Dirty Money

by Jessica Clare

  “Yes, ma’am.” He helps me slide them off my legs entirely, and then I’m bare from the waist down. He groans at the sight and puts his hands on my hips, tugging me toward him.

  I wrap my legs around his hips and reach for his belt. “Your turn.”

  He undoes his zipper and belt, and then shoves his pants down his hips. His cock thrusts out at me, thick and beautiful and gorgeous. It makes my mouth water just to look at it. I reach between us and stroke the head, beads of pre-cum wetting my fingers. “Condom?”

  Boone shakes his head. “Didn’t bring one. Didn’t hope for this.” His hand goes between my thighs and he rubs his thumb over my clit.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I tell him. “I’m committed if you are.”

  “Oh, I’m committed,” he tells me, and then drags one of the chairs over and sits down. The moment he does, he pulls me to the edge of the table and his face descends between my legs. “I won’t come inside you, Ivy. I want the time to be right for our family.”

  “Sounds good to me,” I breathe, and a moment later his mouth is on my pussy and I cry out, arching my hips because he’s not playing around today. This isn’t a gentle tease—this is an all-out assault with tongue and lips determined to make me come fast, and come hard. He strokes a finger into my core even as he sucks on my clit, and then kisses it. “Already wet as hell for me, baby.”

  “Always for you, Boone.”

  He groans and plants another kiss on my pussy, leaving me quivering and aching for more, and then gets to his feet again. A moment later, I feel the head of his cock pushing against my core, and then he’s seated inside me. He leans over me, his body pressing mine to the table. His hand fists in my hair and he kisses me, and then begins to slowly pump inside me.

  It feels incredibly wicked to be lying on a boardroom table in the place I used to work at, naked from the waist down and being fucked by my lover with no condom. I’m wet and underneath me the wooden table’s getting slippery, my hips moving across the table with every slam of Boone’s hips against mine. There’s something about the shamelessness of it that turns me on, and I moan and writhe under Boone’s heavy body as he pushes into me.

  “Come for me, baby,” he demands, and his hand goes to my breast. “Let me feel you squeezing tight around me.”

  Another moan escapes my throat, and I raise my hips to meet his next thrust. His fingers pinch my nipple hard, and I’m shocked at the tweak of pain—and the rush of pleasure that ripples through me in the next instant.

  “That’s right,” Boone drawls, watching me with heavy-lidded eyes. “You wiggle that ass for me, baby girl. Come for me.”

  And when he teases my nipple again, at the same time he pounds into me? I do come, and I come hard. I scream out his name, arching on the table.

  “Ivy,” he rasps, and then he pulls out of me. I watch, fascinated, as he takes his cock in hand, slick with the juices from my body, and strokes it hard. A few pumps and then he spatters my stomach with hot liquid, his eyes closed, face contorted with the force of his pleasure.

  I fight to catch my breath, panting, as he milks his cock over my belly and thighs. It’s obscene, filthy, and erotic all at once.

  “Damn,” he breathes when he’s finished. He opens his eyes and gazes down at me. “You are the most beautiful mess right now, covered in my cum.”

  I sit up on my elbows, giving him my best saucy look. “Want me to roll over and get your leavings all over the boss man’s table?”

  “You filthy little thing,” he says with a chuckle, and leans down to kiss me. “But then we’ll really have to burn the damn table.”

  I giggle, because it is filthy and I like the idea far too much. I’m turning into some sort of deviant around him . . . and I love it. “You still want to burn this place down?”

  “Unless you want it?”

  I shake my head. “I think it will make a lovely park.”

  His eyes gleam with amusement. “You wanna light the first match?”

  “Love to.” I sit up and he pulls off his shirt and begins to towel me off with it, a look of intense concentration on his face. He’s so tender and yet . . . I’m worried. “Boone?”

  “Hm?” He glances up at me.

  “Where do we go from here? You and me?”

  He finishes cleaning me off and tosses his shirt into a wastebasket, leaving me with a lovely view of nothing but deeply tanned muscle. He caresses my jaw and gazes at me thoughtfully. “Well, I thought tomorrow I’d rent out that helicopter again and find us another black-tie party to go crash. Because I still want to show my woman off.”

  There’s a lump in my throat. “There’s not much to show off, Boone.”

  He shakes his head. “That’s where you’re wrong, Ivy. I’d show you off because you’re the thing I’m the most proud of. You’re beautiful, and smart, and funny, and sexy, and way too good for a dumb roughneck like me. I’d show you off because all those other bastards would be insanely jealous they wouldn’t have an Ivy of their own. I want them all to be jealous of my fiancée.”

  “You’re the most wonderful, crazy man I’ve ever met, you know that?”

  Boone just grins at me. “Long as you love me, baby, I don’t care how crazy that makes me.”

  Epilogue

  There’s a lovely little park downtown now, where the Three Jacks office used to be.

  I like driving past it as I leave my own office, even though it’s several blocks out of the way. I just like seeing it, all sod and baby trees instead of the big glass doors, and Jack Jack’s Viper and Winky Jack’s stupid Lexus that he always parked in the handicap spot even though he wasn’t handicapped. But that’s all in the past. Three Jacks is gone, burned down in a blaze of glory. I’m told that one of the Jacks retired and the others are “working independently,” whatever that means. Don’t know, don’t care. I have my own business now. Price-Smithfield Real Estate is a tiny office, just big enough for me and Farah and an assistant. We don’t need more right now, but I’m hoping in the future we’ll expand to include more people.

  Well, after the baby comes, of course.

  I pat my rounded belly as I drive to the dorms to go visit my sister. I cried buckets when she left for college, but Boone thought it would be good for both of us. Wynonna could have a little independence, and I could have a lot more Boone-time without my sister hovering like a third wheel. I love my sister, but I also love my alone time with my new husband. Plus, it saves my sister an hour drive each way, which gives her more time to study.

  Two semesters in, and I can safely say that she’s loving college, and I’m loving the fact that she’s there and not living with me.

  Wynonna’s waiting at the curb for me when I pull up, and she jumps into my Town Car the moment it stops. “There you are! I thought you were going to be late again!”

  “Just taking the long, scenic route,” I tell her as I pull out onto the road again. I glance over at her, noting her braided, purple-dyed hair. Wynonna’s changed a lot since she went to college—she’s put on a bit of weight, dyed her hair every color imaginable, and has made a ton of friends. She’s no longer the sad-looking waif sitting on the trailer step. “You look good. Sushi for lunch okay?”

  “Sushi is always okay,” Wynonna gushes, and then she reaches over to pat my belly. “Look at how big you’re getting! How many weeks are you now?”

  “Thirty-two,” I tell her. “Not too much longer, now.” I rub my stomach and the baby kicks. “Boone’s already decorating the baby’s room. He’s so excited.”

  “He’s decorating?” she asks, surprised.

  “Well, hunting.” I grimace. “He’s dead set on the baby having a few, uh, trophies in his room. We’re discussing it.”

  “Oh, ewww. That’s gonna scare the baby.”

  “Or his mommy.”

  She laughs. “I guess you can take the redneck
out of the woods, but you can’t take the woods out of the redneck.” She fiddles with the radio for a moment, and then turns it off, deciding on silence. “How is that super hot brother of his?”

  “Which one?”

  Wynonna shrugs, staring out the window.

  “Clay?” I prompt. “He’s too old for you. Knox? Gage? Also too old for you. As for Seth? He’s the right age but he’s also lazy. The others are all taking a more active part in the family business, but Seth just wants to go get drunk.” I shake my head, because it’s something Boone has lamented about over and over again. “Only thing he’s good for is worming.”

  “Whatever that is.” She wrinkles her nose. “Speaking of, summer’s coming up. Can I stay in your guesthouse?”

  “Of course.” I look over at my sister, surprised. One of the selling points of the “modest” twelve-million-dollar ranch that Boone and I eventually bought was that it came with a deluxe guesthouse on the private lake, ideal for my sister or any other visitors. “You know you don’t have to ask.”

  “Can I bring a friend?” She wiggles her eyebrows at me. “Me and Stephanie want to hang out at the lake and work on our tans.”

  I shrug. “You’re an adult. As long as your grades are good, you can do as you please.”

  “You’re so mellow now,” Wynonna teases. “Is it the baby?”

  I smile dreamily into the traffic. “Sure.”

  In reality, the baby’s only a piece of it. It’s Boone. Boone and his endless, enthusiastic loving, his wild ideas, his boyish excitement over anything and everything. He’s changed my world in the short time that we’ve been married. I keep waiting for the fire between us to fade a bit, for us to get sick of each other, but we’re obsessed. I think we’re closer than ever before, with the baby on the way. He’s helped me get my business on its feet and I’ve encouraged him to take a more active role in his own business. We bring out the best in each other—and okay, sometimes the worst with our stubbornness—but we never go to bed without a round of dirty make-up sex that makes me forget what we argued about.

  Does he have crazy ideas? Sometimes.

  Okay, a lot of the time. Most people live inside the box, but for Boone, there is no box. That’s as exciting as it is frustrating, but it’s never boring.

  Actually, Boone is anything but boring. Just last night—

  “Oh, gross.” Wynonna wrinkles her nose. “You’re thinking about him again, aren’t you?”

  “Who?”

  “Your husband. You’ve got that dopey, lovesick look on your face like you always do when you’re thinking dirty thoughts about him.”

  I can feel myself blushing. “Is it a crime to be head over heels in love with your rich, sexy husband?”

  “I guess not,” Wynonna mutters. “Just . . . quit having sexy thoughts about him. Don’t make me toss my sushi, all right?”

  “I’ll try,” I say drily. My phone buzzes with an incoming text as I park the car and Wynonna hops out. I take one look at the screen . . . and my face gets scalding. I press it against my breast. “Why don’t you go get us a table and I’ll be in in a second?”

  She rolls her eyes, looking so much like a teenager. “So you two can sext? Seriously, Reba. That’s gross. You’re pregnant. Be all motherly!”

  “I’ll do my best,” I murmur as she heads into the restaurant. Then, when it’s safe, I peek at my phone screen again. My husband just sent me a dick pic and a text. Miss you. Show me ur stomach, baby girl.

  Ivy: Don’t most men just want to see a picture of their woman’s tits?

  Boone: Yeah, but I jerked off on those earlier this morning, so I’m pretty aware of what they look like.

  Ivy: You should know what my stomach looks like! It sticks out all over the place!

  Boone: Yeah, but this is my way of saying hi to my kid and to his gorgeous mom at the same time.

  Boone: I miss you.

  Boone: Been hours since I saw your face.

  I snap a photo for him, with my hand on my belly, and send it off.

  Ivy: Better?

  Boone: You get sexier every time I see you.

  Ivy: How’s Big Lake?

  Boone: Hittin’ pay dirt as usual. Seth’s fucking up on the rig. As usual.

  Ivy: So . . . a good day?

  Boone: Define good. I mean, my sexy little mama is in San Antonio and I’m three hours west. That’s not good by my standards.

  Ivy: You’ll be home tonight. I’ll make it up to you.

  Boone: Now we’re talking.

  Ivy: Don’t work too late, all right?

  Boone: Leaving the site in about an hour. I’ll be home to eat. And then we can have dinner, too.

  Months later, and the man still makes me blush like a schoolgirl.

  Ivy: You’re bad.

  Boone: I know. But my beard misses your pussy. Rest of me, too, but especially my beard.

  Ivy: My pussy will make it up to him, then.

  Boone: My beard likes hearing that.

  A hand knocks on the window of the car, and Wynonna gives me an exasperated look.

  “I’m coming,” I call out at her, texting fast. God, caught red-handed. I’d be a little embarrassed except . . . Boone is amazing. I’m the luckiest woman alive to have him.

  Ivy: I have to go eat lunch w/Wynonna. Love you! See you in a few hours.

  Boone: Love you too, baby. Send me dirty pix if you get a chance.

  I laugh as I get out of the car, ignoring the squicked-out look on my little sister’s face. Boone’s going to have to wait a while for the dirty pictures. But he’ll get them, just like he got me, and the baby, and the house of our dreams.

  I’ve never been able to refuse that man anything.

  Keep reading for a preview of the next novel in the Roughneck Billionaires series

  DIRTY SCOUNDREL

  Coming soon from InterMix

  Clay

  My brother Boone doesn’t even give me a decent greeting when I knock on his door. Normally I’d comment about how the heavy wood double doors to his new ranch mansion are bigger than my trailer, but I don’t feel much like laughing today. Instead, I’ve got a cold knot in my gut that’s been there for days and feels like it’s growing larger by the moment. It grows any bigger and I’m gonna start looking like delicate Ivy, all ponytail and belly.

  Well, ’cept for the ponytail, I guess.

  Boone just eyes me as he opens the door. He’s silent, too. My brother usually has something to say about everything, but maybe he’s got the same knot in his gut I do. He eyes my clothing, noting my best jeans and the only long-sleeved white shirt I own, which has also sat in the back of my closet since the last funeral I went to. It’s tight around the chest and neck, but fuck it. Ain’t nobody gonna give a shit today. I glance down at my boots, but the heavy rain today is washing away any dirt I have on them. I’m mostly presentable. Mostly.

  My brother isn’t happy, though. He just shakes his head. “No jacket?”

  Another smart-ass comment rises to my mind but I bite it back, too. Doesn’t seem right to joke, even if that’s my natural instinct. Not today. “Nah. Don’t have one.”

  He grunts. “Seems like none of my brothers do. But Ivy wants everyone in jackets, so come in. You can borrow one of mine.”

  My brother’s been married for almost a year now, and his new wife has pretty much turned him upside down. New house, new clothes, looking at investments, you name it. What Ivy wants, Ivy gets. It’s a good thing Ivy’s the sweetest girl and doesn’t have a gold-digging bone in her body, because Boone’s absolutely batshit crazy for her and would give her his fortune if it’d make her smile. It’s kinda cute, in a henpecked sort of way. “Ivy dressing everyone?”

  My brother just arches an eyebrow at me. I ain’t wrong, I bet to myself as I shake off the rain in the echoing foyer. When
I don’t drip on the marble flooring, I step forward and follow Boone into the downstairs living area. Sure enough, Ivy’s there, running a lint-brush over Seth’s borrowed jacket. Gage is seated on a nearby chair dressed to the nines in some Gucci or Armani shit, but he’s the only one out of all of us. Knox is nearby wearing another one of Boone’s jackets, but the way he’s adjusting the collar, I imagine he’s deciding whether or not to five-finger it home. Doesn’t matter that Knox is as rich as the rest of us—he likes to lift things. Dunno why. No one knows what’s going on in Knox’s head.

  Ivy takes one look at me and hurries over with her lint brush. “Clay, you’re not dressed.” Her brow wrinkles and she looks unhappy, studying my appearance. “We’ll have to get you one of Boone’s jackets.”

  “Eddie wouldn’t care,” I tell her, trying to smile. “He’s an old roughneck, through and through. I doubt he even owned a dress shirt. Wouldn’t expect me to own one.”

  “I care,” Ivy says, ignoring everything I say. “And his widow will care. And his children will care. It’s important, Clay.” She speaks to me like I’m a child but it just rolls off my back. Ivy is a little fussy about appearances but she means well, and she wants us to look right for this. And even though every one of us Price brothers knows Eddie Murteen wouldn’t give two shits what we wore to his funeral, it’s important to Ivy that we are respectable when we pay our last respects.

  So I shrug and put my arms out. “Come dress your Ken Doll, Barbie.”

  She thwacks me with the lint brush as I grin. Guess I got a bit of spark left in me, after all.

  I jacket up, and Ivy fusses with my hair, removing my favorite baseball cap and wetting and combing down my flyaways like a kid. I just let her fuss. Ivy’s the only female in our lives, so I figure she knows more about this sorta thing than we do. I glance down at her big belly and the tented black dress she’s wearing. “Junior’s getting big.”

  “His name won’t be Junior.”

  “Mason, then. That’s a good name.”