Dirty Money

by Jessica Clare

  Her scream turns into a keening cry and she jerks against me, over and over, until a sweet liquid rushes against my mouth. Now there’s the money. I lap it all up and ease off on her while she pants and trembles under me. The taste of her is all over my face and in my mouth, and I love it.

  Nothing’s ever tasted as good as Ivy Smithfield when she comes.

  “Oh my god,” she moans after a moment. I sit up and look at her, wiping off my mouth.

  Ivy looks wrecked. Her hand goes back to her forehead and there’s a sheen of sweat on her skin. Her long hair is a tangle, and there’s a flush on her breasts and her cheeks. Her legs are sprawled and she’s never looked so disheveled . . . or so gorgeous.

  Right then and there, I decide that I need to get this woman messy on a regular basis, because she looks sexy as fuck like this.

  “You come hard for me?” I ask, and reach down to cup a hand over her wet pussy, like I’m staking a claim. “Or you need more?”

  A small, throaty laugh bubbles up in her throat and she stares up at nothing, drowsy. “I think if I had any more, they’d be scraping me off the ceiling.”

  “Give me a few minutes,” I drawl, grinning. I can’t help but give her pussy a little stroke with my fingers and she squeaks. But I can’t make good on that promise, because I need a condom before I can sink into her. I get up off the bed because my tight-feeling jeans are killing my dick, and I pull my wallet out and toss it on the bed before I undo my zipper.

  She sits up, wobbly, and tries to smooth her hair into some semblance of dignity, but it ain’t working. She looks good and fucked, and I’m about to make sure that she is good and fucked. I shove my pants down, sending my underwear with my jeans, and step out of both.

  Her eyes widen and she stares at me naked for a long, long moment. “Wow.”

  Ivy does know how to flatter a man. I grin, opening the condom and rolling it down my length. “Why, thank you.”

  “This is probably a silly question . . . but are all, ahem, erect penises that large?” She raises her eyebrows and looks at me, as if clearly skeptical.

  Erect penises? I still, because that’s a damn virginal question to ask. Makes no sense, unless . . . “Ivy, you a virgin?”

  Her cheeks get all flushed. “Maybe.”

  Oh, god damn. It’s like the floor has just been jerked out from under me, but in the best possible way. I’m humbled that she’d choose me to share such a gift with. And a more savage, primal part of me is filled with possessive joy—that I’m going to be the first and last hand to touch her in this way.

  She’s mine. More than ever, she’s mine.

  “Is that a problem?” she asks. She tugs her long hair forward over one shoulder, covering a breast. The look on her face is suddenly uneasy.

  “Not a problem,” I tell her, my voice gruff. “But I’m glad you told me.” Because that explains why she’s so tight, and I need to go extra slow and careful with her to make sure that she comes her brains out. I want her first experience to be earth-shattering. I want her to love every minute of it.

  I’m tempted to go down on her again to ensure just that.

  I won’t, though. Ivy’s already pretty sensitive and I just made her come hard. I don’t want her to be too gutted to enjoy my favorite part of sex. I want her to be there with me through every moment. I want her to come when I come. I want her to enjoy my cock inside her. I want her to love it when I stake my claim on her.

  I’m a selfish prick like that.

  Ivy looks nervous, even though she shrugs. “I wasn’t sure if there was an appropriate time to point it out. Not that it matters, because we’ve done a lot of other . . . nonvirginal things.” She’s blushing again, and her thighs go together. She’s thinking about me between her legs.

  She’s gonna have me between her legs every day for the rest of her life. “It changes nothing. You’re still mine.” I move back onto the bed, covering her. I prop up on one elbow and pull her body against mine. We’re both naked now, and I can feel every inch of her bare skin against my own.

  She shivers and gazes up at me with big, soft eyes. “I like being yours,” she whispers.

  I groan and capture her mouth with mine. She’s so fucking sweet, so damn perfect that it hurts. I drag my tongue over hers, trying to give her as much pleasure as she gives me. Her mouth opens eagerly for my kiss and her tongue plays alongside mine, her hand skimming my arm.

  I slide a hand between her thighs, brushing over her bare pussy before slipping a finger inside her again. She inhales slightly and I deepen the kiss between us, determined to keep her in the moment even as I move a thigh in between hers. She’s soft and wet for me, but still tight, and I work her pussy with my hand even as I kiss her.

  When she’s moaning and breathless in my arms, I put a hand on one thigh and spread her legs wider. “I’m gonna push inside you now, Ivy. You just say something if you want me to stop.”

  She gives me a little nod and presses a tiny kiss to my mouth, as if trying to encourage me. So fucking sweet.

  I rub my hand over her sex again, and her folds are slick with her juices. I drag the head of my cock back and forth in them, lubing it up. Ivy moans, her head tossing. I fit my cock against her entrance, and then slowly begin to ease into her. She’s fucking impossibly tight, and I have to push a little harder than I want to get anywhere.

  I don’t want to hurt her. The last thing I want on this earth is to cause her pain.

  Her hand stops its gentle stroking of my arm and her nails dig into my skin a little.

  “You okay, baby girl?” I ask, leaning in to give her another quick kiss.

  She nods, gazing up at me with dark eyes.

  I push into her inch by excruciating inch, all the while keeping my gaze locked with hers. It’s the most intense, intimate thing I’ve ever done. Most of the time I just slam into a girl and hope for the best, but everything needs to be perfect for Ivy. Everything.

  Ivy is tight around me, her body squeezing my cock like a glove. I kiss her again, and again, because I want her to think of this moment with pleasure, not with any discomfort she might be feeling. She’s my first—and only—virgin, and I don’t know what to expect or how badly it’s going to hurt her. All I know is that I want to make it good for her. So I take my time and then, impossibly, I’m sheathed entirely in her warmth.

  “How does it feel?” I ask her, pressing my mouth against her jaw. My entire body is tense with need, and I feel the strain of holding back in every muscle.

  “Very . . . full.” Ivy sounds breathless. Her body quivers under mine, and then she shifts, just a little.

  “Uncomfortable?” I’ll get off her right now and stop if it means she’s not enjoying herself.

  She shakes her head and her hand strokes my hair back from my face. “It feels good. Different, but good.”

  I nod and give her another searing kiss before pulling back and rocking into her. I move carefully to ensure that I don’t hurt her, and every inch feels excruciatingly slow. It’s the most intense sort of pleasure and I can feel my own need to come building in my body. I need to fight it, because I need to make this good for her.

  Her eyes widen and she gasps when I thrust into her. “Boone,” she breathes, the sound full of wonder.

  “Tell me how you’re feeling, baby girl,” I murmur, pressing kisses to her face.

  “That was . . . oh . . .” Her sigh of pleasure is everything.

  “Want more, or want me to stop?”

  “Don’t stop.” Her hand moves to my shoulder and she lifts one leg, wrapping it around my hip. “Please, don’t stop.”

  That’s all the encouragement I need. I begin to thrust into her in languid, steady movements, working hard to keep myself in check. I’m sweating hard at the tense need in my body, but this has to be good for her. It has to be perfect. So I focus on her pleasure, th
e expressions she makes, the look in her heavy-lidded eyes that tells me she’s enjoying this. I can’t help but run a hand over her body as I fuck her slowly, cupping one sweet breast and caressing her skin everywhere.

  She moans as I push deep into her, the first sound of pleasure she’s made since I pushed into her. I focus on that, because I want more of her responses. I drag my thumb over her nipple and stroke into her again, increasing my rhythm. My mouth claims hers, and I swallow her next little responsive sigh. She likes that I’ve sped up, and so I move faster, my thrusts harder and deeper.

  This time, when she moans into my mouth, it’s full of need. Her hands flutter over my shoulders, as if she’s unsure where to put them. I grab one and put it on my ass, never breaking our kiss, and rock into her over and over again.

  Her cunt ripples around me and I can feel her suck in a breath in the moment that everything changes. Her entire body shivers under me and when I thrust my tongue into her mouth, her kiss in response is wilder, more frantic. Her nails dig into my skin again, and then we’re locked together, her body pinned under mine as I claim her hard, each thrust pushing our joined bodies across the bedsheets with the force of it.

  She makes an escalating little sound, her hips rising up to meet each of my thrusts, and I hold her tight as I plunge into her. I need her to come again, to let go so I can finally claim my own release. But she moans and writhes under me, close but not quite there yet.

  I need to get her there. Now. Fast. Before it’s too late and I spill my load.

  Before I can push into her again, I reach between us and find her clit. I rub my fingers over it in a little circle and feel her body surge under mine. She bites down on my lower lip, making an intense little sound. I thrust into her again and then I can feel her body respond. Her cunt seems to suck me deeper and tightens hard around my shaft, and her entire body ripples with the force of her orgasm. She cries out and I keep rubbing her, even as I begin to thrust harder.

  Now I can come.

  Blind with lust, I pump into her with mind-blowing force. I’m in her wet heat, so deep that my entire cock feels like it’s being clenched tight in her pussy. I’m drowning with need for her, and a second later, I explode with the force of my orgasm. My entire body shudders with my release even as I continue to pump into her. It feels like I’m coming forever. Like there’s no end to my own orgasm. I’m barely aware of her sweaty skin under mine or that her hand is stroking through my hair as I collapse on top of her.

  All I know is that she’s mine, and I’ve just claimed her.

  Ivy

  I lie atop the blankets of the enormous, posh bed, and feel totally and completely destroyed . . . in all the best ways. I’m exhausted, sweaty, my thighs are slick from my own release, and my long hair feels like it’s stuck to my skin.

  But . . . wow. I feel incredible. Boneless, and sated, and completely, utterly sexy.

  Boone rolled off of me the moment he came, and he lay in bed next to me for a moment before getting up to get rid of the condom. He returns a few moments later with a warm, wet towel and proceeds to bathe the insides of my thighs like it’s no big thing. Like I’m a piece of property that needs to be carefully maintained. And instead of being offended, I find it . . . oddly sweet. Thoughtful.

  Of course, all of that changes when he strokes the towel over my pussy and gets a thoughtful look in his eyes when I shiver. So soon? I still feel hollowed out from sex with him. It was my first time, and while it felt tight and awkward for a few moments, it wasn’t the teeth-clenching ordeal I’ve heard it described as by some women.

  “How you feelin’?” Boone asks, even as he slowly rubs the towel over my flesh.

  I shiver, feeling squirmy under the intensity of his gaze. “I’m fine. And I can wash myself, really—”

  There’s a sudden knock at the suite door. “Room service,” a male voice calls.

  I squeak in horror and fling myself from the bed, racing toward the bathroom.

  Boone just chuckles. “Coming,” he calls out. I look back at him and he’s wrapping the blanket around his hips, making his way to the door.

  I close the bathroom door and press a hand to my overheated cheeks. I’d forgotten about room service completely. Good lord. I stare at the counter, covered with stray beard hairs and my scattered grooming kit, and realize I’ve forgotten about a lot of things. Boone has kissed the brains straight out of my head. I look at my reflection and a sound of horror escapes me at the sight. My hair is a nest of snarls, my lower face scratchy and red from his beard. There’s a hickey on one of my breasts and I have no idea how that got there. I eye myself lower, and sure enough, my inner thighs are the same scratchy pink as my face, because his beard was there, too.

  I am going to be blushing for days.

  I wash my face and wipe my body down with a wet towel, then comb my hair into a semblance of normalcy. I moisturize my irritated face with one of the hotel lotions and then crack the bathroom door open a hair, listening for people.

  “You can come out, Ivy,” Boone drawls. “He’s gone.”

  I wrap a towel around my body and emerge from the bathroom. Boone’s standing at a table, a tray of food in front of him, a bottle of champagne in his hands. His butt is to me and, gosh, it’s a really fine butt. I can’t help but notice the scratches on his back, though. And on his shoulders. And, okay, on his butt. “Sorry about the clawing. I guess I got carried away.”

  He gives me a rather wicked look. “I am completely fine with you getting carried away, just for the record.”

  I feel myself blushing, but move to his side. His beard looks fantastic now, neatened up and trimmed at the edges. The hillbilly look is gone, and in its place is a devastatingly gorgeous man . . . who needs me to finish his hair. Well, I suppose I can do that later. “I can’t remember what you ordered,” I tell him, gazing down at the silver-covered trays.

  “Lobster,” he tells me. “Ain’t that what all the fancy guys buy their ladies when they go out?”

  Late-night lobster? I hide my grimace and pull a lid off of one of the trays. To my delight, it’s dessert. There’s a plate drizzled with chocolate and decorated with berries, and in the center is some sort of cream puff with sugary bread. “Is this one for me?”

  “Sure is.”

  I can’t help but dig a finger into the icing. I lick it and it tastes like sin. “Mmm. What is it?”

  “Hell if I know. It’s French.” He shrugs. “Sounded fancy as shit, though.”

  I giggle. “Well, thank you.”

  Boone’s eyes gleam with pleasure. “Gotta keep my elegant woman in the lifestyle she’s accustomed to.”

  Somehow, I manage to keep smiling, but my joy is fading on the inside. What have I done? He’s bound to find out who I really am, and then the shit will officially hit the fan, and hit the fan hard.

  Maybe I should tell him. Just fess up that all this is an act to try and launch my sorry real estate business and I’m more tramp than lady. Maybe he’ll just laugh at the fact that I trained my Texas drawl out of my voice, that I buy clothes I can’t afford and learned how to do my own hair and nails on endless YouTube videos because I needed to look salon perfect without being able to afford the salon.

  He pours me a glass of champagne and sits down in one of the chairs at the table. Before I can pick a seat for myself, he grabs me around the waist and tugs me into his lap. He grabs the edge of my towel and pulls it off, and then I’m just as naked as he is. “That’s better,” he tells me.

  I shiver, not because I’m cold, but because I’m hyperaware of all his naked skin. “Why is this better?”

  “Because you get to eat your sweets,” he tells me, tugging the dessert plate in my direction. “And I’ll get to eat mine.” And he leans in and gently nips at my bare shoulder.

  I bite back a moan.

  I’ll tell him in the morning.

&n
bsp; ***

  I wake up to Boone’s hand sliding between my thighs. He rubs my clit with his fingers as he kisses my neck, and doesn’t let up on either until I come. A moment later, he pulls me onto my hands and knees, puts on a condom, and then pushes into me from behind. His hand smooths down my back. “You sore, darlin’?”

  I’m a little achy, but not enough to stop him. I shake my head.

  That’s enough for Boone. He fucks me hard, jerking my hips back against his cock with every thrust. I do my best to stay silent and let him enjoy the moment, but that’s not enough for him. He’s not satisfied until he puts a hand between my legs and massages my clit with every thrust. That makes me nearly come out of my skin with pleasure, and he doesn’t come until I’ve screamed his name into the knotted handfuls of sheets at least twice. Then, he carries me to the shower and gently washes me from head to toe, as if I’m too tired and helpless to take care of myself. It’s almost funny, except he’s so very serious about it. He washes my hair with great determination, as if the world depends on my hair being shiny clean and perfect.

  When we emerge from the shower, he lets me tidy up his hair with the scissors. I cut several inches away, not wanting to drastically alter his look to where he’s unhappy with it, but he insists I cut more. In the end, he winds up with ultra-short hair that’s just a little longer on the top. I put a bit of pomade on my hands and run them through his locks, and I’m stunned at how devastatingly handsome he is. He was good looking before, but I’m feeling a bit like Michelangelo with a marble block, and I’ve just uncovered David. Of course, David had a small pecker, so perhaps that’s not the best comparison for Boone.

  “Why’re you smiling?” he asks me, leaning forward in the mirror to check his quickly drying hair. “Don’t look stupid, does it? I ain’t a good judge of these things.”

  “You look fantastic,” I tell him. “Like a sexy beast.”

  He gives me a devilish grin. “So sexy you wanna crawl back into bed with me?”

  “You’re lucky it’s a Saturday, because if this was a workday—”