When You Give a Lawyer a Kiss (Aspen Grove)

Chapter 14

I climb onto the back of Dawson’s bike and slide my arms around his torso. I’m caught in a haze of disbelief. Leaving the office earlier, I came to terms with the possibility that I’d never have the chance to be this close to him again. Now, here I am, riding to his house on the back of his motorcycle, excited to see where the night takes us.

“You ready?” Dawson asks, his voice cutting through the hum of the engine.

“All set,” I say, unable to meet his eyes through the helmet’s visor.

He pulls onto the street and the engine’s purr resonates through me. The wind whips around us as he speeds up, the city lights reflecting off the road ahead. With every turn, I lean closer to press my body against his and rest my head against his shoulder blades.

When we approach a stoplight, a group of women in clubbing attire catch sight of Dawson from their spot on the sidewalk. They giggle and toss flirtatious glances his way, with one of them giving him a sultry wink.

I cast them a glare, even though the helmet conceals my expression. As they keep their collective gazes fixed on Dawson, I trail my fingers down his torso, his body tensing beneath my touch, and he grips my hand in his, kissing my palm.

The last thing I see before we speed off is the women’s playful smiles turn to envious stares as they watch us ride away.

By the time we arrive at his picturesque brownstone in Brooklyn Heights, the tension between us is palpable. With every brush of his body against mine, my desire for him grows.

The exterior of his house is white sandstone, accented with black window frames, railings, and an imposing double-paneled front door. A maple tree nearby has vibrant red and orange leaves, adding a splash of autumn color to the urban landscape.

Dawson eases the bike into the ground-floor garage, and I keep my arms around him until he cuts the engine. When he glances back, I’m surprised to find he has a grin on his face.

“I like having you on the back of my bike,” he states.

While this carefree version of him is unexpected, I enjoy it.

I take off my helmet, holding it in one hand. “I like the view from here,” I whisper, my breath tickling his ear. “Especially with you in control.”

“Keep that up, and we’ll never make it inside,” he says as he dismounts and helps me off the bike.

As much as I wouldn’t mind him making good on that promise, I’m curious to see his place.

He takes my backpack and slings it over his shoulder. I follow him into the house, and he leads me into a stunning foyer. The place looks like it’s straight out of a design magazine. Every piece of furniture looks handpicked to complement the gas-burning fireplace and the original crown molding—from the white chesterfield sofa to the gray armchairs with golden metal armrests, and the low-profile coffee table.

Dawson doesn’t strike me as someone who cares about how the furniture or decor looks, but whoever designed the space has a talent for creating a stylish yet inviting atmosphere.

“Who would have guessed you’re a fan of throw pillows,” I tease, motioning to the white tasseled pillows on the couch.

“That was Martha’s doing.” Dawson chuckles as he sets my backpack on the couch. “She decorated the place.”

My eyes widen at the mention of another woman. “Who’s Martha?” I ask, more curious than anything.

“She is my… She and her husband, Colby, adopted me when I was sixteen.” There’s pride in his voice when he speaks about them.

I don’t push him for further details, trusting that he’ll tell me more when he’s ready.

“She did an amazing job.” My eyes drift to the floor-to-ceiling windows that offer a panoramic view of the Manhattan skyline. Moonlight streams through the glass, bathing the foyer in a soft, natural glow. “This place is incredible.”

“I’m glad you like it.” His gaze is heated, tracking my every move.

I tilt my head. “Why are you giving me that look?”

“What look?” he asks, with a straight face.

“The one that reminds me of an antihero in a romance novel who’s plotting to lock me away in a tower until I fall for him.” My voice drops to a playful whisper as I walk toward him.

My pulse picks up when he gives me a teasing smirk and adjusts his cufflinks. “This house might not have a tower, but I do have a wine cellar that might do the trick.”

“If you leave me alone with your wine, I might drink the most expensive bottle in protest, and I’m a terrible drunk.” I reach out, my hand drifting across his chest to smooth away a nonexistent wrinkle.

“Don’t worry, if you ended up drinking too much, I’d keep you out of trouble.” His voice is low and husky.

“What if I’m looking for a little trouble?” I let my fingers trace a slow path down the fabric of his shirt, in teasing strokes, hovering near his belt, fueling the charged energy between us. Dawson has a way of making me act boldly and I’m inclined not to hold back any longer.

He catches my hand, his grip gentle but firm, and murmurs, “Careful what you wish for, Red.”

I swallow hard. “Isn’t this the part of the night when you’re supposed to show me the guest room, and we go our separate ways?” I ask, taunting him.

Please say no.

“If that’s what you want.” His voice is unreadable, but his eyes betray the restraint he’s barely holding on to.

“And if I prefer another option?”

“Which is?”

“For you to take me to your room and spend the night showing me what I’ve been missing.” I close the gap between us, my chest pressing against his, and exhale before asking, “Do you want me, Dawson?”

He cradles my jaw in his hand and holds my gaze, his eyes fixated on mine. “I’ve wanted you since the night you stepped into the tattoo shop.” His voice drops low. “And right now, there’s nothing I want more than to take you up to my bedroom, strip you bare, and take my time worshiping every single inch of your delectable body.” His stubble brushes against my cheek. “But it has to be your decision.”

“What if I only want one night? No strings attached?”

For now, I just want to live in the moment without thinking about the consequences of our decisions or what tomorrow might bring.

“Then I’ll have to give you a reason to stay longer because one night isn’t enough time to do all the wicked things I have planned,” Dawson promises.

I square my shoulders as I let out a shuddered exhale. “Take me to bed, Mr. Tate,” I state, making my intentions clear.

A broad grin lights up Dawson’s face. “I thought you’d never ask Ms. Taylor.” He lifts me into his arms, and my legs lock around his waist.

Our bodies brush together, creating an intoxicating friction, with one hand clutching his neck to hold myself in place and the other trailing along the collar of his dress shirt. His heady scent fills the air, and I tilt my head forward, licking along the corded muscle of his neck unable to resist. He tightens his grip on my hips, grunting when my tongue grazes his jawline.

Once we make it to his bedroom on the second floor, Dawson sets me down, my hardened nipples rubbing against his chest as I glide down his body. My gaze moves to the bulge in his pants, and my fingers trace over the outline of his impressive erection.

He places his hand over mine, his expression tight. “Let’s get you out of these clothes.” He motions to my outfit. “Lift your arms,” he orders.

I do as he says and he tugs my hoodie over my head, discarding it on the ground. His hot breath tickles my skin as he peppers kisses along my neck. He unclasps my bra, releasing my aching breasts from their confines, and his pupils flare as he grazes my nipples in teasing strokes. I whimper when he rolls them between his fingers, pinching them roughly.

We’ve only just begun and I’m already consumed by need. If foreplay with Dawson Tate feels this good, I’m anxious to experience what sex with him is like.

“God, I love that you’re so responsive,” he says, his voice deep and husky.

I gasp in protest when he releases my nipples, a flash of pain rippling through me.

He unbuttons my jeans and tugs them down my legs along with my underwear. I step out of them and push them to the side with my foot.

Dawson grips my chin, crushing his lips to mine in a searing kiss that leaves me breathless. “You’re so fucking sexy,” he rasps against my mouth. “Hold on tight,” he urges, lifting me back into his arms. I put my hands on his shoulders as he carries me to the bed. He gently lies me in the middle of the mattress, leaning forward to press a kiss to my forehead.

He stands beside me fully clothed, while my body is laid out on display for him—proof that he’s in control tonight. The contrast fuels the red-hot arousal racing through me, and I have the sudden urge to hear him call me his good girl again.

Dawson kneels on the bed and leans down to brush his hands up my legs, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake. I wait with bated breath as he plants a kiss on my knee. His stubble rubs against my skin as he moves up my thigh inch by torturous inch. My legs quake with anticipation when he reaches my apex.

He slowly licks along the seam of my pussy before plunging his tongue inside. I buck my hips, grinding against his face as I grip his hair with my fists. He eagerly explores, alternating between licking and sucking. When he thrusts two thick fingers inside me, a shiver courses through my veins.

I gasp at the heat rippling through my core. “Fuck, Dawson.” I lift my hooded gaze to meet his heated stare.

“Damn, you’re fucking drenched, Red.”

I whimper, unable to find my voice, when he inserts a third finger, pumping in and out of me in a steady rhythm while massaging my clit in languid circles. My body coils tighter with each thrust, a wave of euphoria washing over me. I beg him with my eyes, a silent plea to pick up the pace.

“Come for me, angel.”

I cry out when Dawson pinches my clit between his fingers, commanding my release, and I fall apart at his touch. My head drops back against the mattress as I call out his name savoring every delicious sensation.

“I can’t wait another second to be inside you,” he rasps. “Please tell me you haven’t changed your mind.”

“Never.”

He gets off the bed and strips out of his clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor. I run my tongue across my lips, my eyes locked on Dawson. It’s the first time seeing him naked, his tattoos on full display. The ink on his skin is like a tapestry telling the story of who he is through bold artwork.

When he gets back on the bed, he hovers over me, silent as I explore; my fingers trail across a maze of roses with thorns winding around his right forearm, seamlessly blending in with the tail of a phoenix rising from the flames, its wings outstretched and the head resting on his shoulder.

“These are so beautiful, Dawson,” I murmur.

He lets out a shuddered breath when my fingers glide to the center of his chest where there’s a majestic lion’s head with a flowing mane. Moving to his left upper arm, my touch navigates an elaborate geometric design, shifting from intricate details to abstract shapes that lead into the scales of justice below.

My hand finally hovers over a compass on his lower forearm that was the first piece to capture my attention.

My gaze drifts to the contours of his sculpted stomach, and I lick my lips with anticipation.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I sigh dramatically, gesturing to his bare chest.

“What?” Dawson frowns, glancing down at himself.

“It’s so unfair. You’re thirty-five, and despite working around the clock, you still look like you belong on the cover of a romance novel.”

He gives me a pointed look. “Are you suggesting I’m past my prime?”

“Never.” I smirk.

“Why don’t we put it to the test?”

I’m looking forward to it.

He reaches over to the nightstand to grab a condom, ripping open the package with his teeth. Once it’s on, he grabs hold of his shaft and lines himself up with my entrance, running the tip of his dick along my seam in teasing strokes.

He kisses my forehead. “How are you doing, Red?” He restrains himself, a bead of sweat trickling down his forehead as he waits for my answer.

“I want you. Now,” I beg.

“Damn you’re sexy when you’re bossy.”

With one deep thrust, he pushes into the hilt. I gasp, relishing every glorious inch of him as he begins moving in earnest.

I wind my hands into his hair and tug him closer, molding my mouth to his. He grasps my jaw in his hand in response, deepening our kiss. Time seems to stand still as we’re wrapped in our private haven where there are no expectations, requirements, or worries. Just two people driven by an unspoken longing, finally giving in to the blissful escape from reality.

“You’re taking me so well, Reese,” he rasps. “I can feel you clenching around my cock.”

I can only whimper in reply, digging my heels into the mattress. He brushes his tongue against my lips before slipping it inside my mouth. I moan loudly as he picks up his pace, shifting the angle of his cock, pressing against my G-spot, and I gasp at the new sensation.

“I’m so close,” I murmur.

I whine with disappointment when he slows his movements, pushing into me in short, shallow strokes, and I don’t miss his smug smile as I squirm against him, desperate for release.

“What are you doing?” I protest.

“Savoring the moment, angel.”

Our eyes lock, and I’m immersed in the feel of his sweat-slicked skin pressed against mine. His uneven breaths grazes my cheek, and the sensation of him pulsing inside me causes goosebumps to dance across my skin.

“Show me how you touch yourself, Red,” Dawson murmurs.

My eyes remain on him as I reach between my legs, strumming my clit as his thrusts grow faster. When Dawson whispers, “Be my good girl and come all over my cock,” my impending orgasm crashes over me.

I unravel beneath him, his roar of triumph filling the room as he finishes alongside me. He gently strokes my hair as we come down from our heightened pleasure.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“Never been better,” I assure him with a sated smile.

“Why don’t we take a shower, and then I’ll grab us something to eat.”

“That sounds nice,” I say drowsily. “I’m starving.”

He scoops me into his arms, and I rest my cheek against his chest as he carries me to the bathroom. I haven’t felt this content in a long time, and I wish this night would never end.

I wake to the faint scent of leather and sandalwood.

The first rays of sunlight filter through the window, signaling morning has arrived. I stifle a groan as I stretch—my entire body deliciously sore.

Dawson and I had sex in the shower last night—twice. He wrapped me in a plush towel and carried me to the bedroom, which led to him fucking me from behind on his already tousled sheets. His hand gripped firmly in my hair and my head arched back to face him as he drove into me, leaving imprints of his teeth on my neck and shoulder.

When we both finally collapsed from exhaustion, he drew me to his side and I fell asleep wrapped in his arms. One night with Dawson and I’m afraid I’m hooked. He makes me feel cherished in a way I never thought possible, and I find myself wanting to stay wrapped in his embrace forever.

As much as I wish that were a possibility, this magical moment will eventually come to an end, and we’ll have to face reality.

For now, I set aside my nagging thoughts and concentrate on the present. As I roll over to greet Dawson, I’m caught off guard when I find his side of the mattress empty.

I scramble out of bed, clutching the sheet around me like a makeshift robe. After checking the bathroom and closet I go downstairs, each step echoing my mounting anxiety. A wave of disappointment washes over me when I get to the kitchen to find he’s not there either.

Now that I think about it, he did agree to just one night . Maybe he’s hoping I’ll see myself out so he can avoid an uncomfortable morning-after conversation.

“Looking for me?” I spin around when I hear his deep timbre.

He’s dressed in jeans, a white T-shirt, and a black biker jacket. It’s the first time I’ve seen him out of his usual business attire, and he looks incredibly enticing.

“Good morning, beautiful.” He sets a carafe of coffee and a brown paper bag onto the kitchen island. Striding over to me, he cups my face in his hands and presses a heated kiss to my lips. “Sorry I wasn’t here when you woke up. I realized my fridge was empty and wanted to make sure you had breakfast.” He pulls out a barstool at the kitchen island for me. “Take a seat and we’ll eat.”

My heart races at his kind gesture. “Thank you.”

He hands me a warm sausage, egg, and cheese croissant and a cup of coffee. “It’s a pumpkin spice latte. Your favorite.”

The thought of this man remembering one of my favorite things makes my heart skip a beat.

“Thank you.” I take a long sip, savoring the taste of cinnamon, nutmeg, and the creamy pumpkin that blends perfectly with the rich coffee. “It’s so good.”

He chuckles. “I’m glad you like it, but I still don’t understand the hype. Pumpkin belongs in a pie, not a drink.”

“You don’t know what you’re missing out on.” I say, taking another drink. “If it wasn’t seasonal I’d drink them all year-round.”

A brief flicker crosses his face before he takes the seat next to me and unwraps his breakfast sandwich. “Now that we’re both well rested, can we talk about why you’re living in a house that’s practically falling apart and feels like you’re in the Arctic tundra?” he asks, his voice edged with worry.

I groan, wiping my hand across my face. As much as I’d rather sidestep this topic, Dawson’s concern tells me he’s not going to brush it off. Even though I might sound ungrateful, I do appreciate that he cares enough to ask.

“My grandpa bought the house as a wedding gift for my grandma. It started as a fixer-upper,

but with their teachers’ salaries, money was tight and they couldn’t afford to fully remodel it.” I pause briefly, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. “When life threw them curveballs, they decided to put their energy into keeping the place well-maintained. They lived there until my grandpa passed away a few years ago, and Grams moved into Oak Ridge shortly after.”

Dawson glances down, adjusting the lid of his coffee cup. “Do you mind me asking what happened to your parents? You haven’t mentioned them.”

Nothing gets past him. I rarely talk about my unconventional upbringing because people usually react awkwardly when they hear the details.

Dawson is the exception. Our backgrounds may be different—he grew up in foster care while my grandparents raised me—but we both know what it’s like to grow up without our parents and the void that leaves behind.

“My mom got pregnant with me during college and never told us who my father was.” I avert my gaze, not wanting to see Dawson’s reaction to the next part. “She was diagnosed with stage four Hodgkin’s lymphoma when I was a toddler and passed away not long after.”

I’m forced to look up when Dawson puts his hand over mine, giving it a comforting squeeze. “I’m sorry you had to go through that, angel.”

I let out a deep breath, glancing down at my hands. “It was a long time ago, and I was so young that my memories of her are fuzzy. There will always be a part of me that’s missing, not having gotten the opportunity to grow up with my mom, but I was lucky to have my grandparents.” I take a sip of my coffee, savoring the comforting taste of pumpkin spice. “They gave me the best childhood anyone could have asked for. That’s why I want to pursue a career in law—to advocate for kids who don’t have the same safety net or resources that I was fortunate to have.”

“You have a beautiful soul, Reese Taylor.” Dawson presses a kiss to the back of my hand, making my cheeks flush. “It wasn’t until I was a teenager that I had someone willing to advocate for me, and not every kid gets that opportunity.”

“It seems like we both dealt with less-than-ideal circumstances, but we made it out okay,” I say, with a faint smile.

“Yeah, we sure did,” he says, his eyes crinkling with warmth.

Dawson’s childhood was undoubtedly harder than mine. I can’t imagine the lack of stability from being moved around constantly without family to lean on.

The mood lightens as we both dig into our breakfast. I could so easily get used to lazy weekend mornings with Dawson, who makes me feel at ease and provides a sense of calm when the outside world is so chaotic.

When I grab a napkin from the counter to wipe my face, I notice him staring off into the distance, lost in thought.

“What’s on your mind?”

He looks at me with a glint in his eye. “Spend the rest of the weekend with me,” he says, like it’s the simplest request in the world.

A flush creeps up my neck as I stare at him slacked jawed.

“You want me to stay with you for the weekend?” I ask, unsure if I heard him correctly.

He nods. “Yes, I do.”

“I’m supposed to visit my grandma this afternoon,” I say.

No matter how much I like spending time with him, I can’t forget about my other responsibilities.

“I want to take you to the tattoo shop. There are some people I’d like you to meet. We’ll be done in plenty of time for you to visit your grandma, then we can go out to dinner.”

I’m intrigued by the prospect of visiting Steel & Ink again. I haven’t been back since the night we met, and I’d love to see him in his element while he’s tattooing. That side of his life is kept under lock and key, and he’s showing me a great deal of trust by letting me in.

“I’d really like to visit the shop,” I say.

“Great, it’s settled then. We’ll make a day of it.” He gets up to toss his wrapper in the trash and heads toward the door.

“Dawson, wait,” I call out.

He turns around to face me. “Yeah?”

“I work at the club tonight, and I can’t afford to miss a shift,” I explain.

He scratches the light stubble on his jaw as he studies me, his expression contemplative. “Would it help if I told you I’m giving you a bonus? Enough that you shouldn’t have to work at the club anymore.”

I’m out of my chair in record time. “No way. I’m not accepting special treatment.” My voice betrays my anxiety as I nibble on my lower lip.

This is exactly what I wanted to prevent. If word got out, it could raise suspicions with HR and my coworkers, especially since I’ve only been there a short time, and it’s unusual for new hires to receive bonuses.

He strides over to me, drawing me in for a hug. “Don’t worry, Red. I’m giving one to each of the paralegals. You’ve all been working so hard, and it should be recognized.”

I blink up at him, stunned. “That’s very generous of you, but I haven’t earned it. Everyone else should get it, but I’d rather it only goes to those who deserve it.”

Dawson tilts my chin, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “Please let me take care of this… of you.” he implores.

I swallow hard. “I’m not sure I can accept it.”

“You’re just as deserving as anyone else,” he states.

I close my eyes, allowing myself to relax in his arms.

For so long, it’s been me against the world. I’ve let my pride get in the way of asking for help. It’s led me to place unrealistic expectations on myself, believing I had to be everything for everyone I love.

Since Dawson came into my life, he’s upended my old way of thinking. He’s shown me that leaning on someone doesn’t make me weak—it means I’m strong enough to accept help when I need it most.

“Just this once, angel,” Dawson says softly when I don’t answer. “Please.”

I open my eyes and am met with his warm, reassuring gaze.

“Okay… but only because you asked so nicely,” I breathe.

I’ll have to call David, my manager at the club, and let him know I won’t be coming in tonight—or ever again.

There’s no guarantee that it’s the right decision, but I owe it to myself to take the risk. The extra time will allow me to study more and bring me one step closer to achieving my goal of becoming a lawyer.