Dirty Money

by Jessica Clare

  “All right,” I drawl. She’s skittish over family. Huh. I’m gonna have to get that out of her, but some other time. I suspect she might be more vulnerable with my mouth on her pussy again. That’s something I look forward to—breaking down her walls, one slow lick at a time. “Might wanna get your car cleaned before you bring your next client in.” I nod my head at the wet spot on the backseat. “Though I have to say, I think it smells delicious.”

  Her cheeks flare red as she gets out of the car.

  ***

  Later that night, Ivy texts me links to three different houses, asking me to pick one or two that I like the most so we can check them out later this week. She won’t tell me which one appeals to her, so I pick the most expensive.

  She immediately texts me back and tells me she’s picking a different house for us to see, because it has a ten-car garage and that might be more appealing to me. And I grin to myself like a loon, mostly because even though I told her to pick out what she wants, she’s still got me on her mind.

  I like that. I want to eat up her thoughts like I ate her sweet little pussy earlier today.

  My brother Clay’s hanging out over at my trailer tonight, and we’re playing a co-op shooter on the PS4 together. Well, sort of. My mind’s mostly on Ivy and I’m a fucking shit partner, to the point that Clay’s starting to toss me disgusted looks and check his watch. That works for me. The sooner he leaves, the sooner I can jerk off to Ivy’s panties.

  Maybe I’ll call her as I do. Maybe I’ll actually show her how to do a video chat on her phone and let her watch me doing it. Wouldn’t that scorch her sweet little cheeks—

  “Aw, fuck, you just died again, Boone. Where’s your fucking brain, man?” Clay throws down his control in disgust and looks at me like I’m a turd under his shoe. “Seriously, you ran right into that pack of mercs. No fucking strategy at all.”

  I shrug and toss my controller aside, too. “Ain’t in the mood for playing, I s’pose.”

  “Let me guess. Ivy?”

  I rub my jaw, my beard prickling my hand. Sometimes when I rub it, I imagine it still smells like her honey, and that makes me all hard again. I drop my hand because I don’t want my brother to notice I’ve got a boner, and grab a couch cushion, tossing it on my lap. “Saw her today, yeah.”

  “You get some of that yet?”

  I shoot him a glare as he gets up, crossing the trailer to get a beer. “Ain’t any of your damn business. She’s mine and that’s all you got to worry about.”

  “That ain’t a no,” Clay says, pulling a Corona out of my beat-up fridge. “You want a drink?”

  “No. You want to leave?”

  He gives me a strange look. “What’s eating your ass?”

  I scratch at my hat, then shrug. “She blew me off. I invited her and her sister to dinner and she acted like I’d just insulted her mom or something. Shut me down lickety-split, and that’s after we got all personal-like.”

  “Huh. Her sister cute?”

  I scowl at him. “Can we focus on me here?”

  “I s’pose.” He uses the edge of his shirt to twist the lid off the Corona and then takes a long gulp. Then, he adds, “Maybe her sister’s a bigger snob than she is?”

  “She ain’t a snob,” I tell him. “She’s just elegant.” But then I think about the part where she asked me not to point out to her coworkers that we were dating, and my gut gets all clenched. Course, she told the one guy that I was her boyfriend, so I’m all fucking confused. There’s mixed signals everywhere.

  “Then maybe there’s something wrong with her sister,” Clay says. “Maybe she’s one of them kooks that doesn’t shave her pits and wears fucking leaves and shit. Like that one in the movie that lived in a tree.”

  “That don’t sound likely.” I think of Ivy, with her delicate mannerisms. She don’t seem like the type to have a crunchy granola sister . . . I think. “Hell, I don’t know.”

  “Hire an investigator.”

  I look over at Clay like he’s crazy, because that’s the dumbest thing I ever heard. “Do what?”

  “You got money now,” he says, then gestures at my old, beat-up trailer. “Not that you can tell from this place. Maybe you throw a few dollars down and get some Sherlock-style asshole to go stalk your girl and find out all the juicy details about her.” He swigs his beer again and then points at me as an idea occurs to him. “Maybe she’s got a husband—”

  “Oh, fuck off. She ain’t got a husband, and I ain’t gonna have anyone spy on her for money.” That is some straight-up shady dumbassery if I’ve ever heard it. “Finish your beer and get outta here.”

  His eyes gleam with amusement. “Why? You gonna call your classy pussy and tell her to stop hanging out with her boyfriend and get herself a real man—”

  I throw the cushion at my brother and nail him right in the head. “Out, dickbag.”

  Clay just laughs like this is the funniest thing ever. “Ain’t like you to be all mopey over a girl, Boone. Wait until the others hear about this.”

  “So go tell ’em. Just get out of my face.” Tired of hearing this shit already, and I suspect that by the time Clay gossips to Gage, Knox, and Seth, I’ll have all four of those jackasses in my face. “Give a man peace and quiet already.”

  “You sure are testy when you aren’t getting laid,” Clay comments, and then races out the door of the trailer before I can throw something else at him. My brother hoots and hollers, laughing into the night as he heads down the road to his own trailer.

  Dumbass.

  He ain’t wrong, though. My mood’s all tore up and it’s all thanks to Ivy. I keep telling myself I ain’t worried about the sister thing, but I don’t like how closed-up she got. There’s something she’s hiding, and I worry it’s me. I know I’m not good enough for her . . . I just don’t want that to stop me from getting my woman. It’s only been a few days but I already need Ivy like I need air. My body needs her, too.

  I get up and lock the front door of my trailer just in case Clay—or any of my other brothers—has any bright ideas, and head off to my bedroom. There’s a tiny wad of fabric in my pocket that’s burning a hole in my brain and I need to take it in hand . . . among other things.

  I shut the door and fling myself down on my bed. My entire body aches at the thought of Ivy, and I stare up at the popcorn ceiling in my trailer. I hope she ain’t using me to get to my money. Not that it matters, I suppose, because I’d give her some either way. I’ve got enough to buy whatever she wants.

  But I like the thought of Ivy being turned on by me and not just my wallet. That I ain’t so stomach-turning that she can’t introduce me to her sister or anyone else in her family. I’m willing to let shit slide for now . . . but once that house is sold? I want in to all aspects of her life. No holds barred. Nothing held back.

  Ivy Smithfield will be all mine.

  I pull out the panties and admire them for a moment. They’re a plain white pair, cotton, I think. It’s fucking adorable as hell that she wore regular ol’ panties out to meet with me. No thongs or silky things for Ivy, which meant she wasn’t anticipating me going down on her. I like that. It tells me she’s not as calculating as Clay thinks. I hold the fabric up to my face and rub it across my mouth, inhaling her scent. My other hand works on my belt, freeing my jeans, and then my zipper’s down and I’ve got my cock in hand. It’s hard as fuck and aching for release, but something about this doesn’t feel . . . right.

  It’s not my hand I want, it’s her. It’s Ivy. My need for her hasn’t lessened an iota since making her come. Just because I could walk away from her doesn’t mean that I’m not raging out of control. I hold her panties to my face and inhale deeply again, stroking my cock with quick, angry jerks. I can take the edge off, but it won’t be enough. I know that already.

  I need her.

  I want her.

  I take the pan
ties and wrap them around my cock, using the scrap of cotton to get myself off. It doesn’t take long, and then I explode, my cum splattering on my clothes and my hand. I lie in bed for a moment, trying to catch my breath. And then I’m just irritated with myself.

  That was the saddest fucking thing ever.

  I wish it had been Ivy’s hand on my cock. Her mouth brushing over my skin, her fingers curling around my dick. Funny how I’ve just come and yet it didn’t do a thing for me. I still feel that gnawing hunger for her, that obsessive need, and I realize it’s not about my pleasure.

  It’s about hers.

  I need to see her come. I want her underneath me, her cunt clenched tight around my cock as I bury myself in her. I want to see her tits bounce when I fuck her. I want to see her mouth open in a silent cry when I thrust into her. I want to see her reactions, taste her sweat, lick her honey.

  I want all of Ivy. It ain’t about me anymore. It’s about her.

  I get out of bed and clean myself off, then change clothes into a ribbed white tank and a pair of running shorts. I grab my phone, find Ivy’s texts, and send her a note.

  B P: You awake?

  I glance at the time. It’s not too late. Elevenish. I’m wide awake, still surging on the adrenaline from being around her earlier today. Maybe she is, too.

  Her response dings a moment later, and my heart speeds up like I’m some sort of damn schoolboy.

  Ivy: I’m here. What’s up?

  B P: Thinking about you, that’s all.

  Ivy: Did you find a listing you like and want me to call about seeing?

  B P: No. I just jerked off on your panties.

  Her texts stop. I see the three dots that tell me that she’s typing flash up on the screen, and then they disappear. They flash up again, then vanish once more. She trying to think about what to say to me? That’s cute. I picture her, all adorably flustered, her cheeks red. Amused, I watch the three dots move back and forth, and then finally, she answers.

  Ivy: Well.

  Ivy: I guess I won’t ask if I can have them back.

  B P: You can if you come get them.

  Again, the three dots blink, and then disappear. I laugh aloud, because she’s just too damn cute. I love making her flustered.

  Ivy: You can keep them. I don’t know that I want them back at this point.

  B P: That’s a shame. I was just looking for any excuse to see you again. Maybe send me a sexy pic of you?

  Ivy: A selfie?

  B P: Yeah. You want me to send you one of me?

  Ivy: No!! It’ll probably be your junk and then I’m gonna have to explain that to my sister the next time she grabs my phone.

  B P: That’s cute. I like that you wouldn’t delete it, but save it. ;)

  Ivy: Ha.

  B P: I also love how you don’t answer me when you get all shy. You just keep trying to divert me.

  Ivy: Did you want to talk about houses, Boone?

  B P: See, there you go again. I’m trying to get you to come over because I’m thinking about you, and you keep changing the subject.

  B P: So let me be blunt.

  B P: I’ve been thinking about you all night. I want you to come over. I want to taste you again.

  I wait for those three little dots to start fluttering up on my screen again while she figures out her answer. To my surprise, my phone buzzes with an incoming call. Ivy. Hot damn. I pick up, doing my best to sound all lazy and bored, when all I really want to do is grin with delight. “Hello.”

  “You’re serious?” Her voice is soft. “You want me to come over?”

  “I am absolutely serious.”

  “Why?”

  “Why?” I repeat, amused. “Why do I want you to come over? Because you’re smoking hot and just fondling your panties ain’t doing enough for me? Because I’ve had the taste of you on my lips all day and I’m hungry for more? Because I like your smile, and your laugh, and I like that little noise you make when you come even more. Because—”

  “Okay.” Her voice is so low and breathless that I almost think I’m imagining it.

  “Okay?”

  “Yes. I’ll . . . come over.”

  “I’m not pushin’ ya too hard, am I?” She still sounds a little reluctant to my ears. “Because I only want this if you want me, too. It ain’t any fun otherwise—”

  “Quit talking, Boone, before I lose my bravado.” Now she just sounds exasperated.

  I laugh then. She ain’t turned off, she’s just shy. “I’m shuttin’ up.”

  There’s a breathless little chuckle on her end, and then I hear the sound of rustling. “I’m getting a pen and paper. Give me your address.”

  I glance around my trailer. “I feel obligated to warn you that this ain’t a palace.”

  “I know that. That’s why I’m trying to sell you a palace,” she teases.

  “I’m serious, Ivy. It’s a trailer. Kinda a shit show of a trailer, to boot. Lots of girls don’t like that sort of thing.” I’ve found that out many a time. Girls are real hot to go back to your place with you until they find out it’s on wheels. Then they find a real quick reason to leave. I gaze around at my place, trying to see it in her eyes. It’s messy, but it ain’t falling down too much. I can straighten up a bit before she arrives and make it suitable for her if she can get past the whole “trailer” part.

  “I don’t care that it’s a trailer, Boone.” The laughter is gone from her voice. “Do you really think I’m that much of a snob? I happen to—” She hesitates and then sighs. “Actually, never mind. I just want you to know I really don’t care if you’re living in a cardboard box, Boone. We’re getting you a big impressive house just like you wanted, and even if you wanted to stay there, your house doesn’t change who you are.”

  She’s a real peach, defending my shitty digs. I like this girl more and more every day. “You are real sweet, Ivy. But you know, if I wanted to stay here, that means you can’t sell me some fancy house—”

  “Which is why I’m going to come over there before you change your mind.”

  “Lies,” I drawl. “You just want your pussy licked again.”

  She makes an outraged sound. Again, she’s fussin’ but she ain’t denying things. I love that I’ve figured her out. I give her my address and she promises to be over shortly.

  Time to clean up around here and find where I stashed those condoms. Not that it matters too much if I have them or not.

  Long as I get her off, I’m good.

  Chapter Eight

  Ivy

  I can’t believe I’m doing this.

  “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” I say aloud to the empty car. “Tell me I’m crazy.” It’s silent, of course. Silent, but judging me.

  My Geo Metro putters down the gravel road toward Boone’s trailer. I thought long and hard about rushing to the office and borrowing one of the Town Cars for tonight, but ultimately opted against it. I can’t afford to lose my job just because I’m horny, and I’d definitely be in trouble if I got caught taking one of the work cars after hours. So I have a story planned—this will be my sister’s car, and mine is in the shop getting the tires rotated. Or something. My false veneer of Elegant Ivy Smithfield will be retained despite this impromptu makeout session at his place.

  And really, I shouldn’t be heading over. I absolutely should not. But it’s like I’ve lost all impulse control when it comes to this man. The moment he starts talking dirty to me via text, my hand goes into my panties. And when he suggests I come over?

  How can I possibly say no?

  Lucky for me, Wynonna is out with friends and won’t be back tonight. I left a note just in case she comes home early, but it’s almost too easy to do this. Shouldn’t it be harder to have an illicit relationship with a guy? A few roadblocks to at least give me pause? Instead, I’m shucking clothes the
moment I hang up the phone and take a quick shower. I shave everything, just in case. Everything. By the time I step out of the shower, my pussy is completely bare and I’m feeling edgy and aroused, because I want to see Boone’s reaction when he notices what I’ve done.

  It feels deliciously naughty and utterly scandalous as I slip into a pair of silky panties. They feel completely different now that I’m bare, and I’m getting turned on already. I put on a matching silky bra and decide to wear one of my work suits with my highest pair of heels, since Boone seems to find them sexy. My wet hair goes into a quick updo and then I’m ready.

  Ready to go sleep with my client. My biggest client. The one that could turn my floundering career around.

  I inwardly wince because when I put it like that, it sounds so stupid to go and chase after him. Wynonna would think I’m crazy. My bosses would think I’m a slut.

  But if I don’t go, Boone is going to think I’m being a chicken.

  For some reason that’s what decides me. Boone’s opinion is important to me, and so I button my suit jacket (with no silk tank top underneath so there’s miles of cleavage) and grab my purse.

  Maybe it’s because I’ve given up so much of my life for the last few years for Wynonna that I’m doing this wild, impulsive thing for myself. It can’t be that I’m addicted to a man I just met a few days ago . . . can it? I think for a moment and then grab extra toiletries and my haircutting scissors from the counter and shove them into my purse. I’ve become an expert on trimming both my hair and Wynonna’s because we can’t afford to go to the salon ourselves. I wonder what Boone will look like if that thick mess of hair on his head is trimmed down a little.

  Not the beard, though. After today? The beard can stay. And I squirm thinking about it tickling my inner thighs again.

  I expect to be full of anxiety and doubt as I drive over to Boone’s place, my phone shouting out directions that lead me further and further away from the heart of San Antonio and out into the less-crowded countryside. For some reason, though, I’m not second-guessing myself. I’m into Boone. I’m an adult. If I want to sleep with the man, I should. I should let him lick every inch of me and not give it a second thought. I’m in my twenties. I shouldn’t be a virgin who does nothing but work and sleep. I should be able to go out and have a good time every now and then.