5 Kimber #2
“Oh, god,” I mutter, and it’s so soft I’m not sure if I say it out loud.
Rich keeps licking me, taking his time like that toy isn’t slowly destroying my soul, and when I think it’s going to make me cry from overstimulation, he finally lets up and removes it. His tongue stays in place when I sob in relief, gently lapping at me as I shudder.
The toy turns off, descending the room into silence aside from the lewd noises of Rich licking me. He slowly eases up, like he’s helping to give me some relief, and it does release some of the tension coiled in my belly the more he does that.
When he finally lets up, he kisses my pussy before pulling back. I’m panting, the only sound filling the room now, and I expect him to back away. Instead, he adjusts and leans over me, planting his hands on either side of me.
I turn my head, glancing at them. Unlike downstairs, he didn’t put them on either side of my head. I remember that triggering the memory. It takes a moment for my orgasm-delayed brain to remember to look up at him again.
His eyes are intense when I meet his gaze. “Good girl. Let’s get you on the chair and I’ll clean up the bed. And Kimber?”
“Hmm?” is about all I can manage.
“I’m not sure who he is, but the next time you decide you remember his name, you better come find me.”
~~~
In the morning it’s my phone that wakes me, regrettably, instead of Rich. I groan and try to ignore it, listening as the buzzing eventually stops. I can feel a headache behind my eyes, and I have a feeling it’s just going to get worse.
The ringing starts again, and I groan louder before cracking an eye open. It’s sitting on the table beside the bed, vibrating as a call comes in.
Sitting up, I hiss, and grab my head. Yeah, the alcohol is already betraying me with a hangover. Ignoring that, I reach out and grab my phone, answering it the moment I notice the contact. “Hello?”
“Good morning, Ms. Aldridge. This is James Donaldson. Is now a good time to chat?”
No, now’s a good time for my head to pound off my shoulders. “Uh, yeah. Now’s fine.”
I don’t try to sit up. I flop back in bed, trying to focus on what my attorney is saying instead of fighting with the massive headache and trying to stay vertical.
“I’m just letting you know that the DA is dropping all charges against you,” James tells me, and my breath catches in my throat. “You’ve been cleared. The evidence proved self defense.”
I try to feel excited about that, but all it does is make my guards rise. I’ve been having this fight for seven months, and now he’s dropping the news? “No hearing?”
“There will be a Notice to Dismiss filed soon,” James explains. “The DA’s argument is now void once the official investigation ended. Mr. Biggins’ death is due to self defense. You won.”
I wait, but the relief doesn’t come. The weight doesn’t lift. The court system finally deemed my decision to not be killed worthy of a self defense ruling, but it took so much longer than it should’ve.
I know I’m supposed to be grateful, to say thank you, but it all feels like a lie. I’m not grateful that this happened, that I was considered the abuser for a period of time, none of it. Still, I choke out a response at least. “That’s good.”
“I understand it’s a lot to take in,” James says. “The court is going to want you to go through some classes-”
“For self defense?” I shriek. It’s too loud, sending waves of pain through my head, and I instantly regret it.
“I think it would be best if we met in my office to go over the specifics,” James says carefully, and it reminds me of how he spoke to me when I first contacted him.
He spoke carefully but directly, letting me know that this is how things went.
Right now I don’t know if that’s better or worse.
“I can send you out to the receptionist to get scheduled-”
“I’ll call back and schedule later,” I interrupt, my anxiety climbing at the idea of going to see him. I really appreciate James, but going to sit with him and talk about the case just makes me think about the reasons why there is a case, and I can’t handle that right now. “I’m just waking up.”
“Of course,” James says, and I wonder if that sounds strange or not. What time is it? “But please get the meeting scheduled ASAP. We want to go over everything so you’re prepared. But at this point we’re past the thick of things. You can see the light at the end of the tunnel now, Ms. Aldridge.”
“Great,” I tell him, and I can’t force the excitement into my voice. Thankfully he doesn’t push, and I clear my throat. “Thank you for all your help. I’ll call back later.”
“Of course.”
James hangs up, and I slump in the bed. Dropping the phone onto the side table I groan, my headache so much worse now.
I’m not the villain anymore in the eyes of the law, yet somehow, I still feel like one. Licking my lips I wonder if there’s water somewhere -
I gasp, sitting upright and whipping myself around to look at the other side of the bed. Rich is there, dressed in jeans with holes in one knee and one of his branded shirts, his legs crossed at the ankle and propped up on the bed. He’s missing shoes.
I forgot to remember that he’d be in here, that I’m still sitting in his bedroom and not tucked away in my apartment. I was distracted seeing the call from James.
Slowly lifting my gaze, I find him peering at me. After he shut off my brain last night he really did clean the bed, and I kind of passed out during the process, but everything was dry when I remembered rolling around on sheets later. Everything seems dry now.
His hair is done, the top styled but messy. It’s buzzed on the sides, revealing his very pale skin beneath.
Clearing my throat, I open and close my mouth a few times. What do I start with? The phone call, the amazing orgasms, or the whole dumb dilemma that brought me over here in the first place?
He eyes me, finally filling the silence when I can’t decide where to start. “So, your call. Good news?”
I wince but it’s from the volume of his voice more than the question. I can tell he’s not talking that loud, but the sound bounces around in my head. It’s worse than the phone call where my nerves got in the way, but now I’m too embarrassed to feel much of anything else.
Groaning, I drop down and let my head sink into the pillows. “How much did you hear?”
He hesitates, and that’s not a good sign. “I’m less than a foot away from you and you seem to keep that thing on max volume. Would you like me to lie?”
“No,” I say immediately, dragging a hand down my face. “I hate liars.”
“Then everything, Kim.”
That’s what I was afraid of. Pressing my hand to my forehead, I will the damn hangover to go away; I need my whole brain working to figure out what to do here.
No one needs to know. It’s a problem on its way out, so really, there’s no point talking about it.
“Let’s get something for the hangover first,” Rich says knowingly, and I just moan in response. “We’ll get that under control, but at some point, you’re going to have to tell me something, Kim.”