The Dirty Series 1(160)

When we’ve finished this round, she collapses onto her belly on the bed, murmuring something incoherent, the tone sexy and satisfied, and I curl up around her, feeling the little quivering aftershocks as they pulse through her body.

We lay in silence for about twenty minutes, and then she stirs, rolls over, propping up her head on her arm. She looks pink and flushed, the aftereffects from being well-fucked, and there’s a look in her eyes that I can’t quite identify.

“So, Christian Pierce,” she says, idly tracing her fingertips over one of my shoulders and down my arm. “Do you think we should discuss what happened?”

“What is there to discuss?” I say with a grin. We both know this won’t be the only time. A flash of cold fear goes through me. What if this is the only time? The fear is quickly overtaken by the warm buzz I feel from fucking the woman of my dreams.

She rolls her eyes with a smile. “You’re one of my clients,” she says matter-of-factly.

“What’s the problem with that?”

“I could get fired, for one.”

“You won’t get fired.”

“If anyone at HRM finds out about this, I will.”

I lean in and kiss her gently, then suck at her bottom lip. “They won’t find out.”

I feel her sharp intake of breath and I know she’s dying to trust me, but if my hunch is correct, Quinn Campbell isn’t the kind of her girl to take just any asshole at his word.

“They won’t find out if we end this right now.” Her words come out as a whisper, and though she tries to keep her voice neutral, I can hear how much she wants me to disagree with her.

So I do.

“We can’t end this right now,” I say, even though as the words leave my mouth, I know this has to come to an end. It has to.

Does it have to?

“We should.”

“What we should do is…” I let the pause hang in the air while I run the flat of my hand over the curve of her waist. “Shower. And then have dinner together.”

Her eyes sparkling, Quinn’s smile gets even wider. “Are you asking me out on a date?”

I pretend to scoff. “Why do you think I invited you here?”

“For sex, obviously.”

“That, too.”

We both laugh, and then a look of concern crosses her face. “I don’t really have anything with me to wear on a date.”

“Don’t worry,” I say, climbing off the bed and offering her my hand. “I meant dinner in.” She stands up and I give myself several moments to marvel at the utter perfection of her naked body—the slim waist, the full breasts, the way her shoulders curve so delicately to meet her neck. “The bathroom is that way.” I point towards the master bath located off my bedroom. “You hop into the shower, and I’ll have the food sent up.”

Quinn puts a hand on either side of my face and draws me down for a kiss. “Will I be seeing you in the shower?”

“I wouldn’t miss it.”



Twenty minutes later, she’s sitting at my dining table wearing one of the plush robes from my bathroom. Like my towels, the robe also bears my initials embroidered onto the front pocket. I like the look of it on her. Like I’ve made my mark in more ways than one.

You know this is going to be a disaster.

I know it.

But I’m still on the first date.

And right now it seems like heaven.

Quinn is glowing, her hair wet from the shower and combed away from her face, and she takes evident delight in every single forkful of the dinner I’ve had sent over from a five-star restaurant called Moods.

“This is incredible,” she says, lifting another tender morsel of some kind of extravagantly prepared chicken—I didn’t ask, I just trusted that my celebrity chef friend could handle the menu—between her lips. “I didn’t even know you could get delivery from a place like that.”

I let out a laugh. “You can get takeout from anywhere if you have enough money and send a driver to pick it up. They did deliver this, however. I own part of the restaurant.”

“Of course you do.” Her eyes shine with pleasure, but she doesn’t seem to be intensely focused on my billions.

It’s pretty fucking refreshing, if you ask me.

Once I break out the wine, the conversation really begins to flow.

“What made you move to New York? And stay, after the welcome you got?” I ask several minutes later as Quinn devours chocolate blackout cake.

She shakes her head, the glimpse of sadness first rushing over her face disappearing into a look of resignation. “I wish I could tell you that I just wanted to come here, but I hate when people lie about stupid shit.” Quinn looks me directly in the eye. “My fiancé cheated on me. With my best friend. So I asked for a transfer.”