Total pages in book: 179
Estimated words: 173733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 869(@200wpm)___ 695(@250wpm)___ 579(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 173733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 869(@200wpm)___ 695(@250wpm)___ 579(@300wpm)
Chapter twenty-seven
Reese
Ikill it in court Tuesday and Wednesday. The medical professionals I call tear down the prosecution. The prosecution tears down the prosecution. It’s hard to believe they were this unprepared, but what’s fucked up is that they could still win. People want justice, even if it’s bad justice. It’s these thoughts that I wake up to Thursday with only one day left before my closing, if all goes as planned. If I were perfect, I could be sure it would.
Cat rolls over toward me and blinks awake, her eyes a perfect summer green. Perfect. That’s what she called me last night, and that word hits ten kinds of triggers for me, of which I normally only have a few. “Perfect is a really hard fucking thing to live up to,” I say. “You know that, right?” I don’t give her time to answer. I roll out of the bed, walk to the bathroom, open the shower, and turn on the water. I step inside and under the hot spray, pressing my hands on the glass wall. Fuck. I hate when I get like this. I hate that she called me perfect. I hate that it reminds me of my father. Of my many confrontations with that man when I was a teen and he was sneaking in the door at three a.m. instead of me.
“You have a wife,” I’d remind him.
“You think you’re fucking perfect, don’t you?” he’d growl back at me.
Even then, at such a young age, I was a hell of a lot more perfect than him. He just couldn’t stop fucking around on my mother—which is one of those perfect secrets I haven’t told Cat. How can I? My father is a cheater. Her past is all about cheaters and overbearing assholes. He was that, too. I’d rather Cat call me an asshole than perfect. That way, I never disappoint her the way my dad disappointed my mother.
The shower door opens and Cat is suddenly between me and the wall, in front of me, and I swear the woman read my mind. “Asshole,” she says, and I’m instantly hard as fuck and ready to fuck. I cup her head and kiss the hell out of her, rolling one of those pretty pink nipples of hers in my fingers, but she pushes away from me, and holy hell, she’s on her knees and my cock is in her mouth.
She sucks me like she’s on life support and she needs this, when I’m the one who needs it. I need her. I’ve never needed like this, but I don’t fight it. That’s the thing. I have always known what I want, and I’ve never let any obstacle stop me from getting it. I’ve needed. I’ve taken. I’ve wanted but I don’t remember, out of any of my desires, dreams, and goals, wanting like I want this woman. She completes a circle that was always incomplete.
I watch her taking me in her mouth, licking me, and oh yeah, I feel her. I tell myself that if I were perfect, I wouldn’t come in her mouth. But I’m not perfect, and I do. I come the fuck in her mouth and she doesn’t care. I decide she’s the one who’s perfect. The kind of perfect a man marries and feels damn lucky he’s the guy who got her. Because he’s not perfect at all.
Flash forward, and I’m not in that shower anymore. I’m walking into the courthouse in my lucky suit, intent on ending this trial today, and I can still feel her mouth on my cock. I’m pretty sure that’s the luckiest feeling a man takes with him anywhere he goes. With that luck on my side, my first order of business is to confiscate a room and hold a short meeting with Elsa and Richard, where we recap our plan for court. “As we’ve discussed,” I say, “I’m going to call Geneva Marks first. Elsa will keep Kelli out of the courtroom on the pretense of prepping for her time on the stand.” I look at Richard. “You’ll bring Kelli in when I finish with Geneva.”
“Got it,” he says.
I glance between them both. “Let’s do this.”
I exit the room and cross the hall to the conference room where my client awaits, only to find Kelli sitting with her husband. Kelli is the star today though. She just doesn’t know it. She’s wearing a low-cut turquoise top, her fake but impressive breasts exposed. It’s a good choice for the day I put her on the stand. Of course, she thinks that she will be on the stand next week.
Nelson, on the other hand, looks reserved, and I set my briefcase on the table. Elsa and Richard join us and remain standing. I press my hands to the table.
“You’re up today, Kelli,” I say.