His To Own (6 page)

"That's outrageous," Laney gasped.

"I wish the D.A. thought so," Fran said. "He already has his conviction. What happens now isn't his fault. He said my only chance was to beat the family at their own game - to hire a
very
good attorney to fight technicalities with technic alities. To force the D.A. into doing the right thing." Fran looked down, ashamed. "It was hard after Albert died. We didn't have a lot of money to begin with, but with the kids, I… I'm stretched so thin, some months I don't know how I'll make it at all. I have a little savings, but what a good lawyer charges - I can't afford it. And now I have to accept that the man who took my Albert away from me - the man who took my children's father away from them - is going to be free to live his life. Your boss was my last hope."

6.

"That's it?" Laney asked, feeling a sense of righteous fury well up within her. "He turned you away because you can't afford his fee?" She had seen exactly how much Michael made. The paper trail may have sometimes been covered in spilled coffee, but she had still seen the numbers, especially as she recreated ruined documents. Surely he could afford to take on one truly worthwhile case. So what if Price or Waters ended up with one of Michael's corporate accounts? How much money did one man need?

Laney couldn't be sure that her anger was entirely benevolent. She'd been looking for a good excuse to let Michael have it, to really unload all her confusion and disappointment on him, but he'd made it too easy. She was confused and she was disappointed - but not because he'd fucked her without feeling anything for her. No, she'd thought he was a good person, that underneath the slick suits and 'bad boy' persona that he had a truly decent heart. The fact that he'd turned Fran away so easily, so heartlessly, made her reconsider every instinct she'd had about him.

"If I had the power, I would make him take your case," Laney swore, placing her hand over Fran's on the table.

Fran laughed, a sad little sound of defeat. "I appreciate that, I guess." She sighed. "I'll figure out something. Thank you for stopping me earlier. I wasn't in the best frame of mind, and who knows--"

"Don't thank me," Laney insisted, squeezing Fran's hand once before letting go. "I just wish I could do more."

As Fran went on her way, Laney snatched the bag of fresh sandwiches off the table and decided she had had
more
than enough. Oh, yes, Michael was going to get a piece of her mind, all right. And if he fired her for it - so be it.

##

Michael pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, glancing at the clock. It would be at least another twenty minutes before Laney returned with his sandwich. He certainly didn't begrudge her the relaxation, but he was starving. It wasn't even three o'clock yet and Michael felt like it was closing in on midnight. Price had dumped three of his cases on Michael at the last minute, which meant he'd spend every waking minute of the next seventy-two hours reading old briefs, motions, and history so he could get up to speed. Michael suspected Price was playing him - Michael's refusal to fire Laney had chafed the old man, and as a result, relations between Michael and his partners had cooled considerably.

As much as having his professional future feel unsteady for the first time… well, ever, Michael couldn't make himself regret it. Laney was like a breath of fresh air. He wasn't entirely sure how he felt about her, but he was positive he liked her - more than he should, more, obviously, than was good for his career. He had always, always put
work first. Three different relationships - including his most recent - had broken up because the women knew they came second in his life. Vivian had been the most recent, and the most cunning. She'd been positive that if she broke it off with him he'd come racing after her on bended knee, an engagement ring in one hand and his balls in the other.

Michael hadn't even been tempted. The breakup had been nothing but a relief to him, though he did mourn the lack of easy escort for the various functions the firm required he attend throughout the year. There had been a few women between Vivian and Laney - nothing serious, and all serving to scratch a persistent itch. At first he'd thought that was what Laney was - an itch
that he only felt because it had been so long.

He'd been relieved of that notion the first time he felt her mouth on him, the first time he tasted the salty sweet wetness between her thighs. Actually being inside her had confirmed what he had suspected - Laney was many things, but convenient was not one of them. They fit together in a way he had never experienced before. He was possessive of her, disturbingly so. He liked looking out his office door and seeing her at his desk, knowing she was there if he needed her. He liked having her care for him in small ways - her special coffee, the food she brought him, making sure he didn't work too late and offering to stay with him if he was going to.

It had only been a week since she came into his life and already, Michael could feel it changing for the better. No, he didn't regret the frosty atmosphere between his partners, but he wouldn't mind the punishment scut work going by the wayside. He had a brief twinge of conscience remembering that poor woman who'd left his office a short while ago. A week ago, he'd have taken her case, waiving his fee because she was a rarity in this world: a genuinely good person who was dealt a shitty hand and simply wanted what was right. But if he was going to keep Laney he had to appease the partners. And the one thing Michael was sure of was his desire to keep Laney.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!"

Michael's eyes widened in shock. Barging through his door, her eyes spitting fire, was the object of his obsession. Her left hand was clutched around a brown paper bag and her right hand was gesturing at him, her index finger pointed accusingly in his direction.

"You'll have to be more specific," he joked.

Her nostrils flared. She stamped her little foot. He tried to keep a straight face. He failed. She was adorable, like an angry kitten.

"Fran," she snapped, throwing the bag at his chest. Sandwiches, he surmised. Or at least they were, before she manhandled them.

"Fran?" he asked, trying to recall a co-worker he might have offended or a client he hadn't attended to.

"Oh my God," she muttered, the accusing finger she pointed at him now poking him in the chest. "You don't even know her name! How could you break her heart without even bothering to learn her name?"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," he said, making the signal for time out with his hands. "Flag on the play. Whose heart did I break?"

"Your one thirty," Laney said, gritting her teeth. She was fast switching from angry kitten to avenging angel. Michael was disturbed to realize he liked them both - but his cock seemed to
really
like the avenging angel. "She begged you for help. You told her to come back when she had more money."

That hadn't been exactly how the conversation had gone, but on the upside, at least Michael finally knew what they were talking about.

"Not that I owe you an explanation," Michael said, stepping around her to close the door firmly before the entire office heard her shrieking like a banshee, "but I have very good reasons for turning
Fran's
case down." Lack of time. A less than 30% chance that it could be won without the firm’s full financial backing. And, yes, his fee, but that had honestly come third on the list. Michael had plenty of money. He couldn't afford to take on every sad sack that came into his office, but he had certainly made exceptions before when it was a case that spoke to him personally or he had a decent shot at winning.

"Enlighten me," Laney huffed.

"No," he said firmly, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "In fact," he added, reaching out to lock his door, "I'm done answering to you. It's time for you to deal with the consequences of your actions."

"What consequences?" she asked. "And why won't you tell me--"

"Enough," he said, and his tone left no room for argument. "You've interrupted my work and questioned my judgment. That's not exactly the performance of a good assistant, is it?"

"I…" She looked genuinely flummoxed, her righteous fury draining out of her as the reality of her actions filtered in. A look of muted horror crossed her face and he bit back a smile. As annoying as he found being questioned, there was something about the passion Laney had, the fearlessness in confronting him that was endearing. She was a spitfire, but in other ways, so wonderfully malleable he felt as though he could spend the rest of his life happily ping ponging between the difference sides of her.

"I'll tell you exactly what it is," he continued, recognizing he'd likely rendered her speechless. "It's the behavior of a naughty girl who needs to be punished."

##

Laney was speechless. She'd had such a clear picture of what she needed to say to him, how much he deserved to be told off, she forgot that in their relationship - in most of his day to day relationships - Michael held all the cards. Not only that, but he knew exactly how to play them, how to play
her
, to get exactly what he wanted. Even as she told herself to slap him, to walk out of the room, to call this little game between them off, Laney was powerless to resist him. The spell he wove over her was too intense, she desired it too much. Even if he didn't want her the way she wanted him.

"Down on your knees," he instructed smoothly. She hesitated and he narrowed his eyes. "Don't make me tell you twice."

Laney felt like she was outside her body, watching this scene unfold from afar. Surely that wasn't her, sinking to her knees because a man - her boss - told her to. A man she'd vowed not to share her body with again because he felt nothing for her beyond the physical gratification.

Oh, but it was so incredibly gratifying.
Images of their last encounter - the desk digging into her ass, the powerful way he moved inside her, his mouth leaving delicate little marks on her shoulders and collarbones, marks she would gently trace later, as she fell asleep alone in her bed, feeling somehow used and cherished at the same time.

"Hands and knees," he added, and though she still didn't know why, Laney obeyed him. It was as if she were incapable of anything else.

"Look at you," he said, moving behind her. "I see you've worn slacks today. I'd advise against that. Incredibly difficult to maneuver in a pinch. Plus, I like looking at your legs."

His hands were at her hips and where she'd thought he might gentle his touch, he did the opposite. He pulled roughly at her pants, tugging until they were at her knees. He did the same with her panties, then spread her legs as far as they would go with the material bunched just below her thighs. His thumbs stroked up the backs of her thighs, firm, commanding pressure until he reached her ass. He spread her cheeks apart, the lips of her pussy, not trying to pleasure her, to arouse; he seemed to be touching her this way simply because he could.

Laney was gushing, embarrassed at how wet his unconcerned touch made her.

"Remember," he cautioned, "This is punishment. I won't be gentle."

He was inside her a second later. She hadn't even heard him undress. Michael was true to his word: he wasn't gentle; his fingers dug into her hips, holding her in place, and his hips met her ass with a series of fast, deep thrusts. No, he wasn't gentle, but it was far from punishing. Laney felt invigorated, wanted to move back against him, but the clothing around her legs and his restraining grip on her hips made it impossible. She sank to her elbows, burying her fingers in her hair, clawing at it to keep herself from moaning.

"I think you like being punished," he surmised, his voice slightly unsteady from exertion. "I think you crave it."

She craved him, but that was something Laney absolutely refused to confess. Let him think she was just in it for the sex, the same as he was. Let him think it was a dominating personality she was attracted to, rather than finding enjoyment in being dominated because it was
him
taking control.

It was an embarrassingly short time later before Laney felt herself tightening,
the pleasure starting in the pit of her stomach and stretching outward, her toes curling inside the shoes he hadn't bothered to remove before plunging himself inside her. He must have felt it, could read her body well, because he quickened his pace, hitting the perfect place inside her to push her over the edge. Laney bit down on her lip to keep from screaming, her body shaking and shuddering against his. He came a moment later, with a muffled groan, again holding her against him as he emptied into her.

His hand rested on her lower back for a moment, a surprisingly gentle, affectionate touch. It calmed her, though it had no business doing so. Laney had to remember he didn't care for her, didn't
want
to care for her. This was a game to him, a diversion at the office; fun with the temp who would be gone in a month or two. Her body was still buzzed from her orgasm, her every emotion heightened, and she almost felt like crying.

All too soon he pulled away from her and she quickly scrambled to her feet, righting her clothing as she went. She was almost composed when he spoke.

"I assume you took Fran's information when you made her appointment?" he asked, buckling his belt. Even the way he did that was viscerally sexy.

"Of course," she answered, afraid to meet his eyes; afraid he might see how much she felt for him, even in the wake of how he treated her.