Page 51 of Dealing Dirty
“What did that bastard say to you?” he asks, gliding an expert hand down the front of my pants and in between my soaking legs.
Derrick moans to feel me slick and waiting. Expert fingers slide over my bundle of nerves, slow at first, then speeding up, repeating the motion in a circular pattern.
Jesus, has he reduced me to panting already? When I don’t respond quick enough for his liking, he stops his ministrations. “Tell me,” he demands.
I recall our conversation between labored breaths, writhing against his hand like a cat in heat. “We made a deal. He’s done being Diablo’s bitch… and he wants to help us.”
That has his full attention, and this time, I whimper as he pulls away.
“You’re saying he wants to go against Bruce. Now, why do I find that hard to believe?”
With his hold on me loosening, I turn around and press my back against the side of the truck. I recall Jackie’s account that Bruce is still planning to come after the bar before filling Derrick in on the rest.
“He’s getting in too deep with some bad people outside of town, and Jackie wants out. The problem is, Ben’s plan won’t work if Bruce delves any deeper. I’m talking possible prostitution and running drugs through Mackville without repercussion, not just illegal gambling.”
Glancing off in the distance, he watches a streetlight flicker.
“If we can’t stop him soon, it’s likely we never will. There’ll be too many chefs in the kitchen. Two’s company, three’s a crowd,” I say, gesturing with three fingers.
Derrick’s eyes lighten when he flicks them back to mine. “Too many hogs in the mudhole.”
The corner of my mouth quirks. “Careful, your country-boy is showing.”
His breath fans lightly across my cheekbones. “I’ve missed that smile.”
The pad of his thumb roams beneath my jaw and over my round cheek before curving under my bottom lip. He rubs away the smudge another man created, and my pulse kicks back up to where we were just moments ago, thundering out of control.
I’m shaking—not from the cold, but from the undeniable need to be near him, to feel him consume me entirely.
Derrick’s hand stills where Jackie hurt me, as if willing it to somehow heal. The other hand snakes its way to the nape of my neck, and his long fingers thread tortuously slow into my hair.
I can’t breathe. I’m barely alive as he burrows his nose into the small sensitive area just under my ear. His gentle breath courses over my skin, raising the fine hairs there as he drags feather-light kisses across my flesh. Touching, yet not touching at all.
Liquid fire ignites through my lower belly.
Derrick’s lush lips brush my temples, following the repeated pattern of his thumb across the planes of my face.
“I-I didn’t enjoy it,” I confess against his mouth, which hovers just over my parted lips.
Fierce, frantic hunger widens his pupils in the moonlight. He tugs my hair enough to tilt my head back, and I fist the front of his shirt.
He smiles, whispering against me. “I know.”
My lips part further on a gasp, and he boldly grips my bottom lip between his teeth and sucks it into his mouth, nearly buckling my knees.
It’s not technically a kiss, but the heat of his touch has me ready to toss the rules out the window.
I twine my leg around his, and he reaches down for the other, scooping me up so our bodies are flush together. This reminds me of Vegas—the last time we were this intimate—only now, it’s real and vivid, and there’s no chance in hell I’m missing out on him this time.
It’s me and Derrick, together at last, and I’m going to savor every sober second of it.
With both palms splayed across my ass, he bounces me lightly, brushing my breasts against his chin. I throw my head back, matching his light laughter before he dives in. He bites and licks and sucks, and I grin up at the night sky, giving in to the undeniable pleasure he elicits from my wanton body.
I jostle in his arms, wrapping mine around his neck with a giggle as he yanks the back door open, then slides me back onto the seat. He hurriedly tugs the sleeves of his leather jacket, peeling it off and making quick work of removing his shirt. Tossing the articles aside, he gives the same quick treatment to my jacket.
The light from the ceiling dome and the moon above cascades over the defined planes of Derrick’s chest. Shadows are cast below his glorious pecs and small nipples, hard from the chill of the wind, all the way down his sculpted abdomen.
I squeal when he steps up on the metal drop rail, leaning inside the vehicle, and forcing me to lie supine. Every muscle fiber in his torso flexes as he walks his hands and body over me like a predator.
