by Stella Moore
“Why would anyone from this office talk to your parents?”
“My father is William French.”
“Fuck. As in, every country star’s favorite divorce attorney William French?” She nodded. “I'm an idiot. How did I not put that together? I'm surprised I haven't gotten a call from the governor to remove you from the trial.”
“My parents and I aren't on speaking terms at the moment. They aren't happy that I've decided to testify.”
Christopher stood and ran a hand through his hair in a gesture of impatience she was certain he rarely exhibited. “I don't want an enemy in William French. We'll find another expert witness. And I'll find my goddamn leak.”
She pushed the anger, the absolute insult of it aside and stood to face him. “You won't find one who understands this case better than I do. Removing me would be a mistake.”
“This is an absolute clusterfuck. My victim and my expert witness both come from two families who can easily make my life hell. Maybe I should move to Alabama.”
Sympathy trickled through her anger. He really was in an unenviable position. “I can handle my father. I'll do my best to make sure there's no negative blowback on you. Penny is the priority in all of this,” she reminded him.
“Fine. But if your father says he wants you out, you're out.”
She inclined her head in acknowledgement. “I understand. I'll see myself out.”
Back at her office, she instructed her receptionist not to disturb her, and locked the door behind her.
“You can do this,” she lectured herself, staring at her phone. “He's just a man. Just pick up the phone and call him.”
She dialed his cell, half hoping she would just get his voicemail.
No such luck. Her father answered on the second ring. “Hello Melissa.” She winced at his cold, formal tone.
“Hello, father. How are you doing?” She knew she was stalling, but she couldn't help herself.
“I'm well. Is there a reason you called? I have a meeting in ten minutes.”
“Mother came to see me the other day. About the trial.”
“I am aware. Have you called to tell me you've come to your senses?” He sounded almost bored by the entire conversation. Somehow that was worse than her mother's icy fury.
“I'm still testifying. I just want to make sure that you're not going to cause trouble for the DA or anyone else involved in the case.”
“Why would I make trouble? If you want to ruin your career and reputation, that is your decision. I’ll make sure it doesn’t touch your mother and I, or my firm. I'm not worried about it.”
She was sure she was going to be sick again, but she swallowed against it. “That's all I needed. Thank you.”
When the line went dead, she carefully set the phone down on her desk. She wanted to weep, to rage—anything to get rid of the tension that suddenly gripped her entire body. Instead, she swallowed some aspirin to chase off the headache forming at the base of her skull and gave all of her attention to her patients.
She was packing up for the day when a knock on the door had her looking up as Nancy, her receptionist, walked in holding an envelope. “This just arrived by courier for you, Dr. French. It looked important, so I didn’t want to hold it for tomorrow.”
Melissa held her hand out for the envelope. “Thanks, Nancy. I’ll take care of it.” When Nancy had left, Melissa grabbed a letter opener and sliced the top off the envelope. The paper she pulled out sent a chill down her spine. Someone had gone old school with the threat, cutting letters out of a magazine to spell out a simple message: Don’t Testify.
She carefully slid the paper back into the envelope and studied it, wondering what her next steps should be. There was a part of her that wondered if she should tell Jack, but she didn’t want him to worry if it turned out to be nothing. Deciding to sit on it and see if anything else happened, she opened the safe she kept in her office and slid the envelope inside. Once it was locked away, she finished packing up her things and went home.
Chapter 20
At home, she studied the bottle of wine she'd put a dent in the previous week. But it didn't appeal. She felt like a wire about to snap, and she needed something stronger than wine to help her relax. Jack would be over soon, as they had dinner plans. But she didn't think he would mind changing things up a bit.
When he walked in the front door, she greeted him with a long, deep kiss. Silently, she slid her hand in his and led the way to her bedroom. There, still without a word, she slipped the buttons of her blouse open one by one, exposing the white satin cupping her breasts. Reaching behind her, she slowly released the zipper of the practical pencil skirt she wore before allowing it to slide down her legs to puddle on the floor around her feet.
“I have a request. It's actually more of a need at this point,” she spoke softly as she shrugged out of the blouse and began unsnapping her bra.
“Yes?”
There was a gravelly tone to his voice that told her he wanted her. She didn't think she'd ever get over the thrill of it. “I don't want to think. I don't want to make any decisions or have any responsibilities, at least for tonight. Can you help me with that?”
Concern briefly flickered in his eyes, but was quickly overshadowed by lust. Good. He could take care of her later. Right now, she needed something else from him.
“Then get on the bed. Lay on your back,” he said.
There was no trace of concern or sympathy. Just pure authority and control. It was exactly what she'd wanted to hear. She obeyed, displaying herself for him on her bed. She watched as he reached behind him and pulled the silver handcuffs out of his back pocket. He'd told her when they first started dating that he planned on carrying them more often, just in case. Thank God, he'd followed through on that particular promise.
“Hands up, over your head.” When she was positioned per his instructions, he slipped one cuff over her right wrist.
She gave silent thanks to her own forethought when he slid the other cuff through one of the iron rails in her headboard and secured her left wrist. She tugged at the restraints a bit, satisfied that she couldn't escape.
With his eyes locked on hers, he pulled off the tie she knew he hated, running it through his hands. He wrapped it around his hand a few times, leaving about six inches of it dangling free. When the silky material brushed against her calf, she sighed with pleasure. Where she was used to an instant, burning heat, tonight it was more of a slow build, like gradually turning the heat on under a pot on the stove.
He trailed the tie up her calf, over her knee, to the inside of her thigh, then stopped just short of the dark patch of curls between her thighs. Keeping his slow, torturous pace, he gave the other leg the same attention, in the opposite direction. By the time he reached her ankle, her breathing had become erratic, and she wondered if he could feel the heat pulsing off of her.
Then he leaned over her and placed the tie over her eyes. She whimpered softly as he robbed her of her sight. “Trust me,” he whispered, just before he brushed a light kiss over her lips.
Melissa reminded herself that this was what she'd asked for. For him to take complete control and for her to simply obey his commands. So she relaxed into the bed again, and tried to locate him using her other senses.
Her body jerked in response when his rough hand began tracing the same path he'd blazed with the tie. This time, when he reached the tops of her thighs, he dipped a single finger inside of her. He didn't stroke or apply any pressure. He simply rested there for a moment and then withdrew again. Impatient, burning with need, she arched up in search of his touch.
“Stop,” he said sharply. “Who's in control here?”
She pouted. “You are.” A quick, painful swat to her inner thigh caused her to cry out.
“Care to finish that sentence?” he asked.
“You are, sir,” she replied breathlessly. The things this man could do to her. Her core ached with desire, and she wanted nothing more than to feel him moving insi
de of her. But she had a feeling it would be a long wait.
He continued his languorous exploration of her body. When she felt his hands cup her breasts, she resisted the urge to press herself against him. He twirled each nipple between his fingers, teasing them into hard points. Then his tongue circled one, drawing it even more taut, almost to the point of pain. The other received the same attention. Every cell in her body seemed alive with need as she squirmed beneath his touch.
He moved down her stomach, pressing wet, hot kisses to her inflamed skin, until he reached the place where she ached the most. When he flicked his tongue against her clit, she nearly exploded at the simple touch. Gasping, she reached for him, and was painfully reminded that her hands were held captive. He chuckled at her hiss of pain.
“Naughty girl,” he chided. “If you don't behave, I'll have to punish you.”
She nearly wept with frustration. “Please,” she begged, though she wasn't quite sure if she was asking to be punished or pleasured.
“When I'm ready. Just relax, doc. I've got you.”
With that, he set about torturing her. He slid his tongue inside of her, then circled her throbbing, sensitive clit. Taking his time, he tasted her, pushing her to the edge and pulling her back again.
“Ask me again,” he ordered, and she could feel his breath on her.
“Please, sir,” she sobbed.
“Please, what?”
“Please make me come!” she cried, yanking on the cuffs that bound her to the bed.
“We'll have to work on that,” he commented with a low laugh. Then he bent his head to her again, increasing the pace and the pressure until she went wild beneath him, screaming as the orgasm raced through her veins like electricity.
With the force of it still wracking her body, she felt him shift and press into her. She locked her legs around him, holding him close as he moved within her. Each thrust drove her higher, closer again to that shining, shimmering peak.
“Again. With me,” he demanded, his voice ragged with need. “Come with me, baby.”
Helpless, at his mercy, she could only obey. She went up to the peak again, contracting around him. She felt him pulse inside of her as they fell off the edge together.
Chapter 21
Later, they lay together, basking in the glow of their lovemaking. Jack had removed the tie and the cuffs, so that she could curl into him.
“Thank you.” They'd been wrapped up together for nearly twenty minutes before she spoke.
He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “My pleasure, sweetheart.” He played with the ends of her hair. It fascinated him. It was nearly jet black, but there were so many facets to it. And it was as smooth as silk. How could he be so taken by her hair?
“Are you hungry?” she asked, turning her head to look at him. The tie he'd used as a blindfold had smeared her makeup, making her look younger and so much more vulnerable.
“I could eat,” he replied, running a finger down her cheek.
“What sounds good? I haven't been to the store recently, so there's not much here. We could order something to pick up from that Italian place we like.”
“I love you.” He hadn't meant to say it like that. He'd thought about it, considered the time and place to tell her. But just now, with her relaxed and happy after having given herself so completely to him, he couldn't think of anything better.
Her eyes went wide, then shimmered with tears. “Really?”
“I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it. I've never said it to anyone else.” Had never even considered it before her.
“That's really excellent. Because I love you right back.”
“Want to tell me what happened today?” He loved the way her elegant nose scrunched up when she let her guard down about something unpleasant.
“I called my father today.” She shifted so that her cheek was resting on his chest. “He has no concerns about me testifying in the trial.”
Something told him there was more to it than that. “That doesn't sound so bad.”
“It doesn't, not on the surface. It was what was underneath. The reason he doesn't care if I testify is he no longer considers me a part of the family. Ergo, nothing I do can hurt their reputation.”
The sadness in her voice weighed on him. “That must have been rough.”
“It was. It took everything I had to get through the rest of the day. This helped.” She let her lips curve against his chest. “It still hurts, but I don't feel like I'm just going to break into a million pieces at any second.”
It humbled him that he could do that for her. That she trusted him enough to surrender to him and put herself completely in his hands.
“I wish there was more I could do. Not that I didn't enjoy this,” he added with a chuckle. “But I hate seeing you so sad.”
“You do plenty, just by being here,” she assured him.
“Good.” For now, it could be that simple. The rest they could take as it came. “How did your meeting with Jennings go?”
“It was productive. We're going to have a few more meetings to go over my testimony, but I think everything is going to be just fine. But I'm still hungry,” she reminded him, drilling a finger into his side.
“Watch it, little girl,” he said, sliding a hand down to squeeze her bottom.
She grinned and pressed a loud kiss to his mouth before rolling off of the bed to get dressed. They called in their order, and drove out to pick it up. Back at her place, Melissa set the table with candles and opened a bottle of wine. She started to pour herself a glass, then glanced over at him with a frown. “May I?” she asked, suddenly looking uncertain.
“Why are you asking me?” He was feeling as confused and unsure as she looked.
“That day, after the incident with the wine glass, you told Elisa and Penny not to bring any wine over. I just wasn't sure.”
“Oh. That was just a knee jerk reaction, I guess. Kind of a one-time restriction.” It was his turn to frown into the glass she placed in front of him. “I, ah, guess that's a thing we should talk about.”
She sent him a reassuring smile, then took a sip of her own wine. “I don't mind it. I would appreciate a heads up if you plan to implement something similar in the future, but I'm not opposed to non-spanking discipline, in theory. I am relieved to know that you don't expect me to ask permission every time I want a drink. Speaking of, what about rules? We haven't really discussed any.”
He twirled a forkful of spaghetti as he considered it. “Honestly? I don't like the idea of a list of rules. I deal with that enough at work,” he added with a grin.
She laughed, shaking her head. “I agree. I've seen some women in my practice who thrive under strict rules, but I've also seen women who would feel suffocated by them. For me, I think I would fall into the latter category. A list of do’s and don’ts would just stress me out more than I already am.”
The conversation should have struck him as odd. They were grown adults sitting at her pretty kitchen table, casually discussing the reasons he might have to discipline her. But it was somehow just exactly right for them. “Basically, be respectful and don't put yourself in danger and I think we're good,” he summarized.
“I think I can live with that.”
Chapter 22
That weekend, at Penny's request, Melissa accompanied her to her parent’s house to discuss the trial. She rode in the back seat of Eric's SUV to the impressive brick home in a posh neighborhood. The house should have been intimidating, but Beverly Frost had done an excellent job at creating a warm, welcoming home despite the grandeur. It was a talent Melissa admired, as it was one her own mother severely lacked. She pushed aside the pang of grief at the thought and concentrated on the issue at hand.
“Mom, Dad, you remember Dr. Melissa French.” There was no mistaking the nerves in Penny's voice as she made the introductions.
“It's a pleasure to see you again. You have a lovely home,” Melissa complimented smoothly.
“Thank you. No
w what's this all about?” Beverly demanded, folding her hands stiffly in front of her. Michael touched a hand to his wife's elbow and Melissa wondered briefly if it was a gesture of encouragement or warning.
“Why don't we sit?” Michael suggested, gesturing towards a comfortable looking room just off the entryway.
Beverly led the way, perching on the edge of the love seat with Michael next to her. Melissa joined Eric and Penny on the couch, facing the formidable couple.
“Something's come up with the trial,” Penny said.
“Don't tell me they're delaying it,” her mother interrupted, reaching for her husband's hand.
“No, everything is trucking along on daddy's schedule,” Penny assured her with just a hint of sarcasm. She reached for Eric's hand in an unconscious mirror of her mother's search for comfort. “The DA, um, there's some things,” her breath trembled, “we wanted to ask you. Oh, fuck. I can't.” She turned to Melissa, her eyes pleading.
“There are some issues of a personal nature that may come up during the trial that everyone in this room would prefer to keep quiet,” Melissa kept her voice even and soothing.
“What kind of issues?” Michael asked in a quiet, authoritative voice.
Better to just get it over with, Melissa decided, like ripping off a Band-Aid. “Issues of a sexual nature, Mr. Frost,” she replied, meeting his gaze evenly.
“What could that possibly have to do with the trial?” Beverly’s voice rose several octaves, stopping just short of shrill.
“Oh, God,” Penny moaned softly, burying her head in Eric's shoulder.
“Mrs. Frost, your daughter was involved in an abusive relationship. If they can get it past the judge, the defense team is going to argue that everything that happened to her was consensual.”
Heavy silence fell in the room. “What are you saying?” Michael eventually asked.