Page 47 of Sterling Clay

“Thirsty?” Clay asks with his arm around me.

“I’d love a drink.”

Clay leads me toward the bar, then continues past it.

“Where are we going?” I chuckle as he gently tugs me behind him.

“My office is where I keep the good stuff. Plus, it’s free up there.” He winks at me over his shoulder. “At the bar, I’d only be paying myself.”

The reasoning makes sense. I’m not ready to leave the fresh air, but inside Sylver Seed & Soil, the main store is quiet, the lights dim. A man working security nods at Clay as he leads me deeper into the store and then to the door leading to the stairs to his office.

Once inside his private space, blinds closed on the window block out the party down below. Clay turns on a small desk lamp, the illumination low in such a large space. Beneath the desk is a set of drawers, and Clay pulls out a bottle of Tennessee’s finest.

“I’m not much of a drinker,” I state.

Clay sets the bottle down, stares at it a moment, and then rounds the desk again. Leaning against it with his backside, his hands clasp the edge of the surface. “Sorry about that.” He tips his head in the direction of the alcohol behind him. “I’m not much of one either, knowing what it did to my father.”

“What did it do to him?”

Clay shakes his head. “Not tonight, butterfly.” The look in his eye ends the discussion.

Watching me, the air around us shifts. The tension builds, like the charge before a storm.

“I want to kiss you again,” Clay blurts. “But I’m keeping my promise to let you lead. You tell me when you’re ready.”

I nod once, lick my lower lip, and then chew at it. “What if I want more?”

“More than a kiss?” His brows rise. His voice deepens. His knuckles tighten against the desk.

I nod again.

“Like what?”

My gaze drops to the desk behind him. The surface flat and clear. Clay shifts, twisting his upper body just the slightest to follow my stare.

Turning back to me, his voice roughens, ragged and raw. “Tell me exactly what you want, butterfly. Be specific.”

I shake my head. I can’t do it. I can’t—

“Say it,” he commands, the sound almost pleading, begging me to tell him.

“I want you to kiss me.”

His eyes roam down my body. “Where?”

“Clay,” I whisper.

“Tell me.”

“Everywhere.”

Clay lowers to his knees, surprising me with the slow folding of his body to the floor. On his knees with his thighs spread, he gazes up at me. “Be specific,” he repeats, locking on my eyes.

With boldness I don’t recognize in myself, I tug at the first few snaps on my denim dress, popping them open to reveal a little more cleavage.

Clay swallows hard, peering up at me. “Let me.”

I still my hands and Clay crawls toward me, actually crawls the short distance on all fours, before kneeling at my feet. Then, he rises up on his knees and tugs at my dress, popping several more snaps open at once.