He’s a master of sex. I’ve decided this. He knows taking his time, torturing me until I’m about to combust with want for him makes it that much more intense. By the time he finally lets me sheathe him inside me, I can think of nothing but him, us, this.
I ride him slowly, but I come quickly when he places his thumb on my clit. We never look away from each other and when I feel his body tense, feel him nearing his release, I do my best to memorize every single detail of this moment. I want to lock it away inside of me because there may come a time, very soon, that we will be forced to part ways; a time where I’m forced to let him go and move on with his life. If I’m convicted and sentenced, I now understand I could go to prison for up to eleven years. I would never ask him to wait that long for me, not after he’s just gotten out of prison himself and has barely had a chance to live again.
His hips thrust up, meeting me as I ride him faster, his hands gripping my hips. “Don’t,” he growls as he thrusts harder. “You’ll never lose, no matter what happens.”
His words, his expression, the way he knows me so well, send me flying high again and my orgasm breaks me into a million emotional pieces. When he finishes with a loud deep groan, I’m crying, again, but he sits up and crushes me to him, his hot breaths against my breast.
“You’re mine . . . and I’m never letting go.”
I hold onto him for dear life as I weep, not minding that I can barely breath because he’s holding me so tightly.
Connor Stevens is my everything.
And I’m about to lose it all.
“Guilty.”
Mrs. Jenson lets out a shriek of pained joy as my verdict is handed down.
The word hits me like a forceful wave, doing its best to knock me over. My gaze moves down to the table, Jim’s yellow tablet paper strewn across it with little notes he’d taken. I’m in such utter shock I can’t even muster up a reaction. The courtroom is buzzing with murmurs and chatting, but I can’t seem to move or think. I’m going to prison.
“Demi,” Connor says my name, sternly, demanding I turn around and look at him. But I can’t. I just can’t. If I turn around right now and meet that dark stare, I’ll melt into a puddle of tears.
The judge bangs his gavel several times. “Order,” he booms.
“Mr. Burgess, would your client prefer sentencing now or at a later date?”
Jim places a gentle hand on my shoulder in question. Not looking up from the table where my gaze is fixed, I nod my head yes.
“Mrs. Stevens,” the judge grumbles. Slowly, I lift my gaze to meet his stern one. Clearing his throat, he says, “I do not condone a person taking the law into her own hands. The evidence we’ve seen here today shows that Ned Jenson was killed by suffocation.”
“Murderer!” Mrs. Jenson shouts.
“Order,” the judge bellows as he bangs his gavel. “One more outburst and you will be removed from this courtroom.”
The judge, dragging this moment out by pouring himself a glass of water and taking a drink, has me about to come out of my skin. How long will I be in prison? What will happen to my house? What will happen to Connor? I have to let him go. That last thought seizes me so deeply I have to fight the urge to lurch forward in pain. Twisting my neck, I glance over my shoulder and find him with his arms resting on the wooden divider, his head bowed as if he’s praying. I want to go to him, curl up in his arms, and never leave.
“Is there anything you’d like to say before I hand down your sentencing, Mrs. Stevens?”