Dare to be Dirty (The Dirty Girls Book Club #2) (7 page)

She wriggled against him, her body opening, shifting, accommodating his size as he pushed slowly, relentlessly upward. He filled her, stretched her, in a brand-new way. A way that didn’t allow her to hold still but made her lift upward, using her thigh muscles and the arms she’d braced on his shoulders for leverage. Up, sliding up his shaft, his flesh already slick with her juices, then down again, creating friction against her inner walls, pressure against her clit.

It was irresistible, addictive. Like scratching an itch, when it feels so good that you just have to keep doing it. And so she did it again, again, as he supported her, one big hand fanned out under her butt, the other around her back. He supported her hundred pounds as if she were as light as a butterfly.

“Shit, Kim.” Ty’s voice was ragged; his grip tightened.

He shifted position, bracing himself against the truck, then he pumped his hips, taking control of the action, plunging faster, compulsively, into her.

His thrusts were so forceful they almost hurt, but they also stroked every tingling, throbbing nerve ending with a pressure more delicious than anything she’d ever known. Gasping for breath, she arched, flinging her head back.

Head swimming, she managed to focus. And there they were: the stars. She gazed in wonder at the canopy of midnight velvet scattered with stars as brilliant as twinkling diamonds. Sex under the stars, with a man who possessed her body and gave her the kind of bliss she’d only read about.

Ty bent his head, touched his lips to her shoulder, then his teeth in an almost bite. A groan wrenched through him and he said roughly, “Come with me. Fly for me, dragonfly girl.”

He pumped even harder, so fast she was powerless to do anything but cling, whimper with pleasure, and climb to a tight, coiled peak of sensation.

His body tensed for a moment and she tensed too, then he climaxed with a hoarse shout and a series of jerky thrusts that took her over the top. Her eyes glazed and above her, the stars were a cascade of fireworks while inside her, her body exploded in its own fireworks display.

Panting, face heated and damp, she struggled to hang on, to not let her muscles loosen and melt like hot wax.

His arms held her securely, though his chest heaved as he struggled to catch his breath.

Then he tensed again. “Hell. Keep quiet.”

“What—?”

“Shh.”
He pressed the back of her head so her face was buried in his neck.

Now she heard what he must have. Voices approaching. Male and female, laughing, singing off-key under their breath.

Getting caught would be so embarrassing. But on the other hand, she felt delightfully naughty. Good girl Kim would never do anything so daring. Good girl Kim would be shocked. She smothered a giggle against Ty’s neck. Tonight, with Ty, she’d created dirty girl Kim.

The voices veered off, and a moment later a door closed with a
clunk
.

“That was close,” Ty’s voice rumbled close to her ear. Gently, he let her down until her shoes touched the ground. “Sorry, I got carried away. This was crazy.”

She grinned, feeling her skirt drift down to cover her legs. “Crazy isn’t always bad. I’d just as soon no one else came along though.”

His hand cupped her shoulder. “I’m with you on that. Let’s go inside.”

Seven

T
y pulled up his jeans and boxer briefs, which were tangled around his lower legs. Man, when Kim made up her mind, she sure got into it. He’d broken his six-month drought with a bang. He picked up the two bottles of beer, which they’d somehow managed not to knock over, and found the room key in his pocket. He unlocked the door of the log cabin and clicked on a lamp. “Sorry, it’s nothing fancy.”

Kim walked in and put her yellow bag and her discarded thong on a table by the door.

He handed her the bottle of beer, and she glanced around the room. He hoped the place wasn’t a mood-buster. It sure wasn’t city-sophisticated and it definitely wasn’t artsy, but it was clean and cozy, with wood furniture and red and brown plaid upholstery. His rigging bag rested on a chair, his open duffel was on another, and his straw Resistol hat sat on the bedside table. On the road, he rarely bothered to unpack.

She tilted the bottle to her mouth and took a long swallow. “Nice hat, cowboy.”

“If you’re good, I’ll let you try it on.”

Mischief lit her dark eyes. “Didn’t I already prove that I’m good?”

He chuckled. “Yeah, you got a point. Okay, you can wear my hat, but before you start putting on clothes, let’s take some off.”

He guided her toward the four-poster bed and put both bottles on the side table. Hoping his rough hands wouldn’t damage the delicate fabric, he tugged the floaty blouse up over her head and tossed it onto the bed. Under it, she wore a skimpy body-hugging top in vivid turquoise. No bra; he could tell from the way her nipples poked through the thin cotton.

He undid the fastenings of her skirt and she caught it as it dropped, stepping out of it and laying it over the back of a chair.

The top was cropped, not quite reaching her waist. What a picture she made, all slim and sexy and, somehow, kind of elegant: tousled black hair with turquoise streaks, fine-featured face, sleek torso clad in turquoise, and all the rest of her naked and golden in the lamplight. Gently curved, nicely toned arms and legs, flat belly, and a tiny, enticing vee of black hair, an arrow pointing to treasure.

He didn’t get much chance to admire because she was fumbling with the top snap on his shirt, clearly expecting a button.

“Lie down and let me do this,” he told her.

“As long as I can watch.” She pulled down the bedspread and slipped between the sheets, sitting up against pillows. Picking up her beer bottle, she ran her tongue around the rim, then took a swallow.

His cock promptly imagined that tongue circling it, and, despite having climaxed explosively only a few minutes ago, stirred to life again. He tugged the front of the shirt so the snap-style buttons popped open one by one. A couple shrugs of his shoulders and the shirt slid off. He sat on the edge of the bed to take off his boots, his back registering a protest as he bent down.

She giggled. “You don’t wear them to bed.”

“Not if I want to get my jeans off.” He stood, peeled off his jeans and boxer briefs, and left his clothes on the floor.

She stared, wide-eyed. “You have an amazing body.”

“You stole my line.” He dropped to the side of the bed and touched her cheek. “You do, Kim. Such a sexy body. But you’re so small I’m scared I might hurt you.”

“I’m small but I’m strong and flexible.” She gave a flirty smile. “Bet I can hold my own.”

“Promise to tell me if anything hurts.”

She tapped the bottle playfully against his shoulder. “Just what are you planning to do to me, Ty Ronan?”

“All the good things,” he answered promptly.

“Hmm.” The tip of her pink tongue came out and touched her upper lip, then retreated, making him want to chase it. “
All
of them, you say? That sounds promising.”

“And I’m a man of my word.” He took her bottle and put it on the table.

Ty started by kissing her, slowly and thoroughly, sinking deep into the kiss until they were both breathless. He kissed her small ear, the sleek line of her neck, wrung a moan from her when he sucked a sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder. Licked the dip between her collarbones where her pulse thrummed wildly.

Her head twisted from side to side as he worked his way down, slipping the skinny straps from her shoulders as he went. She drove her fingers through his hair to grip his head. Yes, she was surprisingly strong as she guided him to her breast, her nipple hard beneath the thin cotton.

He breathed warm air then licked her through the fabric until she freed one hand from his head and impatiently jerked her top down, releasing her soft breasts.

Such pretty breasts, pale and smooth with those rosy brown buds like cherries on top. He licked circles around her nipple, then sucked it into his mouth. She tasted delicious, a little salty from a day in the heat. The kind of salty that made a guy want to keep on nibbling.

He switched to her other small, perfect breast, so soft and female, so responsive. Some guys were breast guys; some went for butts; some were into legs. He’d always gone for the whole package, and Kim was just about the prettiest package he’d ever unwrapped. Pretty, sexy, responsive. The breathy whimpers, the way she arched and pushed into his mouth, the needy writhing of her hips, they were almost more than he could take.

Her top had bunched below her breasts, so he hooked his hands into it and peeled it over her head. Then he worked his way down her smooth, taut body. Her skin was softer than silk, but underneath he felt a tensile strength.

The sweet curve of her waist, the gentle plane of her belly, the subtle flare of her hips. A thoroughbred, all the way. As he fondled and kissed, he scented the sweet musk of her arousal. It drew him, like a bee to her honey. Her knees bent and came up, her legs parting for him. Her inner thighs were damp, her pussy lips swollen and slick.
So beautiful.

So inviting.
He wanted to bury himself deep inside her.

But her hips were lifting, twisting, and she whimpered, “Ty. Ty, please.”

He licked the swollen folds, slid his tongue between them, found the engorged pearl of her clit. Gently he flicked the tip of his tongue against it.

She shuddered and thrust up against his mouth, almost grinding against him.

He licked faster, more firmly, and she moaned, twisted, then froze, cried out, and her climax pulsed against his mouth.

A little later, her legs relaxed and settled to the bed. “Oh my gosh,” she murmured huskily.

Ty walked to the bathroom and took a couple of condoms from his travel kit. When he returned, Kim was flopped out on the bed like she was boneless, but her eyes were open and her gaze followed him. He held up a condom. “Ready?”

She nodded. “Oh, yes. You warmed me up nicely.”

He was pretty hot himself. He sheathed himself and lay down beside her, his body taut with need. He ran his hand down her arm, up again, across her shoulder, down to her breast, that small, perfect handful. “You take top.”

“Me? Why?”

“So I won’t squash you.” He could see she was about to protest—probably to again say how strong she was—but he kept talking. “And you’ll have more control.”

“Control? Hmm.” Her eyes lit with that sexy sparkle. “You mean you want me to ride you”—she paused, then slowly drawled, “cowboy?”

“Damn right. Let’s see if you can last more than eight seconds.” He stretched out on his back, his sore muscles clenching a moment then beginning to relax.

“You’re going to try to buck me off?” She sat up, laughing. The quick motion must have thrown her off balance because she swayed, put a hand to her head.

“Not if I can help it.”

“That’s good to know.” She swung over to sit astride his thighs and grasped his cock, the warm pressure making him jerk with the need to thrust, to pump, to drive to orgasm.

She didn’t make him wait, thank God. Holding him firmly, she lifted up on her knees. He felt the hot slickness of her center, and then he was sliding inside with a groan. Kim was so small, the tight grip of her channel so erotic. Not wanting to hurt her, he held still, letting her move at her own pace.

Slowly, she slid down on his shaft, her moisture easing his way, until she’d taken him in.

He rested his hands on her smooth thighs as he fought for self-control. “Shit, Kim, you feel good.” Her body was a glove, clinging to him, heating him.

“You too. So good.”

She was lovely, slim and exotic. Delicate skin, dusky nipples, the black vee of silky hair between her legs, the punky haircut with turquoise streaks.

Under his hands, her thigh muscles flexed and she began to rise and fall. Riding him, like she’d said.

The thought gave him an idea. Stretching one arm, he hooked his Resistol hat from the bedside table. “You wanted to try this on? Now’s a good time, cowgirl.” He reached up to plunk it on her head, tipping it back so it didn’t fall down over her eyes.

She laughed again and began to move faster, really getting into it now.

He pumped his hips, not taking over, just meeting her halfway. Fighting to hold on to control while the friction, the heat, the sight of her, conspired to make him lose it.

The vigorous motion made the hat tip forward on her small head. She put up a hand to adjust it, then clamped down on the crown to hold it in place.

“Great ride,” he managed to gasp.

Grinning, she raised her other arm the way bronc riders did, and waved her hand triumphantly in the air.

That did it. She was so fucking hot. He let go, plunged deep and fast. Saw color bloom on her chest, her cheeks. Heard, “Oh, yes!” And then he was coming, pumping and filling her as her body rippled and pulsed around him, demanding everything he had to give.

* * *

K
im woke in the darkness, curled up in bed. Her head pounded, her mouth tasted as if a rodeo bull had stampeded through it, and her stomach was queasy.
Ooh, nasty.
Was she sick, or had she had too much to drink?

Wait a minute.
Where was she? In her apartment, the mini blinds always let in a little light, but this room was pitch-dark. And . . . wait a minute.
Rodeo bull?
Where had that thought come from?

She tensed, suddenly aware of the sound of slow, steady breathing and the hardness of something—a male hip?—pressing into her butt.

In a flash, everything came back to her. Oh my God, she’d tied one on with a cowboy named Ty. What had she been thinking?

What had she been drinking? Whatever it was, she was never having it again. And certainly not two bottles, or had it been three? On top of how many hours outside? How many hours of blazing sun?

She was dehydrated, hungover, maybe she had sunstroke. She was insane. She’d lost her mind and had totally meaningless sex with a man she’d just met. A rodeo rider!

It was like the night of the two appletinis, only worse. Public embarrassment at karaoke was nothing compared to this. When she dropped her inhibitions, she did it with a vengeance.

Her heart raced. What was she going to do? She couldn’t stay, couldn’t wake up with this man, couldn’t deal with . . . whatever would happen in a “morning after.” She wasn’t this person. She was a good, responsible girl, one who took relationships seriously.

And now she felt like a slut.

Gingerly, she eased her naked body away from that warm hip and, inch by inch, toward the edge of the bed, then slipped out. Where was the bathroom? Could she find it in the dark? Sliding her feet slowly along the floor, she headed in what she thought was the right direction, careful not to stumble over anything. Yes, now she felt the frame of the bathroom door.

She whipped inside, eased the door closed, and turned on the light.

Promptly, she slammed her eyes shut against the assault of that light. Then, as cautiously as she’d eased out of bed, she opened them.

Shit.
Her hair was a disaster, the touch of eye makeup she’d worn was smeared around bloodshot eyes, and patches of red beard-burn dotted her chest and face. What would her mother say if she saw Kim now? She looked . . . She searched for the word. Dissolute. Exactly as bad as she felt.

Greedily, she drank down a glass of cold water, feeling it soak into every pore of her parched body. Marginally refreshed, she scrubbed off the old makeup with a damp washcloth, then for good measure ran the cloth over the rest of her body. She wouldn’t risk turning on the shower and waking Ty.

Her clothes were somewhere out there in the pitch-black room where he slept. The motel room. She’d had sex in a motel room. And outside, under the stars, on the hood of a truck. No, that had to have been a dream. Didn’t it?

That honey lager must have something odd in it, like an aphrodisiac. For a moment, she toyed with the idea that Ty had slipped a drug into her drink. Then she shook her pounding head. No way. A guy like him could have pretty much any woman he wanted—including her, apparently. He didn’t need drugs to help him out.

He
was
the drug. Him, the booze, and that stupid book giving her ideas about cowboys. Cowboys and starlight.

This was what alcohol did to her. It loosened her inhibitions, turned her crazy. She did stupid things. And most of the time, she didn’t even act like she was drunk, so no one knew her actions were booze talking, not brains. Probably, Ty hadn’t had a clue she was drunk. After all, how many women got loopy on two or three beers?

Silently she eased open the bathroom door a slit and surveyed the room in the small amount of light the open door provided. The bed loomed large. A four-poster, with the hump of Ty’s body on one side. On one of the wooden posts, set at a rakish angle, was his beige cowboy hat.

That hat . . . She put a hand to her mouth to stifle a groan. Had she really sat atop Ty’s body, that hat on her head, and ridden him like he was a bucking bronc?

No, she couldn’t have. Could she?

God, she hoped he didn’t wake up.

Creeping as silently as a ghost, she moved into the room, locating her clothing piece by piece and avoiding looking at the bed. Her thong, thank God. She pulled on the skimpy bit of fabric as if it was a security blanket. Skirt, tank, ballet flats—she added layers, feeling more herself with each one. The canary yellow bag she loved. But where was the butterfly top?