Текст книги "Night After Night"

Автор книги: Lauren Blakely

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“I wouldn’t say the whole flight. I have control, you know,” she said, shooting him that tough stare that turned him on even more.

“I know you do. You have excellent control. And I love breaking it down. I love watching you lose control,” he said, dipping his hand inside her skirt. “So tell me what you thought about on the plane that aroused you.”

“Your mouth,” she said in a rough whisper.

“Nice answer.” He trailed his fingers along the top of her panties, and her hips arched closer.

“Got any other questions for me?”

He nodded. “Did you get wetter when you saw me? Tell me the truth,” he said, pulling his hand out of her skirt. She looked up at him, wide eyes full of need.

“What do you think?” She reached for his hand, locking fingers with him. She tried to tug his hand down to her legs, but he didn’t budge.

“I think you’re as hot between your legs as I am hard just from looking at you,” he said and brought her hand to his erection, letting her press her palm against him. She grinned as she touched him, stroking him. He hissed in a breath, but then moved her hand away. “So tell me. Did I make you wetter when you saw me?”

“Yes. You leaning against the car with that tie all loosened and your jacket on, looking like a hot guy in a suit. Only I knew you weren’t thinking of business deals, you were thinking of bedroom deals.”

“I was watching you the whole time, getting harder as you walked toward me. Seeing you wore what I told you to wear,” he said, teasing with the top of her lacy stockings. He could feel her heat without even touching her. He bent his head to her neck, flicking his tongue against her collar bone, then up to her ear. “Tell me one word to describe how wet you are now.”

“What is this? Mad Libs foreplay?” She said in as challenging a tone as she could likely muster. He was impressed with her fierceness. She didn’t give it up easily, even as her body was melting under his touch. He traveled higher with his fingers, inching closer to the promised land.

“Yes it is. Now, I want one word,” he said firmly, giving her a clear command. He stroked the soft skin of her inner thigh, causing her to quiver.

“Soaked,” she said, breathing hard.

“No, your panties are soaked. I want to know about your pussy. One word about your beautiful pussy that I have been thinking about all week long.”

“Slippery. Does that work for your little wordplay, Clay?”

“It does. Did anyone else on the plane know you were so turned on?”

She shook her head.

“Good. Because I fucking love the image I have in my head now. You flying high above the country, your sexy legs crossed, trying to hold in how much you wanted me to touch you. Not being able to touch yourself, but wanting to so badly. Did you want to masturbate on the plane?”

“No. I wanted you to touch me. I was waiting for you to touch me.”

“I’m not going to make you wait any longer.”

She grabbed his arm, wrapping her hand around his bicep, sending him some kind of message with sharp nails that dug into him, likely right along his tattoo. “You better not make me wait any longer.”

He dragged one finger against the cotton panel of her panties, and a growl erupted from him. A long, slow, appreciative growl. Her breathing grew harder, nearing a pant as he stroked her. “I was wrong,” he said in a low voice.

“About what?”

“You are fucking soaked, and I can’t let you sit like this. I can’t let this delicious wetness go to waste,” he said, reaching under her skirt with both hands, and tugging her panties down past her knees. He stopped at her ankles, and she arched an eyebrow in question.

“The panties stay here. I want to hold your ankles in place.”

“You weren’t kidding when you told me what was on the menu this weekend,” she said, her lips curving up in a delicious grin.

“I take my restraints very seriously,” he said, twisting her panties in his hand, tightening the hold on her feet.

Keeping the underwear in place, he ran his fingers across her sweet, slippery pussy, watching her mouth fall open, and her eyes drift closed. “It would be so wrong of me to just finger you,” he mused playfully as he coated his fingers in her wetness.

“Are you going to fuck me then?” Her voice was so desperate, her body so in need of what he planned to give her.

“I’m going to fuck you with my tongue,” he said, letting go of the scrap of fabric to grab her hips and slide her down onto the seat. He spread her open as he pushed his leg down hard on her panties to keep her high-heeled feet bound together. He was ready, so ready, to taste his woman. “The last time I did this to you, I tied you up, Julia. But this time I want your hands free to grab my face, pull hard on my hair, do whatever you need to do. You can fuck my face hard. When I get out of this car, I want to look like a man who was eating pussy.”

“Oh god,” she gasped as her head fell back against the seat.

He buried his face between her legs, and she cried out. A loud, no-holds-barred yell that echoed off the windows of the car, it was the most beautiful sound in the world. She gripped his head with her strong thighs, an involuntary reaction to the first touch as he licked her. Then she let her knees fall open for him and he savored her, working her up and down with his tongue, his lips, his mouth. He lapped up all her juices, the taste of her intoxicating and making his cock even harder, if that were possible.

He drove his tongue inside her, setting off another shattering moan that was music to his ears. She was quite an instrument to play, so finely tuned, and if he touched her right, she made the most glorious sounds – raw, intense, absolutely delicious noises of pleasure as he plundered her with his tongue. She grabbed his hair, yanked and pulled him closer as he’d told her to do. She started rocking her hips against his face, her exquisite pussy rubbing all over his stubbled jaw. She moved faster, and harder, and she was fucking him furiously right now, taking charge of how she liked it, her breathing turning wildly erratic, her moans signaling how close she was to release. He thrust one finger inside her, crooking it and hitting her in the spot that turned her moans into one long, high-pitched orgasm. She shuddered against him, her legs quaking, and when he finally slowed to look up at her, he saw her hair was a wild tumble, and her face was glowing.

He watched her reactions, enjoying the way the aftershocks seemed to radiate through her body, like waves. He moved to the seat, slid alongside her, and pulled her close, tucking her sexy body against his.

“Forgive my manners. I didn’t even ask how your flight was.”

“It was worth it, Clay. My flight was worth it.”

Chapter Three

They barely made it inside his apartment. Before the door even closed, he’d hiked up her skirt. Were they on the fourth floor? Or the fifth floor? Hell if she knew. Hell if she cared.

She grappled with the zipper on his pants, tugging and pulling as he caged her in against the wall with his strong arms. She pushed his pants down, then his briefs, and she wrapped an eager hand around his cock, hot and throbbing in her palm. He drew a sharp breath at the first touch, and she loved this; the moment when a man was helpless to her touch. When the control all swung back to her. They were so simple, men. When it came down to it, they were ruled by their erections. Even when she gave in to a man, she still knew who was always in charge. She was, the woman was. Especially as she watched the expression on his gorgeous face, his eyes rolling back in his head as she stroked him. He rocked into her fist, fucking her hand once, twice, three times.

She dipped her free hand into her sweater, then inside the cup of her bra, hunting out the condom she’d stowed there earlier. Never could be too safe or too ready, she reasoned.

She ripped open the foil, and the sound make his eyes snap open.

“You come prepared,” he said.

“I prepare for coming,” she replied, then rolled the condom on him, loving the way he watched her hands on him.

“Now, fuck me against the wall, Clay. Fuck me hard and fast, and if you think I can’t take it, fuck harder then,” she said.

“You think you give the orders here? I’m going to make you pay for that later,” he said, as he grabbed her ass, hitched her legs around his waist and sank into her.

Her mouth fell open into an O as he filled her, his long, thick cock buried deep inside her. He didn’t move for a few seconds, giving her time to adjust to his size, even though she didn’t need to. She loved how he stretched her, how she could feel him deep and far inside.

He began thrusting, his strong hands gripping her flesh, his fingers digging into her cheeks. She was the helpless one now, immobile, pinned by the wall and his big, sturdy body, but she reveled in it. Her mind was blank, free of nothing but this moment, this pure, physical, hungry moment with this man. “How are you going to make me pay for it?” she asked, her words coming out choppy with each hard thrust inside her.

“By teasing you later. By tying you up and bringing you close to the edge, and then stopping right before you come,” he said, his voice a low dirty growl, his breath hot against her neck.

“No,” she moaned. “That’s not fair. I don’t like teasing.”

“I know you don’t. And I don’t like being told to fuck you hard,” he said, slowing his moves to drive as deep as he possibly could in her, making her breath catch in her throat. “You think I’d do anything but fuck you hard when I have been waiting all week for this?”

“All week? You’ve been waiting all week?”

He dipped his head to the crook of her neck, planting a bruising kiss on her skin as he slammed into her once more, his cock rubbing her clit and filling her at the same delirious time. She moaned loudly, so loud she was sure the next street over heard her, and she didn’t care one bit. He was fucking her worries away, and the harder he took her, the less she cared about the way she spent her Tuesday nights.

“Yes. All. Week. Long,” he said, punctuating each word with a thrust. “I’ve been picturing your legs wrapped around me, your hot body against mine, and most of all, I’ve been thinking about making you come again. I want you to scream, Julia. I want to feel the way you grip my cock when you come on me,” he said, in that rough, sexy voice that sent sparks tearing through her body.

“Me too, Clay. Me too,” she whispered, letting go of the game, of the banter, of the way they teased each other because right now, she was starting to see stars. Beautiful, silvery stars, as the world slipped away, and he filled her, taking charge of her body, sending her over the edge. Her belly tightened. “Oh god,” she cried out.

“Yeah, just like that. Come for me now, come so fucking hard for me so I can feel you all over,” he said, holding onto her, as she shattered into the beautiful bliss of another orgasm, the pleasure riding through her, stretching and reaching into the far corners of her body and mind.

Then, as she was catching her breath, she felt her spine scrape the wall as he surged into her once more, the look on his face, the growl in his throat, making it clear that he’d joined her, and they’d come undone together.

* * *

She was willing to admit it. She had apartment envy and she had it bad. He had not one, but two sets of stairs. Which meant he had three floors. The loft level up top, then a living room level in between, then the kitchen and dining room floor.

She trailed her fingers along the granite counter in his kitchen, lined with dark oak stools. “And this is where you cook all your gourmet meals?” She eyed the gleaming stovetop in the kitchen that looked as if it had never been used.

“You think I don’t cook?” Clay handed her a glass of Belvedere, then poured another for himself.

“Do you cook?”

“I can cook. I don’t usually though.”

“Why not?”

“Because if I cook I want to cook for someone,” he said. Pots and pans hung on hooks on the exposed brick walls of the kitchen.

“And there’s no one to cook for?”

“Not lately,” he said, then gestured to the stairs. “Let me show you the balcony.”

They left the kitchen area and he led her up six steps to the sliding glass doors in the living room that opened to a balcony.

A gorgeous, drool-worthy balcony.

Her jaw threatened to drop but she knew better than to gawk outwardly. Inside though, she was ogling the spaciousness. This wasn’t one of those New York balconies you had to wedge yourself onto sideways and then lean over to catch a sliver of a view. No, the man had a balcony big enough for hosting a summer barbecue, for throwing a party, for strutting around and doing a dance.

“Yeah, it’s not too shabby at all,” she said dryly, as she peered over the edge of the brick railing, looking down at the cars streaming through the West Village, their taillights streaking six stories below. She drank in the view – all of New York City it seemed was visible from her vantage point, and the city was prettier when you watched it from above, when the noises were muted, and the sidewalk smells weren’t invading your nostrils. The distance was a protective layer from soots and scents and madness. She could see clear across to Broadway as it sliced Manhattan diagonally, then down to Tribeca, and over to the Hudson River, glittering like a sleek ribbon against the night.

She shivered once; the temperature had dipped some and while it wasn’t chilly yet, she was only wearing his white button-down shirt.

“You’re cold,” he said softly, wrapping his strong arms around her, pulling her close, her back to his naked chest. She glanced down at his bicep, and traced the lines of his ink. Passion, he’d told her. That’s what his tribal tattoo stood for, and it suited what she knew of him so far.

“Not anymore.” She smiled, and leaned her head back to look up at him. He brushed his lips against her forehead, and her heart fluttered. Actually fluttered, like a damn bird trying to escape. She was ready to swat it, but she decided to enjoy the moment instead. “I like your arms around me,” she whispered, stripping away her usual sarcasm.

“The feeling is completely mutual,” he said, reaching for her hand and sliding his fingers through hers.

“And I also like this view. It’s amazing.”

“It’s not too bad,” he said.

She elbowed him playfully. “Not too bad? This is magnificent, and I don’t care if that makes me seem all wide-eyed. But it’s true. Your apartment is gorgeous,” she said. She was a sucker for all the exposed red brick, and the warmth it brought to his place. “It’s funny, because I’d have pegged you as having some leather and chrome and steel furniture, all black and white and sleek.”

“You are confusing me for someone who has issues with his masculinity,” he said, holding her tighter, bending his head to her neck to plant a quick kiss.

“You’re saying a man who has black leather and chrome in his apartment is compensating for his small size?”

He laughed, a deep rumbly chuckle. “Don’t you think?”

She nodded. She liked that his home was warm and lived in. Yes, it was a man’s home, but it wasn’t the home of a man who was trying too hard. He even had a few plants on the balcony, and Julia didn’t have a green thumb herself, but still, there was something nice about this New York lawyer taking the time to have plants. “I can’t stand that whole I’m a man, I need my place to scream mannish. It’s sort of like driving a red Corvette.”

“You might notice I don’t have a red Corvette. Nor do I need one.”

“You definitely do not need one,” she said, trailing her fingers down his chest, between his pecs, and across the hard planes of his abs. “And your plants are adorable.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Maybe if you’re behaved all night I’ll tell you their names.”

“You do not name your plants,” she said, giving him a serious look.

“You’re right.” He laced his fingers through hers, guiding her back through the sliding glass doors. “I don’t name my plants.”

They returned to the living room, with its dark brown sofa and a sturdy coffee table that boasted a couple of books, some magazines, and a few framed photos. There was a picture of Clay in a tux, standing next to another man, a handsome one too.

“Where was that taken?”

“Tony awards a few ago. That’s Davis. He’s a friend and a client. That was taken the night he won his first Tony. Bastard has a lot of them. Three now,” he said, shaking his head, but clearly proud of the accomplishment.

“And this?” She pointed to a shot of him next to a man who had similar features – square jaw, deep brown eyes, broad sturdy shoulders.

“Younger brother Brent.”

“Where’s he?” Before he could answer she held up a hand. “Wait. Don’t tell me more.”

He furrowed his brows. “Why?”

“Because I’m famished.”

“And that means you can’t talk?”

“It means I am saving that conversation so we can have it over food,” she said playfully, as she started to unbutton his shirt.

“You’re afraid we’re going to run out of things to talk about so you want to make sure to hoard a topic for food?”

She wagged a finger at him. “No. I simply want to eat. Now are you going to cook for me or take me out?”

“There’s this thing called takeout. Want Chinese?”

She flinched inside at the mention. The last thing in the world she wanted was Chinese food. She hated that Charlie and his games had ruined Chinese food for her. Sometimes, she just wanted a carton of cold sesame noodles, but they’d remind her of all the bullshit she still had to deal with til she was even with Charlie. If she’d ever be even with that fucker. Somedays, freedom felt a lifetime away. Charlie had her in chains, and even though she hadn’t asked for his permission to go away for the weekend, she was keenly aware that this was only a temporary leave from the jail she was in back home.

The jail no one knew about. She refused to tell a soul – it was too shameful what had happened to her made Charlie turn her into his property. But she also kept her mouth shut because she didn’t want those men to sink their claws into people she loved. She protected her sister, her friends, even her hairdresser with her silence. But she didn’t want Charlie infecting her time away. She shoved all thoughts of debts and guns and knives back into a dark corner of her mind.

“Clay,” she said, in a chiding tone. “I can get good Chinese like that –” she snapped her fingers “– in San Francisco. I want something that tastes like New York.” The lie rolled off her tongue seamlessly, but he didn’t need to know why she wasn’t taking him up on his offer for Chinese. “I want to go out. To some place filled with brooding New Yorkers rather than San Francisco hipsters. Something that makes me feel like I’m in the West Village.”

“My mistake. I assumed you getting naked meant you wanted to eat inside,” he said, eyeing her up and down as she unbuttoned the shirt.

“I’m not getting naked,” she said. “I’m changing into my clothes.”

He reached for her, gripping her wrist in his hand. “Don’t.”

“Don’t change?”

He shook his head. “Wear my shirt.”

“I don’t even have a bra on,” she pointed out as if his idea was ludicrous.

“I know,” he said, his lips curving up. “I like that.”

“You like me all free range?”

“You have beautiful breasts. I want to be tortured knowing they are just one layer away from me and covered only by something I was wearing an hour ago,” he said, trailing his fingers along the edge of the shirt, barely touching her exposed chest. A shiver ran down her spine.

“And what about my bottom half? You want me to strut around naked from the waist down?”

“I want you to put that skirt back on. Do not put on underwear. Just your heels, your skirt and my shirt,” he said in a firm voice. He held her gaze, his eyes darker than usual, waiting for her answer.

“Are you giving me an order?” She asked curiously, pushing her fingers through her hair that was still messy from sex. But she’d never minded sex hair. As far as she was concerned, it was a look that should be listed on the menu at all blow out salons. Updo, blown straight, or sex hair? I’ll take the sex hair, thank you very much.

“I’m giving you a request. One that I very much want you to fulfill,” he said, grabbing her hand and bringing her palm to his lips. He kissed her, his tongue soft and wet against her skin. She’d never expected being kissed on her palm would be so erotic, but it was, because everything about Clay was charged with his smoldering virility, like a trailing scent of lingering sexiness that surrounded him. She was familiar with the term “sex-on-stick,” but that didn’t even begin to describe this man. He was so much more than that. He was masterful, and he touched her in ways that felt unreal. As if it weren’t possible to truly feel that good. Feeling that good had to be a fantasy. But, this was no mere dream. It was an intoxicating sliver of reality.

“What if I want to wear underwear?” she said, challenging him because it was fun, because she could, and because he wasn’t going to pull a knife on her if she did. Here, she could be herself without fear of retaliation with a weapon. What a relief that was.

“Then I will take it off at the table and we’ll be right back where we started. So as far as I can see, you can leave your panties here, or I can take them from you at the restaurant. That clear?”

She nodded. “Commando it is then. And I am going to make you so crazy with wanting me that you might regret telling me to go naked.”

“Impossible. I’d never regret you naked.”

On the way out, she grabbed her clutch purse – a sleek little number from Coach that she’d snagged second hand – and her phone. The message light flashed.

“Damn,” she muttered, when she saw the text from McKenna. Are you alive??? Or are you otherwise occupied? I need to know if I should call the cops or congratulate you.

Julia grinned at the note. Clay raised his eyebrows in question.

“My sister,” she explained, tapping a quick reply. “I told her I’d text her when I landed. She worries about me.”

“So much that it brings out that naughty grin on your face?” he asked, swiping his thumb across her lips, and it was both sexy, but also skeptical.

As if he didn’t quite believe her.

But this time she was telling the truth.