In Her Defense

by Julianna Keyes

  My panties are wet. Just the sound of Eli’s voice got me this way. No one has ever had this effect on me before. It doesn’t make sense, but there you have it. My phone beeps again and Belinda’s voice comes through. “Caitlin, line one. It’s Hans Rosenthal.”

  I close my eyes at the mention of one of my most litigious clients. He’s constantly suing somebody, and while he’s a pain, he always pays his bill so I’ve always accepted his calls. But not today. “Take a message, please, Belinda. Tell him I’ll call him after lunch.”

  A pause. “Sure thing, Caitlin.”

  I take a deep breath, make sure no one is watching and shimmy out of my silk thong. I don’t need to look to know it’s embarrassingly wet, and I stand hastily and stride out of the office before I can talk myself out of it. A few people notice when I approach the stairwell, and I try my best to ignore them, even as I know how strange it must look for me to be coming in here two mornings this week.

  Eli’s already on the landing between floors, resting against the wall, looking up at me. “You’re late.” His voice resonates in the empty space.

  “I’m a very important person.”

  “Get down here.”

  I descend, absorbing the power in his gaze, the erection pushing at the front of his pants now that he doesn’t have to hide it. “Never do that again,” he says tightly, gripping my face and backing me into the wall before lowering his mouth.

  I don’t pretend not to know that he’s talking about the unreciprocated blow job, even as I know I’ll do whatever the hell I want. I’m trying to be a better person, not a different one.

  I open my mouth for Eli’s tongue and meet it with my own, ignoring all pretense of mystique or aloofness and wrapping a leg around his thigh, trying to grind myself against his cock. My pencil skirt hinders the progress and he crouches and grips the fabric in his big hands, dragging it up over my hips. He pauses when he discovers my bare folds, thong gone, as ordered.

  “Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he mumbles, pressing a kiss to my mound.

  “Eli,” I whisper, meeting his eye. “Not that.”

  There’s a split second when I half worry, half hope he’ll ignore me, then he straightens and pulls a condom from his back pocket, rolling it on when I unzip his pants. “Now?” he murmurs against my neck, lips torturing the sensitive flesh.

  “Hurry.”

  He ignores the edict and drives into me slowly, holding one of my legs over his hip, opening me for his invasion. My head lolls back as my body gets what it’s been craving since last night—longer, maybe—expanding, accepting him. He nips my lower lip. “This okay?”

  I moan. “You know it is.” I dig my nails into his ass. “Now hurry.”

  He doesn’t hurry, though. He grasps my hands in his, the right grip considerably looser than the left, and pins them to the wall next to my head. I don’t fight him, partly because he’s injured, partly because I just don’t want to. “It doesn’t make any sense,” he mumbles, teeth finding the place where my neck and shoulder meet and biting down until I arch my back and plead for release. “I was so angry at you on Monday, but at the same time, all I could think about was fucking you here, just like this.”

  “Why?” I gasp, grinding my pelvis into his. He’s not moving, just holding me like this, impaled.

  “Beats the hell out of me.” He laughs, tongue tracing my lips before twining with mine once again. “Maybe because you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

  The leg I’m standing on threatens to give out, and I latch on to him more tightly with the other, pulling him even deeper inside me. My pussy clenches around him, supporting the idea, wanting more. Wanting him to move.

  “Maybe it’s because you’ve got more nerve than anyone I’ve ever known.”

  “Eli, please move. Fuck me while you talk.”

  He drops his good hand between us and presses two fingers to either side of my clit, exposing it to his grinding. I suck in a sharp breath as sensations rocket through me, flooding my lower body with an unmistakable request.

  “Maybe it’s because you’re the first person in a long time to make me forget I’m trying to be good.”

  My breathing is no more than panting now. He’s barely moving, just torturing my clit, and I’m so close to coming. “You weren’t good?” I gasp.

  “No.”

  I curve my free hand around the back of his head and scrape my nails through his hair. “I don’t care. We can talk about that later. Fuck me. Right now.”

  He laughs harshly and drive his hips in, just one rough thrust that sends me over. I cover my mouth with my hand as I come, eyes squeezed shut as he fingers my clit, using my body to massage his cock. “That’s better,” he says when I finally still. “Now we can fuck.”

  My eyes fly open to lock on his as he begins to thrust into me, the same deep, hard thrusts I’d pleaded for all weekend, the ones he’d denied me. I realize then that I’d forgotten about the need to focus, distracted for once by the man I’m with and the things he’s making me feel, desperate arousal coursing through me, even though I’d just answered its plea.

  I try to clamp down with my inner muscles but Eli’s not having any of it, propping up my leg with his good arm, making it hard to balance. Sweat beads at his temples and I feel his frantic pulse against my tongue when I lap at the shiny line trickling down his throat.

  “Come, Caitlin,” he orders.

  “I just did,” I gasp.

  “Again.”

  “I can’t—I’m not—”

  He shakes his head. “I hope we’re not having that conversation again.”

  “Eli—”

  He pulls out and grabs my hips, turning me so I’m bent over the railing. We’re at the curve in the stairs so there’s an ascending rail on one side and descending on the other, and I brace an arm around both as he rams into me from behind, making my heels skid out sideways. The loss of balance brings his cock impossibly deep and I cry out as unexpected pleasure takes over, my body racked with endless spasms I can’t make sense of. The blood rushes through my ears and I’m vaguely aware of Eli’s litany of curse words as he comes, hips slamming into mine.

  I don’t pass out, but I feel like I could. Small black spots spin in front of my eyes, and if Eli didn’t tug my skirt back down, I’m not sure I would have remembered. He helps me straighten, then flops back against the wall, pants zipped but not buttoned, the front of his white T-shirt damp with sweat. He watches me wordlessly, and for the first time in my life, I find myself wanting to talk about what just happened. I can’t find the courage to voice the words, but I want to know what, if anything, this means. I’ve never been one of those women who needs to discuss her feelings after sex. I’d always known the score going in, always agreed, always been perfectly satisfied with the status quo. I’ve never wondered. And I’ve certainly never cared.

  I watch anxiously as Eli pulls his phone from his pocket and presses a button. “You can go now,” he says into the receiver, then hangs up.

  My heart thumps against my rib cage. “Who’s done? What were they doing?”

  He glances up the stairwell behind me. “Standing guard.”

  “You told someone—”

  He fixes his pants, and comes forward to smooth a strand of wayward hair behind my ear. “I told him to stop anyone from getting within ten feet of the door,” he says.

  “Did he ask why?”

  “Of course he did.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  He presses a kiss to my temple. “I told him I didn’t know what I was doing,” he says softly. “Just that I didn’t want to stop.”

  * * *

  Haines knocks on my office door shortly after five, and takes the seat opposite me as I finish editing a document for Arthur. “Ready for tonight?” he asks, stu
dying the flowers sitting on the table in the corner of the room.

  “Yes, I think so.”

  “I assume you’ve prepared a few jokes?”

  “I—What?”

  “Just kidding.” His small smile fades and his eyes drift back to the flowers. “You’re the right pick,” he says, then adds, “for Ripley’s lecture,” when I look at him in confusion. “You did good work on Fowler. Better than I might have done, had I stayed on.” Haines had originally been lead on the Fowler class action, but removed himself from the case—and our relationship—when his wife got sick and he returned home to take care of her. “There’s a lot people can learn from you, if they’re willing to listen.”

  “They’re not.”

  He tilts his head in mute acknowledgement. “I meant the flowers as a good luck gesture. It’s also a thank-you. You’ve been handling this...downtime...with grace. It hasn’t gone unnoticed. Joseph and Don—and myself, I admit—we weren’t sure you could do it.”

  “Whatever’s best for the firm,” I reply. We both know I’m lying. That’s never been my philosophy; I’m not sure anyone here feels that way. It’s every man—and woman—for themselves.

  “As for the email...” he begins.

  I wave a dismissive hand. “I’m over it.”

  “Well, I’m not. We found out who put it together and sent it to the staff.”

  Contrary to my previous statement, I sit up straight in my chair. “Who?”

  “Louis Wexler.”

  My jaw drops. Not because I’m shocked to learn I’m not Louis’s favorite person, but because he was dumb enough to do something that could be so easily traced back to him. And because I didn’t suspect him right away. “Louis?”

  A curt nod. “He blames you for his trip to Brazil, the yellow fever, the lost opportunity with tonight’s speaking engagement.”

  I cringe slightly, since all of that stuff is, technically, mostly, sort of, my fault. “Well.”

  Haines smiles a little, but mostly looks bemused. “I thought you’d be angrier. Demanding blood.”

  “Louis is ill. I don’t want his blood.” There’s a pause as he waits for me to say what I do want, but instead I ask, “What about you? Your photo was on that list. What was the caption? Boss Is the New Black?”

  He studies his manicured fingernails. He has a standing appointment every Tuesday and Friday at three o’clock. I used to think it was sophisticated; now I think of Eli cleaning paint and plaster from his hands. Hands that mend walls, throw softballs, torment me beneath the covers. Maybe sophistication is overrated.

  Haines meets my eye and offers a small smile. “It can’t bother us, can it? The things people say? Petty insults?”

  I look at him, perplexed. “No...?”

  “Does a pebble hurt an airplane? It was a ding, maybe. Nothing serious. An irritation. A reminder that no matter how high you get, you’re not untouchable.” His gaze slips past me to the window, the sun reflected in the buildings across the street. “Not even up here.”

  “So that’s it? You’ll just ignore him?”

  He glances over his shoulder, but the door is closed and no one’s looking, anyway. “No, that little shit’s going to pay.”

  I laugh, pleasantly surprised.

  Haines smiles too, waving a hand absently. “I’ll think of something. An apology, to start. I know he wants your office when you leave—that’s off the table. And maybe some pro bono work, he hates that.” He stands and rebuttons his suit jacket. “Well, I won’t keep you. I wanted to let you know about Wexler, and make sure you were okay.”

  “I’m fine.”

  He studies me for a moment. “I believe you. You seem...happy. I know I caught you at a bad time on Monday. The news about the email, the unanticipated visitor. You looked more upset than I expected. I was worried.”

  The fight with Eli. “It’s in the past.”

  “Great.” He claps his hands together, looking relieved. “Have fun tonight. I’m sure you’ll be great.”

  I stand, too. “Of course I will.”

  * * *

  “There she is,” Eli says, pulling open his apartment door when I knock later that evening. It’s only nine, but I stifle a yawn as he kisses me hello and ushers me inside.

  “What inning is it?” I ask.

  “Seventh. How was the lecture?”

  I kick off my heels, strip off my jacket and drop my purse on a nearby chair before lying on the couch. “It was good. Lots of questions.”

  “Anyone ask about the email?”

  “One, but Ripley handled it.” I tell him about Ripley’s response, how the photos had nothing to do with me being chosen as the guest speaker and my work should speak for itself. And that practice really does make perfect, hence my stellar track record.

  “Huh.” Eli grabs a bag of chips and two bottles of beer from the kitchen, then joins me on the couch to watch the game. Something in his tone indicates that his “huh” is less blasé than it would appear.

  “Huh, what?”

  He shrugs. “Just seems unfair that you’re the one who took the brunt of the blame for that email because some guy was bitter about a fucking speaking engagement.”

  “It didn’t really circulate outside of the office.”

  He shifts in his seat to look at me. “It doesn’t bother you?”

  “I’m used to it, I guess.”

  “There are other emails like that?”

  “You know what I mean. Everybody knows who I am, but that doesn’t make me popular.” I bite into a chip. I’m starving. Ripley and the partners invited me out to dinner with them after the lecture, but I’d much prefer a night on Eli’s couch to another stuffy evening at the Charlebois Club.

  Eli traces circles on my knee, but his eyes are on the television. “How much of it’s true?”

  I slant a look his way. “The men in that email?”

  “Yeah. If you want to tell me.”

  I think about what Haines said, how we’re not untouchable, no matter how far we climb. No matter how hard I work. “I’ve never traded sex for anything.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “I know. I dated maybe half the men on that list. The rest were just acquaintances. And I didn’t sleep with everyone I dated. I’d never met Ripley until Monday, and Haines and I got together a year before the Fowler case even came up. Until this morning, I’d never even had sex in the building.”

  “I’ve had a lot of sex in the building.”

  I almost spit out my beer, covering my mouth to catch the spray. “What?”

  Eli tries to keep a straight face, but his chin is twitching.

  “You’re lying.”

  His grin spreads. “Fine. I’ve thought about it a lot. Never done it until you.”

  “There’s a first for everything.”

  “What are you doing with your two weeks off?”

  “I don’t know. Susan’s got a conference in LA next weekend, so I’m going with her for a few days. Otherwise...”

  Eli taps his lower lip like he’s deep in thought.

  “You want to...hang out?” I guess.

  He holds up his injured hand. “I need an apprentice. You want to make some extra cash?” I kick him in the thigh and his beer sloshes onto his shirt. “Caitlin!” he snaps. “Don’t make me waste beer!”

  I slip my knees apart, feeling smug satisfaction course through me when he struggles to keep his eyes on the game.

  “Don’t distract me, either,” he warns. “It’s a tie game. I need to watch so they win.”

  I let my legs fall open farther, skirt hiking up. I’m wearing new white silk panties and I know he can see them in the shadows between my thighs. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, then he scares the crap out of me when he
suddenly twists, pinning one of my legs against the back of the couch and slipping his bottle under my skirt, pressing the cold glass against my heated flesh.

  I screech at the sudden chill, but can’t budge him an inch. “Get it away!” I exclaim, trying to buck him off. “What is wrong with you?”

  He laughs. “I’m just putting all my favorite things in one spot.”

  “If you get a baseball, I’m out of here.”

  He snorts with laughter, then takes the bottle back and drinks the rest, setting it on the floor. “Are you going to be my apprentice or what?” he prods. “You could use a few new skills.”

  “You really think you could teach me something?”

  His lips curl in a sexy, promising smile. “You’ve got a lot to learn, Caitlin Dufresne.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The first thing I learn is that a mandatory holiday doesn’t have to be all bad. Eli and I go to the Friday night baseball game, then back to his place for a weekend of raunchy sex and apartment renovations. I grout a bathtub, remove old wallpaper, hang new wallpaper and lose count of my orgasms.

  He has to work on Monday, but texts me Tuesday morning to invite me to dinner as a thank-you for my help over the weekend. I scrape a fleck of dried paint from my calf and tell him it’s the least he could do, envisioning us sitting on his balcony eating burritos and drinking cold Coronas.

  I’ll pick you up at 7:45. Meet me out front.

  What’s the dress code?

  You always look good.

  I examine my new red pedicure. Are flip-flops okay?

  No. Dress up.

  What?

  Stop texting me. Some of us have to work.

  He ignores me after that, and I’m familiar enough with his habits to know he’s said all he’s going to say. I peruse the neatly organized selection in my walk-in closet, then decide to go shopping, eventually deciding on a bright blue Victoria Beckham dress that clings to my curves and ends above the knee. Because I’ve got time to kill, I spring for new heels that will let my pedicure peek through, and top off the look with diamond studs and red lipstick.