Dirty Deeds (Mechanics of Love #3)

by Megan Erickson

  She gasped. “I like men.”

  He huffed a laugh as his lips skimmed her shoulder. “I sure hope so.”

  She didn’t say anything else as she managed to unhook his belt.

  “Come on,” he prodded. “Tell me what you like.”

  She stopped moving for a minute and stared at him. Her dark hair was spread out on the white comforter, her lipstick smeared, her cheeks flushed. She blinked for a minute, then seemed to gather her strength. “I like . . . ” She bit her lip and spit out one word. “Hands.”

  Spencer rested his hand on her breast. “Okay.”

  “I like to watch a man . . . touch me.” She seemed to be gaining courage now.

  He wondered if a man ever asked her what she wanted. A surge of anger washed over him at the thought no one had. And then Spencer focused back on her. He lifted a hand to her face and ran the pad of his middle finger over her lips. “How do you want me to touch you?”

  “Why are you asking me this?” she demanded.

  “So I can do what you want,” he shot back.

  She stared, as if caught off guard. Then she swallowed. When her voice came, it held a bit of a challenge. “I want you to lay on your back in this bed. I want to take off your pants. I want to suck your cock until you’re . . . begging. And then I want to climb on top and ride you. That’s exactly what I want.”

  That’s what he wanted to, everything that she said, every word that spilled from those kiss-swollen lips.

  So he rolled off her onto his back on the bed and bent his elbows, lacing his hands behind his head. “Then you have at it, and get the rubber from my kit while you’re at it.”

  ALEX PAWED THROUGH Spencer’s things, finally finding the condom even though she could barely see through the haze of . . . what were these? Tears?

  Why was she crying? There was no crying during one-night stands.

  So she blinked them away, not wanting to dwell on how much it had affected her that he’d asked what she wanted. Because she hadn’t known how much it meant to hear that question. She was used to taking what she wanted. But she’d never been asked. She’d never been forced to vocalize it for the pure reason that a man wanted to make her feel good. That he wanted to do what she liked.

  It made her a little angry too, that this stranger was the first one to do it. What was wrong with her that men she’d loved and thought loved her back hadn’t ever done that?

  When she turned back to the bed, Spencer hadn’t moved. He was still there, lying on his back, arms behind his head, blue eyes watching her every move. He had a tattoo on his left pectoral, something large and furry.

  Flipping open the fly of her jeans, she unzipped them and let them drop to the floor. She stood before him then, in her red bra and matching panties. That was her indulgence, her big fuck-you to everyone who treated her like dirt because of what she did for a living. Knowing she wore sexy underwear made her feel empowered. She’d never worn them for him. It had always been for her.

  But now, with Spencer’s gaze raking over her body, she was glad she had these. That she had something to give this man.

  She stepped toward him, pulled his socks off, then his pants. He wore a pair of plaid boxer briefs, and she smiled at the thick ridge showing beneath the cotton.

  He didn’t move as she lowered the waistband to reveal his cock. She was startled at first because he wasn’t cut. She’d never seen an uncut cock in person. He reached down and gave himself a couple of strokes, so the head of his cock peeked through the foreskin.

  She loved giving blow jobs. Really, really loved it. Or at least, she used to. He’d made it about power after a while, refusing to do anything but stand while she kneeled at his feet. She’d hated that, his hand on her head, gripping her hair. Well, she’d pretended he did it out of love, but she knew now it hadn’t had anything to do with love.

  With Spencer on his back, she didn’t feel like something lesser. She felt like she had the power, and so she bent down and took his big, thick cock in her mouth to the root and then pulled off.

  Spencer hissed out a sound between his teeth. His hips jerked but he didn’t fuck her mouth or press a hand to the back of her head. His hands were fisting the sheets, the blue of his eyes visible only through thin slits as he stared down at her with his mouth open.

  She smiled at him, then began to get to work.

  He was thick, thicker than she was used to, especially because she was out of practice, but God, she forgot how good this felt, to make a man feel this good, to have the power to do this.

  When his thighs tensed, she pulled off and he made a whimper sound in his throat. She laughed as he looked at her like she’d kicked his puppy.

  “You stopped,” he gasped.

  She smiled as she took off her bra, and he must have forgotten his pain, because his eyes zeroed in on her breasts. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous.”

  She slithered out of her panties, then ripped open the condom packet and rolled it onto him. Straddling his waist, she leaned down, bracing her hands on each side of his head. Her hair fell in a dark curtain around them and his eyes shone even brighter somehow. “You ready?”

  “Take it away, Sprite,” he said.

  She rose and lowered herself onto his cock.

  It’d been maybe six months since she’d had sex, and even then it had been quick and she’d been a little drunk.

  She wasn’t drunk anymore. Anything that had been pulsing through her system had been pushed out with the all-consuming arousal pounding through her veins.

  His cock inside her was perfect, and she felt full, so damn full. He was inside her to the hilt, and she threw her head back, swiveling her hips as his hands coasted up her thighs and gripped her waist.

  She wasn’t ready to move yet, wasn’t ready to start because then it’d be over, so instead she relished the feel of him. She lifted one hand to cup a breast and lowered another to press against her engorged clit.

  “Christ,” he whispered.

  Alex opened her eyes to see Spencer’s gaze honed in on her hand and where he had entered her body. He reached out and pressed her clit where her finger was, his gaze lifting to hers as he began to swirl it. “That? Right there?”

  She nodded, unable to speak as every nerve in her body was centered right where he was touching her.

  So she began to move. Slowly at first, loving the slow drag of his cock in and out of her body. He rolled his hips slightly but let her set the pace, watching her face as he continued to focus on her clit, working to make her feel as good as he could.

  She picked up the pace then, until she was slamming herself onto him, the sounds of slapping skin filling the room, harsh pants and groans and curses.

  Falling forward, she braced herself on the bed and he reached up, tugging her face to his and breathing against her lips. His thumb hadn’t stopped circling her clit and God, she was close. So close.

  “Come for me, Alex, my little sprite,” he said.

  She groaned and he answered it with one of his own.

  “I . . . ”

  “Come on.”

  “Coming . . . ” she gasped.

  “Yes,” he whispered. “This is where you belong, riding me.”

  And that was really all it took, that heavily accented voice telling her what she knew to be true. That’s how her orgasm rocketed through her, as she stared into his eyes, breaths mingled, his thumb still helping her to chase her pleasure.

  He came a minute later, thrusting up into her and moaning into her mouth.

  When his hips stopped jerking, Alex realized they were kissing. Both of Spencer’s hands gripped her hair, holding her to him as his tongue slowly licked into her mouth.

  She didn’t roll off, she didn’t move, knowing it’d be a while before she had this intimacy again.

  Spencer’s hands drifted down her back, his blunt nails raising goose bumps along her skin. She tucked her head into his neck, sighing against the hair curling at its nape, enjoying his smell, his hea
t, his hands on her body.

  He’d held her like this. At the beginning. Then it was like he knew how much she craved the closeness, the cuddling, and denied it.

  Bastard.

  Maybe Spencer noticed the sudden tension in her body because he made a soothing sound and pressed a kiss to her temple, his hand squeezing the muscles of her shoulders.

  Then his hand rested on her hip, as if it belonged there. And no matter what he’d said during sex, she didn’t belong here.

  Which is what made her lift herself off his warm body and climb off his lap.

  She picked her underwear off the floor and began to dress slowly, methodically. The bed creaked but she didn’t look up, not until she was completely dressed, her hair tied back into a ponytail.

  When she turned around, Spencer had slipped his boxers back on and sat at the end of the bed, elbows on his knees, watching her.

  She gave herself a minute to look at his lush lips, those blue eyes, the dark hair peppered with streaks of silver. The light freckles dotting his nose, cheekbones, and the top of his shoulders and back.

  He wasn’t bulky, but he was nicely toned. A very attractive man. She wondered if he had a girlfriend at home. Maybe even a wife. Alex wondered if she’d be a huge regret.

  She could have asked but instead she stepped between his legs, touching his hair and the concentration of gray at his temples. “I need to go.”

  He nodded, and Alex searched his eyes for regret. It was there, in the wrinkled skin of his forehead.

  She felt regret too. Regret that she hadn’t met Spencer before she’d been broken by him.

  “Will you be at the shop tomorrow when I go about my car?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “I’ll call in the morning, tell them about it.”

  “ ’Preciate that,” he said, his voice thick.

  She needed to leave, now. Before she tore off her clothes and climbed between the sheets for round two. So she leaned down and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. “Thanks for a great night. Have a safe trip back to New York.”

  His gaze searched hers. She didn’t know what he was looking for. “I will.”

  She nodded and stepped away from him, letting her arms drop to her sides. Before she thought too long about it, she pulled out her keys and tugged a keychain off the ring. She set it on the desk near his laptop, her fingers lingering over the plastic logo of Payton and Sons.

  Spencer watched her movements silently. Her hand was on the handle of the door when he spoke again. “Sprite?”

  She looked over her shoulder to where he hadn’t moved from the foot of the bed. “Yeah?”

  “Thanks.”

  She smiled. “We take hospitality seriously here in Tory.”

  Then she walked out to the sound of his husky laugh behind her.

  Chapter Three

  HONEYBEAR LOWERED HER shoulders, paws stretched out in front of her, butt in the air, keeping her eyes on Violet as she waggled the Frisbee in front of the dog’s nose.

  “Go, girl!” she shouted and tossed the Frisbee as far across the park lawn as she could.

  Alex squinted with her hand over her eyes as the dog took off, her niece waiting with her hands clasped together to see if the dog would catch it midair.

  They’d decided to spend some time that morning at the park before Ivy had to go into work. The fall air had begun to creep into Tory, and they wanted to enjoy it before winter made it less fun to be outside.

  Honeybear made a running leap and snatched the Frisbee between her jaws. Violet whooped. “Did you see that, Mom?”

  “Yep,” Ivy answered. She turned to Alex and nudged her with her shoulder. “What’s up? You’ve been quiet today.”

  Alex stared down at her feet, wiggling her toes in her red Chucks. They sat on a blanket in the park, bottles of water and a bag of pretzels between them. Violet was crooning to Honeybear, who’d returned happily with the Frisbee. “I thought the silence was nice. What do you want me to talk about?”

  Ivy rolled her eyes. “Fine, be evasive.”

  “I’m not being evasive.”

  “Well, you’re being . . . something. Forget it.”

  “I will,” Alex huffed. Truthfully, she’d slept like shit. After the evening in Spencer’s hotel room, she’d gone home and tossed and turned. Usually after a round of fantastic sex, she slept like the dead, but not this time. Not with the feel of Spencer’s hands on her, his whispered words, tell me what you like.

  She’d liked what he did. That was basically it. And no other man had done it for her like that in her life.

  “Mom?” Violet called.

  “Yeah?”

  “I gotta go to the bathroom.”

  Ivy stood up and smoothed down her sundress. “No problem, honey.”

  Alex whistled to Honeybear. “Stay with me, girl.” The dog dutifully trotted over to Alex and plopped down on the blanket. She kept her head up, though, tongue out, watching as her two humans walked toward the brick building that housed the bathroom. Alex reached out and scratched Honeybear’s head.

  Honeybear was Brent’s dog first, a stray from the shelter gifted to him by his brother, but the canine had attached to Ivy and Violet pretty quickly. The dog was spoiled despite her stupid name, which Brent insisted was given to her by previous owners. Apparently she wouldn’t respond to anything else.

  Alex leaned back and closed her eyes, the sun hot on her lids. She’d been so sure of her life when they moved to Tory. No men. None. No way would she let a man rip her apart like he had. Robby.

  When she’d first met Robby, he’d been good to her. Treated her well, saved her the corner brownies, and asked her to move in. She’d grown up with a single mom and Ivy, and Alex was self-aware enough to know she’d craved male attention her whole life because of the lack of a father figure. Robby had given her attention and made her feel beautiful and loved until . . . he didn’t anymore.

  Once she began to live with him and he’d done an effective job of isolating her from friends, he’d shown who he really was. He’d never raised a hand to her, but his words were weapons. It didn’t matter if he yelled them or whispered them or hissed them in her ear—they all hurt.

  They all pierced holes in her flesh until she couldn’t breathe, until she didn’t even recognize herself anymore.

  It wasn’t until Ivy and Violet came to live with Alex and Robby that Alex began to see just how bad it had gotten. So they’d picked up and left one day while Robby was at work. Alex couldn’t imagine how much the man had raged when he came home to an empty apartment.

  They’d moved to Tory and although there’d been some growing pains, they’d settled in. Alex was working a job she loved, where she could still be close to her sister and watch her niece grow.

  Ivy hadn’t had that much luck with men either. Violet’s father had abandoned her as soon as she got pregnant. They’d both been committed to a spinster lifestyle until Brent came charging in and stole her sister’s heart.

  But that was okay, because Ivy was happy and loved, and Violet had a great father figure in her life now.

  Alex had thought she’d be okay by herself, and she had been until last night, when one too-gorgeous-for-his-own-good Brit had shown her that there was more out there.

  She shook her head and opened her eyes, fisting her hand in the fur at Honeybear’s neck. It had just been sex. She needed to get over it, especially because she’d never see the man again.

  Ivy and Violet were on their way back, so Alex tried to relax her face. She didn’t smile, because that probably would have alarmed Ivy if Alex all of a sudden got cheerful, but she didn’t want to look angry. Honeybear hopped to her feet and trotted toward Violet, who’d picked up the Frisbee again.

  Ivy sat back down on the blanket and stuck a pretzel in her mouth.

  Alex looked at her younger sister, the way her dark, wavy hair spilled around her shoulders, the way her blue eyes looked bright even in the sunlight. Some people used to think they were twi
ns, until Ivy decided she liked clothes and makeup and Alex decided she liked boots and engines.

  Ivy turned to Alex and met her gaze.

  Alex glanced at Violet, ensuring she was out of earshot, then licked her lips. “I, uh, met someone last night.”

  Ivy’s chewing slowed, then she swallowed. “Okay.”

  “It was . . . different. Shook me up is all.”

  Ivy’s eyes narrowed. “Did he hurt you?”

  Alex held up a hand. “No, no. Calm down, tiger. He was . . . just different. And not because he had a British accent”—Ivy’s eyebrows shot up—“but because he treated me . . . well. Really well. For a one-night stand. So I’m quiet because I’m dealing with the aftermath of a hookup that affected me in a way hookups never do, okay?”

  Ivy blinked at her. “You hooked up with a British guy?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did he say ‘bloody’? Please tell me he said something like, ‘I can’t be arsed, but that’s bloody brilliant.’ ”

  Alex stared at her.

  Ivy shrugged. “I watch the BBC sometimes. They have good miniseries.”

  Alex laughed. “Uh, well, he didn’t say that phrase, but he did say ‘bloody.’ ”

  “Wow,” Ivy muttered.

  “And he was hot, and had the most stuck-up name. He wore a suit. I mean . . . he was the opposite of what I’m normally attracted to, but he had great hands and hair I wanted to run my fingers through, so I went for it.”

  Ivy nibbled her lip. “How did you meet him?”

  “His car was acting up. He pulled into the shop after we were closed. I offered to drive him to his hotel, but he wanted to buy me dinner as a thank-you. And, well, dinner was great and then I didn’t exactly drop him off at his hotel.”

  “Will you see him again?”

  Alex shook her head. “Nah, he was only in town for business and he said he’d be leaving today. They’ll probably fix his car and then he’ll be gone.”

  “And are you okay with that?”

  “Of course I’m okay with that.” Her voice came out sharper than she’d intended.