After I’ve caught him up to speed, I ask, “Do you believe in soul mates, Waldo?”
He does the eyeglass-cleaning thing. After he slides them on his face he replies, “I think the more appropriate question is—do you believe in soul mates, Brent?”
“I do now.” I try to put my surging thoughts into words. “All these years, Kennedy’s never let anyone else in. She has her reasons, but the bottom line is, there hasn’t been any guy who’s gotten past her fire-breathing dragon. And what if . . . what if the reason I’ve never let myself fall in love with a woman is because I didn’t have anything to give? Because I’d already given my heart to her when we were seventeen years old? And all these years . . . I’ve just been waiting for her to come back to me with it.”
We’re silent for several long moments; the only sound is the ticking of the antique grandfather clock.
“What do you think about that, Waldo?”
Slowly, he smiles at me with pride. And confidence.
“Well, Brent—I think of our two theories, I prefer yours.”
15
“God . . . yessss.”
Kennedy’s hips jerk as she rides me—the smooth strokes turning rough and desperate. I palm one tit, pinching the pointed nipple, while I suckle the other enthusiastically.
“Oh . . . oh!”
Her chin falls to the top of my head as she comes, her muscles milking my cock mercilessly—and I explode inside her with an unrestrained shout.
A few minutes later we lie tangled up—her head on my chest, our slick limbs and sweaty torsos clinging to each other in a soothing way. My fingers slide up and down her arm.
And I think.
Kennedy rested her case against Justin Longhorn a few days ago. I put my new computer expert on the stand the following day, to at least suggest some form of reasonable doubt. Now, all that’s left is Justin. He’ll testify in his own defense . . . and then it’ll be done.
And I wonder if this is how Serena Williams or Peyton Manning feel when they compete against their siblings. So fucking conflicted. I want to win the case—for Justin, for my own throbbing sense of competition. Yet I don’t want Kennedy to lose.
I blow out a breath and start with, “So listen . . . I know you think you’re winning the case . . .”
Kennedy’s voice is velvet to my ears, the way she always sounds after I give her three orgasms. “I don’t think. I know I am.”
I squeeze her arm gently. “Right. But, the thing is, tomorrow—your case is gonna implode. I’m going to put Justin on the stand, and there’s no way a jury will send him away for twenty years after they hear him testify. You haven’t given them the option of a lesser charge, so it’s going to be twenty years, or an acquittal. You need to make a plea deal with me, Kennedy.”
She sits up and stares at me like she doesn’t recognize me.
“You rotten bastard!”
And you know how the rest of that conversation went. She takes a swing at me, I toss her clothes out the window, etc., etc.
? ? ?
“Now listen up, buttercup.”
I look down at her beautiful, infuriated face, locking my eyes with hers.
“I’m falling in love with you.”
Kennedy goes completely still beneath me.
And I shake my head. “No, I am in love with you. When I look at you, think about you, I can’t decide if I want to fuck you, strangle you, or just hold you in my arms. Usually all three. And if that’s not love, I don’t know what is.”
She opens her mouth to argue, but I don’t give her the chance. “You’re everything I’ve been searching for, before I even knew I was looking. I pushed the plea deal because it’s the right thing to do for the case—and because I’m terrified if I win you’ll hold it against me. And I already have so much to make up for.”
Her chest heaves, like she’s sprinting—and in her head, she probably is.
“Let me up, Brent. Let me up right now.”
I release her wrists and climb off, sitting next to her, my leg hanging over the bed. Kennedy sits up, but doesn’t move from the space beside me. I can practically see the wheels spinning in her head.
I tuck her hair behind her ear. “You don’t have to say anything back.”
It’d be fucking nice if she did—but she doesn’t have to yet.
When she speaks, she focuses on her folded hands in her lap. “This is all happening so fast.”
“I know. It’s fast, but it’s real, Kennedy.” I take her hand. “We are real.”
She stares at our hands, but doesn’t hold mine back. It lies like a weight in my palm.
“I care about you, Brent—you must already know that. I don’t . . . I don’t know if I have it in me to love you. I’m not sure I’m capable of it. I dreamed about being with you for so long . . . and then, after school, I let that dream die. Cremated it. Buried it. Sunk it to the bottom—”