Chapter 12
Emory
The trial winds up running for another two weeks.
The new evidence I’ve presented needs to be examined by the prosecution and defense teams. My mom was totally open in her diaries.
She detailed many of my father’s crimes, including his successful attempt to poison her over a long period.
When I think of everything she suffered, my heart breaks for her all over again.
I’m just so, so glad she kept these records.
Due to the extreme risk to my wellbeing, it was decided that I could give evidence remotely.
So, for the past two weeks, Maxim and I have been accommodated at Quantico—in what they call a ‘safe-suite’, but is more like a subterranean bomb shelter.
At first they weren’t keen to let him stay with me, but I wasn’t about to take no for an answer.
He’s been an amazing support.
“This is not about me,” he keeps telling me. “This time will pass fast. You’ve got to focus on yourself.”
The truth is, I couldn’t have done it without him.
The FBI keeps assuring me that I’m safe, that they’ve taken every step to protect my anonymity, but I’m still terrified at giving evidence against my father. And the defense team is brutal. They specialize in working for the mob, and they do everything they can to discredit me.
When the live video link shuts down each day, I feel mangled. Stomach churning, tears streaming down my cheeks.
But Maxim is here for me. He waits next door, and as soon as I’m done, he rushes in and takes me into his arms. Then he kisses all my tears away.
It’s been real tough for him here. He’s such a sweetheart, he hasn’t mentioned it once, but I can tell that his beast has been struggling. It was locked up in jail for so long, then it had a brief taste of freedom, and now this.
I figure the best thing I can do to take his mind off it is to fuck him as often as humanly possible.
Every morning, I wake him up by sliding my mouth or my pussy onto his big cock. And every evening, he takes me all over our suite.
The rooms are probably bugged, but there’s not a lot we can do about it. At least we’re giving the Quantico geeks a good show. And as the end of the trial approaches, I swear he’s fucked me over every single surface of the room.
By the final day, I’m done giving evidence. Maxim and I sit in the suite, watching on a live feed as the prosecution presents its closing arguments.
The jury deliberates for three long hours, before they return a unanimous verdict:
They’ve found my father guilty of all eighty-three counts. Several of which carry mandatory life sentences.
“It’s over, baby.” Maxim hugs me tight as tears stream down my face. “Your father’s not going to hurt you anymore.”
I’ve done the right thing, I think, as I watch that evil man—my own flesh and blood—being led from the court in chains.
I’ve gotten justice for my mom, and all those other people who’ve suffered at his hands over the years.
Maxim holds me, until all the grief and worry has flowed out of me.
Then he draws back and looks at me thoughtfully.
“Do you have any plans for tonight?”
“Not really?” I say, wondering at the mischievous smile playing at his lips.
“I was thinking we could go out for dinner,” he says.
“No way?” I exclaim. Then my head drops. “I think it’s too dangerous. I’m just worried my dad might try to get revenge on me or something.”
Maxim holds both my hands in his. “Emory I’m so sorry that you have to even speak a sentence like that. But I have thought about that, and I’ve enlisted a little help from our gracious hosts.”
I shake my head in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“Open the closet,” he says.
I dash over to it. Inside is a dress that wasn’t there twenty-four hours ago. I pull it out. It’s a beautiful black cocktail dress, strapless, slinky, with the label still attached. “Wow, this is gorgeous,” I breathe. “And it’s my size. When did you—? How?”
He grins. “I have my ways.”
“Now, we’re going to get ready, then we’re going to take a helicopter from Quantico to a private dining room in one of Washington’s most exclusive restaurants.
I’ve been advised that it’s the preferred venue for high-value guests.
It’s the place where the president likes to entertain his more vulnerable heads of state when they visit.
The staff are highly vetted, everything reinforced, bullet-proof walls, windows, that kind of thing. How does that sound?”
I throw my arms around him, stomach full of butterflies. “That sounds incredible,” I say. “Thank you so much for organizing all this. I just can’t believe it.”
He grins. “Well, believe it when you see it. Now, go get ready. There’s a bunch of toiletries and stuff in the bathroom, too.” He pulls me close for one more kiss.
My gorgeous, incredible mate.
My head swims as we lose ourselves in each other again.
“Now go.” He swats my ass. “We’ve got a helicopter waiting.”
In the bathroom, I shower with a bunch of very fancy toiletries, then I look at myself in the mirror.
I’m going to skip the glasses, and contacts tonight.
And heavy make-up, and false eyelashes. I also remove the stud in my nose and all my earrings.
I haven’t refreshed my fake tattoos since we’ve been here, and a good scrub with a flannel gets rid of the final traces.
The only mark remaining on my skin is the one that Maxim gave me.
And I would never want to be without that one.
It still tingles every time I touch it, or even think about it.
This red hair looks too much without the dramatic eyes, so I pull it back into a simple chignon, and opt for a simple coat of mascara and a slick of lip-gloss.
There. Now I look like myself again.
I slather jasmine scented body lotion all over my arms and legs, then I pull on the dress. It’s body-con style and it fits me like a sheath, pushing my tits up and together, and hugging my ass.
At last, I emerge from the bathroom in a cloud of steam. And my jaw drops.
Because Maxim is wearing a tux.
A freaking tux. There’s something about his wild masculinity being contained within this sharp, formal attire that’s just… wow.
A groan of need escapes my lips, my pussy already starting to ache.
“Emory,” Maxim breathes. “You look so, so beautiful.” He strides over to me and kisses me carefully on the lips.
“It’s okay, I’m only wearing lip-gloss.”
He cups my face in his big, calloused hands. “I was worried if I keep kissing you, we won’t make it out of here at all,” he growls. Then he pulls away and presents me with a shoebox. I open it and find a beautiful pair of Jimmy Choo’s inside, also in my size.
“Oh my god, I love them,” I breathe.
“You sure?” He looks worried. “I wasn’t sure if it was your style.”
“Yup. Very much my style!” I brace my hands on his shoulders as I step into them. I feel like Cinderella, rescued from my evil family by my very own Prince Charming.
When we leave the suite, an FBI agent is waiting by the door. He ushers us along the corridor, up a flight of stairs, through an external door and there’s a helicopter, its propellers already whirring.
Maxim takes my hand and leads me in, and in a moment, we’re way up in the air, Washington’s stately buildings spanning out beneath us.
It’s just past sunset and the view is breathtaking, but it’s nothing compared to the sight of my gorgeous mate beside me, looking so sharp in his tux.
He even trimmed his beard and combed his hair for the occasion.
To be honest, I prefer him in jeans and a T-shirt—or better yet, nothing at all.
But it’s sure nice to see him like this for one special night.
We fly over the city in a sweeping arc.
“The scenic route, so you can enjoy the view,” Maxim says.
Finally, we land on the roof of a tall building. Inside is a beautiful room, done out in a cool, contemporary style. The space is big enough to accommodate maybe fifty people, but a single table has been set up right by the windows.
“We’ve got it all to ourselves.”
Maxim raises my hand to his lips. “So, you can relax and enjoy the evening, just like you deserve.”
It’s all so romantic. All the dreams I never dared entertain.
Maxim leaves me over to the table and helps me to my seat. A door opens on the far side of the room, and a familiar brutal-looking blond man appears.
“Swede?” I say, uncertainly.
He gives a solemn nod. “Good to see you again, Emory. I’ll be your server tonight.” There’s a mischievous quirk to his lips as he says the last part.
Maxim claps him on the shoulder. “I talked him into filling in tonight, since he’s the guy I trust more than anyone.”
Swede brings a bottle of champagne for us and pours out two glasses, then hands us each a menu. For such a big guy, he has a deft touch, and he serves us as unobtrusively as any professional server.
“To you, Emory.” Maxim raises his glass. His eyes are fixated on mine, and I see so much love and admiration there, it brings a lump to my throat.
“No, to us,” I insist.
The menu is incredible. French haute cuisine. Every mouthful more delicious than the last.
“I dream of being able to cook like this,” I say, swallowing a delicious forkful of something exquisite.
Maxim takes my hand. “Emory, your wish is my command. I loved all the food you cooked for us in the cabin. But you know, it also made me sad, because I knew you weren’t getting to make the most of your talents. You want to learn French-style cooking, I’ll find the best teacher I can for you.”
“I would really love that,” I reply.
When we’re finished, the helicopter is waiting for us again, and it carries us up, through a clear, starry Washington night.
I thought I’d never want to see the hospitality suite again. But I was wrong. Turns out I can’t wait to get back there and tear off Maxim’s perfect tux. All evening, I’ve been aching for him.
We’ve barely been in the room two minutes before we’re both naked, and I’m lying on the bed, thighs spread wide, while Maxim is arching over me, his monster cock reminding me who I belong to. Bliss.