Kate and Andy (Part 2 – Looking for Love)

Andy could not believe his luck. Or rather, his tenacity as a reporter. He’d found Kate. Of course, now that he’d found her, would she like that he’d found her? Would she arrest him on stalking charges or something? It could go either way.

But now here he was, in the grimy lobby of Parker Center, and there was Detective Kate Flynn, striding purposefully across the lobby, and she didn’t look like she was going to have him arrested.

She looked – happy to see him.

He was staring into her forested green eyes wanting to take her in his arms right there.

It was just the two of them, staring at each other, those green eyes of hers flashing. She floored him, absolutely floored him. He hoped she felt floored, too, devastated, desiring, an intimate, overwhelming longing.

“You,” he said.

“You didn’t change your mind,” she said, briskly. “About finding me.”

“I never changed mine. You didn’t call me. It just took me a month – you didn’t make it easy. Even for a seasoned crime reporter like me.”

“A cop has to be careful,” she said, stepping just perhaps an inch closer, maybe not. 

“Did you investigate me? My byline is everywhere.”

“No, I tried to forget you,” she said.

“But we’re magic,” he said, and he smiled what he hoped was his most winning smile.

She shrugged, but it wasn’t a dismissive shrug, it was a more a I-don’t-know-maybe-you’re-right kind of shrug.

She crossed the lobby to a door, motioning him to follow. It was a conference room of sorts, with a row of orange plastic chairs facing a podium, and she sat down in one. He followed, trying not to look like an eager puppy, but that was kind of how he felt. At least, just like a puppy, he would love to run his tongue over those long, limber legs, and…

He sat down next to her, handing her the bouquet of roses he’d brought her, and the Matchbox toy convertible.


She laughed at the car. He relaxed just a little. Making a woman laugh, that was supposed to be a good sign. 

“I said I tried to forget you, not that I had,” Kate said.

She buried her face in the roses, and for a second, just a second, she closed her eyes. He wanted her, right there, right under the glaring florescent lights on those orange plastic chairs…

She was leaning forward just a little, almost imperceptibly, in her chair. Well, it would’ve been imperceptible except that when she leaned forward her blouse slipped forward too, just a little, and he could see the faintest shadow of the cleavage between her breasts, a spot he would love to touch with the tip, very lightly with the tip, of his finger.

“Can I – take you do dinner?” he asked.

“Maybe. I’m off shift in an hour, if you want to wait.”

Of course, he would wait. 

“I’m in the middle of an investigation,” she said. “So, things might not wrap up that quickly.”

He couldn’t stop staring at her. And she was staring at him.

“I get it.”

“Do you?” 

She raised her eyebrows just a little. She smiled. “Me. And you. Together again.”

All he had to do was take her firmly in his arms, even as her eyes flashed and her beautiful, full mouth opened in surprise.

It would be easier still, with those perfect lips parted to press his lips against hers, to taste her lipstick until he’d kissed it away, to move his tongue between her opened lips. And as she responded, her lips to his lips, tongue flicking against his, their breathing matched and heavy, his hands were moving under her jacket, loosening her soft silk shirt from her skirt, slipping under that shirt, un-clasping her bra.

She was gasping now, and even as she said, “Wait. You can’t – we can’t -” she knew just as well as he did that they sure as hell could.

He didn’t answer her, but then he didn’t have to, and he knew that, too. And she wasn’t using words any more to express herself. She was running her hands across his shoulders, along his sides, down his waist.

He’d lifted her skirt, crumpling the fabric in his hands and moving his hands over her hips, across her belly. He went down on his knees, pulling her stockings with him, first one, and then the other. Then he reached up and inched her lace panties to the ground. He lifted first one of her feet and then the other from the confinement of her high heeled shoes, and tossed them away. He peeled off one stocking altogether, and then the other, and then he tugged off her panties, too.

Then, starting from her ankles, he worked his way back up again with his tongue, along the inside of her smooth, creamy legs, along her soft thighs, higher, and higher, until she was moaning and pulling at his hair.

Then he rose, stripped away her jacket, lifted her shirt above her unfastened bra and the bra above her unfettered breasts, and tasted first one voluptuous mouthful and then the other. While he licked one nipple rock hard, his fingers worked the other into a similar condition. She unbuttoned his shirt, unbuckled his belt, just as eager as he was now. 

She lunged for him, pulled him down on top of her, wrapped her legs around him. They rocked back against the chair.

He ran his hands through her thick dark hair, tangling it. She locked her lips fiercely to his. Bucking and swaying against each other like they were drawing life from each other’s breath, each other’s body. They could not let go, would not let go. They would stay like this, half dressed and sweaty, embracing blindly, wildly, ecstatically, bumping against the walls now, knocking over the chairs, crashing to the floor – he would never let go, never again. Now that he had found her, now that he knew he had found her, he would never stop staring into those amazing, piercingly beautiful green eyes.

But now she was waving her hand in front of her face, in front of his. He blinked. 

“Hello?” she said, “Andy? I have to get back upstairs now.”

Her eyes were flashing all right, but not in a sudden recognition of fated passion but with impatience, like he was staring at her, apparently far too long, in some sort of inappropriate way to look at a civil-servant-who-also-happened- to-be-carrying-a-gun kind of way.

“Are you with me? You seem a little distracted.”

“Guilty as charged,” he said. “I’m sorry if I was staring, I – well – it’s been awhile, huh.”

“Yeah, awhile,” she said, softening. 

He was finding it difficult to swallow, his throat felt thick. He was also finding it difficult to remain sitting right there next to her, because his throat wasn’t the only part of his anatomy that was swelling with desire.

“You’re beautiful,” he said.

“Thank you,” she managed. “You’re looking good yourself. Nice tie.”

Her eyes met his. And he knew. 

She wanted him as much as he wanted her, he could sense it, even though she was hiding how much she wanted him. She was lonely, just like he was, he could sense that, too. 

All he had to do was say the right thing this time, take things a little slower maybe, not scare her off. If that’s what he’d done. She didn’t seem like the kind of woman who scared easily.

He was thinking only about kissing her again, kissing her while he took off all her clothes. 

“Okay,” she said, at last. “Do you want to wait here or meet me somewhere?”

“Oh, I’m waiting,” he said. “Some things – some people – are worth waiting for.”


She put the roses in a vase on her desk, and the toy car next to her pencil jar. She didn’t know what she was doing, agreeing to dinner. If she really thought about it…wasn’t just this a rebound fling? Last time she’d seen him, she’d done no thinking at all.

Thinking aside, how would she have felt if she’d never seen him again? She’d never expected to, and she didn’t think she’d cared. And yet right now, if someone were to ask her if she cared if she never saw him again, she’d have to say yeah, she would care. Very much.

She drew in her breath sharply. Getting a grip on herself and thoughts that did not belong alongside solving-a-homicide thoughts, Kate finished up only what she had to do, and did not stuff case files into her briefcase to take home.

There were two reasons for this, both of which she was reluctant to admit, but were nonetheless true: she wanted to keep her evening free in case, well in case…something happened after dinner. And practically speaking, it wasn’t a good idea to let murder files lie around the apartment of a man she hardly knew, who was also a reporter…

She stopped herself. They were going to dinner, that was all. 

She handed the files off to the department’s administrative assistant, Ruth, and was about to tell her she was leaving for the day when she happened to notice a bag from a very cool clothing store on Ruth’s desk.

“What did you buy?” she asked.

“This.” Ruth swooped a spandex cream-colored thing from the bag. 

“I want that,” Kate said.

“You should go by there at lunch tomorrow. They’re having a sale.”

“I’ll tell you what. You go back there at lunch tomorrow, and buy yourself another one. Maybe two.” Kate pulled out her check book. “I want that one now.”


“How much?” Kate asked, and tried not to wince when Ruth told her.


But the cost was probably worth it, based on Andy’s face as she stepped into the conference room again.

He looked up from his phone with this dazzled expression like he’d seen a vision. Ditching the dark brown skirt and jacket she’d worn to work was the right thing to have done. The dress was tighter than she would’ve liked it to be, but it was all lacy and stretchy in the right places. Her breasts looked full and firm and as if they could easily slip right out of the top, with just a little coaxing – an idea that made her tingle all over. It hugged her hips, and was just a little too short, which also excited her. And it was not like something a cop would wear. Not like something she would wear. But she loved wearing it now.

“Wow,” he said. 


They drank too much chianti and had enough pasta that Kate should’ve been comatose, but she was too excited to be. He touched her hand across the red and white checked table cloth at the cozy little Italian place he’d chosen for dinner. He reached across the table and brushed a curl from her cheek. His knee touched hers under the table.

With every touch she tingled more, felt warmer, and even as they spoke about work, and life, and the dessert menu – none of those things was what she wanted to be talking about. In fact, she didn’t want to be talking at all. But she held back. It was just a rebound fling, she reminded herself. She could leave it at flirting with him this time. Go home, say goodbye for real this time. But that wasn’t at all what she wanted to do.

“I tend to move fast when I move. It’s an old reporter’s trick,” he said, talking about a story he’d just finished. “You’ve got to think quick, get the quote for attribution fast before somebody changes their mind. I’m not sure I can think fast enough for you, though.”

“You think I’m going to change my mind?”

“I don’t think you’ve made it up yet. About going home with me.”

“You’re wrong,” she said. Because all at once, all at once she had. It was like a strange magnetic force had arisen around them. She absolutely had to be next to him. 

She slipped out of her chair and into the booth beside him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and she kissed him full on the lips, the way she’d been longing to kiss him through the entire meal, the way she’d wanted him to kiss her again, the way she wanted to kiss him now, all night long.

“Wow,” he said. “You don’t just look gorgeous, you feel gorgeous.”

He ran his hands along her shoulders, and down the sides of the little dress. And it was little. It had ridden up quite a bit when she slid into the booth. His hand dropped to her thigh, his fingers playing lightly against her skin.

She made no attempt to stop him. She gave a little sigh, and closed her eyes.

He nibbled at her neck, and lower, down toward her breasts.

“Hey,” she said.

“Mmm,” he replied, circling back to kiss her shoulder, slip aside the strap on her dress and kiss there, too, carefully replace the strap and kiss all the way down her arm to the tips of her fingers. She felt delicious goosebumps rising on her skin. 

She moved his hand from her thigh a little higher, just under the edge of that very short skirt.

He inched it up, just a tiny bit higher.

Now his finger-tips were grazing the edge of her panties.

“Skip dessert?” she breathed.

“I have ice cream at home,” he said.

He threw an effusive amount of cash on the table and they went back to his place without having to discuss it. His hand was on her knee as he drove. She opened her legs, and his hand moved higher, outside her thigh, inside her thigh.

When he closed the door to his apartment behind him, and flicked on the light, his eyes took her in like she was fresh and new and wild and wonderful and like he hadn’t just spent hours talking to her across a dinner table, like this was their first moment together and he had to make it count.

He pulled her against him and kissed her lips, his hands running down the small of her back and around her hips. He dropped his lips to her neck, and kissed her down to the lacy edge of her over-priced dress.

Now, he slid the stretchy fabric off her shoulders, first one and then the other, and continued kissing, all the way down to her elbows, pinioned in the fabric.

He worked one strap all the way off, and was kissing her forearm now, inside the elbow and down to the wrist, and then her fingers, again, one by one. She was a goner when he did that.

It felt so good, she just leaned back against the wall and let him slip off the other strap and repeat the process, wrist and palm and fingers and finger tips. His lips were warm and dry.

Everywhere his lips touched she felt feverish now, and a ringing, a subtle but definite ringing, rose in her ears, or maybe it was just the backwash from a jet that passed low over his apartment. She felt like she was flying, too. 

Then, holding her carefully, one arm around her waist like she was something fragile, he led her into the bedroom, and went right back to kissing her bare shoulders, he stroked her cheek with his fingers, and then his fingers fell to her breasts, and feathered lightly against the fabric of her dress, back and forth until she could feel her nipples harden and swell. She looked down to see she was bursting out of the little stretchy garment on the top, and it was pushed high on her thighs now. A moment later as he stroked her thighs, reached for the softness of her belly, iIt was pushed all the way to her hips.

His hands moved around her back, caressed her shoulders, stroked her spine, and then with one hand he unfastened her bra, so that it hung loose, and he could push her dress down just a little more, and her loosened bra down, just a little, and her breasts slipped free. Now he could use his fingers against the bare flesh of her nipples, the soft mound of her breasts.

He stopped kissing her lips and moved down to circle them both with his tongue, to kiss between them, and around them, and over them, and across them, his hands unzipping her bunched up dress, the dress now falling to the floor, her bra following.

He slid her panties off her hips, leaving them down around her thighs, holding her in place as he ran his fingers through her pubic hair, and stroked her gently, until she was glistening. He put one finger inside her, then two, and flicked her back and forth, back and forth, until she cried out. 

Then he gently rolled her panties all the way down to her ankles, kissing the inside of her legs as he went. She stepped out of her shoes, and kicked the panties away. For a minute, he just stood there, watching her, still fully clothed but with his cock bulging beneath his khaki pants. 

Then he picked her up, and he carried her, laughing and naked, to the bed and laid her gently on the sheets and performed unspeakably delightful acts upon her with his tongue and his fingers.

He spread her legs and stroked her with one, two, and three fingers until she cried out again, and then he lowered his head to her and lapped at her, finding her clit and sucking it hard, circling her with her tongue, until she gave a little scream. He raised his head smiling, then, and stepped back and swiftly stripped his own clothes.

Then he touched her in an entirely different way, pushing his dick deep inside her and rocking the bed like a ship at sea, waves of sensation pouring over her after a very long drought. He sucked on her nipples, he rubbed his hands, scented with her own scent, through her hair, he locked his lips to hers, and she wrapped her legs tight around his buttocks, and they seethed to a sweaty, gasping finish, both of them at once.

“Let’s do it again,” she said, and he laughed, still panting – but it didn’t take long until they were doing just that; it started with her on top, touching herself at the same time she was riding him.

“Could watch you do that forever,” he said, as her body contracted around his, as every inch of her vibrated with more, more, more. She was so wet and loose and she could take him in almost to his balls.

Then she had him in her mouth, then he had her in his. The sheets were soaked from them, and she reveled in it, the smell of their sex, the steamy summer night. His hands in her body, his hand inside her, his cock in her mouth, her breasts in his. It was like Reno all over again. Maybe even better.


The moon had risen high and yellow in the sky when she slipped out of his bed to get a glass of water in the kitchen. They’d fallen asleep wrapped around each other, covered only by a damp sheet. 

Quietly, she opened his freezer to put an ice cube in her glass. She smiled. She felt feverish from the heat and the sex – and also ridiculously happy.

His footsteps made the linoleum creak, and she spun around. 

“You startled me,” she said.

“I’m lucky you’re not armed,” he smiled. 

He took the tray of ice from her hand, and shook out two cubes. One went in her glass with a little clink. The other he rubbed across her breasts, making her shiver.


“Like,” she breathed, leaning back against the counter, watching her nipples get wet and hard. He ran the ice down her sides, her stomach, and down, down, slipping the last cold sliver inside her pussy. At the same time, his fingers stroked her, and she felt as if she were steaming, cold drops of water running down her thighs now, his fingers making her hot, and very wet in an entirely different, sticky way.

“Oh,” was all she could manage, as she came, again with that sensation of flying outside her body. In and out his fingers moved; again and again she came. He took out another ice cube, and rubbed it all over her, cheeks, lips, nipples, belly, grazing her pussy, down her thighs, to her toes. She was standing in a little cool puddle.

“We’ve never had our ice cream,” he said, kissing her lips. 

“We could bring it back to bed,” she whispered.