Текст книги "Reasonable Doubt. Vol. 2"
Автор книги: Whitney Gracia Williams
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Reasonable Doubt #2
Whitney Williams
REASONABLE DOUBT 2
WHITNEY G.
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2014 by Whitney Gracia Williams
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission of the author.
Cover designed by Najla Qambers of Najla Qambers Designs
http://najlaqamberdesigns.com/
For my BFF/ultimate beta-reader/amazing assistant/shoulder to cry on whenever I’m acting crazy/ “person” like they say on ‘Grey’s Anatomy’... Tamisha Draper.
My books would suck without you...
And for the F.L.Y. crew...
Table of Contents
REASONABLE DOUBT 2
Prologue
Exculpatory Evidence (n.):
Evasion (n.):
Liability (n.):
Retraction (n.):
Consent (n.):
Denial (n.):
Closing Argument (n.):
Letter to the Reader
Prologue
Andrew
New York City
Six years ago...
For the third week in a row, I woke up to a relentless rain falling over this repulsive city. The clouds above were coated in an ugly hue of grey, and the streaks of lightning that flashed across the sky every few seconds were no longer marvels; they were predictable.
Holding up my umbrella, I walked to a newspaper stand and picked up The New York Times—bracing myself for what lay between its pages.
“How many women do you think a man could possibly screw in his lifetime?” The vendor handed me my change.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I’ve stopped counting.”
“Stopped counting, eh? What did you do, get to ten and decide that was enough before settling down?” He pointed to the gold band on my left hand.
“No. I settled down first, then I started fucking.”
He raised his eyebrow—looking stunned, and then he turned around to organize his cigar display.
A couple of months ago, I would’ve entertained his attempt to make conversation, would’ve answered his question with a lighthearted laugh and a “More than we’ll ever admit to,” but I didn’t have the ability to laugh anymore.
My life was now a depressing reel of repeated frames—hotel nights, cold sweats, marred memories, and rain.
Goddamn rain.
I tucked the newspaper underneath my arm and turned away, glancing at the ring on my hand.
I hadn’t worn it in a long time, and I had no idea what possessed me to put it on today. Twisting it off my finger, I looked at it one last time—shaking my head at its uselessness.
For a split second, I considered keeping it, maybe locking it away as a reminder of the man I used to be. But that version of me was pathetic– gullible, and I wanted to forget him as fast as I could.
I crossed the street as the light turned green, and as I stepped onto the sidewalk, I tossed the band where I should’ve thrown it months ago.
Down the drain.
Exculpatory Evidence (n.):
Evidence indicating that a defendant did not commit the crime.
Andrew
Present Day
The hot coffee that was currently seeping through my pants and stinging my skin was the exact reason why I never fucked the same woman twice.
Wincing, I took a deep breath. “ Aubrey...”
“You’re fucking married.”
I ignored her comment and leaned back in my chair. “In the interest of your future short-lived and mediocre law career¸ I’m going to do two huge favors for you: One, I’m going to apologize for fucking you a second time and let you know that it will neverhappen again. Two, I’m going to pretendlike you didn’t just assault me with some goddamn coffee.”
“ Don’t.” She threw my coffee mug onto the floor, shattering it to pieces. “I definitely did, and I’m tempted to do it again.”
“Miss Everhart—”
“ Fuck you.” She narrowed her eyes at me, adding, “I hope your dick falls off,” as she stormed out of my office.
“Jessica!” I quickly stood up and grabbed a roll of paper towels. “ Jessica?”
No answer.
I picked up my phone to call her desk, but she suddenly stepped into my office. “Yes, Mr. Hamilton?”
“Call Luxury Dry Cleaning and have them to deliver one of my suits to the office. I also need a new cup of coffee, Miss Everhart’s file from HR, and you need to tell Mr. Bach that I’ll be late to that four o’ clock meeting today.”
I waited to hear her usual “Right away, sir” or “I’m on it, Mr. Hamilton,” but she said nothing. She was silent—blushing, and her eyes were glued to the crotch of my pants.
“Don’t you need some help cleaning that up?” Her lips curved into a smile. “I have a really thick towel in my desk drawer. It’s very soft...and gentle.”
“ Jessica...”
“It ishuge, isn’t it?” Her eyes finally met mine. “I really wouldn’t tell a soul. It would be our little secret.”
“My fucking dry cleaning, a new cup of coffee, Miss Everhart’s file, and a message to Mr. Bach about me being late. Now.”
“I really love the way you resist...” She stole another glance of my wet pants before leaving the room.
I sighed and started to soak up as much of the coffee as I could. I should’ve known that Aubrey was the emotional type, should’ve known that she was unstable and incapable of behaving normally the second I realized she’d made up a fake identity just for LawyerChat.
I regretted ever telling her that I wanted to own her pussy, and I was cursing myself for driving to her apartment yesterday.
Never again...
Just as I was tearing off a new paper towel, a familiar voice cleared the air.
“Why, hello...It’s good to see you again,” she said.
I lifted my head up, hoping that this was a hallucination—that the woman at my door wasn’t really standing there smiling. That she wasn’t stepping forward with her hand outstretched as if she wasn’t the very reason that my life was heartlessly altered six years ago.
“Are you going to shake my hand, Mr. Hamilton?” She raised her eyebrow. “That is the name you’re going by these days, isn’t it?”
I stared at her long and hard—noticing that her once silky black hair was now cut short into a bob. Her light green eyes were still as soft and alluring as I remembered them, but they weren’t having the same effect.
All the memories I’d tried to suppress over the past few years were suddenly playing right in front of me, and the blood under my skin was starting to boil.
“ Mr. Hamilton?” she asked again.
I picked up my phone. “Security?”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” She slammed the phone down. “You’re not going to ask why I’m here? Why I came to see you?”
“Doing so would imply that I care.”
“Did you know that when most people get sentenced to prison, they get care packages, money orders, even a phone call on their first day?” She clenched her jaw. “I got divorce papers.”
“I told you I’d write.”
“You told me you’d stay. You told me you forgave me, you said that we could start over when I got out, that you would be right there—”
“You fucking ruined me, Ava.” I glared at her. “ Ruined me, and the only reason I said those dumb ass things to you was because my lawyer told me to.”
“So, you don’t love me anymore?”
“I don’t answer rhetorical questions,” I said. “And I’m not a geography expert, but I know damn well that North Carolina is outside of New York and a direct violation of your parole. What do you think will happen when they find out you’re here? Do you think they’ll make you serve out the sentence that you more than fucking deserve?”
She gasped. “You would snitch on me?”
“I would run my carover you.”
She opened her mouth to say something else, but my door opened and the security team walked in.
“Miss?” The lead guard, Paul cleared his throat. “We’re going to need you to vacate the premises now.”
Ava scowled at me, shaking her head. “Really? You’re really going to let them haul me off like I’m some kind of animal?”
“Once again, rhetorical.” I sat down in my chair, signaling for Paul to get rid of her.
She said something else, but I tuned it out. She didn’t mean shit to me, and I needed to find someone online tonight so I could fuck her random and unwanted appearance out of my mind.
Evasion (n.):
A subtle device to set aside the truth, or escape the punishment of the law.
Aubrey
Andrew was the epitome of what it meant to be an asshole, a shining example of what that word stood for, but no matter how pissed I was, I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him.
In the six months that we’d spoken, he’d never mentioned a wife. And the one time I’d asked if he’d ever done anything more than “One dinner. One night. No repeats.” –he’d said “Once,” and quickly changed the subject.
I’d been replaying that conversation in my mind all night, telling myself to accept that he was a liar, and that I needed to move on.
“Ladies and gentlemen of La Monte Art Gallery...” My ballet instructor suddenly spoke into a mic, cutting through my thoughts. “May I have your attention please?”
I shook my head and looked out into the full audience. Tonight was supposed to be one of the highlights of my dance career. It was an exhibition for the city’s college dancers. All of the leading performers for spring productions were supposed to dance a two minute solo in honor of their school, in celebration of what was to come months later.
“This next performer you’re about to see is Miss Aubrey Everhart.” There was pride in his voice. “She is playing the role of Odette/Odile in Duke’s production of Swan Lake, and when I tell you that she is one of the most talented dancers I’ve ever seen...” He paused as the crowd’s chatter dissolved into silence. “I need you to take my word for it.”
One of the photographers in the front row snapped a picture of me, temporarily rendering me blind by the flash.
“As most of you know,” he continued, “I’ve worked with the best of the best, spent countless years in Russia studying underneath the greats, and after a long and illustrious career with the New York Ballet Company, I’ve retired to teach those with untapped potential.”
There was a loud applause. Everyone in the room knew who Paul Petrova was, and even though most in the field were confused as to why he would ever want to teach in Durham, no one dared to question his decision.
“I hope you’ll come out and see the first transformation of the Duke ballet program in the spring,” he said as he slowly walked to the other side of the stage. “But for now, Miss Everhart will perform a short duet from Balanchine’s ‘Serenade,’ with her partner Eric Lofton!”
The audience clapped again, and the lights above them dimmed. A soft spotlight shone on me and Eric, and the violinists began to play.
Short, soft notes filled the room, and I stood on my toes—trying to dance as delicately as the music demanded. Yet, with each step, all I could picture was Andrew kissing me, fucking me, and ultimately lyingto me.
“I’ve never lied to you, Aubrey. I trust you for some strange reason...”
I pushed Eric away when he held out his hands, and twirled across the stage until he came after me. He held my face in his hands—as if he was begging me to stay, but I spun away again, launching myself into a full set of nonstop pirouettes.
I was angry, I was hurt, and I wasn’t holding anything back as I showed off just how well I could dance en pointe.
The second the violinists struck the last note, the audience let out a collective gasp and applauded the loudest they had all night.
“Wow...” Eric whispered as he took a bow next to me. “I don’t think anyone will talk shit about you getting the swan role after that...”
“People have been talking shit about me?” I raised my eyebrow, but I already knew the answer to that. A junior landing the top role over all the seniors was unheard of.
“Bravo, Miss Everhart.” Mr. Petrova walked over to me. “She’s going to blow you all away in the spring, I’m sure of it!”
Another round of applause began to build and he moved the mic away from his mouth. “Where are your parents? I’d like for them to come up for a picture.”
“They’re out of town.” I lied. I hadn’t wasted my time even attempting to invite them to this.
“Well, that’s too bad!” he said. “I’m sure they’re very proud of you. You can exit the stage now.”
“Thank you.” I headed into the dressing room and changed into a short white silk dress and a grey feathered headband. As I looked myself over in the mirror, I smiled. There was no way anyone could tell that I was an emotional wreck inside.
I pulled out my phone and noticed a new voicemail from GBH. I knew it was about me missing my internship for the fourth day in a row, so I deleted it. Then something came over me and I googled “Andrew Hamilton” for the umpteenth time this week—hoping something would pop up.
Nothing. Again.
With the exception of his perfect, poised photo on GBH’s website and that less than telling bio, there was no information about him anywhere.
I tried “Andrew Hamilton: New York, lawyer,” but the results were just as dismal. It was as if he hadn’t come into existence until starting at GBH.
“Great performance, Aubrey...” Jennifer, one of Duke’s top seniors, suddenly stepped into the bathroom. “It really is an honor watching someone so young and underdeveloped get unnecessary credit.”
I rolled my eyes and zipped my purse.
“Tell me something,” she said. “Do you honestly think you’re going to last until the spring performance?”
“Do you honestly think I’m going to stand here and continue this dumbass conversation?”
“You should.” She smirked. “Because between you and me, four years ago—back before your time...There was a certain dancer picked to be the lead in Sleeping Beauty, a double major. She was quite talented—a natural really, but she caved under pressure because she couldn’t devote as many hours to the craft as the dancers who only wanted to dance.”
“Is there a point to this story?”
“I took her spot and I was only a freshman.” She smiled. “Now I’m a senior, and a certain someone is dancing in the role that belongs to me. So, just like back then, I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure I get what’s rightfully mine.”
I shook my head and moved past her, ignoring the fact that she whispered “stupid bitch” under her breath. I was supposed to return to the gallery room and watch the other performers, but I needed a break.
I slipped past the sliding doors to the other side of the room and stepped into the gallery’s bistro. It was much quieter on this side, and the people sitting at the tables seemed to be preoccupied with conversations not centered on ballet.
“Miss?” A tuxedoed waiter stepped in front of me with a tray. “Would you be interested in a complimentary glass of champagne?”
“Two please.”
He raised his eyebrow, but handed me two glasses anyway.
With no grace whatsoever, I tossed one back, then the other—licking the rims to make sure I didn’t miss a drop.
“Where’s your bar?” I asked.
“Our bar? I don’t think the patrons of the art gallery are permitted to—”
“Please don’t make me ask again.”
He pointed to the other side of the room where a few smokers were sitting, and I walked toward them.
“What can I get for you tonight, Miss?” The bartender smiled as I approached. “Would you like to try one of our house specials?”
“Can any of those help me forget about sleeping with a married man?”
The smile on his face faded and he set out three shot glasses, filling them with what I could only hope was the strongest liquor in the house.
I slid my credit card across the counter and downed the first one in seconds—shutting my eyes as the burning sensation crawled down my throat. I held the next one against my lips, but I suddenly heard a familiar laugh.
It was low and gravelly, and I’d heard it a million times before.
I turned around and spotted Andrew sitting at a table with a woman who was nothis wife. I didn’t want to admit it, but she was pretty. Very, very pretty: Auburn hair with blond highlights, deep green eyes, and perky breasts that were too perfect to be natural.
She was rubbing him on his shoulder and giggling every ten seconds.
Andrew seemed undaunted by her affection, and as he signaled for the check, I could only assume how their night would end.
I tried to turn away—to act like seeing him with someone else wasn’t affecting me, but I couldn’t help it.
His date was now leaning over the table—purposely putting more of her cleavage on display, and whispering words that were hard to read. As she playfully licked her lips and stroked his chin with her fingertips, I realized I couldn’t take it anymore.
Subject: SERIOUSLY?!
Are you really on a date right now with someone who isn’t your wife?! It’s bad enough that you’re a cheating and lying philanderer, but are you really that much of a sex addict?
—Aubrey
His response came within seconds.
Subject: Re: SERIOUSLY?!
I’m really on a date right now with someone who’s not going to leave third degree burns on my dick. And I’m not a sex addict, I’m a pussy addict. There’s a difference.
—Andrew
Subject: Re: Re: SERIOUSLY?!
You are a disgusting and vile asshole, and I honestly regret ever sleeping with you.
—Aubrey
No response.
I watched as he looked down at his phone and raised his eyebrow. He turned around in his chair—slowly scanning the room until he found me.
His eyes widened the second they met mine, and his lips slowly parted. His gaze traveled up and down my body, and I could practically feel him undressing me.
There was suddenly no one else in the room but the two of us and I could tell that he wanted me to come to him—right here, right now. I felt my body responding to his stares, felt my nipples hardening as he dragged his tongue against his lips.
I swallowed as I looked him over, realizing that I’d pictured his hair entirely wrong in my dreams this week. I’d finger fucked myself for hours on end last night—using his face and the memories of his voice for inspiration, and seeing him in person only made me want to feel his cock inside of me again.
I leaned forward, wanting to go to him, but my tunnel vision started to clear and I saw that we weren’t alone in this room.
Far from it.
His date’s perfectly manicured hand found its way to his chin, and turned his head away.
I followed suit and asked for two more drinks. I gulped them both and when I looked over my shoulder, I saw that Andrew was staring in my direction with undeniable want in his eyes.
I forced a smile and opened my mouth very slowly, mouthing, “Fuck. You.” before leaving. I snatched a handful of mints from a random waiter’s tray and rushed back toward the gallery.
I was halfway there when I felt my phone vibrating. An email.
Subject: Meet me in the bathroom.
NOW.
—Andrew
I turned off my phone and continued walking toward the gallery doors—damn near running. I reached the lobby, but someone grabbed my arm and pulled me across the room.
Andrew.
I tried to jerk away, but he tightened his hold and looked back at me—giving me a ‘Don’t Fuck with Me’ look as the people around us whispered.
He pulled me into a bathroom and locked the door, narrowing his eyes at me. “You think I’m disgusting?”
“ Extremely.” I stepped back. “I’ve lost what little respect I had for you and if you even tryto put your hands on me, I’ll scream.”
“I don’t doubt that.” A trace of a smile grazed his lips, but it didn’t stay. “You haven’t shown up to work for four straight days. You think just because I fucked you that I won’t fire you?”
“I don’t give a fuck whether you fire me or not! Have you ever thought about whyI haven’t shown up to work?”
“Incompetence?”
“You’re fucking married! Married! How could you—” I shook my head as he closed the gap between us. “How could you leave that part out?”
“I didn’t,” he said. “And for the record...I’m not technically married, Aubrey.”
“I’m not technically stupid, Andrew.”
“You’re making it very difficult to talk to you right now...” His lips were nearly brushing against mine.
“That’s because you’re not making any fucking sense.” I freed myself from his grasp and headed for the door, but he grabbed me by my shoulders and slammed me against the wall.
“It’s a contested divorce,” he hissed. “If you were a reallawyer I’m sure I wouldn’t have to explain what the hell that term means, but since you’re not—”
“It means that you’re still legally married. It means that if you die before the papers go through, that your wife—which is what she is, will still be entitled to everything you ever owned. It means that you’re a LIAR! A fucking liar, who is apparently exempt from his own stupid and ineffectual rules!”
“I filed.” He gritted through his teeth. “She refused to sign, and there’s a lot of complicated shit that I’ll never feel like discussing, but we’ve been separated and out of touch for over six years. Six. Years.”
I shrugged and tried to put on my best poker face, ignoring the fact that my heart was skipping every other beat as he wiped my tears away with his thumb.
“I’ve never lied to you, Aubrey,” he said sternly. “You asked me before if I’d ever lied to you and that answer is still the same. I don’t talk about my life before Durham with anyone, but yes, I did once have a wife and she showed up to my office on her own. I didn’t call her, I never will, and I haven’t called her since I left New York. Our case is extremely complicated and I prefer not to think about it.”
“I don’t care,” I said. “You’re still wrong.You still neglected to tell me about her for six months. Six. Months!”
“At what point was I supposed to bring that shit up?” His face turned red. “In between fucking you over the phone? When I was begging your lying ass to meet me in person? When I was unknowingly helping you with your fucking homework?”
“How about before you fucked me?” I hated that being around him pulled emotions out of me. I couldn’t pretend to act unaffected if I tried. “How about then?”
He clenched his jaw, but he didn’t say a word.
“That’s what I thought,” I said, knowing that I’d won this. “Now, I’m sure you and your lovely D-cup breasted date have a room reserved across the street, so if you don’t mind—”
“There’s nothing going on between me and my soon to be ex-wife,” he said harshly. “Nothing. And I dohave a room reserved across the street. I’ve had the same one reserved for the past four nights with four different women, but I’ve been unable to fuck any of them because I can’t seem to stop thinking about my incompetent-ass-intern and how I only want to fuck her.”
Silence.
“Do you...” I shook my head. “Do you honestly think saying shit like that is a turn-on?”
“Yes...” He trailed his fingers underneath my dress, slightly brushing his thumb against the crotch of my soaked panties. “And apparently you do too...”
“Me being wet just means that I can’t control my body’s reaction to you. It doesn’t mean that I want to have sex with you. I hateyou.”
“I’m pretty sure that you don’t.” He slipped his hand around my waist and pulled me close—making my breathing slow.
“Get your hands off me...”
“Say it more convincingly and I will.” He waited for my request, raising his eyebrow, but I couldn’t bring myself to say those words.
We stood staring at each other for several minutes, letting that raw, palpable tension build between us before I finally broke the silence.
“I think you should get back to your date...” My voice was a whisper. “You’ve said all you had to say so...What more could you possibly want from me?”
“In this moment?” He trailed his finger against my collarbone.
“In general...” I turned my cheek before he could kiss me. “I’m never sleeping with you again, I’ll be formally resigning by the end of the week, and I think we need to end our so-called friendship for good.”
“You mean that?” he whispered.
“Yes, I mean that.” I ignored the feel of his hand squeezing my ass. “I want to be friends with someone who’s interested in more than my pussy.”
“I’m interested in your mouth,too.”
I had no response for that, and he must’ve sensed it because he tightened his grip on my waist.
“I know how hard it is for you to tell the truth,” he said softly, “so I need you to be completely honest when I ask you these next few questions. Can you do that?”
I nodded, breathlessly, and he leaned closer to my lips. “You don’t enjoy fucking me?”
“That’s not the issue.”
“That’s not the answer. Tell me.”
I ignored the loud beating in my chest. “I do enjoy it...”
“Are you really resigning?” He kissed me.
“No...I just—” I sucked in a breath as his hand cupped my right breast, as he squeezed it. Hard.
“You just what?”
“I want to be reassigned to another lawyer, and I don’t want to see you any more than I have to...”
He stared into my eyes for a long time, not saying a word as he finally let me go. “That’s how you truly feel?”
“Seeing as I’m the only one between us who actually feelsanything, yes. Yes, that is how I really feel about you.”
He blinked. Then he suddenly pulled me back into his arms and crushed his lips onto mine.
“Why are you such a fucking liar, Aubrey?” He hissed. Pushing me against the vanity, he bit down on my bottom lip and snatched the feathered headband out of my hair.
Keeping his lips on mine, he pushed my dress up my waist—ripping off my panties with one pull.
“Andrew...” I tried to catch my breath as he picked me up and set me on the sink. “Andrew, wait...”
“For what?” He grabbed my hand and placed it over his belt, telling me to unbuckle it.
I didn’t answer him. I slipped my fingers underneath the metal clip and unclasped it as he pressed his mouth against my neck.
Trailing his tongue against my skin, he whispered, “You haven’t missed me fucking you?”
“It was only twice.” I sucked in a breath as his hands caressed my thighs. “Not enough to miss anything...”
He bit me harshly and leaned back, glaring at me.
My breath caught in my throat as he slipped two fingers inside my pussy and teasingly moved them in and out.
“It feelslike you’ve missed fucking me...” He pushed his fingers as deep as they could go, making me moan softly.
I arched my back as he stroked my clit with his thumb.
He suddenly pulled his fingers out of me and brought them up to his lips, slowly licking them. “It tasteslike you’ve missed fucking me, too.” He pressed another finger against my throbbing wet clit and then he brought it up to my face—placing it against my lips. “Open your mouth.”
I slowly parted my lips, and he narrowed his eyes as he slid his finger against my tongue. I felt his cock rub against my thigh, felt him using his other hand to wrap my leg around his waist.
“Tell me that you don’t want to fuck me,” he said. “That you don’t want me to bury my cock deep inside of you right now.”
He grabbed my face and pressed his lips against mine, drawing my bottom lip into his mouth with his teeth.
I was sliding off the edge of the counter, about to fall, but he suddenly pressed me back against the mirror.
I kept my eyes locked on his as he unwrapped a condom, as he put it on and stared at me with that same angry expression he’d been wearing all night.
He grabbed me by my ankles and pulled me forward, sliding his cock into me as my legs gripped his waist.
My hands clawed at his neck as he pounded into me again and again.
“ I’vemissed fucking you,” he rasped, threading his fingers into my hair and pulling my head back. “But you haven’t thought about me at all?”
“Ahhh!” I screamed as he sped up his thrusts. I squeezed my legs around him even tighter, trying my best not to give in.
I shut my eyes and heard him saying my name—panting, “Fuck, Aubrey...Fuck...”
“Put your hands on the counter...” he commanded, but I ignored him and tightened my grip around his neck.
“Aubrey...” He bit my shoulder again, still fucking me harder than ever. “Put your hands on the counter. Now.”
I slowly unclasped my hands from around him and lowered them to my sides—gripping onto the cold counter. The next thing I felt was his tongue swirling around my nipples, roughly sucking my breasts.
I gripped the tile harder as his kisses became more ravenous—more possessive, and as he fucked me harder and harder I felt myself on the verge of losing control.
“ Andrew....” I moaned. “ Andrew....”
He released my nipple from his mouth and slid his hands underneath my thighs, picking me up and pinning my back against the wall.
“I know you love the way I fuck you, Aubrey...” He looked into my eyes, forcing his cock even deeper into my pussy. “And I know you’ve touched yourself every night this week, wishing it was my cock inside of you instead of your fingers.”
My clit throbbed with his every word, and I was wetter than I’d ever been in my life.
“Tell me it’s true...” He pressed his lips against mine and slipped his tongue into my mouth—muffling my moans with an angry, unrelenting kiss. “Finally tell me something that’s fucking true...”
Tremors traveled up and down my spine, and I was seconds away from coming, but he wouldn’t let my mouth go.
He was still kissing me—glaring at me, begging me to tell him the truth.
I nodded, hoping that he could read my eyes and see that I needed him to let go of me, I needed to be able to breathe.
He slammed into me one last time—hitting my spot, and I managed to tear my mouth away from his.
“Yessssss!” My head fell forward into his shoulder and I gasped for air.
“ Aubrey...” He gripped my waist until he stopped shaking.
As we both came back down, there were few random knocks at the door, a few “Is anybody in there?” taps, but both us remained silent and breathless.
Minutes later, when his breathing seemed to be under control, he pulled out of me—staring into my eyes. He tossed the condom away in the trashcan behind him and pulled up his pants.
I watched as he fixed himself in the mirror, as he smoothed everything so well that no one would ever know that he just fucked the shit out of me.
I slid off the sink and looked at my own face—flushed cheeks, wild hair, runny mascara—and pulled my bra straps back over my shoulder. Before I could pull up my dress straps, Andrew moved my hand away and pulled them up for me.
Our eyes met in the mirror as he smoothed my hair, and for a split second he turned away—to pick up my headband. He gently held it over my head and slid it into place, and then he walked away.
