Dirty For Me (Motor City Royals) (9 page)

The low, rough sound of Zee’s breathing gradually penetrated her shocked brain.

She looked up and something that hadn’t been satisfied one bit began to stir to life inside her.

“I’m not done,” he said.

Then he pulled her to her feet.

* * *

He felt like he’d barely touched her. Barely gotten a taste. And even though the effects of the mind-blowing orgasm were still rocketing around inside him like a hit of pure, uncut cocaine, the sight of her kneeling there in the remains of her ripped dress was more than enough to get his dick excited all over again.

She looked dazed, her beautiful, pouty mouth full and red, and slightly open. And there was enough ambient light to see the glow of her pale skin and the dark marks left by his stained hands that covered her small, high breasts. His fingerprints.

He’d done that to her. He’d torn her dress and put his hands all over her, stained her, marked her. And now all he wanted was to do it all over again.

He didn’t question himself because it was too late for that shit, leaning down and sliding an arm around her waist, hauling her up into his arms. Then he turned and carried her a few steps to the vintage Chevy he was in the process of fixing, and sat her on the hood.

Her hands were holding tight to his shoulders, her dark eyes on his. “What are you doing?” Her voice sounded cracked and that only added to the fire that was still burning hot inside him.

“I told you I wasn’t done. Lie down.”

She stared at him a moment and then slowly leaned back on the shiny red metal, keeping herself propped up on her elbows, watching him.

Fuck, yeah, she could keep doing that.

He put his hands on her thighs and pushed them apart, the sound of her soft gasp stoking the flame higher. His fingers left more marks, staining her white skin, the sight of them a punch to the gut.

He had no idea why that was such a turn-on, why the thought of her walking away from this encounter with his fingerprints all over her made his cock so fucking hard.

A poor little rich girl pulled down in the dirt with him.

Zee growled at the thought, shoving it away as he jerked aside the crotch of her panties, revealing the hot, juicy little pussy he’d watched her fingers slide all over as she’d sucked him off.

A quiver ran through her. “Zee . . .”

He ignored the desperate sound of his name, leaning in to push his hands beneath her thighs, urging them up and over his shoulders.

Her hips shifted, a soft sound escaping her as he pressed in even closer. “Oh . . . God . . . I don’t think I can. . . .”

“Yeah, you can.” Christ, he was so fucking hungry and she smelled all musky and hot, like raw sex. She’d had him in her mouth. It was his turn to taste.

Burying his head between her thighs, he pushed his tongue deep inside her.

She gave a cry, her body stiffening in his hands.

But he didn’t stop or pull back. She tasted hot and sweet, with a tart edge that had his heart thumping in his head and his cock hardening even more. He licked her, exploring the tender wet folds of her pussy with his tongue, listening to the ragged, desperate sounds he drew from her.

Her hips shifted restlessly beneath his mouth and her thighs clenched around his head, the sweet, raw taste of her filling his senses. He shifted his hand, sliding up one thigh and between, finding the hard bud of her clit, pinching it as he pushed his tongue deeper.

She shuddered, a choked sob escaping her.

He lifted his head, glancing up at her to see she had her head thrown back, her back arched, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. So fucking erotic. But it wasn’t what he wanted.

“Look at me,” he ordered, his voice gone hoarse. “Look at me, pretty girl.”

She gave a soft moan, exhaling on a shaky breath, lowering her head to meet his gaze. Her eyes had gone black in the night, desire swamping them.

“Yeah, that’s right.” He didn’t break eye contact. “I want you to watch me eating you out. And you better stay watching me ’cause if you look away, I’m not gonna let you come.”

He didn’t wait for her to respond, holding her gaze as he bent to her pussy again, licking deep as he pinched her clit, watching as the sharp edge of pleasure unfurled over her face like anguish. But she didn’t look away. She kept her gaze glued to his with something like defiance, a challenge he couldn’t help but take up.

So he kept going, using his mouth, his tongue, and his fingers, pushing her and pushing her, winding the pleasure tighter and tighter, until her hips began to shudder and shake, and she began to sob in earnest. Until at last she threw back her head again and gave a high, sharp scream, her whole body convulsing.

He clamped down hard on her thighs as she bucked against him, holding her through the most intense part of the climax. And when she at last went limp, he released her, stepping back to grab his wallet out of the pocket of his overalls and get the condom out of it.

All he could taste was her. She was in his mouth, in his nostrils, seared into his brain. He wasn’t going to be able to get rid of her until he was inside her.

Jesus, he wasn’t even going to be able to function until he was inside her.

He tore the packet open and rolled the condom down. Tamara was still lying on the hood of the Chevy in a wanton sprawl. Her slinky red dress was a narrow band of oil-stained fabric around her waist and she’d lost her sexy shoes. Her hair had come out of its bun and was spread all over the cherry metal of the car, her skin glowing pale. There were black marks on the inside of her thighs now from where he’d pushed them wide apart with his dirty fingers.

But he couldn’t think about that now, because desire was rising inside him. And when he took his cock in his hand and rubbed the head of it all over her soft, hot pussy, she whimpered.

“You want this?” he murmured, too much in the grip of the darkness to stop. “You want my cock?”

She gave another moan, her hips lifting helplessly as he slid the head of his dick over her clit, teasing her. “Yes.” The word was a whisper of sound. “But God . . . You’ve wrecked me, Zee. I don’t know if I can.”

“You did before. You can do it again.”

“I don’t know . . .”

He leaned forward, easing the tip of his dick inside her, then stopping. The feel of all that warm, wet flesh against his was driving him insane, but he wasn’t going to give it to her yet. He wanted her to beg for it.

She groaned, her hips lifting, ready to take him.

“Tell me how much you want it, Tamara.” He eased a little deeper, making her gasp. “Beg me for it.”

Her eyes had closed, her teeth digging into her lower lip again. Her hands were spread on the metal of the hood as if she was holding on to it. “Please.” Her voice was ragged. “Please, Zee. Give it to me. Please.” Then suddenly her eyes opened and her gaze locked onto his, a dark fire burning in the depths. “I want your cock, Zee. I want you to fuck me. Do it. Now.”

And like the balance of power had changed, he found himself obeying her this time, thrusting into the wet heat of her. Feeling her pussy clench around him, tight as a glove.

It nearly blew his head off.

He had to stop inside her, his hands flat on the hood on either side of her hips, just to get himself under control, because he didn’t want to be the one moaning and desperate and out of control. He wanted to be the one in charge.

Yet, like she knew exactly what he was thinking, her mouth curved. And she lifted her legs up around his hips, rocking her pelvis back, urging him deeper.

His mind blanked and he knew that somewhere, somehow, he’d lost control of this. But as she moved beneath him, as the sound of her breathing got faster and faster, he rapidly found he didn’t much care.

Instead he leaned forward on his hands, pushing inside her, then sliding back out. Setting up a hard, driving rhythm. Then there was nothing but the sound of flesh meeting flesh, her hoarse cries of ecstasy as he fucked her, and the whiplash of pleasure that uncoiled up his spine.

There were bright lights behind his eyes, unbearable tension drawing everything impossibly tight. Then it released and he roared as the climax burst apart in his head, a blaze of white light that annihilated him, shattering his consciousness as surely as a hammer to the back of his head.

He didn’t know how long it was before he became conscious again, feeling cold metal beneath his palms and hot flesh around his dick.

When he opened his eyes, he was almost shocked to find himself behind the garage, a nearly naked woman sprawled on the hood of the car. That he wasn’t in some other place, where the cities were on fire and the sky was full of flames.

She was looking at him, her eyes full of that hot darkness and he knew that he’d been lying to himself all this time. Telling himself it would be just one night, just one quick fuck and that would be it, that he’d send her back to where she came from and never think of her again.

But he didn’t say anything as he pulled out of her, put his clothing back in place, then helped her with hers. She didn’t speak either, sitting there silently as he pulled her dress back down over her hips, then tried to cover her breasts. When that didn’t work, he picked her up in his arms and carried her back into the garage, setting her down on the work counter while he went to the lockers and got out one of his T-shirts.

She watched him silently as he came back over to her, raising her arms like a child when he gestured, letting him put the shirt on her, covering up all that pale, marked skin.

Then he said, “Get in the car. I’ll take you home.”

She didn’t protest, nor did she speak as he drove her back to her downtown apartment.

It was as if what had happened between them had made speech impossible.

Only when he pulled up outside her apartment building and she put her hand on the door handle to get out did she speak. Even then it was only one word.

“Again?”

He should say no, he really should. But he didn’t. “Yes.”

She kept her head turned away. “When?”

“Day after tomorrow. I have a fight that night, but I’ll come here after.”

“Okay.” She didn’t say good-bye, didn’t turn to look at him. She only opened the door and got out, slamming it shut behind her.

And this time he didn’t take his eyes off her as she walked up to the building, and he kept on watching until she disappeared inside it.

T
amara let the door of the theater shut behind her, the heels of her red shoes clicking on the marble stairs that led down into the foyer.

Her mother’s charity event was still in full swing, the crowd raucously cheering the bachelor auction that was currently underway, and Tamara knew that slipping out wouldn’t be looked on with any approval by her family. But then the evening had been tense right from the start and she needed to get out, find some quiet space.

She stopped on the bottom step and sat down, the cool of the marble seeping through the white silk of her dress. Then she leaned forward, her elbows on her knees, her fingers pressing gently against her eyelids.

Okay, so this evening wasn’t ever going to be great, but it had turned out way more difficult than she’d initially expected. Her mother had kept dropping hints about how Tamara had better keep her schedule free for the end of the month because of a special “family dinner” that was being organized.

Family dinner being code for “surprise engagement party.”

Her father had given her several meaningful looks across the table, warning Tamara to play along, and so she had. Acting like she didn’t know a thing.

Pretending she was still the same Tamara who hadn’t had hot, dirty sex with a mechanic behind his garage. In public.

And
that
had been the difficult bit.

She didn’t know quite how that worked, because it had only been sex. Nothing life-changing, nothing shattering. And yet . . . she felt shattered.

After he’d dropped her back at her apartment and she’d closed the door behind her, she’d leaned back against it and slid down onto the floor, wrapping her arms around herself, her knees suddenly giving out. Unable to stop grinning.

Her blood had been like fire in her veins, her heart pumping. She felt like the entire top layer of her skin had been scraped away, leaving nerve endings raw and sensitized.

And all of it had felt . . . good. No, not good, it had felt
amazing
. Like she’d been numb for years and hadn’t realized it, and only now was the feeling returning to her limbs.

Then she’d looked down at herself, at the faded black Motör-head T-shirt she wore, at the ruined silk of her dress, at the oil stains marking the silk, marking her skin. And she’d had to put a hand over her mouth to stop the hysterical laugh that threatened to come out of it.

That night she hadn’t bothered to shower, wanting to keep the stains on her body, as if by washing them off she’d wash away the feeling of freedom, too, the feeling that at last, at last, she was herself. After so many goddamn years.

Of course, the next morning she had to scrub herself to get them off since she had to go to work and Scott would no doubt comment if he saw them. But she couldn’t entirely get rid of them. The ghost of Zee’s fingerprints lingered on her skin and that whole day she could feel them there like little spots of heat. The evidence of her own dark, secret self.

She’d loved that. It made putting on the mask of Tamara Lennox that morning so much easier, knowing that underneath it all, the marks of what she’d done with Zee were still there. A reminder of who she was inside. A woman who was free, who was passionate, who didn’t have to keep it under control all the fucking time.

“Again,” she’d told him, because she didn’t want to give up that feeling. Wanted to hold on to it as long as she could.

Unfortunately though, the downside was that it made her aware of how much of a sham her life actually was.

As she’d sat in the theater at the charity dinner, with her parents on either side of her, she’d felt the same suffocation come over her. The feeling of being trapped in a life that she hadn’t chosen for herself.

She was the good girl who worked hard, who had a great career ahead of her, who’d made her parents proud. Who was on track to marry a successful and wealthy man. And who’d had no choice about any of it. Her parents had made all her choices for her and she’d gratefully accepted all of them.

Tamara rubbed at her eyes, heedless of her makeup.

Why was this hard? A week ago she wouldn’t have found any of this difficult. She’d have gone to the dinner, had a great time, been the good little socialite.

But now things were . . . different. And she wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Then again, there wasn’t much she could do about it, was there? She was stuck in the role her parents had created for her and she wasn’t allowed to deviate from the script.

Tamara screwed her eyes shut tight. No, she couldn’t think about that. Will hadn’t had a choice, so why should she?

From the depths of her white sequined purse came the sound of her phone chiming and her heart seized in her chest, a burst of adrenaline firing hot and hard through her. She grabbed it, glancing down at the text on the screen, and instantly all thoughts about her family vanished.

Oh God. It was Zee.

Her mouth dried. She hadn’t been letting herself think about his promise, about how he’d said he’d come for her tonight. But she couldn’t deny that the main reason she’d slipped out of the theater tonight was to check her phone in peace. Just like she couldn’t deny that she’d been desperately hoping he would contact her.

That what he’d said in the car wasn’t a lie.

And sure enough it wasn’t.

At the Fox Theater,
she texted back.
A stupid charity thing.
And then, because she didn’t want to give away too much,
Sorry, I forgot you were going to come to my place tonight.

Her heartbeat had now accelerated, an ache gathering between her thighs.

There was no response for a second. Then her phone chimed again.

She bit her lip, her cheeks getting hot. How stupid that he could make her blush with a one-word text.

Are you coming then?
she responded, ignoring him.

Tamara choked out a laugh, excitement a small, hard knot in her chest.
I’ll take that as a yes.

The excitement began to spread out, expanding through her in a hot wave.

It was ridiculous, to feel this way over what was essentially a booty call, but after an evening of suffocating pretense, she wanted out. She wanted Zee’s brutal brand of honesty. Hot, raw sex. No masks, no costumes. Everything straight up and way, way out of control.

This was at least one choice she’d made for herself.

“Tamara?”

She jerked her head up and turned, feeling the color rush to her cheeks as her mother, tall, slender, and beautiful in vintage Chanel, came down the stairs toward her.

Why did she find herself blushing? She hadn’t done anything wrong. “Hi, Mom,” she said, trying not to sound so breathless. “Sorry, just needed to get out, have a bit of space.”

There was a crease between Cassandra Lennox’s perfect eyebrows. “Is there anything wrong, Tamara? You seemed a bit . . . off tonight. Thought I’d check to make sure you were okay.”

Tamara forced a smile. “I’m fine, Mom. Honestly. Got a bit of a headache, that’s all.”

Her mother descended the last few steps and, with a graceful movement, sat on the step beside her. “Are you sure that’s it? There’s nothing else bothering you?”

God, how she hated it when her mother got overly solicitous, soothing her and treating her as if she were a bomb about to go off.

The smile on Tamara’s face felt like a rictus. “No, not at all. Maybe it’s something I ate.”

“Well, are you going to come back inside? I’m going to give my speech soon and it would be great if you were there.”

Of course her mother wanted her there. She
always
wanted her there. As if she couldn’t bear to let Tamara out of her sight.

The thought bubbled up from somewhere inside her, snide and sarcastic and cynical. And she nearly said it, nearly gave voice to the doubts that lingered, even all these years later. But she didn’t. Instead she bit her lip hard to keep the words inside, turning away and fussing around with her purse so she didn’t have to look her mother in the eye.

“Actually, I’m feeling a little sick,” she said. “Would you mind if I went home early?”

“Of course I mind.” Her mother smiled. “I like having you there. But I guess if you’re not well . . .” There was a slight question in her voice, the merest hint of doubt.

“I’m not,” Tamara said before she could question either her mother’s doubts or her own. “An early night is probably what I need.”

Cassandra stared at her, frowning. “You’re working too hard, Tamara.”

“Well, if I want this position, I have to.” She kept the smile firmly plastered to her face. “It’s still what you and Dad want, right? Me at Lennox?”

An expression shifted in her mother’s eyes, one she couldn’t read. “Of course, darling. And I suppose hard work is its own reward.” She let out a long breath, her mouth tightening. “You’d better go then, get some rest. Shall I call a car for you?”

“No, it’s okay. I’ll get my own.”

“Are you sure? Your father won’t mind giving you a ride home.”

Tamara stared at her mother a moment. Did she suspect something was up? Or was Tamara just being paranoid? “Mom, it’s okay. I can find my own way home.”

For a second it looked like her mother was going to insist, but then she lifted a shoulder. “Fine. I just worry about you, darling.”

That was nothing new. Her mother was always worrying about her, always wanting what was best for her.

But she didn’t like that thought, so she ignored it.

“I know you do.” Tamara leaned over and gave her mother a kiss on the cheek. “But you don’t need to. Now if you don’t mind, I’d better go find myself a cab and get home.”

She waited until her mother had returned to the theater before stepping outside.

The entrance was bathed in white light from the theater lights above her head, making the neon-stained night seem even darker.

It was relatively late, but there were still a number of people about, bar- and restaurant-goers, or those searching for clubs and other late-night amusements.

And then she saw him, leaning against his car across the street from her.

He was in jeans tonight, worn and battered, sitting low on his hips, along with a black T-shirt that only emphasized his lean, muscled body. With his shorn head, tattoos, and the scuffed, black motorcycle boots on his feet, he radiated menace, every inch the bad boy from the wrong side of town.

A wild surge of exhilaration burst through her, carrying with it the desire that, despite what they’d already done to each other, hadn’t ever been fully sated, and she couldn’t get across the road to him fast enough.

His tarnished silver gaze followed her as she came toward him, the intensity of him making her blood burn and the air turn to fire in her lungs. Making her so very aware of the way her body moved and the slick slide of her dress over her skin as she walked.

She was wearing silk, a simple strapless dress with a fitted bodice and a frothy little skirt. Her mother hadn’t approved of the red heels she’d worn with it, or the simple, red patent belt that spanned her waist, but Tamara hadn’t cared. She’d wanted something red on her and, though she hadn’t questioned the urge when she’d dressed earlier that night, she understood it now.

Red was the color of freedom.

Red was the color of passion.

Red was Zee’s color.

He watched her as she approached and deliberately she let her hips sway, holding his gaze as she came closer, her heartbeat getting faster and faster as a silver flame leapt in his eyes.

When she reached the Trans Am, he pushed away from the car and the breath caught in her throat as he came around the car toward her, moving with the easy, predator’s grace she remembered. The one that made her want to stand still and just watch him.

And she thought he might pull her into his arms, kiss her, devour her right there in the street. But he didn’t. Instead he stopped mere inches from her, making her aware of his height, his lean strength, the heat of his body, and that spicy scent that made something pulse deep in her sex.

Without taking his gaze from hers, he reached for the car door and pulled it open, his arm almost brushing her bare shoulder, making the breath lock in her throat and shivers whisper all over her skin.

“Get in,” he said.

* * *

She looked like a fucking virgin in her pretty white dress. A debutante. A prom queen.

Except for the bright splash of red at her waist where the belt was, and the high, red fuck-me shoes. That gave a hint as to the real Tamara, the passionate, hungry woman beneath the innocent white silk.

It made him so hard he could barely think.

Maybe that was his problem. Maybe he’d been thinking far too much.

Certainly that’s what he’d been doing the past day and a half, going over and over in his head whether seeing her again after their encounter at the garage was a good plan or not. He knew it was a bad idea, knew getting involved with a girl like her could potentially be history repeating itself all over again. Yet a part of him—no prizes for guessing which part—kept whispering that it was just sex, that there was no danger. It was a limited-time thing and hell, she was going to be getting engaged anyway and if she wanted a bit of rough before she settled down into wedded bliss, then he had no problem with providing it.