One more night, p.7
One More Night, page 7
part #3 of Seductive Nights Series
Moving quickly, he bent his head to her ear. “I know where those pearls have been, and it makes me so fucking hard to see them on you in public.”
She shivered, then tugged him to her, angling his erection against her hip. “Is this for me?” she whispered in his ear, her voice like a shot of desire through his system, ratcheting him up another notch.
“All for you. Only for you. And I need you now.”
She tossed her cards on the table. “I think this hand is a bust,” she said to the dealer, but kept her eyes on Clay.
His brother stared at him with a knowing look on his face. “You dog,” Brent said, grinning, like he knew what Clay was about to do.
Clay clapped him on his back, and gave him a big hug. “I’ve missed you. And I owe you big time. And we’re going to see your show in twenty minutes and have a drink or two after. But right now—”
Brent cut him off, waving his hand. “I gotta go too. The stage beckons.”
Minutes later they were in the elevator, and they weren’t alone. Surrounded by other guests, Clay aligned his body with hers, her back to his front. She wriggled subtly, and he hissed under his breath. “Careful.”
“Or what?” she tossed back.
When the elevator reached their floor, letting them out, he spun her around, her chest pressed to the wall, and pinned both of her wrists above her head. “Or this,” he said, lining his body up against hers, and sliding his free hand up, up, up the inside of her leg until he reached her panties. “Or I will fuck you in the hall.”
“You say that like I wouldn’t want you to fuck me in the hall,” she said.
“You say that like you wouldn’t care about anyone seeing us,” he said, rubbing his hard cock against her. Off in the distance, he was vaguely aware of another guest leaving a room and heading in their direction to the elevators.
“I wouldn’t care, Clay. I just want you,” she said. “Now, please can we finish what we started with the texts?”
He moved his hand from between her legs, up to her breasts, palming one delicious globe in his free hand. “You want me to fuck your breasts?”
“I do. I really do.”
He dropped her wrists, grabbed a hand, and led her into their room a few doors down. The door was still closing as she stripped off her skirt, her shirt, her bra, her breasts tumbling free while he shucked off his clothes.
With only her red-soled heels on, she moved to the bed, and spread herself out on the royal-blue covers, then pressed her breasts together. “Come here,” she said, huskily.
“That’s a double entendre,” he said playfully as he stalked over to her.
“I know. Now straddle me. Climb over me,” she said, her eyes never leaving his as she started giving the orders. He didn’t know it was possible to be more aroused than he had been a few moments ago. But it was possible, because he was aching. His dick throbbed, to the point of painful with the need to have her.
“Touch yourself first.”
He kneeled over her, one leg on either side of her breasts. She’d put herself in a thoroughly submissive position and he was dominating her physically, but somehow she was in charge too.
He gripped his cock in one hand, and she wrapped her hand over his. She guided him, their hands together stroking him. “Now, bring your cock to my mouth. I need to get you all ready to fuck my breasts.”
She pressed her head back against the pillow, her red hair spread out like a fan.
“You sure you can handle this? I don’t have it in me to go easy right now. An entire day away from you on a fucking vacation is torture.”
“I can always handle it,” she said, guiding him to her lips. He grabbed the headboard as he straddled her face. His eyes floated shut the second her lips wrapped around him, tremors slamming into his body as her warm mouth gave him some temporary relief from all this wanting.
She took him all the way in, her tongue lapping him up, her mouth turning him on even more.
“You mouth should be illegal, it’s so fucking good,” he growled as he thrust into her throat.
A few more pumps, and then her hands were on his hips and she pushed him off. “Now give me what I want,” she said, eyeing her breasts.
She pushed them together, and they looked even bigger, rounder, and more inviting as she created the perfect warm cave. He slid his cock between the soft flesh and began pumping.
“You’ve been wanting this all day?” he asked as the head of his dick hit her lips, and her tongue darted out, flicking the tip.
“Yes,” she said as he continued moving on her.
“Why?”
“Because I want you every way, Clay. Because I love when you need to fuck me in different ways. And because right now, all I want is for you to get off.”
His shoulders shuddered as he thrust, the lingering wetness from her tongue and the smooth, tight friction from her breasts caressing his hard-on. She was fucking perfect with the appetite to match his, and the desire to please too.
“God, you take good care of me, but I want you to come too.”
“I know you do. But right now I want a gift like the one you gave me this morning. I want a different kind of pearl necklace. I want you all over me,” she said, those lusty eyes of hers making it clear how badly she needed this. That was all it took. If she wanted this, he’d give it to her. Hell, he needed it. He needed the release. So he fucked her breasts relentlessly, and she swirled her tongue against the head of his cock with each thrust, until soon an unyielding climax began in the base of his spine, then traveled through his body.
“Come on me,” she whispered, urging him on. “Come all over me.”
So he did, marking her the way she wanted, and she lapped up what she could then spread the rest over her breasts, like a sexy, greedy, naughty woman who only had eyes for him.
And he for her.
He collapsed next to her, still panting hard.
“Be right back,” she said, and headed to the bathroom to clean up. When she returned, she glanced at the time. “We need to go to your brother’s show. We don’t want to be late and it starts soon.”
“I know,” he said, flashing her a grin. “But come fuck my face. I can’t go to the show without eating you first.”
“Clay,” she chided, narrowing her eyes as she parked her hands on her hips. She was naked, but for her black heels that were truly fuck-me pumps.
“That’s not helping me not want you,” he said, making a circular motion as he gestured to her. “The whole full-naked look only makes me want you more.”
“You are insatiable.”
“So are you.”
“I know, but still, we need to go.”
“Then let me give you the two-minute treatment like you did to me in the car this morning,” he said, patting the bed. “Come grind that sweet pussy on my face and let me feel you come on me.”
She rolled her eyes, but seconds later she was straddling him, spreading her legs over his face. Her hands gripped the headboard as she lowered herself. “Ride me,” he whispered hotly, the last words to come out of his mouth before his senses were assaulted by the decadent and delicious taste of her arousal flooding his tongue, his lips, his mouth. He licked her and kissed her, sucking hard with his mouth while flicking his tongue against her swollen clit. This wouldn’t take long at all. He could tell by her taste, by how wet she was, by the way she humped his face as he grabbed hold of her hips and helped her rock against him at a frantic pace. Her moans grew louder, higher, needier, and soon he felt her pussy twitch, her thighs tighten, and her body shudder against him, the taste of her pleasure flowing over his tongue as he drank her in. Another soft kiss of her pussy, his lips savoring all of her. A gentle press, brushing his mouth against her center. Then a barely-there, goodbye kiss. He’d be back here soon, though. Very, very soon.
Then he smacked her ass, shifted her off him, and said in a teasing tone, “Woman, you’re taking too long. We need to go.”
“You’re lucky I love you and let you talk to me that way,” she said, with a wink.
“I am lucky that you love me. I am the luckiest son-of-a-bitch.”
He didn’t need that tie. He had her.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Friday, 10:08 p.m., Las Vegas
He watched her walk away in the club, zigzagging through the slew of half-drunk, mostly-wasted, and completely-trashed patrons at Brent’s club.
Finally, he lost sight of her long red locks as she turned the corner to the restrooms.
When he shifted his attention back to Brent, his brother was staring hard at him as if to say what gives.
“What?”
“What am I? Chopped liver?”
“Compared to her? More like chopped liverwurst,” Clay teased, then took a drink of his scotch. He was in the not-quite-drunk-but-most-definitely-half-buzzed category. Brent was steely-eyed sober, and had one more show tonight. He’d finished his eight p.m. set before a raucous crowd that had rewarded him with the one thing a comedian craves more than anything—uncontrollable laugher. A woman in the back of the club had laughed so loudly during his routine on how hard it is to shave your own balls that she’d snorted, then shouted that she planned to toss her panties on stage at the end of the show.
She’d been mostly drunk, and had wound up keeping her clothes on, but had indeed rushed the stage after, trying to give him her number. Now, the stage was clear and “Luck Be a Lady” by Frank Sinatra piped through the club’s sound system before Brent’s late-night set kicked off soon.
“Maybe I won’t relinquish that ring to you then.”
Clay clapped him on the back. Hard. “Yeah. I’m not even going to acknowledge you said that.”
“But yet you just did.”
“So, how’s the ring?”
Brent clasped his fingers together and fluttered his eyelashes, somehow managing to rearrange his features to look like a simpering Disney cartoon character. “Oh, it’s just so, so pretty,” he said in an affected tone.
Clay rolled his eyes. “Seriously. We’re all set for tomorrow, night?”
Brent took a drink of his Diet Coke and nodded. Both men were serious now. Clay’s brother might be a jokester, but he knew that his role as wingman in this proposal plan was not be toyed with. “Everything is in place. Think she’ll say yes?”
Clay had complete and utter confidence in their love, but it was never a love to take for granted. Nor was a yes. He’d already made assumptions once and had nearly lost her. There would be no presumptions of a yes; only a great hope for one. “I hope so,” he answered plainly.
Brent smiled. “She’ll say yes.”
“Thanks again for taking care of the package today. I’ll get that tomorrow too. And I got your text that all was well, but also wanted to ask, did you talk to your friend in more detail about security? Are they watching Julia?”
“I did talk to her after Julia left with you. Mindy said there’s no special attention being paid to her. All the hotels had beefed up security after a string of robberies a few months ago at some casinos off the Strip. Can’t be too safe, she said. They thought it was mob-related. Michael Lawson is the Tony Soprano of this town; he runs a few rackets here in Vegas, but no one ever found a connection to the robberies. Besides, that’s not Lawson’s style—stealing chips. Anyway, a few were solved, but now they’re thinking the thieves are just thieves, plain and simple, and they’ve spread out into a small pickpocket ring, lifting chips here and there. Dealers are coming up short at the end of the night. That’s making the casinos more concerned in general, and some are even offering rewards for information leading to apprehension,” Brent said, and the extra men in suits thronging the hotel premises now made sense. Casinos were always going to be targets for brazen robbers, but robbers were not mobsters. They went after money, not people, so he could breathe a little easier.
“Should I be concerned about a pickpocket ring?” Clay joked. Because pickpockets? That was small potatoes and hardly anything to worry about. Hell, New York City was teeming with them. You keep your eyes open, you don’t leave your wallet in your back pocket on the subway, and you don’t nod off on public transit. Simple as that. Pickpockets were not a cause for his concern. They weren’t on the same level as Charlie. Not even in the same solar system.
“Yeah, keep your chips close to you,” Brent said, but then turned serious. “But, I gotta ask. Why would you be so concerned?”
Clay’s chest tightened. He and Julia were done with her debt and the trouble was behind her, so he didn’t want to let on, or reveal her secrets. But he’d been asking his brother to run intel, so he had to give him something. “She had some trouble with her ex. He left her with a steaming heap of problems, and they’ve been resolved, but I’m always on my guard.”
Brent nodded several times, and that was all it took, all he needed to tell him. “I hear ya. But nothing to worry about it. It’s all about the hotels trying to be pristine even when it comes to something as minor as lifting a few chips.”
Clay noticed Julia in his peripheral vision, and soon she’d rejoined them. “So, boys, what’ll it be? Are we staying for the next show?”
Brent wiggled his eyebrows, and pointed his thumb at Julia. “See? I like her. She’s up for an encore of me.”
Clay draped his arm around Julia. She raised her hand, linking her fingers through his. “We’re taking off. I have plans for her.”
“Plans?” she asked eagerly.
“Just you wait and see.”
* * *
He studied his notes once more. The man bothered him; squeaky clean, he had the reputation of a choirboy in business. Nothing shady, nothing underhanded. Damn near impeachable on paper. He scrolled through the documents he’d researched on Clay Nichols that he’d stored in his phone since the man had arrived in town. Local family, varsity football, pre-law, then Yale law school, and ten years as an attorney. No debt, no trouble. He tucked his phone in his pocket, annoyance rolling through him. Neither one had made a move yet, but he knew, he fucking knew she would any second. She was gone for the night, but he had his associate tailing her, and the two of them were at the Venetian. He had eyes everywhere so if she started hustling there, he’d be ready. He protected the Venetian too. For now, he threaded his way through the $100 tables, and found the couple she’d been hanging with earlier.
Time to make their acquaintance.
Then a bird trilled softly in his ear, and he straightened his spine, recognizing the ringtone. He snagged the phone from his pocket to double check that it was coming from a 415 area code. It was, so he did a 180, turning away from the tables. His contact was ringing him.
“I thought we had a deal,” he said as he answered the call from San Francisco.
“We did.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Friday, 11:52 p.m., Las Vegas
The music was indistinguishable. She had no clue as to the words, or if there even were lyrics. But the song didn’t need them. This was music that was felt, that thrummed through her body, that made her feel like a guitar being played.
The low bass, the rhythmic beat, and the sexy voice of the singer all did what they were supposed to do—put you in the mood to dance horizontally. Soon, she’d be doing just that. For now, she was still vertical and moving to the beat at Tao, a nightclub at the Venetian.
It was a Friday night in Vegas, and the posh club was teeming with hot, young, sweaty things wrapped up in each other. Neon-blue lights illuminated the bar, manned by fit and pretty bartenders, concocting pink, blue and orange drinks, and pouring the occasional vodka or scotch, like the ones they’d ordered and downed. Now, she was swaying her hips to the techno beat, grinding against Clay. Because that’s what you do at a nightclub. You bump. You grind. You simulate all the naughty things you want to do later. Well, maybe not all. But enough of those things, and right now her body was nearly plastered to his, her arm raised and wrapped around his neck, his hand holding tightly to her hip. She rubbed against him, and he pulled her close to his pelvis. Their constant need to touch each other, to find ways to get closer, to erase all the negative space between them was thick in the air. She stretched her neck against his shoulder, leaning back to look at him.
“What would Tad Herman say if he saw us now?”
“I don’t know. Is public copulation forbidden in your morals clause?” he whispered in her ear.
“I’m not sure. Are you planning on copulating with me here on the dance floor?”
“Here. There. Everywhere. But only if it’s legal.”
“The things you to do my body are clearly illegal, so I think we’ve already violated all the clauses.”
“Gorgeous, there are so many more ways I want to violate you. I’ll never stop wanting to infringe on morals when it comes to your sinful body,” he said, then licked a path from her collarbone, up to her ear, and she purred, her arousal ratcheting higher.
She pointed to the bar. “Go over there. Pretend you’re a stranger.”
“I’ll see if I can find the hottest woman here.”
“You do that.”
He let go of her and walked away. He leaned against the bar, scanning the club, ably playing the part of a single man cruising for chicks. She watched him as his eyes drifted across the sea of bodies, writhing and twisting, tangling and untangling, then landed on hers.
They locked eyes, and she kept her gaze fixed on him as she danced alone. She ran a hand through her hair, then shook out her red strands around her face. Moving her right hand to her breasts, she let it travel through her cleavage, down her belly, and then to the top of her skirt. She danced, a sexy, subtle dance for him and her fingers splayed across her stomach, the tips of them precariously close to dipping under her skirt. He never stopped watching her, and she thrilled at his reaction, at the way his eyes were only on her, at the lusty look in them. He stalked across the dance floor, and yanked her against him.
