was filled with all of my things? I was being paranoid. This was stupid. I adored this man, and so rarely found men who understood me. He understood me, and the sex was great. What else was there?

Speaking of, he was dragging me into my bedroom then, after finishing our second bottles of beer. He was kissing me, he was touching my body, and he was laying down on my bed, offering me a place beside him to cuddle up to.

It wasn’t sex he wanted, it was cuddling. But it was close enough. It was intimate enough. We were on my bed, and he was so close, he smelt delicious!

We lay there and kept talking. Now we had moved on from the intense ‘our problems in this relationship’ conversation. We hadn’t made up, but some important things had been said at least.

He just wanted to cuddle, to be close with me. That made my heart melt, that he missed me, that all he wanted was to be close, to be intimate without sex.

Of course I wanted sex and I was sure he did too, but he was willing to take his time in that moment. Intimacy was what took priority then. He was willing to just cuddle me. To get all loved up before we made love. Oh, how nice! I snuggled into his warm chest.

Annoyingly, his phone rang. I sighed and rolled my eyes.

“Sorry!” He said, pulling it from his pocket and pushing the reject button. “It’s just one of my mates. Probably wants me down the pub.”

“One of the guys you were with when we met?” I asked, trying to remember who he was with. I just remember a bunch of guys wearing high-visibility clothing, the type tradies wear.

“Ah” Jack said, now reading a text message that had come through as he rejected the call, “No. Another friend.”

The phone rang again and this time he apologised to me before answering it. “Hello?” He asked.

With my head on his chest, I couldn’t hear much, so I lay there, determined to enjoy the cuddle even with the distraction until I heard something that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end: the person on the other end of the phone was talking about me.

I didn’t know any of Jack’s friends and after what Jerome had said about Jack this made me immediately on guard. I didn’t want Jack to know I could hear though, so I moved my head to kiss his cheek before positioning myself beside him to better hear what was being said. My head was still on his chest in this position, only now I could hear with both ears, insuring I picked up everything what was being said.

Jack wasn’t saying much, mostly his face just looked confused, scrunched up, as he tried not to look at me. I was sure it was hard as I was right there, so close beside him. I didn’t think Jack knew I could hear what was being said, or even that I would be listening considering how calm I managed to make myself appear. I was just lazing on his chest beside him, cuddling, after we worked through some of our issues. Why would I be listening to anything that was being said?

The person on the phone – a male – was saying to Jack that he and his group were in trouble, someone had reported them. Someone had found out they were braking into places and had called a full police investigation. Obviously, the caller thought, it was someone who actually mattered because they’d been hitting houses for ages with no problems.

This seemed strange to me, as bikey gangs weren’t into this kind of crime. Police too tended to act on crimes, even breaking and entering, regardless of who the victims were. Trying to make sense of these two things: bikey gangs suddenly performing low-level crime and police suddenly not doing their job on a mass scale didn’t want to compute inside my head. My head whirred as I thought everything over.

I pushed the police stuff to the side as I focussed on what was at hand. Bikeys like these were into much more serious stuff. They would be stand-over men and drug pushers. They weren’t into the low-level, low-pay crime of robbing houses. But the person on the other end of the phone was keen to jump all over Jack. They were telling him that they knew it had to be tied to him, because when they were picked up, the police let too much information go (this also didn’t make any real sense as police don’t let things slip, they’re famous for having tight lips). They knew it was from my house that they had been caught.

“Isn’t your old lady a cop?” The person asked in an accusatory tone. This had to be a bluff. The police would never tell him anything about a victim of crime like this. Unless there was corruption involved. But I pushed that thought out of my mind.

I couldn’t deal with the cop stuff right now. I needed to focus on what this criminal was saying. I needed to be present now.

My heart was just about beating out of my chest as I fought to remain present and not let my mind wander ahead of me. I couldn’t let that happen. I couldn’t stress about this stuff, the ‘what is going on?’ I needed to just listen, and remain quiet. Passive. It was safe to be passive now.

Jack’s eyes came over to meet mine as I rested on his chest. Pretending I couldn’t hear, I looked up at him, a big cheeky smile on my face. I had to play innocent, that voice in my head was telling me. I couldn’t let him know what I knew. I needed to keep my advantage.

Quiet and passive. Remain quiet and passive. Remain present.

“An ex-cop.” He answered when I looked away and snuggled into his chest, pretending not to listen all the more. “Anyway, what does it matter?”

The voice on the other end of the phone was angry. Telling Jack it mattered because they had been picked up for a crime, and they wouldn’t have been if the police were less thorough. They were always less thorough with crimes on civilian homes so the man on the phone was saying.

I wondered how any of this had to do with Jack. If he hadn’t broken in, why were they calling him? Had they known it was my home with they broke in here? Had Jack been aware of it? Had he actually been with them?

Something wasn’t right here.

My blood was pounding in my ears as that sense of injustice overtook me. There was more to this, but I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t let on what I knew because I shouldn’t have had the folder anyway. I hadn’t even spoken to Jack about the break in because when I’d wanted to make up the first time, he hadn’t wanted to hear why I ran away, he had only wanted to gift me more of his amazing sex.

Now here I was listening to him having a conversation with another man – a man who had broken into my home – about the break in. If I had that phone I could do more with it. I could go to Jerome with this information and tell him for sure, they had been the perps. They had said so on the phone to Jack and I had overheard it.

It’s true, the cop in you never stops being a cop. You’re always catching bad guys, even after you’ve retired from that gig.

Jack apparently didn’t want to believe it was me, when the guy on the other end of the phone badgered him he answered, “I don’t think it was her, or if it was, I don’t think she knew it was us.”

“Why?” He repeated after a pause, “Because she wouldn’t do that to me. I know her.”

That sentence made me feel uncomfortable. Like he knew I would let him get away with committing crimes against me with no retribution. But when he turned to tussle my hair playfully, I knew I wouldn’t. I was too suckered in, and it made me doubt myself in the worst way. I knew how the wives of criminals felt, and we hadn’t even been dating that long.

The conversation between Jack and his friend went around in circles for a while before he wound up hanging up the phone.

The circles were thus: his friend wanted him to know he needed to get rid of me, his friend wanted him to know it was all his (Jack’s) fault that he’d been caught, the friend wanted Jack to know that he shouldn’t trust me. That I was as bad as every other cop, honest or crooked, no matter what Jack thought.

Jack didn’t appear to be taking his friend too seriously, instead hanging up the phone and wishing him a good evening.

“Who was that?” I asked in an offhanded way. “And why did you spend so long talking to them instead of giving me attention?” I moved so we were facing one another, and smiled at him cheekily like I would any other time I wanted to kiss him, to touch his body. I wasn’t going to act like anything was up, I know it was better to play my cards close to my chest.

The police stuff was still a bit off, but I had to think about it later. Stupidly, I dismissed it from my mind and didn’t think about it properly in that moment. That was a mistake I won’t forget making.

There was a slight hesitation while Jack considered if he should say anything himself, before he moved to kiss me. “No-one at all, about nothing at all.”

His kiss was hard, angry. I wanted to stop the kisses and push him to tell me what was up but I knew what was up and I wasn’t sure how I would deal with this if it was tackled head-on. I didn’t feel like there was a lie I could tell effectively enough to Jack.

He might not have known me for long, but I felt considering how long we had known one another, he knew me well for that amount of time, with all the text messaging and late night phone calls, in addition to him potentially having been in my home before when I wasn’t here.

The last thought made me shudder, but I had to admit, I wasn’t sure if he had. I wasn’t sure if my fear was for nothing.

And honestly, that he was scary made him all the hotter. Bad boys are hot, even for ex-cops who deal with plenty of bad boys on a daily basis and are consistently unimpressed by them.

As the adrenaline ran through my veins, I pushed back against his kisses and kissed him harder. My kisses were lusty when his were a little angry. He pulled my hair, I did the same to his, but when I did it my mouth was probing his as if I was trying to find his secrets. My tongue was exploring his mouth, he was moaning as I did so, like he wanted to give all of his secrets up to me.

Then he was on top of me, his hips pressed into mine, pinning me to the bed. I could feel the bulge of his cock against me and it made me writhe under him in excitement and anticipation. He felt amazing, I felt the anticipation rising inside me.

I was frightened of him, of what would happen when he found out what I knew and that I had reported his friends to police. In the same instance though, I was so excited by my own fear, and by him, that I couldn’t resist the urge to grind all over him. I wanted him, and in that moment I could think of nothing else.

He started to kiss his way down my neck before stopping at the point where the neck meets the shoulder and licking it delicately before sucking a portion of my skin into his mouth and biting down hard.

The bite was painful, a sharp edge to my own internal fear and excitement, and it made me gasp under him.

He released my skin from his teeth with a naughty chuckle before looking me in the eye and asking, “You like that bitch?”

I know it’s common for people to call one another names in bed, however, we never had. That he was calling me ‘bitch’ now caught me off guard. Did he mean it? Even if he did, the tone turned me on. Part of me, a small voice in the back of my head, was telling me I shouldn’t be okay with this much less turned on by it. If nothing else, it was odd timing for him to suddenly start calling me names in bed when he hadn’t before.

I dismissed my concerns though. Hoping that he didn’t mean anything by it, and playing like he didn’t as I wasn’t sure what else to do that wouldn’t out me for having every idea what was going on with him and his friends, I gave him a winning smile and nodded, “Yes sir, I love that!”

His returning smile was just as naughty. He winked at me before continuing to kiss his way down my body pulling clothes out of the way as he went. He had me in my bra and panties in no time. I knew where he was going, but the little teasing kisses all over my body drove me wild all the same.

When he made his way down to my pussy, he didn’t tease me with little kisses, or even little licks. Instead he got right to business, licking me hard and fast, the licks got me all hot and bothered and served to make me squirm under him.

He gave great head when he wanted to.

Where most men might need to deliver a tease to get you in the mood, Jack didn’t need to. He just licked however he wanted, fucked however he wanted, and whatever he did to you always seemed to be exactly what you needed in that moment. Like intuitively he knew.

He would get me off without even trying, it wasn’t fair but it was hot.

Everyone liked to be with the guy who had a clue. With the guy who knew how to get you off and who teased you until he got you there. I was with that guy who was a terrific fuck, and it inflated my ego to no end that he wanted to be with me as much as I wanted to be with him.

His tongue lashing had my hips bucking in no time as he bought me closer and closer to that magical orgasm. Then, as I came, I imagined myself cumming into his mouth, all over his face. Like how men cum on women in porn. Then, when he came up for air and to kiss me, there really was a large amount of cum on his face. He wiped it off before looking me in the eye with a naughty grin of a boy who knows he’s done good work.

“You squirted a little, baby!” He told me.

I sighed and rolled my eyes. Of course I had. Just as I had imagined. I couldn’t feel bad for the mess I had made in that moment, instead moving over slightly as he instructed and taking up residency on the other side of the bed.

When I did so he cuddled me, allowing me a few moments to rest post-orgasm and post-squirt.

As I rested, I tried to make my body look relaxed, even as my brain was rushing around. In my mind, I was thinking about what I would have done if that really was Jack.

Then the image of Jack standing beside my bed came back. Had that been a dream? If he knew how to break into other people’s houses, probably not. And I did see some bigger crimes on his sheet. How was he so sure I would never report him anyway? Cocky and stupid or manipulative and dark? Would he hurt me and get away with it? Why did he think he could?

I peered at him through half-shut eyes. Would he do whatever he wanted with impunity? Or was that just something he had said to shut his mates up?

Letting out a deep breath, I tried to release the thought with it. I couldn’t think about this now. I had to be normal, I couldn’t let on what was going on inside my own mind.

I tried to think of other things then, but my mind kept going back to that thought: how far would he go because he never thought he would get in trouble?

Then, as if he knew what I was thinking and wanted to erase my thoughts, he started kissing me.

His kisses were panty-melting, if I had been wearing panties. With a flick of the wrist, he took my bra off, which was the last piece of clothing I had been wearing and cupped my breasts while delivering kisses full of need.

I kissed him back and moaned into his mouth as he squeezed my nipples between his thumb and forefinger.

Being completely naked while he still had his clothes on made me feel a bit powerless next to him. That he was so much stronger than me didn’t help that feeling either. I tugged at his clothes while he kissed me, pulling his shirt off his back as he did.

I ran my hands over his chest, feeling little muscles under his skin, hard muscles under soft skin, it was like touching his hard cock. Something incredibly hard under something soft.

I loved the contrast and smiled into his kisses while I touched his body.

We were both excited as I pulled at his belt, managing to get in undone in record time. I was never good with belts, but there was something I desperately wanted inside these pants.

When I pulled out his cock, we both held a sharp intake of breath, him because I was squeezing at his cock and me because I couldn’t believe how horny it made me to hold his cock like this. I wanted it, I needed it. I needed to please him.

I know it sounds crazy, but I didn’t want him to suffer for what I or his friends had done. I didn’t want him in the middle of everything. In that moment all I could think about was how I could make this up to him, how I could use my mouth to please him. My mouth felt all tingly with the thought of tasting his cock. I needed that cock!

He stood beside the bed and stripped off the remainder of his clothes (including his socks) before getting back on the bed. He was on his knees as he dipped his hard cock into my mouth.

The head of his cock tasted of pre-cum as I desperately swirled my tongue there, licking it all up hungrily. I wanted more, but there was no more there. I had to suck to get what I wanted. I had to suck to give him what he needed.

I was sucking the head of his cock into my mouth when he pushed the shaft inside after it. He was slowly fucking my mouth when I looked up at him. His eyes had been on his cock inside my mouth when they met mine. We shared a moment that was weirdly romantic and intimate as he thrust his cock into my mouth.

His eyes never left mine then as he grew more and more turned on at the sight of me with his cock in my mouth, and at the feeling of my tongue on his cock.

His breathing increased, the grunts and moans grew closer together. His pre-cum was now all I could taste as I sucked it out of him, and licked it from the head of his cock. As he thrusted, I grew more sure of what was about to happen. He was going to cum. The thought of it made me moan. The thought of a mouth filled with cum. There I was, moaning on his stiff prick while he forced it into my mouth.

I wanted it, I wanted his cum so bad. I wanted to taste him, and the urge to please him was overwhelming. My mouth was tingling for it worse than ever.

But, right as he was about to cum, he pulled out of my mouth. For a moment, I thought he was going to cum on my face, or my tits. I didn’t move, only waited as his cock stood at attention over me.

“I think you need to ride me.” He told me.

I wanted to moan, to let out an annoyed sound, but I knew better. I wasn’t going to do that. I wasn’t going to let on how much I wanted to taste him, because the alternative - riding his cock - felt like something I needed even more than that. I needed to please him as much as I needed to be pleased.

Sure, I had had a squirting, messy orgasm, but I wanted another. And I wanted it to be together. Simultaneous orgasms had always been a huge turn-on for me and we had them frequently.

He lay down then and I climbed on top of him, not bothering to ask anything else.

I leaned down and we shared a kiss as I lined his cock up with my pussy and he gave one long thrust of the hips to dive his cock into me.

We were fucking for a few minutes when from under me in a tone that told me his words were the truest he’d spoken all night, Jack told me, “I am not going to last long.”

“Oh! Me either!” I told him as truer words had never been spoken.

It was only a few more thrusts until I was cumming all over his cock and his orgasm followed only a thrust or two later. I could feel him filling me with his cum as my pussy grabbed at his cock. The gooey heat was enough to sent my orgasm into much higher places.

We lay there, me looking down at him and him up at me as we both moaned, and our bodies took one another for a ride.

Often when we cum together, I don’t know what’s me and what’s him, and this time was no different. Every little pulse or twitch was accompanied by this feeling of being unsure. I was unsure if it was my orgasm or his that was that twitch, or that pulse.

When we kissed though, I smiled into his mouth. It wasn’t either person’s orgasm, but was our orgasm collectively.

The thought made me giggle and Jack asked, “What?”

What started as my small giggle erupted into laughter. “Nothing!” I cried.

Then I was looking him in the eye, my laughter stopped, “Nothing at all.” And my lips were on his, kissing that mouth, his tongue probing my mouth.

We were like that for a good long while, my resting with him inside of me. His cock didn’t go soft, but after a while, my legs did require me to lay down.

So I lay beside him, and he wrapped his arms around me, his being big spoon and my being little spoon. It was time to be together, to enjoy this coupley moment. The cuddle was perfect, being together like this was perfect.

I wanted to drift away to sleep, but my mind snapped back to the present.

What was going on with his friends? What should I do? What could I do?