A/N-Special thanks to all who read, review, follow and fav this story. And also big thanks to Bekki for beta reading this. XOXO.
"Earth to Locksley."
Robin squints up at Killian Jones, who is standing outside his patrol car with his arms folded across his chest. He's been on a tear this morning, scrubbing down every inch of his patrol car, wiping down every nook and cranny with possibly more vigor and attention than is strictly necessary, but the city is quiet this morning and he needs to keep himself occupied. If he doesn't, there's real danger that he could end up thinking too hard about last night. About the wide-eyed way Regina looked at him as she came, about the catch in her voice when she thanked him for putting that pillow under her hips.
About the way she asked him to leave.
"Hey, Jones. What's up?"
"I've been trying to talk to you for a couple minutes now. You okay?"
"Totally okay. Just a long night is all."
"I know what kind of long nights you have."
"I have no comment on that."
"The chief wants to see you. Now."
"He wants to see me?"
"Yep. Apparently he hasn't forgotten our conversation about body cameras at the meeting last week, and he just called me to tell me to send you his way."
"Ah, fuck."
"Yep," Killian agrees.
Robin grabs his things and climbs out of the car, steeling himself for whatever will happen.
"Good luck, mate." Killian says.
"Locksley," the chief says as Robin walks into his office, not looking up from his computer screen. "Sit. Please."
"Chief Nolan," Robin starts, not sure what he wants him to say, but he holds up a finger to quiet him and finishes whatever he was doing on the computer. Then he swivels his chair so he's facing him head on.
"Contrary to what you might think of me," he says after a moment, "I didn't come to this city to stonewall progress."
Chief Nolan sighs and looks out the window at the rows of parked patrol cars. "I don't want that reputation. Not with the officers. Not with the public."
"Sir—"
He stands up and Robin bites his tongue, which is so hard because he has so many things ready to say to him. Cajoling things, arguing things, angry things. Things he's practiced every day in his mind since he turned in the body camera committee's recommendation and got no official response.
"You've got two things to battle here, Locksley. There's the budget of course, but there's also this." He taps a finger on a small stack of papers next to him. "This is a petition from a local chapter of a group called Citizens Against the Theft and Negation of Individual Privacy."
He gives him a meaningful look, as if he's supposed to know what that means.
"That's a pretty long name for a group," Robin offers, then adds. "And their abbreviation is C.A.T.N.I.P.?"
"Robin, this isn't a joke. I've got almost five hundred signatures here, along with personal essays from most of these folks, telling me they don't want videos of themselves winding up in the hands of strangers. I just got to this city last year, and I don't have any way to explain myself to the city council if this department gets taken to task for not properly vetting policies and our approach to new equipment."
"Sir, with all due respect, we have studies and data from all over the country saying that both citizens and officers are safer with this upgrade—"
"Are you saying privacy isn't important? First Amendment rights? Anyone can file a Freedom of Information Act for any record—is it so boggling that people don't want footage of themselves being requested and then splashed all over the internet?"
"There's too much scrutiny on police departments right now for us to charge into this without addressing citizen concerns."
"Some citizen concerns," Robin adds quickly. "Because there are just as many citizens, if not more, who would support us moving to the body cameras."
David nods after a minute. "Well said, Robin. And though it may surprise you, I agree. There's a way we might be able to get around this, and I want you to be the one to help me."
"Whatever you need, sir."
The chief hands him the C.A.T.N.I.P. petition. "Get me more than five hundred signatures. Get me a petition bigger than this, demonstrable proof that this city wants body cameras, and then I have a leg to stand on when it comes to the city council and the media. The headline cannotbe 'Local Police Rob Citizens of Privacy.' Got it?"
"Got it, sir."
"Good. Don't let me down, Locksley. Help me do this the right way."
"Yes, sir."
Robin's feeling so good after his meeting with the chief—he's not fired! He might be able to make this thing happen!—that he pulls out his phone as he walks out of the chief's office. He can't wait another moment to talk to Regina, and he has a good excuse, and after the way things ended last night, he needs...something. To talk to her or just to be around her. He doesn't understand it, but he needs it.
Hey Regina. We talked about meeting up more than once during your fertile window—would tonight work?
There. Businesslike, friendly, all about the baby.
But he can't help but add, I still haven't forgotten that you owe me ;) and he presses send before he can think too much about whether it's a dick thing to say or not. But hey, she seemed into it last night, and he is still very into the idea of sliding into her sweet, wet mouth.
His phone buzzes a second later. Yes. We should meet again tonight...and maybe it will be more efficient if we meet at my place? I've decided you probably aren't a serial killer.
Robin smiles to himself as he walks out of the station, typing to her as he walks. Maybe they can move past the wall she threw up between them last night after all. Definitely not a serial killer. Promise.
Sounds like something a serial killer would say.
How can I convince you? Other than being a police officer, related to one of your closest friends, and the potential father to your child, I mean.
Bring delivery food with you. I'll be just getting off work, and the food you choose will tell me whether you're a killer or not.
10-4, Regina.
He's full-on grinning as he walks out to his car now. Tonight might actually be the perfect night for the dinner, drinks, handcuffs. And she trusts him enough to let him see her in her house. That sends a warm blooming through his chest that he doesn't examine too closely.
Instead of going for his patrol car, he heads for his police motorcycle instead. As he does, his phone vibrates with Regina's address, and then with a second message.
I haven't forgotten about owing you either...can't wait to pay you back. And then there's a lipstick kiss emoji next to an eggplant emoji.
He might have some trouble straddling his bike at this rate.
After his shift is over, he parks his motorcycle in the station garage, changes out of his uniform, and drives from the station to Regina's place. She's got a condo squeezed into a cluster of pale brick buildings and edged by a little park. The whole affair is ringed with tired sidewalks and those trees that drop too many spiky brown balls.
It's on a busy street, and when he parks his car and glances at the street and then at the buildings in front of him, his mental rolodex of police history spins and flutters on its own. It's one of the best and worst things about knowing a city so well; he knows exactly how safe a place is, he knows the character of the people who live around there, he knows how quiet or noisy it is. Which he likes, because he likes knowing things.
But the worst part is staring at the street and remembering the messy fatality he worked there last year. Or the teen who was struck and killed by a drunk driver as she crossed the street on the way home from band practice five years back. Or the old woman across the street who would insist on shoveling her own driveway every time it snowed...the third time he saw her out doing it, he made a point to stop by anytime the white stuff fell and do it for her. She gave him hot cocoa and store-bought cookies for his trouble.
She died two years ago. She was dead for a week before a neighbor thought to check on her.
Robin walks to Regina's door, and knocks, she answers the door still in her work clothes—a pleated skirt paired with thick black tights and round-toe heels, a thin blouse and another fucking bun. She looks like a librarian wet dream. His mood picks up immediately.
"Hey, gorgeous," Robin says, flipping up his sunglasses. It's getting too dark for them anyway, and he wants to drink in this view. Her, in her doorway, inviting him inside her house. Her smile as her fingers play with the side of the open door. "Hi, Robin," she says softly. "Come in."
She lets him in and slides past him to lead the way.
"What kind of food did you bring?" she asks, looking back. She catches him staring at her ass moving under her skirt and rolls her eyes. "Seriously?"
Robin smirks at her.
They walk past the entryway and into the combined kitchen and living space. Even though these are probably the cheapest condos in the city, it's a fairly nice city, and so this is still a pretty nice place. Wood floors, updated kitchen, big windows. Regina's got IKEA furniture and a good eye for color and space, and so the whole condo feels clean and fresh.
Except.
Except.
Robin drops his bag of food on the kitchen counter and turns to face Regina. "Got enough books in here, princess?"
She blushes and mumbles something as he goes to inspect the bookshelves that are double and triple stacked with books, the shelves so heavy that they sag in the middle. There are books on her mantel, stacked next to her coffee table, stacked on her kitchen chairs in dangerously leaning piles.
"There's a system," she says a bit defensively. "And I keep the library books in my bedroom so they won't get mixed in."
"You have library books too?" he asks. "Have you even read all of the ones you own?"
She crosses her arms and juts her chin up in a gesture that's becoming very familiar to him. It makes him smile. "Well, not all of them, but I will someday and it's my job to keep up on what's popular with the patrons."
"Uh-huh."
She sticks out her tongue at him, pink and wet, and she's the opposite of everything that weighed on his memories in the parking lot. She's playful and healthy and vibrant and alive. And he can't help it, he grabs her and pulls her into him, moving his mouth down at the last moment so that he's kissing her neck instead of her lips. Her knees slump, and she sags in his arms.
"Robin," she murmurs. "The food."
"Fuck the food," he growls, swinging her up into his arms. "Where's your bedroom?"
"The door is by the couch," she says, lacing her arms around his neck. All of his depressing thoughts from earlier melt away, all his everything melts away with the feeling of her in his arms, with her giant brown eyes gazing at him as he walks them to her bed.
"I'm going to fuck you at least twice tonight," he says, tossing her onto the mattress and unbuckling his belt. "Fucking, then food, then more fucking."
"Okay," she agrees breathlessly.
"Once isn't going to be enough," he says, freeing his cock and giving it a few quick pumps as his knees hit the edge of the bed.
"No, it won't," she whispers, staring at his member, which is now thick and hard in his hand. Her hand is under her blouse, pulling and rolling her own nipple.
He groans. She's too fucking much sometimes. The pleated skirt and that bun, and then with that dirty hand tugging on her own nipple like she can't wait for him to get to it himself. She's what every teenage boy beat off imagining; she's what every teenage boy wished their librarian would be.
She reaches up then, taking his erection in her hands and squeezing, stroking up and down. He takes one of her hands and moves it down to cup his balls. She holds them with the perfect amount of pressure, her palm the perfect kind of warmth, her fingertips grazing the sensitive spot just behind them.
"Enough," he grunts, pushing her hands away from him before he goes off all over her fingers. "I need you."
"Yes," she agrees, nodding fast. "God, yes." She reaches for the buttons at the side of her skirt, but he's too fucking impatient for that either.
"How much did these tights cost?" he demands.
"I, uh, I can't remember," she says. Her eyes are on his cock again, her expression hungry. "Maybe a few dollars?"
"You can invoice me for expenses," he tells her and then flips up her skirt and spreads her legs. With his finger, he tears a small hole in the crotch of her tights and rips them wide open, thigh to thigh, just like he wanted to do with her leggings on the day he met her. Soon, she is wide open to him, covered by nothing but a flimsy scrap of lace. He tears that off too, and she squirms.
"Oh God," she murmurs. Her hand is back to playing under her shirt. "Oh God, oh God."
"You can call me Robin," he says as he puts a knee on the bed.
She giggles at the old joke, and she's so fucking hot, so fucking fun, and a small window opens up in his hard, aching urgency. A window to something else, another version of them. He leans down and brushes his lips across her cheeks, her nose, her hair, kissing all the places he's allowed to kiss.
"I want to earn your mouth, Regina," he murmurs, his lips on her face. "It's all I think about, kissing you." She sighs under his words, and he wants to kiss her sigh. He readjusts his knee to move over her and slides into her, but he keeps his mouth hovering over her skin, keep his eyes burning his need into hers.
"Robin, wait," she suddenly says, sitting up, her eyes slowly kindling with something that can only be described as panic. "Wait!"
"What?" He moves back from her.
"This is too—it's too—" Her expression is pleading, as if she expects him to understand what she means even when she can't find the words for it. "You're making it feel too—"
"Too what, love?" He tries to keep his voice open and receptive.
"It feels too real," she admits finally, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. "Or too fast. Or too easy or something."
"It's supposed to be easy, and I'll go slow next time, promise." He starts leaning forward on the bed again, and she holds up her hand.
"Too intimate," she says. "That's what I mean. It feels too intimate. You just waltzing in here and making me want you and sweeping me off to my room…"
"You don't want that?" Robin asked.
"I just needed to remind us—or myself—that it's to get pregnant. Only for that."
"So we're back to syringe-dick now?"
She closes her eyes. "I didn't mean it like that. But yes, I'd feel better if it was more...impersonal."
"Whatever you want, Regina," he says, sliding his knee off the bed.
Her eyes are still closed. "Thank you."
But then her eyes fly open as he grabs her hips and hauls her to the edge of the bed so that her ass is nearly off the mattress, and then he take her knees in his hands and spreads her legs wide enough for him to stand between them. "You want to make this clinical?" he asks, and he can't help the coldness in his voice—or maybe he can—but he's too angry to help it.
She turns her head away from him. "Clinical is good," she says, and in her voice, he hears resignation and regret and determination. Regina Mills, always so determined to have it her way.
"Then we'll make it clinical," he says, letting go of one of her knees so he can fist his erection and bring it to her opening. "Just pretend you're doing this the right way. Just pretend you're at the doctor's, waiting for some anonymous hands to give you some anonymous man's baby." He teases her entrance with the dark and swollen head of his cock. She's so fucking wet, it'll take nothing to sink inside her.
"Robin," she says but says nothing else.
"You're just lying back and letting it go inside you," he says, and then he mirrors his words, pushing the wide crown of his cock into her folds. "You're just waiting for it to be over. Because all you want is the baby." He pushes in deeper, all the way to the root, and her back arches, her mouth parting in a silent cry. It's so tight in there he could die. "You don't care how you get pregnant. You don't care what it feels like."
He drops his thumb to her clit, rubbing in the tight circles he's learned she likes. "It's just a transaction, right? Just an impersonal transaction?"
He tilts his hips up ever so slightly as he pulls out, making sure to drag the flared edge of his tip against her sensitive front walls. She gasps, her back arching again. He pulls out almost all the way, and then he pushes back in. Hard. She cries out, her hands flying out behind her to grasp at her comforter.
"It's just a procedure, Regina. Just biology." He rubs those circles and strokes in and out of her, so fucking worked up. And yet it's not enough and he doesn't fucking know why.
Until he does.
"Look at me," Robin says. A command and a plea all at once. "Look at me."
She does, turning those warm brown eyes onto his.
"That's it. I want to watch your face as you come. Because it doesn't matter how impersonal I make it, Regina, you're still going to come for me. Aren't you?"
Her hands are still grabbing at her comforter. "Yes," she breathes. "I'm going to come."
He goes deeper, faster, rubbing and thrusting and breathing hard. "Even if it's not intimate, even if it's not easy or real, you just can't help but come when I'm inside you, can you?"
She moans, shaking her head.
"I can't hear you," He growls. He can feel the sweat on his face, he can see the flushed heat in her cheeks.
"I can't help it," she confesses in another moan.
"Can't help what?"
Her eyes are fluttering now, her body squirming in gorgeous, taut lines. "Can't help...coming. You make me come."
"Fuck yeah," He breathes, thrusting in to the root. He feels the moment she trembles at the edge, like a leaf caught by the wind, and then she blows over with a sweet cry, back bowing off the bed, toes curling, her thighs clenching hard. And she's quivering around his cock in the most delicious caress a man can feel.
And then he lets go. He grabs her hips and he ruts into her, all sorts of depraved images running through his mind, sinful urges, lusts that go down to the very root of life itself. To mate. To breed. To fuck until he plants his seed inside her.
She's still panting and clenching when he lets loose and pours into her, filling her up as deep and full as biology demands, as his crude fantasy of her spread on a doctor's table demands. He feels the cum pumping out of him fast and hard, and he holds her hips tight, keeping her speared on his cock as he finishes emptying into her.
Her eyes are on him the entire time. He gives one last pulse and then slowly pulls out.
Mine.
All mine.
The moment the words enter his thoughts, he tries to banish them. Regina's not his. Her body isn't his, and this baby won't be his except in the loosest sense. He won't get to claim her, in fantasy or otherwise.
To hide his discomfort, he moves away and grabs a pillow from the top of her bed.
"Robin," she says.
He ignores her, handing her the pillow and then helping her orient herself on the bed so she can elevate her hips. He pulls up his jeans, and he's about to leave her on the bed when she grabs his hand.
"Robin," she says again.
"I need to go figure out the food."
"Fuck the food," she says seriously.
"Regina—"
"I want you to stay in here with me," she interrupts. "Please."
He pauses and lets himself look down at her. She looks beautiful and open and vulnerable right now, her hair coming loose from her bun and her clothes torn and rumpled. And God help him, he likes the way her hand feels holding his. He likes the way her voice sounds making such a naked and honest request.
He sits down next to her, but she doesn't let go of his hand. Instead, she tugs him so that he's turned and she's able to see his face.
"I'm sorry," she says. "I shouldn't have said those things. Not while we were about to have sex."
"Don't say sorry. I don't mind. Promise."
He's lying. And he doesn't know why.
She sighs and lets go of his hand so that she can move the pillow under her hips. "I mind, though. It wasn't fair to you. And I shouldn't make my neuroses your problem."
"It's really fine. You got off, I got off inside you—which was the whole point—everything happened the way it should."
"No," she says, shaking her head. When she does, her bun loosens even more. "No, it didn't. I mean, it was amazing, but I treated you like a sperm donor instead of a person."
"But I am a sperm donor to you." And why does that make him feel so bitter all of a sudden?
"Well, yes, that, but you're more too." She shifts so she can look at his face more easily. "You're a man I really like. A man I respect."
This shocks him a little.
"You're also the best lover I've ever had. You make me feel so good."
Okay, he's a lot shocked now.
"But I'm not used to this, Robin. I know you are, I know that your M.O. is having fun with women you plan on never seeing again. But I've never done that, and in my mind, this kind of arrangement was only going to work if we treated it like a transaction. I didn't expect it—or you—to be so easy to enjoy. It scared me a little."
He brushes a strand of hair off her forehead. "You don't have to be scared of enjoying yourself."
She smiles. "I'm not, as a rule. But I didn't expect to enjoy this, and while I'm good at adapting to things I don't expect, I need time to process it. Sometimes that means I resist or shut down while I'm processing, and I'm sorry I did that to you. But I think I'm okay now."
He studies her. "Okay with enjoying this?"
"Okay with enjoying this," she confirms. "And still not getting attached."
Attached. It's one of those words that he associates with bad things—pleading texts and late night phone calls and possessiveness. A toxic word. And yet, he finds he doesn't mind the idea of Regina getting attached at all. In fact, the idea of her being possessive of him is rather pleasing. Especially because he's starting to feel rather possessive of her.
Dial it back, Good Times.
"You're a careful woman, love" He tells her. He brushes another strand of hair away from her face. "I know you won't get attached. You're too guarded for that."
She blinks up at him, like she has a response but she's already forgetting it. Which is good, because he doesn't know if he believes his own words. She is guarded, she is careful—she's fierce and strong and almost ferociously independent—and yet behind those walls, he can see loneliness. He sees sadness.
Before he can say something else about it though, she asks, "Was everything okay tonight?"
At first he thinks she means the sex, but then she adds, "When I opened the door, you seemed a little off. Like maybe you'd had a bad day at work or something."
"Oh. That." He considers how much to tell her. Most civilians don't want to know about their neighbors who died alone or the blood that's stained the pavement just outside their house.
"Work stuff," he says, opting for a vague, harmless version of the truth.
"Like a bad case?" she asks
"Yeah. Like a bad case."
She nods. "I'm sorry. But I am a little relieved, I admit. I was worried it was because of me, because of last night."
He searches her face. "Did you kick me out because of the whole not wanting to enjoy our sex thing?"
She glances away, and when she looks back, he gets the sense that it's her turn to hold the entire truth back. "Something like that."
His stomach rumbles loudly, as if to argue with the both of us. "Well, about that food," he says.
"Yeah," she responds. "Go. I'll be out in a few minutes."
He squeezes her thigh and then leaves her bedroom for the kitchen, not sure how to feel about anything that just happened. The only thing he's sure of is that a part of him—a big part of him—doesn't want to leave her alone on that bed. He wants to go back in there and settle next to her, have her head nestled in the crook of his arm while he runs his fingers along the lines of her belly and thighs.
"I have to admit, this isn't what I was expecting," Regina says, perched on a bar stool and examining the plate he just set in front of her on the counter.
"You weren't expecting me to cook?"
"You know, I am pretty sure I said delivery."
"But you also said that you wanted to make sure I wasn't a serial killer. I thought maybe making you Grandma Locksley's Irish breakfast for dinner would prove to you that I have a good, non-murdery heart."
Regina smiles down at her plate. Eggs and sausage and tomatoes and bacon. "I suppose a serial killer wouldn't make these raspberry scones from scratch."
"Or make sure you had real clotted cream to go with them," he says, delivering said cream to her in a small bowl. "And the scones are stupidly easy, for the record. Made them this morning before work before I knew I'd see you tonight. Plus Pop helped."
"Pop?"
"My grandpa." Then he adds, because she will need to know if they ever use his house as a space for impregnation, "And also my roommate."
She puts her hands together. "That's adorable."
"Sure," he says, bringing over a French press full of fresh coffee. It's a little late for caffeine, but he plans on keeping her up and sweating 'til past midnight at least, so it'll be fine.
"You're good in the kitchen," she says, curling her hands around the mug as he hands it to her.
"After Mom died, I kind of had to be. And Pop insists that a man should know how to make at least three different meals: one for a woman, one for family meals, and one for a church funeral potluck."
"Good philosophy. And stop with the dishes. I don't like it when people clean my house in front of me. It makes me feel guilty."
He thinks she's the sexiest, smartest woman he's ever known. He comes around the counter and pulls her into his arms, loving the way she wraps her legs around his waist as if it's the most natural thing in the world.
"I think you're too fucking perfect to go another moment without my face between your legs."
She flushes under his praise and laughs. "I thought I owed you my mouth tonight, remember?"
He's already carrying her to the bedroom, his cock hardening like steel in his jeans.
"Don't worry, love. There's always tomorrow night."
Regina can still smell Robin on her sheets when she wakes up the next morning. Still feel his presence. She keeps her eyes closed and savors his scent, remembering the way he cooked her dinner and cleaned her kitchen. Remembering the tickle of his beard along her skin when his mouth was between her legs. Remembering all the dirty things he did before coming inside her for a second time last night.
The wonderful, amazing, dirty things.
She's come to terms with enjoying the sex, but that's only while they're having it. When he's gone, she shouldn't be thinking of him like this, but she can't help it. He's so vivid in his memory. So clear. His energy so warm and strong. It's almost like he never left. Almost like…
Wait.
She opens her eyes and sure enough, Robin is lying next to her, fully dressed, watching her sleep. Her heart trips a beat, but any thrill she feels is immediately wiped away with a rush of anxiety.
"Did you break in?"
His lip curls up in amusement. "No. I never left."
"That's worse."
"It was an accident," he says, as though he can read her mind. "You wore me out. I fell asleep."
"But you obviously already got up. You're dressed. You could have snuck out, and I would never have known." She throws her arm down and stares at him point blank. "Why didn't you do that? Why are you still here?"
"Because folic acid is important for women when they're trying to get pregnant," he says, as though that clears everything up.
"And?"
"And I noticed you didn't have any orange juice in your fridge. So, I wanted to be sure you got your folic acid."
"That sounds dirty when you say it," she says, resigned. Resigned to him being here and being hot and her being hornier than she wants to admit.
"Everything sounds dirty when I say it. Come on." He pulls the sheet off of her and swats her behind. "Get up. Get dressed."
"Why?" Regina groans. As long as he's here, they could get in another round of baby-making, but not if she's supposed to be getting dressed.
"Because you can't leave the house naked," he says, standing up. "I personally wouldn't have a problem with it, but I'd have to arrest you for public indecency, and though I want to see you in my cuffs, it's not going to be any fun if you're behind bars."
Goose bumps erupt along her skin at the mention of his cuffs, but she hugs herself, pretending it's because she's cold. "We're leaving the house together? Where are we going?"
He rolls his eyes in exaggerated annoyance. "To get some folic acid. Haven't you been paying attention to anything I've said?"
With a shake of her head, she climbs out of bed and shoos him out of her room so she can get ready. She puts her hair up in a messy bun and takes a quick shower then throws on a green cap-sleeve knit dress patterned with chemistry formulas.
When she comes out of the bedroom she smells coffee, and before she can ask, Robin hands her a travel mug with room for milk at the top.
"I didn't know how you took it," he says.
"Do you trust me driving you someplace?" he asks. "If you'd rather take your car and follow… But we aren't going far and that's kind of a drag."
"You can drive me. I trust you. Ish."
"Ish?"
"I trust-ish you. Ish. Just." She does trust him.
Less than ten minutes later, they're pulling into the driveway of a two-story house with yellow vinyl siding and an American flag mounted by the front door. The yard is landscaped simply but earnestly, and even though it's early spring, the lawn has been attended to. It's cute. Not too small. Exactly the kind of house she'd love to raise her kid in but could never afford on her current salary.
The problem is, she can't think of any good reason that Robin would bring her to someone's residence. Unless it's his house.
He already has his door open, but she doesn't move. "Your house, Robin? Seriously?"
"Where did you think I was taking you?"
"I don't know. First Watch? IHOP? Starbucks?"
"My house is better than all of the above combined." He tugs on the sleeve of her dress. "Come on. I'll make you the best lemon brown sugar blueberry pancakes you've ever tasted. And, if you're good, I might even let you have some of my sausage."
"I sure hope that's not a euphemism because I'm not happy, and also, now I want sausage."
"What's so terrible about coming to my house?" he asks. Robin unlocks the door and holds it open for her.
"We're not dating. We're not supposed to be 'hanging out.' We're not supposed to be getting to know each other or spending time together. We're supposed to be banging and that's it."
It's then that she notices they aren't alone. There's an elderly man sitting with a laptop at the dining room table, which is clearly visible from the front door in the open-concept living space.
"Uh, hi," She says, wishing she was invisible. Or at least not so loud. "Sorry."
"Didn't hear a thing." He gives them a sidelong glance and then turns back to his screen. "I'm just banging away on this stupid computer here, trying to figure out how the damn thing works."
His choice of words isn't an accident. He obviously heard her.
Regina exchanges looks with Robin. She's sure she's beet red. She wants to die.
"I want to die."
Laughing, he beckons her to the dining room. "Pop this is Regina. She works at the library with Belle. We're…" He looks at her, searching.
She doesn't say a thing. But she thinks several things in his direction. Things like, Are you serious? You're the one who brought me here. You should have thought about what you were going to say before that you...you...hot cop.
"Friends," he finishes after a beat.
"Regina, this is my grandpa, Richard, but I promise he won't answer to anything other than Pop."
"Hi,"
"Nice to meet you, Regina." Pop studies her, and she studies him. He's leathery and wrinkled, but it's obvious he was very handsome when he was younger. He's still handsome now. His bone structure is exceptional and the deep creases by his mouth and eyes are the kind earned from a good-humored person.
It's obvious Robin comes from good genes. That he'll age well. Which she's glad to know.
For the baby, naturally.
Though it doesn't matter what his opinion is, she can't help but wonder what Pop sees looking at her.
"Robin doesn't usually bring his women home," he says after a moment. "You must be special."
"I'm not his woman."
"He doesn't bring friends either." His eyes twinkle in the same way that Robin's do, and his chest tightens at the old man's words.
Was Pop right? Was she special to Robin?
She glances over at the sexy man who is now wearing an apron that says Kiss the Chef If You Can Handle the Heat and is currently gathering the items he needs for his pancake concoction.
"I'm making Regina breakfast," he says, pulling a carton of eggs and a carton of orange juice from the fridge. He sets the eggs on the counter then pours some juice into a glass before bringing it to her. "Behave yourself, Pop, and I'll make some pancakes for you too."
"Yeah, yeah," the old man grumbles and turns back to his computer.
Regina takes the folate-rich orange juice and thanks him. She doesn't want to know if she's special to him, she decides. It will only complicate things. But he's giving her things. He's giving her some fun and some folic acid, and most importantly, he's going to give her a baby. So, she lets herself start to get comfortable with the idea that he's always going to be special to her.
An hour later, she's finishing her third glass of orange juice and her second plate of pancakes. Between last night and today, Robin has proven he's a really good cook. Too many meals with him, and she'll have to double her twice-weekly Jazzercize class attendance.
Pop sits next to her, his laptop turned so they can both see the screen. "Now that I've saved the picture, how can I find it again?" he asks.
"Since you remembered to save it in the photos folder this time like I showed you, all you have to do is pull up your folders list, like this." Regina demonstrates for him. "And there it is. Double click on the thumbnail to open it."
Wanting to feel useful somewhere, she ended up helping Pop figure out a few things on his new computer. He's slow on the uptick, but not any less guidable than the teens she works with at the library.
"Hey," Robin says, taking her empty plate from her. "You're good with him. You should teach him how to use it for real. Give him some regular lessons."
"I'm sure I don't know anything more about computers than you do," she says, not wanting to hurt the old man's feelings with a simple no.
Robin doesn't seem to pick up on the reasons for her hesitation. "Yeah, but I have no patience for the man." He stacks his grandfather's plate on top of the others in his hand and takes them to the sink.
"Correction, son," Pop interjects. "I have no patience for you."
Regina coughs and covers her mouth to hide her laugh.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Robin says rinsing the plates when the doorbell rings. Then rings again. And again. Then several more times.
"Shit!" Robin turns off the water and turns to face her. His face is pale and his eyes wide.
"What is it?" she asks.
"I knew nothing about this. I swear." He's apologetic and concerned.
"Knew nothing about what?"
Before he can answer, the front door opens, and Belle walks in with a tote bag over her shoulder, the kids in tow behind.
Here's no time to move though. No time to react. No time to do anything but stand there and wait for the disaster that's about to happen.
"The doorbell is not a toy," she says to Kevin. "You ring it once only. And we don't even have to ring the bell here because I have a key." She blazes through the living room toward them like she's on a mission. "Good morning, Pop! I have a ton of errands I'm running today and you're on the way to the dry cleaners so I brought some more Icy Hot patches for your knee and some of that Calms Forte you like to help you sleep better. It shouldn't make you too drowsy the next day. Robin can help you with the bottle if your arthritis is bothering you. Nice to see you, brother of mine, and. Oh."
She finally takes a breath. Finally sees Regina in the room. "Regina." She looks from her to Robin then back to Regina again. "Good morning."
"Uh, hi."
Kevin runs to Pop and pulls at his leg. "Ant Smasher. Ant Smasher."
The old man lifts the little boy up to his lap, and her heart melts imagining this exact thing but with Robin's child. "Nope, kid. Not on this machine. What we got on this beast? Solitaire, I think. Let's find out."
Pop pushes some buttons and whatever he manages to find, it seems to entertain the both of them.
With their attention occupied, Belle resumes darting her eyes back and forth between her and her sperm donor.
"So," she says after several seconds pass in silence. "Is someone going to fill me in?"
"There's nothing to fill," Regina says, then blushes because she's a bad liar and because Robin has been filling her quite well.
Apparently, he's also turned her into a pervert.
Belle narrows her eyes. "Are the two of you…?"
"No!" Robin and Regina say at once. Like that's not obvious.
"I'm helping Pop with his computer," Regina says in a rush, eager to make this situation seem anything other than what it is. Though, at this point, she's not sure what it is. This morning's activities have had nothing at all to do with their contractual agreement.
"Ah. I see." Belle doesn't seem convinced, but she turns to her grandfather anyway, and says, "I told you Robert would help you with that, Pop."
"She's nicer than Robert," Pop says, nodding in her direction. "She's prettier than him, too." He winks as though he knows he's part of a cover-up.
And because she's completely fallen for this old man, Regina winks back.
Robin returns to loading the dishwasher. "Want some pancakes, Sis? I still have some batter left."
Yeah, that's good. Change the subject. Divert her attention from them with delicious food.
Belle doesn't fall for it. "I had a Slimfast. Thanks. Regina can I see you in the other room for a moment?" She turns and walks out of the dining room, not waiting to see if she'll follow.
Regina gives a final look to Robin who mouths, "Good luck," before she proceeds after his sister.
Belle hasn't gone far, only to the other side of the living room. But it's far enough that she's sure her brother can't hear her when she says quietly, "I haven't seen you since you and Robin went out together, and he's refused to tell me anything."
"That's...gentlemanly of him." It's nice to know he's kept his side of the bargain and not said anything.
Joey murmurs in his sleep as Belle shifts him to her other hip. "Then did something happen?"
She wants details. And she's her friend, so details would be fair, if she was into Robin for real.
But, she's not.
"Nothing happened on our date. I've sworn off men. Remember?"
"But you're here at our house for breakfast." She blinks and corrects herself. "His house." She corrects herself again. "Pop's house."
"I am." Regina takes a breath and attempts to paint a better picture. "It's no big deal. Robin offered me breakfast while I got to know your grandpa. To see if I thought I could help him."
"With his computer."
"Right." Regina sighs. "I know it seems weird, but this isn't anything. Really. One date with your brother didn't change my life plans." And that is the truth. She still wants her baby. She's still on track for that and nothing else.
"I'm sure he's dismayed about that."
"Yes. He is. Poor guy. I think he really has a thing for me. I felt bad. It's why I said I'd help out your Pop."
Belle shakes her head. "You and your bleeding heart. It's going to get you in a mess one day, Regina."
"Probably sooner than later," she mumbles more to herself than her.
"Oh, while I have you…" She puts her hand on Regina's upper arm. "I'm supposed to go to a wet lab at the police academy Friday after next, but Robert has a department dinner that we need to go to. Want to take my place?"
"What's a wet lab?"
She drops her arm so she can hold her toddler with both arms. "It's this thing where the academy pays for volunteers to get drunk so that the recruits can practice field sobriety tests on actual drunk people. I've been doing it since Robin was in the academy himself. Anyway, it's fun. Free booze!"
Regina hesitates because that's two weeks away, and she could be pregnant by then. "I don't know…"
"Come on," she says. "How can you turn down free alcohol?"
"I'm sort of going easy on the drinking."
"Why? You pregnant or something?" she laughs.
Regina nearly chokes. "What?"
"I'm kidding. I just couldn't think of any other reason to be sober on a Friday when I didn't have to deal with my kids."
"Oh. Haha." But it's too close to the truth. "Email me the information. I'll go." Maybe.
"Everything good out here?" Robin asks, coming into the living room.
"Yep!" Belle says with her extroverted gusto. "But I've got to be going. We have a to-do list a million miles long. Kevin, put Pop's cane back where you found it. It's not a light saber."
Regina says goodbye to her friend, and then while she's herding her son out the door, she slips off down the hallway in search of a bathroom. The house is small, and she finds what she's looking for on the first try. She's curious, and the door is already half open so she takes the liberty of pushing it open all the way.
The thing that had caught her eye? It's a giant poster of Jessica Alba in a stripper's outfit from the movie Sin City.
"Oh my God." Regina says it to herself, but it's out loud.
"Don't go in there!" Robin shouts in a panic running toward her.
But it's too late. She's already seen what he doesn't want her to see. There's a poster for the movie Gladiator and another for the original X-Men. The bookshelf has a shelf dedicated to Avengers comic book memorabilia. Next to it is a student desk—the kind you buy from Target and put together yourself—and above that is a corkboard with photographs and concert tickets hung up with pushpins. There are also more pictures of scantily clad women, though nothing as in-your-face as Jessica, who seems to be the focal point.
This is a teenager's room. A teenage boy's room.
"It's not what it looks like," Robin says, now at her side.
"This is your room, isn't it?" She asks. It's him as much as the tattoo he wears on his arm.
"Look," Robin says. "Be fair. I was a kid when I put most of this stuff up."
"Most?"
"All," he corrects hastily. "All of this stuff."
"And you're thirty-three and just haven't gotten around to taking any of it down yet."
He throws his head back in frustration. "It's been like this since I moved out for college. Okay? Pop wasn't concerned about redecorating, and I didn't have any reason to come back and do it, so it's been a sort of museum of my teenage years. I only moved back in about a month ago when Pop had his knee surgery, and no, I haven't gotten around to taking any of it down yet. But I'm planning to. Soon."
"Right."
"I actually tried to convince Pop to take my room so he wouldn't have to deal with the stairs, but he's too proud and stubborn."
"Or maybe he likes his bedroom. Maybe it has memories for him just like yours has for you."
She can feel his eyes on her as she wanders over to the corkboard. The photographs pinned here seem to be from various occasions in his life. In some he's a teenager. He's thinner and beardless, but still attractive. Still as cocky, if she's interpreting his expressions correctly.
In others, he's younger, and she wouldn't recognize him if it weren't for his smirk and eyes.
Then there are pictures of family.
"Is this is your mother?"
Robin moves up next to her, presumably to see what she's looking at. "Yeah. That was not too long before she died."
"And after she died you moved in here?"
He nods. "Dad was killed in a car accident when Belle was just a baby. I don't even remember him. So when Mom died, Gran and Pop took us in."
"When did your Gran pass?"
"A few years ago. That's her with Kevin." He points to a photo of an elderly lady with Robin's chin holding a newborn baby. There's something so sweet about it, something so honest, it makes her chest pinch, and she has to look away.
She finds a picture where teenage Robin has his arm around a blonde with her hair in retro cinnamon buns, Gwen Stefani style circa 2001. "Is this your high school girlfriend?"
"One of them. You jealous?"
"No!" She's a little bit jealous. Which is stupid.
But she remembers being that age. She still believed in relationships back then. Still believed in happily ever afters. What would it have been like for them if she'd met him back then?
Butterflies stir in her stomach, the kind that have less to do with lust than they do with infatuation. They haven't stirred in so long she barely recognizes the feeling.
"Did you ever bring girls back here?" She asks, broaching dangerous territory. She's thinking dangerous thoughts. Having dangerous fantasies. Wanting dangerous things.
"Never," he says earnestly.
"Yeah, I don't believe you."
"I'm dead serious. Pop has a shotgun. He was always threatening to shoot my dick off if I knocked a girl up. Scared the shit out of me."
Regina laughs nervously, keeping her eyes on the movies. "And here you are trying to knock a girl up now. You must have gotten over your fear."
"Pop has arthritis. He'd have too much trouble loading the gun." There's a soft thud of a door closing, and she looks up to see that he has shut them in. "And I have always regretted the lack of action this room has seen."
Her heart rate picks up, and immediately, her panties are soaked. She's already half fantasizing about what it would have been like to be his teenage girlfriend. Sneaking around, fumbling and fucking behind her mother's back, convinced that they are meant to be forever.
But all this is wrong. The fantasy, the location. The motivation.
"Robin." She shakes her head, insistently. "No. We can't."
"We can. We should." His eyes darken, and he starts for her.
Facing him, she backs away. "Your grandfather's just in the other room!"
"He's taking his morning nap."
Her backside meets the desk behind her. She's trapped. She has nowhere to go. A thrill runs through her body.
With a sext grin, Robin moves in until he's nearly pressed against her.
"What if we wake him up?" she asks, already breathless.
"He has his hearing aids out. He can't hear shit." Robin pushes up her dress and rolls his thumbs over her clit through her panties.
"I mean. I guess this is still within the window of ovulation."
"Exactly why we should," he agrees.
But, really, she's barely thinking about her fertility cycle. It's just an excuse to play out this fantasy of hers. A fantasy that's for her alone. She's not willing to share it, not even with Robin.
She bites her lower lip when she notices the outline of his cock, pushing thick and large against his jeans.
He follows he gaze. "See how hard I am for you, love."
"Uh-huh." she shudders as he presses harder against her nub.
He bends down so his mouth is near her ear and whispers, "There might be a baby in there right now, just waiting to be made. All it needs is you. With your legs spread, waiting for me to cum deep inside you."
Fuck. She's done for.
Fingers shaking with anticipation, she starts working the button of his jeans.
"Turn around," he commands, urgently, before she's gotten his pants unzipped.
She turns and gathers her dress around her waist and holds it in place with her elbows. Then she lays her palms flat on the desk, bracing herself for what she knows is coming. Like she imagines he does with the people he arrests, Robin kicks his feet apart, spreading her as much as he needs. Then he moves in closer behind her. He's so frantic, he doesn't even pull her panties down. He just pulls them to the side to make room for his cock.
She's so wet, he slides right in.
"If I'd have known you when I was a teen, I'd have beaten myself raw," he says, pumping into her with vigor. "I'd have imagined fucking you just like this."
"Keep talking," She pants.
"Oh, you like that, do you? I knew my librarian was a naughty girl." He slows down ever so slightly so he can snake an arm around her and up her dress. He tugs the cup of her bra down and releases her tit from captivity and squeezes. "Teenage Robin would've had to have you. He'd have done all sorts of nasty things to you in the back seat of his car."
Even as she's gasping from pleasure, she giggles at the image of Robin in what was likely his first car. Damn, she would have loved to have done that too. Sneaking around without her mother knowing. Getting fingered in his car when they're supposed to be at the library or the school play or the game.
"For you, I would have found a way to bring you back to my room instead," he says. God, he's so there with her, putting all her naughty thoughts into words. "Fuck Pop and his gun. I would have told him that I was helping you with your physics homework. And then I would have fucked you against this very desk."
She closes her eyes and moans, picturing their open textbooks falling to the floor as he pounded into her from behind. Her belly starts to tighten and pull. She's so turned on, she's already feeling the crest of her climax approaching.
"But Teenage Robin wasn't the Sex God he is now. I'd have to ask you what you wanted. You'd have to tell me how to touch you." Pinching her nipple, he brings his other hand to brush along the skin of her slit. "Right here, love? Like this?"
"Yes," she whimpers. "More. There." She can't talk in multi-syllabic words.
"Show me, baby."
Without thinking about it too hard—if she does, she'll get too timid—she takes one hand off the desk and brings it over his so she can lead his finger between her folds to find her clit. Then, directing his pressure, they rub her to orgasm.
As soon as she climaxes, he focuses on pursuit of his own climax, squeezing her breast and rutting into her wildly as he praises and adores her. "Jesus, Regina. You're so sexy. So tight. So gorgeous. Right there. Right there. I'm gonna come, love. I'm gonna come."
He stills, bursting inside her, and she wonders as he grunts and relaxes behind her, if they were both young and stupid, would she have hoped he'd be filling her with a baby then, too? The way that teens in lust-that-they-think-is-love often do? Not to trap him, but to solidify what they had. To hold onto it for as long as possible. She almost wishes they really were that age, just so she could feel that way about him and not worry about the things she knows now about love and relationships and men who don't stick around.
"I'll say it again, Regina" Robin says, kissing the back of her neck before pulling out. "You're fun."
She simply smiles and puts her dress back in order while she scans the photographs in front of her a final time. "It's kind of a shame all of this is going to come down. It gives a pretty vivid picture of your youth." She's committed as much as she can to memory, though. Recording what might be useful when she's raising his offspring—no other reason.
Robin buttons his jeans and glances around the room. "Well. Not all of it is coming down. Jessica will stay."
"Oh right," she chuckles. "Of course."
She finds it odd, but she wishes she was Jessica, so she could stay in his room.
Stairwell at the library.
She hits SAVE on the entry she's just added to yesterday's date in her Google Calendar. Then, after thinking about it a second, she clicks the entry again and hits "edit." In the notes section she adds one word: Twice.
She hits the button so that the whole month is viewable. Counts the dates they have had sex.
Holy shit.
That's eleven times that Robin and her have had sex in the last two weeks! That's a fuck lot of fucking. And that isn't counting extra for the entries that have notes like yesterday's stairwell incident.
Mmm. The stairwell.
Her toes curl just thinking about the way she had to clutch onto the railing so that she wouldn't collapse from the punishing sequence of orgasms he delivered.
Yeah. The stairwell was nice.
It's really probably not an entry she should include on the calendar. She's well past her fertile period, and her "meetings" with Robin are now primarily about keeping him satisfied—the man has a voracious appetite. But she included a couple of the times right after she was ovulating, in case she has her dates wrong. Once she decided to include those, she didn't know where to draw the line, so she's continued recording them all.
She figures it's better to have more data than not. That way she'll be able to accurately quantify the sacrifices she made in order to get pregnant. She chuckles at the thought. As if having sex with Robin could ever be considered a sacrifice. Her humor quickly fades as she realizes something else from looking at her calendar—her thirtieth birthday is even closer than it was a month ago.
Funny how that happens.
The familiar dread and death thoughts settle over her, making her feel antsy and anxious. Her legs ache. Her back aches. Her breasts ache. Death is near.
Maybe she's just fussy because she's pregnant.
Or it's PMS.
And if it's PMS, why the fuck is she not pregnant yet? After eleven times with Robin's so-called super sperm, surely she should be knocked up by now. Is it her that's the problem? Can she not get pregnant the natural way? Will she need infertility treatments to get her baby?
She'll have to get a second job for that. A third job.
Which wouldn't leave any time for the actual banging. Of course, if she was pregnant, there won't be any purpose for banging. She throws her head back and groans. She wants a baby, and the sooner the better. But the idea of no more sex with Robin is so horrible, it makes her want to puke.
Wait.
Does she actually need to puke? She sits back upright and concentrates on the way her body feels. Is she nauseated? Is this morning...er—she looks at the time—early evening sickness?
Maybe she should take another test. Yes, she's taken five already this week (one just this morning), and all of them have been negative. But her period isn't actually due until tomorrow so maybe it was still too early. And twelve hours could make a big difference in hormone production. Probably.
Before she's made up her mind about whether she wants to use—and possibly waste—another pregnancy test, the phone rings.
"Who the hell calls!" She groans at the interruption. But her annoyance dissipates when she sees Robin's name on her screen. Well, not his name, exactly. He's listed as "Officer Hottie" in her phone. Naturally.
"I was just thinking about you," Regina says, in lieu of hello.
It hasn't slipped her attention that Robin is the only person in her life that she doesn't harass about calling her. He doesn't do it that often. Most of their communication is via text, as all communication with decent people should be. But sometimes, when he's driving or working out or he needs a quick answer to something, he rings her up instead.
And she's decided that's fine. It's a temporary relationship, anyway, and the calling thing has been...useful.
"No wonder you sound so happy." His voice alone gets her body reacting. Her heart races and the blood starts flowing to her lower regions.
Not that she'd ever admit it.
"Actually, I'm moody today. And my breasts are tender to the touch. It's either PMS or I'm pregnant. No period yet, but the symptoms, it turns out, are pretty much the same as being knocked up. How the hell am I supposed to know the difference? How did anyone ever stand the waiting in the old days?"
"I'm sorry. You said something about touching your breasts, and I missed everything you said after that. Did you say you're not having your period?"
Normally this would elicit a laugh, but like she said, she's moody. "No. I'm not. Jerk."
"Good. I need you."
"You need me?"
"I'm outside your door in three, two…"
Her doorbell rings. Shaking her head, she clicks END on the phone call and jumps up to let him in. After a couple of steps, she turns back to shut her laptop. Robin doesn't need to see her tracking notes. Then she runs to answer the door.
"You need me again already?" she says, when she sees him face to face. Looking him over, it appears he's just come from the gym. He's carrying a duffle bag, dressed in sweatpants and a poly-blend shirt that appears to be the type designed to stay dry. His body's drenched from his workout, and it reminds her so much of the times she's lying underneath him that her stomach clenches in automatic response.
"Hello to you too, love."
He waggles his brows as his eyes wander to her chest, and after she shuts the door she confronts him. "You're checking out my boobs, aren't you?"
Robin shrugs. "You said they were tender. I was just trying to decide if they looked bigger."
Bigger could mean pregnant. Her enthusiasm kindled, she thrusts her bosom out for his inspection. "Well?"
He studies her more overtly, hovering his hands above her tits as though trying to compare size. "I think I need more input," he says. "I need to feel them a bit. Caress them. Maybe see how they fit in my mouth."
She presses her back against the closed door and heaves out a dramatic sigh. "We just banged yesterday." She teases him.
Robin closes in on her, resting his hands on her hips. "We totally did. When your boss walked out, and I had to put my hand over your mouth and pull you behind the stairs so she wouldn't catch us?"
"Yeah?"
"That was really hot."
"It was. I thought it would hold you over for a while. You are quite insatiable."
"Are you complaining?"
"I'm simply stating an observation."
Robin pulls back as though he might leave. "I can go find someone else to take care of me if you're willing to amend the arrangement."
Her chest twists unexpectedly.
"Really?" She can't tell if he's serious or teasing.
He shrugs non-committedly. "If that's what you want."
"It's not. I'm not amending the arrangement. And I'm not complaining."
"That's what I thought." He grins and moves in again.
Until she halts him with her palms. "But you're all sweaty and gross. Take a shower first."
"I'll hit the shower first."
"Yeah, good idea."
He picks up the duffle he brought in and slips off to her bedroom to use the en-suite shower. She watches him leave because he has a nice backside. Even nicer in those sweats.
Once he's out of sight, she throws her head back and knocks it three times against the door. Then, rubbing her head.
What the hell is wrong with her?
She's glad Robin is here. She was excited the minute she saw his name on her caller display, and despite her fussing, she's horny for him too. She actually always get hornier when she's premenstrual, so maybe she is about to bleed.
Of course she's read that can be a symptom of pregnancy too.
Especially if it's only sexually, because that's the only way it will ever be okay to care about him. And it's the only way it will ever be okay to let him care about her.
With that realization, she's suddenly desperate to be with him.
She runs to the bathroom where he's still showering. He's left the door open, so the steam hasn't fogged up the room, and she can see him distinctly through the clear glass wall of her walk-in shower. He must hear her because he turns toward her when she comes in.
"Almost done here, babe," he says, soap lathered on his chest and torso.
But she didn't come in to rush him. She came to join him.
His eyes are still watching her as she pulls her When in Doubt, Go to the Library T-shirt over her head and lets it fall to the ground. She took off her bra when she got home from work and changed into loungewear so her breasts are now exposed and Robin's eyes widen greedily at the sight. His hand moves down to tug on his cock, which is quickly hardening in front of her.
She considers making the rest of her strip routine more of a tease, but she's too eager to be with him. Too eager to touch him. Hurriedly, she pulls down her leggings and panties together and kicks them aside. Then she walks around the wall and into the shower to join him.
"Regina, you've just made me a very happy man," he says, turning his back to the spray so he can face her. He pulls again on his erection, which is now rock hard, and her mouth waters. She plans to take care of that. Soon.
But first…
Besides the texts setting up locations and meet-up times, she hasn't ever been the one to initiate sex, and honestly, she's not sure what she's doing. She's let Robin do all the guiding.
Fortunately, her confidence doesn't let her down. She knows what she wants, and that's what she goes after. She walks to him, throws her arms around his neck, and kisses him. For half a second, Robin seems stunned. She moves her mouth against his, and he's frozen, his body still as though he's afraid if he moves, the moment will be broken. Then suddenly he wakes up. He enfolds her in his arms, pulling her against his slick body. Their lips tangle and their tongues explore, and it's not unlike their first kiss where they were frenzied and urgent.
But this is also entirely new. It's bold and brave and sure.
It's familiar, too. And personal. And exactly all the things she'd feared kissing could be with him, and why she hadn't wanted to ever kiss him again. Her chest tingles and expands. She feels dizzy, and closer to Robin than she's ever felt before.
And that terrifies her. In all the best and worst ways.
But it doesn't matter anymore that kissing feels too intimate or too scary. The fear of intimacy was that it would lead to growing attached. And dammit, she's already attached. She realizes that now. This is already going to sting when it's over. There's no stopping that. So she might as well enjoy it while it lasts.
The water continues to fall down his backside. Rivulets escape down his front, and she leaves his mouth to follow one with her tongue as it weaves down his torso. The journey brings Regina to her knees, face-to-face with the "other Officer Locksley." They've become good friends the last two weeks, his cock and her. Furtively, she peeks up at Robin. He'd been reluctant to let her break their kiss, but now his eyes are dark as he watches her lips hover above his crown.
"I want to see you put it in your mouth," he tells her. "Can you do that for me, love?"
She nods, but all she does is lick the water drops off the circumference of his head, like it's an ice cream cone that she doesn't want to drip. She glances back up at him.
"That's not going to cut it, babe," he tells her, bucking his hips toward her.
Giggling, she sucks the tiniest bit of the tip into her mouth, enjoying the way his legs shake and his belly trembles with his groan.
"Fuck. Regina." His hands tangle in her hair, and she can tell he's trying to resist directing her, and maybe she should be glad about that, but the thing is, as much as she wanted to put her mouth on him—as much as this was her idea—she doesn't know what she's doing. Not only has it been several years since she'd given a blow job, but she's maybe never given a fabulous blow job. And just like teenage Robin who didn't know how to touch a woman, she doesn't know how to suck this grown man.
She wants him to show her what to do, but she doesn't want to ask outright. She wraps her hands around his thighs, takes his head into her mouth then lets it fall out again before she stares up at him coyly. "Like this?"
"Take it all the way, love. You can do it."
She draws her lips over him too slowly. She doesn't take him deep enough.
Again, he bucks, driving his cock in farther.
"Mmm." Her lips vibrate over his length, and he groans in response.
"More of that, Regina." He threads his fingers tighter against her scalp and she relaxes her neck muscles, hoping he'll take over. Her stomach twists in anticipation. "More," he says again, rocking his pelvis back and forth in a gentle rhythm. "Flatten your tongue."
She flattens her tongue, looking up to find his eyes are closed and, from his expression, she'd guess his restraint is threadbare. She pulls her head back and takes him in, once more too slowly. He pushes her head this time, forcing her to take more of him. She presses her lips tighter around him, rewarding his dominant behavior. It seems to work, because he grunts and pulls her head back before pushing her down on him again.
She digs her nails into his thighs. They're working at his tempo now, Robin fucking her mouth at the depth and speed he likes best. She's taking notes. Remembering exactly how far he likes to be sucked in and how he likes her tongue and how he likes it when she moans against him. It's so fucking hot. If she weren't so mesmerized by watching him, she'd reach down and rub herself, but this is about him. She wants it to be about him. Because she doesn't know how much longer she'll have him.
Robin's leg muscles harden, and his balls start to draw up. He's close, and she readies herself to take all he has to give. All the times he's emptied himself into her for her benefit, she's happy to swallow it all now for him.
But just as she thinks he's going to come, he pushes her off of him and pulls Regina to her feet.
"What are you doing? I would have—"
He doesn't let her finish telling her what she would have done because he captures her mouth with his in a deep searing kiss. He turns her and presses her back against the wall. "I don't want to come in your mouth," he says. "I'd rather have my tongue in your mouth while I'm coming in you."
She doesn't argue because that does sound nice. Besides, he's kissing her again and his mouth is preoccupied with better things than talking. He lifts her up so she's at the right height and she wraps her legs around him, inviting him in.
He buries himself inside her, with one plunging thrust. Then he doesn't move, he just stays nestled in her, as though he's anchored himself to shore, while he kisses her and kisses her. In all the ways she'd imagine that he's always wanted to kiss her. In all the ways she's always wanted to be kissed by him.
When he starts to stir, he moves leisurely at first, until neither of them can take it and they're both arching and bucking, trying to get deeper and deeper, trying to get "there" and everywhere and then they're coming, both of them together. Quaking like they're two rocks compressing against each other on a fault line under the surface of the earth.
They make small talk while they dry off. Decide what they'll have for dinner. Talk about the size of her breasts, which they decide are probably about the same size as always. They don't talk about the rest. About the kissing or that she initiated, or that this time, more than any other time, was less about contracts or babies or getting off than ever before, because she doesn't know if there are words for what it really was. It was more than just sex, and she can't pretend it was only for Robin.
Her libido wouldn't mind if this month ends up with no viable bun in the oven. Denying it is pointless.
But she's praying that the kisses they shared tonight were the last. She's not sure her heart can take much more time together than it already has.
"If you don't stop checking that thing, I'm going to throw it out the window," Killian warns.
Robin puts the phone away with an exaggerated sigh and then turns. They're driving in his patrol car. "Can't you conduct your one-man dating service when you're off duty?"
"I feel like 'duty' is a strong word for this afternoon, Killian."
"Well, yeah."
With their captain's permission, they are heading down to the regional police academy for an hour or two, both to watch a wet lab in progress and to talk to the administrators to hammer out the logistics for hosting one. Even though their city is fairly quiet and mostly residential, a few trendy new restaurants in the heart of town have meant an uptick in drunk driving, and their captain thinks most of the officers could use a refresher course in sobriety testing.
So we're looking into the possibility of hosting a wet lab of our own, yes, but also it means an afternoon of watching rookie cops and drunk people—two of the funniest groups to watch on the planet. It'll be a nice break from the calls about nursing home escapes and rich teens shoplifting.
Robin checks his phone again. Regina hasn't texted him today, and normally he wouldn't be shy about texting or calling her himself, except it seemed really important that he let her text first today...for some reason. The problem is that he told himself to give her space before she stepped into the shower with him, and now all he can remember is kissing her.
Fuck, that kiss. That kiss. Her mouth so eager and soft under his own, the warm spray of the water at his back, and the steam curling around their ankles…
The damp hair clinging to her temples as she wrapped her legs around his waist and fucked her against the wall…. Her soft cry as she came, echoing off the bathroom tile and sending bolts of possessive lust straight down to his groin...
Robin shifts in his seat, his cock pushing against his pants. He'd said that thing yesterday about finding another woman to take care of him mostly to tease her, but partly out of embarrassment at his own need to fuck her all the time. He's never needed to fuck someone like this—insatiably, constantly. It's driving him crazy.
Why hasn't she texted him yet? He checks his phone again.
"Robin!" Killian barks. "Stop with the phone! How many different women do you need to talk to in a day anyway?"
"It's actually just one. The same one for almost a month actually."
"It's a librarian. She works with my sister."
"A librarian," Killian repeats, as if he just told him he's been sleeping with an alien. "You...and a librarian?"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing. Just that normally you seemed to go for the women more like you."
"More like me?"
"Do you really want me to elaborate?"
"Is it going to be mean?"
"Robin, face it. You're the stereotype of a bachelor cop, and the women you sleep with are the stereotypes of women who like bachelor cops. I just don't want you to wreak havoc on some poor woman's life because you're bored or you're dying—"
"I'm not dying!" he protests.
"You're over thirty, aren't you?"
"If one more person says that—"
"Just don't be a dick, okay? Especially to some sweet librarian. They deserve better than that. Now if you want to go ruin the life of someone down at the post office, be my guest. You know the last time I had to mail a blood kit up to Topeka, they actually refused to—"
But Robin never did hear what the post office refused because they turn a corner into the room they're using for the lab, and he sees a flash of dark hair and hears the lilting alto of a familiar laugh and stops. Right in his tracks. Because he can't move. Can't think. Can't breathe.
Regina is here.
Regina is not supposed to be here, and he has no idea why she is, but she is indisputably here at this wet lab, in this room, with him and twelve drunk civilians.
He wants to protect her.
He'd finally earned her mouth, the kiss he'd been dreaming of, and he has to admit, he's a little proud of him for doing that.
She's here, even though he has no idea why, but now it's okay that she hasn't texted. Just seeing her makes his chest feel light, and so it's with nothing but happy anticipation that he walks up to her and give the knot on her head a gentle tug.
"You come to this bar often?" Robin jokes.
She turns at the sound of his voice and the feel of her hand in her hair, and stands up. And for a minute he thinks she's going to give him another kiss, and he wouldn't mind one bit. Technically, it probably would be against some policy or another, but the wet lab volunteers are almost always former cops or family and friends of cops, and so there's usually some informality going on.
He grins down at her, and then she growls at him. Like...actually growls.
She takes a step forward and sticks a finger in his face. He catches a strong whiff of alcohol. "You. You are the last person I want to see."
"Did I...miss something?" He racks his brain, trying to think of anything that could have gone wrong between yesterday and today, because the last time they were together, she was limp and boneless with sweaty, wet ecstasy.
"You did miss something, Robin, but I didn't."
"I…" He has no idea what she means.
And then she pokes his chest with a frowny pout, a puzzled little line between her eyebrows. She pokes harder, her finger pressing into the stiff wall of the Kevlar he wears under his uniform. "Why are you so hard?" she complains.
He refrains from making the obvious joke and answers as seriously as he can. "It's body armor, babe. It's supposed to be hard."
"I want you to be soft," she whines.
"Well," he says, "nothing's soft around you, doll."
Suddenly another finger in his chest. "No," she says angrily. "You don't get to be all flirty with me, not today. Not after what you did."
"What did I do?"
"You lied, Mr. Officer Blue Eyes. You lied to me."
"Mr. Officer Blue Eyes?" he asks.
"How many drinks have you had today, Regina?"
She shakes her head. "Nuh-uh. This is not about me being a tiny, miniscule amount of tipsy." Her normally precise voice stumbles over the word miniscule. "This is about you lying about your super sperm!"
Well. Everyone is certainly staring at them now.
He takes Regina's elbow and guides her into a corner of the room, deciding that sober Regina probably wouldn't want to rant about sperm in front of a room of strangers.
Once they get into the corner, Regina turns to him. "You said you had super sperm," she continues in a whispered hiss. "And you don't. You have the opposite of super sperm! You have unsuper sperm, you have microsperm, you have…"
"Now, let's not say things we're going to regret in the heat of the moment."
She growls again.
"And baby, you barely know my body at all if you think my sperm is unsuper."
"I do know your body, and I know about your giant, awesome cock—"
"Okay, well maybe you know my body a little bit—"
"—and you were supposed to get me pregnant and you didn't." Her eyes get glossy and her chin has the faintest tremble in it. And for some reason, seeing her chin quiver is like being punched in the chest. He can't stand it.
He's already pulling her into his arms when she manages in a teary whisper, "I got my period this morning. I'm not pregnant."
"Oh, Regina," he says cradling her tight to his chest. "Oh, love." He's sad for her, but he also finds that he's somewhat relieved in the fact that she's not pregnant yet. And that he'll have more time with her.
"I'm okay," she mumbles. "I'm done crying about it. Maybe they have more vodka...these cramps are killing me."
"I know another way to help those cramps, darling," he says, leaning in close. "You let the nice policeman help you release some tension, hmm?"
She bites her lip, staring at his mouth. "But it's...you know. All sorts of stuff going on down there."
The hungry look in her eyes has him heating up. They're already in a corner, and so it only takes a couple steps to get her backed against a wall, his hands braced on either side of her so she can't move. "I'm not scared of all sorts of stuff," he says in a low voice. "Just let me get two fingers inside your panties, and I guarantee I can make you feel much, much better…"
Regina's breathing fast now, her pupils growing wide and color rising to her cheeks. The door opens and the rookies shuffle into the room with all the nervous, hesitant energy rookies have. He steps back from Regina right as the lead instructor tells the recruits to circulate through the room to practice the field sobriety tests on the various volunteers.
"Ready?" Robin asks Regina.
She glances down at his hand—no, his fingers—and blushes even deeper.
"For the sobriety tests," he clarifies, with a smirk.
"Here's a good one," Robin announces, as they shyly come forward. He looks at the awkward cluster of them, too tight ponytails on the women, acne still on the faces of some of the men. They're all holding tiny notebooks and pens and they're practically shaking at the prospect of having to do actual police work on actual people. God, it's like they get younger and younger every year.
"Now, this lady is pretty drunk," Robin begins.
"I am not!" Regina protests from behind him.
"And she's getting belligerent. You'll get those from time to time. The secret to handling a drunk is: ask, tell, make. Let me demonstrate." He turns to Regina, who currently has her arms folded tightly over her chest and her body leaned against the wall. "Ma'am, I'm going to run you through our field sobriety tests. Will you step away from the wall, please?"
Regina glances warily from me to the recruits, and he can tell she's weighing her options. After all, she came here to act as the drunk guinea pig for the rookies...but she didn't come here to get teased by him. "You come over to me," she says finally. "I'm not moving."
"Ah, see?" Robin tells the recruits. "Now we will make a demand. Ma'am, step away from the wall."
This fires Regina right back up. "I don't have to do anything you say," she pronounces with great poise. "Because of the Fourth Amendment."
"Many drunks are also amateur constitutional scholars," he says as he takes a step towards Regina. "Unfortunately for our drunk tonight, I can verify certain physical cues—like the smell of spilled vodka—that give me legal cause to detain her while I investigate criminal activity. And also we can't do the sobriety tests while she's against a wall."
Regina sidles to the side as he approaches. "So I suppose you're going to try to make me now?" she says, trying for haughty decorum and failing.
"Yep," he says. And then in a lower voice, he adds, "It's all pretend, love. I wouldn't do what I'm about to do next in real life."
She seems relieved for about half a second, then her eyes widen. "Wait, what—"
But he already has her hoisted over his shoulder in a fireman's carry, her pert jean-clad ass up in the air and her scrumptious thighs clasped tight under his arm.
She starts hammering my back with her small fists. "Put me down!"
The rookies are giggling quietly as he drops her onto a nearby table and steps back. She sways, closing her eyes, like she's dizzy.
"Now, in real life, you probably wouldn't physically carry a drunk somewhere, and you might also want to give them more chances to comply. But it's my experience that drunks are a lot like toddlers—life's going to be easier for everyone involved if you don't expect them to think and behave like rational adults."
He faces Regina again and asks, "How much have you had to drink today, ma'am?"
She still looks a little off-balance from her trip. "Um. Three or four in the last two hours?"
He pulls out his penlight and shines it in her eyes. She blinks, and then sticks out her tongue at him.
"See?" he says, shaking his head. "Belligerent."
He shows the recruits how her pupils are dilated.
"Excuse me," she mumbles and pushes out of the room. He follows Regina out, turning the corner where he sees her going to the water fountain.
It's his turn to lean against the wall. With both hands on his belt, he watches as Regina bends at the waist to get a drink of water. God, that ass. He needs to have it in his hands.
She straightens up and catches sight of him. "Officer."
"Drunk lady."
She gives him an appraising look up and down—it's equal parts hunger and something else. Respect, maybe. "You know a lot of things about your job," she concedes as he un-leans himself and walks towards her.
"I'm glad you think so, love."
She sighs. "And about next month…"
"Before you get started about next month," he murmurs, taking another step and pushing her against the bathroom door. "I believe I was going to help you with something."
"You were?"
He reaches around her and twists the knob of the bathroom door, pushing her inside and turning her body all in one smooth motion, so that by the time the automatic lights kick on, he's got her front pressed against the cinderblock wall and his hands on her wrists, moving them high above her head.
"Robin…" she breathes.
Yes. Yes, this is what he wanted. To have her melt for him, to have her addicted to him.
"Do you want to play pretend again?" He asks in her ear. Without waiting for a response, he kicks her legs apart, which sends her ass back into him groin. She gasps at the contact, then moans as his hand slides down from her wrist to her waist and reaches under her shirt.
"What are we pretending?" she manages.
"How about you're a tipsy librarian and I'm the bad police officer who's going to detain you with two fingers."
"What do you mean with two fing—oh, holy shit." Her head drops back against his shoulder as he unzips her jeans and strokes the rise of her pubic bone through her silk panties. "Robin, you shouldn't…" She doesn't sound like he shouldn't though. She sounds very much like he should.
"You can invoke your Fourth Amendment rights any time, love," He whispers, finding the plump button of her clit and then skating his middle finger over it.
She shivers and shakes her head. "I won't," she promises.
"Good girl," he murmurs, pressing down and beginning to circle her clit in earnest. His other hand reaches for her other wrist so that he has both her wrists gathered in his hand, and he keeps her that way for him—stretched and spread while he does his work. Pinned and at his mercy. She lets out a long moan as he slows down his rhythm to a get the right amount of pressure for her. "That's it. Let me make you feel good."
He drops his hand to get under her shirt and palm her tits, squeezing and fondling and kneading as he continues to rub her through her panties. Impatient with the silk, he slides under the panties altogether and resume his work, this time with his fingertips directly against her swollen flesh.
"You shouldn't," she moans again.
"I told you I don't mind this stuff," he says, nipping at her earlobe. And he really doesn't, but he doesn't go lower than her clit because he doesn't want to push her boundaries, at least not now. Not when he needs to convince her to give her and his super sperm another chance. So he instead focuses on making her come, on making her feel the full height and strength of his body as he presses against her.
"As soon as you're ready," He promises, "I'm going to fuck you until you're pregnant. I'm going to rut inside you until you're growing my baby. Got it?"
"Got it," she whimpers, squirming under his touch. She's close, so close, and so is he, even trapped in his uniform pants. He rubs a little faster, a little meaner, almost like he is the bad cop who's taking advantage of her, like this is all for him and not for her. It seems to turn her on, his fake-meanness, and she is panting and writhing and her hands are scrabbling at the wall.
Then he feels the first shudder of her orgasm as she trembles against him. She gasps his name as she falls over the edge, a sharp exhale like she's been struck. "Robin."
It almost does him in, hearing that, seeing her writhe and squirm with his hand down her panties and her arms up on the wall. God, she's so fucking hot like this. Quivering and wild. He presses her completely against the wall as she continues to pant out her orgasm, kissing the back of her neck. And then when she's finally still and quiet, her eyes closed and her breathing more even, he steps back.
"This month," He growls. "I'm knocking you up."
She turns and faces him, her expression a little dazed. She nods. "Yes, this month. We're going to try harder." And then her gaze drops to his pants, where he's sure she can see the hard length of his cock pushing unhappily at the fabric. She steps forward with a small smile, and then her hand is on him, squeezing and palming him through his pants.
He groans.
"But if we're going to try this again, we have to do it right," Regina says seriously, as if they're at a library meeting and not like she's stroking him through his pants. "I want to make sure I'm giving this the best possible chance."
Her grip is fucking perfect, a little hard and palming the full length of him, and it's making it difficult to think. "Sure, love. Me too."
"Which is why this month you're going to save all of your orgasms for me."
Her other hand is now cupping his balls, and he has to lean a hand against the door or he's going to fall over.
"I already am," Robin says. "I haven't been with anyone else since the day I met you."
She smiles and squeezes his tip. His eyes roll into the back of his head.
"I know you haven't, Robin. I'm not talking about that."
He opens his eyes to her. "Um. Then what are you talking about?"
And then her words really sink in. All his orgasms. She can't possibly mean…
"No more jerking off while I look at my Jessica Alba poster?"
"No jerking off looking at the poster," she confirms. "Or in the shower. Or anywhere. You save it all for me."
"You sure you want that, love? Feeding my full appetite?"
She nods, squeezing him again. God, it's so hard to argue with her like this. She's got him by the balls...and the cock. "I know I won't be fertile the whole month, but I don't want to take the chance in case I have the dates wrong or something."
She drops her hand, wearing a smug little smile. He groans at her denial. "Shit, you're mean."
"I'll be off my period in five days. Then you can fuck my brains out. But until then, you save it for me. All month long, all your orgasms. All for me."
But as she gives him a cute little wink and he gives her a semi-playful, semi-I-hate-you-so-much-right-now spank on the ass, he wonders if she even realizes the truth beyond his sperm and beyond his body.
It's already all for her.
Regina walks one kid across the road to where his mom is waiting in the car outside the library, after speaking with the mother she heads back towards the library. As soon as her feet hit the opposite sidewalk, red and blue lights flash and a siren blares.
"Ah, shit."
She waits as the patrol car pulls over to the curb and the officer gets out. She's already preparing to drop Robin's name when the cop comes around the front of the vehicle, and she can make out his face clearly.
Relief sweeps through her when she realizes who it is. "Oh, it's you! You scared me, Robin. I thought I was really in trouble."
"Who says you aren't?" He looks her over and, with those aviators with the reflective lenses, he's just the way she remembers him from their first meeting. Complete with the hot cop uniform and the hot cop attitude.
Unconsciously, she takes a step backward. Just because he's so hot, it's almost hard to be near him. "Don't tease me," She says, nervously. Not nervous because she thinks she's actually in trouble but nervous because of how swoony he is right now. She almost wishes that she was in trouble. "I didn't think that was you because you were in a car. I've only ever seen you on your bike. Where is your bike, anyway?"
He ignores her question and takes another step toward her. "No teasing, ma'am. Do you know why I stopped you?"
"Oh for pete's sake."
"Do you have any identification on you?"
Regina rolls her eyes. Apparently, he's going to play this by the book. "I don't. I have my car key. My purse is locked in my car. Which is in the parking lot over there."
"And you know why I stopped you?" He tilts his head, studying her. Studying the anxious way she's playing with her hands.
Regina drops them immediately. He's a cop and somehow that triggers something automatic in her. Who doesn't get worked up when approached by a police officer after having just broken the law, even a minor law?
But then he lifts up his glasses for just a second and gives her a wink, coupled with that painfully sexy grin. "It's just a game, Regina. I'll stop if you want me to."
That would be bananas though, because she doesn't want him to stop. Because she knows this cop. Intimately.
"Don't stop," Regina says, a little too eagerly, which earns her another grin as he slides his sunglasses into his chest pocket.
But his smile fades into a stern expression as he repeats his question from earlier. "Do you know why I stopped you?"
"I'm going to guess it was because I was in the middle of the street. Or because you're horny. It's been a couple of days, and since I'm not due to ovulate for another day or two I'm sure you're going to want to get something in before that." She unbuttons the top button of her blouse in case that's the direction he wants to take this.
His gaze flick briefly to her cleavage then back to her eyes. "Jaywalking is considered an ordinance violation."
Regina lets out a huff. She's not sure how he wants her to respond, and she's ready for this game to move to the next level. Does he just want her to admit her guilt? Why isn't he pouncing all over her like usual?
Regina sticks out her chin defiantly. "You know what else is considered a violation? Officer Locksley wasting his sperm. You haven't been doing that, have you? Is that why you aren't jumping all over this right now?" She motions a hand up and down, gesturing to her body—the body he is decidedly not jumping all over.
Robin blinks, unmoved by her antics. "As I was driving up, I clearly saw you crossing the street in an area that is not designated for pedestrian crossing."
Regina tries a new tactic. "Are you going to give me a ticket, Officer?" She peers up at him through her lashes, but she can't keep it up without laughing. "Is this where the women bat their eyes and flirt to try to get out of getting in trouble? Or do they cry? I want to get it right."
Robin arches an eyebrow. "Are you asking how you might bribe a police officer out of getting a ticket?"
Regina cozies up to him, tugging on his shirt. "Not just any police officer. I'm asking how the women try to bribe you." She winks, and it is a game, but also she really wants to know. She wants to know what he comes face to face with every day. What women offer him. What his temptations are.
But the minute she touches him, Robin is on the defensive. "Stand back, ma'am."
Regina doesn't have to move since he's already stepped away. "Now turn please and place your palms on the vehicle."
"Are you…arresting me?" A tremor of excitement runs through her. This game suddenly got fun. "On what grounds?" She turns around and put her palms on the car like he's asked, pretending she's put out.
"Attempting to bribe an officer of the law." He comes up behind her, so close she can feel the heat of his body and smell the familiar musk of his scent.
"But I hadn't even gotten to the bribing part yet!"
"It counts." He pats her down, and she's pretty sure it's nothing like how officers really pat people down, or there would be a lot more people talking about it on The View. His hands feel along the sides and under her breasts but then he cups them, holding them in his hands, next he squeezes them together before moving lower down her body. When he kicks her legs apart, his hands explore up the entire length of her thighs and his fingers rub along the crotch of her panties.
"I have nothing to hide," She whispers breathlessly as he swipes inside her panties this time. "I promise."
He stands back up and twists her arms so her hands are gathered at her lower back. "I beg to differ," he says low at her ear. "It seems you have quite a prize down there. I bet a lot of people would want that very much if you didn't keep it hidden."
He punctuates his statement with the click of his cold metal handcuffs as he slips them on her wrists. "You have the right to remain sexy," he says. "Anything you say can and will be used to get you in my bed on your back or on your knees."
Regina bites back a giggle at his twist on the Miranda rights, but Robin's delivery is completely solemn, which makes her breath ragged and goose bumps rise on her skin.
"You have the right to use my body to give yourself a delirious, life-changing orgasm." He bends in close to her ear and whispers. "If you have trouble…don't worry, I'm a bit of an expert in that department."
Yes. Yes, he is.
He straightens and resumes his regular tone. "And trust me, I know how to put these handcuffs to good use."
And now Regina's so wet she's dripping.
She's never been so lucky to be pulled over in all her life.
Robin opens the door to the back seat of the police car but suddenly he pauses. "Are you expected anywhere right now?"
"Uh. No." Regina tries to guess exactly what he's getting at. "If you're asking if I'm still okay with playing Get Arrested by the Neighborhood Hot Cop, I'm cool. This is completely consensual."
She must have guessed correctly because he nods slightly then says, "You can argue about it more at the station," and pushes her head down with one hand so she doesn't bump it as he puts her inside the back of the cop car.
He closes the door and then gets in the front seat and starts the car.
Regina is grinning as he drives them off the street into a dimly lit corner of the Corinth parking lot, which thanks to our lack of infrastructure updates is really dimly lit. Next, he picks up his radio. "Dispatch, this is 23 going on e-call," he says.
She wants to ask him what he just did and what e-call means, but she already knows he won't tell her. Not right now, anyway. She makes a note to ask him later.
He hangs up his radio and shifts to face her. "Now. What are we going to do with you?"
He's so good at the role playing—well, yes, maybe because he actually is a cop—but he's so good at pretending that all of this is real, that she's really just a stranger who he's caught breaking the law, that he's really arresting her.
He's so good, she decides he deserves for her to try to give him her best character in return. She tries to imagine what she'd really be feeling if she'd just been arrested and were afraid for her reputation, but it only takes her three seconds to realize that real-life emotions are not appropriate in this situation. In real life, if she were cuffed in the back of a police car, she'd probably be guilty of something big, and not daydreaming about how she was about to bang the arresting officer. In real life, if the arresting officer was touching her the way Robin was—the way she hopes Robin will later too—it would be sexual assault.
So instead, she abandons reality and plays the scene she thinks would be fun.
"Please don't do this, officer," Regina begs. "Do you really have to take me into the station? I can't have an arrest on my record. I just can't!" She sounds pretty authentic, if she does say so herself. Her voice cracks and her lip trembles. She can't fake tears, but she wrinkles her face so it looks like she's on the edge of crying.
His rubs his scruff as his stare turns greedy. "It sounds pretty important to you to avoid this arrest."
"Oh, it is. It is. I'll do anything."
That's all it takes to get him in the back seat with her.
She scoots away from him, intent on acting shy despite her offer.
Robin won't let her forget. "You'll do anything?" he asks, scooting after her until she's backed into the corner. He slides his hand up her bare leg not stopping when it meets the hem of her skirt.
"Anything, Officer Locksley." She licks her lips and widens her eyes. "My hands though… Maybe you could undo the cuffs?"
He laughs with a hint of fake meanness in his tone. "I think I like the way you look wearing my cuffs. And I'm pretty sure that anything you could do to get yourself out of this could be done just as easily without your hands."
"Oh," Regina gasps as though she's way too innocent for what he's suggesting. "But if that's the only thing that will get me out of this situation, then I guess…"
"It's the only thing, sweetheart." He's already opening his pants for her. Already stroking the length of his hard cock. "Unless you'd rather I take you on down to the station."
"No, no! Please. I'll do it." This sure as hell better not be a game he plays with other women, because this is their game, dammit. She's decided.
She watches him as his hand pumps up and down his erection once more, and she wonders for a minute how difficult it's been for him to keep his hands off himself. She's made herself available to him every time he's asked, but still. He's had to be tempted.
It's an extra turn on to her right now, knowing that he's saved himself. Knowing that everything inside his cock has been waiting just for her. It's got her hot and wet and eager. Though her character's pretending that this is terrible, real life Regina Mills has never been so eager to put a cock in her mouth.
She pulls her knees up underneath her on the back seat, then she bends and starts to suck him off.
He doesn't take control this time, and she doesn't wait for him to, either. She knows what he likes. She knows the way he wants her tongue and how deep he wants her to take him in her mouth. She gives it to him exactly like she knows he loves, until his thighs are tensing and his breathing has grown shallow.
He lays a hand on her head then, petting the loose tendrils of her hair. "Would you swallow for me?" he asks above her, and she's not sure if he's asking as arresting Officer Locksley or as the guy who's saving all his sperm for her.
She's still trying to decide how to answer, or if she even needs to. Her mouth is otherwise occupied, after all, and speaking isn't at the top of her priority list. But if those weren't factors, and if this weren't a game?
She'd told him they had to do this right. That they had to save all his sperm for baby making alone, and she meant it. Right now though, she wished she didn't mean it. She wished that there was a Robin and Regina that existed somewhere else, in another dimension, where the goal wasn't a baby and their time together didn't have obligations attached to it. Because then she would. She'd do whatever he wanted her to.
But there isn't another dimension.
And she doesn't have to answer for real because he cups his hand around her neck and gently pulls her off his cock and presses his face up near hers, as though he means to terrorize her.
"Wasn't it good enough?" She asks, forcing her voice to tremble. "I can do better! I can swallow!"
"Good girl." He nips at her ear, and it tickles and makes her toes curl. She's helpless because her hands are bound, and that makes this even hotter. "I knew you'd swallow. But I don't want you to. I want my cum inside of you."
Regina gasps dramatically. "Does it really have to be that, Officer? Can't it be something else?"
"No. It has to be this. You said you'd do anything and this is what I want." He pushes her apart and kneads at her clit through her panties. "You're soaked. You want it too, baby. See?" He sticks his finger inside of her and scoops up some of her wetness to show her.
"That doesn't mean anything," Regina protests.
"It does. It means you want me. Taste how much you want me." He puts the tip of his finger to her mouth and pushes until she opens up and sucks her wetness off his finger. "Good, right? That's how much you want my cock inside you."
"But." She gives him a final objection. "I'm not on birth control, and I could get pregnant."
He laughs. "Sounds like a personal problem."
She has to bite her cheek so that she doesn't laugh too, though, for some reason it doesn't really seem as funny as it once might have.
She doesn't have time to ponder on that because Robin is moving on with their scene. After pushing her back against the door, he pulls her legs out from underneath her. "You're going to sit back and be a good girl while I take off your panties," he says. "Next, you're going to get on my lap, and you're going to ride me until I come. Then, and only then, if I come good and I come hard, then I'll take those cuffs off your pretty little wrists, and I'll forget I ever saw you crossing that street tonight. Got it, sweet thing?"
Regina presses her lips into a pout and nods. She pretends to struggle as he pulls her panties down her legs and pockets them, and he pretends to reprimand her, telling him the harder she makes this for him, the worse trouble she'll be in when this is over.
Finally, she's bare and her skirt is hitched up to her waist. Robin sits back and pulls her onto his lap where she sinks down easily onto his cock. She's so used to him now—his size, his fit—she adjusts quickly, but she whimpers as though the invasion is painful. As though it's the worst thing in the world to be sitting on him, her breasts bouncing even in her bra as he helps lift her up and down over him.
"Make me feel good," Robin whispers to her as she's taking his cock. She squeezes down on him as she's riding him. "Yes, yes just like that. You keep this up, and you'll be out of your ticker in no time."
He's fucking her as much as she's fucking him right back. The sounds of them fill the backseat of his police car, the grunts, the groans, the sensual slap of skin against skin. Still in her roleplaying, she tells him. "Don't come in me or I might get pregnant."
"Not my problem, you should have thought of that before you decided to break the law," Robin groans as he brings her chest closer to his mouth and his mouth clamps down on one of her nipples and he starts to suck, just like a baby would at her breast.
And in a way, it is the worst thing in the world. Because in this moment, while they're sweating and moaning and he's hitting that one spot and she's tightening around him, she realizes how alive she feels. How young. How far from thirty and death and the graveyard. Not only does she feel it right now while she's playing this naughty game with Robin, but she felt it in his bedroom and the hotel room the first night they were together. She felt it in the restaurant on their first date and in the library when he helped her shelve books. She feels it whenever she's with him. Not just when they're naked and fucking, but when they're teasing and talking and just being together.
And that is the worst thing in the world to realize.
Because they're temporary. And this isn't going to last.
She still thinking about that when she climaxes and the pleasure that pulses through her has an edge of sadness. He follows quickly with his own orgasm. She slumps on his shoulder, panting, trying hard to blink away the tears that are gathering in her eyes.
When Robin has recovered, he lifts her off of him and tucks himself away before pulling out his key and unlocking the cuffs. Taking one hand, he rubs her wrist where it's gone red from the metal.
"That. Was. Fun." He grins widely at her. "See? You're fun."
She starts to deliver the same old protest she always deliver when it occurs to her—maybe all of this youth and aliveness isn't just because of Robin. Maybe those things were all on my own. He might have brought it out in her, but it doesn't mean she can't hold onto it. She's young. She's fun. She doesn't have to be afraid of turning thirty. If she were really at death's door, would she be fucking sexy policemen in the back of their cars or having a baby on her own?
No. She wouldn't.
So she genuinely grins back at him. "You're right. I am fun. And guess what else. I'm not dying."
"Uh. That's great?"
"Yeah. It's pretty great." Then, because she's fun and young and alive she leans forward and kisses him. Kiss him really good. Like she means it. Like she means other things too. Things that aren't actually possible between them—like how nice it would be to visit that other dimension and thank him for showing her this other side of herself. Things that are maybe too nice to say to just a guy who she's contracted to impregnate her, but it's okay to say it like this. As long as she only says it like this, in a kiss.
His eyes are shining when she pulled away, and he can't seem to stop looking at her.
"Where's your bike, anyway?" She asks, trying to get the attention off of her.
"In for maintenance." He hasn't let go of her hand.
"And what's e-call mean?"
"I was signing out for emergency only calls. Basically, I was taking a dinner break." He's still staring at her, still studying her like he doesn't want to stop.
Regina pushes a strand of hair behind her ear, suddenly nervous from this strange new tension between them. "Is that what you call this? Dinner?"
He shakes his head slowly, as though not quite sure of himself. "I don't know what to call this. I've never done this before."
Her heart speeds up for no apparent reason. "Which part?"
"Never had sex in a patrol car. Never fucked someone I was pretending to arrest while on duty. Never fucked anyone at all while on duty." His lip curls guiltily. "Now I have used handcuffs. I can't deny that."
She giggles. "How could you not have used them? They're your main prop."
"Exactly." The humor dissipates and the air between them feels stretched and thin. It's not uncomfortable. Just fragile.
Then Robin says, "But I've never done anything quite like this. There's never been anyone like you, Regina. There will never be anyone like you."
And now she can't breathe. Because those are words that other dimension Robin might say to other dimension Regina and they might be beautiful and they might mean everything.
But in this dimension, Regina Mills knows that beautiful words never mean everything. They're only a prelude to a packed suitcase and a lonely bed.
And whatever she's thinking is crazy sauce. They've been roleplaying all night, and her head's a mess. That's all. He didn't mean it how it sounds.
She clarifies to be sure. "Of course, there's no one like me. Because I'm the only woman you've ever been contracted to impregnate. Right?" She throws in a laugh to make sure the mood is light, like it's supposed to be.
"Right," he says smiling in return. "Because you're the only woman I've ever been contracted to impregnate. Of course."
It's dark, though, and it might mean nothing, but she swears his smile doesn't reach his eyes.
Until Next Time...
