Page 20 of Dial L for Lawyer (Curves & Capital #2)

"I think you missed the part where I said I don't care."

"This is crazy."

"This is necessary." He lifts me suddenly, setting me on the conference table. "I've been thinking about this for days."

"About your conference table?"

"About you spread out on it while I devour your delicious cunt."

The words send heat straight through me. "That's, ah, very specific."

"I'm a detail-oriented person." He pushes the dress up to my waist, groaning when he confirms I followed his instructions. "Fuck, Serena. You're dripping for me already."

The low note in his voice vibrates directly into my ribcage, and I should probably feel embarrassed at how transparently turned on I am, but I don't. Not even a little bit.

For the first time in months, the shame is absent, replaced by a kind of greedy boldness that makes me want, desperately, to see what happens if I stop being cautious and just let go.

Caleb slides his chair back, drags my hips to the edge of the table, and kneels—fucking kneels—between my knees. The position would make any normal person laugh, but he's so deadly serious about it I nearly faint.

I nearly ricochet off the table when he licks me, a deep, barely controlled moan erupting up my spine.

He holds my legs open, ruthless and unashamed, staking a claim, like he wakes up every morning thinking about spreading me apart in a boardroom with frosted glass walls.

Then he buries his mouth again, tongue and lips and teeth working in concert.

I want to be embarrassed by the way my hips keep bucking up, desperate and clumsy, but there's no room left in my body for embarrassment. Only need. Only want.

He alternates long, slow laps with tight circles on my clit, then plunging his tongue inside like he's determined to draw every whimper and gasp out of me. I grip the edges of the table with both hands and let my head tip back, my hair spilling off the edge like a waterfall. "Jesus—Caleb?—"

He just laughs, low and filthy, the echo of it vibrating through my bones.

I don't recognize the guttural, wanton sounds coming out of my own mouth, but I don't care.

It's like I'm vibrating at a frequency only we can hear.

He barely comes up for air, just glances up at me with that dark, hungry gaze and says, "You taste even better when you're a little bit scared. "

He’s right. I am scared. But I'm also wild.

Unleashed. I grip his hair and pull him in like I'm drowning and he's oxygen.

Caleb's hands grip tighter, spreading me wider.

The world narrows down to nothing but tongue, teeth, want; the clash of my moans echoing off glass and chrome and the friction of soft cashmere against my ribs as my body tenses, tenses, then explodes all at once.

I don't remember falling apart, but I feel myself come back together, pulsing out in slow, shivery increments as he licks me clean and then stands, tugging me easily into his arms where I sag, still shaking, still gone.

He smooths my dress back down like he's tucking me in after completely destroying me.

The tenderness of it makes my chest ache.

"Now, about those timestamps."

I am so lightheaded I have to hold onto the edge of the table to steady myself.

It's not just the orgasm, though it's honestly one for the Nobel Prize committee—it's the shock.

The aftershocks. Or maybe the ridiculousness of being half-dressed, trembling, sweating, and suddenly expected to process something as pedestrian as evidence.

I look up at Caleb, who is wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, smug as a cat that just got into the larder. His tie is a little askew and his eyes still have that dangerous, post-predatory gleam.

"You're a menace," I tell him. "You know that, right?"

"That's why you like me."

His voice is pure arrogance, but there's something raw and real under it that isn't there with other men.

With him, I feel—fuck, I don't know—real?

Not like a dirty secret, not like a negotiation, not even like a transaction.

For the first time in my entire dating history, I feel like the main attraction.

He brushes my hair back from my face, fingers lingering at my jaw. "You good?"

"I'm amazing," I say, and burst out laughing, the sound pitching higher, uncontrolled and giddy, until I have to clap both hands over my mouth to stop. My whole body shakes with the effort, knees knocking against the side of the table.

Caleb smirks, then drops his mouth almost to my ear. "I've missed your laugh.”

"You say that as if we've been apart for decades. It was only four days."

"Four days after six months." He brushes my hair behind my ear softly. "I'm not a patient man, Serena. But for you, I'm making the effort."

He steps back, giving me space to breathe, to collect myself. I watch as he crosses to the table, shuffling through papers with the same intensity he just applied to destroying me.

"Here." He hands me a thick printout. "These are all the times your badge was used to access the building or files in the last three months."

I take the papers with hands that are still slightly shaky. "That's a lot of data."

"Logan's thorough. And probably has three energy drinks and a conspiracy theory about why JavaScript is ruining democracy." He pulls out a highlighter, bright yellow. "I need you to go through and highlight anything that wasn't you."

"OK." I flip through the first few pages, trying to focus on the numbers and dates instead of the way he's watching me. "This might take a while."

"We have time." He settles into the chair next to me, close enough that I can smell his cologne mixed with the scent of me on his skin. "Start with the most recent and work backward."

I uncap the highlighter, scanning the entries. "This one—11:47 PM on a Tuesday. I was home. I remember because I was watching that terrible reality show about people marrying strangers."

"Love is Blind?"

I look at him, surprised. "You watch Love is Blind?"

"Dominic makes us do viewing parties. It's horrifying." He makes a note on his legal pad. "What else?"

I keep scanning. "Here—Saturday, 2 AM. I haven't been in the office at 2 AM since... ever."

"Good. Keep going."

We work in surprisingly comfortable silence for twenty minutes, me highlighting, him making notes. Every so often our knees brush under the table, sending little shocks through my system.

"This is weird," I say suddenly.

"What is?"

"This pattern." I flip back and forth between pages. "Look at how many late-night or early-morning entries there are.”

"Someone who knew your schedule well enough to know when you wouldn't be there." He turns to look at me, our faces suddenly very close. "Someone on your team."

"It wasn't Lisa," I say with sudden certainty. "She has three kids. She's never at the office past 6 PM unless there's an emergency, and even then she complains about it."

"Then who?" Caleb's voice is gentle, but there's an urgency threaded through it that vibrates all the way into my molars.

"I don't know, but…" I flip pages, tracing the monstrous schedule, hunting for patterns. "These dates—they're all Thursdays and Saturdays."

"Does that mean something to you?"

"Maya goes to her CrossFit class on Thursday nights. She's always posting about it on Instagram. And Saturdays she supposedly visits her mom in Evanston."

"Supposedly?"

"I ran into her mom once at Whole Foods. On a Saturday. She seemed surprised when I mentioned Maya's weekly visits."

Caleb's eyes sharpen. "That's suspicious, but not proof."

"You’re right. Why would she visit her mom at 2AM?

" I stare at the highlighted timestamps, feeling bad for even considering Maya when she’s been nothing but supportive the whole time we’ve worked together.

“Maybe we should be looking outside of my team? Like, maybe it’s just some random person Radiance sent in and I’ve never even seen them before? ”

"Maybe." Caleb's hand covers mine. "Let's get Logan to pull the footage before we jump to conclusions."

"You're right." I take a breath. "When can he get it?"

"Give him the week to go through it all. There’s a lot to sift through."

“Of course. I’m sorry. I’m being impatient.”

He squeezes my hand. "We're getting closer, Serena. We're going to nail whoever did this."

A knock on the door makes us both jump.

"Mr. Kingsley? Your six o'clock is here."

"Shit." He checks his watch. "I forgot I had another meeting."

I start gathering the papers. "I should go anyway."

"No." He catches my hand. "Wait for me? This won't take more than an hour. We can go to my place after, go through the rest of the timestamps."

"Is that what we're calling it now? Going through timestamps?"

His grin is wicked. "Among other things."

Another knock, more insistent. "Mr. Kingsley?"

"Coming," he calls, then lowers his voice. "Wait for me in my office. There's a couch, a bar, and Logan should be back soon with his laptop ready to illegally obtain security footage."

"Illegally?"

"Allegedly." He kisses me, quick and possessive. "One hour. Two max."

"Fine. But I'm raiding your expensive scotch."

"Raid anything you like." He heads for the door, straightening his tie, transforming back into the shark lawyer. "Oh, and Serena?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't put your underwear back on."

“I didn’t even bring it.”

His smile is slow, predatory, a promise of what’s to come. He gives me one last look that travels from the sapphire earrings down to my bare legs before he opens the conference room door, leaving me flushed and frustrated and completely, utterly his.

And for the first time, that doesn't terrify me. It thrills me.