I was sitting in my study, staring at the uncooperative screen of my computer. Despite my best efforts today, very little of the thoughts that swirled through my head had found their way through my fingers. As a result, I was feeling a little stalled.

When I felt this way, time lost its meaning.

I don’t even know how long I had been sitting there, but a familiar sound brought me back out of my stupor.

It was a whine. Not from a dog, although there was one in the house, downstairs somewhere. No, this whine was mechanical, and accompanied by a low rumble.

Emily was home. I stood up, and saw her Mustang, a Roush stage 3, pull into our driveway. I felt the same way I felt every day when she came home safely.

Relieved. Lucky. Thankful.

I was already on my way to greet her when I heard her voice.

“Davis? Honey? I’m home,” she called. Her tone was happy. It wasn’t always the case.

Her face lit up when she saw me at the top of the stairs, and she opened her arms to welcome my hug. I embraced her, squeezing her tight.

Most of the time, that hug would have her soft, voluptuous chest pressed tight against me, but today, all I felt was body armour. While it wasn’t normal for her to wear it home, it wasn’t that unusual either, a result of simple geography. Sometimes, she was closer to home than her precinct at the end of her shift.

Despite the Kevlar, I held her close. My hands caressed her back, feeling the extra mags for her service weapon in the back pouches of her vest. My arm detected that weapon in the holster under her left arm.

“Glad you’re home, baby,” I whispered in her ear, reluctant to let her go.

“Mmmmm, me too, honey,” she said, softly. “Long day.”

I had learned long ago, that asking her about that ‘long day’ was a double-edged sword. While I was interested in her job, there was plenty she couldn’t tell me, there was plenty she was trying to shield me from, and plenty I really didn’t want to know. It gave me a whole new appreciation for the police. They do an absolutely impossible job, day after day, for a public who don’t give a shit about them, largely because they, the public, don’t know how bad it really is out there.

Well, I, for one, now know how bad it is, and it scares the crap out of me. For almost three years, since Emily and I had met and fallen for each other, I had wondered, every time she left, if I would see her again.

She had warned me. She told me, very early in our relationship, that the prospect of loss was exactly why she had steered away from getting involved in the past. We had mutually decided to risk it, but still hadn’t actually tied the knot.

Things had improved, somewhat, since she had left the uniform division. Early on, as Constable or Officer Brewster, she had been on the front lines, driving a cruiser around by herself. In our area, cops didn’t have partners, like they do on TV. Apparently, we were better off than some parts of the country.

In reality? Not so much. I was reminded of it every day.

Like today, for example. Emily headed upstairs to change, and I followed, planning to help her. She let me help her off with her jacket, then turned to face me, smiling as she watched my eyes wander across the bulletproof vest that obscured her form.

There had been occasions when that same vest had been a sexual costume. Picture a beautiful, naked, buxom woman, riding your cock, while wearing such an anachronistic outfit as that armour. Modern necessity meets the most ancient of urges. Now I realized how foolish that attitude had been.

Peeling back the velcro that held it in place, I slid the vest off, then began to unbutton her blouse. She turned her back, letting me roll the fabric over her shoulders. There it was.

A reminder… of the day I came home in the early afternoon, to find her sitting on the couch. It was too early for her to be home, so I figured something was wrong, and I was right. The sling on her right arm confirmed it.

Six hours earlier, she had been called to the scene of a break-in. Backup was on the way, but hadn’t arrived before she was confronted by an armed suspect. Fortunately, she was faster than he was, and her aim was better. Her bullet hit a more vital area than his did. He would live, but was in no shape to keep her from cuffing him.

With one hand.

The other hand, her left, was incapacitated by his bullet. It went through her hand, on the way from the gun barrel to the front lawn of the house, via her left shoulder.

At the hospital, x-rays had shown that somehow, almost miraculously, the projectile had missed every bone in her hand, and nearly every one in her shoulder, merely nicking her clavicle. Her wounds were considered non life-threatening, and after several dozen stitches, and plenty of bandages, she was sent home.

My opinion of her injuries was slightly different. To say I was shocked, and scared shitless, would be an understatement. The bullet had gone through the velcro strap, above the kevlar. A few inches lower would have tested the vest. A similar distance to the right would have made it a moot point, probably killing her.

Emily took it all in stride. It was her first wound, but not news to her. She had plenty of colleagues that had similar stories, and spouses with similar reactions.

Now, as I bared her shoulder and was faced with the scar of the exit wound, I was wondering if I would ever get used to that feeling of dread. I kissed the blemish, which was much more distinct than the three other wounds. The front of her shoulder was much less upsetting, and her hand was hardly noticeable, but I still had to open bottles for her, until the strength returned.

I sat on the bed, and watched her put her weapon in the gun-safe we had installed in our closet. She was now nude, and it was an oddly sexy picture of her handling the gun to render it safely unloaded. With the safe door closed and locked, she walked into the bathroom. I heard the water of the shower start.

“Care to join me?” she asked, peeking around the door frame.

This was our life. We had made a deal, almost three years ago, that she would be as careful as possible, and that I would confine my worrying to while she was away. I wasn’t to let those fears contaminate our time together. To do so would be a waste of what might be a finite resource.

I stripped quickly, and walked in, finding her already under the warm spray. She smiled, still with eyes closed, and turned to snuggle against my chest, sighing as I wrapped my arms around her. We leaned against the shower wall, enjoying the warmth and closeness for a few minutes, before she tipped her head back, silently asking for a kiss. I was happy to comply.

Emily’s body was what first attracted my attention. Along with her sparkling eyes, her spectacular curves were hard to miss. Now, I considered it a very fortunate bonus, as I couldn’t picture my life without her in it.

“You know I love you, right?” I said softly, caressing her wet skin gently.

“Mmmmm hmmm,” she nodded, rubbing her cheek against my chest. “I love you, too.” When she kissed me again, I felt the stresses of the day melting away in her. I also felt her hand, which had found my semi-hard cock and was stroking it to a full erection.

She slipped slowly down my body, dragging her wet chest across my stomach, then lower, until her boobs were pressed against my thighs. I felt her tongue flutter over the head of my dick, and moaned.

“Oh, Emily, darling, yes,” I sighed, as her mouth engulfed my cock slowly. If the shower was her way of unwinding after a difficult day, then this was her way of helping me do the same. She knew that I had been worrying about her, all day long, and this was a reminder that she was home safe,

Besides, she really liked giving me blowjobs, and she was very, very good at it. Along with every other aspect of sex, Emily was all I could hope for. I was lucky.

I watched her head bob slowly, feeling the exquisite combination of heat, wetness, and suction that marked her oral stimulation. She was moaning softly as she went, enjoying it nearly as much as I was, if that’s possible.

“Go ahead, baby,” she smiled, using her hand for the moment. “Cum for me. You know I love the taste of your salty juice. Give me what I want.” Having said that, her mouth went back to work on my cock, sucking expertly. Emily was virtually made to suck cock, with her plump lips and wide smile, that made it easier to accommodate my fat dick. She certainly knew what to do to me, and within minutes, I could feel my cauldron beginning to bubble.

I put one hand on her head, grabbing her wet hair for leverage. Her eyes opened, peering up at me through the spray bouncing off both of us, and she put her hands on my hips, signaling her surrender. She was letting me finish at my leisure, if leisure was what I wanted.

Some days, yes, but not today. Today, I was more interested in feeling the release, as quickly as possible. My hips began to thrust reflexively, gliding my cock in and out between her succulent lips. It was a treat for my eyes, as well as my hard meat.

Now with both hands on her head, I fucked her mouth deep, causing her to gag occasionally, but her hands, which had moved around to my ass, made no move to stop me. With a final lunge, I held her head close, and spewed into her throat.

“Oh, FUCK!” I grunted, blasting semen over her tonsils. She coughed, spitting up saliva and gooey sperm, then took over, clamping her lips around the shaft and sucking hard. My cock flexed over and over, and she moaned with each salvo that surged into her mouth. I leaned back against the tile, and let her slurp up the dregs, cleaning up the overspray. She released my softening penis, and stood up.

“Mmmmm, thank you, baby,” she smiled, rinsing under the warm water.

“Oh, um, sure,” I panted, bracing my unsteady stance by sliding into the corner. “You’re welcome. Anytime.”

After our shower, we went downstairs and made dinner together. It was another of our little rituals, letting us be close to each other while we did something that needed to be done anyway. We took our time, cuddling and caressing each other frequently, and taking any excuse to rub together. It was lots of fun, and acted like extended foreplay.

So did the flirty behaviour during dinner. From our first date together, she had always found a way to rest her breasts on the table during our meals. She knew I was a sucker for those beautiful boobs, and took advantage of that knowledge. She would stretch her arms over her head, and arch her back, thrusting that magnificent chest out against the thin cotton of her t-shirt. Her pointy nipples punctuated the move, as did her mischievous grin.

Later, snuggled together on the couch, we relaxed and watched a movie. I had the good fortune of being involved with a woman whose taste in movies ran more in the action category, rather than chick-flicks. Occupational interest, I suppose, but it was another thing we had in common.

So was our scathing critique of many movies. As a writer, I could recognize places where the screenplay could have been improved, largely artistic tweaks. Emily had much more technical issues. Procedures were her pet peeve, along with gun related effects.

“I understand why they do it,” she would smile. “It needs to be visually impressive for the audience, but I’ve been shot. It doesn’t look like that.”

Yes. I know you’ve been shot. Thanks so much for reminding me, as if that didn’t already race through my head every time a character takes a bullet. Especially a female character. An attractive female character, with long brown hair.

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’ve had enough,” I yawned. “I’m going to bed. Are you coming?”

She arched her eyebrow, and gave me a crooked grin.

“Am I… cumming?” she giggled. “Not just yet, but I’d love to.”

A few flicks of my thumb turned off the TV and DVD player, and I followed her through the lower floor, killing lights as we went. I was within reach of her sexy rump as we walked up the stairs to our bedroom, and didn’t waste the opportunity to get in a few gentle caresses. She enjoyed my touch, slowing her pace and swinging her hips in an exaggerated fashion. Her lounge wear was thin cotton, and did nothing to deflect my hands.

It also came off quickly, and when Emily reached up and peeled her top over her head, it set her breasts bouncing nicely. The shorts lasted another two seconds, leaving her nude and beckoning me toward her, as she took a position on her back in our bed.

During our earliest encounters, I discovered that my delicious Emily had a few kinks. She had taken a vibrator in her ass while I fucked her pussy, a form of double-penetration that did as much for me as it appeared to do for her. We had done the opposite, on occasion, with her taking a huge dildo in her pussy, and my thick shaft in her ass. She was very uninhibited.

Then there was the brass swivel in the centre of our headboard. Hanging from the loop… a gleaming, silver pair of handcuffs. Not just your garden variety, sex-shop handcuffs either. These were the real deal, exactly like the ones she carried on her belt while on duty.

When she surrendered control, it was with absolute trust, but tonight the cuffs would be left unused. Tonight, she wanted to be worshipped, and I was fine with that.

About an hour of blissful intercourse followed, as we rolled around on our king-sized bed in various positions, gently stroking and thrusting, while moaning our enjoyment of the act. This was pure love-making, and I felt her have at least three, deep, trembling orgasms before her tight, clutching pussy finally drew a huge load out of me. Afterward, we lay in the dark, holding each other close. My hand was absent-mindedly stroking her shoulder, over her bullet wound.

“Are you obsessing, my love?” she whispered, and rolled on top of me. Her eyes glistened in the ambient light as she looked down at me.

“Hmmmm? No,” I smiled. “Okay, maybe a little. I can’t help it. I love you. I don’t want to lose you.”

“I appreciate that,” she said softly, and kissed me. “I love you too.”

When I met Emily, I obviously knew she was a cop. I recall the day clearly, watching her slink around my backyard, looking for an escaped prisoner, pistol drawn. She was in uniform then, driving a patrol car.

I’m sure you’ve heard about those people who moved in next to any airport, then complained about the noise. Well, I’m not one of those. I knew what I was getting into, and who I was getting into bed with.

Then I fell in love with her, and she with me. It made that conscious decision to risk the danger a little more difficult to live with. It also made her impossible to live without.

So, with my emotional life firmly wedged between the proverbial rock and a hard place, I bit my tongue as much as possible, and tried not to be too obvious when I worried about her.

Three years together also meant that I now knew lots of cops. Dozens, in fact, and most of their families, as well. I wasn’t alone in my position as the spouse of an officer. Since the force was predominantly male, that made me a minority in the sisterhood. We formed a support group, official and otherwise, for each other.

I was very happy when Emily made detective. I know it’s a minor consolation, but it seemed less dangerous, somehow. Patrol officers are much more likely to happen upon a crime in progress, and as Emily can attest, sometimes that leads to gunfire. Detectives are normally assigned to a crime that has already occurred. They solve cases, using information. When they go to make an arrest, it is normally in force, rather than alone.

So, the promotion got her off the streets, in a way, but she was still a cop… and being a cop was always dangerous. We were reminded of that fact in a very undesirable fashion.

I was at home one morning, when the phone rang. Now, any time the phone rings while Emily wasn’t home, my mind immediately assumed, if only for a split second, that the worst had happened. My logical self dismissed that feeling as pessimistic, and that would be correct nearly every time. However, one of those calls had been bad news already. How many times does it have to happen before pessimism becomes a natural conclusion? I took a deep breath, and answered it.

“Hello?” I said. The voice on the other end was hysterical, sobbing, gasping, and distraught. It took me a few seconds to figure out who it actually was.

Celeste Robinson was the young wife of an equally young officer in Emily’s precinct. We had known each other for a little over two years now. She was part of the sisterhood, and an attendee at most of our official meetings.

Like most similar group-support organizations, the whole idea was to provide a safe environment, where one could openly share fears, concerns and feelings that needed to be let out. Emotions that can be overwhelming when faced alone tend to shrink to manageable levels when you have others standing beside you; even completely rational and legitimate fears, such as those common among the spouses of police officers. It was a place to bare one’s soul, without judgement.

Celeste had certainly done that, often. I knew things about her and her husband that I probably shouldn’t have. Since I was the only guy in attendance most times, I had been anointed an honorary female, and the girls didn’t hold back. I mean, not every conversation we had revolved around worrying about police issues. About the only time I was expected to be a man was when someone needed a hug, and it seemed I had held all of these women nearly as much as I held Emily, if for somewhat different reasons. It was a service I enjoyed providing.

So, when Celeste called, despite her hysteria, I knew what had happened. The details weren’t important right now. She was in need, and had called on me.

I sent Emily a text, telling her what I knew so far, and that I was going to spend some time with Celeste. She replied with a succinct ‘I understand’.

Now, I’m not an undisputed expert on women, but I don’t think a lot of wives would choose to have their husband holding a grieving widow so soon after the fact. Emotions were sure to be in flux, but Emily knew she didn’t need to worry.

There were three reasons she could be secure. Primary among them, was the fact that I loved her. I knew it, and she knew it. I wasn’t looking for anyone else, on the side or otherwise. Second, Celeste really wasn’t my type. My tastes tended to run taller, and more top-heavy; in other words, just like Emily. Celeste was quite petite, and while she was pretty curvy for a tiny woman, I thought of her more as a sister.

The third reason was voiced more as a joke, but still applied, despite its origins. Most people don’t take betrayal well, and in my experience, women hold that grudge longer than men do. While a man may be more likely to act on the anger, a woman’s wrath is frightfully personal. Having heard a woman once threaten to “cut his dick off with a butter knife if he cheats on me”, I tend to believe it. With that in mind, why would I provoke a woman who regularly obliterates the ‘ten-ring’ from ten yards out, using her Glock 17? Do not poke the bear with a stick.

Arriving at Celeste’s house, I took a deep breath before ringing the doorbell. Inside this house, a woman I knew well was living out my worst nightmare. The door opened, and there she stood, eyes red from crying. She was dressed, but just barely, having received the bad news while still in bed. As soon as she saw me, she collapsed, and I caught her under the arms, then scooped her up. I kicked the door shut, and carried her inside.

Heading to the sofa, I looked down at the light load weeping in my arms. In the process of catching her, her night shirt had come askew, and now was pulled up higher than she would like, if she was aware of it. A small tuft of curly, blonde pubes sat above her little camel-toe, bared by the situation, along with most of one breast which had slipped through the neckline. One soft, but delicious looking pink nipple drew my gaze.

I felt a little guilty seeing her like this. She was hanging limp, and clearly didn’t know she was on display. As her friend, I tried to look away, and once we reached the couch, I laid her down, and rearranged her clothes, giving her back her modesty. I covered her with a blanket, then went to get a cool, wet cloth to clean her up. When I returned, her eyes were open again.

She tried to smile, but it was a weak attempt, and she let me wipe her face soothingly. Her tears had abated for the moment.

“I’m so sorry,” I said softly, kneeling beside the couch.

She nodded, and her lower lip quivered, signaling the return of a wave of painful emotions. She held her arms out, asking for a hug, which I gave her. I felt her sobbing uncontrollably, and held her close, letting her get it out.

I was having very mixed emotions, myself. Holding a beautiful, emotionally vulnerable woman, and feeling her soft body against mine, I admit that a small part of me was enjoying the contact. That led to guilt. Both Emily and Celeste were trusting me not to take advantage of the situation.

Mostly, I felt her pain. There, but for the grace of God, go I. I only hoped, that should the day ever come when I needed the same kind of support, that someone would do the same for me.

And then I prayed that day would never come.

I spent a few hours with her. We talked. I listened, piecing together what had happened to her husband. Messages from Emily filled in some gaps. From what I could gather, it appeared to be a routine traffic stop. Both the suspect and Robbie’s cruiser were on the shoulder. As Robbie approached the driver’s door, an inattentive driver, passing by at full speed, strayed from his lane, just enough to matter. The contact bounced Robbie off the suspect’s car, and into traffic, where the following vehicle struck and killed him.

It was a tragically stupid way to die, and made me grateful that Emily’s traffic days were behind her. Just one less potential danger, in a world rife with them.

I was just getting some food into Celeste when my relief crew arrived. Three other women, all police spouses, took over. They were going to bathe her, dress her and then take care of her further. As much as I might have liked to watch, I was glad to be leaving at this point. I was exhausted.

Back at home, I was happy to find Emily already there, and in one piece. She greeted me at the door, as though I had been the one at work all day. Just another one of the myriad of things I loved about her. She knew it had been a rough day for everyone involved, and was concerned about me.

“How’s my darling?” she asked, stroking my hair softly as she hugged me.

“Better now,” I sighed, holding her tight. She was soft, and welcoming, wearing her workout gear. “I really missed you today.”

“I know, baby,” she whispered in my ear. “I wish I could have been there to help you. Everyone’s in shock downtown. Is Celeste okay?”

“No, but she’s got someone there all night tonight, to look after her. Somehow, we’ll get her through it,” I said, as we walked through the house toward the kitchen. “The funeral is going to be really tough for her. It’s a good thing she doesn’t have to plan it.”

Robbie’s funeral would be a full, official police tribute, and the department had staff whose very unpleasant job it was to take care of such things. The normal schedule would have it taking place in three days, and they had far too much occasion to practice.

“Promise me you’ll never put me through this?” I begged, slumping on a stool at the island in the kitchen.

Emily came out of the fridge with a drink for me, and stepped into my embrace.

“I’d like to, honey, I really would, but you know I can’t,” she said, rubbing my back. “The best I can do is promise to be careful, and you have my word on that. Are you hungry?”

“Yes,” I nodded. The topic of danger was a contentious one for us, but she understood my concerns, and I understood that it went with the territory. The alternative was life without her, and that wasn’t really life, in my opinion.

I sat there, zoned out, while Emily made a very nice sandwich for me. She slid it across on a plate, then came to sit beside me, encouraging me to eat.

“Come on, sweetheart, you need to eat something. I know you’re tired, and emotionally exhausted, but if you don’t eat, you won’t be much help to Celeste tomorrow,” she prodded. “You know, I’m very proud of you, stepping up like that when she called. I know it’s not easy for you, but you put the needs of others ahead of your own comfort. That’s pretty special. It makes me love you even more.”

The sandwich didn’t last long once I decided to eat it, and Emily gave me a kiss before she took my hand and led me upstairs.

“Let me take care of you, now,” she smiled, unbuttoning my shirt. Her hands caressed my skin softly, followed by her lips, as she peeled the garment away. Her eyes were full of love. “Here, honey. Why don’t you just crawl into bed, and I’ll be back in a minute to look after you? You’ve done enough for today.”

I have to admit, I liked the sound of that. After spending the day with a woman who inadvertently flashed me repeatedly, and who had been mashed against my chest for a considerable period of time, it was nice to be allowed to act on those built up urges. I stripped, and slid into bed, eagerly awaiting Emily’s return.

She walked in, her hair brushed, and tucked into its bedtime ponytail. She was still dressed as before, if you could call a thin layer of spandex being dressed. She paused, and gave me a little smile as she slowly tugged the short zipper, that held the front of her top together, downward. More and more cleavage peeked out, until only a few zipper teeth held back the swell of her firm breasts. She stretched both arms over her head, and inhaled deeply.

It was more than the zipper could stand. The elastic effect of the spandex pulled away, and her chest bounced free.

“Oops!” she giggled, swinging her shoulders. She knew how I felt about her tits, and jiggled them enticingly before my eyes, in an effort to raise my spirits, as well as another part of my anatomy. It worked. I smiled, and my dick twitched under the covers. She shrugged the top off, and turned away to skin the tight shorts off over her hips, giving me a view of her sexy ass, and the juicy pussy peeking out as she bent over to step out of them. Now nude, she lifted the sheet and crawled in beside me.

“What would you like, darling?” she asked, a playful grin on her face. “Or shall I surprise you?”

“Lady’s choice,” I smiled. Being here with her was already melting the day away. Whatever she chose was sure to finish the job.

“Mmmmm. So many options,” she purred, rubbing her luscious chest against me. Her hand found my cock, and she began to stroke it gently, moaning as it grew in her grasp. “Well, why not start with something tried and true?”

Yes. No need to re-invent the wheel, when her mouth could already send me to heaven. She slid slowly under the sheet, moving ever closer to the throbbing shaft in her hand. I felt her warm breath, then the moist tip of her tongue. She kissed up and down the length, top and bottom, then even licked my balls, before I finally felt her lips on the head.

They parted slowly, and my cock slid deep into her warm, wet mouth. Her tongue swirled around teasingly. She sucked, and stroked, in a smooth, gentle rhythm.

Emily had shown me her considerable oral skills on more occasions than I could count. She had given me the fast version, which proved to be more than I could resist. She had also shown me her patient side, in a blowjob that took nearly an hour to reach its extremely explosive climax. That one had made me cum so hard my balls ached for two days. This one appeared to be leaning toward the latter. Either way, I knew it would be good.

“Oh, Em, honey… that feels terrific,” I moaned. A moan of response came from under the sheet. The bulge which was her head rose and fell slowly. I relaxed, and let her do as she promised; take care of me, and needs I had suppressed throughout the day.

Her mouth was magical. I swear, I’d kill for one of her blowjobs. Fortunately, Emily wasn’t one of those women who viewed sex as a reward for bending to her will. To her, it was its own reward.

This was definitely one of her best efforts. It was… luxurious. I merely laid back and let her take me to heights I didn’t know existed. She had a tight grip around the base of my cock, choking off the exit for both semen and blood, making my erection harder, and even more purple than usual. Her moans of enjoyment mixed with my own. My balls were throbbing, desperate to empty the load that was building to explosive levels.

“Oh, fuck, Emily, you’re too much,” I groaned, fighting the urge to thrust my hips. It only made my agony more exquisite. “Let me cum, honey, or I’m going to burst the plumbing.”

She looked up at me, those deep, brown eyes piercing my own. I begged, without saying a word, and she winked at me, shifting her position slightly to take me deeper. She plunged her head forward… once, twice, and on the third she released her grip.

“Oh GOOD GOD!” I gasped, as what felt like gallons of hot cum erupted into her sucking mouth. “FUCK! OH FUCK! SUCK IT BABY!”

The edges of my vision grew fuzzy, like a white tunnel closing in, and I continued to spray her throat with spasm after spasm. Emily just groaned, and kept swallowing, gulping and stroking with her hand. If there was a male equivalent to the multiple orgasm, I think I was having one, and she just kept on sucking, even after there was nothing left to expel. Her fingers tightened around the base again, and I knew she was trying to keep me hard, so she could have some fun, too.

Surprisingly, it worked, and even though I was rendered incapable of the simplest tasks by the post-orgasmic haze, my cock remained viable, and she quickly climbed aboard, stabbing my saliva coated shaft up her dripping cunt.

“I hope you don’t mind,” she moaned, “but I just have to have some more.”

“Nmo proleb, hep, yo sef,” I mumbled succinctly. It made perfect sense in my head, but somewhere between my brain and my mouth, the signals got a little messed up.

“Did I break you?” she giggled, grinding her pussy down harder.

Rather than try to speak and fail again, I put my thumb and forefinger up, in the universal gesture for a ‘little bit’.

“Well, just hold it together for another minute, baby,” she smiled, fucking herself desperately. I watched her boobs bounce and jiggle. Under normal circumstances, I would have been compelled to grab them, and suck on her deliciously tall nipples, but that required a level of coordination I had not yet re-acquired.

So, I just laid back, and took in the show. It took a little longer than the advertised minute, but it was worth the wait. I mean, my cock was totally numb, so I wasn’t actually feeling much of anything, but Emily obviously was, and judging by her vocalizations, it was good for her.

“Oh, fuck, yeah! I just love that big, hard cock! It’s so fucking good!” she groaned, pounding her wet pussy up and down with feverish need. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Oh yes! So close! Oh, baby! Yes! Yes! YESSSS!”

Her body shook and twisted in ecstasy. Despite my distinct lack of involvement in her orgasm, I still felt the warmth of knowing she had cum, and when she leaned forward to rest on my chest, I wrapped my arms around her. She moaned softly, and snuggled tighter into my chest. Soon, she rolled off, and took her place beside me, close under my arm.

Sleep came quickly, bringing an end to a very difficult day. There would be more.

The funeral was as nice as a funeral can be. One might almost call it inspiring, with all its respect, and ceremony. If only it weren’t for the coffin, the folded flag, and Celeste’s tears.

Emily was at my side, of course, in full dress uniform. Again, if not for the somber circumstances, I might have had different emotions. She always looked spectacularly hot in full dress.

As we paid our respects, Celeste wrapped me in a warm embrace of gratitude. I had spent parts of the last three days with her, and would be spending many more. Grief has no timetable.

“Thank you for coming,” she said softly. “Both of you. Davis, I appreciate your support during this whole thing.” She surprised me by kissing me, full on the lips. She held the kiss for a few seconds, then released me, and turned to Emily.

“Your husband is a very good man. He’s helped me through a lot, and I hope I can continue to count on his friendship,” Celeste said, taking Emily’s hand. “It is my sincere hope that he never has to go through this with you. Please, be careful out there, for both your sakes.”

“Of course, and thank you,” Emily nodded, her eyes moist. “I promise. Don’t hesitate to ask for anything. Anything at all.”

Celeste clung to me for the duration of the ceremony, until we passed her off to others, who took her home in the limo. Satisfied she was safe, we walked silently, arm in arm, back to our car. I was riding shotgun today, and once we were inside the quiet of the car, we sat, listening to each other breathe.

“You okay, honey?” I asked, touching her hand. She was looking straight forward, eyes unfocused in the distance. A tear rolled down her cheek, and her lower lip quivered.

“That poor woman,” she whispered, grabbing my hand firmly. “I can’t imagine how I’d manage without you.”

“I think that’s my line,” I replied, equally gently. “Unless hangnails have the potential to become fatal, I think you’re safe. I’m the writer. You’re the cop.”

“Yes, smart ass, I’m well aware,” she smiled, weakly. “It’s just… what she said. The thought of either of us going through this pain… I mean, I know it has to happen eventually, but not now, and not soon. Maybe in another fifty years,” she squeezed my hand, “if you can put up with me that long.”

“I think I’m willing to risk it,” I smiled. “I won’t promise anything beyond fifty, though.”

“Okay, okay,” she nodded. “I guess that’s fair. So, let’s do it.”

Huh? It took a minute for me to sort that one out. We had talked about it, but had been living together long enough now that we were legally a couple, anyway. Actual marriage had been put on the back burner. Maybe it was being moved back up front.

“Are you asking me to marry you?” I giggled. “Aren’t you supposed to get down on one knee?”

“Not in my dress uniform,” she smiled, the previous sadness replaced by happiness. “I just had it cleaned.”

“Alright, I’ll let it slide this time,” I laughed, “but only this time.” We laughed together for a moment, then I had to clear the air. “You’re sure you want to get married? This isn’t the funeral talking?”

Emily sat for a few seconds, then turned to face me in her seat. Her eyes were piercing when she spoke.

“I won’t lie to you. Is it because of the funeral? Maybe a little,” she said, directly. “But that isn’t the real reason. It just reminded me that we have unfinished business, and that I love you more than ever. Yes, I’m sure I want to get married. We’ve waited long enough.”

Of course, having waited long enough didn’t mean we wouldn’t have to wait a little bit longer. Emily’s relatively recent promotion to lieutenant had put a pile of open investigations on her desk, and a few of those were at a critical juncture.

Meaning we couldn’t get away right now, but we could plan for the opportunity. The opportunity which came about, in part, through Celeste.

As the phrase elucidates, “What goes around, comes around”. Most people only pull that one up when someone does them wrong, and they’re looking for some potentially divine intervention. However, it has a positive spin, as well.

As a thank you for helping their daughter through her tragedy, Celeste’s parents offered us the use of their villa on Maui, at the Grand Wailea. To call them luxurious accommodations would be an epic understatement. While the villa itself was located on higher ground, a few hundred yards from the beach, it did have an ocean view. Guests in the villas had full access to all the amenities at the main resort, a destination regularly considered one of the most beautiful in the world. If there’s a better place to pledge your eternal love for someone, I’d like to see it.

So, with the location for the ceremony set, it was just a matter of when. After much crunching of schedules for Emily, the date was set. In three months, we would wing our way to the Aloha State, and three days into our two-week stay, tie the knot, in what was sure to be a very memorable event on the beach, near sunset.

All we had to do is be safe until then.

Easier said than done.

There was a time, during our lives, when police operations were a purely male domain. Whether because of narrow-minded politics, or simply because women hadn’t yet discovered that particular line of work, men did it all.

Including dressing up as female targets in mugging or rape stings. We’ve all seen the comedies where Bubba Smith is in a dress, complete with mustache intact, trying to attract criminal activity.

That’s great for TV and the movies, but most criminals aren’t quite that blind. Even the most petite and effeminate male officer still walks like a guy.

That was then, of course. Now, they had the real deal to choose from, and female officers regularly put their safety in even greater danger during these special operations. Emily had done it in the past. In fact, one of those ops was instrumental in promoting her to detective. Turns out bad guys found her irresistible.

They weren’t alone in that opinion. I made it clear to her that I wasn’t thrilled with the prospect of her doing it again, and that I wanted her back in one piece, with the same number of holes in her as she started with. Alas, my opinion was carefully considered, then weighed against the fact that the police might be able to rid the streets of a particularly nasty man. It wasn’t a real guilt-trip, but it did make me feel a little selfish. In the end, she volunteered, and planning began for the operation.

Emily was going to be the bait, but in this case, they knew the type of fish they were hoping to land. In fact, they had a reasonable idea of the specific fish. They even knew his name, and address.

None of which made it any less dangerous for my future wife, but it did allow them to focus their attention better. I wasn’t supposed to know any of this, of course, but cops have to unload their baggage somewhere, and when Emily talked, I listened.

Three women had been raped, in the same area of town. Grabbed from behind, clubbed, and dragged into an appropriate, filthy place, none could identify their attacker. However, each was able to provide a small piece of evidence; a hair on one, scraped skin cells on another, and a small smear of blood from the one that fought back the most. Two of the victims had survived.

DNA analysis showed that all three were attacked by the same man, but he was unknown to police, as his DNA was not on file in the system. It appeared that the cops were going to have to wait for another victim, and hope to get lucky with a witness. So, the investigation stalled.

Months passed. All of this was before Emily’s involvement, so while she was aware of it, I was only given the basics. Then a fourth victim was assaulted, and a fifth soon after. The big break came, not from a witness, but from a sharp-eyed lab technician. She noticed that, while the mystery attacker wasn’t in the system, and his samples didn’t match anything on file, they did have several markers in common with someone who was known to police.

Enough markers to extrapolate a high probability of familial commonality.

The scumbag was someone’s brother, and that brother had a record.

That’s about the point at which Emily volunteered. She was his ‘type’, as all the women had been brunette, and slender.

Under normal circumstances, the evidence so far might have been enough to bring the suspect in for questioning, but the circumstances were not normal.

The brother on file, whose name I was not told, had been picked up for driving under the influence of alcohol. He was convicted, despite the extreme measures his family went to, in an effort to save their name. Now, because they had lots of money and a moderate amount of power, they had closed ranks. Both the sons hid behind their parents, and the small army of lawyers that kept the cops away.

Meanwhile, the circumstantial evidence kept piling up. Now that they had an actual suspect, they could compare known whereabouts to the crimes. A pattern surfaced, as the months of dormancy were found to coincide with the whole family being abroad. Someone pulled some strings and found out that at one of the family’s destinations, a similar attack had taken place.

Circumstantial or not, it was beginning to look like they had the right guy under investigation, but no judge was willing to open the can of worms that this family had become. ‘Give me more, if you want a warrant’ they all said.

So, the police observed, as best they could, without being obvious. They compiled surveillance, from several sources, and figured out the suspect’s patterns.

Then they dropped Emily in the water, right under his nose.

To say I didn’t like it would be redundant. I hated it. Every second she was out there, I was a nervous wreck, even though she had walked me through the safeguards they had in place.

Wireless earpiece and microphone.

GPS tracker, sewn into her bra, along with a tiny camera, which recorded onto a chip, likewise secreted in the garment.

A safe-word… ‘pumpernickel’… unlikely to come up during regular conversation, but enough to call in the cavalry.

Her Glock was replaced by a much smaller weapon, and would be in her purse, well hidden, should the need arise.

She would be supported by several other officers, and watched from various vantage points.

I still hated it. Yet, it went on, day after day, establishing Emily as someone whom he might like to, um, meet.

And, nothing happened.

Well, actually not quite nothing. She did nab two attempted purse-snatchers, but it was hardly worth the effort. I was beginning to worry that the repetitive failure might lead to complacency.

In retrospect, I’m glad I didn’t know about it right away. Finding out after the fact was bad enough, and finding out the way I did was nearly enough to stop my heart.

There was a knock on the door, and I answered it to find one of Emily’s friends, a fellow detective, standing there.

“Scott? No!” I gasped, bracing against the door frame.

“No, no, no! It’s okay, Davis, she’s fine,” he said, putting his hand on my shoulder. “We got him. She got him. She just sent me to get you, and bring you to her. It’s all good.”

I leaned forward, hands on knees, and caught my breath. Scott waited patiently. Once my pulse dropped to the three-digit range, I grabbed my coat.

“Where are we meeting her? The station?” I asked, following behind him.

“No. That’s why she sent me. She doesn’t want you driving upset. We’re going to the hospital,” Scott said, with reassuring steadiness. It didn’t work.

“Hospital? You said she was fine?” I balked.

“She is. I promise. But the asshole didn’t go quietly. Emily has a few bumps and bruises, so she’s there to get checked out. Just procedure,” Scott smiled, closing my door and walking around to the driver’s side.

Why didn’t I believe him?

Walking into the hospital, I saw several officers I knew, and everyone was smiling. Okay, that eases my mind a little. It’s doubtful that they’d be smiling if she was in danger.

Scott led me to the door, and patted my back.

“Delivered safe and sound,” he laughed, and stepped aside.

There, in a bed, was Emily. She looked good, if moderately worse for wear. When she saw me, she smiled.

“Got the bastard!” she grinned. I stepped closer, and hugged her. She was going to have a black-eye. There was a bandage on her head, and her previously damaged left shoulder was in a sling again.

“Can we get you a job as a security guard at an old age home?” I asked. “You’re killing me, baby.”

“Aww. Don’t worry, honey,” she giggled, kissing me softly.

“Easy for you to say,” I nodded. “Are you going to tell me about it, or do I have to read it in the papers?”

“I’ll tell you,” she agreed, “but you have to wait for my head to stop ringing. Oh, and you have to let me tell it, without interrupting me with your worries. Deal?”

“Fine,” I sighed. There was no use arguing. I had learned that most things were best done her way, even sex.

Mmmmm. Especially sex.

“May I assume that you are benched for the near future?” I asked, gesturing to her shoulder. “I get to take care of you?”

“Yes, my love,” she smiled. “Looking forward to it.”

“Where are your clothes?” I asked, glancing around the room.

“Over on the chair,” she said, tilting her head. “Police sweats. Everything I was wearing is now evidence. So am I, although I’ve already been processed. You just missed the lab rats. They swabbed, scraped and sampled every inch of me. I’d like to see his family get him out of this one. He’s fucked. I hope his cell mate is a black guy, with a huge dick, and a fanny-fetish.”

A few minutes later, a doctor came in, and I stepped out to let them talk. When he left, a few minutes later, I went back in.

“Still alive?” I laughed.

“Yes. You’ll have to put up with me a little longer,” she giggled, and handed me a prescription. “Could you get this filled for me, honey? There’s a pharmacy on the main level, and I’m waiting for a nurse to give me a shot. My shoulder is killing me. It hurt less when I was shot. When you get back, I can probably go home.”

“Can do,” I smiled, and kissed her carefully. “Don’t go anywhere.”

I scooted out the door, into the hallway. Scott was still there, as were a couple of uniforms, posted at another door.

“Told you she was fine,” Scott smiled, as I approached. “The bastard is in there,” he pointed to the uniforms guarding the door. “She fucked him up pretty good. Serves him right.”

I paused. Part of me wanted to see the man who hurt my baby. Another part thought it would be best left alone, and that’s the part that won today. I’d hear the details later, from Emily. Until then, I had pills to get.

Despite the lineup in the pharmacy, I was taken to a side counter, and the script was filled immediately. Seems word had made the rounds that a hero cop… a female hero cop… had taken down a serial rapist. The pharmacist smiled as he passed the bottle to me.

“You tell her we’re proud to help,” he nodded.

Within minutes, I was back at her door. I stuck my head in.

“Pssst! Wanna buy some drugs?” I smiled, shaking the bottle like a rattle.

“Mmmmm, if they’re like the shot I just received, then yes. Definitely,” she smiled back, a woozy expression on her face. “I feel great. I wanna fuck. Come on. Do me right here.”

“I think that’s the morphine talking,” I laughed, picking up the sweatpants off the chair. “Let’s get you dressed, and take you home.”

“Then you’ll fuck me?” she slurred. “I really want you to fuck me.”

“Well, we’ll see,” I smiled. She bared her legs, and I saw the bruises, and scratches. One thigh had a couple of deep gouges, covered by a bandage. I also saw her pussy, thankfully undamaged. I slipped the pants up her legs, and helped her to her feet, then tied the waist snug.

“You’re doing it wrong,” she giggled. “If you’re gonna fuck me, you’re supposed to take things off. Like this!”

With surprising dexterity, she whipped the hospital gown off over her head with one hand, leaving it hanging from her damaged left shoulder. Her upper body was equally scraped, and a bruise across her neck showed where he choked her. Her breasts looked red, and sore.

“Oh, honey,” I winced, pulling the gown off, and the sweatshirt on. “I think you need to rest for a while.”

“You don’t want to fuck me?” she whimpered. “I really need you to fuck me. I need you to… to want me.” Her tears flowed.

I held her gently, and let her let it out. She cried for several minutes, while I soothed her and whispered reassurances in her ear. I knew this would happen eventually, but I didn’t think her armour would break while we were still in the hospital. I suppose the drugs might have played a part. Her strong, brave exterior was covering a frightened woman, and it was the woman I loved.

As her emotions eased, she recovered, and pulled back with a sniff.

“Sorry, I got you all wet,” she giggled.

“I needed a shower, anyway,” I replied, rubbing her back. “Let me get a chair, and let’s get you home, okay?”

“I’d rather walk,” she smiled, standing up.

“If you’re sure?” I asked.

“I am,” she said softly, “but I will take your arm.”

So, we walked out. Slowly, but defiantly. Scott and the two uniforms both gave Emily a round of applause.

“Thank you, thank you,” she smiled. “No autographs, please.”

I was so proud of her.

We had a couple of quiet, restful days at home. Emily slept, a lot, and I watched her. I fed her. I bathed her. I took care of her.

And I waited. She told me she would tell me what happened, when she was ready to do so. I knew she would, but my patience was running out. I tried not to let it show, or to let it effect us.

We were in the den, watching TV again. She was laying on her side, with her head in my lap, while I stroked her hair. She sighed, and rolled on her back, looking up at me. Several seconds of silence were broken at last, by the words I had been waiting for.

“Thanks for being patient, honey,” she said softly. “Are you ready to hear about it?”

I managed not to scream ‘yes! For God’s sake!’, instead keeping my reaction to a respectful nod.

“Okay. Help me up, please?” she asked, offering her right hand. Her left shoulder was out of the sling, having been only partially dislocated. I took her hand, and together we got her sitting upright. I waited, and finally she began.

“Hmmm. Where to begin?” she smiled. “Well, as you may know, we had him under surveillance for quite some time, figuring out his movements and schedule. That’s how we knew where to put me. Anyway, as well as tracking him, we needed to give him a schedule to figure out, so he would know where I would be. It took some time to establish that I ate my lunches in that park on sunny days, and walked through it on my way home. Because we were watching him, we knew he was watching me, and I had a pretty constant narrative running in my ear, telling me how close, and where he was, relative to me. There was only one blind spot, and he found it.”

“Wonderful,” I snarled. She touched her fingertip to my lips, silencing any further comments from me.

“He’s a criminal, and a scumbag, but he’s not an idiot. If he was, we’d have caught him already. So, I’m walking along the path, and I hear ‘Unit 3 is blocked’, which means my extra eyes, watching from a high-rise building with binoculars, have lost me behind some trees. Thud! I get hit from behind, and grabbed around the neck. He dragged me through a gap in the bushes, I guess, because by the time my head cleared, I was laying on my back in the grass. My left arm was bent behind my back, and trapped under me. That’s how my shoulder got hurt, I guess.”

I tried not to picture my darling in such a vulnerable position, at the mercy of a sex crazed lunatic. However, since she was here, and telling me the story, I suppose she might not be quite as vulnerable as it appeared.

“I probably should have just used the safe-word, right then. If we caught him like this, we’d have our sample to compare to the other victims, and his family wouldn’t be able to do squat. But, I wanted to nail his ass, beyond any doubt. So I, said nothing. I could hear the other officers, checking with each other, and alerting everyone to my last known location. They were moving in already, safe-word or not. It all happened pretty fast after that.”

I leaned forward, my attention riveted. Scott said she fucked this guy up pretty good. I wanted to hear about it.

“He was on his knees, between my legs, and he ripped my blouse open. I almost wanted to tell him to smile, because the camera in the bra now had him dead to rights. He groped me with his left hand, then went to choke me, while his right hand ripped my panties off. He was unzipping his pants when I’d had enough. I saw my opening, and went for it.”

I had winced when she mentioned being groped, and having her underwear yanked off. She touched my hand.

“It’s okay, baby. I’m fine,” she comforted me. “I bridged up, lifting my hips, and grabbed his left hand, pulling him off balance. Because his right hand was low, undoing his pants, my left leg went up on his shoulder, and I locked my right knee over my left ankle.”

I had seen this before. It was an MMA staple, called a triangle choke. It was even better if you could get the arm out, but still quite effective with the arm trapped. Of course, in an MMA fight, the choke-ee would tap out, before passing out. Emily had no intention of releasing this one until he was out cold.

“I pulled it tight, and even got my right ankle under his body, so his own weight just made it tighter. I felt his collarbone snap. His right hand was scratching and clawing at anything he could reach, hence the marks on my legs. I remembered the safe-word, and growled ‘pumpernickel, mutherfucker’, about the time he went limp. I held it for another few seconds, then kicked him off, and stood up. I was able to get my boobs back in my bra, with one hand, before my backup arrived. Since his pants were around his knees, I gave his dick a parting stomp, just as they came through the bushes.”

I winced again, this time in sympathy, albeit not much sympathy. I was just happy it wasn’t my penis she was stepping on with malice. The rapist deserved it.

“Anyway, that’s about it. My arm hurt like hell, but now that I wasn’t laying on it, it eased a bit. The boys gave me a clean jacket, so evidence on me wouldn’t be contaminated, and called me an ambulance. I asked Scott to pick you up, and he brought you to the hospital. End of report.”

That was just fine with me. It was over, and now I knew what had happened, so all we needed to do from here is figure out how to get back to normal.

During the days of silence, I had done a lot of thinking, putting myself in her place. While I knew that she was much stronger mentally and emotionally than I was… it came with the job… there was one inescapable fact. She had been sexually assaulted. Maybe it wasn’t a surprise, and she had known it would happen for weeks, but still it had happened. A traumatic experience like that can’t just be swept aside. If it was me, I would have trouble separating the pleasurable side of sex from the memory of the assault.

So, how could we get past it?

I had a feeling this was one of those times when communication would be even more important than usual. Silence can so easily be misinterpreted by a mind that is in a state of emotional turmoil. We needed to talk it out, every step of the way.

“Darling?” I said softly, as we held each other in the dark comfort of our bed.

“Mmmmm hmmm?” she replied, snuggling against my chest.

“Can we talk about how to proceed from here?” I asked. “I don’t want there to be any misunderstanding.”

“Go ahead,” she breathed. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”

“I just want you to know that I love you, and nothing has changed that, but I feel like I need to walk on eggshells right now. If I step back, and give you space, you might think I don’t want you, which is not true. If I act normally… Well, he kind of muddied the waters, there. I’m afraid to touch you the wrong way. I don’t know if I should just let you tell me when you’re ready to be physical again, or just show you that I feel the same way I always have. What do you want me to do?”

Emily was silent, but I felt her tremble, and the warmth of a tear on my chest. I waited for her to compose herself.

“Davis, honey… I don’t know what to say,” she sniffed, and rolled to face me. I could see the trails of her tears. “Thank you for making the effort to understand. That’s why I love you, because you do things like that. I wish I could give you an answer, but I really don’t know right now. Part of me wants space, to heal, and part of me wants to feel you inside me again. I didn’t think this assignment would fuck us up like this. I’m sorry, baby.”

“Don’t worry, honey,” I smiled, pecking her on the nose. “We’ll get through this. We still have a wedding to attend.”

I looked into her eyes, and marveled that this beautiful, caring woman had chosen me to spend her life with. Her eyes closed, and she pressed forward touching her lips to mine gently. It wasn’t the first kiss since the incident, but while those were meant to support, this one was different. She pulled back, eyes open again, then sighed, and came back with an emotional tidal wave, crushing our mouths together. Our lips parted, tongues tangling in a re-assertion of our love.

Desperation overpowered all else, washing away the uncertainties we both felt. It had been several days since we had made love, and neither of us were willing to wait a minute longer. Emily yanked at the t-shirt she was wearing, dragging it off over her head with difficulty, but off it came. We embraced again, moaning our desires, and I felt her hand searching out my cock, which was straining against the fabric of my underwear. She pulled it clear, and rolled on her back, guiding it to her entrance.

“Please,” she hissed, and I pushed inside her, as our mouths met again. She groaned, and clawed at my ass, urging me deeper with each thrust, until our hips met, and my cock ground against her clit. “Oh, god, yes! I need this!” she whispered, wrapping her legs tight around me. “Do it, baby.”

I suppose the general thread of our previous conversation might be viewed as ‘when the time is right, we’ll know it’. Well, it was screaming NOW! at the top of its lungs. If the assignment had tainted sex for us, now was the time to change that.

It was almost as though we were starting over, and the excitement and desire was palpable. I tried to remember to be gentle, due to her bruises and wounds, as well as her mental scars.

I gave her long, slow, deliberate strokes, which made her moan with delight. She held me close to her body, whispering sweet directives in my ear.

“Mmmmm, yes darling. I’ve missed this. The closeness, and intimacy. Thank you for giving me space. Thank you for trusting me. Thank you for loving me. I can’t tell you how much having you here for me has meant. I was afraid that this particular assignment would damage our relationship, but you showed me it didn’t have to. I love you so much.”

We were ‘us’ again. I didn’t need to hear the words. I could feel it. While she wasn’t really a rape victim, she was the next best thing. I suppose that should be ‘next worst thing’. Only planning, training, and close support had kept her from becoming more victim than arresting officer.

Emily kissed me hard. I could sense her body beginning to quiver.

“Oh god, baby, that’s it! Right there! Right there!” she grunted. “Harder! Fuck me harder! I want it! Make me cum!”

Now that was more like my Emily. I felt a flood of relief, and did as she asked, drilling her faster, and deeper. I also felt a rush of excitement. My fears now seemed unfounded. Emily was safe, in my arms, and apparently unchanged by the incident. She was grunting and moaning happily as I pounded into her sopping wet depths, and I knew she was close to orgasm.

I was almost there myself, having been swept up in the moment, and I gritted my teeth in an attempt to hold back the inevitable. I turned my head, and saw the look of bliss on her face, eyes shut tight, as she concentrated on the pleasure she was feeling. That look was too much for me, and I lost it, slamming home once more before I erupted, with a roar.

Emily’s eyes opened wide in surprise, then closed again, as she smiled and gasped at the arrival of her own orgasm. We ground our hips together, each of us caught up in milking every ounce of pleasure from the other, both of us panting hard at the effort. I flooded her pussy with a huge load of sticky goo, and she drenched me with a wave of her own fluids. It seemed it would never end, but as we both felt that surges waning, we looked into each other’s eyes.

“Mmmmm, yes… thank you…darling,” she smiled, caressing my face with one hand. The other hand held my ass tight, not willing to risk me pulling out, while she undulated her hips and worked my shaft against her clit for a few more seconds.

I rested on top of her, catching my breath, and thinking about what I wanted to say to her. She read my mind.

“Let’s go to Hawaii next week,” she suggested. “I could use the extra time off, and no one will deny me the vacation. All the reports are filed, and the trial won’t be for months, so there’s no time like the present. Do you like that idea?”

“I do,” I replied, with a giggle as I realized I’d be repeating those very words in a few days.

A vacation in paradise, with my beautiful Emily. My world. My life. My wife.

My hero.

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