Confessions of a Litigation God

Images of our  p**n  session from ten minutes ago flash before me. Not just the unbelievably sweet sex, and not just the incredibly powerful orgasms that abounded, but also the way that we laughed while ha**ng s*x when I saved us from falling. If that’s monogamy… okay, yeah… I’ll sign up.

As long as Mac remembers it’s just sex. If she can abide by that, then sure… I can give up all the other women. Not a problem at all.

Shaking my head, I get dressed. I’m getting pretty damn good at lying to myself. I can spout all I want that it’s easy to give up other women, but the full truth is… yeah, it’s easy, because the only one I want is Mac.

Yup.

Card. Carrying. Member.

Mac makes me pancakes while I sit at her kitchen table and drink coffee, admiring the French bistro décor, which includes a black and white tiled floor that I bet cost a fortune.

“So, do you watch TV?” she asks while scooping a pancake out of the pan and pouring more batter.

“Sure. When I have time. I usually DVR stuff and then I’ll watch a marathon on the weekend. ”

“Me too,” she says with a laugh. “I’m usually a Law & Order girl, which I know… not very original for an attorney. But lately, I’ve been getting into Criminal Minds. ”

“Yeah, I love Criminal Minds too. It’s so creepy, thinking that evil like that exists out there. ”

“Right? It’s why I have to balance shows like that with comedy,” she says with a tinkling laugh, and my stomach rumbles. I’m not sure if it’s because my body loves her laugh or I’m just hungry.

“What type of comedy do you watch?”

“Family Guy, mostly. ”

Now my ears perk up. I knew Mac was sort of like a fantasy woman, but it’s just been confirmed. “That’s my absolute favorite show. ”

“God, Stewie cracks me up so much,” she says, laughing heartily now and pulling the last pancake out of the pan.

“No way. Brian’s the funniest,” I tell her, grinning at her back, although she can’t see me.

Turning from the stove, she brings the stack of pancakes over to the table and sets them down. She turns back and starts gathering plates and utensils, which lets me watch her ass, which is molded under a pair of yoga pants. When she sets everything on the table, having previously stocked us up with butter and syrup, I reach over and grab a few pancakes with my fork, pulling them onto my plate.

“Well, I’ll also admit… I’m a closet reality show TV junkie. I love Survivor and Big Brother,” she says as she sits down and picks up her cup of coffee, smiling at me over the rim.

Dropping my fork to my plate where it clatters, I clutch both my hands to my chest in mock pain. “That just kills me. ”

“What?” she exclaims, starting to laugh at my display. “What’s wrong with reality TV?”

“Well, you’re not exactly preserving brain cells by watching that crap,” I tell her drily while I pour syrup over my stack.

She arches an eyebrow at me, takes a delicate sip of coffee, and then points out, “Like you’re getting any smarter by watching Family Guy. ”

“Touché,” I concede, giving her a nod of defeat and putting a forkful of fluffy, battered goodness in my mouth. Damn, she can cook.

Ultimate. Fantasy. Woman.

We continue eating companionably, and while it feels a bit weird to me, because this is the first “morning after” breakfast I’ve had since Marissa, it’s also… fun?

Yeah, fun.

I help Mac with the dishes, standing close to her at the sink. I wash, she dries, and our sides press in against each other. I think about dragging her to the kitchen floor and then decide against it. She has to be sore. I know I am, just a bit.

Taking the towel from her after the last dish is dried, I wipe the moisture from my hands. “Well, I better get going. I have some things I have to get done this morning. ”

Turning to her, I suddenly realize that I don’t want to go, but I have to. Because while Mac is the f**king bomb, and nothing would please me more than to stay with her all weekend orgasming our brains out, I have something that is far more important than her.

My son, Gabe.

It’s my weekend to get him, and I have to pick him up from Marissa’s around noon. We’re going to hit a Yankee’s game and then get some pizza… his favorite. Then we’ll chill out with some DVD movies the rest of the weekend.

Best. Time. Ever.

Hands down, no competition, no comparison.

If I were stranded on a desert island and could only have one thing, I’d hate to wish that life on Gabe, but he’d be the one thing I’d want with me.

“So,” Mac says hesitantly as she looks up at me. “What are you doing this weekend?”

And just like that… all of those feelings I had been giving in to… signing up for monogamy, making plans to come back to her house, sleeping in her bed, eating at her table… those feelings all start turning gray inside of me.

Because her one simple question smacks of a desire for something more than sex. I can hear it in her voice—I can see it in her eyes. She wants to spend time with me.

Not with my tongue.

Not with my cock.

But with me.

And that takes this way past a sex-only deal with no strings.

I know my voice is aloof when I say, “I have plans all weekend, so I’ll see you in the office on Monday. ”

She takes an embarrassed step back from me, and her face falls. All the hope I saw in her eyes a moment ago is appropriately smashed and just like that, I have Mac back on track.

Even if it causes a pain to shoot through my chest at the thought of hurting her.

Mentally shrugging my shoulders and shaking off that feeling, I lean over and kiss her on the forehead before I walk out her door.

Oh, well… it’s either I get hurt or she gets hurt, and I’m not putting myself in a position ever again where I’m the one who suffers in the end.

Chapter 10