His woman.
With a muffled grunt and a rough punch of his hips, he curled his hands over her hipbones as he jerked one more time inside her. Then he breathed out hard and brushed a gentle kiss to her neck. “Mmm,” he murmured. “I trust you enjoyed getting to Point B.”
“Getting there. Being there. All of it. I loved Point B. And I love boats.” She leaned into his kiss, then, when he pulled out, she excused herself for the restroom, and he zipped up his pants.
A few minutes later, Julia Nichols returned to his side, looping a hand around his neck. “Hey, handsome.”
“Hey, gorgeous. I almost didn’t recognize you with your hair like that.”
She reached up, running a hand through her once again auburn locks. She patted her purse. “Wig’s in here. Who knows what color I’ll be next time.”
“Doesn’t make a difference to me. I’ll fuck you no matter what.”
“You better.”
He’d given her what she’d told him she wanted. A fantasy. Pretending they were strangers. He’d wanted it, too, because he craved all the dirty things in the world with his wife. Role-playing, new positions, places they’d never been, and things they’d never tried.
But when she wrapped her hand around his neck and pulled him close, she reminded him of something they’d been doing well since day one. “But don’t forget Point A,” she said.
He arched an eyebrow in a question.
She pursed her lips and blew a kiss. “Kiss me, you handsome fella.”
“Love Point A,” he said with a grin, and brushed his lips to hers. He pressed harder, sealing their mouths together, and he shuddered. Screwing her was earth-shattering, but kissing her never failed to rock his world. She melted against his lips, murmuring as he savored the taste of her sweet mouth. He swallowed her moans, kissing her like it was the best thing in the world.
Because it fucking was. She arched into him, her body molding to his as he explored her mouth with his tongue. He had no interest in stopping, but the time had come to return to the party.
He took her hand, and they joined his cousins on the deck below, no one the wiser that he’d screwed his wife before he joined them. Then again, he was always screwing her. Several years of marriage hadn’t slowed them down. If anything, they found new ways to love each other every day.
He could only hope that when they celebrated their next anniversary in a few more weeks, more of his dirty dreams would come true.
3
The camera panned to Julia as she brought the crystal martini glass to her lips, taking a taste of the gin-based cocktail.
Then, she spat it out in a rather unglamorous spit bucket on the counter at her bar.
Not because it was bad.
Quite the opposite.
With a sweet and spicy flavor, the daring concoction tap-danced on her tongue like a celebration. This drink pushed the boundaries, and that was what she always looked for in a delicious cocktail as a judge on The Best New Bartender in New York, a reality TV show that had risen in the popularity ranks over the last few years.
As a regular judge, her job was to sample the drinks, but she certainly couldn’t consume them. If she did, she’d be tipsy all day long.
On the first season, one of the baby-faced newbie contestants had asked the judges how they managed to hold all that liquor. Her crusty old friend Byron, who served as a co-producer, had quipped, “I’m a well-seasoned alcoholic,” while Julia had simply told it like it was: “This is the rare case when I spit rather than swallow.”
That line had made it into the episode and had become a favorite with viewers, but also a classic running joke with her sex-on-a-stick husband. With Clay, of course she swallowed. He tasted better than even the best cocktail.
That was another one of their insider jokes. He was her favorite cock-tale.
No one would see her spitting out the drink once the show was edited. Neither the producers, nor viewers, nor the mixologists vying for top prize wanted to see a judge appear not to like a drink. It was best to maintain the illusion.
But it was no illusion when Julia tapped the side of the glass with her cranberry red nail and delivered the verdict to the hot young bartender dressed in all black.
His name was JT, and he was empirically hot. Not so hot that she wanted to bang him, because she only wanted to bang one man. But JT, with his perennial stubble, lopsided grin, and chocolate brown eyes, was going to be a star.
He had the looks, he had the talent, and he also had the ego. A big, fat ego as wide and high as a Times Square billboard. Too bad he was the leading contender on the show this season, filmed in Speakeasy, the bar Julia co-owned in Manhattan.
But though she wasn’t wild about his personality, she had to judge fairly, and he was a genius at mixing. “You, sir, are a mad scientist of cocktailian proportions. This Gin Fiesta is indeed a fiesta, and I do believe the proper term to describe it is heaven in a glass,” she declared.