Free If You Don't Know Me by Mary B. Morrison Page B

hands behind your back,” he said.
    My body was numb. “I can’t. I’m shot.”
    He grabbed my arms, held my hands behind my back. Tightening the handcuffs around my wrists, he said, “You have the right to remain silent . . .”
    I became quiet, praying he didn’t realize the Super Duty was mine. Everything Charles had given me was at my penthouse except the cell underneath my shin. I should’ve gone to dinner with Beaux. Now, I was going to have to call him to get my truck and bail me out of jail.
    I’d shot Chicago three times. This cop hit me once somewhere in the back and I thought I was on my way to heaven where my mama was. Mama was not going to be happy to see me. God wouldn’t have to whup me. Mama probably had a strap waiting for my behind.
    â€œGet up!” the cop demanded. He placed his hand under my armpit.
    â€œMan, let me go and call an ambulance. Can’t you see I’m bleeding?”
    â€œIt was a stun gun. You’re sweating,” he said. “Now get up before I shoot you for resisting arrest.”
    I felt the iPhone beneath my knee. Getting up I placed the heel of my cowboy boot on top of the cell then crushed the screen, praying I’d destroyed the device and the SIM card. Mama had probably put it there. I felt my personal phone in my opposite pocket. The cop never noticed the phone in the grass. He put me in the back of his car and drove off.
    Had this Charles dude set me up?
    All I wanted to do was spend a little time with my son.

CHAPTER 9
    Sindy
    W hat appropriate gift does a single woman give to a married man?
    Something tangible? Intangible? A tie was too basic, yet safe. A hand-painted partially nude tasteful image was thoughtful of her, inconsiderate of his wife. A lap dance was sexy, would make him very happy, and last an eternity in his mind, especially if his wife had never given him one. The latter was what I’d planned.
    Being in Roosevelt’s presence made my pussy pulsate with pleasure. His sexual energy was dynamite and kryptonite rolled together.
    â€œI know it’s been a long day, for both of us,” he said. “Thanks for meeting me here.” He refilled our glasses with champagne.
    The red belly-dancing outfit I’d bought was in a bag in my car. At Roosevelt’s request to the owner, we sat alone in the Lexington Room at Corner Table restaurant. A ten-foot-tall mirror was closest to our table. The curtains were drawn. No one could see in. We didn’t want to see out.
    The waiters were informed not to disturb us. An extra bottle of Cristal was on ice. A small feast of strawberries, chocolate, whipped cream, an assortment of cheese, and red grapes decorated a silver platter that sat in the middle of our round table.
    I wasn’t hungry for food. Neither was he. We focused on one another. My being a virgin didn’t mean I was inhibited. Creativity and exploration over the years made me more aware of my erogenous zones.
    â€œI understand. You have a lot of responsibilities. Your team. Your son. Your family. Your—”
    He kissed me, then said, “You. I want you, Sindy.”
    The sentiments were mutual. My pussy, although it’d never been wrapped around a dick, craved his. Holding his hand, one at a time I pressed his fingertips to my lips. “Which one is your favorite?”
    â€œThe longest. It’s the perfect length to stimulate your G-spot.”
    I liked that he knew where it was but he wouldn’t be sticking anything in my vagina. My ass, maybe. I eased his hand under the table, between my legs, then let him touch my precious pearl. I put his middle finger in my mouth, then let him feel me again.
    â€œPleasant surprise,” he said, this time dipping his finger into the whipped cream.
    Perhaps he was referring to the fact that I didn’t have on panties. Or that I’d initiated contact. Roosevelt smeared the thickness onto my wetness. I was wet