Dirty Dix (Hard Love Romance #1) (6 page)

“Yeah?” she says, the surprise clear in her voice.

“Yeah,” I reply with a nod, admiring the way her cheeks turn a soft pink.

I stand staring at her, and she stands staring back at me. The moment is simply perfect, but I suddenly realize she’s looking at me because she wants me to stop being a whimsical pussy and ask for her number.

Patting at my empty pockets, I realize I’ve also left my cell under Juliet’s sofa, no doubt. “I don’t have my phone on me.” Leering forward and pretending to look down her top, I ask, “You wouldn’t happen to have anything else hidden in there?”

Madison surprises me by cheekily throwing back, “Wouldn’t you like to know?” and winks, while I almost gag on my tongue.

“So, what do you suggest we do?”

Madison smiles, and the vision is simply superb. “Well, you know where I work. How ’bout you come in tonight? I start my shift at seven,” she casually says.

“Okay, I think I can manage that.”

Madison happily nods and then, this is when that awkward situation occurs. You know, where two people who are attracted to one another don’t know whether to hug, kiss, shake hands or wave to bid each other farewell.

I can see that Madison is also torn on what the right protocol here is by the way she’s biting her bottom lip, and subtly looking at me to make the first move. But the fact I can still smell Juliet on me has me shying away from hugging her. There’s no way I can kiss her for obvious reasons, and shaking hands or waving just feels so detached, like we’re strangers. So like an utter moron, I raise my fist and watch as Madison looks at it confused.

I too look at it, cursing my stupidity, but now that I’ve put it out there, I have no other choice but to follow through before I look like a complete douche.

However, Madison stuns me as she slowly dodges my raised fist, not interested in fist bumping with me, and stands on tippy toes to kiss my stubbled cheek. The minute she invades my personal space, my body sings, drowning in her vanilla scent.

“I’ll catch ya later, Dixon,” she says, pulling away way too quickly, and I nod, dropping my fist.

“Bye, Madison,” I reply, and watch as the most amazing girl walks away from me, hoping it’s not my last image of her.

T
hank Christ
I somehow managed to not lose my key, and the moment I get home, I have a long shower and fall face first onto my bed, not even bothering to dress. The only thing that wakes me is a loud, unrelenting knock on my door. Moaning and attempting to clear the fog from my brain, I turn to my right and see that my bedside clock reads 6:27 p.m.

Once the perpetrator makes it clear they’re not going away, and their knocking gets louder, I give in and throw on a pair of sweats. I don’t even bother with a T-shirt because whoever this person is, they’re most definitely not staying.

“What?” I bark as I open the door, but nearly fall flat on my face when I see Juliet standing before me.

It takes me a moment to fire on all four cylinders, but once I do, I coolly question, “What are you doing here?”

Juliet simply grins and holds up my wallet and phone, not needing to explain anything further.

The fact she went through my wallet to find my address feels like a slight invasion of privacy, but I really should be a little more grateful that she made the trip down here. But this feels too personal, too close to home—literally. A woman hasn’t set foot inside my home since Lily, but the way Juliet is currently looking at me, she wants to change that.

“So, are you going to invite me in? Or am I going to have to blow you in the hallway?”

If not for my acute hearing, I would say I misheard her, but I know there’s no mistaking her intentions as her eyes rake down my body, stopping at my ribs and focusing on my tattoo.

“‘We are never so defenseless against suffering as when we love,’” she says, reading my Freud-and Lily-inspired tattoo. “Well, well, Dr. Mathews, I would have never thought.”

I forgot Juliet never saw me fully unclothed, as due to our animalistic fucking, only the bare essentials were removed and we worked with whatever was left. That thought has me feeling like a complete bastard, so I open the door wider, permitting Juliet into my home.

The moment she steps into my abode, however, every pore in my body demands I kick her out because this feels so wrong. I have no other choice, so I close the exit behind me, feeling like I’m locking my own prison door.

I stand back as Juliet takes in my apartment.

“So,” she says, turning around to face me after a minute of scrutinizing my home.

“So,” I parrot, placing my hands into my pockets.

I have nothing I want to say to her because after this morning, I’m a little shocked to see her here. I made peace with the fact I’d probably never see her again. But here she is, standing in front of me, looking deliciously mouth-watering.

“Sorry about this morning, Dixon,” she says. “I had somewhere I had to be.”

I nod, trying my best to appear unaffected. “Thanks for bringing my things over. You can leave them there.” I gesture with my chin toward the kitchen counter.

“You’re
mad
?” Juliet says in part shock, part question, as she attempts to contain her surprise.

Am I?

Honestly, I don’t know what I feel. I’ve never had this happen to me before, so I guess my ego is a little bruised.

“To be mad would indicate that I care, Ms. Harte, and to be frank, I do not. Last night was fun, but that’s all it was. So the answer to your question is no, I’m not mad,” I reply sharply.

Juliet looks taken aback by my curt response, but recovers a second later. “It was more than just
fun
. It’s all I’ve been thinking about all day.” She sweeps her hair off her neck, revealing the huge red welt I inflicted with my teeth.

I remain impassive, although I feel like an animal. “Well, I’m glad I’ve provided you with images you can revisit, as that was the first
and
last time. Last night was a mistake,” I firmly state.

“You don’t mean that,” Juliet counters with a confident smile.

“Yes, I do. It was entirely my fault. I apologize for my inexcusable behavior. I take all the blame,” I say, using my professional voice.

But Juliet won’t have a bit of it. “Oh, cut the crap. I was there, I know you enjoyed it. I know you enjoyed fucking me without restraint. You have nothing to apologize for. I wanted it as much as you did. I’ve wanted
you
from the moment I saw you,” she confesses, and this is the first moment I’ve seen a glimmer of vulnerability in the unbending Juliet. “I still want you. And I know you want me too,” she asserts, looking up at me from under her mascara-clad lashes.

Wanting her is not the issue here. It’s the fact that I
shouldn’t
want her—that’s the problem. Juliet is a dangerous woman, and with her, all I can see is that danger escalating into hazardous territory. My brain tells me to throw her out, but my traitorous body is telling me that she’s no longer my patient, so what’s the harm in two consensual adults giving in to what they both want?

Juliet takes a step toward me, no doubt sensing my retreat, and I don’t back away, even though I know I should. She casually unties the sash from around her waist, peeling the brown trench coat from her slender body. The coat pools at her stiletto-clad feet and she takes another step toward me.

“Don’t be mad at me. Let me remind you how hot we were together.” She runs a red fingernail down my chest.

“Juliet,” I protest in a half-assed plea, but the moment she cups my rising erection in her palm, I’m hers.

“You may say no, Dixon, but your body is saying yes,” and as she rubs me harder, my treacherous body succumbs.

Before long, she’s dropped to her knees in front of me and is pulling down my sweats, my rigid body on full display, betraying how turned on I am.

“Do you know how good this felt in me last night?” she says, sliding her hand up and down my length.

“Tell me,” I demand, unable to tear my eyes away as she’s jerking me off.

“How about I just show you?” she suggests, and the moment she wraps her ruby lips around me, any uncertainties get thrown out the window, and I allow this vixen total control.

Her expert mouth glides down my cock with precision, and I can’t stop the moan that escapes my lips as I’ve never been blown this good before. I thrust my hips forward and throw my head backward when I hit the back of her throat. She deep throats me effortlessly.

“That’s it, oh fuck. You’re so damn good,” I pant, trying to rein in my early release. “Deeper, go deeper.”

This woman is a blowjob queen, and I’m not in the slightest repulsed at why she’s as good as she is because, as they say, practice makes perfect. Nothing else matters when she steadies a hand around my waist, her fingers squeezing in sync with her delicious mouth.

The harder she sucks, the faster I pump my hips and before long, I’m fucking her mouth with a desperate speed. The moment I try and pull away, as I’m afraid I’m hurting her, she latches on tighter, reaching down and palming my shaft. The friction of her hand, combined with the speed of her mouth is too much, and I’m seconds away from coming.

She senses my frantic need to explode and holds on tighter, her mouth creating an intense suction around me, and after two cavernous sucks, I’m shamefully done. I pull my hips away, but she licks and strokes with a deep pull and with no other choice, I explode in her mouth while cursing out my release. She milks me until I have nothing left, and only when the last aftershock rocks my body does she let go.

I’ve just received the best blowjob of my life, in the apartment I once shared with the love of my life. The apartment I promised another female would never enter.

Do I feel guilty?

Hell no.

“
M
addy
, I hate to say it, but I don’t think he’s coming,” says my best friend, Mary Mitts, as she wipes down table nine.

“You don’t know that,” I argue, her truthful comment snapping me out of my stare-off with the front door. “We never agreed on a time. Maybe something came up and he’s on the way. I mean, I did say sometime tonight,” I state, making up excuses for why Dixon isn’t here.

“Well, technically, it is tomorrow,” Mary says, looking at her watch.

“Not helping, Lamb,” I reply with a smile, using the nickname I’ve had for her since we were kids.

“I’m sorry, but what kind of best friend would I be if I wasn’t looking out for you? I just don’t want to see you get hurt,” she says, and I know she’s referring to Tim, my stalker, who Dixon saved me from the first night we met.

“I know, but Dixon is…”

“Don’t you dare say different,” Mary warns, wagging her finger at me while I bite back a smile.

“But he is,” I quickly rebuke, and duck to avoid getting hit in the face with a coaster.

“No, he isn’t. He’s a guy, therefore he’s a dick,” Mary states, but I don’t take it to heart, as she’s only bitter at the moment because she’s going through a tough breakup.

“Lamb, not all men are pigs. He didn’t have to jump in and save me from Tim, but he did. He didn’t even think twice about it. If that doesn’t scream ‘non-pig’ then I don’t know what does.”

“Oh please, that’s your hormones talking. That man is trouble with a capital T. And not to mention you’re like half his age,” she adds, fastening her fiery red hair into a tighter ponytail.

I can’t help but laugh, as I am so
not
half his age. Early thirties I’d peg him being, but it’s not his age I find myself uncharacteristically daydreaming about. His bright blue eyes and messy, chocolate brown hair are another story, however.

“I’ll give him another twenty minutes, and if he doesn’t show up, then I’ll forget I ever met Dr. Dixon,” I state, very unconvincingly.

“Ah-ha,” Mary retorts, totally not buying my pledge. “Again, I believe that’s your hormones talking.”

I playfully flip her off while she pokes her tongue out at me before heading off to serve table twelve.

I, however, continue wiping down a spotless table eight with my eyes peeled to the door, because I know he’ll arrive any minute now.

He has to.

T
wenty minutes came
and went with no sign of Dixon. It’s now 2 a.m., and I’m locking up. I can’t wait to go home and forget today ever existed.

I still can’t believe he stood me up. I know we didn’t have a date per se, but we did kind of have plans. I really thought he
was
different, as there is definitely something there between us. I know he felt it too, and by the not so covert glances, I also know he’s somewhat attracted to me.

But on the flipside, he did look like he was sneaking out of someone’s apartment this morning, and then he wanted me to fist bump him. Maybe I’m just reading into things ’cause God knows, I have limited experience with this kind of stuff.

I’ve never really had a boyfriend, and Tim doesn’t count. We were seeing one another for a month, and after two dates, I knew we wouldn’t work. But Tim thought otherwise, and that’s the reason why he got so mad at me the night Dixon and I met. He pretty much demanded I give him another chance. When I said hell to the fuck no, he suggested I “give it up,” as apparently that’s what our nonexistent relationship was missing. When I not so politely declined, he got a little physical, and that’s when Dixon saved the day.

Apart from the fact I am in no way attracted to Tim, I don’t actually know if I’ll ever be ready to “give it up.”

I’m good at hiding my emotions and feelings, I always have been. But when Dixon told me he was a psychiatrist, I thought my ruse was up. I almost got up and left, but walking away from the first male I was remotely interested in felt wrong. And besides, I promised myself I would no longer allow my past to weigh me down.

I’m so glad I stayed, because for the first time in a long time, I actually enjoyed myself and wasn’t constantly looking at my watch, or looking over my shoulder. With Dixon, I felt safe, and I also felt alive.

I switch off the lights and lock up. Living in New York, you just get used to dealing with a trillion locks, and it takes me about two minutes to figure out which key goes into which lock. I’m halfway done when someone taps me on the shoulder, which has me screaming in absolute terror.

“Madison, it’s me! Shit, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” says a familiar voice. I turn around so fast, I nearly fall flat on my ass.

“Dixon?” I wheeze, my hand poised over my beating heart. “What are you doing here?”

I watch as he averts his beautiful blue eyes and shame-facedly replies, “I said I would drop by. I’m sorry I’m late,” he adds.

“Did you run here?” I stupidly ask.

“Well, I would call it a brisk walk,” he confesses with a lopsided smirk as he rolls a stone under his sneaker.

The damp hair at his temples reveals he more than just walked, and I try not to bask in the fact that he ran all the way here just to see me. Mentally giving Mary an “I told you so,” I turn my back and finish locking up, needing a minute to center my raging nerves.

I can’t help but wonder where Dixon has been, as he doesn’t appear to be dressed up, and I dare say, he ran here from his house. So what was he doing till 2 a.m.? And more importantly, who was he doing it with? That thought has me envisioning distasteful scenarios and
positions
, but I tell my distrustful mind to quit it with the conspiracy theories for one night.

“Well, I hope you didn’t give yourself a stitch,” I taunt, wanting to lighten the mood.

Dixon scoffs. “I’ll have you know I was a track athlete in high school.”

“The operative word being ‘was,’” I say as I turn around to face him. “And high school was a
lonnng
time ago for you.”

“Want to put a wager on that?” He smirks, and my God, he is handsome.

“Sure,” I reply, crossing my arms over my chest in hopes my beating heart doesn’t explode from my ribcage.

“You said you run every morning, well, I challenge you to a race,” he smugly declares, raising an eyebrow.

“Name your time and place, Dr. Dixon,” I boldly reply.

“Tomorrow. 6 a.m. Central Park. First person to run a mile in the shortest amount of time is the winner.”

“Let’s make it two miles,” I cockily say, but quickly curse my confidence.

Dixon looks impressed. “Very well, two it is. Meet at North Meadow?”

“Sure. What does the winner get?” I ask, my competitive streak shining through.

Dixon taps his chin, deep in thought. “The winner will be treated to a lavish breakfast by the loser.”

“Well, you already owe me a breakfast, Doc. And I can’t eat two breakfasts in one day.”

Dixon chuckles at my self-assurance. “Okay, let’s make it dinner then.”

“Dinner it is. I hope you’ve saved your pennies, ’cause I’m gonna order the lobster,” I tease, rubbing my hands together.

“We’ll see.” He grins, and I’m thankful he appreciates my bad humor.

“Well, on that note, I better go home and get some beauty sleep. Night, Dixon.” I search through my bag for my keys.

“Where’d you park? I’ll walk you to your car,” he quickly offers.

“It’s okay. I’m just around the corner.”

“Please, I insist,” and before I have time to argue, he’s leading the way.

With a small smile, I follow, feeling strangely happy that this amazingly hot man wants to walk me to my car—a car that I don’t need, but have, thanks to my fears.

We walk in reflective silence as I desperately want to ask him where he was tonight, but it’s not really my business. I mean, we just met. We’re not even really friends, as I hardly know him, but the thing is, I want to. From the moment I met him, there was something there, but I’m sure a man like Dixon isn’t short of female attention, and has
women
, not inexperienced, scarred virgins, to satisfy his needs.

“Everything okay over there?” Dixon asks, disturbing my thoughts.

“Yeah, why?” I ask, suddenly worried my thoughts are transparent.

“You’re awfully quiet, which can’t be a good sign.”

“I was just thinking about where I would like to go for dinner,” I tease, hoping to disguise my insecurities as I sound the alarm on my Fiesta. “Well, this is me. I’ll see you in a few hours.” I fiddle with the strap on my bag, not knowing what to do next.

This is the second time there has been some weird static bouncing between us, and I know he feels it too because he totally just checked out my boobs. But this is not me. I’m not one to feel so comfortable with the opposite sex, or care if they like me or not. But with Dixon, that’s exactly how I feel. And I don’t understand why.

“Well,” he says, clearing his throat. “I’ll see you in the morning,” and I cringe, hoping he doesn’t want me to fist bump him again.

However, he surprises me as he unexpectedly reaches forward and brushes a stray strand of hair off my face. Normally, I would shy away, but in this instance I find myself wanting to lean into his touch. But I don’t.

“Night, Dixon,” I whisper.

“Night, Madison.”

And with that, he turns his back on me, and only then do I breathe.