Mr. Judge: A Man Who Knows What He Wants

My clit burns. My hole feels sticky and needy and wet.

He looks so primal as he lifts the weights, his tank top drenched in sweat, his arms bulging so hard I can see the veins pushing through his skin. His back is to me, as he grunts and does another rep, curling the dumbbells. They look extremely heavy, but he handles them deftly, snarling with each rep.

“Are you spying on me?” he says, without turning

A shiver runs down my body, making my skin tingle.

“How did you know I was here?”

“I used to be a cop. Spatial awareness is a requirement.”

He places the dumbbells down and turns to me, the sweat sticking his shirt to his torso.

“I didn’t know that,” I reply.

He smirks. “Cop, lawyer, judge. That's my whole life in a nutshell.”

He looks playful when he speaks like that, a youthful glint in his wolfish eyes. His huge forearms flex as he leans down, grabbing a towel and rubbing it over his steel-colored hair.

“Hungry?” he asks.

I will myself to ask him about what my mom said, but the words won’t come. I keep imagining his face turning from smirking to sickened, as he snaps at me, demanding to know why I’d ruin this…

This what?

Can he feel what’s happening between us?

Or is it all in my head?

Too many questions, not enough answers, and now I’m just standing there like an idiot.

“I could eat,” I say, letting the moment pass.

“I was going to cook up some steaks. Sound good?”

“Sure. I’ll have my medium-rare, please.”

He grins. “A lady who knows what she likes.”

His eyes flit to my chest, to the buttons. I felt like an idiot as I undid them, vainly hoping it would make him more attracted to me. Heck, anything would be an improvement on nothing.

I take a deep breath and will myself to ask him again. Mom’s words make zero freaking sense.

What story is she talking about?

But then he’s striding toward the door, toward me. He stops inches away from me, his musky and manly scent washing over me. My core shivers and, even if I know how crazy I should find it, I savor the feeling.

It’s like my future is beating through me.

Our future.

He moves even closer, his chest almost brushing against me.

I don’t care if he’s fifty.

He’s so strong, so firm, so athletic, and animalistic.

I want to grab onto his chest, dig my fingernails into his skin and feel how strong he is.

To feel how protective he can be.

A message radiates from his body, settling deep inside me, as though his desire is communicating with mine. He’d never let anything happen to me.

But then he moves past me, into the hallway. “I’ll take a quick shower and then get started on those steaks.”

“I can handle the steaks,” I say. “If you don’t mind?”

“Only a madman would turn down a home cooked meal.” He smirks. “Make mine bloody.”

He strides away, as the rain hammers the house, his back muscles pulled taut, so tight I can study the outline through his tank top.

I swallow and my fingers twitch, willing me to reach out for him.

Instead, Bones and I head toward the kitchen.

CHAPTER TEN

Pearce

“I hope it’s okay,” Piper says, placing my plate down.

My stomach growls as I look down at the meal, the potatoes, the greens, and the perfectly cooked steak.

“It looks incredible,” I tell her. “Thank you.”

She smiles as she takes her seat. We’re at the table in the corner of the kitchen, not the dining room. The dining room is too big, with its tall ceilings and a dozen chairs. It was a room built for extravagant family dinners.

I hope we’ll use it one day.

Piper cuts into her steak. “What made you want to become a lawyer?”

“I’m not sure how much you know about me?”

“Why would I know anything?”

I chuckle. “Everything’s online these days.”

She looks at me openly, with something like affection in her eyes. “I haven’t googled you. I guess I wanted to learn about you from you if that makes sense.”

My heart picks up its pace at her words. She wants to know about me.

Bones is curled up next to the table, one eye blinking open every so often, waiting for a hunk of steak. I focus on the dog because otherwise I’ll lean across the table and claim Piper with my lips.

“I’ve always been passionate about the law,” I say after a moment. “But when I was a kid, I couldn’t afford college, much less law school. My parents died when I was eight, so I was raised in the system.”

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers.

I shake my head, shrugging. “There was a gas leak in our building. My parents had fallen asleep in the living room. I only survived because our neighbor smelled something and came to check on us. My parents had left the window cracked in my room so I was spared. Our landlord got away with it, the bastard…well, at first.”