Dirty Money(27)

She makes an escalating little sound, her hips rising up to meet each of  my thrusts, and I hold her tight as I plunge into her. I need her to  come again, to let go so I can finally claim my own release. But she  moans and writhes under me, close but not quite there yet.

I need to get her there. Now. Fast. Before it's too late and I spill my load.

Before I can push into her again, I reach between us and find her clit. I  rub my fingers over it in a little circle and feel her body surge under  mine. She bites down on my lower lip, making an intense little sound. I  thrust into her again and then I can feel her body respond. Her cunt  seems to suck me deeper and tightens hard around my shaft, and her  entire body ripples with the force of her orgasm. She cries out and I  keep rubbing her, even as I begin to thrust harder.

Now I can come.

Blind with lust, I pump into her with mind-blowing force. I'm in her wet  heat, so deep that my entire cock feels like it's being clenched tight  in her pussy. I'm drowning with need for her, and a second later, I  explode with the force of my orgasm. My entire body shudders with my  release even as I continue to pump into her. It feels like I'm coming  forever. Like there's no end to my own orgasm. I'm barely aware of her  sweaty skin under mine or that her hand is stroking through my hair as I  collapse on top of her.

All I know is that she's mine, and I've just claimed her.



Ivy

I lie atop the blankets of the enormous, posh bed, and feel totally and  completely destroyed . . . in all the best ways. I'm exhausted, sweaty,  my thighs are slick from my own release, and my long hair feels like  it's stuck to my skin.

But . . . wow. I feel incredible. Boneless, and sated, and completely, utterly sexy.

Boone rolled off of me the moment he came, and he lay in bed next to me  for a moment before getting up to get rid of the condom. He returns a  few moments later with a warm, wet towel and proceeds to bathe the  insides of my thighs like it's no big thing. Like I'm a piece of  property that needs to be carefully maintained. And instead of being  offended, I find it . . . oddly sweet. Thoughtful.

Of course, all of that changes when he strokes the towel over my pussy  and gets a thoughtful look in his eyes when I shiver. So soon? I still  feel hollowed out from sex with him. It was my first time, and while it  felt tight and awkward for a few moments, it wasn't the teeth-clenching  ordeal I've heard it described as by some women.

"How you feelin'?" Boone asks, even as he slowly rubs the towel over my flesh.

I shiver, feeling squirmy under the intensity of his gaze. "I'm fine. And I can wash myself, really-"

There's a sudden knock at the suite door. "Room service," a male voice calls.

I squeak in horror and fling myself from the bed, racing toward the bathroom.

Boone just chuckles. "Coming," he calls out. I look back at him and he's  wrapping the blanket around his hips, making his way to the door.

I close the bathroom door and press a hand to my overheated cheeks. I'd  forgotten about room service completely. Good lord. I stare at the  counter, covered with stray beard hairs and my scattered grooming kit,  and realize I've forgotten about a lot of things. Boone has kissed the  brains straight out of my head. I look at my reflection and a sound of  horror escapes me at the sight. My hair is a nest of snarls, my lower  face scratchy and red from his beard. There's a hickey on one of my  breasts and I have no idea how that got there. I eye myself lower, and  sure enough, my inner thighs are the same scratchy pink as my face,  because his beard was there, too.

I am going to be blushing for days.

I wash my face and wipe my body down with a wet towel, then comb my hair  into a semblance of normalcy. I moisturize my irritated face with one  of the hotel lotions and then crack the bathroom door open a hair,  listening for people.         

     



 

"You can come out, Ivy," Boone drawls. "He's gone."

I wrap a towel around my body and emerge from the bathroom. Boone's  standing at a table, a tray of food in front of him, a bottle of  champagne in his hands. His butt is to me and, gosh, it's a really fine  butt. I can't help but notice the scratches on his back, though. And on  his shoulders. And, okay, on his butt. "Sorry about the clawing. I guess  I got carried away."

He gives me a rather wicked look. "I am completely fine with you getting carried away, just for the record."

I feel myself blushing, but move to his side. His beard looks fantastic  now, neatened up and trimmed at the edges. The hillbilly look is gone,  and in its place is a devastatingly gorgeous man . . . who needs me to  finish his hair. Well, I suppose I can do that later. "I can't remember  what you ordered," I tell him, gazing down at the silver-covered trays.

"Lobster," he tells me. "Ain't that what all the fancy guys buy their ladies when they go out?"

Late-night lobster? I hide my grimace and pull a lid off of one of the  trays. To my delight, it's dessert. There's a plate drizzled with  chocolate and decorated with berries, and in the center is some sort of  cream puff with sugary bread. "Is this one for me?"

"Sure is."

I can't help but dig a finger into the icing. I lick it and it tastes like sin. "Mmm. What is it?"

"Hell if I know. It's French." He shrugs. "Sounded fancy as shit, though."

I giggle. "Well, thank you."

Boone's eyes gleam with pleasure. "Gotta keep my elegant woman in the lifestyle she's accustomed to."

Somehow, I manage to keep smiling, but my joy is fading on the inside.  What have I done? He's bound to find out who I really am, and then the  shit will officially hit the fan, and hit the fan hard.

Maybe I should tell him. Just fess up that all this is an act to try and  launch my sorry real estate business and I'm more tramp than lady.  Maybe he'll just laugh at the fact that I trained my Texas drawl out of  my voice, that I buy clothes I can't afford and learned how to do my own  hair and nails on endless YouTube videos because I needed to look salon  perfect without being able to afford the salon.

He pours me a glass of champagne and sits down in one of the chairs at  the table. Before I can pick a seat for myself, he grabs me around the  waist and tugs me into his lap. He grabs the edge of my towel and pulls  it off, and then I'm just as naked as he is. "That's better," he tells  me.

I shiver, not because I'm cold, but because I'm hyperaware of all his naked skin. "Why is this better?"

"Because you get to eat your sweets," he tells me, tugging the dessert  plate in my direction. "And I'll get to eat mine." And he leans in and  gently nips at my bare shoulder.

I bite back a moan.

I'll tell him in the morning.



I wake up to Boone's hand sliding between my thighs. He rubs my clit  with his fingers as he kisses my neck, and doesn't let up on either  until I come. A moment later, he pulls me onto my hands and knees, puts  on a condom, and then pushes into me from behind. His hand smooths down  my back. "You sore, darlin'?"

I'm a little achy, but not enough to stop him. I shake my head.

That's enough for Boone. He fucks me hard, jerking my hips back against  his cock with every thrust. I do my best to stay silent and let him  enjoy the moment, but that's not enough for him. He's not satisfied  until he puts a hand between my legs and massages my clit with every  thrust. That makes me nearly come out of my skin with pleasure, and he  doesn't come until I've screamed his name into the knotted handfuls of  sheets at least twice. Then, he carries me to the shower and gently  washes me from head to toe, as if I'm too tired and helpless to take  care of myself. It's almost funny, except he's so very serious about it.  He washes my hair with great determination, as if the world depends on  my hair being shiny clean and perfect.

When we emerge from the shower, he lets me tidy up his hair with the  scissors. I cut several inches away, not wanting to drastically alter  his look to where he's unhappy with it, but he insists I cut more. In  the end, he winds up with ultra-short hair that's just a little longer  on the top. I put a bit of pomade on my hands and run them through his  locks, and I'm stunned at how devastatingly handsome he is. He was good  looking before, but I'm feeling a bit like Michelangelo with a marble  block, and I've just uncovered David. Of course, David had a small  pecker, so perhaps that's not the best comparison for Boone.         

     



 

"Why're you smiling?" he asks me, leaning forward in the mirror to check  his quickly drying hair. "Don't look stupid, does it? I ain't a good  judge of these things."

"You look fantastic," I tell him. "Like a sexy beast."

He gives me a devilish grin. "So sexy you wanna crawl back into bed with me?"

"You're lucky it's a Saturday, because if this was a workday-"

Something screams out of the other room, and I jump a little. "What was that?"