Undercover Lover (BWWM Romance Book 1)

by Theresa McGhee

  Stunned, Danny watched him for a moment before heading into the living room where he found Bain pacing. Danny attempted to get Bain to sit on the sofa, but Bain shook his head. They ended up miming an argument where Danny thought they should go home and stay out of the middle of Meaghan and Dean's private argument, but Bain thought it was best to stay in the living room where they could offer open support in case Meaghan needed them. Danny suspected Bain had other motives.

  Dean found Meaghan in her bedroom tucking an emerald green, cotton, button up shirt into

  impossibly tight black jeans. Dean's breath caught. The woman was so gorgeous she made Dean's brain stutter. When Dean caught Meaghan glaring at him in the full-length mirror, his brain stuttered back into motion.

  "Can we just talk about this?" Dean begged. "Come on, you cannot mean this nonsense."

  "Nonsense? Seriously Dean?" Meaghan spit out as she pulled on her favorite cowboy boots.

  "We can fix this?" Dean asked, sounding hopeful.

  "We can fix this…and then something else will happen, and we’ll fix that, and then something…I can’t live like this Dean!" Meaghan grabbed her purse from her dresser and shoved it into the Birken that Dean had bought her.

  "Okay, but this isn’t the answer," Dean replied meekly as he stumbled back a few steps into the hall as if struck.

  "Oh? What would you suggest then? Elope? Do we cut our families off? Out of our lives. Heck Dean, you work for your family firm!" Meaghan stalked into the hall, glaring at Dean as she passed him.

  Dean followed her like a puppy. "I’ll quit. We can live on our own by ourselves. Nobody to bother us-"

  Meaghan stopped in the bathroom to style her hair. "This isn’t a fairy tale or a story Dean; it's real life. Can we not."

  "We could at least try," Dean suggested desperately.

  “I don’t think so Dean.”

  Dean frowned, “Where are you going anyway?”

  “Out with Danny and Bain.”

  “Let me come with you,” Dean begged; though that would not have been the word he used.

  "What? You wanna hang out with my friends? A fugly drag diva and an ass munch?" Meaghan hissed.

  "Well, that was harsh," Bain grumbled from the peanut gallery in the living room. His hands fisted at his sides.

  "I-I did not call Danny 'fugly'," eyes wide, Dean stuttered at Meaghan. He turned toward the living room and swore to Danny, "I swear, Danny, I never called you 'fugly'."

  Danny’s job as a stripper meant that he was used to people calling him all sorts of things. Sure, he sometimes dressed in drag for the show but he thought he made a very beautiful woman if he did say so himself. He would never deny he could go diva on anyone's ass whenever someone deserved it. Stinging as the comment might be, he could tell Dean was sincere in his concern for his feelings. Biting the inside of his cheek, he matched Dean's gaze and shrugged away the comment with a dramatic hair toss. Dean felt a little better when he saw Danny shrug at him. He did in fact call Bain an "ass munch" and numerous other things too on more occasions than he could count, and he refused to regret it.

  "Come on, Megs," Dean pleaded. "Let's just go somewhere and talk about this. We'll work it out; I promise."

  "You promise? How can you promise such a thing Dean? You know damn well that’s a lie." Meaghan stomped out of the bathroom and poked Dean's chest pocket. “This isn’t even about us; it's about the fact that your family will never accept me, and my family…well; they worry.”

  Meaghan stalked toward the living room and turned around to continue speaking. Dean, who had been following, had to step backwards to avoid being hit by the wild, wide gesturing.

  "What are we supposed to do if we have kids huh? Tell them we don’t have any family because they won’t talk to us? Grandma hates mama, that’s why we can’t go visit. Is that what you want?"

  "My father has no problem with you," Dean quickly inserted.

  "Sure he doesn’t…unless your mother tells him to have a problem. You think I don’t see what’s happening? That this whole tiara thing has been turned into a smear campaign? I’m not stupid Dean!" Meaghan shot back.

  "This just won’t work."

  Dean opened and closed his mouth a couple times trying to turn that into something in his favor, but he found it was hopeless.

  "I can’t let you go." He said

  "Not your choice," Danny murmured.

  "This has nothing to do with you Danny,” Dean grumbled.

  Danny nodded and stepped back into the peanut gallery.

  “Look, whether or not I give something up, be it my family, my life, my love…that’s my business. My decision. You have no right to make that decision for me-“

  “That’s not what I’m-“

  “It's exactly what you’re doing. You’re deciding for me. That is just not fair, or right.” Dean said, “We have each other.”

  Meaghan just stared at him and finally shook her head. "It's not enough, Dean." Meaghan stalked out of the room.

  Squeezing his eyes shut, Dean rubbed his temples. Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.

  "I think you've run out of luck, Dean," Bain grinned, practically vibrating with excitement.

  "Oh, shut. The. Fuck up, Bain!" Dean snapped, whirling to face him. "If you're so in love with her; you go out with her."

  Bain had the good grace to pretend to be abashed by Dean's outburst. "Wha- What do you

  mean?" He moved away from Danny and blinked innocently first at Dean then at Danny. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

  Danny gaped at Bain for a moment before pointedly heading off to the kitchen and settling in there with a cup of coffee.

  One corner of Dean's lips curled up as Bain's brown eyes met Dean's green ones. Then Dean pick up the flowers he abandoned on the end table when he arrived as he headed back toward Meaghan's room.

  Wearing a deep frown, Meaghan sat on the edge of his bed, elbows resting on her knees.

  "I brought you these," Dean said quietly as he entered. He handed the Monet's Garden bouquet to Meaghan.

  Meaghan's lips curled into a small, wary smile as her fingers curled around the bouquet. She smelled the fresh flowers, taking in the lovely, heady scent. She stared at the roses, tears starting in her eyes. What would flowers help?

  Dean stared at her and then at the roses. She put them aside on her dressing table and then looked at him with a sad smile. She opened her mouth to say something but he covered her mouth with his.

  "Smooth, babe." Meaghan handed the flowers back to Dean when he pulled back.

  "Sorry. I'm really fucking everything up today no matter what I do." Dean leaned forward so he too was sitting with his elbows resting on his knees.

  They sat in awkward, miserable silence for a few minutes.

  Meaghan sighed and did not look at Dean. "Look, if I don't do something, I'll wind up in a fucking bar every night for the rest of my life like all those miserable, old fuckers, drinking myself to death, wondering what the hell happened."

  Barely able to breathe, Dean slowly turned his head to look at Meaghan. "What do you mean 'do something'?"

  From beneath those impossibly long lashes, Meaghan looked over at Dean and sighed.

  *****

  She faked calm, but she was rattled; she felt evil and triumphant and scared shitless all at once. She was treading thin ice, here. She wasn't sure where the fuck this was going and if it was some place she could return from. They weren’t usually cruel, especially not about the truth.

  But this was about more than some fairy tale love affair. This was about the rest of their lives. He pushed off the bed hard enough for the bedside table to wobble. She jumped at the noise and hated herself for it.

  She tried to stay still, even as Dean walked backwards away from her and stumbled into the closet and pushed some random clothes hanging onto the floor where they scattered. He looked pale and angry and scared.

  "You know who you remind me of right now, Meaghan? You remind me of my mo
ther."

  Oh, that was mean. He'd been paying attention to her weak spots, obviously, because that was nasty, evil, uncalled for.

  "Fuck you!" But she'd lost. No way could she say anything against that. Anything she said would just exacerbate things.

  Dean’s mother was her worst nightmare of not only mother-in-law, but also somehow if she turned into her with her own kids that would be the culmination of her worst fears. Perhaps it was instrumental in her not wanting to be with Dean right now. She could feel herself being sucked into their world of fakeness and fucked up priorities.

  And she'd told Dean that. She'd told him because she trusted him and loved him and had hoped that he'd tell her that there was no way in a million years she could turn out like his mother, which he had at the time. He'd hugged her and kissed her tenderly and said: "Meaghan, you are nothing like my mother, you're wonderful, don't worry."

  So he didn't really mean it. She knew she had pushed him there, forced him to say it, but it still hurt like hell. Even though she knew he was just aiming low, aiming to hurt. But fuck, how could she trust him, how could they trust each other if they turned into those people whose every word, when they weren't arguing, was just gathering ammunition for the next fight? The water leaking from her eyes wasn't tears, she wasn't crying, she was just so fucking pissed off with everybody and everything. Dean should know that by know. She stood up to walk away.

  "I'm nothing like your mother," she choked. "Your mother is horrible."

  His eyes widened and his mouth lost its hard lines. She moved to go, but he caught up with her, put his arms around her. He hadn't learned a thing, after all. She shook hard and Dean, probably thinking she was crying, tightened his arms around her. Bastard. He still smelled like expensive cologne, brandy and home. She put her arms around him. She waited just long enough for him to relax before she leaned up and clamped her teeth around his left earlobe.

  "Ow! Shit! What the hell's wrong with you?!"

  She gave him a small, poisonous smile. Served him fucking right, the bastard.

  Everything was just so confusing and Dean was making it worse. To touch him was to want him. It was practically a conditioned reflex by now. She had to wean herself off of it somehow. But she was thrumming - turned on fierce. The adrenaline felt like a drug, she was so damned wired. An assessing look told her that Dean was hard in his pants. And that he was embarrassed about it.

  Ha.

  Ten years ago, he’d frozen her out of his life because she didn’t fit. She guessed it was her turn to freeze him out. Make the hard decision.

  She didn’t want to send mixed messages. She was breaking up with him and she meant it. But it was all so sudden. Did it really matter if they got their freak on? Just one more time for the road. Meaghan looked at Dean with despair, wondering if she was doing the right thing. She just didn’t see any workable alternative. What else could she possibly do?

  She didn't look at him while she pulled off her green shirt, kicked off her boots, unzipped and stepped out of her jeans and tore off her silk panties. Still didn't look at him when behind her he was struggling out of his clothes. She put one knee on her bed and touched herself, waiting for him to be ready.

  When he reached out for her, she moved away. She crawled up the bed and lay down on her back. He crawled up to her on his hands and knees, his cock flushed red and pointing straight at her.

  He started kissing and biting her belly, moving downwards to nuzzle her pubic hair with his face, spreading her labia with his fingers.

  But even though she was wet and aching for it, she didn't want that, didn't want to make love like this – it reminded her too much of being head over heels in love and dreaming about happily ever after with her prince Charming. The man of her so-called dreams. She grabbed his hair and yanked hard – hard enough that he yelped – but she wanted him to understand without having to say it –just fuck me, drop the fancy shit and just fuck me.

  She pulled his head up to hers, pulled hard because he was fighting her, moving his lips over her belly and breasts, clutching her hips so hard it hurt. He resisted her long enough to suck hard on one nipple, making it hurt enough that she actually pulled some black hair off his head. Finally he was right above her. He had tears in his eyes from the pain.

  It surprised her to see that he was angry – usually when they had sex he was absorbed, intense with concentration, sexy as hell – but now he looked angry, really angry. About fucking time, she thought furiously, forcing his head down to kiss her. She moved her tongue into his mouth and they kissed for a long time. She kissed him until he didn't taste like mint and brandy and despair. Until she could forget that this was possibly the last time she would kiss him.

  She was tongue-fucking him like no good girl would, and part of her – the little, analyzing medical part – was shocked at herself, shocked at her need to control him, how she almost wished that she could penetrate him.

  The other part of her - as soon as she'd thought it - realized that she could, that she already had done so before, when they'd been playing for hours and he was relaxed and felt safe and would let her.

  She let go of his head and wiped the loose strands of hair off on her slippery satin sheets. Then she put her hands on his ass. He moaned into her mouth and then raised his head, looked away and swallowed hard and pushed his dick roughly against her clit in a way that got her distracted from her goal, made her forget to be angry for a little while, made her moan and move her hands from his ass to guide his dick inside her.

  God, nothing could beat that. He moved slowly, grinding upwards, his whole body straining. She looked up at his face above her, he was flushed and sweating, eyes closed, his teeth clenched. Then she leaned her head back and arched her back, and let her thighs fall wide open, letting herself be fucked.

  Dean (maybe thinking that was it, this was her giving up, handing it over,) ushered her up on her elbows and tilted her hips and started fucking her in earnest. She just clamped her thighs around him, forcing his dick harder, deeper inside her. Still didn't feel nearly deep enough. She opened her eyes again and was startled to see him looking down at her. He didn't smile or speak, just looked at her with a blank, serious expression. Then he leaned down to kiss her.

  She welcomed his tongue. She welcomed a reason not to look him in the eyes, meeting him half ways, straining her neck to reach him and to keep her mouth on his while he pushed her further up the bed, fucking her hard, fucking pounding her. In the end. none of them had air to kiss and they were just sort of clamping on to each other, panting into each other's mouths.

  Her neck was protesting and her back was sore and her cunt felt fucking abused, but she didn't mind that she'd be feeling it tomorrow, she wanted it to hurt a little, because this was not making love - or even making up - this was…

  …This was ending it, killing it.

  She gasped and let go of his mouth. Her elbows slid away from under her. She had to look away for a second, had to look to the side, at her own hand lying beside her face moving back and forth in her line of vision with each of Dean's thrusts, like a surreal Andy Warhol movie.Her vision blurred and then Dean, still inside her, was gathering her up in his arms, whispering "God, Meaghan, did I hurt you? I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…"

  She wiped the tears away and forced herself to look up into his worried face and for a moment she could feel all the tenderness and love she still felt for him, even though she realized that it couldn't - wouldn't - work out, no matter what they did.

  She reached out for him - felt his whole body relax and his dick jerk inside her with relief - and kissed him tenderly. She hugged him, ran her hands across all of him that she could reach, moved her hips in slow circles, rubbing his dick and rubbing herself against him.

  This was what he wanted. This was always what Dean really wanted. He wanted to love her and for her to love him. But he was getting into this for real now, gasping and moaning and whispering incoherently into her hair.

  S
he moved her hands down his back, let them rest for a moment on his ass to feel him clench and unclench as he fucked her slowly and carefully. And then, not because she wanted to control him or hurt him, but because she knew he really liked it, she moved her fingers in between his cheeks to skim over his asshole.

  He shivered and moaned and lost his rhythm for a moment, but she didn't.

  She moved herself on his dick in the same rhythm as she was slowly working the tip of one finger inside of him. Carefully, because even though her finger was slick with his sweat and her own juice it was an awkward angle, and she didn't want to hurt him.

  When her finger was as far inside as she could reach, surrounded by smooth, hot skin, Dean sighed and shivered and started moving again. She closed her eyes and kissed his neck and moved her finger in and out, twisting it a little pulling out. A few moments later he shook and cried out and came inside of her.

  He half collapsed on top of her. His head fell down over her shoulder and he was gasping for breath. She could feel his dick spurting and spurting inside, and then he started going soft. But neither of them moved for a long time.

  Finally he pulled out, raised himself up on his elbows and frowned down at her, looking regretful, almost embarrassed. "Meaghan, you didn't… I didn't…"

  She shook her head and then, to her own horror, she started crying again.

  She was freaking him out.

  "It's ok, Dean, don't worry… It doesn't matter."

  "Meaghan? Meaghan, what the hell's wrong?"

  She pushed him away and pushed off the bed, trying to find her clothes and turning her back to Dean lying stunned and naked and on the bed. She found her panties and put them on, and then she turned around to face him.

  "Dean, I'm sorry. I love you… But this has to be over."

  Chapter 8

  "You're dumping me.” It was a statement not a question

  Dean stared at Meaghan as if she had just announced she eats babies for lunch every day, unable to process what she said. Meaghan sighed.