This story is part of the series:
It was a Friday night when April’s phone buzzed against her thigh Ethan’s name flashing on the screen. The message was simple, but the implication coiled low in her stomach: *Got the night shift tomorrow. Want to join me? Just the two of us.* She bit her lip, thumb hovering over the keyboard. Her response *What time?* arrived faster than she’d intended, betraying the slow burn of anticipation. Ethan’s reply was instant, almost rehearsed: I’ll pick you up at 19.45.
She dressed deliberately: an orange button-down shirt tight enough to hint but loose enough to tease, a black skirt that flirted with mid-thigh whenever she shifted, white socks wrinkled at her ankles, and black trainers scuffed from restless pacing. The outfit was a contradiction casual yet calculated, as if she could still pretend this was just a ride-along. The car smelled of pine air freshener and something deeper Ethan’s cologne, maybe, or the heat of his skin. When he reached over to adjust the radio, his forearm brushed her knee, and April exhaled sharply through her nose.
The patrol car’s interior lights flickered as they passed under streetlamps, casting Ethan’s face in intermittent gold. "So, " April said, her voice softer than she’d intended, "when you get back in town" Ethan chuckled, low and knowing. "Just last month, I responded to a noise complaint at that antique shop on Elm owner swore it was just porn blasting from the TV." The station parking lot was half-empty, shadows stretching like lazy cats between the cars. Ethan killed the engine, the silence sudden and thick. "If you’ve been back that long, " April murmured, shifting to face him, her skirt riding up just enough to reveal the pale skin above her knee, "why not visit?" His fingers drummed the steering wheel once, twice. "Planned to, " he admitted. "Just needed to get the apartment in order first. Bit of a mess."
Inside the station, the fluorescent lights hummed like tired bees. The dispatch desk sat unmanned, the radio crackling with static and distant voices. Ethan tossed his keys onto the counter with a clatter. "Welcome to the glamorous life, " he deadpanned, gesturing to the empty coffee pot, the half-eaten doughnut abandoned on a napkin. April leaned against the desk, the edge digging into her hip. "Bet you’ve got some stories, " she said, flicking a crumb toward him. He caught it midair, grinning. "Oh, I do. Like the time Mrs. Calloway called in because her cat was stuck in a tree again but refused to let anyone climb her oak. Said it was ‘sacred.’" April’s laugh spilled out, warm and unguarded.
The chair creaked as Ethan straddled it backward, forearms resting on the backrest. "So you get called out a lot at night?" April asked, fingers tracing the edge of the desk. He shrugged, the fabric of his shirt pulling taut across his shoulders. "Nah. Mostly just the odd drunk scraping himself off the pavement. Or teenagers trying to break into the old grain mill." His knee nudged hers beneath the desk, deliberate. "Why? You hoping for some excitement?" April’s pulse jumped she could feel it in her throat, her wrists. "Maybe, " she said, softer than she meant to.
The fluorescent light flickered overhead. April cleared her throat. "Where’s the bathroom?" Ethan jerked his chin toward the hallway. "Down there, past the locker room. Turn left at the end first door." His voice dropped. She stood, suddenly aware of the damp press of her thighs against the chair, the way her skirt clung. The hallway was dimmer, the linoleum scuffed from years of boots. Behind her, she could hear Ethan shift in his chair, the leather sighing under his weight.
She found the locker room first rows of metal doors dented with careless elbows and swinging belts. April grabs a uniform shirt out of a basket, still wrapped in plastic. The fabric is stiff with newness, the patches unmarked by sweat or wear. She slips off her orange button down, letting it pool on the bench behind her. Replaced with a police uniform shirt that fit her just a bit too tight.
When April comes back, she sits on his desk one leg crossed over the other. The motion sends her black skirt riding higher than before, revealing the smooth line of her thigh where it meets the hem of her borrowed uniform shirt. The desk groans under her weight as she leans back on her palms. Ethan’s gaze drops to the gap between her legs, where the fabric of her skirt strains against the curve of her hip.
His throat works when he swallows. April watches the bob of his Adam’s apple, then the slow drag of his tongue across his lower lip. She leans back a bit more just enough and the hem hikes higher, exposing the delicate white lace of her panties. They’re barely there, a whisper against her skin, and she knows he can see the shadow of her through the fabric. Ethan exhales through his nose, the sound rough-edged. His fingers flex against the chair arm, knuckles whitening.
She slips a hand into them her own panties and his breath catches like a snare. The lace is damp under her fingertips, the heat unmistakable. "We both know, " she murmurs, arching just slightly into her own touch, "when you asked me here, it was for this.
His fingers tighten on the chair arm. She watches his jaw clench, the way his lower lip catches between his teeth. April spreads her knees slow, deliberate until the desk groans between them. Then she lifts her fingers to her mouth, tongue dragging along them in a slow, wet swipe. The taste of herself is sharp, metallic like copper wire stripped bare. She hums, low in her throat. "Now your turn, " she breathes.
Ethan moves before she finishes speaking his hand replacing hers, fingers slipping past the lace with a roughness that makes her gasp. His thumb presses hard against her clit, circling once before dipping lower, where she’s slick and already open for him. The fabric rasps against her skin, the lace catching, pulling. April’s hips jerk forward, chasing the pressure.
She takes his wrist the one still gripping the desk and brings his fingers to her mouth. Her tongue licks a slow stripe along his index and middle fingers, tasting salt and gunmetal from his shift. The contrast is dizzying: the sharpness of his skin against the sweetness of her own arousal still clinging to him. When she sucks his fingers into her mouth, his other hand tightens between her legs.
Ethan pulls her to him, France kissing her not the kind of kiss you see in movies, all soft sighs and choreographed angles. This is messier: teeth scraping, lips catching, the faint tang of coffee and spearmint gum and something darker, hungrier beneath. There’s a moment where she feels his hesitation the way his breath stutters against her cheek before he gives in completely, his fingers twisting in her hair to tilt her head back.
Her palm presses flat against his thigh, fingers tracing the seam of his trousers before finding the zipper slow, deliberate, the metal teeth parting under her touch with a sound like a gasp. her hand helping it though the zip, already hard, she curls her fingers around him, and his hips jerk forward involuntarily, a ragged exhale escaping his throat. “Jesus, April ” he starts, but she cuts him off with another kiss, her thumb circling the head of his cock, smearing the wetness there.
Ethan’s fingers fumble with the buttons of her uniform shirt, his knuckles brushing against the bare skin beneath, just the warmth of her flushed chest, the rapid flutter of her heartbeat beneath his fingertips. Each undone button reveals another inch of her, the stiff fabric parting reluctantly, until her shirt hangs open her chest naked, the dim light catching on the sweat-slick hollow of her collarbone. His other hand doesn’t stop fingers sliding deeper into her panties, the lace straining against his wrist, the heel of his palm grinding against her clit in rough, uneven circles. She whimpers into his mouth, her grip tightening around him.
April arches her back, pressing her chest into his face, the heat of his breath ghosting over her left nipple before his mouth closes around it not gently, not teasing, but with a hunger that makes her toes curl. His teeth graze the sensitive peak, nibbling lightly, then harder, until she gasps her free hand tangles in his hair, holding him there as his tongue flicks over the taut bud, the sensation sharp and electric, radiating down to where his fingers are working her open.
Her hand tightens around him, strokes quickening in rhythm with the wet pull of his mouth her thumb swiping over the slick head of his cock on every upstroke, smearing precum down the shaft, the friction deliciously rough where his jeans still cling to his hips. She can feel him twitch in her grip, the muscles in his thighs trembling beneath her palm, and she turns her head to nip at his earlobe, whispering something ragged and filthy that makes his breath hitch against her skin.
Ethan pulls his fingers out of her panties with a wet sound that echoes in the quiet of the station, the lace snapping back against her skin already reddened from his touch. Before he can reach for her again, April slides off the desk, her knees hitting the linoleum with a soft thud that reverberates through her bones. Her fingers make quick work of his belt, the leather slipping free with a hiss, the metal buckle clattering against itself before she drags his trousers down his thighs in one rough motion. The fabric catches on his boots, tangled around his ankles, but she doesn't stop her mouth already on him, lips parting wetly around the head of his cock, her tongue flattening against the vein beneath as she takes him deep.
His hands grip the desk behind her knuckles white, tendons standing stark against his skin as if he's anchoring himself against the sudden, dizzying heat of her mouth. The metal groans under the strain, the edge digging into his palms hard enough to leave crescent-shaped indents, but he doesn't pull away. Instead, his hips jerk forward involuntarily, the movement sharp and uncoordinated, forcing her throat to open wider around him.
The lace of her panties scratches against her thighs as she shifts her weight forward onto her knees an almost imperceptible adjustment but the friction sends sparks up her spine, the sensation ricocheting like gunfire through her already taut nerves. His boots scrape against the floor, the heavy soles twisting as he struggles to kick his trousers the rest of the way off, the fabric tangled stubbornly around his ankles like a second skin she's unwrapping.
April pulls her mouth off him with a wet sound that hangs in the air between them, her lips swollen and slick with spit, her chin glistening. The sudden coolness makes him groan, the sound scraping raw against the quiet of the station. Above her, Ethan sits half-undone, his legs spread wide, the chair creaking dangerously as he wrestles his trousers the rest of the way off his boots making stubborn resistance, the leather stubbornly clinging to the fabric bunched around his ankles. His biceps flex with the effort, veins standing out like ink strokes beneath his skin, and April watches, transfixed, as his fingers finally wrench the last of the fabric free with a rough jerk that sends it pooling on the floor beside her.
She doesn't give him time to recover her fingers locking around his wrist, tightening like a handcuff, before she yanks him upright with a strength that surprises them both. The chair clatters to the floor behind him, forgotten, as she drags him toward the dispatch desk, her other arm sweeping across its surface in one fluid motion manuals, pens, crashing to the floor. The desk gleams bare under the flickering fluorescents, save for the faint outline of a coffee stain that's seeped into the laminate over years of graveyard shifts. His hips hit the edge with a thud that makes him exhale sharply, his hands scrambling for purchase on the smooth surface, fingers splaying wide as April steps between his legs, her knees brushing the inside of his thighs.
Her fingers hook into the waistband of her lace panties already damp enough that the fabric clings stubbornly to her skin peeling them down her thighs with a slow, deliberate drag that sends goosebumps erupting across her flesh. The lace catches once just below her knee and she pauses, savoring the way his breath stutters at the hitch in her movement, how his pupils dilate when she lifts her leg slightly to ease the fabric past the curve of her calf. The panties pool around her ankle for a heartbeat before she kicks them aside with a flick of her foot, the delicate fabric skidding across the linoleum until it catches on the leg of a toppled chair.
She leans forward then palms braced against the desk on either side of his hips and gives him a single, light push to his chest. It’s barely enough to rock him backward, but he goes willingly, shoulders hitting the laminate with a dull thud as he climbs onto the desk, legs spreading wider to accommodate her between them. The fluorescent light above them flickers once, casting his face in sharp relief jaw clenched, lips parted around a ragged exhale before steadying again as April climbs up after him, one knee planted between his thighs, the other sliding over his hip until she’s straddling him, her bare cunt hovering just above where he’s hard and leaking against his stomach.
The first press of her down is slow agonizingly so her body opening around him inch by inch, the stretch making her breath hitch as she sinks lower, lower, drawing a moan from them both when she finally takes him fully, her hips flush against his. The sound is wet, stifled; Ethan’s teeth sink into his own lower lip hard enough to leave marks, his hands gripping her hips tight as she begins to move not rocking, not grinding, but lifting herself almost completely off him before dropping back down in a single, fluid motion that punches the air from his lungs.
As she rides him, her borrowed uniform shirt still clinging stubbornly to one shoulder slides further askew with each rise and fall of her body, the fabric catching on the sweat-slick curve of her collarbone. His fingers fumble with the last button, knuckles brushing against the swell of her breast before the shirt finally slips free, pooling around her elbows like a discarded second skin.She helps the shirt off completely over her wrists one at a time first the left, her arm twisting back in a fluid arc that pulls his gaze down to the delicate flutter of her pulse beneath translucent skin, then the right, fingers curling around the cuff seam before letting it slither down her forearm with a whisper of fabric against damp skin. The shirt hangs suspended for a moment hooked on her fingertips.
April closes the distance between them in one swift motion the shirt snapping taut between her hands as she loops it behind his head, cotton stretched tight across his nape and yanks him upward into a kiss that's all teeth and shared breath. The sudden shift in balance sends Ethan scrambling to brace against the desk, fingers digging into her bare thighs as she arches against him, the shirt's rough seams pressing into his neck where her grip twists tighter. The kiss deepens when he gasps her tongue sliding against his just as her hips roll down hard, taking him deeper in a single, fluid stroke that makes his back bow off the desk.
She starts riding him faster now, each downward thrust punctuated by the slap of skin against skin, the desk creaking under their combined weight. Ethan's fingers spasm against her hips half guiding, half restraining as her rhythm fractures into something desperate, her thighs trembling with the effort. The shirt still cinched around his neck pulls taut with every snap of her pelvis, the fabric biting into his skin just enough to blur the line between pleasure and pain. April's breaths come in sharp, bitten-off gasps, her climax coiling low in her belly like a live wire until it snaps, her body locking around him with a choked cry.
Ethan feels her clench around him hot, pulsing and his grip on her hips turns bruising as he drags her off him with a ragged groan, his cock glistening and twitching against his stomach where she'd been seated seconds before. The sudden absence wrings a whimper from April, her thighs still quivering as she hovers above him, her cunt dripping onto his belly in thick, trailing strands. The shirt slips from her fingers at last, pooling between his shoulder blades.
His hands slide up her waist rough palms catching on the damp skin as he helps her off the desk and back to her feet, her knees buckling slightly when her soles hit the floor. She staggers forward into him, her forehead pressing against his collarbone, lips parted around uneven breaths.
Ethan grabs her arms behind her back in one swift motion her wrists pressing together against the small of her back, fingers interlacing almost instinctively and steers her toward his desk. His grip tightens just enough to make her arch forward, her bare chest brushing against the cold laminate as he reaches past her shoulder to yank open the top drawer.The cuffs clatter against each other when he pulls them free cold silver catching the flickering overhead light but he doesn’t snap them around her wrists yet. Instead, he tucks the tiny key into his shirt pocket with a smirk she can feel against the nape of her neck, his breath hot where it skims her spine.
The holding cell door groans when he it opens. April stumbles forward his hand firm between round her wrists and the metal bars gleam dully under the flickering fluorescents, their vertical lines casting striped shadows across her bare skin. Ethan guides her hands through the bars with practiced ease, her fingers curling instinctively around the cold steel before he pulls them back just enough to click the cuffs into place. The metal bites into her wrists, snug but not cruel, leaving her back pressed flush against the cell door.
He lowers himself to his knees between her legs with deliberate slowness, his palms skimming down the backs of her thighs rough calluses catching on the sensitive skin behind her knees before he lifts them over his shoulders. The shift in balance makes her gasp, her hips canting forward involuntarily, the bars pressing cold against her spine while her bare cunt hovers inches from his face. His breath ghosts across her first warm, uneven before he gives her a single, teasing lick from bottom to top, the flat of his tongue dragging through slick folds with agonizing precision. The sensation is almost clinical at first, like he's cataloging every twitch of her thighs, every hitch in her breathing.
His next pass is slower languid, even his tongue tracing the outline of her entrance before circling her clit with feather-light pressure that makes her fingers spasm around the bars. April's hips jerk forward instinctively, chasing the contact, but Ethan pulls back just enough to deny her, his chuckle vibrating against her inner thigh. "Easy, " he murmurs, the word warm against damp skin, his thumbs pressing into the soft flesh of her ass to keep her still. When he leans in again, his lips close around her clit with sudden suction gently, teasing and her knees buckle, the cuffs rattling against the bars as she arches against them.
The pause that follows is deliberate long enough for her to whimper before his tongue flattens against her in one broad, wet stroke that leaves her trembling. He repeats the pattern slow, teasing licks interspersed with moments of near-stillness until April's breaths come in ragged pants, her thighs quivering against his shoulders. Ethan's fingers dig into her hips, anchoring her as his mouth finally closes around her clit again this time with purpose his tongue flicking rapidly against the swollen bud while his teeth graze just enough to make her cry out.
The tension coils tighter with each flick her muscles locking, toes curling until she's perched on the edge, her grip on the bars white-knuckled. Just as she starts to tip over, he pulls away entirely, leaving her gasping and empty, her hips jerking forward in desperate, futile search. The chuckle that rumbles against her inner thigh is dark with satisfaction. "Not yet, " he murmurs, his breath hot against her damp skin, fingers tracing idle circles on her trembling thighs.
April's plea comes out ragged, barely recognizable half sob, half growl as she grinds against air. *"Please big brother no more teasing, "* she pants, the bars rattling as she strains against the cuffs. The honorific hangs between them, sticky with implication, and Ethan's mouth curves against her thigh before he finally finally dips his head back in. His tongue spears into her without preamble, rough and demanding, the sudden stretch wringing a broken cry from her throat.
He fucks her with his tongue deep, relentless strokes while his thumb finds her clit, circling just shy of the pressure she needs. The dual assault leaves her writhing, sweat-slick back arching against the bars as pleasure spirals tighter, brighter, and the wet, obscene sounds of his mouth working her open. Her thighs clamp around his head instinctively, trapping him there as she grinds against his face, chasing the friction with shameless desperation.
The orgasm hits like a bolt her whole body seizing, a hoarse scream tearing from her throat as Ethan swallows every pulse, his tongue milking her through it until she's shuddering and oversensitive. He gentles his touch then, peppering soft kisses along her inner thighs as she sags against the bars, her legs trembling violently where they still bracket his shoulders.
He lowers her legs to the floor with deliberate care, the only thing keeping her standing his hands gripping her waist his thumbs pressing crescent moons into the dip above her hips. April sways like a drunk, her knees threatening to buckle, but Ethan holds her steady, his breath hot against her throat as he murmurs, "We're not finished yet, little sis." The words curl around her like smoke, rich with promise.
With one fluid motion, he lifts her left leg arching her leg against his hip. The stretch burns sweetly along her inner thigh, muscles trembling from exertion and spent pleasure. He presses forward, the blunt head of his cock nudging against her asshole with just enough pressure to make her gasp not sharp, not sudden, but slow, insistent, the kind of touch that makes her spine go liquid.
When he pushes in, it's with a gentleness that borders on reverence inch by inch, pausing each time her breath hitches, letting her body adjust around him. The stretch is exquisite, a slow-burning fire s, her fingers scrabbling uselessly against the bars behind her. Ethan's groan vibrates through her skin where his lips press against her clavicle, his hips rocking forward in shallow thrusts that feel less like fucking and more like worship.
Her whimper is muffled against his shoulder, teeth sinking into the damp fabric of his shirt as he picks up the rhythm still slow, still tender, but deeper now, each movement dragging a shudder from her oversensitive body. The other hand cupping her cheek is rough with calluses, his thumb tracing the fragile curve of her cheekbone with surprising gentleness a contrast to the way his cock stretches her open, pressing just shy of painful against every overstimulated nerve. Her breath hitches when his fingers tilt her chin up forcing her to meet his gaze and the raw hunger in his expression sends a fresh pulse of heat pooling low in her belly. As he leans forward, pressing her harder against the bars, the cold steel biting into her sweat-slick back while his hips snap forward in a sudden, thrust that steals her voice.
April’s lips part around a silent gasp just as he pulls out, leaving her clenching around nothing, the sudden emptiness almost worse than the stretch. His thumb brushes the pout forming on her lower lip, before he hooks his hand behind her other leg lifting it against his hip. The shift in angle makes her arch, her body bowed taut between the bars at her back and his cock pressing insistently against her entrance, the blunt head catching on her clit with each teasing pass.
When he finally pushes in, it’s not a slow surrender it’s a single, smooth stroke that fills her completely, her body yielding all at once with a wet gasp. The stretch burns deliciously, her muscles fluttering around him as he bottoms out, hips flush against her thighs. His groan vibrates through her chest where their skin sticks together, sweat-slick and feverish.
At first, his thrusts are deliberate deep, slow drags. But then his pace shifts, imperceptibly at first, just a fraction quicker on the next stroke, then sharper on the one after that. April’s nails scrape against the bars behind her, her breath hitching as the rhythm fractures into something urgent, each snap of his hips ratcheting the tension tighter inside her.
His grip tightens around her thigh, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pulls her harder against him, driving in faster now. The slap of skin echoes off the holding cell walls, mingling with the wet, rhythmic sounds of their bodies moving together. She can feel the flutter building low in her belly, every nerve alight, every stroke pushing her closer to the edge, faster and faster.
Her breath comes in ragged gasps, her head tipping back against the bars, the cold metal biting into her scalp with each sharp thrust. He adjusts his angle slightly, and suddenly the head of his cock drags against that sweet spot inside her, over and over, relentless. The sensation is almost too much electric, overwhelming her muscles clenching involuntarily around him as her climax begins to crest, like a wave just before it breaks.
Ethan grits his teeth, his grip on her tightening as he struggles to hold on. His rhythm falters for a fraction of a second, his breath hitching she can feel him fighting it, the way his body tenses, the tremor in his thighs where they press against hers. Sweat beads along his brow, his jaw clenched tight enough to make the muscle jump.
Then, with a ragged groan, he pulls out hot, slick and lowers her legs from his hips, letting her sink to the floor in a heap. Her knees hit the linoleum with a dull thud, her thighs still trembling, her breath coming in uneven gasps. The cold air against her damp skin makes her shiver, her body still thrumming with the aftershocks of pleasure.
She looks up at him her lashes fluttering as she swallows hard and as if she could read his mind, her lips curve into a knowing smirk. *"Cum, brother, "* she murmurs, her voice husky, her tongue darting out to wet her lower lip. *"All over my face."* The words hang between them, sticky with implication, and his cock twitches against his stomach in response.
The second she says it, he lets go rope after rope of cum splattering across her cheeks, her chin, her parted lips. It's thick, hotter than she expected, the first spurts catching her off guard, her eyelashes fluttering shut instinctively as it stripes her skin. The scent hits her next musky, primal mingling with the metallic tang of sweat still drying on her upper lip. Some lands heavy on her tongue and she swallows reflexively, her throat working around the sudden fullness.
Ethan's breath comes ragged as the last pulses dribble from him, weak now, landing in uneven splashes across her collarbone. One stray drop catches the curve of her left nipple still pebbled from the cold station air and she watches his gaze track it as it slides slowly down, down, clinging stubbornly to the swell of her breast before disappearing into the hollow between them.
He reaches into his shirt pocket with fingers that tremble slightly just enough for her to notice and pulls out his phone alongside the small silver key. The screen lights up when he taps it, casting a pale glow across her face, her skin still streaked with him. She doesn't flinch when the camera shutter clicks just holds his gaze, her tongue darting out to catch a trickle near the corner of her mouth the salt-bitter taste blooming across her tongue as the flash reflects in her eyes.
The key scrapes against the metal of the cuffs as he turns it, the click of the mechanism releasing her wrists with a sound like a sigh. Her arms drop heavily to her sides, the blood rushing back into her fingers with a prickling burn that makes her flex them slowly.
"Come on, " Ethan murmurs, his palm rough against the small of her back as he helps her to her feet her knees wobbling, her thighs still trembling with the aftershocks of pleasure. The floor tilts under her trainers for a moment before steadying, her weight leaning into him as he guides her toward the locker room, his fingers splayed possessively over her hipbone.
Inside, the fluorescent light buzzes like a trapped fly, flickering erratically over the rows of dented metal lockers. He sits her down on the wooden bench in the center its surface worn smooth by years of shifting bodies before stepping away, his boots scuffing against the concrete floor. "Wait here, " he says, voice low, and she watches through half-lidded eyes as he disappears through the doorway, his silhouette swallowed by the darker hallway beyond.
When he returns, it’s with two things clutched in his hands: her discarded white lace panties the fabric still damp where it had clung to her skin and his uniform pants, the heavy fabric crumpled from their earlier haste. He kneels before her, his knees pressing into the cold concrete, and lifts her foot with surprising delicacy. The trainer slips off easily, the laces already loosened from their earlier tangle.His fingers hook into the wrinkled cuff of her sock, peeling it down her ankle with a slow drag that sends goosebumps skittering up her calf. The fabric catches briefly on the curve of her heel just enough to make her breath hitch before he tugs it free, letting it drop to the floor beside them. The second sock follows, his thumb tracing the arch of her foot as he pulls it off.
April braces her hands on the bench behind her as he reaches for the hem of her black skirt the fabric already hiked up around her thighs from their earlier frenzy. His knuckles brush the inside of her knee as he gathers the material in both hands, lifting it slowly up her legs. The waistband catches momentarily on her hipbones his fingers pausing to trace the jut of them before he peels it over her hips entirely, the skirt sliding down her thighs with a whisper of fabric against damp skin. The cooler air raises goosebumps along her freshly exposed flesh, her nipples tightening reflexively where they press against the stiff fabric of the borrowed uniform shirt still hanging open around her shoulders.
Ethan’s fingers move to the first button of his own uniform shirt his thumb grazing the stiff fabric where sweat has darkened the collar and April watches, transfixed, as he works downward. Each undone button reveals another inch of his chest the taut planes of his abdomen, until the shirt hangs open, clinging stubbornly to his shoulders where sweat has glued the fabric to his skin. He shrugs it off with a practiced twist of his shoulders, the motion pulling the muscles of his back into sharp relief before the shirt slithers down his arms in a rustle of starched cotton, landing in a heap at his feet.
The boots come next his fingers making quick work of the laces as he yanks them loose. The leather groans when he pulls the first boot free, the sole leaving a faint scuff on the concrete floor as he tosses it aside with a clatter. His sock follows peeled off with a slow drag that makes April’s breath hitch revealing the arch of his foot, the tendons flexing as his toes curl against the cold floor. The second boot is stubborn the tongue wedged tight and he wrestles it off with a grunt, the sock inside clinging to his heel until he shakes it free with a flick of his wrist.
Finally, he helps her up his hands warm against her waist lowering her black skirt off her hips with a slow drag that makes the fabric whisper against her thighs. before the skirt slithers down her legs in a pool of fabric around her ankles. The locker room tiles are freezing underfoot when she steps out of the discarded garment, her toes curling instinctively against the chill. Ethan steadies her with an arm around her shoulders as they navigate the narrow aisle between the lockers. April leans into him, her knees still unreliable, the muscles in her thighs twitching with every step like overstrung wires. The overhead fluorescents hum like a swarm of drowsy insects, casting their tangled shadows long across the scuffed tile floor.
The showers are in the far corner a row of stainless-steel stalls with mildewed plastic curtains hanging limply from rusted rings. Ethan pulls the first one aside with a metallic screech, the sound sharp enough to make April wince. The spray hits cold at first, shocking against her overheated skin, and she gasps, her fingers scrabbling against the slick tile wall for balance. Ethan crowds in behind her, his chest pressing warm against her back as he reaches past her shoulder to adjust the temperature. The water turns abruptly scalding, then settles into something bearable almost luxurious as it sluices down her body in rivulets that trace the curve of her spine, the dip of her waist.
Ethan’s hands follow the water’s path, his palms rough with calluses as they glide over her shoulders, down her ribs, mapping every shuddering breath she takes. The soap is industrial-grade, smelling faintly of pine and something medicinal, but it lathers thick between his fingers when he works it into her hair. His nails scrape lightly against her scalp, the pressure just shy of painful, and April leans into it with a sigh that dissolves into the steam. She can feel him hardening against the small of her back insistent, inevitable but he doesn’t rush, doesn’t push. Just slides his soap-slick hands down her arms to lace their fingers together under the spray, the water cascading over their joined hands like a benediction.
The towels are thin, threadbare things from the station’s laundry stash, but Ethan buries his face in one before draping it over her shoulders, the coarse fabric catching on her damp skin. He rubs her dry with a methodical thoroughness that borders on reverence starting at her collarbones, where the water still beads in the hollows, then down the slope of her back, his thumbs pressing into the dimples above her ass. April tilts her head to let him towel her hair, her eyes fluttering shut as the rough fibers drag through the strands, the friction sending static sparks dancing behind her eyelids. When he kneels to dry her legs, his breath ghosts over the inside of her thigh, warm against the water-cooled skin, and she tangles her fingers in his still-damp hair without thinking.
They dress in silence Ethan shrugging into a fresh uniform shirt from his locker, the fabric stiff with starch, while April steps back into her discarded panties, the lace clinging damply to her thighs. His fingers brush hers when he hands her the orange button-down, now wrinkled from its time on the bench, and she catches his wrist, pressing his palm flat against her sternum where her heartbeat thrums beneath his fingers. The station’s hum surrounds them the distant crackle of the dispatch radio, the drip of a faulty faucet in the showers but here, between lockers twelve and thirteen, the world narrows to the hitch of his breath when her thumb traces the blue veins on the inside of his wrist.
April’s skirt whispers against her thighs as they step into the hallway, her stride deliberately slow to feel the drag of damp lace between her legs. Ethan’s gait is uneven his right bootlace still untied and she smirks when he stumbles, catching himself on the wall with a muttered curse. The fluorescent lights flicker overhead, casting their shadows in staggered steps across the scuffed linoleum, her silhouette swallowing his as she walks ahead, swaying her hips just enough to make him groan.
Back at the dispatch desk, Ethan picks up his fallen chair with a grunt the metal legs screeching against the floor while April sinks into the other one, her thighs sticking to the vinyl seat. Sleep creeps up on her like a slow tide first in the way her eyelids grow heavy, weighed down by the humid aftermath of the shower. Then in the languid curl of her fingers against the desk, her nails tapping a sluggish rhythm against the laminate.
April wakes at 6:50 AM to the sharp click of boot heels on tile Deputy Collins’ silhouette filling the doorway, his hat casting a shadow across the desk where her cheek is pressed. Disoriented, she lifts her head her neck stiff from sleeping at an angle and finds Ethan already upright, his uniform crisp, his expression blank as Collins scans the room. The older deputy’s gaze lingers on the discarded uniform shirt on the other desk. Collins gives them a wink before moving on just a flick of his eyelid but the implication coils tight in April’s gut, her pulse jumping under her ribs like a rabbit in a snare.