Dirty Money

by Jessica Clare

  The idea of a shower is suddenly taking on an entirely new meaning, and I mentally picture Boone naked, his big body towering over mine and his hands moving over my skin. I shiver, rubbing my arms. Why is it that just thinking about the man touching me makes me go crazy with need? “I do need my back scrubbed,” I lie. I need something, all right, but it has nothing to do with soap.

  He just gives me another one of those lazy, gorgeous smiles, and his gaze sweeps over my body appreciatively. “You show me what you need done, baby girl, and I’ll get it taken care of.”

  “Mmmhmm.” I need him to want me for who I truly am, not who he imagines me to be. But maybe, over time, that won’t matter. Maybe it won’t be a big deal if he finds out that although I’m doing my best to reinvent myself, I still grew up in a trailer, my mom’s a deadbeat, and my dad’s in prison. It won’t matter that I’m uneducated and know more about how to run a fry machine than how to host a dinner party. Because he’ll love me and will understand that I’ve worked hard to change who I am, just like he has.

  But even as I think it, I know it’s a lie. Boone hasn’t changed who he is, one bit. He’s got money, but I suspect that if I went back in time five years, Boone Price would be the same then as he is now—stubborn, strong-willed, and utterly determined to get what he wants.

  “You look troubled,” Boone says to me, moving to my side. “What’s botherin’ you?” His rough hand smooths the hair back from my face in a caress.

  I . . . can’t tell him. So I undo my skirt and let it fall to the floor, and cock my head as I gaze up at him. “I was just thinking about when you wanted that blow job.”

  His eyes gleam. “You offering, baby girl?”

  “Would I bring it up if I wasn’t?” I arch a brow at him, trying to be coy instead of sad.

  Boone rubs his knuckles along my jaw, studying my face. “You’re not too tired? I didn’t bring you here for the blow job, you know.”

  I laugh. “A turnabout? That’s not what you told me earlier.”

  “That’s because I play dirty.” He winks at me and then leans in to brush his lips gently across mine. “Doesn’t mean I’m heartless. You’re tired and not feeling well, and the last thing I wanna do is push you to do something you ain’t interested in.”

  “Why wouldn’t I be interested?” I slowly pull my silk camisole off, and then I’m only in my panties and bra. “Why wouldn’t I want to touch you as much as you touch me?” I smile. “Actually, you’ve gone down on me plenty of times and I haven’t even returned the favor.”

  “That’s because I like the feel of your pussy on my lips, and I like the taste of you even more.” His hand drops and he cups the front of my panties, rubbing my folds through them. “Actually wouldn’t mind going down on you right about now, baby girl.”

  “We are going to shower,” I tell him in my sweetest voice. “And then I am going to give you a blow job. Don’t distract me.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he drawls, a grin on his face.

  I unhook my bra and turn away, removing it with a flourish before shimmying out of my panties. I saunter toward the bathroom, naked, and turn on the shower. The water’s cold, so I wait by the tub a moment, feeling a little nervous and a lot excited as I hear Boone stripping off his clothing in the other room.

  Then he appears in the doorway, all tanned skin and rippling muscle, and I lose my breath. The man eats up a room when he enters, and I feel small and fragile as he comes to stand next to me. He drags his hand through my hair, then rubs a handful of it against his face, and for some reason, that’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen. I gasp at the sight, my nipples hardening immediately.

  He’s completely naked, his cock thick and erect. I want to touch him all over. It’s my turn to explore. I crook a finger and saunter into the bathroom, toward the spray of hot water. Bathing him might be a pretense, but I’m excited just thinking about running my soapy hands all over him. He’s had his hands on me, pleasured me, kissed every inch of my skin, and now I get to return the favor. The shower is one of those plastic, boxy ones with a rippled door instead of a curtain, and for a moment, I wish it was a sexier, more open shower. It’ll have to do, though. I push the door aside, step under the hot water, and glance over at him, soaking my hair.

  Boone is two steps behind me, and his hand skates down my back even as he shuts the shower door behind him. “You are perfection, you know that?”

  I turn, then slide one wet hand up his chest. “You get under the spray and I’ll wash your back.”

  “You do know I’d be just fine with dropping to my knees and licking you until you come on my face, don’t you?” Boone strokes a gentle knuckle down my cheek. “There’s no need for being reciprocal or anything, because making you come is entirely my pleasure.”

  “Not entirely,” I tease. “And this isn’t entirely about you, either.” I let my hand trail down his chest, heading toward his cock. “I want to do this. I want to see how you react when I touch you, when I put my mouth on you.” I press my hands on his hips and then slowly lower to my knees. His back blocks the spray from raining down on me, and I gaze up at him, feeling powerful and in control despite my vulnerable position. “I might be touching you, but this is most definitely for me.”

  He groans and his hand moves over my wet hair. “That so?”

  “It is.” My sassy words fade in favor of a low, tingling excitement that pools between my thighs at the sight of his cock just inches from my face. I examine him before I touch him, just because this is my first time up close and personal with a dick. His skin is a darker shade here, almost plum-colored on the head of his cock, and ruddy along the shaft. A dark nest of curls shields his balls. There’s a vein that dances along the length of his shaft, zigzagging under his skin, and I trace one finger along its path.

  Boone sucks in a breath, and his hand tangles in my wet hair. For a moment, I think he’s going to force my head down toward his cock, but he doesn’t. He’s determined not to push me farther than I want to go.

  Luckily for him, I want to go all the way.

  I curl my fingers around his length, feeling how thick he is. My fingers can’t quite meet around his shaft, and I squeeze him just to see his reaction. A tremor rushes through his body at my touch, and as I glance up at him, I see his nostrils flare, and his jaw clenches, like it’s taking everything in his power not to disturb me in my exploration.

  But . . . I kind of want to be disturbed. Not that I want him to pull me away, just that I want him to be so turned on by what I’m doing that he can’t help but intervene. So I decide that is my new goal—I’m going to make him so crazy with lust that he’s going to lose control. I want him as wild as he makes me.

  So I continue my exploration, letting my wet fingers glide from the head of his cock to the underside of it, tracing along his skin. I caress his shaft as I move my fingertips over it, and then go further down and explore his balls. They’re not the prettiest of body parts, but I like that his skin is incredibly soft here, and when I touch him, I can hear him suck in a breath.

  His skin is scorching hot against my hand, the scent of him muskier here, and I can’t wait to put my mouth on him. I extend the tip of my tongue and give him a cautious lick, catching a few beads of water off the side of his cock shaft.

  “That is the best damn thing I have ever seen,” Boone says hoarsely above me, and I look up to see he’s holding on to the lip of the plastic wall of the shower with white-knuckled strain.

  “You like it?” I ask, a playful note in my voice. I repeat the action, this time tracing the tip of my tongue all around the head of his cock. Not all of the beads here are water, and I can taste a salty tang of pre-cum. I flick my tongue over the divot to get more of his taste, and I can feel his entire body shudder in response.

  “Fuckin’ love it,” he grits out.

  Encouraged, I wrap my hand tight around his len
gth and focus on pleasuring him with my tongue. I try different things to see what he likes and what he doesn’t. The slow drag of the tip of my tongue over his skin makes his body twitch, but when I lick him like an ice cream cone, he groans and murmurs filthy things under his breath. My lips brushing over his cock make him exhale sharply, and when I pump him with my hand? He ducks his head and the hand on my head leaves my hair and clenches into a fist that he presses against one thigh.

  Poor thing’s desperately trying to hold on to his control. It makes me grin and feel even more shamelessly wicked, because I want to tear it away from him.

  I lick the head of his cock again, and then close my lips over him.

  “Oh, damn,” he breathes. “Oh, baby girl. Have mercy on your man.”

  There’s not an ounce of mercy in me as I swirl my tongue over him, figuring out how to give him the most pleasure. He likes it when I rub the flat of my tongue against him, and he really likes it when I suck and drag him deeper. I focus on taking as much of him into my mouth as I can, relaxing my jaw and working on him with my tongue. I’m surprised when the head of his cock bumps against the back of my throat and he hisses out my name between his teeth.

  “Get up,” he grits a moment later, gently pulling me off of him.

  I release his cock from my mouth with an audible pop and look up at him in surprise. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” He drags me to my feet and pulls me against him in a hard, fierce kiss. “I’m getting a fucking condom because I want to come inside you, not on your mouth.”

  “Oh.” I watch as he shoves the shower door open and storms out of the bathroom, dripping water everywhere. A moment later he returns with a condom packet, ripping it open with his teeth and then rolling the sleeve of it down his length. It’s amazing how fast he does that, and I barely have time to register that he’s getting back into the shower with me when he pulls me up against him and begins to kiss me again.

  I moan against his mouth, because his hand is sliding between my wet thighs and stroking my pussy. There’s no slow build between us—everything seems to explode after a few small touches, and I’m left aching and full of want. I squirm with need when his fingers sink deep between my thighs, pushing into my core.

  “You’re so fucking wet,” he tells me between wild kisses. “You like sucking my cock, baby girl?”

  “I love touching you, Boone,” I tell him, feeling shy at admitting such a bold thing. “I wasn’t ready to stop.”

  “I don’t have the stamina,” he tells me, pressing his face against my neck and kissing me even as he fucks me with his hand. His beard prickles and rasps against my skin, softer when wet. “But I’m more than willing to let you practice on me over and over again, Ivy. But right now? Right now, I need you.”

  His fingers leave my body and I whimper at the loss, clinging to his wet shoulders. He takes one of my thighs and hooks it around his hips, and before I realize what he’s doing, he grabs me by my hips and hoists me up the wall, pinning me against the tile, my breasts pressing against his chest. I feel the heat of his cock push between my thighs and then I’m sinking down on his length. I moan, my nails digging into Boone’s back, because it feels so deep like this. Like gravity is shoving me down on his length and all I can do is hold on to him for dear life.

  “I’ve got you,” he murmurs, pressing kisses against my skin. “Wrap your legs around me tight, Ivy. I won’t let you fall.”

  I do as he commands and then he thrusts into me, my body jolting against the slick tile. It feels as if our bodies are barely moving, but I can feel . . . everything. And the angle he’s pushing into me? I . . . it’s rubbing something deep inside me that is making me crazy. When he thrusts again, a keening cry escapes my throat and I squirm wildly against him, needing more.

  “That hit the spot, Ivy?” He presses more frantic kisses to my face and then thrusts into me again, and I claw at his back, crying out his name. “Yup,” he chuckles, seemingly oblivious to the fact that I’m about to burst from my skin with need. “Found the spot.”

  Again, he thrusts into me. Over and over, Boone pumps into me with quick, shallow bursts, and oh god, it feels like I’m a volcano erupting. Orgasm after orgasm crashes through me, my legs like Jell-O. I’m making all kinds of little cries and mewing noises and I can’t find that I give a damn, because he’s fucking any cares I might have had right out of my brain. It’s one endless orgasm positioned like this, and I think he’s coming, too, a moment later, because he presses my body against the tile, hard, and I bite down on his shoulder, trying desperately to unleash some of the madness that’s ripping through me with gale-force pleasure.

  All I know is that I feel amazing.

  I’m barely aware as he carries me, still clinging to him like a baby monkey, from the shower back to the hotel bed. He lies on top of my wet body for a few moments, tenderly kissing me. I cry out in a small protest as he gets up to turn off the shower, because I feel so empty without his body piercing mine.

  It’s madness, how much I’ve come to crave him in such a short time.

  I get under the covers and pull a sheet over my body by the time he returns with a towel for me. The hot, smoky look is still on his face, as if he’s ready to grab me and go for another round, and I feel an excited flutter all through my body in response. It’s insane, just how addicted I am to him. “We’re insane,” I murmur as he sits down on the bed next to me.

  He slides under the blankets and pulls me against him. We’re still damp and the sheets stick to both of us, my skin to his. Boone just brushes the wet hair off of my face and shoulders and studies me, curious. “Insane, how?”

  I laugh, tilting my head back. “All of this. All of this is insane. We can’t be in the same room without clawing at each other and orgasming about a dozen times.”

  “I don’t see how this is a problem,” he drawls, teasing. “You seem to like the orgasms I give you—”

  “Of course I do!” I trace a finger along his big arm. “I just worry about how fast we’re going, don’t you? It’s only been a few weeks.”

  He shrugs.

  “And you keep introducing me to everyone as your fiancée.” I arch an eyebrow at him. “We’re not engaged.”

  “Not yet, but only because you still aren’t used to the idea.”

  “And you are?” I ask, amused.

  The look on his face is utterly serious as he gazes down at me. “Ivy, I knew you were the one for me the moment I laid eyes on you. For me, there’s no one else. Not now, not ever. I knew the second I saw you that you were everything I wanted. Nothing about that has changed.” His big leg tangles with mine under the sheets, and I feel his knee go between my thighs. “Nothing, baby.”

  But I’m a little surprised at this admission. “The moment you saw me in the brochure?”

  “The moment I saw you face-to-face.” He leans in and rubs his nose against mine, then presses a quick kiss to my mouth. “I thought you were pretty when I saw you in the ad, of course. Thought you’d be a good trophy wife. Some nice, classy piece to fuck every now and then and not think about twice.”

  “Gee—”

  “But then I saw you in person, and it was like . . . like my whole world lit up.” He grins down at me. “I saw you and thought, yeah, that’s the woman I’m going to marry. That’s the woman I’m going to fall in love with.”

  I go very still under him, my heart pounding. “Love?” We’ve played at a relationship for weeks now—played hard—but this is the first I’m hearing of the L-word.

  He nods, looking down at me thoughtfully. “Thought you knew. I’ve loved you from the moment you smiled at me.”

  I don’t know whether to cry or smile. “Boone, I—” Somewhere across the room, my phone rings with Wynonna’s ringtone. “Oh, hell. I should get that.”

  Boone chuckles and begins to slide down my body, pressing hot kiss
es on my shoulder and then my breast. “Must you?”

  “It’s my sister—” I lose track of things when his lips close over my nipple and he drags his tongue over the tip. Oh god, it’s sinful how good that feels. He nips at my skin and toys with my breast as I cling to him, my hands in his hair, my phone going off endlessly. Wynonna can just leave me a voicemail. I’ll talk to her later. I’ll—

  There’s a moment of quiet, and then my phone starts to ring again. Wynonna. She’s not leaving a message. Damn it. Boone’s mouth is doing scorchingly delicious things to my breast, and I’m torn. The last thing I want to do is interrupt him. His teeth scrape over my nipple and his hand goes between my legs, and I forget all about the phone—

  Until it begins to ring for a third time.

  I groan aloud. My annoyance over my sister’s terrible timing is ebbing away and worry is taking its place. “I need to get that, Boone. If she’s not leaving a message, something’s wrong.”

  He shrugs, but when I tap his shoulder, he rolls to the side so I can get up. I cross the room and fish my phone out of my purse just as the next call comes through. “Hello? Wynonna?”

  “Reba?” My sister’s sobbing. “Where are you? I’ve been calling and calling!”

  “I’m visiting a friend,” I tell her, glancing over at the bed. Boone’s sprawled in the mess of damp covers, gazing at me with scorching eyes. “Is something wrong? Did you blow another tire?”

  “I went and visited D-D-D-Dad in Huntsv-v-ille,” she sobs.

  Oh god, was that today? I’m the worst sister. I’ve totally forgotten about it. I turn away from Boone, because I don’t want him to see the stress on my face. “Oh? And how was it?”

  “They denied him parole,” she wails.

  “Oh no. Why?” I keep my voice modulated and calm, though I’m secretly torn. Our father’s a deadbeat drunk and the last thing I want is him coming home to live with me and Wynonna again. But my sister adores him and is convinced that he’s innocent, and that when he comes home, we’ll be a family again.