Chapter 17
Luca
F uck. I was going to be a married man.
The ring on Rebekah's finger caught the light as she arranged sunflowers in a cobalt blue vase—a vase I would have never chosen before she came into my life. I sat at the kitchen island, nursing a glass of bourbon, still struggling to process the reality that she had said yes. That she would be my wife.
"You're staring again," she said without turning around, her honey-blonde waves tumbling down her back.
"I'm admiring," I corrected, swirling the amber liquid in my glass. "There's a difference."
My minimalist apartment had transformed over the months she'd lived here. Where cold chrome and black leather once dominated, now colorful throw pillows and framed watercolors softened the edges. Somehow, the blend felt more like home than the carefully curated space I'd maintained for years.
“I’m excited to plan the wedding with you,” she said.
“Tonight?”
“Not tonight, Daddy. Can’t we bask in being freshly engaged for a while?” God she had a beautiful smile.
After I’d proposed at the community center, a group of our friends had run to the florists and bought us a big bouquet, which Rebekah was now adjusting. When she was done, she stepped back to admire her handiwork.
"So," I ventured, keeping my tone casual even as anticipation coiled within me. "Given the occasion—the whole proprosal situation—I wasn't sure if you still wanted to do Thursday Roleplay Night. You know, with the basking and all that."
She turned, sunlight catching in her eyes—those same eyes that had looked up at me with such trust when I'd proposed. The corners of her mouth lifted in a smile that was both innocent and knowing.
"More than ever, Your Honor." Her voice dipped lower, the teasing lilt carrying an undercurrent of desire.
I recognized the look immediately—the subtle shift in her posture, the way her eyes widened just slightly. She was already slipping into her role, becoming the version of herself that craved guidance, boundaries, punishment.
"Good girl," I murmured, watching with satisfaction as a flush spread across her cheeks.
A n hour later, I surveyed my transformed study with critical attention to detail. The leather chair—normally pushed against the wall—now sat centered before my desk. I'd dimmed the recessed lighting, leaving only my brass desk lamp illuminating the space like a spotlight. My law books lined the shelves behind me, their spines a silent testament to authority and order.
I straightened my tie, feeling the weight of the role settling over me. In the courtroom, I maintained strict professional boundaries—but here, in this private space with her, I could wield my authority in ways that satisfied us both.
The soft click of the door announced her arrival. Rebekah hesitated at the threshold, taking in the scene I'd created. She wore a modest, gray, pencil dress—the picture of respectability, save for the flicker of mischief in her eyes and the absence of underwear I'd instructed earlier.
Her lips twitched, fighting a smirk as she took in the legal pad and gavel I'd placed on the desk. "You really went all out."
I didn't respond to her comment. Settling into the power of silence, I simply gestured toward the chair with a measured sweep of my hand. My face remained impassive, though beneath my calm exterior, desire stirred at the sight of her.
"Court is now in session," I intoned, my voice dropping to the register I reserved for the most solemn of judicial proceedings.
The tension between us thickened, anticipation charging the air. This was the beautiful contradiction of our relationship—her playful spirit balanced against my need for order, her surrender to my control all the more precious because we both knew how fiercely independent she was outside this room.
She took the chair in the center of the room, crossing her legs as if she had nothing to worry about. The fabric of her pencil dress tightened across her thighs, and I found my attention caught on the controlled precision of her movements.
I picked up the sheet of paper I'd prepared earlier, taking my time to unfold it. The rustling seemed unnaturally loud in the quiet of our makeshift courtroom.
"Rebekah," I began, my voice low and deliberate, each word measured for maximum effect, "you stand accused of public exhibitionism—removing your clothes outside the residence of a respected judge."
Her eyes widened with feigned innocence, the same look she'd given me when I caught her skinny dipping at my beach house last weekend. She gasped dramatically, her hand fluttering to her chest.
"It was a beach! That's hardly public indecency." The indignation in her voice was almost convincing, but I caught the slight upward tilt at the corner of her mouth. She was enjoying this as much as I was.
I arched a brow, feeling the familiar mantle of authority settle over me.
"You are deflecting. Answer the question: guilty or not guilty?"
She held my gaze, the challenge in her eyes unmistakable. I recognized that look—it was the same one she'd given me the first time we’d roleplayed as student and teacher, when she'd dismissed my position and title with a casual shrug. The look that had made me want to teach her respect, even as I admired her fearlessness.
Rebekah leaned back in her chair, making a show of contemplating her response. Her fingers drummed against the armrest in a rhythm that seemed deliberately designed to test my patience.
"I think the real crime here is inequality," she finally said, her voice taking on that argumentative lawyer's tone she knew drove me crazy. "Men can take their shirts off whenever they please, but if I do it, suddenly I'm a criminal?"
I watched as her hand drifted to the hem of her dress, fingers playing with the edge in a teasing manner that sent heat coursing through me. The gesture was innocent enough on its surface, but her intent was clear in the way her eyes locked with mine, daring me to react.
My grip on the wooden gavel tightened until I could feel the grain pressing into my palm.
"You will not make a mockery of this courtroom," I warned, my voice hardening despite the desire beginning to cloud my thoughts.
The smirk that spread across her face told me my warning had fallen on deliberately deaf ears. In one smooth motion, she stood, her fingers finding the zipper at the back of her dress. The sound of it sliding down was impossibly loud in the quiet room.
This is exactly what she wants , I thought, even as I found myself unable to look away.
With a defiance that was breathtaking in its boldness, she pulled her dress over her head and let it drop unceremoniously to the floor.
The sight of her entirely bare before me—wearing nothing at all—sent a rush of possessive desire through me that was almost overwhelming. The controlled environment I'd so carefully constructed was rapidly slipping away, and I wasn't entirely sure I wanted to stop it.
The silence in the room stretched like a taut wire between us. I inhaled slowly through my nose, forcing my pulse under control, though the sight of her standing there, proud and naked, tested every ounce of my restraint.
"Do you find something amusing about these proceedings, Miss Adams?" I asked, my voice deliberately low.
"Not at all, Your Honor," she replied, the corner of her mouth twitching. "Just exercising my right to comfort in your . . . chambers."
Slowly, I stood from behind my desk. The wooden floor creaked beneath my measured steps as I approached her, circling like a predator. She didn't flinch, didn't lower her eyes—a magnificent display of defiance that both infuriated and aroused me.
"Contempt of court is a serious offense," I said, my voice thick with warning. The words hung between us, heavy with implication.
Rebekah tilted her chin higher, her eyes flashing with challenge. "Then perhaps the court should do something about it."
God, she's beautiful when she pushes me like this.
I closed the remaining distance between us in one swift movement, gripping her wrist firmly. Her pulse jumped beneath my fingers—fast, but not from fear. Never fear with us. I pulled her forward until her body nearly pressed against mine, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from me, the controlled anger and desire I was barely keeping in check.
"Bend over the defendant's chair," I commanded, releasing her wrist with a slight push toward the leather chair positioned in the center of the room.
For a moment, I thought she might resist further—push this game to its breaking point. Instead, her breath quickened, her ample chest rising and falling more rapidly as she turned and positioned herself as instructed, palms flat against the seat of the chair, back arched in a way that was both submission and invitation.
"Like this, Your Honor?" she asked innocently, glancing over her shoulder at me.
I didn't answer immediately. Instead, I allowed myself a moment to admire the curve of her back, the way her hair fell forward over one shoulder, the slight tremble in her legs that betrayed her anticipation.
"Exactly like that," I finally responded, approaching her from behind.
I ran my palm over the curve of her backside, feeling the warmth of her skin. I would never get tired of her. She shivered under my touch, and I savored the way her body responded to me without restraint.
"The court finds it necessary to administer appropriate corporal correction for your behavior," I told her, maintaining my judicial persona even as my control frayed at the edges.
Without further warning, I delivered the first sharp swat to her right cheek. The sound echoed in the room, followed immediately by her gasp—half surprise, half pleasure.
This is what she was pushing for all along.
Rather than pulling away, her body shifted slightly toward me, seeking more. I obliged with another smack, then another, each one measured, each pause deliberate. I watched her fingers grip the leather tighter with each strike, heard her breathing grow ragged.
"Is the defendant beginning to understand the seriousness of her actions?" I asked, pausing with my hand resting possessively on the reddening skin.
"Yes," she breathed, then quickly corrected herself, "Yes, Sir."
I continued, alternating sides, watching carefully for any sign of genuine discomfort rather than the pleasurable kind. When I finally slid my hand between her thighs, I wasn't surprised to find her soaking wet.
"You enjoy being put in your place, don't you?" I murmured, my fingers tracing the damp lines of her pink pussy.
Her body trembled beneath my hand. "Yes, Sir," she shuddered, her voice barely above a whisper.
The sound of those two words in that particular tone—submissive yet eager—sent a surge of desire through me so powerful it nearly broke my control. This was what I needed from her, what we both needed from each other. The perfect balance of power and surrender, of control freely given rather than taken.
I stepped back, allowing her a brief moment to catch her breath. The sight of her bent over the chair, skin flushed and hair mussed, was almost enough to make me abandon our game entirely. But I knew better—knew what she needed from me tonight.
"Stay exactly as you are," I instructed, my voice steady despite the heat coursing through me.
I moved to my desk, pulling open the bottom drawer where we kept certain . . . implements for these occasions. My fingers closed around the small vibrator—elegant, discreet, and remarkably powerful. I clicked it on, allowing the low hum to fill the air between us.
Rebekah tensed immediately at the sound, her back straightening slightly. Even without seeing her face, I could picture her expression—the widening of her eyes, the slight parting of her lips in anticipation.
"For the crime of contempt of court," I declared, returning to stand behind her, "you are sentenced to restraint."
I pressed the vibrator lightly against her through the lace, watching her body jerk in response.
"If you climax without permission," I added, leaning close enough that my breath stirred the fine hairs at the nape of her neck, "your punishment will double."
"That's hardly fair, Your Honor," she protested weakly, but the tremor in her voice betrayed her excitement.
She loves this game as much as I do. The pretense of resistance, the surrender that follows.
"The court isn't concerned with what the defendant considers fair," I replied, slowly tracing the vibrator up the inside of her thigh before letting it rest against her hungry entrance.
I began with the lowest setting, barely more than a whisper against her skin. She writhed against the chair, her fingers gripping the leather so tightly her knuckles turned white. Each small movement, each barely suppressed sound was a victory—proof of the power she'd willingly placed in my hands.
How did I ever get so lucky? I wondered, watching her struggle to maintain composure. This brilliant, beautiful woman who matches me in every way that matters.
"Be still," I commanded when her hips began to move too insistently against the vibration.
"I'm trying," she panted, her voice strained.
I remained outwardly unmoved, though inwardly I was anything but calm. I increased the intensity slightly, bringing her right to the edge before abruptly pulling away. The whimper that escaped her was nothing short of exquisite.
"Please," she whispered, voice barely controlled.
"Please what?" I prompted, trailing my free hand down her spine.
"Please . . . Sir," she amended, trembling with the effort of holding still.
As Rebekah's pleading eyes met mine, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt for the punishment I was inflicting on her. But she knew the rules of our game, and she had willingly agreed to play along.
"Please," she begged again, her voice trembling with need.
I hesitated, considering how much longer I wanted to keep her in suspense. But then I remembered how she teased and taunted me during our day in court, and my resolve hardened. I would make her beg for mercy before giving her release.
"Your impatience will only prolong your punishment," I chided, running the vibrator teasingly along her folds without making direct contact with her clit. "You know you must earn your pleasure."
Rebekah whimpered at my words, squirming in place. "Please," she pleaded again, her voice breaking.
I decided to give her a small reprieve, turning off the vibrator and removing it from between her legs. She let out a sigh of disappointment mixed with relief as I stepped back from the chair.
"You may have a moment to compose yourself," I said coldly, walking over to my desk and pretending to review some papers.
I heard Rebekah's breaths come in short gasps as she tried to calm herself down. She knew that any sign of disobedience would only result in more punishment.
Then she spoke again, breaking through my thoughts.
"I'm ready," she said defiantly, determination shining in her eyes as she met my gaze.
"As you wish, defendant," I responded, my voice firm and unyielding.
Returning to her side, I slowly eased the vibrator between her legs again, watching as she tensed at the first touch of its low hum against her skin. This time, I began at a higher setting, one that made her body rock against the chair in immediate response.
"Remember your place," I warned, my voice barely above a whisper as I held the vibrator steady against her clit. "Your pleasure is mine to give."
I saw her fingernails dig into the leather as she fought to stay still, each small sound she made an offering to me. She was giving herself over completely to this moment, and it drove me wild.
"Please," she begged again, her voice barely more than a whisper. "Sir . . ."
“Don’t even think about it.”
Despite my warnings, I saw her lose control. The final pass of the vibrator was too much for her. Her body arched like a bow, her moan breaking the stillness of the room as she came undone. I watched, captivated by the sight of her—head thrown back, legs trembling, completely surrendered to pleasure. Beautiful. Defiant even in submission.
“Fuck,” she gasped, moisture spilling beautifully from her pussy.
I clicked my tongue, shaking my head slowly as I switched off the device. "And here I thought you'd learned restraint."
"I'm sorry," she breathed, still coming down from her high, her voice carrying a note of satisfaction that belied any real regret.
I slid my hand into her hair, fingers threading through the silky strands before gently but firmly tilting her head up to meet my gaze. Her eyes were hazy with pleasure but still held that spark of challenge that had drawn me to her from the first moment.
"Now, I have no choice but to deliver your full sentence," I said, my voice lower than before.
Her lips curved into the faintest smile. "I accept the court's decision."
The formality of our roles was slipping, but I hardly cared anymore. My control—usually iron-clad—was fraying at the edges, unraveling with each rapid beat of my heart. I helped her to stand, steadying her when her legs wobbled.
"The defendant will approach the bench," I murmured, leading her to my desk.
With one fluid movement, I lifted her onto the polished wood, scattering papers that suddenly meant nothing. I spread her thighs and stepped between them, my gaze holding hers as I loosened my tie.
"Is this the standard punishment in your courtroom?" she asked, breathless but still teasing.
"Special sentence," I replied, my hands moving to her hips. "Reserved only for repeat offenders who seem to enjoy their crimes."
My restraint finally snapped as I kissed her, deep and claiming, tasting the mint from her earlier tea and something uniquely Rebekah. She responded immediately, her arms wrapping around my neck, pulling me closer as if she'd been starving for this contact.
My cock, thick and hungry, ready for her, nudged at her entrance.
“This is going to be a long, hard sentence, isn’t it your honor?”
“Longer and harder than you know,” I replied, pushing my engorged tip deep into her heat. The sensation was enough to make me momentarily lose my carefully constructed composure. This—her—it still overwhelmed me sometimes, how perfectly we fit together. Her gasp against my lips told me she felt it too.
"You belong to me," I growled, setting a punishing pace, gripping her hips to hold her exactly where I wanted her. My breath was rough against her ear as I continued, "And you will learn to obey."
"Yes," she moaned, her nails digging into my shoulders through my shirt.
I watched the way her body responded to my every move, the flush spreading across her skin, the way her lips parted with each thrust. Mine. The thought was primal, possessive in a way that would have shocked me before Rebekah stormed into my orderly life.
"Say it," I demanded, needing to hear the words from her lips.
Her eyes locked with mine, sincere despite the playfulness of our scenario. "I'm yours," she whispered. "Only yours."
The admission sent a surge of satisfaction through me. This game we played—of power and surrender—it was just that: a game. But underneath it ran something real and profound. Something I'd once thought I'd never find, especially not with someone so different from me. Yet here she was, my opposite in so many ways, and somehow exactly what I needed.
Rebekah's moans turned desperate as I pushed her closer, my hands firm on her hips. Her head fell back, exposing the elegant line of her throat, and something primitive within me responded. I could feel her pussy tightening around me, trembling on the edge again.
"Not yet," I commanded, my voice steady despite the inferno raging inside me.
She whimpered, struggling to obey. Her eyes were half-lidded, unfocused with pleasure, and I couldn't have that. I needed her present, aware of exactly who was bringing her this exquisite torment.
I caught her throat lightly in my palm, my thumb tracing her jawline as I forced her to look at me. The contact wasn't about pain or true restriction—just a reminder of who was in control. Her pulse raced beneath my fingertips, her breath catching.
"Tell me—are you guilty?" I asked, maintaining my rhythm even as my own control frayed.
She bit her lower lip, fighting the building pressure. I could read every subtle shift in her expression—had studied her responses like the most fascinating legal precedent.
"I asked you a question, Rebekah," I reminded her, my voice dropping lower. “Are you guilty?”
She barely managed to gasp, "Yes, Sir. I’m guilty."
A surge of satisfaction coursed through me.
"Then take your sentence."
The effect was immediate and spectacular. She shattered around me, her body arching as she cried out. The sight of her—completely undone in my arms, trusting me enough to surrender so completely—pushed me over the edge I'd been fighting. I let myself go, following her into that blinding pleasure, my rhythm faltering as I emptied myself inside her, filling her hot, hungry pussy with ropes of thick cum.
For a moment, neither of us moved. I stayed inside her, our ragged breathing the only sound in the room. The intensity of what we'd shared stunned me into momentary silence. I'd presided over countless cases, made decisions that affected lives, yet nothing had ever felt as profound as these moments with her.
I pressed soft kisses along her flushed skin, tasting the salt of her exertion as my hands ran soothingly down her back. The strictness from before melted away—it always did afterward. That was the balance we'd found.
"You did so well," I murmured against her collarbone. "Taking your punishment exactly as you should."
"Did I please the court?" she asked, her voice languid with satisfaction.
I smiled against her skin. "Beyond measure. You're perfect for me, you know that?"
Her arms tightened around me as she snuggled against my chest, sighing contentedly. "Even when I break the rules?"
"Especially then," I admitted, running my fingers through her tousled hair. "Though don't take that as permission to misbehave more often."
She laughed softly, the sound vibrating against my chest. "Wouldn't dream of it, Your Honor."
I gathered her in my arms, carefully lifting her from the desk. She was light, her body still pliant from our activities as I carried her through the hallway of our apartment. There was something deeply satisfying about holding her this way—my fierce little rule-breaker now docile in my embrace.
When I placed her on our bed, she stretched languidly across the sheets like a contented cat, her eyes heavy-lidded but following my every move. I brushed damp strands of hair from her forehead, my fingertips lingering on her skin.
"Let me take care of you now," I said softly, my touch slow and reverent.
The firmness I'd wielded in my makeshift courtroom had dissolved completely, replaced by something gentler, more tender. It was always this way between us—the storm followed by perfect calm.
"You don't have to," she murmured, though her body arched slightly toward my touch.
"I want to." I pressed a kiss to her temple. "Let me."
I retrieved a warm cloth from the bathroom and gently cleaned her, watching goosebumps rise on her skin. She was always so responsive to me, even in these quiet moments.
As I slid into bed beside her, she immediately turned toward me, nestling against my chest as I wrapped my arms around her. This—her tucked against me, trusting and vulnerable—felt more intimate than anything we'd done before.
"You're my good girl," I whispered, feeling her melt further into my embrace. "The way you take your punishments, little one . . . no one could do it better."
Her lips curved against my skin. "I aim to please. But I’ve got a confession."
“Oh?”
“They’re not punishments. With you, everything, even discipline, is pure pleasure.”
I traced slow patterns on her back, feeling her breathing deepen. Night had settled fully around us, the only light coming from the small lamp across the room, casting long shadows across her face. In moments like these, I couldn't believe my luck—that she'd chosen me, that soon she would be my wife.
As sleep began to pull her under, she shifted slightly, her voice already thick with drowsiness. "Does this mean I have a criminal record now?" she mumbled playfully.
I couldn't help the smirk that formed on my lips. Even half-asleep, she was still playing our game. I pressed a final kiss to her temple, inhaling the sweet scent of her hair.
"Oh, sweetheart," I murmured against her skin. "You're serving a life sentence with me."
She made a contented sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, before her breathing evened out completely. I held her closer, savoring the weight of her against me, the ring on her finger catching the dim light as her hand rested on my chest.
It was perfect.
THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!