Olivia had insisted on going home and taking a shower before she came to my place. That had been nearly three hours ago, and now I was getting restless. I paced back and forth in my living room, like a puppy waiting for their owner to get home. It was pathetic, but I didn’t even care. There was something about her I couldn’t resist.

I was on my third glass of whiskey when the doorbell finally rang. I drained the warm amber liquid before I pulled open the door. Olivia stood in the doorway, her hair hanging past her shoulders in blonde waves. Her long, tanned legs made it look like she lived on the beach, instead of the in the courtroom, and looked amazing in her shorts. Her low-cut, white tank top was showcasing my favorite feature.

“Well, at least I know what took you so long,” I said, opening the door fully and moving aside so she could come in. “You look fucking amazing.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I took my time on purpose … you need to learn some patience.”

“No, what I need is to get you out of those clothes.”

“Not so fast, Jameson,” she said, strolling into the kitchen, and taking several items out of her oversized purse.

“Did you bring your entire kitchen with you? What else do you have in there?” I pulled her bag toward me, but she snatched it out of my hands and set it on the floor beside her.

“I’m making us some mojitos. God knows we could both use some relaxation after this week.”

I walked around the island and stopped behind her, putting my hands on either side of her body and kissing her neck.

“There are plenty of other ways I can make you relax,” I whispered. She turned around, grabbed my face in both hands, and kissed me. My cock responded to her touch almost immediately, and when it brushed against her stomach, she laughed and pulled away, moving out from between my arms and across the kitchen, opening and closing cupboards as she went.

“But it’s much more fun to make you wait,” she teased. I growled under my breath, and she laughed even harder. “Patience is a virtue, Jameson.”

“It’s not one I’ve ever had,” I responded dryly. She apparently found what she was looking for in my cupboards. I watched as she muddled mint in the shaker, and then dropped it into the pitcher and started pouring in rum. “I’ve already had three drinks.”

“Good, maybe drunk Jameson will be more fun and less bossy.” She added a little sugar to the rum/mint mixture, and then poured club soda on top.

“What if I don’t like mojitos?”

“Everyone likes mojitos,” she said, slicing up limes. “Especially mine … they are my specialty.”

“I’m not really a fruity drink kind of person. Besides, drinking mojitos like we’re best pals wasn’t in my plans.”

“Don’t be such a buzzkill … there will be plenty of time for sex later, I promise,” she said, filling the glasses with ice. “Besides, mojitos aren’t fruity, they are refreshing.”

She filled the two glasses from the pitcher, squeezed a lime into each, and carried them both to the coffee table and plopped down on the couch, crossing one leg over the other and leaning back in the plush leather.

I sat down next to her and took a drink of my mojito. She wasn’t lying, it was refreshing and delicious. We sat in silence for a few minutes before she started peppering me with questions about my childhood, college, law school, family. We were halfway through our second glasses of mojito before I stopped her.

“Why are you interrogating me?”

“Just trying to figure out what makes Jameson Beck tick,” she said, taking a long drag of her mojito.

“Well, I’m done playing twenty questions.”

“One more,” she said, pouting.

“Fine, one more, and then it’s my turn.”

“Why did the irresistible Jameson Beck never settle down and get married? You seem like the trophy wife type of guy.”

I thought about her question. Thought about all the ways I could spin this to make myself look good. I didn’t know if it was the alcohol or the sultry way Olivia was looking at me, but I decided to go with the truth.

“I actually always thought I would get married, wanted to even, but I never found a girl who was willing to deal with my career. I thought I had once. I had bought Natalie a ring and everything. But I came home from work one day to find she had moved out. I never saw her again.” I drained the rest of my drink before I continued, “After that, I realized there was no point. No one wants a husband who works all the time, and I wasn’t willing to give up my career for someone who was just going to nag me about when I was coming home.”

She laughed and nearly spit out some of her drink.

“I was starting to actually feel bad for you there for a second,” she said, finishing her drink. “But then you had to ruin it.”

“What about you? There have to be plenty of men in this city who want to be Mr. Olivia Roberts.” She threw her head back and laughed again. When her eyes returned to mine, they were full of fire and desire.

“The question and answer portion of the evening is over now.” She slid off the couch and onto her knees on the plush rug beneath us.

“That’s not fair. I answered a dozen questions for you.” She ran her hands up my thighs and undid my belt buckle.

“Haven’t you learned I don’t play fair?” She reached inside my pants and pulled my semi-soft cock out, stroking it as she did so. I groaned when she lowered her head and sucked my dick into her mouth. It grew hard under her warm, soft tongue. I ran a hand through her hair and pushed myself deeper in her mouth.

“Jesus, Olivia,” I hissed. Her mouth felt like warm velvet as she slid her pink lips up and down my cock. I leaned my head back on the couch and enjoyed the blow job. My hand held a steady pressure on the back of Olivia’s head. After a few minutes, she wrapped her hand around the base of my cock, moving it in unison with her mouth.

“Fuck yes,” I moaned, as she sucked harder. “Oh God, I’m gonna come, Olivia.” She didn’t even lift her head, keeping the constant up and down motion when my thighs clenched and I came in her mouth. All the tension and stress of the week melted away as my muscles relaxed and I sank back into the couch. “Fuck, that was just what I needed,” I whispered as she pulled her mouth off me.

She stood up and walked over to the windows, looking out at Central Park. I zipped my pants and stood, a little unsteady from the alcohol and the orgasm. I walked over and stood behind Olivia, putting my hands on the glass on either side of her.

“I was supposed to make you forget your name, not the other way around,” I whispered in her ear.

“Oh, I’m still expecting you to fulfill that promise,” she said.

“Well, if that’s the case, you’re going to need to take your clothes off.”

“A lady never takes her own clothes off.”

“Ms. Roberts, you are a lot of things. A damn fine attorney, a beast in the bedroom, a blonde goddess maybe ... but a lady is not one of them.” She turned around so she was facing me. Her face just inches from mine.

“I resent that, Mr. Beck!” she drawled in her very best Southern accent. “My mama raised me to be a lady.” She feigned offense.

“Well, your mama failed,” I laughed. She ducked under my arm and started walking back toward the living room.

“I guess if I can’t be a lady, I might as well be a whore.” She pulled her shirt over her head, then shimmied out of her shorts as she continued her trek to the bedroom. She glanced at me over her shoulder and shot me a smoldering look before she unclasped her bra and let it fall to the floor. “I took off my clothes, so now it’s your turn to fulfill your end of the bargain,” she said, hooking her thumbs in the sides of her thong and pulling it down.

“Oh, don’t worry, babe, I’m going to make you forget a lot more than your name,” I said, following her into the bedroom and shutting the door.