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     He glared like a steel trap bit his leg. It suited him, Mia thought, far better than smugness or indignity; she couldn't help running her hands under Edgeworth's suitcoat so the animal glare would hold.

     "What are you planning, Fey?"
     His voice hunkered low in his throat -- anyone would think he'd been escorted to Mia's back seat at gunpoint. Ornate lapels parted against her wrists and Edgeworth was warm, broad-shouldered and linen-sleek and radiant with body heat. She smiled.
     "I just wanted to see you like this."

     Jostling -- her heels moved clumsy, he hadn't a clue what to do with his knees -- she leaned over Edgeworth, mouth at the soft underside of his jaw. He gave by a degree, a slightest lift of his chin to allow her; last pangs of aftershave faded, and silk ruffles whispered over Mia's throat. And awareness rose in her veins, his breath tremoring in the quiet--
     "That's all you wanted?"
     One sad echo of courtroom brass in his murmur. And his heart beat rabbit-quick under her palm, and the awareness flared sweet -- he was frightened.

     And it couldn't have been more perfect: seduction without romance, revenge without spite, the dark-and-blaze of the parking lot's lights at nighttime and Edgeworth's fingers unsure at her hip.
     She hummed agreement. Her touch slithered lower, over buttons and twitching abdominals.
     "I guess I'm curious."
     A slow creep over her hip: the stirrings of decision in his fingers. That wasn't part of the plan.

     She moved before she could decide to -- slipped across Edgeworth, weight on her hands driving the touch-memory in, wool and angles. He was still wiry, wasn't he, too young for his bones? Mia's pulse grew heavier, and the cheap carpet bit her knees but she couldn't mind as she spread Edgeworth's unresisting thighs; he breathed too audibly for pride; he would squirm for her.
     "C-curious," he muttered, to no one.
     A ragged-sliding sound of his hands on the upholstery: Mia stroked him once through pants' fine texture, a greeting, a taunt. His button fly pop-popped open under her fingers. Yes, curious -- weren't kittens like that?

     And she slid a hand into loose cotton and coarse hair, found him and freed him. She soaked in detail -- head smooth past her lips, the weak jerk of Edgeworth's knees and his stifled gasp. A shift of his thighs -- closer, gripping her shoulders -- and wet rhythm built, the slide down to her own grasp and back up to taste him.
     Oh, Mia would remember his pretty face: head tipped back, blushing in the stark light, eyes lidded and distant and fixed on the stretch of her lips. Each motion stirred him -- a different smudge of conflicting thoughts, another tweak at his mouth. Suddenly, Edgeworth brushed hair from her face and laced a hand in -- fingers loose at her scalp, hand broad and warm and vaguely, she didn't mind -- and nothing but the present existed, nothing but his breathing, open-mouthed, dampening the sound.

     Mia's teeth fixed that. One graze and he choked, grip spasming in her hair, and what lovely helplessness he wore. Her jaw burned and she sank anyway, took the weight of him deeper over her tongue and to the first fluttering of her throat, and she reached to touch one hot arch of hipbone because she could.
     It dragged from Edgeworth; the tail end of ragged; a brand in Mia's memory and she smiled around him. This was the glorious power to bob quicker, slick on Edgeworth, and fan him hotter. Stiffening thighs around her, and a hand curling to the nape of her neck as his peak took him; this was silence, and Edgeworth's drowning cry, and the heavy, lingering taste of salt.

     Mia couldn't pin when their eyes met -- only knew that Edgeworth smoldered. He shunted cool gaze away.

     She straightened from him, and smirked; a light stroke along the length of him as she withdrew her hand. His presence still held on her palette as she slipped back to her side of the back seat.
     "Thank you for taking the time to discuss it, Mr. Edgeworth."
     Mia folded one leg demure over the other, and eyed him. His breathlessness still rang in the quiet; his hands stirred numbly, to straighten and fasten and bury himself again. Maybe she was a little breathless, too, pulse throbbing -- another electric instant where their eyes met, and Edgeworth looked back to his buttons.
     "Of course," he muttered -- he understood.

     His mask fell back into place, as he gave a clipped goodbye, as the door opened and then closed final. Just rivals, again. Mia watched him retreat and smiled at his back: she kept wondering.