Dirty Ride: Blue Collar Bad Boys (Down N' Dirty in Love Book 2)

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Epilogue

  Dirty Ride

  Down N’ Dirty in Love

  Sadie May

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Epilogue

  Dirty Detail

  Chapter One

  Charlotte

  Saturday night

  Axle lifts his head from between my thighs, his defined features made even sharper by the light and shadows coming in through the tinted window of his limo. His breath is hot and warm against my inner thighs, my panties down around my ankles leaving my wet pussy bare and ready for him.

  Don’t stop. I bite my lip to keep from begging.

  This is crazy. This is lunacy. I can’t see his eyes in the shadows, but I catch a glimpse of his white teeth as he grins.

  Oh God, I love that grin.

  But then his best friend, Dyce, regains my full attention by shoving the straps of my dress down so my braless breasts are exposed for both of them to see. He lets out a growl that makes me shiver before lowering his head to suck on my nipple, reaching his other hand so he can cup and mold my other breast.

  My head falls back as I moan, and I feel more than hear Axle’s soft laugh. Oh shit, every time he exhales his breath hits the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. It’s too much. Between the two of them I’m ready to come right then and there, without even being fucked.

  I’m rapidly losing my battle with restraint and without even knowing I’m going to do it, I reach out, twining my fingers in Axle’s dark hair and tugging him forward to finish what he’s started.

  “Please,” I whisper.

  He nips my inner thigh as Dyce increases the intensity of his suction. I cry out at the sweet torture. “Please,” I say, louder this time.

  “Please what, baby doll?” Axle asks.

  I moan in answer, my hips jerking up automatically. Please touch me, please take your clothes off, please lick my pussy, please keep sucking my tits because it feels so fucking good, please… there was too much to list. I want it all from these guys. I want to see them—all of them—and I want to be seen.

  Axle leans in even closer, spreading my thighs with his large, calloused palms until his lips just skim the lips of my pussy.

  I’m holding both of them to me now and I hadn’t even realized it. I was fruitlessly tugging Axle closer with one hand while the other clutched Dyce to my breasts like I would never let him go.

  I was a wild woman. A desperate, crazy, horny as hell wild woman. I don’t even recognize myself.

  And I couldn’t care less.

  I’m tired of being boring, predictable, uptight Charlotte. Besides, these guys have never asked for a commitment. This is all just for fun, right? They’d probably move on to some other poor unsuspecting woman next week, wooing her and seducing her and making her feel like this—like the sexiest, most desirable woman on the planet.

  That thought makes me stiffen. I hate that fucking thought.

  They both feel my sudden tension, apparently, because they pull away slightly, though never fully losing contact—Axle’s hands still hold my thighs firmly, and Dyce’s hands never leave my tits. But they move back enough to look at me.

  Dyce lifts one hand to push my hair back. My perfectly coiffed hair had come down from its up-do ages ago and I hadn’t even realized. Shit. How long had we been making out in the back of this limo?

  “Are you all right, sweetheart?” Dyce’s voice is so low it’s practically a growl. I feel it all throughout my body, my lower belly clenching in response. Jesus, the guy rarely speaks but maybe that’s for the best. If all women responded to his low, husky voice like I did, he’d be batting them off with a stick. Every time he opened his mouth women would pounce.

  Axle starts to lean back further and I feel his absence between my thighs keenly. No, don’t go! I’m so close. So fucking close. And it’s been so long. Sooo fucking long.

  “If we’re moving too fast…” he starts.

  I shake my head. Dammit. Why did I have to go and get all bent out shape over a stupid hypothetical woman who they may or may not seduce in some hypothetical time in the future?

  Why? My inner voice mocks. Because you don’t know how to live in the moment. You don’t know how to do impulsive and carefree.

  They’re both watching me now, waiting for me to speak. I lick my lips, my normally quick brain slow as molasses after the caresses and kisses that have left me panting for some sort of release.

  I try to think rationally. I try to make a pros and cons list. I try to logically assess the situation… but really, I’m in the back of a limo making out with two sexy studs I’ve been fantasizing about for nearly a year. There was no basis of comparison here, nothing to compare and contrast, no basis on which to make a judgement call.

  When push came to shove, it all came down to… feelings. Never my forte in the best of times, and right now? I have no idea what feelings I should trust.

  Dyce straightens on the bench seat beside me, his touch turning infinitely tender as he moves his hands up to cup my face. “You’re thinking too much, sweetheart.”

  I blink into his aggressively masculine face—a face that’s rugged and scarred but that’s looking at me now with such gentle tenderness it makes my heart clench.

  I feel a light kiss on my inner thigh, soft and sweet. Axle shifts back to better see me. “He’s right. You’re overthinking this. But that’s all right, we love that brain of yours. Isn’t that right, Dyce?”

  Dyce gives me a sexy lopsided grin in response.

  I can feel them backing away from me, giving me the time and space they think I need.

  No!

  Something primal and instinctive came to life inside me, and it’s screaming bloody murder at their retreat. That wild woman is alive and kicking… and I like it.

  “Don’t stop.” I surprise myself as much as them with my husky whisper. It hadn’t been me talking, it had been her. That part of myself I barely recognize. The part of me that had been relegated to slipping a hand under the blankets at night to ease the tension, the part of me that had spent months dreaming about doing something just like this but had never imagined it could actually come true.

  But now it was here—the fantasy come to life.

  After a moment of obvious shock, they quickly burst into action, their lips and their hands devouring me as I moan and writhe beneath their torturous touches. Axle gently nips at my thigh as Dyce pinches my nipples, kissing my neck and whispering deliciously sinful words in my ear.

  Then Axle finally, finally touches my aching pussy, his mouth clamping over my wet heat as his tongue licks and thrusts and drives me over the edge of sanity.

  “What do you think, sweetheart?” Dyce whispers in my ear as his best friend fucks me with his tongue. “Do you think you can take us both tonight?”

  I gasp for air, all logic long forgotten as Axle’s mouth and Dyce’s words speak directly to the primal part of me that has been craving this for longer than I can remember. Did I think I coul
d fuck these two men tonight?

  “It would be a dream come true.”

  Two days earlier…

  This was quite possibly the worst day I’d had in years. First, my car wouldn’t start. Waiting on a cab made me late to work, and when I got here I immediately spilled coffee on my new shirt. And now?

  Well, now my boss had just given me the awesome news.

  I have to work this weekend.

  Hooray.

  As a second-year lawyer, working on the weekends isn’t new and it typically isn’t even an issue. I’m fairly new to the city so I don’t have a lot of friends and zero dating prospects.

  Who could date when they work around the clock?

  I honestly don’t mind working late nights or even the occasional weekend. I knew what I’d been signing up for when I started here. But what I do mind is working dinners with my client. Clint Fisher is the son of the CEO at Fisher Industries and he’s made himself my key contact as we work through the minutiae that’s involved in this complicated merger his company is undergoing.

  Like working weekends, I don’t particularly mind the grunt work. What I mind is having to do it with Clint. He always takes whatever opportunity he can to turn our work time into something more. Working dinners, work outings, work over drinks… you name it. Somehow working with Clint feels way more like dating than your average billable hour. He hasn’t actually done anything inappropriate—his advances always fall this side of decent. Nothing he does is outright sexual harassment, but he walks that line between flirting and joking, between comfortably friendly and too close for my liking.

  Mainly, he just gives me the creeps.

  But, since he’s never done anything inappropriate, and since he is the son of our biggest client, there’s little I can say now that won’t look like I’m just trying to get out of working on the weekend.

  So, despite the fact that my skin crawls at the thought of what lies in store, I manage a brisk nod for my boss, Garret.

  He dismisses me with a wave. Neither of us tends to be particularly chatty and we share a similar gravity, particularly when it comes to work. I appreciate that about him. A lot of the other lawyers—even some of the best in our office—tend to joke around too much or ask personal questions.

  I understand that many people hope to forge friendships in the workplace.

  I am not one of them. I don’t do friends.

  No, that’s not entirely true. I have friends I’ve accrued over a lifetime. I’m still great friends with my best friend from kindergarten, Jane, along with a handful of other close friends I’d garnered over the years. Not a lot, but I’m the type who prefers to have a small handful of good friends over dozens of friendly acquaintances.

  Needless to say, I suppose, I’m a bit of an introvert.

  I head back to my office and try to salvage my shirt with some more fruitless dabbing. It’s time to admit defeat. There’s no window in my office so yet again I’ve lost track of time. A quick glance at the clock shows that it’s quitting time. Actually, quitting time was a while ago, but I never keep traditional hours. Even when it’s not required, I tend to work longer hours than most.

  But today, I’m heading out at a semi-decent time because it’s now crucial that my car be in working order. If I have to meet up with Clint this weekend, there’s no way I’m leaving myself in a position where I’m at his mercy. If he got wind that my car was out of commission and that I intended to take a cab, I’d be in the uncomfortable position of having to accept or reject his offers for a ride home.

  And he would offer, of that I had no doubt.

  I grab my purse and head out, using an app to hail a cab as I do. For the first time in a long time, something else in my life takes precedence over work. I can hear my best friend Jane’s voice in my head. Will wonders never cease.

  She’s constantly on my case to stop working so much. To slow down and smell the roses. Or, as she puts it, “kick your feet back and enjoy a good lay.”

  Jane puts quite a bit of emphasis on sex in life. In her world, sex is as important as food and water.

  For me? Not so much.

  Of course, Jane argues that’s just because I’ve never had amazing sex.

  At this point in the argument, I typically roll my eyes and admit defeat. She’s right and she knows it, I’ve never had great sex. So that particular argument is difficult for me to combat. I’ve tried to explain that sex just isn’t a priority for me, and neither is love.

  But Jane is a romantic so trying to get her to understand that is difficult.

  Still, we’re best friends so it seems we rehash this argument on a monthly basis, at the very least. At some point perhaps she’ll agree to disagree, but knowing Jane, probably not.

  I’m just grateful she’s stopped trying to set me up on blind dates. I’m pretty sure she had to stop because she’s already set me up with all of her men friends. Until she found some new friends, I was in the clear.

  I have the taxi drop me off at the corner of my block. I live in a part of town that’s “up and coming.” What this means is that it’s mixed zoning, so it’s part residential and part industrial. Up until about five years ago it had been a dodgy area but recently it’s been getting a trendy upgrade, with organic coffee shops and art galleries popping up in between the old butcher shop and a new highrise.

  I’d been there long enough to miss the old neighborhood, though I couldn’t exactly complain at some of the new perks. I’ll admit it—I like my fancy coffee on Sundays.

  One of the older establishments is a garage on the end of the block. I pass this place at least twice a day, heading to the parking garage where I keep my car.

  My apartment building is not one of the fancy new ones that has a parking lot of its own so I shell out every month for the distinct pleasure of not having to circle around the block eight million times. Since I work such crazy hours, I don’t have time in my life to circle for parking. I’d rather pay, thank you very much.

  Plus, as a side benefit, walking to and from the parking garage gives me time to gawk.

  No, I’m not a creeper, but I am a red-blooded woman and, despite what Jane says when she’s teasing—I do so have a sex drive. I just choose not to let those primal instincts rule my life. We’re grown women, I like to remind Jane, not chimpanzees. We can determine our lives using logic and reason and not live our lives at the whims of hormones and the reptile portion of our brain.

  I don’t read sexy romance novels and I don’t watch porn… but I do get turned on. Regularly, in fact. How? By walking past the R&R Garage every day, twice a day. The guys who run the place are hotter than hot. Seriously, they look like action movie heroes, complete the with the big bulging biceps and the sweaty, grease-covered T-shirts that cling to sculpted pecs.

  These guys work crazy hours too. It seems they’re always working. No matter what hour I walk by, the doors are always up. They’re not always working on cars, but they’re there, in the garage. One or both.

  My favorite is when they’re both there. They complement one another so perfectly, it’s a visual feast. One tall, dark, and burly… and a little scary, to be honest. He always seems to be scowling, and on the odd occasion that our glances meet, I’m quick to look away from those harsh features and those cold blue eyes.

  His friend is the smiley one, with a leaner build and lighter brown hair. His brown eyes are warm and he always seems to be smiling or laughing. When he spots me walking past he gives a wave or a nod.

  I always look away. Not to be rude, just because… oh, I don’t know why. I guess I feel like I’ve been caught when they see me staring. Or maybe I get paranoid that they can see the effect they have on me.

  Maybe they can sense that I’m drinking them in so when I’m alone in my bed, I can call up their images. And that’s what I do. Every night.

  I told you, I have a sex drive. I have urges. I just handle them on my own. Me and my vibrator have a standing date every night and these guys? Well, I ha
ve a standing date with them too… they just don’t know it.

  I’m sure as far as fantasies go, mine are kind of humdrum. I’m the first to admit that I don’t have a lot of experience to draw on, and none of it is spectacular. Jane is right on that front… I’ve never had great sex. Hell, I don’t think I’ve even had good sex. The only orgasms I’ve had come from my handy vibrator and the only actual sex I’ve had was with my college boyfriend who didn’t like to have the lights on and had never heard of anything but the missionary position.

  Not that I’m well versed, but I’ve seen some sexy movies. I know there’s more to it. But still, knowing and being able to fully imagine it while lying in bed are two different things so my fantasies are about as exciting as my actual sex life. I go back and forth between the two in my daydreams—the big one will be fucking me against a car in the shop, for example, and then he leaves and the other takes over, bending me over the hood to finish me off.

  It’s not exactly wild and exciting as far as fantasies go but it never fails to get me off. Every single time.

  So now, as I get out of the cab and make my way to the shop, I nearly turn around and bolt. I can’t believe I’m actually going to talk to these guys. I can’t even make eye contact in passing, how the hell am I going to hold a conversation without my cheeks bursting into flames?

  Get a grip, Charlotte. I mentally scold myself for being ridiculous. I need a mechanic and these guys are literally on my block. They also have amazing reviews and reasonable fees—I checked. Not even sexy fantasies can change the fact that I’m a pragmatist through and through.

  The smiley one is there when I enter and I let out a sigh of relief. At least I got the less intimidating one. He smiles now as I approach the counter, where he’s doing something at the computer.