I’m also a detective in Homicide, Detective Jessica Minor. I had been a homicide detective in the Fifth Precinct for three years when Dwayne transferred to my unit.
For months, it was easy for us to avoid the inevitable because we were always assigned to different cases. We only held brief, nonchalant conversations and smiled at each other across the room during the weekly meetings held by the captain.
One day everything changed and the lust for each other came crashing in like a Mack truck. I owe it all to one felon, a murderer even. His name was Aaron Redmond, and he was a straight-up son of a bitch.
I drew the case of a woman who had been murdered on her way home from a step aerobics class one night. She left the gym and never got home. About a week later, some boys playing hooky from school discovered her remains in a field behind the junior high school.
Everything about the case smelled like Aaron. He had killed before, was convicted, and served only seven years of a twenty-five-year sentence. They should have locked his ass up and thrown away the key, but due to prison overcrowding, they cut his sentence short so they could get rid of him.
Dwayne was the detective who originally busted his ass in the first case, back when he first became a detective in the Third Precinct. When the latest murder occurred, he was highly upset and frustrated. He and I both agreed it was fucked up they even let a person like Aaron out of jail. They should’ve known he would kill again. Once you’re determined to be a fucking loony bird, that never changes.
That’s how Dwayne and I ended up actually working a case together. I was assigned the task of tracking Aaron down and Dwayne was the person who could help me most in my efforts.
Dwayne and I discussed at length the best way to set a trap. I took his suggestion and agreed to set up a stakeout around the clock. We were going to stake out the home of Aaron’s brother, Kyle. We knew he would show up sooner or later, because his past record proved he loved his baby brother very much. In fact, he did nine months for beating a man almost to death who started an argument with his brother in a bar.
Kyle was a drug dealer, but we weren’t there to bust him for that, since we had bigger shit to worry about. However, once we got our man, bringing his shady ass down would be inevitable. In fact, we were killing two birds with one stone by having a stakeout on him. We would get our killer, and we would have mad surveillance tapes to turn over to DEA agents on his brother.
Dwayne and I got all the necessary paperwork together and approved, arranged to have two other detectives assigned to the case as well, since it would be an around-the-clock operation, and put our plan into action.
Since it was our case, we opted to take the night shift, from 7 P.M. to 7 A.M., and let the other two work days. We didn’t get permission to put live cameras in his place, because the equipment availability is limited and they didn’t consider it a big enough case. Dwayne got hold of a telephone company uniform and had the landlord let him in one day while Kyle wasn’t home to check his line. He placed several bugs throughout the place and in the two telephone receivers. He got out just in time. As soon as he got back to the van where I was waiting for him, Kyle pulled up in his Benz.
Our next task was to find a place to become our base of operations. A van parked outside his apartment building day and night would have stuck out like a sore thumb. After all, drug dealers are no dummies, or they would all get pinched with a quickness.
Kyle was not a big-time drug dealer, so he didn’t have bodyguards and lookouts like most do. He preferred to keep his business on the down-low, having his clients come to his place to buy drugs instead of selling them on a street corner.
We decided to set up the base in a shabby hotel across the street. We told the hotel manager what the deal was, and he gave us a room with a bird’s-eye view of Kyle’s apartm
ent on the third floor. From there we could take photos of some of the activities going on in the apartment. That turned out well during the day, when the other detectives were working. Kyle had a tendency to leave his shades open, and they were able to obtain quite a collection of pictures showing his clientele.
At night, Dwayne and I had to rely mostly on the listening devices. The first couple of weeks were frustrating—not one single Aaron sighting or phone call. Dwayne and I made the best of being stranded together in the cramped hotel room at night. We played cards, ate pizza, watched some television when we could get the stupid thing to work, and talked about everything from rap artists to religion.
Kyle was an interesting character, especially at night. He had a sex life that would put anyone to shame. Almost every night, a woman would show up at his place to give him the nightly fix he desired, and I don’t mean drugs either. It made me feel a little uncomfortable to sit there in the room with Dwayne, listening to all the fuck noises coming from Kyle’s apartment—mainly because I wanted to fuck Dwayne so bad.
Dwayne is so incredibly good-looking, it should be illegal to be that fine. He’s about five-eleven and 185 pounds, light-skinned with black wavy hair and light brown eyes. One night he decided to do some pushups to loosen up because sitting there was tensing up his bones. He took off his shirt, got down on the floor, and started doing them. Watching the muscles contract in his back and ass while he went up and down made my pussy start throbbing and my nipples hard. To make matters worse, Kyle was banging the hell out some woman in his place, and her moans were making my feenin more escalated by the second.
When he got up, he looked at me, saw the perplexed look on my face, and asked me, “What’s wrong?” I told him, “I’m fine, just a bit tired!” I excused myself to the bathroom. I didn’t have to use it. Instead, I sat up on the edge of the sink, put one of my feet on the lid of the toilet seat, and started fingering my pussy with one hand and rubbing my nipples with the other.
I lost myself in the moans coming from the equipment in the other room and had to use all the strength I could fathom to prevent myself from moaning out loud. I was taking too long in the bathroom and realized it, so I start rubbing my clit really fast like a vibrator until I came all over the sink. I cleaned the sink and myself up and went back out to the room. Dwayne was looking at me with a weird expression, and I was praying he didn’t know what I’d just done.
Two nights later, the sexual tension between us became too much to bear. Several times, I caught him glancing intently at my breasts and ass. Kyle was in his place, fucking a woman so hard, she was literally begging for him to stop. Then Dwayne’s eyes met mine, and the shit was on.
Dwayne was sitting in a chair by the recording equipment. I walked over and stood in front of him so that my breasts were in his face. He gratefully took hold of them, squeezed them tightly, and began to bite gently on my nipples through the material of my sweater and bra.
I unbuttoned my sweater, removed it, and then straddled over him on the chair, letting his muscular thighs hold my legs up. We started tongue-kissing, softly at first, then deep, passionate kisses. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders as we both began to moan just like Kyle and the woman he had in his apartment.
He unfastened my bra, and I eased my arms down off his shoulders long enough for him to remove it and let it fall to the floor. I started grinding my pussy on his dick, and the zipper of his jeans was causing a friction against my clit, even though I had on panties underneath my pleated skirt.
Dwayne lifted me up, and I wrapped my legs around his back as he carried me over to the cheap iron bed. We started making out on the bed. He finished taking off all my clothes, and I helped him to get undressed as well.
We spent a few moments just exploring each other’s bodies with our hands and tongues. His hands were soft and gentle for him to be such a strong man. I was soaking up every moment of it—the way he held me, the way he smelled, the way his skin felt against mine.
I got on top of him, reached for his jeans so I could get his handcuffs, and cuffed him to the bed. I’d left my cuffs at home by accident that night, something I’d never done before. Must have been a sign of sexual repression. As I was throwing his jeans back on the floor, I heard the keys to the cuffs fall out.
I started to climb off him to try to retrieve them, but he stopped me. “Don’t worry about it, baby. We’ll get them later.”
I replied by letting him know, “I want you so bad!
We started kissing again, and then I pushed up farther on the bed, grabbed onto the bars, and popped my breasts in his mouth one at a time. He was definitely what we women call a breast man, because he obviously enjoyed sucking them as much as I enjoyed having them sucked.