The Divorce Attorney

by Melanie Munton

  Wall-to-wall mahogany. A giant fireplace that takes up a third of one wall. Bookshelves with volumes of law books. A sitting area in front of the fireplace with an arm chair and chaise, both in dark green fabric. Entirely masculine and befitting of his dominant personality that clearly has an edge to it.

  And his bed.

  Oh, God, his bed.

  It’s a four-poster king with sheets in colors of dark greens and browns. It looks more like it should be sitting in a European king’s palace, it’s so imposing and…intimidating.

  Yikes, what a man like Carter could do on a bed like that. And has probably already done.

  Before I know it, I’m standing at one of the posters at the foot of the bed, gazing longingly down at the raised mattress.

  I feel him come up behind me. And if I hadn’t felt him, I would have smelled him. But hearing him speak might just be the best of all three.

  “How many men have had you?” he whispers seductively against my neck.

  “I’m surprised you’d want to know.”

  His hand finds my hip and pulls me back against him. Arousal slams into me as my ass cradles his hardness, my fingers white knuckling the bed post.

  “I don’t want to know. But for some reason, I need to. Fair warning, I’ll hate any answer you give me.”

  “You’re the third guy I’ve ever been with.”

  He hisses out a breath that I can’t interpret. Is he mad? Disappointed? Happy it’s not more?

  I’m not stupid enough to ask for his. He’s had fifteen more years than me to rack up what I’m sure is an impressive number.

  “Oh, darlin’,” he groans, inhaling the scent of my hair. “There’s so much I can teach you.”

  I’ll bet.

  Why do you think I’m here, stud?

  “It’s your turn to attend my class now.”

  Feeling emboldened, I ask, “Can I be the teacher’s pet?”

  He stills. “Do you want to be collared, darlin’?”

  Anxiety rises in my chest.

  I’ve never tried anything BDSM related and don’t have a great desire to. I have a gut feeling I wouldn’t be into it. It’s just always struck me as…cold. Unromantic. I don’t care for a production when it comes to sex. I just want to be taken passionately and rode roughly. I suppose I’ll never know for sure unless I try it. But if that’s part of Carter’s “curriculum,” I’m not sure I can handle playing the role of submissive.

  “Not particularly.”

  I wait nervously to hear his answer. He could end this entire thing right now if his bedroom proclivities lean that way.

  He blows out a heavy breath. “Good. Because that’s not really my style. I want you wild and free to do whatever the fuck you want. I’ll only control you to a point once I get you naked.”

  “You mean you won’t demand things of me? Tell me what you want me to do?”

  My shoulders sag with disappointment. I like how dominant he was in the shed, giving me commands. Grant was never the take-charge type—ever—and I got sick of having to do all the work in bed.

  Carter groans, dragging his tongue up the back of my neck. “Oh, I’ll demand things of you. I’ll just restrain you only on special occasions. And if you disobey my commands, I won’t punish you…much. I might just make you wait a little longer to come.”

  Oh, yes.

  “I think I can live with that,” I breathe.

  He growls in approval and grinds his hips against my ass, working himself up.

  “I was wrong about this dress reminding me of cotton candy. The color matches your eyes, which look nothing like cotton candy. They’re as clear and blue as the water that drips off of glaciers. Or a cloudless Irish sky.” His knuckle trails the length of my arm. “Much like this smooth Irish skin, their color is pale and flawless and perfect.”

  Something slithers around in my chest, circling my heart. Something that feels suspiciously stronger than affection. Something that, if I don’t watch it, might just coil around my heart and hold on for dear life.

  “Let’s not cover up this pretty skin anymore, huh? Something so fine deserves to be gazed upon.”

  I grasp onto the bed post as he slowly unzips the back of my dress. Peeling apart the sides, he slides the material down my body until I’m left in nothing but my midnight blue lingerie. The bra is a demi cup that my boobs are hardly contained by, which I knew he’d appreciate. The panties look almost demure from the front. But one significant aspect in the back is the whole reason I bought the set in the first place.

  “Jesus fuck, Sloane.”

  They lace up right at the base of my spine, the material held together by a small bow.

  And that material is completely see-through.

  The mesh covering my ass is transparent from cheek to cheek, leaving nothing to the imagination. But my front is completely covered by prim satin. I was hoping they’d be a bit of a mindfuck for him.

  My ho conscious gives me a nice golf clap.

  “Tell me these are new.” The demand is contrasted by the pleading note in his voice. “Tell me I’m the first and only person to see these.”

  Meaning he doesn’t want to be getting Grant’s leftovers? Awww.

  “They’re new.”

  His stifled moan sounds as if he’s in pain. He squeezes my hips roughly for a moment before stepping back. Already missing his presence, I look over my shoulder.

  To see him standing a few feet away…just staring at me.

  His arms are at his sides, hands clenching into fists. Then he raises one and rubs his palm down his mouth, appearing aghast. His eyes are searing into my backside, but I don’t know what the hell he’s really seeing. The back of me has never been anything to write home about. If guys ever ogle any part of me, it’s always my boobs.

  “Something the matter, darlin’?” I ask, mimicking his drawl.

  “Yeah, something’s the matter. Your pussy might be too tight for me tonight.”

  Heat pools in my belly. “It fit earlier.”

  “Because you got so wet from sucking on my tongue like it was your favorite fucking lollipop. Which means…”

  I let out a sharp squeal when he lifts me from behind and carries me over to the green chaise before dropping me onto it. The cushion doesn’t really allow me to bounce, but I know my boobs definitely do because he traps them in his gaze.

  Jesus, it’s like laser beams are scalding my skin everywhere he looks.

  “I’m going to have to give you a different kind of tongue lashing.”

  “Wh—”

  He rips my panties down my legs like a hungry savage. Then he gingerly sets them on the floor like they’re a precious treasure.

  “I so badly wanted to leave those on and fuck you right through them. But it would be a sin to ruin something so beautiful.” He gives them one final yearning glance. “Maybe next time.”

  The contrasts in this man make it feel like I’m on a merry-go-round that never stops spinning. Not to mention, the contrasts in us. Our ages, our sizes, and most especially, our coloring. His tan hand moving up my pale white leg makes everything south of my belly button clench with severe need.

  I don’t realize my legs have closed of their own volition until he lifts an eyebrow at me. “You going to let me in there?”

  Come on in, Counselor. The water’s just fine.

  I lift my right leg and drape it over the back of the chaise, exposing myself completely. With any other man, I might have been nervous. But Carter’s words of devotion to my body, his expression that tells me he’s at my mercy, gives me confidence like no other.

  Once again, he’s proving he’s a real man.

  A guy who makes his woman feel like the sexiest creature that ever existed, whether she’s wearing transparent lingerie or baggy sweatpants.

  He stares at my opening for so long, you’d think he was hypnotized by it.

  Then he…laughs?

  “You know I’m a fucked man now, right?”

  God
, he sounds tormented. What the hell have I done to him? Maybe I went too far with the panties?

  “I’ve just seen the pinkest, smoothest, most perfect pussy on Earth, and I’m supposed to just keep on living normally like my life didn’t just get flipped upside-down?”

  I feel my eyes go half-lidded.

  I just can’t with this man’s mouth.

  He leans forward until his lips brush against my dripping folds. “Fuck me, I just want to live in that. All that heat. That tight grip. Heaven.”

  When he plants his mouth over me, you would think my mouth was the one working him over with the way his eyes roll back and his relieved groan echoes off the walls.

  My back arches off the cushion. My eyes squeeze shut, my leg clamping down over the chaise. He anchors my hips with his hands, keeping his mouth latched onto me so tightly I wonder how he’s even breathing.

  Sweet Je-sus.

  I swear his mouth is moving over me the same way he kissed me on the golf course. He’s making out with my pussy, and I’ve never felt anything more spectacular in my entire life.

  “You’ve created a crazy thirst in me,” he murmurs against my flesh, his hot breath tickling the cool air that’s crept in between our lips. “Fucking come so I can quench it.”

  Then his tongue spears into me.

  And delivers my orgasm right on time.

  “Oh, my God!”

  I buck uncontrollably against his face, needing it to stop because it’s too good. Sensing I’m on the verge of insanity, he gives my clit one last suck and gentles his strokes. His tongue laps me up, cleaning me with a lover’s care. Then he pushes up on his hands, gazing down at me like I’m a species never before seen in the wild.

  “Am I still in one piece?” I ask breathlessly. “Because I think you just split me in two.”

  He nods slowly, as if I’ve just answered something for him. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say no one’s ever done that to you before.”

  If I weren’t so punch-drunk with lust right now, I might refrain from admitting this. “Just twice.”

  Words of outrage look like they’re about to spew from his mouth, but he holds them back. Instead, his jaw hardens, his chest heaving with ragged breaths. “And did you come either time?”

  I shake my head.

  There’s a shift in the intensity occupying the air between our bodies. I can’t quite explain what’s happening, but I do know my answer provides some kind of profound knowledge for him.

  He mutters something under his breath, but I can’t make anything out except fucking beyond me.

  “I hope you’re ready, darlin’, because class is now in session.”

  Lick. Shoot. Suck.

  The four of us slap our shot glasses onto the table as the alcohol burns its way down our already lubricated throats.

  “I’m making tequila my bitch tonight, ladies,” Gretchen pronounces.

  Quinn waves her arms around, making them resemble uncooked noodles. “No, no, no. I want to hear more from this bitch about her night on a magic cock-et ride.”

  It takes us all a minute to realize she’s talking about me because she’s pointing to the empty space to my right, squinting at an invisible person. Harper helpfully moves Quinn’s finger to the left until she’s pointing right at my chest.

  “Ah, there you are,” she says accusingly. “So, tell us already. Did he show you a whole new world?”

  Yeah, I’m not going to reveal the graphic details. That’s for me and Carter only. But… I gotta give ‘em something. Lady Code demands it.

  “We weren’t even in this galaxy,” I confirm.

  A round of cheers and table pounding ensues, making me blush from head to toe.

  “How big is it?”

  “Chest hair or waxed smooth?”

  “What league is his mouth in? Minors or the pros?”

  “What’s his stamina like? I mean, he is older…”

  I go around the table, answering each question in the order they were posed. “The doctor who delivered him probably fainted when she saw it. Chest hair that’s so soft I fell asleep on it as he held me to him last night. His mouth has already been inducted into the Hall of Fame. And his stamina…” I blow out a slow breath. “He’d probably still be taking me in his monstrous bed right now if he didn’t have to be in court first thing this morning.”

  Harper’s mouth hangs open, her drink straw dangling from her lips. “Lord Almighty.”

  “Men like that aren’t real.” This from Quinn.

  “Oh, yes, they are,” Gretchen says wistfully, a mysterious look in her eyes. One that looks oddly like longing. Huh. “They’re like Bigfoot. They live in the wild. Are rarely seen and when they are, it’s usually a case of mistaken identity. And their population is so sparse that their existence is chalked up to myth or legend.” She sighs. “But they’re out there.”

  And I found me one.

  Carter’s “lessons” last night lasted until the wee hours of the morning. Until both of us were so exhausted we fell asleep in a tangle of sweaty limbs and mangled bed sheets. I haven’t slept that soundly ever since I accidentally panic-chugged half a bottle of Nyquil when I thought I was getting the flu right before finals.

  I wish we could have stayed in bed all day today. I’d love to experience the lazy, relaxed side of my dirty counselor. But he had court, and I had to go to a friend’s graduation party this afternoon.

  One that should have been my party, too.

  The depression that swooped in with that realization hit me like a ton of bricks earlier. I would have been receiving my master’s degree right alongside her if I hadn’t taken a year off to work and help pay off Grant’s bills. All for a better credit score that doesn’t mean jack shit now.

  Sure, it was only a year—not ten. But today has just been a harsh reminder of how wonky I’ve allowed the projection of my life to become, all because of one dumbass man.

  And in my grief, I declared it to be karaoke night.

  “Where exactly is Mr. Dick-ens tonight?” Gretchen asks me.

  “Has to work late.” I have to raise my voice when a group of girls start belting out their karaoke song choice onstage. “He said he’d try to come after he wraps things up. But he’s got court again in the morning, so he couldn’t guarantee anything.”

  And, man, I really wish he was here.

  Time with my girls is always great medicine, but dammit, I miss him.

  “What about you, Harp?” Gretchen turns her attention to the blonde. “Is your new guy going to make it?”

  I slam my drink down, staring at her open-mouthed. “What? Since when do you have a new guy? When did this happen? How?”

  She focuses on sipping down the rest of her drink, waving me off. “It literally just happened the other day.” Then she turns a rare sharp gaze on the three of us, saying pointedly, “And I’m not making a big deal of it, so we’re not making a big deal of it. Capisce?”

  “He’s her Ken doll,” Quinn deadpans.

  Harper slaps her arm. “He is not! I told you, I don’t want boring. And, trust me, he’s the exact opposite of boring.”

  Quinn quirks an eyebrow at her. “I know. That’s why I said he’s your Ken doll. Because he doesn’t sound anything like the standard.”

  Interesting. If Quinn—the most jaded and skeptical one of us all—seems impressed by him, then he must be up to snuff.

  Harper lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “We’ll see. Shae doesn’t seem to be a big fan of him.”

  The three of us manage to resist rolling our eyes. Barely.

  Shae is Harper’s childhood best friend. A terrible best friend. But Harper doesn’t see it, and I doubt she ever will. She’s too sweet and blind when it comes to Shae.

  All I know are the basic details of how they became friends, which goes something like, Shae’s mom was a junkie who tossed her off to her grandmother when she was a kid after Shae’s criminal dad bailed on them. Because her mom smoked and drank when she was pregnant
with Shae, the girl’s got problems with dyslexia, not to mention behavioral issues. She got teased in school because of it, and Harper basically defended and befriended her.

  In other words, Shae has depended on Harper for emotional stability ever since they were kids. She leans on her, using her in ways that always benefit her, to the detriment of Harper.

  Simply put, Shae is a bitch.

  None of us can stand her, and the feeling is mutual.

  She knows we can see through her little act, which is why she’s never around when the four of us get together. She prefers to be on her own with Harper, so she can use and abuse her the way she wants away from our judgment.

  We’ve all tried to subtly and not-so-subtly show Harper the light, but she never listens. Her sole argument is that Shae had a rough upbringing and she doesn’t know any better. Everyone in her life has abandoned her, and Harper refuses to follow suit. She needs someone to actually stick around, no matter how hard she tries to push them away, is the excuse she always gives us for her continued support of the girl.

  I call bullshit on the whole thing.

  Shae knows exactly what she’s doing. She’s had years of practice playing on Harper’s emotions and has become an expert at manipulating her into doing whatever she wants.

  Quinn scoffs. “Shae wouldn’t know a decent man if one came up and bit her on the ass. They won’t go near her because her vagina’s probably lined with piranha teeth.”

  I nearly spit out my drink as that image pops into my mind.

  “Don’t start,” Harper warns. “I don’t want to hear it.”

  Quinn throws her hands up. “Okay, fine. Just don’t base your feelings for this guy on her opinion.”

  “I’m not.” Harper sways a little in her chair, her eyes falling shut. “Whoa.”

  It’s then I notice how pale her face has gotten.

  “The tequila kicking your ass over there, Harp?” Gretchen asks.

  The blonde shakes her head, her eyes still shut.

  “When was the last time you ate?” Quinn demands.

  “Um…not sure,” Harper mumbles.

  “Do you have a snack in your purse?”

  Harper folds her arms on the table, dropping her head onto them. “Switched purses earlier. Didn’t put more snacks in.”