Dirty Money

by Jessica Clare

  It almost works. Almost. “And then you’ll call me, right?”

  “Of course,” she agrees swiftly.

  “Just as soon as you get a chance.” Yeah. I fell for that once. I know the moment Ivy gets out of this car, she ain’t never gonna see me again if she can help it. There’s something I did that either spooked her or made her mad, and I need to figure out which so I can fix it. “Just like the rest of this week, right?”

  Ivy is silent.

  “Look, Ivy, I am a lot of things, but I ain’t stupid, all right? I know you’re avoiding me and you’re trying to play it off. I don’t know what I did that made you run, but I’m tired of not getting an answer. So, you wanna tell me what’s going on?”

  For a long time, the only sound in the truck cab is the endless rhythm of the highway that passes under the tires, and the gentle roar of the air conditioner.

  “It’s complicated,” she says after a time. “I wish I could tell you more.”

  “Well, now, I sure wish you could, too.”

  “Can you please just take me back?”

  “If I do, am I ever gonna see you again?”

  She pauses for a long moment, and I grit my teeth. Damn. Whatever I did is so bad that she has to stop and think about whether or not she wants my money? Hell, I’m offering her everything—not just a commission on a fancypants house, but the chance to live there with me as my wife. My wallet—hell, my everything—would be hers for the taking.

  And she has to think about it?

  “Am I that bad to be around?” I have to know. The thought of her being repulsed by me sends an ache right through my gut. I’m crazy about her and it kills me to think it might not be mutual.

  Ivy makes a sound of surprise. “It’s not you at all—”

  “Isn’t it? First chance you get, you ditch me. Kinda makes me feel like you’re having regrets for slumming it with me.”

  “That’s not true.” Her hand goes to my knee again. “If there’s a problem between us, it’s that I’m a little too addicted to you.”

  She’s not making any sense. I glance over at her before focusing my eyes back on the road again. “How is that a problem?”

  “It’s a problem for me. I don’t have time in my life right now for a relationship, much less an obsessive one.”

  “You think what we have is obsessive?”

  “Well, I’ve known you for a week and you’ve already been in my pants. I’d say that’s moving fast. And our first visit to a house you had your head between my legs.”

  I lick my lips, because it’s been entirely too long since I’ve tasted her. “I miss having my head between your legs, Ivy. I’d put it there right now if I didn’t need my eyes for driving.”

  She sucks in a little breath and her legs shift on the seat. She’s wearing one of her longer skirts, her body covered down to the knees. I guess I’m the only one that gets the short skirts. Hot damn, I like that. Maybe what she’s telling me is true. Maybe she’s afraid of jumping in too fast. I can understand that.

  I put my hand on her knee, just to test the waters. After a moment, she puts her hand on mine, but she doesn’t try to remove it. Guess she’s not lying and she likes my touch after all. I stroke my thumb over the soft skin of her thigh. “Missed you this week. A lot.”

  Ivy’s hand caresses mine. “I missed you, too. I hate that I did. I wanted to be able to just walk away and not think about you anymore. Except that didn’t happen. I ended up thinking about you all the time.”

  “But you still didn’t call me.”

  She chuckles. “You’re not the only one in this relationship that can be incredibly pigheaded.”

  And then I’m pleased, because she’s calling it a relationship. Maybe I’m breaking down her defenses. “I want you to go with me on this trip out to West Texas. It’ll just be an overnight, but I’d like you there with me.”

  “Because I owe you a blow job?”

  I drag my thumb along the inside of her knee. “Actually I just want to be around you. But yeah, we can say it’s for the blow job.” When she laughs, I press forward. “Call your clients. Tell them you can’t make it back today.”

  “I need my purse—”

  “You don’t. I’ll handle everything.”

  She shifts and I feel her creamy skin under my hand like a caress. I rub my fingertips along her inner thigh, wondering if she’d push me away if I let my hand go higher. “I do have two clients I’m supposed to meet this afternoon—”

  “Tell them you have to reschedule.”

  “Someone will snag them out from under me.”

  “Tell your clients that if they don’t go with someone else, you’ll give them a free car at closing.”

  Ivy sputters. “I can’t give them free cars! I don’t—”

  “I’ll give them free cars. You don’t have to give them a thing. You’re my lady, and I’m stealing you away, so the least I can do is make sure your business is secure.” I tap my finger on her thigh. “Call ’em.”

  “This is . . . not realistic, Boone.”

  “I got enough money that I don’t have to live in reality anymore, or didn’t you notice?” I grin over at her, my hand possessive on her thigh. “Last week I shot down a two-million-dollar house for being too shitty.”

  “It was shitty for the amount of money you’re going to pay,” she admits, and pulls out her phone. She hesitates, and then sighs. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

  “I’m glad you are,” I tell her, and stroke her thigh again. She shivers even as she dials, but she doesn’t push my hand away. It’s like she likes it there.

  I think, for all her protesting, Ivy likes being owned by me.

  She calls a client and shoots a nervous smile over at me. “Hello, Mr. Thompson? This is Ivy Smithfield, over at Three Jacks Real Estate. Listen, I am terribly sorry. I know we were supposed to go and view a couple of houses later today, but I’m afraid that something has come up and I won’t make it back this afternoon.” She pauses, listening to the man on the other end. A tiny frown appears between her brows. “I know. I understand. Yes, it is unprofessional, but I’m afraid something really has come up.”

  “Tell him you’ll give him a free car,” I murmur.

  She shoots me a frustrated look, her focus on the phone. “I understand, Mr. Thompson. Yes. Yes.” A held-in sigh. “Yes. Yes, I understand.”

  Man, the guy must really be reaming her. “Tell him you’ll give him the car,” I repeat, stroking higher on her thigh to get her attention.

  She squirms against me, a startled look crossing her face.

  “Car,” I repeat.

  “Mr. Thompson,” she says, and there’s a breathless note to her voice that makes my dick hard. “I understand your frustration, and I know this is unconventional, but the appointment that came up today? The person in question is offering a free automobile upon closing if you remain signed with me.” Silence. “Yes. A car. Wh-what kind?” She looks over at me, helplessly.

  “Any kind he wants,” I tell her. I don’t give a fuck if he demands a Bentley as long as he stops yelling at my woman.

  “Any kind you like,” she stammers into the phone. “Yes, I am quite serious. Yes, I am sure you can get it in writing.” A throaty little laugh escapes her throat. “Does he own a car dealership? Something like that. I do realize it’s inconvenient to reschedule like this, but that is why my client is offering this incentive. Yes. Yes, I promise I’m not lying. Yes, I suppose you can have a minivan if you need one.” She glances over at me.

  I nod slowly. My hand goes higher up her skirt, and I hold her thigh possessively. Her skin’s getting softer—and warmer—the higher up I go. And my dick’s getting harder with every inch I claim, too.

  “I see. Yes, send me an email and we’ll reschedule for early next week, I promise. And I’ll get you that i
nformation about the car. Yes, I promise I’m not joking.” She gives a little laugh. “I understand. It is strange, but this is a very generous client. Yes. Thank you for understanding, Mr. Thompson.” She hangs up the phone and looks over at me. “I hope you’re serious about the car thing.”

  “Of course I am. Why would I lie?”

  “Because I’m pretty sure that man was going to cry out of happiness.”

  “I wanted him to stop yelling at you.”

  Ivy gives a small shake of her head. “You realize he’s going to try and find the most expensive minivan on the market, right?”

  “Don’t care. Long as you don’t lose his business.”

  She laughs and looks at me like I’m crazy. “You do realize the van you’re going to buy is way more expensive than anything I’d get, commission-wise? He’s very low-income, HUD housing. He’ll be lucky if he qualifies for more than eighty K through the bank.” She stares out the window. “Six kids, though.”

  “Then I should buy the guy a big van,” I agree. Sounds like the guy could use it.

  “You’re crazy, you know that, right?” Ivy looks over at me, smiling.

  “Don’t care if I am, long as I get what I want.”

  “And you want . . .” she prompts.

  “You know what I want.” I push my hand further up her skirt and cup her sex. Fuck, I can feel how wet she is through her panties. And the little gasp of shock she gives and the fact that she clenches her thighs around my hand? Even fucking better. “I can’t get enough of you, Ivy. And if I have to buy minivans for the entire state, I’m gonna do it if that means I get to hog all your time.” I drag my fingers along her pussy. She’s keeping it nice and shaved, and damn if that isn’t the sexiest thing ever.

  “Oh my god,” she moans, and her hand clenches the truck seat. She’s not pushing my hand away, though. Her hand goes to the chicken bar over the door, like she’s gotta hold on to something. “You shouldn’t do this while you’re driving, Boone.”

  She’s probably right. I ain’t paying much attention to the road. Not with her hot pussy against my fingers and her squirming like she’s about to come off the seat. And since I’m not willing to remove my hand . . . I put on my blinker and immediately start crossing lanes, heading for the nearest exit. Up ahead I see a cluster of signs, and when I pull off onto the service road, I head for the parking lot of a local superstore. It all takes about thirty seconds as I tear through traffic, but that’s thirty seconds too long.

  I screech the truck to a halt at the back of the parking lot, and throw it into park, and then look over at Ivy. Her eyes are wide, her skin flushed, and I can see the prick of her nipples through that demure little jacket of hers.

  “Get over here in my lap,” I growl, and rub her hard through her panties. I can feel her little clit under the pads of my fingers.

  Ivy whimpers, but she unbuckles her seatbelt. In the next moment, she’s crawling over to me and I put my arms around her waist. At the same time, I hit the release and my seat skids backward a few inches to give her room to climb onto me. Her skirt rides up, but I’m fine with that because it just gives me more access to her pussy.

  Her hair’s in another one of those ridiculously tight buns she favors, and I want to tug it free and see her hair cascade loose. I know from watching her undress that it’s held by a thousand little pins, and so I start to pull them out, one by one. With my other hand, I push inside her panties and stroke her wet folds.

  Ivy cries out and then her mouth is on mine in a frantic, hungry kiss.

  That’s my girl. I let her take the lead, showing me her urgency. She controls the kiss, her tongue moving against mine and her soft little cries increasing each time I stroke her clit. All the while, I pull pin after pin from her hair, determined to get her off and to get her a little bit messy.

  Well, a lot messy. I want her to look well fucked, because I love seeing that on her.

  She shudders against me as I flick her clit and then rub it with my thumb. Her thighs clamp against my hand and she bites down on my lower lip. My cock aches hard, but this is about her—claiming her, making her mine, making her feel a tenth of how I feel about her on a regular basis. My needs don’t matter—all that matters is Ivy.

  A little cry escapes her throat and she breaks the kiss to press her face against mine. Her hips push down against my hand, and I can feel the little tremors rocking through her body that tell me she’s close, so close. Then, her hair cascades over my hand, finally free of its tight confines. I grab a fistful of it and hold her as I double down, working her pussy over with renewed speed. My fingers glide through her slickness and I sink one deep, even as I rest my thumb over her clit and rub.

  Her hands claw at my shirt and the air explodes from her lungs. She buries her face against my neck and rides my hand, bucking wildly against it as I fuck her with my fingers. This is my girl. This is what I want from her—intensity. Abandon. Passion. I want all of it. I kiss her neck, scraping my teeth over her soft skin as I pump into her with my fingers, working her toward her climax. “Come for me, Ivy. Come on my hand. Come all over my fingers. Give me everything you’ve got.”

  She cries out and arches against me, and her cunt clenches hard around my finger, trying to milk it. I know my Ivy, though, and I keep rubbing her clit, dragging every last ounce of pleasure out of her as she shudders against me over and over again.

  Slowly, she recovers and I pull my fingers from her warmth. I want to leave my hand between her legs forever, but, well, it makes it a little tricky to drive. She sits back in my lap and I put my fingers to my mouth and suck her juices off of them, because I ain’t letting a drop of it go to waste.

  Ivy strokes my beard as I do, a sleepy, almost amused look on her face. Then, she blinks at something over my shoulder.

  “What is it?”

  “Another car just parked right next to you. I . . . forgot we’re in a parking lot.” Pink is creeping up her flushed cheeks. “Oh my god, I always forget where I am with you.”

  “Can’t say I’m sad about that.” Not in the slightest, actually. Now I’m picturing all the places I’d like to take Ivy, just to get her off in public: a movie theater, a restaurant, anywhere I can show off to the world that she’s mine while privately stroking her sweet, hot little pussy.

  She pushes her hair off her shoulders and gives me a flustered look before sliding off my lap and retreating back to her end of the truck cab. “That’s because you’re a bad influence.”

  “I like to think I’m the best influence,” I drawl.

  Ivy just grins and undoes the buttons on her jacket, revealing a silky little top underneath. She fans herself and then pulls the jacket off . . . and I see Band-Aids and bruises covering the inside of each arm.

  My arousal dies. The contentment I feel? Dies. Right in my fucking chest. “What happened?”

  “Hmm?” She fans her face absently and then turns one of the air conditioner vents toward her.

  “Your arms.”

  “Oh.” The flustered look returns to her expression and she gestures at one Band-Aid. “This? I was just donating blood.”

  “Again? In both arms?” I eye her. “How often are you giving blood?”

  “It’s for a good cause,” she says defensively.

  “Ivy, there ain’t no cause good enough for them to stick you like a voodoo doll. This why you keep fainting?” I grab the crushed bag of cookies that’s been forgotten between us and shove it at her. “Eat one of these before I lose my fucking shit.”

  Ivy rolls her eyes and takes one of the broken cookies out of the bag, shoving it into her mouth and making a face at me. I don’t care if she’s pissy. I watch to make sure she eats every bite, and when she pops the last of it into her mouth, I hand over her drink and make sure she sips it. Maybe she’s got a family member that’s sick. Maybe that’s why she’s always so quiet and won�
��t tell me what’s going on. Maybe that’s why things are “complicated” and she doesn’t want to leave with me for the weekend.

  Suddenly I feel like an ass. “Who’s dying?” I ask when she swallows.

  The look she gives me is incredulous. “Dying? No one’s dying.”

  “Then why are you giving so much fucking blood?”

  “Why is it any of your business?”

  I clench my jaw and stare out the window. There’s a guy rounding up shopping carts who gives us a weird look as he passes by, but I ignore him. Instead, I grab another cookie out of the bag and hand it to Ivy. She groans but takes it from me and begins to eat it. “It’s my business,” I say slowly, “because I care about you and I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

  “That’s sweet, but I can take care of myself.”

  I grab her arm and look at the gigantic bruise that’s growing under the Band-Aid, then look at her.

  She yanks her arm out of my grip and scowls. “I’m serious, Boone. I don’t need anyone hovering over me to make sure that I’m fine. I—”

  I snort. “That’s for damn sure. You don’t need anyone, it seems.”

  “Excuse me for being independent.”

  “There’s a difference between being independent and being a stubborn ass.”

  “Oh, and you’d know?” she retorts. “Because I’m not seeing a lot of nuance between the two on your end.”

  “I might be stubborn, but at least I share what I’m feeling.” I jerk the truck into gear and head out of the parking lot, cold fury in my brain. “And I guess that’s the big difference between me and you, Ivy. I want to be in your life, and you just keep pushing me away.”

  She’s silent. Her arms are crossed and she’s quiet for so long that I think she’s quietly plotting how she’s going to chew my head off for the next round. “Are you taking me home?” she asks after a while.

  “No.”

  “No?” She seems surprised by that.

  “Nothing’s changed,” I tell her. “Just because I don’t like how you push me away don’t mean anything’s changed. I’m still fuckin’ crazy about you, Ivy Smithfield, and I’ll be damned if I let you just go home to ignore me all over again for another week or month or however long you get it in your head.”