Hot Cop Novels & Stories

Max complied, shutting the door with a muted click. The chief sat in his oversized leather chair, his rotund stomach taking up almost all the space behind the large oak desk. His name, "Jude Raphael," was boldly embroidered on the pocket of his neatly ironed, albeit tight, shirt. The desk bore a brass plate that read "Chief Superintendent," a testament to his authority within the police department. Max stood tall and composed, his hands firmly planted by his sides. Lark, a young and eager officer, mirrored Max's stance, waiting for the chief's question to be addressed.

Then like a movie, the door to the warehouse burst open letting in flashes of the sun's ray. The businessman's eyes opened wide and he turned around curiously as if to see who had the guts to barge into his warehouse. Not less than ten armed cops invaded the building but they were too late. He drilled bullets through Daquan Hillevi, Amaya and Leo's uncle, the commissioner of NYC police department in the head thrice before dropping his cold dead body that fell onto the cold, dusty warehouse floor.

“You have no idea who the fuck you’re messing with, golden cop.” Charles tightens the cuffs around my wrist with an impassive look on his face. “We’ll see.” Lana’s POV Night time, and I sit cross-legged on the worn couch, toying with the little device that caught Ricardo spilling secrets, watching as the news unfolds. “This morning, as early as 7 a.m., local police, led by none other than Charles Gregory—famously known as the golden cop—arrested Ricardo Borrelli, the owner of several prominent hotels and resorts. Borrelli is accused of harboring 35 missing girls, including the senator's daughter, whose disappearance has gripped the nation."

snapped the cop suddenly, grabbing her arm and stopping her from leaving. "What?" she asked in surprise wondering if he was going to change his mind. "I forgot to search somewhere," said the cop with a smile. Sharon gasped loudly as he pulled up her skirt and pressed his hand between her legs, rubbing her pussy through her g-string. She moaned in surprise as he slipped his hand down inside the waistband of her panties and brushed his fingertips across her naked cunt. Sharon's lips parted in a silent gasp as he pushed his finger up inside her. She stood motionless as the cop probed inside her vagina with his finger.

Alex stood, turning to a graying man with a crooked grin— Jamie Torres, his badge read. “I’m Alex, new transfer,” he said, offering a nod. “Jamie, detective,” the man replied, sinking into a chair. “You’re on the Romano case?” Alex nodded. “Yeah. Looking for an edge.” Jamie’s eyes softened. “Watch your back, son. Those bastards are dangerous. Been in this city for years, dodging every trap. Power buys them out, and they trample on anyone in their way.” Alex’s fist clenched. “I’ll prove they’re not above the law.”

"Excuse me, sir," The cop said. "Do you live here?" "Y-yes." He choked out. "Are you Mr Bernard Holloway?" "Y-yes." "Good evening, Mr Holloway," The cop went on, his voice expressionless. "I was wondering if we could go inside and have a talk. My partner is waiting in there. With your daughter." "Y-yes." "Perhaps you'd like to park your car." "Y-yes."

"Hi, I'm Officer Mason Harrison with the Laurel Springs Police Department, and I'm also known as Menace with the Moonshine Task Force." Fuck me, this guy is a cop. No wonder his body is to die for and he made me open up so easily on our date. I wish I could tell you that I paid attention to everything he said in the next forty-five minutes, but the truth is I don't. I just listen to his voice, watch his amazing ass, and try to figure out how to tell him I want to see him again. Every excuse I've given myself is now out the window. Now that I've had a chance to see him, touch him, and look into those amazing eyes of his again. I'm done running, done hiding. I want it all.

Kristi turned in her seat, ready to ream someone out, and looked into the smiling face of Keith McCormick, a radio patrol cop from the local precinct. They'd handled a number of situations together. "I thought I'd introduce you to the latest addition to our fine precinct." She looked over his shoulder into the face of the cop she'd worked today's disaster with and thought, holy crap! He'd looked very professional in his uniform, earlier, with his visored cap shading much of his face as he'd done what was necessary in a disastrous situation. And he never lost his cool.

The red faced man asked but stopped when he saw copler's face. “Hello….” “Who the fuck are you?” The man asked, looking irritated and Copler thought he saw another emotion he could call fear. “Can I see the owner of this place?” “Who the hell are you, motherfucker?” “Detective Copler,” he took out his ID and ashes in the man's face. “FBI.” Immediately, the man made to close the door, but He stopped him with his leg on the door. “I have a few questions to ask, and your cooperation will be needed.”

While this would look like a tragedy to the real world, the underground would see it as a wakeup call. The Mano Della Morte was hunting, and he was hungry. “Andre Bianchi was seen in Jersey three days ago,” one of the cops said as he thumbed through his cash. “I know.” I eyed the young cop, noticing the fire in his eyes. He had dark hair, broad shoulders, and the kind of build that screamed stealth and violence. “You keep tabs on him and report back to me, and I’ll throw you a bonus.” He smirked and nodded. The cops walked back over to their cars and leaned against the hoods to watch the show.