Dirty Talk

by Megan Erickson

  “Want you,” she whimpered into his neck, clutching his hair. She thought she’d never get this again, and here she was, with Brent’s scent all around her, his hands on her skin, the taste of him in her mouth.

  “Fuck,” he said. “Take off your shirt, and let me see you.”

  She leaned back enough to pull her shirt over her head, baring her black lace bra to his gaze. She’d worn it hoping he’d get the chance to see it. His hands came up, slowly, reverently, and he traced the top swell of her breasts where they met the lace.

  “So beautiful,” he whispered. “So beautiful, and I’m the lucky fuck who gets all this.”

  She swirled her hips, forcing a groan from his throat. “You do,” she said. “You get all of this.”

  He tapped her thigh. “Take off your jeans. Let me see.”

  She stood in front of him on the couch, a little shy, but a shiver of boldness arced down her spine. She popped the button on her jeans, lowered the zipper, and then turned so her back was to Brent. She looked over her shoulder, and he was staring at her ass, his mouth open, his hands gripping his thighs. The bulge in his pants was obscene, which spurred her on.

  Tucking her thumbs in the waist of her jeans, she shimmied, lowering them slowly, inch by inch, as she stuck out her ass.

  Brent’s voice was strangled. “Holy shit.”

  She grinned and continued, knowing he got a peek at her thong when another groan ripped from this throat.

  When her jeans were at her knees, she stepped out of them and kicked them to the side, along with her shoes.

  Then she turned around, standing before him in only her bra and thong.

  His face was flushed, the red creeping down into his neck. He reached for her but she stepped back with a smile. “Huh-uh. Shirt off; then I’ll let you touch me.”

  He raised his eyebrows; then he took off his T-shirt in record speed. She licked her lips at the glint of metal in his nipples.

  Reaching behind her, she unhooked her bra and let it drop to the floor at her feet. After having Violet, her breasts weren’t what they used to be. Neither was her belly. Hell, her whole body had changed. She’d always been a curvy girl, and now she had even more hips and ass.

  But Brent—well, he stared at her like she was everything he wanted, like she was the most gorgeous sight he’d ever seen. “Get back on my lap before I lose my mind, Ivy.”

  She laughed and hopped onto him, immediately kissing him deeply, hoping she conveyed in this kiss everything he did for her, everything he made her feel.

  How much she loved him.

  The rest went a little fast. Brent’s jeans were shoved down, and her thong pulled to the side. He produced a condom from his wallet like a ninja, and then he was inside her, that hard length hitting her just right as she rode him on the couch. He tongued her nipples and squeezed her ass.

  She gazed down at him as the room went a little hazy with her impending orgasm. His eyes were pale in the dim light, meeting her gaze intensely. “You feel so fucking good. Like you’re meant to be here, riding me like this. You know that?”

  All she could do was nod as she sped up the pace, and his clever fingers found her clit.

  “Just like this; keep going, Ivy. Wanna see you come on my cock. Wanna hear my name when you fall apart.”

  “Brent . . . ” Her voice quavered as her toes curled.

  “So close,” he said, moaning, his eyelids half-closing. “So fucking close.”

  “Brent!” She gasped, and then she was there, coming, her hips stuttering against him as his hands gripped her hips.

  She heard her name in his deep voice as he pulsed inside of her. His hair rasped along her skin as his head fell forward between her breasts. She clutched him to her, as the last of the orgasm was wrung out of her body.

  She didn’t move then. First, because she didn’t want to. And second, because she didn’t think she could. Her legs were jelly, and her arms were in this weird locked position around Brent’s head.

  Although she knew if she didn’t get up soon, she might get a charley horse in her calf.

  “Jesus,” Brent said against her skin. “On second thought, you should probably leave Tory. You stay here, and you might kill me. I’m too young to die.”

  She laughed as he let his head fall back onto the couch, staring up at her with humor in his eyes. She shook her head. “Only the good die young.”

  He pinched her ass. “You saying I’m not good?”

  “I said no such thing.”

  He eyed her and then gently lifted her off his lap. “Wait here, and I’ll be back in a minute, okay?”

  She nodded and allowed him to cover her with a blanket. He walked into the bathroom, and when he came out, she had her eyes closed.

  “Hey,” he said, “you gonna fall asleep on me?”

  “Mmmm,” she murmured, content under the blanket and with no intention of moving. “It’s been a long day full of anxiety and now a toe-curling orgasm, so I’m going to need to rest here and get my beauty sleep.”

  Brent was having none of that. He hauled her into her arms, and she protested weakly. “Hey.”

  “Look,” he said, “you’re going to sleep in my bed with me, dammit, not on the couch like one of my brothers.”

  “Fine,” she said with a sigh.

  “Plus,” he said, nuzzling her neck as he kicked the door to his bedroom open, “I have plans for more toe-curling orgasms. That was just, like, the two-minute trailer.”

  She laughed as he tossed her onto the bed with a bounce. He stood above her, hands propped on his hips, jeans unbuttoned and lowered so she could see the delicious V-cut of his abs.

  He raised an eyebrow. “Are you ogling me?”

  She cleared her throat. “No.”

  “You were totally ogling.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Fine. I was ogling.”

  He fist-pumped the air. “I always wanted to be objectified.”

  “You’re an idiot.”

  He dropped his jeans and kicked them away so he stood naked. “Maybe I am, but I’m the idiot you chose.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  BRENT WASN’T LIKING the way Alex stared at him. “What?” He held his gloved hands out to the sides.

  Alex’s deadpan expression didn’t change. “You.”

  He put a hand on his hip. “Look, I realize my toned physique is misleading, but I’m not actually Captain America.”

  She rolled her eyes, but he didn’t miss the quirk to her mouth, the pleased tilt in her eyes. He was going to make Ivy and Violet very happy with this Halloween costume. And making Ivy and Violet happy was the way into Alex’s heart. He was pretty much in there, but this cemented it.

  He grinned as he heard Violet’s excited footsteps at the head of the hallway. He braced himself with his Captain America shield in front of him and an appropriately tough scowl on his face, as a mini-Hawkeye rounded the corner and barreled toward him.

  “Captain America!” she screeched at the top of her lungs as she launched herself into his arms. He laughed and picked her up, twirling her around in a circle, her little toy arrows rattling in the quiver strapped to her back. He placed her on the ground and spun her in a circle. “You make a great Hawkeye, V,” he said.

  Heels clicked on the floor, and he glanced up. And froze solid.

  Ivy strutted down the hallway in a black leather getup and red wig, with fake black guns strapped to her thighs. She was . . . the most fantastic Black Widow he’d ever seen. “Never thought I’d say this, but you put Scarlett Johansson to shame, babe.”

  She rolled her eyes, but her grin was huge, and her swagger kicked up a notch. She even did a little spin, which he appreciated, because he was eager to see how that leather hugged her perfect ass.

  And hug, it did. Oh, so well.

  He struck a pose. “So how about me?” The uniform was skintight. He’d had Asher help him order it. And he’d taped the rings in his nipples so they didn’t show through the Spandex. Anot
her one of Asher’s ideas.

  Ivy’s eyes flashed desire for a brief second before she hid it. “I’m impressed. I thought you said you weren’t dressing up?”

  “Oh, come on, you know me better than that. I wanted it to be a surprise.”

  Violet was busy fiddling with her costume and getting her candy bucket ready. Ivy glanced at her daughter and stepped closer to Brent so their chests brushed. He stared at her cleavage. Because he could.

  “My eyes are up here.”

  “I know that, and what gorgeous eyes they are, but let me have this moment with the girls.”

  “You’re ridiculous.”

  “You’re my dream girl.”

  He bent down so their gazes met, and she licked her lips, lowering her voice to a whisper. “You going to wear that costume just for me some time?”

  “As long as you wear that costume, and get a little rough with me.”

  Alex cleared her throat loudly, and both their heads whipped to her. She raised her eyebrows. “You two about done? Because Violet’s about ready to go trick-or-treating. You know, a nice family-friendly outing that doesn’t involve dirty talk?”

  “Where’s your costume?” Brent frowned.

  Alex held up a bucket of candy. “I get to hand out Skittles and fun-sized candy bars to the neighborhood kiddos. Hard job, but someone’s got to do it. Also, I don’t do the costume thing.”

  “Yeah, I didn’t think I’d be almost thirty and wearing this, but love makes you do stupid shi—” Brent’s gaze darted to Violet, who was watching him innocently. “Sugar. Stupid sugar stuff.”

  Alex snorted.

  “Hey.” Brent pointed a finger at her. “One day, you’ll find yourself doing stupid sugar stuff for someone too.”

  Alex’s expression hardened slightly. “Been there, done that, got the therapy bills.”

  Brent slung his arm around her shoulders and hugged her to him. She struggled against his hold.

  “Shh,” he said. “Don’t fight the strength of Captain America.”

  “You’re ridiculous.”

  He said softly into her ear. “You’re right. Men are ick.”

  “Exactly.” She huffed, but there was laughter in the sound.

  He pulled back and kissed her forehead.

  She pulled a face of disgust and wiped her skin. “Gross; save that for my sister.”

  “I wanna forehead kiss!” Violet crooned.

  Brent leaned down and smacked his lips on her forehead. She squealed in delight. He turned and held a hand out to Ivy. “Okay, so I have our trick-or-treating route mapped out. I know which neighborhoods to hit and at what time to maximize our candy intake. Also, we get one whiff of apples or carrot sticks, and we hightail it out of there, okay? Only upper-tier candy for the Avengers.”

  Ivy nodded with mock seriousness, and Violet saluted him.

  Brent planned to take them back to his neighborhood and then work their way through some nearby areas. He wanted candy, dammit.

  He held Ivy’s hand as they walked toward his truck, an odd trio of superheroes. “You know,” Ivy said quietly, “you didn’t have to dress up as Captain America to get laid.”

  “I didn’t dress up as Captain America to get laid.”

  “No?”

  He shook his head. “You said you’d marry me if I fulfilled that fantasy. I’m just laying the groundwork.”

  Ivy jerked his hand and stared at him with wide eyes. “Are you proposing right now?”

  “What? No, I’m not proposing. This is like . . . a proposal promise.”

  “Did you make that up?”

  “I guess I did.”

  “And what does it mean?”

  Brent watched Violet as she stood waiting near his truck. “It means that once we think Violet and your sister are ready, because I know they are both kinda package deals with you, then we’ll be official.”

  “Brent, we’ve only been dating for two months—”

  “Yeah, but I love you. And I’m here in red, white, and blue Spandex for you and your daughter, and I’m telling you that I promise this is it for me. Now gimme a smooch, Black Widow, and let’s go get your daughter some candy.”

  She stared at him for a minute, big blue eyes reflected in the lights of the apartment complex parking lot. And then, quickly, she pressed her lips to his. He felt the swipe of her tongue once before she pulled away. “Okay.”

  “Okay?”

  “This is it. And also, I don’t wear tight black leather for just anyone, either.”

  And then she let go of his hand and walked toward his truck, winking at him over her shoulder.

  And he was super-glad he’d worn a couple of layers under these tight pants, because it was going to be a trial, looking at his woman in that outfit all night.

  But damn, it was worth it.

  Can’t get enough Dirty Talk?

  Make sure to watch for the third book

  in Megan Erickson’s sexiest series yet.

  DIRTY DEEDS

  After a devastating relationship left her reeling, mechanic Alex Dawn swore off all men. She’s got a chip on her shoulder no man will ever knock off, so she’s content to focus on her family and her job at Payton and Sons Automotive. But all the defenses she’s worked to build are put to the test when British businessman L. M. Spencer rolls into her shop late one night, with a body like a model and a voice from her dirtiest dreams.

  Spencer is only in Tory, Maryland, to scope out the town as a possible site for his company. He didn’t expect his car to break down, and he definitely didn’t expect to find the hottest little American he’s ever seen holding a tire iron and piercing him with bright blue eyes.

  They each think they can handle one night, but they hadn’t planned on the unprecedented chemistry a single kiss ignites. When Spencer’s company decides to keep him in town, their attraction only gets hotter, as they can’t seem avoid each other. And when his company threatens Alex’s livelihood, Spencer and Alex have to decide if they are willing to stand together or apart.

  Available December 2015

  And keep reading for an excerpt from the

  first book in the Mechanics of Love series

  DIRTY THOUGHTS

  Some things are sexier the second time around.

  Cal Payton has gruff and grumbly down to an art . . . all the better for keeping people away. And it usually works. Until Jenna Macmillan—his biggest mistake—walks into Payton and Sons Automotive all grown up, looking like sunshine and inspiring more than a few dirty thoughts.

  Jenna was sure she was long over the boy she’d once loved with reckless abandon, but one look at the steel-eyed Cal Payton has her falling apart all over again. Ten years may have passed, but the pull is stronger than ever . . . and this Cal is all man.

  Cal may have no intention of letting Jenna in, but she’s always been his light, and it’s getting harder to stay all alone in the dark. When a surprise from the past changes everything, Cal and Jenna must decide if their connection should be left alone or if it’s exactly what they need for the future of their dreams.

  Available Now!

  An Excerpt from

  DIRTY THOUGHTS

  CAL PAYTON SIGHED and braced himself as the opening guitar riff of “Welcome to the Jungle” reverberated off the walls of the garage. Sure enough, several bars later, his brother, Brent, began his off-key rendition, which didn’t sound much different from his drunken karaoke version.

  Which, yes, Cal had heard. More times than he wanted to.

  He growled under his breath. Brent kept screeching Axl Rose, and if Cal wasn’t stuck on his back under this damn Subaru, he’d be flinging a wrench at Brent’s head. “Hey!” Cal yelled.

  There was a blissful moment of silence. “What?” Brent’s voice came from somewhere behind him, probably in the bay next to him at the garage.

  “Who sings this song?”

  “Are you kidding me?” Brent’s voice was closer now. “It’s Guns N’ Roses. The legendary
Axl Rose.”

  “Yeah? Then how ’bout you let him sing it?”

  There was a pause. “Fuck you.” His brother’s footsteps stomped away. Then the radio was turned up, and Brent started singing even louder.

  Cal blew out a breath and tapped the socket wrench on his forehead, doing his best to tune out Brent’s increasingly loud voice. Cal vowed to buy earbuds and an iPod before he murdered his brother with a tire iron.

  He turned his attention back to the exhaust shield he was fixing. The customer had complained of a loud rattle when his car idled. Sure enough, one of the heat shields covering the exhaust system under the car was loose. It was an easy fix. Cal used a gear clamp to wrap around the pipe of the exhaust system to prevent the shield from making noise.

  It didn’t necessarily have to be done, but the Graingers were long-time customers at Payton and Sons Automotive. And they always sent those flavored popcorn buckets at Christmas. He and Brent fought over the caramel while their dad got the butter all to himself.

  He finished tightening the hose clamp onto the pipe and then banged around the exhaust system with the side of his fist. No rattle.

  He slid out from under the Subaru and patted it on the side. He squinted at the clock, seeing it was almost quitting time. Their dad, who owned half of the shop—Cal and Brent split ownership of the other 50 percent—had already gone home for the day.

  Cal put away the tools he’d used, purposefully ignoring Brent as he launched into a Pearl Jam song. Cal rubbed his temple, wiping away the bead of sweat he could feel rolling down his face. The back room had a small table and a refrigerator, so Cal made his way there to get a water.

  In the summer, they kept the large doors of the garage open, but the air was thick and humid today. The American flag outside hung like a limp rag in the still air.

  Cal wore coveralls at work and usually kept them on to protect his skin from hot exhaust pipes and any number of sharp tools lying around. But as he walked back to the lunchroom, he stripped his upper body out of the coveralls so the torso and arms of the clothing hung loose around his legs. Underneath, he wore a tight white T-shirt that still managed to be marked with grease and black smudges from the workday.