"Is that all you want?"

Emily’s heart thudded in her chest—but not from fear.

The heat between her thighs hadn’t cooled. The sweat still clung to the curve of her breast. And the way Officer Garrett looked at her—like he was trying not to see but couldn’t stop—lit something inside her that hadn’t burned this hot in years.

So she made her choice.

She didn’t just leave the blouse open.

She parted it wider—slowly, deliberately—fingers sliding down the edges, thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts as she folded the fabric aside. Her nipples, stiff and flushed from hours of stimulation and no bra, stood in the open air of the shaded access road.

The breeze kissed them.

So did his gaze.

She saw it in the angle of his head, the subtle lean forward, the slight twitch of his jaw beneath his mirrored sunglasses. His posture didn’t change. Not yet. But something shifted in him.

She leaned back against the seat.

Tilted her hips just slightly forward, so the hem of her skirt rode higher over her thighs. Her legs weren’t fully spread—but close. Close enough for the tension to coil.

Then she lifted one hand. Let her fingers graze the inside of her thigh. Just idly. Toying with the edge of the skirt. Letting it ride up half an inch at a time.

“Is that all you want?” she said softly.

The silence between them thickened.

The officer didn’t speak.

Didn’t move.

But he was very much not looking away.

She saw the twitch in his fingers where they rested on his belt.

She saw the slow rise and fall of his chest beneath the uniform.

When he finally answered, his voice was low. Strained. Like he was forcing it through locked teeth.

“You think I won’t write you up?”

She smiled. Tilted her head.

“I think you should’ve already.”

His jaw tensed.

She ran her fingers just a little higher—skin brushing skin, skirt nearly to her hip now. Her legs parted just another inch, and she bit her bottom lip.

His sunglasses came off.

He tucked them into his shirt pocket, his eyes fully visible now—dark, unreadable, locked on her chest, her thighs, her face.

“You high, showing yourself off to a cop in the middle of nowhere?”

“Guess you’re lucky it wasn’t someone else,” she murmured. “Someone who might take advantage.”

His fingers twitched again.

“You trying to get me fired?” he asked.

Her smirk didn’t fade.

“Depends,” she said. “You trying to get fired?”

That was it.

He stepped forward—slow, deliberate—his body suddenly right there at her window, the heat from him pouring into the car. One hand landed on the roof, the other on the frame of the door.

“You want to play this game?” he said, voice rough now.

She didn’t flinch.

Just reached one hand up and cupped her own breast, thumbing her nipple as she stared back at him.

“Yes, officer,” she whispered. “I really do.”

He exhaled hard through his nose. Like something inside him cracked.

Then his hand dropped to the handle.

And he opened the door.