Page 40 of His Verdict
“My turn to be in charge,” I whisper.
I turn around and climb onto his lap, straddling him, my back to his front. I grip the edge of his massive, polished desk for leverage. I look over my shoulder at him, a wicked, triumphant smile on my face. Then, slowly, I lower myself onto his cock, taking him inch by torturous inch until he is buried deep inside me again.
He lets out a hoarse groan, his hands gripping my hips, his thumbs pressing into the soft flesh. “Fuck, Olivia,” he breathes.
I begin to ride him, setting the pace, controlling the depth. I move with a slow, grinding, deliberate rhythm, my eyes watching our reflection in the dark, mirrored glass of the window. The sight of it—me on top, my ass moving against his groin, his hands possessively on my hips—is a filthy, powerful aphrodisiac.
He loves it. I can feel it in the way his hands tighten on me, in the rough, encouraging dirty talk he is whispering. “That's it, baby… ride me… show me how much you want it… Fucking own it.”
The pleasure is building again, a different kind this time. The feeling of being in control, of fucking him, is a heady, intoxicating power. I am close, so close to another orgasm.
But he is not a man to relinquish control for long.
Just as I am about to come, he surges up from the chair. He lifts me with him, my legs still wrapped around his waist, and in one powerful motion, he bends me over his desk. I gasp as my stomach hits the cool, hard wood. He is still deep inside me.
“My turn again,” he growls, his voice a low, rough command.
He begins to fuck me from behind, his rhythm savage, relentless. His hands grip my hips, his fingers digging in, leaving what I know will be bruises. He lifts one of my legs, hooking it over his arm, tilting my hips for an even deeper, more brutal angle. He is fucking me over his desk, in the seat of his power, like a primal, conquering king.
His free hand moves between my legs, his fingers finding my clit. He begins to rub, a hard, fast circle that perfectly matches the punishing rhythm of his thrusts. “You like that, don’t you?” he grunts, his voice ragged. “Like being my slut, bent over my desk, taking my cock while I play with your clit?”
“Yes,” I scream, my face pressed against the cool wood. “Yes!”
The combination is too much. The orgasm rips through me, a violent, all-consuming wave that makes me see stars. As I come, he comes, his own release a final, deep, convulsive surge that leaves me utterly, completely, beautifully wrecked.
We collapse, a tangled, sweaty heap of limbs, half on the desk, half on the floor. It takes several minutes for my breathing to return to normal, for the world to stop spinning.
I lift my head and look at him. He is watching me, a strange, soft expression on his face. It is a look of awe, of wonder.
“I’m hungry,” I say, my voice a satisfied, husky murmur.
“Are you now?” he asks, a hint of amusement in his voice.
“Yes,” I say. I trace a lazy finger over his chest. “I want that wild mushroom and truffle risotto you made the other night. The one you taught me how to stir.”
He doesn't say anything for a long moment. He just looks at me, really looks at me, with an intensity that makes my heart flutter. Then he leans in and gives me another kiss. It isn't the hungry, bruising kiss from before. It is a hard, deep, possessive kiss that is full of promises.
When he pulls back, he is smiling. He looks at me like I have just personally reached up and hung every star in the sky, just for him.
“Whatever you want, Olivia,” he says, his voice thick with an emotion I can't yet name. “Whatever you want.”
Chapter 19
The morning is crisp and bright, a perfect an autumn day that feels like a lie.
It’s the first time I’ve had to appear in front of a judge since my own public execution and subsequent miraculous resurrection. The case is a dry, tedious piece of commercial litigation—a contract dispute for one of Jasper’s legitimate real estate holdings. It’s the kind of clean, procedural work he’s been feeding me, a slow reintroduction to the world I used to inhabit.
Jasper is already gone, off to some early morning meeting that exists in a stratosphere of power I am not yet privy to. The penthouse is quiet, filled with the scent of the coffee he left for me. Before I leave, I grab my new phone. My fingers hover over my mother’s contact. I haven’t spoken to her, really spoken to her, in weeks. The guilt is a low, persistent hum. I type out a quick text.
Hey Mom. In court today. Just wanted to say I miss you.
I hit send before I can second-guess it. It’s a small, dangerous bridge back to a world I’ve been severed from.
The courthouse is a jarring mix of the familiar and the foreign. The same worn marble floors, the same smell of old paper and stale coffee, the same anxious energy. But I am different. I walk with a confidence that is not entirely my own. The expensive leather of my briefcase feels solid in my hand. My heels click with an assured rhythm. I am no longer a harried public defender drowning in debt; I am a high-poweredcorporate attorney, and I feel the subtle shift in how people look at me. The respect is immediate, unearned but freely given to the suit I’m wearing.
I scan the docket outside Courtroom 3A.Donovan Real Estate Holdings v. Thorne Development Group.My heart stops. Thorne. Not as in Marcus Thorne, my ex-fiancé. As in his father’s firm.
A cold dread mixes with a hot surge of anger. Jasper did this. Of course he did. He must have known. This isn’t just a simple contract dispute. It’s a test. A fucking power play. He’s deliberately pitting me against my past.