Dirty Scoundrel

by Jessica Clare

  When we get out to the limo, I nod to the driver. I’m stayin’ at a hotel in downtown San Antonio—one of the most expensive ones. Thought about bringing Nat back to my trailer, but that seemed wrong and insultin’ somehow. So I rented the fanciest suite I could get at Ivy’s suggestion. As we head to the hotel, though, she checks her phone again. And again.

  And the sad, distant look on her face just keeps growin’. Any conversation I try to make with her falls limp, and by the time we get to the hotel, I ain’t even tryin’ anymore.

  I’m burnin’ up with bitter anger. Didn’t I buy her? Didn’t I pay for her to be my assistant for as long as I want her? But even now, she ain’t with me. Maybe it ain’t her dad . . . maybe it’s someone else. A boyfriend I’m unaware of.

  The thought fills me with rage. I didn’t even ask. What if she does have a man?

  My hands clench into fists at the thought, and for the first time in my life . . . I feel murderous. It’s weird.

  I hate bein’ jealous. I’m not that guy. Least, I didn’t think I was until I saw Nat again. Now I want to deck anyone that looks at her a little too hard. I feel possessive. She’s mine. Mine alone.

  I’m moody by the time we get to the hotel. Nat makes a little noise in her throat at the sight of the hotel itself, but she doesn’t question it. Reckon she doesn’t wanna go back to my trailer, either. Then again, she might not know that I don’t have a real house. I ponder that. Maybe it’s time to see about gettin’ a real home now that I want to bring a lady back to my place. I’ll talk to Ivy, I think.

  Tomorrow. Tonight I don’t wanna think about any girl but Natalie.

  We head up in the elevator and I pull out my keycard. Natalie’s still quiet, though she’s starting to twitch at my side. I wonder if she’s nervous or if she just can’t wait to get away from me. The thought burns in my gut. Like I want her just rarin’ to escape. I want her hungry for more kisses.

  Maybe that’s why I’m all surly when we pause in front of the suite. She eyes the double doors and gives me a curious, innocent look. “Is my room nearby?”

  I push the keycard into the slot and then press my thumb to the reader to let it know that it’s me. “Only one room,” I tell her, and then hold the door open so she can enter.

  She looks all surprised, her mouth open in a hint of shock, and I want to kiss it right off her face. What, did she not think I was going to just change my mind? Say, “You called my bluff. I don’t want ya in my bed”?

  Truth of the matter is, I want her now more than ever before. So I wait patiently, holding the door open for her. Waiting for her to hold up her end of the bargain.

  Natalie swallows hard and then sweeps past me, her chin held high. She clutches her purse under her arm like a football, and her back is stiff. I can see color in her cheeks, and it’s clear she’s ruffled. That’s all right. She’ll get comfortable when I get my hand between her thighs.

  I follow her inside and toss the keycard down, along with my wallet, on the nearest table. “Make yourself at home.”

  She looks around the room—a pretty fancy place, if I do admit—and then sits elegantly on a chair near a small round table. She puts her purse down.

  I immediately go to pick it up.

  “What are you doing?” she asks, reaching for it.

  “I want your attention on me, not on your phone,” I tell her brusquely.

  “Oh.” She relaxes and sits back in the chair, biting her lip. “I’m sorry about that in the limo. I was lost in thought, and distracted by the nurses attending my father.”

  Least she admits it. I feel a little more relaxed at that. “You want a drink from the minibar?”

  Her smile is faint. “No, thank you.”

  I noticed she wasn’t drinking anything but tea at dinner. I had a beer, but just one. “So you don’t wanna be drunk for this?” I tease.

  She glances down at her hands in her lap. “I’d rather not, I think.”

  “I’d rather you were sober, too. I’d feel kinda shitty if you were drunk.”

  “So it’s not okay for me to be drunk, but it’s okay for you to force me into this by paying me?” She looks up at me, her eyes narrowed with curiosity.

  Got me there. I scratch at my head, feelin’ a little foolish. “Kinda? In my head it makes sense, at least.”

  “None of this makes sense to me,” she admits. “I’m not sure why you want me, of all people. And why now.”

  I could explain myself. But I’m not sure I feel like it. She just needs to know that I want her and that I’ll take care of her needs to ensure that she takes care of mine. “It ain’t important,” I say, and then sit down on the edge of the bed and pat the seat next to me.

  Her eyes go wide and she gives me a nervous look. Kinda makes me smile to myself. She’s actin’ like a shocked virgin despite the fact that she’s twenty-five. I don’t expect she waited on me, so the ploy ain’t necessary. “You on birth control?”

  “Of course not,” Nat tells me, frowning. “There’s never been a need.”

  I go still. “This . . . ain’t your first time, is it?”

  Her back goes stiff as she sits next to me, all prim and proper. “How many times do you think I should have done this, then?” She looks mighty uncomfortable.

  I snort, because I mostly want her to get that pinched, worried look off her face. “More’n me.”

  Natalie’s brows go down and she gives me a curious look. “How many times have you done it?”

  Done it. Heh. Like we’re still two teenagers discussin’ the forbidden. “Haven’t,” I admit. “Waited for you.” I gaze at her pretty face, so lovely she makes my heart ache. “Then I waited to get over you.”

  Her full lips part and her eyes grow shiny. “Oh, Clay,” she sighs. “Sometimes you say the sweetest things . . . and then sometimes I want to punch you right in the face.”

  That just makes me grin. It sparks a memory of long ago, when I frustrated her back on a date and she threatened something very similar. “You still didn’t answer my question,” I point out. “You a virgin?”

  Her cheeks are red but she nods, slowly.

  Fierce pleasure ricochets through me. Holy fuck. She waited for me? Or . . . she waited because of something. Don’t care. All I know is that I’m going to be Natalie’s first anyhow. Doesn’t matter that it took us seven years to get here.

  She’s mine. All mine.

  With a fierce growl, I pull her against me and capture her mouth. I feel her stiffen in surprise, but then she melts against me, her hands going to my waist and resting there as I kiss her. She’s mine, and she’s gonna stay mine, I decide. I love the taste of her, and the way she feels against me.

  Even so, I can tell she’s holding back—it’s not like the kiss we had in the car. She’s hesitant, and when her tongue flicks against mine, I can almost taste the worry rushing through her. I press a gentle kiss on her parted lips and then nip at her mouth. “You okay?”

  Her nose brushes against mine as she ducks her head. “I’m nervous.”

  I feel a ridiculously stupid surge of pride at that. She’s nervous ’cause it’s her first time. I’m going to get her first time. “Would it make you feel better if I said I was nervous, too?” I ain’t, but I’ll say whatever to make her feel better.

  She chuckles and her hand smacks lightly against my side. “I’d rather you be confident so we do things well.”

  “Oh, I’m confident,” I tell her in a husky voice. I let my thumb graze over her full lower lip, still wet from my kiss. “I’m confident that I’m gonna kiss the hell out of you, and then I’m going to strip this sexy dress off your even-more-sexy body. I’m gonna dip my fingers between your thighs and play with your pussy, and then—”

  Her fingers push against my lips. “Clay,” she says softly, embarrassed. “You’re trying to make me blush, aren’t you?”

  Actually, I’m tryin’ to turn her on. It’s clear that when she’s nervous, though, she can’t think beyond that n
ervousness. I remember that back when we were younger, too. Natalie took some coaxin’ to relax. When she got wound up, she was wound up tighter’n anyone I’d ever met before. Her family was always stressin’ her out when she was a teenager. Her dad had unreasonable expectations and her stepmom was a beast. I thought it might have gotten better since she’d moved back in with her daddy and her stepmom was gone, but some things don’t change, I guess.

  That’s all right. I remember how to deal with Uptight Natalie. I remember she liked kissin’. A lot. And that it felt really good to kiss the hell out of her for what felt like hours on end.

  I’m more’n happy to do that again right now.

  I cup her jaw and tilt her mouth toward mine again. This time, I brush my lips gently over hers. Once. Twice. Then again and again. Light, feathery little kisses to distract her and make her keep guessin’ what I’m gonna do with my mouth next. Somewhere in the steady stream of light, unobtrusive kisses, she relaxes. Her body leans into mine a bit more and her lips move against mine with every caress. She makes a soft little sound in her throat when my tongue grazes over the seam of her lips, and I know she’s mine. She ain’t thinkin’ about anything but my mouth now.

  Good. I’m claimin’ her tonight. I’ve waited seven years to make her mine, and I don’t want to wait another moment longer.

  Our kisses grow hungrier, deeper. My tongue brushes against hers, and when she responds eagerly, I intensify the kiss. Over and over, I stroke my tongue, fucking her mouth like I want to fuck her cunt. Her hands curl against my shirt and she makes a little whimper with every drag of my tongue against hers. I don’t let up, though. I just keep kissin’ her with all the intensity I’m feeling at this moment. There’s nothing I want more than those little sounds coming from her throat. I live for that. I live for the sweep of her tongue against mine.

  When I finally break away from kissing her, she looks dazed. The lower half of her face is bright red from where my beard has rubbed against her face, and I feel a twinge of guilt at the sight. Kissing me is tearin’ up her skin. She doesn’t look upset, though. She looks soft and fuckable and like she wants more. Makes me growl low in my throat, and I can’t resist pressing another kiss to her parted lips.

  I’m the first one to touch this virgin territory. She’s mine. It just fuels my possessiveness. Natalie was born to be mine, I realize. I’m never lettin’ her go. Not now, not ever.

  “I’m gonna take this dress off you now, Nat,” I whisper between kisses, and slip a finger under one spaghetti strap. “Or would you rather I get naked first?”

  Her hands move to my shoulders. She curls her fingers against my shirt again, and then gives me a breathless shake of her head. “I don’t know.”

  “How about I take my shirt off first, then?” I press a tiny kiss on the tip of her nose, then the corner of her mouth. I keep kissin’ while she nods, distracted. Goddamn, she’s pretty. I can’t wait to get every inch of her naked. My cock aches fiercely at the thought.

  “Okay,” she whispers, her mouth impossibly close to mine.

  It tears me up to have to pull my hands off of her. I want them all over her—caressin’ those rounded, delicious breasts of hers, the ample ass that I’ve been eyein’ all day, her soft, pale legs with the most delicate ankles. All of her is appealin’. Ain’t none of it I’d kick out of bed for eatin’ crackers. I just hope she finds me half as appealing. I run a hand down my beard, noticing her flushed skin again. Nothin’ to be done about that now, though, and she hasn’t complained. I grab the front of my shirt and rip the buttons apart in a quick motion, not caring that the fabric makes a ripping sound. It’s just a shirt. I got plenty more of those. I toss it on the floor and wait for her to react.

  Just like she’s changed since high school, I have, too. I’m a lot hairier, I gotta admit. Back then, I had a lean chest without much of a tan. Now I’ve got hair all over my pectorals and I’m burnt a dark tan by the sun. My belly ain’t fat at least, but I do wonder what she’s gonna think of me.

  Nat makes a breathless sound and she puts a hand on my shoulder, then squeezes. “You’re . . . Wow. You look different than I remember.”

  “Can’t help that,” I mutter. I ain’t waxin’ my chest. That’s just fuckin’ weird.

  “I like it,” she tells me, and her hand smooths down one pectoral and then she reaches over and squeezes my bicep. “You’re so . . . big. I don’t remember you being so big.”

  Well, damn. Makes me want to show off for her, flex my muscles a little like the vain idiot I am.

  She gives a nervous little laugh and meets my eyes. “Is it weird that I’m scared? I just . . . waited so long and now it’s going to be like this—”

  “It’s going to be amazing,” I reassure her, hatin’ that my heart squeezes a little at her words. “I would have wanted you to be my first anyhow. Always did.”

  It’s the right thing to say. The smile returns to her face and she gives a little nod. “Me too. I just wish . . .”

  The words trail off and I don’t want her goin’ down that path. I have a R on my knuckles, don’t I? I need to be ruthless. Or is it a scoundrel today? Fuck if I know. Fuck if I care. I just want to get that sad expression off her face. So I take her hand and put it on my breast again, and her fingers curl in my chest hair. She seems fascinated by it, and while she’s distracted, I lean in and press another gentle kiss to her mouth. She makes a delicious, toe-curling sound of pleasure when I pull away, and I take that moment to tug one of the tiny straps down her arm.

  Or at least I try to. I tug at the strap but it’s digging into her skin and doesn’t seem to want to move.

  “One of the perils of having a larger chest,” she admits, and eases the strap down her shoulder with a snap of the material. “You need more support than you think.”

  I trace a finger over the red mark the strap left on her skin. Well, damn. If I’d have known it was gonna mark her up—I’d have undressed her hours ago. “You need to quit talkin’ about yourself like you’re shit now that you gained weight. I don’t like it.”

  Her eyes go wide and the nervous look returns to her face. It doesn’t fade even when I lean in to press a kiss to one creamy white shoulder. “I just . . . You’re paying a lot of money, Clay. I don’t want you finding me . . . unpleasant. I shouldn’t care, but I do. I worry. I’m not the same size I was in high school. After my stepmom moved out, I realized she’d done a number on my self-esteem and it took me a while before I could eat like a normal person again. I packed on some weight. I . . . Well, normally I don’t care but you remember me as skinny—”

  “I remember you as pretty,” I tell her. “And soft. And mine. None of that’s changed.” I trace a finger down her arm. Still so damn soft. “If it’ll make you stop worryin’, I like your big tits. I like your big butt. I like your rounded thighs. I’m pretty sure I’m gonna like your rounded belly when I put my mouth on it. And I know I’m gonna like it when I put my mouth on—”

  Her fingers press to my lips again, and she gives a girlish giggle that warms my heart. “I get the point. No need to go into detail.”

  “Party pooper.”

  Her laughter is a beautiful thing, just as beautiful as this body she worries about. I kiss her shoulder again, and then ease—or fight with—the other strap, until they’re both dangling off her shoulders and her breasts look like they’re about to spill out of the tight top of her dress. And fuck, if that ain’t a pretty sight, I don’t know what is. I run a knuckle against the line of her cleavage. “Don’t see how you could see this as anythin’ but gorgeous, Nat.”

  “I just want you to be satisfied with your purchase—”

  “If I didn’t like the way you looked, I’d have never bought you in the first place,” I tell her, but I don’t even know if that’s true. Her ass could be twice as wide and she could have her hair in a buzz cut and she could be wearin’ a muumuu and I’d still want her because she’s Natalie Weston.

  Seven years later, I’m st
ill madly in love with her.

  The realization hits me like a ton of bricks. It ain’t infatuation or obsession. I ain’t angry at her anymore. I just ache with wantin’ her. Knowing that she’s still a virgin—that she’s never taken anyone else to her bed, just like me—it frees up somethin’ in my chest. I feel . . . lighter. Complete.

  I feel like the last seven years didn’t matter so much after all.

  Maybe Natalie Weston didn’t wanna marry me seven years ago, but I can convince her that she wants to marry me now. First, though, I’m gonna claim her thoroughly. I put my hands around her waist, lean in, and bury my face in those glorious breasts of hers.

  She squeals in surprise as I do, wriggling against me.

  “Love these gorgeous tits,” I tell her as I slowly peel one of the cups of her dress down. She sucks in a breath, going stiff as I pop one nipple free from its confines. Prettiest damn thing I’ve ever seen. I lean down and brush my mouth over the pink tip, and Nat’s moan of response nearly makes me lose control. “So fuckin’ beautiful,” I tell her. “Lean back on the bed for me so I can look at you properly.”

  Nat does, and it lets me feast on the gorgeous sight of her, dark hair spillin’ around her shoulders. She’s practically comin’ out of the top of that dress now, one bouncy breast freed from its confines and the other strainin’ to make its escape. Her eyes are wide and dark with need, and she’s breathing hard, either nervous or excited—or both.

  I know just how she feels. I want to cover her with my body, to feel her naked skin, soft and smooth, against mine. More than anything, I just want to keep touchin’ her. “Remember back when we used ta make out in my truck?” I ask her, sliding my hand up the material of her dress and undoing the tiny little corset hooks that crawl up the front. “You would wear these dainty little sweaters and you never wanted me to put my hand under ’em, because you were shy. ’Cept we’d get to kissin’, and then you’d have your hands under my shirt and start beggin’ all kinds of things like, ‘Please, Clay, touch me.’ And I would, because that’s like askin’ a drownin’ man not to breathe air.” The hooks pop under my fingers, and as each one loosens, more of her pearly skin is exposed to the air.