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“Now, imagine me...” He groaned. “Imagine me impaling you with my cock—so deep inside of you, so deep…”
I sighed.
“Can you picture it?” His voice became hoarse. “I need you to picture it…and touch your vagina.”
“What?”
“Your vagina. Touch it.”
I stood up and put on a pair of pajama pants.
“Are you touching it, babe?”
“Ohhh yeah…” I pulled a sweater over my head. “I’m touching my vagina…”
“Are you thinking about me licking your folds? Running my tongue along your ass crack?”
“Brian, you’re actually…” I shook my head. “You’re breaking up…”
“I’m going to stroke you down real good with my tongue, babe. Then I’m going to ram my c**k into you again and again—never stopping even if you say no…You can’t say no…”
I grabbed a sheet of paper and crumpled it next to the phone. “I can’t hear you anymore, Brian…Reception in my bedroom is getting really bad….” I hung up in the middle of his panting and scrolled through my old emails—breaking down and reading the old messages from Andrew, the only man who could ever make me cum with words…
Whether I hated him or not, I needed a release and I knew this was the only way…
Stay (n.):
A court-ordered short-term delay in judicial proceedings.
Andrew
“Mr. Hamilton?” The flight attendant tapped my shoulder. “All of the other passengers have departed the plane sir. Thank you for flying first class, and I hope you enjoy New York.”
“I’ll try.” I stood up and grabbed my briefcase from the overhead bin.
I’d tried to get out of coming here for weeks, but it was to no avail. The second I booked my ticket, I canceled all of my consultations and meetings, asked for an extension on my current case, and packed one suitcase. Just one.
I didn’t need to be in this city longer than a day, and I refused to even testify. I was going to submit a written testimony to the judge and immediately return to Durham.
As I walked through the airport, I noticed that a few things had changed, but not as much as I’d hoped. People still walked at a breakneck pace, the air still reeked of failure, and the top newspaper was still The New York Times.
I placed a few dollars into the paper machine, twisting the key so it could spit out my copy, and then I flipped to the middle section where the justice pieces were kept.
There it was. Section C. The story that covered the entire page:
Another Hearing in the Ongoing Hart Trial:
Henderson to Testify This Week
I skimmed the article, slightly impressed that the journalist was writing facts this time and not smearing my name for the hell of it.
I also noticed there were still no pictures of me.
Figures…
“Over here, Mr. Hamilton!” A brunette waved as I stepped off the escalator. “Over here!”
I walked over and she held out her hand.
