Sinners are Winners (KPD Motorcycle Patrol 5)

“Stop!” I hissed. “This isn’t the least bit funny.”

He grinned and looked at me, then pulled out.

My breath caught in my throat as I watched the possessiveness roll across his face.

Then his eyes traveled south, as did mine.

I watched as his cock left my body, and with it a wave of milky fluid.

His cum.

“Fuck, that’s hot,” he said, his fingers that were still on my splayed thighs clenched.

His left thumb swept out and gathered some of the wetness, swirling it around and then sweeping it up to paint it across my labia, stopping for a second to thrum my clit as he did.

I clenched, causing more of the wetness to seep out of me.

“Shit,” he said. “If I didn’t know that people were looking for you…”

I snickered and pushed him back, eyes on his chest where I’d just put my hands.

“But we do know,” I said. “And my parents are out there.”

His eyes snapped up to meet mine.

“Parents don’t usually like me,” he admitted.

That was a surprise.

And I said as much as I jumped down and headed for the toilet paper that was sitting on the side of the toilet.Chapter 5Stay positive.

Don’t freak out.

People are assholes.

Why aren’t you wearing pants?

-Things Lock asks himself when he pulls people over

Lock

I watched her walk to the roll of toilet paper and pick it up, breaking about half the roll off before she cleaned herself between her legs.

“You better get dressed,” she said, looking at me watching her over her shoulder. “And there’s no telling how much privacy she will give me.”

She being the wedding planner.

My lips twisted again as I remembered how she’d interrupted us not once, not twice, but multiple times.

“You gonna fake a stomachache?” I wondered.

She gave me a roll of her eyes and pointed to the door.

“Get your clothes on, mister,” she ordered.

Grinning like a goddamn loon, I walked to the door and opened it.

That was when there was a loud gasp.

I looked up at the wedding planner.

“Ummm,” she said.

I closed the door so that only my head was poking out.

“Do you mind turning around so I can get this bag?” I asked politely.

The wedding planner turned.

“Thanks, dear,” I said as I opened the door.

Reaching down to get my bag, I pulled it up and covered my junk with it before closing the door once more.

When I turned around, it was to find Saylor staring at me in horror.

“So she’s already out there,” I offered. “No need to rush.”

Saylor’s cheeks went pink as hell, and that pink stole all the way down her chest as she tried to come up with something to say.

“You’re hilarious,” I snorted. “It’ll be fine. You’re an adult. I’m an adult.”

Saylor nodded. “That’s true. I am an adult. I’m allowed to have sex with hot cops.”

I grinned at her and started getting dressed. Once done, I hung my uniform up in my dress bag and watched as Saylor finished getting dressed.

“You never got those ten thousand bobby pins out,” I said. “Do you want me to help you with that?”

She studied her hair in the mirror, then shrugged. “I’ll get them out tonight.”

My eyes went down the length of her body.

She was in a tight black tank top and jeans, though the jeans she was wearing were filled with so many holes that they might as well be shorts for all they covered.

“What’s the point of jeans like that?” I wondered, leaning casually against the counter.

“Nothing,” she admitted. “I just like them.”

I studied her breasts that were puffed up and spilling out of the top of her tank.

They were on display and looked like they were practically begging for me to put my mouth on them.

I stayed where I was, though.

Despite wanting to go at Saylor again, I did have a reception I still had to attend, and somewhere in that reception were Saylor’s parents, whom I would be meeting by the end of the night.

“I forgot shoes,” she said disappointedly. “Shit!”

I looked at her cute little feet.

“My sister left some of her stuff in my truck when we visited the lake this weekend,” I offered. “I might have some shoes in there.”

She looked so hopeful that I almost prayed that I had some.

“I could wear those wedding shoes,” she said. “But they hurt my feet so bad that I almost would rather go barefoot.”

“I doubt that’d be a problem,” I admitted as I checked my watch. “But we need to head out there. The reception is starting in fifteen minutes, and people are going to be arriving.”

She went to put on her shoes, but I halted her when I saw the state of her feet. She already had a blister forming on not just the inside of her toes but the outside as well.

“I’ll give you a piggy-back ride to my truck,” I offered. “If nothing else, you can wear my Crocs that are in the bed of the truck.”