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Being on a place scares the shit out of me. I hate planes. I don’t understand how they work, and when I don’t understand things, I don’t use them. That’s why I basically never travel abroad. But this time, I didn’t have a choice. Shafe and I are on the track of a serial killer. The murders started a month ago in L.A, we had a description for the same modus operandi in New-York, and eventually yesterday, we had a phone call from the police of Belfast in North Ireland. I hope we’ll catch him this time, because I won’t survive following this asshole across the entire world. I’m reading my notes, trying not to look too nervous 30 000 fucking feet above the surface of the ground, well, the ocean actually, as Shafe is deeply asleep next to me. The detective super intendant Gibson sent me a very detailed note about the murders, with a lot of very graphic pictures, and all the evidences they had collected. Obviously, this Mr Gibson and his team are way more organized than we are. Maybe Shafe and I will learn a thing or two from him, and if we are successful, we could go celebrate together and see if we can warm up some Irish chicks.

But first things first, we have to land. I can’t help it, I grab Shafe’s arm and sink my nails into his flesh while he grunts and insults me. I don’t care, if I die, at least I would die hurting someone, and that’s my revenge for the fact that he recommended me to drink a couple whiskey before the take-off. Now I know: never drink on a plane, it’s not worth it.

I still don’t know how it’s possible, considering the wind and the rain, but we actually survived the landing and I follow Shafe on the streets of Belfast. He seems to know where he is going, as I have no idea where we are. Everything seems the same here, it’s grey, and wet and sad. Even the cars look sad. They are small and badly maintained, and grey. It’s like the whole country is grey, just like the sky. I don’t even know why I bothered to bring my sunglasses here.

“It’s here.” Shafe says, nodding in the direction of a grey building across the street with the words “Police Service of Northern Ireland” written on a white label.

I come in first, trying to find back my boss role and ask for the Detective Super Intendant Gibson.

“She’s waiting for you.” The lady behind the counter says, pointing to a closed door behind us. Did she just say “she”? Fuck, those guy’s accent is awful. Do they really speak English? Anyway, I turn around and knock at the door where I find written the words “S. Gibson”, and I hear a male voice say “come in.” I’ll have to accustom to this accent, or I’ll get myself in trouble! There’s a guy, about my age, dark hair, black beard, arms crossed, leaning against the wall, with whom I supposed to be his assistant, half sit on the desk, arms crossed too.

“Hi, nice to meet you, Mister Gibson.” I say, reaching my hand to the man.

“I am Detective Super Intendant Gibson, actually.” The chick sitting on the desk says. You know what? I’m not a macho. Not as much as my colleagues at least. When a woman wants to work, like Charmain for example, I will help her the best I can, without prejudices. Actually, it could be good to have a woman on a cop’s team. They can go undercover more than us, because no one expects a woman to be infiltrated, and they are better for the paperwork. See? I’m not a macho man. But the idea of being commanded by a woman, is really something else. I have no idea how those dudes here accept this situation without flinching. I can accept being bossed around by a woman at home. She can be in charge of the domestic stuffs, the kids’ education and that kind of stuff, but I don’t know how a tiny petite chick like the one I have in front of me can have the balls to commend so many men and be good at it. Well, actually, she doesn’t have balls, that’s the problem. At least, she is not young. Those Irish had been crazy to put a woman here, but not enough crazy to put a young woman. I would say she’s in mid-forty, and I have to admit that she’s kind of hot in her silk blouse and black pants. Yes, of course she wears a pants. I guess she doesn’t want to look too much feminine, but not too masculine either, because her blond hair is down on her shoulders. She has basically no makeup, and as much as I know she’s talking to me, I notice she’s looking at Shafe, scanning him from head to toe.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I thought… Sorry, hum, I’m Sam Hodiak and this is my partner, Brian Shafe.” I stutter. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

“Nice to meet you too,” she says, shaking my hand, but still looking at Shafe, who is obviously blushing now. “This is Jim Burns, Assistant chief constable who was about to leave.” I don’t know what’s going on with those two, but she seems pissed against him, and he acts like a weak puppy dog groveling at her feet.

“Yeah, I think we’ll see each other later.” Jim says, shaking Shafe’s and I’s hands before leaving.

She sits behind her desk, and starts to review the case. They have some updates, as a neighbor saw someone escape from a window where the last murder was committed. Apparently, we are looking for a white man, black hair, and six feet tall. Last time, after he had wildly knifed a young woman at her apartment, he was wearing black jeans, brown sweat jacket, and a bum bag. They found his prints everywhere inside the apartment, just like we did, but they can’t be matched here either. As she is talking, I notice that she is still looking at Shafe instead of me, and it starts to piss me off, just like the fact that she didn’t ask if we wanted a cup of coffee, and that I can’t see any trace of doughnuts anywhere. I didn’t have a real breakfast, and I’m fucking starving. I know this is not her role to feed us, but as a host, she could have proposed.

“Can I see the body?” I ask, trying to catch her attention.

“The legist is practicing the autopsy the moment as we speak. You’ll have her report in a day.”

*Her* report? So the legist is a woman too. This country is definitely too weird for me. The only man I met here seemed to be afraid of his own shadow, and now I have to work with a woman detective *and* and woman doctor. I’m not sure if we have a lot to learn about them, or if we should teach them a thing or two.

“Okay, I think we’ll go to drop our stuff in our hotel and wait for the report. I just wanna make sure we look for the same guy before going further, if it’s okay for you?”

“Yes of course, I’ll call you if there’s anything new. How about a dinner? Tonight?” she asks, looking at Shafe.

“We would love to.” I say, interrupting my partner before he embarrasses himself.

“Good, I’ll pick you up at your hotel at 7, though.”

At seven O’clock sharp, Shafe knocks at my door to let me know that *Stella* is waiting for us downstairs. So she called him instead of me, and now he feels comfortable enough for a pet name. This will be a long evening.

“Where are you driving us?” I ask, sitting in the passenger side of her car.

“My hotel as a good restaurant, you’ll like it.”

“Oh, so you don’t live here?”

“No, I live in London, but I happen to work here a lot those days.”

“Do you have kids?”

“No! no.” Mid-forty, no kids. If she wasn’t lurking at my partner in the rear view mirror, I would swear we had more taste in common than I thought. “You?”

“A son.” I say purposefully vague. I don’t know her, and I certainly don’t want to talk about my private life now.

“It’s here”. She says, leaving her car to the valet of the Hilton.

This trip is a fucking lesson hard to learn. I have an equal job as this woman (which is already hard to swallow for me), and as I barely managed to book two separate room in a cheap hotel in North Belfast for my partner and I, as she can afford a room here. How is that possible? I hate her. I want to be her. And I hate her for making me want to be a woman. Well, she proposed the diner, she picked us up, let me tell you that there’s no way I spend a cent tonight. She wanted to come here, she’ll pay the bill.

The restaurant is crowded, but the waiter guides us to a free table in the back of the room. I order a starter, a main course and as I’m finishing the desert, I’m still starving. What’s wrong with the quantity here? I mean, the dishes are delicious, so why put so little of them in the plate? Would it be so much more expensive to double the doses? At least, the wine we ordered was really good, and in sufficient quantity, I think, noticing the two empty bottles and the third one half empty.

“Do you wanna go for a drink? The bar is just behind.” She says.

“I’m quite tired, jet lagged and everything” Shafe says. “I’ll take a cab to go back to the hotel, but can stay, Sam.”

“Yeah, I’ll stay for a drink or two. I can’t leave a lady drinking alone.”

“What do you want?” she asks, heading towards the bar.

“Whisky, without ice.”

“Two whisky without ice, please.” She says to the bartender, as we sit on the bar stools.

“Oh, you drink like a man.” I try to joke, but it doesn’t make her laugh.

“So, according to you, there’s women beverage and men beverage?”

“Well, the woman I know are more into soft cocktails with a little alcohol and a lot of fruits and sugar.”

“Well, the woman you know doesn’t know how to live. Anyway, Sam, how long do you know Brian?”

“Not so long.” I say, a bit disappointed that the conversion comes back to Shafe so quickly.

“Is he single?”

“He is married, and a new father. I don’t wanna be rude, but you should give up, you have no chance with him. The guy is more faithful than a none to God.”

“Okay, I’ll keep that in mind. Do you wanna come upstairs? The view is splendid from my room.”

I almost spit my whiskey. So what am I? A second choice? I have to admit that as long as I saw she was obsessed with Shafe, I thought I had no chance with her, so I didn’t look at her. But now that I am considering her offer, I can see how gorgeous she is. The women in L.A wear to much make up, mini skirt and plunging neckline which leave nothing to the imagination. Stella is more mysterious, and I’m not sure if I like it or if it scares me. Trust me, if she was a random chick I met in a bar and never see her again, I wouldn’t have waited to be in her room, and fuck her hard until she came strong in the elevator. But I’ll have to work with her until this case is over, and it may take days, maybe weeks, and I don’t want to be embarrassed for such a long time. Furthermore, I don’t really appreciate to be treated as the fifth wheel.

“I appreciate the offer, but I think I’m gonna go to bed too.”

“There’s a bed upstairs too. Way more comfortable that your shitty hotel room, I suppose.”

I’d like to correct a mistake I made earlier. She *has* balls.

“Another night, maybe?” I stutter.

“Okay. If you change your mind, I’m room 203.”

How am I supposed to sleep now that all I can think about is how it would feel to be buried inside the mysterious Stella Gibson? I can believe that, me, Sam Hodiak, had declined such an invitation. I start to understand the poor Jim Burns. For the first time in my life, I’ve been too shy before a woman. She is definitely not like the other women. As my hand slips reluctantly inside by short boxers, I wonder how does she taste, how soft her skin could be under my fingers. It’s her mouth around my dick instead of my hand, moving up and down, sucking me harder and harder. It’s her wet tight walls squeezing my cock as I push inside her hardly, kneeled behind her, gripping firmly at her ass. It’s her mouth screaming my name as she comes, instead of my throaty grunt as I mess up my own stomach.

“Hodiak, there’ve been another murder!” I hear Shafe say, behind the door, as I’m still half asleep. “Get dressed, Stella is waiting for us on the crime scene.”

I shouldn’t be smiling when we approach the crime scene, but I can’t help it. I see her, talking to someone, probably giving instructions, and she’s hotter than yesterday. Same pants, new blouse, still silk, a black coat lazily resting on her shoulders.

“We have a car.” She says, writing on a paper. “Here are the brand and the registration number. Once again, we have a neighbor who saw a tall man escaping from a window. He thought something was wrong, so he noted the car registration and decided to go check on her neighbor this morning. He found the body, so he is quite in shock now.”

“Do you know to whom this car belongs?”

“We are searching for the name of the owner. Mr Shafe, can you go interview the other neighbor?”

Shafe nods reluctantly, and follows a police officer to knock at a first door.

“How can I help?” I ask, and note to myself that I should stop acting like I was one of her employee.

“Come with me, the legist is here, and according to her, there something different from the murders he had committed in your country.”

As Tanya, the legist explains that the killer had changed his weapon from a big knife, to a small one, I notice that Stella is looking at her to same way she used to look at Shafe yesterday. I’m not very fond of science, and Tanya’s explanations don’t passionate me. My mind is more focused on what would have happened if Tanya was here yesterday, and if I wasn’t so shy. Would she have taken care of me too, or would I have been allowed to watch only? How does this work? Does one of them have to make the man? I beg Stella likes to be subdued. She is so much in control at work, that when night falls, she’d probably like to let go and purr like a horny cat under expert fingers. Fuck, my cock twitches in my pants, and if I don’t stop thinking about that, my arousal would become really obvious.

“We have a name!” someone yells in the street. “The car belongs to a certain Ian Moore.”

“Sam, go grab Shafe, and meet me at the briefing room as soon as possible.” Stella orders, making me get out of my dirty thoughts.

“So were are looking for Ian Moore. 33 years old, he is Irish but had spent the major part of his life in the states. Violent father, absent mother, only child. There’s a team watching his rental apartment, but he didn’t show up yet. We are still looking for his car, I have five patrols covering the streets, but he could be anywhere. We have to catch him before he kills again, so keep an eye open. That’s all for now.” Short and effective, not like Ed’s alcoholic briefings. There’s a thing or two he should learn from her, even if I know he will laugh his ass off when I’ll tell him Gibson was a woman. “Shafe, I’ve heard you’re good on the ground, so I’d like you to go with the surveillance team. Sam, you’ll be with me in the control room.”

We are looking at this damn screen for hours and nothing happens. The street is empty, the suspect is not coming home and no one had found the car. And anyway, if a unicorn would cross the street right now, I probably wouldn’t notice, because from where I stand, I have a fantastic view in her cleavage, and if I don’t blink too much, I can even see the lace of her bra exceeded from her blouse. This is so much more exciting than an empty grey street.

“We have found the car, ma’am.” Someone says, opening the door in a rush, as I was trying to guess the shade of pink of her nipples. “He had abandoned it closed to a lake. We think he tried to sink it, but he failed, so there are his fingerprints everywhere.”

“Good, it’s enough to arrest him. Send Tom over there, and let me know if you find anything else. He is trying to run away. I’m sure he will come to his apartment before he lives. Are you a good shot, Sam?”

“I’m doing pretty well, yes. Why?”

“You should go there, on back up. I’ll meet you there if something happens.”

“Okay. And when we catch him I buy you a drink. Normally, I never let a woman pay the check, so I feel indebted.”

“Okay. Sam?” she says, before I open the door. “Be careful, okay?”

3 pm, 4 pm, 6 pm… Still nothing. When I tell people that I’m a cop, they always imagine myself running, fighting, shooting, living in the action, and I have to admit that I like to maintain this reputation, so usually, I agree, and purposefully forget to tell them about the hours of doing nothing but wait, without the opportunity of sleeping, eating junk food in a crappy car, drinking liters of soda without the opportunity of peeing,, thinking of a naked Stella without the opportunity of jerking off.

“Hodiak, there’s a man fitting the description walking in your direction.” I hear Shafe say in the walkie-talkie.

“I’m positive. It’s Ian Moore. I repeat, it is the suspect.” I state as I see the man walking towards the front door of his apartment.

“Gibson says to not do anything before she arrives.” Shafe says.

Ten minutes later, nothing had moved into the apartment, the lights are still off, but we didn’t see him going out, so he might still be inside.

“Sam?” I hear a now familiar feminine voice.

“Yes, Stella?”

“Anything new?”

“No, no… Oh wait a minute. Fuck! He goes out. I repeat, the suspect has left his apartment. He walks north. I still can catch him. Stella?” I say in a rush, waiting for her approval but she remains silent. “Super intendant Gibson?”

“Wait. Shafe, bring two guys with you and walk towards him. Hodiak, try to catch him from behind.”

That’s the best part of my job. All those hours of waiting and doing nothing are worth it just for those moments. I feel the adrenaline in my blood, my heart jumps in my chest and I can’t think about anything else than the mission. I run behind the suspect as fast and as quiet as possible, with two plainclothesmen by my side, and I can see Shafe on the other side of the street walking slowly towards him. I see my partner nodding at me and I know he has my back up.

“Excuse-me, Sir?” I say, grabbing the suspect by his arm to make him turn around, but before I can realize anything, I hear the noise of a gunshot, then another one. I think I fall on the floor, but my mind is fuzzy and I’m not sure about anything. I am cold, my arm hurts, but I can’t feel it at the same time. I open my eyes one last time to see that I’m lying in a pool of blood. I’ve been shot, and I’m dying, that I am sure about. There’s Shafe screaming above me. I can’t hear him, but I see his lips moving and yelling. I try to raise, but I pass out, my head hitting the sidewalk loudly.

When I open my eyes again, there’s still Shafe above me, but in a different place. Everything is white, and the ground is way more comfortable. My arm still hurts, and I’m still cold, but that’s maybe because I’m half naked.

“Dude, you gave us bad time!” Shafe says, smiling above me.

“What… What happened?” I ask with a hoarse voice.

“You don’t remember?”

I shake my head, and straight up. Now, I notice that I’m in a hospital, I can’t move my right arm, and there’s a bandage all over it. I can see my bare feet exceeded from the white sheet, and I’m not sure I’m wearing any pants.

“You caught the guy, but we think he had understood we were cops, because he shot you in the arm before you can say anything. When you fell down, he was about to shoot a second time in your head, but I fired before him.”

“Where is he, now? Dead?”

“No, he is here. As soon as his leg is healed, he will go spend the rest of his life in jail.”

“And, how are…”

A knock at the door interrupts me, and a petite blonde enters the room. She gives a get-the-fuck-outta-here look at Shafe, and walks towards my bed.

“I’m gonna smoke a cigarette outside. I see you later, dude.”

I nod, and he leaves, smiling at me behind Stella, who sits on the bed, next to me.

“How do you feel?” she asks, almost coldly, like she doesn’t really care.

“Good, good. Thank you. Did you see the suspect?”

“Yeah, we’ll have to wait at least until tomorrow before we can interview him.” I thought it was weird when she sit this close to me, on my bed like I was his dying grandmother or something, but I think I see exactly where she wants to go, now that she draws little circles in the hair of my chest. I look into her eyes, and all I can see is want and lust. “Does it hurt?” she asks, her fingers brushing slightly my bandage.

“Not so much.”

All of a sudden, she stands on her feet and heads towards to door. Oh god, she’s not gonna let me hang like this? I’m already half hard, and I’m sure she had noticed that the sheets were tenting. Now I’m sure I’m not wearing any pants. Actually, she locks the room and takes off her blouse slowly, finally revealing her grey lacy bra, and I can already see her nipples peeking through the fabric. Now she takes off her pants, without breaking the eye contact, and slowly, she lifts the sheets, freeing my straightened cock, and climbs above me, one leg on each side of me. Her fingernails scratch my chest to my groin and she takes me in her hands, squeezing and stroking firmly. I’m unable to talk, so I grunt. She’s gorgeous, and I can smell her arousal from here. I know she wants me as much as I want her, and that aroused me even more. I raise my free hand to cup her breast, but before I can even touch her skin, she pushes me gently away. Maybe she is into tantric stuff, and most of the time, I’m okay with it, but we are in a fucking hospital, and I’m not sure we have time for this kind of bullshit. I think she thought the same thing because she pushes her panties away and starts to slide her lower lips over the length of my cock, spreading her wetness above it.

“Fuck, this is good.” I say, apparently, recovering my ability to talk.

I see her forefinger approaching her clit, and I want to propose my help, so I raise my free hand again, but once again, she pushes me away. Okay, I get it. She works, she commends, she drives, she drinks, she fucks. I never thought I would say that, but I like it. She wants to be in charge, no problem, help yourself, baby. I’m not sure if I said that out loud, or if she read my mind, but now she eases herself on my cock, sliding slowly until I’m fully buried inside her, one hands leaning on my stomach, the other one stroking her clit frantically.

“God, you fell so good.” I manage to say, and I notice how she had reduced my vocabulary from a two hundred to less than ten words.

There’re no sound escaping from her mouth, but I can see she likes what she does with her gasps and the way her mouth shapes an “oh”. As she speeds up, she makes a move with her hips that almost makes me come, and I grunt to pray God to help me last one more minute at least. After a few more strokes, she is literally jumping above me, slamming her ass against my thighs at each thrust, and once again, she shifts her hips, leaning on my chest instead of my groin, still touching herself, and the angle of penetration changes to allow me to move my pelvis to thrust her back. This is too much, I want to touch her, so I try a third time and grab her ass with my free hand, squeezing the flesh I find here. This time she let me, or maybe she didn’t really notice, because I feel the swell of her walls around my cock, and this is good because I wouldn’t have lasted much longer.

“You’re gonna come?” I ask, just to check, and be sure I can let go my self.

But she doesn’t answer, so I pump harder inside her, and with a last thrust, I come strongly inside her as I feel her milking the shit out of me. A soft moan escape from her mouth, so soft in comparison of my own loud growl.

Before I can say anything, she pulls out of me, and gets off the bed.

“Your work here is over. I had Ed on the phone earlier, he booked a flight tomorrow for you and Shafe.” She says, still panting, putting her pants on, and collecting her blouse on the floor.

“We can’t interview the suspect?”

“No need, as he was arrested here, and because he is Irish, this case became ours now. I’ll send you the report later.”

“Can I have your number?” I try shyly.

“Why that? I don’t think we’re gonna see each other again.” She says, searching for her card in her purse, and putting it on the nightstand.

“This is your professional card. I already have it.”

“Yeah, that’s the best way to contact me. I have to go. It was nice to meet you Sam. Have a safe flight tomorrow.”

“Stella!” I yell, but she’s already gone, and Shafe enters the room, as I am still naked and totally exposed.

“Sorry, dude.” I say, reaching the sheets to cover myself, as I see Shafe smiling widely. “God, this woman is amazing.”

“Yeah, I know *exactly* what you mean, dude.”