Down and Dirty

by Crystal Green

  “Do you think Te’o’s gonna be pissed at us?” she whispered, barely able to talk.

  Ben ran his lips to the cove behind her ear, and the inside of her belly quaked.

  “Because we’re messing around in the back of his limo?” he murmured against her skin, his kisses hot and wonderful. “Nah.”

  He dragged his lower lip around the edge of her ear, and she scratched her fingers down from his hair to his sport-coated shoulders, the sound of her nails whisking, even over the music she’d put on—something from the fifties that might’ve played on a starry night for two lovers. It was their song now.

  “I think that Te’o,” she whispered in his ear, “might not like people doing the dirty in his backseat.”

  “Believe me.” Ben caught her earlobe between his teeth, lightly gnawing and making her shiver before he whispered, “Anyone who drives a limo in Vegas expects some dirty to go on back here.”

  If he’d been off and on with Liz before, he sure wasn’t undecided now, and the realization burbled through her, exciting her that much more.

  Slow, she thought. Keep it slow. But he’d sure be worth the wait.

  He traveled his fingers to her face, smoothing her hair back while coming to gaze at her. His eyes were lust-hazy, yet so intense that she nearly clawed his back in her attempt to get air. As she looked deep into him, her heart clicked, almost like it’d been searching for a combination and it’d finally found the right number.

  Destiny, she thought, emotion welling up in her so powerfully that she almost choked on a sob. Anita was wrong—this has to be real.

  He took his time looking at her face, his fingertips trailing over her cheek, her chin, his gaze sweeping downward with every spot he touched: her neck, her chest, between her breasts, and down her stomach, where the dress was bunched. It was like he was exploring her, creating a sensual map in his mind that he intended to follow.

  As he coasted his fingers back up, he paused at her other breast.

  “I can just see you onstage,” he said hoarsely.

  “Maybe you actually did, when you came to my show in the past.” Her voice, so tiny, barely floating over the music.

  Maybe, even back then, he’d been on a path to meet her and they’d missed each other by a second, a glitch in time.

  “I couldn’t have seen you,” he said. “I would’ve wanted you as much as I want you now. I would’ve remembered.”

  The fantasy of that made her stomach tighten. She had to have been out sick on the night or nights he was in the audience, or he would’ve come backstage and . . .

  Oh. He was running his knuckles over her nipple, brushing back and forth, teasing her until she shifted, restless—so restless that she pushed her dress all the way down, needing it off.

  With sure hands, he helped her, even getting to his knees on the floor and peeling off the material until she was left with nothing on but her heels and thong.

  As he took his time looking her up and down again, she burned for him, stretching her hands over her head and shifting her hips.

  “You’re killing me,” he gritted.

  “I can’t sit still. I’ve been waiting for this since the second you walked into the pool area today.”

  He smiled, but it wasn’t in the golden-boy way she’d gotten used to. This smile was edged with a fever that told her she owned him right now, that his appetite had taken him over.

  With sexy deliberation, he wrapped his fingers around her ankle, brought her foot off the floor, and began undoing the shoe’s strap.

  Liz tensed. If there was one area of her body she was sensitive about, it was her dancer’s feet, which had been callused and beaten by all the work they’d been put through. She’d given them a lot of care, especially since retiring, but she still never knew how a man might react.

  Yet when Ben coaxed his fingers over her high arch, making her suck in a breath between her teeth, he seemed to think her feet were just as beautiful as the rest of her. And when he kissed her there, she just about rocked off the seat.

  He paid as much tender affection to her other foot after he’d slid off her shoe, making her feel like Cinderella in reverse. He kissed her instep, then used his thumb to massage her, all the while gazing at her like she had years of stories marked on those feet and he wanted to hear them. No man had ever paid her that kind of attention, much less noticed the wear and tear on her otherwise polished body.

  “Liz . . .” he said, a note of worship in his tone.

  He took her toe into his mouth and sucked.

  “Oh!” She lifted her hips, twisting. It got even worse as he circled her toe with his tongue, working it, finding an erogenous zone.

  He slid a hand up her leg, and she mindlessly parted her thighs for him just before he found her pussy. As he kept sucking, he rubbed her through her panties with his thumb, sending electricity to every cell in her body. If she was wet before, she was drenched now, and as he pushed away the silk from her, he no doubt discovered that.

  Pressure piled on top of itself in her belly, like she was climbing the stairs to a stage where a bright light was trying to cut through darkness. Such a long climb, making her pant for breath, and the longer she climbed, the longer it took to get there . . .

  He eased his thumb up and down through her folds, then delved into her, pushing in and out before coming back up to her clit, circling it until she mewled. At the same time, he kept on with her toes, and the mixed sensations agonized her.

  Up those stairs . . . still climbing, running toward that light . . .

  When he pressed her clit one last time, the light blasted over her, blinding her, and she cried out, slapping her hand over her mouth. That light kept flashing, harder, splitting her apart before the brightness ultimately faded into something warm and liquid, allowing her to blink and sink back into the seat.

  Ben had obviously been watching her, enthralled. Intense, too, and Liz’s pulse shot through her as he gave another kiss to her instep and leaned forward, hitching his thumbs into the sides of her panties.

  “Know what else probably won’t piss Te’o off?” he asked in a ragged whisper.

  She weakly shook her head.

  He pulled down her underwear, and she made an approving, primal sound, wiggling to help him. After he tossed the panties aside, he reached over to liberate the champagne from the ice bucket, sending her heartbeat into a flurry, flipping and flapping even before he started pouring the liquid over her, the bubbles eating at her skin.

  Was he planning on torturing her with orgasms tonight? Not that she was complaining . . .

  He shucked off his sport coat, dropping it to the floor, then slipped up her body. She went for the buttons on his shirt, undoing them as he slowly licked the champagne off her upper chest, then ran his tongue down to lave her breast.

  “Anyone ever tell you,” she panted, her hands in his hair, “that you’re very, very good at this?”

  He chuckled against her, sucking off her nipple, then taking it into his mouth, bathing her so thoroughly that steam was gathering in her again, pushing her toward another light.

  After paying as much attention to her other breast, he nipped his way down her stomach to her belly, then lower, to where the champagne had trickled between her swollen folds.

  He yanked off his shirt, then ravenously buried his face between her thighs, swirling and devouring until she wanted to scream.

  Meanwhile, the light . . . all she could see was that light . . .

  She hardly even realized it when he climbed on the seat, his clothes off. She only fell back onto it, hooking one of her legs over his shoulder.

  If he seemed surprised at her flexibility, it disappeared fast.

  “Dancer,” she whispered, just before she felt the condom-sheathed tip of him trailing up her pussy, then pushing against her clit.

  Had she blanked out while he got the protection on him? Who cared, because he was grinding himself against her biggest pleasure spot, teasing her again.


  “Sure you’re ready for this?” he asked, mocking what she’d said before about waiting all day for him to make a move.

  “Only if you are.”

  He gave her a wolfish smile, then slid into her, filling her and making her break out with another loud, “Oh!”

  Large and in charge, she thought as she looked into his eyes. An animal under the smooth façade. Exciting as hell. Irresistible.

  All mine.

  And as he slid into her again, she knew that this wouldn’t be enough. She didn’t want to let him go.

  Not ever.

  She moved with him like this had been choreographed the moment she’d first seen him. As he rammed into her once, again, she gave as good as she got, scratching his skin, arching with each thrust, forcing him to go from slow to fast, biting her lip as he pummeled her.

  When he came, it was with a cursing series of spasms. She wasn’t far behind, that light getting brighter and brighter as she started running toward it—

  Bam again.

  Head whirring, she opened her eyes, alive with a carnal, ecstatic buzz, skin to sweaty skin with him, looking into his eyes yet again, knowing that he’d been watching as she climaxed.

  Knowing that he was The One, no doubt about it.

  ***

  Cotton.

  That’s what Ben dreamed about that night—soft clouds beneath him, feeling like an angel’s skin. He was floating on all that airiness, sinking into it as if it were a home he’d just found. Something he’d been searching for without really realizing it.

  The cloud felt so damned real, and he nuzzled into it. Beautiful cotton . . .

  Then he thought he tasted some of it. Dry. Fluffy. Damn, his whole mouth felt filled up with the stuff.

  That’s when sleep faded from Ben and reality intruded, coming in the form of a splintering pain in his head. Had he experienced an extrarough night at the Rough & Tumble? That was rare since he was normally good about holding the modest amount of beer and whisky he drank.

  Bit by bit, his brain took in the feel of the soft sensation next to his cheek, where he was lying. Cotton? It sure wasn’t a cloud. Wasn’t a pillow.

  With a grin, he quite happily found it was a woman’s breast, full and perfect, the pink nipple of her other breast near his mouth.

  He was in heaven, wasn’t he? Then again, that’s what he always thought when he woke up with a woman beneath him. As he cozied into her, running a hand over her waist, the movement made his skull crack again.

  What the hell had he drunk last night?

  He squinted awake a bit more, also asking himself why he was in a hotel room. . . .

  As carefully as he could, he raised his head away from the perfect breast to look down on a sleeping redhead with bobbed hair. Gun-moll hair, said a tiny voice in the back of his mind.

  He recognized Jameson’s voice, and last night came rushing back to Ben with another blazing smack.

  Bordello, with Liz against his cock, moving her hips until he’d almost burst apart and needed to get out of the club. Walking down the Strip and buying those lethal drinks. More drinks in the limo as he’d gotten even drunker off the taste of champagne on Liz’s skin. Even more drinks and then . . . this.

  Here. Now.

  But what had gone on between the extra drinks and this hotel?

  As he searched his mind, Liz stirred awake, raising one hand above her head and slipping it under her pillow, where her other hand was already hidden. The pose flattered her breasts, making him want to cup them in his hands, molding them. She was very good at that stretching move.

  “Morning,” she said, smiling, remnants of sleep in her voice.

  It was an adorable greeting, all afterglowy and satisfied. Unfortunately, Ben was pretty sure he’d never had his big Jameson talk with her, that they’d been severely interrupted by the limo ride and then come back here to sleep off all the booze—especially from that frozen poison he drank without having anything to eat. Amateur move right there. But who knew something so bright and silly could slay a man?

  He smiled down at her, almost saying a good morning, too, but one glance at the parted curtains told him that it was barely light out, not even dawn yet.

  “Hey, there,” he said instead. He wouldn’t get all cool on her again. They were in his room—he could see his duffel bag on the table near the window—and if he could tell anything by the way she was lavishing a gaze on him, he had her in the palm of his hand—unless she was such an amazing con woman that she could fake the emotion he saw in her eyes.

  Pure happiness.

  Damn him, he should’ve kept his dick in his pants and never let it go this far. But anyone at the Rough & Tumble could vouch for the fact that Bennett Hughes was a pushover for the ladies—and this one had been no different.

  Even if she was different. They’d fit together so perfectly last night, and he’d felt something in his chest that’d never been there before as he’d stared into her eyes while he’d been inside her.

  He hardly knew the woman, but he knew enough to realize that this couldn’t go any further.

  Liz didn’t seem to mind that she was unclothed, the sheet bunched just under her rib cage. He was buck naked, too, and he brought the linen over his hips, then ran a hand through his hair.

  “What a limo ride,” he said, gearing up for the Big Talk. He would transition from how she’d paid for the limo to Jameson’s money.

  But then a niggle ticked the back of his brain. A flash of memory in which he’d given the driver—Te’o—a wad of cash at the end of the ride without Liz realizing it. Was it because of the mess they’d made with the champagne?

  Ben’s mind kept digging.

  “Yes, the limo,” Liz said with a reminiscent smile. She mmed and stretched some more, then held a hand to her head. Hangover for her, too? Then she perked up again. “Best ride I’ve ever taken. You know, at the beginning of the night, I thought you were gonna dump me back here at the hotel because I’d had a wee bit too much to drink and was tempting your upright nature.”

  “You did?” He’d thought she could read his attraction to her all over the place, but maybe he’d fooled her more than he’d realized as Joe Blow. Until the limo.

  “Jeez,” she said. “You must’ve thought I was a tart.”

  Before he could assure her that he thought no such thing, she went on.

  “You know, just because I’m comfortable with my body, it doesn’t mean I give it away to anyone. I do like sex—I’m sure that was pretty obvious last night—but I have to be attracted to a man before I go for it with him.”

  Her gaze—so soft that it touched him—made him feel caressed and wanted. If he didn’t know better, he’d say that she’d gotten a little too invested in him . . .

  “Liz.” Without thinking, he rested a hand on her arm. Let her down easy. “It sounds like you’re preparing yourself for something, like bad news.”

  “It’s a habit.” Her smile was so sweet, too. “I’m used to disastrous mornings after.”

  Disastrous morning after coming up, made to order, Ben thought, guilt weighing him down.

  Her smile had turned cautious, like she was waiting for him to kick her out of bed and tell her to get the hell out like Jameson had done.

  Anger at his brother surfaced, but Ben had no right to it, seeing as he was about to burn her just as bad as Jameson had done.

  Dammit, what’d he been thinking last night? Actually, he hadn’t been thinking, and that was the point. He’d let his dick take over, even if he’d warned himself about it. Maybe he was as useless as his family thought he was.

  The value-free black sheep and the slippery showgirl. What a pair.

  But he could still save this situation. Wasn’t he an expert at letting women down easy? Weren’t they usually happy with the Rolex he gave them and willing to move on without much fuss?

  He realized that his hand was still on her arm, but it felt so right to touch her. She seemed to think so, too, because she s
miled at him again, so comfortable, her other arm still over her head, most of it buried beneath that pillow.

  Time to get this over with.

  “You spent too much last night,” he said. “And don’t tell me that the tab’s on that guy who gave you the cash.”

  She shrugged. “I told you—that’s the last of the big spending I’m doing. You can count on me to keep my word.” Her voice softened. “I promise.”

  And he was believing her more and more, but maybe his gut wasn’t right. It wasn’t as if he were the most dependable evaluator of people.

  He steadied himself. “What I’m trying to say is that as well-intentioned as you are, Liz, I can’t enjoy another man’s money.”

  “Why?” She seemed genuinely stumped. “It was a gift. Sure, yeah, Jameson gave the money to me as a blow-off gesture, but . . .” She widened her eyes. “He wasn’t paying me for services rendered. Is that what you’re thinking?”

  “Not in the least.”

  “I didn’t steal it, either.”

  He hesitated a second too long, and when she sat up and used one hand to pull her pillow over her chest in a protective gesture, he saw true heartbreak all over her face.

  No one was this good of an actress.

  And when her eyes went even wider, he knew that she knew why he’d been talking about the money so much.

  “You,” she whispered.

  Oh, shit, this wasn’t going the way he’d planned at all.

  “Oh my God,” she said. “You reminded me of him, and I didn’t put it together until now. You’ve been asking so many questions about the money and . . . Are you . . . ?”

  Yeah, Joe Blow was over. Time to move to the truth and the nondisclosure agreement. Screw the smooth-operator act.

  “Am I related to Jameson?” Ben sent her his sorriest gaze, then nodded. “Yeah. I’m his brother, Bennett.”

  She started to get out of bed, but he grabbed her arm.

  “Hey,” he said, “listen to me. I was only looking out for my brother when I met you.”

  “Looking out for him?”

  “He told me you stole that money from him, so I was going to get to the bottom of it quietly, without involving anyone outside the family.”