Page 37 of Dirty (Dive Bar 1)


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"Say the word," he continued. "You know I'll do whatever you want."

I wanted to call bullshit on that so badly. Or better yet, tell him exactly what I wanted. Just as soon as I figured out exactly what that was....

Instead I craned my neck, kissing him gently, sweetly. Over and over with lips closed, then with them open just a little. On this went until his tongue eased into my mouth, taking me over. We kissed in slow motion as if we had all the time in the world. The palm of his hand molded to my breast, squeezing and teasing the sensitive flesh. My hands meanwhile slipped beneath his tee, exploring his back. Stroking his smooth skin, coming close to getting off on the feel of him. The ridges in his spine and the hard planes of his muscles. All the while, he moved against me, rubbing his hard dick over my pubic bone, stroking close to the top of my sweet spot. I angled my hips, trying to get more.

Shit, it felt good. So good. But it wasn't enough.

"Vaughan," I panted, slipping my hands down into his jeans, squeezing his firm ass cheeks. "No underwear?"

"I wanted to be prepared."

I grinned as he lightly bit my earlobe, then licked my neck.

It could never get old, being with him. Every intimacy we shared added to the familiarity of his body and his ways. The thrill of being with him, however, never waned. Given time, it might change and grow. But never would it disappear. Some things just were absolute.

I slipped my hands between us, unbuttoning his jeans and lowering his zipper. Demure, I was not. Or at least, not once we got going. Getting that item of clothing right the hell out of my way. Hot velvet skin over rigid flesh. He was a tactile heaven. My fingers brushed over the rounded head, thumb searching out the join in the ridge of his cockhead and massaging just beneath.

He groaned into my neck, shoulders heaving. "Fuck, that feels good."

Ah, the power of getting your hand on a man's cock. It was mighty. "Does it?"

"Mm."

A hand pushed up my chambray skirt, exposing my dimpled thighs. Screw any anxiety. I was too caught up in the goodness of touching Vaughan to care. He slipped a finger into the leg opening of my panties, tugging at the material.

"Why the fuck are you wearing these, Lydia?"

"Because I'm a fool?"

He chuckled.

"I didn't know what you were planning," I complained.

"Assume I always want to fuck you. That would be safest."

His mouth covered mine and he kissed me deep and wet. Mutual masturbation worked well. I fondled and caressed his cock, doing my best to drive him insane. While he did likewise, curling in his fingers and sliding his knuckles through my wet slit. Every muscle between my neck and knees tensed, it felt so good. The boy gave me bliss, pure and simple. Then he broke the kiss and licked the pad of his thumb before going to work on my clit. God, he was good at this, his touch just right. His hand stretched the elastic in my panties, making room for him to play. Happy chemicals made my head spin round, my whole world was in a daze. I almost forgot to keep stroking him. Sad, because the feel of him thickening in my hand was sublime. Not something I'd ever want to miss.

"Cum on me." I nipped at his lips.

"That what you want? You want my cum on your soft skin?"

I nodded my head, milking him harder with every stroke.

"No. Not this time." He pulled his hand out of my panties, a crying shame. Then he drew the condom out of his back pocket and ripped it open with his teeth. I made a truly sad sound when he pried my fingers off of his cock and rolled it on.

"Scoot your ass down a little," he said, drawing me closer to the edge of the seat. "Why couldn't you want a bigger car?"

"Why couldn't you cum on me?"

The sides of his lips hitched up. He pulled aside my stretched underwear and carefully lined his cock up with my opening. In one smooth thrust he filled me, both of us moaning. Loudly.

"Oh god." My eyelids fluttered, my insides doing the same. Indescribable. That's what having him inside of me felt like. Every good thing, everything bright and shiny. But more, so much more. And the way he looked at me, studying my every expression, gauging my every move. I don't know why, but having such total committed focus from him nearly undid me. I almost cried for the second time today.

"That's why I couldn't cum on you," he whispered in my ear. "Because I needed to do this."

I had no words. Happily, none was required.

Slowly, deliberately, he made love to me. Crammed into the passenger side of a test vehicle which now definitively must be mine. Of all the places to have a meaningful moment. He rocked in and out of me, taking his time, building the passion between us. Our connection was absolute and always would be. No matter where he went. No matter what he did. I'd lost a part of myself to him that I'd never get back. Hell, I gave it, even knowing it wasn't smart and I might regret it one day soon.

Hearts are so stupid.

Gradually he increased his pace. My legs were wrapped around him, holding on tight. Sweat soaked both our skins. We moved as best we could, reaching for the peak, clinging together. It went on and on, and yet was over all too soon. I angled my hips up, taking him deep. He plowed into me with great purpose. One hand tangled in my hair and the other taking some of his weight. The sound of our frantic breathing, of our bodies slamming together filled the small space.

And still it surprised me. My orgasm ripped out my lungs. I silently cried out, my cunt clutching at him as my heart skipped a beat. My whole body shook beneath him as he groaned my name, pressing his cheek bruisingly hard against mine. Apparently, the French refer to an orgasm as the little death. However, that didn't cover it. Try the mass murder of all of my hopes and dreams. It shouldn't have felt so astonishingly mind-numbingly superb to fall for a man who'd never be mine. But it did.

Love sucks.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Strange things were afoot at the Dive Bar the next day. Saturday, the anniversary of my botched wedding. Hooray.

Nothing of any great interest had happened after our sexcapades in my new car. We went back to see Mitch at the dealership, who gave our skewed clothing dubious looks. He visibly relaxed after I told him I'd be buying the vehicle. Vaughan had gone quiet, but then so had I.

We went to work. And when we got back to his house exhausted after a long night, we went to sleep, together in the same bed.

But back to today.

Brett Chen, the reporter, lounged against his car parked opposite my place of work. He pulled out his Canon and started snapping photos of Vaughan and me as we were walking inside.

"Talk to me, Lydia," he yelled from across the street. "I've got a big-name magazine taking the story. Nationwide distribution. A lot of money."

"Asshole," I muttered, keeping my sunglasses on and my face down.

"Time to give Officer Andy a call," said Vaughan. "Get rid of this guy."

"I'm not sure legally there's much he can do. Anyway, the reporter's not going to get what he wants," I said without slowing down. "Let karma take care of him for profiting from people's heartbreak and misery. I've got better things to do with my time."

"This is the third time he's been here in almost as many days. Taking your picture without your permission. The idiot's practically stalking you, babe."

I shrugged, reached out and gave his fingers a squeeze. We stepped into the bar and I headed straight for a small table at the back. Poor Betsy, the Delaneys' real estate receptionist, did not look like a happy girl. Boo-hoo.

"I've been waiting for you for nearly twenty minutes." She sniffed, pushing back a half-drunk cup of coffee and rising out of her seat. "The brew here is godawful. Are the papers all correctly signed? I don't want to have to come down here again just because you can't read."

God, what a bitch. The papers were signed, all right, but she could figure that out for herself.

In lieu of conversation, I tossed the large envelope containing the Delaneys' settlement contract her way. Betsy dived for it. making a weird gasping noise. Indignation burned bright in her beady little eyes. Before she could rip into me for lack of care or whatever, I got the hell away from her. I had things to do. It was time to make over my life. Minus the bullshit this time.

Saturday was a big day. At only twenty past twelve, most of the tables were already filled. I called out greetings to Rosie and Masa on the restaurant floor, Eric behind the bar, and Nell and Boyd busy at work in the kitchen. Then I continued on my way to the back office.

The big blond bear, aka Joe, sat in front of the computer, engrossed in whatever was on the screen.

"Hi," I said, dumping my handbag in the corner. "Nell wanted me to start on the bookkeeping."

Startled eyes glanced up at me and his fingers froze on the keys. "Ah, hey, Lydia."

"Are you working today too?" Three people behind the bar seemed excessive but whatever.

"No," he said. "I just needed to use the computer. Mine's acting up. Be out of here in a minute."

"No problem. I'll go grab a cup of coffee."

The deer-caught-in-headlights look faded, transforming into something else. He cleared his throat, gaze returning to me every few seconds. Whatever was on that screen, Joe did not want it to be seen. Probably porn.

"Would you like one?" I asked, taking a step toward the table.

His whole body tensed as if he was preparing to jump up and cover whatever it was. "One what?"

"Coffee."

"No," he said. "Thanks."

"Okay." I gave him a brief smile, strolling toward the door. "Back in a minute."

His chin jerked, eyes stuck to me like I might vault over the desk and launch a violent invasion of his online privacy at any moment.

Very strange.

When I came back with my coffee, Joe had disappeared out the back door. Nell had left a list detailing what kinds of expenses belonged in which category. Beyond that, it was pretty basic. I worked away at the piles of receipts, banking records, and invoices. Inputting all of the information--business name, items in question, their price, etc. Gradually, the backlog began to dwindle.

The best part of doing this particular job (which no one else wanted to do) were the excellent service and gastronomical benefits. Rosie or Masa regularly delivered coffees, bottles of sparkling water, a delectable Vietnamese-style chicken salad for lunch, and an amazingly good steak with a baked potato and all the trimmings for dinner. I had no idea what they did to the cow to make the meat so tender. Daily massages. Weekly pedicures. Whatever it was, it worked. Best steak ever.

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