Dirty Thoughts

by Megan Erickson

  He lowered his head, clearly avoiding all contact. He nudged Brent with his elbow, but his brother didn’t move.

  “Hey, Jenna,” Max said, stepping out from behind Brent, ignoring the tension surrounded the table.

  She smiled at him. “Wow, look at you. I haven’t seen you since you were twelve or thirteen.”

  He gestured to the girl on his arm. “This is my fiancée, Lea.”

  The girl beamed. “Hello.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Jenna said.

  “Hey, Dylan,” Brent said, and Jenna braced herself when she saw the quirk of Brent’s mouth. “Gotta little sauce, uh . . . ” He gestured toward his own cheek and coughed. “You know.”

  Dylan lifted his napkin, dabbing at the corner of his mouth with stiff movements. And then his eyes narrowed, and Jenna stifled a groan, because she knew what that look meant. It was the same look he’d get when he tattled on her when she didn’t clean her room. “Ah, that must be the pasta pescatore. It was delicious. Did you have it?”

  “Nope,” Brent drew out the word, popping the p.

  Dylan’s smile was hard. “Of course not. The menu said ‘market price.’ You would have wanted to be sure you could cover the bill.”

  Brent didn’t even hesitate. “God, I know. It was awful. I could only afford butter with spaghetti, and I’m starving.” And then he reached across the table, as nonchalant as could be, and picked a piece of asparagus off Dylan’s plate. He stuck the tip in his mouth and crunched down, chewing happily. “Wow, thanks, man.” He looked over their table with wide eyes. “So this is how the real people live.” He turned to his father. “They look great in their natural habitat.”

  Jenna clapped her hand over her mouth. She wasn’t sure which was funnier—Dylan’s red face or Brent’s crunching noises as he finished off the asparagus.

  Max turned to Lea and said quietly, “This is like Family Feud but without the answer board.” He gestured around the restaurant to the people gawking at them. “I mean, we even have a live studio audience.”

  “Max, stop,” Lea whispered.

  “I happen to think Ray Combs was the best host, don’t you?” Max whispered back.

  Lea’s posture immediately softened. “I was so sad when I heard about he died.”

  “I know. Horrible, right?”

  Jack Payton cuffed Brent on the back of his head. “Will you mind your fuckin’ manners?”

  Brent stared at him. “My manners? Are you kidding me? You spent the whole dinner with your napkin tucked into your shirt.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, Christopher, please do something,” Jenna’s mom whispered. “They’re making a scene.”

  Jenna wanted to roll her eyes. A scene. Heaven forbid a scene! All her life had been one giant “let’s not make a scene” tut from her mother.

  Jenna’s father cleared his throat, but Dylan had to get the last word in. “Now that you’ve sufficiently disturbed every diner in this restaurant, I think it’s time to leave.”

  Brent turned back to Dylan, his ever-present smirk on his face. “Honestly, I’m just getting started.”

  Then Jenna’s father was talking. And her mother was making obnoxious sighing sounds. And Jack was tugging on Brent’s arm while Brent continued to prod Dylan, who answered back with insults of his own.

  Max and his girlfriend were still debating Family Feud hosts, and it would have been completely, completely embarrassing if it hadn’t been hilarious.

  Christopher MacMillan had hired Jenna to fix the image of his company, and here he was, the CEO with his family, in a restaurant full of the Tory elite who were eager to gossip, throwing down with the Paytons.

  Jenna knew she’d get blamed for this, for bringing the Paytons into this . . . circle of their lives. But right now, in the midst of chaos, she didn’t really care. She took a gulp of her wine, looked up, and met Cal’s piercing gaze.

  She’d expected him to join the fray. Or glare, or hell, she expected him to have walked out of the restaurant already. That’s what he would have done before. But nope, he was watching her quietly with those slate eyes. They were unreadable at first. She thought about flipping him off or haughtily turning up her nose. But Cal hated that kind of attitude. And she didn’t want to do it anyway. Especially not as those eyes began to change, darken, as they studied her. As they really looked at her. His gaze dropped to where she held the wine glass stem between her thumb and forefinger. Then his eyes lingered on the neckline of her low-cut dress, and then they coasted up, up until they locked on hers again. When an outstretched hand knocked over a water glass on their table, Cal’s lips twitched. Almost imperceptibly. But she saw it. Along with that twinkle in his eye.

  He thought this was funny too. Hilarious, even.

  She stretched her lips into a closed-mouth smile, then shook her head.

  He grinned back and blinked once, twice, and then he was moving toward her.

  His silent saunter in her direction was like slow motion in the chaos of the scene around them. He didn’t take his eyes off her as he walked around the table, that shirt stretched across his broad chest, the top button open so she got a glimpse of a sliver of skin. When he was behind her, she stayed facing forward, not really seeing anything, because every other sense was hyper-focused on him. Focused on how he had smiled as he walked toward her, that sexy smirk. Focused on how his heartbeat pounded as his chest now brushed the back of her head. Focused on how he leaned down, his breath coasting over the fine hairs at the back of her neck. She closed her eyes, relishing his heat at her back.

  “Even in this fancy place”—his voice was a vibration she felt in every limb—“you outshine everyone.”

  And then his heat was gone.

  The raised voices around her dulled to mutters. And when she opened her eyes to turn around, the Payton family was leaving the restaurant, Cal at the helm.

  Her first thought was, Take me with you.

  Instead, she turned around and faced her family, swallowing the rest of her wine along with an overdose of glares, heavy sighs, and guilt, courtesy of her family.

  Chapter Eight

  CAL IDLED HIS Harley at the stop sign. He stared down Jenna’s street and chewed on the corner of his thumb until it bled. Then he started on the other hand.

  He should turn around and go home. After that night in his tow truck, he’d vowed to stay away from Jenna. Despite his resolve, she consumed his thoughts to the point of distraction. He’d stuck to his guns, right up until he’d seen her at the damn restaurant tonight.

  Among all those people there dressed to the nines, Jenna had stood out. The beautiful smile, that mass of hair. It’d been like the sun beamed down on her from a skylight above her head. Only her. Like usual, his Sunshine was the brightest in the room. She’d shined like a beacon through that shit-show.

  She’d given him that smile, the one that made him feel like they were on their own private island, despite the chaos around them. The rest of the world went dark, and it was just her, and she had eyes only for him, making him feel like the most important thing on earth.

  She’d always made him feel like that. That he was worth something. That he mattered.

  The feeling was mutual.

  He should go to his house. Alone. But the thought of going home and seeing that birthday card on his kitchen table—the one from Jill—made his heart clench. He should have thrown it away when he saw her name, like he usually did. How the hell did she get his new address anyway? He suspected Brent had something to do with it, the damn peacemaker.

  With a growl and a flick of his wrist, he roared onto her road and then cut into her driveway. She wanted the out-of-control kid? The impulsive one who couldn’t get enough of her? Well then, fine. He’d be that for a night. Give them both what they craved, and then they’d be free. The plan made total sense in his head, so he didn’t dig deeper into what he was really doing. He didn’t hesitate, because if he did, then he might abandon this whole thing.

  He di
d feel out of control, but the kicker was, it felt damn good. He liked this pull in his heart, tugging him toward Jenna. It was exhilarating, like a drug. How had he lived without this for ten years?

  He knocked on her front door, shifting his weight back and forth, realizing he hadn’t changed out of these damn fancy clothes.

  A light turned on inside the house; he could see it through the small oval window at the top of the door. He imagined—hoped, because that was safe—she was looking through the peephole at him. So he stared right back.

  There was no sound. Nothing.

  “Jenna,” he said firmly, knowing his deep voice would carry.

  Another pause, then the click of the deadbolt. He lowered his gaze and watched the doorknob turn. Then the door opened, and Jenna was standing in the doorway, light spilling out onto the front porch from behind her. She was wearing a short, thin blue robe. Her hair was piled on top of her head in a messy bun.

  Her face was free of makeup, and she stood with one foot on top of the other.

  She was so fucking beautiful, his chest hurt. He wanted to fall to his knees at her feet and beg forgiveness. He’d take any fucking scraps from her right now, as long as it was something, anything, to put him out of his misery.

  Anything to make him feel, one more time, that he was worth something.

  She licked her lips, and he tracked that pink tongue. “Cal?”

  In one step he was inside the house. With his booted foot, he slammed the door closed behind him, blindly turning the lock. Then he grabbed Jenna’s face in both hands and crashed his lips onto hers.

  Her hands flew up, gripping his biceps, her little nails digging in through the fabric of his shirt. Cal wasn’t messing around as he swiped his tongue over the seam of her lips, demanding entrance. But she kept her lips shut tight.

  He should have known she’d make him work for this. He pressed kisses to the corners of her mouth, to her cheekbones, to that pert nose and her jawline. Then back to her mouth, nibbling her lips. “I’m sorry.”

  “Goddamn you,” she huffed against his lips, and he took that opportunity to slip his tongue into her mouth.

  She took the offensive now, opening her jaw, pushing against his tongue. She retracted her claws on his biceps and melted into his arms. He relinquished his grip on her face and skimmed his hands down her neck. When he broke the kiss, he leaned his forehead against hers, panting into her mouth. He turned them around, so her back was against the door. Leaning back a little, he eyed the gap in her robe, where the pale skin of a rounded breast showed.

  He lifted his gaze to hers. She was breathing hard, chest rising and falling, so each time that robe slipped a little bit more. He wanted to rip it off. He was hard, cock straining against these pants that were too goddamn tight to begin with.

  “Why are you here?” Jenna asked.

  He answered as honestly as he could. “I want you.”

  And maybe that was it. Standing in front her now, Cal wasn’t stupid to think he and Jenna could limit their interactions to just sex. There were too many feelings. Too much history. But yet, it was simple in that he wanted her, and her lust-filled gaze told him she felt the same. So even though this would inevitably crash and burn, the ride there would be worth it. At least he knew going in that it would end badly. At least he could prepare himself.

  Jenna’s mind must have been working the same formula. He waited, prepared to be told to go fuck himself. He’d taken this risk, knowing she could refuse.

  But by God, he hoped she didn’t.

  She sawed her top teeth over her bottom lip. Then her eyes flickered, and her face set. With a stiff nod, she said, “Okay.”

  “Okay?”

  She blinked and then her breath left her in a rush as she said four words that he’d take to his grave: “I want you too.”

  He cupped her cheek, resting his thumb at the corner of her mouth so he knew when she opened up to let him in. Their tongues dueled and their lips mashed. He wanted to inhale her into his lungs. He couldn’t get enough.

  He broke the kiss and brushed his lips over hers. “Open up your robe, sweetheart.”

  She sucked in a breath, a small gasp escaping. Her eyelids were heavy, and he thought she’d refuse. Then her hands came away from where they’d been pressed behind her on the door. She looked up into his eyes and slowly untied the knot at her waist.

  She let the ends of the tie dangle so they touched the floor. She leaned her head back so it clunked on the door and raised her hands over her head, clasping her wrist in the other hand.

  The sides of her robe moved with her movements, tempting him to open them like a curtain. She smelled like soap and spice and like everything he’d been missing for ten fucking years.

  When he reached his hand toward her, it was shaking. With his index finger, he hooked the edge of her robe, slowly pushing it to the side. The fabric caught on her nipple and then gave way to reveal a full breast, thin waist, and flare into a gorgeous full hip, like half of an hourglass, while the other edge of the robe called to him to reveal his whole present.

  Her red, swollen lips were parted, and her chest heaved. Her belly quivered, and he let his gaze fall between her legs, to that area of perfectly trimmed hair. One of her legs was bent slightly, resting on the ball of her foot and turned in, so he couldn’t see all he wanted to see. He wanted to fall to his knees right there, spread her legs, and bury his face in her, cover himself with her, lick her up until she could say no other word but his name.

  He hooked a finger on the other side of her robe and opened it as well. She was fully bared to him now, all that pale soft skin. She was more gorgeous than she’d been an eighteen. More rounded, more full. Her chin was lifted, eyes on his. He wondered if she knew that despite the fact she was naked and he was fully closed, she held all the power here. She always did.

  He ran the back of his fingers between her breasts and over her stomach. A shudder wracked her body and goose bumps popped up in the wake of his touch.

  He gripped a hip, digging his fingers into the softness, wondering if she’d welcome finger-shaped bruises tomorrow. He lifted his gaze to her. “Didn’t think it was possible for you to look even more beautiful than I dreamed about.”

  She sucked in a breath and opened her mouth, but Cal didn’t give her a chance to say anything back. He leaned in, and he took one of those pink nipples in his mouth and sucked.

  The sounds that came out of her throat weren’t words but moans. She gripped his hair and tugged. He thumbed her other nipple and rolled the hard bud in between his thumb and forefinger. He smiled, biting her breast gently, like she’d always loved. And she still did, if the bucking of her hips was any indication.

  He pulled off her nipple, blowing on it, watching as her skin pebbled as his cool breath hit her wet skin, and then he moved on to the other one. She whimpered now, whispering his name, one hand tugging at his hair while the other tugged on his shirt, trying to free buttons.

  “Cal.”

  “Not done.”

  “Don’t want you done. Want you naked.”

  He huffed a laugh against her skin. “I’ll get naked after you get off.”

  Her eyes widened. “Jesus.”

  He dropped to his knees. “Ball’s in your court.” A hand fluttered and landed on his shoulder. He kept his gaze on her face. “Spread your legs for me, Sunshine.”

  “Cal—”

  He licked his lips. “Come on.”

  He swore he could see her pulse beating in her neck. Her breasts trembled with her breaths. He thought she’d refuse; tell him to get up off of his knees. He’d do it, but it’d kill him.

  Instead, slowly, she lowered her other heel to the ground and then placed her feet about shoulder width apart. Cal finally lowered his gaze, taking in the trimmed patch of soft curls. He could smell her arousal, and she shifted her legs restlessly when he made no move to touch her.

  He wasn’t sure if he’d get this chance again, so he sure as hell was goin
g to enjoy this while it lasted. He placed his hands above her knees and slowly ran his palms up her thighs. His calluses rasped over her soft skin, his hands permanently stained with grease while her skin was practically glowing clean. Hadn’t it always been that way? He made her dirty, and she loved it. Did she still?

  He lifted his gaze to her again and locked onto her hazel eyes. They were glazed over, unfocused, and he wanted to keep her that way, wanting him. He planned to drive her out of her mind.

  He took one of her legs and lay it on his shoulder, and then he leaned in, running his nose along her slit.

  She was wet already, the slick fluid glistening on her skin. When he spread her open with his fingers and applied the flat of his tongue in one long, slow lick, she went wild.

  He’d always loved that about Jenna, the way she responded to his touch, his mouth, his cock. And she hadn’t changed, not one bit, because she was bucking, grinding herself down onto his face, and he didn’t care. He spread her open and braced her against the door and let her work herself on his tongue. He didn’t give her everything, though; she was going to have to work for it if she wanted him naked.

  A hand came down and threaded through this hair and then pulled. He grunted.

  “Cal.” Her voice was strangled.

  He fucked her with his tongue, lapping up her wetness, but ignored her clit, flicking it occasionally with his nose, just enough to drive her insane but not get her off.

  She twisted her wrist, and he wondered if she’d taken a hunk of hair with her as pain laced through his scalp.

  “Cal.” This time her voice was a growl.

  He leaned back a little, so his lips still grazed her wetness. “Yeah, Sunshine?” He knew his voice was a vibration as she shuddered.

  “You know.” She gritted her teeth.

  He smiled. “You wanna come?” He hated games, but this one was a little too much fun.

  “You—”

  “Tell me, Jenna.” He moved his lips up and let his breath coast over her clit.

  Her eyes were glassy. “I want to come,” she whispered.