Playing Dirty

by Lauren Hawkeye

  He indulged himself with a look down at the length of her—naked breasts swollen and pink, dampness between her thighs, legs wrapped around his waist and hands in his pants.

  So. Fucking. Hot.

  She squealed when, without warning, he flipped her over. Pressing her hot body against the cool metal of the hood, he dragged the little scrap of spandex down around her knees. The fabric was tight, holding her legs together, which was just what he wanted.

  Bending over, he covered her from behind. Even through the fabric of his shirt, he could feel her little vibrations of excitement. She was as into this as he was.

  He pressed his weight down, trapping her against his car. Circling her wrists with his fingers, he pinned her against the sleek car, running his lips over the shell of her ear.

  “You’d like it if someone came by, wouldn’t you?” He gave one small thrust, rubbing his naked cock through her slick folds, and she laughed breathlessly, raising her ass for more contact. “What would turn you on the most?”

  She parted her lips, but no sound came out. Her hot breath misted across the hood.

  “Let me think.” Rolling his hips forward again, he thrust through her slickness, and the feeling was so heady his entire body tightened. “A lot of men were watching you at the bar last night. Watching you dance, put on a show.”

  “They were,” she agreed, rubbing back against him.

  “I bet you’d just love it if some of those men were out for a walk right now. Maybe heading down the street on their lunch breaks.” Beneath him she whimpered. “They hear that sexy little sound that you just made and come to see what’s going on.”

  She rose up on her toes, pushing back against him.

  “Yeah, I can just picture it.” He could. “Five or six men, crowding into the garage. The noises that they hear, they wonder if maybe someone is hurt. Instead they see that hot little tease from the bar last night. She’s bent over the hood of a car in her own garage, and she’s about to get fucked.”

  “Oh my God,” Beth hissed out between her teeth. “Please. Now.”

  He could see it in his mind’s eye—the men that had watched her provocative dancing had wanted her. They wouldn’t question their luck at the open garage door—they’d just enjoy the show.

  Enjoy watching him fuck this woman. Him. Fuck Beth. The fact that it could actually happen, that someone could come along right now and watch them together, was the hottest thing he’d ever felt.

  Jesus, who the hell was he? He’d never talked dirty like this. He’d wanted to, oh, hell yes, but the way he’d been raised, he’d always known he didn’t want to be like his father. Didn’t want to treat women like objects.

  Was that was he was doing here?

  Looking down at Beth, he took in her flushed skin, so hot in contrast with the sleek metal of his Turbo. She was stretched out for his pleasure, but there was no doubt in his mind that she was here because she wanted to be. Because it turned her on.

  And so help him, but she demanded that he do what turned him on, too.

  He couldn’t hold back any longer.

  Working his hand into one of his pockets, he pulled out the condom that he’d tucked there earlier. He hadn’t been sure what to make of Beth’s leaving in the night, but he’d have been lying to himself if he said he hadn’t been hopeful.

  Not wanting to take his other hand from her, he caught the foil packet in his teeth and pulled. The ring of latex fell onto her back, and he snatched it up, conceding that he needed both hands free to put it on.

  “Yes.” Her voice was raw. Dirty. “Hurry.”

  Pinching the tip, he rolled the condom down his length, his own touch feeling good on his engorged flesh. Catching the swell of her hip in one hand, he slid his sheathed cock through her cheeks one final time. “Ready?”

  She nodded frantically, hips rocking.

  He dipped a hand between her legs. She gasped when he tucked two fingers inside, and he exhaled loudly. She was soaked, and hot, and more than ready for him. And if she felt this fucking good on his fingers, then she was going to feel like heaven on his dick.

  Placing the swollen head of his cock at her entrance, he thrust. Her moan mingled with the strangled sound from his own throat as he surged in to the hilt.

  “Yes.” Her voice was ragged with need. Her fingers scrabbled at the cool metal for something to hold on to. Her channel tightened around him in a snug embrace, and he saw stars.

  “Better be quiet,” he muttered as he rocked his pelvis, his hips still flush against her gorgeous heart-shaped ass, “or someone will come in, will see what a dirty girl you are.”

  “I am,” she agreed, rising up onto her toes. “I’m so dirty. And so are you.”

  Her words spurred something on in him. With a guttural sound, he placed one hand flat on her back and started to thrust in earnest, pulling out slowly, then surging back in. She met his thrusts as best she could in her position, a small sound of pure pleasure falling from her lips every time he hilted inside her.

  Sensation coiled tightly inside him, and he knew he wasn’t going to last long. Working his hand between Beth’s soft abdomen and the hood of the car, he found her swollen clit. Catching it between his fingers, he rubbed. Her hips jumped as she absorbed the pleasure.

  She clenched around him as she gasped through her climax, wringing his own release from him. He collapsed over her, trying to brace his weight as he pressed against her back so that he didn’t crush her.

  They were silent for a long moment, sweat and heat sealing them together. Beneath him, Beth laughed breathlessly.

  “You’ve got some moves, Sir Lassiter.” Sliding out from beneath him, she rolled those skimpy little shorts back up. Her skin was glossy, her cheeks flushed as she moved, completely comfortable in her nakedness.

  “Jesus.” Legs shaking, he tucked himself back into his pants, then raked a hand through his hair. He knew he’d never forget the sight of her, topless with legs spread on the hood of his Turbo. Daring him to take what he wanted. “What was that for?”

  Retrieving her T-shirt, Beth tugged it back over her head, leaving the coveralls on the floor where they lay. That silver bar in her nipple pressed against the tissue-thin cotton, and he found he couldn’t look away.

  Heading to the small, rusty fridge that stood by the workbench, she pulled out two cans of Coke. Studying him with those bewitching blue eyes, she walked back and pressed one into his hand.

  “I felt like it.” She smirked up at him as she popped the top on her can and took a long drink.

  “I’m never going to look at the Turbo the same way again.” He was pretty sure they’d just incinerated some of his brain cells, and she confirmed it when she searched his face and laughed.

  “That look on your face. You look like you just got laid for the first time.” She took another sip, then licked her lips. “But maybe it’s just one of the first times that you really let yourself go.”

  “I don’t know how to answer that.” Discomfited, he cracked open his own can, hoping the combination of sugar and caffeine would jolt him back to reality. The way she was looking at him—it felt like she could see right to his very soul, like she had full access to all of those dark needs and wants that he tried so hard to keep hidden away.

  “Ford.” Placing her can on the workbench, Beth laid one of her hands on his cheek. “I don’t get it. Why are you fighting so hard against what you like when it’s what you obviously want?”

  Those damn witchy eyes of hers. He couldn’t deny those needs when she was looking right at him like that. Jerking back, he turned away from her, chugging his Coke and trying to cool off.

  When he turned back, she was still waiting, the slightest hint of mockery on her face. Like instead of thinking that he was more of a man for denying his kink, she believed he was less of one.

  It pissed him right o
ff.

  “So what do you do when you’re dating someone?” She seemed genuinely puzzled. “Who are you then?”

  “I—” How the hell was he supposed to answer that? He dated. He dated a lot, but he knew that his wealth attracted a lot of women who only showed him their best side.

  Just like he did. The parallel wasn’t lost on him, but damn it. He didn’t want to be thinking about this, didn’t want to have to explain himself. He would not be like his father, treating women like crap.

  No matter how much a purple-haired siren tempted him.

  “I don’t date women who are into...this.” The words came out harsh, but he couldn’t think straight. “And that’s fine, because this isn’t the real me.”

  “I see.” Beth crossed her arms over her chest. “So it was someone else who just bent me over the hood of your car and fucked me where anyone could have seen?”

  He winced, guilt and shame rising at her words. He’d done just that. He’d treated her like an object. He was no better than his father.

  “Gotcha.” Her smile turning brittle, Beth sauntered over to her cluttered desk. Slamming a staple through a thin sheaf of paper, she crossed back to him and slapped it against his chest. “Here’s your detailed service report. Have a nice day.”

  He took the paper, anger and something else warring inside him. She looked him over slowly, then snorted inelegantly.

  “I feel sorry for you.”

  “What?” he sputtered, crumpling the report in his hands. “You’re sorry for me?”

  “Yup. It’s a sad life you have if all you do is work and pretend to be someone you’re not.” She reached for her crumpled coveralls, and damn if his eyes weren’t drawn to that freaking silver bar through her nipple. She noted the direction of his gaze and smirked.

  “This isn’t who I am.” He crumpled the paper into a ball and threw it across the garage in frustration. “You bring this out in me!”

  “Oh, no.” She shook her head, her eyes emitting sapphire sparks. “Don’t you blame me. This is who you are, Sir Lassiter. What you choose to do with it, though? That’s up to you. But I’m not going to go along for the ride with someone who is going to treat me like a dirty little secret.”

  He sputtered again. She was putting words into his mouth, except that she was right. Silently, he watched as she climbed the steps back to the house.

  And then she was gone, and he had no choice but to get into his car and go.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Now

  BOSTON LOOKED NOTHING like Los Angeles, and Ford loved it.

  The drive through the familiar streets, the New England architecture and the leafy greenery soothed his soul. He’d lived in California for two and a half years, and he’d enjoyed the sparkle of it all, the bright lights and eclectic people and towering palms.

  But Massachusetts was home.

  Working his black SUV through traffic to the South End, he made his way to his new home—a midsize two-story on a large lot. It was a far cry from the waterfront condo he’d once owned on the harbor, or the minimansion he’d inhabited in Los Angeles.

  He was happier to be moving in here than he’d been in either of those other places.

  For years he’d worked feverishly, building his hotel chain into a global dynasty. He’d been engaged to a woman who suited his life. He’d had everything he’d ever wanted.

  He’d been greedy. And he’d lost it all.

  A smile quirked the corners of his lips as he turned onto the run-down street. There, the Sold sign still on the lawn, was his new home.

  He hadn’t lost quite everything.

  Slinging his laptop bag over his shoulder, Ford parked the Escape in the driveway and wrenched open the manual garage door, wincing at the screeching sound. He couldn’t imagine wrestling with the thing in the middle of winter, so he’d have to look into installing an automatic one. Other than that, he didn’t intend to add many other luxuries to the place. In truth, he could have afforded something in a nicer neighborhood. When the German hotel chain he’d partnered with—had trusted—had done a hostile takeover of his company, he’d still had a cushion in the bank. To many people in this neighborhood, it was probably even a small fortune.

  To him, it was money to start over. To invest in something fresh. He didn’t want to waste any of it on his personal life when it could be used for an investment opportunity.

  He didn’t know what that opportunity would be yet, but he’d know it when he saw it. He’d built his fortune the first time around by trusting his gut. He could do it again.

  The front door creaked as he unlocked it and pushed it open. The smell of dust greeted him, and he could see the specks of it dancing in the white light of early afternoon.

  He certainly hadn’t splurged on any luxuries here. The flooring was a mix of worn linoleum and shag carpet straight from the ’70s. He’d purchased the place furnished, and the olive-green couch had been shredded by cat claws.

  The beige paint was peeling from the plaster walls. Peyton would have hated it.

  As he set his laptop bag down in the front entryway, Ford noted that thinking of his former fiancée didn’t bring up anything more than a mild bittersweet sensation.

  When he’d left Boston for California, he’d been...well, he’d been shaken by what had happened with Beth Marchande. The things she’d pulled from his very core and insisted that he acknowledge.

  He’d thrown himself into work, searching for what he thought he wanted. He’d met Peyton Channing at the launch of his Beverly Hills location, and he and the sleek brunette socialite had hit it off.

  They had fun together. They were friends. And the sex between them was...nice.

  Still, when he’d lost his fortune, she hadn’t known quite what to do. She had money of her own—she wasn’t a gold digger—but something between them had shifted.

  She no longer saw him as her equal. And he—well, he knew that he’d never really shown her who he was. They’d parted on good enough terms that he knew while he’d loved her, he’d never been in love with her.

  Wading through the dregs of his life had been an eye-opener. He’d done everything he’d thought he was supposed to do, and look where it had landed him.

  An international empire and a sweet vanilla woman hadn’t fulfilled him. Moving home, searching for a new business that excited him, and acknowledging who he truly was—that was what got his blood pumping now.

  Heading to the garage, Ford treated himself to a quick peek inside. There she was, his baby—his now fifteen-year-old Porsche Turbo. He really should sell her, add the money to his investment capital, but he couldn’t.

  The car was a symbol. He loved it, and it meant something to him, so it was a reminder to be present, to actually live his life instead of getting caught in the trappings of what he thought he should do.

  Heading to the kitchen, he washed his hands and splashed water over his face. It smelled faintly of rust, and for some reason that made him grin.

  This was his new life, and he couldn’t wait to live it.

  * * *

  Mamesie’s ancient Honda Civic turned over when Beth put the key in the ignition. She grinned as the old engine rumbled to life, a senior citizen protesting being coaxed from its nap.

  The car hadn’t wanted to start this morning, so she’d slotted it into her day of appointments, after an ancient pickup that belonged to a friend and a young family’s minivan.

  The routine felt good. She liked having a structure to her day, enjoyed seeing tangible results from her actions.

  It gave her a purpose, something to cling to when she thought that she might fall apart.

  “Hey, baby girl.” Pushing through the door from the house, Jo shoved her hands into her pockets and whistled a few notes. “How are you feeling? You’ve been at that for a while.”

  Beth bi
t back a sharp retort. She loved all of her sisters, but she and Jo had always had a special bond. That meant her older sister worried about her, though, and fussed without meaning to.

  She both appreciated it and resented it. Her sister meant well, but sometimes it was hard enough for Beth to get through the day without being bogged down with worry. Someone else fussing over her just made it worse.

  Shaking it off, she climbed from behind the wheel of her mother’s sedan. “I’m fine. Mamesie’s baby is back up and running. I’m about to break for lunch.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that.” Jo grinned and hiked up her skinny jeans. “I’m starving. Let’s go to the Tearoom and grab some lunch.”

  “With what money?” Beth felt the familiar guilt as she stripped off her coveralls and headed for the industrial sink to scrub her hands with mechanic’s orange-peel scrub. They’d floated along just below the line of comfortable income after her father died, but Beth’s illness had sunk them. They’d be paying off her medical bills for years, and it was going to take a miracle to keep their home in the meantime.

  “I don’t want to see that look on your face, baby girl.” Stomping down the steps in her battered Doc Martens, Jo closed the space between them and crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t know how we can make this sink in. We’re a family. We handle things together.”

  Beth pinched her lips together as she reached for a pair of worn jeans to pull on over her spandex shorts. She didn’t want to have this argument again.

  Especially since she knew Jo was right.

  Instead, she tugged the elastic from the bottom of her braid, letting the waves shake free. Turning to her sister, she arched an eyebrow. “Yeah, yeah. Still. Where did you come up with the cash? Shouldn’t you give it to Mamesie?”

  “I scored a ghostwriting gig that paid up front.” Jo scowled at her. “And of course I gave it to Mamesie. But I set aside twenty bucks to celebrate. And I choose to celebrate with you, so stop being crabby and let’s go.”

  She was being crabby. She’d woken up in a mood that day and it had been hard to shake. She made a deliberate choice to start the conversation over and scurried to catch up with her sister’s quick gait as Jo strode out of the garage and started down the street.