Текст книги "Friction"

Автор книги: Sawyer Bennett

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

CHAPTER 15

LEARY

Ford’s car pulls up to the curb in front of my house. I stare at him through the living-room window as he gets out and walks up the sidewalk. Moving toward the door, I open it before he can knock.

“Thanks for coming over,” I say softly, stepping back so he can enter.

“Of course I was going to come over,” he says with a worried look on his face.

I wasn’t sure he’d come. Not with him ignoring me for the past few weeks. I was surprised when he picked up my phone call as I sat behind my desk, trying to stop the frantic beating of my heart.

I was still pissed and hurt over what happened, but I was also scared. Reeve’s last words had a finality to them, and after I took a moment to process, I realized that I think he was saying good-bye to me.

When Ford answered the phone, my voice instantly cracked and I barely managed to get out, “Hey, Ford.”

“What’s wrong?” he immediately responded, knowing that I rarely get emotional about anything.

“Oh, nothing,” I said, my voice quavering.

“Leary, what’s wrong?” he repeated, his voice strong and unrelenting.

“I need . . . um . . . I just really need to talk to you. I need a friend,” I said, and had to bite the inside of my cheek to stop from crying.

“I’m at a hearing in Vance County. I can be at your house in about two hours,” he said, and just like that, my friend was back.

And now he’s here in my house.

Clasping my hands together, I chew on my bottom lip while Ford looks at me with eagle eyes. I open my mouth, not sure what to say. How do I pour my heart out when I haven’t even been willing to admit my heart is involved with Reeve?

Ford’s gaze turns sympathetic. He opens his arms and says gruffly, “Come here.”

And I do.

I walk right into his embrace, lay my head on his chest, and give a heaving sigh. His arms wrap around me, solidly and with care and comfort only. He presses his lips on top of my head and says, “It’s going to be okay. Let me just hug you a minute, then you can tell me all about your problems with Reeve.”

I give a tiny laugh, a little on the maniacal side, and squeeze him around his ribs. “Deal.”

Finally I pull away and pat him on the chest. Looking up into his handsome face, I say, “Come on. I picked up some fruit and cheeses at Fresh Market. We can crack a bottle of wine, and you can listen to me pour my heart out.”

I lead Ford into the living room, where I have the food and wine laid out. He takes a seat on one end of my couch, and I sit on my love seat, curling my feet up under me. Pointing at the spread, I urge him, “Go on and eat.”

“Aren’t you going to?” he asks as he leans forward to grab a cracker and cheese.

“In a bit,” I say, because right now, my stomach is churning too hard to handle food.

Ford pops the cracker in his mouth and leans forward to pour some wine while he chews. He pours two glasses and raises from the couch slightly to hand me a glass.

“So, is this weird?” I ask him as he sits back down and takes a handful of grapes.

“What?” he asks with a grin. “Talking to your ex-lover about your current lover?”

“Well, yeah, that’s pretty much what I was going for.”

“Not weird,” he says with a smile. “We’re friends, Leary. That’s always been first.”

“I guess I felt like you’ve been avoiding me lately,” I say softly. “Have you?”

He swallows and nods. “A little.”

“Are you hurt I’m with Reeve?” I ask gently, then amend. “I mean, was with Reeve, because I think this is totally a past-tense situation.”

“We can talk about that in a minute, but no, I’m not hurt you’re with Reeve. He’s a good guy and I want you to be happy.”

“But you’re acting like you’re hurt,” I prod, because I can sense there’s more.

“Saddened,” he clarifies. “I guess maybe deep down, I thought maybe you and I would eventually . . . you know . . . just stick with each other.”

“But we’ve been on and off for years,” I point out.

“Yeah, but I knew it was different with Reeve. There wasn’t going to be an on again after him. So I think I might just be mourning something that I’ll never have again.”

I blink at him in surprise. “Why would you say that? How could you possibly know that?”

Ford gives me a knowing smile. “Think back. Every other time you’ve wanted to pursue someone, I would ask you if you wanted me to back away, right?”

I nod at him, take a sip of my wine, and let it swirl briefly on my tongue before I swallow.

“Every time your answer was always, ‘Yes, for now.’ You always added on, ‘For now.’ I always knew you’d come back to me eventually.”

I cock my head at him, confused at what he’s trying to say. “I don’t understand.”

“This time,” Ford says dramatically as he leans forward for a slice of cheese, “you didn’t say, ‘For now.’ You just said you wanted me to back away. I could tell then, Reeve was different. I could tell then that you weren’t coming back.”

My gaze lowers down to my wine, my heart hurting over Ford’s words. In a way, I’m now mourning my loss of Ford, because I hadn’t really thought of that before. But it’s true . . . when I told Ford to back away, I was going all-in with Reeve. It was the first time that had happened since I’d started working with Ford, and he saw and understood something then that I’m only getting now.

“I’m sorry,” I say softly as I look back up at him. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Ford shakes his head with a smile. “I’m not hurt, Leary. Again, just a bit sad. An end of an era and all that, so to speak. But you are now and always will be my friend.”

His words are sure and true. He means it, and I feel immensely better.

“So, what did you do to fuck up this thing with Reeve?” he asks me out of the blue.

“What makes you think I did something wrong?”

“Because you have that shamed-dog look, and besides that, I know for a fact that Reeve is crazy about you. If you’re sitting here talking to me, you did something to mess up what you two have going.”

“Jeez, Ford,” I whine. “How about give me a little credit? Maybe Reeve did something wrong, too.”

“Probably,” he agrees as he leans back on the couch and swirls his wine. “But I’m a smart guy. Reeve is a relatively calm guy and is the type to reasonably and maturely talk things out. I know you very well, and you are stubborn and have a terrible temper that makes you say things you later regret. I’m going to stick by my original feeling and say you did something to fuck up.”

“I hate you know me so well,” I grumble. And then admit, “I did fuck up. I got mad at him today for something that really wasn’t his fault, wouldn’t give him the time of day to talk about it, and then told him I was going out with you tonight.”

“You’re such a brat,” Ford says. “Why in the hell would you tell Reeve you were going out with me?”

“To make him mad. To hurt him the way I was hurting,” I defend myself. “At least I was honest about it. I told him I was punishing him.”

Ford looks at me disapprovingly, then leans forward for more food. “What did he do?”

“He walked out on me. He said, ‘So be it,’ which in general breakup terms means ‘Fuck you very much, it was nice knowing you.’” My voice cracks and takes on a panicked edge.

“Calm down, babe,” Ford says gently. “Start from the beginning. Tell me everything that happened.”

“Not much to tell,” I say dejectedly. “We had the LaPietra mediation today. The insurance adjuster didn’t show up. Reeve confirmed there’d be no offer. I went ballistic and blamed Reeve.”

“Did he know the adjuster wasn’t coming?” Ford asks.

“No. He was just as surprised as we were.”

“Then why in the world would you be mad at him?”

“Because he works for Lucifer. He works for and makes a salary from these evil, evil men. He continues to defend this case when in good conscience he knows it’s not defendable. He’s nice and sweet and caring, and it hurts me that he’s working in opposition to me.” My chest is heaving from the oxygen it took to get out that angry outburst, but at least I laid out my true feelings. I really don’t need to elucidate further, because Ford knows how I feel about big business. He knows that I view them as soulless corporations out to screw the little guy. He knows this is personal to me, because for much of my life, my family was the little guy.

“This case is more important to me than any case I’ve tried in my entire legal career,” I say softly. “And Reeve wants me to lose it. He’s going to try to make me lose it. How can I want to be with someone who wants bad things for me?”

Ford’s mouth draws down into an empathetic frown. He stands from the couch and sets his wineglass down. He circles the end table and reaches out to take my glass from my hand. I easily let it go.

Kneeling down in front of me, Ford takes my hands and squeezes them. “You’re not being fair to Reeve. You knew who he was and what he was when you started this. You had no problem sleeping with the enemy. Logically, you knew going into this there was going to be a winner and a loser. And I get it—now that feelings are involved, it’s a tougher pill to swallow reconciling Reeve your opponent with Reeve your lover.”

I nod at him, because he’s spot-on.

“But what you’re failing to understand is that Reeve does not want you to be hurt by the outcome, I can guarantee you. Is he very much aware that his efforts can cause you to lose? Yes. But he’s just doing his job. Is he going to be happy if he wins? Maybe, because that means he did his job well. Is he going to hurt that you’re hurt? I guaran-fucking-tee you that is going to be the case. So my question to you is, why can’t it be enough that he doesn’t want to hurt you? In this scenario, when that’s the best you can hope for in this fucked-up relationship you have, why isn’t that good enough for you? If you can’t accept that about him, then you need to let him go.”

My head spins and my jaw drops in guilty realization of everything that Ford just laid out to me. “I can,” I whisper with sudden realization. “I can accept that.”

Ford cocks a skeptical eyebrow at me.

“I can accept that,” I say in a stronger voice. “I guess I just didn’t realize it until now. I think I forgot that this may be hard on him, too.”

Nodding, Ford says with a smirk, “Congratulations, I now proclaim you to be a reasonably mature woman.”

I smack Ford on the shoulder. “Smart-ass.”

Ford goes back to the couch. He takes a few more crackers and cheese. “So what are you going to do to fix this?”

“I’m thinking groveling may be involved,” I say dejectedly.

“No time like the present. Give him a call now.”

“Right now?” I ask hesitantly. Not because it’s an insane idea, but because I’m still fresh off being embarrassed about making an ass of myself.

“Right now,” Ford affirms, grabbing his glass of wine and sinking back into the couch.

“And . . . you’re just going to sit there and listen in on my conversation?” I ask dubiously.

“Pretty much,” he says with a grin. “I’ve earned it.”

I roll my eyes and walk over to my purse, which rests on my foyer table, and pull out my phone. As I walk back into the living room, I dial Reeve’s number. As it rings, I nibble on my fingernail—a nervous habit I’ve had since grade school—and keep my back to Ford, not wanting to acknowledge his penetrating look as I get ready to prostrate myself before Reeve.

His phone rings five times and goes to voice mail. His message is short, businesslike, and professional, slightly intimidating to me in this context. When I hear the beep, I take a deep breath and say, “Hey. It’s me. Listen, I’m sorry for the way I behaved today. I was angry and took it out on you. I’m actually sitting at my house, eating cheese and crackers with Ford. He’s pretty much told me I’m a dumbass for the way I acted, and I’d like the chance to apologize. So . . . um . . . call me. I can come over tonight if you want.”

I pause, wondering if I should say something more, then realize, what more can I say? I apologized. I hope he accepts it. I really hope he wants me to come over tonight.

I tap on my phone to disconnect the call and turn back to Ford. He’s smiling at me and making a thumbs-up sign. I smile back, content that I’ve done all I can.

Feeling a bit hungry, I walk back over to the love seat and grab a handful of grapes. Nothing to do but wait for Reeve to call me back.

It’s midnight and I’m lying awake in my bed.

Reeve never called me back, and I wonder if he just didn’t check his phone, if he’s ignoring me, or if—worst-case scenario—he’s seeking pleasure from someone else.

Like Vanessa.

To punish me the way I attempted to punish him.

Except mine would sort of be deserved.

The thought brings tears to my eyes, and I snag my phone off the small table beside my desk. The display is bright when I turn it on, temporarily blinding and hurting my eyes until I adjust.

I pound out a quick text to Reeve. Did you get my message? Are you ignoring me?

No hesitation before I hit Send. My anxiety over potentially driving Reeve away for good won’t let me second-guess my desperate nature. I even briefly consider getting in my car and going over to his house to demand he talk to me.

But then the thought of what I might find when I get there scares the shit out of me, and I immediately discard the idea.

Ford stayed over for about an hour, cleaning me out of all my cheese and fruit as well as a bologna sandwich I made him. We actually talked about Jenna’s case, focusing on how best to lay out the expert witness testimony. While I love my easygoing friendship with Ford, and while I can never adequately tell him how much I appreciated his friendship tonight, one other reason why I will always hold the highest respect for the man is his legal prowess. He’s an amazing litigator and even more brilliant strategist. Most of what I know I learned from him. Most of the mistakes I’ve made in my career he’s helped me work through and taught me how to avoid in the future. Ford will help me prep for the trial as we get closer, although I won’t have him sitting at the counsel table with me. I want the jury to see just Jenna and me, the tiny little Davids up against the Goliath insurance company and their passel of attorneys I’m sure will be there, each individually billing out hundreds of dollars per hour.

Reeve doesn’t text me back. I know he’s awake because he’s a night owl. Many nights we’ve spent together, he would make love to me, or fuck me, depending on his mood, and I would be so tired I’d go to sleep.

Not Reeve.

He’d get up and go into the living to watch TV, usually ESPN’s SportsCenter, or he’d pull out some work. Sometimes I’d awaken at one or two in the morning and tiptoe into the living room. I’d find him wide-awake, surfing channels or reading legal cases. I’d crawl onto his lap, and with nothing more than a soft kiss on the side of his neck, I’d entice him to come to bed so he could get some sleep. It was almost as if I was taking care of him in that respect.

All the little things I shared with Reeve that I took for granted.

Until now.

Sadness that I haven’t heard back from him washes over me. I can’t waste an opportunity to let him know what I’m feeling.

I send him one more text.

I miss you.

Then I turn my phone off and try to go to sleep.

CHAPTER 16

REEVE

What a fucking day.

As I drive through my neighborhood, I heave an internal sigh over the work I need to get done tonight.

On my client’s orders, I need to prepare a brief in opposition to the motion for sanctions against Tom Collier that Leary filed this morning and faxed to my office. She didn’t waste any time, and as was my duty, I immediately forwarded it to Tom to review. In my e-mail to him, I explained that the law was on Leary’s side, that he was under court order to attend the mediation, and by failing to do so was in contempt. I also explained that he would be best served to just roll over and pay the $10,000 she was asking for as recompense.

I’d like to say I took Leary’s side in this out of some sense of guilt over what happened yesterday, but it’s not that. Bottom line, the law’s in her favor and there’s no sense fighting a losing battle.

So why am I bothering to work tonight to get a brief prepared if the law is against me?

Because that douche Tom Collier is refusing to take my advice. We argued for thirty minutes on the phone, but he clearly doesn’t care that he’s going to lose this motion. Instead, he insisted I go ahead and file a motion for sanctions against her for what she did in Jenna LaPietra’s deposition.

I spent another ten minutes trying to explain to the moron that technically, Leary didn’t do anything wrong. Was it in poor taste for her to call him out like that on the record? Absolutely, but the only fix to that was to ask the judge to strike that portion from the record, which he would definitely do.

No judge would award sanctions for her behavior, and some judges—like Judge Henry, who was fond of Leary Michaels—would actually be amused.

Tom was having none of it and ordered me forward.

And because he is TransBenefit’s representative, and TransBenefit employs me, I have to do what he says.

Within reason, of course.

I agreed to prepare the brief and followed up with a confirmation e-mail of same. I wanted it in writing that I was advising him not to do this and that he ran the risk of severely pissing off the judge and getting hit with harder sanctions than the $10,000. I did not agree to file the motion for sanctions against Leary. I told him it was frivolous and was pushing my ethical boundaries to do so, and if he had a problem with that, he could take it up with the partners at Battle Carnes.

He didn’t respond, so I decided to wait the entire day to see if he would change his fucking mind.

Moron never did, so that’s why I have to work tonight on a brief that will be an absolute waste of time and just piss Leary off even more.

Of course, I’m not sure I really care if I piss her off more. I’m still pissed at her, despite her apology voice mail. I’ll admit, I warmed a tad when she texted me last night and told she missed me, but I held strong and didn’t respond.

I wanted more time to think.

While logically I get why Leary was so upset, and I can even forgive her for trying to make me jealous by saying she was going out with Ford last night, the one thing I can’t get past is the way my job and role in the LaPietra case trouble her. She’s upset that I’m defending this case and is having a hard time reconciling that with her personal feelings for me. She’s not easily handling that I wear two faces in this relationship.

And the truth of the matter is, if Leary was that upset over the adjuster failing to show at the mediation, what in the hell is she going to do when I pull out my surprise witnesses at trial, who will tear Jenna to pieces? She will never, ever forgive me for that. She’ll never be able to understand I’m just doing the job that I’m not only paid for, but that my ethical duty demands I do.

So I didn’t call Leary back because I’m not so sure we should continue. I’m not going to lie, I desperately fucking miss her. I couldn’t stand not having her in my bed last night. Couldn’t stand not waking up with her this morning.

But what’s the point of going back to that?

I’m just going to lose it again in a few weeks.

I have a decision to make, and nothing about this day has given me any further clarity on the issue. I’m wondering if maybe I should call Cal and talk about it with him. Or maybe even Ford.

I didn’t have a single qualm about Leary telling me she was going out with Ford last night. I trust her and him not to do anything. I know in my heart she was just trying to make me as mad as she was. And it worked for a bit, and then I recognized it for what it was—a failed attempt to hurt me so she could alleviate some of her own pain.

Just as I turn onto my street, my phone starts ringing. Because it’s hooked up to my Bluetooth, I hit the Accept button on my steering wheel, and the call connects through my stereo speakers.

“Reeve Holloway,” I say.

“Mr. Holloway, this is Rhonda Valasquez. I’m returning your call from last night.”

“Yes,” I say with immediate recognition. “Thanks for calling me back.”

“You said on your message this is about Dr. Summerland and a lawsuit against him?”

“That’s right. I represent Dr. Summerland and his insurance carrier,” I say by way of further explanation. “I’d like to talk to you about the case if you have a moment.”

She’s quiet a moment and I almost prompt her response when I see my house coming into view and Leary’s car sitting out front. Leary is sitting on my front porch steps.

Although my heart starts racing with a mixture of desire for her as well as anxiety over what we could possibly say to each other, I give my head a shake and turn my attention back to the phone call.

Pulling into my driveway, I stop the car and put it in park but leave the engine running. “Ms. Valasquez?”

“I won’t help Dr. Summerland, if that’s what you want,” she says abruptly.

I’m surprised by the venom in her voice, and I go on high alert. “No, I don’t expect that. I’m just doing some more investigation into this case and wanted to ask you about your nurses’ notes.”

“Is this about his surgery on Jenna LaPietra?” she asks hesitantly.

“Yes,” I say, my throat suddenly going dry. I glance over at Leary. She’s stood up from the porch and watches me as I sit in the car. “I’d love to talk to you. Maybe I can come by the hospital and we can meet on one of your breaks.”

She gives a wry laugh. “I don’t work there anymore. Dr. Summerland had me fired after that surgery.”

“Fired?” I ask in confusion.

“Look, I don’t have anything good to say about your client, Mr. Holloway. I’d appreciate it if you leave me alone.”

The click in my ear is resounding as she hangs up on me. She made it emphatically clear that she wouldn’t talk to me, and she was also equally clear that she has nothing good to say about Dr. Summerland.

That means it’s imperative I talk to this woman, and I’m just going to have to keep after her. I’ll get our investigator on it, find out if she’s working somewhere else or, at the least, get an updated and accurate home address.

Sighing with fatigue, I turn my car off.

Now it’s time to deal with Leary.

As usual, she looks completely stunning. It’s a brisk day for early November in the Carolinas, and she has on a cherry-red wool coat with big black buttons down the middle. Her hands are in her pockets, and she’s dressed casually, with a pair of faded jeans tucked into black riding boots.

I traverse the sidewalk toward her, and as I get closer she gives me a tentative smile and says, “Hey.”

“What are you doing here?” I ask her, my tone bordering on polite but flat.

She gives me a chastising look. “When you wouldn’t return my call or texts, did you honestly think I wouldn’t come?”

I brush past her and trot up the three steps of my front porch. Mr. Chico Taco starts his booming barks from inside. Fingering my house key, I struggle to maintain some emotional distance, but when I turn to look at her, I know it will be next to impossible to do so. Her soft-brown eyes stare up at me in contrition, and I fully accept her regret over what she did.

“Listen . . . come on in and we can—”

“Reeve . . . hey, wait up,” I hear from my left. Turning I see Vanessa jogging across her yard toward me, holding something in her hand. She’s wearing workout clothes—skintight leggings that come to midcalf and a sports halter top that comes to midstomach. The fact that she’s out in the cold wearing that tells me that it’s calculated.

She pushes right past Leary, still standing on my sidewalk, and bounds up the steps, her long blonde ponytail swinging jauntily. Her hand extends. “Here, I’m returning the sweatshirt you let me wear this morning because it was so cold out.”

I groan mentally over the insinuation in her tone, and based on the sly smile on Vanessa’s face, there’s no doubt she did this in front of Leary for a reason.

Movement out of the corner of my eye catches my attention, and I see Leary heading across my yard for her car. Her back is rigid and anger radiates off her.

Pushing past Vanessa, I leap off my porch, and in three strides I have Leary by the arm. Pulling her around, I immediately start walking back toward my house. “Oh, no, you don’t,” I tell her firmly. “You came over to talk and we’re going to talk.”

She tries to pull away from me and hisses, “I don’t want to talk. It was a mistake coming here.”

I don’t let her go, and her attempts to struggle with me are futile. I don’t say another word to her but lead her right up the porch steps to my door and past Vanessa, causing her to have to take a step backward or get plowed over.

Grasping my key solidly in one hand and Leary’s arm in the other, I don’t even turn around when I say, “Vanessa, you can go home now. Thanks for bringing my sweatshirt back.”

I manage to deftly slide the key in, turn the lock, and open the door, all while keeping my hold on Leary’s arm, who’s still trying to twist and turn out of my hold.

Chico greets us at the door, but I push past him, dragging Leary along.

After the front door is slammed, I utter a curt “Sit” to Chico, who dutifully does so, then point to my couch and tell Leary, “You, too. Sit.”

Her eyes narrow at me and I glare back at her, keeping my finger pointed toward the couch. She doesn’t move.

“You can go sit, Leary, or I will make you sit. That will probably involve tying you up, but I’ll make it happen one way or the other.”

Her nostrils flare and I don’t miss the subtle darkening of her eyes, but she stands her ground. Leaning in toward me so I catch her fragrance, she whispers, “You can go to hell.”

She whirls away and heads for my door. My arm snakes out, and I once again grab her by the elbow. I think briefly about depositing her on the couch and sitting on top of her to make her stay, but one tiny whiff of her smell when she leaned in toward me, and that thought is abandoned.

Instead, I pull her toward me roughly, so hard she slams into my chest. One hand goes to the back of her head to hold her still while my mouth slams down to hers, my arm going around her waist to pull her lower body into me. I immediately start to swell hard with hunger for her, and I can’t seem to give a damn that I’m angry with the woman.

Nothing seems to matter except her mouth against mine, my cock pressed into her lower belly and yes . . . right there . . . her hands slide up my chest and curl around my neck until she’s trying to pull me even closer to her.

We kiss like starving fiends, breath coming faster, grunts and moans floating around our tongues. Spinning around, I pin her up against the wall with my body, shove my thigh in between her legs, and kiss her even harder.

I know we should be talking about something, but for the life of me I can’t remember what was so important. What could be more important than this?

Than tasting Leary right now.

Possessing her.

Making her mine again.

Again? She’s not mine now?

I rip my mouth away from hers, and my chest seizes when she gives a disappointed moan. Her eyes flutter open but they’re clouded with lust.

My hands come up to grasp onto the sides of her face, and I lean in slightly so she can feel the true weight of my stare. Even though I’m slightly out of breath, I manage to tell her, “I did not sleep with Vanessa last night.”

Leary blinks at me. A little of the fog dissipates from her eyes. Her pelvis tilts and seeks me out.

Shaking her head to make sure she understands me, I repeat, “I didn’t sleep with Vanessa. You got me?”

She nods, her pink tongue sneaking out to lick at her lower lip. Her eyes focus on my mouth, and I know she’s not fully engaged with me.

“She texted me at work today that she took one of my sweatshirts when she walked Chico. She was just returning it.”

“Okay,” Leary says testily. “I got it. Now can you just fuck me?”

I grin at her before leaning in to kiss her again. This time a bit softer. My fingers come up and work the buttons of her coat open, then I’m sliding it from her shoulders. She’s wearing a simple cream-colored turtleneck tucked into her jeans with a wide black belt. It’s amazing how, even in jeans, she can still look elegant and classic.

Bending down, I curl my hands under her ass and hoist her up. Her slender legs wrap and lock around my hips, and her head tilts to the side to kiss along my jawline. I walk her back toward my bedroom, giving a sharp “Stay” to Chico when he gets up to follow us.

Next follows a struggle between the two of us trying to undress each other. We fumble with buttons, zippers, and her bra clasp. Shoes get in the way; socks prevent a sexy disrobing.

None of that matters, though, because in moments Leary is on top of my bed and I’m on top of Leary, my cock resting heavy and pulsing with need across her pelvic bone.

I kiss her again, starting off slowly, but almost instantly, the lust flows hotly again between us. Her hips flex against me, rubbing her bare pussy all over my cock. Her wetness seeps through her folds, coating my shaft slick and driving me delirious with need.

Looping one arm under the back of her leg, I hoist it up and spread her wide. Fisting my cock, I line up, watching in fascination as I push just the tip in with a slight movement of my hips. I take a moment and marvel at the beauty of my thickness just nestled in between those pink lips, knowing that I’m getting ready to sink into her heaven.

My gaze comes back up to her, and her eyes are pinned on me with anxiety. “Are you okay?” I ask her, holding my body absolutely still.

“Do you forgive me?” she whispers, and it all comes back to me.

I pushed her right into my bed without giving any thought to resolving things between us. My mind scrambles . . . what the fuck am I doing?

Should I stop or should I push inside her?

Do I accept things the way they are and just wait for the day she truly hates me for what I’ll do to her case?

Or should I man up and cut things off right now?

My cock jerks in rebellion over the thought of pulling away from Leary, at least physically, so I completely succumb to my lust and need for her and slam my way inside without answering her question.