Page 71 of Cop Daddy Next Door

She licked her lips teasingly. “Want to taste yourself?”

“Not nearly as much as I want to taste you. Get on my face.”

“You aren’t in charge, Officer. Just because you’re used to that, you aren’t the boss here.” She crawled over me and licked my nipple, her gaze roaming my face. “I want to sketch you like this.”

I swallowed hard, recognizing that dirty light in her eyes. “Van—”

She scampered off the bed, so confident naked that I couldn’t keep my eyes off her. Shoulders high, breasts out, she crossed the room to dig in the bag she’d brought over here a couple days ago, emerging with a stubby charcoal pencil and a small sketch pad.

“Not my usual medium, but I don’t want a digital record of this. At least not yet.” She curled up cross-legged beside me on the bed and held the sketch pad up to her chest. “If you’re not into it, I won’t do it. I respect boundaries.”

“Except when you forget to get consent for handcuffing me to the bed.”

She bit her lower lip. “Oops?”

“Yeah, oops.” I couldn’t help grinning at her. She was so damn cute, like this impish, sexy sprite, all freckles and sass. And miles and miles of sex appeal.

“Want me to undo you? And put away the sketch pad?”

“Right, so you can do it from memory later?”

“I do have a good memory.”

“Uh-huh. I don’t want you to uncuff me. Do your sketch and then get on my face. See, compromise.”

She pursed her lips while she avariciously studied my very erect, very painful cock. “Yeah, worth it.”

I had to laugh. “Oh, the sacrifices you’ll make for your art.”

“Mind yourself, McNeill, or else you’ll end up as a Bigfoot with a monster member.”

“Writing that one yourself?”

She tapped the charcoal pencil against her mouth. “Huh. I could, couldn’t I?”

Trepidation lanced through my gut. “Uh, no. Don’t do it.”

Her grin spread as she started to sketch. “I think I just might. Nowshhso I get the contours just right.”

I flexed the fingers of my cuffed arm. And tried not to move while I contemplated how in two weeks’ time give or take a couple days I’d ended up secured with my own cuffs to be my bedpost and absolutely in lo—

Uh, in super like with Vanessa Monaghan.

“You’re tensing,” she muttered, furiously sketching.

I hoped she was sketching the rest of me too, not just my damn dick. Considering the wide swings of her hand, I’d assume so, but you could never be sure with her.

At my bedroom door, my dog scratched frantically. I usually let her sleep with me at night, but sometimes one of us shut the door and she got locked out. If she was scratching, she wanted breakfast or had to pee or both.

“I’m not missing out again because of that dog, so you better draw fast—or learn how to sketch while I’m making you come with my tongue.”

She kept sketching, dipping her head over her pad so her hair mostly covered her face and she had to peek out of her curls.

Just her intense focus was enough to have my shaft standing large and in charge. I couldn’t help puffing my chest with pride.

At least her Bigfoot would have a phallus worthy of the great beyond.

“Okay, done. Good job, Officer. You barely twitched. No wonder I felt moved to sketch this thing of beauty.” She patted my dick as if it was a prized stallion then tossed aside her sketch pad and charcoal pencil.

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