The sky was a bruised and angry purple, a deepening canvas that swallowed the last vestiges of a pale afternoon sun. To the west, a wall of indigo clouds was building, a behemoth marching inexorably from the Oklahoma panhandle. The weather radio had been droning on about it all afternoon: a Norther, a real monster. Freezing rain was already turning roads to skating rinks in the panhandle, and the weight of wet snow had already snapped power lines like brittle twigs, leaving whole towns in the cold and dark. I’d watched the clock at my desk, my leg bouncing with a nervous energy, and finally, at 4:30, I’d thrown my files into a drawer and bolted. I wasn’t about to get caught in the panicked exodus of all the other office drones who thought they had another thirty minutes of complacency left in them.
The first thing I’d done when I got to my car, besides cranking the heat to full blast, was try to call Chen’s. The line was a continuous, busy drone. My stomach clenched. Were they already closed, hunkering down with their families? I hoped not. Or were they just swamped, the last bastion of hot food in a town preparing to hibernate? That would be good for them, business-wise, but what if they ran out before I got there? The thought of a three-day siege sustained only by the sad, wilted contents of my crisper drawer was unbearable. I sighed; I should probably check the freezer; there were still wrapped packages from that cow I’d split with my sister, and enough pork chops to feed a city. However, I didn’t want to set up the outside grill in this weather, and the meat was best when prepared that way. I was being silly; I should skip the Chinese and just eat from my larder.
As I navigated the increasingly slick streets, I saw him. A man walking along the shoulder of the highway, his back to the wind. From the fleeting glance I got as I passed, he seemed clean-cut, not the usual hardened transient you sometimes saw on these stretches. His hair was a dusty, brownish blond, tucked under a simple watch cap. He wore jeans and a dark jacket, and he carried a sturdy-looking backpack. He wasn’t tall, maybe five-seven or five-eight, but he had a certain solidness to his posture. Even from a distance, I could make out the strong line of his jaw. Why in God’s name was anyone out on foot with this biblical storm bearing down? I shook my head, a knot of unease tightening in my gut alongside my hunger.
The parking lot at Chen’s Golden Dragon was reassuringly half-full. I parked, the wind whipping my door shut behind me with a solid thud. Inside, the familiar smell of ginger, soy, and frying oil was a comforting embrace. Only a couple of tables were occupied, a family finishing up their meal and an older man nursing a cup of tea. Behind the counter, Mr. Chen, a man whose perpetual smile seemed to hold the restaurant together, saw me and gave a little wave.
“Benjamin! You come for storm food?”
I approached the counter, leaning my elbows on the cool Formica. “I tried to call ahead, but the line was busy.”
“Phones no work,” he said, his accent thick but his meaning clear. He gestured vaguely towards the ceiling. “Internet, too. Storm already messing with things.”
“Well, I need to stock up. Enough for a couple of days, I think. So, let me have three large hot and sour soups. And I’ll take an order of the string bean chicken, an order of the garlic chicken, and one of the house special fried rice.”
He scribbled it all down on his pad. “Thirty-five dollars.”
I pulled my wallet from my back pocket and handed him my card.
“Card no work. You owe me; pay next time.” He wrote something in a little book. As he did, I glanced out the front window. The man with the backpack was walking into the parking lot, his head down against the wind. He moved with a purpose that seemed at odds with his aimless appearance on the highway.
“I think I’ll wait outside,” I said to Mr. Chen. “Get a last breath of fresh air before I’m locked in for three days.”
He nodded, handing my card back. “I bring out to you. Few minutes.”
I pushed out the door, the cold a physical slap against my face. The wind had a vicious bite to it, carrying the scent of ice and distant, frozen plains. The man had walked around the side of the building, towards the dumpsters and the small patch of scraggly woods that backed up to the property. I hesitated, my hand on the door handle of my car. My civic war with my desire to get home and get warm lasted all of three seconds. Civic duty won. I walked towards the corner of the building, my boots crunching on the gravel.
“Hey!” I called out, my voice almost snatched away by the wind. “Are you doing OK?”
He stopped and turned, his expression wary, like a deer caught in headlights. He wasn’t sure if I was talking to him. I took a few more steps, closing the distance between us. Up close, he was even more handsome than I’d thought, with clear, intelligent blue eyes and a smattering of freckles across his nose.
“I saw you walking a little bit ago,” I said, raising my voice to be heard over the rising gale. “It wasn’t safe to stop, so I said a prayer for you. You don’t exactly look dressed for the storm that’s coming.”
He walked towards me, a grateful look replacing the suspicion. “Is it going to be bad? I could tell something was changing, the air feels… different. I was just looking for a place to get out of the weather.”
“A bad one’s coming. The weather guys are calling it a Blue Norther. Freezing rain, then snow. They’re saying everyone should stay inside for the next three days, minimum.”
I watched his face as he processed this. His eyes flickered towards the back of the building, towards the flimsy-looking awning over the dumpster. “Were you planning to camp out back there?” I asked gently.
“Joseph,” he said, extending a gloved hand. “Joseph Sawyer. And, uh, no. I saw a dog run back there, looked like it was hurt. I was just going to check on it.” He shrugged, a self-deprecating gesture. “I’m hiking to Corpus. Port Aransas, more accurately. The coast.”
“Benjamin,” I replied, shaking his hand. It was firm, cold through the leather.
Just as I was about to ask him more, a police cruiser, its light bar dark but its presence still imposing, pulled into the lot and stopped near us. The driver’s side door opened and Officer Stud stepped out. That wasn’t his real name, of course. It was Dwight Conners. But every gay man in a fifty-mile radius and every straight woman with a pulse had bestowed that moniker on him. In civilian clothes, he was handsome enough, but in his uniform—the crisp, dark blue shirt stretched across his broad chest, the duty belt riding low on his hips—he was a walking, talking, law-enforcing fantasy. No one knew his team, which only added to his mystique. He was the ultimate prize.
“Everything okay here?” His voice was always exactly as I’d imagined, a low, smooth baritone that vibrated right through you.
“Everything’s fine, Officer Conners,” I called back, trying to sound casual and not like a man who’d just been fantasizing about this exact scenario.
“I got a call about a confused man walking along the highway,” he said, his eyes moving from me to Joseph and back again. He was still assessing, his professional gaze taking in every detail.
My protective instinct flared. I didn’t know Joseph from Adam, but he didn’t seem like a threat, and I didn’t want him to get hassled just because I’d been nosy. “I don’t think Joseph’s confused. He’s just… traveling.”
Dwight’s expression was skeptical. “So now you’re going to tell me you two were planning to meet up here?”
“No, we just met. I just wanted to make sure he knew what was coming with the weather.” I felt a flush of embarrassment, like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
He turned his full attention to Joseph. “Do you know this man’s name, Joseph?” The shift in his tone was subtle but unmistakable, the friendly cop giving way to the interrogator.
“I usually call him Benny,” Joseph said, a sudden, disarming grin spreading across his face. He said it with such easy familiarity, as if we’d known each other for years. My mind raced. Was he a quick-witted con artist? A manipulative sociopath? Or, for a terrifying second, did I wonder if he was a serial killer who’d just decided to make me his accomplice?
Before I could form a coherent response, a burst of static crackled from the radio on Dwight’s shoulder. He listened to the dispatch, his expression unreadable, then spoke into the microphone clipped to his epaulet. He gave us a curt, almost apologetic nod, then jumped back into his cruiser and sped off, the car’s tires crunching on the ice-glazed gravel.
I turned back to Joseph, who was still smiling. “Hey,” he said, “thanks for helping me out back there. Cops get real nervous about guys who hike around. I’m gonna go see if I can find that dog.” He tipped his head towards the back of the building, turned, and disappeared into the growing shadows.
I was left standing alone in the middle of the parking lot, the wind whipping at my jacket, feeling completely bewildered. Just then, Mr. Chen came out of the restaurant with two large plastic bags laden with my food. I helped him secure them in the back seat of my car, thanked him, and headed home.
The house was cold and dark when I walked in, a silent cavern waiting to be filled with warmth and life. I put the food away, my movements efficient and automatic, the scent of ginger and garlic a temporary comfort against the encroaching chill. I ladled a bowl of the hot and sour soup, its steam fogging my glasses as I carried it to the living room. I sat on the sofa, wrapping my hands around the warm ceramic bowl, and sipped the tangy, spicy broth. As the heat spread through me, my thoughts drifted back to Joseph. I wondered if I should have offered him a ride to the YMCA, or even a spot on my living room floor. But he hadn’t waited for an offer; he’d just walked off, his mission to find a stray dog more important than his own safety. I’d warned him. That was something, wasn’t it?
Before I’d finished half the soup, the wind began to rise in earnest. It was no longer just a breeze; it was a physical presence, a mournful howl that seemed to find every crack in the old house’s siding. I was glad I’d spent the previous afternoon clearing the yard of any loose branches or patio furniture. The sound changed, becoming a sharp, staccato tapping against the window panes. Sleet. I went to the window in the breezeway, a small glass-enclosed passage between the house and the garage, and peered out. Tiny, translucent pellets of ice were bouncing off the glass, driven by the furious wind. I glanced at the old-fashioned outdoor thermometer I’d nailed to the fence post. The needle was hovering just below the thirty-degree mark. A thirty-degree drop in less than an hour. It was incredible. A memory surfaced, sharp and vivid: I was fifteen, in gym class, when a similar Blue Norther had blasted through. We were out on the football field in our ridiculous thin gym shorts, and the temperature had plummeted so fast I could feel the moisture in my nose crystallize. I thought my lungs would freeze solid. The memory made me shiver, and I pulled my sweater tighter. I was half-way finished with one that I was crocheting the way my grandmother had taught my father and he had taught me. “It’s a skill every human should have,” he’d told me. “Not just the girls.” I loved watching TV while I worked the yarn. I wondered whether the electricity would hold out.
A flicker of motion in my driveway caught my eye, cutting through the grey gloom. Headlights. Red and blue lights, muted but distinct. I leaned closer, my breath fogging the glass. It was a police car. My heart did a little flip-flop. I walked to the front door, my hand hesitating on the knob for a second before I pulled it open.
Officer Stud was just stepping onto my porch, his uniform dark with moisture, his hair dusted with melting ice. “Dwight,” I said, my voice a little breathless. I couldn’t resist. “What brings you out on a night like this?”
A slow smile spread across his face, softening the serious lines of his mouth. “Well, Benjamin Tyler,” he replied, his voice a low rumble that seemed to chase away the chill. “I came to check on you.” His tone was serious, but his eyes held a different kind of concern.
“Come in,” I said, stepping back and holding the door wide.
He walked in, bringing the scent of cold air and wet wool with him. He methodically unsnapped the strap on his holster, his eyes scanning the room, taking in the dim lighting, the blanket I’d already laid out by the hearth. He seemed to be listening to something in his earpiece, a faint, almost imperceptible tilt of his head. After a moment, his shoulders relaxed. He snapped the holster strap back in place.
“They found him,” he said, his voice flat.
“Who?” I asked, though I knew. I knew with a certainty that settled like a stone in my stomach.
“The guy with the backpack. Joseph.”
“You thought he was here?” I was genuinely surprised.
“I know you, Benjamin.” He said it so simply, as if it were an undisputed fact of the universe.
“You hardly know me,” I retorted, a defensive edge creeping into my voice.
“I know a lot more about you than you think,” he said, his gaze direct and unwavering. “I’ve asked around. You’re the guy who’d give his last shirt to someone in need. When I sent an officer back to look for that Joseph guy and get him to a shelter, and they couldn’t find him anywhere… I was worried. Worried that your conscience had gotten the better of you and you’d brought him back here.” His eyes, I realized, held more than just professional concern. Or was I just projecting what I so desperately wanted to see?
“Honestly,” I admitted, my voice softer now, “I did think about it. I was standing in the parking lot, trying to decide between offering him my couch or just giving him a ride to the Y, but he took off before I could.”
Dwight’s smile returned, and it was like the sun breaking through the clouds. It was a great, genuine, nice smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Well, my shift ended, and we were still looking for him, and I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“Well, if your shift is over, come on in and have something to eat,” I offered, my heart beating a little faster. “Unless you have somewhere else to go.” I knew he didn’t. I knew he lived alone in a sterile apartment over on the west side of town.
“No,” he said, a hint of something weary and lonely in his voice. “Nowhere else but an empty apartment.”
“Kick your shoes off over there,” I said, pointing to the mat by the door. “Come on in. I’ve got some heavy wool slippers if you so desire. What would you like for dinner?”
“What’s on the menu?” he smiled again, and this time it felt different, more intimate.
“Well, I have a freezer full of stuff I could thaw, or I have some Chinese I picked up earlier. It’s easier to warm that up. Of course, if you want to head out onto the back patio and get the grill started, I’ll thaw out something.”
“I’m easy. Chinese sounds perfect.”
“Have a seat anywhere. The bathroom’s through that door, next to the door to the outside. I’ll be back in a minute.”
I retreated to the kitchen, my hands trembling slightly as I pulled the containers from the fridge. I made each of us a plate, piling it high with the string bean chicken, garlic chicken, and house special rice. I ladled soup into two bowls. I had a bottle of Merlot and a box of herbal tea. If he drank a glass of wine, maybe… maybe he’d stay longer. Not that one glass would impair him, but it felt like a gesture. I heard the bathroom door click shut, and when I returned to the living room with the steaming bowls of soup, he was standing by the back door, looking out into the swirling darkness. He was still wearing his heavy uniform jacket.
“Are you cold?” I asked. “I was planning on starting a fire later, but I can do it now.”
He turned towards me. “I always forget to take my jacket off,” he said with a sheepish grin. He slid it off, revealing the crisp black uniform shirt beneath. He placed the jacket on the back of a dining chair, then methodically unclipped his radio and the other gear from his duty belt, arranging them neatly beside it. He stood there in his black shirt, T-shirt, black pants, and socks, and he was, as I’d always known he would be, sexy as hell.
“I’m okay,” he said. “But I’ll be glad to start the fire when you give the word.”
“I’ve got the plates warming in the oven. Have a seat, we can start on the soup. Do you want wine or hot tea with the meal?”
He didn’t answer right away, his eyes on mine. I felt a blush creeping up my neck and quickly added, “I also have Coke and bottled water. Sometimes I have a Rum and Coke after dinner.”
“Now that sounds delicious,” he said, his voice dropping a little. “I think I’ll have hot tea. White wine makes me horny.”
My teeth clenched together as the words left my mouth, a completely involuntary, traitorous utterance. “Then you should have several glasses.” I sat down abruptly, the heat in my cheeks so intense I was sure he could see it. How could I say something like that? Yes, I thought he was the most attractive man I’d ever seen. Yes, I wanted to sleep with him more than I’d wanted anything. But he had given me absolutely no sign that he was anything other than the straight, unobtainable object of my fantasies.
He started to laugh. It wasn’t a mocking laugh; it was warm and rich and genuine. “Your face, Benjamin, it’s priceless. You’re so embarrassed. You just keep giving me more and more reasons to be attracted to you.” He leaned forward, his elbows on the table. “How would you like to go out on a date with me sometime?”
“Yes,” I answered, the word bursting out of me before my brain could even process it. I’d decided months ago that if he ever asked, the answer would be yes.
“Quick decision,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “I’d say that goes in my favor.”
“You’ve already asked me about a half a dozen times.”
He raised a perfect eyebrow in a quizzical look. “Have I?”
“In my fantasies,” I confessed, feeling a fresh wave of heat wash over my face.
“Oh, that’s not good,” he said, pretending to be serious. “I’m not sure I can live up to your fantasies.”
The buzzer on the oven went off, a shrill interruption. I stood up, grateful for the escape. “Don’t worry,” I said over my shoulder as I went to the kitchen. “I have low expectations. It’s what keeps me happy.” I pulled the warm plates from the oven, the ceramic radiating a gentle heat into my hands.
“I don’t understand how that works, Benjamin,” he called out from the dining room. “And I love your name, by the way. It’s the name of the handsome brother in ‘Seven Brides for Seven Brothers’.”
“Here’s how it works,” I said, returning with the plates and setting them down. “I have really high goals. Goals that, based on my intelligence, education, and income, I should be able to meet. But I only expect that I will meet one out of every three, and the one I do meet, I expect I’ll only partially succeed at.”
“That’s completely depressing,” he said, picking up his fork.
“No, actually,” I said, sitting back down. “What usually happens is that I completely meet or even exceed two out of the three. And since I wasn’t expecting it, I’m overjoyed by my success.”
Dwight just stared at me, his fork halfway to his mouth. I stared back, refusing to be the first to look away. The wind howled outside, a lonely, wild sound that made the warmth of the room feel even more precious.
“Insanity must run in your family,” he finally said, a slow smile spreading across his face.
“Don’t know,” I replied, deadpan. “I was left at a fire station when I was a week old. I haven’t done a DNA test for fear that I’ll discover family members.”
He continued to stare, his smile widening. I held his gaze, a silent battle of wills. “You’re full of shit, aren’t you?” he said, his voice full of admiring disbelief.
“Completely,” I admitted, breaking into a wide grin of my own.
“You’re going to stay after dinner,” I stated. It wasn’t a question.
“Depends on what you have planned,” he countered, his eyes glinting with mischief.
I ate a few more bites of my food, savoring the flavors but barely tasting them. Being with him was like being in a time-warp; minutes seemed to spin past me, leaving only the impression of his presence. I realized I’d already cleaned my plate.
“What makes you think I have a plan?” I asked, leaning back in my chair.
He smiled, a knowing, confident smile that made my stomach flip. “You and I are both planners, Benjamin. I suspect that even when something happens to disrupt your plan, you quickly formulate an adjusted one.”
“Here’s what I suspect,” I said, pointing my finger at him playfully. “You’re a peeping Tom. You’ve been watching me. It’s even likely that you’re a stalker.”
“Here’s the truth,” he said, his smile fading slightly, replaced by a look of sincere vulnerability. “The more I found out about you, the more I realized that we are alike. We react the same way to things. I wasn’t stalking you. I was hoping to find out whether you were gay. No one at the station knows that I am. It’s not that I care whether they know, it’s just that it shouldn’t matter.”
“I understand,” I said, my voice soft. I nodded, feeling a wave of empathy and connection that was stronger than just physical attraction. “So, are you going to let me in on the plan?”
“I am resisting the urge to have you write your plan and I write my plan and we compare them,” I said, standing up and beginning to clear the dishes. “Except, that would waste time. Here’s what we’re going to do.”
“It’s set in stone?” Dwight added, a playful challenge in his voice.
“I get the dirty dishes in the sink as fast as possible without breaking them. You light the fire and then make the Rum and Coke drinks. I’ll put the rum on the counter along with the glasses. Coke is in the refrigerator. While you do that, I’ll put more blankets down in front of the hearth. You bring the drinks over. We’ll take a few sips, and you can give me my first kiss.”
“Your first?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.
“That’s right,” I said, my heart pounding. “The pressure is on. I’ve waited for someone really special.”
He stood up, and the space between us suddenly felt charged with electricity. “Got tired of waiting, huh?”
“No,” he said, his eyes locking onto mine. “It’s just that now I’ve got someone super special.”
I took a step closer, so close I could feel the warmth radiating from his body. “The plan says we kiss at the fireplace after the drink,” I said, my voice husky. I glanced over at the cold, empty hearth and then back into his eyes. “Fuck Plan A,” I whispered. “Time for the reformulated plan.”
He closed the remaining inch between us. He kissed me. Gently at first, his lips soft and questioning against mine. Then, with a low groan that I felt more than heard, the kiss deepened, becoming a hungry, searching exploration. When his tongue danced across my lower lip, begging for entry, I thought the room exploded in hundreds of fragments of colored lights behind my closed eyelids. My body quivered, a wave of dizziness washing over me, and my dick hardened instantly, pressing insistently against the fabric of my jeans. It was more wonderful than any of my fantasies, more real and more overwhelming than I could have ever imagined.
He pushed me back gently, his breathing ragged. “We need to stick to the plan,” he murmured, his forehead resting against mine.
Little did he know the plan now included my giving him some fruit before the night was over. I cleared the dishes with record speed, loading them into the dishwasher. I put the rum and a two-liter bottle of Coke on the counter along with two heavy glass tumblers. In the living room, I had the thick wool blankets spread out in a soft nest before the hearth, with extra pillows stacked close by. I could feel the fire warming the area as the first log caught, the flames licking up the sides of the oak with a cheerful crackle.
Dwight brought the drinks over. I took them from him and placed them carefully on the flat stones of the hearth. He sat down next to me on the blankets, close enough that our shoulders touched, and put his arm around me. I handed him his drink and took mine, our fingers brushing. I clinked our glasses together.
“À ta santé,” I said.
“To your health,” he replied. He took a sip, his eyes on me over the rim of the glass. “I can’t believe I’m here with you. I’ve been wanting this for a good while.”
“I wish I’d had the balls to say something to you,” I admitted. “I guess the worst that would have happened is that you weren’t interested. But that would have stopped my fantasies.”
“Tell me,” he leaned in, his lips brushing against my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. “What do I do in your fantasies?”
“We talk and kiss,” I said, my voice trembling slightly. “We take our clothes off and lie close together. I kiss your naked body everywhere. I suck your dick. You do the same.”
“So, you suck my dick, and then I suck my dick,” he said, pulling back to look at me with a wicked grin.
“That’s right,” I played along. “I suck your dick, and then I break your back so you can bend over and suck your own dick.”
“So in this fantasy, I’m not big enough to suck my own dick?”
“I think we’re wandering from the plan,” I said.
I took a large sip of my rum and coke and then kissed him, letting the sweet, strong flavor mix between our mouths. Dwight looked at me and nodded, his eyes dark with desire. “So this is what I should expect for the rest of my life. I’ll say something sarcastic or edgy, and you’ll have a quick comeback.”
“Yeah, that’s pretty much it,” I said. “Oh, except for the making love part in between the remarks.”
“The love-making part?” he echoed, his voice a low growl.
I kissed him again, deeper this time, and reached down between his legs. I rubbed his dick through the fabric of his uniform pants, and although it was still trapped, I felt it stir and thicken, growing hard under my touch. I put my drink down and straddled him, my knees on each side of his hips. He took another sip of his drink and placed it on the hearthstone. I pulled my baggy sweatshirt over my head and tossed it aside, then began to unbutton his shirt, my fingers fumbling with the small, stiff buttons.
“I was planning to let you pop my cherry tonight,” I said, my voice breathless as I worked his shirt open, revealing the tight white t-shirt underneath. “But you said the magic words, and now it’s no longer a possibility; it’s a certainty. Now, get that shirt off.” I unbuckled his pants, the leather of his belt cool against my hands. The wind outside howled more loudly, a ferocious, lonely sound that seemed to urge us on.
I stood up and ran to my bedroom, my heart hammering against my ribs. I came back with a small bottle of lube from my nightstand. I got on my knees in front of him and pulled on the cuffs of his pants. They slid off easily, revealing his strong, muscular thighs. His underwear, simple black briefs, seemed to be caught by his erection. But I was able to pull those down as well, freeing his cock. It was beautiful, thick and hard, curving slightly upwards from a nest of dark blond hair.
“Dwight,” I said, my voice barely a whisper as I knelt before him. “I have lube, but I don’t have condoms. I’ve never been with anyone. I trust you. If you say we need to wait, then we’ll wait.”
He looked down at me, his expression a mixture of awe and raw desire. “I was with a guy in college a couple of times,” he admitted, his voice husky. “Always with a rubber. There’s been no one since then. I’ve been checked twice since, and both times were negative. We’re safe.”
Relief and anticipation washed through me. I straddled him again, my knees sinking into the soft blankets, and kissed him deeply. The wind howled again, a ferocious, primal scream against the house. The lights flickered once, twice, and then went out, plunging the room into a world of shadows and dancing firelight. I looked at his face as the shifting glow from the hearth played across his features, highlighting the strong line of his jaw and the intense focus in his eyes. Was he more beautiful because my feelings for him had grown so immense in such a short time, or was he just this breathtaking all along? My own dick, hard and aching, rubbed against his through the thin fabric of my sweatpants. The feeling was intoxicating, but I was preparing for more.
I adjusted my knees, lowering myself until I could take his cock down into my mouth. The sweet, slightly salty taste of his precum beaded at the tip, and I swirled my tongue around the head, savoring the flavor of his skin. I ran my lips up and down his shaft, coating him in my saliva, until the salty taste was replaced by the clean, unique flavor of him. I pulled back, picked up the lube, and squirted a generous amount into my hand. I drizzled several tablespoons over his rigid cock, the clear gel glistening in the firelight. Then I squirted more into my palm and liberally coated my own ass, my fingers slipping and sliding between my cheeks, preparing myself for him.
My lips locked with his again in a hungry, desperate kiss as I positioned myself over him. I reached down to guide his slick, thick cock to my entrance and then pushed myself down, slowly, inch by inch. Dwight’s eyes flew open, wide with shock and pleasure as I slid down his pole. His dick felt monstrously large inside me, a glorious, stretching, burning pressure that filled me completely. He leaned forward, his mouth finding my left nipple, and he chewed and sucked on it, sending jolts of electricity straight to my groin. I was overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of the sensations, the feeling of him inside me, his mouth on my skin, the heat of the fire on my back.
I bent my head forward so our lips could meet once more. He pushed his tongue forward, and I grasped it with my lips and sucked it into my mouth, mimicking the rhythm I wanted to create with his cock. I pushed up with my knees, lifting myself until just the head of his dick was still inside me, and then sank back down, taking him all the way in again. I set a slow, deliberate pace, reveling in the feeling of him sliding in and out of me. He moaned, a deep, guttural sound, and grabbed onto my ass cheeks, his fingers digging into my flesh. He began to guide me, his strong hands lifting me and pulling me down, working me up and down his shaft, setting a faster, more demanding rhythm. I wanted to go faster and faster, to lose myself completely in the feeling, but we reached the physical limit of that position.
I’m not sure how he managed it, but in one fluid, powerful movement, he rolled us. Suddenly I was on my back on the blankets, the plush wool a soft cushion beneath me, and he was hovering over me, his cock never leaving my body. He was deep inside me, deeper than before, and the new angle sent a fresh wave of pleasure through me.
“More,” I begged, my voice a ragged plea. “Please, Dwight, more.”
He began to thrust, his hips moving in a powerful, steady rhythm. I could feel the head of his cock rubbing against my prostate with each deep, deliberate push, and as he pulled back, the friction around the edge of my hole grew more and more intense. It was exquisite agony. I wanted to grab my own dick and jerk it to completion, to find the release my body was screaming for, but my hands were tangled in his hair, holding his head to mine. Our lips continued to meet and separate with the rocking motion of our bodies, our breath mingling, our shared moans and gasps the only sound besides the crackle of the fire and the howl of the storm.
I could feel myself getting closer, the coiling tension in my groin building to an unbearable peak. I didn’t want to let go, I wanted this moment to last forever. All at once, Dwight’s entire body went rigid. His jaw tightened, his eyes rolled back into his head, and a barely audible “yeah” came from deep within his chest. I felt him explode inside me, his cock pulsing as he shot his cum deep into my ass. The sensation was absolutely marvelous, a warm, spreading flood that pushed me over the edge. He would twitch and I could feel him spray his ejaculate three distinct, powerful times. With the last one, his whole body tensed up, and I couldn’t hold mine any longer.
I don’t know how, but my own orgasm ripped through me with the force of a tidal wave. I cried out, my back arching off the blankets as I came, spraying cum so hard it shot over my own head and landed in warm, sticky splatters on our chests and stomachs.
Dwight collapsed onto his side, his cock still buried inside me, his body trembling with the aftershocks. He had a dazed, blissed-out look on his face and a goofy, contented smile that I knew I would never forget. Whenever I get angry with him in the future, I knew I would remember that smile, and I would forgive him anything.
Another howl of wind, sharp and cold, reminded me of the freezing world outside our warm, safe bubble. I snuggled up closer to my policeman, my head resting on his chest, listening to the steady, reassuring beat of his heart.
“Did I meet your expectations, Benjamin?” he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction.
“Unlike most things, Officer Stud,” I whispered, my lips brushing against the sweat-slick skin of his chest. “My expectations for you have been extremely high.”
“You don’t say,” he chuckled, his arm tightening around me.
“That’s right,” I said, tilting my head back to look at him. “And you haven’t let me down.” I nibbled gently on his earlobe.
“You know,” he said, his voice dropping to a low growl as he shifted his hips, his softening cock still inside me. “That makes me horny, right?”
I started to laugh, a deep, happy, triumphant sound that was swallowed by the howling of the wind.
My laughter subsided, replaced by a deep, contented sigh. I shifted, turning in his arms so I could face him fully. The fire had burned down to a bed of glowing embers, casting long, dancing shadows across the living room, making the space feel intimate and secret, a world apart from the raging storm outside. His arm was a heavy, reassuring weight around my waist, and his other hand came up to gently stroke my hair, his fingers tracing the curve of my skull.
“I’m serious,” he murmured, though the smile in his voice was undeniable. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to get enough of you.” He leaned in and kissed my forehead, a soft, tender gesture that made my chest ache with a feeling so profound it was almost painful.
“I was hoping you’d say that,” I whispered back. I propped myself up on an elbow, looking down at him. The firelight caught the gold in his blond hair and softened the lines of his face. He looked younger, less like the stoic Officer Stud and more like the man I’d just glimpsed, the one who was vulnerable and lonely and, impossibly, wanted me. “So, tell me something,” I said, my fingers tracing patterns on his chest. “When you said you’d been ‘asking around’ about me, what exactly does that mean? Am I the subject of an official police investigation?”
He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that I felt more than heard. “Not an official one. More of an… off-the-books, personal-interest inquiry.” He caught my hand in his, bringing my fingers to his lips and kissing them one by one. “I first noticed you at that town hall meeting about the new traffic light on Main Street, about six months ago. You stood up and gave this whole speech about pedestrian safety and the importance of walkable communities. You were so passionate, and you made everyone else sound like an idiot. I was… impressed.”
I remembered that meeting. I also remembered him, standing at the back of the auditorium in his uniform, looking stern and unapproachable. I had no idea he’d even been listening, let alone paying attention.
“After that, I started seeing you everywhere,” he continued. “At the grocery store, buying what looked like ingredients for an actual meal instead of just frozen pizza. At the library, checking out a stack of books so high you could barely see over the top. I’d see you jogging in the morning. I just… I was curious. So I might have asked a few casual questions. I might have mentioned to Brenda at the coffee shop that I thought you were a nice guy and asked if you were single.”
“Brenda!” I exclaimed, my eyes widening. “She’s the town gossip! She probably has a file on me.”
“She does,” he confirmed with a grin. “And she was very happy to share its contents. She told me you were smart, funny, kind, and most importantly, that you’d never been seen with a woman, which, in Brenda’s book, means you’re either gay or a secret agent.”
I laughed, burying my face in his chest. “I’m definitely not a secret agent. My only spy gadget is a really good can opener.”
“See? That’s what I’m talking about,” he said, his hand sliding down my back to rest possessively on my ass. “You’re funny. And you’re not afraid to be yourself. I’ve spent so many years building this wall, this ‘Officer Stud’ persona as you call it, because it’s easier. It keeps people at a distance. But with you… I don’t want to keep you at a distance.”
I looked up at him, my heart swelling. “Then don’t.”
He leaned in and kissed me, a slow, deep, searching kiss that held none of the frantic urgency from before, but was filled with something else, something deeper and more meaningful. It was a kiss that promised a future. As we kissed, I felt a renewed stirring between my legs, a slow, lazy heat building in the wake of the first storm. He felt it too; I could tell by the way his breathing hitched and his hand tightened on my hip.
“Benjamin,” he whispered against my lips. “I want to fuck you again. But this time, slower. I want to feel every second of it.”
“Yes,” I breathed, my body already responding to his words. “I want that, too.”
He rolled me onto my stomach gently, his hands caressing my back, tracing the line of my spine. He kissed the back of my neck, then my shoulders, his lips leaving a trail of fire on my skin. He took his time, exploring my body with his hands and mouth, learning every curve and hollow. It was worshipful, almost reverent. By the time he entered me again, I was so relaxed and so ready for him that there was no resistance, only a slow, delicious fullness as he stretched me open once more.
He moved inside me with a languid, powerful rhythm, his hips rocking against me, his hands holding mine, our fingers laced together on the blanket beside my head. There was no rush. The storm could rage all it wanted; we had all the time in the world. I pushed back against him, meeting his thrusts, our bodies moving together in a perfect, primal dance. The pleasure wasn't a sharp, sudden peak this time, but a long, rolling wave that built and crested and built again, carrying me higher and higher until I was floating, lost in a haze of pure sensation.
I came first, this time a slow, pulsing release that seemed to go on forever, my body shuddering beneath him. He followed me over the edge a moment later, his body tensing as he buried his face in my neck, his hoarse cry of release muffled against my skin.
We lay entwined in the blankets, slick with sweat and cum, our breathing slowly returning to normal. The fire had dwindled to a faint glow, and the first gray light of dawn was beginning to seep through the windows, softening the edges of the room. The wind had finally died down, leaving behind a profound and peaceful silence.
Dwight was the first to break it. “So,” he said, his voice sleepy and sated. “About that date. I’m thinking dinner. My place. I make a mean lasagna.”
I turned my head to look at him, a smile spreading across my face. “Is that Plan A or the reformulated plan?”
He smiled back, that goofy, wonderful smile that I was already starting to adore. “Let’s call it the rest of our lives.”
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