by Knox, Abby
She leans back and I seat my cock inside her for the first time. Just a few inches at first, but her arms and legs urge me not to bother stretching her out.
“You need me that bad, your honor?”
“Worse than you know,” she breathes. “Come on, now. All the way in, cowboy.”
“Fuck, the mouth on you,” I grit out, cramming my cock all the way to the hilt.
She muffles her moan by biting her lip, but there’s no need for that. I bite it for her and she whimpers with need into my mouth. I back out of her and thrust in again. We have to keep our lips and eyes on each other to keep from being too loud while I push into her and pull out again, in and out, over and over. I go slowly at first, teasing her pussy with every ridge of me. The way she’s arching up toward me is creating the dirtiest, most erotic, wet slapping noise. She hears it too and her cheeks blush. Our eyes are locked in concentration. We both know we have to make this a quick one.
But it’s so good, it’s a shame to rush it.
I reach between us and tease her clit with my thumb, bringing her closer to the edge. It works. We both topple over the cliff at the same time. Her walls spasm around me as I burst into her, coating her with my seed, making me feel like more than just a man.
She’s claiming me inside of her with every pulse of her pussy. I’m not just a man. I’m her man.
We ride out each other’s orgasms, barely able to remain steady on the edge of her desk. I use my arms to hitch her up, so she finishes wrapped around me, her bare ass visible to the world except for what’s covered by my hands.
“I’m so sorry. I’ll come back later,” comes a shaky, shocked voice from the doorway.
Instantly I shove the robe down to cover Drea’s skin. Her eyes pop open. I slide out of her and she finds her footing.
But it’s too late.
We’ve been seen. Having sex. In her chambers.
Fuck.
I turn around but all I see is a flash of someone in Dockers leaving her office and closing the door again.
“Shit,” she says.
“Babe, who was that?” I ask.
“That would be the reporter from the newspaper looking for a quote about the trial this afternoon. We’re picking a jury for that cold case trial…”
“The newspaper?”
“Yeah. In other words, we’re fucked, Paul.”
Chapter 19
Drea
The headline reads: “County Judge Entertain Ex-Con in Judicial Chambers.”
I take a deep breath. The headline is so terrible, the repercussions so widespread, looking at it literally takes my breath away.
But the subtitle? Even worse. “Source: Parolees Asked to Perform Odd Jobs at Judge’s Personal Residence.”
“Jesus and Mary on a donkey. So this is how my career ends,” I mutter.
I’m sitting in Paul's truck, outside the courthouse. I’m supposed to give an interview to the newspaper in five minutes. I can’t believe they ran the story in less than twenty-four hours without even asking for a quote from me.
Actually, I can believe it.
That publisher has had it in for both me and Ever, ever since my sister resigned her job as editor and never minced words about how overworked and underpaid she was.
Or it might have something to do with his DUI landing him in my courtroom.
I’ve pissed off a lot of people. A lot of people who voted for me, because that is the nature of what I was elected to do.
And now…it’s over. I’m sunk.
Fortunately, Paul is here. He insisted on driving me to work this morning.
He protested when I told him to stop and pick up a paper at the drugstore. He knew it was bad and didn’t want me to see it. In fact, he wanted to go into the courthouse first and do a sweep of any copies of the paper that might be lying around.
But I just want all this over with.
“You want me to go in with you?”
I smile sadly. “No. I just need to be alone and clear my head. Decide what to do. If you’re in there with me, it’ll just give people more things to talk about.”
“As long as you’re not thinking of ending things with me, because I ain’t going anywhere.”
The thought that he would even think I would consider dumping him because of all this is so hurtful I might cry.
“Quite the opposite. I need you beside me every step of the way,” I tell him.
He looks relieved and clutches my hand and kisses the back of it. “You have me. I’m going to work, but I’ll be back here in seconds if you need me.”
“You don’t have a phone,” I say.
He smiles and pulls a flip phone out of his pocket. “Jackson’s paying me in cash until I decide I want to stay on long-term. Got a phone yesterday. And I put the number in your phone while you were sleeping.”
I grin at him. “Paul, are you snooping through my phone already?”
He leans in and kisses my forehead and then my nose and then my lips. “Only if you want me to play the role of the jealous boyfriend.”
I arch an eyebrow at him. “Oooh, I like the sound of that. Maybe later.”
We smooch a little more until it’s definitely time for me to get to work.
The march from the security checkpoint, up two flights of marble stairs and through the oak doors with my name lettered in brass feels like a gauntlet of staring eyes, hushed murmurs, pointing fingers.
I hold my head high and stride into my chambers as if this is any other day.
Someone—I don’t know who—has left something for me on my desk.
It’s a manila envelope, unmarked. No return address, no postmark. Not even my name on it.
I’m scared to open it, but I do.
I should probably have my bailiff call the bomb squad just in case, but then I tell myself I’ve watched too many Unabomber documentaries.
When I empty the contents of the envelope onto my desk, I feel fire in my throat. It’s photos of my letters to Paul in prison. And a note. It says, “I have the letters. If you don’t want me to turn these nasty, disgusting, filthy things over to the newspaper and the county supervisors and post them all over social media, call this number and let’s talk.”
I don’t know what pisses me off more. The fact that someone thinks they can blackmail me, or that they twisted the contents of the letters between me and Paul into something cheap and tawdry.
I have to take a deep breath and step to the window. I push it open and let the morning breeze wash over my face.
What do I do? Call the police?
Call my bailiff in here?
He might be in on it.
Do I put off the newspaper until I come up with a game plan? They’ll just say I’m stonewalling.
What exactly does this person think they’re going to get out of me?
Money? I’m hardly wealthy.
I know I should call Paul, but I don’t want him leaving work on my account.
I pick up my handset, attach my recording device to the receiver, and call the number.
Someone picks it up on the first ring but does not say anything. I stay silent too, hoping the person on the other end will start to feel unsettled and speak first. It’s a trick I learned from Paul.
It works.
“Did you get my note?”
“No,” I say sarcastically. “I just like to call up random corrupt prison guards who are not among my constituents to shoot the shit.”
“Oh, the good judge has a potty mouth. I shouldn’t be surprised, from the content I see in these letters you wrote. Tell me, is that your sexy as hell handwriting? Or did you dictate that to your paralegal? It’s kind of hot to think you went that route. Almost like a threesome on paper.”
I want to vomit. Still, I say nothing. My guess that it was a prison guard who had somehow gotten his piggy hands on my letters was a shot in the dark, and it just paid off in a big way.
And just like the piece of shit amateur he is, he continues to tal
k. “Well, you’re probably wondering what I want, so let’s get right to the point. I want you to drop out of the race.”
That’s it? That’s all he wants?
He wants me to quit my job? Why?
“What’s in it for you? You somehow going to take credit for bringing down an immoral judge and get promoted to warden of Grayhill State Penitentiary?”
He scoffs. “Maybe. Or maybe I just don’t like your boyfriend.”
I don’t reply. Once again, he’s shown his ass. He’s led me right to him. And again, he continues. “And maybe, my people are from that neck of the woods and they don’t much like a female judge doling out punishments for every first-time DUI.”
I sigh, because now this conversation is getting downright boring. “Well, now, I see a lot of those cases. The publisher’s son, the football coach, that pastor that one time. Could you be more specific?”
“Everything was fine in Middleburg until you came along.”
I roll my eyes. So, a general grudge against a woman upholding the law and not giving the good ol’ boys network special treatment when they endanger the lives of people by getting behind the wheel of their pickup trucks half in the bag. Some men still can’t handle the idea of a women with power over them.
“You sound like a smart, well-reasoned character, Earl. Tell you what. I’ll think about it and get back to you.”
As I go to hang up, I hear him reply something about his name not being Earl.
I smile to myself as I transfer the recording to my computer. Then I compose an email to the state attorney general’s office, letting him know he’s got a problem at his state prison system. I attach the phone recording as well as a photo of the contents of the envelope on my desk. I hit send and sit back in my chair.
That was satisfying, but that still doesn’t solve my main problem. What am I going to do about this crisis right here, right now?
Just then, there’s a knock on the door. I call to the person to come on in.
It’s Jeremy from the newspaper. God bless him. He’s about twenty-three years old and looks as white as a sheet. He doesn’t want to be here talking to me about this stuff any more than I want to be talking to him about it.
I gesture for him to sit down and offer him some iced tea from my mini fridge. He declines and swallows hard as he takes out his notebook.
“Interesting article,” I say.
“I…I had nothing to do with those headlines.”
“I know, dear. My sister used to be the editor there; I know how those things work. That character you call a publisher chose those headlines, didn’t he?”
Jeremy nodded.
“Well, go ahead with your questions,” I say.
His mouth is so dry, I really wish he would take me up on that iced tea.
“So…uhm…I wonder if you have a response to the newspaper article?”
“Do you have a specific question?”
“Were you having sex in your chambers yesterday with an ex-convict you sentenced?”
I pull both my lips into my mouth and chew them for a few seconds.
“Yes. I was on my lunch break. Paul and I are dating. Exclusively. He came to see me at lunch. And we had sex. I should not have used my office for intimate relations, but other than that, we’re not doing anything illegal or unethical. Both of us are consenting adults.”
“Our source says he was seen performing handyman-type work around your house as part of a felon rehabilitation program you’re doing. Isn’t that a little unorthodox?”
I fold my hands on my desk and stare at the reporter for a moment, waiting to see if he’ll say anything else, maybe give up his source.
“I have no authority to start any kind of program. Nor do I have anybody working for payment on my house at the moment. My boyfriend, Paul, does like to help out around the house, as any boyfriend might do. But there’s no exchange of money.”
“Our source was fairly reliable.”
I think hard about who has seen Paul at my house and I take a stab. Four people, including my sister and brother-in-law, have seen Paul at my house. “Was she? Did she tell you Paul was helping me out as a favor?”
“Well, she…I mean…I can’t identify our source. One more question.”
“Go ahead with your question,” I toss out as my mind unpacks the fact that it might have been my own sister who sold me out. Surely my campaign volunteers, Remy and Misty, would not have.
But, even if it were any of them, they would have been tricked into it, right? My own sister would never torpedo me on purpose—would she?
“Will you be stepping down?”
“Do you think I should?”
He chuckles awkwardly. “It doesn’t matter what I think.”
“Oh, I think it does. If it didn’t, this story wouldn’t be in the paper. If your opinion didn’t matter there would be no implication here that I did anything wrong. Correct?”
“I…I just need a comment on whether…whether you will be stepping down and if not, if you plan to run again for county judge.”
I pick up a pen and click the end of it compulsively to burn off some anxiety before I give my answer.
“If the mayor thinks it’s best for Middleburg, then yes, I will step down. I answer to the citizens, and he represents the core of my voters. And that’s all I’m going to say on the subject. You can go.”
* * *
“What’s this about stepping down?”
Mayor Lane Myers has personally walked over to my chambers to have a chat. Might as well have people line up and take a number. Not that I have anything else to do today. Out of consideration for the people responding to the uproar, I’ve cleared my docket and moved my cases over to other judges’ courtrooms. And jury selection for the so-called Murder House case has been postponed. I’d rather not make a spectacle out of the law today.
Any more than I already have.
“Hi, Lane.”
He plops down in a wingback chair. I come around from behind my desk and sit in a chair adjacent to him.
“Why is the newspaper reporter asking me if I think you ought to step down? Whose idea was this?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “I know his boss, the publisher, isn’t a fan of me. He could be drumming up all the outrage to get rid of me.”
“What do you want to do?”
“I just want to uphold the law. Yes, what we did was reckless and stupid and there’s no excuse for it. So if you want me to step aside for the rest of my term, to save you and the county some embarrassment, then I will.”
“Fuck ’em,” he says.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“Lane, I’ve never heard you talk like that before. What’s gotten into you?”
“I don't know. I guess I’ve had it easy as mayor and don’t know what it’s like to be in public office as anything else. It feels like someone was just waiting for you to trip up, just waiting to pounce and discredit you. The story came out awfully fast, and now it’s like you’re being tried and hung when you haven’t even committed a crime. It’s somewhat unethical to have sex in your chambers, but honestly, people in this town have sex, like…everywhere. You’d be surprised. I’m suspicious.”
I shrug. “So…what are you saying?”
Lane grins at me and says, “I’m telling you what The Duke told Barbara Walters: ‘Don’t let the bastards get you down.’”
The mayor’s kindness actually makes my smile reach my eyes as we stand and shake hands.
Just as he goes to leave, I have my third set of visitors of the morning.
“See you soon, Lane,” I say. Then, flattening my expression at the people in the doorway, I say, “Ever. Logan. Remy. Misty. Come on in and close the door.”
For this conversation, I need the security of my desk between me and the group.
Everyone remains standing except for the pregnant Ever. I sit with my hands folded on my desk.
“How can I help you all?”
I’m being a hardass. I know exactly why they’re here.
“Drea,” Ever says with a thick swallow. Her mouth is dry. “I feel terrible. I didn’t know…”
My blood is boiling and I have to interrupt. “You did know. And you know better. You used to work for the newspaper.”
“I never agreed to be an unnamed source, and I never said anything about a work program. Jesus, you think I would make all of that up out of whole cloth?”
I sigh and despite my anger, I grab a bottle of iced tea out of the mini fridge and toss it to her. We are still sisters, and I don’t love watching her squirm.
“No, I don’t think you would. Tell me exactly what you think that reporter might have heard.”
She takes a swig of iced tea and rubs her belly. “He must have overheard me.” She looks over at her husband, who grabs her hand in both of his.
Damn, I think. It would be nice if I had Paul here to hold my hand through the tough conversations.
“He must have heard me being kind of rude to Paul at the restaurant and then put two and two together once he saw…um, the two of you together.”
“Then where did he get the idea about a work program?” I turn to my campaign volunteers. “Have either of you talked to the paper?”
Both Remy and Misty deny it. “I have no idea,” Remy says.
“Ladies,” I say to them, “we’ll talk later about how to handle this story. In the meantime, I’m going to have to call for an internal investigation. Someone at the state penitentiary is trying to blackmail me because of some letters between Paul and me while he was still in prison, and I believe that person and the unnamed source here are in cahoots.”
After Misty and Remy leave, I come around the desk to face Logan and Ever.
Logan speaks first. “I know it’s too late, but Ever and I wanted to apologize for flying off the handle about your relationship. And for the way I treated Paul on the job site.”
“Yes, I’m so sorry,” Ever says, her voice cracking. “I shouldn’t…”
I sigh. I cannot stand here and let my very pregnant sister suffer with this guilt. “And I’m sorry too,” I say. “I should have told you right from the start that I’d been communicating with Paul. I knew you would make a fuss so I kept it to myself.”