Can Macy and Jerrod overcome the differences in their age and race to find lasting love?
On Macy Wilson's first grown-up adventure to the big city, she inadvertently ends up in jail. Her father hires an old college friend, defense attorney Jerrod Preston, to get Macy out of trouble. Jerrod is more than willing to help out his buddy by representing the gorgeous young black woman, but finds he must first battle his intense attraction to her, especially when the judge puts Macy under his protective custody.
Still an innocent at the age of nineteen, Macy ignores the differences in their age and race and sees the opportunity to learn all about sex from the handsome older man. On her second night in his home, a naked midnight rendezvous at the hot tub proves too powerful for either to resist, and Macy is awakened to pleasure like nothing she could have imagined.
But the morning brings feelings of remorse on both their parts. Macy knows her father wouldn't approve, and Jerrod is convinced Macy should be with someone closer to her own age. They settle into an uneasy platonic relationship, both secretly longing for the love that now seems just beyond their grasp.
Then an unforeseen circumstance raises the stakes, and Macy must make the toughest decision of her life. When she lays claim to the man she can't forget, will Jerrod send her away, or dare to open his heart to love once more?
Content Warning: explicit sex
"You know we can't do this, Macy," Jerrod said. "Your dad's an old friend of mine."
"So?" Big eyed innocence, slow, alluring drawl. "I'm an adult."
He shook his head. It was sad, really. He'd built his reputation on his eloquence in the courtroom, but here tonight it seemed he'd already run out of arguments.
She leaned closer and whispered, "Is there some big rule that says you can't have sex with a client?"
Holy shit! There it was. She was giving him an out, if he wanted to use it.
There weren't any state statutes forbidding it, provided both parties were over eighteen and capable of giving consent, but she didn't know that. He could lie and tell her there were laws against it. It might be enough to discourage her flirtations and allow them to keep things on a more professional basis.
Jerrod stared into her big, dark eyes.
He couldn't lie to her. Hell, he didn't want to.
"No big rule," he whispered.
Her lips were right there, inches away, ripe and soft, and—God help him—he bent his head and took what she was offering.
Snaking his hand into the satin curls at the back of her neck, he brought her face up to his and brushed his mouth across her lips. Gently at first, barely touching her, feeling her excited breath mingle with his own.
On stage, the band led off with a classic piece of southern blues. A black female singer with a rich, strong voice began to wail about the treacherous heart of her lover. Feeling the plaintive tones of the song surging through him, he deepened the kiss, slipping his tongue between Macy's yielding lips. She opened to him, and he thrust his tongue inside her warm, wet mouth. Several bold strokes and then he withdrew, his blood racing. He heard her whimper above the music. Lifting his head, he glanced around. No one was paying the least bit of attention. Though the stage was well lit, this grassy area below lay in shadow.
He lowered his mouth again, pressing little nips along her jawline, drawing away once more, teasing her with his lips until she put an impatient hand on his thigh. He froze. He glanced down. In the dark, he could barely make out the lighter tones of her skin against the indigo of his jeans. As he began to thrust his tongue inside her warm mouth again, her fingers inched up his thigh and cupped his erection.
A groan rose in his throat, but probably only Macy heard it. Her hand moved shyly over the sensitive bulge, pressing and molding it with her fingers. She squeezed him and put her little tongue into his mouth.
It was apparent she hadn't kissed many guys. The explorations of her fingers and tongue were awkward and experimental. At nineteen, she probably hadn't been with a lot of men. He wasn't complaining, only noticing. But then she reached out and grabbed his free hand and brought it to her breast.
He had a brief impression of soft round flesh, topped with a firm protrusion, before he pulled his hand away. He had to. Things were moving way too fast and this was a public place. But God, yes, he did want to hold those sweet breasts of hers in his hands. And more. It was the "and more" that really worried him.
"Not here," he said into her ear as he removed her hand from his groin.
"Then where?" Her breath tickled his cheek.
"I thought we came to hear some music."
"I'm ready to leave now."
"Are you sure? The band's just getting started," he hedged, giving her every chance to back out.
"I don't care."
In ten minutes they were back at his car on the second floor of the parking garage. He unlocked and opened her door, but instead of getting in, she reached up for him, weaving her arms around his neck, pulling him down to her.
"Tell me you want to touch me again," she said, her voice low and provocative. Her gray eyes searched his face. She rubbed her breasts against his chest and then she leaned back, giving him access.
"Oh, God. I do want to touch you, Macy." He moved his hands up her ribcage and closed them over the firm mounds. Through her soft t-shirt he could plainly feel the excited tips pressing into his palms. He licked his lips, yearning to taste her.
"Go ahead," she whispered, reading his desire. She leaned back against the side of the car, stretching her arms above her head. She gave him a lazy, sexy smile. He stood for a moment, at war with himself, and then he shoved her t-shirt up, baring her breasts.