Dirty Sexy Saint (Dirty Sexy 1)
With his mouth fused to hers, he guided her backward, until her ass hit the edge of the table they’d just been sitting at. His hands dropped to her hips, and with a slight lift, she was sitting on the flat surface. Breathing hard against her parted lips, he pushed her legs wide apart and moved in between, so that the rigid length of his erection aligned with the front panel of her panties. Even through the denim, he could feel her heat and dampness, and it drove him wild.
He thrust his tongue deep inside her mouth, matching the grind of his cock against her sex. She whimpered and shamelessly tightened her thighs around his waist. Her soft hands found their way beneath his T-shirt and skimmed over his abs and continued up to his chest, until her fingers reached his nipples and plucked at the tight, sensitive tips.
He groaned and shuddered. His dick throbbed almost painfully, and he barely managed to clench his jaw against the onslaught of relentless heat surging through him.
What the hell was he doing? If she’d been any other woman, he would have been balls deep inside her by now, driving them both toward a mind-bending orgasm. But he intuitively knew that Samantha Jamieson wasn’t someone he could fuck mindlessly and casually walk away from afterward. She was well-bred, refined, and probably didn’t venture beyond traditional missionary sex. He was rough around the edges and liked his encounters hot and sweaty and down and dirty.
He jerked back so that there were a few inches of space between them and more than enough room to put an end to their very near miss. She looked up at him, her lips wet and swollen from his kiss, her face flushed with desire, and her gaze exhilarated and oh-so-hopeful for much, much more.
It wasn’t going to happen. “You’re playing with the hottest kind of fire there is, Cupcake,” he said, his voice tinged with an unmistakable warning.
Her chin lifted ever so slightly, and the corner of her mouth curved upward in a brazen smile. “You didn’t seem to mind a few moments ago.”
Jesus fucking Christ. He wanted to do dirty things to that sassy mouth of hers, wanted to show her how he handled impudent women in the bedroom. Resisting the urge took effort—because just imagining the feel of her bare ass quivering beneath the smack of his hand made him harder than stone—but he managed to keep his head focused on drawing those all-too-important lines between them. He needed to set her straight, establish clear boundaries between them, and the only way he knew to do that was to be blunt and crude enough to shock some sense back into her upper-class sensibilities.
Bracing his hands on the table on either side of her hips, he leaned in close and gave her his best intimidating scowl. “I’m not a gentleman, Samantha,” he said harshly. “I don’t do soft and gentle and sweet. I like to control and fuck so hard and deep you’ll scream and be sore the next day. I’d want you on your knees, with my hands fisted in your hair while you suck my cock, and then I’d bend you over this table, spread your legs wide, and fuck you all over again.”
That definitely got her attention, but not in the way he’d hoped. Her eyes widened, and her breathing deepened, and she licked her lips in a way that told him she was playing every one of those wicked scenarios through her mind.
“What…what if that’s what I want?” she asked softly.
The muscles in his stomach tightened, and he exhaled a slow, deep breath as he straightened once again. “It’s not going to happen.” He had to be smart enough for them both. “If you’re going to be staying here, we need to set some rules.”
She frowned at him, jerking back in a way that told him he’d hit a nerve. “I’m twenty-six years old, and I’ve spent my entire life being told what to do. I’m done with rules, Clay. I’m done being a straight-laced good girl when the woman inside of me wants excitement and passion and a man who can show me both.”
“I’m not that man, Samantha,” he said gruffly. “You’re just being wild and rebellious now that you have a little freedom, and you like the way it feels. There’s no way I’m going let you do something you’d regret later.”
She pursed her lips but didn’t argue further, and that, more than anything, made him nervous. Whoever she’d been before, this incarnation of Samantha Jamieson clearly had no problem going after what she wanted.
And she’d made it clear she wanted him.
* * *
Samantha liked Katrina immediately. She was friendly, kind, and arrived at Clay’s place with a tank dress and a pair of flip-flops for Samantha to wear since her blouse and pants were still dirty. Katrina was shorter and more petite in size, but the dress was cut in a way that hung loose on Samantha’s body and would work until she could get something else that fit properly.
“Ready to go?” Katrina asked once Samantha walked out of Clay’s bedroom, now wearing the more comfortable outfit.
“Yes. Thank you again for the loan on the dress and shoes,” Samantha said, feeling momentarily self-conscious because she’d had to borrow someone else’s clothes. That was another first for her. “I really appreciate it.”
“It’s not a problem,” the other woman said with a wave of her hand, though her pretty green eyes brimmed with undeniable interest. “Though I have to say, I’ve never known Clay to let a woman spend the night here, let alone have one move in so quickly.”
Samantha felt a warm blush sweep across her cheeks, even though the smile Katrina gave her was light and teasing. She had no idea what, exactly, Clay had told the other woman about their arrangement or how she’d ended up in his apartment in the first place. As soon as he’d informed Samantha that he wasn’t about to let her do something she’d regret after that hot, scorching kiss they’d shared, he’d pushed her away, muttered something about calling Katrina from his office downstairs at the bar, then he’d stalked out of the small apartment.
He’d left her sitting on the table, all alone with too many thoughts running through her head. Mainly, about how she’d never, ever experienced such raw passion before. And the things he’d said to her afterward, about not being soft and gentle and sweet, well, even now her stomach clenched tight thinking about all those wicked things Clay had said he wanted to do to her. He’d meant to scare her off, but instead, he’d ignited a desire inside of her that she wanted him to satisfy. No other man would do after the hot, lustful wa
y he’d claimed her mouth and made her body burn with need.
“My staying here is temporary,” Samantha replied to Katrina’s comment as she picked up her purse from the couch. “Until I can make some money and figure out a few things.” Which she hoped would only take a few weeks, tops.
Katrina’s gaze traveled from the designer bag in Samantha’s hand up to her face. There was no judgment in her eyes, just curiosity, so Samantha was hopeful that the other woman thought the handbag was a knock-off. She didn’t want her old life interfering with her new one, which meant the Louis Vuitton had to go, because the last thing she wanted was to draw attention to herself.
Samantha followed the other woman out a different side door and down a flight of wooden stairs to a small parking area. From what she could remember of last night, the other door in the apartment led directly to the bar downstairs, so Clay lived conveniently above the bar.
Katrina pressed the remote in her hand, and an alarm disengaged on a cute Volkswagen Beetle in a bright iridescent purple as funky as its owner, and which matched the plum-hued highlights tinting the edges of Katrina’s blonde, wavy hair, as well as the shimmering polish on her nails.
Katrina was pretty, but there was a tough edge about her, from the way she walked to her overall appearance—a don’t mess with me vibe that Samantha both admired and respected. The other woman wore tight black jeans, leather lace-up boots with a spiked heel, and a black tank top that showcased the colorful sleeve of tattoos covering her left arm and traveling up the side of her neck. The ink looked like dozens of exotic butterflies taking flight along her skin. It was a beautiful piece of art and unlike anything Samantha had ever seen on a woman before.
Then again, the ladies and friends in her social circle didn’t mar their perfect skin with permanent ink. Her own mother, upon seeing a girl with a few tattoos at the grocery store, had whispered to Samantha that only heathens and trashy people got tattoos, that they were disgusting and degrading. Samantha had always felt differently, had even secretly wanted a tattoo of her own, but hadn’t dared to follow through on the urge because she knew the consequences from her parents would have been severe.