Hardass (Bad Bitch) (8 page)

Judge Lane made no attempt to hide his appraisal of my body, giving me the full once-over before taking another swig. I didn’t let my discomfort show. This wasn’t my first rodeo. Terrell’s fingers pressed into my hip, steadying me.

“
Very
nice to meet you, Ms. Montreat.”

“You, too, Judge.” I plastered a smile on my face and sipped my wine.

“Since when did you hire such skilled associates, Trent?”

Mr. Palmer forced a laugh. “Tim, have you met another one of our associates, Yvonne Evans?”

I hadn’t noticed Yvonne standing at Judge Lane’s back. She stepped around him and sidled up next to Terrell and me. I hated to admit it, but she looked stunning in a crimson wrap dress. It fit her willowy form perfectly, and her hair was half back and done in loose waves.

“Hi, Judge Lane.”

“Another one? Well done, Trent. Your office has turned into quite the honey hole. I try not to hire women clerks. They just distract, but I wouldn’t mind having a little more distraction in my life.” Judge Lane elbowed Mr. Palmer, who cleared his throat.

Some of the men in the circle laughed.

I cleared my throat. “Well, I, for one, am glad Ruth Bader Ginsburg never had a chance to work for a jurist of your abilities and discriminating tastes.”

Judge Lane turned back to me and raised his flask in a toast. “Couldn’t agree more. Women really aren’t cut out for the legal profession. Too emotional.”

“Funny. I seem to remember just last year a certain judge getting red in the face and giving a livid interview on TV news about the state bar’s ruling that the use of campaign money by some judges—this one included—to fund private vacations was a violation of the Code of Ethics.”

The circle quieted around us. Judge Lane was a well-known blowhard who was frequently in the news for berating attorneys, as well as for his creative use of campaign funds.

“What did you just say? What?” His flask hand dropped a bit as he gaped at me. “Why, you—”

“Judge! So good to see you again. I have a little something for the reelection from all of us at Palmer & Granade.” Mr. Granade stepped through the crowd and handed the judge an envelope, but only after giving me a stern look.

“That’s mighty generous of you, Wash.”

“Of course. We only want the best on the bench.” The men shook hands, and the conversations began to pick up again.

I opened my mouth to give Judge Lane a refresher course on discrimination in the workplace, but Terrell squeezed my hip and spoke up first.

“How’s Tom Weldon doing these days, Judge? I heard he was done clerking for you.”

Judge Lane launched into a diatribe about how awful Tom was as a clerk and how the firm who’d hired him should be shuttered for malpractice.

I began to breathe again, not even realizing that I had gone into fight-or-flight mode at Judge Lane’s comments. The mood changed back to jovial as the judge continued. Terrell relaxed his grip, and Yvonne looked to the judge and back to me before rolling her eyes. Maybe she wasn’t a huge thundercunt after all.

Then my thoughts, or whatever tenuous strands held them together, were shot to pieces when Mr. Granade moved around to stand next to Yvonne.

She leaned over to him and whispered something in his ear. He nodded and said something back to her, but I couldn’t hear it over the conversations and the continued bloviating of Judge Lane. I had been mistaken. Yvonne was
definitely
a thundercunt.

Mr. Granade cut his gaze over to me even as she put her hand on his shoulder and pulled him closer. When she pressed her body into his under the guise of conversation and he did nothing to stop her, I’d had it.

I craned my neck back to Terrell. “I need to go to the ladies’. I’ll be back.”

“Want me to come with?”

“No. I’m fine. I just need to breathe a little. That’s all.”

“All right. I’ll keep our song and dance going as best I can. Come back soon.” He patted my hip and let me go.

I turned and scooted past him and some other guests. I wanted to look back at Yvonne and Mr. Granade, but I didn’t. Tears burned behind my eyes, but I wasn’t certain if they were from the humiliation of Judge Lane or the way Mr. Granade had acted. It didn’t matter. I had a “no crying in public” policy that I strictly enforced.

“Caroline?” Someone grabbed my elbow, and I stopped.

Sandy blond hair and a smile. Matt Turnbull.

“Hi. I was just going to the ladies’—”

“Fancy meeting you at a place like this.” His gaze was glued to my neckline as he slurred his words.

“If you’ll excuse me.” I pulled my elbow from his grip and tried to maneuver past him, but he blocked my way.

I was almost at eye level with him in my heels, so I gave the best death glare I could manage.

“How’s Wash doing with his newest piece-of-shit defendant?” He scanned the crowd at my back. “He here?”

“He’s talking to the judge.” I sidestepped again, but he only moved closer and put his hand on my waist.

“Don’t be so hasty. I think there are some empty bedrooms upstairs—”

“Matt, honey. Have you met Quincy?” A smiling brunette in a silver dress walked up with her arm threaded through Quincy Walker’s, a classmate of mine. “He’s one of the newest associates at Daddy’s firm.”

Matt stepped away and dropped his hand—a good thing, because I was about to knee him in the goods.

“Fawn.” He put his arm around her shoulders and kissed the top of her head. “This is Caroline Montreat, one of Wash’s new associates.”

So this was the woman they were fighting over? She was pretty. Short with understated curves. Though she was smiling, it seemed somewhat fake, as if she weren’t enjoying herself.

“Wash?” Her gaze flickered to me, and her smile gained a hint of warmth. “How’s he doing?”

“Fine.” I managed to actually get past Matt this time, especially now that he was looking everywhere but at me. “Excuse me, but I need to use the ladies’ room.”

Fawn put a hand on my arm. “Down the back hallway. Let’s chat later.”

“Sure. Very nice to meet you.” I hurried away, making a mental note to avoid Fawn if at all possible.

I pushed through, the crowd seeming far tighter than it had only moments ago, and finally entered the hall. There were several doors along the way, and I was certain at least one of them was a powder room. I peeked in a couple of dark bedrooms and finally found one with an en suite bathroom.

I closed the bedroom door behind me and leaned against it. The darkness comforted me somewhat, as if it shielded me from prying eyes. The light from the bathroom illuminated just enough for me to see the space was done in a rich damask, the four-poster bed covered with a dark duvet that picked up the contrasting pattern in the drapes. Mr. Palmer definitely had style.

The dimness and relative quiet soothed my nerves, and I pushed any useless tears back down. Judge Lane was a sexist ass hat, and Mr. Granade was clearly some sort of dual-personality jerk. The sooner I was done with this party, the better.

I took a deep breath and stepped away from the door. I toileted, then smiled at myself in the mirror, testing to make sure my game face still worked. It did. I washed up. The bedroom door clicked.

“Out in a minute.” I dried my hands and opened the bathroom door.

Arms were around me and I was pressed into the roughest, hottest kiss of my life. Mr. Granade’s mouth was demanding, his breath a mix of alcohol and something sweet. My surprised yelp died in my throat as he clutched me to him and bent me backward, his mouth taking mine and his tongue exploring me. All my nerve endings seemed to explode at the same time, detonated by the sudden onslaught.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, and he bent me back farther, to the point where the only thing holding me up was him. I had never been kissed so completely, possessed so entirely. He ran a hand down my ass and gripped me through my dress. He groaned into my mouth and pulled me even closer, his hard length pressing into my stomach.

He straightened and lifted me before backing out of the doorway and carrying me to the bed. He laid me down and stood, scrubbing a hand over his jaw.

“Spread your legs.”

I shot a glance toward the door.

“It’s locked. Now spread your fucking legs, Caroline.” He shed his blazer and tossed it to the floor.

His kiss had left me desperate for more, for all of him. I did as he said, easing my legs apart and bending them at the knees so my heels were on the duvet.

“Further, Caroline.”

I let them fall open, my skirt riding up to my hips, and his gaze fastened on my panties.

He put a hand on the poster as if he needed the support. “Jesus Christ. Take them off for me. Slowly, Caroline.”

I hesitated. He gripped the post harder, his knuckles turning white. “Off.” It was a low growl.

I hooked my fingers in the thin fabric at my hips and lifted my ass a little to shimmy them off. They got caught on the heel of my right foot. I raised it to try to dislodge them, but Mr. Granade gripped that ankle and pulled them the rest of the way off with his teeth. I had never seen anything more erotic in my life. He stuffed them into his pocket and kissed the top of my foot, his shaking hands running down my calf.

His gaze captured mine, and it was just the two of us. The voices in the hallway sank into a background hum.

“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?” He kissed up my ankle, past the strap and farther. His mouth was warm and wet, teasing my skin and making me squirm.

I gripped the duvet as he worked higher, his lips past my knee, on my inner thigh, and then so close to my pussy that I was dying for his mouth. He dropped to his knees and gripped my hips, yanking me to the edge of the bed. My skirt rode up to my stomach, and he wrapped his hands around my thighs, guiding them around his head.

When he licked me from entrance to clit, I had to bite my hand to keep quiet.

“Pull your dress down. I want to see your tits while I fuck you with my mouth.”

I slid the straps past my shoulders and pulled down on the dress and my strapless bra. My breasts were exposed, the tips hard enough to cut glass. He groaned and fastened his mouth to my clit. I dug my heels into his back as he licked and sucked at my folds, his tongue darting in wickedly to stroke my nub. It wasn’t long until I was grinding my hips on his face as he pressed my thighs against his ears. I was so close to the edge, but then he stopped.

He stood, and I wanted to scream from the frustration. But then his hands went to his belt, deftly unbuckling it and unzipping his pants. “I want you to come all over my cock, Caroline. I want you to say my name as I fuck you until you can’t take any more.” His voice was guttural sex.

I couldn’t pay attention to his words, because I couldn’t focus on anything except the stiff shaft he pulled from his pants. It was large, but not absurdly so. I wouldn’t have cared. All I knew was that I wanted it, would have done anything for it.

“Tell me you want me to fuck you. Tell me you want it hard.” He stroked himself once as he stared at my pussy.

“I . . . I want you to fuck me hard.”

He put a knee on the bed and wrapped his arms around me to position me farther up. His shirt rubbed against my nipples, making them ache for his mouth. They didn’t have to wait long. He palmed one breast and sucked the nipple on the other as his tip rubbed against my clit. I ran my hands through his hair. It was even softer than I’d imagined.

He groaned against my stiff bud, his tongue flicking across it and his teeth grazing it. The sensations bloomed from my breasts and spread straight to my pussy, the desire intensifying with each touch of his cock, his mouth, his hands.

“Wash,” I gasped when he bit down even harder.

He came back to my mouth. “Fuck, yes. Say my name.” He licked my lips and bit the bottom one, his cock sliding lower against me to my core.

Reason came back to me for a split second. “Wait, are you—”

“Clean, totally clean.” He’d read my mind.

“Me, too, and I’m on birth control so you can . . .” I couldn’t say what I really wanted, how much of him I needed.

He smirked, the slight lift of his lips as roguish as it was hot. “You want me to come inside you, Caroline?” He ran his teeth along my neck, and I moaned as he bit down. “That makes two of us.”

I clawed at his back as he licked and sucked the sensitive skin of my throat and collarbone.

“I’m going to fuck you. Hard. I need you to tell me it’s okay. Tell me you want it.” His gaze bored into me as he rested his forehead against mine. The muscles in his back trembled, and I pulled his hair. His scent washed over me, and I wanted to remember it forever. Remember this—the way he looked at me, talked to me, commanded me.

“Tell me.” He gripped my hair and pulled before fastening his teeth to my neck again.

Yes, anything, yes
.
“Yes. I want it.”

He covered my mouth with his hand and sank inside me. I squealed against his palm at the flash of pain and the intense glow of pleasure. His cock was thick, stretching me as it slid against my wetness. He groaned into my throat. The pleasure quickly overtook anything else as he moved inside me, his hips starting a steady rhythm as he licked and sucked my neck. He slid his hand from my mouth and gripped my breast.

The bed shook from his impacts, but he kept our bodies close together. The sound of skin on skin didn’t carry. His strokes were hard and sure, hitting my clit on each jarring burst of aggression. I dug my nails into his back through his shirt and spread my legs as far as I could to get every bit of contact.

“Fuck,” he exhaled into my ear, then bit down on my earlobe.

“Wash.” I didn’t recognize the breathy, throaty voice even though it was mine.

“Tell me you want it harder.” He was a devil in my ear, promising me so much pleasure.

“Harder, Wash.”

He released my hair and shoved his arm between my back and the bed, wrapping his fingers around my shoulder. He leveraged my body so he could go even harder, pulling me down onto his cock with each intense thrust. I wrapped my legs around him as my body began to seize.

“No.” He slowed down.