Double Standards, page 2
I sighed loudly but knelt to help her pick up her stuff. It was the least I could do, and judging by the tone in her voice, I could tell she wasn’t enjoying herself either. I looked at her as I grabbed her lipgloss and her phone, and was surprised at how young she was. She couldn’t have been older than her mid-twenties.
What surprised me was the evidence of wealth with the jewelry she was wearing. The distinct turquoise face of her watch gave away the brand, and the hearts hanging at the base of her neck matched. Either she had someone at home gifting her jewelry, or she had no shame in buying nice things for herself.
As she rose to her feet, her eyes met mine, beguiling blue to deep green. They blinked at me, wide and innocent. Her rich brown curls were pinned away from her face and complimented her skin tone. I fought the urge to look at her body, but her red and pink sequined dress that caressed her curves made it nearly impossible.
I wondered if she was a donor. Maybe a trust fund baby.
“S-sorry. I guess I should’ve looked where I was going,” she said with a nervous laugh, her lilting voice wavering slightly as her face reddened.
I didn’t expect my dick to stir the way it did at her chagrin. Perhaps it was the alcohol, or the realization that I was moving on from the woman who’d nearly destroyed me, but either way I was shocked that my sex drive was rearing its head at such an odd time. It had been a long time since… well, since anything sexual had happened in my life.
“I should have, too. Sorry your stuff went everywhere,” I replied to her. I instantly wanted to smack myself. Was that really the best I could do?
She shrugged, her bare shoulders raising just a fraction. “It was collateral damage. No harm done here.”
I smiled, surprised that she wasn’t more upset, but welcomed the sense of humor she was clearly displaying.
I forced my eyes to stay trained anywhere but on her body, or the sparkly heels that adorned her feet. Instead, I glanced at her name tag, hoping to find out her name so I could introduce myself. She beat me to the punch, though, with her next statement.
“Interesting name, might I add,” she cooed, amusement lacing every word as she pointed at my name tag. I had thought the same thing when I saw hers had feminine writing spelling out detective on her sticker—answering my earlier question. Not a donor, not a trust fund baby. I was instantly eager to know more.
“It’s not a very common one, and yet somehow I’ve met someone with the same name as me.” I matched her playful tone. “Can I buy you a drink, Detective?” I was bolder than I intended, but suddenly I wanted to stay and talk to her.
Her beauty struck a chord so deep inside me that I failed to remember to even ask for her name. Instead, I was rendered nearly stupid.
She simply nodded and followed me as I guided her to the bar. She sat on the stool next to me, and the dim lights at the bar reflected off her festive dress.
Between those glittering red-bottoms and that dress, she reminded me of Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz.
I wonder what it would be like for me to take her home.
I shook the thoughts away, and thankfully she spoke up before I could prompt the conversation any further.
“I don’t like putting my name on a name tag because it’s an easy way for people to remember my name. If I’ve made an impression like I’m supposed to, they’ll remember on their own,” she elaborated, and I was so distracted by her glossy lips that I couldn’t recall whether or not she had given me her name and I had just forgotten.
I looked her, intrigued at her explanation. “Oddly enough, that’s exactly why I do it, too,” I told her. The bartender approached us then, and I turned my attention to him. I nodded my head towards the female detective sitting beside me. “The lady can order first,” I said, ever the gentleman as I slid my card in his direction. He took it from me and then looked expectantly at the woman.
“I’ll take a scotch,” she said. I wanted to react, because I was accustomed to my wife ordering wine, or a cosmo, or any other variation of fruity and sweet. “Neat, please.”
Neat? Good God, who was this woman?
She glanced at me with one eyebrow raised, as if challenging me, but it seemed like an involuntary facial expression.
I ordered the same as her and complimented her taste in alcohol; what she ordered was actually my favorite.
She shrugged again and told me she needed something stronger to get through the night.
I nodded and agreed with her. “I just filed for divorce, and this is my way of celebrating.” As the words left my mouth, I wondered if it was TMI, but in that moment I didn’t care. It was the first time I’d said it aloud aside from making the decision with my attorney.
Her lips parted, likely to give a quip, but she elegantly closed it, thought for a moment, and responded with something personal. “Everyone’s rewarding me on a case I have to solve that’s eating me alive, and I honestly just want to forget it for a damn day.”
With perfect timing, the bartender set our drinks in front of us, and it felt appropriate to give some sort of toast to our awkward meeting and reasons behind drinking.
“To distractions,” I stated.
“To distractions,” she agreed before taking a large drink of her scotch. She gently ran her tongue over her lips afterwards, and the tiniest of lines formed on her forehead. To a normal person, they probably wouldn’t have noticed it, but my line of work required me to recognize these sorts of social reactions.
“So, which of the twin cities are you from?” I asked her, in part because I didn’t want her focusing on what she was trying to forget, and also because I just wanted to know more about her.
“Newark. I rarely come into New York,” she responded, disdain coloring her voice. “It’s too crowded for me.”
It was my turn to shrug this time. “It’s not so bad once you get used to it.”
“I guess that answers which city you’re from,” she giggled.
I looked at her with amusement. “You’re perceptive.”
“Can you be a detective and not be perceptive?” Her blue eyes reflected all the twinkling lights decorating the gallery we were in.
I chuckled at her response and took another sip. “I’m guessing you haven’t been a detective for long then, huh?”
She grimaced. “Only a couple of months. It’s that obvious, huh?”
I softly touched her hand, hoping I wasn’t crossing a line. “It’s not obvious. I’ve just interacted with a lot of ignorant and unqualified people in this profession.”
She blushed, her eyes flickering from meeting my gaze, to my hand on hers. She took a sip of her drink and then turned her body to face mine more. “So then I’m guessing you’re from this precinct, the Midtown North Precinct.”
I raised my eyebrows in surprise. “What gave it away?”
She cocked her head to the side. “You confirming it just then,” she admitted, then playfully hit my arm. It broke our hand contact, but I welcomed her touch. “But also with the way that you’re dressed, your watch, and your obvious comfort with our surroundings.”
I looked down at my watch, then back at her. “I don’t understand. You guessed where I live because of my watch?”
She reached for my left hand and turned it over to reveal my watch face. While it may seem strange that two strangers were being handsy at a professional event, it felt completely natural. “It’s a Tudor. This is an expensive brand, with impressive technology inside. This particular model is probably close to five grand. You’re wearing it in public, which indicates you know the area and trust you’re not going to get mugged. So, it was a safe bet that you either lived or worked here. You just confirmed it for me,” she explained, quite impressively.
I casted my eyes skyward, but caught her wrist before she could pull away completely. I turned her wrist over the way she did mine, and made my own observations. “This Tiffany’s watch,” I started, “is encrusted with diamonds. From personal experience I know how much this watch is. Paired with your Tiffany’s necklace, I could have made the same argument for you, but given how you said you’re from Newark, I would’ve been dead wrong. So, what, you wore these to indicate your success, make these rich folks feel comfortable with you, and therefore obtain more donations?”
She recoiled but smiled at me. “I normally don’t like being profiled, but somehow I don’t mind that you did.” She tipped her glass back and I watched as the remaining amber liquid slid down her throat. The elegant curve of her neck sent my thoughts spiraling in ways they shouldn’t. “So, since you’re from here, I’m guessing you know your way around this place.
Care to show me?”
I was shocked at her brazen offer, but I knew I couldn’t resist. I finished my drink and closed out my tab, then turned to her. “Shall we?” I offered her my arm, which she happily accepted.
We wandered away from the party in a tipsy stupor, and I guided her through the museum, showing her different pieces of art as we quickly rushed through the exhibits. She was right; I did know my place around this museum. My soon to be ex-wife owned a small art gallery and had many times dragged me through this place. While I didn’t mind because I was supporting her, I had a hard time understanding and appreciating other peoples’ artwork.
As we wound our way through the museum, I led her back to the employees’ only section, knowing there was an office back here.
I knew how bad this would look—two cops essentially breaking into a prohibited area of the museum to fool around? Now, not to be presumptuous of what this woman and I were about to participate in, but I had a pretty good feeling of where things were heading.
Surprisingly, the door was unlocked. We laughed as we snuck into the office and back into the copy room. I mean, what kind of Christmas party office hookup would this be if we didn’t do it in a copy room?
I flicked the light on and locked the door behind us. She glanced around before settling her big blue eyes on me. The look she was giving me caused my dick to stir once again in my pants. I was only twenty-six and it had been months, so it came as no surprise when I couldn’t resist my urges anymore. I reached out and grasped her waist, pulling her into me.
Her intoxicating smell filled my nostrils. The combination of oranges, vanilla, and hints of floral mixed with spice seemed fitting for Christmas and yet like sensory overload for me.
I carefully twined my fingers in the hair at the base of her neck, conscious to not mess it up as I did so, before I lowered my lips to hers. The cinnamon flavor of her lipgloss coated my lips and I suddenly craved more. I turned and flattened her against the door, pressing myself against her.
She matched my urgency and grasped handfuls of my hair as our tongues met, tasting sweetly of scotch and cinnamon. My hands ran down her back, cupping her waist, coursing over her hips. I appreciated every curve of the stranger who was about to expose herself to me.
After a few moments, she pressed her palms against my chest and pushed me away. I looked at her in surprise before she practically lunged at me, forcing me against the counters behind us. She clearly wanted to be in control of the situation… not that I minded.
My hand involuntarily tugged on the zipper of her dress. It slid down like butter, exposing her back to my overly eager hands. I felt like I hadn’t touched a woman in years, when in reality it had been months. She smelled so fucking good, tasted delicious, and felt like a forbidden fruit underneath my fingertips. I moaned against her mouth, and I felt her dress fall off her body.
I couldn’t resist looking. I opened my eyes and took in her strapless red lace bra and matching panties. I was so speechless I felt like leaving my tongue hanging out of my mouth like a dog. She had beautiful feminine curves, and the way her hair tumbled down her back caused things to unfurl inside me.
I eagerly pulled my suit jacket off while her fingers worked quickly at my bowtie and dress shirt. The second she pulled my shirt open, I felt the coolness of the air hit my skin, and I was so grateful for it because I felt like I was going to overheat from the tension between us. She pushed the shirt off my shoulders and tossed my bowtie on the counter behind us, then pressed her near naked chest against mine. The skin-to-skin contact caused goosebumps to rise on my bare skin. I reached for her, but she stepped back and out of the pooling of her dress.
She was unbelievably gorgeous, and she wouldn’t let me touch her.
Or so I thought.
Callie
I had forgotten what it was like to really be touched by a man. I was so accustomed to emotional intimacy like I had with my boyfriend Owen, rather than physical touch, that I felt out of my element with this stranger.
The libido I typically stuffed down to the point where it was nearly impossible to access was bubbling to the surface uncontrollably.
I should feel guilty for doing this. Owen had been nothing but good to me, but in the moment, I couldn’t see past my own desire.
So here I was, mostly naked in front of the most attractive man I’d ever met. I could see the lust in his eyes, and the bulge in his pants. He stood shirtless, while I was simply enjoying the view before me. The abs that complimented his torso were like something off a statue, and the tattoos that decorated his skin did things to me that I couldn’t explain.
I let him slowly approach me. He pressed his lips to mine and grabbed the ends of my hair, tugging to tilt my head back. My now exposed neck was open to him, and he leaned down and left a trail of wet kisses behind. My nipples were so erect they were nearly chafing; I pushed my chest out, grazing his. He groaned against my mouth and lifted me up onto the counter he was just leaning against.
While our tongues danced, I made quick work of his belt and pants button, pushing them over his hips so he was just as exposed as I was. He wore boxer briefs, tight fitting over his nice rear, which I gratefully cupped in my hands.
His smell seemed to surround me, like the earth, woods, and spices rolled into one. It was absolutely masculine and heady.
I slid off the counter and shimmied out of my panties, leaving me completely willing and ready for the taking. My upper thighs felt damp, and I didn’t give a damn about not using protection.
Since things with Owen were still new, I was still on the pill, so the idea of unprotected sex—and especially that from a married man—didn’t scare me at all.
He spun me around and bent me over the counter, then slid himself inside of me. I involuntarily moaned at how he stretched me in ways I didn’t know were possible. Over and over again he thrust inside me, hard, hitting my G-spot.
Within minutes I felt a familiar pressure building inside of me, one that I had forgotten existed after how long it had been. I gripped the edges of the counter and relished as his hands rested on my hips. Not long after I felt an orgasm rush through me, sending me spiraling into blissful oblivion. My insides quivered and my knees threatened to buckle, but for the first time in nearly six months I felt a release that I was in desperate need of.
As I came down from it, I felt him finish inside me.
We stayed like that for a moment as our breathing slowed. I still felt the warmth and tipsiness of the alcohol as he finally pulled out of me. I felt empty the moment he did. I straightened and turned to the attractive green-eyed man before me. I bent over and pulled my panties back on. Why I decided to wear a matching red lace set, I wasn’t sure, but I was grateful for it.
To avoid the awkward silence that typically followed, I blurted, “Should we high-five now?”
The other detective’s eyes flew open as he buttoned his shirt before lapsing into laughter. He had a wonderful, infectious laugh, and I grinned in return as we finished putting ourselves back together.
“You’re funny.” And with the way those dark green eyes smiled back at me, I couldn’t help the shiver that skittered down my spine.
“It was either that or thanking you for the tour.”
He laughed again and flashed his dimpled grin. “Well, I think it’s safe to say that’s probably the best tour I’ve ever given.”
I giggled and pulled my dress back up, turning my back to him and glancing over my shoulder. “Do you mind zipping me?”
“Not at all,” he breathed, reaching forward and gently zipping my dress. For the next few minutes we re-dressed ourselves, and after a final check of our reflections in the windows, we left the copy room and returned to the party.
I turned to ask for his name so I could potentially keep in touch with him, when I felt a sudden pull on my arm. I looked and saw Sophie grasping onto me. Her flushed cheeks told me she had drank quite at bit. She drunkenly glanced at the detective I’d just fucked before turning her attention back to me.
“Can you take me home? I’m ready to leave,” she slurred.
My mouth opened. “Of course. Sophie, this is Detective—,” I went to introduce the man standing beside me, letting him fill in the blank.
His eyes lit up, and it struck me why they felt familiar. They were similar to the color of the forest I used to go camping in as a teenager, and—
“I’m Li—”
“Oh my God, I can smell the sexual tension between you two,” Sophie interjected in a whisper-yell, leaning in close enough that I could smell the booze on her breath.
I tried to communicate with her using my eyes, but her gaze was unfocused. My eyes flicked over her shoulder and caught sight of Terry making his way towards us. I swore under my breath and snaked an arm around her waist to support her and threw an apologetic smile at the unnamed detective.
“I should get her home before our boss sees how drunk she is at a work event,” I said by way of explanation.
“I’m not druuuuunk,” she sang from my side.
A flicker of understanding crossed his features, along with a charming smile. “I get it. But hey, I had a great time tonight.”
I reddened. “I did, too. If you’re ever in Newark, I work in the Third Precinct.”
