Mr. Judge: A Steamy Standalone Instalove Romance Read online

  CONTENTS

  Mr. Judge

  NEWSLETTER

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Epilogue

  Extended Epilogue

  Extended Epilogue

  Extended Epilogue

  NEWSLETTER

  A MAN WHO KNOWS WHAT HE WANTS

  BRATVA BEAR SHIFTERS

  LAIRDS & LADIES

  RUSSIAN UNDERWORLD

  IRISH WOLF SHIFTERS

  Collaborations

  About the Author

  MR. JUDGE

  AN OLDER MAN YOUNGER WOMAN ROMANCE

  _______________________

  A MAN WHO KNOWS WHAT HE WANTS, 285

  FLORA FERRARI

  Copyright © 2022 by Flora Ferrari

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The following story contains mature themes, strong language and sexual situations. It is intended for mature readers.

  MR. JUDGE

  I did a bad thing.

  But I had a good reason.

  My neighbor had been neglecting his dog, treating him terribly, abusing him. Bones doesn’t deserve that. He’s an energetic cute-faced little Jack Russell terrier.

  So I took him.

  Now I’m standing trial with the man of my dreams as the judge.

  Judge Pearce Prescott at fifty years is carved out of pure marble, with wolfish eyes that pin me in place when I walk into his courtroom. I can hardly look at him without shivering.

  I know he’d never be interested in me. I’m twenty, curvy, and a virgin. That’s a triple threat if there ever was one.

  But then the impossible happens.

  Pearce lets me off the hook. He takes Bones from his previous owner’s care for neglect, and he adopts the dog.

  If that wasn’t crazy enough, he offers me a job as Bones dog sitter.

  It’s a dream gig, meaning I can work on my college courses while Bones is sleeping.

  I warn myself not to get carried away. It’s just a job. Judge Prescott isn’t interested in me.

  But one night he tells me no other man is allowed to touch me. Ever. That I’m his.

  I don’t want anybody else, but I’m also freaked about what will happen when he discovers I’m a virgin.

  Things get even more complicated when somebody throws a brick through his window, with a message attached.

  I know what you did.

  It’s all such a confusing whirlwind, but I know one thing for sure.

  We’re going to need Bones’ help to make it out in one piece.

  * Mr. Judge is an insta-everything standalone instalove romance with a HEA, no cheating, and no cliffhanger.

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  CHAPTER ONE

  Piper

  I climb as quietly as I can over my neighbor’s fence.

  The poor dog has been barking nonstop for two hours. Mom told me to call the proper authorities, but I already have called them countless times.

  There are forms and procedures and so much red tape it’s starting to look like the poor pooch is never going to catch a break.

  So I’m handling it myself.

  Ever since our neighbor got a dog, he’s been treating the poor animal terribly. I’ve seen glimpses of him in the yard, my belly churning when I think about the things I’ve witnessed. The worst is the whining noise the innocent animal makes.

  I couldn't take it anymore.

  My neighbor, Chris, is a steroid freak, spending his days working out in the yard. But every now and then he’ll leave, speeding away from his house in his fancy Mustang. He takes so much better care of that car than he does of his dog.

  Bones is a unique-looking little Jack Russell terrier with white bone-shaped spots around his eyes.

  I’d been watching the little dog from my bedroom window pace the yard when he stopped and stared up at me, eyes full of innocence, mouth open in what looked like a cry of desperation.

  That was it. That was when I decided. No freaking more.

  I was not going to let Chris get away with it anymore. I waited for him to bring the dog in and as soon as he took off in his car I was on the move.

  Climbing the fence is no easy task. It’s not like I’m some super athlete or anything. Eventually, I manage to clamber over, the chain wire catching on my shirt.

  It tears with an audible rip noise, my T-shirt flapping at the bottom.

  I set my mouth in what my mom would call my determined face, and I press on.

  Walking past Chris’s workout bench and dumbbells, I carefully approach the house. Bones’ barking grows louder the closer I get. I walk up the wooden steps and stop at the exterior door, peering through into Chris’s house. It’s a wreck, every surface covered in dirty dishes, dog crap all over the floor.

  My heart gives a tug when I spot Bones, a chain around his neck, standing next to two empty bowls. He spots me and barks with even more vigor, spit flying everywhere, his legs trembling.

  “Poor baby,” I whisper, testing the door handle.

  The screen door is unlocked, swinging open freely, but the main door feels solid and immovable when I give it a firm shove. Peering through the large glass of the door – covered in grime and filth – I try to project a supportive expression.

  “It’s going to be okay.”

  I can’t let myself think about what I’m doing, otherwise, I’ll lose my nerve.

  Chris could be home at any minute.

  But I can’t think about that either.

  Leaving the door, I walk around to the window. It overlooks the kitchen and gives me a better look at how filthy the house is. Dishes are piled up in the sink, overflowing on the counter, with protein shake containers and plastic wrappers scattered everywhere.

  My chest tightens when I spot the can of dog food, the easy-pull lid open, flies buzzing around it.

  Some people don’t deserve to have pets.

  Moving my hands along the window, I realize it’s open, cracked just a little. Maybe it’s a way for Chris to try and get rid of some of the stench. Even out here, I can smell it, sharp and rancid.

  I pull the window open the rest of the way, creating a gap just about big enough for a girl to get through. A girl, not necessarily me.

  I’m built on the curvier side and I’m not sure I’m going to fit. But I have to try.

  My mom’s voice rises in my mind.

  “You’re going to ruin your life,” I imagine her saying. “Twenty years old, your whole
future ahead of you, and you’re going to give it all away for a dog.”

  I push her phantom voice away. It doesn’t matter what happens to me, as long as I can get Bones out of here. My mind pulses violently when I recall the mistreatment I’ve witnessed.

  I climb through the window, gripping the sill and pulling myself onto the kitchen counter. Plates and glasses fall from the counter as I slide across it.

  They land with a crash, shattering.

  Bones yaps louder, his barking getting high-pitched now. The poor little guy thinks I’m going to hurt him. It’s all he knows.

  I walk over the shattered plates, footsteps crunching, softly lowering myself to one knee.

  Bones’ spittle flies into the air, clinging to his lips. His eyes are crusty. His tongue looks cracked and dry.

  “It’s okay, boy,” I whisper, slowly extending my hand. “I promise I won’t hurt you.”

  I pause when he lunges forward, pulling on his chain, barking at me. I’m not sure what to do. He needs to know I’m not here to cause him harm, but it’s all he’s experienced. His living conditions have made him wary.

  I stay where I am for a minute, my hand extended, waiting for him to settle down. I’m not sure he’s going to, but finally, his barking stops, his chest heaving as he pants from exhaustion.

  Inching a little closer, then a little bit more, I move my hand toward his snout. I hold it close enough so he can sniff me if he wants to.

  He cringes away, tail tucked between his legs.

  “Nothing bad is ever going to happen to you again,” I whisper. “I swear.”

  I meet his eyes. My heart almost shatters when I see the hope in his eyes, but it’s a cagey sort of hope, as though he thinks I’m going to turn on him at any second.

  I’m not sure how long we stay like this, minutes, maybe longer. But eventually, Bones starts to sniff at the air. His tail doesn’t completely untuck, but it shifts, as though his fear is slipping away, slowly.

  I choke back a sob when he pads towards me, sniffing my hand. I stay completely still. I can’t let him sense my fear. He might lash out, not with malice, not because he’s a bad dog, but because Chris has conditioned him that way.

  Bones sniffs my hand, retreats, and then sniffs it again. I give him all the time he needs.

  And then he does the most heart-melting thing ever.

  With a soft whine, he begins to lap at my hand. The dryness of his tongue against my skin makes a dark part of me wish Chris was here, so I could find a way to hurt him, to make him pay for what he’s done.

  “Let’s get you out of here,” I whisper. “Doesn’t that sound nice? We’ll get you some water and something to eat.”

  Moving carefully and slowly, I release the chain from around his neck. He springs at me. I yell and fall back, and Bones jumps on me, his forepaws resting against my chest. I grin when he leans down, his nose brushing all over me, sniffing with curiosity.

  “You scared me, boy.”

  He tilts his head, mirroring my grin, as if to say, Don’t be silly, I’d never hurt you.

  I’m in love already.

  “You have to be quiet,” I whisper, kneeling in the corner of my room with my hands softly caressing his fur.

  He’s curled into a ball, eyes blinking open every few moments, his legs still trembling a little.

  How long has it been since I broke into Chris’s house?

  A few hours, at least. I heard him come home a while ago, his Mustang making that obnoxiously loud purring noise, as though he needs the whole neighborhood to hear how expensive his car is.

  Bones devoured the dog food I bought, in preparation for my plan. He lapped at the water greedily, and now he seems exhausted from all the excitement. But already I can see the sort of dog he was supposed to be, the curiosity in the way he sniffed around the room, in the way he looks at me as though wanting to play… even if he’s too scared to yet, and might be for some time to come.

  “Mom can’t know you’re here. She’ll freak.”

  He yawns, a soft whine accompanying the gesture. I read somewhere once that dogs’ yawns don’t necessarily mean they’re tired. It can also be a sign of stress.

  Lowering my head, I gently kiss the top of his head.

  “We’ll give you a nice bath soon, okay? But I think you’ve had enough excitement for one day.”

  I flinch when somebody starts hammering on the door downstairs. Bones explodes, barking, leaping up, springing onto the bed, and running around the room.

  “Hush, boy. Quiet. Please.”

  I run to the window, looking down.

  Chris stares up at me. He’s wearing his usual wife beater and shorts, his swollen steroid-infused arms looking ridiculous compared to his skinny legs. “I knew it. That’s my dog barking. You bitch. Did you really think you could get away with this? Give it back.”

  “It?” I rage, holding back from slamming my hand against the window. “It? He’s a he, and you don’t deserve him. You never did.”

  “Don’t make me call the cops.”

  I laugh, trying to sound like I don’t care, even as unease pricks at me. “Fine, go ahead. Call them. I’m not giving him back.”

  “I will,” he snarls. “You can’t just steal a man’s property.”

  He takes out his cell phone, looking up at me, as though expecting me to back down.

  But I won’t, not after the way I saw Bones chained up in that dirty place.

  “Have it your way,” Chris snaps.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Pearce

  My blood starts to race in my veins when she walks into the courtroom. I try to remind myself that I’m turning fifty this year, and this woman is – according to the court records – twenty years old.

  That means there’s a gap of thirty years. I can’t let myself feel a thing for her.

  And yet it’s like my whole world is crashing down and reshaping itself.

  My manhood gives a pulse at the base, as though for the first time in my career I’m going to get a hard on in the courtroom.

  I try to maintain my professional demeanor as my eyes roam over her, indulging in every curvy inch of her body, my throat going dry, my mind filling with heavily inappropriate fantasies.

  She’s short with cascading light brown hair, worn messily around her shoulders. Jeans cling onto her full and mouth-watering thighs, and her T-shirt shows the shape of her breasts perfectly, the way they strain against her shirt, the gorgeous roundness of them.

  Her cheeks are flushed, and her eyes are skittish as she glances at me and then quickly away.

  My manhood gives a jerk as I take her in.

  Crazy vignettes strike me, like this woman cradling my child to her chest, smiling at me with the glow of love.

  I imagine her staring at me from beneath a veil, beneath an altar, the waking dreams hitting me with a sort of violence.

  I don’t know her. She doesn’t know me.

  And yet I’m certain she is mine. She belongs to me.

  Hell.

  What’s happening to me?

  After hearing all sides of the story – and hearing from their neighbors – I decide to remove the dog from the owner, Chris’s, care and sentence him to the maximum possible time in the county jail for mistreatment of an animal.

  If I had my way, I’d force this motherfucker to step into the ring with me and we’d handle this like men. Show this bastard what happens when you lay your hands on a defenseless animal.

  Chris, a swollen wannabe tough guy, stares up at me, his lips twisted, his hands shaking. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  “Watch your tone, young man,” I snap.

  He’s probably around thirty, but he behaves as though he’s much younger, as though he’s a boy in a man’s overinflated body. Men like that, with their fake muscles, make me want to drag them down to the boxing gym and show them what a real man is.

  I’d happily do it with this motherfucker, after hearing from Piper – my woman – about the
abuse he committed against the poor animal. The neighbors attested to much the same.

  Piper’s story was that she didn’t break into Chris’s house. She claimed the dog escaped and she found him in her yard, so she did the only thing she could think of and brought him inside, feeding him and giving him water.

  It’s a lie, but I choose to believe it. Maybe that makes me a bad judge. I’ve never bent the rules, never done anything like this, put aside my objective critical thinking to guide justice down my own path.

  But it’s not like I’m going to send the woman of my dreams to jail, especially when what she did only demonstrated how caring she is, how loving, how much better than this lowlife she is.

  “But, but… she broke into my house.” The lowlife waves a hand at Piper, across the other side of the courtroom. “You can’t let her get away with that.”

  “I’ve made my decision. You should be ashamed of yourself. Several witnesses have attested to your mistreatment of that poor animal. It takes a small and pathetic man, Mr. Farmer, to lay his hands on a small defenseless animal.”

  I risk a glance at Piper. All during the proceedings, I’ve been trying to keep my gaze firmly planted elsewhere. Even when she was giving her testimony I tried to look above her head, off to the side, so she couldn’t read the unchained hunger rising inside of me.