Dare to be Dirty (The Dirty Girls Book Club #2)

by Savanna Fox

  Still kissing and nipping her exposed nape, he slid a hand under the bottom of her shirt, brushed the smooth skin of her rib cage, and moved up to cup her breast. She wore a bra, thin and lacy, and through it he felt the small, full curve of her breast. He teased her nipple until it tightened to a hard bud.

  Her body arched so her backside thrust more firmly against him.

  Bed would be great, but he had a better idea. He glanced around, confirming there were no windows across the way. On her own building, other small balconies jutted out but no one was on them. The alley below had a few parked cars, and another driving into the underground lot. He and Kim stood in the middle of a big city, but they were alone.

  He slid his hand inside the front of her skintight leggings, caressing the silky skin of her stomach, toying with the side straps of what had to be a thong.

  She drew in a quivery breath but didn’t object.

  With the other hand, he tugged the leggings down until they pooled at her ankles.

  She tensed. “Ty,” she whispered, “we should go inside.”

  “Be daring,” he murmured against her ear. “No one can see us.”

  He reached between their bodies to undo his leather belt and unfasten his black jeans, then they too fell. He peeled his underwear off, stepped out of his clothing, and kicked it aside.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Looking at the view.” He hiked her tee up to her waist. A hot, candy pink thong framed the sweet curves of her butt. He wanted to lick down the center strap, all the way between her legs. But later, when they were in bed. Right now, the idea of having sex on her balcony was an incredible turn-on.

  He stroked across the front of the thong, feeling firm flesh and soft curls underneath. Two fingers followed the fabric down, between her legs, where she was hot and damp.

  She moaned and shifted position, trying to spread her legs but hobbled by her leggings.

  He steadied her as she freed herself from them. Now he could stroke her through the crotch of her thong, sliding his hand back and forth as she pressed against him. He eased the fabric aside, needing to touch her sensitive flesh, the full folds, the steamy slit.

  She was slick with arousal, yet small and tight when he eased one finger inside her. Her muscles caught it, then relaxed. He slid in farther, slowly and gently. Another finger, opening her, widening her. He pumped slowly in and out with both fingers as her head dropped forward, her breath coming in soft pants.

  “Jesus, you’re sexy, Kim.” Bending to kiss her neck, he let his erection ride the pink line of her thong as it bisected her butt. He was big, and she was a tiny woman. He had to make sure she was ready, so he didn’t hurt her.

  But patience was killing him. His cock ached with the need to thrust, his balls with the need to come. He nipped her neck and, still pumping his fingers in and out, caressed her clit with his thumb.

  “Oh!” she gasped. “Oh, yes.” Her body pressed and wriggled, telegraphing the way she wanted to be touched.

  He gave it to her until she clenched, moaned, and spasmed against his hand.

  Bit by bit, her body relaxed and he held her steady, one arm around her waist, until she got her feet under her again. Head still bowed, she murmured, “I can’t believe we did that.”

  “And now we’ll do this.” Body throbbing with urgency, he bent to find a condom in his jeans pocket, and rolled it on. She was short for what he had in mind, but he’d make this work. “Lean farther forward.”

  When she did, he took her by the hips, tugging her back toward him so her backside was tilted up in invitation. He looped an arm around her waist, holding her steady, then slid the strip of thong aside. Gently, he opened her so the blunt head of his cock could nudge inside.

  A tremor rippled through her and she lifted up on the balls of her feet, raising her butt higher, changing the angle so he could more easily slide into her moist channel.

  He filled her, inch by inch, slow and steady even though his body urged him to thrust hard and deep. She softened around him, taking him in. When he finally let himself pump, her body hugged him with such a snug caress, the sensations were almost unbearably intense. Unbearably good and arousing. “Does this feel good?” he asked.

  “So good.”

  He pulled back a little so he could see the flex of muscles in her curvy butt, and watch his cock as it slipped out of her body then back in. His balls slapped gently against her with each thrust, and the need to come tightened them.

  He wasn’t going to last long, and she couldn’t balance on the balls of her feet for long either. He reached around her and slid his hand between her thighs again. He tapped her clit gently with his finger, circled it, then, as she whimpered with need, caught it between his thumb and finger and teased it.

  “Oh God, oh God, oh God,” she panted, writhing against him.

  He couldn’t hold back. The orgasm raced through him, poured out of him, and as it did he heard Kim’s sharp cry of pleasure mingle with his own groan of relief.

  Through the blissful haze of release, he was dimly aware they were being too noisy. Kim would be embarrassed if someone caught them. He slid out of her, reached down to collect her discarded leggings, and tugged her away from the balcony rail.

  As they moved back into the apartment, she stared at him, eyes wide and stunned. Slowly, her lips curved and her eyes sparkled. She let out a giggle, then another.

  Relieved that she wasn’t upset, he laughed too. “That was pretty wild.”

  “Crazy,” she said. “Wow. You bring out a side of me I didn’t even know I had.”

  “What side’s that?”

  “My inner dirty girl.” She sounded smug, and she had a right to be.

  “I like that side.” He studied her: flushed face; T-shirt smoothed back down over her hips; bare, shapely legs. He’d told her she was special, and it was true. “I like all sides of you.”

  * * *

  Talk about liking all sides of someone. When Ty tossed off his shirt and walked to the bathroom to dispose of the condom, Kim stared in fascination at his naked back. She’d been with Henry and two other lovers; she’d painted nude males in life drawing; but she’d never seen a man who was so big, so muscled, so utterly male. So sexy.

  With him, she lost her mind. That was the only explanation for what they’d done on her balcony. It was, hands down, the most outrageous thing she’d ever done.

  He returned, strolling toward her with an easy, athletic gait, his body rock solid and mouthwatering. Fascinated, she focused on his genitals, another part of his body that was definitely bigger than she’d seen before.

  “I said I dreamed of you in my bed,” she commented, “not on my balcony. But I’ll be dreaming of that too, from now on.” And she’d draw him. From memory. Or . . . was there any possibility a rugged guy like him would agree to sit for her?

  “Beds are good too.” He went to collect his jeans, took another condom from the pocket, and tossed it on the bedside table. He flicked the duvet aside to reveal yellow sheets she’d painted in a pattern that complimented the one on the duvet. “Cool. You made these?”

  “Yes, thanks. Common Buckeye.”

  “That’s a butterfly?”

  She nodded, then dared to ask, “I’d like to paint you. Would you let me?”

  He glanced at the bed again and said disbelievingly, “Paint butterflies all over me?”

  A giggle spluttered out at the image that brought to mind. No, applying paint to his body wasn’t what she’d had in mind, but now that he mentioned it . . . Ooh, that could be so much fun! “Not butterflies. Nothing girly. Abstract, I think.”

  “You’re serious.”

  She could point out that he’d given her the idea, but decided to take credit for it. “You bet. Be daring, Ty.” She quoted his words back to him. “Lie down and get comfortable.”

  “Won’t the paint ruin your sheets?” he asked hopefully, stretching out on the bed.

  “I’ll use something that will
wash out.” And that was nontoxic. Pity she didn’t have flavored body paint. Hmm. There was an idea for the future.

  That thought gave her pause. What future? A future with Ty? Would she see him again? Would he want to? Would she? This kind of relationship—or casual sex, or whatever you’d call it—was so out of her experience.

  She pulled out a box of children’s paints she’d used for a fun project with preschoolers. “What are your favorite colors?”

  Stretched out, looking less comfortable and natural than usual, he said, “Blues and greens, I guess.”

  “Outdoorsy colors.”

  She’d focus on those, but also use fire-engine red and sunshine yellow for accent. No brush. If a dirty girl was going to play, she’d coat her bare fingers in paint and stroke them over his body. Adult finger painting. She’s soon loosen Ty up—and turn him on.

  “If I let you do this,” he said, “there’s a condition.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You have to be naked too.”

  The naked human form didn’t embarrass her, and she liked her body. Even though she didn’t have the generous curves a lot of men ogled, she knew Ty found her attractive. “I thought you’d never ask.” She collected rags to wipe her fingers between applications, sauntered over to the bed, and dropped her supplies on the sheet beside him. In one smooth motion, she pulled the tee over her head, then shed her bra and thong.

  “Now there’s something that should be painted. Jesus, Kim, you’re beautiful.” His penis stirred and grew.

  Her pussy gave a needy throb, tempting her to climb aboard and ride him the way she had on Saturday. But no, playing with paint and playing with Ty would ramp up their desire, their anticipation. How long would they last, and who would be the first to beg? Oh, yes, she liked her inner dirty girl.

  Studying Ty’s strong, perfect body, she decided it called for boldness. She’d dive right in and leave her mark. The most basic mark, the one used by prehistoric cave painters and by kids with their first set of finger paints.

  She applied red paint to her fingers and palms and kneeled with one leg on either side of his waist, for the moment avoiding touching his growing erection. Applying her hands to his upper chest, she pressed steadily, evenly. When she lifted her hands, he was decorated with two prints, adhering not just to his bronzed skin but to the scattering of light brown curls.

  After wiping her hands on a rag, she smeared green paint onto two fingers and stroked double lines along his collarbone, then did the same to his ribs, tracing the firm bones.

  He squirmed, his swollen penis pressing against her leg. “I like how you touch me.”

  “I like touching you.” Using paint made her even more aware, more appreciative, of how beautifully he was put together. Appreciative as an artist, and as an aroused woman who wanted to press the sweet ache between her legs against his hard flesh. She resisted, wanting to prolong this intriguing foreplay.

  Next, she chose vivid blue, sweeping paint on the bottom curve of his rock-hard pecs. Blending blue and green to make turquoise, she circled his nipples, making rings, until the hard peak of each nipple was a bull’s-eye.

  He shivered. “Can I touch the artist?”

  She gazed up, saw the hungry glow in his eyes, and summoned willpower. “Not yet. You’ll disturb my concentration.”

  She chose yellow to blob onto his nipples and accent the green lines that highlighted his bones. “Now, I think it’s time to move below the waist.”

  “Oh yeah.”

  She slid down his body, letting the damp folds of her sex press against his penis—no, a dirty girl would call it his cock—for one long, tantalizing moment. She shuddered as need rippled through her.

  Before she could move, Ty caught her hips and held her there. “Put the condom on me.”

  Though she was tempted to give in, she pulled away to straddle his thigh. “I haven’t got to the good part yet.”

  “I’ll give you the good part.”

  She gazed down at his cock jutting up in invitation. Another perfect part of him, shaped for a woman’s pleasure. She itched to stroke him, to taste him, and mostly to feel him thrust between her legs. But later, after she played some more.

  Unless he was tired of her game. This dirty girl stuff was new; she didn’t know how she was doing. Tentatively, she asked, “Are you hating this?”

  “Jesus, no. It’s a turn-on. You’re driving me crazy, Kim.”

  She gave a satisfied grin. “Me too. So let me turn us on awhile longer. You’re a tough guy, cowboy. You can hold out.”

  “Guess I can if you can.” His thigh flexed under her, and she resisted the urge to squirm against him and stroke her own sexy itch. “Besides,” he said, “you’re giving me a new appreciation of art. Maybe I’ll do some painting myself one day. If you’re the canvas.”

  A shiver tingled through her. “We could buy edible body paints.”

  “Or we could improvise.” His hazel eyes glinted with mischief. “I have some blackberry syrup that tastes great on pancakes. I’m guessing it’d taste better on you.”

  She squirmed at the notion. She was such an artist, it had never occurred to her to paint him with food. But now that he mentioned it . . . “I love whipped cream with a dash of vanilla.”

  “Orange marmalade,” he countered.

  Her eyebrows rose. “Seriously?”

  “Mmm. Between your legs, all sweet and tart and sticky.”

  She gave an involuntary whimper. “Oh God, Ty.”

  “Yeah, I’m getting into the idea of painting. Got any whipping cream?”

  “No. And stop distracting me. There’s a masterpiece in progress here.” She got busy again, swirling paint in strokes that were part art and part pure sensual appreciation of his fine body as she painted from his knees to his waist. She applied paint to every part of him except his genitals; applying a condom over paint might not be the wisest idea. If she had whipped cream, though, you bet she’d be slathering it on—and licking it off.

  The heat in her body, the moisture between her legs, built with each stroke of paint.

  Ty twitched, writhed, and let out occasional groans and soft curses, but didn’t stop her.

  Finally, she figured they’d both had enough sweet torture. With classic black—the first time she’d used black—she wrote the Chinese symbols for her name to the left of his thick erection. Didn’t ranchers brand animals to show who owned them? For this moment, Ty Ronan was hers, and she was putting her mark on him.

  “We should have colored condoms,” she said, reaching for the package he’d tossed on her bedside table. “That would be the finishing touch.”

  “We can come up with a different finishing touch.”

  She knew what he meant, and it was exactly what she had in mind. Except, his words gave her a flash of inspiration. She tossed the condom down, unopened.

  “What now?” he groaned.

  Fourteen

  She gave Ty a wicked grin. “I want to take my work of art and . . .” She slid down to lie on top of him, and wriggled her body against his, side to side and up and down.

  “What the—” he started, clearly taken by surprise.

  She sat up to straddle his hips and studied first his body, now a glorious abstract swirl of colors, and then her own. The two of them looked primitive. If she did this onstage, as performance art, people would pay to see it. They’d pay, and go home turned on.

  But this was personal. She could only imagine indulging in this kind of sexual, artistic play with Ty.

  His face had an expression of wonder. “Kim, you look incredible. I’ve never seen anything so wild. You’re . . . a tropical bird.” Then a golden spark lit in his eyes. “When we have sex, every move will create a new painting.”

  Oh, yes! “I’m turning you into an artist,” she teased. A fair trade, because he’d turned her into a creative lover, a more sexy, kinky woman than she’d ever guessed she could be. The idea of combining her passion for art and her ne
wfound passion for sex was a total turn-on.

  “Then come here, painter girl, and let’s make beautiful art together,” he said. Then, chuckling, “Sorry, hokey line.”

  “Great idea, though.” Quickly, she wiped smears of paint from his cock with the already stained sheet, then sheathed him. She rose up, guided him between her legs, felt him press firmly against her sensitive clit, then shifted so he could slide into her.

  His hands caught her by the hips and held her steady, then he thrust up, hard, like he couldn’t wait a moment longer to be buried deep inside her.

  He pumped a few strokes, then pulled her down so their paint-slick bodies rubbed against each other, slippery and sensual. Wrapping his arms around her, he rolled them so they were side by side, and separated their upper bodies to study the new colored patterns.

  “You’re crazy,” he muttered, voice raw, “but I like it.”

  “You make me crazy. You give me ideas.”

  He swirled his fingers around her painted breast, making patterns, the sweat from their bodies keeping the paint from drying. He dabbed up some red and stroked lines along her cheekbones, then he pulled her close again and they kissed hungrily while he rolled their bodies until he was on top.

  She wanted him so badly, the need inside her coiled tight. He gave her exactly what she wanted, pumping into her fast and deep as if he could no longer hold back. Seeing him above her, his body a work of multicolored primitive art, a painting they’d created together, was the most erotic sight she’d ever seen. Everything inside her tensed and gathered and waited. She ached from that waiting.

  He thrust deep, and it shattered, all the tension and waiting. It burst in sensations as vivid as the colors on their bodies and she cried, “Ty!” as she spasmed around him.

  He lost it then too, giving a hoarse cry and jerking with his own climax.

  Slowly, both of their bodies loosened and he collapsed down on her, then pulled himself off to lie beside her. His chest heaved as he drew in quick breaths, but he got out, “Oh, man.”

  “Yeah.” She struggled for breath too.

  After a few long, silent minutes, he lifted his head and gazed down at their bodies. “Jesus, would you look at us.”