by Paige North
But Dax didn’t know or care about that. Dax could give two shits about the “elite” of our high school. What Dax did know about Stephen, he learned from me. And my story didn’t quite go along with the Golden Boy imagine Stephen had managed to carve out for himself.
Dax and I had gotten to a point where we were telling each other everything.
So I told Dax something I’d never told another soul. Sitting with him in the garage, watching him work, we’d pour out all our secrets. He’d tell me about his deadbeat father. He’d tell me how his one brother was so deep into heroin he’d probably be dead soon and how Dax was the only Harding boy who knew how to change a diaper, because he’d become the family caretaker.
And I told him about Stephen—and the time he assaulted me.
It was after yet another dull party at Nevaeh’s. Stephen and Nevaeh got into a huge fight, and she went up to bed early. Stephen and I were alone and he tried to put his hand up my skirt. Then he told me he wanted a blowjob. When I said no, he grabbed me and pushed me against the wall. Stephen was strong, and I was powerless and scared to death. If Juliet hadn’t come downstairs, I know it would’ve continued.
Stephen played it off like we were just joking around, and Juliet believed him. After all, Stephen was the Golden Boy.
After I told Dax that story, he was beyond furious and I couldn’t calm him down no matter how much I tried.
The next day at lunch, Dax approached Stephen and confronted him about the story. Stephen tried to make a wisecrack about how I’d thrown myself at him and he’d had to fight me off—and that’s when Dax truly lost it.
It only took one punch from Dax to put him down.
I remember it so clearly. Stephen, stunned, lying on the linoleum floor, blood pouring down his chin. Everyone looking at Dax like he was a madman, wondering why the hell he’d done it.
Dax’s hypnotic green eyes begging me, and his lips moving over and over again to form the words, “Tell them.”
But I couldn’t just say it like that.
Not at first, at least. I was afraid. Not that the truth made any difference to anyone. After Dax got expelled, Nevaeh tore the truth out of me. Stephen was right about one thing: they didn’t believe me. It didn’t matter what I said. She accused me of always being jealous and wanting him. And of course, Juliet took her side, because the Golden Couple could do no wrong.
So I was completely on the outs.
My group of friends would glare at me whenever I passed them in the hallway. I blamed Dax for that, when he was the only one who’d ever come to my defense.
The thing was, he hadn’t asked if I wanted him to stand up for me that way—he’d just done it. Dax had needed to explode and vent his rage at Stephen, regardless of what it cost me.
What it cost Dax and me both.
And yes, after my parents found out about the fight and questioned me over and over again about it, and since everyone was whispering about us, I distanced myself from Dax. But instead of giving me that time to process it all, he moved on. Too quick.
“You know, you almost got me fired,” I tell him as we walk toward Quincy Market. “You can’t keep thinking you need to defend me all the time, and do it without even asking me what I need.”
He has his thumbs hooked in the pockets of his jeans, mechanic’s grease lining the cuticles of his fingernails. “A job working for that scumbag ain’t worth it, Katydid.”
“My father would say otherwise. You don’t know what I had to do to get that job,” I mutter, thinking of all the hoops I’d had to jump through. I’d called and received a big old NO from every law firm in the state, got put on waiting lists miles long, then went through a lengthy interview process in which I practically had to open up a vein before I’d get an offer of employment. All that for what? Much less than a living wage for Boston, working for the biggest assholes in town.
Dax raises an eyebrow. “Let me guess. You have to pay them to work there?”
I punch him playfully in his bicep. “No. But I can’t lose that job. I need his recommendation so I can get into law school next fall.”
He snaps his fingers. “Oh, right. Law school. Sure you want to do that?”
“What are you talking about? I’ve always wanted to go to law school,” I lie, biting my tongue when I realize that in all the hundreds of hours I spent with Dax in high school, never once did I mention to him a desire to study law.
“I know your dad’s always wanted you to. I don’t think you know what you want,” he says. “Or what’s good for you.”
He is so totally right. Damn him, for knowing more about me than even I do. But I’m not going to let on to that. “And I suppose you do know?”
“Yeah,” he says. My eyes meet his dark green eyes, and my heart skips instantaneously. We stand there, eyes locked together, and it’s like I’m back there, behind the garage with him, in the one place and time where everything felt right.
There’s no denying it. He does. He knows me better than anyone.
He says to me, “Like right now, I think you need a burger.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Is that so?”
“Definitely.”
I look around. “Well. There’s a good place down the street.” I take his hand and guide him gently down the street, all the stress leaving my body. “You’ve never walked the Freedom Trail, have you?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t even know what that is.”
“Oh, well, you’re in for a treat then,” I tell him.
Four years ago, Dax and I didn’t get much chance to be alone. Friesville may have been a small town, but we lived in fear of people find out about us. Though we never really discussed as much, I was afraid of what my parents and friends would say, and I think he didn’t want his friends to think he was softening, knowing he was actually spending time with one of those lily-white good girls who wouldn’t give it up for just anyone.
So I’d lie and tell my parents I was working late at the yearbook office, then scuttle over to the garage. Sometimes he’d grab a blanket and we’d head out to the field behind the garage. Out there, we didn’t have to worry about getting in trouble. We’d lie down on the grass dotted with bright yellow dandelions, arms and legs tangled together, trading secrets and kisses, my whole body buzzing with unbridled excitement.
It was a word that people would never associate with Dax Harding. Romantic. I freaking loved that he could be romantic with me.
Now, that same feeling of exhilaration surges through me. It’s a perfect, quiet Sunday afternoon. The sun is shining like crazy, making the harbor glimmer like diamonds. Tourists are out strolling and enjoying the beautiful weather, and we melt right in with them. We’ve been up and down the aisles at Quincy Market, through Faneuil Hall, and now, we’re stopped for burgers at the Black Rose.
Dax leans back in his chair, relaxed, so I relax, too. It’s nice, not worrying who will come through the door. No one at the tables surrounding us even gives us a second glance. When it’s just the two of us, away from Friesville, it’s easy to think we could be a couple.
I realize that for the first time, I’m actually enjoying Boston.
I don’t want to go back.
My face must cloud over at the thought, because Dax takes a swig of his Guinness and nudges me. “What?”
He does know me, even after all this time. I can’t keep anything from him. “I was just thinking how much fun we’ve had.”
He laughs. “Then why’d you look like your dog just died?” He drums his fingers on the table and leans forward. “We don’t have to go back yet, girl.”
I take a sip of my beer. I haven’t been drinking it, so it’s warm. “Yes we do. My parents--”
I stop.
I’m an adult. I don’t have a curfew. I even have my own apartment. I wrote them a note and told them where I’d be. I can take care of myself, and make my own decisions.
And right now, all I want to do is be with Dax.
I take a big gu
lp of beer, then toss my hair, embracing that feeling of freedom. “You’re right. Let’s not go back yet,” I tell him.
So we don’t. We spend a long, leisurely afternoon in the darkness of the Irish Pub, filling each other in on what we’ve missed the past four years. He tells me about his father, who has gotten so bad with drinking that he barely gets out of bed anymore. He tells me about his brother, Cal, who finally got caught dealing heroin. I tell him about college, and eventually, like I suspected, the conversation swings around to my college exploits, or lack thereof.
“School was really busy,” I explain to him. “Trying to keep the grades up for law school. I never really had time for a social life.”
He laughs. “You make time for that. All work and no play . . .”
I roll my eyes. “Right. You’re such a social butterfly. You’ve always been tied to the garage. You used to make time for one thing, and one thing only.”
“I’m a red-blooded man, I’ll admit,” he says, a proud grin on his face. But it dissolves suddenly. “I just can’t believe a girl like you wasn’t beating boys off with a stick, Katydid.”
“No,” I whisper. Even with courage of three beers in my system, his gaze makes a blush crawl across my cheeks. Yes, there’d been a few guys, but it never really went anywhere. I always found my books to be more entertaining. Now that I think of it, though, none of those guys ever stood a chance, because none of them ever made me feel the way I felt with Dax.
I flash back to that white-hot electricity sparking through my every nerve as his tongue circled my breast, and I feel a low, soft tingling between my thighs.
My entire body is alive now, begging for him, every last inch of me wanting to reach across the table and bridge the distance between us. All I want is his hands and mouth on me.
It’s the alcohol talking, I know. I get tipsy, I get stupid. And I need to make clear decisions where Dax is concerned.
I push off the stool suddenly and wobble on my heels. He reaches out and steadies me, and his scorching hot skin on mine sends shockwaves straight to my heart. “You okay?” he asks me, and he’s so close now that I can feel the heat radiating from his t-shirt, smell, that deep, masculine smell of grease and soap that is so uniquely Dax.
I tear myself away from him, and out of the cave-like darkness of the pub, into the cool, salty sea air of the city street. Seagulls squawk overhead. The sun is setting and stars are beginning to pop out in the sky. When I turn around and see him, eyes locked on me with this magnetic stare, everything around us falls away.
I take a step toward him and my heel catches on the cobblestone street. “Take it easy,” he says, wrapping me into his solid arms. “Come on.”
He guides me forward. I feel a steady hand massaging the small of my back through my shift. It feels comforting, relaxing, but the direction we’re heading in is not. He’s walking me back to the street where we’d parked his Mustang. And then he’ll bring us home, back to reality, and this warm, safe dream world, this world that is just Dax and me, will disappear forever.
I whirl around to him, my eyes bleary but pleading. I suck my bottom lip into my mouth and beg him silently to make a move. Any move. Anything to keep us here a little longer.
His eyes glimmer with understanding. He fixes a lock of hair behind my air. “What’s going on in that head of yours, Katydid?”
“Dax,” I whisper, and my eyes fall upon my hands. They’re on his chest, gripping whatever handfuls of his t-shirt they can manage. It’s like every one of my pores is crying out to be filled by him. He has to hear them, crying for him.
And then he confirms it. He dips his lips down and presses a soft kiss onto my hairline, sending shivers through my body. I waver on my feet.
He takes my hand and leads me down the street a little, toward the harbor. Gloriously away from his car. My body spikes with a thrill of the unknown, as he suddenly swings me around to the side of one of the buildings into a closed off, narrow alley.
He cages me in there, against the side of the building, one strong arm on either side of me. His mouth descends on mine, hard and rough, his teeth taking my bottom lip, ravaging me. His tongue slides between my teeth, his stubble moving and sliding against my skin. It’s all-consuming, not just a kiss anymore. This is thrusting, fighting, fucking with our mouths. It’s raw and hard and exactly what I expect from someone like Dax Harding.
We’re in the middle of the city but even so, there is nothing at that moment but his mouth and lips and tongue, taking me, making me his. His mouth is hot and hungry, making my breath shudder as his hands move down my bare arms.
I want what I had last night. I want more than that.
As if he feels that longing, his fingers trace a sweet, insane path to my breasts. He finds my nipple through with the pad of his thumb, already hard for him. I’m desperate, aching for that release, for the feeling of his tongue on my bare breasts. I want to pick up where we left off last night. I want him to taste me. I want him to taste me everywhere.
He lets out a small groan and his hands climb down the sides of my ribs. I know it’s frustration because his hands are finding nothing but fabric. Finally, he reaches down to my thighs, to the hem of my dress. He’s tugging it up, letting the cool air hit my upper thighs, higher, and higher. I let him slip his hands under my backside and scoop me up, wrapping my legs around him, feeling him, so hard against my aching sex.
Holy fuck. I cry out as his tongue explores its way down my neck. His hands are cupping my bare ass, and I’m exposed, but I don’t even care. I want more, and I’m not even sure I can ever have enough of this. Only he could make me feel this way. This is the bad girl Katie, the one only Dax Harding could unleash.
He pulls away, eyes uncharacteristically wide. “Katie?” he murmurs, running a finger down the side of my face.
“Mmm?” I say, licking my lips.
“You’re not wearing underwear.”
“I forgot them,” I whisper. “Is that bad?”
He lets out a low chuckle. “No. Surprising, for you, though.”
I smile. “I didn’t think Dax Harding got surprised.”
His finger slowly makes its way to my lower lip, resting there. My tongue slips out, tasting his finger. He lets out a ragged breath as I take his finger into my mouth, sucking on it. He groans. “Oh, fuck,” he mumbles, his body falling against me. “You’re sure you’re a virgin?”
I cast him a hooded gaze, through my eyelashes. I don’t know how to explain it, other than that Dax unleashes a side of me no one else can. With him, I’m only doing what feels right. Putting as much of my skin against his, tasting whatever I can of him, bathing in his essence . . . that feels right.
A seagull screeches overhead. He looks up, and then lowers my dress into place. “Look. I don’t want us to fuck on the street like a couple of animals . . . “
“No?” I ask, mock-confused.
He casts me a look of disbelief. The Dax who is always so in control doesn’t know what to do with me. It’s a delicious feeling of triumph, knowing what I’m making him feel inside.
“My apartment’s too far away. I know a hotel right here,” I murmur into his ear, my voice low and throaty.
“Good.” His whisper is thick with desire. He grabs my hand and I can’t really say with complete clarity what follows in the next moments.
It’s like a flashing strobe light of events, fragments, pulsing with the excitement and adrenaline of what’s to come.
In the lobby, signing a credit card receipt and getting a key card. In the mirrored, elegant elevator, just trying to hold on, not much longer. Walking the deserted hallway, watching the numbers climb, his hands on me, his hot mouth on my throat.
When we get to the door he lingers there, his mouth on my neck. “Are you sure? Do you want this, Katydid?”
I nod. I want nothing more than the door to be open.
He holds the key card in his hand. “You want to stop, you tell me. Got it? We can always stop.”
<
br /> “I won’t want to,” I tell him, more sure of this than I have ever been of anything in my life.
When he opens the door and we explode into the room, not a moment is wasted. He presses me up against the door, and the second it clicks closed under my weight, his mouth is hot and heavy on mine. His hands roam my body. He whirls me around and presses against me so I can feel his erection, hard, against my ass. I’m caught between the flat, unforgiving door and the ever harder wall of muscle that is Dax. Pushing my hair to the side, his mouth devours my neck, making me cry out again. I’m aching, wet, more turned on than I’ve ever been as he drags down the zipper reaching from my shoulders to my ass. He spreads open the dress and I feel his tongue between my shoulder blades, sending jolts of excitement through the ends of every one of my nerves.
Oh, my god, this feels so good I can already barely take it. My nerve endings are like live wires, about to overload from the jolt of current pulsing through them.
He pulls my dress from my shoulders and slides it down my body until it’s puddled on the floor. When I’m standing there, naked except for my pumps, he turns me around. My nipples pebble as his hungry gaze sweeps over me. “Goddamn,” he drawls, low and lost as his eyes rake over my naked body. “You’re beautiful.”
He scoops me up and places me on the bed, gazing at me hungrily. Then he pulls off his t-shirt and kneels on the ground before me. His body looms over me, not quite touching, but close enough that I can feel the sparks radiating between us. His eyes are dark now, half-lidded, primal, feral. Then, all at once he descends and his mouth slams down on mine in a feverish kiss. Soon, it’s back to fucking with our tongues, and part of me thinks I might just be able to stay doing this forever and ever and be fine. At the same time, I want so much more.
Everything he has to give.
I tug at his shirt, helping him lift it over his head, then my fingers trail down his hard chest, stopping at the trail of dark hair pointing the way from his belly to what’s beneath. I unsnap his jeans, and he lets out a heavy, panting breath as I lower the zipper. My knuckles graze his hardness through his underwear, and he jolts with the motion. “Is this . . . okay?” I ask uncertainly.
