I was ass deep in stacks of depositions when I heard the telltale click clack of Pam’s Jimmy Choos coming towards my office door as she bellowed, “Sookie! Let’s go!”
“I’m coming!” I replied, using the same line I’d been feeding her for the previous thirty minutes, hoping she would just give up and leave without me. But it would seem I would have no such luck since she came to a stop in my doorway, with her hands on her hips and a determined look on her face.
“That’s what you need,” she said as she eyed me like I was her fifth grade science project. At the confused look on my face she continued, “To come. You need a mind blowing orgasm or three to loosen the fuck up.” Gesturing at the stacks of files strewn across my desk, with a flick of her perfectly manicured fingernails, she said, “You need to stop already. YOU are ready. Your case is ready. You’re acting like you’ll be popping your cherry in the courtroom tomorrow.”
She was right. I was freaking out. It was an internal freak out, but a freak out nonetheless. As the District Attorney, Pam had been my boss ever since I’d been hired as the ADA three years earlier. She’d taken me under her wing from day one, teaching me everything from when to be a cutthroat bitch to using my feminine wiles to my advantage. Never anything more than a bat of my eyelashes or a strategically placed sigh/lip pout, but like some men could use their size or deep voice to intimidate someone, we women needed to use whatever tools God had blessed us with.
God happened to bless me with a full D-cup and naturally blond hair.
Men and women alike tended to place me into a ‘bimbo’ stereotype because of it and it was always their downfall when I wiped the courtroom floor with them.
Over the previous three years Pam had become one of my very best friends and knew my whole life story. So I didn’t need to elaborate when I admitted, “You’re right, but you know why this case is important to me.”
It wasn’t the case that was important so much as who was the counsel for the defense. One William T. Compton. I’d been raised by my Gran from the time I was seven when my parents died in an accident. And while there was always clothes on my back and food in my stomach there wasn’t enough money for much more than that. Looking back now I realized we were poor by society’s standards, but I’d never felt that way growing up. Instead of taking trips to Disney World and the like, Gran would take me to the library and I’d get to visit whole other countries and worlds through the books I read. My love of reading set the foundation for my love of learning and I excelled at school, eventually earning a partial scholarship to LSU, with school loans and waitressing at night helping me to get my degree. My love of arguing on my high school debate team led to my decision to pursue a profession in law.
But since my head was perpetually buried in a book from the time I was four, I never had many friends – much less a boyfriend – until I was in law school. Bill Compton was a few years older than me and had been the TA in my freshman Criminal Law class. Like a fool, I’d instantly been smitten by his southern accent and gentlemanly ways, so when he showed the least little bit of interest in me, I fell hook, line, and sinker. He had been my first boyfriend and lover.
While our chosen career fields were similar, our childhoods were vastly different. Bill had grown up with a silver spoon in his mouth and while I’d never been ashamed of making do with less than most, a part of me had still been taken aback by the thought that he felt I was worthy enough to stand at his side. It turned out I was wrong and found out as much when Bill was about to graduate Law School. He came right out and told me that ‘it was fun while it lasted’, but now that he was getting ready to join a prestigious law firm in Shreveport, he needed someone whose background matched his own to settle down with in order to eventually become a partner within the firm. My heart shattered in that moment, but when he suggested that we could still hook up on the side – as long as I understood ‘my place’ – I used my Tae Bo skills to give him a black eye and the potential to have later fertility issues.
It turned out Bill had been engaged to his high school sweetheart, Selah Pumphrey, who’d been raised with a silver spoon matching his own the entire time we’d been together. From that moment on I swore off relationships, figuring I’d save myself the heartache. However I didn’t swear off sex and saw nothing wrong with the occasional hook up, even maintaining a couple of ‘friends with benefits’ relationships since then. I’d had to let Alcide go when he started making noise about wanting to settle down and he eventually met and married a sweet girl named Maria Starr Cooper, with whom he had a daughter and another baby on the way.
I’d met Quinn at the gym and while he was dumber than a box of rocks, I didn’t want him for his brains. I liked his body and what he could do with it, but he got a little too weird from my taste and I’d had to let him go too. I should’ve known he was one sandwich shy of a picnic basket when he insisted on being called ‘Quinn’ instead of John. He wouldn’t even acknowledge that ‘John’ was his given name – like Cher or some shit. It was a quirk I could overlook, but when he started purring after sex I was done.
And I don’t mean he made noises akin to post coital bliss.
He purred like a cat, lying in a sunny window and flicking its tail.
I came thisclose to shooing him out of my apartment with my broom and if that didn’t work I wasn’t above luring him out with an open can of tuna.
That had been six months ago and since that time, my right hand and pulsating showerhead were my only intimate companions. So maybe Pam was right. All I needed was a good stiff one – and perhaps a cocktail as well – and I’d be right as rain. It would certainly help loosen up the tension in my body, worrying about knocking Bill on his metaphorical ass in the courtroom, so I shut down my computer and took the time to put on a little more make-up before joining Pam in the lobby.
The mayor was having a business casual cocktail party, so all of the different city departments could mingle together, ‘building a team-like atmosphere’ and ‘fostering new alliances’, or some other new age bullshit. But as I made my way towards Pam, I internally committed myself to building an orgasm and nothing more.
We walked into the ballroom at the downtown Hilton together, after I rebuffed Pam’s offer of ‘teamwork’ on getting me off. She played for the same team and routinely made attempts to ‘bring me to the dark side’, but I’d never been bothered by her lesbian weirdness and she knew she would be my ‘go to gal’ if I ever wanted to give it the old college try. For now however, I needed a MAN and in an effort to maintain a positive frame of mind, I stopped at the reception desk and rented a room for the night. I wasn’t about to bring my hook up home and if I had my way, we wouldn’t even exchange names.
Too personal for what I was currently looking for.
I sat at the bar nursing my scotch, wanting to not only kick myself for agreeing to show up at this God awful get together, but wanting to kick the unnaturally hued redhead (Arlene from the Sanitation Department I gathered from her incessant yammering) from the stool next to me.
The mayor had invited me personally since I’d just become the youngest judge in Shreveport’s history at thirty-four years old. But it wasn’t so impressive if you considered the fact that I’d skipped several grades and ended up graduating from Law School when I was twenty. I’d spent my childhood growing up in Sweden with my nature loving American born parents before they moved us to the US when I got accepted into Harvard on a full scholarship at the age of twelve. They were very much the ‘hippy/tree hugger’ type, but they never dissuaded me from doing whatever I wanted to do and I ended up with an odd blend of Type A/bohemian personality.
According to them, my mind was like a sponge from the time I was small and I retained everything I learned with near perfect recall. It made learning anything and everything easy for me, which also sadly meant that nothing surprised me anymore either and I was quick to get bored. I’d done the big law firm thing in NYC, along with some pro bono work, before I got bored of that too. Going back to Harvard, I taught for a while when I’d decided I’d had enough of academia and thought this was too good of an opportunity to pass up. I’d also wanted to experience life in the south, having known nothing but the northeast for the last twenty years, which was what brought me to that particular bar stool in a hotel in downtown Shreveport.
“Well?” I heard from my left and looked over to see the Bride of Chucky staring back at me, with her head cocked to the side as though someone blew a dog whistle – which she could, of course, hear.
I had no idea what she was talking about, having tuned her out not long after she started making flippant remarks about every other female in the room, so my only response was the blank look on my face.
“I said, ‘Do you want to dance?’”
She looked both hopeful and indignant at the same time. And like the rest of her, it wasn’t surprising. I would be the first to admit it. I was an asshole and I really didn’t care what others thought of me. I wasn’t unnecessarily mean towards other people and I didn’t go around kicking puppies, but I didn’t mince words. Nor did I soften blows.
For a normal person that one-word clipped answer would have been enough for them to get the hint that I wasn’t interested. But apparently in the Land of Arlene that merely meant she should continue talking, while surreptitiously trying to touch my arm or leg during said one-sided discussion.
Ignoring her once more, I glanced at my watch and saw a mere twenty minutes had passed since I’d first arrived, which had felt more like three hours. But looking around the room – which had filled up in those twenty minutes – my eyes were immediately drawn to a blond haired, curvy in all of the right places, angel on the dance floor.
An angel, like the Victoria’s Secret kind.
Or perhaps she was more of a devil, like the Frederick’s of Hollywood kind.
It didn’t matter to me either way, so long as she agreed to commit some cardinal sins with me before the night was over.
She appeared to be dancing with her girlfriend – another blond – and I hoped like hell she wasn’t playing for the same team. The way the girlfriend was looking at her, I had no doubts which way she swung, but the curvy goddess she was dancing with just looked like she was having fun and nothing more. She was probably a bimbo or someone else’s arm candy, but it made no difference to me.
Stereotypical, I know.
I didn’t realize I’d stood up until I felt a hand on my wrist and looked down to see the beast’s claw holding onto my sleeve as she asked, “Uh, did you change your mind about dancing?”
“No,” I answered, while jerking my arm free and didn’t spare one more thought for the hellish woman behind me as I headed towards the heavenly one in front of me.
Her back was to me when I came up behind her and grabbed onto her hips as I started dancing to the music. I chanced a peek at her girlfriend whose only reaction was a raised eyebrow at me, which I gladly returned with my own in a silent request of ‘May I cut in?’ She gave me an almost imperceptible nod before darting her eyes back at my new dance partner and flashed a devilish grin before wandering off.
I couldn’t help running my hands along her hourglass figure and resisted the urge to cup the perfect swell of her ass, expecting her to turn around to see who she was dancing with. She surprised me instead by shimmying her body backwards until it was pressing against mine and never missing a beat.
At six foot four, I had a lot of ‘front’ for her to dance against and I thanked every God I could think of for the five inch heels she was wearing that allowed her ass to make contact with my crotch. A little bend of my legs on my part and a little Shakira-like moves on hers had the front of my pants straining to contain my own beast.
When I couldn’t take not seeing her face for a second longer, I spun her around by her hips. And like we’d been dancing together for years, she seamlessly fell into step as our dance took on more of a ‘dirty dancing’ vibe. And when our eyes finally met I had no doubts that she was feeling just as lustful as me by the hunger I could see in them. I could tell from the way she moved her body that she’d more than likely be good in bed, but I wanted a kiss from her first to be prepared.
In my vast experience (gets bored quickly, remember?) I knew you could always tell how a person was in bed from the way they kissed.
A sloppy kiss = be prepared to do all of the work yourself.
A quick swipe of their tongue = no blow jobs.
Darting their tongue in and out of your mouth like a piston = jackrabbit fucker.
None of those were good in my book, so when she wrapped her arms around my neck, pulling me down for a kiss, I immediately acquiesced. And I was pretty sure her skills were what made me whimper like a little bitch. I would have been ashamed if it wasn’t for the fact the way she explored my mouth with her tongue – slowly, sensuously, like I was her favorite flavor – had me nearly coming in my pants like puberty-stricken tween.
We were both panting before long and I didn’t question a thing when she pulled me off the dance floor. I followed her like a faithful puppy into the lobby and if I’d had a tail it would’ve wagged excitedly as soon as I realized where this encounter was headed once we were waiting for the elevator doors to open. We stepped inside with the other hotel guests and my furtive glances at her were met with ones of her own. We somehow managed to keep our hands to ourselves, but once we made it into her room it was game on.
The door hadn’t even clicked shut before our lips crashed together and we started pulling each other’s clothes off. Because she was only wearing a simple wrap dress, I had her stripped down to her underwear before she’d gotten three buttons opened on my shirt. She was wearing a matching white lace set with red embroidery, which did nothing to solve my angel/devil puzzle. So I deftly removed both to keep from wondering any longer, leaving her in nothing more than her black patent leather stilettos.
Visions of her greeting me each night, wearing nothing but them, swam before my eyes.
But I pushed them away, just like she pushed the fabric of my shirt over my shoulders, so I scooped her up in my arms in the next moment and gently tossed her onto the middle of the bed, causing her breasts to bounce in the most mesmerizing way. My hands were quick to follow my eyes’ path and her back arched into my palms, while she made the most dick hardening sounds. My lips followed soon after and as soon as I tasted her skin, I knew I could happily dine on nothing but her, again and again.
If I was lucky, I would get to do just that.
Her fingers wove into the hair at the back of my head, while I took my time giving attention to each of her breasts, as though I were trying to decide which one I liked more.
I had a sneaking suspicion it would be a tie.
As soon as she wrapped her legs around my upper torso, I could feel the moisture from between her legs, but she wasted no time by rocking her hips against me in an attempt to get some friction, while raking the nails of her free hand up my back.
So I let one hand glide down the smooth skin of her abdomen and directly into her moist folds, groaning against her breast when I felt how slick and hot she was. My finger easily slipped inside of her, unnecessarily testing her readiness, and right back out again making her growl out in protest. But being a Type A personality, I liked to be in control.
She would learn that soon enough, but I would make sure it was worth her while.
I pushed myself off of the bed to finish undressing and only acknowledged her dissatisfaction by saying, “Patience Lover.”
Her eyebrows furrowed and it looked as though she was about to argue with me until my pants dropped around my ankles and she got her first look at what was coming her way. I knew I was larger than average and the bohemian side of my personality stood tall and proud, letting her look to her heart’s content.
Her eyes widened as she looked back and forth from between my legs to between her own before admitting, “Fuck, Thor. I don’t know that that’s gonna fit.”
I smirked, feeling my eyebrows rise into my hairline, asking, “Thor?”
Grinning now, she answered, “Of course. Who else would you be when you’re packin’ a mighty hammer.”
A hoarse chuckle erupted from my throat and I wasn’t lost on the fact that while those were the only words I’d heard her speak so far, she didn’t sound like a bimbo.
But the sight of her breasts bouncing with her own laughter brought my focus back to the task at hand and I quickly retrieved a condom from my pants pocket. Rolling it on, I went back to kissing and licking my way up her body, starting at her ankles. By the time I made it to the apex of her thighs she was so tightly wound that she was screaming from her first orgasm with barely a brush of my tongue. The look on her face as she came was a sight to behold, so I stayed put wanting to see it again. I teased her clit with the tip of my tongue before delving inside of her as far as I could reach, lapping up everything in my path.
When I knew she was close to tumbling over again, I sprang forward and showed her that my mighty hammer did indeed fit, making her come again. I groaned with the effort it took for me not to follow right behind her, but I wanted to make it last. Everything about this girl was perfect so far and I wanted to prolong the feeling before reality ruined fantasy and I discovered she was married.
Or she used to be a guy.
Or – shudders – she was a Red Sox fan.
I thrust into her slowly, drawing out her orgasm, while thoroughly enjoying each and every sound she made. It didn’t take long for her hips to start moving with renewed purpose and her legs wrapped around my body, while her hands grabbed onto my ass – either trying to pull me down into her or pull herself up onto me.
Both seemed like equally good ideas.
And while I wouldn’t deny being an asshole at heart, I did always try to be a thoughtful sex partner. But – vast experience or not – even I was especially proud of how long I was lasting with this girl, considering how close she’d had me to coming on the dance floor. But when she pulled me into another one of her tantalizing kisses and our pace increased, my undoing came when she did.
Screaming something that sounded like, “Fuck me Thor!” into my mouth as she came for the third time, I lost it and came with a strangled scream of my own in one final thrust.
I fell on top of her completely spent, which she didn’t seem to mind because her arms wrapped around me, while her fingertips lightly stroked up and down my back. It felt like forever and yet not long enough when I was finally able to move off of her, so I could go into the bathroom to dispose of the condom and clean up a bit.
She surprised me yet again when I walked back into the room to see that she was already dressed and was smoothing her hair in the mirror. Usually I was the one to leave first, not the other way around. And under normal circumstances, I would’ve found this a perfect ending to the night. But tonight – with this girl – watching her prepare to leave the room, and therefore me, I felt…off?
For fuck’s sake Northman, maybe you should stock up on chocolate and tampons too.
But if I dug deep, I might also admit – to myself at least – that perhaps I wouldn’t be opposed to seeing this one again. Normally I avoided the whole, ‘We should do this again sometime’ or ‘I’ll give you a call’ discussions at this point in the night, so I didn’t know how to actually start one of those conversations.
Why couldn’t she be like the others and bring it up first?
Maybe it’s because she’s NOT like the others that makes you want her to.
But I thought I could at least ask her for her name. Thanks to the internet and the fact she’d attended the mayor’s function, it should be easy enough to locate her later on.
A name wasn’t asking for too much, right?
That wasn’t a pussy move.
When she finished trying to tame her sex hair she turned to me and smiled before catching on that I was still naked. The appreciative leer she gave made me step closer and tilt her chin up for another kiss, which I quickly lost myself in before she reluctantly pulled away.
Or maybe it was just me who was reluctant for it to end.
“What’s your name,” I whispered, afraid to spoil the moment.
She closed her eyes briefly before opening them again and with a soft smile now on her lips, she answered simply – if not sincerely, “My name is Lover. And you are Thor. Tonight was absolutely perfect. Thank you.”
With that said she placed one last chaste kiss on my lips and walked out of the door without another word.
Were my feelings were hurt?
I couldn’t be sure. If so, it was a first for me and I sat on the bed after getting dressed to ponder that question, which was a mistake because her scent wafted up from the bedding and invaded my senses.
After wallowing for a few more minutes I stood up to leave – while making a mental note to stop for chocolate and tampons on my way home – after coming to the only conclusion I could make.
Yes, my feelings were hurt.
It took every shred of willpower I had to walk out of that hotel room and leave Thor behind, but it had to be done. He was different from the others – of that I had no doubt – and therein lied the problem.
If he had been just like the others, I probably would’ve traded phone numbers with him to try and work out a semi-regular booty call. Lord knew the man had bedroom skills and he was surprisingly graceful on the dance floor, despite him being a giant.
But in that one unguarded moment when he’d laughed at my ‘mighty hammer’ joke, I knew it wouldn’t take much for me to end up wanting more than just a booty call with him. Something inside of me screamed out ‘More!’ I would want more from him, but I wasn’t sure if I could take the rejection if he hadn’t been willing to give it. I also wasn’t sure if I was ready to let him get close enough to give him more in return.
So – like the coward I was – I ran.
I had no idea of who he was or where he worked, so I wouldn’t be able to go looking for him, even if I’d wanted to. The city of Shreveport was large enough that we could conceivably never run into each other again –provided I avoided all future mayoral functions.
I changed into one of my sleep shirts as soon as I got home, allowing myself that one night to enjoy the smell of him on my skin. And once I woke and showered in the morning, I vowed I wouldn’t think of Thor again.
I stood facing the full length mirror attached to the back of my office door the next morning, making sure I looked alright. I’d worn a fitted white button down shirt, unbuttoned to the top of my breasts, with three quarter length sleeves, tucked into a black pencil skirt that hugged my curves with a conservative slit up one side and ended just at my knees. I’d worn my new black patent leather stilettos all week long to get used to them, so I would be prepared to wear them all day long in court.
My hair was parted on the side and pulled into a low ponytail at the nape of my neck and the only jewelry I’d worn were a pair of diamond stud earrings Gran had given me when I’d graduated Law School. I cherished them, knowing they’d been passed on to her from her mother, and I thought of them as my lucky charm.
I’d felt fine all the way to the courthouse, but as I climbed the stairs to the third floor courtrooms, my nerves started hitting me full force. I had wanted to show Bill what he’d missed out on by discarding me like a piece of trash all of those years ago, but now I felt like I’d be lucky if I didn’t vomit all over my shoes.
I felt the overwhelming urge to cry when I saw Pam waiting for me outside the courtroom, but I wasn’t sure if it was from relief or despair. It would all depend on what she had to say.
“Well, don’t you look like shit.”
Okay, despair it is.
“Thanks Pam,” I snipped back at her, hoping to hide my growing anxiety with a little snark. “Perhaps you’d enjoy sitting at the table for the defense, so you and dickhead can talk about what a loser I am.”
Completely undeterred by my bitchitude, she asked, “What’s wrong? Did tall, blonde, sex on a stick not ring your bell last night?”
The smirk on her face made me feel better and while I knew she was only trying to distract me, I couldn’t help the fact it was working.
“Like Big Ben at high noon,” I replied and dissolved into a fit of giggles.
I’d learned a long time ago Pam had no boundaries. About anything. It was a trait I’d come to admire about her and although it took me some time to adjust, I had no longer had any problems dishing out TMI right along with her.
“That’s my girl,” she praised like a proud mother. “Now go in there, with your head held high, and show William T. Cumdumpster what a fuck up he is.”
I’d been in the middle of opening the courtroom door just as she was saying ‘Cumdumpster’ and I inadvertently let out an unladylike snort when Bill’s head whipped around, having obviously heard what had been said.
Seeing him again for the first time in years, I wanted to kick my own ass for ever having gotten so upset over someone like him. And while I’d grown up a lot in that time, he appeared to have grown out, given the way his belly was hanging over his slacks. He didn’t deserve my tears then and he sure as hell didn’t deserve even one iota of my time now, but with my newfound realization came yet another.
What a dumbass I’d been by trying to keep everyone at arm’s length to avoid getting hurt.
It made me wonder if I would be able to track down Thor. I was certain there was a spark there. More than the initial lust I’d felt laying eyes – among other parts of me – on him. But I would never know if he was up for something more if I didn’t ask him.
Now made more difficult to ascertain, since I didn’t stick around long enough to find out.
So I made a mental note to see if Pam knew where to start looking for him, but I pushed it all aside for now to get my game face on. Mentally singing Mary J. Blige’s ‘Work That’ in my head, I strutted down the center aisle like a runway model, confident in myself as both a lawyer and a woman. Bill Compton no longer had the power to make me wilt away like the naïve girl he once knew.
That power was mine and mine alone.
The criminal case itself was pretty cut and dry as far as I was concerned. The defendant, Victor Madden, was a white collar criminal, having built a pyramid scheme that bilked hundreds of thousands of dollars from hard working citizens. Many people had lost their lifesavings and it was likely for that reason he’d chosen a trial by judge instead of a jury, knowing he’d have a tough time garnering any sympathy from everyday people.
Sophie Anne LeClerq was the scheduled trial judge and since she played for Pam’s ‘team’, my top three buttons were undone for her as well.
I wasn’t Pam’s progeny for nothing.
I’d chanced a sideways glance in Bill’s direction and based on the look on his face, I didn’t have to be a mind reader to know what he was thinking. But it would be a cold day in hell before I ever gave him the time of day again.
As the bailiff called everyone to stand, I’d never felt more confident in my life that today would be a great day.
Due to a last minute change in the dockets I’d ended up presiding over my very first trial as a judge. The case involved a white collar crime, so the boundaries of the law were pretty clear. The defense would have its work cut out for them, but I was looking forward to getting my metaphorical feet wet.
And the bohemian side of me wouldn’t mind getting my literal feet wet too.
I was only taking the bench in the case because the scheduled trial judge had some family emergency involving her son Andre. According to the courthouse gossip Sophie Anne was pretty extreme when it came to raising her son, but that was neither here nor there.
The truth was I was thankful to have it as a distraction since I still couldn’t get the woman only known as ‘Lover’ out of my mind. And to complete my transformation into pussy-dom, I’d even put off showering until the last minute that morning, so I could hold onto her scent for as long as possible.
Maybe when I got home, I could give myself a pedicure and watch fucking Lifetime while I was at it.
I tried to tamp down on the influx of estrogen I was sure was flowing through me and forced my head back in the game. Still in my chambers, I pulled my robe on and checked the time before signaling the bailiff that I was ready to begin. I entered the courtroom just as he announced, “Will everyone please rise. The Honorable Eric Northman, presiding.”
An argument could be made both for and against.
But asinine? Foolish? Pussy-faced?
Guilty, as charged.
But not wanting to think about whose pussy had been on my face the night before – or who that pussy was attached to – I kept my eyes trained down and my mind on trying not to trip over my robes as I ascended the bench. I’d had them kept long enough that my preferable footwear – flip flops – wouldn’t be visible. I liked to feel ‘free’ and didn’t like any kind of constrictive clothing either, so the robes were a plus and I attributed it to my parents’ upbringing.
Once I took my seat, I made my own announcement to the courtroom by saying, “Please be seated.”
Looking over at the defense table first to see the accused, I made a mental note to myself remain objective, even though he looked like a slime ball snake in the grass. His lawyer wasn’t that much higher in my estimation because even though we appeared to be the same age, his sideburns were most recently fashionable during the Civil War.
They made me wonder if he did re-enactments on the weekends.
But I only noticed them because he couldn’t take his eyes off of the table for the prosecution, which naturally drew my eyes there as well. And it took all of my years of practice at not reacting to witness’ statements on the stand, for me to keep my facial features from showing the gamut of emotions running through me when I saw her behind the table for the prosecution.
‘Lover’ was the ADA?
I was simultaneously elated, miserable, and angry seeing her again. But mostly I was relieved because at least now I’d know who she really was.
There were so many questions I wanted to ask her, but in this forum I was limited to, “Are the People ready to proceed?”
I clenched my teeth when I watched her close her eyes – reminding me of the night before – before opening them again as she replied, “We are Your Honor. ADA Sookie Stackhouse for the People.”
She smiled softly at me and while I wanted to see that as a sign that she was in fact interested in me, I couldn’t help but wonder if she thought I’d treat her more favorably because of the night before.
I didn’t believe she’d known who I was at the time. I didn’t want to believe she’d done it all with the knowledge of who I was and what it might mean for her in future cases.
No…I definitely didn’t want to believe that at all.
But I couldn’t help it. So I appeased my mind with the fact she’d been moving and shaking her ass against me sight unseen. We’d never traded names. She never asked me what I did for a living, nor did she let on anything about what she did on a daily basis. While my name might have made its way through the halls of the court, my physical appearance certainly hadn’t since it was technically my first day on the job. And even I hadn’t known I would be presiding over her case until an hour earlier, so her actions the night before couldn’t have been premeditated.
But now wasn’t the time for me to make arguments either for or against. I’d definitely contemplate it all later though.
I must have been staring too long because I heard a throat clearing and glanced over at Mutton Chops to see him glaring daggers at me.
Like it was MY fault he looked like a douche.
“Is the defense ready to proceed?”
Fuckwad, I added internally.
He made a point of looking back and forth between ‘Lover’ – I mean Miss Stackhouse – and I before stating, “We are Your Honor. William T. Compton for the defense.”
I sat forward, with my fingers steepled in front of me, unable to keep from boring into her eyes with my own as she made her opening statement. Unfortunately, I hadn’t heard a word she’d said, distracted watching her lips move and the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed.
Whatever she’d said, she seemed pretty passionate about it, so I jotted down a note to review the court transcripts later on. I even managed to resist dotting my ‘i’s with little fucking hearts.
This day was just looking up and up.
I made sure to pay attention when Sideburns spoke and while he attempted to come across as a likable southerner – having watched one too many episodes of Matlock, perhaps – he just came across like an ass. Or maybe it was because instead of speaking to me or the courtroom, he couldn’t keep his eyes off of her.
Was THAT the problem?
Did she leave last night because she’s actually involved with HIM?
No, no, no…my brain refused to wrap itself around that. They were in two totally separate leagues, with hers hovering up in the clouds and his twenty thousand leagues beneath the sea. Opposite ends of the spectrum.
It was an argument I could make all day long and never run out of material.
But instead I buckled down and focused as the first witnesses came to the stand, jotting down notes on their testimony when necessary and trying not to stare at the ADA. Fuckwad liked to object a lot, so it was a good thing I liked to overrule him. Before I knew it, it was after twelve so I called a one hour recess for lunch and returned to my chambers before my feet tried to walk across the courtroom towards her of their own volition.
I hadn’t expected to be presiding over any case that day, so I didn’t bring anything with me for lunch. But I didn’t want my stomach growling all afternoon and I was in the middle of changing out of my robe, so I could go pick up something to eat, when I heard the knock on my door.
It was immediately followed by the sound of it opening and the words, “It’s Sookie, do you mind if I come…”
Her sentence ended there and I had to swallow the chuckle in my throat as I finished pulling the robe off.
That’s what she gets for coming in uninvited.
Sweet Baby Jesus!
What did I do – right or wrong – to have Thor as the presiding judge where I’m also confronted with the man who effectively stole my virginity with his lies?
I had never been more thankful that I’d gone over everything for the trial over and over in my obsession to upstage Bill. Everything that had come out of my mouth had been on autopilot because my mind was too busy cataloging every little detail of the Honorable Eric ‘Thor’ Northman and with every pound of his gavel, I recalled with perfect clarity him pounding me.
I was also thankful I was wearing a skirt because just the sight of him was enough to cause a ripple effect. The telltale moisture rippling through me pooled in between my thighs and would have undoubtedly left a significant stain had I been wearing pants.
I felt like one of Pavlov’s dogs.
Ring a bell and I wanted to eat him.
As soon as he called recess for lunch, I packed my shit up like I had a ticket to Tahiti burning through my nonexistent-but-much-needed panty liner. I wanted to try to talk to him while he was still in his chambers. I wanted to apologize for leaving like I had the night before. I wanted to see if he was up for more.
When the trial was over, of course.
And if not, well then…I could always run off to Tahiti.
Bill attempted to pull me into a conversation in the hallway, but once I figured out his blathering had nothing to do with the trial, I simply walked away. I’d wasted enough of my life on him. He wasn’t getting a single second more.
I was worried that I’d missed Thor – or rather, Judge Northman – and I hadn’t been thinking about anything other than that when I’d knocked on his chamber door and pulled it open without waiting for a response. To see he’d been in the midst of pulling off his judge’s robe, revealing what he’d been wearing underneath them.
Purple men’s briefs.
And flip flops.
I shut the door behind me, either still on autopilot or – more likely – not wanting the share that particular image of him with anyone else. And when I was finally able to tear my eyes away from his ‘mighty hammer’ – perfectly encased in his purple men’s briefs – and looked up at his face, I could see him fighting back his instinct to laugh at what was probably both shock and lust on my face.
All I could say was, “Seriously?”
“What?” he innocently replied.
“You were only wearing briefs underneath your robe all morning?”
Thank God I’d been unaware.
Lord only knows what would’ve come out of my mouth in my opening statement.
Or gone into it.
Talk about recess.
“Yes,” he shrugged, completely unconcerned. “Why not?”
“You seriously have to ask, ‘why not’?”
And once he answered my question, I had about fifty more fighting their way to get out of me.
Number one being, ‘If I bend over your bench, will you pound me with your gavel?’
Seeing his slight smirk, I had to wonder if he was a mind reader and could hear my porntastic thoughts, until he said, “They’re my ‘legal briefs’.”
I couldn’t help it.
It repeated itself when I heard him snicker.
“They’re purple,” I mused aloud.
You know, in case he hadn’t noticed. I, for one, had made a mental map of his terrain and packed it away in my mind, so I could molest it at my leisure for all of eternity.
He looked that good.
“Purple is the color of royalty. I am the King in my Court.”
Wanna play with me, your Courtesan?
Never in a million years would I have guessed I’d one day walk in on a judge – never mind a hot ass judge whose DNA I would likely still be dripping into my panties if it weren’t for a thin latex barrier. But seeing him dressed as he was now, my head was instantly flooded with all kinds of scenarios.
I’d never role-played with any of my previous lovers, but then again, my only exclusive-on-my-end-at-least relationship had been with Bill.
But with Eric – Judge; Pastor; Doctor; Professor Northman – the possibilities seemed endless.
Just like other parts of him.
But not knowing if he was even interested in anything more than a one night stand, all I said was, “Don’t you feel odd wearing nothing but underwear under your robes?”
‘Odd’ wasn’t the word I wanted to use because I knew very well how spectacular he felt.
Inside of me.
“I was raised in Sweden. We love to be naked, so yes. Underwear sometimes feels odd, but I’m a professional and wore them anyway.”
His joking around and good spirits made my own rise up. So much that I wanted to rise up and jump on him, but I was pretty sure that would be unethical at this point. Although the ethical lines were already pretty blurry, with me standing there while he wore nothing more than his royal purple legal briefs.
And flip flops.
“What do you want, Ms. Stackhouse?”
His tone had a little bit of a bite to it, having lost all of the humor from a moment earlier. I didn’t like that tone of voice from him directed towards me at all.
I much preferred his hoarse sexy voice above all others.
But if things worked out in the end, he could always use that tone when spanking mine if I’d been a bad girl.
A very very bad girl.
But not having the balls to tell him any of that just yet, all I said was, “I’m sorry for leaving the way I did last night. I have – or had – issues, but it doesn’t excuse my behavior.”
He stared down at me for what felt like forever before blindsiding me with, “Are you just saying you’re sorry in the hopes that I’ll rule in your favor in this case?”
“Fuck you!” I spat out, altering my internal dialog and turning around to try to get out of his chambers before I kicked his Royal Majesty’s purple cotton covered ass, but I stopped short feeling his arms wrap themselves around me from behind. I had half a mind to scream, so someone would come in to see the crazy giant, spouting crazy and accusatory paranoid delusions about the moral character of his former one night stand, wearing nothing but his purple panties, no less.
But I didn’t scream.
Because dammit-all-to-hell if I didn’t want anyone else coming in to see the crazy giant, wearing nothing but his purple panties.
Certainly no more.
I may have even had my own crazy delusions, thinking he wouldn’t actually hurt me. At any rate, I still thrashed around like any tantrum throwing toddler worth their salt would. But he only held onto me tighter, so I resorted to calling him every crude thing I’d ever heard come out of Pam’s mouth.
It took quite a while.
Her vocabulary was extensive.
When I finally ran out of steam and descriptors for him, I felt him nuzzle his face into the side of my head. He sniffed at me, making me wonder if I’d remembered to put on any deodorant that morning, before saying, “I’m sorry. I have issues too.”
Now that I’d stopped trying to kick his knee caps in until they resembled flamingo legs, I found I was drowning in not just his condor-like wing span, but his narcotizing scent as well. It calmed me enough to ask in an even tone, “What issues?”
“I’m an asshole.”
So it was a good thing I happened to think his ass was his best asset.
“You are,” I agreed. “Acknowledging you have a problem is the first step towards recovery.”
“Was apologizing the only reason you came to see me?” he asked, dare I say ‘hopefully?’
I supposed I could’ve walked away. Or ran, since that was my modus operandi, but I stood firm.
He may have been wearing purple panties, but I was the one who needed to pull my big girl ones up.
So I took a deep breath and admitted, “No, I also wanted to know if maybe you’d like to go out to dinner or catch a movie together once the trial is over.”
I could feel the smile form on his lips since they were still pressed against the side of my head.
Never mind what I could feel pressed against my back.
It was growing. Rapidly.
“Like a date?” he asked coyly.
I couldn’t tell if his tone was out of shyness or playfulness.
But I was done with beating around the bush. I had to be if I ever wanted him anywhere near mine again, so I admitted, “Yes, like a date.”
“Will you put out if I take you to dinner AND a movie?”
My hopes were rising as fast as his royal gavel, but I still managed to hide them behind my snicker, saying, “You weren’t kidding. You really are an asshole.”
But what an ass it was attached to.
My hands were of the mindset of exploring said ass, but before they could go on their merry way, he said, “You didn’t answer the question.”
So does that mean I need a spanking?
My current case was the furthest thing from my mind – obviously – so regardless of ethical dilemmas or threats of disbarment, I didn’t hesitate to agree, “Yes, but only if you wear your ‘legal briefs’ that night.”
It turned out that that our date was that very same night. Eric recused himself from the case due to those ethical issues once we arrived back from lunch – a little late and a lot mussed.
But at least no one could tell I was now wearing the purple briefs.
Or the fact – besides his robe – Eric wasn’t wearing anything more than his flip flops and a smile.