Chapter Two
Clay finished off the rest of his scotch, then glanced at his watch.
“Got someplace to be?” Michele asked.
Damn. He was caught checking the time again, a bad habit he’d started since he invited Julia to join him in New York this weekend. It was nearing ten, and he should cut out of this bar and head home. She’d be arriving tomorrow, and tomorrow evening couldn’t come fast enough.
“Yeah. Bed,” he said dryly. Michele was his best friend Davis’s sister, and his friend too. The three of them had known each other since college. She was one year younger, but had followed in her brother’s footsteps, attending the same university.
“I remember when you used to be out til all hours,” Michele teased, shooting him a knowing smile, as she ran her fingers through her dark hair. Michele was a pretty woman, always had been, but there was nothing between them. Not since they’d shared a kiss one night at a drunken college party. A kiss that had never been repeated, and he’d chalked it up to her being sad that night over the anniversary of her parents’ death and needing some kind of connection. Understandable. Completely understandable.
“Hardly,” he said, because he wasn’t the party boy type, but then he wasn’t usually the first one to leave either. Tonight, however, needed to end early because tomorrow was the one he wanted to last all night long. He called for the check, fished some bills from his wallet, and paid for their drinks.
“Why are you leaving so soon?”
“Because the glass is empty. I’ll get you a cab,” he said, and walked out with her, the neon lights of the diner across the street flickering behind them. “Do you want to…” she said, but the rest of her words were swallowed by the sound of a siren a few blocks over.
“Want to what?” he asked when the noise faded.
She swallowed, then spoke quickly, faster than usual. “Do something this weekend? Have dinner maybe?”
He shot her a look like she wasn’t making sense, as he hailed the first taxi he saw. “Davis is out of town,” he said. He and Michele didn’t have dinner together. Drinks maybe. But dinners were something the three of them did together, and Davis was off in London for a few months, directing a production of Twelfth Night that Clay had hooked him up with.
“Yeah. I know,” she said. “That’s sort of the point.”
“Point of what?”
She shook her head. Rolled her eyes. “Nothing. It was nothing,” she said, and something about her tone seemed clipped.
“You okay?”
She nodded quickly. Too quickly. “I’m great,” she said, as he held open the cab door for her. “Anyway, you probably have big plans this weekend.”
“I think it’s safe to say I’ll be tied up,” he said, though as her cab sped off, he realized it was more likely the other way around. That Julia would be.
He hoped she would be at least.
*****
He’d woken up at four-thirty, worked out at five, and hit the office by six-thirty. He’d skipped lunch, ordered in a sandwich, and reviewed a contract for a new sci-fi flick a movie director he repped was working on. He sent in notes to the producers, a list of points and items that needed to be changed, and if they weren’t his client wouldn’t be happy, and Clay was all about having a hefty stable full of happy clients.
His junior partner at the firm, Flynn, poked his head in around mid-afternoon. “Hey. I got a lead that the Pinkertons are looking for new representation,” Flynn said, his blue eyes wide and grinning. A pair of British brothers, the Pinkertons had been bankrolling some of the most successful films in the last few years including Escorted Lives, based on the bestselling books.
“We need to lock that up,” he said and he was sure the glint in his eyes matched his partner. Flynn was three years younger and eager as hell to grow his role at Clay’s firm. He’d hired him fresh out of law school, and Flynn had become invaluable, pulling more than his weight in helping to land top clients and sweet deals for them. They’d seen eye to eye on just about everything, with the exception of one minor rough patch a year ago over a client that Flynn had reeled in all on his own – a big-time action film director.
A client they’d lost.
“No kidding,” Flynn said, tapping the side of the door twice for good luck. Flynn was like that, always crossing his fingers, and knocking on wood. “I’ll get some more details and aim to set a meeting with them next week.”
“Perfect. The Pinkertons are huge golfers, so if you have to schedule a tee time, you should,” he said, and it wasn’t so much a suggestion, as it was an order. One he knew Flynn, a former college golfer, would jump at.
Flynn mimed swinging a club. “Shame I hate golf so much,” he joked.
“All right, get out of here. I need to finish up so I can take the weekend off.”
“I’ll email you when I hear more.”
“I’m not answering email this weekend,” Clay said, making it clear in his tone that this was a do-not-disturb kind of weekend. “You can update me on Monday.”
“Fair enough.”
Flynn left, and he checked on Julia’s flight, pleased to see it was landing on time. He brushed his teeth, ran his fingers through his hair, not bothering with a comb, because she was the kind of woman who’d have her fingers sliding through his hair in seconds, messing it up the way she wanted. He said goodbye to the receptionist, let her know she could shut down early too, and slid into the town car waiting outside his office. On the way to the airport, he worked his way through his west coast calls, ending them just as the car pulled up to the terminal.
The sun was blaring, high in the sky in April, so he put on a pair of sunglasses. He loosened his tie; he couldn’t stand the way it constrained him. He glanced at his phone, hoping for a message from her. None was there, so he clicked on the app for his stocks, checking his portfolio, and looking up every few seconds to scan the crowds. He couldn’t focus on the market right now.
He hardly wanted to admit it to himself, but there was something about this moment – the minutes before he saw her – that felt like first date nerves. Like knocking on a woman’s door, and waiting, hoping she’d be just as eager for the night to unfold. Weird, considering the way he and Julia had started. Free of pretense and bullshit, they went straight for each other, the physical chemistry overpowering anything else.
His phone buzzed. He clicked open the message and it sent a bolt of electricity through him. White stockings coming your way…
Stockings – one of those items of clothing on the right woman that could send a man to his knees. Especially the sight of the top of a pair of thigh-highs peeking out from a skirt, revealing an inch of skin, hinting at what lay beneath. On Julia, stockings were a playground for his eager hands.
The nerves in him disappeared and turned into something else – adrenaline, maybe. The sharp, hot charge of desire all through his blood and bones.
He spotted her before she saw him; that red hair was hard to miss, even in a sea of frenzied, frantic travelers jostling for a cab, a car, a bus. She wore a black trench coat, belted at the waist, black heels and white stockings. A grin took over his face; she had done it. Of course she had done it. He was at attention in seconds and his fingers itched to touch her, to peel off those stockings, inch by delicious inch, then lick his way down her legs to her ankles and back up, savoring her every single second.
Leaning against the town car, he kept his eyes on her the entire time as she threaded her way through the crowds. She was a tall drink of woman, and her red hair was blowing in the late afternoon breeze. She brushed some strands away from her face. Soon, she noticed him, smiling wickedly. He nodded, trying to act cool, even as his temperature rose. Then, she was in front of him, and before she said a word, her hands were on his shirt and she pulled him to her, pressing her lips to his.
She was lightning fast. A blur of movement, of teeth and lips and that intoxicating taste of her lipstick that would be gone in seconds.
; He responded instantly, kissing her hard like she deserved. Cupping the back of her neck, he jerked her close. He wanted her to remember that she might have made the first move, but he liked to lead. He nipped on her bottom lip, then sucked on her tongue, drawing out a moan from her that pleased him deeply. He kissed more, sliding his tongue over hers as he lowered his hand to her thigh, skimming his fingers along the thin, barely-there fabric of her stockings.
When he broke the kiss, he raised an eyebrow. “They look good on you, and I bet they look good coming off too.”
“Don’t rush it. I want you to enjoy the view.”
“I’ve been enjoying the view since the second I laid eyes on you, gorgeous.”
He opened the door and gestured for her to enter the car, watching the whole time as she stepped inside and crossed her legs, giving him a very brief preview of where the stockings ended. He shook his head approvingly, and she shot him a look that said nothing short of come and get it. He took her suitcase as the driver emerged, scrambling to deposit the black carry-on into the trunk.
After he got in the car and hit the partition button, closing them off from the driver, with the tinted windows shutting them off from the whole wide world.
She looked at him, her pretty green eyes meeting him straight on. That beautiful face, that divine body, and that naughty, naughty mouth – it was hard to believe he’d only spent one night with her. She stared at him like she was as famished as he was. Like she needed the same thing.
“You look like you need to be fucked right now.”
“Do I?”
“You sure do,” he said, raking his eyes over her, perched in the leather seat so properly, and so damn sexy at the same time. He ached to touch her, but savored the tease, so he kept a distance between them, drawing out the tension as the car pulled into afternoon traffic.
“And I suppose you think you can solve that problem?”
“I don’t think so. I know so. And I intend to. But not yet.”
“You gonna toy with me?”
“Been thinking about it.”
“Like a cat playing with a mouse,” she said, her voice nearly a purr.
“You’re hardly a mouse.”
“I know,” she said, then ran her index finger across her bottom lip, then around to her top, so suggestively he nearly tossed his plans to wait out the window. He wanted her now. He wanted her bad, especially with the way her hot gaze was locked on him as she parted her lips, and ran her tongue along her teeth.
A challenge. One that he planned to meet. A low rumble worked its way free of his throat as he moved to her, his body next to her, just a trace of contact. Slowly, so as to torture her, he reached for the belt of her coat, taking his time untying it.
Her breath caught as he started to open her jacket, first one button, then the next, then another. As he worked his way up her chest, undoing the final button, she rolled her eyes in pleasure, closing them briefly as he slid a hand over her right breast, squeezing her.
She stifled a gasp, biting her lip.
“Don’t pretend you’re not turned on.”
“I’m not pretending,” she whispered.
“Then let me hear you moan. I want to hear everything.” She opened her eyes, as he cupped her breasts over the fabric of her clingy sweater. “Are you wet?”
“Yes.”
He glanced down at her short black skirt, already rising up to show more of her strong, shapely thighs. He desperately wanted to slide his hand under her skirt right the fuck now, but patience would be rewarded. “When did you start getting wet?”
“The exact moment?”
“Yes.”
“On the plane.”
“What were you thinking about at 30,000 feet that was getting you wet?” he asked, as his hand drifted down the front of her sweater, traveling over her flat belly.
“About all the things you might say to me.”
“You like the way I talk to you?”
“Why don’t you check and see how much I like it?”
“Why don’t you wait for me to check,” he fired back as he reached under her sweater, spreading his hand across the soft, sweet flesh of her stomach. She moaned as he touched her, and he wasn’t sure he was going to be able to get enough of those sounds this weekend. He might have to spend the next forty-eight hours making her gasp and moan, groan and scream, because her noises were better than a cold drink on a hot day. The sounds she made fed him.
He ran his callused fingers along the waistband of her skirt, and she wiggled closer to his hand. “So your panties were damp all during the flight, Julia?”
“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.
Night After Night Page 2
