I hate when she wears it loose in court. It’s next to impossible to not think about how she looks when she’s riding me and it flows over her breasts and bounces with my thrusts. My cock will be half-hard all afternoon, and it makes me scowl.
Sometimes I think she does it on purpose.
I’d thought about trying to crack a small joke with her today. Work on bridging that gap. But now I’m pissed off and horny. So instead, I say, “Nice of you to join us, counselor,” in a voice snarky enough that it nearly makesmewince.
Her eyes narrow, and her chin tilts upward. Shit. She’ll be a brat now for sure.
“Sorry, I was on a lunch date with this hot alpha, and I guess I lost track of time,” she purrs.
It’s a lie. I’m almost certain of it, but I can’t guarantee it, and it only adds fuel to my anger. We’ve never officially talked about being exclusive, though we haven’t been using protection for a couple of weeks now. One night, she silently handed me paperwork showing her STI results and information about her IUD. The next time I saw her, I handed her mine, and that was that.
“Oh, good. Well, let him know that if he needs any pointers, he can contact me. I can fill him in about that thing you like where I finger you with one hand and grip your throat with the other,” I deadpan.
Her eyes widen and her mouth falls open. Honestly, I’m also a little shocked. We’ve never directly talked about it before, and certainly not in the courthouse. I can’t get the idea of someone else getting to experience whatever that scent is out of my head, and my alpha side wants to throw her over the table and claim her right there.
That’s not a possibility, though, so I’ll just remind her. No one fucks her like I do. No one can, and no one ever will again.
I turn away from her, trying to get myself back under control. That last thought was far too possessive.
I must have really taken her by surprise, because she doesn’t snap a retort at me. As she takes her seat, I steal a glance, and it almost makes me smirk. A blush is staining the pale skin beneath her freckles, and the way she has her full bottom lip between her teeth tells me that there’s a part of her that enjoys being reminded in public.
Too soon, we are no longer alone. Her client joins us, and the rows behind us fill. We rise as Judge Carter enters, and I swallow a sigh. I’m going to lose this case. Ava is going to push the birth control angle, and it’ll land. Carter’s a woman and old enough to remember when betas also didn’t have access to it. Not to mention that the jury has a majority of women. I’d burned through my peremptory challenges, and sometimes the random draw just tilts the scales.
I knew this case was hopeless from the get-go. Harvey is a damn fool. He’ll probably end up slashing my budget regardless, so I oughtto just plea it out.
I’m getting a headache.
I give my opening statement. It’s short and drives home the point that I won’t have any issue meeting the burden of proof. On paper, this should be an open-and-shut case—the defendant was caught red-handed with illegal suppressants. But nothing is open and shut when there’s a sympathetic defendant and a defense attorney like Ava.
Ava squeezes her client’s hand before standing. Normally, I’d roll my eyes at the performance, ice queen that she is. However, I’ve seen her with other omegas enough to know it’s genuine. With them she is warm, friendly, and open.
Surprisingly, that is the opposite of how I feel when I’m around an omega, which makes no sense, since I’m supposed to be biologically predisposed to want to care for and nurture them. Truth be told, I think I’m a broken alpha. Omega scents are too cloying, and they leave me feeling more choked than turned on.
“The state,” Ava starts her opening, “is going to try and convince you that my client, a young woman with no criminal history, was caught with contraband. What they will fail to do is prove that those pills were anything illegal at all.”
What the fuck is she talking about? A pit forms in my stomach as I ponder her words. There’s no way they didn’t actually test the pills, right? Ava isn’t known for saying anything she can’t back up with evidence. I am going to have someone’s head on a spike if she’s right.
“And beyond the flaws of mishandled evidence,” she continues, giving me the briefest glance, eyes alight with barely concealed enjoyment, “what this case really represents is stripping my client of her dignity.” She takes a step toward the jury box, hands open wide, playing on their emotions as easily as a concert violinist at the symphony.
I have a love/hate relationship with watching her work.
“Suppressants for omegas are medicine. Illegal medicine, yes, an unfortunate reality of a legal system that has not caught up with scientific advancements. Yet this was once also true for beta birth control. It was seen as dangerous and immoral.”
She pauses and lets the words hang before pressing a hand to her chest. “I’m standing here as a lawyer because of the freedom that became possible when it was legalized. Judge Carter sits on the bench for the same reason, and I’m sure many of you have similar stories of what that freedom has allowed in your life.”
Her voice sharpens, snapping the room back to the case, and she looks directly into the camera when she speaks instead of at the jury. “They cannot prove she had suppressants in her hand. But even the mere idea that she might have is enough for the mayor to send his highest prosecutor after a nineteen-year-old girl with no criminal record.”
One juror cuts me a side-eye.
I’m definitely losing this case.
It’s been forty-five minutes since I texted Ava to come over, and my phone remains stubbornly silent.
Maybe it’s too early. Normally, our messages happen late, but I couldn’t wait any longer. I’ve been going out of my mind thinking about her all damn day.
I rake a hand through my hair, annoyed with myself for caring this much. Honestly, it would be better if she left me on read. Best if she ignored me entirely. We need to end this before it detonates in spectacular, career-ending fashion.
I know that.
