Lauren Blakely - Night After Night

She swirled her tongue around the head, as she gripped the base hard in a fist. He hitched in a breath. “That’s perfect. Take me all the way in and use those gorgeous teeth, Julia.”

Ah, there he was in full force. Her dirty-talking, direction-giving man. She smiled privately, loving the way he used all his talents in the bedroom, his body, his tongue, his cock, and most of all his words. She drew him in, nibbling and sucking and rolling his balls in her hands as he started to fuck her mouth harder, to drive deeper into her.

“You tell me now if I’m fucking you too hard, okay?” he said firmly, but they both knew she wasn’t backing down. They both knew she liked it the same way he did. They were perfectly paired in the bedroom; he gave as good as he got, and she did too. They were two tigers, tussling and tangling, and taking each other, talking dirty, playing rough.

“I’m good,” she said, even with her mouth full. She dragged her nails along the inside of his strong, muscular thighs, making him shiver, then grazed him right between his legs where his thighs met his cheeks, sending his hips shooting off the bed and deeper into her mouth.

“I love it when you use your hands like that. All over me. I want you all over me, your hands, your tongue. And your lips are so fucking beautiful wrapped around my dick,” he said, his narration punctuated by grunts of pleasure. “Fuck, Julia, you’re going to make me come so hard in your mouth right now,” he said, and she gripped the base with her palm, feeling him twitch hard against her as she sucked him off, his salty, musky taste sliding down her throat as his words started to falter, and sentences broke into bits and pieces of truncated words. Feels so fucking good, so good in your mouth, and then her name, over and over, like a chant. Yes, that was her favorite dirty word that fell from his mouth as he groaned out Julia with unbidden pleasure, and she couldn’t help but be satisfied too to have gotten him off so thoroughly, so completely. Because he looked like a most contented man, a happy grin across his gorgeous face.

“Don’t ever doubt me,” she said playfully.

“Never.” He pulled her up, drawing her next to him, and moved in to plant a kiss on her lips.

She shook her head.

“What? I can’t kiss you after I come in your mouth? It doesn’t bother me.”

“No, that’s not it. I just have to confess I hate morning breath, but I really want to kiss you, so how about we brush our teeth and then make out?”

He chuckled deeply, and smacked her ass with a strong hand. “Did I tell you yet how perfect you are? I don’t like morning breath either, but then I’m not such an ass that I wouldn’t kiss you if you had it.” He tapped her nose with his finger. “But you don’t.”

“Thanks, but there’s a toothbrush calling my name anyway.”

After they returned to bed with minty fresh breath, he ran a hand along her hip. “So what else besides morning breath? What are your other pet peeves?”

“You really want to know?”

“I really want to know. So I can avoid them,” he said, holding her gaze with his own, his dark brown eyes so earnest and true. As if it were deeply important for him to know what irked her, so as not to do it.

“Washcloths,” she said, and held out her hands as if it say what gives. “I don’t get it. I don’t understand washcloths. Why use a washcloth to wash your face when you have hands? Put the soap on your hands and wash. Or worse, leave a wet washcloth hanging up in the shower because then it just becomes a damp, used, smelly washcloth.”

He nodded several times as if taking detailed notes in his head. “You might have noticed I don’t own washcloths. I don’t need an intermediary between soap and my body.”

She laughed. “Exactly. You’re already ahead of the game. Here’s another pet peeve. I don’t like seeing a man walking around only in his socks.”

He mimed making a check mark. “Note to self: Remove socks first before taking off pants to fuck Julia.”

“I don’t like dirty sinks either. I see no reason for bathroom sinks to be anything but pristine.”

“Did you noticed how immaculate my bathroom is?”

“I did,” she said with a wink. “Don’t you just know the way to a woman’s heart?”

“Evidently.”

“I assume you were down on your hands and knees scrubbing every surface before I arrived?”

“Something like that. Or maybe I had it cleaned knowing I was having company I wanted to impress.”

She ran her hand along his strong arm over his tattoo. “You’re getting the hang of it. You know what to do to stay on my good side.”

“Am I on your good side?” he asked, propping himself up on his elbow.

She traced a line down his chest. “You are all good side, Mister. Nothing more.”

“Good. I find this side so much more enjoyable. How did you sleep?”

“Very well, thank you. You wore me out last night.”

“I like wearing you out, Julia,” he said, then brushed his lips against her forehead. “And I like having you in my bed.”

“Your bed is pretty damn nice.”

“You make it look good. It felt good having you fall asleep in my arms,” he said, then ran his fingers through her hair. He lowered his voice again, speaking softly, “I wouldn’t mind seeing you in my bed more often.”

There was something different about him in moments like this. A tenderness shined through his hard exterior, a sweetness even. And it scared the hell out of her. Because it was easy to view him as a weekend fling. So incredibly easy. But when he was like this, she could feel the weight of one word pressing hard on her. More.

Like a temptress with a come hither wave, inviting her in for more. More him, more moments, more getting to know each other. She wanted terribly to snuggle in close with him, lift her eyes to meet his, and say I want to be in your bed more often, and I want to be in your life too.

But she didn’t have the luxury of more. So she made light of his comment, bringing it down to the sex level. “Oh, you just want to set some sort of record this weekend, don’t you?”

“That’s not what I meant,” he said, and this time his voice was clear, and firm. He pulled her on top of him, thread his hands slowly through her hair, keeping his eyes locked on her the whole time. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“I know,” she whispered, the words catching in her throat. She pressed her lips together so she wouldn’t say too much, wouldn’t admit how much she was starting to want from him.

“Kiss me,” he said, giving her a command. She obeyed, exploring his lips with her tongue, then crushing her mouth to his, trying to get closer, as close as she could be.

He let go of her hair, his hands drifting down to her backside. He reached for a condom and rolled it on. Then he cupped her cheeks, lifted her up, giving her full access to his erection, and she sank onto him. She inhaled sharply as he filled her, stopping momentarily to savor the sensations. He moved inside her, and it wasn’t rough as she rode him. It was luxurious, and deliciously slow, and it felt disturbingly like making love, especially given the way he kissed her tenderly the whole time.

The thieves rode away in a convertible, the sunset streaking behind them, the jewels turned into money and the money tucked safely away in a bank account. The closing credits rolled, and Julia leaned closer to whisper in his ear, her soft hair brushing his neck. “We need to stay for the credits.”

His heart thumped a beat harder, and he couldn’t deny that he was happy she’d insisted on proper movie etiquette herself. He didn’t have to tell her he wanted to stay. She got it on her own.

“I always watch the credits even when I don’t have a client involved,” he said, staying put in the red upholstered chair because he didn’t want to miss seeing the name of the executive producer scroll up the big screen. He’d wait all the way through to the final shot because that’s what you did when you were in the biz. What happens before the credits brings butts to the seats, but what rolls on by after “The End” is why there’s a movie in the first place. “But I do have a client in this film.”

“Which one is yours?” she whispered as other patrons stood, and picked up emptied popcorn tubs and cartons of Junior Mints.

He pointed to the first credit. “That’s my guy.”

“And you took good care of him, I trust?”

He nodded. “Got him some very nice points on the back end.”

She ran a finger down his arm, giving him an approving nod. “Impressive.”

“I do what I can.”

The names of the cast and crew, the key grip and the costumer streaked across the screen, and they watched them all. Soon, the movie reached its final frame, and silence filled the theater.

“What did you think of the movie? And don’t tell me you liked it because I had a client work on it.”

She rolled her eyes. “I have no need to suck up to you, Clay. You’re already putting out for me. But I loved it. Especially because you’re totally convinced at one point that they’re there’s no way they can walk out of the vault with all those jewels, but then it turns out there was a hidden wall,” she said, her expression animated as she recounted the film.

He nodded enthusiastically. “That’s exactly what I love about a good heist flick. The way the story makes you think one thing, and then all of a sudden,” he said, twisting his hand to the side to demonstrate a U-turn, “You’ve gone the other direction.”

“That’s what a good story does, right? Surprises you. Challenges you.”