“You still haven’t shown me your place,” he says, with a sly smile on his face. He calmly looks into my eyes as he takes another shot. I’m still sipping on my first, heart beating quick and irregular. My temperature has gone up and I know I’m glistening in the yellowish light of the bar.

“You don’t want to see it,” I tell him. “Trust me. It’s a shithole.” It’s not really a lie. It is pretty bad. Clothes are strewn everywhere, I haven’t vacuumed in months, and dust lines the tops of my cabinets. I thought I’d be out of the country in a few days. I didn’t expect to be in this insane predicament. Still, even if my apartment was spotless, I wouldn’t offer to show him. He’s already gotten too close to me. He expects to get much closer.

He puts his hand on my kneecap and I nearly spill my drink from jumping. “You okay?” he asks me, slightly angry, I think.

“Yeah. Sorry I keep doing this. I’m just not used to—” He laughs, cutting my sentence short.

“Used to cops? I get it,” he says, rolling his eyes.

“No,” I laugh a little sarcastically. “I don’t think you do.”

“Sure I do, darling,” he says, pointing at a bottle of something. The bartender knows exactly what he wants and he pours him another one. “Everybody hates the police nowadays. They think we’re bad men. It’s a shame, really. I pride myself on being good. In multiple ways.”

I get the idea. But he’s downright annoying. He’s got this heather-grey undershirt on that tucks in right at that V-formation that forms underneath his perfect abs. The shirt hugs tight against each and every curve of his muscles, and for a split second I wonder what it would be like to feel between those lines, to kiss each ripple of flesh.

I gulp my drink down and feel my thighs start to grow warm. I’m doomed, so doomed. “Well, that’s great. You’re the one good cop that’s out there. A real small town hero, right?” It comes out bitchy and I know it, but I can’t help it. I can’t hear this guy brag about how righteous he is when he knows that deep down, we’re all prone to being bad every now and then.

“Now you’re getting rude,” he says.

“Sorry. Again. But what makes you think you’re such a great guy?” I ask him. His eyebrows arch upward as if he’s never pondered the question before in his life. “I mean, what gives you the right to take another man’s freedom away from him?”

“You’ve been watching too much of the local news, haven’t you?” he laughs. Then, he heaves a sigh and relaxes a bit. “But I get it. Don’t you worry. I really understand. There’s something to what you’re saying. But it’s like I told you a few days ago. I grew up watching really bad people get away with flexing their power. There were no checks and balances. Now, I’ve dedicated my life to stopping those people.”

I nod, even though I’m sure he doesn’t get what I’m saying. If he did, he wouldn’t be pursuing this line. “Let’s just hope you don’t turn into one of those people, yourself. It’s a real fine line.”

This date is already off to a rough start. Why are we talking about this crap? Why do I always have to interject with my brazen opinion? Normally, it doesn’t get me anywhere, and I’m sure it won’t take me anywhere nice with Marshall. I want his attention focused on me, not my criminality.

“Let’s talk about nicer things,” I let up with a smile.

“Better yet, let’s dance,” he says, twitching his brows up and down. He kicks the stool back and holds his hands out in front of him, bending slightly to the old country music. I turn to look at the empty dance floor and laugh.

“There’s nobody dancing, Marshall. It’s embarrassing,” I say.

“Aw, come on. Live a little. You’re always so damn tense,” he says, spinning me around. I awkwardly turn and waddle my feet.

“I can’t,” I tell him, feeling so embarrassed already. The old bartender starts clapping to the music and he hollers a “Yeah!” in my direction.

“You know you want to,” he hums. “Be my girl tonight.”

Be my girl. Be my baby. Be my woman. The thought of that feels good. To be somebody’s anything makes me smile, and I actually start laughing as he pulls me toward the dancefloor.

“There we go!” he says. Warmth floods my body like sunshine, like those good days I can remember, from back when I was a child. I step back and find a small groove, and I follow his lead.

“Dammit,” I say. “I can’t believe I’m dancing. I haven’t danced in over a decade.”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” he says. “Well, now’s your chance to be free again.”

The thought is funny to me. That dancing with him could somehow be freeing in anyway is almost an oxymoron. He’s my enemy. He’s the man that wants to lock me up forever. Only, he has no idea. He’s ignorant to the whole damn thing.

He pulls me close to him as the lights dim around us. Soon, others are dancing by us. The music has slowed down to something romantic, and slightly cheesy. I can feel his heart beating against mine, the pounding of the rhythm of his body. The bass moves too, causing us to drift closer to each other. “You’re beautiful. You know that?” he whispers, lips against my cheek.

“You’re only saying that because you want something from me,” I say, honestly. My eyes soon close, though. My argument doesn’t matter much anymore. The truth is that we all want something from someone. We all want good things out of this life. I used to fault some people for this, but now it just seems like human nature. We’re all just searching for a little bit of the magic. Whatever of that is left, at least.

“Not true,” he lies. “I’m telling you because I want to. That’s the only thing I’m getting out of this. I know I’m not taking you home tonight, and that’s fine with me.”

My cheek falls to his shoulder. It’s strong and bold, and so is the arm that hugs around my back, the hand that is now running down my hair. It feels so good, and so pure. A bit of excitement runs through my body and I smile again. I suddenly want to give him something real. I want him to have something special.

“Let’s go back to your place,” I say. “We’ll have some coffee and talk.”

“You sure about that?” He pulls me away slightly so I’m forced to look at him in the face. “We don’t have to.” He’s courteous, but of course deep down he’s thinking, “Please, lord. Let me bang the shit out of this woman.” I know, because it’s how all men think. At least he’s kind on the outside, although you almost have to worry more about guys like that.

“I want to, idiot.” I turn away from him and slide my hand down the front of his shirt. I feel his muscles finally and they’re impeccable. He’s built to last, that’s for sure. I let my fingers brush the top of his zipper, and I swear I can feel him grow a little for me. I walk toward the front door and he’s forced to follow me like a dog begging for food at the table.

Outside, I can hear the crunch beneath his soles. He’s not wearing the cowboy boots anymore. Instead, he’s got a pair of nice working man’s boots, a little used from being on the job most likely. He’s got his gun around his waist, which never scares a girl like me. Instead, I sort of like it. Maybe I’m not supposed to, but I grew up around men like that. I’ve never had a problem.

* * *

His house is cold with A/C and oddly enough, it’s much cleaner than I imagined. He turns around with a bag of coffee in his hand, smiling. “I got that coffee if you—” I stop him with a hurried kiss, and I pull back only to see his hungry-eyed expression.

Before I can even take another breath in, he quickly picks me up by my thighs, flipping me around until I feel myself fall against his kitchen counter. Everything is rushed and sloppy, in the best way possible. We’ve both been building this up for days, but tonight is the breaking point. We must give into our lust and all the primal passions we have to offer.

He rips off both of our shirts as I fumble for his belt. I pull it off and throw it around his waist, making sure he moves even closer. I unzip his jeans and I can already feel how hard he is as my hands graze over him.

“Yes,” he moans, a simple gesture.

His right hand moves across my tits, and he feels me gently, becoming freer every second as a man. I let him have his way with me. His left hand moves firm around my thighs, slowly falling toward my core. I’m wet, so fucking wet, and the excitement is throughout my very being. He cups my pussy, spreading me apart. Two fingers push inside me and I unleash a high-pitched moan of desire. He feels so fucking good.

He falls to his knees and kisses the inside of my thighs. “Finally,” he says, as if he’s been starving for me. “Finally, I can have you.”

Marshall’s tongue moves across my already wet lips with a confident assuredness I rarely ever get the chance to feel. His fingers arch up inside of me as if to say, “Come closer to me,” but we’re already as close as we can get. No, there’s a different type of closeness we wish to get to, a level of feeling that’s far too real. This man is much different than I am. We’re practically on the other ends of life’s spectrum. Yet, that’s what makes this feel like it needs to happen. It’s so wrong, of course life shoves us together.

He finally tastes me, kissing forward and licking in the opposite direction. He lets out a hungered groan. All his muscles flex for a second, tightening up. I wrap my legs around him and fall back against the cupboards above. “Fuck V,” he moans, unknowing that that’s the nickname my partners call me, how I’m known to all the bad seeds he so desperately wants to destroy.

When Marshall pushes over my clit, the feeling is unbearable. I grab the thick mass of his hair and pull, holding on and pressing him further. I push and I push, and he devours me, moving him back down over my lips. For a second, he pulls back and smiles, and I’m left shocked. I laugh a little, surprised by his little show. I thought he would be different. I had an image in my head that he only gave a shit about himself.

I bring him up, holding his hair and he’s still grinning wildly. We’re both drunk as hell, eager to taste one another, and now I’m obsessed with the thought of doing the wrong thing. “Come here,” I whisper. He comes forward and kisses me. I can taste myself now, mixed with his saliva and smooth tongue. His lips cup over mine, exaggerated and full. He grabs my ass and lifts me down, directing me toward his room.

Between the kissing and the touching, there’s the soothing feeling of complete satisfaction. He bends me over on his bed, practically worshipping me. It’s true: I love it. Who wouldn’t? He runs his hand from my lips, up to where the curve of my ass extends.

He smacks my cheek and smooths out the skin, examining me. “More,” I say. I’m not a prude. I love a good spanking. He smacks again and again. I turn my body and gently place my mouth around his cock. I push down deep and release, taking a huge air of breath. “More!” I say, a bit louder this time.

“You’re one dirty girl,” he says, eyes fixed on me. I smile, feeling good about myself. I love pleasing people more than I love getting pleased myself. Maybe that’s my biggest fault.

I slide my tongue over his head, down to his shaft, feeling his hard cock against the sides of my cheeks. I can taste him. He’s ready for me. I push away from him and fall against the bed, against my back. I spread my legs for him, slowly, but keep my hands against my pussy. He hovers over me and kisses my neck, and I remove each finger like a petal from a flower.

“Fuck me good,” I whisper.

“By the time I’m done with you, you won’t be able to see straight,” he says. “I’m going to make you have the most mind shattering orgasm you’ve ever had.”

I feel him press against my lips. Using my hands, I guide him inside me. We both feel the intense pressure, driven by sensual desire. He pushes me apart, sliding deep inside, and we both quickly unlock a door of darkness & light, just where we’ve always dreamed of being. He pushes his forehead against mine and our lips meet once more. His tongue moves against mine and we both share the hot air within our lungs.

“Fuck me, baby,” I moan, allowing him to do whatever he pleases. “Give it to me.”

I open my eyes and he presses up against my legs. He lifts my thighs up in the air, controlling my every move. Desperate for more, he pins me with my limbs. He contorts my body, shoving my thighs against my tits. He holds me down and he fucks the life out of me.

“You like it rough?” he asks me, smiling. His eyes are dark and they hold old truths, buried for decades. He wants me more than I know, I realize. He wants to be within every crevice, examine every curve, and worship every mode of pleasure.

“Yes!” I scream.

The air outside has turned a few degrees cooler, but inside, the air is hot and filled with steam. He rolls me onto my side and holds me right where my thigh meets my ass. He grips me like he means it. He holds me like there’s no tomorrow.

He groans and pulls his body back, thrusting himself inside of me. He reaches with his free hand and grabs my lower lips, where they curl around his cock. He presses them together and moves his hand up and down while he thrusts slow and deep.

“Jesus Christ,” I moan and close my eyes. He kisses my cheek and moves forward, closer now.

The pleasure is immense. While massaging my clit, he fucks powerfully. His shaft massages against my g-spot and I know that I’m about to let myself go. I don’t know what comes over me, but when I watch him, I imagine him naked. The only thing he’s wearing is his gun holster. I look at him and reach up, feeling his abs pulse as he pushes forward.

“I’m going to come,” I moan. “I’m going to—” But I can’t make out the words. Everything starts to shake and it’s almost like a bubble of electricity has burst inside of me. My whole body starts to quake. I fall on top of him, writhing against his body. He holds me still and whispers, “There we go, darling. There we go.”

I can’t stop. It comes in waves of shaking fits. Of course, this seems to get him going even more. He kisses my lips, hanging from my quivering mouth and whispers, “A beautiful angel… how did I get so damn lucky?”

I smile and I know he’s about to shoot his load. I push myself on top of him and press my hands against his chest. “Stay there,” I tell him. “Don’t move.” I begin moving my hips up and down. I twist my ass and feel him go deep inside of me.

“Oh, fuuuuck,” he draws the words out, like everything is about to come crashing down. “Keep… going…” His head falls back and I feel him cum deep inside of me.

But I don’t stop. He sighs because it feels too fucking good. He moans and shakes, twists and spasms. I’m too much of a woman for him and he knows it. Finally, I push my pussy down one more time and we kiss for at least a minute.

He takes multiple deep breaths when I climb off of him. “Who are you again?” he asks.

“I may play games,” I tell him, taking a swig of alcohol from the kitchen. “But I’m the best there is.”