Page 11 of Breaking the Lawyer (Straight No More #4)

But something primal kicks in. Maybe it's the way he's looking at me like I'm his last meal, or the sounds spilling out of him, or the simple fact that I'm actually doing this—fucking a man and loving every second of it.

I plant my feet flat on the blanket and grab his cock tighter. Then I thrust up hard.

The noise he makes echoes off the buildings around us. I don't give a shit who hears.

"Do that again," he pants, bracing his hands behind him.

And I do. I establish a rhythm that has us both seeing stars. I'm fucking up into him while stroking his dick, and the combination turns him wild. He leans back, putting his weight on his arms, and the new angle opens him up even more.

"Fuck, look at you," I growl, because he's a goddamn masterpiece.

"Don't stop," he gasps. "Don't you dare fucking stop."

Like I could. Like I'd ever want to.

I'm running on pure instinct now, my body moving without thought. Every thrust sends lightning through my nervous system, and the way he's gripping me is dragging me toward the edge at light speed.

Yet somehow he beats me there.

It starts with a sound—low and animalistic, ripped from somewhere deep in his chest. Then his entire body locks up, muscles going rigid as his cock jerks in my fist.

"Fuck, I'm—" he starts, but the words dissolve into a strangled moan as he comes.

Hot spurts of cum paint my chest, my stomach, my chin. The sight of him falling apart, the way his hole clamps down on me like a vice, is my undoing.

My orgasm hits like a freight train.

Stars explode behind my eyelids. Every muscle in my body seizes as I spill inside him, my hips driving up involuntarily as wave after wave crashes over me. I'm distantly aware that I'm making sounds; growls, curses, his name.

But I can't stop.

Can't think.

Can't breathe.

Can only feel the incredible sensation of coming harder than I ever have in my life.

When it finally stops, I collapse back onto the blanket like a marionette with cut strings. He's still sitting on top of me, looking as wrecked as I feel, my softening cock still twitching inside him.

"Holy fuck," I manage when my brain comes back online.

He laughs, breathless and satisfied. "Yeah. Holy fuck."

We stare at each other for a moment. Then he carefully lifts off me, and I immediately miss the heat of his body.

He collapses beside me, and we lie there listening to the distant hum of traffic and our own ragged breathing.

"I feel like I should say something profound," I finally admit, because the silence feels loaded somehow.

He turns his head, and there's something soft in his expression that makes my chest tight. "Like what?"

"I don't know. Something that doesn't make me sound like a complete amateur."

Instead of answering, he leans over and kisses me. It's different this time. Slower. Deeper. Like he's trying to communicate something words can't handle. When we break apart, I think I get it.

"That works," I say, and he grins.

It's the kind of smile that makes me want to do stupid things. Like pretend this isn't complicated. Like ignore the fact that tomorrow morning exists.

But right now, with his cum cooling on my skin and his taste still on my lips, complicated feels like someone else's problem.

I run my fingers through my hair, and they come away damp with sweat. My entire body feels like I've been through a marathon, every muscle loose and satisfied in ways I didn't know were possible.

Without really thinking about it, I lower my hand and start trailing my fingers through the mess on my stomach. His cum is still warm, sticky between my fingers, and there's something strangely intimate about touching it. About having part of him on my skin.

The thought should be weird, right? A week ago, it would have sent me running for the nearest shower. Now I'm lying here playing with another man's cum like it's the most natural thing in the world.

What the hell has happened to me?

I should probably be having some kind of crisis right now. Some earth-shattering realization about my sexuality, my identity, my entire fucking life. Instead, I just feel... content. Satisfied. Like a puzzle piece finally clicking into place.

Maybe it's the endorphins talking. Maybe tomorrow I'll wake up and remember that I'm supposed to be straight, that this was just some weird experimental phase brought on by stress and fear of the unknown.

But right now, staring up at the stars with his taste still on my lips, I can't bring myself to care about labels or expectations or any of the bullshit that seemed so important yesterday.

This feels right. He feels right.

Beside me, Christian lifts his body up with a groan and rises to his feet.

Automatically, without thinking, I reach out and grab his calf. The muscle is solid under my palm, warm and reassuring.

"Don't go," I say, the words spilling out before I can stop them.

He looks down at me with raised eyebrows, then lets his gaze drift over my body. I'm still sprawled on the blanket, completely naked, completely debauched, and the way he's looking at me makes my spent cock twitch with interest.

"I was thinking you might need a washcloth or something," he says, and there's amusement in his voice.

I glance down at where my other hand is still absentmindedly playing with his cum on my stomach. The sight is obscene and somehow beautiful at the same time.

"Oh," I say, suddenly aware of how I must look. "In that case, do go. But come right back."

He laughs, and the sound makes something warm unfurl in my chest. "Yes, sir."

I watch him walk toward the balcony door, enjoying the view of his ass, the confident way he moves even naked. Before he disappears inside, he turns around and leans against the doorframe, giving me a full frontal view.

Jesus. The man looks just as good soft as he does hard. The lean lines of his body, the way the light from inside catches on his skin, the casual way he's standing there like nudity is just another outfit.

Isn't that fucking something?

"I was thinking," he says, and there's something almost nervous in his tone. "I should go to HR in the morning."

My stomach drops. Ice water floods my veins.

Is he... is he going to report me? Report this ? I knew it was too good to be true, knew there had to be consequences. My mind immediately starts racing through damage control scenarios, resignation letters, career changes.

"Why?" I manage, trying to keep my voice steady.

He runs his tongue along his bottom lip, and the gesture is so casual, so him, that it actually calms me down slightly.

"To register," he says, motioning between us with his hand, "this.

In case you want to... you know." He pauses, looking a little flustered for the first time tonight. "Do it again or something."

Relief floods through me so fast it’s dizzying and I find myself grinning. "Oh. Yeah. You totally should. Didn't know we had to do that."

He narrows his eyes. "You'd know if you bothered to read the company policy."

I chuckle. "Meh. I don't think I'm gonna do that. I can always ask you."

"God, you're impossible." But he's smiling when he says it, shaking his head in mock exasperation.

He pushes off the doorframe, and I realize he's about to disappear inside. The thought makes me panic slightly, even though I know he's coming back. There's something about being alone right now that feels wrong, like I might float away if he's not here to anchor me.

"Hey," I call after him.

Christian looks over his shoulder. "Hmm?"

I debate whether to say it or not. The words feel too big, too loaded with meaning I'm not sure I'm ready for. But they're true, and after everything that's happened tonight, I think he deserves to hear them.

"Thank you."

"For?"

"For giving me a chance."

He looks at me for a long moment, like he's trying to read my face in the dim light. Finally, he says, "I don't think I had a choice. I think you broke me."

And then he's gone, leaving me alone with the night sky and my racing thoughts.

I tuck my hands behind my head and close my eyes, taking a long, satisfying breath. The breeze feels just right against my skin, and I can still smell him on me: cologne and sweat and sex.

I think you broke me .

I smile at the sky.

I'm not really sure who broke who.

All I know is, it feels so fucking good to be broken.

THE END