Page 11 of Breaking the Lawyer

Christian coughs, once, twice, three times, like he's choking on my words. "What?" he asks, no doubt to buy himself some time.

My palms are sweating and my heart is doing things that would be concerning under any other circumstances, yet internally, I'm calm and centered. Because for the first time, Christian has lost his upper hand, even if just for a moment.

And doesn't that feel exhilarating?

On the off-chance I've been too vague, I make sure to make myself crystal clear. "You asked about my best parts, so…yeah. I don't know if that's enough to impress you, but…"

I let the rest of the thought hang, basking in an irrational sense of control. It does feel a lot like winning—I'm just not yet sure what the prize is.

Christian clears his throat twice, and even that does nothing to soothe the rasp in his voice, his words coming breathy and clipped. "I'm not sure we should be talking about that."

"Why not?" I ask, mocking innocence just to be a little extra. "I didn't scare you, did I? Although now that I think about it…"

I leave the thought unfinished again, fishing for a reaction.

It takes him three breaths to take the bait and prompt, "Yeah?"

I bite hard on my lower lip, partly to kill my smile, partly to stop the avalanche of words dancing right on the tip of my tongue, because the last rational part of me that's still online registers I'm being reckless. Stupid. Unhinged.

But what power do I have to stop myself, when it all feels so…free? And fun. And strangely easy.

So I continue. "Maybe youshouldbe scared. That thing's a machine gun." Very easy.Tooeasy. "And don't even get me started on my balls. When these things get full and heavy? Youbetter pray you don't accidentally get slapped in the face. It'll bruise."

The ease lasts for about point three seconds. Then, everything shifts as a clear, unmistakable moan comes from the other end of the line, with the power of a thousand thunderstorms reverberating through my entire body. And all I can do is just sit there, unmoving, observing with twisted, terrified fascination as all that excess energy shoots straight to my cock.

It's scary, but not scary enough to stop me from speaking. "Do that again."

Christian's heavy breathing matches mine. I can almost feel his breath on my cheek. "Do what?" he asks. Yet another question he already knows an answer to.

I ignore it. "Does it get you going?" I hear myself say, even though I don't remember it being a thought. "Thinking about my junk?"

My next fix comes instantly as another half-moan, half-groan escapes him, even though I'm sure he tries to fight it. Then, there's the breathing, his and mine, mingling and merging, deep, uneven, shaky. For a few moments we simply exist in this foreign liminal space neither of us knows how to leave.

Christian's the first to find his way out. "I really should go now."

"Yeah." I don't really want him to go, but I'm too scared to ask him to stay.

"Look," he says, then pauses. His voice is steadier now, but not entirely back to neutral, the memory of whatever just happened still audible. "It was nice meeting you, and you'redefinitely a fun person and all, but…I think it's best if you delete my number."

Oh, no argument there. Clearly I can't be trusted with a hot guy's phone number. Because somewhere along the way I made peace with the fact that he's hot. Or rather, with the fact I've noticed.

"Brooks?" he prompts when I take too long to respond.

"I'm nodding."

He lets out a chuckle and my mind conjures a visual of that damn one-sided dimple again. "Well, then. Good luck tomorrow. Kick some ass, counselor."

Before I can respond, the call ends and I'm left with silence.

I spend the next thirty minutes in the same spot, on the edge of my bed, unmoving, hoping it will somehow help me process. It doesn't.

Finally, I grab my phone again and pull up my contacts.

It's for the best.

My thumb hovers above the screen for a few beats before I lock it again.

I'll do it tomorrow. It will still be for the best then.

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