Charlie Foxtrot (Code 11-KPD SWAT 5)

A thick, ruddy head followed by a luscious shaft.

I wanted to worship it in my dreams it was that good.

I’d never been one to think penises were beautiful, but Foster’s was just that.

I started to lean forward to capture the beauty in my mouth, but he stayed my movement with a palm to my belly.

“Stay,” he ordered. “I want to look at you.”

I didn’t know what he saw.

I knew what I saw, though.

My t-shirt had been pushed over my breasts, just barely revealing my rosy nipples to his gaze. My bare ass was pressed against the still cold tile, I’m sure completely clashing with the dark brown mosaics.

Then there was my hair.

Up in a messy bun that hadn’t been brushed in a day or two, my hair was a disaster.

Yet, Foster never once complained. He thought I was freakin’ beautiful. Something he made a point to mention at least once a day. Sometimes even more.

And that, more than anything else, was what turned me on the most.

Seeing the lust in his eyes was a complete turn on, and then some.

My hand snaked from my belly down to my clit as I started to circle it with a lone finger, hoping to urge him into action with the movement.

He didn’t move, though. Only watched me move faster and faster.

It was only when my hand moved to my nipple, and my eyes started to close in the beginnings of an orgasm that he finally thrust home.

It was such a surprise that I came, hard and fast.

The orgasm that had been upon me suddenly pushed me over the cliff so hard that I screamed until I became breathless.

He growled, dealing me punishing thrusts as he rode me through my orgasm.

It wasn’t long until he was coming, too. Spilling himself inside of me in long, rough bursts.

“Uhhh,” he groaned planting himself deep and freezing.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and my legs around his ass before pulling him towards me.

He dropped down to his forearms just above me and smiled at my sleepy, sated eyes.

“Nap time?” He grinned.

I nodded.

“Yeah, just have to find the energy to get there.”

In the end, we showered together, and then he took me to bed.

I’d thought we’d both fallen asleep, yet when I woke up an hour later, his side of the bed was empty, and had been for some time.***“You’ll let me be there,” I snarled at my uncle.

I really wasn’t budging on this.

After Foster had left the house so abruptly an hour before, I’d known that something was going on.

My uncle sighed and opened the door wider, allowing me into the interrogation room.

“Officer, my client has done nothing wrong. She’s in a delicate condition, and would like to go home to bed, where she’s supposed to be until she’s further along in her pregnancy,” the slimy lawyer said as I walked in the door.

Foster, who’d been standing in the corner with his eyes glued to the questioning taking place a room away, stiffened when he realized I was there.

“Blake…” he started, but stopped when I raised my hand up, halting his smooth tongue.

If the bastard thought he could fuck me and leave me sated in bed and I’d forgive him for leaving me, he had another think coming.

Mainly in the form of the silent treatment from yours truly.

“What’s happened so far?” I asked my Uncle.

My arms were currently wrapped around Molder who’d, of course, accompanied me to the police station via a laughing Downy.

The man thought it was hilarious that I ‘didn’t obey Foster.’ His words, not mine.

I just glared and refused to talk to him either.

I did think it was the cutest thing in the world when Molder started to bother the shit out of Mocha, Downy’s K-9 partner.

“Sorry man,” Downy said, breaking the silence. “I tried.”

“Uh-huh. She’s all of a hundred and thirty pounds to your two fifty. I’m sure you tried real hard,” Foster drawled.

Downy shrugged and took a seat next to the other members of the SWAT team.

Why they were ALL there, I didn’t know. Something I would’ve thought Foster would’ve told me. Especially since I’d thought it was agreed upon that he wouldn’t leave me out of the loop anymore.

Regardless, though, I was here now, and I was staying until I had some answers. Answers that a certain someone wasn’t giving me.

“Can you tell me why you have an apartment in your name when you’ve been with David here for quite a long time?” The detective asked.

“We use the apartment as storage. We had to condense both of our places down into one, and we’ve found it’s cheaper for us to keep paying the rent since she was contracted in,” David said, explaining it away perfectly.

“I actually looked into that myself,” the detective said. “I kind of thought that might’ve been the reason. The lease on the apartment was up two months ago. The cost of ‘renting’ the apartment was four hundred and thirty two dollars a month, yet neither one of you had that money coming out of your accounts. Nor do either one of you withdraw any money, so if that was the case, how’d you pay for it?”

“Uh-oh, spaghetti-o!” Downy teased, snapping his fingers in rapid succession. “O’Keefe’s got you, bitch!”

I looked over at him, and the crazy man had pulled out popcorn.

Where he’d pulled it out of, I didn’t know. I’d probably never know.

Silly man.

“Detective,” the slimy lawyer drawled lazily. “You can’t prove anything. It’s all circumstantial.”

Detective O’Keefe smiled.

“So you didn’t know that Quentin Ortiz was staying at your place?” Detective O’Keefe clarified.

David finally stood up. “Listen, O’Keefe. We both have alibis for that night. You haven’t found anything…”

“When was the last time you saw Quentin Ortiz?” The detective spoke over David, directing the question at Berri.

I snorted, covering my mouth at the fuming look taking over David’s usually very amiable features.

Foster’s arms wrapped around me from behind, and he rested his head on the top of mine.

He didn’t say a word, and neither did I.

We’d get to that later. For now, I was leaving it alone.