Playing Dirty

by Lauren Hawkeye

  A low growl of satisfaction slipped from his lips at her touch, and his hips rose from the bed. His movements became bossy—bossier—and within seconds he had her positioned over his cock, the head nestled between her lower lips.

  “Take me.” It was an order, one that made her melt. She sank down just enough to take the tip inside her, meaning to consume him slowly. He had other ideas, his hands driving her down so that he impaled her in one hard thrust. She cried out, rocking on top of him, both trying to get away and to get closer.

  “You’re tight.” He grunted beneath her as he gave a series of short thrusts, trying to work the rest of the way inside her. She couldn’t catch her breath—Jesus, but he was big. “Open for me, baby.”

  She wasn’t sure she could. They rocked for a moment, her body fighting him but wanting more pleasure. Claiming her lips, he slid his hand from her hip around her backside, sliding between her legs from behind to tease at her full folds.

  Slickness surged. She moaned, rocking on him, and he sank in another impossible inch. Her fingers grabbed at his shoulders, searching for purchase.

  He returned his hand to her hip, pulling her bodily up. His thick cock dragged over her tight and now incredibly sensitive inner walls, sparking nerve endings with every pulse.

  “That’s it.” He worked her back down, and she felt that storm of pleasure gathering again. When he spanked her hip again, she felt herself melting into something dark and dreamy, more decadent than she’d ever felt before.

  “Ford.” She wasn’t a beggar. Usually. Right now all she wanted was for the sensations to continue. To grow.

  She rocked back and forth on his lap, had the pleasure of watching his own expression grow hazy. His stare caught hers, intense and sure, and she found that she couldn’t look away. That look was her anchor in the intensity she felt as he guided her up and down.

  It was too intense. A tendril of affection unfurled in her chest, and it would have made her panic if she had room left to feel anything else at all.

  She started to squirm, desperate for the release that remained just out of reach. His eyes, his hands on her hips grounded her, and her breath started to come in pants.

  “Ride me.” He trailed a hand up her back, tracing her spine before tangling in her hair yet again. She didn’t know why she liked that so much from him, but every little tug had her growing even wetter. “Take what you need. Do it now.”

  When he commanded her like that, she couldn’t have done anything else. Sinking her teeth into her lower lip, she centered her weight on her knees, her palms splayed out on his broad, hard chest.

  Slowly, she rose, shuddering at the pleasure. As wet as she was, she still had to work her way back down, the sting melting into need with the delicious drag of his cock over her inner walls.

  The way they fit together, the connection that snapped in the air between them, God, just the way he held so perfectly still, letting her do as he’d told her to—to ride him. It all mixed together into a tangled knot of pleasure that was sending her higher than she’d ever been. She’d meant to keep her movements slow, deliberate—to savor the climb to what she knew would be one of the best releases of her life.

  She couldn’t be slow. Her movements quickened until she was rocking back and forth on his cock with abandon, grinding her clit against the solid planes of his abs. He couldn’t seem to remain still anymore, either. One of his hands was digging into her hip, urging her to move faster. His pelvis rose up every time she slammed down, and they both shuddered every time he bottomed out inside her.

  Her body started to shake. She was so close, and it was like she’d been caught in the wake of a tsunami—she was powerless to do anything but be pulled wherever the storm wanted to go.

  Back slamming into the headboard, he ground up into her so hard that she saw stars. The bite of pain was a crimson ribbon snapping through her, and the storm inside her started to break.

  With a growl, he slid a hand up to grasp her breast. She arched into his palm, crying out when he rubbed a thumb teasingly over her pierced nipple.

  She needed more than that. As though she’d said it aloud, he tightened his hold until he was tugging lightly. She felt the pull all the way down to her core, and when he tugged again, her entire body snapped.

  “Ford!” She hadn’t meant to say his name, but it spilled from her lips as her orgasm broke. Clinging to his shoulders, she rode the edge of her release, crying out again when he tugged on her nipple one last time, sending an aftershock coursing through her.

  “You have no idea how good that feels.” She could tell from his ragged breaths and the sweat beading his forehead that he was close. She stared down at that gorgeous face, fascinated as it contorted with pleasure yet retained the fierceness that had sharpened with every little bit that he’d let go. “I can feel every ripple of your pleasure. Pleasure that I gave to you.”

  With most men she would make some kind of pithy comment at that, something along the lines of being able to pleasure herself just as well as they could, but here and now, that would have been a lie. A big one.

  She’d had some good sex before. Great sex, even. But this? This was something on an entirely new level.

  “You gave me this,” she moaned softly into his ear, still writhing against him even though she was losing control of her muscles. “Let me give you what you want.”

  He groaned, a wrenching sound like he was in pain. Deliberately, she clenched around him, and his breath caught. Beth thought it was the sexiest thing she’d ever heard—this big, powerful man brought out of his mind with pleasure because of her.

  “Fuck.” He ground the word out between clenched teeth, and Beth felt him swell inside her. She gasped as he thrust several times—hard, choppy pulses as he found his own release.

  Out of breath, she dipped her head, intending to rest her cheek on his shoulder. Instead, he lifted a hand and pressed it to her cheek, guiding her so that her forehead rested against his, her eyes looking into his own. It was more intimate than she should have been comfortable with, but as the endorphins flooded her system and left her completely blissed out, it felt strangely right.

  She waited until he closed his eyes to close hers, still straddling him with his cock inside her. He’d claimed her entirely—in this moment, her body was his.

  She’d think about that more later, but now, she let herself float away.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ANTICIPATION AND APPREHENSION tightened in Ford’s gut as he walked the short distance from his motel to the garage, inhaling deep mouthfuls of the apple and smoke air of an early afternoon in fall. A few minutes ago he’d slung his laptop bag over his shoulder and looked around the small cube of his motel room. The sheets were on the floor, the pillows tossed halfway across the room. The heavy musk of sex was in the air, along with lingering hints of engine grease and vanilla.

  It had made lust surge to his groin. Hell, he’d been half-hard since he’d woken up at four in the morning and turned to Beth, hungry for another helping of her body.

  He’d gone hungry, because she’d been gone. He was normally a light sleeper, but after that insane orgasm he must have slept like the dead, allowing her to sneak out.

  It was just as well. They’d both gotten what they’d wanted—some incredible sex.

  The memory of her on her knees in front of him, his cock in her mouth as she let him boss her around, wasn’t one he would soon forget. The way she’d responded to him, had urged him to let his dominance out, would be burned in his brain for a long time, even if it was something he should probably forget.

  They’d had fun, but he still felt the stirrings of shame. He’d been rough with her—had pulled her hair, spanked her, played endlessly with that fascinating piercing of hers.

  Nice men didn’t do that. He supposed he should think of it like a diet. He’d cheated a little, had a serving of rich,
sinful chocolate cake. Now it was time to go back to chicken and steamed veggies.

  Was he really comparing sex to a bland meal? As he reached the end of the garage’s driveway, he forced himself to chuckle. He liked the sex he usually had.

  He liked chicken and veggies.

  Not the same as cake, though.

  He shook his head to clear his thoughts. What the hell was wrong with him? He’d never felt awkward during a morning after, probably because he usually only slept with nice women he was dating.

  He’d never felt like this after sex. He wasn’t sure what to do with it.

  He paused at the end of the driveway, adjusting the strap of his laptop bag on his shoulder. Irritated by the state of his car, he hadn’t paid that much attention to the structure the last time he’d been here. Now he took in the large gardens, the wide expanse of grassy lawns—probably a bitch to keep up. In fact, both were looking pretty neglected. As was the house, two stories and spacious but covered in weathered brown wood, the roof sagging and missing shingles.

  Still, his hotelier eye looked over it all and saw good bones. The house had once been something special, and he wondered how Beth had become a part of it. She’d mentioned sisters, but apart from that and the garage, he knew nothing about her.

  He had no business wanting to know more about her. She wasn’t the kind of woman he got involved with.

  He’d never let go like he had last night. Real men shouldn’t want the kind of things he’d let himself do, and yet he couldn’t help his mouth watering with the hunger for more.

  Get a grip, man.

  Ford scowled at himself and started up the driveway. On the short walk here he’d passed several men begging at the side of the road, and more than a few businesses that were shuttered, even gutted and tagged with spray paint. It was clearly not a wealthy area of Boston. It was such a stark contrast to his plush waterfront condo that he’d felt the stirrings of guilt, but he shoved them away.

  He’d worked hard for what he had. Why should he feel bad about it?

  But did that mean that the people who lived here didn’t work hard? Before yesterday he might have actually made that generalization, but after seeing the operation that Beth ran, he knew that at least one resident of this area was hardworking.

  Chirpy pop music blasted from the open garage this time. Man, her music taste was strange. Though when he cocked his head, he thought he recognized the song—from where, he had no idea. Yeah, one of those songs by that British boy band with all the hair.

  Heavy metal. Sitar music. Boy banders in skinny jeans. Just a few more pieces in the puzzle that was Beth.

  The bubbly music hid the female voices until he was framed by the garage door. He stopped short when he saw the three women lounging there, none of whom were Beth.

  “Well, well.” One of the woman pushed herself out of the ratty lawn chair she’d been sitting in, reaching for an open can of soda on one of the workbenches. She was tall and slender, with long blond curls that fell to her waist. Her torn jeans and white tank top revealed a fair amount of skin, and most of that skin was covered in ink—she even had a tattoo covering her collarbone and throat, one that looked like a lacy collar. At least twice as much ink as Beth. He wondered if this was Amy, the tattoo artist sister. “You need some directions there, honey?”

  Honey?

  “Easy, Ames.” One of the other women was reclining in an old, torn armchair. Ford blinked when he looked at her—he couldn’t help it. She was beautiful, even in denim overalls with—wow.

  She was wearing overalls over just a bra, leaving her generous curves on more than full display. And she was knitting. He didn’t know where to look.

  “Why easy?” The first woman took a couple of steps in his direction, and he suspected that the sway to her hips was deliberate. “Maybe the lost little puppy is looking for a...meal.”

  Ford knew that he wasn’t misinterpreting the double entendre.

  “Because,” the knitting woman started, smiling calmly up at Ford, “I bet this is what kept our Beth out of the house till all hours.”

  Setting down her knitting, she brushed pink-streaked chestnut hair back, pulling it up into a ponytail. Then she stretched, causing her curves to spill out of her overalls. She had some kind of tattoo stretching out of her cleavage.

  The third woman said nothing, just beat her heels on the workbench she was sitting on. Average height, she had the leanest build of the sisters, emphasized by the skinny, ripped jeans and tight men’s T-shirt that she wore. Her hair was cut in a sharp bob dyed inky black that brushed along a chiseled jawline and slightly pointed chin as she kicked.

  Her caramel-colored eyes were fixed on Ford with more than a little suspicion.

  “Mmm.” The first woman, the blonde one—Amy?—looked Ford over slowly, and damned if she didn’t make him squirm. “Interesting choice this time, Beth.”

  “I thought so. And he has a name. It’s Ford.” Without warning, Beth pushed herself out from beneath the clunky gray SUV that sat in the garage. Ford jolted—he’d been keeping an eye on the other women and hadn’t noticed her work boots at his feet. Lying on her back on that rolling thing she used, she looked up at him with those intense eyes of hers, a small smirk playing around the corners of her lips. “Hello.”

  “Hi.” Seeing her spread out there like that, beneath him, had interest stirring anew. He’d wanted to take her like that when he’d woken up in the early morning—to roll between her soft thighs and slide into her while she was sleepy and submissive.

  He didn’t like that she’d run out without saying goodbye. It must have shown on his face, some sign of his displeasure, because her posture changed, just ever so slightly, responding to him.

  She ran her tongue over her lips, stare still fastened on his, and he remembered the way she’d looked when she’d ridden his cock—pure sex.

  He wanted her again. Now.

  “Found what you were looking for?” The woman in the bra and overalls picked up her knitting again, smirking at him over the top of it. The other two women laughed.

  That was enough of that. Ford was never intimidated. He wouldn’t let himself be now. Wordlessly, he extended a hand to Beth. With a bemused smile, she took it, seemingly entertained by the way the other women were talking to him.

  When she was on her feet, she tugged to pull her hand away. He held tight, drawing her in closer, until there was only a ribbon of space between their bodies. Her eyes widened as heat passed between them, and he heard her soft exhale as he dipped his head.

  “Thanks for last night,” he whispered into her ear. A strand of purple had fallen loose of her braid, and he tucked it behind her ear, making sure that his lips grazed her cheek as she leaned back, savoring her small shudder.

  What the hell was he doing? Looking for round two? What else could he want?

  She arched an eyebrow at him, as if to ask if he was quite done, but when his gaze lowered, he saw that her nipples had bunched up tightly and were pressing against her thin T-shirt, under which she seemed to be naked. He couldn’t hold back the smirk. She pressed her lips together and turned to the other women.

  “Meet my sisters. The one hitting on you is Amy—she’s the tattoo artist I mentioned. The one knitting is Meg, and the one sitting on the workbench is Jo.” She gestured to each with a hand as she introduced them. Amy licked her lips. Meg smiled sweetly. Jo scowled.

  He had no idea what to make of the lot of them.

  “Your car is ready.” Reaching into the pocket of the coveralls that she’d tied at the waist, she fished out his key ring, dangled it in front of him. She followed it with a total scribbled on a Post-it note. “Will that be cash or card? I don’t take checks.”

  Last night he’d tasted her on his tongue, and now she was demanding that he pay up for the work she’d done. He wasn’t put off—hell, no. He was a businessma
n.

  It was sexy as hell.

  “Credit will be fine.” He didn’t bother looking at the total. Handing her his card, he watched as she took it to her bench and ran it through one of the old-fashioned imprint devices. Her sister Jo nudged her with her foot, and when Beth looked up something wordless passed between them, ending only when Beth rolled her eyes.

  Ford tracked her progress back to him. She was surprisingly graceful, even in the baggy coveralls and chunky boots. It reminded him of the way she’d moved last night, and his body tightened.

  Her eyes darkened, and he knew that she’d noticed. A pulse passed between them.

  Having sex hadn’t caused the fire between them to burn out—no, it had stoked the flame. His focus narrowed until he saw nothing but her, the vanilla and grease scent now conditioned in him to make him hard.

  “Didn’t get enough the first round?” Her words were barely audible, a whisper against his lips. She hooked her index fingers in his belt loops, and awareness of the sexual tension between them was painted all over her face.

  “You left before I was done with this tight little body of yours.” Surely if he’d had another taste—or two—he wouldn’t be craving her again so strongly now.

  She smiled up at him, but her eyes narrowed. “Maybe I was done with you.”

  “I don’t think so.” Not with the way she was vibrating against him right now. So why had she left?

  “Lunchtime, girls!” Another woman entered the garage, opening a worn wooden door that he thought probably led to the house. Of average height, she had birch-brown hair pulled back into a messy bun, with a striking streak of white at her right temple. She was wearing cutoff jeans that had faded to almost white, an equally well-worn T-shirt that boasted a silkscreen of a palm tree and a long, loose kimono-type garment with an earthy orange-and-white pattern. She looked directly at him, arching an eyebrow over a pair of bright blue eyes that looked exactly like Beth’s.