and suspiciously realistic-looking handcuffs, Ryan was in full police uniform. I was a statue, carved with an expression of full disbelief, as Ryan spotted me and bopped in my direction in time to the music.
“That for me,” he asked, pointing at the red plastic cup full of beer.
I nodded.
“Thanks. What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue? Resisting arrest?” He reached for his nightstick.
I shook my head, as much to say “no” as to clear the cobwebs from my brain. “Uh… no. That’s just a very realistic costume. I was going to hand over some money tonight, but this makes me feel like I have to watch myself!”
“Oh you do, ma’am, are you trying to bribe an officer of the law?” he said, curling his free hand around me and bending down to give me a kiss.
As soon as his lips touched mine, I felt my worries slipping away from me. I melted against him and by the time he pulled back, I was feeling more like myself again. Or more like Sarina Bell. Who was I?
As far as Ryan was concerned, I was an eighties pop diva here to dance the night away with, and he didn’t waste any time taking me out into the middle of the floor. Sometimes we danced alone, sometimes in a circle made up mostly of the girls I’d taken out on that first night, and the guys who were trying to get into their panties at the moment.
Whatever we did, I couldn’t keep my eyes off Ryan. I’d seen a lot of people in uniforms a lot like that one, but none of them ever filled it out quite like he did. Truly, it had never looked sexier.
The alcohol flowed and the music was good enough to make the dancefloor crowded. As luck would have it, there was just the right mix of costumes in the room for Ryan to take part in an impromptu tribute band when YMCA by The Village People came on. Somebody even loaned him a fake moustache for the song.
I was feeling pretty happy by the time the dancefloor started to thin out a bit, taking advantage of the occasional slow song to snuggle up to Ryan and just sway a bit to catch our breath between the more energetic numbers. His hand was on my lower back, hovering precariously close to my ass when he bent down and whispered in my ear.
“Let’s go back to your room,” he said.
“Lose the moustache and you’ve got a deal.”
Ryan peeled it off and flung it over his shoulder without even looking behind him. That was the last I saw of it. We left with our arms around each other’s waists and headed for the elevator.
We passed more peculiar pairings than ourselves on the way, but it was still difficult to shake the bizarre notion of me, an undercover cop, getting taken back to my room for what was no-doubt going to be yet another intense orgasm by the man I was supposed to be investigating… dressed as a cop. That didn’t stop me from wrapping my legs around him when he lifted me off the ground after the door to my room closed behind us, though.
As we kissed, I knocked his hat off his head and ran my fingers through his hair. He gripped my ass tight and lowered us down on to my bed.
“Ma’am, for crimes against fashion and music, I’m gonna have to take you into custody.”
“You’ll never take me alive, copper,” I said.
“You’re a feisty little diva, I’m gonna have to teach you to respect the law.”
I bit my bottom lip as Ryan reached for his handcuffs and overwhelmed my token resistance to secure my wrists to the headboard above me. The handcuffs rattled against the metal bars as Ryan’s hands slid down my arms, caressing the sides of my breasts before coming to a stop just over my hips.
“The Keytar isn’t a crime, man!” I said, wriggling as his fingertips slipped under my shirt and traced lightly on my skin towards my breasts.
“That’s for the courts to decide. You hiding anything on your person that I might find interesting, young lady?”
His hands reached my chest and I arched up against him, squashing myself against his palms. My nipples hardened inside my bra and Ryan gave me a playful two-handed squeeze.
“Hmmm… what do we have here?” he said.
Ryan pulled his hands out and gripped my shirt at the collar. With a sudden yank, he ripped the old material