After locating a pen and some paper amongst the strewn materials around my office, I listed the names of the witnesses that were presented during the trial. There was something I was missing. There was a reason why Stroh had neglected to openly give me the full list.
I jotted down a few questions. The first had to do with Norma. Why hadn’t Norma given me the information? Had she delivered it to someone else? If so, who?
I tapped my pen against the pad recalling every detail that I could from the trial. Tomorrow, I would be able to get a transcript, but I needed to have a plan today.
Another oddity that poked at me had to do with the man that seemed to become more and more of a fly in the ointment the more that I worked with him. My father had not appeared today. That he was a no-show was nothing new. It wasn’t unusual that he had something more pressing and important to attend to than a trial that could make or break his son’s career. He didn’t attend the majority of my trials, but his noticeable absence during a high profile case where his colleagues were involved was suspicious. The men in that courtroom were people that my father held in esteem. We had been to weddings, funerals, celebrations, and vacations with these people. Judge CRAB had even tried to hook me up with his daughter at one time.
My father loved to gloat more than he hated to lose. Why would he have forgone the opportunity to rub it in the faces of the people that he had known for years that he was still on top: that he was a winner, that he was better than them?
I scribbled my buzzing thoughts with vigor.
This war was far from over and the thought that it may become “civil” in nature, didn’t scare me one bit.
Chapter 17
Yvette
The words on the transcript of yesterday’s court proceeding were beginning to blur, I had been staring at them for so long. Dylan had become obsessed with dissecting the Menory case to determine the cause of death. He worked through some ideas while I slept on his home office sofa yesterday. When we went to bed together later, I was awakened by the streaming light of his bedside lamp and the sound of his scribbling pencil. I tried to wait him out, believing then that he just needed to jot down an idea or three. An hour later, I finally shielded my eyes with my forearm, pulled the covers over my head, and did the best I could to get some sleep.
He’d left his home before I even rolled over this morning. When I finally reached my office, still more than an hour early, there was a copy of the court session transcript on my desk. He hadn’t left a note or explanation; I knew what my role for the day would be: resident researcher. My mission, which I chose to accept, was to search for any information that would destroy Stroh or any of his pop-up witnesses.
I sighed and took a look at the ever diligent Dylan. His focus was intent on the document in front of him. He had created a steady rhythm while reading. His highlighter moved across the page with a smooth scooching sound. His pencil scribbles sounded like maracas and the turning page a thump of a drum. He added scat like vocals to his one-man band here and there with an occasional “un-huh” or “mm-hmm”.
“Dylan.” I called out to him. He was seated on the other side of the conference table. Although we were not that far apart, I still felt the need to speak louder than normal to get his attention.
He didn’t look up. His eyes continued to dance across the page in tandem with his highlighter.
“We should take a break.” I told him earnestly.
“What?” he questioned, barely audible.
“It’s past time for lunch and we’ve been working since dawn.” I reminded him.
He nodded his head, switching his highlighter to his left hand and adding a pencil to his right. Scribble. Scribble. Highlighter switch. Scooch. Page turn. Pencil switch. Scribble. Scribble. Highlighter switch. Scooch.
“Dylan.” I spoke a little louder this time. “Did you hear me?”
I heaved out a frustrated breath. This still didn’t get his attention.
The case was over. I didn’t understand his need to fixate on it. I knew that he wanted to appeal, but the process was long and cumbersome. He was working as though this case would be heard again tomorrow or in an hour for that matter.
“Dylan.” I called again.
“Take a break if you want.” he replied without looking at me.
For some reason, his ability to disregard my existence agitated me. He had become essential to me, and the thought that I may not be as necessary to him crept into my mind and propelled me to do something that I had never done before.
I pulled my phone from my purse and started a playlist of songs.
The music alone didn’t turn Dylan’s attention toward me. Playing music while working was something that I did often to force myself to complete unbearable tasks. He was used to my jams, and paid them no mind.
Still seated at the opposite end of the table from him, I slid out of my shoes.
“Dylan.” I echoed my earlier call to him. This time I changed my tone to one that dripped with sweetness.
He knew that call. The playful desire in my voice drew him away from the words on the page.
As his eyes lifted toward me, I glided my knee forward and onto the tabletop.
His eyes narrowed.
I pushed off of the floor to slide my other leg onto the table.
Those narrowed eyes darted to my dangling cleavage. In a crouched position, my classic crepe dress with a wide scoop neckline put my ladies on display.
Dylan took in a breath.
Slowly I arched my back in a stretch, elongating my neck toward the ceiling and letting my head fall backwards so that my protruding mounds locked in his attention.
“That chair was getting a little cramped.” I said playfully.
“Vette.” His voice was low and husky.
Tilting frontward and then down to all fours, I let the heaviness of my breasts move my body forward.
His growl matched the huntress like position that I had taken.
Those darkened eyes met my mine with such impact that I knew that my panties were soaked. I knew what the fire behind his stare meant.
I glided back as though I were bowing. My dress fell forward exposing my lace clad behind. I pushed my ass up as far into the air as I could to emphasize its heart shape. I wanted him to remember all of the times he had taken me that way. I wanted him to recall all of the times that he had smashed my ass against him with such need that it sent vibrations rippling through my flesh. I wanted to remind him of the way he ground into me until he was able to flood me with his seed.
I spread my legs apart, my heat and need for him growing.
Dylan’s breathe quickened.
I circled my hips slowly and imagined him planted in my center.
“It feels good to move.” I moaned while leisurely rolling my neck in the same direction that my hips swiveled.
Dylan licked his lips at my sound. He liked it when I was noisy.
“I need to work.” he said in a low voice. His words were denying me, but his eyes were enjoying me.
I sat up on my haunches as though I was going to stop and grant him a reprieve.
“I need to get out of this dress.” I responded coyly.
His eyes widened then.
I moved my hand behind me.
“Yvette. Don’t” He wiped his hand across his face. “I need to—”
The sound of the zipper coming apart stopped his words.
I let the dress fall onto the table, to reveal my purple lace bra and panty set.
Dylan gulped at the movement of my breasts as I tossed the dress from the table.
I would never tire of the way that he looked at me. Like he was hungry and I was a welcome home feast.
I crawled toward him to see how much of a reaction he had.
Peering over the table, I could see his jutted cock tenting his pants and waving in salute to me.
“Hey there big fellow.” I teased before I traipsed my fingers across the stretched fabric.
His
hand sprang up in attempt to grab my wrist, but I retreated quickly.
“No touching.” I warned with a coquettish grin. “You have to work, remember? I am just stretching. Taking a break, by myself.”
“Yvette.” His hooded eyes locked on me with precision. He would indulge me and follow my directions until he wouldn’t.
I knew my Dylan. He wanted me. I had successfully stolen his attention from the case but he was on edge. He could slip right back into work mode if I wasn’t careful. I needed to keep his attention. I needed him to slip into me.
In a few movements I was off of the table and a little further than an arm’s length away from him.
“I needed to stand up.” I hum in rhythm with the sway of my hips. I moved the straps of my bra down one-by-one.
Dylan unbuckled his pants, his eyes riveted on me.
“Now you can sit down right here.” he rumbled.
When I pulled my bra loose, Dylan stood and reached for me.
I did a quick two step to out maneuver my man.
“I can’t sit if you’re standing.” I teased.
I laughed. He didn’t.
Dylan grumbled and stalked to his office door.
When he locked it, I knew for sure, my dance was done.
There was no question that he was ready. I had been successful. The case, for the moment, was forgotten.
Dylan deftly pulled me back against him with his forearm. My legs weakened at the feel of his hardness surging behind my butt cheeks. His hold was confirmation of his claim on me.
His rapid breaths, warm against my neck, stoked my desire even further.
“Dylan.” I moaned and allowed my head fall into that perfect space where his neck and chest connect.
He moved a hand behind the lace of the panties covering my core and cupped my throbbing pussy.
“Is this for me?” he demanded in a deep grumble.
He moved a finger between my folds setting off a time bomb of tickling sensations.
I didn’t answer, instead basking in the feeling of his finger slipping in circles around my clit. His methodical movements were hypnotizing. He repeatedly circled my clit and then slipped a finger in my slit. In response my pussy leaked for him.
He repeated his question along with the pattern. Asking slower, he punctuated his words with his mind numbing touches.
“Is—” He circled my clit. “This—” He slipped his finger into my wetness. “For me?”
I moaned out a yes, with the overwhelming need to feel him.
I tightened the muscles of my center capturing his finger there.
“Does my pussy like that?” Dylan asked breathily.
He rocked his dick against my ass and I moved against his caught finger.
“Yes.” I whined, needing him more than I ever thought I would.
I tried to turn to face Dylan, but he kept me tucked behind his arm and pressed against him.
“You wanted my attention?” his deep voice rolled. “You have it.”
“I want my dick.” I call out, still riding against his finger and palm.
Before I could blink, Dylan had twisted me around and laid me against the table.
I forced my underwear down, as Dylan released himself.
I froze.
He was so hard for me. That sexy, successful man wanted me so much that it pained him.
The engorged state of him made my mouth water.
I moved to his cock and wrapped my lips around it.
The tangy taste of his pre-cum excited me.
My tongue lapped over him repeatedly enjoying the sounds of pleasure that my mouth evoked.
“I need to be inside you.” Dylan commanded as he pulled me up.
Balancing me against the table, Dylan lifted my leg to rest on his hip. He entered with an undulating swell into me.
My breath hitched in my throat. The sensations were too much to take in all at once. His pulsing cock jetting in and out, pumping me into submission, clouded my brain and caused me to close my eyes.
He growled in pleasure.
“Thank you.” I whispered and meant it. I was thankful for the experience of him, for the pleasure that he thrust into me, for the feeling of desire he inspired, and for the satisfaction that his need for me provided.
“Thank you. Thank you.” I whimpered repeatedly as he heaved against me. My emotions were on a climb to ecstasy.
Dylan lurched forward with one last thrust shattering me into an orgasm.
He gripped my body tighter, pulling me closer against him before he cried out.
“Yvette. Damn.” he choked out and collapsed on top of me.
Chapter 18
Dylan
If I could say nothing else about the beautiful woman sitting next to me, re-sifting through information for an already lost case, I would say that she knew how to please a man. For every thought that I had about the case, something about Yvette would force its way in. The time stamp on the nurse’s log for the medicine Brandon Hunter had received and the security camera didn’t match.
The butterfly tattoo on Yvette’s lower back, often called a tramp stamp, flew into my mind. There was no record of Hunter’s medical PIC line being changed for three days. The way Yvette touched me, her small soft hands stroking against my flesh, hardened me. The swell of her breasts that peaked through the half-moon cut top of her dress, overtook the pensive medical words on the page. Yvette was a part of me, a part of my everything.
She looked over at me, her eyes aglow with desire.
She smirked, like she was challenging me. As though the climax I had given her less than five minutes ago was just a prelude and she was waiting for the real song.
I wanted to reach across the table and lick that look right off of her face.
“Come here.” I grunted as though we really needed words. Yvette and I had begun to understand each other without verbal communication.
Yvette placed her file folder to the side, rose up from the chair, and walked toward me.
Before she could take her place on my lap, there was a hard knock at the door.
I kissed her roughly across the seam of her mouth before mating my tongue with hers.
The knock sounded again.
“To be continued.” I rumbled releasing her.
“You know it.” she teased, sliding a hand across the piece of me that I wanted to insert inside of her.
Over the next few days, I went to re-meet with witnesses and follow up with those that I hadn’t known about until the trial. It pissed me off to no end that Judge CRAB let Stroh send a parade of undocumented witnesses through his courtroom like a fashion show. I was also able to get some of the witness interviews that had mysteriously been misplaced until after the trial. The hospital had held a postmortem discussion concerning Brandon Hunter and they had interviewed several of the witnesses that testified in the case. I compared the hospital witness list and the defense witness list. The only one missing from the court witness list that appeared in the hospital interviews was a janitor that went into the room right after the death occurred to clean.
If Stroh could have used him against us in the case, he definitely would have. There had to have been a reason that he was missing in action during the trial. When I made the phone call to him at his home and explained my reason for the contact, he was reluctant to speak at first, but when I offered to meet him and look into providing his college enrolled daughter a scholarship, his attitude changed completely.
I rushed through the office after the interview, ready to tell my father what I had learned from Jimmy the Janitor. He didn’t testify because he had felt that it was wrong to lie. He knew the truth. There wasn’t much that got past him. He knew everyone and everything in that wing of the hospital. He was the break that I needed, the tipping point to finally provide justice.
I needed to let my father know that all was not lost, that our company was not walking off of the plank and falling into an abyss. I could reverse the damage.
Sparkly red bottomed hills of breasts danced through the air to the tempo of a woman’s high pitched, cackled laugh. My father’s face was buried in a pair of pert and paid for volleyball sized breasts.
“These are the best tits ever.” My father exclaimed before shaking his face rapidly between the two award winning mounds.
“Sorry to interrupt, but …” I began but stopped mid-sentence when the pair froze in place with their eyes locked on me.
Recognition swung around my eyes and banged me in the head.
“What the hell?” I protested.
“Dylan.” My father rose up from his naughty expedition while the woman’s legs fell down from the air in one swoop.
“Save it Pete.” I wanted to hurl. The sight of the two together was unnerving.
Sophia quickly stood, pushing down her dress with both hands. Her head fell up and down with the direction of her hands as though she were composing her mind and method of delivery along with the material.
“I didn’t want you to see us—” Sophia began as she walked toward me.
“Us?” I questioned before inhaling a sarcastic snort. “You and my Dad are an ‘us’? Do you know how crazy that sounds?”
Sophia reached out, her pointy nails atop of long fingers attempted to brush against me.
I stepped out of her grasp.
“No. This is every kind of wrong.” I told the two, making sure that my eyes connected with the pair.
The softness that Sofia had held, the small amount of remorse that had glinted in her eyes, was scorched away by the tempest of anger that flared.
Object Me: A Bad Boy Lawyer Romance Page 11