“Fine?” he asked, scrunching up his eyebrows.
“If you think you’re better than your brother, prove it.” She sat back in the soft leather seat and crossed her arms.
He didn’t say anything for a while. She clearly had thrown him for a loop. He probably thought that he was going to have to fight her on this one, but she didn’t have any fight left in her.
“Are you . . .” he trailed off. “I don’t want to misinterpret you.”
Liz’s eyes shifted to him briefly. “I think you get my meaning.”
“I’d rather you make it very clear.”
“I want you to f**k me until I forget Brady Maxwell ever existed,” Liz said bluntly. Until he wasn’t even a memory . . . just like Brady had said that night last October.
“Shit,” he muttered under his breath.
“Unless you can’t do that,” she challenged.
“I can do that.” Clay reached across the car, took her hand, and placed it on his cock. She could feel the hardening length through his suit pants. “I can definitely do that.”
Liz squeezed then ran her hand down to the tip and back. His breathing hitched; then she pulled away with a smirk.
“I sure hope so.”
Someone needs to.
MISTAKES WORTH MAKING
Clay turned his Porsche down a long winding driveway about fifteen minutes later. They passed through an overhang of trees before the lot finally opened up to reveal a ranch-style brick house. It was beautiful in its simplicity and completely secluded.
“Is this yours?” Liz asked, staring out the window at the property.
“Courtesy of Maxwell Industries Real Estate, I presume?”
“Someone’s done their research,” he said, his eyes shifting to hers. “Or do you have experience with other Maxwell properties?”
“I’m a reporter. Give me some credit,” she said, trying not to think about all of the other Maxwell properties she had been on.
He parked the Porsche in the driveway and they both stepped out of the car. Liz followed him around to the front door. He kicked over a flowerpot and found a key sitting underneath it.
“High security,” Liz observed.
Clay chuckled before he inserted the key, twisted the knob, and opened the door. Liz’s body buzzed with adrenaline as Clay stepped inside. She fought to keep her hands from trembling as she followed him. She had decided to do this and she needed to keep the tone light if she was going to go through with it.
“Where are you now anyway?” Liz asked, walking inside. “You graduated from law school last May, right?”
“I’m clerking at the federal level. Once my year is up where I am, I’ll move up to clerking for the Supreme Court.” He shut the door and tossed the key on a table in the foyer.
“Wow. Ambition runs in the family.”
“Are we done talking now?” he asked, slightly annoyed.
“Are you going to be an ass**le?”
Clay arched an eyebrow and smirked at her. “Absolutely.”
He was before her in two powerful strides, grabbing her roughly around the waist, their lips colliding. He had soft, demanding lips that prodded hers open. He slid his tongue into her mouth and Liz almost sighed with the faint taste of honey. Damn, he was a good kisser. He wasn’t Brady, but he would do . . . for now. His hands guided her arms around his neck and she held on to him for support. He drew her body in until they were flush against one another. She could feel his defined chest through the thin material of her dress.
It was easy to get lost in Clay because she didn’t have to do anything. He took control of her, teasingly kissing, sucking, and licking her lips, tasting her, devouring her whole. And she let him. She let him cloud her mind with the help of the whiskey still pumping through her veins. It was easier than thinking about the train that had wrecked her life or the consequences that she would have to face in the morning.
His hand slid up her bare arm and she shivered against him. The alcohol had kept her warm against the February chill, but Clay was sending goose bumps up her arm. He found her hand and grasped it in his own.
Their lips finally broke apart and he had that same self-satisfied smirk on his face.
“Come with me,” he said, pulling her through the house and toward the back. He opened the door, still facing her, and tugged her lightly into the large master bedroom. A king-size bed took up the center of the room, covered in a fluffy red comforter and a collection of throw pillows.
Holy shit! She was actually going to do this. But what else did she have to lose? Everything else had been stripped away.
“You look like you’re thinking too much,” Clay said, dropping his mouth down onto hers.
“Guess you’re not doing your job,” she whispered against his lips.
“We’ll see about that.”
He started walking them backward to the bed. His hands slid over her shoulders, trailed down the curve of her br**sts, down her waist, until he was gripping her hips forcefully.
She arched an eyebrow at him in challenge. This was easier. It was easier to taunt him into action. She could get through this. She wanted it. Clay was f**king unbelievably hot and his lips were like sweet honey. She wanted him to explore her.
His hands slid down to the hem of her minidress, and he ran his fingers softly under the material. Her breathing hitched and she felt her body warming at his touch. Without warning he picked her up and set her down easily on the bed. His hands spread her legs in front of him so that he could lean his body between them and capture her lips once more.
“I bet all you’re thinking about right now is me f**king you,” he groaned, pressing himself against her.
Liz pretended to yawn, trying to keep up the game they were playing. “Brady’s probably getting a nice sympathy f**k from his girlfriend, and you can’t even keep me entertained.”
Clay chuckled. His hands ran up her bare inner thighs. She tried to squeeze her legs together as if she were going to stop him, but all she did was tighten her grip on his hips.
“The only thing that’s going to be entertained tonight is my dick in your pu**y,” he said, his finger inching closer and closer to her heated core. “Because Brady doesn’t have a girlfriend.”
“What?” Liz snapped, straightening and pushing his hand away. “What did you just say?”