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One More Night

By:Lauren Blakely

One More Night - Lauren Blakely


Thursday, 9:03 a.m., New York

from: cnichols@gmail.com

to: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

date: August 14, 9:03 AM

subject: You, naked and sound asleep in bed this morning . . .

You have no idea how hard it was for me not to wake you up before I left for work and do bad things to you.

from: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

to: cnichols@gmail.com

date: August 14, 11:18 AM

subject: Just waking up now . . .

I’m a little confused. Did you just say you declined to do bad things to me? I can’t think of a single reason why you would do that.

from: cnichols@gmail.com

to: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

date: August 14, 11:22 AM

subject: Get your rest while you can . . .

Every now and then I’m a gentleman in the bedroom, and you needed your sleep. Especially with the things I plan to do to you this weekend. I won’t be a gentleman then.

from: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

to: cnichols@gmail.com

date: August 14, 11:43 AM

subject: Then I won’t be a lady . . .

Not just bad things, I hope. But very bad things? We are going to the city of sin, after all. I expect no stone unturned in your sinful pursuits.

from: cnichols@gmail.com

to: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

date: August 14, 11:55 AM

subject: All stones overturned and then some . . .

I have so many sinful things planned for you that I’d be stopped at the border. That is, if Vegas had a border.

from: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

to: cnichols@gmail.com

date: August 14, 12:07 PM

subject: Frisk me, please

Are you going to tell me anything about this weekend? Will I, for instance, be handcuffed?

from: cnichols@gmail.com

to: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

date: August 14, 12:16 PM

subject: You look good with your wrists bound.

You won’t get a word out of me on that front. All I have to say is this: Just. You. Wait.


Friday, 8:36 a.m., New York

Her hair a wild tumble and her eyes still hazy from what Clay had done to her, Julia sat up in the leather seat of the town car and glanced out the tinted window, catching a glimpse of the houses rolling by. Some red brick, a few yellow clapboard, all with freshly-mown lawns and crisp hedges. Pulling her gaze away from the glass, she tugged her skirt back down to her knees, then flashed a woozy thank-you-for-the-fantastic-O smile at her man.

He winked as he adjusted his tie—his lucky purple tie. Earlier this morning, he’d been wearing a sun-yellow silk tie that she’d bought for him at Barney’s a few weeks ago for no reason except that she knew it would look good on him. Indeed, the tie accentuated his power attorney style perfectly when he wore it to an important meeting the next day, and it had looked particularly fetching on her later that night when he’d twined it around her wrists then lifted her onto the kitchen counter and had her as an appetizer before they both enjoyed dinner.

But even though she had fond memories of the yellow tie, she’d insisted he wear the purple one today. It was a trip to Vegas after all, and they’d be gambling for fun, so they needed Lady Luck on their side. Whatever good fortune this tie had brought him, she wanted it traveling all the way to the city she hadn’t visited in a long while. The place she’d despised on principle for the last few years, but was ready to fall in love with again on this trip.

“Now, that’s a way to start a vacation,” she said, snuggling next to her handsome man who’d just pleasured her. That was one of his favorite things to do, and he’d brought her many Os in many town cars over the last few months, starting with that first weekend she’d visited him in New York.

He’d treated her quite well in moving vehicles. Come to think of it, he’d treated her well every-fucking-where and back.

“There’s more where that came from,” he said, as he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her in close.

“I never expect anything less than a regular supply of your talented mouth,” she said, running her palm along his square jawline, locking her gaze with his deep brown eyes that knew her so well. She threaded her fingers through his thick hair, simply because she could, simply because it was damn near impossible to keep her hands off him. She moved in for a kiss, but something in her peripheral vision nagged at her. Those houses beyond the window.

Houses? That’s when it hit her. There were no houses on the way to the airport. There were no manicured lawns and pretty porches on the path they usually took. It was highway all the way, but she’d been too preoccupied moaning, writhing and rocking her hips against his face the last several minutes to notice.

She dropped her hand from his hair and narrowed her eyes. “This isn’t the route to Newark,” she said, her voice a bit panicked.