What I was asking for was risky. I knew that. But if all I could ever say was that I’d held her while she slept, I’d be happy.
“Okay, Elliot. We sleep and talk. That’s it.”
I smiled, relief flooding my body. I honestly didn’t think she’d agree. In fact, I was preparing to fill her glass again in readiness for her mandatory skoll.
“No fucking,” she repeated.
“No fucking,” I reaffirmed. Well, maybe.
“And I get to sleep on the side of the bed closest to the window.”
That was my favourite side, but I didn’t argue because I planned on sleeping on that side, too. With her. On her. Underneath her.
“Then it’s settled,” she said, covering her chest with her arms.
“It is. So would you like to go to bed now?”
“I still have more questions for you.”
“You can ask them under the covers.”
Her eyelids fluttered with derision. “Can I bring my drink? I think I’m gonna need it.”
She was so bloody cute, even when she mocked me. “Yes, you can bring your drink.”
“You better have something I can sleep in, like an old t-shirt?”
“I have a Batman t-shirt,” I admitted, unable to hide my grin.
Her jaw dropped and she pointed at me. “You lied! You said you didn’t have one.”
I shrugged. “Guilty as charged.”
“Speaking of guilty people, what’s it like … defending them? You defend them, right?”
“Am I a criminal defence lawyer? Yes, predominantly.”
“Do you enjoy it?” She took a sip of her drink and eyed me curiously over the rim of her glass.
“For the most part, yes.”
“For the most part?”
I drank some of my bourbon then put my glass down. “I started off wanting to defend the underdog and wrongly accused, those who perhaps were in the wrong place at the wrong time, or who were a convenient target. Too often in life the wrong people fall victim because they don’t know their rights or how to fight for them. I hate that. I hate that they’re made scapegoats.”
“But what about the guilty ones? How do you defend them knowing they’re guilty.”
“They’ve got to be proven guilty first.”
“You know what I mean,” she sighed. “The ones who’ve admitted doing the crime, or where there’s no reasonable doubt because they’ve been caught red-handed.”
I ran my hand through my hair then used it to rest my head upon. This question, this notion, was never easy to explain. “A lot of the time, I can’t let myself think too much about it. I can’t make it personal or get involved beyond what my job, as their legal counsel, requires. But the ones who show remorse for their wrongdoings, genuine remorse … do they deserve punishment to the fullest extent of the law? No. I personally don’t think they do. And unless I help them, that’s what they’ll get.”
Her eyes widened. “So you believe a murderer deserves to be free if he/she is truly sorry?”
I chuckled, but the fact she was asking me these questions twisted my gut. The last thing I wanted was for my career to disappoint her through lack of comprehension.
“No, of course not. If you’re guilty of a crime, you deserve to be punished and rehabilitated. The thing is, more often than not, not everything is black and white. There are almost always mitigating circumstances.”
“But some crimes are black and white.”
“Well, yes, and no.”
“So how do you defend a cold blooded murderer?”
“Facts,” I stated, my answer short and simple because I wanted this conversation to end.
“Facts?”
I sighed. “Yes, it all comes back to facts.”
She narrowed her eyes at me then downed the last of her drink, stretching toward the coffee table to dispense her glass. The light from the fire lit her skin golden, her body smooth and flawless. And the nude lace underwear covering what I desperately wanted to see, touch, and taste the most, was only fuelling my need even more.
“I don’t understand,” she said, wiggling back into the seat and hugging her knees to her chest.
I swallowed and tried to ignore my thickening cock. “I stick to the facts while also questioning them, creating reasonable doubt while hoping, deep down, that the facts will prevail.”
“So you do your job but hope you fail at it?”
“Where the cold-blooded murderers are concerned, yeah, you could say that.”
“It must be hard defending them.”
I shrugged and stood up, offering my hands to help her stand with me. “Somebody has to do it.”
She stared at me, sympathy curving her pouting mouth.
“Everybody makes mistakes. Everybody. There’s no such thing as a perfect person in a perfect world because neither exists. People are flawed. Life is flawed. And it’s through flaws and mistakes that we learn to accept, forgive, and grow.”
She placed her hands in mine and let me guide her to stand. “But imperfection doesn’t justify the actions of a cold-blooded killer or a brutal rapist.”
“No, I’m not saying that it does.” I held our hands by our sides. “Because nothing justifies that, which is why I represent them. I make sure they receive their duty of care and nothing more.”
She let go of my hands and draped her arms over my shoulders, stretching up on one foot while suspending her sore ankle. “You remind me of a vigilante superhero.”
I laughed. “Batman?”
“Maybe. Speaking of Batman, where’s that t-shirt?”
Picking her up in my arms, I carried her to my bedroom and gently set her down on the bed. I walked into my walk-in robe, opened my set of drawers, and quickly rifled through them until I found it. “Here you go?” I said, walking back out, the t-shirt in my hands.
“Thank you.” She took it from me, quickly threaded it over her head, and then reached behind and unhooked her bra, pulling it out through one of the armholes.
“I’ve never understood how you women do that.”
“It’s easy,” she said, twirling the bra around her finger. “Here, I’ll show you. Hold out your hands.” Danielle hopped up to me and proceeded to guide the bra’s straps over my hands.
“What are you doin—”
“Oh shoosh. This is the best way to learn.”
“You’re not gonna do that thing up are you?”
“Think of it as your next dare.”
She continued to hop behind me and hooked the bra into place before the sharp sting of her hand slapped my arse.
“Hey!”
Leaning back, she raked me with her eyes. “Oh, you look good in nude, Lots.”
All I could do was stand there, in my boxer shorts, while a small piece of lace material emasculated me. “Danielle Cunningham, you have exactly two seconds to get this thing off of me.”
“The point was for you to do it.”
“Danielle!” I warned.
“Wait!” She hurriedly limped to my drawer, pulled out another t-shirt, then limped back and roughly plonked it over my head. “There. Knock yourself out.”
Her giggle was a candied tickle to my ears — sugary sweet and highly addictive. I wanted to gorge myself in it while humming appreciatively, knowing all the while it might not be good for my health … or my sanity.
“Fuck, this thing is uncomfortable.” I reached behind to where the bra was digging into my back in an attempt to wrestle it free.
My wrestling didn’t work.
All it did was incite Danielle to burst into laughter and plonk herself down onto my bed. “Don’t tie yourself in knots, Lots.” She laughed some more.
“Oh, you’re real funny, aren’t you?”
She nodded and snorted, then snorted again.
I couldn’t help myself and laughed along with her, managing to free the clasp and undo the bra.
“Now what the fuck do I do?” I mumbled, trying to pull it through the armhole but nearly severing my neck in the process. “Jesus fucking Christ! It’s attacking me.”
Frustrated, I yanked everything off in one aggressive sweep, the bra and t-shirt hooking on my nose and almost bringing me to tears.
“Oh … my … God! Can’t … breathe,” she said, clutching her stomach and rolling back onto the bed. “It … hurts. It … hurts.”
I gently grabbed her sore ankle. She squealed and tried to kick herself free of my grip with her good foot, but I was too strong for her tiny frame to stand a chance.
“I’m sorry, Lots. I swear,” she pleaded while laughing.
“Lies.”
“No. Truth,” she giggled. “Truth!”
Before I could react, her good foot swung at me again, this time connecting with my side. I let go and clutched the tender area. “That was a cheap shot!”
“Shit! Did I hurt you?” She sat up and scooted forward along the bed, concern plastering her face, which was when I seized my opportunity and pushed her back on the bed, climbing on top of her and straddling her lap.
“I’m curious,” I said, pinning her arms above her head. “Are you still ridiculously ticklish?”
Her head and neck craned forward. “No. Grew out of that a long time ago.”
“Really?”
“Uh huh.”
“Are you lying to me again?”
“No. Next question.”
Fuck, she was cute. “Yeah, see I’m gonna need proof. I’m all about facts, remember?”
Transferring her hands into one of mine, I kept them secured above her head while I slowly crept my fingers down her arm toward her armpit.
She squirmed.
“Do you know rats laugh when they’re tickled?”
“What? No. Why? Have you tickled one?”
“No.” I tickled her underarm for being a smartarse.
She squealed and wriggled. “Stop!”
“See? You lied. You are still ticklish. I think I need more proof, though.”
“No, you don’t. Yes, I lied. I’m sorry.”
Continuing to creep my fingers down, I trailed them along her side, stopping at the hem of my Batman t-shirt when I noticed her erect nipples through the material. Fuck!
I wanted to tickle those … with my tongue.
Flicking my eyes to hers, she bit her lip, her chest rising and falling in short, desperate pants. She wanted what I wanted; I could tell. Unlike her mouth, the rest of her body couldn’t lie.
“Do you also know,” I asked, continuing to creep my fingers along her tummy, “that it’s impossible to tickle yourself?”
She bucked her hips ever so slightly. “No. But I’m guessing that’s a good thing.”
I trailed higher, lifting the t-shirt and placing a soft kiss just below her bellybutton. “Do you know you can stop a person tickling you?”
She hummed and swirled her hips. “Elliot.”
“You can, but I’m not going to tell you how.” I lifted the t-shirt over her breasts and glanced up, seeing perfectly rounded mounds. They were gorgeous, firm, and soft.
She arched her back and moaned when I circled her nipple with my fingertip. Once. Twice. Faster.
“Do you wanna know how to make it stop?”
Her eyes were closed, her mouth open, no words escaping those parted lips.
“You don’t want me to tell you, do you?”
She moaned again, so I slid my tongue across her skin until her nipple was in my mouth.
“Oh God,” she breathed, grinding her hips into mine.
I couldn’t help myself and did the same thing, wanting nothing more than to slide my thick, hard, cock inside her and feel her slick, wet heat on my skin. I’d dreamed about it, jerked off to thoughts of it … I’d even pictured her in a past one-night stand’s place.
Releasing her hands, I trailed kisses to her other nipple and massaged the breast I’d just licked. She was so soft, so smooth, and she tasted like pure fucking heaven.
“Lots … that’s—”
“Perfect,” I murmured, continuing to lick, kiss and suck.
Her fingers dug into my scalp when I flicked my tongue rapidly and sucked as much of her breast into my mouth as I could, repeating the process, over and over until her chest couldn’t arch toward me any further.
She relaxed and fell back onto the bed, pulling on my hair and yanking my head back enough to separate my lips from her skin. “We have to stop,” she pleaded through heavy breaths.
My eyes found hers. Desperate. Panicked. Soaked in lust.
“Do we?”
She nodded.
“Okay.” I crept kisses down her stomach to the seam of her underwear, smelling just how wet and aroused I’d made her. “Are you sure?” I asked, pressing my nose against her clit and licking the material covering her pussy.
“No,” she moaned, bucking her hips, wanting more.
So I gave her more, swiping my tongue over her the material again, and again.
“Yes, yes. I mean yes!” She scampered back and out from underneath me, her chest puffing, her eyes wide and blinking. “Yes. Please stop. We can’t. I … I don’t want—”
She looked about ready to dive headfirst through my window just to escape, and it scared the ever-living shit out of me.
“Okay. Okay,” I said, interrupting her while holding my hands up in surrender. “No fucking. I promise, no fucking.”
Her body relaxed just slightly.
“But you should know that doesn’t mean I don’t want to, Danielle.”
A pained expression drifted across her face.
“And I know you want to as well. But I won’t push. I’ll never push.”
Getting up from the bed, I walked around to my side and pulled back the covers before climbing in and lying on my back with my arm outstretched, an invitation for her to rest her head upon my chest. “I’ll wait till you’re ready.”
She sighed, slid under the covers as well and cuddled into my side. “Lots, I may never be ready.”
I hugged her tightly and kissed her head. “You will, so I’ll wait.”
Lying there, with Danielle in my arms, I felt like pinching myself. She was where she belonged and I had every intention to make her see that.
Every intention.
I’d only ever waited for her — twenty-two years, in fact. Another day, month, year or two wouldn’t matter, because I’d wait forever if that was what it took.
Placing her hand on my heart, I could feel her uncertainty as if she knew my heart was hers but just didn’t know how to accept it.
It made me smile
… because I knew that one day she would figure it out.