Chapter 10
Allegra
W e’re on each other instantly. From the moment we get inside his apartment, even as Clay is turning towards me, after locking his door, we’re already reaching for one another. His mouth is hot and demanding on mine as he crowds me against the wall. I brace my hands on his shoulders, give a little hop, and climb him like a tree, wrapping my legs around his hips, angling my face, deepening our kiss. He slides his capable hands beneath me to help support my weight. But my dress is short and I’m nearly naked under it, so the result of this seemingly chivalrous gesture is that his hands are all over my ass, palms cradling my bare cheeks in a way that makes me shudder with heat.
I’d packed light when I left Europe to come home; and I didn’t bring a lot of clothes—have I mentioned this? And this dress, while pretty, had seemed a little too summery when I’d first put it on. Not to mention a little too casual for a Saturday night, even in downtown Oak Creek. I’d second, third, and fourth guessed my decision while I was getting ready, nearly taking it off several times. But there weren’t a lot of options. And right now? I’m so, so happy with my choice.
My attempts to grind against him draw a rough chuckle from Clay’s throat. I’m already close to unraveling, and I’m pretty sure he knows it. His fingers slip beneath the edges of my thong to tease and caress me, coming tauntingly close to where I want to feel his touch, only juuust missing the mark. Which leaves me whimpering with need.
The taste of his mouth is a revelation. Memories from that night on the river—that I’d thought had been drowned by a case of wine and held under by the weight of years—come bobbing to the surface. The way he smelled and tasted, the sound of his voice, the heat of his skin, it’s all coming back to me now. I was shocked tonight when he explained who he was, when I finally realized why he’d seemed so oddly familiar when we—quote/unquote—first met a week ago.
I still can’t believe that I did not instantly recognize him when he pulled me over. And yes, I’m sure jetlag had something to do with it, but if he hadn’t told me, would I ever have put two and two together? I can’t be sure.
Learning that he hadn’t immediately connected the dots, either, only makes things worse. Were it not for the serendipitous circumstance of my having an out-of-date picture on my license, we might have never figured things out! Which only fuels my sense of urgency. We came so close—too close!—to losing each other forever. I need him now!
I wrench my mouth away from his long enough to gasp, “Take me to bed. I want you naked.” I want you in me. “Now!”
“Mmph,” he mumbles, his response lost as I seal his mouth once more. I assume we’re in agreement, however, since he immediately hefts me more fully into his arms, pivots away from the wall and lurches through his apartment until we reach his bedroom.
I’m breathing hard as I get my legs under me, and so is he. We disengage reluctantly, each of us taking a single step back, away from one another. An extremely shaky step, on my part. I’m lightheaded, probably from lack of oxygen, and so concerned that my knees are about to give out, that I quickly lower myself to the bed—and then watch transfixed as he quickly toes out of his shoes, peels off his shirt, and begins to undo his pants.
He's lean and sleekly muscled. His chest is lightly furred, his abdomen is bisected by a narrow strip of dark hair that runs from his sternum to his groin. There’s so much yumminess there, that I can’t stop myself from staring. Damn. My mouth is watering. My hands are itching. I want to lick him all over, touch him everywhere.
“What are you doing?” he asks, as his hands stall on the fly of his jeans.
Reluctantly, I raise my gaze to his face, only to find him eyeing me critically. “What?” I’m surprised into asking. Does he not like that I’m staring? He doesn’t seem like the shy type. “I wasn’t doing anything.”
“Exactly.”
“Huh?”
He gestures at me impatiently. “You, too: naked, now. Strip.”
“Oh. Right.” I can’t keep from grinning as I hurry to comply, kicking off my own shoes, pulling my dress off over my head, unclasping my bra. I love that he’s as eager as I am.
Or maybe even more eager. Because, before either of us have removed our underwear—black boxer briefs on his part, a lacy thong (as previously mentioned) on mine—he joins me on the bed. Rolling me into his arms, surrounding me with his heat. His lips find mine and we’re kissing again, hands roving everywhere, skimming over each other’s bodies, stoking the fires that—swear to God—feel like they’ve been smoldering for years.
I moan in appreciation when he pushes my thong aside and slides his finger over my pussy.
“You’re so wet,” he murmurs between kisses. “Do you always respond this quickly? Or is this just for me?”
“Do I…?” I blink in confusion. I can only assume he’s talking about the night we met, but unfortunately, I can’t remember all that much about it. “Why? Is that what you remember?”
“Mm-hm,” he says as his thumb strokes over my clit, again and again. My legs open wider all on their own. He’s not wrong. I’m desperate, needy, so hot for his touch that I can’t keep from moaning. There. Right there . More.
“So?” he prompts. “What’s the answer?”
I shake my head. “Stop asking questions that require me to think. Or at least save them until later. Right now, unless the answer is: yes, there, now, more, or harder—I don’t know, and I really don’t care.”
A sexy grin spreads across Clay’s face. His chuckle is deep and wicked. And his touch—deliberately missing the mark now, circling my clit with light, feathery touches that dance on the edge between frustrating and fun—reduces me to whimpers.
“So impatient,” he murmurs teasingly. “I guess some things never change.”
I glare at him through narrowed eyes. “Are you…criticizing me?”
“Oh, hell no,” he assures me, turning serious for a moment. “Absolutely not. In fact, that’s one of the things I always kinda loved about you.”
Loved? That’s a loaded word. And not one I feel like dealing with, at the moment. I do my best to disarm it by asking, “D’you know what I’d love?”
Clay stills. Maybe he’s hearing it too, now. His eyes are wary as his gaze meets mine. “No. What?”
“Less talk,” I respond, as I buck my hips and wriggle against his hand. “More action.”
“Fair enough,” he replies with a nod, as his smile comes glimmering back. “I can do that.” Then, pushing himself away from me, he moves down the bed. He slides my thong off, then clasps my thighs in those talented hands of his, spreading them wide. Then he lowers his face to my pussy and—holy mother of Merlot.
Obviously, this is not the first time I’ve had someone pay me lip service, but comparatively speaking…it might as well be. There’s already no comparison. His mouth might already have ruined me for anyone else’s. And he’s just getting started!
“Clay!” his name emerges part squeal, part squawk as his lips latch onto my clit, sucking with just the right amount of pressure, immediately siphoning off part of my brain. His tongue lashes my sensitive flesh and quickly reduces me to a babbling mess, keening all the answers I’d previously listed as acceptable, “Yes, there, now, more, harder. Pleeease !”
At some point, although honestly, I couldn’t say exactly when it happened, his fingers have joined in on the fun. They stroke inside me again and again, and it’s so, so good.
My fingers are in his hair, digging into his scalp as I writhe beneath him. Eventually however, I’m distracted by my breasts.
What started out as a tingling sensation has now become a full-on throb. But Clay’s busy elsewhere and I definitely want him to stay on task, so I take matters into my own hands, cupping and squeezing my girls, then tugging at my nipples. I twist and I pinch, increasing the pressure as the heat rises within me until I’m arching my back keening with need, drawing Clay’s attention upward. His breath hitches. His fingers tighten on me. His eyes grow wide and then he groans—long, low, heartfelt. And that little bit—just the addition of his breath, vibrating against my skin, the bite of his nails into sensitive flesh, the naked desire I can hear in his voice, and see in his gaze—that’s all it takes to send me tumbling over the edge. I cry out as I come, almost sobbing with pleasure,
Clay lingers for a moment, breathing me in, easing me through multiple aftershocks—which is nice and all, don’t get me wrong—but I’m not ready yet for slow and gentle. What I really want right now is more . More heat, more passion, more everything. I want him sliding inside me, pounding my pussy, hard and fast and mindless. I want my name on his lips as my body squeezes and tightens around him. I want a long, hot, heart racing, hard breathing, mind bending fuck.
“Stop,” I groan as I pull on his hair and tug at his shoulders, urging him upwards. “Come here .”
But when he finally slides up beside me, I can tell that he has himself firmly in control. Instead of looking half-crazed like I want him, he’s sporting a smug grin that, okay, yes, fine. He totally fucking deserves to be wearing that look. But does it have to be now? I’m not ready for this to be over. I want something to look smug about, too.
As he dips his head to kiss me, I hold him off. “Condom. Now. Hurry.”
“Shh,” he replies, still angling for a kiss. “It’s okay. There’s no rush.”
I push him back again. Harder this time. Eyes narrowing as I ask, “Hold up. You do have protection, don’t you?” Because Romeo, or not, if he thinks he can somehow manipulate me into going without a condom, he can damn well think again.
“It’s not a problem. We’re good,” he says. Denied my mouth he alters course. His lips graze my neck, causing an all-body flush to sweep over me, heating my cheeks as memories from last time rise to the surface yet again. We’ve been here before. I remember this part. Oh, God!
But I can’t let myself get distracted. “That’s not an answer!”
“Chill,” Clay says as he rolls onto his side. “Give me a little credit.” He props himself up on an elbow and smiles down at me with a somewhat exasperated expression. “You really think I can’t figure out for myself that I need a condom?”
“And yet. I’m hearing a lot of words, but none of them are yes.”
“Yes, all right? I have plenty of condoms. Promise. I just…we don’t need them yet, do we?”
“We do if we’re gonna fuck,” I point out.
Clay nods in agreement. “No cap. I just figured we could take our time, play around a little first. We have all night, don’t we?”
“Ohhh, now I get it,” I say. “You’re an edger.”
“I’m what?”
“Someone who likes to edge. That’s when?—”
“Jesus, I know what edging is,” Clay says, rolling his eyes. “And let me guess; you’re not a fan?”
“I didn’t say that, exactly,” I reply, although…fine; he’s not altogether wrong. Orgasm denial has never been my go-to kink. Sure, it can be hot, every now and again. Tormenting each other over the course of endless hours, delaying satisfaction, channeling your frustration into the growing realization that’s all leading (eventually) to one, huge, mind-blowing, mega-orgasm that’ll leave you both wrung out and shattered.
But is that really so much better than using that same time to enjoy multiple orgasms? Jury’s still out, as far as I’m concerned; but overall, I’m thinking not.
“You didn’t have to say it,” Clay tells me. “It’s written all over your face. But that’s not what this is about.”
“No?” I eye him curiously. “Then what is it?”
“It’s just…” He pauses and sighs. “Look, I’m a realist, you know? And hope is a liar. So, I try real hard to stay grounded, to focus on the things I can see and touch, and count on. If someone had asked me a month ago, whether I thought I’d ever see you again, I’d have said no, probably not. Because what were the odds? If we hadn’t run into each other even once in five years? It seemed massively unlikely.”
“To be fair, we were on two different continents. That lowered the odds a little bit.”
“True, but I didn’t know that was the case. The point is, I’d be totes lying if I said I’d never thought about the possibility. That I never hoped, or wondered, or dreamed about our paths crossing once again. But I really wasn’t expecting it.”
I nod, aware of the sting of tears in my eyes, the shakiness of the smile that trembles on my lips. “Same.”
“Yeah, but like I said, even knowing how unlikely it was to ever happen, I still had a really clear idea in my head about how I wanted it to go, what I wanted to do if we were ever to hook up again.”
“And?”
“And now, tonight, this first time that I finally get to make love to you, I want to do things right. I want to be buried deep inside you when I come. And I want to feel you climaxing around me when it happens.”
“Not seeing a problem,” I say, my voice faint, breathless, my pussy clenching at the thought. “I’m totally on board with that scenario.”
Clay flashes me a grin. “Good to know. Except, right now…I’m so damn hot for you, I don’t think I’d even last five minutes. And I don’t imagine you’re ready to come again that quickly, are you?”
“Probably not,” I admit. “But why does it have to be all or nothing? Why can’t we?—”
“Nothing?” he repeats in mocking tones as he slides a hand between my legs, fingers brushing lightly over my sensitive clit. “Really? That’s all this was to you?”
“Stop it.” I push his hand away. “Not for me , I’m talking about you .”
“Oh, trust me,” he says, raising his hand to his mouth, licking between his fingers and sucking loudly. “It wasn’t ‘nothing’ for me, either. That’s something else I’ve been dreaming for years; how you’d taste, how it would fee to have you come on my tongue, what you’d sound like, how you’d look…”
“Oh.” His words are making me so hot I have to bite my lip to keep from whimpering, to keep from begging him to do it again. I clear my throat and try again. “It um… It sorta sounds like I was the subject of a lot of fantasies?”
Clay laughs at that, a short, surprised bark. Then he rolls to his back and stares at the ceiling. “You have no idea. On the other hand, everything about you was a fantasy, anyway—from start to finish.” He eyes me somewhat ruefully. “I’m pretty sure that’s still the case.”
“You think?” I roll onto my side, splay a hand across his chest, loving the way his chest hair tickles my palm. “’Cause I’m pretty sure I’m as real as you are. Just a girl, standing in front of a boy…” I let me voice trail off, since the rest of the quote would put us in dangerous territory. “Etc, etc.”
“Oh, sure. Just a girl. Ordinary as fuck, right?”
“I didn’t say that .”
“Just a sexy, rich, untouchable girl, who lives in a castle on top of a hill, and who just so happened to be standing in front of the fancy sports car she bought on a whim. Totally normal. I run into women like that every day.”
“What hill?” I demand, ignoring the whim part—I put a lot of thought into that purchase. “Napa’s a valley, in case you forgot. The clue’s right there in the name.”
Clay shakes his head. “I was speaking metaphorically. But there are hills here, too, you know. Like the ones on the way to Lake Berryessa? I used to live out that way. But, I guess maybe you’ve never been there.”
“Of course, I have,” I protest. “What’re you thinking? You’re making me sound like some kind of snob.”
“You don’t think you’re a snob?” he asks, smiling gently—although not enough to completely remove the sting of his words. “I know the world you come from, remember? I’ve seen your family’s wineries. All those big, bougie houses, surrounded by acres of guap. That is where you lived, right? When you were a kid?”
“Sure, some of the time. But…”
“Did you know that, from the hills, you can look out over the whole valley? Sometimes, at night, you’d throw parties, and those houses would blaze with lights, like something out of a fairy tale.”
“That was my family—not me. I only ever threw one party. And that was the one you came to. So…maybe you weren’t missing out on as much as you thought.”
“Yeah, there was no missing you that night. The enchanted princess, dancing in the moonlight, coming apart in my arms. You were like something out of a fairytale, too, come to think of it. A total fantasy. And then, just like in Cinderella, you disappeared. Only I didn’t even have a glass shoe that I could use to track you down.”
“Cinderella,” I scoff. “Please. That was never our story. And anyway, why would you have needed a shoe? You knew exactly where I lived. You walked me home, as I recall.”
Clay shakes his head. “I guess there really were two of us in that delusionship. That’s comforting, in a way.”
“Meaning what, exactly?”
“Meaning, if you believed that, you were putting way too much faith in the navigational capabilities of my lust-soaked, half-baked, seventeen-year-old brain. I had no idea where I was that night.”
“ Seven teen?”
“I’m not saying I could have never found my way back there. But the odds were not in my favor. Given how fried I was, it was a miracle I found my own way home.”
“What are you talking about?” I frown, as I sift through my memories, trying to recall the moment; everything we’d said, or done. “Did you not have a ride home? I thought you were eighteen?”
“No, you didn’t.”
“I’m sorry…what?”
“Neither of us were thinking about anyone’s ages back then. Why would we? We were kids. It wasn’t an issue.”
“I wasn’t a kid. I was eighteen.”
“Barely,” he replies dismissively. I’m startled until I remember that, of course, he’s seen my license. Of course, he knows more about me than I do about him.
“Besides,” he continues, “my birthday’s in August, so what’re we even talking about? Two months? That’s close enough for that to make no difference either.”
“Says the cop.”
“Deputy,” he corrects teasingly.
“An L.E.O. by any other name,” I shoot back at him, widening my eyes, daring him to disagree. “Besides, I thought you were a ‘by the book’ kind of guy?”
Clay rolls his eyes. “Not always. I try to be. But…well, here we are. So, I’m obviously willing to bend a few pages where you’re concerned.”
“Hmm. Lucky me,” I purr as I stroke down his chest and belly, feathering the lightest of touches across the bulge in his briefs. Full disclosure? I don’t entirely hate the idea that he wants me this much, after all this time, and despite all his reservations. Who doesn’t want to be irresistible?
“Yeah?” he asks, as he studies my expression. “How lucky? Because you still haven’t said—are you spending the night, or do you need to get back?”
“Oh, I’m definitely staying,” I promise, bending over him to kiss his lips. “You’re not the only one with fantasies to explore, you know. In fact, I think we’re going to need more than one night to address even a fraction of them.”
“Hell, yeah,” he says as he pulls me close, wrapping an arm around me, trapping me against him. “I’m counting on it.”
Birds chirp loudly outside the window the next morning, but it’s not that that pulls me from sleep. It’s the traffic noises filtering in—louder, closer, more constant than usual. I blink my eyes open and find myself alone in an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar bedroom. It takes a moment for my brain to wake up and my memories to unwind. I stretch and twist in the sheets cataloging all the little aches and twinges I’m feeling, smiling as I remember how I acquired them. Rawr .
Somewhere close at hand someone is making coffee. It smells delicious, although not quite as delicious as the sheets which smell of sex and Clay.
I do love solving mysteries and connecting dots—as much as I love the spontaneous appearance of anything serendipitous in my life. And last night gave me all those things in spades. I’m thankful now that I never gave beer boy a name in any of the fantasies I’ve concocted about him over the years. Because I don’t think Clay was one that would ever have occurred to me, and that might have led to confusion now. I start to laugh as I remember our conversation, but then the other shoe drops.
He lied to me. He let me believe that the reason he reacted so poorly to being called Romeo was merely due to his dislike of alliteration. He even let me apologize—twice!—for my mistake, all the while withholding the truth about our shared past. It was only after I’d changed the rules of engagement, when I’d gotten the upper hand by walking away, that he’d deigned to tell me the truth. Which is not sitting well with me this morning.
The problem is that I have a type. I tend to be attracted to the kind of man who’ll do and say anything in order to get what they want—me in their bed, their ring on my finger, etc. And while I know it’s not fair to judge Clay based on how men like Nico have behaved, the truth is, I never expect any of them to act like bastards until they do.
And yes, I’m probably overreacting. I’m easily triggered by lies and manipulation. But you know what they say—just because you’re paranoid, that doesn’t mean there’s no one out to get you.
I’m pondering all of this—and trying to decide whether to get up, get dressed, get out of here while I can—when the bedroom door opens, and Clay appears. He’s dressed in a pair of black boxer briefs similar to the ones he was wearing last night—and nothing else. His hair is tousled, he hasn’t shaved and, all things considered, he’s even more mouthwateringly yummy looking than he was last night. He’s also bearing two steaming mugs—which ups his attractiveness level by several points.
I sniff the air hopefully. “Coffee?”
“Mm-hm,” he says, smiling as he hands me one then sits beside me. “Good morning. How’d you sleep?”
“What sleep?” I demand mockingly. “As I recall, you kept me up most of the night.”
“Guilty as charged,” he responds as his smile shifts into something wicked. “But, as I recall, you weren’t complaining.”
“No cap,” I say, as I sip my coffee. It tastes as good as it smells, and he’s made it light and sweet, exactly the way I like it—further triggering my earlier suspicions. “Hey. How’d you know how I take my coffee?”
Clay’s eyebrows rise. “You ordered some at dinner last night. I watched you fix it.”
“And you remembered?”
“It was only last night. If I’d remembered from five years ago, that would be something. But a span of only several hours? That’s well within my capabilities.”
“Still. You must be very observant.”
Clay shrugs. “I suppose. It kinda goes with the job, you know?” He eyes me curiously for a moment then asks, “Is everything all right?”
“Yes, of course,” I answer immediately. Then I sigh and shake my head. “I don’t know. Probably not.”
“Okay. Wanna tell me what’s going on?”
“Great question. I don’t know. What are we doing here?”
“Well, I was thinking breakfast, but then I realized I probably need to shop. I can offer you eggs, or avocado toast, but that’s about it.”
“No, I mean us ,” I tell him. “Is this it? Are we ‘one and done’?”
His face goes blank—that kind of non-expression that’s like a closed door. “Is that what you want?”
“Why are you asking me? I’m not the one who was making excuses last night for why we shouldn’t be together. Are you saying something’s changed since then? That maybe your excuses no longer apply?”
“Yes and no,” he admits with a sigh. He takes a big gulp of coffee—which he drinks black, by the way—like my mood this morning. “First of all, they weren’t excuses, they were reasons. Valid reasons. And of course, they still apply. That part hasn’t changed.”
“So, that’s it then. We scratched the itch, found closure from five years ago, and now you’re calling it quits?"
“Can I finish?” His eyes are troubled as his gaze bores into mine. “Because no. That’s not what I’m saying at all.”
“What then?”
“Obviously, some other things have changed. What we did last night…well, that’s a bell we can’t un-ring, isn’t it? Not that I’d want to, even if we could.”
“Me either. But…”
“I’m not willing to go back to pretending that there’s nothing between us, or that I don’t want you. I don’t think that was working very well, anyway.”
My head is reeling. My hands are shaking so hard I have to use both of them to hold my mug. “Really? You seemed to be doing okay with it.”
“Yeah, no. I really wasn’t.”
“So then where does that
“I don’t want to wait until our situation changes, or until I’m no longer investigating you and your family. Who knows how long that might take?”
“Hopefully not too much longer,” I say. “I thought things had gotten better?” I know Bianca talked to Geno. If it really was him behind all the sabotage, surely, he’s backed off by now.
“I don’t know. And I don’t care.”
“You don’t care?” I repeat in surprise. “Since when? I mean, who even are you?”
“At this point? I have no idea,” Clay murmurs. His eyes are hooded. His gaze is locked on my mouth as he gently frames my face with his free hand, and drags his thumb, back and forth, across my bottom lip. “But as long as you’re all right with keeping things on the DL until we can be together without ruining both our lives and outraging everyone we know, then I’m all in. Screw the consequences. You’re not the only one who can make bad decisions.”
I let my tongue flick out to tease his thumb. “Well, just for the record, you’re definitely the best bad decision I’ve ever made.”
“Same,” Clay says as he presses a too-chaste kiss to my lips, distracting me just long enough to pluck the mug from my unresisting hands.
“Hey, wait,” I protest, as he gets to his feet and swiftly makes room for both mugs on the night table. “I wasn’t finished with that.”
“I’ll make you a fresh cup,” he promises, stripping out of his briefs. His eyes are gleaming with heat and intent. “Later.”
“How much later?” I tease, falling back onto the pillows, welcoming him into my arms as he slips between the sheets and covers my body with his own. “Because I thought we were going to have breakfast? Didn’t you say something about eggs and toast?”
“I did. But breakfast is just gonna have to wait. It’s important to follow the proper procedures, you know, when dealing with emergency situations. There’s a whole hierarchy of priorities to take into account, protocols and standards that need to be rigorously adhered to.”
“This all sounds very official, officer, but aren’t you supposed to state the nature of your emergency?”
“Nope. You already did that.”
“I…what?”
“You’re the one who brought up the topic of itches that might need scratched. Aren’t you still feeling itchy?”
“Oh, I am,” I murmur between kisses. “Very much so. But what about you?”
“Like I just broke out in a full-body rash.”