Filthy Dirty Secrets: Filthy Dirty Alpha Book 2 (3 page)

His lips leave mine and he bites my earlobe. “I’m going to tie those damn hands of yours.”

I toss my head back, and my hair fans around my shoulders. “You’ll have to get me somewhere with ropes first.” The pulsing cock in my hand says he won’t be able to wait that long to fuck me. I grip him and stroke again. “Wouldn’t you rather just fuck me right here? Right now?”

His eyes flash and he sets me on my feet long enough to strip off my jeans and soaked panties. Burke cups my ass with both hands and lifts me again. My hands scramble to grip his shoulders as he fits the head of his cock against my entrance and slams home. I throw my head back and scream his name as he fills every inch of me. His hands flex against my ass as he lifts me and lowers me, fucking me in pounding, pulsing strokes.

I’ve never felt so
taken
in my life. He’s owns every slick inch of my pussy as he mercilessly continues lifting and thrusting. Hot. Hard. Demanding. I cling to his shoulders helplessly as he shows me—unequivocally—that I am not, nor have I ever been, in control.

I scream his name as my orgasm rips through me.

I’m lost to this man. I am utterly his.

I’m so blissed out it takes me a moment to realize he hasn’t come yet. He lowers me back into my chair.

“But you didn’t—” I start to say, but the sound comes out as a mewl of pleasure. I drop my arms to my sides and lean back against the chair, my breasts heaving with every breath. Burke reaches down, grabbing my bra off the floor, and ties my wrists to the back of the chair before I realize what he’s doing.

I yank my hands against the bonds, testing his creative restraints, but they hold fast.

“I told you I was tying you up.” He gives me a wicked smile. He did say it. I was the one foolish enough to think I might have overcome his steely control. If I weren’t so drunk on pleasure, I might’ve been annoyed that I didn’t manage it. But the only thing I care about is him dropping to his knees and spreading my thighs. His tongue finds my pussy and he feasts.

“Oh, Jesus. Burke,” I moan. “Don’t stop.” I love the feel of his mouth against my clit. His tongue moves in lazy circles, and I press my legs wider, wanting more. When he nips lightly at my clit, he steals my breath, and I tumble into a second orgasm.

When I surface from the pleasure, it occurs to me that he still hasn’t come once yet.

Rising to his knees, he brings his mouth to mine and kisses me until I’m dizzy—drunk on the taste of myself on his lips. I press my tongue into his mouth in a demand for more.

He pulls away, taking his cock in his hand. He strokes himself slowly, watching for my reaction. My breathing stops—everything stops—except for my pounding heart, as I watch this beautiful man work his cock in his hand. Up and down, his fist squeezing as he moves.

His eyes drop to my spread legs. “I want that sweet cream all over my dick.” He yanks my ass to the edge of the chair and rubs the head of his cock against my opening, parting my lips and sliding through my slick heat. We both groan with the sensation. When he shifts back, the broad head of his cock is wet with my juices, and I have the strange desire to lick him clean.  He uses his cock to rub my clit, and my inner muscles clamp down, demanding to be filled.

“Please, sir,” I beg, knowing the dark, hungry look in his eyes means he needs my submission now more than ever. I’m totally vulnerable in this moment. My hands are secured behind my back, and my breasts pushed out and up. I’m helpless to do anything but writhe as Burke lowers his mouth to one puckered nipple. His eyes never leave mine as he teases and tugs on it with his teeth.

“Are you ready to be good, greedy girl? Are you ready to take what I give you? Take my cock however I want?” He strokes himself as he moves to my other nipple, again nipping with his teeth.

I arch into the sensation, wanting more—wanting everything that he wants to give me.

“Yes, please,” I beg.

“You’ve already come twice, so this hot little cunt is nice and wet for me, isn’t it?”

“Yes, just for you,” I moan, loving the way he licks at my nipple like it’s his favorite candy.

“Spread your legs.”

I comply, spreading my thighs as wide as I can. I welcome him eagerly as he positions his cock at my entrance.

Using one hand, he feeds his huge cock into me, my body taking every inch eagerly. His thick shaft is hot and hard inside of me, and I tug against my restraints as I try to take more of him. He presses me back and tangles his hand in my hair. Soon he’s buried balls deep inside of me, and I’m moaning his name between kisses.

“Slow, sweetheart,” he reminds me.

“Not tonight,” I argue. “Give it to me hard.” I need him to chase away all of the confused feelings in my head and my heart.

He begins pounding into me, his thick cock thrusting in and out while his thumb finds and works against my clit.

We fuck like animals until I come again, screaming his name. This time he follows me, his cock pulsing with his release deep inside my wet heat.

I fall limply against the back of the chair as he pulls out of me. Exhaustion swamps my body as the pleasure continues to vibrate through me in aftershocks.

Burke rests his forehead against mine and for a moment I just listen to him breathe. I want to stay like that, but he moves away too quickly.

“I like you like this,” he says as he steps back and surveys the sight of me tied to a chair. “All tied up and too thoroughly fucked to get into trouble.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” I say as breezily as I can manage. “I wouldn’t underestimate my ability to get into trouble if I were you.”

He unties the knots holding me to the chair and rubs my sore wrists. I can feel all sorts of sore muscles crying out for rest in my body. It’s always like this with Burke. He can’t just leave me satiated—he has to take me over the edge. Except for last night. Last night was different. He was tender and sweet. I can’t help but wonder if that was a one shot deal or whether we’ll have another night like that before our time is up.

“I need a nap,” I say. I push myself to my feet and stagger to the couch before I collapse onto its soft cushions.

I snuggle against a pillow and wait for Burke to issue another order, but all I hear are the oddly domestic sounds of Burke cleaning up our dinner dishes and blowing out the candles.

Like he’s doing a nice thing for me, just because he can. I try to shove away the thought, but I can’t. If only Burke was less considerate, it would be easier to stop caring about him.

I hear his footsteps then feel the pleasant sensation of a thick blanket being wrapped around my naked body. Yes, a little less consideration would do wonders for my heart.

Chapter Four

Burke

I watch her fall asleep. It’s a stupid impulse I should be trying to suppress, but I can’t. I love the way her eyelids flicker as they fall closed and the shadows her long eyelashes cast on her cheeks. I love how easy she looks in sleep, like all the stress and pain of the world can’t reach her where she goes when she closes her eyes.

I want to be that safe harbor for her, and I hate myself for it. She asked me where our relationship was going, and I had no idea how to answer. What if thirty days ends and I can’t let her go? It would be selfish of me to try and hold on. Lola deserves better than I can offer her. A better man would never have made this deal with her in the first place.

I lean back in my chair and close my eyes. I need to stop watching her. I need to find a way to drag this situation back to safer ground.

She wants to find Hope. I wish more than anything that I could conjure Hope out of thin air and make her happy.

I grab my laptop and go through the PI report again, scouring it for something I missed. There are no clues here, though. No indication of where Hope could have gone. I rake a hand through my hair.

I feel like the answer is staring me in the face but I just don’t see it. I should be worn out after our round of energetic fucking, but instead my body is humming with nervous energy. I set the laptop back down and jump to my feet. I find my cell phone where I left it on the kitchen counter, step into my bedroom, and quietly close the door before I hit the dial button for Carter.

It’s an old impulse—one I’ve developed over all the years I’ve known my business partner. Have a problem? Call Carter.

“Hello?” Carter’s voice is hoarse with sleep. I don’t apologize for waking him. This problem is at least half his fault. He should never have let me meet Lola. He of all people should have known I wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation she presented. He’s my best friend. Keeping me out of trouble like this isn’t just his job, it’s his duty.

“I have a problem.” It’s a phrase I’ve said plenty of times before, but this time, it seems much more serious.

Carter sighs. “Lola?”

“How did you know?”

“Have you seen how you look at her? Never mind, of course not. I’m tired. What’s up?”

I grit my teeth. I hate that I’m this predictable to him. He could at least pretend to be surprised about Lola. “She’s going to leave.” I sound so pathetic I want to punch myself.

“You could ask her not to. Have you ever considered that? Had a conversation with her where you tell her this stuff instead of me?”

I growl at the phone. “But then she would stay.” And be with me—a guy so fucked up he doesn’t even know how to broach the conversation about asking her to stay.

“Why am I friends with you again?” Carter asks.

“Because we’ve been friends too long for you to change your mind. And you feel less like a fucked up mess with me around to compare yourself to.”

“Oh, that’s right. Keep doing what you’re doing, then. I’m sure she’ll read your mind and figure it out.”

“Carter—”

He hangs up.

I want to beat the phone against the dresser, but I can’t keep replacing my phones. It’s a huge hassle. I set it down instead and grasp for the threads of my control before walking back out to the living room.

I still a few feet from Lola, where she sleeps on the couch. I need her to stay … but I can’t be what she needs. I should wake her and have the conversation Carter taunted me about. But instead, I settle into a chair and watch her sleep.

Chapter Five

Lola

Never sleep on a couch. Especially not naked directly after sex. My body is sore all over, and I might have a permanent crick in my neck. I rise and stagger to the shower, surprised to see Burke asleep in an armchair across from the couch. Did he sit there all night? Why?

I shake my head at the unanswered question and turn the hot water to full blast. Slipping inside, I stifle a groan. God, it feels good. I bask in the hot water and let it massage my aching muscles.

“Sleep well?”

I jerk my head to the doorway and find Burke leaning against the doorframe, watching me. I’m glad I didn’t have the presence of mind to shut or lock the door. I love the way he looks at me, like I’m the hottest thing he’s ever seen with my body covered in water and soap suds.

I crook my finger at him. “Care to join me?”

“No, I should be going.”

Disappointment drops in my stomach like lead. “Oh, okay,” I say. But he’s already turning and walking away. When I hear the door shut, I sag against the tile wall. New talent to note for Burke: resisting the sight of me naked and wet in the shower. That has to change. The desire to break his walls down is mounting.

I finish my shower, towel off quickly and get dressed. I need to find a lead on my case today. My boss is expecting an update, and I need to have something worthwhile to offer up. I grab Burke’s laptop and balance it in my lap. The PI file is already open on the desktop. I’m not the only one obsessing over this case. Maybe Burke really is as worried about Hope as I am ... or maybe he’s looking for a way to get rid of me faster. I shake off the thought. We have a deal. Thirty days, whether I find Hope or not. He wouldn’t try to push me away before then, would he?

I skimmed through the file when I first saw it, but I go through it more thoroughly now, reading every line and trying to see if there’s a connection I’m missing.

About halfway through the report I finally find something I can follow up on. The PI noted down an address that he lists as
Hope’s childhood home
. Could her family still live there?

My heartbeat quickens in my chest. It’s probably nothing. Surely the detective checked it out already. But he doesn’t know what it feels like to lose someone. I could talk to Hope’s parents. Maybe they’ll have a clue and maybe they won’t, but it’ll be good to talk to them. I at least need to make sure they know someone is out there looking and hasn’t give up on their daughter. I need to talk to them.

I write down the address on a notepad, tuck it into my pocket, and then finish getting ready to go out. By the time my hair is dry and my makeup is fixed, it’s past noon so I pause for lunch.

I argue with myself with every bite I take from the sandwich. I’m not going to find out anything, and I’ll only upset a grieving family. I’m wasting my time. I shouldn’t go.

But what if there is something to find? What if Hope’s parents do want to talk to someone, to be reassured that their daughter hasn’t been forgotten, that she’s being searched for?

I finish my sandwich and harden my resolve. I need to go. It’s the right thing to do.

Burke keeps spare cars in the garage, so I grab a set of keys and head out. The idea of spare cars seems a little silly to me, but I can’t deny it’s coming in handy right now.

The keys I grabbed belong to a sleek gray Porsche. I run my fingers over its waxed exterior with appreciation before I climb in. I really hope I don’t scratch it.

I program the address into the GPS, and the car purrs to life as I turn the key. I take deep breaths and remind myself not to freak out as I drive out of the garage. It’s just a car. Right. Like a Prada is just a purse and Einstein was just a scientist.

I giggle as I pull out onto the road. Driving the Porsche is actually pretty fun. It responds instantly to every tap on the gas or brake pedals. I start to feel like it’s not so much a car I’m driving as a car that’s reading my mind and reacting accordingly. It’s a big difference from the old clunkers I’m used to driving.

Burke would laugh at me if he could see me right now. After all my resistance to luxury, I’m done in by a fancy car. Then again, I do love that shower he has. Dammit. Soon I’m going to expect everything in my life to be fancy and responsive, and no man will ever measure up to Burke. The thought slaps me upside the head, but I know it’s the truth. There’s only one Burke, and I can’t imagine ever wanting someone more than I want him. The thought of losing him is unbearable, but he won’t let me stay once our bargain is up.

It’s crazy to think that at the beginning of the bargain I was dreading those thirty days. Now I never want them to end.

The GPS directs me to a cute suburban area with white picket fences. It’s impossible to try and picture someone from Burke’s club coming out of a place like this. Everything here is so … normal. 

I pull the car to the curb in front of a house with a front door painted a cheery blue.

I can’t take my fingers off the gearshift. Behind that door could be people trying to get on with their lives despite the fact that their daughter is missing, or maybe people live every day grieving her loss and holding out hope that they’ll still find her. I’m not sure what to expect.

My throat tightens as the memory of Claire’s disappearance washes over me. My father had sat me down in our tiny kitchen, and slowly explained why I wasn’t going to see Claire anymore. She was gone, and no one knew where. The words had sounded so final then, but now I knew the truth that even though she had been gone… she’d still been out there waiting for a rescue that would never come. It would take her years to die, and even longer for me to find out about it.

I yank the car door open even more determined to find Hope.

I stride to the front door and knock on it with as much confidence as I can muster. The door swings open and a middle-aged woman with deep wrinkles lining her face answers. A dog yaps from somewhere inside the house.

The woman’s eyes skim over me with disinterest. “Yes?”

I take a deep breath. “I’m here about Hope.”

The woman’s expression is blank. “Who?”

Not the answer I was expecting. “Hope?”

“I don’t know any Hope.” The woman squints suspiciously. “Are you with the church?”

“I’m not with the church, I’m—” I cut myself off, second-guessing whether I should give my name. Instead, I say, “There was a girl who grew up here named Hope.”

“Oh.” The woman frowns. “Well, I guess she doesn’t live here anymore.” The door starts to swing closed.

I grab the handle. “No, wait! Do you know where the people who lived here moved to?”

“No, and they didn’t leave a forwarding address or number. Is that all?”

My head spins, but I can’t think of anything else that could lead me to Hope. “Yes. Sorry for bothering you.”

The door slams shut in my face. I trudge across their lawn to the neighbor’s house, but the old man who answers the door doesn’t know anything about the previous residents either.

I make it back to the car and collapse in the driver seat. That’s it. My only lead, and it was a dead end. I massage my forehead and will myself not to cry. I can’t give up now just because I’ve hit a speed bump, even if it is a very sizable sort of bump.

I throw the car back into drive and head to Second Circle. Maybe Hope did disappear in a puff of smoke, leaving no trace.

I refuse to believe that, and yet everything I’ve found so far makes this case seem more and more impossible.

I’m never going to find Hope. She could be anywhere, and I’ll never know. I park the car in the garage, make my way through the lounge to the bar in the center, and slide onto the stool.

“What’ll it be?” the bartender asks. He’s a serious hottie with broad shoulders and bright blue eyes, but he’s no Burke.

“Something strong. And bitter.”

“I always take my liquor bitter,” a wry voice says. I turn and see Carter sitting a few stools over. I can’t believe I missed him. Carter is Burke’s polar opposite with his mussed good looks and light humor. Where Burke broods, Carter laughs. Things would have been much easier if I’d just fallen for Carter instead of Burke, but Carter doesn’t compel me the same way Burke does. Burke is intense, overwhelming. Dangerous. I shouldn’t like that about him.

I move over to sit next to Carter. I’ve talked to him a bit since moving to Second Circle, and I’ve come to see him as something of a friend.

“Here I thought you would’ve preferred the sweet drinks,” I tease him.

His smile is sardonic. “I find sweet is only a trait that works well when possessed by a woman. On everything else it’s cloying.”

“I’m not sweet.” I tuck my hair behind my ear.

“No. You’re not.”

I frown. He was supposed to disagree with me, but now that I think about it, he’s right. Sweet isn’t a very accurate term for me. Hard headed maybe, or bullishly stubborn. Sexy, I hope. And Burke had given me a taste of submission. I shiver.

“What are you here for?” I ask him.

“Woman trouble,” Carter says.

“Same,” I say, “But I think mine is a little different from yours.”

“No luck with Hope?”

I shake my head. The bartender sets a shot in front of me. I don’t try to determine what it is before I down it. Tequila. I shudder as it begins burns a path down my insides.

“I thought I had a lead, but it turned out to be nothing. What’s your problem?”

“What isn’t my problem? I was talking to this redhead, smoking hot, right? And she turns me down flat. Says I’m not serious enough. What’s that supposed to mean?”

I pat his arm. “You’re plenty serious. You just come off lighthearted because you’re funny.”

“Yeah.” Carter snorts, and it sounds so much like Burke that I giggle. “Maybe I should work on my brooding face. Get Burke to give me some pointers.”

“Burke isn’t that broody. He’s just intense.”

“That’s another word for broody.”

“If you say so.” Carter finishes his beer and calls for another.

I tilt the shot glass and catch sight of my reflection in it. I look tired. I smooth my fingers over the bags underneath my eyes and wonder if Burke notices them. “Has Burke ever had a serious relationship?” I ask, curious about his background.

“Burke’s not really a ten-women-a-night kind of guy. He pretty much finds one he likes and sticks with her for a while. But I don’t think that’s what you mean. And in response to the question you actually asked, no. He’s never had something resembling a girlfriend.”

The bartender brings Carter another beer and sets a full shot in front of me. Carter clicks his beer bottle against my shot glass. “Cheers.”

I pick up the shot and down it. The second one doesn’t burn as much, and I can feel the liquor beginning to kick in, muddying my senses and giving me a sense of disconnect from my body. I remember how I felt when I found out about Hope and Burke. Like I was floating away because I couldn’t deal with what the world had handed me.

“Do you think I’ll find Hope?” I ask.

“No one’s going to find Hope,” Carter’s tone is harsh with defensiveness. He finishes his beer in one long chug.

I bite my lip as I look at him. He’s drunk. He hides it better than most, but his feet keep slipping against the rung of the stool as if he’s having trouble holding himself up. The bartender refills my shot glass again, and I decide
what the hell
, and lift it to my lips and suck it down. I return it to the bar, never taking my eyes off Carter.

“You almost sound like you’re the one hiding her,” I joke.

Carter fumbles the beer bottle as he lifts it to his lips, losing his grip. It thuds against the edge of the bar before tumbling off and hitting the floor, shattering. The bartender swears something in German.

“Carter?”

His eyes are a fraction too wide as he looks over at me. Holy shit. Holy
shit
.

I grab his shoulder. “What did you do to Hope?”

“
Nothing.
Not a goddamn thing. And keep your voice down when you say shit like that.” He swats at my hand like a fly but he’s too drunk to push me away.

I rise from my stool, stepping carefully to avoid the glass on the floor, then yank Carter off his stool by the front of his shirt.

“
What do you know
?” My face is so close to his I can taste the beer on his breath.

His eyes dart around the room. “Shit, shit, shit,” he mutters.

He knows. He fucking
knows
—and he’s been hiding it all along.

Anger burns through me hotter than the tequila. I reel back and my palm cracks against his cheek.

“Tell me now,” I order. My heart is hammering, afraid of what he might admit.

Is Carter responsible for Hope’s disappearance? He seems so … nice. But my instincts have been off lately. Dead end after dead end, followed by endless cover ups. Was Carter was pulling the strings all along? Who better to cover up a murder than the co-owner of the club she disappeared from?

This is going to devastate Burke
. He has no idea what his best friend has done. I can barely breathe through the panic.