Bang Switch (Code 11-KPD SWAT 3)

When the light beyond the door turned on, I braced myself for a good confrontation.

What I hadn’t expected was for the door to be opened by another man.

He was built.

I knew that because he was wearing nothing but a pair of underwear.

His body was impressive.

Perfect six pack abs, lean and defined. He was also tattooed, and I liked tattoos.

Then there was another one. He looked much like the one who’d answered the door, but more bulky.

Oh, and his underwear were red instead of black.

The final one to show behind the two men was the one I’d originally been after, but suddenly my ability to produce cognitive speech was gone, and it its place was a stuttering idiot.

Was he gay?

I’d never expected gay.

I’d expected womanizer, but not gay.

Holy shit!

Now all those nights spent listening to him moan wasn’t quite so bad, knowing that they were all doing each other.

Then my mouth, tired from the lack of sleep I’d gotten over the past four days…and hell last month, stopped filtering properly.

“You know, if you’d let me watch, I’d never complain about y’all waking me up again,” I blurted.

They didn’t say anything, and I could see confusion on all of their faces.

Of course, my brain, the poor thing, couldn’t shut up.

“I never pictured you as gay,” I said, aiming that comment to the man behind them all with his arms crossed.

With that, I left before I could further embarrass myself.

Except, I never made it past my door before my waist was caught up in a hold that lifted me up off the ground.

The man behind me had a steel band for an arm. I squeaked as I was pulled up to Downy’s hard chest, while the front of me was pressed against the wall.

My hands went forward, trying in vain to push off against the wall to no avail.

However, Downy was much more powerful, and his superior strength was forcing me into the wall. I had no other recourse but to collapse or my arms would give out.

His hand traveled up underneath my shirt, coming to a rest just above my pubic bone. Flattening his palm until it was pressed from hip to hip. His pinky finger tickling the hair covering my mound.

His hard body pressed against me, thighs to chest, as he said, “I’m not fucking gay.”

With that parting comment, he ground his hot, giant cock into my butt.

Not long, but long enough that I could feel it before I was abruptly let go, and he was gone.

I heard him walking away, but I couldn’t muster up the energy to move.

My heart was beating a mile a minute, and all I could do was pull in deep, aroused breaths as I replayed the previous ten seconds over and over again in my mind.

Holy shit, he’d moved fast.

And not only had he manhandled me, but I’d liked it.

I mean really liked it.

When I finally found the gumption to move, I pushed against the wall and stood up straight.

The shirt that had been pushed up as his hand moved underneath fell, covering my ass once again as I walked blindly into my apartment.

I walked straight to my room, and collapsed onto the bed.

My hand traveled down to rest where he’d rested his, and it was only then that I remembered that I was naked underneath my shirt, and he’d felt it. He’d also seen it since my shirt had stayed hiked up over my ass as he’d walked away.

“Oh, my God,” I gasped. “I’m a hoe!”***Three hours later I was still thinking about the altercation as I served my sixtieth cup of coffee.

Which was why, when he came in only moments later with the full force of the KPD SWAT team at his back, my face flamed.

I turned away quickly, but the man and his sharp green eyes lasered in on me.

I wondered if he’d been among the ones that had saved me. I only knew at the time it’d been Kilgore SWAT.

I wondered if he knew the one that had shielded me with his body a few months ago during the worst workday ever.

The job that I’d lost because the owner of the law firm had died. And my job, as well as my apartment, had taken a hit as well.

After the shooting, the main partner, Mr. Pierson, had died of wounds sustained during the standoff.

His wife had decided to sell her share of Pierson, Tide and Associates. Since Mr. Tide could no longer afford to keep me, I’d lost my job. And shortly after, my apartment.

At least I still had my car, but that was only because I’d cashed in my bonds I’d gotten when I was a kid, using them to pay for my college for this semester, my car note for three months, and my new apartment for five.

Now I was working at a diner in town called The Angry Goose Diner.

For the most part, I liked it. Although, it was a lot of work.

I was the only other server besides the owner.

The owner also didn’t do half the stuff that I did.

However, I guess that was a perk of being the owner and all.

I couldn’t say that I’d do the same in her position, but I could say that I understood.

The positive side of it all was that I got to keep all the tips.

Regardless, it was me who had to go up to the table of men since I could tell Jessica wasn’t planning on doing it.

Mostly because she saw them come in, pointed to a table in the back of the room, and then proceeded to continue flipping through her magazine while her husband and I slaved away.

A table of men in which three of them I’d accused of being gay not even twelve hours earlier.

They still looked just as jacked with clothes on as they did without.

Out of the nine men, all but one was sizing me up as I walked towards them.

When I reached the table, my eyes automatically found Downy’s and I had to will myself not to blush.