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I spin around and see Dixon pressed against the door, watching me with a look I’ve so missed. “Tell me what you want,” he demands, not bothering to mask his dominance.
“I-I…” I fumble, suddenly lost for words.
“Now is not the time to be bashful. Tell me.” He pushes off the door, a look of untamed possession in his eyes.
I back away, afraid of what I’ve started.
“What do you want,angelo? Tell me,” he presses, making it clear he won’t stop until I enlighten him.
Stepping up to the plate, I shyly confess, “I won’t break, Dixon. I want you to touch me. I want you to forget my past and touch me the way I know you want to.”
My words appear to have slapped him. “Your past has nothing to do with this.”
I stop backing away and stand my ground. “Then what? If it’s not Juliet or my past, why won’t you touch me?”
He grits his teeth together. “I want to touch you. So bad.” His clenched fists support his claim.
“Then why? I don’t understand.”
He stops stalking toward me and heatedly runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t want to push you if you’re not ready.”
He’s right. I’m not ready for sex, but the other stuff, I’m ready for. I was ready the first time I felt him worship me in a way no one has ever done before. My cheeks heat at the memory and the feral growl which erupts from Dixon reveals he remembers, too.
Without a word, he saunters over to a red settee and takes a seat, his legs spread wide. After a painful few moments of silence, he beckons me with a menacing finger. I don’t hesitate. I walk toward him, my heels clicking loudly, reflecting my pounding heart. I only stop when I’m standing inches away, not bothering to mask my rapid breathing because my heaving chest betrays my aroused state.
“Are you wearing anything underneath that little dress of yours?” Dixon asks, casually leaning back and resting his arms across of the top of the settee.
“Just my underwear,” I reply timidly.
He coolly nods. “Take them off.”
“W-what?”
The corner of his mouth pulls up into a smug grin. “You heard me. This is what you wanted, right?”
He’s right. I did ask for this and I would look like a total hypocrite if I backed out now.
Before I can chicken out, I reach underneath my dress as discreetly as I can without flashing him and shimmy my black lace thong down my legs. I step out of it and secure it in my trembling hand.
Dixon extends his palm and I place it into it.
I look on a little mortified, but mostly a lot turned on as he draws them up to his nose. “You smell delicious, Madison. I want a taste.”
Before I can voice my approval, he slips the thong into his back pocket and adjusts himself so he’s lying down. He places his head on the armrest. I swallow when I see the huge bulge tenting the front of his jeans. “Get on.”
“What?” I ask, not understanding.
Our gazes tango in a dance orchestrated for us alone when he slowly turns his head to look at me. “You heard me. Get that sweet pussy on my face.”
I gulp. His words are exactly what I want.
“But if you don’t want to…” he playfully says when he sees me hesitate.
“No, I do,” I interject quickly when he attempts to sit back up. “I just don’t know how.” I feel foolish, but I don’t know how I’ll stay on without falling off.
“I’ve got you,angelo,” he affirms assertively. His confidence overrides my fear, so I step out of my heels before walking over.
“That’s it.” He settles back down and extendshis hand out, which I gingerly take. He guides me onto him, but encouragesme to slide up farther until I’m hovering above his face, my knees on either side of his head.
