I wake up when the sun hits my eyes, the light bleeding through the blinds, forming stripes on the covers. Looking over my shoulder, I see that Derek has vacated the bed and is no longer next to me. Hopefully he isn't a morning person, because I definitely am not.
What a weird feeling. I can't even think of the last time I woke up in a bed that wasn't mine. Don't get me wrong, I've been in a lot of beds, but this is new. My usual night is getting fucked at a stranger's house, then going home to masturbate because I didn't orgasm, but I never do anyway. Until Derek that is. Half of me hopes the fact he makes me cum isn't the reason I stayed. The other half knows it's true.
Pulling the sheet from the bed, I drape it around my body, the excess dragging behind me like a cape. This is the second time I've been here, but this is first time I've truly been here. Derek's room is very tidy, much like my own apartment. I bet he rolls his shirts and socks in the drawers. Sliding one open and I confirm my theory. There are a few framed photos on his walls, so I pull my blanket with me to examine them.
The first picture is a photo of a group of soldiers posing for a picture. There are roughly twenty of them, the first row taking a knee, the second row standing. All of them are armed with rifles, one soldier holding a flag of some sort. I recognize Derek in the middle of the group in the back standing. He's so young in this picture relative to himself now, and he was at least eighteen when it was taken. How old is he?
"That's my platoon from my first deployment to Iraq," Derek says from the doorway, holding coffee mugs in both hands, fresh warm steam billowing in spirals.
"You were in the army?" I ask, Derek nods as he closes the gap, handing me one of the cups.
"Wasn't sure on cream and sugar, so I left it black. If you need either I have it in the kitchen," Derek says. I take the cup, explaining I prefer it black and thank him.
"First deployment?" I ask.
"I did seven combat tours. Three in Iraq, four in Afghanistan," Derek says, gesturing me over to another picture.
"Infantry?" I ask.
"Ten years of my life. I joined up right out of high school, spent almost all of it as a Ranger," Derek says, as if I know what the means. It sounds fancy though.
"Ever get hurt?" I ask.
"Shot twice, blown up once," Derek answers. Blown up? "My truck got hit by an IED," He explains, as if he knew I needed that to be explained.
"That when you got out?"
"I walked away from the IED pretty unscathed. My buddy Douglas, not so much. Lost both legs, the IED was on his side, he took the brunt of it."
"Fuck," I say, mostly from an absence of anything else to say. What do you say to that?
"I got out, because my ex-wife couldn't handle the deployments anymore. Divorced a year later anyway," Derek says. He's divorced too. What am I walking into with him? Why am I framing it as if it's actually a relationship? I don't date.
"Any kids with her?" I ask.
"I have a son. He's six," Derek says, showing me a picture on his nightstand. He takes after his mother more, but Derek is present in the shape of his face and charm. I can see his charm even through a picture.
"What about you? Any ex-husbands or kids?"
"Barely any ex-boyfriends. I haven't dated since high school. I fuck, but I don't date."
"That's about where I'm at," Derek says, taking another sip of coffee. I finally noticed he's not even in pajamas, he's just dressed. Shirt and slacks with matching shoes and belt. God dammit, he is a morning person.
"You seem up and about already."
"I'm already working on a new case. Looking like it's probably a teen runaway, but investigation regardless. I'm about to go interview his parents," Derek explains, finishing his coffee without a final slurp.
"Thankfully it's my day off, unless I get called in of course," I say. Time to go home and sleep more. I work, I get fucked, and I sleep. That's my life.
"Want me to leave you a key so you can lock up, or should I wait?" Derek says.
"I'd rather not be seen swapping keys at the station, give me a few minutes," I say, dropping the sheet on the floor so I can begin the process of getting dressed.
"Not a smart idea to drop the sheet in front of me," Derek says, and I turned and smile.
"Your move," I say to provoke him. As if that takes much. Derek immediately throws me to the edge of his bed, me legs hanging off the edge. He lifts my legs up at my thighs and begins licking my slit and clit. Maybe I can get used to this.
Derek let's one leg fall so he can finger me, while flicking my clit with his tongue. I moan and grab his hair, gripping harder as I feel myself get closer and closer. If having a boyfriend for the first time in years means I have to put up with a guy who takes pride in making his woman climax, I can live with that.
The ecstasy climbs until it peaks. I mumble his name, the words becoming distorted as he slides his fingers in faster. I lose my breath as it take me over, my body tingling from the sensation.
"Fuck me," I beg more than say.
"I got to get to work, slip it to me at the station later," Derek says, dropping a key on his nightstand and leaving the room. What the fuck?
I gasp for air on his bed, leaning up to see the key on the table. If making me want more is his strategy, he's brilliant. I hear the door shut a minute later. Derek doesn't turn around as he walks away, making him even more desirable.
"You dick," I say to myself, laughing a little. I'm going to be so wet all day, I know it.
I get dressed a few minutes after he leaves. After locking the door behind me, I lean down and slide the key under his door. Not falling for that one.
When I arrive at my apartment I fall onto my bed after sliding my jeans and panties off. They're drenched. Reaching into the small box I keep on the shelf below my nightstand, I pull out my vibrator just to relieve some pressure. Reaching under my leg with my opposite hand, I finger myself while keeping the vibrator on my clit until I burst, but it's not as satisfying anymore. He literally ruined my ability to enjoy this part of my day.
When you know you can get the real thing, this loses its potency.
What can I do to get back at him? Suck his dick and stop when he says he's close? Not exactly in character for me, but that's why he wouldn't expect it. Am I really planning on sleeping with him again. Would that be considered a date? Why am I lying to myself? Of course I'm going to.
Looking at my phone, I grin and pick it up. Readying the camera, I pull my shirt up to reveal my breasts, then slide the vibrator in, snapping the picture with my eyes rolled back to show how much I'm enjoying it. I send it to him and wait.
'Someone seems to be thinking about me.' Is his reply.
'Not at all, just showing you what you missed this morning.' I type back. This is fun. I'm actually eager for his reply.
'That's what you missed this morning. You couldn't handle the wait.'
I'm not the girl who could hold sex at ransom to get my way, that's for sure. Worse, he knows that. He could hold sex at ransom. What is this relationship going to be like?
--
Derek solves the case, his initial assumption of it merely being a runaway confirmed as correct. I'm back at work, filling out some paperwork on a drunk and disorderly dickhead I arrested earlier today. I hear a light tap on my door and look up to see Derek holding the key to his apartment in his hand.
"Well played, took away my reason to find you to get it back," Derek says, me looking at him like he was playing with fire for having this conversation in the office. Oil and water, keep this divided please.
"If you're going to talk like that with me, close the door," I say, Derek shaking his head.
"You really don't want me to do that," Derek says, and he's right. No I do not. Just the optics of us alone with the door closed would arouse interest even if nothing happened. "Horizontal surface and all."
"Anything you need? Detective?" I ask, very cordial and professionally.
"Why aren't you a detective?" He asks. "You have all of the right instincts."
"Not interested."
"It's all street work for the most part. You noticed Monica's room was clean, so figured she probably didn't leave the softballs on the field intentionally."
"It wasn't just clean," I start, him smiling. "It was meticulous. I reviewed pictures, her text books were on the shelf of her desk, in alphabetical order. Who does that? Her clothes were all folded the exact same way. The shirts on hangers, were all exactly the same distance apart, which I think she measured with three fingers. Her bed was made, which means she didn't go to sleep that night. Even with that, she wouldn't wake up, struggling to sleep, then make her bed before going to the field to hit some balls in the outfield."
"That's what I'm talking about. A position in property crimes, is about to open in a few months. Take the detectives exam, you wouldn't even have to transfer to another precinct."
"Here is the reason I never have," I start, walking over to the door to see if anyone was close, then closed it. "This uniform is a cock blocker. If I literally let my hair down, some people may notice I'm a chick. I have an unfuckable façade, my work persona is asexual. I like it that way, because then it removes the temptation during work, when no one is trying to fuck me at work."
"It's career progression. Try making captain as a uniform. You'll be lucky to pin lieutenant by fifteen years."
"I've denied lieutenant twice," I reply, and Derek looks surprised.
"Damn, why?"
"Because I don't like that desk, and that would be more of my time than I like. I love the street, I like the danger."
"Then be a detective," Derek countered, and I groan and open the door. "I have the record for most on the job shootings at my last position."
"I wouldn't brag about that," I say.
