Rachael Stewart - Getting Dirty

What I don’t expect is the sudden movement of her hand as her palm makes for my cheek. I grab her wrist a split second before it collides with my skin and face off the fire in her gaze.

‘Apologies.’ And I mean it—I do. Damn it , why do I care?

Her eyes tremble as they stay fixed on mine and I feel the need to explain. I can’t stop myself. ‘I meet spoilt little rich girls who put money above love and family all the time.’

‘Just because we’re born into money…’

She tries to pull her wrist free but my fingers are locked. The contact heats me as her eyes project the same fire.

‘It doesn’t make us all cold-hearted bitches.’

‘No, it doesn’t.’ It’s like she’s throwing my own deductions back at me and I almost laugh at the irony of it. ‘But if you’re so worried about this side of you getting out, why risk it?’

‘Because I need to live my life too—because right now she’s dying, and I don’t know which way is up…’

Her voice cracks a little, her fire dwindling. And, God help me, my gut turns over as I stay locked in her gaze. I knew this too. That her grandmother was sick. I just hadn’t anticipated her caring this much.

Now who’s the heartless bastard?

I can’t speak. Nothing can get past the chaos she has evoked within me.

She wets her lips, takes a shuddery breath. ‘Because I thought you were the man who could take that pain away, be my distraction just for a second, just for now.’

Her eyes glisten as they waver over my face and then she backs away from me, shaking her head as my body reels from her admission.

‘I can see I was wrong. You’re not my type after all…’

She starts to walk, trying to pull free, but I yank her back to me. I’m not even thinking. It’s impulsive—a need to take it all away, just as she hoped I would. Because I can’t face her pain a second longer. I can’t deal with the sickening guilt that comes with it either.

I claim her mouth and force all the guilt out, hanging on to her startled whimper, the swift surrender of her pliable mouth and the heat of her hands as they thrust inside my shirt. She rakes her nails over my chest and I feel a heady sting as she pierces the skin, wild, hungry, desperate. Heat surges through my body. My cock is more than willing to be the distraction she demands.

And what about you? Do you really want to go there with her? She’s your fucking target, for Christ’s sake!

But she’s a target who doesn’t deserve to be. This little exchange off the back of all that I’ve already witnessed is enough to prove that.

But if she’s not like Jess—a woman I despise—doesn’t it actually make her all the more dangerous? All the more to be avoided?

She bites down on my lower lip and tugs. Pleasure-pain drowns out the inner voice of reason as her fingers move to my belt. Fuck , she’s undoing it.

‘We shouldn’t…’ I manage against her lips.

‘We should.’ She nods, her breath coming in short pants. ‘Now.’

I can sense eyes upon us. Does she know we’re being watched?

Of course she does—you’re in Blacks.

But in that moment I feel like I’m the only person in her world. The way she’s looking at me, drowning in me, makes power surge through my veins, and I can’t stop my hands from sliding higher, my thumbs caressing the soft flesh of her inner thighs. She feels so perfect; her eyes, her breath, the arch of her body are all so responsive to me.

You don’t deserve what she’s giving you…

She parts my belt, unfastens my button, my zipper. My cock strains ready and then she slips her hand inside my briefs, her warm fingers taking hold. I freeze. I can’t breathe, can’t move. I grit my teeth and squeeze my eyes shut just for a second, just enough to regain some control, and when I open them again, she’s grinning up at me, her eyes alive with mischief. So much better than the pain seconds before…

She pumps me once and my balls contract— shit.

‘And there I was, believing I’m not your type…’

She moves over me now, her eyes dropping to take in the sight of her hand gripping me. Masterfully working me. My thighs tremble… My groan is strangled in my throat.

I’m fucked.

She sweeps her thumb over the tip of my cock, sweeping up the pre-cum as more appears. I breathe, ragged, losing it. She runs one scarlet-red nail over my slit.

‘Fuck.’

She looks at me from beneath her lashes. I’m so ready to be inside her, so scared I’ll shoot my load before I even get there…

‘Mmm… I wonder if you taste as good as you look, Ash.’

Oh, Christ, no.

I shake my head, the move negligible with my body pulled so taut, my fingers tight upon her thighs.

‘How about I find out?’

She slips forward, forcing me back a step to give her the space to drop to her knees, and I stare at the wall ahead of me, my brain screaming at me to stop her as my cock eggs her on, bucking in her grasp.

She gives a pleased little laugh—and then I feel it, the delicate point of her tongue, sweeping over the sensitised head and my eyes drop. I’m lost to her and all she can do.

Her lashes lift, her eyes lock onto mine and she grips the base of my cock, steadying my length to trace a teasing path around her mouth with my very tip. Like I’m her fucking lipstick.

Holy mother of God.

I fling my hand to her hair and pull her away. Just for a second…just until the wave passes. The wave that’s pushing me too close to the edge.

‘You know what I think?’ she says, looking up at me. ‘I think I’m exactly your type.’

The words hit home. Harsh, true. She is my type. She’s everything I’ve wanted and evaded for so long. Her haughty air, her elegant poise, her perfect fuck-me-now lips.

I bring her back to my cock. ‘Less talking.’

I don’t need a reminder that I’m destined to walk the world alone because I let my dick pick ’em, thus exposing me to the worst of the female species—the ones who will always feel themselves superior. Hell , she is superior to me. Because I’m the villain of this piece. I’m the one out to expose her, to break her, all for the money her brother is willing to pay me. And she—

She sucks over me and my mind quits, only a moan breaking through my consciousness. It’s not me. It’s not her. It comes from someone close behind me. Someone watching. It shouldn’t turn me on—none of this should. And still I fork my fingers through her perfect bob and hold her there. Watch as she takes me deeper with every thrust, her cheeks hollowing as she sucks, her eyes bright as they reach inside mine, her soft, feminine scent sailing up to me.

I am fucked. I can’t stop this—no matter what I want, or what is right.

I’m going to take all she’s willing to give—take it and walk away. Just as Jess would deserve, just as Coco—

Damn it, she isn’t Jess.

And that’s what’s eating at me, even as heat starts to streak through my limbs.

You’re the one to be despised. Not her. You’re the one blinded by your own pain, your own past, taking it out on her. You’re the nasty piece of work.

I groan over the realisation, squeeze my eyes shut, throw my head back. My balls contract, my release is imminent, and—

Fuck , I should warn her. But pleasure steals my voice, my ability to move. I can only grip her head tighter and try to breathe, try to stave it off. And then I’m gone, my hips jerking forward with the force of my release.

Heaven flows through my entire body, my head falling forward as my eyes open to take her in, wide with shock, with desire, with all manner of mixed-up emotion. And then there’s her hum of satisfaction, reverberating around my length as she takes my all. She’s not quitting and I don’t want her to. She’s taking my every last drop, forcing out reality and making me want more. So much more.