Boss Hottie

by Hart, Alexa

  His tone is matter-of-fact; it isn’t a question. I choose not to address it for now.

  “Okay…” taking a deep breath, I thank him, “it’s beautiful.”

  Michael smiles at my smile, kissing me deeply before pulling away and swatting my ass.

  “Now go get ready.” I chuckle at the command, retreating towards the bathroom to follow it.

  Standing in front of the full-length mirror in Michael’s grand bathroom, I study myself. After washing my face and brushing my teeth, I step into the ensemble. The thick material of the black classic dress negates the need for a bra, hiding my nipples from sight, even in the fresh November cold. My thong is invisible under the dress, the thin lacy material leaving no panty lines along my hips. I’ll have to commend Harris on his taste later. It’s a rather plan piece, stopping just a few inches above my knees, but the structured material and cinched waist frame my figure perfectly, accentuating my hips and hugging my fully-covered chest and shoulders, to come to a stop just past the tops of my arms in an ultra short sleeve. It’s both classy and sexy at the same time. Stepping into the matching black heels, my outfit is complete.

  “I think I’d better give Harris a raise.” Whipping around, I spot Michael from his peeping position, leaning against the door frame looking like pure sin in his expensive suit. He stalks me, predatory and alluring, capturing my wrist to spin me to my original position. We stand there for a moment. In the mirror I see the perfect couple. Equal in class and beauty. Elegant, reserved, and powerful. One glance in Michael’s jeweled eyes tells me he is seeing the same thing.

  “I just have to put on a touch of mascara, then I’ll be ready.” I clear my throat, enthralled by the sight of us, meeting his eyes in the reflection.

  He kisses my cheek, “you don't need it, baby. But take your time, I’ll go tell Harris to get the car.”

  With that, he strolls from the room with effortless charisma, rolling from him without a single word. I reach into my purse, retrieving the little vial of black eyelash coating, considering for a moment before dropping it back into its home and making my way downstairs.

  The courthouse is about 20 minutes from Michael’s building, granting us ample time to review the case, and our game-plan for the day. Today is the trial. If Michael is nervous, he doesn’t let on. He is calm and collected while practicing his questions, and reciting his opening and closing statements. I study him, cataloguing his every word and mannerism. If I grow to be half as good a lawyer as he is, I’ll be successful. Michael might be a lot to me, but first and foremost he’s my mentor, and I intend to learn as much as I possibly can from him.

  Harris pulls the car to a stop, perfectly parallel parking in front of the courthouse entrance, and getting out to open the door for us. Michael buttons his jacket, grabbing my hand as we walk inside the ornate building.

  * * *

  “All rise for the Honorable Judge Stevenson.” A short, stocky man bellows, prompting the few people in the dark wood and velvet decorated courtroom. Oren Kelly waived his right to a jury trial, so it will be just us, him and his people, and the judge. Excluding, of course, the barrage of witnesses we’ve lined up.

  “You may be seated.” A tall and regal woman saunters into the room, cloaked in deep black robes and trailed by a young intern whose arms are overflowing with files and a cup of steaming coffee. Michael and I take our seats in unison. I’ve never sat second chair before – always taking a dutiful seat behind Aaron in the courtroom. This is exhilarating.

  Taking in my surroundings, I scan the inspiring room, hoping to memorize every inch of it. That is, until I get to the defendant’s bench. Seated just behind Oren Kelly is the quiet and beady-eyed brother from depositions, his eyes still glued to me. They are filled with a violating predatory desire, like he’s undressing me in his head right here in this courtroom. I avert my gaze uncomfortably, and Michael catches my swift change in direction.

  “Taking it all in?” He whispers inquiringly. I smile at him, my discomfort from the previous moment forgotten.

  “It’s incredible. Does this feeling ever wear off?” He chuckles at my change in demeanor, shaking his head.

  “I keep waiting for it to, but no. It never does.”

  To my left, Mrs. Thompson sits quietly, fidgeting with her fingers. When we arrived, I stopped in the café to fetch her some tea, hoping to calm her nerves. She gripped my hands, squeezing tightly when I handed her the steaming beverage, but I could tell her mind was weighing on her. Michael passed her a few assurances before retreating into himself, preparing for the fight. Now, as he stands ready to deliver his opening statement, I sit straighter in my chair, discretely grabbing her hand under the table in a silent assurance, it’ll be okay.

  Her eyes catch mine, wrinkling with a small grateful smile, and we both avert our attention to the man of our shared affections. His opening statement goes perfectly as planned. Touching on each vile detail of the matter at hand without overloading the judge with too much information. She visibly finches when Michael describes the sexual advances Oren Kelly made at his tenants, but she does not say a word. When he finally sits, granting the floor to the defense, Judge Stevenson’s dark brown eyes are all but glaring at Oren. I keep my expression neutral as Nick, Oren Kelly’s lawyer, stands to speak.

  His statement boarders on argumentative as he details their alleged version of the story, how a sad old woman wants revenge for being rejected, and is using an old friend’s high position in the legal world to get it. My mind wonders at the use of the phrase “old friend.” Clearly Mrs. Thompson is more than just a friend of Michael’s parents. She looks at him the way a mother looks at her son, and vice versa. I make a mental note to ask him more about the subject later.

  “Your honor, I’d like to call my first witness, Melanie Richardson.” Michael stands.

  “Objection!” Nick’s voice is already angered. “How is she relevant to the case?”

  “She’s a character witness your honor. A previous tenant of Mr. Kelly’s.”

  Judge Stevenson looks at Nick with an annoyed expression. “Did you not receive a copy of Mr. Carter’s witness list prior to trial?”

  “Well, yes, I did, but— “

  “Then overruled. You may proceed Mr. Carter.” What I wouldn’t give to feel the exhilarating authority she must feel on her seat at the bench. Michael thanks her, nodding to one of the four girls we ushered into the back of the courtroom before beginning. He takes her hand for a moment, whispering something to her as she passes him on her way to the stand. I’m not sure what he said, but whatever it was caused her shoulders to release their tense position. She glanced at Mrs. Thompson once, then back to him, nodding strongly.

  “Please state your name for the record.” The bailiff prompts the red-haired girl.

  “Melanie Richardson.” Her eyes land on Mr. Kelly, a fire burning in their oak-colored depths.

  “Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”

  “Yes.” She is speaking directly to Mr. Kelly, damning him silently with her oath.

  “You may proceed.” The judge prompts Michael. He thanks her, standing once more.

  They calmly lay out the basic details of her relevance for the judge; when was she Mr. Kelly’s tenant, and for how long? What were the issues within her living space and what steps did she take to rectify them with Mr. Kelly? Now, we are at the painful part.

  “Miss Richardson, do you recognize this document?” Michael hands her a copy of evidence that she provided us with, transcripts of texts he sent to her verified by the phone company.

  “Yes, this is a texting conversation I had with Mr. Kelly regarding the issues.” Melanie answers him.

  “Your Honor, you should have a copy of this document in your evidence file, item number 16, however I’m going to ask Miss Richardson to read from the page.” Michael explains, turning to Melanie, his gaze softening. “Can you please read the highlighted section? Take your t
ime, Melanie, we’ll wait.” He adds the last bit in response to the discomfort that morphs her features.

  Melanie takes a deep, steadying breath before reciting the vile words on the page. “Shut up, you entitled brat. Shut your fucking mouth before I shut it for you. That’d teach you a lesson about how to speak to your superiors, huh? Are you forgetting I have keys to your apartment? Maybe next time you want to mouth off to me I’ll visit you when you’re sleeping and remind you of the only thing a bitch should use her mouth for.”

  The atmosphere in the room changes as each woman tenses with their own specific memories of being spoken to like that by aggressive men who think themselves superior. The judge presses her lips together in disgust as Michael instructs Melanie once more.

  “Thank you, Melanie. I know that must have been hard for you. We’re almost done here. Can you turn to the next page and read the highlighted section there?”

  Melanie does as she’s asked speaking again to recite Oren Kelly’s words. “If you call the cops or tell anyone you’re dead, you hear me bitch? Think about that next time you threaten me, I’ll be waiting in your apartment with a knife, ready to fuck you into your place, then gut you like the whore you are.”

  Small and horrified gasps fill the room as Melanie finishes speaking, everyone aware of how the case will go, but nonetheless having to go through the tedious formality of the trial. I’m sure Nick would have had the intelligence to settle, but Michael refused to offer a deal.

  Taking his seat, Michael closes, submitting Melanie to the attentions of Nick, whose slicked back hair and pinstripe suit make him look like a greasy real estate salesman.

  “Good morning, Melanie. How are you doing today?” Despite the polite nature of the question, the pale-faced lawyer’s voice is devoid of any emotion.

  “I’ve been better.” She answers, her tone clipped with annoyance.

  He smiles at her, “Melanie, do you have a Tinder account?”

  My jaw almost drops at the degrading question. “Objection!” Michael and I exclaim in unison, before I shoot him an apologetic glance at my instinctual words, he shoots me back a slight nod, signaling that he supports the outburst.

  “Your Honor, a witness’s past sexual and dating history has long been inadmissible as evidence in a court of law. Surely the defense is aware of this.” Michael states, his eyes shooting daggers at Nick.

  “This is true Your Honor, however I’m not asking in regards to her interactions on the app, only the biography she wrote on her profile.”

  The judge glances back and forth between them before sighing, submitting to the legality of the question. “It is within his rights to ask, Mr. Carter. I’ll allow it.”

  Satisfied, Nick continues, passing Melanie a piece of paper. “Is this your profile, Miss Richardson?”

  “Objection. This evidence was never submitted to me during discovery.”

  “It wasn’t? Huh. That must be an oversight… I have my interns handle all such correspondence – you know law students, so unreliable.” Nick doesn’t even try to hide his sleazy lie, but the judge in her effort to be fair allows the admission. Melanie reads the biography out loud.

  “Just a regular girl looking for her very own Christian Grey,” her voice is hard with embarrassment and contempt.

  “Who’s Christian Grey?” Nick asks, smugly.

  “A character from a movie.”

  “What do you like about him?”

  There is a brief pause in the room. He’s trying to get Melanie to admit that she’s into S&M.

  “He’s rich and handsome. Unlike Mr. Kelly, if you’re trying to draw some equivalence.” I smirk at her bite, impressed she had the nerve to embarrass him from the stand. Glancing over at the Kelly’s they are both red with rage.

  “He’s an icon for the S&M lifestyle, is he not?”

  “I suppose. I don’t really follow such things.”

  “Sure, but you enjoyed the movie? Enough to reference it in your profile.”

  “Obviously.”

  “Isn’t it true Miss Richardson that you enjoyed the S&M practice thoroughly? That you came onto Mr. Kelly? You were enticed by his position of power, as your landlord, and you made passes at him. You requested him to speak to you like this, to demean you as is a prominent kink in your community.”

  “No! I— “ Melanie tries to speak, tears of frustration and outrage pooling in her expressive eyes.

  “Yes, you came onto him, you had a consenting S&M relationship with him, and when he cut it off you joined Mrs. Thompson and Mr. Carter’s lawsuit to get back at him for breaking up with you.”

  “No! That's a lie! I never—“

  “That’ll be all Your Honor.” Nick cuts her off, unbuttoning his jacket as he takes a seat, leaving Melanie sobbing and silent on the witness stand. Despite decorum instructing otherwise, Michael stands, helping her from the witness stand to the back of the room, where the other girls comfort her.

  Mrs. Thompson casts me a nervous glance, as if to say I can’t withstand that but I grab her hand once more, whispering, “you can do this. Michael isn’t going to let you lose.”

  And he didn't. Each woman took the stand, recounting their painful stories with fire in their eyes and, despite Nick’s degrading accusations, the judge sided with them. She found Oren Kelly guilty on multiple counts of not only serious landlord violations, but sexual harassment and terroristic threats. Sentencing wouldn’t be for a few more weeks, but with convictions like those he’ll surely be going to prison.

  As the judge retreats to her chambers and out of sight, Michael turns to me and Mrs. Thompson beaming, picking her small figure up in a victorious hug before turning to kiss me. It’s a short but passionate embrace, and when we separate Mrs. Thompson is sporting a smug grin.

  “I told you so,” she comments to Michael, before hugging me herself. We make our way to the back of the room to congratulate the other four witnesses, each of whom is sporting a shocked and elated grin.

  “Thank you, Mr. Carter, for getting us justice.” Melanie says, shaking his hand.

  “Actually, I really can’t take the credit here. Including you in the case was Miss Williams’ idea. She did all the work, I just argued her case.” Michael flashes a lopsided grin at me, proud and confident. I am dumbfounded as the girls encircle me in a hug. Will he ever cease to surprise me?

  Chapter 17

  Michael

  Bidding my last goodbyes to Mrs. Thompson, I open the car door for Sophia and climb in behind her. Before I even have a chance to shut it, she is on me. Her kiss screams a million different feelings at me as her eager fingers take their rightful place tousling my hair. Thank you, and I’m proud of you. The sentiment is unspoken, but I hear it all the same, reciprocating in full force.

  “Let’s celebrate, kitten.” Her eyes light up at my use of the pet name, the one I know is her favorite.

  “What’d you have in mind?” I study her. Her full lips pout suggestively with her silken change of tone. Smirking, I press my favorite button on the door. The one that hides us from Harris’ glance. “What? Here?” There is an air of panic to her melodic voice, but I silence her with one small finger to her lips.

  “Shh, beautiful. It’s a short drive to where we’re going, and we don’t want Harris to suspect anything. This is going to be fast and quiet, okay?”

  Giggling, Sophia nods at me as I unbuckle her belt and pull her below me on the leather seat. Tonight we’ll have the long drawn out lovemaking, but right now my bloodstream is brimming with adrenaline and victory, and I want to share it with my girl.

  “Oh, Michael,” Sophia begins to moan for me as I plant warm, open mouthed kisses on her neck. Pecking her sultry lips, I clamp a hand over them to silence her as she undoes my belt for me.

  “You come when I come kitten, okay?” Sophia nods under my hand and that's all the confirmation I need. Reaching down to make sure we’re protected, I push the hem of her dress up around her hips, ripping the vulnerable lace barr
ier of her panties.

  Palming at her clit, I allow one small finger to protrude her opening to the first knuckle. She’s soaked. I knew she would be from the veracity of the kiss, but I’m pleased nonetheless.

  “Good girl,” I whisper to her, sinking into her with ease, and doing all I can not to curse at the pleasure of her wet heat. She wraps around me perfectly, like we were made for each other. Keeping one hand over her mouth, I rub her clit in solid, firm circles, coaxing her orgasm from her with each hard thrust. It only takes a few minutes.

  Her head is whipping back and forth beneath my hand, muffled begs teasing me against the skin of my palm.

  “Please Michael, please.” Her moan is breathless and desperate. The sound of a woman on the brink. I’m not so far off myself.

  We must be getting close to the restaurant by now. Tightening my grip, I barrel into her two, three more times.

  “Now, Sophia. Come for me.” And she does. Contracting around my cock and screaming into my palm, my incredible woman comes around me like fireworks lighting up the night sky; we come together.

  When the car stops, and Harris opens the door, we are perfectly situated and ready for dinner, if not a little flushed.

  Chapter 18

  Sophia

  “I’ll see you in the morning! I promise.” I press a light kiss on Michael’s lips as I gently retrieve my clothes from his hands, packing to go home. It’s been four days since the trial, and I officially feel bad making Harris go out on new clothing-runs every morning.

  “You could just stay here, you know. Always.” Michael poses the question like a matter-of-fact statement, and I pause – is he serious? “Just something to think about.”

  Sweeping me into a dizzying kiss, he erases the anxious thoughts from my brain, filling it with only images of us, together.

  “Okay, okay. I relent. You’d better go now before I change my mind.” Michael releases me and I chuckle at him, reassuring him that I’ll be back after work tomorrow. As I step onto the elevator to go meet Harris, he calls after me.