Grant Ryans tapped away at the keyboard, each stroke a hammer blow to his already heavy head. The air conditioning vent above him weakly blew his tousseled brown hair. His eyes strained against the blue light from the monitor. The office had closed. The cubicles were all empty. But the unfinished reports remained. Then there were the e-mails. Still unanswered.

Grant leaned back, the cheap worn out chair creaking its displeasure. He rubbed his face with both hands. Four straight days of overtime and still way behind. Fuck it. He clicked off the monitor and loosened his tie. There was a shitty little bar just down the street with a cute little blonde bartender. Maybe just the thing to relieve the stress from the day.

The little blonde wasn't tending bar today. The beer was warm and the wings were cold. Fucking perfect.

It was just past 10 PM when Grant sank into the seat of the Camry he bought new just over a decade ago. Twisting the key in the ignition caused the engine to crank. And crank. Then finally start. He pulled out of the dimly lit parking lot onto Route 221. It would be a boring hour ride home, but at least there would be no traffic.

York Road was about halfway between the office and Grant's tiny apartment in Cedar Glen. No street lights, and a few nondescript buildings scattered amongst a sea of trees.

After cresting a small hill, the Camry's engine began to buck. The check engine light began to flash. The four cylinder engine sputtered. Then died.

Grant wrestled with the wheel to get the car off to the shoulder and coasted to a stop.

“Fuck me.” He tried the ignition. The engine cranked. And cranked. But did not start. Grant slumped against the steering wheel. “Fuck. Me.”

He popped the hood before climbing out into the warm night air. The wind rustled the leaves on the trees. Small stones along the shoulder crunched beneath his feet. He lifted the hood and reached for his phone. Before he could turn on the flash the hood slammed shut, the old gas struts unable to hold the weight of the hood anymore.

“Fuck. Me.” He stared at the faded silver paint of the hood, the moonlight masking the chips and dings. Not sure who to call, or how he was going to get work tomorrow morning.

Rick? No, that pot head was probably floating on a ganja cloud by now.

Jenny? Fuck no. They broke up a month ago, how would that look?

A pair of headlights appeared at the top of the hill he had just coasted down. He could hitch a ride. Do people still do that? As the car reached the bottom of the hill everything lit up: blue and red, flashes of white. A police car.

“Great.”

The police SUV stopped behind the disabled Camry. A figure stepped out of the Ford Explorer, a flashlight blinding Grant a moment later.

“What seems to be the trouble here, sir?” Her voice was authorative but warm, with a hint of a Chicano accent.

Grant tried futiley to shield his eyes from the glare of the flashlight. “It died. Now it won't start.”

She stood just out of arms reach and lowered her flashlight. “Do you have any ID on you, sir?”

The strobing lights from the police car casting her in red and blue. Her dark hair was tied back in a tight bun. She was shorter than him by a few inches. Her uniform complimented her fit figure.

“Of course, Officer.” Grant plucked his license free from his wallet. The officer took the plastic card from him, her painted nails reflecting the flashing lights.

“Mister Ryans, I am Officer Espinoza of the Lakeview Police Department. Have you had anything to drink tonight sir?”

Fuck. Me.

“Look, Officer Espinoza. I've had a pretty shitty day. I stopped at the bar and had two beers.” Grant swallowed hard. Officer Espinoza's jaw was set.

“Mister Ryans, I want you to put your hands on the hood of the car please, sir.” Her voice firm.

Fuck. A duck. Grant placed his hands on the faded silver hood of his Camry.

Officer Espinoza grabbed his shoulder firmly but not rough. She used a black-booted toe to force his feet apart. His wallet landed with a weak thud on the hood nest to him. Her utility belt jingled as her hips moved. Her hands patted along his shoulders, down his arms. Her fingers brushed against his wrists; they were soft and warm. Down his sides to his waist. Along the belt.

She patted down his left leg, her hand on his inner thigh causing a stirring in his pants. Then the right leg. Grant tried to steer his thoughts to anything else. But the smell of jasmine with a hint of leather kept snapping his thoughts back to the attractive Latina currently running her hands along his body. Espinoza's palms pressed against his ass cheeks checking for anything in his back pockets. Then they slid around the front. Grant sucked in his breath as she squeezed his pockets. Her fingers closing around his stiffening member.

“Mister Ryans, what are you hiding in your pants?”

Grant's voice cracked, “Sorry?”

Before he could protest she undid his belt buckle. With a tug, his slacks were unbuttoned. With deft fingers she dropped his zipper. Dark grey Amazon slacks fell to his knees. Espinoza ran her finger nails over the fabric of his boxers, causing his erection to jump. His mind raced. What the hell was going on here? She ran her hands up his thighs and hooked her thumbs into the elastic band of the cotton boxers. She purred as she pulled the boxers down. Grant's fully erect cock jumped free from its cloth cage.

Officer Espinoza wrapped her right hand around the base of his shaft, her left pressed firmly against his stomach. Her body pressed tightly against his back.

“You're not going to resist are you, Mister Ryans?” Her tone was mocking but playful. She slowly began to pump his cock.

For a brief moment he thought he should tell her to stop, that this was absolute madness but instead a soft moan escaped his lips. “No, ma'am.”

“Good.” Again, she purred. Slowly she stroked from the base of the shaft to the base of the head with a slight twisting motion. She began to squeeze gently on the up stroke and released the pressure on the down stroke, letting her smooth hand glide across his skin.

Grant groaned. Precum began to slowly drip from his swollen head.

Officer Espinoza slowly slid her thumb and forefinger over his head. Grant's knees went weak as her thumb circled the tip of his cock. He had to brace himself against the hood of his car. She began rubbing the precum onto his glans. Using his fluids to lubricate his hard shaft, she increased her tempo. Allowed her hand to glide over the head of his cock and all the way down to the base.

Grant could feel his muscles tensing, his orgasm growing. It seemed as Espinoza could feel it too. Her strokes grew more urgent, her hand slapping against his abdomen. Her grip tightened. Grant's breathing grew ragged. Each exhale a grunt. Officer Espinoza's left arm tightened, squeezing her against his back with intense pressure.

Grant's balls tightened. His toes began to curl in his shoes. His hips bucked. He burst. A rope of cum shot from his cock and splattered onto the hood of the car. A second shot. Espinoza slowed. Another shot. Grant's breath was short and rapid. Espinoza gently pumped his cock as cum slowly dripped from the tip and dropped in globs, landing on the Camry's hood.

Officer Espinoza released him. Grant slowly turned and sat against his car, trying to gain his breath as Espinoza gently sucked her fingers clean of his juices. She keyed her police radio and called for a tow truck.

“Have a goodnight, Mister Ryans.” She flashed him a smile before returning to her car.

Dumbfounded, Grant fumbled with his pants. What in the actual fuck? By the time he got his belt situated, the Lakeview Police vehicle was pulling away into the night.

“I don't fucking believe it.” He returned to his car and plopped down into the driver seat. The leaves rustled in the wind.

Grant laughed to himself. Fuck me.