Chapter 17
There’s only a week left before my big trial, and I’m here alone in the conference room with my notes, practicing my opening and closing arguments until I can’t see straight.
Again.
I slump back in my chair, mentally and physically drained, and that’s when James strides in, a wry smile curving his lips as he sets takeout on the table and says, “Thought you could take a break from mumbling to yourself in here to eat dinner.”
The food smells amazing. I barely remember the last time I had something to eat that wasn’t a quick snack or a microwavable meal.
“Thanks. And I’m not mumbling to myself. I’m practicing my opening and closing.”
“Looked a lot like mumbling to me. Eat, then we can work on it.”
We sit together, and I devour a quarter of mine before James has the lid off his. He raises an eyebrow at me, like he’s amused by my desperation.
“What? Surprised I can put food down like this?” I ask before stuffing another bite into my mouth.
“No, I’m not. You’ve barely eaten all day.”
I stop chewing, his observation temporarily stunning me.
“How much do you watch me?”
“More than I should,” he says with a tone that borderlines annoyance.
There’s an uncomfortable intimacy in the admission.
Not knowing how to respond, I just keep eating.
We finish our food, and I sit back, looking at him. “Thank you, really.”
“Don’t thank me yet. I haven’t given you my notes on your arguments,” he teases. “Let’s hear it,” he adds, nodding towards the podium that sits in the corner of the conference room.
Nobody has used it since I started working here, so I’d honestly forgotten it was even in the room.
“You want me at the podium?” I ask nervously.
“Practice like you play, Anders,” he says, nodding to the podium again. “Do it right or don’t do it.”
“Yes, coach,” I reply sarcastically as I get up from my seat and settle myself behind the podium.
I look over my notes, fidgeting with my necklace, feeling my heartbeat quicken from the rising anxiety. Knowing I’ll have to do this in front of a jury is already stressful, but in front of James? I want to be perfect.
How pathetic am I that a jury of twelve strangers intimidates me less than the man in front of me?
Apparently, I take too long psyching myself up because James says, “What’s wrong?”
I watch as his eyes trail to where my fingers are still anxiously fiddling with my necklace and quickly drop my hand.
“You make me nervous,” I say honestly.
He smirks. “I make you nervous?”
“Yeah. I—I want to impress you,” I mutter.
“Well, go on. Impress me.”
I release the deep breath I was holding in and run through my opening argument, only to have him respond with, “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Are you familiar with the primacy versus recency effect?” he asks.
“Can’t say that I am,” I admit.
“It’s a theory of jury persuasion. Some trial attorneys feel that primacy, the first thing a jury hears, is what sticks with them the most. And others feel that recency, the last thing a jury hears, is what sticks with them most,” he explains.
“And what do you think?”
“I lean towards recency.”
“Is that why you save all your statements dripping with sexual innuendo and confessions until the end of our conversations?” I jest.
“Do you remember the last thing I said to you before we left the office the other night?”
“I don’t think I could stop even if I wanted to.”
“Every word.”
A slow smile spreads across his face. “Good. Give me your closing.”
So, I do just that.
James watches, arms crossed over his chest, the tilt of his head and the slight narrowing of his eyes reminding me of how intense he can be. How intimidating. How sexy.
I shake the thought away, forcing myself to focus.
As soon as I finish, he gives me a look.
“What? What was wrong with that one?” I demand, my nerves already fraying.
He holds up his hands in surrender. “You’re close, but it needs more.”
I huff, deflating.
“You can’t just rattle off facts and hope to win. They need to feel it,” he says, leaning against the table. His shirt stretches across his shoulders, drawing my eyes to the outline of his body.
I stare him down for a moment, then grab my notes. I hate that he’s right, but I hate the thought of letting him down even more.
I adjust my skirt and straighten my blouse before launching into the statement again, trying to summon the confidence that seems just out of reach. James’s eyes are on me the entire time, and I feel the weight of his attention even as I stumble over my words.
“That’s the strongest one yet,” he says when I finish, his voice neutral but his eyes saying more.
I sit back down, exhaustion pulling at me.
“I feel like I’m never gonna get it right, it’s not gonna stick with the jury the way it needs to, and I’m gonna lose this trial. Fuck. I do not want to lose this trial,” I admit.
He moves closer, taking the seat next to mine.
“I wouldn’t have given you this case if I thought you couldn’t handle it.”
His words should be reassuring, but they only remind me of how much I have riding on this.
“What if I’m not ready? What if—“
“Then we keep working,” he interrupts.
The warmth of his words hits me, but the fear runs deeper. “I don’t have much time left. I feel like I’m in over my head.” I say, hating the vulnerability that seeps into my voice.
“You think every attorney who’s ever tried a case for the first time didn’t feel that way?”
I know he’s right, but I don’t care. All I can feel is my own nerves.
“This isn’t just any case, James. This is a massive fucking case and my first time as first chair.
If I lose, I don’t just lose. I look incompetent.
And so do you for assigning this to me.” I rub my temples, wishing the pressure would disappear.
“Why did you trust me with this? Why are you so sure I’m not going to screw everything up? ”
“I’ll entertain you questioning your own capabilities, but I will not entertain you questioning my judgment,” he says, his voice firm and patient.
There’s a spark of challenge in his eyes, and it lights something inside me.
“And if I don’t stop questioning you?” I ask, daring him.
“Then I’m going to have to give you an attitude adjustment,” he replies, his voice lowering.
He watches me, waiting for my response, and I know exactly what he’s suggesting. The heat between us is undeniable, but so is the tension. It’s electric. Dangerous.
“Well, I regret to inform you, but your judgement seems pretty questionable right now,” I say, giving him a look that tells him I want him.
He turns his chair to face me, his eyes darkening. “Get on your knees.”
I slide out of my chair and kneel on the floor, looking up at him.
I reach for his belt, unbuckling it and then unbuttoning his slacks. He untucks his shirt and starts unbuttoning. By the time I have him unzipped, his shirt is off.
Before I can pull him out of his boxers, he grips my chin and leans forward, bringing his face down to mine and spits in my mouth.
“I’d love to see you try to question me with your mouth full.”
I swallow, lick my lips, and give him a coy smile.
“Brat,” he says, rolling his eyes and leaning back into his chair.
I pull him out, thick and hot in my hand, and glance up. He’s watching me with a look that can only be described as dangerous.
I run my tongue from base to tip, savoring the salt and heat, and he rewards me with a hiss of breath. I take him into my mouth, just the head, slow and teasing.
He groans, the sound guttural, and it vibrates through me, emboldening me. I take him deeper, sliding my lips down his length until he hits the back of my throat, the feeling forcing my eyes closed.
His fingers curl into my hair, tangling at the base of my skull and tilting my head up slightly.
“Eyes on me,” he says, voice barely above a growl.
I look at him, letting him see the want in my eyes.
Saliva slicks my lips as I work him, slow at first, then faster, like I’m trying to wring approval from him with every stroke.
“That’s it, Avery. Just like that.” His words are a low rumble.
I suck him harder, letting my lips form a tight seal as I bob my head. I take him deeper, wanting to push myself, wanting to hear him break. His hand tightens at the back of my head, and he pulls me off of him.
In one swift motion, he clears the surface of the table and pulls me onto it. The notes and documents scatter to the floor.
His mouth is on mine as his fingers work the buttons of my blouse and untuck it from my skirt.
My blouse falls, draping off my shoulders.
His hands land on my waist, slide up my ribs, and cup my breasts over my lace bra.
Moving his hands to my back, he finds the clasp of my bra and unhooks it, then slides my blouse and bra off.
I gasp when the cold office air hits my nipples.
The last time we slept together, we were so hurried and frantic that my bra never came off.
I feel a sudden rush of insecurity at him seeing me topless for the first time.
Although I don’t know why. It’s not like he hasn’t seen everything else already.
He stands back, looking at me, and I watch him, trying to discern what he’s thinking.
“Fucking perfect.”
The world outside the conference room fades, leaving only the intensity of this moment. He steps back into me, running his thumbs gently over my nipples before pinching them.
I inhale sharply, and he grins.
“Where’d all that attitude go, hmm?”
I reach for him, but he stops me, pressing his hand firmly against my chest to lay me back on the conference table. He trails kisses up my thighs over my tights, then unzips the zipper on the side of my skirt. I lift myself slightly off the table, and he slides my skirt down my legs slowly.
I know what he’s doing.
He’s moving deliberately slow to torture me.
And it’s working.
Just when I think he’s going to remove my tights, he stands to his full height and slides his slacks down, keeping his eyes on mine the whole time.
He hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers but doesn’t lower them.
“Keep going. I’m enjoying the show,” I tease.
He pulls them down, and my eyes go straight to his cock.
God, this man is impressive.
If I didn’t still have my tights and panties on, I’d be dripping on this table just at the sight of him.
I bite my lip, fighting a smile. I can’t look away from him.
He thinks I’m perfect? He’s built like a Greek god.
One that I’m aching to worship.
“Just fuck me already,” I groan.
He steps closer, tilting his head, and running his hands up my thighs. “So impatient.”
I open my mouth to respond, but he grips my tights and rips them open.
“James!” I exclaim.
“I’ll buy you more.”
“Whatever. Just—”
He palms my pussy over my panties, feeling how damp they already are.
“All this for me? So wet and I’ve barely touched you.”
He moves my panties to the side and teases me, fingers tracing the slick heat between my legs, and I arch up, moaning, unable to hold back.
His touch is firm, but I want more. I want everything.
“James,” I breathe.
There’s a hunger in his expression that’s almost too much to bear, and it drives me wild.
I’m already desperate for him, and he knows it.
His thumb circles my clit, and he slides two fingers into me, sending a surge of pleasure through my entire body.
I cry out, barely coherent as I clutch at his shoulders.
His rhythm is merciless, and I know I’m close.
“Be a good girl and come for me.”
That’ll do it.
He doesn’t slow. He doesn’t stop. He just watches, relentless, until I come with a wild shudder that makes everything spin.
He removes his fingers slowly and leans over me, his chest against mine. He trails his lips to my throat, biting just hard enough to make me gasp, and I reach between us, guiding him to me.
I want to feel all of him. I need to.
He thrusts into me, and the world narrows to the single point where our bodies meet.
“Fuck, Avery,” he groans, and I wrap my legs around his waist, holding him closer, driving him deeper.
The pressure builds at my center, tighter and tighter.
I dig my nails into his shoulders, desperate for something to ground me. But it’s no use. He demolishes every last thought, every boundary, until the only thing left is the delirious build of pleasure.
And when it becomes unbearable and I topple over the edge, I shatter around him. My body convulses beneath him, back arched, vision scattered and blurred, his name escaping my lips in a strangled cry.
He spills into me with one last thrust, softly kissing my swollen lips.
We collapse together, breathless and tangled, the chaos of papers strewn around us a perfect echo of the chaos inside me.
“Do you know why I gave you this case?” he asks.
I’m thrown off by the abrupt question.
“Well, considering our current naked state, my first thought would be favoritism,” I say, still catching my breath. “But it surely can’t be that because this isn’t a good case.”
He chuckles.
“No, it’s not an easy case. There’s a difference.”
I roll my eyes at the distinction. I don’t care what he says. This is not a good case.
“Okay, so why’d you give me this difficult case then?”
“I know the law isn’t on our side, but that’s why I chose you for this case. If any attorney in this office could wring out the emotion in this case and lay it bare for the jury, it’s you.”