Page 23 of Dial L for Lawyer (Curves & Capital #2)

Serena

T he door to Caleb's penthouse barely closes before he has me against it, mouth hot on my neck, hands everywhere.

"Fuck, Serena," he growls against my skin, fingers already sliding up my thighs. "You have no idea how desperate I am to be inside you."

"Then stop talking about it and show me." I push him back hard, walking him toward what I hope is the living room. The apartment is all shadows and city lights through floor-to-ceiling windows, but I'm not here for a tour.

"Not so fast, sweetheart." He spins us, pressing me against the nearest wall, his hand sliding up my thigh and finding me bare and wet. "Christ, you're soaked."

"I've been dripping since the conference room." I bite his lower lip, hard enough to make him hiss. "Even more since you promised to fuck me until sunrise."

His fingers slide through my wetness, finding my clit with practiced ease. "Is that what you want? To be fucked until sunrise?"

"Yes," I gasp, steadying myself against the cool wall as his fingers keep working me, relentless, thorough. "Fuck, don't stop."

He doesn't. He presses me harder, breathing rough against my cheek.

I reach down, fumbling for his belt, but my fingers are shaking so badly I miss the buckle twice.

He laughs, low and feral, and covers my hands with his, guiding me through the motion until the belt falls away and his fly is open and?—

I have him in my hand, thick and hot and pulsing.

We're running out of patience, and that's exactly how I want it.

He kneels suddenly, pulling me down to the thick rug and pushing up my dress, his mouth following.

Before I can register the shift, his tongue is on me—hungry—licking, sucking, devouring like I'm the only meal he's had in weeks.

My legs quake and I fist his hair, holding tight as his mouth works in slow, deliberate circles.

"Jesus," I gasp, my voice an octave higher than normal. The city is blazing outside the window and I could not care less—my world is sex and heat and the need to come, immediately, urgently, like I'll die if I don't.

Caleb pins my hips with both hands, holding me open and steady as he alternates slow, teasing licks with quick, focused pressure, every shift in tempo calculated to make me unravel just a little more.

He's relentless, filthy in the way he moans into me, the way he eats me like an act of both worship and animal greed.

"Holy fuck," I hiss, tugging on his hair and grinding against his face as my orgasm slams into me, making me see stars.

My whole body jerks, his tongue relentless until I'm keening, blind to anything but the shockwave tearing through me.

He groans against me as I come, like my pleasure is the only thing he's ever wanted.

It takes a second for the world to come back into focus. When it does, Caleb is on his knees, hands still gentle on my thighs, eyes dark with hunger.

"I could eat you for days," he rasps, climbing over me with my release still slick on his mouth.

I catch my breath just long enough for him to drag me to sitting, then something inside me snaps and I'm shoving him backward before he can pin me down again.

He lands on his back on the plush rug, and I'm on him immediately, straddling his thighs.

"Serena—"

"Shh. It's my turn right now." I grab his shirt with both hands and tear it open, buttons scattering across his pristine hardwood. I gasp. "I can't believe that actually worked."

"That was Armani."

"I'll sew them back on."

I rake my nails down his chest, watching the red lines bloom on his skin, then slide down his body, yanking at his pants, too impatient to be careful. He lifts his hips to help, and then he's naked beneath me, cock hard and thick against his stomach.

"Look at you," I murmur, wrapping my hand around him. "You don't even look real."

He grins up at me, gorgeous and wild, every muscle in his arms flexing as his hands ride up my hips to splay across my waist. I have the urge to tease, but the second his thumb strokes circles just under my breast, all pretense evaporates.

I want him. There's no cleverness left, no walls, only the ache and the need and the absolute clarity that I will never want anyone else like this.

"Funny," he groans as I stroke him slowly. "I was just thinking the same about you."

"Liar." But I'm smiling as I lower my mouth to him, running my tongue along the underside before taking him deep.

"Fuck!" His hips buck up.

"Stay still," I warn, pulling back to look at him. "Or I stop."

"If you stop, I take control again. Either way, I win."

"That's true," I concede, and then I go down on him in earnest, taking him as deep as I can. I let my tongue do the heavy lifting because, honestly, I want to hear him lose control. I want to see all that lawyerly composure burn off in the heat of my mouth.

He's panting, knees flexing, and when I look up and lock eyes with him, something in my chest expands, greedy and brave and hungry all at once. He braces one hand on the back of my neck, careful but insistent.

"Jesus, Serena—" he groans, and the cursing turns me on so much I almost come again just from knowing I'm doing this to him.

"Serena, fuck, I'm going to?—"

I pull off with a pop. "Not yet."

"You're fucking evil."

"You love it." I climb back up his body, my dress bunched around my waist, the corset still somehow in place but barely containing my breasts. "Tell me you love it."

"I love it," he says immediately, hands sliding up my thighs. "I love how you take control. Love your mouth. Love how wet you are."

I position myself over him, teasing us both by sliding my wetness along his length without taking him inside. "What else?"

"Christ, Serena, please?—"

"What. Else."

His hands grip my hips hard enough to leave marks. "I love how you taste. How you sound when you come. How you look right now, about to ride me."

"Good answer." I sink down onto him in one smooth motion, taking him to the hilt.

We both groan, the feeling of finally being connected overwhelming. I don't move for a moment, just enjoy the stretch, the fullness, the way he's looking at me like I'm everything.

"Move," he commands and he says it in that voice, that smooth courtroom command that makes my whole body obey before I've even decided to comply.

I roll my hips, slow at first, then counter his thrust with a rhythm that's hot, desperate, a little unhinged.

We're locked together, one motion, every push and drag stoking the friction between us.

His hands roam, my hips, my waist. Then he cinches the corset tighter, holding me in place so he can fuck up into me, hard. The pressure is perfect, filthy and restrictive all at once. I throw my head back and ride him in earnest, grinding down, each connection sending sparks up my spine.

"God, Serena?—"

My name isn't a sound, it's a benediction in his mouth.

I can't look away from him, can't hide from the way his eyes burn into mine with every bounce and twist. For a minute it's intimate, and then it's animal, nothing but the sweat-slick sound of bodies and the kind of muffled curses that only lovers get away with.

I ride him hard. I ride him until my thighs burn and my vision blurs, until the city outside spins and all the expensive glass and steel is just a halo around the bright pop and sizzle of my own approaching release.

He knows it, feels it—his hands grip tighter, his own rhythm falters.

"Come around me," he rasps, voice hoarse. "Let me feel that perfect cunt squeeze my cock."

I do. I come with a violence that wrings a shout out of me.

He grabs the straps of my dress and yanks them down, baring my breasts, then sits up and takes one nipple straight into his mouth, biting just hard enough to make my hips jerk.

"Jesus—Caleb?—"

He pins my hips, licking and sucking, making a fucking meal out of me. When he finally pulls off, my nipple is swollen and wet and his eyes are nearly black.

"I want to fuck you while I see your whole body," he rasps, voice dark and ruined.

My blood turns to ice even as my body burns. No. Not this. Not yet.

His hands find the laces of the corset as he drives up into me, fingers working with surprising dexterity even as he's fucking me from below.

"Caleb," I cry, but it's half protest, half plea. The champagne makes everything fuzzy at the edges, but not fuzzy enough to silence the alarm bells.

"Need to see you," he growls against my throat. "All of you."

All of me. The words echo like a threat. All the parts I've hidden. The stretch marks. The loose skin. The evidence of who I used to be. My mother’s voice tries to needle in, "No one wants to see that, Serena."

The corset loosens with each pull of the laces, and the feeling of freedom combined with him hitting that perfect spot inside me is overwhelming. I should object—some part of me knows I should—but he's angling just right, and I'm so close to another orgasm that I can't form words.

This is it. The moment where he sees the truth and everything changes. Where I go from fantasy to reality. From the careful illusion to the disappointing truth.

"That's it, gorgeous," he murmurs, pulling the last of the laces free. "Let me see what's mine."

Fuck it. I'm tired of hiding. If this ruins everything, at least I'll know. At least I'll have been brave for once in my goddamn life.

“OK.”

The corset falls away completely, and I'm naked except for the dress bunched around my waist. His eyes are dark, hungry, taking in every inch of exposed skin as his hands come up to cup my breasts.

I wait for it—the flicker of disappointment, the polite look away, the gentle suggestion we pull down the blinds. Instead?—

"Fuck, you're perfect."

His words steal the air from my lungs, cause tears to sting the backs of my eyes. Perfect? But then he pinches my nipples and drags me right back into this moment, making me gasp and clench around him.

"The way you squeeze my cock when I do that—Jesus, Serena."