Chapter 2

Lila’s fingers tightened around the wheel as she pulled into the back parking lot, her eyes scanning for Hartwell’s unmarked car. The diner’s neon sign flickered in the dusk, casting long shadows across the asphalt.

She’d dressed in her short black prom dress with nothing under it. Just like she was told, she also had a black dog collar on.

The bell above Benny’s door jingled as Lila pushed inside. Her pulse hammered in her throat. She was in a booth. No uniform today—just a blouse and skirt, exposing the corded muscle of her forearms. Lila’s mouth went dry.

Hartwell glanced up, her gaze skimming Lila from her shoes to her collarbone before settling on her face. “You’re early,” she said, her voice low under the diner’s chatter.

Lila’s fingers twitched against the strap of her bag. “Traffic was light,” she said, sliding into the booth across from Hartwell. The vinyl squeaked under her thighs.

Hartwell’s coffee mug left a dark ring on the Formica between them, the steam curling lazily in the diner’s fluorescent light. Hartwell sat across from Lila, her eyes locked on the young woman’s slender neck. At 35, Hartwell exuded confidence in her tailored blouse and skirt, her fingers tracing the rim of her coffee mug as she leaned forward. Lila, just 16, shifted in her seat, the black dress hugging her curves like a second skin, the fabric thin enough to hint at the lack of anything underneath. Around her throat sat the dog collar, black leather with a silver ring that glinted under the chandelier light—a bold statement that made Hartwell’s pulse quicken.

‘You look incredible tonight,’ Hartwell murmured, her voice low and husky, reaching across the table to brush her fingertips against Lila’s hand. The touch lingered, Hartwell’s thumb stroking the soft skin of Lila’s wrist. “that collar ... It’s like an invitation. Makes me want to tug on it and see how you react.”

Hartwell took another sip, her eyes never leaving Lila’s face. “Uh-huh.” The word was a dry rasp, perfectly neutral. She set the mug down with deliberate precision. “Have you eaten yet?”

The vinyl seat creaked under Lila as she shifted, her knee bumping Hartwell’s under the table. The contact sent a jolt up her spine—accidental, but Hartwell didn’t pull away. Just raised an eyebrow over the rim of her coffee mug.

“Not yet,” Lila admitted, fingers drumming the menu’s laminated edge.

Hartwell’s fingers tapped once against her mug, the sound sharp in the quiet booth. “So tell me about you, Lila,” she said, her voice lower than the diner’s hum.

Lila’s knee jerked under the table, knocking Hartwell’s shin again. She pretended not to notice. “What’s there to tell?” She dragged a fingernail along the menu’s grease-smudged edge. “Sixteen. Bad car. Worse grades. I’m a cheerleader for Northeast High School.

Hartwell’s fingers paused mid-sip, her gaze dropping pointedly to Lila’s small breasts. “Cheerleader, huh?” Her thumb swiped a droplet of coffee from the mug’s rim, slow and deliberate. “Bet you’re flexible.”

Lila’s breath hitched. She dug her nails into the menu’s edge to keep from squirming.

Hartwell leaned back, her elbows resting on the booth’s vinyl. The motion pulled her blouse taut across her shoulders, the fabric straining over the hard lines of her frame. “So,” she said, tilting her head just enough to catch the diner’s flickering neon. “What’s a Northeast cheerleader flirting with a cop twice her age?”

Hartwell watched her, unblinking, as Lila fumbled for an answer. Finally, Hartwell’s mouth curled—not quite a smile, just the ghost of one. “Cat got your tongue, kid?”

Lila’s fingers twitched against the menu. “You’re not twice my age,” she muttered, deflecting. Hartwell’s smirk deepened, and Lila’s cheeks burned. “And I wasn’t—I didn’t—” They both knew exactly what she’d been doing.

“I guess you’re terrible at math too, kid. I’m 35. You’re 16, do the math.” Hartwell’s fingers tapped against her coffee mug before she set it down with deliberate precision. “So,” she said, her voice dropping into something lower, rougher. “You like older, dominant women.”

It wasn’t a question. Lila’s throat tightened. The vinyl squeaked under her as she shifted, her knee brushing Hartwell’s again. Hartwell didn’t move away. Just watched her, eyes dark under the diner’s flickering fluorescents.

Lila’s fingers dug into the edge of the menu hard enough to bend the laminate. “I’ve never done this before,” she blurted, the words tumbling out like loose change from a pocket.

Hartwell’s coffee mug froze halfway to her lips. “Done what?”

Hartwell’s mug clinked against the Formica as she set it down, her fingers lingering on the ceramic handle a beat too long. The diner’s chatter blurred into white noise around them. “Flirted with a cop,” Lila mumbled into her straw, the plastic bending under her grip. “Or—anyone, really.”

Hartwell’s thumb traced the rim of her mug, slow and deliberate. “You were doing just fine earlier,” she said, her voice pitched low. The corner of her mouth twitched—not quite a smile, but something warmer than her usual smirk. “For a beginner.”

Hartwell’s fingers drummed on the table, an uncharacteristically restless gesture, before she leaned forward, her elbows propped on the laminate. The diner’s overhead light caught the flecks of gold in her hazel eyes. “You realize I could get fired for this,” she said quietly, her gaze dropping to Lila’s mouth just long enough to make the vinyl stick to the backs of Lila’s thighs.

Lila swallowed hard. “So why’d you give me your number?” The question came out too loud, bouncing off the chrome napkin dispenser between them.

Hartwell exhaled through her nose, half-amused, half-exasperated, and leaned back against the booth. The vinyl creaked under her weight. “Because,” she said, her voice dropping into something rough at the edges, “you looked at me like I hung the fucking moon.”

Lila’s straw snapped between her fingers. The words hit her square in the chest, knocking the air from her lungs. Hartwell watched her reaction with a predator’s patience, her fingers tapping an idle rhythm against her coffee mug.

Lila’s breath caught in her throat, sharp as the snap of her broken straw. The diner’s noise faded to a buzz in her ears, the clatter of plates and laughter suddenly distant, irrelevant. She wet her lips, her voice barely above a whisper when she finally spoke. “I promise I won’t tell.”

Hartwell’s fingers stilled against her mug. A slow, dangerous smile curled at the corner of her mouth, the kind that made Lila’s pulse stutter. “That’s cute,” she murmured, leaning in just enough that Lila could smell the bitter coffee on her breath. “You think I’m worried about you talking.”

Lila’s pulse hammered so loud she was sure Hartwell could hear it, the way you’d hear a trapped sparrow beating its wings against a window.

Hartwell’s fingers twitched, her thumb brushing the chipped rim of her coffee mug. “You don’t know what you’re asking for, and you don’t know what I’m into,” she said, her voice low enough that Lila had to lean in to catch it.

Lila’s fingers clenched around the cracked straw, her pulse roaring in her ears—but she couldn’t look away from Hartwell’s mouth, from the way her lips parted around those quiet, devastating words. *You don’t know what you’re asking for. And you don’t know what I’m into.”

“I don’t care,” Lila blurted, the words tumbling out before she could second-guess them. “I think you’re sexy and beautiful.” The admission burned her throat, raw and unpolished, but she didn’t flinch.

Hartwell’s mug froze halfway to her lips. The neon diner sign outside flickered pink across her cheekbones, catching the faint scar above her eyebrow that Lila hadn’t noticed before. For three heartbeats, the only sound was the ice machine humming behind the counter. Then Hartwell set the coffee down with deliberate precision and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, a rough, workman’s gesture that shouldn’t have made Lila’s stomach swoop.

“Jesus Christ,” Hartwell muttered, dragging a hand through her hair. The bun at her nape had come half-undone, loose strands clinging to her neck. “You can’t just say shit like that, kid.”

Hartwell’s fingers tightened around her coffee mug, knuckles whitening. “You don’t get to say things like that,” she growled, her voice rougher than Lila had ever heard it. “Not when you’ve got no fucking clue what it does to me.”

Lila’s breath hitched. Her knee pressed insistently against Hartwell’s thigh. “Then tell me,” she whispered, fingers trembling where they clutched the edge of the table. “Tell me what it does.”

Hartwell’s mug hit the table with a sharp clack, coffee sloshing over the rim. Her fingers twitched like she wanted to reach across the laminate and shake Lila, but instead she dragged them through her hair again, the dark strands coming loose from her bun entirely now. “Christ, you’re going to kill me,” she muttered, voice ragged.

Lila’s fingers crept forward without permission, brushing Hartwell’s wrist where it rested on the table. The skin was warm and rough with calluses, and when Hartwell didn’t pull away, Lila traced the ridge of a faded scar along her forearm. “I’ll do whatever you want,” she whispered, the words sticking in her dry throat. “I don’t care what.”

Hartwell’s breath hitched, just once, barely audible. The officer’s fingers twitched under Lila’s touch, her pulse jumping against Lila’s fingertips. For a long moment, Hartwell didn’t move, didn’t speak, her eyes locked on Lila’s mouth.

Then, with a slow exhale, Hartwell leaned back, putting inches between them that felt like miles. “You’re killing me,” she muttered again, rubbing a hand over her face. When she dropped it, her expression was carefully neutral, but the muscle in her jaw jumped.

“I love that collar.”

Lila’s cheeks flushed pink, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she bit her lower lip, her blue eyes meeting Hartwell’s with a mix of shyness and curiosity. “It’s ... for you,” Lila whispered, her voice barely audible over the murmur of other diners. The collar felt tight against her skin, a constant reminder of the game they were playing, even in this public space. Hartwell’s smile turned predatory. But before signaling for the check, Hartwell leaned in closer, her breath warm against Lila’s ear. “Take off your dress,” she commanded softly, her tone leaving no room for hesitation. “Right here, right now. I want to see you bare under that collar.”

Lila’s eyes widened, her heart pounding as she glanced around at the nearby tables, the risk sending a thrill through her body. Her hands trembled slightly as they moved to the hem of the black fabric, inching it up her thighs. With a quick, furtive motion, she lifted her arms and pulled the dress over her head, the material whispering against her skin before she folded it neatly on her lap. Now she sat exposed, her perky little breasts rising with each shallow breath, nipples hardening in the cool air of the restaurant. Her smooth pussy glistened faintly under the table’s edge, legs pressed together but unable to hide the growing wetness.

Hartwell’s gaze raked over Lila’s naked form, possessively drinking in the sight of her pale skin, the dog collar stark against her throat. She reached out, clipping a small leash to the silver ring with a click that echoed in Lila’s ears. “Good girl,” Hartwell purred, tugging lightly to make Lila lean forward, her breasts brushing the tablecloth. The waiter approached then, eyes flickering with surprise but saying nothing as Hartwell handed over her card. “We’re leaving,” she said firmly, standing and pulling Lila to her feet by the leash.

Lila rose on shaky legs, clutching her dress to her chest with one hand while the other steadied herself, the exposure making her clit throb with arousal. They moved through the restaurant, heads turning subtly, whispers following them out into the cool night air, where Hartwell led her toward the car, eager to claim more.

Outside, the parking lot lights buzzed with insects drawn to their glow. The asphalt was still warm underfoot, radiating the day’s heat as Hartwell strode toward her unmarked cruiser parked near the dumpsters. Not her usual patrol car, something lower profile, with tinted windows and no light bar. The engine of Hartwell’s sleek black sedan hummed as she pulled out of the restaurant parking lot, the city lights fading in the rearview mirror. Lila sat in the passenger seat, still naked except for the dog collar around her neck and the leash looped loosely in Hartwell’s grip. She clutched the thin black dress to her lap, her bare skin prickling in the cool rush of air from the vents. The silver ring on the collar caught the passing streetlights, a constant reminder of her submission. Hartwell’s eyes flicked over occasionally, one hand on the wheel, the other resting possessively on Lila’s thigh, fingers drumming lightly against the smooth flesh.

They drove in charged silence, the tension building with every mile. Hartwell veered off the main road onto a winding path that led into a dense wooded area on the outskirts of town—a secluded spot she knew well, where the trees thickened like a natural curtain, muffling the world outside. The car bumped over roots and gravel until Hartwell found a clearing, hidden from any stray headlights. She killed the engine, the sudden quiet amplifying the rustle of leaves and Lila’s quickened breaths.

“Out,” Hartwell commanded, unclipping the leash but keeping hold of it as she stepped from the car. Lila followed, dropping the dress onto the seat, her bare feet sinking into the soft earth. Moonlight filtered through the canopy, casting dappled shadows over her exposed body—her small breasts heaving, nipples stiff from the night chill, and a trail of wetness already slicking her inner thighs. Hartwell tugged the leash gently, guiding Lila to the car’s hood, where she leaned back against it, hiking up her skirt to reveal she wore no panties. Her pussy was shaved smooth, lips swollen with arousal, a bead of moisture glistening at the entrance.

“On your knees, pet,” Hartwell said, her voice rough with need. She spread her legs wider, the leash pulling Lila down until her face hovered inches from Hartwell’s core. Lila’s hands gripped Hartwell’s thighs for balance, her breath hot against the sensitive skin. Without another word, Lila leaned in, her tongue flicking out to trace the outer folds, tasting the salty tang of Hartwell’s excitement.

Hartwell groaned, her free hand tangling in Lila’s hair, urging her closer.

Lila’s mouth opened wider, lips sealing around Hartwell’s clit as she sucked gently, then harder, her tongue swirling in firm circles. Hartwell’s hips bucked forward, pressing her pussy against Lila’s face, smearing wetness across her cheeks and chin. “That’s it—lick me deep,” Hartwell growled, the leash taut in her fist. Lila obeyed, plunging her tongue inside, thrusting it in and out like a small cock, lapping at the walls while her nose rubbed against the clit. The woods echoed with wet slurps and Hartwell’s moans, her body arching as pleasure coiled tight in her belly.