Do You Take This Man (72)

“You’re making me wait again,” she gasped.

I pinched her nipple more firmly, lips closing around the other, teeth grazing the sensitive flesh. “Deal with it,” I said, teeth grazing her again, testing to see if she liked it, then nipping and teasing, feeling her hips roll toward me again and again. I sucked hard as her fingernails dragged over my back. She reacted in this breathless way each time and I wanted to do it over and over.

“All your clothes are still on,” she said, scratching my back.

“And yet you’re bare to me.” I didn’t need to say it—it was obvious—but her eyes lit up and she rolled her hips to me again. I let my eyes trail over her body and dug my fingers under her ass, holding the pliant flesh.

“You only see what I show you.” She leaned against my hand and settled her own grip on my shoulder. “Don’t forget that.”

That was all I needed to push my hips between her thighs. “Ready?”

“Yes,” she said, spreading her legs wider.

I pushed into her, all the way and hard, watching her eyes widen. I still paused, letting her adjust, but she dragged her nails down my back, rolling into me, and I pulled out and thrust again, my muscles tensing as I drove into her, giving her everything I could because that’s all she wanted. She cried out into my shoulder, saying “Don’t stop” and “Harder.” With each thrust, it felt like I was unleashing the tension that had been coiling in my body all day, all week, and I pushed further, harder, shifting her hips so I could go deeper.

RJ’s nails dug into my back through my shirt and I winced as she bit down on my neck, sending pain and pleasure through me. She spasmed around my dick, her thighs trembling against me. I couldn’t hold out and I finished with a roar into her shoulder. We stood there wrapped in each other’s arms, both reeling and panting. Finally, RJ slumped against me. “Dammit, Lear.”

“Did I hurt you?” I didn’t pull back to see her face. If I was honest with myself, it was because I knew she wouldn’t have the soft, dreamy expression I loved. I didn’t want to see her efficient half smile, not yet. Didn’t want to see that Thank you and goodbye in the set of her jaw.

“No.” She rested her head on my shoulder, one of the loose curls brushing my cheek, her warm breath against my neck in the moments of silence. “Did I hurt you?”

I stroked her bare back, the tension that I’d pushed away gathering again because her tone was soft. We’d only been in the bathroom for ten minutes, but it felt like an eternity. An eternity where she’d reminded me that if I didn’t get my own feelings in check, I would get hurt. I shook my head and inhaled against her neck. Still, I stroked her back a few more times before stepping back, steeling myself to watch her efficiently pull on her clothes and walk away like I knew she would.





Chapter 39


    RJ



GRETCHEN AND I sat across from each other at the hotel bar near the office on a Friday night. When she’d suggested I grab a drink with her after work, I’d jumped at the chance, and we sat with glasses of wine and a cheese plate between us, discussing the Mayfield case. “Maybe” had fallen apart quickly; after a couple weeks back in counseling, the couple had decided to move forward.

“Has the game plan changed?”

Gretchen shook her head. “No. The public line is conscious uncoupling, but our client wants to win, and she wants him to have distance from the foundation.”

“I kept working on the foundation. It’s the only thing he seems to care about, and given her other charitable endeavors . . . I think if she’d give up the foundation, he’d give on a lot of other assets, leaving her ahead.”

“I agree, but she’s set on this point.” Gretchen sipped her wine.

I studied the cheese plate for a moment. “It’s kind of a shame, isn’t it? That their decision to try again fell apart so quickly.”

Gretchen tipped her head. “I suppose, but not unexpected. There doesn’t seem to be a lot of trust between them. A charitable foundation wasn’t very stable glue to hold two people together, not from my vantage point, anyway.”

“You’re right,” I said, uncomfortable with the tinge of sadness I felt. It wasn’t for the Mayfields. It was for the loss of possibility that love could persist. It had been a silly hope, one I never would have entertained in the past. “I’ll get on it.”

“I’m glad you’re on the team, RJ. When I get back from vacation in a few weeks, let’s talk about what’s next for you.” Gretchen was married to an orthopedic surgeon I’d met a few times. I’d expected her to be with someone serious, severe, someone who mirrored her, but her husband was funny, laid back, and kind of a nerd.

“I’ll get on your calendar.” I toyed with the stem of my glass. “Can I ask you a personal question, Gretchen?”

“Sure.”

“How do you balance this? Being around the relationship acrimony every day and then going home to a marriage. Seems it would be challenging.”

She considered my question for a moment, then raised the glass of chardonnay to her lips before she answered. “The job doesn’t get in the way for me. My marriage isn’t those marriages. My marriage isn’t the Mayfields’ marriage.” A small smile crossed her lips, one I couldn’t read. “We should know better than anyone why marriages fail. But I also had practice.”