Provoke

Chapter One

Leeta

Laughing, I tried to duck out of the way as I tried to get dressed. He wasn’t making things easy.

“You,” he said, pulling me into his arms, “are fucking beautiful.”

“That isn’t going to get you out of dinner with my parents tomorrow.” I laughed as he nibbled on my ear. The feel of his tongue circling the tip of my lobe was making me wet. The things that boy could do with his tongue . . .

If he keeps this up, I’ll have to change my clothes.

“You sure about that?” he mumbled, tugging at the buttons on my shirt. “I mean, I can make it worth your while.”

His fingers slipped underneath the cup of my bra, tweaking at my nipple. I giggled as he kissed my neck, my hands running over his tattooed, muscular forearms, up his neck to his thick, dark hair. At twenty-six, Mace was far from perfect, but he was perfect for me.

“I’m sure you could,” I giggled, pulling away. I re-buttoned my shirt. “But unfortunately, right now I have to get to work, and you will be meeting my parents tomorrow night.”

He groaned, defeated. “Fine. But be warned, parents and I usually don’t mix.” He held out his arms, as if he were presenting evidence to support his argument. I shook my head and smiled.

All I saw was an incredibly hot guy in a tight black tee that hugged his sexy body, and a pair of faded jeans. He was my rough-talking tough guy, but more than that, he was a sweet, thoughtful man who would do anything for me. I’d lost count of the number of times he’d come home with a bouquet of flowers, or a box of chocolates and some wine. He was a romantic at heart, which, looking at him, you would struggle to believe.

Everything about Mace made me squirm in the best way—from little things like him wiping an eyelash from my cheek, right through to the mind-blowing sex he delivered to me night after night. Sometimes it was like he knew me better than I did. I thought I’d experienced passion before I met him, but he made every man I had ever experienced seem bland and empty.

He was the type of guy who didn’t give a shit want anyone thought of him, and did what he wanted. But with me, he was himself: no barriers, no attitude—just Mace.

That was one of the many things I loved about him, but people often took his straightforward attitude the wrong way. People like my parents.

#

Not that I’d ever tell him, but he was right: Mace was far from what my parents would consider a suitable match for their precious only daughter. Between the numerous—albeit sexy—tattoos, the bike, and the whole father-and-brother-in-prison factor, he was never going to be good enough for the prestigious Colonel Derrick Drake and his wife, Matilda.

Ugh. I hated this. I was freaking twenty-three, and my parents still treated me like I was fifteen. I hated it even more that deep down it actually mattered to me what they thought. I wanted them to like Mace. I wanted everyone to see what I saw. But prior experience had taught me that they wouldn’t get past his appearance to see the man that I was in love with. They saw what they wanted to.

I was a good girl prosecutor in love with the son of a notorious gangland killer. I lived by the law, where his family made their own. There was no doubt in my mind that Dad would have heard of his family. Everyone had. The history of the infamous Jordan family went back many years, and they were definitely people you wouldn’t want to piss off. Hell, I’d done a freaking paper on his great-grandfather for my Criminal Law unit at university. I never thought I’d fall for someone so different . . . but I had, and I was damn happy about it.

My parents would see what they wanted to, and that would be it. He would be added to the long list of wrong decisions they thought I’d made. But this time, it was different. This time, their opinion wasn’t going to change things.

“Go,” he muttered, pressing his lips against mine. “We don’t want them firing your ass.” He cupped the back of my head and indulged me in a kiss that almost had me ready to call in sick—or quit my job completely and spend my days naked on top of him. Now that would be nice.

“Bye. I’ll call you, okay?” I said, ducking in for one more kiss.

#

Coffee in hand, I walked through the office and over to my desk. Throwing down my handbag and the stack of files in my arms, I sighed. Not even nine a.m. and I was already buggered. This was why I hated Mondays.

“How are we today?” I asked Tim, who was lingering near my door with that look on his face—the one that said he wanted something.

“Leet, we need to talk.” I raised my eyebrows as Tim sighed dramatically and leaned across my desk, his thick, blond hair falling across his deep-brown eyes.

“Tim. What is it?” I arched an eyebrow and sat back in my chair, waiting for the impending hurricane of emotional turmoil he was about to unleash. And no, I was not being dramatic.

“It’s Marcus. I cannot take any more of his incessant whining. He needs to go. I mean, I understand where this hate for life is coming from. If someone cut my balls off, I’m sure I’d be the same. But,” he paused, shaking his head, “there is not enough room for the both of us in my apartment.”

I laughed as I shook my head. “Did I not tell you that your personality was probably not suited to a Burmese?”

“But they’re so pretty,” he whined, stamping his foot as if he were a two-year-old about to throw a tantrum.

Tim and I had been friends since I started at the firm two years before as an intern. As a part of the IT department, he had been my go-to guy when I’d been trying to navigate my way around the system. Who was I kidding? I still called him for help at least twice a week. I was hopeless around computers.

We hung out a lot, especially now that my best friend, Laura, had gone overseas for a year. He had filled the void that she’d left, quickly becoming my first choice whenever I needed a friend. He had been there for me during my breakup with Ben, and had talked me through my doubts about starting a relationship with Mace. Likewise, I was there for him—usually whenever he’d made a bad decision . . . like Marcus.

“Deal with it, Timmy. I’m due in court in five.” I gulped down my coffee and stood up, brushing leftover croissant off my grey and white pinstriped suit jacket and skirt.

“Yeah. You won’t be saying that when they drag my half-eaten corpse out of my apartment because that freaking cat has driven me to suicide!” he called down the hall after me. I chuckled as I waited for the lift.

#

I made my way to the courthouse, which was a few blocks down from my office, my two-inch heels clicking against the concrete. Flats would have made more sense, but I wasn’t prepared to sacrifice that little bit of extra height for comfort. I reached into my bag, making sure I had everything. I had so many things going on in my head right then that I welcomed the distraction. This was my first big solo case.

My first closing argument.

After completing my law degree internship the previous year at the Department of Public Prosecutions, I’d been offered a position as a junior prosecutor. My calculated strategy of doing most of my placements and internships with the office had worked in getting me closer to my dream job: a senior prosecutor for the DPP. This was my first big step toward that.

In less than an hour, all that would stand in the way of a repeat offender receiving justice for his part in an armed robbery on a convenience store were my words. This was a huge point in my career. This had to go well. Stuff today up, and it could set me back months—years, if I stuffed up big enough. But that wasn’t even on my radar just then. My head was all about Mace and dinner the following night.

If he met my family, how long until he asked me to meet his?

As nervous as I was about him meeting my family, that was nothing on what I felt when I thought about meeting his. It was like a really bad movie plot: prosecutor falls in love with notorious gangland kingpin’s son. That first night, I’d had no idea who he was. And while it wasn’t love at first sight, I knew by the end of that night that I had to see him again.

#

We’d met in a bar one night. But this wasn’t your usual ‘I met a guy in a bar’ story. I was so not the ‘pick up a guy in a bar’ kind of girl, but it was just before Laura was leaving for overseas, and as usual, she talked me into going out.

She always had me doing things I normally wouldn’t—like the time we stripped down completely naked and ran down her street in the middle of winter after a big night of drinking. I’d been so cold my nipples had gone numb, and I was sure I saw camera flashes coming from her neighbour’s house.

I missed having my crazy friend around. I got the occasional email from her, but Laura wasn’t known for her ability to keep in touch. She’d gone backpacking by herself the year after high school and I’d heard from her twice—which was actually twice more than her parents had heard from her.

That Thursday night, she had convinced me to go with her to a bar where she’d arranged to pick up some weed. That in itself should’ve had alarm bells ringing in my head, and walking in there, I was shitting myself. This was the type of establishment that had a regular crowd, and all of them looked ferocious and mean—even the few women.

Two pretty young girls dressed up to the nines walking in was apparently enough for every fucking person in that place to turn and stare at us.

I’d been convinced that was it.

We were going to be raped by several heavy-bearded men, and then dumped in a skip out the back. Our decomposed bodies wouldn’t be found for weeks, and my parents would struggle to identify me because the rats had feasted on my rotting flesh. All I could think right then and there was that I should have gotten a tattoo.

My job tends to have me seeing the worst in people.

#

Three big, burly guys in leather jackets and way too much facial hair had walked up to us, insisting we sit with them. Not asking—insisting. That was when Mace had appeared.

“You made it,” he’d said, his hand slipping around my waist and gripping me on my ass. He leaned in and kissed me. Not just a peck on the lips either; it was a full-mouth, tongue-on-tongue action, nipple-hardening kind of kiss. I’d been too shocked to react—shocked by his behaviour and by how much I’d enjoyed that kiss.

“We’re over here.”

He took my hand and pulled me in the direction of a table where another guy was sitting, grinning at us. That perked Laura up, and she raced ahead of us. I rolled my eyes. Typical Laura.

It wasn’t that I felt safe with Mace, but more that he was the lesser of two evils. I also figured I’d have had more luck kneeing him in the balls than the Three Stooges over there.

“Are you girls lost or something?” he’d asked as we slid into the booth down the back of the bar. I flushed, sure that everyone was still staring at us.

“No,” I’d replied, shooting a look at Laura. “We are meeting someone.”

He almost choked on his beer as amusement sparkled in his eyes.

“In here?” he’d smirked.

“Yes, here.” Laura had spoken up in a haughty tone. “I’m looking for a Max. Do you know him?”

He raised his eyebrows, realization flashing through his eyes. My face flamed. He knew exactly why we were there.

“Over at the bar. Next to the big dude in the red shirt.”

Laura stood up. Flicking her long, blond hair over her shoulder, she marched in his direction. I hesitated, wondering if I should follow her.

“Don’t worry about your friend. Everyone here thinks you’re both with me. Nobody is going to mess with her.”

I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not, but I couldn’t deny the chills it sent racing down my spine. There had been nobody since Ben, mainly because Ben had left me feeling so fucked up. I glanced at my mysterious new friend. He was hot, with his dark hair and his deep blue eyes. His lashes were so long I just wanted to reach out and touch them. He was the perfect rebound guy.

“So, I take it you two don’t live around here?” He’d leaned back, his arms across his chest as he looked me over, his eyes lingering on my chest. This guy certainly wasn’t shy about showing his interest.

“If you want me to answer your questions, then try looking at my face and not my breasts,” I replied. Shock resonated on his face. Then he laughed.

“Okay,” he chuckled. “Are you from around here?” he asked again. This time he looked me dead in the eyes.

I held his gaze and shook my head.

“I didn’t think so. What’s your name?” he’d asked, cocking his head to the side, the edges of his mouth twitching into a smile as he played with a coaster in front of him.

“Leeta,” I’d replied with a smirk.

“Pretty name for a beautiful woman,” he’d replied. I’d rolled my eyes and burst out laughing. He had eyed me, amused. “Something funny?”

“You, actually. Do those lines ever work?” I’d asked, still sniggering.

He’d had the decency to look embarrassed. “Well, to be honest, the kind of girls I usually end up with aren’t much for talking.”

Laura had raced back over, giving me the thumbs up. She’d looked from me to Mace and decided it would be a great idea to stay there for a while. I’d known exactly what she was up to. That didn’t mean it wasn’t going to work.

That night, we stayed in that bar until four in the morning, talking about anything and everything. This guy I’d been convinced was just like every other cocky, self-assured ass had turned out to be different. He had depth. There were layers to him I never would’ve expected—layers I was only able to uncover after several shots and a lot of kissing.

Within a few weeks, we were spending nearly every night together. It wasn’t until our fourth date that I’d actually realized who he was. Until then, he was just Mace. Hell, I hadn’t even known his last name. But then I was telling him about a case I’d been working on when I literally saw the blood drain from his face. It turned out I was helping lock up an old associate of his dad.

My first thought? Holy hell. This will never work.

His father, the infamous Ronald Jordan, was in prison for life for his part in the hits of several underworld figures, and his brother, Cash, was also inside on drug charges. Thank God I’d played no role in putting either of them in there.

But the more time I spent with him, the more I realized that Mace wasn’t that guy. He came from a bad family, and he had made some bad decisions in his life, but he was a good guy.

He was my good guy.

#

I nodded to the security guard on duty as I passed my way through the screening. Taking the stairs, I flew up them two at a time to room 234, where my case was going to be heard.

Just off from the courtroom was a prep room where I could wait, and go over my closing argument. I slipped inside and flicked on the lights, shutting the door behind me. My phone vibrated in my pocket. Pulling it out, I saw I had a new message from Mace.

I shrieked and then clapped my hand over my mouth.

Holy shit!

I blinked and checked the text again. No, I wasn’t imagining it. I stared at the picture of Mace’s very erect penis on the screen. A very impressive picture. I bit my lip as I stared at it, a familiar ache beginning to stir between my legs as I fantasized about his long, thick, erect shaft.

How was I supposed to respond to this? How was I supposed to focus on work with that image in my head? A message flashed up.

Are you sure there is no way I can convince you to cancel this dinner? I’d love your ‘hands-on’ opinion on something.

I laughed, flicking back to the picture again. Definitely impressive . . .

You’re meeting my parents. Case closed. Now back to this picture you sent me. Definitely holding my interest at the moment.

I giggled to myself while I waited for his reply.

There’s more where that came from, baby. But you don’t get without giving a little . . .

No way. He wasn’t suggesting I do that here—was he? I glanced at the picture again, running my finger along the screen. Quickly, I unbuttoned my shirt, untucking it from my skirt. Reaching behind my back, I unhooked my bra and pushed my breasts forward, my arm tucked below in a bid to enhance them.

I can’t believe I am doing this.

Click.

I checked the picture and pressed send before I could change my mind. Sexting? So not me, but it felt naughty, and I liked that feeling. The phone rang almost immediately.

“Wow.” His voice was low and husky. “I am honestly shocked you sent that. I must be a bad influence on you.” He chuckled. A shiver shot up my spine. I slipped my fingers over my nipple and closed my eyes, imagining his mouth on my body.

“I can be unpredictable.” A soft moan escaped me. I blushed, embarrassed. Please don’t have heard that.

“Leets, are you . . . you’re touching yourself, aren’t you?” he said. I could hear the shock in his voice.

“Well, you started it with that damn picture,” I said defensively, my face heating up.

He chuckled, obviously enjoying my embarrassment. “You liked that, did you? So…what are you wearing?”

“You know what I’m wearing,” I smirked. “You saw me a half hour ago.”

He chuckled again. “That’s true. Where are you, then?”

“In a room. Alone.”

“Is the door locked?”

“No.” I glanced up at the closed but unlocked door. “But it’s shut.”

“So anyone can walk in and catch you?”

“I guess.”

“Good.” A chill raced through me as I imagined someone catching me right then. “Are you wet for me, Leets? I want you to slip your fingers inside your panties and tell me how wet you are.” His voice was low and smooth. Was he touching himself too? Was he stroking his impressively hard cock while he was talking to me?

My heart raced as I lifted my skirt and slipped a finger inside my silk thong. I gasped. God, I’m so turned on right now.

“I’m wet . . . very wet,” I whispered. I repositioned my leg so my foot rested on the edge of the desk, allowing me to hitch my skirt up even further, the tops of my thigh-high stockings exposed.

I slipped a second finger inside my thong and began to massage, glancing toward the door every few seconds. If anyone walked in, they would cop an eyeful. This little show could potentially cost me my job, but right then, all I cared about was him, and my need for fulfilment.

“Tell me what you’re doing, Leets. Where is your finger? Is it inside of you?”

“Mmm,” I mumbled, closing my eyes. “I have two fingers inside me. I’m imagining it’s your cock slowly thrusting in, then out . . .” I sighed, my rhythm speeding up. “God, I’m so wet, Mace.”

“Good, Leets. I like you nice and wet. Imagine I’m kneeling down in front of you, spreading your legs as wide apart as I can. I begin to kiss your thigh, slowly making my way up higher and higher, until my lips are kissing the edge of your pussy.”

“Oh yeah,” I breathed, panting softly. Holy shit, this is so fucking sexy. The combination of his voice, the feel of my fingers moving inside me, and the realization that I could be caught at any moment was insanely hot.

“Leets, I’m licking your pussy right now. My tongue is running along your entrance. God, you’re so wet. You taste so sweet, baby. So fucking sweet,” he gasped, his voice climbing higher.

Fuck. We were miles away, only a phone connecting us, and we were on the verge of orgasming together. It was impossible to put into words how intimate this moment was. My back arched as I began to climax.

“Ahh,” I groaned, thrusting my fingers deeper inside of me. My muscles tensed as both relief and ecstasy raced through me. I wanted more, but I couldn’t take it. If Mace were here, he would push me further to the brink, past what I thought I could handle, and into a whole other level of satisfaction. “Oh yes,” I hissed, bringing my foot back down to the floor, locking my fingers between my thighs, desperate to prolong the feeling for as long as I could.

“God, Leets. You had me blow my load all over the wall. That was unbelievable.”

I laughed, slumped over the desk, trying to recover. I glanced at my watch. Shit—I had fifteen minutes until I was due in court.

“I have to go . . . I have to somehow get myself together and try and win a case,” I said. I reached for the folder containing my notes, my hands shaking as I shuffled through them. I’m a mess.

“You’ll be fine,” he assured me. “If you get flustered, just imagine my head between your legs.”

“Shut up!” I giggled, hanging up the phone.