Dirty Scoundrel(32)

A low moan rises in my throat at the delicious torture.

"That's better," Clay whispers, then flicks his tongue against my clit. "Tell me how much you like my mouth on you, Nat."

I'm beyond coherent thought at this point. All I know is that every time  I cry out his name, his tongue moves. Every time I moan, his fingers  pump into me. I know he's silently encouraging me to be noisy, but I  don't even care. I'm a begging mess as he ruthlessly tongues me,  thrusting with his hand. The pleasure escalates, and so does my volume.  By the time my orgasm hits, I'm pretty sure people from three counties  around have heard me screaming Clay's name.

But man, it was worth it. As I fall back on the blankets, panting, I  stare up at the ceiling, dazed as the pleasure washes over me. Just when  I thought it couldn't get better than last time, Clay proves me wrong.

He presses a kiss to my thigh and then moves onto the bed next to me.  With his head propped up by one hand, he gazes down at me as I pant and  try to catch my breath. I feel boneless and weak with relief, but I also  feel so, so sexy right now. When he reaches out and brushes a sweaty  lock of hair off my forehead, the feel of his cool hand against my skin  reminds me that parts of me are bright red. "This is probably not my  most seductive moment," I tell him, smiling.

"You'd be wrong," he tells me, and leans down to give me a light kiss on  the mouth. I notice that there's a slight musky taste to his mouth, and  blush to realize that it's me that I'm tasting. As his body presses  against mine, I can feel his cock against my hip. He's still hard, the  tip of his cock wet with pre-cum.         

     



 

Of course he's hard. He hasn't come. It was just me that got pleasured.

That seems somehow wrong. I lean into the kiss when he lowers his mouth  again, and slide my hand to his cock, curling my fingers around his  length.

His mouth breaks from mine in a gasp. His eyes close and he presses his  forehead to mine. I don't even mind the twinge it sends through my  sunburn-I'm just fascinated by his response. "Nat," he breathes. "You  don't have to-"

"Shut up," I whisper. "I know I don't have to." Like this big idiot  thinks I could possibly not want to touch him? He's gorgeous. And ever  since I saw him naked, I've wanted to touch him. I want to give him  pleasure like he gives me pleasure.

I want him to need me as much as I need him.

I let my fingers play up and down his length, exploring him. I trace my  fingers over every vein, every crease, fascinated by how very soft and  warm his skin is here, and how hard he is underneath it. The soft hairs  surrounding his cock are springy and dark, and I brush over them before  cupping his sac. "What feels best?" I ask, curious.

"All of it," he tells me. "All of it feels good. Don't care what you do as long as you put your hand on me."

Well, that I can definitely do. I stroke my fingertips over the head of  his cock, playing with the fluid beaded there and slicking it over his  skin. I want to give him a hand job, I think, but I'm not sure how to  grip him properly. I lean in, pressing my mouth toward his, and when he  kisses me, it's with all the intense urgency I've come to think of as  Clay, and it makes me feel all stirred up all over again. My grip on his  cock tightens, and I give him an experimental little pump of my hand.  When he says nothing, I do it again.

His kiss becomes more urgent, tongue slicking against mine.

"Am I doing it wrong?" I ask. "How can I make it better?"

Clay's hand grips mine, and he tightens my fingers around his cock,  until it feels like I'm making a fist. "Be rougher," he tells me, words  fluttering against my lips. His tongue slicks against my mouth, and he  licks me even as he uses my hand to stroke himself. He groans low, then  bites gently at my lower lip.

Oh wow. It's turning me on, too. I kiss him again, more urgent, and pump his cock once more.

Clay keeps his hand over mine, using me to stroke, slow and hard. Then,  he pulls my hand up his shaft until I'm gripping him right at the base  of the head. "Small, tight squeezes here," he tells me between  fluttering kisses. His eyes are hooded with need, and his other hand  brushes against my breasts, as if he's desperate to intensify things.

I know what that's like. I do as he asks, using small, tight little  jerks that brush against the crown of his cock head, and as I do I arch  my back, thrusting my breasts against him so my nipples drag against his  skin.

His breath explodes, and he grips one of my breasts tightly, teasing my  nipple between two fingers. His other hand closes over mine on his cock,  and then he's guiding me-forcing me-to jerk him harder and faster.

I've never been so turned on. I gasp when he gives my nipple a pinch,  and his mouth claims mine again, then falls open, as if he can't  concentrate on kissing me. Not when there's so much else going on.  Excited, I pant, rubbing up against him and trying to help out as he  uses me to rub his shaft.

His breath explodes, and something hot and sticky covers my hand. To my  surprise, he keeps going, continuing to drag his hand-and mine-up and  down his cock for several long moments, milking the orgasm. His eyes are  squeezed tightly shut, and he presses his forehead to mine again.

I wait, breathing hard, for him to come back to himself. That wasn't  even my orgasm, and it was one of the best ones I've ever had.

Clay releases a deep breath. "We should clean up."

"Back into the shower?" I volunteer. "We can probably squeeze both of us  in there." It was small but I figure we can manage with a bit of  rubbing against each other.

He grins at me and presses another fierce, quick kiss to my mouth. "Great minds and all that."

I smile at him. It's weird, but I feel . . . happy. I don't even care  that I'm fried like a lobster, or that this all might come crashing down  on my head in the next day. I don't care that we lost seven years  together or that Clay lives in a trailer and my dad hates him.

I'm happy. I doubt it'll last-it never lasts-but for now, I'm going to  bask in the happiness and enjoy myself. If nothing else, it'll give me a  good memory to tuck away when life turns to crap again.         

     



 





Chapter Thirteen



One Week Later



Natalie

LEXI: So I went past the house and the renovations look like they're almost done.

LEXI: And there's a big billboard announcing a grand opening. It's right off the highway. Premium real estate!

LEXI: How many blow jobs did it cost you? Asking for a friend.

NATALIE: Good morning, Lexi. :)

LEXI: Ooh, a smiley face. Someone's happy.

NATALIE: Someone is!

LEXI: Spare me the revolting details of your sordid relationship.

NATALIE: You just asked me about blow jobs.

LEXI: I was trying to make polite conversation.

NATALIE: With blow jobs?!

LEXI: Well, I thought it might be too much to bring up a rusty trombone before breakfast.

NATALIE: I'm . . . not even going to ask.

NATALIE: How's the business?

LEXI: I'm not saying it's bad . . .

LEXI: But I am saying if you know of someone that would like yoga lessons, I have a pretty open schedule.

NATALIE: Maybe you should try being a little more friendly? I'm pretty sure you've scared away most of the locals.

LEXI: You flatterer!

LEXI: For real, though, I do have a potential client-slash-investor coming over later today to get a tour of the studio.

NATALIE: Yay!!!

LEXI: So catch me up. How are things with Clay?

NATALIE: Dreamy. :) Is it possible to have a perfect week? I feel like I've had one.

LEXI: Ew gross. So many emotions.

NATALIE: I can't help it. We're disgustingly sappy together.

LEXI: So what did you do during this sappy week?

NATALIE: Well, we've been staying in the hotel. One day we did some  touristy stuff downtown and we did some shopping. And just regular  dating stuff. It's been nice.

LEXI: Have you seen any ghosts?

NATALIE: No?

LEXI: You should tell him you want to ghost hunt.

NATALIE: Except I don't? I'd rather go to dinner and a movie with him.

LEXI: You're such a pleb. I'm surprised you're not with him right now.

LEXI: Or . . . are you?

NATALIE: No, he's got a day full of meetings today. Some of them are PBO and some are IC.

LEXI: PBO? IC?

NATALIE: PBO = Price Brothers Oil. Board meetings.

NATALIE: IC = IntelligentCamo. The start-up he's trying to get going. He  wants it to be affordable for military types and hunters. He's got a  whole plan mapped out. It's really interesting!

LEXI: Yaaaawn.

NATALIE: Okay okay. I know I'm gushing.

LEXI: Has he apologized for abandoning you those three days?

NATALIE: I . . . told you yesterday? He apologized already.

LEXI: Yes but I think he should apologize daily. Grovel daily, even!

LEXI: This might be why I'm single, though.

NATALIE: Speaking of, any word from Knox?

LEXI: Who?

NATALIE: Uh, Knox? One of Clay's brothers? You two seemed like you hit it off last week at the tubing party.

LEXI: Eh.

NATALIE: Oh. Guess not. He not your type?

LEXI: You could say that.

NATALIE: What . . . is your type?

LEXI: Byronically ironic?

LEXI: Ironically byronic?