After the Verdict

The trial had dragged on for three brutal weeks. When the jury finally read the verdict in our favor, I should have felt triumphant. Instead I felt like a wrung-out rag. My penthouse was quiet except for the low hum of the city thirty floors below. I kicked off my heels, poured a glass of chilled Sauvignon Blanc, and texted Marcus.

“Session tonight. My place. Bring your bag. I need to forget everything.”

He replied in under a minute: “Door unlocked?”

“Already is.”

Marcus had been my personal trainer for eight months. Six-foot-two, calm voice, hands that knew exactly how hard to push. Tonight I wanted him to push every limit I had left.

I was standing at the floor-to-ceiling window in nothing but a short black silk robe when he let himself in. The city lights painted gold across my skin. I heard the soft click of the door, then his footsteps.

“Rough day, counselor?” His voice was low, amused.

“Rough month.” I didn’t turn around. “I don’t want to think. I don’t want to decide. Just… take over.”

He stepped behind me. Big hands settled on my shoulders, thumbs pressing into the knots that had lived there since opening statements. I shivered.

“Safe word is ‘objection,’” he murmured against my ear. “Say it and everything stops. Otherwise I’m in charge. Understood?”

“Yes.”

“Good girl.”

He spun me slowly, untied the robe, and let it fall. Cool air kissed my bare breasts; my nipples tightened instantly. Marcus looked me over like he was memorizing evidence, then scooped me up as if I weighed nothing. My back met the cool silk sheets a moment later. He’d already turned down the bed. The man thought of everything.

He stripped off his shirt. The sight of his carved chest and the dark trail disappearing into his gym pants made my mouth go dry. Then he climbed over me, knees bracketing my hips.

“Hands above your head. Keep them there until I say otherwise.”

I obeyed. The silk felt slippery under my palms.

Marcus started at my collarbone, kissing, licking, scraping his teeth just enough to make me arch. Every touch was measured, deliberate. He spent long minutes on my breasts, sucking one nipple until it throbbed, then the other, while his fingers traced the underside where I’m most sensitive. I was already wet; I could feel it slicking my thighs.

“Marcus… please…”

“Not yet.” His breath was hot against my stomach as he moved lower. “I’m going to taste every inch first.”

He pushed my legs apart, settling between them like he had all night. His tongue traced the crease where thigh meets pelvis, then the other side, deliberately avoiding my pussy. I whimpered, hips twitching.

“Stay still or I’ll tie those pretty wrists to the headboard.”

The threat sent a fresh gush of wetness between my folds. He noticed.

“Fuck, you’re dripping for me already.” His voice had gone rough. “Look at this pretty cunt. Swollen. Needy.”

He finally dragged the flat of his tongue up my slit, slow and firm, ending with a swirl around my clit. My moan broke into a sob. He did it again, then again, teasing the hood until I was shaking.

“Marcus, I need your cock. Please.”

He chuckled against my pussy, the vibration almost making me come. “You’ll get it when I decide you’ve earned it.”

Two thick fingers slid inside me without warning. I clenched around them, gasping. He curled them perfectly against my g-spot while his tongue flicked my clit in tight, precise circles. The pressure built fast, embarrassingly fast.

“I’m gonna—fuck—I’m—”

“Come,” he ordered, and sucked my clit hard.

The orgasm slammed through me so violently my vision whited out. I cried out, thighs clamping around his head, but he didn’t stop. He kept licking and stroking until I was twitching and begging incoherently.

Only then did he rise up, wiping his glistening mouth with the back of his hand. His cock was out now—thick, veined, the head shiny with pre-cum. He stroked it slowly, watching me pant.

“On your knees. Ass up.”

I scrambled to obey, cheek pressed to the cool silk, back arched. He ran his palms over my ass, spreading me open.

“Such a pretty view.” One thumb brushed my asshole and I jolted. “Maybe next time. Tonight I want this tight pussy.”

He lined up and pushed in with one long, relentless stroke. The stretch burned so good I moaned into the sheets. He bottomed out, hips flush against my ass, and stayed there, letting me feel every inch.

“God, you’re squeezing me so fucking tight,” he growled. “Like you were made for this cock.”

He started moving—deep, measured thrusts that dragged over every sensitive spot inside me. One hand reached around to circle my clit with two fingers. The other gripped my hip hard enough to leave marks I’d admire tomorrow.

“Harder,” I gasped. “Please, Marcus, fuck me harder.”

He gave me what I wanted. The wet slap of skin on skin filled the bedroom. My second orgasm hit without warning, pussy spasming around his thick cock. He groaned but didn’t slow down.

“Again. I want to feel you come on my dick one more time before I fill you up.”

His fingers sped up on my clit. I was so sensitive it almost hurt, but the pleasure crested again, sharper this time. I screamed his name as my walls fluttered wildly.

“Fuck—yes—that’s it—” His rhythm faltered. “Gonna come, baby. Take every drop.”

He buried himself to the hilt and let go. I felt the hot pulses deep inside, his cock jerking with each spurt. For a long moment we stayed locked together, breathing hard, sweat cooling on our skin.

Finally he eased out. I collapsed onto my stomach, boneless. Marcus stretched out beside me and pulled me against his chest. His heartbeat was still racing under my ear.

“Better?” he asked, voice soft now.

I smiled against his damp skin. “Verdict’s in. Best stress relief I’ve ever had.”

He laughed quietly, fingers tracing lazy circles on my back. “Same time tomorrow, counselor?”

“Objection overruled.”