And, okay, if my good time consists of going over to some guy’s trailer so he can kiss my girly bits again? I’m fine with this. I’ll think of this as Netflix and chill . . . minus the Netflix.
I’m not surprised that the road out to Boone’s place isn’t paved and turns into dirt and gravel. The road going toward my own trailer is just like this, though this one doesn’t have nearly as many potholes. The trees are thick out here, and I pass a NO TRESPASSING sign that has a bullet hole in one corner. Lovely. Down the road a bit further are a few trailers, though. I count five of them, staggered apart from each other, and I’m a little surprised. Of course, Boone did say he had four brothers.
Still, this leaves me with a dilemma as to which one is his place.
I park the car in the middle of the road and pull out my phone.
Ivy: You want to tell me which trailer is yours? Or do I just give your brothers an eyeful until I find you?
Someone charges out the door of the trailer in the back, and then gestures at my car. I recognize the trucker cap and the broad shoulders even though his face is shadowed. It must be Boone. I pull the car forward and park in front of the trailer, and then quickly hop out.
“Before you can say anything,” I call as I shut the door. “Mine is in the shop. This is Wynonna’s.”
He gazes down at the car and then shrugs. “Didn’t really notice.”
Didn’t notice? How can he not? The thing putters like it’s a motorboat. The license plate is held on to the trunk with masking tape and there’s no bumper to speak of. It looks like a big outdated egg. “All right.”
I shoulder my bag and do my best sexy saunter up the wooden steps of his trailer. He’s silent and there’s no self-assured smirk on his face like he normally wears, which makes me curious. Is he as full of insecurity at the moment as I am? That’s surprising. It always feels like there’s nothing that rattles Boone. Nothing at all.
When I get to the top of the stairs, he opens the screen door and invites me in.
I put a hand on his chest before I go inside, because his silence is bothering me. “Are you all right?”
He nods, his gaze moving up and down over my body. “Just think you deserve better than hanging out in a trailer, that’s all.”
Aw, that’s sweet. I laugh. “You’d be surprised. And it’s fine. Let’s go in.”
The interior of the trailer is very bachelor. There’s video games scattered on tables, a Texas flag hanging over one wall that counts as decor, and an enormous television over by the tattered sofa. The carpet is old and has probably seen better days, but given that I’ve seen Boone covered in grime? I’m kind of pleased that his trailer is just shabby and not a pit. “Can I have a drink?” I ask as I set my purse down on the back of the couch. I’m nervous and it’ll give me something to do with my hands.
“Sure,” he drawls, heading to the kitchen. “You want Coors Light, Natty Light, Corona, or the hard shit?”
“Um, water?”
He looks at me, blank. “Water?”
“Like a bottle of water?”
Boone rubs his jaw. “Uh . . .”
“It’s okay. Whatever you’ve got is fine.”
“Well . . . I got Coors Light, Natty Light, Corona, and Jim Beam.”
Oh boy. I’m not a drinker, and I’m definitely not a fan of beer. “Coors Light. Thank you.”
He nods absently. “I didn’t think this through. Shoulda ordered you some fancy shit. Asking you over was kinda impromptu, though. I couldn’t wait to see you again.” He gives me a sheepish look that’s adorable.
I’m melting. He couldn’t wait to see me? Maybe I’m not the only one that’s addicted.
Boone pops the tab on the beer, then holds it out to me. “You want me to order you a pizza and have them bring some drinks while we’re at it?”
“No, it’s all right.” I take the beer and give it the world’s smallest sip. “Thank you.”
He gets a beer for himself, pops the tab, and takes a few swigs. We’re quiet. It’s strange, because normally Boone is eating up the entire room with his personality. But right now? He seems unsettled.
I glance around the trailer. It’s an older model, like mine. “How long have you lived here?”
He finishes his beer and grunts a response. “A while. It was my dad’s before he passed.”
“Passed?” I ask politely, though I know this is a rocky road to go down. Parents are always a tricky discussion. Trust me, I know.
“Yup. Roughnecking. Freak accident. The chainhand fucked up and my dad’s leg got wrapped up in chain instead of it going around the pipe. Yanked Dad up a good ten feet before his leg got severed, and then he just kinda bled out on the rig.” He crumples the can in his hand and tosses it into the sink. “Company paid us a good chunk to make it go away, and since we were young, stupid kids, we took it. Bought my little brothers trailers of their own so we didn’t all have to squeeze in here anymore.”
“I’m so sorry, Boone. How old were you?”
He rubs his beard. “Twenty. I was out on a rig myself at the time. Clay, too. Hard to go back to work after that, but we didn’t have a lot of options.”
“Out in West Texas?” I ask delicately, holding my beer. Time to steer the conversation toward safer, less unhappy grounds. The last thing I want to do is bring up memories of his dead father before asking him to kiss me.
“That’s where most of the rigs are, yeah.”
“Should you be looking to purchase a house out there, perhaps?” I’ve been keeping my housing searches confined to the San Antonio and South Texas general vicinity, but I wonder if he wouldn’t rather live closer to his work. “That’s quite a commute.”
“’Bout five hours one way,” he agrees, then shrugs. “And there ain’t much out there ’cept rigs, so I don’t mind living here. I don’t have to be on site every day. I just go in and check on things to make sure they’re running smoothly, or to dowse for a new well.” He studies me for a long moment. “’Sides, there are things I like here.”
My heart flutters in my chest. The look he’s giving me makes me feel like he’s mentally stripping all of my clothing off and tossing it aside. “The Riverwalk?” I tease. “The Alamo? Are you a history buff, Boone?”
“You know I don’t give a damn about any of that shit,” he tells me. He plucks the beer from my hands—not that I was drinking it—and sets it down, then steps in closer to me. When I don’t move, he reaches out and rubs the backs of his knuckles along my jaw.
“You should,” I whisper, electricity racing through my body at his touch. “Give a damn about that shit, that is. The Alamo’s supposed to be fascinating.”
“Then maybe we’ll go sometime. Quit stallin’. You know what I’m interested in.” His thumb grazes my lower lip.
I lick the tip of his thumb when it skims my mouth in a flirty, impulsive little motion. “The housing market?” I ask, pretending to be coy.
“Something in the housing market, yeah.” His hand slides to the side of my neck and he caresses it, sending shivers through my skin. “You wearing panties?”
A little gasp escapes me at his blunt topic change. Count on Boone to stop mincing words and get directly to the heart of things. I feel a flush creeping up my body and I’m aroused and excited at the same time. “I don’t know,” I lie. I picked out my panties just for him. “You going to check for me?”
He arches an eyebrow. “Somehow I think you’d be a little uncomfortable if I just shoved my hand under your skirt.”
I laugh. Now he’s getting thoughtful on me? “That’s never stopped you before.”
“Yeah, but now I’m about to get laid.”
Wild giggles escape me. Just when I think this man is backing down from his heated pursuit, he surprises me again. I love his boldness. It makes me want to be bolder as well. I put a hand on his chest,
and can practically feel the heat radiating from his skin. I wonder if he’s hairless or covered in a thick carpet of chest hair? He’s certainly shaggy enough in the face. “So you think you’re about to get laid, do you?”
“Well, if I’m not, I’m reading all the signals wrong,” he drawls, leaning in close. It’s as if he’s going to kiss me, but he keeps talking, instead, his lips lickably close.
“Signals?” I pretend innocence. “Have I been sending you signals?”
“A few.”
“Such as?” I lick my lips because I want him to notice that small action and close the gap between us. I’m hungry for his mouth on mine.
“Such as the fuck-me pumps you’re wearing,” he murmurs, so close that his breath skitters over my face. “And the fact that when I lean in, I can see all the way down the front of your suit, right to that lacy bra. You dress like that for all your clients?”
“If I did, I’d sell a lot more real estate,” I tell him, and then whisper, “Can you see that my nipples are hard?”
He groans and licks his own lips, and I’m hit with a surge of unholy lust. I want this man, bad. I nearly come out of my skin when he leans in closer. Our lips are less than an inch apart, but he still doesn’t kiss me. “Ivy,” he murmurs. “I think I’m going to stick my hand under your skirt anyhow to check on those panties. You won’t panic since I’m warning you, right?”
“Warning me . . . or declaring me as your property?” That sexy, husky voice doesn’t even sound like mine, yet it’s coming out of my throat. I’ve never thought of myself as a vixen before. I’m definitely more of a Betty than a Veronica, and a Mary Ann than a Ginger. But in his eyes? I feel like the most exotic, erotic woman in the world.
“Same thing.” His hand moves from my neck to my shoulder, and then he slowly traces one of the lapels on the front of my suit.
I remain utterly still, my body tense with anticipation. I can feel myself breathing hard; I want him to touch me. I think I want it more than anything.
His hand trails to my skirt, and then he looks at me. Our eyes lock and his expression is that intense, possessive one I’ve seen before, and makes me shudder.
Then, he goes under my skirt and cups me between my thighs.
I suck in a breath, because that one simple motion is more intense than anything I’ve ever felt.
Boone’s eyes go wide and he rubs his fingers over my mound. “You shave?”
“I did a little housekeeping,” I say hoarsely.
He moves one finger deliberately against my cleft, outlining it through the silk of my panties. “You think of me while you do it?”
I whimper, because he knows I did. How can I not? This man has totally claimed me. “Of course.”
“You are the sexiest damn thing I have ever seen,” he tells me, and then his mouth is on mine.
It’s an impolite kiss. Some kisses are gentle and hesitant, almost as if they’re asking permission. That’s not how Boone Price kisses, though. His kiss is deliciously savage, his tongue plundering my mouth. It’s like he wants to claim me with every flick of his tongue against mine, every caress of his lips. He kisses the hell out of me even as his finger drags back and forth over my panties. I cling to him, my arms going around his neck. I want to straddle his hand and rock against it, but his mouth and his tongue are leaving me just as dazed as his fingers.
It’s complete and utter sensory overload.
And I want more of it.
He rubs his mouth over mine again, and his beard drags against my skin. His beard. That reminds me . . .
But then he rubs me through the panties again, hard, and I moan into his mouth. My knees go weak and I sag against him, boneless under this onslaught.
“Gonna make you come a dozen times,” he rasps, kissing my jaw and then moving to my ear. His beard drags against my sensitive skin and I shudder as he licks my earlobe, the dichotomy of sensations just adding to the feeling of being overwhelmed by him. “And I’m gonna lick up all your juices as I do.”
“A dozen?” I breathe. “That seems . . . like overkill.”
“I’m a man that likes to do things right.” He sucks on my earlobe, and another wave of pleasure rushes through me.
I have no doubt he’ll do things right. Despite his uncouth appearance, he’s been melting me from the moment we met. I can’t resist him or his demands . . . and I don’t want to.
“Can’t believe you shaved this for me,” he murmurs, nipping my ear. His fingers stroke over my bare pussy, and it feels like the panties I’m wearing are nonexistent. “Love how naughty you are under all those prim clothes.”
I do feel naughty. He makes me feel that way. I’m swept up in the excitement of his world and I want to show him that I’m not just someone he’s pushing into bed. I want to show him that I’m going there eagerly. “I brought something over,” I tell him, stroking my hand over his beard when he lifts his head.
“Something kinky?” He arches an eyebrow.
“Not exactly?” I slide out of his grip, but I do notice that his hands smooth down my sides as I move away, and it sends shivers through me. I open my purse and pull out the shaving and grooming kit that I brought and show him the bag.
He looks at me, confused. Takes the bag. Unzips it and studies the implements inside. “You gonna . . . shave my balls? Really?”
“What? No!” A horrified laugh escapes me.
Boone chuckles and re-zips the bag. “Well, you came over here all shaved and pretty for me. Was wondering if you had some sort of bare-skin fetish I wasn’t aware of.”
I’m a virgin. I don’t know that I have any fetishes . . . yet. But I don’t point that out. “It’s a trimming and hair clipping kit. I thought maybe we could do a little something with your beard—”
The look on his face grows shuttered. “You want to shave my face? What’s the matter? I ain’t pretty enough for you?”
I’m a little taken aback at how offended he is. “Not at all—”
“But I’m just not good enough looking for you to show around to your friends?” His body is stiff with anger. “Are you fucking serious, Ivy?”
Where is he getting this? “That’s not what I said—”
“You didn’t have to. I know where this is going and—”
“Will you let me finish?” I snap at him. “Before you go apeshit over some perceived insult?”
His brows go up, but he’s silent.
I hold the kit against my chest. “I’m sorry about the cussword.”
“I’m just kinda impressed that you didn’t back down.” A reluctant smile curves his mouth. “But fine, finish insulting me.”
I roll my eyes. “What I was trying to say is that I like your beard and I find it sexy. And I was wondering if I could trim it or condition it for you so it’s less flyaway and looks even more sexy. If you don’t want to change a thing, I don’t care. But I’m a girl and we like grooming things.” I give him a prim look. “And that includes boyfriends.”
The spark returns to his eyes and I can see the tension slide away from him. “So you’re doing it because you want me more sexy for you?”
“I’m selfish like that.”
He rubs at his jaw thoughtfully. “And it ain’t an attempt to change me because you’re embarrassed of me?”
“Not at all.”
“Then let me meet your sister.”
I freeze. That’s the one thing that cannot happen. Not only will Wynonna let it slip about our financial situation or our background, but she’ll throw a fit that I’m seeing Boone in the first place. “That’s going to have to wait until after I sell you the house, because my sister does not approve of me dating a client. Since I don’t plan on giving you or the commission up, it’ll be a few weeks.”
He gives me a skeptical look. “But you swear you ain’t hidin’ me.”
“I swear I’m not.” I think for a moment, then decide to sweeten the pot to push him over the edge. “But if you need convincing, I’ll give you an IOU for a blow job in exchange for letting me play barbershop.”
The look in Boone’s eyes goes hot again. “An IOU for a blow job,” he repeats.
“Yes. You can name the time or place.” Look at me, so clever. I’m making it sound like this is something I’d do for him, when in reality, I’ve been thinking about what it’d feel like to explore him like he did me. I’ve never given a blow job before, but I’m dying to try out my skills on him.
I mean, if he turns me down, I’m still going to give the man a blow job. There’s no question about that. I’m licking my lips just thinking about how he’ll taste and feel. He’s made me into a ravenous woman. He makes me want to be a bit more naughty and bold.
“So you wanna fuss with my beard, and if I let you, I get a blow job?” He gives me a skeptical look. “This don’t exactly sound fair to you, baby girl.”
“It’s fair because we’re doing the shaving for my pleasure. Seems only fair that I return the favor and give you pleasure.”
“Man can’t argue with that.” His gaze rakes over me. “But I want you to be naked while you fuss with my hair.”
Heat jolts between my thighs at the mental image. “You do?”
He nods slowly.
“A—all right.” I want to squirm with just how aroused I am. I’m mentally picturing leaning over him, my nipples brushing against his back, his arm. Him casually fingering my pussy as I cut his hair . . . God, this should not seem as erotic as it does. But I’m practically beside myself with need at the thought. “I’ll cut your hair naked.”
“Hair, too?”
“Well, that seems fair, don’t you think? I’m doing a lot of giving here.” And I wiggle my eyebrows at him.
He snorts and pulls his cap off, then rubs his hand through his hair. “Long as I don’t get a stupid haircut, I don’t care what you do with it.”
Dirty Money Page 11