Chapter 4: The Sheriff’s Payoff.

The night was thick with secrets as I cruised through Lubbock’s quiet streets in my sheriff’s rig, the neon glow of Joe’s Diner fadin’ in my rearview, its greasy bacon stench lingerin’ on my skin. My shift wasn’t done, but the ache between my thighs from interrogatin’ deadbeats on the casino heist case, tryin’ to tie loose ends to Rico Vargas’ assault on Laura Simmons, was a distraction I’d wield like a fuckin’ blade. Duty called, and so did Kevin, the mayor’s slick-ass son, runnin’ an underground gamblin’ den from his suburban McMansion. Married, kids, the perfect fuckin’ family—if you didn’t smell the rot. Our deal wasn’t just dirty cash; it was intel, a gritty pipeline into Lubbock’s corruption since the heist left a vault empty and a guard cold on the slab. Tonight, I’d fuck the truth out of him, maybe wreck his marriage for kicks, riskin’ every goddamn thing I’d built as sheriff. My pussy was wettin’ at the thought, clit throbbin’ under my tight uniform skirt, no panties to slow me, the fabric chafin’ my slick thighs as I gripped the wheel, mind split between the case and his cock buryin’ in me.

I rolled into his driveway past midnight, killin’ the lights, darkness swallowin’ me as I approached the overdone mansion, faux columns loomin’ like tombstones, musty velvet curtains blockin’ starlight, the air thick with stale cigar smoke and old money’s decay. Somewhere in this sin-soaked manor, his little sister Jessica played the mayor’s daughter, her restless eyes at town events betrayin’ a teen itchin’ to rebel, ripe to break if she sniffed the filth her family swam in. Could she drown in my kinda mess? Kevin opened the door before I knocked, suited up like a Wall Street prick, his cologne a sharp veil over sweaty fear, eyes glintin’ with want under the porch light’s flicker. I dragged my gaze down his body, lingerin’ on the bulge swellin’ in his tailored pants, smirkin’ as I stepped closer, my badge catchin’ the light, hips swayin’ under the skirt, showin’ my long legs, teasin’ the edge of my bare pussy, its musky heat already slickin’ my skin. “Sheriff,” he greeted, voice smooth as sin, steppin’ aside, his eyes devourin’ my tits strainin’ against my uniform shirt, nipples pokin’ through like fuckin’ bullets.

“Kevin,” I shot back, tone clipped but hungry, steppin’ into the marble foyer, my boots clickin’ on creakin’ oak floors, echoin’ through the sin-soaked manor, my skirt ridin’ higher, flashin’ thigh, the glisten of arousal wet on my skin, sharp like whiskey fumes. His wife was probably passed out upstairs, drowned in wine after their latest spat over his “late nights,” blind to the vice den below and me about to fuck her man raw, maybe loud enough to torch their marriage. We moved to his study, lust-stained mahogany walls closin’ in, the door’s click promisin’ pure fuckin’ filth, the air heavy with old leather and sin. I leaned against his desk, skirt hikin’ up, showin’ my ass’s curve, bare pussy lips peekin’ out, wet and throbbin’, my badge glintin’ as I crossed my arms under my tits, pushin’ ‘em higher, buttons strainin’, one damn near poppin’. “Here’s your cut,” he said, droppin’ a fat envelope, dirty money’s weight a perverse thrill as I snatched it, stuffin’ it into my jacket, eyes locked on his, tellin’ him I craved more than cash.

“Now, business,” I purred, voice low and seductive, leanin’ forward to flash my heavy tits, nipples hard and dark against the fabric, skirt ridin’ higher, barin’ thigh, my bare cunt’s heat radiatin’ as I spread my legs slight, thigh-high stockings and garters tight, darin’ him to rip ‘em off. My pulse hammered, lust and stakes collidin’—I needed heist leads before the trail went colder than a fuckin’ corpse, and I’d use my body to get ‘em. “Who’s tied to the casino job? I need names, Kevin, now,” I teased, tongue tracin’ my lower lip slow, eyes on his crotch, his bulge growin’, knowin’ I had him by the balls.

He sat back in his leather chair, hands steepled, smug but shaky, his wedding ring glintin’ under the desk lamp, a frail shield against the life I’d wreck, his eyes roamin’ my thighs, chasin’ the skirt’s edge. “New crew pushin’ dope on my turf. Punk named Rico Vargas’ causin’ headaches. Since May’s murder, his heist ties are hot. That’s all I’ve got—unless you earn more. You’ve got my balls in a vice, Sheriff, since bustin’ my last runner,” he said, voice crackin’, lust and fear warrin’ as his smirk dared me, his cock strainin’, a wet spot of precum bloomin’ as I smirked back, ready to rip every secret from him with my cunt.

I nodded, filin’ Rico Vargas—another thread to Laura Simmons’ assault—and let my smirk turn wicked, matchin’ his dare as I stepped closer, hips swayin’, skirt slippin’ higher, showin’ my bare pussy, lips glistenin’, clit peekin’ out, its musky heat hittin’ him as I towered over his chair. “Let’s play, you dirty fuck,” I growled, grabbin’ his tie, yankin’ him up, our lips crashin’ in a brutal kiss, teeth clashin’, tongue fuckin’ his mouth deep, tastin’ bourbon’s burn and his salty sweat, my hand grippin’ his bulge, feelin’ it throb hot, squeezin’ till he groaned loud. His hands mauled my tits, rough, pinchin’ my nipples through the fabric, makin’ me scream into his mouth, “Fuck, harder, you bastard!”—loud enough to echo upstairs, darin’ his wife to stir, my pussy drippin’, wettin’ my thighs as I ground against his leg, the thrill of ruinin’ him spikin’ my heat. My mind stayed sharp—every scream a transaction for intel. I shoved him back, straddlin’ him, skirt hiked up, bare pussy grindin’ his bulge through his pants, wet lips smearin’ juice, clit rubbin’ his cock’s ridge as I bit his neck, snarlin’ loud, “Spill more, Kevin, or I’ll fuck you dry, let her hear her man’s ruin!” My voice carried, a home-wrecker’s taunt, his panic-sweat sharp as he groaned, cock throbbin’ harder.