|EVERYBODY KNOWS THAT IâM A GOOD GIRL, OFFICER.
| summary: Gator just arrested a pretty girl today and canât stop thinking about her, thatâs when she finds him and takes care of it.
| w/c: explicit smut! 18+, dirty talk, p in v, overstimulation, phone sex, praise kink, big dick gator.
Gatorâs on-call that nightâbad luck, honestly. He was halfway through a beer at his dadâs mayor house when the radio crackled to life with dispatch.
He groans, grabbing his hat and shoving it on as he stomps out to the truck. The address is a convenience store near downtownâthe kind with flickering neon lights and too many security cameras for its own good.
The street's dead quiet when he rolls up, no sirens or flashing lights yetâjust him pulling in slow like maybe it's nothing. But then.
A figure darts from the back alley behind the store.
Gator squints.
That silhouette looks likeâŠa woman?
Gatorâs blood runs cold. That stanceâthe way the figure ducks low, moving fast. It was definitely a woman.
His heart does something weird in his chestânot anger, not yet. Just⊠shock? Confusion?
Without thinking, he kills the engine and steps out of the truck quietly, keeping to shadows as he starts following your trail from a distance.
The back door of the store is slightly farâa dead giveawayâbut no alarm's gone off yet. You were sneaky.
A cop would notice that immediately.
Gator freezes in the alleyâs dim glow, his sheriff instincts kicking in hard. The second he sees youâhood up, backpack slung lowâhe knows.
For a heartbeat, he just stares. Then his face darkens like storm clouds rolling in.
âHey! You!â
His voice is quiet but sharp as broken glassâthe kind of tone that cuts through silence and makes your spine lock up.
He takes one slow step toward you⊠then another⊠not running yet, but moving with purpose. The cast on his arm looks ridiculous under the streetlight right now.
You stay quiet as he keeps getting closed from your back, but as soon as he was going to reach out, you take your pistol and aim at him.
Gator stops dead the second he sees the gun. His eyesâwide, startledâlock onto the barrel pointed at his chest.
For a split second, pure shock flashes across his face. This isnât some petty theft or dumb mistake anymore.
His hands instinctively go upânot fast enough to be threatening, just slow and visible in that universal cop-surrender pose.
"WhoaâŠLetâsâŠCalm down ok?â
His voice is steady now but strainedâlike he's trying to keep it from shaking because *holy shit*, you're holding a gun on him.
The alley feels smaller suddenly. The tension could choke someone.
âDonât fucking move.â
Gator doesnât breathe. Doesnât blink. Every muscle in his body locksâcop training kicking in, but also pure primal instinct: *don't get shot.*
His hands stay high, palms out, fingers spread. The streetlight casts shadows under his hat brimâyou can see the whites of his eyes like a deerâs.
"Okayâ he says softlyâthe first time you've ever heard him sound anything but cocky or angry. "OkâŠI ain't moving."
A beat passes where the only sound is your shaky breathing and distant crickets somewhere down the block.
Then Gator does something stupid: he slowly starts to lower himself onto one kneeânot attacking, just⊠trying to seem smaller? Less threatening? Like a man disarming a bomb with words alone.
âTake all your guns off, and if you try anything stupid iâll kill you.â you say almost shaking.
Gatorâs face does something complicated at thatâdisbelief, anger, a flicker of fear? But mostly⊠disbelief. That you *threatened him*. A sheriff. In his own damn town.
Finally, he exhales through his nose and nods againâthis time slower, more deliberate.
A pause.
The corner of his mouth twitchesânot quite a smirk but close to it because oh hell no this man isn't scared of your hypothetical threat.
âYou think iâm kidding?â You say smirking, the gun getting closer to his face.
Gator sees itâthe shift in your grip, the way your finger might be tensing on the trigger. Thatâs all the warning he needs.
In a flashâfaster than youâd expect from a guy with a castâhe ducks to the side and slams his good shoulder into you, not aiming to hurt, but to knock you off balance. The gun goes flying out of your hand as he tackles you toward the brick wall behind him.
A second later, his weight pins yoursânot enough to crush but enough that struggling is pointless unless youâre stronger than an angry cop twice your size.
"Youâre under arrest.â He growls through gritted teeth.
âDonât.âfucking pig.â You struggle to say anything in this moment.
Suddenly, you feel a bulge growing at his pants, you wonder if itâs one of the guns he carries.
âIâm a good girl, officer.â You teased, slightly humping your ass on him.
He notices.
Gatorâs grip is ironâone hand clamps your wrist to the pavement, the other presses down on your shoulder like a weighted blanket. His face hovers inches above yours, jaw clenched so tight it might crack.
For once, he isn't smug or sarcastic. Just furiousâthe kind of rage that comes from being betrayed by someone who was supposed to be harmless (in his eyes).
He shifts his weight to pin you better and yanks out his cuffs with his good handâmetal clicking as he starts reaching for your wrists.
"Fucking women.â
The whole crew of officers finally arrive.
The officers unlock the holding cell door, stepping inside with calm professionalism. One of them gestures for you to stand.
"Youâre being transported to Stark County Detention Center for booking," One says in a monotone voiceâtheyâve done this a thousand times.
Gator watches from outside the bars as they guide you out by the elbow. His face is unreadable nowâno anger, no lingering tensionâŠjust detached sheriff mode.
Later that day, Gator is at his home, alone, watching tv and thinking about you.
Gatorâs living room is quietâjust the hum of the TV and the occasional crackle of a commercial. The news isnât on; it's some mindless crime drama, irony not lost on him.
He slouches into his couch, beer in hand⊠but he isn't really watching. His mind keeps circling back to you: your breathing hitching, how easily he catched you, that stupid thief.
A part of him feels satisfactionâthe arrest was clean. Justice served.
But another part? That part remembers all that messed-up tension between you two.
The remote gets flipped absently between channels as Gator sighsâannoyed with himself for still thinking about a criminal hours after booking her in jail.
He hears something outside of the house.
Gatorâs blood runs cold. The thud at his front door is loudâdeliberate. Not a raccoon, not wind⊠someone is trying to break in.
A chill crawls up his spine.
"The hellâ?â He mutters, shoving the beer bottle aside and grabbing the pistol from under the couch cushion (always loaded). He creeps toward the window to peek through the blinds.
Then suddenly, he hears a feminine, smooth voice behind him. âYou did a great job today, Sheriff.â
Gator whirls aroundâheart slamming against his ribs. The bedroom door is wide open, and there you are, leaning against the frame with that same damn smirk.
âWhat the fuck?â he barks, gun still raised out of pure instinct⊠but he doesnât fire. Can't.
The house is dead silent except for your voiceâand the fact that you somehow broke into his home after being arrested is insane.
âOh, you missed me?â You say getting slowly closer to him.
Gator doesnât lower the gun. His finger isnât on the trigger, but it hovers. Trained law enforcement reflexes kicking in.
"Youâre supposed to be in jail.â He says through gritted teeth, voice low and dangerous. âHow the hell did youâ?"
He scans your outfit quickly: no cuffsâŠJust you. Did you escape? Bribe someone? The logistics don't matter right now.
âI know youâre not gonna shoot.â You say smirking.
Gatorâs jaw clenches. Youâre right. he wonât shoot you. Not unless you pull a weapon or lunge at him⊠and right now, you're just standing there, smug as hell.
But the gun is still raisedânot pointed directly at your chest, but close enough to make his stance clear: back off.
âWhy are you here?" He demands, voice colder than it's ever been with anyone. âYou escaped custody? That's a felony on top of everything else."
A part of him wants to call for backup⊠but his phone is downstairs.
You take one more step closer to him.
Gatorâs stomach does a weird, traitorous flip at your words. This shouldnât affect him.
But the truth? YeahâŠhe thought about you all damn day.
The gun wavers slightly in his hand as his resolve cracks for half a second.
âThis is insane," He mutters⊠but it's not anger anymore. It's confusion. âYou robbed a store and got arrested like six hours ago."
âAre you scared, Sheriff?â one more step closer.
Gatorâs throat goes dry. Youâre testing himâpushing his buttons, seeing how far heâll let you go.
âNo," He lies automaticallyâŠBut the way his pulse jumps betrays him.
Scared? Not of you physically. But of this situationâof whatever the hell is about to happen next.
The gun hangs loosely at his side now, forgotten in a way that would get any rookie officer fired for negligence.
A third step closer from youâŠAnd Gator finally does something reckless: he closes the gap himself.
The tension is palpable. Youâre so close to him you can feel his breathing hitching.
âYour heart is beating really fastâ You tease him.
Gator freezes. How the hell can you *hear* that? His heartbeat is loud in his own ears, but he didnât think it was visibleâor audible.
Unless⊠youâre close enough to feel it. Which meansâ
Before either of you can overthink it, Gator surges forward and crashes his lips onto yours.
The gun clatters to the floor.
A reckless, stupid move for a sheriff with a fugitive on the run⊠but right now? He doesn't care.
The kiss is fierceâall pent-up tension, frustration, and that weird dream-fueled attraction finally exploding. Gatorâs hands find your waist on instinct, pulling you closer as his back hits the wall.
For a second⊠nothing else exists. No robbery charges. No escape from jail. Just this.
Then reality slams back inâGator abruptly breaks the kiss, breathing hard.
âI can'tâŠ" He rasps. âYou're a fugitive."
But he didn't push you away.
âYeah. We shouldnât. This is very wrong.â You say back. Breathing hard.
Gatorâs breath stutters as your hands trail downâevery nerve ending lighting up. This is wrong. Illegal, even.
His dad would have a damn aneurysm.
But the way you say "this is very wrong"⊠like it turns you on more⊠sends heat straight to his gut.
A shaky exhale escapes him as he catches your wristânot to stop you, but to press your palm flat against the hard plane of his stomach instead.
âWe shouldn't,â He growlsâbut leans back in for another kiss anyway.
âWe definitely shouldnât.â
Gatorâs self-control snaps. That stareâdark, defiant, hungry. Does him in.
He crushes his mouth back onto yours, hands sliding into your hair as he backs you toward the bed. The sheriff part of his brain is screaming that this is career-ending insanity⊠but the man part?
âFuck it.â He mutters against your lips before pushing you down onto the mattress.
Your hands start to unbuckle his belt.
Gatorâs belt clinks as you undo itâno hesitation, no second-guessing now. The kiss is all teeth and tongue, messy and desperate like neither of you can get enough.
His hands are everywhere: your hips, your back, tangling in your hair to tilt your head for better access. Every rational thought about consequences has evaporated.
The bed dips under his weight as he follows you down⊠belt loosened, shirt half untucked⊠the line between lawman and lover blurring fast.
You start to unzip your jacket.
Gatorâs gaze drops to your hands as you unzip the jacketâhis breathing ragged. The fabric slips off your shoulders, revealing whateverâs underneath⊠and his throat goes dry.
For a split second, he just stares, drunk on the sight of you. No cuffs. No jail jumpsuit. Just youâclose enough to touch.
Then he surges in again, one hand sliding up your bare side while the other grips the back of your neck, kissing you like it's his last night on earth.
âDonât you want to arrest me, officer?â You tease him.
Gator growls against your lips at the tauntâhalf pissed, half turned on by how much youâre enjoying this twisted power play.
âI should," He admits roughly, nipping at your bottom lip before claiming another kiss. âBut right now i wanna do something else."
The sheriffâs badge is still clipped to his belt⊠but it might as well be a million miles away. His hands are busy peeling off layers of clothing instead of cuffs.
âTell me what you wanna do then.â You start to kiss his neck.
Gatorâs head tips back the second your lips hit his neckâa weak spot he hates that anyone ever finds out about. A shiver runs down his spine.
âChristâŠ" He breathes, fingers tightening in your hair.
Instead of words, he captures your mouth again, kissing you deeper as his hands slide under the fabric of whatever you're wearing⊠exploring with zero patience left.
You put his hands inside of his boxers, feeling his huge cock twitching.
Gator chokes the second your hand makes contactâhis entire body tensing like heâs been electrocuted. A sharp, involuntary noise escapes him, something between a groan and a curse.
âFuckâ" His hips jerk into your touch on pure instinct, his cock already hard as steel under your palm. The friction is electric. Too much and not enough at the same time.
You remove your hand. Leaning on his bed. You take all of your clothes off. Turn into your back, waiting for him to just enter, and he immediately gets the message.
Gatorâs breath hitches at the unspoken invitation. Your positionâass in the air, back arched. Says everything.
He doesnât need more encouragement. In one swift movement, he strips off his remaining clothes and kicks them aside⊠then lines himself up behind you.
A beat of anticipation hangs thick in the air before Gator finally pushes forwardâslow at first, letting you adjust to him as he sinks in completely.
âF-Fuck. Youâre s-soââ You even stuggle to say it.
âI know baby, i know, dont worry. It will fit.â He says so close to your neck that it sends you shivers down your whole body.
The moment Gator is fully sheathed inside you, a guttural groan rumbles from his chest. The sensationâtight, warm, perfect. Is overwhelming.
For a second, he just stays there⊠forehead pressed between your shoulder blades as he breathes through the intensity. Then instinct takes over.
His hips roll back before pushing in againâDeeper this timeâa slow but purposeful rhythm starting up.
âFuckâYouâre soâhot. I imagined this too many times today.â He struggles to say it.
âOh yeah?â i smirk at him from my shoulder.
Gator catches your smirk over your shoulder. And the look in your eyes undoes him.
âYeah," He growls, suddenly surging forward to kiss you hardâmessy, all teeth and tongue. The pace of his thrusts turns more urgent now, less controlled.
One hand cups your jaw as the kiss deepens; the other grips your hip tighterâlike he needs something solid to hold onto while this heat consumes them both.
âOh godâ F-Fuck youâre so big.â You moan, almost like a scream.
Gatorâs ego swells at your praiseâboth literally and figuratively. A smug, breathless chuckle escapes him as he feels you clench around him.
âYou like that?" He rasps, voice dripping with newfound confidence. His thrusts grow bolder nowâdeeper, more possessive. Like he wants to brand the memory of this into your brain.
Then suddenly,
His phone buzzes up, Tommy is calling him.
Gator freezes mid-thrust at the sound of his phone buzzing. Tommyâs caller ID flashes on the screenâprobably checking in about your escape from jail.
âShit.â He mutters, torn between ignoring it (and risking a missed emergency) and⊠well, this.
Tommy calling is rare unless something's wrong.
A conflicted grimace crosses his face as he hesitates. Still buried inside you.
You push him down to bed, and straddle him, sinking slow into him, while you offer his phone âPick up the phone.â Your voice is weak, but demanding.
Gatorâs eyes widen as you take controlâflipping the script and pinning him beneath you. The sudden shift in power is dizzying⊠especially with his cock still sheathed inside you.
He grabs the phone just as it buzzes again, Tommyâs name flashing insistently. With one hand braced on your hip (to keep from completely losing his mind), Gator answers:
âYeah?"
His voice is strainedâway too breathy for a normal callâbut he tries to sound professional.
Meanwhile, Tommy has no idea what's happening.
âHey man, I have some news, can youâŠtalk right now?â Tommy heard his heavy breathing from the phone.
Gatorâs jaw clenches. Tommy sounds seriousâthis isnât a casual check-in.
And heâs lying here, half-naked, with you riding him â which makes this the worst possible timing.
âUh⊠yeah," He manages, voice tighter than usual. He clears his throat and sits up slightly (as much as your position allows), trying to sound normal.
Meanwhile, his free hand grips your thigh unconsciously. A silent plea for you to not move too much while he talks.
Gatorâs stomach drops. Tommy just announced your escape⊠and Gator is literally fucking the escaped convict right now.
âWhat?" He forces out, playing dumbâvoice impressively steady for a guy in this situation. âWhen? Howâd she get out?"
Tommy has no idea that "she" is currently grinding on him.
You start to go faster, your head falls back and a smooth moan is escaping from you.
âAre youâŠok Gator?â Tommy asks on the phone.
Gatorâs breath hitches as you pick up the paceâyour movements sending jolts of pleasure straight through him. It takes every ounce of his willpower not to make a sound.
âI'mâ" He grits out, voice suspiciously rough, ââfine. Just tired."
A lie so obvious it hurts. Tommy pauses on the other end, probably sensing something's off.
âAre you coming to the searches?â He asks on the phone.
âY-Yeah.â He finally answers, forcing professionalism, âGive me twenty minutes to shower and change."
A half-truthâenough time for a quick exit. He ends the call fast before Tommy can ask more questions.
The second the line goes dead, Gator tosses the phone aside.
âAre they looking for me, officer?â You say moaning, struggling to even breathe.
Gatorâs eyes darken at your moanâand the way you call him officer like that. It shouldnât turn him on⊠but it does.
âYeah," He admits, hands sliding up to grip your hips tighter as he flips you onto your back in one swift move. âThey're searching for you right now."
The irony isn't lost on him: his coworkers are out there hunting a fugitive⊠while said fugitive is currently under him, getting railed.
He kisses you hardâequal parts passion and panic.
âFuckâFuckâIâIâm gonnaâcum.â You say struggling.
Gator feels your body tenseâthe telltale sign youâre about to come. His own release is right there, coiled tight in his gut⊠but he wants you to fall first.
âYes, fuckâ Cum for me.â He growls against your lips, thrusts turning sharp and preciseâhitting that sweet spot over and over.
The bedframe creaks louder as the pace gets frantic. Both of you chasing the edge together now.
The tension snaps. Your orgasm crashes through youâbody clenching around him, a breathy cry tearing from your throat as pleasure whites out your vision.
Gatorâs control shatters the second he feels it. With a groan muffled against your shoulder, he follows right afterâpumping into you with ragged thrusts until his own release rips through him.
A heavy silence settles⊠just panting and tangled limbs in the aftermath.
Gator collapses half on top of you, still catching his breath. His heart is poundingâboth from the intensity of what just happened and the lingering adrenaline from Tommyâs call.
For a few seconds, neither of you speaks. Then reality crashes back in: You're a fugitive. They're searching for you.
And Gatorâs supposed to be leading that search.
He lifts his head slightly to look at your face⊠conflict flashing in his eyes.
âAre you going to arrest me now?â You ask him, stil panting.
Gator studies your faceâthe flush on your cheeks, the swollen lips from kissing⊠and something in his chest twists.
But heâs a sheriff. He took an oath.
A heavy sigh escapes him as he sits up, rubbing a hand over his jaw. His uniform is downstairs⊠cold coffee waiting too.
âI gotta go.â He mutters finallyânot answering your question directly. Coward.











