Chapter 1: The Unlocked Stall
The radio on my belt crackled with static before spitting out a voice I barely registered. Complaints about noise levels, a possible fight near the bar, someone's wallet gone missing. Standard Friday night bullshit. I pressed the button, muttered something noncommittal into the receiver, and kept walking.
The hallway leading to the bathrooms smelled like bleach trying desperately to cover up something darker. Old beer. Sweat. The kind of desperation that seeps into drywall and stays there. The fluorescent lights above me buzzed like dying insects, flickering enough to make the cracked linoleum shift under my feet like it was breathing.
I just needed to check the bathrooms. Quick sweep. Make sure nobody was passed out or bleeding or dead in a stall. Then I could get back out there and keep pretending I was just another guy having a shitty night at a shitty bar.
The men's room was clear. Empty sink, empty stalls, the faucet dripping in that steady, annoying rhythm that makes you want to break something.
That left the women's room.
I pushed the door open, my hand already reaching for the radio to call it in and move on. The door swung inward with a groan, and the smell hit me first—stale perfume, something floral and cheap, layered over something older. Something wet. The kind of damp that settles into the walls and never leaves.
And then I saw her.
She was perched on the toilet seat in the last stall, the door wide open like she didn't give a damn who walked in. Her legs were spread, one booted foot planted on the floor, the other resting on the toilet rim. Wild dark curls spilled over her shoulders, catching the harsh light and turning it into something almost soft. Her green eyes locked onto mine the second I stepped through the door.
She didn't move. Didn't flinch. Didn't even blink.
"Well, well," she said, her voice low and smoky, like she'd been saving it just for me. "Took you long enough."
I froze with my hand still on the doorknob, the radio crackling in my other hand. My brain was screaming at me to do something—say something, look away, call for backup—but my body wasn't listening. She was watching me the way a cat watches a mouse that thinks it's hidden.
"Ma'am," I started, but the word felt wrong in my mouth. Too formal. Too official. She tilted her head, a slow smile spreading across her face.
"Ma'am," she repeated, drawing the word out like she was tasting it. "That's cute. You always this polite with strangers, or am I special?"
The radio crackled again—someone asking about the noise complaint—and I thumbed it off without thinking. My eyes were still locked on her, and I couldn't seem to make them stop. She was young, younger than I'd expected. Nineteen, maybe twenty. But the way she carried herself, the way she looked at me like she already knew every move I was going to make, that wasn't young. That was something else entirely.
"Are you okay?" I asked, forcing the words out. "You need help?"
She laughed, and the sound was sharp and bright, cutting through the buzz of the fluorescent lights. "Depends. You offering?"
The door was still open behind me. I should've stepped out, called for a female officer, let someone else handle this. Instead, I let go of the doorknob and heard it click shut.
Her smile widened.
"There you go," she said, uncrossing her legs and leaning forward, elbows on her knees. My eyes caught the line of her throat, the way her collarbones caught the light. "I was starting to think you were gonna be boring."
"You shouldn't be in here alone," I said, and my voice came out rougher than I meant it to. "It's not safe."
"Safe," she repeated, like the word was funny. "You worried about me, Officer?"
The word hit me like a slap. I felt my face go blank, and she saw it. Of course she saw it. Her smile turned sharper, more knowing.
"Relax," she said, waving a hand. "I saw the way you keep touching your hip. The walkie-talkie's a nice touch, but the shoulder holster's a dead giveaway. Also, you're way too sober to be here." She tilted her head, studying me. "So. What's your name, or should I just keep calling you Officer?"
I cleared my throat, trying to pull myself together. "Jake."
"Jake," she repeated, drawing the name out. "That's a good name. Solid. Trustworthy." She stood up, and I realized how tall she was—not tall, exactly, but she took up space in a way that made the room feel smaller. "I'm Sable."
"Sable," I echoed, and she smiled again, like she'd won something.
"Sable Vance," she said, stepping closer. "And I've been waiting for a cop to come in here all night. I was starting to think I'd have to go find one myself."
My throat tightened. "You've been waiting for a cop?"
"Uh-huh." She stopped about two feet away, close enough that I could smell her perfume—something sweet and dark, like vanilla and smoke. "I got caught doing something I shouldn't have been doing. And I figured I'd cut a deal before anyone else got involved."
I forced myself to ask the question. "What were you doing?"
She bit her lip, and for a second—just a second—she looked almost innocent. Then the look passed, and she was back to watching me like I was the most interesting thing in the room.
"That's the thing," she said, stepping closer. "I was doing something that would probably get me a citation. Minor stuff. Nothing serious. But I really don't want to deal with the hassle, you know?" She reached up and tucked a curl behind her ear, the movement slow and deliberate. "So I figured I'd offer you something better."
My heart was pounding. I could feel it in my throat, in my temples, and she was looking right at me like she could see it. Like she knew exactly what she was doing to me.
"I'm not—" I started, but she cut me off.
"You're not what?" She took another step, close enough that I could feel the heat coming off her skin. "You're not interested? Or you're not allowed?"
She reached out and placed her hand flat against my chest, right over my heart. Her palm was warm, her fingers splayed wide like she was feeling my pulse. I didn't move. Couldn't move.
"Wow," she whispered. "You're really not used to this, are you?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Bullshit." She smiled, but it wasn't mean. It was almost... curious. "I can feel your heart going crazy, Officer Jake. And I can see the way you're looking at me. Like you're not sure if I'm real."
I should've pushed her away. Should've told her to step back, that she was in violation of something, that this whole situation was wrong. But her hand was still on my chest, and the warmth was spreading through my shirt, and I couldn't remember the last time anyone had looked at me the way she was looking at me.
"I'll make you a deal," she said, her voice dropping to a murmur. "You don't write me up, and I'll give you something to remember me by."
"Sable—"
"Shhh." She pressed a finger to my lips, and my whole body went still. "You talk too much, Jake. You don't strike me as the kind of guy who gets what he wants by talking. Straight to the point. Am I right?"
She was right. She was completely right, and I hated how much that rattled me.
"What," I managed, my voice barely a rasp, "do you want?"
Her smile turned dangerous. "I want you to watch," she whispered. "Right here, right now. I want you to stand there and watch me touch myself, and I want you to remember that you could've had this. You could've had all of it. But you'll never get another chance."
She stepped back, and her hand moved to the hem of her dress. The fabric was dark, maybe black, maybe deep green—I couldn't tell in the shitty light. She gathered it in her fingers, slowly, deliberately, and started to pull it up.
"I'm not—" I started, but she cut me off.
"You're not what?" She took another step, close enough that I could feel the heat coming off her skin. "You're not interested? Or you're not allowed?"
She reached out and placed her hand flat against my chest, right over my heart. Her palm was warm, her fingers splayed wide like she was feeling my pulse. I didn't move. Couldn't move.
"Wow," she whispered. "You're really not used to this, are you?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Bullshit." She smiled, but it wasn't mean. It was almost... curious. "I can feel your heart going crazy, Officer Jake. And I can see the way you're looking at me. Like you're not sure if I'm real."
I should've pushed her away. Should've told her to step back, that she was in violation of something, that this whole situation was wrong. But her hand was still on my chest, and the warmth was spreading through my shirt, and I couldn't remember the last time anyone had looked at me the way she was looking at me.
"I'll make you a deal," she said, her voice dropping to a murmur. "You don't write me up, and I'll give you something to remember me by."
"Sable—"
"Shhh." She pressed a finger to my lips, and my whole body went still. "You talk too much, Jake. You don't strike me as the kind of guy who gets what he wants by talking. Straight to the point. Am I right?"
She was right. She was completely right, and I hated how much that rattled me.
"What," I managed, my voice barely a rasp, "do you want?"
Her smile turned dangerous. "I want you to watch," she whispered. "Right here, right now. I want you to stand there and watch me touch myself, and I want you to remember that you could've had this. You could've had all of it. But you'll never get another chance."
She stepped back, and her hand moved to the hem of her skirt.
My brain was static. White noise flooding every available circuit, shorting out every coherent thought. I knew I should say something, move something, do the job I was actually here to do, but my limbs had gone useless, and my voice had packed up and left.
She didn't seem to notice. Or maybe she did, and she was enjoying it. She pulled the skirt up slow, inch by inch, giving me time to stop her, time to look away, time to be anything other than frozen and staring. But I did none of those things.
"See something you like, Officer Jake?" Her voice was smooth, like honey over gravel.
I thought about my badge in my pocket, the weight of it, the oath I'd taken, the promise to enforce the law and protect the public. She wasn't breaking the law. Not really. I was the one breaking everything by staying.
But I stayed.
She wore nothing under the skirt. My brain short-circuited, and she laughed again, low and pleased, as she let the fabric fall back into place. "Cat got your tongue?" She stepped closer, and her fingers traced the collar of my shirt. "Don't worry. I'm just getting warmed up."
I was drowning. She had to know it, too, because she kept circling, kept touching, kept whispering. "You know what I think, Jake? I think you've never actually been looked at before. Not really. Not the way I'm looking at you now."
My throat clicked when I tried to swallow. "You don't know anything about me."
"I know you're not calling for backup," she said, smiling. "I know you're not walking out that door. I know you're standing here, letting me talk, and your hands are shaking. So, tell me I'm wrong."
Silence. The buzzing lights. The drip of the faucet.
"You're not wrong," I breathed.
Her eyes gleamed. "Good boy."
She reached up and undid the top button of her dress, then the next, and I watched her hands move like they belonged to someone else, someone I'd conjured up out of my own miserable imagination. "Come a little closer," she said. "I don't bite."
I thought about the word undercover. I thought about the fact that no one in this bar knew I was a cop, that I was just a guy in a dark jacket with a posture that screamed don't talk to me. I wasn't here to get involved. I was here to watch. To report. To stay invisible.
But she'd seen me. She'd seen through me, and I was still standing there.
"That's it," she said softly, and I didn't realize I'd moved until I was right in front of her, close enough to feel her breath on my chin. "See? That wasn't so hard. Was it."
"Sable—"
"Don't." She pressed her palm flat against my chest again, and her voice was firm. "Don't talk. Just listen. I've been thinking about this all night, ever since I saw you walk in. You're exactly my type. Quiet. Watchful. Completely in over your head."
"I'm not in over my head."
"You are," she said, and her smile was almost gentle. "But I think you like it. I think you like feeling like you're losing control." She tilted her head, and her gaze dropped to my mouth, then back to my eyes. "I'm right, aren't I?"
Neon sign in my head blaring YES.
Before I could answer, she reached down and took my hand. Her fingers laced through mine, and she pulled my hand to her waist, pressing my palm against the curve of her hip. The fabric of her dress was thin and silky, and I could feel the warmth of her skin beneath it. I caught my breath.
"See?" Her whisper was hot against my ear. "That's not so bad, is it? You're doing great, Officer Jake."
"You can't just—"
"I can do whatever I want," she said, cutting me off. "But I want you to know something, Jake. I'm not doing this because you're a cop. I'm doing this because you look like you've never been tempted in your life, and I want to be the first."
My breath hitched. She noticed, her smile growing, and her hand slid up my chest to the back of my neck. "When was the last time someone touched you? Really touched you?" Her fingers played with the short hairs at my nape. "When was the last time someone made you feel like you mattered for more than just your badge?"
I couldn't remember. She didn't wait for an answer.
She leaned in and pressed her mouth to my jaw, soft and warm, and I felt the air leave my lungs in a rush. Her lips moved slowly toward my ear, and she whispered, "When was the last time you wanted someone so badly it scared you?"
And that snapped me out of it. I felt kinda guilty for what I was about to do, felt like I’d almost lead her on. But she knew my job, and she knew she was playing with fire, she knew it was bound to happen.
I took out my handcuffs, and spun her around. “You’re under arrest for… something” I couldn’t believe I was blanking on the actual charge right then and there. “Excuse me for forgetting, I’m a little new at this, but I’ll tell you soon”.
She burst out laughing at me, which was a fair response, but that made me a little angry. So I pulled her hand behind her back, wrapped the first cuff around her hand. It was my first time cuffing someone (outside of the academy), so it felt weird, but that might also have to do with how soft her hand felt. Damn these hormones! I had a job to do, so I pulled her other hand behind her back and finished the process.
The next thing that really annoyed me, was that she was smiling the entire time, like she knew I wasn’t going to go through with it or something.
I walked towards the bathroom door, but of course, in my distorted view from annoyance, I slipped on something, and we both fell on my back, and she was on top of me. It felt like there was a higher force up there messing with me on purpose.
And then, I felt it. I was erect, and that was pressing against her, somewhere near her behind (I could tell exactly). And against my judgment, I started to move instinctively. Slowly moving my stuff up and down, almost pretending like it wasn’t happening. I wondered if this was without consent, but after the fourth movement, she just said to me “you know, you strike me as the type who likes to keep their clothes clean… If you don’t stop and readjust, that’s about to change.”
I hated how she knew. Partially because it has to be embarrassing when the person that you’re supposed to be arresting can tell you’re about to cum because of them… right? It was my first time, but the thought still felt weird.
So I got up, pulled her up with me, and she slowly started to grind against me again. I was loosing my mind. “Ok. I’m obviously not going to manage to arrest you”
“It’s good of you to realise”
I could tell the smugness in her voice, like she’d won. Like she’d corrupted me. “Whatever, let’s get you out of these cuffs”.
I pulled the key out, and I couldn’t believe what was going to follow this. “Slight issue: if you’re going to join me and not just watch, we’re going to need to find another place to do this.”
“Why?” I asked, confused by the change. Was she not feeling the urgency? I answered my own question when I realised that she clearly was into teasing me.
“Because you’re not watching me anymore, and that’s a problem”
“But we’re in a bathroom. People could walk in at anytime. Is that not enough?”
The look on her face gave it away. I also should’ve figured this out earlier, since she waited for me to enter the bathroom to start her… show. “You want to be watched actively don’t you?”
“Let’s just say I’m into more taboo stuff.”
Crimes. She’s into crimes. And as a police officer, was I really about to go along with this? Yes, yes I was. I wondered briefly if I would’ve reacted the same if I wasn’t a virgin. I couldn’t pretend like that didn’t affect me.
We walked out of the bathroom, and she was ready to start, but I noticed the general manager of the hotel.
“That’s the general manager” I pointed to a woman older than us “if she sees us, we’ll definitely be thrown out.” She seemed to be less affected than me by this notion, but she seemed to understand that that’s not a good idea.
She seemed to understand that that's not a good idea.
Her fingers closed around my wrist, and she pulled me down a narrow service hallway that branched off the main lobby. The fluorescents here were older, dimmer, humming with a tired frequency that made my teeth ache. Pipes ran along the ceiling, exposed and sweating. The air smelled like cleaning solution and something faintly metallic.
"This way," she whispered, and her voice had changed. Still playful, but sharper now. Focused.
We passed a door marked STAFF ONLY. She tried the handle. Locked. Another door, this one labeled MAINTENANCE. Also locked. She cursed under her breath, a word that surprised me coming from her mouth, and I felt a strange thrill at the realization that she wasn't as unflappable as she pretended to be.
"Where are you taking us?" I asked.
She glanced over her shoulder, green eyes catching the light. "Somewhere with a view."
The hallway opened into a wider corridor lined with doors—meeting rooms, maybe. Most were dark, the windows frosted glass with the light off behind them. But at the end of the corridor, a door stood propped open with a rubber wedge, and beyond it, I could see a dimly lit space. The ballroom.
Sable slipped through the door first, and I followed because I was past the point of making my own decisions. The room was vast, cavernous, with chandeliers hanging dark overhead and long tables pushed against the walls. A single strand of fairy lights drooped across one corner, casting a weak gold glow over a dance floor that hadn't seen a crowd in weeks.
And there, on the far side of the room, a wall of windows looked out onto the city skyline.
She walked toward it, her hips swaying with a rhythm that seemed to mock my pulse. When she reached the glass, she turned to face me, and the city lights spread out behind her like a halo of neon and smog.
"This is good," she said, nodding to herself. "People could see us from the street if they looked up. But they won't, because why would they?"
I walked toward her, my boots echoing on the empty floor. "You really think this through."
"I told you," she said, smiling. "I've been planning this all night."
She reached for me, but I caught her hand before it touched my chest. I held it there, suspended between us, and I could feel her pulse beating fast under her skin. Fast enough to betray her. She wasn't as calm as she pretended to be either.
"One question," I said. "Why me?"
Her smile softened into something almost real. "Because you looked at me like I was a problem you didn't know how to solve. And I wanted to see what happened when you realized you couldn't."
I let go of her hand.
She took a step back, then another, until her back bumped against the glass. The city glittered behind her. She reached down slowly, deliberately, and gathered the hem of her dress in her fingers.
"Watch me," she said.
But I shook my head.
"No," I said, and she paused. "If we're doing this, I'm not just watching."
Her eyebrows lifted. "Oh?"
"I'm done with that." I stepped closer, and this time I reached for her.
But she held up a hand. "Hold on," she said. "Rules first."
I hesitated. "You're setting rules now?"
"I'm always setting rules." She looked at me, her voice dropping to something less teasing, more sincere. "Number one: you don't get to touch me unless I say so. Number two: if anyone walks in, I'm gone. You cover for me. Number three: you do what I say, when I say it, no questions. Nod if you understand."
I stared at her. The noise returned in my ears as I tried to think, but I felt a surge of excitement I hadn’t felt in a long time. "And what if I say no?"
She tilted her head, and her eyes flicked to the city below. "Then I walk out that door, and you never see me again. That's not a threat," she said, looking back at me, "that's just the truth."
The window was cold against my back as I considered what I'd be losing. The way she looked at me like she could see through me. The way my pulse had started racing the moment I'd stepped into that bathroom.
I nodded, once.
"Good," she said, and a slow smile spread across her face. "Then get on your knees."
The command landed like a physical weight, settling low in my chest. I hesitated.
"Now," she said, her voice sharp as a blade.
And I went.
The floor was cold and hard beneath my knees, the taste of dust and old polish faint in the air. She looked down at me, and the fairy lights caught the curve of her jaw, the way her hair fell across her shoulders like something out of a dream. From this angle, she looked taller, more distant. Like a statue I was kneeling before.
I reached for the hem of her dress, but she caught my wrist. "Not yet." Her eyes held mine. "You look at me first. I want you to remember what I look like before I ruin you."
I looked at her. The sharp cheekbones, the green eyes, the slight quirk at the corner of her lips. The city behind her, cold lights, empty streets.
And as I knelt there, waiting for her next command, I saw a man stop on the street below. He looked up at the ballroom window. Looked right at us.
We already had an audience, great. I was more focused on the fact that soon, I was going to taste that for the first time