Dirty Talk

by Megan Erickson

  The bell on the door of Delilah’s sounded, and Ivy frowned. She must have forgotten to lock it after Delilah left. She laid down the pants she’d been holding and walked out of the back room. “Sorry, we’re—”

  She didn’t get another word out, because in the front of the store was Brent Payton. He stood in front of the door, muscles flexing through the thin layer of his T-shirt. His booted feet were planted shoulder-width apart. And dammit, like always, he looked amazing.

  He reached behind him and flicked the lock on the door. She stared as he began to walk toward her, and as he drew closer, she realized he was pissed.

  Really pissed.

  His face was like thunder, his eyes blazed, and his jaw was clenched. “What did you tell Alex about our date?” His voice was deeper than normal.

  Oh shit. She took a step back.

  “Ivy?”

  “Uh—”

  “You told her it was nothing? That it didn’t mean anything, because I’m not the kind of guy you take seriously?” His voice rose at the end, and that’s when she realized he was hurt.

  Because of her. She’d fucked up, saying that to Alex, because it wasn’t true. That was the best damn date she’d had in a long time. And she absolutely took Brent seriously.

  Way too damn seriously.

  She continued to walk backward. “Brent, I—”

  He was advancing on her in a way that should have scared her. And if it had been any other man, it would have. But this was Brent, and if anything, he’d never made her feel anything but safe.

  He was pissed, though; that was clear. His fists were clenched; the veins in his forearms were pronounced. His lips were set in a firm line, and his brow was furrowed.

  And those eyes—they were like liquid silver as they pierced her. “I’m not a guy you take seriously, Ivy?” They were in the back room now, and he was still walking toward her. She had nowhere to go but back, which she did, until her butt hit the table behind her. And then he was there, right there, his chest brushing hers, his head dipped to meet her eyes. “What about that dinner? And that kiss in my truck. Did that feel serious to you?”

  She swallowed and placed her hands on his chest to push him away. Except she didn’t push. She didn’t at all. She let her hands rest there as the muscles beneath her hands quivered.

  He cared. He gave a shit that she thought he was a joke. Her. This mattered to him. And she didn’t know what to do with it. She didn’t know how to reconcile everything she’d promised herself and her family in the last year with this man in front of her, whose features were softening by the minute.

  The anger faded from his eyes, but what quickly replaced it was just as dangerous. He wore the same expression he’d had that night in the truck. The look that made her think he would devour her whole if she gave him the go sign.

  He licked his lips, and she braced.

  His placed his hands on her hips and tugged her against his long, lean body. She sucked in a breath and told herself to look away, that she was too close to the fire, but she was hypnotized.

  He leaned down and brushed his lips against hers, once, twice, teasing nips, until she whimpered, and then his tongue delved inside, tasting her, claiming her. And it was so much—too much—but Ivy was caught in Brent’s web now.

  “Did that kiss feel serious to you?” he whispered against her lips as his thumbs made tantalizing circles on her hips. In one swift move, he lifted her onto the table and stood between her spread legs. Then his large hands gripped her thighs. “Does this feel serious to you?” he said with a slow grind of his hips. She gasped as she felt him stiff in his jeans. She wanted to combust as the telltale heat of her own arousal bloomed. “Brent—”

  “Do you think I’m a joke? Tell me now, Ivy, and I’ll leave you alone. I’ll walk away.”

  She could make this go away, this torture of Brent’s body pressed against hers, this ache in her gut, the goose bumps on her skin. But her gaze was still locked with his, and her mouth wouldn’t work, wouldn’t form the words. “I-I don’t know—”

  She didn’t finish her sentence because his mouth was on hers again, cutting off her air and her thoughts. She didn’t know anything right now but Brent’s touch, his overwhelming desire for her. She’d never been wanted this much, this desperately.

  She’d never wanted someone back like that. Until now.

  He talked as his lips coasted across her jaw and down her neck. “I told you the ball was in your court, but I’m taking it back. I’m taking it back because I’m not waiting around for someone else to cut in line to get your attention. I want it.” He latched onto a sensitive spot below her ear and sucked. Her fingers curled into his shirt, her nails digging into his skin, and he grunted. “Fuck it if it’s selfish.”

  Oh, God, no. This was all backfiring in her face. Except her body was pleased as hell, every nerve ending on fire, every cell crying out for more of Brent’s touch. She wanted skin; she needed skin. She slid her hands down his back to the waistband of his jeans and slipped her hands under his shirt and . . . aaaah, there it was. Pure, soft, Brent Payton skin. It was hot to the touch, the muscles shifting beneath her fingers as his hips thrust gently against her.

  She was thrusting back, wanting, needing, everything inside of her aching because it’d been way too long since she’d had pleasure from a man.

  Brent’s lips were on her chest, leaving a wake of nips and kisses. His hands were under her skirt, his thumb rubbing the crease of her thigh. He lifted his head, his dark hair in disarray, his eyes glinting. “Let me touch you. Please let me touch you.”

  She wanted that. More than anything, so she didn’t think in that moment about consequences. She nodded because it was what she wanted. It was what Brent wanted. And right now, the two of them were all that mattered in her world.

  He groaned at her answer and slipped his fingers inside of her panties, immediately rubbing through the slickness of her folds.

  She cried out as he wasted no time sinking two fingers inside of her heat, while his thumb worked on her clit. She bit down on his shoulder as she rode his fingers, not caring if she looked wanton or desperate because dammit, she was.

  His lips were at her ear, his voice ragged. “This isn’t how I pictured touching you for the first time. Fuck, Ivy. I’m sorry. But I can’t stop myself. I can’t take it slow because you feel so damn good around my fingers. I can’t even imagine what you’ll feel like around my cock. You gonna let me get the chance?”

  She was making unintelligible noises against the soft fabric of his T-shirt, nearly choking as his fingers brought her to the brink.

  “Next time, I’ll strip you down and lay you out on the bed, and I’ll touch you everywhere, drive you crazy, and take my fucking time before you come, you understand? I’ll do it right next time, because I can’t right now . . . fuck.” He bit off his words as she moaned.

  She needed more. She wanted more. More skin, more Brent, more them. She fumbled between them, somehow managing to flip open the button of his jeans and pull down his zipper halfway before she shoved her hand inside and . . . there.

  Brent’s cock.

  It was hot and hard in her hand, the skin like silk, and he dropped his head onto her shoulder as she gripped him and began to stroke. “Jesus Christ,” he cursed.

  And she didn’t know whose hand was whose anymore. There was heat and hardness and wetness, and she was coming, still biting Brent’s shoulder. Her cries were tinged with sobs, and Brent’s curses reached peak levels as his cock pulsed in her hand.

  And then there was silence. Silence punctuated by breathing. Silence edged with the smell of sex.

  She closed her eyes, not wanting to look up, not wanting to see his face, because oh my God, they’d just made out like a couple of teenagers in the back of Delilah’s shop.

  But Brent didn’t give her that chance, because his lips were on hers now, kissing her softly and slowly. And then he pulled back to look her in the eyes. His eyes were wide, full of
a little bit of wonder. “If your hand made me have the best orgasm of my life, then being inside you might fucking kill me, Ivy.”

  She laughed. Because he looked so serious, and her hand was still in his jeans, and his was still in her panties, and she’d just had too good of an orgasm to be anything but happy.

  He pulled a rag out of the back pocket of his jeans and cleaned up himself and her as best as he could. Then he took her hand and stared at it. “You have the smallest little hands.” He pressed their palms together and curled his fingers at the first knuckle over hers.

  Their hands looked good together; she had to admit. But now that Brent’s body wasn’t plastered against hers, now that their passion was receding, the reality of her life, her world, was beginning to seep in all the cracks.

  She gently pulled her hand back and ducked her head.

  But Brent wasn’t done. He placed a hand beneath her chin and lifted it to meet his gaze.

  “Tell me how serious that felt,” he whispered.

  She didn’t answer. Because she didn’t trust herself.

  The muscle in his jaw ticked, but that was his only reaction to her silence. “That sure felt serious to me. Touching you, feeling your hands on me. I bet your little teeth left a mark on my shoulder, and I’m fucking cherishing that.” His voice was sharp but just as quickly as it came, his irritation receded. His voice softened. “That date was serious to me. Spending time at the park with you and Violet. That was serious to me. If you still think this is all a joke to me, then challenge accepted. I’ll prove it to you.” He backed up and fixed his jeans, not taking his eyes off her.

  Shit. Shit. She straightened her skirt and then gathered what little armor she had left and narrowed her eyes. “And then what? You win the challenge and then get bored? Where will that leave me?”

  He didn’t back down. Not one bit. In fact, his lips curled into a smirk. “That’s what I’m setting out to prove. That this is serious, and I’m not going away once you believe it.” He took a deep breath and placed his hands on his hips. He looked at his boots, and when he lifted his gaze, his confident smirk was gone. “I didn’t mean for this to happen when I came over here. I swear. But I . . . can’t say I regret it.”

  That bit of vulnerability was killing her. “I don’t regret it either,” she whispered. She touched her lips with her fingers. “Not at all.”

  “So that’s what you’re worried about? That you think I’ll get bored once the challenge is over?”

  That wasn’t what she was worried about. She was worried about lying to her sister. She was worried about this relationship crashing and burning and them having to uproot their lives again.

  But that was too much to tell him. If she told him that, then she’d have to tell him about Alex and Robby, and that wasn’t Ivy’s story to tell.

  She was stuck in this place of wanting Brent, hating that she was hurting him, but unable to see the way out. So she just nodded.

  He grabbed her hand again. “Help me out here. Does any of this feel serious to you?”

  The words stuck in her throat. She swallowed thickly, willing them to untangle themselves so she could speak. He tugged his hand away, frustration evident in his features, but she held on, knowing this was probably a horrible idea but unwilling to let him leave without hearing the truth. “Yes.”

  He stilled. “What?”

  “It does. I shouldn’t have said that to Alex, and I’m sorry. I was . . . overwhelmed. And a little scared to believe it. To believe this.” That was the truth. She’d done it.

  He made no move for a minute, instead watching her face. He squeezed her hand. “Thank you for telling me that.”

  She bit her lip and ducked her head, running her thumb along the back of his hand.

  “Hey,” he said.

  She looked up.

  “I have to get back to work. But I’ll prove to you that you can believe, okay? I will, Ivy.”

  “Okay,” she whispered.

  And after a kiss to her forehead, he was gone. She sat down on the table and stayed sitting after she heard the bell above Delilah’s door ring. She didn’t move for another fifteen minutes, working in her head how to get out of this situation.

  She couldn’t think of one damn thing. So she hopped off the table and finished her work, unable to get her mind off Brent, unable to forget the feel of his hands on her body.

  Chapter Eleven

  THEY WERE AN odd mix. Delilah and Jenna looked like they’d stepped out of a catalogue. Alex wore jeans and a tank top because she was . . . well, Alex.

  And Ivy was cute, single-mom Ivy. At least, that’s what she felt like. That’s what she always felt like.

  Except that night with Brent. Then she’d felt stunning.

  But that was then. This was now. In this martini bar in Hattery, sharing drinks with the girls.

  It was Friday night, and they were enjoying half-price happy-hour drinks. Alex rarely drank, so she’d told Ivy to drink as much as she wanted, and she’d take them home.

  Ivy had waved her off, saying she wouldn’t drink that much. But her nerves were shot, and she was tired of thinking about Brent all the time, and so she was already half into her second martini.

  Delilah was talking about some trip she won at a banquet last year, while Jenna listened, and Alex made eyes with some bearded guy at the bar. Ivy tried to pay attention to Delilah; she really did. Valiant effort and all of that. But all she could think about were Brent’s hands on her. His voice in her ear. Does this feel serious to you?

  How was she supposed to ignore him or keep him in his little not-serious box in her mind when he revealed himself like that? When he told her he wanted to be the man who’d make her happy?

  “So Ivy,” Jenna said, drawing her attention. “How was your date with Brent?”

  “She’s being cagey about it,” Delilah said, sipping her martini.

  “I’m not being cagey,” Ivy protested. The problem was that she knew whatever she told Delilah would get told to Jenna, then Cal, and then Brent. And she didn’t want all that . . . talking.

  Alex opened her mouth, and Ivy kicked her under the table. Alex scowled but shut her mouth and then excused herself to go to the bathroom.

  After she left, Ivy leaned forward. “It was nice. We had a good time. He’s a nice guy.”

  Jenna raised her eyebrows. “Nice?”

  “That was two nices,” Delilah added.

  “Well . . . yeah,” Ivy said.

  “Not sure anyone has ever described any Payton as nice,” Jenna mumbled as she dipped her pita chip in some hummus.

  “Isn’t Cal nice?” Ivy asked.

  Delilah started laughing. Jenna elbowed her but was laughing too. She turned to Ivy. “Cal’s a stubborn, grumpy bastard, but I love him anyway. He tries to be nice; it just doesn’t come out that way.”

  Ivy didn’t know why she felt defensive. “I like nice. There’s nothing wrong with nice. In fact, I think it’s highly underrated.”

  Jenna wasn’t laughing anymore. “No, there’s certainly not anything wrong with nice. I’m glad Brent’s nice to you. He is a really good guy, even if he’s a pain in the ass a lot of times.”

  Ivy ran her finger through a drop of spilled martini on the table. “I think he puts on an act sometimes because he knows that’s all people expect. But he’s not always like that.” When no one spoke, she looked up.

  In that moment, she was glad Alex was in the bathroom, because she’d clearly shared too much. Jenna and Delilah were staring at her with matching expressions of shock, and Ivy looked away, blushing.

  “I don’t know, or maybe he really is just a pain in the ass.” But she hated the words, even as they came out of her mouth. Why was she doing this? Lying to everyone and herself about what she thought of Brent?

  Jenna cleared her throat. “Right, maybe.”

  Delilah looked like she was going to say something, but Jenna laid a hand on her arm, silencing her, and that was great. Because Ivy’s ey
es felt hot and her throat tight, and she really, really didn’t want to talk about this anymore.

  Not when she still pictured Brent smiling at her in the sunlight of the park as she watched her daughter roll around with his dog. Not when she pictured his palm meeting hers, how right it had looked and felt.

  She and Alex should have moved to a retirement community or something, where there were no young, eligible bachelors.

  When Alex came back to the table, Jenna focused on her martini and kept drinking.

  Alex still had her eyes on the lumberjack at the bar, and Ivy frowned at her. “I thought you said no men.”

  Alex shrugged. “I’m not marrying him. But he’s hot and my type, so what’s a little fun?”

  “So just sex?”

  Alex blinked. “Sure, just casual, safe, consensual sex.”

  Ivy chewed the inside of her cheek and stared at her drink. So if Alex could do it, then maybe Ivy could too. She could tell Alex it was casual, that she and Brent were just friends. She could let Brent touch her. She could let herself enjoy a man’s body. A man’s body on hers. Brent wanted to show her it was serious, but she could still resist it going that far. As long as she kept it casual, feelings wouldn’t get hurt, and when it ended, they could coexist in Tory, unlike every other relationship she and Alex had with men.

  She wasn’t sure this would work, but in her martini-fueled brain, it made sense. Sort of.

  Delilah clapped her hands, startling everyone at the table. “Wait—this is girls’ night, so what the hell are we doing talking about men?”

  “Yeah!” Jenna cheered, and Alex fist-pumped the air.

  “What we should be talking about”—Delilah paused dramatically to take a sip of her drink—“is how awesome we all are and how amazing my boobs look in this dress.” She cupped them and twisted at the waist so everyone got a good look.

  Ivy had to admit her boobs looked exceptional in that dress. The fabric was a shimmery tan that looked amazing with Delilah’s skin.

  Jenna reached over and poked the top of one of Delilah’s breasts. “The girls are especially amazing tonight. But then, you’ve always had killer boobs. Remember prom?”