Lawyer Up (26 page)

UNCONVENTIONAL JUDICIAL SEQUESTRATION

Patricia drank her glass empty and poured herself another. Then she tottered down to her old office and got her purse.
Walking
in
these
high
heels
is
getting
more
difficult
by
the
minute…or the sip
, she thought, giggling.

She waved sloppily at the janitor.
Nice
man
, Patricia thought, giggling again and not even realizing that he didn't see her as he vacuumed.

As Patricia walked around the outside of the courthouse to the side entrance, she grew anxious wondering what Emmit had in mind. He'd said she would remember it for the rest of her life, so it was probably even wilder than what they'd already done in his chambers. Patricia tried to reassure herself that whatever it was, it couldn't be that out there—he was an important judge after all—nor would it be dangerous or illegal.

Patricia knocked tentatively and a guard let her in—Frank, by the name on his tag. She walked through the metal detector while he scanned her purse. All the while, Patricia made nervous rapid-fire small talk.

“You must be Frank. Emmit said you're a friend. He said it would be fine for me to stop by tonight. Does he do this often? Have women…after hours, I mean?” She laughed self-consciously.

The kindly, elderly man smiled. “Well, ma'am, no, not really. He does have evening meetings on a regular basis…bar association or something like that, but Judge Stockard works many nights…so he knows us all by name.”

He handed Patricia her purse before adding proudly, “He may be top judge here, but he's also the nicest. Never forgets to say a friendly hi and even knows my birthday.”

“That's nice. Thank you, Frank.”

Patricia waved good-bye and walked to the elevator. She was not up for three flights of stairs in her drunken state.
Nice
guy
, she thought.
But
did
it
seem
like
he
was
smirking
at
me?
Did the guard know what she was about to do? Patricia had asked for a wild celebration, but now that she was here, her anxiety skyrocketed. That, mixed with her building excitement, made her tremble.

Exiting the elevators, she saw that the receptionist was gone for the night but the door to the judge's private hallway was propped open with a garbage can. Patricia stuck her head through the door and called, “Hello?” down the hall. No one answered.

After a moment, she went through the door, letting it swing shut behind her. Patricia walked down the hall to Emmit's chambers and found his door also slightly open. All the lights were turned down low, lending a more dangerous atmosphere. Again, only silence greeted her salutation, so Patricia opened it all the way and walked inside.

Emmit sat behind his desk, a mischievous smile playing across his face. She noticed right away that—strangely—he wore his judge's robe. His thick salt-and-pepper hair looked lustrous in the shadowing darkness—she wanted to climb onto his lap and run her hands through his sensuous hair—but as she stepped toward Emmit, she saw his grin change into a severe frown.

Patricia paused mid-stride. What was wrong? Had he changed his mind? Maybe she had been too crude on the phone.

With only the slightest crack in his stern demeanor, Emmit murmured, “Hello, Counsel,” before he reclined leisurely backward in his large chair. He exuded supreme confidence and power. “Your behavior in my court has been most…
indecorous
, some might even say lascivious. I think it's high time that you're properly chastised.”

Patricia gasped in surprise at the unexpected gauntlet—but another part of her tightened in anticipation.

Emmit added, “As a brand-new partner at the prestigious Beauregard and White law firm, I'm sure that you don't want this hanging over your head. Do you?”

“Ummm.” Patricia was now just the tiniest bit unsure about whether Emmit was teasing or not. He looked and sounded so very somber and serious. “What do you suggest?”

Emmit rose and walked toward her. Stopping just in front of Patricia, he handed her a document.

“No time to go the formal route,” he noted with a quirky half smile. “This will have to do.”

Patricia glanced down and read the handwritten title,
Writ
of
Corpore
Tortus
. “Ah…um…I must admit that my Latin isn't the strongest,” she murmured uncertainly.

“Improvising a bit, it means ‘writhing body,'” Emmit replied. His grin grew broader.

Patricia read quickly through the rest of his masculine scrawl, noting several spurious claims of moral turpitude. Below that, Emmit had decreed that subservient reparations were warranted, and the playful legalese hinted at any number of lewd acts performed for him
in
camera
or elsewhere. Emmit had also “helpfully” provided some of the articles and codes pertinent to his writ:

Art. 3425: Corporeal Possession…the exercise of physical acts of use, detention, or enjoyment over a thing.

Patricia paused a moment.
Am
I
the
“thing” to be enjoyed?
She ached with desire.

The “mandatary's duty of performance” would include all kinds of “servitudes” and require absolute “judicial obedience.” Although hastily written, the list—ostensibly from Louisiana's civil code—was long:

CC 3436: Violent, clandestine, continuous, and unequivocal possession.

CC 2949: Unconventional judicial sequestration…punishment to be administered at location of judge's discretion.

CC 3102: Scope of submission…at the whim of judicial authority.

CC 1849(a): Proof of stimulation…would be required.

Emmit's going to do whatever he wants to me
, she thought breathlessly,
and
then
observe
as
he
forces
me
to
writhe
in
pleasure…or pain?
Patricia felt a jolt of pure excitement. This was not who she was, not who she had ever been before, but the melting weakness she felt told her that she now desired it, needed it.

CC 2939: Retention of the deposit…would not be required.

Patricia laughed at the last article. Emmit had surely thrown that in to lighten her anxiety, she realized.

“Well?” Emmit asked. “Does the prisoner submit to rehabilitation?”

“Ahhh…” Her brain—usually so sharp—stumbled. Patricia was speechless with shock at all the salacious images his “writ” had created in her mind. Physically, however, her body was alive with tight, clenching anticipation deep within her. It was so erotic, so beyond anything in her previous experience that Patricia wasn't sure she could go through with it, but she wanted to—very much!

Raising the bar, Emmit provoked, “What do you say? Are you…woman enough to play along?”

“What am I playing along with…exactly?” The lawyer in Patricia needed to clarify before assenting.

“I think you'll find it much more stimulating if I keep you guessing. You'll just have to trust me. We both have reputations to keep, so you don't have to worry that it'll be anything public…well, not
too
public anyway.”

He dropped character for just a moment and added, “And for the record, given your previous perception of my reputation, I need you to know that I've never done anything like this before…
ever
.”

Patricia paused, hungry but still unsure. She wanted it.
God, she really wanted it!
Whatever it was. But could she really cede all control?

Emmit scrutinized her closely, looking like he wanted to eat her whole. His intense stare made Patricia tremble. His gaze crawled over her body like he was already undressing her. When he paused at her breasts, she felt her nipples tighten instantly…and heard his harshly indrawn breath before his eyes snapped back to hers.

“Come on, Patricia, I can see it in your eyes… You want wicked, naughty sex just as much as I do. Say yes…please.”

Yes
, she thought desperately. Patricia was more turned on than she'd ever been in her entire life. Her nipples were tight, aching buds, almost painful, and her pussy was clenching so much it was becoming hard to stand. A month ago, she would have said he was crazy. However, after two wonderful weeks with Emmit, she trusted him—perhaps too much, but Patricia knew he had as much to lose as she did. More actually.

“It's okay.” Emmit interrupted her internal debate and tenderly grasped her hands. “If this is too much, too out there, we can just go back to my place or yours.” He looked like he was trying not to look disappointed, trying to be supportive, but she could see it on his face. He wanted her here. He wanted her
now
!

“
No
!
”

It popped out, loud and strident, before she could stop it. She had long craved more exciting sex. Taking their naughty tryst home to safety, privacy… She sensed that would be a huge letdown. Patricia saw confusion play across his face and realized Emmit wasn't sure what her forceful response meant. She decided to throw caution to the wind and grasp the gambit full on—no holding back.

Softly, Patricia murmured, “Your Honor, I confess that my behavior has been
most
inappropriate, and I humbly surrender to your corrective discipline.”

A slow smile crept across Emmit's face, both relieved and wickedly mischievous. “So you accept my terms? All of them?”

She understood that Emmit was challenging her to go through with whatever he had planned, to not back out once they started. This time Patricia hesitated only a second before she nodded her assent. She wasn't a coward—and the fiery ache between her legs would accept nothing less than total engagement.

“Take your jacket off.” It was not a request.

It surprised her how quickly Emmit could don the facade of domination. Then she wondered if it really was just a facade.

She glanced at the open door. Emmit would surely shut it, wouldn't he, before they began doing whatever it was they were going to do? The uncertainty was the most difficult part. Her deep-seated need to be in control—to protect herself as she'd needed to do when she was a child—was at war with her desire to let go and let him lead their game. These opposite needs stretched Patricia so tight that it felt like she might rip apart, even as excitement sent electricity zinging downward to her core. It was clearly a turning point. If she refused to comply, Emmit would stop this exotic play and they would go on with normal lovemaking, but if she ceded all authority to him—then what?

After a long, calming breath, Patricia made her decision.

She quietly slid her suit jacket and silk scarf off and dropped them onto a nearby chair, along with her purse. When she turned back to him, Emmit had stepped very close to her, and he trapped her eyes in his hot, hungry stare. He slid a hand around her shoulder and slowly down her back to trace the round curves of her buttocks. The feel of his warm hand on her ass sent tingles skittering everywhere like tiny fireworks across her body. Her eyes drifted shut as she tilted toward him, wanting more of his caresses.

Then Emmit moved so quickly that Patricia hardly realized what was happening. He snapped handcuffs onto her wrists and secured Patricia's arms tightly behind her.

“What! What is this?” she exclaimed.

“Shhh! No talking,” he ordered. “The prisoner will remain silent while
taken
into custody.” He lifted her purse from the chair and put it into his desk drawer. “You won't need it during your”—he paused, clearly searching for the right word—“
rehabilitation
.”

The cold metal shock of it caused Patricia to stumble forward a step. Never in her life had she worn handcuffs for
any
reason. Jerking at her captured hands, she felt vulnerable and dizzy, but conversely her pelvis flared with wicked anticipation. Breathing heavily, Patricia felt the burning ache consuming her and once again swayed toward him. Even as she wondered what crazy thing Emmit would do next, Patricia knew she would continue to cede all control to him.

He locked the drawer that held her purse. “Can't be too safe around here,” he muttered. Then he placed a hand firmly behind her back and nodded toward the door.

“Where are we going? Out there? Someone might see us!”

“Unlikely at this hour, but…” He reached down and placed her jacket about her shoulders—it was just long enough to hide her wrists. “Now walk,” he ordered and again indicated the door with a nod of his head.

“Where are we—”

Smack!
Patricia was stunned to feel a sharp slap on her rear. “Remain silent. The prisoner will obey.”

At the sound of his hoarse voice, she glanced at his face. It was a mask of severity, but something underneath hinted at a suppressed need, barely leashed and wild. Patricia couldn't stop herself from looking down, needing to confirm that he was as aroused as she.

Damn
robe
, she thought.

Emmit chuckled, a deep, delicious sound, and her face flamed in embarrassment. He had seen her, and Patricia guessed that he knew exactly what she was thinking.

They turned a corner, and Patricia realized he was right. No one was about. The halls were silent and the courtrooms all sat empty, waiting for the next week's roster of trials. Then she realized where he was taking her. They were headed to
his
courtroom even though they were using the public hallways. What could he possibly plan to do there?