Dirty Scoundrel

by Jessica Clare

  My panties roll down my thighs and then Clay flings them to the floor. There’s a look of delight on his face, like it’s Christmas Day or something. One hand runs down my leg, his thumb skimming the inside of my thigh. “You really do have the best damn legs, Nat. Fuckin’ thick and juicy.”

  “You make me sound like a drumstick,” I mutter. Not exactly the sexy talk I was hoping for to ease my worries.

  He just wiggles his eyebrows at me, grinning. “You know why? Because—”

  “If there’s a finger-licking joke in there, I’m getting off this bed right now,” I warn him.

  Clay throws his head back and roars with laughter, and I have to admit a little giggle sneaks out of me, too. “Busted,” he says between chuckles. “It was too good to pass up.” His grin turns sly and he leans down, kissing the inside of my knee. “Much like this pussy.”

  Oh, heaven help me.

  I watch as Clay drops to his knees. He pulls mine apart, spreading my legs, and I feel more open and vulnerable than ever before.

  My nervousness ratchets up and I can’t help but hold my breath, waiting. Waiting for his mouth to touch me, or for him to get up and decide he doesn’t want to bother. I don’t know what to expect. Then his hand goes to my knee, and I practically jump off the bed in my anxiety.

  “Don’t be scared,” he murmurs. “This ain’t gonna hurt a bit.”

  I give a little snort, because that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard yet. Of course it’s not going to hurt. I’m distracted, though, and I don’t realize how far in he is until I feel his beard brush against the inside of my thigh.

  Oh god. He’s about to—

  And then he is.

  And then I’m melting.

  His mouth goes over my pussy and I feel his tongue drag against the seam. He makes a low humming sound in his throat, and then parts my folds with his fingers, and licks me again. This time, I feel his tongue move directly over my clit.

  I nearly come off the bed.

  This feels . . . indescribable. I literally have no words, no thoughts, no nothing. I’m just a big ball of mush. My bones? Gone. Voice? Gone. Everything is gone except my ability to feel—and it’s all concentrated squarely on wherever his tongue lands.

  Clay makes that noise again, and I realize it’s not a hum as much as it is a groan. “Lemme know if I’m doin’ it in a way you don’t like,” he murmurs, and his beard brushes against the insides of my thighs again, tickling me. I can hear him kiss my pussy—oh god—and then his tongue drags over my skin again. “Wanna make this good for you.”

  I’m having a hard time thinking. I’m having a hard time doing anything other than just melting in the bed. “S’good,” I breathe. “Y-you okay?”

  He presses a kiss to my inner thigh, right where my leg meets my pussy, and it’s the most erotic thing ever. “Better than okay. Mind if I stay down here awhile?”

  Do I mind? Is he crazy? “Only if you want to.”

  “Baby, there is nothing I want more. You taste fuckin’ amazin’.” As if to prove his words, his head ducks down again and I feel his beard against my thighs a moment before his mouth goes over my clit again.

  This time I can’t help the needy cry that escapes my throat. I press a hand to my forehead, as if that’ll somehow help me hold it together.

  “That feel good?” he rasps, and presses his tongue against my clit again. A second later, he’s using it the same way I showed him how to touch me—light pressure around my clit instead of directly over it. And dear god, it feels amazing. I’ve never felt anything better—until he hitches one of my legs over his shoulder and slides a finger deep inside me.

  My entire body jerks in response, and I feel as if I’m about to explode. “Clay,” I pant, and my hands go to his head, as if I can hold him in just the right spot.

  “Come for me, Nat,” he growls against my thighs. His tongue circles my clit again and his finger pumps inside me. “Want you to come all over my face.”

  The little cry is building inside me, and I dig my fingers into his thick hair. Oh god, I want to come, too. I want to come so badly.

  He redoubles his efforts, finger thrusting deep as well as his mouth and tongue working over my clit. I tighten my grip on him, because I’m so close and yet terrified he’s going to pull away, or change his rhythm, and that elusive, slowly building orgasm is going to disappear before—

  And then it happens.

  Everything in my body seems to clench all at once, and something bursts inside me. I cry out, even as Clay continues to work me with his mouth and fingers, and then I’m coming so hard I’m seeing stars. Over and over, the pleasure washes through me, stunning in its intensity.

  I’ve never come so hard before. Masturbation has nothing to the reality of Clay’s mouth.

  I’m lost to the world, riding the wave of pleasure, until he lifts his head and his fingers slide out of me. He presses little kisses to the inside of my knee, his beard tickling my skin, and I sigh heavily when all of the strength ebbs out of me.

  God, that was . . . Yeah. I have no words. I’m just stunned at the intensity of it all.

  His teeth scrape against my inner thigh and Clay strokes my leg. “Feel all right?”

  “Mmm, yes,” I breathe. I feel better than all right. I feel . . . remade. Like I’ve been beaten to a pulp (in a good way) and then reshaped again. It’s a weird sensation.

  He chuckles. “Good. I’m gonna go grab a condom.” He gives my knee one more kiss and then bounds up from the floor. It takes my dazed brain a moment to realize what he’s just said, and by the time I sit up, he’s returning, a small foil packet in hand. I watch as he rips it open and then pauses by the end of the bed to roll it down his length. I’m fascinated by the flushed color of his skin down there, as well as the thickness of his length. Definitely bigger than before. Definitely fascinating. Definitely fills me with a lot of emotions at the sight.

  Part of me’s not ready.

  Part of me can’t wait for what’s next.

  But then Clay’s climbing back into the bed and in the next moment, he’s over me. His mouth finds mine and then he’s kissing me with deep, hungry strokes of his tongue even as his weight settles over my body. And god, he feels incredible. The sensation of his weight pressing over me is surprisingly delicious, and I don’t protest when he puts a hand on the inside of my knee and pushes my thighs apart so he can move between my legs. His kisses are wildly distracting, and I wrap my arms around his neck, lost to the siren call of his incredible mouth. I love kissing him. I could cheerfully kiss for hours and never grow tired of it. How have I gone seven long years without kissing Clay Price? I’ve missed it so much.

  I’ve missed him so much.

  Clay reaches between us and his weight shifts on top of me. He braces one arm next to my head, and then I feel him drag the head of his cock up and down my folds. I squirm against him, sucking in a breath. “Clay?”

  “S’okay, baby,” he murmurs, and presses light, feathery kisses to my mouth once more. “Just getting things good and slick so I can push inside you easier.” His tongue brushes against the seam of my mouth, and then he groans. “Love how fuckin’ wet you are, Nat. Feel how slick.”

  And he drags the head of his cock up and down my folds again. I gasp when it brushes over my clit, sending little flutters of pleasure through my body again.

  He kisses me again and then his weight shifts. The hard length of him is suddenly pressing against the entrance to my core, and it feels a little . . . intimidatingly large. I hold tightly on to him and close my eyes. I’m pretty sure this is going to hurt.

  “I’ve got you, Nat,” he whispers. And then he pushes inside me.

  It doesn’t hurt. Not exactly. But it doesn’t feel great, either. The overwhelming sensation is that of tightness, and little twinges of discomfort shoot through me. It’s not painful, but at the same time, it’s not exactly fun, either.

  But Clay groans deeply, and he presses his face against my ne
ck, his weight on top of me. “God, Nat. You feel incredible. You’re so . . . tight.”

  “It does feel tight,” I say softly. Even if I’m not enjoying this part, I love his reaction to it. I’m sure it’ll get better with time, so I stroke his arm and just touch his skin, getting the pleasure I can out of this. Next time, it’ll be better. Next time it’ll be awesome. Heck, I already had one orgasm. More than that would just be greedy.

  “Gonna go slow,” he rasps. “For you.”

  I want to protest that he can go faster if it’ll speed things along, but then he pumps into me and I suck in a breath. Even though there was some discomfort with that, it also felt . . . good.

  Clay’s mouth descends on mine again, even as he thrusts into me. I make a sound of surprise, because the ache is ebbing away and is quickly being replaced by a different kind of enjoyment. It doesn’t feel as intense as when he went down on me, but with each thrust, he rubs against something deep inside of me that feels better and better.

  He lifts his mouth from mine. “Still hurt?”

  I shake my head. There’s a lot of ways I could describe this, but “painful” isn’t one of them. As he continues to move on top of me, the enjoyable feeling slowly increases. I wouldn’t say it’s mind-blowing pleasure, but it has potential to get there, and I start to meet his thrusts with little raises of my hips, trying to increase the sensation.

  As I do, Clay groans. “God, you’re so fuckin’ gorgeous, Nat.” He grabs my leg and hitches it around his hip. “Want you to come again. Love seein’ your face when you do. Love the sounds you make.”

  Well, I kind of want to come again, too. I nod and keep lifting my hips in time with him, though I’m not as good at keeping a steady rhythm as he is. My movements become awkward and I pause, only to have him kiss me fiercely again. His hand goes to my breast and he squeezes it, even as he thrusts fiercely into me.

  It feels so good that I whimper.

  He makes a low sound in his throat and the hand at my hip holds me tighter. He pumps into me with renewed enthusiasm, as if by the sheer force of his will he can make me come.

  It’s working, too. As his movements increase, so does my pleasure. His movements are rougher, our bodies flung together with great force, and the elusive feeling is becoming less and less elusive and more like a sure thing. “Clay,” I pant, digging my nails into his shoulders and squirming underneath him, as if that will somehow help. “Clay, please.”

  “Need you to come,” he groans. “Please, baby. I’m so close. Don’t wanna go . . . without you.”

  “Trying,” I whimper. But the more I think about it, the more it seems to slip away. It’s like I was close . . . and then suddenly not so much. Should I fake it just so he can finish?

  But then he growls low in his throat and shifts his weight, and then I realize he’s not lying on top of me as much as he’s sitting back on his heels, cock still buried deep inside me. He studies my body, spread out below him, and then then puts a hand over the mound of my pussy. I can’t figure out what he’s doing until his thumb brushes over my clit, and he begins to give it little circles.

  A hoarse cry escapes me. That—holy crap—that feels a thousand times more intense with his cock buried deep inside me than it did before. My entire body responds and I’m practically coming off the bed.

  “That’s right,” Clay murmurs, and there’s deep satisfaction in his voice. “You come for me, baby. Come around my cock. Wanna feel it while I’m deep inside you.”

  I can’t respond—I’m too busy squirming and sobbing. I’m completely incoherent, and it feels like the greatest pleasure ever—and like I’m trying to come out of my skin at the same time. Everything is just so intense.

  This time, when I come, it feels as if all the air has been sucked out of the room. I’m gasping like a drowning woman, and when he keeps rubbing my clit, my gasping gets louder and louder, until I’m wailing my pleasure. I have to push his hand away before I can get my release, because it just keeps going.

  Then, Clay is back over me again, driving hard into my pussy. He thrusts deep, over and over, and I’m coming all over again, and it’s that deep, intense feeling instead of the quick explosion.

  “Can feel you,” he grits out. “Squeezin’ my cock.” He clenches my shoulder and buries his face against my neck, and then his entire body shudders against mine.

  I’m barely aware as he surges over me in jerky motions, his own orgasm taking him. I’m too lost in mine, and in the pleasure that seems to flow on forever. I just feel so . . . good. Wrecked in the very best of ways.

  Wow.

  Clay shifts, and I realize he’s collapsed on top of me. His weight adjusts and then I can feel him slide out of my body. He leans in, presses a quick kiss to my mouth, and then bounds off the bed as if he’s got endless amounts of energy. Somehow. “Now, that,” he says, tossing a grin over his shoulder at me, “was the best thing I’ve ever paid for.”

  It’s like a slap in the face. All the pleasure I’ve had vanishes in a single moment. He’s not wrong. He did pay for me.

  I sold myself to someone for money. To my ex. And he hasn’t even tried to be nice about it.

  Oh sure, he’s nice right now, but that’s because he just got laid. I look over at his sculpted, tanned body, watching his movements as he peels the condom off over a garbage can. He’s so different.

  And I can’t quite forget what a jerk he’s been since he came back into my life. He’s been high-handed, rude, and he’s made me feel terrible. Like the comment just now.

  This should have been a good moment, at least for a little while longer. Instead, I feel dirty.

  I sit up in bed, tears pooling in my eyes. “Think I’m going to go clean up,” I manage, my voice hoarse.

  Clay turns and looks over at me, a frown on his face. “You okay?”

  I somehow force a smile to my face. “Fine.” And I rush for the bathroom, locking the door behind me. Once I’m inside, I put the lid down on the toilet and sit down. I’m trembling.

  I knew what I was getting into. I just didn’t think his words would have the power to hurt me that much.

  I thought that once I agreed to this, I’d be Teflon. I knew what I was getting into and it didn’t matter what he thought of me.

  Stupid, stupid me.

  Clay

  She’s crying.

  Nat’s trying really hard to be quiet, but even on this side of the door, I can hear her sniffles.

  I feel like the world’s biggest asshole.

  Here I thought the sex had been good. Great, even. My mind is still whirling with how good she felt underneath me, and I want nothing more than to fling that door open, drag her back to bed, and claim her again. I’m filled with possessiveness and the need to protect . . . but I don’t know what to do about her tears.

  I’ve hurt her.

  I don’t know if it’s because of the sex or if it’s because I had ta open my big mouth and remind her that I paid for her.

  Either way, I fucked up. I don’t know how to fix it. I did pay for her. I forced her into my bed because I knew she was broke and desperate. I didn’t think I’d care. Thought I could be ruthless. A scoundrel.

  I’m clearly an idiot, ’cause right about now, all I want is to comfort Natalie and prove to her how much I love her. That I ain’t never stopped lovin’ her.

  But I made her cry after we had sex. If that ain’t a dick shriveler, I don’t know what is.

  It’s clear I’ve been pushin’ too hard. The moment I saw her today, I made her kiss me. Made her dress up and dance to my tune at dinner, and then immediately took her back to the hotel and pawed her. I’m movin’ too fast. We dated for eighteen months in the past and I never made it below her belt. Now in the space of a day, I took her virginity.

  No, didn’t take it. I paid for it.

  That’s a hell of a lot to process, even for me. I can’t imagine how she feels. I know right now, I feel ashamed. I didn’t do this right. I should have met with he
r again, asked to have dinner. Reconnected like normal fucking people instead of being the “scoundrel” with no feelings.

  That ain’t me. It’s never been me.

  And now I’ve fucked up the only thing I ever cared about. I hurt the only woman I ever wanted. I get up and tug on my pants, then shove my feet into my boots. I grab my phone and a shirt, then head over to the door, where she’s quietly tryin’ not to cry and failin’. I knock softly.

  “J-just a moment,” she calls out, and there’s a wobble in her voice that tells me I ain’t wrong, that she’s definitely cryin’.

  I swallow hard. I don’t know what to say. “I’m sorry” seems kinda false because truth is, I knew exactly what I was doin’. I’m just sorry it hurt her feelings. And as an apology, that rings kinda hollow. So I swallow it back and try somethin’ else. “I’m goin’ out for a while,” I tell her. “Stay in the room. I’ll be back soon.” I worry she won’t stay after all. That she’ll run and our contract will be over. Panic makes me add, “I ain’t done with you yet.”

  I wince the moment the words come out of my mouth, because that sounds bad.

  It goes quiet in the bathroom.

  “You hear what I said?” I call.

  “I heard it.” Her voice is flat. “I won’t go anywhere.”

  I grunt acknowledgment, and scratch at my beard. Shit. I’m fuckin’ this up more and more with every moment. Time to take a step back.

  I cast one last unhappy look at the bathroom door, and then leave the hotel room.

  Chapter Ten

  Three Days Later

  Natalie

  Knock knock knock.

  I put the rental movie on pause and get up from the bed, frowning at just how loud the knock was. Room service? They’re usually a lot quieter. I straighten my pajamas just in case it’s Clay, run a hand through my hair, and then head to the door.

  A quick glance in the peephole shows a slender figure with dark hair, dressed in all black and carrying a pizza box, and I don’t know whether to be excited or annoyed. I open the door and tilt my head. “What are you doing here, Lexi?”