Page 106 of Man Cuffed
Nope.
I’m a down and dirty stripper, and I’m gyrating to the music as if I’m trying to screw something to the floor. Maybe I am.
Meg’s face lights up. “Over here, Copper! Me! Me!!”
I strut over to her and grind up close to her, but not touching. I can feel the music leading me. Or maybe it’s just the pull I feel from Meg.
“Mac,” she breathes. “Are those...”
I think maybe she’s noticed that this is no regular cop’s uniform.
Honestly, Lance is a wealth of information.
I stand in front of her and rip my shirt off. It literally rips off. There’s velcro instead of buttons.
“Oh, oh!” she cries. “Please, please please tell me that your pants rip off too!”
I’m too busy flexing to do anything but wink at her. She reaches for me and I pause just long enough for her to grab ahold of my removable trousers and give one big tug.
This time, the pants fall right off of me.
Huh.
That is super handy. Easy access.
Meg is in hysterics. I get a little concerned that this is going all wrong and I stop for a second, then she cries out, “Don’t you fucking stop dancing, Copper!”
And then she’s giggling some more. “What on earth are you wearing? Shouldn’t you be totally naked? What is covering your...junk?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” I ask. And I thrust at her. If you’re going to go free fall, you might as well be wearing a red thong that has a sling for your balls. I give a little jiggle. I turn a little so she can see the little pocket. “This is for you,” I say.
“You’re giving me your dick? This is the best day ever!” she squeals.
I’m still grinding.
“The POCKET,” I say.
“Oh. Oh!” She grabs me by the hips and brings me close to her. Her eyes and mouth are at the perfect position. One quick grab of this thong and I’ll be straight up against her lips.
“Reach in the pocket,” I say, because if I don’t say something, I’m going to rip her clothes off before I can get to the good part. And this is the good part.
She reaches for me. Digs in the pocket. And pulls out a key.
“To your handcuffs?” she asks.
I stop dancing. Run my hand through her hair. She’s looking up at me and I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more beautiful sight than her brown eyes looking into mine. “It’s a key to my apartment,” I say. “So you can stop breaking in. And maybe, you know, just stay.”
“Are you asking me to move in with you?”
I nod. “I’m asking.”
“So. Ask.”
She never lets me off the hook.
I wouldn’t have it any other way.
“I’m asking you to move in with me. But it’s more than that. I want you to move that ridiculous plant over to my place. And your pillows. I want to help you when you’re freaking out about all the stuff you need to organize for Meg’s Mobs. I want you to take out all that anxiety on me at night. Or in the morning. Mid-afternoon. I want to cook for you. And I want you to pick up takeout sometimes. I want you to stop being the girl next door, and be the girl who stays. I want you to move in. And never, not ever, move away. So I guess what this key is, is me. Asking you for forever.”
