Dirty Little Secret (Dirty #1) (20 page)

MELISSA

The pained look on Cutter’s face made me ache.  I wanted to take it away almost as much as I wanted to slip off my bottoms and slide him into me.  My insides clenched in anticipation of what it would be like.  Hard and hot and a little painful.  But he was utterly still.

“Why does it change the fact that I want you and you want me?” I asked.

My self-confidence, buoyed by the raw sexual energy in the room, deflated a bit at his silence.

“Unless you don’t want me now? ‘Cause it still
feels
like you do.” I tried – hard – to make it sound like I was kidding, but a bit of worry crept into my voice anyway.

“I want you more than I want my next fucking breath,” he admitted. “But you deserve someone better than the asshole I am.”

“Cutter, I’ve never wanted to have sex before. I want you to be my first.”

He drew in a ragged breath and pulled his hands to the top of his head.  He gripped his hair like he was holding on for dear life.

“That makes it even worse,” he said, sounding angry.

My heart sank. “Why?”

“Do I really need to spell it out for you?”

I leaned back and crossed my arms across my bare chest.

“I guess you do,” I snapped.

“Can you let me up, please?”

I shook my head. “Not until you tell me why you won’t fuck me.”

“Jesus, Melissa. Even hearing you say it like that is wrong.”

“You don’t like it when I beg? Or when I swear?”

“The combination of the two,” Cutter growled.

I tilted my head to the side thoughtfully. “So…If I say to you…Baby…Please take me now…Please fuck me until I can’t see…or however you put it a few minutes ago…You don’t like that? It does nothing for you?”

“Nothing,” he said. “Now get up before I throw you off.”

I didn’t move.

“You wouldn’t.”

He tried to stand, and I locked my legs around his hips.  He pushed himself to his feet, but I held on tightly.

“What are you? A fucking koala?”

“Talking about cute animals isn’t going to turn me off,” I informed him.

In fact, being wrapped around him put other ideas into my head.  His body gave away the fact that even if he wasn’t admitting it, he had a similar agenda.

“Fine. Tell me what
is
going to turn you off,” he begged.

But his hands were back on my ass
, in direct conflict with his words.

“Satisfaction. Take me against the wall, Cutter,” I suggested.

“I can’t.”

“You never know unless you try,” I teased.

He rolled his eyes. “It’s not that I
can’t
can’t. It’s that I’m not going to.”

“Then lie down so
I
can take
you
,” I suggested archly. “Because I hear there’s more than one way to do it.”

“Listen to me. You. Do. Not. Want.
Me.
”

“What I
want
, is for you to – “

He cut me off. “Don’t say it again.”

I leaned into his neck, bit his ear, and whispered, “Fuck me.”

He groaned and collapsed back in the chair.  I loosened my leg hold and pulled back far enough to slip my hand between his legs.  I closed my fingers around his cock and stroked gently.  His breathing quickened.  When he closed
his eyes, I edged closer and pushed his erection against my crotch.

Suddenly, his hands gripped both of mine.  He lifted my arms over my head, and he looked me right in the eye.  I struggled a bit, and he held me in place without trying.  I wriggled, trying propel myself closer, and Cutter gritted his teeth, but remained in place.

“Melissa, stop,” he commanded. “Promise me if I let you go, you’ll keep your hands to yourself and listen to me.”

I nodded reluctantly, and he drew in a relieved breath.  He let go of my wrists and brought his hands to my waist.

“You don’t know me,” he stated. “Hardly at all. And if you did, you might not like me.
Probably
wouldn’t, in fact. Because your first instincts were spot on, Melissa. I am not a nice man, and before you make a joke, I don’t mean that in a sexy way. You
are
a nice girl. And I fucking hate nice girls. I’d hate it even more if I was the person who took that away from you. I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around that. I don’t usually give a shit about who gets wrecked. In my path, or as collateral damage, it’s never mattered to me. Not until right this second.”

I blinked, taken aback by the seriousness of his voice. 

“You don’t deserve to be
fucked
. You deserve to be made love to,” he added.

My heart tightened and
released, then shattered into a million butterfly pieces that fluttered through my chest.  It was hands-down the sweetest, sexiest thing anyone had ever said to me.

“Stop staring at me,” Cutter muttered. “This is hard e-fucking-nough without you going all deer-in-headlights on me.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“Does this mean you
want
me to know you? Or you don’t?”

Cutter chuckled darkly. “I wish I fucking knew.”

“Should I put your shirt back on?” I asked.

He looked torn.

“How about I
insist
on putting it back on. Then you don’t have to be the idiot who wanted a willing, nearly nude, totally virginal girl to get dressed,” I offered.

He grinned. “If you insist.”

I leaped up, grabbed the shirt, and nodded at the pants around his ankles. 

“Just so we’re clear…” I said. “I really wish you
wouldn’t
put those on.”

“Noted.”

But when I poked my head out from his shirt, he had already slipped them on and was buttoning them up.  When he finished, I pushed him back into the chair and crawled onto his lap.

“Tell me something about yourself,” I suggested.

“What?”

“You said I don’t know you at all. So give me a chance. Maybe I’ll surprise you.”

“You’ve already surprised me,” he admitted.

“Cutter?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t say shit like that.”

He pulled a strand of my hair forward and twisted it around his finger. “Why not?”

“Because you’re trying
not
to turn me on,” I reminded him. “Sappy, heartfelt remarks are just as hot as dirty, suggestive ones.”

He laughed. “So no being a pussy. And no talking about it either?”

“Exactly.”

“You’re making this tough.”

“Just tell me something,” I urged. “Something deeply personal.”

His eyes tightened for a moment, then he smiled. “Like what? Give me something to work with. Preferably a topic that’s not goin
g to light your panties on fire.”

I reached across him to grab one of the long, thin paintbrushes from the table beside us.

“What’s this all about?”

“I’m a painter. But you already knew that.”

Desire licked across my body as I recalled our encounter on the sink at the country club.  I fought to suppress it.

“Yeah, I knew you painted fences,” I said. “But these paintbrushes aren’t exactly construction dude material.”

He sighed and took the brush from my hand. “Art.”

“A one word sentence? That’s all you’re going to give me?”

“Reach down behind the seat cushion. There’s a remote control there.”

I did as he asked, frowning at the palm-sized device as I handed it to him.  He click
ed one of the flat buttons, and low light filled the room.

“Don’t freak out,” he said. “But turn around and have a look.”

I twisted in his lap.  And gasped.  Pot lights pointed directly at a canvas that stretched from the floor, nearly to the ceiling.  I hadn’t noticed it as I came in because I’d assumed it was a part of the wall.  I obeyed a compulsion to stand up and take a closer look.

It was a portrait of the college from a bird’s eye view.  It was somehow intricate and sweeping at the same time, with no detail left unnoted, from the tiny, blurry collection of students gathered on the grass, to the oddly placed apple orchard on the corner of the property.  It captured the very essence of life at the college.

“You painted this, Cutter?”

“I told you not to freak out,” he muttered.

“It’s beautiful. I mean, really, really amazing. You should show it to someone. An art dealer, maybe.”

“It’s commissioned work.”

“Someone paid you to paint this?”

“It’s much bigger than what I normally paint,” he replied evasively.

“What do you normally paint?”

He looked away. “I’ve told you something personal. Happy?”

“Tell me something else,” I pleaded.

“No.”

“C’mon.”

“I’ve never shown anyone my work before,” he said. “The buyer at the college thinks I’m brokering the piece.
And I’ve never let anyone up here, in my loft, either. So I think I’ve told you enough for a little while.”

He sounded genuinely worn out by sharing this part of himself with me.  The very nice, very bubbly version of myself who’d been hiding out under my newer, edgier
persona, threatened to rear her ugly head.  I wanted to leap at Cutter and throw my arms around him.  And maybe cry a little that he’d created something so amazing.  I forced my feet to stay rooted to the spot.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I lied.

After, a long, silent moment, Cutter patted his lap.

“Can you come back and sit with me?” he asked lightly.

I took a few small steps toward him, and then, inexplicably, I began to cry.  Cutter was just close enough to be able to reach my hand.  He grabbed it and pulled me into his lap, enveloping me in his arms and kissing my hair.

“Baby-doll, why are you crying?” he asked softly. “What did I do?”

“It’s not you, Cutter,” I said. “It’s
me
. I’m a bad person.”

He pushed me back and examined my face. “Are you being serious?”

My reply came out in a sob-punctuated rush. “You told me I’m a nice girl, but I’m not. Not even close. I’ve always been like one of those dolls with the string in her back. You pull that string, and I say
what
I’m supposed to,
when
I’m supposed to. But the second one little thing went wrong, the second that string broke…I turned into a complete bitch. I’ve been lying to my best friend for weeks. I’ve been lying to Danny for
years
. Those two slept together, and I don’t even care. I’m a goddamned hypocrite. Fake, just like you said.”

With a firm hand, Cutter tipped my chin up. “Melissa, a
big
thing went wrong, not a small one. Your whole identity got rocked. It would be pretty fucking weird if you didn’t freak out a little. It’s okay to be imperfect now and then. You’ll make amends with your friend, and probably even with Danny if they’re going to become a couple.”

I met his gaze.  His eyes were sincere, and passionate, and mildly amused, and everything about them made me want to
squeeze him as tightly as I could.

“What if I stay this way?” I asked uncertainly.

“Stay what way?”

“Imperfect.”

He traced the tiny bruise under my eye. “I sure as hell hope you do. You’re fierce. And smart. You’re a terrible drunk and sexy in ugly clothes. You’re not a hypocrite. You’re human.”

This time when our eyes met, I did wrap my arms around his neck.  He was solid.  Reassuring.  Terribly, wonderfully unsafe.  And utterly human, too.

“Are you trying to take advantage of my vulnerable state?” he murmured into my hair.

I shook my head. “Ten minutes ago, I would’ve said you didn’t even
have
a vulnerable side. Now I’m wondering…”

“Wondering what?”

“Who the real you is,” I teased.

He growled and jumped up
, placing me firmly on the floor in front of him.  My eyes widened at the wicked gleam in his gaze.  I tried to take a step back.  But he was quick.  He reached around my knees, hoisted me up, and tossed me over his shoulder.

This should piss me off,
a small voice needled, and I shoved it aside.

I liked having Cutter’s arms around me.  I liked the view of his ass.  And I
really
liked his display of proprietary behaviour.

He took the stairs, two at a time, like I weighed nothin
g, and carted me down to the main floor.  He tossed me onto the bed, pulling off the shirt I was wearing as he did, then jumped on top of me, and propped himself up with his elbows.