Dirty For Me (Motor City Royals)

by Jackie Ashenden

  “Yeah.”

  “Was it a prizefight or something?”

  “No. They’re nothing. Just some underground matches where we beat the shit out of each other.”

  “Uh-huh.” She tipped her head back and drained the rest of her wine, her eyes gleaming over the rim of the glass. “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why do you do it?”

  He shifted, leaning on his hands, easing his body closer, not in the mood to be discussing his fights. “What do you do?”

  “I’m an intern in an investment company.”

  Of course she would be. Girl like her had success written all over her. “So why do you do it?”

  She smiled at his conscious imitation. “It’s not the same thing.”

  “No, but it’s the same question.”

  “You don’t want to talk about yourself?”

  “Like I said, that’s not what I came here for.”

  “I thought all guys wanted to talk about themselves.”

  “You’ve been seeing the wrong kind of guys.” Gently he removed the wineglass from her hands and put it down on the breakfast bar. “Now. Take your fucking dress off before I rip it.”

  Something leapt in her gaze, a dark flame, and she laughed. “Show me some moves.”

  “What?”

  Her hands came up, her palms flat on his chest. “Some of your fighting moves.”

  That wasn’t what he’d come for either. Yet that glittering flame was still in her eyes and he wanted to see what it meant. “Why?”

  “Because I’m curious.” Her hands slid up over his chest, stroking. “Because I watched you at the gym that night and I thought . . .” She stopped, color rising to her cheeks. “I thought you were beautiful.”

  He’d been hot and sexy to women before. But none of them had ever called him beautiful. “I’m just a mechanic who beats the shit out of people at night. Nothing beautiful about that.”

  “You don’t only do that.” Her gaze had dropped to his chest, her hands stroking, petting him like a cat. “You teach people how to defend themselves too. Is that part of your fight thing?”

  A thread of unease wound through him at the question, though he couldn’t have said why. Perhaps it was her touch, which was gentle. And he wasn’t here for gentle. “Look, you wanna get naked? So, let’s get naked. Stop wasting time.”

  She looked up at him and he thought he saw a flash of hurt in her eyes.

  Fuck. He hadn’t meant to hurt her yet there had to be a line drawn somewhere. A reminder of what was happening between them.

  Tamara’s gaze dropped again, her hands stopping their stroking motion, and he pretended he was happy she did and not disappointed instead.

  “Good point,” she said after a moment. “Though I meant what I said. I want to see some of those moves. So . . .” She shoved hard against him all of a sudden and because he wasn’t expecting it, he stumbled back a few steps. “You want to take my dress off, you fucking take it off yourself.” She grinned, the look in her eyes all challenge. “That is, if you can.”

  The competitor in him, still buzzing from the fight, roared in approval at the challenge, and he found his hands curling into fists in the pockets of his jeans.

  Though Christ, did she really know what she was letting herself in for, goading him like this?

  “I’m not one of your pretty little rich boys, Tamara,” he said flatly. “And I’m not one of your polite city guys, in a fancy suit, respecting the fuck out of you and your choices. I’m a bad man. A man you shouldn’t mess with.”

  But she didn’t look away. “Perhaps that’s what I want. Perhaps messing with you is exactly what I want.”

  “Okay then.” Well, he couldn’t say he hadn’t warned her. Sliding his hands out of his pockets, he deliberately relaxed his muscles, getting loose and ready. “You’ve got one second.”

  She was around the side of the breakfast bar and out into the lounge as if she had a rocket under her, moving pretty fast on those sexy shoes of hers.

  But he was faster.

  She’d barely reached the couch by the time he caught her, easily taking one arm and twisting it up and behind her back, while reaching around with the other and locking his fingers around her throat. Then he pulled her up against his body.

  She cursed, struggled a moment, then went completely still.

  She felt good, all those soft, hot curves pressed up against him. Made him want to hold her like that all day, then maybe bend her over the couch and fuck her from behind.

  He lowered his head, so his mouth was near her ear. “That was too easy.”

  “And yet my dress is still on.” Her voice was husky, an undercurrent of heat moving through it.

  “I haven’t finished yet.” He could feel her pulse racing beneath his palm, the softness of her skin tantalizing against his fingertips. Exertion had released a soft, musky scent, sweat and the sweetness of her expensive perfume and it hit him like a pure aphrodisiac. He wanted to tilt her head, expose her neck, sink his teeth into that sensitive spot between shoulder and neck.

  But it would be all over if that happened and he was now officially curious.

  He wanted to see what more she could do.

  Abruptly he let her go and stepped back.

  She turned and looked at him, one eyebrow raised in inquiry.

  “One more chance,” he said. “Go.”

  She didn’t hesitate, heading past the couch to the coffee table, obviously trying to put it between them.

  He let her feel like she had the upper hand for a second, making a couple of feints around one side of the table, while she started in the opposite direction.

  She’d gone pink, her blond hair coming down from the elegant bun it had been in when he’d picked her up. And she was grinning, caught in the same adrenaline high he was.

  God, she was gorgeous, and he was enjoying this game she’d started way too much. It had been a long time since a woman had teased him like this—usually they were way too intimidated.

  But then Tamara gave a breathless laugh and just like that, his patience with the game snapped.

  He leapt over the coffee table, making her give a shriek, before taking her down onto her back, onto the fluffy deep blue rug that covered the floorboards, pinning her hands on either side of her head and keeping her down with the weight of his body on hers.

  She struggled, her hips lifting like she could buck him off, her breath coming in short, hard pants. At first he thought it was part of the flirtation game, so all he did was settle down more fully onto her, using his weight to keep her still.

  Then her gaze met his and he saw something wild in her eyes, and he realized it wasn’t a game anymore. He knew fear, he saw it in the ring and in the women who came to him to learn how to defend themselves. In the faces of his father’s enemies all those years ago. In the cold twist of his gut when his father had told him he wouldn’t be seeing Madison anymore.

  And now it was in Tamara’s eyes too.

  She was trembling.

  “Hey,” he said, keeping his voice sharp to cut through her fear. “What’s wrong?”

  She blinked a couple of times, as if she’d been somewhere else, then her gaze focused on him, the tension in her body dissipating. “Nothing.”

  “Yeah, there is. Did I scare you?”

  Her lashes swept down all of a sudden, veiling her gaze. “No.”

  “Bullshit. I’m a mean son of a bitch, but this was a game and scaring you wasn’t the point of it.”

  She was silent a moment. “It’s not you,” she said eventually.

  “Then what?”

  She let out a small breath. “I thought I’d gotten over it. Sorry.”

  “Gotten over what?” He couldn’t think why he wanted to know, because that wasn’t the point of this either. Yet he did. For some reason it mattered.

  Her lashes came up, her eyes dark and wary. “Someone I knew used to . . . kind of hold me down. He never hurt me, just
. . .” She stopped, her throat moving. “He was sick. Mentally unwell. It wasn’t anything major.”

  But he could see that it was and it roused all his latent protective instincts. He suddenly wanted to know who and why and where, a surge of hot possessiveness moving through him.

  Seriously? Over a chick you’ve banged twice?

  But he ignored the thought. He didn’t care whether he’d screwed her or not, something had hurt her and he wanted to fix it. “Sounds pretty major to me.”

  “It’s not, okay?” Her expression had hardened, like a door had shut behind her eyes. “It was years ago and I’m over it. So . . .” Her hips shifted under his, a sensual undulation that had his cock going from semihard to hard in seconds flat.

  Yet a small, insistent thread of curiosity wound through him that he found impossible to ignore.

  “How many years ago?” He settled himself more firmly between her thighs, the hard ridge of his zipper pressing against the soft heat of her, and he felt her shiver.

  “What? I don’t know. Eight, I think.” A crease appeared between her brows. “I thought you didn’t want to chat?”

  Yeah, that’s right. You don’t.

  Fuck, he didn’t. He really didn’t. So why did he want to know what had put that fear in her eyes? They weren’t here to trade their life stories, and God knew he’d sworn off vulnerable women for life. Yet, he couldn’t seem to leave it alone.

  He shifted, flexing his hips slightly so the ridge of his zipper hit the sweet spot between her legs. She took a sharp breath, the wariness draining from her eyes and replaced by a burgeoning heat.

  Better. Yeah, that was better.

  So he did it again, rocking gently against her, feeling the remaining tension seep out of her muscles. She gave a soft, shaky sigh, her thighs opening wider to give him room and that was good too. In fact that was exactly what he wanted.

  He let one of her wrists go and reached down between them, pulling the white silk of her dress up around her waist so the only thing separating the rough denim of his jeans from her pussy were the white lace panties she wore. Then he flexed his hips again, harder this time. Grinding against her clit and watching as the color bloomed under her skin.

  She groaned, her gaze on his as she arched her back, lifting her pelvis against his, seeking more friction, more pressure. And he gave it to her, rocking more insistently, then circling to vary the movement.

  There was no fear now on her face and, though her breathing was fast and getting faster, it wasn’t because she was afraid, not if that heat between her legs was anything to go by.

  It made it him feel good to take away her fear, turn it into something else. Made him feel satisfied that he could make a difference to her.

  But he was getting kind of sick of her clothes and the fact that her virginal dress was still on and still covering up all that beautiful skin.

  So he moved, gripping her hips and rolling over onto his back, taking her with him so she was sitting astride him. She blinked, her pouty mouth opening slightly as she found her position changed. Then she smiled as if this was far more to her liking.

  “This doesn’t mean you’re in charge, pretty girl,” he said, so she understood. “I’m still gonna win this fight.” Then he sat up and tugged off the belt around her waist, before putting a hand around her back and finding the tab of her dress zipper, pulling it down.

  “Really?” Her eyes gleamed. “I beg to differ.” And she put her hand straight down over his cock where it pressed against the denim of his jeans. Then the delicious little bitch squeezed, sending white hot streaks of fire licking up his spine.

  “Jesus Christ,” he growled. “You wanna play dirty? Then let’s play dirty.” Taking hold of the hem of her dress, he pulled it roughly up and over her head.

  She gave a gasp as he did so, her face pink and flushed as he tossed the white silk away, leaving her sitting in his lap in nothing but a pair of white, lacy panties. Then he dealt with those too, simply ripping the fabric at both sides of her hips and pulling away the remaining scrap of material.

  She was a delicious damn sight, sitting in his lap completely naked but for her sexy red shoes. Her legs were spread wide around his hips, revealing the neat thatch of gold curls between her thighs, and her nipples were tight and hard. The pink flush in her cheeks went all the way down her throat to her breasts and she almost fucking glowed, like someone had turned a light on inside her.

  “That’s not fair,” she said huskily. “I want you naked.”

  “Too bad.” He put his hands on her hips, her skin soft and smooth and hot beneath his palms. “I don’t play fair.” And he gripped her tight as he flexed again, stroking the hard ridge of his aching cock against that hot pussy of hers.

  She shuddered, gasping as he held her down, grinding her against him. “Zee . . . God . . .”

  “Fuck, you’re desperate aren’t you?” he murmured, his own voice starting to get hoarse. “Naked and pleading for me already. I haven’t even got my cock inside you and already you’ve got my jeans all wet.” He put his hand down between her thighs, sliding his fingers through her damp curls and tugging gently. “Shall I make you come, baby? Like this? Right now?”

  She shuddered and when he twisted his hand, applying pressure to her clit with his thumb, she shuddered again. “Sure,” she panted, all throaty and husky. “You can do that. And then I’ll make you come in your jeans like a teenage boy.”

  He laughed, because fuck if that didn’t sound just like the kind of challenge he particularly enjoyed. “You can try, pretty girl. You can try.” Then he stroked her clit with his thumb, moving his hips, grinding the thick ridge of his dick against her tender flesh.

  But she didn’t just sit there and take it. Her hand came down, her fingers running over the denim, stroking the length of his cock, squeezing him, her eyes full of dark fire.

  And he felt the grip of pleasure begin to wind tight because he hadn’t fully understood quite how badly it was affecting him, the sight of her naked with her legs spread and his hand between them. The slick gleam of her wet flesh, the evidence of her arousal soaking his jeans. The bounce of her tits as she moved on him. The pressure of her hand on him, squeezing him. The sweet, musky scent of her making his mouth water and his cock even harder than it already was.

  He tried to ignore it, tried to concentrate on driving her insane first because he’d be fucked if he was going to lose this one.

  But then she one-upped him, leaning back on her hands and he could see every glorious of inch of her, giving him the most fucking fantastic view of her wet pussy. She ground down on him, panting and gasping as the climax hit her. And dear Jesus Christ, she was rubbing him in exactly the right way, and he groaned because the friction was too intense, too insistent.

  And in the end he had to grab her hips and move her, growling as the orgasm snuck up on him and exploded in his head like a firework.

  Making him come in his jeans like a fucking teenage boy, just as she’d promised.

  Chapter 8

  As Tamara’s heartbeat gradually slowed, she flicked Zee a glance from underneath her lashes.

  He was leaning back on his elbows, that impressive chest of his stretching tight the cotton of his T-shirt, his head tipped back, his eyes closed. God, he was a beautiful sight, the lines of his face still drawn tight with pleasure.

  She’d made him do that. She’d made him lose control.

  The triumph of it nearly stole her breath, made her feel so powerful.

  And that was a damn sight better than the horrible, helpless feeling that had stolen up on her when he’d pinned her to the floor. Bringing back those terrible memories of Will when he’d had one of his episodes. He hadn’t had them often, but often enough for her to feel terrified around him whenever her parents went out.

  It should never have happened of course. She’d adored her older brother and the change that had come over him had terrified her. The mood swings, the mutterings. Speaking to people who we
ren’t there. The sudden, random outbursts of violence.

  She’d tried to tell her parents that something was wrong with him, but they hadn’t wanted to know. They’d pretended everything was normal, that everything was fine. As though if they pretended hard enough, everything would be.

  Exactly like you’ve been doing for the past eight years.

  As if he’d heard the thought aloud, Zee’s eyes opened, sharp silver barbs slicing straight through her. Her breath caught, afraid suddenly of what he might see. She looked away to lessen the feeling of exposure, conscious that she was sitting on his lap naked while he was fully dressed. It didn’t matter what she’d made him do, she somehow felt vulnerable.

  She shifted off him, unable to stop from wincing as she slid onto the floor, the flesh between her legs tender.

  Then warm fingers curled around her calf and held on. “Hey.”

  She went still, taking a moment to compose herself before meeting his gaze. “What?”

  “Are you okay?” His slashing dark brows drew down. “Sore?”

  A hot wash of embarrassment moved through her. “It’s nothing.”

  He let her go and in one fluid movement he was on his feet, bending down and scooping her up in his arms before she had a chance to protest.

  “Zee.” She put a hand against his chest. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Where’s the bathroom?” He seemed able to carry her with no effort whatsoever. “I don’t know about you, but I need to freshen up.”

  “It’s the down the hall over there. And I can walk, you know.”

  He ignored her, carrying her while crossing the lounge area to the doorway that led to the hall and her bedroom and bathroom.

  Okay, fine. If he was going to insist, she wasn’t going to protest. In fact, it was nice just to relax into his arms, enjoy the sensation of being carried. She hadn’t been held like this since she was a child and God help her but there was something she liked about the helplessness of it. Of having strong arms around her and a warm chest to lean against.

  It made her feel safe, which was a strange thing to think about a stranger like Zee. A man who by his own admission had just beaten the hell out of someone tonight. But she went with it for a while because it had been a long time since she’d felt like this and she didn’t want to let go of the sensation just yet.