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Filthy (A Bad Boy Romance)(2)

By:Katherine Lace



I feel her shaking a little under my hand. Yeah, that’s gotten to her. It’s not fear; I know that much. She wants me. Bad. She wants everything I just told her I could do to her. I lean back just enough so I can look into her eyes. “You want that,” I tell her. “You’ve always wanted that, but you’ve never had the balls to ask anybody for it.”

There’s a moment of silence then, finally, minutely, she nods.

“All right, then. I don’t give a shit what your daddy thinks, and I don’t give a shit what he thinks he owns and doesn’t own. But I do know I want you. Right now. Over and under and any way I want to take you. Now…” This time I draw my hand away from her and lean back. “Are you ready to go?”

She slides off the barstool and straightens. She’s a little shorter than I expected. God, I could toss this girl over my shoulder and carry her out of here like some kind of goddamn caveman claiming a mate. Maybe I will.

But she tilts her head and her eyes meet mine, and she says, “Fine. But, Cain, I’m taking my own car.”

#

My house isn’t exactly a Beverly Hills mansion, but real estate in Los Angeles is fucking expensive, and the little two-level condo is a damn sight better than anyplace I ever lived growing up. Of course, growing up in the system like I did, you don’t have much choice. You go wherever they send you, and half the time it’s shit.

But I’m proud of this place. It’s mine. I paid for it with my own sweat and blood. All before I got hooked in with Spada and his mob cronies and everything that relationship brings with it. Yeah, I’ve got more money now, but I’m beginning to think I’d rather earn it with sweat and blood than with lies and bullshit.

Jessica gives the building a hard, sweeping glance as I escort her to the front door. It’s been all I could do to keep it in my pants on the short drive from the club; I’m so fucking hard I’m afraid something’s going to break in there if I move wrong. I have a hard time getting the key in the lock, and then my fingers fumble on the alarm keypad.

Finally we’re inside. I prepare myself for the niceties—maybe a quick tour of the place, offer her a drink, see if she needs to know where the bathroom is—but before I can so much as turn around to take her coat, Jessica Spada is on me, arms around my neck, one leg cocked up over the jut of my hipbone. Her mouth takes mine, hard and bruising, and I return the favor. Chances are good we’ll both taste like blood before this night is over.

The kiss hurts on my mouth where I took that punch to the face tonight. Tory was good, and he fought hard, but he’s never been as good as me. Which was the main reason I managed to knock him out even though I was supposed to throw the fight.

Jessica’s tongue prods into my lip like she’s trying to taste that damn cut. I make a noise in my throat and start to push her back, but damn, that slice of pain is making my dick throb. She bites at my lips and then eases off.

“You want to do this in the bedroom, or right here?”

“I really don’t care,” I tell her. “You want me to fuck you pretty, or you want me to fuck you dirty, like over the kitchen counter? The back of the couch?” I glance toward the living area. “Up against that wall?”

“Shit.” She drags my head down again, kisses me again, and then jumps up into my arms, wrapping her legs around my waist. I didn’t expect it, but I still catch her easily. “You fuck me wherever’s going to get you inside me faster.”

God. I’m not sure what I expected from her, but I know it wasn’t this. She’s no shrinking violet, withdrawing from my hard hands. I figured she’d be scared, or at the very least hesitant. Sure, she put on a good show back at the club, but it’s easy to change your mind once the rubber hits the road.

Or, you know, once the rubber hits my dick. I do have some, don’t I? Yeah… A box in the kitchen cabinet, I remember. I steer her that way. “Kitchen cabinet it is, then,” I tell her, and she bites my lip. Hard.

“Minx,” I say. “God, you are…” I trail off. I honestly don’t know what to say to her right now. Mostly because every bit of blood I own is fighting for space inside my dick and not one drop has stayed behind in my brain.

She grins. “Unexpected? Well…” There’s a hesitation as I plop her ass on the kitchen counter and rummage in the towel drawer for the extra box of condoms. She seems to lose her train of thought at that. “Cain…you keep condoms in the kitchen?”

“Never know when they might come in handy.” I rip one off the strip with my teeth and hold it, grinning around it. She takes it and whaps me in the nose with it.

“I’m putting this on you,” she tells me.

“How are you going to put it on me when I’m fucking your ass from behind?”

An eyebrow moves up. “You can fuck me from behind, but you’re not fucking my ass.”

It isn’t actually what I meant, but it’s good to know she has lines and is willing to draw them. I lean forward. “Maybe not tonight…” Then I bite her earlobe.

“God, get on with it.”

I’m not sure I want to get on with it. Maybe I just want to take my time, put my hands all over her. I push between her thighs where they’re splayed open, her knees bent, feet dangling off the edge of the cabinet. She’s wearing a skirt, which is handy; it’s shoved up to the tops of her thighs, already out of the way, and her panties show, a wink of pink as she shifts. She’s hot and wet against my stomach; I can feel it right through her panties, my shirt. Kissing her, I start to pull at the buttons on her top.

She reaches for the hem of my shirt and peels it up. Her fingernails scrape over my skin as the shirt rises, and I shudder a little, an involuntary noise coming out of me, like a growl. She chuckles, drags the shirt over my head, and gives it a random toss over her shoulder.

“You look good, Cain.”

I drag the sides of her unbuttoned blouse open and look down at her breasts, swelling out of the cups of an orchid-colored silk bra. Her skin is pale and flawless, especially in contrast to mine—darker, scarred, my left forearm inked to the wrist. “So do you, Jess.”

“I don’t think I said you could call me Jess.”

“I don’t think I need your permission.” I grab the little plastic fastener between her breasts and pop it just right. The mounds fall forward and down, no longer propped up by the bra. They’re big and round and warm and alive, and I like them so much better like this. Free. Naked. And out there where I can taste them.

She jumps when my teeth close on her nipple. I’m not biting that hard—it’s not like I’m going to draw blood or anything—but she’s so revved right now I bet she would’ve done the same thing if I’d just touched her. I press a little harder just to see what happens. Her hands grab at my hair as if to pull me back, and then stop. Ah, good. She likes this.

With one hand, I lift the breast I’m biting, feeling the heavy softness against my palm. What is it about a woman’s tits that can make my brain scramble? Or, for that matter, a woman’s anything. Her mouth, her eyes, the curve of her neck, the rich, musky smell of her cunt. I want all of it. Every inch. Under my hands, my tongue. Surrounding my dick.

I rock forward in the space between her thighs, rubbing my erection against the wet heat of her ruined panties. She’s grabbing at me again, pulling me closer, scraping down my back with her nails. It hurts; I love it. Her fingers find the back of my waistband and track forward, stopping at the fly.

While she’s dealing with that, I take more of her breast into my mouth and reach between her legs with my free hand. Those panties don’t necessarily have to go, but they’re definitely in the way at the moment. I push them aside, and my fingers find the heat and the slickness hidden behind them. There’s hair on her pussy—I like that—and my fingers slide against her inner lips until they slip right into her, deep.

She gasps, arching her back and looking down. I push harder. Inside she’s tight and hot and so wet I feel like she might drag my whole hand inside her with that shaking, grasping cunt. God, I want my dick inside her. Now.

She’s gotten distracted, though, and hasn’t finished undoing my pants. Reluctantly I let go of her breast and reach down to take care of that little detail myself. Even I have issues, though, and my fingers fumble on the zipper.

I can only get my pants down past my hips, but it’s enough, and when my cock springs free it makes a light slapping sound against her belly. She reaches down and grabs it. Nails again, biting into the delicate skin. It’s my turn to gasp, then growl, then bite my lip. Then bite her lip. She chuckles.

“Too much for you, big boy?” Her fist closes tight around my engorged shaft, her thumb sliding over the glans, where pre-come has already made it slick and ready. I can smell the deep musk of her arousal, the tangier scent of my own.

“Too much for you?” I ask as she strokes down my cock, fingers bumping over the big veins.

“I don’t think so.”

I know damn well I’ve got more than most guys can even hope for, and she’s going to feel it. I want to challenge her smugness, her little acts of aggression. “You sure about that?”

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