Dirty. Megan Hart

compliments take me aback. I know my strengths. I figure other people do, too. Anything else is flattery or insincerity.

      He looked at me, his hand not ceasing in its slow seduction. “You don’t like that, either?”

      I put my hand over his to stop the motion, but though I wanted to pull out of his arms I stayed still. “You don’t have to do that.”

      “Do what?” He passed his thumb over my breast. “That?”

      “No. Say things like that. You don’t have to.”

      He looked thoughtful and turned me a little so we weren’t craning our necks. “I want to.”

      I shook my head a little. “Why? I’m already here. You’re already going to get what you want.”

      He frowned and let go of me. He crossed his arms over his bare chest. “Is that the only reason you think I’d say something like that?”

      We stared at each other, both of us frowning. I straightened up and adjusted my bra strap, which had fallen over my shoulder. My cheeks heated as he looked me over, and this time it wasn’t from lust. His gaze finally rested on mine.

      “Elle,” Dan said. “If you don’t like me saying that sort of thing, then I guess I won’t. But telling you to suck my cock’s okay?”

      I smiled a little. “Yes.”

      “Just like fucking you in the bathroom was okay but not asking you on a date.”

      “Yes.”

      He ran his hand through his hair, spiking it higher until I itched to smooth it. He took a deep breath and looked back at me. “And you can come over here anytime you please dressed like something out of my ninth grade wet dreams and get me off without letting me return the favor.”

      “Yes.” I smiled a little wider and put my hands on my hips. “Though I haven’t left yet.”

      He studied my face for a minute longer. “Come here.”

      I did, obedient, acquiescent, my heart skip-tripping again. He put his hand on the base of my skull, fingers tight in the back of my hair. He tugged my head back, then took a finger and traced the line of my throat, ending in the hollow of my collarbone.

      “You like it when I tell you what to do.”

      I murmured in assent. The fingertip trailed lower, over the swells of my breasts and down. He touched my navel briefly, then slid his hand back between my legs. My arousal had faded with our conversation, but now it began to return.

      “Why?”

      “Because I think all the time,” I whispered. “And sometimes it’s nice to not think anymore. Sometimes it’s nice to just…do.”

      “Or be told what to do.”

      “Yes.”

      His fingers slid back and forth over my panties, between my legs and up to stroke my clitoris. His other hand kept me still as he looked into my face with such intensity I wanted to look away.

      “Has it really been three years since you fucked anyone?”

      Stung, I pulled away from the hand in my hair and stepped back. “Yes. Why would I lie about that?”

      “Why does anyone lie about anything?” He made no move to come toward me.

      “Yes. It was three years.”

      “Come here.”

      I almost didn’t. But then I did. It took two steps. He grabbed me a little harder this time, and I winced though he hadn’t really hurt me. He pulled me close to his body and put his hand between my legs again.

      “Are you going to tell me what you like, or am I going to have to guess?” He asked, stroking me. “Do you like to be tied up? Spanked? You want nipple clamps and hot wax?”

      “Hot wax?” I tried to pull away again, but he held me fast. His gentle stroke, stroke, stroke between my legs never erred. Heat bloomed beneath his fingers and spread.

      Dan smiled, eyes ablaze. “No hot wax?”