All About the D

by Lex Martin

  After a pause, the door clicks shut.

  But then the memory of the last two days without any calls from him rears its ugly head, and I shake free, batting his hands off me.

  “No. You don’t get to go all radio-silent during the worst week of my life and pretend we’re good now.” Wiping my face, I take a step back.

  The hurt in his eyes almost makes me cave. “Why did you think we broke up?”

  “You said you wanted space. That you wanted a break.”

  He shakes his head. “I wanted to get the media off my back so they wouldn’t hound you. I wasn’t breaking up with you.”

  Sniffling, I cross my arms. “So why didn’t you call? You said we shouldn’t be seen together, and the next thing I knew, my office got your letter requesting your files be sent to Sullivan Montgomery because you were switching law firms. How was I not supposed to view that as a breakup?”

  He scrubs his face. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m an idiot.” A deep sigh leaves him. “Monday night with my family was hell, so then I went home and got drunk with Drew. But the next morning, I realized I couldn’t do this the way my family wanted. I’m not willing to apologize for what I’ve done or how I’ve done it. And I’m sure as fuck not giving you up.”

  Okay, maybe I’m not so pissed.

  He peels my arms off my chest and threads our fingers together. “I should’ve called you yesterday, but I wanted to consult our attorneys about defending you, should you get in trouble with the bar. And I spoke to my family again and tried to get them to see you’re not the enemy. You’re the love of my life.”

  When he pulls me to him this time, I let him. Because my knees went weak just now, and I need the support to stand.

  My lip trembles. Wow. Okay.

  “I love you too,” I whisper. He traces my cheek and smiles.

  “I know. I heard.” His fingers thread through my hair. “Evie, I called you this morning, but you didn’t answer, so I went by your place. I brought you flowers and breakfast and a truckload of apologies, but you weren’t home. And when I tracked down your dad, because I was worried sick about you, I kind of thought he was gonna beat my ass.”

  “You went to my dad’s?” I sniffle again through a teary smile.

  “I wasn’t sure who else to turn to. Blowing up Kendall’s work line did me no good, and Damon was completely clueless. Some bodyguard he is.”

  I start to smile, but then he cuts me off. “Why are you moving out east? We can work this out. We’ll deal with whatever bullshit legal red tape you have to face together. All you did was get me a kick-ass contract with Caligula. You did nothing wrong. I’ll testify to that if I have to.” He wipes away my errant tears. “You’re my girl, and I’m not going anywhere. At least not without you.”

  He leans down to kiss me, and I let him, my heart kicking into overdrive when his lips touch me. I reach up to wrap my arms around his neck, except I’m yanked to the side.

  Josh catches me before I can fall over, and we both stop to stare at the culprit. My dog barks and howls and does a little dance to celebrate finally getting Josh’s attention.

  “Chauncey was depressed without you.” I laugh.

  Josh turns to me and brushes his nose against mine. “Not as depressed as I was without you.” He kisses me gently. “Let’s go home.”

  I’m not sure if he means my home or his, and I don’t care as long as we’re together. But there’s one thing I want to be clear about. “I’m serious about quitting the firm, Josh.”

  He shrugs. “I’ll find you something better.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t need your help, but I would like some company as I figure it out.”

  A smile lifts his lips. “As long as I’m there for the ride.”

  37

  Josh

  “Anything you need to do before you go?” I whisper into her sweet-smelling hair. It’s disheveled, stuck up on one side and flattened on the other, but she looks adorable. Her hairstyle goes perfectly with her unconventional choice of footwear, which I goddamn love.

  I take Chauncey’s leash from her and crouch down to scratch under his velvet ears. He thumps his tail on the office floor, easily content. I look up. A fluorescent light buzzes over us, while photos of Malcolm Waller and his wife arm-in-arm with politicians judge us from the walls. “Or can we just get out of here?”

  In the last few minutes, Evie seems lighter, her face at ease, and a twinkle brightening her striking eyes. She stands up straighter, taller, even in those ridiculous slippers, which make her feet cartoonish, like Minnie Mouse’s. But she’s smiling like I’ve never seen her smile before.

  My smile matches hers, and I feel the same way. Elated. Giddy. Fuck the world, we’re in it together.

  “I just need to grab a few things from my office,” she says. “My diplomas. My lucky purple pen. My framed picture of Norm Abram.”

  I cross over to her and lift her chin. The dusting of freckles on her cheeks catches my attention, and I kiss three of them in a row. “Do you really have a framed picture of Norm Abram? The guy from This Old House?”

  She giggles and nods, looking younger, lighthearted, animated. “He’s my hero. Well, one of them. I have Tom Silva, the contractor, too. Signed.” She wiggles her eyebrows, pleased with herself, and I fall even more in love with her quirky, DIY self. She spins and heads to the door, then calls over her shoulder, “Come with me.”

  I follow her down the Shutter Island gray hall of her law firm, past cubicles and lawyer’s offices, holding her dog’s leash. Evie marches out like she’s a drum major in the Grand Floral Parade, not giving a damn that everyone is staring at her, but pretending not to. Office chatter ceases as she saunters down the corridor. They don’t know what they’re losing with her. I’m the one who’s winning.

  What a fucking win.

  We round the corner, and her fine ass in tight, ripped, paint-splattered jeans heads to her former workspace. When we get to a dark corner at the end of the hall, she gestures at an open door next to a vacant corner office. I’ve never been to it, always meeting her in a conference room so we could be above-board.

  “This is mine,” she says. “Or it was.” She flips the lights, which splutter and then flicker on.

  I follow her in, and she motions to her dog to sit. Chauncey settles himself into a corner as I look around. Like her home when I first met her, she hasn’t moved in entirely. Two diplomas are nailed to the wall, and papers and files litter the desk and a credenza. There’s not much else. Just a desk with a computer and an office chair. But she does have signed photos of the cast of This Old House on a side table. I stifle a laugh.

  A dark-haired woman with a friendly, but concerned face pokes her head in the doorway. “Is it true?” she asks.

  Evie smiles at her and stacks the framed photos on her desk. “Yes, Penny. It’s true. I quit.”

  Penny’s eyes widen, and she whispers, “Good for you. I wish you the best. You’re better than this place.” Then she looks at me. “Is he the guy?”

  “This is Josh, my boyfriend.”

  “He’s gorgeous,” she blurts.

  “Thank you,” I say and shove my hands in my pockets.

  “You’re gonna be okay,” Penny says to Evie with a reassuring smile, and hands her a plastic container of cookies.

  Evie walks over to give her a hug, says goodbye, and shuts the door firmly behind her, locking it. “There really isn’t anyone else I want to talk to. Let’s get this done.”

  She strides over to lift the framed diplomas off the walls, and in a half-step, I close the distance between us and come up behind her. Wrapping my arms around her waist, I nibble on her neck, breathing in her warmth. I give her a squeeze. Without thinking, my hands follow her hourglass curves, up her body. “I’ve missed you, sweetheart. So fucking much. I can’t wait to get you home,” I say against her skin. “Or maybe we keep that door closed and get reconnected here.”

  Giggling, she pushes my hands down. “We’re in my off
ice!”

  Undeterred, I push her hair to the side and suck the pulse point on her neck, pressing my body against hers. My lips head for her earlobe, my hands smooth up her torso, cupping her breasts over her shirt. She moans. “Is anyone else going to interrupt?” I ask in between kisses. She arouses me like no other woman. The curves of her succulent body, the silk of her skin. Her scent, the way she reacts to my touch. I trail one hand down between her legs.

  She shakes her head and presses her ass into my hardening dick. “Doubtful. I’m a pariah. Penny’s the only one not scared to talk to me. Everyone else thinks my crazy will rub off on them.”

  “I like your crazy.” Now I’m sucking on her ear, and I take it between my teeth. Goosebumps erupt on her bare arms. “It’s my crazy now.”

  She turns around and wraps her hands around my neck, pulling me to her. “I missed you too.” Her mouth seals to mine, claiming me, and I’m claiming her right back.

  We belong together.

  I lift her up, pink slippers and all, and push her against the wall, her legs around my waist, my hands supporting her butt. She wraps around me like a vine, kissing away the doubt, the confusion, the false concerns. And she’s filling me with her, with love. With her intelligent heart and thoughtful soul.

  But goddamn, the friction of her jeans against my zipper is almost too much for me.

  “Sweetheart?”

  “Yeah,” she breathes.

  “I’m fucking the footwear off you. Right. Now.” I set her down gently on the ground, grateful that the lone window along the opposite wall is tinted. She kicks off her slippers, and I unbutton her jeans. Chauncey snores in the corner.

  “I can’t believe we’re doing this,” she says incredulously. But she’s throwing her shirt off over her head and tossing her bra.

  “We are.” I shimmy her jeans and panties down her curvy thighs and throw them on the ground. Then I get an idea. “Your chair.”

  “What?”

  “Come here.” In a flash, my pants are unbuttoned, pushed down, shirt off, and I’m sitting on her desk chair, my hard-on sticking straight up because I want her so badly. “Come here,” I repeat, and she looks at me, confused. “This way,” I say, and spin her around so her glorious glutes are facing me. As she turns, I catch the surprise in her eyes, but I know she’s as turned on as I am. Slowly, carefully, while I sit in the lawyer chair, she settles herself down on my cock, and we both groan. “Fuck, yes.”

  I fill her.

  She’s warm, wet, tightening around me.

  “Josh,” she whispers.

  “I know.”

  “God,” she says, leaning back, her body molding to mine.

  I grip her breasts as she moves against me and revel in the sound of her ragged breath. Fuck, she feels so good.

  But then she sits up straighter and starts to move, and the black pleather desk chair rocks with us.

  “Get yourself off,” I whisper, and I gently grab her hips, guiding her as she raises and lowers herself on my cock. With one hand, I reach around and touch between her legs, finding that sensitive nub that I know will set her off.

  She speeds up.

  Are we going to get caught? I don’t fucking care. We can’t get in any more trouble than we already are—and the only person who matters to me, now, is her.

  The only thing that matters is that she feels good. That she knows how much I care for her. That I want her in my life every moment of every day.

  “I. Can’t. Believe. We’re. Doing. This,” she pants, as she goes faster and faster, up and down, up and down.

  I am in ecstasy. My focal point on Evie and our union. On making it as good for her as I can, on letting her feel the best positions for herself, guiding herself along me until she’s so slick it’s unreal.

  She’s getting close.

  I can tell.

  I can feel the arousal between her legs, the way she’s moving almost maniacally, the way the chair is now tilting back and forth, pushing back across the room as she fucks every inch of me.

  And I love it.

  I love her.

  It feels so right.

  We’ve almost moved the desk chair to the door, the rocking moving us all over her almost-bare office. The chair is starting to squeak for real now, she’s going so fast, but with a muffled cry, she slams back against my chest as her whole body tightens, and she comes on my cock. She’s shaking and quivering, her noises muffled but no less satisfied.

  That’s my girl.

  Once she settles down, I lift her up carefully, walk her over to the desk, shove the papers on the floor, bend her over, and enter her. Her arms stretch overhead, her breasts pushed against the blotter. I watch the way I disappear between her thighs, and everything in me quakes harder.

  “You are so gorgeous, baby.”

  In just a few thrusts, I’m there, pushing into her so high… a pause… and my release pumps into her. After a moment, I collapse onto her back, wrapping her up in a hug under me.

  She giggles and pushes her bangs back. “You did fuck the pink slippers off me.” Getting up, she gives me a hug and looks around at the papers and files that are everywhere, the chair tweaked, the desk askew. “I think we should leave this place as fucked as it’s always been for me. Besides, I heard Angela is getting this office.” Her mischievous grin makes me smile too, and I nod.

  We get dressed, Evie sliding on her slippers as if they were Cinderella’s glass pair. Then we grab her few belongings and Chauncey’s leash, and step out of her office without a backwards glance.

  When we get to my condo, we order Greek takeout and enjoy with a few glasses of red wine. Over the spanakopita, she asks me, “What were you doing in Waller’s office today, anyway?”

  “I was offering to bring the firm more work if they gave you another chance.”

  Smiling wistfully, she whispers, “That was really sweet of you. He’ll be heartbroken not to have you.” She starts giggling, giddy with releasing the stress of the day, and laughs so hard she drops the wine glass on the floor. It shatters, and she rushes to grab some paper towels.

  For once, I don’t care about the mess, although I’m not going to leave it. I get up to get a broom and a dustpan. “Careful, love. I don’t want you getting shards in your slippers.” Because, yes, she’s still wearing those damn things.

  I love them. I love her.

  Once we get the wine glass cleaned up, she looks thoughtful. “What are you going to do about the blog? All two and a half million of your fans?”

  “I’m thinking of signing off.”

  “No! I love your posts!”

  I give her a look. “Even my inbox?”

  She glances down. “Josh, I’m sorry I overreacted.” Her gray eyes meet mine. “I know this comes down to trust, and I trust you. I shouldn’t have freaked out like that, after dinner with Drew or that day at the coffee shop. Honestly, I’ve never been a jealous person, so I don’t know what came over me. The thought of sharing you suddenly hit me in a different way, you know? But I’ll support your blog if you want to continue. I really do love the pics you post and all of the fun we have sending your dick around the world via Photoshop.”

  Taking her in my arms, I gaze into her eyes. “I’ve never been a jealous person either, but when you asked me how I would feel if guys were inboxing you like that, I wanted to punch all those fuckers.” She laughs and nods. “I think the difference is I’ve never been in love, not like this. You… you mean everything to me, and I don’t want to do anything to ever jeopardize our relationship. Besides, some things should be reserved for the two of us.”

  The smile on her face is my answer to what I need to do with my blog.

  The loft is dimly lit now because it’s well after midnight. There’s one thing I think I’ll never get tired of seeing: the way Evie looks tangled in my sheets after we’ve made slow, steamy love.

  Sleepy gray eyes stare back at me from where she’s curled up on my pillow. I study her pale skin against her d
ark hair and the way her chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm, one that matches mine.

  I grab my camera and take a picture of her, snapping her out of her drowsy state, and she squeals.

  “No more pictures, Josh!”

  “It’s just for me,” I say. “I promise.” Leaning over, I kiss her swollen lips and the freckles on her cheek.

  As she curls up on my pillow, the white sheet covering her, I slip on a pair of gray sweatpants and sit at my laptop. And I start typing…

  You saw my dick here because of a bet. A stupid bet. A dare. But I not only won the bet, I also won the love of my life. While she supports me and loves this blog, I’ve decided that this is my last post. I appreciate all of you and how you’ve made All About the D a success. But now, this D belongs to one woman.

  Epilogue

  One year later

  A strong arm wraps around me and pulls me back until I’m nestled against Josh’s warm, hard body. Waking up in his bed—well, our bed—is my favorite thing in the world. After I quit my job last summer, Josh asked me to move in with him. It seemed crazy. Hell, it was crazy, but our whole relationship was crazy, so I figured why stop now?

  The last twelve months? Honestly, it’s been overwhelming, but in a good way.

  After I left Malcolm’s firm, I had some time on my hands. My priority was making sure my license wasn’t in jeopardy, given the scandalous nature of my relationship with Josh and how we were outed. He had his family’s attorney approach the bar to inquire about my situation, and since my boyfriend was truly pleased with how I handled the negotiations with Caligula and the deal I brokered, I learned no one was interested in pursuing any kind of ethics review. That might’ve meant no one wanted to piss off the Cartwright family with another embarrassing situation, but I was grateful to have it behind me, regardless of how it came about.

  But that didn’t mean I wanted to return to Waller, Goldman & Associates.

  Apparently, Josh’s architecture firm had plenty of work to keep me busy, which he cleared with the bar. Since we were already in a relationship when my work for him started—and we disclosed it—I wasn’t in any kind of legal jeopardy moving forward. Josh’s firm does amazing work, projects that excite me, like the new homeless shelter that he’s not only renovating, but also outfitting with full employment and education resources to really help people get back on their feet.