Dirty Money(33)

     



 

I screech the truck to a halt at the back of the parking lot, and throw  it into park, and then look over at Ivy. Her eyes are wide, her skin  flushed, and I can see the prick of her nipples through that demure  little jacket of hers.

"Get over here in my lap," I growl, and rub her hard through her  panties. I can feel her little clit under the pads of my fingers.

Ivy whimpers, but she unbuckles her seatbelt. In the next moment, she's  crawling over to me and I put my arms around her waist. At the same  time, I hit the release and my seat skids backward a few inches to give  her room to climb onto me. Her skirt rides up, but I'm fine with that  because it just gives me more access to her pussy.

Her hair's in another one of those ridiculously tight buns she favors,  and I want to tug it free and see her hair cascade loose. I know from  watching her undress that it's held by a thousand little pins, and so I  start to pull them out, one by one. With my other hand, I push inside  her panties and stroke her wet folds.

Ivy cries out and then her mouth is on mine in a frantic, hungry kiss.

That's my girl. I let her take the lead, showing me her urgency. She  controls the kiss, her tongue moving against mine and her soft little  cries increasing each time I stroke her clit. All the while, I pull pin  after pin from her hair, determined to get her off and to get her a  little bit messy.

Well, a lot messy. I want her to look well fucked, because I love seeing that on her.

She shudders against me as I flick her clit and then rub it with my  thumb. Her thighs clamp against my hand and she bites down on my lower  lip. My cock aches hard, but this is about her-claiming her, making her  mine, making her feel a tenth of how I feel about her on a regular  basis. My needs don't matter-all that matters is Ivy.

A little cry escapes her throat and she breaks the kiss to press her  face against mine. Her hips push down against my hand, and I can feel  the little tremors rocking through her body that tell me she's close, so  close. Then, her hair cascades over my hand, finally free of its tight  confines. I grab a fistful of it and hold her as I double down, working  her pussy over with renewed speed. My fingers glide through her  slickness and I sink one deep, even as I rest my thumb over her clit and  rub.

Her hands claw at my shirt and the air explodes from her lungs. She  buries her face against my neck and rides my hand, bucking wildly  against it as I fuck her with my fingers. This is my girl. This is what I  want from her-intensity. Abandon. Passion. I want all of it. I kiss her  neck, scraping my teeth over her soft skin as I pump into her with my  fingers, working her toward her climax. "Come for me, Ivy. Come on my  hand. Come all over my fingers. Give me everything you've got."

She cries out and arches against me, and her cunt clenches hard around  my finger, trying to milk it. I know my Ivy, though, and I keep rubbing  her clit, dragging every last ounce of pleasure out of her as she  shudders against me over and over again.

Slowly, she recovers and I pull my fingers from her warmth. I want to  leave my hand between her legs forever, but, well, it makes it a little  tricky to drive. She sits back in my lap and I put my fingers to my  mouth and suck her juices off of them, because I ain't letting a drop of  it go to waste.

Ivy strokes my beard as I do, a sleepy, almost amused look on her face. Then, she blinks at something over my shoulder.

"What is it?"

"Another car just parked right next to you. I . . . forgot we're in a  parking lot." Pink is creeping up her flushed cheeks. "Oh my god, I  always forget where I am with you."

"Can't say I'm sad about that." Not in the slightest, actually. Now I'm  picturing all the places I'd like to take Ivy, just to get her off in  public: a movie theater, a restaurant, anywhere I can show off to the  world that she's mine while privately stroking her sweet, hot little  pussy.

She pushes her hair off her shoulders and gives me a flustered look  before sliding off my lap and retreating back to her end of the truck  cab. "That's because you're a bad influence."

"I like to think I'm the best influence," I drawl.

Ivy just grins and undoes the buttons on her jacket, revealing a silky  little top underneath. She fans herself and then pulls the jacket off . .  . and I see Band-Aids and bruises covering the inside of each arm.         

     



 

My arousal dies. The contentment I feel? Dies. Right in my fucking chest. "What happened?"

"Hmm?" She fans her face absently and then turns one of the air conditioner vents toward her.

"Your arms."

"Oh." The flustered look returns to her expression and she gestures at one Band-Aid. "This? I was just donating blood."

"Again? In both arms?" I eye her. "How often are you giving blood?"

"It's for a good cause," she says defensively.

"Ivy, there ain't no cause good enough for them to stick you like a  voodoo doll. This why you keep fainting?" I grab the crushed bag of  cookies that's been forgotten between us and shove it at her. "Eat one  of these before I lose my fucking shit."

Ivy rolls her eyes and takes one of the broken cookies out of the bag,  shoving it into her mouth and making a face at me. I don't care if she's  pissy. I watch to make sure she eats every bite, and when she pops the  last of it into her mouth, I hand over her drink and make sure she sips  it. Maybe she's got a family member that's sick. Maybe that's why she's  always so quiet and won't tell me what's going on. Maybe that's why  things are "complicated" and she doesn't want to leave with me for the  weekend.

Suddenly I feel like an ass. "Who's dying?" I ask when she swallows.

The look she gives me is incredulous. "Dying? No one's dying."

"Then why are you giving so much fucking blood?"

"Why is it any of your business?"

I clench my jaw and stare out the window. There's a guy rounding up  shopping carts who gives us a weird look as he passes by, but I ignore  him. Instead, I grab another cookie out of the bag and hand it to Ivy.  She groans but takes it from me and begins to eat it. "It's my  business," I say slowly, "because I care about you and I don't want you  to hurt yourself."

"That's sweet, but I can take care of myself."

I grab her arm and look at the gigantic bruise that's growing under the Band-Aid, then look at her.

She yanks her arm out of my grip and scowls. "I'm serious, Boone. I  don't need anyone hovering over me to make sure that I'm fine. I-"

I snort. "That's for damn sure. You don't need anyone, it seems."

"Excuse me for being independent."

"There's a difference between being independent and being a stubborn ass."

"Oh, and you'd know?" she retorts. "Because I'm not seeing a lot of nuance between the two on your end."

"I might be stubborn, but at least I share what I'm feeling." I jerk the  truck into gear and head out of the parking lot, cold fury in my brain.  "And I guess that's the big difference between me and you, Ivy. I want  to be in your life, and you just keep pushing me away."

She's silent. Her arms are crossed and she's quiet for so long that I  think she's quietly plotting how she's going to chew my head off for the  next round. "Are you taking me home?" she asks after a while.

"No."

"No?" She seems surprised by that.

"Nothing's changed," I tell her. "Just because I don't like how you push  me away don't mean anything's changed. I'm still fuckin' crazy about  you, Ivy Smithfield, and I'll be damned if I let you just go home to  ignore me all over again for another week or month or however long you  get it in your head."

"So we're still going to West Texas . . . ? For . . . your blow job?"

There's a teasing note in her voice and I look over at her, skeptical. "Maybe just because I wanna spend the weekend with you."

She's got a soft little smile on her face. "Fair enough. Can we just agree to disagree on all the other stuff? Please?"

I hate that this is her avoiding confrontation again. I want to know  what's going on. I'm worried to hell and back about her, but there's  nothing I can do if she won't tell me a thing. But I'm also a fool in  love. "If that'll make you happy."         

     



 

"It will."



Ivy

My other client is all too happy to reschedule, even without the promise  of a car. After that, there's no excuse left to give, so it looks like  I'm headed out with Boone for the weekend. I send my sister a note  telling her I'm staying with a work friend, but I'm sure she'll ask  questions. I'll figure something out before I get home. Until then . . .  I'm with Boone.

As we drive west, the landscape flattens out until it looks as if we've  left familiar Texas and somehow gone into the Texas of the movies, full  of cactus, tumbleweeds, and endless dry, dusty roads. San Antonio is all  buildings and color, and neither of those seem to apply the further  west we head. "What's the name of the place we're headed to?" I ask.