Title: Dirty Talk: A Mechanics of Love Novel
Author: Megan Erickson
When the one you shouldn't want is the one you can't resist...
Brent Payton works hard, plays hard, and has earned his ladies’ man reputation. But he’s more than just a good time, even though no one seems to see it. Until a gorgeous brunette with knockout curves and big, thoughtful eyes walks into his family’s garage and makes Brent want more.
Ivy Dawn and her sister are done with men, all of them. They’ve uprooted their lives too many times on account of the opposite sex, but that’s over now. The plan seems easy until a sexy, dirty-taking mechanic bursts in Ivy’s life and shakes everything up.
Brent can’t resist the one person who sees past his devil-may-care façade, and Ivy finds it harder and harder to deny how happy he makes her. But she has secrets of her own and when the truth comes out, she must decide if she’ll run again or if she’ll take a chance on forever.
His
eyes—they were like liquid silver as they pierced her. “I’m not a guy you take
seriously, Ivy?” They were in the back room now, and he was still walking
toward her. She had nowhere to go but back, which she did, until her butt hit
the table behind her. And then he was there, right there, his chest brushing hers, his head dipped to meet her
eyes. “What about that dinner? And that kiss in my truck. Did that feel serious
to you?”
She
swallowed and placed her hands on his chest to push him away. Except she didn’t
push. She didn’t at all. She let her hands rest there as the muscles beneath
her hands quivered.
He
cared. He gave a shit that she thought he was a joke. Her. This mattered to him. And she didn’t know what to do with it.
She didn’t know how to reconcile everything she’d promised herself and her
family in the last year with this man in front of her, whose features were
softening by the minute.
The
anger faded from his eyes, but what quickly replaced it was just as dangerous.
He wore the same expression he’d had that night in the truck. The look that
made her think he would devour her whole if she gave him the go sign.
He
licked his lips, and she braced.
His
placed his hands on her hips and tugged her against his long, lean body. She
sucked in a breath and told herself to look away, that she was too close to the
fire, but she was hypnotized.
He
leaned down and brushed his lips against hers, once, twice, teasing nips, until
she whimpered, and then his tongue delved inside, tasting her, claiming her.
And it was so much—too much—but Ivy was caught in Brent’s web now.
“Did
that kiss feel serious to you?” he whispered against her lips as his thumbs
made tantalizing circles on her hips. In one swift move, he lifted her onto the
table and stood between her spread legs. Then his large hands gripped her
thighs. “Does this feel serious to you?” he said with a slow grind of his hips.
She gasped as she felt him stiff in his jeans. She wanted to combust as the
telltale heat of her own arousal bloomed. “Brent—”
“Do
you think I’m a joke? Tell me now, Ivy, and I’ll leave you alone. I’ll walk
away.”
She
could make this go away, this torture of Brent’s body pressed against hers,
this ache in her gut, the goose bumps on her skin. But her gaze was still
locked with his, and her mouth wouldn’t work, wouldn’t form the words. “I-I
don’t know—”
She
didn’t finish her sentence because his mouth was on hers again, cutting off her
air and her thoughts. She didn’t know anything right now but Brent’s touch, his
overwhelming desire for her. She’d never been wanted this much, this
desperately.
She’d
never wanted someone back like that. Until now.
He
talked as his lips coasted across her jaw and down her neck. “I told you the
ball was in your court, but I’m taking it back. I’m taking it back because I’m
not waiting around for someone else to cut in line to get your attention. I
want it.” He latched onto a sensitive spot below her ear and sucked. Her
fingers curled into his shirt, her nails digging into his skin, and he grunted.
“Fuck it if it’s selfish.”
Oh, God, no. This was all backfiring in her
face. Except her body was pleased as hell, every nerve ending on fire, every
cell crying out for more of Brent’s touch. She wanted skin; she needed skin. She
slid her hands down his back to the waistband of his jeans and slipped her
hands under his shirt and . . . aaaah,
there it was. Pure, soft, Brent Payton skin. It was hot to the touch, the
muscles shifting beneath her fingers as his hips thrust gently against her.
She
was thrusting back, wanting, needing, everything inside of her aching because
it’d been way too long since she’d had pleasure from a man.
Brent’s
lips were on her chest, leaving a wake of nips and kisses. His hands were under
her skirt, his thumb rubbing the crease of her thigh. He lifted his head, his
dark hair in disarray, his eyes glinting. “Let me touch you. Please let me
touch you.”
Megan worked as a journalist covering real-life dramas before she decided she liked writing her own endings better and switched to fiction. She lives in Pennsylvania with her husband, two kids and two cats. When she's not tapping away on her laptop, she's probably listening to the characters in her head who won't stop talking.
Email: megan@meganerickson.org
Website: http://meganerickson.org/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/MeganErickson_
Newsletter: http://meganerickson.org/newsletter/
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