Night After Night

by Lauren Blakely

  “You really want to know?”

  “I really want to know. So I can avoid them,” he said, holding her gaze with his own, his dark brown eyes so earnest and true. As if it were deeply important for him to know what irked her, so as not to do it.

  “Washcloths,” she said, and held out her hands as if it say what gives. “I don’t get it. I don’t understand washcloths. Why use a washcloth to wash your face when you have hands? Put the soap on your hands and wash. Or worse, leave a wet washcloth hanging up in the shower because then it just becomes a damp, used, smelly washcloth.”

  He nodded several times as if taking detailed notes in his head. “You might have noticed I don’t own washcloths. I don’t need an intermediary between soap and my body.”

  She laughed. “Exactly. You’re already ahead of the game. Here’s another pet peeve. I don’t like seeing a man walking around only in his socks.”

  He mimed making a check mark. “Note to self: Remove socks first before taking off pants to fuck Julia.”

  “I don’t like dirty sinks either. I see no reason for bathroom sinks to be anything but pristine.”

  “Did you noticed how immaculate my bathroom is?”

  “I did,” she said with a wink. “Don’t you just know the way to a woman’s heart?”

  “Evidently.”

  “I assume you were down on your hands and knees scrubbing every surface before I arrived?”

  “Something like that. Or maybe I had it cleaned knowing I was having company I wanted to impress.”

  She ran her hand along his strong arm over his tattoo. “You’re getting the hang of it. You know what to do to stay on my good side.”

  “Am I on your good side?” he asked, propping himself up on his elbow.

  She traced a line down his chest. “You are all good side, Mister. Nothing more.”

  “Good. I find this side so much more enjoyable. How did you sleep?”

  “Very well, thank you. You wore me out last night.”

  “I like wearing you out, Julia,” he said, then brushed his lips against her forehead. “And I like having you in my bed.”

  “Your bed is pretty damn nice.”

  “You make it look good. It felt good having you fall asleep in my arms,” he said, then ran his fingers through her hair. He lowered his voice again, speaking softly, “I wouldn’t mind seeing you in my bed more often.”

  There was something different about him in moments like this. A tenderness shined through his hard exterior, a sweetness even. And it scared the hell out of her. Because it was easy to view him as a weekend fling. So incredibly easy. But when he was like this, she could feel the weight of one word pressing hard on her. More.

  Like a temptress with a come hither wave, inviting her in for more. More him, more moments, more getting to know each other. She wanted terribly to snuggle in close with him, lift her eyes to meet his, and say I want to be in your bed more often, and I want to be in your life too.

  But she didn’t have the luxury of more. So she made light of his comment, bringing it down to the sex level. “Oh, you just want to set some sort of record this weekend, don’t you?”

  “That’s not what I meant,” he said, and this time his voice was clear, and firm. He pulled her on top of him, thread his hands slowly through her hair, keeping his eyes locked on her the whole time. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

  “I know,” she whispered, the words catching in her throat. She pressed her lips together so she wouldn’t say too much, wouldn’t admit how much she was starting to want from him.

  “Kiss me,” he said, giving her a command. She obeyed, exploring his lips with her tongue, then crushing her mouth to his, trying to get closer, as close as she could be.

  He let go of her hair, his hands drifting down to her backside. He reached for a condom and rolled it on. Then he cupped her cheeks, lifted her up, giving her full access to his erection, and she sank onto him. She inhaled sharply as he filled her, stopping momentarily to savor the sensations. He moved inside her, and it wasn’t rough as she rode him. It was luxurious, and deliciously slow, and it felt disturbingly like making love, especially given the way he kissed her tenderly the whole time.

  Chapter Seven

  The thieves rode away in a convertible, the sunset streaking behind them, the jewels turned into money and the money tucked safely away in a bank account. The closing credits rolled, and Julia leaned closer to whisper in his ear, her soft hair brushing his neck. “We need to stay for the credits.”

  His heart thumped a beat harder, and he couldn’t deny that he was happy she’d insisted on proper movie etiquette herself. He didn’t have to tell her he wanted to stay. She got it on her own.

  “I always watch the credits even when I don’t have a client involved,” he said, staying put in the red upholstered chair because he didn’t want to miss seeing the name of the executive producer scroll up the big screen. He’d wait all the way through to the final shot because that’s what you did when you were in the biz. What happens before the credits brings butts to the seats, but what rolls on by after “The End” is why there’s a movie in the first place. “But I do have a client in this film.”

  “Which one is yours?” she whispered as other patrons stood, and picked up emptied popcorn tubs and cartons of Junior Mints.

  He pointed to the first credit. “That’s my guy.”

  “And you took good care of him, I trust?”

  He nodded. “Got him some very nice points on the back end.”

  She ran a finger down his arm, giving him an approving nod. “Impressive.”

  “I do what I can.”

  The names of the cast and crew, the key grip and the costumer streaked across the screen, and they watched them all. Soon, the movie reached its final frame, and silence filled the theater.

  “What did you think of the movie? And don’t tell me you liked it because I had a client work on it.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I have no need to suck up to you, Clay. You’re already putting out for me. But I loved it. Especially because you’re totally convinced at one point that they’re there’s no way they can walk out of the vault with all those jewels, but then it turns out there was a hidden wall,” she said, her expression animated as she recounted the film.

  He nodded enthusiastically. “That’s exactly what I love about a good heist flick. The way the story makes you think one thing, and then all of a sudden,” he said, twisting his hand to the side to demonstrate a U-turn, “You’ve gone the other direction.”

  “That’s what a good story does, right? Surprises you. Challenges you.”

  Their conversation was interrupted by the sweeping of a broom. Clay glanced behind him. An usher was sweeping the floor of the theater. The usher dumped the contents of the dustpan into a trashcan and then left.

  “I guess that’s our cue to go.” He stood up, holding Julia’s hand and they exited their row. “All alone in the movie theater,” he mused as they made their way up the aisle. “The things we could do.”

  “You never stop, do you?”

  “Thinking of ways to seduce you?”

  She nodded, tucking a strand of her sexy red hair behind her ear.

  “Never.”

  “Your efforts are very much appreciated, but you do know you have this one in the bag?”

  He reached his hand around her waist, tugging her in close as they left the theater, the bright lights of the lobby making him blink. “You are not the type of woman I would ever take for granted,” he said, whispering low in her ear, because the words were just for her. She shivered lightly against him, and he wrapped his arm tighter around her.

  “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why am I the type of woman you wouldn’t take for granted?”

  He held open the door to the cinema, letting her walk onto the New York Street first, admiring the view of her legs. It was a Saturday afternoon, but she was wearing black stockings and her trenchcoat
. Heels too. A young man in a slouchy sweatshirt stared at Julia as he walked by, nearly tripping over his Converse sneakers as he craned his neck to gawk. Clay wasn’t bothered. In fact, he was a proud mother fucker to know the woman other men stared at was with him. “Because you wear stockings on a Saturday to the movies. Because you do it not just to turn me on but because you are intrinsically sexy. Because you have this gorgeous internal confidence that has nothing to do with what men think of you. Because you stayed in the theater to watch the credits. Because you get why crime flicks are a damn good way to pass two hours. Because as much as I want to spend the entire weekend in bed, I also want to get to know you. Because I like talking to you as much as I like touching you. Is that enough?”

  She stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, wrapped her arms around his neck, nodded her answer and planted a hard kiss on his lips. She tasted like kettle corn from the movies. “Mmm,” he growled, as a gray-haired couple sidestepped them. They were in New York City, kissing on the street, doing exactly what new lovers should do in a weekend together.

  “Yes, that’s enough.” She grabbed his hand and laced her slender fingers through his. “And I think you are a fabulous way to pass the time,” she said, and he suspected that was as much as she’d admit when it came to that most dangerous territory of feelings. But he’d take it, he’d happily take it.

  They resumed walking, a crisp April breeze blowing past them that smelled remarkably like rain as they neared Christopher Street. The breeze billowed her coat momentarily, providing him with a full-on view of her long legs, and just the slightest peak of her panties as her skirt danced upwards too. “Because of that too,” he added.

  “I arranged for that gust of wind. I ordered it to arrive at this instant.”

  He laughed, then gestured to a sushi restaurant at the corner. “You hungry?”

  She looked at her watch. “It’s four in the afternoon.”

  “I know. But we skipped lunch when I needed to eat you instead, and I figured once we return to my place you’re definitely going to be tied up.”

  “See, here’s the thing,” she said, holding up her hands, as if offering them for shackling. “You’ve been promising me these ropes, Clay, and my wrists are still achingly empty.”

  He swatted her ass. “Get some food in you, woman, before I tie you up and tie you down.”

  *****

  Clay had been to this restaurant a few times, including once with his ex, Sabrina. She’d asked the sushi chef if she could lick the yellowtail. She wasn’t drunk. Sabrina had never been a drinker. She’d been too in love with other substances instead, with little pills prescribed by doctors. “Little darlings for my headaches,” she’d say when a migraine swooped down on her. But then the migraines, if she truly had them, became so crushing that she needed more and more and more.

  She needed them all the time. Up her nose. Every few hours.

  But the worst part? The way she lied. The times she denied. How she hid what she was up to.

  That was the problem. That’s also why Clay didn’t want any drama with Julia. He knew there were no guarantees in relationships, and certainly people had a way of making promises and breaking promises. Still, he was keen on this woman, he wanted to spend more time with her, and he wanted to be upfront about the past so they could have more of the present.

  After they finished eating and left the restaurant, he cleared his throat. “So what’s your story, Julia? Got any any deep dark secrets I should know about?”

  She started coughing, sputtering at the abruptness of his question.

  “You okay?”

  She nodded, but kept hacking as they passed an art gallery. “Just a tickle in my throat,” she choked out.

  “Let me go back and get you some water.”

  She held up her hand to say no, coughed once more. “I’m fine. But what kind of question is that?”

  “An honest question. I’m just trying to get to know you,” he said, his tone straightforward.

  Then the sky broke. Out of nowhere it seemed, the clouds heaved up heavy droplets of water, pelting them from above.

  “Holy shit, that’s some rain,” Julia said, and grabbed at the collar of her coat, as if that would protect her from the water. A few feet away, a man hailed a cab, racing to get inside the vehicle. A family down the block ducked into a coffee shop, and a car squealed to a stop at the light.

  “I’m not that far from here. Only three blocks. But do you want to go to the coffee shop?”

  “No. I want to go to your place.”

  They picked up the pace, Julia’s heels clicking loudly against the wet sidewalk. “You okay in those shoes?”

  “Totally fine,” she said.

  “There’s a little souvenir shop on the corner. Let me get an umbrella for you.”

  She grabbed his arm, wrapped her hand around it and pushed him against the brick wall of a shoe store. “Don’t even think for a second that I can’t handle a few drops of rain, Mister. I’m not some fragile flower.”

  He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Never said you were.”

  “I like the rain. And I’ve always wanted to kiss in the rain,” she said, gripping his shirt collar, and running her fingers along it. “Now give me one of those fabulous New York kisses in the rain that make all the girls swoon.”

  “Gladly,” he said and cupped her cheeks in his hands, held her gaze, then moved in for a kiss, sweeping his lips softly against her, slowly kissing her in the rain, drawing out decadent little sighs and murmurs from her mouth. The sky unleashed a firehose of water, and the rain become a goddamn downpour. Julia quickly broke the kiss, and pointed to her hair, now plastered against her head. “Okay, time to run because that was romantic for about ten seconds and now I’m just a drowned rat.”

  He laughed. “Somehow, you’re still unbelievably sexy though,” he said as he grabbed her hand.

  They walked quickly, doing their best to dart and dodge passersby and sprayed-up puddles from cars. He kept his arm around her the whole way, and after another block, they were both soaked, but she couldn’t deny that she liked being wet with him, even this kind of wet.

  “My coat is useless,” Julia shouted against the pounding rain. The afternoon sky was slate gray and slamming buckets down upon them. His jeans stuck to his legs, and her stockings were waterlogged. Soon enough they reached his building and ran inside. He took a deep breath once the world turned dry again thanks to four walls and a roof.

  “That’s a hell of an angry sky,” he said as they stepped inside the elevator.

  “And there’s nothing romantic about getting caught in the rain.”

  He laughed. “Turns out that’s all just a lie of the movies.” He looked her up and down, her hair clinging messily to her her neck, and her cheeks. Her mascara had started to run and a drop of water slipped down her face. “I know what we need.”

  Chapter Eight

  Candlelight bathed the warm room in its soft glow. A D’Angelo album played faintly from an iPod in the bedroom, but here inside the spacious bathroom with its cream-colored tiles and marble tub, the world was warm again, and the water was the perfect temperature.

  Hot.

  Julia leaned back against him, her slim body lining perfectly with his, the waterline bobbing near her breasts. He was sure he could stare at them for quite a while and not ever want to look away. They were gorgeous, full and round with rosy nipples that he couldn’t resist touching. He cupped one in each hand, kneading them.

  “Hmm. Where did we leave off? Something about deep dark secrets and skeletons in the closet.”

  She leaned her head back against him, her hair fanning out in the water, like a mermaid. “Yes. I believe you were going to tell me about yours,” she said.

  “Ah, so many skeletons,” he said, running his index finger across the soft skin of her belly. She sighed happily, snuggling in closer against him.

  “I was once a dirty businessman and ran a Ponzi scheme like Bernie Mado
ff,” he said with a straight face.

  She turned to look at him. “Really?”

  He’d said it so matter-of-factly that it had taken her a moment to realize he was teasing. “No. But the truth is I ran a high-class call girl ring as a side business to my law practice,” he said, in a deliberately confessional tone.

  “Shut up,” she laughed as she slinked deeper into the water.

  “You got me. I never did that. A buddy of mine did, but he got out of that racket recently. Reformed.”

  “Good. I’m glad to hear that.”

  “He’s the one who runs the poker games I was telling you about. He’s also my go-to guy if I ever need to track down intel on someone I’m not so sure about.”

  “Like an investigator?”

  “Sort of. He just knows stuff. He can find out anything about anybody like that,” he said, snapping his fingers. He shifted away from talk of his friend. “But those aren’t my skeletons.”

  “What are yours then?”

  He reached for a bar of soap from the side of the tub, soaped up his hands, and began washing her legs, enjoying the feel of her sexy body sliding across his palms. “Actually, I don’t think I have too many skeletons. You know about my family already. I’ve been a lawyer for ten years, I work hard for my clients, I like entertainment, and I hate lies,” he said and she tensed instantly. He briefly wondered why she’d react that way. But then, he reasoned, nobody liked lies. She probably hated them as much as he did. He kept on going, moving from her calves to her thighs. Then he stopped because this was important, what he had to say. “They’re a deal breaker for me. There’s no need for lies. You agree?”

  “Of course,” she said quickly.

  “I don’t like being caught up in something that’s a game, or a cheat. Been there, done that. I won’t go there again,” he said firmly, using his negotiation voice, as memories flashed by quickly of his ex. She was the reason he felt this way, and he needed Julia to know he didn’t want and wouldn’t tolerate a repeat. “I was involved with a woman named Sabrina for a few years. I thought I knew her well, but her whole life was a lie.”