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“I think he likes her,” Dixon says into my ear as he wraps an arm low on my waist, guiding me through the crowd.
My senses are titillated by the contact. “Well, I know for a fact she doesn’t like him,” I reply, shivering harder when he chuckles into my ear.
Hunter squeezes between people and smiles victoriously when he stands by Mary’s side in line.
He turns over his shoulder and motions to Dixon if he wants a drink. He nods in response. When Hunter glances at me, I wave a no. I’ve had enough alcohol for the night.
We move and stand off to the side. “The answer to your question is yes.” His breath is warm on my neck as he leans in close.
“W-what question?” I stutter, forgetting everything but the way he makes me feel.
“The one you asked me earlier. I do like your dress. I like it a lot,” he adds, his hand slipping low and coming to rest lightly on my behind.
I take three deep, calming breaths before replying. “Oh. That question. Thank you.”
“No, thank you. Although, you know you could wear anything, and you’d still look like a goddess.” His husky voice is heavy with desire.
When he begins to slowly palm my right butt cheek, the fire within begins raging out of control. “I wanted to look different,” I confess, deciding to address the issue plaguing me for the past couple of weeks.
“Why? You’re the perfect the way you are.”
But that’s the problem. I don’t want to be perfect. I don’t want him to treat me like I’ll break. I want him to devour and destroy me until I’m begging for more.
“I just…I thought maybe if I looked different, if I looked a little more provocativelike…I dunno, like Juliet…” I finally find my lady balls and say it “…that you’d want to maybe…” And just like that, my lady balls shrivel up and go into hiding.
“Maybe what?” he asks, his hand stilling.
I raise my shoulders, focusing on my stilettos. “That you’d maybe…want me more.”
“What?”The shock is apparent in his tone as he draws out the W. “Why would you think that, Madison?”
I shrug once again, suddenly feeling incredibly stupid for the overshare.
He swiftly spins me by the shoulders to face him. “Look at me,” he demands.
I do.
“You are the only person I want. Juliet…” When he grimaces painfully,I begin to doubt my theory. “Is most definitelynotthe person I want. I want nothing to do with her, and for you to think that you need to look morelike her to gain my affections…” he pauses, looking away briefly before angrily concluding “…is ludicrous. She is the epitome of who I donotwant. Ever. But you…” He tenderly cups my cheek. “You are exactly who I want. Who I choose to be with.”
His words are what I needed to hear, but it’sher, it’s Beth and her fascination with Dixon that troubles me. “I think she likes you, Dixon,” I confess, feeling my lower lip tremble.
He pulls away, disgusted and infuriated. “There isn’t enough scotch in this world to help process that appalling accusation.” He works his mouth open and shut as if tasting something bad.
“I know her and, like I once told you, she’s toxic. I don’t trust her and I especially don’t trust her around you.”
Pinning me with his stare, he declares, “You have absolutely nothing to worry about. I don’t plan on being around her ever again.” I believe him, but I can’t help but dwell on his strange behavior. If it’s not Beth, then…is it me? Is my past too much?
With whatever courage I have left, I press, “But you’ve been so distant. You’ve hardly touched me.” I avert my gaze, embarrassed to be sharing my fears. “I thought…” But he doesn’t let me finish.
His grip is unyielding as he wraps his long fingers around my wrist and drags me through the sea of people. I can barely keep up with him and protest by securing my fingers over his to signal him to stop, but he doesn’t.
He hauls me down a long, dark hallway. The farther we descend, the seedier it becomes. It’s filled with amorous couples groping each other passionately while using the walls as their makeshift pleasure posts. I attempt to turn away, but just as I twist to the left, I get another eyeful of way too much skin and tongue.
“Dixon, where are we going?” I object, but it’s useless as the loud music drowns out my complaint.
Just as I’m about to protest once again, he opens the last door on the right and shoves me inside. As I gather my bearings, I pull out of his hold while my eyes adjust to the dim lighting. Looking around, I see that we’re in a small, private function room. Red velvet couches are scattered along the wall, and a circular bar sits in the corner of the room. I get the vibe that this room is used for private dances of the lap kind.
“What…” But my question is drowned out by the door slamming shut behind me and the unmistakable sound of a lock clicking into place.
