AS SOON as Addison got off of the phone, she went to twitch the lock of her office door, "I might've just orgasmed in my panties," she beamed, making me arch my brow, "there is trace of latex on the lacerations around her neck. They'd concluded that it was from a condom instead of latex gloves," Addison explained.

"But the rape kit came back negative, so why would they think it's a condom?" I asked.

She wrapped her arms around my neck, and sat on my lap. Taking the file out of my hand, she turned the pages, then handed it back to me, "our client was found with an opened condom in his trouser pocket. It wasn't used, but they figured her objection to having sex with him while he was already prepared to have protected sex with her, made him strangle her."

I looked at the trace evidence, "but a crime of passion like that often involves rape," I said.

She nodded and rubbed the pad of her thumb over the thinness of my upper lip, "exactly. Surprisingly, I think our client is innocent," she slowly and steadily moved her face closer to mine.

"I try not to justify what clients may or may not have done, being neutral is much easier when it comes to me sleeping at night."

She hummed and pulled my hair out of its ponytail, "your hair is so beautiful," she whispered, as she ran her fingers through my tresses.

"I've been thinking of styling it shorter," I said. Her fingers ran along the side of my neck, and tucked the hair falling against my face behind my ear.

"I like it how it is," she whispered.