Dirty Little Secret

by Amber Rides

“I do not!” I said again, this time more loudly.

  “I took a picture. You wanna see?” He held his phone up.

  “Give me that.”

  He stood up and waved the phone around. “Come and get it.”

  “We’re seriously going to do this? You took a picture of me sleeping!”

  “In the nude,” he added.

  “Goddammit, Cutter!”

  I grabbed a sheet from the bed, wrapped it around my body, and dove toward him. He sidestepped me easily. I stumbled, but recovered quickly and went after him again. As I lunged for the phone, the sheet slipped, and I was forced to pause and adjust it. Cutter laughed, then moved out of my reach, holding the phone above his head.

  “Now you’re giggling?” I asked mockingly.

  He shot me a dirty look. “I’m not fucking giggling. I’m a man.”

  “Prove it,” I challenged, and dropped the sheet.

  His Adam’s apple moved up and down as his gaze travelled the length of my body. For a second, I thought he was going to take the bait. His arm dropped halfway to his side, and he took a step toward me. Just as a triumphant smile tipped up the corners of my mouth, Cutter held the phone out, and with a click and a flash, I knew he’d just taken another photo. Another nude photo.

  I leapt at him, throwing my full weight into the effort. I knocked him to the couch, and finally got a grip on the phone.

  “Aha!” I called out.

  “Aha indeed,” Cutter replied.

  He let the phone go easily. He was no longer fighting me off, either, and after only a second, I clued in. I was lying on top of him. Naked. The fabric of his dress pants rubbed me pleasantly in all the right places. It was hard to ignore the way it made my insides light up.

  “Did you sleep in your tie?” I asked as lightly as I could manage.

  “Yes.” His voice was husky.

  “I think I need to even the playing field a little.”

  “Hmm.” The throaty noise made his chest vibrate underneath me, and goose bumps rose all along my body in response.

  I sat up, amazed that I felt utterly un-self-conscious as Cutter eyed my exposed breasts hungrily. If anything, his desire - apparent in his face and in the increasing hardness pressed against my inner thigh – made me feel powerful.

  What a difference between him and Danny, I thought, then wished I hadn’t. I wanted to forget about him. I wanted to lose myself in Cutter.

  I dropped the phone on the floor and loosened his tie. I worked the knot open, then slid my fingers between top two buttons of his shirt and popped them open, too. The first glimpse of his strong, exposed collarbone sent a jolt of heat straight from my stomach, then down between my legs. Unconsciously, I thrust my hips forward. Our moans were simultaneous, though mine was followed by a little gasp, and his by a growl.

  Cutter gripped my hips, looked me in the eye, and flipped me over so that he was on top. He pressed himself, long, hard, and exquisitely sexy, between my legs. His mouth found my throat, while his hands found and cupped my rear end. My hips rose to meet him, then stopped. I could feel every inch of him, but it wasn’t enough. He was still wearing his pants. Why the hell was he still wearing pants? I dragged a hand down to his belt, desperate to have all of him.

  “No way,” he murmured into my neck.

  “Please, Cutter.” I was begging, and I didn’t care.

  He grabbed my hand, which was still fumbling with the belt buckle, and forced it above my head. When I tried to go after him with my other hand, he took a hold of that one too, and brought my wrists together. I couldn’t move. Cutter was deadly strong.

  He ground against me in a slow circle, first one way, and then the other. I bit my lip. A few more passes like that, and I was going to burst.

  “He’s still in there, stuck in your head,” he told me roughly. “You’re not ready for me.”

  Oh, God.

  I couldn’t form a proper sentence. I wanted to deny his first statement and couldn’t – I had just thought of Danny, after all. But I was so ready for Cutter.

  “So fucking ready,” I gasped.

  He chuckled. “I don’t mean like that, baby-doll.”

  I thought he was going to pull away, but as he spoke, the hand he still had splayed out over my backside slipped forward and found a tender spot, just outside my pussy. He stroked it slowly, making me squirm, trying to pull his fingers into me. He didn’t comply. Instead, he took his hand away and thrust his still-covered body into me.

  “Can you tell how ready I am?” he asked roughly.

  I could. Every hard inch of him teased me.

  He circled with his hips again and again, driving himself against me. Heat built up between my legs and any second, I was going to have to give in to the heady sensation. I wouldn’t have a choice. It was too. Fucking. Good.

  Cutter leaned down, found my breasts with his mouth, nipping at first one, then the other. Each little taste shot desire through me. My body throbbed with longing, to the point that it was almost unbearable.

  “Cutter…I want you,” I said, and the ache was clear, even in my voice.

  “I know you do,” he murmured.

  “Cutter,” I said again, this time a moan.

  His hand crept between us, between my legs, and he cupped me in a way that made me writhe against him.

  “You want this?”

  “Yes!”

  One of his fingers thrust inside me, while the rest held firm just outside. At the same time, he rolled his erection over me, and over his hand.

  “How’s that, baby-doll?”

  “Fuck, Cutter!” I groaned.

  “Almost,” he teased.

  Then he was done talking.

  Up and down, he moved his hips rhythmically, sensually, while his finger held its place in my pussy. I moved with him, rising to meet each push, with my pulse racing through every part of my body. In a crescendo that somehow couldn’t come fast enough but was still too soon, stars pricked my eyes, and my muscles contracted, and the spring that I had become released, and my world exploded.

  Cutter collapsed against me and exhaled my name almost reverently.

  “Melissa.”

  We rolled so we were facing each other, Cutter gripping me tightly so I wouldn’t roll off the edge of the couch. We stayed there, his fully clothed body wrapped around my naked one, and my head buried in his strong shoulder, for several minutes. He finally pulled back a little to meet my gaze.

  I stared into his eyes, taking in the light blue rim around the pupils that deepened and darkened as it got further out, right to the edges of his whites, where the irises became dark-as-night curves. They were the most amazing eyes I’d ever seen.

  I could look at them forever. I blushed at the thought, but couldn’t turn away.

  His hand found my chin, and he tipped it up to give me a soft, teasing kiss.

  “How was that for you, baby-doll?”

  There was no sense in lying. “Amazing.”

  He grinned a slow, lazy, to-die-for grin. “Imagine how it would be if I was naked, too.”

  “What do you think I was doing the whole time?” I replied, shooting him my own lopsided smile.

  His eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to say something, but then my stomach growled and he laughed instead.

  “Hungry?” he teased. “’Cause there are a few more subtle way to say so.”

  “Shut up. I haven’t eaten since breakfast yesterday. I was supposed to have dinner, but –“ I bit back the rest of my sentence.

  Cutter frowned, and I knew he must’ve picked up on the fact that I’d been about to mention Danny.

  “I could eat,” I said lamely, trying to fill the uncomfortable pause.

  “Me, too.” He nibbled on my shoulder, then nipped it sharply.

  “Hey! Is that your idea of subtle?”

  “I didn’t say I was subtle. I said you could be.”

  Cutter grabbed my knee, which was still hooked over his hip, and when he leaned forward t
o bite my lip, I felt his erection push into me once again.

  Shit. Didn’t he…? My thoughts trailed off as his eyes met mine, and a niggling bit of doubt crept into my mind. Maybe that wasn’t enough for a man like him. I mean, why would it be? Big, bad, Cutter Lane might need more than a dry hump to get him off.

  “Don’t worry, baby-doll,” he said, and raised an eyebrow knowingly, amusement clear in his gaze, as if he could read me perfectly. “The appetizer was fully satisfying. I’ll be having to go commando for the rest of the day. I just wanted you to know that I’ll be up for the main course before too long.” He grinned and hopped up. “I’m gonna grab a quick shower before I go get us some muffins from the coffee shop downstairs, okay?”

  He disappeared into the bathroom, and for some reason, I was dumbfounded. That beautiful, sex-on-legs man was going to buy me a muffin.

  CUTTER

  I whistled as I waited for the elevator.

  For the second time in recent memory, I actually fucking whistled.

  Even when I clamped my lips shut, my mouth wanted to curl up in a stupid-ass grin.

  Last night, I didn’t think I was going to be able to get to sleep. Not with the thoughts and memories wreaking havoc on my conscience. Melissa’s body, somehow tight and soft at the same time, felt right and good. Almost too much so. She’d fallen asleep hours before me, her head tucked into the crook of my arm, her hair spread across my chest. As she breathed in and out, I wondered for the hundredth time or so why it didn’t feel funny to have a girl like her in my bed and not trying to think of a way to kick her out. When a cool breeze wafted through the room, and I shifted a little to cover us both up, she shifted with me, like we were one person instead of two, like it was easy for her to fall into the rhythm of us.

  Us.

  For some reason, that one little word sent a powerful wave of want straight to my groin. I’d had to shift for a second time then, out of necessity. One day, I knew I’d want to wake her up by the sheer force of my desire, but at that moment I wanted to let her sleep. I smiled to myself. And this morning…Well. I wanted to do that again, pretty damned soon.

  Imagine that. Cutter Fucking Lane, making plans that involve more than a one-night stand. And how the fuck do you feel about that, by the way?

  If my mood was any indication, I felt damned fine about it.

  I stepped into the elevator, pressed the button for the lobby, and stubbornly refused to shy away from my emotions.

  I’d been honest with Melissa. More honest than I’d been with anyone, including myself, in a long time. Given the opportunity, I might even tell her more. At least about Fiona and Josh, and my dad, and all the things in between. Maybe even Brandy, and ultimately the cuff on my ankle that made me a little gun-shy when it came to stripping down. I mean, I would have to divulge that little tidbit before we got naked together. She wasn’t the kind of girl who didn’t notice if you kept your pants hooked around your feet when you were fucking her. In fact, I wasn’t even sure she was the kind of girl you could just fuck. Something told me she needed more. Or deserved more.

  I thought about her face, tilted back and filled with pleasure as she touched herself. I thought about how she cried out this morning when I ground into her. That was what she deserved, that look of abandon and that expression of ecstasy and satisfaction. Goddamn, how I wanted to give it to her myself, over and over. Blood rushed to my cock once again.

  The elevator opened, and I was glad I’d made it all the way to the first floor without company. I lined up at the coffee shop, debating on what kind of muffin Melissa would prefer. It only took me a second to decide that she would probably order the apple bran because she thought she should. Only, I didn’t want her to have apple bran. I didn’t want her to have what she should have. I wanted her to have something darker. Something far more meta-fucking-phorically delicious.

  “Double chocolate chip,” I told the girl behind the counter. “With extra butter.”

  My amused grin faded as I grabbed my bag of muffins, and pressed my change into my suit jacket pocket. The check from Judge Stover was crumpled up inside, and as my hand brushed against it, guilt tickled my brain. I’d all but forgotten about her until that moment. I squeezed the paper between my fingers, resenting it, hating it, and damning it. I stomped back toward the elevator, slammed the up button furiously, and waited as the numbers above the door counted down, one floor at a time.

  Fuck the dark secrets of my past, I thought suddenly.

  Fuck Fiona and her mess of a life, and fuck the truth of my selfishness, too. I’d tell Melissa all of it, every part, if I had to. But there was no way in hell I’d be the one to share the fact that her mother had paid me to keep my dick in my pants.

  Maybe you won’t have to tell her.

  After all, Melissa’s late-night confession did provide me with the perfect shield against Joan Stover. Or the perfect ammunition, if I wanted to go that route. The uptight judge’s real daughter had an illegitimate daughter, and she’d obviously worked pretty fucking hard to cover it up.

  It wasn’t a big deal, in the regular world. In the judge’s world, though, full of black and white, wrong and right, it was damning. How many people could possibly know? Just Melissa’s grandfather, pretending to be her father, and Melissa’s mother, pretending to be her sister.

  My mind flickered to her biological father, who she said had died in jail.

  A little too close to home, I thought.

  She said the judge called him an idiot, but Melissa didn’t sound so sure about the conclusion herself. My mouth twisted a little anyway – after all, I was the same kind of idiot - and I shoved down my worries.

  I’d throw all my cards on the table for Melissa. Now. If she still wanted double-chocolate-chip me when I was done…Well. I’d confront Judge fucking Stover, too.

  Making the decision was all it took to ease my conscience, and for just a second, that made me smile again. It had been a long time since I’d been led around by my heart rather than my dick.

  “You’re a bad fucking influence, Melissa Hanover,” I murmured out loud as the elevator door opened, and I stepped inside almost eagerly.

  By the time I reached the sixth floor, I was bouncing on my feet like a goddamned six-year old.

  Until I stepped out and spotted Melissa, wrapped in a towel, crushed in the embrace of some tidy-as-fuck asshole. I could tell just from looking at him that he was the kinda guy who didn’t mind shelling out as much for his haircut as he did for his monthly car payments.

  The boyfriend.

  My first instinct – after mentally condemning him as the King of Nitwits, of course – was to jump in and protect Melissa. After all, this had to be the fuckwad who bloodied her lip, and made her second guess herself. I don’t even know for sure what held me back. Post-almost-coital sluggishness? Fear of not being able to control myself if I started pounding on him? Worry that I’d drop the muffins? Seriously, who fucking knows?

  It didn’t matter. All that did matter was what happened next. And also, what happened first.

  Douche-nuts met my eyes over Melissa’s shoulder, and I saw pain there, and I felt fucking sorry for him. I thought my heart might ache like that if I’d hurt her the way he did. Drinks or no drinks. Designer fucking sport jacket or no designer fucking sports jacket. I’d cut off my fucking hand if I made her bleed.

  I gave him a little nod. An acknowledgement. Like he was a person.

  He pulled away from Melissa, said something into her hair, making her spin in my direction. Spots of red appeared in each of her cheeks, and I waited for her to jump away from him. Instead, he placed a familiar hand on the small of her back, and she just stood still. I watched it rest there, jealousy and disgust coursing through my veins in a painful throb.

  I snapped to attention and closed the gap between us, dread pooling in my stomach. Something was fucking wrong, and I was about to find out what it was.

  Melissa opened her mouth. “Danny,” she said, and the
next bit was lost on me because she said his name first, not mine.

  In that second, I saw the situation for what it was. I was the other man, the fling. I was the asshole, piece of shit who was coming between Melissa and this guy who was clearly designed for her. It was utterly fucking true. The fancy clothes, the preppy hairdo, the clean hands. He was the male equivalent of Melissa-the-Great. They were right for each other.

  This is what slow motion feels like, I thought.

  “I’m Cutter Lane,” I announced.

  “Danny. Melissa’s fiancé.”

  My brain caught the modifier before my heart did. I wondered the hell kind of guy introduced himself in terms of his relationship to his woman instead of his last name. A pussy-whipped one. Then my heart caught up and figured it out.

  Fiancé. Melissa’s.

  Slow. Fucking. Motion.

  I glanced down at her hand, and yep, there it was. A rock the size of my left nut. Which she conveniently hadn’t been wearing when she’d gone after my left nut. Or both my right one and my left one, if we were getting technical.

  I swallowed darkly, crushed the double chocolate chip muffins in their bag, mentally beat my fists against my chest, and smiled at Danny. My favorite toothy smile. The one that made me look like I might bite, and that if I did bite, I might give you rabies. I put out my hand, and when he reciprocated, I leaned in and whispered in his ear, nice and low so Melissa couldn’t hear.

  “Lucky fucking man. Tapping that every night.”

  When I pulled back, his face was pinched. My toothy smile grew.

  “I was just telling Danny how you found me out here after he fell asleep and I got accidentally locked out. And that you let me crash in your room,” Melissa said in too-high, pleasing tone.

  Ah. Well. That explained her fiancé’s expression.

  “Thanks a lot,” he said tightly.

  “No problem,” I replied with an exaggerated wink. “My couch is always open. Just be glad your fiancée isn’t my type.”

  Maybe the words came out as a challenge, because Danny blinked and shot his own extra-white smile back at me.

  “I was under the impression that Melissa was nearly every guy’s type,” he stated.