In Her Defense

by Julianna Keyes

  “Why should I care? It tastes good.”

  I shudder. “If you say so.”

  “Oh.” He draws out the word to three syllables. “I get it.”

  “What?”

  “This is your ‘I can only like one thing at a time’ rule.”

  “It’s not a rule. I just don’t like mystery items in my food.”

  He snorts. “Do they keep you from concentrating?”

  I flush at the rude reminder of my sexual confession. “Don’t.”

  “Here.” He extends the cone. “Try this.” He taps a random chocolate lump sticking out the side. “You’ll like it.”

  “I’m fine with vanilla.”

  He winks. “I know.”

  “How’d you hurt your hand?”

  “Try this and I’ll tell you.”

  I hold his stare, decide he’s telling the truth, then grip his wrist and bring the ice cream to my mouth, carefully retrieving the chocolate...thing...with my teeth. I chew cautiously, finding what may or may not be a piece of brownie inside the chocolate shell.

  “How are you doing?” Eli prompts.

  “I think it’s a brownie.”

  He wipes something off my top lip. “And it didn’t even kill you.”

  “Tell me about your hand.”

  He studies his swollen knuckles, the purple stain oozing across the back of his hand and halfway up his fingers. “I was working on the second apartment and hit myself with a hammer.”

  “You hit your right hand?”

  “I did.”

  “You’re right-handed. Why were you swinging with your left?”

  “Weird angle.”

  “When did this happen?”

  He flexes his hand as best he can. The fingers barely budge from their slightly curled shape, as though he’s holding a bird’s nest. “Monday night.”

  The day of our fight. I want to ask if he was thinking about me at the time, but then he stands, takes a final bite of his ice cream and tosses the empty cone in the trash. “You ready? Let’s go. I need some food.”

  I finish my own cone and follow him next door. I normally shop at the specialty stores near my apartment, and the sheer size and scope of this place makes my brows raise. “Please tell me you’ve bought groceries before,” Eli says, noting my expression.

  “Of course I have.”

  He looks doubtful, then scoops up a basket with his good hand. “I can’t pick up things with my right. I’ll tell you what to get, you get it. Either that,” he says when I open my mouth to protest, “or you carry the basket. And I think you’ve probably carried all you can handle tonight.”

  I force a smile. “I’d love to help.”

  He laughs. “You’d love to help? Oh, lucky me.”

  I grab the box of cereal he indicates, then some granola bars. He softens a little as we go around, and I don’t argue with his orders, determined to repay his kindness from Monday. Even though he’d been angry with me, he’d set aside his feelings to find that stupid email and delete it from the server. And all weekend he’d shown me a level of respect and care I’d never even thought to seek from anyone, and this is my chance to repay him. He’d called me selfish in the stairwell, and he was right. I’ve never had a reason not to be.

  “Just a few more things,” he says when we emerge at the end of the aisle. “Do you know where they keep the—”

  “Oh, shit!” I hiss, darting back down the way we’d come.

  Eli makes a strange face and peers at me. “What the hell, Caitlin?” He enunciates carefully, as though I’ve suddenly lost my mind and ability to distinguish words.

  “That guy,” I mutter, resting my head against the shelves of spices.

  “Which one?”

  “The one near deli. Wearing the tie, with the clipboard.”

  Eli returns to the aisle, peeks out and turns back to me. “What about him? He works here.”

  I shoot him a desperate look. “Do you need anything from the deli? Let’s just go pay for this. You have lots of stuff.”

  “I need some turkey.”

  “You do not.”

  “Who is that guy? Did you try to put him in jail or something?”

  I heave an exasperated sigh. “Were you at the party last summer? The one on the roof, where they named me second chair on Fowler?”

  “Yeah.” Then realization dawns across his face and he turns to peer at the guy again. “Holy shit. That’s the guy you got in a fight with!”

  “Keep your voice down!”

  “What was it you said? ‘It’s better to fuck my way to the top than fuck my way to the bottom’?”

  I blush furiously. That was not one of my finest moments. I’d just been so pissed when he approached me after one of my biggest accomplishments and told me I didn’t deserve it. The next thing I knew we were onstage, flinging insults in front of hundreds of firm staff, and he’d hurled champagne glasses across the room. His girlfriend hustled him out of there before the police could be called, and even though he was the one who started it—and he shouldn’t have even been there in the first place—I’m the villain whenever anyone tells the story. And they love telling the story.

  “Don’t paraphrase,” I snap. “I don’t want to see him. I don’t want him to see me.”

  “What do you think he’ll do, beat you up? Come on. He’s working.”

  “Eli.”

  He shakes his head. “Fine. But stop picking fights with people who are bigger than you.”

  Just then the behemoth in question strides past, not looking our way. I duck behind Eli and watch him go, jaw dropping when I see what looks like a wedding ring flash on his finger. He’d come to the party with Rachel Moser, a fellow lawyer who had also been up for second chair on the Fowler case. She wasn’t my favorite person, but she was a good lawyer who could do much better than him. There’s no way...

  “What now?” Eli asks, noting my disbelief.

  I shut my mouth. I’m not going to voice my suspicions and make myself look even more shallow. “Nothing. I guess we can go to the deli.”

  We make it through the rest of the shopping trip without incident, and I carry the bags back to Eli’s car, fingers burning from the strain. He offers to take two in his good hand, but there’s only four and I wave him away. Thank God we parked close. He opens the passenger door and I stick the bags in the footwell, then step back, hesitating. He watches me, not speaking.

  “Do you need help putting them away?” I ask eventually. “When you get home?”

  He looks me over from head to toe, and I suppress the need to squirm. “Yeah,” he says. “Come over.”

  Once again I follow Eli through the city, barely managing to find parking on his crowded little street. I turn down his offer to carry the bags and lug them up the stairs into his kitchen to unpack. He tries to assist, obviously uncomfortable with my newer, more helpful side, but I shoo him away, pointing out that the White Sox are playing Cleveland tonight and he should probably watch if he wants them to win.

  It doesn’t take long for him to forget his discomfort and become absorbed in the game, now in its fifth inning. “Can you bring me a beer?” he asks, eyes never leaving the screen.

  I fish out one from the fridge and carry it over, joining him on the couch. Eli manages to avert his gaze long enough to see that I didn’t get a beer for myself. “You don’t want one?”

  “There’s something else I want,” I say. My voice comes out steady enough, in spite of my nerves.

  “Yeah? What?” He’s sufficiently distracted by the game and the beer that he doesn’t even appreciate the sexual innuendo.

  I take a deep breath and slide my hand down his chest, stopping when it covers his cock through his shorts. He hisses in a surprised breath and his cock
jumps against my palm. I fold my fingers around him and squeeze lightly, pressing my lips to his ear. “This,” I whisper.

  “Caitlin...”

  I unzip his shorts to free him, feeling his erection grow and expand in my hand. “Like this,” I murmur, bending forward to lick him from root to tip. All weekend long he’d prevented me from doing this, a form of anti-reciprocity that frustrated me, even though he’d never come right out and said he didn’t want me to go down on him if he hadn’t gone down on me. He’d been the very epitome of unselfishness, and I want to show him I can do the same, despite all evidence to the contrary.

  “Caitlin,” he tries again when I sink to the floor between his legs, pushing his knees apart. Even as he argues he lifts his hips so I can pull off his shorts and boxers, exposing his now-straining erection. “I thought you didn’t...”

  “I do.”

  “But you said...”

  “I don’t like getting it. I like giving it. Watch the game.”

  “How the fuck am I supposed to—” He breaks off on a groan as I envelop as much of him as I can in my mouth, sucking hard as I draw back, tracing the slit in the head with my tongue. He’s so hot and smooth as I wrap a hand around his base, jerking him as roughly as I’d seen him do. One of his hands comes to rest lightly on my nape, applying no pressure, even as his ragged breathing and the slight pump of his hips suggests he’s restraining himself.

  I’d like to think I’m good at blow jobs. I’m not squeamish and I don’t gag easily, which is good, because Eli’s a big man and fills my mouth with each thrust. His pained moan dampens my panties, making me squeeze my legs together, feeling my own arousal build, feeding off his. I deep-throat him again and again, and he squeezes the back of my neck hard before dropping his hand to the couch and gripping the cushion instead.

  “Caitlin, are you... I’m going to...” His voice is strained as he fails to form a sentence, and when I look up I see him grinding his head into the back of the couch, cheeks stained red with arousal.

  “Do you want to come?” I whisper.

  “Fuck, yes.”

  “In my mouth?”

  “However you want.”

  I lap at the head of his cock, fluid beading eagerly at the tip. “This is what I want.”

  “Swallow it,” he pleads, brushing my hair back from my face so he can watch my cheeks hollow as I suck on him, pausing now to torture him, just a little bit.

  “Like this?” I deep-throat him again, feeling the muscles in his thigh bunch against my hand.

  “Everything. Swallow everything.”

  “I will, Eli. Let me taste it.”

  I bob up and down, feeling him everywhere, as though he’s the one pleasuring me right now. I sense his orgasm approaching as he stiffens on the couch, abdominals flexing, cock swelling. I twist my hand rapidly and he comes with a cry, filling my mouth as I struggle to swallow everything, just as he’d asked.

  My panties are so wet right now. There’s a desperate pulse between my legs that’s crying out for release. Just the stroke of his hand, a finger, even a look might do it. But this isn’t about me. I want to show Eli I can be unselfish, and I will. He runs his fingers through my hair, splayed over his parted thighs, and I straighten up to wipe my mouth, pressing a kiss to his knee.

  “Give me a second,” he says, holding up a finger. “I’ll get you back.”

  “No need,” I reply, standing. “That was just for you.”

  His half-slitted eyes open fully. “Wha—”

  I collect my car keys from the kitchen island and walk to the door. “Thanks, Eli.” He calls out after me, but I slip outside and hurry to my car, driving away before he can stop me. Sure, I’m a little uncomfortable down below, but I feel strangely pleased. Satisfied, even.

  I’m beginning to see the merits of unselfishness.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The next morning I arrive at work decidedly less angry than the day before. In fact, I’m no longer experiencing any of the five stages of grief. I’d taken a cold shower when I got home last night, decided against getting myself off and gone to bed without the orgasm my body felt it deserved. Now I try to convince myself to put that untapped energy to use preparing for tonight’s lecture with Ripley. I review my notes from the Fowler case, trying to make my motives sound more selfless and generous than they really were. And the results support my effort: thousands of injured families had received desperately needed compensation. And I got the cover of Chicago’s Finest.

  A couple hours later my desk phone beeps and Belinda’s voice comes through. “Caitlin, call for you on line three.”

  “Thanks, Belinda.” I have no meetings scheduled and no work to do in advance of my coming holiday, so I can’t imagine who might be calling me at 9:06 a.m. I press the speaker button. “Caitlin Dufresne.”

  “So. I’ve been thinking...”

  My entire body heats at the sound of Eli’s voice. It’s deeper than usual, more suggestive, and I hastily snatch up the receiver and turn off the speakerphone. The ache between my thighs returns, all my efforts to forget it instantly undone. I cross my legs, grateful I’d worn a skirt with enough stretch to make it possible.

  “About what?” I finally manage to ask.

  “What do you think?”

  My mouth is dry. Despite the rumors, I’ve never had sex at work. They’re two entirely separate things for me, and I don’t know how to recount the details of last night’s events while I’m sitting in my office, lawyers milling around outside. But Eli’s not waiting for a response.

  “What I can’t figure out,” he continues, “is what you got out of it.”

  I shift in my seat, strumming my nails on my thigh, watching the black fabric bunch and release. I could tell him something lurid and sexy like, I couldn’t go another day without your cock in my mouth, but instead I tell him the truth. “I wanted to be unselfish.”

  There’s a pause, then he laughs, long and loud. “Unselfish?” he echoes.

  I bite the inside of my cheek. “Yes. I wanted you to feel...appreciated.”

  “Is that how you think I felt? Appreciated?”

  I remember his hand on my neck, his cock in my mouth, my throat. “Well, I hope so.”

  He stops laughing. “Caitlin. I appreciate having my dick sucked. I appreciate seeing your head in my lap. I appreciate feeling your hair in my fingers and your hands on my balls and hearing the little slurping sounds you make when you swallow me. I appreciated the fuck out of that blow job.”

  Well. A little thrill skitters through me. Apparently Eli has no problem talking dirty at work.

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  “The problem is I don’t like things to be one-sided. I like symmetry. If I come, I want you to come.”

  I look at the door, but no one’s paying me any attention. “I came all weekend,” I whisper.

  He blows that off. “You know what I did last night after you left?”

  “Fell asleep?”

  A burst of laughter. “I thought of all the things I wanted to do to you to show my appreciation. Sleep was the last thing on my mind. I jacked off three times in the last twelve hours, and it’s still not enough.”

  My stomach’s in knots. Aroused, tormented knots. “What do you want me to do?”

  When Eli’s voice comes, it’s so low I feel it vibrate through my body. “I want you to tell me how I felt in your mouth,” he says.

  My heart’s working overtime right now. “Where are you?”

  “I’m in the server room. Alone.”

  I try to picture him there, khakis, button-up, hidden between the servers, lights flashing, air cool. I lick my lips nervously. “Are you touching yourself?”

  “Now I am. Are you?”

  I shake my head though he can’t s
ee it. “No. My office is made of glass.”

  “Are you getting wet?”

  “Yes.”

  “Fuck. Tell me how it felt last night.” His breathing is harsher now, and I grow even wetter at the thought of him down there, touching himself, thinking of me, hearing me. The men I’ve been with were just happy to get the blow job, they didn’t need the play-by-play.

  “You really have a thing for recaps.”

  He laughs again, but this time it’s darker. Pained. “Humor me.”

  I turn my seat so I’m facing the window. We don’t have any lip readers in the office, but I’d rather not risk it. “You were big, Eli. Maybe too big. My jaw still hurts.” I touch the achy spot beneath my ear that makes my blood sizzle. I feel my pulse pound as I utter the next words. “But I like that it hurts a little bit. I like that you’re so big I can feel you, even when you’re not there.”

  “Fuuuck. Caitlin.”

  I suck in a breath. “And you were so hot, and smooth. And I wanted more. I wanted you to stand up and hold my head in your hands and push all the way into my throat.” I’d dreamed of it all night.

  “Jesus Christ.”

  “And I liked tasting your come. I liked the sounds you made. I liked making you happy.” I pause, but he doesn’t speak. I can still hear him, though. “Are you jerking yourself off?” I ask softly. I cross and recross my legs, but it does nothing to relieve the throbbing pressure between my thighs.

  “No,” Eli replies. “That’s your job.” His voice is suddenly controlled, and it amps up my arousal a thousand notches. “Are you wearing a skirt?”

  I finger the hem, the fabric soft and smooth. “Yes.”

  “Good. Take off your panties and meet me in the stairwell in five minutes.”

  My breath catches. “Eli, I can’t—”

  His rough laugh stops me. “Caitlin. You can and you will.”

  Then he hangs up.

  * * *

  I spend the next four and a half minutes contemplating my next move. I want Eli. I don’t know where this is going, if anywhere, but I want him. My head and my hormones are in very avid agreement on this, even as my common sense tries in vain to interject.