It took only a few turns through the darkened streets of the Garden District for us to arrive at our destination: the Mansion. The gates opened and swallowed up the car. My heart quickened; so far I had only been to the Coach House. Then my heart sank as we slowly passed the side entrance, heading over a slight crest to what looked like a large garage next to the kidney-shaped pool, sparkling under the dark sky.
“No Mansion?”
“No more questions.”
A garage door slowly opened and my policeman inched the car into a spot between two other vehicles, both fancy and expensive, though I couldn’t have named them if the officer had put a gun to my head. He shut the engine off, exited the car and opened my back door.
“Step outside the vehicle, Miss Mason.”
I propelled myself to my feet, wrists still cuffed. He sidestepped me to close the car door, and then pressed me up against his side. I could feel him hard against my hip.
“You’re turning me into a bad cop, Miss Mason,” he said, leaning in for a firm, insistent kiss.
I opened my mouth to his just as he pulled away.
“Are you ready for your interrogation?”
I nodded. Okay. This will work. He guided me by the arm through a door in the garage, we entered a small, warm office. There were two steel chairs facing each other on a thick carpet, a table to the side. The windows were covered with blackout curtains. The whole room was lit with one dim overhead bulb. He pulled out a chair for me and I sat. He took the chair opposite me, so our knees almost touched.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
I looked around the bare, still room. Not exactly the scene of high romance, but somehow it felt charged with sex.
“Ready when you are,” I said, leaning back in my chair, my hands shackled behind me.
“You’re being impudent.”
“Authority brings that out in me.” It was true. I decided if he wanted me to surrender, he’d have to make me.
“Stand up, please. I want to see if you’re wearing a wire.”
“A what?” I asked, laughing.
“Stand up and let me unbutton that dress.”
He threw his cap onto the table beside us and rolled up his sleeves. I stood in front of him, chin jutting out. His big hands went to my top button. One after the other, he released them, leaving my dress gaping. Oh dear, my underwear did not match my bra. Why was that suddenly so tragic? It was hardly going to be a deal-breaker and yet I was disappointed. I would have dressed better, different. Trust and control.
He moved the dress off my shoulders so it bunched in back, over my cuffs.
“See? No wire, Officer.” Was my voice quavering? Where was my bravado now?
“I’m not done my search,” he said. He clearly liked what he saw, but I had never felt so vulnerable, being regarded like this so openly. “Come closer,” he said.
He opened his legs so I could step between them, the outsides of my thighs touching the insides of his. He leaned back, resting his head in his hands, and looked up at my face.
“For such a bad, bad woman, you look very, very good right now,” he said.
His eyes scanned my breasts, my skin, my hips. Not able to remove my bra, he reached up and lifted my breasts out and rested them pertly above the cups.
“Perfect,” he said.
My heart sped up. Being cuffed, being unable to touch him, or push him away, scared me a little. But he had such an open, warm face, and those eyes …
“I’m going to remove your underwear, Miss Mason,” he said. “I need to search all of you.”
He placed his fingers tenderly in my waistband, his face stern, and slid the panties down. I stepped out of them. I could feel his breath on my skin, my stomach. Then he pivoted my whole body and held my hips firmly from behind.
“What are you doing?” I asked, fear coming over me now that I wasn’t facing him. My eyes darted around the room.
“Checking all of you.”
He moved aside my dress, still bunched around my wrists. He glided one of his hands over my ass, like he was admiring a sculpture up close, gently kissing the places his hands touched. I shut my eyes. Slowly, agonizingly, I felt his fingers slipping between my legs where I knew I was already wet.
“Just making sure you’re not concealing anything,” he said, coiling his finger up inside of me. Ohhhh. His voice was cracking with the kind of helplessness that only desire creates.
Was this really happening?
He pulled me down onto his lap. Oh lord, I could feel his erection against my thigh, my hands now near it, and I felt a growing ache. From behind, he split my legs apart, burying his face between my arms, my shoulder blades. He pulled off my ponytail holder, releasing my hair down my back. I watched as his hand moved across the front of my body, his fingers finding me again, so wet I almost apologized.
“You’ve been a bad girl, Dauphine.”
“Yes …” I closed my eyes, leaning back into him, desire mounting as his fingers dipped and circled my wetness.
“I’m going to have to do some bad things to you. Would you like that?”
“Yes,” I said. I could feel his erection grow, my hips lightly, instinctively grinding against it.
“Time for this interrogation to come to a close,” he whispered, rising from the chair and taking me with him, moving towards the table.
He pressed me across it, my breasts against its cool surface.
“If I undo your cuffs, do you promise to be good?” he asked.
I nodded as he released me, placing one hand, then the other, on the table in front of me. I rubbed my wrists as he dropped his belt. I peeked over my shoulder to watch him tearing off his uniform, peeling up his white T-shirt so I could finally catch sight of what I had been feeling: a firm, broad chest, the overhead light illuminating every ripple, an expanse of smooth skin, a line of dark hair from his belly button, the thick crown of his erection visible over the top of the table. This is so hot.
“Look at you spread out like this for me,” he said, slicking a finger and dragging it down my spine to my ass, now high in the air. Oh my god. I closed my eyes as he navigated the fold between my buttocks, circling shamelessly around my dark nerve-intense pucker.
“Jesus,” I murmured, clutching the sides of the table as with every dip and tickle he sent a shock wave of pleasure through my whole body. I had never been touched there before, not like this, so openly.
“What are you doing to me?”
“Naughty things to a naughty girl,” he said, grabbing my cheeks firmly, widening the area he was pleasuring. He bent to take me in, all tongue now, slow and languid. The wicked sensations pounded through my whole body. I was pulsating, engorged, on the cusp of coming without him even going near my usual places. Oh god.
“Do you like that?”
Half delirious, I could only answer with a sound. Then I heard a drawer open in the table beneath me, the crackling of a condom packet.
“Turn around, Dauphine. I want to look at your beautiful face while I fuck you senseless.”
And I did, in a trance now, eagerly flipping around to face his perfect torso. I had never seen a man built like him before, ripples on top of muscles, hairless, made just for this.
I propped myself up on my elbows, boldly watching as he unspooled the condom. He yanked my hips down to the edge of the table, teasing my cleft with his slickened head, inching it inside of me, then out again, never taking his eyes off me. He stopped every few seconds so I could yield to his thickness, helped by his wetted fingers across my clitoris. When he was fully inside, I collapsed back on the table, his hands now caressing my breasts, freed from the bra. My nipples responded, tightening under his touch. When he saw how turned on I was, he moved with greater urgency. I reached back and grabbed the other edge of the table for better leverage and then we became a blur of frantic thrusts. Oh yeah. So good.