Lauren Blakely - Night After Night

Their conversation was interrupted by the sweeping of a broom. Clay glanced behind him. An usher was sweeping the floor of the theater. The usher dumped the contents of the dustpan into a trashcan and then left.

“I guess that’s our cue to go.” He stood up, holding Julia’s hand and they exited their row. “All alone in the movie theater,” he mused as they made their way up the aisle. “The things we could do.”

“You never stop, do you?”

“Thinking of ways to seduce you?”

She nodded, tucking a strand of her sexy red hair behind her ear.

“Never.”

“Your efforts are very much appreciated, but you do know you have this one in the bag?”

He reached his hand around her waist, tugging her in close as they left the theater, the bright lights of the lobby making him blink. “You are not the type of woman I would ever take for granted,” he said, whispering low in her ear, because the words were just for her. She shivered lightly against him, and he wrapped his arm tighter around her.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why am I the type of woman you wouldn’t take for granted?”

He held open the door to the cinema, letting her walk onto the New York Street first, admiring the view of her legs. It was a Saturday afternoon, but she was wearing black stockings and her trenchcoat. Heels too. A young man in a slouchy sweatshirt stared at Julia as he walked by, nearly tripping over his Converse sneakers as he craned his neck to gawk. Clay wasn’t bothered. In fact, he was a proud mother fucker to know the woman other men stared at was with him. “Because you wear stockings on a Saturday to the movies. Because you do it not just to turn me on but because you are intrinsically sexy. Because you have this gorgeous internal confidence that has nothing to do with what men think of you. Because you stayed in the theater to watch the credits. Because you get why crime flicks are a damn good way to pass two hours. Because as much as I want to spend the entire weekend in bed, I also want to get to know you. Because I like talking to you as much as I like touching you. Is that enough?”

She stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, wrapped her arms around his neck, nodded her answer and planted a hard kiss on his lips. She tasted like kettle corn from the movies. “Mmm,” he growled, as a gray-haired couple sidestepped them. They were in New York City, kissing on the street, doing exactly what new lovers should do in a weekend together.

“Yes, that’s enough.” She grabbed his hand and laced her slender fingers through his. “And I think you are a fabulous way to pass the time,” she said, and he suspected that was as much as she’d admit when it came to that most dangerous territory of feelings. But he’d take it, he’d happily take it.

They resumed walking, a crisp April breeze blowing past them that smelled remarkably like rain as they neared Christopher Street. The breeze billowed her coat momentarily, providing him with a full-on view of her long legs, and just the slightest peak of her panties as her skirt danced upwards too. “Because of that too,” he added.

“I arranged for that gust of wind. I ordered it to arrive at this instant.”

He laughed, then gestured to a sushi restaurant at the corner. “You hungry?”

She looked at her watch. “It’s four in the afternoon.”

“I know. But we skipped lunch when I needed to eat you instead, and I figured once we return to my place you’re definitely going to be tied up.”

“See, here’s the thing,” she said, holding up her hands, as if offering them for shackling. “You’ve been promising me these ropes, Clay, and my wrists are still achingly empty.”

He swatted her ass. “Get some food in you, woman, before I tie you up and tie you down.”

Clay had been to this restaurant a few times, including once with his ex, Sabrina. She’d asked the sushi chef if she could lick the yellowtail. She wasn’t drunk. Sabrina had never been a drinker. She’d been too in love with other substances instead, with little pills prescribed by doctors. “Little darlings for my headaches,” she’d say when a migraine swooped down on her. But then the migraines, if she truly had them, became so crushing that she needed more and more and more.

She needed them all the time. Up her nose. Every few hours.

But the worst part? The way she lied. The times she denied. How she hid what she was up to.

That was the problem. That’s also why Clay didn’t want any drama with Julia. He knew there were no guarantees in relationships, and certainly people had a way of making promises and breaking promises. Still, he was keen on this woman, he wanted to spend more time with her, and he wanted to be upfront about the past so they could have more of the present.

After they finished eating and left the restaurant, he cleared his throat. “So what’s your story, Julia? Got any any deep dark secrets I should know about?”

She started coughing, sputtering at the abruptness of his question.

“You okay?”

She nodded, but kept hacking as they passed an art gallery. “Just a tickle in my throat,” she choked out.

“Let me go back and get you some water.”

She held up her hand to say no, coughed once more. “I’m fine. But what kind of question is that?”

“An honest question. I’m just trying to get to know you,” he said, his tone straightforward.

Then the sky broke. Out of nowhere it seemed, the clouds heaved up heavy droplets of water, pelting them from above.

“Holy shit, that’s some rain,” Julia said, and grabbed at the collar of her coat, as if that would protect her from the water. A few feet away, a man hailed a cab, racing to get inside the vehicle. A family down the block ducked into a coffee shop, and a car squealed to a stop at the light.

“I’m not that far from here. Only three blocks. But do you want to go to the coffee shop?”

“No. I want to go to your place.”

They picked up the pace, Julia’s heels clicking loudly against the wet sidewalk. “You okay in those shoes?”

“Totally fine,” she said.

“There’s a little souvenir shop on the corner. Let me get an umbrella for you.”

She grabbed his arm, wrapped her hand around it and pushed him against the brick wall of a shoe store. “Don’t even think for a second that I can’t handle a few drops of rain, Mister. I’m not some fragile flower.”

He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Never said you were.”

“I like the rain. And I’ve always wanted to kiss in the rain,” she said, gripping his shirt collar, and running her fingers along it. “Now give me one of those fabulous New York kisses in the rain that make all the girls swoon.”

“Gladly,” he said and cupped her cheeks in his hands, held her gaze, then moved in for a kiss, sweeping his lips softly against her, slowly kissing her in the rain, drawing out decadent little sighs and murmurs from her mouth. The sky unleashed a firehose of water, and the rain become a goddamn downpour. Julia quickly broke the kiss, and pointed to her hair, now plastered against her head. “Okay, time to run because that was romantic for about ten seconds and now I’m just a drowned rat.”

He laughed. “Somehow, you’re still unbelievably sexy though,” he said as he grabbed her hand.

They walked quickly, doing their best to dart and dodge passersby and sprayed-up puddles from cars. He kept his arm around her the whole way, and after another block, they were both soaked, but she couldn’t deny that she liked being wet with him, even this kind of wet.

“My coat is useless,” Julia shouted against the pounding rain. The afternoon sky was slate gray and slamming buckets down upon them. His jeans stuck to his legs, and her stockings were waterlogged. Soon enough they reached his building and ran inside. He took a deep breath once the world turned dry again thanks to four walls and a roof.

“That’s a hell of an angry sky,” he said as they stepped inside the elevator.

“And there’s nothing romantic about getting caught in the rain.”

He laughed. “Turns out that’s all just a lie of the movies.” He looked her up and down, her hair clinging messily to her her neck, and her cheeks. Her mascara had started to run and a drop of water slipped down her face. “I know what we need.”

Candlelight bathed the warm room in its soft glow. A D’Angelo album played faintly from an iPod in the bedroom, but here inside the spacious bathroom with its cream-colored tiles and marble tub, the world was warm again, and the water was the perfect temperature.

Hot.

Julia leaned back against him, her slim body lining perfectly with his, the waterline bobbing near her breasts. He was sure he could stare at them for quite a while and not ever want to look away. They were gorgeous, full and round with rosy nipples that he couldn’t resist touching. He cupped one in each hand, kneading them.

“Hmm. Where did we leave off? Something about deep dark secrets and skeletons in the closet.”

She leaned her head back against him, her hair fanning out in the water, like a mermaid. “Yes. I believe you were going to tell me about yours,” she said.

“Ah, so many skeletons,” he said, running his index finger across the soft skin of her belly. She sighed happily, snuggling in closer against him.

“I was once a dirty businessman and ran a Ponzi scheme like Bernie Madoff,” he said with a straight face.

She turned to look at him. “Really?”

He’d said it so matter-of-factly that it had taken her a moment to realize he was teasing. “No. But the truth is I ran a high-class call girl ring as a side business to my law practice,” he said, in a deliberately confessional tone.