Real Dirty (Real Dirty #1)

“Nothing,” I reply, the squeak in my voice giving away the total bullshit nature of my answer.

He spins around, takes three big strides, and stops in front of me. With one of those magic hands, he tilts my chin up, forcing me to meet his eyes.

“No, you said something. Tell me.”

Why is it that every time he gives me an order, I feel it where I know I shouldn’t?

I shake my head. “Nothing.”

“No, I’m pretty sure I heard you say the words revenge f*ck as clear as day.”





21





Boone





A dark red blush stains Ripley’s cheeks when I call her out on what she said.

Her lips are too damned tempting.

“Say it again.”

Her gray eyes snap with equal parts heat and embarrassment, and I can’t get the image of her riding me out of my head. I was trying to escape this apartment without pinning her to the wall, but she totally screwed up that plan.

Her tone is hesitant when she repeats what she said moments ago. “I asked if you ever got your revenge f*ck this week. It only seems fair after . . . everything.”

Ripley tries to turn her head away, but I grip her chin between two fingers and get a primal sense of satisfaction when her nostrils flare and her pupils dilate.

She wants me. I know it. She knows it. Now the question is—what are we going to do about it?

“You offering, sugar?” I feel her out with the question, and her temper surfaces again.

“Don’t call me sugar just because you don’t remember my name.”

She’s still got me in the same category of every ass*ole who’s come into this bar with a record under his belt.

“I call you sugar because even though you’ve got that sharp tongue, I expect you’d be sweet as hell once I got you under me.”

I’m halfway expecting a knee to the balls like the guy at the White Horse, but I get the tart side of the tongue I just mentioned. “You practice your lines in the mirror, Thrasher?”

“Only the good ones, Ripley.” I put the emphasis on her name, making damn sure she can’t miss it.

She mumbles something under her breath, and then seconds later, pops up on her toes and yanks my head down, smashing our lips together.

It’s been a long, long time since a woman kissed me with more passion than skill, and something about it makes my dick go as hard as a steel spike. I bury one hand in her hair, tilting her head to the side for better access.

Ripley moans into my mouth, and I slide my tongue inside to finally get a taste of her.

I was wrong. She’s not just sweet, she’s spicy too. Her fingers grip my shoulders, pulling herself up to wrap a leg around my hip.

Tearing my mouth away, I stare down at her kiss-swollen lips. “I wouldn’t call it a revenge f*ck because this ain’t got shit to do with anyone but you and me. But if you don’t tell me no right now, f*cking is exactly what we’re gonna do.”

My blunt words won’t win any poetry contests, but I couldn’t care less.

Ripley’s response is to tighten her hold on the back of my neck and hop up, circling both legs around me and pushing her skirt up her thighs.

My free hand finds the curve of her sweet ass, cupping and kneading like I was made to touch her. I taste her jaw and her neck as the heat of her pulses against my stomach.

She’s going to be as hot as fire, and God help me, but I don’t care if we both burn.

The need surging through my veins is primal, and I can’t remember the last time I felt it this strongly. Maybe never.

“Bedroom?”

Ripley moans and throws out a hand toward my left. I take one step in that direction, but the couch is closer and way more convenient. I lower us both, and her ass hits the cushion at the same moment my knees hit the floor.

Ripley looks up, her eyes hazy and heated, but so f*cking beautiful.

“When’s the last time someone made you scream?” I could kick myself for asking the question the second it’s out, because I don’t want to think about her with anyone else.

“Too long.”

Her answer gives me a dark sense of satisfaction as I press her thighs apart.

“Slide that ass out, sugar, because it’s time I taste how sweet you really are.”

After a moment of hesitation, Ripley follows my directions, scooting her butt to the edge of the couch. I expect to see the fabric of some sexy panties, but instead, all I see is bare, wet p*ssy.

“Sweet f*cking heaven.” I breathe out the words like a prayer, wasting no time getting my mouth on her.

The second my lips make contact, Ripley arches her back off the couch, my name a throaty moan echoing in the room.

Possessiveness overwhelms me as I tongue and lick and grind down on her clit until she’s writhing beneath me. I want to hear her scream my name. Hell, I want everyone to hear it.





22





Ripley





I don’t care that I’m the world’s biggest hypocrite, because an orgasm the likes of which I’ve never before experienced is barreling down on me. Boone’s mouth must be blessed with some kind of country-boy magic, because he’s working me over until I can barely hold back a scream.

When he presses one long, thick finger inside and finds my G-spot, I’m gone.

“Boone!”

His name bounces off the walls and ceiling of my apartment.

“Oh my God! Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop!”

He growls something unintelligible against me, and while I can’t make it out, vibrations rip through me and the orgasm intensifies.

I’m not sure how much more I can take, but he shows no sign of slowing.

“Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.” I’m an incoherent, shaking mess moments later when he lifts me into the air.

“Need to f*ck you. Sweet Christ, sugar, you go off hotter and harder every time. Sexy as f*cking hell.”

He carries me into my bedroom, and I don’t care that I’m naked from the waist down when he lowers me to the bed.

But I do care when his hand freezes on the button of his jeans.

“What? Why are you stopping? You can’t stop.” Maybe later I’ll want to kick my own ass for how desperate I sound, but right now I don’t care.

“Condom. Shit. I don’t know if I have one—”

I reach out and flail one arm around until I latch onto the nightstand drawer and yank it open. “In there.”

Boone reaches for the lamp switch and flicks it on. A soft light fills the room.

“Don’t know if I should be worried or impressed that you’ve got a box of magnums in there. But then again . . . they’re not open, so I’m going with lucky.”

He needs the magnums? I send up a quick prayer of thanks and mumble, “Bought them by accident.” I stare at his perfect chest for a beat while he unzips his jeans, and my attention drops to the equipment he’s packing.

Holy. Hell.

Boone doesn’t notice that I’ve stilled completely as he focuses on tearing open the package and rolling a condom down his tree trunk of a cock.

“It’s not fair for a man to be gorgeous, rich, talented, and have a huge cock, is it?” I ask no one in particular.

When Boone’s deep laugh booms out, I realize what I just said.