A Wildly Seductive Night(21)

Clay leaned against the doorframe. “I see you got me my favorite gift,” he said, his deep, husky voice wafting over her, sending a rush of heat through her body.

“I did. Hope that’s not too presumptuous, but I have a feeling you might like this anniversary present.”

He strode across the deck and bent down to plant a hard, hungry kiss on her lips. “You taste like your new cocktail.”

“It’s strong. It makes me feel loose and languid all over.”

Clay’s words from the other night stayed with her, reminding her that what she needed wasn’t just an original cocktail, but perhaps the original cocktail.

The Sazerac.

Dubbed by some in the business as “the original cocktail,” the Sazerac was supposedly the oldest known American cocktail. It was strong, potent, and delicious. The rim of the glass was coated in absinthe, and Julia had followed the recipe, but veered left, swerved right.

Her recipe came with a twist, of course. A variation on the theme.

It was a riff on the Sazerac, with a little honey and a splash of a secret ingredient. She’d finished one already while drying her hair and applying some makeup after her shower. She was on her second now. That was part of the plan.

“Have some,” she said. “I added a few things.”

Clay took a drink and nodded his appreciation. “It tastes almost as good as you,” he murmured, then dipped his head to her neck.

“You could find out how I taste.”

“I intend to,” he said, his hand traveling down her chest, between her breasts. A fire sparked in her veins from his touch. The alcohol, combined with him, mixed with her plan—all those things ignited her.

She knew what kind of cocktail she needed. Something that would give her the courage to try the one thing she secretly wanted. Something they’d tangoed with once or twice before, but had never gone all the way with. And when she’d taken the first sip of her variation on the Sazerac, she was sure she’d found the solution—to the drink competition, and to her wish to try a certain something again.

Clay fingered the strand around her neck. “You always looked delicious in pearls,” he said, then cupped the back of her head and kissed her, a deep, hot kiss that bathed her brain in bliss and set her skin to sizzling.

Longing climbed inside Julia, curling and twisting with each consuming press of his lips, each swipe of his tongue. His hands were on her face, in her hair, and traveling down her body. Trailing the pads of his fingers along the smooth polished pearls, he found his way to the bow around her waist.

“I’ve always loved surprises,” he said when he broke the kiss. He reached out a hand, pulled her up from the chair, and stood, facing her. His brown eyes were intense. “You deserve to be worshipped. Let me adore you with my mouth.”

“I want that so much,” she said as shudders wracked her body. The heat in her veins ran wild, sparking, spreading, and making her melt between her legs, where she ached for him.

He led her to the edge of the balcony, and pressed her back to the wall. He dropped to his knees, brushed his lips against the fabric of her dress, and planted soft kisses along her waist as he tugged at the bow. “This is how I worship you. This is how I adore you,” he said as he let the bow fall in a puddle. He pushed up the fabric of her dress and pulled down her panties. “I get on my knees for you.”

“I like you there. I like you anywhere on me,” she whispered, her breathing erratic already as desire swamped her body.

“Then fuck my face as I eat you,” he rasped, and she nearly shattered right there. She followed his direction, threading her fingers through the strands of his hair. Bright, hot fireworks ignited in her body as his hands slunk around her rear, grasping her cheeks.

His mouth was on her pussy, and she moaned.

My God. This was heaven. This was rapture—his tongue, his lips, his desire. He flicked his tongue up and down her slickness. Already, she was crazed with need. Her body vibrated, as if she’d been injected with pure pleasure. Her veins flowed with it.

As he kneeled before her, his face buried between her legs, all she could do was hold on tight.

He devoured her pussy just how she liked it. He ate her like an animal, and that was what she wanted. His depravity. His baseness. Her husband, in his suit and slacks, crouched on the concrete of their balcony, sucking and kissing and licking like she was his fucking meal. She wasn’t just dessert. She wasn’t simply a treat. She was his sustenance, his reason for living.

Wild noises ripped from his throat, groans and moans of his pleasure as her liquid arousal coated his stubbly jaw, his lips, his tongue. Her sounds grew louder, higher, crazed.