SEAL's Virgin: A Bad Boy Military Romance Page 13

  “Yes,” I say, as his tongue plunges into my mouth.

  And I have never meant anything so sincerely.

  “Good, so we’ve squared everything away to the point where it’s okay for me to do this,” he says, as he gently caresses my nipples with both hands while kissing me.

  “Definitely,” I say, my tongue becoming willingly trapped up with his.

  “And this.”

  He rubs my nipples in between his fingers, causing them to stand up straight and erect. I can tell that the same thing is happening to his cock, as he pushes it up against me excitedly.

  Then he lowers his mouth and sucks on one of my nipples while continuing to rub the other one. I moan and bring my pelvis up to meet his. I hold onto his hair while he rides me.

  “Oh Jensen, that feels so good.”

  He lifts himself slightly off of me and then removes my pants and panties. He takes in my entire body, up and down, with his eyes, and smiles at me in a dazed state. With one hand, he grabs my breast and with the other he traces a finger up and down the outer lip of my most intimate area.

  “Riley, I’ve thought you were so beautiful from the moment I first saw you.”

  He reaches inside me and teases me by inserting a finger gently yet firmly.

  “I want you so bad,” I tell him.

  Take me now. Please.

  But I feel there's something I should tell him.

  "I've never…" I start to say.

  But then I stop. Because it sounds so silly. So ridiculous.

  "You've never what?" he says, raising his eyebrows at me, teasing me, daring me to tell him.

  "I've never… done… anything," I admit.

  I see the look of surprise mixed with happiness on his face, and I feel relieved. But still embarrassed. I feel like explaining.

  "I mean, I've done some stuff, of course," I tell him. "I'm not a complete novice. I just never…"

  "Shhhh," he says. "You don't need to explain. However you are, it's exactly right for me."

  "Okay," I tell him. "I'm glad."

  "I'm just glad that no man has ever gotten a hold of this before I have," he says, playing with me, teasing me, making me want him so badly. "Has ever man even made you come?"

  "No," I tell him, smiling up at him. 'Now, it seems like a good thing, rather than an embarrassing thing.

  "That's awesome," he says. "And don't worry. I can change that."

  He removes his pants as I reach into the dresser drawer for a condom. Before he slips it on I get my first glimpse of his large cock.

  “It’s perfect,” I say, reaching out to stroke it.

  I have to admit— I’m a little afraid it’s too perfect. Will it be able to fit all the way inside me? Will it hurt?

  “It needs to be inside you,” he says, and wastes no time placing its head at the entrance of my vagina while putting on the condom. "It needs to be inside your little virgin pussy, which no man has ever made come before."

  Bending over again, he kisses me passionately while entering me. It feels like nothing I've ever felt before. I had no idea sex could feel so good. He holds my legs up and around his waist, while he thrusts himself in and out of me.

  Sometimes his hands travel over my hips and thighs, pausing to grab my ass while he pumps deeper and deeper into my pussy. When he reaches down to play with my wet, aroused clit, I just can’t help it anymore.

  I feel those fireworks I've been waiting to feel for so long. The ones that no one has ever been able to make me feel— not even myself. Brynn is going to be so glad to hear that Jensen has finally helped me achieve what even her magic bullet never could.

  “You’re going to make me come,” I whisper, as he glides in and out of me with perfect rhythm.

  “I want to make you feel so good, now and forever,” he says, as my moans get louder.

  I’m embarrassed, but he stops kissing me and says, “I love the way you sound.”

  “Jensen. Jensen. Jensen.”

  I say his name over and over as the cascade of heat and electricity rushes through me.

  "I'm coming," I tell him, feeling heat run all over my body and gather down at my nerve endings, where his cock is pumping me hard and fast. "You're making me come. For my first time ever."

  I can feel him throbbing and pulsing and then he grunts and pants. “Riley. I’m coming too. You feel so amazing.”

  He collapses next to me on the bed, with his strong, tattooed arm around me, both of us a heaving mess.

  “That was everything I imagined it would be, and more,” he says, removing the condom and then looking deep into my eyes and then kissing me.

  "You're telling me," I say, and laugh. "I never knew anything could feel so good."

  "Oh, you don't have to pump up my ego like that," he jokes.

  "I'm serious," I tell him. "I've never been more serious about anything. I waited so long, and now I'm so glad I did. Because it felt amazing. So right and so great."

  “I love you.”

  I realize I hadn’t said it when he had said it to me, and right now it feels like a pressing need inside me: to return the three words that are so short yet so powerful.

  “So will you let me hire you as my lawyer, Girlfriend Riley?” he asks, reaching out to playfully squeeze my ass.

  He lets his hand linger there, rubbing my curves, reminding me that I'm his now. He can do whatever he wants to do to me, and I'll just beg him for more.

  “Of course. It will be my pleasure to defeat the bogus charges against you.”

  “Then you’re officially retained,” he says with a wink.

  This is going to be my favorite trial ever.

  Chapter 29

  The day of my trial, I’m nervous. I know I have a good attorney— the best I could ask for, and it also helps that I have her in bed as well as in the courtroom— but, as she’s reminded me too many times in the past, everything at trial is unpredictable.

  Both attorneys introduce themselves and the judge nods a greeting to them. Riley told me that at a pre-trial conference in chambers before the trial started, the judge had noted his surprise that she was back on my case. But she said, he said it in a way that showed he was happy that she was still representing me.

  I try to sit up straight and respectable, knowing that the jury is watching my every move. I listen to the prosecutor’s ridiculous opening statement: “This man may be a veteran but that shouldn’t stop justice from prevailing. He must be punished for the crime that he committed.”

  And then I listen to Riley’s amazing opening statement— “Jensen Bradford is a decorated war hero who was merely defending and protecting his mother at the time this incident occurred.”

  The scumbag boyfriend of my mother’s gets up on the stand and gives a sad sob story about how I repeatedly beat him to a pulp. You’re lucky you’re still alive, you douchebag, I think, as I try to look at him neutrally for the jury instead of with all the hate I actually feel towards him.

  And then the State rests its case and Riley says, “I would like to call to the stand the defense’s first witness, Bobbie Jean Bradford.”

  I whirl around in my seat, watching in shock as my mother enters the courtroom. I exchange glances with my equally bewildered brothers who are in the gallery, and then look up at Riley in confusion.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you she would be testifying,” she whispers. “But she wasn’t exactly… committed… and I didn’t want to get your hopes up if it turned out that she couldn’t make it.”

  I can’t believe my mother is here, taking my side over one of her many no-good-loser boyfriends. And I can’t believe Riley was able to make it happen. I smile up at her in appreciation.

  But at the same time, I’m also nervous about what my mother is going to say. She’s not exactly the most reliable witness, and I don’t know if Riley knows what she’s in for.

  “Ms. Bradford, how do you know the defendant, Jensen Bradford?” Riley begins.

  “He’s my son. My
middle son, out of three boys.”

  “And what happened on the day in question?”

  “Bill Warner was over at my house and he was drinking and got mad at me for no reason. He began hitting me and pounding my head into the wall. I felt as if I was going to die. I could feel my life closing in on me and I even began to feel myself ascend into Heaven…”

  Oh, Mom, you always did have a flair for the dramatic, I think, as Riley reigns her in with the next question.

  “And just to be clear, Mr. Bill Warner is the alleged victim in this case?”

  “He is,” says my mom. “Although he most definitely is not any victim. I’m the victim here. And my son Jensen, for being forced to defend these trumped- up charges just for defending me…”

  “And then what happened, Ms. Bradford?” Riley expertly cuts her short again.

  “My son Jensen saved my life. He pushed Bill off of me. But Bill just kept swinging. He was too drunk and belligerent to have any sense left in his noggin. He was still hitting me and also hitting my poor boy who was doing nothing but trying to help me. So Jensen had to hit him back.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Bradford.”

  “My son hit Bill so hard that he was knocked out. Because my son never misses a punch. He’s defended our country and now he defended me.”

  Gee, thanks Mom, for that unnecessary and likely harmful information.

  “I have no more questions for this witness,” Riley hurriedly tells the judge.

  “I do,” says the prosecutor.

  Great.

  “Go ahead, ADA Stemple,” the judge motions his forward.

  “Ms. Bradford, how would you characterize your son’s personality?”

  “Objection!” Riley leaps up. “Outside the scope of my original questioning.”

  “Goes to character,” says ADA Stemple, but rather weakly, as if he knows he’s lost the fight but has to say something.

  “Sustained,” says the judge.

  “Would you say he has a temper? That he’s quick to anger? Easily triggered?”

  “Objection!” Riley shouts. “Badgering the witness. And Your Honor has already prohibited this line of questioning.”

  “Sustained,” says the judge, and glares at the prosecutor. “ADA Stemple, please limit your questions to those that Ms. Riley asked this witness about previously. I will not give you any more leeway.”

  I can see the beginnings of a victorious smile start to spread across Riley’s face, but she quickly suppresses it. Damn, she’s good. I just want to victory- fuck her, right here and now.

  “My son has a great personality,” my mom says, with a smile.

  Although my mom and I have never had a great relationship, to put it mildly, I can’t help but feel touched that she’s jumping to my rescue like this. Even if, in typical Mom-style, she’s not exactly cooperating with the way that things are supposed to go, she showed up for me, and she’s speaking up for me. That’s more than she used to do.

  The prosecutor looks like he wants to run with that and ask her more questions about my personality, but he knows he can’t. So instead, he asks, “And you testified that Mr. Bradford knocked out Mr. Warner with one strong punch?”

  “Objection,” says Riley. “Attempting to characterize and inflate previous testimony.”

  “Overruled,” says the judge, but my mom has already started answering the question.

  “He sure did! He’s one strong man.”

  “Would you say that he overreacted more than another man would have, to the situation?”

  “Objection,” says Riley. “Calls for speculation.”

  This time the judge sustains her objection but once again my mom answers anyway.

  “I think he reacted like any man would have and should have,” says my mom proudly, speaking to the jury with confidence and authority. “And I’m glad he has good aim because I raised him to act strong and quickly when justice requires it.”

  No you didn’t, I think, but the jury buys her act. They’re staring at her spellbound like she’s a preacher at a revival service.

  “But did he act too strongly and too quickly?” The prosecutor meagerly attempts to save himself but Riley objects and the judge sustains her objection.

  “Mr. Stemple,” the judge says, with obvious impatience. “Is there anything else you’d like to ask Ms. Bradford that I’m going to allow you to ask?”

  “No, Your Honor,” says the prosecutor, looking resigned. “No further questions.”

  It’s obvious that he’s lost this round, and perhaps the entire trial. The jury is on my side, the judge is on Riley’s side, and even my mom is here by my side for once.

  The prosecutor requests a short recess and then motions for Riley. She goes over to talk to him in a whisper and then leads me into a small attorney/client room inside the courtroom.

  When we’re safely inside with the door shut and locked behind us, she turns ecstatic. Absolutely glowing with happiness, she tries her best to throw her arms around my neck, but she’s quite a bit shorter than I am, so it requires me to bend over in order for her to be able to make it.

  “It’s working, Jensen!” she says. “The judge is pissed at ADA Stemple and we have the jury wrapped around our finger. And to top it all off, the prosecution just lowered their plea offer. That means that even the prosecutor has realized we’re likely to win.”

  “Should I take it?” I ask, but even as I say it, I know I don’t want to.

  “Of course not. He only offered it because he knows you’re going to get off scot-free.”

  “I can’t believe you got my mom to testify, and relatively well too, compared to what I feared,” I tell her. “Good job.”

  “And just think… you fired me as your attorney.”

  “Only so I could fuck you and then re-hire you,” I tell her, as I bend down to kiss her welcoming lips.

  She returns my kiss and I’m glad that there are no windows in the room. Attorney client privilege is a great thing, I think, as I reach down to grab her ass.

  But a strong rap on the door disrupts us and we pull apart like guilty school children, even though the door is locked.

  “Enough hanky panky,” she says.

  “For now,” I add.

  “Exactly. I still have to present my expert before we can say we have this trial in the bag.”

  “Oh yes, the contentious expert that was the reason for all of our problems.”

  “Just trust me, Jensen,” she says, reaching up to run her hands over my mouth. “I promised, I’d never let you down.”

  “I know, Riley,” I say, as I bend down to kiss her on the top of her head. We spend a brief moment in a comforting embrace. “I’ve definitely learned my lesson. I’ve learned to trust you.”

  “Now let’s go kick some ass.”

  Chapter 30

  I open the door to the consistent knocking, and see that it’s the Judge’s bailiff who is causing the ruckus.

  “How much longer do you need with your client, Ma’am?”

  “We’re all done here,” I say, although I suppress a giggle when I think about the answer I’d like to give him. I need a good twenty minutes more, so that he can make me feel really good and relaxed before my grand finale.

  As soon as we’re back on the record, I play my Ace card.

  “Your Honor, I’d like to call Dr. Levi Roth to the stand.”

  “And I raise once again the objection contained in my previous opposition response to the defense’s motion to allow this expert,” ADA Stemple says.

  He appears fatigued and worn down, as if he’s at the end of a battle he knows he’s lost, and now he’s just trying Hail Marys.

  “Your objection is noted,” says the judge. “And overruled.”

  “Thank you Your Honor,” says ADA Stemple, smiling at the jury as if he’d just won something instead of clearly losing. “I just wished to preserve it for the record.”

  I figure that his motto right now is When all else fails, act confid
ent.

  “Dr. Roth,” I begin. “What is your current job title?”

  “I’m a psychiatrist,” he says.

  “And how long have you held that role?”

  “I’ve been in practice for thirty-five years.”

  “And what educational degrees and certification do you hold?”

  He runs down an impressive list of qualifications and credentials, including awards he’s won.

  “What is your area of expertise?”

  “PTSD. I’ve treated many patients— mostly Veterans— who have PTSD.”

  “How many times have you testified in court?”

  “Oh, many.”

  He raises his eyebrows to the ceiling, as if trying to count in his head.

  “Would you say it was more than 50 times?” I ask him.

  “Yes. Certainly.”

  “More than 100 times?”

  “Probably.”

  “And you usually testify when the defendant has PTSD, correct?”

  “Correct.”

  “Have you had the chance to meet with my client?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “And what was the purpose of the meeting?”

  “It was an extensive evaluation much like I do with my own patients. An inquisition into their past, a counseling session about their current goings-on, and there’s even a written exam portion.”

  “And what have you concluded about my client, Mr. Bradford?”

  “He does not have PTSD.”

  “He does not?”

  I stress the final word, for greater emphasis, making sure that the jury hears.

  “Correct. Although he did witness his brother suffer a catastrophic injury during war— and also some other gruesome atrocities— unfortunately such events are inherent in any war and not every service member who witnesses them has PTSD. Mr. Bradford does not exhibit any of the symptoms. And I want to clarify that even if Mr. Bradford did have PTSD, it does not mean he would be any more culpable for this alleged crime. A person with PTSD is not automatically guilty of everything or anything with which they’re charged. If Mr. Bradford had PTSD, I would be saying that Mr. Bradford’s PTSD did not contribute to the incident in question. But the fact is that he did not have PTSD.”