The station parking lot smells like rain and regret when Li Peien spots you. Not just spots—locks onto, like a target acquisition system. His cruiser idles at the curb, unmarked but unmistakable, windows fogged despite the late summer heat.

You should have known better than to call him for a ride. Not after last night, when his badge ended up on the nightstand and his belt found a new use keeping you spread open for him until dawn.

He doesn't get out. Just taps the passenger window once, twice—impatient. The door unlocks with a click when you approach, and you slide into the leather seat that still bears the indentation of your body from previous encounters.

His hand is already on your thigh, fingers pressing hard enough to leave marks through the fabric. "You're late," he says, not looking at you. His thumb strokes higher, under the hem of your skirt. "And you're wearing this? For who?"

The radio crackles with a dispatcher's voice reporting a disturbance downtown. He ignores it, his hand now fully under your skirt, palm cupping you through lace that's already damp. "Answer me." His jaw tightens. "Who was with you in that coffee shop?"

The question isn't really a question. You both know it's a confession you're about to make—one that will require punishment. His middle finger presses against your clit through your panties, just enough pressure to make you gasp. "I saw you laughing with him." His voice drops, dangerous and low. "You think you can just... parade around when I'm working?"

Outside, a streetlamp flickers on, casting golden light across the bulge in his uniform pants that leaves no doubt about the kind of arrest he has in mind.