Dirty Work - Regina Kyle Page 0,12
her arms around me, grinding against my thigh. Fuck that’s hot, the way she takes what she wants without asking, without apology. That’s all the license I need to take my foot off the brakes and go all in, kissing her harder, deeper. She tastes icy cool and raspberry sweet from the Gatorade, and her soft curves fit perfectly to my harder edges. I let my free hand roam up those curves to her breast, and she moans again as I find her nipple through the thin fabric of her romper and roll it between my thumb and forefinger.
I break off the kiss but only to slide my mouth down her neck, leaving a hot, wet trail to the hollow of her throat. I’d like to explore even lower, to discover if she’s a basic bra or lacy lingerie kind of girl. Unfortunately, skilled as I am in the art of getting a woman out of her clothes, I can’t for the life of me figure out the thingamajig she’s wearing. There’s a row of buttons down the front, but when I try to undo the top one it doesn’t budge.
“You’re driving me crazy,” I groan. I try the next button. No dice. I’m ready to rip the fuckers off. “These goddamn buttons are driving me crazy.”
“They’re for decoration only,” she pants, arching into me. “There’s a zipper. In back.”
I reach around her, find the tab, and inch it down, my fingers grazing her bare skin on the journey. A line of goose bumps sprouts in their wake and I get a thrill knowing I did that to her, that she’s as into this as I am. I push the straps off her shoulders and down her arms, and the torture device drops to her waist, leaving her in only a pretty pink bra that barely contains her pale, perfect breasts.
Lacy lingerie. Score.
“Please.” Her slow grind picks up steam and her eyes drift shut. Her arms band around me like a vice, my fantasy about her nails digging into me becoming reality. She’s hot and wet against my thigh even through a layer of denim, and my sexual Spidey sense tells me she’s seconds from coming.
“Fuck, yeah. That’s it, baby,” I murmur against her neck, encouraging her. I tweak one nipple through the lace of her bra, and she sucks in a sharp breath. “Let go.”
A few more hip rolls and she does, throwing her head back and calling out my name. She continues to spasm for a few seconds until her arms loosen their iron grip on my midsection and she collapses against me, spent.
I pull the edge of one bra cup down and free her breast from its frilly prison, hopeful she’s up for another round where we both get off. Those hopes die a quick and painful death when an bone-rattling thump from the living room startles us. Because I’m the guy with the worst luck in the five boroughs, Roscoe, back from doggie dreamland, has chosen that exact moment to fall off the couch. He lifts his head and lets out a low, mournful howl that pierces my very soul.
Shit. This has the potential to be almost as bad as if the beast had been dognapped. My parents are going to flip out if their precious baby has a boo-boo.
“Don’t move.” I peel her arms from around my waist and step back, planting a hard, fast kiss on her bee-stung lips. “He’s probably fine, but I should at least check on him. I’ll be right back.”
I sprint to Roscoe’s side, and the howling stops as I do a quick head-to-tail exam. I’m no vet, but nothing feels broken. My diagnosis is confirmed when the big drama queen gets effortlessly to his feet and trots off toward my bedroom, presumably to take up residence on my bed.
“See?” I stand, wiping my hands on my shorts. “No harm, no foul. Now how about we pick up where we left off?”
But when I turn back to Ainsley, expecting to find her half-dressed and ready for more, my door swings shut with a hollow, ominous click, and she’s gone. I tunnel my hands through my hair and glare in the direction of my bedroom, swearing under my breath.
Fucking dog managed to cockblock me after all.
CHAPTER FIVE
Ainsley
“YOU DID WHAT? With a client?” My bestie Mia gapes at me, her glass of prosecco stalled halfway to her lips. We met in contracts class first year of law school at New York University,