Page 50 of Sterling Clay

I collapse forward, catching myself on my hands on either side of his shoulders, bracing myself upright with shaky arms when all I want is to fall over him, lay on his chest and hear his heartbeat, wondering if it matches the chaotic rhythm of mine.

When the lids of his eyes pop open, he stares up at me. With ragged breaths, he says, “I didn’t want to go off inside you without your permission.” An anxious chuckle fills his throat next. “But you felt so good, baby. That was close.”

I bite my inner cheek to prevent from spilling any confessions. The truth doesn’t matter. “It’s okay,” I say, fighting my disappointment again that he hadn’t released within me, but admiring him all the more for respecting me.

We remain like this—me straddling him, him awash in the sticky substance—for several seconds as our heart rates settle and our breathing regulates.

Pressing myself upright, I peer down at him again. “Should I get you something?”

Clay easily chuckles, the motion jostling me over him, and I feel an aftershock jolt from him against a swollen, sensitive area. “I think that’s my line.”

Hesitantly, I laugh as reality catches up to me. I asked him to touch me. I told him to suck me. I begged him to kiss me down low, and then I admitted I wanted to have sex with him on his desk.

Who am I?

I scramble to remove myself from Clay, moving gingerly in an attempt to gracefully climb off both him and his desk. Clay easily sits upright and reaches for me, but I step out of his grasp.

“Butterfly?”

With shaky hands, I try to reattach each snap on my dress. Clay hops off his desk, tugs up his pants, but leaves them loose around his hips as he stands before me. Uncertainty is etched in his brows and the stillness of his jaw.

“Mavis.”

My name is strongly stated, and I glance up at him, my own concerns written on my face.

Without more words, Clay tugs me to him and holds me tightly against him. “I enjoyed every second of what just happened, and I’ll never be able to look at my desk again without thinking about it. About you. About us.” He squeezes me. “No regrets, beautiful.”

His words ease me. “No regrets,” I whisper, then struggle to pull back, causing him to release me. “But I should really pick up Dutton.”

His name is like a thunderclap between us. A reminder that I’m a mother and have responsibilities. I shouldn’t have done what we just did but I meant what I said. I won’t regret it. I’ll hold onto this moment like a treasured gift. Like I kept my grandmother’s butterfly shawl and the recipe for her homemade perfume.

Clay’s brows pinch but he doesn’t argue with me as I scoop up my underwear and ball it in my hand.

“I’ll see you later. At your house.” A reminder that his place isn’t my home.

“If I leave my bedroom door open, will you come in?” He already knows the answer.

I can’t spend the night with him. This needs to be a one-time thing. A fantasy acted upon. A dream fulfilled but nothing more.

“Clay,” I whisper, the answer in his name. I can’t. And it’s one more reason to move on. I’ve made things awkward between us.

He looks away from me, the side of his jaw clenching. “Yeah, I’ll see you later.”

Slinking away from him, my shoulders are heavy. My heart hurts while my body still pulses with what we just did. However, my retreat is for the best. I can’t involve Clay in the mess of my life. He’s already done so much for me.

More than he’ll ever know.

Especially tonight.

Chapter 17

[Clay]

Dammit.

The word plays on repeat as I watch Mavis leave my office, then realize I should have walked her to her car. It’s dark outside. The crowd rowdy out there. Only, once I right clothing and get a grip on my emotions, she’s gone.

Dammit. The word resounds like a broken record as I shut down the festival around midnight and crawl home, exhausted while exhilarated.