He holds himself within me just a moment, and I wait for him to start pounding away. His thumbs move softly over my lower back, and I can feel the pulse of his cock thumping lightly inside me.

“I’m confused,” Reeve says, grinding into me just a bit.

“Why?” I gasp and push back against him.

“I don’t understand how one woman can feel this good,” he says with naked honesty.

His words strike at me deep. He’s voicing the same thoughts I’ve had all week.

How can one man be so vastly different from the others I’ve had? How can he bring me so quickly to dizzying heights? How can he fully entertain and annoy me at the same time? And how can I actually be starting to have feelings for a man who should be my sworn enemy?

I don’t respond, although I feel like he’s waiting for me to validate what he just said. I can’t. My emotions are too clogged up right now to sort them out and voice them correctly. Instead, I grind back against him, pull forward so he slips out of me a bit, then slam back again.

His fingers dig in again and then it’s on.

He starts thrusting into me deep and fast. I slam back against his forward motion.

It’s brutal, the type of fucking that’s going to leave bruises, and it feels so amazing, I think I’m going to blow quickly again.

I listen to Reeve’s harsh pants coming faster, almost wheezing. My heartbeat is thundering so hard, I feel light-headed. With every knock against my deepest wall with the end of his cock, my orgasm starts to gather tightly.

“I can’t hold it, Leary,” Reeve gasps as he lurches against me frantically. “Going to come.”

Not without me, you’re not.

My hand goes between my legs, and with the slightest touch of my fingertips to my clit, the dam of pleasure bursts wide-open and I start to moan with the release.

“Oh God, baby,” Reeve pants in between hard pumps of his hips. “I can feel you coming all around me.”

His words alone spark me again, and tears spring to my eyes from the overwhelming pleasure I’m experiencing.

Reeve slams into me so hard my chest goes to the stool seat, and the crack of his flesh against mine rebounds through the kitchen. He goes utterly still and then a long groan pours out of him. His cock leaps inside me a few times, and I know that every movement corresponds to a jet of release pouring out of him.

“Holy shit,” Reeve wheezes as his chest drops to my back. “Holy fucking shit.”

I giggle, but that’s all I can do, as I’m having a hard enough time sucking in oxygen.

“So good,” Reeve mutters, and I nod my head. His arms come around my waist, and he squeezes me tight. “So damn good.”

CHAPTER 10

REEVE

My client is a schmuck. Dr. Garry Summerland is the sole owner of Summerland General Surgery. He’s been practicing medicine for twenty-seven years now, having first cut his teeth in various ER trauma wards, and later opening up his private practice in Raleigh, just shy of twenty years ago. He employs fourteen general surgeons to perform a variety of surgeries, with most of their expertise focused on abdominal and gastrointestinal procedures.

About ten years ago, Summerland got into the gastric-bypass business because it was big bucks and could be considered a medically necessary procedure, which equated to big payouts from private and state insurance as well as Medicare.

This should have been enough to satisfy Summerland, but it wasn’t, which meant that he would still take any type of surgical case that walked through his doors. Jenna LaPietra was the unfortunate soul who walked through those doors.

She originally saw him for an emergency appendectomy, for which he happened to be on call at the hospital. During her postsurgery follow-up appointment with him, she mentioned the back pain she was experiencing from her large breasts. That conversation perked Summerland’s ears. He smelled money and suggested a reduction.

Now most of the medical experts will agree that a general surgeon is qualified to perform certain breast surgeries. Usually that means lumpectomies and mastectomies for breast-cancer patients. I believe Summerland’s line of thinking was, I’ve lopped off many a woman’s boobs, thus I’m qualified to handle Jenna’s breast-reduction surgery.

The absolute fight in this case boils down to whether or not Summerland should have performed this surgery. Leary has three medical experts who will testify on Jenna’s behalf. They’re good.

Damn good.

Two are from Duke—a general surgeon and a plastic surgeon—and the other is a general surgeon from the University of North Carolina. Leary’s experts will testify that although it’s within the standard of care for general surgeons to perform breast surgeries, including mastectomies, it is generally not within their field of expertise to perform cosmetic breast reductions.

Leary’s doctors will testify that plastic surgeons have much more certification and training in the complexities and delicate nature of such a surgery, and a breast reduction is not a mastectomy. A mastectomy without reconstruction is done for full breast removal without any thought to the way it looks after. A breast reduction is a delicate procedure to remove a defined portion of breast material that involves shaping and contouring, something a general surgeon is not qualified to do. If a breast-cancer patient wants a mastectomy with reconstruction, then a plastic surgeon is called in to handle that type of surgery.

Thus, Leary’s theory of negligence is very simple.

Dr. Summerland was only qualified to perform a breast surgery that would require full removal of the breast without any expectation of nondeformed results.

My client is a schmuck because he sees it differently.

Garry Summerland sees it differently because he has a God complex. He’s one of those doctors who believes he can do anything, and he’s cocky and egocentric enough not to let little things like advanced training get in the way of his desire to make money.

Today is the last of three straight days that Leary and I have been in depositions. I’ve deposed her expert witnesses, asking painstakingly crafted questions to delve into and reveal every potential piece of evidence and testimony that they may give on Jenna’s behalf. I’ll use these transcripts to compare to the medical research I’ve done, as well as my own experts’ opinions, and hopefully discredit these witnesses on the stand during my cross-examination during trial.

These last three days Leary has also deposed my experts, who I admit are not as good as hers. Two of my experts went to medical school with my client and one is a golfing buddy, so there’s bias there. My other expert is from Oregon, and it’s hard to match up an out-of-state doctor with her experts from Duke and Carolina.

If this case boils down to a battle of the experts, Leary will most likely win, and the odd thing about that is I don’t care if she wins. I mean, I want to win because I’m competitive, but when all things are considered, I have to admit to myself I believe in Leary’s case more than my own.

Some would think this would create an ethical dilemma, but it doesn’t. I don’t have to believe in my cases. I only have to use the evidence I have and do my best to present and argue them to convince a jury to see my way of thinking. I get paid a good salary to do this, and I have no qualms about keeping my emotions and personal feelings out of it, because ultimately I wasn’t hired to protect Dr. Summerland. My actual client is his insurance company, TransBenefit Insurance, which makes billions of dollars every year and hires people like me to fight against claims like this so they can preserve their billions of dollars.