Confessions of a Litigation God

No more than a few seconds pass, not a word is spoken.

Then we launch ourselves at each other.

My hands dive into that glorious hair, and my mouth comes down hard on hers. I kiss her so deeply that I may have hit a tonsil.

When I pull back, I grumble against her lips, “Fuck, I can’t believe I’m doing this again. ”

Chapter 8

We kiss so hard that we’ll remember it twenty years from now. Like two ravenous fools and the only sustenance resides in the other person’s mouth. It’s rough, teeth clashing, biting, nipping, but we don’t stop.

No way are we going to stop.

Mac’s hands, which had previously been clasped behind my neck, unlatch and snake down to my chest. I can feel the heat of her skin through my shirt, and as I suck hard on her lower lip, she flexes her fingertips into my pecs and I feel the sting of nails.

She emits a rumbling sound of need, and her hands go to the edges of my shirt. Gripping tightly, she yanks hard, trying to rip my shirt down the middle in a passionate display of wantonness. Unfortunately, the buttons hold strong and her hands go flying outward, clutching desperately at nothing but the air around us.

Poor Mac.

She has such a flummoxed look on her face, standing there with her arms wide and her fingers flexing open and closed, that I can’t help it. I bend over and start laughing, with my eyes squeezed shut. I keep them shut because if I look at her, standing there with her emp

ty hands out to her side and that confused look on her face, I might f**king wet my pants.

Okay, I’m going to look at her and yup… she’s totally f**king bewildered, and I laugh even harder, having to prop a hand on the dresser so I don’t fall over. “That was probably the funniest thing I’ve ever seen,” I wheeze.

Her eyes narrow and her lips flatten into a grim line. “Is your shirt like made of steel or something?”

I blink at her, letting what she said sink in, and then I start laughing all over again… hysterically. I can’t stop, and it feels f**king awesome. For someone that doesn’t laugh… like hardly ever, it feels liberating.

Cleansing.

Dare I say, healing?

Gasping for air, I look back up at her and she’s pissed. Her arms are crossed over her chest, and she’s tapping her foot on the carpet.

I try to put on a straight face, chuckle a few more times, maybe snort once, and then hold my hands out in a gesture of surrender. “I’m sorry… but that was funny. ”

I then give her my most charming grin. The one I know will bring out my dimples, which I’ve been told women are powerless to resist. She glares at me, doesn’t seem to respect the dimples, and walks away. When she reaches the door, she opens it and says, “Yeah, not so much for me. I’m sort of not in the mood now. ”

God, she’s adorable and my c**k leaps in agreement. Smirking at her, I cross my own arms over my chest. “I’m not going anywhere. ”

“I told you I’m not in the mood,” she says and stomps her foot.

I shoot her a look that says, You’re a total liar, and then I sit down on the edge of her bed. Hands to belt buckle, I start to undo it, and her eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

“Yes, you are,” I tell her, because I know damn well she wants this as much as I do. “Now get over here. I’d kill for you to take me in your mouth right now. ”

Giving a humongous sigh, Mac closes the door and walks back toward me. “What are we doing, Matt?”

She sounds tired of this game.

Poor Mac.

That’s why I’m not playing it any more. Pulling my belt out of the loops, I throw it on the floor. Reaching for the button on my pants, I pop it open and stare at her hard. “I’d say you’re getting ready to give me a bl*w j*b, and then I’m going to make you come more times than you’ll be able to remember tomorrow. ”

I don’t miss the soft gust of air that passes over her lips or the way her eyes flick down to the erection pushing painfully against my zipper. Her eyes are filled with longing but also with doubt. When she looks back at me, I can tell I may have misjudged her a bit. She might not actually want this.

I tilt my head at her in question, silently asking her to tell me what’s wrong.

Clasping her hands in front of her, which I’ve come to recognize as a nervous sign, she says, “I thought we both agreed this was wrong. Besides, you got your jollies off again at One Night Only this weekend and…”

She pauses, seeming to rethink what she was getting ready to say.

But I know what she was going to say. She doesn’t need to utter a single word. She was going to tell me that because I slept with someone else through One Night Only, this night is not going to happen between us. She’s pulling the monogamy card out on me, and it causes my eyes to narrow at her.

Mac can see by the look on my face that I don’t like where this is going and she takes a small step backward, sticking her chin up in defiance. “And besides,” she continues, “I slept with someone else, too, this weekend. Remember… most amazing weekend ever. ”

Her gaze lowers, and she stares at the carpet with sad eyes.

Yeah, this is getting out of hand.

I don’t like my sex habits being questioned, but it’s not going to do us any good with this lie hanging between us. No matter what happens from here on out, whether she takes me back to her bed or not, I can’t have her believing that I was with someone else. Doesn’t matter if I feel I fully have the right to have slept with half of Manhattan and still try to f**k her, I just don’t want her feeling like she is like all of my other f**ks. For some reason, that I prefer not to analyze at this moment, it’s important to me that she knows she’s more.