Page 43 of Falling for Roxanne

He yanked my tank top down and sucked my bare nipple, spikes of bliss cascading down my belly and between my legs. My toes curled as he bent me back over his arm. I clasped his head to my breast, restless in his grip. He drew my nipple into his mouth, nipped with his teeth and then as he laved it with his tongue, he slid his palm over my mound, feeling the dampness there. I moaned and arched into his hand.

Hamilton petted and coaxed, caressing my sensitive folds with his big fingers while he sucked my nipple. My body kept tensing, my abs contracting frantically under all that pleasure. When he pumped not one but two rough fingers inside my tender, slick sex, ecstasy exploded within me. I screamed, rocking against his fingers, milking them as I came and came, my fingers scrabbling at his shoulders helplessly. My legs jerked and I felt totally spent as I collapsed across his lap. He kissed my jaw and my chin, looking pleased with himself.

“I love making you say my name,” he said. I didn’t realize I’d cried out his name and couldn’t have spoken if I wanted to. So, I just let him smile. He deserved to be smug after that performance.

I tugged at his shirt until he helped me remove it. My eager palms stroked the smooth skin of his shoulders and chest as I slid back off his lap and drew him above me. When my back hit the cushions, and I stared up at his hulking shoulders, his handsome face, I knew there was no turning back. I loved him. No matter how much it would hurt to lose him, I couldn’t resist him at that moment, couldn’t deny that he was everything I wanted.

He moved between my thighs, and I reached down eager but clumsy, and managed to fumble with the front of his jeans until his big erection sprang free into my hands, so hot and smooth and it made my mouth water. He leaned his forehead against mine and looked me in the eye as he guided his long, thick cock into my slick sex. He went slowly, giving me time to stretch and accommodate his size, but my body had other ideas, a need too intense to take my time.

My hips bucked into his, taking more of him than he intended. I saw concern in his brow just before I tipped my head back and let my eyes drift shut. This was the best part, joining with him, feeling the waves of our bodies moving together in a perfect rhythm, every brush of bare skin on skin, every slippery nudge and thrust driving me higher.

I think I was begging him, whispering please over and over like a chant. He kept the rhythm steady and strong, going in deep, so deep inside me, until I was bucking, wanting more, more speed, more pressure. Hamilton knew what I wanted. He edged down just a little until he locked our bodies in place, his pubic bone hitting my clit as he rocked and rocked into me, the filthy friction driving me mad as every push and rub sent sparks of pleasure bubbling up my body, all that bliss centered where he penetrated me and then pressed the place where I needed him most.

My arms clasped him tight all of a sudden, and my leg wrapped around his hip as my body went rigid. He gave me one almighty thrust, so hard I couldn’t even see a thing though my eyes were wide open. The force of him hitting my clit just right as he damn near broke my back fucking me on the couch was like a knife of white-hot orgasm slicing through reality. I heard his groan as he emptied inside me, spurt after spurt of hot seed coursing into me, pouring down my thighs as he kept coming, my own orgasm milking him hard, taking every last drop he had to offer me.

We kissed then, a messy thing of teeth and tongues mating, desperate and romantic and erotic all at once. Our legs were tangled together, our sweaty limbs clinging to each other. The sticky evidence of our lush mating left a sweet scent hanging thick in the air.

“I tried—” he said into my hair, his breathing ragged.

“You succeeded,” I said shakily.

“Tried to keep away from you, Rox,” he said, breathless from the power of our lovemaking. “For your sake, for both our sakes. I couldn’t do it. I can’t stay away.”

“I understand,” I said, as he drew me into his arms. “I feel that way, too.”

“You’re my student. My intern,” he said almost helplessly.

“I told Cathy the other day I’ve never been lucky. My whole family has bad luck. So of course the only man I can’t seem to live without has to be you, the professor, the defense attorney who hired me as an intern—it couldn’t be anyone more inappropriate unless you were, like, my priest or something.”

“Sorry to disappoint, I don’t think the seminary would’ve taken me. Vow of chastity, you know,” he said, and I grinned at him.

“That would’ve been a terrible waste of talent.”

“The reasons we can’t be together—they’re temporary,” he said. I felt a surge of hope, and again I considered telling him about the baby, but I paused, and he continued. “We have to try and keep things professional between us until after you graduate. No relationship of any kind, unfortunately, no more seeing each other for sushi or having sex in the office, obviously. I can’t believe I had to say that.”

“That’s going to be really difficult. It’s been hard already, just trying to stay away from you and avoid anything personal. But I understand why we have to wait.”

The pregnancy news could wait as well. No relationship, not even lunch. That definitely meant no OB/GYN appointments or ultrasounds together. So I’d shoulder this burden for a while longer and spare him the worry, the conflicted feelings. The urge to tell him was so strong though, lying there in his arms. I almost couldn’t hold it back. I was nearly on the point of saying the words when his phone rang, and the moment passed. Perhaps it was for the best, I told myself, and tried to ignore the knot of worry in my chest.

CHAPTER 25

HAMILTON

After years of running a successful criminal defense practice, you’d think that the first day of a trial would be commonplace for me. But I still got a rush of adrenaline every time, a heart-pounding burst of energy and a laser-like focus on the high stakes for my client, the need to do everything perfectly for the sake of justice being done. The first day of the Garza retrial was no different in that respect. However, I had Roxanne sitting beside me at the defense table, nervously smoothing her black pencil skirt and fidgeting with her ink pen, those movements distracting from the sharp, rapt attention she gave to every word and every action in the courtroom. I knew she didn’t miss a single thing. When she wrote a note on my pad during the prosecution’s opening statement that the DA’s left shoe was untied, I gave her a stern look, warning her not to make me laugh in open court. “The store owner sitting behind the DA doesn’t know how to pray the Rosary,” she wrote a minute later, indicating the older woman who was all but waving her shiny Rosary beads so they were visible above the wooden divider between the court and the sparse audience. I wondered if the DA had actually asked the woman to show up and look pious and terrified at the trial in hope of swaying the court’s opinion

My opening statement was brief and decisive, painting a picture of Daniel Garza as a loving father who was misidentified as the perpetrator of a terrible crime, one which caused havoc in his life as unfairly as it did in the life of the store owner. The first two witnesses the DA called had been prepped well, but I was able to discredit them because of the surveillance tape from the police station which showed Garza sitting silently in a chair during the time he supposedly bragged about getting away with the crime. Thanks to a quick note from Roxanne before my cross examination, I worked in a mention of the suspicious chain of evidence handling as well.

That evening, Colin and I were practicing how to slice jicama for the salad when my phone rang. Roxanne was calling to say she had a couple of ideas about how to handle the first witness scheduled for the next day, and with my hands full and the oven timer about to go off, I just invited her over without thinking. As soon as we hung up, I looked at Colin and wondered if I had done the right thing.

“My friend Roxanne is coming over for dinner to talk about the case we’re working on to help a guy. Will you get out another plate?” I asked. He nodded.

“Is she scared of bugs?” he wanted to know. I smiled.

“I don’t know. You’ll have to ask her yourself,” I said.

When she arrived, I was serving the chicken and rice while Colin folded a napkin to put at her place.

“Hi,” he said. “Just Daddy and me we don’t do the folded kind, but you get a fancy one,” he said, holding up the napkin for her to admire.

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