Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 58874 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 294(@200wpm)___ 235(@250wpm)___ 196(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58874 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 294(@200wpm)___ 235(@250wpm)___ 196(@300wpm)
Tor gripped his shoulder with his free hand and started pumping in earnest. In and out, dragging over pleasure receptors and rubbing against his gland, filling him up and then leaving him gaping. Tor fucked like he did everything in life, with skill, patience, and persistence. He was wild but also immeasurably controlled. He was perfect.
“Need to come,” Jule said breathlessly.
“I got you.” Tor slipped his forearms under Jule’s arms and wrenched him up until they were both kneeling, his back to Tor’s chest. Then he pinned his left arm around Jule, keeping him upright, and moved his right arm across Jule’s hip to his cock. “Fuck my fist while I fuck your ass.”
Nothing about Tor was flowery or sentimental and that was perfect too. Rough language, like a rough touch, set Jule on fire. He squeezed his channel, tightening his inner grip on Tor’s cock, and then did as he said and thrust into his hand.
Behind him, Tor groaned and dug his teeth into Jule’s shoulder. “God damn, Jule. Fuck.” He quickened his pace, his skin slapping against Jule’s in a sensual, rhythmic clap.
When Jule came it was with an intensity that sucked all the air from his body and left his muscles quaking. Like always, Tor led him through it, holding him tightly and soaring along with him.
“Still hungry?” Tor asked.
“No.” Jule shook his head. “That was great. Thanks for cooking.”
“Welcome.” Tor squeezed his knee and then stacked their plates and forks.
“I’m cleaning up.” Jule stood and reached for the dishes.
“You have work to get done and I don’t mind.” He leaned forward and nuzzled Jule’s neck. “I like taking care of you.”
“Well, you took care of me earlier and then again by making breakfast. If you want to do something, read this file”—he picked up his laptop from the other side of the counter and opened it while he continued speaking—“and tell me if you have an idea of how I can prove that my client is innocent.” He set the laptop in front of Tor. “I’m cleaning up.”
Whenever Tor was around, Jule talked to him about his work. Some of that was because he enjoyed sharing every part of his life with Tor, but the first time he had done it, he realized there was another benefit. Tor’s brilliant mind helped him think through the complexities of his cases, which in turn made him a better advocate for his clients.
“Is she actually innocent or are we looking for some bullshit people will believe?” Tor sat on a stool and pulled the laptop forward.
“I mean, bullshit is fine if I can sell it, but yeah, I actually believe her when she says she didn’t do it.” He picked up the plates and walked to the sink. “That almost never happens.”
“What’d she not do?”
“She didn’t stalk and then assault her ex-boyfriend with a knife.”
“Got it.” Tor looked intently at the screen, occasionally moving his finger over the mousepad. “What’s the story with the ex?”
“According to my client, who comes across as genuinely sincere, he became extremely overbearing to the point of controlling within months of their relationship starting so she broke up with him.”
“Uh-huh. And he didn’t like that?”
“No, he didn’t. He tried to change her mind. Used the nice guy approach first, and when that failed, he fell face first into movie creep stereotypes and told her that if he can’t have her, he would make sure nobody else would want her.”
Tor was quiet for a while, so Jule knew he was focusing on the case information. He put the dishes in the dishwasher, washed, dried, and put away the pans, and then wiped down the counter. Out of things to do, he rested his back against the sink and watched Tor work.
“The stalking is based on these emails, right?” Tor asked after a few minutes, still looking at the screen.
“Yes. You can see where she’s telling him details about places he’s been, who he was with, what he was wearing. They almost always come in within hours of him being there. We scoured social media and there aren’t pictures or anything posted so there shouldn’t be a way for her to have known about it.”
Tor nodded. “And she says she didn’t send the emails,” he said more than asked.
“Exactly. How’d you know that?”
“Because she didn’t send them.” Tor looked away from the computer and at Jule.
“The prosecutor sent us those copies”—Jule pointed at the laptop as he walked toward Tor—“and the emails came from her account: Rachel M Thompkins at gmail dot com.”
“No, they didn’t.” He waited for Jule to sit beside him and then he moved the laptop in front of him. “That’s a number one not a lower case ‘L’.”
Jule frowned and leaned forward. “It is?”
“Uh-huh.” Tor nodded.
“How can you tell?”
“See the ‘L’ in gmail? It’s different from the one in Rachel. The line on top is shorter and the one at the base is longer. Someone made an email account that’s almost like hers but instead of the ‘L’ in her name, they used the number one and then they sent these emails pretending to be her.”