All Night Long

  Chapter Six

  Selma freed his cock, hard and ridged and absolutely perfect. She held him in her hand, enjoying the power of knowing that she had the ability to bring this man to his knees. She licked him first, reveling in the way his body tightened, the fact that she was bringing him pleasure exciting her. And when he twined his hands in her hair and guided her mouth to his cock, she enjoyed it all the more.

  She wanted it wild. Wanted to be his. To surrender to his whims. To please him and have him use her, knowing that her turn would come next and he would take her all the way to the stars.

  Even after so many years, she remembered the feel of him. The taste of him. He'd been a skilled lover when he was in law school. A touch could make her wet. A brush of his tongue could make her come. But he hadn't developed the edge yet, and the Easton who stood before her now was a man with all sorts of edges. The kind who could take a girl to dark places, then fill them with light.

  God, how she wanted that.

  He thrust into her faster, and she clung to his butt, holding him in place, wishing he'd shed the pants. She wanted the feel of skin on skin. She wanted all of him.

  "Baby, that feels so good. I'm so damn close."

  She sucked harder, but he gently pulled out. "I want to feel you. I want to feel us."

  And then, as if to prove that he was echoing her thoughts, he added, "I want out of these damn clothes." Quickly, he stripped off his pants and jacket, but kept the suit shirt on. She almost insisted he take it off, then thought better of it. She liked the way he looked with his rock hard cock peeking out from the shirt tails. Just looking at him made her aroused, and she was already so close.

  "Please," she said, then started to reach back to unfasten her garter.

  "Oh, no. That is too perfect. Bend over."

  "What?"

  He smacked her rear lightly, and she almost passed out from lust. "I said to bend over."

  She did, holding onto the edges of the small round table, her breasts against the cool tile and her ass presented for him.

  "You're so gorgeous. Spread your legs."

  She did as he said, and he slid his cock up and down her crack, teasing her pussy until it took all of her willpower not to reach back and touch herself.

  Then again ...

  She slid one hand between her legs and started to stroke her clit as he teased her with the tip of his cock.

  "That's so hot," he said. "Don't stop doing that."

  "No, sir," she said, then smiled when he moaned. Apparently he liked the game as much as she did. "Fuck me, please." She was so turned on her muscles were clenching, desperate to pull him in. "I need you inside me."

  "Anything you want. Hang on."

  She didn't want to hang on at all. She wanted everything, and she wanted it now. But she told herself that good things came to those who wait and so she patiently waited as he pulled a condom from his wallet then sheathed himself. His hand slicked over her, and he moaned. "You're so wet," he said. "I'm going to fuck you so deep."

  "Yes." It was all she could manage. Words seemed beyond her. She'd moved on to sensations only.

  And then she felt the sensation of him. The pressure at her entrance, and then the intensity of his first thrust inside her. She closed her eyes, reveling in the feel of him. The way he filled her. Claimed her. And when he started to rhythmically thrust inside her, all rational thought left her and she knew only the exceptional growing sensation of a powerful orgasm rising inside her, borne of the wild, deep thrusts of his cock and the firm teasing of her clit with her own fingers.

  More and more, deeper and deeper. She felt his body tighten inside her. Felt his muscles tense around her. He reached out and grabbed her neck, lifting her head so that he was holding her tight, her breasts off the table now. He was riding her, her body entirely at his mercy.

  "Come for me."

  "Please," she said. "More."

  He teased her ass with his free hand. "Is this more?" he whispered. "Or how about this?" he asked, then licked the curve of her ear. "Come now," he ordered. "I want to feel you explode."

  His breath teased her ear as he spoke, and that was the final push. Fingers of electricity shot through her body, each strand racing toward her core. She felt alive, on fire. She felt like pure energy, the stars, the big fucking bang.

  "Now," he urged. "Go over now."

  As if she had no choice but to obey this man, she felt the world fall out from under her. She exploded. She broke apart. She touched the heavens.

  And then ever so gently, she fell back to the earth and into his arms.

  He relished her warmth as they curled up together in bed. He'd carried her there, and now he wanted nothing more than to hold her close and keep her safe. His fingers danced lazily against her skin, pausing at the tattoo beneath her breast, just over her heart. Please.

  "What does it mean?"

  She snuggled close. "I'll tell you later. Right now, I want to know how you're going to negotiate my deal."

  He laughed, but was happy to oblige, and so he asked her to outline the deal so far. She did, and he listened, asking questions and ending up pleasantly surprised by the thoughtfulness of her answers and the fact that she'd obviously done her homework.

  "Well, my first priority is to get you as much cash as possible. Once it's done, you're pretty much out of the picture. They're buying your brand, which means you're done. If they fuck it up, your only recourse is the satisfaction of a full bank account."

  She frowned. "I don't like the sound of that."

  "Not much way around it, but I'll do some thinking. I want you as protected as possible. And it's all about negotiation. You never know until you try."

  "You sound like you enjoy it."

  "I do."

  "Is that the kind of thing you can do as a judge?"

  He considered the question, surprised by the lump that formed in his stomach. "Honestly, not really. As a mediator, yeah. But a judge has a different rulebook."

  "Then why do you want to do it?"

  Another hard question. Apparently the girl didn't throw soft balls. "There's prestige, of course."

  "That doesn't seem like your bag."

  "No, but it gives you some power. To make change, I mean."

  "I thought judges only interpreted the law," she countered. "Wouldn't being in the legislature make more sense if you wanted to bring about change?"

  He couldn't deny she had a point.

  "Then why are you running for judge and not just staying in your practice? Or maybe trying to be a senator?"

  Since that wasn't a question he felt like he could answer when he was overtired and oversexed, he turned the tables. "Why are you selling the distillery?"

  Her laugh was like the ringing of bells. "Oh, that's because I want to." She grinned. "I want to do this, too."

  With a quick movement, she straddled him, then grinned before she slowly eased down his body to once again take his cock into her mouth. He wanted to call her out for avoiding the question, but he wanted more to savor the feel of her hot little mouth doing wonderful things to his body.

  She pulled away far too soon for his taste, but when she replaced her mouth with her pussy, riding him hard and fast and taking him to the edge, he really couldn't complain. Especially when she made him come so hard he thought he might bruise his throat when he cried out in pleasure.

  And then, when she whispered, "Ready for another round?" his eager cock twitched and perked up all over again.

  She would, he thought, be the death of him.

  By four o'clock in the morning, they'd finally worn each other out, and he gently kissed her temple as she fell asleep in his arms.

  By five, he had to get up to catch a plane.

  He'd never once left a woman in his bed when he wasn't home. And yet he didn't even blink at the thought of leaving Selma.

  And instead of kicking her out, he simply brushed a kiss over her cheek and whispered to her sleeping form that she could stay as
long as she wanted.

  Chapter Seven

  "You just spent an hour working out, and now you're eating that?" Selma wrinkled her nose at the pile of pancakes, side of bacon, omelet, and hash browns that the waitress slid in front of Matthew. They were at Magnolia Cafe on South Congress, her brother was completely pigging out, and she was indulging in one measly breakfast taco.

  Okay, not that measly since the portions at Magnolia were huge. But Matthew's breakfast could feed a small family.

  "That's why I need a big breakfast," Matthew said. "And you know I don't eat like this all the time."

  True enough. Usually he ate a training diet she found both strange and unappealing. But when they did their semi-regular breakfasts together, he went all out. As evidenced by the mass quantities of carbs sitting in front of him at the moment.

  "Besides," he added, "if you would work out, you wouldn't feel like you have to live on salads."

  "Hello? Do you see the giant breakfast taco? And I don't live on salads. But they're my staple so that when I get a whim for something decadent, I have no guilt."

  He stabbed a huge chunk of pancakes with his fork. "Fair enough. But exercise erases guilt, too. And, hey, you have a brother who owns a gym. I can hook you up with all the good machines."

  She rolled her eyes. "I get plenty of exercise. In fact, I got an excellent workout last night."

  A very excellent workout, and for a moment, she allowed herself to savor the memory. Even this morning had been incredible. He'd let her stay the night--which, considering how they'd started out, seemed almost miraculous--but he'd had to leave early to catch a plane to Dallas. And instead of kicking her out, he'd simply brushed a kiss over her cheek and told her to stay as long as she wanted.

  If it hadn't been for her brother, she might still be naked in the sheets, waiting for him to come back.

  The thought made her sigh, and when she did, Matthew narrowed his eyes and put his fork down.

  "Easton? Oh, man, Selma. What the hell are you doing getting involved with him? You told me this morning that he'd agreed to sign on as your attorney. You didn't say you were sleeping with him."

  "If it matters, we didn't sleep much."

  "Don't even joke. Come on, Selma. You know that's just bad business."

  "Trust me. It's fine. I'm fine." She reached over the table and snagged one of his pieces of bacon. "But thanks for caring."

  He rolled his eyes, but the truth was they both probably cared too much. After all, at the end of the day, it was Matthew and Selma against the world. Because while they both loved their parents dearly, Selma and her brother had literally survived hell together. Beatings, weeks of nothing but water and saltines. And day after day after day of being told they were worthless. That they were only in the way.

  It had gotten a little better when their birth father had disappeared. At least the maternal unit didn't bloody their backs with a leather belt. Mostly, she just ignored them. But when she'd run out of money, she'd gone to local shelters for help, and that had been when things started to look up. There'd been other adults who'd warmed to them, and Matthew and Selma let those grown-ups get close to their hearts.

  But then their bio-mom would rip them out of that shelter and move them across town or across the state. Everywhere they went, they left a trail of people who might have cared for them, if they'd been able to stay long enough. Instead, they ended up in Austin, alone. Just Matthew and Selma and their birth mom.

  Then even she'd walked away, and after that moment it really was Matthew and Selma against the world.

  Even when the Herringtons had plucked them out of foster care, it had been hard to get close. At least for Selma. Somehow, she'd always been waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  Honestly, maybe she still was.

  Selma sighed, then took a contemplative sip of coffee. Yeah, she was screwed up. But by all rights, she should be a hell of a lot worse.

  She stabbed a clump of sausage out of her taco with her fork, then looked up to find Matthew staring at her. "What?"

  "It's not fine, Selma."

  "Come on, Matthew. For once, just trust me. I'm thirty-five. I promise you I can take care of myself."

  He started to respond, but she shook her head firmly.

  "No. Moving on. Total change of topic. Have you talked to Mom and Dad? They called me the day before yesterday, but I couldn't hear a thing. Where are they now?"

  "China. Can you believe it? Mom emailed me last night. They're traveling from Beijing up to Shanghai."

  Their parents--the only people in her life who deserved to be called parents--had recently set out on a five-month adventure to see the world. "See," Selma said. "They're spontaneous. It's not just me."

  "Sure they are. If you consider four years of planning spontaneous."

  "A fair point. But what about you? Aren't you being uncharacteristically spontaneous?"

  "You mean about the gym?"

  She nodded. They'd met this morning at his downtown gym on Lavaca like they always did before grabbing breakfast together. But instead of leaving right away, as was their habit, he'd taken her into the bowels of the gym. He'd talked to her about the various machines and their cost. About the floorplan of the building. About his membership stats.

  And then he told her that he was going to move forward with franchising.

  He already had several locations around Austin, and he oversaw all of them, using managers for the day-to-day stuff. And, sure, he'd talked about franchising, but she'd assumed that was a lark.

  But today, he was talking as if it was really happening. With lawyers and paperwork and money flowing.

  "Are you sure you want to do that?" she asked. "I mean, not to rain on your parade, but are you sure?"

  "Yeah," he said, without the slightest hesitation. "Why wouldn't I be?"

  "I don't know. It's such a permanent step. What if it falls apart?"

  "Why should it?"

  "I don't know. Because something happens."

  He nodded slowly. "You do understand that at the end of the day, I'm the glue that holds the whole chain together. There's no one I trust more than myself. Not even you."

  "Yay for self-confidence, but you know that things won't always turn out the way you want them to. You'll get it going and then, boom, it'll get pulled out from under you. Nothing is ever solid."

  "Maybe not. But it's worth trying to be." He tilted his head as he eyed her. "Are you nervous for me?"

  "Always," she admitted.

  "Do you think I can do it?"

  "You're one of those guys who can do anything."

  "Except, apparently, find a good woman."

  "You will," she said firmly. "One who deserves you." Her phone chirped, and she frowned at her brother. "That's my alarm. I have to run. Free-Tail is one of the sponsors for tonight's event at the Winston Hotel, and I've got temporary waiters coming in I have to train."

  "Go for it. I'll sit here in peace and finish my mountain of pancakes."

  She slid out of the booth.

  "Hey." His single word stopped her.

  "What?"

  "You can do anything, too," Matthew said.

  "I know. And that means I can also do everything." She winked, then turned and hurried for the door.

  The last thing Easton had wanted after his unexpected night of debauchery and sin was to leave a warm and willing woman in his bed so that he could fly up to Dallas for hours of mind-numbing depositions. Especially since, when he'd finally returned home at just after five in the evening, the sheets had turned cold and she was nowhere to be found.

  The second to last thing he wanted to do after a night of wild, acrobatic sex chased by mundane depositions, was to be standing in the grand ballroom of the Winston Hotel in Austin, trying to kick-start enough brain cells to allow him to make conversation. And yet here he was, standing right inside the doorway leading to one of the many charity balls that served to get his name in front of voters and influencers with as much
efficiency as a finger swipe on Tinder.

  And considering he could barely walk straight today, he wanted to be here even less.

  Still, Easton had a goal, and he and Judge Coale had a plan for reaching that goal. Which meant that despite the fact that Selma had essentially ridden him to the moon and wrung him dry, he was at this party to work.

  He drew a breath, straightened his tie, and stepped the rest of the way into the chaos of the ballroom. Immediately, a waitress in a black tank top handed him a glass of bourbon, and he took a sip, impressed by the smooth taste with just enough burn to make it worth drinking. He looked up, realized the waitress's tank top had the Free-Tail logo on it, and froze. Because there she was. Selma. On the other side of the ballroom.

  In a sea of business suits and conservative dresses, Selma Herrington stood out like a sexy sore thumb. She wore skintight leather black pants paired with the same logo tank top as her staff. A red belt accentuated her small waist, and her legs seemed all the longer in her four-inch heels. She wore a retro style bullet bra underneath the top, a look that some modern men probably didn't care for, but that he thought was erotic as hell, a fact proven out by the tightening in his balls, both from the sight of her now and the memory of how she looked last night in nothing but that bra, stockings, and a garter belt.

  Her lips were painted fire-engine red and her short hair was spiky now and tipped with pink and green instead of the previous blue.

  She looked sexy as hell, wild as a forest fire, and completely out of place.

  She was also heading straight for him. A fact that his body fully appreciated. But that made his inner politician cringe.

  "Hello, lover," she purred as she approached.

  "Christ, Selma, keep your voice down."

  "I enjoyed last night."

  He swallowed. "So did I."

  Her smile was smug. "I know."

  "Why are you here?"

  Her brows rose, but he wasn't sure if she was offended or amused. "That's my whiskey you're drinking. We're one of the sponsors of the benefit."

  "Of course. I wasn't thinking." He drew in a breath, forcing himself not to reach out even as he told himself that starting this arrangement with her was a bad idea. Because clearly he was incapable of being around her without wanting to touch her. "Listen, Selma, I need to mingle. I'm going to be announcing soon, and I should do the meet-and-greet before the speeches start."