May It Please The Court

He'd carefully set his mug back down on his desk before replying, "Just focus on researching for now." There'd been a rough burr to his voice that no amount of swallowing or coffee drinking was going to hide and he didn't miss the slight hitch in her breath as she rapidly nodded her head in acknowledgment.

In the intervening months since she'd been loaned to him, his desire for her had not dissipated despite his continued best efforts to physically avoid her as much as possible. If he was being completely honest, things were actually becoming worse. As he read over her motions and briefs, the impressive extent of her legal acumen was clear. He'd driven himself nearly blind from staring at his computer screen as he'd worked even longer hours to find something—anything—to give her critical feedback on.

His situation had been even more damning when it came to her client letters. Reading them over, it was evident to him why she was so successful at the legislative lobbying portion of her position in Land Use. Her letters were formal, but somehow she wrote them in an approachable way—outlining the law in an easily digestible manner for non-lawyers to understand, highlighting the facts that were going well for the client without shying away from the roadblocks, and laying out next steps in a straightforward plan in order to create reasonable client expectations. The client's lead in-house attorney for their litigation department had actually complimented him on several of the letters that had been written in the "new style."

As the trial date crept closer, he became increasingly convinced that there was zero chance he was going to make it through a weeks-long, high profile trial with her as his second chair without doing something stupid.

The last straw had been their final witness prep session before the start of the trial. She'd been the last person to join them in the conference room, clutching an overstuffed brown accordion file folder to her chest. If not for the fact that their last witness could not take his eyes off of her, he would've said her presence in the conference room was completely unobtrusive.

As she'd gotten herself situated at the farther end of the table though, he hadn't missed the way the client's deputy chief land surveyor had ogled the swell of her breasts as she'd leaned over to lay out her various legal pads. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been filled with such a jealous rage, and certainly not one so unjustified.

After several hours of finalizing the review of the witness' testimony, they'd finished for the day. As he'd stood conferring with the client's in-house head of Litigation, he'd watched out of the corner of his eye as the witness had cozied up to her. Her tinkling laugh had floated across the conference room and he found himself wanting nothing more in the world than to rip off the arm of the 30-something-year-old man who was touching her familiarly on her forearm. By the time he'd finally walked the two other men out to the elevator bank, he was so enraged by the surveyor's flirting that he knew there was only one thing he could do—kick her off the trial team.

He'd strolled slowly back to his office loosening the knot on his tie as he walked in an effort to let his anger dissipate a little before he put his thoughts in writing. By the time he'd settled back in behind his desk, his blood didn't feel quite as heated, and he trusted himself more to send her something dispassionate and logical about why he was suddenly excising her from the case. Opening his email, he quickly typed out a short (terse, even) paragraph informing her of his decision before hitting "send." While sending her the email made him feel ethically cleaner, on a more visceral level he couldn't deny that he felt like he'd just made the biggest mistake in the world. For a brief second, he considered trying to recall the message, but then his eyes drifted unbidden to the status icon next to her name in the firm's messaging app: it was still green. If he hadn't spent the past several months in a silent battle of wills over who was the more dedicated lawyer, he would've assumed that the green icon was a fluke—that there was no chance in hell she was still logged on at 7:55 pm on a Friday—but he did know better. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he got up from his desk and hung up his suit jacket, rolling up the sleeves on his dress shirt to get more comfortable. Even though he'd mostly calmed down from his earlier rage, he still didn't entirely trust himself not to do something stupid—like kiss her senseless against a wall—if he had to be in close proximity to her, like on a long, empty elevator ride.

When the door to his office swung open minutes later, he forced himself not to immediately look up. He was confident they were the last people left on their floor, so he knew she was the only person it could be, and more importantly, he knew exactly why she'd stormed into his office. His cock started to twitch as he momentarily fantasized that she had rushed over to confess her lust for him now that he was no longer technically her boss. Although he quashed that thought as he registered her stalking angrily into his line of sight, his cock got even harder when he finally did look up at her and found a small, auburn-haired Valkyrie looking to rip him apart.

Her chest was heaving in rage as she hissed out her demand for an explanation about being kicked off the case, and he knew without a doubt that image would be featuring prominently in his fantasies later as he jacked himself off. Then, she brought up the fact that he'd treated her the same as any other Litigation associate and his willpower finally cracked. He knew his explanation was walking a very thin line between being a double entendre and flat out sexual harassment, but he honestly didn't care. Looking at her parted lips and sultry eyes, all he wanted in that moment was to push her against his desk and fuck her senseless until he'd finally managed to purge his years of unresolved sexual frustration for her. Unlike Land Use though, Litigation was a blood sport where distractions meant weakness, and weakness resulted in poor client satisfaction. So, despite every primal urge in his body, he kicked her out of his office, choking down the urge to run after her as she floated out of the room in stunned silence.

*

She tried to avoid rage drinking, but as she'd mercilessly shoved her laptop and various legal pads into her satchel, all she could think of was how much she wanted a drink. As she stepped off the elevator on the ground floor, she walked briskly through the building's lobby making it out to the sidewalk in record time. Turning toward her left, she set her sights on the bar halfway down the block. The firm frequently hosted its Happy Hours there, so she knew there was a risk that she might run into one of her colleagues, but it was close and their drinks were strong, so she mentally crossed her fingers that she wouldn't see anyone she knew.

The bar was full but not nearly as crowded as she'd expected—a welcome benefit of people taking long weekends in the summer—and she grabbed a seat near the back. She'd been nursing her bourbon for half an hour when the first drunk of the night sidled up to her to try his luck.

"'Ey b'by! Your eyesh are like tigerrrrr pits cau'sh 'm fallin' 'nto 'em," he slurred as he tried leering at her through unfocused eyes.

She looked him over as she slowly took another sip of her drink. He was cute enough in a clean cut, generic office worker way, and but for the fact that she was pretty confident he was too drunk to get it up, she might've considered going home with him. Given how the rest of her day had gone though, she knew dealing with a case of whiskey dick would push her over the edge.

Mustering up an indulgent half-smile, she shook her head as she said, "Not tonight. I'm already waiting on someone."

The white lie rolled off her tongue as easily as it had hundreds of times before, so she knew the responses it tended to invoke—either a mildly dejected walk back to wherever they came from, or an emboldened insistence on keeping her company while she waited. What it did not tend to do, however, was induce sheer panic in her would-be suitors. She had barely finished saying the sentence though when the drunk's eyes shifted slightly to her left before his face suddenly blanched and he looked like he was going to puke on her shoes.

"Sh'rry! Sh'rry!" he stammered out before scurrying back into the small, but building Friday night crowd. Even though she thought the apology was directed to her—because his attention had momentarily strayed off her before he'd changed his mind—she wasn't completely sure. She'd barely turned her head to look over her shoulder when she caught sight of who had terrified her drunk would-be suitor. Letting out a small groan, she banged her head lightly against the wooden bar as he moved to sit next to her.

"I thought HR normally handled the termination discussions?" she asked as a pit of regret over her earlier behavior began to grow.

"That sounds about right. Honestly, I couldn't say. I've only fired clients," he said in a disarmingly collegial way as he motioned to the bartender.

Her mouth dropped open as she stared at him before she parroted, "Never fired...? But you've run through seven Associates just in the past three years!"

For a split second, she caught a strange look cross over his face out of the corner of her eye before he schooled his features. Turning to look at her directly, his eyes dropped to her lips for a moment before he looked hypnotically into her eyes. "Three of them wanted more work-life balance then they were getting with the Department's thirty-five hundred hour billing requirement. One finally paid off her student loans and went to work for a non-profit, which she'd told me was her plan six months into working for me. Another had her deferred federal clerkship finally start. One of them had been living a secret life on the party circuit and left to go to rehab after receiving non-public discipline from the state disciplinary board, and the seventh followed his wife to her new duty station in Oklahoma when she recently got her transfer orders," he said as he checked each one off with his fingers.

As she momentarily gaped at him, he turned his attention over to the beer the bartender had placed in front of him as he'd spoken to her. She watched as his lips closed around the edge of the pint glass, and not for the first time, she found her imagination wondering how good he was at eating pussy. Her pussy began tingling at the thought and she started to squirm.

Before she had a chance to do anything, his voice washed over her again as he asked, "Why'd you stick around on this case? You said yourself that you're not in Litigation, and I've never gotten the impression you were trying to jump ship from Land Use. You could've asked the head of your department to recall you months ago."

Her heart started jackhammering in her chest. By all objective measures, he was right. Yes, she'd initially been "voluntold" that she had to assist on the case, but that had been months ago. It seemed like several of the dedicated Litigation Associates had freed up capacity more recently though; she could've petitioned her boss in Land Use to get her temporary assignment ended.

The simple fact was that she'd stayed on because of him.

The excuse she'd gotten in the habit of telling people was that although there was no denying that he'd worked her like a ragged mule, it was making her a better lawyer. However, as she buried her fingers and her vibrator deep in her cunt nearly every night (as well as her ass on more than a few occasions), he had been the person she'd fantasized about. Ever since she'd caught sight of him at her first firm-wide social as she'd worked her way around the room talking to several of the other partners, she'd been attracted to him. There was something undefinable about his presence that exuded power and dominance, and it turned her on in a way that scared her a little. She'd known for years that they worked on the same floor (she'd bribed one of the paralegals with the woman's favorite fancy coffee and a box of expensive gourmet donuts to find out more about the only partner she didn't get to speak with at that first firm mixer), and she'd made a point of keeping an eye out for him. The fact that he never seemed to leave his office had elevated him to near mythic status as she'd done what little she could do to learn more about him—like reading his old deposition transcripts (she'd considered it a type of professional development so it didn't seem quite as creepy in her mind). In the handful of fleeting instances where she had seen him around, the sight of him had made her mouth water even though he'd seemingly vanish into thin air whenever she'd tried to find him at the firm's social events to introduce herself.

Her eyes suddenly happened to focus on his face only to find him staring at her with that odd look again.

"Repeat what you just said," he said in a rough strangled growl, the knuckles on the hand holding his pint glass turning a mottled pinkish-white.

She felt her face blanche. There was no way she'd said all of her innermost thoughts about him out loud. "Erm..." she stalled.

His eyes smoldered as he held her gaze with an intensity that was making her breasts swell and rub teasingly against the satin of her bra, and she struggled not to start panting with need.

"Did you really stay on this case because of me?" he asked in the Pied Piper voice she'd picked up on in his depo transcripts.

Adrenaline immediately began flooding through her body as her fight-or-flight instinct abruptly kicked into high gear. Bolting off her bar stool, she tried to mumble an excuse about something, anything really, that would warrant her fleeing his presence as quickly as possible. She made it as far as half a step from the stool before a wave of electricity coursed through her arm as his hand shot out to grab hold of her wrist. The unexpected physical contact--not to mention her body's reaction to it--froze her in place, her eyes glued to his long, tempting fingers clasped firmly around her delicate skin.

*

Touching her skin closed a circuit that went directly to his cock, and he could feel himself quickly swelling as his imagination unhelpfully suggested to him how soft and supple the rest of her body might be. With his fingers pressed against her pulse, he knew exactly how badly her heart was jackhammering.

He wanted to search her face, to see if her heart was racing from a mutual desire for him—or because he'd unintentionally terrified her—but her eyes were glued to where their hands were touching. It took him two tries, but eventually his gentle, yet insistent tugging on her wrist brought her attention to his face. Her pupils were blown wide with lust as an involuntary mewl of need escaped her slightly parted lips.

"How far is your place?" he asked in a low rumble as he leaned closer for her to hear him.

There was a tiny hitch in her breath that he would've missed amid the growing din in the bar if his attention hadn't been so attuned to her body. He watched the muscles in her neck contract as she swallowed and he wanted nothing more in that moment than to be watching the rest of her body contort as he teased her with his fingers and his tongue and his cock. His mind was starting to get so caught up in his fantasy that he almost missed it when she replied, "I'm over the county line," with an almost apologetic whinge of frustration.

"I'm closer," he said sliding off his stool without letting go of her arm.

He wove them expertly back across the bar and out to the sidewalk in record time. His mind was racing a hundred miles an hour as his last shred of self-preservation tried to remind him why what he was about to do was monumentally stupid. Despite all the reasons he knew he should let go of her, walk back into the bar and find some anonymous piece of ass to go home with, he couldn't bring himself to do it as he lead them around the corner and over toward the parking garage where his car was located. When they reached the entrance to the garage, he gave the attendant the number for his assigned space, then they waited for the young man to return with his sedan.

His fingers stroked the inside of her wrist and he watched as goosebumps broke out along her arm. Dragging his eyes up to her face, he caught her looking at him with unfocused eyes as she chewed on her bottom lip. He unconsciously leaned closer to her as he wondered how sweet her lips tasted.

Closing his eyes, he found himself saying in a low whisper, "Tell me you want this. Tell me you want me before I do something I can't fix."

He felt the air shift as she leaned closer to him until she said in a sensuous voice, "I'm only going to be upset if you wait another six years before you fuck me."

At that moment, the attendant pulled a sleek black car with almost completely blacked-out windows to a stop in front of them. The young man hopped out of the driver's seat, barely glancing at the couple he'd inadvertently interrupted. Within moments, the two of them were buckled into their seats and an air of quiet expectation settled over them.

Before he put the car in drive, he turned to rake a heated look over her body, only to catch her looking back at him with the full force of her lust radiating off of her. Making a split second decision, he said firmly, "Pull your skirt up to your waist and recline your seat. I want to watch you finger yourself as we head over to my place."

Her breath stuttered for a second, and he momentarily wondered if he'd gone too far too fast. After a moment though, he saw her beginning to shimmy her skirt up over her thighs until the material was bunched around her hips. His mouth went dry as she teasingly let her thighs fall open revealing her glistening waxed pussy.

As his brain processed the fact that she was commando, his mind briefly wandered back to their witness prep session that afternoon, and his grip on his steering wheel tightened as a sudden surge of possessiveness rushed through him. "Have you been walking around commando all day?" he said in a low growl of warning.

Her left index and middle fingers slowly traced the hairless lips of her pussy and she whimpered as she reclined the front passenger with her right hand. He was about to repeat his question, when she said in a wanton moan, "Uh-uh. I took them off after you kicked me out of your office. You had me so turned on I'd completely soaked through my thong."

He growled again. "Then you went to the bar without putting them back on. Were you just planning to fuck some guy in the bathroom?" he asked, not even trying to hide the possessive jealousy in his voice.

Her fingertips were lazily stroking circles around her engorged clit, and he tried not to think of the sorry drunk from the bar getting to touch her so intimately.

"Mmm," she purred as her fingers dropped lower, sliding easily in and out of her slippery pussy, "I hadn't decided."

His knuckles whitened as he gripped the fine grain leather on his steering wheel so firmly that he could feel it creating an imprint on his palms. Keeping his full attention off of the erotic tableau next to him was more of a struggle than he'd initially anticipated—especially with his increasing urge to fuck her so thoroughly that she'd never consider letting another man's cock near her.

"I love that you're watching me fuck myself," she suddenly said as her body continued to writhe on the seat next to him. "You have no idea how often I've fantasized about this—how'd I get so turned on at work thinking about you that I'd have to shut the door to my office in order to get some relief, but then you'd walk in unannounced, looking for some memo I owed you, and you'd catch me like this, wrist deep in my cunt, moaning your name."