stood.
A stern-faced security guard to his right opened the door that would lead the judge to his private chambers.
I watched him walk, admiring how his robes flowed behind him, the way his broad shoulders shifted, and how his solid footsteps clicked on the floor. Beneath the regal-like black cloth, Damian usually had on neat suit trousers and a crisp cotton shirt; he said that was the most comfortable, he didn’t like getting too hot. Beneath that layer of clothing was the one thing I insisted he wore for an entire week before we had a liaison. It had taken him a while to get used to, but now it was like a second skin. All it took was a simple text from me and he had it in place – of course, I insisted upon a photograph as proof, where would the fun be if I didn’t?
As he went from sight, I put my hand into the pocket of my smart navy jacket. For what felt like the hundredth time today, I fingered the small silver key he’d sent me a week ago. It was the key to everything. The key to Damian, his desires, his freedom, his love and devotion to me, and soon it would be used to unlock all of those delicious things so I could have them to myself.
The hum of conversation around me grew, excited chatter about the way the trial was going. I gathered my papers and beat down a wave of anticipation. No one knew about my longing for Damian and the hold I had on him. They couldn’t. Ours was a secret relationship. We preferred it that way. It meant no complications in our work lives. No gossip, no press interest. That was something neither of us wanted.
‘Are you pleased, Tanya? With how today went?’
I turned to Geoff, my colleague and assistant. ‘Yes, did you see the jury when we shot down the alibi? Done deal.’
He smirked. ‘Yeah, what a prick thinking a drugged-up prostitute would stand in court as reliable.’
I shrugged. ‘If the tables were turned we’d have shown her good side and made the jury believe her, but…’
‘It’s not that way round and it should play out to our benefit.’ He grinned.
‘Exactly.’ I dropped my papers into my briefcase. ‘So let’s hope, when we arrive to wrap up in the morning, the jury will have already made their minds up. Dean Lead is a nasty bastard, and he needs to go away for a very long time.’
‘I couldn’t agree more.’ His attention shifted over my right shoulder.
I followed his line of sight.
Dean was being led away by two armed guards. He had hair so short his scalp was visible. A barbed-wire tattoo wended down his neck from behind his ear. And his shoulders were hunched, likely due to the cuffs that held his wrists secure.
He glanced my way, and a shiver snaked up my spine. He was definitely the sort of bloke a woman didn’t want to meet in a dark alley.
I turned and sent a quick prayer heavenward that the jury would come to the right decision so Damian could dole out a heavy sentence.
‘Fancy a drink down at the King Billy?’ Geoff asked.
‘Can I pass on that for tonight? I’ve got something I need to do.’
He half shrugged. ‘No worries, catch you in the morning.’
‘Yes, you will.’
He reached for his briefcase. ‘See you, then.’
He was absorbed by the crowd filing out of the courtroom. It had been a packed audience consisting of the victim’s family and friends and media. It was a high-profile case, and a lot was resting on Damian. Not least because he was one of the youngest judges in the country, and he always attracted attention.
Yes, a little light stress relief doled out by me would do him good.
Well, maybe not so light.
I waited another few minutes until the room was nearly empty and then made my way to the security guard standing by the door to chambers.
My high heels clicked on the floor as I approached, and he looked up at me.
‘Hey, Jenson,’ I said. ‘I’ve got a few things to go through with Judge Winston-Barrow.’
‘Of course.’ He nodded curtly and then opened the door.
I slipped past him; he was a big, beefy guy with hands the size of dinner plates. I was glad he was on our side.
The long windowless corridor was narrow and high-ceilinged, the floor covered in a wiry green carpet, and on the walls hung portraits of old judges who’d sat in court here.
Three doors led off it, rooms that were rarely used, so Damian told me, and, at the end, his office.
I stared at the entrance to his office and walked towards it. My hips seemed to roll a little more with each step. I felt sexy, powerful, turned-on just at the thought of what was going to happen.
I paused outside the polished mahogany door and unbuttoned my jacket. Through my silky blouse I adjusted the sexy black corset I’d worn all day, especially for this moment. It was tight, constrictive, and it had reminded me of what was to come. A bit like the restrictive device Damian was wearing. I could see why he didn’t complain about it. Well, he had at first, a bit, but not any more.
Knocking wasn’t for me, not now I was in role, so I turned the handle and stepped inside.
The windows were high and looked out at blank walls, which meant the light was dim. A few lamps with bottle-green shades sat around the room, spilling out an amber glow and stretching shadows on the wooden floor.
I flicked the lock on the door, and the dense sound shot a thrill through me. I’d sealed us in, blocked out the rest of the world. It was just me and my sub now.
‘Mistress.’
Damian’s voice when he said that word could nearly be my undoing. We’d had three weeks apart and now…no, I had to stay in control. He was relying on me to be the strong one. He was tired of ruling, of making the decisions.
I turned to face him.
He was seated behind his desk and still wearing his robes. His back was poker straight and his hands spread on the shiny wooden surface in front of him, fingers wide, starfish-shaped.
I’d bet my new iPhone his cock was straining against the cage.
Without speaking, I set my briefcase on a round table that sat by a low leather couch. I then removed my jacket, letting it slide from my shoulders and down my arms before laying it alongside the case.
I undid the buttons on my blouse, not taking my gaze from him.
He was breathing slow and deep judging by the rise and fall of his chest. His lips were a little shiny, as though he’d just licked them, and a small tendon in his cheek flexed in time with the pulse thudding in my ears.
When my blouse was undone, I tugged it from my tight pencil skirt and added it to the table at my side. I knew the corset would get him going. Made of the finest silk, the intricate stitching gave it a Parisian style, and I knew damn well it showed off my breasts and waist to perfection.
I
