It kept right on thrusting without conscious direction from me, as I stared at Ivy and wondered if my illustrious career would come to an end in a makeout spot in East Bumfuck, NY.
Or maybe I’d get even more famous. It wasn’t as if she was married. Or I was. Or some other equally taboo scenario.
Minus the fact my bare ass was pointed at the window, I was sure there were far worse scenarios to be caught in.
Except I still hadn’t gotten off. And Ivy’s pussy apparently had better hearing than my cock.
“Rory, stop. Hello, stop. I’m not looking to get arrested.”
“But I’m not done.” Who was this petulant asshole talking? It certainly wasn’t me.
Especially since the door behind me was not locked, as demonstrated by the fact the cop opened it and tapped my…back with his nightstick. Not gently either.
“Did you hear me? This area is not zoned for public nudity.”
I almost asked which areas were zoned for such, but wisely, I shut the hell up.
“Let’s go. Pants on and IDs.”
I shifted and glared at the cop. I didn’t move fully off of Ivy, however, as I was not going to expose her naked bits to his prying eyes. Until she punched me in the gut to give her enough room to pull up her trousers.
All righty then.
I dealt with my own clothing and rued the day I’d ever agreed to this plan. Even a nosy Sage was better than being frisked by the police.
Ivy dressed quickly and dug out her wallet from her pocket. She withdrew her license and leaned over me to thrust it out the door to the cop.
The side of her breast brushed my chest and I nearly groaned.
Never had an orgasm seemed so unat
tainable.
“Ivy Beck? Is that you?” The cop bounced his flashlight over us again and she ducked her head, her gorgeous hair coming down to shield her face. I wasn’t sure when it had come out of its ponytail, but it was swinging free and wild now.
Similar to me, except there was no free. I was trapped in my pants like a snake in a vise.
“Yes, sir.”
“You work at the Rusty Spoon with Gina?”
Her again. Was this man connected with Miss “Name your price”?
It was nearly impossible to know who could be trusted. Everyone was out for a story and a payday.
“Yes, sir.”
The cop returned her ID. “And August is your brother.”
“Yes, Sheriff Brooks.”
The sheriff. Of course. God forbid we get a beat cop. Did places like this even have those?
“Look, can we get on with this? Clearly, you know she’s a local and I’m fairly certain there must be real crimes for you to attend to. Isn’t Woodstock happening near here again this year? What happened to free love?”
Ivy jammed her elbow into my shoulder.
“Where exactly are you from, hippie?” The cop tapped his baton on the top of the vehicle. “This is a rental car.”