A Wildly Seductive Night: (Seductive Nights: Julia & Clay Book 3.5) Read online

  “How much I needed you,” he said, speaking the barest truth.

  “You knew that then?”

  He nodded against her, nibbling on her earlobe before he whispered in her ear, “I knew you were my everything, Julia. I knew you were the woman I wanted to share a life with, forever and ever and always. I knew I would never love anyone else the way I love you.”

  “How do you love me?”

  He raised his face, cupped her cheeks, and gazed into her green eyes. Those eyes that owned him, that heart that knew him, this woman that consumed him. “With every part of me. With all of my heart. I love you every day, every hour, every moment. I love you always, and madly, and truly.”

  She trembled against him and squeezed her thighs tighter against his legs. “Did you ever think it would be like this when we first met? That we’d still feel this way nearly a decade later?”

  He shook his head and ran a hand through the soft tangle of her hair, the auburn strands falling over his fingers. “No. I could never have known what this could become. All I knew was you affected me like no one else ever had.”

  “And do I still?” she asked with a sneaky smile, as her hands tiptoed their way up the front of his shirt, unbuttoning it.

  He dragged his hands down her sides then under her purple top, his skin heating as he cupped her breasts. “Look at me. Look at us,” he said, his eyes holding hers tight. “I can't keep my hands off of you. You are the most daring, confident, sexy woman I have ever known. That was all I knew the night we met. You gave me your body, and you took my heart. I've never wanted anyone the way I want you.”

  “Is there anything else you want? Anything else I can give you?”

  He squeezed her rear, his fingers kneading the flesh, and shook his head. “I swear I’m the happiest bastard alive.”

  She dipped her head to his neck and kissed a path to his ear. “Are you sure?”

  He chuckled softly. What more could he ask for from her? He might have some dirty dreams, but what man didn’t? He couldn’t help where his thoughts strayed from time to time, and the things he dreamed of doing to her. But hell, this woman put on a wig, pretended to be a stranger, and let him screw her on the deck of a boat.

  “I want for nothing, Julia,” he said, tugging her close.

  She yanked up her skirt and unzipped his pants. “Then make love to me on our balcony.”

  “Don’t you know every time I touch you, whether it’s rough or tender, hard or fast, that I’m making love to you?”

  She ran a hand through his hair and nodded. “I know that. I’ve never doubted it.”

  Then he did just that, yanking her on him and thrusting up into her, taking her on the balcony of their home. They’d done it like this eight years ago, and they’d do it again next week, and the week after, and the one after that.

  After they came, she snuggled against him, and whispered, “I’m thirsty.”

  He laughed. “Good thing you’re a bartender. Grab that drink and down the hatch with it.”

  He reached for her glass on the corner table and handed it to her. She took a sip then thrust it to him. “Your turn. Try it. It has honey in it.”

  “Honey. I wonder where that idea came from?” he mused.

  “From my honey,” she said playfully.

  He knocked some back and tapped the glass. “That’s a damn fine drink. It’s close to what you want. You want an original cocktail.”

  Her eyes lit up like sparklers, and she snapped her fingers. “I think you might be onto something.”

  “That so?”

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I had an idea while we were fucking.”

  He laughed. “To fuck again?”

  “No. Something to add to the drink. For the cocktail.”

  “You were thinking of my cock-tale?”

  “I’m always thinking of your cock-tale, and yes, that got me going. I think I know what to make now.”

  He smacked her rear. “Then get inside, woman, and fix me a drink.”

  When he tasted what she’d whipped up, his eyes danced with excitement and his mouth was a happy place. “You are no one-trick pony. This is a helluva drink.”

  The next day at work, Clay rapped on the doorway of Tyler’s office. It was a courtesy. The door was wide open, and Tyler lifted his head, looking up from the mountain of papers on his desk.

  “What’s the story? You got it sorted?” Clay asked.

  Tyler nodded, a satisfied expression on his face. “Like a pro, man,” he said, then mimed dunking a basketball.

  Clay nodded. “Good work.”

  “You want to look it over?”

  He shook his head. “Nope.” He cleared his throat. “Listen. I want you to go after these deals. The risky ones. I trust you.”

  Tyler set down his pen and studied Clay’s expression, trying to read him. “You do?”

  “Of course. We’re in this together. You bring something to this firm that I don’t have.”

  “Insanity?”

  Clay laughed. “That, and your willingness to bungee jump. Just keep using a helmet, and be the ferocious, confident, meticulous bastard I know you can be.”

  Tyler beamed. “Thanks, man.”

  Clay turned on his heel, grabbed his suit jacket, and headed to a client meeting. That moment with Tyler was a small thing, but it was an important one, too. Sometimes you had to take chances. His wife was doing that in her career, embracing new opportunities, doing her damnedest to reinvent herself and not rest on her laurels. Clay had built a successful firm on the foundation of his guidelines and rules for running a business. Tyler might be a little wilder, a little less cautious, but that didn’t have to be bad. He might very well be what Clay needed to keep his firm ahead of the game.

  By trying something different.

  Like a new recipe.

  Tyler knew what he was doing, and that was why Clay had wanted to work with him. To stay nimble.

  Besides, tomorrow was his anniversary, and he was a happy man. His biggest worry had been what to get his wife for the occasion, and he’d figured it out. He was giving her exactly what she wanted. Something simple. Something basic. Because he knew her.

  Thomas bounced up and down on the bed in the Plaza, and Carly joined her cousin, shooting higher in the air.

  Brent's little boy, younger than Carly, was a whole heap of hellion. No surprise there. Brent had been the same. His daughter was quieter, and one of the happiest babies in the universe, though she was now a toddler, and Brent’s wife, Shannon, had to chase her around the hotel room.

  “So, you’ve got yourself a real vacation here,” Clay deadpanned as he observed the chaos of his brother’s hotel room in Manhattan.

  “That I do, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  “What do you have planned for tonight?” Clay asked.

  “We’re going to feed the kids sundaes, then we’ve set up mainlines for sugar,” Shannon teased. “After that, we’ll take Carly to the M&M store and make sure she surpasses the legal limit for candy consumption before we send her home to you.”

  Clay nodded seriously and clapped his hands together. “On that note, I’m going to join my bride.”

  When he returned to his home to take his wife to dinner and the premiere of a new heist movie, he wasn’t so sure they’d make their dinner reservation. Or the movie.

  He didn’t care, not when he saw what she’d left for him on the table in the foyer.

  16

  Even if you were one of those people, even if sex was part of your routine, a night of passion that scorched your senses could still be special. Could be a treat.

  Maybe even a surprise.

  That was what Julia wanted to give Clay for their anniversary.

  A wildly seductive night.

  Stretching out her bare legs on the chaise lounge on the balcony, she crossed them at the ankles. She wore black heels and a simple short black dress with slim straps. The clothing hardly mattered, though. Soon
, all her garments would be pooled at her feet when Clay stripped her and untied her.

  For now, all that mattered was the presentation of his gift.

  Her.

  She wasn’t cocky. She wasn’t full of herself. She simply knew her man and what he wanted most: his woman, every day, every night.

  As soon as she heard the clink of the door shutting, and the echo of his shoes on the hardwood, she pictured him walking through their home. He was on his way to her. She’d left him a trail of breadcrumbs.

  On the table in the foyer he’d find the handcuffs, a nod to their very first night together at her bar in San Francisco. Then, a piece of black silk was draped over a chair at the kitchen table, like the one she’d been blindfolded with on this very balcony. On the couch he’d discover a purple scarf, and surely he’d remember the time they’d played bondage games with that scrap of fabric.

  Honestly, she could have filled their home with mementos of their passion, but these were more than enough for him to get the hint as to what was on the agenda tonight.

  And if there were any questions, those would be silenced when he opened the door to the balcony and found her. She’d procured a purple satin bow at a fabric store and had looped it around the waist of her black dress and tied it, the ends pointing south. On her neck dangled a long strand of pearls.

  Oh, what pleasures he’d brought her with those pearls.

  But pearls weren’t on the menu this evening.

  Tonight, she was in the mood for adventure. She was ready to take a risk. Maybe it was the new drink she’d created that made her feel warm all over, or maybe it was just time to play, to push, to explore new territory. Break new ground, so to speak.

  As Clay opened the door to the balcony, she reached for her new cocktail, brought it to her lips, and took another swallow of the concoction she’d created. From her phone, sexy music played, with a sultry beat. The neighbors weren’t home tonight.

  Clay leaned against the doorframe. “I see you got me my favorite gift,” he said, his deep, husky voice wafting over her, sending a rush of heat through her body.

  “I did. Hope that’s not too presumptuous, but I have a feeling you might like this anniversary present.”

  He strode across the deck and bent down to plant a hard, hungry kiss on her lips. “You taste like your new cocktail.”

  “It’s strong. It makes me feel loose and languid all over.”

  Clay’s words from the other night stayed with her, reminding her that what she needed wasn’t just an original cocktail, but perhaps the original cocktail.

  The Sazerac.

  Dubbed by some in the business as “the original cocktail,” the Sazerac was supposedly the oldest known American cocktail. It was strong, potent, and delicious. The rim of the glass was coated in absinthe, and Julia had followed the recipe, but veered left, swerved right.

  Her recipe came with a twist, of course. A variation on the theme.

  It was a riff on the Sazerac, with a little honey and a splash of a secret ingredient. She’d finished one already while drying her hair and applying some makeup after her shower. She was on her second now. That was part of the plan.

  “Have some,” she said. “I added a few things.”

  Clay took a drink and nodded his appreciation. “It tastes almost as good as you,” he murmured, then dipped his head to her neck.

  “You could find out how I taste.”

  “I intend to,” he said, his hand traveling down her chest, between her breasts. A fire sparked in her veins from his touch. The alcohol, combined with him, mixed with her plan—all those things ignited her.

  She knew what kind of cocktail she needed. Something that would give her the courage to try the one thing she secretly wanted. Something they’d tangoed with once or twice before, but had never gone all the way with. And when she’d taken the first sip of her variation on the Sazerac, she was sure she’d found the solution—to the drink competition, and to her wish to try a certain something again.

  Clay fingered the strand around her neck. “You always looked delicious in pearls,” he said, then cupped the back of her head and kissed her, a deep, hot kiss that bathed her brain in bliss and set her skin to sizzling.

  Longing climbed inside Julia, curling and twisting with each consuming press of his lips, each swipe of his tongue. His hands were on her face, in her hair, and traveling down her body. Trailing the pads of his fingers along the smooth polished pearls, he found his way to the bow around her waist.

  “I’ve always loved surprises,” he said when he broke the kiss. He reached out a hand, pulled her up from the chair, and stood, facing her. His brown eyes were intense. “You deserve to be worshipped. Let me adore you with my mouth.”

  “I want that so much,” she said as shudders wracked her body. The heat in her veins ran wild, sparking, spreading, and making her melt between her legs, where she ached for him.

  He led her to the edge of the balcony, and pressed her back to the wall. He dropped to his knees, brushed his lips against the fabric of her dress, and planted soft kisses along her waist as he tugged at the bow. “This is how I worship you. This is how I adore you,” he said as he let the bow fall in a puddle. He pushed up the fabric of her dress and pulled down her panties. “I get on my knees for you.”

  “I like you there. I like you anywhere on me,” she whispered, her breathing erratic already as desire swamped her body.

  “Then fuck my face as I eat you,” he rasped, and she nearly shattered right there. She followed his direction, threading her fingers through the strands of his hair. Bright, hot fireworks ignited in her body as his hands slunk around her rear, grasping her cheeks.

  His mouth was on her pussy, and she moaned.

  My God. This was heaven. This was rapture—his tongue, his lips, his desire. He flicked his tongue up and down her slickness. Already, she was crazed with need. Her body vibrated, as if she’d been injected with pure pleasure. Her veins flowed with it.

  As he kneeled before her, his face buried between her legs, all she could do was hold on tight.

  He devoured her pussy just how she liked it. He ate her like an animal, and that was what she wanted. His depravity. His baseness. Her husband, in his suit and slacks, crouched on the concrete of their balcony, sucking and kissing and licking like she was his fucking meal. She wasn’t just dessert. She wasn’t simply a treat. She was his sustenance, his reason for living.

  Wild noises ripped from his throat, groans and moans of his pleasure as her liquid arousal coated his stubbly jaw, his lips, his tongue. Her sounds grew louder, higher, crazed.

  Neon sparks burst behind her eyes from the sheer intensity of his tongue. And now his finger as he slid one inside her, fucking her with it while he speared her clit with his tongue. Exquisite agony rang in her body, that sweet torment of pleasure and anticipation rising higher, spreading further.

  “Another one,” she moaned, urging him on.

  He pushed the tip of his middle finger against her slickness, and she shook her head, though he couldn’t see her.

  “Not there,” she said, gasping.

  He groaned like a caveman, instantly responding to her direction, sliding his finger to her ass. She didn’t tense; she didn’t flinch. She was ready for a finger, and he slid it into her rear. Like that, with his mouth latched on to her pussy, and his fingers penetrating her, she rode his face shamelessly, rocking and grinding, thrusting into him, until the switch flipped.

  White-hot pleasure erupted in her, a sharp, powerful explosion, then a thousand more shock waves, radiating everywhere as she cried out and came on his face.

  She had no notion of where she was—only how she felt. As if she’d been made with diamonds, as if her world was silver and gold and nothing but ecstatic joy. She was flesh and body and desire satisfied. With her hands still wrapped tightly around his head, she moaned happily, lost in her rapture. She wasn’t sure if this sensation of electric bliss would ever stop, nor did she want it to.r />
  But soon enough, Clay let go, and he rose.

  He brushed his lips to her forehead, her cheeks, her jaw, in a series of caresses. “I could do that all night.”

  “I wouldn’t protest,” she said.

  One more kiss. One more soft touch, then he tipped his forehead to the door. She grabbed the drink, and in her woozy, buzzed state, she followed him inside. He headed for the kitchen to wash his hands. Ace snoozed quietly on the couch. With Clay’s back turned, Julia walked up the steps to their loft bedroom, perched on the side of the bed, and waited for him to find her.

  17

  He shed his shirt on the stairs, loosening his belt as he entered the bedroom. He froze as he unzipped his pants.

  No fucking way.

  He blinked, sure he was seeing things. Positive he was dreaming.

  Julia had stripped from her dress, tossed the pearls on the nightstand, and wore only her shoes.

  But that wasn’t what floored him.

  It was what she held in her hand. Like she was luring him into her home with his greatest fantasy—a filthy fucking fairy tale.

  “This is your other gift,” she said, dangling the present from her fingers.

  Lust spiraled like a tornado. It was hard to imagine one simple thing could do this to him. But the physical didn’t lie. The reaction in his body was instant and electric. He was lit up with possibility all from one thing . . .

  Lube.

  “There are many kinds of lube,” Julia began in a purr. “There’s the kind that my riff on a Sazerac provides, that loosens up one’s body and mind.” She shifted her shoulders sexily back and forth. “And there’s the practical kind that you’ll need for tonight. To make entry.”

  He scrubbed a hand over his jaw, nearly speechless. Even as lust owned his body, he crossed the distance to her, parked his hands on her shoulders, and stared into her eyes.

  “You don’t have to,” he said, because he wanted to make sure this was for both of them.

  Her lips curved up in a naughty grin as she reached for the zipper on his pants, finishing the job of sliding it down. “I know that. But I want to try it.” Her eyes locked on his. “And I also know you want to.”