Free Dirty Little Secret (Dirty #1) by Amber Rides Page B

much,” I muttered.
    “When I saw you standing on the side of the road, it was like no other girl had ever existed.”
    I burst out laughing.
    “Now who’s the liar?” I asked.
    “You’re a tough fucking crowd, all right?” I heard the grin in his voice.
    “Aaaaand. There’s the first curse word.”
    “Did I swear?” he replied innocently.
    “Yes.”
    “What did I say?”
    “Fucking.”
    “Say it again,” he commanded, rough and sure of obedience.
    I swallowed so hard I was sure he could hear it through the receiver. “No.”
    “Say it again, baby-doll, or I’m going to come over there and make you say it.”
    “You don’t know where I live.”
    “Oh, but I do,” he told me. “Your address was right there beside your number in the phone book.”
    “You wouldn’t dare show up here.”
    “Wouldn’t I?” His tone was teasing, and cocky, and full of things done in the dark, behind closed doors. “You wanna test out that assumption?”
    Keys rattled against the receiver. 
    Did I want to test it out?  Almost.  But I wasn’t going to.
    “Fucking,” I finally whispered.
    “Is something I’m very good at,” he filled in, then purred. “Baby-doll?”
    “Yes?”
    “If I told you touch yourself, would you?”
    “No.”
    “If I threatened to come over there again, would it change your mind?”
    I f he came here…I wouldn’t have to touch myself. He’d do it for me.
    I stifled a little moan, and glanced frantically toward my bedroom door.  If he came to the apartment, demanding to come in, in that self-righteous way of his… I wouldn’t be able to control myself, and I knew it.  Talking to Cutter was like drinking tequila.  It lowered my morals and made me consider doing things I wouldn’t if I was sober.  No, not just consider them.  He made me want to do them.
    “You can’t come here.” My voice was raw.
    “If I asked you to touch yourself, Melissa…Would you do it then?”
    He didn’t wait for me to answer.  Which was good, because my hand had settled just below my belly button, and it was twitching eagerly, waiting for him to follow through.
    “It’s all right, baby-doll,” he said instead. “I can be patient. I’ll call you again soon, all right?”
    His bored tone irritated me, and I had a sudden urge to shock him.
    “Cutter?”
    “Yeah, baby-doll?”
    “If I asked you to touch your self, would you?”
    He was quiet for a moment, and then he growled. “You don’t even have to ask me, baby. This conversation has me so worked up that I won’t be able to help it.”
    When he hung up, the ache to speak to him again was palpable.
    The next twenty-four hours were plagued by errant, sex-driven thoughts that made me squirm uncomfortably every time I moved.
    When I was doing the laundry. I don’t just want him to dirty my clothes, I want him to dirty me.
    When I was sipping on orange juice at the breakfast table, and I had to lick up a drop that slid from my lips. Is his tongue as rough as his conversation? Would it stroke out a place in my body the way his words had in my mind?
    My only small bit of satisfaction came in my refusal to think his name, my refusal to put it in my mind.  Until my alarm clock clicked over to 3:02 a.m. and my phone rang, and I automatically gasped it out in greeting.
    “Cutter?”
    Oh, that laugh. “Who else phones you in the middle of the night?”
    “No one.”
    “Good.”  He sounded pleased.
    “It’s only because everyone else I know has more sense and respect for my time,” I replied.
    “I’m sorry.”
    “What?” A sarcastic comment had already been halfway out of my mouth, and the apology startled me.
    “I’m sorry for covering you in mud, and I’m sorry for calling you in the middle of the night.”
    “You are?” I couldn’t keep the suspicion out of my question.
    “Yes. Especially the first part. The day we met, I was pissed off at someone else, and I took it out on you.”
    “Who were you pissed