Trying to walk normally, you make your way toward the lockers, the wet squelch in your pants making every step feel obscenely obvious. Your face burns with a mix of embarrassment and lingering arousal. All you needed was a minute to clean up and change before anyone -
You stop dead when you reach your locker.
Amy Santiago was already standing there, arms crossed beneath her perfectly fitted blouse, one eyebrow arched in that signature blend of suspicion and curiosity. Her dark hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, and her sharp, intelligent eyes immediately narrowed as they flicked from your flushed face down to the case file you are clutching like a shield over your lap.
“Peralta,” she said, her voice low and laced with clear doubt. She took a small step closer, effectively blocking his access to the locker. “What the hell are you doing?”
You swallow hard, hyper-aware of the cooling cum still smeared against your skin and the way your half-hard cock gave another involuntary twitch at the sight of her.
“You’ve been acting weird all morning,” Amy continued, tilting her head as she studies you. Her gaze dropped pointedly to the folder pressed tightly against your groin. “And now you’re sneaking around with a case file like it’s contraband. Let me see what you’re hiding.”
She reached out, her fingers brushing the edge of the folder, close enough that you can smell her familiar perfume mixed with the faint scent of precinct coffee. Her expression was equal parts concerned and intrigued, the way it always got right before she unraveled one of his schemes.
You are trapped - pants ruined, cock still sensitive, and Amy Santiago standing inches away, demanding answers.
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