Dirty Money

Poor thing’s desperately trying to hold on to his control. It makes me grin and feel even more shamelessly wicked, because I want to tear it away from him.

I lick the head of his cock again, and then close my lips over him.

“Oh, damn,” he breathes. “Oh, baby girl. Have mercy on your man.”

There’s not an ounce of mercy in me as I swirl my tongue over him, figuring out how to give him the most pleasure. He likes it when I rub the flat of my tongue against him, and he really likes it when I suck and drag him deeper. I focus on taking as much of him into my mouth as I can, relaxing my jaw and working on him with my tongue. I’m surprised when the head of his cock bumps against the back of my throat and he hisses out my name between his teeth.

“Get up,” he grits a moment later, gently pulling me off of him.

I release his cock from my mouth with an audible pop and look up at him in surprise. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He drags me to my feet and pulls me against him in a hard, fierce kiss. “I’m getting a fucking condom because I want to come inside you, not on your mouth.”

“Oh.” I watch as he shoves the shower door open and storms out of the bathroom, dripping water everywhere. A moment later he returns with a condom packet, ripping it open with his teeth and then rolling the sleeve of it down his length. It’s amazing how fast he does that, and I barely have time to register that he’s getting back into the shower with me when he pulls me up against him and begins to kiss me again.

I moan against his mouth, because his hand is sliding between my wet thighs and stroking my pussy. There’s no slow build between us—everything seems to explode after a few small touches, and I’m left aching and full of want. I squirm with need when his fingers sink deep between my thighs, pushing into my core.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he tells me between wild kisses. “You like sucking my cock, baby girl?”

“I love touching you, Boone,” I tell him, feeling shy at admitting such a bold thing. “I wasn’t ready to stop.”

“I don’t have the stamina,” he tells me, pressing his face against my neck and kissing me even as he fucks me with his hand. His beard prickles and rasps against my skin, softer when wet. “But I’m more than willing to let you practice on me over and over again, Ivy. But right now? Right now, I need you.”

His fingers leave my body and I whimper at the loss, clinging to his wet shoulders. He takes one of my thighs and hooks it around his hips, and before I realize what he’s doing, he grabs me by my hips and hoists me up the wall, pinning me against the tile, my breasts pressing against his chest. I feel the heat of his cock push between my thighs and then I’m sinking down on his length. I moan, my nails digging into Boone’s back, because it feels so deep like this. Like gravity is shoving me down on his length and all I can do is hold on to him for dear life.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, pressing kisses against my skin. “Wrap your legs around me tight, Ivy. I won’t let you fall.”

I do as he commands and then he thrusts into me, my body jolting against the slick tile. It feels as if our bodies are barely moving, but I can feel . . . everything. And the angle he’s pushing into me? I . . . it’s rubbing something deep inside me that is making me crazy. When he thrusts again, a keening cry escapes my throat and I squirm wildly against him, needing more.

“That hit the spot, Ivy?” He presses more frantic kisses to my face and then thrusts into me again, and I claw at his back, crying out his name. “Yup,” he chuckles, seemingly oblivious to the fact that I’m about to burst from my skin with need. “Found the spot.”

Again, he thrusts into me. Over and over, Boone pumps into me with quick, shallow bursts, and oh god, it feels like I’m a volcano erupting. Orgasm after orgasm crashes through me, my legs like Jell-O. I’m making all kinds of little cries and mewing noises and I can’t find that I give a damn, because he’s fucking any cares I might have had right out of my brain. It’s one endless orgasm positioned like this, and I think he’s coming, too, a moment later, because he presses my body against the tile, hard, and I bite down on his shoulder, trying desperately to unleash some of the madness that’s ripping through me with gale-force pleasure.

All I know is that I feel amazing.

I’m barely aware as he carries me, still clinging to him like a baby monkey, from the shower back to the hotel bed. He lies on top of my wet body for a few moments, tenderly kissing me. I cry out in a small protest as he gets up to turn off the shower, because I feel so empty without his body piercing mine.

It’s madness, how much I’ve come to crave him in such a short time.

I get under the covers and pull a sheet over my body by the time he returns with a towel for me. The hot, smoky look is still on his face, as if he’s ready to grab me and go for another round, and I feel an excited flutter all through my body in response. It’s insane, just how addicted I am to him. “We’re insane,” I murmur as he sits down on the bed next to me.

He slides under the blankets and pulls me against him. We’re still damp and the sheets stick to both of us, my skin to his. Boone just brushes the wet hair off of my face and shoulders and studies me, curious. “Insane, how?”

I laugh, tilting my head back. “All of this. All of this is insane. We can’t be in the same room without clawing at each other and orgasming about a dozen times.”

“I don’t see how this is a problem,” he drawls, teasing. “You seem to like the orgasms I give you—”

“Of course I do!” I trace a finger along his big arm. “I just worry about how fast we’re going, don’t you? It’s only been a few weeks.”

He shrugs.

“And you keep introducing me to everyone as your fiancée.” I arch an eyebrow at him. “We’re not engaged.”

“Not yet, but only because you still aren’t used to the idea.”

“And you are?” I ask, amused.

The look on his face is utterly serious as he gazes down at me. “Ivy, I knew you were the one for me the moment I laid eyes on you. For me, there’s no one else. Not now, not ever. I knew the second I saw you that you were everything I wanted. Nothing about that has changed.” His big leg tangles with mine under the sheets, and I feel his knee go between my thighs. “Nothing, baby.”

But I’m a little surprised at this admission. “The moment you saw me in the brochure?”

“The moment I saw you face-to-face.” He leans in and rubs his nose against mine, then presses a quick kiss to my mouth. “I thought you were pretty when I saw you in the ad, of course. Thought you’d be a good trophy wife. Some nice, classy piece to fuck every now and then and not think about twice.”

“Gee—”

“But then I saw you in person, and it was like . . . like my whole world lit up.” He grins down at me. “I saw you and thought, yeah, that’s the woman I’m going to marry. That’s the woman I’m going to fall in love with.”

I go very still under him, my heart pounding. “Love?” We’ve played at a relationship for weeks now—played hard—but this is the first I’m hearing of the L-word.

He nods, looking down at me thoughtfully. “Thought you knew. I’ve loved you from the moment you smiled at me.”

I don’t know whether to cry or smile. “Boone, I—” Somewhere across the room, my phone rings with Wynonna’s ringtone. “Oh, hell. I should get that.”

Boone chuckles and begins to slide down my body, pressing hot kisses on my shoulder and then my breast. “Must you?”

“It’s my sister—” I lose track of things when his lips close over my nipple and he drags his tongue over the tip. Oh god, it’s sinful how good that feels. He nips at my skin and toys with my breast as I cling to him, my hands in his hair, my phone going off endlessly. Wynonna can just leave me a voicemail. I’ll talk to her later. I’ll—

There’s a moment of quiet, and then my phone starts to ring again. Wynonna. She’s not leaving a message. Damn it. Boone’s mouth is doing scorchingly delicious things to my breast, and I’m torn. The last thing I want to do is interrupt him. His teeth scrape over my nipple and his hand goes between my legs, and I forget all about the phone—

Until it begins to ring for a third time.

I groan aloud. My annoyance over my sister’s terrible timing is ebbing away and worry is taking its place. “I need to get that, Boone. If she’s not leaving a message, something’s wrong.”

He shrugs, but when I tap his shoulder, he rolls to the side so I can get up. I cross the room and fish my phone out of my purse just as the next call comes through. “Hello? Wynonna?”

“Reba?” My sister’s sobbing. “Where are you? I’ve been calling and calling!”

“I’m visiting a friend,” I tell her, glancing over at the bed. Boone’s sprawled in the mess of damp covers, gazing at me with scorching eyes. “Is something wrong? Did you blow another tire?”

“I went and visited D-D-D-Dad in Huntsv-v-ille,” she sobs.

Oh god, was that today? I’m the worst sister. I’ve totally forgotten about it. I turn away from Boone, because I don’t want him to see the stress on my face. “Oh? And how was it?”

“They denied him parole,” she wails.

“Oh no. Why?” I keep my voice modulated and calm, though I’m secretly torn. Our father’s a deadbeat drunk and the last thing I want is him coming home to live with me and Wynonna again. But my sister adores him and is convinced that he’s innocent, and that when he comes home, we’ll be a family again.

“They s-said he hasn’t learned his lesson.” Her brittle sobs are tearing at me through the phone, and I feel tears of sympathy creeping into my eyes. “Said that because of his priors, they don’t think he’s a good parole candidate. He can reapply for parole in twenty-four months.” She chokes the words out. “Two years, Reba! Two years is forever! He’s already been gone six—”