A/N: KristineM was my 100th reviewer for MovingViolations.As a "thank you", I allowed her to pick any chapter (future or past) for me to write an EPOV on.
She chose the first chapter.
Thank you to all my lovely reviewers! This one is for you guys. : ) Unless noted with quotations, all of this is internal dialogue Edward is having inside his head.
This chapter was written while I was drinking a MONSTER RockStar, so I was like fluttering all over the place. Hope you don't mind my crazy mania here.
Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight or its characters. That's all Stephenie Meyer. I do, however, own a dying cactus that hates the Pacific Northwest. This chapter is rated M for language and references to sex.
Music: "Get Up" by KoRn feat. Skrillex
Chapter 1: I'm Not Gonna Crack
I cannot fucking wait to get off this shift and go home. This day has been an absolute madhouse with Seth and Quil calling out and having no relief. I only had a few more hours until bliss—a hot shower, some football, and a fuckton of beer. And probably beat off later on. I really need to get laid. I know I could call Tanya, but she'll get her emotions all tangled up when I just really want sex with no strings attached. Damn, is that too much to ask? Or all girls wired to be clingy after having mindless, but really good, sex? Yeah, so her and me-not gonna ever happen again. It was great while it lasted (the one time), but I gotta call it quits before she goes stalker on me.
Instead of driving around Chicagoland aimlessly, looking for trouble, I decide to sit near Rush University Medical Center to do some traffic violations. Being that it's the night before Thanksgiving, there's got to be a few people running late to the airport or wherever the fuck people go for the holidays. Why can't people just be happy where they are and not have to go all over the g-damn country for a holiday? Is their home life so bad that they can't spend one whole day with their family at their own homes? Whatever.
So here I am, waiting for who knows what to zoom on by. The traffic is surprisingly light this evening, so not many drivers come up on the radar. Since there's hardly any traffic and it's pretty dark out, I figure why not kick my seatback a bit and get a few minutes of sleep? I crank up KoRn a little louder on my stereo and on the doppler rader on the dash before reclining my seat back. I rest my head against the headrest and throw an arm over my eyes to block out some of the harsh glare of the streetlights nearby.
Just as I'm about to pass out, the radar goes crazy.
It read 35mph in a 15. Huh. I half debate not pulling the driver over, but I know if I don't have anything to report in my last few hours of this shift, the Chief will get onto me for "slacking off" or some shit.
With a weary sigh, I adjust my seatback and turn down my music before radioing Dispatch.
"Go ahead," Emily, our dispatch on duty, answers.
"Dispatch, this is unit 117 calling in for a 510. I'm on West Harrison and South Racine," I radio in.
"10-4, and be careful out there, Lieutenant."
I turn my lights on and pull out into the non-existent traffic. I catch up with a beat-up piece of shit truck that was either red or orange 30 years ago. I can't tell if the driver is male or female, but it doesn't matter anyway. I'll be able to file at least one moving violation and make the Chief happy.
Before I climb out of the cruiser, I see that the plates are out of state. Huh, that's strange. What's Washington doing in Chicago? I jot the license plate number down as a reminder to run the tags later and see if the truck has been reported stolen or whatnot—though why anyone would steal that hunk of junk baffles me. Just to be safe, I exit my vehicle with my hand on my holster in the event this truck is part of some cover-up for gang related activities. I slowly make my way to the truck and notice how loud the engine is idling. Damn, this thing needs to seriously be put out of its misery. How is it even safe?
When I make it to the driver's side window, I'm a little shocked to see a woman with dark hair and very pale skin with a death grip on her massive steering wheel. She's looking straight ahead and doesn't see me approach the vehicle. To get her attention, I tap on the glass with a knuckle. She jumps a little and finally looks out her window.
I don't know if I'm more surprised on how beautiful this woman is, or the fact she's just staring at me. Her long hair is falling in dark waves around her heart-shaped face. In the darkness, I can't tell what colour her dark eyes are, but they are a stark contrast to her clear, porcelain skin. Fuck, she's gorgeous. She then, with great difficulty, manually rolls her window down. I clear my throat.
"License and…" I don't continue because the waterworks start. Damn. I don't take it personal, really. But it's such an ego hit when every woman you encounter, they fucking cry. Except, this woman isn't doing the whole body cries that just looks fucking disgusting. Instead, she's crying without sound—but crying nonetheless. Was she running away from something? Is she hurt?
"Ma'am? Are you okay?" I ask, resting my hand on her open window.
She looks up at me, but cannot focus on my face through her tears.
Christ, even when she's crying, she's absolutely gorgeous. I clench my hand so I don't lift it to wipe the tears from her eyes.
"Y-y-y-yes. Ss-s-s-s-sorry. I don't get pulled over often. As in, ever…" she explains with a sniff.
Honestly, I've heard the same line over and over again. Ninety-nine percent of the time, it's bullshit. But somehow, I have a feeling that this woman isn't using some line to talk her way out of a ticket. I think she's being for real. I feel like an ass, especially since she's so close to the interstate where the speed limit picks up.
"Uh, well ma'am. I need your license and registration."
She nods with another sniff and turns to her passenger seat. When whatever she's looking for isn't there, she still. I give her a moment to compose herself as she wipes underneath her eyes and her nose. I wish I could give her the handkerchief I have in my back pocket, but that may seem too forward. I drop my hand from her door and step back a bit before she turns to me.
And she stares. Again.
Uhm…? What do I do?
Thankfully, she realises she's staring at me. "Uhm, would it be alright for me to climb out to pull my purse out from the other side? It's fallen to the floorboard and I can't seem to reach it."
Without the tears caught in her throat, her voice is amazing. Not low and manly like Tanya's, nor high and bell-like that I associate with Alice. It's a comfortable middle between the two.
"Uhh, that'll be fine," I answer when I can find my voice. Damn, Masen. Stop staring. "Just do it slowly and keep your hands out where I can see them."
I shift, uncomfortably and rest my hand back on my holster. I know she wouldn't be able to hurt me, but I need somewhere to put my hand. I really want to put my hand on her cheek to feel how soft her skin is, but I can't. She obeys, sliding down from her seat with her hands up so I can see them. When she exits the cab of her truck, I can truly appreciate her body. She's petite, but not thin. Rather, she has curves in all the right places—hips, bottom, breasts… Damn, I can feel myself getting hard. I shift again from one foot to the other, hoping that it'll help relieve the pressure that's building up in my groin.
I follow her to the front of her truck so I can see her walk to the passenger door. Her denim clad hips sway in all the right places. FUCK. If I watch her anymore, I'll be rocking a massive hard-on and no way to hide it without drawing suspicion. I advert my gaze.
She finally grabs her bag and walks back around the front of her truck. The headlights of her truck show off her outfit—some slinky tight grey sweater that definitely emphasises her curves. DOUBLE FUCK. As she walks around the front fender of her truck, she somehow upends the contents of her bag onto the road. I am about to bend down to help her gather her things when I notice the first thing that's lying on top—a sheer purple bra.
PING! Yeah, I'm totally hard now. I just pray to whomever that is listening that this poor girl isn't traumatised by the obvious bulge I have in my pants.
She freezes before suddenly dropping onto her knee and shoving her bra into her jean pocket. Judging by her actions, she hasn't noticed my pitched tent. It looks like she's about to look up at me, but I drop down to the ground to help her collect the rest of her belongings. The movement is uncomfortable, but not nearly as bad as the embarrassment I would feel if she saw the monster of a boner that I'm rocking at the moment. Quick! Think of anything else that will kill this erection. Bunnies. Fuck like bunnies? NO! Doughnuts. ARGH NO. HOLES. Can't think of holes… Starving Ethiopian children. Okay! Better! My erection isn't nearly as hard as it was moments ago.
"I'm so s-s-s-orry!" she stammers, picking up her belongings.
"Don't worry about it ma'am," I reply as I rise back to my feet, hoping that the smile I have isn't reflected in my voice. This really has gotten to be an interesting day.
She stands when she has the rest of her stuff in her massive bag and looks at me. FUCK! Caught with a smile on my face. I try to ditch the smile, but I can't. This whole situation is so amusing. Until her gaze drops to my mouth. Oh God. Not the monster boner again! I need to go, and I need to go fast.
"You just mind your speed and I'll let you go with a verbal. That sound alright to you?" And can I please have your number so I can call you after you take care of the growing problem in my pants?
"Uh….What?" she asks dreamily, gaze still fixated on my mouth. Do I have something in my teeth? "Oh! Warning. Thank you! I appreciate it," she stammers, snapping out of her daze.
Thank the heavens she's looking at my face rather than my crotch.
"No problem. Have a great Thanksgiving, ma'am," I say, tapping a finger to my hat—something she misses because she's still looking at my lips.
Turning away and walking away carefully as I can, I make my way back to my cruiser to find out if I have something caught in my teeth. I hear her sigh as I'm walking away, which may indicate that she's watching my escape. Excellent. I've been told how my ass really is an asset. I slow my gait, hoping that she's enjoying the view. Before I make it to my cruiser, I hear her gasp before the slam of a heavy door. As I turn to climb into my cruiser, I see that she has climbed back into her truck and is slowly making her way out. I let out a breath that I didn't realise I had been holding. Finally, it dawned on me.
I didn't get her name.
A/N: How was that? Poor monster cock being all trapped in his uniform. ;)
This should be the last of EPOVs for MovingViolations unless someone can con me into writing another one. ;)
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