Dirty Together (The Dirty Billionaire Trilogy #3)

by Meghan March

  “Holy. Shit,” I scream, my voice breaking as I come apart and my arms collapse.

  Crey keeps thrusting. Once. Twice. Three more times. And then the sound of my name coming off his lips echoes in the small room.

  He drops but catches himself before he crushes me on the bed. The frame creaks beneath us, and we both freeze.

  “Oh sh—” Crey doesn’t even get the word out before the bed collapses and we land with a thud as the mattress connects with the floor.

  “Holy crap. And you didn’t even plan to screw me so hard we’d break my poor Jenny Lind bed.”

  “Jenny who?” Crey asks, carefully pushing himself up off me, and reaching for a towel I didn’t notice earlier.

  He pulls out of my body and I immediately feel the loss of him. The fullness was intense and amazing. He crouches down and cleans me up while I lay on the mattress, still boneless and unwilling to move, despite the destruction of the furniture.

  “Jenny Lind. It was an antique. It was Gran’s bed when she was a girl. It was one of the few pieces I probably would have kept.”

  “We’ll get it repaired. It’s no problem.”

  I nod because he’s right. It really isn’t a problem.

  “We’re just breaking furniture right and left. Going to have to make sure whatever we buy for our new place is sturdy,” Crey says.

  I look sideways at him. “Our new place?”

  “I think we need to buy a place in Nashville so we can have a home base there. We’ll keep my place in New York, and figure out something that works for both of us. As much as you don’t like the city, I do need to spend some time there. There are certain things I can do remotely, but I’m a hell of a lot more intimidating in person, and sometimes I need to throw my weight around to get shit done.”

  Warmth fills my chest that he’s no longer dictating, but considering what’s best for me as well. “Thank you for trying to figure this out.”

  He crouches again next to the bed. “I’d figure out how to move mountains for you, Holly.”

  I close my eyes briefly before meeting his again. “I think I’m finally getting that.”

  I reach for the blanket that’s scrunched up beside me, and flip around so I’m sitting on my butt before I pull it around me.

  “Now, how do you feel about Dirty Scrabble?”

  My stomach aches from laughing so hard, and I think it’s safe to say I’ve never felt that kind of ache before.

  “C-U-N-T. Cunt. Triple-word score. Eighteen points.” Holly looks up at me, her eyes shining with what can only be called mirth. “I’m going to catch you. Fellatio as a double word was only four points more.”

  “Sorry, sweetheart.” I shake my head, grinning as I lift my tiles and lay them on the board. “S-U-C-K-E-D. Another triple word.” I mentally calculate. “Thirty-nine points.”

  “Damn it.”

  Holly’s hands go to her hips, and she drops the blanket she had wrapped around her shoulders. My eyebrows shoot up because now I get to see her in her full naked glory.

  She gives me a mock frown. “Why is it that every other freaking word you have is about dick sucking?”

  I rest my hand over my abs as they clench again as another chuckle escapes. “Because I’m a guy. That’s what I think about. Not too hard to figure out here. Let’s not sugarcoat it—if I’m looking at your mouth, there’s a decent chance I’m thinking about putting my dick in it. If I’m looking at your tits, there’s a good chance I’m thinking about sucking on them or fucking them. Same with your pussy and your ass. Men are not that complicated.”

  Her chin juts up another inch. “I beg to differ. You’re all sorts of complicated, Karas.”

  “I just like you to think that, Holly.”

  Her lips purse, and her eyes drop to her new tiles. The way her mind works fascinates me. The way she takes a flash of inspiration and turns it into a song . . . it’s nothing short of amazing. Her lips spread into a triumphant smile, kicking up my anticipation a notch. The woman only needs to breathe, and I’m eager for whatever she’s going to do next.

  “D-I-L-D-O. Dildo. Seven points.” She looks up. “You know, I’ve never actually owned a dildo. Or a vibrator. Whatever.”

  “Seriously?” The shock in my voice can’t be missed.

  “Well, no. I mean, yes, seriously. I’ve never owned one.”

  “How is that possible?”

  “I just never went out and got one. I don’t know. I figured my hand got the job done just fine.”

  I just shake my head at her confession. “I swear, everything that comes out of your mouth surprises me.”

  After a beat of studying her face, I look down at the tiles on my rack. I don’t have many options. I decide on a word that’s not all that dirty, but deem it appropriate nonetheless.

  “M-I-N-E. Mine.”

  Holly looks at me strangely. “It’s Dirty Scrabble, Crey. Not whatever-word-you-want Scrabble.”

  “True, but that’s what you are, dirty or not, so that’s my last word on the subject.”

  With that, I shove the game board aside, sending the tiles and racks flying, and pin her to the mattress.

  Against her lips, I whisper, “I’ll make my dirty contribution this way instead.”

  I make my way down the stairs the next morning wearing only Crey’s shirt, a pair of knee-high socks, and no panties. My plan is to oh-so-carefully bend over the counter and tease Crey with a flash of my goods, and tempt him into giving me what I want.

  Last night after he scattered my Scrabble pieces everywhere, he was totally dirty, taking my ass again with his fingers—and his tongue—but refusing to take my pussy because he claimed it still needed another day of rest.

  I’m bound and determined that’s going to change today. But my plan is derailed when I overhear Crey talking in the back room through the partially closed door.

  “I don’t think you understand, Cannon, this is more important. Holly is more important. I know that you’re—I know. I know. But you’re not listening to me.” Crey turns his head and catches sight of me. “I’ll call you back later.”

  He must not even listen for a reply because he drops the phone almost instantly and shoves the door open.

  “Hey, you’re up. How’d you sleep on our floor mattress? I still can’t believe we broke the bed.” His eyes dart to the repaired table. “And the table.”

  “Crey, what’s wrong?”

  His body language is off. His brow is creased and his jaw is tight, his demeanor at odds with his lighthearted words.

  He shoves a hand through his hair and sighs, his lips turning down into a frown. “You know how I said sometimes I’m needed to show up and be intimidating in person and throw my weight around? Now is one of those times. I need to be back in New York.”

  Reality. That’s what sucked the easiness out of Creighton’s mood.

  It wouldn’t be realistic for me to think that we could stay in this little bubble forever. My time is slipping away too. If this is going to work, then we both have to attend to our lives.

  “Then you should get back to New York and throw your weight around,” I tell him.

  His face is set, without a hint of a smile anywhere in his expression. “I told you I’d stay until you understood that nothing is more important than you, and if I leave, then I’m not doing that.”

  Once again, warmth spreads through me, and I shake my head as I lay a hand on his arm. “You’ve already shown me that. I believe you. Now go back to New York and take care of business like the ruthless guy I know you want to unleash.”

  A little of the tension drains out of his posture. “You’re sure?”

  “Yes. You told me this is as real as it gets, and real means that we each handle our own shit with the support of the other beside or behind us, whatever the case may be. If I can be with you, I will, and vice versa. We’ll figure it out.”

  Crey leans down and brushes a kiss along my jaw. “I love you, Holly.”

  “Then go c
onquer the world. I’ll be waiting for you when you get done.”

  He lifts his head and stares down at me, his eyes intent, and so much emotion shining in them. The force of it hits me in my chest.

  “I thought I had everything,” he says in a low voice. “And then I met you. Now I do.”

  I swallow, determined not to let the tears burning the back of my eyes free. “You can’t say things like that. I’m seriously not equipped to handle it.”

  “I didn’t know I was equipped to say things like that until you either. Guess we’re both going to have to find our footing here.”

  Nodding, I squeeze his arm. “Get your stuff packed, and I’ll drive you to the airport. I guess I should ask if you mind if I keep the rental car and take it back to Nashville.”

  He covers my hand with his. “Of course I don’t mind. As long as you don’t mind that you’re getting a new car whether you want one or not. And I’m picking it out, since apparently your last two were Pontiacs, and Detroit doesn’t even make those anymore.”

  “Whatever. Just know that I’m still gonna drive like a girl from Gold Haven, so you better get good insurance.”

  Under his breath, he murmurs, “On second thought, I’m buying you a tank.”

  I just laugh. I don’t honestly care what he buys me. As long as it has four wheels and gets me from A to B. If it’s too outrageously expensive, I’ll bitch . . . and maybe concede gracefully.

  Now that we’ve stepped into this new version of us, how he chooses to spend his money doesn’t rub me the wrong way at every turn. Creighton doesn’t need to buy me—he already has me. Now I think he’s trying to cherish me and take care of me, which is something altogether different, and I’m not going to throw it back in his face.

  “When are you heading back?” he asks.

  Shrugging, I flip through my mental schedule, considering I don’t have my phone at hand. “Probably not for another day or two. I’ve got some time.”

  I glance around the quiet room. “This has actually been exactly what I needed. I’m going to stay, fine-tune the songs as much as I can before I head back. I might even try to pack some stuff in my room and make a trip to Goodwill. I need to make a decision about the house.”

  “What decision do you want to make?”

  “I should sell it. I have no earthly reason to keep it.”

  “But?”

  “But I’m just not quite ready yet.”

  “Holly.” Crey lifts his hand to my face. “You don’t ever have to sell if you don’t want to.”

  “It seems silly to keep paying the property taxes and utilities when no one lives here.”

  “Baby,” he says, his eyes soft. “We can afford it.”

  “Okay, I won’t sell it for now. It’s nice to have somewhere to come home to. Besides, I’m finding that I like keeping a tie to my roots.”

  “Good. I’m glad.” His phone buzzes in his hand, and Cannon’s name flashes across the screen. “I need to take this.”

  “Go conquer the world from New York, Crey. We’re going to be just fine.”

  I shove him toward the stairs, and he goes. Beyond his clipped greeting, I hear nothing of their conversation. Instinct tells me that all is not well back in New York at Karas International.

  The urge to ask is strong, but I fight it back . . . now, and the whole drive to the airport. I’m still fighting it when Creighton cups my face and kisses the hell out of me, and when he climbs on the jet and gives me one final wave.

  Alone in the Cadillac, I wonder if I shouldn’t have fought the urge to ask.

  The next day, I’ve just scarfed down a tuna sandwich for lunch when someone knocks at the door.

  Really? Again?

  I’ve already received two deliveries from Crey today. First, Delores Maynard’s grandson, Leander, dropped by with the other journals that Crey asked her to make for me. After I fished out a twenty to tip him, I almost swooned at the beautiful colors.

  After that came Ben from Brews and Balls.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” I asked him.

  He hefted a black-and-pink bowling bag up with the hand not wrapped around his cane. “Special delivery from your man.”

  “What the hell?” I took the bag from him and unzipped it. A hot-pink glitter-swirled bowling ball with my name engraved on it sat inside, along with black-and-pink bowling shoes.

  What in the world?

  “Okay, well. Now that that’s done, I gotta run, sugar. I’ll see you at the lanes tonight, if you’re coming in.”

  I mumbled something to him as he picked his way down the steps and shuffled to his car. I had no idea what I said, because I was too stunned. I pulled out the note stuck to the ball and set the bag on the floor.

  Read me.

  I tear it open and read it.

  In case you get bored. Also, I think the citizens of Gold Haven would love to have a reason to get you back into the bowling alley to give another impromptu concert. I might have only caught the tail end of the last one, and even tequila spiked, it was amazing.

  I miss you.

  Yours,

  Crey

  Hell.

  If I hadn’t already given the man my heart, he would have stolen it right there over a pink glittery bowling bowl and black-and-pink bowling shoes. I may be the only woman on the planet to prefer this gift to a Harry Winston diamond collar, but there was more thought and effort tied up in this gesture, and that makes all the difference in the world to me.

  The next knock on the door—which has morphed into angry hammering—jars me out of the memory.

  “I’m coming, I’m coming,” I mutter as I yank the door open.

  I should have looked through the lace curtain covering the tiny window in the door. But I didn’t.

  “Hey, baby! Mama’s home!”

  I hit the ground running when I arrived yesterday in New York, and have barely stopped since. Cannon scowled at me the entire time I was on the phone with Ben to get the bowling ball, shoes, and bag set up for Holly, but I kicked his ass out of the room when I arranged for the other delivery. That was the only time I spent on anything unrelated to business since I got here. Otherwise, it’s been clusterfuck after clusterfuck.

  My uncle is accusing me of breaching my duty of loyalty to my own fucking company, and usurping a corporate opportunity because I didn’t allow the board of directors to vote on the purchase of Homegrown Records before I bought it personally.

  I’ve spent almost every minute since I got here locked in with my lawyers—the ones I had to hire personally to defend me since my company attorneys have a conflict of interest—and what they’re telling me isn’t good. Sure¸ there are plenty of arguments in my favor, good ones, but the fact that they’re saying he has a case at all burns me straight to the gut.

  There wouldn’t be an issue if I’d put the matter on the agenda to be voted on, gotten the blessing of the board, and then proceeded with the purchase, but I was in such a goddamn hurry—so eager to do the deal for Holly and make sure the record execs couldn’t screw her over—that I fucked up. I’ve never fucked up like this before. If my uncle files suit, my reputation in the business world, and with my own board and shareholders, will be damaged, maybe irrevocably.

  I should have told Holly everything before I left Kentucky yesterday. She’s the one person I want to vent everything to, and she’s completely unavailable to me because I didn’t open my fucking mouth and say word one about what I did.

  I know it’s because part of me doesn’t want to tip the new balance we found. This harmony feels so fucking good, I don’t want to screw it up before we even have a chance to enjoy it.

  But this isn’t something I want to tell her when she’s not within my reach. I don’t think she’ll run again, but there’s always the chance she may think I was trying to buy her, and I’m not taking the chance that this announcement isn’t delivered with care.

  What Cannon told me on the phone early yesterday when he called me in
Kentucky was only that my uncle planned to file suit—not that he has any actual grounds. I figured the lawyers would sort that shit out in record time. God knows I pay them enough. But no solutions yet. Just multiple possible courses of action qualified a dozen ways to Sunday.

  I pick up my phone to call Holly anyway. Just hearing her voice will be an improvement.

  Cannon’s in the conference room next door when I pick up my phone and find Holly’s contact—not that it’s hard to find since it’s number one in my favorites. Maybe that’s why Cannon’s been pissy lately. He knows he’s been displaced.

  It rings twice before she picks up.

  “Crey?”

  Relief slides through me at the sound of her voice. “Hey, baby.”

  “Hi. Can I call you back? I’m sort of . . . busy at the moment.”

  I hear voices in the background, and she must have her hand over the phone because I hear her shushing someone in a muted tone. The relief I feel fades.

  “Holly? Is everything okay?”

  “It’s fine. Everything’s fine. Can I call you back in a couple hours?”

  Her voice sounds strained, and there’s no way I believe her everything’s fine line.

  “Something’s wrong. What is it?” I demand.

  “I can’t really talk now, but I’ll tell you later.”

  I force down the urge to push her to tell me what the hell is going on. “Call me anytime. I love you, Holly.”

  “’Bye, Crey.”

  She hangs up, and it isn’t lost on me that she doesn’t say she loves me back.

  I’m not sure why I’m here, but for some reason, when I left my lawyers’ office, I walked to the Rose Club at the Plaza instead of back to my penthouse. I shrug off my overcoat and hang it on the back of the velvet bar stool.

  When the bartender heads my way immediately, which isn’t surprising because the service here is impeccable, I say, “Bushmills 21, please. Three fingers.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He moves away, reaching for the bottle and a glass, and I ease onto the stool and think about the last time I was here. Jesus, fuck. So much has happened since then.