The Bridgewater Case

by R. C. Martin

  “I’ve met someone, mother. Her name is Sigourney.”

  She gasps, sitting up taller as she presses a hand against her chest. “Met someone? As in, you two are seeing each other?”

  “Exclusively,” I mutter with an affirmative nod.

  “Well, I’ll be—if that’s not proof there is a God, I don’t know what is.”

  She laughs when I shake my head and smirk at her. She then proceeds to spend the next ten minutes peppering me with questions about Sigourney. I don’t give her much information, for the same reasons we haven’t come out about it at the office, but my mother doesn’t put up much of a fuss. It’s been over a decade since I’ve thought enough of a woman to tell my mother about her, and I can tell she’s thrilled.

  “All right, well, you’re pretty tight lipped about this Sigourney of yours. I guess I’ll just have to meet her myself.”

  “Yes, well, give it time,” I suggest as our food arrives.

  Thankfully, when I shift the direction of our conversation back onto her, she follows my lead.

  AS SOON AS Dane leaves for brunch at the Country Club—because apparently I date a man who does such a thing—I set about the task of unpacking my things. Sliding open the door to his closet, I flip on the light and wheel in my first suitcase. Looking around, I’d wager a guess that there’s enough space in here to fit my bathroom and my kitchen. The dark, cherry wood of the built-in shelving is gorgeous, and the display of his suits, hung neatly in a row, makes me feel like an intruder. Abandoning my bag, I walk over to them, counting the four that remain. I run my fingers along the sleeves and then decide to peek at the tags out of curiosity.

  My jaw drops when I find that two of them are Gucci, one Armani, and the last Burberry. When I step over to his shelves, where his shirts are neatly folded and stacked, I find that all of them are also Armani. I immediately decide I don’t even want to know what brand his underwear is, and I stop looking at labels. I’m relieved that there’s room for me to hang my work clothes on the opposite side of the closet—away from brands I’ve never been able to afford; brands that should not have to rub shoulders with my outlet mall purchases.

  I’ve not ever really been one to care about labels or brands, but I’m self-conscious after seeing the physical proof that Dane and I are on completely different levels. Of course, that’s always been our reality—as he is the one who signs my paychecks—but this seems different. Not wishing to think about it too much, I hurry through the unpacking process and then stow my empty luggage in the far corner of the closet. Stepping into his bedroom, I look around and I feel no better. Sure, his bed now holds memories that mean a great deal to me, but it’s strange to imagine I’ll be living in such luxury for the coming weeks—or possibly months.

  Shaking away my uncertainty, I grab my phone out of my purse and head into the next room. Unlike in his office, the long, L-shaped sectional that stretches across the room isn’t black—the gray color a nice contrast to the stained wood of his entertainment center. His coffee table has a wooden bottom and a glass top, and the look and feel of the room is very sophisticated and modern. As I curl into the corner of the plush sofa, I position myself so I can see through the wall of windows while I call my parents. When I spot my throw blanket folded over the back of the couch and within reach, I grab it and happily tuck it around me.

  Glancing down into my lap, as I listen to the ringing of my dad’s phone, I take note of my blanket against Dane’s superman t-shirt I’m still wearing. Instantly, every insecurity I was feeling a minute ago melts away. I think back over the morning and the look on his face when I came out of his bedroom after my shower. I remember the way he couldn’t keep his hands off of me, and my stomach clenches when the memory of him taking me in the kitchen fills my mind. A sense of longing warms my belly, and all of a sudden I wish he was here. The truth is, no matter how different we are, he makes me happy. Even more than that, he cares about me—and that means more than any name brand either of us might be wearing on our backs.

  “Hello?” dad answers, pulling me from my thoughts. “Sally, are you there?”

  “Hey, dad. Sorry,” I mutter, a blush rising to my cheeks. Thankful that my dad can’t see into my mind, I stow away my memories of the morning and focus on the conversation at hand. “What are you doing? Is mom around? I wanted to tell you guys something…”

  I LOOK UP from the study book propped in my lap when I hear the elevator chime open across the room. I’ve been curled up in the same spot for I don’t even know how long, completely in love with the corner of this couch. Dane walks in with his dry cleaning draped over one arm, a leather duffle over his shoulder, and what appears to be a bag of takeout in his other hand.

  “Hi,” I murmur, surprised how much I like him coming in—almost like this is home.

  “Hey, babe.”

  He sets the takeout on the kitchen counter before he walks over to me. When he leans down to give me a kiss, I arch my neck back to accept, and then he leaves me for the bedroom. While he’s gone, I check my phone for the time and realize it’s almost five o’clock. Dane returns not even a minute later, joining me on the couch.

  Now rid of his suit jacket, he rolls up his sleeves, nodding at my book as he asks, “What are you doing?”

  “Studying,” I admit on a shrug.

  “Want some help?”

  Taken aback by his offer, I tilt my head to the side as I question, “Seriously? You’re a partner at one of the largest law firms in the entire state, and you want to help me study for the bar?”

  Shaking his head at me, he states, “You don’t belong behind the desk of a secretary. Of course, I’ll help you study.”

  My stomach clenches at the adamancy of his tone, and I close my book shut as I reach for his scruff-covered jaw. “I really like you,” I mumble before pressing a kiss to his lips.

  I feel his smile before he flicks his tongue out, and I open up for him instantly. He only teases me, seeking just a taste before he pulls away enough to reply, “I’ve kind of got a thing for you too, babe.”

  I giggle at the same time that my stomach growls. It dawns on me that I’ve been so preoccupied all day, I haven’t eaten since Dane brought me that muffin with my coffee earlier this morning.

  “I stopped by the pub and got us some sandwiches. We’ll have to go out tomorrow and stock up on real food. And dishes. This place isn’t exactly habitable at the moment.”

  “Why, Dane—are you asking me to come pick out China patterns with you? I think it’s a little soon. We just moved in together,” I tease.

  “Cute,” he says dryly with a smirk. “Come on. Let’s eat.”

  I’m quick to follow him into the kitchen, where we both sit at the island and open our boxes from The Wild Rover. While we eat, he tells me about his day, I tell him about mine, and I’m reminded all over again that this man is so much more than my boss.

  Tonight, he is my comfort.

  IT’S COLD OUT, but I still spend forty-five minutes biking around the city before the sunrise. The smell of snow is in the air, and I know today might be one of the last mornings I have the opportunity to get out on my bike for a few months. During the winter, I’ll be stuck on my stationary bike. As much money as I spent on that thing, it doesn’t compare to the real deal. In any case, it helps me clear my head. On days like this one, when I’m due in court, it’s exactly what I need.

  It’s a few minutes past the hour when I return to the office. I mount my bike on the wall and then head to the penthouse. As always, I make my way straight to the bedroom, ready for a shower. Yet, when I cross the threshold of the room and catch sight of Sigourney, I’m brought to a halt. She’s still in bed, my dark sheets a striking contrast against her pale skin. Her hair is fanned out across her pillow as well as mine, and I’m all too aware of how naked she is beneath the covers. It makes me want to crawl back into bed and relive what we did last night.

  Tomorrow will mark a week since she’s moved in. Unexpected as all of
this was, it feels good. Better than I thought possible. I’ve never thought seriously about settling down with a woman. I suppose I imagined one day it would happen inevitably, but not like this, and not with a woman as fine as Sigourney. With every day that passes, I find that I understand Hale’s attachment to Maya and what he’s wanted for me for the last couple of years. Of course, I have no intention of admitting that to his ass.

  Shaking away my sentimental thoughts, I strip out of my biking gear and walk naked to the bathroom to start my shower. I’ve got notes to look over this morning before heading to the courthouse, which means I need to get a move on and get downstairs. By the time I’m out of the shower, Sigourney is awake. I’m standing at the sink, trimming my facial hair, when I feel her arms wrap around me from behind. She’s slipped on a t-shirt, and I can feel the soft material against my back as she rests against me, her cool cheek pressed against my warm skin.

  “Good morning,” she sighs sleepily.

  “Good morning,” I mumble, finishing my current task.

  Tracing her fingers down my tattooed side, she kisses my back before she states, “You have court this morning.”

  “I do.”

  “And we’ve got depositions this afternoon.”

  “We do.”

  She touches her lips to my skin once more before she sighs and pulls away. “Busy day. I guess I should hop in the shower and get ready.”

  “Hey,” I call out before she can get too far, twisting to reach out for her.

  I don’t speak another word as I pull her into my side and bring my mouth to greet hers. I linger only long enough to make it worth it, and then I pull away, freeing her from my grasp before smacking her ass. She giggles—her voice, still drenched in sleep, making her sound sultry. She swats at my ass in return before starting her shower.

  I finish up at the sink and make my way to the closet to get dressed for the day. I decide on my three piece, gray Gucci for court, pairing it with a white button-up and my textured, black necktie. I’m shrugging on my jacket when Sigourney walks into the closet, wrapped only in a towel. The smell of her shampoo suddenly fills the air, making my dick jerk. She stops abruptly when she sees me, and my cock presses against the seam of my pants as I watch her eyes peruse me from head to toe and up again.

  Knowing I’ll regret it if I do, but too fucking curious to deny myself, I walk toward her and reach my hand underneath her towel. She gasps, her eyes widening as her lips form a precious O shape when I slip my fingers between her legs. I groan and she whimpers when I find her wet, and I push two fingers inside of her. Clutching her towel at her chest with one hand, she wraps her other around my arm in an attempt to keep her balance.

  Just as I suspected, I regret my discovery. I don’t have time to do anything about it—and the look of disappointment on her face when I extract my hand only serves to remind me that Sigourney gives as good as she gets. Rest assured that it frustrates her as much as it frustrates me, I suck my fingers clean before bending to take her in a swift, hard kiss.

  “I’ll see you downstairs,” I mutter as I straighten.

  Her shoulders rise and fall as she breathes in and lets out a heavy sigh. She then nods in agreement and proceeds to pick out her clothing for the day. Certain it’s in my best interests if I leave before she drops her towel, I waste not another moment before returning to my office.

  I lose myself in case notes for about thirty minutes. My concentration is broken only when I notice movement outside of my door. It’s rare for there to be a whole lot of activity before eight in the morning, unless of course Sigourney comes down early. When I look up and see it’s Avangeline, her hands full as she walks behind Sigourney’s desk, I frown as I stand to see what she’s doing.

  There’s a bunch of balloons in her hand, tied to what looks like is a bag of candy corn. It isn’t until I pull open my door that I notice amongst the black and orange balloons—spotted with white polka dots—there’s a black cat, a purple-winged bat, and a witch that’s holding a sign that reads: Happy Birthday!

  “Avangeline, what are you doing?” I question, slipping my hands into my pockets as I watch her.

  She jumps, spinning around with wide eyes, and then breathes a sigh of relief at the sight of me. “Dane, you scared me!”

  Her reaction having already stated as much, I lift my chin in her direction and repeat, “What are you doing?”

  “Oh.” She twists her neck to glance at the balloons before turning to smile at me. “Well, Sally always gets here so early. It’s kind of hard to surprise a girl when she beats you to the party—so I had to get here before she did.” Setting her purse on the far edge of the desk, she reaches inside and pulls out a box of Godiva chocolates, the artwork on the front depicting cartoon pumpkins and the bottom half of a witch—her black boots curled at the tips, and her socks covered in stripes. “I’m sure the whole Halloween thing must get old on her birthday; but it’s her first one with us, so I figured we’d get a pass.”

  Frowning slightly, I ask, “Today is her birthday?”

  A sly smile pulls at the corner of her mouth as she nods her head at me. “Yeah. You didn’t know?”

  I don’t answer her, not wishing to give voice to my ignorance. Instead, I turn on my heel and go back to my office calling out, “As you were,” before my door shuts behind me.

  Rather than return to my desk, I head to the elevator and press the call button. The doors open for me right away, and I step inside. The ride up is a short one, but it’s long enough for me to come to the conclusion that a few things have suddenly been added to this morning’s docket. I’ve never been one to get too excited about birthdays, but I sure as shit can’t let Avangeline’s kindness outshine my own. After all, it’s my bed Sigourney’s sleeping in.

  Walking straight into the bedroom, I find said woman in the bathroom, applying a coat of mascara in the mirror as I enter. She straightens when she sees my reflection, our gazes locked in the glass as I approach.

  “Did you forget something?” she asks, tilting her head to the side. “What’s wrong?”

  I don’t stop until my front is pressed flush against her back. I slip my hand around her waist, flattening it against her lower abdomen as I hold her to me. My eyes drop to see that she’s chosen navy pants this morning, and I don’t hesitate to pop the first button open.

  “Dane?”

  “When were you going to tell me it’s your birthday?” I mumble, freeing her second button.

  Her gaze flicks down to watch me loosen the last of her pant’s buttons, and I can feel the pace of her breaths picking up speed.

  “Dane?” she repeats, her eyes lifting to meet mine in the mirror once more.

  “Answer me?”

  “I—I wasn’t. I wasn’t going to tell you.”

  “No?” I question, untucking her shirt in search of the waistband of her panties.

  “I figured you’d find out, but I wasn’t—Dane,” she breathes my name as I nudge her feet apart and slide my fingers between her legs, cupping her bare pussy.

  “And why wouldn’t you tell me? Does it not matter to you?”

  Her lips part open when I begin to circle her clit, beckoning her arousal. Dropping her mascara tube, she grabs hold of my forearm with one hand, leaning back against me and reaching for the side of my neck with her other. I bend enough to make it easy for her to hold onto me, my lips now level with her ear.

  “Does it not matter to you, Sigourney?”

  “It does. It matters,” she breathes as I apply more pressure where I know she wants it most.

  Circling my other arm around her middle, I dip my hand even further and fill her with two fingers. She’s even more wet than she was earlier. I press my erection into her back, wanting her to know what she does to me. Pumping in and out of her slowly, I spare no thought as to what time it is, what else I should be doing, or how it may effect my day. I want to feel her come for me; I want to hear her cry my name.

  I want her to spend the
rest of this day thinking of this particular moment, until I get the chance to take her in such a way that she’ll feel me long after her birthday has passed.

  “Babe?”

  “Dane,” she moans, thrusting her hips forward in an obvious search for more.

  I smirk at her reflection before whispering, “Why wouldn’t you tell me?”

  “I didn’t want you to feel obligated, okay?” she whimpers. “You’ve done enough. You’re already doing enough. I didn’t want to tell you how I usually spend my birthday because I was afraid you’d try and do something to make up for it.”

  Curious about her reply, I stop moving my fingers and ask, “What do you usually do?”

  “Oh, no—don’t stop. Please, don’t stop,” she begs, gripping my neck tighter.

  I graze my thumb over her clit, eliciting a whine, and then repeat, “What do you usually do?”

  “Ellery—we go to a Halloween party and we stay out all night. We take the next day off and go to the beach, even if the weather is shitty. Then we splurge on new dresses and go eat at whatever restaurant Pryce is working for. As long as they’ve been married, he’s always made me something decadent and chocolate for dessert on the occasion.” Bucking her hips, her grip around my forearm grows tighter as she begs, “Please, Dane—don’t leave me like this. Make me come.”

  Having gathered the information I need, I don’t hesitate to bring her the pleasure for which she is now desperate. I curl my fingers, gliding in and out of her as I grind the palm of my hand against her clit. Her eyes roll into the back of her head as her lids fall closed, and I don’t move my gaze away from her as I bring her closer and closer to the edge.

  “Oh, god, that feels so good. Right there, right there!”

  She gasps loudly, her entire body tensing as her pussy clenches around my fingers. Arching her back, she pushes her chest out, causing the fabric of her sleeveless, striped top to pull taut around her tits. Finally shifting my attention away from her reflection and down at the woman herself, I get the perfect view of her subtle cleavage peeking out from the low neckline of her shirt.