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It’s her. She’s got my leg caught under the table like a bear in a trap. She captures my gaze knowingly while still answering questions from myself and the team of lawyers on my side of the conference table.
I instantly feel about twelve different emotions and I don’t know which one to pick first, so I just let them all roll over me. Relief that she hasn’t rejected me. Excited because she drops her shoe and slides her toes up and down the inside of my calf, right in front of my colleagues and my boss. She fucking owns me and she knows it.
I have to concentrate hard on what everyone’s talking about as I write down half-assed notes.
Martha’s foot slides up toward my knee and sweetly massages it. How can this small woman’s legs possibly reach this far? I glance up at her again, and I see her slightly slouching down in her chair and staring at me.
This is ridiculous. Garcia is going to catch us any second now.
I should not encourage this. I should pay attention to the deposition. Instead I slide my chair so close to edge of the desk it might look to the casual observer that I’m trying to perform the Heimlich maneuver on myself.
Martha sits up straight again, looking slightly more comfortable and normal now. I can’t have my girl uncomfortable. If she wants to dick around and play footsie with me, then she certainly can.
Footsie is one thing. Stroking my dick with the blade of her stockinged feet is another.
I shoot her a look that says, “Now?”
She answers with an arched eyebrow and a playful smirk that says, “I do what I want, when I want.”
I glower at her, but my dick is not as good at hiding my emotions.
She cocks her head to the side and slowly slides her foot away, giving me a look that says, “You don’t want to play with me? Fine, I’ll take my foot and go home…or find someone else who wants to play.”
Then she does something truly cruel. Knowing she still has my gaze locked on her, she cuts her eyes to the left, to where an associate of Ms. Degrassi is sitting, taking notes like a good soldier, totally oblivious to our little game. She looks back at me and raises her eyebrows in a question, and then, with the slightest movement, gestures in his direction.
She’s telling me maybe this other fellow is up for a game of footsie.
I lose my fucking mind.
I stand up abruptly, nearly knocking over my chair. Everyone around the table looks at me in shock and surprise, not the least of which Martha. “I’m sorry, everyone,” I say. “I’m suddenly not feeling well.”
The opposing counsel sneers, “Try to keep it together, McRae, we’re almost done here.”
“I think both sides have heard everything they need to hear. If there’s more we need, Ms. Moody, we’ll be in touch.”
I’m out the door before Garcia or anyone else can stop me. I shoot Martha a look that tells her she’s about to pay for what she’s just suggested, and hope she picks up on my message.
16
Martha
I took a risk that, after tying up loose ends with Ms. Degrassi, Miles was wanting me to follow him into the bathroom.
The fear that I might be wrong, the anticipation and the horniness made the double-back trek to the unisex bathroom at the end of the hall seem like it took an hour.
Once inside, Miles pulls me to him in a kiss that rings all my school bells. My knees quiver with the force of his strong lips against mine. He somehow senses this and grabs me around the waist, pressing my body tighter into him as his lips don’t miss a beat.
My eyes open wide and with my head tilted the way it is, his flushed cheeks and closed eyes rock me with the intensity of his concentration on me.
/> My hands go to his chest; I want to feel his heartbeat, feel him breathing. I want to know exactly what his body feels for me. Maybe a part of me wants to make sure this is all real.
“Miles,” I say into his mouth, for he won’t let me break the kiss.
“Martha,” he rumbles, continuing to ravage my lips.
I struggle to keep my wits about me when his tongue laps against my bottom lip. The sensation trickles across my neck and the skin of my chest, blooming my nipples into hard buds. They press against the inside of my bra, as if they independently remember his caresses from the other night, and they are beyond ready for direct mouth-to-nipple contact.
“You said I don’t get any dick until you lose your case,” I say, ending in a gasp as his tongue and lips blaze down my neck. His hands slide under the hem of my sweater and I feel him curse into my collar as he wrenches my shirttails out where they are tucked into my skirt.
