by K. A. Linde
“That was before I knew you were fucking with me, Andrea,” he growled, his voice rising an octave.
She plopped back down onto the leather interior. “I wasn’t fucking, fucking with you.”
“Then, what the hell were you doing?”
Andrea opened her mouth to explain, but he’d had enough talk from her. There was no way she could explain her actions. She’d toyed with him. Wanted him to be jealous about her being with Bad Suit—douche bag Asher McWalter—as if the guy could ever live up to Clay…as if he could give Clay a reason to be jealous.
“If you would just let me…”
He dug his fingers into her thighs until she stopped talking. He crawled his hands up her perfect milky-white skin, hoping he’d leave fingerprint bruises all up her inner thighs to remind her just whose girl she was.
She groaned, grasping the seat and lifting her ass, urging him on.
He tore the remaining piece of her dress, stripping away her last vestige of modesty, revealing once again that she wasn’t wearing anything at all underneath it.
“Making a habit of this?” he asked.
“You like it.”
“I wear bow ties, and you go commando. I think I got the better end of the deal.”
Her eyes fluttered closed again when his fingers finally made it all the way up her legs. Clay pressed them open wide and teasingly circled his finger, so he was close to touching her where she was clearly demanding but not quite. He could sense her frustration and desperation, see it in her brow. When he saw her eyes start to flicker back open to demand he touch her, he slipped his fingers between her lips and slicked them with her wetness.
And, fuck, was she wet.
He plunged two fingers deep inside her and then drew them up against her walls in just the way he knew she liked. She whimpered softly, and the sound was music to his ears. Leaning forward, he roughly swirled his tongue around her clit until she was bucking beneath him.
The back of the limo had never held so much appeal to him. He forgot all about his aching ribs and the echoes of their argument. Instead, he just focused on this one task—making her come. And she would, goddamn it. He could fucking guarantee that. He was good at many things, but sex was his specialty.
Andrea pushed her pussy up against his face, begging for the release he was holding just out of range. If she wanted to toy with him, he could toy with her. Oh, sure, she would come—when he let her.
“Clay…” she moaned.
“Say it again.”
“Clay fucking Maxwell.”
“That’s right,” he said with a grin.
Then, he circled his tongue around her clit, and she came all over his face.
He didn’t waste any time. She lay there, panting. The second fucking orgasm he’d given her, unreciprocated, in two weeks. He was damn sure he was getting his own tonight—more than once, if he could ignore his damn ribs long enough.
Clay unceremoniously yanked down the zipper of his tuxedo pants, pulled his dick out, and maneuvered to enter her. She shuddered as he thrust up inside her. Her walls were still contracting from the pleasure he’d just provided, and he could feel the heady remnants of her orgasm.
He wasn’t easy on her body either. Leaning his elbow on the cushion by her head, he drove deep and long into her, claiming her body. She moaned, tightening all around him. Her hands cupped his face. All remnants of their fight had fled her face. She looked up at him with dreamy hooded eyes, and all he saw was how beautiful she was. Even though he was taking her punishment out on her body, he still found her gorgeous beneath him.
“I love when you take me like this,” she said, digging her nails into his hair.
“Hard?”
“And rough,” she agreed.
He pounded into her harder at the words. Fuck, it’d been two fucking weeks. He was pretty sure that was a record.
And then she was shuddering underneath him again. She came out of nowhere, and in response, his body jerked and bucked as she squeezed him, tilted her head back, and cried out his name. He couldn’t help it. There was no stopping it. With that kind of reaction, his dick had its own fucking mind. He leaned forward and exploded inside her, lost in the throes of release.
When he returned to himself, he slipped out of her and crashed back onto the limo seat next to her. She eased into the tiny space next to him, lying on her side, her chest heaving.
“Goddamn it, Clay,” she whispered.
“Mmm,” he murmured. He was feeling really drowsy. Since his ribs were now on fire—maybe physical activity had been a bad idea—he thought sleeping sounded pretty awesome.
“How can I stay mad at you now?” she said.
“Why the fuck are you mad at me?” he bit out. “You’re the one who broke the rules.”
“Rules are meant to be broken.”
“I’m a lawyer, honey. Try again.”
“That means you know exactly how to bend and break the rules to your liking,” she said. “I’ve learned a thing or two from you over the years. Don’t forget; I was there for the three miserable years of law school.”
“Oh, fuck, not this again.” He closed his eyes against the same conversation they’d had on multiple occasions. “Just because we made it through law school together doesn’t entitle you to anything.”
“Every other couple we knew has broken up or gotten divorced!” she reminded him. “Every one!”
“That’s because one person would get pissed that the other one was fucking other people. You and I didn’t give a shit about that. We had an arrangement with rules. Remember? That’s why we survived my three years in law school.”
“You’re so thick sometimes.”
He smirked. “I definitely am. You just felt how thick I am.”
Andrea snorted and sat up. Without a second thought, she grabbed the ends of her destroyed dress, tied them into a knot on the side of her leg, and somehow managed to regain all her dignity. “Not everything is about your dick.”
“Just most things.”
Andrea was silent the rest of the way back to their house. He let her brood. He was pissed enough for the both of them.
At some point, he must have dozed off because Andrea shook him awake when the limo had stopped. Clearly, he was more exhausted than he’d known. And the pain meds were wearing off.
They entered their house together, and Clay went straight for the pill bottle. He took another one to douse the flames in his sides. When he rounded back toward the foyer, Andrea was standing with her hands on her hips, staring at him.
“We should talk,” she said.
“Do I look like I’m in the mood to talk?”
“I don’t care.”
He ran his hand back through his hair and started up the stairs.
She stomped after him. “Are you really just going to ignore me?”
“Talk if you must talk, woman.”
“I don’t feel like I should have to apologize about Asher.”
Clay ground his teeth. “The fact that you’re using that douche’s name in my house—”
“Our house,” she spat back. “Any other night, you wouldn’t have given two shits that I’d been seeing him. How many other girls have you seen through our games?”
Clay shrugged. “More than one.”
“Right. So, don’t come back all high and fucking mighty.”
“Have you seen him since that night?” Clay asked.
He glanced at her as they both walked into their massive master bedroom with the giant four-poster king-size bed in the center.
“What? No, of course not,” she said, something flashing in her eyes. She almost looked hurt that he had even asked.
Or guilty. Huh.
“Good.”
“And why do you even care?” she demanded. “You claim you aren’t jealous, but you are. You claim you don’t want a real relationship, yet you want me to be there for everything for you. You claim that this makes you happy, but it doesn’t.”
&
nbsp; “You agreed to all of this, Andrea!” he bellowed. “You’re not the girlfriend type. You’re not the marrying type. You don’t want your heart broken. You don’t want to be left alone, like your parents left each other. You make the same fucking claims that I do.”
Her eyes spit fire at him. “And what if I’ve changed?”
“You haven’t.”
“How can you possibly know that?”
Clay laughed and shook his head. He couldn’t believe he was hearing this. “Because you like the games. You thrive on the games. You said it yourself…we survived three years of law school when no one else did.” He swept his hand through her long blonde hair, pushing it off her shoulders and exposing her collarbones. “You know I care about you. You know you’re my girl. At the end of the day, I come home to you. We work this way.”
He could tell that she wanted to say something else, but instead, she just turned away from him and walked into her walk-in closet. Clay dropped his hand with a sigh. Everything hurt too much for this conversation.
Andrea reappeared a couple of minutes later in a silk negligee that barely graced the tops of her thighs.
“I’m going to sleep,” she said. Then, she strode right past him, crawled into the enormous bed, and turned on her side with her back facing the middle of the bed.
Christ.
He stripped out of his tuxedo and pulled back the covers to lie next to her. The bed was big enough that, if they wanted to, they never had to touch each other. Some nights, it was a blessing. Tonight, it felt like a giant chasm had ripped the bed in two.
Ignoring her obvious dismissal, Clay bridged the distance between them, wrapped a protective arm around her waist, and dragged her body against his. She was stiff as a board beneath his touch.
“Andrea,” he whispered, “come on.”
“I hate this,” she admitted.
“Me, too.”
She shook her head, and he wasn’t sure what she was thinking. Surely, she meant that she hated they were fighting over something ridiculous. Why change when things are good?
Eventually, her body relaxed into him, and much of her weight pressed back into his chest. It was a reassuring soft embrace, something they’d done for years. And even though he was still upset about Bad Suit, he couldn’t help but feel content as he fell asleep with his girl in his arms.
Chapter 7
YOU
Their relationship was tense the next week before Clay started his new law job. He wouldn’t give up an inch on the Bad Suit fiasco. Andrea seemed even more stolid than ever and refused to talk to him further on any of the topics that had come up on New Year’s. The only good thing that had come of that week was that his ribs were finally healing and had stopped causing him excessive amounts of pain.
Just in time for him to start putting in long hours at the new office.
He’d decided on Cooper & Nielson. His father was right, as much as Clay begrudged him that.
Cooper & Nielson was the best firm in the city, and it was the perfect stepping-stone to getting him the experience he needed to become a judge. That would be another check mark on his to-do list to becoming attorney general.
He frowned as he thought about it while tying the knot of his pink-checkered tie. One more thing to make good old dad finally proud of him.
“Where are you off to this early?” Andrea asked. She appeared out of the walk-in closet in a knee-length blue dress. Her hair was pulled back off her face, and she looked so hot.
They’d never argued for this long before. Normally, whatever was bothering them, they would just get over—or, more accurately…fuck out. But, so far, no such luck. In fact, there’d been no fucking since the limo. Something he definitely needed to change.
“Work, baby.” He walked over and kissed her cheek. “Someone has to pay the bills.”
Her lips upturned. “We both have trust funds. No one needs to pay the bills.”
“Well, you’re the only one living off of yours.”
Andrea scoffed at him and ran her hands up the front of his suit. “For one, I earn a decent living, selling art. Something you’ve still yet to grasp. And second,” she cut in before he could laugh at her for considering her hobby a job, “this is a two-thousand-dollar suit.”
“Which is not a big deal since I just made my Supreme Court flirting bonus,” he said with a wink.
Every year, the top law firms across the country would “flirt” with Supreme Court clerks. Each justice had four, and the retired clerks even had one each to do their bidding…all of the real behind-the-scenes work. It was grueling, backbreaking work that Clay had put in during the last two years. But the average bonuses for clerks who entered into a top firm started at $250,000 on top of the salary at the firm, coming in as a third-year associate. His was getting more than that because he’d made them wait…and beg. It wasn’t a bad gig.
“Whatever you want to believe,” she said.
“Are you going to be here when I get back?”
She raised her eyebrows. “What do you take me for? A kept woman? I have business in town.”
Clay’s face darkened. “With whom?”
She patted his cheek. “An art dealer. Don’t wait up.”
“Are you meeting…Asher again?” he asked as she walked toward the door.
She sighed. “No, Clay. You know I haven’t had contact with him.”
And then she left.
He hated to admit that the tension had left his chest with her answer. He wasn’t…jealous. He was still just…just really irritated about the whole thing, and he didn’t want her seeing the douche again.
Clay took his Porsche into the city, grumbling all the while about the traffic. He never could understand why drivers were so horrible here. Back home in Chapel Hill, there wasn’t nearly this much traffic or congestion. He missed being there sometimes. He missed his cabin on the north side of town and his parents’ mansion outside of Durham. He missed Southern hospitality and fashion and cooking. He’d been out of the South for too long, but it would always be home.
He pulled into the parking garage for Cooper & Nielson, sliding the pass that they had given him over the sensor. The bar jerked up, and he entered the subterranean enclosure. For once, he felt like he was with his people. Every car he passed was exceedingly luxurious, polished to perfection, and practically dripping with wealth. It was clear; status and money spoke volumes. His Porsche glided into a vacant spot right between a Mercedes and a Lexus. It was like sinking his dick into expensive pussy.
He took the elevator up to the top floor where he was supposed to meet his new boss Ted Cooper, cofounder of Cooper & Nielson.
“You must be Mr. Maxwell,” Cooper’s secretary said when he walked into the office. She was a redheaded woman in her late forties with a stiff smile. She looked like she didn’t leave the desk often.
“That’s right.”
She typed something on the computer keyboard and then wrote something down in small illegible hand on a giant desk calendar. “Good. Mr. Cooper will be finished in just a moment.”
“Excellent.”
She glanced back up at him. “You wouldn’t happen to know Congressman Maxwell?”
Clay sighed. Of course…Brady. “Yes, Brady is my brother,” he said immediately.
She furrowed her brow. “Oh, I meant Senator Maxwell. I met him when he was still in the House of Representatives. Can’t get a handle on him being a senator.”
His father had been a senator for nearly two decades. At least this wasn’t about Brady. “Yes, that’s my father.”
“Great man,” she said with a genuine smile.
“Clay Maxwell,” a voice called from the doorway of an office.
“Mr. Cooper.” Clay walked forward and shook hands with the wizened old white dude who was a legend in D.C. law.
“Excellent to have you on board, son.”
“I’m honored to be here, sir.”
Clay was thankful that he’d gone through all of his
introductory materials for the job earlier in the week. He had already been prepped, and he was ready to go. All he needed was to get set up in his own office and be handed cases. He knew what to do from there.
“I just wanted to say, welcome aboard, and introduce you to your colleagues who will be around to answer any questions. You’ll, of course, have your own team in place, but there’s always a learning curve.” Ted patted Clay’s back. “I’m sure it’ll be less with someone from your background.”
Clay smiled graciously. He hadn’t put those two years into clerking for nothing.
Ted directed him back to the elevator, and they took it down two floors. He walked with Clay down the hallway, making polite conversation. Clay was surprised that he was having this chat with the top dog at a mega firm. That signing bonus must have really meant something. And, to think, all of this was just one big stepping-stone to the real prize.
“Here we are,” Ted said.
It was a nice open room with offices on the perimeter and space for secretaries, paralegals, and the rest of the staff in the center.
“Let’s go find Miss De Rosa. She will be your key point of contact.”
They stopped in front of an office space with a heavy curtain covering the window that looked into the office. Seeing Mr. Cooper, the secretary buzzed for the attorney inside.
A few seconds later, the door popped open and a girl stepped out.
“You!” the girl cried.
Clay’s eyebrows rose. Well, fuck.
“Hey, Gigi,” he said casually, as if they were old friends rather than mild acquaintances before he’d broken her boyfriend’s nose in a bar fight.
“What are you doing here?”
“Didn’t you hear? I’m the new attorney.”
“Wait…you’re the Supreme Court clerk?” she asked, her big brown eyes wide.
It was like she had forgotten that he’d said he was the best lawyer in the city.
He just smirked in response.
“Well, I’m glad that you two seem to know each other,” Ted butted in. “Miss De Rosa, please help Mr. Maxwell with whatever he needs.”
She gritted her teeth and nodded. “Of course, sir.”
He wondered exactly what “whatever he needs” meant. She still had some pretty killer lips on her that he wouldn’t mind exploring. But, damn, she still had on a fucking pantsuit. At least it all fit together now. She wasn’t just an attorney; she was a big attorney at Cooper & Neilson. The handshake, large quantities of vodka, and unfortunately, the pantsuit all made sense.