DEFENSE

by Glenna Sinclair

  “No,” I said abruptly. “I don’t care. Just don’t stop.”

  From the room across the hall, Seb was grunting and Jessica was making screeching noises. It didn’t sound like much fun, but each to their own.

  Nick gave me a look. “That doesn’t put you off?”

  I just shrugged. But the real reason was that I wanted to keep looking at the sexy man on the news bulletin.

  He probably thought I was getting some kinky enjoyment out of listening to Seb and Jessica, but really I was getting kinky enjoyment out of imagining that the man on the TV was fucking me and not Nick. I wasn’t sure which was more shameful.

  Nick entered me again, but this time the sensation was a thousand times better than it had been before. The man on the TV’s sexy eyes bore into me, and I matched Nick’s thrusting with my own movement, increasing the depth and intensity of our lovemaking. I could feel myself racing towards climax and groaned loudly. The noise seemed to excite Nick. I felt his cock harden even more inside of me. The sensation made me cry out. I pulled my knees up so my heels were hooked over the edge of the table and Nick slid in deeper, his cock growing harder and harder. I focused on the man on TV, watching him being led in handcuffs from the back of a police van with a look of utter despair on his beautiful face. The words on the screen informed me that he was a pro-basketballer and was being charged with murder. A brief thought flashed through me, telling me I was sick for getting off on imagining being fucked by a murderer, but I pushed it away because in that moment everything felt so right that I didn’t care.

  Nick gripped the table to steady it and get more purchase. Our thrusting was becoming feverish, desperate, fast and rough. And then the screen showed one last image of the man’s gorgeous face with Murderer? appearing beneath, and I screamed out as an orgasm gripped me.

  “Oh God,” I cried, suddenly consumed with pleasure, reaching the pinnacle of joy.

  “Fuck,” Nick groaned, and then he was coming too. I could feel his cock pulsing inside of me and imagined that it was Harrison Wrexler who I had just pushed over the edge into that state of complete and utter release.

  Nick’s thrusts began to lessen. Then he dropped his head onto my shoulder. Harrison’s face disappeared from the screen, and the radio show resumed. My hands were clasped on Nick’s ass, but suddenly I felt awkward, like they shouldn’t be there, like I’d crossed over some kind of line. A million thoughts were swirling in my mind as I froze.

  “Are you okay?” Nick said, pulling back.

  “Fine,” I said hurriedly, pushing back on his hips so that he slid completely out of me.

  Just then, the kitchen door burst open and Jessica raced in. Nick turned away, hiding his nakedness. I pressed my legs together and shoved down my rucked skirt. Jessica looked me up and down, at my bra and discarded shoes and tights. She was half dressed, her shoes in her arms and her jeans half done up. I could tell by her facial expression that something was wrong.

  “We’re leaving,” she said.

  I leapt down from the table. “Why? Jessica, what’s wrong?”

  There was nothing like a distressed friend to sober you up.

  In the corner, Nick had slipped his jeans back on and was doing up his fly.

  “That sick bastard,” Jessica said. Her voice was shaking with anger.

  I took her arm in mine. She was trembling.

  Just then, Seb stumbled from his room.

  “Baby, come on,” he said. “I was only playing.”

  “Get the fuck away from me!” Jessica screamed.

  She grabbed my arm and hauled me down the corridor. I glanced back at Nick, confused, my brain muddled from the sudden turn of events. To have gone from intense pleasure to embarrassment to fear in three seconds flat was messing with my head. I drew my eyebrows together and gave him a confused look before Jessica wrenched me out the apartment door and into the hallway. She stomped towards the elevator, still without her shoes on, and slammed her palm against the button.

  “What the fuck just happened, Jessica?” I said.

  She was shaking violently. “That fucking prick just…he just...” She dissolved into tears. “I just want to get home,” she said, turning her red eyes to me. Mascara was running down her face.

  “Okay,” I said, “okay.”

  I bundled her into my arms. As the lift doors opened and we went inside, I had the distinct impression that I would never see Nick again.

  ***

  When Jessica and I got home, we found Tim on the sofa mid-blow job. He looked alarmed and pushed away the guy giving him head. It was Jonas.

  “Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Jessica wailed.

  The worst end to her shitty day.

  Jonas hurried from the apartment as Jessica thundered in and plonked herself on the sofa next to Tim. Tim wasn’t one for embarrassment. He just zipped up his fly and looked at her.

  “Babe, what the hell happened to you?” he said.

  “That’s what I’d like to know,” I said.

  Jessica had refused to say a word in the elevator or the taxi home. She’d let me help dress her, then had spent the entire journey home in silence, gazing out the window. The whole way I’d been a wreck, imagining what possible scenario could have led to Jessica’s demeanor. All my thoughts were dark and terrible.

  Jessica grabbed Tim’s open whisky bottle from the table and took a swig. She’d been more hammered than I had to begin with; a few swigs from the bottle took her right back to her previously inebriated state.

  “That guy was one creepy motherfucker,” she said.

  Tim touched her arm. “Did he hurt you, babe?”

  “Yes, he fucking hurt me,” she snapped. “And I like being hurt usually. But not like that.”

  My stomach was rolling. “Please tell us, Jess,” I said.

  Jessica grabbed the smoking joint that Tim had abandoned in the ashtray and took a deep puff.

  “He wanted anal,” she said, exhaling. “Which is fine. I like anal.” She took another deep inhalation and filled the room with the stench of weed. “But there’s a way of doing it, right?” She looked at Tim for affirmation.

  Tim nodded. I knew nothing about it, having never tried anal myself.

  “You need to relax the muscles,” Tim informed me. “Use hella lube, and go in a bit at a time. Maybe some poppers.”

  “Right,” Jessica said, waving the spliff. “Only Seb wasn’t waiting for anything. No lube, nothing, he just went straight for it.”

  I winced at the thought.

  “I told him to slow down, to take it easy, but he wouldn’t. He just kept going until he came. There was nothing I could do. He totally overpowered me.”

  Tim and I exchanged a look.

  “Jessica,” I said softly, “he raped you. We need to go to the police.”

  Her eyes flashed at me angrily. “No we don’t. It wasn’t rape; he just took it too far.”

  “You withdrew your consent,” I argued. “That makes it rape.”

  “Oh, and that would hold up in a court of law, would it?” she scoffed, cutting me off mid-sentence. “Because ninety percent of cases end up with the guy walking and the woman looking like a psycho bunny boiler.”

  I could understand her attitude. My first law work after graduating had been criminal defense at point of arrest. I’d lost count of the number of rape cases that didn’t make it anywhere near a court. But still, I couldn’t let it go.

  “I’ll be with you the whole time,” I said. “I’ll make sure you don’t say anything that might be later used against you, and—”

  “I don’t need you to be a lawyer right now, Katie,” Jessica said, cutting me off, her eyes blazing with fury. “I need you to be a friend. And don’t you dare turn me into a victim, okay? It’s not like it’s the first time someone’s fucked me harder than I’d like. He was just a creep. I’ll get over it. I always do.”

  She stood and strolled out the room, whisky bottle in hand. A second later, I heard her
bedroom door slam shut.

  I could hardly believe what I’d just heard. I looked at Tim, my mind reeling.

  “What do we do?” I stammered.

  “Nothing,” Tim replied. “You heard her, she doesn’t want to be considered a victim.”

  “But she’s just been raped,” I gasped.

  “I know,” he said. “But the police won’t see it that way. There’s no evidence if it started consensually. It’s a classic ‘his word versus hers’ case. You’re the lawyer, Katie, you know it’s un-win-able.”

  He was right, and I felt sick to my stomach.

  “I should have helped her,” I said guiltily. “I was there in the house.”

  I thought back to Nick, to the wonderful sensations that had pulsed through me, and the incredible orgasm I’d experienced as my eyes had locked on to the face of Harrison Wrexler.

  “Babe, don’t blame yourself,” Tim said. “Where were you guys, anyway? Jonas tried calling Jessica, and when she didn’t answer I tried calling you.”

  “Shit,” I said, reaching for my purse and pulling out my cell phone. “It must have been on silent.”

  I looked at my cell and saw I had five missed calls, two from Tim and three from work.

  “Oh, shit!” I said.

  Tim gave me a quizzical look as I hit redial and pressed the phone against my ear with a panicked expression on my face.

  The phone was answered on the third ring.

  “Finally,” my boss, Galiema Rook, said.

  “I’m sorry,” I stammered. “I missed your call.”

  “Yes, I know that,” she said tersely. “You clearly don’t fully understand the meaning of being ‘on call,’ do you?”

  “I do, I just—”

  “Katie,” she said, cutting me off and clearly not in the mood for hearing my excuses. “I need you down at the station, okay? We’ve had a huge case just come in. The media’s going to be all over it.”

  “And you want me?”

  “Don’t sound so surprised,” Galiema replied. “You’re a good lawyer, Katie. Plus, you’ve not taken on a media fodder case yet, so there’ll be no preconceptions about your competence, no film reel to look back through, you know? So, think you can handle your first high-profile case?”

  I felt a swell of pride. “Yes. Yes, of course.”

  This sounded like it was going to be the defining moment of my career so far. Every lawyer wanted to win a high-profile case—it led to publicity, making a name for yourself, the possibility of becoming a partner or starting your own firm off the back of it.

  “I’m on my way,” I said, grabbing my keys and purse. “What’s the case?”

  “He’s some basketball player for the Washington Wizards. I can’t remember his name. He’s a Brit. Just been charged with murder.” I listened to the sound of her clicking her fingers as the name suddenly came to her. “Harrison Wrexler! That’s it. Heard of him?”

  My heart felt like it stopped beating. Harrison Wrexler? Was I really about to come face to face with the man I’d been staring at on a TV screen as I orgasmed?

  “Yeah, I’ve heard of him,” I said almost hypnotically.

  Heard of him, fantasized about him...

  “Then I’m sure you’ll know about how much of a self-entitled jerk he is,” Galiema’s harsh voice said, cutting through my thoughts. “Fast sports cars, wrecking hotels, binging on prostitutes, the whole shebang. God, I hate representing these rich boys. But they pay the bills, you know? So how long will you be?”

  My head was spinning as I listened to Galiema speak. It took me a second to realize she’d asked me a question that needed an answer.

  “I’m calling a taxi now,” I said, snapping back to attention. “I’ll be there in fifteen.”

  Galiema ended the call abruptly, and I dropped my phone. I stared at it a moment, bemused, then stood, my heart racing.

  “Where are you going?” Tim said, looking up at me with accusatory eyes.

  “A case has just come in. A huge one.” I couldn’t hide the excitement in my voice.

  “Your best friend’s just been raped,” Tim said bluntly.

  His words brought me crashing back down to earth. Jessica…I knew I shouldn’t leave her, but at the same time this was work—my career. Work had to come first, didn’t it?

  “I’m on call,” I replied with a strained voice. “I can’t say no. It’s my job.”

  I didn’t add the fact that I didn’t want to say no, that the thought of representing Harrison Wrexler was making my veins crackle with electricity.

  Tim shook his head with disappointment. “Whatever. I’ll take care of her. You carry on putting your priorities in the wrong order.”

  He stood and headed towards Jessica’s room, leaving me standing in the living room feeling shell-shocked. But no matter what strange emotions were coursing through me, the one thing my mind kept returning to was Harrison Wrexler’s smoldering glare and the orgasm that had pulsed through me as I’d looked into his eyes.

  I left the apartment and headed out into a drizzly evening, my heart fluttering with the anticipation of coming face to face with Harrison Wrexler.

  Chapter Two

  Harrison

  I lay back against the pillow, watching her undress. Her skin was the color of caramel, and the lamplight made the soft downy hair on her arms look like flecks of gold.

  “What’s your name again?” I said.

  She gave me a look before rolling down her pantyhose. “Shantelle. I told you like a thousand times.”

  I shrugged. “I’m not rich because of my amazing memory, you know.”

  I could tell by the look in her eyes that she thought I was an arrogant prick, but she was still going to fuck me, just so she could tell her friends the next morning that she’d spent the night with Harrison Wrexler, the famous sports star. She probably didn’t even know what sport I played, or what team I played for. She probably only knew my name because she’d Googled me. She was shallow, and the thought made me feel empty. But I was going to fuck her, too, just to feel something, which made me just as bad as her.

  “Come here,” I said, patting the bed.

  She was wearing just her bra and underwear, having already discarded her slinky dress and shoes. The sight of her body made me practically salivate. She was tall and slim with curves in all the right places. She was exactly the sort of girl a guy like me was supposed to want to be with—the trophy girlfriend everyone expected to see on my arm. But it had been a long time since I’d shared my life—or my bed—with a woman.

  She was in a lacy black bra and matching knickers, an unpractical sort that looked like they were designed more for show than comfort. It was almost like she knew she was getting laid tonight, like she’d set out to achieve it. I suppose a girl as attractive as her never found it hard to meet a willing sex buddy. She probably assumed a guy like me didn’t find it hard, either. Little did she know.

  She tottered over to the bed. She was drunk, possibly even too drunk. I thought about ending it right there and then, a little anxious that this could be a setup, that she might claim rape and go to all the newspapers, eventually getting me to pay her off to keep it out of court.

  “Do I…” I mumbled. “Are you consenting to have sex with me?”

  She burst out laughing, throwing back her shiny mane of hair.

  “Is that what you Brits say before every fuck?” she said, her eyes flashing.

  “No, it’s just…”

  I let my voice trail away, feeling stupid, like an idiot.

  Shantelle came over to the bed. “Yes, I’m consenting to have sex with you.” She began crawling from the foot of the bed upwards, over my body. Warmth radiated from her skin, and I felt my erection growing harder at the sight of her, at the way her breasts sat in her bra, so soft, so inviting. I wanted to touch them, to lick her nipples, taste her skin. I wondered how she liked to be fucked...hard or soft.

  “Come here,” she growled, ripping the bed covers back t
o reveal my nakedness and bulging cock.

  Hard, I thought. She was going for theatrics. Not always my cup of tea, but after five months in the wilderness, I wasn’t going to complain. I could make myself enjoy a fast fuck, especially with a stranger, though my preference was slow, lingering and long, lasting hours, lasting all night, hour after hour of titillating bliss until my body couldn’t take any more...

  “Aren’t you a big boy?” Shantelle said, pressing her groin right against me.

  I gasped and placed my hands lightly on her hips.

  “You can squeeze harder, you know,” she said, moving my hands down to her ass.

  It felt great, warm and fleshy. I kneaded it like dough.

  “Yeah, baby,” she said, moaning way more than necessary and throwing her head back.

  “Don’t,” I said.

  She looked down, frowned. “Don’t what?”

  “Pretend,” I said. “I’m not your baby.”

  She gave a nonchalant shrug. “Would you prefer it if I called you sir?” She bit her lip seductively. “Or my lord?” She leaned down, her mouth just inches from mine. “What about daddy?”

  “Jesus,” I said, pushing her up slightly. “Definitely not that.”

  She rolled her eyes. I was boring her. She hadn’t been expecting me to be so square. When she’d first clocked eyes on me in the bar, I was a famous, drunk sports hunk, and she’d probably made all kinds of assumptions about me. Just like the media did. She probably expected me to take her back for a drug-fuelled orgy, or, at the very least, expected me to be more up for some kinky shit. I wasn’t about to tell her why nothing made me smile anymore—not sex, not alcohol, not scoring a three-pointer off the halfway line. Shantelle the Stranger wasn’t getting any more of me than I was willing to give.

  That said, I didn’t want her going back to her mates and telling them I was the worst fuck of her life. At the very least I wanted her to leave satisfied. And that would mean giving in to whatever demands she made of me.

  I reared up, shoving her off me and rolling on top. She seemed to like that, letting out a noise somewhere between a squeal and a shriek. She was going to be a noisy one, no doubt about it. I was just going to have to try to enjoy the ride.