On the Record (Record #2)(72)
Author: K.A. Linde

“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?”

“My dick is going to be entertained in your pu**y,” he said seductively.

“No, after that!”

Clay narrowed his eyes. “Uh . . . Brady doesn’t have a girlfriend?”

“Shut the f**k up!”

“What?” he asked, trying to put his hands back on her, but she pushed him away.

“When did they break up? What happened?” Liz demanded.

“I don’t know. It doesn’t really matter.” He tried to lean in again.

“No. Stop,” she said, ducking out of the way of his kiss. “When the f**k did they break up?”

Clay rolled his eyes and took a step back, clearly seeing he wasn’t going to win this battle. “A few months ago. October maybe? Why does it even matter?”

Liz’s mouth dropped open. “Did you just say October?”

“Yeah. Brady just dropped her one day. I don’t know what happened, so don’t f**king ask me. We’re done with the Q&A session. Can we get back to f**king?” he asked, annoyed again.

“No! Are you out of your mind? I’m not having sex with you,” Liz said, scooting off of the bed and fixing her dress. “You need to take me home—or better yet, to see Brady.”

“What?” he practically yelled. “I’m not taking you anywhere, especially not to see my brother. What the f**k?”

“Just shut up!” she shrieked. “Don’t you understand anything? It’s Brady. It’s always been Brady. Stop trying to be your brother, because you’ll never be Brady.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Liz shook her head. “You’re walking in a shadow, and f**king me isn’t going to make that any better. I need to talk to Brady tonight, and I’m going to do it whether you take me home or I have to walk all the way to your parents’ house in Durham myself.”

“Do you think it’s going to help him for you to show up at the house the night after the article breaks? Do you think you’ll actually be helping him by corroborating the story your boyfriend wrote?”