Page 16 of His Verdict
“Don’t you dare,” I hiss, taking a step toward him. “Don’t you dare act like this is normal. Like you didn’t just take a fucking wrecking ball to my entire life.”
“I gave you an opportunity,” he states, his voice a low, infuriatingly calm rumble.
“An opportunity? You call this an opportunity?” My laugh is a jagged, ugly thing. “You set me up. That exhibit… that fake, sloppy piece of shit exhibit. You added it, didn’t you? You didn’t just want me to lie; you wanted me to be caught. You wanted me disgraced. Publicly.”
He doesn’t deny it. He just watches me, his gaze so intense it feels like a physical touch. “A half-measure would have been useless. I needed your undivided attention.”
“My undivided attention? I’m suspended! I have a sanction I can’t pay! The State Bar is opening an investigation that will end with me being disbarred! My career isn’t just over, you fucking nuked it from orbit! Why?” My voice breaks on the last word. “Why would you do that to me?”
“Because your career was a cage, and you were too noble to pick the lock,” he says, pushing off the door and taking a slow step toward me. “I just burned the cage down for you.”
“You destroyed me!” I scream, shoving him hard in the chest. It’s like pushing against a marble statue. He doesn’t move, but the impact sends a jolt up my arm.
“I liberated you,” he counters, his voice dropping, becoming dangerously soft. “I saw what you were, what you could be, and I cut away the dead weight. ”
“I’m going to leave!” The admission rips out of me, a confession of my last ditch, escape plan. “I’m going to pack up and move to a new state and start over. I’m going to get away from you, from this whole goddamn mess.”
And that’s when it happens. His mask of calm control doesn’t just slip; it shatters. A flicker of something cold and violent flashes in his eyes. His jaw tightens.
He scoffs, a sound of pure, derisive contempt. “Start over? As what? Another indentured servant to a broken system? You would rather run away and disappear, a nobody in some forgotten city, than accept what I offered you?”
“I don’t want to work for the devil!”
The air crackles. He closes the distance between us in one predatory stride. His hands come up, but they don’t strike me. They cage me, his palms slamming flat against the wall on either side of my head. His body presses against mine, hard muscle and unyielding heat. I’m trapped. His face is inches from mine, his eyes blazing with a fury that matches my own.
“The devil?” he breathes, his voice a low, threatening snarl. “I’m the devil, huh?”
His scent is everywhere. His heat is seeping into my skin. My body, the traitorous bitch, is responding. A low, electric hum starts deep in my belly. My anger is still there, roaring and white-hot, but something else is coiling around it—a dark, desperate desire that I have been suppressing for days.
“You’re insane,” I whisper, my breath catching as his hips press forward, letting me feel the hard ridge of his erection against my stomach.
“No. I’m honest.” His gaze drops to my lips. “And so is this.”
He crashes his mouth down on mine.
It’s not a kiss. It’s a bruising, punishing claim of ownership. His lips are hard, demanding, and I fight back, my fists balling against his chest, my teeth scraping against his. It’s a battle, a clash of wills fought with mouths and tongues. He tastes of whiskey and lemons.
His hand slides from the wall, tangling in my hair, yanking my head back to give him better access. The sharp stingof pain makes me gasp, and his tongue plunges into my mouth. My fury, my shame, my fear—it all curdles into something else. Arousal. Sharp, slick, and undeniable.
My hands stop pushing, my fingers uncurling, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt as I kiss him back with all the desperation of a drowning woman. I hate him. I hate him so much.
He drags his mouth from mine, leaving me gasping, my lips swollen and throbbing. His teeth graze the sensitive skin of my neck as his hand slides down my body, over my hip, finally settling between my legs. Even through the fabric of my pants, I’m wet. Humiliatingly, achingly wet.
“Tell me you don’t want this, Olivia,” he murmurs against my skin, his voice a guttural rasp. “Lie to me again.”
He doesn’t wait for an answer. Two of his fingers press against me, a firm, knowing pressure that makes my knees weak. He works the button of my trousers open with a terrifying efficiency, his other hand still tangled in my hair, holding me pinned. The zipper comes down with a raw, tearing sound.
“Please,” I gasp, not even sure what I’m begging for.
“Please what?” he whispers, his fingers slipping beneath the waistband of my underwear, finding my slick folds. “Please stop? Or please finally take what you’ve been craving since you first walked into that holding cell?”
His fingers slide inside me.
A choked sob of pure, unadulterated pleasure escapes my lips. I’m so wet, he slips in easily, two thick digits filling me, stretching me. He knows exactly what he’s doing. His thumbfinds my clit, circling it with a maddening, relentless pressure while his fingers fuck into me with a hard, steady rhythm.
“You feel that?” he groans, his forehead pressing against mine, our breath mingling. “That’s the truth. Right here. Your body doesn’t give a fuck about your ethics, does it? It just wants this. It just wants to be owned.”
I’m unraveling, coming apart against the cold wall of his penthouse. Every thrust of his fingers sends a jolt of liquid fire through my veins. The view of the glittering city blurs through my tears. My hips start to move of their own accord, bucking against his hand, chasing the release.