Chapter 1
Motherfricker.
All I wanted to do was go home.
That's it.
But, there I was stuck in traffic. I had left work exactly an hour and twenty-seven minutes earlier. And, I had taken a route that usually made my travel time thirty-two minutes long. But, it was taking nearly three times as long as normal because of motherfucking traffic.
It wasn't like I was in a rush to get anywhere, but I was tired from work and I had a TV show on, so yeah, I wanted to get home. Plus, I had been stuck in a pencil skirt and heels all day and I just wanted to take off my makeup and clothes, take my hair down, and put on some sweatpants.
The traffic finally cleared up after a bit, so I put my foot on the accelerator and zoomed down the motorway. I wasn't going too fast, I'm not an idiot, but I was going over the speed limit. Just like, by ten miles per hour or so.
It only took three minutes for me to hear the whoop whoop of a siren. I glanced in my rearview mirror and let out an aggravated moan once I saw a police car behind me.
Well, crap.
Only more of a delay until I could get home and be lazy.
I pulled over and quickly adjusted my hair in the mirror. I wasn't going to stoop down to flirting my way out of a ticket, but I figured looking nice wouldn't hurt, right?
Oh, how wrong I was.
In the U.S, if you get pulled over by a cop, you stay in the car. And since I had only been in England for like three months, so I hadn't had the opportunity to have a brush with the law yet.
There was a tap on my window. The cop was standing right next to the door, so I couldn't see anything but his belt buckle and the top of his pants. I rolled down my window as quickly as it would go, which wasn't very quick, so it made the situation quite awkward.
"How can I help you officer?" I asked politely.
"Please step out of the vehicle." A husky, deep voice demanded. I unlocked my car door and clambered out not-so-gracefully. He motioned for me to follow him, and I did, to the other side of the vehicle. The side that was against the grass, not the motorway. I guess it was safer that way, no chance of getting hit by passing cars.
The police officer was a lot taller than I thought he would be. His full height loomed over mine easily. Brown curls were smothered by a peaking police officer's hat. I couldn't see his eyes, which were covered by aviators, but I could feel his intense gaze on me. He crossed his arms over his chest. I don't know if he planned it, or if he was unaware, but his uniform had long pants and short sleeves. Short sleeves which showed off the bulging muscles in his tattooed arms as he crossed them.
"Miss, are you aware of how fast you were going back there?" He asked me in a slowed version of the British accent I had grown accustomed to.
"Umm... not exactly."
"You were going nine miles over the speed limit." He explained. I narrowed my eyes in confusion and stared up at him. That was it? I got pulled over for that? There were people zooming passed us who were going faster than that.
"I'm sorry, sir." I apologized quickly.
My mother used to flirt her way out of parking tickets. My father used to lie his way out. My grandmother used to use the sympathy card. I learned that it was best just to keep it honest and polite. It went quicker and pissed off the cop less, meaning there was less of a chance of a ticket being administered and more of a chance of just a warning.
"No worries," he offered me a smile which was nothing short of breathtaking. A perfect set of white, straight teeth were displayed as well as two lovable and boyish dimples. "I just need your license and registration." I reached back into my car to grab the requested items and handed it to the officer. He glanced over them while I waited patiently.
His uniform was pretty generic, but I could see a gun in his holster and a Taser next to it.
I've always wanted to use a Taser.
"It says here you're an immigrant?" He looked back to me. I nodded quickly at his question. "America?" He pressed.
"Yep. Was it the accent?" I had heard many people comment on my accent. I never thought it was thick, but I guess that's because I had been around people who spoke like me my whole life. It wasn't until I was immersed in another culture did I realize that I spoke like a true New Yorker, heavy accent and all.
"Do you have a Visa or Green Card?"
"Yes, sir."
"Do you carry it on you?"
"Yes, sir."
He held out his hand in a motion requesting my Visa. I hesitated a moment before reaching back in my car and grabbing the little card. Hopefully, he wouldn't notice the expiration date. Hopefully, he wouldn't say anything about it.
"Uh, Officer Scott?" I looked at his nametag to address him formally. He looked up at me with gorgeous emerald eyes over his sunglasses. It took me a moment to recover. "Erm... in America, speeding really isn't prosecuted unless it's like 20 miles or more over the limit. I was just wondering-"
"This isn't America, Miss Redwood." He glanced down at my license, which looked tiny in his ginormous hands, to see my name. "I'm going to need you to put your hands up on your car and spread your legs." My information was put on the hood of my car, to be returned to later on.
"What? Am I getting arrested?" I questioned quickly. He answered with a knowing smirk.
"No, Miss, just a routine search."
"Search for what?" I demanded.
"Any illegal paraphernalia. Drugs, unauthorized weapons. You are here illegally, it's routine." He commented. I gasped at the accusation and suddenly severed the small crush I had on the unnaturally attractive cop. How dare he.
"I'm not here illegally."
"You're Visa's expired."
"But that's-"
"Are you resisting an officer, Miss Redwood?" He bent over so he could lean in close. "Because I could always get my partner involved." I glanced over to the squad car that had pulled up behind my car. In the passenger's seat was another young officer. I couldn't make out his features because of the tinted windows, his hat and his aviators, but I could tell he was on his cell phone, and he didn't seem too concerned with his job by the way his big feet were propped up on the dashboard.
"N-no sir." I complied with his directions and braced myself against the car. My palms were flat against the metal and my feet were shoulders width apart. Or, my feet were as far apart as I could get them to be in my tight pencil skirt.
I felt Officer Scott brush up against me as his hands quickly patted over my arms. Nothing felt off, just like a pat down at an airport. Pretty regular.
But then his hands skimmed my sides and down to my legs, which were sheathed in tights. Touching my calves was fine, but while he felt up my thighs, I felt uncomfortable. His hands seemed to completely skip over my knees and lower thighs and only touched the very top part. He tried to move his hands inwards, but wearing a skirt prevented him from doing so.
Thank god.
Hands trailed over my butt, but didn't linger there for long, luckily. They traveled up to my back and then wrapped around to my stomach. He patted me there gently, making me feel slightly self-conscious about my tummy, but then he moved up to my breasts. I expected him to just lightly trail over them, like he had the rest of my body, but he didn't.
Instead, his hands grabbed me painfully and kneaded slowly. I let out a strangled gasp and pushed away from the car. His body quickly flushed against mine, and pressed me roughly against the metal of my vehicle.
"What the heck?" I cried out. I could feel him against my back, but I stopped resisting, hoping he'd get off. He didn't, though. Instead, his hands traveled down to my waist.
I was about to scream when a large hand clamped over my mouth.
"If you scream," his lips were right up against my ear, "then I'll tattle about you Visa status and you'll be deported." His husky voice warned. The hand was slowly removed from my mouth, but he didn't back off.
"Are you threatening me?"
"Yes." He responded with absolutely no hesitation.
I felt my heart flurry quickly, and my mouth go dry. What was I supposed to do? Allow this cop to physically assault me on the side of the motorway or get deported back to a life with my family.
If you have ever met my family, you'd see my dilemma. They were the reason I fled to the UK. They were the reason behind all my painful memories. They were the reason I so desperately had to get out, get a fresh start.
"Gonna scream, love?" Officer Scott chuckled darkly in my ear.
"N-no." I stuttered weakly. He had won, because in the long run, ANYTHING was better than going back.
"Good girl." He purred in my ear.
I suppressed the urge to vomit as his hands went down to my ass and gave both cheeks a firm squeeze. I blinked away the tears that rushed to my eyes when I felt him dip down. The tears in my eyes felt like hot sauce. I didn't cry though. I never cried. Not anymore. I bit my tongue to hold back a scream when his hand crawled up my skirt.
I couldn't hold any more in when his fingers patted me over my panties. I let out a pathetic whimper, which did nothing to make him feel bad for me and stop. In fact, any noise, gasp, or plead to stop only encourage him more. It turned the sick fuck on.
"Please," I begged in a broken whisper as he rubbed me. I heard his chuckle.
"Don't ruin it now, baby, you were being so good for me." His touch sent shivers down my spine. He rubbed over the clothing slowly, and in that moment I was so thankful to my conservative dress. What if I hadn't been wearing tights? How far would he have taken it?
It was shameful and disgusting and it made me feel used and dirty. A complete stranger was abusing his power to touch me in my most sacred area against my own will.
And I had chosen that fate over returning to my family. And the worst part is, I knew that I would choose it again and again if it meant I could stay in London.
He pulled away from me slowly and stood back to his full height behind me. I spun around once I was no longer being forced against the car, and glared up at him with as much anger and hatred as I could muster.
Even though I didn't know the man, I felt betrayed. Cops were supposed to be good. It was a cop was the person who brought me home when I was five after I got lost. It was a cop was who helped me change my first tire. And it was a cop who helped me escape my home.
"You're a disgrace to your uniform." I spat at Officer Scott. He smirked back at me, completely unaffected by my words.
"Careful, sweetheart, or I'll make you get on your knees." I shuddered at his threat and had to mentally purge in order to remove the image of me doing what he was implying.
"Can I go?" I asked, sounding as broken as ever.
"Just let me write up your ticket." He pulled out his little pad.
"You're giving me a ticket?" I gasped incredulously. After all that? After all he put me through?
"You were speeding, after all." A little note was handed to me and a firm slap was sent to my rear end. I watched with stony eyes as the tall police officer climbed back into his squad car and drove away, his partner still not looking up from his phone.
I somehow made it home that night, and I didn't end up doing anything that I had planned to.
I just ended up lying in bed, too afraid to go to sleep.