"It can be, if we let it."
"You've done this before."
"If you're asking if I've had sex with women in the business, you know as well as I do that there aren't that many women in the construction business."
She smiled. "Yes, but leave it to you to find them. Plus, you travel a lot. You have contracts out of state."
"True."
"You have done this before."
"Not with someone like you. Not with someone I've known so long. Not with someone I--"
She cocked her head to the side. "What?"
"Nothing. I just know you better than any woman. I don't work with the women I date. So this is new territory for me, too."
"But we're not exactly going to be dating, Clay."
"Oh, I think we are." He slid one arm around her waist and pulled her against him. Her breath caught at being so close to him, at feeling his chest against her, the muscles of his thighs. "Did you think I'd strip you naked, chain you to my bed and fuck you nonstop for the entire time we're here?"
Her stomach quivered, her mind filled with thoughts of the two of them naked. Of her tied, spread-eagled, to his bed. Of Clay doing...everything...to her. "Now, there's a visual."
"Well, if that's what you really want, I'll be happy to oblige...."
She laughed, startling herself at the husky quality of her voice. She didn't sound like herself, knew it was because she was nervous. She had no experience here; she wasn't a flirt, nor was she trying to come across that way.
What was going to happen next? She had no idea what to do. With James, it had been easy. Familiar. She couldn't even remember when they'd first met. It had been so long ago. How did two people...start?
Clay took her hand and led her to the leather love seat situated in front of the door. "It's nice out. Let's sit down. You want something to drink?"
"Water would be nice. I think I had enough wine at the club."
She took a seat and Clay brought water for her, then filled a short glass with amber liquid for himself.
"Whiskey," he said, taking it down in one shot.
She half turned to face him. "Courage?"
His lips lifted as he set the glass down on the table. "I'm not a virgin, if that's what you're asking. And no, I'm not nervous."
She nearly dropped her glass of water. She laid it carefully on the table. "Uh, I definitely didn't think you were a virgin." And she still couldn't believe she was having this conversation with Clay.
He picked up a strand of her hair, sifted it through his fingers. "Yeah? And how would you know?"
"I don't. I just...Come on, Clay. You've been around. You bring a different woman to every event. I don't think I've ever seen you with the same woman twice."
He studied her. "Really."
"Yes."
"I didn't think you were paying attention."
"I wasn't. I mean, I do. I mean...hell. For God's sake, Clay. I don't know what I'm talking about."
"I think we've done enough talking."
Five
Ella held her breath as Clay leaned in. He didn't pause like Shawn had done, didn't ask for permission. But he didn't pin her, crowd her or take what she wasn't offering. He simply pressed his lips against hers. A soft, light brush of his mouth on hers, enough for her to taste, to feel the warmth of his breath, the tangy flavor of whiskey.
Enough for her to want more. She leaned into him, laid her hand on his chest. So solid, so male. He snaked his arm around her waist, once again, not too much that she backed away, but enough that she knew he was there, that he was touching her. His fingers splayed across her waist, and he increased the pressure of his mouth against hers. The tip of his tongue teased hers, and she opened, laid her head back against his forearm and invited him in.
He cupped her cheek with his other hand, scooted over so his thigh touched hers, and deepened the kiss, his tongue fully involved with hers now. She had forgotten what it felt like to have so much powerful male around her. Heat swelled inside her, the butterflies she hadn't felt with Shawn, the awakenings of arousal--what she'd come here for.
This...this was what she'd needed--what Shawn hadn't given her. Maybe he never could, because despite wanting impersonal, with Clay it was personal. She knew him, knew his looks, his mannerisms, his moods. She'd known him nearly as long as she'd known James, and she felt safe in Clay's arms. This was a giant first step for her. Clay had been right--she needed to feel safe.
And yet she didn't love Clay; she could get what she needed and walk away when it was over. But for now, she wanted to relish every moment, to think of nothing and no one but this man. The way he smelled, the way he tasted, the way he touched her. It was a brandnew experience and she was giddy with it.
Clay didn't seem to be in any hurry, just held her against him, his mouth doing delicious things to her senses. And oh, man, could he kiss. Devouring her mouth one second, his tongue diving deep inside to meld with hers. Then switching things up to take small nips of her lips. Then he'd start the whole process over with deep, tongue-swirling kisses that made her toes curl.
Other than touching herself, bringing herself to orgasm, which was more of a perfunctory thirty seconds to a few minutes of physical release, she hadn't spent much time on pleasure in the past five years. This was overload. This was like going from the desert to an oasis.
He moved his hand from her waist to her rib cage. Her heart pounded against his hand. Could he feel it?
He lifted his head. "You scared?"
She laughed. "No. Yes. Maybe. I haven't done this in a while."
"Are you sure you're ready?"
"Yes." She reached up and covered his hand with hers, brought it up over her breast. And nearly died when he rubbed his thumb over her nipple. Hot, tingling, her breast swelled, her nipple tightened.
"You'd better be, because I want you. I want you naked. I want to put my mouth all over you. I want to make you come, to hear you scream when you do. And I want to fuck you all night long, over and over again. So tell me now if you're not ready."
Good God Almighty. His words evoked images that made her melt all over, things she'd only dreamed about. Things only James had done to her.
For so long she'd been faithful to James. Faithful to the memory of their marriage, their life together, their love. She thought there was only going to be James. Forever.
But it was time. Time to let go, to give herself a chance to experience, if nothing else, sex again. It was time to push James aside, at least for a while.
"I'm ready for it, Clay. I need to be with you."
He swooped her up into his arms--she felt weightless and so small next to him--and carried her down the hall and into the bedroom. He set her down on the soft carpet between the bed and the doorway. Tangy warm air billowed through the open doorway, wafting over her hot skin. Clay turned her toward the door and placed her back against his chest, then leaned down and brushed her hair to the side. He kissed the nape of her neck and drew the straps of her dress down her shoulders.
She shivered.
"You cold?"
She leaned against him and raised her arm to twine it around his neck. "No."
His hands followed her straps, skimming along her skin. He stopped midway down her arms. "My hands are rough on your soft skin."
"I like rough."
"Do you?"
"Yes. I think so. I don't know, really. I just know I like the way your hands feel on me."
He moved closer to her, wrapped his arms around her, his forearms resting just under her breasts. Her breath caught.
"I guess we'll have to explore that together, then."
She found it hard to breathe having him wrapped around her like this. "I guess we will." The thought of it thrilled her. James had always been tender, sweet in his lovemaking. He'd never been rough with her. Not that it was a bad thing. But she would dishonor his memory because it would sound like a complaint. And she had no complaints. She'd loved her husband. Making love with James had been
ten slices of heaven. He'd treated her like an angel every time he touched her.
She swore she'd no longer dwell on the past or on James.
Now she was ready for something a little different. She didn't know why. Maybe because she could? She'd spent a long time deciding to go for this. This was her chance to explore. And oh, she wanted everything. Having Clay here with her, his body intimately pressed against her, his warm breath against her neck, was more than she had ever fantasized about.
She settled against him, felt the hard ridge of his erection against her butt, and shuddered, expectation ratcheting up both her nervousness and excitement.
"Are you sure you're not cold? I can shut the door."
She turned in his arms so she faced him. "Don't. I like the breeze coming in. Everything is perfect." She was almost afraid it was too perfect. Something was bound to go wrong and she didn't want it to. She had thought about this moment for so long.
But then Clay kissed her, and all her worries melted away with the touch of his lips, the slide of his tongue, the masterful way he stroked her libido to fever pitch with his mouth. He knocked her senses sideways and she was lost in him.
When he reached for the zipper on her dress, she began to tremble. But this time, he didn't pause, didn't question whether she was ready or not. This time, he wasn't going to stop. Thankfully.
He drew the zipper partway down, then stepped back. She looked up at him, at the smoldering look of desire on his face--a look she'd never seen in a face that had grown so familiar to her over the years.
He reached again for the straps on her dress. This time, when he pulled the straps down her arms, the top of her dress went with them.
She should be nervous. She wasn't. Not even when he bared her to the waist. She hadn't worn a bra, didn't need one, really, since the dress was so tight. She reached behind her and finished unzipping the dress. It fell to the floor and she stepped out of it, then kicked off her shoes.
Clay removed his shoes, then undid the button on his pants and drew the zipper down. Only then did she start to feel those nervous butterflies fluttering in her stomach. She'd been with only one man her entire life. What if she really didn't know how to...do this? What if she was lousy at it? What if after they had sex Clay found her lacking? She'd be mortified.
But all thoughts of uncertainty fled when Clay began to unbutton his shirt, revealing a wide expanse of beautiful chest and flat, ridged stomach. He shrugged off the shirt and let his pants fall to the floor. He was so different from James--muscular where James had been lean and wiry. She hated that James kept entering her mind, but he'd been the only man in her life. Visions of him still swam in her head.
Until Clay tugged his boxers down his hips. His erection bobbed, thick and rigid, impossible for her to ignore. She felt heat and moisture between her legs, as well as the urge to rub the swelling throb of her clit.
But tonight she wouldn't have to touch herself, wouldn't have to imagine a man between her legs satisfying all her desires. Tonight there'd be reality instead of fantasy.
Tonight there was Clay.
She drank in the sight of him, so incredibly beautiful from his dark hair to his muscular legs to his erect cock that made her mouth water. He bore scars on his arms, some she remembered him getting on the job because they often worked side by side on shared projects. He'd blow off most cuts and gouges and scrapes no matter how deep. He was tough.
He sat on the bed. "Come here, Ella."
She moved forward on shaky legs and stopped in front of him, her breasts level with his face. Her nipples puckered and he apparently noticed that, because his lips curled up.
He reached out and traced his finger around each nipple. Her breath caught, her body shuddering all over at the contact. It had been so long. So damn long. Tears rushed to her eyes and she blinked them back.
This is just sex. Quit making such a big damn deal out of it. It doesn't mean anything.
He slid his thumb over her nipple, a soft back-and-forth action. Her sex quivered with delicious sensation. For the first time in years, she felt her body swelling, coming to life, arching toward a man's touch. It felt achingly familiar and yet oh, so different.
He widened his legs and pulled her between them. His thighs were warm pressed against hers. He moved his hands from her thighs to her hips, ignoring the panties she still wore, sweeping his touch over her waist as if he were memorizing every inch of her skin. This slow exploration made her pulse skitter, her body temperature rise.
"You have a beautiful body, Ella. It's a shame no one's touched it in so long."
He swept his hands around her back and drew her toward him. She braced her hands on his shoulders as he fit one nipple into his mouth. Slow, easy, teasing her as his tongue snaked out to lick around the areola, tantalizing her with his warm, wet tongue until she couldn't take it any longer. She dipped farther in, sliding her breast against his tongue. His low hum of approval melted inside her, made her tingle in anticipation.
He fit his mouth over the bud, sucked gently and rolled his tongue over her nipple. She tilted her head back and moaned at the nearly unbearable pleasure of it. With each tender suck her pussy quaked. She had no idea that connection could be made. Had it just been so long that she didn't remember?
That had to be it. She'd felt pleasure with James. Sex had been good with him. Really good.
Stop. Thinking. About. James.
Not now, not when the pleasure was so great, when it was only Clay she wanted to think about. She wouldn't compare one man to the other, wouldn't think about being in bed with Clay and what it meant. It meant nothing.
It meant everything. It would be the first time she was going to be with another man besides James.
Clay leaned back. "Something on your mind?"
She was panting, her body on fire from his mouth on her breast. "No. Yes. I'm sorry."
He released her and she sat next to him.
"It's James," he said.
"Yes."
"It's okay to think about him, Ella. You can't try to pretend he didn't exist. You loved him."
She looked down at her hands. "It doesn't seem right."
He tipped her chin with his finger, forcing her to look at him. "Was he the only man you were with?"
She nodded.
"Then it's natural you'd feel strange about this. I don't expect you to erase James from your memories. You shouldn't feel that way, either."
She loved that they could talk about James. Sitting naked on the bed together, they were having a conversation about her dead husband. She'd never be able to do this with anyone but Clay.
"Just let it come naturally and quit putting so much pressure on yourself to be perfect. If he occasionally pops into your thoughts, there's nothing wrong with that."
"Most guys would hate that."
He leaned in, kissed her. "I'm not most guys."
She was beginning to see that. "Thank you."
"I'd like to think he'd be okay with this. That he'd trust me."
She smiled. "I know he would."
"Then quit worrying about it and let's have some fun."
She exhaled. Clay was right. She was obsessing over every little thing. Frankly, she was surprised he hadn't already kicked her to the curb for being too much effort. She might not even be worth it.
"Okay, now," he said, lying back on the bed and pulling her into his arms. He dragged her on top of him. "Where were we?"
"You had my nipple in your mouth."
"Oh, yeah."
"You were sucking it."
He shifted her upward. "I remember. You tasted good." He lifted her nipple to his mouth.
And just like that, she fell into heat and arousal, all other thoughts fleeing her mind. Contact was an explosion of heat. She held on to his shoulders, watching him suck and lick one nipple, then the other, until she was too weak to hold herself up. She collapsed on top of him and pressed her mouth to his, her tongue diving in with a passion she'd held in rese
rve before.
But not now. She'd cleared her head, dismissed her reservations. It was time to focus on one thing--Clay.
He rolled her over onto her back and laid his palm on her rib cage. Again, she felt her heart pounding against his hand. She lifted her gaze to his. For some reason, watching him look at her was incredibly sobering. He seemed to be so serious, but not at all with the same intense look that he had during business meetings. Because this time, there was an underlying look of passion in his eyes, turning their normal sea blue to a dark, stormy color.
He finally skimmed his hand down her belly, his fingers tantalizingly close to her panties. He slid his fingertips just underneath. She held her breath, her gaze riveted on his face, while he tucked his hand inside to cup her sex.
She expelled her breath and sucked it in again as a whirlwind of pleasure surrounded her.
"You're wet. Hot. God, you feel good, Ella."
She fought to swallow as he moved his hand farther, sliding along her pussy lips, his fingers teasing, dipping into the wetness there and coating her. She arched against his hand and he rubbed the heel against her clit.
She gasped. Instinct forced her to grab his wrist and guide his hand to the spot that gave her the most pleasure. "Yes. Right there. Oh, Clay, that feels so good."
He pressed his lips against her temple, his warm breath teasing her ear. "I like to hear you talk, Ella. Tell me what feels good to you."
He slid a finger inside her and she lifted, still holding on to his wrist.
"That? Or do you want more?"
Another finger joined the first, and he pumped in and out. Ella tilted her head back and rocked her hips against his fingers. "Yes. Oh, God, yes, I like that."
He swirled his thumb over her clit while he finger fucked her, and the sensation was incredible. It had been too long, and she was so ready to come.
"Yeah. Squeeze my fingers with your pussy, baby. Come for me."
Tension spiraled up and through her as she held back, wanting to prolong the intensity of this pleasure. Clay continued to work her pussy and slid his hand against her clit. She turned her head and looked into his eyes, at the dark desire she saw there, and she had no hope of holding on any longer. She let go, her orgasm seizing every muscle of her body. She tightened, then released, pleasure flowing through her like the sweetest electric current, making her shake all over as rivers of sensation rocked her. And throughout, Clay tunneled his fingers in and out of her, intensifying her climax until she lay spent and limp as a rag doll on the bed.