The case spreads out in front of me on the floor of the hotel room.
Files, interviews, photographs, handwritten notes. All the evidence, no matter how flimsy. All my commentary, no matter how worthless.
And it’s not enough.
Not nearly enough.
I pull my knees to my chest and keep seeing Angelo chase the manager down in my head. Over and over, the scene plays out: Angelo sprinting after him, the manager slamming into the tree, Angelo standing over poor Wally like an avenging angel. It was everything I didn’t want to do and yet I felt a strange, almost sickening rush knowing that Angelo could hurt the guy—would hurt the guy—if given the chance.
If I gave him the word.
That’s a strange power, knowing that a man like Angelo would do something like that for me. It’s a strange, disgusting power, and I feel an odd self-loathing as the excitement of the idea rushes down into my veins.
Angelo’s raw power. He’s violence, and fear, and strength. He’s everything the law isn’t supposed to be and I should try harder to hold him back, but I don’t want to.
And that terrifies me.
My whole life I’ve been told to do the right thing. Work hard, get ahead, stay in my lane. And now Angelo’s here and I feel like breaking away from all that and doing things I never dreamed were possible before.
Horrible things.
The door to the bedroom opens. Angelo comes out wearing a pair of tight joggers and nothing else, a small towel over his shoulders, his hair still damp from the shower. His skin glistens, clean and bright, and he walks over to the minifridge and grabs a drink. “You want something?” he asks.
“Working.”
“You’re always working.” He sits on the chair across from me. “Why not take a break? We could go out for dinner.”
“Are you asking me out on a date?”
He laughs and looks me up and down. God, I hate when he does that, but a strange thrill jolts my stomach. “I was thinking more like a friendly meal between colleagues, but I’d love to make it something more.”
“No, thanks. To both versions.”
“You work too hard.” He sighs and takes a long slug from his can. “Why not relax?”
“Because if I relax then Nicolas remains in jail.”
His expression darkens. “You know I don’t want that.”
“Then you should let me work.”
“All I’m saying is you’re going to burn out and you won’t do Nicolas any good once that happens.”
“I’m fine.” I studiously avoid looking at him. His muscular chest is a damn distraction, and I can’t afford a distraction right now.
“You’re clearly not. You’re trying to avoid reality.”
I scoff and glance over, which is a mistake, because he’s got one arm behind his head and his bicep flexes like heaven.
I quickly look away. Holy hell, that man is beautiful, and it’s really not fair that he loves to walk around without his shirt.
“Since when do you know anything about avoiding reality? Did you get a psych degree on the streets of South Philly?”
“Something like that, actually.” He leans toward me. “You think I don’t know how people work? My whole job is knowing what makes guys tick, how to motivate them, how to push their buttons, how to lean on certain angles to get what I want. And not just my guys either, but my enemies too. I need to see how people think and figure out what they need.”
“You think you figured out what I need?”
“You need a release, that’s what you need.”
I roll my eyes. “Typical.”
“I mean it. Do you have any hobbies? Any interests outside of work?”
Anger begins boiling my skin. What the hell does this guy know about me? All he can see is the lawyer version of me, but there are dozens of facets to my personality. But as I open my mouth to rebuke him, the words slowly fizzle out on my tongue.
Because he’s right.
It’s not that I’m only a lawyer—but I don’t do much outside of work these days.
I wasn’t always this way. I love movies and music and reality TV and podcasts, and I used to consume so much media I was like a whale swimming around swallowing as much stuff as possible. But ever since I took on this job, I’ve done nothing but stick to the lawyer-Sara to the detriment of all the other versions of me. I used to love going for runs and hikes and walks, and when’s the last time I took a few hours to head out for a six-mile jog? When’s the last time I went to a movie or saw a show or went to a concert? Heck, I barely ever go out to eat anymore, except for when Brice and Robyn and Cassidy force me.
Angelo’s right that I don’t have much of a life, but I’m doing it on purpose.
It’s just the job. It demands so much, and if I want to get ahead, I’d better give it everything I have.
“I don’t need to justify myself to you,” I say, still itching with anger. “You don’t understand what it’s like.”
“Enlighten me then.” He shifts closer, staring into my eyes. “Come on, princess. Tell me why you work so fucking hard.”
“Because I need to be twice as good,” I say sharply. He barely reacts, and I keep going as something inside of me begins to unwind. “You don’t get it. The law world’s been opening up for a long time, women are respected, we’re not treated like cute little sideshows anymore. But at the same time, it’s still a boy’s club, still a bunch of old guys and their buddies all getting the best cases and sitting at the top of the firm. If I’m not perfect, I’m nothing. Yeah, things are better than they used to be but they’re still not equal and I don’t think they ever will be. So while I’m not complaining, this is what I signed up for, I still won’t let you patronize me for working so hard. I have to work this hard.”
He absorbs my speech with a deepening frown. When I’m done, his head tilts to the side, and he looks at me like he barely recognizes the woman sitting across from him. I sink back against the couch and clamp my jaw shut and try not to scream.
I hate opening myself up to him like this and I don’t know what it is about Angelo that makes me do it. If I could, I’d keep all this inside, keep it all locked up tight where it belongs. I hate complaining and whining and admitting that I’m weak.
But I’m weak. I’ve always been weak. Only I keep it hidden.
“You don’t have to prove yourself to anyone, princess,” he says quietly.
“Easy for you to say.”
He gets up from his chair and comes toward me. I stare as he sinks down to his knees a few feet in front of me, right on top of some crime scene sketches. He moves forward, staring, and my heart’s racing.
“Who are you trying to impress?” he asks. “Are you doing all this for you? Or for everyone else?”
“I’m doing it for me.”
“Then why do you beat yourself to hell?”
“Because that’s the only way I can get ahead.”
He leans closer, hands gripping the couch on either side of my thighs, and I’m pinned back and my chest is thumping wildly. “Who says?” he whispers. “Who are you trying to impress? You keep going this way and there won’t be much left of you when you finally get what you want.”
“Stop it,” I say and lean forward. I put my hands on his chest and try to push him away, but he doesn’t budge. “I don’t know what you’re doing, but stop it.”
“You’re enough for me, princess. My frigid little princess. You don’t have to prove a damn thing, not to me, not to anyone. Who said you’re not enough?”
“Angelo.”
He moves closer. One hand brushes against my cheek. “You need a release,” he repeats and now I know what he’s talking about. My cheeks flush and something clenches deep in my core. My hands stay on his muscular chest, my fingers curling into his skin, and when he leans closer, his hand moving back into my hair and gripping gently, my lips part and my breath comes faster as my chest rises and falls.
“And you’re going to give me one?” I whisper.
He kisses me and that’s answer enough.
Maybe it’s the stress. Maybe it’s the fear. Everything’s going wrong and everything’s on the edge of falling apart, but the moment he’s this close is the moment I lose myself completely.
I really wish he’d wear a shirt.
Otherwise, I’d have some self-control.
Unfortunately, I kiss him back.
And god, it feels good. It feels so freaking good.
This is wrong on a million different levels. I keep telling myself I’m not going to do this, I’m not going to kiss this man and moan into his mouth, but that’s exactly what I’m doing. This case is getting more and more complicated, and I’m scared all the damn time, and Angelo’s going to get us both killed acting like an aggressive asshole—
And none of it matters, not the second I press my lips to his.
I pull him closer. He pins me back against the couch and his tongue flits into my mouth, tasting me, teasing me. He bites my lower lip, sucks it gently, and grabs the top of my sweats.
I wiggle my hips and he stares into my eyes. I’m panting hard and my body’s vibrating like a struck bell.
“Tell me to stop.” He says it like a dare.
I say nothing as he pulls off my sweats, sliding them over my hips, over my ass, and tosses them aside.
I’m in only a pair of black panties. His eyes are liquid fire as he yanks my shirt up, exposing my breasts, and he kisses my chest, my collarbone, my nipples. I moan and grab his hair as he bites me, sucks me, licks me, slowly moving down, and down, and down, to my belly button, to my hip bones, to the very tip of my pussy then around to my inner thigh.
My hips are wiggling, my breath is coming fast, and I can barely think as he takes two fingers and puts them in my mouth. I moan and suck them, and he pulls them back and uses them to slide up and down my pussy. I’m slick, so dripping slick and wet, and he spreads me and opens me. He purrs like a tiger on cocaine as he leans down and kisses the top of me then licks me, tongue sliding up my lips to my clit.
An electric shock of pure dopamine blasts into my skull. Pleasure breaks me and rebuilds me, and all my walls, all my defenses, my frozen castle and my armor, it’s all crumbling down around me as I grip his hair and he licks me faster. His tongue works up and down, and I’m moaning and rolling my hips as he sucks my clit and goes faster.
“That’s a good girl,” he groans as he slowly presses two fingers deep inside me. I throw back my head and gasp, blinking rapidly. “Oh, fuck, that’s good,” he moans. “You’re so lovely and delicious and tight. I could do this all fucking day, do you know that?”
“Then keep going,” I gasp. “Don’t stop.”
His fingers fuck me like he needs to get me off and his tongue licks me like he needs one last taste. Between the two, I’m glowing with pleasure, my head in the clouds, my body firmly in control of this man. I shiver and moan and whimper his name, and he keeps going, sucking me, licking me, fucking me with his fingers, faster and faster until he pulls back and kisses me, his fingers still buried inside but his thumb working my clit now.
“That’s it,” he croons as he fucks me and I grind against his hand, working my hips into his palm. “That’s a good girl. Keep going just like that. God, you needed this, didn’t you? You walk around all day acting like an ice queen and now you’re melting on my hand.”
“Angelo,” I whisper and bite his lip when he kisses me. “Fuck you.”
“I love it when you talk dirty to me, you filthy fucking girl. Look at you, Sara. All I have to do was lick your clit and make you feel good, and now you’re dripping wet and putty in my hand. God, it’s so fucking sexy, I want to take you right now. Turn you around, fuck you raw and deep and make you scream, but you need to come for me now, my princess, my beautiful frigid princess. I earned this orgasm and I want to watch you fucking moan. You need to come for me and get that release I promised.”
“More,” I gasp, back arching, and he moves back down between my legs, fingers going in and out and faster as he sucks me and finally, fuck, finally, my core builds and builds and clenches down tight until I explode against his mouth, coming in a violent, gorgeous tidal wave of pleasure as I gasp, body bucking, eyes rolled back. It’s explosive and terrifying and beautiful all at once, and I swear I nearly pass out.
But finally, he pulls back and stares at me. My top’s up over my breasts and my legs are spread. I’m glistening, dripping on the couch. I’m filthy and spent, and he’s right, I fucking hate it, but he’s right.
I needed that.
“Good girl,” he says and kisses me. “Very good girl.” He sucks his fingers and licks me from them.
I stare at him and feel dizzy with lust. Slowly, he gets to his feet, and the outline of his hard cock strains against his pants. “Now you should get some sleep.”
“Yeah? Is that how it is now? You tell me what to do?”
He bends close and grabs my hair roughly. “If I got to command you, little princess, I’d make you get on your knees and suck my cock and swallow every drop. But instead, I want to take care of you. Now get up and go to sleep.”
I want to be defiant. I want to tell him to go to hell, nobody orders me around, and nobody takes care of me. I take care of myself. But instead, I let him help me get dressed again, and I drift toward the bedroom.
He watches me go. Some stupid part of me wants to invite him in.
But a rational voice whispers in the back of my head.
You’re making a mistake.
You’re pregnant with his baby.
I close the door and lean back against it, not sure how I’m going to get through this without losing my mind.
