Lauren Blakely: After This Night

“Hold on a sec,” she said, and he heard a scatter of movement on her end. Then her voice again. “Go see.”

Those two words shot straight to his groin, and he was fighting a losing battle with resistance when he scrolled to his screen, and thumbed open his text message to find a picture. A flash of white lace, a glimpse of her hipbone, and then her hand just barely dipped into the waistband of her panties. Suggesting what she was about to do if things continued.

Did he want them to?

No. And yes. And no. And yes. But as he tried to retain the reasons for hanging up, they all fell to dust when she whispered, “I’m touching myself and I’m thinking of you.”

He groaned, unbidden. Everything in him craved her. Needed her. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

She didn’t answer right away, only breathed once, a low, sexy moan. In the span of those seconds, images flashed before him—her tied up to his bed, her bent over his desk, handcuffed to his balcony. Him pleasuring her, owning her body.

“Kissing you,” she whispered, and his blood stilled because he’d been expecting something dirtier from her sexy mouth.

“Yeah? You like that?”

“I wouldn’t like any of the other things if I didn’t like kissing you first,” she said, a gasp escaping her.

“What do you like about the way I kiss you?”

“Everything. Every single thing. Your lips are soft, and your stubble is rough, and you know exactly how to kiss me and make me melt for you,” she said, and something about her voice was different this time; needier, hungrier.

“I love it when you melt into my arms,” he said. “When I first see you and first kiss you.”

“And it’s like lightning or electricity or something,” she said, and her breathing intensified.

“Like we can’t get enough of each other, and can’t stop kissing,” he said, and a shudder wracked his body. “Tell me where your hand is now.”

“Between my legs. Moving faster,” she said, and let out a sexy cry that sent heat waves throughout his bones and blood.

“Are you writhing there on your bed?”

“Yes.”

“With your legs wide open?”

“Yes,” she said, her voice rising higher, and he could tell she was getting closer. “Are you touching yourself, Clay?”

“No,” he said, though he was sure he’d need to handcuff his wrists any second to keep from grabbing his erection.

“Please,” she said, her voice a delicious beg. That beg unwound him. It reached deep into his dirty mind and made him want to do everything with her, for her, to her.

“Please what?”

“Please touch yourself,” she moaned, and he pictured her rocking her hips into her hand. With that image burned in front of his eyes, her voice in his ear, he knew it wouldn’t take long. A few quick strokes, and he’d be there.

“Why do you want me to?”

“I like picturing you touching yourself. I like the image of your big, strong hand wrapped around your cock. Stroking yourself. Thinking of me.”

“Yeah? That gets you hot?” His hands were trembling. He wanted so badly to give in to this moment with her.

“So hot. Anything you do turns me on. Don’t you get that?”

“I think you just want to break me down. And make me think of you.”

“But you already are, aren’t you?”

“I already am,” he admitted.

“Then come with me.”

“What makes you think I’m going to come?”

“Because I know you. You will when you hear me in about thirty seconds,” she said, and words fell away. She’d been reduced to moans and cries and pants, and there was no fucking way he could resist. It was either a cold shower for the rest of the whole night, or taking matters into his own hands. So he did, and it didn’t take long for him to join her, pleasure rippling through every single vein as she cried out his name and he came hard and fast.

A minute later, after he’d washed his hands and returned to the dark of the bedroom, she spoke. “I wish I were there wearing your clothes right now.”

He laughed. “That’s what you want to be doing? Because I’d like to be fucking you if you were here.”

“Well, that too. But then I’d put on your shirt.”

“You like that, don’t you?”

“I know you do too,” she said.

“I do. Seeing you in my shirt and your heels is my kryptonite.”

“Oh, is that it? That’s your kryptonite?”

“Or maybe it’s just that you are,” he whispered, admitting more than he wanted to.

“I think the same could be said here.”

There was a pause, and though they were three thousand miles apart, the silence was heady. He was in a drugged-out state tonight. This woman was his pill, and closeness with her was what he craved most even as he feared she would destroy his heart. Smash it to a million tiny pieces and eat it for lunch. But he had a built-in barrier in distance, and with no trips to San Francisco on his immediate calendar he saw nothing wrong with this temporary moment of relief from the pressure inside of him from wanting her. They couldn’t be together in any meaningful way, and he couldn’t get hurt if he didn’t actually see her. Right? Right , he answered for himself.

“What are we doing, Julia?” he asked, and he was sure she could hear the longing in his tone, but he didn’t care. There was no need to hide it after they’d just broken down and pleasured themselves together.

“I wish I knew,” she said, her voice wistful and full of yearning. “I really wish I knew.”

He heaved a sigh, trying to sort out his thoughts, but his brain was a mixed-up mess and he didn’t know how to untangle all the threads. Or if he wanted to remain tangled up with her instead.

“What are you going to do when we hang up?” he asked, changing direction.

“Read a book.”

“What are you reading these days?”

“A crazy story about a guy who treks across Antarctica.”

“That does sound crazy.”

“Yeah. He’s kind of hallucinating and talking to penguins right now,” she said with a small laugh.

“Can you blame him? I have to imagine if you’re stuck in the polar ice cap that talking to penguins might be a rare source of comfort.”

“As long as he doesn’t eat the penguins I’ll keep reading it.”

“Here’s to no penguin meals in the books we read.”

“What will you do?”

“I suspect I will fall fast asleep and dream of a beautiful redhead on the other side of the country.”

“She would like that dream very much,” she said in a sweet voice, the kind that worked its way beneath all the hard edges in him, and settled deep in his heart. “Will I talk to you again soon?”

He took a fueling breath, and put his armor back on, steeling himself. “I don’t know the answer to that.”

The next month passed in a paradoxical fashion. The days were long, but the weeks sped by as Julia won and lost for Charlie. She took the fall he asked for, but mostly she won, clearing another few thousand off her debt. The rest of the time, Julia mixed drinks at Cubic Z where she listened to Kim discuss whether to decorate the baby’s nursery with horse or teddy bear wallpaper.

“Craig wants teddy bears. He says horses are too scary for little kids,” Kim said, referring to her husband who helped out around the bar now and then as he looked for a regular bartending gig.

“Can I vote for otters instead?” Julia offered. “Have you ever seen an otter that’s not utterly adorable?”

Kim laughed. “Can’t say I’ve ever technically seen an otter at all. But I will hunt out otter wall-art now.”

Julia held up her arms in the victory sign. “Ladies and gentleman, my greatest accomplishment may indeed lie in convincing my friend Kim to go for the otters.”