Page 56 of Take What Hurts

Elliott gritted her teeth. “Never have, but—” Her voice choked off. “Might change in a minute.”

Mackenzie’s mouth dropped open, and she gasped in a breath. With a strength she was unaccustomed to, she rolled them so Elliott was flat on her back. Elliott moaned, and Mackenzie imagined that, with the movement, the base of the strap was grinding down against Elliott’s clit just right. Mackenzie threw her head back at the pressure the abrupt change in angle brought to the magic spot inside her. Her vision went dark around the edges, and she rolled her hips, head thrown back, hands behind her, squeezing the hard muscle of Elliott’s thighs.

“Oh, baby, yeah. That’s it.” Elliott’s breath was loud, voice rasping, and it mingled with the obscene sound of the strap sucking and sliding in their intermingled wet and slick. Mackenzie moaned as she rode Elliott harder, drawing Elliott deeper inside her, the slapping of skin on skin drenching her, sending her into the stratosphere.

“Elliott. Fuck—” Mackenzie whimpered. “I’m there.” She was. The coil compressed inside her, primed to break. She was floating, and her vision faded to white around the edges as the coil started to release.

Elliott let out a strangled groan. “I’m⁠—”

And then there was a shout. Mackenzie wasn’t sure which of them it came from. Maybe her, maybe both of them. She watched Elliott’s mouth drop open into a perfect, silent O, eyes rolling in her skull, and Mackenzie’s walls clenched ferociously around the pistoning strap inside her. Weak with the release, she fell forward, hands on Elliott’s chest as she bore down, taking the strap as deeply as she could.

When they were finally still, Mackenzie lay prone, limbs heavy and weak, the strap still inside her, her internal muscles routinely fluttering around it. Elliott’s eyes opened, and her mouth pulled into a goofy, boneless smile.

Mackenzie’s hands cupped Elliott’s cheeks, eyes roaming every inch of her face. “You are so gorgeous,” she whispered, bringing their lips softly together.

Elliott smiled softly. “You are.”

Words bubbled up into Mackenzie’s mouth, but with self-control she didn’t realize she possessed, she held them in. She wouldn’t say them now; wouldn’t cheapen the immense feeling of what they represented by turning them into a pleasure response. But the feeling welled and surged inside her, nevertheless. She wasn’t sure if she kept it from leaking into her expression as she gazed at Elliott, who gazed back at her wantonly with dark, wide eyes and a small, soft smile.

THIRTY-ONE

MACKENZIE

“Fuck.” Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Mackenzie pulled out her phone, opening the text thread with Elliott.

Mackenzie 8:32AM

Someone’s put an urgent mtng in my diary with my ptnr, like… now. Marked highly confidential.

Elliott 8:32AM

You don’t think it’s got anything to do with our situation?

Mackenzie 8:33AM

Feels weird. So possibly. Anna said something weird last week. Vaguely threatened me. Dealt with it, but yeah…

Mackenzie strode down the corridor to the Ruth Bader Ginsberg room, thumbs flying over the screen, trying to focus on not fucking this meeting up. Pushing open the double-glazed, frosted glass door, she grimaced, then dropped into the boardroom-style chair, hoping Hannah would take care of Elliott, who, Mackenzie imagined, was likely spiraling.

Mackenzie 8:33AM

It’s going to be okay.

Mackenzie’s stomach twisted as her managing partner, Simon, and the firm’s in house lawyer, Adrienne, strode into the room, and she slid her phone into the pocket of her trousers. Simon ghosted a smile and tilted his head toward her, almost in sympathy. A hitch of fear laced Mackenzie’s intake of breath, but she shoved it down as deep into her body as it would go and dug for the cold and indifferent but proactive persona she took on in any important and potentially tricky meeting like this. So when Simon and Adrienne had seated themselves—Simon next to her, Adrienne across from her—she spoke, eager to control the meeting. “What is this about? There wasn’t a lot of information in the calendar invite.” She raised an eyebrow at Adrienne, whose eyes darted to Simon.

“Sy?” Adrienne leaned back in her seat. “You want the floor?”

Mackenzie spun her chair toward Simon and studied the way his face pulled tight, lines creasing his forehead. “We’ve received a complaint.” Firm. To the point. Simon in a nutshell.

Mackenzie nodded once. “Okay.” She scribbled that down to hide the way her hand was shaking before placing her pen, a law school–graduation gift from Frankie, on the table. “Can I see it?” Mackenzie tapped a finger on her pad and held Simon’s gaze before his dropped to the leather compendium on the table in front of him.

Simon nodded, sliding two printed pages across the table to her. As she reached for them, she tried for calm and collected, but the trembling in her hands worsened, heart thrumming in her throat. She started to read and tried to school her face into neutral, but she despaired as the heat crept up her neck, leaving the rest of her body cold. Particular phrases jumped at her off the page, each one bringing with it its own wave of incandescent rage. The waves filled her and filled her and filled her until she was certain every emotion played across her face.

Opposing counsel. Sexual relationship. Coerced into making an offer. Going on for months. Living together. Witness to domestic relationship. Collaboration. Compromised strategy.

Simon’s voice cracked through the silent tension engulfing them where they sat. “As you’ll see, the allegations are quite—” He paused, eyes locked on the ceiling. Like the words to describe Mackenzie’s worst nightmare were hiding up there. “Well. They’re quite serious. The complainant is threatening to sue the firm.”