Cop Daddy (Call Me Daddy Book 4) Read online

  Cop Daddy

  Call Me Daddy – Book 4

  Bianca James

  About the Author

  I write wickedly hot, steamy romance stories that will leave you gasping. Yes, they are a little over the top, but there’s nothing like a quick, dirty read about an alpha male or a sinful, forbidden relationship to spice up the day, is there? If you like your romance scorching hot and very, very naughty, then my stories are for you!

  Join my readers group to be notified of special offers and hot new releases.

  Copyright © 2018 Bianca James. All rights reserved.

  Chapter 1

  The night was an absolute disaster. The worst night I think anyone’s had. Ever. Seriously, if someone was telling me this story, I’d laugh in their face and tell them to stop bullshitting me and not treat me like some dumb fuck. But, sadly, it did happen you’re probably not going to believe me, but I’ll tell you anyway. Don’t judge me, though. You’ve lived your own life without any judgement from me, so you have no right to judge how I’ve lived mine.

  They say bad things happen in three’s, well it’s true, but that was just the start. After my run of three bad things, it all went downhill real fast. Firstly, my best friend Christie decided to hook up with some random guy she met at pottery class. Yes, you read that right. Pottery class! Why would anyone actually go to something like that if they didn’t absolutely have to? Maybe you’d do it if it was part of your twelve step rehab program or you were doing time for grand theft auto and had to pass some time, but to actually volunteer?

  There’s more to the story than that, though, as you’ve probably figured, right? You see, Christie lived with her mom and stepdad, Vince. Every Friday night, Vince would tie one on at his local bar after work and come home drunk enough to get a little weird and a bit too fresh with Christie, but not quite drunk enough to do anything much more than that. But it was enough to get her thinking that not being home when he got home with a load on was the best thing she could do.

  Christie doesn’t have a lot of money—who does, right? So she needed to find something to do on a Friday night that didn’t cost too much money and didn’t involve getting hammered, because she didn’t want to end up a loser like her stepdad. The local community college and their lame ass ceramics and pottery classes came to her rescue. Who knew she’d end up meeting a cute guy there. What are the odds on that?

  Of course, I was glad I didn’t sign up to go with her and give her some support. For one thing, I’d rather stab myself in the eye with a blunt fork than mess around with a lump of gooey, sticky clay and for another, a cute guy was the last thing I was interested in. After my first and last ‘boyfriend’ experiences, I needed a boyfriend like I needed another hole in my butt. No, I was over boyfriends for life. All they do is break your heart and then go back to their ex when they’re done with you. Pricks! I was over the whole romance and sucky face bullshit. I still had needs, though. Did I ever! But that’s a whole other story.

  Why was Christie’s hook up such a bad thing? Well, by itself, it wasn’t. I was happy for her and thrilled that she had a date with a decent guy, for a change. But that left me without a wingman for my big Saturday night out at Infusion, the new dance club I’d been waiting forever to go and check out. There was no way I was blowing off my big party night because Christie had her big date with Mr. Pottery-fucking-Barn. That’s not how I roll.

  “Come on, Kylie. Please,” I begged. “It’ll be fun and we’re going to have the best time, I promise.”

  Listening on the phone, all I heard was the sound of crickets. What was I expecting, anyway? I’d been through my list of dance club friends and they all had better offers for the night. By the time I got to Kylie, I was desperate. Kylie was as dumb as a sack of hammers, but she looked the part and always dressed well enough to turn a few heads. I could work with her at a pinch, but she needed to say ‘yes’ first.

  I would have done anything to have someone come along with me. Walking into the club, alone and looking like a try-hard, wasn’t an option. I had to find someone willing to at least come with me and stay for a while. Kylie was, more or less, my last option.

  “Just come for an hour. That’s all. Just sixty tiny minutes and then I’ll let you do whatever you want. Please?” I pleased again to the deafening silence that met my initial pleas.

  More silence. I decided to wait her out. I saw that on Law and Order once. If you say nothing long enough, eventually they crack. They can’t help it and something forces them to fill the void of silence with something. Anything.

  “Okay, but only for an hour.”

  Yes! I mouthed silently as I fist pumped the air.

  “Thanks Kylie. You won’t regret it. I’ll buy you a drink. Hell, I’ll even buy you dinner before the club if you want.”

  “One hour,” her shrill, annoying voice came through the earpiece. “I mean it, Holly. I’m not getting sucked into another of your stupid all night adventures and I’m not going to end up spending hours in the interview room at the precinct answering dumb questions about something I didn’t even do. Got it?”

  “Be fair, Kylie. That time wasn’t really my—”

  “That’s the deal. Take it or leave it. I don’t care either way. I’m only offering because I know how desperate you’d have to be to even call and ask.”

  “Okay. Okay. Whatever. Just be ready. I’ll pick you up around nine.” I was about to end the call …

  “Ah-Ah. No you won’t. I’m driving. I’ll pick you up. Like I told you, Holly, I’m not ending up like last time.”

  “But that wasn’t my—”

  The call had already ended.

  Chapter 2

  The squad car stank like only a squad car in this part of town could stink. Puke, piss, alcohol, weed and other pungent smells better left undefined. A potpourri of life in that part of the city. It had been a long shift for the two gruff veteran cops who rode up front while their third collar for the night bitched and moaned in the back seat, behind the steel grille.

  “Can’t ya’ll just let me go? I wasn’t hurtin’ no one,” he begged.

  “You know we can’t do that, Freaky Freddy,” said the cop riding shotgun, his pearly white smile accentuated against his ebony skin, even in the dim light of the squad car.

  “Do … do … don’t call me that. You know I hate th … th … that.” Freddy always stammered when he was nervous or annoyed. Right then, he was both.

  “You ought to know better than to be coconut pulling on the main street, F…f…f…Freddy,” the driver chipped in. He slapped the steering wheel as he laughed at his own joke.

  “I wasn’t mas…mas…mas…playing with myself. Honest. I was just taking a p…piss.”

  “That’s not what the half dozen witnesses who waved us down said, Freddy.” The cop riding shotgun turned to face Freddy in the back seat. Freddy looked at the shiny police shield attached to the immaculately pressed police uniform.

  “Officer DeShawn, I swear I wasn’t up to no good. I just needed a p…p…piss.”

  “Listen Mr. Spanky, we got statements and we caught you with your dick in your hand. So shut-the-fuck-up,” rumbled the driver. His shield not so shiny and his shirt not as neatly ironed. The name Hancock still clearly visible on the shield, despite the lack of care and polish. “What you think, Reggie? We got him fair and square?”

  “Yeah, fair and square, but who gets stuck with the paperwork? I’ll give you a tip—it ain’t gonna be me. I done the last three collars. It’s time you did some of that shit.”

  “I thought you wanted the credit. I was trying to do you a solid…helping you out. We’re partners, right?” Officer Hancock looked offended, as if hi
s generosity being thrown back at him.

  “Partners my ass. You’re one lazy sonofabitch so don’t you go makin’ out like you doin’ me some ‘solid’. The only ‘solid’ in this partnership is that I’m always stuck with the paperwork. That’s a solid I can always count on from my partner.”

  “Geez, Reggie, calm down. What’s wrong, you not getting any at home? Need a little relief?” Hancock stroked his fist up and down in the air a few times before letting out a howl of laughter.

  “Very funny, Jack. She left me last week. Said she couldn’t handle being a cops wife any more. She packed and walked out. Just like that.” Reggie snapped his fingers.

  “Oh, man. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. Why didn’t you say something?” Jack shot him a look that made it clear how upset he was that Reggie hadn’t confided in him.

  “Embarrassment? Shame? I don’t really know.” Reggie shook his head slowly and stared out the side window at the passing storefronts.

  “Hey, if you guys need a little time for some couples th…th…the…therapy or a hug, feel free to let me out at the next corner. I can find my way home from here.”

  Both cops turned to face the back of the squad car, shouting together “Shut-the-fuck-up, Freddy!”

  Chapter 3

  As far as clubs went, Infusion was better than some and a worse than some others. Overall, it was average. After an hour, the atmosphere hadn’t improved and I was keen to move on to somewhere with a bit more vibe.

  “Let’s go hit The Loft, I heard it improved heaps once they got rid of that dipshit manager. You in?” I hoped Kylie had forgotten the time or the fact that she had the whole one hour thing in her head.

  Kylie looked at her watch.

  No such luck. Damn.

  “I’m outa here. You do what you like, but I’m going home. I’ve got tennis practice in the morning and an early session at that.”

  “How am I supposed to get to The Loft? Hell, how am I supposed to get home?” I could feel my night of partying slipping away, circling the drain right alongside the atmosphere in this rather ordinary club.

  “And that’s my problem … how? I promised you a ride. I promised I’d hang with you for an hour. Job done, Holly.” She looked at her watch, yet again, as if to underscore her point.

  That was number two.

  Maybe someone spiked my drink, I don’t know for sure, but I do know I felt really weird when I woke up. I remembered leaving the club to make my way to The Loft when I realized I had no cash. I’d asked Kylie to keep my purse and phone in her bag while I hit the dance floor. She still had them. I had nothing. No money. No ID. No phone. No chance of having a decent night out.

  But that’s not what bothered me the most. I was in a truck, curled up on the passenger seat, my feet tucked up behind me against the passenger door. The last recollection I had was shivering in the cold and taking refuge in a bus shelter to get out of the wind while I worked out a plan. That’s when I started to feel strange and I think I fell asleep.

  How the fuck did I end up in some stranger’s truck?

  “You’re awake, then?” the driver asked. I looked up at him to see whose lap my head was almost resting in.

  “Yeah. Who’re you? How did I get here? Where are you taking me?”

  “Firstly, I’m going way out of my way and falling behind schedule to take you home. Secondly, I saw you asleep on the street in that shitty neighborhood and stopped to see if you were alright. I thought something had happened to you.” He paused to take a turn. “And thirdly, I’m Jerry and this is my rig.”

  “How do you even know where I live to be taking me home?” my spidey sense was beginning to tingle.

  “Just before you passed out or fell asleep again or whatever you were doing, you told me where you lived. I asked you if you needed a ride home. Don’t you remember?”

  I shook my head and tried to process everything.

  “Someone took my purse.” I chewed my bottom lip. “I’ve got no cash, cards, nothing. I can’t even give you gas money,” I said fearing his reaction after he’d told me the time he’d taken to get me home.

  “That’s OK, sweetie. It’s sure ain’t gas money I’m after.” His lips curled into a bestial grin.

  I’m guessing you’ve figured number three is coming next.

  The next thing I knew, he’d pulled into a poorly lit alley and was taking his pants down with one hand while grabbing a handful of my hair with the other.

  “Ouch! What the fuck are you doing? I thought you were trying to be nice?” I yelled.

  “You could have gotten killed or worse all passed out like that in the bus shelter. I saved you. Now it’s time you did something for me.” He yanked my head toward his crotch as he lowered his shorts, allowing his cock to spring out, nearly slapping me in the face.

  It was disgusting. All I could smell as he pushed my face within an inch of his dirty, ugly dick was a kind of salty body odor. I nearly retched.

  He took his cock on one hand and pushed harder on the back of my head with the other. I gagged at the thought of taking that filthy thing in my mouth. I had to do something, but he was too strong and I was still groggy from whatever I’d had at the club.

  Lights.

  Strobe lights.

  Whoop Whoop! A short blast of a police siren cuts through the unnerving silence in the truck.

  Cops! For the first time ever, I was actually glad to see their flashing lights. They weren’t flashing ready to arrest me. Not this time.

  For once, the strobing lights were going to be my salvation.

  Chapter 4

  Two cops approached, one either side of the truck, their hands poised over their holstered weapons, ready to draw down at the slightest hint of a threat. Even in the dimly lit alleyway I could see that one of them was a rugged looking, medium height white guy. His partner, quite the opposite. Tall, trim and athletic with a narrow waist, he moved like a jungle cat circling its prey. And he was black. The two cops were like a textbook study in contrasts. Think Jamie Foxx and Woody Harrelson. That’s who they reminded of.

  The tall black one kept his distance from the passenger door, using the end of his nightstick to rap on the window as he swept the interior of the trucks cabin with his powerful Maglite.

  “Keep your hands where we can see them and open the door. Very slowly,” he instructed with a voice smooth and rich like melted chocolate.

  Jerry released my hair and began to pull his shorts back up and tuck his now flaccid penis back in.

  “Hey, dipshit! You can’t understand fucking English? He said keep your hands where we can see them. He didn’t tell you to play with your dick,” bellowed the white cop, taking a step back and assuming a firing stance.

  These guys mean business, I thought, suddenly afraid that I might get caught in the crossfire if things went bad.

  “Miss, step out of the vehicle, please,” instructed Jamie Foxx.

  Jerry quickly placed his hands on the steering wheel and waited for me to get out of the truck. Slowly, like I’d been told.

  “Turn around and lock your fingers behind your head while I search you,” Jaimie said. “That’s right. Now do you have any weapons, sharp objects or anything than might hurt me when I frisk you?”

  “No.” The word nearly stuck in my throat I was so nervous.

  I felt his heavy, strong hands on me as he worked his way down my body, feeling my tummy, waist and butt in the way through. Then he bent over and ran his hands up my bare legs, one at a time, first on the outside, then on the inside, sliding right up under my skirt and stopping when he felt the silky, ‘barely there’ fabric of my thong underwear.

  “I’m sorry Miss, but I need to make sure you aren’t concealing any weapons.”

  Then he slipped his long, lithe fingers into the waistband of my underwear, caressing my butt cheeks and exploring the crack of my ass. His touch was so gentle. His hands so calloused and ‘manly’. Despite the frightening circumstances, I felt a heat rising in m
y sex at his touch. I’d never been touched by a black man before. In fact, I’d never been touched by anyone as good looking as him or as mature. I found it exhilarating, but I hoped it didn’t show too much.

  I spread my legs slightly wider to give him better access. In response, the hand that had been caressing, no searching, my butt for concealed weapons left a trail of heat on my skin as it splayed across my tummy before plunging into my panties. My freshly shaved sex melted at his touch. I gasped and shivered in response to his touch. I wanted to be touched. I wanted his hands to take me, possess me and plunder me. I’d never felt so heated or desirous before in my life.

  I’d always been a bit of a bad girl when it comes to getting into good old fashioned mischief. To be fair, though, more often than not, I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time or simply made poor decisions. Okay, very poor decisions. Then, I’d often make bad choices on top of bad choices in an effort to recover a situation spiraling out of control. This earned me the very unfair reputation of being a trouble maker and ringleader. In reality, I was more like a victim of circumstance and my own poor judgement.

  To make it worse, everyone assumed that because I was so often in trouble with Campus Security and the local police that I was some kind of wanton slut. Talk about drawing a long bow. That’s so judgmental and totally unfair, but once you’ve been labelled like that, it’s almost impossible to shake it off.

  Don’t get me wrong. I love sex, at least the idea of sex. I’m not a prude. I’m not saving myself for marriage. I’m not abstaining on religious grounds. I like guys. I get horny like you wouldn’t believe. But, the experience I’ve had with guys to date has been less than inspiring. They show no sign of understanding my needs, make no effort to try to learn and seem blindly intent on doing nothing more than working toward their own, brief, release. Were they all like that? Perhaps the more mature guys understood a woman’s needs better?