21 Hump Street: Sindy and the Crazy Cajun

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Detective Sindy Salazar goes undercover. Deep undercover.

“If there’s one thing I can do,” Sindy says, “it’s get men in trouble.”

After a career disaster in New Orleans, Police Detective Sindy Salazar is exiled to tiny Chalmette, Louisiana. The town has seen better days, but the ambitious police chief thinks Sindy can help restore law and order. She is 21 years old, but she looks so young she can go undercover as jail-bait for police stings.

Her first day on the job, she’s kidnapped by a muscular, blond, sex-crazed Cajun. Can she fend him off until rescue arrives? Does she even want to?

This erotica story has a tough police chief, undercover work, inappropriate outfits, and explicit alleyway crime-sex. It is not appropriate for readers under eighteen.

Excerpt

If Billy was planning to assault me, it would have to be here on this not-very-empty street. He had been told I was underage and off limits. It was a lie, but he didn’t know that. Would he still make a move on me?
Then I remembered my ruined career. The question wasn’t IF Billy would sexually assault me. It was HOW AND WHEN. Because it HAD to happen.
Ladies, bad life choices, such as shooting congressmen in strip clubs, might lead you to places like this. One day you’re a crack detective. The next, you’re dressed like a Lolita-whore in a run-down part of town, hoping to get attacked by a scary sex offender who drools when he looks at you.
“Tell me your name, honey.”

Billy was behind me, leaning in. His breath in my ear made his words sound hot. I shivered.

“Tell me your name,” he insisted.

“Sindy.”

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve seen in a long time.” His lips brushed my ear as he spoke.

I stared across the street, ramrod straight, afraid to move.

“That’s super-sweet,” I said. “Thank you for being so—”

His powerful hands closed on my shoulders and he bodily lifted me off the bench. I was high in the air before I knew what was happening. I didn’t have the presence of mind to hold my skirt down.

“I’m underage…” I said. We had to have an audio recording of me telling him point blank.

“I know you are, honey. In any reasonable culture, you’d be married and pregnant by now.”

“Well in this culture, I’m an American.”

Billy shuffled me in his grip. Soon I was braced against his hip with my legs on either side of his body. One of his giant hands supported my ass.

Billy’s torso was rock-solid and lean—his abdominal muscles rolled against my inner thighs in a way I could really get used to. Even worse (or better?), my body weight was on my crotch, and I rocked back and forth on his hip as he walked quickly up the street.

The bus stop, with its invisible surveillance cameras and implied safety, shrank into the distance.

I couldn’t believe it. This jerk had simply walked up, picked me off the bench, and strolled away. I had just been shoplifted like a pack of gum.

“Billy…”

“You’re so tiny! What do you weigh?”

“I’m in a relationship, that’s how much I weigh.”

“You’re young enough to make mistakes. Not that I’m a mistake.

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