After This Night

by Lauren Blakely

One of his shirts. She slipped one on, buttoned it to her breasts, and considered herself fully dressed.

  She heard the door open, and her heart tripped over itself. Excitement tore through her body because he was here, and she damn near wanted to race down the two flights of stairs. But she knew this man, and knew what he wanted. He didn’t need her running into his arms. He’d want to discover her. She padded down the steps quietly, turning the corner at the second floor just as he was leaving his phone and keys on the kitchen table.

  She leaned against the top of the railing, her hip resting against the iron, her fingers toying with the top button. Waiting. Waiting for him.

  When he looked up, his eyes locked on her face. He stroked his chin, and shook his head in appreciation.

  “I could get used to this,” he said, his deep, gravelly voice turning her to liquid as he stalked over to her, up the six steps, then cupped her cheeks in his big strong hands. “You. In my house. In my clothes. Here for me.”

  She melted as sparks raced over her skin. “All for you.”

  Neither one of them said another word as he looked at her as if he were inhaling her, as if the very sight of her was oxygen in his lungs. Electricity charged through her under his gaze. She wanted him to eat her up, to taste her, to touch her all over. Everywhere—this man needed to be everywhere on her body, in her body, in her heart, in her mind.

  She reached for the collar on his shirt, gripping it hard. At some point they were going to kiss, they were going to crash into each other, but now the moment was heady with silence, drenched in anticipation of them coming together.

  She stepped backwards, clutching his shirt. He followed, matching her until the back of her knees hit his couch.

  Then it happened. Like fireworks, an explosion at the end of the Fourth of July, loud and powerful, that rang in your ears and lit up the sky. Everything became a frenzy of heat and vibrant color as he touched her. Before she knew it, the buttons on her shirt—his shirt—had scattered to the hardwood floor as he tore it off her. His shirt was gone next, pants unbuttoned, yanked down to his knees, then off. Like a leopard, he sprang fast, heated and fevered too, and before she knew it she was naked on her back on his couch, her legs up on his shoulders as he held her down hard with his big body. His arms, like steel, held her thighs in place as he entered her in one mind-blowing thrust. She was pinned, deliciously pinned, by this position. She couldn’t move her legs, but her hands were free to touch his beautiful face, and she reveled in the chance to stroke his five o’clock shadow, to map his features with her fingers, to draw her thumbprint over his jaw that she loved.

  Loved.

  He moved in her, fucking her the way he kissed her, deep and consuming, in a claiming of her body. He was owning her, marking her, his fingers digging hard into her shoulders, clutching her tightly, as if he couldn’t bear to let go. He took her hard and he took her slow at the same time. She felt him in her bones, on her skin, down to her very cells. He was inside her, he was outside her, he surrounded her. A symphony of sensations flooded every vein, and soon it became impossible to tell where one note ended and the next began. She could no longer distinguish between her body and her heart; they were one and the same, swallowed whole with longing for him. She and Clay had smashed into each other, atoms and particles colliding, combusting into this never-ending bliss.

  “Do you think this will ever stop?” she whispered in between breaths.

  “Wanting you like this?”

  “Yes,” she said, inhaling sharply as she held his face, never taking her eyes off his.

  “No,” he said, his voice ragged. “Because of how I feel.”

  “How do you feel?”

  “I am obsessed,” he said, raw and heated, his words touching down in her soul. “Utterly obsessed.”

  “The same,” she whispered, barely able to form complete sentences, but not needing to. He took possession of her mouth, his lips devouring hers as he rocked deeper into her. He kept her restrained with his body, his arms, his cock, his lips, his tongue, his power, his control that he desperately needed to balance his obsession. She felt it all too, every ounce of him, of his desire and his need for her. Giving herself to him, she let him take her how he had to, because when he did, he brought them both over the edge.

  She grasped his neck harder, holding on tight as pleasure ricocheted through her body, and the world spun so far into ecstasy that she never wanted to return.

  Eventually she came back to earth, and he reached for her, nuzzling her neck, kissing her cheek, unable to keep his lips off of her. A kiss on her shoulder, another at the hollow of her throat. He stopped kissing her to trace her arm, holding her gaze as he did. “I want that every day. I want you every day,” he said, his voice rumbling over her skin, drugging her with its sexy warmth.

  “Me too. So much,” she said, still high on him, them, the moments that had stitched together into bliss. Maybe that’s why she felt bold enough to say the next thing. “It was different this time, Clay,” she murmured.

  “How?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe more connected. This is going to sound crazy, and you know I don’t talk this way. But it felt deeper. Like we were the same,” she said, a flush creeping over her cheeks as she opened her heart to him more and more every time. But she wanted him in now. She didn’t want an arm’s-length Clay anymore. “Does that make sense?”

  “Yes. Do you know why it felt deeper?”

  “Why?” she whispered, and the moment felt suspended, like they were on a bridge, holding hands, about to jump into the water below.

  “Because there aren’t secrets anymore between us,” he said, brushing the backs of his fingers against her cheek, softly, oh so softly that she melted into his touch. “Because we’re in this together.”

  “That’s all I want. To be together with you,” she said, the warm rush of falling blotting out everything else in the universe. Surely, nothing existed beyond these four walls. The city had disappeared and they were all that was left.

  “No more lies. No more secrets. Only the truth,” he said, his voice strong and steady.

  “Only the truth,” she repeated, and nothing had ever felt more true than this moment. “Like this. How I feel for you is like nothing I’ve ever had before.”

  “Me neither. I can’t get close enough to you, Julia,” he said, linking his fingers through hers, and that gesture, so tender and loving, was like stripping off a final layer. “I can’t have enough of you. I want more of you. All the time.”

  “You can have all of me,” she said, watching the reaction in his eyes. As if she’d given him all he ever needed with those words.

  “You’re all I want,” he said, and it felt like a promise of what they might have together.

  “What will you do with me after tomorrow night, once I have all this free time?” she asked, shifting from the intensity of their admissions to something a touch more playful, like they’d always been together. They’d had that from the start, from their very first night. She loved that they had so many sides.

  “I figured you’d have your fill of poker, and be ready to move onto bridge. Strip bridge,” he added, raising an eyebrow.

  “We could try canasta, even. Or if you really want to go wild,” she said, punctuating her words with a quick trip of her finger down his strong arm, “we could do Go Fish.”

  He pretended to fan out several cards in his hands. “Julia, do you happen to have any sevens?” he teased, as if they were playing the kids’ game.

  She mimed handing over a pair. “I’ll miss my lucky sevens,” she said with a pout.

  “We’ll make new luck. Because I know what we’re going to do with all your free nights.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’m going to take you to Vegas. Play for fun. We’ll play blackjack.”

  “I’d love to go to Vegas with you.”

  “You can meet my brother. We’ll go to Brent’s comedy club, then I’m going to take you to one
of those late-night clubs in the Bellagio, where it’s dark and smoky and the music is low, and you’ll dance with me.”

  “You dance?”

  “Gorgeous, with you and me, dancing would be foreplay. I’d have you grinding against me on the dance floor,” he said, flipping her around so her back aligned with his chest.

  She wiggled her rear against him in demonstration. “Like that?”

  “Yeah, keep practicing that,” he said, low and husky in her ear.

  “We’d play the slots, too,” she added, keeping up their Vegas dreams.

  “We’d lose money and not care,” he said, brushing her hair off her shoulder. Planting a kiss on the back of her neck. Making her shiver.

  “See a show.”

  “Fuck in a limo on the strip,” he said, tracing her hipbone with his strong fingers.

  “Fuck in the elevator,” she said, sliding her leg through his, wanting to be wrapped up in him.

  “Leave work behind. Leave the past behind.”

  “Not look at my phone. Not think about my phone.”

  “No one could reach us,” he whispered. “We’d get drunk on each other.”

  She turned back around, needing to look at him, to see him. She ran a thumb over his lips, watching his eyes float closed as he hitched in his breath. “I’m already drunk on you, Clay.”

  “Stay that way,” he said. “I need you to stay that way.”

  “I will.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  He didn’t want the time with her to end. He didn’t want anything with her to end.

  As he stepped into the elevator after dinner at an Italian restaurant that evening, he was painfully aware of the ticking clock marching towards tomorrow’s game, then Sunday morning when they’d meet Charlie at eleven, then Sunday afternoon when he’d put her on a plane and let her crisscross the country. As they reached his floor¸ the thought of sending her home again was like a cut inside the mouth, an annoying reminder that couldn’t be ignored. Because he wanted so much more with her. He wanted these moments to unfold every damn day.

  But all he could do was make the most of this moment.

  “I have a gift for you,” he said when they were inside his home.

  A smile teased at her gorgeous lips. “A gift? I love gifts. However did you know?”

  “Of course you love gifts,” he said, with the confidence of knowing her.

  “Why do you say ‘of course?’” She leaned against the doorframe in his kitchen, tilting her head to the side in curiosity.

  “Because,” he said, running his fingers across the top of her skirt. “Because you know how to enjoy things. Because you don’t deny yourself. Because you let yourself feel pleasure and want. And that’s the kind of person who likes gifts. The kind of person who knows how to enjoy life.” He lowered his head to her neck, unable to resist brushing his lips against her soft skin. She shivered, and grabbed onto his shirt, tugging him close. “My point exactly,” he added.

  She broke the embrace and made grabby hands. “Gimme, gimme, gimme.”

  Stretching his arm around her, he scooped up the pink box that he’d left on the counter that morning. He handed her the gift, and tried his best to record every frame of her reaction. The way her eyes lit up as she ran a palm across the box, then as she untied the satiny white bow, letting it fall onto the counter. She lifted the top and peered inside.

  “Ooh,” she said appreciatively, then took the black thigh-high stockings from the box, and laid the box on the counter. “Your favorite thing.”

  He nodded.

  “You want me to put these on now?”

  “No. Save them. I need you to wear them tomorrow night.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “Why?”

  “It’s my poker handicap.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “I don’t want to win tomorrow. If you’re wearing those, I won’t, because it’s all I’ll think about,” he said, brushing his fingertips from her knees up her thighs.

  Her lips parted as he neared the apex of her legs, but she pressed a hand against his chest, holding him back. “I want to win fair and square. I told you that. You promised.”

  “I know you do. But you don’t need to prove to me you can beat me, Julia. I’m on your team,” he said, grabbing her hand and linking his fingers through hers. “And I need you to wear those tomorrow night for me. Say you will.”

  He watched her. Her shoulders rose and fell, and she didn’t speak for a moment, as if she were considering it. “Why do you have to be so damn convincing?”

  “It’s my job to make a good argument.”

  “You’re too good at what you do. But I’d wear them for you anyway. And since it’s evidently Christmas early at your house, I suppose it’s as good a time as any to let you know I have something for you.”

  “I love Christmas,” he said as she took his hand and guided him upstairs. When she reached her suitcase, she unzipped it and dipped a hand into the inside pocket.

  “This is a surprise, so close your eyes.”

  He did as she said. “I love surprises too. Did you know that?”

  “No. But that suits you as much as you said my loving gifts suits me.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because of the time you surprised me at my apartment. And then at McKenna’s wedding,” she said, as her heels clicked across the floor, and he felt her near him.

  “Hold out your hands,” she told him, her sexy, sultry voice turning him on.

  He opened his palms. “Put this on me,” she said, and he felt soft fabric fall into his hands.

  When he opened his eyes and looked down at his hands, he breath caught. A silk scarf was in his palms, and she was stripping off her clothes. “Blindfold me,” she said.

  He flashed back to their night in San Francisco last month. She’d told him it was the only thing she didn’t want to do. “The thought of it makes me feel a bit too vulnerable, and for a woman with trust issues, well, I’m not sure it’s the best kind of kink for me.”

  “But you said,” he began, but his words were swallowed dry as he watched her clothes fall in a heap on the floor, and she wore only her lace panties and heels.

  “I know what I said.” She ran her hand down his chest, her touch sending tremors through his body. “But things changed, and I want to do this for you. This isn’t the same as you helping me out of my troubles, but even so, I want to give you what you want. Let me do this for you.”

  He shook his head. “Don’t do this to say thank you.”

  “I’m not doing it to say thank you,” she said firmly. “I’m doing it because I want to give you everything you want.”

  “You don’t have to,” he said, his voice hoarse, as he fought back the desire burning inside of him for this.

  “I would never do something with you that I felt I had to. Everything I do with you I want to. I have so much want for you I don’t know what to do with it all, but to give you more of it. So sit down,” she said, and began to press her hand against him. She stopped. “Wait.” Her lips curved into a wicked grin. “I don’t think your fantasy is me telling you to sit down. You tell me what to do.”

  Oh, fuck. He was done for. His body was dangerously close to overheating, and she hadn’t even touched herself. But this wasn’t his fantasy for nothing. He knew how he wanted her—al fresco. “I want you on my balcony.”

  “As you wish,” she said, her eyes catching his, a spark in them as she glanced back at him and headed down the steps, giving him a perfect view of her gorgeous ass as she walked. His cock twitched hard against his jeans as he pictured all the things he wanted to do to her ass. When she reached the sliding glass door and tugged it open, she cast her gaze to the outdoors, then crooked a finger, beckoning him.

  “On the lounge chair,” he told her, and she crawled across the cushions. He kept his eyes on her the entire time, savoring every move of her body as cars and cabs raced by five flights below. If he pee
red over the brick railing he could watch the Manhattan night roll along, the people walking down the cobblestoned street in the Village. But he wasn’t looking anywhere except at her. She shifted to her back, her red hair fanning out over a pillow, her long, luxurious body stretched across the wooden lounge chair. A warm breeze floated through the dark night, blowing wisps of hair across her cheek.

  He straddled her, running the end of the silk blindfold over her belly, her breasts, then her throat, so the fabric teased her skin. Gently, he pressed the material over her eyes. She lifted her head so he could tie it behind her. As he tightened the knot, she wriggled her hips against his pelvis, and he felt the heat from her against the fabric of his jeans. “You want this,” he rasped out. “I can feel it. I can feel how fucking hot you are.”

  “I do want this,” she whispered.

  He lowered his head to her neck, buzzing a trail up to her ear. “I know you can’t see anything now, but you can feel everything. That’s why I want this. I want to watch you feel every single thing,” he said huskily, licking the shell of her ear.

  She looped her hands around his neck. “It’s very dark where I am, and I need to know you’re here the whole time. You can’t look away from me.”

  “I promise I will have my eyes on you the entire time,” he said, as he inched down her body. “You’ll feel me.”

  “How?”

  “Trust me, Julia,” he said, as he settled in at the end of the lounge chair, giving him a perfect view of her body, a straight shot of her long, luscious legs. “I’m going to sit and watch you, and I’ll tell you when I’m ready, and until then keep your hands at your sides.”

  She nodded, and he drank in the sight of her, from her beautiful breasts, so round and gorgeous, to her rosy nipples, hard and practically demanding to be sucked on, to her soft, flat belly. Then the thong panties between her legs, beckoning to him. His fingers ached to touch her there; his mouth craved her taste. She arched her hips ever so slightly as he stared at her legs, and it was as if she knew, without being able to see him, that he was looking at her with such longing and heat.

  “You can feel me looking at you, can’t you?”