Run Away If You Can

“If I win?”
For a moment, I didn’t understand. His long eyes, fixed on me, narrowed.
“Prosecutor.”
Nathaniel Miller called me mockingly. But I didn’t answer. I simply stared back at his black-tinged violet eyes. A large hand lifted the edge of his jacket and slipped inside. A long finger brushed the belt line, then traced down along my waist until it stopped. Nathaniel leaned forward, propping himself against the doorframe with his other arm, looming over me. The slender finger, which had lingered at my side, now slid downward.
“If I win.”
I felt his breath at my earlobe. I flinched reflexively, and he sighed deeply, almost as if disappointed. I froze. His delicate finger, pressed against the thin fabric of my trousers, moved slowly over my hip. Every nerve in my body stood alert at the unbearably vivid sensation, and heat pooled low in my belly. I couldn’t move as Nathaniel murmured in that goddamn low voice.
“What will you do for me?”
He drew a deep breath behind my ear. No scent followed, yet his ragged inhale sounded as if he savored the potency of an Omega in heat, and I fought to keep my mind from drifting.
“Discuss your contingency fee with your client.”
My voice came out icily calm, in stark contrast to the crazy pounding of my heart—as if to prove how far reason sat from instinct.
His deep breathing by my ear stilled for a moment. After the silence, Nathaniel slowly raised his head. As his breath receded, a rush of clarity returned to me. He spoke, looking me straight in the eyes, his tone still a whisper.

“I have to suck your cock, and yet you refuse to do anything for me. How unfair.”
The last part sounded like an accusation. I, however, met it coolly.
“The world is full of unfair things. Learn that while you can.”
His face remained expressionless, as if observing an object. I stubbornly lifted my chin, daring him to say more.
Suddenly, I thought I saw the corner of his mouth twitch upward. Was I imagining it? Before I could think further, Nathaniel withdrew his hand. At the same time, the finger that had brushed my hip traced a smooth curve away. It was undeniably deliberate, and I couldn’t help widening my eyes in shock. Watching my reaction, Nathaniel offered an almost courteous bow.
“Well then, Prosecutor, sweet dreams.”
Absurdly, his hand had been that of a molester, yet his words were as polite as a gentleman’s. What the hell was this man? Dumbfounded, I stood there blinking as he turned and descended the stairs. Even with his cane, he moved down confidently, then paused, as if recalling something. He slowly pivoted and looked back up at me still on the landing. I frowned as his thick lips parted.
“Your desk was terribly messy. On the day of the verdict, I do hope you’ll have it neat and tidy.”
His deep voice made me furrow my brows.
What kind of bullshit was that…?
Unable to respond to his bizarre remark, I just stared. Nathaniel continued, his eyes narrowing in that long-lashed gaze, his tone oddly gleeful.
“Because I want to lie you down on your desk and, while I come inside you, savor my victory.”
…What kind of lunacy was that?
I was so stunned I could barely think where to begin. Finding no words, he added one more sentence.
“If any pens or pencils were rolling about and scratched your back, wouldn’t that be troublesome?”
His concern for me was a grotesque pretense, and I dropped my jaw in disbelief. Moreover, his words sounded like a declaration—or a summons—demanding my compliance, regardless of my consent. True, I’d provoked him first, but that hardly mattered. As my anger boiled over, I clenched my jaw and felt a muscle twitch in my cheek—but he remained unfailingly polite in word and gesture.
“Good-night, Prosecutor. See you at trial.”
With that, Nathaniel returned to his car. Within seconds it vanished into the /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ darkness. The sudden silence around me felt deafening, and my tension snapped; I sank to the floor.
Panting.
My heart hammered like a drum, echoing through my whole body. Unable to still the tumultuous beat, I got up and stared after the retreating taillights—long gone now—into the empty night. I remained seated for a long moment in that void.
My skin flushed with fury at last. None of this would have happened had I dealt with things today as I ought to have. Because of that fucking trash who came to a bar looking for sex despite having a wife and three kids, I ended up too aroused to have a normal night with anyone else—and ended up dealing with this man.
“Damn you, you madman—drop dead!”
I raged, cursing that man, Jonathan Davis, Nathaniel Miller, and myself—the ringleader of this entire fiasco.
What the fuck does he think I am?
Unable to contain my anger, I stormed down the hallway. Morning came, but nothing had changed. As time passed, the anger shifted direction. Go to sleep? How dare he talk like that to a fellow prosecutor—just because I’m gay, he assumes I’d sleep with any man? Isn’t that sexual harassment?
…Admittedly, I have slept with whoever I was attracted to.
The momentary hesitation of that thought fueled my rage anew. But I did have my boundaries: married men, men in relationships—I never crossed those lines. And he, some asshole who sleeps around, thinks everyone does the same.
“Damn him!”
I slammed a stack of files down on my desk, venting my fury. The more I remembered how little respect he’d given me, the angrier I got. I vowed I wouldn’t rest until I tore his smug face to pieces—otherwise, I’d never close my eyes in peace. I collapsed into my chair, still breathing hard, when a knock sounded on the door and it creaked open.