by Lana Lachlan
He lifted his head from the kiss, his hand moving around between her legs. “You’re very aroused, Ms. Jones.”
Ophelia didn’t answer because her soaked tights were proof enough.
With a soft laugh, he worked his fingers through the ripped opening in her leggings, carelessly popping stitches to make room for his hand. She felt him push her panties aside to touch her. Ophelia bit her lip to stop her moan, not wanting him to know her desperation although in her sex-starved condition, how could he miss it.
With a tweak of her clit, he withdrew. “Take them off.”
This couldn’t be happening. Not to her—sensible Ophelia Tate who didn’t do reckless. The whole lust at first sight thing only happened in movies and romance novels, but not in real life or at least, not in her life. Yet without a second thought, she obeyed. Removing her fluffy-lined boots, she peeled her leggings and panties down to free a foot. He waited quietly, although she saw him raise a brow at her waist-high pink panties. Finally free of her clothing, she stood in front of him, every cell in her body liquid with desire. His hand reclaimed her sex. Ophelia spread her legs to accommodate him, shocked at her own shamelessness. A thick finger pierced her, explored. Ophelia gripped his coat lapels to hold herself up, squirming into the knee-buckling bliss as he began to caress and rotate while his thumb made its own circles. Her clit felt so huge, it would surely burst if it didn’t have relief. Ophelia buried her face in his chest and prayed for completion.
She was almost there when he left her, leaned low to whisper in her ear, “Not yet.”
Ophelia, in a lust-ridden stupor, watched him ease his zipper over the swell in his pants. With a grunt, he liberated his erection, holding it with one hand while he shoved his pants and briefs to his knees. Ophelia saw the top of his cock poking up through his broad fingers and when he took his hand away, she gawped at the sight of his erection standing straight up in the air. Ophelia didn’t have much of a sex résumé, but this was the biggest, most beautiful appendage she had ever laid eyes on. Ophelia couldn’t look away, nor could she imagine it fitting inside her body.
“You’re…” she said before she could stop herself.
A chuckle from above her head and Ophelia reddened at her silliness.
He reached into his coat to retrieve a condom, rolled it on in one smooth movement and adjusted it around the base. As he lifted her, Ophelia slipped her legs into his coat and around his waist. She felt like a limpet stuck to a rock—an enormous rock made of granite. He held her easily—so easily that he had her supported on one hand while the other slid under her sweater to undo her bra. At the feel of her breast being encased in warmth, she squeezed her eyes shut to absorb the sensation and when she opened them again, she realized she’d forgotten to breathe. Ophelia wondered if someone could pass out from sheer lust.
Wrapping her arms around his neck, she clung to him as he spread her open with his fingers as though checking she could take him. Ophelia wasn’t sure herself.
He didn’t enter her straight away. Instead he kissed her and with each dip of his tongue into her mouth, he sank her down, inch by measured inch, but not all the way.
“You’re a snug fit, Ms. Jones,” he rumbled against her mouth. “I’ll take it slow.”
She didn’t attempt an answer because she was too far gone to say anything useful. Jake lifted her free, lowered her again, held steady for a second before settling into shallow slides—each drop putting him further inside her body. And when she thought there was nothing left to fill, he found more. Backing her up against the bookshelf, he set his blue eyes on hers and Ophelia saw the lust—an emotion she hadn’t expected. Not for her, the girl with the ripped tights and baggy sweater and pathetic sex résumé.
He knew her confusion because he smiled softly. “Have confidence, little one.”
To prove her confidence, Ophelia spread her arms out, grasped the edges of the shelf and pushed herself forward in offering. She felt her body being peeled back as he thrust to the end of her.
“Nicely done, girl.”
Ophelia didn’t know whether she should thank him for the compliment. He surged into her, every weighty slide sending books flying from the rocking shelves. Ophelia was too close to climax to care about the wreckage to her precious books, let alone stop. As she met his grinding drives with her own frenzied movements, her muscles gripped the enormous slippery heat plundering her body. Her orgasm exploded, hips jerking uncontrollably as she traversed each spasm on loud, reckless cries, squeezing as hard as she could when she felt the throb of him join her in ecstasy.
Finally he stopped. Ophelia let go of the shelf to place her hands on his shoulders, expecting to be put down, but he continued to hold her.
“Sorry about your tights.”
Ophelia flopped against him. “I’m more worried what the librarian will think about the mess.”
He continued to thrust lazily into her as though nowhere near finished. “She’ll figure it out, Ms. Jones. You haven’t found your red book.”
Ophelia gripped the heat inside her, nowhere near finished herself. “I’ll have to keep looking.”
Another shunt. “I’d advise that.”
Nestled in the warmth of his coat while he stroked, she allowed herself to think that this was right. Not exactly proper but definitely right. But as his movements quickened, her conscience drifted into focus. Later he would be doing this with Lily and then with Candice.
Oh dear God, what had she done?
Dropping her legs from his waist, she leaned out from his chest. “Put me down.”
Calmly he lifted her free to set her on the floor, even supporting her when she stumbled on jelly legs. In silence she dressed, retrieved her glasses from the floor and tried not to look at him removing the condom and tucking himself back in his pants. What did someone say in a situation like this? Nothing. Just start walking and ignore the fact that you want him again.
He caught up to her as she gathered up her laptop, coat and bag. “This has to continue, Ms. Jones. What’s your number?”
Looking up into his eyes, she saw no guilt, no remorse. He couldn’t have cared less about Lily. “You can’t be serious.”
“It was good sex but there’s more to explore.”
Ophelia zipped her backpack. “It shouldn’t have happened.”
“I disagree. It’s obvious you need instruction.”
The insult made it easier to insult him back. “Not from you, you jerk.”
His expression barely acknowledged the insult. “I gave you the opportunity to walk away. Admit it, you loved every inch.” He moved closer. “But before I take you next time, I promise to put you over my knee. You need to learn how to behave with a man.”
Ophelia, nose in the air, got high on her horse. “Sir, I presume that’s a joke?”
He smiled darkly and Ophelia felt like she’d said something indecent.
“When it comes to discipline, Ms. Jones, I never joke. Tomorrow night’s good for me.”
“You dirtbag!” The sound cracked the air like a whip. “How you ever became a lawyer is beyond me.”
His features took on a dangerous edge but, in her anger, she hardly noticed. “And as for your phone sex, I should report you to the Bar Association for immoral behavior.”
Ophelia had no time to make her big exit as he spun her around to bend her face first over the table. She felt him looming over her, felt his hand holding her down while the other dragged her tights and panties away. A hard smack to her bare butt had Ophelia crying out as tongues of heat flowed to every erogenous zone in her quaking body. An exhilaration she’d never have believed possible if she hadn’t felt it firsthand.
“Please,” she sobbed, ashamed at herself but helpless to suppress the high.
His weight shifted. Ophelia braced for his next slap, confused that she wanted the pain. Instead he leaned down to breathe hot in her ear while yanking up her tights. “This is what I mean by instruction, brat.” Releasing her, he moved back.
“Now go home to your safe little bed and think of me when you fuck your vibrator.”
The man was a depraved brute.
On wobbly legs, Ophelia took her things and started for the door, pausing halfway to adjust her sagging tights. Despite her humiliation and the sting of her smarting ass, she managed to fire a parting shot, although it wasn’t much of one. “Stay out of my library. It’s for real lawyers.”
Taking the stairs, she was one floor down when she sat on a step to let the tears flow. She’d had sex with her best friend’s boyfriend. Jake, being the cheater that he was, wouldn’t tell. It didn’t matter because she blamed herself.
Ophelia speed-dialed Lily but ended the call before it connected. Her betrayal had to be delivered in person.
She texted cu tmw.
Chapter 2
Ophelia Tate. He had her name courtesy of Cheryl the librarian and cellphone number courtesy of the District Attorney’s office.
Opheeelia. He rolled the name around on his tongue. Hamlet’s fancy girlfriend had that name. This Ophelia was more down-market in her baggy sweater, ripped tights and big panties. Pretty though with her heart-shaped face, bee-stung lips and determined little chin. Decidedly moreish. For vanilla it had been pretty good, although if they hadn’t been in a library, he’d have given her more than a quick smack on the ass. Man, she’d been hot for a spanking. A repressed submissive. He could spot one a mile off.
Swinging his chair away from his tenth-floor view of the city, he fired a paper dart in the direction of the wastepaper basket. It missed by a mile. His aim had been off all day—the cause a softly-spoken girl with hair the color of dark wheat, big brown eyes and a smile that could rob a man of his senses. Because that’s what had happened last night. He’d lost his head over a woman who was too young for him and if he were being honest, wasn’t his type. Never in a million years would he have reckoned on a fresh-faced little thing being such a turn on. Her plump eager mouth had given him a bigger turn on. One taste and his cock had shot to attention. And of all the places to get laid, the historic Baines Law Library had to be the least expected. He’d gone there to look for an old legal precedent. Instead he’d found Ms. Jones or rather, she’d found him. Still, he’d enjoyed getting her all hot and bothered with the fake phone sex. Fair enough. She’d been spying on him. As soon as she’d emerged from behind that bookstack, her red face had confirmed she’d gone pussy-wet over every word. An unusual woman—uptight, prim and proper and obviously out of her comfort zone. His women were the older, sleeker kind that said, ‘see you around, sir,’ on their way out. Yet he’d skip them for a night with no-frills Ophelia. Nothing like this–like her–had ever happened to him before. He’d no more been able to stop himself from having the sweetheart than the sweetheart could keep her tights dry.
“Sebastian Raynott’s court date is confirmed, JD.”
He looked up to see Drake and Sullivan’s latest hire standing in the doorway, grinning from ear to ear like an idiot. Haydan Burke. Twenty-four, cocky, ambitious and irritatingly enthusiastic. In other words, him at that age.
“When?”
“January fifteenth. I’ve been assigned as your research assistant.”
He folded another dart, fired it, missed again. “Take a seat.”
Haydan unbuttoned his jacket as he sat down. The suit looked new. The kid would’ve blown his first paycheck on buying that expensive number. Next month it would be designer shoes, the next a watch. It was all about looking the part.
“I want you to know I admire you,” Haydan went on, still grinning.
“And why is that?”
“You’re the best defense attorney in New York, made partner in two years, drive a Ferrari and live on East 57th. No one messes with you.”
He blew an uninspired breath. “You think that’s admirable?”
His tone didn’t put the kid off, didn’t even slow him down. “They don’t call you the Dragon Slayer for nothing, JD.”
He’d heard it all before. The hotshot attorney who never lost a case. He didn’t see it as anything exceptional. The law came easily to him. A drama played out on a stage. Like theater, only better paid. This case would be a cinch, wouldn’t even be on his books if the accused hadn’t been Drake and Sullivan’s biggest headache client. Forty-year-old millionaire Sebastian Raynott had gone to the apartment of his wife’s lover to teach the guy a lesson—the guy in question being a twenty-two-year-old handyman by the name of Kelso. Raynott had fired a shot past Kelso’s ear, although Raynott denied doing that. Fact was, the kid had been lucky. Raynott’s specialty was intimidation and when that didn’t work, he resorted to violence. Still, Raynott would walk as it came down to Raynott’s word against Kelso’s. A cinch.
Haydan’s overloud voice pierced the air. “So where do we start, JD?”
“We start by you not giving me a headache, Mr. Burke. After that, I want you to find out who’s second chair on the prosecution. A.D.A. Bill Nealand is lead, but I need to know who else. We’re meeting tomorrow at Nealand’s office.”
Haydan got to his feet.
“By the way, Burke. Have you ever heard of an attorney by the name of Ophelia Tate?”
Burke eagerly retook his seat. “Sure, same year as me at NYU, but she skipped two years in high school so way younger than the rest of us. Brilliant, apparently. Made summa cum laude at NYU. All the big law firms wanted her, but she went to work in the District Attorney’s Office.”
That would make her all of twenty-two. Too young by far. He watched Haydan fussing with his jacket again. A new suit along with the beginnings of a beard. Surely Burke wasn’t trying to look like him? “Anything else?”
“Geeky type. She’s a greenie as well. Wants to save trees or whales or whatever.”
It made sense. The whole image added up to his admittedly stereotypical idea of a planet saver. It also explained that intensity she had about her. Ms. Tate had strong values, a sense of purpose—things he’d put to one side on his climb up the ladder.
“Where does she live?” he asked out of interest.
“Somewhere in the Village.”
That fit as well. It would be a studio and she’d drive an eco-friendly car or more likely took the bus. He lived in a sprawling Manhattan three bed, three bath with every mod con invented.
“Any reason you want to know about her, JD?”
“Nothing important.” He got to his feet. “I’ll be out of the office for the rest of the day. Raynott needs prepping for the meeting in the D.A.’s office tomorrow.”
“Is it true he’s connected?”
“He is but he prefers to do his own dirty work.”
Burke’s eyes shone. “Awesome. Can I be at tomorrow’s meeting?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“Another thing, Mr. Burke,” he said, slipping into his overcoat. “When I say no, it’s not up for negotiation.”
Yeah, he was taking his afternoon slump out on the kid. “Text me the name of the second chair by close of business.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And don’t call me sir.”
“Yes, sir… I mean, JD.”
The meeting with Raynott finished late afternoon. As expected, the guy spent two hours ranting about making the case go away. Drake and Sullivan had earned millions getting Sebastian Raynott out of his messes. This latest mess would be particularly lucrative.
It was almost six by the time he arrived home. After taking a long shower followed by microwave pizza, he walked out to the balcony of his Manhattan apartment to make his call. Tonight he intended to have a thing going on with the luscious Ms. Jones. Last night’s entrée had given him a taste for the main.
Taking out his cell, he dialed the number.
Chapter 3
Ophelia made raspberry tea, sat on her sofa bed and sipped while she waited for Lily to arrive. They lived three blocks apart, which made it a fifteen-minute walk. It might as well be fifteen hours because after tonight, their friendship
would be over.
All day she’d been plagued with guilt, but what really worried her was her attraction to Jake and what he offered. Telling Lily the truth would be devastating enough without her body aching for the man. If he turned up in her apartment now, she’d do it all over again.
She looked at her watch. Lily had said seven and it was nearly eight, which was unusual for her. Ophelia’s mind zigzagged between texting Lily to see where she was or texting her not to come at all. She had her phone in her hand, dithering, when she heard Lily’s familiar three tap knock. Opening the door, she found her friend on the doorstep, smiling and holding a bottle of red.
“I’ve got news, O,” she said, zipping past Ophelia to head for the kitchen, although kitchen was too generous a description. A hole-in-the-wall arrangement with pots and pans hanging from the ceiling seemed more accurate. Ophelia’s only luxury was a new cooktop and oven, which filled most of what space there was. Her apartment might be tiny, but it had never stopped her putting together a meal for six when she had friends over. The law, the environment and cooking–in that order–were her passions.
Lily took two glasses from the one and only shelf. “I brought a Californian merlot. Jake recommended it.”
At hearing the name, Ophelia’s stomach churned. Returning to her sofa, she watched Lily pour the wine. Lily wore skinny blue jeans, long black boots, a pink fleecy jacket and a red scarf that reached to the top of her boots. She’d pinned her bleached bob back from her face so that her yellow plastic hoop earrings flopped against her cheeks with the slightest movement of her head. In theory, Lily’s fashion sense shouldn’t work, but it always did on her. She looked as vibrant as one of her street paintings.
Ophelia wasn’t cool like Lily, but they’d been best friends all through school. Lily made friends with everyone she met, followed every impulse no matter how crazy and worse of all, fell in love with every man she dated. Ophelia prided herself on being cautious. Someone who never accepted people at face value, had focused on her career and never ever did casual sex. Not that casual sex had ever come her way. Last night she’d broken her own rule and it hurt.
