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“I couldn’t agree more.”
My giggles turn to moans as Jimmy proceeds to swirl his tongue over every inch of skin he uncovers. If he keeps this up, I will spontaneously combust before we get to the main event.
Thank goodness he gives up when he gets to my breasts, quickly stripping the rest of my clothes, rolling on a condom from my newly stocked nightstand, and thrusting into me. Screw my parents. This is the perfect end to a pretty great night.
Chapter 8
JIMMY
Sunlight hits me full in the face, dragging me from sleep faster than I have ever woken up. Shit. Why the fuck doesn’t Thelma have blinds? Blinking against the bright intrusion, I squint at the window. Well, maybe no blinds aren’t too bad. That’s a hell of a view.
An even better one greets me when I turn my head. Thelma’s strawberry blonde hair trails over the white pillows. My dick twitches and I contemplate waking her up for some high-octane morning sex. Something in her face stops me.
Rolling onto my side, I study her, trying to put my finger on what seems different about her. After a moment, it dawns on me. She looks peaceful and relaxed.
Thelma comes to boxing to work out some of her stress. I’ve never thought to ask her what her sleep patterns are like. I’ll have to chat with her about that during our next session.
Tearing my eyes away from her, they dart around the room. It’s neat. Weirdly neat. Showroom neat. Even the colored, decorative bowls displayed on the built-in shelf in the wall above my head are evenly spaced and dusted to perfection, giving the room its only pop of color – apart from Thelma’s hair.
It looks like a display room. This isn’t a room someone spends much time in. It’s like she sleeps here, and that’s it. It’s not a lived-in bedroom. Not like her living room last night, looking over the view. Now that was a room that felt lived-in.
Not wanting to wake her when she’s sleeping so peacefully, I slip out of bed, snag my clothes, and creep out of the room. Hopping along the hallway, I dress as I go. Ducking into the bathroom, I scrub my face, relieve myself and make my way to the kitchen.
The main area of the apartment is open-plan, with a large, white marble-topped kitchen island looking over the living room and fireplace and out at the water. Flicking on the coffee machine, I rest my hands on the island and sigh, my eyes drinking in the view of the water stretching before me. Now, this is a view I could get used to.
I love my Pioneer Square condo. The day I was handed the keys was one of the best days of my life. But this place is something else.
There is another small sitting area off the kitchen with bright green pillows on the L-shaped fabric sofa. It has great views, but I’m distracted when Thelma pads out, wearing a short cotton nightgown with a longer silky robe over the top, open at the front.
The view of the Bay forgotten, I lick my lips, drinking in the sight of her. She has a thick manilla file in her hand, which she must have collected from the small office I passed on my way to the kitchen.
Dropping the file on the dining room table off the side of the kitchen and living area, Thelma walks into the kitchen, smiling up at me as I hand her a mug of coffee. With fluttering lashes, she turns back to the table and sinks into one of the chairs, flipping open the file, her eyes moving as she reads, absently sipping her coffee.
Amused, I grab my coffee, cross to the table, and look over her shoulder. It’s some sort of legal document, a court filing, or something.
“You’re a lawyer?” Smooth, Houston. Of course, she’s a fucking lawyer. Artie said last night that they’re all lawyers.
“Yes.” Thelma smiles as her eyes flicker over me, landing back on her file. She isn’t giving offstop talking to mevibes, so I round the table and sit perpendicular to her, sipping my coffee and watching.
The conversation I half overheard with her father last night floats back to me – where he was trying to convince her, badly, that she should come and work for the family company.
“You don’t work for Rampwood & Stein?”
Thelma’s lips twitch. Oh yeah, her blushes. She knows I overheard last night.
“No.”
That doesn’t tell me much. Raising my eyebrows, I grin as I prompt her. “Who do you work for?”
“The public defender.”
Seriously? ThelmaRampwoodwent to Harvard Law and joined the public defender’s office. There’s only one question I have about that.
“Why?”
Thelma shrugs, looking up from her paperwork. She cups her coffee mug in both hands, studying me carefully, her head tipped to the side.
“They do good work, and they need good lawyers.”
