Dirty Little Secret (Dirty #1) Page 18

  It would be so easy to grab her, to take her now, I thought.

  I forced my eyes to her finger, sought the ring there, and used it to dampen my need. It worked. For ten seconds. Which is how long it took me to realize I’d stripped down to my boxer briefs at some point in the night, and that her gaze was trained on my obvious erection. When she saw me catch the direction of her stare, she quickly averted her gaze.

  I shot her a grin and grabbed my pants from the floor, slipping them on before she could spy my anklet.

  “I guess both of us want to say good morning to you, too,” I teased.

  “You’re disgusting,” she shot back, and I fought down a stab of hurt.

  “I’m not the one sleeping it off in someone else’s apartment,” I pointed out as I flopped back into my chair.

  “I was just leaving.”

  “So go.”

  “I just didn’t want to take off without saying goodbye.”

  “Because you didn’t want to hurt my feelings?” I was trying to lighten the mood, but her eyes flashed.

  “I don’t give two shits about hurting your feelings. If you even have feelings,” she snapped. “But there’s something to be said for politeness. So. Thank you, for letting me spend the night, and for not taking advantage of the situation.”

  She didn’t sound thankful at all. Just the opposite, in fact. I shook my head. I wondered which one of was going crazy.

  Explain, nudged a small voice.

  “I just wanted to talk to you,” I stated.

  “Yeah, I got that.”

  Her sarcasm grated on me. “You’re welcome. For saving you from a very bad situation.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Chivalry is your fucking specialty.”

  She turned to go.

  “You going to put on your shorts and take off my shirt before you leave?” I called after her.

  She paused. Turned back. Stripped the t-shirt off. Tossed it at me.

  Holy fuck.

  She was wearing tiny bikini bottoms that hugged her curves perfectly. They showed off the softness of her hips, fully displayed the tightness of her ass, and hinted at the sweetness that was underneath the stretchy fabric. I dragged my eyes up, trying to ignore the way my cock sprung to attention at the sight of her perfect tits. I focused on her face. Not that it did much good. Her cheeks were flushed, and her lips were parted appealingly.

  “Problem, Cutter?” she asked. “You’ve got your shirt.”

  “I’m tired of this fucking game, Melissa,” I growled.

  “This isn’t a game, Cutter,” she replied calmly. “I woke in the night. I was cold but uncomfortable. I took off my shorts. I borrowed a t-shirt. No big deal.”

  “You know that’s not what I mean.”

  “Why don’t you tell me what you mean? Because I have no clue. You kicked me out. One second we – if you want to say there was going to be a we – were fine. The next second you wouldn’t let me talk, and you told me to go back to the guy who’d just tried to assault me. Then you chased me down at a party, where I was of my own free will and dragged me here, only to start a fight. Your signals are a mess.”

  Jesus. She was right. That’s exactly what I’d done. What the fuck was wrong with me?

  I stood up, strode over to her, and took her hand. Forcefully, I shoved it between my legs.

  “Do you feel that?” I demanded hoarsely. “Every time I see you – clothed, unclothed, wrapped in a fucking parka, I get that hard for you. Hell, even thinking about you makes me stiff. Knowing you is the worst kind of torture I’ve ever had.”

  I expected her to balk, to back off, and she didn’t disappoint me. She pulled her hand away gently. Then she surprised me. She took a deep breath, reached out, took my hand again, and guided it to her bikini bottoms. The thin fabric was damp, and hot.

  “Do you feel that?” Her voice was soft. “Every time you look at me, I get wet. From the first second your truck pulled up in front of the school. Your hair, your eyes, your voice. I’ve never wanted something as badly as I want you. I’m not playing a game. I don’t want to tease you, and I don’t want to be teased.”

  I groaned. “Don’t tell me that, Melissa. There’s nothing I’d like more than to back you up against the wall right behind you and fuck you until you can’t see straight.”

  “So do it.”

  “No.”

  “Who’s playing games now?”

  She shifted our hands slightly, and my fingers were suddenly inside her bikini. She thrust her hips forward, and I drew in a sharp breath as I brushed her clit.

  “You don’t belong to me,” I hissed.

  “I’d like to,” she said, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

  “What about your fiancé?” At that second, I wanted to kill the sonofabitch for being able to lay claim to Melissa.

  “I don’t want Danny,” she replied.

  “For right this second.”

  “I’ve never wanted him.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Cutter –“

  “I won’t be the other man, baby-doll. I’ve been on the losing side of that game, and it fucking sucks. It made me do things I can’t ever take back, and I wouldn’t put someone else in that position…” I hesitated, then added, “And besides that…I don’t want you halfway.”

  Slowly, deliberately, she used her teeth to slide the ring from her finger and tossed it across the room. It rolled, and rolled, then spun to a stop with a finality that made my heart fucking jump.

  “He’s never touched me where you’re touching me right now, Cutter. I never wanted him to.”

  Was she serious? I leaned back a little bit, so I could look her in the eyes. There was no dishonesty there. I wanted to be sure.

  “You and him never…”

  “Fucked?” Her voice wrapped around the word in the sexiest way possible.

  I was indescribably pleased that the other man hadn’t put his mark on her. I slid my hand from her bathing suit and clasped her hips possessively. I walked backward to the big chair, dragging her with me. I tried to fall into it, but she grabbed me by the waistband and pulled me to a stop. With a devious grin, she pushed my pants and my boxer briefs to my thighs, then down a little further.

  Shit. The ankle monitor.

  She either hadn’t spotted it, or didn’t care. She put her palm on my chest and pushed. As I landed in the chair, Melissa swung her legs around my hips, straddling me. She grabbed my hands, and I didn’t protest as she pinned them behind my head.

  “Tell me you want me,” she commanded.

  “If you can’t feel how badly I do…” I trailed off as she circled her hips in a slow, tortuous motion.

  The smooth fabric of her bikini glided over the hardness of my cock, silky and so arousing that when she stopped, I nearly begged for more.

  “How’s that for a start?” she asked, and released my hands. “I learned that one from you.”

  I gripped the sides of the swimsuit. “Take these off.”

  “No.”

  “Now.”

  She smiled at me and moved my fingers from her hips to her breasts. I circled both of her nipples with my thumbs.

  She moaned and arched against me. I caressed her cheek with the back of my hand.

  “Take off the bikini bottoms,” I said. “Please.”

  “I will,” she agreed in a teasing voice. “Soon. I don’t want to rush my first time.”

  I froze. “Your first time with me?”

  “With anyone.”

  Jesus.

  “Melissa…Baby-doll…We need to stop.”

  MELISSA

  The pained look on Cutter’s face made me ache. I wanted to take it away almost as much as I wanted to slip off my bottoms and slide him into me. My insides clenched in anticipation of what it would be like. Hard and hot and a little painful. But he was utterly still.

  “Why does it change the fact that I want you and you want me?” I asked.

  My self-confidence,
buoyed by the raw sexual energy in the room, deflated a bit at his silence.

  “Unless you don’t want me now? ‘Cause it still feels like you do.” I tried – hard – to make it sound like I was kidding, but a bit of worry crept into my voice anyway.

  “I want you more than I want my next fucking breath,” he admitted. “But you deserve someone better than the asshole I am.”

  “Cutter, I’ve never wanted to have sex before. I want you to be my first.”

  He drew in a ragged breath and pulled his hands to the top of his head. He gripped his hair like he was holding on for dear life.

  “That makes it even worse,” he said, sounding angry.

  My heart sank. “Why?”

  “Do I really need to spell it out for you?”

  I leaned back and crossed my arms across my bare chest.

  “I guess you do,” I snapped.

  “Can you let me up, please?”

  I shook my head. “Not until you tell me why you won’t fuck me.”

  “Jesus, Melissa. Even hearing you say it like that is wrong.”

  “You don’t like it when I beg? Or when I swear?”

  “The combination of the two,” Cutter growled.

  I tilted my head to the side thoughtfully. “So…If I say to you…Baby…Please take me now…Please fuck me until I can’t see…or however you put it a few minutes ago…You don’t like that? It does nothing for you?”

  “Nothing,” he said. “Now get up before I throw you off.”

  I didn’t move.

  “You wouldn’t.”

  He tried to stand, and I locked my legs around his hips. He pushed himself to his feet, but I held on tightly.

  “What are you? A fucking koala?”

  “Talking about cute animals isn’t going to turn me off,” I informed him.

  In fact, being wrapped around him put other ideas into my head. His body gave away the fact that even if he wasn’t admitting it, he had a similar agenda.

  “Fine. Tell me what is going to turn you off,” he begged.

  But his hands were back on my ass, in direct conflict with his words.

  “Satisfaction. Take me against the wall, Cutter,” I suggested.

  “I can’t.”

  “You never know unless you try,” I teased.

  He rolled his eyes. “It’s not that I can’t can’t. It’s that I’m not going to.”

  “Then lie down so I can take you,” I suggested archly. “Because I hear there’s more than one way to do it.”

  “Listen to me. You. Do. Not. Want. Me.”

  “What I want, is for you to – “

  He cut me off. “Don’t say it again.”

  I leaned into his neck, bit his ear, and whispered, “Fuck me.”

  He groaned and collapsed back in the chair. I loosened my leg hold and pulled back far enough to slip my hand between his legs. I closed my fingers around his cock and stroked gently. His breathing quickened. When he closed his eyes, I edged closer and pushed his erection against my crotch.

  Suddenly, his hands gripped both of mine. He lifted my arms over my head, and he looked me right in the eye. I struggled a bit, and he held me in place without trying. I wriggled, trying propel myself closer, and Cutter gritted his teeth, but remained in place.

  “Melissa, stop,” he commanded. “Promise me if I let you go, you’ll keep your hands to yourself and listen to me.”

  I nodded reluctantly, and he drew in a relieved breath. He let go of my wrists and brought his hands to my waist.

  “You don’t know me,” he stated. “Hardly at all. And if you did, you might not like me. Probably wouldn’t, in fact. Because your first instincts were spot on, Melissa. I am not a nice man, and before you make a joke, I don’t mean that in a sexy way. You are a nice girl. And I fucking hate nice girls. I’d hate it even more if I was the person who took that away from you. I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around that. I don’t usually give a shit about who gets wrecked. In my path, or as collateral damage, it’s never mattered to me. Not until right this second.”

  I blinked, taken aback by the seriousness of his voice.

  “You don’t deserve to be fucked. You deserve to be made love to,” he added.

  My heart tightened and released, then shattered into a million butterfly pieces that fluttered through my chest. It was hands-down the sweetest, sexiest thing anyone had ever said to me.

  “Stop staring at me,” Cutter muttered. “This is hard e-fucking-nough without you going all deer-in-headlights on me.”

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure. Why not?”

  “Does this mean you want me to know you? Or you don’t?”

  Cutter chuckled darkly. “I wish I fucking knew.”

  “Should I put your shirt back on?” I asked.

  He looked torn.

  “How about I insist on putting it back on. Then you don’t have to be the idiot who wanted a willing, nearly nude, totally virginal girl to get dressed,” I offered.

  He grinned. “If you insist.”

  I leaped up, grabbed the shirt, and nodded at the pants around his ankles.

  “Just so we’re clear…” I said. “I really wish you wouldn’t put those on.”

  “Noted.”

  But when I poked my head out from his shirt, he had already slipped them on and was buttoning them up. When he finished, I pushed him back into the chair and crawled onto his lap.

  “Tell me something about yourself,” I suggested.

  “What?”

  “You said I don’t know you at all. So give me a chance. Maybe I’ll surprise you.”

  “You’ve already surprised me,” he admitted.

  “Cutter?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Don’t say shit like that.”

  He pulled a strand of my hair forward and twisted it around his finger. “Why not?”

  “Because you’re trying not to turn me on,” I reminded him. “Sappy, heartfelt remarks are just as hot as dirty, suggestive ones.”

  He laughed. “So no being a pussy. And no talking about it either?”

  “Exactly.”

  “You’re making this tough.”

  “Just tell me something,” I urged. “Something deeply personal.”

  His eyes tightened for a moment, then he smiled. “Like what? Give me something to work with. Preferably a topic that’s not going to light your panties on fire.”

  I reached across him to grab one of the long, thin paintbrushes from the table beside us.

  “What’s this all about?”

  “I’m a painter. But you already knew that.”

  Desire licked across my body as I recalled our encounter on the sink at the country club. I fought to suppress it.

  “Yeah, I knew you painted fences,” I said. “But these paintbrushes aren’t exactly construction dude material.”

  He sighed and took the brush from my hand. “Art.”

  “A one word sentence? That’s all you’re going to give me?”

  “Reach down behind the seat cushion. There’s a remote control there.”

  I did as he asked, frowning at the palm-sized device as I handed it to him. He clicked one of the flat buttons, and low light filled the room.

  “Don’t freak out,” he said. “But turn around and have a look.”

  I twisted in his lap. And gasped. Pot lights pointed directly at a canvas that stretched from the floor, nearly to the ceiling. I hadn’t noticed it as I came in because I’d assumed it was a part of the wall. I obeyed a compulsion to stand up and take a closer look.

  It was a portrait of the college from a bird’s eye view. It was somehow intricate and sweeping at the same time, with no detail left unnoted, from the tiny, blurry collection of students gathered on the grass, to the oddly placed apple orchard on the corner of the property. It captured the very essence of life at the college.

  “You painted this, Cutter?”

  “I told you not to freak out,” he mut
tered.

  “It’s beautiful. I mean, really, really amazing. You should show it to someone. An art dealer, maybe.”

  “It’s commissioned work.”

  “Someone paid you to paint this?”

  “It’s much bigger than what I normally paint,” he replied evasively.

  “What do you normally paint?”

  He looked away. “I’ve told you something personal. Happy?”

  “Tell me something else,” I pleaded.

  “No.”

  “C’mon.”

  “I’ve never shown anyone my work before,” he said. “The buyer at the college thinks I’m brokering the piece. And I’ve never let anyone up here, in my loft, either. So I think I’ve told you enough for a little while.”

  He sounded genuinely worn out by sharing this part of himself with me. The very nice, very bubbly version of myself who’d been hiding out under my newer, edgier persona, threatened to rear her ugly head. I wanted to leap at Cutter and throw my arms around him. And maybe cry a little that he’d created something so amazing. I forced my feet to stay rooted to the spot.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” I lied.

  After, a long, silent moment, Cutter patted his lap.

  “Can you come back and sit with me?” he asked lightly.

  I took a few small steps toward him, and then, inexplicably, I began to cry. Cutter was just close enough to be able to reach my hand. He grabbed it and pulled me into his lap, enveloping me in his arms and kissing my hair.

  “Baby-doll, why are you crying?” he asked softly. “What did I do?”

  “It’s not you, Cutter,” I said. “It’s me. I’m a bad person.”

  He pushed me back and examined my face. “Are you being serious?”

  My reply came out in a sob-punctuated rush. “You told me I’m a nice girl, but I’m not. Not even close. I’ve always been like one of those dolls with the string in her back. You pull that string, and I say what I’m supposed to, when I’m supposed to. But the second one little thing went wrong, the second that string broke…I turned into a complete bitch. I’ve been lying to my best friend for weeks. I’ve been lying to Danny for years. Those two slept together, and I don’t even care. I’m a goddamned hypocrite. Fake, just like you said.”

  With a firm hand, Cutter tipped my chin up. “Melissa, a big thing went wrong, not a small one. Your whole identity got rocked. It would be pretty fucking weird if you didn’t freak out a little. It’s okay to be imperfect now and then. You’ll make amends with your friend, and probably even with Danny if they’re going to become a couple.”