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I’d never done that, though.

I’d stayed away, kept my distance.

But holding her now?

Feeling her warm, soft body pressed against my own?

I realized what a futile struggle I’d been fighting.

Every interaction. Every struggle. Every fight. Every run-in.

It’d all been leading to right here.

Right now.

With her in my arms.

I was still in my uniform.

My gun belt had been discarded in my cruiser in the safe.

My shirt had been untucked.

But I still wore my boots.

I still had my entire uniform on.

Hell, I was still in my fucking Kevlar vest.

I hadn’t made the mistake of sleeping in that stupid thing since I’d first gotten on the job.

Yet, I wasn’t sore as fuck.

I was so. Fucking. Comfortable.

Her body was pressed to mine, her face pillowed on my bicep.

Her breathing fogged up the gold star on my chest each time she exhaled.

We were laid flat out on her couch, a monstrosity of a couch that I thought was a smidge too deep when I was sitting on it.

But now that I was lying on my side with her pressed against me?

It was the perfect width to do exactly what I was doing.

She changed positions, her lower leg hiking up even farther on my hip.

The hideous Pooh Bear pajama bottoms were…gone.

The only thing that she had left on was the top, which had ridden up so high that if she moved wrong I’d be seeing the lower part of her tits, and a pair of black lace panties that left very little to the imagination.

My already hard cock got harder, and if she woke up in the next few minutes, there was no way that she wouldn’t feel it. It was pressed right up against her pussy.

She shifted again, this time mostly on top of me, and then started to mumble in her sleep.

I vaguely remembered hearing her talking in the middle of the night, but I’d been so damn exhausted that it’d been a passing “huh, that’s cute” before I’d fallen back to sleep.

“Don’t go. The spoon is coming.”