Mind Games - A Bad Boy Romance With A Twist Page 10

  She flopped back onto the bed and I carefully slipped my hand under her skirt and lifted it, revealing a pair of creamy, soft thighs. I gently parted them and lay down a row of glancing kisses all along the inside of each leg. She relaxed, eyes closed and let me explore her. I knew she wasn’t mad. I knew she hadn’t meant to respond like that. I knew she was just stressed. And I also knew exactly what to do with my tongue to de-stress her.

  I trailed tender, delicate fingers down the damp cleft of her beautiful pussy and up again, stroking till she opened a little to me and revealed her gorgeous pink clit. I moved in close and pressed my lips and tongue against her, tasting the metallic sweetness of those folds and kissing each one in half reverence, half apology. I loved doing this with her – loved how her legs shook as she got closer, how her body puffed up and reddened under my tongue, how her breath came in hot little gasps and how she’d often forgot her manners and yank on me when my tongue wandered lower down and into her dripping little hole.

  I caressed my tongue over those quivering little parts till her greedy little hips came up for more, and when she began to softly gyrate against my tongue, I pressed down firmly and swirled “I love you Nora” with my tongue over her perfect little nub.

  I loved making her come. I wanted to push her sweet, tired little body over the edge, and catch her at the bottom in my arms. When her orgasm started to pulse through her, she was silent. She squeezed her knees against my head and held me there, and I felt her convulse madly against my lips while she exhaled slowly. It was beautiful. She was beautiful. As she came down from her high I stroked my tongue slowly over her still, and stroked my palms up and down her legs.

  “S-A-Y-Y-E-S” I spelled out with my tongue, and in the back of my mind, I hoped that somewhere deep inside her body, she had heard me.

  Chapter 11

  Myth: The legal system is made up of rational, morally guided public servants who are there to protect citizens and bring about justice to the best of their abilities

  Reality: American ‘Justice’ is a fickle woman, and she sometimes just runs off with the guy with the fattest wallet

  “And here is Dean Cane, the defendant’s son, approaching the court house this morning, likely coming to offer a show of support for his-- excuse me, sir, Mr. Cane, could I quickly have a word?”

  I had expected reporters. I had prepared for them. But still I had to force myself to take a breath, force a cordial smile and stop myself from pushing rudely past the crowd and going inside as fast as I could. The media were like flies on this rotting carcass of a story, but they were useful, in their way, and I wasn’t about to give them any more ammunition for their increasingly bizarre coverage of this whole mess.

  “Dean, Dean, please tell us, what do you make of the fact that not one but two of your father’s attorneys have withdrawn so close to the trial date? Do you have any idea what the cited conflict could be?” said a young woman in a tight purple dress and TV anchor hair.

  I smiled warmly at her, turned myself slowly to face the chattering wall of cameras and held my hands calmly in front of me. When you’re the son of a man this powerful, there are people who teach you how to talk in front of the cameras, how to speak without speaking. I knew how to play this game.

  “Unfortunately, as I’m sure you’re aware, that matter is private and not entirely relevant here. The fact of the matter is that this case has moved a lot faster than is typical and so the defense hasn’t had as much time to prepare as they ordinarily might have.”

  “But doesn’t it cast doubts, Dean, the withdrawal of two highly competent attorneys, on your father’s defense? If the case is so open and shut, why would an experienced attorney like Joel Abrams pull out?”

  Her voice sounded as harsh as the camera flashes looked.

  “Again, the details of his withdrawal in no way change the facts of the case.”

  “You don’t believe these last-minute changes are unusual?” she said, speaking even louder.

  “I believe my father is being represented by a competent attorney,” I said, smiled warmly once more, gave a little bow of my head and pushed through the stragglers to make my way into the courthouse.

  Shouted questions trailed off behind me as I made my way inside to those cooler halls. Moving from the glaring California morning sun into the echoing marble of the court house instantly sent a chill through my expensive wool Anderson & Sheppard suit and right to my skin.

  I scanned around.

  I couldn’t be seen with her.

  We had tried as hard as possible to leave at different times this morning. One day, Nora was going to be my wife, and I would shout it from the proverbial rooftops. But she was right. All of that could wait until after we had shaken the stain of this trial and started life new again.

  None of the faces around me were hers. My shoes tapped quietly on the tiles underfoot as I made my way to the chambers, everything cold and hostile without her in it. I was no stranger to trials of all kinds, and used to feel comfortable here, in these great bureaucratic machines, in these processes. But right now I felt more keenly how much I’d changed, somehow. How much she had changed me. The people rushing around me in suits weren’t any different than they were before. But I wasn’t one of them anymore. All of it seemed so silly to me now. I saw it for what it was: just another dress-up game people played.

  I made my way up a staircase and onto the second floor where more people were gathering and slowly funneling through large, wooden doors. It was happening. The prosecution that had been unfolding in my mind for years was happening out in the world now. The world was beginning to see Jeff Cane for what he was, and the anticipation in the hallways was palpable.

  Charlie raced over to me when he saw me move towards the doors.

  “She’s not here,” he said quickly. My heart sank. I had just seen her fifteen minutes ago.

  “What? Where is she?”

  “I don’t know. I spoke to her on the phone this morning but I think your father’s men got to her. I bought her a new outfit, Dean, I prepped her for the stand…”

  I realized he was talking about my mother.

  “She seemed ready,” I said quietly.

  He shrugged, his face worried.

  “I guess we underestimated how hard this must have been for her.”

  “What happens now?”

  “If she doesn’t pitch, she doesn’t pitch. It’s bad. But don’t worry. We have the sugar baby, we have Nora, it’s OK.”

  I had a feeling he was trying to reassure himself more than me. I tried to imagine what had kept my mother from appearing today but told myself to trust that she knew how to take care of herself. She had been through enough already. She owed me nothing. Now, I had to think of Nora. I still couldn’t see her anywhere.

  Investigators had concluded without doubt that Elizabeth had been murdered; stabbed eight times with a blade no bigger than six inches. The murder weapon hadn’t been found. Jeff H. Cane had been formally charged with the murder and now had in his defense one of California’s most rabid attorneys, who was likely going to focus on the fact that Jeff had no motive, and was not there at the time of the crime. They would cast doubt by painting Nora as the jealous mistress, and likely had a stable of bribed expert witnesses to support that doubt. The problem was, it would be difficult to make Nora look bad without getting some of that on Jeff himself.

  Nora wasn’t his friend.

  She wasn’t his mistress.

  She was his dominatrix, pure and simple.

  After all the money, all the pre-trial prep, it would likely down to one thing: the squeamishness of the jury.

  I made my way inside through the streams of people and settled onto a wooden seat, also cold, where I could easily see the stand. I had already seen firsthand how that very squeamishness could topple the most sturdy constructions. Businesses I had spent a decade building and maintaining were now crumbling as investors pulled out, citing reluctance to be associated with the biggest mur
der trial of the year.

  It’s not the illegality that people were nervous about – businessmen are more than comfortable with that. No, it was the whiff of sex on the whole case that frightened people. The flavor of debauchery around the whole story was so overwhelmingly cheap that the Cane name alone was becoming a joke, a symbol for the all the seedy, embarrassing things that powerful men do behind doors. The emperor had no clothes, you see, and not only that, he was actually wearing lacy suspenders and a ball-gag. It was embarrassing. I couldn’t even imagine how Nora must have felt.

  The room was intimidating. A large, enamel crest dominated the facing wall and an immense wood paneled box with plush leather seat. The jury box was empty. A flag hung limp in the corner. Strangers in business casual mingled to seat themselves behind me. Though the room was cold, my palms were sweating. Was she OK? Had I done enough this morning to soothe her ragged nerves?

  Then I saw her. And a split second later I saw him.

  She was in the same tasteful little jacket and skirt I had left her in this morning, but I barely recognized the expression on her face. This morning I had told her to be herself and she had laughed. But who else could she be, but Nora? Who in the world had eyes like that? I wanted to rush over and hold her, to kiss her until she smiled again, until the color came back into her cheeks. But I avoided her eyes and tried to keep my cool. She was on her own now. Charlie and I had done our best to prepare her for whatever indignities awaited her in this cold room, and now it was out of my hands.

  “Scum.”

  I turned around to find the source of the voice. Two rows behind me sat a family of angry faces, all staring right at me. I quickly turned around again. Elizabeth’s family? I gulped and wiped my sweaty palms against my trousers. They had every right to be angry with me. I didn’t blame them. Sex makes people irrational. Death makes people irrational. No matter what happened here, though, they wouldn’t make me lose my composure. There was only one person in the world who was allowed to do that.

  Security officers appeared to flank the great wooden doors and soon these were closed and people settled into their seats. The room was packed. I stared a little at the back of my father’s head. I imagined my rage for him setting the very hair on his head on fire, so he could feel, for once, the pain he’d so casually inflicted on others. I saw the girl too, the ‘sugar baby’, who was wearing high heeled club shoes and a pink mini dress that was an indictment in itself.

  “All rise for the honorable Judge Meredith Benton,” said the bailiff, and the courtroom bustled to standing.

  A female judge might be more sympathetic. Might be.

  The judge billowed in with her black robes, said a few words and declared court in session. What happened next whizzed by me in a blur. Though I couldn’t turn to look at her, every fiber of my attention was oriented to Nora. There were invisible threads tying us to one another in that room, and everything else faded away. What I really wanted to do was wring that bastard’s neck with my bare hands and take Nora away from here, far away so she could forget about all of this. But these were the nets we were trapped in.

  The court was now in session and we were tumbling ahead in it now, hastening towards the conclusion. By the time the judge closed this trial, all our lives would be changed forever.

  We all sat and the courtroom hushed. After the necessary speeches had been given and the opening procedures observed, the first big thing happened: the prosecution made a short opening statement and immediately called Leigh Patton to the stand. You wouldn’t think it possible, but the room fell even more quiet. Ms. Patton’s high heels clacked against the floor as she made her way to the stand and was sworn in. As she raised her hand, even from my seat I could see how violently she was shaking. She couldn’t have been older than 22 or 23.

  “Ms. Patton, would you please state your relationship to Mr. Jeff Cane?”

  Charlie was dressed to the nines but still looked scruffy. I was impressed with his confidence though. Nobody would have guessed this was the first trial quite like this.

  “Yes,” she croaked. “He was my benefactor. He paid for my college and gave me money for my living expenses. I knew him for about a year.”

  “Very good. Now, Ms. Patton met the defendant on a website, is that right miss?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what kind of website was it?”

  “A sugar baby website.”

  “Ms. Patton, kindly explain for the jury what a sugar baby is.”

  The girl cleared her voice and leaned into the microphone, making her small voice sound breathy and nervous.

  “A sugar baby is a young woman who accepts gifts and money from an older benefactor, in exchange for companionship.”

  Man, how we had tormented ourselves over the wording of that sentence.

  “Does that mean you engaged in sex with Mr. Cane?” he asked casually.

  “No, sir. But Mr. Cane enjoyed playing certain games with me, which he found …exciting.”

  Charlie waited a while for the jury to imagine the games themselves before going on.

  “Could you tell us about these games?”

  “Yes. He liked to pretend that he had kidnapped me. Like a role-play game. He would sometimes tie me up and pretend that I was a slave. But the game he most liked to play was…”

  “Please, Ms. Patton, tell the court what game Mr. Cane especially liked to play.”

  The courtroom was so quiet the silence nearly whined.

  “He, um… it’s hard to explain. But he would pretend to murder me,” she said simply. Whispers erupted behind me. “He would pretend that he had kidnapped me, and then he would… he would hit me. He wouldn’t hurt me that much, I didn’t mind really, but he… he would play with a knife. And he’d make me cover myself in blood and lie on the floor.” Her voice was now so quiet she was almost whispering. Every eye in the room was on her and her pale face.

  “Please tell the jury what you reported in your sworn statement here,” Charlie said, holding up a document above his head. She cleared her throat.

  “He, um. He changed the game after a while and started to call me Elizabeth.”

  More whispers.

  “Why did he call you that, do you think?”

  “Because it’s his wife’s name,” she said, lower lip trembling. The defense team on the other side of the bench made no sign that they were perturbed by this, although the jury stirred a little.

  “Do you have any reason to believe, Ms. Patton, that Mr. Cane wanted to kill his wife?”

  “Yes,” she said immediately. “He told me he wanted to.”

  The whispers became louder.

  “He told you he wanted to. And what did he say?”

  “He said that one day he was going to do it for real, that he was afraid that one day he wouldn’t be able to stop himself and he’d kill her for real.”

  Charlie’s head lowered to the floor and he looked deep in thought.

  “Thank you Ms. Patton. That will be all,” he said, and nodded at the judge, whose brow was furrowed so deeply it was though her face was threatening to collapse in on itself. It wasn’t the most elegant questioning, but it did the trick. Short and sweet. Charlie sat down and Leigh remained on the stand, wringing her hands in her lap. It was now the defense’s opportunity to cross-examine the witness.

  My father sat still and stony faced, almost cocky. I had heard of the attorney that now stood and approached the girl, but I didn’t know him personally. Leigh pursed her lips and seemed to mentally prepare herself for what was coming. He smoothed his tie, tugged on his jacket lapels and then said in a clear, clipped voice, “Miss, do you understand the difference between fantasy and reality?”

  She stared at him with wide eyes.

  “Of course I do.”

  “Of course you do. After all, that’s what a sugar baby does, isn’t it? You pretend to enjoy the company of an older, wealthier man and then he pays you, correct?”

  “Well, no, it’s a little mo
re than that.”

  “I see. Tell me, Ms. Patton, would you describe your relationship with Mr. Cane as based on reality or on fantasy?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Let me explain it to you then. Was Mr. Cane your boyfriend? Your husband? Your romantic partner?”

  “No.”

  “No, he wasn’t. He paid for your college, and gave you money, and what did you do in return for him?”

  She took a deep breath.

  “I gave him my company. And like I said, he’d want to play games…”

  “Games. So would you characterize these games as fantasy or reality?”

  She frowned.

  “Fantasy.”

  “So I’ll ask you again, was your relationship with Mr. Cane based on fantasy or reality?”

  She glared at him.

  “I suppose it was based on fantasy.”

  “So what you’re saying is that what happened between you and him was make-believe. It was a game. Correct?”

  “Yes, but--”

  “Did Mr. Cane ever really kidnap you?”

  “No, but he--”

  “But he only pretended to kidnap you, correct?”

  “Well, I guess.”

  “Answer the question with a yes or no please, miss.”

  “Yes. He only pretended.”

  “You have stated that Mr. Cane covered you in blood, is that correct?”

  “Yes.”