Bad Bitch (8 page)

“You will.” I pulled back so I could see her face.

I held her gaze and fucked her even harder.

“Lincoln, please!” She repeated the word “please” like a prayer and thrashed her head back and forth.

Her cries were too much. I could feel my climax coming. But I still wanted more.

“Please what, angel?”

“Please let me come!” she cried.

With a few more hard thrusts, I said, “Come for me, angel. Now.”

She cried my name as her pussy clenched me deeper inside her hot center. I could feel her orgasm ripping through her, making her shudder from the pleasure. It overwhelmed my senses and I shot deep inside her, my release spurting in waves of bliss as I cried to the ceiling. She kept contracting around me, taking every last drop I had to offer, my cock more than happy to give it. She drained me as her cries tapered off into exhausted panting. I collapsed on top of her.

“Jesus, angel.”

“Jesus . . . yourself,” she said in between gulps of air.

I didn’t want to get off her, but she needed to breathe. I pushed up and back so I was sitting on my ass. She was laid out before me like a feast, her pussy still wet and now swollen, her tits ripe.

She noticed me taking stock of her body.

“Really? After that you’re still looking?”

“Angel, I’ll never stop wanting what you’ve got.”

I rose and grabbed her up in my arms. She made a surprised noise as I pushed through to her bedroom and laid her on the covers. She scooted underneath them as I slid in next to her.

“Presumptuous much?” she asked. The challenge was back in her voice. But I knew her secret. She wanted me to break her will, to accept her challenge and defeat it. I would do it again and again. As many times as she’d let me.

I wrapped my arm around her and pulled her into my chest. She moved to protest, but I kept my arm around her. She settled in, breathing deeply against my chest. Her exhaled breaths tickled against my skin.

We were silent for a long while. So long that I thought she had fallen asleep.

“Did you know that I was never very popular with your
persecutor
friends?” Her voice was barely a sound.

“My prosecutor friends, you mean?”

“They don’t really like me.”

“I can’t imagine why not.”

She snorted and pinched my nipple hard. “You had that coming.”

I nodded. She was right.

She continued, “I’m smart. I’m pretty—”

“You are exquisite, not pretty.” I ran my hand along the smooth skin of her back.

She sighed.

“You don’t even know me.”

“I know you’re a bad bitch—”

She laughed against me, her mouth grazing my skin. “I know they call me that. All of you over there at the courthouse. I don’t care. I like it.”

“I know you do. You’re strong. Shit like that doesn’t get to you.”

“It used to. I used to hate that word. Bitch. I used to be . . .” She seemed to struggle for the right word. “Sensitive? I guess it was sensitive. I didn’t want to hurt anyone. I wanted to help people. All that shit. The reasons we go to law school in the first place. I wanted to be
that
person. The shining beacon. You know?”

“I do.” I knew exactly what she meant, though I was astonished—and pleased—to hear that she ever wanted to be that sort of lawyer.

“Of course you do. You’re doing it, just not the way I wanted to do it. I wanted to help people, not white-collar criminals, but people who’d been railroaded, taken advantage of, or let down by the system.”

She had more layers than a birthday cake. I wanted to taste them all.

“What stopped you from doing those things?”

She shook her head against me, as if chiding herself. “It doesn’t matter. It’s not what I do. Now I’m on the defense.”

“You could have fooled me earlier this week.”

She laughed. “That? I had to give you a shot right out of the gate. See what you’re made of.”

“And what am I made of?”

She traced her nails over the lines of my ink before digging her fingernails into the skin over my heart. “Hmm, not sure just yet.”

I rubbed her back in silence for a while, waiting for her to tell me more about herself, or even myself. The music continued playing in the living room, the whine of violins combining with the more tangible notes from a piano. I looked around her bedroom in the soft light. There were no pictures of any family or friends. Nothing to distinguish this room from a tasteful hotel suite in some swank high-rise.

“Don’t you get lonely here?” I asked.

I could tell she wanted to deny it by the way she tensed. But then she softened. “I have work. And there are people there. Lots of them, actually. I’m surrounded by people all the time. This city makes sure of that. But even so, I do get lonely. Sometimes. Do you?”

“Sometimes.”

“Do you have a family?”

“You want to know about my family?” I didn’t expect this from her. The surprises kept coming.

“Yes.”

I drew in a deep breath, needing more oxygen to talk about my past. “My parents have passed. I have two younger brothers. Washington and Kennedy. They’re attorneys in New Orleans. Kennedy does plaintiffs’ work, Wash defense.”

“You and your brothers are all lawyers and presidents?”

She was quick.

“That’s right. Mom and Pop had a certain way of doing things. They figured naming us all after presidents would make us try to do more and be more. I guess it worked.”

“It sure did. All lawyers.” Her voice was getting softer, relaxation sinking into her. “Were they lawyers, too?”

“No, they worked at a sugar plant outside of New Orleans. Neither of them even graduated high school. Worked hard all their lives. They only dressed up on Sundays, and that was only for the hourlong church service. After that, they were back in work clothes, digging in the garden or working on the car. They definitely weren’t the suit-and-tie sort. They were what people mean when they say ‘salt of the earth.’ Provided for my brothers and me and sent us off to college. They died within a month of each other almost three years ago. I miss them.”

She woke a bit from her drowsy state. “I’m sorry, Lincoln.”

I shrugged. “So am I. It’s okay. I have good memories of them.”

Her eyes closed again. The flutter of her lashes against me was comforting, calming me right along with her. My past wasn’t something that I enjoyed talking about, and I’d only ever shared it with a few close friends. I wanted to put it behind me, though I still carried pieces of my old self inside.

“How did you get that scar on your eyebrow?”

A lot of women had asked me about it. It was a story I tried to avoid. But Evan wasn’t just any woman. Something about her had captivated me long before I’d even arrived in the city. She was a part of my casework, though not in a way she knew about. Just reading transcripts of her arguments and looking at her photo on her website intrigued me. How could a woman who looked like an angel defend the devils that preyed on the weak? There was more to her backstory than she wanted to tell me. Something happened to her that turned her away from her intended path of helping people and placed her firmly on this darker one. I wanted to know more, but now wasn’t the time to push her.

Instead, she was gleaning more and more from me. I couldn’t tell if her questions were a part of her strategy. Maybe she wanted to know my weaknesses, my Achilles’ heel. Maybe she wanted to know me. Either way, telling her wouldn’t absolve me of my past sins, but it would give her a better idea of what she’d gotten herself into. It didn’t bother me that she was possibly looking for an advantage. I took her as she was.

“I made a mistake a long time ago.”

“Mistakes don’t always lead to scars like that.”

“They do when the mistake leads to a fistfight with my brother.”

“Was it over Marilyn Monroe, or did it happen on the icy Delaware during the Revolution?” Her clever way of asking which presidential brother.

“On the Delaware. Washington.”

How could I explain the darkness that inhabited my past? It was still inside me, waiting there, biding its time until I made another mistake. I took a deep breath, suddenly nervous, fearing what she would think of me.

“When I was younger, I was rash, uncontrollable. Violent. I put my parents through hell. I regret it.” I followed the twists and turns of the exposed ductwork overhead as my hand still played along her skin. “I was always getting into fights. I did some other stuff, underground fighting, knocking over convenience stores. Started in high school. I had a juvie rap sheet. Spent some time in jail for brawling. My mother made me straighten up enough to get into LSU. But I lapsed into the same trouble there. I didn’t steal anymore, I just fought. I would fight anyone, anytime. I didn’t even care about the money I’d make on it. I just had to fight. Almost got kicked out my freshman year.”

“Why did you fight?”

“I don’t know.” It was true. There was just something in me that made me want to battle it out. “I had a lot of anger. Nothing happened to me when I was younger. Nothing traumatic. I just . . .” I shrugged.

“You were a natural-born wild one, then?”

“Pretty much. Not in a good way. Not the way I am now.”

“You’re still pretty wild if you ask me. After you spanked me last time, I could barely sit down the next day. And this time. Eek.” She laughed.

“You loved it.”

She sighed and looked up at me through her lashes, as if admitting a great sin. “I did . . . So what about the scar? You got it when you were fighting?”

I hated telling the story, hated what it said about me. But if she wanted to know, I’d tell, because I felt something kindred in her. Like maybe she had some demons, too.

“Washington had a girlfriend. Fawn—”

“Fawn?” She snorted.

I tickled her ribs, and she kicked at me. “We’re from the country around New Orleans, okay? There is a dearth of well-named women in that area of the world. Not everyone can be an Evangeline.”

She settled back down. “Okay, continue. Sorry for the unwarranted interruption from counsel.”

“Wash and Fawn were freshmen at LSU when I was a senior. I had finally sobered up a bit, doused the rage that made me do stupid shit all the time, actually worked to get my grades back in good standing.
Control.
I’d finally learned what the word meant. I thought I was done with that feeling of not giving a shit and just doing whatever the hell I felt like. But I wasn’t. It was still in there. Not the rage as much, just the lack of control.”

“So you fucked her?” Evan seemed to know the plot of the story, if not the moral.

I clenched my eyes shut, seeing Fawn’s young, carefree face in my mind.

“Worse. I seduced her. Stole her away from Wash. Made her think I loved her. All that bullshit. She hero-worshipped me because I was older, cooler, was accepted into law school. I lied to her. Schemed. I don’t know why I did it. I was a douche.” I shrugged. “Wash caught us together at Mom and Pop’s house. He beat the shit out of me. I didn’t know he had it in him. But he did.”

“Washington was big enough to beat your ass?” She was in awe.

“We’re about the same size, but he was running on pure fury. Makes you strong. I would know.” I reached up and ran my fingertip along the scar. “I remember Mom screaming as he dragged me into the yard by my hair. I was butt naked. He punched me until I couldn’t see anymore. I didn’t fight back. Just let him work it out. I guess I felt like I deserved it. This scar was from where he kicked me with his steel-toe boot. Almost split my forehead open. Knocked me out.”

“Jesus, Lincoln.” She was awake now, the sleep banished further from her mind with each of my words. I was ashamed, even though the fight had been years and years ago. I didn’t blame Wash for what he did or for the scar. I had it coming.

“He’s never forgiven me for it. We barely talk. Kennedy tries to maintain a truce between us.” I bounced my head against the pillow, letting the thoughts slosh around in my mind. “I’ve apologized every way I know how.”

“Does he still love her?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe. Or maybe he just likes to hold grudges.”

“Sounds to me like he needs to get over the butt-hurt. Blood is thicker than water, and you apologized.”

“You’re taking my side after what I did?” I didn’t like talking about my rough past because it always changed how the person I’d told saw me. It was as if I’d alerted them to a snake coiled in the corner of the room, ready to strike. Fear of me would enter their hearts and never seem to leave. But Evan was different. There was no fear. Only acceptance and even defense.

“Yeah. You aren’t who you used to be. You’re a fucking goodie-two-shoes going after big bad criminals.”

“Like the criminal Castille?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Figures.”

She quieted and strummed her fingers along my chest, as if pondering her next move.

“What about your family?” The lack of photos told me a lot, but I wanted to know more. I wanted to know everything about her.

She chewed her bottom lip and shifted away from me. I gripped her tighter. There was no letting her go, not now.

“I don’t really like to talk about them.” Her voice was quiet.

“I just want to know about you. That’s all.” I smoothed my hand through her hair, trying to will my good intentions into her.

She shook her head faintly.

“It’s okay to tell me, you know? I’ll listen.” I dropped a kiss in her fragrant hair. “Believe me when I say I have no moral high ground when it comes to family issues.”

Her lips curled against my chest, a meager smile, and she glanced up to me.

“Come on. Give me something.”

She smirked. “I feel like I’ve already given you quite a bit.”

Smoothing a hand over her soft cheek, I said, “And I appreciate every moment of it. But I want just a little more.”

She sighed, defeated. “I don’t talk to my family either.”

My chest heated at the knowledge that she’d trusted me enough to tell me anything, even if she spoke no more about a subject that clearly bothered her. “Why not?”

“They don’t like what I do.”

“Are they doctors or something?” The old adage “If you aren’t smart enough to get into medical school, then go to law school” came to mind.