Chapter Ten #2
What the fuck is she talking about? A pit forms in my stomach as I ponder her words. There’s no way they didn’t actually test the pills, right? Ava isn’t known for saying anything she can’t back up with evidence. I am going to have someone’s head on a spike if she’s right.
“And beyond the flaws of mishandled evidence,” she continues, giving me the briefest glance, eyes alight with barely concealed enjoyment, “what this case really represents is stripping my client of her dignity.” She takes a step toward the jury box, hands open wide, playing on their emotions as easily as a concert violinist at the symphony.
I have a love/hate relationship with watching her work.
“Suppressants for omegas are medicine. Illegal medicine, yes, an unfortunate reality of a legal system that has not caught up with scientific advancements. Yet this was once also true for beta birth control. It was seen as dangerous and immoral.”
She pauses and lets the words hang before pressing a hand to her chest. “I’m standing here as a lawyer because of the freedom that became possible when it was legalized.
Judge Carter sits on the bench for the same reason, and I’m sure many of you have similar stories of what that freedom has allowed in your life. ”
Her voice sharpens, snapping the room back to the case, and she looks directly into the camera when she speaks instead of at the jury.
“They cannot prove she had suppressants in her hand. But even the mere idea that she might have is enough for the mayor to send his highest prosecutor after a nineteen-year-old girl with no criminal record.”
One juror cuts me a side-eye.
I’m definitely losing this case.
It’s been forty-five minutes since I texted Ava to come over, and my phone remains stubbornly silent.
Maybe it’s too early. Normally, our messages happen late, but I couldn’t wait any longer. I’ve been going out of my mind thinking about her all damn day.
I rake a hand through my hair, annoyed with myself for caring this much. Honestly, it would be better if she left me on read. Best if she ignored me entirely. We need to end this before it detonates in spectacular, career-ending fashion.
I know that.
So why does the idea of never touching her again feel like being trapped in a nest of fire ants?
You know why, my inner alpha growls in my head.
I glance at my phone again, tempted to send another message. Something casual and flippant. “If we are finally done, let me know at least so I’m not worried you’re drowning in the Hudson or something.” Is that too desperate?
Jesus. I’m such an embarrassment.
I push up from my chair and start pacing the living room, restless energy crawling up my spine. Emotions rise in my chest like high tide, threatening to choke me. Anger. Want. Jealousy. Sadness.
Then I hear it. A soft knock at the door.
Relief floods me so quickly, it almost hurts.
I cross the room and swing the door open wide.
Ava stands on the other side, her face a mask of cool disinterest. Oversized sweatpants hang low on her hips, swallowing her frame.
A cropped black top shows a wide swath of skin from just under her breasts to her waist. Wait, are those sneakers? I wouldn’t have guessed she owned any.
I blink in surprise, and my eyes travel upward. Her hair is pulled into a high ponytail, loose strands escaping, damp at the temples like she’s been moving hard and sweating.
Jealousy flares instantly, sharp and irrational.
“Where have you been?” I growl, opening the door further to let her slip inside.
She arches a perfectly shaped brow. Talking is not generally something we do.
“Not that it’s any of your business,” she says coolly, slipping past me, “but I was at dance class.” She kicks the door shut behind her, and then tugs her top over her head and lets it fall to the floor without looking at me.
“If you want this,” she adds lightly, glancing back at me over her shoulder, “we’re doing it in the shower. I’m not sitting around in sweat.”
Heat fills my veins, and I follow her to the bathroom.
We’ve both been to each other’s apartments enough that we know our way around them.
I grab the end of her ponytail, wrapping it around my hand and pulling her back to me.
I inhale along her throat, filling my lungs with her.
There’s sweat there, yes, but underneath it is the orange creamsicle scent I’m obsessed with.
Fuck. It’s closer to the surface than it’s ever been before.
“Maybe I want you sweaty,” I rasp in her ear, cupping one of her breasts in my other hand.
I gently tug and roll her nipple between my fingers, and she gasps, melting back into my touch briefly before shaking her head like she’s trying to make herself focus.
She wiggles out of my arms and shimmies out of her shoes and sweats, leaving her in the simplest black thong I’ve ever seen her in.
Ava in fancy, high-end lingerie always sets my blood aflame, but for some reason, seeing her in sweats and cotton underwear has me half-feral.
I tug my clothes off as she turns on the shower and steps inside. She barely has a chance to get under the spray of hot water before I have her pressed to the wall. My alpha is livid that her scent is already being washed away.
I press my mouth to hers, devouring the taste of her. She makes a tiny, needy sound low in her throat, sweeping her tongue against mine.
This woman does things to me I cannot describe.
I grip the round globes of her ass with both hands, giving them a firm squeeze before sliding my palms to her thighs and picking her up.
I press her back to the wall of the shower, smirking at the hiss she makes when her skin hits the cold tile.
She quickly forgets it though, as I slam myself inside her with one thrust.
“Fuck, Mark,” she moans against my mouth.
My hips set a deep, brutal rhythm as I take out all the emotions I’ve been feeling on her body.
“I’m going to fuck you until I’ve had my fill,” I growl into her ear. “Then I’ll clean you up and take you to my bed, where I’m going to devour you until you beg me for mercy because you can’t take another orgasm. And then I’m going to keep going.”
I can’t let go of her ass to work her clit like I want to without risking injury to us both, so instead, I hike one of her thighs higher.
“Put your fucking leg on my shoulder, Ava,” I say, knowing she’s flexible enough.
One rare occasion when she’d been feeling mildly chatty, she’d told me about her ballet and dance background.
She whimpers, but does as she’s told, and the change in angle puts me deeper while rubbing her clit against my pelvic bone. She half-sobs in pleasure as I keep up my relentless pace. I feel her flutter around my cock, and I can tell she’s close.
“Come for me, baby, I’ve got you,” I whisper hotly against her mouth. Orange and cream floods my nose, and the dangerous fog of a rut closes in at the edges of my consciousness. I manage to stay in control and focus on nothing but the woman in my arms.