Duffy is from the wrong side of the tracks, Trent is old money. Duffy is a defense attorney, Trent is a prosecutor. The two couldn’t be more opposed. But sometimes opposites attract, especially when one’s a Dom and the other’s a sub.

Duffy’s impassioned representation of a client he believes to be innocent carries over into the bedroom when he demonstrates for Trent how fun—and consensual—rough sex can be. Soon these opposing attorneys are finding their way to a mutually satisfying verdict.

Bonus: Trent and Duffy’s story is framed by the story of Gideon and Cole, a younger Dom and sub who have made some mistakes but who will find their way to a happy power exchange relationship by following the advice of their attorneys.


Duffy had spent more than a few jerkoff sessions fantasizing about taking Trent apart—destroying his upper-class confidence, wiping the placid expression off his face and replacing it with something frantic and hungry. But dating at work was a bad idea. And besides, he didn’t date. Not in a vanilla way. He had very particular tastes, tastes which he would be happy to demonstrate for Trent, which in his fantasies was exactly what Trent wanted him to do.

The wine, combined with his mini-crush and complete lack of other options, prompted him to boldness.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never gotten a little rough in bed yourself.”

“Are we really going to talk about my sex life?”

“Why not? Two gay men with a bottle of wine and nothing to do except shoot the shit. The way you’re prosecuting my client gives me the idea you’ve had a pretty tame time of it.”

“I do fine. Thanks for the concern.”


Normally, he would back off at this point. He was a Dom, not a bully. But he was a Dom who knew a brat when he saw one, and he was also a poker player. He could read tells—a talent which helped considerably in court—and Trent was giving off massive make-me vibes. He’d dropped his arms to his sides, opening himself up, but had clenched his hands into light fists, indicating he wouldn’t go down without a fight. His face was flushed, his pupils dilated, and his nipples made tiny peaks in the thin fabric of his shirt.

Duffy slid across the cushion separating them and brushed his thumb over the nipple closest to him. Trent yelped, in surprise mostly. He rubbed his palm over the nipple Duffy had encroached on, as if to soothe it back down, and gave Duffy a quelling glare, which he ignored.

“Did Gideon tell you he and Cole used to do this?” He nudged Trent’s hand out of the way. This time he clasped Trent’s nipple between his thumb and forefinger and pinched. “Gideon liked having his nipples tweaked because he enjoyed a little pain with his pleasure.” He pinched harder. Trent grabbed his wrist, but he didn’t pull it away, only clung to it. “Maybe you can relate.”

“I don’t see how that’s relevant,” Trent said stiffly as he continued to allow Duffy to pinch and twist his nipple.

“What’s not relevant? That Gideon liked it or that you do?”

“Either. And I didn’t say I liked it.”

“Your cock says you do.” Duffy stared at Trent’s lap in an obvious way. “And if you like it, why couldn’t Gideon?”

He released Trent’s nipple and reached for his wine glass. Trent watched his hand like it was a separate, sentient being—like he wanted it back—as Duffy drank, then set the glass down again. He waved the hand in question as if gesturing conversationally, but really he was enjoying the way it had Trent hypnotized.

“Ever had rough sex, Trent?”


“Let me ask that differently. Ever had any good rough sex? Anyone ever give it to you the way you need it? Because I’m thinking if anyone ever had, you would understand what happened between my client and his boyfriend.”

“And I suppose you’re the man to teach me the wonders of rough sex?” Trent asked haughtily, but his tells were ticking madly. The skin on the back of his neck, just below the spot where his court-appropriate haircut ended, was beaded with sweat, and he’d taken a quick swipe across his own nipple like he was trying to remember the way Duffy’s fingers had felt.

“I could be.”