Trust Whispers
Title: Trust Whispers
Warnings: Spoilers for GS1 Case 5
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Lana and Edgeworth (and a tiny taste of Gant)
Time Period: After case 1-2, before case 1-4
Words: Just over 2,500
Special thanks to SilverWind for edit help. <3
Lana Skye stood, perhaps trembling slightly, in front of the door to the office of her inferior officer, Miles Edgeworth. Her fingers brushed the doorknob, and she was about to turn away when Police Chief Gant’s words from this morning traversed her head again.
They’d been in Gant’s office, trekking through the casework for a career felon whose most recent crime was murder. Edgeworth had been assigned the case, and he’d complained of a lack of evidence, a lack of motive, and a general lack of a case at all. Not that he wouldn’t have soldiered on, he was ‘a good boy,’ as Gant put it.
“He’s going to foul this one up this time,” Gant had murmured, thick fingers deftly separating the pages of the case, “He’s a good liar, but not that good. There’s not enough evidence.”
Lana had brushed her hair away from her eyes, “The case isn’t altogether steady, but this guy has to be the perpetrator. Edgeworth knows it too.”
Gant’s steely eyes locked with hers, “He’s been a bit too wary lately, given the rumors swirling around him. He lost his first case recently, didn’t he?”
Lana nodded, “He did.”
Gant turned aside, running his tongue along his top row of teeth, “He needs convincing.”
“Convincing?” Lana endeavored to keep her tone light. She knew what Gant’s convincing usually entailed; she had the physical and mental bruises to prove it.
His face was inscrutable, as usual, and then he suddenly brightened, “I’ve got it!” he said with that characteristic smooth smile. “Your turn. You need to convince him.”
“M-me!?” Lana’s hand pressed itself against her chest, the emotions within her swirling confusingly.
Gant gave her a confident and enigmatic smile, “By any means necessary. Restore the boy’s confidence in his ‘abilities.’ If not, I’ll have to reassign this case.” He paused briefly, “I mean.. YOU’LL have to reassign this case. Slip of the tongue.” He smiled again, putting a possessive hand on her shoulder.
Her face burned and her heart fluttered at the memory. She had an idea of what he intended for her to do, and she wasn’t sure she’d be capable. Edgeworth had always seemed fragile, at least when he wasn’t in court, and she was worried about hurting him. Then again, if she didn’t do it, Gant would, and Damon Gant brand convincing would definitely crack his porcelain veneer, if not shatter it altogether.
She pushed open the door. “Edgeworth?” she said.
He was seated at his desk. He looked up anxiously, “Ah, Ms Skye,” he quickly stood up, “What can I do for you?” he asked.
She held up the file she carried in her other hand, “I brought this to go over with you. It’s State v. Kenin.”
“Oh,” He sounded rather dejected, “Right, it starts tomorrow, doesn’t it?”
Lana nodded, “We really need you to give your all on this one.”
Edgeworth looked uncomfortable, “I’m not sure... what I can do,” he said evasively.
“You have a reputation as someone who will do what it takes to win.” Lana said, phrasing her implication as gently as possible.
“I, er... I’m not sure I particularly like that reputation, frankly,” he said, appending it with, “Ma’am.”
She offered him the file, the awareness of what she was planning to do next weighing heavily on her heart and in the pit of her stomach, “At least take a look at it. I’ve taken the liberty of highlighting some sections which may be of use to you.”
He took the proffered file, a faintly anxious look on his face, “Of course,” he said, nodding his head in deference to her. He spread it out across the front of his desk, standing with his back to her, his head angled to look. He lifted the attached portions with a flick of his forefinger, eyes skimming over them.
She walked over to his side and pressed a hand on his shoulder, leaning around him to point out a particular highlighted section. He stiffened at her touch, but she ignored it and muttered, “See, this witness’ testimony would be much better for the case if he didn’t mention that he wasn’t wearing his glasses at the time.”
“Ah. Yes. That’s true.” He glanced over at her, she watched his eyes go from her face to her chest, and swiftly up to the ceiling. He flushed.
She leaned over on the desk, “And on page five...” she paused and he looked back down at the file, fumbling with the pages.
“Ah, yes, the third party’s fingerprints. The ones we couldn’t identify.” His voice was much calmer than his face, calmer than the quickened heartbeat she could see in his temple.
She felt her way across his back, coming up on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear. “Those haven’t been introduced to the general court record, have they?”
He swallowed loudly and shook his head deliberately from side to side.
“It would be nice if they weren’t, wouldn’t it?” she said, her voice husky. She was aware that she was... causing him to have a reaction to her actions. She still had that sick sinking feeling in the very pit of her stomach, but she realized that the more uncomfortable she made him, the more elated it made her.
He stammered this time, “Y-y-yes... It... w-would.” His eyes again searched skyward, and she saw his Adam’s apple bob.
She nodded, her chin pressing against his shoulder with the motion, “I’d like if you could do that for me.” She relinquished her hold on him, and stepped back behind him, watching him visibly relax. He let out a very low, almost inaudible sigh of relief.
Her heart palpitated as she saw him react like that, thinking of herself in her own office, in Gant’s office, having the same reaction to the release of a vicegrip on her own shoulder. She felt a sparkle of pity, knowing what she had to do next.
“Please read the entire file, Mr. Edgeworth.” She said in a commanding voice.
He nodded and leaned over his desk, still standing, his hand raising to his forehead to keep his bangs out of his way.
Silently, she approached him from behind, allowing him to feel her presence getting closer. His neck twitched, but he kept himself from glancing back, attempted to focus on the file.
She pressed her hands on either side of his spine, feeling the muscles become rigid, “You’re a tense person, aren’t you, Mr. Edgeworth?” she asked, intending it rhetorically.
He shuddered visibly, “O-only when in the presence of a superior, M-ma’am.”
“You’re lying.” She said gently, “You’re tense all the time. I’ve watched you walk out of the commissary with marks on your hands from holding your silverware too tight.”
He gave a wheezy chuckle, “I don’t even pay such close attention.” Still, he was as stiff as a board.
She pushed her palms into his back, massaging them vaguely in a circle, “It doesn’t do to be so stiff, Mr. Edgeworth.” She clucked her tongue, reaching up to feel the ropy muscles of his shoulders, “This work can kill you with stress.”
He seemed to be out of things to say. Jerkily, he switched pages on the file.
She brought her arms around his neck and pressed her bosom against his shoulder blades, mimicking the curve of his back with her body, every inch of her touching an inch of him.
He jerked, stood up halfway, attempting to break her grip on him without touching her with his hands. She held on to him, pressing her face into the space between his shoulder blades, feeling the ridge of his spine on her cheek. He froze; she felt the muscles in his neck working, as if he was attempting to speak, but no words came out.
She took the opportunity to switch her arms under his and rub his chest, “You’re wound up so tight all the time, so much stress. It’s like you keep yourself wrapped up, tied into this suit so that no one can see you.”
She set her chin on his shoulder, looking at his face. It was both pained and resigned, flushed with embarrassment and arousal. He glanced at her and then down to the ground, his eyelashes fluttering.
She kept talking as she fiddled with the buttons on his vest, “I know people like you, Miles Edgeworth. I’m much like you.” She opened the first button, “It’s so hard to let yourself go, isn’t it? So hard to let yourself trust.”
He let out a trembling sigh, sweating and looking at her with trepidation in his eyes, “I-Ms. Sk-“
“Shh.” She said, “Don’t say it. You don’t want it to be like that, do you? With me as the distant supervisor? You want to be equal with me. No titles, no formalities. Just one person trusting another. Do you trust me, Miles Edgeworth?”
His eyes widened, his face no longer hiding behind its half-lidded disdainful veneer. His tongue flicked between his lips and he swallowed. Trembling, he nodded. “I trust you, Lana Skye.” His voice was close to a whisper, gravelly and desperate.
She undid the last button on his vest, “Good boy.” She said, sliding her fingers up and out, opening the vest over his white shirt. She leaned into him over the desk, twining her fingers in the cravat around his neck. He finally relaxed fractionally, and she untucked his shirt, feeling her way over his abdominal muscles, pressing her fingers into his muscular chest.
She had been performing this sexual harassment more or less automatically before, but now her breath caught as she massaged his chest, her hips twitching rhythmically against his well-muscled ass. The buttons on the white shirt strained and opened, and she tweaked his nipples, rewarded by a gentle bucking of his hips against hers.
His arms were locked against the desk, his face was distantly frowning but his eyes were closed. She rubbed his abs on her way back down, feeling for the clasp of his pants.
His pulse and eyelids fluttered in distress as she undid his pants, pulling them down just enough to reach his bulge. As she ran her fingers over its surprising hardness, she felt herself becoming more and more aroused. She hadn’t expected him to be so... involved. It seemed he was more restrained than she had previously thought.
She drew his erection gently out through the front of his jockeys, stroking it firmly along its length. He trembled against her, his head rolling down to his chest with an expression between pleasure and humiliation on his face.
She accustomed herself to his cock, the warmth, the pleasant girth, the slight upturn. She curled her fingers around it, owning it. She felt her heart swell to bursting. Nothing in her memory had aroused her more than this. Nothing. Her other arm rounded his waist to glide over his abs with gentle fingernails.
A small part of her memory recounted statistics from her college Psychology textbook... People abused as children were far more likely to abuse themselves, she’d been told. Momentary reticence seized her, but she was no child and neither was he, this warm suit jacket she leaned against, the muscled ass she (still?) unconsciously bumped and grinded with her pelvis.
Regardless, he was the next link in a chain that started with Damon Gant, the man who had her chained by her love for her sister, chained by the shame she felt when she was the one leaned over a desk. She felt none of that shame here; it was miles away. She nibbled his ear, feeling his abs and erection twitch in response.
“Miles...” she whispered, drawing her thumb back and forth across a vein on his cock.
His only response was a belabored panting.
“Miles... Listen to me.” Lana whispered insistently, “You trust me?”
Miles nodded convulsively.
“I need to be able to trust you. I need you to win that case for me. I know you can.”
He panted, the muscles in his arms twitching. Her stimulation was gentle, far gentler than his response showed it should be. “I... I don’t...”
“Shhh... No... Don’t be negative.” She breathed hot into his ear, “You can do it. I believe in you. I want to trust you... Can I trust you? Can I trust you to win the case tomorrow?” Her breath was bated too, as if she didn’t know what his answer was going to be, and she was waiting - waiting for him to give in to her for good.
His face poured with sweat, his eyes strained beneath the lids as she stroked his cock gently, gently, teasingly. “I... Yes- I’ll do it! I’ll win the case, I promise! Please!”
She abandoned herself to orgasm as soon as she heard the plea, grinding her clit, sheathed by layers of clothes, against his tailbone. In her ecstasy, her left arm drifted up to grasp at his pec and her right bore down on his cock, her rhythm increasing exponentially. She twitched and felt shaky, but soon regained her control, now knowing she needed to bring him off to make this work.
He groaned, dripping sweat onto the files on his desk - The files! She strained forward with her left hand, knocking his piles of paper, including the State v. Kenin file, onto the floor. His shoulders shuddered, she brought her other hand around and wrapped it around his shaft, rolling her palm over the head of his cock, gently but not too gently.
With a strangled grunt, he came, some of it arcing onto his desktop, some spattering on his exposed chest. She released her hold on his cock, firmly turning him around. His face looked exhausted, but still his arms managed to raise him above the desk, keeping the backside of his dress pants clean.
She met his gaze as it turned up to her, tracing his jawbone with her fingertips, “There’s a good boy.” His eyelids fluttered as he stared at her, his expression somewhere between awe and fear. She inspected him, still flushed, his pants half down, his wilting cock exposed through the slit in his black boxer-briefs, come speckled on his bare chest, his vest and dress shirt split aside like the wrappings on a present.
Her gaze alighted on a drop of semen that had made it onto his vest, and she deliberately bent over, washing it with her tongue. His shocked expression fed the heat in her chest. His fluids tasted almost sweet, whether that was her imagination or not.
He was still panting as she turned. He drew his arm across his chest as he stood up, as if he was trying to shield himself from her view. She smiled a faint, genuine smile, “Don’t worry, Miles Edgeworth. You can win tomorrow’s case. And when you do, I’ll be here to congratulate you.”
His eyes dove, his face burned. He could not be sure her words were genuine, but he would act on them, she knew. He was hungry for what she had to give, or he wouldn’t have given in to her so easily.
She had given Gant what he wanted and taken what she needed. That must be why her chest ached so; her heartbeat was faster than if she’d been the one taken by force. She’d taken another step towards being the person that Gant wanted her to be, and it was simultaneously painful and liberating.
She turned and strode out the door, shutting it so slowly that it was almost inaudible.
Warnings: Spoilers for GS1 Case 5
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Lana and Edgeworth (and a tiny taste of Gant)
Time Period: After case 1-2, before case 1-4
Words: Just over 2,500
Special thanks to SilverWind for edit help. <3
Lana Skye stood, perhaps trembling slightly, in front of the door to the office of her inferior officer, Miles Edgeworth. Her fingers brushed the doorknob, and she was about to turn away when Police Chief Gant’s words from this morning traversed her head again.
They’d been in Gant’s office, trekking through the casework for a career felon whose most recent crime was murder. Edgeworth had been assigned the case, and he’d complained of a lack of evidence, a lack of motive, and a general lack of a case at all. Not that he wouldn’t have soldiered on, he was ‘a good boy,’ as Gant put it.
“He’s going to foul this one up this time,” Gant had murmured, thick fingers deftly separating the pages of the case, “He’s a good liar, but not that good. There’s not enough evidence.”
Lana had brushed her hair away from her eyes, “The case isn’t altogether steady, but this guy has to be the perpetrator. Edgeworth knows it too.”
Gant’s steely eyes locked with hers, “He’s been a bit too wary lately, given the rumors swirling around him. He lost his first case recently, didn’t he?”
Lana nodded, “He did.”
Gant turned aside, running his tongue along his top row of teeth, “He needs convincing.”
“Convincing?” Lana endeavored to keep her tone light. She knew what Gant’s convincing usually entailed; she had the physical and mental bruises to prove it.
His face was inscrutable, as usual, and then he suddenly brightened, “I’ve got it!” he said with that characteristic smooth smile. “Your turn. You need to convince him.”
“M-me!?” Lana’s hand pressed itself against her chest, the emotions within her swirling confusingly.
Gant gave her a confident and enigmatic smile, “By any means necessary. Restore the boy’s confidence in his ‘abilities.’ If not, I’ll have to reassign this case.” He paused briefly, “I mean.. YOU’LL have to reassign this case. Slip of the tongue.” He smiled again, putting a possessive hand on her shoulder.
Her face burned and her heart fluttered at the memory. She had an idea of what he intended for her to do, and she wasn’t sure she’d be capable. Edgeworth had always seemed fragile, at least when he wasn’t in court, and she was worried about hurting him. Then again, if she didn’t do it, Gant would, and Damon Gant brand convincing would definitely crack his porcelain veneer, if not shatter it altogether.
She pushed open the door. “Edgeworth?” she said.
He was seated at his desk. He looked up anxiously, “Ah, Ms Skye,” he quickly stood up, “What can I do for you?” he asked.
She held up the file she carried in her other hand, “I brought this to go over with you. It’s State v. Kenin.”
“Oh,” He sounded rather dejected, “Right, it starts tomorrow, doesn’t it?”
Lana nodded, “We really need you to give your all on this one.”
Edgeworth looked uncomfortable, “I’m not sure... what I can do,” he said evasively.
“You have a reputation as someone who will do what it takes to win.” Lana said, phrasing her implication as gently as possible.
“I, er... I’m not sure I particularly like that reputation, frankly,” he said, appending it with, “Ma’am.”
She offered him the file, the awareness of what she was planning to do next weighing heavily on her heart and in the pit of her stomach, “At least take a look at it. I’ve taken the liberty of highlighting some sections which may be of use to you.”
He took the proffered file, a faintly anxious look on his face, “Of course,” he said, nodding his head in deference to her. He spread it out across the front of his desk, standing with his back to her, his head angled to look. He lifted the attached portions with a flick of his forefinger, eyes skimming over them.
She walked over to his side and pressed a hand on his shoulder, leaning around him to point out a particular highlighted section. He stiffened at her touch, but she ignored it and muttered, “See, this witness’ testimony would be much better for the case if he didn’t mention that he wasn’t wearing his glasses at the time.”
“Ah. Yes. That’s true.” He glanced over at her, she watched his eyes go from her face to her chest, and swiftly up to the ceiling. He flushed.
She leaned over on the desk, “And on page five...” she paused and he looked back down at the file, fumbling with the pages.
“Ah, yes, the third party’s fingerprints. The ones we couldn’t identify.” His voice was much calmer than his face, calmer than the quickened heartbeat she could see in his temple.
She felt her way across his back, coming up on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear. “Those haven’t been introduced to the general court record, have they?”
He swallowed loudly and shook his head deliberately from side to side.
“It would be nice if they weren’t, wouldn’t it?” she said, her voice husky. She was aware that she was... causing him to have a reaction to her actions. She still had that sick sinking feeling in the very pit of her stomach, but she realized that the more uncomfortable she made him, the more elated it made her.
He stammered this time, “Y-y-yes... It... w-would.” His eyes again searched skyward, and she saw his Adam’s apple bob.
She nodded, her chin pressing against his shoulder with the motion, “I’d like if you could do that for me.” She relinquished her hold on him, and stepped back behind him, watching him visibly relax. He let out a very low, almost inaudible sigh of relief.
Her heart palpitated as she saw him react like that, thinking of herself in her own office, in Gant’s office, having the same reaction to the release of a vicegrip on her own shoulder. She felt a sparkle of pity, knowing what she had to do next.
“Please read the entire file, Mr. Edgeworth.” She said in a commanding voice.
He nodded and leaned over his desk, still standing, his hand raising to his forehead to keep his bangs out of his way.
Silently, she approached him from behind, allowing him to feel her presence getting closer. His neck twitched, but he kept himself from glancing back, attempted to focus on the file.
She pressed her hands on either side of his spine, feeling the muscles become rigid, “You’re a tense person, aren’t you, Mr. Edgeworth?” she asked, intending it rhetorically.
He shuddered visibly, “O-only when in the presence of a superior, M-ma’am.”
“You’re lying.” She said gently, “You’re tense all the time. I’ve watched you walk out of the commissary with marks on your hands from holding your silverware too tight.”
He gave a wheezy chuckle, “I don’t even pay such close attention.” Still, he was as stiff as a board.
She pushed her palms into his back, massaging them vaguely in a circle, “It doesn’t do to be so stiff, Mr. Edgeworth.” She clucked her tongue, reaching up to feel the ropy muscles of his shoulders, “This work can kill you with stress.”
He seemed to be out of things to say. Jerkily, he switched pages on the file.
She brought her arms around his neck and pressed her bosom against his shoulder blades, mimicking the curve of his back with her body, every inch of her touching an inch of him.
He jerked, stood up halfway, attempting to break her grip on him without touching her with his hands. She held on to him, pressing her face into the space between his shoulder blades, feeling the ridge of his spine on her cheek. He froze; she felt the muscles in his neck working, as if he was attempting to speak, but no words came out.
She took the opportunity to switch her arms under his and rub his chest, “You’re wound up so tight all the time, so much stress. It’s like you keep yourself wrapped up, tied into this suit so that no one can see you.”
She set her chin on his shoulder, looking at his face. It was both pained and resigned, flushed with embarrassment and arousal. He glanced at her and then down to the ground, his eyelashes fluttering.
She kept talking as she fiddled with the buttons on his vest, “I know people like you, Miles Edgeworth. I’m much like you.” She opened the first button, “It’s so hard to let yourself go, isn’t it? So hard to let yourself trust.”
He let out a trembling sigh, sweating and looking at her with trepidation in his eyes, “I-Ms. Sk-“
“Shh.” She said, “Don’t say it. You don’t want it to be like that, do you? With me as the distant supervisor? You want to be equal with me. No titles, no formalities. Just one person trusting another. Do you trust me, Miles Edgeworth?”
His eyes widened, his face no longer hiding behind its half-lidded disdainful veneer. His tongue flicked between his lips and he swallowed. Trembling, he nodded. “I trust you, Lana Skye.” His voice was close to a whisper, gravelly and desperate.
She undid the last button on his vest, “Good boy.” She said, sliding her fingers up and out, opening the vest over his white shirt. She leaned into him over the desk, twining her fingers in the cravat around his neck. He finally relaxed fractionally, and she untucked his shirt, feeling her way over his abdominal muscles, pressing her fingers into his muscular chest.
She had been performing this sexual harassment more or less automatically before, but now her breath caught as she massaged his chest, her hips twitching rhythmically against his well-muscled ass. The buttons on the white shirt strained and opened, and she tweaked his nipples, rewarded by a gentle bucking of his hips against hers.
His arms were locked against the desk, his face was distantly frowning but his eyes were closed. She rubbed his abs on her way back down, feeling for the clasp of his pants.
His pulse and eyelids fluttered in distress as she undid his pants, pulling them down just enough to reach his bulge. As she ran her fingers over its surprising hardness, she felt herself becoming more and more aroused. She hadn’t expected him to be so... involved. It seemed he was more restrained than she had previously thought.
She drew his erection gently out through the front of his jockeys, stroking it firmly along its length. He trembled against her, his head rolling down to his chest with an expression between pleasure and humiliation on his face.
She accustomed herself to his cock, the warmth, the pleasant girth, the slight upturn. She curled her fingers around it, owning it. She felt her heart swell to bursting. Nothing in her memory had aroused her more than this. Nothing. Her other arm rounded his waist to glide over his abs with gentle fingernails.
A small part of her memory recounted statistics from her college Psychology textbook... People abused as children were far more likely to abuse themselves, she’d been told. Momentary reticence seized her, but she was no child and neither was he, this warm suit jacket she leaned against, the muscled ass she (still?) unconsciously bumped and grinded with her pelvis.
Regardless, he was the next link in a chain that started with Damon Gant, the man who had her chained by her love for her sister, chained by the shame she felt when she was the one leaned over a desk. She felt none of that shame here; it was miles away. She nibbled his ear, feeling his abs and erection twitch in response.
“Miles...” she whispered, drawing her thumb back and forth across a vein on his cock.
His only response was a belabored panting.
“Miles... Listen to me.” Lana whispered insistently, “You trust me?”
Miles nodded convulsively.
“I need to be able to trust you. I need you to win that case for me. I know you can.”
He panted, the muscles in his arms twitching. Her stimulation was gentle, far gentler than his response showed it should be. “I... I don’t...”
“Shhh... No... Don’t be negative.” She breathed hot into his ear, “You can do it. I believe in you. I want to trust you... Can I trust you? Can I trust you to win the case tomorrow?” Her breath was bated too, as if she didn’t know what his answer was going to be, and she was waiting - waiting for him to give in to her for good.
His face poured with sweat, his eyes strained beneath the lids as she stroked his cock gently, gently, teasingly. “I... Yes- I’ll do it! I’ll win the case, I promise! Please!”
She abandoned herself to orgasm as soon as she heard the plea, grinding her clit, sheathed by layers of clothes, against his tailbone. In her ecstasy, her left arm drifted up to grasp at his pec and her right bore down on his cock, her rhythm increasing exponentially. She twitched and felt shaky, but soon regained her control, now knowing she needed to bring him off to make this work.
He groaned, dripping sweat onto the files on his desk - The files! She strained forward with her left hand, knocking his piles of paper, including the State v. Kenin file, onto the floor. His shoulders shuddered, she brought her other hand around and wrapped it around his shaft, rolling her palm over the head of his cock, gently but not too gently.
With a strangled grunt, he came, some of it arcing onto his desktop, some spattering on his exposed chest. She released her hold on his cock, firmly turning him around. His face looked exhausted, but still his arms managed to raise him above the desk, keeping the backside of his dress pants clean.
She met his gaze as it turned up to her, tracing his jawbone with her fingertips, “There’s a good boy.” His eyelids fluttered as he stared at her, his expression somewhere between awe and fear. She inspected him, still flushed, his pants half down, his wilting cock exposed through the slit in his black boxer-briefs, come speckled on his bare chest, his vest and dress shirt split aside like the wrappings on a present.
Her gaze alighted on a drop of semen that had made it onto his vest, and she deliberately bent over, washing it with her tongue. His shocked expression fed the heat in her chest. His fluids tasted almost sweet, whether that was her imagination or not.
He was still panting as she turned. He drew his arm across his chest as he stood up, as if he was trying to shield himself from her view. She smiled a faint, genuine smile, “Don’t worry, Miles Edgeworth. You can win tomorrow’s case. And when you do, I’ll be here to congratulate you.”
His eyes dove, his face burned. He could not be sure her words were genuine, but he would act on them, she knew. He was hungry for what she had to give, or he wouldn’t have given in to her so easily.
She had given Gant what he wanted and taken what she needed. That must be why her chest ached so; her heartbeat was faster than if she’d been the one taken by force. She’d taken another step towards being the person that Gant wanted her to be, and it was simultaneously painful and liberating.
She turned and strode out the door, shutting it so slowly that it was almost inaudible.