A Rival's Claim by Fik Freak
Summary:

After an unexpected encounter, Michonne and Rick find themselves as rivals on opposite sides of a polarizing court case. Will their uncompromising opinions keep them from what they both really want?

This is an AU/no ZA Richonne story, that is Rated M (Content is only suitable for mature adults. May contain explicit language and adult themes)


Categories: Primetime Television Characters: Michonne
Classification: Alternate Universe
Genre: Drama, Romance
Story Status: Active
Pairings: None
Warnings: Adult Situations, Work in Progress
Challenges: None
Series: None
Chapters: 5 Completed: No Word count: 48831 Read: 1737 Published: October 26 2017 Updated: December 03 2017
Chapter 1 by Fik Freak

Chapter 1 – Rick


"So, your mom says you're a sheriff. Is that right? You're not just trying to impress me?"


"No. I'm really the sheriff of King County."


"So, you're the good guy who keeps us safe from all the bad guys, huh?" She flirts, sassily tilting her head, and giving her thin lips a small pout. Nice.


"Yeah, I guess. I try anyway." I smile back, giving her what my ex-wife used to call my million-dollar smile. I don't want to come off as trying too hard, but, I think I like this girl. So why not flirt back? It's time for me to give my own life and happiness some effort. It's time. Hell, it's been time. And my body agrees, as the stirring of a once familiar warmth blooms at the feeling of her fingers lightly flitting across my chest. Standing by the open doors leading to the patio of my parents' house, a cool chill slowly ushers in through the screen to send a few strands of her long hair dancing across her pretty face. I raise my hand to move the hair away, not wanting it to obstruct her features from me.


Blushing at my actions, she closes her eyes for a moment. "Nice. Well you definitely look like a good guy to me, Rick." Jessie coos over the sound of the festive music and fellow partygoers. Smoothing her slim fingers down and over the buttons of my tan colored uniform shirt, her green eyes are focused on mine, her intent made clear.


"Is that right?" Looking down my nose at her, my blood continuing to warm in my veins, I have to admit that my mother has chosen well.


Jessie is definitely my type, even reminds me of my ex-wife a little bit. Thin, modest breasts, pretty. She's blonde, where Lori was a brunette, but there are enough similarities that it is both unnerving and comforting. She's plain, one might say, but I don't need anything too striking or sexy. I'm a fairly plain and laid back man. That's how I would describe myself, and that's pretty much how I would describe my taste in women as well. Jessie appears to be fitting that bill.


This is my first time meeting Jessie, though my mother has told me a lot about her since she met her at the senior center, where she teaches a pottery class that my mother recently signed up for. When she mentioned in one of the classes that she was a recent divorcee my mother pounced on that, and invited her and her kids to their New Year's Eve party. Though I'm not really dressed for the occasion, unless you count my sheriff's uniform as party wear, Jessie is wearing a knee length sweater dress with little owls on it and boots, and it's cute on her. Not provocative, or eye catching, but…cute.


Despite the fact that our conversation so far has not gotten any deeper than her constant discussion of her ex-husband, her kids, and her odd fixation with owls, I can see myself dating her. There are no sweaty hands, racing heartbeats, or nervously spoken words to fill awkward silence. No, it's a relaxed kind of thing, familiar. Effortless, where I don't have to try too hard, or wonder if she likes me, if she's interested. My mind is almost convinced it's a conversation I've had before. If I close my eyes, I could easily be talking to my ex-wife. Like I said, she's a lot like Lori, and even though that marriage ended badly, I can't say that the familiarity isn't comforting. I like that it's not stretching me too far out of my comfort zone, because at this point I just need a kick start to get my life back on track.


Ending my marriage was…difficult, but inevitable. When I came home early that Thursday afternoon nearly a year ago, feeling under the weather, possibly coming down with the flu, I had no idea what I would find. Entering my house, dropping my keys on the hook on the wall coming from the garage, the stillness in the house was strange. Lori's car was in the garage, but she was nowhere to be found. Not until I kicked off my boots by the door as she routinely requested, did I take note that another pair of men's boots were accompanying mine, right along with her favorite gold flats. Initially I thought nothing of it, wondering if maybe they had previously been left over our house by the owner, and I hadn't noticed. I ignored the strange niggling feeling the sight of those boots stirred in my belly, and ambled further into the house, heading for the comfort of my bed, hoping to get some rest.


As my feet carried me further down the long hall leading to our bedroom an eerie chill continued to unfurl across my skin, especially when I noticed that the door was pulled closed, and soft country music was filtering from behind it. Pushing through the door, I was at first relieved to find the bed empty. That relief was short lived, as I turned my head towards our bathroom, and found my wife, teetering on the edge of the vanity, having sex with another man. Finding my wife with another man was a harsh and bitter pill to swallow, made only worse by him being a friend and one-time colleague.


There was no yelling, screaming, fighting. At least not on my part. It was almost as if I was relieved, that a weight had finally been removed from my tired shoulders. It was no secret that Lori and I had been arguing a lot lately. She wanted me to make more money, to spend more time with her, to be someone else. She simply wanted more, and at the end of the day that translated as she wanted someone else, because the truth is, I am the same man that I have always been. The same as when we met in high school. The same as when I proposed to her at graduation. Maybe that's the problem? My parents have always said we got married too young, before we even knew who we were going to be. Well, I knew who I was then, and I still do. Maybe Lori is the one who just figured that out.


For some reason, Lori was upset though. I suppose she was mad that she had been caught sneaking. My mind couldn't reconcile her response though. I honestly don't understand what she had to be angry about. Over the many years that she and I had been together, I gave her absolutely everything I had to give. If anyone should be mad it was me. I wasn't though, not yet. For me, there was more of a sense of loss and disappointment. Losing the life I had been building, the family I had loved, the woman I trusted. Disappointed that my wife didn't just tell me she wanted a divorce. Instead she cheated on me, in our home, probably in our bed, with someone I was very close to.


For a long time, as I walked away from the house that no longer represented a proud investment, a place for my family to grow and flourish in, I was mired in those feelings of disappointment and distrustfulness. Then, as those feelings continued to fester, to grow, I also got angry. Angry that at 38 years old, I had to start all over. I let her have the house, the new car, the furniture. Almost everything. In the divorce settlement the only things I wanted to take with me were my son, my retirement and savings, and my truck. She acquiesced on all of it, probably out of guilt more than anything else, except for on Carl. She would budge on me having full custody, so she's the custodial parent, but I have him every weekend. With my schedule, and being the newly elected sheriff, it works.


Lori left me with the resulting negativity, but also with something else. The memory of how I felt that day, when I found her being fucked in our bathroom. Bouncing around inside of me was a question that I had no answer for, how do I forget…forgive and move on? Standing on the ruins of my marriage, my body could function, I could do my job, I could parent my son, but I couldn't see how it would ever be possible to open the cage surrounding my heart again. So, I haven't. And I know that my parents have been worried about me, as have my friends, but what they don't understand is that when I caught my wife with another man, something inside of me snapped. I'm convinced that my heart is irreparably broken, but after six months, and this setup by mother, I'm willing to at least try to reopen the part of me that was recently closed for business.


"Mom, can we leave this lame party now?" Jessie's son interrupts, seemingly appearing from thin air. Shoving his knitted hat down on his head in a huff, he has obviously had enough of the festivities.


"Hey, Ron, we just got here." She replies, a hint of a plea in her voice, and hurriedly removing her hands from my chest. Drawing back as though she was caught doing something she shouldn't.


"I'm ready to go. This party is stupid. Nothing but old folks and people I don't even know here."


"Well what happened to make it stupid when we have only been here for a little while?" Jessie asks confused, and maybe a little panicky given the rapid fire pacing of her questions towards her oldest son.


"You know I didn't even want to come, but you wanted to hookup with some guy, so here we are. Can we just go already?" Ron spits, assaulting his mother with the confession of her intentions.


"Um. Rick, can you give me a moment to talk to my son? Just a minute?"


"Sure. I'm gonna go grab a drink." Giving her a small smile, I laugh a little internally at her being busted by her own son, but also grimace at how much of a little shit move it was for him to do that to her in front of me. My son Carl is probably around Ron's age, but if I can say nothing else about Carl, I can say that he has never embarrassed me like that. Perhaps the drama surrounding the divorce, and his mother's affair with my best friend, has caused him to mature and understand relationships well above what his 15-year-old self should. I suppose it doesn't matter, but as I catch a glimpse of him, animatedly laughing and talking to a young black kid about his age, I'm just thankful that the whole ordeal doesn't seem to have scarred him in the same way that Jessie's divorce has done to her sons.


From what I understand her youngest son has gone the opposite way from Ron. Instead of taking all of his adolescent frustration out on her, and idolizing his abusive, asshole of a father, Sam has developed a fear of abandonment, and a probably unhealthy attachment to his mother. I feel sorry for the predicament her family is in, struggling with the fallout of an abusive situation and divorce. Again, though my own divorce was difficult, from what I understand from some of the deputies who have had to respond to domestic violence calls at her house over the years, the only family that has had it worse is the Peletiers. Which isn't saying much because Ed Peletier has made it his business to treat his wife Carol as his own personal punching bag. I've pulled him off of her, and arrested him more times than I can count, and if Jessie endured even half of that she has my sympathies.


Finding myself standing in front of the bar my parents have setup on the patio of their backyard, I ask my friend Abe who's tending bar tonight for a beer.


"Sure thing, Rick. Hey, so any news on that police brutality case Spencer is involved in? I hear there's video footage." Abe asks, probing about a case that has just recently been the buzz around my small town.


"Not that I can share."


"Rick, we put our hairy balls out there for others everyday. But Spencer is a weak motherfucker, he wouldn't have the hairy balls to do something this. The guy can barely shoot straight, let alone hit someone squarely. I don't know about this one." Taking a swig of his own beer, Abe poses a question that I have tried not to think about ever since I got wind of it. I've only been the sheriff for a few months, having won the position in a special election when the sitting sheriff died. But, it seems that from day one I have been presented with nothing but one shit storm after another. These charges against Spencer are one example among the many. Apparently corruption and brutality have been running rampant in the King County Sheriff's department, and I guess I'm the cleanup man.


"Excuse me, guys. Can I please have a bourbon and Coke?" Slinking up to the bar, wearing an emerald green dress, is the most beautiful, stunning, sexy woman I have ever laid eyes on.


"You can have whatever you want, lady."


"There you are. I turned my back for a minute and you got away from me."


"Uh, I'm sorry, what was your name again?" She asks, not even bothering to turn towards the approaching man, that I recognize as one of my parents' neighbors. I'm standing directly behind her, admiring the way her dress comes up around her neck, like her sinful body was poured into it. Stopping mid-thigh, gracefully hugging her body, the sweater material cups and caresses every inch of her lean figure, fitting like a second skin. Dipping at the tight cinch of her waist, flaring out over her wide hips, exposing her toned arms. She is a sight. It's the magnificence of heaven, and the naughtiness of hell in one tight little package.


"You forgot already? That's ok. It's Joe. I had to catch up with you and introduce myself pretty quickly. Soon as you got here I had to put my claim on you. Couldn't let some other guy snatch you up!" The guy named Joe says, his dark eyes leeringly traveling up and down her body, never once focusing on her face.


"Joe, I think-"


Having seen enough, and not liking the way this guy has accosted her, I decide to step in. Placing my hand lightly on her shoulder and placing a small kiss to her temple, I insert myself into their conversation. "Honey, is this guy bothering you? I've been looking for you all night."


"Hold on, is this…"


"Hi, I'm her boyfriend Rick. Nice to meet you." Offering Joe my hand, I nod his way and grace him with a smug smirk, a challenging twist of my lips that begs for him to make a move. My hand is still resting on her shoulder and I can feel the tension in her muscles as she rolls her shoulders back. I suppose she's a little thrown by my touch, but I notice that she doesn't pull away. I don't want her to feel like I'm in the same boat as this creep, so I reluctantly withdraw my hand, missing the heat of her under my palm already.


Slowly, as if wondering at the removal of my hand, her eyes focus on her shoulder, then flit higher to make contact with my own. God help me, she's beautiful. With a rimming of dark liner around her eyes, the dramatic tilt of them is overemphasized, giving them a seductive allure that captures my full attention. Her lashes are lush and long, dusting the tops of her cheeks as she blinks at me. A hint of confusion clouds the chocolate swirl of her eyes, and the quirk of her sexy scarlet lips. Full. Sultry.


Briefly, we are both trapped in the beam of our connected stares, and for the life of me I can't look away. I physically can't, until this bewitching woman breaks the spell, with the husky timbre of her voice.


"Rick, yes. This is my boyfriend Rick." She utters, fumbling over the words. Except she pronounces my name with such clipped precision, moving those lips to hit the K hard. Her lips end the word slightly parted as the sound caresses the fullness of her bottom lip. I can't help but get momentarily lost in the thought of how to get her to say it again.


"Hm. Well, sorry if I almost nabbed your lady, friend. You see a fine woman like that prancing into a party and you just know you have to put your claim on that before another guy does. Am I right?"


Stiffening her spine, she juts her hip out, balancing her weight on one heeled foot. "Excuse me, gentlemen, I need to freshen up. Rick. Joe."


Swiveling her head between us, my mystery woman blesses me with one last glimpse of her beautiful face before she walks off, taking her drink with her. Hips swaying, her heels click across the patio towards my parents' house, and in that minute I know I have to follow her.


"Abe, I'll catch up with you later." Gulping down the last of my beer, I set the bottle back down on the bar, and set my sights on the alluring, departing figure.


Catching up with her standing in the kitchen I walk up to her, intent on finally getting a name, and at least her phone number. "You're welcome." Removing my hat from my head, I place it on the island in front of her, and lean my hips against the counter.


"For?" She asks, her lips once again drawing my attention with the puckered poise of them as she forms the single syllable.


"Saving you from Joe the Claimer." I nod my head back toward the patio doors behind her.


"Do I look like I need your help, Sheriff?" Sipping from the glass of the dark liquid, her eyes raise to mine, and now I'm stuck again. Captured.


"Uh. No, actually you look like-"


"Hey, Ma!"


"Hey, Andre, what's up? Are you ready to go?" Her attention is now diverted by a newcomer to the kitchen, followed closely by my own son, Carl.


"Who is this?" The young man, dark skin, tall, lean, bearing a striking resemblance to the angel in front of me, juts his chin in my direction, his eyes scanning me from head to toe, seemingly taking special note of how close I am to his mother, and my Sheriff's uniform. Taking the measure of me. Protectively sizing me up. Her son. A serious faced young man, the same one Carl was chatting with earlier, with thick dark eyebrows, drawn to a scowl as they hover over the black spectacles perched on his wide nose. In a suit and tie, his demeanor betrays the youth in his scrutinizing features.


"Andre, don't be rude. This is Rick. Rick, this is my son, Andre."


"Nice to meet you, Andre. Do you and Carl know each other?" Offering my hand and a smile to him, I'm attempting to soothe his apparent irritation at finding me with his mother. Taking a hold of my hand, he delivers a firm handshake, one that again betrays the maturity of his chronological age.


"No. I intervened when he was about to get into a fight with some punk named Ron over a girl." Andre tosses a pleased smirk to his side, where Carl stands, a sheepish grin of his own covering his face.


"What?"


"It's not a big deal, Dad. Some guy named Ron was here and said I was talking to his girlfriend Enid. I didn't know she was his girlfriend. She lives in Mom's new neighborhood. I guess Enid and Ron go to some private school together, but she never said he was her boyfriend, so I didn't think it was a problem. But, he walks up to me, pushes me, so I shove him back on his butt. He jumps up and tries to cause a scene, yelling at Enid and I, then Andre steps in and verbally dismantles him. Like, uses words I don't even know. Ron probably didn't know 'em either, but he walked away."


"I didn't really do much, I just let Ron know that I had witnessed the whole thing, and because he accosted Carl first, he would be considered the aggressor, and therefore his adverse actions set precedent for Carl to be the aggrieved party in their dispute."


"See!" Carl excitedly exclaims, jerking his thumb Andre's way.


"Uh, well, you're probably right, Andre. Thanks for that." I stammer, taken aback by not only his correct assessment, but his legal knowledge and vocabulary.


"No problem. So, Ma, I was gonna stay with Nana and Pops if that's ok. Uncle Noah will be coming over tomorrow, and I wanna hang out with him if that's ok. He's got some fascinating new books he's going to lend me."


"Sure. If your grandparents say it's ok. I'll pick you up tomorrow evening."


"Yeah they said it's ok. Just wanted me to clear it with you."


"And, I was gonna stay the night too, Dad. His grandparents live next door, and they said I could hang out with Dre if it was cool with you."


"Sure. Call me when you're ready to get picked up tomorrow."


"Cool. So, hey I'm Carl by the way." My son grins, wide, toothy, offering his hand to my mystery lady. "You and my dad know each other too?" He asks, clearly taken by her beauty. Like father, like son.


"No-"


"Yes, we do. Well we also just met."


"Cool. Andre said you guys don't live here, that you live in the city?"


"Yep."


"That's so cool. Probably so much more to do there than in King County. This place is the sticks. We don't even have a book store here." Carl frowns.


"Well maybe one day you can come hang out with us in the city. There is a wicked comic book store about fifteen minutes from our house. It's owned by a black lady, a friend of my mother's. They even have a glass case with an actual Catwoman costume."


"Really? Michelle Pfieffer? Micheal Keaton, Catwoman?"


"Eartha Kitt." Andre responds with a grin, and an up and down wiggle of his thick eyebrows.


Apparently confused, not knowing who Eartha Kitt is, Carl's brows knit over his blue eyes, his frown deepening.


"What? Man, you don't know Eartha Kitt? Old school Batman, post-Julie Newmar, Eartha Kitt? Santa Baby?"


"Huh?"


"Don't worry about it, Carl, Andre can explain later. You guys have fun!" She laughs, accepting a brief hug from her son who towers over her tiny frame. Her laugh though, it's throaty and airy, a dulcet twinkle that instantly sets my cock to unexpectedly stirring in my pants. Shifting my stance, I'm once again leaning my hip on the counter, hoping to disguise any evidence of arousal my polyester uniform pants might give away.


"Happy New Year, Ma. I hope you still have fun partying with Uncle Aaron later." Her son offers as he releases her from his young. His parting words, the mention of an 'Uncle Aaron', catches my attention.


Watching as our sons depart, a small smile still laces her lips, and I wonder if it's because of her love for her son, or the thought of this 'Uncle Aaron'? It's an unexplainable agitation, the thought of some other guy making her smile. I push it down, not even sure why it's there.


"He seems very mature, how old is your son?"


"Andre is 15. Seems like he's going on 50 sometimes though."


"Does he always wear a suit and tie?"


"Ha! No. He's become a little obsessed with Malcolm X recently." Shaking her head in amusement, her long dreads, swept over to one side, tickle the glowing skin of her shoulders.


"How does he know about Malcolm X?"


"He read his autobiography earlier this year, and has been studying about him, men like him, ever since. He wants to be a lawyer someday."


"Wow. The most I can get Carl to read is comic books. And I'm sure he has no clue what he wants to be when he grows up." I chuckle, slightly embarrassed for my son, and apparently my own deficiency in the parenting department.


"He seems like a nice kid. He'll be fine." She scoffs, placing her hand on my arm, dismissing any concern she may have picked up on from me. Realizing that her hand was still resting on my arm, she slowly pulls back and gathers her drink and her clutch purse from the island. "Well, there goes my night. I thought Andre and I would be spending New Year's Eve together at a friend's party in town a little later, but guess I got dismissed for a new friend and grandparents. Nice meeting you, Rick. I'm going to say goodnight to my parents, and the hosts." She tosses at me as she begins to walk away.


Not ready to lose out on my chance to spend more time with her, feeling like fate has stepped in and made a way for me to claim a bit more of her time, I reach out to take a hold of her hand. The softness I find in her palm is a stark contrast to the rough callouses that line my own hand, and I can't help but to run my thumb over the back of her hand. Of course my mind wanders for a second, thinking that the rest of her must be equally soft, and setting my sights on finding out.


"Mystery lady, what do you say you and I get out of here, and ring in the new year? Together."


Looking down at her hand wrapped in mine, her gaze rests there a moment. And I can see the rise and fall of her full breasts as she's taking a second to gather herself. At first I'm sure she is going to yank her hand away and dismiss my offer. But she doesn't, and after a beat, a few softly spoken words break the stiff silence between us. "Sheriff, are you detaining me?"


"If you'll let me." I answer, bending my knees to angle my gaze to try and catch a glimpse of her pretty face that is still focused on our joined hands. But her eyes still elude me, and the only thing I can see is a nearly imperceptible twitch at the corner of her red lips.


"Am I under arrest? Are you going to use your handcuffs?"


"If you like that sort of thing." I laugh, serious as hell, and hoping that she is.




"Please excuse the mess. I went to the party straight from work, and didn't expect any company other than Carl, who isn't really company ya know. He lives here with me on the weekends."


"I see."


"So, uh, how did you come to be at that party tonight? I haven't seen either of you around before."


"My parents recently purchased a home in Alexandria Estates, next door to the hosts. They invited my parents to their party, and Andre and I tagged along before we were supposed to go to a party with some friends of mine in the city."


"Andre was your date for New Year's Eve?"


"The only date I've had since the divorce." She shrugs, standing in the entry foyer, seemingly unsure of her next move.


"Ah, so you're divorced also. Me too. For a little over six months now." I divulge, fumbling around my small house to try and straighten up, picking up shoes and carelessly tossed about comic books.


"Yes. My ex and I have been divorced for a year now. My parents and my little brother have been a big help, especially when my ex took a job in New York recently. It's been tough for Andre without his dad not being so close anymore. It's more difficult to hop a plan to New York to see him, than to catch the Marta across town." She muses almost sadly, her features growing tense, a frown settling itself on her lips. Gracefully taking a seat on my now decluttered couch, one long leg crossed over the other, a tired sigh betrays her and attempts to darken her mood.


With impeccably poor timing, my cell phone rings. Checking out the illuminated screen I see that it's Jessie. It's been a long while since I've dated, but I'm pretty certain that it would be bad if I don't answer since it might look like I have something to hide. And if I do answer, well, I don't want to talk to Jessie while I'm trying to set a mood to get to know my mystery woman better. Vacillating between both options, she makes the choice for me.


"You should probably answer that, Sheriff. Could be important right?"


"I'll be right back, just gonna take this. Help yourself to anything in the kitchen. Make yourself comfortable." Hurrying into my bedroom, I rush and answer the call, already knowing that my nervously rambled directions to her may have ruined the night. I hope she's still on my couch when I return. "Hello." I answer, exasperation coloring the tone of my voice.


"Rick, hi it's Jessie. I'm sorry I had to rush away from the party, but I did return after I dropped my kids off at home. You weren't there though. Your mother said you left."


"I did. Carl was going to hang with a friend for the night so I headed home."


"Oh! Would you like some company? We still have time before midnight. Maybe we can still ring in the new year together?" She offers, a hint of a plea in the delivery of her words, and it turns me off. I can't blame her for being interested though, as I was certainly feeding into it earlier, showing a good amount of interest myself. Until I laid my eyes on my mystery lady, and an unrecognizable and brash confidence, an unreasonable desire, refocused my attention.


"Not tonight. Maybe another night. I'll get back to you, ok? Have a good night, Jessie." Eager to get her off the phone, I hurry through my explanation, and if I'm being honest, a politely worded brush off. It's not my intent to hurt her feelings. Every move I have made since meeting my mystery lady is so very unlike me, but I have to take my shot with the dazzling woman on my couch. She's so clearly out of my league, but how could I turn down a once in a lifetime opportunity for a regular guy like me to spend time with a woman who looks like that?


Brushing off the slight weight of guilt I feel for Jessie, I hurry into the restroom that's adjoined to my bedroom and check myself in the mirror. Combing the wiry, errant strands of my newly trimmed hair down, and gargling some mouthwash, I give my lean form an up and down once over, and decide that at 38 years old this is as good as it gets.


My ex-wife Lori and I were married for 16 years, and dated for a few years before that. I can hardly remember how to do this, or what I looked like before her. I didn't have this greying beard, or the white strands woven through my hair then. The lines at the corner of my eyes. And, I don't remember this feeling. The butterflies flapping their wings in my chest like they are now, announcing the nervous anticipation of maybe getting something I desperately want. Desperate? Yeah, I think that's what this feeling is. At least it is akin to desperation. This sweaty hopefulness I feel at the prospect of spending time with the beautiful woman in my living room. Maybe getting to taste those lips. Touch her skin again. Capture another whiff of her sweet scent.


When she agreed to follow me home I almost passed out in disbelief. I may have seemed confident when I asked her, but truthfully I thought my heart was going to beat a bruising path through my chest. That is until she finally gave me the gift of her eyes, and told me to lead the way.


Instead of joining me in my truck she followed me home in her Range Rover, and if I was smarter, smoother, able to think a little faster on my feet, I would have called in the license plate number on her car to get her name. But, I'm rusty at this, and now I still don't know her name. At least she's here, and through the tatters of my nerves, I resolve to make her mine. Even if it's only for a short while, a brief stolen moment that a regular guy like me isn't supposed to have. I'm going to grab a hold of this bit of happiness, in a year that has been otherwise filled with arguments, and court cases. No, this moment is just for me. A little taste of heaven to start the new year.


Exiting my room, leaving my phone and any thoughts of Jessie, as well as my nerves behind, I find my new lady friend draped across my couch. In a relaxed lounge she has definitely made herself at home. Having removed her tall heels, and unpinned her hair, now framing the softness of her round face, her legs are tucked beneath her, as she leans into the arm of the couch, a glass of bourbon in one hand, scrolling through her phone with the other. In a hushed voice she lightly mumbles something to the person on speakerphone, a man, and then quickly ends her call as I approach.


"Sorry, that was my assistant. Now I'm all yours, Sheriff." Turning off her phone, she tosses it to the coffee table in front of her


"Your assistant? You must be a big deal to have an assistant."


"Nope. Just very busy. And I need help to keep things together. I like order."


"I like you. And I see you have made yourself right at home on my couch." I nod to her, smiling at how natural she looks there, here, in my space.


"It's a comfy couch, Rick. Come join me." Patting the spot next to her I do just that.


"Tell me about yourself." Settling into the couch, I'm trying to slow things down in my mind, to control my body and my thoughts. My hands want to reach for her, bring her to me, hold her tight little body close. My brain is conjuring all manner of naughty ways to pleasure her, to make her mine. Mine? Where does that thought keep coming from? Not mine. Not yet. Mine? Shaking away the thought I realize that she's speaking and I need to refocus.


"What's there to know, Rick? I mean… is that really why you brought me here? To talk about myself, or to do this." Crawling the length of the couch, from her end to mine, she embodies every bit of elegance her demeanor exudes, with lithe, graceful limbs and movements. Now that she's close, kneeling on the couch next to me, her face in mine, I can finally appreciate how stunning she actually is. It's completely disarming. Laser focused on her, trying to take her all in, I'm caught off guard when she suddenly, gently, places her succulent lips on mine.


Instantly her actions set me on fire, and my body begins to function on auto-pilot. One hand wraps itself around the back of her neck, grasping a hold of her hair. So soft, thick, like lush cotton wrapped in my palm. My other hand reaches for her, hiking up the skirt of her dress and pulling her on to my lap, to straddle my hips. Shocked by my sudden action, her palms are now flat on my chest, roaming over my pectorals. She's so light, but the press of her heated, gyrating body against mine is arousing, causing me to increase the crush of her to me. She doesn't seem to mind though. Instead she sucks my lips into her mouth, licking and lapping, finally thrusting her tongue between my lips. And she tastes so good. Better than I expected. The slight sweetness of the bourbon is still lacing her lips and tongue, heightening the intoxication I'm feeling at having her in my arms, kissing her.


"Mmm, Rick. I need you to unzip me."


"Huh?" I mumble against her mouth.


"Don't you want to see what's under this dress, Sheriff?" She asks, pulling away from me, and daintily backing off of my lap. Like a trained ballerina, with a fluid skill unlike any woman I have ever known, she stands and turns her back to me, then sets herself back atop my thighs. "Unzip me."


With a tilt of her head forward, she grabs a hold of her swinging locs, and twirls them into an elegant topknot, exposing more of her neck to me. Finding the zipper, I slowly ease it down the length of her back. I'm taking my time; the anticipation is killing me. It's like a kid opening gifts on Christmas, I want to see what's under the wrapping. But, I don't rush like I really want to. No, I torture myself, stealing peeks of her decadent ebony skin as it's unveiled to me in a painstakingly slow reveal. The drop of the zipper ends at the dip of her spine, right above the swell of her ass.


Once again she stands, and begins to pull the dress from her shoulders. Peeling the form fitting cloth from her body, my hungry gaze consumes every newly unwrapped inch of her. Again, she's beautiful. Definitely the most beautiful woman I've ever seen in real life, and because of that I want to participate in her peep show. I don't want to just watch, I need to feel the rise and fall of her dark velvet curves underneath my palms. Resolved to do just that, I stand up behind her, and place my hands over hers to help continue to lower the garment from her body.


Stepping out and away from the green material, now in only a black thong, she turns to me, and I'm speechless. What does one say to a goddess? I'm awestruck, and in the darkness of my living room, bathed in only the glow of my gaze, she appears almost unreal, a specter, a heavenly ghost, or manifestation of all my dreams. If I'm honest I'm a little intimidated by her right now. Standing on her tip toes, using her slender fingers to unbutton my uniform shirt, and gifting my chest with soft kisses as she goes, she's perfection personified. This woman is the epitome of sexy, obviously the mold from which all womanhood was made. And despite the tingle of arousal dancing over my skin from her touch, her kiss, I'm worried that I won't measure up, and she will be disappointed.


It's been months, almost a year since I've had sex, since I've been touched in a sexual way by a woman. But she is no mere woman, and I'm afraid that once I taste her, my soul will be hers. I'm afraid that what I have to give will be mediocre compared to what I'm sure she's about to throw down.


With a few softly uttered words, and a blinking sweep of her lashes, she saves me. "Rick, I've never…I've never done anything like this before." Pulling her lips into her mouth, she pushes my shirt off of my body, and bashfully looks down to the floor. "It's been a long time for me." With her fingers now toying with her lips, uncertainty and honesty in the shaking tremble of her light voice, she captures me in her gaze once more. "I hope I'm enough. That it's good for you."


Her admission is breaking my heart as it connects with a part deep inside of me that feels the same way about myself, and I can't believe what I'm hearing. I know who left me in pieces, but what fool tried to break her? What kind of a man disregarded her heart and left her unsure of herself, so…untethered to reality? How could she not be enough for anyone?


Launching myself at her, I snatch her fingers from her kiss swollen lips, and proceed to kiss and lick away her doubt. I want to swallow its poison to keep her safe and happy, satisfied. In this pleasurable frenzy my hands are all over her body, grabbing a handful of her fat ass and lifting her from the floor and up to me.


"Rick!" she mumbles, in a startled gasp, but returns my fervor in equal measure and wraps her legs around my waist, her arms around my neck. She's holding on to me, to this heightened awareness of each other zinging and electrifying the air around us.


I still can't vocalize what's happening, how I feel, how she's making me feel. But I want her to know, I have to show her. Leaving the living room, I walk into my bedroom with her wrapped tightly around my shirtless torso. Laying her on the bed, I spread her out in front of me, and finally I find my words.


"You're amazing."


That's all I have, and it seems to unlock even more of her inhibitions. Lifting her bottom, she wiggles out of her thong, and tosses it towards me. Catching it in my hands I take a long sniff, hypnotized by the sexy smell of her pussy on the garment. With her legs now bent at the knee, set wide apart, I can now bear witness to how much she wants me. How ready she is. Her mound is covered in curls, slick and perfumed with the glistening wetness of her arousal. Throwing her panties to the floor, hands now on my hips I decide I want just a little taste of her first. Just a nip. Something to take the edge off of the painful hardness of my erection so that I can last inside of her for more than 5 minutes, and give her the experience she deserves.


Dragging her to the edge of the bed, I kneel in front of her and ease my tongue out to take a long swipe of her drenched folds. Heavenly. She tastes divine, and smells even better. The tickle of her pubic hair on my lips and nose arouse my sense and cause me to drive my full face into her womanhood, baptizing me in her waters.


"Mmmm…why do you taste so good?" I ask, sucking and licking, biting and nipping at her lips and hole. It's a rhetorical question. There can't be an actual answer as to why. I'm sure it's one of the great mysteries of this world. And I don't really care. The beast in me just wants to feed, to feast on my prey. Soft handfuls of her plump ass are gripped in my hands as I lift her closer to my hungry mouth.


She begins to writhe and wiggle, jutting her hips forward, smashing herself against my face, threatening to smother me with her goodness. It's a sweet death that I would be happy to accept. Leaning up, she grasps my head, tugging on my hair with her slender fingers. She's panting now, inching out a few words of praise in between deep breaths that end on a long, high pitched wail, announcing her orgasm. Elevating my eyes to watch her ride the wave, I watch as her upper body falls weakly back to the bed, and a sweet tension tightens her limbs as she summarily traps me between the softness of her toned thighs.


Waiting, watching from the cozy huddle of her warm thighs, I ease her down from her climax, offering a few languid swipes of her tight bud and folds, sipping at the last of her silky essence. Eventually her muscles contract, and she releases me from the prison of her thighs, even though I have no desire to be free of her.


Yielding to her liberation, I fall back to the floor and catch myself on my hands. Rising to my feet, I'm desperately eager to get my pants and boots off. To swim in the depths of my new favorite place on earth. My hands move in a flash, an excited flurry, spurred on by the sight of her. Eyes tightly shut, her dusky form… fleshy, soft, toned, lean, is stretching and contracting across my white sheets, drenching it with her unforgettable scent. Remnants of her orgasm are pulsing through her, and she's still moaning, smiling. Because of the pleasure I have given her. I did that.


Now completely naked, I advance on her, with the same scent now in my beard, dimming my thoughts. I have only one goal, one singular purpose. To fuck her. To get a sample of the ecstasy she's currently experiencing. With my hips cradled between her thighs, my lips find themselves latched to the blackberry tips of her soft chocolate breasts. Plush, and plump in my mouth, I'm licking and sucking, feeling her nipple harden against my tongue. With my left hand, I thrust my middle and ring finger into her wetness, and feel the gyrations of her heat bucking and riding my hand. And I can feel her getting wetter, opening her petals to blossom around me, showing me that she's ready for me.


Withdrawing my hand from inside of her, I allow my fingers to graze and tickle the firm, sensitive pearl resting at the hood of her womahood. Keening and moaning from my attention, she licks her tongue out to moisten her lips, but it captures my focus and instead it feels like a taunting tease, a challenge. Accepting her challenge, I rise and capture those naughty lips, and sip from the sugary sweetness of her mouth.


Closing my eyes, I offer her a satisfied moan of my own. Unbearable stiffness has my dick pressing and prodding into her toned abdomen. I need her now. To ease my suffering.


Reaching between us, I take a hold of my cock, lining it up with her entrance, and begin a slow, measured descent into her. My God. I'm stricken by how tight she is. How slick and juicy she is. How perfect for my length, and the slight curve of my dick she is. And my dick wants more. To tunnel, to pillage, to take and claim all of this goodness for myself. No, my head doesn't want to hurt or scare her with the ferocity of my need for her. With the intolerable and inexplicable need to possess every inch of her. It makes no sense. We are strangers. She doesn't belong to me. And I still don't even know her name.


Clutching and threading through the curls of my hair, she lifts her pelvis to bang upwards against mine. I sink. I fall. Grinding and thrusting into her, I've got two handfuls of her plump ass gripped tightly in my hands, massaging the globes as I drill into her. Like magnets, obeying an undeniable attraction to be together, we find a rhythm that has me sweating and panting, grinning at the euphoria at play on her face, and the harsh grunts escaping my own mouth.


"What's your name, beautiful?" I ask into the sweaty dampness found in the crook of neck, needing to cement this moment, to perfect this intoxicating connection.


Perfectly pinned beneath me, crushing her breasts to my chest, she utters, "Mi… oh god. Mi…"


"Tell me…"


"Rick! Harder…"


Following her direction, I push her thighs upwards, bending them against her bouncing breasts. Bruisingly banging my hips against the back of her thighs, I lick at my lips and try to stave off the creeping orgasm crawling up my spine. The drag of her womanhood, glove tight over my cock, threatens to undo me before she cums. She's too warm, too wet, too tight. This woman is too much everything, but I'm determined to show her that I can be too. I slow the quick, hard thrusts, and bring it down to a teasing in and out, with a slow wind to make sure I hit her walls.


With her lips slightly parted, she thanks my efforts as my name escapes once more before her pussy tightens in a series of spasms, then rains down the evidence of her climax on me. Drenching my balls, her ass, the comforter beneath her. Eyes tightly shut, her bottom lip trapped between her teeth, she's trembling with pleasure. The sight of her, sweaty, satisfied, pulls my own climax from where it's been hibernating for months, and now ends in a haze of blinding rapture. A rumbling groan blurts from me, and my body stiffens. The rush of my semen from my body into hers disables my cool, leaving me a sweaty, groaning, grinning, fool. Damn.


Losing my strength, limbs weak, I ease over to her side. Throwing one arm over my sweaty face, and the other on her thigh, I'm trying to catch my breath. Everything is blurred, fuzzy. My head is clouded, thoughts a dense fog in my head.


Seconds, minutes, maybe hours pass. The hum of the heat roaring through the vent in my bedroom, ushers in a new layer of indulgent calm, that warms our sticky and sweaty bodies. Turning to my side I pull her into me, to hug her close, and snuggle into the sleep that's threatening to drag me under. Throwing my leg over her body, I bring her even closer, cuddling her in the wrap of arms and legs. As my heavy lids begin their final descent, and a drained exhale blows from my lips and across her hairline, bulking my chest, serene tranquility carries me off to sleep.


"I should go." She whispers across my chest.


"Huh?" I rumble from the edge of REM sleep.


Again, that same soft, airy voice, now with a slight rasp, emits from below my chin, where she's carefully tucked away in my hold. "I should go."


"Hm? No!" Post-orgasm malaise has set in and my movements are sluggish and lazy, but my fuzzy brain makes sense of what she's saying, and sends out a distress signal. "Please. Stay with me." I plead. But, she's already trying to inch out of my hold, away from me, towards the edge of the bed. Nervously, my reflexes kick in and I try to hold on to her, but sensing the stiffness setting in her muscles in response, I reluctantly release her.


Now that she's free, her movements hold a sense of urgency, and she pulls herself upright, to sit on the side of the bed. Stopping, as though she may be reconsidering her initial inclination to leave, she remains where she is.


Wondering if this is my opportunity to change her mind, I scramble to the other side, hoping to move quick enough to halt her retreat.


Meeting her suddenly rising figure, I take a hold of her hand, and raise it to my lips. Dropping a series of soft pecks to her fingers, her palm, her wrist, working my way up her arm, I'm begging with my lips, my eyes. Watching my movements, her warm fudge eyes soften, even though she rolls them in false exasperation, a tiny, amused laugh following.


"I would think you would want me to go now. Isn't that how one-night stands work?" She snarks, twisting her lips in disbelief.


"Who says this is a one-night stand?" I return, alarmed that this kind of elation may be impermanent.


"Isn't it? You still don't even know my name."


"I know how you make me feel. That you felt safe enough to come home with me." Sheepishly looking down at my dick, still sticky with her essence, I'm ashamed to realize that we did not use protection. "That we both felt comfortable enough with each other that I forgot to use protection, and you didn't mention it. I've never done that with anyone but my ex-wife. I don't think I even have any condoms."


"I can't have anymore kids anyway… and I was just caught up in the moment. No big deal." She attempts to nonchalantly shrug off the monumental act of us sharing our bodies without a barrier between us. But I can see in the uneasy dance of her eyes away from my face, and the loose hang of her arms to her side, that her words are a cover for her truth.


"I'm sorry anyway. I should have asked. I got carried away. But, I still want you to stay. What do you have to lose by giving me a little more time to learn your name?"


"Why?"


"Why not?" Traveling my kisses up her arm, across her clavicle and collarbone, I land on her neck. Appreciating the scent of her, a rich perfume I've never smelled before. It's a decadent floral, with soft undertones of her own unique smell. But now it's mixed with something else. Me. I like it. "Stay." I beg one more time, a plaintive whine in the bass of my deep voice. "Let's not be alone on New Year's Eve, ok? Belong to me…at least for tonight." I flirt, sincerity and honest affection for her in my wide smile. "I want to take care of you, beautiful." And I mean it. I'm hooked. My words may be coming off to her as the pleas of a sex starved man, and well they are, but there is something else there. Something I don't want to even admit to myself, but, I mean what I said.


"It's 2 AM now, Rick, it's New Year's Day now." She answers, her eyes intent on the red glare of the clock on my night stand.


"Even better. Start the year with me, beautiful."


My words must have hit a nerve with her, because her eyes immediately snap to mine, looking, searching for something. The truth maybe. She doesn't have to look hard though, because it's there in the smitten grin on my face. I mean every word.


"Ok. I'll stay."




She did stay. For how long I don't know. After another round of love making, where she rode me hard, fast, snatching her pleasure from me, I all but passed out. My mystery woman gifted me with an orgasm so strong and ferocious, I caught a Charlie horse in my calf, and barely remember anything after that.


No, she didn't stay as long as I wanted her to. In the morning I rolled over, seeking the warmth of her presence, hoping for a kiss. Planning in my sleep laden brain to get up and make her breakfast, maybe catch a shower together. Instead I was met with a King County Sheriff's Office post it note on her pillow.


I had a great time Sheriff. Thanks for taking care of me, and not allowing me to be alone on NYE.


- M

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