Dirty Little Secret (Dirty #1) (6 page)

CUTTER

When she spun on those dress code tennis shoes, flipping up that dress code skirt and bouncing that dress code ponytail, my pants became uncomfortably tight in all the right places.  Again.

Fuck.

I think I actually missed that self-righteous piece of ass over the last two days.

Her hips continued to sway as she got further away.

At the very least…I had missed her
actual
ass. Tight, and perfectly curved as it was.

Still.  She and that superior tone of hers needed to be knocked down a peg or two.

To be fair, I gave her a head-start of about fifteen seconds.  I even counted them off out loud.

“Fourteen pretty little asses. Fifteen pretty little asses. Ready or not, here I come.”

I caught up to her just outside the laundry room.  She yelped as I grabbed her wrist, and tried unsuccessfully to shake me off.

“Let me go!”

I ignored her imperious command. “What’s your name?”

She stopped struggling and gave me curious look. “Why?”

I smiled a purposefully toothy smile. “Because I’m going to report you to the manager.”

She snorted. “For what??”

“For sexual harassment.”

“I’d hardly call asking
you to put your shirt on sexual harassment. Maybe
anti
-sexual harassment.”

“I’d say undressing me with your eyes is a definite no-no. Oh, and propositioning me while I’m working…”

Her eyes went wide. “You can’t just make things up and expect people to believe you.”

“Is that right? It’ll be your word against mine. I can be very convincing.”

I released her, and she crossed her arms over her chest.

“I’m not telling you my name.”

“Should be easy enough to describe you. Fake smile. Fake hair. Fake tits,” I ticked the descriptors off on my fingers, enjoying the increasingly irritated look on her face.

My smugness only lasted for a second.  She sprinted away.

“Fuck,” I growled. “Probably running to tell eggs-benedict Mommy.”

I took off after her, catching up just as
she slipped into the ladies room.  Did she think that was going to stop me?  I pushed the door open and stood at the edge.

“I’m coming in!” I warned.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Either you come out and tell me your name, or I’m gonna come in there and beat it out of you.”

Her gasp echoed through the restroom, and I grinned.

“Ready or not…” I called out.

I found her standing in front of the mirror, in the middle of the room, with a deer-in-headlights expression on her face.  I pulled the paintbrush from my back pocket, yanked the plastic wrapper off the brand-new bristles, and smacked it against my hand menacingly.  She backed up until her ass bumped the wide, double sink countertop.

“Where ya gonna go now, Little Miss Fake-It-Til-You-Make-It?” I asked.

She lifted her chin defiantly. “There’s nothing fake about me. Just because I’m a nice person doesn’t mean I’m a phony.”

“You’re a nice person?”

“Yes.”

“Mayb
e good at
faking
niceness.”

“You can’t fake niceness,” she protested.

“Did that strike a nerve? Is that why you ran off? Because you don’t like to be called out for the phony you are?”

“You know what? I don’t care what you think. My smile – if I cared to share it with you – is real. I’m blonde down to my roots. And the tits that you can’t seem to stop staring at? Those are real, too.”

“Prove it.”

“F- “ She stopped, and I grinned.

The girl would never be able to utter the words
fuck you
to me without being put in her place.  Hell, from the look on her face, she’d never be able to say the words again.  At all.  At least not with thinking about me.

“Pleased with yourself?” she asked mockingly.

“Not yet,” I said. “But I
will
be. Once you tell me your name.”

“No.”

Four steps closed the gap between us.  I only meant to intimidate her, to use my body to coerce her, but the second I was near enough to touch her, my senses became overloaded.  I could smell the sweet, clean scent coming from her skin.  I could feel her nervous trembling.

I wanted more.  Badly.

I reached out and ran the paintbrush from her ankle to her knee.  When she squirmed, I continued up to her thigh.  She shivered, and her breathing quickened.

“Oh, you
like
that?” I murmured. “Or maybe I should stop?”

“Yes.”

The word was a breathy whisper, and I had no clue if she was answering the first question, or the second.  I didn’t care, either.

With my free hand, I hoisted her onto the counter, then trailed the paintbrush up her other leg.  This time, I paused about an inch under her skirt and gave her a little slap.  She shuddered.  I pressed my hard-as-rock self between her legs, and she groaned.

Jesus. For a snotty bitch, she was hot.

I was going to lose control.  That was the last fucking thing I needed with a girl like this.  Give a
n inch – or in my case, twelve of them – and she’d take a fucking mile.  I leaned back, and willed myself to stay in charge.  I didn’t trust my hands, so I flipped the paintbrush around and slipped the handle into the side of her underwear.  I twisted, and yanked them down.

Pink lace. Of course.

I let them drop to the floor.  The girl was panting now, and as if her eagerness wasn’t apparent enough in the rise and fall of her chest, when I took my thumb and slid it between her legs, she was wet and ready.  I suppressed a self-satisfied smile.  So much for not checking out my ass.  I slipped a single finger inside and rubbed gently.

“You still not gonna tell me who you are, baby
-doll?”

She made a throaty noise and thrust her hips forward.  I slid my finger out again, ran it down her thigh, then grabbed her hair and yanked her head back.

“Easy, baby-doll. I’m not in a hurry. I’ve got a nice, long…break,” I murmured into her throat.

“Don’t – “ She cut herself off as I put my mouth on one of her nipples and gave a healthy suck through her shirt.

I drew away again. “Don’t what? Do that? Or this?”

I kept my gaze fixed on hers as I palmed her wetness and flicked her clit with my index finger.

“Or…this?” I continued as I slid my finger into her again.

I rubbed slow, then fast, then slow, and she closed her eyes.  Her lips parted, and I knew she was close.  So I slowed it right down.

“Or were you going to say, ‘Don’t stop’?” I teased, enjoying the desperate look on her face. “I might be inclined to be a bit kinder if you told me what name you’d like me to call out.”

“Melissa. Joan. Portia. Hanover,” she gasped.

“Thank you. I’m truly grateful. Now do you think you could do something for me, Melissa Joan Portia Hanover?”

“Yes.” The surety in her answer
startled me, and I had to shake off my surprise.

“I’d like you to say
my
name.”

“No.”

“Yes. Say it. My name is Cutter.”

“Cutter?” she whispered.

“Say it again,” I commanded.

She complied in a sexy-as-fuck voice that broke down my resolve to leave her on the edge, unsatisfied and begging for something she couldn’t have.

“Cutter.”

“That’s right,” I growled and plunged my fingers in, deep. “Can you do something else for me?”

“Yes,” she moaned.

“Come.”

I didn’t wait for her answer.  I pushed my thumb against her clit and held it there as I drew my finger in and out of her hot, wet pussy, until she cried out, shook gently, and collapsed against the mirror behind her.  I wished – for an embarrassingly pathetic moment – that I could believe the enthralled look on her face was just for me.

Then I finally got a hold of myself.

“I need one more thing from you, baby-doll.”

She glanced down at the bulge in my pants.  I was tempted.  Oh-so-fucking tempted.

“Not that, Melissa,” I whispered. “I just want you to say one word.”

She nodded, so I leaned into her, trailed kisses up her throat and around to her ear.

“Say
later
.”

I knew from her sharp intake of breath that she
’d figured out my game.

I chuckled
with true regret as I withdrew my hand from her soft, yielding sex.  I grabbed her lacy panties from the floor and shoved them into my pocket.  Finally, ignoring both her expression and my very nearly painful hard-on, I turned and walked out.

MELISSA

It took me five full minutes to collect myself.

What the hell was that?
I asked myself two dozen times.

I mean, logically, I knew that the jacked-up truck
, asshat of a construction worker – Cutter? What kind of a name was that? - had made me pant like a bitch in heat while saying his name.   He’d handed me – no pun intended - an orgasm.  On a fucking platter.  He had me so worked up, I could barely form on a non-cussed-filled thought.  And then the bastard had then walked out like it was nothing. 

So maybe instead of wondering
what
had happened, I should’ve been asking why.  I’d let him go further in four minutes than I’d even thought about letting Danny get in three years. 

And w
hat was in it for him?  He hadn’t asked for anything in return.  Then a word snapped to mind.

Power.

He was exactly the kind of guy who needed to be in control.  And unfortunately, I’d let him have it. 

Well
. It was the last goddamned time
that
was happening.

I slid d
own off the counter, pissed off as hell, but had to grab it again when my knees wobbled unsteadily.  My insides ached with the after effects of his not-so-gentle ministrations.  I wanted to chase after him. 

What are you going to do if you catch
him? Punish him with a blow job to prove that he’s not in control?

I gripped the counter angrily.  There was no way for me to come out of this on top.

And my mom was waiting for me.  I needed to get back to her.  I made it two steps before realizing I was still panty-free.  I glanced around the restroom stupidly.

Oh, no.

He
had them in his pocket.  I hurried out into the hall, careful to walk in short steps with my legs pressed together.  When I reached the door and spotted him, I stopped. 

Shit.

He was surrounded by his crewmates, and scowling darkly.  There was no subtle way for me to retrieve my underwear.  And he probably wouldn’t give them over willingly anyway.  I tossed my gaze heavenward and resigned myself to the fact that I was going to be eating the rest of my brunch commando.

As I slunk back up to the patio, I ran through a series of possible excuses for an early retreat.  A headache?  Not a
total lie.  Legs that felt like jelly because of a little too much action?  Not unless I wanted my mom to disown me.

But whatever I’d been about to say died in my mouth when I spotted the entourage at my table.

Tables,
I corrected mentally.

Because there were now three pushed together, and a small crowd of people had gathered around, including both my parents, Danny
and his parents, my sister and her husband, Shelby, a couple of Danny’s baseball buddies, and two of my first cousins.

My mother jumped up and gripped my elbow. “What took you so long?”

I was too confused to have the time to be embarrassed.

“What
is
this?” I hissed at her.

She smiled at the crowd and leaned in toward me. “You’ve got a little something on your shirt. So when they start taking pictures, lean the other way.”

I glanced down at my chest, realizing that a small circle marked the spot where the truck-driving lowlife had helped himself to a taste.

Goddamn. Would the man never stop interfering with my life? 
I stifled a giggle at the absurd thought.

“Sit down,” my mother urged with frown.

Obediently, I grabbed the only empty chair and perched nervously on the edge.  Danny began to speak, but it was hard for me to focus on what he said.  The details of the table distracted me from his words.  Mimosas.  Actual eggs benedict.  Fresh fruit.  Too-white linens.

“So…Melissa?”

Danny’s gazed at me expectantly.  Shit.  He’d said something important, and I’d missed it.  Everyone else was looking our way, too.

“Melissa?” he said again.

I cleared my throat, but my voice wouldn’t come, so I nodded.

“That was a yes!” Danny announced with a triumphant grin.

A cheer rose from our friends and family.

Dear God. What just happened?

Dread pooled in my stomach.  Danny reached for my left hand, slipped a ring on my finger, and lifted both our arms over our heads.  Flashes went off.  My mom caught my eye, glanced meaningfully down at my shirt, and I shuffled sideways to hide the evidence.  She gave me a thumbs up.

I mustered a smile that I hope
d was fitting enough for a surprise engagement to future-dick-in-his-mouth Danny Davidson.