Reasonable Doubt (1-3)

by Whitney Gracia Williams

  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 a few random knocks at the door, a few “Is anybody in there?” taps, but both of 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’d 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.

  “You know, it’s rude to just leave someone after sex without saying anything,” I muttered.

  “What?” His hand was on the doorknob.

  “Nothing.”

  “What did you say?” He cocked his head to the side. “I’m not a mind reader.”

  “I said it’s rude to just leave after you fuck me. You could at least say something, anything.”

  “I don’t do pillow talk.”

  “It’s not pillow talk.” I scoffed. “It’s part of being a gentleman.”

  “I never said I was a gentleman.”

  I sighed and turned around. I waited to hear the door close, but his hands were suddenly on my waist and he was spinning me around to face him.

  “What am I supposed to say after I fuck you, Aubrey?”

  “You could ask if it was good for me or not…”

  “I don’t believe in asking pointless questions.” He looked at his watch. “How long do you have to stay here?”

  “Another hour or so.”

  “Hmmm.” He was quiet. “And while you were stalking me and my date how many shots did you have?”

  “I wasn’t stalking you and your date. I’ve been avoiding you all week, or haven’t you noticed?”

  “How many?”

  “Five.”

  “Okay.” He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “I’ll take you home whenever you’re ready and have someone deliver your car to your apartment tomorrow.” He planted a kiss on my forehead before heading to the door. “Just call me.”

  “Wait,” I said as he opened it. “What about your date?”

  “What about her?”

  An hour later, I slipped inside of Andrew’s car—a sleek black Jaguar. He held the door open until I was comfortable, and waited until I put on my seatbelt before shutting it.

  On his dashboard, I spotted a red folder with a New York State seal on its center. I picked it up, but he immediately took it from me and locked it inside his glove box.

  He looked offended that I’d touched it, but he quickly turned away from me and revved up the car.

  “Can I ask you something, Andrew?”

  “Depends on what it is.”

  “I googled you this week and nothing came up…”

  “That’s not a question.”

  “Why didn’t anything come up?” I looked over at him.

  “Because I’m thirty-two years old and I don’t waste my time on Facebook and Twitter.”

  I sighed. “And you really haven’t spoken to her in six years?”

  “Excuse me?” He looked over at me as we approached a red light. “I thought we just sorted this out in the bathroom.”

  “We did, but—” I cleared my throat. “You filed for a divorce, and it couldn’t go through?”

  “It takes two people to complete a divorce, Aubrey. Surely you know that.”

  “Yes, but…” I ignored the fact that he was clenching his jaw. “Wouldn’t it be easier for someone like you to make it happen? Six years is a pretty long time to stay married to someone you claim you don’t love anymore, so—”

  “You’d be surprised at how well some people can spin a fucking lie to get what they want,” he said, his voice cold. “My past isn’t up for discussion.”

  “Ever?”

  “Ever. It has nothing to do with you.”

  I leaned back in my seat, crossing my arms. “Are you ever going to tell me the reason why you left New York and moved to Durham?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I don’t have to.” He steered the car into my apartment complex. “Because like I told you an hour ago, that part of my life never happened.”

  “I’m not going to tell anyone. I just—”

  “Stop it.” He faced me as he stopped the car, and I could see a world of hurt in his eyes. It was the most vulnerable I’d ever seen him.

  “I lost something very special in New York six years ago.” There was regret in his voice. “Something I’ll never fucking get back, something I’ve spent the last six years trying to forget, and if it’s okay with you I’d like to make it to year seven.”

  I opened my mouth to say sorry, but he continued talking.

  “I’m not sure if I’ve made this apparent over the past six months or not,” he said, “but I’m not the ‘sit up and talk about my feelings’ type. I’m not interested in deep conversations and just because I’ve fucked you more than once and can’t seem to get you or your mouth off my mind, that doesn’t entitle you to things I haven’t told anyone else.”

  I immediately unbuckled my seatbelt and flung the door open, but he grabbed my wrist before I could get out.

  “I meant what I said a few months ago, Aubrey...” He cupped my chin and tilted my head toward him. “You are my only friend in this city, but you have to understand that I’m not used to having friends. I’m not used to talking about personal shit, and I’m not going to start now.”

  Silence.

  “If you’re not going to open up to me, what incentive do I have to continue being your so-called friend?”

  He said nothing for a few seconds, but then he smirked. “Get in my lap and let me show you.”

  “Is this a joke?”

  “Am I laughing?”

  “Do you really think you can just demand for me to have sex with you whenever you want?” I raised my eyebrow. “Especially since you just said you’ll never be that open about your personal life?”

  “Yes.” He unbuckled his seat belt. “Get in my lap.”

  “You know...” I looked down, noticing his cock slowly stiffening through his pants. “I've let a few things slide the past few times we've had sex, but I have to tell you...” I bit my lip as I slipped out of the car. “I'm really not into the possessive caveman shit.”

  He narrowed his eyes at me as I grabbed my purse and stepped back.

  “I think we need to give your cock a rest, don't you think?” I crossed my arms. “You have a pretty big hearing coming up next week. Don't you need to save all your energy so you can be better prepared?”

  “Get back in the damn car, Aubrey...” His voice was strained.

  “Are you begging me?”

&nb
sp; “I'm commanding you.”

  “Did you not hear what I just said?”

  He didn't answer. He reached for my hand, but I shut the door.

  “I'll see you tomorrow, Mr. Hamilton.” I smiled and walked away.

  Liability (n.):

  Legal responsibilities for one’s acts or omissions.

  A week later…

  Andrew

  There was only one thing in Durham that held no comparison to New York: Court. The lawyers in New York actually took their jobs seriously. They pored over their research all night, polished their defenses to perfection, and presented their cases with pride.

  In Durham, “lawyers” didn’t do shit, and in a moment like this—when I was listening to a young and inexperienced prosecutor embarrass herself, I almost missed those days.

  Then again, I wasn’t paying too much attention to the proceedings today. I was too busy thinking about Aubrey and how many times we’d fucked in my office this morning.

  We’d said our usual, “Good morning Mr. Hamilton,” “Hello, Miss Everhart” greetings and locked eyes as she set my coffee down. She’d opened her mouth to say something else, but the next thing I knew, my hands were in her hair and I was pulling her against my desk.

  I was ruthlessly pounding into her from behind as I massaged her clit, and when she collapsed on my carpet, I’d spread her legs and devoured her pussy.

  I was completely insatiable when it came to Aubrey, and being around her for more than five seconds was enough to send me over the edge.

  There’s no point in even counting how many times we’ve fucked anymore…

  “As you can see…” The prosecutor’s voice cut through my thoughts. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, all of the evidence that I’ve presented will prove—”

  “Objection!” I’d had enough of this. “Your Honor, last time I checked, this was an evidentiary hearing, not a trial. Why is Ms. Kline being allowed to address a nonexistent jury?”

  The judge took off her glasses. “Ms. Kline, as hesitant as I am to agree with Mr. Hamilton, he does have a point. Have you concluded with your presentation of evidence? Barring a closing statement to the jury?”

  “I have, Your Honor,” she said, puffing out her chest as if she’d just presented the case of the century.

  “Mr. Hamilton…” The judge looked my way. “Do you care to surprise me today by refuting any of the evidence presented?”

  “No, Your Honor.” This hearing was a waste of time, and she knew it as well as I did.

  “I see.” She put on her glasses again. “Let the record show that while the prosecution has presented a compelling and rather large collection of evidence, it’s this court’s ruling that it is not enough to warrant a trial.” She banged her gavel and stood up.

  Ms. Kline walked over to me and held out her hand. “So, I’ll file an appeal, get more evidence, and see you on this matter again soon, right?”

  “Are you asking me or are you telling me?”

  “Your client committed the highest degree of fraud, Mr. Hamilton.” She crossed her arms. “Someone has to pay for that.”

  “No one ever will if you remain on top of it, will they?” I put my files in my briefcase. “I’ll be waiting for your next move. And yes, you should get more evidence since the judge clearly ruled that what you had was not enough.”

  “So, that means I should appeal? Do you think I could win this thing?”

  “I think you could go back to law school and fucking pay attention.” I scoffed. “Either that, or do your clients a favor and find them a better lawyer.”

  “You mean someone like you?”

  “There’s no one like me.” I slid a pair of shades over my eyes. “But anyone would be better than you.”

  “Are you always this rude to your opponents, Mr. Hamilton?” She cracked a smile. “I mean, I’ve heard stories, but you are really—”

  “Really, what?”

  “Intriguing.” She stepped closer. “You are really intriguing.”

  I blinked and looked her over. If I’d met her on Date-Match she might’ve been worthy of one night, but I never mixed business with pleasure.

  At least, I didn’t used to.

  “I’m not sure if you’re seeing anyone or not,” she said, lowering her voice, “but I think you and I have a lot in common.”

  “What exactly do we have in common, Miss Kline?”

  “Well…” She stepped even closer and rubbed my shoulder. “We were both staring at each other during the hearing, we both have high profile careers, and we both have a passion for the law—a passion that could be transferred to other things.” She licked her lips. “Right?”

  I stepped back. “Miss Kline, I was staring at you during the hearing because I was trying to comprehend how someone could show up to court and be so unprepared, unprofessional, and utterly annoying. We do both have high profile careers, but if you continue presenting cases like the one you presented today, I’ll be interviewing you for a secretary position at my firm within the next six months.” I ignored her gasp. “And if your passion for the law is anything like the way you fuck, then you and I have absolutely nothing in common.”

  “Did you…” She shook her head, stepping back as her face reddened. “Did you really just say that to me?”

  “Did you really just proposition me for sex?”

  “I was simply probing—seeing if you were interested in going out.”

  “I’m not,” I said—noticing that I wasn’t even the slightest bit aroused. “Am I free to leave the courtroom now or would you like to probe me for something else?”

  “You are an asshole!” She spun around and grabbed her briefcase off the floor. “You know, for your clients’ sake, I hope you’re a lot nicer,” she spat out as she left the room.

  I wanted to tell her that I actually wasn’t nicer to my clients. I didn’t put up with bullshit from anyone, and since I hadn’t lost a single case since moving to Durham, I didn’t have to.

  Looking at my watch, I figured I’d wait a few minutes before leaving. I didn’t want to run into her in the parking lot, and since the remaining courts were adjourning for lunch, I figured I’d wait a while.

  I stuffed my hands into my pocket and smiled at the feel of the lacy fabric that grazed my left hand. Pulling it out, I smiled at Aubrey’s black thong from this morning.

  I took my phone out of my briefcase to text her about it, but she’d emailed me first.

  Subject: Wet Panty Fetish

  I’m not sure if you’ve realized that I left my thong in your pocket yet, but I want you to know that I did it for your own good, and that your secret is safe with me.

  Ever since you fucked me in the bathroom at the art gallery, I’ve noticed that you have a tendency to stare at my panties before taking them off.

  You run your fingers across them, pull them off with your teeth, and then you stare at them again. I have no problem continuing to appease your panty fetish. I’m sure you place them over your face at night, so if you ever need more, feel free to let me know.

  —Aubrey

  Subject: Re: Wet Panty Fetish

  I did realize that you slipped your thong into my pocket this morning. I’ve noticed that you’ve done this all week.

  Contrary to your unfounded and silly assumptions, I do not have a panty fetish and I do not sleep with them over my face at night. I do, however, have a new fetish for your pussy, and if you’re interested in letting me sleep with THAT over my face at night, feel free to let me know.

  —Andrew

  I waited for a response—watched my screen for several minutes, but then I realized it was Wednesday and she wouldn’t see my email until later.

  I made my way outside and slipped into my car. I didn’t feel like going back to the firm—my case files were all up to date, and it was too early to go home.

  Revving up my engine, I coasted down the street in search of a decent bar. As I was turning past the law school, I noticed Duke’s dance
hall across the street.

  I wasn’t sure what came over me, but I made a right turn and pulled into the parking lot. I followed the signs that read “Dance Studio” and parked in front.

  There was a sign on the double doors of the auditorium that read “Private Rehearsals: Dancers Only,” but I ignored it. I followed the faint sound of piano keys and opened the door to a colossal theater.

  Bright lights shone directly on the stage, and dancers dressed in all white were spinning. Before I could come to my senses and make myself leave, I spotted Aubrey in the front.

  Wearing the same feathered headband she’d worn at the art gallery, she was smiling wider than I’d ever seen her smile before—dancing as if no one else was in the room. There was a gleam in her eyes that I never saw while she was at GBH, and although I didn’t know shit about ballet, it was clear that she was the best dancer onstage.

  “Extend, Miss Everhart! Extend!” A grey haired man walked onto the stage, yelling. “More! More!”

  She continued dancing—stretching her arms out further, extending her hands.

  “No! No! NO!” The man stomped his foot. “Stop the music!”

  The pianist immediately stopped and the director stepped in front of Aubrey.

  “Do you know what the characteristics of the white swan are, Miss Everhart?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Yes?” He looked offended.

  “Yes, Mr. Petrova.” She stood still.

  “If that’s so, why don’t you enlighten us all as to what those special characteristics are?”

  “Light, airy, elegant—”

  “Elegant!” He stomped his foot again. “The white swan is all about smooth, gentle movements… Her arms are well poised, graceful.” He grabbed her elbow and pulled her forward. “Your arms are erratic, rough, and you’re dancing like a pigeon on crack!”

  Her cheeks reddened, but he continued.

  “I want a swan, Miss Everhart, and if you’re not up to the part—if your heart is elsewhere, like that other major you have, do me a favor and let me know so I can groom someone else for the role.”