Down and Dirty

by Christine Bell

  Still nothing. Sweet.

  The rush of victory and adrenaline coursed through her, and she rolled closer, absorbing his heat, until she was pressed flush against his broad back. Her nipples peaked instantly, and she plastered herself closer, relishing the sensation. Damn, he was big. Bigger than she’d remembered. Shane shifted restlessly, slinging his muscular arm back to cup her ass and tug her more firmly against him. A low, male groan of approval followed, and he gave her bottom a squeeze.

  A quiver of awareness snaked through her at his confident touch. Such a small thing, but for some reason it terrified her. What if they really were that good together?

  She drew away, the sense of foreboding from earlier returning with a vengeance, but that hard, male hand slid down the back of her thigh and up again to cup her ass, derailing her thoughts. She wrapped her arm around his waist and traced her fingers over his six-pack abs, half-wishing she’d had the balls to turn on the lights so she could get a look at them. His stomach tensed beneath her questing hand, and she let her fingers trail lower, over the narrow strip of hair leading downward. When she hit his underwear and found the broad head of his cock distended past the waistband, her heart hammered double-time. She ran her thumb over the silken skin and swallowed a moan. He felt so good. It was almost enough to make her rush things and jump right on him.

  Almost.

  She slipped her hand beneath the cotton and closed it over his long, thick shaft, not bothering to hide her murmur of approval. Big and hard all over. This decision was looking better by the minute. Shane shifted his hips, arching more fully into her grasp.

  His muttered “Fuck, yeah,” made her want to collapse with relief, so different from the “No, Cat. We have to stop” from last time. The hand on her ass massaged her, urging her to grind against his back. Tingles radiated from between her thighs, and she couldn’t help but pulse her hips in response, suddenly aching for more pressure. She stroked him once from base to tip, light and teasing, and he groaned, his voice gravelly with sleep and need.

  Then, a second later, she found herself flat on her back and he was going down, down…

  …

  Cat.

  Shane’s whole body cranked to eleven, and hot blood pumped to his cock as her warm scent assailed him. Lush, spicy, and a little wild, like oranges and the Orient. That soft, supple body he’d imagined his hands all over a thousand times pressed against him. With a dream this hot, he would kill any motherfucker who dared wake him. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d invaded his sleep. It would, however, be the most vivid. So vivid, almost—

  His dream temptress arched against him then, and his brain short-circuited when his lips brushed a lace-covered nipple. He drew the stiff peak into his mouth and she bowed her back, purring low in her throat. He trailed his hand over her rib cage, down the flat expanse of her stomach until he reached the tiny scrap of silk covering her wet heat. Her whispered pleas spurred him on and he yanked, the cloth coming away in his hand. He tossed it aside and released her nipple to press sucking kisses down her side, desperate to taste what he’d uncovered. When he reached her hip, he couldn’t resist the full curve and nipped her sharply with his teeth. Her cry was one of pleasure, and he groaned, torn between the need to explore her some more and the need to feel her come against his mouth.

  He slipped a hand between her thighs and the decision was made. The skin was like satin, with only a thin strip of down covering her. Her plumped clit pouted against the heel of his palm, and he pressed in, rewarded by a rush of heat and her moan. His cock jerked, and he slid farther down the bed to kiss her there. She was stock-still beneath him except for her thighs trembling. He settled in closer to run his tongue up her slick crease. When he reached her clit, he closed his lips over it and rubbed rhythmically with his tongue.

  “Oh my God,” she groaned, quivering against him, legs falling open wide. He tested her readiness, then slid two fingers deep, pressing them into her wet warmth. She arched toward him, hips pulsing restlessly.

  “Deeper,” she begged.

  Her request made his cock surge and he complied, sliding deeper, working in and out in a slow, steady rhythm, all the while sucking, licking, reveling in her taste. She thrust her hips up, grinding against his face as he increased the pressure of his mouth. He went at her with a ravenous hunger, driven to consume, until she writhed beneath him frantically. It felt like forever and no time at all when, dimly, he heard her broken cries, and she tensed.

  “Please, stay with me,” she moaned, holding him tight to her pussy as she pulsed and twitched against his mouth. Her sweet, hot juices bathed his tongue, and he couldn’t contain his growl of satisfaction. If he didn’t get inside her in the next thirty seconds, he was going to explode. When her thighs relaxed, he didn’t waste a second, yanking off his boxers and covering her still trembling body with his own.

  She pressed him back with a staying hand and stretched toward the bedside table. “Condom,” she murmured breathlessly.

  The word hit him like a locomotive.

  Condom.

  In the dozens—no, hundreds—of sex dreams he’d had in his life starring Cat, not a single one had ever involved a condom. The scrape of lace as she wriggled against his chest penetrated the sensual fog and sent another warning signal blaring. He enjoyed sexy bras as much as the next guy, but his fantasies almost exclusively featured Cat buck naked.

  Total exhaustion had left him addled, but it was clear now. This was the real deal. Cat Thomas, wet and wanting, thighs spread wide under him, was waiting for him to slide home and make her scream. He didn’t know what had changed her mind about him, but it was about fucking time.

  In the utter blackness, on the precipice of fantasy becoming reality, every sound seemed amplified. The tear of foil, his own heaving breaths as her sure fingers worked the condom over his cock, her gasp as he tipped his hips forward, testing her readiness.

  “Yess,” she hissed, clutching at his hips, dragging him deeper, inch by inch. “I want it all.”

  The need was so keen it made him dizzy, and he gave up the fight, filling her tight sheath in one sure thrust. Deep, so deep she whimpered against his shoulder, and he started to pull back. Dial down the intensity. She was so small, and he—

  Her teeth clamped down hard on his shoulder, and her nails dug into his lower back, urging him on. Begging him wordlessly not to stop.

  She dropped her head back to the pillow and pulsed her hips against his, faster and faster. “I’m so close. Just…”

  He’d wanted to tease, to play, to cool her back down only to fan those flames even higher, but he was so far gone. She whispered another plea, but it came on a hiccup, and he froze, buried deep in her clutching heat, primed for release. His breath sawed in and out of his lungs with the effort of his restraint. He peered at the clock. Almost 4:00 a.m. Had she been drinking this whole time? “Cat, I—”

  “Don’t.” Her tone was high and reedy, ripe with want. “Don’t you dare. Fucking. Stop.” She strained against him, wild and desperate for something only he could provide.

  He tried to think clearly, to fight off the instinct to propel them both into oblivion. Then her body squeezed over him, sucking at him, luring him toward an orgasm he could no more deny her than he could himself, and all coherent thought ceased. Blood roaring in his ears, he pulled back and plunged forward again, gripping her hips tight, the pressure of his own release clawing at him like a beast demanding satisfaction.

  “Yeah, yeah, just like that,” she chanted, stretching beneath him, her whole body tensing.

  Just like that. It was all so fucking perfect. But did she even know what she was doing or who she was with?

  “Say my name.” His voice was raw and low. “Say it, Cat,” he demanded, snapping his hips against hers in steady, hard thrusts. “You know it’s me, so fucking say it.”

  Her head tossed on the pillow and she moaned, “Damn, ah, Shane! I—I—oh God.” Her body clasped him tight and fluttered, clutchin
g and releasing as she came hard around his cock.

  Triumph coursed through him, sending him hurtling over the edge, and his body bucked, hot liquid pooling in his balls before pumping into her. Her body milked him dry, the waves of ecstasy leaving him shuddering. For a long moment, he stayed poised over her, his pulse pounding so loud it was a wonder he could hear anything else. Because he’d just had sex with Cat Thomas. And it had been damned good. Excellent, really. But something told him that things were about to go downhill fast.

  He rolled to the side to take care of the condom, and before he could roll back, she’d sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Soldiering through the stab in his gut at her rush to get away from him, he kept his voice low.

  “So that’s it? You going to run now, Cat?”

  Chapter Three

  Hells yeah, she was going to run. Shane had just turned her ass upside down, and her head was reeling. The whole have-sex-to-get-him-out-of-her-system plan had failed miserably. She should have known better. She’d read her fair share of romance novels, and none of that shit ever worked out the way it was supposed to. But she’d prided herself on not being one of those women.

  Yet here she was.

  She stood in the darkness and willed her shaky legs to move. She had to get away from him before she said or did something even stupider than she’d already done. After taking a few slow breaths to steady herself, she spoke. “I’m not running. I’m just going to take a hot shower, change into my pajamas, and get into my own bed. That’s hardly running.” The iciness she’d injected into her response didn’t have quite the bite she’d hoped since her voice was still a bit shaky from the smoking-hot sex they’d just had, but she pressed on. “Is that a problem?”

  “Nope. Not once we’ve finished our little talk.” The mattress squeaked, and a second later the bedside lamp flickered on. She flinched at the sudden brightness.

  “Jesus, warn somebody before you do that.” She felt blindly around for the sheets and held an armload in front of her, the modesty feeling a little foolish since he’d been inside her less than a minute before. She backed her way toward the corner of the room where her clothes lay on the floor.

  Through her squinted eyes she could see him, reclined on the bed, naked and watching her. “Can you close your eyes, please?” she groaned, more annoyed at herself for staring at those glorious shoulders than she was at him.

  He did as she asked. She tugged on her blouse and wrapped the sheet around her like a skirt. “Okay, you can open them.”

  “I’m pretty sure I get it, but you want to tell me what just happened here?” he asked, crossing his thick arms over his chest. The motion drew her gaze to the black Japanese symbol on his shoulder, and she again found herself struggling for words. She wouldn’t have figured boring Shane for a tattoo guy. Although, she wouldn’t have figured him for the kind of guy who had just done…that with her, either. If she’d known it would be so primal, she never would have done it.

  Damn it, Shane, you were supposed to bore me.

  “I just figured it was time to get it over with, you know? Things have been weird between us since that night at the lake, and I’m sick of it. I thought maybe if we slept together it would take the mystery and intrigue out of it all and we could go back to being friends…or whatever we were.”

  His blue eyes lasered into hers, and Cat felt compelled to say more.

  “Plus, Lacey kind of dared me…” Jesus, on top of that being totally out of context, it sounded so frigging lame. “It felt like the thing to do at the time. Especially after a few drinks.”

  He cocked his head to the side, and let out a short laugh. “So you’re telling me you were drunk? Because you seem pretty coherent now.”

  “At first I was,” she amended flatly. But was that even the truth? From the second she’d gotten close enough to smell him, to feel the heat coming from his body, she’d been as sober as a funeral director. She could have changed her mind then, just as she’d almost done on the way up. But instinct and the need to get closer and explore the electricity arcing between them had overridden the warning bells jangling off in the distance the entire time.

  “And then?” he pressed, unrelenting.

  There was the question. The one she didn’t want to answer—not out loud, anyway—and he saved her from having to.

  “And then you did what you wanted, regardless of the consequences, just like you always do.” His gaze was as intense as she’d ever seen it, and she shivered. “Are you happy now, Mary Catherine?”

  Hell if that didn’t make her sound like the spoiled little brat he’d called her back at the lake that night. But he didn’t know the half of it. That it wasn’t just his refusal that had haunted her. It was him. Everything about him. Exasperated, she ran a hand through her hair. “Look, I’m done discussing this. We did it. It’s over and I, for one, would like to pretend it never happened.”

  “You can do that if you like.” He rolled off the bed and padded toward her, completely unconcerned about his nakedness or the fact that, in spite of their recent activities, his body hadn’t gotten the memo that they were done. “But I’ll tell you one thing. I’m definitely not going to pretend it never happened. On the contrary, I’m going to think about it every day when I wake up, and every night when I go to sleep, and probably at various points in between.”

  He stopped two feet in front of her, and the breath froze in her throat as she craned her neck to look at him. God, he was gorgeous, and the gaze that had left her feeling so exposed only made her feel more so now. He brushed a curl back from her face with a gentle finger.

  “Want to know something else?”

  She shook her head no, but his lips tilted in a mocking smile and he continued anyway. “I’m going to put in some real thought about how to make that”—he tipped his head toward the bed—“happen again, real soon. Because in spite of your actions, you’re grown now. It’s open season, and you’re fair game.”

  She swallowed hard and cleared her tight throat. “Yeah, well, don’t hold your breath. I’m not interested. Besides, my brother loves you and all, but he won’t like us being each other’s booty call.”

  “Who said anything about booty calls? I can get laid anytime. I’m talking about me and you, together.” He cupped her cheek and bent low toward her, until she could feel his warm breath on her lips.

  Her eyes started to drift closed of their own volition, and his mouth brushed hers lightly as he spoke. “You liked what we did, didn’t you, Mary Catherine?” His voice was low, hypnotic, and it made her insides quiver as surely as any touch.

  “The way our bodies fit together, nice and tight.” He closed his teeth over her bottom lip, and she whimpered. “The way my mouth felt on you. God, I can still taste it. So fucking good.”

  The groan sounded as if it was ripped out of him, and her nipples pebbled in response. The heat of his body called to her, overruling common sense. She leaned forward to press closer, to grind her hips to his and release the sudden tension building deep inside her, but he abruptly stepped back. Her eyes snapped open, and before she could formulate a response, he turned and headed toward the bed, the muscles in his back rolling and bunching with each step. She hesitated, still mesmerized, for a second too long and he turned back, catching her. “See something you like?”

  She swallowed hard and wet her lips but couldn’t conjure a response.

  “If you changed your mind about running,” he drawled, a challenging brow raised, “we can get right back into this bed. Or the shower. Or on that dresser, if you’re feeling up to it.”

  Feeling up to it? What a joke. She was dying inside, and he didn’t even know it. No one knew how she’d felt that night at the lake, not even Lacey. Hell, who was she kidding? Even with all her teenage fantasies, she couldn’t have guessed how perfect their chemistry was going to be until she’d gone and opened up Pandora’s box. And now it was too damned late to do anything about it.

  She clutched the
sheet tighter, twisting the linen as she stared at him, willing the voice of reason to scream with some advice she could use, but that fucker was as quiet as a laryngitis patient. She cleared her throat to say something, anything, but all that came out was air.

  Was he grinning? Oh, hell no. He wasn’t going to treat her like a child who amused him again. That thought straightened her spine, and she was grateful for the anger that quickly replaced her confusion. “Just so we’re clear here. There is no me and you in that bed or shower or on the dresser even. We had sex. Period. Over. Done.”

  He hiked a dark brow at her, and she hiked one right back.

  “Besides, it isn’t like we’d make a good couple or something.”

  “You’re right about that. I only have relationships with grown-ups,” he said flatly, scooping his clothes off the floor. “Run away, little kitten. And don’t be afraid, I’ll be gone when you come out.”

  …

  “You did what?” Lacey expressive face was lit up with an array of emotions ranging from shock to excitement.

  They sat across from each other in Lacey’s cozy, country-style kitchen and Cat debated exactly how much to tell her. They’d gotten back from Atlantic City the day before, and Cat had managed to put off spilling the story until now, with the excuse that Galen had been around every time she’d seen her. Now, with Galen out picking up the sandwiches for tonight’s football game, it was just the two of them, and she hadn’t been able to put it off any longer.

  Cat slumped forward onto the smooth butcher-block island, cradled her head in her hands, and nodded. “Yes. Although ‘slept with’ is a misnomer. And worse? It was good.”

  “Boring, serious Shane, huh?”

  “Do you have to sound so frigging giddy about it?” she groaned.

  “Sorry. It’s just…wait, so how come you’re not giddy about it if it was so great?” Her excitement dimmed some and Cat felt a little better that she was taking this more seriously. Lacey pushed her stool away from the island and stood. “You still haven’t told me how you guys left things or what you said to him afterward.” She crossed the room to the refrigerator and pulled out Tupperware containers, setting them on the counter.

  What had she said to him afterward? Not much, before she’d stomped off into the bathroom and he’d left. That still burned her ass. He’d tossed down the gauntlet, asking her if she was going to woman-up and work through what happened like an adult, or if she was going to run away and hide, and she’d done exactly that.

  Wimp.

  Now how was she supposed to save face, especially after his parting shot, when she’d behaved exactly like the child he’d accused her of being? That her actions were born of fear and self-preservation didn’t absolve her. For a split second, she reconsidered committing to the whole drunk thing, but the thought shamed her before it was even fully formed. Making like some wilting daisy he’d taken advantage of somehow? That wasn’t her. Sure, he could’ve spoken up, been the voice of reason, but he’d been asleep and all but molested. And he did try to stop at one point at the end. The fact that he’d given her what she’d begged for was hardly grounds for her disdain. There had to have been a time in there somewhere when they both could—and should—have stopped. But they’d willfully ignored it, the pleasure so keen, it clearly would have taken a person far stronger than either of them to manage it.

  Explaining that to Lacey was going to be the dicey part. She’d already been nagging her lately about her commitment issues, and Cat knew if Lacey got wind of the fact that Shane had admitted to wanting more, she was going to get all up in her grill about fixing them up for real. Nothing would make her happier than to have them all settled in, right and tight, as a happy little foursome. Double dating, sharing recipes, making quilts…or worse, making babies. Together forever. And ever. And ever. Like her parents.

  Ugh.

  She loved them dearly, and while they both seemed content with their lot, her mother had given up a promising career as a concert violinist, moving from New York City to Rhode Island when Cat’s father had been transferred. Once Galen was born, she’d made the decision to be a full-time mother and wife. At various points over the years, when times were lean, she’d made extra money teaching snobby fourth-graders their scales, but for the majority of Cat’s life, her Stradivarius had remained in its case on a shelf in the study, like a rectangular urn full of dreams turned to ash. Every so often, Cat would catch her mother standing in front of it, trailing a loving finger over the worn leather with a wistful smile.

  Panic trickled down her neck, settling at the base of her spine like a parasite. She broke eye contact, instead focusing on the lemon-yellow walls of the kitchen. Odd how the color that usually cheered her made her want to hiss like a vampire faced with daylight. When she looked at Lacey again, her friend’s arms were crossed as she waited for a response.

  Time to bob and weave. “I, uh, I don’t really think much was said afterward. Hell, I don’t even know how it happened in the first place. Before I had a chance to second-guess myself, it was to the point of no return, if you know what I mean.” She waggled her brows in a move meant to add levity as well as to fluster her reserved friend, but it didn’t work. Lacey eyed her speculatively.

  “So you mean to tell me, the first time you guys are together, and—by your own admission—within a very short period of time, there was a ‘point of no return’ for you? That’s pretty spectacular out of him, no? Psychic high five to Shane.” She swung her hand in the air to mimic the gesture and frowned. “So why do you look less than impressed?”

  “Well, first off, we don’t even like each other. I mean, he all but told me I was immature, and I flat-out told him he wasn’t my type. I live life on the edge, I like spontaneity and fun. He likes…whatever the opposite of that is.”

  Lacey glared at her. “Does that description remind you of anyone else you know?”

  Belatedly, Cat recalled that Lacey was made from a similar mold, and the two of them had been best friends since grade school in spite of the fact that they were polar opposites. “Yes, but at least you let me do me. He was like my self-appointed guard dog after Galen left. Do you know how many times he ruined my fun that year? I can’t have someone thinking they’re going to control me.

  “Plus,” Cat said, ticking off on her fingers as if there were so many things wrong with the idea of the two of them together, they required counting, “say things did get serious.” Never. Gonna. Happen. “He lives halfway across the country. My job isn’t something I can just up and leave. I’ve worked too hard to get where I am to walk away now. Not to mention, I’ve heard him say more than once that he wants a big family. I don’t want babies at all. Talk about cramping my style,” she added with a snort.

  Lacey’s tone went soft and wistful. “But they smell so good. That sweet baby scent. And those chubby little wrists and ankles.” She turned to face Cat, eyes brimming with sudden, unshed tears. “I can’t imagine not wanting one.”

  “Jesus, why are you crying? Did something happen?” Dread formed a knot in her stomach, and her own mini-drama took a backseat. She stood to take her friend’s hand.