Home > Dirty Girl (Dirty Girl Duet #1)(9)

Dirty Girl (Dirty Girl Duet #1)(9)
Author: Meghan March

His hands drop to the button of his jeans. “Based on your ad, the inspection isn’t quite complete.”

If my jaw could drop to the floor like a cartoon character’s, it would.

Oh. My. God. I never saw what he was packing before, only a grazing handful the one night I finally got bold, but he put me off, promising me a night that never happened.

I stand like a slack-jawed moron and force my gaze to his face.

“What are you doing?”

His wicked grin—one he uses so rarely, even in the movies of his I’ll never admit I’ve seen—wipes away the three years between our past and present.

The hiss of the zipper comes next.

I keep my gaze on his face as his eyes dare me. To look or to stop him, I’m not sure which.

“Apparently you’ve changed your requirements for wooing, baby girl.”

The endearment on his lips brings back another wave of memories, but the flex of his bicep against the sleeve of his T-shirt steals my attention.

Oh. My. God.

He’s gripping his cock, stroking it, isn’t he? All I have to do is look down, and I’ll have more than one question answered.

“You know you wanna look.”

The dare is there again. And he’s right. I want to look. So I do.

Sweet Jesus.

Oh. My. Hell.

Well, let’s just say Cav knocked that requirement out of the park. The sight of his long, thick cock in his big, capable hand sends heat rushing south through my body, pooling between my thighs. My nipples, sans bra, strain against the material of my shirt. Cav’s gaze drops as well—to my chest.

The room pulses with a desperate intensity. Hanging between us is the night we never had. The one he walked away from.

I have two choices. Take what I want, what I asked for, or hold on to the rejection he dealt me three years ago.

My brain short-circuits on one thought—life is short, and you never know if you’ll get a second chance.

So I step forward, wrap one hand around his neck and the other around his cock, and kiss him for everything I’m worth.

I groan into Greer’s mouth as she grips my cock just above my hand. Taking charge of the kiss, I cup her jaw with my free hand and tilt her head for better access.

Perfect.

God, she’s never looked more beautiful than she did the moment she opened the door. Totally and completely Greer. Real, not like the fake women I constantly meet in Hollywood. None of them compare to her. It ain’t like you can compare a Chevy to a Ferrari.

And speaking of sweet curves . . . I release my hold on my dick and run my free hand up her side.

Mine. The taste of Greer on my lips and her body in my hands unleashes a wave of primal possessiveness. She’s not the girl who got away; she’s the one I walked away from. Life doesn’t always give us second chances, but this one is mine and I’m taking it. And her.

I groan into her mouth again. The heat and lash of her tongue drag the sound from me. Fuck. I need more. Now.

Apparently I’m not the only one.

“My bedroom. Now.”

Greer’s voice is husky, and my cock is still wrapped by her hand as she jacks it. God, I’ve been dreaming about this moment for years.

“Fuck the bedroom. We’re doing this right here.”

I reach for her shirt and yank it over her head. She loses her grip on my cock for only a second, but it’s long enough for me to toss the shirt and get my hands on her tits. She moans as I cup them.

“Goddamn, Greer. You were made for my hands.”

I roll her nipples between my thumbs and fingers, and she arches toward me. Once she’s moaning into my mouth, I release both handfuls and reach for the waistband of her pants, tugging them off just as quickly. Thank God for easy-to-remove clothing. One lift and I’ve got her ass in my hands as I turn toward the wall and press her back against it, exactly like I dreamed of doing that day in the coffee shop.

“Wrap your legs around my waist, baby.”

She follows my direction, and I slide one hand between her legs.

Fuuck. She’s soaked. Dripping for me.

Three years ago, I told myself I’d never feel the tight, sweet heat of her pussy. Three years ago, I told myself a lot of bullshit. Today, everything changes.

“Hurry,” Greer whispers, her eyes closed as she rubs her pussy on my rock-hard cock. “I need it.”

“Open your eyes, Greer,” I say as I lift her and nudge the head against her opening.

She reaches down and helps guide my dick into place.

“Hurry,” she says again.

“Look at me.” In my commanding tone, it can’t be interpreted as anything but an order.

Her dark eyes snap to mine, and I thrust.

Fucking. Perfection.

Holding her pinned to the wall, I fuck her like a man possessed, like a man with something to prove. And I do have something to prove. I’m fucking that piece-of-shit ex right out of her memory and burning myself in his place.

I can tell when I hit her sweet spot because Greer’s nails dig into my shoulders and her keening moan fills my ears.

“Yes. Yes. Yes.”

Never slowing my pace, I pound into her body as she grips me tighter and tighter, and finally yells my name as she comes.

The sound of my name on her lips unleashes my own orgasm. It pours out of me . . . directly into her.

Fuck. No condom. What the hell was I thinking? Oh, that’s right. I wasn’t thinking about anything but getting inside Greer after all these years.

With any other woman, I would worry about the possibility of her trying to trap me for my money or my fame. But not Greer. Fuck, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t try to trap her with a baby if that meant I could keep her.

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