Novel & Cerita Cop Jokes

"Do you miss me Bella...mia" She could recognize that voice even in her sleep. She stood frozen looking at him with wide eyes. "W..what.." she tried speaking but immediately closed her mouth breathing hard. She glared at him HARD while a handsome smirk appeared on his face. "What the hell are you doing in my house?!" she said,his eyes moving across her body especially on her exposed legs. He suddenly stood on his feet and she moved back, his presence affecting her. "What happened to your elbow" he asked. That was actually the first thing he noticed when she stepped out of the bathroom with a red towel wrapped around her tiny frame. "Why should I tell you that. I owe you no explanation" She said feeling uncomfortable under his scrutinized gaze. He took three long strides towards her before pinning her to the wall, his hot breath fanning her neck. Lexi could feel her heart pounding in her chest as her eyes met his ocean blue eyes. She hates to deny it but he grew much more handsome than before. A slow smirk appeared on his lips as he wrapped his arms around her waist. Lexi shook, trying to push him off but he stood gallantly like a statue, his height towering above her. " Let me ..go.. now" her voice hoarse. " I hate repeating myself Lexi. You might wanna start talking" Lexi Thompson, a retired cop, is trapped in a toxic game of cat and mouse with Antonio Saint Claire, a ruthless mafia kingpin. Lexi Thompson thought she'd escaped Antonio Saint Claire's toxic grasp but his obsession runs deep. Now she must play by his rules to preserve her sanity. Will she find a way to break free, or will their twisted love consume them both ?.

Jessiah is a make-up artist aspiring to break into the modeling and beauty industry. She moves to LA when she lands a job at one of the biggest production companies in Hollywood. On her first week on the job, she meets Jenson Ross, a big-deal actor with a murky past and a dark secret only a privileged few know about. × Genres: Romance, Werewolf, Crime EXCERPT [BOOK I of CALI ALPHAS ] _ _ _ "Dollface," he murmured with a little smirk. He snickered and caressed the back of her head, pulling her closer to his chest. "You're like an antidepressant, in human form." Her breath caught.  Her heart sped up when his hug tightened. His warm face pressed onto her neck, his strong hands lightly squeezing her hips. Moments like this only worsened her attraction to him.  The flirty jokes, the easy conversations, the small smiles, his furtive glances, and his unusually sweet gestures lately... She was in deep trouble. Was he kissing her neck?  Shit. He was no longer thinking straight.  About this. About her. About the consequences. He drew her closer when she tried to pull away. As if he didn't want her out of his sight. While his beard scraped her skin, his thighs touched hers. Her throat ached as he stared into her eyes. "Dammit," he sighed, his thumb tracing the curve of her neck, his touch both gentle and eager.  "Why are you so f-cking beautiful?"  "Joss, I need to g—" "Why now?" he murmured, stroking her cheek. He wasn't acting drunk or playing with her.  Not like this. He wouldn't. Not with her real feelings barely held together by some unspoken truths. Otherwise he wouldn't dare let it get this far.  But why wouldn't he let go? "Just stay. Please. Stay here with me." _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

My name is Clara Kelly. I was born in Brooklyn, into an Irish-American cop’s family. My father spent his whole career walking a beat out of the 84th Precinct. My mother volunteered at the parish. I was the first girl on our block to get into Columbia Law. The year I graduated, I was volunteering at a charity gala. I picked up the wrong glass of wine and ended up dumping it down the front of a man’s Brioni suit. That man was Adrian Francesco Moretti. Fourth-generation Don of the Moretti Family of New York, and one of the five families of Cosa Nostra. He chased me for four years. I said no six times. The seventh time, he stood outside my law firm in the rain until three-fifteen in the morning. I married him. Two decades in, he’d handed me the keys to the entire Moretti Family. In our world they called me “the Irish Donna,” a woman with no Italian blood who somehow held the seat. Childless by choice, the two of us. Famously in love. Until that Wednesday afternoon, when my college roommate of twenty years, my best friend Vivian Sinclair, walked into my living room with a five-year-old boy. She said the boy was Adrian’s son. She said that five years ago, she’d taken a used condom out of the wastebasket in my upstairs master bedroom, kept it frozen for three years, and done IVF. She said she was the real mother of the Moretti heir. She was the real Donna Moretti. “Be smart. Pack your bags and walk out. You might even get to keep your life.” “You’re barren. The Moretti Family doesn’t need you.” I looked at the woman I’d called my best friend for half my adult life. I didn’t say a word. She thought she was holding the winning card. What she didn’t know was that she’d just stepped onto a board Adrian and I had been laying for twenty years. I needed exactly one sentence to shatter every piece of the Donna fantasy she’d spent five years building.