by Dakota Gray
Three years and I’m still “too intense.” I'm never going to be safe. I will respect the boundary she put between us and play within those confines. Were she to lose her head again, get close enough for me to put my mouth on her, I'm going to swallow her whole without remorse. ‘Cause fucking her once was enough for me to know I wanted to do it again and again and again.
I clasp my hands in front of my cock as a reminder that she hasn't given me the go-ahead. “What have I told you about hope?”
“It's a bitch that will nut punch you if you let it.”
“Maybe one day you'll believe me. Now, what are you dropping off?”
She asks me to sign at least five papers before setting a box of documents on Gwen's desk. She also makes a point to let me know she wants her pen back—a constant complaint from her. Apparently people always steal her pens. It’s a fixation with her. I can’t tell the difference from the ones she loves and the ones we use in the office.
Either way, I make sure to hand her back her pen with a flourish after I’m done. Technically, our exchange is over. We should go our separate ways, but she leans against the desk and pushes her dolly upright.
“I hear congratulations are in order. You freed two criminals this week—one being a soul-sucking piece of shit.”
I scoff. She's not talking about the senator's son. Calling Darren Loweski a criminal is like believing you can survive a voyage to the sun—it's a dangerous understatement. “What do you know about Darren?”
“He's a kingpin. A real one. If I see him anywhere I should run in the other direction.”
As she should. “He had his day in court and walked away a free man.”
“It's bullshit. We both know he belongs beneath the jail.”
I tilt my head at her vehemence. Times like this I wish I had her investigated. Maybe she'd make more sense to me. “I was supposed to let my client go to jail because he's a bad guy?”
“You're supposed to have some kind of guilt that he's going to go back out there and do real harm.”
‘Supposed to’ lives in the same place as ‘should’ and ‘hope’ as far as I'm concerned. What's right and fair has very little to do with reality. “As a freelancer you can sit on a high horse and mete out feel-good justice that doesn't have any real world ramifications.”
She puts her hands on her hips and steps into me. “What I do is important. The wheels of justice can't turn if there's no one to file your paperwork. I'm pretty sure there was someone like me who taught you how to fill out a subpoena.”
That's a valid dig. I spent three years of my life learning about legal theories. I had the loan payments to prove it. Being able to argue a case of facts doesn't necessarily help you fill out a TRO or teach you how to navigate the local court’s website to download the paperwork.
“Never said what you did wasn't important. I'm saying your argument is a cop-out.” I hold up my finger and stretch to my full height. “You worked for Lance and Chase. Then you left to start your own legal courier service. How long did you go without benefits or security while your lofty ideals kept you fed?”
She stuffs her hands into her back pockets and shrugs. “Not that long.”
Probably. She left with a shitload of connections and well-wishers who put their money where their mouth was and invested. “Last question.”
She's close enough I can breathe her in. Lilacs instead of lavender, but still the spice of cinnamon lingers in the space she stole from me.
“Most important.” My voice is gruff.
“Shoot.”
“Where's the challenge?”
She makes a face, because we both know how smart she is. Her work keeps the wheels turning. She's damn good at it, but she can be a paralegal or an attorney.
“Running my own business so that it doesn't tank into the ground is the challenge.”
I tsk at the bullshit answer. “You do it so you never have to swallow your pride if someone is actually guilty. You stay on the fringes to keep your hands clean.”
Her chin drops, and I know my words have hit their mark. “Then what is it you do?”
“I defend my clients to the best of my ability.” I raise a brow at her. “But, thank you, for the congratulations. A jury of my client's peers found him not guilty.”
“I see you didn't say he's innocent.”
'Cause he's not. He did every vile thing they charged him with. All I had to do was look the man in his eyes to know that. Discussing that with her crosses a line even for me. “I find that innocent is a debatable word with anyone.”
“And I'm a virgin.”
My gaze drops to her mouth. Full, pink, and sometimes I can't help but remember how soft they felt around my cock. “Could have fooled me.”
I know. I said all that shit about respecting her boundaries. I didn't say I was perfect.
She blushes again, pulling her hands from her pockets to re-situate her dolly. “I'm going to say this, and I know you're not going to listen.”
I roll with the obvious change of subject. “I'm all ears with you.”
“I hear everything that is going on in the office. It's the whole be seen and not heard thing.”
“Okay,” I say now wary where this conversation is going.
“Everything.”
I narrow my gaze. “And what have you heard?”
Her sigh is long and sounds frustrated. “I'll just say you should keep your hands to yourself when it comes to Sheila.”
My insides turn to ice.
Sheila is Preston Lance's legal secretary. He corrals everyone in the criminal department. She helps him do that. She's usually dressed like a school marm—the bun, the glasses, the demure pants suit sketches out that image. All she needs is a brooch and a purity ring to round out her appearance as wholesome. I know she's not.
We ran into each other at my favorite nightclub a few weeks ago. Fade is where pussy seems to rain from the ceiling if you bother to look up.
So Sheila, Fade, and I collided a few weeks back. She had looked fuckably delicious with her blonde curls free and a black dress painted on. My neck had been tilted back that night, but she's not just part of the Sec, she's the boss's legal secretary.
Fucking her isn't just reckless, it's downright career suicide. I don't have time for anything but a booty call. She has fuck-me-love-me written all over her.
I managed to put her off that night. She's been finding reasons to come down from the fourth floor to the second to flirt with me. All I can figure is that she's suffering from a sudden thirst and I'm her drink of choice.
She's going to die from dehydration.
So very cautious, I ask Kennedy, “Wanna elaborate?”
She squints up at me. “If I were a guy, I'd keep my dick to myself.”
That's vague at best. I cup her chin and force her to look me in the eye. “Why?”
Kennedy blinks as her nostrils flare. “You already fucked her, didn't you?”
She doesn't get to ask me who I sleep with, and that means the end of this exchange for me. “Is that all you needed for me to sign?” My voice is gruff again. It's not an act, and it's not all anger, either.
Her tongue feathers over her bottom lip. “Yes,” she breathes.
I drop my hand, though I'm tempted to slip my thumb into her mouth to see what she does. I'm always tempted to see what she might do if I push her boundaries when she looks at me like this. Like she’s waiting for me to bite her.
“Well...I'm heading out. Tell Gwen to call me if there's an emergency.”
“You're leaving?” She sounds like I just asked her to strip naked. “Early?”
“Is that a problem for you, too?”
She sighs. “You're so pissy today. You're usually fun to argue with.”
“Am I?” I snap and prove her point.
“Preston's been in meetings all day.” Her voice and gaze is soft. “Tomorrow, too, from what I've heard. That's why he hasn't called you.”
She doesn't wait for
a thanks. Or even for Gwen to come back. Kennedy leaves those words as her parting shot.
I'd be a liar if I say I didn't watch her strut away.
I then have to mutter to my dick, “Down boy.”
That kind of works. The fact she knew why I'm gritting my teeth and starting arguments where I could...that’s why I want to devour her, push her boundaries.
What does she see when she looks at me? If I can taste that, take it in, and look at those facts with a cold, assessing gaze...
But I've done my best to not slip into my predator skin and pursue Kennedy to get answers. Whatever she saw in me years ago made her run. It's also tempted her time and again. That's not ego or wishful thinking. If Kennedy wanted nothing to do with me, I would have never seen her again. We wouldn't occasionally hold debates outside my office.
And because of that wispy knowledge she's running, resisting whatever pull I have on her, I have rare moments of...chivalry? Humanity? I don't know. I decide to be the good guy and not chase her.
Every now and again those instincts to crouch low, pick up her scent, and do my own version of the wild hunt gut-punch me, mock me, call me stupid, and overall treat me like a humiliation whore.
Thankfully there are some things that keep me in check and remind me I have a life outside of that small, specific hunger for her. Shit, I'm only reminded of a Kennedy-sized craving every few weeks or so when we collide at work in passing.
Now she's going to be my court runner for a month. I just have to grit my teeth and survive almost daily interactions.
Being a good guy.
I need to wash the taste of that fucker out of my mouth—my system. I pull out my phone and text my friends Fade. Tonight. Rounds on me.
CHAPTER TWO
I'm at the bar waiting for Tarek and Nate to show their faces. Though if I miss my friends in passing, that's more than fine. It's Wednesday. Ladies’ Night. The place is packed. Tits and legs are on full display from wall to wall. If I miss my friends in passing that's more than fine. It's a pussy buffet, and I came with a bib and an appetite.
Let me fully paint the picture. Fade has strobe lights, and on occasion, a smoke machine. The DJ never plays a shit song and that means bodies are always on the floor, grinding into each other. At eleven the air's thick from sweat—pheromones too. They have two floors. The second holds couches and tables for people to drink and relax. A long, dark hallway leads to a VIP room but that's not my scene.
I do a quick scan and my gaze stops on familiar cleavage surrounded by blond curls. A red dress clings to a fuckably delicious body.
Shit.
There's no room to slide down the bar and get out of dodge while I can. Sheila is walking toward me, and she is going to fuck up my night. I just know it.
I get the proof ten seconds later. Her hand caresses my shoulder then her mouth is against my ear. “Mr. Alexander, didn't expect to see you here. And you're in jeans.”
I flinch, but she's already sliding between me and the counter, adding a wiggle that makes her tits bounce. I have no doubt she wants to crawl up my dick and spin on it for a few hours.
Why? Don’t know. Don’t care. Her wanting to fuck me isn’t my problem, but I try to be cordial since she’s my boss’s secretary.
“I told you to call me Duke.”
She presses a hand to my chest and then that appendage rides down my torso. She stops at my belt buckle. “Alexander is what everyone calls you at work, and...” She lifts to the tip of her toes to whisper in my ear again. “I like it.”
The assumption in this situation is that I'm a man. My dick must be harder than granite. I'm going to listen to it, and let my cock lead me around like a chump. Sure, I'm sporting a wood. A beautiful woman with great breasts and an easy smile just rubbed against me.
And, yeah, I'm horny as shit. I could probably fuck a hole in cement. So, cement or Sheila? I'd choose the former every time. I don't need this complication in my life.
I have a few choices here. I can be brutally honest with her. That's my favorite option. She won't throw her pussy at me ever again.
I can also tell the lie I have some kind of dick fungus. Something like that would get back to the Sec though. Not even my charm could get favors done after that lie makes its rounds.
Her hand slips lower.
Only for a second do I consider letting her stroke my cock until someone much more suitable comes along.
What? A hand job isn't sex, if you want to be technical.
But, no. No. Not even that.
Sigh. Brutal honesty it is.
I lean down so she can hear every word. “Sheila, I'm looking for someone to fuck tonight. The kind of sex that starts with her trying to swallow my cock whole. If she's good at that, I'll eat her until she comes at least three times. From there, things are going to get fun. When we're done, I'll pay her cab fare and never think about her again. I can't do that with you. Tomorrow I'm going to see you at the office. Unless you're planning to resign, get your hand off my dick.”
To my surprise, she strokes my cock through my jeans. “You can't make an exception, Alexander?”
My jaw clenches. Fucknope. I push her hand aside. “Sorry. Those are my rules and when you fuck me that's what you play by.”
She leans against the bar, undeterred. In that moment I know the type of person she is. Sheila was the child who was told no and badgered her parents, everyone, until they caved. She pouts and I guess it's supposed to be sexy.
I really don't want to use the nuclear option, but it looks like I'm going to have to. “Did you come here alone?”
She names off at least six members of the Sec then makes a face. “And for some reason Jessie invited Kennedy.”
My heartbeat kicks up. “Where?”
She glances behind me. “Here they come. I guess I took too long getting their drinks.” She gives me a coy smile. “I was distracted.”
She's saying this and I'm craning my neck to see behind me. Kennedy's wearing ankle boots, tight jeans and a low-cut shirt. A necklace dangles between her breasts. Her hair is free and curly.
The most interesting thing to note: Her jawline is taut, her eyes are narrowed, and I can damn near see her thoughts her nostrils are so flared. Her eyes might as well be green.
I just might thank Sheila for putting that jealous expression on Kennedy's face. Still, I take two steps to the left to get my personal space back. Elton, the bartender, makes his way over to me. I'm nice enough to share my order with Sheila and pay for everyone's drinks.
As we wait, Kennedy squeezes in next to me. I angle my body toward her, and she flicks her gaze to Sheila who I can almost feel breathing down my neck. Likely anger at the brush off. Probably hoping I’ll pay attention to her again.
Not my problem.
I bend down to Kennedy’s ear. She’ll be able hear me over the music. And I can smell her. Delicious. “What a surprise to see you here.”
“So I was right. You are fucking her.”
“No.”
She edges back and rolls her eyes, so sure I'm the bad guy and I'm lying.
I laugh. “Didn't know you cared so much about who I did or didn't sleep with.”
“Everything aside, and it's a lot with you, you're an amazing attorney. Not a single moral to be found, but damned good at what you do. Fucking her is stupid and reckless. It's not like you.” She glances down and sighs.
“Oh, you know me so well, Kennedy?”
Some emotion I can’t name flashes behind her eyes. “Enough to know you’d fuck her over.”
“I learned my lesson to not fuck people I work with.”
She inhales and I would swear she mutters, “Then what’s stopping you?”
I slide closer to her, my body flush to her front. “What did you say?”
“I see your mood hasn’t improved.”
“I was trying to remedy that before you guys ambushed me.”
She twirls the coke in her glass then glances at me. “Do what you want.
You’re a big boy.”
“What I want?” At least three things come to mind and all three ends with us coming.
Like she’s read my mind, Kennedy shifts and her leg brushes mine. I drag my thumb along her cheek, down her neck until I can free the necklace from between her breasts. I tug on the jewelry to test its strength. It’s too flimsy for one of the three things that crossed my mind. I drop my hand, my knuckles scrap against her middle. Her nipples press against her shirt. Her mouth parts.
I lean back. “What I want is to find someone to fuck.”
“Have you been drinking?”
“No. Why?”
She looks over my shoulder and her mouth pinches. “Nothing. Just don’t be reckless tonight or any night.”
“Unless you’re going to hop on my dick, stop worrying where I might put it.”
She huffs. “You’re such an ass sometimes.”
“What are you talking about? I’m a ray of sunshine.”
She laughs then shifts her gaze to the club. Mine goes back down her body. She’s dressed for fun...My jaw clenches. “It’s been nice and everything….”
She looks at me and her hand goes to the necklace. “I know we really haven’t talked in a while.”
My muscles coil and I wait. “Yeah?”
“I know your fa—”
“Stop right there and move the fuck on.” I hadn't felt my temper rise up before it lashed out, and I'm too blinded to stop the roar of it in my head. I edge forward until we're eye to eye. “You're not a friend or a lover. You're someone I see around occasionally.”
Her cheeks are flush. “When are you going to learn you don't scare me with your bark?” She lifts her chin in a show of bravado.
Her scent drifts up to me and the hot, sharp temper that's choking me loosens its hold. Why that's comforting, I can't begin to understand. I don’t even get why I just tried to rip her head off.
She sighs and reaches up to touch me. She’ll tell me she’s sorry about the death of my father. I don’t want it. Not from her.
I grab my drink and walk away. My blood continues to pound against my temples. The bodies grinding into each other bump into me as I try to make my way as far as I can across the club. When I’m clear on the other side, I breathe and remember why I’m at Fade—to find someone to fuck out my frustration. It’s mounted. I can’t seem to wipe the scowl off my face though. The longer I stand there, the worse my hunt for pussy gets.