Dirty South (A Blue Collar Bad Boy Romance)

by Celia Loren

  "No."

  Our lips press against each other's and I dig my fingers into his legs. I feel a surge of passion and pride as his tongue slides into my mouth. It was special for him, too.

  My hands run from his thighs up to his belt. I want him so much. I feel his huge cock pressing against the inside of his pants, and hurriedly unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants. I break away from his mouth and kiss along his strong jawline to his ear, sliding my tongue inside it and then softly biting his neck. I loosen his tie and unbutton his shirt as I feel his hands slide under my t-shirt. I kiss and lick my way down his chest to just above his belly button, then reach my hand inside his pants, pulling out his member.

  It twitches slightly in my palm and Boone's hands fly to the edges of the desk to support himself. He groans as I slide my hand up and down, and then kneel in front of him. I lick my lips as I lean forward, bending his cock downward slightly and taking him into my mouth.

  My eyes tear up as his tip hits the back wall of my throat. I taste the saltiness of his pre-cum on and pull back, swirling my tongue around him and then pulling him back into my mouth. His hand slides down the back of my head and he buries his fingers in my hair. I look up to see his head tilt back slightly and his chest expand with a deep breath.

  I move my head forward and back, then take one hand and wrap it around his balls, and the other around the base of his shaft, my fingers covering the rest of his member that is far too large to fit in my mouth. He groans as I begin to move faster and faster. I watch his face, and my eyes move down his chest, his tattoo just exposed by his open shirt. Boone Tillman, my fantasy for so many years, now at the mercy of my mouth.

  "Wait, wait, stand up," he gasps. I swirl my tongue around his tip once more for good measure, and then do as he says. "Turn around," he orders me. As I do, he takes me by my hips and swings me around so that I'm facing his desk with him standing beside me.

  I feel his cock press against the small of my back and then his hands swiftly unzip my pants. He yanks them down to just under my knees, and then pulls me back against him. His hands run from my waist, up the sides of my ribs. I shiver as his fingertips brush the sides of my breasts, but he keeps going, running his hands along my arms and pulling them up and placing them around the back of his neck.

  I leave them there as his hands move back over my breasts, his palms covering them and massaging them firmly. One hand slides down my stomach, and the other hand moves to my neck. As he slides his fingers under my panties, his fingers close firmly around the base of my throat. He's not pressing down, but he's certainly warning me not to move.

  I cry out as his fingers slide across my wet clit. My knees begin to shake violently as he rubs his middle finger around and around me. My mouth opens and I'm quickly gasping for air. Pleasure swells between my hips and my whole body begins to quiver.

  His hand pulls out of my underwear, and he quickly tugs them down. His other hand slides behind my neck and he presses me down and pushes me forward slightly, so that my thighs are pressing into his desk and my breasts are pushing onto a stack of papers just next to his computer keyboard.

  He slides his fingers down my ass and then presses one inside me. I whimper as he rotates it around and around. I hear the rip of a condom wrapper and I bite my lip in anticipation.

  "Hold on," he says, and my fingers find the edge of the desk. I feel his cock against my ass, and he spreads my cheeks apart as he finds my opening.

  "Oh, Boone," I moan as he presses inside me. He grunts as his cock stretches me apart. He pulls back out and thrusts in again. I stand on my tiptoes to give him a better angle and hear him cry out as he plunges back inside me and his tip hits my vaginal wall. His hands slide around my hips and he drives in harder and faster. Even with his strong grip steadying me, I can feel my thighs slamming against the desk, but I don't care. I'm lost to the feeling of bliss that's enveloping my body.

  I hear him cry out behind me, and the idea that I'm responsible for his pleasure drives me over the edge. With a wild moan, an orgasm flies through me, picking my chest up off the desk in a deep spasm. He thrusts into me several more times as my body continues to shake around him. Gradually, I still, and he leans forward, placing his hands on either side of my waist.

  We stay there for a moment, and then I feel him slowly pull out. I take a deep breath and stand up, then pull my underwear and pants back up. I look down and tuck my hair behind my ear as he walks over to me.

  "Shy, all of a sudden?" he asks, slipping his arms around my waist. I lean my head onto his chest, nuzzling into his shirt.

  "Maybe a little," I say. He smells so good. I just want to stay wrapped up in his arms, but I feel him lean back. He slips a finger under my chin and tilts my head up so that I have to look at him. We stare at each other for a moment. His mouth opens as though he's going to say something, but then he closes it again.

  "I should get back to work," he finally says. "So you'd be fine with keeping this a secret? Just meeting up every now and then?"

  "Sure," I say with a careless shrug that completely belies how I feel. "Just, um, just give me a call when you feel like it," I add, extricating myself from his arms and grabbing my purse. A big part of me feels dirty for offering myself up for booty calls like this, but it's the best I can hope for. Boone and I can never have a real relationship, and at least this is better than nothing.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I glance at the designs for Upland's new logo. Not that anyone's asked me for my opinion, but I don't think they're quite right. They all look a bit too traditional to me, and the whole point of the rebranding was to introduce people to a more modern Woodall & Sons.

  I glance at the clock. Charlie could come back from lunch at any time, so I should clear my desk up. He never takes lunch at the same time every day or goes for the same amount of time, so I've taken to always eating at my desk so that I'm always available. I'm going for dedicated, but I'm worried that I'm coming off as obsequious.

  I toss my empty Tupperware container back in my tote bag, and freeze as a text message pops up on my phone. It's from Boone. I haven't heard from him for three days. I've wanted to reach out to him, but I figured that I'd already put myself out there by going to his office like I did. I pull out my phone and my stomach does a flip.

  Free after work tonight? his text reads.

  I look at my clock and wait a full minute before typing back, Yes.

  Dinner at my place at 8, he replies immediately, and I grin. Maybe he's just inviting me over for dinner to make a booty call seem more refined, but I don't know if I care. I still get to have dinner with him, right?

  "Make three copies of this and bind them in the blue folders in the supply closet," Charlie says, putting a large stack of papers on my desk. I jump. Shit. I never look at my cell phone at work, but of course the first time I do, Charlie sees me.

  "I was just—got it," I sigh as he walks back into his office.

  * * *

  I was hoping I'd have time to go home before heading over to Boone's, but everyone stayed late working at the office, so I did too. Not that I had anything important to do. I'm learning that when a company hires you as an "intern", what they really mean is "assistant earning less than minimum wage".

  In the car, I take my hair out of my low bun and comb it through with my fingers. It's getting long, reaching almost halfway down my back. I should get it cut soon. I give my cheeks a quick pinch, then step out of the car. I glance around to make sure I don't know anyone on the street, which is still rather well-lit in the summer sun, and hurry up Boone's steps.

  It takes him a minute to answer after I ring the bell, but I can't help but break into a silly grin when he opens the door. He's wearing an undershirt and his suit pants, and has a spot of something red on his cheek.

  "Tomato sauce?" I ask as I reach forward to wipe it off with my thumb.

  "Thanks. I'm making spaghetti, hope that's alright."

  "You know how to cook?" I ask as he ges
tures me back toward the kitchen.

  "I dated at Italian chef for a bit," he says with a cocky smile.

  "That’s one way to learn a new skill," I say as I step into the kitchen. He moves behind the stove, and picks up a long wooden spoon. "You see the new design ideas?"

  "I did," he says, and I see a slight frown on his face. "What do you think?'

  "I don't know if it matters what I think," I say, taking at seat across from him on a high stool pulled up to the kitchen island.

  "Of course it does."

  "I'm just an intern."

  "You have a degree in graphic design and you lived with the company for your entire life," he says.

  "Well, when you put it that way... I guess it seems a little traditional. Just sort of a different take on what you have now."

  "That's what I think," he says with a sigh. "When Mason came to the meeting—sorry."

  "What are you sorry for?"

  "I didn't mean to bring your father up. Especially because..."

  "You were going to say something negative about him?" I smile. "Don't worry. I know he's not perfect. Far from it, actually. He can be so jovial and fun when he's at a party or something, but in private, he has the thinnest skin. I feel like I'm walking on eggshells around him most of the time."

  Boone watches me for a moment. "It must be hard to live with that," he finally says.

  "He takes up a lot of space. Not physically, I mean. Although..." I add with a little smile.

  Boone laughs. "See, that's why I've never settled down. I just think it would be tough, coming home from work and having to deal with someone else's whole mess. Sounds exhausting."

  I feel a little pang in my chest, but ignore it. "So that's it? Just wanting to be able to relax when you come home? That's why you're a confirmed bachelor?"

  "Yeah," he says, shrugging his shoulders.

  "OK," I reply. "Want me to pick out a wine?"

  "Don't think I didn't notice that change of subject, but yes, that would be—" he stops as the doorbell rings.

  "Expecting someone else?"

  "No," he replies in surprise.

  "I can get it," I offer as the oven timer goes off.

  "No... what if it's your father?" Boone asks, wiping his hands on a dish cloth. I think he's mostly kidding, but I can't deny that's it's a possibility. He leaves the kitchen, and I look around. Boone has good taste. The lines of the cabinets are sleek, but they still work with the old bones of the house. I hop up and head for the wine cellar, figuring I'll choose something for us to drink while I wait.

  When I return to the kitchen with a more moderately priced bottle than I chose last time, Boone still isn't here. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I put the bottle on the granite countertop and head down the hallway toward the front door. I poke my head around and can see a woman's legs just inside the door. Not my father, then. Another of Boone's women, perhaps? The thought irks me, and I lean around the doorway further, trying to get a better look.

  No, she's too old for Boone. Her light hair is fried from being dyed blonde, and her skin looks tired. I peer at her eyes. She actually might be younger than I initially thought, though the years certainly haven't treated her well. She tugs nervously at her faded denim jacket as she speaks to Boone in hushed, hurried tones. I watch him run his hand through his hair, and the tension rippling across the back of his shoulders.

  "Boone? Is everything alright?" I ask, walking forward. He steps immediately away from the women and looks down, seemingly embarrassed, though I don't know why. "I can come back another time," I offer.

  "I didn't mean to interrupt," the woman says in a raspy voice that identifies her as a lifelong smoker.

  "No, no, it's alright," I assure her.

  Boone sighs. "Callie, this is my mother. Eileen, meet Callie."

  Chapter Seventeen

  My mouth falls open in shock, but I quickly close it and step forward, offering her my hand. "It's so lovely to meet you," I say with a warm smile. Something in the downtrodden way she holds her shoulders hunched forward makes me want to wrap a warm blanket around her.

  "You too," she replies. I wait for Boone to say something, but he and his mother just stand there awkwardly, looking like complete strangers.

  "Well, I'll give you two a chance to catch up. I'll just—"

  "No, Callie, don't leave," Boone says.

  "Really, I didn't mean to barge in," Eileen murmurs, looking uncomfortable. I wait another beat for either of them to offer a solution, but neither does. Alright, I guess I'm in charge of this rodeo.

  "Why don't you join us for dinner, then?" I ask. "Boone, there's plenty of food, right?"

  "Um, yes, if that's alright with—I mean, we—"

  "It sounds perfect to me," I say. "Eileen, can I take your jacket?"

  "Oh, yes. Yes," she replies, shrugging it off. Boone remains frozen by the door as I make a lucky guess and find the coat closet on my first try.

  "You can keep cooking, Boone," I urge him. "Why don't you come back to the kitchen with us, Eileen?" They both nod, and Boone finally shakes off his inertia. We all head back to the kitchen, and I rummage for glasses in the cabinets, subtly putting the bottle of wine I just took from the basement into one of them while I have my back turned. Boone said his mom had substance abuse problems, and I don't want to make anything worse. "So is this your first time here, Eileen?" I ask, filling up a glass of water for everyone.

  "Yes. Last time he was living in a hotel while he was fixing this place up," she says.

  "Ah," I reply, and sneak a glance at Boone.

  Eileen clears her throat. "Thanks for putting all that money in THE commissary, by the way."

  "No problem," Boone says, almost too lightly.

  "That's the place where you buy things in prison," Eileen explains to me. "Just little things, you know. But those are the things that help get you through your time."

  "Sure," I respond, because I don't really know what else to say.

  * * *

  When dinner ends, I help Boone clear the plates. It's been a meal of fits and starts, both Boone and Eileen extending themselves, and then withdrawing.

  "How long are you in town for, Eileen?" I finally ask as I make coffee.

  "Just passing through," she says. Boone shifts as he stands next to me at the counter.

  "You said were going to try to get a job here," he says, narrowing his eyes at her.

  "My friend said she could get me a job at this restaurant in Memphis," she says. "All I need is bus fare."

  "There are restaurants here," Boone points out. I reach out and rest my hand on the small of his back, and feel him relax slightly into me.

  "I just don't think this is the right place for me."

  "I see," Boone replies curtly.

  "Well, I better get going," Eileen says, and stands. She pauses for a moment, eyes glued to the countertop. Boone reaches into his wallet and pulls out a wad of cash, everything he has in it.

  "Here," he says, handing it to her. "I'll walk you out."

  "Nice to meet you Eileen," I say, and follow ten paces behind them to the front door and watch as she leaves without hugging him. Boone closes the door, and turns to see me.

  "Sorry about that."

  "You have nothing to apologize for," I reply.

  He sighs. "I've made my expectations for her so low that I didn't think it was possible for her not to meet them, but she did it again. I understand if you want to leave."

  "Why would you say that?" I ask, cocking my head.

  "I just...that's my mother, Callie," he says, with a smile that reveals more than he might realize.

  "There's something about her, isn't there?" I murmur. "Something that makes you want to take care of her."

  "Something wounded," Boone agrees. "Gets me every time."

  "At my mom's house in Maine, I have to check under the couch cushions before I sit down to make sure I don't sit on a bottle she's hidden and break it. And I had to wake her up every mor
ning, but she'd pretend it was because she's a heavy sleeper and not because she was too drunk to set the alarm the night before."

  "Doesn't she already know you know that she's an alcoholic?"

  "Yes. It's just her way of trying to keep her dignity I think. That's my mother," I say with a wry smile. "Look, your mom might have chosen a different substance, one that the legal system decided was much worse, but I don't really think there's much of a difference between them." We stand silently for a moment. "You know what would really hit the spot for me? Some decaf coffee and a movie," I say. He looks a little taken aback, and for a moment I worry that I've overstepped and suggested something that's too much of a couple activity.

  "Alright, why not?" he replies, as though I've just suggested something that's completely novel to him, which I probably have.

  Chapter Eighteen

  After the night I met Boone's mother, I was hoping something in our relationship would shift, but it didn't. I suppose I can't really complain. We've been meeting up every few days, and each time he finds some new way of giving me pleasure. When I'm not with him, I'm constantly thinking about him. But not just about whatever crazy position he put me in, I'm also fantasizing about other things... surprisingly mundane things. Like how it would feel to wake up in the morning next to him, or brush our teeth at the sink together before we go to bed. My mind constantly wanders away from me, no matter how much I try to pull it back, no matter how much I tell myself that those things will never happen, not for Boone and me.

  I pick up my phone to see a text from Vernon: Headed over. I try to feel excited. I know intellectually we make a great match, and our parents couldn't be more over the moon about the fact that we're still seeing each other. We haven't had a talk about being exclusive yet, so it's not like I'm breaking any rules by sleeping with Boone. Not that I don't still get a knot of guilt in my stomach sometimes, but I have to tell myself something to be able to sleep at night.

  My dad has some work conference, so I'm able to slip out without him needing to give me a pep talk. I don't understand why he thinks that his involvement will actually help any romantic relationship that I have. My current entanglement certainly proves that the forbidden fruit is the most enticing.