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“Sir,” I call out my warning, and he shoots me a quick look before he pushes off and marches down the street. I notice the brown paper bag in his hand and the scuffed jeans. He doesn’t turn back.
“Miss, are you okay?” I repeat my earlier question.
“Yes, thank you, officer.” The woman walks out of the shadows, and I catch my first glimpse of her. She can’t be older than twenty-one or twenty-two.
Her luscious red lips stretch in a sweet smile and glisten in the streetlights. Her long bottle-blonde hair tickles her naked shoulders and cascades towards a pair of tits I want to die on, pushed up by a white halter top that shows off a lacy black bra beneath. She’s wearing a chequered skirt, fishnets and boots. She looks like she’s just walked off some Playboy shoot, and my entire body forgets that I’m mid-thirty and comes alive like I’m watching a wet teenage fantasy.
I ignore the tightness in my pants as I meet her gaze, smoky eyeshadow around her sultry green eyes. I clear my throat. “Did he hurt you?”
She looks over her shoulder as if looking for the man, making sure she’s safe. “No more than usual.” She grabs her wrist and starts to rub it in her hand.
“Do you know him?”
“He’s my ex-boyfriend.”
My heart does a strange irrelevant flip at her words, and I swallow down a sudden surge of need – to protect her – to have her.
What the fuck was that, Rossi? You’re a married man with kids, moron. Plus she’s at least ten years younger. You’ve seen pussy before. Get it together, idiot.
“He bothers you a lot?”
She shakes her head, but the way her body stiffens tells me there is much more to her story than she’s telling me.
“Would you like to put a complaint against him?”
She stiffens again. “No, it’s okay.”
I’ve seen this kind of shit too often as a cop; women getting harassed and scared in their own homes, afraid to put a stop to it. I guess I can’t blame them. Our system has failed them time and time again, letting out bad guys who just go and finish the job they started.
I sigh in frustration, sadness, in helplessness. Some days this job feels like a waste of time. “Can I offer you a ride home, miss?”
“It’s Amy.” She gives me a lovely smile. “And no thank you. I live just up there.” She points at one of the buildings, but I’m too busy looking at her lips to notice which one.
I nod, tearing my gaze away and reach for my pocket where I pull out one of my cards. “Here, if you change your mind.” I hold it out to her, and she smiles as she reaches for it. Her fingers brush lightly over mine as she takes it from my hand, and I can’t help but notice how soft her skin is.
She flips it in her hand a few times before looking at it. “Detective Sergeant Joseph Rossi,” she reads out, and heat flushes across my cheeks at the way she pronounces my name, emphasising each sound slowly and meticulously. Of course, I’m not a detective sergeant anymore, not tonight anyway, not for the last three months. But maybe after the hearing and probation, things will change again. I bat the thoughts away and find Amy’s face. “My friends call me Joe.”
“Joe.” Her face beams and her lips pout in a sweet little smile. “Well, thank you for saving me, Sergeant Joe,” she says and bites her lower lip, sucking it in before turning and walking towards her apartment block.
I bring my hand up to my face, wiping my mouth and drawing it down my chin as I watch her ass sway. There is something about her that goes beyond sexy. She is beyond just desirable; she is captivating in every way. Or maybe it’s just that Annie hasn’t opened her legs up to me in three months, and this girl just needs a little bit of water spilt on her to look like she just walked out of a porn shoot.
I adjust my rock-hard cock in my pants and watch as she disappears inside an apartment building. I’m not sure, but I think she looks back at me before she enters and the door closes behind her. I wish it was winter and the cold air would cool my body, but I feel like I am on fire, every bit of me hot and bothered.
I get back into the car, gripping the steering wheel far too tightly. I sit for an hour trying to concentrate on my paperwork, but each time I begin to write anything down, all I can see are her lips or the curve of her tits or that ass swinging below that tiny fucking skirt. By the time my shift is over, my cock hurts so bad all I want is a hot shower and quick wank before bed.
I drive home thinking about Annie and the girls, wondering if my wife would let me steal five minutes with her in the bedroom before the girls need breakfast.
I notice the car, even though I want to pretend that I don’t. It weaves from lane to lane, slowing down then speeding up, braking erratically before taking off again. I let my head fall back into my seat and look up at the brightening sky. My shift ended fifteen minutes ago. “Fuck.”
I pull the guy over and am greeted by the unmistakable odour of alcohol. The driver’s eyes are bloodshot and watery, and his speech is slurred. Before he even attempts it, I know the guy is going to fail a breath test. I arrest the fucker.
Three hours later I am finally making my way back home – again. I park my car, cut the engine, and walk towards the front door already knowing what to expect when I step inside.
I’m greeted by utter silence. The faint odour of coffee, baked beans and breakfast eggs still lingers in the air. I push out of my boots and make my way upstairs. Our bedroom is empty, as I knew it would be, the curtains pulled open, the hot July sun pouring in. I shut the curtains and put on the ceiling fan. It starts to roll in lazy circles above me as I shed my sweaty uniform and slowly transform into myself.
I take a long shower, letting the water wash away the night and the slurring bastard who robbed me of another breakfast with my kids. I towel off, pull on my boxers and fall into bed. I dream about a tight little ass under a chequered skirt.
