Filthy: A Bad Boy Romance Read Free Page B

again.
    As my tongue touches her lower lip, I realize I want this again. I could carry her into the bedroom and work her over one more time, right now. That hardly ever happens to me. Usually I’m one and done, but this woman is more than I hoped and more than I ever expected.
    Her hand comes up and catches mine, draws it against her face. Carefully she breaks the kiss.
    “I should go home,” she says.
    “Stay,” I offer.
    Her eyes widen a bit with a sort of shocked humor. “No way. Cain the Flame never lets girls sleep over.”
    “How would you know that?” She’s right though. I do have a bit of a reputation in that area. Not necessarily a good one.
    She shrugs. “I hear things.”
    “I see.” I take in her bare breasts again, gently devouring them with my eyes, then grasp the sides of her bra and carefully pull it back into place, snapping the clasp. “Will you be safe if you go back home?”
    “What? You mean my father?” She scoffs. “How is he going to know where I was?”
    “You know it wouldn’t exactly make him happy to know you just did the nasty with me.”
    “I know.” She actually turns a bit serious. “Yeah, I know that. Which is why I’m going to go home.” She strokes a hand down my chest. “Can I tell you a secret?”
    “Sure.”
    “This doesn’t happen to me very often.”
    “What? Getting fucked over a kitchen counter?”
    “Getting fucked at all. Pop is, shall we say, not much in favor of my stepping out and about.”
    “Unsurprising.” I wonder at her near-virginal tightness combined with her eagerness. This was by no means her first time, I could tell, but for someone who doesn’t indulge often, she’s hella enthusiastic. Or maybe that’s why she’s enthusiastic. “Especially since you’re hot as fuck in bed.”
    She laughs. “How would you know? We never made it to the bed.”
    “Okay, then you’re hot as fuck over a kitchen counter.” I’m reluctant to move away from her, reluctant to let her go. “Look…you sure you don’t want to stay the night?”
    “I’m sure.” She pushes me, both hands right in the middle of my chest. “I really do need to go. This has been nice—more than nice—but I don’t want Pop getting any ideas about removing all your intestines and making some kind of macramé basket out of them.”
    I wince at the image. She doesn’t mince words a bit, does she? “Yeah, I can’t imagine that would be pleasant.”
    “So…we can’t do this again, all right?”
    It’s not all right. Usually I’m the one gently pushing away the girl, giving her some goddamn excuse why I can’t see her again. “Give me your number.”
    “Nope.” Stepping away from me, she starts scanning the room for her shirt. Finds it, slips it back on, and sorts out the buttons. “I’m going home.” She pauses then, giving me a cursory look. “You might want to slap a couple Band-Aids on.”
    The smile I give her this time is wry. I could use a few Band-Aids, that’s for sure. “All right.”
    With one more smile, she blows me a kiss then heads out the door.
    #
    I have a real problem with the sun when it comes pounding in through the curtains in my bedroom. Another seventeen hours of sleep would be helpful, but I’m not going to get it. Not even another two hours. I sit up and stare at the opposite wall.
    The events of yesterday roll through my head. The fight, the fuck-up, Jessica Spada with her legs splayed open on my kitchen counter. Frowning, I rub my arm. I’m sore. My dick is trying to convince me I shortchanged it last night by not giving it enough of a release. I tell it to shut up and head for the shower. I have a bad feeling about today. It’s one of those feelings you have when you’re damn sure your luck has just taken a drastic turn for the worse.
    Sure enough, when I get out of the shower there’s a message in the voice mail on my cell. “McAllister, you’re in deep shit. I want you here today at ten to talk about why you fucked up