“Yeah, when you made the decision that cost those people, did you violate the standards you set for yourself?” Joy tapped his takeout container again. “Chew on that question while you chew on your food.”
Dixon took another drink of his beer. Did he violate what he set out to do when Jason asked him to take on this mission? No. His father had shown a brief flash of his hand today. He was involved with someone he was using to advance his own agenda. Something 'good' happened besides Drake’s supposed death. His father mentioned something about “when he was in office” when he was talking today. What office that was, Dixon couldn't be sure, but after the recent events he could make a good guess. The old man was starting to open up, and that facilitated what he was here to do. To find a way to get Guardian a toehold in Stratus.
Dixon stabbed a piece of sweet and sour chicken. He tumbled her question around as he ate his dinner. The answer came out the same no matter how he phrased it. Did that make him feel any better about the two people who were dead? No. Would he have been able to save one of them? With his father, who the fuck actually knew? The man was insane, rabid, an animal without conscience. He’d need to be put down, soon, but not until Dixon got the information he needed. He took the final swallow of his beer before he spoke again. “No.”
Joy jumped down from her stool and took her takeout container to the trash can. “Then what happened to them was collateral damage. It happens in war. Sometimes we can mitigate it and sometimes we can’t.”
“War.” Dixon clicked on that term. That was what he was doing. He was fighting a one-man war against an evil force. The word shifted something inside him and like a lens slipping into place, he could see more than just his past, more than the hatred, and more than the guilt.
Joy threw away his empty container and walked past him as she took off her shirt. “You owe me, Quick Draw”
“Joy.”
She turned at the name. It wasn’t a bad name. She’d used it several times as an alias.
“Thank you.” His words confused her sometimes.
“For what?” Seriously, what had she done?
“For having my back today. For knowing…” His words faded as if he didn’t quite know how to finish the sentence.
She spun on her heel and marched back to him. “Let’s get something straight, right here and right now. This between us, it is reciprocal. Someday you will pay me back. This isn’t a favor or a friendship. This is two people who don’t have anyone else, using each other to stay sane. Don’t put a hashtag on it and call it social. It isn’t. We’re surviving.”
He stared down at her. Damn those blue eyes. When he stared at her like that, she could swear he could see through every fucking layer of protection she’d built. He couldn’t because she’d never allow it, but if she ever did let anyone in? It could be the man behind those eyes.
“Survivors. I can deal with that.” He winked at her.
She reached behind her back, popped her bra clasp, and shrugged out of it. His eyes tracked her movements. “I believe you have a reputation to enhance. Maybe you’ll even get to a seven-point five today.
He chuckled and ran one of those big fingers across her collarbone. Her body shivered in anticipation. The man instinctively knew how to make her fly. She'd never ask for what he gave her. Never admit she wanted to be controlled during sex, to not have to make a decision, but to be...free from it all, if only for the duration of the sexual event. He got it. He let her set the parameters, but he was in charge inside those lines. After they’d fucked the first time, she’d realized that he understood. Any future sexual partners would have a very large cock to fill. She laughed at the mental image and spun on her heel to dash into the bedroom.
“I’m locking up.” He called after her and then he laughed.
Laughter was good. She wasn’t sure what the fuck had happened to send him off the deep end today, but for a while at the gym, she wasn’t sure he’d surface again. She watched him beat his demons to death for over an hour. He hadn’t known she was there. She’d slipped the day manager five grand to close the gym until she could get him out of there. The fuckwad in the locker room was the last to respond to the manager’s notice to leave.
Why did she do it? Fuck if she knew. Seriously, one minute she was watching him walk out of The Residence where he worked and the next, she was emptying her emergency cash stash and moving people out of the gym.
She took off the sheath with her knife and laid her favorite weapon on the bedside table. Her boots and jeans were off before she heard his tread in the hallway. She crab-walked back into the middle of his king-sized bed and dropped down on the pillows.
Speaking from a strictly physical standpoint, Dixon was magnificent. The various scars and burns that disfigured his hard muscles told her he'd been through some fires. She appreciated that. Her own scars didn’t mark her skin, as much as they were grafted onto her soul and mind. After today, she was one hundred percent positive the man taking off his shirt at the foot of the bed hid similar damage.
His muscles rippled under that pale skin of his. She liked the fact he didn’t have a hairy chest, and that his arms were as big as her thighs. He was massive, and he could fuck like a machine with that long, thick cock.
A sudden hunger struck her. Not for food, but for the taste of him. She’d never tasted him, and she deserved a diversion. Hell, she’d been Joan-of-fucking-Arc today. She should get a treat, right?
She got up and started crawling toward the end of the bed. His pants were unzipped and hanging from his hips. He was commando, and the thick patch of reddish-blond hair at the base of his cock beckoned to her.
She crawled straight to his crotch and nuzzled his confined shaft, kissing it through the fabric of his suit pants. His hand found her hair, and he grabbed it. “Yes, harder,” she murmured. She loved her hair pulled, loved to feel the grip of a man’s hand, the sting and the bite and the burn of a cock buried in her throat.
He gathered her hair and wrapped it around his hand. The zing of excitement pooled at her core. He pushed his slacks down with his free hand and held his cock, denying her what she sought. “Suck my balls.” His growl resonated deep inside her.
She moaned when he pushed her down. She loved being able to let go, to let her sexual partner lead, but that had happened only a handful of times. She took charge because she couldn’t trust the men she was with. This one…this one was different. He didn’t judge her; didn’t assume he knew her, or ask her what she wanted. On some instinctual level, he just…nailed it.
She laved his balls before sucking one and then the other into her mouth, rolling her tongue along the bottom of his sac. His hand clenched harder in her hair, and a growl rumbled from deep in his gut.
He pulled her off and pulled her hair back, forcing her to look up at him. “Stick out your tongue.”
She did, and he slid his cock head along it, teasing her and perhaps himself. “You want this?” Her eyes shot to him. She wouldn’t beg. Never would she cross that line and by the look, she got in return he understood it. Instead, he admitted, “I want it. I want your lips around my cock. Suck me.”
He was big, and she struggled to take him, but he was insistent, forceful, and took away her choice, which was exactly what she wanted, or if she was honest, needed. He thrust into her mouth again, tightening the hold on her hair, using his grip to move her toward him. “Give me what we both want.”
She lifted her eyes to him and was immediately struck by the storm in the blue eyes that looked down at her. He pulled her away. “Breathe.”
Fuck, yes. She took a deep breath, and he pushed her toward his cock. She closed her eyes and took him as far as she could. He pulled out and pushed in again, breaching her throat.
“Yes. God, yes.” He groaned, pulled out, and immediately thrust in again.
The girth of his cock made the back of her throat expand. She gagged, but he didn’t immediately pull her off. Yes, perfect. Please don’t stop.
He
pulled her off his cock. “Tease your clit while I fuck this beautiful mouth.”
Her fingers flew to her sex as he pulled her to him again. Euphoria flowed through her. She was almost there, so fucking close. Dixon let her breathe. Not as much as she needed and only enough to keep her completely at his mercy.
He pulled her away again. “Deep breath. I’m going to cum. I’m going to own you.” His strained voice deepened.
She opened her mouth to deny it, but he filled her mouth. “Don’t come. Not until I let you.” His thrusts were fast and deep. She grabbed his hips with both hands, her own need forgotten but not because he directed it.
Her eyes watered, and she gagged when he thrust into her throat. He roared, and his hand pulled at her hair. He pulled out. She closed her eyes as he painted her face and neck with his release. “Beautiful.” His words fell in a whisper around her.
He released his cock, dropped to his knees and grabbed her legs, upending her onto her back. He tugged her to the edge of the bed and lowered his mouth to her sex. His hands found her nipples, and he twisted them sharply as he took her over the edge. She bucked against his face, her hands finding his hair and keeping him at her sex as her orgasm twisted through her.
Her hands dropped away from him of their own accord. She could have pushed him away, but right now, she was content, and honestly, she didn’t want to fucking move. He turned his head and kissed the inside of her thigh, igniting a full body shudder.
His laughter against her leg forced her to move. She cuffed the back of his head. “Asshole.”
“An asshole who made you scream.”
“I did not.”
“Beg to differ.”
“No recording, no proof.”
“Sex tapes? Kinky.”
She laughed and then groaned. “I need another shower.”
“I have one of those.”
“Yeah? How totally civilized of you.” She kinda liked his shower. It had a rain-head and messaging jets, although she’d probably need him to block the top one, otherwise, it might take out her eye. She’d been through his apartment with a fine-tooth comb. There wasn’t any monitoring or listening devices that she’d found, and she was up to date on the latest tech. It was necessary in her profession.
“Totally civilized, because I’m a ten. Tens are like that.” He rose up on his knees and leaned over her. His silent challenge was written on the confident smirk that spread across his face.
“Meh…almost an eight.” She sat up pushing him back, so he was standing on his knees, and her legs were on either side of his thighs. “But the night is still young.” She leaned in and bit his lip before he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into him. His hands cupped her ass, and she wrapped her legs around his waist as he stood. Fuck, the man was magnificent. A twenty on a scale of one to ten, but she’d never tell him that.
He slapped her bare ass and laughed when she gasped. “I’ll just have to do better, won’t I?”
Chapter 8
“Mr. Simmons, I’m pleased you could make time to meet with me.”
“Governor Charles, my time is yours.” He hated fucking kowtowing to the weak son of a bitch in front of him, but from his dealings with Stratus, he knew there was a hierarchy within that organization, and he was unsure where the man in front of him fell. If he had his way, that man and many others would fall at his feet.
“Excellent. I’m sure you’re aware of the horrific accident that recently befell one of our own.”
“Senator Waxman? Yes, tragic. I feel for his parents. I, too, lost one of my sons. Although we were estranged…” He closed his eyes and cleared his throat.
“I’m so sorry for your loss. Was it recent?”
He cast his eyes to his hands and spoke quietly, “Yes, a few days before Senator Waxman’s accident, I believe. His twin brother is with me, and he is my solace in this difficult time.”
“You have a younger son, too. Is that correct?”
“Yes, out of wedlock, but I support both him and his mother financially. I’ve never denied I’m his father. He was a pleasant surprise although I never loved his mother.” The fucking broodmare. “Why do you ask?”
“Let me first say, I’m sorry the timing of this meeting is so soon after your loss, but as you may know, I have been looking for a suitable person to appoint to Senator Waxman’s vacant seat.”
He gave the man his best blank stare. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand how this pertains to me.” But he did understand. This was it.
The governor’s façade slipped, and a glimpse of confusion crossed his face. Unacceptable. This man’s weaknesses cannot taint me. He’d make sure whoever he was dealing with in Stratus knew of the man’s inadequacies. He sat passively while the governor recovered. “I would like to appoint you, Mr. Simmons, to fill his seat.”
He closed his eyes for a moment. All of his work culminated in this moment. His words were practiced, humble and precise, “If you feel I am worthy, I accept.” A thrill of triumph catapulted through him. Finally. The fulfillment of his dreams. He’d reached the pinnacle of what he’d been building toward for as long as he could remember.
Her assistant continued his briefing. “The official announcement will be released on the date you selected. A press conference and widest affiliate distribution is scheduled. Our polls are telling us the death of his estranged son will play well with public opinion.”
“Indeed. And the remaining son. What have we learned?”
“From Guardian itself, nothing. But our information arm has been digging. According to what we can piece together through our limited access to reports from other law enforcement agencies, the separation had been coming for some time. There is a series of disciplinary issues dating back years. The remaining son apparently doesn’t like to follow the law to get his job done. Finally, Guardian cut ties. The reports we can gain access to are spotty because Guardian’s tech team covers their tracks well when dealing with other law enforcement agencies. The majority of what we can find, or access, is masked or coded, but we believe his twin was the one that reported him and caused the organization to boot him.
So probably no love lost between the two, although the death of a twin had unique psychological implications she would need to research. With a mental note to do so, she turned to her assistant. “And while he’s been working for his father?”
“He is good. Damn good. His carefulness seems to be innate, not paranoid. He is a cautious man. We assume he performed low-level tasks for his father’s unofficial revenue stream, but that cannot be validated. Lately, our source says he’s been working from The Residence.”
She leaned back in her chair. That meant that Simmons had pulled the wayward son closer. Was it to watch him or to use him? Regardless, the Guardian reject was close to the elder Simmons. Proximity had its advantages. “I’m interested in the son. You said we have a contact. Therefore, we have a way in?” She glanced at her assistant.
He bent his head and swiped the screen of his tablet repeatedly. “We do.”
“Be cautious. If there is any loyalty to figures in his past, or to his father, I want to know.”
“Of course, ma’am. I’ll issue your instructions and gather that information for you.”
“Double check on the elder Simmons’ separation from his unofficial revenue stream. I don’t want any ties between the two. We control the major networks so there won’t be a problem from the national level or in any of the major markets. I don’t want any small-town, moralistic journalist to find even a breadcrumb. Understood?”
“Absolutely, ma’am.”
“Operator Two-seven-four.”
“Sunset clearance, zero operative.”
“Standby, zero operative.”
“Archangel.”
“No change.”
“Understood. Continue to monitor.”
Dixon leaned over the cool granite of the kitchen counter and gazed out the small window onto the street below, alive with people.
He lifted his coffee to his lips but smiled before he could take a sip. He enjoyed the soft padding sounds of her footfall coming down the hall—probably more than he should given she was a hired murderer; they didn’t date–they fucked–and there was zero potential for this dynamic to transition into anything but what it was. Sex.
This was the sixth time in the past two weeks that she’d been in his apartment when he’d arrived home. She had a toothbrush in his bathroom. Which was…well, it was what it was.
He turned around and leaned against the counter. She had on his t-shirt. The damn thing hit her mid-thigh. He’d admit she rocked the hell out of it. She made a beeline for him and grabbed the coffee cup out of his hand. She took a sip and moaned. “Thank God, at least you make good coffee.”
Dixon pulled the coffee from her hands and set it aside. “I do other things pretty damn well. At least that was the message I got last night when you rode me, then again when I bent you over the bathroom vanity, and let’s not forget about me slamming you up against the wall.”
“Oh, yeah, sorry about the mirror, by the way. I hope you’re not superstitious.” She twisted away from him just far enough to grab the coffee and pulled it to her again.
“Seven years bad luck? Woman, I have that market cornered, another seven years doesn’t mean shit.” He leaned down and nuzzled her neck.
“Stop, I’m going to spill my coffee.”
He continued to nip at her neck, just below her ear. “My coffee," he reminded her.
“Stop, or I’ll burn both of us.” She leaned back, trusting him to keep her upright, and took a sip of his coffee. “Why are you up so early?”
“It isn’t early.” He glanced at the clock on the stove. “It’s almost ten.”
“Oh.” She took another sip. “Why did we sleep so late?”
“Because I don’t have to work today, and as far as I know, you don’t work.”
Her brow furrowed. “Not true. I work, just not when I’m with you.”
Dixon Page 8
