Chapter 9: Officer Kipling Makes An Arrest
Sunlight crawled across the bed in slow, golden increments.
Riley surfaced from sleep in pieces—the weight of an arm across her ribs, the tickle of blonde hair against her chin, the faint thrum of a pulse she could feel through Kenzie's wrist where it rested over her heart. The room smelled like lavender and sex and the ghost of last night's lasagna. A single rosebud sat in a mason jar on the nightstand, its petals just beginning to unfurl.
Kenzie's breath was warm against Riley's collarbone. Slow. Steady. The kind of sleep that came after being thoroughly fucked.
Riley smiled at the ceiling.
She shifted, just barely, and Kenzie stirred. A soft sound in her throat. Her hand flexed against Riley's stomach, then relaxed.
"Morning," Riley murmured.
Kenzie didn't answer. Just burrowed closer, nose pressing into Riley's neck. Her leg slid between Riley's thighs, skin on skin, warm and careless.
Riley's body responded before her brain caught up. A pulse between her legs. A tightening in her chest.
She turned her head. Kissed Kenzie's forehead. Her temple. The corner of her eye.
Kenzie made another sound. Less sleepy this time.
"Wake up," Riley whispered.
"Mmm."
"Kenzie."
"Five more minutes."
Riley slid her hand down Kenzie's back. Over the curve of her ass. Between her thighs.
Kenzie's eyes flew open.
"Cheater," she breathed.
"I'm not the one who fell asleep in the middle of a conversation."
"We weren't having a conversation."
"We were. You said 'stay.' I said 'okay.' Then you passed out."
Kenzie laughed. Low and rough. "I was tired."
"I know. I wore you out."
"Cocky."
"You love it."
Kenzie didn't deny it. She tilted her head up and kissed Riley—slow, unhurried, morning breath and soft lips and the kind of intimacy that made Riley's chest ache.
When they broke apart, Kenzie was smiling.
"What time is it?" she asked.
Riley glanced at the window. "Late. Sun's up."
"I have shift at ten."
"Then we have time."
Kenzie raised an eyebrow. "Time for what?"
Riley kissed her again. Deeper this time. Her hand slid back between Kenzie's thighs, fingers finding her already wet.
"Fuck," Kenzie whispered against her mouth. "You're insatiable."
"You're the one who said you wanted to take me."
Kenzie went still.
Riley pulled back just enough to look at her. "You said that last night. On the couch. Right before I made you come the second time."
Kenzie's cheeks flushed. "I remember."
"So?"
"So what?"
"So take me."
Kenzie's eyes darkened. She sat up, sheets pooling around her waist. Her hair was a mess, tangled and wild. Her lips were swollen from kissing. She looked like something out of a dream.
"You want me to—" She stopped.
"I want you to cuff me."
Kenzie's breath caught.
"And take control."
The words hung in the air between them. Kenzie didn't move. Didn't blink. Just stared at Riley like she was trying to figure out if she was serious.
"You're serious," Kenzie said.
"Dead serious."
"Riley—"
"I've been thinking about it since last night. Since you had me pinned on the couch. Since you made me come so hard I forgot my own name." Riley sat up too, facing her. "I want to try something different."
"Different how?"
"I want to be at your mercy."
Kenzie's throat worked. She swallowed.
"I've never—" She stopped. Started again. "I've never done that. The cuffing thing. The control thing."
"Neither have I. Not like this."
"But you've—"
"I've been tied up before. A few times. But it was always with someone I didn't trust. Someone who didn't give a shit about what I needed." Riley held her gaze. "This is different."
"How?"
"Because I trust you."
Kenzie's eyes glistened. She looked away, toward the window, toward the curtains swaying in the breeze.
"I don't want to hurt you," she said quietly.
"You won't."
"You don't know that."
"I do." Riley reached out, took her chin, turned her face back. "I've been doing this a long time, Kenzie. I know the difference between someone who wants to hurt me and someone who's scared to. You're the second one."
Kenzie exhaled. Shaky.
"Okay," she whispered.
"Okay?"
"Yeah." Kenzie nodded. "Okay."
She climbed out of bed. Riley watched her go—the curve of her ass, the lines of muscle in her back, the way the sunlight caught the faint scars on her knuckles. Kenzie was beautiful. Not in the way of magazines or movies, but in the way of real things. Blood and bone and skin.
Kenzie pulled open a closet. Dug through a duffel bag on the floor. When she turned around, she was holding something that made Riley's stomach flip.
Handcuffs. Silver. Regulation.
"From my duty belt," Kenzie said. "I brought them home by accident last week. Forgot to put them back."
"Lucky me."
Kenzie's lips twitched. She set the cuffs on the nightstand, then went back to the closet. This time she pulled out a shirt—her police uniform, pressed and crisp—and a pair of black boyshorts.
She dressed without ceremony. The shirt hung loose over her breasts, buttons undone, sleeves rolled. The boyshorts hugged her hips, the fabric thin and soft.
Riley's mouth went dry.
"You look—"
"Like a cop?"
"Like a dream."
Kenzie rolled her eyes. But she was smiling.
She picked up the cuffs. Tossed them from hand to hand. Then she looked at Riley.
"On your stomach."
Riley's heart hammered. She rolled over, face pressing into the pillow. Her arms stayed at her sides, palms up, wrists bared.
Kenzie climbed onto the bed. Her knees bracketed Riley's hips. The weight of her settled over Riley's thighs, warm and solid.
"Hands behind your back."
Riley obeyed. She crossed her wrists at the small of her back, elbows bent, shoulders stretching in a way that was almost uncomfortable. Almost.
The cuffs clicked open. Then closed. Cold metal against her skin. A sound that made her cunt clench.
"Too tight?" Kenzie asked.
"No."
"Good."
Kenzie shifted off the bed. Riley heard her moving around the room—drawer opening, fabric rustling, the soft click of something being set on the nightstand.
Then Kenzie's hands were on her again. Lifting her hips. Sliding a pillow underneath.
"Comfortable?" Kenzie asked.
Riley laughed. "Is that a joke?"
"Maybe."
"Fuck you."
"Later."
Kenzie's hands slid down Riley's back. Over her ass. Between her legs. Fingers finding her slick and ready.
"You're already wet," Kenzie said.
"You've been touching me for five minutes."
"Fair."
Kenzie pulled her hand away. Riley heard the snap of straps, the shift of fabric. Then Kenzie was back, settling behind her, knees between Riley's thighs.
"When you want me to stop," Kenzie said, "you say 'red.'"
"Red."
"Anything else, you say 'yellow.'"
"Got it."
"You sure you want this?"
Riley turned her head. Met Kenzie's eyes over her shoulder.
"I want this."
Kenzie nodded. Then she pressed the tip of the strap-on against Riley's cunt.
Riley gasped.
It was bigger than the one from that first night. Not by much—maybe a half inch in girth, an inch in length—but enough to make her feel it. Enough to make her pulse around it.
"Eager," Kenzie murmured.
"Just—"
"Just what?"
"Just fuck me already."
Kenzie didn't move.
"Ask nicely."
Riley's breath hitched. "Please."
"Please what?"
"Please fuck me."
Kenzie slid inside.
Riley's eyes rolled back. The stretch was perfect—a slow, steady push that filled her completely, that made her feel every inch, every ridge, every pulse of the strap-on inside her.
"Fuck," she breathed.
Kenzie pulled out. Then pushed back in.
Slow. Deliberate. Every thrust measured, controlled, deep.
Riley's hands clenched behind her back. The cuffs bit into her wrists. She wanted to reach out, to grab the sheets, to ground herself somehow—but she couldn't. All she could do was feel.
"You like that?" Kenzie asked.
"Yes—"
"You like being cuffed and fucked by a cop?"
"Yes—"
"Say it."
Riley moaned. "I like being cuffed and fucked by a cop."
Kenzie laughed. Low and dark. She shifted her angle, hitting deeper, and Riley saw stars.
"Fuck, right there—"
Kenzie didn't stop. She kept the same pace—slow, brutal, relentless. Her hands found Riley's hips. Gripped them. Pulled her back onto the strap-on with every thrust.
The room filled with sound. Skin against skin. The wet slide of Riley's cunt. The creak of the bed frame. Riley's breath, coming in ragged gasps.
"You're so fucking wet," Kenzie said. "So fucking tight. You love this, don't you?"
"Yes—"
"You love being under me. Being helpless. Being mine."
"Yours—"
Kenzie's hand slid up Riley's back. Fisted in her hair. Pulled.
Riley's head snapped back. An animal sound tore from her throat.
"You're a filthy Marine," Kenzie said. "Aren't you?"
"Yes—"
"Say it."
"I'm a filthy Marine—"
"Say the rest."
"I'm a filthy Marine and I love being fucked by my cop girlfriend—"
Kenzie pulled harder. Riley's scalp burned. Her cunt clenched around the strap-on.
"Come for me," Kenzie said.
"I can't—"
"Come for me, Gunnery Sergeant."
The title did something to Riley. Something primal. Something raw. She felt it build in her belly—a pressure, a heat, a wave that crested and broke.
She came with a scream.
The pillow muffled the sound, but barely. Her whole body convulsed. Her thighs shook. Her cunt milked the strap-on, over and over, until she was twitching and sobbing and begging for mercy.
Kenzie rode her through it. Slow. Steady. Then stopped.
Pulled out.
Riley collapsed onto the bed. Boneless. Pulsing. Her wrists ached. Her scalp stung. Her cunt felt like it had been split open and stitched back together.
She'd never been happier.
Kenzie uncuffed her. Gentle hands on her wrists, rubbing the marks, checking for damage. Then she gathered Riley into her arms, pulled her against her chest.
"Okay?" Kenzie whispered.
"Yeah."
"Good?"
"Fuck yes."
Kenzie laughed. Kissed her forehead. Her cheeks. Her nose.
"I loved every second of that," Kenzie said.
"You did?"
"I did." Kenzie's voice was quiet. Almost shy. "I liked being in control. I liked having you. I liked trusting that you'd tell me if it was too much."
Riley turned in her arms. Faced her. Kenzie's eyes were soft. Warm. Full of something Riley couldn't name.
"I'm never letting you go," Riley said.
Kenzie smiled. "Promise?"
"Promise."
They lay there for a long time. Sunlight streaming through the curtains. Birds chirping outside. Somewhere in the house, Kenzie's coffee maker beeped.
"I should feed you breakfast," Kenzie said.
"You should."
"I make a mean omelet."
"I bet you do."
Kenzie kissed her again. Then she got up, pulled up her boyshorts, and padded toward the kitchen. Riley watched her go.
When she was alone, she looked at the cuffs on the nightstand. Silver. Shiny. Waiting.
She reached over. Picked them up. Held them in her palm.
They were cold. Heavy. Real.
She put them back on the nightstand. Then she got up, found her boxers, and followed Kenzie into the kitchen.
The smell of coffee hit her like a wall. Strong and dark and exactly what she needed. Kenzie stood at the stove, cracking eggs into a bowl, humming something under her breath.
Riley came up behind her. Wrapped her arms around her waist. Pressed a kiss to the back of her neck.
"What's for breakfast?" Riley asked.
"Omelets. Bacon. Toast."
"Sounds perfect."
"Good. Because I'm not cooking twice."
Riley laughed. Then her phone buzzed on the counter.
She picked it up. A text from her father.
"Heard you're seeing someone. When do I meet her?"
Riley stared at the screen. Her heart hammered.
"What?" Kenzie asked.
Riley turned the phone around. Kenzie read the message. Her face went pale.
Riley met her eyes.
"We need to talk," Riley said.