Page 78 of When You Give a Lawyer a Kiss

THREE MONTHS LATER

Isaunter into Dawson’s office, locking the door behind me.

His new firm is in a high-rise overlooking Central Park and the city skyline.

This morning, he finally settled the Irving case, and I got to witness firsthand as he got justice for his client—Wes Irving. Wes had launched a startup for an AI-powered financial app, but lost ownership after bringing on additional investors which diluted his control of the business and reduced his profit share. With Dawson’s help, Wes has bought back his original stake in the company and has been reinstated as the CEO.

Watching Dawson in action this morning was a form of foreplay I didn’t know existed. It was hot as hell witnessing him command that room and make grown men cower. I almost lost it when he rolled up his shirt sleeves, exposing his tattooed forearms.

For so long, he’s kept his tattoos concealed, thinking he had to fit a certain image or his reputation would be tarnished. However, it seems like he’s now accepted they’re part of who he is. The ink on his arms is irrelevant to clients when he delivers the results they expect, and they add an extra edge to the intimidation factor when he needs to use it.

Plus they’re sexy as hell.

The last three months have been especially hectic for us both.

Dawson’s had to balance starting the new firm, juggling endless meetings, and tight deadlines. Yet, through it all, he never fails to find time for me.

In addition to settling into the new firm, I’ve recently experienced several significant changes in my life.

Noah and I took the LSAT four weeks ago and got our results yesterday.

We both scored in the one-seventies, which should be sufficient for admission to a top law school in New York. However, I’m open to accepting any offers to law schools in the area, as long as I can commute from Brooklyn and have enough time to visit Grams each week.

Now that we don’t have to study anymore, Noah and I meet up for weekend brunch instead. He’s still going strong with David, and I’m so glad he’s found someone who makes him happy.

Last month, the sale of Grams’ house was finalized. We sold it to a developer who owns the neighboring lots. They plan to turn the area into a new apartment complex for low-income families.

Saying goodbye to the house was bitter-sweet, but Grams and I spent hours going through keepsakes, reminiscing about the memories tied to each one. Knowing that Grams is at peace with the decision is the closure I needed to fully let go.

Dawson is seated at his desk, engaged in an animated call with opposing counsel for another case. A workaholic by nature, he never turns down a high-stakes case, no matter how much is on his plate.

“No, my client won’t accept those terms,” he growls. His tone is gruff, and whoever is on the other end gets an earful.

He left the apartment earlier than usual this morning to prepare for the Irving meeting, so he missed our morning ritual,which usually includes him inside me, his face buried between my legs or my mouth wrapped around his cock.

Moving in with him has been one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. We compromised on me paying for groceries and takeout when we’re not in the mood to cook. I tried offering to contribute to other expenses, but he insisted on covering the rest.

When I tried to protest, he explained that he wanted me to set up an investment plan to manage the proceeds Grams and I received from selling the house. That way, one day, I could use the funds to start a nonprofit or my own firm dedicated to advocating for children’s rights after I graduate.

There was no way I could argue with that.

Dawson is generous, thoughtful and loves me unconditionally. On occasion his bossy side comes out, but my stubbornness always balances us out.

A smile plays on my lips as I approach his desk, dropping to my knees in front of him.

His gaze sears into me as he mutes his call. “Red, what are you doing?” His voice is strained.

I bat my eyelashes. “Taking care of my boss. You’ve had such a stressful morning Mr. Tate, and I want to help you take the edge off.” I answer in a sultry tone.

Dawson strokes my head, and I lean into his touch. “You’re such a good girl.”

His words of praise have me nuzzling into this touch. The fact that we’re in his office in the middle of the day is pushed aside; the driving need to taste him overriding everything else.

Dawson opens his legs in silent invitation, and I scoot closer to unbuckle his belt and unfasten his slacks. He sits perfectly still as I pull down his zipper.

He unmutes his call. “Yes, I’m here,” he snaps to the person on the phone.

I lift my hooded eyes to meet his smoldering gaze as I curl my fingers around his thick cock. He inhales sharply as I move my hand up and down his shaft in slow, steady strokes. Pre-cum leaks from the tip, and I lean forward to lap it up with my tongue.

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