(LANCE)
The federal courthouse holding cell smelled of stale coffee, fear, and polished wood. They had given us ten minutes before the preliminary hearing — a “courtesy” for the billionaire biker president and his branded Old Lady. I didn’t waste a single second.
I pulled Eliona inside the small private consultation room, locked the door, and shoved her against the heavy oak table. Her black courtroom dress was modest on the outside, but underneath she wore nothing but the leather cut I’d demanded she keep on beneath it. I yanked the dress up around her waist, bent her over the table, and slammed my c**k into her still-swollen, c*m-leaking p***y in one deep, possessive thrust.
“Courtroom claim,” I growled against her ear, f*****g her hard and deep while the distant murmur of reporters a
