Page 46 of His Surrender
I turned my attention back to the witness. “I repeat. Would you say this opinion of you was justified?”
“N-no. I never did anything to Terry.”
“Let me present Exhibit C to the court,” I said, pulling a document from my folder and stepping out from the table. “Text messages sent from Ms. Parks to the victim over the duration of five months containing nude photos of herself and messages asking to meet with him for sex.”
“Objection!” Emery stood, his cheeks going red. “We received no discovery about this.”
“These were only found by my team this week, after you gave us your witness list,” I explained.
“I’ll allow it,” the judge said, before giving me permission to approach the bench.
I stepped forward and handed him the document, which he proceeded to look over before handing it back to me. I then gave it to Ciara Parks.
“Please read the first highlighted text for the court,” I said.
She glared at me, the paper crinkling in her shaking hand. “It says,Lindsey won’t ever know. I can please you in ways she never could, baby.”
“You bitch!” Lindsey exclaimed, jumping up from the table. “You’re supposed to be my best friend!”
Judge Meyers banged his gavel, demanding order in his courtroom. He then said if it happened again, the defendant would be escorted from the room.
I then argued that Ms. Parks’ testimony of Terry Wilson treating her that way could have been a direct result of her pursuit of him and not an indication of his alleged abusive behavior. His responses had rejected her advances, and he specifically told her not to contact him again.
And so, that concluded another day at trial.
By the time I got home that evening—after staying late and eating dinner at the office—I was exhausted. I fed Sputnik before taking a long, hot shower. As the hot water came down on my back, I reached between my legs and gripped my semi-erect cock. I might’ve been tired, but I needed some kind of a release. It had been a week since I’d fucked Remi… and I hadn’t been with anyone for a few weeks before that either.
I closed my eyes and groaned, moving my hand faster. I didn’t try to prolong it. I just needed a quick release to last me for the night because god knew I wasn’t going to get laid. Well, Icouldget laid—there were a lot of guys who’d jump at the chance to fuck me—but I didn’t want them.
Not anymore.
Sex used to be second nature to me, something I did no matter my mood. If I was mad, happy, depressed, it didn’t matter. I’d meet up with random guys, fuck their brains out, and then leave. But ever since Remi had become a bigger part of my life over the past month—taking over my thoughts—I hadn’t sought out anyone else.
What’s wrong with me?
Remi was what was wrong with me. His blue eyes with that one small speck of brown in his left iris, his soft lips, his adorable laugh, and the smell of his skin—all of it had taken me prisoner. Imagining myself sinking into his tight ass tossed me over the edge.
“Mm, fuck.” I squeezed the head of my cock and massaged down my shaft as ribbons of cum shot from the tip. When I turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, Sputnik was sitting by the open bathroom door staring at me. “Don’t look at me like that, Sput.” I grabbed a towel and wrapped it around my hips. “You shouldn’t have interrupted Daddy during his private time.” He meowed and followed me to my room. “Hey, don’t back-talk me.”
After drying off and pulling on a pair of PJ bottoms, I slid into bed and grabbed my phone. It was almost ten. My eyes were too heavy for me to text, so I called Remi instead.
“Hello?”
“Privyet,” I said, which meanthi.
“Oh, sorry,” Remi responded. “You must have the wrong number. I don’t know anyone who speaks Russian.”
“Like hell you don’t.”
He chuckled. “How are you? I saw the evening news. The trial seemed to go well today.”
“It did. For the most part.”
“Good to hear.” Mumbling sounded in the background, followed by a familiar commercial jingle.
“You watching TV in bed?” I asked.
“Stalker. Yes, I’m watchingPawn Stars. What are you doing?”
