Layin' the Law by Roxy Wood

A
few years back, I dated this cop. I know, right? Me and a cop seems about the
most unlikely combination imaginable unless he was bustin' my ass for
disorderly behavior in public. I mean, when faced with a choice between getting
busted or giving head, I'll opt for something I enjoy doing anyway. It's my
civic duty, to my way of thinking. Besides, Joey busted my ass plenty... just
not in that particular way.
    I
met him at this fancy thousand-a-plate charity function at the mayor's mansion.
It wasn't long after I started that freelance cocktail waitressing gig my
friend Jen drug me into. A short skirt and a big smile for a couple hours. Bare
legs toned from lots of tennis. Thong. Nice tips, from the men and the
ladies. There were far worse jobs that paid far less. Might as well use what
the Creator gave me, right? It was easier that stripping, although stripping
was like being paid to work out... just in spike heels.
    He
looked so hot in his dress uniform, crisp shirt tight across his broad
shoulders and khaki pants equally tight across his hard ass. Clean shaven and
with his blond hair so sunbleached it was nearly as white as his teeth. Had to
be married, I remember thinking. Had to. My pussy didn't care. It was already
saying, "Let's go!"
    He
was chatting with the mayor's wife, who appeared every bit as enchanted by his
good looks as I was. He smiled graciously as she prattled, not the tiniest
spark of interest in his steel blue eyes. Yet his attention never wavered. A
true gentleman, that one.
    I
tried to catch a glimpse of his left hand, but it was in his pocket, probably
fondling his keys with thoughts of escape. I caught myself drifting into a
fantasy of following him out the door and sliding into the passenger seat of
his pick-up. I would kick off my shoes and put my feet on the dash, letting the
air from the vents fill the cab with my scent. Fuck! I wanted him.
    I
figured he'd just roll with it, given that he probably got as much action as he
desired with those looks. He'd play with my wet pussy until we got to his place
then take me from behind—hard and fast—as soon as we got inside. The second
time would be more controlled. The third, exquisite.
    I
shook myself back to the present and focused on my job, all the while
continuing my reconnaissance. I had to know whether the object of my lust had
his cart hitched to another wagon.
    Now,
mind you I could have any man—or woman, for that matter—I set my sights on,
married or not, but this here girl's got a code. I don't mess with no other
sister's man... or brother's woman... or any other combination of consenting
adults. It's my fucking golden rule. Literally. There are plenty of hot, horny
people in this city. I don't need to cause anyone grief by stealing their
squeeze. I might be considered a slut by some, but I'm a principled slut.
    I
don't mess with the kids, either. Just because something sweet is in a bar with
a drink in their hand doesn't mean they're legal. And their parents don't care
what assumptions you made based on that fact. I'm just sayin'. So, if a target
isn't clearly older than me, I have been known to ask for ID. Seriously.
    Finding
a good lover under the age of twenty-five is rare, anyway. The dudes shoot
their loads too fast—although they do reload quickly—and the chicks are just
too full of angst, venom, or themselves. I'll take a well-seasoned lover any
day of the week.
    That
reception was so busy it was well over an hour before I finally managed to
maneuver my short skirt, my big smile, and my tray of expensive champagne to
his general vicinity. Joey, I overheard someone call him. Joey Malone. He had
inched closer to the door, although he showed no signs of imminent departure.
    He
was clearly older than me. Mid-thirties at least. Maybe forty. Well-seasoned
indeed.
    "Careful,
honey," Jen whispered in passing, her empty tray in both hands behind her
back as she leaned toward me. "That one's got one hell of a rep."
    I
put on my poker face