My slender calf brushed against his muscled, thick one underneath the desk. Any more contact would have revealed too much to anyone watching. 

Trying to distract my anxiety, I glanced about the courtroom, admiring the polished wood of the dark paneled walls, desks, and jury box. As with every case, while we waited for the black-robed judge to enter the chamber, all the pertinent players — conservatively dressed yet fine-suited lawyers (like myself) and the defendant — prayed our efforts had manipulated the jury against the opposing side.

I surveyed the jury, and a few members returned eye contact with me — hopefully a good sign. In my experience, jurors didn’t usually make eye contact with the defendant or the defense attorneys if they’d decided on a guilty verdict. 

Devon looked down at me and smiled as if he had no worries while my heart thundered inside my chest. He seemed oblivious that all eyes in that wall-to-wall stuffed courtroom fixated on his devastatingly handsome face. 

He’d be ripped from my life with one word from the jury. 

So, I prayed for two words. 

*

“Devon Maxwell,” he said, extending his hand, “pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise.” I accepted his hand, and we shook, but his grip lingered longer than most.

I had to admit, I’d seen many celebrities in person in this town, but he was one of the few who was even more attractive off the big screen. Something about the subtle lines drawn on his face added a rugged, more irresistible appeal to the already breathtaking man. And the smoldering eyes he was known for did affect one in unsettling ways. 

After I regained my composure, I gestured to a chair for him to sit. My first question: “Why me?” After all, there were other more renowned criminal defenders in LA.

He leaned back and comfortably crossed his legs, and smiled. “I guess I just have a thing for redheads.”

I couldn’t help but return a smile. “Keep that charm, Mr. Maxwell; it will help sway the jury.”

“Please, call me Devon.” 

“Well, Devon, for a man facing possible life in prison, I’d have thought you’d have more stringent requirements for your attorney. And in this town, who knows if I’m a natural redhead?”

“True.” He smiled again, then rested his gaze upon my breasts before finding my eyes again. “But I can tell you are all natural in every way.”

We sat in uncomfortable silence for a few moments. In just five minutes, Devon had managed to disarm me. I never flirted with clients but was amused by his attempts. 

“To be honest, following my gut has served me well in life so far,” he paused, and his jaw tightened with seriousness, “and my gut tells me you, Karina Winters, are the right lawyer for me.”

I didn’t know if that gut thing was bullshit, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t excited about defending one of the biggest movie stars in Hollywood. Winning would elevate my status without a doubt, so my decision to take his case was an easy one.

“Well, then, let’s get to work.” I started to rise, then quickly settled back down in my seat. “Oh, one more question before we beg—”

“No.” He cut me off.

“No, what?”

“No, I didn’t do it.”

“Say that again, please.”

He leaned forward and locked eyes with mine; his tone never wavered, and no fleeting smirk or frown appeared while he repeated, “I didn’t do it.”

Years of training in reading body language and facial expressions had always told me when someone was lying, and he showed no tell-tale signs. I sighed in relief because defending the innocent over the guilty always proved easier, and I’d had my share of the latter.

I studied the man before me — accused of murder — for a few more moments before I spoke. “I believe you. Now I just have to convince the jury.”

“Thank you, Ms. Winters.”

We rose, and I extended my hand first this time. “Please call me Karina.”

*

“So, Devon, how do we explain the tie, bearing your initials stitched on the inside, found in her apartment?”

“Well, we fucked, and I guess I’d left it behind.” He shrugged his shoulders as if it meant nothing.

“That puts you at the scene of the crime.”

“Look, I hadn’t fucked her since filming stopped, so I wasn’t there when she died. I’d ended things before then.”

“Why?”

“I’d lost interest.” He stared into his coffee cup for a few minutes as if lost in thought, then continued, “When you are filming a romantic movie, shooting together at least twelve hours a day for months, acting out your romance, it begins to feel real. It’s not unusual for two actors to sleep together while filming. Happens all the time. But Hannah…” His explanation abruptly ended with him grimacing.

“Go on. What about Hannah?”

“After we wrapped, she had this idea that we would be a couple. I told her I didn’t feel that way about her, and she got upset.”

“How upset?”

“Upset enough to make some threats about making me regret dumping her. It didn’t worry me, though. What could she do?”

“Well, if unstable enough, she could frame you for her murder and then kill herself. And her death was such that suicide can’t be completely ruled out, although the prosecutor is crying murder. So, my angle will be trying to convince the jury of reasonable doubt. Did she kill herself, or perhaps a crazed fan did it?”

*

With the passing weeks of spending enormous amounts of time with Devon, he became more and more appealing to me. It was everything from his husky voice streaming flirtatious innuendos to a deeper side emerging. I recalled what he’d said about working with actresses on movies and how it often led to sex. Was that what was happening here? If so, why had I not felt this way with other clients? Maybe because he had something they didn’t. Something I couldn’t define but was undeniably present. 

Confession time. I fussed with my appearance before meeting with Devon that day. Curled my hair and applied mascara and brighter lipstick. There was no harm, I’d told myself. If he happened to notice, fine; if not, fine. Only that was a lie. 

We were going over his testimony, and I noticed his attention waning. His eyes were moving all around my face. 

“You look different.”

“Oh, is that so?” I tucked a lock of my freshly styled hair behind my ear and tried not to react to his compliment.

“Yes. I love what you’ve done with your hair. And you’re wearing makeup, but glad your freckles are still showing.” He sat beside me and leaned in close enough to smell his cologne — sandalwood — my favorite. “You know, my favorite thing about redheads is discovering all their sexy patches of freckles.”

My hand shot to the V in my top to cover the crop of freckles trailing down between my breasts, but my mind wandered, thinking about his fingers tracing their path.  

“Ok, let’s focus, shall we?” I replied, refusing to look at him. Somehow, I knew he’d be smiling.

“Karina, I hope I’m not stealing too much of your time away from a lover. I know I’d be pissed if I was him.”

I kept scribbling notes. “No, no lovers, just work.”

He covered my hand with his larger one, stopping my writing. “All work and no play is no way to live.”

I turned toward him this time. “I’m fine. My career is very important to me.”

“As mine is to me. But, what’s it all for if you can’t enjoy the fruits of your labor?”

It had been fifteen months since I’d had a lover. It had ended, like the rest of my relationships, with him angry at my time spent working. 

I’m unsure why, but I decided to share more with him. “No one understands the demands of my job. The time involved.”

His hand was still covering mine, and he gently squeezed my fingers. “Hey, I get it. That’s why I’m single, too. Haven’t found the right woman who understands.” His gaze lingered, and his thumb drew circles on top of my hand. 

It felt good to be understood and wrong because I shouldn’t have opened this door to him. 

Don’t let him into your personal life!

I pulled my hand away and redirected us to his case, but the brief touch of his hand left an imprint. I needed to be more careful. 

*

More months had passed, and it had become harder and harder to resist Devon’s subtle advances: light brushes against my body as he passed by me, more questions from him leading me to reveal more about my private life, compliments becoming more personal, saying all the right things, and of course, his bedroom eyes. But, through it all, I was determined to maintain my professionalism.

Devon had asked we meet at his house because his manager was stopping by at some point. It was a sweltering day in LA, so I wore a breathable cotton dress that showed off my generous curves.

The case had just taken an abrupt turn. A friend of the deceased had come forward with new evidence against my client. 

“Hannah’s friend will testify that Hannah told her she rejected your advances, but you wouldn’t stop. She even claims Hannah seemed frightened, saying you were stalking her. And the most damning of all is Hannah told her that if she wound up dead, you were responsible. Fortunately for us, her friend didn’t see any of this for herself.” 

“I already told you I dumped her. The woman was obviously psychotic.” 

“Devon, I need to prove Hannah lied and not you.”

“Maybe Hannah was just being dramatic, which she was known for, and meant if she died of a broken heart, I was responsible. Who knows? And not to sound arrogant, but women have literally always fallen into my lap. I don’t need to stalk ladies to fuck.” 

Invariably, he punctuated the word ‘fuck’ and stared more intently at me when he said it as if hoping to see a reaction from me. And invariably, blood rushed to my cheeks and crotch, and while I hoped he didn’t notice, his knowing smirk that followed told me he did. Dangerous games we were playing.

“Well, Mr. Movie Star, hopefully, the jury will see that. It’s her word against yours with no witnesses to confirm or deny either side.”

He rose from the table, eyebrows knitted in concern, but then his face relaxed, and his flashy smile returned. “We need a break from the case. It’s been a long day.”

I rubbed my stiff neck and glanced at the clock. It was later than I’d thought, and I could use a break, so I gathered the papers and stood. 

“I have you a gift,” he said, moving behind me. 

Catching me by surprise, he gathered my long hair in his hands and brushed it over the front of my shoulder. A gold necklace passed before my eyes before settling around my neck. His lips brushed my ear when he said, “Just a small token of my appreciation.”

He turned me around and adjusted the long necklace that had settled between my breasts.

I look down at the stunning piece of jewelry. “I can’t accept this, Devon. It isn’t appro—”

His lips silenced my refusal. His tongue confidently swept against mine, and my body immediately reacted. Months of sexual tension between us erupted. I’d sworn an ethical oath against sexual relations with clients, but it’s funny how the right touch by the right person can muddle one’s mind. 

The moment finally arrived that I’d both feared and longed for and to let it continue would be risking everything. 

Our lips passionately, almost frantically mashed together, and by the time he broke our kiss and teasing nibbles trailed from my lips down my neck, my will to refuse him evaporated. 

He lifted my dress over my head and unhooked my bra, letting everything pool around my feet. 

His hands moved to my breasts. “Do you know how long I’ve longed to touch these? Finally, real breasts to play with. It’s criminal to hide them behind your business suits.”

I nuzzled his neck, and my hand explored the bulge in his pants, tracing his length, wondering what it would feel like fucking me. Like the rest of him, his cock was quite large. 

When he bent to suck a nipple in his mouth, teasing it with his tongue, I lost control and shifted to hump his thigh, moaning for more. 

“That’s it, baby. Let go,” he encouraged before biting the other nipple.

“More,” was all I could say. I needed more of him.

He pushed my hips back and ripped the side strings holding my panties together, and they joined the rest of my clothes on the floor. 

“I knew you were a natural redhead.” His eyes fell to my mound, covered in neatly trimmed red hair. 

I needed him naked, too, and I fumbled to undo the buttons on his shirt before resting my hands on his belt. The point of no return. He took one of my hands and rubbed my palm up and down his shaft again, straining to be free. I made my decision and unbuckled his pants.

Once naked, he kissed me again, deeply and passionately, but my mind latched onto his fingertips traveling from my clit to my lips, then back to my clit again. It was impossible to think once he started fingering me.

While still standing, I hiked a leg around his hip and ground against his fucking fingers. He pinched my nipples and talked dirty to me, telling me in great detail what he wanted to do to me. 

It was all too much, and my tummy tightened. Nerves fired from my waist to my toes. “Don’t stop,” I unashamedly begged. 

He thumbed my clit, and I came.

While I gasped and trembled, he swept me into his arms, carried me down a long hallway into his bedroom, and gently lay me on the covers. I spread my legs, and he was all over me, pressing me into the mattress, showering me with warm, wet kisses. My body clenched with want and trembled with anticipation. Months of longing finally about to be fulfilled. 

“I’m going to fuck you,” he growled into the crease of my neck. 

“Yes,” was all I could reply before his massive cock penetrated me. 

“Devon!” I wailed at the fullness of him, stretching me. 

He took my pussy hard, grunting with each thrust. “I’m giving you (thrust) (thrust) the pounding (thrust) (thrust) you’ve been needing.”

Wanting him deeper, I splayed my legs and lifted them high in the air. His hands flew to my ass and held me in place while he fucked me. I dug my nails into his flesh. We became enraptured animals, grinding, grunting into each other’s mouths. 

“Come with me,” he hissed. 

My climax rocked me from head to toe as he erupted inside me. We continued rutting until the last vibration subsided, and his sated cock slid out of me. 

He looked into my green eyes and whispered, “God, you’re beautiful.”

*

Rays of sunlight, scattering about the room through the gaps in the curtains, woke me, and I found myself momentarily confused with the unfamiliar surroundings. “Oh no,” I groaned, suddenly realizing Devon fucking me hadn’t been a dream.

“Regretting me already?”

I rolled over to face him, and he looked completely relaxed and amused. And damn, if he didn’t look even sexier with his dark hair in an unruly state and stubble adorning his face.

I closed my eyes, my mind a mess, unable to think clearly under his penetrating gaze. This was a mistake. He climbed on top of me, pressing his hardness between my legs. He’s my client. His fingers combed my messy hair; then his tongue pried my lips open. My career. Reputation. Must stop. His cock split my lips and pushed inside my dampening pussy. A few more thrusts and… don’t stop.

*

We fell into a predictable pattern over the next several months of me pulling away from Devon and then him luring me back in for the best fuck of my life. He always knew when my conscience started nagging at me again. He’d sweep in, charm and sex appeal on full blast, and I’d fall back into bed with him.

“You take care of my case,” he trailed a finger from the base of my neck down my back to the top of my ass crack, “and I’ll take care of you.” 

“It’s unethical. I could lose my career if anyone finds out.”

“No one will find out. I can keep our secret. Besides, we just have a month left until trial, then it will all be over, and we can do whatever we want.”

“How are you always so sure of everything?”

“I always get what I want, Karina. And I want to be acquitted. And I want you.” 

His fingers possessively dug into my ass. “I will have both.”

I moaned, beginning to writhe against his heated flesh. He knelt, wrapped his arms around my thighs, and buried his face between my legs. And with a few flicks of his tongue, all my objections melted away.

From that night forward, Devon Maxwell owned my body without any further resistance from me.

*

You could hear a pin drop in the courtroom. The verdict of one of the most publicized cases this year was about to be read. 

I feigned confidence but was terrified. Please, don’t take him from me.

“And we, the jury, find the defendant, Devon Maxwell… not guilty. 

Thankfully, no one could hear my audible release of breath over the eruption in the courtroom. 

Relief. Absolute relief hit me.

I turned to him, wanting to bury myself in his arms, but instead, I simply smiled and shook his hand under prying eyes. 

Security hurriedly ushered us out of the courthouse, through the smothering sea of reporters, to my waiting car. As soon as we were inside, I asked, “You’re a free man. What do you want to do first?” 

“I want to do you. Again. And again. And again.”

*

Once inside my home, we shed our clothes in a hurry to fuck, but he held onto his tie. 

“I want to try something different,” he said, voice huskier than usual.

I pressed my body against him, wrapping my arms around his broad back, half afraid if I let go, he’d disappear. “As long as ‘different’ still involves fucking,” I purred.

He lifted my chin to force eye contact. “Oh, it does. After I’ve had some fun with you.”

The way he said the word ‘fun’ intrigued and aroused me further, so I waited for him to take the lead.

He circled me like a hawk, tracing different body parts with his fingers. “I have another little secret to share,” he whispered, brushing his lips against my earlobe as he trapped my hands behind my back with his tie. 

“What’s that?” I glanced over my shoulder, watching as he yanked on the ends of the tie, eliciting a gasp from me.

“I did it.” 

It took a minute for his terrifying admission to sink in.

He stifled my scream with the ball gag. 

“I’ll keep your secret of sex with a client, and thanks to attorney/client privilege, you’ll keep mine.”

He slipped the blindfold over my horrified, weeping eyes. 

Urine streamed down my buckling legs.