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Diego Armando liked three things above all others: bitter, over-steeped coffee, beautiful women who were demonstrably smarter than him, and subverting expectations. Be it in the courtroom or the bedroom hardly mattered.
Or both, sometimes, as the case might be.
He’d raised it first in the courtroom, when Mia had worn her new pair of shoes. She usually wore white loafer pumps, but he’d gotten her a pair of sleek sunset-gradient clogs with a narrower heel. Since it was a case he wasn’t up to date on, he was acting as her gofer, running in evidence while she arbitrated, and watching. Lord, he did so much watching.
At the second recess of the day—the judge had, apparently, eaten something off for lunch and kept having to gavel out to go spend twenty minutes in the bathroom, a courtesy he’d never allow anyone else—when they were getting coffee, Mia caught Diego eyeing her up. “See something you like?” she asked, half-laughing.
“Yeah.” He winked at her. “You, kitten.”
“Just me?”
“Well, the shoes help.” Mia paused, lifting her foot. They both looked at her heels. “You look good in heels.” Mia raised her eyebrows and wiggled her foot. Diego tried to make his voice light, closer to a joke than a confession. “You really…trample the competition. Like you trampled my heart.”
“You like being walked all over?”
Diego swallowed. “When it’s you, kitten? It’d be an honor.”
Mia raised her eyebrows and smiled, and Diego spent the rest of that day—wondering.
—
On Thursday, they went out to dinner at a local place that wasn’t entirely seedy but also wasn’t entirely nice, that middle ground where the food was affordable and delicious but the chairs weren’t sticky and the floor was clean. They walked back to Mia’s apartment holding hands, talking about cases for the next week and the latest water cooler gossip from Grossberg’s office. It was a nice night, so they didn’t rush, even if Diego was nearly dying with anticipation.
Mia’s apartment was on the second floor, so when they arrived Diego graciously let her go first. In fact, he insisted. She groaned, rolling her eyes at him and muttering that he just wanted a chance to look up her skirt (which, well, he couldn’t exactly deny that) but still did it anyway. As she went, she flipped her skirt back so he could see the tops of her stockings.
Diegot rolled his eyes at her back. “And you were telling me that I was trying to sneak a peek.” Mia looked over her shoulder and winked back at him as they reached her front door. “Cheeky.”
“What, my ass, or my personality?” Diego snorted, leaning against the jamb as she got the door open and let them both inside. He stopped in the entryway to take off his shoes, expecting Mia to follow suit—she was, after all, from Kurain. She took off her shoes, but rather than leave them on the shoe mat she held them up and looked Diego square in the face. Mia raised her eyebrows and wiggled her heels so that they clacked together where they hung over her fingers. “You like being walked all over.” It wasn’t a question. He nodded. “Would it be an honor, if it was me?”
Diego swallowed. “Yes, kitten.” Anything Mia did for him, anything she gave him, would be an honor.
She took a deep breath before admitting, “I don’t know what I’m doing.”
Diego shrugged. “Me either.” He reached for her hand, lifting it to her mouth to kiss her fingers. “Shall we discover it together, Ms. Fey?”
“Don’t call me that,” Mia replied, her cheeks flushing.
“Would Ma’am be better?”
He expected her to demure, look away, or mumble something. Instead, Mia straightened, still blushing, and threw back her shoulders. “No.” The sound of her voice was the same timbre as when she squared her papers in court: a sharp, even-edged clack. “You’ll call me kitten.”
“Jesus,” Diego whispered, because he sure was going to, and it was going to mean something very, very different.
—
On the way to her bedroom Diego felt akward, blushing every time their hands or elbows brushed like he was ten years younger. Mia mumbled something about going to get ready before taking a few deep breaths and stepping into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her.
Diego knocked on the door. “Do you want me to do anything?”
Mia made a hesitant noise, muffled by the closed door. “Could you get some water? And take your clothes off. Except for your boxers.”
“Whatever you say, kitten.” Mia giggled—a sound that made Diego feel like he could float. He’d made her giggle. No matter how tonight went, he’d made her happy, and that was what mattered.
While she finished up, Diego got the glass of water as requested and stripped down to his boxers, folding the rest of his clothes at the foot of the bed. Halfway through trying to decide if he was going to stand there awkwardly, he heard a squeak of surprise in the bathroom and the distinct clatter of high heels on tile. “Are you okay?”
“Fine!” Mia’s heels clicked against the floor of the bathroom. “I don’t know why I’m trying to disinfect them standing up. I should just sit down on the toilet and do it.”
“That’d make more sense,” Diego agreed. Mia snorted, the toilet seat rattling against the bowl as she sat down. “Do you want me to stand up, or should I get on the floor and kneel?”
“Kneel is better. Use the throw blanket on the foot of the bed so you don’t hurt your knees.”
“Aww, kitten!” Diego cried over his shoulder as he went to get said blanket, spreading it out on the floor beside the bed. “So conscientious of my needs!”
“Well, if it’s fun, I might want you to do it again.” She sounded more confident now, and Diego had to suppress a shudder. Do it again...while his knees were still sore?
“Kitten, I think it’s considered poor manners to play with your food.”
“I don’t know about that.” The door clicked and opened, revealing Mia Fey lit by the blue-grey fluorescent overhead of the bathroom, smiling and a little flushed. “What if the food wants to be played with?” She was wearing his favorite bra and panty set, orange with buttercup-yellow embellishments and a steep neckline on the bra plunging down to make her cleavage look good enough to eat, frankly.
Tonight, however, Diego was the meal.
“Wow,” he finally whispered, when he’d found his voice. Mia smiled, her lipstick perfect. Bright red. Normally, she wore nude tones, which meant that she’d picked that shade on purpose.
He knew what to do: Diego got down on his knees, a supplicant at her feet, bent to kiss her shoes, and now it was Mia’s turn to whisper wow under her breath. She set her hands on his shoulders for balance and he immediately leaned into that touch, fighting the urge to close his eyes.
He could get used to this.
“Don’t lean towards me,” Mia chided, pushing him back onto his heels. “I can’t step on you like that.”
Diego wasn’t sure how much backtalk she’d take, so, rather than ask, decided to try his luck. If she decided it was too much backtalk, it wasn’t like she was going to throw coffee in his face or anything—no, he had a feeling that she’d find a much more effective, motivating punishment. “Seems like you can to me.” He shifted, gesturing to his legs. “My knees are right there.”
Mia pulled his head up by two fingers underneath his chin. “Did I ask, Diego?”
He blinked. “No, kitten.” His heart was pounding. He leaned back until he hit the side of the bed, spreading his thighs. Mia’s smile grew, and it went straight to his dick in ways he hadn’t been prepared for.
When she said, “Good boy,” he felt a little bit faint.
“Okay,” Mia murmured, keeping her hands on his shoulders for balance. She bit her lip, and the contrast of the lipstick between her white teeth was awe-inspiring. “You want this?” Unable to find his voice, Diego could only nod, setting his hands atop hers for the reminder that they were in this together. Mia lifted her foot and checked his expression. Whatever look was on his face, it seemed to make up her mind. “I think you’ll look cute when you squirm,” she said it light and airy and with the utmost of sincerity.
Mia Fey lifted her foot and set it right on top of his dick, hard behind his fly, and pushed down.
Diego felt like he was simultaneously inside his body, inhabiting every single inch of skin, and also far, far away. Half of him was astonished by the ease with which Mia had taken control, like she had been waiting for the opportunity all along. Here she was, dolled-up and beautiful and all for him, pinning him flat under her heel and grinding down on his cock until he couldn’t keep his eyes open. It wasn’t painful, not really, but the pressure was unbelievable, and it tangled up all different directions in his brain until he felt like crying and he didn’t know why.
The other half of his brain knew ecactly why he wanted to cry, and it was this: Mia Fey loved him. She loved him enough to go from being hesitant and unsure to certain; she loved him enough to be a little scared and a little bit messy and reveal she didn’t know what she was doing and still do it anyway. Even though she might mess up.
“Look at you,” Mia whispered, her voice shaking only a little as she stepped on him harder, the toe of her shoe grinding up over the head of his cock. “You’re so hard, Diego. For all your talk about being the best attorney, you really just like being a doormat.”
Diego did his best to give her a cocky smile. “But am I the best doormat?”
Mia met his eyes. For a moment, her heady, cocksure expression faltered—and then it came back with all the greater certainty as she pursed her lips in a smile that Diego could only describe as sultry. “Do you want to be?”
“Yes,” he replied immediately. His voice was hoarse. “Yes, kitten. For you. Only for you.”
Mia let her voice get light and sharp and oh-so-lovely as she purred, just like a kitten, “Then hold still and let me wipe my feet.”
Diego realized that he had expected he was going to be so good at this: to hold up, to do whatever his kitten told him to do, to take everything and then to worship her when she was done. Instead, the moment that Mia started to wipe her feet on her doormat (on Diego’s cock) he subverted his own expectation.
“Kitten,” he wheezed. And came in his boxers.
“Oh!” Mia gasped, pulling her foot back. She didn't go far enough to ruin Diego’s orgasm as he ground the last of it out against the sole of her shoe, the sharp scrape of her heel along his shaft just enough friction to bring him up and then back down. It was a fucking amazing orgasm.
And he felt fucking awful about it.
“Sorry,” Diego whispered, when he could speak. Mia was still looking shocked, staring down at the very obvious wet spot on his boxers. “I didn’t—don’t know. Why that happened. Pretty sure I was supposed to ask.”
“No, it’s fine!” Mia carefully toed her shoes off, crouching down between his thighs. She looked at his cock, then back up at his face. “Are you alright?” He nodded, still a little breathless. “I didn’t hurt you?”
“No. Felt great.” A little chagrined, he added, “I didn’t mean to come in my pants like that.”
“I mean... I kind of hoped you would, just not that fast.” Mia tucked her hair back behind her ear as she said it, not able to look him in the eye. The frantic heady arousal that had existed for a moment had faded out, replaced by embarrassment and something else, something that Diego didn’t really know how to name. It felt... weird. Weird, but good.
“Can I hug you?” Mia looked surprised to hear him ask it, and rather than reply, she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into her embrace. Diego buried his face in her shoulder, inhaling the scent of her skin, sweat, and a little bit of her perfume. He was starting to shake, even though he wasn’t cold. “Wow, I feel stupid. Coming in my pants like a kid.”
“It’s okay.” Mia giggled, sounding as wide-eyed and shocked as Diego felt, uncharacteristically ebullient. “It was cute. You were all overwhelmed by me.” She reached out to carefully touch his dick through his soaked boxers, which were now cold and sticky and increasingly uncomfortable. “Made me feel powerful.”
“You are powerful. Although that wasn't exactly good for you, though.” Diego wasn’t about to let his girlfriend get him off without returning the favor, even if he currently had approximately as much coordination as... he didn’t have any coordination at all, actually. He felt like overcooked pasta, which was a terrible thing to feel like, because he liked it al dente. “I’m not even al dente pasta,” he confessed, and felt Mia start to laugh harder. “Why do I care about that right now.”
“Because I just flattened your brain out your dick?” Diego joined her in her laughter, leaning more into her shoulder and listening to her heartbeat. “It was very sexy, actually. I am powerful and your dick is mine.”
“My almighty kitten,” Diego agreed, kissing the top of her shoulder, then the side of her neck, up to the curve of her jaw. “My powerful, amazing, gorgeous kitten who just used me to wipe her feet and I loved it.” He rubbed his stubble on her throat just the way she liked, breathed over her earlobe, and murmured: “Let me thank you properly, kitten. I might make a good doormat, but trust me—my mouth is even better.”
Mia bit her lip and made a warm, excited noise. “Big words... from a doormat.”
Diego took a deep breath as he bit down over her earlobe. “Then allow me to prove it.”
He had plenty of evidence that doing so would be more than worth his while. The defense would make sure of it.