Dirty Scoundrel

Nat makes a breathless sound and she puts a hand on my shoulder, then squeezes. “You’re . . . Wow. You look different than I remember.”

“Can’t help that,” I mutter. I ain’t waxin’ my chest. That’s just fuckin’ weird.

“I like it,” she tells me, and her hand smooths down one pectoral and then she reaches over and squeezes my bicep. “You’re so . . . big. I don’t remember you being so big.”

Well, damn. Makes me want to show off for her, flex my muscles a little like the vain idiot I am.

She gives a nervous little laugh and meets my eyes. “Is it weird that I’m scared? I just . . . waited so long and now it’s going to be like this—”

“It’s going to be amazing,” I reassure her, hatin’ that my heart squeezes a little at her words. “I would have wanted you to be my first anyhow. Always did.”

It’s the right thing to say. The smile returns to her face and she gives a little nod. “Me too. I just wish . . .”

The words trail off and I don’t want her goin’ down that path. I have a R on my knuckles, don’t I? I need to be ruthless. Or is it a scoundrel today? Fuck if I know. Fuck if I care. I just want to get that sad expression off her face. So I take her hand and put it on my breast again, and her fingers curl in my chest hair. She seems fascinated by it, and while she’s distracted, I lean in and press another gentle kiss to her mouth. She makes a delicious, toe-curling sound of pleasure when I pull away, and I take that moment to tug one of the tiny straps down her arm.

Or at least I try to. I tug at the strap but it’s digging into her skin and doesn’t seem to want to move.

“One of the perils of having a larger chest,” she admits, and eases the strap down her shoulder with a snap of the material. “You need more support than you think.”

I trace a finger over the red mark the strap left on her skin. Well, damn. If I’d have known it was gonna mark her up—I’d have undressed her hours ago. “You need to quit talkin’ about yourself like you’re shit now that you gained weight. I don’t like it.”

Her eyes go wide and the nervous look returns to her face. It doesn’t fade even when I lean in to press a kiss to one creamy white shoulder. “I just . . . You’re paying a lot of money, Clay. I don’t want you finding me . . . unpleasant. I shouldn’t care, but I do. I worry. I’m not the same size I was in high school. After my stepmom moved out, I realized she’d done a number on my self-esteem and it took me a while before I could eat like a normal person again. I packed on some weight. I . . . Well, normally I don’t care but you remember me as skinny—”

“I remember you as pretty,” I tell her. “And soft. And mine. None of that’s changed.” I trace a finger down her arm. Still so damn soft. “If it’ll make you stop worryin’, I like your big tits. I like your big butt. I like your rounded thighs. I’m pretty sure I’m gonna like your rounded belly when I put my mouth on it. And I know I’m gonna like it when I put my mouth on—”

Her fingers press to my lips again, and she gives a girlish giggle that warms my heart. “I get the point. No need to go into detail.”

“Party pooper.”

Her laughter is a beautiful thing, just as beautiful as this body she worries about. I kiss her shoulder again, and then ease—or fight with—the other strap, until they’re both dangling off her shoulders and her breasts look like they’re about to spill out of the tight top of her dress. And fuck, if that ain’t a pretty sight, I don’t know what is. I run a knuckle against the line of her cleavage. “Don’t see how you could see this as anythin’ but gorgeous, Nat.”

“I just want you to be satisfied with your purchase—”

“If I didn’t like the way you looked, I’d have never bought you in the first place,” I tell her, but I don’t even know if that’s true. Her ass could be twice as wide and she could have her hair in a buzz cut and she could be wearin’ a muumuu and I’d still want her because she’s Natalie Weston.

Seven years later, I’m still madly in love with her.

The realization hits me like a ton of bricks. It ain’t infatuation or obsession. I ain’t angry at her anymore. I just ache with wantin’ her. Knowing that she’s still a virgin—that she’s never taken anyone else to her bed, just like me—it frees up somethin’ in my chest. I feel . . . lighter. Complete.

I feel like the last seven years didn’t matter so much after all.

Maybe Natalie Weston didn’t wanna marry me seven years ago, but I can convince her that she wants to marry me now. First, though, I’m gonna claim her thoroughly. I put my hands around her waist, lean in, and bury my face in those glorious breasts of hers.

She squeals in surprise as I do, wriggling against me.

“Love these gorgeous tits,” I tell her as I slowly peel one of the cups of her dress down. She sucks in a breath, going stiff as I pop one nipple free from its confines. Prettiest damn thing I’ve ever seen. I lean down and brush my mouth over the pink tip, and Nat’s moan of response nearly makes me lose control. “So fuckin’ beautiful,” I tell her. “Lean back on the bed for me so I can look at you properly.”

Nat does, and it lets me feast on the gorgeous sight of her, dark hair spillin’ around her shoulders. She’s practically comin’ out of the top of that dress now, one bouncy breast freed from its confines and the other strainin’ to make its escape. Her eyes are wide and dark with need, and she’s breathing hard, either nervous or excited—or both.

I know just how she feels. I want to cover her with my body, to feel her naked skin, soft and smooth, against mine. More than anything, I just want to keep touchin’ her. “Remember back when we used ta make out in my truck?” I ask her, sliding my hand up the material of her dress and undoing the tiny little corset hooks that crawl up the front. “You would wear these dainty little sweaters and you never wanted me to put my hand under ’em, because you were shy. ’Cept we’d get to kissin’, and then you’d have your hands under my shirt and start beggin’ all kinds of things like, ‘Please, Clay, touch me.’ And I would, because that’s like askin’ a drownin’ man not to breathe air.” The hooks pop under my fingers, and as each one loosens, more of her pearly skin is exposed to the air.

She’s completely quiet as I speak, but her gaze is riveted to mine.

“And I remember reachin’ under those sweaters and brushin’ my hand over your tits and thinking that life didn’t get much better than that,” I murmur. The last hooks come undone, and then she’s spillin’ out of that dress, the material fallin’ away from her gorgeous body until there’s nothing but her gorgeous breasts in the open air. “Guess I shoulda dreamed a little harder, because right now, I can’t see how that could possibly compare to this moment. And then when I touch you again, it’s gonna get even better.” I lean in closer, because I want nothing more than to bury my face between those beautiful breasts. It takes everything I have just to gently rub two knuckles between the valley of ’em. “So now, I’m seein’ how perfect you are in this moment, and you know what I’m thinkin?”

“What?” She’s all breathless.

“I’m thinkin’ it ain’t gonna hold a candle to when I get my face between your thighs.”

The moan that breaks free from her is full of need. She closes her eyes and arches slightly on the bed, and it makes those magnificent breasts of hers bounce in a way that I can’t resist. I cup one, dragging my thumb over the budded tip, and love that she moans again. I want her to grab me and hold me against her, but I guess we ain’t there yet.

Yet.

I lower my head and drag my beard over her other breast, letting it prickle against her skin. I can’t wait to taste her, but I’m gaugin’ her reaction first. I know I can’t show up out of nowhere after seven years and expect her to get wet the moment I touch her, but that doesn’t mean I ain’t gonna try. I use my tongue, next, sliding it over the tip of one pink nipple and teasing the other with my fingers.

She makes a low, needy sound, and her fingers dig into the blankets on the bed. “Clay,” she pants.

Now, that’s more like it.

“These are some pretty nipples,” I murmur to her, and give one an appreciative lick. “Tasty, too. Think your pussy tastes half as good as these do?”

Natalie whimpers, pulling at fistfuls of the sheets.

“What’s that?” I tease. “Find out for myself? Don’t mind if I do.” I smooth a hand down the front of her dress, where it’s bunched at her thighs. I can’t find clasps like the ones that held the top together, though, and end up just rubbing her mound through the fabric even as I nuzzle at her nipple. My cock’s straining against my pants, and I feel desperately close to coming—even though I know we’re just gettin’ started. This is as far as I ever got with Natalie. Once, we dry-humped in the front seat of my truck until she had a tiny orgasm, but we didn’t go that far again. She was afraid to push it and I just wanted to make her happy.

Looking back, I was far too patient as a teenager. Because as I tease her nipples and rub my hand over her cunt through the dress, she makes wild, gasping noises and writhes on the bed. It’s clear that she likes it when I touch her.

Fuck knows why we both waited so long to make this happen. “Want to take this dress off so I can touch you the way you deserve to be touched?”

“Yes,” she tells me, and I reward her with a nip on her breast that makes her breath catch and her entire body shudder.

“Then show me how to remove this damn thing,” I tell her, tugging at the material. Never thought it’d be so hard to undress a woman.

Natalie reaches for something on her side, and I see a hidden zipper. Okay, weird that it would open in the front and on the side, but I’ve long ago accepted that women dress in bizarre creations. Of course, if her hands are busy, that gives me freedom to enjoy myself. I lean in and suck lightly at her breast as she fiddles with her skirt, and her surprised little moan sends a jolt all the way to my cock.